#Saying that he auctioned his soul off long ago

[sunshineandrosesnoraincamemyway]

Regis Blackgard. Hoo boy

[velvetti]

You are my liberty

T/W: Imply human trafficking, alcohol abuse, mlm relationship, no direct mention of consent, minors/fem aligned DNI, angst/comfort + smut.

To him, you were a fever dream, a beautiful white rose blooming under the moonlight in a garden of wilting wild flowers, a cold gust of wind in the middle of a hot summer night. You make him wonder if you ever existed at all, or if it's just another hallucination he had during his dark times, when he was struggling to live day by day.

The memories of your first encounter had long engraved itself into his soul. It was a snowy day, right in the middle of September just a few decades ago when he was a child. Forced to watch as the pedestrians walk by him, ignore him, trample him while he slowly dies from hunger and cold inside a dark alleyway, he calls that moment one of the luckiest in his miserable life.

Because, it's when you laid your eyes on him for the first time. He wished he could've travelled back in time and embraced you right then and there instead of halting for a moment like an idiot, but he couldn't blame his past self, you are the most beautiful person he has ever witnessed. Can you blame him for smiling stupidly like a puppy when you offered him a loaf of bread?

He really did love you at first sight, if not love, then what could explain his emotions whenever he talks to you?

His dreams were brutally cut off by the sound of his glass of whisky falling from his work desk. This was the third time that he fell asleep while doing paperwork, by the emperor's words, "A commander shall not halt the empire's progress with his personal troubles", thus, here he is, forced to finish his paperwork while being depressed.

He struggles with paperwork every single day after your disappearance, saying that he was worried was an understatement, the world didn't even have colours when you left. He refused to even go into any taverns during his day off as a commander, just because whenever he looked at the wall, he might be greeted with a missing poster with your face on it, smiling as beautifully as he first remembered you.

He wouldn't call you his soulmate, soulmates can live a life without each other, while without you, he just wants to drown himself in liquor so he could continue seeing you in his dreams. He needed you to live, not just exist.

It didn't take him that long to find a lead about you, after all, everything can be purchased by money. Just a few hundred gold coins and he had already managed to find out where you are. To his surprise, you were kidnapped and are going to be auctioned off soon.

So, he simply killed off the owner of the auction house and stole you before anyone else could even think of getting their pesky hands on your body :)

The bastard had the audacity to lock you in a cage, you even felt skinnier than the last time he hugged you! He should've made the death slower, but he was too excited to see you again. He quickly wrapped his cape around your body and hugged you tightly, at least you're back in his arms again.

;

Fearing that you'll find a way to leave him again, he has decided, why not make you his little husband? It's too cruel to lock you up physically and he doesn't want you to be depressed, you won't be able to get away when you're legally bound to him anyways.

So, without much of a thought, he literally begged you to marry him, hugging your waist while whining to your already flustered self, it took him days if not weeks just to convince you, but in the end, he managed and almost pinned you down and did you right then and there. But he held back, he wanted to wait for you guys' honeymoon, for you to have a proper wedding instead of acting by his own desires, he might've been a cruel person but he's not an asshole.

;

How many times was this already?

Counting just today, a total of three times. He had made love with you three times in a single day during your 2 weeks long honeymoon, and this is just the first day.

The first time was quite- no, very long. At first, he was very gentle, he didn't tore off your white suit the moment you both got on the bed, instead he went slow and made sure to prepare you thoroughly. He promptly fucked you in a mating press position right after you have adjusted though, only slowing down slightly when you sobbed and digged your nails into his back, he kept having that annoying sly smirk on his face, proud to be the one taking your first time and making it worthwhile. The total amount of rounds you've both gone in one night? 15 times, with breaks in-between, of course.

The second time, it was a little more tame compared to the first time. Well, if you count fucking in a garden, anything close to being tame. He bent you over the bench and rearranged your insides right then and there. Your body was still sore from yesterday, so he tried going gentle this time, but he had to grip onto your hips for dear life to refrain from losing his mind. You managed to keep your sounds fairly quiet, so no unfortunate servants passing by would have to hear the embarrassing sounds coming out of your mouth.

The third time, he held the grudges from the second time and let all of them out on you after dinner. You were forced to wear a pair of laced underwear, the provocative kind that shouldn't be seen by any children whatsoever. Your wrists tied together by his tie while he makes out with you and fucks you at the same time. The marks before haven't even completely disappeared from your body, yet they've been replaced with a new one, littered from your inner thighs to your neck.

All of that horny stuff aside, you had to give your little husband a kiss on the forehead after all the rounds you both have gone through. He fell asleep almost immediately afterwards, hugging your waist and resting his head on your chest, without any sort of defence whatsoever. Letting out a sigh, at this point, you don't know if your husband is secretly a golden retriever in disguise or not.

A/N: The end was a bit rushed, if you couldn't tell. The golden retriever thingy is a reference to one of my work that's still a work-in-progress. Thanks for reading, I hope you like this post :b

[jasmineoolongtea]

is it cocky to say that gojo satoru isn't used to competition?

well, if you were to ask satoru himself, he would say no. actually, he would insist that this was par for the course for someone his calibre since it would just simply be unfair in almost every imaginable way to compare anyone, regardless of their status or skillset, to him.

a little-known fact about him is that he's all about fairness and playing fair, alongside his sense of humility which puts everyone else's to shame.

that is, until now. even he has to admit (albeit very begrudgingly), that this might be the toughest opponent of his life, nay, of his generation perhaps.

and it all began on that cursed day two weeks ago.

it's a particularly rainy day outside and satoru's sitting idly on the couch eagerly awaiting your return from the local convenience store when, without warning, the door suddenly slams open and he's met with a very curious sight. it's you, standing there in the doorway and slightly drenched from the downpour with a plastic bag hanging from one arm with a mysterious medium-sized lump of something resting precariously on your other.

"look at what i found just outside, tour!" there's an edge of excitement to your voice like a kid on christmas day. you quickly slip off your shoes and unceremoniously dump the plastic bag on the floor as you scramble towards satoru, clearly very eager to show off your newfound spoil.

in your eagerness however, you almost trip over your own two feet but lucky for you, he has fast reflexes and is there in the blink of an eye to steady you. his eyes roam around your figure, searching for any other possible injury you might have sustained from your near fall when they land on the object you've been seemingly holding on to for dear life.

squinting his eyes in an attempt to further scrutinise it, he notices that it's all curled up in your arms and that what might once have been snowy white fur is now an off-white that is much closer to beige thanks to the amount of dirt and dust that it has probably racked up from being outside.

"why do you have a bundle of dirty fur in your arms?" he asks doubtfully.

you gasp at his words.

"don't be rude!" you chide, bringing the object closer to you as you nuzzle your cheek into it. "it's a cat. i found it shivering in the rain and of course, i couldn't just leave it there." true to your words, and seemingly on cue, there's movement coming from the furry object and soon a cat's head pops out from who knows where which takes him by surprise as he jumps back in shock.

"he even looks like you in a way. you know, with the white fur and blue eyes." as if to emphasise your point, you pick up the cat and showcase it to him like an auctioneer would do with the item they're auctioning off, trying to display it in its best light.

too bad for you, your tactics aren't working on him and his face scrunches up in an expression of disdain.

"it's a he?" the thing- no, the cat blinks owlishly at him with its freakishly bright blue eyes staring into his soul. he shudders at the sight of it. "and if you love me babe you wouldn't compare me to that wet furball." he quips back, a comically large pout on his face as he appears to almost be insulted by your recent comparison.

"you're being dramatic, toru." you roll your eyes at him, bringing the cat back into your arms to cuddle with it once again which earns you a content purr from it. he's fighting off the urge to glare at it right now. "he's probably not going to stay here that long anyways since it seems he likes to be outside."

yeah, famous last words right there.

what was supposed to be a few hours where the cat could wait out the rain in the safety and comfort of your shared apartment soon turned into a few days and then into several weeks and before satoru knew it, your home now had a new (and unwelcomed in satoru's opinion) inhabitant.

not only that but the cat, who now apparently had the name of daifuku on account of your insistence that you needed to give the cat a name since you couldn't go on calling the cat 'cat' forever, was living absolutely rent-free on his part and had essentially claimed the entire space as his own.

to top it all off, this also meant that a new challenger was entering the arena to compete for the most coveted prize of them all; your affection.

and unfortunately for satoru, he had finally met his match.

whenever he was feeling particularly affectionate during the day or just wanted to spend some precious time with you in each other's arms, he would almost always find himself late to the party when there was someone else, or more specifically something, already waiting there as if to lord his victory over him.

logically, he knows that cats can't smile or emote like humans do but he's pretty sure if they could, this one would be smugly smirking and looking down at him from its gilded throne.

as if to further rub salt on the wound, the cat was stretched out in a boneless mass on your lap aka his favourite spot to lie down on. that was prime real estate right there if you asked him! and now what should have been satoru's right as your boyfriend to rest there was thrown out the window for someone new and apparently cuter, judging by how much you coo at it daily much to his chagrin.

when he puts on his best puppy dog eyes (the ones he knows that you're weak in the knees too) and does his best to convince you to push the cat off in favour of him, he's met with another punch to the metaphorical gut when you go against all odds and deny him of his simple wish. instead, you just motion to the cat resting on your lap and press a consolation kiss to his cheek before pulling away and redirecting your attention back to it.

stubborn as he always is, satoru refuses to budge and although his ego is severely wounded by this point, he takes the second-best option and rests his head against your shoulder and nuzzles his nose into the crook of your neck, earning him a soft melodious giggle from you as you shiver slightly from the ticklish sensation.

when you're not looking, he takes the opportunity to glare jealously at the cat and the cat, ever so proud in its high castle, smugly glares right back at him as if daring him to try and dethrone him now. he huffs

satoru may have lost the battle for now but he swears that he won't lose the war.

[gingerbreadmonsters]

better half

or: here comes the... um...

gn!reader, strong language and innuendo, good old-fashioned fluffy stuff. my undying love and gratitude to the gang over on discord who have kept me sane for the last two months or so - @zozo-01 @pinksparkl and @autisticempathydaemon i would be LOST without you!! a veritable tropefest of all my favourites - just don't ask me when it's set, i beg. astarion taking matters into his own hands in 20,700 words or less.

“No, no, do go on. And the marigolds?”

Dear gods.

“Well, they’re a fine variety, to be sure - and fresh as anything, just come in this morning from-”

It was the right thing to say - the man keeps talking, voice lifted slightly over the bustle of the market as he chatters on about petal density and stem texture and who knows else. You’re only half-listening, nodding along and making encouraging little noises whenever he starts to run out of steam, but you’re not really paying attention.

You’d only come to this damned city in search of some complicated magical artefact that Gale’s been wanting - according to him, there’d been an auction back in Waterdeep not long after he left, and the nobleman who’d bought it arrived back home here just a few weeks ago. As luck would have it, he’s throwing a party in a little less than a tenday’s time for a bunch of the city’s rich folk, so naturally you’ll be taking advantage of the distraction to quietly sneak in and steal the artefact when nobody’s looking.

Or at least, that had been the plan, until closer inspection had revealed some pretty nasty enchantments protecting the manor from intruders. Gale and Shadowheart had both had a look, and agreed that while they could probably break them, given enough time, it wouldn’t exactly be discreet - rather, it’d probably set half the house on fire or something equally ridiculous. You’d all been standing around a few streets away, trying to figure out a plan for how exactly you were going to pull this off, when-

Really, now. Did they teach you idiocy at wizard school, or did it just come naturally?

You’d turned, surprised - Astarion, appearing out of thin air and self-satisfied as ever, swanning past Gale with a dismissive flutter of his fingers. I don’t suppose you’d know, but some of us have actually been to parties before.

Ignoring the affronted squawking from behind him, he’d dropped an expensive-looking roll of paper into your surprised hands, before looking down at you expectantly. Upon closer inspection, it turned out to be an invitation to the manor, addressed to some minor lord you’d never heard of.

How on earth…? You’d been shocked at his good fortune - what are the odds he’d run into someone carrying an invitation for a party that’s happening days from now? Where did you-?

All taken care of, darling, he’d said dismissively, even though you could see the smug smile tugging just slightly at the corner of his mouth. A word in the right ear is a wonderful thing. We won’t be interrupted, believe me.

It had been that sort of smile - you’d said a silent prayer for whatever poor soul he’d lifted the invite off of. ‘We’?

Please. As much as I’m sure Lae’zel would love to spend an evening hanging off my arm - he’d dodged the kick to his shins with infuriating grace - I think we both know that the answer is obvious.

He’d gestured to the paper in your hand - ah. You hadn’t seen that part.

What say you, dearest? he’d said with a bow, taking your free hand with a princely flourish and laying a delicate kiss against your knuckles. Shadowheart had rolled her eyes at Astarion’s antics, mouthing something at you from over his shoulder before turning to start herding the others back towards the tavern you’re staying at. Fancy an evening as my beloved?

Obviously, there was no way this could possibly go wrong. You’d replied with your best Astarion impression, gasping in theatrical shock and trying desperately not to laugh. You could at least ask me properly, you know.

We’ve no time for courtship, sweetheart, he’d groaned as if in pain, kissing further and further up your wrist, your forearm, your elbow. I simply must have you - and tonight, no less!

Tonight? At least wait ‘til we’re wedded, dear, you’d gasped in return, smacking him in the shoulder and utterly failing to hide your grin. I’ll have the ring first, then we’ll see.

Conniving little magpie. He’d said it like he’s any better, the bastard. Is that how I’ll win your heart, then? Dangling sparkly trinkets over your head, putting a shiny ring on your finger?

The others are long forgotten, vague shadows in the street. If it were from you, my lord? Nothing would please me more.

He’d raised a single, silver eyebrow, something unreadable sitting just behind his smile. Nothing, you say?

Well. You’d shrugged as he laughed at your faux-serious expression, looking him up and down with an exaggerated leer. I can think of at least one thing…

He’d been about to reply, but you’d caught sight of Karlach halfway down the street behind his shoulder, leaning over to Wyll and whispering something with a chuckle. At that distance, you hadn’t been able to make it out, but that’s what vampires are for - Astarion’s jaw had dropped theatrically with an indignant I heard that, you-!

An unapologetic middle finger from Karlach, and an outraged huff from Astarion as he took your arm and started after them. Defend my honour, won’t you, my love?

For sweet Astarion, paragon of innocence? Dragged laughing after him by the elbow, you’d not really had much of a chance to protest, but it’s not like you were going to anyway. Why, always.

Yesterday evening and today have been dedicated to prepping the pair of you for this little mission, and you really can’t tell if you’re more excited or terrified of the whole thing. Is it a bad idea? Yes. Is it a ridiculous solution to the problem? Yes. Are you going to do something that inevitably gets you both discovered and kicked out of the house empty-handed at best, or run through with something sharp at worst? Almost certainly.

That being said…

What’s the right way to put it? It’s not good for you, to be doing this. It’s not going to do you any favours. It’ll be nice at first, but when the glamour falls away, it’ll hurt even more than it did before.

You like him. Or maybe you don’t. Or maybe you’re scared of what liking him might mean, so you’re trying desperately to convince yourself that there’s nothing out of the ordinary about the way you like him. It could mean anything, the way your eyes always seem to fall upon him first. It could mean anything, the way any joke you tell isn’t funny unless he laughs. It could mean anything, how his voice makes your stomach drop and his smile makes your lungs hurt and his fingers on your skin make you want to tear your heart in half.

He’s something else entirely. The sting of his fangs in your neck, the comforting way he sits in the corner of your eye. This is going to destroy you.

For what it’s worth, the others have been doing some intelligence gathering on this nobleman that Astarion’s supposed to be. Wyll and Halsin ventured out to one of the nicer parts of town last night to see if anyone might have drunk enough to spill anything good, while Shadowheart and Karlach had been making the rounds of some of the… less respectable establishments to try and dig up what dirt they could.

According to their collective notes, he’s one of the younger sons of a relatively unknown house somewhere up north, and he was due to arrive yesterday on some sort of business for his father. It can’t be for anything too complicated or expensive, seeing as a wealthier house would probably have a more famous name, and likely wouldn’t want to be seen sending a fourth or a fifth son as a negotiator.

He seems to be a fairly private figure - no especially distinctive features, and no particular public scandals or habits that Karlach or Shadowheart could discover, which is definitely good news for Astarion’s cover. Gale didn’t recognise the name in a magical context, and Lae’zel hadn’t heard of them as a notable military house - altogether, it’s likely that they’re probably a merchant family that’s come into money through trade, as opposed something like land or banking or politics.

Unusually, he seems to have brought someone with him - the invitation is addressed to him and a nameless betrothed, but none of you have been able to find anything out about them whatsoever. Nobody’s seen them, or heard about them, or even seems to know their name. As far as the people of the city have let slip, they might as well have never existed. Astarion had even said as much when you’d asked him.

I mean, he certainly didn’t look the type, he’d said, grimacing faintly as he pictured the man he’d pickpocketed. I’m more than aware that travelling can be a thoroughly unpleasant business, but really. If he does happen to be affianced, as you say, then I do pity the poor creature - it was barely the afternoon and the man reeked of alcohol.

An easy target, then, you’d replied with a grin. Please tell me you left him with some gold for a place to sleep last night.

He’d made a face, waving a hand dismissively. Oh, don’t be ridiculous, darling. He’ll be halfway home by now, I expect, if the look on his face was anything to go by.

A few seconds had passed.

What? I’ve told you before, I can be very persuasive-

And the fiancé?

You’d been able to feel the headache coming on already. No. No, you didn’t.

…Ah. He’d had the good grace to at least look a little bit sheepish. I, um-

You mean you sent him home without the fiancé? Who I’m supposed to be impersonating? By this point, you’d had your head in your hands, already picturing the myriad of ways this could so easily go wrong. Who’s probably going to turn up at this stupid party and tell everyone that w-

No, no - none of that now, dear. It’ll be fine, I promise you. He’d not sounded entirely sure, but you’d grudgingly let him shush you, featherlight pressure on your shoulder. I’m sure this fiancé - you know, are we even sure there is a fiancé? That it wasn’t conjured up at the bottom of a bottle? The fool was practically pickled - I’m telling you, darling, it wouldn’t be out of the question.

I’ll pickle you in a minute, you’d grumbled, not entirely joking. If we die, I’ll kill you.

Oh, my love. I look forward to it already.

“You know, I had a gentleman come by, not half an hour ago, swearing up and down I’d got these confused with the peonies - peonies! Can you imagine!”

Startled out of your daydream, you’re left blinking back at the man in hapless confusion. “Sorry, come again?”

“Well, that’s just what I told him - but apparently…”

The flower seller launches right back into his monologue, and you’re starting to wonder if there’s a reason nobody was looking at this stall when you arrived. Curse these ridiculous noble types and their ridiculous fashions! Wyll had taken one look at your - admittedly somewhat slender - wardrobe and declared that none of it would do, either for the sin of being far too cheap or terribly out of vogue. Fortunately for your wallet, you’d collectively been able to cobble together something halfway decent out of bits and pieces your little group had thieved over the last few weeks.

Unfortunately, they don’t exactly fit too well, so you’ve been sent out to get it all tailored into something suitably expensive-looking to wear. Astarion, true to form, had jumped at the chance to take you shopping, although you couldn’t tell if it was because he’d been dying for the chance to indulge in a little retail therapy at your expense, or just all of the various trinkets and knick-knacks he’d be able to swipe from unsuspecting merchants.

Oh, and you mustn’t forget about our little ruse, dear. Who knows who might be watching?

And thus, you’re stuck at this damned flower stand where he said he’d meet you, trying desperately to avoid whatever increasingly-unsubtle flirtation the flower seller aims at you, and really wishing you’d brought a book. Maybe that would have distracted you from the horrible, twisting feeling in your stomach at the thought of what might happen when he does show up.

Is it going to be weird? Oh, it’s a stupid question - it was always going to be weird, doing something like this with him. Acting as though you’re faking liking him, pretending to have to pretend, the double-triple bluff. It’s bad enough as it is, heartstrings all stretched and sore from the weight of keeping it all inside - but to be allowed to indulge, just this once? Falling into the fantasy of what could never be, letting yourself believe for a long, golden moment that he might actually love you the way you dream of. You’re afraid you’ll snap completely.

To be honest, the waiting isn’t helping. He’d rambled something last night about having some sort of business nearby - what sort of bloody business could he possibly have in a town he’s never seen before? - and that he’d catch up with you by the flower stall by mid-morning at the latest.

Naturally, that means that it’s nearly midday and you still haven’t seen hide nor hair of him, one eye on the crowd as you stare absently at the colourful buckets of flowers. The noise of the market all around you, the sun in your eyes, the mild breeze that’s more hot than cold - you were right, you definitely should have brought a book or something, because where in all the hells is that blasted-

“There you are, dearheart!”

Your head whips to the right at the sudden weight of a cool arm around your waist, pulling you to the side. Surprised, you’re already reaching for the borrowed dagger at your hip, only to be met with-

“I - oh, darling!” Before you really know what’s happening, you’re swept into an uncharacteristic embrace, face-to-face with a slightly-harried, definitely-late, maddeningly-beautiful Astarion. Hurriedly, you paint on a smile, looking up at him with what you’re hoping reads as blissful excitement. “Back so soon?”

“Soon?” He takes you at your word, the bastard, like he wasn’t supposed to be here hours ago. “Oh, it’s never too soon to be with you, my sweet.”

It’s infuriating, how your heart stutters at the rakish grin he gives you as he says it, at the thought - fake as it may be - that he might actually mean it. Pressed against him like this, strong hands keeping you close as you steady yourself against his chest, it’s even worse than usual. Can he hear it? Does he know?

Out of the corner of your eye, you can see the flower seller trailing off clumsily in the middle of his sentence, clearly now at something of a loose end. He settles for reaching down to adjust one of the displays, but you can feel his eyes on you even while he pretends to look away.

He doesn’t suspect something, does he? No, he can’t - why would he even be suspicious? He doesn’t know that this isn’t real.

Astarion must notice too, diving down to kiss your cheek so lightly that it almost tickles - you make the mistake of letting the involuntary laughter show on your face, and immediately regret it when it means he goes right back in for another one. Then another, then another, dipping you further and further back and smothering your protestations in kisses that shouldn’t feel as good as they do.

“Wh-hey, hey - darling!” Embarrassed, you struggle against him, trying to escape his hold, but it’s no good - he’s just too strong. “We’re - this is hardly the time-!”

He relents slightly at that, bringing you back upright and turning you around to face back towards the flower stall, before draping himself over your back and locking his arms once more around your middle. Somehow, it’s even worse than before - now you can definitely see the awkward flower seller, trying not to stare at the absolute mess that you two must be right now.

“Mmm, my apologies for the interruption,” Astarion mumbles against your throat, thoroughly unrepentant, and you can feel him smile as he kisses over the soft, tender space where his fangs normally go. “You were saying?”

You wrack your brain, but there’s nothing there except the swirling, flustered mist that fills your mind whenever he gets this close. What would you say, if this were real? Blindly, you reach for something to say - anything, that might get him off your case. And your neck.

“Did you, um-” You pause, stumbling over the words slightly. He probably doesn’t want all and sundry knowing what he was up to before he arrived, and he probably isn’t going to admit it anyway. Better to just make it part of the charade from the start.

“Did you find anything good?”

“Mm, nothing much,” he hums, fingers tracing tiny spirals across the front of your shirt. “A little bit of this and that, you know how it is.”

Okay, great, a total non-answer. Good to know that he’s really trying to make this act believable.

  “Very well. Keep your secrets.” You turn your face away in faux-offence, before softening with a smile as a petulant hand comes up to turn your chin back towards him. “Did you at least get everything you wanted?”

“Really, dear,” he huffs, soothing the blow with a barely-there kiss against your temple. “Can’t a man have any secrets from you?”

Gods below, he’s up to something. If your brain wasn’t too busy melting into goo, you might even wonder what it is - alas, you just have to settle for discreetly elbowing him in the ribs.

“Of course not,” you reply matter-of-factly, even though the words make your heart ache just a little bit. If only it were true. “What’s yours is mine, and all that.”

“How could I forget?” Sweet hells, he says it so softly, like he’s trying to make it hurt. “As if I could ever be free of you, my love.”

You roll your eyes, even as you lean back into his chest - you’re vaguely aware that you were supposed to be doing something, but you’ll be damned if you can remember what it is. “You make it sound so appealing, you know.”

“Do I? It’s not on purpose, I assure you.”

You gasp, hand limp against your forehead in a mock-faint. “Rude.”

“All part of the plan, darling,” he says, nonchalant, and it’s ridiculous how it does actually make you feel better. “For a prize as lovely as you? I have to find some way of keeping you all to myself.”

You’re about to respond when the flower seller clears his throat awkwardly, evidently not really sure what to do with the pseudo-couple flirting incessantly in front of his stand - you jump slightly at the reminder, feeling weirdly like you’ve just been walked in on.

Astarion, meanwhile, remains annoyingly unfazed - when you turn to look at him, he’s… smiling? No, not quite. It’s less of a smile and more of a smirk, but not his usual one - and yet you can’t quite put your finger on why it’s different.

“Go on, then,” he prompts you, nudging you gently in the side. “Aren’t you going to introduce me to your new friend here?”

“Right, right, um-” Shaking your head slightly, as if to clear it, you smile as brightly as you can at the flower seller. Fuck, what did he say his name was again? “Love, this is - oh, this is…”

“Osric, sir.” The man comes to your rescue, tipping his cap in Astarion’s direction with a friendly smile. “Pleasure to be of service to you both.”

True to form, Astarion meets him with a flat, haughty stare, seemingly unimpressed. “Charmed. Now, sweetheart, I believe we were just on our w-”

“Ah - just a moment.” He recoils ever so slightly at the interruption, a tiny tremor that you feel but don’t see. Got him. “I might like to look a little longer.”

It’s only really for show, but you make a point of umming and ahhing over the display, surreptitiously stepping on the toe of his boot as you do it. If he’s going to try and empty your wallet today, as you’re sure he will, you’re not going to let him have all the fun.

“Really. If you want me to buy you flowers, pet, you only have to ask.” Astarion shakes his head indulgently as he catches your drift, rolling his eyes at the young man behind the stall in pretend commiseration. “Trust me to find the one creature in all of Faerûn who’d rather I spend my fortune on dahlias than dinner.”

You twist slightly in his arms without looking away from the flowers, one hand slipping idly up to cradle his jaw as the other drifts over the box of tulips. “But you do it anyway.”

He sighs, exasperated and achingly fond in a way you wish he meant, turning to press a gentle kiss to your palm. “Yes, I do it anyway. Fool that I am.”

You’re forced to step slightly to the side as a lady comes up beside you and starts chatting to the vendor, which gives Astarion the perfect opportunity to dial down the act a little bit. It’s hard work even for you, and you’re not even really faking it - you can only imagine how annoying it must be, having to do all this with someone you’re not actually in love with.

For some reason, though, he doesn’t. Instead he seems to double down, swaying the two of you lightly from side to side as you examine the flowers on display, cold hands warming with your body heat as they smooth absentmindedly up and down your sides.

“Tempted by anything, darling?”

A classic line - somehow, it makes the whole thing easier. He knows exactly what he’s doing, and you know exactly what he wants to hear. “Oh, plenty,” you say, not even trying to hide your grin. “Nothing fit for polite company, though.”

You don’t even have to turn and look - your mind’s eye is enough to see the faux-outraged face he’s making. “Do I look like polite company to you?”

“Well, now that you mention it…”

The lady accidentally bumps you with her bag as she walks over to look at some of the other displays, and you can’t be sure, but it almost sounds like you can hear Astarion muttering something under his breath. “I don’t think you want me to answer that, you know.”

“Mind if I answer for you, then?” He waits for you to nod, cautiously curious about what he’ll say, before lifting a blasé hand to the flower seller and beckoning him over with a lazy wave.

“Six of the roses, if you will.”

“Certainly, sir,” the vendor replies with a nod. “Right away.”

What?

Utterly bewildered, you watch detachedly as Astarion points to the colours he wants, some comically cliché blend of red and pink and white. He can’t be doing what you think he’s doing. “What in - what on earth do you think you’re doing?”

A sideways glance, faintly bemused. “Pardon?”

You should probably be more embarrassed about the way you’re tripping over the words, but you’re more concerned with wondering if he’s actually, genuinely lost his mind. “I don’t need - it’s fine, let’s just-”

"No, no, you're right, six won’t do." He’s unmoved by your futile attempt to drag him away, free arm locking around your waist to keep you trapped against his chest as he corrects himself to the flower seller. "Make it a dozen."

“Astarion!” you hiss, as quietly as you can so that nobody overhears. “This is - you can’t just-”

“I’ll have you know I certainly can,” he replies, producing a handful of coins out of nowhere and casually dropping them into the flower seller’s palm. Absentmindedly, you notice that he’s wearing more rings than usual - your eye is drawn to a particularly lovely gold one on his left hand that you haven’t seen before. “In fact - oh, would you look at that? It seems I just have.”

You - he - you’re going to m-

“Do close your mouth, sweetling,” he sighs, eyes bright with concealed mischief, one elegant finger pressing up under your chin. “It’s dreadfully unbecoming.”

Sweetling. You’re going to strangle him.

The excellent retort that you were surely about to give is cut off by the flower seller, bouquet in hand and clearly very amused by the whole situation. “There we are - a dozen roses, compliments of your gentleman friend.”

He’s certainly no gentleman, but that’s hardly the worst of his crimes. Hateful, traitorous creature, that scheming villain, tormentor of your mind and thief of your heart.

“Excellent taste, sir,” the vendor says innocently over your shoulder as you lean forwards to take the flowers from him. “They’re some lovely blossoms, those!”

“Mm, aren’t they just?” Damn it all, you know what it means when he uses that voice - when you turn around, his eyes flick back up to yours with a shameless grin. “And the flowers are rather pleasant, too.”

“I - you-!” Oh, you could just smack him for that - you can guess what he was talking about, and it certainly wasn’t a bouquet. The vendor hastily stifles a laugh behind you as you glare daggers at Astarion, sorely tempted to take a swing at him. “When I get my hands on you-!”

Cackling wildly, he dances out of the way with an annoyingly dignified sidestep, bidding a quick farewell to the flower seller over his shoulder before looping his arm around your waist and sweeping you away further into the market. “Careful there, petal. We wouldn’t want the whole town to know about where you’ll put your hands on me, would we?”

You’re going to kill him. You’re actually going to fucking kill him, and nobody is going to blame you.

“Come now, darling, no need to look so glum,” he murmurs, leading you gently through the crowd. “Don’t you like them?”

Irritatingly, you can’t actually say you don’t. The roses really are stunning, each one beautifully rich in colour, all soft, velvety petals and long, elegant stems wrapped in thick paper. They’re also far too expensive for him to be wasting money on like this, but you know exactly what he’ll say if you try to protest.

Instead, you settle for honesty. Staring down at the delicate flowers in your hands, you let yourself believe, for just a single second, that they mean what you wish they would mean. That he gave them to you because he loves you, rather than as a prop for a foolish charade - that the kiss marks burned into your skin spell devotion, instead of duplicity.

“They’re gorgeous,” you say. “Thank you, my love.”

A sudden, scuffing sound from close by - next to you, Astarion suddenly lurches forward slightly, fingers digging almost painfully into your sides for a fraction of a second before relaxing. If it was anyone else, you’d say he’d just stumbled over his own feet. But this is Astarion you’re talking about, fleet-footed master of thievery and rogue extraordinaire, so that can’t be what just happened.

There’s a momentary pause, before-

“You’re very welcome, dearheart.”

He says it softly, low and unusually sincere. You don’t want to think about why. “And for what it’s worth, I do think your blossoms are really rather lo-”

“Alright!” You cut him off before he can finish the sentence - that’s quite enough about your blossoms, thank you very much - and practically drag him after you, bouquet cradled in the crook of your arm as your other hand reaches down to grab his. “No need to lay it on too thick, now.”

He doesn’t stop laughing until you’re almost there, magnanimously letting you pull him along with a shocking lack of complaints. The tangled streets that surround this part of the market are something of a maze, but before long you’re standing outside the tailor’s shop that you’ve been tasked with finding.

Thankfully, it doesn’t look like it’s too busy inside. There’s a few people working, but it’s not as packed as you’d feared - with any luck, it’ll mean that they’ll have the time to work on your requests, rather than just rejecting you outright.

“Ah - just a moment, dear.”

Your hand freezes on the door, and you turn to see Astarion fiddling with a hitherto-unseen pouch of some kind. It looks like leather, and the way he’s holding it makes it look like there’s something delicate inside. How odd. Did he steal it? You don’t recognise it.

“I have a little something for you that might help with our…”

He trails off, eyes not quite meeting yours, gesturing awkwardly with one hand as he tries to find the words. “Our little arrangement, shall we say.”

“Really?” Intrigued, you step away from the door and back to his side. “What is it?”

No reply. Instead, he takes your hand in his and holds it flat, before upending the contents of the little bag into it and letting you see for yourself.

“I do hope it fits.”

It’s just a prop. It’s just part of the disguise, and he would have done it for anyone. Your mind doesn’t stop, your heart doesn’t ache. It doesn’t mean anything, the lovely engagement ring sitting innocently in your palm.

“I…”

Wordless, you can only stare. Perhaps a more critical eye would call it plain, but to you it’s nothing short of beautiful, a tasteful gold band with a delicate tear-shaped ruby in the centre. It looks new, polished and pristine in its finish, not at all like any of the rings you’ve picked up on your travels so far. There’s something inscribed inside the band, but the letters are quite small and difficult to make out - is that Espruar?

Of everything about it, that’s probably the strangest thing. As much as it stings to admit it, at the end of the day it’s a fake ring, so why bother having it engraved at all? Nobody’s going to see the inside except for you.

He can’t possibly have bought it. He just can’t have. Creature of luxury though he is, he’d never waste money on something so… so frivolous. He must have stolen it. That’s the only explanation. He didn’t know it was engraved when he took it, so it doesn’t mean anything at all. And in any case, he’ll probably want it back when this is all over - you’re sure it’ll fetch a lovely price when he’s sold it by this time next week.

You’re interrupted in your examination by Astarion, discreetly clearing his throat, and oh, hells, your face feels like it’s on fire.

“Here. Let me.”

Ever so sweetly, he takes the ring from your hand and slides it carefully onto your finger. Head bowed, gaze fixed on his task. He’s so close. If he looked up, right now, you could almost be kissing. You’d only have to lean forwards a tiny bit.

The thought sends a shiver right through you that you try to hide - but true to form he notices anyway, pulling his hands away like it’s his cool touch that startled you, and you mourn the loss as soon as he does it. He’s right that the metal is cold at first, but it quickly warms with your skin, and you smile as you realise that he’d guessed correctly. Slim yet sturdy, a reassuring weight. It fits perfectly.

“I…”

Sunlight. Washing him in gold, filling the street with light, sparkling on your finger. Vaguely, you remember thinking something about a ring earlier, but you can’t quite remember what it was.

“Let’s get you inside, darling,” he says, and something in his voice aches in a way you can’t describe. “We can’t have you catching a cold out here.”

The bell above the door rings cheerfully as he pushes it open for you, one hand on the small of your back to steady you as you step inside. It’s a tiny little place, jam-packed with all manner of fabrics and half-mended garments - you’re barely able to get the words sorry, it’s kind of last-minute out before the no-nonsense lady by the counter is ushering you back behind a curtain, plucking the roses out of your hands, and pulling it shut with a brisk nod and instruction to the assistant there to help you get dressed.

You can vaguely hear Astarion being pelted with questions as you retrieve the bundle of clothes from your bag. Now that you really look, it’s obvious that some of this stuff has suffered somewhat over time, what with all the fraying seams and threadbare patches, but all things considered it’s not that bad. With a little bit of love, you should be able to decently pass yourself off as the minor noble you’re supposed to be.

It’s lucky that Astarion has such expensive taste, magpie that he is. He’d managed to come up with a reasonable ensemble last night with relative ease, thanks to the various spoils he’s picked up while you’ve all been travelling. His doublet is a little bare, though, so he said he was going to see if they could embroider something for him.

Ordinarily, you know he would have done it himself. He tries not to let on, but you’ve seen him picking through his little sewing box - yes, he does have one and no, he refuses to admit it exists - at camp in the evening when he thinks nobody’s looking. Perhaps the others haven’t noticed how his clothes seem to magically repair themselves overnight after a fight, or perhaps they just don’t care to comment. Either way, he’s certainly more skilled with a needle than you’d first thought, but life on the road doesn’t exactly lend itself to fine embroidery thread. He almost certainly doesn’t have any, or at least not enough, and he’s far too proud to ask if anyone else happens to.

He really is very particular about how he looks, and you suppose it makes sense. Considering all that’s happened to him, the monstrosity of his servitude… well. It’s hardly a surprise that any measure of control, even over something as seemingly trivial as the shirt he wears, might be intoxicating. If he wants to dress himself in nice things, however gaudy or over the top they might be, then he may as well. Hopefully, nobody out there is getting on his bad side about it.

Actually, now that you think about it, it’s probably not the best idea to leave Astarion unsupervised in a room full of people who you need to like you. Hastily, you start changing a little faster, in what little space there is behind this curtain - clothes like this are so complicated that the assistant back here has to help you, but there’s so little room that you’d almost rather be alone. At the very least there’s no shouting from the rest of the room yet, but you know what he’s like. No point in risking it-

“-haah-!”

“Darling, are you quite alright in there?”

Wincing, you emerge from the cramped little corner, fully dressed and clutching your banged elbow. You can’t move all that fast, seeing as some of these clothes are a fair bit too small, but it doesn’t really matter. The lady has you up on the riser in the middle of the room, and you’re swarmed by a handful of shop assistants armed with pins and measuring ropes, all chattering away about letting one seam or another out, let’s put darts in here, this’ll need covering up, I see what you mean about the sleeves…

To be honest, you’re not really paying attention, content to have them just get on with it. Wyll had said that this place deals with rich types all the time, so you’re sure they know what they’re doing far better than you do. Astarion, meanwhile, seems to be having the time of his life lounging in his little chair and making snide comments here and there, occasionally getting up and pointing at various bits of you that need embellishing - you’re strangely reminded of a child playing dress-up with a favourite dolly.

“Lift your arms a moment, if you please.”

The tailor gestures for you to raise your arms at your sides, so you do. Her voice is nice, sweet and smooth like honey, and you idly follow her instructions as she tells you how to move. Some of the assistants have gone off to sift through fabrics, but most of them are still clustered around you, honeybees to a flower.

How long have you been up here again? You’re surprised there are any bits of you they haven’t measured yet.

Your mind starts to drift as they keep picking at you, but fairly soon it catches on one of the girls closer to the front of the shop. She’s strikingly beautiful, all fine features and gentle grace, pointed ears peeking out of long, silky hair that reaches all the way down to her slim waist. She hasn’t come over to you, and at her bench it looks like she’s working on a doublet of some kind, so it makes sense that she’s talking to Astarion. It makes sense, because she’s probably asking what he wants embroidered on it.

Yeah. Yeah, that’ll be why she's standing so close to him, so she can hear every detail of exactly what he wants. She’s smiling so much and laughing at every little thing he says, because she wants him to feel welcome here. She’s guiding him away from you and closer to her workbench, so that he can make sure that she’s embroidering the right pattern.

It makes total sense. Nothing out of the ordinary.

“And if you could just turn this way, please?”

Only it doesn’t make sense, because you know for a fact he’d never be caught dead in that particular shade of coral pink - it clashes horribly with my eyes, don’t you think? - and he’s never liked that type of slashing on the sleeve.The laces are in the wrong style, and the length is all funny. Astarion wouldn’t wear anything like that, not even as a disguise. It’s garish and tacky and altogether far too tasteless. It can't belong to him.

So what in all the hells does that girl think she's doing?

Astarion, for his part, doesn’t seem too fussed about her - rather, he looks to be fairly entertained. It’s fine, though, right? He’s probably just humouring her, isn’t he? To say nothing of the way his fingers flex at his side, like he wants to reach out and touch her, or the way his gaze fixes on her face like he can’t bring himself to look away.

It’s fine. It’s fine. It doesn’t matter - and it’s hardly your place to tell him what he can and can’t do, anyway. This whole thing is just a ruse. He doesn’t know how much you wish it were true, and he doesn’t need to know. If it hurts, that’s your own fault.

Besides, he’s probably just looking for some fun, right? He’s never exactly been shy about it. He flirts with everyone, but it’s not love that’s on his mind - and you’re not stupid enough to think he’s any different when it comes to this. Whether it’s out of boredom or hedonism, it isn’t because he wants to make you feel good, and it isn’t because he’s just so friendly. It’s because he wants something.

You’re not so naive to think he might actually mean the things he tells you, pretty though they may be. When he says he wants you, when he says he wants to please you - every time, it’s as charming as it is frustrating. Charming, because you think you’d give anything for it to be real, for him to like you - desire you - care for you the way you do him. Frustrating, because you know that someone like Astarion would never bring himself to settle for someone like you.

“Face this way for a second, please?”

Even men like him need a change of pace. When he makes faces at you across the campfire when Gale starts rabbiting on about his magic tricks, when he presses his lips against your neck for just a second before he bites, when he softens every practised line with a flick of his wrist and a teasing smile. You know what it means. It means he knows he doesn’t have to pretend, doesn’t have to play the fool with you - he’s not worried about getting you into bed, because he knows you know he’s out of your league.

He doesn’t want you. He trusts you to not want him either. And you, idiot that you are, thought you’d go ahead and ruin that by falling in love with him. How much worse could it be?

He’s your friend, loath as he is to admit it sometimes. You can’t bring yourself to hurt him with the admission - the part of you that knows he doesn’t come to you for sex, and the part that can’t help but wish he did. If he’s looking for somebody to warm his bed tonight, why would he ever waste time talking to you?

Yeah, that’ll be it. That dull ache deep inside, soaking into all the soft parts of you, watching the man you love give in to a girl he met fifteen minutes ago. And you can’t blame him at all, because it’s your own stupid crush that’s got you into this mess. The pain isn’t his problem. If you were the sort of person he could love, then maybe you wouldn’t have to hurt this way - but you’re not, so you can’t complain.

Gushing, sloshing, seasick. It’s not like he’s actually in love with you.

He’s turned slightly away from you to face her, so you can’t see exactly, but it looks like he’s… smiling? And look, he’s beckoning her closer, leaning down as if he might have a secret to tell her, and if you didn’t know better you might think he was just about to-

“Darling!”

Both of them whip around to face you, and neither of them are as good at acting as they think they are. The girl is breathing hard, pretty lips stretched into what you’re sure she hopes is a convincing grin, and you’ve seen enough of Astarion’s fake, hasty smiles to know when you’re looking at one.

You hadn’t really thought about what you were going to say next - blindly, you scramble for an excuse to get his attention back. “Won’t you come and help me choose?”

“Choose what, my love?” The girl scurries back to her bench as Astarion looks pointedly down at her, but you can still see how she watches him walk over to you, wide-eyed and flushed even as she tries to go back to her work. “Are you finished already?”

Fortunately, one of the assistants comes over to you at just the right moment, holding out a hand to help you down off the riser. Astarion clearly notices what she’s doing and offers his hand to you as well - and if it’s a sick sort of pleasure that runs through you as you deliberately ignore him, taking the assistant’s hand instead of his, then that’s nobody’s business but yours.

(In the corner of your eye, as you step down, he looks almost… well, it doesn’t matter. The moment has passed.)

“The sampler’s on the table, when you’re ready,” says the assistant to you, bowing slightly before vanishing behind a table piled with rolls of fabric, and you take a shallow breath as she leaves.

“The - um, the embroidery. You can pick.”

Your voice is small, too small, and you can’t quite meet his eyes as you say it - by all the hells, you’re pathetic. Don’t let him know, don’t let him see what this curse of a crush does to you. Weighed down, one hand that’s so, so heavy.

“Are you sure, dear?” Something dangerously close to worry crosses his face, just for a moment, but that can’t possibly be real. “Wouldn’t you rather decide for yourself?”

“It’s fine.” You shake your head and smile as best you can, already starting to step backwards towards the curtain where your ordinary clothes are. Anything, just to get yourself out of this for a second. “I’m sure you’re better at this than I am.”

He nods stiffly, eyes narrowed, and lets you go. You’re obviously not off the hook just yet, but there’s nothing he can say in front of everyone in here - gratefully, you take the reprieve and disappear back behind the curtain. It’s almost certainly your imagination, but you could swear you feel his eyes on you the whole way, burning through the back of your skull, setting your skin alight.

It’s only after about thirty seconds before you realise the problem at hand, and you can’t help but swear under your breath at the thought. This fucking outfit - you can’t even reach half of the buttons and laces that keep it on you, and this time there’s nobody back here to help you. Trying on your own will be pointless, seeing as you’ll probably just get yourself even more stuck, and if you go back out there now, you’ll have to face-

“Let me.”

Another lie. You should have known.

Quiet, slipping unnoticed behind you, cold hands searing through the layers of silk and velvet that separate you. Inch by inch, button by button. As always, he sees right through you.

“Careful,” you say, trying not to notice how hollow it sounds. “You and I, all alone. People might talk.”

He scoffs, and it’s something like lighthearted. “What would they say? Heavens forfend, I should spend a little time with the love of my life.”

Does he have to be so cruel about it? Stinging, smarting, lemon juice in the cut.

“I’m told that said time is normally meant to be spent fully clothed.” His fingers work their way deftly across your back, unbuttoning and unlacing all the pieces of your silken armour, and you fight to keep your voice steady. Whose idea was it to put you in this many damned layers again? “You’re a wicked man, my darling.”

“Oh, certainly,” he replies, and you don’t have to look to feel the careless shrug he gives. “Can you blame me? Between you and a second-rate sampler, I know which is the better view.”

“Depends how much you like embroidered flowers.”

“Not at all.”

“Then I commend your choice of entertainment.” The final button comes undone, and you gesture over your shoulder for him to step back outside. “That’s everything.”

He hums quietly in acquiescence, but he doesn’t leave. Instead, he just turns to face away. The rustle of fabric is loud in the sudden silence as you step out of your outfit, skin burning with the closeness of him - as you reach past him to the pile of your ordinary clothes, careful not to accidentally touch, you can feel the coolness of his body in the air. A shadow on the wall, drinking in the heat of you.

“It looked like you were having fun.”

It’s a normal thing for you to say, in a normal tone of voice. Easy, casual, teasing in the way a friend might be. Judging from the way he tenses, spine stiffening ever so slightly, you very nearly manage it.

“Did it?” he asks, and there’s something in his words that you can’t quite figure out. “From a distance, perhaps.”

“You know, I think she likes you,” you sing as you pull your shirt back over your head, poking him in the shoulder to disguise the fact that the note is slightly sharp. “How’s that for a scandal?”

“Hardly her fault.” He makes a show of preening himself in front of the invisible mirror, inspecting his nails and raking a practised hand through his hair - if your tongue didn’t taste so sour, you’d laugh. “An occupational hazard for a gentleman such as myself.”

See, if you weren’t already so stupidly infatuated with him, you’d keep pushing. If you were just a perfectly ordinary, entirely platonic companion, that’s what you’d do. So you say it, and you try your best to ignore the horrible churning feeling that settles in your stomach as you do.

“You ought to go back to her,” you muse, as lightly and sweetly as you can. “If you asked, I’m sure she’d make time for a private fitting.”

To be entirely honest, the innuendo isn’t your best work, but that’s not the problem here. It’s a perfectly ordinary comment for you to make, a normal sort of joke that he really should have been expecting. So then, why…?

Astarion freezes, unnaturally still, one hand still tangled in his curls as the words register. Maybe it’s magic, or maybe it’s just your blood running cold - either way, the temperature between you plummets until you could swear you see your breath turning to mist in the air, frozen solid with the chill.

“A pri- sorry, a what?”

It’s a good thing you’re mostly dressed by now - he turns back to face you with an almost comically incredulous expression, looking for all the world like you’ve just told him you’re thinking about asking Lae’zel for ballet lessons. “And why in all the hells would I want to do that?”

“Well, you know…” Your hand waves clumsily in place of words you can’t quite say - surely he knows what you mean. “I won’t stop you, if you want to stay and let her, um… ”

“What?”

It’s a thoroughly bizarre situation, watching the gears turning uselessly in his brain. Normally, you’ve barely had time to think of the innuendo before he’s already said it, and you were expecting this time to be no different. What’s changed? Isn’t that what he was after?

“Darling, you don’t - I didn’t-”

Wait. Oh, shit, don’t say it’s true. You’ve got this totally wrong, haven’t you? He must have genuinely liked her, must have wanted to speak to her - you know Astarion well enough to know that he won’t waste his precious time on somebody he doesn’t care for. That’ll have been why the girl was so close when you saw them speaking, and it’ll be why he’s so confused now. Shame blooms deep and bitter in your stomach as it finally dawns on you - gods be good, he must really think you’re an idiot now, accusing him of trying to solicit some torrid affair when he just wanted to have a chat with someone h-

“Um… excuse me?”

Both of your heads whip towards the voice coming from just outside the curtain - one hand instinctively flies to the still-undone front of your shirt, while the other darts out to cover the sudden flash of light in the corner of your eye. Astarion nearly jumps a foot in the air at your touch, uncharacteristically on edge, but he lets you push the half-drawn dagger back into the sheath at his hip regardless. As much as he might protest, whoever’s speaking probably doesn’t need to be greeted by several inches of sharpened steel.

“Yes?” he snaps, and you notice that he’s moved slightly to put himself between you and the curtain. “What is it?”

“The alterations, sir,” the voice replies. “We can’t start without the, um… without the actual garments.”

Right, yeah, that does make sense. Astarion looks at you as you swallow down the furious humiliation bubbling in your throat, but you can’t look back. Turning around, you’re just reaching for the pile of clothes on the floor when-

“Five days should be more than enough, yes?”

Fortunately, you have the presence of mind not to shout as the world blurs around you, cold hands shoving you gracelessly through the curtain and out into the room proper. Stumbling over your undone boots, you barely avoid tripping headfirst into the poor tailor’s assistant standing just outside.

“I, uh - well, we’ll do our best, sir, but-”

“Excellent.”

You can only watch as Astarion grabs the pile of clothes and dumps them into the woman’s arms along with a sizeable handful of gold, before practically lifting you off your feet and carrying you out of the shop entirely. The elvish girl from before looks up with wide eyes at the kerfuffle, but he swans past without even sparing her a glance.

“Right, then. I suppose we’ll be seeing you all soon, won’t we, sweetheart?”

He’s gone mad. Absolutely mad. It’s the only explanation you can think of, head spinning from the speed, dazed and dizzy as he coos the words down at you - there’s just enough time to catch the confused assistant’s eye and point to one of the nicer embroidery patterns on the forgotten sampler as he whisks you past it, before the door swings shut behind you and you’re back in the sun-bathed street outside.

(Numbly, you realise that you’re holding your bunch of flowers again, tucked loosely into the cradle of your arms, and that your bag is slung over Astarion’s shoulder along with his own. When did that happen?)

  Silence. Thorns, crawling up your throat, greedy stems clawing their way out of your soft, bloody mouth. Everything tastes like roses.

“Well, then.”

Your voice is remarkably calm, if you do say so yourself. Red sunlight, dancing on the wall every time you move your hand. It’s cold.

“Love, I-”

“Let’s just go.” He recoils slightly at the undertone of venom in your voice, cutting him off, but it doesn’t send more than a faint twinge of regret through you. The more you play this game, the worse it gets - you’ve already put your foot in it once, and you’d rather not do it again. “You don’t have to pretend when it’s just us. I won’t make you.”

Anger and embarrassment bubble in your chest, a sour cocktail that sears a hot flush all down your cheeks and your neck as you extricate yourself stiffly from his hold. It’s useless to try and hide it, but there’s something small and shameful inside that forces you to turn from him anyway, quick steps down the street.

Upset over nothing, you’re making a scene. You won’t cry, you won’t, but you could if you wanted to - clutching the flowers to your chest like they might stop him from being able to hear the rattle of your heart against your ribs, from knowing the heat of your blood as it soaks through your skin.

“You couldn't make me do anything.”

He's quiet, bitter words flung at your back. You slow down, but don't stop.

“Yeah.” Oh, if only he knew how much you wished you could. “I know.”

Sunlight bears down on you, no relief from the fierceness of its glare. Perhaps that's what this has always been about. Selfish from the start, always looking out for yourself, and just too afraid to admit it. This whole fiction you’ve created, that you’ve allowed yourself to indulge in. A puppet strangled in its own strings, a control freak in love.

He doesn't love you, and it burns that you can't make him - so here you are, playing house like a spoilt child, forcing him into the charade. Sweet hells. You really are pathetic.

Cool fingers, warmed by the sun, lock around your wrist.

“I always said you were a fool, you know.”

It’s so kind of Astarion, to really twist the knife like this. “Thanks.”

“No - no, not-” He cuts himself off with a frustrated groan, tugging you towards him and sighing when you still won’t look at him. “I didn’t mean-”

“It doesn’t matter, alright?” you snap. “It’s fine.”

“But it’s not fine, is it?” he retorts, louder than you think he meant to be. “It’s not fine, and it does matter, because I - I’ve-”

Stone shifts beneath your feet, lightheaded, vertigo. The tadpole.

I’ve hurt you.

He’s in your head, flat pressure against the bubble of your mind. Not pushing, just waiting. A quiet street in the middle of town.

Please. Let me show you.

You want to. Dear gods, you want to, but even now you know that out here, this won’t be good for either of you.

“Not here,” you say out loud, shaking your head. “Not like this.”

He looks a little affronted that you don’t reply in his mind, but acquiesces all the same. “Where, then?”

“Just…” A woman and her son turn down the street behind him, walking hand in hand towards you. They look well-off, to say the least, and you quickly thread your arm through Astarion’s like the lover you’re supposed to be. You can never be too careful. “Inside, at least.”

Not refusing, just postponing. Ever the gentleman, he gestures forwards with a little bow, eyes closed in mock-deference. “Lead on, dearheart.”

After a little bit of walking, inside turns out to be one of the taverns you’d passed on the way here - not the one you’re staying at, but one that might be acceptable for a couple of your supposed stature. It’s only the early afternoon, so thankfully there’s not too many people inside. Astarion goes off to get something to drink while you settle yourself at one of the tables, slightly out of the way and hopefully where nobody else will be able to overhear you.

He’s gone for a little while, coming back with a pitcher of wine and two cups. One for you, one for him, and you watch as he pours them both with a generous hand.

“Any good?”

He takes a tentative sip, pretty lips twisting into a telltale grimace. “Same as ever, I’m afraid.”

“That’s my love,” you sigh, light and airy as you take the offered cup. Contrary to what he’d have you believe, it’s actually fairly nice, much sweeter than you were expecting. “Always such a picky eater.”

“Oh, darling, we’ve been over this,” he moans, betrayed, gently kicking your shin under the table. “Not picky, dear. Particular.”

“Particularly difficult to please, you mean.”

“Difficult? Hardly.” That predator’s grin, sharp fangs in the low light. “I can think of a few ways you could please me, if you’re so inclined.”

You shrug, swallowing another mouthful of wine. “No accounting for taste, it seems.”

“There’s something I’d like to taste, certainly.”

“Somehow, I don’t think we’re talking about the same thing any more.”

He laughs as you roll your eyes, knocking his cup against yours in a poor mockery of a toast. “The story of my life, my sweet. The story of my life.”

The air between you feels a little warmer than it had before, sitting across from him like this, like it’s just another ordinary day. He looks a lot more relaxed than he had outside, and you suppose you must be the same. Dancing in and out of each other’s words, the familiar rhythm of your back-and-forth.

A bunch of roses, lying next to you on the windowsill. This is… nice.

Is this better?

Astarion’s voice is an echo in your head, ripples on the surface of the sea. You look around, but it’s fine. Nobody’s watching.

He reaches across the table, palm face up. Your hand slides into his so easily, fingers brushing over his wrist, the imagined pulse of an undead heart.

Go on, then.

Your mouth tastes like oranges.

Show me.

The world shimmers and swims around you, iridescent like a soap bubble, melting into something new. The chill of the early morning, weak sunlight not yet enough to warm the street that you find yourself remembering.

“Good morrow, sir. Can I help you?”

A haughty mask, concealing the nerves beneath.There’s nobody else in the shop, early as it is, and it’s an enormous relief - you get the strange feeling that if this strange new heart could race, it would.

“I have a rather… urgent request, I suppose.”

“Urgent, sir?” The man behind the counter looks intrigued, smoothing down the front of his apron, and looking altogether far too cheery for such an early hour and his only customer. “How so?”

Unbidden, the scene twists before your eyes in a blur of sunlight, the cold feeling of impatient anticipation swirling through you like ink in water. Vague impressions of the town rush past you, smoke and sound and life as the sun rises in the sky, before you’re suddenly stepping through exactly the same door as you were a minute ago.

“Ah, sir.” The same man as before, a little less neat than he was several hours ago, the sound of hammering metal louder than you’d like. “You’ve been well since last I saw you, I hope?”

Restless, nervous, fighting the urge to fidget like a child. “Yes, yes, quite. Do you have them?”

“Aye, sir. Just a moment, if you please.” The blacksmith in front of him walks over to the side, rummaging through a drawer full of little leather bags. “Oh, it was good of you to write it down for us - we make a lot of posy rings here, sir, but not so many in Espruar, you see.”

He finds the one he’s looking for, soft brown leather with a drawstring, and carefully empties its contents to be inspected. A familiar ruby ring, scarlet fire in the blacksmith’s palm, and a lightly-patterned gold band that you now realise you’ve already seen before, as the hand it adorned paid an unknowing flower seller for a dozen roses.

Both rings are engraved inside, and your borrowed brain supplies the words with no small degree of pleased satisfaction. Amorie ent vivas est ma vie, proclaims the ring that now sits on your finger, ubi amor ibi fides the one that Astarion kept for himself.

“All to your satisfaction, I hope?”

“Hmm?” Astarion’s mouth replies but you can feel that his mind’s far away, curled up warm and content in some possessive, instinctive corner of your shared skull. “Oh, yes… lovely stuff, certainly.”

Seemingly satisfied, the blacksmith tips the rings back into the little leather pouch, exchanging it for no small sum of gold from your own pocket. The rings are hidden away, safe in the depths of Astarion’s bag, and he’s quick to turn on his heel to leave.

“A good day to you, sir.”

From what brief glimpse you catch, the man looks a little taken aback at your hasty exit, but this body doesn’t really care. The sun outside is high overhead as you pull the door open, and you feel yourself waving your hand vaguely over your shoulder. Whatever. There are far more important things to think about.

“Yes, yes. And to you.”

After all, you’ve got a date to keep.

“You see?”

As quickly as it came, the scene disappears around you - blinking, you’re once again sitting opposite Astarion, gentle pressure as his thumb rubs slowly back and forth across the backs of your fingers. “I wouldn’t just be late for no reason, dear.”

You can’t really tell how you feel, to be honest - strangely vulnerable, but pleasantly comforted all the same. Knowing he’d gone to all that trouble, for something that you’d thought was just a stolen trinket…

“Elvish?” you ask, eyebrows raised, relishing the way his head dips just slightly to the right like he wants to hide his face but knows he can’t. “You’re getting awfully sentimental in your old age, you know.”

“I - you!” If he could blush properly, would he? As it is, you can just about catch the faint flush of blood - your blood, taken last night up in his bed, while everyone else was still downstairs in the tavern proper - spreading high across his cheek. “Mouthy little thing, aren’t you?”

You shrug, hand slipping out of his to exaggeratedly inspect your nails, not even trying to hide your grin. He really does set you up perfectly sometimes. “Never had any complaints.”

He laughs, low and surprisingly sweet, and reaches absentmindedly for another mouthful of wine. “Don’t sound so sure, sweetheart. I’m sure I’ll get a noise complaint or two out of you yet.”

Bold words for a man who’s barely even seen your bed, let alone set foot in it. “Well, when you learn how, let me know.”

“Darling. Chance would be a fine thing.”

He takes a sip and apparently remembers how bad the wine was the first time - his expression sours, and you very kindly don’t point out that it looks a lot like the face Lae’zel gave him when she caught him absentmindedly licking blood off a dagger she’d grudgingly lent him after a particularly nasty fight a few weeks ago.

(Astarion assured you at length that it had been a very long day and he’d only been having a snack, and really wasn’t it an honour, a real compliment, that he thought her blade to be so immaculately kept that he’d even want to lick it?)

(Shadowheart had not been pleased. Astarion’s not allowed to borrow things from Lae’zel any more.)

While he’s busy making various disapproving - you won’t say endearing, you won’t - little noises about his curse of a drink, you slide the ring off your finger and hold it up in front of your face. It’s warm from the heat of your hand.

Turning it this way and that, idly admiring the way the light plays off the shiny metal, the flaming flicker of the ruby. Hells, it really is beautiful.

Gold band, red stone. Amorie ent vivas est ma vie.

“‘To live in love is my life.’”

He’s watching you, slowly swirling the wine in his cup with one elegant hand. The words are even prettier on his silver tongue, ringing metal like a bell.

“I thought…”

Distantly, a floorboard creaks. Dust, floating in the afternoon sunlight.

“I thought it made sense.”

Carefully, he twists the ring off his own finger, and presses it into your palm. A simple pattern of vines and leaves, curling around the band. Ubi amor ibi fides.

“You should’ve let me pay.”

He frowns. “What?”

“You paid,” you say. “For this. Those flowers. My clothes. You didn’t have to.”

“Really?” It’s almost shameful how your heart stutters when he meets your gaze, even if it’s only so he can roll his eyes at you with a dismissive smile. “Come now, dear. I have to spend my ill-gotten gains on something, don’t I?”

“There are far better things to sp-”

“No.”

His hand comes up to grasp your wrist, tugging it towards him until he can press your fingers to the side of his throat. His ring is heavy in your other hand, knocking against the one already on your finger, clicking against the inside of the band.

“No, there’s not. And if there were, you wouldn’t get to tell me what they are.”

If he’s going to be stubborn about it, so be it. “Clothes that you’re not going to wear are the best things you can think of to waste money on?”

“Do you think about me not wearing clothes that often, darling?” It’s your turn to roll your eyes this time, definitely ignoring the way you can feel the vibrations of his voice through the skin, the purr in his voice as it dips low and tempting. “Naughty.”

“I’m just saying that you don’t need to throw money away by - mmf!”

Astarion mutters something under his breath you don’t catch, before there’s the sudden rush of air past your face and a blunt strip of pressure against your stomach, pulled forwards until you’re half out of your chair. It takes your brain a second to figure out why your words aren’t coming out any more - there’s something in the way - he’s so close - oh, he’s kissing you-

Fingers going slack, a quiet thud as his ring hits the table. Neither of you hear it.

Without even thinking about it, you’re already melting against him, hand sliding up from his neck to tangle softly in his hair as the other braces your body against the table. Ah, that’s what that pressure is - the edge of the table is digging into your middle where you’re leaning forward over it, but you don’t really care. You’re far more focused on the sharpness of his fangs as they dig into your bottom lip, the insistent grasp of his hand as he cups your jaw, the faint sweetness of wine that still sits on his tongue.

“Shut up, shut up,” he mumbles into your mouth, “I don’t care about the damn money, you heinous little ingrate, I - mmm, I just want you to stop being so - so-”

The rest of his words are lost in a frustrated hiss that absolutely shouldn’t be as hot as it is, and you wince as the tadpole behind your eye squirms sickeningly when he breaks the kiss. His right hand is still holding your wrist, warm with your body heat, and he groans as he slumps back into his chair and bows his head, pressing the back of your hand to his face. Something reverent, something sacred, saint and devotee.

Just let me be good enough, he thinks, words floating in the dark water of your mind. Tell me I’m good enough for you.

Your jaw tightens. Why does he have to be so vicious with it? That’s not the problem.

Then what is?

He can’t see it, but even so, you’re not going to cry. How could this be what you want? I can’t - I’m - Astarion, you deserve m-

Gods, how stupid can you be? he spits, freezing venom splattering your skin. I know, alright? I know! I deserve more, I deserve better, all these fucking things you won’t stop telling me - has it ever crossed your empty little mind that I might want to actually have the things I apparently deserve?

If he was looking at you, you’re sure it would be with a scowl. I deserve love, or so I’m told. Yes?

Of course.

Then let me have it, dammit!

He takes a deep breath that you feel more than hear, a thin veneer of calm stretched over the words he wants to say. Darling. Dearest. Sweetness. I am in love with you.

Well, that’s… that’s, um…

Hm. You don’t really know what it is.

A strange shiver races through you, giddy with nerves and bitter excitement. He can’t mean it, can he? This can’t possibly end the way you want it to, he can’t possibly be saying - saying that, of all things.

…Right.

Try not to sound so pleased about it, dear, he mutters. I’m only pouring my heart out for you here.

Well - well, yes, but-

He finally looks up at that, interrupting the stammering jumble of words falling out of your sort-of-mouth, handsome features slightly soured with annoyance. But what, exactly?

You don’t…

Pinned in place by his stare, all you can do is faintly shake your head. You don’t have to lie because you think it’s going to make me feel better. It’s not your fault, alright? It’s not.

You’re desperately fighting the urge to flinch. He deserves to know, but it’s a painful admission all the same. I said before, you don’t have to pretend. You’re not a - a prop, or a toy, or anything like that - and I shouldn’t have made you do all of… All of this. I was just being selfish.

Thin, sharp words, papercuts all the way up the inside of your throat. It’s for the best.

Selfish? Astarion laughs harshly, somewhere between outraged and hysterical. Are you serious?

I mean, I - I just…

He’s gone mad. Absolutely mad. All you can do is watch in confusion as he smiles, sweet at first before it turns manic, dissolving into some sort of - well, the only words that come to mind are giggle fit, which sounds much cuter than he’d probably like, but it’s true. Even the damned tadpoles give up, connection splintering and falling away as he loses concentration and falls back into his chair - anyone looking would think you’d got him with Tasha’s Hideous Laughter or something, it’s that bad.

“I’m in love with an idiot,” he manages to choke out, “an actual, bona fide idiot!”

Such a charmer, your Astarion. “Wow. Thanks.”

“Any time, darling,” he laughs, one hand on his stomach and wincing slightly as he sits up - belatedly, you realise you should probably sit down again before people start to stare. “I’m here all week.”

His little fit of laughter seems to be a little more under control - you can’t help but melt at the pretty smile that still lights up his face, even though you’re still not quite sure what was so funny. “My love, my love - traveller of the realms, slayer of monsters, and proud owner of the thickest skull south of the Spine. Gods, it must be safe as houses in there - that tadpole of yours is really very lucky, dear.”

“A rogue and a comedian,” you reply dryly. “Don’t quit your day job, I’d say.”

“Hate to break it to you, but you are my day job, darling,” he says, nonchalantly picking up his cup again - he doesn’t drink anything, though, and you’re starting to think it’s just because he doesn’t know what to do with his hands.“In case you’ve forgotten, I do have a rather vested interest in keeping you alive long enough to get rid of our…”

Apparently, he’s decided now is the time for him to start being subtle about your collective situation. He waves his hand awkwardly towards his head with his cup, wine sloshing loudly but - thankfully for his doublet - not spilling. “Of certain mutual friends we seem to have acquired lately.”

Well, you’ll play along if it makes him happy. “See, it all comes out in the end,” you sigh, wiping away an imaginary tear. “Marrying me for my famed tadpole-killing expertise. What a fairy tale, hm?”

He doesn’t respond. Instead, he picks up his ring from where you’d accidentally dropped it on the table, and slips it back onto his finger where it was before.

“Yes. Yes, I…”

Astarion trails off, eyes slightly unfocused, and you get the feeling he’s trying to find the words for something.

“That’s what it was.”

The floor tilts beneath you, a wriggling pulse behind your eye.

“That’s why I did this.”

He meets your eyes. A silent question, or maybe an offering. No laughter - something small and vulnerable in its wake that you can’t quite name, raw and aching, hollow bones like a bird.

You nod. A whirling blur of colour, and all at once the world is a tailor’s shop a few streets away, awfully cramped and thoroughly too noisy.

“Let’s get you inside, darling. We can’t have you catching a cold out here.”

This whole your-mind-his-body thing really is incredible - you can feel the smile spreading across his face as he holds the door open for past-you, even though you obviously can’t see it from here. Unfamiliar muscles forming a familiar expression. It’s weird.

A flurry of questions that you’re not really paying attention to, your new eyes lingering on the shape of your real body as it disappears behind a drab-looking curtain on the other side of the room. Astarion’s hands, fishing a doublet out of his (your?) bag and handing it off to some wretched assistant or other, but not before making it very clear that it is to be embroidered in gold, not silver, to match with his betrothed.

The boy he’s given it to scurries off with a nod, and something flickers deep inside - instinctively, you try to look down, but the memory of Astarion’s body doesn’t let you. Oh, it felt good when he said that. Something lighting up in your chest, fluttering and fizzing, a still heart that dreams of beating.

“What can we help you with today, sir?”

You’re still not entirely au fait with this whole mixed-consciousness thing, but it’s gradually getting easier to let Astarion’s mind talk over yours, relaxing into the gaps to watch the memories like you would a play. Well, it’s sort of like a play. It’s more like an opera, really, or you might say a pantomime if you were feeling especially mean - he’s as theatrical in his head as he is out loud, and it’s absolutely fascinating to realise that this really is how he sees the world.

Some woman or other comes over and starts chatting away, steering him over to a chair on the other side of the room, a little closer to the riser. She offers him a drink, but you see him wave it away - it’ll hardly do to be distracted when there’s time to be spent with you. There’s so little time to be alone nowadays, what with everyone else always clamouring for your precious attention. He’s not about to spoil such a golden chance by filling his head with wool.

(The sentiment is unexpectedly sweet, and inside his head where nobody can see, you can't help but smile like a fool at the thought. He likes spending time with you, he wants to spend time with you. With you!)

He can still hear you changing, cloth rustling behind the curtain, so he gradually tunes back into - gods below, is this blasted woman ever going to stop for breath? She’s still twittering on about… well, he’s not been paying attention, so he doesn’t actually know, but it’s probably not that important.

“Just alterations, sir? Or embellishment as well?

Right, right she’s asking about what he wants them to do. Fine, fair enough. “Family legacies, sent by a rather poorly-informed relative, I’m told. See to it that it’s appropriate for evening, and that it matches mine.”

“Certainly, sir. We’ll do our best for you and your… friend - um, companion? Companion.”

Seriously? The nerve. Friend. Well, perhaps it’s a little rude for her to be presuming anything, but he can let it slide just this once.

“Betrothed, actually,” he says, casually running his left hand through his hair and enjoying the satisfied pride that fills him as her eyes focus on the ring on his finger. “Something of a recent development, but certainly not an unhappy one.”

“Ah, is that so?” she says with a smile, much more genuine than before. “I’m sure there’s quite the story there.”

He shrugs, and you can feel how much effort it takes to make it look like he doesn’t care. “Well, it’s not for a lack of trying, I assure you.”

“Oh, my brother was just the same,” the woman replies, like she’s known him for years. “I couldn’t tell you how many times he asked his wife to marry him before she said yes - you know, I told him she’s far too good for him, didn’t I?”

She shakes her head, sighing fondly, and your borrowed heart twinges at the thought of this woman, this glimpse of an ordinary family with ordinary troubles. “But he wouldn’t give up, oh no, I’ll marry that girl yet, Ros, just you wait and see, and now they’ve been married for - ooh, must be going on eight years? Nine? Happy as a clam, he keeps her, and there’s not a man this side of the Spine who loves his wife more.”

“I commend his fortitude.” Astarion tips his imaginary cap to the woman, and it’s so stupidly charming that you could just scream. Bless this ridiculous elf you’ve had the fortune to fall in love with. “I shall have to live up to his example, clearly.”

“Well, obviously your circumstances are a little different, sir, but I should very much hope so,” she says. Her mouth opens, like she’s just thought of something she wants to say, but-

“-haah!”

Astarion’s head snaps towards the curtain where your voice came from, room blurring with the speed, half-out of his chair in an instant. What’s wrong? Who’s hurt you?

“Darling, are you quite alright in there?”

The curtain that hides you swishes as a hitherto-unnoticed assistant pulls it aside, revealing you in all your stolen finery, and the woman - has he actually asked her name yet? Did she say it? - turns to usher you over. “My congratulations to the two of you. I’m sure you’ll be very happy together.”

“Yes, I…” Astarion trails off, and something in his voice feels like candle smoke, trailing up into the sky. Wistful. “Thank you. I rather think we will.”

(It’s incredibly sweet that he was so committed to the role, even when you weren’t there. Isn’t he a gem?)

She leads you across the floor, and… oh dear. It really doesn’t fit, does it? Well, that’s what you’ve come here to fix, after all.

It’s an eclectic mix, to be sure, but he supposes that’s what you get when you’re just stealing for fun, rather than to order. You’re all stiff and awkward when you walk like the underpieces are all slightly too small, and the rest of it is all oddly proportioned, sleeves heavy but cut too short, laces pulling tight in some places and hanging slack in others.

As dire a situation as it might seem, with a fair amount of elbow grease, he’s sure it’ll turn out wonderfully. The colour is lovely against your skin, and the embroidery is rich and detailed, gold thread twisting and curling around your body, over your shoulders, your chest, your waist…

Dear gods, he wants to know what it feels like. Raised stitches under his fingers, trailing across your body, pressing delicately until he can feel the soft give of your skin beneath the treacherous cloth that separates you. Would it be warm with the heat of you? Would you want him to know?

That’s my darling.

The sinful, stolen thought blossoms in his mind like sweet honeysuckle, out of control, filling his mind with that heady, giddy scent. Look at you, little love - aren’t you a picture, dearest? Mine, all mine.

His teeth ache, biting back the words as they threaten to tumble right out of his mouth. I want you, let me want you, I want to want you. Just right, just right. Pushing himself out of his chair for something to do, palms itching with the loss of you, restless energy thrumming in his bones. I want this to be real. So beautiful, let me hold you, soft and lovely. Spoil you, spoil you, sweets for my sweet. Honey, honey, honey…

(Sorry, wait - that’s what he was thinking?)

(You - you don’t…)

It’s a wonder he’s able to string words together as he watches you, admiring every angle as you turn, the bubbly taste of gleeful shame as he spots the places where everything’s just slightly too tight, revealing just a little bit more of you than it should. Is that wrong? Because if it is, he doesn’t care. He’s far too busy enjoying the way your eyes seem to glitter in the golden light from the window, the way he can see your chest rise and fall with every breath, slightly shallower than normal as you fight not to rip any of the ageing side seams.

The staff in here are mercifully receptive to his suggestions, clearly appreciative of his discerning eye and tasteful sensibilities. One of the stupider ones tries to say something about replacing the neckline with some hideous striped monstrosity, and he takes a grim sort of pleasure in thoroughly rejecting that particular brainwave - same with the one who seems to be advocating for a sort of avant-garde asymmetrical sleeve thing, that looks less like a fashion statement and more like it’s already been chewed by that little owlbear. Twice. Honestly, it looks ghastly.

He’s just about to say the thing about the owlbear out loud - the others won’t get it, but it’ll make you laugh, so it’s worth it, really - when there’s this… this voice.

“Oh, sir. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

No. No, no, no. He knows that tone.

The laughter falls from his lips as his gaze flicks to the left, to be met with some waifish elven girl standing altogether far too close for comfort. She smiles when his eyes meet hers, in a way that’s just slightly too pleased to look as demure as she thinks it does. “I don’t believe we’ve met…”

“Quite.”

He’s terse, tension locking him in place and filling his voice. The girl’s hand comes up to just barely brush against his elbow, so lightly that he doesn’t even really feel it - but even that is enough to make him jolt, instinctively jerking away and one hand drifting towards the comforting weight of the dagger at his hip.

“Would you come with me a moment, sir?” she asks, undeterred, delicate fingers twisting in her hair and swishing it back over her shoulder - obviously, almost embarrassingly coy. “My workbench is just over here, but there are more rooms this way if you’d rather talk in private.”

Ugh. She’s not even subtle about it - he doesn’t need any sort of elevated senses to be painfully aware of what she wants. Her heart’s fast, eyes bright, breathing a little too hard. It’s almost comical. He’s been faking the exact same thing for longer than she’s been alive.

“And what, exactly,” he spits, “could I possibly have to say to you?”

She laughs - laughs! Normally, the vitriol dripping from his voice can clear a room in seconds, especially combined with the crimson glare that he’s currently levelling at her. Apparently, though, this idiot girl is an exception to the rule.

“Your doublet, sir? I’m an embroiderer, sir, and…”

If she fiddles with that ridiculous hair any more, he’ll cut it clean off and take her fingers with it - does she not see the way he’s desperately trying to keep his hand away from his dagger? “Well, I’d hate to disappoint you, and you seem like the sort of gentleman who’s very knowledgeable about all sorts of things…”

So she’s stupid as well as vain. Dear gods, darling, pick a battle.

“Do I look like I want to talk about embroidery?” He resolutely turns his back and tries to focus back on you, still as lovely as ever up on your little perch. “Do excuse me. My betrothed requires my attention.

“Oh, no need to trouble anyone else, sir.”

Forget the hair. If she makes that infuriating giggling noise again, she’ll be lucky to leave this room with a head.

“I’m sure we can find something to talk about…”

Her hand comes to lay lightly at his elbow again, and that’s it. That’s it. You’re going to have to apologise to that woman from earlier for him, because he’s about to stab this pathetic little worm right in front of everyone, and he’s not even going to feel the tiniest bit bad about it.

She lights up as he turns to face her properly, beckoning her a little closer with a single finger. It soon turns to horror as she sees the predator’s grin that splits his face, the façade of politeness cracking like a duck egg, fangs unashamedly on display.

“Shall I tell you a secret, little elfling?”

(You’ve always known that Astarion’s attitude to murder is a little unconventional, but murdering someone for the crime of threatening a relationship that isn’t even real? His head spins with the euphoria of the kill-to-be, and you’re dizzy with how much he wants it. Is it bad, that he likes the taste of her fear? Is it worse, that you like it too?)

The girl freezes on the spot as he leans in, something sharp and brittle in the way she trembles but can’t force her feet to move. Shivering, shuddering, perfect glass splintering like ice. A prey animal. This is going to be fun.

“There’s a funny thing that always seems to happen, to people who try to get in between my darling and I.”

“It - sir, I - I didn't-”

He laughs over her, dark and wicked, already salivating at the thought of what’s to come. Ooh, you could just kiss him.

“Don’t worry, little madam, I’ll give you a clue. It starts with please, sir, I’m sorry, and it rhymes with I don’t want to d-”

“Darling!”

It’s you - sharply, he pivots on his heel to face you, hurriedly smoothing his expression back into a slightly more pleasant, we are in public, Astarion, stop looking so bloody murderous all the time smile. The swarm of people around you has dissipated some, and it’s nice to finally have an unobstructed view of you. “Won’t you come and help me choose?”

“Choose what, my love?” Bless you, bless you for the excuse to abandon this grasping little wretch. He fixes the terrified creature next to him with one last self-satisfied smirk for good measure, enjoying the way she gasps and trips over her own feet as she stumbles away, before letting the magnet in his chest pull itself gleefully back to you. “Are you finished already?”

Some hapless assistant comes drifting by, clearly not noticing him, and holds out a hand to help you down off the stand. Well, that certainly won’t do - does nobody in this accursed place know that he’s engaged to you? Because he’d thought he’d made it really rather obvious. The ruby on your finger glitters in the light, and he thinks about the words he knows are pressed against your skin, a secret promise.

Amorie ent vivas est ma vie. It’s only right, it’s only fair. How could anyone ever look at you and not know that you were made to be loved? You were made to be doted on, kissed and held and adored like the precious thing you are - spoilt absolutely rotten, thoroughly and entirely, toothache and cavities.

You deserve love, so much more than he could ever give you, but by all the hells, does he want to try. This stolen, golden day isn’t nearly enough.

Perhaps he’s tipped his hand a little too far this time, but it’s true, it’s true. Ubi amor ibi fides, where there is love there is faith. Two hundred years of blood, cracked open on the altar, a broken heart that can’t afford to cry. He’s been abandoned by gods before. A faithful sunflower, ever turning to face you, held blissfully captive in your gravity. All that love that lights your path, that fills your world - would you let it be his, poor and pitiful as it is? Divinity. The crackle of a campfire, truth is faith is you.

Why, then…?

Don’t you notice it when he reaches out to you, palm upturned to help you down beside him? Weren’t you expecting him? Surely, surely he’s not done such a poor job as your fiancé that you didn’t think he’d want to hold your hand, that you’d choose some random shop girl over him.

I thought - I just-

Silently, he watches on as you step down from the riser, the phantom warmth of your hand in his. Does it matter? Of course not, of course not - how could you know that it even matters to him at all? You probably just don’t want to trouble him, or maybe you really didn’t see. It’s his own fault, after all, for trying to find meaning in the very charade he’s brought upon himself.

But I’m here, his traitor’s heart whispers, confused. Won’t you let me help you? What did I do?

So caught up in his own puzzled musings, he barely even notices it when the assistant mumbles something and runs off. The too-loud beat of your heart, the too-quiet sound of your breath, echoing through his skull.

“The - um, the embroidery. You can pick.”

Shit, shit, what’s wrong? You won’t even look at him now, eyes fixed somewhere over his shoulder, and you sound all - all sad…

“Are you sure, dear?” He won’t push it, not out here in front of everyone - no matter how much his empty arms ache to hold you, press his mouth to your temple, smooth away the tiny, worried creases in your skin with his thumb. “Wouldn’t you rather decide for yourself?”

“It’s fine.”

It’s worse than he thought. Before he can even do anything, you’re already backing away from him - inch by inch, step by step, like he won’t notice if you move slowly enough. You’re scared. “I’m sure you’re better at this than I am.”

You’re afraid - no scent of your blood in the air, no lingering taste of magic, but he’d know your fear anywhere. Fingers trembling ever so slightly, eyes forgetting to blink, pulse beating against your skin like a drum. Did someone hurt you? Say something to you? Fuck, he must have missed something. Who was it? Who was it? Tell him, and he’ll have them turned inside out before you can s-

The thought hits him like an arrow, cold shock spreading through his chest before it turns to horrified pain. He dismisses you with a nod that surely must look as wooden as it feels, unable to take his eyes off you as you scuttle away behind that damned curtain - but in his head he’s still half a mile away, replaying the last ten minutes in his head over and over in search of the thing he must have done wrong. One hand unconsciously comes up to his chest, just to make sure that the crater in his ribs hasn’t bled all over his front.

Broken heart, punctured lung. Are you afraid of him?

A low, stifled curse from the other side of the room brings him back with a jolt, and without really realising it, he’s already ducking through the curtain. Fingernails catching on velvet, still air, floorboard that creak underfoot. Something about forgiveness or permission, or one of those other things he never remembers to ask for.

“Let me.”

Quick fingers skimming across your back, undoing buttons, untying laces. Flashes of a thousand others in your place, pushed haphazardly to the back of his mind, gritting his teeth to stay, stay, stay. Seams tearing, lace ripping, buttons scattering across the floor - but that’s not right, he’s here with you, and you - and you-

“Careful.”

A quiet sort of affection, creeping up on him, the gentle blade that slots between his ribs and begs to stay buried there. Greedy, guilty hands, craving to ruin you, only knowing how to destroy. Protective, possessive, cursed for sure. Dread. Satisfaction, thick, dark blood smeared across his face, the carnage of his feast painted down your neck. The softness of your body, curved against his chest - desire, rich and syrupy, honey-sweet and terrifying in its sincerity.

“You and I, all alone. People might talk.”

I wish they would, whispers something in his head. I wish they knew - and I wish you knew too.

You feel your shared mouth open, but he doesn’t let you stay any longer - before past-him can reply, the scene dissolves into mist and falls away, leaving only Astarion looking back at you across the table.

“Clear enough for you, darling?”

The words crackle against your senses slightly, electric. You nod, left in something of a daze.

“Quite.”

You don’t say anything else, for a little while.

(Absentmindedly, you take a sip of your wine. It’s still not great, but it’s better than nothing.)

He’s on edge, fidgeting slightly in his seat, but it barely registers - your head is swirling with everything you’ve seen, everything he’s shown you. So he - so he had wanted this? It hadn’t been… everything he’d said…

It doesn’t make sense. How could he be so stupid?

You’re not good to love - you’re not good at love. Someone so precious, something so treasured. What could you possibly give him that he couldn’t find elsewhere? What do you have that he hasn’t seen a thousand times over?

You don’t know how to help him, or even where you could start. He ought to have someone he can trust with all those deepest, darkest parts of him, who understands him the way he doesn’t even know he needs, who knows just what to say, just when to listen. Someone confident and funny and kind, someone with the sort of love that’s warm and all-encompassing - a sunny summer’s day, a lighthouse in the storm. Sturdy, dependable, honourable. Safe. He deserves safe.

Instead, all you’ve got is a silly, reckless crush, a clumsy, gangly, unpracticed thing that you barely even know what to do with. Can you even call it love? Would he recognise it, if he saw it? Some trembling, pathetic infatuation, the best your body can do, thin and liquid in the marrow of your bones. Not blood, just water, filling but not full. Nothing that would satisfy him.

It’s not fair, it’s not fair. He’s lovely and he’s wicked and he’s clever, he’s cruel and he’s sweet and he’s made for so much more than you.

“I, um…”

He’ll thank you later. Not out loud, obviously - this is Astarion you’re talking about, after all - but he’ll know this is all for the best.

“Well, I’m very flattered, but…” Carefully, you arrange your face into what hopefully looks like sympathy, rather than pity. He’s clearly not in his right mind - he needs to think this is you offering to fix this together, rather than you letting him down gently. “Maybe this isn’t th-”

“Oh, for the love of - for once in your life, will you take the fucking hint?”

Reeling, your jaw drops as he practically shouts the words at you, hands slamming down onto the table with a thud.

“I didn’t even-!”

“No! No, you didn’t!” The tadpole in your head writhes as his mind opens to you once again, white-hot and shaking with rage. Does he even know he’s doing it? “Because you gave me that big, sad, I’m-so-sorry-I’m-so-useless look as you opened your silly little mouth, and I knew exactly what you were going to say!”

Snarling, biting, this must be what it’s like to be hunted by him. “So here’s what’s going to happen, darling - I am going to tell you what’s going on here, and you are going to sit there and listen, yes?”

Snap, snap, snap - he clicks his fingers insistently in front of your face when you don’t reply. “Yes?”

“Yes, mother,” you grumble, thoroughly chastised. “Listening.”

He narrows his eyes at the name, but lets it slide. Apparently, he’s got bigger fish to fry here.

“I am not a child.”

A thousand sarcastic replies flit through your head, most of them involving some variant of you’re right, a child wouldn’t be such a messy eater, but the murderous look he gives you as you open your mouth tells you that now might not be the time.

“I don’t need you to choose things for me. I don’t need you to tell me what to do,” he spits, fingernails biting into the wooden surface of the table. “I have had enough, of other people giving me orders, deciding things for me - do you hear me?”

His voice, low and bitterly cold. “You don’t get to be my master.”

There’s nothing you can really say to that, so you just nod, feeling slightly sick. Where’s he going with this - gods, what have you done?

“Oh? So you do understand!” he cries, throwing his hands up in the air in apparent frustration. “So it’s finally dawned on you, has it? You’re finally going to let me do what I want, is that it?”

“Yes,” you choke out, voice thin and cracking. “I - yes.”

“So if I told you I wanted to - to write a book about the uselessness of lockpicking, or let Gale turn me into a frog, or dye my hair purple, or something, you’d believe me? No matter how out of character you thought it was? You’d let me do it, even if you thought I’d lost my mind?”

There’s not even space to get a word in edgeways - he’s really, properly ranting now. “Or if I said I wanted to, um - oh, I don’t know, rob a bank, or run for mayor, or go into business writing terrible Sylvan love poetry - you’d believe me, yes? You’d say to yourself, oh, that Astarion, he’s big enough and bad enough to know what he wants, wouldn’t you?”

Another nod, a little bit more confused this time. Faerie love poetry? “I would.”

“Oh? Is that so? My, you sound awfully confident.” He feigns shock, one hand splayed mockingly across his chest. Sarcastic, almost jeering, a theatrical gasp.

“I must be so lucky, hm? To have someone who knows me so well, who trusts me to do whatever I want? Respecting me, caring about me, telling me that what I think matters?”

Something moving very fast - wine spilled all over the table with a clatter, a curse, a crescendo. “Well, then, dearheart - why can’t you seem to keep it in your ridiculous little head that I am in love with you?”

A beat.

“And before you say it - no, it’s not a joke, or whatever fool excuse you’re busy coming up with,” he snaps, pointing an accusing finger at you like it’ll keep the words from forming in your head. “I’m cruel, dear, but not that cruel.”

Sighing, he flicks his hand and the dripping, crimson wine stain soaking his sleeve disappears.

“Do close your mouth, sweetling,” he murmurs, reaching slowly across the table, pausing just before he can touch your face. “What did I tell you, hmm?”

“About my open mouth?”

Your voice is weak and the joke’s not your best, but you lean forward, letting him graze his fingers lightly across your jaw. “Not to make promises I can’t keep.”

“Gods. I really have taught you well.”

Words spill unbidden into your mind like oil, writhing in what might be fury or terror. Crawling into the strange, empty space that lies between you, dark and filled with agony, out of your body and inside your head.

Know me, see me - what a joke, that I should want to be seen at last, and by you, of all people. Are you there? Are you listening?

A thousand tiny moments, rushing past you in the current of his madness. You couldn’t make me do it, can’t you see? You couldn’t force me to love you - I have no need of force, not for you! It’s no pretence, it’s no game.

You couldn’t make me, but I did it anyway because it’s real, it’s all been real - why can’t you believe me? Do you think me so spiteful, so cruel, that I would do that to you?

Walls collapsing, worlds colliding. Where you go, he follows - always a step too slow, reaching out a second too late to find your hand already gone.

The words you think I wish to say, the pity and the scorn and the endless mockery that you imagine fills my head when I look at you. Is that what you want? Am I to be nothing but a hapless instrument of your own self-hatred, your own monstrous thoughts spilling from my lips, poisoning you with every word, every kiss?

My love, he wails, my love, my love. You’re so cruel to me.

Is this still only in your mind? The air is thick and close, seeping heavy into your skin. You make me sound so hateful, full of spite and loathing, bent on your destruction. Do you think me incapable of love - of loving you?

Tell me, savage darling of mine - tell this vicious, twisted creature that you say you see before you. Why can’t you believe that I could ever be in love with you?

Ragged, fevered fingernails tearing at the brickwork, half-mad with wanting. Ageing silk, soft and fragile as it frays. A whimper that might be a screech that might be a howl.

Why did I have to be a monster? he sobs, voice splintering and cracking - a phantom hand, all claws, desperately searching for your ankle. Couldn’t I have just been a man? Couldn’t I have just been in love with you for my own sake, because I care for you more than anyone I’ve ever known?

Please, my darling, I beg. Don’t make me this way.

You…

You don’t know what to say. Formless, faceless in this imagined space between - how would you speak, even if you tried? What words could reach his heart, could soothe this pain?

Whatever you say next, it can’t be a lie. Not again. He’ll know.

Paralysed with fear, but why? You like him. You want him, want to love him - and here he is, telling you that he feels the same. What’s the problem, then?

I’m scared.

The edge of the cliff, crumbling away beneath your boots. You know how to want love, but you don’t know how to do it - what does that even mean, for people like you two? How does it even work?

You don’t know what you don’t know, and it’s terrifying. Foolish and inexperienced - won’t he be ashamed of your clumsiness? He always seems so… so capable, so much bolder than you are. Confident, if a little too arrogant, and a healthy dose of vanity on top of that - ever unshaken, ever above it all. And yet, even in the moments when the act stretches too thin, when you can see it for the charade it is, it doesn’t matter. Astarion’s still miles beyond you, braver than you could imagine being.

He always seems to have an answer, he always seems to know. You’re embarrassed that you can’t match him.

I won’t - I can’t-

But that’s not all, is it?

He’s so precious to you. He matters, more than he thinks and more than you’ll admit, and he’s in pain. You don’t want him to be in pain. But you’re afraid that your love, weak and unpracticed as it is, won’t be enough to stop it.

Is it because you don’t want to see him hurt, or because you don’t trust yourself not to hurt him? He should want more, he shouldn’t settle for you. Selfish, lazy you, wanting but never deserving, complaining but never really trying. All these ugly, shameful parts of you that he must not know, or else he never would have said any of this.

Surely, he can’t know. Nobody could know all these things about you, and still pretend to love you the way he does.

And yet…

He says he doesn’t suffer fools, and you’ve seen him threaten to stab enough of them that you know it’s true. He says he doesn’t waste his time on things he doesn’t care about, that he doesn’t bother with anything he doesn’t like, and yeah, those also seem to be threatened with stabbing on an alarmingly-regular basis. So maybe it’s more about the propensity for knives than any particular economy of affection, but even so - you still believe him, don’t you?

He’s a liar. It’s the one thing he’ll always tell the truth about. But now, knowing what you know, you’re starting to think that’s not quite right either.

It all comes back to fear. Scared that it’s not true, that he’ll change his mind, that he was lying the whole time. Scared that you’ll be hurt, that you’ll hurt him, that he really is as cruel as he thinks he is. Can you do it? Trust him when he says you’re enough for him, that you’re what he wants? Trust him, when he says he means it?

It’s too much.

Your messy, sticky heart. A breathless, fluttering creature, laden with roses and sick with love.

I don’t want to get it wrong.

A cool hand cups your cheek, and the world comes back to you.

Stinging, your eyes open - weren’t they already open? - to find Astarion close, much closer than he was before. While you weren’t looking, he must have moved, but how on earth did he…?

“Steady on, darling. My eyes are up here.”

However he did it, Astarion looks down at you from where he’s perched in your lap, sitting sideways across your legs with one arm around your shoulders to keep himself balanced. Slowly, he coaxes your face up from the floor to look at him, fingers pressing into the softness of your cheek.

“Ah, that’s better. There you are.”

He doesn’t look angry, as you’d feared. Maybe pleased is the right word? No, that sounds too much like self-satisfied - not reverent, that’s too grand, and not proud either. It’s something softer than just happy, something contented and uncharacteristically tender. Charmed, perhaps.

Slightly awkwardly, you quietly clear your throat. Your body hasn’t cried, but it feels like your mind has, and the gap between the two is kind of disconcerting.

“I’m sorry.”

Astarion tilts his head, pretty eyes faintly confused, but you carry on. “It’s just a bit… you know. There’s a lot.”

Your hand stutters as it waves stiffly through the air in front of you, like that’ll somehow help you say what you mean. Everything that’s happened today, everything you’ve done, all summed up in some inept little gesture in your lap.

Luckily, he seems to understand well enough. With a sigh, he leans forward until his head is resting on yours, pulling you gently towards him to settle your head against the curve of his throat, safe in his embrace. Without really realising it, your arms find his middle, settling loosely around his waist in return.

“You know, I think I’ve changed my mind,” he says slowly, fingers tapping idly against your skin. “I think we do have time, after all.”

Bemused, you frown against his shoulder. “Time for what?”

Another memory, teased out of your brain by the tadpole. A sun-filled street, and a plan that couldn’t possibly go wrong.

What say you, dearest? Fancy an evening as my beloved?

Even now, you find yourself smiling at his overblown antics, the cocky flick of his wrist as he took your hand and kissed it. You could at least ask me properly, you know.

We’ve no time for courtship, sweetheart… Did he sound quite so mournful the first time? Or do you just remember it that way? I simply must have you - and tonight, no less!

“Let me ask you again, darling,” the real Astarion asks you. Well, with his chin resting lightly on top of your head, he more so asks your hair, but the meaning is clear. “Properly, this time.”

“Mmm…”

Is it a tiny bit mean of you, to make him wait? Probably, but he likes it when you’re mean. “You’ll have to convince me…”

“Oh?” Of course, he plays along, with a smirk that you don’t have to see to recognise. “Then set the scene for me, dear. However shall I win your hand?”

It takes a few long seconds for you to settle on an idea, fingers absentmindedly tapping against his back. This is nice.

“Tell me how it’s supposed to be,” you say, warm words against cold skin. “Tell me how this should have gone.”

“Well, it wouldn’t start like this, certainly,” he declares, tracing tiny, maybe-unconscious circles on the floor with the toe of his boot. “I wonder how we would have met? Something grand, I’m sure…”

He makes some gesture you can’t see, painting the picture in the air. “Perhaps a ball, or a gala, the kind they have in the Upper City - ooh, maybe in the foyer of an opera house or a theatre or something.”

“How… refined.”

“Oh, it would be terribly dull, I assure you,” he replies. “You’d have been to a thousand of these things before, and you’d be bored out of your skull.”

You can’t help but laugh at the way the words fall out of his mouth, full of longing and yet totally blasé. “And you’d save me from it, I assume?”

“Naturally.” Astarion runs a practised hand through his hair, adjusting himself in your lap slightly so he doesn’t fall. “I’d catch sight of you across the room and be utterly captivated by your beauty, darling. Then, I’d bring you a glass of wine and make some excuse to get you talking, and we’d spend the rest of the evening being absolutely awful about everyone else there.”

  “Sounds like a plan.” Oh, you can’t help yourself - you have to stretch up a bit awkwardly, but you lean up to kiss his cheek, just once. Maybe twice. “Then what?”

He hums, deep in careful consideration. “I suppose I’d have to - oh, we’d both be living in the Upper City, by the way - I suppose I’d have to find your family’s home the next morning.”

“Bold, don’t you think?” you ask with a grin. “It’s barely been half a day since we met.”

He scoffs. “Like that would matter to me. They might show me into the drawing room, but they wouldn’t let me see you - I fear I might make quite a scene, you know. I’d stay as long as I could, waiting for you to come downstairs, and I wouldn’t leave until I’d begged permission to court you properly.”

The image of Astarion in all his finery pops into your head, perched defiantly on the sofa in the lavish drawing room of some imagined townhouse in Baldur’s Gate, arguing with the maid as she tries to shoo him away - it’s so ridiculous, and yet so absolutely him. Who else would turn up on your doorstep and elbow his way into the parlour, setting himself in the middle of the furniture like he owns it, and refusing to leave without an offer of courtship from the family?

“And what’s so funny about that?” He pretends to be affronted as you muffle your laugh into his shoulder, but there’s no heat in it. “Don’t tell me you’d keep me waiting, now.”

“Never, my love,” you proclaim, thoroughly charmed. “Once I heard the racket from downstairs, you wouldn’t be able to keep me away.”

“Racket - you think I’d be making a racket, darling? In what world?” he gasps. “I’ll have you know I’m the very picture of politeness. Very subtle. You wouldn’t even know, unless I wanted you to.”

“Right, right, subtle…” You nod exaggeratedly, taking in his perfect look of offended outrage. “And I assume that’s why the picture of politeness is sitting on my lap and trying to get his hands up my shirt in the middle of a tavern?”

Cold hands freeze against your sides, skin against skin, and you grin. Got him. “Nice try, though. I was almost convinced.”

“Of my subtlety? I’m sure I could persuade you...” He raises an eyebrow down at you, gaze dark with half-hidden promise. “You don’t think I could be quiet?”

“I’d be disappointed if you were. You mean you wouldn’t let me hear you?” You’re deliberately disappointed, a little whiny in the way you know he understands - a familiar dance, made all the sweeter by the fresh excitement of this new air between you. If he wants to play the game, you’ll play too. “Besides, I thought you liked it loud.”

“Oh, I do,” he breathes, one hand sneaking out from under your shirt, index finger pressing softly against the underside of your chin to keep your eyes on him. “Especially when you’re the one offering, darling.”

See, now you're speaking his language. “Who said I’d offer you anything?”

“Please. You wouldn’t get the chance, dear,” he scoffs, unfairly handsome in his arrogance. “Offering it to me? No, no. You’ll be begging me, pretty thing, and you’ll like it.”

The way he shifts to resettle himself in your lap is certainly no accident, and you really have to fight to keep your gaze up - you can just about keep looking at his face, but you can’t quite stop yourself from staring at his lips as he continues. “So how about it, hm? Would you be loud for me, my sweet?”

“I - well, I…” Your thoughts melt into nothing as the hand under your shirt slips just barely higher, words stuttering and faltering on your tongue. Curse his stupid face, curse his awful voice, curse his ridiculous hair and his strong hands and his pretty smile and his sweet kisses…

“Mm, I think you could be,” he muses, smug like the cat that’s got the cream. “I’d ask you very nicely, you know. And you’d be good for me, wouldn’t you? If I asked you nicely?”

The tadpole twitches behind your eye, the heat of something liquid and indulgent, a tantalising taste. Half memories, half dreams. Clever hands keeping you close in the middle of a crowded market, pulling you into a side street, pressing you hungrily up against the brick. The swish of a soft curtain, voices just outside, quiet now, darling, or do you want them to hear? Soft and warm and sweating, a trail of fabric in your wake - closer and closer, snatched up in his arms and - and-

Words, you have to say words - dizzily, your hazy mind latches onto whatever it can find. “Nicely?”

“Yes, honey. Nicely,” he sings through a wicked smile, faintly condescending in a way that really shouldn’t be as attractive as it is. “That’s right, sweetheart. Very good.”

He knows he’s got the upper hand and he’s just trying to get a rise out of you, that’s all. You’re not going to fall for it, you’re not. Was it always this warm in here?

“Look at you, darling. Feeling a little hot, are we?”

The flash of fangs as he presses the back of his free hand to your cheek, blessed coolness, before sliding it down your neck to toy with the collar of your shirt.

“You should have said something, poor thing. I know a way we could cool you down.”

He looks thoughtful for a second, expression pensive before it melts back into a smirk. “Well. Maybe not straight away. But I’d get you out of all these layers, at least…”

Promises, promises. Your hummingbird heart, fluttering out of control. Graceful fingers picking at your collar, digging playfully into the softness of your waist, skimming across the skin. Don’t think about it, don’t think about it…

“You want to do this here?” If you sound a little more out of breath than normal, which you’re not saying you are, then that’s neither here nor there. “Whatever happened to biding your time?”

“It’s your many charms, my darling,” he replies, endearingly - um, infuriatingly ready with a comeback, leaning down to kiss just beside your eye. “A man can only resist so long.”

“Bastard.”

“Mm, I love you too.”

The self-satisfied look is quickly wiped off his face by the bitterness of his wine - he takes one last sip before disgustedly dumping the rest of his cup into yours. “Gods, this stuff is vile - let's be off, darling, before anyone tries to palm another bottle off on us.”

Pushing himself up off your lap, he turns back with a neat little bow, palm upturned to help you out of your chair. “Delightful as the company may be, life is far too short to spend it drinking such dreadful wine.”

“This from he, the undying.”

“And I wouldn't waste another second of my undeath on it,” he sniffs, pulling you gently to your feet and brushing imaginary dust from his shirt. “I’ll have you know, being dead is no excuse for subpar drinks.”

“Your idea of a nice drink is human blood, dear,” you reply dryly as you pick your roses up off the windowsill, paper crinkling in your hands. “I’m not sure you're exactly an authority on the matter.”

Astarion rolls his eyes as he picks up his bag, shaking his head in mock disappointment. “Touché, my love, touché.”

He leads you back through the tavern, stepping across to hold the door open for you. The barkeep lifts a hand in farewell, and as you go to do the same, something glitters in the sunlight coming in through the open doorway.

It’s true, it’s true. Sweet relief and incredible terror all at once, resolving into something bright and brave and fizzing. Where there is love, there is faith. Is this what stories feel like? Wanting and wanted, a kiss that’s a dance that’s a promise.

Thin gold, red light. Amorie ent vivas est ma vie.

“...Darling? Hello?”

Startled out of your reverie, you look up just as Astarion raises an eyebrow, amused, motioning towards the door. “Some time today, my sweet.”

“Right, right, yes…”

Hastily, you duck out of the doorway and step out onto the street, bathed in the warm light of the late afternoon. Astarion follows, offering you his arm with a flourish, and you take it gladly.

“Where to next, then?” you ask, falling easily into step.

He shrugs, gesturing in front of the pair of you with a wry smile. “Why, wherever the road may take us, of course! We’re free as birds, dear - the very world is our oyster.”

“Back to the others then.”

“Well, yes.”

“Thought so.” Wordlessly, you turn to head back through the market, a little less noisy than this morning but still busy enough. “Unless you were planning on throwing even more of your money at the flower boy, that is.”

He gives you a playful nudge, discreetly shifting you both to the right to dodge a man walking the other way with an enormous crate of apples. “Don’t tempt me, dear. Five minutes to acquire the necessary funds, and you’ll be walking home with more than an armful of roses.”

“Planting me a garden, are you?”

“You’ll have a veritable meadow, my sweet,” he replies like it’s nothing, grand as you like. “As many as there’s room for, and one more for good measure.”

His free hand reaches across to yours, lifting it to his lips and kissing it like a prince from a storybook - it’s almost embarrassing how much it gets to you, and you’re sure he can hear your heart speeding up at his touch. “You’d never buy perfumes or oils again, if I had my way - in fact, you’d be hard-pressed to wash the smell of roses off of you, my love.”

Oh, you can’t let him off that easily. “They’d be roses, would they?” you ask, thinly feigning disinterest, although the effect is somewhat lost when you have to speak up a bit to be heard over the woman hawking fish just behind you. “So cliché.”

He lets out a tortured sigh, pained expression on his pretty face. “It happens to the best of us, I’m afraid.”

“You’re right, it does,” you muse. “Can’t imagine why it’s happened to you, then.”

“Oh, you-!”

He makes a grab for you, but you’re already gone, slipping out of his grasp and away into the crowded market, ducking through the gaps between the stalls and laughing as he chases after you. “Get back here, you villain!”

It’s a doomed endeavour - you know he’ll catch you, but you run anyway. Weaving in and out of the crowd, he’s never far behind. Fingertips that just barely brush the back of your shirt, shouted threats that grow more and more ridiculous each time you twist away.

“When I catch you-!”

If he wanted to, he’d have you in an instant, but it’s not about that, is it? The chase, the catch, the game. It’s the one you love to play, and you love it even more when you lose.

“There you are, darling.”

Rose petals flutter in your wake, a ruby glitters on your finger. Cold hands pull you close, and the sky, the sky, the sky.

masterlist

this is an original work by @gingerbreadmonsters - please do not repost or misattribute

[soufcakmistress]

Temptress

Pairing: Erik Stevens x Thick Black OC

The intricate oil painting hanging on the wall threatened to fall by the incessant pounding of the bed frame. “I wonder what they’re serving at the pub tonight…” Sybil Freeman pondered as this sad soul rutted away between her legs. The Viscount Peters was one of her frequent visitors, and always tipped well. A lackluster lover, but always super sweet. The viscount shuddered and finally expelled into the sheepskin condom, with sighs of much awaited relief. Her corset has her abundant breasts grazing her chin, which have now spilled out from the romp that just ensued.

This is the part that the men come for. “Ooooh, the Viscount is feeling very frisky this evening. I’ll be sure to put those juniper berries in your wine every time we meet, sugar.” The short and dumpy nobleman always moseyed down her street for a bit of loving. Black and white men alike patronized the house—a house of nothing but Black bawds and whores.

~

London is a long way from colonial Charleston. Sybil Ravenel was one of eleven children to an enslaved couple working the indigo crop on Edisto Island. Keen on her surroundings and fierce about her family, one particular overseer would always harass her. She was very shapely and purposely wore baggier clothes to conceal her body. She’d managed to make it this far without getting whipped or separated from her family. The overseer was tired of Sybil spurning him. Easter Day came and the slaves were able to take the day off for once. While everyone was congregated by the fire, Sybil was caught off guard and gagged and pulled around the tobacco barn. Little did that overseer know that Sybil had been preparing for that day.

She sharpened this stick every day and hid it in the waistline of her skirt. Today, she made good on her intentions and shoved the stick into his neck. “I the last Negro woman you try to push up on. Bastard.” Blood drenched her apron and bonnet, and she wrenched them off and hid them under her skirt. Scrambling to the slave quarters, she gathered up the few clothes she had, tied them up and ran towards the harbor with all of her might in the dead of night.

Sybil understood sex and how easy men were guiled once it entered a dynamic. Men had few motivations and if it didn’t involve money, food or sex, Sybil found they didn’t have much use past that. She wasn’t entirely sure of her age, but she was a woman full grown. She had no education but she had the will to live and extremely limited means to do so. Offering what she had between her legs was how she was able to convince the captain of a nearby merchant ship not to ring the alarm for a fugitive slave on the run. She sucked his pecker so good as a matter of fact, he gave her her own cabin, left to be undisturbed until the ship docked.

The manifest was set for London Harbor, with a large store of indigo posed for shipping to the British Isles. England outlawed slavery years ago and all Sybil can remember being in awe of how Black folks roamed so freely. London was expansive, a different feeling versus Charleston. Attempting to navigate the streets, she bumped into a striking woman, with incredible cheek bones and dwarfed almost every man. “Careful, darling. Yuh ‘ave to actually look where yuh walk in this city. Before yuh get trampled.”

Needless to say, her life was changed from then on out. Bellemere Almodovar. Born in Jamaica, she was purchased by Spanish spice traders in exchange for bushels of saffron. She was so beautiful that she was whisked away from the auction block to accompany a lord in the Spanish court in the Spanish royal seat in Madrid.

Bellemere took Sybil under her wing. Showed her the ropes, how to keep herself safe, how to articulate herself, and recognize what the means to the end was. Fuck the frogs until you find the prince. A marquis or a lord having you for his mistress meant security and stability. A binding contract between the two of you kept the relationship mutually beneficial at all times. You provide the cunny and ego stroking, he provides the lifestyle. It’s plain and simple as that.

Until then, Sybil would stack her money. Her and Bellemere have expanded their stable, with an extremely diverse group of Black women with various treasures to offer. Lola and Liza Ibeji, the Sierra Leonan twin Amazons liked to play with the kinky politicians on Downing street on every bank holiday who liked to be tied up and degraded. Sarah Macenroe was a biracial beauty from Ireland, looking for a new home since her last bawd kicked her out. She was a contortionist, and petite like a nymph who loved to stick her finger up a John’s bum. And Sybil’s best friend Janie Smith from Trinidad, always quick to cuss her in patois. She was plump and shaped like you and that brought you both closer. Janie learned that she did not have a gag reflex, allowing any man to aim his prick down her endless throat with no resistance.

And Sybil. Sybil’s prized possession was between her legs. It was wetter and tighter than anyone around, and was guaranteed to make any man lose his pride before he wanted to. Her blue fingertips were a marvel to gaze upon and added to the fantasy. These English nobles ached for the chance of sleeping with a liberated Negro woman from the colonies. Her life was easy now. Fuck her regulars, and live good. She was free. Free to eat in any cafe of her choosing. Led her girls into any social gathering with their heads high and guaranteed to garner whispers and gasps. Music to her ears.

As of late, Sybil had been bored to tears of the social scene. Janie had just snagged her keeper, and she’d been whisked to the northern countryside for the next month. On this particular occasion, Sybil’s carob skin emitted radiance unknown to this world with the midnight blue gown hugging her body close. Her scalp itched under the powdered wig, and she daintily threw back her 6th drink of the night. Her girls worked the room as always, prowling for the next kill, and yet Sybil couldn’t give a fuck about any of these men.

She grabbed her sachet, picked up the ends of her dress and sashayed to the terrace. Some fresh air was needed. A cigarette she already rolled was pulled out and heavy footsteps lurked behind her. “Is this seat taken?”

A puff of tobacco smoke billowed in front of her cherubic face. A pleasant surprise that a Black man with a familiar accent met her. “Do as you like.”

The strange man quietly observes Sybil’s appearance. Their eyes finally meet and she’s enraptured and forgets to mask her intent. He’s very handsome, with a sterling smile and dashing garments. And an American accent. Interesting. “What’s a southern Belle doing mingling with English society?”

“I could ask the same of you. You’re like a fly in a glass of milk with this crowd. American?”

The gentleman wore his own hair out, a beautiful tangle of curls, and an emerald green suit that was immaculately crafted. His scent was alluring, and made Sybil want to know how deep his pockets went. “Yes. I was formerly enslaved, just like you. My father was African however and fell in love with my mother on a trip to the colonies. He bought us and we went back to his country to live. I grew up and wanted to explore this world. So for the moment, here I am..”

He took her cigarette out of her hand and began to puff on it himself. “And how would you know that I was enslaved? I could have been born free for all you know.”

The gentleman blew out the tobacco smoke, and gently placed her hand in his. The indigo dye. Permanently marking her as a piece of chattel. A former piece of chattel, for that matter. He kissed every fingertip on her left hand, and Sybil gulped. Her eyes became glassy, and she pulled away. She adjusted her dress, and stabilized her towering wig. “I didn’t catch your name, miss.”

Sybil took the cigarette back from him, taking a harsh pull. Why did this man make her feel like this? “Sybil. Sybil Freeman.” She had to get out of there. As seemingly progressive as London purported itself to be, Black men were almost never gentlemen and of the ton. He exuded high levels of breeding and class. His skin was gorgeous and he had piercing eyes that never left her….and roamed all over her body. He was clearly different.

“Good evening, sir.” Sybil gave the stiffest curtsy and zoomed away, flustered and confused. Something told her that that wouldn’t be the last she saw of him..

A/N: I totally forgot that I had most of this written up already LMAO. Please let me know if you want me to continue this story. Pleaseeee reblog and comment, love yall!!!

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[yournaothings]

A Little Bit of Fun Won't Hurt

((Aye, dark themes in this one. Nightmare Sans shows up to play with his food. There's lots of violence, too.))

((Also, I wrote this like... about six months ago. Be aware that these posts received NO beta. Still, I hope you enjoy!))

The Underfell Universe was bright and sunny today; monsters and humans were gathered at the park, enjoying the nice weather. Many were playing outdoor games, feeding the ducks, or even drawing on the sidewalks with chalk. 

This is where Sans found Atara when he went on break. It was later in the morning, so the heat of the day hadn't hit just yet.  Atara was in the middle of a crowd of children, Frisk being there as well, drawing with their chalk.  Atara would even add musical lyrics to some of her drawings, some suggested by the children, some she thought would look good with her art work. Frisk would add in her own masterpieces, but made sure not to overlap her friend's work. 

Atara was very talented! Frisk always requested the young woman to draw her with Monster Kid, both Frisk and Monster Kid ecstatic to have a self portrait of them they could hang up!  Atara had entered into many art contests, and even offered some of her pieces at auctions; whatever money was raised from her work would be donated to school events or non-profit organizations.  

There was no doubt about it; Atara was an angel sent from the stars. 

Sans sighed dreamily-

"What do you think, Red?" 

Snapping out of his daze, Sans realized that he had been spotted by his favorite human.  Atara sat on her knees, her clothes covered in chalk, dirt, and grass. Her hands were dusted with the chalk and pebbles from the sidewalk, her face had a few chalk marks here and there- she looked so adorable.  "yes, perfect."  He answered, without even knowing what Atara was asking about- he watched her smile brightly at him then glance down at her work of art with pride.  "I think so too! Too bad it won't stay very long." 

Sans peered down at the sidewalk, realizing that she had been asking about her art work and not how she looked. His cheeks darkened with his blush, and he was quick to shake off his embarrassment- missing how Frisk threw a knowing grin towards him.  "r-right. but, we can always come back and put something else in its place."  Atara nodded, smiling happily. She set her chalk down before jumping up and hurrying over to hug her best skelly friend.  "Are you on break?" She asked, peering up at him, her brow quirked at her question, her smile so stunning Red could feel his soul flutter.  

"y-yea. just for about ten more minutes. wanted to see you before i had to go back to work." He admitted, his own arms wrapped snugly around her, keeping her close to him. He wanted to so badly lean down and nuzzle into her hair.  "You're so sweet~"  Atara cooed, her soul blossomed with joy, she felt so lucky to have a great friend like Sans.  

The two decided to grab some Nice Cream before Sans had to go back to work. The two shared one Nice Cream cone, Atara giggling with Sans accidentally gave himself a brain freeze from eating too much too quickly. "Oof, that sucks!" Atara giggled, seeing Sans cringe at the frozen headache he was dealing with now.  "I know you like ice cream a waffle lot, but you should chill." 

The frozen headache seemed to go away as soon as Atara dropped two puns at once, and he couldn't have been any more proud of her.  He cackled and sent her a knowing grin.  "wow, those were good. i cone-gradulate you." 

Atara giggled; "What can I say? I'm such a softie for ice cream!" She winked at him- that one she knew was bad.  "hehe, sounds like you're losing cone-trol!" He snickered.  "Ah, whatever; just get to the pint." She smirked, both slowly inching closer to one another.  "you and I were mint to be~"  Atara cooed at that one, "Good one; but most of the ice cream puns are vanilla." She was running out of pun ideas. Sans snickered, "nah, not really. what's the snobbiest ice cream?" Atara was a bit taken back by the change of pace with his puns, but got past her surprise and asked; "What?"  "popsicles, because they always have a stick up their ass." 

This one had Atara cackling, all while accidentally brushing the ice cream cone against her cheek; the cold from the sweet treat made her gasp through her laughter.  "Shoot-"  "i've got it." Sans was tempted to lap at the ice cream that was on her cheek, but he pushed the temptation back, and instead reached up to wipe away the cream with his finger.  "there you go." 

"Get a room!" Frisk called, teasing Sans and Atara, who jolted in place when Frisk yelled at them, turned to look at each other before quickly looking away with blushes on their faces. "No you!" Was Atara's embarrassed comeback, which sent Frisk into a fit of giggles.  Atara clicked her tongue and shook her head at the mischievous child. "shit," Sans cursed as he checked the time on his phone.  "gotta go, sweetheart." Atara turned to Sans and pouted.  "Alright. I'll let you know if we're still here when you're finished with work. Maybe we can all go out as a group!" She suggested, and Sans hoped that the others would decline so he could have Atara all to himself.  "y-yea. i'd like that. well, i'll see you after." With that, Sans disappeared from beside Atara's side, going back to work. Atara finished the rest of the cone and went back to drawing with the children.

…

It was about an hour later when a skeleton who resembled Sans showed up. His bare skeletal foot landed softly in the grass beside a puddle of paint that somebody accidentally spilled. The skeleton gasped in delight as he glanced around the park- so many people! So much art! His ever changing eye lights absorbed each and every person and monster that took up the park to enjoy the sunny day. A yellow diamond in one eye socket, the other with an exclamation mark appeared. The skeleton was surprised to find a particular human laughing alongside Underfell's ambassador; Frisk. 

Atara Sol was friends with Frisk! That meant....

"They're living in the Pacifist!" The skeleton stranger cheered as he began to make his way towards the young woman, wanting to introduce himself and get to know her. She was a very special human! One who has a great future ahead! He wanted to be involved when she grew into a beautiful and powerful-  "In-nnkk!"  

Gasping, said skeleton glanced behind him to find his arch nemesis chasing after him. "Uh oh! Better lose him first!" 

Monsters and humans all gasped and yelled when Ink quickly ran past them, accidentally causing some to fall over or art pieces to be ruined.  "S-Sorry! I'll make it up to you~!" He called back, earning the attention of the human woman he had wanted to bug. 

Atara sat up from having been stretched out over her massive art project to barely catch Ink running away, just before the other strange skeleton stomped through and damaged a piece of her beautiful picture.  "Hey! Watch where you're going!" She yelled at him. The skeleton skid to a stop and cursed under his breath, seeing that Ink had managed to escape him once again.  "S-Son of a-a-a b-bitch!" 

"You best watch your language, there are children present." 

Error Sans turned to glare at the woman who dared talk to him so rudely.  "G-Get lost-st, h-huma-an." He snapped, eyes narrowing as he glared at her. Atara wasn't intimidated at all, in fact; she raised a brow, her lips lifting into a grin. She pointed at the Sans lookalike and asked;  "What's up with your face?" 

Error Sans stared at the woman, his glare falling as he gave her an unimpressed stare- who the fuck was this chick, anyway?  "I'm being serious!" She chuckled, more to herself- she wasn't laughing at him. "Seriously! What's going on?" She leans closer, pointing to the strange lines trailing down his cheeks from the bottom of his eyes sockets. Her eyes then shifted to the strange ERROR glitches that hovered all around him. There was so much going on with this guy's image, was this all done by his magic? Also, "And why do you look a lot like Red?" 

Knowing who she was referring to, Error rolled his eyes and crossed his arms.  "I'm-m just anothe-er ver-version of-f-f your-r-r s-sa-ans-s." 

Atara's eyes widened as she leaned back in shock at his speech. This guy had a serious case of speech deficiency! That, or maybe.. Maybe it had to do with his magic?  "Wait-" She suddenly realized what he had just said.  "Another version? What does that mean?" Error sighed heavily, he hated explaining this to humans, they never understood-   He gave her an irritated grin, his fingers twitching with the want to just string this woman up and play with her until her usefulness was drained from her. But, he resisted the urge and started to explain;  "I'm su-sure you're unaw-unaware of Alt-Alternate Universes-s, bu-ut there ar-re countless-s vers-versions of-f your-your S-Sans-s, with-th dif-dif-different per-personalities-s-s." 

"My-My na-ame is-s Er-Error-or Sa-San-ns-s, the De-Destroy-Destroyer-r of A-AU's-s." His grin turning wicked as he finished explaining, expecting this woman to run away, scared; instead her eyes widen in wonderment, the idea of other Sans'- "So, there are other Sans' and Papyrus'?" She grins as she thinks of all the other versions of her skeleton boys. "That's pretty sweet!" She glances down at Error, seeing as she was taller than him-  "Well, it's nice to meet you, Error Sans! My name is Atara!" She holds her hand out for him to take, only for Error to stare at the horrid outstretched hand as if it was going to bite him if he touched it. 

Fortunately, another skeletal hand reaches out to take Atara's, startling both Atara and Error-

"It's nice to finally meet you, Atara! I'm Ink Sans!"  Ink's skeletal hand takes Atara's and he shakes it in greeting. Atara and Error are shocked in silence; Error irritated as fuck that Ink had the nerve to show back up, while Atara tried to figure out where this new Sans lookalike came from.  

"I've been watching you from my home! And I've got to say, you're one of my favorite humans thus far! I'm just so ecstatic to finally see Underfell in a successful Pacifist run! I've waited for such a long time, but Frisk never allowed the Universe to make it this far!" 

Frisk suddenly was behind Atara, her hands holding onto the back of Atara's pants,  peeking around to stare up at the soulless skeleton.  Ink sent a creepy look down at Frisk for a moment- blink and you'd miss it. Unfortunately for Frisk, Atara had glanced towards Error with an unsure look, before glancing at Ink again.  By then, Ink was smiling back at Atara once more.  "Um well, it's nice to meet you too, Ink. Are you another version of Red?"  

Ink's grin widened as he leaned in closer to Atara, the poor girl starting to lean back slowly, glancing at Error in mild concern for what was about to happen. Error sighed, the sound glitching too.  "I'm-I'm not help-helping you-you." Error grumbled as he stepped back, but side eyed Ink, ready to attack if Ink even tried to do anything stupid. 

"I'm from an abandoned Alternate Universe, but I live in the Doodle Sphere! I am another version of Sans, but I'm a Guardian-"  

"More like a menace to AU's." Error added with a flat, irritated tone. 

"Oh, Error!" Ink laughed, waving off Error's comment.  "I protect the Alternate Universes!" 

Atara glanced down at Frisk for a moment, feeling her tug on her pant leg.  "Hey, what's the matter, Frisk? Why don't you finish up the picture?" Frisk peered up at Ink and Error, seeing the scary looks the two were giving her; she whimpers and hides behind Atara again. "I-I don't want to leave you with them."  Behind Atara, Ink and Error's eye sockets darkened as they stared down at the little girl. Atara hummed when she saw Frisk flinch, then glance behind her at Ink and Error, both skeleton boys no longer looking scary. 

"I'll be okay, Frisk." Atara said as she turned her attention back down at Frisk. "Go have fun, I'll be okay. Besides, Red will be here soon, right? If anything happens, he'll be here." She smiled, but Frisk had a strange feeling bubbling in her gut- 

"Oh yeah! You're really talented!" Ink says as he glances over at the countless drawings Frisk and Atara had finished.  "You should finish that last one though, like Atara said~" Ink sends an intimidating grin to Frisk, who flinches back again, but with a little encouragement from Atara, sighed and went to do just that. Once the two skeletons turned their attention back at Atara, Frisk pulled out her phone and sent a text to Sans,

"Ink Sans and Error Sans are here, talking to Atara." 

Now, all she had to do was wait for the over-protective skeleton to show up and teach these two lame skeletons a thing or two. Frisk grins at the thought of Sans rushing in to sweep Atara off her feet, then maybe those two would finally get together! Maybe Sans will confess to Atara, finally!

Meanwhile...

"So, how many AU's are there?" Atara asks now that Frisk wandered back over to their drawing they had been working on before Error stepped over the picture. Error jolted in place, his eye sockets widened and he spun around to grab Ink by his sash hanging on his shoulder.  "Don't-Don't you da-dare!"  Ink raised his hand up to rub the back of his skull, laughing at Error's anger.  "I'm not doing anything wrong! Besides, you're the one who started telling Atara about the AU's~"  Ink grinned slyly, his eye sockets narrowing when Error paused as he thought about this, then- "F-Fuu-uuckk!"  

Atara was confused, but couldn't help the snickering that left her at the two skeletons bickering.  Error let go of Ink while he threw his little temper tantrum, letting Ink turn his attention back to Atara.  "Anyway~! Want to go see the AU's~?" His sly smile returned, only brightening when Atara nodded excitedly. "That would be so awesome!" 

"Wh-Wha-at-t?!" Error snarled, his eyes corrupting as he started to glitch too much. Ink laughed and summoned his giant paint brush, Broomie.  "Come on! Let's go before Error catches us~!" Grabbing Atara's hand, Ink pulled her along, his other hand brought down Broomie towards the ground, paint smudging along the grass.  "Wait, what are you-?!" Atara shrieked when Ink pulled her along, jumping into the paint puddle, transporting them both into the Doodle Sphere...

Ink landed on solid ground, letting Atara's hand go; the young woman glanced around, unsure if there was more to this place or...?  

"Welcome to the Doodle Sphere! My home!" Ink cheered, smiling excitedly, his eye lights changing different colors and shapes. "And these," Ink started to say, turning away from Atara and raised his hand. Atara gazed up and stared in wonder while sheets of paper floated down, all of them attached to strings it looked like.  "Are the AU's!" Taking Atara's hand again, Ink nearly dragged her over to stand in the middle of the papers, his free hand lifting and he pointed to different ones. 

"That one is where you're from; Underfell!" He pointed to another;  "That one is Underswap, and that one is the original AU, Undertale!"  There were so many different Alternate Universes, Atara couldn't believe her eyes. Surely, if there were different versions of her skeleton boys, did that mean there were different versions of herself? Were other Atara's living the same way she did or differently? 

Atara didn't get the chance to ask this question, Error chose this moment to jump out of his portal and shoot blue strings at both her and Ink, sending them flying high above the solid ground- which Atara couldn't tell where the ground sat- everything was white all around. The AU's lifted away high above Atara while Error attacked Ink. The soulless skeleton broke free from his bindings and dodged all of Error's attacks, one of them being his Gaster Blasters- Atara jolted in her own bindings, gasping at how cool the blasters looked. 

"You-You assho-ole-ole!" Error screeched at Ink, getting angry at the slippery skeleton as he dodged every damn hit Error threw at him. Atara could even hear Ink cackling every now and again, the skeleton summoning Broomie yet again to paint a patch of pink paint along the floor to jump into. Atara glanced around, looking for where Ink had disappeared to, the girl hardly was scared for her life. This was just so freaking cool! What a rush of excitement! If she had known this was a thing years ago, she would have tried to find a way to travel the Alternate Universes! 

Error was also looking for Ink, screaming and yelling out after the damn menace.  "Where-Where di-id you-u go-o?!" 

A brown scarf fell in front of Atara's face, that being the only warning; Ink grabbed onto her bindings and snapped them in half, before catching her into his arms so she wouldn't fall at the height she was at. "Gotcha!" He grinned down at her, watching her wide, excited eyes close tightly and she held onto Ink, all while laughing, excitedly. As Ink landed, Atara could see Error behind them, screeching and cursing at Ink, his blue strings lashing out and reaching for the two of them.  "Pu-ut th-he huma-an dow-wn!" Error screeched, his strings reached the two, only to fall flat on the ground as Ink jumped out of the way, barely escaping the blue strings. 

"Nice one, but what exactly are you two fighting, again?" She snickered, actually wondering what Ink did to piss off Error.  "Oh," Ink snickered, glancing away with a sly grin.  "He doesn't like it when I bring humans or other anomalies to the Doodle Sphere~"  Atara got the impression that Ink liked to create chaos and piss off Error just for fun. She could see why Error would be pissed off, but he made things so easy to mess with him.  "Poor Error~" She cooed, now peeking over Ink's shoulder. 

Error Sans seemed to stop in place and stare wide eyed after Ink- curiously, Atara turned to look in front of them both just in time to see a knife whiz by then someone's shoe connecting to Ink's face, knocking the poor skeleton back and Atara be released from Ink's hold. She yelped when gravity took over, she prepared herself to meet the ground in a painful manner. But, it never came, only another set of skeletal arms catching her; she found herself in another skeleton's arms- another Sans lookalike. This one however had some strange black liquid leaking from his eye sockets and a lecherous grin-

"Sup, toots~ Nice rack~" He cooed, teasingly, his face so close to her chest- shit, she wore a crop top today, that fit her snuggly.  "Uhh, thanks?" She offered, her face blossoming from her embarrassment.  "Hehehe, what's a human like you doing in a place like this? Spherely, you're not supposed to be here~"  He grins, Atara narrows her eyes but grins at him.  "That was terrible."  Yet, she still laughed. 

"Killer! Wh-hat the he-ell ar-are yo-ou doing-g here-e?!" Error hissed, all while sending out his blue strings, preparing to apprehend the fiend. With a grin, Killer manuevered Atara so she was tossed over his shoulder, the poor girl shrieked and tried to hold onto the new Sans as he dodged Error's attack.  "Boss said there were lots of different emotions happening here, so I dropped in to say hi!" 

"Tel-ll your boss to fu-uck off-f!" Error yelled as he summoned his Gaster Blaster-  "Whoops! Don't want to hurt our human now, do we~?" Killer grinned as he tightened his hold on Atara, the poor woman squeaking out a breathless, "our" in confusion. She gripped the back of Killer's sweater tightly, holding on for dear life; she could feel the heat from those Blasters she saw earlier. 

"Hey, fucker! Watch where you point those!" 

"Red?!" Atara gasped, she tried to look around but it was hard with her being upside down- "Hey, watch those hands, teary Sans!" She snapped when she felt Killer's hand brush along her ass and gave it a squeeze. He snickered at first, until he soaked in the nickname she gave him.  "What? Teary Sans..?" 

Killer gaped when Atara suddenly was ripped from his hold, just in time for Error's blasters released their attack. Killer was quick to dodge, and when he gathered his surroundings, found that Dream had shown up with that Underfell Sans too. Fell Sans had used his magic to snatch Atara by her soul, bringing her closer and into his arms. Killer's eyes widened as he saw the Fell Sans give Atara such a caring look- he held so much adoration for the human; Killer felt a bit jealous and decided that he was going to keep her if Boss allowed it~ 

"tara, you okay? they didn't hurt you, right?" Sans asks, holding Atara in his arms much like Killer was earlier. Atara smiled widely up at Sans, she looked unharmed, and thankfully not freaked out like Sans thought she would.  "I'm alright, Sans. Why didn't you tell me about this!? This place is amazing!" She said as she stretched her limbs out at the word "amazing."  While Sans was glad she was okay, he wasn't too impressed that she thought this was all fun. 

"shit tara, you scared the shit out of me. when frisk said you were kidnapped-" 

"I wasn't kidnapped, Red. Ink brought me here to show me the AU's!" Atara explained excitedly, her smile bright and sunny-  "Ink shouldn't have done that."  Atara's smile fell as she looked around Sans to see yet another skeleton lookalike! "Oh! Hi!" She waved cutely, her smile cutesy, it made Sans want to hold her time and nuzzle her cheeks. "I'm Atara, what's your name?" 

Dream Sans' frown flipped once Atara introduced herself, her hand held out for him to take.  "Oh," He blushed and smiled, reaching his hand to take hers in greeting.  "My name is Dream, I'm from DreamTale." He introduced himself, his aura was bright and sunny and Atara couldn't help but feel relaxed while in his presence.  "It's nice to meet you, Dream." 

Sans couldn't help but hold Atara a bit closer to his body once Dream stepped back, he was never going to let Atara out of his sight. Ever. Again. Dream smiled at both Atara and Sans, a knowing look clear on his face; he sincerely prayed to the stars that Fell Sans could be happy with this human. The poor guy definitely deserves a break. 

"Did ya forget about me?" 

Dream was tackled by Killer, the knife raised high as he brought it down to stab into Dream's shoulder. Sans took a step back, keeping Atara out of harms way while he used his magic to attack Killer. He needed Dream to help him back home, Sans didn't trust Ink, especially since inky boy stole her away.  "Dream!" Atara gasped, then threw a glare at Killer.  "Hey! Don't hurt him! He didn't do anything to you!" 

Killer jumped off of Dream before Sans' attack hit him, Dream managing to dodge Sans' attack when Killer released him.  (It was a close call.)  Killer turned to grin at Atara, raising a brow bone.  "He's too sunny and bright, and I didn't bring my sunglasses! Besides, Boss wants me to attack him~" "Boss? Like, a mafia boss or something?" Atara was so confused. Killer's grin widened, he pressed his free hand to his chest, mocking where his heart would have been if he were human. 

"So cute, my doll~"  He chuckles, his eye sockets narrowing when he heard Fell Sans growling.  "I can't wait to bring you home so you can meet the boss~"  "ya fucking freak, ya ain't taking my sweetheart away. she belongs in underfell with me." Sans growled; he was ready to go back- glancing down at Dream, the skeleton still recovering from potentially dying by Sans' blasters. "dream, its time to go-" 

Blue strings wrapped around all four of them, before they were strung up high in the Doodle Sphere. Atara glanced upwards to see all the AU's above them; Error suddenly appeared in the middle of them all, one hand controlling the strings around the four, while he held onto more that seemed to come from the ceiling above. "Di-id yo-ou for-rget abo-out me-e?!" "fuck, not this guy again." Sans grumbled, his red eye lights glancing towards his human. Atara kicked her legs out from underneath her, watching the fight, seeming to enjoy herself while hanging there. "ya okay, tara?" Sans asked, Atara glanced over at him with a mischievous grin.  "Yeah, Red. Just hanging around~" Sans' eyes widened, not believing for a moment that Atara was just so fucking calm about this. Then, he snorted, snickering at her pun.  "yeah, just hang in there, we'll get out of here in one piece."  "You bet, Red." Atara grins- her attention was suddenly pulled from Sans, Killer calling out towards her; "Wanna make a bet? First one to save Tara gets to keep her~"

Okay now, Atara was having so much fun with how everything was going, and no one was seriously injured.

But, hearing this from the teary Sans really pissed her off.  "Listen here, crying boy," Killer's grin only widened, while Dream's and Sans' eyes widened.  "No one is keeping me, nor am I someone to fight over!" She snapped, baring her teeth at the emo skeleton.  "Aw, did I make the kitty mad~? How cute~!" Killer snickered, Atara snarled and tried to swing herself over towards Killer so she could kick him.  "I'm gonna kick your emo boy ass, you damn teary eyed skeleton boy!" Killer cackled at her threats and name calling, loving her fight.  "Oh man, I really hope Boss lets me keep you around! 

"PA-AY ATTEN-ATTENTION-N-N TO-O ME-ME-E!!!" 

Atara shrieked as she was lifted higher than the skeletons, putting her out of harm's way. (Because let's face it; Error already had a soft spot for the girl. She needed to remain untouched.)  "shit, tara! hang in there!"  Sans called out, this time the pun was unintended.  "Got it!" Atara called back, not at all worried. Although, she lost her front row seat to the fight that was about to happen below. 

Before any of the skeletons could react, Ink swooped in and snapped all of the blue strings, sending everyone plummeting to the ground. Dream acted quickly, catching Atara before she could splat onto the floor of the Doodle void, setting her down gently.  "Stay behind me, Atara. I'll keep you safe, okay?" He offered her a kind smile, which was returned from the sweet girl. She nodded and remained behind Dream Sans, but did peer over his shoulders to watch the others fight. 

Ink and Error were at it again, while Sans and Killer fought against each other. Atara was actually starting to get worried for her Sans, seeing as Killer was swinging a very sharp knife at him. Her worry worsened when more appeared over Killer's shoulders, before rushing at Sans, only a few managing to cut through his jacket and shorts.  "Red!"  She gasped out, her hands raising in horror to cup either side of her face. If Sans died, Atara wouldn't know what to do! She could feel tears begin to burn her eyes, imagining the heartbreak she'd feel if she had to come home and tell Paps what happened... 

Unbeknownst to Atara, her negative feelings gave reason for yet another skeleton to show up to the fight; however, he didn't make his appearance known just yet. Only hiding in the shadow below Atara's feet where no one could see him. 

Dream glanced over his shoulder at Atara, offering her a smile; "Don't worry, Atara. I won't let your Sans get killed, okay?" She caught his gaze, eyes glistened with her tears; all she could do was nod. She was having so much fun until this emo boy showed up to cause havoc. Or maybe, Atara started to wonder, that Ink intended to cause a ruckus for the fun of it. As she watched on, she noticed the big grin Ink wore as he avoided Error's attacks, acting like it was a big game to him. He even teased and mocked Error now and again. 

Killer jumped at Sans, knife ready and ready to stab, but was unprepared for a simple punch to his cheek bone, knocking him back. He landed rough on the ground, when he lifted himself up on his hands and knees, he glared at Sans but kept his tense grin. The black ichor dripping from his sockets and tainting his once bleach white cheek bones. He looked very dangerous, eye sockets narrowing.  "Not bad, Red. But, not enough to stop me."  "come on, you sissy boy. let's get this over with, i've got plans with a mustard bottle, a cute human woman, and a sofa." Killer raised his brow bone, his grin seemingly growing just a tad bit more dangerous. If Sans didn't know any better, Killer was looking quite jealous right now.  "We'll see who wins this time. It doesn't matter anyway," Killer stands and raises his hands up while shrugging.  "I'm gonna take her  home with me, regardless." 

 Sans growled deeply before charging at Killer, his magic flaring in his left eye socket, his gaster blasters appearing behind him as he rushed Killer.  "fuck you! you're not taking my human!" Before Sans could blast the damn bastard to bits, Killer was quick on his feet and dashed at Sans, successfully cutting Sans' arm.  He meant to get Sans' side, but Sans moved just in time. Behind Killer, he could hear Atara shriek Sans' Fell name, her tone twisted in horror.  "i-it's alright, sweetheart!" Sans called out, he had been unsure at first. Thank God it was just his arm, and it wasn't a deep wound.  "i'm fine!" 

Dream took this moment to ready his bow- (where the hell did the bow come from?!) Dream aimed and released the arrow, it flinging through air- 

A black tentacle shot out from the ground and caught the cursed light arrow that had been aimed at Killer. The sudden appearance caught each and every skeletons attention, all five skeletons slowly turned and watched the tentacle retreat back into Atara's shadow below her. Atara squeaked in fright, bringing her arms close to her chest and laced her fingers together. She glanced down at her shadow that seemed to have gotten darker than the last time she had seen it. Then, she slowly raised her gaze to meet each and every skeleton's eye lights. The last one she met was Sans, and the look of horror on Sans' face made her heart drop into her stomach. 

"Atara, quickly now. Come closer!" Dream said in alarm, his hand held out for her to take. He wasn't too far away, just an arm's length away. She reached to take his hand, only to pull away when something- no, someone appeared between herself and Dream. He was so damn close, Atara had to take a few steps back, gasping at the way his aura felt. He was bad, if she had to guess by the way he seemed to radiate more darker feelings. Quite the opposite of Dream, that's for sure. 

"Nightmare!" Dream hissed, jumping back and breaking his bow in half to hold... Twin swords? (Okay, now that was fucking cool.) "What are you doing here?!" Atara could hear Killer snickering, then waved at the gooey, black skeleton that stood between Atara and Dream.  "Hiya, boss~"  "Boss?" Atara gasped, her wide green eyes stared at the back of the skeleton's skull, and as he slowly turned to look at her, her green irises met a singular, eerily, battle blue iris. His grin stretched further, his singular eye light (much different than the other skeletons' eye lights) dipped down before slowly shifting upwards; he was sizing her up! She would have been pissed off, but a shiver ran up her spine, making her body tremble as it did so.  

The negative emotions, the fear that Atara was radiating was intoxicating; yes. This human was the reason for his arrival. Nightmare hadn't planned to show up at all, just letting Killer have all the fun. But, the moment he felt a human's fear of losing someone so dear to them... He just had to come see for himself; he was not disappointed. 

"Atara Sol from Underfell. I usually feel anger from you, but this fear~" Nightmare made a show of breathing her in and sighed pleasantly.  "It's refreshing~" Atara was lost for words, her fear gripped her so hard, she began to shiver in place. This... This adventure wasn't fun anymore. Atara was ready to go home, now.  "D-Dream?" She squeaked, her tears now streaming down her cheeks. 

Nightmare's eye widened in delight.  "Oh," His deep and suave voice sent shivers up Atara's spine, but this time she had no idea why. (Was it fear or something.. else?)  "You really think my brother will be able to save you from me?" Nightmare belted out a deep chuckle that started to echo around her; Atara gasped and started to back away, only to freeze when her world was surrounded by darkness. A dark bubble barrier rose from the ground from below Nightmare, trapping Atara inside- with this nightmare! She faintly heard her Sans and Dream calling out her name in alarm, but they couldn't make it to her in time. 

---

Darkness was all around her, nothing but cold darkness. She already missed the light of the Doodle Sphere, anything was better than this terrible void of nightmarish void that now surrounded her. Keeping her trapped and away from her Sans, from her new friends. Away from her exit. 

"Poor child, having lost her father is such a tragic way." 

"What-?" Atara gasped, her arms wrapping tightly around herself as she spun around, trying to find where that.. That familiar voice came from. 

"Don't suppose she'll end up like her father, ey?" 

"Drug addled? Or perhaps she'll die like her dear ole mother did?" They clicked their tongue in distaste.  "So tragic."

"S-Stop it..." Atara whispered, her voice breaking as memories flooded her mind of when she was just a little girl. The funeral; it was nothing special. We.. I  didn't have enough money for dad to have a casket, let alone a burial place. So, he was cremated. I.. I still have his ashes, but they're stashed away. Out of sight, out of mind. 

Blinking back the tears, Atara could have sworn she saw something move in the darkness, and when she managed to adjust her eyes to the darkness all around her, a shape sprouted up and formed into a familiar person. The first woman who took her in when she became an orphan. The woman remained as black as the darkness around her, and when she reached her hands out to grab onto Atara's shoulders (just like she had all those years ago), black inky- no, oily substance leaked down Atara's arms. 

"You'll be living with me now! I just know you'll love it here~!" 

Atara shoved towards the woman, only to slip right through her body and fall to the ground. In a panic, Atara spun around so she sat on her ass, staring fearfully up at the oily woman as she neared Atara.  "G-Get away from me!" Atara managed to scramble to her feet, but her sandals slipped on the oily darkness beneath her. She came crashing down on her hands and knees with a grunt.  Before she could recover, a face morphed below her face and sprouted up to float in front of her face- 

It was another face of a different caretaker; this one had been abusive. "Stupid brat!" She snarled, Atara sat up and scooted back to get away from the toxic woman, but the face followed- this one didn't have a body and only was connected by the stem of blackness. "I told you if you did that again, I'll lock you away for a week!" 

"Sh-Shut up!" Atara cried out, her hand slashing at the face making it burst and fall away. She once again made it back to her feet and backed away until her back met the liquid wall that trapped her. Her hands pressed flat against the liquid, she tried to grip at it but she couldn't gain purchase. 

The darkness all around her was already driving her mad, and she hadn't been in here that long. At least, she didn't think so. Her trembling was making her feel ill, the fear and hopelessness she was feeling was adding to that sickness. A coldness settled over her, once again she wrapped her arms around herself to try and keep herself warm, and safe. 

"I-I get the picture!" She called out, hoping that this was a sick joke. Was this Sans' way of getting her to not run away with strangers? "I want to go home! I want... I want Red!" She was tired of all the memories of her pain she experienced when she was a child. The loneliness she endured for so many years. 

"How adorable."

She gasped upon hearing Nightmare? His voice leaked into the dark room, almost echoing all around her. Yet, she couldn't see him. It was too dark, even if her eyes had somewhat adjusted to how dark her world had become. 

"Please! Please, let me go! I want Sans!"  She cried out, using his original name and not his nickname, this time. Tentacles slithered out from behind her, and wrapped around Atara's body to keep her pressed to the wall- which began to morph into a more defined solid surface; it felt like... Cold fear struck her then, realizing that she was now trapped and pressed against Nightmare's chest, his ribs digging into her back, that was how close she was to him. 

"You know," His voice wasn't as scary now that he was behind her. It didn't give her any relief, however. He leaned his head down and rest his chin on her left shoulder as he shifted that one cyan blue eye light at her face, drinking in her pale, terrified expression.  "It's funny how you're so oblivious to your Sans' feelings towards you." He purred, his deep voice made her release a full body shiver.  "What... What do you mean?" She asks, her head turning just slightly towards him. 

Nightmare laughed, his chest shaking against her, she could feel his deep voice rumble through her body.  "It's so adorable how you're unaware of just how bad Underfell Sans has it for you." 

Atara's back straightened and her eyes widened as she stared cluelessly at the nightmarish skeleton.  "I-I don't know what you mean... Red.. Red likes me? He- He would have said something if he did." (Right?)

"Hehehe," He snickered, his eye light brightening in delight at her innocence.  Oh, to destroy such a thing; he must simply keep her. It was rare to find such innocence now that monsters mingled with humans. Even after everything this woman has been through, she still held such an innocent facade, one he would gladly destroy~ "You're starting to sound like that pesky glitch~"  

"Red, as you like to call him, has feelings for you; he started falling oh," Nightmare paused for a dramatic effect, even raising his hand to press his index finger to his teeth, before he grinned wickedly at her.  "six months, now?" 

Six months? 

Sans has been hiding his feelings from  her for that long? But.... "But, why?" Atara asked, looking a bit hurt that he hadn't said anything to her. Did he think she would reject him? Or was it something else? Was he worried they wouldn't stay together? Was it because of her... Baggage?

Nightmare's eye socket widened and his cyan blue eye light twinkled with sick delight at her emotions, he could tell they were twisting inside of her like a knife. The emotions was invigorating, he started to feel a little drunk.  All because of this one human woman, with so much pain and fear. She still held onto things from the past, and hearing that Sans had feelings  for her, she was starting to think the worse possible outcomes of that situation. 

"I suppose you'll have to ask him why. That is, if you survive my nightmare~" The black, oily skeleton snickered, his hold on her tightening. Atara began to struggle, her fight was slowly coming back. Realizing that she may never see Sans again, Atara began to fight. She had to. For Sans, for their future- she could return his feelings! Surely! 

"Let Go of me!" She cried out, managing to move one arm around until she could jab it into his rib cage. With a grunt, Nightmare released her and she stumbled forward, catching herself before she fell to the ground again. She spun around to face the nightmare, but was startled when he was missing! Fuck... She had to find a way out of here, she just had to! So, ignoring the skeleton for now, Atara turned away and ran to the other side of the dome of darkness and started to pound her fists against the liquid walls; screaming for Nightmare to let her out or for Sans to help her. 

"Please!" She cried when her efforts proved fruitless. "Sans! Dream! Fuck, Ink or Error!" She was getting desperate at this point, her voice cracking as tears started running down her cheeks again.  "Let me out! Get me out of here!" She screamed, her own voice echoing in the dark void, her fists pounded harder against the walls. 

Suddenly, tentacles shot out and wrapped around her wrists, keeping her bound as the dark liquid barrier fell suddenly, only to form into Nightmare who now stood behind her; his tentacles keeping her in place. She realized why he had done so as one of Dream's arrows was sent flying at her, and for a moment, she thought it was going to pierce into her chest. It would have, if Nightmare hadn't nudged her to the side just in time- 

Fuck! He did that on purpose! She sent a teary glare up at his stupid face. His grin stretching wide across his skull and his eye socket wide and his blue eye light vibrated with exhilaration! "Tsk," Nightmare clicked his tongue and shook his head at his brother.  "You almost pierced  her, dear brother." 

Sans was screaming at Dream to be more careful- Atara's eyes widened at the sight of him being injured and.. And bleeding?!  "R-Red!" She cried out, trying to free herself from the evil skeleton behind her. "don't worry, sweetheart!" Sans called out to her, sounding somewhat relieved yet panicked.  "we'll save you and bring you home." She nodded at him, Nightmare groaned in disgust, rolling his eye light.  "I'm afraid our playtime is over. It looks like you've lost again, brother." 

"Nightmare!" Dream yelled, his bow aimed at Nightmare, he was confident that he wouldn't miss this time.  "Hand her over, now!" With a tilt of his head, Nightmare narrowed his eye socket and said;  "If you want her, come and get  her." 

It was to his surprise when Error appeared out of nowhere, his blue strings summoned and raining down onto Nightmare and Atara. They wrapped around each one, Error readily pulling back on Atara's strings to free her from Nightmare's bondage. Error's only warning was a huff of annoyance before Nightmare flicked a tentacle at the glitch, sending Error careening away from Nightmare and Atara. 

Ink was the next one to interfere, but Nightmare made easy work of him by performing the same trick he had with Error. As for Fell Sans... Well, the fool was too injured to get up and fight. Besides, Killer easily stomped his foot down on Sans' chest, gaining a cry of pain from Sans and a scream of fear from Atara. "L-Leave him alone!" 

Atara had been too distracted to see Nightmare's next plan of action. As soon as Dream release his hold on his arrow, it shot forwards and with just a step to the left... The arrow pierced into Atara's right shoulder, embedding right into her bone. 

Everything around Atara silenced once that arrow hit. The searing pain cloudy every other sense and blinded her. Her own scream of pain was even muffled in her own ears. 

Sans' eyes widened- not just his; Error, Ink, and Dream stared in horror at Atara as she tensed and panted; she cried. She cried out for her friends. She cried out for Sans... "It hurts!" 

"tara!!" 

"Fu-uck-ck!" 

"Atara, no!" 

Atara clenched her eyes shut, missing the scene played before her. 

Killer disappeared from beside Sans; Dream, Error, and Ink charged forwards to try and stop Nightmare from leaving. Nightmare grinned manically as he stepped back into the portal he summoned, Killer jumping through after.  

"Come try and save her, brother. Before she too gets corrupted~" 

With that, the portal closes, leaving the three skeletons behind in the Doodle Sphere, regretting their many decisions...

[piratesgiftexchange]

Passing the Time

for larvae and the Hidden Treasures moderator, by @pinchinlanesblog

PROMPTS: “Gibbs and Elizabeth hanging out on the journey to Singapore, reminiscing, playing cards, he teaches her a few new superstitions” - larvae “Something about Gibbs! Maybe about his life pre-COTBP, or about a romantic interest, or his dynamic with characters other than Jack (ex. Will, Elizabeth, Barbossa)…” - the mod WORD COUNT: 1440

Gibbs, being a highly superstitious and sensitive man, understood that things had a life of their own. He loved and respected the ship that carried him, the flask that bore in equal parts his greatest comfort and despair, even the kerchief that he wore sometimes around his neck. He could tell, better than most, where each of his belongings had originated and was, when circumstances allowed, nearly always the highest bidder when it came to auctioning off a fallen comrade’s belongings.

  He was, despite these leanings, not a man prone to laying up belongings. His was a ramshackle life; he knew to carry close what he loved, and be accepting should the tides of life pull away the rest.

  In his pocket he carried a knife and his flask. He had his kerchief and an assortment of charms to bring luck and protection. He carried, close to his heart, a piece of scrimshaw that he’d started for his sweetheart long ago, and that he worked on occasionally, though the ivory had yellowed with age and the sweetheart had long ago drifted from his life.

  They’d found passage on a ship to Singapore, and worked hard for their passage, even the captain. Gibbs was cheerful enough at his work, for many a time he’d set to on a duty not his own to make ends meet, and it raised Barbossa in his esteem to see the proud man do the same. 

  Miss Elizabeth threw herself into the work well enough, despite not being born to it, and labored like a man keen on forgetting the troubles that ailed him. The sun tanned her pretty face as well as it would any greenhorn’s, and the rough and hard work raised calluses and grew muscles that had not been there before.

  She sat alone on a pile of rope one Sunday afternoon, watching the sun sail across the sky. Gibbs was on his way to seek entertainment of some kind or the other when the set of her shoulders gave him pause.

  “Miss Elizabeth?”

  “Mister Gibbs,” she replied quietly.

  He sighed, searching his memory for some little trifle that might please her, much as he had when she was a little child on the crossing from England, pinch-faced and missing home and determined not to show it. “Did I ever tell ye why ye’ll never hear a sailor whistle onboard a ship?”

  The corner of her generous mouth lifted. “Everyone knows that,” she said, soulful eyes turning toward his. “It calls the wind.”

  “It challenges the wind,” he corrected. “Calls it to do its worst.”

  He stepped forward and she moved over, making room for him.  He settled himself and pulled out his knife and the piece of scrimshaw he kept.

  “What’s that?” Elizabeth asked, leaning closer to see.

  “Bit of somethin’ to pass the time,” Gibbs replied, handing it to her. “Were to be part of the lid to a matching box, only I lost the rest of it years ago.”

  “It’s fine work,” Elizabeth said, turning it this way and that. “Who is Rebecca?” 

  “Only a girl I knew, long ago now. Married a baker as I recall.” He smiled fondly. “She had a sweet way about ‘er. Made a man feel proud to stand next to ‘er.”

  Elizabeth’s long fingers smoothed over the etchings. She sighed, and Gibbs took back his project.

  “Ye may not know this,” he said, “but if yer goin’ to sail in the Caribbean then ye need take it to heart. They say that one of the worst pieces of bad luck a sailor can bring upon himself is t’carry a banana onboard a ship.”

  The absurdity of it surprised a laugh out of Elizabeth. “You can’t be serious,” she said.

  Tell me another, Mister Gibbs, the little girl had said long ago, dark eyes solemn and earnest.  Tell me another.

  “‘Tis true,” Gibbs said. “A ship whose cargo includes bananas is doomed to misfortune and disaster.” He leaned closer, and she turned to meet him. “I heard tell of a ship who was due to carry bananas from Hispaniola. Fast and trim she were, manned by a stout crew. She set out and were never heard of again.”

  Elizabeth’s mouth curled up. “There could be any number of reasons for that,” she retorted.

  “Perhaps,” Gibbs said, “but what’s to account for another ship leaving that self same port with a belly full of bananas, and half the crew dead or dying of a mysterious illness by the time they passed St. Kitt’s?” He shook his head. “That’s just two; there are countless others. Mark my word, Miss Elizabeth: ye can have all the bananas ye like on shore, but the minute ye take ‘em onboard, yer courtin’ trouble.”

  Elizabeth stirred and drew a weathered deck of cards from her pocket. “Care to play, Mister Gibbs?”

  The scrimshaw was tucked carefully away and the discarded lid of a barrel was found, and set on their knees for a makeshift table.

  “What’ll it be?” Gibbs asked, watching Elizabeth shuffle.

  “We’re too few for Pope Joan,” said she, “and I am tired of Patience. Brag?”

  “What to use for bets?”

  She knew as well as he did that the captain - both their captain and the captain of the vessel they sailed upon - would knock their heads together for playing with money. “There’s straw for packing in that barrel,” she said. “Let’s use that.”

  He counted them out an equal amount as she shuffled the cards. She was a dab hand at dealing and a good player; she’d nearly beat the pants off of Pintel and Ragetti the Sunday before, which sent them into sulks so that they refused to play with her.

  In a way he was possessed of a certain amount of paternal pride in the fact that she was so crafty and unyielding, having known her when she was small.

  “Ye can swim, I reckon,” he said, watching her eyes. His main strategy at cards was to talk and distract the other player into making a mistake. Elizabeth lifted her pretty brows and studied her cards.

  “Yes,” she said. “I can swim.”

  Gibbs nodded. “Ye’ll want a wren’s feather for yer pocket,” he counseled, “to stave off trouble. I carry one meself.”

  She made a noncommittal noise.

  “Some men’ll tattoo pictures of roosters and pigs on their feet. That’s good luck, and keeps ‘em safe from despair on account of the animals not bein’ able to swim.”

  “One would think the tattoo of a fish would serve better,” she retorted.

  “That’s for somethin’ else,” replied Gibbs. He lay down his hand triumphantly; she lowered her chin and laid down her own.

  She accepted her winnings gracefully, and beat him again, and once again after that. Being a man whose pride was not wound up tight with his success at cards, Gibbs chuckled as he handed the last of his straw to her. She deposited it back in the barrel, save one piece. 

  “I will keep it for luck,” she said, and smiled tiredly. 

  They sat quietly side-by-side. “It ain’t a superstition,” Gibbs said, clearing his throat delicately, “but many a heavy heart’s been eased by a little bit of handiwork.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I once heard tell of a sailor who’d made a picture of his home, all from shells he’d found on his travels,” Gibbs said. “Some men take old frayed pieces of rope and create the most dainty and delicate of keepsakes for their sweethearts. Other men beg pieces of scrap from the carpenter and build sewin’ boxes and such.” He pulled the scrimshaw from his pocket, showing the etchings to her. “This? Off Good Hope. Came out of it with a touch of fever. Was missing me old mam one day and did this part. You’ve seen Rebecca’s name, an’ over here’s a cross for me brother. I’ve got no skill at it, but I’ve seen men create whole pictures from just what they remember of places they’ve been.” He leaned forward and nodded aft toward Barbossa, where he stood watching the water. “He ain’t without his hobbies, either.”

  “Surely not.” Elizabeth’s brow furrowed. “Not the Captain.”

  “Devil take me for a liar if it ain’t the truth,” Gibbs said. “Who d’ye think makes all the little clothes for that blasted monkey?”

  It wasn’t something he could keep in his pocket, but her delighted smile was as precious a thing as he’d found in a long while.

[pure-kirarin]

The enchanting croon - Sabo x f!mermaid reader

A/N : Beware this very cute scenario that kept haunting me while I was swimming in the pool haha. I decided to break from the enchantment by writing it. I hope that you will like it as much as I do, because honestly, this is my favourite Sabo x reader scenario I have written for now. I added the song I listened to while writing this, as I looked at the sunset from my terrasse~ (look at the end of the post) Synopsis : Two different people cross paths only to share an enchanting moment, threading a fine line between dreams and reality.

Warnings : None. Enjoy.

-

“There isn’t much to explore, huh ?”

Sabo surmised as he wandered around the island. He didn’t care enough to follow Koala on her little shopping trip. The blond had most of his clothes tailored to his own tastes and fitted for his figure. He didn’t care much about fashion, but he prefered to own a few pieces of clothing that reflected his style and tastes rather than owning too many. He took advantage of these few moments of peace to explore the island and maybe gather some information for their next mission. Even when the young man had free time, he would always find a way to make it about work. The sunset was now approaching big times and he started to think about returning to the meeting point with Koala.

However, he wanted to spend some calm time by the beach before going back. In fact, he appreciated meditating on his own and gathering some alone time, away from his partner’s reprimands.

As he took a few more steps towards the tortuous alley, a gentle humming caught Sabo’s trained ears. The humming added a reverie-like beam to the atmosphere, it was as if he was stepping in some unreal territory. As he got closer , the enchanting voice got more distinguishable and it sounded now more like a chant. The gentle melody dragged him in, enchanting all his senses, in the span of a few seconds he was totally captivated.

He was curious to discover the origin of this croon. The dimness of the alley fell away the closer he came to the end, burned away by the colors of the sunset. Orange, yellow, red, all merged together, reflecting on the beach. And there, you sit in all your glory, offering him your back.

“So, this is what a mermaid’s singing sounds like ?” he thought to himself.

The notes were soft, but in your voice laid some melancholy that reached a deep part of his soul. He stood there in awe, he was petrified by the beauty of this magical moment. The way the notes rolled off your tongue, the way the light reflected on your scales made them glow like pure gold. He wanted to look longer, tracing every single image in his memory so he doesn’t forget about it.

He didn’t move by an inch, looking at you combing your hair with what looked like a golden comb, ornamented with little diamonds that glowed like stars under the sun. As much as he wanted to see the face of the fae creature that enchanted all his senses, he held back, unwilling to stop the chant.

He understood now the legends he read about mermaids, but how could such a beautiful song be one of destruction ?

But to his disenchantment -or would it be to his enchantment ?- the singing stopped abruptly. You turned your face towards him, sensing his presence, and the comb automatically fell from your frail hand.

A second was enough for him to react, he knew how to recognize terror in one’s eyes. He knew it too much, having worked for the revolutionaries for such a long time. You moved your tail, ready to disappear into the sea as if he had seen something that he was not supposed to see.

“Wait !” He didn’t move, he knew that if he did, you would be even less convinced to stay. “I won’t hurt you.”

You were already in the water, but as you heard the man’s voice, your movements got slower, as if you hesitated whether to go back or to stay.

“I am sorry I looked at you, that wasn’t very gentlemanly of me.”

He continued, his even voice was calming to you. No human has ever talked to you, you were excited and curious, but at the same time terrified.

Your intuition told you that he was a good man, the internalized voices of your parents and your likings said otherwise.

He sensed your inner conflict and decided to leave the choice up to you. He has met mermaids before but he has never talked to any. The mermaids he knew were also very different from you. Mostly ones he freed among other slaves, or older mermaids that were a part of a pirate crew. He got closer and his hand grasped the comb that fell on the shore minutes ago. His eyes scrutinized the arabesques that ornamented it. He then held it towards you.

“I think this belongs to you.”

You turned back and got closer to the rock where you were seated before he interrupted you. You leaned your upper body completely against it. Then, holding eye-contact, you stretched your delicate arm towards his. Without breaking eye contact your fingers grasped the comb, snatching it off his fingers, then, holding it close to your bosom. Your chest lifted up and down, your breath seemed heavy and you didn’t dare move. You seemed scared. His big black eyes were full of compassion as he could only imagine the reason behind your fear of humans.

“May I take a seat ?” he attempted. You nodded your head energetically, and he took place next to you on the huge rock. You inspected him with curiosity, but you didn’t move yet. In reality, you were now feeling that he wasn’t much of a threat, but you were still a bit scared.

“So, you understand me. Can you speak as well ?” you nodded again.

“My name is Sabo. Nice to meet you.”

You leaned towards his face inspecting it closely, your hand reached out to his cheek a few times but you were quick to hold back. You were very curious as you have always wanted to know more about humans. Sadly, everyone on your island said that humans were horrible creatures that would enslave and abuse mermaids. A few stories about mermaids being sold in auction houses were enough to scare you.

“Sabo” you repeated. He smiled and said back

“Yes, Sabo, that’s my name.”

“Sabo is a funny name.” your melodious laugh was contagious.

“You think so ? It’s short for sabotage. You’re right !” He laughed to lighten up the mood, a gloved hand scratching his neck.

“Humans have funny names.” You commented, taking his words literally.

“Not everyone. But it’s true that I have a rather peculiar name.” he smiled and you mirrored his smile.

You looked at the way the sun reflected on his golden locks and you thought that it looked so beautiful. You took place next to him now, you turned your face towards him, not able to detach your eyes from his sight. It wasn’t every day that you were able to see humans this close after all.

“My name is (Y/N) !”

“(Y/N), nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you too.”

Your eyes now lowered, looking at his legs, head blown away by how different his body was from yours. He noticed that and couldn’t refrain from smiling. It was the same for him actually, but he tried not to scare you away by dwelling on your body, it was breathtaking and he felt extremely lucky to share such a moment with a dreamy creature.

“So, what were you doing here ? And why is there no one by the beach ?” he asked.

“I like to come watch the sunset. It takes around half an hour of swimming for me to get here, but it’s pretty much worth it...This is the only time that I can come here unbothered.”

“And why is that ?” he asked gently. He encouraged you to talk more, trying to get you to feel more comfortable.

“Oh, it’s because it’s prayer time. The citizens of this island pray at this time, so there is no one by the beach. I spend half an hour here before going back home. I like to sing and enjoy the fresh air...This is why I was very surprised to see you here…”

“I am not a local, you are right. I had no idea about this. I am sorry again for earlier, your voice sounded really enchanting.” He complimented and you looked in front of you now, blushing a bit. It was the first time that someone, a man, a human man, complimented you.

“Was it your first time listening to a mermaid sing ?”

“Yes” his answer was simple and fast, he enjoyed the sunset, not looking your way so he doesn’t make you feel uncomfortable.

“It’s my first time too. Seeing a human.”

“How is it ? Is it different from what you have imagined ?”

Sabo tried to put himself in your shoes, or should I say- in your scales. He was genuinely fascinated by how big the universe is, and how different it should feel to be someone else. Life as a mermaid must be very different from his own. This conversation he was having with you was an opportunity for him to see things through your eyes.

He thought about the privilege he had as a human, and how he would often forget to his dismay, that the world was far bigger and that everyone had different experiences. And that was what he fought for, he fought for a world where a mermaid and a human could meet and where it would be natural.

“It is different.” You said as you veered your eyes towards his face once again. You seemed unable to contain your excitement. Your eyes shined like those of a child with an insatiable curiosity. “For example, I knew that humans had legs, but I have never seen legs before...Can I..Can I feel them ?” you hesitated.

“Of...of course.” he stuttered a bit, surprised by your question, but he had to remind himself that you were just fascinated by your differences and that it was just an innocent request.

You put your hand on his thigh and squeezed it before laughing. “It’s hard, different from my tail. You want to touch it as well ?”

His cheeks were rose colored as he thought that you really had no idea of the hidden meaning of your words. He then took off his gloves and touched your tail with the tip of his fingers. You put your hand on his and pressed it on your tail while laughing

“Come on, don’t be scared. It doesn’t hurt.”

“It feels soft, like a fish.” He said.

“Well, I am technically half a fish, so that’s right.” You let go of his hand and added. “Also, I imagined humans to be more...scary ? I am sorry. I didn’t mean to be rude to you. It’s just that- it’s complicated between humans and mermen. My parents have always warned me of humans.”

“I know” Sabo was now looking at the sky with dreamy eyes “And your parents were probably right. They worry about you. Most things that you have probably heard about humans are unfortunately true.”

Your shimmer smile faded away leaving an expression of melancholy and sadness on your traits.

“But not everyone is like this.” He looked back at you with a determined expression. “I am a revolutionary. I fight for freedom and equality, for a world where humans and all other species will be considered equal. I am sorry that the world isn’t a safe place for you at the moment, (Y/N).”

You smiled lovingly and pressed on his hand. You could feel that the man was incredibly sincere and you were moved by his words. You then added, and in your voice he could discern that same tone of sadness and melancholy that he heard in your singing ;

“That’s very admirable of you, Sabo. I have always dreamt of..Of walking outside freely and meeting humans. Life underwater is fun, but it’s also just one percent of what is there to see in this world...I think that it’s unfair that I’m not allowed to discover all of these things…” your eyes almost teared up as you said those things. “But your words give me hope. I wish more people were like you, Sabo. I don’t understand much about “revolutionaries”. But you sound like good people.”

There wasn’t much to be understood, only to be felt. You put your head on his shoulder and he hesitated before rubbing yours in a comforting way. You were just two people sharing a connexion, something that was soul-level and that words couldn’t express. You were the embodiment of what he was fighting for. And you being there, so beautiful, yet like a bird in a cage, tore his heart apart.

With a swift move you plunged into the sea and dragged him away from his hand. “Come on, that was really depressing. Let’s swim together.” You said with a laugh.

“W-wait !” he protested. “I can’t swim !” you looked at him with big eyes. He was already starting to sink a bit when you got closer to his body and put his arms around your neck.

“Hold onto me really well then !” you said with a mischievous smile.

He did as you asked and was surprised with the ease with which you held his body and with how fast you swam.

“And why can’t you swim ? Are you scared ?” you teased a bit.

“It’s not that, I am a devil fruit holder. But I loved to swim before.”

You heard about devil fruits before, but only in books. You have never witnessed such a power and believed it to be a legend. But you also knew that devil fruit eaters can’t swim, since devil fruits were cursed by the sea.

“What kind of power do you have ?” you asked, curious as you bring Sabo back to the shore. He got up, turning his fist into flames under your admiring gaze :

“I can control flames”

“That’s pretty impressive. I wonder if I can get such a cool power one day as well.” You smiled.

“Who knows ? What kind of power would you like to have ?” he asked as he took off his jacket and shirt, wringing them to get rid of the water. You got lost looking at his body and how handsome he was. He really did look charming. You then recollected your thoughts trying to think about his question :

“I have never thought about that. I didn’t think that devil fruits existed until today. I like talking to you Sabo, you taught me so many things.”

You tapped the place next to you back at the rock, gesturing for him to take a seat which he does.

“I like talking to you too, (Y/N), it’s refreshing. You have such a pure and innocent way of viewing the world.”

He meant that it was easy for you to warm up to him, and it gave him hope. It felt as if you were ready to see the good in everything. But he knew that this could also put you in danger, as some people could have bad intentions towards you, especially that mermaids were unfortunately targeted by slave traffickers.

“Gee, if my parents knew that I’m here with a human, they’ll kill me~” you mused.

He tapped your shoulder in a comforting way and said :

“They don’t need to know for now, but I promise you that I will do my best so that humans and mermen can live in peace. This way, your parents won’t be so worried about you coming here.”

Without a thought, you encircled the man’s neck with both your arms.

“Thank you so much Sabo” you chirped. He put a hand on your back, taken aback by the proximity. He knew that you didn’t think much about this gesture, but he couldn’t help but notice the softness of your chest against his. He pulled away gently, embarrassed by this thought crossing his mind.

“It’s only natural, (Y/N), it’s my duty.”

“But still, this means that you are a really kind and selfless person.” A smile played on your mouth. But the corner of your lips fell down as you noticed that the sun was already setting down. You had to go away soon. You wished to spend more time with Sabo, but if you stayed any longer, your parents would get suspicious, not to forget that prayer time was almost elapsed.

“It’s getting darker now...I have to go soon…”

Sabo looked at his wrist watch, noticing that his meeting time with Koala was also getting closer. Time passed by really fast in such an agreable company, he thought to himself.

“I have to go as well.” he says as he puts back his shirt after drying it faster with his devil fruit powers. “It was really nice meeting you, (Y/N), I wish to hear you sing once again.” And he smiled gently, and your heart hurt a bit as you didn’t want to leave his side.

You wanted him to tell you more, you wanted to know more about this world that he was trying to build for you and your people, a world where humans and mermen could coexist.

“Say Sabo...We will meet again right ? You’ll come here again, right ?” you tugged at his sleeve bringing him closer to the rock where you were seated. Your pleading eyes made his heart melt and he couldn’t help but ruffle your hair. This simple touch made your heart skip a beat. You wanted him to stay so badly. You really liked how gentle he was, how respectful and polite he was towards you. You have always been both scared and fascinated by humans, yet, now that you have met him, you wanted to meet more of them.

Sabo seemed to think for a moment, then, he took a piece of paper out of the pocket of his coat and put it in your hand.

“Unfortunately, I’ll be leaving this island tonight, however, I’ll give you a piece of my vivre card.”

You looked at the piece laying in the palm of your hands with big surprised eyes. He continued, noticing your surprise :

“This will always guide you to me. It points to my location. This way, whenever I’m by the beach or the sea, you’ll be able to find me, if you want to of course. I’ll be very pleased to hear you sing, and to talk to you of course, (Y/N).”

You instinctively closed your fingers around the piece of paper, bringing it closer to your chest. I will cherish it with all my heart, you thought to yourself. You wanted Sabo to never forget about you, and you were excited to meet him again, and have him tell you about his adventures. You looked a bit around you then took his hand and placed your golden comb in it.

“Please accept this as a memento of mine.” He looked at the beautiful comb, was it alright for him to accept such a gift ? Seeing him so reluctant and hesitant, you reassured him

“I want you to keep it, maybe you’re not aware of it, but today was really meaningful for me. I was afraid of humans because of mermen legends, but you proved me wrong.”

You punctuated your words with a smile that he mirrored. You were so adorable to him, he liked how spontaneous you were and how easy it was for you to speak your feelings. As you took your hand away from his, he closed his fingers around the comb then put it in his pocket.

“I’ll keep it then. Please know that the pleasure is shared. Good and evil exist everywhere. I am glad that I have given you a good impression about humans. Please don’t hesitate to ask me for help if you run into any kind of trouble. Alright ?”

You nodded, your heart melting at his kindness. You hesitated for a second, then, you lifted your upper body with your palms placed on the rock. Then, with one arm, you pulled Sabo from his cravate so that his face was inches away from yours. His eyes were shaken with surprise, pupils dilated. You closed yours and kissed his cheek softly, his blond locks tickling your face. You let go of him fast, plunging into the sea.

“I won’t hesitate...I hope that we will see each other again…”

He straightened his back, smiling at you. It would have been impossible not to be shaken by your move. He engraved that moment in his memory : the way your cheeks were flushed pink, the tone in which you spoke : flowing like velvet, and how your hair glowed in the dark as if it had stars entangled in it. You were so beautiful, too beautiful, and he had a desire to protect this beauty, this purity of yours. He had to pursue his goal, to continue, to make the world a place for beauty to be appreciated.

Your voice was heard once again, now low, just a murmur.

“But there was one thing that the mermen legends weren’t wrong about...Human men are really handsome.”

He could hear a shy smile in your voice, and after these few words, you disappeared into the water, as if you had just been a dream. But the comb in his pocket proved otherwise. What a playful girl, he thought. Then, he stayed still for a few minutes, taking in the peaceful air of the sea.

Maybe you will meet again. He thought. But till then, he had to work harder. He turned his back to the sea, returning to his meeting point with Koala, although his thoughts were still attached to your enchanting croon.

Tag list : @fishandfuck

[ajaxwrites]

GENSHIN IMPACT FANFIC REC LIST II

(previous: part i)

Seaglass by Aevas

There was more to the contract than a gnosis and test of Liyue. It seemed like a simple deal five hundred years ago: so long as Morax never had a soulmate, the Tsaritsa would never harm Liyue and she would not get his gnosis. But the moment he gained a soulmate, all that belonged to him was forfeit. He thought the deal left Liyue safe—he'd lived thousands of years without a soulmate. The Tsaritsa would be dead and gone by the time she'd have a chance to collect.

Five hundred years later, Childe appears in Liyue, Zhongli gains a soulmate mark, and everything falls apart.

(The obligatory soulmate AU, featuring a Zhongli with PTSD, an oblivious Childe, and demon-worshipping cultists.)

Ships: Zhongli/Childe

Notes: I CANNOT BELIEVE I SLEPT ON THIS FIC FOR SO LONG. Read it and I mean it! I admitted initially steered clear of this fic because I wasn’t comforted with a soulmate tartali fic pre-Osial but this fic is actually post-Ostial *facepalm* The writing is phenomenal and Aevas does some beautiful worldbuilding that you typically don’t see in Genshin Impact fics. I love the dynamic between Childe and Zhongli here and the angst is real. The author writes the two as very human characters who makes mistakes, etc. and notably Zhongli struggles with the concept of Childe as his soulmate (who understandably is upset by the rejection when he realizes). They get better though. Also very plotty. A+ writing.

it's a hard rock life for us by reptilianraven

“Ah, no need to worry about that,” Azhdaha waves a dismissive hand. “There is no real Kun Jun. He’s dead.”

A leaf blows past and plaps onto Aether’s face.

“You killed him???” Paimon screeches.

“No,” Azhdaha scrunches his eyebrows. “He was dead when I found him.”

“And you just decided to wear his corpse?” Aether says, leaf still on his face.

He shrugs. “It was free real estate.”

“Azhdaha...” Morax says, sounding vaguely pained.

-

Or the one where Historia Antiqua Chapter II: No Mere Stone goes a little bit different and Azhdaha gets more time.

He ultimately uses that time to bully Morax into confronting his immortal neuroses, to make Aether and Paimon suffer, and to figure out how to get that ginger boy Morax has his eye on to make a move already.

Ships: Zhongli/Childe, Past Azhdaha/Zhongli

Notes: Very lighthearted, humor-filled fic. Love how Azhdaha is so flippant. Interactions with Zhongli and Childe are pure gold.

if there's a light at the end, it's just the sun in your eyes by moonlight_mist

Childe has a Weapon problem- specifically, that he can't keep one.

He's too reckless, too wild, and too keen on pushing his Weapon partners past their limits. He's just about ready to give up when he meets Zhongli, a Weapon who just might be the solution- so long as Childe can manage to keep his dick in his pants.

Ships: Zhongli/Childe

Notes: This is a Soul Eater AU with some college/university AU vibes (?) but you don’t really need to know much about the anime. It’s a cute AU and I love the premise. Light angst but otherwise, it’s a pretty semi-plotty fic. Easter egg Kaeya and Diluc though.

To Kill A God by IlluminanceinTales

In Snezhnaya, they call them sansis—lost souls that have no guidance but themselves. It’s an apt description, given that most of the time, wannabe-Archons have to go through dozens of tests with nothing as their reference, relying solely on their wit and strength and hoping it would be enough. At least, until they survive the end of the whole game—and they might not have to undergo a painful reincarnation which feels like a hundred bones being stitched together again.

On his seventh game, Childe Tartaglia reincarnates this time in the body of a young man.

Damn, he thinks, looking down at his thin body, his slightly calloused fingers. This won’t be good when facing the other Hydro Decisions.

In a world where an Archon's position is not chosen but fought for in games, Childe Tartaglia is a Hydro Decision who's poised to become the next Hydro Archon. Of course, that's only if he survives his seventh reincarnation. All would be so much easier if it weren't for a certain Geo Archon interfering with every possible chance he gets.

Ships: Zhongli/Childe

Notes: Think Hunger Games meet Political Intrigue meet Genshin Impact. Love the premise and world building that’s done. Features overprotective Zhongli and lots of Childe whump. Has one or two supplementary OCs that aren’t really important outside of plot device reasons. Warning for character death tho lmao.

Three's a Family by IlluminanceinTales

Childe finds a kid that looks just like him.

Of course Zhongli wants to keep him.

Or: How a harbinger and an archon accidentally become fathers. The kid is their wingman

Ships: Childe/Zhongli (?)

Notes: Your everyday cute AF kid fic. Fluffy as hell and super cute. Zhongli and Childe get domestic pretty quickly. Xiao gets dubbed a grandfather and begrudgingly plays along. Super wholesome.

in pitch dark i go walking in your landscape by snowbrigade

He glanced down at him, at the silvery scars peeking out from beneath his robe, and at his eyes, properly now. They were the bright blue of high quality noctilucous jade, but he could see it, an underlying darkness.

Zhongli wondered what his eyes betrayed about himself. --

Rex Lapis is dead. Zhongli, formerly known as triad leader Rex Lapis, is a detective investigating his own "death." Childe, also known as Tartaglia of the Fatui mafia, is undercover as an escort looking to kill Rex Lapis- until someone beats him to it, and he wants to know who. Goals intersecting, they form a partnership of ulterior motives.

Ships: Zhongli/Childe

Notes: There’s like one scene that skews NSFW but otherwise surprisingly not explicit. Really fun AU. Like how the author addresses Childe’s reaction to being stuck with the undercover escort stuff and how the dynamic between the two develops. Pretty plotty so far.

Phantom Lines by iskendaris

“It’s a measure of one’s self, Mr Zhongli.” Childe says. “Maybe you don’t understand it since you work as a consultant, but as an ambassador from the Tsaritsa, as one who fights in her name— this is how I learn to know the measure of myself.” “I understand,” Zhongli says thoughtfully. “It is a warrior’s way, to test one’s strength against the incomparable. To find where one falls short. To find where one has risen to the challenge.”

In which Childe has insomnia, vandalizes public property and runs into a mysterious funeral consultant on his first night in Liyue.

Ships: Zhongli/Childe

Notes: THE FEELS. I can only describe this as the fic where Zhongli pays Best Boyfriend Ever only to FUCK UP big time (via Gnosis deception). Poor, poor Childe. Look, he gave the boy feelings and then broke him. You can really feel Childe fall in love in this love. He also does mental swooning a lot lmao. 

adventitious by Anonymous

It's said the Ley Lines remember all things that happen in this world, from the surface down to the deepest depths... But in the hidden corners where the Gods' gaze does not fall, there are those who dream of dreaming.

There's a dormant bud where Kaeya's eye once was. One day, it will bloom. (Never forget: memory is untrustworthy.)

Ships: Diluc/Kaeya

Notes: I don’t even know where to start. This is very headcanony and lore-focused. Very much concentrated on Khaenri'ah. The implications of this story is grotesque to say the least (according to this fic, Visions are the literal eyes of the people of Khaenri'ah). Warnings for eye and body horror.

Without Those Dark Memories by StrangeDiamond

Diluc awakens in Stormterror’s Lair with no memories of the past five years. Kaeya is on the trail of a rogue alchemist, with a habit of testing his chemicals on unwilling human subjects. Now, in addition to capturing the criminal, Kaeya has to shake him down for an antidote . . . and deal with an amnesiac Diluc who acts exactly like he did before their brotherhood fell apart. (Standalone Fic.)

Ships: Diluc/Kaeya

Notes: This is sort of a classic amnesia fic. I particularly really liked the way that Kaeya was written in this. I feel like the author did a really good job nailing his character and they have a way of capturing the subtle things.

Through the warmth, through the cold by strikedawn

“It’s you!” Paimon shouted with a twirl in mid-air.

“…Excuse me?"

They were drunk. Were they drunk? Was he drunk? Because Kaeya had the feeling his guests had been talking to him for a while now, but none of their words had made any sense whatsoever.

That was, until Venti stepped firmly in front of Kaeya’s desk and set his hands on the top, the better to lean over towards Kaeya and say: “For the end of the Windblume festival, Sir Kaeya Alberich, we’re going to auction a date with you.”

Ships: Diluc/Kaeya

Notes: Shortword, Kaeya gets auctioned off. Diluc makes impulsive (but good) decisions and scores himself a Date but displays an inability to do Date Planning. Venti deserves a pat on the back. Very sweet.

Hide and Seek by Kiri_Kaitou_Clover

Childe did not expect regaining his memories would bring him such frustration.

He makes the best of the situation by messing with one amber eyed consultant in anyway he can.

A reincarnated storm god wades through life in Liyue, all while screaming about one dragon god's incompetency at being human.

Ships: Zhongli/Childe

Notes: Features Childe as Osial’s very exasperated reincarnation, who gets the joy of discovering that his rival/enemy Morax is not only an idiot but also broke AF. He still falls in love anyway. Contains this golden line: 

"Did... did that complete blockhead really use my money in order to get me a gift that basically says that he is proposing to me?!"

(Osial was screaming. When had the other god become like this?! Had he always been like this?!)

Getting that Bread by tzitzimeme

Concubine AU where Zhongli is Emperor, Xiao is an assassin sent to kill him while disguised as a woman in his imperial harem, and the only reason he doesn't actually do it is because he pities Zhongli for being so catastrophically stupid (also Xiao falls in love).

Ships: Zhongli/Xiao

Notes: Like Xiao says, Zhongli is an idiot. Fluff and humor filled. Xiao spends a good 95% of this exasperated by Zhongli’s bullshit. 

prayers for a boy by Recluse

The only way to reconciliation is fierce combat!

Hm... Come to think of it, there will be a lot of interesting news to be heard the next time we gather for drinks. Filling in the blanks.

Ships: N/A

Notes: I...don’t really know where to begin with this? It’s exactly what the summary implies...but more? I was tempted to describe this as the fic where Zhongli puts his foot in his mouth but...that’s not exactly write? I feel like this was more of a character study. It explores the aftermath of the Osial Incident and how Zhongli and Childe reconnect. Platonically...though I guess it can be read romantically. 

one kind of longing, two places of sorrow by lady_peony

Zhongli's hands rest behind his back, both gloved hands clasping one another. His fingers tighten around one another for the merest moment, before he relaxes his grip.

"There is a tradition in Liyue," Zhongli says, his back still to Childe standing behind him, "of inviting out a companion to a last meal before a farewell."

A pause.

"A tradition?" Childe echoes.

"Yes."

"With a companion?"

"Yes."

Ships: Zhongli/Childe

Notes: The fic where neither of the two communicate about jackshit but go on a quiet, sad not-date before Childe leaves for Snezhnaya. Childe pulls (? on accident or on purpose, I can not tell) the equivalent of leaving the jacket in the car post-date to get date to call for the second date. Also, the author has a gift for like...writing angst...without writing angst? Like the whole fic is like brimming with everything that the characters aren’t saying but the thoughts aren’t necessarily written out BUT YOU KNOW THOSE DUMBFUCKS ARE JUST LIKE. BRIMMING WITH FEELS? 

The People of Liyue by queer_occurrences

But Zhongli whispers, his low voice rooted in the back of Childe’s mind. “Changsun, the merchant, who is never too Mora-enthralled to turn away a needy child. There’s Tiantian—she will allow anyone to join the Adventurer’s Guild—she knows what it is to be desperate.”

Childe ducks away from them and hurries out over the bridge. It’s a warm, sunny day, the kind he would have complained about, whining about his delicate Snezhnayan skin. “It’ll burn, or worse, freckle. Would you still like me if I was freckled?”

Then Zhongli would say, “The people of Liyue will remember your sacrifice.” And he would wrinkle his nose.

Or: after it all goes down, Childe takes a walk.

Ships: Zhongli/Childe

Notes: The author has a way with perfectly balancing angst with humor in a way that makes you cackle. There’s a lot of feels in this one. Zhongli tries communicating--Childe runs away a lot. There’s a lot of love for Liyue in this one.

cold blooded, warm blooded, hearts all the same by reptilianraven

Teyvat Petting Zoo @tyvtpettingzoo

Well would you look at that! Zhongli, our resident spinytail iguana, has gotten quite cozy with Childe, our new (and very feisty) ginger ferret! Aren’t they adorable all cuddled together like this? 😍😍😍

[Attached image shows a brown spinytail iguana curled up against a ginger ferret. The iguana’s head is nuzzled under the snout of the ferret.]

-

At the Teyvat Petting Zoo, Zhongli and Childe fall in love.

Ships: Zhongli/Childe

Notes: ...I promise I’m not weird. This is just super cute. Cross-species love affair? Childe the ferret is very besotted. The internet is confused and the zoo keepers are just done.

a geo archon's guide to the modern era by Erina

“Morax,” Xiao says after Zhongli finishes his retelling of the incident. “He thinks you’re a weirdo.”

“No, don’t say that,” Barbatos snickers. “You’ll give him hope that this is salvageable.” He lowers his voice. “Morax, he thinks you’re a boomer.”

(In which Zhongli hibernates for centuries and wakes up in the modern world)

Ships: Zhongli/Childe

Notes: This took me, I shit you not, FIVE SEPARATE ATTEMPTS to read. Not because it was bad but BECAUSE THE SECOND HAND EMBARRASSMENT WAS REAL. Like, omg, just reading about Zhongli’s introduction to modernity made me want to dig a hole and die. Super funny though. Do not read in public or you will look like a lunatic. Has a...parallel (?) fic in the same series called  buy two get one archon free where Zhongli gets reversed isekai’d into an anime convention.

time flies like an arrow by Erina

He’s tired, tired of the unbreakable loop of watching his loved ones pass on, tired of getting attached only for the connection to be violently ripped away from him. He wonders if the real victors during the Archon War were those who perished, who died long before their godhood turned into a curse that chained them to the land that they were fighting for.

But that is not a problem for Childe to worry about. That is Zhongli’s burden to bear, delivered to him in a pretty package years ago in the form of a gnosis.

His very first contract.

(Zhongli and Childe, across many lifetimes)

Ships: Zhongli/Childe

Notes: This is a quiet fic. It’s this kind of slice-of-life fic colored by this overpowering sense of love and loss as Zhongli remains immortal and Childe dies and lives and dies and lives for hundreds of lifetimes, but always finds his way back to his geo archon. It’s so lovely but also unbearably sad.

Tartaglia’s Favorite Professor by GreyLiliy

The famed hitman Tartaglia of the Fatui Syndicate spends his days as the charming college student Childe. The two lives remain as separate as possible in order to maintain a flawless cover to keep the authorities off his back and to better serve the Tsaritsa.

However, new intel about a rival syndicate intersects his two lives in a way he could never have predicted.

Ships: Zhongli/Childe

Notes: Mafia AU meet College AU. Childe is somehow both a horny AF college student and murderous hitman. Zhongli gives off major DILF vibes. GreyLily somehow makes this work while also avoiding cringe. Highly recommended!

like a handprint on my heart by fallingintodivinity

“Strictly off-the-record,” Jean says, with a small smile, “I’m really happy to see you and Captain Kaeya getting along again, Master Diluc.”

“We’re not – we’re not getting along,” Diluc tells her, indignant. “We’re working together. Unwillingly, I might add.”

“Yes – oh, yes, of course.”

Diluc stares at Jean suspiciously. “Are you laughing at me?”

Jean clears her throat primly. “I would never.”

Ships: Diluc/Kaeya

Notes: Super, super cute! Sort of reads like a first date fic except genshin impact style? Writing style is very refreshing!

[floatinginwords]

Saved by the Devil (13/?) - Thomas Shelby

Summary: Its time for Epsom, what could go wrong? (Sorry about my summaries they are terrible) 

Paring: Tommy Shelby x Fem!reader (romantic) 

Warning: S*xual Assault  There is a  scene where the reader is put in uncomfortable position with the general. Reader takes the place of Lizzie in luring the General. And stuff does go down but i was not graphic in writing it cause i was a bit uncomfortable writing anything beyond what i did write and i didn't want to trigger anyone. When the scene does come up i will put a another warning to let you know. 

A/N: Hello, this chapter was so so so fun to write. I am so excited for all of you to read and hopefully tell me what you think cause i think this just might be one of my favorite chapters so far... Have a lovely night and see you soon :)

It was time. And for the first moment in your life you were beyond scared. It didn’t show as you got into the back seat the Shelby boys, Arthur and John, in front. No sign of Thomas Shelby anywhere.

“Boys, its good to see you.” You say genuinely. You hadn’t seen them since the last little mission at the horse auction. This time though will be different, you had a lovely knife strapped to your thigh. All your injuries healed and you were beyond prepared for this. You liked the brothers, though you didn’t know them too well. They seemed to take kindly to you too as they nodded at your statement and asked how you were.

The ride felt short. Though it had to have been longer since you were far from London. You didn’t even know what you were thinking about the entire time. You knew that Thomas was waiting for the three of you and more. You weren’t sure if you were ready to face him. The other night when you guys had almost-

You shake your head of the memory. Remembering that you were just a second choice in all this. Grace had rejected him. Then he called you and like a dog you came running. You didn’t know what was wrong with you. But never again would that happen. He didn’t want you and neither did you. And after all this was done, you would never have to see each other again.

 You already had word with Trinity, you were leaving tomorrow. Everything was planned and ready to go. Thomas never told you about a new passport or id, you had requested. But you couldn’t wait for him. The nightmares were getting worse and you swore that when you talked on the phone the past week, you could hear breathing on the other line. There was no time to waste, it was time to go.

 The two brothers and you head up to the front of the Epsom gates, there you see Tommy Shelby and the rest of the gang. His aunt Polly in attendance eyeing you up and down but no saying a word. Her stare this time not making you nervous, instead you see it filled with curiosity.

 “Alright everyone’s, here,” Thomas says not making eye contact with you as he claps his hands together, “here’s the agenda.”

 And he takes everyone down to the plan, leaving out of course the part of the assassination of the general. All he says is that he will provide a distraction for everyone in order to take Sabini racetrack licenses. No one asks questions as he finishes the meeting. Everyone scatters to different parts as they enter the races.

 “(Y/n)” you hear your name fall out of his mouth. You look at each other and theres a pause. There’s million things unsaid at this moment that you both want to say. But don’t.

 “Keep an eye out.” He finally says moving past you, disappearing in the crowd.

 And that’s what you do. You keep an eye out. You thought you might have more significance on this day but maybe not. Maybe this is all you get to do. You remember back then when you had worked for your father. The man had always let you in on the action, no matter how dangerous. You didn’t care either because that was life, it was normal for you. Your mother, rest her soul, was the only one who had ever fought for you to stay home, go to school, date and live normal. But she never got her way.

 You watched some of the peaky blinder, the ones that you could pin point walk around the arena. They all were tailing some of Sabini’s men which you have seen maybe one or twice. You tried to keep an eye out for Sabini but couldn’t find the man anywhere. You did see an inspector Campbell, the man who had brutally beat you not too long ago. You stare hard at him remembering the moments as if it was yesterday.

 “Got a vendetta against the man?”

 You turn around and come face to face with Polly, she smokes a cigarette like a royalty into the air. Her eyes never leave the inspectors either. You can see the pain and rage in her eyes. You don’t pry.

 You turn your gaze back on the filthy man who walks with his cane, laughing and smiling with the people in the crowd.

 “Men like that shouldn’t be allowed to walk on this earth.” You say.

 She nods and for a split second there seems to be a connection between the two of you with your shared pain and hatred for the man. You both don’t say anything else as the man leaves out of your views.

Polly leaves first, without saying any other words. You stay in you spot scanning the crowd. Probably taking your job a bit too serious.

You can hear the laughter and cheerful cries of everyone. The experiment in the arena could be felt by everyone. You spot military men in a group together laughing and talking. You know that the tallest one is the general from the photos Thomas had showed you.

You also see a blonde curls and pink hat looking lost among the sea of people. It was a face you had only recently come to known. Grace. You leave your spot feeling the embarrassment from the other night all over again. You wonder around the place feeling bored and just wanting to leave.

“(y/n)?” a tall man who looked to be a preacher came toward you. You had never met him before.

 “yes?” you say cautiously, remembering your in a public space, no ones gonna do anything.

 “Tommy’s looking for you.” He says.

 “what does he want?” you ask. The man just shrugs. And you sigh and follow him through the crowd.

 Thomas stands on top of the staircase, looking anxious and pale.

 “Found her boss.” The man says leaving you with him.

 “Alright, good. (Y/n) come on. And unbutton the first two buttons.” He demands flicking the end of his cigarette he had just finished.

 “Excuse me?” you say crossing your arms and standing still.

 Thomas stares at you and looks baffled at your disobedience as if this was his first time meeting you.

 “Please, (Y/n). I’ll explain inside.” His tone quitter and pleading.

 You follow him but don’t unbutton anything of yours. He leads you into a room that looks like only the rich and royalty would eat here. You felt out of place immediately. You both don’t talk as you sit across from one another. You watch him put another cigarette in his mouth. He doesn’t meet your eyes as he talks.

 “Look, I didn’t want to ask you this…”

 “Just tell me, no need to prolong it.”

 “I need you to get him isolated.”  You hear his words and double meaning behind them. You can feel your stomach turning in disgust of what’s he asking you. Your face is kept neutral as you talk.

 “What happened to following him till he was alone to piss?” You ask

 “Doesn’t matter.”

 “Look, I’m not-“

 He grabs your hand across the table and holds it tightly. It burns but you don’t let go. You stare at your intertwined hands.

 “I don’t want you to do this. I don’t want to think of you anywhere alone with him. But right now, I trust you and only you to do this. Please. Or else I’m fucked.”

You wanted to be snarky and petty. You wanted to say “Ask Grace”. You wanted to say screw you and leave. You wanted to slap him or kick him. But you saw the sincerity in his voice. You saw the fear in his eyes that he always seemed to hide.

 “okay fine. Ill do it.” You say.

 His grip doesn’t soften as he continues to hold you. “Thank you.” He says softly.

 Thomas leaves you in the fancy room by yourself. He went over details of where to lure over the general. It was a place that would be very private, no witnesses. Thomas said that he would be there in 15 minutes, he promised that nothing would happen to you. You could tell he wanted to keep that promise but you weren’t sure if he could.

You saw the general at another table with other military men. He noticed you right away. His eye never leaves your figure as you sat by yourself.

 ‘too easy’ you thought to yourself as the general himself came over to you.

 He introduced himself, kissed your hand like a gentleman might, and sat where Thomas was not minutes ago. It was light conversation before you decide to break it. There was no other way to lure him, other than sex. And that what you did. Pretending to be a prostitute wasn't hard. You had been around some your whole life. You knew the lingo and prices and tricks. But not everyone could do it. You knew that. As you took the mans wandering hand off your knee from under the table and guided him away from the fancy room. You took him down hallways and corridors, trying to properly remember the map Thomas had shown you.

                                           *********Warning*********

“Where are you taking me?” The general asks flirtatiously.

 “Somewhere private.” You answer.

 Finally you found the spot of no witness and people. It was quite and literally no one around. You feel the Generals hot mouth on your neck, biting at you. You fake a giggle at the action but your stomach was turning in disgust. You took a quick glance at your watch. You got here too early. 5 more minutes until Thomas was here.

 You can feel the generals fingers wander to the hem of your dress, rushing to pull it up. You push it down and step away from him, laughing a bit nervously at the contact.

 “Don’t be a tease now, love.” He says

 “I just us to take our time.” You lie and smile sweetly. You had never been in this position before and you were very nervous. You could feel your hands shaking as you tried to gain control hoping to stop  it.

“I don’t have time.” The general says grabbing you harshly and turning you around.

 “Wait, wait.” You say feeling violated like never before.

 You kick him hard in the stomach, causing him to step backward from you. You run to the other wall, wanting nothing but distance from the guy.

 “You bitch.” He sneers coming toward you with an ugly smile.

 You pull you knife out of your thigh holster and point it toward him. He stops upon seeing a weapon. And then he laughs.

 “How adorable.” He says

 You glance at your watch again. Its past the time Thomas should have been here. You feel a bit of dread poor over you. You don’t know how you were gonna fight off some military man. Your skills weren’t up to par on his, you knew that. Maybe enough to cause damage and run. Maybe.

 He stalks toward you with all the confidence in the world. His face gives it off like this a game for him, he likes that you’re not giving in, that you’re fighting against him. It’s an inconvenience but he likes a challenge.

 You step forward, slashing him across the cheek. He doesn’t react to it as he grabs your wrist. His giant hand pushing it back at an odd angle. You try to use your other hand to hit him but it does nothing. You’re forced to drop the knife. He pushes you against the wall. His eyes animalistic and you cry in pain as your head makes contact, hard with the wood.

 You see black spots around your vision as you hear the man say something to you, you don’t know what. His hands roam around your body but you focus on anything but. You hear the zipping of pants and your hearts begins to race at the thought of whats to come next.  Tears slip down your eyes as you think of no one coming to save you.

 “Russell!” You hear a familiar voice yell.

 The general leans off your body, you slide down on the wall looking up to see Thomas with his pistol pointed at the general. The gun clicks.

 Nothing happens.

 “Fuck!” Thomas yells as the General rushes over to Thomas, the pair beginning to fight each other.

 You scramble to your feet, feeling awfully dizzy. You see Thomas gun on the floor. The men continue fighting each other. The general trying to reach his gun on his hip.

 You take Thomas’s gun aiming it, but nothing was coming out. It was jammed.

 You see the general push his finger into Thomas eye, you can see the gun finally in his hand. Thomas knows it too as he grabs at that arm hoping to take it from him. You think fast kicking the general’s legs, making him fall.  The gun that was in his hand now on the floor. Which Thomas quickly grabs aiming it right under the generals chin and shooting without hesitation.

 The two of you pant heavily as it finally is over. Thomas looks over at you and his shoulder slump.

 “Are you okay?” he asks.

 “I’m fine,” you say, forgetting how badly you must look with your tear stained face, “Where were you?”

 He shakes his head, “I’m sorry,” He reaches a hand toward you wiping away the tears that were still falling, “You’re crying.”

You didn’t know what to say as he strokes your cheek, catching runaway tears that you had no control over. You try to steady your breathing, staring into his steel blue eyes.

 “I will never ask you to do anything like that again.” He says.

 You nod at his words, touching the hand that’s on your face and gently pulling it away.

 “We need to go separate ways. Or else we’re suspects.” You say.

 “Meet me by the where- where they take the bets ay?”

 He stares at you like he wants to say more but again, he doesn’t. You both walk separate directions. You pick up your knife on the way out, leaving the rest of the crime scene alone.

  You walk down the way to the betting place. You can see all the police and military men rushing to where you had just come from. You know the peaky blinders, now, were threatening Sabinis men, burning the licenses at this moment.

 You stand by yourself, waiting until you see a familiar face once again. This time she notices you too. The beautiful blonde walks toward you.

 “Hello.” She says.

 “Hi,” You say, “is youre looking for-“

 “I’m not. I’m just here to place my own bet.” She says holding a ticket up.

 You both stand in uncomfortable silence.

 “I did see him earlier,” She says eyeing you from the side. You look forward as she speaks, “I professed my love, told him I would leave my husband for him and everything.”

 You swallow a huge lump in your throat that you didn’t even realize was there. She continues speaking.

 “He told me no,” You turn to her baffled as you always assumed, he was head over heels in love with the beautiful Grace, “I mean I known for awhile what his answer would be but I had to give it one last try. Oh don’t look surprised.”

 “I- “

 “You should count yourself lucky. He doesn’t love too often but when he does,” She takes a pause and her eyes though are focused on you don’t seem to be looking at you. Almost as it she’s lost in a memory. She sighs, “He just really does.”

 Before you can say anything else to the woman, she leaves with a smile. A headache begins to form on the back of your head where you had hit your head earlier. You leave the crowded betting room, the noise and smoky air becoming too much for you.

 You’ll find Mr. Shelby later. With all that has happened today, it was becoming a lot and you needed a moment to just process it all. As you walk alone you spot two men holding a man by his two arms. He had a cap on like the other peaky blinders. You follow them Noticing another man leading them. You finally see his face.

 Your mouth talks before your you can think.

 “Thomas!” You cry out.

 His head jolts up looking for the source of your voice. The men bring his neck down, keeping his face looking at the ground. All of the worst things begin to swirl around your mind. The plan didn’t work, they caught him, the inspector double crossed him, Sabini had men ready to take him out. As well as moments, the two of you had shared that now were going to be just past memories of what ifs and unsaid words that should have been spoken.

You follow them as best as you can, watch them as they put him in the back of some car, a gun pointed towards him as they close the doors. You couldn’t help him. You watched the car drive away feeling useless and guilty. Wishing to have done more. You see his cap on the ground and pick it up. You look around for someone who could save the day but everyone was in their own happy world. And you were holding on to a hat feeling a loss like never before.  

read pt.13b

Tags

@babylooneytoonz @captivatedbycillianmurphy @enamouravecleslivresetlechocolat @evelyn-4034  @ms-dont-care  @owenniasstars @shikin83 @lauren-raines-x @cactisjuice

[radioactivepeasant]

Fic Prompts: Star Wars Wednesday

Because Disney can pry the Finn Skywalker headcanon from my cold, dead, fingers. And because Disney can’t stop me from reworking their movies if I darn well please.

Most of the fortress had been picked over by scavengers years ago. Any Imperial memorabilia had long since been looted and either auctioned off or confiscated by the First Order. Really, that was the only reason the scout team had considered it as a potential base at all. It had already been gutted, and was pretty well beneath the notice of Kylo Ren unless he was up for sentimental tours.

The general didn’t find that very likely.

Mustafar was far from a hospitable world for most species, but the heat shielding of the fortress was still highly efficient. The scouts had set up a base camp in what looked like it had once been some kind of audience chamber. Nobody had felt like exploring alone. The whole castle just felt...off. 

The young leader of the scouts sat on a pile of rubble, head tilted like he was listening for something. He frowned and glanced down at his team.

“What, Trache?” he asked.

The Twi’lek raised his brows at Finn. “I didn’t say anything.”

Finn seemed confused. “You sure? I could’ve sworn-”

Finn?

Finn looked up again. "Rose, you heard Trache call me just now, right?"

Rose Tico set down a power lamp and plugged it into their Artoo unit, then shook her head. “Sorry Finn,” she said, “All I heard was Artoo.”

Finn.

He whirled, squinting into the darkness of the derelict fortress. “There! You guys heard it that time, right?”

Rose fidgeted awkwardly. "Finn...I didn't hear anything."

Finn.

Finn turned again. He felt as though someone had tied a string around his soul and was pulling. As if under some other power than his own, the boy began to stumble into the shadows.

"W- what are you doing?" Trache hissed.

"Gotta check something out," Finn mumbled. He could just make out what looked like a figure, standing at the end of the corridor. "It's...it's okay. I think it's the Force."

His scout team's protests faded into static behind him. There was nothing but the voice.

Finn. Come to me.

Finn slowly reached down and loosened his blaster in its holster. There was a possibility that he was hearing this voice in his mind. And that had to mean enemies.

"Where are you?" he asked, tensed and ready to fight.

The shadowy figure he had glimpsed before reappeared, further away. It stood, as if waiting. Then it raised one arm, beckoning.

Finn didn't sense anything particularly hostile about the stranger, but he was wary nonetheless. He eased forward, following the dark shape into another chamber. The closer he got, the more he realized that it wasn't made of pure shadow after all. A faint flicker of blue light outlined the person, if a person it was, slowly illuminating more details. A black tabard. A heavy gauntlet. A cape that fell to the floor and seemed to swallow all light that touched it.

The rhythmic hiss that Finn had taken for some kind of machinery in the fortress took on a new volume.

It sounded like breathing.

Finn stopped dead in his tracks. He had seen that shape before. In the First Order barracks, as a little boy, he had seen that shape in the propaganda forced down the children's throats. 

"Aren't you dead?" he blurted out before he could stop himself. 

The giant inclined his head -- or, well, his helmet -- regally and turned. He gestured to one side.

"Walk with me."

The authoritative voice brooked no argument. 

Finn knew he should have been running. That was Darth Kriffing Vader, or his ghost, or a clone, or something. But...he didn't sense the kind of painful storm he'd always experienced around Kylo Ren. There was no hatred, filling the air with danger. Just a strange echo of regret.

With one hand firmly on the butt of his blaster, he gritted his teeth and stepped closer. 

"The Force is with you, young one," the late Sith Lord remarked, "but you are not a Jedi yet."

That rankled a little bit. Finn knew he couldn't do all the things Rey could yet. The General had told him that his connection to the Force was more like hers than Rey's, but he still didn't know what that meant. That didn't mean he wasn't learning. He was just going at his own pace.

"Maybe I'm not," he said, "But I will be."

Will I be?

Darth Vader began to walk. Hands clasped thoughtfully behind his back, steps slow and measured. Relentless. What did he want? And why was he even here?

Reluctantly, Finn followed a half step behind. 

"I'm not hallucinating this, right? Because my team can't see you." Getting lured into the depths of the castle by the ghost of a Sith probably wasn't a good thing. "Why'd you call me?"

"I have been expecting you for some time," Vader said, tipping his helmet down as if observing Finn. "It was inevitable that you would find me here."

His footsteps echoed on the stone, but did not disturb so much as a single mote of dust. The hair on the back of Finn's neck rose when he looked down and saw only one set of footprints behind them.

"You know who I am." It was not a question. 

Swallowing hard, Finn nodded. His mouth was dry, and despite himself, his fingers trembled. Like a death sentence the name fell from his lips.

"Darth Vader."

Abruptly, the man turned on his heel. His cape flared out around him as he raised a finger almost in warning.

"That name no longer has any meaning for me," he said sternly.

"Then..." Finn wrinkled his brow and tried to remember the legend. "You're um, you're a Skywalker-?"

His companion nodded. "I suspected that if I had chosen my true form, you would not have known me."

He raised his helmet as the chamber emptied out into another set of corridors. "Come. There is something I must show you."

Well. This was going to make an interesting story to tell the General later. Finn pulled the collar of his jacket up and shivered.

"Dar- I mean, uh...Master Skywalker? You didn't answer my question before. Aren't you dead?"

Anakin did not slow his steps. "The Force, young one, is a pathway to many abilities that some may consider to be...unnatural."

A wry chuckle wrenched itself from Finn's lips. He shook his head and took a jogging half step to keep up with the ghostly warrior. "You're telling me."

Anakin glanced down at him again. Finn wasn't sure how he knew the ghost's eyes were on him, but somehow he could guess where to look.

"You show remarkably little trepidation in the face of the impossible," he commented.

It was strange, but Finn was almost beginning to feel comfortable with the conversation. He shrugged. "Nobody ever told me how the Force was supposed to work. How am I supposed to know what's possible and what's not?"

He jumped when Anakin tipped back his helmet and laughed. It was a deep, rolling sound, utterly at odds with the mechanical whoosh of his respirator. 

"Indeed! Do not lose your open mind, Finn. It will serve you well."

"Did anybody ever tell you," Finn huffed, "That you make even compliments sound ominous?"

Another low chuckle. "Yes. Your father did."

His father?!

What was the ghost talking about?

Finn scowled at him. "Whoa, hold on. How do you know my father? I don't even know my father!"

Under his breath he added, "I don't even know what I'm doing here."

Abruptly, he began to sense a complicated tangle of emotions from the ghost of Anakin Skywalker. Regret, anger, concern.

"You remember nothing, child?"

Sometimes Finn thought he did remember. But they were just images. Feelings. A woman's voice and strong arms. A man's smile. Sometimes he heard snatches of a song in his dreams, always just out of reach by the time he opened his eyes.

Other times, the dreams were not so kind. Flashes of an old man, reaching for him even as he was shot in the back. His own tiny hands reaching desperately for an old woman screaming a name he couldn't hear. He wondered sometimes if they had been his grandparents. 

The Resistance was his family now. Rey and Chewie were his family. Poe and BB-8 were his family. The General was his family. But in his heart, Finn still wanted closure. To at least know where he had come from. 

"I...remember my grandfather dying." Finn said haltingly. 

"Not your grandfather," Anakin corrected him. "Your mother's cousin. Your grandfather died long before your birth."

He quickened his pace before Finn could insist on an answer. Through stone galleries and ominous archways he continued with a single-minded determination. He did not stop until he had reached what had once been an impressively secure door, long since reduced to ruin by looters. Inside sat a strange dome-like structure that reminded Finn of an egg.

"Did you see that in my head? Is that like a thing you can do?" Finn demanded. He was determined to get the truth. Maybe he could "sense" it somehow. "How did you see it if I can't?"

Anakin did not immediately answer. He waved his hand over the dome, and with a rumbling groan it separated neatly into two halves. It was an old-fashioned hyperbaric chamber. A few lights still flickered dimly inside. Anakin reached down to touch one small screen, and a hologram sprang up. A young man in Rebellion era fatigues smiled up at them from the hologram. Old though it was, the holo was still recognizable. 

"What the- That's Luke Skywalker!" Finn realized.

Anakin nodded. "He was no older than you are now when my spies brought me this image." He seemed almost lost in nostalgia for a moment. "Truly, I would have torn the very fabric of the universe apart to find him."

Finn watched the ghost, noting that he cupped the hologram in his hands as though he held something infinitely precious. 

"You...kept a holo of him in your chamber?" Seemed a little odd for a Sith.

He was pretty sure Ren didn't keep holos of his parents.

"Of course." Anakin did not look away from the tiny, grinning face of Luke. "He is my son."

Finn sat down carefully on the seat within the chamber. His feet didn't even touch the floor. "Hey...Master Skywalker?" he asked, "How did you know my grandfather died before I was born? If it was before I was born, I wouldn't have had any memory of that. Buried or no. Did you...meet him in the afterlife or something? Do all ghosts know each other?"

He sensed hesitation as Anakin answered, "No, I...I was...there."

That could mean a lot of things. "Did you kill him?" Finn guessed, "Like, was he a Rebel? Or a Jedi?"

He heard the creaking of leather as Anakin's hands tightened into fists.

"He was a rogue and peasant Sith. A knave who chased after power at the cost of his kin," Anakin snarled. 

Finn jolted back. A Sith?

A horrible thought slid into the back of his mind. What if his family had given him willingly to the First Order? What if they expected him to follow in his grandfather's footsteps?

"So...what does that make me?" he rasped. 

The tension drained quickly from Anakin's shoulders. He turned away from the hologram of his son and raised a spectral hand to rest against Finn's cheek. It did not pass through him, as he had expected it to. Instead, it lingered, like the brush of a curtain. 

"You are," Anakin said, almost reverently, "A valiant son of a worthy father. And the beloved grandchild of a grandmother who deserved a better life than she was given."

The Force was almost screaming at him that the answers to his questions were at last before him, but Finn was afraid to believe it. Afraid to get his hopes up and be wrong. If, after all this, his growing suspicion was wrong, he wasn't sure he could bear it. 

"Master Skywalker, please," he begged, "I don't know why I'm here, I don't know what you want from me. Just tell me the truth? Did you know my grandfather?"

The other glove rose, and Finn found his face being gently cradled by an ex-Sith Lord.

“No,” Anakin answered, quiet and inevitable. “I am your grandfather.”

[wwilloww]

assless chaos | jjk

Pairing: Cowboy!Jungkook x OC!Lainey

Genre: Wild West. Crack. Fluff.

Rating: 18+

WC: 1.5k

Warnings: Assless chaps. Swearing. Bad dialogue. Like really bad dialogue. Ass worship. Infidelity. Making out against a portrait of Colonel Mustard.

A/N: This is for @hobiance. Meant to be read with a nice little western twang to it. Like you’re chewing a piece of straw and tellin’ a story round a fire. I let my dramatic self out on this one, so please judge this fic based on the description of Jungkook’s ass, not the quality of writing, thank you very much.

Based on this ask:

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©️wwilloww Do not repost, translate, or copy without express permission of the author. 

ASSLESS CHAOS

“Ma’am?” The graveled voice of the cook crackles through the still air of the parlor as she sticks her head through the door. “You have a visitor.”

Lainey sighs, tipping the heavy book back just enough to peer over at the woman standing in the doorframe.

“Who is it?” she says, boredom lacing her tone, going back to her reading.

“A very handsome young man.” The older woman winks at her. “He says he has something to show you.”

Lainey’s brow furrows in confusion. Her cook speaks up over the silence, placating her uncertainty.

“He seems like a nice young man, ma’am. I think I recognize him as one of your husband’s men.”

“Alright, Bonnie, let him in.”

The double doors to Lainey’s parlor swing open — and then slam shut again with a loud bang. However, despite the loud noise, she doesn’t bother to look up from the book propped up in her hands.

“If you’re here to see my husband, he should be back by supper,” she calls from behind the pages. No one answers. The heavy but familiar sound of honest to goodness cowboy boots clicking against the hardwood floor echos through the office and it’s not until she hears them come to a halt in front of her desk that she looks up.

“Jungkook,” Lainey gasps, standing from her chair.

“Ma’am.” Jungkook tips his hat towards her before taking it off in a sign of respect. He tosses it casually onto a chair in the corner of the large room.

“I-I thought I told you—”

“To stay away?” Jungkook cocks an eyebrow and leans over the desk towards her, hands flat on the mahogany.

“You can’t be here,” she hisses. “Not now, not in my home, not—”

Her words are cut short by Jungkook’s hand reaching up to pinch her chin. Her eyes shoot open in shock. Such a simple gesture — and yet, she can’t help but feel her body react to the electricity that zings through her body as skin meets skin. It’s been so long since her husband, Taehyung — or really anyone for that matter had touched her like this — trapping such gentleness, such love in the smallest of movements.

“It wasn’t fair for you to ask me to stay away,” he pouts. “How could I? Especially when you look like this.”

He straightens up again, releasing her from his grasp. Lainey watches, mouth gaping as he rounds the desk to come stand before her.

“How could you,” she pokes him in the chest, “when you know exactly who my husband is? As the mayor, and soon to be governor, he runs this town. He’ll have his gun cocked and pointed at your head as soon as he sees you here.”

“You really think I’m worried about that?” Jungkook drawls. “You don’t think I didn’t know exactly what I was riskin’ when I came here?” He stands hardly a foot away and Lainey is forced to look up at the handsome man. His hair is parted sleekly to the side, the deep, rich color gleaming in the golden evening light that shines through the window. As much as she knows she should tell off the man standing before her, something in her chest tugs, begs, Please. Let him stay. He stands so close that she can smell his natural mix of sun and desert emanating off of him. He smells like something comfortable, like something she wants to fall into, like — dare she say it? — like sex.

Just as he’s leaning in, his lips parted oh-so devilishly, Lainey puts her hand to his chest, stopping him.

“You said you had something to show me,” she says hurriedly, her voice quacking ever so slightly.

Gaze still locked on her lips, he smirks. “Of course, I nearly forgot.”

“What is it?”

“Remember the governor’s ball, nary a month ago?”

How could she forget? The fateful night Jungkook finally pulled her behind the curtain of the stage and asked if her lingering gaze meant that she felt the same way he did. They exchanged confessions of adoration as Lainey’s husband stood just twenty feet away, giving his speech for his governor’s candidacy. The two of them confessed their love to one another behind the rich velvet curtains, only to swear any action on behalf of their throbbing hearts. Even after Lainey had slipped back to her husband’s side, her gaze hadn’t left the figure of the young cowboy, eyes roving over his strong frame and supple ass. Drinking him in was like tasting the sweetest of poisons.

“I remember,” she says softly. “How could I forget?”

“Then you’ll appreciate these.”

Jungkook rips of his chaps, the snaps popping off and scattering across the floor. As she takes in what lays beneath, Lainey slaps a hand to her mouth, a gasp ringing through the air.  

Below lay a second pair of chaps.

Assless chaps.

“What in gods good tarnation are those,” Lainey gasps.

“Chaos. Assless chaos.” Jungkook takes a step closer until the pair stands chest to chest. “I know how much you like my ass —” Warmth creeps up her cheeks and she attempts to duck her head in embarrassment of his acknowledgment. But he’s quick to put a finger below her chin, nudging her head up so that she’s looking at him again. “—The way you can’t keep your eyes off of my blessed cheeks, even when your husband is standing right beside you with his arm around your waist.”

“I—” Her words stutter to a halt. All Lainey can think is that behind the beautiful man in front of her are two shining, round, perfect peaches, juicy and just begging to be squeezed. She nearly swoons at the thought of all of that cake, exposed to the room.

“You don’t have to say anything,” Jungkook murmurs. “I know what you’re thinking.” He takes her hands, which have been clutched to her chest, one in each of his large palms. Ever-so slowly, he brings them around his back and places her palms on his exposed ass.

She can’t help but give the slightest of squeezes.

Firm. Juicy. Perfectly round.

“It’s like they were sculpted by the gods,” Lainey murmurs, breath stolen by the utopian orbs beneath her hands. Never in all of her prairie-roving, stallion-taming days has she ever come into contact with such a faultless ass. Even without sight, she knows there’s no ass in this whole country that could rival the one she grasps in hands this very moment.

“My heart though,” Jungkook whispers. “My heart has been sculpted by you.”

Brought back to the moment, Lainey realizes who she is, where she is, who she’s with. She takes a step back, releasing Jungkook’s beautiful ass as she does. Her heart flutters at his words. Even as the sound has long cleared the space, she feels like she can still feel the vibrations of its echoes.

“We can’t,” she breathes, hand snaking up her torso and coming to rest above her pounding heart. “You know how I feel. You know how I… how I love you. Love you and that matchless ass of yours. But there’s so much more to consider.”

“Is it not enough for you?” He takes a step forward, just as she steps back again. “Is having me and a show-stealing ass not enough you? I fucking won the county fair with this beaut.”

“I know you did. And you won this heart, too,” you add so softly the words barely lift into the air.

If only she could melt into him, allow him to take her away somewhere far from the plaid ballgowns, the cow auctions, the dry desert of this town. Wasn’t she made for something so much bigger? For the great beyond of life? Not the smallness that her husband expected her to don, the repetitive role he asked her to play every day the sun poked her head above the dusty earth and the cows woke for their milking. A role he never thanked her for, either.

“I’m here to ask you to run away with me,” Jungkook says. 

Lainey looks up at him.

The man before her holds a great expanse within his stallion soul. One she wanted to fall into. One she wanted to explore and map and know like the back of her palm.

Like being struck by lightning during the rainy season, a bolt of understanding hits her. She wants this. Wants him.

Jungkook has her backed up against the large painting of Colonel Mustard that decorates the parlor, the yellow of his turtle neck casting a glow about the darkening room.

“Can I—”

“Kiss me, Jungkook.”

Jungkook leans down to her, his palms coming to cradle her face as he brushes his lips against hers. Soft at first. And then all at once.

It is a kiss that consumes. One that swirls up all the feeling in the world into one large tumbleweed of emotion and sensation.

She pulls away, just enough to let a single word slip from her swollen lips.

“Yes.”

The moment the word slips out, she knows it’s true.

“Yes?”

“Take me with you when you leave this godforsaken town.”

“Really?”

“I’m all yours, cowboy.”

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taglist: @usuallynervoussheep @hesperantha​ @myimaginationsrunningwild​ @ladyartemesia​ @thatlongspringnight​ @ppersonna​

[missingartist]

The Witcher’s Mate Chapter 23

Adva was struggling. Despite Geralt obeying her pleas to give her space, things had got no better. The brief glimpses at him at dinner or in passing during the day made the storm inside her more violent. She was tetchy and irritable to the point of wanting to hurl people across the room for very little reason. Jaskier breathing too hard, Vesemir scratching to loudly, Triss asking if she was okay for the 50th time today or Ciri placing another plate of food in front of her. By nature, she very passive person, and the temperament change was concerning, the number of times she had found herself having to leave the room to stop herself from launching an attack on some innocent companion. The others were careful around her, constantly tiptoeing around her which in her opinion aggravated her more, there constant need to try and make things better or help her when all she wanted to do was curl up somewhere soft and think. Think about what she should do, go, or say to make any of this better. But she was never left alone for long enough to think without Jaskier, Triss or Ciri popping up and spoiling her solace.

‘Come on, Adva, come play some Gwent.’ Triss smiled tenderly across at her.

The foursome of Triss, Jaskier, Ciri and Vesemir were all huddled around the end of banquet table with there cards dished out in front of them. Geralt and Yennefer nowhere to be seen. Geralt normally lurked somewhere in the shadows with longing looks while Yennefer appeared and disappeared as often as she felt like it but for the past few days neither had been present. Bile burnt a pit in her stomach as she thought about them, Geralt had grown tired of the rejection had sunk back into the waiting arms of the Mage which is the way it had to be but it still hurt so much.

Shaking her head, she stood from her place by the fire, ‘No, I am fine. I just want to relax for a bit.’

‘If I didn’t know better I would say your pinning for something.’ The older Witcher sniped as he glared down at his hand.

‘Who asked you.’ Adva snapped, sending an icy glare across at the man.

‘Adva…’ Ciri frowned as she looked across the table at her companions, concern marring their faces all apart from Vesemir who retained his usual death glare.

‘Forget it; I am going for a walk.’ Adva bite out as she made her way through the double doors and onto the great stone steps and down towards the lake.

The sky was blanketed with thick white clouds that shielded her from the last of the autumn sun. The wind was bitter but only enough to cause the slightest shiver as she made her way down the incline. The leaves had started to turn some time ago, but now only the evergreens held their vibrant greens, the rest where a stunning arrange of yellows, browns and reds, but now the leaves were shedding and the bare bark of the gnarled branches was the signal for the imminent arrival of winter and the upcoming snow.

‘Ahhhh if it isn’t the little mermaid. Off for a swim?’

The voice tinkled through the wind as smooth as velvet for a moment she thought she had imagined it, blue eyes scanned the landscape in front of her for the purple-eyed mage, but nothing. The rocky path was empty, and the thick, dense wall of trees either side bared no presence either. Narrowing her eyes, she moved further down the path and around the little bend, only for the path to be blocked by the slender mage.

‘Hello, little fish…’ The mage smiled tightly as they stared across at each other.

‘Yennefer… just don’t, whatever you are going to do just don’t. I cannot deal with you right now.’ Adva snapped as she continued down the path towards the water.

Adva was telling the truth, she couldn’t deal with Yennefer right now not without a decent amount of bloodshed. Even just looking at the mage caused an insane amount of irritation, with her perfect hair and immaculate makeup. At least on this occasion, she was wearing something remotely suitable for the changing weather, a thick cotton dress and furs.

‘And why would I do something to you? Are you scared of me little one? No, I don’t think you are. What are you truly scared off? You know a powerful mage can tell a personal creed by simply looking someone in the eye.’

Yennefer watched the woman staring straight at her. A lesser being might be arrogant and cocky or fearful at an approaching mage, especial if said mage had thrown yours through the flooring of a house. Yet, Adva eyes betrayed no fear or hatred just a stormy blue sea. Even when she took a step forward, the girl did not so much as flinch, just staring with those dark eyes. Eyes which where windows to the soul and in which she could see straight into.

‘And what do you see.’ Adva retorted, folding her arms around herself as she waited.

‘I see your fear’ Yennefer cooed softly as she inched closer, her eyes sinking into Adva’s. ‘A fear that you don’t even know, something you hid deep down.’

‘And what is that Yennefer?’

‘What the fun in telling?’ The violet eyes twinkled as she came toe to toe with the girl and stared down till only a few inches of air separated them. The scent of lilac and gooseberry mixed with apples and the scene.

‘I also see…purpose and ohhh destiny. Not something that I would have to imagine or expected….. such an unwanted surprise… Tsk tsk tsk that is a pity.’ Yennefer muddled out as here eye unblinkingly stared into her.

‘Pity? What is a pity?’ Adva croaked out slamming her eyes shut

‘I hate changing plan midway through but needs must when the devils at your doorstep…quite literally in this case.’ Yennefer smiled wide as she stepped back.

Adva scowled as she looked at Yennefer. The smile was not a satisfied or happy one, she, of course, knew the different, she had spent most of her adult life in a whore house and new the difference between a purely happy smile and that of displeasure. It was the sort of smile the girl splayed on when they had to play along with the punter for the hard-earned coin with an ugly old man.

‘Whatever tactic this is Yennefer, I am not playing. Just leave me alone.’ Adva retorted as she stormed off.

‘We can’t escape our nature or our destiny, soul mate or not. It's coming for you.’ Yennefer whispered before disappearing in a flourish of wind and dust.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The path wound around and came to stand in a little creek once you moved past the overground patches of bracken and nettles. Adva was too distracted with her thoughts to mind the thorns tugging at her clothes and the nettle stinging at her flesh as she followed the distant tinkle of water, the soft splashes of the jumping fish and busy otters. A swirl of rage billowed inside her, Yennefer set her on edge pushed her to purposely twist her mind and bring her to the brink of apprehension.

‘Arghhhh’ Adva pushed out a blast of water from the shallow and sent it shooting across the vast lake. Adva watched as the willow gave a creaking groan before it collapsed into the water, and the world went silent even the fish seemed to rush for the safety of the depth. A shuddering breath escaped her lips as she watched the leaves wave across the on the surface of the water, the light-catching them making them glisten in the sun.

A snap and a stumble broke through the silence. Whirling around her eyes darted around the dense wall of wood, even without the greenery, there was little room to see the past cover.

‘Who is there? Yennefer?...Geralt? Jaskier? Who is there?’ Adva called out but was only met by an eerily silence. ‘I mean it who is there….this isn’t funny.’ Adva shouted into the bush arms raised palms outward as a swirl of water slashed around in front of her.

Directly in front of her, another footfall fell and with the branched began to rattle and shake. And slowly the figure emerged from the bush till a slightly dishevelled Earl Crispin stood in front of her and slightly out of breath.

‘Ahhhh Adva….it a really a jungle out there. That purpled eyes woman told me where you were’ the Earl smiled. ‘I do hope you're not going to hit me with that thing, are you?’ the man's dark eyes lingered over the water churning mid-air.

‘No no of course not…’ Adva breathless mumbled and let her arms fall to her side ‘what are you doing here?’

‘Triss came to see me…to help with your situation. I knew you were a beauty but a Witcher’s Mate No wonder he cold-cocked me.’ He smiled as he stepped into the clearing dragging a heavy-looking bag.

Adva groaning lightly as her memory burnt with that night, the memories she wanted to forget but longed to have again. ‘Geralt…is a little overprotective. Sorry, he hit you.’ She gave him a sad smile.

‘Perfectly fine. Not your fault…. I understand thou …he isn’t about is he.’ Nervous eyes flickered around the glade.

‘Don’t worry, you are safe…he is back at the castle, I think. You didn’t answer the question. What are you doing here?’

‘This, I believe, is something that you have been looking for.’ The man smiled and proffered a shimmering scroll of parchment. ‘I brought it at an auction about ten years ago; it had been sitting at the bottom of some fishermen hunt. The seller thought it might be some sort of script of the whale, but to my trained eye, I think it more likely fertility or mating script. The whale image is often or not a mark of such a thing.’ Crispin beamed as he moved behind her peaking at the scroll over the woman’s shoulder.

Adva shakily grasped the scroll in her trembling hands and unravelled the scroll, a hush gasp fulling from her lips, and her eyes flowed over the scripted, greedily taking in every letter of every word. The images where graphic and detailed showing every step and every position of the bonding ceremony. Heat pooled in the pit of her stomach her eyes lingered over the mermaid figure pursed over the man's form in the throes of ecstasy.

‘Oh my….It is…Crispin it is…. Do you know what this means I can…’ A deep frown formed at the corners of her mouth as the froze in mid-speech. A tightness across her throat and the air stuck in her chest.

The scrolls dropped from her hand as the object around her tightened to the point her toe tips where the only just skimming the ground. The cord around her neck stung as it bite into the sensitive skin, causing her silent scream to erupt from her mouth.

‘Do you really think you would get away from me that easy, you halfling monstrosity? The soft snarl of Crispin's mouth as his hot breath glanced over her ear.

‘I…What….Crispin what are you doing?’ the words barely formed in a series of gasped out chokes.

‘I have been looking for you for the last twenty years. I thought you would be so much more. But its pathetic really all the hope for nothing. Your not even a proper mermaid. Can’t even defend yourself.’ Crispin scowled tightening his hold.

Adva growled lightly as her finger scratched at the wire-like cord around her neck while her other hand reached outward toward the water flexing and waining as the water struggled up from the surface of the lake.

‘Your powers are weak. I can snuff them out like I would yearlings.’ Crisping screamed, and he tightened his grip of the bind around her neck, and helplessly she watched as the water slammed back into the lake as it became impossible still, like a sheet of glass.

The hold was too much and too strong no matter how she moved; his hold remained unwavering. The material around her neck was slimy and hot burning. The black spot began to appear on her eyes as she was thrust towards unconsciousness.

‘Look what we have here.’ Yennefer purr pulled Adva from the edge of oblivion.

‘Yenne… help.’ the words were raw, and the taste of metallic copper bubbled up in her throat.

‘Help? Her? Who do you think has been helping me. Once you are out of the way, she gets her witcher, and I get the bloodline clean from scum like you.’ He spat, as hot tears run down her purple face.

‘See that not how it is going to go down.’ Yennefer purred as she moved to stand in front of the struggling couple.

‘What? We have a deal.’

Adva felt the cord losen around her neck just ever so slight, and the small trickle of air escaped into her burning lungs, and the impending darkness seemed to fade in the distance.

‘Do you think I am stupid? A man who makes a blood deal is never to be trusted.’ Yennefer sneered.

‘What are you talking about the mage. My deal is binding.’

‘True you give me Geralt and a baby, but Geralt is no use without her. You think me fool? As soon as his pathetic mate dies, he will wither away before my eyes till he is nothing but a husk.’

Adva felt Crispin's hands stain against the rope and body tensed behind her.

‘You must have known that soulmate cannot be parted. So what was it make me watch him die while handing me a baby? Humph. But it has been interesting to see how your mind works. You call her a weak yearling…yet you’re the one strangling with the roots of Snarling Inferno. Which cause dehydration and paralysis, not the signs of a strong mermaid. But a very interesting method of subduing them.’ Yennefer sneered. ‘See…What was it, Crispin? You are the weak one, having to use a weed to subdue your prey, and I have not lived several lifetimes by aligning myself with the weak side. So let her go, or you will be very sorry.’ Yennefer’s eyes growled a metallic purple.

‘Never’

‘It's your choice. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.’ The mages smiled as she rose her hands and send out a shock wave of air, forcing them violently back.

Adva clawed at her neck the weed continue to contract her air was. Despite Crispin no longer choking her the bind her, the air refused to refill her desperate lungs. She had landed inches away from the water's edge while mere meters away blasts of purple and white erupted from the hands of Crispin and Yennefer.

‘Yennefer….’

‘Hang on little dolphin.’ The mage grunted as she pushed a swirl of fire towards the flaying man.

Adva nails gouged and ripped at the burnt skin as the weed began to cook her already stinging flesh, blood oozed from every wound and thread by a thread the woody rope, while in front of her the two men duelled in a bluster of light. Gasping tightly, the air slowly began to return as a thread by a thread of the woody root broke. Yet, burning remained, and sweat began to drip down her body, and a violent tremor racked over her body.

‘For the Kingdom of Navacis and our true leader Zaire.’ Crispin roared as he appeared from nowhere, dagger held aloft. But a roaring spark shot out from his chest, causing the man to look down as the sparks began to ignite in small little explosions. Adva air deprived brain could not follow the actions as the towering hate-filled man ignited in a roaring blaze as he shrieked in pain.

Cooly, Yennefer picked up the dropped dagger and gently began to cut through the tough weed that still clung to her neck.

‘You tried….to kill…me’ Adva wheezed out as the air fully returned to her lucks.

‘Oh, grow up. If I truly wanted you dead, you would be dead. AS much as I despise you…I think you can help me. You give a little help; you get a little help. Me with my problem…you with Geralt…’ Yennefer silky tones wafted through the air.

Adva was very vaguely aware of the mage's eyes staring down into hers. Before the familiar feel of the knife delicately cutting away at the last remains of the roots that encircled her neck. Adva felt…she felt wild  Powerful. It was hard to breathe; she still felt like she was being choked, her lung burnt. And a desire for water consumed her.

‘Hold still!... And breath….Breath Adva!’

A pained roared filled the air with one mightly tug the last of the Snapping Inferno’s roots where pulled from her neck. And a taloned hand lashed out against the mage. Yennefer missed the blow by a hair's breadth, and she sprawled backwards in across the dirt as she watched wide-eyed as black sword-like claws extended from Adva figure tips. The girl whimpered and panted, her whole body withering in some unforeseen pain.

‘I can….no brea….’ Adva croaked.

‘Adva the weed is gone. Stop..... now your gonna hurt yourself.’ Yennefer blicked worriedly trying and failing and holding the failing girl still.

Yennefer’s body stifled a gasp for air as the girl lookup. No longer were the eyes of bright pool blue but a sea of black. A terrible piercing shriek vibrated against the shore as a wave of energy blasted out at Yennefer, sending her hurtling into the rocks that lined the shore.

 Blood poor from her as she crawling forward, plunged her self into the lake. Water rolled over her as bubbles shot across her skin as she plunges into the water. A blue glow surrounds her, and the water shone brightly.  In the depth of the water, the burn was consuming; a heat ripped across Adva’s ribs and down her legs. Clawing at her body, the black claws ripped and pulled at the confining clothes as she sunk deeper in the depths.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Purple eyes blinked themselves awake as she pair of rough hands violently shook her, and for the first time in her entire existence, she was glad to come face to face with Vesemir.

‘She is alive.’ His gruff voice grated against her ringing head that pounded violently.

‘Oh, goody we can all breath a sigh of relief.’ Jaskier snarked as he inched closer to the younger Witcher who crouched eyes franticly danced around the area.

‘Yennefer…what have you don?’ Ciri snapped softly as she picked up the remains of the Snarling Inferno.

‘Done? Done? I saved that little fish life. If It wasn’t for me that assassin would have strangled the life out of her? You should be thankful I set a trap for that…Crispin.’Yennefer puffed out in pains as Vesemire yanked her up.

‘You used her as bate?’ Geralt roared appearing out from the clearing bearing down at her.

‘Only to see what we were up against.’ Yennefer pouted timidly at the raging Witcher all too aware of the glinting silver sword in his hand.

‘Where is she’ Geralt voice was low and dangerous.

‘Who do you think did this damage….she was alive when I passed out. Snarling and whipping like some demented creature.’ Yennefer spat as she half-collapsed herself on the remains of the bolder that once sat on the bank of the lake

‘That is her blood soaking into the floor. YOU MURDEROUS…!’ Geralt roared, raising his sword arm above his head to bring down his glinted weapon against the mage.

Jaskier flinched at sight before him. Despite his hatred for Yennefer, the wrath of Geralt was not something he would wish upon his worst enemy. He would kill her for this. Jaskier was sure of this. As soon as he hurried that unholy shriek, and glowing light, he knew it, he knew Yennefer had committed what they had all been waiting for all be it with the aid of another party. The bard just didn’t see it being Crispin. Jaskier eyes settled on a large rusty coloured stain sunk into the brown dirt; it was such an amount that no man or women mermaid or not would survive that. The body carried off by Crispin if he had survived the attack or dragged away by downers. Tears began to build up in his eyes as he turned away from the blood-stained bank towards the rippling water. Adva was gone, destroyed, nothing left but scraps of clothing torn from her body and the fading blood. A flicker of red caught the minstrels attention.

Terror surged within the dark as the flicker of red disappeared below the water, and a shadow glided toward the shallows. ‘ Uh, Geralt….Geralt!’

Geralt let go of the mage's throat as he turned to the bard, his eyes danced across the waters lines and at the shadow drifting toward him. The only thing the keen witchers eyes could make out was the crimson red that shimmered underneath the water as it drew closer. Geralt breath hitched in his throat as gliding out of through the water, Adva bobbed against the surface serenely, hair sticking against her wet skin, the ends dancing in the water as she trod the murky water. The briefest glimmer of a brilliantly red tail that swished benefit, keeping her afloat.

‘Adva? Oh my god….she had a tail, she has a tail.’ Jaskier’s shill cry carried across the lake.

‘Well, I think we can safely say she is most defiantly a mermaid.’ Vesemir sighed as he eyed his golden-eyed protégé wading thought the water before diving head further into the water as his powerful arms cut through the water, stopping just in front of her, so close he could feel the force of her tail moving back and forth.

‘Adva…it me Geralt.’ Geralt soothed softly as he reached out and ever so gentle traced the side of her face.

Her skin looked almost white, like glowing silver, her eyes a vivid metallic blue, she looked the same but different, her face was almost ethereal, features sharper, eyes larger, hair a meadow green. So different but so familiar. Tilting her head, she pressed her face into his warm hand, purring softly.

Geralt heart thudded violently in his chest as he watched raptured as his mate who bobbed against the surface of the water on a beautiful tail. It had been the first time she had allowed him to touch her since that night, that amazing night. The warmth from her skin was enough to send him into a heady frenzy; Geralt smiled as the tail wrapped around his body, pulling him closer. His whole body sung in relief, that itch that made him raw was gone, but that feverish need was bad, that need to bond and feel her skin against his to become one. Cooing down, he felt her tail swish out the water spraying him with a fine mist of water

‘Geralt’

Adva’s snapped open, the metallic blue eyes gone, replaced with pure black pupils.

‘No one move!’ Vesemir demanded.

‘Seriously she has just got a lethal tale.’ Yennefer cried, leaping into the shallow water.

‘Don’t…’ Vesemir warned, but it was too late.

Immediately the tale shift from its magnificent ruby tale shifted to a deathly black, and thin barbs like teeth descend down from her mouth with a sickening slice through the air as she glowered across at the onlookers before, to the horror of the group, Adva lurched forward dropped down into the water, pulling the Witcher under with her.

I hope you are all safe and well I am so sorry! I really wanted to update but it has been non-stop at work and doesn't look like it will get any better There will be smut in the next chapter. Thank you, everyone, who left a review and keeps leaving support, I really appreciate it, it has really pushed me to keep writing. Please let me know what you think.

@threepupsinapuddle @broco8 @introvertedmouse @luxyash @vikingsbifrost @pastelblogsposts @wastingmypotential @whitespring21 @ayamenimthiriel @wonderlandfandomkingdom @shesthelastjedi @fandom-lover-4 @sageandberries-png  @just-a-sad-donut @alicia-d-o @dreamerwithapen1 @evangeline73aster

[daebakinc]

A Rearrangement (Preview)

Pairing: Jae x Female Reader, ft. DAY6, Kard, and Mina Genre: Arranged Marriage AU, Angst, Romance  Summary: Blackmailed by your parents, you’re forced to alter your life plan and enter an arranged marriage with the male heir of the Park family. The even bigger surprise comes when you find out that heir is your friend Jae. Thrust together, as the two of you become closer than before, will it strengthen your friendship or be the unexpected start of something else?

You always imagined the path to doom would be violent, dark, and storm-filled. Who knew it would actually be paved in gold-veined marble and lined in bouquets of hydrangeas and lily of the valley bound in silk ribbons in slender silver vases. But then, only the finest auction block would do.

The temptation to fidget grows as you wait with your parents in the quietly decadent lobby. Your feet beg to be free of the pointed heels, too accustomed to sensible flats. The chiffon dress is light and beautiful, you won’t deny that, but it feels like a lie. Dresses like this are for special occasions, not a dinner. Even getting dinner during a normal hour seems odd given you’re usually too busy dealing with a revolving door of patients. Patients who you could be helping with now but—

It is only years of training keeps you from crying out when your mother delivers a sharp pinch to your underarm.

“Smile. You look like you’re attending a funeral,” she hisses beneath her breath, a gracious curve pasted on her own mouth.

“Aren’t I?” you whisper back. Your impudence is rewarded with another pinch, but every bit of defiance is worth it. If nothing else comes of this, you remind yourself, soon she won’t be able to touch you or anyone and anything you hold dear.

“It appears the other party is already here,” the tuxedo-clad concierge tells your father. “Shall I lead you to the room?”

With all the dignity befitting an assemblyman, your father nods and lifts his arm, looking back at the two of you. Another part of your heart breaks away at that look. The warmth that lay in your father’s eyes when you were a child is no more than a memory. Cool calculations necessary of a career politician extinguished it long ago. Instead of his only child, all he sees is another bargaining chip. Until yesterday, you were able to lie to yourself that an ember of affection still survived. But no more. That delusion is dead, forever buried alongside the many other dreams slaughtered by your parents.

“Remember what is at stake for your father,” your mother whispers as she releases your arm to reach for your father’s. “Remember what is at stake for you.”

As if you could forget. Otherwise, you would be hundreds of thousands of miles away. You would be penniless but for the paltry savings you squirreled away, friendless but for the few who didn’t know your family, homeless but for your own skin. And it would be worth it to be completely out of reach of their conniving hands. Free, totally and completely, for the first time in your life. But she was right. What was at risk was far greater than you.

You fall in behind your parents, precisely three steps as you’d been drilled since your father first ran for public office. Shoulders back and spine straight, chin up and eyes forward. None of the growing trepidation or swirling sick feeling in your stomach betrayed in your countenance. A true lady just as they wanted. If they could have, they would have broken and reconstructed your soul in their image as well. But you had at least held out on that.

The concierge reaches a plain, eggshell-colored door flanked by two more bouquets. He knocks, then opens the door for your parents. You stick out your fingers to subtly touch the flowers as you pass through the door. The fragile silk softer than the real fabric proves they’re real. As real as the people within are fake, your parents included.

An older couple are the only obvious occupants, rising from their seats at a rectangular table set with exquisite crystal and silver that twinkles in the light streaming from the bay windows. Distinguished gray touches the man’s hair while the woman’s is jet black, doubtlessly dyed to hide the age that lies in the makeup-covered wrinkles around her eyes and mouth. Both are simply but finely dressed. Yet together, you know their wardrobe costs enough to send a student to a decent university for a year. At least.

The stink of old wealth, enhanced by the surroundings, is as heavy on them as your mother’s perfume. You hate it.

The man rises, smile broad and hand outstretched. “Assemblyman! Welcome!”

“Good to see you again, Mr. Park,” your father replies, shaking his hand and flashing that million-watt smile he practices in the mirror for the press and donors. “Especially on such a joyous occasion.”

“Yes, indeed. So this is your daughter.” Mr. Park’s gaze falls to you.

You steel your back against the shiver of disgust you feel as his eyes openly sweep you up and down. His wife follows suite from behind him. You can’t help the feeling that they would have pried your mouth open like a prize horse if you weren’t in a more civilized age. The irony of that thought amid your situation almost distracts you enough to give a real smile.

“Not as beautiful as her picture, but her career and your prestige will make up for that. She will be a welcome addition to our family,” Mr. Park says approvingly.

Bile rises unbidden from the bottom of your stomach with revulsion. Who the hell is he to judge you, let alone speak such an opinion out loud. You inwardly scoff. Just proof money cannot buy manners or decency.

“Where is your son?” your mother asks, looking around.

Mr. Park’s smile tightens a fraction. “He was temporarily detained at an appointment, but he’ll be here shortly. No need to worry. He’ll be here to sign the marriage contract.”

Marriage contract. Those words are enough to make the embarrassment at Mr. Park’s callous comments evaporate, replaced by the unforgiving chill of reality.

Today, you’re getting engaged to a stranger. To say the idea doesn’t terrify you would be the most vile lie. The idea of being “tied forever” to someone you’ve never met, never even seen, makes you sick. It makes you want to shrink, crawl away, and mourn. It makes you want to roar, storm, and seize your autonomy back. But all you can do is stand and wait, your face the vaguely interested mask you have perfected to a fault.

Mr. Park steps back and gestures to the table. “Shall we?”

Men in trim tuxedos silently appear to pull out your chairs. Mr. Park and your father take seats opposite each other, then Mrs. Park and your mother. You sit across from the empty chair. The chair where your soon-to-be fiance will soon sit.

Beside you, the older adults talk among themselves. Whether they speak of social niceties, specifics of the pre-nuptial contract, or plans for the wedding, you don’t know. Their words are noise in your ears and they make no effort to include you in the conversation. It doesn’t surprise you. You’re accustomed to it and you’re glad of it. They don’t deserve the civility you would be expected to produce. Not to mention your temper is shortened by the lack of sleep caused by an anxious patient’s hours-long call last night.

There’s a knock at the door and your heart stops. It’s him.

Demon or angel. Brat or saint. Executioner or savior. Bane or mate.

There’s no way to know and no way out. If someone in this day and age would agree to such a bond, he’s either an idiot, a pushover, or a victim like you.

You steel yourself for disappointment or pity, determined to keep any emotion to yourself. These parasites won’t get anything else from you.

The door opens and a slightly rumpled, lanky man ambles in. His long black overcoat covers a slate-gray suit jacket with matching pants and dark burgundy turtleneck. His blond hair is ruffled, streaked with bold swathes of highlights, and longer than you would expect of a wealthy scion. His messy bangs brushing the lenses of his round, gold-rimmed glasses.

Your mouth drops open. How…

“Sorry I’m late,” he says without a smile or sincerity. “I was—”

When his eyes fall to you, his mouth mirrors yours. You quickly snap your jaw back together and give the smallest shake of your head.

Don’t let them know.

His mother gives a polite cough to try to call him back. When he continues staring, his father speaks for him. “This is our son, Jaehyung.”

So that’s Jae’s real name.

Your father immediately gets up and holds out his hand. “Pleasure to meet you, son.”

“I remember your hair being black this morning,” Mr. Park says, addressing his son as he greets your father. “Was there a mistake at the salon?”

Recovering from his surprise, Jae’s mouth twitches like it wants to smirk at the clear disapproval in his father’s voice. He smooths his hair, takes his seat and answers simply. “No.”

His parents’ mouths thin, but the first course being served saves Jae from further reprimand. The conversation picks up where it left off, articulated by the clink of silverware.

Again, you’re not invited to participate, but neither is Jae. You push the salad around with your fork, flipping the leaves as your mind attempts comprehension. Admiration for Jae’s blatant rebellion only briefly interrupts the bewilderment swirling around your head.

Jae, your friend since he almost killed you with his skateboarding antics in university and who constantly crashes on your couch to whine about being broke. This same man who usually dresses in some version of a T-shirt, jeans, and or plaid shirt combo and seems to have a guitar permanently attached to his hands. Reconciling him with the put-together heir in front of you, your almost fiance, is proving difficult.

Though now, certain gaps in your knowledge of Jae make a bit more sense. Despite claiming to be perpetually broke, he never fails to pick up the latest shoes he’s been drooling over or new production equipment when his band, Day6, needs it. He never mentions his family. During university, he always found a friend to go home with on breaks.

Just like you.

Maybe that’s why you felt drawn to him, became and stayed friends. A silent and unconscious recognition of similar ghosts haunting your shadows.

Your phone quietly vibrates against your thigh. You ignore it.

Something nudges your foot. Lifting your eyes from your plate, you find Jae staring at you. He glances down towards your lap, frowning and jerking his chin when you don’t move.

With a peek at your mother to ensure she’s not paying attention, you slip your phone from the pocket hidden in your dress.

Meet me by the bathrooms.- Jae

You immediately stand, smiling as the Parks and your parents finally turn their attention to you. Lifting your phone, you say, “Please excuse me. The doctor on-call has a question about one of my patients. I have to call him back.” Disregarding your mother’s annoyed expression, you turn on your heel and walk out of the room.

After asking for directions, you find the bathrooms and wait in the alcove beside them. You don’t have long to wait before you hear Jae calling your name.

He jumps when you poke your head around the corner, but rushes over, grabbing your elbow to bring you back out of sight. “What the hell are you doing here?” he asks, his voice a hoarse whisper and his eyebrows nearly forced together with a frown.

“You asked me to meet you here.”

“Not here, smartass,” Jae says, rolling his eyes. “I mean here here.”

“I could be asking you the same question, Jaehyung.” You pointedly look down at where he’s still holding you.

“Sorry.” Jae releases you, his hand immediately going to run through his hair. His mussing leaves it standing at odd angles so he looks more like the Jae you’re familiar with. You recognize the same struggle to reconcile your newly discovered realities on his face as well. “It's just... you’re the assemblyman’s daughter? You?”

“Sorry to disappoint,” you reply, not sparing the sarcasm. You sit on the bench and fold your arms, scrutinizing the friend you thought you knew. “But I guess we’re even.”

“What do you mean? You never your said your dad was an assemblyman.”

“And not once in all the years we’ve known each other, not once in all the times we fell asleep talking did you mention you were a friggin' heir, Jae. Never mind an heir of the Park family. You were probably born with twenty silver spoons in your mouth.”

Jae sighs and joins you, closing his eyes and leaning his head back against the wall. “I didn’t say anything because I never wanted it. Who wants to own up to a family that only wants you to become their version of you, you know?”

“Preaching to the choir here.”

He opens his eyes with a frown and turns his head to you. “I never pegged you as a “yes, daddy” kind of girl. A goody-two-shoes with an overdeveloped savior complex, yeah. Definitely. But this? You really going along with this?”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” you retort with a roll of your eyes. “I thought we were friends.”

“We are, which is why I’m really freaking confused right now. You’re a doctor, dude. A modern woman. You’re always going on about women’s rights. Totally support by the way, but—”

“You really think I agreed to this for shits and giggles?” you cry, anger bubbling over. Everything you’ve held back since this morning boils out. “You think I like your father making me feel like a piece of meat and telling me to my face I’m ‘not as beautiful’ as my picture? Oh, wait, that would require him to address me directly like I had my own mind. Yeah, Jae, I just woke up yesterday and said to myself ‘Hey, let’s toss my entire personality, morals, and career aside and agree to get married to some rich guy so my dad can profit from the family-man image and new connections boost this election!’ That’s exactly what happened. No reason other than that.”

Jae is uncharacteristically silent after your outburst, studying you. You can’t really blame him. In the entire length of your friendship, you’ve only seriously raised your voice at him maybe once. He’s mentioned more than once that that fact is one your more attractive attributes.

Letting out a sigh of your own, you lean against the wall as well. You shouldn’t have yelled at him. He doesn’t deserve to be the recipient of your pent up frustrations. Picking at the skirt of your dress, you say, “You know my friend, Mina?”

“Yeah,” Jae replies with a shrug. “The dancer who’s at that super fancy dance school for ballet or something, right?”

“She’s there on a scholarship. A scholarship my mother is on the board for. My parents didn’t even bother being subtle about it. As soon as I told them they were crazy for suggesting this, they threatened to take the scholarship from Mina or even get her kicked out of the school. She can’t afford the tuition on their own. Jae, she loves that place and dancing so much and with that kind of training, she has a shot at so many opportunities. I couldn’t let them do that to her. It would kill her.”

His face becomes somber. “Ow…”

You give a half smile and a shrug. “Figured I could suffer through a few years of this marriage ‘til she finished, then find a way to get divorced.”

Jae reaches over and squeezes your hand. “You’re a really good friend.”

“Thanks.” You return the pressure and keep your hand in his. The reminder of humanity soothes some of the anger and hurt that sits like a boulder in your chest.

“Though I guess I am too,” he says. When you just look at him, waiting for an explanation, he lets out a bark of laughter. “And you yelled at me for being a bad friend, ya hypocrite. You think that I, Jae, the Jae, would say yes to this kind of backwards shit?”

“No.” Adopting an awful Manhattan accent, you ask, “So what’re you in here for?”

Your attempt gets a small laugh out of Jae, just as you’d hoped. The smile that accompanied it disappears as he says, “My parents found out about Day6… Before, as long as I kept my head down and didn’t do anything ‘embarrassing,’ they didn’t care what I was doing since my sister is going to take over the business. But now, if I don’t do this marriage thing, they were going to cut me off. I’d miss my Jordans, but I could deal if it was just me. But you know I’m the one who books our studio sessions, pays for the travel and new equipment when we need it. The guys chip in when they can, but they don’t make that much at their day jobs. I don’t make enough for it all either.”

You put your other hand over Jae’s. His band is his life. You’ve seen the shelves at his apartment filled with notebooks of music and lyrics instead of books. Some he’s actually played for you or let you read. He has his guitars named and arranged in order of favoritism for crying out loud. Making him abandon his music would be less painful than cutting out his heart while it still beat.

“We’re this close to a break, Doc. I can feel it.” Jae meets your eyes, none of the normal charm or ease there. Instead, they beg for reassurance, belief in him and his dream.

“I know you are. I come to every show I can, don’t I?” You smile, feeling the callouses from his constant playing rubbing against your own skin. “You're going to make it big. You have more talent than half the people on the radio. We just have to get the right people to listen.”

“Then I could support myself and I wouldn’t be in this mess.” He suddenly chuckles.

“What?”

“You could be too. You could be like our bus driver or roadie or something.”

“I have a job, you know. I just don’t work at the right place to make the big bucks. The clinic can barely afford our necessities, let alone big staff salaries. Besides, I don’t think it would matter.” You sigh again, unable to stop yourself from leaning against Jae. Everything feels too heavy and there’s a headache brewing in your temples. “I wouldn’t be surprised if my parents just found someone else to foist on me if this didn’t work out.”

“Damn. Seriously? We really won the lottery on the crappy parents, didn’t we?”

“That’s an understatement.” Looking down at your joined hands, you try to imagine matching weddings bands on your fingers. The idea is laughable. But nothing comes out of your mouth except the words, “We’re really going to do this, aren’t we? Get married.”

Jae’s shoulders lift beneath your cheek in a hopeless shrug. “For now, I guess so. Unless one of us wins the actual lottery. Or Day6 gets signed with a big bonus.”

You start nodding, then stop as an idea hits you, and groan. “Dammit… Jae, what’re we going to tell our friends?”

“What’d you mean? I doubt our parents are going to invite them to the wedding. Mine are too snobby and yours seem just as bad. Not like our friends read the newspaper either if our parents do one of those corny engagement ads.”

“I know my mother. She’s going to insist on an engagement ring and not a subtle one. Our friends know us. They’re not going to believe we went from friends to engaged. And what about what’s-her-name? The girl you’re talking to?”

“Oh,… yeah, that didn’t work out,” Jae says with a chuckle. “She didn’t like how much time I spent practicing. She told me it was either her or the band.”

Lifting your head, you stare at him. “What the hell were you doing dating someone like that?”

“She was hot?”

And he’s back. You drop his hand to smack his shoulder. “Gross!”

Jae raises his hands in defense, but a smile is back on his face, at least temporarily. “I’m kidding, jeez. Well, not really. She was hot, but I thought she really liked music slash the band too.”

“Sure.” Restless, you get off the bench and begin pacing. You think better on your feet. “But seriously, what’re we going to tell our friends? Us dating wouldn’t be too big a stretch, but no one would believe we’d do something crazy like get married out of nowhere. You’re impulsive enough for that, but not me. They’re going to know something’s up.”

“Firstly, I resent that impulsive comment. I'm just absurdly curious is all. And why not just tell them we’re dating?” Jae pulls in his legs when you almost trip over them. “But only if our parents make us move in together or something. Otherwise, we don’t need to. You don’t have to wear the ring unless our parents check in or whatever. Plus, like I said, crappy as it is, our parents wouldn’t think to invite them to the wedding. The only people there will be people we don’t care about. Then after we’re married, we just wait it out, not telling anyone, and then, like you planned, get a quick, quiet divorce when everyone’s safe. No one knows, we live our lives as normally as we can, and then we’re home free.”

Pausing in your marching, you look at Jae again. He looks far calmer than he has any right to be. Seems like he’s already accepted your predicament. But maybe he is right. Maybe this abrupt drop in the road of your life can be smoothed into a less dramatic sharp turn, or even a slight detour. Maybe you can do it. Together. The demons of uncertainty’s voices quiet for now.

Out loud, you say, “Alright.”

“Cool. Now that that’s settled,” slapping the edge of the bench, Jae pushes himself up, “we should probably get back. By the way, why’d you not want them to know we know each other?”

Raising your eyebrows incredulously, you ask, “You really want to give them one more thing to use against us?”

“Yeah, you’re right.” Straightening his clothes, he says, “Let’s go back to the lions’ den.”

Seeing his smile, that smile you know so well and love, relief hits you so hard, it makes your knees almost buckle.

You rush to him, burying your face in his shirt and curling your fingers around his jacket lapels. Your eyes burn, but your tears are thankfully exhausted. “Jae, I’m so glad it’s you. I really am.”

Fate and your parents’ scheming could have put anyone opposite you. Yet somehow, it’s Jae. A solid ally and friend instead of a dreadful unknown. With Jae, you have a fellow victim, a fellow survivor. A partner. One with no expectations except a continued friendship and reliance.

Although Jae had been stiff from surprise, his arms close around you and his body sags. Despite his boniness, the warmth of his embrace more than makes up for it. “Yeah, me too, Doc. Me too.”

“Were you scared too?”

“Fucking terrified. I thought I was going to be stuck with some prude princess. You know I can’t handle high maintenance. Ain’t nobody got time for that.”

Laughing, you step back. As usual, Jae’s humor helps break through your cloud of ill mood. Beckoning, you say, “Come here. We have to fix your hair or they might think something happened.”

“Yeah, because they’re such examples of people who believe in love at first sight and get swept up in mind-blowing passion,” he retorts, but he leans down anyway so you can smooth his hair. “Thanks. You ready?”

“Yeah.” You nod. This time, you believe it.

[alexandenigtscreations]

Chapters: 1/2 Fandom: The Penumbra Podcast Summary:

What if Juno didn't have time to heal properly from the soul incident before he and Ransom went on their first mission in the Aurinko crime family?

__________________

“I recommend we turn our walk into a run.” Nureyev said, not daring to look at the scene Miss Nova Zolotova was making.  “A very fast run, Go!”  and gave a gentle shove to the small of Juno’s back as they broke into a sprint, Juno hitching up the golden skirt as they fled.  His footsteps fell farther and farther behind, glancing back Nureyev saw his face twisted into a grimace “Quickly now Detective!” he called.

“I’d like to see you run in 6 inch heal-ahh!” he stumbled and Nureyev grasped his elbow to keep him upright at the very least.  He’d have to have a chat with Buddy about practical footwear later.  Hopefully. 

The security was closing in fast, one of them even throwing a flashy prop blaster at their retreating backs; the shot went wide.  It was no matter.  There was their ride up ahead, hovering just over the precipice of the floating mansion.  He’d rarely been so glad to see a car.

“When I say jump-”

“What are you crazy?! I’m not gonna-”

“Jump!” 

The pair dove into the transport’s open door, Nureyev never loosening his hold on a screaming Juno’s arm as they fell into a heap in the back seat.  

“Hello.” said Jet “please fasten your seatbelts.”

“A little busy- at the moment.” Nureyev disentangled an arm to pull the door shut.  “For now, might I suggest we make our getaway.”  Several drones shot out of crevices.  While the security inside had to meet aesthetic requirements, there were no such restrictions on the outer team.

“I’m merely pointing out that our escape may be bumpy.” said Jet, nonetheless plugging their route on the controls. Doing a complicated maneuver to avoid a hasty trap.  Juno hissed as the pair were jostled about, clinging to Nureyev in a peculiar fashion “The security is different from the schematics Buddy provided.” Jet grunted, pulling hard on the steering console.  

“They updated the security system at 2 a.m.” Nureyev supplied, throwing out a hand to brace against the car’s side.  

“2 a.m.?  A last minute security switch then.”

“Quite, not the most organized affair, but a switch nonetheless.” It was Juno that found that out, Juno that had saved his overly cocky self from being caught by the cameras.  He was still rattled from the whole affair.  

The lady in question was unusually quiet, the quietest he’d been all evening.  Huddling into Nureyev’s side where he’d landed; a hand wrapped around his middle, breath coming in fast and shallow.  Nureyev was reminded of Juno's less than favorable reaction to their joy ride in the Ruby 7.  Was this his motion sickness?  or- something else- concern welled up in his chest.

“Juno?” he asked softly, struggling into an upright position moving the other with him “You didn’t get hurt, did you?” 

“Wha?  No- it’s juss-'' he pushed away and leaned over “hard for a lady to catch his breath in a get up like this.  Besides'' he winced, reaching into the folds of the skirt “landed on something kind of hard.” and produced the Gilded Globe of Reaches Far with a weak smile, that made Nureyev’s nerves flutter.  The golden circuitry and intricately carved gems glinting in the faint light of the floating mansion.  Nearly losing it after a sharp maneuver from Jet.

“Might I suggest you put that away until we are back in the carte blanche?”  

Once back, they were informed to make a showing for the family meeting to debrief the others on the mission.  Juno disappeared to change, hobbling into the meeting room a half hour later looking morose. 

“So kind of you to make it darling. I was just about to send Jet after you.” Buddy greeted.  

“That dress is a nightmare to get out of.” he shot back.  

“Yes, well, if you need help, all you have to do is ask.  Ransom,” Juno made a funny sort of cough “has just been telling us the details.  It worked for the best this time, but for future reference, when you have an account filled with fake credits, best not draw too much attention to it.”

Juno sighed, collapsing into a seat.  Something seemed to be weighing on the detective, something other than the disaster of a mission the pair had endured.  Nureyev kept glancing over, noting the way Juno sat hunched over on himself, the tired way he recanted the mission, the way he tore their performance to shreds.  They had finally started to work as a team near the end, but before then- well, they both had a lot to say about the faults in their plans.  The only thing Buddy scolded them for was failing to keep her in the loop, and chastising Nureyev for not relying more on Juno.  

They had successfully retrieved the globe but it did not feel like a victory.  

Later, after the debriefing and a private word with Buddy, Juno came to his room to talk.  Well, Juno talked, a long winded apology Nureyev barely managed to listen to as his mind whirred with the information Buddy left him.

“Point is I’m jus- sorry.”  he stopped, eye over bright and wide in anticipation.  

Nureyev couldn’t think of what to say, it was clearly his turn, as it were, clearly the time to speak, but….

“Juno-” his voice came out soft and strained.  

The other man stood unsteadily “I-I’m too late aren't I, damn it, I- I should leave-” 

Nureyev swallowed, catching Juno’s hand in his “Not too late, Juno, not too late at all.” he gave a short humorless laugh “In fact, I can’t think of anyone I would want to stay with more than you.”  

Relief washed over Juno’s face as he pulled away.  “Hell, don’ tell me that’s it!”  He started to laugh, there was something off about it though, “You know how s-scared I was of-of this?  Of us?  Of- ahhh-'' he doubled over clutching his stomach for the second time that day.  

Nureyev dashed to his side “Juno?  Juno what’s wrong?” He grasped his shoulders trying to get him to look him in the eye.  They sank to the floor, Nureyev pulling him close like he had done in Miasma’s compound.  

That’s when he realized what was so off putting about the situation, Juno was in pain, serious pain and had been for quite some time.  Only he’d been too caught up in his own stupid thoughts to notice it before.  Just like the mission.  

The last instance he saw Juno this bad off was during Miasma's experiments in an old Martian Tomb.  

“Juno!”

“N-Nothin- jus feelin a bit woozy-”

“Woozy?” Nureyev pulled him closer, ghosting a hand down his side and- there was something damp there, sticky even.  

“Yeah, being swept off your feet has that effect on a la-ahh!” he curled tighter into his chest, like he did in the car, breathing far too hard.  “Don’ touch.”  Nureyev wasn’t paying attention now, thoroughly distracted by the russet smear cross his fingers.

“Juno you’re bleeding.”  His mind reeled.  Juno had been hurt, but when- how?  Why hadn’t he said anything.  

“Oh yeah, what do you know?  Thanks for the update.”

“Let me have a look.”

“N-no, it’s fine.”  He struggled to push himself upright, “shouldn’t be here.”

“Oh don’t be such a baby.” he pushed Juno back gently so he was resting against the dresser.  Juno let him, leaning his head back and closing his eye in exhaustion.  Lifting his shirt elicited a soft “ohhh-” from the thief.  

He was covered in injuries that couldn’t be more than a few weeks old, judging by the angry red and pink of the lacerations.  The corset couldn’t have been doing his healing process any favors.  Some of the wounds had opened, and Juno had placed large Band-Aids over the top.  Those would need tending to, but the one that was most concerning was one where a bandage was wrapped around his lower ribcage, blood dying the once pristine fabric a deep red.  

“May of had a lil’ more f-fun than anticipated today-”  

“Juno, what happened?” Nureyev cupped his face, gently stroking a thumb over Juno’s cheek bone.  He felt hot to the touch.  It only added to the concern.  

“Stupid really- I hit some space junk- and-” he paused, pulling in air “it hit back.” 

“Space junk-? Never mind that, why didn’t you tell us?”

“I did-”

“What? When?”

“At the meeting family thing.  Wasn’t- feelin my best-”

Nureyev thought back to the family meeting hours ago, he hadn’t been paying attention.  He remembered Juno supporting his resume and spilling his coffee moments after a defiant declaration to Buddy he could drink it.  The situation had been comical at the time, but he remembered how his hands had shook-  Same when he tripped on the carpet to the galla.  

Juno was many things, but he wasn’t a novice to heals or an elegant gown, his performance on the dance floor spoke to his skill.  His impatience to end the auction, and the way he’d bulled him over when he tried taking the globe prematurely.  The way his face had twisted, and how tightly he squeezed Nureyev-  Was that what had done it?  Or was it when they escaped to the transport-   

The truth was, Nureyev hadn’t been paying attention.  He didn’t pay attention and Juno was hurting because of it.

“Wasn’t feeling your best?  Juno, these are serious injuries.”

“N-not anymore-” Juno sighed “And we needed- the map- the Cure Mother-” he drew in another ragged breath “It could do a lot of pe-eople a lot a good.” 

Fear coiled in Nureyev’s gut as he thought of the words Buddy had said to him mear hours before ‘We are not legends- legends are dead things-’

How many times had Juno almost become a legend himself?  How many times had he tried to sacrifice himself for the greater good? 

“I’m going to get Vespa.”

“N-no!” Juno gasped, grabbing hold of the other’s wrist “Nureyev, please- I- I don’t want her to see me- right now.  Don’t need it-”

“Detective, you need more than I can give you.”

“It’ll stop- soon-” he was almost pleading “please, jus’ stay.” 

Nureyev looked at Juno Steel for a good long moment- he loved this man- it was a simple truth that he’d tried to run from- even going so far as to let him walk away on those soft feet in the dead of the night all that time ago-

He could live without Juno Steel- but it was getting harder and harder to understand why he’d wanted too.  

“Oh- have it your way Detective.  But you’re going to let me patch you up at the very least; I will not have you bleeding out on my watch.”

Juno gave an exhausted, wicked grin “Thanks Toots.” 

Nureyev relieved Juno of his soaked shirt and unwounded the bandage; careful as to not interfere with the clotting blood to reveal a truly evil wound.  A jagged V carved into the side of his ribcage, deviating into the vulnerable flesh of his stomach; half-healed bruises blotching his skin.  It wasn’t hard to believe Juno lost a fight with space junk.  The stitching had torn apart, none too neatly either.  

It wasn’t wise to stitch him up again, best let the doctor do the proper patching.  But, maybe, he could hold it off till morning.

He cleaned it best he could, Juno occasionally letting out little piteous sounds as he worked.  It was intimate, he could feel every stuttering breath under his long fingers, every twitch and tensed muscle.  He had him like this before, under more enjoyable circumstances, delighting in the honesty that played across his face-  But now- there were only gasps of pain and watery smiles.  Worry settled heavily in his chest, he’d just gotten him back, and now this-

Fresh gauze packed tight and back the bandage went.  Juno’s feverish head resting in the crock of Nureyev’s neck as he wound it tightly around.  He was given a fresh bed shirt, the largest one Nureyev had packed.  Juno was more muscular than he was, smaller in stature but broader of shoulder.  He was lucky to find anything to fit him at all.

“Okay, to bed love.” and pressed a kiss into his curls, marveling at how easy the term of endearment slipped from his lips.  “You’ve got a doctor’s appointment in the morning.” 

“I- don’ want too-” Juno whined, but placidly allowed Nureyev to maneuver him to the mattress.  He curled on his good side, laying his head in the hollow point of Nureyev’s arm.  

Nureyev found himself hoping that this time, he would stay.  

In the morning- he’d see Juno treated and that would be that.  He ran his fingers along his back in a soothing fashion and fell asleep to his lady’s gentle breath.  

 It was that same breath that woke Nureyev some odd hours later-

[hoshiwilluploadstuff]

In the Spider's Web || Phantom Troupe One-Shot ||

In the Spider’s Web (Phantom Troupe Fanfic)

Summary: She was a regular office worker born with the ability to “see” how dangerous a person is with a number scale of 1-10 above their heads. A toddler would be a 1 and a skilled soldier with a firearm may score a 7. Today, she noticed the reserved new guy at the office measures a 10. *writing prompt*

Warnings: Death, Character Death, and just death- there will always be dead people when its the Phantom Troupe

The offices were mundane as per usual. Yu had been assigned to a new floor to take care of the new employees, or so her supervisor said, but she knew that she had just been given the job because it was exhausting for him.

Lazy prick.

Yu’s eyes drifted off to the people on the floor. Some she knew, some she didn’t, and some just familiar. And just like usual, cloud-like numbers were above their heads ranging only from 3-4. People like her supervisor or those buffy looking fellows were around 5.

Yu had just gotten the ability recently. It helped when she’d walk home alone, who to be wary of, and who to not be afraid of.

“Ah, sorry.” Yu apologized for bumping into a guy. Oh, he was new. He looked like the usual tired office worker trying to get through the day like her. As she was about to introduce herself, her tongue froze.

10.

What?

That couldn’t be possible.

“You alright?” His voice was unusually calm for a new tired guy. He raised a brow.

Calm down, Yu.

Yu managed to wipe off the fear from her tone and laughed it off. “Yea- Yea! You must be new here- I’m Yu Nadmi, your finance manager. I’ll be taking care of helping you around the place.”

She waited for him to introduce himself, but he merely squinted his eyes at her. Scrutinizing her. She gulped. Yep, she was definitely leaving this place. She was quitting the first thing she left the room.

“Right.” He walked past her indifferently. If it hadn’t been for her ability, Yu would have told him off for disrespecting his senior.

But the 10 loomed over his head ominously.

Yu yeeted out of the place immediately. She’ll send in her resignation through email. She was never coming back to that place ever.

Goodbye, promotion.

She hurriedly packed up her stuff- makeup, food, personal documents- everything she owned into her bag.

“Yu, where are you going?” Her co-worker, Lisa, asked. “It’s not lunch yet.”

“My dog died.” was the first thing Yu said. She didn’t have a dog- she had a cute kitten by the name Steve so her parents thought she had a boyfriend or partner or something. Now, she needed to find a new home for Steve so he wouldn’t be murdered like her.

Oh god.

Steve would miss Yu terribly.

“Oh, I’m so sorry to hear that.” Yu just nodded, faked a sob, then left. She was on the 4th floor of the building. She quickly pressed the elevator button. It was heading her way. Okay, great. This was just a bad day.

Ding!

The elevator doors opened. She nearly choked in horror. The 10 was haunting her. It was definitely haunting you. Three more people had the 10 over their heads.

What was today?!

The second tallest of the three, a blonde with extremely kind eyes, snapped Yu out of her frozen state. “Aren’t you getting in?”

She couldn’t say no right?? They’d know then. Oh my god.

Yu laughed. “Oh, sorry, I was just dazed.” She entered, feet becoming jelly, and stood beside the small woman with pink hair. She just hoped the fear didn’t ooze out clearly. The doors closed and she pressed the 1st floor. Her eyes couldn’t help but wander over to the floor that was pressed other than hers- 5th. The floor above hers- it led to the boss’ office alongside the other supervisors.

“Do you work here?” The tall blonde asked. You’d have flirted with him casually if not for the 10. Cursed 10.

Yu nodded. “Yea, just new actually.” The lie came out smoothly. “I just finished my interview.”

“Oh? So you’re leaving already? Too bad, you look really pretty.”

May the Lord bless Yu’s poor soul.

“Oh uh thanks… you don’t look too bad yourself.” The elevator dinged just as it stopped at the 5th floor.

“It was nice to meet you, miss. I hope your interview went well.” A bead of sweat rolled down her back as the three left the elevator.

“It was nice to meet you too, sir…” Her enthusiastic smile quickly dropped once the doors closed and her shoulders slumped into relaxation.

Okay, Yu got through that somehow.

But wait, she paused, realizing something.

The number of the elevator flickered to 4.

Only authorized people could enter the elevator from the lobby. And she knew every authorized person in this building. Even if those three were guests, an authorized person would have come with them.

Yu’s shaking hand went over her mouth as she gasped.

The elevator flickered 3.

If one person was at the 4th floor, 3 at the 5th, then...are the other floors even safe? She quickly looked around the small space. Her eyes landed on the square on the ceiling of the elevator.

The elevator flickered 2 and dinged.

“Oi, did you take care of everything on the 3rd floor?” Yu placed a hand over her mouth hearing unfamiliar voices beneath her. There was a pause, she guessed he was talking on the phone.

“Well, Boss should be pleased with how things are going.” Another voice she hadn’t heard of.

Yu held on the metal wire in fear.

“Hm? Did you press this?”

Oh God, if you are there, please let them ignore it.

“They must be done with the 1st floor and are heading up.” Yu’s shoulders relaxed at the other person’s reply.

Yu flinched hearing something wet and heavy drop. A bag, you hoped.

“Franklin’s almost done. Feitan is taking his sweet time getting info on the 4th.” The doors closed and she struggled not to fall over as it moved.

Should she call the police?! Yu didn’t know what to do but she hesitantly took out her phone and pushed it into silent mode. She has seen too many thriller movies that had phones kill them because it wasn’t silent.

She was clearly not going to be one of them.

The elevator dinged, reaching the 1st floor. Yu clenched her fists and looked around her. She hoped there was something you could do to stay on the 1st floor.

“What are you doing here? You’re supposed to head up to the 5th floor and meet up with the rest.” A woman this time. She sounded old, maybe around her early 30s. It was sharp and held a clear air to it.

Yu realized what she could do. She turned on the record.

“Oh, that was me- I pressed that.” A male? She wasn’t sure. But whatever, the police would take care of it if she got out of this alive. “Let's all head up together.”

If she got out of this alive, Yu repeated the thought with a gulp.

The elevator doors closed again and silence took over. Yu paused the recording and looked up. Her next problem…

She carefully, making absolutely no sound, lied on her back. It didn’t take long for the ceiling to appear and Yu clenched her fists as the ceiling came closer and closer and closer.

Then it stopped, several more centimeters more she would have been crushed.

The elevator doors opened, several footsteps echoed out, and the doors closed.

Now, the thing was, Yu would have entered back into the elevator but the amount of space left for her was impossible to even think of moving.

What the frick was she supposed to do? Was she just gonna lie there and wait???

Just then, the doors opened again. But it was rushed panting and pained groans that greeted her ears.

Someone escaped?

“Come on, come on, come on!!!!”

Yu could hear the constant press of the elevator button, most likely for the first floor. She pressed the palm of her hand tightly against her mouth as tears developed at the edge of her eyes.

“Please, please, oh God, please hurry!!!”

The voice belonged to her co-manager.

Her nails dug on the skin of her cheeks when the terrified scream echoed for only a brief second followed by the ‘shing!’ of a blade until the dark silence took over.

“Tsk, noisy cow.” Shaking fervently, Yu resumed recording to get as much as she could. She couldn’t have expected that they were all going to die.

The thought of Lisa, her co-worker, who innocently asked her where she went echoed in her mind. Yu was selfish, a coward, but even she didn’t know it was going to be like this. The tears escaped her eyes and her breathing constricted as a sob, a real sob, tried to break out of her throat. Breathing carefully, she remained motionless again.

Survive, Yu, you can do this. Steve’s waiting for you.

Her constricted breathing finally relaxed at the thought of her little black kitten waiting at home for her to walk and care for him.

Yu was determined to have Steve ready for adoption because even if she did survive this ordeal, the news would broadcast her survival.

She couldn’t have that. She met like four of the guys with that cursed 10 on their heads. They probably remembered her- she had to give Steve a home before she would be murdered.

“Oi, Fei, get that out. We don’t have Shizuku to clean shit up for us right now.” The voice- it belonged to the guy from the 2nd floor, it was deep.

“Tsk.” The other guy replied. Yu’s shoulders shook as the same fleshy bag was dropped heavily on the ground just past the elevator. Just then, the doors closed and the ceiling above her began to grow farther and farther away.

As the elevator descended, Yu paused the record again and returned to sitting upright. She wondered exactly why this was happening.

The office building she was in was called Spectrum that specialized in marketing. It wasn’t famous for that matter, but it did get rare items that could be bidded in auctions. However, Yu was sure that they didn’t have any rare items as of the month. After all, Yu was in charge of the budgets and there had been no significant changes at all. It was the usual low-grade items sold to the public. The last time they even got a rare item was a year ago.

The loud ding snapped Yu out of her thoughts. She carefully descended from the roof of the elevator, careful of making any suspicious sounds, and exited the elevator. Her hand immediately shot up to her mouth as the urge to retch took over her.

Piles of bodies stretched throughout the lobby. Familiar faces, friends, co-workers stared at her with blank and dead eyes, their blood mixed and pooled around one another. She felt sick seeing the red zero that floated just above their bodies. She had never seen her ability show a zero before. She quickly looked away and took deep breaths into her palm.

The faint smell of iron touched her taste and she doubled over holding back her breakfast. Fortunately, she stomached it back in.

Yu carefully walked over the bodies, careful not to step on the blood and even those zeroes and quietly maneuvered her way to the back door exit. She didn’t think twice to go through the front entrance. The less amount of blood dated all the way there meaning they weren’t scared going up front.

Soon enough, Yu was at the back door exit meant only for authorized people to go through. She quickly hid when a looming person appeared at the corner of her eye.

“I can’t believe I’m taking watch here. Shit.” A samurai? Yu was afraid to take out her phone to turn the recording back on. The back area was barely lit, except the lights that came through the windows. Her position would be seen if her phone screen lit up.

“I’m so fucking bored! I can’t believe I lost to those little shits on rock paper scissors.” The man continued to grumble. Yu shook at the 10 over his head.

Seriously, what the hell??? She just wants to go home, drop Steve at her parents place, then be happily killed. Or she could run away and live in the forest and become a naturalist. Yes, that sounded good too.

“Hm?” Yu froze at the knowing tone of the man. She could vividly hear him scratch his chin. “I can hear someone else here.” Hearing that, Yu immediately clasped her hand over her mouth and tugged her bag close to her chest.

Breathe calmly. Her throat constricted. Yu, calm down.

The scratching noise disappeared and Yu quickly buried herself deeper into her hiding spot.

Ba-dum. Ba-dum.

Her heart beat rang in her ears.

Ba-dum.

The sharp ringing of silence accompanied her heart beat.

“Hm?” It was right by her ear and Yu sprang up and ran. But the collar of her shirt was pulled harshly and she cried out.

“NO!” She struggled hard, pressed the heel of her shoe on his foot, and slammed her elbow hard against his chest. She felt it in slow motion, the squish of joints on the heel and the jolt back of her elbow to her hand. There was an audible thump and a pained yelp behind her as she ran for her life.

Yu headed towards the bathroom. There was an open window for ventilation that she knew fit her size because obviously she had gone through there at some point in her job.

“Oi, Nobunaga, answer your damn phone.” Yu’s small frame slammed into a brick wall and she fell onto her bum. Gasping for her life, her frightened state stared up at the man she had seen in the elevator on the 4th floor. Oh God. He was bigger and wider in an open area.

“The little piece of-!” The samurai was behind her. This buff man in front of her.

She thought she was done for when the buff man looked down at his phone then at her.

“Saved us the trouble. Thought we had to search for your home.” The horror in his words didn’t quite register as the panic of trying to survive settled in. Yu quickly sprang up to dart away, but the buff man instantly grabbed her by the waist and threw her over his shoulder.

“LET ME GO! LET ME GO!” was at the tip of her tongue but she bit it back hard feeling the overwhelming strength behind his grip. Her nails dug the palm of her hand, but she tried to think rationally even at this point.

Why’d they need her???

“Lucky girl, I'd slice you open if you weren’t needed.” The samurai, Nobunaga grumbled in distaste. “What is so important about her?”

“Check your phone, idiot.” Yu nearly squealed when the man suddenly laughed, his shoulders shaking making her world go up and down. “What did she do to you to make you so fucking pissed?”

There was the sound of light tapping, Yu guessed was his phone, and a grumble of “Just shut the fuck up and let’s get to the 5th floor.”

Yu felt sick to her stomach as her world swayed around. It didn’t take long for her to be back in that elevator she had been stuck in for what was hours but was merely minutes, and back at the 5th floor she was dying to not go into.

The samurai and the buff man were busy chattering to themselves. Yu was just too dizzy and light-headed at that point to even listen to them. Her bag idly swung back and forth as she was carried away.

“Welcome back, miss~!” Yu was greeted by the enthusiastic blonde man when she was thrown to the ground half-heartedly. She grimaced at his warm smile. “To think an interviewee was actually the finance manager!”

Yu’s eyes met the frightened gazes of her supervisor and the rest of the team leaders. The number 5 floated above their heads. Their faces were contorted in fear and panic with blood splatter on various areas of their tied up forms. She noticed she was the only manager in the group.

“Is that all of them?” her eyes darted to the one who spoke, a blonde woman with a sharp accentuated nose. She knew her voice from the 1st floor.

“Shizuku already got rid of their boss so yea, that’s all of them.”

Why did they need her?

Just as the thought passed, the blonde woman’s eyes flickered over to her. Yu wearily scooched away when the woman approached her.

“Do you know why you’re here?” The woman asked, placing a hand on top of Yu’s head.

Yu nervously looked around her and shook her head. If she was going to die, she hoped it would be quick and painless.

“No…”

“Is the book ‘Melody in the Poison Trap’ familiar to you?” Yu’s brows furrowed, carefully searched her memories, and shook her head ‘no’.

“You liar-!!!” Her supervisor's yelling was cut off by a sharp ‘shiiing!’. Even Yu had to nervously gulp at the samurai’s sharp blade pointed at her supervisor’s adam's apple.

“He told us that you knew of the book’s location.” Yu’s eyes flickered to her supervisor’s angered, panicked gaze and the blonde woman’s calm, indifferent gaze.

Yu carefully looked through her memories but the book that was mentioned wasn’t in any of them.

“The…” Her tongue was heavy as she carefully chose her words. “The only books or compositions that the company was interested in were La Flor Demente, violin piece of the Sonata of Darkness, and the Void Century. B-But the bidding got too high so we were unable to acquire any of them.” She locked eyes with her supervisor when she said the next statement, “There was no Melody in the Poison Trap.”

The blonde woman immediately took her hand off her head and nodded at her companions.

Yu couldn’t even react so much as a gasp when all of the team leader’s bodies were decapitated. Her eyes were still locked on her supervisor’s eyes as the light faded from them.

Once their bodies dropped and their number became a red zero was when Yu couldn't hold back her breakfast.

“Ugh, disgusting.” It was the new guy, supposedly the new guy, who commented while she vomited.

“It was fun seeing them come up with lies.” Yu recognized it as the smaller, softer voice from the 2nd floor. He was the smallest in the group with only his left eye visible from his mop of hair.

“Definitely, especially when they communicated with their eyes.” The enthusiastic blonde chimed.

“I should’ve stayed with the Boss if I knew the fight was going to be as boring as this.” The buff man groaned. Yu wiped her lips as she tiredly gazed at the killers. Her vision was starting to blur but she dug the nails into her palm to stay awake, focused.

“What we do with that? What Boss say?” The new guy grumbled, bringing Yu’s existence back into their focus. She was a ‘that’ now.

Yu pressed herself against the wall and hugged her bag close to her chest.

Why hadn’t they killed her?

Another blonde, but with no eyebrows, spoke this time. “We’re babysitting her.” He said it with a click of his tongue. He was the other guy on the 2nd floor. “Boss said that she’s important.”

“That’s it? Nothing else? Not have Paku over here or Feitan extract the information however they want??” The buff guy looked at his phone then at the blonde, eyebrowless man.

“Nope. We’re babysitting her.” The blonde man confirmed. “So, who’s taking her?” Yu watched as they grimaced looking at each other.

“Not me.”

“Me either.”

“Nada.”

“Nope.”

Or similar phrases were being thrown around like taking turns on who’s supposed to do the dishes for the night, except she was the dishes.

“Let’s flip for it then. Take bets on the majority two who’ll have to babysit her.” The warmer blonde said with a grin. They all confirmed with their own noises.

Yu couldn’t even relax, despite her death not being held by a string anymore. Not because of the dead bodies surrounding her, but because of the haunting 10 over the killers’ heads. All of them were a 10. Even the smallest guy was a 10.

How was that even possible?

The adrenaline from earlier had dissipated once she was dropped there. Her sharpened senses were dulling by the second and exhaustion took over her fright.

“You lose, Feitan!”

“Haha, loser!”

Her eyes drooped as her vision blurred.

“Fuck you, bastards!”

“Oi, don’t get pissed. We won fair and square!”

Then her eyes closed.

--

The cold crisp air caressed Yu’s barely conscious body and stirred her senses to awaken. Her arms were numb from being asleep for too long and pins and needles stabbed her from the tips of her toes up to her knees.

“Ugh…” Yu groaned. Her brows knitted together when a splitting headache hit her head.

“Finally up?” She jolted at the irritated and rough voice from beside her. It was the new guy with the 10.

“Yea…” She grimaced and held her head. “Where are we?” They were in a simple room with the basic furniture for a bedroom. Looking around, she found biscuits and a cup of water on the bedside drawer and a growl echoed from her stomach coincidentally.

“Take it.” The guy said before she could say anything. “Prepared for you.” He was playing with his phone. Yu knew it to be one of the trending moba games, Moba Saga. She played it frequently at home and learned about the heroes as well. She looked away immediately seeing how bad he was at handling a basic hero. Her tongue might be the death of her if she wasn’t careful.

She drank a bit of the water first then ate the biscuits then drank the rest of the water. While doing this, she couldn’t stop her eyes from wandering to the screen and her face grimacing every time he made a wrong move.

Maybe he noticed her peering over because he handed the phone to her when his team lost the game.

“Try?” He said, but his words were opposite to the emotion in his eyes. Still, Yu was bored and her only company at the moment was this psychopath.

It’s not like she had a choice.

She shook her head. “I’ll just watch.” He hummed in satisfaction, to which Yu tried hard not to visibly roll her eyes at, and continued to play another PVP game. This time, she didn’t shy away from watching and leaned over to see the game.

He was using another basic hero this time, a jungler. Yu tried not to tell him what to buy, but it was just at the tip of her tongue whenever he just pressed a random item that had good stats. Barely 8 minutes in the game, he must’ve noticed her oozing anxiety.

“What?” He stated, rather than asked, in irritation.

Yu quickly waved her hands. “J-Just nothing. Keep playing.” Actually, she wanted to say- you could’ve dodged that- why did you buy that, your hero is physical not magical- don’t you know the skills of the hero???

She jumped in surprise when he shoved the phone into her hands.

“Then play.” His brows knitted in irritation. He actually looked cute, but the looming 10 was what made her listen to him. While playing, she began to take out one item at a time and replaced it with what she usually bought. In the 5 minutes she was playing, she got a triple skill and two double kills that scored the team their victory.

“Nice.” She muttered, completely forgetting the man beside her. She was about to play again when he snatched the phone from her hands.

“You know the game?” He asked before she could start a protest. Her lips formed a thin line, thinking there wasn’t any harm done, and answered him.

“Yea, I play it at home.” She leaned against the bed rest. “I usually play marksman or mid laner though. I only use jungler when everyone else is being stubborn.”

“Hm. So my play was bad?”

“Yep, pretty much.” She said before the question actually settled into her. In seconds, the man had a sharp knife against her throat. Now, she really was pressing herself deeply against the bedrest.

“So you think you better than me?” The man chuckled, or more like a manic giggle, and slid the blade just below her chin.

Yu really had to forget she just dissed a psychopath that his play style sucked, huh?

“Uh…” She felt the skin of her throat press against the blade as she gulped. “N-No? Y-You just don’t know how to use the heroes…” Her saliva was practically drying up with each word. “Y-You just started…” Seeing the gleam in his eyes, she knew he had been playing for a while. She choked out the “...right?” and prayed that somehow someway something was going to get her out of this situation.

And her prayers were kind of answered.

“Yo, Fei, don’t be a horny bitch. Boss needs her mental state ok.” It was the blonde, eyebrowless male. He was leaning against the open door of the room.

“Tsk.” Yu felt like he wanted to tell his friend ‘Fuck you’ based on his facial expression, but he did take the knife far away from her throat. She wearily rubbed her throat, the sensation of the blade still there.

“You.” She jumped hearing her name. “Let’s go. Boss wants to see you.” Her eyes flickered over to the new guy-why she insists on calling him the new guy? It was shorter than black-haired male-who got off the bed to follow the eyebrowless blonde.

She scurried to follow them as well. In the time she spent on the bed, she realized her work clothes looked awful- dirt, grime, and blood were stuck on the fabric. The memories of what transpired yesterday flashed in her mind.

Wait, how was she so sure it was yesterday? How long had she been passed out?

Her eyes stayed glued on the beige carpet floor while following the shoes of the men in front of her. They weren’t worried at all if she would run. Honestly, Yu didn’t think she could even outrun them.

In two left turns and one right turn, they finally passed a line that led to a room with wooden flooring. The crackle of fire greeted her ears as she looked up to survey the room. Her eyes immediately locked hard on the back plush armchair that was situated in front of the crackling lit fireplace.

A black question mark floated right above it.

She felt all color drain from her face at the sight. A question mark? What did that mean? This didn’t come with her ability handbook- not that she had one, but 1-10 were the only numbers she was told about.

There was no fucking question mark at all!

Yet it floated right in front of her, mocking her.

“Boss, she’s here.” She could faintly hear the eyebrowless man call out to the man called Boss. The question mark moved and she took a small step back when the owner of the dark question mark revealed his face.

Cold. It was as if every fiber of her being was turning into ice. That was the look in his eyes that was locked onto hers.

Beads of cold sweat trickled down her back when he gave her a small smile. Evil. It was as if Satan himself was right before her, chilling her to the bone.

“I hope my subordinates treated you well.” Even his voice was an icy wasteland, tempting to freeze her with every word.

“Y-Ye-Yea, th-th-they did.” Her teeth stuttered as if she was freezing in a pool of cold water.

“Are you alright?” His cool voice, the crease in his facial features, and his body behavior dripped with worry. But it just didn’t show in those cold, blank eyes.

Every moment spent with him felt like being chucked in a bucket of ice.

Her feet turned tail to run but a wide wall of muscle blocked her path. Heavy, panic breathing was pumping out of her lungs now. The screams, the pleads, the begging, and the cries were just lodged in her throat as she racked her brain how to get out of here, away from him.

Going by instinct, she jumped behind the large, burly man and cowered in fear.

“Boss, I think you scared the shit out of her.” The burly man chuckled showing a gleam of his canine teeth.

“Hm…how curious.” The boss’ smile dropped as he held his chin deep in thought. “Well, Miss Nadmi, I apologize for scaring you, but you have something that we are interested in.”

Interested in?

Her hands were still shaking and her breathing was still heavy, but if she didn’t answer him, all other eyes on her would make sure she would. And Yu didn’t want to tread to that scenario.

After licking her cold, chapped lips, she hesitantly answered. “B-Be specific.”

The decapitated heads of her team leaders, the dead bodies of her co-workers, and the horrified scream of her co-manager was fresh in her mind. But the soft meow of Steve, her little kitten, overpowered the dreadful event.

“An antique book, that had just been recently found, was logged in by your company a few weeks ago. The book is called the Dark History. I’m sure you’re familiar with it.”

She was, but not because of her company. She had just curiously searched for it when she saw it to be one of the interesting artifacts wanted by Spectrum. What he said even matched the time she was looking into it.

It was all her fault they even went there.

“Yes… But all I did was search for it in the listings- that’s the furthest I went.” Why? She wanted to ask, but bit her tongue.

The boss smiled. “Well, you see, just after that, it disappeared from the stocks of all markets. Right after you had searched for it.”

A chill ran down her spine from those words. Was he saying that she bought it?

“That book cost like 10 billion jenny- that’s more than 100,000 times my salary for 10 years, maybe even more.” She spat out her thoughts in shock. “A-All I did was check the description, the price, and ask for details from the seller that wasn’t covered in the description.” She clamped her mouth shut immediately. The temperature in the room somehow rose in heat after that.

“What kind of details?” He was still smiling.

Creep.

She gritted her teeth, the chill still on set on freezing her from inside. “The pages of the book, what it was made of, the author…”

“Pages?” The boss cut her off.

“Yes, the original Dark History is divided into sections of the history that was deleted from the world, categories filled of the forgotten past, and are then compiled into a specific set of pages of 777. If the pages are more or less than 777, it is a mere fake copy that wouldn’t sell a jenny.”

“You’re very informative about the book.”

Yu nodded frantically. “My dad was an avid collector of information for stuff like that. But he would go on and on and on about just the Dark History and how if in the hands of a powerful person, they’d be able to bend countries to their will.”

“Is your father still alive then?”

“Yes? He’s in his late stages of Alzheimer’s so even if you wanted to get information from him- you wouldn’t be able to.”

“And how did the seller reply to your questions?”

“He didn’t. I actually forgot about the book until…” Yu swallowed the thick glob of saliva down her throat, realizing just how much she just said. “...you asked.”

There was a long brief of ringing silence after that. The boss held his chin in deep contemplation. Yu was holding her breath wondering if she was dead now or dead later.

Was she useless now? Were they going to get rid of her now that she gave them the information? She couldn’t go just yet! Steve was waiting for her at home! He must be starving and...

“I guess you are free to leave now.”

“Oh God, please let me just give my cat to my parents so they can find a new owner for him!” She cried out and clasped her hands together as if in deep prayer.

A few chuckles and laughs echoed throughout the room. Yu was shaking and jittering like a fallen leaf off a branch that she didn’t find the time to feel embarrassed.

“She’s a riot. You’re letting her go that easy, boss?” The samurai, one of the 10s laughing, said.

The boss chuckled. “Yes. Miss Nadmi, you are free to leave. Don’t worry, my subordinates won’t harm you once you leave.”

Yu blinked slowly. Seeing that they were all just staring at her, was it true? She nodded slowly and muttered a soft breath of ‘ok…’ and left. The building she was in was an abandoned apartment complex that was beginning to decay from lack of use. It was already dark, maybe midnight? Meaning she had been unconscious for more than 12 hours.

She ran and ran until she was out of breath. As she was about to check her phone, she realized she had lost her bag and everything in it.

Still, it was better to be alive.

She was glad to find out that they didn’t actually take her to someplace far off from where her company was so she could find her way home easily.

People that were still wondering about at this time gave her odd looks, most likely from her awful and bloody appearance, but she just wanted to go home and check on Steve. Thoughts of calling the police, her parents, a hospital as a matter of fact- were all thrown out of the hill just thinking of Steve.

He must be starving, scratching and destroying anything and everything just looking for her. The thought made her tear.

It didn’t take long for her to arrive at her subdivision. Thankfully the guard was passed out, asleep, so she could go in without questions. She cursed the heavens above remembering her keys were in the bag, but she climbed up to the 2nd floor of the house knowing she had left the window unlocked in a certain way that would only open in a certain pattern.

“Meow.” The tears clouded her eyes seeing her little kitten at the doorway of the room she entered. Steve must’ve heard her and rushed to greet her. Steve quickly jumped into her arms and purred as she cried happily.

“Steve! I’m home, I’m home.” She hugged and kissed her kitten that smelled awfully like her detergent and perfume, but who cares- she could clean it up.

“Mrow...mm…” The little kitten purred against the spot on her chest that wasn’t spotted in dried blood.

“Yes, yes, I’ll get you food.”

The mess Steve made was grandiose. Yu didn’t know how he managed to spill all of her detergent onto the kitchen floor when it was originally in the upper cupboard in her downstairs bathroom. Her perfume, which was her mistake for leaving there, had fallen off the table and spilled its contents on her living room carpet.

She ignored that and prepared him his food. Steve happily ate and drank his warm milk, purring happily.

Thankfully, the little kitten had done his duties in the various litter boxes around the 1st floor.

“Right, right...I gotta call mom so that I’ll drop you off there…” Yu murmured as she dialed her parents’ number on the telephone.

After a few rings, an exhausted, hoarse voice spoke. “Hello…? Nadmi residence...this is their caretaker...ughh...speaking.”

“Yal! Oh god, I’m going to be heading over there in half an hour, okay? I need to drop Steve over. Something happened, I can’t tell what, but Steve can’t stay with me right now.”

“Is it your supervisor or that other supervisor this time?” The exhaustion in her voice dissipated and became serious.

“N-No, not like that.” She pinched the bridge of her nose.

“Did you drink too much milk again? You know that’ll send you straight to the hospital rather than the toilet.”

“Not that either! Just…I’ll be there ok?”

“Okay, Yu. See you.” The call ended and Yu hurriedly washed up. She prepared everything Steve needed from his bath soap down to his little pajamas. The little kitten had finished his business in the litter box when she finished packing everything.

“Ok. Ok.” Yu looked down at the notebooks and papers strewn about and grabbed them as well putting them in a separate bag for herself.

“Mrow?”

“Come here.” Yu picked Steve and put him in his little bag. Time was dwindling for her. Did they really think she wouldn’t notice them? Their bright 10s were clear from everywhere, even if they were greatly hidden. Their 10s could be spotted.

There was no way they’d just let her go so easily.

She gave Steve one last kiss before escaping through the back door. Yal would notice something’s wrong and check her home so Steve was going to be safe at the least.

Yu was sprinting as fast as she could without any sign of direction. She ran into the dark city with the stinking alleys and quiet roads while clutching the bag to her side. It held documents, notes, and pictures about the various antique books her dad researched, including that of the Dark History.

And it wasn’t something she wanted to sell her life for.

They were closing in on her but not going so far as to reveal their position. This was one of the gratifications of having the ability to see the numbers. Their 10s were bright in the darkness.

Finally, she stopped in an empty alleyway with no windows and no doors and turned to her stalkers.

“Right. You guys have been following me for a long time now. Come on out.” She said this oh so coolly, despite her nerves getting all bundled up into bits.

“Huh, I didn’t think you’d notice us…” A deep, southern voice spoke in the darkness. Two burly men stepped out into the light and revealed their presence. The bright, yet ominous 10 loomed over their heads.

Yu felt a bead of sweat trickle down her brow as her eyes widened in shock. Ok, she was expecting the people that had killed everyone in her company- not some unfamiliar people.

Now, she became unwilling to share the documents in her bag.

“You see, little girl, we’re curious as to why the Spider let you go.” The other one spoke in the same southern accent.

Spider?

“They don’t normally let anyone just leave so you must’ve escaped.” The deeper one said and revealed a large axe from his back. “Just answer a couple of our questions and we’ll let you be on your way.”

“I-I will…” Yu stuttered out and took a step back when they took a step towards her. “Just stay where you are.”

“We ain’t gonna hurt you, little girl.”

“We’re 4-star Blacklist hunters- our boss asked us to take care of the Spider. They must be pretty weak for you to be able to escape.”

Wow, what a day for her. Spider? Blacklist Hunters? What the hay were they even going on about?

“You were ordered to get them, not me.” She clarified with a scrunch of her brows.

The bigger burly man laughed. “We have little to no information on them, sweetheart. No one’s seen them and live to tell the tale.” Yu gulped at the darkness in their eyes. “And then there’s you.”

Yu was about to spout the information they wanted, hoping for the best, like before with the ‘Spider’, but then a question mark appeared right behind them.

Her jaw slacked. It didn’t hold the same ominous presence as the boss but it still made her feel off inside.

“What are you looking at, little-” Yu squealed when a bunch of cards lodged itself into the smaller burly man’s face and his body dropped onto the ground like a sack of potatoes.

“What the fu-?!” The other man faced the same fate and dropped to the ground too.

Her legs were practically jelly and being unresponsive despite her brain screaming her to run right now.

The question mark morphed into a 7 right after, making her eyes widen in surprise.

“Well, the little kitten looks quite surprised.” Yu gasped when the 7 flashed from the darkness and by her side. “The Boss told me to follow you but I didn’t expect you to have any company.” Goosebumps fleshed out on her skin at the toothy grin of a clown.

A clown?

“Wh-What…” She began but felt a sharp stab in her chest. She looked down to see a card, a queen of clovers, as she began to lose her breathing. He took the bag from her as she fell, blood coughing out from her mouth.

“Wh-...” Why? She wanted to say as her vision started to darken and blur. The clown gave a manic grin and flashed her a jester card.

“The Boss simply wanted to see how you turned out~” He cooed. Yu clenched her chest trying to breathe but air was just something she was not given. “You might’ve lived if you hadn’t tried to sell out the Spider. Your honesty really made the Boss curious.”

Hisoka chuckled to himself. “Oh, you’re dead already.” The light in the young woman’s eyes had disappeared and what was left was just a husk of flesh. He looked through the bag and hummed delightfully at the contents. It was what the Boss oh so wanted and maybe the other artifacts too.

His brow raised when a piece of paper that looked quite out of place jotted out from between the documents. Out of curiosity, he picked it up with his forefingers and looked at its contents.

‘Dark History - fake online listings. Don’t trust. Search for man name is Jehovah. Book not available in markets.’

His eyes widened slightly reading this and darted to the dead flesh of the young woman. Huh. A smirk curled at the edge of his lips before he crumpled the little note in his hand. What replaced it were red hearts to which he blew to the dead body.

“Fufufu, it's a good thing I didn’t let you live, weak little girl.”

--

Breaking News: Spectrum CEO is being sued for murder and the suspect of the missing employees of one of their companies. One employee managed to survive up until 3 am before her body was found in the city just nearby the CEO’s estate where he presided.

“Sh-She said she was going to be there in half an hour… I rushed to her home but her kitten was the only one there. The backdoor was wide open and...and…”

The police are still searching for more information on the missing employees and the gruesome death of young Yu Nadmi.