#bashes head onto a concrete wall bashes head onto a concrete wall bashes head onto a concrete wall bashes head onto a concrete wall b

[princessfbi]

3 + buddie for the shivering prompts

3 “‘S cold. Sorry.” + Buddie

“‘S cold. Sorry.” The sorry was almost said as an afterthought, drifting away through Buck’s lips on a whisper as his head lulled to the side. “Buck?” Eddie snapped. The sharpness of his voice echoed on the slabs of concrete, clattering like a bird trapped inside a barn and bashing itself against the rafters before dropping to the ground. “Buck! Hey! Damnit! Buck’s body went heavy as he listed to the side and Eddie only just managed to catch him before easing him onto his back. “Buck!” Eddie refused to look at the streak of red blood left in Buck’s wake, staining the crumbling walls of their prison. “Buck! Talk to me!” It was useless. Buck was out and Eddie’s heart was threatening to break through his ribs and throw itself after him. “Cap!” Eddie shouted into his radio. It whined against the punch of his fingers and the volume of his screech but he didn’t care. “How much longer?” “What happened?” Eddie ripped his gloves off with his teeth and ignored the way his stomach rolled at the taste of ash and dust on his tongue. Buck’s skin was ice cold against his fingers but the thready pulse fluttering beneath was the only lifeline Eddie had. Still, he wasn’t proud of how sharp his voice was when he demanded again, “How long?” “What happened?” Bobby demanded again. “Talk to me, Eddie.” Eddie opened his mouth to speak, to tell Bobby that they were running out of time, that Buck was running out of time. But the words stumbled and twisted into a knot in his throat he couldn’t speak past. How was he supposed to tell him? Eddie could remember every detail of the building shaking and their lines swinging like pendulums before they plummeted with the concrete and rubble. He could recite the seconds of Buck’s yelp before it sounded like all the air had been knocked out of him. He could count the number of heartbeats they’d shared when they realized they’d been trapped. But how could he tell Bobby about the bent, twisted rebar piecing through Buck’s back.

[emunenenes]

for ruikasatober

[the-boy-ismine]

thinking about that one a03 fic.... ft. geum seongje x na baekjin !!

tw : dead dove: do not eat, high high HIGHLY dub-con, violence/physical aggression (head slammed to the ground, biting, hair pulling, & implied choking), humiliation/degradation, emotional breakdown, manipulation, denial of aftercare, body betrayal, impact play, overstimulation, cumplay, mild breath play, implied size/pain kink, pet play elements. minors, ageless, & fem blogs dni 🪽 !!

The sting of the rooftop's gravel cut into Geum Seongje's cheek. He blinked blearily against the blinding afternoon sun, brain fogged from the brutal beating. Every muscle in his body screamed—but it wasn’t the bruises that made his stomach twist in panic.

Something heavy pinned him down. Something inside him tore at his gut. Seongje gasped—a broken, high noise—and the shift of pressure against his raw insides made his thighs tremble.

"Look at that. Awake already," Baekjin murmured, voice low and honey-sweet, almost affectionate. He was crouched over Seongje, his cock buried deep inside him, hands casually petting his hair like he was soothing a rabid dog.

Seongje thrashed weakly, rage flaring, but Baekjin slammed his face harder into the rooftop, the breath punched out of him.

"Stay down," Baekjin hissed against his ear. "You lost. You don't get to fight back anymore."

Seongje clawed at the ground, vision swimming. His pants were tangled around his ankles, his shirt torn and sticking to his back with sweat. Humiliation burned hotter than pain. He knew what was happening—what had already happened—and bile rose in his throat.

Baekjin started to move. Slow, cruel thrusts that made the sensitive walls inside Seongje stretch and pulse. He bit his tongue to keep from making a sound, but his body betrayed him—a soft, shameful whimper broke out when Baekjin's cock brushed something too deep, too good.

"That's it," Baekjin cooed. "Good little bitch. Body knows who owns it."

Seongje squeezed his eyes shut, furious at the heat pooling in his gut. He tried to focus on the pain—the gravel cutting his knees, the ache in his ribs—but every time Baekjin shifted just right, it sent sparks of dirty, unbearable pleasure racing up his spine. His cock twitched against the rough rooftop, leaking a pathetic trail of pre-cum onto the concrete.

He hated it.

Hated himself.

Baekjin adjusted his grip, one hand tangling in Seongje’s sweaty hair, the other sliding mockingly down his spine, feather-light touches over bruised skin.

"You embarrassed the Union today," Baekjin whispered, almost tender. "This is just discipline. Making sure you learn your place."

He snapped his hips forward without warning, driving in so deep Seongje choked on a sob.

"F-fuck!" Seongje gasped before he could stop himself.

Baekjin laughed—short and delighted—and kept fucking into him, harder, rougher, the slick sounds of it obscene and wet. Seongje's body clenched around him helplessly, trying to push him out but dragging him in deeper.

"No wonder they call you White Mamba," Baekjin panted, voice tight with arousal. "So tight, clamping down like a virgin."

Seongje wanted to tear his own brain out. He bashed his forehead against the rooftop, desperate to crush the filthy heat rising inside him, but Baekjin just leaned down and bit his shoulder—a sharp, claiming mark—before shoving two fingers between Seongje’s lips.

"Open up. Don’t waste it," Baekjin ordered.

Instinct made Seongje part his mouth, and Baekjin shoved the fingers in, curling them over his tongue. Seongje gagged, humiliated beyond words, tears leaking from the corners of his eyes. His own taste flooded his mouth— bitter, salty—and he realized Baekjin had scooped up the precum he'd been leaking.

His cock throbbed painfully, untouched, pressed against the rooftop—he was going to cum like this—from nothing but getting ruined and humiliated.

He started to cry in earnest then, silent and shaking, even as his hips betrayed him and rolled back into Baekjin’s thrusts.

Baekjin groaned, cock twitching deep inside him. "Fuck, listen to that. Your sloppy little hole's sucking me in. Greedy little bitch."

The words gutted Seongje. He wanted to scream that it wasn’t true—that he wasn’t enjoying it—but the heat flooding his abdomen said otherwise. His cock twitched again, a bead of cum drooling from the tip.

Baekjin shifted, angling his thrusts sharper, more brutal—and there, he hit that spot again, the raw bundle of nerves that made Seongje’s spine bow like a snapped whip.

"No, no, no—!" Seongje sobbed, fists pounding uselessly against the rooftop.

It was no use. His body seized up, muscles locking—he came hard, cock spasming untouched, a broken animal noise ripping from his throat as cum splattered messily beneath him.

Baekjin didn’t stop. If anything, he fucked him harder, using his limp, oversensitive body like a doll. Seongje could feel his own cum dripping down his stomach, could feel Baekjin’s cock hammering into his raw, wrecked hole, could feel his insides squelching with every thrust.

And despite everything—despite the humiliation, the fear, the pain—his cock twitched weakly again, another pathetic drool of cum escaping him.

He was still hard.

Still aching for more.

Something inside him snapped. A deep, shuddering sob wracked his whole frame as Baekjin finally growled against his ear, hips stuttering. Hot ropes of cum flooded Seongje’s guts, leaking out around Baekjin’s cock in messy spurts.

if you know me, no you don't. sorry, i got into weak hero during my hiatus for my exams (last weekend), & it inspired me to write. no this doesn't mean im going to be writing more, this was just something that had to be released or id get distracted. bon appetit, see you guys when exams aren't beating my ass 💖💖. (p.s. this fandom is so fresh on Tumblr loll, cant wait to populate it 👉👈 ‹- def not a spoiler).

[jermer10]

Oh god.. this is a bit depraved but here we goHello! Uh if you are taking requests right now, could you maybe make a spicy TF2 mercs x male!reader where the reader is into weapon play (could be their reactions to simple things .. like a gasp from the gun touching their skin to something more smutty, your pick!)It'd be nice to have all mercs but if too much sniper, soldier and engineer would the the 3 favs!

TF2 male s/o with a weapon kink

18+ only, male reader | tried to add some heavier nsfw, i hope you enjoy anon!

includes: soldier, engineer, sniper tw: sexual content, weapon play kink

drabbles under the cut :P

Soldier: - Soldier knew about this kink long before he had started fucking you - he may be stupid, but he knows what an erection looks like, and you were always rock hard after watching him bash an enemy to death with his market gardener - so he decided to confront you, like any concerned teammate would - ARE YOU ATTRACTED TO ME, MAGGOT?", he pressed the shovel into your throat, backing you into a corner - subtly isn't his strong suit - "what the f..fuck..?" your skin crawled with arousal - you couldn't speak, let alone think with the rusted edge of the weapon tugging at your skin - "why do you ask?" you choked out, face flushed in embarrassment - Soldier shamelessly palmed your erection, "THAT'S WHY." - you groaned, jaw slack and eye brows furrowed. you expected Soldier to relent, yet he continued to stroke you through your pants. - subtly DEFINITELY wasn't his strong suit, and to be frank you were enjoying the way he was man-handling you - "I SHARE THIS...ATTRACTION." a sickening grin plastered on his rough features and his shovel pressing harder into your trachea - his body was so close to yours, backing you against the concrete walls of the base and forcing himself onto you - your eyes rolled to the back of your head as he continued to grope at your cock - "fuuuuuck Soldier p..leas..e..." your voice was gruff, the words seemed to be drawn out of you "PLEASE WHAT, CUPCAKE?" you didn't take him for a tease - "fuhck me!" you plead, throatily moaning at the cold, stinging sensation of the shovel cutting into your throat, your cock throbbed, the fabric rubbing your dick raw - you didn't have to ask twice, Soldier pushed you to the ground, ass up, knees scraping against the concrete floor, and market gardener pressed strongly between your shoulder blades

Engineer: - he would never admit it, but if he had a dollar for the amount of times he spent fucking his fist thinking about stuffing you with the muzzle of his shotgun, he would be rich - so when was walking past your room and noticed your door ajar, hearing the unmistakable slick sounds of masturbation, he couldn't help but peer in, hoping to get some new material - and when he saw you fucking yourself with a pistol and breathily moaning his name, he knew that he had to help - "hey darlin', seems like you were callin' out my name?" he knocked on the doorframe, smirking at the way you scrambled to cover yourself - "now don't you worry, y/n...i'm here to help," your face was burning - he positioned himself behind you, leaning against the wall and pulling you into his lap - Engie pulled the gun out of your puckering hole and began thrusting - your slutty moans, accompanying the praising whispers and sticky noises of the gun and your asshole meeting repeatedly, bounced off of the walls in your bedroom - Engie, feeling the high from the moment and the power he held in his fist, clicked off the safety on the gun - you began to shake, adrenaline coursing through your veins and the fear that at any moment the trigger could be squeezed - he lazily stroked your cock with his right hand as his left drove the gun into you - even if he did kill you, you would just respawn with no memory of the last hour or so, but he wanted you to remember everything - it was all becoming too much for him, he could feel himself reaching climax as your writhing body pressed into his chest and crotch, and when he finally came, you came with him - ropes of cum lathered his hand and your bare chest, Engie was impressed, to say the least - but despite your joint climax, he wasn't finished with you

Sniper: - Sniper's hide site was in a heavily concealed room sitting atop a random abandoned building - where he was and what he was doing didn't matter, you had been targeted by the enemy team's Sniper, and despite the fact that from where he was perched you seemed clearly annoyed, he couldn't help but see the redness in your face as the other Australian cornered you time and time again with his kukri - countless backstabs from Spy, bonks with Scouts bat, nothing came close to the way your face would go beet when he held the knife to your neck before swiftly ending you - Sniper wanted to try it for himself, clearly you had some sort of attraction to him - and he would be lying if he didn't find the idea of forcing you to suck him off while holding a blade to your throat hot - he signaled you to come up to his spot, making sure no one followed you - "hey, what's up man?" you huffed, you looked exhausted - Sniper felt awkward, but the erection in his pants was unrelenting and the way your eyes met his with a sort of nervous lust didn't help - "on your knees." he simply stated, unsheathing the kukri from his belt holster - your face went blank, did you hear him correctly? was Sniper wrong about his assumption? - "oh god, you saw me with the other Sniper..." realization hit your face, and so did an embarrassed flush - you bashfully knelt, doe-eyed looking up at the New Zealander-Australian man - Sniper unbuckled his pants, his cock springing out into your face - he held the knife up to you "suck." he commanded, his face flush and his palms sweating profusely

[florencemtrash]

Hummingbird: Chapter Four

Miguel O'Hara x Reader

What if the Earth-1610 (Miles’s universe) version of Miguel’s wife was actually Miles’s AP Art teacher?

Masterlist

Warnings: Violence and injuries

Seven months later

This shit was getting old.

One of Doc Oc’s tentacles rammed into Miguel’s side, tossing him against a wall and leaving a crack in the concrete. She smiled in satisfaction, oblivious to the spider-venom blaster he’d stuck to the underside of the mechanical arm. With a quick chirp and blast of energy the arm was blown off. It landed with a pitiful twitch on the ground as electricity sparked through its circuitry.

“Let’s go!” Hobie whooped, slamming his fingers down the guitar strings with so much force Miguel was surprised they didn’t snap in two. 

Doc Oc screamed, blown backward by an eclectic spray of pink and purple newsprint. 

Three arms down, five more to go… or so they thought. 

New arms sprouted from their old stumps, flailing around for a brief moment before they shot out towards Hobie. 

He barely dodged the series of blows.

“Is that hammer space, bruv?!” 

Joder.

Hobie lept around the barren stage, launching battered amplifiers slathered in a dozen layers of stickers towards her. A stray limb punched through the drumset as Hobie spun out of the way. 

He gasped. The amps they could replace, but no one fucked with his instruments.

“Is it time to call for backup?” Lyla asked Miguel as Hobie gripped the neck of his guitar (the battle-safe one of course) and swung at Doc Oc’s head.

“Do not call for backup!” Miguel growled in annoyance. 

He could handle this.

“Yeah, I didn’t even ask you to come, mate!” Hobie yelled over the sound of Doc Oc sailing over the empty mosh pit and crashing into the guard rails. “I ain’t part of no band.”

“You literally just finished a concert three hours ago!” 

“That got nothing to do with you.”

Miguel groaned, ready to bash his head into the wrecked drum kit. 

No puedo más. No puedo más. He found himself thinking that a lot lately.

But as much as Hobie and Miguel liked to pretend they hated each other, they made a good team out in the field. They swung from the ceiling lights, electric blue and pink lights showering down on them in that crazed, photomontage way that tinged every part of Hobie’s world. It was enough to give Miguel a headache. 

The worst part about the multiverse is that there was no telling what kinds of powers and modifications existed out there. For example, Miguel didn’t know a Doc Oc existed that had lasers shoot out of their tentacles.

“I feel like it’s time to call for backup.” Lyla repeated, casually watching from the safety of her AI existence as Miguel’s webs were split in two and he took a sickening punch to the jaw. He shook his head, blinking away the dots in front of his eyes as he took a moment to rest in the comfort of his rubble sofa.

“Do not call Jess. She’s on maternity leave.”

“I wasn’t talking about Jess.” Lyla grinned mischeviously. 

Miguel narrowed his eyes, “No. Absolutely not.”

It was too soon, far too soon for him to drag you into a fight like this. 

“CALL FOR BACKUP!” Hobie cried out from the confines of Doc Oc’s tentacles, squirming around and trying to use his head spikes to free himself.

“You weren’t saying that earlier!”

“THAT’S THE TOXIC MASCULINITY TALKING! YOU GOT TO BE COMFORTABLE WITH CHANGING YOUR OPINION AND ADMITTING YOUR FAU-”

A portal opened up stage left. 

Miles swung out first, black and red suit standing out like an ink stain.

“¡¿Alguien pidió ayuda?!” Miguel could hear his smug smile through the mask.

“You already called him!?” Miguel scowled and hopped onto his feet, sprinting to join the fight as Miles landed his first punch against Doc Oc. 

Relief flooded his system. He thought that-

“I actually called her.” Lyla said, pointing a finger with a grin.

Miguel’s heart skipped a beat.

You stepped through the portal, adjusted the gloves on your newly designed suit and teleported yourself onto Doc Oc’s back, casually blinking away any tentacles that got too close. 

You were absolutely buzzing with excitement. Nevermind that you were currently blinking across spacetime to avoid the lazers that left behind scorched scars on the grass. This was your first real mission outside of occasionally helping Miles with his friendly neighborhood Spider-Man duties. And in Hobie’s dimension no less! Ever since you’d seen his unique color palette and design you’d been itching to see his world for yourself. Maybe you and Miles could take an impromptu field trip to the nearest museum afterwards.

“Lyla said you didn’t want to call me.” You said, happy with the way his eyes slightly widened beneath his mask. He coughed to clear his throat.

“You’re supposed to be at work.” Miguel said, tearing into Doc Oc’s tentacles with his forearm blades, “I didn’t want to bother you.”

“It’s summer break.” 

“You said you were teaching summer classes.” 

“I am! Only five kids are enrolled and he,” You tilted your head towards Miles, who waved back before he tore off an arm, "was the only one who could come to the Met field trip. Which you so rudely interrupted by the way.” The smile in your voice exposed the fact that you were quite ok with the interruption.

Miguel rolled his eyes half-heartedly, hoping you didn’t notice his restrained smile.  “Let’s just get the job done.”

And you did. 

Fighting a flesh-and-blood supervillain was a far cry from the simulations you’d fought at Spidey HQ where the only injury you could sustain was a blow to your pride when Lyla flashed the battle stats on the screen. Your training also didn’t account for the absolute chaos of working with a team. You nearly got in the way of one of Miles’s spider venom blasts and accidentally teleported onto Hobie’s back, throwing him off his rhythm long enough for a punch from Doc Oc to send you both crashing. Miguel had nearly lost his mind after that.

But after walking away from the fight with only a bruised jaw, cut upper arm, and a very disgruntled Doc Oc in tow, you were going to call your first real superhero outing a success.

“Sorry about earlier,” you said, extending a hand out to Hobie from where he groaned on the ground. He grabbed your arm and rolled onto his feet, shaking the dust off his jacket.

“Eh, it’s part of the learning.” He straightened his coat and reattached one of the pins he’d tucked safely away in his pocket, “Not bad for a first anomaly though.”

“Hmmmm, are we counting Spot?”

“No.”

“Damn.”

A shadow fell over your shoulder and you smirked, turning around on your heels to come face to face with Miguel. The fight was over, but somehow Miguel looked even more tense and irrate than before. Behind his back you saw Doc Oc yell and punch at the orange walls of her prison. 

“Are you here to say good job?” You teased.

“Are you hurt?” He asked, voice tight.

Hobie brushed past you, “I’m good, cheers.” he said, patting Miguel on the shoulder before heading over to where Miles stared in awe at the anomaly. You felt more than saw Miguel roll his eyes.

“I wasn’t asking you.” 

“I know.” 

Hobie’s reply widened your smile. There was something glorious about seeing Miguel lose his cool. Normally you tried to get him to smile or laugh, but sometimes annoyance was an easier emotion to muster from him. It reminded you that beneath all that hard-won armour was a man just trying his best.

“I’m fine, Miguel.” You said. 

He gently tugged at the bottom of your mask and you took the hint, pulling it off entirely. Miguel’s frown deepened as he gently tucked a finger beneath your chin and turned your face to the side, eyes narrowed in on your swollen jaw. You tried not to blush under his watchful gaze. It really wasn’t a terrible injury, and with your enhanced healing it would fade within a day, but it stll felt like a gut punch to Miguel.

You were used to this kind of attention from him. The first two months after joining the Spider Society had been a pool of uncertainty that you’d flapped around in with little control - you’d been uncertain about your powers, the multiverse and your place in it, and your relationship with Miguel… especially your relationship with Miguel. 

His aloofness was only matched by his sincerity and once you’d forgiven him for what he’d done to Miles, you found him easy to like. His grouchiness and sarcasm pulled smiles from you as easily as water from a spring, and it didn’t escape anyone’s notice that you were the only one who could make him laugh and crack through his walls. But there was always that itch in the back of your mind that told you he only cared because you looked like his wife, not because you’d both grown to know and care for each other. 

You tried not to think about it too often. 

It made moments like these harder to handle.

“Nada que no pueda manejar.” You said softly, pulling his hand away and towards the anomaly, “Now come on. This anomaly isn’t just going to hop dimensions on its own.” 

Miguel opened his mouth as if to say something, but ultimately relented, allowing you to lead him to where Hobie and Miles bent their heads towards one another, shooting jokes back and forth as easily as their webs.

Margo portaled in to help Miguel take Doc Oc to Earth-928 and you watched their retreating backs disappear with a blink before Hobie turned towards you and Miles, rubbing his hands together and pulling you both into his side.

“Now! Who’s ready to see some real art?”

______

“I can’t believe all the museums in your dimension are Koons-themed.” Miles said, slouching in his seat and looking positively disappointed.

“Why’d you think I took you to the back alleys, mate. Real art’s cheap.”

“Say that to my bank account after a trip to Blick.” You muttered, biting into your empanada with a groan of satisfaction.

You sat cross-legged on top of the bench, watching Margo’s cyber body split into two as the Go Home Machine whirred to life. Its metal claws clicked together, sounding like the chirping of birds as it spun its web around Doc Oc as she watched with no small amount of curiosity.

“You think you could ever do that?” Hobie asked, leaning against your shoulder and slinging his arm around you casually. 

You raised your eyebrow, “What, forcefully send a living person back to their home dimension?”

He shrugged nonchalantly.

“You try interdimensional travel without your fancy watch and tell me how easy it is.” You said with a grin, poking at his side until he squirmed away with a chuckle. You took the opportunity to steal a french fry from him.

“Alright, alright, stop. I think you could do it.”

The four of you watched as the Go Home Machine finished its kaleidoscopic work. Miguel always had a clinical view of the work he did and the machines he created. Whenever it was traveling to another world, or encountering a new being (Spider-Person or otherwise) the last thing on his mind was beauty or a fascination with the ways things were. That’s where you two differed the most. So while Miguel hardly ever stayed around to watch the Go Home Machine run its science-magic, you always craned your neck to catch glimpses of the worlds beyond Earth-928.

“I better check in with Miguel.” You said, hopping off the table once Doc Oc was safely back in her home universe.

Hobie, Miles, and Margo all shot each other a knowing look before you could notice. 

Now that school was out for the summer you found yourself spending more and more time on Earth-928, and after six months of training you could walk to Miguel’s lair from any part of the building with a blindfold on. The first few weeks you hadn’t been able to suppress the slight unease at entering the dark room where many of the captured anomalies would sneer at you like you were a meal to be hunted.

Now… not so much.

“You’re still here, Norm?” You asked, catching sight of the familiar gentleman who shrugged and smiled. He sat comfortably on the floor, purple hood and goggles abandoned beside him to expose his weathered face.

“Still here,” He repeated, “I suppose I’m not as high a priority to send home now that I’m not, you know, evil anymore.” He sighed, “I just can’t believe my luck. I leave an alternate universe and not even a year later I’m sucked into another one!” He chuckled.

“I’ll talk to Spider-Man about it.” 

“Peter?!” His eyes brightened at the possibility.

“Ummm…no. Sorry.” 

He nodded, shoulders deflating every so slightly, “Thanks anyway Spider-”

“Y/sh/n, actually.” Miles and Gwen had helped you come up with it.

“Well, thank you Y/sh/n.” He said and waved you on before he could steal more of your time.

“I told you it’s dangerous to talk to the anomalies.” Miguel said, eyes still trained on the screens as you blinked next to him. One day you’d manage to sneak up on him, but today was not that day. 

You frowned when you saw he was still wearing his mask. 

“Well you’re talking to me right now, aren’t you?” You said, bumping his shoulder with your own before climbing onto the empty space on his desk he subtly reserved for you.

Miguel stiffened and his fingers froze over the keys. It had taken you months to fully forgive him for all the terrible things he’d said and done to Miles - the things he may have said to you if you didn’t have his wife’s face… if you were just a regular anomaly.

“That’s not what I-.” 

“You also said Earth-199999’s Peter Parker took care of the Green Goblin. I think we’re fine.” 

He nodded and sighed. His eyes were killing him right now and even the faint flicking of the red-orange lights from the screens felt like blows to his skull. 

“He wants to go home.” You said and saw his eyes flicker to the anomaly on the screen, red and tired.

“I know. He’s scheduled to be sent back tonight. I promise.” 

You nodded with satisfaction and snapped your fingers, a pair of sunglasses blinking into the palm of your hand, “You should take a break. You’ve been working non-stop for over two days now.”

“I’ve got work to do.”

“The multiverse is not going to shatter because you take a thirty-minute lunch break, Miguel.” 

He eyed you warily and shook his head, fingers flying across the touchpad like they were racing to win gold. 

He always did this. He always worked himself to the bone until you would find him red-eyed and slumped over the tabletop for one of his thirty-minute “power-naps.” 

“Lyla.” You called out. The woman appeared perched on your shoulders.

“You rang?”

“Can you please tell Miguel that the multiverse isn’t going to collapse before he does?” 

“Ooooh you said please. I like you.” Miguel muttered a few choice words under his breath, “The multiverse is holding steady. I’ll alert you if anything changes at all.” Lyla winked at you and disappeared. 

“Realmente necesito cambiar su código.” Miguel grumbled.

“¡Ni se te ocurra!”

Miguel tightened his lips but said nothing. You slid over to sit in front of him and pushed against his chest until he finally relented and sat down in the chair. He didn’t want to admit this, but the only reason he agreed to sit down was because he’d fractured two ribs in the fight, and you pressing against his chest hurt like a bitch.

“Did you really come all this way just to get me to rest?”

“Obviously.” You tossed the sunglasses into his lap along with the extra empanada you’d been carrying around the last half-hour. You hoped it was still warm, but then again, if it weren’t for you he probably wouldn’t have remembered to eat at all. 

The corner of his mouth tilted up. “Gracias.” 

“Solo cállate y come. Lo juro, es como si estuviera tratando de mantener viva una planta de interior. Una planta de interior muy obstinada.”

He tilted his head down, hiding his face as his mask disappeared. 

You held your breath, reaching out instinctively to hold his face in between your hands. Color rushed into his cheeks, emphasizing the dark, purple bruise that crawled its way up from his jawline to his cheek bone, the flesh around it swollen and warm when you carefully traced it with your finger. The bridge of his nose was similarly bruised, the strong slope of his nose tilted ever so slightly to the left. 

Miguel also stopped breathing, the pain hardly registering as he felt your eyes against his skin as physical and real as your hands.

You became all too aware of the closeness, the way he was looking at you. A familiar and malicious voice scratched the back of your mind - What are you to him? Who are you to him? Who is he really thinking about when he looks at you like that?

You let go of his face, your heart sinking in your chest.

“¿Qué te sucedió?” You murmured. His brown-red eyes were wide and soft.

He cleared his throat, disappointment gathering in his chest when you withdrew your hands, “I guess I should have called for backup sooner.” 

“Where else are you hurt?”

“I’m not-”

“Where else are you hurt? Y no te atrevas a mentirme.” 

Miguel melted under your fiery gaze. You weren’t one to show your anger - teaching teenagers had strengthened your patience - but Miguel had a special way of pushing your buttons, whether he knew it or not. 

“I may or may not have cracked a rib… or two.” 

“Miguel!” 

“I’ll heal!” 

“Estúpido, bastardo terco.” You muttered under your breath with no small measure of affection.

You reached over and gently pressed on his stomach, hearing him hiss in pain. He grabbed your arm to get you to stop, shame coloring his bruised cheek.

“I’ll be ok. I promise.” He whispered when you leaned down from your seat to inspect his jaw again. Any longer under your watchful gaze and he might just combust.

“I know you’ll be ok. I just…” Your lips tightened. “I don’t like to see you hurt.”

You’d been in this situation before with Miguel a few times. It always ended with him promising to take better care of himself, holding to that promise for a few weeks, and then falling back into old, self-destructive habits. The others said he had gotten better about taking care of himself ever since you’d come into the picture, but you found that hard to believe. 

“I don’t like to see you hurt either.” He admitted, gently rubbing up and down your forearms. He eyed the tear in your suit, and the clean white bandage that peeked through. 

Who is he really thinking of?

You told that voice to shut up.

“So you can imagine how worried I get when I see you like this.” 

Miguel sighed, running his hands through his hair and mussing up the curls. He could imagine it all too well. Every time you left for your own dimension a knot of worry would sink in his chest like a boulder dropped into a lake, and it wouldn’t dissipate until the next time he saw you safe and whole. He flinched at the very thought of you sporting bruises and cracked bones like the ones he had - the scars he bore after years on the job.

“What would you have me do?” He asked, “I can’t just give this up.” 

“I’m not- No one is asking you to. I know you need to do this. But you don’t have to do it alone. You know any of the other Spider-People would be more than happy to help monitor things in the Spider-Verse.” 

“One - it’s the Arachnoid Humanoid Poly-Multiverse. And two - the other Spider-People aren’t like me. They can’t do what I do.”

“You’re right, they’re a hell of a lot funnier” He scoffed, setting his jaw in a scowl that had pain flaring up the left side of his face. “And they don’t go around punching teenagers.”

“That was one time!” 

Your lips turned in a downward smile, trying to suppress your laughter at the indignant expression on his face. The scowl on his face slowly but surely loosened, twisting into a barely concealed smile.

“Stop doing that.” He muttered.

“Doing what?” You asked innocently.

“Getting me to smile and laugh. It hurts my ribs.” 

“All the more reason to get some rest, Miguel.” You said, ruffling his hair and gleaming with satisfaction when he finally allowed himself to smile. You plucked the sunglasses from his lap and placed them on his face, careful not to upset his healing nose.

How was it possible that he hated and loved the way you said his name so much? He knew you cared for him. The first two months had been tense and filled with questions of what you were to one another - A mistake? A bad memory? Husband and wife? It had been a time when every touch, glance, and hidden smile had been given with a measure of uncertainty and restraint.

Miguel didn’t feel that way anymore. When you messed up his hair and forced his hidden smile out into the open he just saw you. Not some version of his wife. Not someone he’d barely known. Not someone he’d lost. 

Just you.

“If I promise to take the night off to sleep and let Ben and LEGO Peter take care of it, would that satisfy you?” 

You hummed in thought, “How many hours of sleep are we talking about?” 

“Four.” 

“Seven.” You countered.

“Five.” 

“Deal.” You stuck out your hand, a wide grin on your face that Miguel matched when he shook your hand.

“What would I do without you?” He asked sarcastically.

You scoffed, “Shrivel up and die, probably.” 

<- Previous chapter Next chapter ->

_________

Author's note: Here's Chapter Four! Y/n is feeling some insecurity about her relationship with Miguel... I wonder if that will come up again in the next chapter 👀...........

As always, please let me know your thoughts! Hope you enjoy :)

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[nentenkoneko]

I am of the belief that Tiger likes to feed stray cats, so he accidentally ends up a stray cat army that will protect him from a mugger who tries to steal from him. This can also be the writing prompt, hehe

Such a cute idea! I had a lot of fun trying to mold it into something that kinda resembles a story, even if it turned into more of a group of small slice-of-life moments rather than focusing entirely on just the prompt itself (curse me and my love for banter between characters). Thanks for the suggestion :)

And you’re totally right, by the way. Tiger would 10000% casually have a mini army of cats.

Word count: ~5000 Main 'tags' I'd use to describe this: Fluff, slice-of-life, humour, and cats. Lots of cats. Other characters come and go but the cats are forever. Cats for life.

—

“-and this lil guy is Tachio.” He scooped up the large, mottled brown cat into his arms. Tachio settled with little fuss, as he always did, his big furry head coming to rest against the fabric of Tiger’s hoodie, eyes already beginning to close sleepily. “I called him that ‘cause I was eating pistachios when I first met him.”

“Wow.” Joe snickered. Not mean, or biting. A teasing, friendly tone. “Great naming skills you have there, Ti.”

“Better than some other cat names I’ve heard.” He scoffed, “I mean, what was it you called your childhood cat again? Mittens?”

Joe mock-gasped. “You leave Mittens out of this you heathen.”

“Mittens has to be one of– no, the most overused name for cats.” He continued, settling himself down onto the floor, Tachio still in his arms, dead asleep. The concrete was cold beneath him, but not uncomfortably so. He grinned up at Joe, “It’s kinda like how everyone calls their dog ‘Buddy’, or ‘Max’. It’s so boring.”

“Hey now, cut me some slack–” Joe whined, even as his face cracked into a smile. He followed suit, lowering himself down to sit beside Tiger, narrowly missing sitting atop Dalgona, an old, cream-coloured tabby. She darted away with a grumpy huff, disappearing behind one of the nearby dumpsters. “I was like, five,” He added with a roll of his eyes, “it was the best I could come up with.”

“Uh-huh. Sure.”

A loud, obtrusive “mreow” had Tiger glancing upwards. Bright, sharp, golden-yellow eyes blinked back at him. He chuckled, “See? Rye agrees with me.”

“Rye.” Joe echoed, “Like… Like rye bread?”

“I like to name a lot of them after different foods I like.” He pointed up to a balcony high above them, where a lone cat lay, sprawled out on her side. She was basking in a small, rare patch of sunlight that had crept past the high walls of the surrounding buildings. Her fur, usually a dull, muddy-brown, was shimmering under its rays. “That’s her up there.”

“Very cute and all, but we need to go back to the name, brother-” Joe made a weird, scrunched-up face, “-Rye? Is rye bread seriously your favourite kind of bread? Really? Not, like, brioche or literally anything else?”

Now it was his turn to make a face, “I thought brioche was a pastry.”

“No, it’s…” Joe paused, then frowned the more he thought about it, “Maybe…? Ugh.” He waved a hand, “Besides the point, okay? Rye is disgusting.”

“Meow.”

He couldn’t help but snort. “I think she took that personally.”

“I could tell.” He shook his head with a mock-sigh, “Getting back on track– are we feeding them or not? That’s what we came to do, right? Feed your little mini army?”

A mini army? As if. “I was waiting for you to finish bashing my naming choices first.”

“Still gonna continue bashing them, ‘cause that shit’s nasty.”

“Whatever you say, man.” Carefully, Tiger slid Tachio out from his arms, letting the cat lazily flop down across his lap, his furred chin resting against one of his thighs. He napped on, oblivious.

Now, with his hands free, he could reach for the bag he’d brought along with him. The sharp sound of the zipper immediately caught the attention of the cats lurking in the shadows around them. Bright, eager eyes popped out from the darkness. He grinned. 

“They’re like little ninjas.” Joe muttered quietly, his own eyes wide, “I didn’t realise there were that many. I counted like, seven, not seventeen.”

“There’s usually more, honestly. Quiet night.” He busied himself with rummaging through the bag, pulling out two plastic containers, filled to the brim with chunks of fresh chicken and fish. “Here–” He tossed one towards Joe, who fumbled to catch it. “If you wanna make any friends, you’re gonna need that.” 

“I thought they were friendly…” He glanced between the container and the manifested crowd of hungry cats, “You said they were friendly.”

“Friendly with me, yeah.” He laughed, “They don’t know you, you gotta earn their trust.”

“I’m gonna get bit.”

“We’ll start you off easy.” He promised, already scanning the crowd of cats, gaze landing on a familiar speckled figure.  “Tutorial round, yeah? I think I can see Pepper– on your left. He’s probably the friendliest here.”

Joe squinted. “Pepper..?”

“Yeah. Black fur, little white specks. Kind of like ground pepper?” He shrugged, “He’s a big baby. A little shy, but he’s not mean.”

Joe shook his head with a quiet laugh, “You’re seriously running a whole grocery store out here.”

"Hey now, I branch out." He giggled, “There’s maybe like, three of ‘em who aren’t named after food. I let Miko name those ones.”

"You dragged Miko into this?”

“Only sometimes, when I’m bored.” He hummed, cracking open his container of food. The quiet crowd became loud with excited, hungry meows, the cats gaining more confidence now that they could outright smell the food. “I like annoying him. Like I like annoying you.”

“As much as it pains me to say this, you don’t annoy me at all.” Joe chuckled, opening his own container in tow. Pepper poked his head out further than the other cats, beginning to slink over, towards Joe, just as he’d hoped. “You just make me question my sanity sometimes. Like why I agreed to come sit on the floor of some shady alleyway on a Thursday night to feed cats.”

“You enjoy it, deep down.” Tiger gestured to Pepper, still slowly padding closer, sniffing the air curiously. “He likes chicken more than fish. Hold some out for him and he should come right up to you.”

Joe scooped out some chicken from the mix, his nose wrinkling in mild disgust at the jelly-like texture. "If he claws my face off, you’re paying my hospital bill,"

"Deal.”

As expected, he didn’t get his face torn off. Instead, Pepper, after a few more cautious steps, simply bit the bullet, waltzing right up to Joe before snagging the piece of chicken from his outstretched hand, gulping it down in a flash. As soon as he’d swallowed it, he immediately began nudging at his now empty palm, meowing incessantly for more.

Joe looked up with a broad, almost childlike grin, "See?” He puffed out his chest, “Natural-born cat whisperer right here."

Tiger chuckled, throwing a piece of fish out from his own container. "Not bad for a guy who named his cat Mittens."

Joe mock-scowled, but he couldn’t quite hide the smile tugging at the edge of his mouth as he fished out another piece, watching as Pepper took it eagerly, purring all the while.

—

“I need your help.”

“You know it’s, like, nine PM over here right now, right?” Miko yawned loudly on the other end of the screen. The angle of his camera was tilted slightly, his face half-buried underneath what looked like the many thick, cozy blankets he knew Miko kept on his bed at all times. “I’m about to go to sleep.”

He waved a hand dismissively, “You being an old man and going to bed early isn’t my problem.”

“Well then what is your problem, exactly?”

He darted out of frame, returning moments later with a little, squirming, white-furred kitten. Holding her out towards the camera, he waited for the lens to focus so Miko could get a better look before speaking, “–what should I name this one?”

Miko pulled a face almost instantly, “Seriously? I thought you only fed the strays, now you’re full-on adopting them?”

“I’m not– I don’t usually.” He huffed, “These guys are a litter from one of the cats I was feeding. She trusted me enough to show me her kittens.” Adjusting his grip as the kitten tried to claw her way up his arm, he added, “And I’m not keeping them, for the record, just housing them until they’re fully weaned, then they’ll be off to new homes. Their mom’s here too. I’m getting her spayed as soon as I can. She’s not happy being inside, though.” He chuckled, “So I doubt she’ll be heading off to a new home herself.” Detaching the tiny claws that had wormed their way through the fabric of his shirt, Tiger brought the kitten back out towards the camera, “But they deserve names in the meantime! C’mon, help me out here.”

“I should’ve never answered your call.” Miko muttered, staring at the kitten intently for a moment before sighing, “..how about Snowball?”

“I’ll take it.” He grinned, “Thanks for the contribution, Anija.”

Miko shook his head with a laugh, “I can’t believe I still put up with you. I’m not paid to like you anymore, you know.”

“You know you love me, pay or no pay.” Tiger couldn’t help but sing-song, gently putting Snowball down, watching as she waddled back towards her siblings. He reached down into the pile, plucking up another kitten. A lanky, bony little thing, which let out an undignified squawk, flailing around in his arms like a fish out of water, “What about this one–?”

Miko leaned in closer, squinting at the screen. “He looks like he’s got about three brain cells.”

He reached for a nearby tube of cat food. The kitten, upon spotting the treasured item, settled almost instantly, mouth snapping open, waiting. His bright little eyes stared in rapt attention all the while. He barked out a laugh, “He definitely does.”

“You like food names, right? What’s that American food called again?” Miko tapped his chin idly, brow furrowed in thought, “The one with the funny name?”

“There’s a lot of American food with funny names.” He snorted, wiping the kitten’s fur as he gulped down the food, flecks of chicken-paste going just about everywhere. “Like this thing Bo was telling me about the other day- a sloppy joe? It sounded disgusting.”

“I got it-” He clicked his fingers, “Spam. That’s that canned meat block thing, right? Spam?”

“Oh, yeah, spam.” He hummed, "Blok loves that stuff.”

“Yeah, well, that cat looks like that stuff.”

He chuckled. The kitten really didn’t, all things considered, being a greyish white like his sister, but the food-paste had dyed his whiskers a pinkish, flesh-like hue. “He does now he’s all covered in meat goo.”

“Spam. Take it or leave it.” Miko yawned, “‘Cause I’m too tired to come up with anything else.”

He kissed the kitten atop his furry little head, making sure to avoid the gross gooey spots. “Spam it is, then.”

—

“Yeah, yeah. Hello to you too.”

Tiger barely made it three steps into the alley before his oh-so-familiar welcoming party descended. 

Without Joe here, or any other person he might’ve forcibly dragged along, the cats were much more open. More willing to come out at just the scent of him alone. Just turning into the alleyway itself was enough to receive an audience of eyes on him. Cats appearing left and right from high ledges, or peering out from beneath dumpsters and wooden crates. 

There were his usual few who always came right up to greet him Rye, Saffron, Tachio– and Pepper too, of course, ever the gentle, welcoming sweetheart.

Unlike one of his other more regular cats. Sushi, a white-and-cream cat who had the patience of a toddler, had leaped out from one of the higher perches in the alleyway, latching onto his leg as he walked with an abrupt meow. Her claws dug deep into the fabric of his joggers, prickling at the skin underneath as she began to climb, meowing all the while.

“Alright, alright!” He couldn’t help but laugh, wiggling in a feeble attempt to get her off. She clung tight, though. He should’ve called her barnacle or something… Maybe parasite? That seemed more fitting. “Gimme a second, Sushi– geez,” 

Once he’d gotten a bit further into the alleyway (and Sushi had gotten further up his body, now clung to his hip) he put down his sports bag, his now free hands instantly moving to pluck the cat from his clothes. She purred, her rough tongue licking at his hands as he swiftly deposited her back onto the ground where she belonged, before moving back for his bag. He’d shoved some food in here somewhere…

A flurry of meows had him groan, even as he grinned. A hoard seemed to form around his bag, cats eagerly jostling against one another as they tried to practically merge with him as he unzipped the bag, pulling out the food (and quickly shooing away the more curious cats, who had instead focused on attempting to drag his sports gear out from the bag, rather than the food). He zipped the bag back up quickly– he’d be damned if he lost another shoe or sock to one of these furry thieves.

The food itself wasn’t anything amazing this time- usually he brought chicken, or fish. Something he knew the cats would appreciate over basic kibble, but he hadn’t had a chance to stock up on wet foods yet, as of this week, so kibble would have to do. Not that it seemed to bother the cats, who swarmed the floor as he spilt the kibble onto it, the sound of tiny teeth crunching and snapping quickly echoing around him.

Now that everyone seemed settled, he allowed himself to sit down fully onto the concrete floor, Rye quickly moving to secure his lap, stretching out along his legs with a scruffy purr. He rubbed at the back of her ears fondly.

Crap, his shirt was covered in fur. Caked in it, even; it was hard to tell what the beginning colours had even been at this rate. He hadn’t brought a damn lint roller this time either… 

Oh well. 

He breathed, exhaling tiredly. Pepper bumped his head against his leg, as if sympathetic. It only served to cover him in more fur. He couldn’t help but roll his eyes, reaching out to pet the gentle tomcat. “Thank you, Pep.”

One of the cats Miko had named many months ago also bumped against him, reaching her body up to rest her paws against his shoulder, leaning forward to sniff his ear curiously. Her nose was cold and wet as it pressed close. He had to stop himself from outright flinching at the random protrusion. “And… Thank you, Haru… I guess.”

Haru meowed… Right down his ear. That he had to flinch away from. Haru let out a strange hmprh sound as she was dislodged, slinking back to the ground. She turned away almost instantly, back towards the kibble, and continued to graze on it as if nothing happened.

Tachio, who had been somewhat nearby, batted a paw at her as she went. He missed entirely, by miles, even, but at least the thought was there.

Tiger couldn’t help but roll his eyes at the scene.

“Anyway, this was only supposed to be a short trip,” He spoke aloud to himself, checking the time on his phone as he did so. “Five more minutes then I gotta book it, otherwise I’ll be late to practise.” He scrunched his face at the mere thought, “Last time I was Coach made me run ten laps around the pitch. That sucked.”

A few cats looked up at his words, chirping back, as if protesting. Others bumped up even closer to him, meowing and purring. He couldn’t help but smile at the attempts. They wouldn’t work on him.

Until five minutes turned into ten. 

Then fifteen. 

Then twenty.

Oh he was so screwed…

—

He ended up running twenty-seven laps around the pitch this time. Each representing a minute he was late by. A new record, honestly. For both how late he was and how much he’d run. Fun times.

“Hey, Tiger?”

Tiger grabbed at his water bottle, bringing it up to his lips to take a quick sip, “Yeah, Joe?”

“I just realised I forgot to ask, so, well–” He sounded sheepish as he slumped down nearby onto one of the changing room’s many benches. “How’s Pepper doing?”

“Don’t tell me he’s looped you into the whole cat-thing too.” North groaned from across the room, tossing a towel over his shoulder as he made his way towards the showers. He couldn’t help but laugh at the grumpily-fond look North threw his way. “This is turning into some sort of cult, Tiger, I swear.”

“How’d you even know what I was talking about?” Joe chuckled, his confusion ebbing away the more he thought about it. “Wait, don’t tell me-”

“You aren’t the first, Joe.” North snorted. “And I bet you won’t be the last, either. He’s dragging all of us in by the second. I mean, I was only there a few days ago for like the third time. Not to mention Rasta’s been helping him out for months.”

Rasta blinked at the mention of his name, glancing up from his phone, confused, “Hm?”

“He’s talking about the ‘cat cult’.” Joe quoted with his fingers, “Am I seriously the last to meet the family? I’m offended, Ti’.”

“Not the last, amigo.” El Matador called out smugly from his locker, adjusting his hair in the mirror he kept on the inside of the door, brushing the long black strands up into his typical ponytail. “But that’s because unlike you, I refuse to be dragged into some stinky dump and catch lice and whatever else those cretins carry. Absolutely not.”

Tiger couldn’t help but roll his eyes. “Who said I even wanted you near them to begin with, El Matador? You might be carrying something yourself.”

“Even the mutts of the street want to meet me, Tiger.” He shot back, “And the only things I carry are Gucci, Prada, and Balenciaga. Things I’m sure those mutts have only ever dreamed of.” 

“Mutts are dogs, dude.” North sighed, pinching his brow, though the edges of his mouth quirked up into a faint, exasperated smile, “These are cats. Stray cats.”

“Strays don’t sound nearly as demeaning as it should.” El Matador huffed, “I’ll stick with mutts, thank you.”

— 

"Hi, Mrs. Liang!"

The little bell above the door chimed as Tiger slipped inside. The scent of the store hit him instantly, as it always did: dry hay, dusty plastic, and the heavy sweetness of something floral and powdery. It was familiar, and comforting. Like he’d walked right into his grandmother’s living room after a long day. 

Or a horse stable… Both ideas were nice, though, so he couldn’t really complain.

"Nǐ hǎo, Tiger," Came the usual elderly voice from behind the counter, warm and friendly. "Back so soon? I could've sworn you just left!”

He laughed, already halfway down an aisle, basket swinging from one hand as he scanned his options. "I practically live here, nǎinai. I thought you knew that by now."

"At this rate, I should be charging you rent.” She hummed, “Or at least letting you sleep in the back. I could make you a bed out of the bags of millet I have."

"Tch. If you start paying me in tuna cans and cat toys, maybe I’ll consider it." He poked his head out the end of the aisle, flashing her a grin. "I could be your on-call cat guy.”

“You already are.” Her face creased with a smile, “And I don’t have to pay you whatsoever.”

He ducked back behind the aisle with a huff, “I guess I’ll have to rein back in on how much I help out around here.”

“You’ll come crawling back.” She teased with a laugh, “You always do. You and your crazy obsession with those strays, I swear. I’m surprised they don’t follow you home.”

That made him chuckle, “Sometimes they do, actually.”

“Oh?”

“I had one sneak into practice once.” He grabbed a bag of kitten formula– he figured maybe it might be useful if any of the kittens needed some at any point. “She managed to crawl into North’s locker. Spooked him so bad when he opened it back up that he almost punched the locker door.”

Mrs. Liang let out an amused puff. “I’m sure he wasn’t too pleased with that.” Her face came into view once more as he finally finished up, wandering out from where he had hidden between the aisles, hoisting his now-full basket up onto the counter. Her eyes held a sort of parental sternness that made him duck his head in mock-shame, “And I’m sure neither was your Coach.”

“Yeah…” He laughed, “But it wasn’t my fault! I didn’t think one of them would hide in my bag.”

She gave a low, noncommittal hum, looking up from scanning the items to send a wink in his direction. “Sure, sure.”

“Gah.” He whined, making her giggle, “Stop judging me. I check my bag now before every practice.”

“Uh-huh.” She nodded, sending him another wink. He couldn’t help but giggle too “Whatever you say. Now. Back on the more important things– why don’t you go grab some more wet food? On me, of course. For the little ones, yes?”

"Ah ah ah, nǎinai." He wagged a finger at her, shaking his head fondly. "You know I make more than enough to pay for it. You’ve gotta stop giving me freebies."

“I’m not giving you freebies.” She argued halfheartedly, “They’re for the cats, unless you plan on eating them yourself.”

He pulled a face at that, “Now I’m definitely not grabbing more.”

She tutted, “You never let me spoil my grandchildren, lǎo Hǔ.”

He couldn’t help but snort, “They’re not my children. They’re more like… friends?”

“And I’m not your grandmother.” She pointed out with a teasing grin, “But yet here we are, and I want my grandbabies well fed. So go get the damn cans, young man–”

—

Night had begun creeping in by the time Tiger finally managed to save himself from Mrs. Liang’s ‘freebie argument’ and get himself out of the store. The sky was grey and clouded, heavy with rain; the only light coming from the yellow-bulbed streetlights leaning over the pathway as he walked.

Now that he’d escaped the calm wrath of his pseudo-grandmother, it was time to head home, get out of his training gear, and collapse onto his couch to watch some crappy TV with his little hoard of kittens. That sounded like heaven right now.

The walk home wasn’t too long, thankfully- if he took the back routes, that was. Luckily he knew these alleyways like the back of his hand, and while they weren’t too bright, lacking the lights the main streets had, they were bright enough to maneuver through with ease. And that lack of light meant a lack of people. 

Not that he was avoiding people, but sometimes even he preferred some quiet in his hectic life sometimes.

Especially after having spent all his energy bantering with Mrs. Liang. And from running laps around the pitch because he was just a few minutes late.

Not to mention also lugging his sports bag along, full to the brim with both his sports gear and the cat supplies he’d just purchased. Usually he’d bring regular bags, but having only been able to slip in last-minute because of practice getting in the way, he’d resorted to shoving the food in there, instead. So much easier to carry, slung over his shoulder. Not that it didn’t weigh a ton, though, because geez, it did. The thing was a whole workout to carry. His back wouldn’t be thanking him in the morning, that was for certain.

He turned the corner, shifting the weight of his bag slightly as he did so with a grunt.

And that’s when he noticed it. Footsteps. Somewhere behind him. Light, but with an obvious weight behind them. As if someone was trying to sneak, but lacked the frame to do so.

His gait quickened. There was no reason for him to look back– that’d only draw more attention. Walk forward, ignore. Simple– he wasn’t too far from his house, either. 

Besides, what were the chances this was an actual criminal? He wasn’t the only damn person walking around this time of day. He was getting anxious over nothing.

The footsteps grew quicker. “Hey.”

Okay, maybe he’d misspoken. He had far too much bad luck…

“Hey.” The stranger repeated, practically storming after him, “You know I’m talkin’ to you, dammit.”

A big, burly hand shot out, gripping the back of his jacket. He couldn’t help but try and squirm away, but the hand only tightened, a hot breath against his ear. “Fuckin stop.”

Tiger couldn’t help but grit his teeth, instantly stopping his movements. “What do you want?”

“Wallet, bag, the usual shit.” The guy sneered, “You never been mugged before or somethin? Wanderin around in these alleyways? You’re one lucky fella.”

“What can I say? The people I meet aren’t usually assholes.” He bit back. He found himself shoved into a wall for that comment. “Yeah, yeah, fine. Take it, man. There’s nothing of worth in it anyway.”

The stranger’s free hand dragged his bag’s strap over his head, letting the bag drop to the floor. “I’ll be the judge of that. Don’t think I don’t know who you are– you’ve gotta have some good shit in here somewhere.” The hand shoved him into the wall once more, his head bouncing off of the bricks. “Now stay there and don’t fuckin move. You look at me and I’ll kill you, got it?”

He kept his head pressed against the wall. His forehead was warm, and wet now, with what he assumed was blood. “Got it.”

Tiger couldn’t help but wince as he heard the zipper, followed by the sound of cans being haphazardly tossed out onto the concrete floor as the bag was looted. Hopefully they wouldn’t break, it’d be a shame to waste the food. “You some sort of cat-fanatic or somethin?”

“Something like that.”

The carton of formula he’d bought just moments ago hit the ground, a slosh of milk exploding out from the now broken seal. Oh come on. “There’s jack shit here.”

“I told you that.”

The hand was back now, against his jacket, the hot breath back, pressed to his ear. “You got that stupid charm on you that you always carry around?”

His heart lurched at the mere mention of his charm. His shoulders hunched instinctively. “That’s not worth shit either.”

The stranger’s hands moved upwards, towards his neck. “Liar.”

“I’m serious–”

“Mreow?”

Tiger could’ve almost laughed at how the pair of them instantly paused at the sound.

From his peripheral, he could see a little black blob, wandering down the middle of the alleyway. From some of the casted moonlight hitting the alley, he could just make out white speckles.

…Was that Pepper…?

Well this was awkward.

He bit his lip as a finger looped around the necklace his charm sat on, dragging it up so the charm was exposed from where he usually hid it behind his shirt. The stranger chuckled. “For someone who says otherwise, this shit looks mighty expensive.”

Pepper tottled closer, meowing again. He felt the stranger stop to look down at the cat, kicking a foot in Pepper’s direction. “Shoo!”

Pepper hissed, scrambling backwards slightly to avoid being hit.

…Before running and jumping right up onto the guy, claws and teeth fully bared.

“What the fuck-!?” The stranger screeched, letting go of Tiger  as he stumbled backwards, Pepper still hissing and yowling all the while.

Tiger took this opportunity to move, forcing himself away from the wall and spinning around to take in the view.

The man was huge, a big, bulky, tall guy, but he looked absolutely dwarfed with fear as Pepper clung to him, hissing and screeching and snapping, teeth and claws flying.

“Geez.” Was all he could say– because seriously? Was he actually seeing this right now?

He blinked as a few more eyes peered out from the darkness. No way. No way.

Rye, Tachio, Sushi, Haru– all of them were here, darting out from the darkness, looking just as pissed as Pepper did. They joined their fellow cat in what could only be described as a movie-esque battle scene, jumping atop of the stranger and beginning to claw and scratch at him as he cried and babbled, flinging one off only to have two attach themselves in their place. “Get them off of me–!! Please!”

“Uh.” Tiger’s voice couldn’t even begin to be louder than the current war-cry of his weird little cat army. He shrugged at the man, instead moving to sit himself down on the concrete below before he ended up falling down. That blow to the wall earlier clearly took its toll on him. “Sorry…?”

He blinked as a weight settled in his lap, looking downwards despite the nauseous feeling that overcame him as he did so. “Oh.” He grinned at the scruffy-looking, elderly cat curled in his lap. “Hey, Hotdog. I was wondering where you’d gone off to.”

The stranger continued screaming and yelling, beginning to now try and scramble up from where he’d collapsed against a nearby wall. He took off, sprinting down the alleyway, falling into dumpsters and trash as he went, a hoard of cats still clutched tightly to him, with others following suit, yowling and hissing as they ran.

Tiger figured he could sit here then. For a bit, just to regain himself a little. Seemed like his ‘friends’ had everything covered… If the echoes of the stranger’s screams still ringing out into the night meant anything.

Hotdog yawned, nuzzling up against him with a scratchy purr. He accepted the love happily.

—

*Slaps roof of car* This bad boy took me far too long but it was worth it.

[katealpha]

Art by Zenny’s Club

https://x.com/clubzenny?s=21&t=Y5k0MmFAcnmbYxSfSGgVFA

———————————-—

It was great to be out of Pam’s strangling vines, thought Catwoman as she dropped onto the edge of a building from a guardrail above. Behind her was another, larger building that cast a shadow over the famed cat burger. It was the place that Selena had just made her way out of. An old brick built structure that was covered in emerald tendrils that bore blood red flowers. Practically the signature colors of former doctor Pamela Isley. Of course, everyone knew her as Poison Ivy, the ecoterrorist widely considered one of the deadliest women alive. Selena liked to believe she was somewhere on that list. Being able to clear rooms full of men bigger than herself had to count for something. Plus, she had just survived another brush with death

Just moments earlier, Selena found herself hanging upside down at Ivy’s mercy. Only due to necessity. Selena knew of a pair of cases locked away in the Arkham City vault. The newly opened open air prison had a place where the valuables of select inmates were kept. A place she couldn’t just break into on her own. Some force was needed, and with Bane locked up in a toy factory somewhere, Mr Freeze occupied by his popsicle of a bride, and Croc probably eating someone someplace in the sewers, Selena went with the only choice she felt was right for this. Selena expected the redhead to be mad at her for that one time she forgot to water her flowers during some getaway that the burglar had long forgotten, but what she didn’t expect was for Ivy to leave her with something before agreeing to help and let Selena on her merry way. While she was still upside down and before Ivy agreed to drop her, one of the free plant tendrils forced its way into Selena’s mouth, and she felt something pump down her gullet.

Selena wondered what that was about, still having the sour taste of chlorophyll in her mouth and a tingling feeling in the pit of her stomach. Selena spat to the side to get that taste out and then without further adieu, she kicked off the corner of the building, and with her whip she swung over the ice cold waters of the flooded portion of the so-called amusement mile. She was eager to get that loot that Ivy agreed to help her get her claws on, but had no idea what was already set in stone, and that a sour feeling on her tongue and TYGER Guards were going to be the least of her concerns that night.

Five minutes later

The feeling of her heels bashing the skull of a TYGER guard in was more than satisfying for Cartman as she dispatched the last of them that were sent to investigate the sudden vine attack on the storage facility door. Her green eyes watched the man fall limb onto the asphalt, sunglasses broken by the force of her kick. Everyone one of these pricks had it coming, thought Selena. In this quiet moment as sne stood over the manhole cover that led to the underground entrance of her destination however, she began to feel a little off. There was a sudden low groan that audibly bubbled in her lower abdomen. It was an intense enough feeling that it caused her to stop in her stride towards the sewer entrance and hold her clawed hand over her belly. Selena felt bloated. Like she had eaten leftover fast food earlier and her body was reminding her that, hey, fast food is bad for your lifestyle. The bloated feeling didn’t go away seconds later.

“Ugh, either you drank spoiled milk earlier, or Ivy put something really nasty in me. Better hurry up and get that plant back…” Selena muttered to herself before heading down the manhole with quick succession.

Once inside the tunnel, Selena surveyed the damage that Ivy’s vines had done. There were shattered bricks and bits of concrete laying all over the place which she found herself stepping over. Ahead was a series of holes in the walls that had been punched into wide enough to create a hole wide enough for Selena to simply walk through until she arrived at the front door. The storage facility was right there, and as she walked into the empty security room, another churn rippled through her gut. The feeling was a bit more intense this time. Had someone been standing next to her, they’d have heard the noise. Selena once again rubbed her hand against her stomach as she approached the camera feed. The vault was guarded by two armed guards, as well as an extra detail that patrolled the surrounding area that seemed to be a maze of halls and shelves. She sighed with relief as she saw that she’d be able to open the vault from here, though she’d need to obtain three key cards from the guards. It would be easy enough, assuming her raunchy stomach didn’t start acting up on the fly.

For the next several minutes, the guards patrolling the room were completely unaware of the latex-clad woman lurking above them. Not noticing as a gloved and clawed hand slipped into their pants pockets, pulling out each key card until she had three in hand. Once back in the security room, Selena began to use the card, ignoring the growing feeling in her stomach. She couldn’t let this sudden bloat slow her down. She was so close. All she could do was rub around again to soothe the rising pressure she felt inside. The last thing she needed was to be flatulent in close proximity to one of these armed guards as she was taking them out, because that’s what she would half to do in order to get inside that Vault. Soon, Selena jumped back into the fray, now set on knocking out every guard in the area before moving into the vault. As she moved about the facility, crawling through the vents, dropping onto guards, choking each one out, Selena could swear that she could feel her stomach pressing into her suit more than it usually did. Was she really bloating up here? The rumblings of her belly ironically coincided with the ground shaking around the facility, Protocol 10 already underway outside.

With the last guard dealt with, the vault was all hers. Her stomach wasn’t feeling much better or worse, but there was a constant gurgling sensation that persisted. In the table at the other end of the room were a pear of metallic painted cases, and a single potted plant. In a moment of sly spite for the one who had put her through so much trouble to reach her just hours earlier, she approached the plant and chuckled, picking it up.

“Try and tie me up in your plants, like hell.” Selena purred. With a smirk, she dropped it onto the floor where the pot shattered. She then stamped the dry soil and leaves for good measure. A chuckle in her throat.

Catwoman then came to realize that doing that may have been a bad life choice. As she approached the table again for the loot cases sitting upon it, a much stronger reaction took place in Selena’s gut. A deep, ominous churn roared from within, and the feeling was enough to make the thief lean over with a grunt. The bloated feeling exploded, and Selena felt her stomach pushing out and straining against her already skintight suit. Her back curved inwards and Selena turned her body to lean against the table, finally watching with wide eyes as her belly visibly grew outwards under her suit and desperately pushing hand, a futile attempt to make it stop. During this moment, her voice came out as gasps and grunts, her words lost in her throat until the growing stopped. Selena was now panting and sweating in shock, staring down at her belly which now looked like she was about to give birth to twins. It heaved in and out with her breath, and Selena finally found the will to at least say something to herself.

“What the hell??¦I shouldn’t have done that just now….what is happening to me…am I pregnant?…” Her frightened eyes wandered the expanse of her midriff. Inside, there was that constant gurgling, as well as a gentle shifting sensation. It felt like a bad dream, but there was nobody here to pinch her. Whatever Ivy had pumped into her body, it was growing, and it was alive, and somehow, her suit hadn’t ripped open yet despite the size of her stomach.

Before Selena could compose herself, more TYGER guards stormed the room, ready to apprehend her. They faltered, seeing her current state. One of the guards held up their radio to their cloth covered mouth.

“Professor, Catwoman seems to have undergone some kind of accelerated pregnancy since she’s been here.”

Strange’s deep and posh voice replied over the radio. “Most fascinating. Be sure to take her alive then. Perhaps there’s something more I can learn from her.”

Selena groaned and pushed off the table, bracing herself to fight again, now expecting to be weighed down by her new, massively bloated belly. She’d worry about what was happening once she got some more alone time. Pregnant with a plant monster or not, she wasn’t going quietly.

“You don’t say…don’t expect me to go any easier on you boys.” With a deep breath and clenched teeth, she extended her claws and took hold of her whip as the guards began to come closer.

To be continued…

[bludrogue]

Another Random Headcanon About Jason Todd

This is another weird experience I have had, but this is due to a personal experience. If I slam on my breaks too hard, witness a car accident in front of me, or bash the back of my head against the driver's seat (or any seat in the car for the matter), I tend to have the scent of burning oil fill my nostrils.

I don't know if that's normal, and sure, I'm projecting myself onto the headcanon, but I think it's an interesting experience. With that said, here's headcanon #3:

Headcanon #3: Phantosmia

-- Every time Jason has bashed his head against a hard surface, whether it be a wooden table, a brick wall, a lamp post, the concrete streets, a car door - honestly, the list is so long he can't even remember what he's smashed his head against -- the first sense to kick in was his olfactory.

-- Now he wouldn't care if this was just a physical response in general, but his nose always picks up on a scent that's never there. He's not entirely certain why his nose fills up with nonexistent fumes, this has been the case for as long as he can remember.

-- You'd think the scent of bourbon would remind him of Willis, the man always had one in his hand or in the cup holder of his arm chair. Jason can still recall the scent to this day - oak dipped in smoke, tinted in caramel, and saturated with vanilla. And as much as his mind can recognize the smell like he can recite a Shakespearen play off the back off his hand - that's not the scent his body would use to recall Willis.

-- No matter how many times Willis got close enough to burn his nostrils with his breath, it's never been the whiskey either.

-- Instead, it's fucking drywall.

-- Of all the scents in the world, it's fucking drywall. Because of course it is.

-- When he was a kid, it was this putrid scent of a heavy dose of rotten eggs nearing sulfur with a hint of chalk dust. And maybe those particular remnants are from a memory where Willis probably bashed his head hard enough into their shabby walls that he made a hole. Not that Jason remembers aside from the egregious smell - whether that's a side effect of the pit or straight up trauma, Jason is not would willingly attempt to recall any shared memories with his biological dad by choice.

-- If he could, he'd bury those memories deeper than when his body was trapped in the earth and surrounded by an ocean of soil.

-- But it's not just before being Robin.

-- During his time spent as Robin, if he hit his head hard enough, Scarecrow gave off a musty odor with a tinge of the world's worst garbage dumpster. Peguin, oddly enough, reeked of spoiled milk. And don't get him started on the Riddler -- that one he can't even describe with just words. (He weirdly gives off the scent of nail polish remover, do not ask him why.)

-- But the Joker?

-- The Joker's scent was nothing what he expected.

-- His sense of smell doesn't go toward the crisp and suffocating scent of smoke, the one that clogged his lungs so much that he wondered if that was the final straw to lead him marching towards death's door. Nor was it the smattering metallic smell emitted from the crowbar that bashed him over and over and over and - And his nose does not recall the Joker with the lead heavy scent of blood, no matter how much of his own spilled the day he died.

-- No, instead the monster carries the scent of fucking bubble gum.

-- Sweet, fruity, pink chewing gum.

-- Because of course the universe just has to ruin the little things, those simplicities of enjoyment. Like the birds chirping in the morning become screeching alarm clocks, his coffee mug always being chipped, a hole in his favorite pair of pants, just anything to ruin his day. He wonders whoever the fuck is in charge of mapping out his life is relishing in the misery he endures every fucking day. When he fucking gets his hands on -

-- Did you know it took him a solid year to even so much as spare a glance at a pack of the most basic, minty chewing gum again after his spent training with the League of Assassins? Did you know that it was until two years after his whole war between him and the bats he was finally able to even hold a stick in his palm without gagging? Did you know that only four years after all the bullshit he went through, he could finally place one stick of ice peppermint gum in his mouth for a solid ten minutes without throwing up immediately after?

-- He still can't handle the fruity flavor gum - no sour apple, no watermelon, no strawberry, no cinnamon, and especially no bubble gum flavored shit - without the dreadful urge to vomit lingering after.

-- And before Jason mended his relationship with the bats (or is still trying to, he has plenty of ups and downs with Bruce that he's getting dizzy from the ride.) Bruce's scent was ruined.

-- When he was Robin, Bruce carried the redolence of leather and a warm campfire. There was just something that screamed safety in his scent that he couldn't explain. The every time he woke up in the gurney from a concussion, the smell would hit before he would open his eyes and he knew Bruce was there.

-- But everything changed the night Bruce chose the Joker.

-- Bruce had hit his head hard enough against a porcelain toilet seat that his nose was bashed with the scent of leather instantly. He thought he had picked on his own jacket, but once the campfire wood wafted into the air he knew that was his designated scent for Bruce.

-- The emotional side was then crying for his dad, begging him to keep him safe from the monster in the closet, pleading to just let him come home, to choose him - his son - please - But the logical side was louder, especially when he aimed the gun at the Joker's head and gave Bruce a choice to make.

-- He had a job to complete and Bruce had a choice to make.

-- And Bruce decided and his scent was tainted.

-- Now, when there's a meeting held in the bat cave, or the only company he shares is with Bruce, he has to resist the urge to rub the scar on his neck to reassure himself he's not bleeding. To remind himself that his nose is just playing tricks to get himself to believe his throat is sliced open again.

-- But he never minded his olfactory any attention about these scents. Honestly, it was more subconscious than anything else, so why pay any attention to the matter? Plus, it wasn't like the matter was giving him any issues or disrupting his routine in any sort of way. He was still able to patrol and function to his usual capabilities -- which was not the standard, but still... functional.

-- And that meant had nothing to be concerned about. That these phantom scents had to be normal, right?

-- Maybe this was just another secret human function nobody spoke about. Kind of how the American education system fails to explain safety for sex because of the desire to keep a 'puritan' image.

-- But, as usual, he was proven wrong.

-- According to Tim, phantom smells were not a normal human function. Because, 'No, Jason. People do not have specific scents when you hit your head too hard,' and 'No, Jason. It is not common when you hit your head hard enough to smell a person or smell a nonexistent scent.' And blah, blah, blah.

-- He stopped paying attention after the third no.

-- But how did this conversation come about? Allow Jason to draw the scene for you:

-- Jason 'allowed' himself to be dragged to the manor by Bruce due to the severe concussion he received due to an Arkham breakout, followed by the orders of mandatory bed rest. And so, he was trapped under one roof with his siblings, who were piled into his room to force him to remain awake for the required hours necessary to be deemed safe from a coma.

-- He knew Dick was besides him, and the head massage he was receiving was not helpful in keeping him awake. But the others were somewhere in the room, he didn't need to open his eyes to know. He could tell by their scents.

-- The only person who wasn't in the room was Tim, who claimed he'd come right back without another word. (He's positive Tim went to go refill his coffee mug for the seventh time, and someone needs to get a handle on this kid's caffeine addiction.) But when Tim returned, he heavily smelled of apples - he always did when he was anxious.

-- Not that Jason usually minds if he hits his head, but this time the pounding was an incessant bitch who brought a drill to ram against his skull, so he couldn't handle the heavy scent at the time.

-- Jason immediately scrunched up his nose the moment Tim entered the room the moment he caught a waft of green apples. He rolled onto his side to have his back face the door, followed by a groan of, "Dude, Timbo, you fucking reek."

-- If Jason hits his head, sometimes he can practically smell Tim's potent and eternal state of anxiety. It's just as bad as Bruce's paranoia (but no one can ever beat that man in his levels of anxiety). However, when Tim is anxious, he carries the particular scent of green apples.

-- He hears Tim scoff, and there's a dip of weight at the corner of the bed. Jason lightly kicks Tim to shove him further away, only for the asshole to scoot closer.

-- "Hey, I took a mandatory after-patrol shower," Tim retorts, and he lifts his mug up to his lips and sips his coffee.

-- "No, you smell like fucking green apples," Jason hisses, burrowing his face into the pillow. If Tim gets any closer, his churning stomach might aim at Tim as his puke bucket. "You always do when you're fucking anxious about something, but Jesus fucking Christ, tone down the scent or, fuck, go sit in the arm chair."

-- "Green apples?" Dick mumbles, pausing in the movement of his hand. Jason almost whines at the loss of movement and he taps Dick's wrist. The moment Dick's hand continues those soothing circular movements, he relaxes.

-- What Jason doesn't see - or decides to blatantly ignore -- is the wide - eye stares everyone is glaring into his head. If Jason were to look, he would find a 'what the fuck' expression on each of their faces.

-- "Are you positive you're not smelling one of Tim's scented shampoos, tough guy?" Steph asks with curiosity lacing her tone. Tim has an array of scented shampoos and unscented ones -- the kid may be shit at self-care, but he certainly knows how to tend to his hair -- ranging from pomegranate to coconut to lavendar to oaky to vanilla, etc. (The list could go on.) But he certainly does not have a single apple scented shampoo.

-- "I'm positive," Jason replies. "He has a scent, you have a scent, everyone has a scent. Especially when I hit my head, it's normal."

-- People having individual scents is totally normal. He's positive of it. Plus, he's hit his head a multitude of times that the phantom scents kind of linger.

-- Tim taps the side of his coffee mug with his nails. "Jason... that's not- that's not normal."

-- Jason lifts his head from the pillow, the combination of scents burning his nostrils, but he ignores the hot twinge in favor of glaring at Tim. "It's fucking normal, Tim. I fucking experience it every time I hit my head."

-- "May I implore that none of your human experiences are what is considered 'normal', Todd?" Damian raises an eyebrow. He's settled on the ottoman by the end of the bed.

-- Jason opens his mouth to argue, but quickly clenches his jaw shut. As much as he hates to admit... the demon-brat has a point. Not that he needs to elaborate.

-- 'Is this a side effect from the lazarus pit?' Cas signs, tilting her head at a slight angle. Her eyebrows furrow together and the corner of lips curl - just as she always does when she's curious about a topic she doesn't understand.

-- "No." Jason whispers, keeping his tone gentle and crossing his arms over his chest. These phantom senses have always been around for him, even before the pit.

-- "So," Tim drawls, shifting the weight in the bed as he crosses his legs and holds his coffee mug. "When did this start?"

-- Jason narrows his gaze at Tim. "Fuck you, you're not my therapist."

-- Besides, he'll see his therapist next Wednesday, and he'll snitch on Bruce to his therapist. (And yes, his therapist is Harley.) He's not clinically insane - yet - but if this another 'Jason Todd anomaly', then why does he have phantom scents that hit his nose at random times? Especially when he hits his head?

-- "Wait, Lil' Wing," Dick pipes up, and Jason finds a cheeky grin on his face that warns Jason that Dick is about to ask a question he won't want to answer. "What do I smell like to you?"

-- "Yeah! I want to know too." Steph chimes in, resting her head in her hands as she places her elbows on the bed. There's a doe-eye look in her eyes that screams 'Pretty Please' as she flutters her lashes.

-- Heat crawls across Jason's face and spreads across his cheeks. He should have just kept his mouth shut, but he just had to go and whine about Tim reeking of fucking apples. It's not that he's embarrassed - not that he'd admit the truth out loud - but he's now more nervous than anything to reveal their scents. Especially now that he's more aware that having phantom scents isn't a typical human function.

-- Jason releases a breath, and decides to tell each one of them their identifying scent.

-- He has to admit, there are some positives to this phantom scents.

-- Dick carries the scent of sugar coated, blue cotton candy and mouthwatering salted popcorn. It reminds Jason of the one chance he took to sneak into the circus tent and hide under the bleachers as he watched the performance of the graceful Flying Graysons. He's always transported back to that memory when the scent hits his nose. But there's always a hint of hyacinth, and Jason has no idea where that comes from.

-- Tim may smell like apples when he's anxious, but he always carries a different scent of a different apple depending on his mood. If Tim is anxious or afraid, he reminds Jason of the odious redolence of a green apple. If Tim is mildly annoyed, enraged, or upset, he carries the scent of red apple. If Tim carries the scent of a yellow apple, it's an indicator that Tim is in a good mood.

-- Jason likes the yellow apple the most because A) That means Tim is in a good mood, and B) the smell of a yellow apple is a piquant flavor he has added on to his list of good scents. He doesn't feel has to avoid that apple without a specific reminder which is nice.

-- Steph smells zesty and sweet and reminds him of pop rocks candy, specifically the grape flavored kind. This could be due to her vivacious nature, but he nose tingles every time her scent appears. That could sometimes lead him to sneezing - which he doesn't admit to her.

-- Cas smells like Jasmine and sandal wood with a hint of roses.

-- Damian smells like paprika and cinnamon.

-- Duke smells like honey (and a part of him wonders if that's just because of the suit or the bee meme that his nose decided to join on the bandwagon.)

-- Alfred smells like his homemade chocolate chip cookies and hibiscus tea.

-- "And what about Bruce?" Dick's question is hanging in the air as Jason is drifting off to sleep. And Jason will never speak the truth of how Bruce smells now.

-- But he can always bend the truth.

-- "Used to smell like leather and campfire wood," Jason yawns into his pillow. "Used to smell safe."

-- "Used to?" Tim's question remains unanswered as Jason finally falls asleep.

-- When Jason wakes up, he notes that everyone is asleep except for Tim, who's claimed his spot in the armchair and curled around his laptop. His mug rests on top of the coffee table, his fingers are rapidly yet quietly typing away on the keyboard, and his focus is so honed in on the screen in front of him that he's caught off guard when Tim abruptly states, "Phantosmia."

-- Jason rubs the sleep out of his face. "Phanto-what?"

-- "Phantosmia," Tim repeats, adjusting his body weight on the arm chair and his eyes remain on the computer screen. "Or more known as a phantom smell, meaning you'll smell something that isn't there. Most people typically smell metal, burnt toast, or chemicals. This isn't necessarily a bad thing, just what occurs with either strokes or severe head trauma."

-- "Well, that explains a lot." Jason huffs, a smirk teasing his lips.

-- Even though he has an answer - which is pretty rare considering his medical history puts Santa's naughty list to shame - he doesn't believe having phantom smells is necessarily a horrible thing to have.

-- If the wind blows in just the right direction, he'll have scent of his mom follow him. Not his birth giver, Shelia, but Catherine. His mom carried the luscious scent of marshmallows, lilac flowers, and lit vanilla candles. And in his mind, it's still like his mom is there, still with him. Oddly, that was the last scent he remembers before he died in the warehouse and it's the safest he ever felt in years despite all the surrounding chaos.

-- "Thanks for researching, Timbo." Jason whispers.

-- Tim turns his head to Jason, and his lips lift into a grin. "Sure thing, Jay."

-- Phantosmia, while there are aspects of it he despises, he thinks there's a bit of a blessing buried in it too.

Hey guys! It's been a solid few days (I got super busy this week), but I thought I'd produce another headcanon. I hope you enjoyed and thank you for reading! I'll post another head canon soon!

Other headcanons:

Head canon 1

Head canon 2

[iwritewhump]

"what happened to you?" + recapture + new clothes

day sixteen of whumpember

760 words

warnings: bashing someone's head in, kidnapping (technically)

a/n: this one is a little underbaked as far as my writing goes but i like the concept! if enough people remind me about it after september i might try to rewrite it eventually

~

Living Weapon resituates on the couch, tucking its legs underneath itself hoping to find a perfect position to fall asleep in. It lays its head on the armrest and watches the documentary.

Lights flash in the corner of its eye and its heart drops. The frosted glass around the doorframe lights up a few more times and Living Weapon stares hopelessly outside. It looks at Caretaker, the TV reflecting on her sleeping face.  It blinks and looks ahead, counting the flashing lights in Caretaker’s driveway. By some miracle the flashing light doesn’t wake her up and Living Weapon walks up to the door. 

It slides the bolt over and cracks the door open. The flashing lights stop and Living Weapon steps out onto the porch. The concrete has been warmed by the sun and it relishes in the moment, closing its eyes for just a second. The car honks and Living Weapon springs to life. 

It slides into the passenger seat and stares at Caretaker’s house. Slowly, it relaxes into the seat and looks at Handler. The lines on his face are more defined, softening him almost. Living Weapon bites the inside of its cheek until it tastes blood. It inhales sharply and looks at Caretaker’s front door. 

“Glad you came out, I didn’t want to break in.” Handler says, tapping irritably on the steering wheel. 

Its breath hitches and it looks at its hands. Almost whispering, it asks, “How did you find me?” 

“Oh please,” Handler scoffs. “I never lost you.” 

Living Weapon nods solemnly and takes a shuddering inhale. “So what now?” 

Handler huffs and reverses out of the driveway. He stares at the road and sighs, “Now you’ve hopefully found out that everything I do is to help you. Not to hurt you. Now we go home and fix whatever Caretaker did to you.”

Living Weapon picks at its cuticles as Handler turns and twists and travels back to the cabin in the forest that he called home. 

Blood beads out of Living Weapon’s nail bed by the time Handler parks the truck. He jumps out of the truck and motions for it to do the same. 

Its feet sink into the mud and when it pulls its foot out of the mud, its sock stays. Living Weapon jumps to the small mat outside the door and wipes its feet, doing its best to get all the mud off of its feet before walking inside behind Handler.

He whistles and throws a bundle of clothes at it, “Put these on.” They fall onto Living Weapon’s feet and Handler seethes. 

“What happened to you?” 

Quickly, Living Weapon plucks the clothes off the ground and smears the mud around, working it into the fabric. “I’m tired, I wasn’t expecting it. Nothing’s happened.” 

Handler chucks his shoe at it, “I think you’re slow. I think Caretaker coddled the killer instinct in you and now you can’t keep yourself alive. You rely on her.” 

Living Weapon spits and hurls the shoe back at Handler. “You’re wrong!” it stomps up to Handler and hovers a hand over his chest. “She made me stronger than you ever could.” 

It takes a deep breath and lowers its hand to its side. Handler exhales shakily and blinks a few times, forcing a laugh. 

“Then why did you come back with me? If you’re so strong?” 

Living Weapon grins, its teeth showing, “To do this.” 

Without a moment’s hesitation, it charges Handler and shoves him up against the kitchen wall, hands around his neck. Handler gasps, a hand flying up to his throat and he tries to claw Living Weapon’s hands off of him as the other gropes behind him, hopelessly searching for something to help. 

Living Weapon pulls him away from the wall and slams him back, his head making a sickening cracking sound at impact. Handler’s mouth makes a strangled sound and his head falls forward, nose brushing Living Weapon’s arm. 

Living Weapon lets him go, his body falling forward onto the kitchen floor. Blood spills onto the tile and Living Weapon watches it spread. The blood reaches its feet and Living Weapon steps in the puddle of it, letting it get sticky underneath it. Slowly, it reaches into Handler’s pocket and pulls the keys to his truck out. 

It peels its feet up from the ground and walks out of the cabin. This time, it avoids the mud and climbs into the driver’s seat. 

The music blares through the speakers, deafening Living Weapon to its thoughts as it drives back home to Caretaker.

[warrior-of-tol-angata]

Don't talk about it

Shregresha was angry. It was one of the first times she'd felt this angry in weeks. She was trying to be nice to Biilziebub. For some reason, everyone was treating her like she was the bad guy for being nasty to him before. He was a demon who slaughtered a boatload of refugees! Refugees! His father runs a murder circus! But no, she was the bad guy for getting him to admit that his interest in Koda was little more than how someone cares about a pet.

So, she was trying to not be as openly hostile when talking to him on the communicators. She was still just as angry. After punching straight through one of the training dummies and slicing through her seventh tatami mat at the Dokuchi Reckoner's dojo, Shregresha came to the conclusion that she needed to go vent her frustration in another manner.

She stepped out of the orphanage onto the streets of Towashi and began walking down the streets. The glow of the neon and the bustling sounds of the city's nightlife pulsed discordantly, and Shregresha rubbed her temples. She screamed in frustration, and people hurried out of her path as she stomped down the street, whispering to themselves in hushed tones, some crossing the street to avoid the enraged warrior. Shregresha decided to turn down an alley that lead into the undercity proper, attempting to get away from the noise and bright lights of the metropolis.

As her eyes adjusted to the dim lamps of the tunnels, she began to notice various flyers and posters stuck to the walls. Most were predominately in hiragana, with a line or two of kanji, which Shregresha couldn't read. Some had strange, three-eyed symbols stamped on them that gave Shregresha an unsettling feeling to look at, and she hurried past those.

One of the flyers caught her eye, because it had text on it she could read, printed in one of the interplanar common languages, this one being mostly Ravnican, but using certain Dominarian characters where they were easier to write. It read: "Come one and all to fight! For glory! For power! For fun! Join us in the ring! Follow the signs with these markings!"

Shrugging to herself, Shregresha decided that what the hell, fighting someone would probably clear her head. And, if it was random people in the undercity, then she wouldn't have to pull her punches.

She found her way to the arena, at some point, following the roar of the crowd, and was met by two ogres wearing spiked armor.

"Here for the fights? Keep the violence to the ring and we won't have any problems. If you're here for the other activities, enjoy yourself," one of the two grunted, clearly reciting a script

"The fights, I guess. Are they to the death?"

"If crowd wants blood, the crowd wants blood. And the crowd always wants blood," the other ogre said.

"Ok then!" Shregresha exclaimed, smiling as she strode past them and down into the pits behind the arena.

Shregresha stepped into one of the side rings, with the collection of akki, humans, nezumi, and ogres here literally howling, the concrete floor stained red-brown. Shregresha didn't know this, but the organizers had started her in the slaughter pit, eager to see if this newcomer was actually impressive or simply another body to be dismembered.

An ogre bellowed "3... 2... 1... Fight!"

Shregresha charged forward, slicing her sword down at the spiked akki who rushed to meet her. The akki literally had spikes embedded under their skin, making them the weapon. However, they lacked any self-preservation instincts, so when Shregresha brought her steel blade down, it cleaved through their skull. Their momentum would've still skewered her shins, if Shregresha hadn't bashed it the side with a cut from her dragon-jaw sword.

Shregresha flicked the blood off her swords and shouted "Can I get a real challenge? I could've killed that spiky goblin in my sleep!"

The crowd roared in response, and the ogre who called the time rumbled back, "You want a real challenge? Alright, here's a real challenge!"

The gate on the opposite side opened once again, and two nezumi darted out. One disappeared into the shadows while the other closed the distance with Shregresha, turning aside the Jundain's thrust with a flick of his sai.

Shregresha inhaled, the intoxicating scent of the arena giving her a rush, and she struck out at the nezumi, slashing diagonally downward with her blades parallel, forcing him back, before slicing the right-handed blade backward, catching him in the side with the unexpected cut.

As the first nezumi stumbled back, Shregresha caught a look of startled glee on the face of a human in the crowd, and pivoting on her right leg, launched a kick at the nezumi who snuck up behind her. Her boot caught the ninja on the hand, knocking the knife from their grasp and sending the cloaked figure to the ground. Shregresha planted her left leg back on the ground and swiveled, her fist around the hilt of her sword caving in the skull of the nezumi who was lunging at her with a short blade.

The knife still cut into her, breaking the flesh on her arm rather than on her face, and she howled as the blood ran down her skin.

Still howling, she turned around and leapt into the air, landing on the chest of the other nezumi, crushing their ribcage, making their last breath a painful exhale.

"I. Said. I. Wanted. A. Real! Challenge!!!" Shregresha roared, feeling like she had just eaten sangrite dust.

Shregresha waited behind the iron gate that opened to the main ring. Here, the smoky incense watered her eyes, but her heat beat in time with the roar of the crowd.

"We've got a special treat for you tonight folks! In the right corner, we've got a newcomer, the brutal berserker from Jund, Shregresha! She tore through the Shade-blade twins like they were paper, and has asked for a real challenge! So we're giving her one! In the left corner, it's your favorite oversized o-bakemono, the towering titan Touma! He's back from his stay in Sokenzan and is here to smash Shregresha's skull!" the announcer shouted. "3! 2! 1! ...Fight!"

The gates clanged open, and Shregresha trotted into the ring, swords drawn, watching as an ogre that was large even by the standards of his own kind ducked under the opening into the arena, before standing to his full height. His head stuck above the concrete rim of the arena, and if not for the chain-link fencing hastily constructed above it, the front row could've reached and poked him in the ear.

Shregresha smiled.

Touma bellowed and slammed the mechanized buzz saw he had in place of a left hand into the ground, attempting to knock Shregresha off her feet with the shockwave. She sprung into the air, landing closer to the ogre and immediately rolling under his legs to avoid the swipe of his right hand. As she came up behind Touma, she stabbed into his ankle before loosening her grasp on the hilt and using it to pivot around and stabbing her second sword into his calf.

As Touma shrieked in agony, Shregresha began climbing him, using her swords as improvised handholds. If any of the roaring crowd was paying attention to her footwork, it was clear that she'd done this before.

Touma leaned back and fell, attempting to crush Shregresha against the ground, as she cleared his kidney. She managed to pull her dragon-bone sword free when she jumped into the air, but her metal sword remained stuck in his back. The fall snapped the blade in two, and Shregresha landed on the ogre's neck, before slipping and falling off, twisting her ankle on the concrete floor.

She stood back up, favoring her uninjured leg as Touma pushed himself to his feet.

"You fight well. Now you die well," he grunted.

Shregresh didn't respond with words. She leapt eight feet off the ground, her sword connecting with the ogre's chest twelve feet off the ground, crashing through his ribs, sending bone fragements into his lungs.

Touma fell to the ground, his breath labored. Shregresha stood upon his chest. The crowd chanted "Finish him! Finish him!"

Shregresha obliged, stabbing down into the ogre's windpipe.

As the adrenaline started to wear off, she looked out at the crowd and for the first time, glanced into the lavishly appointed central box.

When she saw its occupant, the blood began pounding in her ears once more.

It was Biilziebub.

"You! This is your fighting pit? Do you even fight here or just watch others do it for you?" Shregresha roared, pointing her bloody sword towards the demon prince. ( @biilziebub-rakdos )

[eggcompany]

Lost Bears Part 2

That night when Jamie showed up to watch the rest of the show, dressed in comfy clothes, he had Roy following behind him, something wrapped up in shopping bags. Jamie kicked his trainers at the door, shucking his zip jacket off to get comfy on the couch. He hugged Keeley briefly, saying hey, before flopping onto the couch. 

“Hey, I’m gonna order Italian, I know what everyone likes?” Keeley said, phone out in her hand, having thought over dinner for the last hour. 

“Yeah.” Jamie said and Roy stood by Keeley. Just standing there, looking at her, bag in hand. 

“And the bag is?” Keeley asked softly, hand landing on Roy’s forearm, not reaching for the bag but referencing it. 

“Bear-Bear, and a pack of biscuits.” Jamie answered with a smile and made himself comfy on the couch, pulling the folded blanket apart. Roy looked down at his hand and forced his clenched fingers to relax. Keeley took the plastic bag, untying it, she left there, hanging open from Roy’s fingers. 

“Are you any better now Roy? Are you feeling any… safer?” Keeley asked quietly and rubbed up and down Roy’s bicep. He was so strong, solid and warm under his shirt, she always loved that about him. His solid warmth she could always fall back on. But she saw the soft side of him now, his eyes looking up, finally catching her own gaze. He shrugged, not shaking his head no, so she took it as progress in the right way. 

“Okay, it’s okay. We’re gonna make sure you’re alright. Why don’t you go get a shower, you’re staying the night again, the guest bed is just the way you like it if you don’t end up staying on the sofa again.” Keeley explained, trying to sound calm and cool. She’s made up the bed how Roy needed it, with the heavy blankets and the pillows that stayed cold and cranked the fans up. He liked being cool and weighed down. She knew how to get that done. 

Roy nodded and looked at her hand that laid in the crook of his elbow. He had a thinking look on his face, swallowing thickly before he spoke. 

“The blue blanket… Can I have it?” Roy asked and kept his eyes to the side, on Keeley’s hand unable to meet her eyes anymore. Keeley paused and swallowed. The blue blanket. Not a blue blanket. The blue blanket. 

The blue blanket Roy had told her felt like the one he had when he was a kid. The blue blanket she’d wrap around him after six too many drinks or when his knuckles were freshly wrapped from punching concrete or that one time he bashed his own head into a wall until he passed out. 

That was the hurt blanket. That was the hospital visit, having an episode, ‘we’re gonna pretend it didn’t happen till the morning blanket. 

Doctor Fieldstone had called the blanket a grounding item, like the blankets they put on shock patients. It was a blanket that made Keeley feel sick to her stomach.  

“The blue blanket?” Keeley asked and felt her own heart picked up, she just needed to make sure. Roy nodded and looked back up at her finally. His eyes were watery, chaos rolling in his mind behind them. 

“Can you sit in the bathroom?” Roy asked, tears sitting in the lines of his eyes, barely contained. Keeley felt a cold shock roll through her, freezing her to her core. 

“Roy, do you need to go to the hospital? I’m being serious, I’ll tell Ted you can’t be coming for a few days, we can say you’re on vacation.” Keeley offered and kept looking at Roy who shook his head. She was dead serious, voice steady and unwavering. 

If she had to take him to the mental ward, it would be fine. She could have the NDAs printed in ten minutes, lord knows she had them saved. Roy just shook his head, moving his free hand to catch hers, giving it a squeeze. 

“I feel… tired. My head is too fucking full. Fieldstone on Monday. Just don’t wanna fuckin… be” Roy explained in a struggled manner, like it hurt him to even try and make the words form in his mouth. 

Keeley took a minute to think it through. It was Friday. Monday would make him reset. Seeing the doctor would help and she would send him to the hospital if he needed it or on vacation or give him advice to help him get over it. Only the weekend and it would be all better. Keeley could handle that. 

“I want you to go get in the shower upstairs, leave the door open. I’m going to get the blanket and get everything set up in here. Jamie can go home and then we-” Keeley started to explain, laying out her plan, but Roy spoke up, cutting her off. 

“He doesn’t have to.” Roy said, stopping Keeley in her tracks. She was going to just tell Jamie and send him home, they could watch the show some other time, Jamie would understand. But if Roy wanted him to stay, or felt like having Jamie there would help with the awkwardness, so be it. 

“Oh, alright. Then I’ll come sit in the bathroom with you while he sets everything up down here. Can you get in the shower and get cleaned up for me though? By yourself for just a minute?” Keely asked, squeezing Roy’s hand, moving to be in his field of vision. Roy nodded and took his hand away, shoving the bag covered teddy bear into Keeley’s chest before turning for the stairs. 

“Yeah. Yeah.” He grumbled, almost drowned out by the crinkle of the plastic bag as Keeley took Bear-Bear out. She sighed and walked to the couch. 

“Jamie, I'm telling you this once and only once. You know when you had your big fit? Your big one and you broke your finger?” Keeley said sternly when she heard the shower kick on upstairs. 

Her and Jamie had been dating for a bit when he had his big fit. He’d come home having been shoved around by his dad after a shitty match, scratch on his cheek that Keeley had tried to tape up but he’d just broken. Screaming that he wasn’t a baby, that he didn’t need her treating him like he was six. He’d pulled a shelf from the wall to the floor, kicked the cabinet doors, and tried punching the fridge while wailing like a possessed man. Keeley had just watched him, calling an ambulance when she saw the way his finger twisted to the side. He’d just laid on the kitchen floor, curled up knees to his chest, hands on his ears, cabinet door splintered beside his head, and wailed. The paramedics had to sedate him to keep him from hyperventilating. 

She wasn’t scared, never had been scared of Jamie hurting her, but she knew he needed help. She’d been at the hospital the next morning with NDAs for the psych ward nurses and everyone else who needed to help Jamie. And he came out better, apologized, and bandaged up. The stress of everyone looking at you, it got to a person, she knew that. She knew that when she was with Roy. That the eyes were still glaring at him. 

Jamie nodded, remembering the shitty food and the stupid brace on his finger. 

“Yeah? It sucked. You made me stay in the hospital for, like, ever.” He said and absentmindedly reached to his pinkie that had snapped. Keeley looked at him, trying to make sure he knew what she was saying. 

“It was two days but you remember that it was horrible and you felt horrible and it was scary? For everyone, it was scary.” She said and raised an eyebrow at him. Jamie nodded, guilt still digging at him years later. 

“Duh it was shit” Jamie said but his voice hung heavy with guilt, with seriousness that was never present. Keeley took a breath, calming herself. 

“Roy’s there. He’s right there. No old man jokes, no poking him, no teasing. He is so close to falling apart completely. Understood?” Keeley said and got into Jamie’s space, looking up at him. She watched his face turn pale, eyes widen. He swallowed, opened his mouth, and closed it again before clearing his throat and nodding. 

“Un-understood. Should I leave?” He asked, eyes going to the front door. He could leave, leave and it could be between Roy and Keeley, they were dating after all. He was just… He was just Roy’s friend. Keeley put Roy’s bear down next to Jamie on the couch. 

“He wants you to stay. Just get the food, the blankets, put the show on. Just don’t… ignore the fact he’s an actual active volcano right now. Like he’s…. Ya know?” Keely said as she went to the linen closet that held her million throw blankets and couch pillows. She pulled out the blue blanket from the very very very bottom and a couple extra pillows. Jamie was nodding, remote in hand already up to fix the couch and make tea. 

“Roy, what'd you feel like wearing? I know you like wearing your shirt and pants, why don’t we just put these on and wrap you up in blankie. Come down right away, food’s going to be here in a sec." Keeley said and brough the found (definitely not kept) pair of Roy's boxer briefs and one of his shirts she'd kept (it was left.) She put them on the sink, folded up like she hadn’t worn them, before sitting next to them on the counter. She could see through the fogged class Roy was just standing under the steaming hot water, letting the water half drown him. She sighed and leaned back against the mirror, he didn’t even flinch. 

“And Bear is waiting downstairs for you. Jamie too.” She said and that got a response, a slight nodding of his head, his shoulders drooping a bit further, a big breath shaking through his chest. Keeley just watched, watched until he was turning the water off, opening the door to reach the towel she had laid out for him. 

She let her eyes take him in. He always looked good, strong and healthy. She watched the water roll down his chest, off his hips, down his legs. She couldn’t help but smile at the way he scrubbed the water away roughly, like he was mad at it. He always did that and always his skin was still damp when he was done, hair soaking the collar of his shirt until Keeley toweled it off better. 

She took his hand, his rough palm a warm solid reminder he was alive, and took him to the couch just in time to catch Jamie tipping the delivery boy and hauling the food in. Roy picked at his food, taking small slow bites and then looking at Keeley or Jamie, watching them eat before taking another bite for himself. 

Keeley watched him, he was always weird with food, she didn’t understand but she watched until he had eaten his portion before finally stopped picking at her own.

Jamie threw away the trash, being as quiet as he could, stealing obvious glances at Roy as the older man leaned on Keeley heavily, bear tucked in his lap. 

Keeley was rubbing at Roy’s shoulders and neck, hands working on the tense muscles and tight knots. It made his eyes slide shut and content sighs leak from his lips, his mind finally starting to spin down. Jamie was dead set on watching the show as his own hands found Roy’s feet and ankles, careful as he dug his fingers into the pressure points. 

Roy was calm, the air in the room felt different than the night before, than a few hours ago when they arrived. It felt… warmer. Something had shifted and Jamie could feel it in the back of his neck down to his hands where he touched Roy’s clean warm skin. Keeley could feel it too, like Roy’s gloom had lifted off them all, at least a bit.

[just-a-creep-babe]

a demon's ache is so good i bashed my head onto a concrete wall in hopes it gives me amnesia so i can reread it again for the first time 🤷🏼 it's been such a long time since i've been fed good ej fics 💔 thank you for your service 🫡🫡

SKDJFHGLSKDJDL ok but hearing ur fic makes someone wanna bash their head in is SUCH a high compliment I’m—

[ctommyisnt]

Fighting with my brother bc I find concrete to be gorgeous and wonderous and he’s like ‘if I see another gray wall I’m going to bash my head onto it so at least my blood will stain it into something better like NO. STOP DISSING THE CONCEETE IT IS BEIYIFIL

[blacknidstang]

Thinking about John giving Dean the colt and how that is exactly the same as John leaning onto Dean on that hospital bed to tell him about Sam and how China has put the quote "man hands on misery to man" over the hospital scene in this insanely gorgeous post and now I'm violently bashing my head to the wall and chewing concrete

[dseerie]

Baldur's Gate 3: Dawning of the Blood Star - Chapter One

Chapter One

A shudder woke me. I went to blink, but my vision flashed black without the sensation of eyelids moving. Confused, I took in my surroundings. It was a large bizarre purple and red flesh-colored room, faint light emanating from it as particles buzzed everywhere. 'What the Hell? Where am I?' A roar to my right had me glance. A fiery landscape hurdled by, fire eating through the fleshy wall. 'What the fuck!?' That also happened to make me see a hand. A shining black claw-tipped appendage hung against more flesh, bound to it by strands. I followed up the wrist and arm, my head angling in such a strange way as I saw the arm attached to what I suspected was my shoulder then a second arm under it. “What the---” A glow had me tilt my head around, almost backwards, discovering odd long dark red spikes protruding from my head. “What’s going on!?” The spikes illuminated crimson when I spoke. I whipped my head the other way, finding two more hands and arms where only one set should be. My torso was inhumanly thin and black, as were the extended tapering legs, ending in three prongs each.

A rumble distracted me for a second then I realized.

“I’m in Baldur’s Gate Three!? I need to get out of---Whoa!” My limbs phased through the sinewy binds, dropping me toward fleshy floor. I braced, but felt my fall stop, so I peeked. I was floating! “Holy shit!” I gasped. “Okay. I need to go down. Come on. Down!” Concentrating, I somehow willed myself to the floor. My balance, though, wasn’t as graceful. I tripped and fell on my skinny behind, but it didn’t hurt. A long spiny tail attached to my tail bone flopped flat on the spongy flesh. “This is so weird!” I scooted myself into position then raised myself onto my feet, wobbling a bit before steadying. The second pair of arms were difficult to control, holding themselves out as a reaction instead of obeying. “How the fuck am I going to walk like this!?” An idea cropped up. 'If I can float, can I fly? At least a little bit?' The place lurched then tilted. “Shit!” I tumbled, hitting the flesh wall. "Oof!"

The lighting changed to an intense purple as lightning flashed across the opposite wall’s gap. 'Someone’s at the helm!' I readied for the next movement, counting the seconds without going anywhere. Suddenly, the sky changed again, stars shining. 'That’s it!' I nearly moved, but an explosion did it for me, jostling me toward the opening. Yet I reached, catching the edge of the hole. Looking down, I could see the landscape zooming underneath. 'Three, two, one!' “Jump!”

I let go.

“Aaaaahhhh!” I screamed, not expecting the sensation and the quite real visuals closing in. I tensed my body and…I stopped. I was actually hovering in midair! “This is awesome!” A shadow loomed and I looked back. The colossal Nautiloid plummeted toward me. “Shit!” Without thinking, I zipped straight at the huge river below. 'Wait! It’ll be like hitting concrete!' I changed direction, aiming to hide under a boulder by the riverbank. I wasn’t sure if I would stop in time, but between it, the water, or the giant-ass ship, I would take my chances. I neared the boulder, the Nautiloid a cacophony behind me, then focused. But I couldn’t stop, bashing right through the rock. I ate dirt as I landed hard, skidding in the sand. Dazed, I lifted my aching head, but remembered. I dove back for the water, but a pod landed in my way. I jumped aside then the Nautiloid collided, throwing me into what was left of the rock. Fire, bits of earth and ship, and impact energy pummeled me with pain, my body clacking like it was made of glass from the debris. Finally, the bombardment stopped and I slid to the ground. Everything hurt. I rolled into a sitting position, utilizing my second pair of hands so I could sit up, and leaned back on the broken boulder. I realized I wasn’t breathing. I touched my chest first then my mouth…except I didn’t have a mouth. A round surface made up my face, all the way out to the spikes, my vision seeing my hands there. “What the fuck am I!?”

A voice sounded then a couple of thuds came from the pod.

“Wait. That’s…” I used the stone to stand up. “Ugh. How did I float and fly?” I grumbled. “I just didn’t want to touch the water or the ground. So…” I mentally told myself I didn’t like touching the ground. A lightness washed over me I hadn’t sensed before. I chanced lifting my legs. My body stayed in place as I tucked them high. “Yes!” I continued, telling myself to go higher as I looked up. My body darted high above. I laughed as the landscape expanded before me, the sky lightening in what I suspected was the east. My slight fear of heights kicked in and I faltered. 'No no! It’s okay.' I willed myself calm and directed myself carefully around the ship.

The entire thing was both cool and ugly, parts of it burning. I couldn’t exactly smell it, but somehow the spikes detected a sweetness whenever I passed by a smoking section. 'Is that what bad scents smell like to me? In this body? Whatever I am…' The thought annoyed me, but I didn’t let it detract me from my exploration. I glided back to the beach, making myself alight on the sand while still keeping the buoyancy. It let me stand and step, the three prongs easier to handle. “What do I look like?” I leaned over the lapping water. A star-headed entity gazed back, nearly giving me a heart attack. Its huge blood red eye had a yellow iris and a big round black pupil, though there were triangular gray-brown edges layered faintly underneath. It sort of reminded me of a shutter lens. I gazed in wonder then glared. The round pupil thinned into a slit, the red and yellow warping at the top as if a uni-brow. “Interesting,” I murmured then felt along the six spikes, smooth as crystal. My whole pitch black body seemed to be a flexible crystal, dirt and some of the ship’s flesh stuck on.

I stepped forward, but my foot stopped on the water’s surface. Intrigued, I took another step onto the water. It was like standing on a waving tile floor. “I don’t know what’s going on, but this is awesome!” I raced across the liquid, joy and excitement coursing through me. I leapt then stuck a foot out. My momentum made me skim the surface, my prongs hardly cutting the water. I ran, danced, and slid up and down the portion of river, catapulting over the Nautiloid’s tentacles before coming back to the spot. I knew I should have been out of breath, but all I felt was energy. The sun shown on the water, glittering like sparklers. I could feel its warmth. 'It feels so real! I’m not sweating, but at least I’m not itching…' I paused then hurried up the path.

Peering around the pod, I saw a person standing inside and he looked terrified.

“Astarion!” I gasped then rushed to open the pod. He yelled in the familiar voice, but I couldn’t understand him. 'Is he speaking Elvish?' “I won’t hurt you. I want to help.” He didn’t respond, reminding me of an angry cat in how he scowled while fearful. “Can you understand me?” He muttered something and pointed away with daggers in both hands, but again, I didn’t know what he said. 'Is it because I’m not from here?' “Fuck.” Despite him freaking out, I pried at the bottom of the glass, where I knew the pod glass could open. He shouted and hit the glass, obvious in trying to scare me. I analyzed the base then gave it a swift kick. It jerked then hissed, lifting. He cried out, pinning himself against the back. I was able to hold my four hands up, moving away enough. He didn’t leave, his eyes darting between me and the sky. “Oh! Right. But that means I need to wrestle him out. Joy.”

I rolled my eye then walked toward him. He flipped out again, swinging the daggers. I grabbed both his wrists and pulled him out. He fell against me when I moved backward then kicked my lower torso. “Ah!” I released him and clutched the spot, not sure if he actually hit an organ or if my body was just tender. He started running. I dashed faster, skimming in front to block him. He yelped, stopping quick, then readied his weapons. I held my hands up again and waited. He backed up, but I shook my head. He paused, so I held out a hand. “Hi, I’m…Well, I guess I can still use my real name. I’m Dawn. Or you can call me Tav.” He was watching my spikes, but didn’t say a word. “What is going on?” I rubbed one of the lowest horns on my weird face. He suddenly doubled-over with a yowl and I sensed a translucent signal. 'Oh!' My curiosity made my mind grab for it then I saw some of his memories mentioned in the game, night streets of a large city, taverns lit with joyful sounds, and fear of the sun. “Whoa! Hey! Can you hear me?” He stood bolt upright, shocked. “I’ll take that as a yes.” He grimaced then murmured something. “I can’t understand you. Try and use the tadpole.” He touched his head, his expression of puzzlement. “Yes. The thing the mind flayers put in your head. Focus on saying something, but without speaking.”

He hesitated then closed his eyes. “Who are you?” his voice inquired.

“I heard that!” I exclaimed, but he flinched. “Sorry. Are you okay? Are you hurt?” He glimpsed the sun then gaped. He checked his face, hair, and hands, then asked something. “Yes, you can stand in the sun. No, it’s not my doing. It’s the tadpole. Ugh, this is going to be tedious talking like this.” I thought on it as he mumbled and examined his skin. An idea cropped up. 'Is it possible?' I had to test. 'He's probably going to lose his shit if I just suddenly grab him.' I snapped my fingers, getting his attention. “I swear I won’t hurt you. But I need your help with something. Can I come near you?”

His irritation showed on his face. “No!” he emitted.

“Please? It should benefit both of us,” I said, sending my interest of him through the connection. I almost saw a smirk.

“Fine,” he issued and stood in place.

I moved closer in a way that I hoped didn’t seem threatening, my height around nine feet instead of like his five foot nine height, if I recalled correctly. He tensed when I stopped a few inches from him and squatted close. “Hold still,” I said.

“What?” he questioned then yelped when I grabbed his face.

At the touch and with my will, I made myself change.

It hurt.

A lot.

I wailed as my body radiated pain, buckling onto my hands and knees. I thought I heard him yelling too, but the cracking in my body overwhelmed all noise. I kept my vision black, unable to do much else until the pain eased into nothing. I collapsed then felt myself breathe, which stung somewhat. My body had a much different sensation. I forced myself onto an arm, blinking eyelids. My vision was slightly dulled, where I realized I had been seeing more energy than currently.

“Oh Hells,” he whispered.

“Did it work?” I asked, but his voice came out. I sat and looked at my single pair of arms. Black sleeves covered them, matching gloves on my hands. I removed a glove. It was definitely a man’s, but not as pale as his was. I touched my head and discovered soft curls. “It worked!” I jumped to my feet, but caught the edge of the long end of the coat I wore and fell back down. “Ow! Shit.” I rubbed my behind then peered under the coat and black tunic. A man’s muscular torso was underneath. “Nice.” He pinned me to the ground, dagger at my throat. “Oof!” His anger switched to surprise and I smirked. “So, how do you look?” I asked, grinning, then touched my tongue to my teeth. I didn’t have any fangs. I reached in with a hand, feeling normal canines, but no vampiric teeth. “Wait, what?”

“What are you!?” he growled.

“I…have no idea, honestly. I know my name, but not why I’m here,” I said, shrugging a shoulder.

“Why do you look like me?” he asked, but kept looking at my eyes instead of checking the rest of my face.

“I needed a way to talk to you without the tadpole bothering you. So, I figured I could try shapeshifting. I’m not used to having abilities, so it was just a test. It hurt like crazy,” I muttered. “Can I please get up?” He narrowed his eyes, but moved off of me. I gathered the coat’s tail and stood. My new body had a heaviness different from my previous one. I brushed the sand and stuff off the coat and out of my hair, though I tugged a few strands so I could see how white they were. “Very nice.” I ran a finger over the edges of my pointy ears.

“What do you want?” he asked.

“I want to help you and others get rid of these tadpoles. Or they’ll turn you and the rest into mind flayers,” I said.

“Turn me into…” He burst out into disbelieving laughter then frowned as he sighed. “Of course it’ll turn me into a monster. What would I expect?”

“I’ll make sure it doesn’t happen. But we need to find the others. They’re in the same boat. It’ll be good to stick with the herd instead of going alone, right?” I said, beaming. “What’s in it for you?” he asked, resting his wrists on his daggers’ pommels.

I thought on the question. “I don’t know. A way to figure out why I’m here and what I am,” I replied. 'And form friendships.'

“Why don't you know what you are?” he asked.

“I have no idea. All I know is that I know things and I’m able to do special things. That’s about it. First thing’s first. We need to find Shadowheart. Oh! And formal introductions. My name’s Dawn, nickname Tav. I know your name is Astarion Ancunín. A vampire spawn of Cazador Szarr. No, I wasn’t sent by him,” I added at his foul expression. “If anything, I want to help you kill him. But again, we need allies. Come on. Let’s walk and talk.” He didn’t do anything for a moment then began walking when I went toward the ship. “There are three intellect devourers ahead. I don’t have anything to fight with, so you will have to fight them. Oh! You might be able to drink my blood to get some strength---”

“I’m sorry, you want me to drink your blood?” he asked.

“No, I don’t ‘want you to drink my blood’. But you need to be strong. And if I remember correctly, you weren’t allowed to drink the blood of thinking creatures. Though I always thought kobolds were considered intelligent. Anyway, let’s do it here. Wow, this path is longer than I realized,” I muttered, panting as I saw the distance. 'This is much longer than it was in the game.'

“But do you have blood?” he asked as I unbuttoned the high collar.

“Good question,” I said, feeling a thumping in my chest. “I have a heart in this form. Can I see your dagger?”

“How about I cut your hand? Just to test,” he said, his jeering creeping in.

“Right. You’re just mad I grabbed you. I’m sorry about that. I knew you would try and run before I could explain more,” I said, taking my glove off again and offering my hand.

“I’m not mad, darling,” he said then held my hand on his palm and slit across my thumb.

I winced as blood oozed out. “Don’t call me darling. Take a taste first, see how it feels. I don’t want us to find out it’s acid as it’s eating you from the inside out,” I said. He put a finger on a droplet then tasted it. His eyelids lowered a little then he grabbed my hand firm and shoved the cut section into his mouth. “Hey!” I didn’t fight, feeling the sucking motion as he drank, his perfume a pungent mix of rosemary, some sort of brandy, and something else I didn't recognize. My fingers tingled then numbed. Wooziness started and I knew I had to stop him. “Enough!” I risked yanking free, both of us stumbling. I flexed my cold hand, the blood and saliva glistening.

“That was…” In a daze, he grinned like a fool. “Incredible.” His expression brightened. “I feel strong. I feel…happy,” he breathed.

“Good. Think you can fight?” I said then stared hard at my hand.

“Yes,” he affirmed.

My hand prickled some pain as I made the wound seal. 'Nice.' Once it finished, I let out my breath. “That hurt. I’d hate to find out what a worse injury feels like. How did it taste?” I said, wiping the excess off, and started walking again.

He followed, musing, “It tasted invigorating, like a fine dessert wine.”

“Red dessert wine, I’m sure,” I teased.

He snorted a chortle. “You are surprisingly calm about knowing what I am, despite whatever you are. Usually, people come wielding torches and pitchforks,” he said.

“Personally, I’m not a fan of vampires. They’re just not my cuppa tea. But unwilling spawns are another matter. I will help them, which includes you now. I’m usually willing to help those in need. A reward makes it more worthwhile, but it depends on the situation. And no, you don’t have to pay me. For you and the others, my generosity is free,” I said, his expressions changing from bitter to curious.

“Why?” he asked.

I shrugged, saying, “It’s just the way I am, it seems.” We entered the Nautiloid and already I sort of felt tired. “Interesting. So the change made me human---er…elven. I don’t seem to be used to walking.”

“We didn’t go that far,” he said as we strode in.

“Yeah, that’s why I’m confused. I should have the stamina of an elf,” I chuckled then quieted when I heard skittering. I had him halt then indicated. We crept along, the flesh muffling our footsteps. I couldn’t see them like when in my other form, but I detected signals wavering nearby. 'I wonder.' I latched onto one. My vision switched to one of the intellect devourers. I didn’t see in the visual sense, but in a radar sort of way. I noticed another one beside me and chanced a swipe. It squealed then attacked back. I felt the pain where it hit, sending me back to my body. “Grrrm!” I bit my lip to keep quiet, clutching my arm.

“What?” Astarion asked.

I listened to the squabble ahead then silence as two signals arose instead of three. 'I do love it when I can do this to enemies.' I concentrated after a signal, catching the third that had been on the ledge. I guessed it had come to find what the commotion was about. I had it attack the surviving intellect devourer, but not enough to eliminate it immediately. It attacked the one I controlled. I jerked my mind out just in time then smiled when a squeal sounded, the signal disappearing. “Now you only have one to deal with,” I said.

“What did you do?” he asked as we traveled.

“One of my favorite things. Pit enemies against enemies,” I said, grinning.

“Oh?” he asked, smirking.

“Yep. My other favorite is having enemies kill themselves. Usually, I prefer convincing them than forcing them. Forcing them just seems like cheating,” I said then remembered I wasn’t talking to someone about what could happen in game. I was talking to a character in the game. 'Or is this really a game?' The residual pain made me consider it could be my new reality.

“Go on. Don’t be shy,” he coaxed, his smile higher in one corner.

“Er…What would you---” A noise had us both look forward. The bloodied intellect devourer scurried straight for us. Having never seen one in the flesh before, I gasped, retreating. Astarion launched a dagger at the monster. The blade impaled the creature, which skidded on what would have been its face. A few twitches and it was dead. I sighed in relief. “Good job,” I said.

“Of course, darling,” he said, retrieving his weapon.

“Don’t call me darling,” I said then stretched. “Welp, that’s all of them. It should be clear walking for a while. Let’s go.” He wiped his blade on my coat sleeve. “Seriously?”

“It can’t be seen,” he said, sheathing the blade.

“That doesn’t mean you can just wipe that on me. Use your own clothes,” I grumbled.

“I don’t want to ruin them, darling,” he retorted.

“Don’t call me darling,” I said then stepped close and smirked. “Or I’ll call you darling and see how you like it.” Fear flashed on his face for a nanosecond. 'Oh shit!' I waved a dismissive hand. “But I don’t even like saying it. So you’re lucky. Come on.” We strolled in silence. 'Why did he react like that? Did I change some part of my face right then? Does he not like being called darling either?' It had me wondering until we came outside, the area brighter than when we first walked in. Then I saw the bodies, bloody and splayed. A part of me found the sight exhilarating, but the other part of me refused to indulge in the thought, which curdled my stomach. I swallowed hard, my face becoming cold. 'That…that’s real…' I hurried off to the side, leaning against the fleshy wall, and dry-heaved.

“I don’t remember ever being so weak around dead bodies,” he sneered.

I blew a breath as my stomach quit churning. “Good for you,” I jeered. “We need to check them. They’ll have gold and supplies we’ll need for our travels.”

“How far are we going? Are we going to Baldur’s Gate?” he asked as I walked to a less bloody body.

“Yes, we are going to Baldur’s Gate, as far as I know. But there are going to be so many obstacles in our way,” I said, prodding for any pouches and pockets while ignoring the bleeding head. I found a few of the weird-shaped gold coins, but didn’t have any pockets. I remembered a backpack being nearby and looked, discovering it laying against flesh. “Gotcha.” I returned to the body and shaped the clothes into a pouch, taking the belt so I could loop the pouch onto it and around my black pants. 'Definitely different from a woman’s hips. If only I had a bag of holding.' I chuckled at the line, understanding it more than before.

“What?” he asked, already onto the next body.

“Just thinking about something. My mind is hopping from one thing to another,” I said. I slipped the backpack on then strode toward where Shadowheart should be. Getting close enough to see her laying on the sand, I stopped and thought. "Emperor. Don’t react. I’m an ally."

"Who are you?" a rumbling voice inquired.

"I’ll explain later. But stay with Shadowheart for now. And don’t kill any of the companions I gather. If something happens, come straight to me and I’ll handle it. Okay?" I responded.

There was a moment of silence then he emanated, "Very well."

"Thank you," I replied then neared Shadowheart, seeing the Artefact in her hand. I kneeled and shook her. She woke then gasped and leapt to her feet, tucking the Artefact into a pouch at the back of her belt. “I won’t hurt you! I promise. You came from the ship too?”

“You were on the ship?” she asked then looked past me and became more perturbed.

“He and I both are. And no, we’re not twins. I just…sort of had to get a form that I could communicate better in, if that makes sense,” I said, scratching the back of my head.

“What are you?” she asked, hands on her mace and shield.

“An ally. The mind flayers put a tadpole in your head, didn’t they?” I said then grabbed her tadpole’s tiny signal.

She hissed a grimace, a hand to her head, then blinked as she shook her head. “That…that was the mind flayer parasite?” she asked.

“Yep. They have psychic…no, wait. It’s psionic here. They have psionic abilities, but they will turn you, him, and anyone else infected into mind flayers if we can’t get them out. We do have time, thankfully, because there will be obstacles. I know you need to get to Baldur’s Gate because of your mission so that you can get your memories back. And I want to help you accomplish your goals, Shadowheart,” I said.

She appeared offended. “How do you know my name?” she asked.

“I’m also psionic, it seems. But I don’t have a tadpole. I’m just someone who wants to help,” I said, showing what I hoped was a kind smile.

She looked between Astarion and I, considering her options, then relaxed her grip on the weapon and shield. “I suppose I can come along. But push my patience and we’ll have problems,” she muttered.

“You got it,” I said. “I’m Dawn, nickname Tav. This is Astarion.”

“A pleasure,” he said.

“Good to know,” she replied. “Where are we going first?”

“We need to go that way. We have to collect supplies and three allies for now,” I said, indicating for the distant temple. 'Shit, that’s a long way.'

“Alright. Let’s get moving then,” she said.

We walked in the temple’s direction as I said, “We found some items on the bodies, but not much. I think the barrels have more. Oh, and do you know what mergrass and belladonna look like?”

“Yes. Why?” she said.

“I don’t. I’ll need your help. We’ll need herbs and fungi for potions,” I said.

“Ugh, gods. Do we have to dig around in the dirt?” Astarion grumbled.

“Not at all, my dear dandy. There are other ways you will be helping,” I said then inspected a body. I found a letter and paused, a whiff of perfume hitting my nose. 'This item.' I didn’t know why I had it in the game. It just felt I had to carry it with me. So I put the letter in my backpack then moved on to the next. We found fish, mergrass, some more gold, then I happened upon thieves’ tools within a barrel. “There you are. Astarion! I have a gift for you!”

“A gift?” he asked, wandering over.

“Yep. Here,” I said, giving him the set. “I’ll make sure you get a lot of these and trap disarming kits.”

“Couldn’t you do all of that instead?” he asked, accepting the bundle.

“And possibly cause more problems while figuring myself out? Nope,” I said.

He stuffed it in his own pack as we came upon the temple door. I could hear people above. “We’ll have to get to this later. There are two people we need to help first. This way,” I said then led them through the Nautiloid. The entire place creaked and smoked, making my paranoia worse. 'And there’s the dying mind flayer just on the other side.' I shivered then quickened my pace. Ginger in stepping around the flaming spot, we came to a dirt path leading upward and trekked. My legs ached by the time we arrived at the top. “Maybe I’m tired because I’m not used to a body like this.”

“You both seem to enjoy complaining,” Shadowheart muttered.

“Excuse me. I’m not one who simply gallivants across the countryside. I’m a magistrate in the city,” he pouted.

“I like gallivanting in the countryside. Just haven’t done it in a long while…and not like this,” I panted then the crackling portal had me perk. “There!” I hustled over, paused, then snapped a branch off a tree and extended it toward the portal. “Poke.” At my jab, a shock hit my hands. I hissed, dropping the branch. “Ah, shit!” I jumped when Gale’s hand popped out of the portal.

“A hand? Anyone?” he called. I smirked, watching his hand sweep for any leverage. 'That’s a bad idea. What if there was a bandit around? They’d hack his arm right off. I could hack it off. It’d be pretty easy. No. Be nice.' Ignoring the thought, I swatted his hand. “Ow! Perhaps I should clarify? A helping hand!” I laughed then grabbed his arm and began pulling. “That’s it! Keep pulling!” Feet planted, I tugged harder until he plunged out of the portal. I tumbled backward and fell on my back. 'Ugh, this is getting bothersome.' I stood as he did then he stretched and smiled. “Hello. I’m---”

“Gale Dekarios of Waterdeep. Nice to meet you,” I said, holding out my hand.

“Ah, I see my reputation precedes me,” he chuckled warily and shook my hand.

“It does. I’m Dawn, but everyone can call me Tav. This is Astarion and Shadowheart,” I introduced.

“Wonderful to meet you. Apologies. I’m usually better at this,” he said, gesturing at the now rock wall, a glowing sigil on it. 'Could we use it like a waypoint?'

“It’s okay. Magic can be fickle at times,” I said.

He laughed and said, “Quite right. Say, but I know you. In a manner of speaking. You were on the ship.”

“I was, but I wasn’t infected. These two and you are though. I’m here to help you all get rid of them. We need to head for Baldur’s Gate, but there are going to be obstacles. Mostly goblins,” I said.

“Ugh, gods. Goblins? Can’t you deal with them?” Astarion whined.

“Again, still figuring out what I can and can’t do,” I said then spoke before Gale asked questions. “Come with us. We’re going to need all the help we can get. And you, sir, are one of the people we need.”

He beamed a smile. “Most excellent. A parasite shared is a parasite halved. Or something to that effect. Except in your case,” he said and I chortled. “Oh, and before you think you’re about to embark on a journey with a most ill-mannered a man. Thank you, for pulling me out of that stone. It was an act of foresighted kindness I assure you, for I have a feeling ample opportunities will present themselves for me to return the favor.”

“You’re most welcome. And there will be. But first, we have someone to rescue this way immediately then another person to release that way,” I said, indicating each direction.

“Very well. Who might we be saving?” he asked as we started along. “Where are you from? You have traces of Weave about you.”

“Uh…First, we’re saving a warrior. Where I’m from is…I thought I was from a particular place, but woke up on the ship as…something. That’s the reason I look like him,” I said, pointing my thumb at Astarion.

“Not a bad choice, darling,” Astarion said.

“I agree, my dear dandy,” I said, smirking his way as my cheeks heated, then continued. “I don’t have the ability to talk in my other form except through the tadpoles. That would have been annoying, so I figured I’d use a more native form.”

“Really? I would greatly like to see what you are. For research purposes, of course. May I ask what you have accomplished so far?” Gale asked, doubtful, yet excited.

“Well, other than shapeshifting, I can fly, walk on water, and control intellect devourers. But the shapeshifting hurt and I felt pain when an intellect devourer hit the one I was controlling. So…yeah. Oh, and hit a boulder at one-hundred miles…kilometers an hour, I think. That was an accident while I was trying to avoid getting crushed by the Nautiloid,” I said, waving at the crippled ship. “I might be able to change into you or Shadowheart. Or the others. But it hurts like fucking Hell.”

“Are you sure you’re not a doppelganger that can use magic?” Shadowheart asked, her voice sneering.

“I’m not pale, but I am lanky. I’ll give a show-and-tell once we get all who we need,” I promised.

“How do we know you’re not going to turn on us? You’re not exactly being transparent about yourself,” she said.

“I won’t turn on you. I could’ve killed all three of you, even while only knowing what I know now. And the tadpoles are affecting you all, so you can’t fight like you would have been able to without them,” I said, walking backward with my coat tail over an arm.

“I can feel it,” Astarion murmured.

Gale mumbled a few words, but only a spark crackled over his hand. “It appears the tadpole is dampening my magic as well. Will they keep us in such a weakened state until we are rid of them or is there a way to exercise our abilities to their fullest again?” he said.

“The second one. It’ll take days, maybe a...tenday... but it’ll happen,” I said.

“A tenday!?” Astarion gasped.

“Yep. Like I said, there are obstacles. Time included,” I said. He groaned. “Yeah, I know. But hopefully, it is a bunch of comfortable days like this the whole time.”

“You need to tell us everything you know,” Shadowheart stated.

“And again, as I said, I will let everyone know once we have everyone,” I reiterated.

“I can’t wait to discover all you have for us. We can test right now,” Gale said, becoming eager.

“I think it’s best if we do it when we camp somewhere spacious,” I chuckled. As he went to speak, voices had me stop. The three paused, listening. “That should be the tieflings with Lae’zel. She’ll be in a cage. We need to convince the tieflings to leave.”

“Or kill themselves,” Astarion mentioned.

“Not this time. Just have to get them away, so we can free her. But thanks for the idea,” I said.

“Of course,” he said, smiling.

'Careful. He’ll try manipulating me,' I told myself. 'I just need to not make it like I’m flirting. But that’s the thing. I’m just being me! Or am I me anymore?'

“Well?” Shadowheart asked.

“Oh, right. Let’s go,” I said.

We came closer to the rock formation, hearing them commenting on Lae’zel’s appearance. 'She’s not ugly. She’s quite pretty,' I silently grumbled when the male tiefling jeered. Lae’zel was livid when she glared our way. “A gith?” Shadowheart growled.

When we came within sight of the tieflings, they prepped their weapons our way. 'Holy shit! Actual tieflings!' Their red skin showed vibrant amidst the greenery as their tails swayed behind them. Their glowing orange eyes locked onto us under prominent horns.

“Who are you?” the female tiefling asked us.

“You didn’t hear the crash?” I asked, acting astonished and in a panic. “There are mind flayers in a ship that landed on the beach! We’ve been warning people all morning! We’re going to go north and see if we can help any others. You two need to get out of here! Now!”

They hesitated, glancing between us and Lae’zel, then the tiefling woman gulped and said, “Damays?”

“Come, Nymessa,” he muttered then they ran off into the forest.

“Bravo. That would have convinced me,” Gale said, his tone joking.

“Why, thank you,” I said with a grin then turned my attention to Lae’zel. “Hello, Lae’zel of Crèche K’liir.”

Her eyes thinned, glinting gold. “How do you know me?” she asked.

“I’m someone who happens to know things. Hang on a moment longer,” I mumbled, noticing Astarion and Shadowheart snort their amusement as I made sure the tieflings were out of sight. 'If they see us free her, we’d have a fight on our hands.' Once I no longer saw the tieflings, I smiled. “Say please.”

A chuckle happened behind me as she growled, “Never!”

“Ah well. I tried.” I wandered under the cage. I could see where rope bound the bottom. 'I wonder.' “Let me try something. Stand further over.” She stepped aside as I pointed at the rope. 'Please work!' I focused on the image of a small bolt of fire. “Ignis!” I yelled. A blast of fire slammed the rope and pieces of the trap’s bottom. The spell’s sudden ignition knocked me onto my back. “Ow! Okay, well. This is where I’ll be, since I always seem to end up down here.” I winced, checking my glove as part of the trap’s bottom crumbled. She kicked another piece enough for her to slip through, her armor clacking. She landed in front of me, towering over with her hands on her hips. My cheeks flushed, but I made a casual effort in getting up, finding her a few inches shorter than me. 'Well, shorter than Astarion. I still won’t underestimate her.' “It’s an honor to meet a gith warrior.”

She didn’t relax, seeing how Astarion and I looked alike. “What trick is this?” she hissed.

“No trick! I can explain. I’m not an entity from here, definitely not ghaik, but I happen to know things that have and will happen. I had to take on a form so I could speak to everyone without using the tadpoles. I want to help you get rid of the ghaik parasite by finding a zaith’isk. These three have tadpoles too. I can take you to Zorru,” I said. “Does that make sense?”

“I wouldn’t trust her, if I were you. She’ll treat your kindness as weakness,” Shadowheart muttered.

“If she wants to halt the change long enough to have the tadpole removed, she won’t harm us and will come with us,” I said calmly.

Lae’zel kept her fists clenched, but stood tall. “You will take me to Zorru,” she demanded.

“Not yet. We have a person to get who will keep us alive. As in, if we die, he can resurrect us,” I said.

“That would be some incredible magic indeed if true!” Gale said, amazed.

“That sounds impossible,” Shadowheart muttered.

“If we don’t find Zorru soon, I will seek him out myself,” Lae’zel said.

“That wouldn’t be such a bad idea,” Shadowheart sneered.

“Enough,” I said. 'Geez, I forgot about these two and their cattiness.' “After we find this person, Zorru is next on the agenda. I swear.”

“Ch’k,” Lae’zel huffed then gathered her sword and crossbow laying nearby.

“Okay. Come on,” I said and began traveling the opposite way we came. “By the way, this is Astarion, Gale, and Shadowheart. I’m Dawn, but you can call me Tav.”

She didn’t say anything, staring straight ahead.

“Chatty, isn’t she?” Astarion mused next to me.

“That’s fine. It’ll take time for us to get used to each other until we get what we need done,” I said. “Then…we can go our separate ways if we want.” 'What actually happens past getting to Baldur’s Gate?' I hated that I didn’t know as I looked at the blue sky graced by wisps of clouds. 'Isn’t this place surrounded by something called wildspace? Or something like that. Is it parallel to my universe? If I’m from there. This place feels real. What if…'

Astarion breathed deep, also gazing upward. “It’s such a pleasant day,” he said, his smile more genuine than all the previous ones.

“Yeah, it is,” I agreed, grinning as birds flitted by.

“Tell me, Lae’zel,” Gale said. “What sort of object is this zaith’isk Tav mentioned?”

I listened, always one who enjoyed the banter.

“It is an intricate device built by mlar, our most gifted artisans, that purifies one who is infected by a ghaik parasite. I am sworn to say no more,” she said.

“So she does speak,” Astarion commented.

I shot him a Really? You had to say something, didn’t you? look.

“I’d prefer it if she didn’t,” Shadowheart muttered.

“Calm down, please. We won’t make it if we are at each others’ throats,” I said. “You don’t have to like each other. Just be decent.” Lae’zel muttered something in what I suspected was her native language and heard Shadowheart huff. 'As long as they don’t interact too much until later, it should be okay. Should be.'

“You did exceptionally well in summoning flame,” Gale said, breaking the silence.

“It was just a word I recalled,” I said, ruffling my hair. 'I need a mirror.' “I know of a few others, but I might not say them properly. I’d need a list. And probably a bunch of scrolls.”

“Most excellent. I can compose a list of the basics. If you can use those, we can raise the level,” Gale said.

“Bah. Magic is nothing compared to steel,” Lae’zel grumbled.

“I’d like to learn any fighting style. Including yours, if it’s something you’d be willing to teach me,” I said, facing her while walking backward despite my hurting legs.

Her stern expression revealed pride. “We will see,” she said.

“Your time is much appreciated,” I said, nodding once, then turned back around. “There are going to be enemies up ahead. Five outside, one just inside the doorway, then about six in another room, if I recall correctly. I might be able to convince them to leave without a fight. If not, we’ll have to make it quick. And not shoot the dangling rock they have set up for breaking in…Actually. Astarion.”

“Hm?” he hummed.

“We found that one lockpicking set. How well do you think you can pick an ancient lock?” I asked.

His devious smirk convinced me. “Do you even have to ask, darling?” he said.

“Don’t call me darling, my dear dandy,” I said. “There’s that door at the bottom of the temple. We can bypass the enemies above for now, deal with everything below like traps and five enchanted skeletons, and get the person we need. From there…then we can fight. The ones up top have supplies we need, so we have to deal with them one way or another. Then we can camp there for the night.”

“But it’s only noon,” Shadowheart said.

“We’ll need the rest after dealing with everyone. Remember what I said about the parasites affecting you all? Plus, I need rest as well,” I said as we diverted toward the Nautiloid.

“Ch’k. We should face them in battle. Not prattle,” Lae’zel fussed.

“Nice rhyme. And did you not hear what I just said? You all are weak at the moment and I don’t know my abilities. You want the mind flayers to win by making you fall in battle? Taking down a strong githyanki warrior without having to lift a finger?” I said. She huffed, angling up her little nose.

“You truly do have quite a descriptive understanding of our predicament. What else do you know?” Gale asked.

I looked over and smirked. “That’s a nice tattoo you have,” I said. The compliment wiped the smile off his face. “I’m only going to mention what I can until we have everyone.”

He didn’t speak for a second then said, “Ah, I see. Then you and I will need to necessitate a fundamental discussion at some point in the near future.”

“You got it,” I said.

“It sounds like you will be doing a lot of talking,” Shadowheart said.

“True,” I chuckled. As we entered the Nautiloid, I had a sudden realization. 'If the mind flayer is alive, Lae’zel will want its head. Then she’ll try for Ascension!' I withheld my concern the best I could. “Let’s get out of this place.” We jogged out of the ship then slowed as we neared the door. By the time we made it, my legs quivered with pain. “Ugh. This is going to be a pain in the ass.” The voices argued above as Astarion brought out the lockpicking kit. I lifted one leg then the other. 'I can’t let myself rest yet or---'

“Te curo!” Shadowheart said, gesturing.

The pain in my legs vanished. “Whoa! That’s awesome!” I laughed, keeping my voice down. “Thank you.”

“Of course,” she said.

The voices didn’t halt their bickering. 'They should be there until we get back out. We could use the passageway up.' “Simple,” Astarion said when the lock clicked.

“Great job,” I said.

“You’re surprisingly good at that. Are you really a magistrate?” Shadowheart inquired.

“I am. It’s all rather tedious, really. So I learned a few tricks,” he replied.

“A magistrate who can pick locks?” Gale asked. “Yes,” Astarion said then stepped out of the way so I could pull the latch back.

I peeked inside, seeing a dark interior with only some light shining in from somewhere above. I opened the door wider and walked in. The place smelled musty and of dirt, but a small part of me was in awe at the historical building. “Wow,” I breathed.

“You’re amazed by some dusty old ruins?” Shadowheart asked.

“I’ve always wanted to visit a place like this. Where I’m from, everything is fresh and new. It doesn’t feel right sometimes, not seeing the history that made the civilization. If that makes sense,” I said sheepishly as Astarion checked a chest to our left.

“It makes perfect sense. We must build upon our predecessors’ foundations of knowledge, lest we stagnate,” Gale said as we all wandered in.

“So you mentioned traps,” Astarion said, wiggling a trap disarming set.

“Er…right. There are going to be vents and gargoyle heads. But…there should be…” I trailed off as I crept up to the sarcophagus. My eyes caught sight of the round discs on the floor. “Careful of those.” I stepped around them to a pillar with a bright brass and silver button, as wide as my palm. “The sarcophagus is trapped. It activates the gargoyle heads, which will spit fire. The vents will spew grease, lighting up the room.”

“Why do we need to do this?” Lae’zel grumbled.

“Because there is a magical spear and some other items that’ll help us out. There are also some stuff in the other tombs, including soul coins. Those are specifically for someone. So I’ll carry them,” I said.

“Soul coins are uniquely rare,” Gale said, rubbing his chin.

“And expensive,” Astarion said as he kneeled by the sarcophagus.

“We’ll be finding plenty of items to sell, so don’t worry. What I worry about is carrying it all,” I mumbled as he worked.

“Then we should gather all the valuable ones,” Shadowheart reasoned.

“True. If I remember correctly, ink pots and quills sell well together. So do silver plates and jewels. Oh! And decorated bowls,” I said, arms crossed while I recalled the gold prices.

“How do you know something so infinitesimal as prices?” Gale asked.

“That will have to wait,” I said.

“That doesn’t inspire much confidence,” Shadowheart said.

“Yeah, I know,” I mumbled. “But please believe me when I say, I want to help you all. Not just myself.”

“Ch’k. I will be the one to purify us once we find where a crèche is,” Lae’zel muttered.

“And I will help everyone get there,” I said.

That seemed to calm her as a click was heard. “Easy,” Astarion said, standing.

“Awesome,” I said then hit the button. Nothing happened. 'Thank goodness.'

“What was that?” he asked.

“A guarantee, if I remember right,” I said then stepped beside him. “Help me, please.”

“Why not let Lae’zel or Shadowheart help instead?” he huffed.

'Right.' “Okay. Ladies? Gale?” I said, beckoning.

“The heaviest things I move are stacks of books,” Gale admitted.

I looked to the women. Lae’zel refused, but Shadowheart strolled over. She stood at the top as I came to the bottom. “Go this way,” I said, nodding to my right.

“Alright,” she said, hands on the stone lid.

“Three, two, one,” I counted then she and I shoved the top, her much faster than I. 'Holy shit, this is heavy!' We let it tip over and fall, cracking the lid. It hurt my heart. “Sorry.”

“I didn’t get hurt,” she said, confused.

“I…right. I thought you had been,” I said then leaned over the sarcophagus lip. A skeleton laid within, a spear on one side of it and a key around its neck, engravings on the top. Uncomfortable, I gathered both, whispering a silent thanks, then held up the key. “Here you go, Astarion.”

“Thank you, darling,” he said, taking it.

“Don’t call me darling,” I said then planted the spear up, it standing higher than my height. 'Wow. That’s nice,' I thought then grabbed one of the coins I had collected. “Ladies. Let’s have a flip of a coin. Wolf, Shadowheart. Towers, Lae’zel.” Shadowheart stiffened, eyebrows furrowing. “Wait, sorry. Lae’zel, wolf. Shadowheart, towers.” The tension eased, but her expression remained.

“Why are we having to choose?” Lae’zel growled.

“Because you two are more capable of wielding this than the three of us,” I said as I heard the oak doors open and yelled over my shoulder. “There are gilded chests in there, but best not to open any doors yet!”

“Very well. Flip it,” Shadowheart said.

I flicked the odd-shaped coin high then let it land on the floor. “Towers,” I said.

“Tas’ki! You knew that would happen. That is why you changed the symbols,” Lae’zel accused.

“Nope. There’s a different reason. You get the next magical weapon you’re proficient in,” I said, handing Shadowheart the spear.

“Besides, you certainly remind me of a wolf,” Shadowheart sneered as she slipped the spear under the belt across her shoulder.

'Ugh!' “Let’s search really quick,” I said. We shoved open the other graves, getting any loot available. I found the soul coin, the weight strange for something so small. 'Someone died and their soul is in this.' The thought disturbed me, but I pocketed it then joined Astarion in the next room. He had already emptied both chests and waited by the farthest door. “We’re coming.” A smile cracked his face. “Oh my g.o.s.h.! Not like that!”

“Like what, darling?” he asked as I neared.

“Don’t call me darling. And we both know what,” I said, keeping my smile hidden.

“What of this door?” Gale asked, referring to the side door.

“That will have to be later,” I said then shoved the double doors open. The expansive room had me gape, the towering statue of Jergal illuminated by sunlight above, plants growing around the statue’s feet. Rows of stone pews were on either side of the raised floor in front of it, blocked off by a railing. My eyes discovered the skeleton ahead and I felt chills. 'Another real skeleton…and they’re going to come alive.' I forced my mind to think it to be fake as I noticed the other skeletons. “They won’t wake up until we activate a button. We need to take their weapons.”

“Why don’t we crush their skulls?” Astarion asked, walking over to the one ahead.

“That…isn’t a bad idea,” I said. 'We don’t have game logic here, do we?' “Okay. Everyone, pick a skeleton. We have to do this at the same time.” We separated, getting next to a skeleton each. I kept breathing deep as its empty eye sockets and permanent grin unsettled my brain then I lifted my foot. “Three, two, one!” I bashed the skull in, hearing the others crack. A green mist dissipated in a puff.

“That wasn’t so terrible,” Shadowheart said.

“Thank goodness,” I said and walked to the side space on the statue’s right. I brushed the wall, feeling the button under a bunch of dust. I hit it with the side of my fist then moved when the stone wall scraped open. I walked in, glimpsing the fancy sarcophagus. But another object caught my eye, a yellow chest beside the one I knew would be there. “No way!” I kneeled in front of the yellow box, giddiness in my chest.

“What are you doing?” Lae’zel asked.

“This is something we direly need. It’s sort of like a bag of holding. At least, I think it is here,” I said, opening it. It seemed like a normal empty traveler’s chest, a bit dusty, but not as much as what I would expect.

“Really? We should test it,” Gale said.

“We will. First…” I walked to the sarcophagus and reached out, but still blenched when the lid jerked at my touch. Candle flames burned the eerie green then a wrinkled hand pushed the lid over and off, throwing a cloud of dust up. I swiped at the cloud, coughing. The body rose, floating as it faced us, then the red and blue eyes opened. 'He’s definitely some sort of lich.' He drifted down, alighting on his bare feet. “Greetings, Withers,” I said, bowing my head.

He rumbled a hum then said, “So he has spoken, so thou standest before me. Right, as always.”

“Yes sir,” I said. “And to your question, it depends on the person’s deeds.”

He didn’t speak for a moment, his eyes squinting. I held my hands behind my back, hiding their shaking. 'This guy could kill me with a wave of his hand. Or could he? Be nice.' “Very well. I am satisfied,” he said.

I exhaled, saying, “Thank you, sir.”

“We shall meet again, when the time is right,” he said then walked by.

'Well, that was quick,' I thought as everyone moved out of his way, even the ones peeking into the room. I sighed then rubbed my shivering hands together while everyone came in. “What the Hells is that thing!?” Astarion hissed.

“The ally we needed. Now we can deal with the idiots in the temple above. Put all valuables in this chest. You can keep the money you found,” I said. “Can I see your spear, Shadowheart? I want to check something.”

She quirked her lips, but handed the spear over. I opened the traveler’s chest then eased the spear in. The chest’s bottom stretched downward to accommodate the weapon. I pushed the spear all the way in then closed the chest. “What are you doing?” she asked.

“Just seeing something,” I said, silent in wishing the spear be hidden. I opened the trunk, finding nothing inside. I closed it again and thought of the spear. When I opened it, the spear was laying at an angle within reach.

“Incredible!” Gale said as I lifted the spear out.

“Yep. This’ll be our other lifesaver. We need this hidden when we fight though. We can leave it in camp whenever we have to clear a path ahead,” I said, passing the spear to Shadowheart.

“Could it hide bodies?” Astarion asked.

“We’re not hiding bodies in it. Only because they’ll make everything stink,” I said.

“We shouldn’t place anyone alive in there either. I’ve heard quite the unfortunate tale of some who considered testing the theory and ended up with the horrendous death of asphyxiation,” Gale said.

“Good to know,” Lae’zel muttered, eyeing Shadowheart.

“No killing of allies. That’s what we are right now. Let’s get everything then go,” I said. Between the heavy chest and other containers, we cleared the space, putting everything, but gold in. I found the soul coin within Wither’s sarcophagus, energy buzzing from it as I pocketed it. “Okie dokie. Gale, please assist,” I said then grabbed one handle while he took the other and lifted the yellow chest. It was light-weight, which I hoped remained that way during our journey. “Did anyone get the book in that side room?”

“Book?” he asked as we walked.

“Yeah, it’s a book with a lock on it. Hang on,” I said when we neared the room. I put the trunk down then trotted into the room. I saw the book glittering in the faint light and grabbed it. Its weight was also decent, even with the lock. I tucked it under my arm and checked the rest of the room, stashing it all in the chest. I hung a belt over my body and had it hold a quarterstaff. “You got the scroll on one of the bodies, right?”

“I did,” Shadowheart said.

“Awesome. Let’s go,” I said.

We journeyed for the side door, where Gale and I set the trunk down then Astarion used a key. “Where did you find that?” Shadowheart asked.

“On one of the bodies,” he said then swept his arm toward the door. “After you.”

“There will be a short hallway. Then another door. We’ll have to light the torches to unlock it. On the other side of that door are going to be the bandits. There are also flammable barrels we can use to take some out,” I said as she opened the door. A staircase led upwards. Everyone looked at me. 'Oh.' “At the top.” We climbed the stairs, Gale leading the way with a light spell. We entered the short hall and I slunk to the next door. Voices chattered on the other side as I listened in. “The barrels should be catty-corner to us. Lae’zel, stand behind the door. You’ll be shoving the door closed after I lure the bandits over by knocking and Gale sends a fire bolt at the barrel. If any get through, Shadowheart, Astarion, and I will be ready.”

“How about since you can’t fight well, you close the door?” Astarion pointed out.

I thought about it then nodded. “Okay. I’ll light the torch on this side then. Do you think I can summon a flame quietly?” I said.

“Perhaps. The spell is fiat lux,” Gale said.

“Ugh, gods. Can we get on with it?” Astarion grumbled.

“Chill, dear dandy. You’ll get your chance,” I said and stood by the proper torch. “Okay. Everybody ready?”

Everybody prepped their weapons. I nodded and Gale murmured, “Fiat lux.” A flame lit above his finger then he let it drift onto the torch. The torch flared.

I swallowed hard as I knocked loudly on the door. The voices on the other side hushed then multiple footsteps neared. My body shivered as terror washed over me. 'They’re coming to kill us!' I imagined the pain that might happen, remembering the pain of the change. A pebble hit my shoulder. I sucked in a breath. Astarion glared as he gestured. 'Right.' “Fiat lux,” I whispered. A light dangled above my fingertip. I dropped it into the torch, enflaming the top. At a click, the door swung open.

“Ignis!” Gale yelled.

I slammed the door shut, hearing yelps of surprise. A sudden force bashed the door, flames and smoke puffing as it partially opened. Shadowheart pushed with me then it sealed. We coughed, waving off the smoke. “Everyone okay? Shadowheart? Gale? You good?” I asked.

“I’m fine. Thank you for asking,” he said.

“I doubt anyone survived that,” she said.

I cracked the door open, a cloud of smoke wholloping me in the face. I coughed again, seeing glowing embers all over the floor. The smoke flowed into the small room then Gale said, “Ut succendam.” Nothing happened when he indicated a hand. “Tav, speak ut succendam.”

“Okay,” I said and indicated into the hall. “Ut succendam.” A gust of wind blew the smoke out through the room on the right. “Oh wow!”

“Move aside,” Lae’zel said, pushing past. She walked into the remaining smoke like it wasn’t there, though she puffed. “Astarion, hurry to that door on the end. There’s someone in the other room you can deal with. But don’t go outside yet,” I said then a burned body had me quiet.

“Excellent,” Astarion chuckled and raced down the hall.

I stared at the body then saw another and another. 'I…helped kill people…They’re dead…' Excitement bubbled in my torso, my mind elated to see the seared carnage in front of me. 'Am I insane!? Stop it!' I leaned against the doorframe, heaving for air. “What is the matter?” Gale asked.

“I…I’ve never…killed a person before,” I rasped.

“It’s too late to be cowering now. This was your plan,” Lae’zel muttered.

“I know, I know,” I sighed then went to the opposing door, careful of the embers. “I’m surprised everyone outside isn’t reacting.” I put my ear to the door. Nothing could be heard on the other side. 'I thought they would’ve dropped the stone by now. But this isn’t the game. They wouldn’t have stayed idol, would they? Shit.' “We need to check outside. Come on.” We joined Astarion, who had dispatched the single bandit. “Good job.”

“Of course,” he said, wiping his dagger on the bandit’s tunic. The person groaned, startling me. “Don’t worry, darling. He can’t hurt you.”

“Don’t call me darling. Is everyone ready?” I said, snatching the key and the short sword off of the bandit’s belt.

“We’ve been ready,” Lae’zel said, sword held prepared.

“Okay,” I said then unlocked the door. With the short sword in hand, I looked out, but didn’t see anyone. I widened the door further, walking into the open. “Where are they?”

“Did they get scared off?” Shadowheart asked.

“Probably. They did seem cowardly,” I murmured, careful on the steps. The rectangular stone swayed in a breeze, but no one was on the high walls or at the other side of the courtyard. The quiet had me uneasy. I shuffled across the courtyard, avoiding the cracked floor, and came to the railing overlooking the beach and Nautiloid. I scanned the area, the size of the ship still mind-boggling. 'Ship…They went to the Nautiloid! We can’t chase after them or they might ambush us.'

“Well?” Astarion asked beside me.

“I think they went to explore the ship. We can set up here. If they come back, we’ll be ready. Let’s start collecting supplies,” I said loud enough. “Astarion, you and I will take care of the bandit.”

He smiled then said as he walked, “Certainly.”

'That should help him without anyone noticing yet.' I sheathed the sword then followed him as everyone walked inside. “Bah, you said there would be others to fight,” Lae’zel fumed.

“I thought there would be. I seem to be influencing things more than I thought,” I mumbled. “There will be more as we go along. Go through everything. Astarion and I will be right back.” I grabbed the bandit’s legs while he hooked his hands under the bandit’s arms. We toted the unconscious man out then I led the way to the side path. “I’ll keep an eye out.”

“You are fine with this?” Astarion asked as we set the bandit down.

“We’re in this together. But we’ll have to let the others know at some point or things will get messy,” I said.

“I like it messy,” he teased.

“Yes, I know,” I chuckled then nodded to the bandit. “Go on.” He exposed the man’s neck and bit down, so I turned away. 'I’m sure I’ll get used to it soon. How long am I going to be here? The whole way? That’s going to be days, weeks, maybe a month or two long!' My mind spun down the mental rabbit hole until a hand made me jump. “Geez! Don’t do that!”

“I won’t bite you yet, darling,” he said, grinning, blood coating his teeth.

“Don’t call me darling. Clean your teeth,” I grumbled. I walked back over to the now dead bandit, bloody puncture wounds in his neck. My stomach growled. 'Huh. I didn’t realize I could get hungry,' I thought as I checked for anything else then rolled the body over the edge of the cliff. It collided with rocks as it fell. A shiver ran up my spine, but it wasn’t of disgust. It was from a weird delight at the sound of breaking bones. 'What the Hell? Whatever.' “Done. Let me see.” He barely showed his fangs, not comfortable, but I was fine with it. “You’re good. Come on.” He and I went inside the temple, locking the door. Gale read some books below the plaque as Shadowheart checked shelves. Lae’zel wasn’t in the room. “Where’s Lae’zel?”

“She seemed quite adamant on searching more of this inauspicious tomb,” Gale said.

“Okay. By the way, there’s something of a library down the hall. I’ll be there a while,” I said, smirking when he grew attentive.

“A library? Most excellent! Lead the way,” he said cheerily, closing the book. I walked down the hall, him following close behind as Astarion stayed in the room. Lae’zel was going through the burned bodies. I paused when the skin crackled, seeing bloody flesh under broken pieces of skin. My mouth watered as my vision tunneled. “Tav?” I snapped out of it, my head hurting. I put a hand to my temple. “What is the matter?”

Lae’zel thinned her eyes.

“Nothing. I lost my train of thought,” I said, faking a chortle. 'What is going on?' “This way.” I strolled into the larger room, pillars on either side and a statue at the back. Behind the pillars were rows of shelves containing books. I held my arms wide. “Ta da!”

“This is fantastic!” he exclaimed and rushed to the nearest shelf while lighting candles.

I smiled then kneeled by the books on the floor. I hated seeing them there and, being a bookworm myself, I stayed careful of the pages as I removed dust and closed them, putting them on an empty shelf. I would glimpse a few words I could read, but a bunch of it was faded or in another language. I found a book and stood, angling it for the light. Then another book caught my eye. I set the first down and picked up the second from the desk. 'Oh! The Lady of Loss. I should give this to Shadowheart. The Curse of the Vampyr should be here too. Hmph. What a weird coincidence. I never thought about it before. But I need to think on it later.' “I’ll be right back,” I said. He didn’t respond, too preoccupied. I didn’t mind, striding into the warm room. Shadowheart kept her gaze away as Lae’zel examined her own weapon. “Shadowheart, I think you might want this.”

“For me? Why?” she asked, but accepted the book. “We can talk about it later. Enjoy,” I said then left, returning to the room of books.

It wasn’t long before she bolted in. “How did you know?” she asked.

“As I’ve said. And don’t worry. I won’t judge you,” I said, though it was a lie. But I would be kind until it was the right time.

She didn’t seem to know how to respond then said, “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” I said.

She hesitated, as if wanting to say more, then exited.

I chortled as I went back to putting books away, Gale still distracted with reading. He and I didn’t say anything during the next hour. Then he shut a book. “You know of my precarious condition, don’t you?” he asked.

“Yes,” I said, straightening a book’s page. “I won’t tell anyone. But you will have to in the near future if our group is to work together.”

“Do you have an estimation as to how long that will be? Despite our problematic situation, I will still require Weave-infused objects,” he said.

“That…I’m not sure of. Time is vague when it comes to what I know. I just know the paths that can be taken, people we could meet, and particular encounters we will…or may come to,” I mumbled.

“Your confidence isn’t so reassuring as it was when we met,” he said, wandering closer.

“Yeah. The people we were meant to fight weren’t where they were supposed to be. It’s sort of rattled me,” I said then placed the book in a spot.

“You are aware of the possibilities. That is a vast difference than running blindly into the fray,” he said. “I am thoroughly intrigued as to what you have to say when we have gathered all who we need.”

“It will blow your mind,” I chuckled then hesitated when he made a quizzical face. “Er…no pun intended. I will make sure to keep you all alive and safe. You have my word.”

“I am resolute you will come through. You seem to be the reliable sort,” he said.

“Thanks,” I snickered. We collected a bunch of books and scrolls, stowing them inside the trunk we decided to set in front of the plaque then we ate a cold dinner. I dragged the mattresses from the side room to the main room then we all double-checked for anything else. In the side room, a small mirror caught my eye. “Oh. Right.” I held it up, surprised in seeing Astarion’s face, but it wasn’t pale. The cheeks actually had a rosy tint, but the eyes weren’t the red I expected. They were a rich amber color. “Is that…my eye color in a different body or…are these his?” The possibility stunned me. “Oh whoa. Huh. I never thought they’d be this color. The game had me think he would have blue or green eyes.” I changed the angles, examining every part of his face, then lifted the mirror higher. The hair was distinct in the dimming light. I mussed it up, liking how it felt, then something else grabbed my attention. I raised the mirror higher and slanted it. What looked like a tunic hovering behind me had me swivel.

“Hello,” Astarion said.

“Ah!” I yelped, stumbling against the wall and bumping my elbow hard. “Shit! Son of a---” I firmed my lips against the pain. “Please don’t do that!”

“Do what?” he asked while smirking, his arms crossed.

“Don’t sneak up on me like that, please,” I groaned, massaging my elbow.

“No promises, darling,” he said.

“Don’t call me darling,” I muttered. “What do you want?”

“What was it that you were mumbling about?” he asked instead.

'Well, shit!' “Just contemplating. A normal existential crisis,” I said, hoping it sounded like a joke. He didn’t seem impressed. 'Yeah, he’s aware of most bullshit.' I turned back, not wanting my face exposing my nervousness. “You can stay up tonight for first watch, if you like. I trust you.”

“You trust me. Despite knowing what I am. What are you up to?” he said as I reviewed my image again. Seeing him without a reflection weirded me out.

“I’m up to getting you all and I to Baldur’s Gate while finding a cure to get rid of these parasites…Actually. Can you help me with a little experiment?” I said, twisting around.

He became wary, asking, “What sort of experiment?”

“These parasites can show memories and connect thoughts. In theory, I would be able to show everyone what I’ve experienced and how I know things. I would appreciate the help,” I said, knowing he enjoyed theorizing and hypotheticals.

He put a hand on his hip and waved the other hand. “What’s in it for me?” he asked.

“You’ll have some firsthand knowledge of some things. If this works,” I said then recalled. 'Would he detect how much I like him!?' “You know what? Never mind. Forget I said anything.”

“I want to,” he said.

“No, it might be dangerous,” I mumbled, fiddling with the mirror.

“How, exactly?” he asked, giving a head tilt. “You would simply give me some foresight.” His smile curved on one side.

'He’s wanting the power of knowing. Damn it! Maybe I can hold back the feeling, but not the memory of the game?' “Fine. Besides, this’ll be good practice,” I said, setting the mirror down. “Ready?”

“Yes,” he said.

I concentrated on his tadpole. The connection touched then bound as he grimaced, his fingers by his temple. I focused on my memories of being home, of the game in front of me revealing the complex we were in. The movements and spells lined the bottom, the row of characters to the left while the map hung in the top right side of the screen. I sensed him probing to get past. I held him back enough and glided the memory to the druid grove’s door, the goblins attacking the trio and tieflings, then Wyll jumping in. The rest of my memories started rushing then I nearly thought of a skit I had seen of Astarion’s romance scene. I broke the connection then noticed I had held my breath. I breathed in a lungful of air. “Did you see anything?” I asked, dizzy.

“Why did you stop?” he asked, massaging his temple.

“I was losing focus,” I said, since it wasn’t a lie. “Did you see anything?”

“I saw goblins, humans, and tieflings. Nothing important,” he muttered.

“You didn’t see anything weird? Like symbols below or faces on one side?” I asked.

“No. You cut it off too soon,” he grumbled.

“No, I could only go so far,” I mumbled. 'So he can’t see aspects of the game itself? How am I going to get everyone to believe me?' I placed a hand on my pulsing forehead, the experience having exhausted me. “I need rest. Thank you for that. I might need you in the future.”

“Of course, darling. I’m here to help,” he said, expressing a smile.

“Don’t call me darling. And thank you,” I murmured. “Goodnight.”

A figure in the little alcove off to my left had me hesitate when I exited.

“What were you both doing?” Shadowheart asked, eyebrows furrowed.

'Ugh, not this.' “We were trying to see if I could share what I’ve seen with someone else. I could only go so far. I’ll see if I can show everyone else later, but I’m exhausted. We can do it tomorrow, okay?” I said.

“Why did you choose him? No matter if you use his form or not, he doesn’t seem like the trustworthy type,” she muttered.

'You’d be surprised.' “I thought of the idea while he and I were talking, so I wanted his help then and there. I get that you’re suspicious. But please, trust me the best you can. You don’t have to completely. And it’s going to be tough. Take it a little at a time,” I said.

Her nose scrunched. “Anytime you have an idea, you should tell everyone. Don’t localize it to the rude pale elf,” she fussed.

“I take offense to that,” Astarion sneered, standing nearby. “You’re just jealous.”

“Okay. Both of you, talk it over without killing each other. I’m going to bed,” I grumbled.

“I’d like to see her try,” he chuckled.

“Likewise,” she jeered.

“Enough!” I growled, surprising myself as well as them. “Er…goodnight.” I entered the main room, seeing Lae’zel side-eyeing me. Gale was deep in a book again. Thankfully, we had found enough bedrolls for me to sleep on while the others had the mattresses. 'Though I could take Astarion’s, since elves don’t have to sleep. Oh yeah. If I’m like this, do I have to sleep?' I considered it, but shed my coat, gloves, and boots then cozied up on the bedroll layers, passing out without knowing.

Storms raining blood.

Blood dripping from wilting trees.

Oceans of blood.

Bloody bodies.

My body coated in blood.

'No!' I gasped when I woke and sat up fast, cold sweat all over me. My body was still shaped as Astarion’s as it shivered. I rubbed my arms then saw I was in some sort of place with stars and wisps of star dust. It took me a moment then I murmured, “The Astral Plane.”

“Yes,” said a man in extravagant armor as he strolled up.

I jumped onto my feet then sighed. “Right. Hello, Emperor. Can I call you Arti? You know, since you are in the Artefact,” I said. “Besides, it’s less of a mouthful.”

He appeared to think it over as he scrutinized me with his blue eyes under his short brown fringes. “You may, as long as you tell me how you know of me,” he replied.

“I…suppose I could tell you, at least,” I mumbled, wiping at the sweat. “I’m from another universe, where all of this.” I held my arms out. “Is a game. I don’t mean like chess…er…lanceboard or one of those sorts of simple games. It’s a story-based ‘roleplaying’ game, where people of my world can control an avatar they create and interact with characters, environments, story, etc. Unlike a board game, this game is…sort of like a…You guys don’t have holograms. Hmmm. Like a flat magical image with a solid backing to help the image seem more vivid. Ugh, I don’t know how to describe my world’s technology well. This doesn’t make sense at all, huh?”

“Only some,” he rumbled, hands behind his back. “This is a game world to you. So you know what will happen.”

“What will possibly happen. Even in the game, there were so many ways to play it…But now, my influence could change everything,” I murmured. “If I mention what could occur, outcomes I don’t know will happen. But it’s the same if I don’t say anything because I’m here. And we have to deal with the---” My throat tightened, cutting off air. I grasped my neck, the muscles so tense, they ached. 'What’s happening!?' After what felt like forever, they released. I sucked in a lungful of air, dropping onto my knees.

“What happened?” he asked.

“I…I don’t…know…I was just about to say I know about the---” Again, my airway clenched, shutting me up. 'Stop!' I clasped my throat, drool lining its way from my mouth to the ground as white dots thickened the edges of my vision until I could breathe again. I spat what saliva was left as I panted, needing my vision clear. I sat on my legs and looked around. “I…I can’t tell people that far ahead? Why?”

“Perhaps since you are from another world, it still influences you,” he suggested.

“I’m stuck with my world’s rules---” I recalled Astarion’s words from the game. 'They’ve changed the rules.' My mind spun. 'I can’t warn anyone? Then…will I be forced into the situations instead of avoiding them? If I try to, will I be killed? Would I be permanently dead? What will happen to everyone if I do permanently die? Would I be able to go back home!?' I put my head in my hands, my mind going blank. I couldn’t think, couldn’t move, couldn’t feel an emotion.

I barely heard Arti say, “Sleep. We will discuss this later.”

Everything darkened as my body lost strength. I clung to the dark, but then woke, the fire crackling. “Shit,” I groaned, sitting, covered in sweat. Everyone slept facing each other. Who I didn’t see was Astarion. 'He’s probably out snacking.' I massaged my eyelids then breathed a quiet sigh. 'Well, since I’m up, I might as well go to the bathroom.' With boots in hand, I tiptoed to the door, leaving it open a crack. I stuck my boots on then wandered to the side path and did my business. 'It’s like a weird hose,' I thought of my new cock as I peed. I didn’t stimulate it, though I could tell it wanted to be. I finished quickly, but just as I pulled my pants up, a blade poked my back. I gasped, hands up.

“You will tell me what you know,” Lae’zel whispered behind me.

'Shit!' “If you kill me, you won’t know anything,” I said.

“Then I would be disposing of a possible ghaik ally,” she retorted.

“You're safe from becoming ghaik for a while. I promise,” I said then peeked. Her short lithe figure stayed by my back, her unique eyes distinct amidst her black makeup, her braided hair giving an eerie shadow across her face. She looked stealthy and sleek in her night clothes. 'Pretty.' I noticed my cock twitch. 'Don’t knock down my pants, please!' “You should’ve felt the symptoms by now, right?”

She glared then eased the blade from my back and I belted my pants. “You are correct. I should. That is what worries me,” she murmured, fearful as she glanced aside.

“Yeah, it would trouble me too. But for the time being, you are safe, as far as I know,” I said.

“You will tell me if there is a nearing possibility of ceremorphosis,” she stated, the dagger pointed at my throat.

“Yep. Don’t worry too much. I will do what I can to get you the honor of a silver sword and red dragon,” I said, winking.

Louring, she sheathed the dagger as she walked away.

'I hope she approved. Ugh, if I couldn’t shit before, I certainly can now.' I snorted a laugh at my own joke then looked out over the gigantic river and clear starry sky. The moon with the shattered pieces around it reflected on the water’s surface. “So you’re Selûne, huh?” I mused. “Nice to meet you.” Only the water and night creatures made noise. “Anyway.” I meandered back inside. Lae’zel was on her mattress. I washed my hands with a bit of alcohol then laid back down and struggled for a peaceful slumber.

[popthirdworld]

Chapter 15 - The Dungeon

This is a Christmas story told in 25 parts – with one chapter released each day of December ‘til Christmas. Enjoy!

A portal opened in the dungeon that sat deep below the ground underneath Sable’s mansion. The dungeon was dirty and cold, made up of a series of iron-barred cells and a cage dangling from a chain high overhead. The siphon stepped out of the portal with Puddles. She opened the brown sack and, with a wave of her hand, a gust of wind carried the fairies out of the bag and dropped them into the cage. Sable then waved her hand again and the yetis flew out of the sack too. They were slung into a cell with the door slamming behind them. 

Lastly, Sable dipped her arm deep into the bag and pulled out Lolly. The elf was already feeling groggy, having just fainted. She was left feeling worse once Sable hurled her into a cell, landing on a hard concrete floor with a THUMP! 

The yetis immediately began jumping up and down in their prison, flickering from visible to invisible. The fairies flittered around their cage in protest, bashing into the solid metal netting encasing them.

Sable was not about to tolerate such disruptions. She manifested thick black ropes to tie up the yetis and used her powers as siphon to suck out their vanishing abilities. The yetis howled as they felt their powers being extracted from them. Sable then turned her attention to the fairies. Sable drained the beings of their powers of flight, watching them fall to the base of their cage, one by one. 

As the yetis writhed helplessly in their restraints and the fairies let out a mournful hum, Sable summoned another portal and, with Puddles in her arms, disappeared into it. 

After Sable had left, Lolly opened her eyes and slowly tried to raise her body from the floor. The first thing that she saw was reindeer huddled together in the neighbouring cell, staring back at her.

“Comet? Vixen?” Lolly managed to squeak out in her frail state. “What are you … we … where are we?”

Dasher reached an antler through the bars for Lolly to hold onto to help lift herself up.

“Lolly!”

The elf heard an anxious voice behind her. She turned to see Ana, rushing in her direction to check her head for lumps and bruises. Ana was resplendent in the thick red cloak with white trimmings that she had been wearing back at the Workshop. She stood out among the filthy grey walls of the dungeon. Lolly noticed two other figures in the cell with them but, in her hazy state, could not make out their faces. 

“What’s going on?” Lolly murmured. 

“Sable is liquidating the Workshop and selling off its assets at an auction upstairs”, Ana recited from a piece of paper in her hand.

“Wha … ?” Lolly said, more confused than before. That did not sound like Mrs Claus.

The other two figures in the cell came into focus as they kneeled beside the elf. It was Mayor Paul and Sister Roula. They had been thrown into the dungeon by the trolls who had hauled them out of the showroom earlier. The nun and mayor still could not speak due to Sable’s hex. That is why, Ana explained to the elf, Mayor Paul had to write down what they had learned upstairs on the piece of paper she was holding. He had written it with his office ballpoint pen on a scrap of parchment from Ana’s pocket (on the other side of the parchment was a draft list of children in Angola who wanted scooters).

“Do you know where Santa is, and the two children?” Ana asked urgently.

“I … I was with them. We were in the Winter Forest. But … I don’t know where they are now. I’m sorry. I don’t know.”

With that, the elf watched as the look on the faces of Ana, Sister Roula and Mayor Paul turned from mildly hopeful to despairing.

“Lolly?” someone to her right shouted out. “Are you alright?”

Lolly recognised the voice. It was her friend and fellow elf, Lemon. Lolly turned and saw him and the other elves packed into the cell across the corridor. 

“Lemon! I’m OK. How are you all?”

“We’re fine”, a gruff elf named Marshmallow said curtly. “Ana, make sure you put some pressure on Lolly’s head. That wound looks nasty.”

Ana took out an embroidered handkerchief and pressed it against Lolly’s forehead. “I’m on it”. 

BANG!

A security guard heaped with muscles on his massive frame pounded his fist against the bars of their cell. Everyone in the dungeon jumped. The bars bent slightly from the impact. Even in her hazy state, Lolly could deduce that Sable must have imbued this guard with super-strength, just as she had with Puddles. He looked like figurines of Dwayne ‘The Rock’ Johnson that Lolly had wrapped and ribboned countless times over the years, but this muscleman was not so delightful. 

“No talking”, the guard ordered.

He strode over to sit at his desk stationed by the door. The prisoners had little option. As instructed, Ana, Mayor Paul, Sister Roula, Lolly, the other elves, reindeer, yetis and fairies fell silent.

___

Upstairs, the portal opened in the empty showroom. Sable, with the globe in her hands, marched past the various exhibits towards the pedestal with the red velvet pillow in prime position under the spotlight.

Santa, standing motionless within the globe, looked on with shock at all of the Workshop items he held dear so coldly displayed in this clinical white room. Beside each item were plaques with price estimates written upon them.

Sable placed the globe on the pillow, drew the velvet curtains and turned off the spotlight overhead. Left in the dark on the podium, the reality of what was happening dawned on Santa. He was one of the items for sale.

“Brent”, Sable called out to her personal assistant as she marched out of the room.

“Yes ma’am?”

“The auction can begin.”