#but I also knew if I told them they’d all die? I would NOT be able to handle it

[almonddirge]

Ohh my god like obviously a lot of people dissolved because of Furina but in her position I think I’d do so much worse there’s no way I could deal with that

[too-much-tma-stuff]

Finally Getting Help (prt 8)

Masterpost

The next day was less chaotic but not by much. They had to go through everything they’d taken from the Fenton’s lab, and reluctantly accepted Danny and Jazz’s help with the task because they were familiar with the tech. That was surprisingly needed since all of their gadgets were extremely obtuse and looked like household appliances. It was honestly surprising how good Danny was with all of this stuff, he knew what everything was, how to take it apart and how to put it back together to show the heroes how it worked. 

“They don’t all work for humans. Some have to be fueled with ectoplasm so they need to be constantly refueled. Dad used to wear a backpack full of the stuff ghost busters style but that’s really not practical so this one isn’t very useful to you. I can use it though,” Danny said as he screwed the last part back on the.. Whatever it was. 

“Okay, but why does it look like a blender?” Tim asked, baffled and impressed.

“Oh that’s because that’s what it was built out of,” Danny said with a crooked smile. “We repurposed a lot of household items into tech. Give me a couple toasters and a microwave and I’ll have three specter deflectors ready for you before dinner time.” He said as he pressed his hand against one of the gins and it started glowing intently green.

“Here don’t drop it,” He said tossing it to Batman, who did manage to catch it. “I fueled it with three shots, just in case Vlad shows up or another ghosts threatens you. And actually even with your charms I would feel a lot better if you all had specter deflectors since you’re all involved with me now,” He sighed and rubbed his face. 

“Well… we can get you toasters and a microwave but we can also get you more advanced parts if those will work better,” Bruce told Danny, gingerly holding the odd gun away from himself. It wasn’t a traditional gun so it wasn’t upsetting but he still didn’t like it. 

Danny looked very tempted but he shook his head. “No I’d better do it with what I know, I can get it done faster that way and they work. I’d love to play with some of those more advanced parts though. I’m sure I can come with some fun stuff.” 

Uh oh, Bruce didn’t like that look on Tim’s face, the last thing he needed was more encouragement! But Danny was the child of mad scientists, he would get along perfectly with Tim, Bruce was going to have to keep a close eye on them to make sure they didn’t accidentally make a death ray. 

“You can join me in my lab later,” Tim offered hopefully and Danny glanced up at him with a borderline feral grin. 

“That sounds great, I’m sure you have much better lab safety than my parents. Love engineering, would hate to die a second time.” He said it like a joke, just the way Jason tended to. Jazz laughed, but only to encourage her brother’s coping method, no one else did. 

“Alright, we’ll go to the nearest home appliance store and get you some toasters and microwaves,” Bruce said. 

“Hell ya, I should have been adopted by a rich family years ago,” Danny cackled. Oh dear, he’d been so traumatized yesterday Bruce hadn’t realized he was Feral. Why did this keep happening.

He informed Alfred of Danny’s request and by the time they finished going over the more confusing inventions and left for lunch the appliances were waiting for Danny in the lab that he and Tim would apparently now be sharing. Danny immediately dove on the machinery starting to take them apart with practiced hands. He seemed calm and in his element but Tim stayed to supervise, both just in case something went wrong, and because it was His lab and they hadn’t talked about rules of cohabitation yet.

Bruce left them to it. Alfred had informed him that Jason had arrived and headed straight to the kitchen without saying hello to anyone else. It wasn’t a surprise, he was closest to Alfred, he’s want to help with making dinner, and get the basic scoop from his most trusted family member before having to face anyone else. Bruce knew better than to intrude on that, but God did he want to. 

Regardless of what his children thought Bruce cared deeply for all of them, and he hated that sometimes they doubted it. He wished he was better at telling and showing them, but he’d managed to convince himself it was too late for him to change so he didn’t have to face the years of mistakes and trauma he had endured and inflicted. No matter what what image he tried to project, he was still only human.

He went to his office, but he couldn’t settle to anything, he did a little bit of this, and little bit of that, and just ended up pacing the carpeted floor. He left them alone as long as he could before he gave in and went down to the kitchen.

“Sorry to interrupt, I just needed a cup of coffee,” He said as casually as he could. The looks Alfred and Jason gave him said neither of them actually believed his excuse, which was fair. “It’s good to see you Jaylad, thanks for coming.”

“Well I’m not going to miss out on a new brother am I? You gonna have this one running around in spandex too B?” He asked, raising an eyebrow, it made Bruce wince but it Was progress because he was acknowledging their familial ties. 

“I’m almost two years too late to stop him,” Bruce said regretfully. “It’s been… a lot has happened. I’m sure Alfred caught you up on most of it, but I’d like to talk to you before you meet either of the siblings.”

“Trying to make sure I won’t be a bad influence?” Jason asked and Bruce couldn’t tell if he was joking or accusing. 

“No, nothing like that,” Bruce said, holding up his hands. “I just want to talk.”

Jason hummed skeptically, scrutinizing Bruce before turning back towards Alfred. “What do you think Alfie, can you spare me?”

“I always appreciate your help master Jason, but I can manage on my own,” Alfred assured, sounding amused. 

“Alright, to your office then?” Jason asked, turning back towards Bruce. 

“Or the sitting room, whichever would be more comfortable.”

“Office,” Jason said firmly, this was the distance that he was keeping between them. They worked together now, and Jason cared for his siblings, but he kept them all at arms length. For everyone’s safety really, if they set him off he didn’t want to hurt them, and he didn’t want to be set off either. It always felt like shit. Jason followed Bruce to the office and sprawled in the soft chair across the desk from Bruce’s. He remembered being a kid, sitting properly and nervously in this chair across from Bruce hoping desperately for his approval. How times change.

“I just wanted to talk to you about the new kids” Bruce started and Jason waved him away.

“I’m really not going to corrupt them or anything, I Probably won’t be around enough to make a difference anyway.” Jason said dismissively.

Bruce took a deep breath, controlling his expression and folding his hands on the table. “That’s not it Jaylad, Alfred must have told you that the boy died and came back?” 

Jason tensed and green swirled in his vision, it was the same thing that Bruce had seen in Danny when Zatana asked about Phantom. “Ya he did.” Defensive and insecure.

“It seems like he, and his sister who was sort of a caretaker to him, know a lot more than we do about the effect that that has on a person. To help us take care of Danny she gave us a presentation about it, it… makes a lot of sense. You should probably talk to her and Danny about it really but I just wanted to apologize. 

“I’ve been trying to fix this, fix… you for a long time and I know I’ve been going about it wrong and I’ve been hurting you.”

“You got a new treatment plan in mind, old man?” Jason asked, his arms crossed and Bruce wished that mistrust wasn’t earned. 

“No,” Bruce sighed looking down. “Really Jason I don’t, I know I was wrong. This is something I just didn’t know I didn’t know about,” He hated his own ignorance, he hated to admit it! He was Batman! The way he kept up with other superheroes was always being prepared for everything and knowing more than everyone around him, but he hadn’t even known there was something there to know!

“This isn’t about that, and it’s not about you staying away from the new kids. Exactly the opposite actually, since they know more about this, and Danny might be one of the few people who really understands what it’s like to die and come back like that, I was hoping you’d spend more time here, around them. I think it might help you both.”

“Huh,” Jason sounded, blinking rapidly because that was the most sincere apology he’d gotten from Bruce and he didn’t quite know how to react to it. “Maybe… maybe.” He hadn’t met the new siblings yet after all, maybe they’d hate each other. 

“Can I meet them now?” He asked looking back up at Bruce curiously. 

“Of course, the girl's name is Jasmine Fenton, called Jazz, the boy goes by Danny. Jazz is turning 18 soon, Danny is 16.” 

Right Tim had mentioned that, so Danny was about 3 years younger than him then. That shouldn’t matter too much, and maybe Tim will be right about the sister and can tease Jason about it. He’d been single for a while and wouldn’t mind changing that.

“Of course, I think you should meet Jazz first, she’s protective of Danny and she hasn’t been very involved in all of this. I think she’d feel better being allowed to… vet you first for lack of a better word. Are you okay with that?” Bruce asked Jason politely. 

“Sure, I don’t really care what order I meet them in and… Look Bruce I know I’m mad at you, and I was really hard on Timmy when everything was still raw. But I’m never going to knowingly hurt a kid, or make life harder for them. If I can help them I will,” Jason said sincerely. 

“Jason, the girl is less than a year younger than you. You’re a kid too,” Bruce said sadly. Jason froze for a moment, Yes he was 19, his mind wasn’t fully developed yet or whatever the hell, but he hadn’t felt like a kid since his death. Even before that, the responsibility for his mother, and then the work as a hero. Bruce wanted soldiers, Jason had never gotten a chance to be a kid really.

“Whatever,” Jason scoffed, shoving his hands into his pockets and standing up, closing himself off from that sincerity. “Do you know where she is?”

“She’s in the library,” Bruce said, his lips twitching up in a smile. “She loves books almost as much as you did, though she seems to be more drawn to non-fiction.” 

Jason hummed and nodded, heading towards the door since he knew his own damn way to the library, Bruce didn’t have to lead! He did follow through, he was clearly protective of these kids so of course he would want to be there when Jason met them.

When he entered the library he saw a young woman sitting at one of the tables with some sort of text book. Her back was straight and her legs tucked under the chair with her ankles crossed. It looked like she was self consciously trying to look put together. She looked up at them, blue green eyes looking him over critically, he could practically see her picking him apart in her mind and he tried not to fidget.

“Hey, it’s nice to meet you, I’m Jason Todd,” He said, walking over and offering her his hand to shake. She was very pretty, but he was surprised by his own complete lack of attraction, she just didn’t register that way, she seemed more… maternal almost.

“Ah, the dead son,” She chuckled, getting up from the table and reaching out to shake his hand, her grip was strong and her hands were soft and cool. “It’s nice to meet you, they mentioned you. Nothing bad,” She added when she saw her face. “And I don’t mean to be rude, I know some people are sensitive about their deaths being mentioned. Danny jokes about it all the time so… I just wanted to let you know that I know, and I accept you.” Jazz said with a warm smile. 

Her easy acceptance caught him off guard and before he could help it he was baring his teeth at her in a snarl, defensive and probing, did she mean it? She grinned sharper bearing sharp fangs at him in a matching sign of… friendly aggression, something inside him settled. He chuckled and took a step back. “Well thanks, nice to meet someone who doesn’t look like they bit a lemon every time I make a death joke.”

“It’s your death, as long as it’s healthy you can own that however comes naturally to you,” Jazz promised, sitting back down at the desk. “I’d love to talk more and get to know you, but we can do that later. You really should meet Danny.”

“You don’t want to come with us,” Bruce broke in, sounding worried. Jason had almost forgotten he was there, he hadn’t realized how… all encompassing the short interaction had been.

“I’ll probably follow,” Jazz said with a shrug, her gaze turning stern as she looked at Bruce. “Remember what I said about never breaking up a fight,” She told him firmly. 

Well if that didn’t make Jason nervous he didn’t know what did. Why would he fight with Danny? Would Danny fight with him? Why? “You really think it’s a good idea for us to meet? Why would we fight?” Jason asked her sharply.

“Of course,” she agreed, her eyes softening as she looked back at him, though her expression remained a little mischievous. “It’ll be good for both of you.”

Next

[hyunsvngs]

kinktober !

kink: tentacles

pairing: kim seungmin x fem!reader

wc: 2.3k

tentacle kink: a sexual interest in tentacles and the imagined creatures that have them.

It had to work. You would die if it didn’t work.

Then again, you’d probably die if it did work. You’re trying to summon Slenderman, after all. No one would understand why except for you. You’ve always had an affinity for all things macabre and dangerous, and maybe you’re a little messed up. After deep diving on Reddit, you were more than dubious that the creature actually existed. You had to find out. You had to see for yourself.

Clearly not that bad, because you hadn’t gone into the woods like they’d told you to online. The October weather was ultimately too cold to be trekking through branches and fallen leaves, even to try and summon your favourite Creepypasta entity - you did the second option instead, drawing a quick symbol on your wall with marker and all of the lights turned out.

The poem felt a little silly coming from your lips, despite Reddit users insisting it’s mandatory for the summoning. It felt even sillier when you stared at the symbol, barely visible through the moonlight flooding in beyond the curtains, but you had to persevere. If he was real, he’d come to your room and meet you. If he was real.

You ended the poem, finally opening your eyes and sighing. You blinked at the wall, quickly looking around the room. What a load of bullshit. Slenderman isn’t real, then. You’d proved it for yourself, and-

“This is fucking ridiculous,” There was a thud behind you, and you spun around on your bed, hazily trying to see who had joined you in your room. You reached over with a squeak, flicking your lamp on. There, in what almost looked like the Slenderman from your dreams - a man, dressed in a suit and dark, ebony hair pushed back from his forehead. He kicked an imaginary stone with his shoe, shoving his broad hands into his pockets and finally looking up at you. He blinked at you a few times, and then raised an eyebrow. “Why are you scared? Did you not ask for this?”

You huffed. “Well, you’re not Slenderman.”

The man groaned, head rolling back. He cracked his neck effortlessly on both sides, and then stared back into your eyes. His gaze was piercing, dark and feeling all too consuming. “I am- I’m like his brother, but not in the way you humans adhere to. He sends me for cases like yours. Minor, petty things.”

“Cases like mine?” You scoffed, resisting the urge to punch the man in his annoyingly attractive face. He wandered over to your desk, wholly unaffected, and started to flick through your diary. “Hey-!”

“Cases like yours,” He repeated, a small smile flickering on his lips at one of the pages. “Sexually charged cases. You are a little fucked up, aren’t you?”

You bristled. You knew exactly what page he was looking at. Your diary was for mundane things, your day-to-day life, but it was also where you detailed your more… late night fantasies. Recently, some rather obscure things had been taking up the majority of your brain, and maybe that’s what had pushed you to summon Slenderman. You’d never admit that, though.

In all honesty, this guy was kind of hot. You weren’t sure if it was the mysterious atmosphere about him, if he was clearly otherworldly judging from his alabaster skin, or if it was his long legs in those suit trousers. If you were of a different state of mind, you’d have believed he was the entity you were trying to reach. There was just one thing.

“Aren’t you a bit short to be related to Slenderman?”

The man stopped. He sighed, and then shut the diary, before turning to you with one long, accusing finger. “First off, I’m not that short. Secondly, I told you, it’s not the same as what you humans think siblings are. Also, I don’t have to prove myself to you.”

You grinned. “You just tried though, right?”

He rolled his eyes, stalking over to the bed. “I think I’ll kill you sooner than I planned. You’re rude.”

“You’re rude too,” You huffed, trying to kick him in the leg from your position on your bed. Instead of catching it with his hands, a pitch-black tentacle sprouted from his back and wrapped around your ankle, effectively pinning it down and rendering you motionless. You gasped, and he raised an eyebrow. “What the-”

“We do have some similarities,” The man began, drawing the tentacle tighter. “We’re of the same species, for one. I suppose I’m not as prestigious as him, but you seem happy enough to have me here, right?”

You blinked. “I would actually prefer if you left, in all honesty.”

“Can’t,” He shrugged, withdrawing the tentacle. Your ankle flopped back to the bed and you grabbed it instinctively, slightly disappointed to feel no traces of the slimy limb. “I need to kill you. It’s in the rulebook, you know? Once you’ve seen one of us, you have to die, or my mission will fail.”

What were you meant to do in this situation? You didn’t really want to die. You hadn’t thought the whole thing through at all. You’d expected to just see traces of the entity, perhaps catch him from the corner of your eye - you were instead left with a sexy long-limbed man standing in front of your bed, basked in the soft orange glow of your bedside lamp.

“Why kill me when you could fuck me instead?” You’d said the first thing that came to mind. The man’s jaw dropped, before it quickly reverted back to normal, his head tilting to the side in confusion.

“You are pretty weird, aren’t you? Unusual. A little fucked up, like I said.”

“That wasn’t a no,” You hummed. The man’s eyes burnt a trail down your legs, exposed in your sleep shorts, and then his eyes were fixated on a patch of skin revealed on your shoulder from where your shirt had slipped to the side. You scoffed, yanking the shirt back into place. “Oh my God, you want to, don’t you?! That’s why you haven’t left!”

He shrugged. “I’ve never fucked a human. It could be fun.”

You blanched. Okay, you hadn’t expected to get this far. After you had, though… Well, he had tentacles. That was something from your deepest, darkest desires, something that you would try to push to the back of your brain and scrunch your eyes shut tightly with your hand shoved down your pyjama trousers. It was a once in a lifetime opportunity. You were already getting wet, clit throbbing with need.

He started to move towards you. First, it was one knee on the bed, and then the other joined, starting a slow crawl that resulted in his face getting closer. You hadn’t realised you were moving closer, too, and you gulped. “What’s- what’s your name?”

The man chuckled, face only inches from yours now. His face looked young, you noticed, yet his eyes held a wildfire inside as if there was so much you didn’t know. There was so much you wanted to know. “Seungmin.”

You had no time to debate it, because his lips were pressing against yours. They were soft, plush, and you found yourself whimpering into his kiss. He’d effectively shut you up. Without a second passing, Seungmin was dominating your mouth, pressing his tongue in and rolling it against yours. How did just a kiss feel so good?

You let him push you back into the sheets, forearms landing on your pillow either side of your head for purchase. He deepened the kiss, his hands moving to tangle in your hair as he held you in place. You felt your pussy flutter, achingly horny despite the lack of stimulation, and your breath caught in your chest. 

Seungmin pulled away and you licked your lips, chest heaving. “I.. can I see them?”

“See what?” He mused, thumb brushing along your lower lip. One look at the amused expression on his face told you that he knew. 

“The…” You gulped, legs parting to allow him closer to you. His bulge was thick, pressing tightly against your core. “The tentacles, Seungmin. Can I see them? How many are there?”

“Four, baby,” He leaned down, nipping at your neck. You gasped, hips bucking up, choosing not to comment on the pet name in your haze of lust. “I can put one in your pussy, one in your asshole and one in your mouth. How’s that? Is that dirty enough for you?”

You whimpered, grinding on his bulge. Seungmin allowed it, hands moving to your hips to aid your movement. It had your sleep shorts slipping around, fabric sticking to the wetness accumulated on your folds. You whined, arms thrashing until they settled around his broad shoulders, still clad in his expensive-looking suit. “What about your cock, Seungmin?”

“My cock?” Seungmin scoffed, running his tongue up your neck. It made you squirm, thighs clenching around his slender waist. His hair tickled your skin, dark and perfect as if he’d spent hours styling it. You knew he hadn’t. “I can fuck you without needing to cum, baby. I doubt I can say the same for you.”

“No, I’ll- I’ll probably cum as soon as you put one in, to be honest,” You admitted, cheeks burning crimson with embarrassment. 

“Hmm, that makes a lot of sense,” Seungmin reached down, yanking your sleeping shorts down. It bared your pussy to the room, cold air hitting your clit and the slick on your pussy. It made you jolt, squeaking as Seungmin saw you in such an intimate way. “You’re wet. Are you feeling impatient? Needy, even?”

“Yes! Yes, God, I need it,” You huffed, spreading your thighs further. You were practically spread eagle now, and you ran your fingertips over the soft expanse of your tummy, just barely visible below your shirt. You continued the journey down your body, looking up at Seungmin with pleading eyes, and then you pressed two fingers into your clit. You flinched, wailing at the stimulation. “Ah, I’m so horny, I’m so horny, what the fuck-”

“Stay still, I’ll give it to you,” Seungmin murmured, and then you caught sight of them again. Four pitch-black tentacles sprouted from his back, seeming to forego his clothes and then one was tickling at your entrance. You moaned, because were they suckers?

It was easy to learn that yes, his tentacles had suckers, and he was now brushing one over your clit. You obediently moved your hands out of the way, back to their position on his shoulders. It sucked onto the swollen bundle of nerves with ease, and just as you started to squirm, another tentacle was pressing into your tight, drippy hole. You could feel the amount of slick you’d gushed beneath you, ruining your bed and quite possibly ruining you for any other man. The appendage itself was lubed, brushing through your own wetness and creating a filthy noise that rang throughout your bedroom.

“Don’t squirm,” Seungmin commanded, hand running up your thigh comfortingly. The tentacle pushed in further, and you clenched, wet, heavy breaths coming from your mouth. “That’s it, good girl. Let it push inside you, just like that.”

The tentacle was narrow at the tip, but it flared much further out after an inch or so. The stretch made your pussy leak even more than what was imaginable. You didn’t think you’d ever been this wet. The appendage was long, but Seungmin kept pushing more and more until you were taking around five inches of it, and you whined, reaching down to press at his stomach.

“Too big, too much,” You protested, but Seungmin shushed you, pressing a kiss into your cheek.

“Your pussy’s just too little, baby. Too tight,” He grunted, and then he pushed another inch in. “Take it. Take it for me, and I might think about giving you my cock later.”

“Your- would you?” Your eyes were teary, toes curling into the bed. “Been good. Tryin’ to take it, ‘s just- it’s so thick, so long. Seungmin, Seungmin, sir, sir, you said you- you’re not gonna kill me?”

“How can I kill such a sweet thing?” His hand moved to your cheek, before moving down, wrapping around your neck. The pressure was light, but very much there, making you moan out into your room. “You’re whining so pretty for me. Calling me sir, taking this just like it’s my cock. You’re dirty. I have to keep you around, don’t I?”

You nodded, legs thrashing on the bed. Your chest heaved, a blotchy pink rash overtaking your skin. “It’s good, it’s so good, so thick, oh- Oh, I think I might…?”

“You think you’re gonna cum?” Seungmin scoffed. “Already? Alright, do it. I’ll let you. Just this once, okay?”

You keened, hands gripping onto his shoulders. Your fingernails must have been digging into him almost painfully, but he didn’t flinch, staring straight at you with the same dark, piercing gaze. Your pussy clenched down, tight and fluttering, and then you were-

You gasped, eyes fluttering open as you attempted to look around your bedroom. The sun had just begun to rise, but your boyfriend was awake, and pulled you into his chest upon seeing your eyes open. 

“Sounded like hell of a dream,” Seungmin smirked, his eyebrow raising. You bit your lip, staring up at him. “Was it about me?”

“Always is,” You mumbled, burying your face in his shirt. He chuckled, shoulders shaking as he rubbed down your back with a tender, broad hand. “It was dirty.”

“Yeah? Another reenactment of how we first met?”

You sighed, brushing your hand down one of his tentacles. It laid bare on your bed, and twitched with approval as you fidgeted with it.

“Yeah, something like that.”

[the-artist-grimm]

Brainworm won't leave me, about angst of your Narilamb but on the other side of the coin.

So Imma just write about it even if I should be sleeping right now. Do what you wish.

Fate is irreversible. The Lamb would die a sacrifice, even the God of Death couldn't prevent it. Sure they had delayed it; allowed the Lamb to show the Bishop of Old that their fate was already written. But with it done, there's nothing stopping fate to strike once more.

The Lamb could feel it in the air, in the bones. Perhaps the crown had allowed them to feel the presence of an end. And theirs was soon to arrive.

Perhaps Narinder still had hope, that their weapon could return after their sacrifice. That the Lamb could be kept by his side and that of his kits. Yet the Lamb knew better than to rely on only hope.

The Lamb's heart was full, of love for who is now considered family to them. For Narinder, Aym and Baal. And for them, The Lamb would do it. Sacrificing their life for their freedom. For the kits to finally see the world the Lamb has told them so much about. For Narinder to feel the rain against their fur once more.

With a resolve of steel, the Lamb is ready, in an outfit they've carefully curated for their last moment. Perhaps it is full of old memories; inspired by any remaining traditions of the sheepfolk who will soon vanish with the Lamb. Maybe something akin to marriage; as they have accepted that they would never see the day of their own and that the freedom of their loves should be the happiest day of their life.

With a sad smile, the Lamb dedicate their death to the three person who fills their heart with love. Ripping it from their chest and crushing it; letting the large amount of devotion they had for their God, and the Red Crown, float back to its rightful owner. The Lamb swore they heard the screams of Aym and Baal, calling for the first time their Baba. They could feel a pang tug and their heart, even if no longer in their chest; never knowing before how much they longed for the both of them to see the Lamb like a parent.

Their weapon discarded, both kits rushed to the Lamb's side, begging, pleading for them to not leave; grasping at the Lamb's ever colder body.

Maybe in a moment of clarity, The One Who Waits sheds their gargantuan form for that of a more reasonable one. They are silent, whirlwind of thoughts and emotions flying through their head yet they chose to ignore most; going straight for the Lamb. Tears already flowing unbeknownst to him. Maybe they were the Crown's.

It's kinda funny, the Lamb never thought they would had been able to hold Narinder in their arms fully; yet even in this form he is as beautiful as the day they first met him. The Lamb smile softly at him, barely hearing him talk about promises to bring them back, cursing himself for his greed and his stubbornness, that he shouldn't had ignored his feelings when really the only thing he now desired was fading infront of him.

Maybe, just maybe, the Lamb can reach for a goodbye kiss. Not the one they had dreamed of, but it was their last chance before vanishing into the same ashes that covers the entirety of Narinder's realm; leaving now three black cat free, yet so cold and alone.

THIS IS AMAZING WHAT THE HECK. ALSO HOW ARE YOU IN MY HEAD (adding the angst art first in case people don't wanna read my lore dump lol)

Like Anthea WOULD have died had Narinder not let slip just how much he cared about them. He didn’t confess his love-he wasn't ready to do so just yet, but upon seeing the lamb break down in the ruins of their home village shortly before they'd started on Silk Cradle, seeing them finally let all the years of grief and anger and guilt take over and swear that no matter what they’d get him and the kits out-that while they couldn’t save their family they would save his even if that meant their death, in the ‘good’ ending sort of speak (which yeah has the betrayal but it leads both to grow and eventually be happy again), he tells them no-that freedom isn’t worth it without the lamb leaving the gateway alongside the twins and himself. He would not accept any outcome that didn't have them by his side.

Having spent their whole life giving up things for others, Narinder essentially saying he’d give up his freedom, the thing he wanted most, for them was what made the lamb want to try and have a future. Because here was someone who wanted Anthea by his side because he cared for them, and they realized they wanted that too. It's why in the good end Anthea starts weaving a courtship sash for Narinder, because while they didn't bet on his feelings being romantic, that admission was what made them realize they'd long fallen in love, and it was the one thing they could do to show just how much those words meant to them. A promise in return to be by his side as well in whatever way he'd have them. A promise to live.

Had Narinder held his tongue and not given into the impulse to say ‘no’, or had he instead told the lamb that their fate was to die, then Anthea would have laid their life down one last time. They might've realized they'd fallen in love sometime before that, but the desire to see their beloved and their children free would've outweigh the desire to be 'selfish' and want to be free with them.

5 chains bound the god they’d grown to love, and though 4 were linked to his siblings the 5th metaphysical one could only be unlocked by the sacrifice of a devout heart. It had been Shamura’s final failsafe. They knew that Narinder may be able to kill the bishops in his rage, but had counted on him never finding someone willing to sacrifice themselves like that.

But the main theme of Crimson Angel is expressing your feelings, and in the bad end, neither Anthea or Narinder learn to do so. Narinder keeps his love close to his chest, while Anthea loves the one way they know how-through sacrifice.

So yeah thank you for the fic and I shall now add it to the little metaphorical trinket box of ‘fanart/gifts to look at in awe'

[metamorphesque]

Short Story: "Why do flowers die so soon?", Vardges Petrosyan

(translated from Armenian by Tathev Simonyan)

…I remember the last days of my life, which were unlike any that had come before. To the world, I seemed so happy: I had brothers, a sister, a family, a child who was a bell and a brook’s murmur. What else could one need for happiness? And yet, something was missing, for I was not happy. And then, out of nowhere, she poured into my life.

Has it ever happened that, on a hot summer day, while you’re standing there, dazed by the sun and dreams, someone playfully poured cold water on your neck? At first, you might startle, maybe even scold the one who did it, but then you suddenly feel that’s exactly what you’d been standing in the sun for, perhaps you’d been standing your whole life just for that.

That’s how she poured into my life—wild and astounding, asking for nothing, careless as could be. Now I can’t even recall if she was beautiful. In her eyes, there was an inquisitive sadness, a sliver of sky, and a bit of rustling. It felt as though those eyes were always gazing at life, asking, “Why...?” She came uninvited, wrapped herself around my days like a grapevine curling up its wooden stakes, offering me all the clusters of her youth—everything she had. And she asked for nothing. Nothing at all. Until the very end, I couldn’t convince her that I loved her too. Perhaps I didn’t truly believe it then, for I kept reminding myself every moment: I have no right to love her. And maybe that’s why, when she laid her whole life at my feet, I kept glancing at my watch; she brought me the full nakedness of her youth, while I closed the curtains and turned off the light. I never went out in public with her, and the world never found out that I was finally happy. Our love was akin to a fire we tried to cover with our hands, though the flame was scorching and uncontainable.

I’m afraid my beginning is dragging on too long.

I was ill before I died. All day long, my mother, my brothers, and my wife—sorrowful and pale—remained by my side, though in those last days, we no longer understood or recognized one another. Only she was missing, the one I waited for and loved most. She couldn’t come to our house. My brothers knew I would die; the doctor had told them so. They believed it, perhaps even expected it—sad and resigned. Only my mother didn’t believe it, though not because she was unaware of what the doctor had said…

Perhaps it’s best if I tell you about my last day. By then, I already knew I would die that very day. That’s why I wanted to laugh when the doctor tried to give me an injection, examined my stomach, and then prescribed some medicine: “Give him this twice a day for a week.” I didn’t blame him—this calm, warm-handed man; he just didn’t understand me, and no doctor understands that people only die when they’re truly exhausted. Someone might grow tired at eighteen, and another at seventy. I was tired. But I wasn’t sad. My bookshelf was in front of me, though I didn’t think about the fact that my fingers would no longer touch those books. I knew that other fingers would, and for books, it makes no difference. Books are a bit like gossipers—they reveal their secrets to anyone, so I knew that they’d share them with someone else, too. With sadness I only looked at the acacia tree rustling below my window and at the sky in the distance. I wished I could take with me, to that place beneath the ground, just a bit of that rustling and a sliver of sky. But I knew it was impossible.

“I’ll go grab some cigarettes,” I suddenly heard my older brother say, even though I knew he didn’t smoke. He was either heading out to send a telegram to our relatives or he simply didn’t want to see me pass. I understood and said goodbye with a glance, knowing we would never meet again in this world. He left. I asked my wife to take our child outside for some fresh air. “I’ll take him,” she replied, not realizing she’d never hear my voice again. I also said something to my mother, but she didn’t leave. This saddened me deeply, and I slowly closed my eyes. I don’t know how much time passed, only that I suddenly heard my mother’s gut-wrenching scream and knew I had already died. Through my closed eyelids, I saw everyone come rushing in, saw them carry my mother out—the first to sense my death, though the only one who hadn’t believed it was near.

After that, everything unfolded as it always does.

For two days, people gathered around me, and I saw many familiar faces I hadn’t seen in years. They cried or stood somber and silent, then left. Sometimes, those sounds or that silence wore me out, and I wanted to ask them to talk or be quiet. But there was such calm within me that I didn’t dare to open my eyes. With a strange sense of wonder I began to observe people—many of whom I thought I knew well. Not knowing I was watching, they felt no need to pretend. I recalled what I used to think of them when I was alive, and, truthfully, at times, I felt embarrassed by those old thoughts and judgments. But that wasn’t what preoccupied me the most; every day, I searched for the one who never came. I knew she couldn’t simply come and stand quietly by my side like the others. I knew that as soon as she entered, everyone would know. My heart ached with longing; I missed her deeply, even thought of asking my mother to call her, but I was too worn out to open my eyes. I was so tired, and for the first time, I could think of her in peace, knowing no one would interrupt—not with a phone call, nor a glance, nor love, nor hate. I thought of her even when they carried me down my street, the street where I’d grown up, loved, and grown weary.

The street was full of sunlight, but for the first time, I didn’t feel hot; instead, I wanted even more of the sun, bigger and warmer. I looked at my street: trams, cars, people stood with a kind of sadness that wore my heart out. I didn’t want to be the reason behind anyone’s sadness; thus, I didn’t feel bad at all when I saw a boy and girl under a tree, holding hands and smiling into each other’s eyes. At first, I thought they hadn’t noticed the procession, but then the girl looked directly at me and smiled again. The boy looked too, with kind and happy eyes. I wanted to smile back, maybe even wave, but I was too tired, and besides, if I lifted my hand, the flowers would fall.

Then we walked into the cemetery, and that’s when I saw her. I saw her and smiled—or rather, that smile had been there on my face the whole time because I’d been thinking of her in my final moments. For two days, through my closed eyelids, I saw that no one understood that smile; some even looked at it strangely and confused. But at the graveside, she understood; I even saw her smile back at me. Then her figure was obscured from my view by my relatives, my loved ones, and I remembered our last night together…

We were walking through the darkness. Only in darkness could we love each other freely in the open world, which is why we despised not just electric lights but even the stars when they shone too brightly. We were walking through the dark, and she wanted me to say that she was the one I loved most in the world. I was silent, perhaps already sensing that I was too tired of keeping that sentence unsaid, one I longed to cry out through all the speakers of the world. I was tired—tired of this darkness, of the lights, of everything—yet she waited. And later, under the ground, I deeply regretted that I hadn’t said those words meant only for her, belonging only to her, but it was already too late.

As I reminisced about our last night together, they started to lower me into the ground. I caught a final glimpse of her between my relatives' feet and heard her gaze. "Should I come with you?" she asked. "Should I?" That’s how I used to hear her voice through the receiver back then. In that final moment, I realized that if I just nodded, she would come, but she was only twenty-one, so I replied, "Stay." She heard my gaze, heard silently, just as she always had. Soon, she was obscured from view, and I realized I was already beneath the ground. After that, I heard the familiar sounds of stones and soil. And then, nothing more; only the thick fragrance of flowers lingered, frozen between me and the earth, then, thinking of her, I grew numb: I tried to recall the date and the day, but could only keep track of the calendar for a week or two.

Thus, days turned into months, and perhaps years went by. And I remember the words I never said to her, to the world, which is why I began to murmur this belated confession from beneath the earth. I began to exist through those unsaid words. Each day, I tried to remember how long our love lasted. A few... months? days? years?…

One day, I looked up and saw the sky once more; they had torn down our cemetery and replaced it with a garden of grasses and flowers. I had become a flower. I looked around in excitement, eager to find her and give her the words that were meant for her, belonged only to her... But she was not there; all around me were unfamiliar flowers that I did not recognize. I realized I must have been beneath the earth for perhaps an entire century, and she, too, might now be a flower, a blade of grass, or a handful of grain—who knows where in all the fields of the world... I was ready to search the globe for her, but I was just a flower, and I died as soon as I tried to lift my feet from the soil. I died for the last time. When I once more turned into soil, only then did I understand why flowers die so soon: all flowers might once have been people who rose from the earth in search of that someone, only to not find them and wither away, dying one last time. I realized that nothing in this world can be found twice, and I longed to cry out with all my floral voice, “Don’t let go, people, don’t lose what you have!”

[susiekern]

a/n: this one's for my nanami girls out there, nanami is a simp, y/n is a simp, and honestly girl, same, not proofread obv

y/n is a cursed speech user, when she's saying something in cursive, that's her technique, just explaining

Summary: after 14 years of just thinking, it's time for both you and Nanami to do something finally

word count: 2,940

Everyone who was ever associated with the Jujutsu world knew that Gojo Satoru was the strongest.

But Nanami Kento? Nanami was close behind.

This man went through so many things in his life. Fought so many enemies, both human and curses, that he lost count of how many battles he went through. And never once in his life did he look at someone or something and think, “This is how I die.”

Until he met you.

You were going to be the death of him.

When you first met in Jujutsu High as first-year students, he was stunned. You were one of the most stubborn, most driven people he had ever seen, and when some people would say it was your most annoying trait, Nanami was enamored by it. He saw your stubbornness as a virtue, as you were the one to study and train for hours, even when your body wanted to give up, your mind kept going.

Quickly you became friends, three of you keeping close. And back then, he thought it was everything he wanted in life. Becoming stronger with every day, you and Haibara close by, powering each other to keep going. Then you lost Yu. Both going through it, staying sane only thanks to the other one. Sometimes you’d just sit in silence, no words needed to say “I’m here for you.” Nanami knew you were the most important person in his life. He’d look out for you at every mission, endangering his own life, just to keep you safe. He held you close when nightmares of the night you lost Haibara hunted you. He memorized every little thing you told him, even as small as your favorite candy flavor or how you explained that chemical cherry tasted so much better than the actual fruit.

Nanami Kento thought he’d do anything to stay that way, with you close, even if it wasn’t as close as he’d like.

But then you graduated and went your separate ways. He didn’t try to stop you when you told him you wanted to travel and help people around the world. He didn’t ask you to stay in Tokyo with him. He also never told you how grateful he was for every conversation, every hug, every night you spent lying next to each other, not touching but giving that comfort of company. How much he loved you.

He tried getting over you, lord knows he did. Going on dates, putting himself “out there”, and meeting people even when that voice in his head told him he’d never find someone even close to you. And every time he thought he was close to forgetting how good your body felt in his arms, how your voice took away all his worries, how your smile made his entire day better, you’d come back to Tokyo to take a break. And he’d fall back into this spiral again. 

It was one of the reasons for Nanami to leave the Jujutsu world behind. To try normal life. And for four years, it seemed to work. He declined every invitation for a meeting from his old friends, worried somehow you’d be there and his feelings would wake up. Because they never went away. He was certain they’d be there, deep inside his mind and heart till the day he died. 

But the one thing about jujutsu sorcerers: once you become one, you’re always one. Now, he was back. Working missions, helping Gojo with his students, and spending time with people that (although he’d never admit it) he missed in the last few years. And for a couple of months, it was good. He felt like himself again. Until one day he arrived at Jujutsu High and saw both Shoko and Gojo excited. Looking his way with mischief on their faces, giving him flashbacks from school years, when they’d pull a prank on their underclassman. He somehow made it till afternoon, ignoring both of them as well as he could. He was tempted to ask Shoko what the two of them were up to when she suggested going for a drink later, but he told himself it was probably better to stay in the bliss of unawareness and simply nodded. With everything going on about Yuji, unregistered curses, and Sukuna’s fingers, he felt like a drink or two was very much needed.

And boy, he would need more than one or two. More like a whole bottle.

Cause after maybe an hour of sitting with Gojo and Ino at the club, he felt almost a pull to look towards the front door where Ieiri showed up. And behind her was standing a reason for every night he spent awake, lost in memories. You were there.

Looking as beautiful as ever, dangerous almost. A black dress tight around your fit body, toned after years and years of training and battles, heels that made your legs look incredible, hair pulled over one shoulder, and red lipstick on deadly lips. He knew what those lips could do, and he didn’t mean anything inappropriate. 

You came from the Inumaki clan, a cursed speech user. Although not as powerful as your little cousin, Toge, your technique was why you were a successful "freelancer". You could make people do exactly what you wanted with just a whisper. How many times did he imagine your soft whispers in his ear when he stayed awake late at night? It was embarrassing to even try to count.

“Surprise, Nanamin! Our little maneater is in town.” Gojo grins when he notices his friend’s gaze stuck on your figure. You say something to Shoko and leave towards the bar, while the other woman makes her way to the booth they were occupying.

He couldn’t care less right now, eyes still on you as you confidently make your way through the mass of people. Woman on the mission. And he had no idea how right he was.

You were in Tokyo planning to take a break, a breather, after a particularly busy season. But as you landed in Japan, a bid showed up for a curse user, a man who would fish out single women to first use them and then sell them to other psychos. It was a perfect opportunity for you, you’d get the job done quickly and then spend time focusing on your second mission. Nanami Kento is your main target tonight.

You were over the moon when Ieiri told you he was back in the game, stronger than ever. That man was a menace to your existence, stuck in your brain even all these years after you parted. You spent all of high school almost drooling at every sight of him, telling yourself being his friend was enough. But after every hug or innocent touch, you only wanted more. The only thing stopping you from throwing yourself at his tall, and oh so big, body was the thought of losing him if he rejected you. That’s why you never said anything, staying close just as his friend. Then you left Tokyo to work worldwide, only seeing him every couple of months and hoping one day he’d tell you he was dating someone. You were close to screaming at him to reject you, just so you could move on. But he never did, and you never moved on. Yes, you dated a few people, never staying around for long enough to become something serious, but even then, Nanami Kento was stuck in the back of your mind, invading every lasting minute of your life. It was embarrassing how many times you imagined it was his body on yours when you were in bed with someone. How you wished it was his blonde hair between your legs, his hands on your curves, his lips devouring yours.

You couldn’t possibly know how similar his thoughts were. And how you both decided that tonight is the night.

But first, your actual mission.

It was easy to notice a curse user, his cursed energy flowing around his body, somehow as disgusting as his eyes going up and down women’s bodies close to him. It was almost as easy as getting his attention, one pass in front of him and a shy smile his way was enough. A minute later there��s a drink in front of you and his body invading your space. You act all shy, giggling at his awful compliments, pretending to think for a minute when he suggests going somewhere more private. As he takes your hand in his, leading you towards the back rooms, you take a second to look over your arm at your friends, and you almost stumble seeing the way Nanami’s eyes were stuck on you. You could feel the weight of his gaze, even from this distance. Give me a few more minutes. 

“How about we have a little fun, sweetie?” Curse user, who introduced himself as Nao (fake name, but it meant he had more than 5 IQ points), led you into the private room, one of his hands still holding yours, the second making its way to your lower back, and you shivered in disgust. Thankfully, your actual identity and profession didn't even scratch his rotten brain, because he takes it as a sign of your excitement. It leaves you almost impressed how confident he was in his whole being, as he's not even noticing your cursed energy. Incredible. The room you walked in was dark, the only light being a red LED strip under the ceiling. There was a locker in the corner and a big bed that probably had seen better times.

“Oh, that sounds great.” You decide to keep your shy girl mask on for a little longer, finding amusement in toying with him. Your arms make their way on his arms, and the guy smirks, probably thinking he hit the jackpot. Finding a pretty girl who will happily let him bed her? And hell, for a face like yours, he'll get paid what he'd normally get in probably two months. “On your knees.”

“Look at you, playing all shy when—” His smirk is gone in a second when you lean to his ear and whisper, his body doing as you said. You can sense his cursed energy gathering when he wants to use his technique, suddenly aware of your own energy. With one swift move, you pull a small dagger from a sheath hidden on your thigh, just underneath the dress, and put it next to his throat.

“Don't move. Don't use the cursed energy.”

Panic sets in his eyes when he feels paralyzed, power in his body asleep. There's also a glimpse of realization.

“Cursed speech. Fucking bitch, who sent you?!”

“Shush, shush. There's no need to shout.” You giggle and put the dagger back in its place. “You've done some stuff. Some people didn't like it. And here we are.” Next to the dagger, behind a leather strap, is your phone. Getting it out, you text Shoko, who has your bag. There was no way you'd risk this idiot sensing the energy of a special grade handcuff you had in there, so you've asked your friend to bring it when she gets a text.

“You're wasting your talent, pretty face. If you got into my career, you'd be swimming in money. With that mouth of yours.” Nao keeps talking since it's the only thing he can do right now. Of course you could just tell him to shut up. But it was somewhat amusing to hear how they try to talk you into letting them go, bribing you, or, like this idiot, joining them.

“I'm not complaining. And you know, fucking people's lives doesn't really turn me on like it does to your kind.” You giggle and shake your head.

“And what does?” The question comes from your target, but not the one kneeling on the floor. You turn abruptly to see Nanami leaning on the doorframe, your bag in hand. 

A moan almost slips past your lips as you eye his tall body, lit only by faint red light. He has a black shirt on, sleeves rolled up to the veiny forearms, and grey dress pants that hug his strong thighs so, so well, and you find yourself wondering how good they have to look on his back.

“Help! This psycho drugged me!” Nao had no idea who Nanami was, and it shows when he begs for help, seeing it as his chance.

“Yeah, she has that effect on people.” The sorcerer smirks and takes the handcuffs from the bag, making his way to you and the scum, who now realizes he's done for.

“Okay, enough. Be a good boy for once and sleep.” You tell Nao. When Nanami put the metal bracelets on his wrists, you took a photo, sending it to your employer immediately. “Work's done for the day; it's relax time.”

“You'll just leave him here?” Nanami asks when you take your bag from him and move to exit.

“It's a pick-up order.”

Walking out into an empty corridor, also almost fully dark except for the same red LEDs, you look over your shoulder at the blonde man and smirk, catching how he eyes you up and down.

“You didn't answer.” His words stop you mid-step, and when you turn to ask what he means, you find his body only centimeters away from yours.

“W-what?”

“Cat got your precious tongue, darling?” He smirks, and you swear you're about to die. You lean on the wall to take a breath in, trying to calm down your racing heart. Failing miserably, because it's about to jump out of your chest when Nanami takes one more step forward, and suddenly you're trapped between his arms, his chest, and a wall.

“What are you doing, Kento?” Your question is almost shy, and he can't help but smile, seeing how the maneater, as Gojo and Shoko liked to call you, turns into a hunted animal just because he took the control.

“Something I wanted to do for a long time, dear.” His whisper, warm breath, hazel eyes… his whole presence was driving you crazy. The way his eyes scanned your face, like he was memorizing it. “Please don't hate me for that.”

If you thought you were on cloud nine from his proximity, you were wrong. So wrong. 'Cause when he kisses you, it feels like the world doesn't exist anymore. And for all you care about, the world can go to hell.

Your whole world was wrapping his arms around your waist, pulling you as close as he could. A satisfied grunt comes out of his mouth when you're eager to respond to his kiss, your arms making their way to his neck and shoulders. You both don't want to pull away, even when you're out of breath, but when you finally do, your surroundings reappear, and only now do you notice the bag that dropped to the floor god knows when, his messy hair and shiny eyes. Kento leans to rest his head on your shoulder, leaving a gentle kiss there, making you shiver.

“For how long?” You ask after a moment, voice still breathless, eyes closed as you rest your cheek on his soft hair.

“For how long what?”

“You said you wanted to do it for a long time.” A little smile is on his face when you cradle his cheeks and move it from your arm. “So, how long?”

“You had me at hi, my name's y/n.” He whispers, leaning into your touch. Confusion takes over you for a moment, and your jaw almost hits the floor as you realize something.

“You're telling me I spent 14 years simping over you, but you did the same?”

“Simping?” One of his brows goes up, and you laugh a bit.

“Remember when I got drunk with Ieiri during our second year? And how she kept laughing at me for a week after that?” Of course he remembered. How could he forget when you came to his room in the middle of the night, drunk and cold, asking if you could sleep with him because you didn't want to be alone tonight. “I told her I'd climb you like a tree if you'd let me.”

Saying this out loud was as embarrassing as rewarding, because there's a blush on his face that you can see even in this shitty light.

Nanami Kento is blushing.

“I'd let you.” He says after a minute or two, and you can't help but roll your eyes.

“God, shut up and kiss me.”

And he does.

In fact, he keeps kissing you until Shoko appears out of nowhere, looking for you since you were gone for so long she started to worry your mission went wrong.

But it went absolutely perfectly. Both of them.

[save-the-villainous-cat]

Hello dearest kitty, I'm here begging on my knees for some fluff

Okay okay I'll stop, but it was a funny start especially after your least post, but I really love your writing and I would love to see you write some sub villain X dom hero fluff, about self care and maybe a little bit on self harm cuz I have exams and this is my comfort trope.

But regardless if you write it or not I want you to know that I really appreciate all your work and I it makes such a huge difference in my life, you're one of the people I can look at and be happy 😁💖

tw mention of self-harm

“This is…nice.” The villain frowned and hugged their own legs, almost as if they had never been in a bathtub before. Still tired, they leaned against the tiles of the bathroom wall. All the hero could focus on were their lashes when they closed their eyes.

Admittedly, the hero hadn’t considered this to be the result. They hadn’t expected to end up in bed with their nemesis. It would have been easier if this was part of a mission, they reckoned. But fate was much crueler.

Now feelings were involved. Complicated, difficult feelings. Sometimes they didn’t know if they should blame themselves or the villain. After all, the villain was devoted and passionate. They were tactical and brilliant.

And they were also pretty. Ridiculously pretty.

The hero swallowed.

Why was this happening to them out of all people?

“I don’t think anyone has ever made that kind of effort for me,” the villain said. They smiled and the hero’s heart dropped.

“You mean letting in some water?”

“Well, yeah…and the breakfast. The soft kisses. The massages, you know?” The villain looked at the hero again. “No one has ever done that for me.”

For the hero’s taste, they were too far away from each other. Even though the bathtub wasn’t the biggest, the hero didn’t want to sit on opposite ends. They worried their bottom lip between their teeth.

“Can you come closer?” they asked and the villain nodded, obeying quickly.

The hero let out a shaky breath they didn’t even know they were holding once the villain sat down on their hips. At this point, it was like a drug. The hero craved this affection and these hands on their skin.

It wasn’t just pleasure, it was something more vile. Something that could bleed and die, something that could destroy the hero within seconds.

A few hours ago, they hadn’t realised it. Not really. But now that they knew they weren’t just attracted to the villain, they needed to control themselves.

“You know you deserve it, right?” they asked. The villain didn’t meet their eyes, though. “You deserve nice things.”

“Is this a separating-work-and-personal-life-thing? Because we both know I’ve done despicable things in the past.” The villain looked ashamed. They let their thumb run along the hero’s biceps, almost as if they could distract themselves that way.

“No. I like you the way you are. Even the parts you deem ugly.” The hero touched the scars the villain had tried to hide yesterday gently. They couldn’t stop looking at their nemesis. At their perfect face, their perfect body. The hero wasn’t sure why their melancholy was taking over the now.

Yesterday, they’d been laughing and kissing. They’d never had that much fun in quite a while. But now, responsibility weighed heavy on their shoulders again and they couldn’t bear the feeling of saying goodbye in a few hours.

“You’re just saying that to make me feel better.”

“Have I ever been dishonest with you?” the hero asked. Brilliance wasn’t a gift. It was the result of hard work and the hero could appreciate and respect that the villain had been working just as much as they had. Both were the same in that aspect, destroying themselves because that seemed to be logical: working until you had results. No failing, no mistakes. 100%. All the time.

The villain smiled softly. Maybe even sadly.

“When you told me you love me yesterday?” they asked quietly but the hero already shook their head.

“No, that wasn’t a lie.” Their finger traced one of the villain’s scars. Somehow, the bathwater was getting hotter and hotter. The hero closed their eyes as they tried to calm down. “You’re lovely.”

It was only natural, wasn’t it? To be attracted to someone who challenged, yet matched them in so many ways? God, the hero was really at the end of their rope.

“Hm. You know, under all these layers—” the villain touched their chest “—of calculated and raw reason—” they drew a heart with their finger into the hero’s skin “—there’s a very gentle soul inside you.”

“Is that criticism or a compliment?” the hero asked. Again, looking at the villain made their stomach turn. In a good way. Kind of.

Their nemesis smiled.

“Just an observation,” the villain said. They leaned forward and kissed the hero’s cheek. “Thank you for taking care of me. I kinda suck at it.”

The hero’s hand was still on the villain’s scars.

“You just need a little bit of help, that’s all. Everyone does.” The villain was still so close. If the hero moved their head a little, they’d be kissing.

Hell, why was their heart beating so fast?

“Do you think I could be better?” the villain asked. “Do you think I could change?”

“Change is inevitable,” the hero explained. “But I…I got you.”

They held onto the villain a little tighter this time and honestly, they knew why their heart ached when they brought them home.

[tangledinink]

[ swanatello ] ->

Donnie had found that now, he almost didn’t mind sunrise. He didn’t enjoy it, per se. But he wasn’t sure if he hated it anymore, either. 

At first, it had been awful. 

Every single morning, like clockwork, as soon as sunrise approached, all he could feel was fear seeping through every corner of his body. It pressed in tight until it filled him up and forced him rigid and sharp, searing the backs of his eyes and the curve of his neck. Every morning, the only thing he knew was that something bad was about to happen. He didn’t really remember those moments. All he remembered was feeling, more than anything, that he had to get back to his lake. That he had to get home. 

(He did remember coming to, after the transformation was over and the panic eased off. They never talked about it, but everyone would always be looking at him with these faces that told him plenty. Every time they’d be all teary-eyed and shaky. And he’d wake up pinned in the firm press of Raph’s big hands, careful and gentle but still so tight it was almost painful. Sometimes, some of them would be bloodied, and he knew they’d never say it but he also knew it was his fault.)

The worst part was that he already was home. He knew that. He knew he was with his family. He knew that he, Hamato Donatello, was finally back where he belonged. 

He hated how hollow the victory felt.

No matter how long he looked, he couldn’t quite find any joy in it. He wasn’t happy or relieved. He wasn’t lonely or mournful, either, wasn’t missing the lake or longing for its company. Mostly, he was just… tired.

He just wanted to sleep.

The longer he was here, the more he adjusted, and the easier the routine was. He didn’t panic like that anymore. The fear never quite went away, rising up red hot and swollen in his throat over the horizon each and every morning with the sun, but at least they didn’t have to hold him down anymore. At least he didn’t hurt them.

Either way, they always stayed with him. 

“Leo?”

There were two minutes left. Even if he wasn’t staring down the clock, he’d still know. He’d feel it. 

“Yeah?”

And that was why, really. Why he couldn’t quite find it in himself to mind the sunrise.

“It’s almost time.”

Even if it was fear. At least at sunrise, he felt something. 

“I know,” Leo soothed, shifting slightly across the bed to sit a bit closer to him, nudging Donnie ever-so-softly with his shoulder. “Don’t worry. I’m not going anywhere.”

But Donnie never worried about that. He knew Leo wouldn’t leave. He knew he’d stay. He knew that nothing bad would happen— that he wouldn’t die. That it wouldn’t even be painful. He knew that at the end of it, whoever was with him with scoop him up and hold him in their lap. He knew they’d pet his feathers and talk to him all quiet and soft, gentle and low until he fell asleep. He knew they’d still be there when he woke up again.

It never stopped the fear. It still couldn’t stop the jump in his heart rate and the hitch to his breath, running off ahead of him as if to scout for trouble. It still never kept all his muscles from coiling up tight, pulled taut across his skeleton, bracing for impact. It had yet to prevent his hands from trembling every morning— so bad that his brothers almost invariably ended up hanging onto him, wrapping his hands up with their own to keep him steady.

“It’s okay,” Leo insisted, squeezing his hands. “You’re fine, Dee. Deep breaths with me, yeah? Nothing is bad is gonna happen. I’m not gonna leave.”

And Donnie knew he wouldn’t. That was never what he was afraid of.

At first, he would panic every morning. His brothers would have to hold him down. He’d black out. He would hurt them. 

It wasn’t like that anymore. It had gotten better. The more time passed, the less horrifying it was, and the better he could bear it.

He thought maybe that was what he was actually afraid of.

That maybe, one day, enough time would pass that even when the sun rose in the mornings, he still wouldn’t be able feel anything at all.

[ @candycoloredzebra wrote a thing for me, and i liked it, so i wrote something, too. ]

[ next episode ]

[maraudersmrz]

HATEFUL

James Potter x Reader (unspecified)

Angst, minor fluff

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Thank you for the love on my last post !!💓 I’m in the mood for some devastation right now.

I might do another part to this if this one does well???

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W/A: swearing

Summary: you and James weren’t a new concept, things between you had sank into a pretty little routine in which you both bounce off of each other. Out of nowhere he begins to slip, the usual patterns falling out of place leaving you wondering why.

-

It had been weeks since you and James had your argument. Things were frosty and stiff between the both of you and it wasn’t as easy to ignore for the others as it was for you and James. You and him still shared a bed don’t get me wrong, it wasn’t that bad but that was mainly down to the fact you were both keen to brush over it rather than solve it. It was driving you mad. You yearned for that familiar warmth of James, his bright smile and his gentle, lingering touches once you’d settled down into bed but alas you could only wish for that. You hadn’t felt the warmth of your lover in a long time, he’d recently drifted from you and you weren’t the only one to notice it. It was so bad that rumors floated around the castle like ghosts about you and James possibly splitting up. Other girls were asking him out, assuming him single.

You simply brushed it off, Hogwarts was not only most known for its spectacular quidditch games but also its gossip. Everyone loved a gossip and there was a running theme for about a week until they grew bored and moved on leaving you as last weeks news. Only the rumors didn’t die down about you and James, they only shifted. From break up rumours to ‘I heard them arguing’ rumours. Your relationship was the hot topic. You half debated picking up a daily prophet for the first time to see if they’d touched on it too. It seems everyone had. Except you and James. You both refused to address the words about the castle.

Usually after an argument, you’d both communicate your thoughts and feeling, kiss a little and maybe fuck and it was all forgotten. It was all healthy. You bounced off of each other like a tennis ball to a racket but James fell out of this pattern, leading you to do the same.

You were sat in potions, book laid open on the rickety desk as an enchanted quill scribbled furiously the words in which you instructed it to jot down. Slughorn was waffling and your quill couldn’t keep up and neither could your mind, causing it to drift to the curly haired boy staring right back at you. You offered him a small smile, sheepish almost and he returned the favor. It was awkward and if you weren’t so caught up in it all you’d have noticed Sirius and Remus share a ‘what the fuck’ kind of look as they watched the 2 bubbliest people fizzle out into nothing but glances and sheepish smiles. Once Slughorn finished his demonstration, you were told to pick a partner. You had recently impressed Slughorn when asked to make a sleeping draught so you were rewarded with the opportunity to pick your partner as everyone else’s would be chosen for them. You could choose one of your close girlfriends, Marlene looked at you giddily but your eyes fell to James. You hadn’t spoken much since the argument. You’d exchanged words but you hadn’t really spoken. You missed it. Maybe a lesson spent with James could bring you closer?

Slughorn knew that look and wasted no time in pairing you and Potter. James walked over to your desk, he looked on edge and you imagined you mirrored the same sort of look.

“Hi Jamie..” it was awkward, it was stale like the bread laid on for breakfast this morning.

He sat down next to you, offering a nod of acknowledgment before grabbing his bag and taking out the necessary equipment. Amongst the contents of his bag was a badge. A prefect badge.

“Hey, I didn’t know you made prefect? James that awesome !!” You were genuinely happy, not only were you over the moon for him but you were oh so pleased you had something to discuss with him now. It saddened you a little knowing that you and him hadn’t spoken that much to the point you were unaware as to what was going on in his life but it was a topic non the less.

James’s face fell, his hands tightened around the fabric of his bag and he looked at the Scarlett badge glistening in the dim light of the room. He didn’t say a word. You didn’t pick up on his reaction and instead began asking him who he patrolled with, desperate to drag a word out of him.

“I have a feeling you patrol withhh…” as you scanned the room you gazed as every prefect badge. Marlene was wearing one after being granted it by Dumbledore under special circumstances but Marlene had never mentioned a patrol with James nor had she mentioned him becoming prefect at all so she was off the list. You looked to Lily Evan’s, she was a prefect of Gryffindor so definitely an option, only when you glanced at her you noticed the absent badge. She wasn’t wearing her badge.

Your eyes flitted between James and Lily-

James and Lily

James

And

Lily.

[justanothersanjilover]

So I got this idea about a Zosan Soulmate AU and just had to write a little bit about it. I don't know how fast I can update this, but its a start and I’m going to keep writing it 😊

My Name on your tongue

Part 1

Paring: Zosan (maybe Sanzo, too)

Soulmate AU

Triggers: Child abuse, swear words, death

Six years old

“In our world, you get something very special when you turn 18. You get to summon a familiar - an animal, mythical or natural - that will be your companion throughout your whole life. The animal you summon is based on what you need in life and what fits you. No one knows who’s assigning the animal to you, but it always fits.

Now, if you are very passionate and loving toward your familiar and it returns that feeling, there is a chance that it will turn into a human and become your soulmate. But this only happens when there exists such a strong bond that both of you would endure the greatest pain imaginable for the other. The bond has to be so strong that you’d die for each other.

Most people don't put in the effort because why go to that length for an animal? Also, there is no greater need to be with your soulmate unless your familiar turns into it. You can perfectly live without ever getting your soulmate.”

“Is father your soulmate?” Sanji wanted to know, looking up at his mum.

Sora shook her head, her expression somewhat painful, but her son didn't pick up on that fact.

“But…you don't have a familiar around.”

“I know,” Sora swallowed drily. “She…she died. She wanted to protect me and got badly injured. I couldn't help her.”

Sanji looked shocked at her.

“I’m sorry…”

He snuggled against his mother to comfort her. She smiled sadly and brushed a hand through his blond hair.

“When you get your familiar, make sure to protect them. It’s a really bad feeling to lose them forever.”

“I promise. And I will love them so much! I can't wait to meet them!”

Sanji was so different from his siblings, and Sora was thankful for that, but she knew that he would have it worse than them. While pregnant with him and his three brothers, her husband genetically modified them - against Sora’s will. He made them stronger, more durable - as he called it - faster and better in anything. He got rid of their emotions and made sure they would become his best soldiers. In doing this, he also hoped to influence the familiar they’d get. He wanted them to have big, brutal animals - monsters to make their enemies shake in fear. Sora had watched him silently get rid of the emotions and feelings of their oldest child, their daughter Rejiu. He somehow managed to manipulate her into an obedient, emotionless kid, strong and fast, and an expert in poisons despite her young age. She was his first perfect soldier.

But Sora wasn't standing by as he tried to corrupt her other children! So, after learning about Judges doing, Sora took a poison to destroy the modifications. Unfortunately, it only worked on Sanji. On the one hand, she was happy for him; on the other, she was sad and devastated. Sanji would never have any worth for his father; he’d always be the failure, and she was the reason why.

Although Sanji always smiled when he came to visit, she saw the bruises and cuts. She saw the pain behind his young eyes. She knew what his siblings and father were doing to him, and she could do nothing to stop them. So she always tried to give him the best times when he came to visit her. Unfortunately, the poison she took destroyed her body and made her bedbound.

Hugging Sanji tightly, she did her best not to start to cry. She knew that her days were counted…and it would be the end of the night when she would leave Sanji behind to deal with everything all by himself. The only ray of light was that at least on his eighteenth birthday, he would get a familiar that surely would protect him. That was why she told him all about familiars! She wanted him to know as much as possible, as much as humanity found out about them. Sanji sucked everything up like a sponge!

The only thing she wasn't allowed to tell him was how to summon his familiar. Because if a familiar was summoned before the eighteenth birthday, there were terrible side effects. Sometimes, the familiar wasn't fully developed….like the child. Other times, the child couldn't hold the image of the familiar (which was important), and it would turn out deformed. And then there were times when the familiar was an adult and got really protective and possessive of the child - sometimes so much it had to be put down because no one could touch the child without getting attacked, even when the kid was hurt, starving or anything else putting its life in danger. So she wouldn't tell Sanji - even if a protective familiar wouldn't be the worst…she wanted them to have a chance at getting real friends, and Sora hoped Sanji would be allowed to find his soulmate. She hoped he could experience this purest kind of love in the world.

“You need to go,” Sora mumbled into Sanji’s hair. “It’s past visiting time.”

“I don't want to…”

“I know, love. I know. But your father will get mad if you stay, and you know that.”

Sanji nodded, suppressing sobs, as he pulled away from his mother. He lifted his head and smiled at her.

“I’ll come again tomorrow.”

“Yeah, do that. I can't wait to see you again, my little angel.”

Sora hugged him tight and placed a kiss on top of his head. Why should she tell him that she wouldn't be there in the morning? It would only upset him and make him sad and guilty. She felt her spirits leave her body slowly but surely. At the end of the night, she’d be dead, and Sanji would be alone. Before she let him go, she brushed a hand through his hair and made him look up into her eyes.

“Remember that I will always love you, my little sunshine. Regardless of what will happen in your future. I’ll love you every day of your life and after it.”

Sanji looked a bit confused, but as soon as Sora smiled, he smiled back, placed a quick, wet kiss on her cheek and ran out - so his father wouldn't punish him.

~

“Useless!”

“I’m trying…” Sanji sobbed, holding the side of his face - it pulsed with pain, and he was sure his lip was bleeding.

“That's the point!” His father yelled. “You are trying! You shouldn't have to try! You should be able just to do it!”

“But I…” another blow, and Sanji flew backward against a pillar of the training room - he groaned in pain when he hit the stone with full force.

“You are weak! A false experiment! A fucking failure! I should just get rid of you!”

Judge was towering over his son like death himself. And Sanji couldn't do anything different than feel fear and hurt and disgust at his own body. The poison from his father's lips seeped into his mind and planted a dangerous seed. He cried when Judge grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and held him up to his face.

“And that's why you don't have a familiar. You will never get one! Never! I took that ability from you because it would be as weak as you are, and I don't have use for two failures in my kingdom!”

Sanji sobbed uncontrollably. Ever since he asked his father about his own familiar - which was a big, dragon-like creature always lurking behind his throne - he left no chance unused to point out that Sanji would never have one. Sanji didn't understand why he would rip this opportunity from him, why he was such a mistake in his father's eyes. Just because he wasn't as strong as his siblings? Because his skin started to bleed when cut or punched hard enough? Because he cried when he got hurt?

“Get out of my sight before I start losing my temper,” Judge growled and tossed him aside like a back of garbage.

Sanji scrambled to his feet and ran from the training room, hoping his brothers wouldn't wait outside like they did most of the time. His hopes crashed when he closed the door, and laughter sounded behind him.

“Look at that,” Yonji said.

“The weakling is back out,” Ichiji grinned.

“Seems like he still can't handle a punch,” Niji snickered.

His brothers gathered around him, laughing and pointing at him. Sanji felt tears in his eyes but tried to swallow them. He hated to cry in front of his brothers, just as much as he hated to do so in front of his father. His eyes searched for pink hair, and surely, he found his sister, standing in the background but grinning as evil as the rest of them.

“Leave me alone,” he sobbed - knowing very well it would turn in the opposite of what he wanted…but he couldn’t stop himself from saying it.

“What?”

“We couldn’t hear you over all your whining.”

“I think he said we should show him how to fight.”

And a blink of an eye later, he crashed against the wall and slid down to the floor. Lying there, he curled up into a ball to at least try and shield his stomach and face from the kicks and blows that rained down on him like a hailstorm.

In the end, he was beaten bloody, and they left him where he was lying. His eyes stared into nothingness while his tears mixed with the blood and formed little puddles on the floor.

Hours later, he was able to drag himself to his bedroom. Curling up in his bed, Sanji felt tears in his eyes again.

“Why?” He cried into his pillow. “Why am I not like them? Why do I have to be this way?”

He knew why, his mother had told him, but still…There were moments when he hated his emotions, and he would give them up just to see the same smile on his father's face, pointed at him like he was giving his siblings.

He was worthless, and that's also why he would never have a familiar, which made him cry even more. Since his mother died two months ago, he always comforted himself with the knowledge that he’d get a chance to meet his soulmate. But because he was weak, because of his emotions, Judge took this ability, this gift from him. The first time he mentioned it to Sanji, his whole world was shattered. He didn't even feel the hits his father was dealing. He was numb…almost lifeless. The only thing he was looking forward to - the only thing that made his little heart and mind strong enough to survive and not give up - was the reassuring thought of meeting his familiar.

After his breakdown, he thought maybe, if he got better, if he could prove to his father that he was worth keeping around…maybe he would give him the ability to get his familiar back.

“I have to…get stronger…” Sanji sobbed while drifting to sleep.

All he wanted was to be loved and be part of this family…

Next

[thebestusernamepossible]

You know I keep seeing interpretations of possible post-canon Loop integrating into the party. And like how they would interact with said party, but like I feel like there is one aspect of the dynamic people seem to miss out on- which is a shame because it’s one of the most interesting to me.

From the parties perspective Loop is a ‘star’ that Sif met when he was stuck in a Time-Loop. So that means the party is aware that Loop was also stuck in said time-loop. I want to see the party trying to figure out how to help and accommodate Loop’s Time-Loop trauma, because I know this would drive Loop insane. Like imagine alternate versions of the friends you’ve seen die over and over (who Loop definitely feels they’ve failed) and trying to accommodate you because they think you’re traumatised from a COMPLETELY SEPARATE time-loop. I’d simply go insane actually.

Not to mention Loop would probably grind the parties gears because they would act like they always know what’s best for Siffrin and the party in general. And like- yes they know Sif better than anyone, but from the parties perspective they’re someone who knew Sif for something equilvlant to like 7ish months at most. And they just stroll ina js act like they know what’s best for them, AND the party. And loop is condescending even when they don’t mean to be, so double whammy. But then again Loop and Sif (as far as the party know) we’re stuck in a time loop with only each other for that long. So Loop is now reluctantly the Siffrin expert, which would cause some jealousy from people who have been trying and only somewhat succeeding at getting Sif to open up. Because from their perspective Loop just gets all of Sifs secrets and gets to know everything about them, assumedly because Sif TOLD them everything. (Haha imagine Sif communicating). I think they’d be a bit jealous even if they felt bad about it.

Not to mention the miscommunication of it all- from the parties perspective they have a gap in their memories from a massive amount of time that only Siffrin and a (albeit helpful) stranger. The same stranger who both helped you save your friend, but seems to be in some kind of toxic situationship(?) with said friend, AND acts awkward as hell around you. There are so many conclusions to grab from that, and I don’t think that ‘completely separate Timeloop in an alternate dimension where stranger is also your friend’ is what they’ll come up with. Even smart gal Odile needs some actual information to draw a conclusion.

The most obvious conclusion would obviously be ‘Loop is a seprate person Siffrin grew close to due to the fact they were the only ones who remebered being in a timeloop’ and ‘Loop may have done something to/been wronged by the party in the Loops’.

Honestly you only need Loop referencing them not being a star in the past one time for the entire party to immediately conclude ‘holy shit, Loop also had some kind of wish gone wrong™️ that changed their entire body and made them be stuck to a tree woth only Sif for company for months’

Which isn’t WRONG per-say, but I just think we as a fandom should get more creative with Loop-Party assumptions when talking relationships.

Especially Loop-Isabeau, I want him assuming he said something really mean to them or something during a loop. The Situationship jealously I see a lot is fun too, but I think Isa trying very hard to be nice and make up for whatever he ‘did’ would make Loop have a fucking panick attack out of guilt. I just think Loop should be in the torcher nexus here.

Also! Loop-party strain! I think that the party would have mixed feelings in loop! Because they don’t know that’s Sif, so it’s just looks like to them that Loop so some stranger being unfair to Sif and what they went through (Loop screams). And since is inevitably going to be a bit mean to the party on account of being unwell, and teh fact they don’t really have the advantage of the party knowing and loving them previously. I think the initial relationships are strained, and honestly Loop is probably self sabotaging too. Testing boundaries to see how ‘unlovable’ they can be before they are thrown out. And while the party eventually grow to look past Loos hard edges and grow to love them, I think initially there is some fights and tension. Loop has the ammunition and almost wants to be proven right in their assumption they’re unlovable. But I think the party will realise that they are just like Sif was when they had THEIR metal break down and will see how Sif gets better and opens up (even if just being more expressive) with Loop around. So I think they’ll grow to like loop as their own person! But it takes time

Also Loop and Sif informing the party of each other individual triggers and keeping each other accountable (while also trying to work off being the most toxic co-dependant ass relationship ever)

[mrseasycompany]

Hidden Feelings - Joe Liebgott one shot

Warnings: bad writing bc this is my first real attempt, I thought it would be easy but writing is goddamn difficult?! I have all these ideas in my head but acting putting them to words turns out to be incredibly difficult 🫠 So feedback is very much wanted and welcome! - also people getting hurt, bad attempt at angsty writing

Summary: Joe doesn’t want to admit his feelings for you and watches you be with one of his friends, but when you get hurt he confesses his feelings

It was early June, and the easy company men were all waiting for orders to finally come down. The days had started to blur together, a strange limbo of drills, checking gear, trying to keep the fear and anticipation from getting the best of them. They’d been told they’d be jumping into Normandy any day now, and each night, they went to sleep wondering if tomorrow would be it. Liebgott had taken to sleeping with his boots half-laced, the nervous energy spilling into everything he did. He tried to put up a brave face, as did everyone else, but at night time the reality would hit him again and it would mean a lot of sleepless hours for him.

The others in his little friendgroup all had ways of coping too. Luz and Muck made their wisecracks, Malarkey and Penkala tried to keep spirits high, Bill kept himself busy and Buck was always somewhere with a cigarette between his fingers, watching the sky with that half-calm, half-worried look. But y/n… Joe didn’t know how she kept so calm. She had a way of settling into the silence, of watching everyone else with a steady gaze, the kind that never wavered, as if she’d long ago decided that whatever happened would happen, and there was no point in letting it scare her.

She didn’t talk much about what she felt. Not even to Joe. Not that she didn’t want to, because she did, but she felt like she shouldn‘t. She was the only woman in their battalion; she’d had to work twice as hard just to prove she could belong. She’d fought tooth and nail to get them to see her as a soldier first, not some girl tagging along, and she couldn’t bear the thought of losing that respect. It was hard enough as it was, fighting in a man’s world, where every action, every look, every stray touch was a potential rumor waiting to catch fire.

Instead, she’d go off with Talbert, her laugh echoing down the line, that warm, quiet laugh that Joe had only ever heard her give to Tab. It was enough to make his stomach twist, to feel like his blood was boiling inside him every time he saw them together. He’d see her sitting next to Talbert, that easy, open smile on her face, and Talbert would be looking at her like she was some kind of miracle. Joe hated it more than he’d ever admit, hated how she could lean into Tab, laughing as if they weren’t days from getting thrown into god-knows-what in France, as if this whole damned war didn’t matter as long as they had each other. He’d told himself, more times than he could count, that he didn’t care, that it wasn’t his business, that it didn’t matter. But he knew better. He’d always known better.

He wasn’t sure why she’d gone for Tab in the first place. They were close, sure, but it was different. Joe and y/n had something different, something deeper, something that lived in all the silent looks, the half-smiles, the way she’d reach out and catch his shoulder whenever he tried to brush off some wound he was hiding. They never talked about it, and it made no sense, this thing between them, but it was there, and he couldn’t stop thinking about it. He had ruined that himself. She had tried to get close to him at Toccoa, and they were good friends, but when she tried to kiss him one time during a party in a pub he’d refused her. Not that he didn’t want her, he did, he just didn’t want to admit that to himself. Feelings would make his life more complicated than it already was, and he didn’t want to care too much for someone who could die any day now.

However, every time he saw her with Talbert, his heart pounded with this twisted, fierce jealousy that felt almost wrong, like it wasn’t something he had the right to feel.

But how could he tell her that?

It would be stupid, reckless, and worse, selfish. They were soldiers. Tab and him were friends. They were here for the same reason as everyone else, and he couldn’t let his feelings get in the way, couldn’t give them voice when it might break the whole thing apart. So, he buried it, again and again, telling himself that it didn’t matter, that she was free to do what she wanted, be with who she wanted.

And yet, here he was, pacing around camp in the early morning, the sky just beginning to lighten, when he saw her - y/n, standing alone near the edge of the tents, her hands shoved deep in her pockets. She looked cold, lost in thought, and for once, Talbert was nowhere around. He almost turned back, almost left her to her own quiet solitude. But he didn’t. His feet kept moving, like they were carrying him forward on instinct.

“Can’t sleep?” he asked as he came up beside her, shoving his hands into his own pockets to mirror her.

She looked up, eyes flicking over his face, her expression softening just a little. “Guess not.” Her voice was quiet, and she looked away, toward the fields beyond. “Feels strange, doesn’t it? This waiting.”

“Yeah,” he said, swallowing. “It does.”

A long silence fell between them, comfortable but heavy, thick with everything they couldn’t say. He thought about asking her, right then, if Talbert meant something to her, if maybe she’d ever looked at Joe the way she looked at Talb. But he knew that if he asked, it’d all come spilling out—the jealousy, the stupid ache he’d tried to ignore, the twisted feelings he knew had no place here, not now. He catched her looking at him a little too long, and she diverted her gaze to the sky until he spoke again.

“I saw you with Floyd last night. He seemed happy.”

She glanced at him, her eyes narrowing slightly, as if she’d caught something in his voice he hadn’t meant to let slip. “Yeah… he’s been good to me. It’s nice, having someone to talk to. Someone who gets it.”

Joe’s jaw tightened. He tried to force a smile, tried to hide the burn that clawed at his chest. “I get it too, you know,” he said, his voice a little harder than he intended. He saw her face soften, the barest hint of a frown creasing her brow.

“Do you?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper, but her eyes were searching his face, her gaze intense, as if she was waiting for him to say something real, something he’d buried too deep to reach.

He wanted to tell her that he did, that he understood her better than anyone else ever could, that he’d felt more for her than he’d ever dared admit. But the words wouldn’t come. They stuck in his throat, thick and painful, tangled with the fear that if he said them, everything would shatter. The mission, the friendship they’d built, the delicate thread they’d stretched between them.

So he just nodded, glancing away. “I do, y/n, I used to get you more than anyone ever did”, he said, his voice low and rough. And then, softer, “More than you know.”

She took a step closer, placing her hand on his cheeck, and he froze, feeling the warmth of her touch. “You distanced yourself from me, remember? Not the other way around” she murmured, a sad, knowing smile on her lips.

He swallowed, his chest tightening as he looked down at her. There was so much he wanted to say, so much he’d kept hidden, but he knew he couldn’t. Not here. Not with Normandy looming over them like a shadow, ready to claim them all. They were living on borrowed time, and some things were better left unsaid.

The silence stretched between them again, heavy and fragile. Finally, she sighed, stepping back. “You should get some sleep, Joe.”

He nodded, the words dying on his tongue, and turned back to the camp, walking away from her, hating himself a little more with each step.

~

They were in the thick woods somewhere outside Eindhoven, trudging through underbrush, their boots sinking into wet mud with every step. Y/n walked a few steps ahead of Joe, while Luz and Malarkey covered the rear, trading quiet jokes that barely carried over the crackle of leaves. Joe kept his eyes forward, watching her as she navigated the uneven terrain. He was still nursing the awkwardness from that night before Normandy—the things left unsaid, the way he’d walked away, the way he’d regretted it every day since.

But none of that mattered now, not when they were out here, deep in hostile territory. He wasn’t supposed to worry about anything except keeping everyone safe. They all knew that. And yet, when y/n looked back to check on him, her gaze lingering just a little too long, he couldn’t ignore that same ache tightening his chest.

They continued through the woods until a sudden crack split the air—a gunshot, distant but unmistakable. “Did you guys hear that?” Malarkey asked quietly.

Everyone froze, tense, scanning the trees for any movement. Y/n’s hand went instinctively to her rifle, her eyes sharp, searching. Joe moved closer to her without thinking, his hand coming up to gesture for her to keep low. For a moment, their eyes met, and he saw the fear there, buried under her determination.

Then, a shout—a patrol up ahead. German voices, coming closer.

They all ducked down, scrambling for cover behind a fallen tree. Joe’s heart hammered as he crouched next to y/n, his fingers tight on his rifle. Luz and Malarkey were barely a few feet away, tense and waiting.

Joe glanced at her. Her face was pale, her lips pressed into a thin line, but her eyes were steady. He could see her calculating the next move, the way her mind worked through each possibility, each risk. It was a side of her he respected, admired even, and he felt a pang of guilt, remembering the jealousy he’d harbored over Talbert, the way he’d let it come between them.

The Germans moved on, their voices fading, and Joe let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. Slowly, they stood, exchanging relieved looks. Luz muttered a few choice words under his breath, making y/n snicker despite herself, and the tension eased just a little.

But the near-miss lingered with Joe. He found himself walking closer to her, his shoulders brushing hers now and then, and for once, she didn’t pull away. He didn’t know why, but it was enough to let him hope things could get better between them again.

~

Over the next few weeks, Joe and y/n found themselves thrown together again. They’d stand watch side by side, swap stories during rare quiet nights, linger over half-finished cigarettes in silence. It felt easy, the way it had before everything got complicated, and for a little while, Joe let himself believe things could go back to how they’d been.

One night, they were sitting on a stone wall outside a deserted farmhouse, keeping watch while the others caught a few hours of sleep. The moon was bright, casting a soft glow over the fields, and for a moment, it felt almost peaceful.

“How are Tab and you? Haven’t heard from him in a while” Liebgott asked while he put a cigarette between his lips to light it.

“Floyd and I… we broke things off,” she said, her voice breaking the quiet. Joe looked at her, surprised, and saw the faintest hint of sadness in her eyes.

“Oh,” he said, not sure what to say. “I’m sorry.”

She gave him a small, rueful smile, shaking her head. “No need to be. It’s better this way. We’re still friends.”

He wanted to ask why—he’d seen her and Talbert together enough to know they’d shared something real, even if he hated admitting it. But before he could, she looked away, her gaze fixed on the distant horizon, and he knew she didn’t want him to press.

It had been weeks before, back in the tents, when she’d finally confronted Talbert. They’d been talking, laughing even, when she felt the weight of it settle in her chest—the knowledge that something between them had shifted, that whatever they’d had was fading, unraveling.

“I think… maybe we’re trying to make this into something it’s not,” she’d said, her voice soft but steady.

Talbert looked at her, his expression pensive. “Maybe,” he agreed, running a hand through his hair. There was no bitterness there, no anger, just an odd kind of resignation. “We’re both looking for something to hold onto, and maybe we thought we could find it in each other.”

She nodded, feeling a strange mix of relief and regret. “It’s hard to be anything, to be anyone, in a place like this. Things don’t… stick. You know?”

He gave a low chuckle, nodding. “Believe me, I know. But…” He hesitated, his gaze flicking over her face, searching for something. “I think there’s more to it than that. You and me… we’re better as friends, y/n.”

She opened her mouth to argue, to tell him that she’d tried, that she wanted it to work. But his next words cut her off.

“Besides, you’ve always had eyes for Liebgott. Even if you don’t want to admit it.”

The shock of his words settled over her, and she could only stare at him, speechless. Talbert’s face softened, the barest hint of a smile on his lips.

“It’s okay,” he added, his tone gentle. “Sometimes you just know. I’ll keep your secret.”

---

The night after that conversation, she had kept her distance from Joe, unsure of what to do with the realization that Talbert’s words had stirred in her. But it didn’t seem to matter, not when Joe was always there, his quiet steadiness a comfort she hadn’t realized she needed.

It was a few days later, the whole group huddled around a small fire, trying to keep warm in the evening chill. Luz was telling some outrageous story, Malarkey and Buck throwing in commentary, everyone laughing louder than they had in weeks. Y/n was laughing too, caught up in the warmth of it, the camaraderie that had become so rare out here.

"So there I was," Luz said, his voice low and conspiratorial, "crouched under a table in the back of this bar in London, and I’m thinking, Luz, my man, you’re as good as dead."

Buck rolled his eyes. "Oh, here we go again."

"No, no, seriously!" Luz insisted, his eyes wide with mock horror. "The bartender's waving a broom at me like I’m some kind of wild animal. I’m dodging left, dodging right, trying to keep my head down—"

"And let me guess," Malarkey interjected, a smirk tugging at his lips, "you were hiding from some poor girl you promised the world to?"

Luz grinned, shrugging. "You say ‘promised,’ I say ‘gave a slight suggestion of affection.’ There’s a difference, Malarkey."

Y/n snorted, shaking her head. “So let me get this straight,” she said, eyebrows raised. “You're saying this bartenderjust randomly decided to chase you out of his bar, for no good reason? I’m not buying it.”

Luz put a hand to his chest, looking hurt. "Y/n, when have I ever lied to you?"

Buck laughed, giving her a pat on the shoulder. "Better question: when hasn’t he?" He asked.

The conversation continued after that, but y/n zoned out a little. And in an attempt to get her back to the conversation, George made a comment. “How’s it going with you, y/n? Moved on from Floyd yet?” It was a lighthearted jab, but it hit harder than she expected, and suddenly, the laughter felt too sharp, too close. She stood, muttering something about needing air, and walked off into the night, hugging her arms around herself.

Joe saw her leave, his brow furrowing as he watched her silhouette disappear. Without thinking, he got up, following her into the darkness. “I didn’t mean to-“ George said sadly, but Buck comforted him, saying that she’d been a bit off all day.

Liebgott found her a few yards from the fire, her back turned to him, shoulders hunched. She didn’t look up as he approached, but she didn’t pull away, either.

“Y/n,” he said quietly, reaching out to touch her shoulder. She tensed, but didn’t move. “Hey, what’s going on?”

She shook her head, her voice choked. “I’m fine. It’s just… everything. I guess it got to me.”

He nodded, stepping closer, his hand sliding down to hold hers. She let him, and for a moment, they stood there in silence, the night settling around them like a blanket.

“Floyd?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

She gave a bitter laugh. “I don’t even know what to feel about him anymore. We… we’re done, but…” Her voice trailed off, and she looked up at him, her eyes shining with something raw and unspoken.

“But it’s not about Talbert, is it?” he asked, the words falling out before he could stop them. He felt her hand tighten in his, felt her pulse beneath his fingers, fast and uncertain.

She didn’t answer, just stared at him, her expression conflicted, a thousand emotions passing over her face. And in that moment, Joe knew—knew the truth he’d been running from, the truth he’d tried to bury. “No, it’s not” y/n sighed, shifting her head to look up at him. The way she looked at him made clear what she wanted to say. That it was him. But he kept quiet. she wasn’t sure if she’d ever seen someone put up as many walls as he did. There was something haunted in him, something broken that he never let anyone touch, least of all her. But she felt it, whenever they were alone, that subtle push and pull, that tension between them that no words seemed to reach. It felt like a thread, stretching between them, invisible yet stronger than steel, and every day it grew tighter, coiled with words unsaid, touches unmade, confessions swallowed and buried deep. “Why can’t you just admit how you feel. I know I’m not imagining what’s going on between us” she frowned.

They’d been questioned about their dynamic before, especially by Muck and Luz, who were always looking for a good laugh. Joe’d rolled his eyes, snorted, even. Just friends, he’d say, putting enough irony into it to make the others laugh. Y/n would brush it off too, put on that easy smile and give as good as she got, but inside she felt a knot tighten in her chest every time they asked. Just friends. That was the only answer that made any sense. They couldn't afford anything more—not here, not now, not with war pressing in on them from every side. And maybe not ever.

Liebgott swallowed and looked at her, he was at a complete loss of words. “I- y/n… I can’t… we can’t…”

Y/n let go of his hand and sighed softly. “You know what? Forget that I said anything. I’m gonna try to get some sleep” she mumbled before walking off.

~

The night was dark, the kind of blackness that swallowed every trace of light. In some cruel twist of faith, Liebgott and y/n were made to share a foxhole. They sat huddled together, the wet earth pressing in around them. They were knee-deep in mud, cold to the bone, and every few minutes, a distant rumble shook the ground beneath them. They’d been here for hours, rain dripping down their helmets, every sound making them tense, hands instinctively reaching for their rifles.

They hadn’t spoken much—neither of them dared to. Just quick glances, the unspoken worry about the others out there somewhere in the same miserable conditions, trying to survive the endless barrage. Joe kept glancing at her, watching how she set her jaw, her gaze fixed on the dark horizon. He felt that familiar ache, the one that twisted painfully every time he looked at her and remembered everything they hadn’t said, everything he’d kept buried. There was something about this night, this horrible, cold silence that made him want to reach out, to finally tell her what he’d been carrying for so long. But the words stayed stuck in his throat.

A flare shot up nearby, casting the field in a harsh, ghostly light. Suddenly, a shout rang out, somewhere to their left. It was Muck’s voice, raw and desperate.

Y/n moved instantly, scrambling out of the foxhole before Joe could even reach for her arm.

“Y/n, wait!” he hissed, but she was already gone, crawling over the muddy ground toward the sound.

Joe cursed under his breath, clambering out to follow her, his heart pounding. He could see her up ahead, her silhouette low to the ground, moving fast. Another shout tore through the darkness, and then came a crack—a gunshot—and a sudden, choked cry. Joe’s heart stopped.

“Y/n!” he yelled, panic clawing up his throat as he sprinted forward. He was slipping on the mud, his boots catching, his hands trembling as he dropped to his knees beside her. She was lying on her side, her hand clutching her shoulder, her face twisted in pain, even before she could get to Muck.

“Y/n, no, no—" His voice broke, and he felt his hands go cold. He pressed down on her shoulder, trying to stanch the bleeding, his heart thundering as he tried to keep calm. “Why the hell did you go out there? You—”

She winced, gripping his arm, her eyes squeezed shut. “Had to… had to help. Muck—” Liebgott shifted his head to look at where the noice had been coming from. Eugene Roe was sitting next to Muck, patching up his shoulder, but furthermore he seemed to be fine.

“Muck’s fine, sweetheart, he’s okay.” Joe’s voice shook, but he forced himself to focus. The bleeding wasn’t as bad as he’d thought. It was a flesh wound, but the sight of her lying there, her face pale, had hit him harder than anything he’d ever faced. “God, y/n, ya scared me half to death…”

She looked up at him with half glazy eyes.

His throat tightened, and before he could stop himself, the words started spilling out. “I can’t—can’t keep watching you run headfirst into danger like that. You keep on doing that and you can’t do that damnit. Not when…” He stopped, his breath ragged, and looked down at her, his chest aching. “Not when what, Joe?” She asked, putting her hand on his cheeck. He looked so stressed, and even though she was the one who got hit, she felt like he was the one who was hurt. He didn’t want to say anything. Didn’t want to continue and then say something he couldn’t take back. “Not when I’ve been in love with you since—hell, since I don’t even know when.”

Her eyes snapped open, and despite the pain, she gave him a small, incredulous smile. “Joe Liebgott, are you seriously confessing to me now, while I’m bleeding out in the mud?”

The shock of her voice—of her teasing tone—hit him like a punch to the chest. He let out a shaky laugh, relief flooding through him as he realized she was really going to be okay.

“Apparently, yeah,” he managed, a small, breathless chuckle escaping him. Then he called Doc Roe over who was done patching up Muck. Roe came rushing over and made her sit up straight so that he could look at her shoulder. Liebgott looked down at y/n again and felt his face go red, but he held her gaze, the weight of everything he’d kept inside finally lifting. “I… I can’t do this anymore, y/n. Pretending, acting like I don’t care.” Liebgott muttered frustrated, and Roe raised his eyebrows a little out of surprise, but kept his gaze fixed on his task. “Every time you go runnin’ off, I—hell, I can barely breathe, thinkin’ I might lose you.”

She looked at him, her face softening despite the pain, and a flicker of something he’d never seen before passed over her features. “Well, maybe it’s good you said something, because I’ve felt the same way for a long time.” Her hand found his, her fingers cold but steady. “But if you keep yelling at me like that, I might have to reconsider.”

A grin spread across his face, and he gave her hand a squeeze. “Fine, fine. Just… try not to get shot again, would ya?”

“I second that” Roe said before giving her instructions on what to do with her shoulder. It wasn’t a bad wound, but he did tell her to be more careful next time because she should know better. Y/n nodded and when Roe walked away she focused on Liebgott again. She smiled, rolling her eyes at him, and despite everything—the mud, the darkness, the war raging around them—it felt like, for one perfect moment, they were the only two people in the world.

[himluv]

Spiral

Chapter 23(?!) of Say My Name (Say it Twice) is here! Find it below, or head over to AO3 to read from the beginning.

After a harrowing day in Isana Negat, Lucanis decides to finally tell Rook how he feels.

cw: PTSD, panic attacks

Lucanis reread the parchment for the third time. Teia had sent word, Viago’s people had found something. Something big enough that the Talons wanted to meet outside of the city. Outside of Illario’s reach.

Normally, he’d bring this straight to Rook. They needed to get to Dock Town, to the Cobbled Swan soon. And they would. But not tonight.

Tonight, he was just grateful they’d all made it out of Isana Negat alive. For a moment, he’d thought all was lost, that Rook and her big, soft, foolish heart chose to stay and die rather than leave Harding to the Titan’s rage. 

He would have run, had tried to get Rook to run. But, she’d refused, and of course he couldn’t leave her to face Harding alone. So, he’d followed her up to that stone platform, certain it was their final moments. 

And, yet again, Rook proved that he should know better than to doubt her heart. Against all odds, she’d reached Harding, soothed her rage and reminded her of who she really was under all that pain. Lucanis was still rocked with awe each time he thought of it. 

Was there anyone Rook couldn’t reach?

But, their misadventure in the mines also left him feeling uncertain. Not about Rook, he was more sure about her than ever, but about himself. She had done the impossible time and gain, but she was still mortal. And they were still hurtling toward a confrontation with two ancient, blighted gods. Even after all their wins, the odds of victory were long. Too long. And if the Cantori Diamond had taught him anything, it was that, eventually, their luck would run out. 

If something happened to them, shouldn’t she know how he felt? Could he survive losing her, knowing he’d never told her? But would it make her grief that much worse if he did, and he was the one lost? Or would the knowledge of his affection be a comfort in the aftermath?

Tell her, Spite hissed. You want. She wants.

Lucanis knew the demon was right. And, he could feel the gods’ noose tightening. When they did face Elgar’nan and Ghilan’nain, it would be all or nothing. There were no guarantees anyone would survive, and they were running out of time. 

Yes. He would tell her. Now. He’d delayed long enough.

Yesssssss!

Lucanis left Teia’s message on his side table, checked his hair in the mirror, and stepped out into the dining hall. Dinner had been a quiet affair. Harding had promptly gone to her quarters and passed out upon their return. Taash had brought her dinner and also not returned. He and Rook had both been reserved, tired after the physically and emotionally draining day. 

As he crossed the courtyard, Lucanis felt a flicker of doubt. Maybe tonight wasn’t the right time. It’d been a difficult enough day without adding an emotional confession to the end of it. And there was still the matter of Illario and whatever Teia and Viago had learned. There was so much to do. 

And by that logic, he could put this off forever. 

No! Spite barked. Tell Rook. Tonight!

Right. If he waited for the perfect moment, he could always find a reason not to have this conversation. He was doing this. Now. 

It wasn’t a long walk to Rook’s quarters, but Lucanis took it slow, rehearsing in his mind what he would say to her. 

Rook. I don’t want to wait any longer. We might not have long and–

No. Too grim. 

Rook. I want… no, I need you–

No. Too clichéd. Even if it was true, he couldn’t steal his confession from the pages of one of his romance novels.   

Just. Tell her. The truth! Spite growled, the demon’s tone distinctly irritated. 

Right. The truth. He could do that. And Rook deserved to hear only the truth from him. He looked up when his path met with her door. He knew she was in there, because Spite had led him here and not to the music room. The truth. Just, tell her the truth. He took a deep, steadying breath, and then knocked on her door. 

It took a moment for her to answer, and when she did she peered around the door with a puzzled look on her face. 

“Lucanis?”

He gave her a tight smile. Mierda, he was nervous. “Rook, I–”

“Come in,” she said, swinging the door open. 

Right. Yes. Good. This wasn’t a conversation to be had in a hallway. He stepped through into the room and froze at the sight of the floor-to-ceiling aquarium. Behind him, he heard the door close. Heard Rook say something. Both sounds were muffled, as if heard from underwater. 

Nooooo, Spite hissed. No! Get out!

He was out. Had been out for months, but the shimmering blue light filtered through the water still turned his blood to ice.

Lucanis closed his eyes and took another deep breath. This was Rook’s room, not the Ossuary. Zara was dead. She couldn’t hurt him anymore. And he would never see that prison again. 

“Lucanis?”

That voice. Rook’s voice. She was the reason he was free, the one who had come to save him. And yet, when she put a tentative hand on his shoulder, he flinched. He spun to face her, hopefully camouflaging his knee-jerk response to her touch. 

“What’s wrong?” Her eyes darted across his face, searching for some clue.

“Nothing,” he lied. Which was stupid – it was painfully obvious something was very, very wrong.

Rook frowned at that and gestured to the green velvet chaise in the center of the room. “Maybe you should sit down.”

He nodded. His knees felt weak, his chest suddenly so heavy. Lucanis let Rook lead him to the chaise, his eyes on her hand where it hooked onto his elbow. He hadn’t noticed this touch – he was afire and frozen all at once. Was he breathing?

“Rook,” he said before she could drag him any closer to the glass. His voice sounded strange. Far away and thin. He licked his lips, eyes darting at the aquarium glass, then back to her face. Breathe. Just breathe and say what you came to say. “Rook, I–”

Neve’s voice rang through his head, ‘even mentioning the Ossuary sends you spiraling.’

Spiraling? No! Spite shouted, face pressed to the glass. DROWNING!

“Lucanis?” Again, her voice pulled him back. And when he saw the concern, the fear in her eyes, he knew the real truth. 

He closed his eyes. “Rook, I can’t.” He turned his back on the glass wall, blinking back panicked tears. Mierda, what was happening to him?

Rook stood beside him, her hand still at his elbow. Then she cursed. “Shit! It’s the aquarium isn’t it?”

She didn’t wait for him to reply. She dragged him from her quarters and down to the music room. He followed her, numb and panting against the frozen blocks of his ribcage. It wasn’t until she pressed him down into his usual chair that he felt like his head was back above water. 

Slowly, his chest loosened and he was able to take slow, deep breaths. Eventually, his pulse settled and he became more aware of his surroundings. Rook crouched before him, a hand on his knee. Her other hand was in his, gripped tight. 

“Hey,” she said as he blinked at her. 

He leaned back, resting his head against the wall and covering his face in both hands. Then he let out a string of profanities that would make Teia proud. 

After a beat of silence, Rook said, “I think I understood most of that.”

Lucanis groaned from behind his hands. Leave it to her to tease him at a moment like this.

“Are you okay?” She asked. 

He took a deep breath and felt the last shards of icy panic break away. “I’m all right,” he said. Still, he kept his face covered. 

“Will you look at me?”

No. He didn’t want to see her concern. Or her tenderness. He didn’t want to face the proof that she’d seen him at his worst. He would rather vanish into dust than look at her in that moment. 

“Give me a moment,” he said.

“Okay.”

He expected her to move, to sit at the piano, maybe even to play, but Rook did not leave his side. Her hand stayed on his knee, rubbing gentle, soothing circles above his kneecap. For a moment he let her touch anchor him, his mind swirling like crema in a freshly brewed cup of coffee. 

Mierda, he needed a drink. 

What was the matter with him? How could an aquarium unravel him so completely? How could Rook ever trust him after this? How could he fulfill his contract, how could he keep her safe if all it took to unmake him was a glass wall of water? This was worse than he’d realized. He was worse.

When he didn’t speak or move for what felt like ages, Rook tapped his knee. “Lucanis?”

He grunted.

“I can hear you thinking.”

Lucanis sighed and let his hands fall into his lap. But he kept his face tilted up toward the ceiling. He couldn’t look at her. 

“It’s okay,” she said. “You shouldn’t feel embarrassed.” Rook shook her head. “I should have realized the aquarium might bring up… bad memories. I should have warned you.”

“You can’t take the blame for everything, Rook.” His voice sounded so tired, even to him. 

“No,” she said. “But, I can try.”

He shook his head. “And why would you warn me? It’s not like you expected me to knock on your door.”

A beat of silence hung between them. “Not tonight, no,” she said. “But, I thought, maybe, eventually–”

Lucanis looked down at her in surprise. Did she mean…? She thought about him coming to her room? In the middle of the night?

Judging from her blush, yes. Yes, she did.

Rook smiled up at him. “There you are.”

He didn’t look away from her, even though he desperately wanted to. He felt… fragile. Like a single misplaced touch would shatter him and he’d fall to pieces all over again. But, if there was anyone he trusted not to break him, it was Rook. Lucanis put his hand on hers where it still rested on his knee, squeezed her fingers in his. 

He could tell her how he felt, now, and she would accept him just as he was – fragile and half-shattered. He knew that, deep in his chest. He felt her acceptance in the weight of her hand on his knee, in the weight of her gaze. He should tell her now. He wanted to. 

But hadn’t this… episode proved him right? Like Neve had said, with everything he was dealing with, how was it right for him to squeeze Rook in? He’d thought he was ready, but he couldn’t even step inside her room. There was still so much he needed to do, needed to deal with before he could pull her into his life and not hate himself for it. 

Lucanis squeezed her hand one more time, and then released her. Rook took the cue and removed her hand from his knee. His leg tingled at the loss of her touch. 

Rook stood and put her hands on her hips. “So, what did you come to talk to me about?”

Lucanis stared at her for two panicky heartbeats, then remembered Teia’s message. “Viago and Teia sent word. They want to talk. About Illario.”

Spite growled from behind Rook at mention of his cousin.

“Whatever it is, they wish to speak away from Treviso. Away from anyone who might be listening. They won’t put more to paper.”

“Oh,” she said. She sounded disappointed. 

“I need to meet with them, as soon as possible.”

“All right,” she said, nodding. “We’ll head out first thing tomorrow.”

“Thank you, Rook,” he said. He hoped the weight of his voice told her he meant it for more than just their impending trip to Minrathous. 

“Of course, Lucanis,” she said, and the warmth in her eyes told him she understood completely. Just as she always did. 

Lucanis couldn’t bring himself to confess his feelings to Rook now. Not after this mess. But he was also desperate not to be alone just yet. 

“Rook?” He called as she turned toward the door. 

She stopped and looked at him. 

“Can I ask another favor?”

She smiled. “Always.”

He smiled at that, even as he felt the heat bloom in his cheeks. “Will you play for me?”

She laughed. “Now?”

He shrugged. “If it’s a bother–”

Rook waved his words away and sat at the piano. “I did say ‘any time’.”

“You did,” he murmured. He watched, rapt, as she settled into the instrument. She played the same notes she’d hunted out that first night he’d found her in this room, but she’d obviously been practicing. Her fingers were sure as they danced across the keys, drawing the song out, coaxing it into a reverberating being with such tenderness it made him ache. 

Lucanis had attended more than his fair share of operas, had listened to live musicians countless times at parties in Villa Dellamorte and in the close intimacy of cafés. None of them compared to Rook playing for him –privately– at his request. 

He had basically zero experience with what made him… want. But in that moment, watching Rook’s hands, seeing the expression on her face shift to match the tone of the song, Lucanis’s whole body suffused with delicious heat. He always wanted Rook, in some low, background fashion. But this was different, pointed and–

Hungry, Spite hissed. 

Yes. It felt a lot like hunger. Or, a craving. He’d expected his feelings for her to diminish in the wake of his embarrassment, but instead they only seemed stronger. That she could see him like that, and still care? It made something in his chest open up, vibrating like the notes through the room. Lucanis felt uncoiled and strung tight all at once, so much so that he had to close his eyes and focus on his breathing. 

He couldn’t tell Rook how he felt now, because if he did he didn’t think he could keep from devouring her whole. That wasn’t what he wanted when they finally spoke about this… thing developing between them. He didn’t want reckless passion and possible regrets in the aftermath. He wanted them both to be sure, to have no illusions or misunderstandings. And right now he was too twisted up with his panic and Illario.

So, he took his pleasure in the music she played for him, imagined her sitting at the instrument in Villa Dellamorte’s ballroom, maybe in an elegant, backless dress that shimmered as golden as the sunset in Arlathan Forest. It was a pleasing thought, one Lucanis was more than happy to sit with for as long as Rook wanted to play.  

They would go to Minrathous tomorrow and deal with whatever news the Talons had about his cousin. And maybe, after, he could finally tell her how he truly felt. 

[perotovar]

into the beat of the night (ch 1) "transmission"

gif by me, moodboard by the lovely @sp00kymulderr ♥

pairing: frankie morales/nb!oc (they/them) rating: T (for now) chapter warnings: discussions of sexuality/gender (frankie doesn't understand some things and may use language that would be harmful, but it's not intentional), limited knowledge of the military, goth stereotypes abound, mentions of drug addiction/recovery, swearing, cute shit word count: 2.7k dividers by @saradika

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series summary: frankie morales thought he had himself figured out by now. he liked both men and women, had dated both in the past. but when someone that challenges what he thinks that means comes into his life, in an unlikely place, he truly learns who he is, and more importantly, who he loves.

series masterlist

a/n - i can't thank y'all enough for giving my fic a chance! i'm really nervous about posting it since i haven't properly written anything in years, but i've had some lovely cheerleaders (@scenaaario - who is also my lovely beta, i want to kiss you on the mouth for making this fic sound like i wanted it to ♥♥ - @undercoverpena @mrsquill and @kedsandtubesocks i love you guys ♥) along the way that gave me the motivation to post this little story. comments and reblogs are super appreciated! i'd love to hear what y'all think <3

In 1994, the U.S. adopted “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell” as the official federal policy on military service by lesbian, gay and bisexual individuals. It was officially repealed in 2011. Seventeen years. For seventeen years, LGBTQ folks, Frankie included, had to hide. At least, he felt he needed to.

He knew he was bisexual when he and his childhood best friend Mateo were in their sophomore year of high school. Frankie and all the other boys started to hit puberty the year before and things were changing: facial hair was slowly growing, voices were dropping.  Mateo started to develop a little faster than Frankie did. Frankie really liked how Mateo was developing. It was a little weird, because they’d been best friends since they were still wearing underoos, but Frankie started to feel things whenever he hung out with Mateo. Things he normally only felt whenever Alana in third period flipped her hair over her shoulder, or whenever Charlotte in fifth period stretched before she started writing and her sweater pulled over her chest a little too much.

Frankie didn’t know what to do with this information or these feelings. He didn’t have a word for any of it, so he just never said anything. He had a couple girlfriends throughout high school, and to anyone who cared to think on it, would see that Frankie was like any other straight, high school boy.

In 1994, Francisco Morales joined the military. He was nineteen. It was never his plan growing up to join, but his dad always wanted him to. When he didn’t have his own plan after high school, he figured it was a safe bet since he had family in the service. While there, he worked his way up in the ranks and eventually met his brothers: Santiago, Benny, Will, and Tom. They would die for each other, had signed up to do so, in fact. He’d grown closest to Santiago, and it was the first time since he was 15 that he got those feelings again. He pushed them to the side, though, because that’s when she came into his life. He didn’t need those feelings getting in the way.

Frankie’s bisexuality really only came into his life a couple of times. His first girlfriend in the military, Layla, was also bisexual and that’s when he learned what the word was and that it also applied to him. She only ever told him since Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell was in full swing. Of course he kept her secret, because she also kept his.

The only one of his group of brothers that didn’t know about his sexuality was Tom. He didn’t feel comfortable enough to tell him, and the others agreed it was best to keep it quiet. Santiago was the first one to know, then Will, and finally Benny. Ben was Ben about it when he found out. He immediately hugged Frankie and excitedly suggested they go to a gay bar instead of their usual hang out. It made Frankie laugh and Will smacked Ben on the back of the head. (They did end up going to a couple of gay bars from time to time. Frankie only went home with a guy once and the guys gave him a lot of shit for it, asking for details. Santiago gave him a smile and patted him on the back and said, “I’m glad you’re finally here, hermano.”)

Frankie had one man he’d consider a “boyfriend” in his life. After he left the military and after DADT was repealed, he went on a bit of a binge. He started hooking up with people more often, despite his introverted nature. He was always careful, safe, and eventually kept to one man for a couple years, before an especially messy breakup.  They were both pilots in the military, but were based in different states; Frankie in Florida, and Jackson in Kentucky. They bonded quickly after meeting at a nightclub in Nashville. Neither one of them remembers why they were there, but they made it a point to see each other frequently, each of them taking turns flying out to see the other.

The breakup happened after Jackson found Frankie’s stash for the last time. The military affected everyone differently. For Frankie, his coke addiction is what got him through the sleepless nights. Jackson had found Frankie one too many times leaned over the back of a toilet and snorting god knows what. Jackson had his own problems with drugs and felt that Frankie ignored them in search of his next fix. Addiction had completely taken over Frankie’s life for the better part of five years. Frankie hated Jackson for leaving him when he most needed him, and lashed out, accusing Jackson of only ever wanting to fuck. That broke Jackson, as he thought about how deeply he loved Frankie. Gay marriage was legalized a year later, and had things panned out differently, they might still be together. He doesn’t blame Jackson for leaving anymore.

Frankie’s daughter, Marisol, changed everything. She was the love of his life, and he would do anything for her. After going back to his days of sleeping around after Jackson left, he met Maya. He kept telling her that he would get clean and go to therapy while she was pregnant, but not until he held his little Marisol in his arms for the first time did he commit to both. He and Maya never planned on being together officially, and decided co-parenting would be their best option. 

He’d been clean and sober for two years by the time Santi told him about the Colombia job. He hadn’t flown, or been allowed to in that time, and was pretty content to never do so again. Every time he got in the pilot’s seat, it would take him to terrible places. But Santi was his best friend, so he took the job. He relapsed when he got home, after Tom. He never blamed Santi for it. He gave Frankie a choice, and where he could’ve said no, he didn’t.

Which brings him to where he is now, two years after Colombia. He’d crossed the street and stood in line for the entrance. He hadn’t been to this nightclub in a while. He looked up at the sign for the club, and raised an eyebrow. The Night Owl. That… isn’t what it was called last time. Was it sold? Apparently, it had recently undergone a rebranding, with new owners, and a slightly… different clientele. 

The best way he could describe it now was that it was a goth club. Frankie had never personally been to this sort of club, not really being a fan of the music or subculture, but never had a negative opinion either. He stuck out like a sore thumb when he entered, the bouncer giving him a once over and chuckling, but letting him in anyway. 

He made his way over to the bar and had a seat, taking in his surroundings and started people watching. He planned on going out tonight, and possibly go home with someone. A club is a club, so he decided to stick around and see what all the fuss was about. 

The walls shook with the heavy bass and beats of the music. It wasn’t like anything he’d heard before. His nostrils filled with the scent of clove cigarettes and hairspray. Everywhere he looked, someone completely decked out in teased hair and black clothing caught his attention. He smiled softly at all the variations in people’s style, wondering how long it took for all of them to get ready in the morning.

The bartender, a large man with heavy eye makeup and a lot of chains and spikes, came up to him and smirked. He felt a presence behind him and when Frankie finally faced forward again, he startled a little, not expecting such an imposing figure to be giving him a staredown.

“What’ll you be havin’, stripes?”

“Stripes?”

The bartender, who had a patch sewed onto his denim vest that read “Viper”, rolled his eyes and gestured vaguely to Frankie’s whole self. “You mean to tell me you’re not military?”

Frankie blinked a couple times and huffed a laugh. “Ex-military, yeah. Is that… okay?”

Viper gave him a long look, eyes slightly narrowed, and pointed to one of the many tattoos on his arm, up high on his shoulder. It was an old one, a little faded, but Frankie recognized it as the stripes given to Sergeant Majors.  “I left after this. Got injured,” he said.

“Sorry to hear that.”

Viper shrugged and reached under the bar, cleaning a glass. “I’m not. So what’re you havin’?”

Frankie thought about it for a second. “I’ll probably regret this, but surprise me.”

An amused look crossed Viper’s features, but he nodded and started mixing a drink for him. Frankie noticed all the ingredients used; lager beer, hard cider, and some kind of syrup. He raised a brow and picked up the glass as Viper slid it across the bar for him. Frankie gave him a look as if to say, ‘Is this safe?’ despite having just watched Viper make it. The bartender chuckled and just gestured for him to give it a try.

Frankie took a deep breath and gulped down a drink. A little foam was stuck to his mustache when he lowered the glass from his face. “Not bad. What is it?” Frankie asked.

“Snakebite. Kind of a staple around here,” Viper hummed, cleaning a different glass.

Frankie chuckled at the name. Of course that’s what it was called. 

Viper was pulled away when a pretty girl with big, teased hair and dark makeup came up to the bar. Frankie took the opportunity to look around the place again.

The music was best described as “dark” and “broody”, unsurprisingly, with slow tempos and even lower vocals. Everyone on the dancefloor was slowly swaying back and forth and, once in a while, would move their arms in ethereal shapes. 

Frankie remembered seeing one of the younger teachers at Marisol’s daycare wearing a t-shirt with a band logo that looked like a bundle of sticks. He tried figuring out what it said once, but was too afraid to ask, so he still doesn’t know. He doesn’t think she’d be at this kind of club.

“You’re new. Bit like a zoo your first time here, I bet.”

Frankie startled, putting his hand over his heart and turned to look at who was talking. Someone had sat next to him and was grinning, taking a sip from their own drink; something dark red and a little cloudy. He blinked a couple times and took in their features; big green eyes rimmed with dark lines, two different nose piercings, and black lipstick. Their hair was long and straight, dark, and with the right side in front of their ear shaved completely. He couldn’t quite figure out if who he was talking to was male or female, the androgyny of their look very clear.

“Uhh, hello?” They waved their hand, full of rings and black nail polish, in front of his face and chuckled quietly. “Oh! Maybe–” They cut themselves off and started making a bunch of symbols and shapes with their fingers and hands.

Frankie blinked and started laughing softly. “I’m not deaf! Sorry,” he grinned. “You just startled me, that's all.”

“Oh!” The stranger laughed, too, putting a hand on his right knee in a friendly gesture. He looked down at the hand and smiled, his heart skipping a beat. Even if he didn’t know very much about them, he couldn’t deny it; they were very pretty.

He removed his cap and ran his fingers through the unruly curls for a second before putting the hat back on. “Sorry,” he repeated, shaking his head slightly. “Yeah, it’s my first time here. I didn’t realize the club had changed owners.”

“It did?” They asked, tilting their head to the left slightly. 

“Yeah, it was a– Uh, last time I was here, it was a… different kind of club,” Frankie mumbled. 

The stranger’s eyes twinkled mischievously, the smirk still present on their lips. “What kind of club? Are you secretly into some really heavy BDSM type stuff?” They wiggled their eyebrows.

Frankie had started taking a drink of his Snakebite again and nearly choked on it at the stranger’s teasing. He coughed a couple times, a wide grin on his face. “No! Nothing like that,” he chuckled.

The stranger snapped their ring-clad fingers like they were hoping he’d say otherwise and slumped their shoulders in disappointment. “Damn…”

Frankie’s cheeks warmed at the insinuation, but laughed, convinced they were just joking with him. He cleared his throat and continued, “Y-Yeah, uh, I wasn’t expecting this kind of… group, when I came by. Although, the name of the place probably should’ve warned me.”

“What kind of group?” The stranger grinned, watching his handsome features change from thoughtful to concerned.

Frankie panicked, worried he’d somehow offended them, and cleared his throat again. “N-Not that there’s anything wrong with– Um! I don’t, actually… know,” he tapered off, looking down as he scratched the back of his neck nervously.

The stranger snorted and waved him off. “I’m fucking with you,” they laughed. “I know what you mean. When I heard a new club opened up closer to my apartment, I got pretty excited. No more hour-long drives to the nearest one, y’know?”

Frankie nodded, their low, smooth voice captivating him the longer they spoke.

“Oh! Meant to say this before, but my name’s River,” they smiled and held their hand out to him to shake.

“Frankie,” he answered, holding his own hand out to return the gesture. But River beat him to it, and gripped his long, thick fingers in their own hand and kissed the back of his softly.

Frankie blushed like mad, eyes widening slightly. No one had ever kissed his hand before. He kept his eyes downcast, his hand still securely in River’s grasp.

River tilted their head, brows furrowed in concern before letting go of his hand. “Sorry, was that–?”

“No! N-No, um…” Frankie smiled shyly, tugging at a loose curl behind his ear. “It was fine– Nice, actually.”

River grinned as if they had clocked him immediately. “Well, Frankie, it was very nice meeting you. Will I see you here again?” They asked, looking him up and down.

Frankie found himself nodding before he could say or do anything else. “Y-Yeah, absolutely. Um, how–?”

“My song just came on, and I simply must dance to it. Later,” River winked, stood, and leaned over to kiss Frankie’s cheek as they slipped something into the front pocket of his flannel shirt.

River was gone before Frankie could ask anything else, his eyes following after them as they reached the dancefloor. He watched them dance for a few minutes before he was brought out of it by someone clearing their throat behind him. He spun around and saw Viper, the bartender, leaning toward him and giving him a look.

“You gonna pay for these drinks?” He grumbled, motioning toward Frankie’s Snakebite and whatever River was drinking.

He followed Viper’s tattooed finger and cleared his throat. “Uh, yeah. Sorry,” he mumbled, pulling his wallet out and putting a couple bills on the bar. Viper nodded in thanks and Frankie took that as his cue to leave.

As he stood, he looked toward the dancefloor again in the hopes of seeing River one last time. When he didn’t, he tried to shake himself off and made his way toward the entrance. The bouncer gave him a look and Frankie just shrugged as he exited the club. The cool night air hit his still-warm cheeks, making him feel like he came back to reality. 

“Oh, right,” he mumbled to himself and reached into his front pocket and pulled out a little scrap of paper. A phone number with two cute little devil horns drawn on either side and a little, ‘text me?’ written down beneath it.

Frankie smiled to himself and rubbed the ink on the paper with his thumb.

[rippersz]

The meat is cold.

«——..✞..——»

«——..✞..——»

(DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT) (Mentions of cannibalism, murder, slight glorification of both, etc.) (Larissa Weems x Reader oneshot)

«——..✞..——»

“She eats the hearts first, before they go bad— as all hearts will.” ~ Jessica D. Thompson

«——..✞..——»

“Are you going to eat me?”

You’ve asked her before but you repeat yourself anyway.

Larissa blinks. Long and slow. Sizing you up. Running her blue eyes over the length of your arms and stretch of your legs. Something flickers there. You briefly wonder if she’s questioning how fast you can run. You briefly wonder if she’s salivating over the thought of catching you.

“I didn’t plan on it, but now that I look at you closely, I think you want me to.”

You swallow.

She’s wrong, of course. She’s wrong. It’s just her own delusions. She thinks and perceives what she wants to think and perceive. Truth does not matter to a liar. The sweat on your palms says it all.

“I don’t.” Your voice is firm, but somehow it doesn’t feel like enough. Somehow it feels like-

“I don’t believe you.”

-like she won’t believe you.

“Why not?”

A weird heated pleasure fills you at the sight of her smirk. Red, curling, slight, full of undeniable mirth. She really does find you funny. She really does enjoy your time together; you’ve never doubted that.

But you should. You really should. You don’t want to be one of the sheep. You don’t want to play with the facade and finally accept her for what she is on the surface. You don’t want to know her as the school principal. You don’t want to die.

“Because you’re still here. And the door is unlocked.”

Yes. You knew that. She rarely locked it. Mainly because that wouldn’t be very professional, but also because she wanted to give others the option of leaving. Anxious or angry students, tired staff members, pleased parents… they could leave whenever they wished. You could leave whenever you wished. You could leave right now.

Then why aren’t you moving?

“Who is this?” You sniff, looking down at the plate in front of you, desperately trying to grasp for some control.

You agreed on dinner at some point. She took you up on it by surprise earlier that morning. The food, she said, was on her. The meal, cooked to perfection thanks to her skills, was supposed to be delicious. To anyone else, it would be. They’d have been nearly finished by now, praising her to the heavens and letting out little noises of appreciation. But you know what she is. And you know that you’ve never really been interested in eating people before.

“I don’t see why that matters,” is the smooth response you get - quickly followed by the clink of silverware and the cut of meat and the gentle hum of a woman satisfied. You can’t bring yourself to look up.

“…Did they deserve it?” You’re not sure of what else to ask - you just know that you don’t want to leave. You would never admit that out loud, never willingly, but it’s the truth. You are the killer’s favorite. You are safe. You are better than them.

“Doesn’t everyone deserve it at some point or another?” Her voice is light and airy- twinkling with a complete lack of care.

“No,” is your immediate sharp response. It sort of slips off of your tongue by accident, but when you look up to gauge her reaction, you’re surprised to see not even a hint of shock or anger. Instead, all that paints her eyes is intense recognition. Like she knew you’d say that. Like she knew you were a morally correct hero hiding a dark heart.

“No?” Her fork spears a piece of meat. ‘Sirloin,’ she’d said when you first sat down. Yeah, right. “Why do you say that?”

You fix her with a look. A very obvious look. A look with a tilt of your head. One that says ‘You and I aren’t the same Larissa, but you know exactly what I mean.’ One that says ‘Don’t ask questions you already know the answers to.’ One that says, secretly, ‘I don’t know. I just know that I’ve been told no good soul deserves death.’

Your mouth, on the other hand, says “Just because we all end up dying doesn’t mean we all deserve it. There are some amazing people out there that would have made the world better if they were still around.”

She seems to think over your serious response, rolling it around within her vast mind. While she formulates a suitable reply, her lips move with each chew of her steak - you try hard not to focus on that. When it comes to killers, good ones at least, there’s always that thing said about them: they’re charming; handsome or pretty; they’re alluring in a way that no “normal human” could be. Larissa Weems has never been the exception. She is no different. It can be disturbingly easy to get lost in the other things she has to offer. Like her beauty. Or her intelligence. Or the way her eye contact makes you feel like the most important, most recognizable, most wonderful thing in the entire world. You’d compare her to a drug but she is something worse than that. She is an aura. A feeling. She is something entirely different. You think it’s partly due to her outcast status. She’s not a ‘fur’ or a ‘fang’ or a ‘scale’ or a ‘stoner’. She’s not just regularly odd or eccentric. She’s not even mythical.

And yet?

And yet.

The very atoms in her body, the skin across her bones and veins and muscles, the makeup of her organs, can shift shape. Can adjust. The image is crafted in her mind and suddenly is mirrored onto her body. You’d never seen it in person, up close, but you know it’s true. You know it’s a wondrous thing to see. You know some sick desperate hungry part of you twists with the desire to watch her body become something entirely different. You know you want to see her in her element.

Whether it’s bloody or not.

“You either die a hero or live long enough to see yourself become the villain… I think that sums it up perfectly. The longer a person stays in good health, the more bitter they become. No one truly wants to live forever, Y/n. You know this…,” Larissa pauses, taking a moment to slip her long fingers under and around the belly of her wine glass so she can take a sip. You watch as her throat moves with a swallow. “…And those who go against nature and insist that they do want to live forever, that they’ll somehow find the world to be better as the years go on, well…,” blue eyes suddenly move to you, slicing into your gaze. “They’re liars, of course.”

Of course.

Liars. Of course.

You know it’s the truth.

You hate when she’s right.

You hate when she knows she’s right. There’s that playful little sign in her eyes, glowing with satisfaction, glowing like the cat who captured the mouse.

“I hate you.” It’s a small whisper. A little defeat. Another start to the same cycle. You indulge her, you meet with her, you keep her secret, you dip into your own psyche and pull out your weird fascination with her mind. You go at it until you find yourself becoming tired of thinking so much. Then you tell her you hate her. Or you yell at her. Or you storm out or slam the door or just fall silent and allow for the excitement to pitter out into nothing. But eventually, every time, at some point, you let it die.

Only to revive it again. Only to get lost, once more, in her beauty and allure. Her stupidly literal killer charm. Her strange instinctive ability to easily slip out of trouble and cover her tracks. Not that there were many tracks to cover in the first place. She’s very very good. Worryingly good. No one suspects a thing.

You could fix that, though.

You could put an end to her reign of terror.

You could say one word, provide one sample of one of her dinners, drop a hint or two, and she’d be placed behind bars faster than you could blink.

You could save so many people.

You can save so many people.

You can snatch up a piece of the cold meat on your plate, walk right out of her office, and race down to the Nevermore van. You can do it. You’re not terribly fast but adrenaline pushes the human limit. And though you’re not human- seeing as you can control fire- you’re not too keen on burning her alive. Such an act would probably result in Nevermore’s demise as well - and that would break your heart.

Would Larissa’s death break your heart?

You look up from your hands and study her face. There’s a sudden tiredness there. It’s small, minuscule, but the lines in her skin look deeper and the weariness in her gaze looks shinier and the mask, you realize, has slipped. She’s frowning- not a lot but just enough. And she’s not looking at you. Well, she is, but not into your eyes like she usually does. No, no, she’s staring at… at your chest. At your heart. You’re sure she doesn’t have X-ray vision but some part of you wonders if that’s what she’s trying so hard to see. Your pumping life. Your beating force. If it expands and contracts for her and her only… or if it breathes to destroy her. If any of her interest, her fascination, even matters in the first place. She’s never told you why you’re so special; so important; so cherished, but that doesn’t deter her from her advances. From her fluttered lashes or easy smiles or husky laughs or occasional indulging conversation. It’s not seduction at its finest, but stalking at its lowest. Like she’s watching you through the underbrush and you know she’s there and she knows that you know she’s there and you both stand still because maybe, by some miracle, if you don’t move, you can enjoy the silent attention of each other for just a little longer. Because you can’t help but think that maybe if she were more normal and more caring and didn’t enjoy the taste of long pork over the taste of regular pork, you’d be able to somehow fall in love with her. Start a life with her. And not have to worry about her waking up one day and deciding that she wants to prepare and plate your kidneys for supper.

Would Larissa’s death break your heart?

You hear her clear her throat. You watch as she takes another sip of wine. You see her hand shake. You see the appetite she once had perish on her tongue.

“I hate you,” you’d said.

Did you mean it?

Will you ever mean it?

Why are you doing this to yourself?

Why do you love her?

Why does she not see it?

“I know,” is Larissa’s final response. Something dies behind her eyes. “I know.”

And the cycle continues.

«——..✞..——»

A swift dive into some stranger fic topics. I figure if Larissa were to be a ‘baddie’, she’d be a cannibal. I may make this part of a little series of scenarios. Hope you’re all doing well. - Rip x

«——..✞..——»

[not-a-space-alien]

Two Sides of the Same Coin: Chapter 1

Story Masterpost

My writing hiatus is OVER!!! I'm super excited to come back and share this Baldur's Gate 3 fanfiction I've been working on. It will have 6-7 chapters. The main focus is on Astarion. Karlach is also here a lot, and Wyll and Gale are supporting characters. It will also have elements of giant/tiny for the middle chapters!

You can probably figure out from context clues, but the setting for this fic is a playthrough universe where the party does NOT do Astarion's personal quest in act 3.

If you'd like to be tagged when new chapters come out, leave a comment or message me to say so and I'll put you on the taglist :) Or Subscribe over on AO3 （＾∀＾) 👉 AO3

Chapter 1 doesn't have any warnings besides typical Astarion-levels of angst.

***

“We'll do it after all this, Fangs. I promise.”

They wouldn't, of course. Astarion knew better than that.  They weren’t going to help him kill Cazador to be finally free once and for all “after all this crazy shit with Netherbrains and mind flayers and tadpoles and the world-destroying cult is over.”  They were just telling him whatever it took to get what they wanted out of him, which was his help in defeating said cult.  Astarion was very familiar with it because it was how he operated basically all the time, just telling people what they wanted to hear.

If they were all still alive and standing after all this, Astarion very much doubted any of them would want to keep him around, let alone help him with his goals.  All of them had turned down his offering his body to them, and once they no longer had use of his skills with a blade, there would be nothing to keep them around.  Certainly nothing to motivate them to help him.

Everyone had helped Gale with what he wanted because understanding the Netherese magic might help them destroy the brain.  Everyone helped Wyll with what he wanted because his father was a powerful lord and needed to be saved to stop the Absolute.  Everyone helped Shadowheart with what she wanted because she had that whole thing going on with Aylin and Selûne, which they’d needed to do to defeat Ketheric anyway.  Everyone helped Lae’zel with what she wanted because she was a gith warrior and an expert in slaying ghaik and knew about the relic and everything.  Everyone helped Karlach with what she wanted to do because, well, Gortash was one of the chosen three and they needed to kill him anyway.  Everyone had helped Jahira and Halsin and Minsc and Minthara and basically everyone Astarion could count until he ran out of fingers to count on.

But then when it came his turn to ask for help?  The way they kept assuring him it was okay to do?

Apparently defeating Cazador wouldn’t help.  It wasn’t necessary.  Because Cazador wasn’t affiliated with the cult, or the hells, or the mind flayers or the tadpoles or the undead or the Sharrans or the anyone that needed to be dealt with to prevent the sky from falling on them.

No, he was only affiliated with Astarion, and of course nobody would die if Astarion kept living in paralyzing fear.

Gale, Lae’zel, Shadowheart, Karlach–they all seemed to agree it could be put off until after the more pressing matters were dealt with.  Astarion maybe thought he hadn’t communicated well enough how pressing this was for him, personally, but he wouldn’t humiliate himself by getting down on his knees to beg.  He stopped asking after that–he couldn’t bear to be told no anymore than he already had.

“My be-fanged friend, I think we have matters a touch more urgent to attend to first.  Your vampiric sire will be top of the list as soon as getting distracted might not have such disastrous consequences.”

“This vampire lord is chraith, for sure, but our most urgent enemy is far more of a task.”

“You helped me with Viconia, so it’s only fair I help you with Cazador–but after the detour to the Sharran temple, I think everyone feels we’ve wasted enough time on things that can wait right now.”

“We'll do it after all this, Fangs. I promise.”

They wouldn’t, of course.  All this momentum that had built up to stop the cult would dissipate as soon as the Netherbrain was destroyed, and then suddenly nobody would have the interest in staying together.  They’d been talking about going their separate ways after this.  Nobody would want to keep going for yet more high-risk hijinks, especially not to help some random vampire spawn who, all things considered, wasn’t even of much value to the group.

He’d managed to get into a group of people who seemed to care about him, who told him it was okay to ask for help, and then he’d found it to be still another lie.

Astarion found the one member of the camp who wouldn’t judge him for it, Scratch, curled up with the dog in his arms, and wept as quietly as he could.

“I’ve had an infinite parade of lovers.  But a friend? I can’t think of a single one.”  He still couldn’t, not anymore. 

***

They did it.  They actually did it.

They’d managed to somehow beat down the cult of the Absolute, face the Absolute itself, and win.  They’d destroyed a netherbrain.  Astarion could hardly believe it.  He was, somehow, a hero who’d saved the world.

He was riding the high and the tidal wave of mixed emotions so much that he’d almost managed to forget about his problem.  He was only forcefully reminded as they stood there on the docks, in the sunlight, and the sunlight, well.

He’d managed to forget that the sunlight was his enemy, waiting with hungry, pricking fingers for him to let his guard down.

He started slapping at his own skin like he was on fire and had to put it out, while his companions stood by in horror and urged him to find cover.

He ran blindly.  It was a miracle he didn't fall off the dock into the water.  Ha managed to find shadows under a pile of crates.

He curled up and rocked himself, trying not to let himself fall back into despair.  His life in the sun was gone, burned up just like the sun had burned his skin.

He could very faintly hear Karlach yelling–apparently she also was getting her reward for all her hard work, which was also burning alive.

What a world.

Astarion managed to use his cloak to shield himself from the sun to move away from his hiding spot and go deeper into the ravaged city.  He wanted to get away from his… companions.  He knew no help was coming, and he wouldn't subject himself to the humiliation of being refused help while also having to hide from the sun.

He had enough gold in his pockets to buy passage on a boat when the sun went down.  He had to just get as far away from Baldur’s Gate as possible.  Get somewhere Cazador wouldn’t be able to reach him. 

It was madness that Astarion hadn’t done that in the first place.  He should have just put as much distance between himself and Cazador the second he was free from his command, consequences and mind flayers be damned.

He skulked about in the darkness of the under-city until it was night, then went up to the docks. His companions were gone, which was good. He couldn't face them.

Now he just needed to find a boat leaving Baldur's Gate, any boat whose crew he could talk to here after hours, maybe talk them into letting him below deck now so he wouldn't have to board later in the sun.

He was so busy frantically stretching his neck to find such a target that he didn't notice the presence at his elbow.  But damn if he didn't recognize the voice.  It was the voice driving his nightmares.

“Where exactly do you think you're going, boy?  I've been looking for you everywhere. We've got places to be."