#flamed granite flooring

[namelessghoulindisguise]

oh, i write stuff too btw. heres some smut i wrote

swiss (ofc) x reader

contains- choking

To say he could fuck was an understatement.

The entire night, you teased him on stage, a minor touch to the chest here and there, maybe a few fingers grazed his neck. the fans ate it up, but you knew every time you would pay for it. not that you minded, you liked paying in this case.

Your brain felt like a fuzzy mess, overdosed on Swiss' cock and his sweet praise. If you pushed him hard enough, he will remind you who you belong to.

your hands gripped the sink, so hard you thought your nails would puncture the granite at this point. "Sw...iss.." you moaned out in fractured bits, not even able to control any volume. His hands gripped your hips, and there was no sign of him letting go anytime soon. he fucked you with such passion your body started to rise up onto the sink, your feet dangling slighty as his height and frame devoured you. the only proof you were even there was the sound of your whimpers and panting.

"oh pretty girl... look at you, taking me so fucking well... youre so good... so greedy.." He muttered as he skillfully fucked himself into you. you felt yourself clenching at his words, and he felt it too, letting out an animalistic groan. "you like that huh?" He said.

you couldnt respond if you wanted to, you were too far gone, body clouded with pleasure to even think, the only thing your brain was able to comprehend was how good your ghouls cock felt.

you snapped back for a second as you felt a hand come around your throat, and pulled you up to look at yourself in the mirror. you wish you could take a picture with your eyes. all you saw was Swiss, shoving you full of his cock, holding you up by your throat.

He saw your reaction.. more felt then saw, and he tried to grip your throat tighter to see the effect. your eyes started to water at the immense pleasure your body felt, he grabbed your wrists and held them together with one hand, and choked you with the other, forcing you to look at yourself getting shoved full of your pretty ghoul. your eyes watered, your mouth hung open, and an array of pathetic noises fell out without control.

"look at you..acting like a bitch in heat in heat.." he said. your knees began to buckle. you couldnt tell if it was his degradation or just the sheer fact he was fucking you like a play toy.

"s'full of cock...just like you wanted huh? teasin' me all night." he muttered into your eyes, planting a bite into the crook of your neck. you felt a mess start to trickle down your legs, giving him proof of your pleasure. the angle of his thrusts, and every variable of his words, his grasp on your neck, his filthy praise, all of it shot in between your legs. his cock felt like the match to your flame, feeling that heat rise in your stomach,  you felt yourself tensing.. there was no way this was going to happen.

without any warning, your first non clitoral orgasm ripped through your body carelessly. you yelped and whimpered, almost a little too loud. the cream that formed around the base of his cock, started to trickle down onto the floor, along with the mess that you had made just for him all over your legs. you trembled under him, feeling so good. he knew you had more in you, he slowed down his thrusts, and guided his hand to your aching clit, rubbing it with the thick pads of his fingers. you tensed and winced for a second, feeling overstimulated everywhere, but it felt so good. he started whispering in you ear, things that would make the Papa on the other side of the confession booth dizzy.

"gonna fill you up.. fuck my cum deep in you.. mmm.." he groaned in an animalistic way, sucking on your neck, biting it every now and then. his words, his disgusting words, his skillful fingers and thick cock, god it was just enough. your second orgasm, this time originating from your now swollen clit, soared through your body, causing your knees to buckle again, you felt so weak in the best way possible. you whined and whimpered, tears flooded out of your eyes.

you felt his nails puncture your hips, and you felt a twitching sensation inside you. he buried his face into your neck, biting you, groaning deeply as he filled you up. he made sure he marked you, he always made sure his scent would be on you. he wanted to the other ghouls to know you were full of his cum, and his cum only. he slowed down his thrusts, but he made sure he fucked that cum deep into you. he pulled out slowly, and all of his warm cum poured out of you, joining the rest of the mess.

he flipped you around and picked you up, setting you on the counter. he took a wash cloth and cleaned you up gently, placing gentle and tender kisses all over the marks he made, praising you for being so good.

"you did s'good.. you beautiful angel.. mhm.." swiss said sweetly, he was back to his lovable sweet self. he carried you back to your bed, snuggling you and whispering sweet nothings into your ear, wrapping his tail around your leg.

[gortashs-skidmark]

GORTASH HEADCANONS and CANON Facts

MATURE CONTENT WARNING, 18+ MDNI, SMUT FOREWARNING - (Grammar mistakes, not proof read) CONTENT WARNING: enslavement mentions, death mentioned, religious themes, war, assassinations, spoiler warning for act 3, anarchy, plotting, yadda yadda evil,

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Canon first, to make precision based Headcanons second.

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ᏵꝊ𐌓𐌕𐌀𐌔𐋅ᏵꝊ𐌓𐌕𐌀𐌔𐋅ᏵꝊ𐌓𐌕𐌀𐌔𐋅ᏵꝊ𐌓𐌕𐌀𐌔𐋅ᏵꝊ𐌓𐌕𐌀𐌔𐋅ᏵꝊ𐌓𐌕𐌀𐌔𐋅ᏵꝊ𐌓𐌕𐌀𐌔𐋅ᏵꝊ𐌓𐌕𐌀𐌔𐋅ᏵꝊ𐌓𐌕𐌀𐌔𐋅ᏵꝊ𐌓𐌕𐌀𐌔𐋅ᏵꝊ𐌓𐌕𐌀𐌔𐋅ᏵꝊ𐌓𐌕𐌀𐌔𐋅ᏵꝊ

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Info Source: Forgotten Realms Wiki, Forgotten Realms Wiki, World Anvil, World Anvil, Fast Change, r/DnD, Forgotten Realms Wiki, World Anvil, dungeonsanddragonsfans

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Utilizes 4e and 5e Manuals.

CANON

Wyrm’s Rock Geography and History

𝔊 An "Island-fortress located in the city of Baldur's Gate, that served as one of the headquarters of the Flaming Fist military. It was located on an isle in the middle of the River Chionthar, at the center of Wyrm's Crossing."

𝔊 Smooth, warn granite built Wyrm's Rock, with 1ft thick and constantly wet from the river.

𝔊 The interiors of Wyrm's Rock includes offices and chambers for toll-gatherers and guards, keep's armory stocked to the nines, the top floor serving living-quarters for serving officers and mercenaries.

𝔊 It can hold up to 100 Flaming Fist, but usually only houses 25-50

𝔊 Below Wyrm's Rock is the damp cold dungeons, but it's not used regularly, only for emergencies. It's mostly used as storage, holding canoes and such.

𝔊 The current uses for Wyrm's Rock, are as a safety precaution from the Chionthar's rapids and a toll booth, 5 copper pieces, for travelers along the Trade Way.

𝔊 It's a well guarded fortress, with projectiles, barrels of oil, armor, and hand held weapons.

𝔊 Ansur, a Bronze Lawful Good dragon, "The Heart of the Gate" slumbers beneath Wyrm's Rock.

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Lower/Outer City

𝔊 It is a dangerous "near lawless" piece of Baldur's Gate. Very impoverished with three enterances; Basilisks Gate, Black Dragon, and Cliffgate

𝔊 The buildings scattered along the city are unorganized and unstable.

𝔊 "Due to the high standards of cleanliness that the Baldurian patriar, the city maintained a strict law that prohibited anything larger than a peacock from entering the city's gates. All the stables, livestock pens and abattoirs were consigned to a location within the Outer City. As such, flocks of sheep, goats, cattle and all manner of fowl were kept in enclosures or left to roam around unchecked. While nary a single dog could be found in the lower city, packs of strays were not at all uncommon in the Outer City."

𝔊 It's noisy and dirty and overwhelming for new comers through the gate.

𝔊 The Flaming Fist and The Watch often turn a blind-eye to petty crime like pickpocketing.

𝔊 The Flaming Fist are often bought out, and their behavior sways with the political alignment and leadership world views.

𝔊 There's so much to write about! check this page for all of the vast shops around the Lower City, and the lore behind them. I don't think many of them are relevant so I won't indulge it.

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Humans in DND lore

𝔊 Humans are very diverse, and the youngest living out of the races. They often have a tad of tainted. blood, whether orc or elf or another.

𝔊 They are the most adaptable opportunists and ambitious race. Their culture, gods, customs, morals, all range heavily. They typically stick to one city and stay for as long as possible.

𝔊 Unlike humans themselves, cities and kingdoms with traditions and origins that stick around for centuries. Human names are often regional reflections. If they're given an elven or other name with racial origins, it's usually pronounced wrong.

𝔊 Humans live in the present and make greater adventurers because of it. They're better read about current political change and social dynamics.

𝔊 Humans mingle with anyone, usually able to get on anyones good terms because of their conventional image. In human built societies, generally, they're inclusive. Not always the case. In other racial origin societies, it can be harder for humans to fit in.

𝔊 Because of their short life span, immortality is an escape that's only dreamt of. They seek to leave a mark on history themselves instead of longevity.

𝔊 Humans are categorized by appearance because of region and ancestory. They fall into 9 categories, which I won't be listing. You can find info here, but don't go crazy.

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Baldur’s Political Systems and important Dark Urge History

𝔊 The Half Way to Everywhere, Baldur's Gate, largest metropolitan City-State in the Western Heartlands. Protected by The Flaming Fist (mercenary company) and The Watch Citadel (upper city). Showered in abundance of rain weather, and a complex and efficient aquaduct system. This city is described as The City of Blood with it's large waves of crime, primarily because of its acceptances towards anyone, including thieves.

𝔊 The city is apart of the Lords' Alliance of powers in the west, and ruled by the Council of Four (4 Grand Dukes) who attended the Lords' Alliance in representation of their City-State.

𝔊 There's a strange energy about Baldur's Gate. People, no matter the state of the world, often kept to their own business. They didn't have too many customs, but a few festivals. One notable past-time were cobble parties, folks gathering boxes and crate for seating and sharing stories, lit with special "red rose" torches from firework shops.

𝔊 Religion in Baldur's Gate was vast in variety. Depending on the hotspots of culture, you could find god and goddess worshippers of any kind. Twin Song's, a temple district in Baldur's Gate in the Outer City, were very religiously tolerant, even of Bhaal and Bane worshippers.

𝔊 To favor the land, Umberlee, Tymora, and Gond were prominent gods that were worshipped.

𝔊 After a coup by a previous Grand Duke Valarkan, the city's government changed to a Baldurian Parliament of elected Dukes. After 1479, it changes back to the Council of Four, accompanied by the Parliament of Peers.

𝔊 The Parliament of Peers were an Advisory Council. 50 representatives spread over the entirety of Baldur's Gate, as a legislative body. They would submit recommendations to the Council of Four.

𝔊 The Council of Four were served by 5 deputies, City Officials. Harbor Master, High Constable and Master of Walls, Master of Drains and Underways, Master of Cobbles, and Purse Master.

𝔊 They would hold sessions in the High Hall, open to observers. most days. They held assembly days every afternoon, with non-mandatory attendance, often 20-30 council members in the hall at a time. Some days were mandatory, depending on the topic.

𝔊 A large number of parliament members were bought-out and under influence by The Guild leader Nine-Fingers Keene.

𝔊 It was made up of retired adventurers and guild leaders. 12 representatives of the Lower City, and the remaining were Nobles representing the Upper City, known as Patriars.

𝔊 A list of Patriars. Including Oberon, who you can find dead on Wyrm's Rock. A Noble family who owned many of the dry-docks in Grey Harbour.

𝔊 "In the Year of Three Ships Sailing, 1492 DR, Baldur's Gate became plagued by a series of murders and disappearances. The members of the Flaming Fist showed little interest in addressing the incidents, but after the patriar families of Caldwell, Oberon, and Linnacher became affected, the pressure from Flaming Fist demanding investigations from their superiors started to increase" - Forgotten Realms Wiki

𝔊 In 1479, Baldur's Gate had mended their relationship with Elturguard. Though, expansions the Gate had been making, re-threatened Elturian's and were on the verge of civil war.

𝔊 In 1482, Grand Duke Abdel Adrian, a good-conquered Bhaaspawn, was attacked by a man named Viekang, the only other remaining Bhaalspawn. Though the duel ended in both men dying, one turning into The Slayer form. Both were Bhaalspawn, one was the victor though not knowing who was who. The Slayer form was returned to Bhaal after this event.

𝔊 Durge, with how their timeline works, has to be over 33 years old. Duke Abdel was 120 and had already separated themselves from Bhaal's influence. Do with that info you will. Back to your regularly scheduled Baldurian murder.

𝔊 His death was blamed on The Guild and adventurers were hired to investigate the murder. An increase in crime caused The Fist to crack down on the Lower City and shadier outer districts.

𝔊 The efforts of the Fist and the Watch, assumed by Grand Duke Ulder Ravenguard, didn't last and erupted in chaos. Strikes happened amongst city-workers and the Upper City was given a mid-afternoon curfew. The merchant class of the Lower City became unruly. Arson and crime sky-rocketed. Baldur's Mouth shut down, and the Fist's new leader instituted a series of illegal tribunals.

𝔊 Grand Duke Torlin Silvershield's stock-piled smoke power over parliament to stop the Guild's influence on the corrupt Baldurian Parliment. He revealed himself to be the "the Chosen of the re-ascended god of murder, Bhaal" before he was killed.

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Gortash leans towards Steampunk, does technology exist? What are Constructs?

𝔊 There are different playable levels of tech you can play in a Campaign. I'm not sure where BG3 lies, but my guess is Steel Age, as it is possible to forge steel and infernal iron.

𝔊 Steel Age: fits most campaign settings (including Forgotten Realms, Greyhawk, Ebberon, etc.) and some experts know how to use adamantine and mithril.

𝔊 Within the canon lore that leads up in Dark Urge Origin, it should be the Steel Age. The Zhentarim, 1480's, create steel forged from Dragons in the Cult of the Dragons campaign, which has some capable lead up to Blood in Baldur's Gate (might be canon??) and then the 1492 BG3 game.

𝔊 Infernal Iron, weapons forged from this iron will smite souls and direct them into the River Styx. It can create soul-powered machines and vehicles. It creates Soul Coins, common currency in the Nine Hells. It is mined in the 8th (Cania) and 2nd (Dis) layers of Hell

𝔊 Constructs are creatures made up of inorganic materials. They are non-intelligent automatons, most are anyway.

𝔊 Living Constructs, however, combine elements of in-organic animation and living creatures. They possess free will and sentient thoughts, through complex and potent magic.

𝔊 Living Constructs can get better, and develop skills, they have vitality that doesn't depend on their size. Which means they are capable of being affected by spells and the living. They can wither mentally and physically be harmed in fights. They can be affected by necromancy.

𝔊 Living Constructs are capable of running, be affected with certain healing spell, can take certain potions, but do not require eating and drinking, be affected with mind-altering magic, most are immune to nausea, poison, sleep, fatigue, and paralysis.

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What are Artificiers?

𝔊 They are inventors, engineer, and tinkerers of brilliance, they see magic as a complex system that's meant to be "de-coded" which makes them slower in spell progression.

𝔊 They use a number of items and systems to channel arcane magic, such as alchemy supplies for potent elixirs, calligrapher supplies to inscribe sigils, or tools to craft a temporary charm.

𝔊 They are particular in their crafts and hone it to their own character to produce the perfect product for the job.

𝔊 They often appear more steampunk than medieval like their compatriots. They are capable of using firearms and explosives

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Who is The Tyrant God Bane?

𝔊 "Bane was the Faeruniangod of tyrannical oppression, terror, and hate, known across Faerûn as the face of pure evil through malevolent despotism. From his dread plane of Banehold, The Black Hand acted indirectly through worshipers and other agents to achieve his ultimate plan to achieve total domination of all Faerûn" - Forgotten Realm's Wiki

𝔊 He was the principal of ambition and control. He believes the strong have a right and a duty to rule over the weal.

𝔊 He favors individuals with drive, courage, and promoted slavery to powerful individuals.

𝔊 He worked closely with other if they interested him, unlike most gods. He worked with Myrukel, long when they were both mortal and beyond. He also worked with Loviatar (his servant at one point), Talona, and Mask.

𝔊 He was once lovers with Kiputytto, the demigoddess of Disease, and Loviatar's sister. Later slain by Talona.

𝔊 Bane has had servants such as his own son Iyachtu Xvim, during his first life. At other times of his god life, Abbathor, Maglubiyet (popular goblin god), Hrugget, and Tiamat.

𝔊 Bane's biggest and most hateful foe was Mystra. He hated Cyric too, who stole many of his followers, the Zhentarim or Black Network. He was hated by others but those are some relevant ones.

𝔊 Bane's Church was ruthless, though very stable. It was as disciplined as Shar's or Cyric's. Banite customs were often spartan-ish and followed a heirarchy. There are no Banite holidays and showed their gratitude through rituals. Including sacrifice and torture of sentient beings that were deemed "offensive"

𝔊 Priests of Bane prayed at midnight, for their spells. Disloyalty resulted in death.

𝔊 When Bane was mortal, he allied with mortal Bhaal and Myrukel. They targeted Jergal. They could slice through any obstacal, sometimes set up by Jergal. Jergal was tired of his title and gave it them, including his dagger given to Bane. The God of Death Jergal tricked one another to turn on each other. He divided his power in a game of Knucklebones, which Bane won and gained governance over the sphere of strife. Then Myurkel, then Bhaal who ate murder scraps. Ultimately Jergal had the Goddess of Luck decide.

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How does the Church of Bane shape its worshippers? im just gonna quote one source bc it's straightforward man.

𝔊 Bane's church believes in subserviences and submission within a hierarchy, junior members bowing, kneeling, and even kissing boots if they were low enough in rank. Superior members were to be obeyed at all times. The church rules were of utmost importance, order and laws from any other land means nothing.

𝔊 "According to his priests, Bane was to be feared by his faithful and even more feared by the unfaithful. It was the duty of every member of the church of Bane to "spread (his) fear""

𝔊 "Banite priests took great pride in their ability to control their actions and avoid succumbing to emotional outbursts. Their outward demeanor was cold and thoughtful, they thought carefully before they spoke, often preferring sarcasm and "witty banter" rather than overt hostility." - Forgotten Realms Wiki

𝔊 "The overarching goal of Bane's clergy was the charge of seizing or manipulating their way into power in every nation, city-state or freehold in all of Faerûn, to bring them under his influence. Using emotionally manipulative tools such as fear, hatred or greed to sow conflict, war and chaos would allow the Black Hand to maintain control over lands too distressed to maintain stability. To this end, priests and followers were encouraged to commit acts such as torture, political infiltration or inciting mayhem with subtlety, cruelty and overall, fear."

𝔊 Rituals; "They were held either outdoors at night, or in a space of darkness, such as darkened chambers, caves or ruins with only dim lighting." [...] "Services included rhythmic chanting, the rolling beating of drums and the sacrifice of an intelligent creature's life. To prepare for this life to be given to Bane, the oblatory life was to be demeaned and tortured until they showed him due fear."

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𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊

HEADCANONS (mixed nfsw)

𝔊 He's a mad scientist, lacks good aligned morality, he's far gone. It makes him an amazing artificier.

𝔊 Larian Studios, what is that? What is this laziness? (I was looking into Chiondathans bc I've never heard of the 9 regional categories)

𝔊 Hearing Gortash vomit would be more attractive than hearing his previous last name of "Flymm" in full. I just wanna put that in.

How old is Enver Gortash?

𝔊 I liked this deep-dive by @victorgrwrites and I won't waste time explaining and here

𝔊 So like 33. I think he's 33. Also here’s a bg3 timeline bc yall seem to struggle

anyway

𝔊 I like that durge potentially gets with Astarion. Bane favors animals like bats and black green eyed cats. and durge catches themselves a vampire that can turn into a bat (if ascended). That would 'bout piss Gortash off.

𝔊 Gortash really gets some points from Bane bc he got the Zhentarim's favor again through infernal iron weapons trading. They favor Bane over Cyric again. Gortash was #1 in Bane's eyes.

𝔊 I think he gets hard when he gets exceptional praise. Not like "good boy" like "you're everything the world ever needed, my merciful god" kinda praise. Like calling his brain is magnificent for coming up with that plan all by himself (if you're tav) gets him goin'

𝔊 He does not attend a lot of the parliament meetings, when he does it's for very specific problems in Baldur's Gate, anyone who caught on would probably "disappear"

𝔊 He's busy, either tinkering, meetings, or in worship. I think he leads Bane's church, but not publicly, through Banite priests because he can't be discovered about his religion as a political leader.

𝔊 He uses tones in his voice, you hear it all day, he only makes talk to flatter, mock, or threaten politely, but he knows how to use a very soft, very sweet voice that makes you give into anything he asks for.

𝔊 His broad shoulders and warm hands are never sincere. You felt like you've never been given a sincere hug from him, as comforting as they can be in the moment. He'd have to give up his way of life and cry on his knees in front of you before you could believe he was ever sincere about certain affections.

𝔊 If you could polymorph into an animal, he's either think it's disgusting or wanna fuck it.

𝔊 His Steel Watch, you just can't tell me not to be stunned, are half way between living and non-sentient constructs. They have a brain that operates, they can see what they're doing, and yet they have no control over their body. Gortash didn't need to give them brains to make automatons that do anything at his will, it's pure slavery and torture.

𝔊 If you’re childhood friends, 7 or 8 years old, you’d drag him in the late of night to those Cobble parties and sit among the adults in the dim red torch light listening to the adults talk. You’d drop him off at home, you did have a way of worrying for his safety with his parents. He was a stubborn devil as a child but you were too happy and care free to leave him be.

𝔊 He did not carry those cobbler genes, have you seen his fuggo ass shoes?? He can tinker like no one else but his sense of style is messy and new-money.

𝔊

Why is Gortash Evil?

𝔊 His parents fucking sold him for being "needy and troublesome" like MOST KIDS ARE. If I got sold to a Warlock, that turned out to be THE SON OF MEPHISTOPHELES. I'd be fucking evil too.

𝔊 Just as he was needy and troublesome when he lived with his parents, he reverts to a smaller husk of himself with a trusted lover. Needy, malevolent, confident in his strides, it’s his way or the highway, but he will listen to you quietly. You are an equal but he’s relentless as a person. Pester, pester, pester. Sometimes you feeling like you’re mothering him.

𝔊 He's probably pretty high up in the Church of Bane. People kiss his feet, he shows amazing restraint in emotion, politically is advantageous for Bane, he's a slaver like Bane teaches is okay to do, he trades arms and is super fucking popular for it.

𝔊 He showed great restraint with the Dark Urge, I think he loved being allies with them because he didn't have to stray far from Bane at all for Durge to adore him. I don't think he could've loved and he would've abandoned Durge in a heartbeat unlike vice-versa.

𝔊 I think Enver hums deep and beautifully from his years of chanting in Bane's name. He has a deep focused look on his face, and he deeply hums a melody he heard at a party last night, dancing and wooing patriars left and right on the ballroom floor.

𝔊 𝔊 𝔊

𝔊 Undoing his evil is near-damn impossible. He loves attention, he needs it. He needs praise his his god. He worked so hard for everything in life and you can’t take it away.

𝔊 If you can convince him to give up, fucking unlikely, before the Nether Brain fight, he’ll live. He might suffer Bane’s wrath and kill him and Jergal would not be super happy reviving him after your pleas. Karlach would hate you. So would Wyll

𝔊 Threatening his enteral consequence of death, tending to flowers forever in Avernus after he dies, or, he fixes Karlach so she doesn’t need to go back to Avernus.

𝔊 She wouldn’t trust him and she’d say she’d rather be dead before trusting him again. And you have to convince both of them to be better. Well. Just Gortash. Karlach can do whatever her sweet heart desires.

𝔊 He is irredeemable, he's lead the Church of Bane since he was 17, he's pretty much licked Bane's asshole at this point. It's hard to get to know him. He's probably a grumpy, sad, regretful little guy under his immaculate persona.

𝔊 You can start reconnecting him to Baldur's Gate, with Cobble Parties, you both go and hold hands and listen to stories. He doesn't want to listen to the groveling, sober at least. He is reserved and needs to make friends, but in his own times.

𝔊 His parents would never take him back and accept him, they made him and didn't help him, or work with him as a child an they handed him over to a Cambion. They still recall so much hatred when he lived there.

𝔊 He probably loved explosives as a child, and got in trouble for setting them off in the house. He would tinker, wander off, and read books and play by himself, smart reserved kind of kid. Which worried and frustrated his parents, he wasn't cobbler material.

𝔊 Children are difficult but you can't forgive their negligence. They threw him out at the first chance probably. You hold a grudge against his parents. You're vocal about it with comments, when they see him after the whole ordeal. He's supposed to make progress and they're gonna make him writhe in every mental way like he did before.

𝔊 You make sure to create good memories, even in the Lower City, those cobble parties, little firework shows off the grey harbors docks by the foundries ashes, he never got to celebrate Baldur's Gate's customs like Highharvestide even tho it's not as popular, Returning Day to where you talk about the Murder in the Wide. you want to include him in everything,

𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊𝔊

Hey guys! if you got this far, yay! but also i'm not done writing it. come back to my page and find it on my master list when it's finished to enjoy more!

I’ll continue writing as I think of more headcanons.

[thiniceofeternalyouth]

MISLEADIN' ME SERIES: CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

BETELGEUSE

⊳ Gojo Satoru x f!reader

series masterlist

Genre: angst, fluff, sci-fi, cosmology.

Words count: ~15.7k

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[May 11, 2022, 06:54pm, Tokyo, Tokyo Prefecture, Restaurant X]

Rei couldn't feel the cold granite beneath his hands, only your heated skin. You were malleable for your age, and he could mold you into anything he wanted. Besides, you absorbed everything he told you like a sponge. As he washed his face with cool water, he tried to regain his senses so as not to lose face before his guest, but every time he closed his eyes, he saw the drawings he had made on your body.

"Eyes can fail you," he told every time he blindfolded you, and afterward all you felt was a blade cutting into your flesh. "You must learn to perceive the world through your other senses."

Before you could squeak, he liked to inject you with new doses of black orchid - he enjoyed watching you squirm and squeal in pain, and then go limp and docile, listening to his every word. At the very least, Rei expected you to thank him for the opportunity to be his favorite canvas, but you were so immobile and paralyzed that you wouldn't even look at him.

"You should rely on your surroundings," he instructed softly, cutting the skin on your back. "It will tell you exactly where the enemy is at all times."

The demon didn't care if you trusted him, if you followed his teachings - what mattered was that you were getting stronger every day, and more importantly, you were already struggling to keep your essence under control. He scrubbed his hands in the sink with irritation like he was washing away the sins your terrified gaze had left on him. There were no vices in the demon that required confession - he just wanted to show you who you really were even if you resisted it.

"Oh, does it hurt?" asked Rei affectionately, deliberately overdoing the dose of orchid. You shook, nearly throbbing from the flames that flowed through your veins instead of blood - like tiny shards of glass, the flower's extract cut you from the inside out. "If you want, I can take your pain away," he whispered, taking you by the chin. The closer his face got, the more your aching body tensed, and before he could kiss you, you sank your teeth into his lip with force, nearly tearing it off.

Rei was almost resigned to the way he looked now, his frail body a constant reminder of his lack of strength. He couldn't drag you down or strangle you with those hands, but seeing you in agony was the most beautiful picture. He had to do something.

"Oh, really?" the demon hissed, spitting saliva and blood. "Not into fucking with me anymore?" he laughed hysterically, grabbing you by the hair and dragging you across the dirty floor. The realization that you couldn't resist him, but only whimpered pitifully, spilled over him with a warm, sticky honey that he didn't want to wash off. When he opened the doors and saw his hungry parts, he tossed you to them. "Do what you want with her. Just bring her back at least half alive," he paused in the doorway, almost walking out - the demons didn't dare move until he was completely out of sight. "Oh, yeah, and don't touch her face. It's a pretty one," he grinned, watching you shake with panic, unable to do anything. "Have fun," Rei knew what would happen as soon as he left the room - where there were no windows and the doors were forever closed, tears would start to drown the paper airplane. And he stepped out.  

Perhaps he shouldn't have been so cruel to you, and you would have stayed by his side forever. Or at least on his side. There would have been no need to play catch-up, plotting and scheming to get your head off his shoulders - Rei really didn't want that, but you were poisoning his life and his parts a lot. "You're surprisingly calm," the voice in his head said.

"Is there any reason to be angry?" wondered Rei sincerely, looking at himself in the mirror - he was annoyed by the human tendency to blush due to emotion, physical exertion or stuffiness.

"Four, at least."

"Oh, you mean the cores?" he chuckled nonchalantly, tearing off the paper towels and rubbing his hands together maniacally. "Come on, what's to worry about?" the demon shrugged, dumping the papers into the bucket one by one. "You think I don't realize this little fool is just provoking me? Anyway, she doesn't have long left, how many more can she destroy? Three more?"

"Anyway, it's our land. Aren't you going to do anything about it?"

"Oh," he clicked his tongue in satisfaction and smoothed his black, disheveled hair. "That's what I'm doing right now. I thought it might be a good idea to return the favor," he smiled, frantically adjusting his tie - Rei couldn't leave his already faultless appearance alone. "God, she should be here by now!" the demon exclaimed worriedly, glancing at his watch.

As he stepped out of the men's room and into the restaurant's lounge, Rei saw the silver-haired girl at his reserved table. Straightening his back, he smoothed his suit with his hands one last time, and walked over and sat down across from the woman. "I hope you didn't get me out from overseas for nothing," Mei-Mei purred, giving him a hand.

Leaning down, he took her palm and kissed it. "Certainly not, my lady. I hope we work well together."

Grinning languidly, she pulled back her hand. "Don't misunderstand. I'm only here because Gojo told me about you. And also about the fee you promised him."

"Believe me, I'll offer you many times more," the girl's interested look excited him, interested him - the demon liked a compliant person with passion who was capable of going to over the heads for the sake of their desires. "You won't even have to move your dainty fingers, much less get them dirty," Rei assured her, and the more he told her, the more the girl counted the money in her head. "All I'll need is your powers of observation."

Mei-Mei gently tapped her fingernails on the table and decided to test the man sitting across from her. Rei had lived here for a very long time and he had no trouble reading her emotions - he uncorked a bottle of wine without hesitation. Smirking, she muffled her laughter embarrassedly against the palm of her hand. "To meeting," she cooed seductively, raising the glass filled to the brim.    

[May 11, 2022, 09:09pm, Hopetown]

The smell of late spring mingled with the scents of peach and nectarine - the immersion blender whirred quietly in the kitchen, the refrigerator door opened every now and then, and the glasses clinked quietly, unhappily, when they were touched. You watched Ieiri with curiosity, and as you saw how she handled the fruits, berries and alcohol, you thought for some reason that many doctors were probably alchemists in past lives. If those existed, of course. Shoko looked like she was in the operating room, the honed and deft movements of her hands making it impossible for you to see how she was getting the strawberries into the bowl.

You shivered as the wind blew into the room and disturbed you, shamelessly grabbing your wet body and tugging at your wet strands. You couldn't even get up to close the window, and from under your half-closed eyelids you could only watch the insolent raven that perched on your eaves and pecked at something. 

A quiet exultation crept into your head as you felt the soft couch beneath your body instead of the hard, cold ground covered with black sand. Having completed another raid and destroyed the core, you tried to enjoy the delights of this world - the warm spring air, the cool but endless water, the allure of all the various colors of this world that reminded you of itself by knocking on the window with the hands of the sunset, and Shoko, eternally impenetrable and cold. She hadn't looked in your direction before, and you felt an unfamiliar alienation every time you passed her, but now Ieiri had not only come to Hopetown with you, she had silently volunteered to spend time with you and Rachel.

Your happiness was only hindered by the fact that Rei didn't show up even when you destroyed the fourth core.

"I'm so tired," your sister sighed wearily, coming down from the second floor and rubbing her wet hair with a towel. There were dark circles under her green eyes, so heavy was the blow of the disembodied hand of exhaustion. "Next time, I'm going to the bathroom first," she huffed, sticking her tongue out at you and flopping down on the couch next to you. You, before you could wrap yourself more tightly in your terrycloth robe, were taken captive as Rachel unceremoniously sprawled on the couch, resting her head on your lap. "And how did doc let ya go?" wondered Rach, glancing at Ieiri. "We've got a lot of people out, and the infirmary's a busy place right now."

"I didn't bother asking," Shoko said nonchalantly, pouring the potion into two glasses. "It's simple."

You and your sister tightened your lips and looked at each other warily. Shoko seemed so unperturbed that she wasn't afraid of any consequences. Approaching you, the girl handed you a glass filled to the brim with ice and red-orange liquid and garnished with an orange slice - in her hands was the exact same one and another dark bottle. Rachel, snorting resentfully, crossed her arms over her chest. You took the glass and looked at your sister sympathetically - it looked like you all had to stick to a non-alcoholic diet, so as not to stir her soul. "And this is for you," Ieiri said to your sister, setting the non-alcoholic beer on the table.

The offended snort was immediately replaced by a pitiful whimper. "Thank ya," you chirped, comfortingly stroking your sister's head and sipping from the glass - what a relief it was to know that Rachel would never try it or else this temptation would have turned into another binge. The sweet pulp of the peach that coated your tongue, the warmth of the tequila that warmed your heart, and the aftertaste of the orange zest that completely obscured the flavor of the alcohol, making it unapparent - Shoko really was either a sorcerer or a witch.

Kicking the chair closer to you, Shoko sat down, relaxed, sipping her cocktail slowly under your sister's desperate gaze - she seemed to enjoy torturing people. No matter how much the girl had not praised Gojo, she seemed to have unconsciously adopted some of his habits. "What are your plans next?" she asked, throwing her legs straight over Rachel. 

"No raids yet!" exclaimed Rach exhaustedly but quickly, trying not to let you get a word in edgewise. "We'll wait until Mike's birthday at least, and then we'll see."

"It's still a month away," you objected, frowning unhappily.

"And?" Rachel didn't even have the energy to argue with the enthusiasm, she spoke sluggishly and quietly. "How much can we accomplish in a month? Start without me if ya want, and I've run away from my parenting duties for too long as it is."

Earlier in her soul, conscience had played the role of a small, almost invisible mentor - Rachel easily brushed it off and quickly extinguished the outbursts that it caused, but now, with a sober memory, shame took the dominant position and did as it pleased. She was angry at her father for not being around most of the time, and if the reflection in the mirror told Rachel that she looked nothing like him, her conscience told her otherwise. Mike's room was littered with expensive gifts and toys, but there was no hint of Rach's presence - no scent of perfume, no red hair on the floor, no her son's smile.

Rachel wondered - how could children love their parents despite all their faults? The girl thought that she was unworthy of such gratuitous love of a little person, and instead of wallowing in self-defeat and alcohol, she decided to do something else - brave, courageous, maybe even a little boorish because that was what she had always done. To leave behind the regrets, the thoughts that it might be too late. It wasn't as bad to be late as it was to not show up at all.

With a sigh, she pulled out her phone. Seeing her face softly contorted with longing, you rubbed the top of her head. "What's up?"

"Oh, man," she whined, staring at the screen. "Mike kept wanting that expensive model of the Boeing, and it's not on sale. See?" she turned the phone toward you, and you just caught a glimpse of 'sold out.' "I've been following this stuff for a month."

"Is this model only fish in the sea?" Ieiri wondered, skeptical. She didn't understand Rachel's whining or the despair on her face. Couldn't she just replace what was missing with what was there?

"Anyone can tell ya're childless," Rachel muttered, taking the phone from you and continuing her search. "Better get me a beer."

"Take it yourself," Ieiri grinned.

Rachel gave her a threatening look, but then smiled wryly. Her fingers deftly began dialing a number, and she gave one last warning glance at Shoko, who was sitting there, nonchalantly sipping her cocktail. "Hey, Doc?" Shoko's eyes immediately flew open, "Do ya know where your coworker is right now-" Ieiri, unable to remember herself, grabbed the nearest pillow and pressed it into your sister's face - her loud voice was replaced by a muffled scolding, and the phone fell out of her hands. Ieiri immediately picked it up and frantically punched the disconnect icon several times.

The pressure point was found unhindered - no matter how unperturbed Shoko seemed, she was still afraid of something. Or rather, someone. The big man in the white coat who was in the infirmary and demanded the same of Ieiri, but as much as she loved money, she wasn't a robot. Fear was literally read on her face and in the way she pressed the icy glass to her flushed cheek. With a relieved exhale, Shoko tossed the phone to Rachel and tiredly plopped into a chair. "Ya forgot something," Rach extended slyly.

Rolling her eyes, Shoko stood up and handed her the bottle. Perhaps if you weren't here, Ieiri would have just smashed it over your sister's head. "That's better," Rachel sent the girl an air kiss and uncorked the cap, but as soon as your sister took a sip, she wrinkled her nose squeamishly. "God, what a shit."

"Get used to it," Shoko hissed, pleased with Rachel's ordeal.

"That's it, get off me," you whimpered, lifting your sister's head. "My leg fall asleep," you stood up from the couch and picked up Shoko's empty glass from the table and went to get a refill.

Rachel, pressing her lips together, stood up and lay down on the other side of the couch, her whole face showing her resentment at your neglect. Only now the girl remembered how much love she really had in her, which couldn't be showered on Mike alone - an immature boy could just be blown away by this wave, and you, as it happened, remained an impregnable fortress. You shied away from long hugs and kisses and avoided tactility as much as possible, but Rachel couldn't be angry with you; she was angry with the situation as a whole.

At such moments the girl remembered her husband. Rob may have been a slovenly lazy man who couldn't even put cotton swabs on place, but he'd always gladly accepted her obsessiveness and loveliness - for lack of an opportunity to give them to him again, she'd begun to choke them down with wine, and her son served only as a reliable reminder that she'd never fall into her husband's arms again. "Ya know," she chuckled wistfully, putting the phone aside. "Ya can't imagine how many times in the void I've thought about running across my husband's corpse right now," shy tears glistened in her eyes, and all she could see was Rob's face. "And even more I thought about how he could have come out of the void and just left me and Mike," his features began to drown in with dark sand - she couldn't see the wrinkles or the color of his eyes anymore. "I didn't know whether to cry or be angry, and now... When we finished this roundup, I suddenly felt relieved. I don't know if he's still walking this land or if he's been buried under strange one for a long time, but I accept it. May God be with him," she sobbed, taking a sip of non-alcoholic beer, hoping to soften the lump lodged in her throat.

Your hand nearly trembled as you filled your glass. As your tongue became more and more tied in a knot, in your sister's imagination, the sand increasingly covered her husband. Would you ever find the courage to admit it? "But I have a tiny bit of him left," Rachel wept, smiling bitterly. Walking over to the girls, you handed Shoko her glass - she nodded gratefully, blurring the estrangement between you all the more. Sitting down on the couch, you threw your sister's legs over your lap and began stroking her ankles, though you realized it wouldn't atone for your sin. "And now I'll do anything for Mike. Buy him every model airplane in the world, take him wherever he pokes on the globe, kill for him or die myself. "As long as he's happy."

There was silence in the living room, with only a modest, brief sniffle of the nose. Shoko wondered, and she was frightened at the thought that there might be someone in her life who would make her think that way. Self-sacrifice and bravery were not qualities that Ieiri praised; she was content to be practical and sensible, but as she heard Rachel's ragged breathing, she shamefully brushed away a tear.

Rachel, hastily wiping her wet cheeks with her terrycloth sleeve, sipped some more from the bottle - she could only justify her dizziness as a placebo effect. "Geez, did I ask for much?" she laughed, trying to lighten the dreary atmosphere. "I just wanted a bunch of men praying on me."

You glanced meaningfully at Shoko and decided to play along. "We could buy you a lifetime prayer for health in a friary," Ieiri offered seriously, but she betrayed her playfulness by waggling her foot coquettishly, either on purpose or involuntarily.

"That'll do too," Rachel sighed dreamily. "Also, we should talk about a place to celebrate... What do ya think about an amusement park?"

"Is it safe?" you asked hesitantly.

"Mike has to live in this town for the rest of his life or what?" snorted Rachel. "He's almost an adult and he hasn't seen the light of day yet!"

"Whatever ya say," you said, rolling your eyes.

Shoko had never understood how people felt when they looked at pictures of babies, kittens, puppies or the tiniest of snakes - she felt a little less than nothing when she looked at it. But looking at your sister's instantaneous mood swings and the way you supported her unconditionally, Shoko felt emotion for the first time. Now it was her turn to dream. Could she really have someone close to her who wouldn't pester her, trying to get on her nerves by saying she was too cold and unemotional? Wouldn't look down on her, letting her know that she is far from their level? Wouldn't they leave just because their view of the world had changed? She glanced furtively out the window, confused, trying to find answers, but all she could see was a raven still perched on the ledge, pecking at something.

[May 12, 2022, 01:29am, Hopetown]

The open window had been a constant for you ever since you'd started sleeping together. If nightmares and Rei had taken away your sleep before, now it was the heat from the sorcerer's snow-white skin that did it. In your half-sleep, you kept trying to pull away from Gojo, but at those moments his grip grew from just tight to unusually insolent - even in his dreamless slumber he couldn't leave you alone. You couldn't complain, though, because instead of the bloody images before your eyes and the sharp pain of long-healed scars, you felt only a single drop of sweat trickling down your neck. 

Gojo's deep, measured breathing was a metronome for you - each time you breathed in unison with him, you calmed down more, and when you exhaled together, you fell further into a half-sleep. The feeling of a protected back made you cling to him more despite the abnormal temperature of his body. It was like the sorcerer wasn't asleep at those moments, just holding you tighter and burrowing into your neck, letting you know he wasn't going anywhere.

On the other side of your closed eyes, absurd scenarios were beginning to emerge. There was Doc putting someone's severed arm back in place with duct tape, there was Frank trying to grow hair in the beds, and just as you stepped aboard the pink icebreaker, you felt someone bite your arm. The bite was faint, almost insensible, and you, wanting to check who it was, turned around. There was no one in front of you. "Y/N-ie," came a quiet, thin voice from somewhere below. Lowering your head, you rounded your eyes. Standing in front of you was Tris, who was cradling a stuffed cat. "Y/N!"

"Huh?" you jumped up, not quite realizing where you were now or what year it was. There was a muffled grunt behind you, and the grip around your waist was so strong that it was hard to breathe.

When you blinked, you distinguished reality from your dream - Tris was standing in front of you along with the toy - the girl was pocking at the floor with her toe, her lips pursed guiltily. "Bun," you sighed sleepily, wiping your eyes with your hand. "What is it?"

"I need a craft for class tomorrow," she muttered modestly, not looking up. You were speechless at that statement, only able to reach for your phone to look at the time. It was past one in the morning.

You plopped your face into the pillow tiredly. "Whose problem is that?" you muttered muffled, for which you received a hard pinch on your side. "Ouch!"

"Come on, get up," Gojo said sleepily, rising up. "Can't you see the kid needs help?" he asked reproachfully, trying to make you feel guilty. "And you, little one, come here," his cocky threat made Tris backpedal, but he quickly crawled over you and grabbed the little girl. "So what kinda craft do we need?" 

"A fox in the woods," Tris giggled playfully, swinging her legs.

"How original," he clucked his tongue. "What were the orders to make it out of?"

"Said to impro… improvise," Tris mewed, beginning to chew on a nail on her thumb.

A sudden desire played in him to cut off her bad habit immediately. "Aren't you scared?" he asked slyly, lifting the girl even higher.

"No!" she snorted haughtily. "Frank carries me in his arms every day. And he's actually taller than you."

Gojo raised his eyebrows in exasperation and threw Tris over his shoulder - she shrieked. "Your upbringing," he shook his head censoriously, looking at you - you only shrugged guiltily. "Alright, I'm gonna go put her to sleep, and you, young lady, get dressed. Let's go improvise in the woods," the sorcerer mentored before dragging a giggling Tris out the door. 

"Maniac," you plopped back on the bed exhaustedly, spreading your arms. When had Tris been assigned this craft? Why hadn't she mentioned it the day before, or at least a few hours ago? And her whole innocent and guilty look - was it sincere or had she just learned how to manipulate people from someone? If so, she was pretty good at it - your injured side was still tingling from the way Gojo had pinched it, jumping up and ready to help Tris.

You pulled yourself off the bed, dragging tiredly with legs, and walked over to the closet, swinging the door open angrily. With your arms at your sides, you sighed and grabbed the first thing you saw without looking. You took off your pajamas and realized that even the clothes made a mockery of you - it took a lot of effort to zipper up your jeans, and your head was stuck halfway up the collar of your sweatshirt.  

You sat down on the bed and sighed indignantly into your collar. When the door swung open, you met Gojo's confused stare. It took him a second to realize what was happening. At first, he tried not to move, then he bit his lip, but when you whimpered, the sorcerer broke. "Wait a minute," he wheezed, grabbing his phone. Gojo knew he should have helped you, but he couldn't even help himself.  "It's for the record," you were blinded for a moment by several flashes, and you squirmed and tried to hide - just then his heart stirred. "God, honey, I'm sorry," he cooed through a smile, stepping closer and helping you out of bed. You'd already resigned to your fate, obediently letting him help you.

The sorcerer gently pulled the collar down and released you from the soft captivity of the fabric. "I don't wanna go anywhere!" you whimpered, throwing your head back. "I'm tired!"

"Honey, I know, I know," he tried to reassure you, stroking your cheeks and kissing your forehead. "But Tris is a much bigger baby than you are today," Gojo could have sworn he saw the way you were pouting your lips. "At least we'll walk around for a while, freshen up," he encouraged you. "You couldn't sleep well tonight anyway," you squinted at him, and the sorcerer faltered. It was hard for him not to hear you panting and sighing, but it was harder not to feel your body squirming against his. "You sleep longer tomorrow morning, and I'll make breakfast, 'kay?"  

"Mark my word," you sighed exhaustedly. "She'll sit on your neck like that."

"I have broad shoulders," he grinned, grasping at the lifeline of your words to swim out of the maelstrom of embarrassment. "I can handle you, too, by the way."

"Oh, man," you brushed off his joke. "Better get changed, Apollo. I'll wait for ya downstairs."

"I have nothing to be shy about!" shouted Gojo after you.  

As you carefully made your way to the first floor, you were surprised not to see Tris there. You'd expected to see her right at the door, already dressed upside down, complaining and yelling that she'd come with you despite the dull night outside the window - It was her dubious temper. But she was not here. You scratched your forehead thoughtfully and began to pull on your shoes. How had Gojo bribed her? Reading a fairy tale was out of the question - too little time had passed. Sleeping pills? You made a puzzled grimace - your thoughts were too unobvious and strange when you woke up. You had to get the sorcerer's secret of calm because you couldn't keep that girl still for more than a minute.  

As Gojo quietly snuck up on you and just as silently dressed, you walked out the door, leaving the house in peace and quiet. Wrapped in the night spring air, you moved towards the path of life that ironically came to life only once a year. Sleep dispelled to the chirping of crickets and rare cicadas that sang in defiance in the middle of the night oblivious to the sunny day. As you stepped off the road and into the dark sleeping forest, you searched with your eyes for the best leaves that would be suitable for crafts, occasionally sighing for the fall - this beauty would provide you with a variety that was beautiful in its colors. The forest whispered and trembled, its shy movements reflected in the moonlight on the grass in shadow. The branches, seeing familiar faces, hid their threats and saw you off with a smooth sway. "What are we gonna make the fox out of?" you asked, stepping over the roots.

"Hmmm," Gojo drawled thoughtfully, looking around. The forest, as it was, was monotonous and green. "How about we cut a few strands off Rachel's hair?" you glanced at him skeptically, dumbfounded by such a suggestion. You simultaneously pursed your lips and shook your heads together, imagining the horrors that would happen to you. "Nah, bad idea."

"I'll have to look for plasticine," you yawned, stretching.

You picked up randomly fallen leaves, sometimes the sorcerer would pick you up so you could reach the one you liked. Your pockets were filling up more and more with resources for crafting - pinecones, small twigs, pine needles that sometimes pricked your fingers. You walked forward, deep into the forest, completely oblivious to the fact that you would have to return someday. "Mochi?"

"Yeah?"

"How did you find her?" asked Gojo, remembering his first encounter with Megumi.

"Just like everyone else here," you shrugged. "A little over seven years ago, we decided to check all the barracks again for some reason before we roundup. I remember going into one, starting to look around, and... I noticed a woman lying right under wood boards. She was already dead, but I remember her stiffened hands were clutching some lump of rags. I don't even know why I looked," the sorcerer's soul whispered admiringly and sympathetically for him to embrace you, and it was right - feeling a hand on your shoulder, you took your eyes off the ground. "I thought the baby was dead, too, but no. She moved as soon as I looked at her. We took her away and wanted to do what we do with all children - put her in the hands of the church for foster care. But for some reason I couldn't. That's how she stayed with us."

Gojo laughed quietly, encouragingly. "She was born a fighter. And she remains that way," he added more quietly.  

You, remembering Tris' temper, chuckled as well. "Kinda." 

Nearby you could hear the sound of water crashing restlessly against the rocks. You knew these places practically by heart, and you realized that you were getting closer and closer, but your consciousness did not shudder in fear at the thought that Gojo might see it. On the contrary, your soul sang with dauntless bravado, and you realized with embarrassment that you just wanted to show off. Just a little bit. You deliberately stepped forward, regardless of the fact that all the materials had long since been gathered. 

On the horizon, something dark - much darker than the forest beneath the moon - peered out from behind the trees. All the water was silent, and the whispering leaves were quiet before the permanent guest you were restlessly approaching. The closer you came, the more majestic the huge, deaf, black box towered above your heads. It had no transparent windows or welcoming doors - it just stood there, hidden among the trees, making no sound and not allowing the rest to disturb the peace. Not the animals, nor nature itself. "Whoa," Gojo marveled quietly, barely stopping a few feet away from the box. He had never felt like a little boy before, nor could he be called short, but next to this dark gap he felt like an ant. "And this...?"

"The heart of the town," you sighed mesmerized, nodding your head. "It can't be seen from above, and even if someone were lucky enough to sneak into the town, they wouldn't find their way to it. It's only accessible to its keepers," no matter how much you looked at the repository, no matter how many times you stomped around it, you never went inside - that burden fell on Frank's shoulders. "There now lies the artifact that supplies us with electricity and empowers the hunters' relics to protect the town. So... Without the artifact, they'd just be useless trinkets," contrary to your enthusiastic narrative, you're wary. How long will the amulet you got in Cambodia last? Wouldn't you soon have to start bouncing around the land again in search of curiosities? If it had thrilled and delighted you before, you couldn't find the same enthusiasm now. After all, it only meant that you would be apart again. 

"How many keepers are there?" Gojo asked softly, taking your hand and squeezing it gently. He already knew the answer to his question - at least part of it - but he couldn't stop his insolence and greed under the guise of interest. It wasn't enough for him that you'd first bared your neck, then your shoulders, and then told him the secrets you'd never told yourself. He wanted to drown in your trust, which was embarrassingly lapping at his shore in brief waves - Gojo wanted to catch every single one, to save a single salty drop of it. The sorcerer had become too obsessed with your vulnerability, which was revealed only to him alone. 

"Three now," you said weakly. "Frank, Rach, and me."

Gojo could almost hear your thoughts and the way they screamed, interrupting each other. Surprise clashed with indignation, worry caught up with confidence, uncertainty clawed at the throat of exhilaration. Every step you took towards him was difficult, but now the sorcerer stood here with you, right in front of the heart of the town, not on the other side of your workroom door. You couldn't even look Gojo in the eye - was the doubt so great and dangerous that you did whatever it told you to do? The sorcerer winced in pain - your thoughts screamed loudly, but he couldn't make out the words. "Hey, guide," he grinned, bringing you to your senses and wanting to get you away from this place - it was affecting you too badly. And, it seemed to Gojo, on your relationship with him, too. "Let's go home. We have a fox to make." 

In Hopetown, unlike at headquarters, the evenings were slow and lazy - there was no desire to get out of bed at all. Danielle, nestled comfortably on Megumi's chest and covered with a blanket, watched a movie - they'd chosen it for about an hour only to struggle to keep their eyes open. Every touch, every hug was imbued with a serenity that was sorely lacking in the girl - she almost stopped shaking as she closed her eyes and mentally found herself back in that horrible day.

Dany was grateful that you hadn't said anything to Megumi - which was probably why the boy was lying next to her now, ordinarily calm, watching the movie. But still, in the back of the girl's mind or maybe on the very surface of it, lay the desire to tell her boyfriend about what she had done for him. Danielle stopped every time, asking herself why she needed it and where it would lead, and all the scripted and fictionalized scenarios boiled down to the fact that she needed to see his concern. Attacks of such selfishness came more and more often, but contrary to breaking Danielle, they made her stronger - the girl looking at her favorite face full of peace already brushed them off with ease. He didn't need to know about it. She didn't want to think about the consequences of her silence, but what could happen if she opened her mouth frightened her even more. Megumi's anxiety could spiral into paranoia, and what if he started blaming himself for what had happened to her? What if his regrets became so enormous that he could no longer look her in the eye? The pesky, unpleasant questions swirled in her head until she finally decided to stay in that boat, to stop rocking it.

Still, every touch of Megumi's fingers reminded Dany that she was no longer worthy of it - false, fake, nasty beliefs trampled their way into the girl's head, making her cringe every time Megumi smoothed her hair. "Dany?" he turned to her softly, stroking her shoulder. She flinched and looked at him questioningly. "Remember when we made the butterfly?"

"Ah...," she drawled carefully. "Yeah, I remember."

"Why don't we try again?"

She frowned. It was an odd request because they hadn't tried it again since that time, which was why it took her by surprise. Danielle lifted up, and the heated blanket rustled and fell from her shoulders onto the bed. "Why?" she asked suspiciously.

"What do you mean why?" laughed Megumi, causing the girl to blush embarrassedly. "Don't you wanna... Well, perfect it?" the boy's every word intended to ratchet up his excitement, his voice nearly breaking from the overabundance of feelings and adrenaline. His knees didn't shake like this before curses, but one glance at the watch on his hand and he would definitely fall down if he wasn't sitting on the bed right now.

"Okay," she said hesitantly, still squinting suspiciously.

The way they sat across from each other hit Dany with nostalgia right on the back of the head, a blow so strong it made her head spin. She had only yesterday ceased to be a teenager, and it would seem that she should have experienced all the unknown emotions long ago and stopped being afraid of them and trembling in front of them, but the excitement that swept over her was much stronger than her childhood feelings.

Megumi knew that cheating would be necessary here and he hoped Dany would never figure him out. He wanted the butterfly to come out perfect this time, and since both cursed and dark energy were now flowing through him, why wouldn't he help his girl? After all, he was going to forever be her shoulder and the bastion of all her hopes and dreams, so why not start with something small?

He covered her small hands with his and nodded, glancing up at her with glittering eyes, but Dany squeezed her eyes shut, either out of fear or excitement. He had to bite his lip to keep from laughing at the sight - she looked exactly like a child waiting for a miracle. As he began to infuse energy, all he could feel was the warmth of Dany's hands. Something tickled her palms, and she opened one eye with a giggle - a faint blue glow was seeping through their fingers. "Well," he began embarrassedly, smiling. "Do you wanna see it?"

"Yes," she giggled.

They opened their hands at the same time, slowly - a small butterfly sat inside. There was no flaw in it, the patterns on its fluttering, cursed wings ran and shimmered in the same way. Its predecessor was less than perfect, and most people would probably call it ugly upon barely seeing its different wings and crooked antennae, but the pair of lovers knew that it was only their imperfect beginning. One could vilify and berate even the one that now sat in their hands - the blue color wasn't blue enough, the wings were too small, but that didn't make the butterfly any less beautiful. The butterfly had been created by and for the love that had been born between two people.

Dany gasped in surprise when a butterfly fluttered up and flew toward the window. "We have to open it," she worried, jumping up from her seat. The butterfly was beating its wings fiercely against the glass like it had spent its whole life dreaming of freedom. Dany, carefully opening the shutters so as not to disturb their shared creation, could only watch as the tiny blue light flew away from her, merging with the horizon - at that moment Megumi realized he was ready. To hold her on cold nights, to swipe the custard of brownies off her lips, to watch the most boring movies with her, to return to her from the void again and again. Alive. "Danielle," the girl tensed when Megumi called her by her full name. Taking the frozen girl by the waist, he turned her around to face her. "I really don't know how to do this right," he admitted honestly in a breaking voice. Her knees grew weak when she heard the clattering and clinking, and Dany tried to keep her head straight, afraid to look at her boyfriend's hand, suspecting that right now he was taking the watch off of them. "I'm not familiar with your traditions, and I don't know about whether I should get down on one knee," Dany, realizing she was about to pass out, began breathing hard and often, practically gulping for air with her mouth. "But please, answer me," a sob full of pain and happiness escaped the girl's scarlet lips, and the cold metal that coiled around her wrist burned her skin with yet untold promises. "Will you marry me?"

"How can ya do this...," the crying made her voice shake harder, the tears that rolled down her cheeks choking her, and the barely buried memories breaking through all the fresh ground slapped her in the face, reminding her of what she was like. Dany had feared that their happiness wouldn't last forever, that sooner or later it would come to Megumi that he deserved better, but there was no way she had expected such a sharp turn in the exact opposite direction - completely knocked off her feet and confused, she could only mumble unintelligibly through her tears. "How can ya say that, how can ya look at me like ya used to, when I'm so... dirty?

The girl's pain became his - he couldn't stand the agonizing tension that was crushing both of them, and he pressed his lips to hers, muffling her sobs. Dany didn't give in, but she didn't resist either, only placed her palms on his chest, not so much to push him away as to feel his warmth. Megumi was too insistent and firm in his decision - pulling Dany by the waist and pressing her against him, he deepened the kiss with a gentle movement of his tongue, making the girl dissolve into him, and she had nowhere to retreat - the love of her life was ahead of the girl, and behind her was the windowsill and the pain left by bitter memories.

With difficulty he pulled away from her, panting straight to her lips, he cupped her flushed wet cheeks. "Don't ever say that again," he commanded quietly. "The truest filth is the one who did this to you, and you... You're everything to me. And I want you to be even more, just say 'yes', please," he begged, pulling her frail body against him and burrowing into her neck.

The laughter that filled the room was full of weeping, longing, and relief. Danielle nodded frantically and wrapped her arms around his neck, the watch on her arm rattling - a reminder of the delayed happiness that was rushing toward her.

They stood huddled together, reminding each other of their bleeding wounds. The path was far and winding, each branch leading either to the abyss or straight into the arms of death. There was only one way that led to freedom, and they had learned by experience that they could never reach that faraway light alone. Megumi, having gained another power, was sure that now he could protect his bride from all the troubles, and the short name of that power was not in the dark lines, not in the energy that sometimes spilled over the edge - putting all the meaning of life into it and asking for its protection, people called it love. "Want to finish the movie?" smiled Megumi softly, rocking Dany from side to side.

"Actually," she began, mumbling shyly into his shoulder. "I'd like to tell Y/N," the excitement and awe still hadn't receded, but anxiety came along with it - Dany didn't know at all what she was supposed to do tomorrow, the day after tomorrow, a month from now. She needed help, and having learned from the past, she was ready to open the door to her worries and secrets. "If ya don't mind, of course."

"Okay," Megumi agreed, not saying a word about the fact that you were already aware of his intentions - the boy didn't want to ruin her sense of hidden celebration and take away the opportunity to tell her everything herself. "I need to let someone know too," he snorted irritably, making Dany giggle.

They, happy and clutching each other and their hands, went into your room first, but it was empty. Megumi, frowning his eyebrows, wondered. You all just finished the raid yesterday, where could you have gone? You should have been resting, where else could you relax if not in your room? Did you slip away on another scouting mission? If you did, why didn't you bring him with you?

Worried and almost insulted, he tried not to show it in front of Danielle. The girl was glowing for the first time in a long time, and a beaming, embarrassed smile never left her face. Megumi hummed, shaking his head. He shouldn't have gotten himself worked up ahead of time. Deciding to go downstairs, all of his doubts were dispelled, and he almost felt ashamed that he had time to get mad at you for making up his own problems because he and Dany were greeted by two half-asleep faces on the couch in the living room.

You and Gojo did Tris's craft until morning, and when it was time to go back to bed, you were blinded by the rising sun and the sound of a child's voice asking for food. You decided not to go to bed to get back into a routine that you'd regretted a thousand times before - the battle with sleep was unequal and unfair, especially in each other's warm embrace. You offered him more than once to unwind or at least to get off the couch, but the sorcerer, sighing lazily, stopped all your tries at rebellion, pressing you to him with a heavy hand, cutting off all attempts to retreat. 

"What is it?" you drawled tiredly, blinking hard, trying to fix the floating silhouettes in front of your eyes.

"We, um...," the boy's tone was like he was apologizing for the thousands of crimes he'd committed, and you tensed up from the couch, and Gojo lost sleep as well - he squinted his eyes, staring at the pair expectantly. He knew Megumi too well, and that tone boded either good things or nothing good at all. "I proposed to Dany," he stated firmly, shifting a determined gaze from you to Gojo, and Danielle was the direct opposite of him - the girl picking at the floor with her toe, shyly lowering her. 

Caught off guard, you're numb. You only just noticed the watch on Dany's hand. Megumi told you that he intended to do it, but he didn't say when he would do it. Did he tell Dany that you knew everything? If not, you didn't want to take away her opportunity to be first in everything, but you didn't have time to think about your actions. "Oh my gosh," you marveled deliberately loudly, gasping and clutching at your heart.

Gojo was immediately alarmed, jumping up from the couch and wrapping his arms around your shoulders. "Why are you driving your mother crazy?" he spat out angrily, and all Megumi wanted to do was fall to the ground in shame. "Honey, where's the sedative?" 

"There, in the medicine cabinet ...," you waved at the top kitchen drawer without getting out of character. "It's a transparent bottle..."

It took the sorcerer exactly seven seconds to find the sedative, open it, take out a glass, pour water into it, and be at your side. Gojo seemed to be the only one who believed in your performance - so naive and gullible Megumi had never seen him before. "What's the act?" the boy grimaced, watching as he held out water and pills to you. "You're the first to know about everything." 

You stared at Megumi with wide-open eyes, stung by the betrayal, and then glanced furtively at Gojo - he too was staring at the boy with glassy eyes, still not giving you the pill and the glass. "Satoru, I can explain," you grumbled guiltily, but it was too late - he popped the sedative into his mouth and drank water all in one. 

"You sleeping on the couch tonight. Alone," the sorcerer said blankly, handing you the pills - you took the bottle with the empty glass, confused. It would take him about five minutes alone to recover from the betrayal you'd made with your silence.

"Where are ya going?" you shouted back at him, but Gojo waved you off and walked outside, slamming the door behind him.

"You do realize he's just kidding, right?" feeling guilty for the rift in your relationship, Megumi tried to smooth things over, but you, already pursing your lips, stared at him grimly.

"Couldn't ya play along?" you snorted, but contrary to what you said, you found yourself standing beside the kids, clasping them in your arms - they barely fit in your arms, and the boy was almost a head taller than you. "Congratulations!" you whispered into their ears, kissing Dany on the cheek, who winced a little at the prickling sensation of your mask biting her.

Danielle was still confused - too much had happened in the last few minutes - from the touching to the punning - and her heart could barely keep up. Thinking she could use a sedative too, she sat down on the couch, trying to calm down a bit. The fact that you knew Megumi's intentions didn't upset her because it only meant that his move wasn't just a simple impulse - it was a warmed-over, time-honored desire that he'd discussed with you. 

"So... what your plans?" you asked, plopping down next to Danielle. Megumi sat straight down on the floor, across from you, and tucked his legs up.

"I don't know," he admitted honestly. "I proposed literally just now, so we haven't had time to think it over," he sarcastically quipped.

You didn't realize that such an advantage would fall right into your hands, your main goal became to grab onto it as tightly as you could. "Megumi, ya're a hunter now," you remarked. "And Dany was born into those circles. And it's customary for us to hold all our weddings in Hopetown," you didn't care about tradition, and to your shame, you hardly gave safety a second thought, but the wedding was the perfect opportunity to check out the town. "I hope ya don't mind."

"Not at all!" exclaimed Danielle enthusiastically, and a lump rose in your throat - how long had it been since you'd seen her like this? Her eyes were still drowned in the blue circles beneath them, she was thin as a reed, you were sometimes afraid to let her outside - one strong gust of wind and she'd just break. But happiness filled her from the inside and spread like a virus, infecting everyone around her. Megumi, mesmerized by her jubilant glow, hummed quietly. Truth be told, remembering how the town looked on the fifth of December, he didn't mind having the wedding here.

You had a lot more to discuss, but without the man's ears. The date, what dress to choose, hairstyle, flowers. What part of town to hold the event, what decorations to choose, what time of day. Arrange with the holy father, decorate the place where the two hearts will be joined and inform the residents. You'll have to calculate food supplies, and, most importantly, wine.

You and Dany seemed to be thinking the same thing, for when you looked at each other, you giggled softly, not noticing that the raven sitting on the window sill had its head tilted to the side and was peering at you with beady black eyes.

"Mike!" shouted Rachel, trying to catch up with her angry son. The boy literally flew forward, driven by injustice and frustration, not noticing the crowd of people chattering and cheering around him. The sweet smell of popcorn and ice cream no longer brought him excitement and delight, on the contrary - the boy felt nauseous at any reminder of food. Being still a child, he couldn't quiet his tears, and sobs of resentment escaped his lips now and then. "Baby, wait!" Mike abruptly threw his mother's arm off his shoulder, not listening to her at all, and tried to run forward, but his running was equal to his mother's quick footstep. "Ya realize I'm bigger and faster, don't ya?" she slyly sneered, scooping him up in her arms. Mike, because of his age, was confident in his supposed independence - he began to kick and struggle, looking around in embarrassment at passersby who he thought were looking at him reproachfully. "And stronger still," she reminded him. "Mike, calm down. If ya think ya're an adult, then act like one. Ya know what they usually do?" she asked playfully, looking at her angry son. "They talk."

Somewhere close by, a coaster with people squealing with fear and merriment raced down tracks. Rachel tried to keep her composure in front of her son, but her motherly heart bled at the thought that her son's birthday had been ruined. And it was all the fault of some little thing that had been a complete disaster for the boy. "What's got ya so upset?"

Mike ripped the toy medal off his chest and threw it to the ground. "That's for losers!" he howled, unwilling to bear the stigma of mediocrity he'd made up for himself.

Sighing, Rachel walked over to the nearest bench and sat her still mad son down - the resentment was so strong that the boy quickly weakened, losing all will to resist. He looked down at his wobbling legs which didn't reach the ground - another reminder that he was still a child.

The impressions from dozens of attractions were completely overridden by one loss in some godforsaken shooting gallery. When Mike saw a radio-controlled car as a prize for the first place, he thought that he would easily take it, but his expectations and dreams were shattered by the very first shot - the bullet flew a few inches away from the target. So it happened with the second and the third, and no matter how much the boy tried, he never got the required number of points. At the end he was given only a consolation medal. "Baby," Rachel turned to him gently, stroking his head. "What makes ya think it's for losers?"

"Stop calling me that!" snapped Mike, yanking her hand away.

Her son was sitting in front of her - she should have put out her temper immediately. "If I want to, I'll call ya that for the rest of my life," she laughed, looking at his pouting face - he looked like a red balloon about to burst. "And there's nothing ya can do about that," rubbing the top of his red head and meeting no resistance, Rachel got serious. "Ya know, Mike. Believe me, I know what it's like to lose. Ya can fuss all you want right now, but it's not gonna make ya better," the boy, feeling more tears of bitterness coming on, bit his lip and turned away from his mother. "Nothing comes easy to anyone. And ya really will be a classic underdog, but only if ya let it go that easily," the girl sat down on her knees in front of her son right on the pavement, forcing the boy to look into her eyes - he gasped in amazement when Rachel pulled out of her pocket the medal he had recently thrown away. Sometimes Mike completely forgot that his mother was a magician. "This one," she shook the consolation prize quietly. "It doesn't say ya screwed up. It only says ya tried. Even though the attempt was a failure, even though the second one will be exactly the same, but ya mustn't give up. Ya know, baby, ya're very brave," she cupped his cheeks, making the boy cry harder, and nearly burst into tears herself. "Your ambition is quite something, but ya have to work very hard to achieve it. Look at me!" she laughed in a shaky voice and with tears in her eyes. "Do ya think I would have hit that target even once? Not a chance in hell!"

"Liar," he whimpered, burrowing into her shoulder. She stroked his shuddering back, happy that Mike had stopped pushing her away.

'I know I wasn't the best mother to ya, but,' she thought, squeezing her eyes shut and cradling the little body, red hair just like hers tickled her nostrils, and she didn't know if she was crying from the tickling or the thrill. "I never lied to ya."

"Mom!" he howled, clinging to her more tightly - seeing her as a protector and ally, he tried to hide in her, to block out his own complexes with her maturity and confidence, hoping that he would someday be like her. The boy didn't care about the people hanging around and having fun, he didn't care what they thought of him because his mother's embrace reminded him that he wasn't alone in the world.

"I know, baby," Rachel soothed the boy in a quiet voice. "Ya're gonna make it," she pulled away from him only to place the medal back on his chest. "Now this medal will be a sign that ya will never, ever give up. So wear it with pride."

Mike sniffled and nodded fervently, snot and tears almost flying to the sides. Sensing her son's embarrassment as her own, Rachel took him to the men's room, nearly breaking the nose of the man who whistled at her at the entrance. She waited obediently while her son washed his face with cold water and cleaned himself up, and took any indignant or perplexed look from anyone else as a challenge. Even though his mother could fend for herself, Mike's protective instincts kicked in, so he glared at anyone who got too close to Rachel.

Mike took his mother's hand and led her away from the place, straightening up and lifting his chin - he thought he looked bigger and more imposing that way. Rachel giggled stupidly all the way to the sidewalk cafeteria. When she met your gaze, she nodded cheerfully, letting you know everything was fine. "Hey, kids!" she yelled to Itadori and Yuta, who were standing at the caramelized fruit counter. "Are ya going on the coaster now?"

"Yes!"

"Take these little ones with you!" she, picking up a bouncing Tris from Frank's lap that refused to sit on her butt because of the hard chairs, nudged her and Mike toward the boys.

Yuji immediately grabbed the girl's hand, afraid of losing her in the crowd, while Yuta kept his eyes on the redhead. After buying juicy, glistening glazed strawberries, they happily chatted about something and headed to the line for the ride. "Jesus," Rachel sighed tiredly, plopping down on the chair next to you. Her strength had left her body, all the energy she had left for calming her own son.

"Look at those happy buns," you said dreamily, watching Tris get cranky and try to take the strawberry from Yuta. "When I was their age, I learned how to smoke and steal blings," you were immediately got a smack from Frank for your words.

"Oh, like ya are a righteous man," you muttered resentfully, rubbing the back of your head and glaring at the man who had opened another bottle of beer.

"I can afford it couple times a year," he replied nonchalantly, sipping the cool drink.

"Ya wouldn't have potbelly like that because of couple times a year," you said cheerfully, slapping him on the stomach. You dodged another smack and laughed wryly.

It didn't take long for the man to get angry as a worried Itadori appeared on the horizon with Tris in his arms. Frank jumped up - the chair had fallen to the ground with a loud thud, nearly breaking in half - and ran quickly to them. "What's the matter, sunshine?" he said anxiously, taking the little girl from the bewildered Yuji 

"As soon as we were at the entrance, Tris immediately cried," the boy rambled apologetically, afraid that suspicion of her sadness might fall on him.

"Scared, honey?" cooed Frank, rocking Tris - her cries turned to quiet sobs, and she squeezed her eyes shut and nodded. You and Rachel glanced over and sighed jealously in unison - now that you were grown, almost all the tender creature comforts went to the younger ones. "I'm taking her home," Frank stated in a stern tone, giving you a serious look. "And ya," he pointed a finger at you and Rachel then tapped it on the table. "Keep an eye on everyone."

"Okay," you agreed, heeding his words while your sister rolled her eyes.

Itadori, feeling guilty for being at the center of all the trouble, looked penitently at Frank as he left, and as soon as he was gone, Rachel sprang from her seat, running up to the boy. "I'll go with ya!" she said cheerfully, putting her arm around Yuji's shoulder, and the boy stared at her in surprise.

"Where are ya going?" you shouted. "Frank said to keep an eye on everyone!"

"What do ya think I'm gonna do?" barked Rachel back. "Where am I supposed to keep an eye on them if not in close proximity?"

Either her insolence has shackled your vocal cords, or common sense. With a snort, you grabbed your milkshake angrily, and sipped sullenly as you watched Rachel lead Itadori farther and farther away, shoving the queue - they were in no time at all near Yuta and Mike, who were standing at the beginning of it, waiting for the coaster to arrive.

People looked hot, excited, and instead of their endless chatter, you could hear only their blood boiling in them - you were tempted even by a drop of sweat running down the back of a girl you didn't know. Your usually dormant and slumbering hunger liked to wake up in a crowd - your body became cotton-like, barely obedient, and you struggled to keep yourself on the chair. You sipped the milkshake hard, trying to satiate yourself, but the creature inside couldn't stand the deception.  

Breathing hard, you wished you were in a vat of ice-cold water - it wouldn't satisfy your hunger, but it might bring you back to your senses. The air, warmed by other people's laughter and breath, tantalized you, made you dizzy, and you had to grab the table to keep your balance. Before your eyes blurred, you saw the coaster pull up, the thrill-seekers stepping off the wagon on shaky legs, some laughing merrily, some feeling only a surge of energy.

Gojo laughed and wrapped his arms around the necks of a pale Megumi and a dazed Danielle, and as soon as you met his gaze, your heart calmed a little, though your human heart was still racing. The sorcerer smiled smugly at you, leading the barely alive kids to your table. "Here we are!" he chirped, plopping down next to you. 

You watched in horror as a forcibly recovered Danielle sat Fushiguro down - the boy pressed his lips tightly together like holding back a gagging. "Is this really how it's supposed to be?" you asked uncertainly.

"Oh, come on," he waved it off. "He just feels a little queasy, that happens."

Either Megumi had no energy left or he didn't hear Gojo at all, for there was no frown on his part. Danielle anxiously stroked his shoulders, squeezing them a little - Gojo put his hands behind his head and watched contentedly as Dany tried to put some color on Megumi's pale face. The sorcerer's extremely happy smile made you suspicious - you got the impression that the celebration on his face wasn't caused by the amusement ride at all. "Ya're so petty," you grinned, realizing that Gojo was just enjoying some peddling revenge for the boy's failure to make him aware of his serious intentions first.  

"So?" he fluttered his eyelids innocently and snatched the milkshake away from you.

Megumi, who had regained consciousness, took a sip of water from the glass, but immediately put his hand to his mouth, making a gurgling sound - a sight you were glad to see was an appetite suppressant. You were no longer burning up inside, your hunger had briefly receded, your stomach was no longer eating itself, and though you were still breathing heavily, you were no longer sweating.

Your lack of reaction made Gojo uneasy, and the fact that you didn't fight for your unceremoniously snatched food made him panic. It was only now that he noticed your foggy eyes and the way your head barely was holding steady, and without realizing it, the sorcerer was breathing heavily along with you. It reminded him just now why you'd been denying yourself the pleasure of even short bursts of adrenaline. There were too many people here - it was like leaving a person who'd been starving for months in the midst of a feast under an all-seeing eye that commanded them not to touch anything. "Let's go get some strawberries," without giving you time to answer, Gojo grabbed your arm and dragged you towards the counter, leaving Dany and Megumi alone.  

There was almost no queue, only two people before you. You gazed with interest and appetite at the fruit in the display case, which glistened in the warm light of the lantern - the glaze seemed like liquid gold. "Mochi," Gojo said quietly, and you looked at him questioningly, hardly able to tear yourself away from the delicious splendor. The gleeful slyness on his face didn't last long - the more he worked up the courage to say those words, the more embarrassed he became. "You want to get out of here?" 

"What?" you blurted out confusedly, but it was the sparkle in your eyes that gave you away - the thought of escaping made them twinkle like a million stars. "But I... Frank said to keep an eye on everyone, so I don't think I can," you rambled shyly, not knowing where to put yourself. Temptation was on one side of the scale, responsibility on the other, and the scales swayed immeasurably, tipping sideways.

Frightened that he had only exacerbated your precarious state with his suggestion, he put on a serene smile and tried to reassure you. "Dany has Megumi, and everyone else has Rachel. Your sister is crazy," you snorted sarcastically at that remark. "And having her son here makes her triple the danger."

You glanced toward the entrance to the coaster - it was nothing but an excited, waiting crowd. People were hooting and hollering, jostling and trying to get ahead of the line, but there were no Rachel or Gojo's students among them - they were probably yelling at the top of their lungs right now. You'd never doubted your sister, and now you grinned stupidly and thought about the fact that Rachel was probably calming or coaxing the excited and frightened boys. Whether she was rocking their safety bindings or reassuring them that everything would be okay while laughing at their contorted faces, you knew she would protect them no matter what happened. Right now, they'd be safer without you than with you.    

Strawberries you took from Gojo spilled bitterness into your mouth as soon as you took a bite. You shouldn't have been so protective of your words and kept the warm embrace to yourself. Deciding that tonight and for the rest of your life, you would let Rachel lie on top of you, hugging and nibbling you as much as she wanted, you ventured.

Turning to Gojo, you took his hand and nodded. As soon as he took you to a place out of sight, the sound of people's merriment was cut off by a wafting breeze. As you found yourself lying on the grass, the smell of water hit your nose - rising up on your elbows, you saw the familiar horizon where the ocean kissed the star every night. "Well," you began slyly. "Will the star give its answer tonight?" 

"I'm afraid not," the sorcerer sighed lamentably, plopping down on the grass beside you - the waves were almost reaching your feet, splashing desperately. "It's too dark already."

You tried to put the puzzle together in your head, but you couldn't find any reason why the star could only speak in its own light. You didn't even try to ask Gojo about it, just glanced at him frustrated that he still hadn't told you where the place was. 

The sorcerer heard you mutter something sullenly to yourself - he enjoyed the fact that he could influence your mood. And your condition. Here, in the forested wilderness by the dark waters, you were noticeably lighter, and instead of your ragged, hungry breathing, he could only hear the sound of small waves. "My offer still stands," he reminded you embarrassedly, turning on his side and propping his head on his palm.

"Eh?..." you wondered, wrinkling your nose in confusion.

"I mean blood," Gojo said, peering into your eyes - they no longer screamed of unquenchable thirst. "Reverse technique will make up for the lack of blood, so you can drink as much as you want. When else are you gonna be offered an unlimited and free feeding tube?" 

"Do ya even know about a word like diet?" you laughed, taken aback by his suggestion. "If I don't stick to it, I might become greedy."

He'd truly forgotten that sweets didn't go along with blood - any addiction had consequences. No matter how many sweets the sorcerer ate, he still couldn't get enough, and if his whole dilemma was just going to the store, what about you?

Perhaps it was because Gojo had never seen you in a distraught state - the danger hadn't shown itself yet, and he was relaxed, thinking of you as a human despite some of the strange things that happened to you in crowds. The other side that existed was either too humble or repressed by you, but looking at you, he couldn't wonder if it was it that made you look up at the night sky like that. Your eyes, full of longing and tenderness - he didn't need to turn around to realize what you were looking at so lovingly. It was more likely that the tiny shimmering dots peeking out from behind the leaves were staring back at you just the same.   

Gojo suddenly felt empty - the unattainable, clutching his heart in a vise, asked him a leading question. Will he ever be enough for your adventurous soul? Or would you travel to unknown but native lands at the first opportunity? He was lying right in front of you, very close, but even now you were looking up high, searching for something. No matter how powerful the sorcerer was, he could not put himself on a par with the face of the universe. The feeling of being deprived was left on his conscience - he wanted to feel the same way you felt at the sight of those tiny, shiny dots. "If you had the chance," he blurted out, embarrassed, lowering his gaze to the ground, but there was nowhere to retreat. "Would you go there?" 

The sorcerer almost drowned in bitterness when you sighed dreamily. "No," you said plaintively, giving him your hand. He stared at you in surprise, but couldn't even open his mouth - joy intermingled with confusion stole all the words. "If I'd wanted to, I would have taken off my mask long ago and surrendered to the judges," you shuddered, even though you were the one who remembered them.

Gojo rolled over onto his stomach and felt the annoyance recede. "You look over there more often than you look at me anyway," he muttered resentfully, pinching the grass. Seeking reassurance from you, he started acting like a child again.  

"Now I'm just thinking about how many of those stars are already dead," you chuckled. The sorcerer squinted at you suspiciously, and you felt yourself under mute interrogation. "I'm telling the truth," you sighed, waving away the grass flying at you. "I'm just wondering which ones are real, and which ones disappeared, leaving behind a light that only reached us now," you rounded your eyes at the idea that had come to you, and clapped him enthusiastically on the shoulder. "Look, how about a bet?" 

"Bet?" he blustered, perking up. He was clearly interested in the scheme or rather in his reward for your imminent loss.

You were looking for something in the night sky. "Well, there's our sister, Betelgeuse," you turned your head from side to side, and not finding the constellation Orion, you waved it away, but decided to stick to your suggestion and not back down. "Right now it's in its last stage of life for us, but what if I bet it exploded... I dunno," you laughed at the absurdity of your suggestion. "Let's say about five years ago?"

"Too shallow," Gojo declared proudly. "I'll bet ten."

"That's the deal." 

"Uh.,, What did we bet?" he mused, trying to recall the terms of the deal.

"It's up to the winner to decide," the magnitude of the controversy allowed you to say this phrase. "If I'm right, we won't see the explosion until 495 years from now, and if you're right, we won't see it until 490 years. Oh yeah, there is some margin of error because the exact distance to Betelgeuse is unknown. Give or take 100 years."

"I think I just miscalculated," the sorcerer drawled uncertainly. "But where?"

Maybe it was a good thing the explosion wouldn't come soon enough - Gojo wouldn't have had ten years to make up his mind about his desire, every branch of which was invariably connected to you. You were naive to think you could get rid of him by time, for Gojo would be ready to get you in a thousand years. 

As you looked up into the silent sky, you heard again the last words the sorcerer had said to you once. You'd lived in his world, but he'd never known or felt a part of yours - an unfair and unjust selfishness that had strayed from your thoughts. Of course, you could never show Gojo the places by the stars themselves - those beautiful killers would leave you no chance of survival. But you could take him to places where the light from events would close in on you, making you see things you would never see here, lying on the grass. "I wanna show ya something," your voice cracked with excitement, and you jumped to your feet, thereby startling him as well. Panicked, Gojo rose to his feet with you, looking you cautiously.

"Show me what?" he hesitantly asked, keeping his distance - there were only two steps separating you.

"Look, I really don't know how to put this into words," you said out of breath like a long jog. "You'd better give me your hand," you held out your palm and held yourself back - his uncertainty was urging you to run to him, to grab his hand and do as you wished, but something inside demanded that you wait for his willing consent. "We'll only have about ten seconds, but I promise there's nothing to worry about," you kept rambling, trying to reassure the sorcerer, but you only made him more anxious. 

Gojo didn't know why he hesitated - he didn't remember you as excited and aroused as you were. Besides, he thought he was the only one who'd ever seen you like this, and that was what made him stiffen - the weight of your trust made him stop feeling his own body. You were about to show him something you hadn't shown the others, and despite his happiness, Gojo felt responsible.

As soon as Gojo dared to raise his hand, you grabbed him - he couldn't even understand how you could pull him, tall and big, towards you and change your places. It took his breath away, his legs and arms were numb, he felt like a feather that floated without falling - realizing that he couldn't take a breath, Gojo noticed your glittering eyes that blended with the rest of the wild and distant stars. 

One.

Gojo didn't immediately realize where he was - what he saw seemed so implausible and ridiculous that it drove him mad. Delirium retreated penitently as he looked behind your shoulder, barely breaking away from your gaze. There were no planets or other celestial bodies around you - you were, like two swimmers, dissecting with your bodies the universe in its original form. Finding himself at the beginning of all humans, he thought of yours as well - here his throat clenched just as it had clenched from the dagger once held to his neck. 

Two.

Enraged by his own consternation, Gojo placed the blame for his initial feelings on your shoulders. Foes may have mocked him, others may have underestimated him, looking down on the sorcerer, but they all met the same end, but he had never witnessed such cold eyes that he had seen on your first day - you could have killed him without hesitation, and it was left on Gojo's conscience to think of you as someone superior to him.

Three.

An upstart, a psychopath, a murderer, a thief, a subhuman - Gojo kept repeating those words like a mantra, and as he agreed to the deal with your superiors, he thought of the balance - the world wouldn't be worse off if his best friend showed up here instead of you. All his life destroying the vermin, Gojo mistook you for one of them, and pathetic excuses could not cover the regrets that followed - in fact, you turned out to be an amazing creature embodied by invisible hands that supported you right here and now, preventing you from drowning in the dark slurry, in which flickering, distant lights had long ago boiled. 

Four.

Not the desire to kill, but to protect yourself - that's what made you tick. Gojo had read it in your tired, red eyes back then, on the cliff outside the house. 'How strange,' he thought, squeezing your hand harder - if all around you were your home lands, the sorcerer still couldn't feel it under his feet, and he was afraid not to get lost in space, but to let you go. 'Even here it's not as cold as it was then,' there was no warmth in your hand or in your voice, just a mess of vacuum and thoughts, but he saw you brightly and clearly, and he couldn't find the words to thank the light that reflected off you.

Five.

Tears blurred all the stars making them flash – they became bright, almost red, which reminded Gojo of torches. You were the one who had unceremoniously interfered in his life and pointed out the consequences of his deeds. Every clueless person saved could continue to burn fires, illuminating the hearts of those they loved and their own. The sprawling expanses were not known for their friendliness, they loved only lifeless symmetry - having overlooked one tiny corner, they failed to notice the ugliness that stood out against the background of an endless similar pattern, thus giving this filth a chance to exist. And Gojo, never thinking about it, continued to draw this abomination called humanity on the beautiful and empty picture of the world with his own hands. 

Six.

Was the void like this place? Was saving people just one of the reasons why you returned to that cold land again and again? Or was it the purple-lit sand that reminded you of a home that had no bottom, no walls, no roof? It was in such a place that all the secrets of origin and birth, which were usually hidden under the dark cloak of matter of the known world, were exposed. They squirmed and pushed each other out, thus inadvertently showing their particles to the person who painted the formulas.

Seven.

You were probably being guided by goodness when you lied to the sorcerer - now he didn't believe a bit of what you said about not wanting to go there. In all his life Gojo had never seen so much confused delight in someone's gaze, he had never met someone whose eyes so easily merged with the stars, reflecting them. It was so strange, holding your hand, realizing that at any moment you could let it go and merge with the darkness, no longer allowing the light to reflect off of you - at this moment his grip seemed so fragile and unreliable that he was afraid.

Eight.

You looked at Gojo with a thrill at your heart. The awe on his face, unwilling to tell you its origins, made you anxious. Certainly, you had not walked the rings of Jupiter or viewed Venus from the distance of two moons, and all you could show him was the crushing insensitivity and colorlessness of nothingness. His thoughts eluded you, and you couldn't demand reassurance - finding yourself at the very pier where invisible ships were sailing to your lands, you hoped it resonated genuinely in his soul as it did in yours.

Nine.

How much foolishness and naivety can awaken in later years - Gojo would have laughed if he could. Going with heavy thinking, he missed the very point - being so close to home, you weren't looking around, searching the stars for a native being, you were looking straight at him. It wasn't the cosmos that fascinated the sorcerer, but Gojo was completely lost when he met the creature it spawned. To follow you through life, to go with you after death, resuming your endless circle of a beginning and never letting go of your hand even in the coldest of places.

Ten.

You were entwined where there was no life and no end to it. No earth, no water, no fire, no air - no threads that connected Gojo to a familiar world. He knew that sooner or later the universe would kill him, if not by lack of oxygen, then by cold - the world had a thousand and one weapons to get rid of unwanted guests. The universe was well aware that it was the worst place for the origin of life, but no matter how hard it tried to crush human existence, it could not prevent your meeting. From the very beginning of life on Earth, there were too many accidents for mere coincidence - it was necessarily either a gift of destiny or an evil fate, and one never excluded the other. Seeing through the prism of human's eyes, savoring all your colors, Gojo dropped for the last second all the responsibilities that awaited him upon his return - for one more moment the sorcerer relished the newfound home he never had.  

Two astronauts, unburdened by reinforced spacesuits, floated in weightlessness, content with the good spirits of their surroundings, which unobtrusively tried to kill them. Once smaller than a dot, the creation, having emitted light in all directions, had grown to the size that its underling could reach in 14 billion years, and it continued to grow relentlessly, illuminating its once invisible boundaries. Billions of stars, which became millions of eyes, forced the Universe to witness a miracle over which it had no control - in the vastness of its endless dead zone two loving hearts were beating. 

Gojo had been gulping for air as soon as he was on Earth, the abrupt change in his surroundings making his mind melt. The sound of water, the overflow of waves and even a green leaf falling from a branch seemed to him no more than decoration. His back didn't feel the ground, his hands didn't feel the wind - he was brought back to reality by you, real and alive, who hovered over him and gazed at him restlessly. "I won't pay for such an excursion," said the sorcerer, out of breath. Laughing quietly, you slid off Gojo and plopped down next to him. Trying to shake off the anxiety and the sticky thoughts that Gojo was disgusted by this walk, you listened, seeking reassurance in his every agitated breath. 

Gojo was afraid to admit that it was the best thing that had ever happened to him. Or rather, this moment was right after your first meeting on his personal list. A lifetime of striving for more, of cutting and dissecting the boundaries of human possibility, he was still here on Earth. The greater the power, the more majesty the sorcerer felt, but where light years walked, the omnipotence appeared to be nothing more than ordinary dust that the stellar winds had scattered. "You know, it's...," he mewled shyly, trying to find a word that at least slightly described his heartstrings. As Gojo frantically went over the unspoken emotion on his tongue, he was interrupted by a rumbling sound. Clutching at your stomach like trying to shut it up, you rounded your eyes in shock, and your heart felt heavy. To ruin a moment like this, even unwillingly, seemed like the end of the world until you heard a gushing laugh. "I'm a lousy friend if I keep forgetting to feed you," you wanted to object, reminding the sorcerer about the strawberries, but he stood up and picked you up in his arms, each time you sighed in amazement as you looked down at the world from his height. "Well, what does our soul desire?"  

"Bacon-wrapped shrimp," you replied without hesitation like you'd been practicing that line for years. "Exactly the kind ya make."

"You could have chained me to the stove for all evening, wanting, let's say, ramen or curry rice, but do you really want just shrimps?" he wondered, and you nodded emphatically. "I don't deserve you," Gojo grinned, remembering not the recipe he needed at all, but the world you'd shown him. 

The moment you were on the doorstep of the house on the hill, you felt a little dizzy, either from the fact that the sorcerer had never warned you before moving abruptly or from worrying about the consequences of your escape. Your gut didn't let you down - as soon as you opened the door and crossed the threshold, you were greeted by a disheveled and flushed Frank, who was looking for something in the medicine cabinet. A surprised Mike was sitting on the couch, and your sister was kneeling in front of him, gently blotting his temple. Several bloody cotton balls were already lying on the floor beside her, and you crouched down next to Rachel, concerned, while Gojo tried to quiet your old man. "What happened?" 

"He fell out of a tree," Rach mumbled, soaking another cotton ball in alcohol. There was no attack from her about your disappearance, and surprisingly, you felt out of sorts. "Does it hurt, baby?" she asked her son affectionately, and he shook his head cheerfully. "I guess I was even more scared than he was," she sighed in relief. "Will ya come back for the others?" she turned to you. "I couldn't even warn the kids when I saw the blood on his face that we had to leave."

"Yeah, sure," you assured her absently, stroking your sister's shoulder. It looked like it would take you a long time to get used to the changes in her personality. Her yelling, shouting and accusations were much better tolerated than her uncharacteristic emotions, and you were unaware of the confusion and fright on her face. "We'll be back soon, don't worry, 'kay?" you said, standing up and patting Mike lightly on the top of his head - he didn't even squeak.

"Okay," she replied, and you, not noticing the cold stare she was giving you, tugged Gojo's sleeve, nodding your way out.

[August 23, 2022, 01:50pm., Hopetown]

The greenhouse offered no protection from the sudden late August heat, and you ran your wet palms through the vegetation, searching for stems. The wicker basket on the floor was slowly filling with soft pink flowers, and you looked at each sunlighted petal before you put one in. The monotonous work and humidity made you drowsy, and you struggled to keep your eyes open, yawning all the while. "Hey," Gojo called out angrily as he entered the greenhouse. He appeared before you covered in earth and dirt with a shovel in hand. "Am I to understand t correctly hat I was forced to dig potatoes and you're out here picking flowers?" snorted the sorcerer. "Where is justice?" he asked indignantly, stepping closer and nearly hitting the basket with his foot. Standing up beside you and resting his chin on the shovel's handle, he examined the flowers in the basket. "What's this ugly thing?" Gojo wrinkled his nose squeamishly, looking at the incongruity - the peony was on top of a lily, the lily on top of a rose, the rose on top of a chrysanthemum, and there was not a single repeating flower, which was repulsive in its chaos.  

Sometimes, Gojo rarely let you get a word in edgewise - either torrents of information or piles of questions usually rained down on you. "It's for Shaya. It's her anniversary tomorrow, and Frank asked me to help," you took advantage of the silence and answered patiently, still nonchalantly picking and clipping the stems of the flowers that weren't already in the basket.

"Then it's even weirder," Gojo grumbled. "If I were him, I'd bring a prettier bouquet to your grave," your outrage was beyond words, but the sorcerer realized what he'd said when you looked at him dumbfounded. "Why can't you shut me up in time?" he got angry, unintentionally putting the blame on you.

"That's because ya have a big mouth. Watch your tongue," the way the shears clanged together suggested to the sorcerer that you'd imagined the plant to be something else. "Shaya didn't care about flowers at all. She loved them all," you muttered quietly, changing the subject. "As long as they were white," you gently swiped at the petals and placed the jonquil in the basket. Your words confused Gojo - either you were overheating or you were playing him for a fool. 

"They're pink," the sorcerer said hesitantly, blinking hard a few times - perhaps he'd gotten sunstroke? But you didn't raise an eyebrow at his remark, just kept looking for the prettiest flowers, but your quiet chuckle didn't escape his hearing. "I can't believe it!" he gasp insulted, knocking the shovel to the floor. "You were testing me!"

"Call it professional hazard," you laughed, trying to soften his anger.

The prepared tirade remained unspoken - someone's large hand tugged Gojo by the collar, almost throwing him out of the greenhouse. "What, son, are ya done already?" asked Frank coldly, squinting suspiciously. The sorcerer, shaking his head fearfully and clutching the shovel to his chest, backed away - the gray-haired man stepped exactly until he had swept him out of the room. "That's better!" he yelled. "I don't need a lazy son-in-law!" he muttered, waving his fist threateningly in his wake. 

"Frank," you hissed embarrassedly, drawing attention.

"What?" he bellowed, proudly adjusting his shirt and walking over to you - inspecting the basket of flowers, he hummed in satisfaction. "Am I not telling the truth?"

"Better tell me how the orchid thing is going," you waved it away.

"Already started making the extract, that's gonna take quite a while too," he nodded meaningfully. "And what do we do with it next?"

"We're gonna do experiments on me," he frowned sternly, realizing what you were getting at. "We need to find out what ratios of wine and extract cause pain in demons."

"I don't like this scheme," the man muttered, crossing his arms over his chest. "What are ya up to?"

At this rate, you really weren't going to make it in time for town day, which is exactly what insurance was for. "There's a reason I asked Megumi and Dany to have the wedding here in Hopetown," you exhaled convulsively. "Call me paranoid, but I think there's someone here. Someone reporting on... us," you replied evasively, not naming specific names. "It's unlikely they used Danielle alone, they could easily have slipped us one of them in the void, passing them off as just another poor soul," Frank glanced warily through the transparent wall of the greenhouse at the town - it was as quiet and peaceful as it had been a day ago, or a month, or even a year. "I may end up being wrong, but wouldn't it be calmer that way?" you gibbered, panting, trying to convince the man. "We'll organize a feast, everyone will drink from wine barrels, and if no one reacts - that's great, but if one critter does choke, then...," you laughed nervously, wiping your wet face with your hands. "Oh my God… Looks like I'm gonna ruin the wedding."

next ⊳

[lorei-writes]

Belonging

Gilbert x f!Reader Yandere (?) Smut ~1.1k

... It has occurred to me that since Gilbert makes all your clothes, he probably knows how to tear them down... In fact, this may be a design feature.

Contents: dub-con (?), sex in public, possessive sex, vaginal fingering, vaginal intercourse, biting, marking, creampie

Brightly lit ballroom blurs, frigid flames stilling over the chandelier. Chill seeps into fire, distilled and purified, dripping down the candles in place of molten wax. It hits the floor, envelops the guests… And you watch. The crimson of Gilbert’s gaze never leaves you. You can only swallow and hope not to choke on your concerns, blasphemous hands pulling you close to an equally sinful body of another man.

Brightly lit ballroom blurs, frigid flames stilling over the chandelier. Chill seeps into fire, distilled and purified, dripping down the candles in place of molten wax. It hits the floor, envelops the guests… And you watch. The crimson of Gilbert’s gaze never leaves you. You can only swallow and hope not to choke on your concerns, blasphemous hands pulling you close to an equally sinful body of another man. Perfidious are your senses, faithless as they fill you with thrilling pleasure. His touch is warm, confident, firm… permeated with hesitation, but nonetheless, daring, unapologetic. His fingers slide across the exposed parts of your back, bare your desires in front of the entire crowd as stars are born within your eyes. Your heart drums in tune with the orchestra, your legs tangling in your silk skirt, and it grows louder with each of your steps. Your dress still swirls when the music cuts, the cane tapping against the granite floor. Gilbert applauds you. He smiles and you smile and your throat burns as hot as his eye.

Brightly lit ballroom fades; it is just the two of you and the corridor, the moonlight seeping inside through the tall windows. Panes shudder in the metal frames, winds rocking the dark silhouettes outside. Your back presses against the wall. Cold fingers flex, coil around your shoulder as Gilbert’s face draws close. The corners of his mouth twitch, but he does not allow them to fall.

“You had fun, didn’t you?” he whispers against your lips, just short of caressing them. Breath chokes you in place of his hand. Gilbert chuckles. “I’ve asked you a question. Don’t make me wait.”

You lick your lips. “I did,” you confess.

“I thought so.”

His mouth assaults you, forceful tongue demanding entry past your teeth. You give in with a hum, sweltering frost overtaking your senses as you meet him, fully captivated by the hands roaming over your body. Gilbert devours any of your gasps, gorges himself on your moans, each of your twitches a feast in the name of his avarice. He pulls and he tugs, and bites whenever you as much as think to attempt an escape, a starved beast latched onto his prey. He pushes you instinctively, animalistic while chasing after your breath. Heat evaporates, shivers scattering across your flesh, and it is only once you feel the draught on your skin that you become aware of the state of your undress. Your nipples harden. Gilbert catches one between his fingers, pinches it, sucks sharply at your neck, shoulder, collarbone, scatters crimson marks over your breasts. You pull at his hair. His touch becomes more insistent, persistent, branding.

“When —”

“I’ve created it,” he explains. “Of course I know how to tear it down.”

“We’re in public,” you protest. Any of your attempts to cover yourself up are futile.

“Yet you had no issues being all pressed up against another man while I watched? Hehe, Little Rabbit, what are those double standards…”

“Those are not —” Gilbert twists your nipple and you yelp, your voice spilling into the corridor in echoing waves. His hand lands on your shoulder and soon enough, the cool stone soothes the aching marks over your chest.

“You just have to keep it down. Unless you want us to be caught, of course,” Gilbert whispers against the nape of your neck, his teeth grazing it as if to warn you. He pulls at your hips, and you bend over, obedient and obediently following all of his orders. Fabric rustles as he throws your skirt over your waist. Your legs spread. Metal shrieks briefly, fabric tears, and your undergarments fall away.

“Do you like it?”

“N-no, I don’t,” you insist against the desire pooling in your stomach. Gloved hands grab your bottom, leather sliding against your skin as Gilbert spreads your buttocks.

“Oh, you liar, you,” he laughs and kneels behind you. “So he was the one to get you this excited?”

“No —!”

His teeth sink into your thigh. Something lands on top of your back, so light you wonder whether it is even there.

“Don’t drop them,” Gilbert instructs – and you’d like to ask for clarifications, for explanations, but his fingers press into you and rid you of any doubts. You mewl into your arm as he pushes you harder, further, starved lightning churning in your loins. Gilbert is relentless, utterly indifferent to the shaking of your legs or your straining arms, the raising moans and the squelching, that flood the corridor, flow towards the ballroom. Your hips rush to meet him. Gilbert clicks his tongue, although you do not understand. It is just him and his sharp fangs, and the fire in his breath, the iron of his lips that slides against your flesh to alter it permanently, the searing pain following his every touch.

“You can’t obey even the simplest command.” His breathy laughter falls over your exposed back as Gilbert raises from the floor. You bend over further. “What shall I do with you, Little Rabbit?”

You do not know. You do not care. Your arms reach back and you spread yourself for him, wet arousal glistening over your sex.

Gilbert fills you completely.

It is just him, the slightly bitter scent of medicinal herbs that clings to his clothes. His hands on your breasts, at your neck, in your hair, fingers in your mouth, the hot need buried as deep inside of you as humanely possible. Gilbert envelops you, permeates you, governs your every sense. He is the only thing on your mind, as he should be, as he always should have been…

***

The floor is cold, but it soothes the marks scattered over your legs. Still mildly out of breath, you lean against the wall, goosebumps raising over your exposed shoulders. Gilbert crouches down in front of you. Your nipples perk up, caressed by his gaze. His hands steal your warmth as he takes your chin, urges your eyes to focus on him.

“Who do you belong to?” he asks, stroking your cheek tenderly.

“You.”

“Who?”

“Gilbert von Obsidian. Gilbert von Obsidian only.”

“Good.”

Gilbert stands up, as collected as if nothing has transpired. He unclasps his cloak and drapes it over you to then help you up to your feet, his cum flowing down your thigh. More exposed than covered, you walk back to your room, ready to spend the reminder of the night in his arms.

You’ve seen a typo? Please, tell me!

Tag List is disabled for smut.

I personally don’t feel comfortable tagging people under the occasional smutty stories I write. I hope you understand.

[teejaystumbles]

Febuwhump Day 2 - Solitary Confinement

This fit perfectly with what I was planning to write for Fire Elemental Hob so have a new snippet!

When Hob wakes up he finds himself in an empty room. It is small and the walls are made of stone, sheer granite without any visible cracks or fissures. There is no door, no window, no opening at all. Hob feels his breath catch and his throat tighten in panic. He cannot- he cannot be back here! This can't be real! He can't breathe. He feels his form shrink from the lack of oxygen to feed on. He'll die, suffocate slowly until nothing of him remains, until he- He hears himself whimper and it echoes loudly in the empty space. "Please let me out, please, I don't want to die, I don't-" Suddenly there are no more walls. He is kneeling on the stone kitchen floor of the Dreaming's castle and the Lord of Dreams is standing in front of him. Hob can see flames dance in the fringes of his coat. Was that him? Has he set Lord Morpheus' mantle on fire? Is that why he is being punished? He bows his head to the floor and pleads, "My Lord, forgive me, please don't put me back in there, I beg you, please-" "Hob. Calm yourself." Hob gasps and stays where he is, not daring to look up, breathing raggedly. He's not dead. He can breathe. He tries to focus on that. The Dreamlord moves and Hob sees his mantle fringe sweep over the floor. At a closer look the flames don't seem to feed on it, they dance along the black fabric without damaging it at all. Hob feels a strange desire to reach out and touch them, find out if they are his kin or if they are somehow as cold and untouchable as their master. "Hob," Lord Morpheus says again, "it was not my intent to bring you discomfort." Hob shakes his head slowly and tries to understand. “But…why put me in such a room, then? Have I done something?” He dares look up and sees the Dreamlord look down at him with something like unease on his face. He is frowning and his hair is a wild mess, as usual. Hob still finds him very beautiful. The thought both terrifies and calms him, strangely. It is a now familiar feeling that Hob can use to push back the panicked scream still clawing at the back of his throat. Strange how the sight of this realm’s lord has become a welcome source of peace for him. He realises that it is because he trusts Dream to not hurt him. Intentionally.

The working title for this fic is "Rekindle my heart" btw. I'll try and tag all related posts with it

[almacambiondaughterofsaleos]

What do you think of the prolog for my 1st chapter, is it good?

link to the main fic (https://archiveofourown.org/works/56033533/chapters/142316074) in case you want to comment, TW for semi-sexual content:

It was a clear day in the Northern Isles, as the reddish-orange sun shone brightly on the cloud-covered, muted teal-gray sky. 

SIXTEEN YEARS AGO

Darcy, even in her teenage years, bore the unmistakable mark of otherworldly grace. Her skin was a canvas of stark duality; half cloaked in the deepest vantablack that swallowed light whole, and the other half radiant with a pulsating white light that seemed to defy the very essence of shadow. This contrast was not just skin deep—it mirrored her nature, a being balanced between the cosmic and the human. Her youthful features softened her appearance, yet even then, she carried a regal air, her every movement and glance hinting at the profound power she was destined to wield. Her short hair was made of living flames, styled half black-and-white. She wore a black jacket, a white-and-purple striped shirt, and ankle boots. Most of her other features noticeable when she is an adult were either not there yet or hidden.

She rode on her Siamese cat palisman and out of the sky into a cobblestone street in the middle of a snowy forest. A zeppelin with a steampunk aesthetic zoomed overhead. 

The school building is a Gothic structure that is easily recognizable due to its distinct pointed arches, ribbed vaults, and flying buttresses. It features ornate stonework, which includes tracery on the windows and decorative finials at the pinnacles. The façade of the building is adorned with a series of tall and narrow lancet windows with pointed tops, which is typical of Gothic architecture. It can be assumed that the building has gargoyles or grotesques serving as waterspouts projecting from the roof. There is a cloister-like covered walkway supported by columns with capitals featuring intricate carvings, likely floral or foliate designs, which lead down to an arched portal. The roof is steeply pitched to aid in water runoff, and it is possibly covered with slate tiles, which was common in such structures. 

The building has several levels, with the upper floors likely containing a gallery or clerestory windows, which are designed to bring light into the interior. The buttresses are robust, providing structural support to the walls, allowing them to reach impressive heights and maintain large windows. The masonry work suggests the use of cut stone, possibly limestone or granite, which were frequently used in Gothic architecture for their durability and workability. Each stone would have been carefully shaped and placed, contributing to the intricate patterns and textures on the building's surface. 

The school has a parking lot for all staff in case they aren't needed for the lessons, and the walls are perpetually colder than the inside of a medieval fort so students must wear thick clothing to stay warm... unless they're learning ice magic.

She parked her palisman in a nearby rack and pulled out her bag for the day, she chewed on a maroon-colored candy bar that melted in her mouth.

“Hey Dorkcy!” A snobby voice called.

Darcy mentally groaned. Ugh, not HER again!

The girl in question stepped forward with an air of confidence, introducing herself as a witch with fair skin and a stature of medium height. Her vibrant ginger hair was neatly braided into playful pigtails, adding a touch of whimsy to her appearance. Freckles sprinkled across her cheeks like constellations in the night sky, enhancing the mischievous glint in her eyes. As she spoke, her eyelashes fluttered down to the bottom of her eyelids, framing her gaze with an enigmatic allure. A subtle gap in her top teeth peeked through her smile, hinting at a hidden depth behind her seemingly innocent demeanor.

Her name was Maggie, and to Darcy… she was a pain in the arse.

“Whatcha eatin'? A magical goop bar?” Maggie jeered, her voice dripping with mock curiosity. She leaned in closer, her eyes scanning Darcy’s snack as if it were an alien artifact rather than a candy bar. “Or is it one of those special treats from the dark side of the fridge?”

Darcy rolled her eyes, the flames in her hair flickering slightly with her irritation. She kept her voice cool, almost icy.

“It's not a goop bar, Maggie. It’s a bocadillo, a traditional snack made of guava jelly and panela.” She started smiling,  “Mom made it for me ‘cause it's my birthday!” She proudly announced. 

Maggie deadpans, “Oh, well happy birthday.” 

Before giving a mean smile, “GIMME THAT!” She tries to pull the snack away. 

“Get your own mom to make you a nice treat, Maggie,” Darcy retorted sharply, trying to fend off the bully, her grip tightening on the bocadillo. “This isn’t for sharing, especially not with you.” Her words were punctuated by a slight tug, pulling the snack closer to her chest.

They continued tussling until a voice rang out, distinctly male and sharp.

“Hey, Margo!” 

Rock music filled the air as a teenage Blitzo, sporting braces, a black tank top emblazoned with the word "Mammon" in bold yellow letters split into "Mam" on top and "Mon" on the bottom, a spiked collar, green-yellow pants, heeled black boots, and a leather jacket adorned with spikes. He had his hands on his hips and looked at the fight with a glare.

"Leave her alone!" he growled, glancing back to see a student seated in the bleachers of a nearby courtyard. The student had stylishly dyed purple hair that partially covered his face.

Blitzo smirked, "Nice guitar solo, by the way."

"YEAH!" yelled the student, who flashed a rocker sign in response to Blitzo's comment.

Maggie blushed a darker shade of red, as she retorted to Blitzo. “Or else what?!”

“Or else you can forget to come to an awesome pool party in Temperance next week, Archangel Raphael and everyone is going to be there, ” She turns her face to clearly fake upset, even checking midway through that Maggie is falling to her will, “It'll be really sad when the whole class is enjoying the party,” Blitzo almost seems to enjoy his game with his shit-eating grin.

“Without you~,” He said in a sing-song voice.

Maggie felt defeated as she realized that Darcy was of Morningstar royalty, being the daughter of God, the Radio Demon, and the Root of all Evil. If this little scandal ever got out, especially if Blitz told the Elders of Heaven who are Darcy's older siblings, Maggie could face a penalty, warning, or detention for a few days.

“Jeez Blitzo, I was just playin’,” She gave him an awkward smile before returning the snack to Darcy, punching her in the stomach. “Here you go… clumsy bitch.” She growled and went into the entrance of the academy, not before saying: “Have fun with your private clown dancer!” 

Ignoring the comment, Darcy looked at Blitzo and smiled. “Thanks for the save, Blitzy.”

"No worries," Blitzo replied, his tone lightening as he glanced at Maggie retreating into the school building. "You just gotta speak their language." He gave a mischievous smirk, then changed to a warmer, more genuine smile. "But never mind that. Happy birthday, girl!"

The two burst into delighted squeals, Blitzo twirling Darcy around in a spontaneous celebration and showering her freckles with kisses. Their joyful moment was abruptly cut off by the sharp ring of the school bell, signaling the end of their brief respite and the start of another day at the academy.

The duo walked inside and were thrust with a wind of cold air as a manner of different cryptids walked around, the hallway later opened to an atrium, numerous students walking around.

As the bell's shrill echo screamed through the halls, signaling the imminent start of classes, Blitzo grabbed Darcy's hand, a mischievous glint in his eyes. With a swift movement, he pulled her towards an empty locker, and they quickly ducked inside, the metal door shutting them away from the chaotic rush of students.

Inside the cramped, dimly lit space, Blitzo's face was inches from Darcy's, his breath warm against her cool skin. His eyes sparkled with excitement, the close quarters amplifying the intensity of the moment.

"Guess we're playing hooky on your birthday," Blitzo whispered, his voice low and playful. His hand gently brushed a strand of her flaming hair behind her ear.

Darcy's heart raced with the thrill of the moment and the proximity to Blitzo. She smiled, her eyes lighting up with affection and a hint of daring. "Best birthday gift," she murmured, reaching up to trace the contour of his cheek with her fingertips.

Blitzo leaned in closer, the small space between them charged with anticipation. "I could stay here all day," he confessed, his tone softening.

"Wouldn't that be a sight?" Darcy teased, her breath hitching slightly as she felt his lips just a breath away from hers. "The feared Blitzo and Darcy, hiding out in a locker."

"Feared, huh?" Blitzo's lips curved into a sharp-toothed smile just before he closed the distance, his kiss capturing hers in a gentle, yet impassioned embrace. The world outside the locker seemed to fade away, leaving only the sound of their synchronized heartbeats and the quiet rustle of their close contact.

They began to move closer and closer together...

Darcy's fingers inched up Blitzo's tank top, revealing his chiseled chest. Her cheeks flushed: the dark side of her face glowing white and the white had her cheek going darker to a shade of ebony, and her words tangled on her tongue. She covered her face with her ears, giggling softly in disbelief. Blitzo couldn't resist; his toothy grin widened as he leaned in, his breath warm against her ear.

"What's the matter, princesa~?" he crooned, using one of Darcy's native languages (along with Hebrew/Yiddish for God & Creole/French for Alastor), used by her mother Roo, most of the time. To top it all off, he said it in a perfectly smooth accent.

His voice dripped with playful mischief. "Never seen a devilishly handsome imp before?"

Darcy stammered, peeking through her fingers as she tried to steady her voice. "Y-You're too much," she mumbled, her wings instinctively flaring up to hide her face. She resembled a Seraphim from ancient human paintings, shrouded in the elegance of her heavenly plumage. Her tail wagged a little, Blitzo did notice but was indifferent.

Blitzo laughed lowly, droplets of sweat trickling down his face and dripping onto her. He gently traced the contours of her neck, his fingers sliding down to the edge of her blouse. "Let's see how much you can handle," he murmured, slowly pulling off her shirt and revealing her glowing dual-toned skin.

Darcy's wings fluttered, and she shuddered in bliss. Her laughter was breathless and sweet as she struggled to keep her composure. "Blitzo," she gasped, unable to finish the thought, just drawing out the 'o' in the Harlequin-Pierrot's name, though that type of clown didn't exist in the circus he came from—and where they met, they had made it a reality together... when Blitz started doing performances for her in their sleepovers, clumsily tripping over his props just for her.

And her alone.

She could feel his breath against her collarbone, his touch igniting every nerve as he loomed over her, his shadow casting her in darkness. Faint red symbols and dark electric energy enveloped his aura... framing him like a halo of darkness. 

That's odd... no one could have the sort of dark and chaotic aura unless— She was cut off with a buttery voice, that sounded like a hypnotic cadence... yet, they'd never do that sort of thing, it was always an idea... but, it would be saved for later...

"And what about that authority of yours, angelic princess?" The imp's tone grew softer but no less teasing, his gaze piercing into her as he leaned in closer. "How's it feel to be at the mercy of an imp? That your kind could so easily defeat." With a firm yet careful grip, he threw Darcy down onto the cramped space, bags, and piles of paper acting as a sort of "mattress" for her, his weight pressing her down as he loomed over her, looking gigantic, almost god-like in the dim light.

Darcy writhed beneath him, her breath hitching in delight as her wings curled around his shoulders. "Blitzo," she whined, her voice thick with wanton need. Her tail wagged even more, and in an effort, she transformed her fluffy black-and-white scut (deer tail) into a long, vantablack devil's tail. This tail is distinct, extending long with seven spikes culminating in an arrowhead tip, decorated with a glowing white diamond in the center, as it coiled around Blitzo's tail.

Blitzo only chuckled, his lips brushing against her ear. "Relax, sweet little angel," he said softly. "Blitzy's got you." He leaned back, his sweat-slicked chest glistening as he gazed down at her, a playful smirk curling on his lips, bucking his hips against Darcy. "Now, let's see what you're made of, hmm?"

As they prepared for the next part, the sound of clicking heels appeared to grow louder as they stopped and did their best to try and clean themselves and put their clothes back on, spraying themselves with deodorant and Darcy's exotic perfumes, that her Father made for her, in case she wanted to attract any men or women, or BOTH!

It was Headmistress Bouvier herself, and she was in a bad mood today. She had bright yellow skin, and tall blue hair in a tall beehive hairstyle and usually wore a tube-style black funerary witch dress, ankle boots with heels, and a red pearl necklace that glowed as she walked.

A diminutive demon was spotted strolling through the deserted hall. She is a petite round white demon sporting large blueish eyes set in a yellowish sclera, a notably prominent nose, and long red hair. Additionally, she possesses two off-white buck teeth. Essentially, she appears as just a head without a body, her limbs extending directly from her head.

She saw the Headmistress, who said to her, “You should be in class, young lady!”

The diminutive demon's whimpering voice broke through the tension, echoing off the stone walls as she produced a crumpled hall pass from her side. "But Headmistwess, I have a hall pass..." Her large eyes brimmed with tears, her voice quivering with fear.

Headmistress Bouvier, however, was not swayed. Her face remained stern, and with a flick of her wrist, black inky arms erupted from a hole in the floor. The small demon shrieked as the arms tangled around her, dragging her screaming into the abyss below. The Headmistress simply snorted a disdainful "Hmph!" and continued her patrol.

Upon encountering Blitzo and Darcy, the usual strict demeanor of Headmistress Bouvier softened unexpectedly. Her voice, always hoarse-voiced, took on a surprisingly gentle tone despite its rough, rhotic accent. "Well, well, what do we have here? A little birthday celebration in a locker, eh?" Her voice carried a warmth that contrasted sharply with the scene she had just left behind.

She leaned closer, her tall blue hair almost brushing against the locker's top. "I ought to make this little escapade of yours into a movie and show it to the whole school," she teased, her voice laden with mirth rather than malice. "Imagine the hit it would be, eh?" Her smile was genuine, and it was clear she held a soft spot for these two despite their rule-breaking.

Blitzo and Darcy exchanged nervous glances, their earlier anxiety melting away under her unexpectedly kind demeanor. Blitzo managed a sheepish grin. "That'd be one blockbuster I'd rather not star in, ma'am."

Marge chuckled, the sound raspy but affectionate. "Just make sure you two keep out of trouble, at least for the rest of the day. And Darcy," she added, her tone turning tender, "Happy Birthday, dear. Make it a good one."

With that, she straightened up, her necklace glinting as she turned on her heel and strode away, leaving a trail of echoing clicks from her ankle boots as she disappeared down the hall. The sound of her laughter echoed softly back to them, a reminder of her unexpected leniency and the small joys she still found in her role.

The duo of teenagers managed to run into their classes and get ready for another day in their lives… well, at least before Blitzo had to go back to the circus to keep up appearances.

Eventually, they would pause their relationship after Blitzo had a crush on Fizzarolli, later on, but had a mutual breakup with Darcy and had always kept her and the hidden secrets of Heaven and the Omniverse a secret from then on, no one, even the one who thought they knew him dared have a clue of the secrets he held… that not even the truth gas could reveal.

~Though who is to say if these two have to stay apart for long, am I right?~

Also, which would be better in your opinion, Stoliz or this couple?

Awesome. It's better for this couple to happen.

[drawingducktalesducks]

Violet: She is waking up.

Lena: Mm hm?

Webby: I’M AWAKE! I’M- Ow-

Lena: Mmf!

Huey: Don’t move too much! The woodchuck guide book says the best thing for a concussion is to stay still.

Violet: This will be easily accomplished, as we are all tied up.

Webby: Well not for long! I’ll just bite through these… um…

Violet: Chains?

Webby: Which are only as strong as their weakest link! And their weakest link is- OW!

Huey: Still made of metal, yeah.

Lena: Hmph.

Webby: That’s okay! We have a SORCERESS on our side!

Violet: Lena cannot cast spells while her hands are immobilized.

Webby: Luckily she’s also a sorceress of persuasion, mental trickery, and cunning words-

Huey: They’ve already gagged her, Webby.

Lena: Mm hmm.

Webby: Oh.

Webby:

Webby: Are we in the middle of a candlelit demonic summoning circle?

Violet: We appear to be part of it, actually. One might even go so far as to say we are-

Huey: Don’t say sacrifices don’t say sacrifices!

Violet: -the hors d’oeuvres.

Webby: Uh oh.

Violet: Indeed.

Huey: I’m gonna faint.

Lena: Mmf! MmMMFFFF!!!!

Webby: SHH guys! She’s trying to say something!

Violet: A pity her last words shall never be known.

Lena: MMMRRR.

Webby: OH OH LENA LISTEN- Do you know morse code!?

Lena: ….

Huey: I guess that’s non-nerd for “Webby you know I love you, but who the heck knows morse code?”

Violet: Everyone else here ironically.

Lena: MM! MmfFF!

Webby: Okay new plan- point your eyes at things, blink once if they’re the word you’re thinking of, twice if they start with the letter you’re thinking off, nod your head if we guess right, shrug if we’re close, and shake your head if we’ve guessed the word wrong! Ready?

Huey: Webby there’s NO WAY that’ll work! How would you even guess-

Webby: Me! Beak! Lips!

Violet: We’re close. Try verbs. Talk, speak, communicate-

Webby: Shout! Yell! Scream!

Violet: Hiss, snarl, roar, howl-

Huey: ARE WE REALLY SPENDING OUR LAST MOMENTS SPIT-BALLING AT CHARADES???

Webby: She’s nodding! SPIT SHE MEANS SPIT!!!!

Violet: Good work, Hubert.

Huey: Uh.

Webby: Spit circle! Spit demon- ohhh that’d be a weird one- what, no? Spit summoning!

Violet: Spit light, spit fire, spit candle-

Huey: Oh my duck she’s nodding again.

Webby: Spit candle?! Spit-

Webby: SPIT ON THE CANDLES!

Violet:

Huey:

Webby:

Violet: Is that really all it would take to disrupt the summoning?

Huey: You’d think they’d have moved us out of range…

Lena: MMMM!!!!

Webby: Talk later spit now! READY!!

Huey: WAIT MY MOUTH IS DRY FROM FEAR

Webby: AIM!

Violet: This is by far the most fascinatingly bizarre experiment I have ever been a part of.

Webby: FIRE!!!!!!

Webby, Huey, Violet: P’tooye!

Candles: *hsssss….*

Evil Summoner Dude: NOOOOOOOOooooooooo o o o o . …. .

Webby: Huh.

Webby: Hope he likes demons.

Huey: Aaaand now I am fainting- OW

Violet: Ah. So the chains were also a magical summons.

Lena: Pleh!

Webby: Lena, you gorgeous genius, you did it YOU DID IT!!!!

Violet: Now explain.  

Lena: Wow.

Lena:

Lena: … I can’t believe that worked.

Violet: What.

Huey: You didn’t THINK IT WOULD WORK!?

Lena: Yeah no. I was like, pretty sure we were dead.

Huey: DEAD!? I COULD HAVE SPENT MY LAST MOMENTS IN LIFE SPITTING AT A TACKY BLACK FLAME CANDLE?????

Webby: But- then why make us do it?

Lena: Honestly? It was funny.

Huey: FUNNY?!?!?

Lena: Hey we were dead anyway. Might as well go out flipping them off, you know?

Webby: You’re so pretty.

Violet: …. Does this mean you have no explanation for the mechanism behind this magical phenomena?

Lena: No idea. Maybe the demon was scared of cooties

Violet:

Violet: I need. To mediate. For precisely one hour.

Webby: Why?

Violet: Sanity.

Lena: Hey can someone take a pic of me lying in the middle of the demonic circle? It’ll make a great banner image

Webby: Oooh me too me too!

Huey: NO! THIS WAS THE WORST GIRLS NIGHT OUT EVER

Webby: But what about-

Huey: EVER! I DON’T want any reminders of it, and I am NEVER doing this aga-

Lena: Hey Red, come look at this lame rock floor

Huey: -lame? That is GRANIT!

Webby: I mean there’s literal demonic claw marks scratched into it, but sure, let’s look at the very normal and extremely boring rocks…

Lena: dibs on the candles that almost killed us

Webby: Aww. Then I claim the tattered robes of the guy who got dragged to hell!

Lena: You wanna wear them?

Webby: Actually I was thinking curtains. Curtains might be nice.

Lena: Sweet.

[hiraethhh-h]

puppy love

summary: after catching feelings for a certain fury, zagreus offers some advice to get you back on your feet.

pairings: megara “meg” x gn! reader, (platonic) zagreus x gn! reader, mentions of thanzag.

warnings: light spoilers

notes: in lieu of Hades II being announced, here we are! also bc i am a whore for greek mythology (thanks pjo/hoo <3 /lh)

word count: 1.2k

you were always unsure how you landed yourself in such shitty situations.

for one, as a minor god, you somehow got yourself a position in the underworld. did you read the fine print in the contract you signed in olympus? absolutely-fucking-not. the trip to the river styx was less than pleasant, but you did leave a good review for charon. despite him speaking in decipherable groans, he made for good company and talk.

small dents began to appear in the rod of the broom you held, your sweeping motions coming to a halt. the shiny granite floors perfectly reflected your frowning face back at you. not wanting to get scolded for lagging behind in your chores, you took a few steps forward before gently brushing at the floor.

“is… everything alright?”

you jolted violently, whipping around with wide eyes. zagreus stood before you, his hands raised. “sorry- didn’t mean to scare you.” he quickly uttered. “you just looked… tense, is all.” his mismatched eyes slowly drifted to the broom, where cracks had formed from your iron grip. you blinked, slowly setting the broom against the wall with a sheepish look. “just… having a bit of a mid-life crisis? well, a godly one.” you sighed, shaking your head.

the prince raised a brow, “i don’t mean to pry, but i wouldn’t mind listening.” your brows perked up in surprise, a small smile forming on your lips. “thank you zagreus. do you mind also covering for me? i really don’t feel like getting told off today…” zagreus nodded in agreement, “of course. perhaps my room would be best for privacy?” you followed after the male with no further questions, trying to decipher where it would be best to start. 

the two of you sat atop zagreus’ bed, the mattress bouncing ever so slightly to accommodate for the new weight. the silence didn’t feel as unnerving as before, thanks to the prince of hell’s presence. you were glad you had found a confidant and amazing friend in him.

“well… to start, i guess i…” you paused, inhaling then exhaling to organize your thoughts. “i have feelings for meg, romantically.” zagreus blinked in surprise, looking down at you. “i don’t know what to do next, zag. she’s practically unreachable. any time i see her, i want to approach her but i’m just so…” “nervous?” zagreus finished for you. “yes, nervous. that.” you fell back onto the bed with a grunt, staring up at the ceiling in disdain. the bed shifted as zagreus laid beside you, his head propped up by his hand. 

“if you don’t mind me asking, zag, how did you approach than?” a nervous chuckle left the male, the flame-colored wreath atop his head shifting ever so slightly as he moved to look at the headboard. “i don’t mean to sound… generic, but all i really did was be myself.” he began. “aside from the fact that we’re childhood friends, all i really did was figure out what he liked, what he didn’t like. then, i just went from there.” at his words, you went silent. 

if you started from there, perhaps you would have a chance to find out more on meg. you looked to zagerus with a faint smile, “thank you, zag. and don’t worry about sounding too generic, you… you’ve helped more than you know.” you nodded firmly, watching a smile grow on zagreus’ face. “you’re welcome, i’m glad i could be of assistance… but really, that quick?” he questioned, a brow raised as he moved to sit up once you did.

“yeah, i want to find meg, see if… i can muster up the courage to talk to her.” zagreus placed a hand on your shoulder, giving it a small squeeze. “that’s a great start, but remember not to get ahead of yourself. things like this take time and patience.” he warned. “right. time and patience.” you huffed, standing to head out of his room. the prince trailed after you, the two of you heading into the dining hall. unfortunately, nyx was nowhere to be seen, so you couldn’t greet the primordial goddess on the way.

a few shades lingered about the mess hall, some seated at tables and chattering amongst each other on how they died and the works. not too far, deusa was humming to herself as she gently dusted at a ledge. “deusa,” zagreus called from behind you, the gorgon jumping with a chirp-like hiss as she turned around. “p-prince zagreus!” she squeaked, also calling your name shortly after. “done with your chores already? maybe i should learn a thing or two from you…” the snake huffed in defeat, her eyes flitting over to zagreus. “oh- i also washed your sheets with the detergent you like! i-um… hope you enjoy it, prince zagreus.” she rambled. shortly after, the gorgon floated upwards, disappearing to carry on with her duties around the house of hades. “yes, thank you deusa. i’ll… be seeing you then.” the two of you moved on, the prince gently nudging you at the sight of a specific fury nursing a drink.

she stood alone, her whip holstered. on her face she wore a small scowl. “ah, must not be in the best of moods because of earlier…” zagreus winced, looking to you with worry written on his face. you shook your head, “nothing i can’t handle zag, besides, there’s a warrant on your head, not mine.” you jested lightly, earning a soft chuckle from the male. “true that. well, it’s best you go alone then. i’ll watch from afar.”

your heart hammered in your chest as you looked to meg, the fury sensing your stare shortly after. with narrowed eyes, she locked onto zagreus. you watched her face twist into a sneer, “tch.” she scoffed, setting her cup down. eventually, she looked to you. you could only hope she couldn’t hear your racing heart. “zagreus and the new godling. to what do i owe the displeasure?” 

you and zagreus shared a look, the prince giving a small nod. “zageus was… just on his way, and i wanted to check in on you.” you told the fury, stepping forward to stand before her. meg raised a brow, “to… check in on me?” she repeated slowly, a hint of confusion laced in her voice. behind you, zagreus departs with a few pats on your back and he mouths a ‘good luck’ to you.

“yeah- er, yes. you looked like you were in a bad mood so…” you trailed off, sheepishly rubbing the back of your neck. your gaze slowly drifted to the ground. meg eyed you up and down for a moment, a long sigh leaving the woman as she turned to take another sip from her drink. “i’m… fine. zagreus just- eugh, the nerve of that prince irks me.” she seethed, shaking her head. you chuckled softly, waving to the shade behind the counter for a drink of your own.

“that sounds like a light way of putting it.” you murmured, thanking the shade-chef with a nod. the sweet taste of nectar soothed you, meg watching as you drank the gold-colored liquid. “well, i’m all ears for whatever you’d like to talk about.” you told her now, looking at the fury with a kind smile. she blinked a few times before nodding, “thanks…” meg murmured. she stared at her drink for a moment before glancing back over to you.

perhaps you wouldn’t be as bad as she thought you would be.

[a-sin-to-be-rin]

The Owl's Test: Jason's Version

Red Hood is trapped in the Court of Owls' not-so-fun house.

A Gotham Knights choose-your-own-adventure. Pick your favorite character to get whumped, or watch them all suffer :)

Barbara's Version

Tim's Version

Dick's Version

---

The entire world is covered in a haze. A persistent buzzing underlies the chamber’s ambiance, and the Earth tips slightly as Jason levers himself up.

God, does he hurt. His neck, his shoulders, his back. He supposes that might have something to do with the granite mattress he’s sitting on. If humans were made with stick straight spines, Jason imagines that this would be the ideal bed. As it is, a bona fide sacrificial altar makes for poor lumbar support.

Jason’s vision is still a bit fuzzy when he pushes himself off the altar, and a momentary head rush makes him lean back on the stone. Every joint in his body aches. Every muscle under his skin throbs. You’d think he’d just gone three days without sleep, but he just woke up from a nap that was long enough for someone to move him from the floor of the Penguin’s office to an altar in what appears to be a massive, underground cavern.

Jason isn’t old - not by a long shot - but this is what he imagines it feels like. Like an old, hungover man at a rock concert.

As he stumbles to his feet, he scans the walls. They rise up to oblivion, so high that Jason can’t see the ceiling. The whole place is covered with a chilly fog, and frost crunches under his boots.

“Well, if you weren’t before,” Jason gripes, “you’re on my shit list now, Cobblepot.” The world spins a bit, and Jason has to hold out his arms to stay upright. “The hell is this place, anyway? And what’s that smell?” He scowls. The mask covers smells pretty well, but there’s a distinct odor leaking past its filter. Like must and rotten meat.

“Belfry, do you read?” Jason calls. “Hood to Belfry.”

Nothing.

“Great,” he mutters. “I’m cut off.”

With no path forward except… well, forward, Jason staggers ahead. His vision is still blurry, the world is still spinning, and to top it all off, his helmet is malfunctioning, the edges of his vision fuzzy with static.

“The hell is wrong with this thing?”

Jason continues on. As time passes, the drug (or whatever the hell the Penguin gassed him with) wears off. His vertigo is abating. It gets easier to see. And it’s a damn good thing too, because he quite nearly charges into an obvious booby trap. The holes in the wall are a dead giveaway for killer spikes, which would have shish-kebabed him in a second. So instead he ducks and crawls past in the space between the floor and the lowest spikes.

“Inside of Gotham’s walls…” a sinister, echoing voice croons. Clear of the spikes, Jason jumps to his feet, but the speaker is nowhere to be found.

“Rule you one and all…” another voice calls.

There’s an inhuman hiss, like a rabid dog, foaming at the mouth. And then a dark shadow darts across the path and scurries up the wall like a squirrel. Except it’s far too big to be a squirrel. Far, far too big.

“What the hell?” Jason tries to keep it together, but he’s drugged up in some underground maze. It’s getting very difficult to stay calm.

Jason turns the corner, just stopping himself in time to avoid being skewered. The spikes slam into the wall, grinding sparks against the cement. Jason takes a deep, shaky breath, crawling under this trap too.

There’s a light up ahead. Jason almost gets excited. The exit must be close. But the thrill instantly sours into disappointment. The light is too warm in color. It must be a candle, not sunlight.

And candle is putting it mildly. The next room is rife with flame traps, just waiting for Jason to step on the pressure plate and get charred to a crisp. He finds a path through, but it requires a significant amount of trial and error.  He weaves between pillars, jumping over dangerous tiles until he’s made it to the next corridor.

“Give up,” a voice orders from above. “It would be so much easier.”

And it’s tempting. Because Jason is drained. He was aching to begin with, and now, navigating this endless maze, he can feel fatigue creep up, threatening to overtake him.

But he keeps going, because when people say to give up, it's just further motivation to keep at it. And he keeps at it right until he smacks into a wall.

“Wh-?” It hadn’t been a dead end. Just five seconds ago, it had clearly been a hallway. But now it’s a wall, and Jason just rammed his body into it. “Oh, screw this!” he groans, standing up and turning back.

The next path makes Jason wonder if maybe it would have been better to have just fallen for the first spike trap. Because now he’s staring at a less hidden - but far more elaborate - trap. Saws and rods of spikes rotate from the ceiling to the floor. There’s a way through (there always is), but it will require a dangerous amount of precision.

Fortunately, the Bat trained him enough to know how to survive a simple spinning death trap. All he has to do is stay low, stay alert, and be patient. It’s annoying but effective.

And then Jason is back to running. Running down halls, making sharp turns, hoping and praying that the next corner is his way out.

But then his head gets floaty again. The lights are brighter, the sounds more muffled.

“I tried to teach you what I knew, but you were hopeless.” It’s not the voices from before. It’s angrier. It’s more…

It’s more familiar.

“Why did I ever believe you could be anything more than a disgrace?”

It’s Bruce.

Colors are blurring now, and Jason’s legs slow. It feels like he’s wading through concrete. He stumbles forward to a crossroads, devious laughter ringing in his ears.

Left? Right? Does it matter?

Jason doesn’t know which way he goes. He just keeps moving.

A dark figure - himself? - drops from the ceiling before being yanked back up by the throat. It’s shadowy and vague and obviously not-quite-right, but Jason isn’t sure where it’s coming from.

“That’s messed up,” he comments, immediately turning and heading back to the alternate path. He won’t waste his time on things that may not even be real threats.

But it’s no good. A similar figure appears, and a spike trap lies beyond it. There’s no space to crawl under this one. Jason groans in frustration, turning back again. He’s long since lost track of where he’s been.

Two armchairs and a gramophone are waiting in the next antechamber. The music is distorted, but if Jason concentrates (but damn, is it hard to concentrate), he can place the song. He doesn’t know its name or the artist, but he does know where and when he heard it last.

Bruce’s office. The week Jason was adopted. Bruce was busy, but Jason had felt so isolated and threatened by the giant, ominous manor that he knocked on the door anyway. And Bruce had dropped a record on the gramophone and sat with Jason in the armchairs by the fire. And it was warm and safe and-

Jason keeps going.

“Face it! You can’t save anyone, and you never will.”

Fake Bruce. That’s not the real Bruce. Bruce wouldn’t say that. Bruce can’t say that, because he’s-

“Alfred!” Jason is running before he realizes what’s happening, darting up to the figure slumped in the Batcomputer’s command chair. Alfred's neck is tilted at a ninety degree angle. The monitors behind him glow bright red, with smooth, faceless figures staring out at him.

“No,” Jason says, trying to calm his racing heart. He’s dealt with enough flashbacks - with enough trauma - to know how to assess reality. He fills his lungs. Wiggles his toes. Thinks back through his actions. How nothing really has made sense since Cobblepot’s betrayal. And then Jason makes up his mind. “No. This can’t be real.”

Alfred explodes into ash and drifts to the ground. It only confirms Jason’s conclusion.

Fatigue is creeping up his spine now, invading his every cell. But even still, he marches forward. He turns corridor after corridor before the shadowy figure returns. But this time, it’s close enough to identify.

The shadowy figure is holding a gun to its head. The shadowy figure is him.

Something disturbingly familiar ripples through Jason’s muscles. Sweat breaks out across his forehead. He knows it’s fake. He knows it’s not real, but… “Goddamn, it,” he hisses. It feels real enough.

The figure disappears in a cloud of smoke, and Bruce speaks again.

“I should never have recruited you!”

And then the world turns green. Jason feels like his head is being crushed. He slows, heart in his throat. He recognizes the sight before him.

“Oh, god,” he breathes. “Not a Lazarus Pit. Not again.”

The crowbar is solid in his hands. Heavier than it should be, but it feels right.

“You were the worst Robin.” Bruce’s loathsome baritone is mocking and cruel. It only makes Jason’s swing more satisfying.

Green drips from his hair. Rolls down his face.

“On your best day, you were nothing but a killer.”

Thump. Thwack. Thud.

The crowbar cuts across Batman’s cowl. Cracks a hole in his skull. Shatters his ribs. Punctures his lungs. Batman collapses, and Jason.

Keeps.

Going.

THUD. THUD. THUD. THUD. THUD. THUD-

“Kill… kill… kill…”

Jason drags Batman up, just to hit his limp form again. Into the neck. Across the face. Between the shoulder blades.

“We are the same…”

“NO!” Jason drops the crowbar. It clatters cheerfully on the stone floor. Batman falls in an ungainly heap beside it.

Jason presses his palms to his eyes. “That’s not who I am!” he tells the voices. “Not anymore!”

Batman disappears in smoke. The Lazarus green fades, and the crowbar melts into the ground.

Jason starts running.

“No escape…”

There’s a door ahead. He can see the door ahead. But it just gets further and further the faster he runs.

“No escape…”

Jason catches up. Grabs the handle and tries to open the door. But the door is wrenched from his grip, flying down the hall.

“Accept your fate…”

Jason has to sprint to catch up. He doesn’t waste time pushing open the door. Frantically, desperately, he rams his shoulder once, twice into the door. It gives way, and he spills out of the labyrinth. The door slams shut behind him.

“Is it over? Am I out?”

The comm still fizzles in his ear, and he’s still inside an underground lair. His vision is clearer though. The world isn’t spinning. The lights are warmer, and the room is less confined.

Jason isn’t safe. Not yet. But he’s out. He doesn’t hear the voices anymore. Shadows don’t warp into the past. And Jason considers that a win.

Barbara's Version

Tim's Version

Dick's Version

[unglomeral]

● Blood Orange

• I - Withered Sanctity

From towering arched windows, weighted gold beams were cast onto the floor, fingers of radiant shadows that stretched to caress the wall before them.

Disrupted, they were torn, made to become vague cross-like shapes that rippled over her shoulders as she moved down a hall.

Each step from her boots fell with a dull thud, echoed by the footsteps of two armed guards that followed.

She walked with purpose but stared forward unblinkingly, her eyes glazed over.

A blue cloak as azure as the deepest valleys of her irises billowed beneath hair gold as the sun and of the light that it reflected, bouncing free and frantic.

Their journey, along a path nearing its end, had been met with nothing but scorn and dutiful resistance muttered through the frustrated whispers of the guards.

A large door drew close, a heavy slab of dark wood boasting the weight of a hefty arched lintel and engraved with the image of paired helms, one mirrored beneath the other and reversed to face the opposite way.

Gold accents were weaved throughout cracks in the wood's grain, creeping vines that grew to wrap around crude brass handles.

The guards moved to either side of the door, clanking into position with bulky armor that left no skin to be seen.

They unsheathed their iron broadswords and gripped the hilt with both hands, placing the tips into worn grooves on the floor.

Like granite statues, they stood still, not a trace of a breath under their breastplates to be seen and not a beat of their hearts to be heard in the silence.

She placed her hands on the handle of the slab and pushed the door open.

A waft of stale air and damp wood greeted her nose.

Drawing from a reserve of strength, she forced her legs to move, and they carried her into the room.

It was not until the door had shut, and she had slid the deadbolt into place that she allowed the exhaustion to creep into her face and limbs.

She blindly felt for the wooden bench that lined the wall beside her before exhaling down onto it, resting her elbows on her legs and cradling her head.

She shut her eyes and watched the pulsating flow of black and white pin pricks dance about the dizzying space in her head.

In flashes that felt like an eternity but were in reality, only a sliver of a moment in time, vivid scenes projected themselves onto her mind; A cacophony of sounds, whispers of words that held resentment of having never fallen on listening ears, sickening squelches, and the sounds of cracking followed by tormented screams and unholy cries.

The inability to breathe, either by the feeling of the murky dark preventing air from entering her lungs or by the dread that any indication of the presence of an untainted soul might mean committing a sin that could not be atoned for.

Liquid flames burrowed through lightless space and lapped at the walls, seeped through stones that kissed with naught but a hairs thickness between them.

It withered, and it crumbled, absorbed, and then destroyed in the purest sense.

She released the thoughts without opening her eyes, relieved to return from one dark to another, but her heart was indifferent, pounding as though it was threatened and in danger.

Her mind wondered to many places, far corners and close ones alike. She plucked thoughts from each, examined them, turned them around in imagined hands, and fiddled with dials and gears in an attempt to understand them, yet when she opened her eyes, she was no closer to satiating her mind's sleep deprived wonderings than before.

"Lady Esandolyn?"

A loud bang on the door startled her, ripping her from a stupor fixed to a decrepit spider web nestled between the rafters.

"Y-yes, I'm almost done."

She stood and unclipped the cloak from around her neck, a sapphire jewel that split in two at either corner of the sheet itself bluer.

She brought each corner to its opposite end, running her fingers along a folded seam until the cloak had been reduced to half the length.

It wrapped around her waist, where she fastened it to a plate below her segmented faulds.

The armory, in which she stood, was reserved only for those of which the twelve sets of armor within belonged, placed against two walls, with six on either side.

Each stand stood atop a stone base, numbered from the first closest to her, to the twelfth, at the far back beside a barred window.

Not all of them carried their iron armor flesh. Some were completely empty, frail skeletons of a Knight's protection, though the ones that harbored the most weight within her chest where the ones that rested with all their pieces, for they belonged to those who could no longer bear their weight.

One, three, four, and eleven, all proclamations of their owners, made to taste in matters of size, color, shape, and design, now stood solitary, webbed, and layered in dust.

She walked over to a stand marked with a seven, the one that contained the pieces of her armor set that she wasn't already wearing, which consisted of her helmet and her sword, thought she would not need it this time.

Her visor, only ever meant for a gaze to emanate out from within, settled on her own eyes, their vision falling on themselves.

It took some effort to break away from herself, and it took even more to keep from caving into a desire to bathe in her own disgusted leer.

To her sword, her hand drifted out of habit and in reach of comfort, not supplied by its dead hilt.

She removed it from the sheath with a rattle. The blade caught the light from the window and reflected it over the ceiling in angled silver patches that illuminated the recesses of a high cinched roof.

It was heavier than she remembered, heaving its full weight into the air.

bringing it to eye level, she inspected its blade. The steel was polished enough to become a mirror of her surroundings, but speckled blemishes had begun to form that distorted the view.

The jewel at the hilt had lost its luster. Now, it was an object painted by an amateur artist.

"Lady Esandolyn!"

Hurriedly, she shoved the sword back into the sheath and took her helmet under her arm.

She crouched down and rummaged in a satchel tucked away behind the base of her stand and grabbed an item bound in cloth and twine, shoving it beneath her breastplate.

The door burst open as soon as she slid the lock away.

The guards rushed into the room and inspected every nook in search of anything out of the ordinary.

"What took so long?" The right guard asked, stepping out of the way to allow her to pass through.

"I couldn't find my helmet."

She stared into his visor, hoping it was directly into his eyes and not the middle of his forehead.

"Are you ready now?" He asked with no emotion, reaching to take her helmet from her.

She nodded, and the left guard took her by the arm and turned her to face the wall.

He clasped her wrists at the front of her waist and tightly fastened rusty handcuffs to them, causing her to wince.

He motioned her to walk ahead, and she took the lead once more, this time bound at the wrists.

A chilly mid-winter day stung her flushed cheeks, and an icy breeze sent a shiver down her spine.

***********************************************

The sky had darkled from its original blue, a storm of ominous clouds threatening to attack from far ahead.

She paused to breathe, but the guards kept her moving. The floor dissappeared beneath her feet as she descended step by step down a small staircase.

They waited in the open, in front of a collection of stone buildings with wooden rooves, a small village isolated and without residents.

To the side of them, a dramatic castle loomed, coned pillars and spiraling towers attached to various windowed squares and rectangles.

She had only a few moments to stare at the sun's rays, bleeding out from behind the castle's rough edges before the guard holding her whistled loudly, signaling a horse-drawn coach over where they stood.

"What're you doing all the way here!? We were supposed to meet at the entrance!"

The coachman was visibly irritated, sputtering his words through his oversized mustache, "These paths are long, and you Guard bunch aren't helpful in the slightest!

The guard shrugged, exasperated, his armor rubbing against itself with a metallic scraping. "She requested a visit to the armory to change her plackart."

"Looks the same to me." The left guard mumbled.

"Well, come on now, we're going to be late." His horse huffed in agreement.

She was ushered inside and seated on the cushioned chair beside her helmet.

The guards pulled the curtains on every window closed and slammed the door shut behind them.

The coach dropped and swayed as one of the guards took a seat in the driver's box, and with a lurch, they began moving.

She shut her eyes and fell back into the seat, letting the vibration of wooden wheels over a gravel path and the idle chatter of the guard and coachman take her into a state of a light, almost sleep.

"Hey! Stop! Stop the coach!"

For a second, she remained, but once she realized who the voice belonged to, she tried to peer through the thick curtains, but she was only able to see muffled silhouettes.

"Sir Cossick!" The guard yelled, bringing the horse to a jostled halt.

"Yes, hello!" He said breathlessly.

"Is there something wrong?"

He paused to fill his chest with air. "Indeed there is," and exhaled it out, "you see, the Queen made a special request that I accompany her to the courtroom as a guide."

"When did this happen?"

"Well, it was before she left for Landol."

"I didn't hear of this, sir Cossick, I am meant to accompany her to the court."

"The Queen wanted as much security as possible since the public is in an outrage. Do you mean to defy her wishes?"

"No, of course not," He sounded hesitant, "let me get the door for you."

"Oh no, that's alright, I've got it, thank you."

The door creaked open, and a tall, dark-haired man entered, lowering his head to make it under the frame.

"Good morning, Lady Esandolyn!"

"No, don't call me that."

He chuckled, taking a seat across from her, placing a leather satchel at his side. He was clad in full armor as well, an emerald green trim carved into the seams of the steel joins with a cloak and eyes to match.

"The Queen never requested that I have a guide." She raised her eyebrows at him.

"Didn't she...?" He asked, scratching his furrowed brow, "... could've sworn she did."

"Well!" He slapped his hands on his knees, "What does it matter now? I'm here anyway!" He offered a grin, and she replied with a small smile, though her expression wasn't fully present.

"What are you doing here? Don't you have a meeting today?"

He waved her questions away, "Not for a few hours, Goefritte hasn't returned yet."

"Oh yes, I forgot."

"Isolde." His voice had dropped to a serious tone so unexpectedly that her head whipped around to stare at him.

"I haven't seen you in a while. What's been going on with you lately?"

She nodded, now understanding why he snuck onto her coach. "There's nothing going on."

She tried her best to sound genuine, but her words fell flat and died on the floor.

"We never see you anymore. In fact, I think you're avoiding us entirely. You've been absent from the past three meetings, you don't attend training, and I haven't seen you for breakfast in weeks." He listed them off on his fingers.

She looked into his eyes, trying to formulate a string of words to no avail.

"And then," he continued, to which she dropped her gaze to her lap, knowing what he would say. "You murdered someone Isolde, a high priest no less, and then you burned down his church."

"I didn't do it." She whispered weakly, a feeling of hopelessness welling up inside her. "I didn't do it."

"Yeah, no shit."

"Wha-?"

"Obviously, you didn't do it, but for whatever reason, they think you did, and they don't care about whether or not this is a fair trial. They want to see you pay, and in all honesty, the evidence is not in your favor."

"There was no one there - "

"Shhhh." He cut her off with a whisper and threw a glance in the direction of the drivers box behind him, where the guard and coachman had fallen silent.

He leaned forward and said to her softly, "I heard... from a source... that Balic is overseeing the trial, along with the members of his church who weren't lost to the fire."

Her heart dropped into her stomach, and it was visible from how much color had drained from her skin.

"Yep," his tongue clicked against the roof of his mouth, "You know, these people are a bunch of pigs whenever the Queen is away."

"How do you know about Balic, who told you?"

"It's not important right now. What matters is that Balic's son is dead, and he thinks it was you."

"What can I do then? He's going to disregard everything I say."

"There is no outcome where you walk out of that courtroom a free person," he said simply, "but we have the advantage of this being a private trial and the fact that he"s not judging helps too. As much as I hate to admit it, the other officials there aren't all idiots."

The coach hit a rough bump in the road, and they swayed violently. Cossick reached a hand out to steady Esandolyn before she smashed into the wall.

"A source told me he's considering either life in prison, torture included, or execution as the punishment."

He mimed a scale motion with his hands, "Both are bad, but one is better."

"Wait, if he isn't judging, why does he decide the punishment?"

"Technicalities... relations... like i said, they're pigs."

She nodded slowly, "So, I need to avoid saying anything that will tip his choice in favor of an execution."

"Exactly. If it's life in prison, at least I can break you out."

"That's illegal, you know."

"Whatever it takes." He smiled.

"I don't know what happened that night or why you were there, and I won't ask. I know you didn't do it, but," He continued, "you were there, and that is undeniable. I want to help you, this is about all I can do. They won't let anyone with even the smallest of connections to you inside."

They stopped speaking shortly after, agreeing to stay silent for the remainder of the trip. With no voices filling the space, she could hear the sounds of a bustling life outside the cart slowly grow.

They had left the premises of the castle and were amidst the public that stood to the sides of cobblestone roads and rough dirt paths in their varying wood built homes and stone masoned buildings.

Shadows whisked past the curtains, and she counted how many times irregularly shaped human figures blocked out the light.

Laughter filled the silence between the yells of children and the many voices that blended together into an undistinguishable drone.

She could smell alcohol and various foods being sold by street vendors, the scents wafting in through the cracks of the walls.

Her stomach protested at not having eaten for a few days.

She looked at Cossick again. He had nodded off, his head resting against the window.

The dark bags under his eyes, the stubble on his face, and his disheveled hair that she hadn't noticed before made themselves present in that moment.

She wondered about how little he had been sleeping and the fact that it might be her fault, too.

Does the source he spoke of really exist, or did he gather the information himself?

From her breastplate, she fished out the item from the armory and stared at it, tracing that pattern on the cloth.

She reached forward, careful not to rattle the chains and tucked it into his satchel, clipping it closed again.

"Almost there!" The coachman yelled, startling Cossick awake, who furiously wiped at the drool leaking from the corner of his mouth.

He smiled at her once more, and although she was unable to reciprocate it to the fullest of her abilities, Cossick seemed satisfied and placed his hand on hers.

"Good luck, Isolde."

[gruusha]

---------------- 𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞 & 𝐡𝐨𝐦𝐞.

as stated previously, grusha moved to paldea about four years before the events of the game. his first three months were spent in a nonpermanent housing situation while he completed the prerequisite examination material to be considered for a gym leader (written test, interview, battle tournament). however, upon selecting glaseado as the location he wanted, grusha received a turn of fortune: instead of being relegated to living in the upper levels of what was to be "his" gym, there was an old cabin a bit more than two miles (three-ish kilometers) east of the gym.

according to the individuals he spoke to throughout his process of agreeing to purchase the home & those within the league's administration who had been around for some time, the house had been built some decades prior by a socialite who turned to a life of seclusion after an unspecified incident which brought them significant grief & turmoil. although it had gone without occupants for almost half of its existence, the granddaughter of the socialite had taken it upon herself to refurbish it... all while keeping it as faithful to her forebearer's original design.

the cabin itself is composed of granite bricks (certainly an odd choice for exterior barring erosion resistance, but not grusha's place to question the former owner's decisions) & walnut floors (replaced with cuts anew by the granddaughter and sealed) within. the countertops are granite (cut and polished, contrary to the exterior) & appliances are stainless steel - stove/oven, dishwasher, refrigerator/freezer.

there's a fireplace on the main floor (as the upper level largely just consists of grusha's bedroom/bathroom/closet) which serves as the primary central heating for the entire house. the smoke travels out utilizing a chimney visible from the outside of the building.

grusha was not without making his own changes/required modifications: for his own ease, he had the spiral staircase taken out & an elevator/wheelchair lift put in with, conveniently, very little difference in the space requirement on account of the former staircase being elaborate.

in regards to physical location, grusha's home sits upon a small ledge (the incline small enough that grusha is able to traverse it without much difficulty) overlooking the eastern side of the mountain...

the lights of levincia are visible on a clear night, and during the daytime the valley & canyon bordering glaseado's range.

in contrast, the pokemon center indicator (upper right) is bright enough that even on a night of poor weather, grusha is able to see it if he walks a short distance in front of his home. the gym's lights themselves aren't far behind. since grusha is unique in requiring challengers to defeat at least two of his gym trainers, that also makes him unique in having gym trainers - period. in light of this, grusha allows the trainers to live in the upper levels of the gym itself. the gym's lights are typically on from 8AM to 10PM.

additionally, grusha's ledge is along the path people take (or most people, anyway, unless they have sufficient means of scaling the road less traveled/mountainside).

the large stone with a hooked formation at its peak (just up-left of center) is right in front of the ledge upon which grusha's house sits, and it is visible from the glaseado watchtower.

& 𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐟𝐮𝐧 𝐭𝐢𝐝𝐛𝐢𝐭𝐬!

grusha is actually a great cook! seeing that souped up (no... food pun intended??) stove actually made him fairly excited to live here.

his favorite food to eat is coincidentally one of his favorites to make. pidove pot pie is the way to go. it's warm, flavorful, balanced, and stick-to-your-ribs.

you can thank grusha's larvesta for the warmth you feel upon entering his home. the two of them are content to cuddle in the fireplace and constantly emit heat -- admittedly they're kind of lazy, but at least they don't wander while spurting flames. if they think grusha's taken too long to give them their next meal, though, they'll stop emitting heat to make a point.

that said, you'll probably never go into grusha's house. as there are indicators of the extent of their injury everywhere -- forearm crutches (two pair), a wheelchair, the wheelchair lift, a furniture layout with enough room to accommodate a wheelchair's width, etc. although it is public knowledge that they were injured critically enough to end their career in snowboarding & they have no issue mentioning as much, the exact details of what they suffered is probably the best-kept secret any celebrity can manage. they are exceptionally private about the fact most of their leg had to be amputated. grusha can count on one hand the number of times they have let someone in their house.

each day grusha walks to the gym, their flareon & glaceon accompany them. the duo works together to clear the footpath (flareon) by melting snow/ice, and re-freezing (glaceon) the mounds of snow on the side between the path & the ascent of the mountain, thus helping to prevent snow from shifting/falling from elsewhere on the mountain onto where people may need to walk. the flareon & glaceon sometimes wait at the gym with grusha & train play with the gym pokemon, other days they will return to the house.

grusha's house does not have internet! or cable, actually. he peeks whatever news he feels inclined to skim utilizing the 4g on his phone and that's about the extent of his technology. it is important to note that while grusha doesn't own hardly any technology, he is definitely not clueless about it -- he's pretty up to date. as far as passing time goes, he prefers reading, puzzles, grooming & cooking for his pokemon, and genealogy research. he actually only recently learned that his second cousin is a member of unova's elite four and... is contemplating reaching out.

[4typercent]

🎵 Music Tag Post! 🎶

Thank you @marlowe-zara for the tag!

13 songs I've been listening to lately - in no particular order *oops, I have way more than 13, but to be absolutely fair, I added some as strong recommendations & most listened to after the main song listed

Stay With Me by In Flames (good if you want something slower but you still love them!, also look up Where Dead Ships Dwell, Ropes, Follow Me, Cloud Connectsd, Metaphor, Forgone Pt 1 & 2, The Quiet Place, Come Clarity, State Of Slow Decay, I Am Above, The Truth, My Sweet Shadow, We Will Remember, Only For The Weak, Free Fall, Alias ... just listen to them)

Last Resort (Reimagined) Falling In Reverse (seriously, listen to this!)

THE DEATH OF PEACE OF MIND by Bad Omens

A Sailor's Tale by Orbit Culture (Mast of the World, Red Fog, From The Inside, The Aisle Of Fire, Open Eye, The Planck Distance, Halloween, Sorrower, & See Through Me are also listened to A LOT!)

Year Zero by Ghost (I love them, Papa is a babe, Witch Image, Cirice, Rats, He Is, Hunter's Moon. Bible, Watcher In The Sky, Call Me Little Sunshine, Faith, Waiting For The Night, & so many more are real bangers)

Anomaly by I See Stars

Torn Apart by Avatar (Bloody Angel, Going Hunting, The Dirt I'm Buried In, The Eagle Has Landed, Dance Devil Dance, Child, Secret Door, Valley Of Disease, Colossus, Smells Like A Freak Show, Hail The Apocalypse.. too many to choose from)

Atlantic by Sleep Token (also see Granite, Jaws, Sugar, Rain, Nazareth, Aqua Regia, Take Me Back To Eden, & of course The Summoning)

Måneskin feat Tom Morello - GOSSIP

Behemoth - Versvs Christvs

Chevelle - Envy (with Vitamin R, The Meddler, An Island One Ocean, The Red, Face To The Floor, Closure, The Clincher, Bend the Bracket, Piñata, Piistol Star (Gravity Heals),

NieR Replicant OST - Ultimate Weapon

Godsmack - Awake/Alseep

.

Yes, I went way overboard with some artists. No, I'm not sorry 😆

When it comes to music, I can listen to most songs, but sorrynotsorry, if it's "Top 40", it's not for me. I'll listen to opera before I listen to pop/r&b/rap. I could and have listened to In Flames all day and not get sick of them (seeing them again next month, super excited!)

Tagging: @airlocksandaviaries @z-is-very-tired @invadericee @threefill @melrocks21 @mallory-x @sans--seraph @themesandimages @fleabaggotme @augbesian @hardly-an-escape @missmacfire @ryal-is-reading @historyandqueershenanigans @rrcenic @kcsandmanfan @rey-jake-therapist @theniceandaccuratebookshelf

& anyone else that would love to play 🤘

[allthatisleftinthedark]

Maisie and Lady Spring

Recommend romantic candidates for my muses and see their reaction! | accepting

What greater privilege could there be than to bask in the radiant light of the Lady Spring, to feel her warmth grace your very being? To feel the sun's gentle touch, kindling your flesh and awakening your senses, witnessing the sunbeams dance between the spaces of your fingers, is it not a marvel to behold?

Amidst a multitude of flowers, the Springtide Sovereign's garden stands as a unique oasis, a sanctuary where she bestows her generosity, hope, and love upon every soul. Tender are the hands that nurture and tend this pasture, forever entwined in the unending dance of seasons and time.

The Doscedar family has long been attributed to and paid their worship and respects to the Luminous Flame. Generation after generation, from their colony's arrival on the mortal plane to the first founding of Dewburrow, their eyes were alight with her gift. A daughter chosen to be deftly talented to commune and translate the will of earth, animals' voices, and flora's emotions. Some form of union with nature comes with every child, no matter gender, and it was based on the township's tradition for that specifically talented sister to be granted title and duty. But so were all the daughters, no matter their magical aptitude and liking.

Yet, her presence felt never substituted a presence met. Phantoms embody her; herself all spoken about, but never seen; every chirp of a bird or blooming of a flower reminds someone of her, but never had her voice been heard. Relishing in her daily reminders left some souls more starved than the others; left their lips more parched, and their beings writhing.

When would she show herself? The greatest of her aspects are her empathy, her sympathy, and her compassion. When will she call to the pained? The greatest sounds were of her welcomes and cooings, easing the pains and aches of a long-beaten body.

Even on the granite floor, torso cobbled and lip blistered, body nearly torn to ribbons, a guttural well of blood choked on, you gargled for her. Even when every inch of limb ached, and your body almost refused to move, when you hated every other touch lean on you, you whimpered for her. At every opportunity of hearing that door click behind you, where the light leaves from the door's sliver closing, you tighten your fists for her.

Gods, what you'd do to hear her. Gods, maybe she could not see your flower in the field. She may not want to if she saw how ruinous and wilted the petals are. Gods, she'd be disappointed in how you misused her gift, her blessing.

'She never answered my cries, pleads prayers.'

"Oh, the family patron?" The gnome glances up from her verdant-green notebook, quill still wet with ink. "You..?" A little taken aback, she lets out an uncomfortable airy sound. "You'd place me alongside her!?" Her brows raise, quick then to raise on her feet. Accusatory, near offended, "I'd never lay a hand on the Lady Spring! How sanctimonious of you to even infer!"

'She doesn't even know I exist.'

[flowers-of-io]

#7

Things you said where the water was loud | Read on Ao3

Once Taox’s ships leave through the wormhole in desperate pursuit of Auryx’s frigate, there isn’t much left of the Osmium Court. A few fires still hold up, weak flames licking the walls of tall, hollowed-out buildings, but most have already been extinguished by rainfall, leaving behind only billows of smoke, rank and choking in the damp air. Hardly a soul can be seen sneaking through the streets—whoever remained stays tucked under the roof of their still-standing house or is camping in the palace's great hall, trembling shapes huddling close and looking up to the ceiling, as if they could see the moons despite the several layers of stone and metal.

The courtiers are mostly dead or gone, but there is still a small gathering in the ruined throne room, lingering between the tactical map and a column all smouldered and cracked from a blast of strange green fire. They, too, huddle close; the diplomatic distance bridged in the face of death, hands curl around hands and heads lean on trembling shoulders. Royal-blue robes, dirty and in tatters, flutter in the draught whistling through bullet holes peppering the walls.

The rumbling of the approaching wave can be heard from the harbour now.

“Do you think the Monoliths are still standing?” The High Admiral asks, his arm arched around the Minister of Seaware who shakes and sniffles.

The Court Deputy Engineer eyes the tactical map—a burnt piece of parchment, now, granite pawns all tipped and strewn across the floor. “Star-Surgery is first,” she says, “and their engines will combust should water get into them. I haven’t heard any explosions yet.”

“You expect to hear anything over this damned squall?” The Sejm’s Highmost Speaker sneers at her from under a half-tipped pillar. She is still holding her buława, squeezing it like a lifeline against her bandaged chest.

The Second Crown Judge wedges a claw between two halves of a clam he found washed in by the tide, takes a bite, and offers the rest to the Deputy Engineer.

“It’s not that far,” he reminds, leaving it unspoken that the troubled sea could have very well pushed the Star-Surgery hundreds of danas away.

“What difference does it make if we hear it or not?” the Highmost Speaker grumbles, “It’s not like we can do anything about it either way.”

“Well, I myself prefer to know what’s coming my way before it does.”

The Minister of Seaware breaks into another wave of ragged sobs.

“I don’t want to die!” Her voice echoes in the chamber, earning her a number glances of glances from those huddled under other walls, some frightened and some expressing only weary annoyance.

“Hush,” the Second Crown Judge fishes out another clam from the deep pockets of his robe and pushes it into her hands, “have a snack.”

“I don’t want a snack! I w-want to go home!”

“Great Leviathan in the deep, is the last thing I’ll ever hear really gonna be your wailing?” Someone from a distant corner calls. The Minister only starts crying louder.

“If the wind hasn’t picked up, we could approximate the distance,” the High Admiral says over her sobs, “after the explosion, I mean.”

“Suit yourself. It could’ve very well gone off hours ago and we didn’t hear it.” The Highmost Speaker huffs, and reaches to pry the clam from the Minister’s claws without much resistance. “Give me that, if you’re not eating it. I’m hungry.”

[bedbellyandbeyond]

Into The Deep

(Story Post)

Dusty had spent most of his time that night in temporary custody, which really meant he was held up at the gates of the elven city by two handsome guards. As proud Dark elves, they were very resistant to his advances at first, but eventually they warmed up to him. By the time Korsy came to pick him up, he had lengthened his hair to match the elves and the guards were taking turns plaiting his locks. “Looks like you're fitting right in,” Korsy commented amused. “Oh yes, Bjarne and Marbjörn were about to show me a tour of the island,” Dusty said. “You'll have to do that later, boys,” Korsy said to a pair of grumbles. “I need Dusty in the Deep with me.” “Okay, Adele. Let's go!” Dusty said, taking Korsy's arm. “So, they're not worried about my poofing around?” “Well, they're pretty confident, if you poof, they'll eliminate you.” “Ah.” “Demons are my specialty, personally,” Korsy teased. “Don't remind me.”

They had a twenty-minute limit at the lab and that included the long elevator ride down that gave the Deep its name. They were used to this kind of thing at APID, but this seemed even more excessive. “What day is it?” Dusty joked as they emerged from the elevators. The doors opened into a long hall lit with violet flamed torches. The floor was gypsum and the walls and ceiling polished granite. Aesthetically terrible but someone had put a lot of work into it. A guard met them there and they were escorted down to the containment rooms. Each room was visible through glass walls. They were brightly lit, entirely white, with the only furniture being a small bed in a corner. Tand and the kids had all been separated so they went to look at the kids first to make sure they were alright. First was the smallest child whom Asger had nicknamed ‘Bita’. The poor thing usually stayed close to one of their older siblings, so they were hidden, curled up under the bed. They didn't try to lure them out and instead Dusty went over and crouched beside them. “Just find out if they're healthy and we'll move onto the next one,” Korsy said. “And be careful. This one bit Asger.” “Oh, I'm not concerned about that,” Dusty said. “A little bite won’t hurt me.” He laid down on his chest and looked at the little one trying to press themselves against the wall as much as possible. They stared at him with big round eyes. “Hello, little friend,” Dusty said softly. “I know you're scared, but I just want to say ‘hi’.” Their eyes searched his face but they didn't say anything. “Do they speak?” Dusty asked Korsy. “Asger said they picked up Elvish off of him like it was just a game,” Korsy said, staying back near the door. “I imagine if you talk to them enough, they'll get English.” “You can't talk to them in Elvish?” Dusty asked. “I don’t know Elvish. I was never allowed to learn.” “Oh.” Bita still didn't move, but they could hear their short frightened breathing. Dusty tried again. “You're a cute little thing, aren't you?” he mused. “You remind me of my son, Grey. He's likely just a bit older than you. He doesn't talk much either but he's still learning. I heard you're very good at learning.” Bita didn't move but their mouth opened a little like they wanted to say something. “You're the baby of the family, aren't you?” Dusty said gently. “You miss your siblings. We're here to see if we can get you all back together again. You and…what were the names?” “Sten and Soppa. Rock and Soup,” Dusty reminded, a bit mocking of his cousin's poor naming abilities. “Remember, Asger made those up. They don't actually know each other by names.” “Right. Well…” Dusty offered his hand. “Little one, all I ask is your hand for a moment and then we'll let you be. I won't hurt you.” Bita’s breath hitched as the hand came towards them and suddenly they lunged, biting down hard on Dusty’s hand. Expecting it, he grit his teeth through the pain and didn't pull away, just concentrating on forming a connection to the child's physical and emotional state. “You can bite me. I mean it when I say I won't hurt you.” After a moment, the bite weakened and Bita let go, receding deeper under the bed. Dusty took his hand back and shook it out, the bite wound healing quickly. “Alright. I won't trouble you any more. Thank you.” He got up and went back to the hall. “Geez, that was really quite the bite strength. Their teeth are so sharp!” “Are you okay?” Korsy asked. “Yeah. Of course. Surprised me though.” “Okay,” Korsy said satisfied. “So they're healthy?” “Seem to be, though pretty hungry and scared,” Dusty said. “Next kid?” “Yeah. Come on.” Sten reacted mostly the same as Bita, although they didn't bite. They managed to get some words parroted from them, like ‘scared' and ‘tired', but after a quick hand shake, Dusty could deduce these feelings himself. He started to wish he could do more than just sense others emotions and mildly influence them because the child had been too scared to sleep since they arrived. If he could sleep them like angels could, it would be quite useful right now. Soppa was the more interesting case. This one didn't hide so much, and when they saw Korsy, they sat up on the little bed and watched him as the visitors entered. “Asger,” the child said although lacking confidence. Korsy paused, not expecting words so quickly. “Oh. Naw, kid. I'm Korsy. Asger and I are cousins though so we look a little alike.” “Cousin?” Soppa asked. “Yeah. My mother and his father are siblings like you and the other kids. Or at least, I assume you are.” “Siblings…” Soppa considered the word. “Yeah. You're Tand's kids, right? You're siblings,” Korsy explained. “I have a sibling. One of my parents carried her in her stomach and she came out. You're the oldest. Do you remember anything like that? Tand is your parent, right?” Soppa paused and then nodded. “Yes.” “Right. So they're your siblings,” Korsy finished. “Asger and Korsy are cousins,” Soppa said. “Not siblings.” “No. We are the children of siblings, which makes us cousins,” Korsy confirmed. Soppa nodded again. “You're a very bright kid, Soup,” Korsy said, putting his hands akimbo and smiling. “Would you mind letting my friend Dusty here have your hand for a moment?” Soppa looked at Dusty and shook their head. “You cannot have my hand.” “Oh? Why's that?” Korsy asked. “You don't need to be scared.” “I need my hands,” Soppa said. Dusty let out a short snort and looked at Korsy. “They think we want to take it. Literally.” “Oh, shit. Sorry, not what I meant,” Korsy said, waving his hands. “I just meant let Dusty touch your hand. He won't take it from you.” “Oh.” Soppa looked at their hands and then held them both out. “Thank you, dear.” Dusty approached and held Soppa's hands in his. “Ah, you’re very relaxed. I'm surprised. I'd expect a little more fear, but frankly, you're only just cautious.” Soppa furrowed their brow. “Asger said he would help. I trust Asger. You seem like Asger.” “I see. You must've had the most interactions with Asger,” Dusty said. “I can sense that you look up to him.” “My parent…Tand feeds me and my siblings. Asger fed me too,” Soppa stated. “Ah, so that's the key to your heart, huh?” Korsy chuckled. He patted down his suit. “Now I wish I brought some snacks or something…” “Now, you should be careful about that,” Dusty said, taking his hands away. “I've told my son and I'll tell you. Don't just trust any stranger who offers you food.” “Why not?” Soppa asked, confused. “They are feeding me. That is important.” “Right, but some people don't have good intentions for children,” Dusty said. “So…” Soppa was having a hard time. “Should I not trust Asger?” “I mean, you can trust him, I'm pretty sure, but from now on, don't take food from strangers,” Dusty said. “Okay?” Soppa nodded silently. Dusty could still sense some confusion from them though. “Well, you're all healthy, so we only need to worry about getting you out of here and getting some food into you,” Dusty said. “I hear you like soup. Let's get you some soon, how does that sound?” Soppa nodded quickly. “Soup is good!” “Alright. We’ll see you soon.” Dusty smiled and patted their arm before going back to the door with Korsy. “I knew it was a good idea to bring you along,” Korsy said as they backed out of the room. “I have no idea how to talk to kids.” “That can't be true. You have your little sister, don't you?” Dusty reminded. “Yeah, but that's different. She's family,” Korsy dismissed. They were now in front of Tand's room. Through the glass, they saw Tand sitting near the back of the room, leaned up against the wall. Their eyes were dark and heavy and they watched with great caution as the pair approached the door. Korsy led this time. Dusty handled the kids easy, but really this rendez-vous was Korsy's responsibility and it wasn't appropriate for him to potentially put his trainee in danger. “Hi there,” Korsy started as he stepped just inside the room. “I'm Korsy.” Tand slowly got up, still pressed against the wall. They bared their teeth, sharp and intimidating. “Whoa, no need for that,” Korsy said, waving his hands. “I come in peace. I'm Asger's cousin. He sent me to help you.” “He lied!” Tand spat, following it with a long hiss. “I do not trust him!” “No, no, that's fair, really.” Korsy started to lower himself, trying to give off an unthreatening appearance. “I get it. He told me everything. He promised you safety in his world, but instead you were separated from your children and thrown in a cell. Anyone would feel betrayed. Trust me, this kind of thing happens way too often…” Tand continued to bare their teeth and said nothing. Korsy got himself to the floor and crossed his legs. “I want to say sorry on Asger's behalf. He genuinely wanted to help you. He wants to help you. This was just something he should have anticipated. You can't just bring back a family of four from the Dark Realm. It's just not allowed around here.” “Send us back!” Tand snarled. “I hear you. I do. I don't think I have that power, to be honest,” Korsy said, scratching the back of his neck. “I haven't been allowed near the Rift in many years.” He flipped up his palms in front of him. “But, I might be able to get you out of here. You and the children.” Tand shook their head quickly. “No. I do not trust you either.” “Really, that's fine. I wouldn't trust me in your position. I get that.” Korsy shrugged. “But, I don't really need you to trust me. My concern right now isn't your trust, my concern is getting you out of here. And more specifically, right now it's making sure you’re in good health.” “…Health,” Tand echoed, considering the term. “Yeah. My friend here, Dusty. He just needs a quick look at you to check that you’re in tip top shape then we'll be out of your hair,” Korsy explained. Tand's eyes darted to Dusty who still standing outside the door. They shook their head. “No. Leave.” “Now hold on, hear us out,” Korsy said. “We just spoke to your kids. They're all healthy. A little tired, a little hungry, but otherwise healthy. Dusty checked in on them for you. We just want to check on you too.” Tand wrinkled their nose. “I do not have a choice, do I?” “Of course you have a choice,” Korsy said. “I'm not trying to force you to do anything.” He signalled for Dusty to come in. “Just meet him. See how you feel.” Tand's eyes widened as Dusty stepped inside, and they pressed themselves further against the wall, hissing. “No! Leave!” Korsy held up a hand to stop Dusty from coming any closer. “Relax…” Tand started breathing heavily, their eyes darting about. “I do not trust you!” “Tand, don't panic,” Korsy said. “We'll leave, okay?” He started to stand up. Tand was too wound up though and as soon as Korsy started to rise, they lashed out. Lunging forward, they took a warning swipe at Korsy, but faltered. When their foot came down, their knees went weak and they staggered, starting to fall. Korsy caught them, rather surprised at how limp they went. “Whoa, are they okay?” Dusty asked. “They passed out!” Korsy said, carrying Tand down into a sitting position. “They must be exhausted…” Dusty stepped forward again, his hand out. “Can I?” “Should be safe, yeah.” Dusty carefully approached and placed a hand on the limp person's shoulder. He blinked. “Oh.” “Oh?” Korsy echoed. “They're definitely tired,” Dusty said. “Very hungry too. But…I think they need to see a doctor.” “A doctor?” Korsy asked. Dusty nodded. “Yeah. I… Hold on.” He moved his hand down to Tand's torso then stomach. He paused. “I think they're pregnant.” Korsy's eyes widened. “Pregnant?” Dusty took his hand away and nodded again. “Yeah… But in their current condition, it can't be good for a baby. They need fluids, food and rest. They're very stressed out, I could hardly get a good read.” Korsy nodded back, although he was still surprised by this information with just how rail thin Tand was. He picked up the unconscious Tand and laid them on the bed. “We should go then. Only way we can help is to get them out of here. I gotta make sure my uncle's in a giving mood…” Korsy motioned for a guard to let them out and they exited quickly. Dusty glanced back at Tand, empathetic worry starting to build up in his chest. “I wish Syd was here…” Dusty thought out loud. “They'd be able to help.” “Well, if we get them out, it’ll be into APID custody. A doctor can see them then,” Korsy said. “Are you confident you can get them out of this place?” “Yeah, I think I have an offer my uncle will be happy to accept… I just need to talk to Asger first.”

[thesluttyvampirewizard]

The Vampire's Dark Mansion

One of the larger structures on Wizard Island is a large, foreboding mansion owned by the resident Vampire Lady, located on the volcanic slopes. It is, decidedly, a mansion and not a castle (at least visually), as all appropriate defenses are magical in nature, as opposed to the mundane stone defenses of a castle.

The surrounding terrain is flattened, with decorated retaining walls on the mountain-ward and sea-ward sides. The entrance gate is at the top of a series of stairs along the lower wall, with an imposing iron fence and gate at the top, with clear view of the front gardens and mansion several dozen meters away.

The most notable feature as you reach the gate, however, is that the entire mansion is always bathed in darkness, including all the gardens, up to the beginning of the gate and regardless of the time of day. At a certain point in a circle along the ground, the sunlight stops and for mortal eyes adjusted to sunlight. it appears almost pitch black.

The castle is surrounded by a Sphere of Darkness, a spell devised by the Vampire herself to allow for her continued existence outside regardless of time of day. From the outside, the only noticeable feature is the aforementioned darkness on physical objects within the sphere. From the inside, however, all sunlight is deflected and rendered invisible save for the light bouncing off the moon, allowing for the night sky to be seen. Objects outside the sphere are darkened as well.

If you're lucky enough to be allowed through the front gate, and your eyes adjust to the sudden darkness. you realize the mansion and grounds are not dark at all. Multicolored fires in dark granite embrasures light the paths and many windows, with flaming vines creeping up the walls, all too dim to see in broad sunlight.

The main grounds are decorated by many different rare and magical plants and animals, a thick canopy, seemingly impossible streams of water which appear and disappear seemingly at will, and the occasional sparkle of rainbow fireflies. There is a sense that everything you see is magical in some way. Pavilions with statues that move suddenly, garden gnomes that behave like actual gnomes when you aren't watching. Fruits you've never seen budding out of the bushes and trees, enticing you like the Snake of Eden to enjoy them.

The mansion is built on granite foundations, with cast iron trimmings and dark paints, with a mix of Victorian and colonial stylings, accentuating its chaotic magical energy. The aforementioned fire vines dance along the structure, carefully dodging the many windows to give light and life to such a foreboding, yet magical structure. It has a northern and southern wing, with the center dominated by a great clock-tower, which tells the time with an AM and PM hand included, as is needed in the perpetual night.

As you reach the mansion located at the center of the sphere, the air gets colder, a byproduct of dark magic (that is, magic which uses darkness). The flames seem to not burn their surroundings, but provide some much needed warmth when convection currents from the outside fail.

The entrance of the castle is a huge, dark red door, seemingly impossible to open, but given that you are invited, it swings open with the characteristic grinding of stone-against-stone. Inside is a grand foyer, three floors high with spiral staircases either side and a central entrance front and center. The walls are painted woods and granite, with mahogany floors and multicolored carpets along the major walkways.

Within the central hall, you see a great feast hall, with fires decorating the walls and air, great barrels of wines and ales, pig roasts, soups, stews, stuffed pumpkins, and the like atop long tables either side of the carpeted floor, and several doors randomly placed on either side, leading to various kitchens, cellars, walk-in freezers and refrigerators, and one door leading to the back garden. The feast hall has a second floor catwalk, accessible from the foyer, with inset bookshelves and benches along the walls. The ceiling is enchanted with a view of the night sky, with more stars than could possibly be counted, with comets and shooting stars, a crystal clear view of the moon.

The foyer also leads to hallways leading into either wing, but despite the seemingly logical shape of the mansion from the outside, the hallways seemingly stop and start at random, with several publicly accessible rooms needing to be crossed to get from location to location. It seems exceedingly easy to get lost here, and you have a sinking suspicion that the halls and rooms couldn't possibly exist within actual space, and yet they do. Hallways with 5 right turns, rooms that by all accounts should exist outside the walls of the manor. Upward and downward stairs which lead to the same location.

There is a grand library, albeit a difficult one to get to, equally so with a theatre hall and a music room complete with an organ which plays itself with the tenacity of a virtuoso. Others include a crypt, blacksmith, den, crypt, and a countless number of lavish guest rooms. The Vampire's room, startlingly, seems missing, but perhaps it does not wish to show itself.

As you find your way back to the entrance, you idly tap along the wall. Suddenly, a panel you touched was pushed back into the wall, and several more panels on the opposite side fold away like Shoji blinds, revealing a secret passage. You want to step inside, to explore more about this fantastical place, but suddenly, an unnatural fear overtakes you. This is wrong, you shouldn't be here. You run out of the hallway, finding yourself outside the entrance faster than you thought possible. Stepping outside, even the embrace of fresh air is not enough. You run through the enchanted gardens, the gate opening to allow your swift exit as you fumble down the stairs.

You vow to never visit this place or speak of that passage again, lest you find yourself at an untimely end. You never met the Vampire, but you believe without uncertainty that she already met you.