#i don’t think he even knew he was adopted until he was told the truth of his birth actually. I should check that | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

m1ckeyb3rry · 5 months ago

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Series Synopsis: The story of how you, the bastard daughter of the Hiiragi clan, gain power in a country at constant war — and how, just as quickly, you lose it, too.

Chapter Synopsis: An introduction to you, Y/N L/N, the unwanted daughter of a serving maid and a daimyo.

Series Masterlist

Pairing(s): Otoya x Reader

Chapter Word Count: 6.2k

Content Warnings: sengoku period au, character death, angst, sad ending, implied abuse, lots of political content, violence and war, the characters will probably be ooc a bit (as is to be expected when you put a bunch of soccer freaks into the warring states period), they are all morally questionable AT BEST, i promise i don’t hate your fav if they act heinous it’s just that someone has to, the prose here is so purple you might confuse it for reo mikage, i may or may not include original characters, i do try and do a bit of research but this is a bllk reader insert fanfic so please keep your expectations for historical accuracy and whatnot at a minimum, possibly a bit suggestive eventually

A/N: erm…hey guys…this one’s for the three otoya stans out there 🤞🏻 listen i don’t even like him that much (prefer his bff tbh) but for some reason i can’t stop thinking about him and i had this idea for a fic that just wouldn’t let me go so uhh here we are!! but this is one i really don’t know how i feel about so lmk if you liked it/think i should continue

On the day you were born, a star died. It was like a great gash in the sky, supposedly, a bloody smear of fire against the blue of the afternoon, which flickered to the rise and fall of your wails and only vanished once you had been taken to your mother’s breast. The story was told to you so often that you could picture it as vividly as if you had been there, though of course your recall of the event was non-existent. But your half-brother, who had barely been more than a child at your birth, took a particular pleasure in reminding you that you were the star-killer, the ill-portended bastard who was a curse on his family.

He was relentless like a hornet, that half-brother of yours. A better man would’ve ignored you completely, would’ve taken satisfaction in his own supremacy and left you, who were no threat to his position nor his ego, alone. Yet it remained that it was your half-brother’s favorite pastime to follow you around and whisper things in your ears, striking you swiftly if you dared to respond.

“You’re a monster,” he’d murmur when he wanted to amuse himself. “Little witch-thing. You were just a babe when you murdered your surrogate…I wonder, is it truly the same blood which runs in both our veins? No, I am sure that you are just a demon who has taken the place of my sweet half-sister. Did you kill her, too? May she rest in peace. Greedy child. Devil child. A star and a woman and a little girl — how many more until you are satisfied?”

Though you had learnt long ago the value of your silence, there were still occasions when you would tell him no, that it was not the case. It was a meaningless form of retribution. He knew the truth, knew it as well as you did or maybe better, but he did not care. It was a little play of yours, this argument and its various other forms, and if you were to deviate from your script, you’d be met with the consequences of displeasing your audience of one.

“You killed her,” he would say, your cheek stinging where he had slapped it, his pale irises gleaming at the tremble of your lower lip, which even after so many years you could not quell completely. “You killed them both, didn’t you? Apologize for it. Repent for the sin.”

The relationship between you and your half-brother was of little consequence to your father. If he hurt you or if he loved you — what did it matter to the man whose adoption of you was so reluctantly done as to be all but forced? Your half-brother was the one who shared his name, who was his perfect heir, who had twin moons for eyes and was born at the stroke of midnight. You were the one who had killed a star and a surrogate alike, whose name was common and plain, as was fitting for the daughter of a dead serving girl. Certainly, the sacrifice was easy to make, and likely it was not even a sacrifice in the first place. The closest he ever got to reprimanding your half-brother was letting out a heavy sigh when he walked past your frozen form, reminding him that ought to keep better company.

You could not say the same about yourself. You lived in the Hiiragi manor only on account of your father’s charity, and so you were expected to conduct yourself in a manner that invited the highest praise — though you never received this praise, naturally. If you were behaving in an exemplary way, then you were only doing as you ought to, and anything lesser was met with cold correction.

According to your father, you were an embarrassment, but one he had to display as if he were proud. He was a daimyo, the lord of your province, and so he was meant to be the perfect example of an honorable man. Nobody batted an eye when he lay with his own servants — it was typical, anyways, especially since his own wife had died in the service of his first and only son — but when the stomach of the maid who swept the kitchens began to swell, the whispers abounded. What would happen to the child, who was undoubtedly of the Hiiragi line? Would he acknowledge her, or would he throw her to her death in the streets?

Well, it would’ve been worse if he cast her away, so reluctantly, your father watched over your mother, caring for her until you were born. That day, he snatched you away, your lips still wet from milk, your thin hair plastered to your tiny brow, and he handed you to the waiting surrogate. After that, he had your mother killed, taken to the back and burnt alive when she was too weak to fight back.

It was easy for him to disguise the murder by claiming that she, too, had faced the same fate as his beloved wife. Hiiragi blood claws at the womb. Though of course you were no Hiiragi — you were Y/N L/N, undeserving of a nobler address — it was true that, despite your circumstances, you were still half a lady, a daimyo’s daughter as much as you were a maid’s. So your father blamed her death on you, and only a select few knew the truth, all of whom shared blood and two of whom shared a name.

Though it was impossible for him to remember it, your half-brother would describe the gray of the smoke to you, the way your mother’s ashes had swirled into the air and her screams had faded into the crackling of embers. Only when your eyes welled with tears would he snicker and leave you to your own devices, ruffling your hair fraternally, though the gesture was anything but.

“What cause do you have to cry?” he’d call out over his shoulder. “You hardly knew the woman. At least her death at Father’s hand was quick; were she left to you, she would’ve suffered for longer and longer. It was a mercy, though I am sure you know not what that word means.”

Once you had grown older, you began to understand, in pieces and then all in a rush, what purpose you served for your father, why he had kept you at his side so many years after propriety demanded. Your father, who had never had any other children bar your half-brother…if he wanted to secure an alliance with one or another of the neighboring daimyos, who were ever clamoring for more territory, more land, more wealth, more more more, what was the best option? It was you.

Mere days after you turned of age, the men began to arrive at the Hiiragi manor. These conversations were like dancing with snakes for your father and half-brother, each word a baring of their fangs, each sly remark a biting challenge, each exchanged glance a seeping of their poison. You were relegated to pouring tea and keeping your gaze lowered, a showpiece more than a participant.

The more foolish of the supplicants, in their earnest desires to appease the serpent-kin Hiiragis, would seek to compliment you, claiming that no more beautiful woman existed in all the world, insisting to your father that, were they given your hand and thus the support of the Hiiragis, they would build a palace grand enough to contain even one such as yourself.

This was when your half-brother would make himself known, his expression coy and playful, his voice a smooth hiss as he reminded the suitor that you were a bastard. The daughter of a maid, he’d say with a laugh, the sound jarring and devoid of mirth. You find her so lovely? You must not have very high standards, then.

Their faces would go white, and the corners of your father’s lips would twitch as he commanded them to leave at once. The Hiiragi would not ally themselves with those who had such lofty but baseless aspirations, not when they themselves had their own goals which they pursued so staunchly — only an equal or greater would receive the honor of their support, of their only daughter, who was barely classified as such but nevertheless had attained at least that much in her lifetime.

“There’s a suitor coming to see you,” your half-brother said, the painted screen door pushed aside, his arms crossed as he peered into your room. “Hey. Shitty Y/N. Get dressed; Father seems to think this one might have some merit to him.”

“Might you send a maid to assist me?” you said, your voice catching in the back of your throat when he raised his eyebrows. “Reiji, you must realize that it is difficult for me to ready myself to that extent.”

Reiji’s lip curled as he regarded you, but finally, to your relief, he nodded at you. “Very well, though only because this meeting is of import and it would not do for you to have a shoddy appearance.“

“Thank you,” you said, pressing your forehead to the floor until you heard the whoosh of the door as it slid shut. Curling your fists, you pushed yourself up until you were kneeling in front of your dressing table, staring into the mirror and wincing when you noticed that there were dark hollows under your eyes.

“Miss L/N,” a soft voice called from the other side of the screen. “Shall I enter?”

“You may,” you said. You recognized her gentle intonations; she was, after all, the only maid in the manor who treated you as if you were a true-born Hiiragi and not some other, accursed thing.

The door opened once again, but she stood alone, her tiny figure such a contrast to Reiji’s boasting frame. Her bright hair was tied back, her eyelids lowering in disappointment when she glanced at you.

“Ah, Miss L/N, you must endeavor to sleep earlier,” she said, crouching behind you, her clever fingers beginning to weave through your hair. “Are those terrors plaguing you anew?”

“Is it so obvious?” you said.

“Rather, it is that I know you so well,” she said. “So, that is the reason?”

“It is,” you said, pursing your lips. “But that is enough questioning on the matter, Anri. I should not like to speak of it.”

“Perhaps it would be helpful if you did,” she suggested. “Do you not agree? Recounting them could ward them away.”

“It has never worked in the past, so why should it work now? I think that you are disguising your curiosity as concern,” you said.

“I—I—I would do no such thing! Miss L/N, how could you even suggest it?” she sputtered.

“It was only a jest,” you said, fighting back a smile. “Anyways, I suppose that this terror is of a different nature, so it may yet vanish if I speak it aloud.”

For as long as you could remember, you had had fitful episodes, lasting a week but never longer, in which you dreamt of terrible things that haunted you even in your waking hours. None of these visions ever had much coherence, but there was a sense of doom interspersed throughout, a personal doom, as if they held a sort of significance to you that you were too naive to understand.

“This time, there was a man,” you said. “I saw him vividly, though I cannot recall him any longer.”

“A man!” Anri said.

“Yes, and I believe a comely one, to answer what I know you will not speak aloud. His face has been lost to me, but I was frightened of him, or perhaps for him,” you said. “It is the first time I have watched someone other than my mother die in the fire. He embraced her as it happened, but despite their familiarity, I am certain it was not my father.”

Every single nightmare ended in the same way: a woman’s immolation, flames licking up her dress and lashing against her face, which resembled yours so greatly that you knew she could be no one else but your mother. Her expression was stony and set, though her eyes danced with a wild sort of panic as she burned, her jaw twitching from the efforts of silencing the screams that Reiji had claimed he had heard.

This was the first time that she had not been alone, her taut muscles releasing as the man appeared. Though your mother’s face never left your mind — you could not escape it when a facsimile stared back at you whenever you gazed at your reflection — the man was out of your grasp, a slippery sort of person who you wanted very badly to remember but simply could not.

He had had his back to you, facing your mother at her end, and then he had gathered her in his arms, clutching her tightly and allowing the fire to take them both. And though tears had dripped from her eyes, though she had shivered from the pain of their shared death, you had noticed that for the first time, your mother had seemed happy, as if her impending doom meant nothing in face of what you got the sense was a long-anticipated reunion.

“Did your mother have another lover?” Anri said.

“How should I know?” you said, harsher than you had intended. Anri flinched from surprise, and you frowned. “I apologize.”

“No, the error is mine, Miss L/N,” she said. “Please forgive me.”

“There’s nothing to be forgiven. You were merely expressing your interest in the subject, and I had the gall to snap at you for it. To tell you the truth, he did hold her in the way a lover might, but I have never heard much if anything about my mother’s past, so that does nothing to solve the mystery of his identity. Anyways, if ever he did exist, he’s likely long dead, so it does not warrant further investigation,” you said.

“Of course not,” she said, pressing a cake of powder against your face, blowing the excess away. “Do you think that this discussion has assuaged you?”

“That’s a question I can only answer after tonight, you know,” you said.

“Oh, I have spoken hastily,” she said. “Forgive me.”

“You needn’t apologize,” you said. “I am not Reiji nor my father. It isn’t possible for you to wrong me. For if you could, then I would not be Y/N L/N but Y/N Hiiragi, and as I am not, you ought to worry less.”

“You are still Lord Hiiragi’s daughter, and as such, I will give you the respect that that position demands,” she said.

“Am I?” you said. “What if I am that man’s daughter?”

“Were there even a hint of uncertainty as to your parentage, I do not doubt that Lord Hiiragi would’ve long ago sent you away,” Anri said. “Without question, you are his. A name cannot change that.”

“It is a reminder better given to my half-brother,” you said. “Reiji believes me to be a devil, one of the star-killing variety.”

“Well, that half-brother of yours—” Anri began before silencing herself. “Regardless. Not even the Shogun himself could take your inheritance from you.”

“Thank you, Anri,” you said, recognizing that she had put herself into danger just for the sake of your reassurance. It wasn’t fair of you to demand, so you mustered a grin in the hope that she did not continue to worry. “Am I ready, then? Reiji said that Father believes this suitor to be a genuine prospect, so I do not wish to tarry.”

“You are as lovely as ever,” she said. “The hollyhock of the Hiiragi.”

You could not see that supposed beauty, not in yourself, but if Anri said it, then it was definitely there. Clasping your hands, you nodded at her, your face warm at the comparison to your family’s flower.

“Thank you,” you said. “You may go fetch Reiji now. I am sure that he wishes to escort me, as is proper.”

“I will return at once,” she said.

You inhaled and exhaled, counting the seconds in between to calm your nerves. Your father had never once spoken favorably of a candidate for your hand until now — did that mean this was it, then? Had he finally found the family that he wished to align himself with? Which would it be, and would their son be cruel? You did not mind running the household, but if your husband were unkind or overly interested in your affairs, then you were unsure of whether you could handle it. And children, what of children? Would you be expected to have many? Would it be a demon which you carried, a star-killer like yourself or a Hiiragi which clawed at your womb as it left? All of these things and more you considered, the endless loop playing as you waited for Reiji and Anri to return.

“You look acceptable, sister,” Reiji said, his charade well-perfected at this point. If your marriage was meant to unite two clans, then you could not be referred to with the usual indignity. Of course, you could not be a Hiiragi, but you had to be considered the sister of one, or else your father’s efforts would be for naught, and given the instability of the country at the moment, that would be a fatal mistake.

“Thank you, Reiji — brother,” you said, correcting yourself when you stumbled over his name and he shot you a dark glare. The iciness of his eyes, which might’ve entranced anyone else, seemed sinister and dull to you, and you did everything you could to ensure that they were not settled upon you for too long.

Your father sat across from a boy with dark, wavy hair, who turned to look at you when you entered. He had wide eyes that were the burnished color of a gourd, and his face was appealingly structured, his shoulders broad and a sword strapped at his waist. When he noticed that it was only you and Reiji, he dipped his chin in acknowledgement.

“Mister Reiji Hiiragi,” he said. “It is a pleasure to meet you. Your father has spoken highly of you.”

“The pleasure is mine, sir…?” Reiji said.

“Kenyu Yukimiya,” the boy said. On closer inspection, he was nearing the cusp of manhood; several years your elder and likely even wiser than Reiji, he was hardly a boy at all anymore. “My father is daimyo of the neighboring province, and I am his heir. Am I to assume that that woman is your sister?”

“Y/N L/N,” Reiji said, maneuvering you in front of him so that your charms could be on display for Yukimiya. “Greet him, sister.”

“Welcome, Mister Yukimiya. It is an honor. Would you like some tea?” you said.

“I should not say no, I think,” he said. “In the face of such generous hospitality, who could refuse?”

As was traditional, all three of them quieted, contemplating and meditating on their woven mats as you prepared the tea, pressing your whisk against the powdered leaves and boiling the water. It was a soothing ritual, the billowing steam clearing your head of the migraine which threatened to build behind your temples, the easy motions of the preparation allowing your hands to work mindlessly and simply at the task.

After the tea was prepared, you bowed before Yukimiya. He raised his cup for you, and you filled it carefully, ensuring that you did not spill even a drop. Holding the pot steady until the liquid reached the rim, you bowed again and then repeated the actions for your father, after which came your half-brother. Then, you stowed the pot and the tea-making materials away; it would be improper if you, as the official host of this meeting despite contributing almost nothing to it, partook as well.

“That was elegantly done,” Yukimiya said as you returned to your place at Reiji’s side. “I’m impressed. For only being half-highborn, you have taken to the customs quite well, Miss L/N.”

He said it bluntly. Half-highborn. This was, after all, a person who did not have to fear your father’s rage, not when his own family was of a comparable status. The Hiiragis could not raise a hand against him, not if they wished to avoid a war with the Yukimiyas, and as that would be costly, your father could not respond to an insult even when it was so plainly given.

“She is a quick learner,” your father said, and instead of offense, there was interest twinkling in his mien. Yukimiya took a sip from his cup, mulling over the taste and your father’s response alike.

“Might I inquire why she has the name L/N, and not Hiiragi? If she is your daughter, then surely the latter is her birthright,” he said.

“She is a bastard,” your father said. “You know that already.”

“I was aware,” Yukimiya affirmed.

“Her mother died upon her birth; my daughter chose to take her name instead, as a way to keep her memory alive,” your father said.

“I see,” Yukimiya said. Whether or not he saw through the obvious lie was irrelevant; your father had given him a weapon with which he could defend himself to those who might question his future wife’s parentage, should he choose to take you. That was all that he needed. “She must be of a more sensitive temperament.”

“As a lady, it’s to be expected,” your father said genially.

“I confess I grew up without a sister, so I am not used to the inclinations of young women,” Yukimiya said. “I shall take you at your word, Lord Hiiragi.”

“I thank you for your trust,” your father said. He might’ve seemed indifferent, but in truth there was a great joy to the heaviness of his forehead and the set of his cheeks, which only you and Reiji could detect.

“If you are not opposed to me asking for your trust in return, and if the lady agrees to it, then I would like it if she might show me around your gardens,” Yukimiya said. “It’d allay any misgivings of mine if I could speak to her in private before I make a decision one way or another.”

“Neither my daughter nor I would deny such a gently given request, especially not coming from a guest,” your father said. “Y/N, please see Mister Yukimiya to the gardens at once.”

“Yes, Father. Please follow me, sir,” you said, standing and bowing at Yukimiya once more. He stood as well, walking purposefully after you. He was careful to pace his longer strides with yours, so that you were not gasping and racing to keep up with him, as you often were with Reiji. The casual tact warmed you to him, and as the two of you entered the gardens, you took a moment to sneak a glance at him.

“Your innocence is fascinating,” Yukimiya said when he caught you peering at him. “At first, I was convinced that it was an act you put on in front of your father, but it seems to be genuine.”

You cringed. “Forgive me, sir. I meant no disrespect by it.”

“It’s really interesting,” he said. “Do you think I mean to hurt you?”

“If you did, I could not stop you,” you said. “Our families are not on the best of terms, are they?”

“Who told you that?” he said in alarm.

“It is commonly known that the daimyos do not get along,” you said. “Why should your father and mine be any different?”

“The relationship is awkward, but it is not as bad as it could be, or as some are,” Yukimiya said, relaxing. “Were it any worse, I’d be a fool to come here alone in the pursuit of a mere girl.”

“A mere girl?” you said. “But is the alliance not what you are truly after? If so, then it would have been in pursuit of that which you rode, not of me, and so it would’ve been far less foolish and more pacifistic in nature.”

“True,” he admitted freely. “You are only an additional benefit, but one I am not opposed to. I would have accepted your father’s proposal regardless, but I must confess I am pleased to find you so agreeable.”

He meant to win you over with his kindness, as surely as he had won over your father with his stoic maturity. Reiji had instructed you in these things, told you to be wary of men who treated you well, but you could not help the fluttering in your stomach at the unprecedented tenderness Yukimiya was showing you.

“I find you agreeable as well,” you said. He let out a laugh, full-bodied and musical, suiting him exactly.

“Take me to your favorite place in these gardens. You must wander them often, yes?” he said.

“When I am given the opportunity,” you said, leading him down the path, past a copse of camphor trees and towards a low wall where hollyhocks burst from the ground, profusely flowering in shades of red and pink. They were towering, some arching above even Yukimiya, and a few bees darted around their blooms, paying you both no mind as you admired their work.

You preferred this location above all others, for the curve of the route and the height of the hollyhocks meant that you could, for a moment or two, be hidden away from Reiji and the rest of the Hiiragi household.

“And which flower do you find the loveliest?” Yukimiya said. You cocked your head before pointing at one so pale it was almost white, its petals reaching towards the sun and a butterfly resting at its center. Abruptly, Yukimiya drew his sword, and before you could cry out from shock, he brought it down on the stem of the blossom. The butterfly fluttered away, and the flower fell into his waiting palm, which he then extended to you.

“For you,” he said.

“Thank you,” you said, though your heart was still pounding from how quickly it had all been done. He tucked the flower behind your ear and stroked your cheek.

“We should return before your father grows worried about how long we are taking,” he said.

“Father wouldn’t worry,” you said, with only a tinge of rebelliousness.

“Oh?” Yukimiya said. “Is that so?”

“Er, I mean, well, it’s only that I’m in good company, and he is likely delighted by our camaraderie, so, ah…” you stammered when you realized how dangerous that simple misinterpretation could be. Thankfully, he only smiled at you.

“Of course, but fathers get protective over their daughters, and I would not like to fall from his favor when that very favor is so important to our success,” he said.

“It is sound reasoning,” you said. “Let us be off at once.”

You were dismissed to your chambers as the terms of the marriage were set, and this time Reiji did not come with you, so you allowed yourself to feel giddy. How you had been so frightened! If only you had known that Yukimiya would turn out in the way that he had, you would not have feared so greatly.

Anri came to help you undress that evening, and though she did not inquire, you knew she could tell from your uncharacteristic jumpiness that you were thrilled at the course of events. Being wedded to Yukimiya was not only a livable fate, it was one you could genuinely look forward to — if you were his wife, then you’d command a far greater respect than you ever had in the Hiiragi manor. You would no longer be the bastard-born Y/N L/N; instead, you’d be the next Lady Yukimiya, whose ancestry did not matter nearly as much as her progeny did.

As you settled down on your mat to sleep, pulling the duvet up around your shoulders and facing the window so your face could be bathed in the light of the moon, you hoped that you’d have a peaceful night. Whether your conversation with Anri or your joy at the engagement with Yukimiya…one or another of these things, you prayed, would have been enough to chase off your nightmares until the next week of fits came about.

To your eternal gratitude, it was a dreamless sleep you fell into, and indeed when you awoke to darkness, you could not discern what had caused you to stir. Sitting up and rubbing your eyes, your duvet falling in a puddle around your lap, you yawned, contemplating the notion of going to fetch a glass of water before attempting to return to your earlier state.

Before you could make up your mind either way, you became horrifyingly aware of a firm presence against your back. An arm wrapped around the side of your face, a gloved hand covering your mouth and a kunai pressing against the skin of your neck, angled so that it could pierce your throat if you moved even a centimeter. You did not even scream for fear of its wicked tip, and your breath came in harsh, short pants, the taste of linen washing over your tongue as you shuddered in the deadly embrace.

“Shh,” your invisible assailant murmured. “I’m good at this. It’ll be quick, young Hiiragi. You won’t even know it happened.”

Young Hiiragi. Not once in your life had you ever been called that, and before you could stop yourself, you were shaking your head, pulling back from the kunai, though he did not let you get very far.

“Plead all you want,” he said. “Go on, then. It’s late, so no one else will hear us. I don’t mind if you want to try; maybe if you offer to pay me more than my current employer, I’ll consider sparing you. Don’t think about calling for help, though. I’ll kill you before you can make a sound.”

He parted his fingers, though he still held you in place, staring ahead at the wall. You squeezed your eyes shut. This wasn’t real. It wasn’t real. It wasn’t, it wasn’t, you just had to go along with it and then you’d actually wake up and things would be fine.

“I’m not a Hiiragi,” you said. “I’m Y/N L/N. The bastard — the bastard girl. What good comes of you killing me? No one will care.”

He stiffened, you felt it against your body, though he tried to disguise it the moment that it happened. His voice was low and cold when he spoke next, as if you were the one who had wronged him and not the other way around.

“You’re the fucking girl,” he said. “That incompetent piece of shit. He told me he knew exactly which room the Hiiragi heir slept in before sending me, and you’re telling me he got it wrong?”

“Who?” you ventured to say. “Who wants to kill Reiji — my half-brother?”

“As if I’d tell you,” he said, and then the hand holding the kunai was balling into a fist and knocking against the top of your head lightly, almost teasingly. “Maybe if you think about it hard enough, though, you’ll figure it out.”

“I don’t know,” you said. “I don’t — I don’t — are you going to kill me?”

You wished that in these last moments, you could’ve kept some kind of composure, could’ve held your head high the way your mother had, but you were nowhere near as strong as the woman in your dreams. You were a bumbling mess, tripping over your words, clinging desperately to a life you had never cared for in the first place.

“What to do, indeed?” he mused. “If I kill you, it’ll be ten times as difficult for me to come back to this place, but then again, you know of a plot against your half-brother, so how can I let you live? It’ll be a real weight on my conscience.”

“What conscience?” you said. “If you are a murderer-for-hire, then how can you claim to have anything resembling that?”

“I prefer being called a ninja, though as you please, lady,” he said. “By the way, this is generally when you would beg for me to spare you.”

“Will it matter? Will the course of your deliberations change if I beg?” you said.

“Give me something,” he said. “Something that makes letting you live worth it.”

“I have nothing of the sort. Only my own life, and even that is not so precious. I want to live, I cannot deny it; I want to live more than anything. It is a miserable life, yet it is mine, and I cannot bear to let go of it quite yet, so if begging is enough, then I shall fall to my knees gladly, but that is all I have to offer,” you said.

“Hm,” he said.

“They won’t believe me,” you tried. “Even if I tell them. Everyone knows I’ve been having nightmares this week. This is just another one of those terrors, isn’t it? If you think Reiji or my father would take me seriously in the best of days, then I’d call you delusional, but at a time when I am prisoner to my own visions, they are more likely to seek counsel from a quail.”

“How sorry,” he said. “To think that they would ignore their own daughter’s warnings. It’s only that kind of clan that could be killed by its own neighbors.”

“Yukimiya,” you breathed, the realization like a bucket of ice water over your head. This earned you an amused exhale.

“Smart girl,” he said.

“They sent you? But what about—”

“An excuse,” he said, before you could complete the inquiry. “For the son to come to the manor and grow familiar with its layout, so that he could direct me to Reiji Hiiragi’s quarters. It was a plan not without risk, but in this world, isn’t that the only way to succeed? Ah, I really should get rid of you now. I cannot believe that incompetent dimwit has put me in this kind of situation. I hate killing women.”

The kunai was back at your throat, this time the breadth of it resting against your pulse. You swallowed.

“Then don’t kill me,” you said. “Hurt me or take me hostage, but let me live.”

“A hostage?” he said. “Hostages are generally people who are wanted, Miss L/N. Taking you as one would bring me far more trouble than anything.”

“I don’t want to die,” you said. “What do you want from me? You said if I could give you something that makes letting me live worth it, you’d spare me.”

“There’s nothing,” he said. “That doesn’t exist. I was being cruel to you, lady, for no other reason than my personal entertainment. It’s like how a child might pry off the wings of a butterfly, causing it to suffer just because they can.”

“I won’t betray you,” you said. “Please, sir, I won’t. I really won’t.”

“Sir? I’ll admit I’ve never been called that before,” he said. “Would your opinion of me be lower if I said that I liked it? On second thoughts, don’t answer that. It’ll only hurt my feelings.”

“Have you no empathy?” you said. “You are joking around as if my life is not in your hands.”

“Empathy? For you and your kind, I feel none,” he said. “Hiiragi or not, you have spent your entire life in a walled off manor. We are so different as to be entirely separate species. Asking me to feel empathy for you is akin to asking me to move the sun a degree to the right. I cannot do it, I am not capable, and furthermore I think of you as grossly ignorant just for making the request.”

“Please,” you said, long ago having run out of anything else to say. He scoffed.

“That’s enough,” he said. “Let’s get on with it. I’ve wasted enough time here.”

“I’ll take you to my half-brother!” you said, the delicate flesh of your neck smarting from the shallow cut he had torn into it. “Reiji’s quarters. I will show you where they are.”

“You would trade his life for your own?” he said, pulling his kunai back, voice lilting with interest.

“Yes,” you said. He was silent for so long that, were it not for the crush of his chest against your spine, you would’ve thought he had vanished. Then, suddenly, he chuckled.

“Well, that’s unexpected,” he said. “Here I was, thinking you’d be the self-sacrificing type.”

“Kill him if you must,” you said. “But release me.”

Live. Live. Live. It was an imperative in your mind — you had to live. You could not die yet. You could not die here. If that meant latching onto your half-brother and draining him of his own existence, then you would do just that. If it meant you could survive, then you’d do it again and again, as many times as you had to.

“Close your eyes,” he said. You did so promptly, and your obedience was met with a condescending pat on the head. “Do not open them again until dawn. I shall let you live on the assumption that you are true to your word — but mind you, I will come to collect. Not today, but someday, I will kill Reiji Hiiragi, and you will be the one who gives me leave to do it.”

#otoya x reader #otoya x y/n #otoya x you #otoya eita #bllk x reader #bllk #blue lock #reader insert #historical au #hollyhock #m1ckeyb3rry writes

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formulaforza · 2 years ago

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puppy-- m.schumacher

pairing: mick schumacher x reader word count: 680

“Oh, look at this one!” You grinned at your phone screen, turning it to show Mick, grinning at him. On the screen, a picture of a puppy that was up for adoption at your local shelter. You’d been looking, trying to convince Mick that the two of you needed to get a dog together, to get Angie a playmate, for months now. He’s completely against it, but, you know he’s wrapped around your finger. It’s only a matter of time before you break him.

He doesn’t even look at the screen, dramatically covers it and turns it back to you. “We are not getting another dog.”

You narrow your eyes at him. “Angie needs a sibling.” You say, and the dog’s ears perk up from the end of the couch at her name. “She told me.”

He laughs, cocks his head to the side. “Did she, now?”

You cross you arms over your chest, reaffirm your statement with confidence. “She did.” He nods, pets her. “When you were in the shower earlier.” You say, return your attention to the website, try to find a dog he’ll think it cuter, one he won’t be able to resist.

“Oh, well if Angie told you.”

You head shoots up from the screen to him. “Really?”

He smiles like he’s going to say yes, even nods, but then his face drops. “No.”

You roll your eyes, and he chuckles. “Fine.”

You trick him into just looking a few weeks later. Run errands with me, please, you asked him that morning, and he agreed, figured he be spending the day twiddling his thumbs and walking the line of honesty and cruelty while sitting in the boyfriend chairs at your favorite stores. Maybe, he thought, if he was really lucky, you’d take him to the grocery store and he’d get to have a say in the snacks in the house this week.

“We have to stop at the pet store,” You told him. “Ange needs more food.” You’d seen on the shelter’s social media page that they were hosting an event at the pet store in hopes of getting some of their dogs and cats adopted this weekend. Mick, was clueless, didn’t even notice the sign at the front of the building, didn’t put the pieces together until he heard the little yelps of puppies and was being dragged to the play pens by you.

“I just want to look.” You said, knew there was no way you weren’t leaving the store without one of these sweet dogs. There’s no such thing as just looking, it’s a ponzy scheme created to manipulate your partner into falling in love with an animal, and it works every time.

It’s not ten minutes later and Mick is in love with a puppy–a golden retriever mixed with a super mutt, probably. Very fitting, very cute. “We’re just looking.” He says when he catches you smiling, giddy, because you’re looking at your new dog. You nod, pretend, just like he does, that you don’t know the truth.

A couple hundred dollars worth of toys and food and a collar and a bed and all the other necessities–luxuries–a new puppy needs are being purchased by the end of the hour, along with the little golden puppy. “I think we should name him Gary.” You say, holding the dog, kissing his little nose. “Gary and Angie.”

“Absolutely not.” He says, takes the receipt from the cashier and sticks it in one of the many bags. “We are not naming our dog Gary.”

“Do you hear that Gary?” You say, voice half and octave higher, baby talking the dog. “Dad doesn’t like your name.”

“Your name isn’t Gary, Gary.” He tells the dog.

“But he just called you that, didn’t he?” You giggle, follow behind Mick to the car and half-ass helping him put the bags in the car because Gary is already falling asleep in your arms and you don’t dare wake him.

“I’m never just looking at anything with you, ever again.” He says in the car.

“I think we should just look at engagement rings.”

#mick schumacher #mick schumacher imagine #mick schumacher fluff #mick schumacher x reader #mick schumacher blurb #mick schumacher fic #ms47 #f1 #f1 fic #f1 imagine #f1 fanfic #f1 blurb #as a treat #for spirit #as a treat for me not studying #mack's 10 days of fluff #day 6

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cursedonyx · 11 months ago

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Professor Fig Adopts the Emerald Trio (Part 1)

At the end of fifth year, all the Slytherins are celebrating winning the house cup, all except three of them, who have suffered an awful lot, and now face the prospect of having no home to go to.

Professor Fig decides to step in, and becomes the father figure they all need.

Part 1 of an Alternative Timeline where Professor Fig survives the Battle of Hogwarts. I've used my main MC Dracaena as I can't be bothered to think of a new MC, and she's amazing anyway so.

Over the holidays the trio stay in the castle and Fig helps Sebastian process what’s happened with Anne and Solomon, while Dracaena and Ominis accidentally unleash a pixie.

Word Count - 4.5k

Warnings - none, just fluff and hijinks

Masterlist

As the Great Hall exploded into cheers, Slytherins leaping to their feet and hugging each other, the House Cup theirs, there were three noticeably sombre faces at the table.

Dracaena, Sebastian and Ominis sat together, each of them too weighed down by the year’s events to truly appreciate all they’d accomplished. Sebastian especially was subdued, his eyes red-rimmed, his hair uncombed, his head down.

“I don’t know what I’m going to do,” he murmured, his voice almost inaudible over the sounds of celebration around them. “I can’t go home.”

“Me either,” Ominis replied, fiddling with his wand. “If I go back to the Manor, I don’t know if I’ll ever come out again.”

“We’ll be alright,” Dracaena said, trying and failing to inject some cheer into her voice. “Maybe we could strike out on our own for the summer? I’m sure we could scrounge up a tent, put some extension charms on it, or find rooms to rent in Hogsmeade.”

“That requires money,” Sebastian sighed. “Solomon left everything to Anne, and we’re too young to work. I don’t know where she is, and it’s not like I can ask her for help. She doesn’t want to speak to me.”

“For all my family’s blustering, we’re even poorer,” Ominis agreed. “Unless you’ve got a secret stash of gold you’ve never told us about, we’re stuck. I’ll have to go home.”

“I’ve not got much,” Dracaena said, dubiously. “A few galleons from helping people out here and there and selling things I found, but it’s not enough to see us through the next few years in truth.”

“I suppose I could ask the family if you could stay with us,” Ominis said to Sebastian. “You’re half-blood, so they might be a bit frosty with you, but you, Dracaena…” he sighed. “You’re muggleborn. They’d curse us all on sight.”

They huddled together, their dour expressions ignored by the cheering students around them, until a warm and familiar voice sounded.

“Are you three alright?”

They turned. Professor Fig was there, his expression full of warmth and concern.

“I’d have thought you’d be celebrating as well,” he said. “Dracaena, you’ve accomplished incredible things. You should be proud.”

She shrugged. “It’s hard to be happy when the future’s so bleak,” she said, and quickly explained the situation the three of them found themselves in, carefully leaving out the details of why Sebastian couldn’t return to Feldcroft, and why Ominis wouldn’t return to his family. Professor Fig, displaying all the intelligence and tact of his Ravenclaw house, simply nodded, and asked no prying questions.

“Well…” he said, running a hand over his stubble. “Might I propose a rather… unconventional solution to your problems?”

They tilted their heads, and Fig beckoned, leading them out of the cacophonous Great Hall and into the much quieter Entrance Hall. He stopped and faced them, a little smile pulling at the corners of his mouth.

“It’s no secret that I’ve become very fond of you since we met,” Fig said to Dracaena. “And any friend of yours is a friend of mine.” He passed a smile to Sebastian and Ominis. “It’s also no secret that since Miriam died, I’ve been at a bit of as loss as to what to do with myself.”

His hand went to his chest, where Dracaena knew he had fashioned Miriam’s wand into a necklace, and it hung around his neck, always next to his heart.

“I can’t see myself going home over the holidays, and our little cottage would be too small for myself and three students,” he said, and grinned as realisation began to dawn on the faces of the Slytherins before him.

“What are you suggesting, Professor?” Dracaena asked, needing to hear him say it.

“Well, I’ll have to clear it with Professor Weasley, but I can’t imagine it would be too great a task,” Fig said, his grin widening. “But I rather think I’ll be staying at the castle over the summer, and, if you’re all willing, I’d like it if my three newly-adopted charges would stay as well.”

“You’ll still have your dorms, of course,” Professor Weasley said, leading the trio towards the dungeons. It was the morning after Professor Fig had offered to adopt them all, and they were still reeling. “We’ll move you into the sixth-year dorms early, as you’ll be staying at Hogwarts over the summer. Professor Fig will remain as well, as will some of the other Professors.”

She paused at the blank wall and fixed them all with a stern look.

“Now, this is a very unique situation,” she said. “Don’t think for one moment that you can break rules just because Professor Fig is now responsible for you.” She stared intently at Sebastian and Dracaena in particular, who tried their best to look innocent. “Even over the holidays, you’re bound by the rules of this school, so that means no spells in the corridors, no sneaking into places you shouldn’t be, and no mischief.”

“Yes Professor,” they chorused, and Professor Weasley left them with a nod and a small smile.

Professor Fig was in London, sorting out the necessary paperwork. As both Sebastian and Dracaena were orphans, there wasn’t any real issue in him adopting them, but it would be difficult to secure Ominis’ safety.

“They family won’t give me up,” he’d explained to Fig. “Though I’ve not seen them and hardly spoken to them for half a decade, I’m still a Gaunt, and it’ll dent their pride if someone they consider to be ‘lesser’ tried to steal me away. That’s how they’d see it, Professor.”

“Or they’d just say no because it’d make you happy and they don’t want that,” Dracaena said, touching his shoulder.

“Or that,” Ominis agreed. “Professor, I deeply appreciate your offer, but if you’re serious, it will take some extremely clever work on your part.”

“I’ve dealt with worse,” Fig had responded with a genial smile that set Dracaena at ease immediately. If there ever was anyone that could do it, Fig was the wizard.

Ominis was less convinced, but the tiny smile on his lips told them that he at least held on to some hope that Fig would come through for them, especially as both Sebastian and Dracaena said they’d only agree to the adoption if Ominis could be a part of it as well.

“Would this make us all siblings?” Sebastian asked.

“Not really,” Ominis replied. “I think of you as my brother anyway, Sebastian, but Dracaena…” he paused, and his cheeks flushed a little. “Well. Forgive me, I’ve known Sebastian longer. I mean no offense., I-I'm quite fond of you, but in a dif-”

“None taken,” she laughed. “Come on, let’s see what trouble we can get into before Fig comes back.”

Three days later, and all was agreed. None of the trio knew exactly what Fig had done, but one day they were alone, and the next, Fig was their official and legal guardian. He refused to tell them the details of how he managed to convince the Gaunts to relinquish the last of the control that they had over their youngest son, but at the end of the day, he’d done it, and that was all that mattered.

It was surprisingly easy to settle into their new dynamic. Fig joined them for meals at the huge Slytherin table before looking around the echoing, empty space and suggesting that his office might be more suitable for the time being. He asked them about their homework, offered to help them with it, and engaged them all in gentle conversation that never took too serious a turn.

Otherwise, he left them to their own devices, trusting them to behave themselves. At least, behave themselves enough to not get caught. He told them this with a twinkle in his eye, and they grinned.

Halfway through the first week of the holidays, Sebastian woke up in a sombre mood. Now that the curse of the relic had been lifted and enough time had passed for him to fully comprehend his actions, he became more withdrawn and miserable, missing Anne and blaming himself for everything that had happened.

Dracaena sat with her arm around him in their common room as he stared at his feet.

“Talk to Fig,” she urged. “He can help, Seb.”

“I can’t,” he said, miserably. “If he finds out I killed Solomon, he��ll turn me in.”

“No, he won’t,” Dracaena promised. “You don’t have to tell him everything, you know. But Solomon died and Anne’s gone missing. Of course that’s going to have knocked you about a bit, after all you did to try and help her. It's what he’s there for.”

Sebastian sighed, staring at the rug. “But what about you and Ominis?” he said, softly. “Will you be alright without me?”

“Of course,” she leaned in and kissed his cheek, and he jumped, his hand rising to his face, his eyes going wide. “I’m sure we can keep ourselves entertained for a few hours, though we’ll miss you all the same.”

She grinned and left him sitting on the sofa, before collecting Ominis and asking him if he’d like to explore Hogwarts with her for a few hours. He almost leapt at the chance, begging her a few minutes to get ready when he realised that Sebastian was going to be with Fig instead, and they would be alone.

An hour later, Sebastian found himself outside Fig’s classroom door. It still felt very strange to know that a teacher he’d hardly spoken to over the last few years had decided to adopt him, and he couldn’t help but feel he should be more formal around him. Yes, it would be nice to have the casual, carefree relationship that Dracaena had with him, but he supposed that would take time.

Perhaps he could just spend time in the library instead. It seemed foolish to go and talk to someone he barely knew about all his problems, but he had promised. And Dracaena said it would help. Merlin only knew he needed it right now. At any given moment of the day, he was one wrong look away from bursting into tears or flying into an uncontrollable rage, his emotions barely kept in check. If he wasn’t careful, he’d lose the only two friends he had left in the world.

With a sigh, he entered the classroom and crossed to the office, raising his hand to knock, hoping that Fig would be elsewhere so he could put this off a little longer. How much help would he be, really? He couldn’t tell him everything, he’d end up expelled and on trial, likely ending up in Azkaban. But he’d promised Drac, and his promises to her he valued above all else.

“Ah, Sebastian,” Fig was at his desk, and he smiled genially as Sebastian came in. This was something he had to get used to as well, this new use of his first name. He didn’t think he’d ever heard any of their teachers call him anything but his last name. “Come in my boy, what can I help with?”

Sebastian stood before the desk, his hands clasped in front of him.

“I… I don’t even know where to start,” he managed.

Fig got to his feet.

“Well, that sounds like we could both use a nice cup of tea,” he said, waving his wand and clearing a space on the cluttered sofa for them. “Come and have a seat, take your time now. I usually find that the beginning is the best place to begin.”

Sebastian nodded, hunching over as he sat, his elbows on his knees.

“I guess it starts when Anne got cursed,” he said, softly, then frowned. “No… before. It started when our parents died, and Solomon took us in.”

Dracaena and Ominis wandered through Hogwarts, their chatter casual and light. She tried to delicately ask how he was feeling after the whole Solomon debacle, but a stiff silence following that question steered her firmly away, and she kept their banter relaxed, poking light fun and allowing him to poke fun at her in return.

Their walk took them all through the halls and corridors, until they came upon a locked door.

Ominis raised a brow as Dracaena drew her wand and tapped the lock. “Usually, a locked door means we’re supposed to keep out,” he said.

“Never stopped me before,” she replied. “Come on, it might be interesting! Do you reckon Black keeps a stack of naughty books in here or something?”

Ominis flushed, spluttering a little as she laughed, but he followed her in with a grin, and they found themselves in a spacious, disused classroom, piled with old boxes, crates and cages.

“This looks interesting,” Dracaena said, approaching a small, decorative box. “Locked again! Damn it.”

Ominis chuckled as she tapped the lock and swore when it didn’t work. “I see you’re not one to be deterred. Tell me, is there a large, flashing sign on it that says ‘hands off?’”

She snorted. “No, but I want to know what’s in it. If it’s jewels or something, we could sell them.”

“You’re the only girl I know that would think of selling jewels instead of wearing them,” Ominis remarked with a smile. “It’s quite refreshing really.” He laughed again as Dracaena tried hitting the lock with a hardcover book, to no avail. “Allow me.”

He eased her gently to one side and pulled a thin piece of wire from his pocket.

“You know the muggle way to pick locks?” he heard her ask, astonishment in her voice.

“When I first came to live with Sebastian, I was determined to defy my parents in every way I could,” he replied, leaning down to the lock and listening as his deft fingers moved the wire into place. “Learning the muggle way to do a lot of things would infuriate them, and there wasn’t anything they could do about it other than send me howlers when I boasted about it.” He chuckled. “Believe me, a howler from them is nothing compared to what else they could do. I got off rather lightly.”

He heard the lock click, and his chest warmed as he heard her admiring gasp beside him. “There,” he said. “Now, tell me what’s insi-”

With a bang and a puff of smoke, something small and electric blue shot out of the box. Dracaena shrieked and Ominis yelped, throwing his hands up. The creature hovered in the air a moment, taking in its surroundings, before its pointed face split into a malicious grin, and it gave a shrill laugh of spiteful delight.

“Pixie!” Dracaena yelped, before it flew at her, smacking her in the forehead and sending her tumbling backwards. Ominis spun, but it grabbed his cloak and threw it over his head before shooting down and tripping him up. He fell with a shout, and Dracaena grabbed for her wand, spitting her hair out of her mouth. She shot a freezing charm, but the pixie dodged, upending a metal wastepaper basket on her head then clanging into the side of it, making her head ring like a bell.

She pushed the bin off in time to see the pixie dart out the open door, its piercing laughter fading as it zoomed down the corridor and out of sight.

Ominis sat up, hissing under his breath as he righted his cloak.

“Where is that little blighter? I’m going to tear it’s damn head off!” he spat.

“Gone,” Dracaena said, and they shared a worried look. “Ominis, if that thing’s loose in the castle…”

“Oh, Merlin,” he said. “We’ve got to find it.”

Sebastian sighed, his hands clasped in his lap, his gaze on the floor. A cup of tea balanced on the arm of the sofa beside him, untouched. Professor Fig sat at the other end, one knee crossed over the other, his attention unwavering as Sebastian described his childhood in cold, clinical detail, trying his best not to let any emotion cloud his factual account of what he suffered at Solomon’s hands.

“Anne was always the favourite,” he said. “Not that I minded, but it was always me that got the brunt of things whenever he was annoyed. And then when Anne got cursed…” he paused, wondering how best to detail what happened without turning into a blubbering mess. He sighed. Cold and clinical. That was safest. “Well. It got worse. Solomon didn’t want to help her. He never really tried. He turned me away every time I had a new idea, and it was up to me to save my sister. Dracaena helped, but…” he paused again, and shot a quick look at Fig. He’d said nothing the entire time Sebastian had spoken, but he was listening intently. He turned away and picked up his tea, grimacing when he sipped and found it cold. “Well. To cut a long story short I tried everything to help her, but Solomon… got fed up of it. He tried to stop me again, and ended up… overexerting himself. He died, and Anne blames me. I don’t know where she is now.”

The lie was bitter on his tongue, but it was better than the poison of the truth. Only he, Dracaena and Ominis knew what had really happened, and he rubbed his chest, wondering if the stories about the killing curse were true, and he’d somehow damaged his soul beyond repair.

“That sounds like an extraordinarily difficult life,” Fig said, speaking at last. “You have my sympathy, Sebastian. Such events would break a wizard twice your age, and yet here you are, still standing strong.” He shifted, and placed a comforting hand on the young Slytherin’s shoulder. “If you keep a level head, you’ll come out even stronger on the other side. The most important lessons in life are often hard, but if you can learn from them, then it’s not time that’s been completely wasted. Of course, we’d all prefer it if life was bright and easy each and every day, but one cannot appreciate the beauty of the dawn if the night didn’t come before it.”

“I suppose,” Sebastian said, his hand still resting on his chest, his fingertips pushing into his shirt, four points of sharp pressure. “But… Professor, I’ve been wondering…” he bit his lip, wondering how best to phrase the concern within him, and decided to make Solomon a scapegoat once again. “Do unforgivable curses really damage someone’s soul? Uncle Solomon left the Ministry because he used them against a Dark wizard, and…” his heart jolted painfully, and he winced. “What will become of him?”

What will become of me?

Fig sat back, running his hand over his grey stubble.

“The truth is, no one really knows what happens to a wizard’s soul after they pass on,” he said. “It is one of the great mysteries of life, and it’s entirely possible that damage to one’s soul using Dark Magic is simply a cautionary tale told to us to ensure none stray down such a path. That said,” he continued, as Sebastian’s heart leapt and plummeted almost in the same instant. “There are enough accounts and research to suggest it might be the case.”

Sebastian’s throat tightened, and he turned to the older man, his eyes wide.

“How do you fix it?” he asked, desperately. Too desperately. Fig’s brows moved a fraction, as if some suspicion had lit in his mind, and Sebastian tried to cover. “I just don’t want my uncle to suffer, that’s all.”

Another lie. Solomon could burn in every circle of hell for all Sebastian cared, but he had to maintain this façade, or he’d be in terrible trouble.

“A remarkably mature outlook,” Fig said, after a beat. “Most would wish harm on someone that tormented them so.”

Sebastian looked away, guilt plain on his face, but Fig smiled.

“If you’re concerned, Sebastian, then consider this. There is a way to ensure one’s soul repairs itself, but it’s difficult.”

“What?” Sebastian spun back to him.

“Remorse,” Fig said, and Sebastian’s brows went up. “True remorse for whatever curse they cast will repair the soul of a Dark wizard, though I expect there are few that are capable of such a thing.”

“I… yeah, I guess,” Sebastian said, relief sweeping through him like a wave. He was remorseful, he regretted ever teaching himself those damned curses, teaching them to Dracaena, and worse, using them. All they’d done is brought pain and suffering, and he’d learned far too late that they were Unforgivable for a reason. How he wished none of this had ever happened, and what he would give to take back what he’d done.

He lowered his head once more, fighting back the tears that threatened to spill down his cheeks. Fig patted him on the back.

“We all make mistakes,” he said, gently. “And all of us can be forgiven. Nothing in the world is ever black and white, Sebastian. I’m sure that whatever happened, your uncle is at rest and at peace. Anne will come around, in time. You're a bright man, Sebastian, and I firmly believe you're capable of incredible things. Everything will be alright in the end, you'll see.”

“I hope so,” Sebastian said, thickly, and got to his feet. “I think… I think I’m gonna go to the library. Get some work done.”

“I’ll be here,” Fig said. “I’ll always be here if you need me, son.”

Ominis and Dracaena hid behind a bookcase in the library, the latter peeking between the books at the trap they’d set, Ominis listening hard for any sound of the pixie’s shrill voice. They’d chased it high and low over the castle for the last hour, following a trail of destruction that even Peeves was incapable of, outsmarted at every turn as they tried to catch and subdue the little blue hellion. They were both bruised, and Dracaena’s robes were singed from when the pixie had dropped a lit torch on her, saved only by Ominis’ remarkably quick thinking as he pushed her into a nearby fountain.

She eyed the trap. It was a simple and very muggle in its design, with the hope that a magical creature would be less wary of something non-magical. It consisted of a small bag with a the label ‘EXTREMELY IMPORTANT, DO NOT TOUCH, NO PIXIES’ written on it that rested on a tiny pressure plate. Once the pixie landed on the plate to get at the bag, it would trigger the trap, and it would be caught.

They’d propped the door to the library open, and had been lying in wait ever since, hoping the pixie hadn’t caused too much trouble in the meantime.

They tensed as a high-pitched, piercing laugh echoed from somewhere beyond the library, and the pixie zoomed in, ignoring the trap completely and shooting to a nearby shelf, where it began to yank books out of their places, opening them and shredding the pages, flinging the bits of parchment high in the air.

“What the hell?”

Dracaena and Ominis flinched as the pixie stopped shredding books, all of them turning to find Sebastian in the doorway, staring in utter horror at the ruined tomes.

“You little fucker!” Sebastian yelped, lurching forward, drawing his wand.

“No!” Dracaena and Ominis yelled together, as Sebastian stepped right into the trap.

There was a second in which Dracaena believed the trap might have failed, as nothing happened. Then the pressure plate clicked, and the cloth under that was flung up by the corners, wrapping around Sebastian’s foot and yanking him into the air with a yell. He dangled upside down by his ankle, kicking and waving his arms as the pixie shrieked in fury and zoomed towards him, battering him about the head with a book.

“Diffindo!” Ominis yelled, and the rope holding Sebastian was severed. He fell with a yelp, crumpling to the floor as Dracaena leapt out from their hiding place and set off in hot pursuit of the pixie as it hurtled out of the library, heading for the greenhouses, her best friends following.

They heard the pixie clunking off the glass of the greenhouse walls and ceiling before they even got inside, but when they did, they were met with pandemonium. The pixie had somehow managed to unleash all of Garlick’s most dangerous plants, and a young Devil’s Snare was creeping across the floor, trying to hide in the shadows under the worktables, a few Venomous Tentacula were waving their tendrils threateningly, and a whole crate of Chinese Chomping Cabbages had been unleashed, rolling across the greenhouse floor, directly towards them.

“Freeze it!” Dracaena yelled, firing Glacius at the pixie again. Ominis roared as a cabbage sunk its teeth into his calf, and he kicked it right into the back of Sebastian’s head completely by accident, upsetting his aim and causing him to freeze one of the Tentaculas instead.

The pixie doubled up in midair, laughing uproariously, before shooting out of the Greenhouse and away.

“Come on!” Dracaena shouted, dragging her friends by the collar as they fired hexes at the advancing plants. They swiftly barricaded the door and leaned against it, panting.

“What on earth are you three up to?” a gently inquisitive voice said.

The trio jumped, turning to face Professor Fig, who had a mildly bemused and entertained expression on his face.

“Nothing,” they all said, far too quickly, and Fig laughed.

“I’ve been a teacher far too long,” he admonished them gently. “Ominis, you’re bleeding, Dracaena, you’re singed, and Sebastian, what happened to your hair?”

Sebastian glowered and swiped at the Cabbage spit.

“You’re not in trouble,” Fig said. “What’s going on?”

“Um…” Dracaena glanced at Ominis, who was busy hissing and inspecting the bite on his leg. “There’s a small chance we might have accidentally unleased a pixie.”

Fig chuckled. “Just the one.”

“Yeah.”

“I suppose it could have been worse,” he said, pointing his wand at Ominis’ calf and murmuring Episkey. “It could have been a whole swarm. Come on you three, let’s catch the little bugger.”

It took most of the rest of the day, but with Professor Fig’s help, the trio managed to corner and capture the pixie, much to it’s fury. They stuffed it back in it’s box, locked it tight and threw it in the Black Lake, before marching through the castle and trying to fix the damage it had done. It was gone ten o’clock in the evening by the time they all returned to Fig’s office, and he brought out several bottles of butterbeer, leaning on his desk as the trio flopped to the sofa.

“I must say, I expected some tomfoolery when I took you on,” he said, with a smile. “But unleashing a pixie? Am I to assume you’ve begun as you mean to continue?”

“Probably,” Dracaena said, her shoulders pressed between Sebastian and Ominis’. “Trouble does seem to have a habit of finding me, sir.”

Fig laughed. “I’m only sir in front of other students and professors,” he said, with a wink. “Any more trouble, you three, let me know about it. You won’t be in trouble, I was rather the scamp in my youth as well, you know, and I’d like to make sure you all finish the holidays with all your limbs still intact.”

Part 2

Masterlist

#hogwarts legacy #sebastian sallow #ominis gaunt #hogwarts legacy mc #dracaena hoctina #Professor Fig #eleazar fig #Dad!Fig

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ninapi · 1 year ago

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°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。

- ̥۪͙۪˚┊❛ Faded Reality ❜┊˚ ̥۪͙۪◌

Premise: Being the strongest wasn't always ideal, finding love and building a family behind closed doors not an easy fit, but you were worth it and the seed of that love had to be protected no matter what.

Word Count: 3087

Note: This is the second chapter for my "Infuriating Beauty" story, I named them differently just because lol, but you can read the first installment here~

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Life can change drastically in within hours, that is a fact.

Satoru’s life has always been monitored, controlled even, he’s never had the chance to do as he pleases, even if to others, he does what he wants, but truth is he only does what he’s allowed to, he just has a longer leash than others.

The Gojo clan was not allowed to fall in love. They had one purpose only, and the council would make sure things would remain unchanged.

His future has been planned since he wasn’t even born, and the moment his inheritance was confirmed, he became another toy of the higher ups. No matter how strong he was, he was still being controlled by them.

But this time things were more complex.

The moment Satoru returned home from his mission, he saw two very distressing scenes going on at the same time. As soon as he went into the house he saw a notification in his mailbox, the fact that it was an envelope completely sealed to only be able to be opened by him worried him to his core, but the moment he stepped in his living room and saw Megumi holding your legs up on his lap, rubbing your belly, his brain shut down.

Jealousy was painted all over his face, that was until he saw Megumi’s face. He had clearly not been sleeping for who knows how long, and you…you were pale, asleep, yet very much uncomfortable.

“What happened?” it’s all he managed to mumble out, he wasn’t angry anymore but worried.

“You happened…” the angry teenager face was just lasting way too long for Megumi, it normally makes him laugh, how sour he could get, but not today…”What do you mean…? Who did this to her…?”

“YOU did!”

“Shhh you’ll wake her up! What do you mean? What did I do now?” he was honestly confused, whisper-yelling at his adoptive son.

“We think she’s pregnant…”

All color left his face. He should be happy, he actually was, very deep down in his heart. Having a child with the love of his life seemed like a blessing, and would have been if he was a normal dude with his darling wife, but he wasn’t, this would bring chaos and potentially harm you if he didn’t do something, fast.

Going up immediately from your side, he went back to the letter he got from the council. While it wasn’t about your pregnancy, thankfully, it was regarding his now official engagement, he was to meet his future wife next Saturday, a party would be held as a thoughtful gift from one of the higher ups.

They really knew how to mess up people’s life…he just got to know he’ll be a father in a few months, only to be told he has to marry someone else, not the mother of his child but someone he’s never met before, on the same day.

“Toru…?” your voice was raw, your morning sickness has been too rough in your body and the sleepless nights just weren’t helping at all.

“I’m here baby. How are you feeling?” he burned the letter to ashes in seconds before heading back your way. He’ll think about how to get rid of that stupid engagement later, you were more important right now.

“I’m fine, it’s just a bit hard to keep things in my stomach…” Megumi was helping you sit up, wrapping you in a warm blanket; he was truly an angel.

“She’s been throwing up nonstop, she barely sleeps and doesn’t want to go to the doctor, doesn’t even want Ieri-san in the house…” he was tired, his eyes were barely open and the bags under his eyes were as dark as his hair.

“Why, my love? We need to get you checked, what if you’re just sick?” he was now by your side, holding your hand to his lips.

“I have your child inside of me, Satoru…I’m their mother, I feel it…Ok? Don’t question me…” your angry outburst startled him, you’ve always been so sweet to him, specially after a long mission.

“You see? She needs a doctor but nobody listens to good old Fushiguro…”

“I’m fine Gumi…I just need to sleep…Toru baby I’m sorry, I’m just a bit grumpy…my mood has been all over the place lately.” you were curling into a ball, clearly distressed by the entire situation, worrying Satoru.

“It’s fine, but I need you to see a doctor, love. It’s not that I don’t trust you, mothers are always right…I just want to make sure you and my baby are fine…can you do that for me…?” gathering you in his arms, he was more than sure you were right about it, he just could feel it, as weird as that sounded, he knew you were right.

“But what if someone sees or hears that I am pregnant? Isn’t that dangerous? What if they find out is yours?”

“You can say it’s mine…” Megumi was blushing madly, playing with his fingers. Even if it wasn’t the reality he wished it was, he wanted to at least be helpful to you in some way.

“Gumi, my angel, I would end up in jail if we say the baby is yours…” his cute idea made you chuckle, knowing you had both of them by your side willing to protect you and be with you all the way made you feel so full, tears were pooling in the corner of your eyes, proving your mood was indeed all over the place.

“Can’t Ieri-san see if she’s pregnant?”

“Unless a curse was the one impregnating her, I doubt Shoko would be of any help…”

“Well a curse did impregnate her…the worse curse there is…”

Satoru just hissed at Megumi, before placing soft kisses to the side of your head, “I’ll get someone I can trust. We need to make sure the baby is fine.” his word was final, even if you were the one pregnant, the child was his too, he had the right to demand his child's safety.

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Facing the council was one of the things Satoru hated the most. They never listened to him and he would always end up throwing threats here and there until they would allow him to get away with whatever he wanted.

However, this time they were fully immersed in the argument, not giving the chance to fight back. They wanted him to marry this woman he knows nothing about, just because a rumor said he was bringing a girl home.

If they ever got to know this said woman is very much indeed his woman and currently carrying his child, not only your relationship will be in danger but your life and the one of your little seed of love too.

“I am not marrying that ugly wench, you hear me? I am Gojo Satoru, I am not letting you decide who gets to go in my pants and who doesn’t.”

“You disrespectful child…You’ll do as you’re told, end of the story.”

“I won’t, and that’s final. Stop believing in stupid rumors, you know me, I don’t get attached, it’s all a baseless rumor and I won’t let you ruin my life for something as little as that. Now if you excuse me, I’m going in a little vacation, I’m sick of all your bullshit.” leaving the meeting behind, Satoru, who already had his and your bags packed and in a car outside, went out and straight to the airport where you and Megumi were waiting for him.

The doctor he took home to check on you confirmed you were very much pregnant, and warned the two of you of how it was probably going to affect you, recommending as much rest as possible to avoid loosing the child.

The idea of stress putting his baby in danger made Satoru want to leave the city as soon as possible.

Memories of how much fun he and Suguru had in Okinawa made him want to take you there.

Yaga knew about the situation and allowed the both of you to take a break disguised as a mission. It was all planned, he would say he’d spend a few days off by the beach on his own, then go off to this long mission. When in reality you’d be in the same resort as him and then move to a safe house in the other side of town until the baby was born.

And it all went surprisingly well, the elders stopped bugging him as he made them remember his past and who he was, it did sound a bit ridiculous, tying the man down over a rumor they weren’t able to prove.

But the pregnancy wasn’t as beautiful.

The stress was there, no matter how much he tried to distract you.

He was always on edge, checking the windows and locks constantly, while you missed Megumi dearly.

Hence the entire pregnancy was filled with stress, sorrow and pain from how big the child was. All this without being able to leave the house for months, was just souring your mood constantly.

Satoru loved you and his son. He would do anything to protect you, even if that ended up stressing you further.

“Toru come and rub my belly, your son is as stressed as you are right now…” he’s been kicking you all morning to the point that your hips now hurt in discomfort. He did feel when his daddy was on edge, they had a weird connection, one that scared him badly, what if he is also born with his infinity? Will the council take him away from you? Will they make you suffer as much as they did to his mother?

“I’m not stressed, babe. Just making sure everything’s ready…he’s coming soon and we gotta get him out safely…” he leaned on the couch beside you, gently rubbing the little protruded foot on your side, placing soft kisses all over your heavily swollen belly. “Our son is almost here, aren’t you boy?” listening to his daddy’s voice just made the child even more impatient, the kicking going wild. “You having a party in there, young man? Give your mama a rest will ya?” With his loving nuzzling and after humming a tune or two, the baby finally stopped moving, reminding Satoru how hard would be to keep the child hidden once he’s out.

“Feeling any better, babe? He’s a tough one, huh? Just like his daddy~” even with all this uncertainty, he was excited to meet his son, to bring life to this world, life coming out of the purest act of love, the only pure thing he’s ever created, his baby boy.

“Mhm…thank you. He really takes after you, I wonder how problematic will that be.” even if you were just talking about his little hyper self, Satoru’s mind was running a mile an hour, he would definitely have his powers. He suddenly remembered the tales of how uncomfortable his mother was when he was still inside of her, how sick she got, how she almost dies in child bed. He didn’t want that for you, didn’t want that for his child.

Being the strongest is great, but its also very lonely.

He doesn’t want his child to go through all he had to in his lifetime, so he’s got to do something.

“I’m going to kill them all (Y/N)…” his comment confused you, to say the least.

“Who baby?” reaching over to caress his face, you brought his head to rest on your chest. Satoru had this moments when his mind wasn’t as clear, when insanity took over all rational thought, and you couldn’t blame him, he had been through so much and he’s still so young.

“Everyone in the council, those old farts are a danger to my family. I must protect you and our son…they’ll always be a threat, they’ll never let me be happy, to have a normal life… I want to marry the woman I love, the mother of my son..be a normal dad take the kid to school, play catch, you know normal stuff, grill some meat on our yard, go to the zoo…They’ll never let us do that babe…” he was having one of his breakdowns, that much was clear to you, but this time he was right, there was nothing you could say to make him feel better.

“You can’t just kill them all, love. Even if you do, you won’t be able to do all that with us, because they’ll throw you in jail…” his face was now completely buried on your chest, his voice just a muffled whimpery mess. “I hate them…”

“I know you do, my love..I do too…but we can’t just do that and you know it.”

While you had permission to stay hidden while the child was born, you were to return to the school as soon as possible, both of you, as it would be suspicious to have you out for so long, it would draw too much attention.

“I will do what I can to get you two a normal life…”

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The baby was as beautiful as his dad, his white hair shinning in the sunlight, his big blue eyes would make the sea go jealous of their beauty.

A true Gojo.

While you were thrilled of having a tiny Satoru in your arms, he was terrified. He feared they would try to take his son away, that they would get to you, his treasure, and get rid of you.

“Toru…your son is getting restless, remember, he feels your anxiety…” Satoru was now holding his baby boy in his arms, his eyes were so full of love, he was so tiny, so soft, so beautiful. Even if he looked just like him, he had your smile, and those adorable cheeks of yours he loves to bite so much. He never thought being a dad would feel like this, he felt so emotional, he would die willingly to protect his son.

“I’m sorry sweetpea, daddy was just thinking about something, that’s all.” kissing his tiny forehead while his son held his hand to his chest made him remember how much of a happy man he was.

“We have to go back to school next week, Yaga called, they’re starting to ask questions…” to this you just nodded, you knew this would happen but having to leave your new born home wasn’t something you wanted to do this fast.

“Can we take turns? I don’t know who we can trust to take care of him…”

“I’ll talk to Yaga, baby. I’ll go back to work first, you can rest a while longer.” forging a report on a five months long mission would be a pain, specially being Satoru in it, he could kill any curse in seconds, but he had to come up with a plan, something that would give you more time to rest, to give him more time to figure things out and see how he could give you two the life you deserved, not the one you currently lived in, in the shadows.

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Satoru hated having to hide his true self from everybody, he wanted to tell the world how much he loved you, how beautiful his woman looked while pregnant, all rounded and fluffy, how cute and perfect his son is.

He hated having to go every so often to bars and clubs, to fake a ‘normal life’ just so those bastards would leave his family alone. He felt dirty, it was all just so wrong, having those women fawning over him, bringing him alcohol, when all he wanted was to cuddle his wife and son to sleep in his very comfy bed while watching Disney movies.

Having to live a double life just to please those who wanted him to have an ill fated life was starting to become too overwhelming and dark thoughts came hunting him once more.

It would all be fixed in seconds, all he has to do is get rid of them all. Then he’d take you to another country, learn the language and live as Frank, Jane and little Steve who lost their passports at sea…

“Satoru…you look awful…” Yaga was chewing on his sandwich, his worries have been growing as time went by, he was just not himself anymore, always down or angry, you were also not as bright as before, tired, sad even.

“If I said I wanna kill them all…would you help me?” he wasn’t thinking clear anymore, he was just so sick of everything.

“Easy boy, I know it’s difficult to live this way, but you should have thought about this before getting her full with child…”

“DON’T YOU TALK TO ME LIKE I REGRET IT! I love my son, I love my wife! I want them to have a normal life, I WANT A NORMAL LIFE. I want to eat my wife’s warm dinner every night, sleep in her arms, play with my son, read him a story! Why do I have to go drink with whores, go kill stupid curses? I’m sick of this…so sick of all this bullshit…I didn't ask to be the strongest, I didn't ask for any of this....why can't I just be happy with my family? Is that so wrong for me to do...?” he was crumbling, his mask shattering to millions of tiny pieces, pieces only you were able to glue back together with your love.

Heaving a deep sigh, Yaga patted Satoru’s back, “Let’s kill them all….”

Trying to give you a perfect life was difficult, nobody said it would be easy.

But he would do anything for you.

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Masterlist Next Chapter

Note: this ended up being too long, so I decided to split the idea in two and now there will be a third chapter lol

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bg-brainrot · 9 months ago

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WHaBFHtLA - Astarion x GN!Reader - Chapter 14: A Blossoming Friendship

Pairing: Astarion x GN!Reader (Elf!Tav)

Genre: Reincarnation, Angst, Mystery, Slow burn

Rating: Explicit, 18+

Tags: Gender-Neutral Pronouns, POV Second Person, Canon-Typical Violence, references to past Astarion trauma, references to death and dying, mild angst, notes of body dysmorphia?/comparing to past-self

WC: 9k words, 14/?? chapters

Summary: Now in your second week of living together, you and Astarion have to get past some of the hurdles your first week introduced, all while getting a bit closer along the way.

Ao3 | [Ch13][Ch15] | WHaBFHtLA Masterlist

Your second week staying with Astarion starts off with an apology.

“I… apologize for how I reacted yesterday.” Astarion stands before you, in front of the doorway to your old room, looking oddly chastised. You hadn’t said anything to him about the previous day’s conversation, but he’d evidently come to the conclusion on his own.

“I’m sorry too,” you say, meeting his eyes with all of the guilt that had bubbled up over night. ”For some reason your words made me feel… defensive.” Internally, you wonder if that’s part of caring for someone as much as you do him– his every word hits you like a ton of bricks.

“And I don’t think I’ve eaten well enough recently,” he says, running a hand through his hair. “I might have been a tad severe as a result.”

You open your mouth, willing to forgo any of your previous reservations, ready to offer your own blood if it means that he’ll be better off, only for him to hold up a hand to stop you.

“If you’re planning on offering, I’m still not interested,” he says. “Let’s not complicate whatever this is any further.” He waves a hand between you, gesturing at the ‘this’ in question.

So you close your mouth again, understanding his reasoning well enough. Though if his hunt last week had gone so poorly, why hadn’t he said something? “Well, know that the offer is always on the table. I’ve certainly gotten used to your fangs in my dreams,” you say in response. He raises a single eyebrow at you, and you can sense the suggestive tone he’s about to adopt before you waylay him with a question, “So are you heading hunting today then?”

The eyebrow drops back down and Astarion seems a bit sullen at the idea. You wonder why that might be, when he reluctantly supplies a statement that both thrills and annoys you, “Truth be told, I don’t like the idea of leaving you here alone.”

Does he think I’m incapable of taking care of myself? Or maybe I’m already such an integral part of his life–no, no, that clearly can’t be. You reign in your thoughts to ask, “Oh? Why is that?”

Astarion looks at you like perhaps you’re not as intelligent as he had previously thought. “Because you’re a wizard. A living, breathing disaster just waiting to happen.” His tone is judgemental, brutal, and indicates that he believes the words he says without a shadow of a doubt.

“What?” you blurt out, apologies all but forgotten as another ton of bricks hits you. You knew he judged wizards harshly from his words about Gale, but for some reason you thought you could become the exception to the rule. “You know that all wizards don’t have a Netherese Orb trapped in their chest, right?”

The vampire rolls his eyes at you, as if to say ‘obviously, darling’ before he says, “Despite what your memories may indicate, Gale is one of the– ugh– good ones. Until I’ve seen more of what you’re capable of, I’m afraid I’ll find it difficult to leave you alone.”

“You left me alone just last week!” you exclaim, indignant now. When he doesn’t immediately respond, understanding dawns on you. “You didn’t leave me alone last week, did you?”

He shakes his head at you, not even bothering to feign embarrassment. Instead, he simply says, “Don’t worry. I’m not watching your every move.”

That does little to assuage your worries, as you consider every move that he could be watching. You think of Dal waiting for your Sending spell and imagine your window of opportunity shrinking as his trust in you lies dead in the deepest trenches of the Underdark. “Oh, great,” you say, sarcastically. “So am I nothing more than a prisoner to you?”

“Nothing of the sort,” Astarion retorts quickly. “You are free to leave whenever you’d like. I’d just like to make sure that no one spontaneously combusts and that my manor stays in one piece while you’re here.”

You want to scream, to throw something at him, level a Fireball right in this very hallway just to prove him right. But you temper your anger, take a deep breath, and stare at him. The look on his face seems to indicate that he doesn’t think he’s done anything wrong– you suppose in his mind, he’s only exercising the right to protect himself. Reasoning with him won’t get you anywhere, however showing him that you’re not a threat might.

“Fine,” you manage to choke out. “What do you need me to do to prove that I’m a good wizard?”

His fair face scrunches up in thought at your question, like he hadn’t even considered that you could do such a thing. “Honestly, I haven’t a clue,” he finally says, trilling a light laugh. Normally, you’d enjoy his laughter, but this one just makes you want to shoot fire out of your fingertips.

Again, you wonder how you ever put up with this man in your past-life, how you got past all of the abrasiveness and made it to the man who genuinely cared for you. “You have to give me some chance, Astarion,” you say, irritation dripping from your words as you glare at him.

Astarion gives a pensive little hum, staunchly ignoring the daggers shooting from your eyes. “Well, we can start with something simple. What is your magical specialty? Or, sorry, school?”

That question is easy enough that you answer quickly, “I dabble in any type of magic, but my focus in school was Transmutation. I also quite like the schools of Illusion and Evocation, but I promise to keep the latter out of the house.” At least, I’ll try, you think.

“Transmutation, eh?” he says, furrowing his brow. You suspect he doesn’t know the schools of magic well enough to know what that means, but you nod anyway. “What’s your most powerful spell then?”

That all but confirms that he doesn’t understand your skillset. “It depends on what you’d consider powerful, I suppose,” you say, mentally running through the spells at your disposal. “I could turn you into a sheep, redirect a river, shape stone. But nothing as destructive as you’re imagining.”

While you’re sure that your most powerful spells are about as tame as tame can be, Astarion’s concerned brows only knit closer together. “That sounds like it could be quite dangerous.”

You want to throw your hands up into the air, certain at this point that nothing you say will sate this man’s continuous excuses for keeping you at a solid arm’s length. But you refrain, resorting to logic. “I promise it’s not. Besides, you can’t go on much longer without blood, can you?”

“Oh, I shall manage. I’ve gone without for far longer before,” he says, smiling at you once again. Ignoring any protestations that seem about to burst out of you, he continues, “Now that that’s settled, what would you like to do today?”

Nothing feels settled, simply brushed away and you’re well and truly mad now. It’s plain as day on your face, your plans to meet with Dal all but shattered by this grinning blockhead. Luckily, you have an excuse to cooldown by yourself.

“I need to go get food,” you say, trying your best to remain composed.

“Ah yes, that,” he responds, sounding annoyed that you’re throwing yet another wrench in his meticulously planned out day. If your anger bothers him, he shows no indication that he cares in the slightest. “Very well then, I shall see you later?”

You don’t trust yourself to speak without snarling, so you just nod. He takes that as his cue to leave, and you stare up at the ceiling in frustration once he disappears. “May my soul grant me the strength to deal with this man.”

Your trip promises to be short today, but you still linger a bit as you shop, thinking about the man you now know as Astarion.

He’s impossible, part of you says. He’s just hurt, another part of you counters. And throughout it all, you find yourself in a fog as you pick apples or select meats, thinking of the way his hair curls so softly around his face or the way his fangs peak over his lips when he smiles. Dreams of him were potent enough, but now that you’ve met him? Your mind feels addled with images of him.

No, you think, shaking your head out of another daydream. Focus on getting through to him. You know who he is, deep down. This… front will pass in due time.

You return back to the manor shortly after midday, expecting to find Astarion waiting for you like the last time. Instead you find a note in the entrance hall.

Not sure when you would return, so I went to visit my siblings. Should be back by afternoon.

A sudden fear strikes you, washing away all of your anger and muddled thoughts– you hadn’t thought to warn Dalyria to not mention your communication. She could be telling him at this very moment. You remember how she’d mentioned that Astarion had been difficult– likely she knew better. But you still couldn’t help the sinking feeling forming in your chest since that morning, the fear that your chance to speak with her was only getting slimmer and slimmer.

By the time Astarion returns, you’ve utterly wound yourself up in your nerves. He finds you in the library, book open and completely unread in front of you. You smile at him, and even you can feel the strain in your face and voice as you exclaim, “Welcome back!”

He purses his lips at the greeting. “What are you up to?”

“Nothing!” you say, too quickly, too high pitched.

“You used to be much better at lying, darling,” he replies, tutting at you. “Does it have to do with Dal?”

You hadn’t had much reason to lie to him yet. Now that you do, you’re all but crumbling before him. You take a breath, determined to be better at this. “Not at all, why would you think that?” Even to your own ears, your words sound weak.

“Oh, I don’t know,” he says, stepping closer to the chaise lounge you’re seated on. His voice drops an octave, somehow both dangerous and thrilling to you. “Maybe the ill-placed hope that I saw in her and Petras’ eyes when I went to visit them. You wouldn’t have anything to do with that, now would you?”

Astarion doesn’t seem angry, he doesn’t look ready to devour you, so you’re not sure how to take the question. “No?” you offer with a shrug.

He sits next to you on the lounge with a sigh. “Since I didn’t explicitly state it before, I will now: if you get up to anything with the spawn, consider our situation over.”

You blink at that, surprised at the hard line between him and siblings being drawn once more. “Why?” you can’t help but ask.

The vampire turns to look at you, face serious in a way you haven’t seen since you agreed to stay with him. “Because we want different things. And, despite my giving, selfless nature, I refuse to share you with them.” His words cause an odd fluttering in your belly, but his expression remains serious as he continues, “If you want to help them badly enough to abandon me, know that I won’t make the same mistake twice.”

It’s clear that his stance doesn’t allow for argument and, to be honest, none comes to your mind. He has every right to ask you to choose, just as you have every right to want to know more. You’ve reached an impasse, but you also don’t want whatever this is to stop. Astarion has always been your biggest priority, in your previous lifetime and this one– despite what he seems to believe. So you relent, “Fine. I’ll… leave it be.” For now, you swear to yourself.

Astarion smiles at that, his eyes soften at the corners ever so slightly, and your stomach does a small flip. Oh, what I would do to bring about that smile every day, you think, unable to help yourself. You silently apologize to your past-self: you’d never realized how powerful this man truly was.

You spend the rest of the day together, having washed away both the previous day’s awkwardness and today’s struggles. Sitting next to each other in the library like this, you can imagine that you’re truly becoming friends at the very least. You wonder when the last time Astarion made a friend was. Despite your fondness for the man, you don’t believe most people would put up with his ever-changing moods for long.

That night your reverie is of the Hero’s Life once more. Astarion is absent from this dream, as are the rest of your companions or any spawn. You’re alone, searching for something in the Underdark. Every hundred yards or so you pull out a map and take notes in that same code you’ve yet to decipher. You try to remember all that you can about the dream, the notes taken, the route you traverse. All the while you feel a sense of purpose, you feel driven, and, underneath it all, a longing and a love.

After that day, you try to establish somewhat of a routine with your new vampiric friend– of course, you haven’t said the word to Astarion yet, for fear of how he might react.

You start your days off with a chat over breakfast. He asks you what you’d like to do for the day or offers you to accompany him on tasks. You either offer up an activity or agree to help him– it’s all rather mundane for the ‘beautiful, tortured vampire secluded in his mansion’ impression he initially gave you.

That’s not to say you don’t continue your line of questioning, nor your less-than-subtle attempts to get him to read your journals or tell you more of your past-self. Occasionally he seems to be on the verge of running away, but he makes good on his apology for his behavior. He stays and endures it, either answering your questions or rebuffing your investigations.

You learn about what happened to Wyll, Shadowheart, Jaheira, Minsc, all of your tiefling allies– Astarion never found out what happened to Lae’zel or Withers, but he suspects that they could still be out there somewhere.

You learn about how the vampires set up a new base in the Underdark, how they’d lost many, how they’d fought off even more. You continue to learn about managing the colony and you wonder if Astarion is teaching you if only to get something of a helper out of this whole arrangement. You decide not to ask, lest your heart break again.

Given your vow to Astarion, you resist the urge to message the spawn every single night. You remind yourself of how one wrong message could ruin everything, could put Astarion forever out of your reach– that thought is the only thing that keeps you from muttering the spell. You know it won’t be long before your curiosity eventually gets the better of you, and you’d like to think that Astarion may eventually come around. It’s a longshot, but you have to hope.

Despite the attempt at a routine, each day does come with its trials and tribulations. Ranging from unpleasantness as Astarion puts it to some surprisingly pleasant moments.

On your ninth day in the house, he receives another visitor.

When the knock comes this time, you’re both in the kitchen, this time for dinner. With the way Astarion’s posture straightens, his eyes narrow, and he scooches a bit further into the table, you can tell he’s planning to ignore them again. You level the man with a forceful stare, before saying, “If you don’t want to drink from me, please at least consider this person.”

He sighs, turning his narrowed gaze to you. “I don’t particularly care to.”

“At least check?” you ask, voice pleading with him. “What if they’re delicious? You won’t know unless you check.”

Astarion only rolls his eyes at you before getting up. “If I regret this, I will be taking it out on you.” You don’t doubt it, but find that you don’t mind if it means that he gets a meal out of it.

Reluctantly, he leaves the kitchen and heads toward the door. You trail behind him from a distance, watching all the while, curious to see the type of person who would appear on his doorstep. Would it be a stunning beauty, someone with a sad, allure, maybe a raving fanatic?

When he opens the door, you try to catch a glimpse of the person on the other end. You don’t get a full view, but they look to be a fair-haired human by the looks of it

“Hello there, what can I do for you?” he says to the waiting human– you’re glad to note that you can discern the fake-tone to his welcome this time. Now that you’ve heard some of his genuine happiness in real life, it’s much easier to differentiate.

The human seems to have a spiel ready, far better than anything you had prepared. They wax poetic about being some kind of grand healer, how their god has given them the blessing to come here and cure him through any means possible– how they had chosen that to be through love. Astarion must have the poker-face of a god because he stands there the entire time, listening.

Finally they say, “I assure you, with the strength of my love, any can be healed.”

You can practically see the smothered laughter in Astarion’s deep breath, as he likely uses all of his willpower to keep it from bursting out. When he finishes the breath, all that you hear is, “Well, isn’t that sweet?”

“Nothing so sweet as you, I assure you,” they say, and you have to admit, they clearly rehearsed a few lines. You can’t fully discern their expression, but the wide, pleading eyes, begging for a chance, are visible even from a distance. Oh gods, they’re the epitome of what Astarion was talking about, aren’t they?

Astarion seems bored of the exchange now, and he dismisses them without another glance. “Well, this has been a delight, but I’m afraid I’m not in need of healing right now.”

The door is slammed in their face, and you jump back at the sharpness of his rejection. You suppose he did the same to you, not too long ago, but watching it happen feels, well, bad.

The man turns away from the door, ignoring the following knocks. When he spots you watching from the stairs, he finally lets out the humorless laugh he’d been holding back. “Did you enjoy the show?”

“No,” you say, honestly. Walking down the steps to him, also ignoring the pounding on the door, you ask the question that had been bothering you since last week, “How often do you reject visitors?”

“Not often, really. Only if they seem dangerous, insane, or try to move in with me,” he looks at you with the last one.

You ignore his taunt and continue to dig. “Why did you reject them then? They didn’t seem particularly dangerous or insane.” You wonder again if it may be because of you.

“It feels awkward.” When your inquiring eyes don’t relent, he continues, “Ugh, it’s not like I’m worried about you or anything, but the idea that– that some part of you is… them. I don’t want them to see me like this.”

“Oh,” you say. Of course it’s not me, you think. What a fool I am.

At the dejected little droop of your shoulders, he groans and gives your forehead a flick with his fingers. “Stop looking like a kicked puppy, and get back to dinner.”

You drop the subject and follow him back to the kitchen, all the while kicking yourself for believing in anything other than what was plain before you: for the last three-hundred years, this man has loved one person and one person only. Until you can find a space in his new life, anything he feels toward you will only be a result of that. You would do well to remember it or your heart will just keep breaking.

You aren’t afraid to try to carve that space for yourself though.

On your tenth day in the house, you cause the disturbance to your routine.

“Could I hold your hand?” you ask as you’re both working side-by-side. You’ve found it oddly intimate to work so closely together– especially after countless daydreams of the few moments his hand was in yours. And, after more than two hours of nearly touching, you can't hold the question in any longer. If his shoulder so much as brushes yours once more, you're liable to scream. You figure asking is easier.

“Excuse me?” he asks, understandably not comprehending the words that have come out of your mouth, especially when he had just been in the process of explaining to you the different defensive formations the spawn had been developing.

“I was wondering if we could hold hands. You know–” You reach out to him with a hand as you explain. “These things?”

He sits there, staring at your hand in the air, papers frozen in his own hands. The stillness of his body, the shock that he’s not bothering to hide, twist at your heart. Oh gods I should have just screamed.

“Sorry, that was too much, wasn’t it?” you say, wishing you had a means to turn back time. “I just wanted to–”

“No, it’s fine. It’s not exactly the most sinful of acts,” he says, though he still refuses to meet your eyes. “I’ve done far more with countless others. Hells, your soul has seen far more than the palm of my hand, hasn’t it?”

You blush at the insinuation. “I suppose so.”

“Here,” he says, placing the papers back onto the table and sticking his hand out toward yours. It looks like that of a doll, pristine and pale in its beauty, and you’re abruptly self-conscious about your own hands.

You debate whether or not you should take it now that it’s in front of you, but it would hardly do to leave it like this. Besides, like he said, you’ve dreamt of far, far more. Trying to push down the decidedly more sinful thoughts his hands conjure up, you reach out toward his waiting hand.

The first thing you feel is cold.

His hand, much like you remember the rest of his body being, is cold. Surprisingly so, since he always seems so alive– but an oddly chilling reminder of the difference in your mortality.

The next thing you note is the heat of your own hand and how the cold stings you a bit where the two temperatures collide, just short of painful. You’re reminded of the times his hands would leave cold, burning trails along your body in your dreams, and, despite what he’d said, your mind is certainly running away from you.

Finally, you can feel your heart, which begins a frenzied little race, one with no finish line in sight. You've held hands with lovers before, but your nerves are certainly getting the better of you this time. You'd be surprised if Astarion couldn't feel every pounding beat.

You don’t want to look at his face, certain your own is burning with heat at the mere hand-to-hand contact. But you also need to look at his face.

What you see makes your heart drop a little.

Astarion’s expression looks bland, as if he’s completely unaffected by the contact. You consider all that he’s done with others, his gradual adaptation to intimacy with your past-self, and you suppose it makes sense. Somewhere deep down, you’re glad that the touch is so easy for him.

But you’re still disappointed, knowing that you are affected by this. And knowing that he can see it plainly on your face if his answering smirk is any indication.

“Please don’t tell me that this is too much for you,” he says, grinning like a shrewd cat and squeezing your hand a bit.

Your blush intensifies and you can feel the rest of your body begin to heat in embarrassment. “No,” you answer, trying your best to sound confident. “I’ve done far more than hold hands before. However…”

Astarion raises an eyebrow at you and leans in a bit. “However?”

You don’t mind taking your embarrassment as a chance to jab back at this man. In fact, you’re starting to think you won’t get anywhere without a few more barbs thrown at him. “I have never had the chance to hold the hand of someone like you.”

“Oh, someone as handsome as me?” he preens, using his unoccupied hand to brush a piece of his hair back in a show of vanity.

“No, someone as unreasonably cold,” you say with a laugh, adding a second hand on top of his.

The sudden second hand seems to have a greater effect than the first. Astarion reels back a little bit, keeping his expression plain save for a slight clenching of his jaw. It doesn’t seem like a pleasurable reaction, but he also doesn’t wrench his hand out of yours. After a second to collect himself, he responds in a tone of mock indignation, “How dare you? I’ll have you know that plenty would kill for someone to keep them cold while in the deepest throes of passion.”

You should have known better trying to jab at a man like Astarion– he will always have the last word or the upper hand, especially when you provide him with such a clear opening. However, when you move to pull away from his hand, overwhelmed with your own memories of such moments, Astarion only grips both of your hands together tighter.

“Running away already? I’m rather enjoying it.”

With a bit more force, you could probably make a flustered escape, but then you remember how your past-self would make fun of him for seeking their body heat. You suppose he may not be saying that just to embarrass you. “I’m more of someone who runs toward, thank you very much,” you say, pushing past the conflicting feelings and squeezing his hand in both of yours firmly.

His resounding laugh is lovely, and he follows it with a similarly warming set of words, “Believe me, I’ve noticed. It might be endearing if it weren’t so frightening.”

You choose to focus on the endearing part of it, fighting back a smile for the next few minutes of banter, your hands clasped all the while. You could almost forget that his hand is in yours if it weren’t for the occasional tug of his arm, the squeeze of his fingers. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you’re certain that you’re logging the feel of his hand for all future daydreams.

As your conversation peters out, Astarion pulls away saying, “Thank you for warming me up. It was... nice.”

“Well, thank you for letting me hold your hand.” You clear your throat a bit, and pick up a paper from the table. “Shall we get back to it?”

“Anytime, darling,” he responds with a wink as he picks up his own papers.

Despite yourself, you’re already thinking of the next time you may have a chance to hold his hand. I’m nearly a hundred years old, why does this man make me react like an adolescent? you think as you hide a newly forming blush with a piece of parchment.

Daydreams of his hands all but ruin your productivity for the day, but you do feel a bit satisfied, knowing that you’ve made progress in other ways.

The eleventh day, you disturb the routine once more.

After seeing Astarion shift in his seat uncomfortably one too many times, you snap.

“You need to drink,” you say, interrupting his sentence– he’d just been in the middle of explaining what had been rebuilt in place of Cazador’s palace as you ate breakfast.

He looks at you, surprise plain on his face. He’d been speaking so unguarded, that you almost feel bad for interrupting, but the bloodlust that comes over him at the thought of drinking is just as unguarded. “I’m fine,” he insists.

“You’re not,” you say, pointing your fork at him. “I can practically see you salivating over my neck every time I tilt my head.”

“I am not salivating,” he says, a look of distaste on his face. But he does bring up a hand, as if to wipe any possible drool away.

You roll your eyes at his denial and stand up. Like someone with the confidence of the Hero of Baldur's Gate, you approach the vampire's side of the table. Then, as coolly as you can muster, you sit on the table, directly next to Astarion's tense form. He seems to be taken aback by your brazen stubbornness, unsure of what to say when you all but shove your wrist into his face with a demanding look.

"Drink from me, please. It doesn’t have to be my neck.” Your voice comes out as casual as you can make it, as if you could be speaking of your own breakfast. However, inside your stomach is in knots, wondering how bad this might backfire if Astarion believes you've taken it a step too far.

And you think you might have with the way he hesitates. But you can see the way his sharp, red eyes trail down your wrist, along your arm, and you know he's actively considering it. The predatory look brings a shiver down your spine, but it’s not altogether unpleasant. His words betray none of the hunger though, “I am not some uncontrollable beast, you know.”

“And you don’t have to prove anything to me, you know,” you say, waving your arm in front of him ever so slightly. “Come now. Or you'll continue to be sour.”

Astarion visibly gulps, and you watch his neck work with rapt fascination. Something about the thought of your own blood running down his throat fills you with an exhilaration you haven’t felt before. It alarms you how much you want this too. “Fine,” he finally says. “Only a bit.”

The vampire grabs your wrist, cold fingers touching your pulse point ever so gently. You can feel his cool breath on your skin as he approaches, eyes focused and staunchly not meeting your own.

It feels like an eternity, the time between his approach and the actual bite. The anticipation may bring you to another early death. Your heart is pounding in your chest and surely Astarion can feel it as he grips your wrist.

Finally, he bites.

In your dreams, Astarion’s bites had been extremely sensual. Almost each of them had involved one or both of you in a state of undress, your expressions in the very throes of ecstasy. This is different. He’s being so very careful with you that it makes you want to scream in complete frustration– he somehow manages to treat you as a weakling even now.

That’s not to say that he’s not deeply invested in drinking your blood now that he’s there. His fangs are latched on so thoroughly, his eyes closed in complete relief, and after a few gulps, it almost seems like he’s forgotten you’re even there. It allows you to take a better look at him, a long look that won’t cause any snide remarks or raised eyebrows.

From this vantage point you can see his long lashes, the sharp profile of his nose, the lines around his mouth. You can even note the beautiful little imperfections on his skin. It’s a view that you feel lucky to have, a worthy trade for some blood you were hardly using anyway.

Then you hear it: A soft, happy hum coming from deep within Astarion’s chest. It seems almost involuntary, but the sound of it, the effect your blood is having on him, it stirs a warmth in you. Oh gods, you think. I’m so glad he’s only biting my wrist. Why is this so… intoxicating? Your dreams had told you as much, but it bothers you to know that you were as susceptible in real life.

Your pulse continues to speed up, from both his very presence and the blood you’re losing, and your head begins to spin. Sensing the end of his feeding, Astarion draws one long, last gulp.

As he pulls his teeth away, his bottom lip, slick with your blood, brushes your wrist ever so softly. You can’t help the sharp intake of breath that follows, nor the way your body leans toward him.

Astarion, for his part, doesn’t seem to notice your body’s subconscious reaction to him. His eyes remain closed, a bliss on his face that you haven’t seen since your dreams. “Mmm,” he mutters. “That was…”

More than anything you want to know what that was, but you’re lightheaded beyond belief. You find yourself swaying, dropping back onto the kitchen table to avoid colliding into Astarion’s body. The resounding ‘thud’ of your body falling onto the table stops the man’s words.

“Are you alright, darling?” he asks, standing up and over you in a heartbeat.

You close your eyes and nod, finding the dizziness of your actual body losing blood versus your dream body losing blood to be quite different. Any longer and you suspect you might have passed out, wrist still between his teeth.

“I know you said you aren’t soft,” he starts, voice coming from above your head. “But you haven’t lost a lot of blood before, have you?”

You shake your head, wishing more than anything to prove him wrong, but knowing that in this moment you can’t bring yourself to. “Would you believe me if I said that a papercut could cause severe blood loss?” Your voice is weak and airy, but you still manage to infuse a bit of humor into it.

Astarion laughs and responds with a simple, “Not even a smidge, my dear.”

Despite your already racing heartbeat, your heart picks up at that– for the first time since you’ve arrived, his use of a pet name didn’t sound condescending or critical of you. When he says ‘my dear’, you can almost hear a fondness in his voice.

As if he can tell that your expectations are getting ahead of you, Astarion dashes your hopes shortly afterward. “Now then, let’s get you patched up before you ruin the rest of a perfectly good day, shall we?”

You reluctantly open your eyes, sit up, and wait for Astarion to fetch you a health potion. There’s a lightness to his step that wasn’t there moments ago, a flush to his cheeks, and a tinge of pink along his pale ears– ah, that’s what a well-fed vampire looks like, you think.

While the feeling of being bloodless may very well be one of your least favorites, you can’t deny the pure satisfaction that seeing Astarion like this gives you. I suppose I’ll need to get used to losing blood.

He returns shortly after, handing you a potion bottle. “Here. Take this,” he says.

You take the health potion gratefully, downing it in a few gulps. When you finally remove the bottle from your lips, you turn to find Astarion looking at you. “Hmm? What’s the matter?”

“Oh nothing,” he says with a cheerful smile. “Just savoring the taste of your blood.”

You look at him for a second, unsure what to say to such a statement. “Is there… something special about it?”

Astarion shakes his head, and your heart drops despite yourself. “Nothing like that. It’s just different. I suppose I expected it to taste like–well, you know who.” He waves a hand in the air. “But you taste… a bit spicier.”

The way he says the word, drawn out in a low rumble is liable to knock you back onto the table. But you manage to hold on, getting out, “You don’t say?”

“Yes, it must be the magic,” he says with a shrug. “Hells if I know. Leon and Dal have been the ones investigating blood.”

Oh? you think, an all-too eager question about to slip out of your mouth.

Astarion stops the follow-up with ease. “Now that we’ve dealt with that unpleasantness, shall we get on with our day? Or will you require some rest?”

You decide to stow the information away for later and get on with your day as Astarion suggested. Though between that information, the feel of Astarion's lips on your wrist, and the blood loss, the rest of the day passes in a blur.

On the twelfth day, you start to feel the pressure.

It’s more than a third of the way through your stay with him, and the most you’ve done with Astarion is hold his hand and give him blood. You’re beginning to wonder if you’re doomed to a lifetime without him, that he doesn’t feel a spark between you the same way you do.

He’d said so to Dal, when he said you were all but repulsive. He’d shunned you time and time again. You’re starting to think that, despite everything you believe in, you may have to… change yourself for him.

Not permanently, you assure yourself. Just something to get him interested.

You think you have just the spell to help. Flipping through your spellbook, you settle on preparing Alter Self for the day, and decide to use it when it makes the most sense.

“What do you like in a lover?” You ask him. You waited until a lull happened in conversation this time, but it's naturally tough to be ready for such a question.

As such, when Astarion furrows his brows and asks, "Whatever would you like to know that for?" you know you'll need to sell the situation.

At this point, you think you've reached an amicable state with him of course– something along the lines of friends with a bit extra mixed in. However this line of questioning could get messy very quickly, so you came prepared with an angle.

"I was wondering," you start, scooting a bit closer to him in your chair. "Since you've had a wide variety of lovers, perhaps some stood out more than others."

"Well, certainly," he says, brushing away your response. "But why do you want to know?"

You try not to let the implication get to you: that you have no reason to ask him about lovers when you're so far from becoming one. But at the same time, you suspect he might just want to hear you say it, to express some kind of interest in him. "I like to be prepared, you know in the event we ever find ourselves in that type of situation." You give him what you hope is an enigmatic smile. "I have several spells at my disposal to make whatever your ideal type is come true. Humor me a bit, why don't you?"

He seems to think about it. You're not sure if he's dreaming up his ideal person or wondering how terribly this exercise might go, but he does eventually say, "Well, I do rather like pointy ears, so you have that already."

You nod, glad that he's playing along, and concentrate on the spell to begin altering yourself. "And? What else?"

That's how you spend the greater part of an hour altering your appearance with Astarion's notes to guide you.

"Nose a little lower. No, higher."

"Have you ever seen someone with eyes that wide, darling? Tone it down before you scare me to a second death."

"Wrong color. No. Still wrong. Mmm, still wrong."

You snap at him a few times for being unhelpful, but you begin to understand what's happening, offering your own subtle changes as you go. You realize you’re becoming an unerringly similar image to your former self. It's not perfect, but the hair color, the eye color, the face shape – you can tell without a mirror the face that you now have is one familiar to you both.

Astarion realizes it when you finish adjusting your lips because he goes silent. Perhaps he notes the sadness in your eyes, because he looks away from you now, fist clenched in his lap.

“I’m… sorry,” he has the good grace to say.

“Don’t be. It makes sense,” you reply, assuring him despite the growing ache in your chest. “Of course they’re the most beautiful person you could envision. I think I’d be mad if they weren’t.” You mean it, you probably would be– but it doesn’t make you feel any less inadequate.

“Well, I’m glad I haven’t made you mad,” he responds wryly, meeting your eyes once more. From the slight tilt of his eyebrows and the melancholy smile on his lips, Astarion knows he’s done worse than make you mad. He also seems to have hurt himself, but again, he doesn't run away this time. If anything, he seems transfixed by you, pain laid bare between you.

How you’d like to cleanse the agony from his face, more than even the hurt you feel. So you put on your best, most optimistic smile, one you're certain that your former face can express better than yours could. “Maybe this is an opportunity.”

“An opportunity?” he asks, and you note that his tone is soft, far softer than any he's taken with you. It warms you, but the tenderness burns you at the same time, knowing full well it isn’t for you.

“Tell me what you want to tell them. Maybe it will help?”

He grimaces, and the lines on his face look deeper than before, etched with the pain of centuries unwilling to come out. You've pushed him a lot today, maybe this is where you should stop pushing. But then he gives you a look that just about stops your heart– his red eyes are wide, innocent, and searching for something in your face, his own face has gone slack with thoughts of what he might say.

“Come on,” you say, voice wavering with your own hurt. Perhaps you do love this man, with how much you’re willing to suffer for him. “Or I will get mad.”

Astarion’s expression doesn’t change, and, with wide, red eyes boring into yours, he says, “I wish your love hadn’t hurt so much.”

You blanche. Oh gods, have I made him hate them in earnest? Still, his face remains open, expectant. “Anything else?”

The man takes a deep breath. You hold your own in response. “And I don’t regret a moment of it. I’m only sorry that we didn’t have more time together, that I couldn’t protect you the way you did me. Thank you, my love.”

You smile awkwardly at that, willing your heart to stop racing at words not meant for you. Then, in a stroke of idiocy, you adopt your best impression of your former-self’s voice and say, “You’re welcome.” When he makes an annoyed face at you, you ask, “Too much?”

“Too much,” he replies, tone flat. But your foolish little ‘you're welcome’ seems to have lightened his mood despite it all. His face almost seems to be back to its cheeky, usual self when he says, “Now, let’s never do this again. I rather miss your regular face.”

You’re not sure how to take that after all that you’ve experienced in the last few minutes. But you drop concentration on the spell easily. I thought he hated my face, you think, recalling all of the times he derided you. And it’s nothing like my past-self's face, really. However your heart knows exactly how to take the statement, and it's pounding a rapid, excited rhythm for long after the encounter is over.

On the thirteenth day in his house, he’s the one who creates the break in your pattern.

“Your little exercises these past few days have got me thinking. Have you considered that maybe we should try to see if something a bit more than hand holding would suit us?”

You gulp. His words come out of the blue, completely unrelated to the book you had open in front of him. You’re sitting together on a windowsill, moonlight filtering through and bathing you both in its cool glow. He looks at you sincerely, ethereal in his beauty and by the gods do you want to do more than hold this man’s hand.

“I suppose I have,” you finally manage. Though the idea that he’d been thinking of the prior days in such a way makes you wonder how forward you really seemed.

“There’s something about you– I wish it didn’t bother me, but it does,” Astarion says, leaning toward you a bit. His tone isn’t harsh, rather a peculiar sort of honesty. One of his hands reaches out for your face, his eyes shining with curiosity as he closes some of the distance between you.

“About me?” you breathe out, feeling incredibly nervous as he enters your space. It’s not overtly sexual, like some of your dreams have been, but it feels charged. Like his curiosity must be satisfied, one way or another. “What about me?”

Slowly, softly, his fingers trace up your chin, his palm comes to rest on the side of your face as his thumb caresses your cheek. You stop breathing for the time being, afraid of startling him away with so much as a tremor. “It’s hard to say,” he answers, tilting his head a bit. “There are moments when I think I finally understand who you are. But then–” he grips your face a bit tighter and narrows his eyes as he searches your face.

“But then?” your voice comes out a whisper.

“But then you turn out to be someone else.” Holding you a bit more firmly, his eyes meet yours once again. His red irises seem to swim in your vision and you're wondering if this is how vampires lure their prey in– this sheer, otherworldly beauty. You feel as if his eyes are staring into your soul.

Perhaps he feels the same way, because you find him leaning in further, looking at you with hooded eyes. Now it does feel sexual and your entire body freezes under his look.

This is a good thing… you think. Isn’t it?

As if sensing your train of thought, Astarion drops his voice to a sultry tone. "Isn’t this why you came here?" he says and his eyes trace the lines of your body as he plays with your robe with his other hand. "If this is what you dreamt of all of those years, I can make all of your most vivid dreams come true."

Oh gods no, you think. This is too much, more than either of us are ready for. “No, thank you,” you answer quickly, willing your body to lean back, away from his searing cold touch.

“Oh,” he says, dropping his hand between you.

“I’m sorry.” You can’t bring yourself to look at him. “I do… well, I think you’re quite, erm, handsome.” Gods you sound like an inexperienced teenager, pull yourself together! “But if you don’t know who I am, I think I’d rather you know who you’re touching before we aim for anything… physical.”

Astarion gives a soft laugh, and you look up to see him shaking his head. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I– I guess I keep finding myself trying to see the similarities in you.” As if hearing himself, he grimaces, “And I keep finding myself needing to apologize to you, don’t I?”

“You know, I’ve found that to be true myself as well,” you say, wincing your face into a smile. Every day you’re reminded of how unorthodox and uncomfortable your situation is, and hearing that he’s constantly making the same comparisons you are grips your heart in a painful vice. And yet every day you’re oddly grateful to him, for giving you this chance to hurt yourself over and over again despite everyone’s misgivings, his own included. “I know you probably don’t want to hear this from me, but thank you for trying.”

"Of course. I'm nothing if not happy to try," he says, but his voice comes out sad more than anything.

Your own heart beats a slow, dull rhythm, far more solemn than any of the prior day's dances. But you don't regret rejecting the most beautiful man you've ever seen. You don't regret saying no to those deep, red eyes or those plush, perfect lips whispering a temptation unlike any other.

Because, for now, you know it’s a step too far.

When you get back to your work, you try to ignore the persisting burning on your face where his fingers grabbed. It’s already late, and you anticipate a long night of tossing and turning ahead of you.

On the fourteenth day, the end of your second week at the house, you finally feel like you have a real, genuine breakthrough. Like this friendship you’ve attributed to your relationship isn’t all just in your head.

You’re in his study, taking notes on a piece of paper for him–something to do with scouting groups– when you lose the nib to your quill. It’s the third time it’s happened today, and likely more than the tenth this week. It’s an old quill, barely holding on for you at this point. It’d carried you through studies in Neverwinter, through countless journal entries, and, now that you’re helping Astarion with his work, it seems to be on its last legs.

“Whatever is the matter? You look like you might bite that quill’s head off,” Astarion says, looking over a few sheets of paper at you.

You make an annoyed ‘tch’ as you try to piece your quill back together with a Mending cantrip and respond, “No need for me to bite it off, it’s doing so just phenomenally on its own.”

The vampire looks at it a bit more intently now, watching your struggles with only the slightest hint of bemusement. “Would you like a different quill?”

As much as you like your old quill, you can’t help the hopeful words that come out, “Oh would you have one to spare?”

Without as much of a moment’s hesitation, Astarion offers you his quill– or really, your past-self’s quill. It’s the one that you recall from your reveries, the one that he’d been using since you arrived at his mansion. When you seem reluctant to accept it, he says, "Go on, take it."

"I couldn't possibly," you reply, shaking your head fervently. How could you take something so important? Astarion mustn’t remember that the quill used to be that of your previous self, right?

"It's better off in your hands. After all, I've never been one for writing.” He waves the quill in the air in front of you a bit, like an enticing treat. When you don’t take it, he continues, “Besides, it was a gift to your past-self from Gale. It's enchanted to be particularly durable, so I wouldn't worry too much about it breaking."

So he does remember. "Are you certain?" you ask, needing to confirm, ideally multiple times, that he means the words coming out of his mouth.

"I'm certain,” he replies with a nod. “It was more of a sentimental thing anyway, it never quite fit my grip right."

You look between him and the quill a few more times, debating internally how much you wanted the quill versus how much it likely meant to Astarion. In the end his pouting face and persistent shoves of the utensil toward you win you over.

“Thank you,” you say, taking it from his hands with a slight bow of your head.

“I should be the one saying that,” he says, leaning back with a smile.

You furrow your brows in confusion as you look at the familiar quill in your hands. “Did the quill bother you that much?”

“Oh no, not that.” The smile on his face drops a little, the tilt of his eyebrows turns sad. “I had forgotten how… nice companionship could be. How nice having a friend could be. One that isn’t some sort of demented sibling at the very least.”

You try not to let the word ‘friend’ light up your entire face, but you’re positive that the sun would be jealous of the shine you give off. “I’m glad to have forced myself into your house then.”

“Don’t be so glad, the month isn’t over yet.” His face shifts again as he laughs, eyes crinkling with mirth when he reads your expression. “And don’t smile so much, your face is liable to crack.”

You’ve developed so much trust already. He’s called you a friend. You can’t help but think that this was all worth it if only for that. Perhaps Astarion was right, living in the present was rather nice.

You end the week in a journal entry, much like last week’s:

I’m finishing my second week at Astarion’s house, halfway through my stay. I didn’t make a lot of progress with learning about my past-self or the spawn, but I’m surprised that I don’t care as much as I thought I would at the start of the week. I’m sure mother would remind me that patience is a virtue, but it is certainly not one I was ever graced with. I am willing to try it for Astarion though.

Astarion has been my focus, and it’s been, well, lovely. He’s still a lot interesting difficult him, but we’re getting along a lot more than we were before. Sometimes I even see glimpses of the man I’ve gotten used to in my reveries. In just one week I feel like we’ve grown so much closer as friends. There have been moments where my heart and body wishes we were more than friends, but I don’t think either of us is ready just yet. Hopefully next week will go just as well and I’ll be able to get some real answers from him. He doesn’t run away anymore which feels like a fantastic improvement! I can’t wait to see what next week brings.

#astarion #astarion x tav #fanfic #astarion fic #astarion x reader #astarion fanfiction #astarion fanfic #astarion masterlist #gn reader #astarion x gn reader #astarion x gn!tav #astarion baldurs gate #bg3 astarion #when he's all but forgotten how to love again #whabfhtla #reincarnation trope #elf!tav #astarion x you

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kaseyskat · 1 year ago

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the other day i wrote a little smth as a warm up that is based mostly on musings i associate with @officialgleamstar (thank u travvy ily) and i have decided against my better judgement to post it! for funsies

~~~

Taylor’s mom bought the house.

It was a gift to them, after Normal had studied and studied to learn a spell that could regrow her disintegrated hand and after the near end of the world left them far too behind in their schooling to catch up. A safe place: they didn’t have to live there, but Link stayed there as he slowly mended the relationship with his dad, and sometimes Taylor would come for solitude, and sometimes Normal would visit just to get away from his family.

And Scary? Well.

After her stepdad’s death, she hadn’t gone back home. How could she? Her relationship with her mother was irreparably destroyed, torn to shreds and left a bleeding corpse. It was hard enough to call her when all was said and done, hands trembling as she tried to explain the craziness of the world.

She loves her mother. Her mother doesn’t deserve this: a heart broken twice over, the death of her husband and subsequent death of the daughter she knew. No, it was easier for Scary to go to Normal’s dad and beg him to use magic to wipe her mother’s memory, to give her a chance to start again.

She hopes that she’s happy, somewhere, somehow. It would make everything worth it.

Hermie stays with her at the new house most often. He, too, couldn’t go back home to his adopted parents after everything, not with how long he’s been gone, the truth of his heritage revealed. Despite it, Scary almost doesn’t mind: she likes the company, surprisingly enough.

Hermie’s mellowed out over the years. Now, at eighteen, she’s been working on her GED just like Scary has, wanting to fly over the world and audition at different colleges. I still think it’d be neat to get on Broadway, they had confessed to Scary once, when the dark of the night had been heavy and oppressive and all they could do was sit on the porch and share a blunt. Feels like a silly goal after the end of the world, though.

When they’re not trying so hard, he’s actually kind of a neat person. Scary finds his company endearing.

They never had gotten their marriage annulled. It was pointless: Taylor’s dad, for all his charms, was legally dead after disappearing when Taylor was a kid, and it would just be too much effort. Scary doesn’t think she minds, even if she hadn’t technically consented to the marriage in the first place.

Tonight, though, Normal is the one visiting. She finds him sitting in the living area, curled up in the pillows, staring wistfully at the TV screen when she comes down the stairs to make herself dinner.

“Hey, Norm,” she greets, softly, watching the way his gaze flickers to her and back again. “What’s wrong?”

“Hi, Terri,” Normal mumbles, and he shifts around a little bit, leaving just enough space for Scary to squeeze in next to him, drawing him into her arms. He goes willingly, pliant against her chest, shivering.

His hair has grown out into a wild mess of curls that he’s braided loosely. It’s cute. He’s cute, although Scary would never admit so out loud.

“Mom’s made some progress with Margaret,” he explains, his tone muffled as Scary starts to work on unbraiding his hair– as it is, it’s half fallen out, and will only make it harder to sleep later, she knows the pain pretty well. “But with Dad spending so much time with my grandparents… I don’t know. It just gives me the creeps. Is that bad?”

“If you want me to tell you you’re not a bad person, you’ve come to the wrong gal,” Scary snorts. “I’m glad to see you though. Feels like it’s been forever since you came to visit last.”

“I might stay for a few days this time. At least until Dad gets back. She told me that she’d be finding an apartment when she came back to San Dimas, so I won’t have to deal with Margaret smiling at me all the time.” Normal shudders, and he makes a quiet whimpering sound as Scary’s fingers brush a little too close to his neck.

“Stay as long as you want, seriously,” Scary tells him. “Hermie’s been practicing monologues at me again, and let me tell you, I did not miss the method acting one bit.”

Normal laughs at that, and then they fall quiet.

For some reason, he’s the easiest one to deal with, in the aftermath of it all. Link is just… angry at the world, and all the sweet charm that had attracted Scary to him in the first place is gone, replaced with a quiet frustration. Oh, he’s still the loyal teddy bear to them and the others, but even as he repairs things with Grant…

…he hasn’t been the same, after it all.

Then again, had any of them? Scary thinks if she told her younger self that one day she’d be here, living in an extravagant house paid by a famous voice actress, holding Normal Oak in the closest facsimile to a relationship she’s ever had… well, she’d think it was a crazy fever dream, for sure.

It’s nice. Scary’s had the concept of family broken and plastered with glue and duck-tape and then broken again, but somehow she’s found it, and she’s found it here: playing with Normal’s hair, twisting the curls in her fingers now that it’s freed from its constraints, his head tucked into her chest, body pliant against hers.

It’s the closest thing to love that she has, and by the Gods Above, she’s going to take it.

“Norm, I can feel you falling asleep against me,” she finally says, snickering with amusement at the way Normal only hums in response. “Do you wanna change first? Or at least go upstairs?”

“I’m already comfy right here,” he replies, the pout evident in his tone, and to punctuate it, he nuzzles further into her chest, nudging Scary backwards until she’s comfy herself against the arm of the couch, Normal crumpled in her arms. Here, their legs are intertwined, and she can still play with his hair, and the blankets they keep on the couch for this specific reason are all tangled around them.

“You’re gonna have to deal with my backache tomorrow,” she warns, but she can’t keep the smile out of her tone, and she hesitates, and then commits, leaning in to press a kiss to Normal’s forehead. “Get some rest, dork. I’ll get Hermie to make us pancakes in the morning.”

“Hermie’s pancakes suck,” Normal huffs, but as his breath evens out, Scary just smiles again.

It’s not what she pictured for herself, sure, but in this moment? There’s nowhere else she’d rather be.

#dndads #kasey writes stuff #scary marlowe #normal oak #normscary #as close to romantic normscary as i’d ever write i think #i prefer them to be unhealthy levels of queerplatonic #but :) beloveds #this is kinda a. after the storm scenario #idk. it was fun! still thinking about them

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the-broken-truth · 2 years ago

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Hey! You probably must be tired of me sending asks almost all the time, so don’t worry about answering them right away! Take your time! Anyway, do you think even if Björn was adopted by Thor, do you think Freya would still be interested in him and would try to be another mother figure to him along with Sif?

I would find it funny that some gods would totally make a “Björn protection squad”. And I was wondering, if Björn was a girl, what would be her name? I thought of Revna (Meaning Raven in Norse). Anyway, I hope you find these ideas interesting xD

Broken Truth: Greetings, my friend. Let's see what treat you have sent me this time. (Looks at the ask) Oh, Freya! That sounds interesting and as for the female version of Björn - I think Revna would be a lovely name. Now let the words weave together.

[Asgard - Home of Thor and Sif - Around Dinnertime]

The family sat at the dinner table, enjoying their dinner - well, 3 of the 4 were enjoying their food, and one was somewhat distracted and just moved their food around with their fork. Björn looked at his plate and exhaled, drawing the attention of Sif, who stopped eating to see her son hadn't touched his dinner; something was wrong and her motherly instincts were on edge.

"Björn, is something wrong?" Sif asked, this drew the attention of her husband and daughter, who both looked at Björn.

"I'm fine, Mother. Just thinking." Björn tried to dismiss it but Sif was not going to let it go that fast.

"Oh? And what has you so distracted that you haven't touched your dinner? I know something is bothering you and I want to know what it is." Sif said in her motherly tone - it was both gentle and strict, Björn knew that he wasn't going to get away without answering and he would never lie to his family, it just wasn't in him.

"Well... Remember when you allowed me to travel to Midgard for that hour? I ran into someone from my past and she wasn't happy to learn that I was adopted into your family." Björn explained, this caused Sif to raise her eyebrow - someone wasn't happy that her son was adopted into her family?

"And just who is this person that wasn't happy with the arrangement of you being adopted into my family?" Sif asked as she folded her arms and narrowed her eyes.

"Lady Freya - The All-Father's Ex." When those words come out of his mouth, Sif looked wide-eyed at Björn.

"Freya? How do you know her?" Thrud asked her brother.

"After everything happened with Magni, Modi, and Baldur, I ran into Freya in the woods while looking for a weapon to call my own; Freya found me and told me that when she killed Kratos, she was going to adopt me as her son because Baldur saw me as a potential brother. When I ran into her today, she told me that she heard about my adoption into her ex's family and she tried to take me with her. She...She..." Björn looked at the table with low eyes; Freya tried to do something to him.

"Björn, what did she do?" Thor asked in his deep voice as he leaned forward.

"She tried to use Binding Magic on me - she was going to bind me to her so that I would be her son but I ran away before her magic could get a hold of me." Björn finished his tale, fathering the gasps from his family.

"She tried...to bind you to her?" Thrud asked.

"Take you away from us?" Thor continued.

"Make you her son? The nerve of that witch!" Sif yelled, making everyone look at her. "She left Asgard and the All-Father, now she has the nerve to try and take my son?! I'll rip those wings off her back!"

"Mother, please, calm down. I'm safe now." Björn said with a tremble in his voice; whenever Sif was mad, it made him scared of his mother and Sif knew that. She inhaled and exhaled before she walked over to her son and placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Björn, please promise me that you will no longer go to Midgard alone. If Freya tried that again, I want you to have protection until you are old enough for your runes; understand?" Sif said.

"Yes, Mother, I understand," Björn said with a nod. Sif exhaled again and hugged her son with a tenderness that only a mother could give, but in her mind, she was planning on different types of revenge on Freya for attempting to bind her son.

#god of war ragnarok #thor #sif #thrud #male reader/björn #the might bear au

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java-lava · 2 years ago

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Once Upon a December

part; 2

(If you want me to make this a series, let me know!)

(Colored text indicates who’s speaking;

Diluc is red

Crepus is green

Kaeya is blue

Y/n is purple )

If Diluc Ragnvindr had a mora for every time that his father brought home a random child and announced that he would be adopting said child, he would have two mora, which isn’t a lot but it’s weird that it’s happened twice. These were the thoughts running through the young red head as Adelinde had taken the child to a spare bedroom to help her clean up and change into some new clothes.

“Father, did you kidnap a little girl?” Diluc said half jokingly

“Of course not! I found her half frozen on my journey, I sent some of my contacts to find out where she came from but so far, we can’t find any information on her identity. So I’ve decided that she’ll be staying with us until we can reunite her with her family.” Crepus replied

“Father you know I hate to think of the worst case scenario, but what if she has no family or what if you are not able to find them?” Diluc said to his father. The truth is Diluc didn’t even need to ask that question, he knew the answer by the look in his father’s eyes.

“We’ll, you did always say that you wanted a little sister, right?” Said the elder man

“I wonder what Kaeya is going to think about all of this…”

“Think about what?…”

While Kaeya was still being filled in on what had transpired by their father, Diluc thought about the fact that Kaeya was going to regret being late to everything one of these days.

“You what?!?”

“I brought you both a new little sister.”

Before anymore questions could come out of anyone’s mouths, a new voice was heard by all three males

“H-Hello…” said a sweet little voice that pulled in the heartstrings of all three Ragnvindr men.

“Hello little one, do you remember me?” Crepus said in the most gentle voice he could.

“Yes… you are the man that brought me here.”

“Yes I am, you already told me your name, do you think you can tell me where you are from?”

“I don’t remember, the only thing I can remember is my name… I’m sorry” the little girl started shaking like she was holding back sobs. At the sight of this, all three men silently promised to themselves to protect her.

“It’s ok, don’t cry…. We’ll figure it out together ok?”

“Really?!?”

“Of course, but even if we can’t find your home, you can stay here and I promise to protect you.” The man said it so earnestly that the girl instantly believed him. For the rest of his life Crepus kept his promise to the little girl, but then again, nothing lasts forever.

Note; this isn’t a longer part as I don’t have much time at the moment, I’ll try to make the next one longer, it will also be a time skip of about 6 months from this part. And if you wanna be tagged let me know.

Btw; thanks to @mis-disaster for requesting this part!

#genshin impact #genshin fanfic #diluc ragnvindr #kaeya ragnvindr #kaeya alberich #crepus ragnvindr #genshin x reader #ajax tartaglia #mondstadt #dawn winery

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aconstantstateofbladerunner · 1 year ago

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I just had the biggest Galaxy-Brained What If MHA AU where Toshinori was Nana's secret biological son, which made him and Kotaro maternal half-siblings ( I was really numbed up since I had Dental Work so my mind was very...imaginative ) and I really wanted it to share since I thought about it.

Basically, Nana had Toshinori from a fling with some random blond American before she became a Hero or just got into it. And obviously, before she got married and had Kotaro. So Toshi is Kotaro's older brother.

For reasons™ she had to give up baby Toshinori up for adoption shortly after he was born, which made giving up Kotaro later made it that more painful. Giving up two children was Hell.

So when she met him years later, she immediately knew that he was her long-lost son and that this could be a second chance to be near him ( Toshi's genuine merits and his heroic nature were a plus. ) and help him with his dream.

She never really found the courage to tell him the truth, and with AFO around, she couldn't risk putting him in danger if his blood relation came out. And not to mention the guilt she felt for Kotaro. Maybe she never even told Gran unless she swore him to secrecy.

In the end, AFO DOES find out. Maybe before he kills her or before he and Toshinori have their first fight but he makes the connection.

And either A) he uses this against Tenko to say 'Uncle All Might' cared more about being a hero and fame then saving his own nephew.

Or B) Kotaro somehow lives from being attacked by Tenko and AFO uses his hatred of heroes to tell him about his half-brother and how Nana obviously favored Toshinori over him and even gave him a powerful Quirk.

All Might would learn later and will have to deal with the realization and the fact that AFO killed his mother figure who turned out to be his real mom and corrupted his nephew / half-brother to be the next Symbol of Evil and wants him dead.

I don't have the writing chops to actually write this, but maybe I can someday. I hope this didn't come off as random or out of nowhere.

What do you think?

Personally, I don’t think making Toshinori Nana’s biological son would change too much from canon. Toshi already saw her as a mother, and Shigaraki being her grandson molded into a villain was already a major emotional gut punch. Especially if Toshinori was raised apart from Nana and didn’t know until after she died, what really changes?

If you wanted to make it different, i would focus in on Kotaro surviving and hating Toshi for being the favorite, separate from AFO’s involvement. Maybe it’s a smaller family drama where Toshi wants a relationship with his relatives but they all hate him for something out of his control. Maybe it’s a larger political drama where Kotaro channels his personal hatred into public political action against heroes that All Might has to contend with. I just think there’s more that can be done with the concept than canon but even more.

#answers #the thing about aus where you make characters biologically related #Is you gotta take advantage of that unique angle #Being raised differently #A different dynamic #With the new family and outsiders #Like The Turn for example #Izuku being related to the Todorokis gave him a different upbringing #Which led to more conflict with shouto #Which led to izuku being more insecure and making fewer friends at ua #Take advantage of the opportunities

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residents-of-the-darkforest · 10 months ago

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Too Young To Know? (short story)

“Kit,” Floodleopard began, but the little black tom was too busy watching the undergrowth, searching for any sign of his parents returning to hear her. “Little one,” she said a bit louder, “what is your name?”

The kit had only been found a short while ago, by kits Floodleopard had only recently adopted. He had been all alone and hungry, claiming that his parents would be back soon. But when asked how long they had been gone, the answer made Floodleopard’s blood boil.

Three days.

He was not a blessed kit. His ribs were sharp against his skin, there were too many gaps between his rigged teeth, and one ear was bent oddly. Kits could survive here without food, but in order to grow properly and have a chance of becoming a healthy adult, they had to eat regularly. This little one had not eaten in three days at least.

The kit flicked his ears back to listen to her, but kept his eyes fixed. “I don’t have one,” he answered.

“Don’t have one?”

He shrugged. “Mamma said it wasn’t time yet. But I’m patient!”

Floodleopard frowned. “You really don’t have one?”

The kit nodded, white-marked tail flicking. “My sisters do. I guess it was their time first. Maybe I was born last.”

Maybe they didn’t think so many weak kits were worth the trouble. Floodleopard didn’t dare say the thought out loud. There were dozens of possibilities she wasn’t seeing, but as far as it seemed to her, his parents weren’t expecting kits. When they came out unblessed and more difficult to care for, they decided to leave the weakest of the litter behind without so much as giving him a name, promising to come back so that he doesn’t follow.

She dug her claws into the ground. Fury burned with a fire so strong her bones were seconds from turning into ash. When she spoke, though, her voice remained soft–if you didn’t count her tense jaws. “I think you’ve been patient enough. Can I give you a name?”

The kit looked over his shoulder at her, seemingly intrigued but apprehensive. “My mamma’s supposed to name me.”

Your mom’s not coming back. “Can I give you a name for now? Just to make talking easier, and then she can change it if she wants.”

“Okay!”

“How about….Blackthornkit?”

“Woah, that’s long!” Blackthornkit gaped at her. “It’s three names!”

“I think you’ve earned all of them,” Floodleopard told him.

“I hope–” Blackthornkit broke off in a massive yawn, “--I get to keep them,” he mumbled.

Floodleopard gestured for him to join her. “Rest, dear. I’ll wake you if your parents come.” Blackthornkit hesitated, watching the bushes for a few moments longer before slowly padding to a comfortable spot between Floodleopard’s back legs, his body curled beneath her chin.

Floodleopard shut her eyes tightly, hoping to reel in the anger and sadness swirling inside of her. She looked down at Blackthornkit, then at Fringekit and Shrubkit, who were kicking a dried leaf into the air and leaping to catch it, while their littermate, Peckkit, watched, and Slugkit batted at his tail.

She didn’t like lying to these kits, her kits now. But should she tell them the truth now, while they were still so young? Should she tell Blackthornkit that his parents left him to die? Tell Fringekit, Shrubkit, and Peckkit that their father had tried to drown them?

Her first instinct was to not tell them anything, to protect them from every sharp thorn or claw that the world threatened them with and have them grow up unaware–not needing to be aware–of the world’s dangers and heartaches. But if she didn’t tell them….How long would Blackthornkit wait for? Would it hurt to tell him now, or to wait until he gradually forgets? Or gives up hope.

Too, Floodleopard knew that protecting them from dangers was in itself a dangerous game. These kits had to know how to survive, that sometimes even the adults you trust will try to hurt you.

But will they not trust me anymore?

Was that why Floodleopard didn’t want to tell them?

Fringekit, Shrubkit, and Peckkit at least knew that their father ‘did something bad,’ but Floodleopard wasn’t sure if they knew exactly what that meant. They accepted that she was their sole parent now, but did they understand?

Floodleopard also considered how she had felt when she learned of her mother’s betrayal. She had been an adult when she found out that her mother had cheated on her mate, who turned out not to be Floodleopard’s true father. She had been so furious, so enraged that she had been lied to all her life.

Was that what she was leading her kits to if she continued to keep the truth from them?

Were they too young to know the truth just yet?

A frustrated growl almost rose in Floodleopard’s throat, but a tiny squeak cut it off. She held her breath, and listened as Blackthornkit’s snoring began, little squeaks emitting rhythmically from his peaceful form. Floodleopard let his high-pitched song soothe her, and when Slugkit, Peckkit, Fringekit, and Shrubkit finished their games to nap close and safe beside Floodleopard’s belly, she let it lull her to sleep.

=======================

Who's who:

Kit version

Story might seem a bit wonky, I got tired at a couple points and took a break.

#long post #dark tales #wc dark tales #dark forest tales #floodleopard #floodstar #floodleopard story #blackthornkit #blackthornkit story #peckkit #peckkit story #slugkit #slugkit story #shrubkit #shrubkit story #fringekit #fringekit story

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wawa-boonliang · 1 year ago

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Flufftober Day 2: Family, Friends, Loved Ones

Summary: brotherly bonding between Hitoshi, Dabi, and Shouto. Based on my BNHA fanfiction Never and Always, Eventually

Aizawa-Yamada Shouto isn’t entirely sure why he’s doing this.

It’s been six months since the adoption was finalized. Life had simultaneously calmed down and become more hectic than ever. Shouto didn’t think he’d ever be able to go back to his quiet, shut-in life-style. He didn’t know what he’d do if he ever had to go back to where he was. What he’d do if he lost all of this, all of the hugs in the morning, all of the hair ruffles in the classroom, all of the forehead kisses and sweet wishes goodnight. What he’d do if he didn’t have the warmth of Bakugou… Kacchan… leaning against his side as he sat on the couch with Explodocat spread across his lap, watching TV as Yamada Sensei… as Papa Mic and Shins– Hitoshi argued over the channel.

What he’d do without the warm flutter in his stomach every time he saw Izuku.

But sometimes… he can’t help but fall into old patterns.

Hitoshi froze and peered over Shouto’s shoulder. Shouto held very still, hoping that if he didn’t move, somehow his… brother… wouldn’t be able to see what was on his screen. Unfortunately, Hitoshi didn’t seem to have turned into a T-Rex, so after a few seconds, Hitoshi cleared his throat and read outloud “New theory, Endeavor is secretly in love with All Might.”

Shouto knew it was hopeless at this point, but he still didn’t move, or speak, or breathe.

“Halfy… what the fuck?”

“...it’s not my theory. I’m just reading it.”

“Why are you reading it? What even is this?” Hitoshi gestured to the screen, before heaving himself over the back of the couch and sliding in next to him, pulling the laptop onto his own lap and exploring the page. “ProShippersUnite.com?” Hitoshi read out in glee. “Is this what you fucking do all day in your room?”

“...not always.”

Hitoshi scrolled back up to the post that had initially got his attention due to the giant fan-created splash art of Endeavor and All Might in a passionate embrace. “Don’t show this to Deku, I think he’d actually combust.”

“I wasn’t planning on it? I wasn’t planning on you seeing either.”

“Well, then you shouldn’t have been on it in the living room.”

Shouto flushed. “I didn’t know anyone else was home.”

Shouto, truth be told, had been feeling a little lonely today. Izuku and Kacchan were with Mrs. Midoriya… Aunty Inko… and Papa Mic was at work doing a Charity Marathon stream for the local children’s hospital for cancer awareness month. He wouldn’t be home for another three hours if all went well. Dad was covering patrol today for Mrs. Joke who was out of town visiting family. And up until a few minutes ago, he’d been under the impression that Hitoshi was with Tokoyami at the other boy’s house. Somehow, being in a public space, even in an empty house, was a bit less isolating than being alone in his room in an empty house.

Hitoshi didn’t seem to notice his embarrassment, or if he did he didn’t comment on it. He was too busy reading through the post. “Oh my god, this person made a timeline. All Might says in an interview that he enjoys a specific spicy noodle dish at a certain restaurant, four days later Endeavor is seen at that restaurant ordering that same dish. God, look at that picture. You’d think with being on fire and all he’d be able to handle spice. All Might changes his costume, a few months later Endeavor also changes up his look with the same shade of blue being the predominant color. That’s hilarious, I never noticed that.”

“It’s oddly compelling,” Shouto breaks his silence hesitantly. These days, even though he… he does love Hitoshi… he isn’t always sure when the other boy is making fun of him or not. He never feels like Hitoshi means to hurt his feelings, even though he occasionally does, but he’d rather not be teased about this.

“I…” Shouto wants to explain how, before he had friends, before he had this… theories were all he had. Stupid things to waste time thinking about, because keeping his thoughts occupied was the only way he was able to… just get through the day. Every day. He’d run ridiculous stories through his head, each one more preposterous than the last, and do his best mental gymnastics to justify them. It was fun.

Some of the only fun he’d been able to take for himself for years.

Hitoshi must hear something in his voice, because he stops scrolling and gives Shouto his full attention. “Yeah, Halfy?”

“Sites like these were how I learned about Dad and Papa,” Shouto said slowly. “And Kacchan and Izuku. Them being a family. Theories about Aunty Inko and Mrs. Bakugou being surrogates. Theories about what quirk Izuku had or which father was biologically connected to which son. And before that… I didn’t really have any friends. Theories like this were… the only way I knew how to talk to people. Pros were always happy to share their own, and they always seemed to like mine too.” Shouto huffed. “But now I know they were probably laughing at me half the time. I hadn’t realized it at the time.”

Hitoshi hummed, but his gaze was focused on Shouto. Shouto knew he was listening.

“I just,” Shouto had no idea how to elaborate on how important things like this had been to him, and the more he said out loud, the sillier it seemed. “I just liked them,” he finished lamely.

Hitoshi kept looking at him silently for a few more moments before clearing his throat and closing the laptop. “Let me ask you something, little brother.”

“I’m older than you.”

“Have you ever tried to prove a theory?”

Shouto blinked. “Only…the EraserMic one.”

Hitoshi grinned. “Ferb, I know what we’re gonna do today.”

♡ღ‿ღ♡ ʕ•̫͡•ʕ*̫͡*ʕ•͓͡•ʔ-̫͡-ʕ•̫͡•ʔ*̫͡*ʔ-̫͡-ʔ ♡ღ‿ღ♡

“How does this prove that Endeavor is in love with All Might?” Shouto asks Hitoshi an hour later as they hide behind some bushes with a video camera liberated from their parents’ room.

Hitoshi, when he answers, addresses his response towards the camera. “I’m glad you asked lil’ listener,” Hitoshi grins, throwing the camera a couple of finger guns. It’s disconcerting, because the grin is all Dad, but the voice is all Papa Mic. It makes Shouto smile despite himself. “We’ll be able to tell by his reaction. Surely, if he isn’t madly in love with everyone’s favorite hero, then he won’t bat an eye. But if he is get ready for an explosive time!”

“Please stop talking like Papa.”

“No. We ready to go live?”

“Oh. We’ve been live.”

Hitoshi freezes, and by his face, Shouto can tell he regrets talking like a mini Present Mic. Shouto feels a strange, unfamiliar sense of glee. A type of glee he’s only recently discovered and is usually reserved for when one of his brothers gets caught doing something harmlessly stupid.

Hitoshi slowly pulls out his phone and clicks onto their website where Momo had hired somebody to set up a page for live streaming. Sure enough, Shouto had been streaming for ten minutes already. Two thousand people were watching, and the chat was very active.

Lmao dude wat

Endeavor? He hates All Might

no no let them talk

lil listener hahaha

omg my babies

Hitoshi kinda hot tho

dat smile damn

Who let them out of hte house unsuerpvised

Present Mic come get ur kid

im worried

plz dont do anything stupid

why

Wait wut imlate to stream

lmaoooo

let him cook

why r u in a bush

put todoroki on camera!

hes not todoroki anymore he got adopted and changed his name

he’s not todoroki

I think his last name is Yamada like Mic

yeah put him on camera!

Where are the adults? Am concerned?

are we sure they aren’t blood related?

Hitoshi punched Shouto in the arm. “Dude, why didn’t you warn me?”

Shouto frowned at him. “I’ve been pointing it at you for the last ten minutes with the light on.” Shouto gestures to the little green light that indicates that the camera is in use.

“How was I supposed to know! I wasn’t looking at you! I was busy.”

Shouto ignores him and points the camera towards the villain fight that they definitely weren’t supposed to be anywhere near. Endeavor had a villain cornered. Shouto hadn’t been paying attention to what the villain in question had done to get the new number one hero on his tail, but that wasn’t what was important. What was important was the several life-sized All Might cardboard cutouts that Hitoshi had sourced from somewhere, and then used his Aizawa-honed skill set to sneakily place just so, peeking out of alleyways, on rooftops gazing down benevolent, inside someone’s car, and even in the window of a shop – the owner lady had been nice when Hitoshi had told her it was a prank on Endeavor.

Since the court transcripts had been made public, the public opinion on the new number one hero had tanked to all time lows. Shouto felt suitably vindicated by this.

They knew the exact moment when Endeavor clocked the first one, the one in the alley, because he froze, letting the villain with the telekinesis quirk get a good hit in with a piece of rubble from the torn up street. A group of civilians cheered. As did their live chat.

yoooooo ten points

Oooooh face shot

lmaoooooooo pog

ouch. i mean lmao. But ouch.

Rofl nice shot

go for the crotch next time!

GIVE HIM THE CHAIR

ahhhh come on, there was a perfectly good car right there. throw that!!!

Shouto the fuck are you doing and why didn’t you invite me

♡ღ‿ღ♡ ʕ•̫͡•ʕ*̫͡*ʕ•͓͡•ʔ-̫͡-ʕ•̫͡•ʔ*̫͡*ʔ-̫͡-ʔ ♡ღ‿ღ♡

Dabi stared in disbelief at his little brother’s livestream.

(He wasn’t entirely sure if he was still able to claim that connection. Not that he’d wanted to for the better part of ten years. But now he wasn’t sure that he could if he did want to. Not since Shouto had been adopted by that sickeningly sweet hero couple. Not since Shouto had been given two new brothers. Or maybe even before. Not since he’d left. But his little maybe-brother had grown into someone that Dabi could see himself being friends with. His little maybe-brother had grown into someone that made Dabi feel a strange feeling of loss in his chest whenever he thought about lost years and lost chances.)

He was all for tormenting Endeavor. But this was lame as hell.

Dabi could do so much better.

“Hey,” Himiko whined. “Are you going? I want to come!”

“No,” Dabi told her sharply, but not unkindly. “One, your obsession with my… brother is weird.”

“Not him! I have a crush on Katsuki!”

“Two,” Dabi steamrolled past, ignoring that. “This is Todoroki business.”

♡ღ‿ღ♡ ʕ•̫͡•ʕ*̫͡*ʕ•͓͡•ʔ-̫͡-ʕ•̫͡•ʔ*̫͡*ʔ-̫͡-ʔ ♡ღ‿ღ♡

The fight went well.

For the villain.

Once Endeavor noticed the second cut-out, he seemed to be on the lookout for more. The villain had used his distraction to first rough him up, and then get away. Endeavor roared as he gave chase, blasting down the street, almost burning a few civilians in his wake.

Hitoshi and Shouto ran to keep up, making sure to stay out of sight.

“Okay,” Hitoshi panted. “Step two.”

“And what would step two be?”

The two of them stumbled into each other, surprised. Out of an alley came the burned, but amused figure of none other than Touya. Shouto blinked twice, then gave an awkward smile. “Hello, To— Aniki. Would you like to play with us?”

A look of irritation came over Touya’s face, but it disappeared just as fast. “Don’t call me that.” Shouto nodded, knowing that Touya wasn’t talking about aniki. Shouto wasn’t sure why Touya didn’t want to be called Touya, but Shouto also didn’t want to call him Dabi. Dabi was a villain name. Touya wasn’t a villain. Touya was just his brother. But then Touya smiled a smile that wouldn’t look out of place on Dad. “But, yes. I would.”

“Great,” Hitoshi said, accepting this immediately and rolling with it, which Shouto thought was just one of the many things that made his new brother amazing. He couldn’t help but feel a burst of warmth at the thought of spending time with both his little brother and his older brother. “So the plan is–”

“No, no, no” Touya interrupted. “I saw what the plan was. It was dumb. No, you need to listen to me. I know how to fuck with Endeavor.”

Hitoshi and Shouto passed a look between them.

“What do you have in mind, Aniki?” Shouto asked. Touya’s eyes glinted in a way that reminded Shouto that while Touya wasn’t a villain, Dabi was.

“I have a plan.”

♡ღ‿ღ♡ ʕ•̫͡•ʕ*̫͡*ʕ•͓͡•ʔ-̫͡-ʕ•̫͡•ʔ*̫͡*ʔ-̫͡-ʔ ♡ღ‿ღ♡

Shouto had never thought that he’d be back here.

Even more than that, he never thought he’d be back here laughing.

Fuyumi and Natsuo had moved out ages ago, so the empty manor seemed even emptier than it ever did. Endeavor was still out, and hopefully would be for a while. Technically, they didn’t break and enter, and therefore committed no crime. Originally, Touya had planned on busting through a window, but Endeavor had never asked for Shouto’s house key back. He’d also never officially banned Shouto from the property.

“So,” Hitoshi said to the camera. “My little brother–”

“I’m older than you.”

“-forgot some things when he left, and so we’re here to help him get his stuff. That’s the official story and we’re sticking with it.”

Touya snorted and hefted his bag of supplies. “Now, for the record, I definitely wasn’t in favor of burning down the entire house and dusting off my shoes,” Touya said over his shoulder. “But trust me when I say, this will be better.”

“Also,” Hitoshi continued. “I, as a hero in training, am absolutely not bugging the house in order to get Endeavor's reaction. No siree.”

“Neither am I,” Touya says, gleefully as he hides a small camera in a painting’s frame. “As a dutiful friend of the family, I’m helping with security.”

From behind the camera, Shouto added. “I don’t know what’s happening.”

oh yes we absolutely agree with you

I believe you entirely

Nope nothing sus here

perfectly innocent yup

I mean i actually do believe Shouto

so we not burning down his house?

omg thats a fucking huge ass mansion

steal a tv

With that, Touya started pasting a giant wall art of All Might’s face to the wall.

“It’s beautiful,” Hitoshi wiped an invisible tear from the corner of his eyes. Then, he got to work moving every piece of furniture ever so slightly to the left, dropping tiny but very sharp plastic All Might figures between cushions and behind pillows. And then he scattered the extras around the floor to hopefully be stepped on by bare feet.

“Which is his bedroom?” Hitoshi asked.

“Furthest door down that hallway,” Touya answered before Shouto could.

“Got it,” Hitoshi disappeared. Shouto debated for a moment for as to which brother he should be filming, but then he decided to follow Hitoshi. Touya seemed to be struggling a bit with getting the wall art to stick. Hitoshi was in Endeavor’s room, putting little stickers of All Might’s face on everything, but in unobtrusive areas where they wouldn’t be discovered right away.

“And the best thing is,” Hitoshi said without looking up from what he was doing. “These are all cheap ass dollar store shit, so if he tries to peel ‘em off they’ll leave that shitty resedue that you need glue remover to get off.”

Shouto nodded, accidentally moving the camera as he did so. When Hitoshi was done, he stepped back and took in the room as a whole. It was spartan, with the only decorations being various awards and trophies that Endeavor had been awarded over the years. The overall color scheme was mostly gray with a few splotches here and there of brown. For as long as Shouto can remember, being called into this room meant pain. It meant kowtowing on the ground until his knees went numb as his father ranted. It meant whipping. It meant a heavy boot on his back. It meant fire. It meant whatever he’d done or hadn’t done had been serious. Going into his father’s room to “talk” meant–

“This is boring,” Hitoshi declared after a moment. “Honestly, we’re doing the man a favor.”

That startled a laugh out of Shouto. Hitoshi darted out of the room and was back moments later with spray cans in All Might red, blue, and gold. Hitoshi tossed Shouto the gold. “Here, baby bro–”

“I’m older than you.”

“-that’s for you. Just put that down on the window sill so it can still see us.” Shouto obliged, and then looked for a long moment at the can in his hands. He tried to think of the perfect thing to say. The perfect comeback to years of abuse. (It was easier to think that word now, now that he’d talked about with the Hound Dog and Dad and Papa and Kacchan and Izuku and Hitoshi. It didn’t hurt as much anymore. Nothing hurt as much anymore.) He tried to think of something profound. Something eloquent. Something suitable to match the crime.

He couldn’t think of anything.

Hitoshi noticed his hesitation. “What’s wrong, Halfy?”

“I don’t know what I want to say to him.”

“I mean…” Hitoshi trailed off and Shouto looked up at him, and then noticed that Hitoshi hadn’t been writing anything at all. Rather, there was a rather impressive mural of a dick on fire. Hitoshi shrugged at Shouto’s bemused look. “It’s not like you have to write a poem.”

Shouto looked at his can. He climbed on the bed, standing up, taking joy in not removing his shoes and idly hoping he’d stepped in dog poop at some point that day. Then he reached up as far as he could go, and started spraying the ceiling above the bed.

“WORLDS WORST NUMBER TWO

I HAVE A BETTER DAD THAN YOU

YOURE A FUCKING DOUCHE CANOE”

Hitoshi watched him, his face twisting with laughter. Then he stood next to Shouto and added a final line.

“PEEPEEPOOPOO.”

Together, they admired their work.

“I am a mature hero in training.” Hitoshi announced.

Touya peeked his head in. “Hows it going in here.” Then he spies the poem. He barks out a short laugh. “Beautiful. Art. Poetry.” He has a drill in his hand, and he makes a hole in the corner of the wall where there’s a good angle to see the rest of the room. He presses one final camera bug into the hole, smoothing it in so that it’s flush against the plaster and nearly invisible unless you know what to look for. Then, he grabs the camera from the sill and points it at the ceiling. “Behold.”

All was still for a moment. And then they heard the unmistakable sound of the front gate opening. “Scramble” Touya hissed. They dart down the hall and towards the back of the house, exiting through the garden and leaping over the back fence. They don’t stop running, keeping up the pace as they leave the manor behind them, but after a moment, Touya starts laughing.

It’s a more free laughter than anything Shouto has heard from his older brother in… ever. He sounds young. He sounds free.

He sounds a bit evil.

Hitoshi starts laughing, too. “Please tell me you got all the cameras set up.”

“They’re recording as we speak.” Touya assures him, still smiling widely as they run.

Gradually, they slow their pace until they’re jogging side by side. Shouto is a little surprised that Touya hasn’t gone his own way yet, but he still has their camera, which is presumably still live streaming, so he doesn’t say anything. Afterall, he’s not exactly complaining that his older brother hasn’t disappeared for parts unknown. Again.

And yet, Touya seems a bit surprised when he sees where the two younger boys have led him. “This… is your new home?”

“Yup.” Hitoshi pops the p. “Papa’s probably home by now.”

Touya stops walking. Shouto and Hitoshi look at him in question. “I’ll, uh,” he pushes the camera into Hitoshi’s hands. Hitoshi looks at the screen for a moment, before saluting and turning it off. Touya watches him do this and swallows. “I’ll see you guys–”

The front door opens.

“LIL LISTENERS YOU WOULD NOT BELIEVE HOW MANY CALLERS TOLD ME ABOUT oh, hi Touya.”

Touya ruffled up in affront. “That’s not my name.”

“Sorry, sorry, Dabi.” Papa Mic smiles at him. “Thanks for watching the boys today. Come on in! Shouta set some soup to cook this morning and I think it’s ready!”

“I’m not sure-”

“There’s a place at my table with your name on it,” Mic continues, his face carefully open and welcoming. “Even if you don’t claim it today.”

Touya swallows. “Um.”

“All of our family is welcome whenever.”

“I’m not part of your family.”

“Friends?”

“I’m not your friend.”

“Loved ones, then.”

“I’m not–” Touya blinks rapidly. Mic wags a finger at him.

“Rule number seven in this house,” Mic tells him very seriously. “No one gets to decide who someone else loves.”

“You don’t even know me.”

Mic lets his hand fall back to his side, then he steps back, leaving the door open. “No, I don’t.” He admits. “But I’d like to.”

Touya looks lost. Shouto grabs his hand. “Aniki,” he says. “We have to watch the reaction together.”

Touya swallows. “Are you sure? This is your family. Not mine.”

“You’re my family.”

Touya stares at him for a long moment.

Of course, it’s Hitoshi that breaks the silence, tossing his comment over his shoulder as he embraces Mic and goes inside. “Yeah, Aniki, get your butt in here. You haven’t lived until you’ve tried Dad’s pho. Its fucking to die for.”

Touya turns wide eyes at Hitoshi’s back disappearing into the house. Slowly, he nods. Mic’s smile grows as Touya slowly walks up the front steps, hesitating just before crossing the threshold into the house. Mic, moving slowly so there’s time for him to move, places a hand on Touya’s shoulder. Touya flinches anyway.

“Are you sure?” Touya asks again, his voice a hoarse whisper.

“I’m sure.”

Touya meets his eyes, then nods. He takes a deep breath, as if steeling himself.

He goes inside.

Shouto follows, pressing briefly into Mic as he passes.

Mic closes the door behind them.

#fanfic #fanfiction #bnha #dadzawa #eraserhead #bnha dabi #mha dabi #shouto todoroki #hitoshi shinsou #present mic #flufftober 2023 #flufftober #ao3 fanfic #ao3 #wawa boonliang

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endeavour12345fics · 1 year ago

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Beside you until the very end, chapter 7 (epilogue)

WARNING: get tissues, you'll need them.

Time had gone by, and it was almost the end of the term. While his classmates were talking about going home for the holidays, Philip kept to himself, not wanting to even think about it.

The truth was, he had nowhere to go.

After Eleazar’s death, things had changed. The security he felt had been taken from him, and he felt lost.

He left the common room, wandering without a destination. Before he knew it, he was entering the Hogsmeade graveyard. The graveyard… he hadn’t been there since Eleazar’s funeral. He approached the grave, unsure of what to do, yet, despite not really believing in an afterlife, it made sense to him.

“I remember the first time I saw you; you approached me as I was unloading a cart in the market and asked if I needed help. It was the first time someone showed me true kindness…”

He stopped, feeling choked up and his eyes starting to water. After taking a deep breath, he kept talking. “When you took me in, I felt happy. I knew I wouldn’t have to go back to that life, and I knew I was safe. I am glad you and Miriam took care of me. I miss her, but you’re with her now. Say hi to her for me.” He couldn’t stop the tears from falling now, tear tracks visible on his face. He stood there, sobbing for he didn’t know how long.

“You sacrificed yourself for me and saved my life. I miss you, dad” Dad. Philip had never referred to Eleazar as such, even after being adopted, and deeply regretted it. He regretted not being able to contain the magic in the repository by himself. If he had done it, Eleazar would still be alive, and they would probably be having one last butterbeer before the holidays.

Aesop approached Eleazar’s grave, before recognising Philip standing before it. He stood back, supported by his cane, waiting for the boy to finish paying his respects to his adoptive father.

As Philip was leaving, Aesop approached him, placing a hand on his shoulder. “I know I would probably find you here. I’m sorry for your loss, truly. I remember the look on his face when he told me he had finally got all he needed to adopt you. He was a good mentor and a good father. He would be very proud of you.”

Silence fell between them, while Philip tried to process what had been said. Would it be true? Would Eleazar really be proud of him? He had indirectly led him to his death and couldn’t forgive himself for it.

“Listen…” Aesop said in a low, calm tone. “You are still underage and need a legal guardian. What would you say if I took that role? I will probably not be as good as Eleazar was, but I am willing to try.” “I… don’t know what to say. Thank you, sir.” Philip looked at Aesop, who squeezed his shoulder. They stood like this for a while. Philip then left, leaving Aesop to pay his own respects.

“Damn it, Eleazar. I’m taking over from you. If you’re not happy with this plan, we’ll settle this in heaven, or wherever you are.”

Suddenly, he felt a slight breeze, and he could almost hear Eleazar giving him his blessing. “I will maybe not be as good as you were, but I will try my hardest. Philip deserves it.”

Philip went back to one of his vivariums to check on Snowball, the white kneazle he had convinced Eleazar to adopt after Miriam’s death. He sat next to her, feeling her soft fur. Hearing her purring calmed him down, and he knew it would take time, but things would get better.

#hogwarts legacy #eleazar fig #aesop sharp

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moviemunchies · 2 years ago

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Is this movie, strictly speaking, good? No. Is it, however, fun to watch? Well, that depends on your mood and how much BS you’re willing to put up with in a historical action movie.

Pathfinder (at least the Hollywood film from 2007; it’s a remake of a Norwegian film) is, in theory, about Native Americans versus Vikings. In actuality, it’s this one Norse guy versus a bunch of Vikings, and the Native Americans help when they don’t get in the way.

So let me back up and give you the story of the movie. The Norse tried to settle North America, and it didn’t go so well. One day an indigenous woman is walking and she finds a wrecked Norse ship. Everyone in it is dead (for some reason…) except a young boy. She adopts the boy into her village, where he grows up known as “Ghost” for his pale skin, with the only piece of his past left to him is his father’s sword.

Fast forwarding to fifteen years later, Ghost is an adult, but because he’s haunted by his past the tribe does not let him become a brave. But then Vikings return, intent on killing everyone so that they can build their own settlements in their place. So Ghost has to use his ancestral sword and his willingness to do anything for his adopted homeland, goes and kills as many of them as he can.

It’s fine, I guess, if you want something really dumb.

Okay, I get that they’re evil racist Vikings, but why the fudge did they conclude that the best way to build a settlement was to kill all the neighbors? Look, colonialism is dumb, but it’s not THAT dumb. The Norse really were driven out in large part by the Native Americans fighting them off, but those conflicts weren’t started because the Norse wanted to kill them all, they were (if I remember my history correctly), from misunderstandings. If the Norse started off killing potential neighbors, they knew that was a great way to get overwhelmed by angry locals. The reason the Vikings raided the way they did in Europe was because they could hop in their ships and sail away when they were done. Doing that to your neighbors is bound to get you killed.

Why they even want to settle here isn’t clear at all. It’s not even that they want revenge for past failed expeditions, they just… want to live here, and the only way they think they can do that is by killing everyone who already lives there. It’s very silly motivation.

Truth be told, I like the idea of a movie that’s “Vikings versus Native Americans.” But this isn’t really that. It’s more like, “Here’s one Norse guy raised by Native Americans but still using Norse weapons driving off Viking invaders.” So it’s… a White Savior narrative. We’re given the general impression that if it weren’t for this one white guy, the Vikings would have utterly massacred the natives.

Look, I know that the Vikings have as many fighting men as is dramatically necessary for whatever scene they’re doing, but even with that–they’re vastly outnumbered in North America! Regardless of armor and metalwork, the indigenous people should easily be running circles around these guys by making traps, knowing the landscape, and beating them to death. An iron helmet isn’t foolproof if someone’s repeatedly braining you with a club!

[Also I’ve read that the language the Vikings speak is Icelandic, but that all the pronunciation is absolutely wrong. Which happens in movies all the time, but is still interesting.]

Pathfinder is a remake of a Norwegian film from the 80’s with much the same premise–except instead of fighting Native Americans, the Vikings are fighting Sami

This movie might be more forgivable if there were likable and interesting characters, but as it is the characters are boring and have very little development. Heck, I couldn’t even tell you the love interest’s name until pretty close to the end of the movie because that’s how long it takes for her name to be spoken.

It’s Starfire. And she’s also not played by an indigenous actor, in case you were curious.

There is supposedly a director’s cut or unrated edition that exists out there, which has more character development, but also more explicit violence and a sex scene. I’m not exactly motivated to track it down.

Look, if you want a loud, dumb movie, and/or something to talk about, it’s fine, I guess? I watched it with my dad, and we had fun, but that’s because we just wanted a noisy action film to watch and talk about afterward. The actual film is kind of a thing that exists, but it’s so nonsensical and lacking in Plot it’s difficult to really get attached to it. It’s got Karl Urban running around swinging a sword, and Clancy Brown growling in broken Icelandic, and some violence. But not much else.

I’d only recommend this if you’re really curious (as I was) or have nothing better to do.

#Movie Munchies #Karl Urban #Pathfinder

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thisgirlhasnoname · 1 year ago

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Thoughts. Thoughts. Thoughts.

I don’t think I’m supposed to write this here but because I don’t think I can talk this to other people, even to my boyfriend—though he’s been nothing but the best and patient with me these days… that is why, I cannot stand another day seeing him all ears about me AGAIN.

My man deserved the world hence I don’t think I should burden him with another one… so I think I just leave it here.

Hmmm don’t even know how to start this. All I know is I’d like to let go all this thoughts.

Let me start this by telling you I am still upset about my cat. He was my first cat ever though I’m not sure if he was actually the first because if we would count in that kitten I had when I was little.. which btw my mother disapproved cus she said I was in poor health and she thinks cats fur can worsen it! So I have to kept him to another empty unit; just a few blocks away from our house, and I’m just going there whenever I’d like to pet him, play with him and give him food but only at night. We don’t have much food in the morning lmao. Don’t even know what I was doing back then until one day that little cat wasn’t there and wasn’t returned either. How dare he right?!

But truth be told, that was the first time I knew I love cats! 🐱

Going back, I named my now deceased cat after my very first anime crush; Conan. I thought of giving him that name because knowing that “Detective Conan” still gives me the feeling of making everything else stop and just focuses on watching, I knew my love for this anime would never end! So I thought my first cat deserves to named after him… so I could remember him FOREVER! And boy, I wasn’t wrong about that! I’ll indeed remember him as my first ever cat, my first ever mourn, and my first ever angel.

My love for cats is always there. I just don’t have the courage to own one. Since kid I really thought cat’s fur could cause asthma, thanks to my mother! until learned that it’s just a common misconception…. but still, I don’t think I am responsible enough to have one. But I knew it is always my dream.. until one day I had the courage to do it, so I did.

My bf and I are been thinking to adopt a cat since last year; 2022. Y’all think I’m funny when I say what hinders me that time is that I really thought cat might not stand heat and he might just be suffocated in our apartment. Yep I heard you. I am not sure either why I did think that lmao.

But then, one thing leads to another, after a year we decided to get an air conditioner. Believe me it’s not because of I wanna have cat… I am bigger person than that! Lmao. Tho I really want to think it has been only a month or two… the thought of adopting cat were occurred again.

It was September 20 2023 when my bf’s casually browsing on facebook until a simple post caught his attention. We didn’t thought this simple post could turn our lives upside down. Needless to say, that post advertises who’s up for adopting her 2 month old kitten and then all of a sudden we’ve realized we’re now doing transactions with this person and we were about to pick up the cat later that day 🥲

See, we were obviously not really ready. I didn’t even ask God for his guidance about the decision we were about to make that day. I also remember we have work that day, so we don’t have much time to buy things for our soon-to-be cat. We don’t even know what to buy though haha!! Aww I could still remember the feeling, we really were freaking out!

On his first night with us, Conan has kept running back and forth, meowing here and there. We don’t really understand him. He was so little and fragile! It’s as if he was a human baby! My bf on the other hand is quite on his fatherhood zone, chasing Conan’s wherever he go!

Ohh and I would forever cherished his 2nd night with us. His 2nd night is probably one of my favorite nights with him! It was already lights out when he suddenly jumped into me and slept in my chest until we cuddled. That very moment I knew I would loved everything about him!! 🥰

Everyday feels like we’re in a roller coaster ride. There were bad days… like the time where I gave Conan’s his first bath, and I know I shouldn’t be excused for being a first time fur parent but I did give him a room temperature water. I want to believe it wasn’t cold… but my bf’s been telling me it’s cold but for me it wasn’t. Lol. But later that day I knew I should have given him a nice warm/hot bathe cause he doesn’t make pansin of me. Conan must be traumatized for what I did! I’m quite sure of that cause he peed on my bed that night haha! I guess it was his way of saying ‘I am not pleased with your actions, hooman!’ 🥲😂

However, although there were unpleasant moments, mostly of our memories were good ones. You were so sweet, affectionate, expressive, & loving cat! (Woo i can’t even begin to write that without shedding a tear 😅)

Now im getting emotional but I’ll try not to. Hehe

I loved how braved you were for easily adjusted with me, and with the new environment. In your first days, you were hiding in closed and tiny spaces. You didn’t think much that your color is mostly black and my vision isn’t 20/20 when you were doing that, right? Cause whenever you do that, you did give me a veryyyyy hard time looking for you!! We’re like playing hide and seek most of the time during this period. Especially when I had to leave you for a moment to buy food, when I get back… the hide and seek is on!

But not long after you stopped hiding anymore. Whenever I came back from the market, you were there. Staring and waiting the door to open to see me. It does feel rewarding you know? I thought I am not doing enough for you but that moment I feel like I did something good in my life 🥹

Each day has passed, I must say I completely gained your trust. You’d think I did you a favor, but the truth is you did mine. You win my heart a thousand fold!

I don’t know if this is true but for me cat’s are the most empathetic beings. They have the energy to feel the negative and positive auras. So does my Conan.

Whenever I am feeling under the weather, Idk he’ll just lie down beside me, cuddle, brushing his hair against my body and letting me pet him which btw he wasn’t much of a fan! So for me its like his saying to me ‘Don’t worry I am here now, you are not alone in this world’ 🥹

Conan’s being clingy and all just whenever I am sad. Coz when I’m just ok and happy? That kid never thought of me! He’s just sleeping all day long! 😤 But kidding aside, although he’s sleeping? He sleeps wherever I am. That’s what I also loved about him. Wherever I go, Conan would go to too. Hmm at least 90% of the time. Coz there were times that I am being so loud, *but not too much*, and obviously he doesn’t like that, so he sleeps at one of his favorite spots… behind the laundry basket!! 🤦🏻‍♀️

But whenever I’m a normal me, when I am inside the room for work, he’ll just stay there as well, sometimes being playful but most of the time just sleeping. It seems like he just wants me to watch him sleep.

One time I test him if he would know and would follow me even sleeping when I leave the room and pretend to get water, and you know what? My little boy did! Haha!!

Hayyyy, conan really became my ray of sunshine. He made my life happier! Even before Conan came into my life, I am more of an indoor person. I love staying at home and just watch tv series, reading… and other stuffs you just do at home but just lying on my very comfortable bed is my favorite. Conan made it more exciting and honestly a bit of concerning… I am much more glued to bed, I don’t have the energy to clean the house as much I did before, I don’t cook brunch anymore, I could finished watching 2-3 seasons in just 2 weeks?! Basically, I become more of an indoor person than I used to be.

The only times I got to went outside were the times I had to bring Conan to his vet appointments, this is another story but yeah I think I lost the excitement to go out even more. And I think it was just okay.

Conan suddenly became my world. In a span of 2 months, all my eyes, ears and attention were on his. Not to mention cause he was in poor health too so I have to attend him regularly.

It was like taking care of a baby. But this one is harder in a way that there has been a lack of communication, and when you do, communication wasn’t that well… Wow daig pa magjowa

But hey thanks to google, he does know everything! He was our translator during difficult times so he deserves all this praise 🙌😆

Too many good and happy memories to mention! I guess even my 600+ photos and 200+ videos of you cannot elaborate and expound the memories we had. There are so much to tell! But whenever I think about you, I am all smile and frown at the same time!

Let me end this by saying I am so glad you were my first cat. Although I really thought you’d be around more longer, & it still stings whenever I think you are really not with me anymore… but hey I am very much happy you became part of my life.

You taught me a lot, my love. You taught me it’s ok to love someone unconditionally. You taught me just a presence could make a big difference. You taught me love might not be reciprocated most of the time but the important is, everyday you choose to give love. 💕

Thanks to you, my Conan. I will never ever forget you. Run free my love 🐾

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brigidjc · 1 year ago

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- INTRODUCTION –

Hi.

I spent a lot of the last month wondering if it’s even worth it to say anything. Who would I be writing for? Do I care what people think? Would it be appropriate to say anything at all?

In the end, it came down to me just wanting to try my best to explain everything from start to finish—less about pointing fingers and more about just describing the whole picture for people to understand the situation. I think a lot of the people calling me a murderer just don’t know the whole story and are going solely based off what one person is saying. It isn’t fair for me to try to sling dirt back at him when he can’t respond, and at this point, that’s not really what I want to do anyway (although I can certainly do it). I’m just thinking about all the people out there who are confused and conflicted, who don’t know what to believe, who want to mourn the person they knew but also want to acknowledge his less-than-optimal behaviors that I revealed before I went on private.

If you read this, and you still have the verdict that I’m an awful person, whatever. You’ve consumed all the materials, and you’re entitled to your opinions. But please just look at the whole picture before coming to a conclusion.

- BACKGROUND –

To properly understand DC, I think you have to start at the very beginning. I’m sorry to his family for speaking about his private home life, and I’ll try to respectfully speak as little about it as possible. I will also admit that nobody has directly told me all the details about his early family life, so I’ve had to piece it all together through utterances here and there. I apologize if any of this is inaccurate, and I will gladly accept any corrections.

DC’s mother had him as a teen, and she left him to be raised by her parents; DC never had a relationship with his father. He was raised by his grandparents, who he believed to be his parents until the truth was revealed to him later. This came as a huge shock to him that forever changed his mindset. From this point on, he had a fear of abandonment, a strong value of commitment, and a skepticism for lies and truth.

At some point, DC’s parents hurt him, and he left his house, vowing to never come back or rely on anyone again. He was alone, and he adopted an “I can do it myself” mindset. He didn’t fully learn how to cooperate, collaborate, or communicate with others, because he did everything himself. He viewed most people only as connections rather than friends, keeping people at a distance to protect himself.

Because he viewed himself as his only advocate, DC fought hard, and with that strength, he worked himself up to higher and higher positions. His mindset was validated by his success. Till the end, DC believed firmly in “the end justifies the means,” “survival of the fittest,” and, his favorite phrase, “If you want something done, you’ve gotta do it yourself.”

- THE RELATIONSHIP -

In 2016, DC met me. I really liked him, and for some reason or another, I think he decided that I was the one with whom he was going to settle down.

The relationship moved quickly. We went from just talking to suddenly Facebook-official girlfriend-boyfriend, him taking me to company events, and us moving in together. Every step closer, I brought up concerns that this was moving too fast, and he only replied that everything was fine.

As I got to know him more, I realized that we were not compatible. We were too different, from values to personality to likes and dislikes. But every time I tried to bring this up, DC dismissed my concerns: “We’re fine, I don’t see any problems,” “It’s OK to be different,” “You’re making an issue where there isn’t one,” etc. Every time, I decided to give the relationship more time to see if it would change.

There were good times, sure. He definitely liked to publicize the good times, even telling me how to write my own tweets to make our life seem amazing. But there were a lot of times when I was unhappy and confused, when my concerns were dismissed or pushed aside, and when I didn’t know what to do or what to think.

He was also clearly very lonely. He hated when I hung out with friends, and whenever I said I wanted “me time,” he turned off all the lights in the apartment and lamented about always being a lone wolf. It was hard for me to leave someone who was clearly so lonely, a trait that was born from his distance from his family.

After all my failed attempts to talk to him about our issues, I resigned to trying to just leave him outright. But every time, DC convinced me to stay: his constant dismissal suddenly turned into a quiet apology; he cried and begged until he threw up; and once he even showed me wedding things he had already bought, explaining that he had already planned to propose to me years before he actually did. Each time, I felt like I was going insane, and I stayed.

Finally, after a lot of back and forth, I did leave. We broke up for a month, and in that time, DC made it clear that he wanted to get back together with me. I wanted time and distance from him, but something happened at the place I was staying, and out of desperation, I called DC. He picked me up on his way to a doctor’s appointment.

In that doctor’s appointment, DC received the diagnosis of ALS. It was a silent, dreadful moment as we took everything in. Afterward, when we got back in the car, DC admitted that, if I hadn’t been there, he would have just driven off the side of the parking lot and killed himself.

DC needed my support, he clearly wanted me back, and he was willing to change. I thought that, even though we had problems, at the end of the day, we both do still love each other. I wanted DC to have the best last years of his life with love and support from a partner.

In the beginning, things were great. But as the disease progressed, things got worse. Not only was it harder emotionally to accept DC’s mortality, but it was also painful to see his body weakening physically. Easy things like holding a spoon started becoming difficult, and he was frustrated and ashamed every time he lost the ability to do something. He started giving up on things that he knew he wouldn’t be able to do later anyway. He apologized constantly for having to ask me for help, and every time, I said it wasn’t a problem at all, and I helped him.

But as his disease progressed, it did become a problem. DC started needing more help than only one person could give, but he refused to hire a caregiver due to their high cost; he said that, if I were to leave, he would just kill himself, because all his money would dry up from hiring a caregiver anyway, and life wouldn’t be worth it. I asked him for at least some help in times where I wanted to visit my family for the holidays, but he said it was too expensive to hire a caregiver, and he didn’t want to burden his friends or feel embarrassed with them.

So, I became overworked and overwhelmed. I was working full-time and taking care of him full-time. Because I always had to be by DC’s side, I wasn’t able to do things I wanted to do if he didn’t want to do them with me, and he didn’t want to leave the apartment anymore out of embarrassment. I couldn’t see my friends or family, and I could only ever really leave for up to an hour before DC called me telling me he needed help with something or else he might die, like wanting me to adjust the temperature in the room because he was having trouble breathing.

As DC lost more control of his body, he became more controlling over me. He was frustrated when he couldn’t do simple things on his own, and he was frustrated with me when I didn’t understand his instructions to do the things that he wanted to do or if I had different approaches to doing them. In his frustration, DC said harsh things to me, and I tried to keep in mind that he was just depressed and sick; and he was struggling so much because he had always done things by himself, and now he had to rely on others when his communication skills were already lacking from years of always doing things on his own. Coordination and collaboration were hard.

We had talked before about having a child, but as the situation became more demanding of me, I realized that having a child was not a good idea for several reasons. I brought this up to DC, and he was very upset—this was the only thing that he was looking forward to. His own life was over, but he could build a life for someone else, his child, his next of kin. Without that, he had no reason to live.

He began going through the complicated process of Death With Dignity, or medically-assisted suicide, and in the meantime, he refused to eat. For every day for two months, DC was very upset with me, and after so much pressure and seeing him actively try to die because of my opinion, I gave in and just hoped for the best.

We had the baby, and DC was the happiest I’d seen him in years. It was amazing seeing him smile and look forward to things again, but it was also a complicated feeling for me. Taking care of a baby is hard enough for two able-bodied parents, but I was doing most of the work myself while also taking care of my terminally ill husband; I was helping one person who was rapidly losing control of his body and also helping one person who was rapidly gaining control of his body. Oftentimes, one of my hands was on the baby, and the other was on DC. I became more overworked and more overwhelmed.

This pressure eventually led me to a suicide attempt. The police took me to the hospital, where I stayed for a week. When I came back home, things seemed to change for a bit, but then they quickly became exponentially worse, both for DC’s health and for the toxicity of our relationship. I think the prospect of me dying made him very anxious and frightened, and those strong emotions on his weakened body made it even harder for him to function and made everything more demanding for me, too.

It's common for new parents to fight because of clashing opinions over taking care of a baby, but our fights were particularly charged due to the complicated nature of our situation. We blamed each other constantly:

“You’re making too many careless mistakes with the baby.”

“Well, maybe I wouldn’t be making so many mistakes if I could sit down and focus, but instead, I’m rushing everywhere constantly.”

“I tell you to sit down all the time, and you’re the one who doesn’t.”

“I can’t sit down, because I have so much to do, because you won’t hire a caregiver.”

“Caregivers are too expensive—if you want a caregiver, then you hire one.”

“I don’t have money—I gave it all to you, and you spent it all; and I had to quit my job to take care of you and the baby.”

“Are you blaming me for my disease? Do you regret having your own child?”

“That’s not what I said, don’t twist my words!”

The relationship became strained to the point where neither of us was trying to make it work anymore. At this point, DC told me that, when he dies, he wouldn’t leave me any of his money. When I told him that was unfair to both me and his child (especially considering that I quit my job to take care of him and the baby), he said I have always been just after his money. I said that we should separate, and he said that, if I leave, he would hire the best lawyer to make sure that I don’t get custody over our child.

- THE LAST DAYS -

I knew I had to leave no matter what. I timed my planned escape with his friends coming into town who would be able to take care of him and who would hopefully convince him to move back home to Florida. Over the course of a week, I slowly packed my stuff, and I wrote a detailed plan for the fated day. On that day, a Friday, I tried to make excuses to leave throughout the day, but DC rejected me every time, as had become the custom (at this point, I was only allowed to leave for ~20 minutes every five days to get groceries or food). So, I had to turn to the Last Resort plan of leaving in the middle of the night.

At 3am, I took the baby and left while DC was sleeping. I called 911, and they had the exact reaction that I was dreading, the exact reaction that my biggest critics today have of me: “How can he be abusive if he didn’t hit you?” “Wait, you just left a disabled person all on his own?” It was a terrible reaction to have after six years of trying to convince myself that it was OK for me to leave.

I eventually left without the help of the police, and I finally did what I wanted to do for six years: tell everyone the truth about this relationship. It was awful to always grit my teeth and smile whenever someone said our relationship seemed amazing after looking at my tweets that had oftentimes been written by DC himself. I was finally able to talk about things instead of just writing in my diary and crying all the time.

At this point, I blocked DC online, and I rejected all his calls, so I don’t know too much about what went on on his end other than a few threatening emails he sent to me. I know that he had been taken to the hospital, and when the doctors wouldn’t let him go home until a permanent caregiver came to pick him up, he said, “Don’t worry, Brigid will come back.” But I was over here trying to figure out how to file for a protection order and file for separation as soon as I could.

On Monday, I filed for a protection order to bar communication from DC to me or Daniel Jr. I came back to the apartment on Wednesday with the police to grab the rest of my stuff, and DC’s friends asked us to come back on Saturday when they would be out of the apartment. On Saturday, I woke up to “I’m sorry for your loss” DMs and “You’re a murderer” DMs, and the apartment was empty of all of DC’s stuff, some of my stuff (like my computer), some of our shared stuff (the couch, the TV), and some of the baby’s stuff (the stroller, the ultrasound pictures). I called the police, and they confirmed that DC had passed away and was already buried. The police called DC’s friends, and they said that they had already flown back home.

Later, I received DC’s death certificate, which stated that his cause of death was “ALS,” confirming that he had taken the Death With Dignity drugs (the doctors explained that his disease would be listed for his cause of death rather than “suicide”). The death certificate also said that DC died on Tuesday (May 9), meaning that he was already gone by the time I came to the apartment to get my stuff; his friends had asked for me to come back on Saturday to give them time to throw away/sell/take our stuff and safely fly back to Florida.

There were a lot of things I felt: shock, disbelief, guilt, regret, sadness, anger, and relief from it all finally being over. I can imagine that DC was feeling awful at the end of everything. He could barely move, he was very sick and depressed, he was abandoned by his partner and primary caregiver, and he lost his child—the one thing that was keeping him going. My critics love to bring all this up, and yes, of course, of course I thought about that all after I left—I thought about it even before I left, and I think about it all now. I feel immense guilt from it, especially knowing that he ended his life just after I left.

This is one of the reasons I didn’t leave for so long; because I thought no one would care about my side of the story when the other person is sick and dying, and because I felt guilty about the prospect of leaving. There were a few times when I planned to leave, but at the last minute, I couldn’t do it, because that guilt was too strong. But I tried to remind myself that, ultimately, I left because he threatened to take custody of my child away from me if we separated, and that was an inexcusable threat.

- THE AFTERMATH -

My main reason for writing this all was to explain what happened from start to finish, and this could be the end of the story for a lot of people. If anyone is interested, I have spent the last month trying to figure out a lot of logistical things that are way more important than fighting off bullies online: housing, income, insurance, food stamps, transportation, childcare, etc. After working very hard, and after a lot of good people’s contributions (thank you, thank you, thank you), I have finally gotten everything in order, and I am ready to start a new chapter in my life.

It’s not perfect—I’m not working a glamorous job, but I do have a job; and the baby is very safe and healthy with childcare, plenty of food, and plenty of energy. I’m in a new place, and I’m surrounded by friends. Every time I’m happy about finally being able to be with friends again, I feel immense guilt afterward for being happy; every time I’m sad about DC’s death, I’m also angry about everything he put me through. It’ll be a long journey of healing and a lot of processing and reprocessing and reprocessing, but I think and I hope I’ll get through this.

Thank you for reading this. If, at the end of this wall of text (sorry), you still think I am a murderer and an awful wife/mother, all right. But I hope that I was able to provide some closure to people who have felt conflicted about everything. And, if anything, I hope that writing this was able to provide some closure for me.

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