#i use that term only to reach the intended audience

[chaotic-historian]

Ah yes....

The legendary game 'Tnb Bingngthilhb'

Say it after me now: runes are not a fun font for you to use at your leisure, they are their own alphabet

[sp0o0kylights]

Part One / Part Two / Part Three (You Are Here)

Complete Thing on A03

Sure enough, Jason Carver had brought a priest. 

The idiot himself stood next to the guy, smugly grinning like a hunter posing with his prized buck, a small crowd already gathering. 

Opposing them was Michael Wheeler, hands planted on Hellfire’s table and back up like a pissed off cat’s, mouth moving faster than Eddie thought possible.

He couldn’t hear what Wheeler was saying. 

Frankly did not want to know what Wheeler was saying, and could only do his damndest to intervene before Mike tanked the situation entirely. 

Gareth and Jeff flanked him, both tense as hell. Neither had backed down though, standing tall and holding ground even as Jason pulled more and more people into his little spectacle. 

Lucas and Grant on the other hand, were standing off to the side.

They weren’t cowering exactly, but both were definitely wincing as Gareth opened his mouth to add his own two cents. 

Given the scowl on the priest, it was probably something nasty, 

‘Fuck.’ Eddie thought, teeth clenched, as Jason drew out his arms, making an even bigger production for his little audience. ‘Fuck, fuck, fuck!’ 

The worst thing of all? 

Dustin managed to reach the group before anyone else did. 

Wheeler and Emerson might have low charisma, but Dustin had a particular combination of snark and a know-it-all attitude that really pissed off authority figures. 

(And Eddie would know, given he was the reigning champion of pissing off authority figures.) 

He did, however, slide in right in time to hear the priest respond. 

“I don’t care for your tone, young man. Jason here has some concerns over your club and I have to agree, what I see is quite,” The guy paused, jowls jiggling as he looked over their table, clearly eyeing Hellfire’s logo. “alarming.” 

 At least wasn’t an actual sermon.

Not yet, anyway. 

Eddie came up right inbetween Mike and Dustin, intending to make himself out to be the new target for all to aim at.  

There was an art to making yourself the sole owner of everything evil in this world, and Eddie had learned it all, trial by fire style.  

“Carver is full of--” Mike snarled, and thankfully was cut off—not by Eddie, or the hand he’d just clamped onto Mike’s shoulder—but by Harrington. 

Who sauntered right up as if he was joining everyone for dinner, and not walking into a circus act.

“Hello Father.” Harrington said, voice warm and welcoming.  “Would you like some of our cookies? We have a sample platter.” 

“Oh--Steve!” The priest blinked, actually blinked, that he was startled to see Hawkins’ golden boy appear next to him. “I’m sorry but no. I’m ah, here for other reasons.”

He paused so long it was nearly comedic before tentatively asking; “ Are you with this table?”

Like the guy couldn’t see the same Hellfire logo plastered across Steve’s ridiculous jock chest. 

Eddie opened his mouth to give a resounding no, Hellfire shirt or not--when Mike of all people put an elbow into his side. 

As if Eddie was the one who needed to be silenced.  

“I am.” Steve put an arm down on Dustin’s shoulder, squeezing it in a way that looked like fond encouragement (but what Eddie was pretty sure was actually a warning in the same way the hand on Mike’s shoulder was.) “I came to help out my friends and fundraise.”

Then he beamed, face lighting up with the full Harrington charm, giga watt smile and all. 

Now the priest just looked awkward. 

“You’ve apparently been fundraising for what I have been told is a…Satanist Club?” 

It was hilariously delicate, how the priest said it. Like now that a respectable member of Hawkins was here, he had to be more careful about what words he used. 

Eddie would have interrupted then.  Retake the reins and do what he did best in terms of making everyone forget about everything but him--except Carver was rounding on Harrington, and well.

He was always a fan of the rich eating each other. 

“You cannot seriously be with these--these,” Jason’s eyes darted to between him and the priest, before physically reigning himself in. “hooligans, Harrington!” 

“I’m sorry.” Harrington said, and whatever Jason had been expecting to get hit with, it wasn’t “good ol’ boy” southern charm. 

He blinked, taking on the air of a kicked puppy who couldn’t understand why someone would be so mean as he glanced around the crowd.  “I think I'm a little lost here.” 

Jason clearly wasn’t prepared for that either. 

“What?” 

“This table is for a storytelling and math game.” Steve spoke slowly, in the same way one explained things to a toddler. “You have to roll dice and add the numbers up to do anything."

“It’s not a game, Steve.” Jason spat back. “It’s an evil trick made to tempt the susceptible minds of children to the dark arts!” 

Personally, Eddie was amazed Carver even knew the word susceptible let alone be able to properly use it in a sentence. 

(He tried to open his mouth to say so, and once again got elbowed, this time by Gareth. 

The look he gave his younger friend could have melted steel beams.)

“That’s what this is about?” Harrington slid his arm off Dustin's shoulders, leaning back to look at the priest and the people around them in a show of blatant disbelief. “You think the nerd club is related to satanism?” 

It was Eddie's own tactic--arguing that D&D was “using academic skills” and “making math fun!" not that Hellfire had ever been successful using it.

Of course, they weren’t Hawkins golden boy either. 

Jason sputtered. 

“It has monsters and--demons in it! It makes children do spells and sign over their souls!” He flung a hand out, for the first time acknowledging Eddie by pointing at his shirt. “Just look at that! It’s awful!”  

"Hey." Eddie said, hand going over his very well drawn dragon.

“I once had to stop an argument about how much weight a wooden bridge could hold.” Steve countered, hands moving to his hips. “I only got them to stop by agreeing to take the kids to a library so they could look it up.” 

He squinted, in Carver's direction, deadpanning; "I take it you think the library is evil now too?"

“The name of the club is called Hellfire!” Jason shrieked, sounding more like an angry teakettle than anything dangerous. 

“Look I get that it sounds scary,” Steve said, the tiniest hint of pity entering his voice, “but they’re trying to make math problems and English essays sound cool. It’s the same reason Father John here calls our annual haunted house Hell House, isn’t it? So people go in it to begin with?” 

Harrington turned to look expectantly at the priest, and Eddie had to admit it was an excellent way to both pander to the guy and sound like Jason was making a big deal out of nothing. 

Perhaps, he’d stay quiet after all. 

(Even if it went against Eddie’s entire being to do so.)

“Well, yes, but--” Father John had clearly picked up on the fact he was losing this particular argument, but plowed forward regardless. “Those activities are supervised by the church…” 

“This is evil Harrington, and you should know better to promote it.” Carver tacked on, like this was a two bit comedy sketch. 

“When I played it we just saved some poor town from a bad guy who set it on fire.” Steve rolled his eyes. 

Then he leaned in, converting his voice into a stage whisper that somehow projected it, giving the impression that everyone around them was listening in on a secret. 

“The doctor said it was a really good way for Dustin and Erica to process the mall fire. He’s a specialist--my mother managed to convince him to fly down to help all the kids who got hurt.” 

Eddie was 100% sure that was total bullshit, but the mere mention of Harrington's mother had seemed to have an effect on the people around them.

 Like Steve had invoked the name of an old but beloved God, not always benevolent but definitely memorable. 

“She’s always been a champion of helping when you can.” Steve spoke to the priest, like they were having a conversation between just the two of them. “Encouraging people to volunteer and helping fundraise.”

“She has been." Father John said, in the kind of instant way one does when they don’t want to offend a very large donor.  "Tell your mom I look forward to her coming back from her--ah, trip.”

 With an awkward glance to the table, he added; “...I suppose I don’t see how math comes into play?” 

“Oh it’s right from the start. Hey Jeff, come here, show Father John how you have to do a bunch of calculations and stuff to make a character.” 

“Ah--right.” Jeff sprung to life, moving around the table to Steve.

“We uh, we start with this character sheet…” 

“Eddie Munson runs the club.” Jason interrupted, before Steve could get Jeff to going.

“He’s right there! Does he look like this whole thing is just an innocent board game?” 

This was a last ditch effort, and it was clear by the chattering that had started circling amongst their audience that everyone knew it. 

Unfortunately, it was a good one.

This was the downside to making yourself a target. Once a bad guy, always a bad guy--particularly in the eyes of the PTA. 

“Munson?” Harrington dismissed with a scoff. “He’s harmless.” 

Which was news to most of their audience given the amount of attention Eddie suddenly had on him, but it was fine. 

He was used to the disapproving stares and glares, and gave his best award winning smile in response. 

Jason looked at Harrington like he’d lost his mind. 

“He has skulls on his fingers for fucks sake!” 

“Jason.” Steve admonished, in a perfect mimic of an upset southern mother. “Language.” 

Carver's jaw dropped, face purpling in rage.

Steve ignored him, turning back to the Priest. “I don’t know what's gotten into him but I’m sorry Jason’s wasted your time, Father.” 

“Munson is a drug dealer!” And ah, here came the Hail Mary move, Carver's one and only trump card.

“We all know he’s a drug dealer, and he’s using this--this game, to give drugs to kids!”

“Really?” Steve turned. “Lucas, what happens if I ever catch you smoking weed?” 

Lucas answered instantly. “You’re going to make us run laps at five in the morning.” 

“For a month.” Dustin added, with an exaggerated shudder. 

It would have been too much--except his disgusted face sold it. 

“Eddie’s just loud and wants to be a rockstar.” Harrington said, like this he was harmless.

No one on Steve's side of things had ever thought of Eddie as harmless.

 “I’ve babysat these kids for years and Eddie was a huge help in making sure no one in high school messed with them.” He continued, like they were some sort of team or friends even.

(Like Eddie hadn't been at Harrington's throat all day, pissy and defensive.)

“We have a real bullying problem right now. Funny enough,” Steve’s nailed Jason with a look, “I keep hearing that it’s coming from the basketball team.” 

“What are you implying?” Jason asked darkly. 

“Just that it’s funny how nobody got caught fighting when I was team captain.” Steve returned. 

God the man was such a bitch. Eddie kind of wanted to kiss him a little. 

Okay, more than a little.

“I get you have some kind of beef with Munson, but let’s not drag a bunch of people into it. Especially not Father John.” Harrington was playing up to the mothers around him now, dismissing Carver entirely as he did so. “He’s a busy guy.”

“Very.” Said Father nodded solemnly. “I do not appreciate being pulled into a high school squabble.” 

Jason’s mouth swam through shapes, words stuttering out of it. “This isn’t, thats not--”

“We can talk about this after church on Sunday.” Father John interrupted, the finishing blow to Carver's little show.

“You came all this way, at least have a cookie on us.” Steve said with an appeasing tone, reaching an arm back behind him.

Quick on the uptake, a cookie appeared in his hands. 

He offered it out to the priest, who took it happily.

"Okay, who wants cake!?” He called, in a clear and obvious dismissal of Jason. 

Who stood there, like he couldn’t believe what just happened. 

His eyes slid to Eddie's, fists clenched tightly at his side, hatred pouring off him so strongly one could almost taste it.

Eddie winked at him.

(Unknown to him at the time, Jason had also looked at Steve--and Steve would wink too.)

xXx

Steve Harrington, who Eddie had been an absolute ass all day too, had looked Jason Carver, a Priest and half of Hawkins in the eye and announced that he, Eddie Munson, was a good person at heart.

It made Eddie want to vomit a little when he thought about it too hard.

“I know this is horrible timing,” Robin said, sidling up as the crowd finally dispersed, “but I really, really need to talk to you.” 

Eddie turned, head full of far too many thoughts and ready to tell her such, when he caught sight of Buckley's face. 

Was reminded, by the sheer nervous, ‘horse about to bolt’ vibe, that he owed it to Robin as a fellow queer not to be a dick about her accidental outing.

Even if all he wanted was to preen in the wake of Carver’s defeat. 

‘See Mothers of Hawkins? Your own golden boy just gave me his stamp of approval!’ 

A mental image that immediately changed to Steve Harrington’s name stamped on his ass and dammit he had to get ahold of his thoughts before he fell down rabbit holes like this--!

“Back there, at the stairs,” Robin started, voice dropping low, and Eddie didn’t miss the way her eyes kept seeking out Steve, like he was some kind of safety net--which he probably was. “What um--what did you hear?” 

It took a lot of guts to come talk to him, knowing what he'd overheard--particularly given they'd just fended off the church.

He'd never exactly underestimated Robin Buckley, but then, he'd never expected this level of badassery from her either.

“Eddie?” Robin prodded again, chewing hard on her bottom lip.

“Sorry, distracted.” Eddie waved a hand behind himself. “Not everyday the King decides to defend your honor to a priest.” 

With a little bow, he offered his elbow out to her, a clear signal to take it and let him escort them away from unwanted ears.

In a show of bravery, Robin took his elbow and let him lead, even as she frowned up at him, looking like she was about to say something.

Likely it was in defense of Harrington, but Eddie had been interrupted enough for one day. 

“You and His Highness over there really should be more aware of your surroundings." He started, voice low. "Lucky for you, you’re among friends. You and Dorothy both.” 

He reached a foot out, tapping Robin’s own. 

Right on top of a doodled pair of tits. 

Robin let go of his elbow and glanced down, before flinging her head right back up, panicked.

"I--"

“If you’d like I can pretend I never heard a thing.” Eddie interrupted, dropping his voice into the gentler tone he reserved for delicate conversations.

People were always surprised by the lengths he went to make sure someone was comfortable--but then, people also forgot how often Eddie heard things he shouldn’t. 

People didn't take drugs just for fun, after all.

“Or I can offer a friend of a friend discount on my wares,” He put a finger to his lips, miming smoking with one hand while he opened his vest with the other to flash the little pink triangle pin that sat inside, announcing his own sexualities status.

“and we can, say, discuss the differences between radical and social feminism while admiring the fine forms of Susan Sarandon and Peter Hinwood?”

The smile he gets is two parts relief, one part genuine delight and Eddie grinned right back at her, flicking his vest closed.

“I did not take you for a Peter Hinwood type.” Robin said it hesitantly, still waiting for the other shoe to drop. “Thought you’d find Tim Curry’s…acting skills, more to your taste.”

“In the case of Rocky Horror? I am Tim Curry.” He announced, loud and proud (well for this kind of conversation at least.) 

He was rewarded by the tension finally melting out of Robin’s shoulders. 

(This, Eddie reflected, is what he should have been doing this entire time, instead of getting tied up in knots over Harrington and turning into some kind of non-conformist tyrant.) 

“Do you actually know the differences between social and radical feminism?” Robin challenged, braver now, and Eddie knew then and there he’d been successful in assuring her her secret was safe.

That she was safe, with him.

“Guess you’ll have to find out.” Eddie said, giving a playful nudge to her shoulder. 

Baths in the laugh he gets for it, and for the first time today feels like he’s finally on firmer ground.

They chatted for a moment longer, making a loop on the very outskirts of the gym, voices hushed when it came to things that small town ears shouldn’t overhear--but of course, Robin couldn’t just leave things at that.

“Hey Eddie?” 

“Yeah?” 

“Can you do me one more favor?”

“Anything for you, my favorite feminist.” 

For the first time since this conversation started, Robin managed to sound firm. 

“Stop referring to Steve as a King.” 

She rushed ahead, anticipating being cut off, and thus Eddie is hit with a wave of words, none of which he’d ever thought he’d hear in relation to thee Steven Harrington. 

“He’s working really hard to get away from it, the whole King thing and how he used to be. I don’t know what all he did to like--you guys,” She flapped her hand in the general direction of Hellfire, “and I know he wasn’t an innocent bystander, but I kinda realized over the summer that I blamed him for a lot of things that were in my own head, and that he wasn’t--he was never as bad as I thought he was and he's still trying to make it up to me anyway.���

Robin trailed off, seeming to try and piece out what she wanted to say next without giving away the whole farm. “It’s not some act, Eddie. Steve’s really trying to change.” 

Which yeah.

Eddie could see that, now. 

Maybe not before but…

“Okay.” He said, after a long, long moment. “No more King Steve. Got it.”

The smile he got for that also felt like a victory, even if it was wrenched out of him.

xXx

Two hours and a dispersed crowd later, Eddie found himself once again stuck in his own head. 

The facts were thus:

Steve Harrington was a good dude. 

He used his good dude-ness to save Hellfire from a literal priest, right smack in front of God and Principal Hairy Ass both

All of Hellfire actually liked him 

According to Robin Buckley, Steve was entirely fine with “all us triangles” quote/unquote 

And;

Eddie was jealous.

He was self aware enough to admit it, alongside the fact that Jason Carver aside, maybe Eddie had been the villain today instead of Steve. 

Which meant he not only owed Harrington an apology, but he owed it to both of them to work out his own stupid shit before it blew up in his face and cost him all his friends.

(He’d have called this move “pulling a Harrington” before today but now that feels mean, which Eddie supposes signals he’s grown as a person or some shit.) 

So now he sits on Steve’s beemer, knowing the move will likely antagonize the ex-jock but equally knowing he’s planning on jumping off the car the second the guy comes near, and that the move itself will get Harrington to listen to him the second he’s done supervising whatever Hellfire’s youngest is doing.

(Eating leftover cookies like the older members are as they finish packing up, Eddie assumes.) 

Ducking out like he did had allowed him some much needed time to think things though. Figure out what he was going to say--without an audience present.

He’d apologize publicly if he had to. But being vulnerable is hard, and given the way his friends had been acting, Steve isn’t the only person he owes an apology to. 

For now, he’ll begin here, without an audience. 

Eddie doesn’t get to plan for long--only gets to rehearse a few lines of his little spiel when a pointed cough jerks him back to reality. 

There stands Steve Harrington, a fat wad of cash in one hand and a box in the other.

Like a man sent to the gallows, Eddie leapt off the beemer, squaring his shoulders. 

He could do this.

 Apologize-- and mean it. 

Not that Steve gave him the chance to. 

“The guys told me to give this to you.” He said, holding out the cash. Then he took a breath, like he was preparing to go to war, and added; 

“I know you weren’t happy with me being here, and you probably don’t want this, but Dustin said you really liked cinnamon brownies so I made you some.” 

The box was now held out alongside the cash, proof that Steve had tried to start this whole thing off on the right foot. 

Eddie stared at it, then at Steve. 

Felt the guilt chew on his gut just that much harder.

“I have been shitty to you all day. Why are you giving me this?” 

Steve shrugged. 

“To be fair I didn’t exactly make it easy on you either. You said jump and I said ‘watch this’.” Steve laughed, a small, almost self depicting sound. “Dustin’s been on my ass all day about it.” 

Of course he had. 

“Mine too.” Eddie admitted. “It's his tone, I swear."

“Yes!” 

Carefully, Eddie reached out, accepted the box and the cash. 

“Thanks by the way. For the stuff you said about me earlier.” 

Steve grimaced, cheeks tinting a (lickable) red. “Yeah sorry, I--”

“No not--not that stuff.’ Eddie said, mentally hauling his thoughts back in line, fiddling with the cash. “The stuff about being a good person. No one’s uh. Said that. About me.”

Not except for Wayne, but Harrington wouldn’t know nor care about Eddie’s uncle. 

Steve shrugged. “I didn’t say anything that wasn’t true.” 

He’d argue that, except something was off. 

It took Eddie a moment to place it--that the wad Steve handed over was way too big for the little bake sale they’d just attended. 

He tucked the box under his arm, quickly counting the stack with a smoothness only drug dealers and bank tellers could manage.

“It’s all there, I promise.” Steve told him simply, but without judgment. He sounded like he expected this and that didn’t sit right with Eddie either. 

Not that he could do anything about it because he’d just counted up didn’t make any sense. 

Not trusting himself, Eddie stacked it back together, before counting it all again. He was faster this time, trying to figure out among all the ones, fives and tens how the hell they had managed to sell that many cookies. 

Particularly considering the most expensive thing was one of the cakes and he’d watched Steve sell it for fifteen dollars. 

So why were there three twenties sitting in the stack? 

“Either you up charged the absolute shit out of someone’s mom, in which case I congratulate you, you sneaky devil,” Eddie said slowly, “Or you put extra cash in here.” 

Steve blushed properly this time. 

Eddie zeroed in on his face, watching as Steve rubbed the back of his neck with his hand, trying to pull his charming mask into place.

He didn't quite manage it.

Hadn’t even been wearing it before now, Eddie realized suddenly.

This entire conversation Steve had a realness to him that Eddie had never really seen. 

Had maybe not wanted to see, from someone like Harrington. 

“I don’t know what you mean.” Steve protested, like a kid who’d been caught with a hand in the cookie jar. “That’s what we charged.” 

“You are a terrible liar.” Eddie accused, hand trembling. “We can’t take this, man. This is a almost two hundred dollars.” 

Way more than what they’d need for Gen Con. It was enough to get them two fuckin’ hotel rooms! 

“If It helps any, I didn’t do it for you.” Steve’s blush slid into something more genuine, as he nodded his head to where Hellfire was spilling out of the gym doors, laughing and shoving one another. 

“They deserve to have a good trip.” He added, eyes fond as he watched Dustin and Mike squabble over how to fold Hellfire's banner.

It made his whole face soften, the harsh features of his jaw turning into something that was so adorable Eddie wanted to bite through it. 

“Do you want to come?” Someone said, and it took both Steve’s startled look and a second long pause for Eddie to realize that someone was him.

Stupid, stupid, stupid-! 

“To the convention?” Steve asked, looking doubtful. 

Pity that Eddie was already nodding, like his brain and his body were at a total disconnect.

Maybe aliens had finally taken him over. Or a demon. 

(Demonic possession could frankly explain a lot about today, Carver’s weird little power play aside.)

“Dude you don’t even like me.” Steve said. “Why would you want me to come along?” 

“I dunno Harrington. All of Hellfire seemed to like you, and not just my freshman.” Eddie countered easily, gliding right over the fact that he himself did like Steve.

Way more than he should, and that right there was half of Eddie’s problem. 

“They have pretty good taste in things.” He waived a hand, as if this wasn’t a complete 180 from how he’d acted all day. “I could understand if you didn’t want to slum it with us nerds though.”

Steve rolled his eyes. 

“I’ve been slumming it all day with you nerds, if you haven’t noticed.” 

“Yeah? What’s your verdict on us?” 

“Not as bad as you could be.” 

Eddie tilted his head back and laughed. “High praise from the King!”

He felt bad immediately after, and made himself promise to be more mindful about Robin’s ask--but  thankfully Harrington didn’t take it hard. 

(Habits, Eddie knew, were hard to change.

Took a lot of careful attention to change. 

He had a long road ahead of him, and he hoped this little olive branch put him a few miles down it.) 

Steve awarded him a small smile. “I haven’t been the King for a long while, man. But if you guys have an opening, I think I wouldn’t mind being a knight or whatever.” 

“Ste-eeeve Harrington, defender of the realm.” Eddie nodded once, decisively. “I can see it.”

He tucked away the cash, and thus missed how Steve looked weirdly contemplative at that. 

Raised his head and stuck out a hand. 

Tentatively, Steve took it. 

“Welcome to the club, Harrington. We meet on Fridays. Bring snacks.” 

“Cookies okay?”

“Going by Gareth’s judgment, they’re more than okay.”

Eddie smiled and Steve smiled back, and God how he hated how fucking cute Harrington’s face was. 

Particularly since he now got to think of the guy as “Steve” without feeling weird about it. 

As in his possible, potential, friend Steve.

What a fucking trip that was. 

“Oh, and Steve?” He called, the thought hitting him as Steve turned to welcome the group making their way to the beemer.

Steve had let his hand fall, turning to open the front door of the Beemer with a cocked eyebrow.

Eddie flicked a finger out, lightly tapping the Hellfire logo. “Tell Lucas I’ll get him another shirt. That one’s all yours, big boy.” 

If there was a pink hue to Harrington’s cheeks, he was blaming sunburn. 

(Two months, six days, and one meddlesome asshole named Henderson later, and Eddie would find out that Steve had in fact, been blushing.

He’d be furious at Dustin’s involvement, if it hadn’t directly led to Eddie finding out Steve’s blush did in fact go down his chest.

And his happy trail.

And his--

Well.

Men do not kiss and tell. 

Not to fucking freshmen, anyway.) 

THERE IS A GEN CON, "THERE WAS ONLY ONE BED BECAUSE DUSTIN IS A MEDDLESOME SHIT" BONUS BUT it's on A03 cause it was long enough to be its own post and I wasn't gonna add it to this one. You can read it here LINK

[mushynka]

Okay. This is my first fic ever so please read this 🫶

This story is intended for mature audiences (18+). Please note that English is not my first language, so there might be some language errors or awkward phrasing in the text sometimes. Feel free to correct me in the comments. I am still learning english so pls. try not to make too much fun out of me. Additionally, this story may not strictly follow the events as depicted in Marvel films or comics and contains creative deviations. I kindly ask that you do not copy or redistribute my work without permission. Yes. I know it's cringe lmao. Enjoy anyway!

Title: "Building a Future"

Words: "3000" (idk exactly)

Characters: Logan Howlett (Origins) x Fem. reader

The fire crackled in the hearth, casting long, flickering shadows across the cabin’s rustic interior. You sat by the fire, the soft light from the flames dancing across the room, your legs tucked underneath you. The storm outside was fierce—rain pelted the windows, and the wind howled through the trees surrounding the cabin. It was the kind of night that invited quiet moments, the kind where the world outside seemed to disappear, leaving only the two of you.

Logan, or Wolverine as most people called him, sat opposite you, sharpening one of his knives with a focused expression. He had removed his shirt hours ago, the heat from the fire mixing with the thick layers of tension in his muscles. You couldn’t help but admire the way the flickering light highlighted the intricate scars that lined his chest and arms—reminders of his past, of the battles he had fought, both external and internal.

He glanced up from his work, catching you staring. His lips twitched in a half-smile, a familiar teasing look in his dark eyes.

"What?" he grumbled, though there was no real irritation in his voice. "You don’t need to be that fascinated by my scars. I’m not exactly a masterpiece."

You smiled softly, pushing yourself up from the couch and walking toward him. "Maybe not, but I find them... telling," you said, sitting down beside him. "They show your story. Your history."

Logan sighed, leaning back against the armrest of the chair, his steel-blue eyes meeting yours. "It’s a history I’d rather forget sometimes."

You rested your head on his shoulder, feeling the warmth of his body against yours. His arms, though tough and weathered, still felt reassuring, like home. Logan’s past had always been a complicated subject between you two, and you knew it wasn’t something he opened up about easily. But you didn’t mind. You were patient. You understood that not everything needed to be spoken for it to be real.

The silence between you stretched on, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was the kind of quiet where two people could simply exist together, where being with someone was enough, even if the world outside seemed chaotic and uncertain.

"You ever think about... the future?" you asked quietly, your voice barely above a whisper.

Logan didn’t answer immediately. He took a deep breath, his shoulders shifting as if he were preparing for something difficult. "The future," he muttered, staring into the fire. "Not much use in thinking about it. It always seems out of reach."

You nodded, understanding what he meant. Logan had lived a life of endless turmoil, and thinking about a future—about stability, about peace—was a luxury he’d never had. The idea of planning for something long-term seemed almost laughable to him. But you could sense that, deep down, there was a part of him that longed for it.

"I think about it," you admitted, turning your head to meet his eyes. "I think about us... a future where we don’t have to hide, where we don’t have to fight every day."

Logan’s gaze softened, his expression unreadable for a moment. "You mean, like... kids? Family?" he asked, his voice hesitant, as though the word was foreign to him.

You smiled gently, feeling the weight of his words. "Yeah. I don’t know. It’s just a thought. But... I want a family. Maybe not now, but eventually. I want us to have something real."

The idea hung in the air between you like an unspoken promise, delicate and fragile. Logan shifted uncomfortably, his usual guarded demeanor slipping just a little.

"You know my... situation," he said, his voice low, almost apologetic. "I’m not exactly father material."

You reached out, gently placing your hand on his, feeling the warmth of his skin against yours. "Logan," you whispered, "I don’t need you to be perfect. I just need you to be you. You’ve already proven how much you care."

He turned his hand over to hold yours, the roughness of his calloused fingers in contrast to your softer skin. His grip tightened ever so slightly, as if reassuring himself that this moment wasn’t a dream.

"I’m not sure I’m built for that kind of life," Logan admitted, his voice rough but tender. "I’ve never really had the chance to think about it."

You leaned in, your lips brushing the side of his neck as you whispered, "You don’t have to decide now. Just... know that I’d be happy with whatever we build. Together."

For a long moment, Logan said nothing. But you could feel his body relax beside you, a slight exhale escaping his chest. He wasn’t saying yes. He wasn’t saying no. But for once, he wasn’t shutting down the possibility.

As the night wore on, you found yourself drifting in and out of a comfortable sleep, your head on his shoulder, your fingers laced with his. The rain began to slow, the winds calming to a gentle murmur. But the warmth between you two remained, a quiet promise of something that might one day be, even if it was only a distant hope.

[pastshadows]

Shadows of the Past

Chapter 11: Fate's Folly

Summary: After a year of blissful cohabitation, Astarion disappears without a trace, leaving behind a heartfelt letter explaining his departure. Determined to find him, you traverse Faerûn in search of your lost love, only to realize that some absences are meant to be permanent.

Returning to Waterdeep, you find solace in the company of Gale as you come to terms with Astarion's absence. But just as you begin to heal, Astarion reappears, begging for a second chance at love.

The question looms: can you forgive his abandonment and trust him once more? As you grapple with your emotions and trauma, a sinister force lurks in the shadows, targeting you for unknown reasons.

With danger closing in, you must navigate the treacherous waters of trust, love, and betrayal to uncover the truth behind the mysterious entity's motives. Will you be able to reunite with Astarion while facing the demons of your past? Can you unravel the secrets that threaten your very existence?

Setting: Post End-Game. Mostly canon compliant.

Word Count: 6.4K

Content: Explicit 18+ - intended for mature audiences.

Warnings: [Additional tags will be added, but expect mature content / read at your own risk.]

Spoilers. Mentions of in-game missable content. Violence. Sexual Assault [Implied/attempted sexual assault: Chapter 7]. Past Trauma. Murder. Death. Longing. Sexual themes. Smut. Blood drinking. Angst. Innuendos. High use of sarcasm. Completely fabricated camp interactions. Panic attacks. Anxiety.

Winter has gripped Faerûn in a deadlock. The trees have long since shed their leaves, and the bare limbs reach for the sky like bony fingers trying to scratch the heavens. The winter sun is dipping below the horizon, leaving the land stark and frigid. The wind whistles over the plains and whips your hair, churning it wildly around your face. You can’t even pick your feet up anymore, so your boots scuff across the hard earth.

How long have you been walking this road without stopping to eat or sleep? Your feet ache, your eyelids feel like lead weights, and your mind urges you to make camp for the night to allow yourself to slip into your trance, but you dare not. You don’t want to be assaulted by your nightmares any longer as they feed off sorrow and torment you. They pain you more than this exhaustion ever could.

Your fingers are frozen and numb. Lifting your hand, you try to summon fire, but you’re so tired even the Weave has abandoned you until you rest. With a defeated sigh, you pull your hood up and wrap your arms around yourself, shivering so hard your muscles cramp painfully, and your jaw chatters, clicking your teeth together.

If I can keep walking, at least I am advancing toward him.

… Hopefully.

As you continue your sluggish walk, your eyes begin to drift closed of their own volition. You’ve pushed your body too far, and it’s succumbing to exhaustion. You trip, sending yourself sprawling, and pebbles, twigs and gravel bite into your palms and knees. With no energy left in your reserves to push yourself up, you can do nothing but slump over on the cold earth and curl up.

If you do not trance, it will force itself upon you, and you quickly fade into a half-conscious state. You can feel the ground sap your body heat and infuse you with a raw, frigid sting that balls up your muscles and lances your skin as it permeates your robe. Your head hits and cracks the thin layer of ice atop a muddy puddle, splashing and submerging your hair in the slush. The murky liquid is piercing on your forehead and scalp, but you don’t have the energy to move. Unable to keep your eyes open, you drift and see Astarion in your mind’s eye.

Astarion relaxed at home, reading to you, cuddled up in bed while you giggle at his theatrical character voices. He only does these for you. He would never do such a thing in front of anyone else.

Astarion and you drinking his favourite wine by the fire all day, laughing, and dancing.

Astarion and you jump into a cold lake in the dead of night because he challenged you to see who would get out first. He won, of course.

Astarion walks through the rabble of taverns, playing your little game with a mischievous glimmer in his beautiful eyes, and he winks at you when he catches your glance.

Astarion and you making love. Your ears twitch, and you can almost hear his voice panting, “I love you, Kamena, my only one.”

Astarion humming a soothing tune because you were having trouble sleeping while you lay on his chest.

A wolf howls somewhere in the distance. When your eyes finally allow you to open them, your eyelashes are burdened with frozen teardrops, an icy stage for your woe. Your hair is an icicle of mud rooted to the ground. The first snowflakes drift from the sky, kissing your cheeks. You don’t have any strength left to rise, so you lay there as the snow starts to form a blanket akin to a death shroud on your body. You can’t even weep. You lay and wonder if this is it. Is this the end of your story? A powerful, fierce sorceress, torn asunder, doomed and destroyed by true love?

Why did you leave me, Astarion? What did I do?

You wake with a start, lunging upright and taking deep breaths. Your bones still ache from the cold, the remnant of your dream still evoking shivers. You flex your fingers, forcing them to release the bed linen balled in your fists. Nightmares still plague your meditation, but at least this one didn’t wake you up screaming. You glance at Astarion’s side of the bed, letting your hand slip over the silk sheets. He must still be out hunting. Every time he leaves, you worry that this time is the time he does not return.

Will I ever be able to trust him again?

Winter is starting to settle over the land, and the nights have become far too cold for your liking. There is no way you’ll be able to fall back into your trance. Flicking your wrist, a fire roars to life out of thin air, and you push it to burn unnaturally hot. Slipping Astarion’s shirt on, you sit on the floor before the fire and hold your fingers close to the flame, hoping the heat might blow away the remains of the dream gripping you. It doesn’t work. Your fingers still tremble with that panging soreness that will not relent.

Intense shivers run up and down your spine, making your body tremble with the same verve it did on that rigid, icebound earth. A cutting, frigid cold settles over your body as if you’ve been plunged into a crevice and fallen to the very depths of Cania. The flames of the fire start to turn a frightening blueish-white. Yet, no matter how hot you push it to burn, you cannot get the gnawing ache to abate.

You don’t hear Astarion enter, and you jump when he sits in the plush chair behind you, with you between his legs. He drapes a blanket over your shoulders, rubbing your arms, “You are up late or early, depending on how you view it. Nightmares again?”

“Yes,” you sigh as you pull the blanket around you. Your teeth continue to chatter despite the sweat sheening your skin.

Astarion kisses the top of your head, “I’m sorry. Do you want to talk about it?”

“No.”

What does he expect you to say? The year you spent without him by your side still haunts your dreams and thoughts. Lately, it has been all-consuming, and it’s absorbing your happiness. You can feel yourself slipping, and no matter how hard you try, the slipping never seems to stop. Anything you say will hurt him, and he’s had enough pain in his life. He does not need to bear your misery.

“We used to talk about everything and anything. I told you all about my…,” Astarion’s jaw clenches. He’s uncomfortable talking about that night he cried in your arms for hours, but he pushes himself to continue, “My feelings and fears. It’s not easy for me either, you know. I am unaccustomed to sharing my weaknesses. Hells, I’m not even used to feeling it. I spent so many years feeling only hatred, disgust and loathing, and then you came along and ruined it all,” he smirks, trying to lighten the gloomy mood.

“We used to before you left me,” you whisper. There’s a hint of irritation in your voice. Being pushed to share your pathetic moments and weakness grates at you, but then again, maybe you need someone to drag it out of you. You’ve been keeping this woe bottled inside you for so fucking long, “I’m not sure what you want me to say, Astarion. Whatever I tell you will be painful to hear, and I don’t want to do that to you because it’s not your fault.”

Astarion bursts out of his chair. He shouts with an inflection rough as gravel, “It is my fault! Stop making excuses for me because there is no excuse for what I did. I am not a fool, and I am not fragile. What did you ask of me? The truth even when it hurts? Do I not deserve the same courtesy?”

“I don’t want to hurt you,” you whimper, hand covering your mouth and blinking away tears.

“I deserve the hurt, and I can handle it. Let me bear it with you.”

“No,” you shake your head, eyes fixed on him, “You don’t deserve it.”

Astarion wracks his fingers through his hair and over the frustration that darkens the planes of his face, making him look severe, “Stop being so bloody pig-headed!”

You’re swayed in a sudden grip of outrage. It festers in your veins, heating your skin and palms. The fire leaps wildly as if pure alcohol were poured onto it as you jump to your feet. You can’t help yourself, and you pace as you scream at him, “What do you want me to say, Astarion?! You want me to tell you that I walked for days at a time. All day and all night! I never stopped to eat or rest because if I did, I didn’t know if I would have the strength to get back up!”

Good Gods. You’re so fucking livid that flames are starting to writhe over your skin like snakes in a pit. That draconic fire is hard to control when your emotions are high. All the feelings you’ve been tampering start to spew out of your mouth spitefully, and you can’t stop the avalanche.

“You want the fucking truth?” You roar, unable to stop the emotion seeping from your pores, “I walked until my feet and legs were numb from pain. I walked until I was so exhausted that my eyes closed without consent, the Weave, even fire abandoned me, and my pathetic body forced me to stop. Do you know what happened when I stopped? Exactly what I feared would. I had to relive memories of when I was happy, memories of us, as the cold earth sapped the rest of my strength. When I came to, I did not have the strength to continue, so I lay there while snow blanketed me and considered letting death have me because I was so godsdamned miserable without you!”

Tears stream down your face, dripping from your chin. When you look at Astarion, his cheeks are as wet as yours, scarlet eyes ashine behind sorrow. This is what you did not want to do. You don’t want to hurt him. Astarion told you he left you because he was afraid, and at the time, it felt like the best option available. That need to run, ignore, and flee your problems is an old friend now, and you can’t blame him. It’s what you did for a year and are continuing to do.

Instead of facing the fact that he was gone and he did not want to be found, you kept pushing your body to its limits and putting yourself into stupid situations because you could not accept the fact that maybe he did not want you any longer. Your heart is hammering as you choke and suffocate on all the memories you’ve been repressing. Days and nights of walking or running as far as your feet could take you until you were senseless. Battles with brigands, ne’er-do-wells, and all manner of beasts. The boiling heat of summer and the glacial cold of winter. Staring at the moon while you wept because your soul could practically feel the distance between you enlarging.

The fact he’s made you upset him stokes those embers of anger further. You rasp low, wiping your eyes, “There. Now you know how pathetic I am. I am not a fearless leader or a fucking hero. I am just a broken, foolishly weak woman who could not even take care of herself and could not accept that you left me. Is that what you want to hear? Are you happy now that my fragility and broken pieces are displayed for you to gawk at and judge? Go ahead, Astarion. Tell me how objectively stupid I am.”

Astarion’s brows furrow as tears tiptoe from the corners of his eyes, gliding down his cheeks. Astarion’s voice is gruff, a woven lace between anger and anguish. “By the Gods. Why would you do that to yourself? For me, of all people?!”

Good Gods, is he truly so blind? 

“Because I love you! The way I fell for you was as effortless as breathing. When you left, the moon split, and the stars fell from the sky into the sea I was endlessly suffocating in. I watched my whole world crumble.” Splaying your hand on your chest, you try to halt the ever-increasing tightness constricting your lungs. You laugh sarcastically at yourself, “And it’s all my damn fault. You are not accountable for my happiness or lack thereof, or how I handled you leaving, or what I did after the fact. It’s all on me.”

It’s an epiphany of sorts. All that anger, fear, and hurt you’re holding onto, repressing, and running from is not his doing - it’s yours. You cannot blame Astarion for how you reacted to his leaving, regardless of how he handled it. You’ve been smothering yourself, and your anger is entirely misplaced. You are angry at yourself, and you have been for some time.

The silhouette standing in the road, blocking you from happiness, is yours.

You need air and space to think, and you dress quickly while Astarion begs you to stop and talk to him. Gods, you’re going to asphyxiate if you stay in this house. Your chest heaves in short, quick breaths that only make you dizzier. Your heart is thudding in your ears. Your muscles tremble with the urge to run, and you lunge toward the door.

Run.

Astarion steps in front of it quickly, “No,” His voice shakes, tears streaking down his cheeks as he blocks your path.

“Get out of my way, Astarion,” you snap at him sharply. “Get out of my way, or I will move you out of my way.”

Please don’t make me move you.

“Then move me,” he challenges with a scowl.

With a grimace, you cast Telekinesis and glide Astarion across the floor to the other end of the room gently. His eyes round, shocked. You’ve never cast against him in anger before. Guilt devours you, consuming whatever was left of your rationality.

Once again, panic takes the wheel, and you run.

I’m sorry, Astarion. I’m so sorry.

He watches the slow rise and fall of her chest and listens to the somnolent beating of her heart as she trances by the fire to keep warm. He only needs a taste, a nibble, to test how far this newfound freedom truly spans. He can walk in the sun, and so far, Cazador has not been able to control him, but is he still bound by the rules Cazador planted in his mind?

If he’s quiet enough, he should be able to… Her eyes snap open, and she jumps to her feet with a scowl.

“…Shit.” He puts his hands up and backs away slowly, watching her intently to see if she reaches for a weapon or if magic starts to dance on her fingers, “No, no - it’s not what it looks like, I swear!”

Shit. Shit. Shit. He’s got to recover from this. Quickly, or she might try and stake him, “I wasn’t going to hurt you. I just needed - well, blood.”

“How long since you killed someone? Days? Hours?”

“I’ve never killed anyone! Well… not for food,” He glances at the ground. How much should he reveal? It’s a fine line to tread. He needs to tell enough of the truth to earn trust but not enough to unveil his “little plan.”

She is not wholly soft-hearted and pure, but he’s spent two hundred years manipulating people. He can surely get her to spread her legs for him, to fall for him, and ensure his safety. The living are as much of a slave to their more animalistic desires as he is to bloodlust. It makes them simple prey.

“I feed on animals. Boars, deer… Kobolds. Whatever I can get. But it’s not enough. Not if I have to fight! I feel so... weak. If I just had a little blood, I could think clearer. Fight better.” He slips on his expert manipulative demeanour and intonation, ”Please.”

He feels an odd pinch in his mind as it half unfolds for her. Gods. She has access to his memories and thoughts. Will she intrude into his mind unapologetically and violate him as so many have in the past? More than likely. He sighs, resigns himself and awaits the transgression.

Her brow quirks up, and her defensive stance relaxes slightly as she shakes her head to rid herself of the unfamiliar sensation of the tadpole writhing behind her eye. Her voice is gentle, almost hurt, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

She… she didn’t force herself upon him? She didn’t take the bait and play his mind like an instrument, plucking the strings of his memories?

“At best, I was sure you’d say no. More likely, you’d ram a stake through my ribs. No, I needed you to trust me. And you can trust me.”

She scrutinizes him in a way that makes him feel like he’s been stripped of his clothes and naked. “I do. I believe you.”

“Thank you.” he sighs, relieved. She trusts him? Objectively stupid, but he will take it. “Do you think you could trust me just a little further? I only need a taste, I swear.”

She nods, “Fine. But not a drop more than you need.”

His brows shoot up his forehead. Is she really just going to allow him to bite her? Stupid woman. “Really? I - of course. Not one drop more. Let’s make ourselves comfortable, shall we?”

“Wait!” She halts him, pushing him back by the shoulders.

He recoils, a little aggravated at her blockage. He was so, so deliciously close. “What is it, Sorceress? Don’t tell me you’ve chickened out already. I’ll be gentle, I swear. It will only hurt for a moment.”

“No, Rogue,” she frowns at him. She is cute when she’s angry. Her fingers hover by his lips, “Pain does not frighten me. Open your mouth.”

“Open my mouth?” He arches a brow at her, “Why?”

“I’ve noticed your fangs, but I’ve never paid them much thought,” she muses with a wily grin. “I would like to see what you’re about to plunge into my neck.”

He scoffs, “I am not an exhibition for your eyes to feast upon.”

“Do you want to eat or not?” She smirks, “I believe it’s a simple request.”

“You’re very strange,” he clicks his tongue but opens his mouth for her with a roll of his eyes. It is a small price to pay if this works.

She pricks her finger against his fang, “Ouch! Sharp!”

“No, shit.” He chuckles with a scoff, “Have you finished examining me now? Shall we continue?”

She scoffs back at him, “You’re very impatient. Very well. You may continue with your supper.”

She lolls her head to the side. His fangs break her supple flesh, and her blood flows freely into his mouth. Cazador’s rules do not bind him any longer. Gods, she tastes like clouds parted, heaven is stroking his tongue, and angel wings flutter through his veins. She leans into him with a sigh. Her body shakes, excited. Excited? An odd reaction, but alas, who is he to complain? He can feel her inside of him. Her essence fills him, and his nerves hum a sonnet he’s never heard or felt. He loses himself in her.

She pushes against him feebly as her body starts to grow cold, “Stop! It’s too much.”

Reluctantly, he removes his fangs, cleaning his lips, and licking his fingers. He will not waste a drop of that liquid bliss, “Ah! Of course. I was just swept up in the moment. But it worked. I feel good. Strong. Happy.”

He got carried away. He will have to watch himself more carefully if she ever allows him near her again.

She wavers on her feet, hand coming to her forehead and eyes glossy. She groans, and he expects her to chastise him. Instead, she steadies herself and chimes resolutely, “I’m looking forward to seeing you fight.”

That’s it? No beating? No flaying? No putrid rats? Not so much as a “bad vampire!” Just... looking forward to seeing him fight. What in the Hells?

He hides his surprise behind that practice veneer of confidence, “Shouldn’t take long. So many people need killing. Now if you’ll excuse me, you’re invigorating, but I need something more filling,” he lies. He’s full, happy, but inexplicably highly aroused.

Is this something that always happens with thinking creatures? Is it simply a natural response because she’s his first? He has nothing and no one to compare this experience to.

“This is a gift, you know.” She might be a gift from the Gods after they’ve ignored him for centuries. He is no longer bound by his puppet master or the rules rooted in his brain. He has broken his chains. He purrs, “I won’t forget it.”

She stops him, giggling lightheaded and ethereal, “The boar was you, wasn’t it?” 

She is clever, isn’t she? He chuckles, “Yes, my dear. I said a vampire killed it, did I not?”

She plops down on her bedroll, “You conveniently left out that you were that vampire. Very clever, Astarion,” she smirks. “I’ll watch you and the pretty words that leave your beautiful mouth more closely from now on. Happy hunting.”

She thinks his mouth is beautiful?  

The door slams hard enough to cause the tower to shake, and she’s gone. Kamena had always been the unshakable light of their group of misfits. She took everything in stride.

Gale’s orb might explode and kill them all? No problem, we will find magical items for him to consume.

Sharran Cleric? No sweat. Your beliefs are your own.

Warlock bound to his contract? Easy. We will find a way to break that.

Murderous Gith with a superiority complex that could rip out her spine? Tell me more about you and your people.

Tiefling spewing Hellfire from her body with an infernal engine for a heart? Welcome aboard. Now, let’s find a way to fix that heart of yours.

Vampire spawn who tries to bite her while she tranced one night? No matter. I trust you. While we are at it, let's make a pit stop and kill your master so you can be free. 

She never flinched when confronted that they might all burst into Mind Flayers any second. She always kept the group moving forward toward their goals while taking the time to sort out everyone’s problems. His stomach sinks. It’s nearly dawn, but he can catch her before the sun rises… probably. He sprints out of the room and down the stairs.

“Let her go, Astarion,” Gale grips his arm and shakes his head.

“Are you mad?” He pulls his arm away. “Don’t touch me.”

“You look lost,” Gale pats his shoulder. “Despite our differences, we do share one thing in common. Our love for her.” Astarion’s jaw tightens. “Purely platonic on my end, of course,” Gale assures with a genial smile. “If you need to speak to a trusted… friend. Well, I do hope you might consider me one such friend.”

“Are we,” he quirks his brow at the wizard and grimaces, “… friends?”

“Perhaps friends is a little superfluous,” Gale chuckles. “But I am here for you if you need a friendly ear or advice. I have navigated the waters she’s currently treading. It can be a dark path.”

“Ugh,” he scoffs, crossing his arms. The wizard always likes to beat around the bush. He prefers someone to speak their mind, “Just speak plainly.”

“Come, my friend,” Gale gestures toward the sitting room, “Let’s sit. I would offer you some tea, but… I know that doesn’t fit your particular dietary needs.”

Astarion groans, relinquishing his hold on the door handle. He looks longingly, willing it to open and for her to rush back into his arms. He sits on the sofa and lets his head fall into his hands. His fingers splayed into his hair.

“Do you want to be with her, Astarion?” Gale begins.

“What are you getting at, Gale?” He mutters annoyance weaved in the deep baritone of his voice that he can’t hide, “Get to the point.”

Gale’s voice loses the honeyed intonation, “Do you want to spend your life with her until hers ends, or will you run again when it gets hard? There is an imbalance in your relationship. You are immortal. She is not.”

“You know as well as I that there are ways to extend life - beyond my… condition,” Astarion drags his hand through his hair.

“There are, but nothing is assured,” Gale retorts, “If she cannot extend her life or find a cure for you, are you willing to stay with her when she gets old, and you remain forever young? It’s an eventually you must consider.”

Can he do it? Is he capable of spending the next 800 years with her only to have her age and die, leaving him alone again? Gods. A world void of her fire? Perish the thought.

Astarion cants a brow at him and scoffs, “If this is your attempt at a pep talk, you’re failing abysmally.”

“You have enough pep,” Gale chuckles, rubbing his hands together. “No, I am trying to have a real discussion with you, and you are making it exceedingly gruelling.”

“Yes,” he answers truthfully. Astarion swallows hard, trying to dissuade the ball in his throat to ease, “I want to be with her. More than anything.”

“Good,” Gale’s hand comes to his chin as he contemplates. “Then you must keep fighting for her. Every day, you must treasure her. When the days are cold, warm her. When the shadows disturb her rest, hold her tight. When she needs space, let her go. Show her you can handle the storm, and be prepared to weather it with her.”

“I am trying,” he sighs, leaning back in his chair. His brows furrow as he eyes Gale with palpable caution. Gale is still in love with her, and he knows. It makes him wary to have these conversations with him, “I have never done this - a real relationship. Love. It’s all new to me, and I have no idea how to navigate it.”

Gale’s bourbon brown eyes reflect the firelight as he examines Astarion with a probing case that makes him uncomfortable, though his expression remains nearly blank. Is there empathy in his eyes? Delight? Pain?

“You hurt her deeply, but I don’t need to tell you that,” Gale finally says and leans forward. “You, of all people, should know that pain leaves scars, whether visible on the skin or unseen on the heart. Remember, Astarion. When you’re speaking to her, you are touching her scars.”

Hells below. He had not thought of it like that before.

Gale smiles, “Now, that awkwardness is over. Tell me, Astarion. What do you know of the Wish spell?

Astarion balks at the quick change in subject, although he’s happy about it, “Wish? I know it’s a powerful spell, but not much else. Spells are not my expertise, Gale. You know this. I leave magic up to you and Kamena - much more so Kamena.”

“Kamena is a substantially powerful sorceress. We have not seen the like of her kind for some time,” Gale smirks with an amused chuckle. “She gave up sparing with me because I could not keep up. Can you believe that - an archmage unable to keep up with a sorceress? I often wonder if her ancestor is Tiamat herself.”

“I am well aware of how powerful she is,” Astarion snickers, “But you’re getting off-topic. What of this Wish spell?”

Gale’s eyes brighten, and he beams. “Kamena never stopped looking for it, you know. Even when you left, she continued and persuaded me to continue as well. I have a lead - an excellent lead.”

“Is Kamena capable of casting it?” Astarion mouth drops. “Could she actually use it?”

“She is more than powerful enough to cast it,” Gale nods, but his expression turns sullen. “Though spells of this power often have a cost and can be rather… finicky. It could be dangerous - for you and her. I have not found it yet, but I believe we are getting close. In theory, she could use it to cure you, but it might go awry. We cannot be sure of the consequences, though. We have not found any documentation on such.”

“Can it kill her?” Astarion asks bluntly. Spells of such power often have unforeseen consequences. You cannot evoke such power without cost. Sometimes, it is minimal. Other times, it is life itself. He’s read enough books to know this much.

“Possibly,” Gale concludes with a grim look. His jaw clenches, setting his lips in a thin line.

“Stop looking for it, Gale.” Astarion shakes his head. His heart sinks a little. This would be the closest thing he could get to a cure since he didn’t complete the Rite, but he cannot justify the payment, “Her possible death is not worth my possible life.”

“My friend, you will have to speak to her about that,” Gale chuckles with a sullen shrug. “She has already been appraised of my objections.”

“Ugh,” Astarion scoffs, tousling his hair, “Let me guess. She said, and I quote, “Your objections have been noted.”

Gale’s laugh booms through the halls, “Yes, precisely. She is stubborn, and that silver tongue of hers is dangerous. Sometimes, she persuades me to do things I was adamant I didn’t want to do! Are all Elves like that, or is she just special?”

“Gale,” Astarion smirks, “I think we have much to discuss. I do not indulge in tea, but do you have something harder?”

Gale’s fingers come to his chin, “Like wine?”

“No,” Astarion tuts, clicking his tongue with a scoff. “Much harder.”

Gale grins widely, “Oh, now you’re speaking my language, my sharp-toothed friend! Join me in my cellar, and pick what you like best!”

You close the bedroom door softly behind you and lean on it. Astarion is sitting before the fire in one of the chairs. He does not even twist to look at you, but he would have heard and smelt you coming even before you reached the manor. He sits with his head in his hand, propped up by his arm.

You take a deep breath and force the fire to take the shape of a dragon, fly out of the fireplace, around him and to you before you make it land on the log and continue burning in its natural state. Astarion does not flinch at your display. He barely seems to blink as the dragon gambles around him, driving and twirling. It’s a sure sign that he’s angry, which is precisely what you wanted to know.

You have been caught in a stormy ocean of despair. You’re being tossed like a ship on rough waves. Some days, the waves calm, and you feel like yourself again. On other days, the waves are agitated, and you toss, just trying to stay afloat, but sometimes you get dragged under the surface and start drowning again. It does not matter how hard you kick or fight to break the barrier. An anchor on your legs and arms that drags you down into the depths.

Perhaps it’s time to stop fighting the storm and weather it instead. Emotions are messy, and you are not well acquainted with these. You’ve never been in love before this. You spent most of your adult life alone, hunting down the wizard who purchased you and tortured you for your childhood in the name of “teaching you to master your talents.”

“I’m sorry, Astarion,” you murmur from the door, not daring to get closer to him. “I should not have cast on you. It was uncalled for.”

“You shuffled me across the floor,” he chuckles, twisting in his chair with an amused smile. “That hardly requires an apology. I am impressed with your control. However, I would prefer it if you don’t use magic when we argue. Otherwise, think nothing of it. I should not have pushed you. I was too harsh... I’m sorry.”

“I need to be pushed, I think,” you sigh, combing your fingers through your hair. “I keep trying to calm myself, but I just need to weather it as it comes. Sometimes... I get swept away, and there’s nothing I can do. I think... I need to stop trying to stop it and try to survive it instead.”

“Come,” Astarion taps his lap with an affectionate smile and empathy shining in his eyes. “Sit with me, and we can talk.”

Walking over, you discard your robe and are left in your underclothes. Astarion’s arms wrap around you as you ease down onto his lap, and he pulls you close to him. He kisses your temple, his cheek on your forehead.

Astarion takes your hand, interlocking your fingers with his and squeezing slightly. He asks blatantly, “Do you want to be with me, or is my presence here just hurting you further?”

“What?” You cup his cheek with your palm, and he nuzzles your hand. Astarion’s silken lips ghost over it, and he kisses it before resting on it, “I want to be with you more than anymore, but I need time. I told you. I am broken. I mentioned I was drowning when you left, but I am coming up for air now. I’m fighting to keep my head above the waves, but sometimes I fall below them…. I don’t want you to leave. Please, stay with me. You are all I need.“

He nods. Astarion’s scarlet eyes swallow you, and empathy and understanding wash over you. “You are not broken, sweetheart.” Astarion places a soft kiss on your lips. “You are healing, and sometimes healing is messy. I know that better than most.” Astarion pauses and nuzzles your cheek, “Stop running from me and start running to me, Kamena. I can be strong when you feel weak, just as you are for me. We do not walk these roads alone any longer. We walk them together, my Solicallor, my only one.”

Solicallor… His Elven nickname for you means “Warm light of the sun.”

What did I ever do to deserve someone so understanding? 

That’s it, that breaks you, tearing you apart and rending you inside out. Your breaths come in rapid heaves, and your heart feels like it might fly out of your throat onto the ground before you. You clutch at your chest, and you start to tremble. Your eyes swarm with tears. You slip your hands down the back of Astarion’s shirt, needing to feel the cool chill of his skin, but are careful not to touch his scars. He doesn’t appear to notice when your fingertips accidentally brush the raised edges.

Astarion purrs, crushing you against him, “Breath with me, my love. Deep breaths. In” he counts to 30, “and out,” he counts to 30.  You try to synchronize your breaths to his as best you can.

“You have not called me Solicallor in some time,” you shake while forcing a fireball to circle you as if you’re the gravity keeping it in place. You push all your hurt, fear and anger into that fireball, making it double in size and burn white-hot. “I can be your sun, Astarion. For now, at least.”

“Yes,” he chuckles, but there’s an edge to his voice that you didn’t expect. “Gale and I had an interesting chat today, but we shall discuss that later.”

“He told you of the Wish spell.” It’s not a question. You knew Gale was going to out you eventually. You’re going to have to scold him later for it. You were not going to tell Astarion until you had the damn spell in hand and were sure you could cast it.

“He did,” Astarion nods, rubbing your back and weaving his fingers into your hair. “But that’s a conversation for another time. Let’s focus on us for tonight.”

“I am going to have to chastise Gale,” you frown. You cannot help the anticipation dripping from your voice, “Us?”

“Don’t chastise him too hard, darling. He is rather insecure, but who wouldn’t be with me around?” he chuckles with an arrogant smirk. “Yes. Us. Whatever that may be right now. We can stay in this limbo of indecision as long as you need. But to me, we are still us. You are only mine, yes? Or do I have people I need to murder?”

“We are us.” You agree with a broad smile. Wrapping your arms around his neck, you pull yourself close, “And I am yours.”

“Only mine?” He sounds agog as if he cannot imagine you would be wholly his.

Does he still not believe he deserves me?  

“Only yours, Aerasumé,” you kiss his cheek, calling him the nickname you gave him in private derived from your language. It means “Silvermoon of the Evening.” You’re reluctant to say it, but it’s been on your mind since you met him, “I think I was born to be yours, thiramin.”

Astarion stiffens at your mention of “thiramin.” It is your Elven word for what is basically a soulmate. His clutch on you strengthens, and his fingers start running through your hair, but he doesn’t say anything, and his jaw is tight. Your heart sinks into your stomach. Have you gone too far? Have you frightened him? Will he run?

“You don’t have to say it back, Astarion,” you encourage in a honeyed intonation, running your fingers comfortingly up and down his neck. “I do not expect you to feel that same. I just… I guess I just wanted you to know how I truly felt.”

Astarion’s mouth opens and closes, but no words come out. He swallows hard, making his Adam's apple bob. It’s one of his tells when he’s uncomfortable. He kisses you intimately, but his reluctance to answer causes your heart to spasm, clench and descend into your stomach. Are you more in love with him than he is with you? Is that why you were so incapable of letting him go, but he so easily ran from you?

“I think... I need some space,” Astarion murmurs. “I’m sorry, I-”

You cut him off, slipping off his lap and shaking your head. You remain stoic, forcing tears to stay behind your eyes, “It’s okay. I understand. Goodnight, Astarion."

I went too far.

Thank you to all those who read/like/comment/follow/reblog/etc. I'm forever thankful for the support.

Chapters Master List - Shadows of the Past

AO3: Crossposted

If you're interested, I also write fanfic for Ascended Astarion x Spawn Tav - Fangs and Fractured Hearts

Small Notes:

I just wanna hug Kamena.

Also Astarion

And Gale too for good measure.

[weirdmarioenemies]

Name: Zomboni

Debut: Plants vs. Zombies

Plants vs. Zombies is such a silly game. Silly is baked into its very code. And I love that! You know me! I live under rotting wood, eating silly and breaking it down into nutrient-rich soil! But I think Zomboni has the honor of being the silliest thing in this already-silly game!

There is no way Zomboni would exist if it weren't for the wordplay. So thank goodness for the wordplay! A zombie, on a Zamboni. Though, we are informed that it is actually "more closely related to a space ogre than a Zombie". What impeccable word choice! So it's not even actually a space ogre. Just some weird guy creature. Awesome

Zomboni drives an ice resurfacing machine, and I have no idea what the general public's knowledge level of these things is. Does the average person know the exist? I knew, but I played and hated playing hockey as a child so I got to watch the ice being resurfaced, which was the best part. Some guy who may or may not be tangentially related to space ogres will drive this machine around the ice rink, cutting down the surface and laying down fresh ice to make a nice and smooth surface, I think. Now, I may be using the generic term for this product, but commonly, there is one brand name that is used commonly, like Band-Aid or Q-Tip or Velcro, and for that we can thank...

Name: Frank J. Zamboni

Debut: Utah

Frank J. Zamboni! Hooray! What do you have to say, Frank?

Wow. So true, Frank. I'm sure this message is reaching its intended audience in this post. Anyway, ol' Ice Tank Frank made such an iconic machine that it is THE ice resurfacing machine in the public consciousness, and there is even a trademark for its iconic shape! That seems unnecessary but ok. Now, when the ghost of the Zamberino was scrying the mortal realm for references to his work in media, he came across parody in a funny video game, and OBVIOUSLY something had to be done about that!

And from then on, Zomboni's description was updated to reflect that it is NOT to be confused with a Zamboni® brand ice resurfacing machine, you silly billy, why would you think that? And they also plugged the Zamboni website in-game, so that the audience of, I must emphasize, a silly video game, would be more likely to buy an entire ice resurfacing machine, or at least its related merchandise. I really would think this would all be fine under parody law, but maybe it has to do with the shape trademark. Whatever. To the Zamboni company's credit, they have some incredible merchandise.

What a powerful item. With this, the course of a baby's life can be changed forever...

Zomboni with an O, I mean with two Os, approaches while creating a trail of freshly laid ice that cannot be planted on. The brand-ambiguous ice resurfacing machine is quite tough, but instant-kill plants are effective, as are Spikeweeds and Spikerocks, which will instantly pop its tires!

Zomboni is a considerable threat, instantly flattening any plant it reaches before its destruction, though the player should be pretty well-equipped to combat it, and the ice is laid on the right side of the screen, rather than the precious left side. Pretty manageable! But Zomboni is only the beginning, and as much delight and intrigue as I have gleaned from Zomboni's existence, it's what FOLLOWS Zomboni that is, in fact, my favorite zombie(s) in the game.

If Zomboni is allowed to create an ice trail, it will be used by Zombie Bobsled Team! Yeah, Frank got a whole "name/debut" section and these guys just get a bolded name in a sentence. You never know what I'm gonna do next! Hee hee!

Zombie Bobsled Team is exactly what it sounds like! A team of zombies, in a bobsled! So that's four zombies, with a defensive vehicle that has to be destroyed before they can be harmed! Zomboni was already over-the-top silly, and then Zombie Bobsled Team goes even higher over that top. And it's a Big Top, where they keep all the clowns. There is not much else I can say about Zombie Bobsled Team, but it really speaks for itself!

For some reason there exists official art of "Mullet Zombie", the Zomboni driver without his vehicle and hat. And for an even somer reason, they put it on the box art for the DS version! PvZ1 is simply very strange when it comes to official key art. Messed up.

[puppycak3s]

Run While You Still Can | James Sunderland/ Pyramid Head x Reader Part Two | inspired by @scratchingcatfics658 for their Jekyll and Hyde AU

TWs: HEAVY Dubcon, power struggle, chasing, cheating(technically), groping, fingering, PinV, written with afab anatomy in mind but no terms are used, monsterfucking, and slight blood. All of my works are intended for adult audiences🫶 (also yall i suck at proofreading so be warned) p.s. listen to this song its the same vibe

As you went to go back to the bed, he followed you. Like a dog on a leash. As you sat down, he stood next to you, awkward and fidgety. You cocked your head at him.

"James, honey?"

You could see something almost dark flash across his eyes. You feared that maybe you had crossed a line. But he said nothing, patiently waiting for you to speak.

"You're not going to wear that jacket to sleep are you?"

You gestured to him. "It's kinda, well.."

He looked down at himself, as if he was just now realizing the state he was in.

"Oh I- yea I should probably.."

he started to take off his jacket, revealing a rumpled dress shirt underneath. He folded his jacket, most likely an old habit, before draping it across one of the chairs in the room.

You took a second to take him in. You knew he was strong but without the bulk of his jacket you got a better picture. Broad shoulders, stocky build. You could only imagine what he looked like under the shirt. You'd pay to see that.

He brushed off the chair, making to sit down there. You huffed at him.

"James, you are not sleeping on the chair".

He stopped what he was doing, looking like a deer in headlights. Like he had been caught doing something he shouldn't have. You patted the blanket next to you.

He opened his mouth to speak and then shut it.

"I... I'm not sure that's a good idea" he hesitated, not moving from where he was.

"I don't bite, James" you teased. "Plus you'll mess up your back sleeping on that chair, we both need to be in the best condition we can."

He looked from you, back to the chair and back to you.

"Yes, but I still don't think- I mean we-" he sighed to himself, pinching the bridge of his nose. "This isn't a good idea, you- you've only known me a couple of weeks."

He shook his head, slowly meeting your gaze.

"Why aren't you scared of me? I...can't figure you out."

You returned his gaze, a bit quizically. The man who had been protecting you at all costs, always putting himself in line with danger to keep you safe, was saying you should be scared of him.

You didn't say anything, you being scared of him had crossed your mind, in the beginning but now.

You trusted him.

He waited a beat, waiting for you to come to your senses, to tell him to leave and never come back. He let out a breath as he started to absentmindedly pace.

"This whole.." he gestured vaguely with his hands. "Situation that we're in right now, this" he scoffed "this place, this town. It's crawling with monsters, with danger" his pacing stopped as he turned his attention fully to you.

"It's incredibly reckless to trust me, I- I'm just a stranger, a random man you met and I just don't understand why..why you.."

He gave you a look that was hard to decipher. Longing, anguish, but overall a want- a NEED for you to push him away. You didn't. You would only draw him in.

You reached and grabbed his hands. They were warm, always so warm, calloused and blood stained but you didn't care. You cared about him. You rubbed your thumb across the back of one of his hands, to soothe him and to ground yourself.

"James" you started quietly.

"I've never had someone who would stand in the way of threats," you glanced up at him, his gaze had considerably softened. "Had someone to put my safety first, care about if I get hurt."

You could feel a lump start to form in your throat, but you weren't going to cry. This wasn't the time.

"Everyone that has said that they care for me, their actions never match, I always end up..hurt in some way or another." You fully met his gaze now, searching his eyes for anything. "Your actions, the way that you treat me, it's something I've never felt from another person."

You took a shaky breath and you could feel James come closer, kneeling down to your level.

"I was wary of you at the beginning but.. James?"

He nodded his head softly, acknowledging you.

"I think you're..a good man."

That darkness flashed across his eyes again, as he looked down at his hands, your hands

. Would you think that he was a good man if you knew what his hands were capable of. Would you feel safe with him then?

"I'm.. not a good man." He said softly.

You moved one of your hands to cradle his face, the stubble scratching lightly at your palm. He froze completely. It was like ice, fire, a shock that went through him entirely. His eyes slowly met yours.

"You are to me." You murmured. His hand shakily went up to cover yours, pressing it softly into his face. "You are a good man to me James."

You both gazed at eachother, the tension was heavy, but neither of you were acting on it.

You wanted to kiss him.

Wanted him to use his big hands on you, move you where he wanted you.

Feel him on you.

You wanted him, and it made you feel guilty.

You both were in this place, this town, looking for someone else. Someone who was important to the both of you respectively. You shouldn't be feeling this way, you knew it was wrong. But that didn't stop the want. The need for comfort.

James groaned softly and took your hand from his face, looking away.

"I...can't."

He avoided your gaze as he stood back up.

"This isn't..you're here for someone else, I-I'm here for someone else this just isn't..."

his eyes met yours and they said everything. He wanted to.

By god did he want to, but it just wasn't...

"it's just not-"

"Safe?" You interupted, a resigned but understanding look on your face.

You let out a small sigh. "It's okay James, I wasn't trying to pressure you into anything, I get it."

He let out a breath he didn't realize he was holding.

The longing in his eyes remained, but you were pretty sure yours had the same.

You looked out the dirty window.

"It's getting late, we should probably try to get some rest."

He nodded his head slowly.

"Yea.. yea that's probably a good idea."

You shuffled onto your side of the blanket as James followed suit, rather timidly.

He was staring up at the ceiling as you lay on your side facing him. Watching his chest rise rythmically made you all the more tired.

"James?" You said looking up at him.

"Hmm?"

"Will you stay here, please?"

The springs of the mattress creaked as he turned to face you.

"I'm not going anywhere." He said softly rubbing your arm.

The first physical contact he had initiated.

"Now get some rest, we don't know what we'll stumble into tomorrow"

You smiled sleepily as you tucked your arm under your head, a makeshift pillow.

"You better... rest too.. James.. or else.."

You could hear a small chuckle as you finally drifted off to sleep.

You awoke with a start, a loud scraping noise echoing down the hallway. Your heart lurched as you reached to wake James. Nothing. Your stomach dropped. He wasn't there.

The urge to cry resurfaced but you pushed it down yet again. This was possible life or death, there wasn't time. You scrambled up as the scraping continued. It was closer now. You had to think, but you just.. you didn't have time.

You crept quietly to the floor, searching blindly in the darkness for anything you could defend yourself with. Your hands fumbled across the lead pipe James had been carrying earlier. As you grasped it you winced in horror as it made an agonizingly loud scrape against the floor.

Fuck.

Whatever was after you knew you were here now. You rushed over to the corner by the door. If- when the monster came in the room, at least you would be covered. You waited with bated breath as the scraping drew closer and closer. The sound of heavy footsteps accompanying it. Your brain felt frenzied, all of your nerves on fire, your muscles taught, ready to run.

Silence.

The scraping, the footsteps, had stopped.

You let out a shaky breath as you strained your ears-

only for the door to slam open. It struck you, struck the wall, as new waves of panic coursed through your veins. You could hear your heartbeat in your ears as the trudging footsteps entered the room. Through the space in the door, illuminated by the moon, was a great, hulking beast. A man shaped creature with a sharp polygon atop its shoulders. You could feel your blood freeze in your veins. You knew it was looking for you, knew you needed to run, but fear had rendered you immobile. Your brain was screaming at your body, desperate to leave the threat behind and just fucking RUN. But your limbs wouldn't listen.

The floor creaked as the creature drew it's arm back, only to plunge it into the mattress, the very spot you had been moments ago. The mattress imploded on itself, the springs screeching against the enormous blade, clinging on to it, as the figure withdrew it from its carnage. Your hands flew up to your mouth in horror and you dropped it.

You dropped the lead pipe.

Fuck.

It clattered dully against the floor boards as the great hulking mass turned it's attention to you.

Run. Run. Fucking RUN.

Panic sprung your muscles into action as you scrambled out of the room, the door once again banging on the wall, echoing down the halls. You stumbled over your own feet as you caught yourself. Your knee had made contact with the uneven carpet, scraping along it, but you didn't feel it. The adrenaline coursing through you as your brain repeated its screaming mantra.

Run. Run. Run.

As your breath came in short spurts, your muscles pushing themselves beyond their limit, you weaved through the seemingly endless hallway. In the dark it was impossible to see anything, all the doors looked the same, a seemingly neverending labrynth.

You turned your head over your shoulder, trying to catch a glimpse of your attacker, only to fully fall onto the ground. Your face hit the floor, dingy carpet doing little to soften the blow as you felt everything stop for a second.

Your ears were ringing, blocking and muffling any sound around you as you struggled to breathe. You stumbled forward trying to get up, to get away, only for a sharp pain in your head to bring you to your knees. You curled up in a ball, sobbing bitterly as you cradled your head in your hands.

You didn't care anymore. If the monster was going to get you, then let it. That's what you get. That's what you get for trusting someone to protect you. James was right, you shouldn't have trusted him.

You lay there, as the thundering footsteps and rough scraping grew closer. Let it. Just end it already.

It stopped. You lifted your head to see the hulking mass standing above you. It's breathing laboured and heavy through the metal contraption affixed to its shoulders.

It didn't move.

He didn't move, you assumed it was male, its sweat drenched bare chest gleaming in the light of the moon. Ending with a rough hewn canvas halfhazardly draped across it's waist. He shook with every breath, like it pained him.

You glared as you managed to sit up, leaning away protectively.

"What do you want?" You spat.

No response just more heavy breathing.

"GODDAMNIT WHAT DO YOU WANT!" you shrieked, your voice breaking as tears started to stream down your face again, the saline stinging where the carpet had rubbed your flesh raw.

As you sobbed the creature remained motionless. Like a heaving statue. The silence was broken by a shearing metallic sound as a rough, gravelly noise escaped the helmet.

"W..AN...T"

Your eyes widened as your breath caught in your throat, causing you to choke. It was trying to talk, this bastard was mimicking your last words and using them against you. You slammed your fists against the carpet as you sobbed.

"James..J-ames please, help me!" You doubled over on yourself as your body was wracked with sobs.

The shearing noise echoed in the hallway.

"J..AM..E..S"

You shot a glare to the beast, sniffling and heaving.

"Don't. DON'T YOU FUCKING DARE!" You swiped at your nose with the back of your hand, unnoticed blood smearing it. "You leave him the FUCK ALONE, YOU HEAR ME!"

It still didn't move, he didn't move. More grating metal.

"W..AN...T."

He lurched forward, blade clattering to the floor, its heavy breaths and pants echoing through it's adorment.

"Y..O..U.."

the last word was nearly intelligible, the sound of grating metal drowning out the guttural noise. It was beyond unnatural, alien. Your breathing was erratic, just a step away from hyperventilating as the creature stumbled his way toward you. Why had it dropped its weapon, didn't it want to kill you?

You felt your heart stop when it grabbed you. Its hands...his hands they were..fused? Some of the fingers connected together with sinewy flesh. Grotesque and large, but... familiarly warm. You stared, fear coursing through you as it pinned you to the wall. Not with the force you expected. Why wasn't it hurting you.

His laboured breathing rasped through the helmet as the metal creaked and whined. One of it's hands held you to the peeling wallpaper, splayed across your sternum, making your breathing slightly more difficult. As the other..started to touch you. Firmly tracing your body as you stared, glass eyed in shock. Your stomach felt sick. Here this creature was, manhandling you, groping at your skin and you couldn't stop thinking about-

"James.." you whimpered.

Without warning the creature leaned closer, replacing its hand with its chest, pressing into yours, metallic husk above your shoulder as its hands continued to roam. You could hear its panting echoing in your ear now, so close to you. Maybe this was for the best. Whatever it had in mind to do to you, you couldn't see it. You could just..pretend it was-

"J-ames" you breathed, your hands reaching to grasp his shoulders, fingers digging in.

You heard the creature groan, rumbling through it's chest and into yours. You pictured it in your mind, the only way you would make it through this. James holding you against the wall. His hands, not fused, as they roamed your body, setting your skin ablaze. Your nerves reacting to his rough touch. You whined as its- no his hands started to trail along your pants. You could hear him in your mind

"we shouldn't be doing this.." he would pant out, as his body betrayed his words. "I just..need you- need to touch you..god".

He was just as desperate as you were. Your body ached. Fuck you needed him so bad.

"Please..." you wheezed out, pressing yourself into the creatures hungry hands.

Another rumbling groan, it sent shivers down your spine.

Fabric ripping.

A shock of cold air across your sex.

Before thick, warm, warped fingers started to slip into you. Your body didn't resist as you gasped out, mouth agape as the creature started to work into you relentlessly. It was strong, just like he was, it only aided in your fantasy.

It was obscene. The noises your body made as the hulking figure rasped and panted against you. It didn't matter. In your mind it was him. Using his big hands as he whispered praises against your shoulder.

"Oh g-od..taking my fingers so well sweetheart" "gotta- fuck- gotta get you ready for m-e... i need you.. need to feel you- all of you".

You moaned his name shamelessly. There was no one to hear you.

The creature had started to rut against you. You could feel its cock against your hip. So fucking warm, even through the canvas. A metallic groan and a raspy whine.

" W..AN.T.."

You clamped down on its fingers, it had used its fused ones, filling you up.

"T-ake what you want" you panted against its skin. "Use me...how you need".

A growl reverberating as it removed its hand. You gasped out a breath.

Once.

Twice.

Before you felt the head of its cock spearing into you, ripping the air from your lungs in a choked scream. Him, think of him. No one else.

His breathy groans as he pressed his forehead against you shoulder, whining pants as he thrusted up into you wildly. So pent up.

"God...please-please..p-lease"

The creature shook with effort, the metal planes of its head scraping into the wall as it ravaged you. Its pace merciless. Its hands leaving a bruising grip on your hips as it fucked up into you. It stung, but fuck it felt so good.

You tried in vain to match its thrusts but you couldn't. There wasn't a rythm, a pattern, it was animalistic.

Tears began to stream down your face anew as you felt a familiar heat coil in your stomach, wrapping around the base of your spine. Too much, but you couldn't get enough.

"P..LE..AS..E.." the creature rumbled, drawing the syllables out in a low whine.

Your mouth hung open, the force ripping the moans and air out of you each time it rammed its body into you. It didn't matter if it was only copying the words you had said, your mind was too far gone at this point. Every movement bringing you closer.

"That's i-it" you manged to breath out. "Just use m-e."

Your legs started to shake as you clamped down on him. Imagining James. Crying out his name as the coil finally snapped and you vision went white.

Your scream echoed through the halls as the creature roared.

It shuddered against your limp body as you felt it drip out of you, onto the carpet below. The peeling wallpaper sticking into your back where your shirt had ridden up. All you could hear was creaking metal and ragged breaths as you felt yourself fade from consciousness.

You awoke again, feeling air moving around you. Your hearing was muffled as you realized your face was pressed against something. An arm as you were being carried. You could barely make it out.

"-'ve got you, its okay now, its okay."

James.

He held onto you, rushing you back to the safety of the room. Your mind was hazy as you blearily looked up at him. Panic across his features.

"You're gonna be okay, you're safe now."

Ajsbsjdbdh my contribution to the monster fucking community yall thanks so much for all your support ily🫶

[fruitcakebro]

The Sight (Short story)

(MCD, set during the time Aphmau was trying to make the Irene statue to fix the corruption Zane made, after Laurance had just got back from the nether. It was a really fun writing excersise to have to write interpretive body language without any visual description!)

(Oh, also implied Garrance. But this is me, so I'm not sure who would be surprised.)

Laurance looked up out of instinct when the door creaked open, the wounds on his neck smarting as he did. He knew it was useless but old habits die hard, he supposed. The footsteps were far too heavy to be Aphmau or Zoey, but too careful and even to be Dale or his son. “Hello. Garroth, I heard your name was?” The man stopped suddenly as Laurance’s greeting rasp, as though he were surprised by Laurance’s recognition, even without sight.

He was getting used to the lack. Slowly, but a little every day.

“How-“ Garroth began, before seemingly thinking better of it. “I came to change your bandages. Zoey and Aphmau are otherwise occupied.” Laurance nodded in thanks, and managed a small smile. Words were still painful through his singed throat, and he’d exhausted his supply for the moment with his greeting. Garroth stepped closer, then hesitated. Laurance recognised his hesitation, and reached down to undo his own shirt. They were hardly on terms to undress one another, even if only for the care of injury.

Garroth was swift but startlingly gentle in his work, even to a man he would gladly call his enemy. Laurance can’t help but smile, even just on instinct. The time passed in near silence -surprisingly comfortable for the pair of them. The only words said happened when Garroth had to ask the shadowknight to move in some way, for access to his injuries. By far the most awkward were those on his legs and lower back, and Laurance couldn’t help but snicker when the other man stammered adorably in his requests. But he obeyed without giving trouble.

“I heard from Caddie that you took off your helmet for the wedding. Seems unfair that I’m the only one who doesn’t get to find out what you look like, ey?” His throat burned in protest, but some part of him longed to antagonise the man. It seemed only fair, after how he’d acted upon the shadowknight’s arrival. The larger man grunted in annoyance. “Good thing you weren’t my intended audience then.” Laurance attempted to roll his eyes. Eye? He only seemed to be able to control one. Oh well, neither of them were functional anyway. “And who was?” He finally rasped, his voice cracking halfway through. “Lady Aphmau?” He felt Garroth still, and heard him let out a breath of annoyance.

“No.” The head guard answered gruffly. “My intention was only to respect Donna with the presence of her friend, since I was told only to attend if I wore formal dress. It was the least I could do for her, after all she’s done for the village.” Laurance nodded, sparing his throat a response. There was a silence between them, left and allowed to stretch. Garroth seemed unwilling to make smalltalk, and Laurance was close to incapable to keep it up for more than a handful of sentences.

“How do you look?” He said eventually, speaking quietly. Laurance practically heard Garroth roll his eyes. “How I look is of no consequence to you, and I fail to see how it is any of your concern, since you cannot see for yourself.” Laurance let out a snort of annoyance at the words. “Maybe I just like to be able to put a face to a voice, buddy. Geez.” At the same moment, He winced painfully as Garroth tugged a bandage slightly too tight. Garroth mumbled an apology, then cleared his throat. “How did you know it was me earlier?” Laurance blinked in surprise at being asked. “You have heavier footsteps than Aphmau or Zoey, and I can hear your armour clanking. But it was too slow to be… What was his name? The kid. And too even to be the one who always sounds drunk.”

Garroth nodded, seeming to understand the logic. “The ‘kid’ is named Brian. And Dale sounds drunk because he is. Though I’m somewhat puzzled they visited you.” Laurance shrugged. “Guess I’m just that cool.”, he replied. Then after a moment’s pause, he asked the question that had been drifting through his mind unanswered. “So what’s Aph been up to?” Garroth seemed to hesitate before answering.

“She is attempting to ascertain a solution to the calamity inflicted on our community by-“ 
“In common, please.”

Garroth scoffed at the interruption. “She is trying to find a solution to the curse put on our village by my brother, the high priest. Is that dumbed down enough for you?” Laurance grinned sarcastically. “Sorry I didn’t spend my life in school with the rich kids. Yeah, I know what you said now.” Garroth sighed. “I apologise for my embellished language. I suppose I’m a bit worried about her.” Laurance nodded. “S’ good. She was taking it pretty hard.”

Garroth nodded. “I hope for her sake, that she is successful. As well as the sake of the town.” Garroth tied off the last bandage, then stepped back. “There. That should do it for today. I trust you can re-dress yourself without my assistance?” Laurance nodded. “Yeah, I can manage just…”

Laurance trailed off, frozen in confusion as a light seemed to illuminate his vision, and an image swam into focus. His remaining eye widened in shock, and locked onto the man standing in front of him. His hair was illuminated by the window behind him, making it seem to glow as a saint’s halo did in the murals and mosaics Laurance had only been lucky enough to see at the guard’s academy. His features were sharp, and nearly so pale as snow. Laurance had never in his life seen anyone so lightly coloured outside the halls of that same school, and Garroth seemed to be the living image of the statues and stone murals which were carved and painted with such love.

Laurance nearly wanted to call him beautiful, but it somehow seemed to be the wrong word. He associated the word with tiny and delicate things, like butterflies, or flowers. There was nothing dainty or delicate about the man before him, but grace was applicable. He truly looked as if Esmund the protector himself had stepped out of the pages of legend. Garroth’s form blurred, and for a second Laurance feared his sight was once again failing before he realised he was crying. Garroth seemed to lurch forward, extending a hand toward him with unexpected concern. “Er, are you alright? Did something pull tight, or-“

“I see you.”

Both of them stood in shocked silence at the shadow knight’s words before Garroth finally broke the silence. “…your eye isn’t clouded anymore. Did Lady Aphmau-?” He cut off, the door slamming open behind them both. Zoey appeared, panting and grinning like a child on solstice. “Garroth, you’ve got to come and see! Lady Aphmau banished the corruption, and now the market is- Oh my Irene, you’ll have to see it to believe it!” Laurance pulled on his shirt much more quickly than he should have, the fabric catching on bandages and pulling them painfully. But he was determined to see this. To see it. Garroth looked back at him, and extended a hand to help him to his feet. Laurance took it, and the pair of them followed Zoey up to the surface, though with some difficulty. Laurance rubbed his face on his sleeve, clearing his teary eyes. And as the pair of them were beholden to the market square, now shining in the sun like diamond. The ‘calamity’ and ‘corruption’ he’d heard spoken of were nowhere to be seen, and in the middle of it all was Lady Aphamau, standing at the feet of a statue he’d never heard of before.

The statue was a depiction of the goddess Irene, of a finer make than he’d seen since the academy. And in the goddess’s cupped hands, was a strange stone which pulsed and shone like something enchanted. He was distracted from the statue however, by Aphmau bounding up to them with a grin on her face. “Garroth! I did it, I fixed the rot! And-“ She stopped, her gaze locking with Laurance’s. “Oh my Irene, Laurance! It’s good to see you feeling better.” Laurance grinned, trying very hard not to acknowledge his shaking legs. “Better than you know, my lady. Whatever magic you’ve worked healed my sight!” Aphmau gasped, surprise and delight washing over her face. It was amazing to be able to see it again. Even with the left half his vision still gone thanks to the missing eye, it was more than enough.

And in the warm sun, and the gaze of his lady, and the shine of the stones under his feet… For just a moment, everything felt right in the world again.

[thecourtsknight]

So. Side Order, huh?

I've been chewing on my thoughts over this for a good few days now. Want to spit them out somewhere. Vague-ish spoilers ahead.

I want to preface this with saying that I love Splatoon, I've been playing it since 1, really dropped off near the end of 2. Nintendo made Octo Expansion for me, they released it on my birthday and I love it so fucking much.

Side Order is fun, but lacking criminally in content.

You can argue Roguelites are like this in general, its the core princible to replay them over and over again and as someone who enjoys Roguelites, I agree!

However, a key thing that good roguelites do is continously give you a reason to keep playing- whether that be addictive gameplay or, usually, good story and lacing that in with difficulty that becomes the players goal to lessen- It rewards the player for being curious, experimental and above all else persistant.

I am fully aware that difficulty, due to Splatoon's target audience, in something like a roguelite was never going to be an easy thing to balance let alone pull off but having the main plot resolve itself once you hit the top of the tower was, in my opinion, the first of its blunders.

I feel as if the Splatoon developers know how much the lore and worldbuilding of these games matter to players. Side Order was advertised in very similar veins to Octo Expansion. The trailers had mystery and intrigue with clear connections to the well recieved and loved Octo Expansion to the point of having the same protagonist among other simularities.

They were clearly teasing this to be a successor of SOME capacity to Octo Expansion. And even as I went into this expecting it to be nothing like OE in terms of it's personal weight, I wasn't expecting something so short.

Classically, in roguelites that focus on story, you would gain story beats the more you replay. And techincally you gain this with the keys gathered from each fully cleared palette. But usually your story rewards in roguelites come from clearing or attempting runs and rewards:

With Side Order's story being resolved the MOMENT you step onto floor 30 with no real context unless you've intentionally avoided the top or have genuinely been slowed by its difficult (which I assume is what the devs intended) makes it's climax feel fast paced and lackluster- undeserved, even.

And, yes, I am fully aware that when you climb the tower agani after the credits role, you begin gain more lore about whats going on. But with the actual, main threat neutralized in every possible way it feels as if this lore should've been offered to us much sooner and much more spread out for a better pay off.

It's story feels like its being told out of order and, in my personal opinion, the themes and actual telling methods of Side Order we're a largely missed opportunity to tell something a bit more indepth. Climbing a tower that gives you essentially nothing until you reach floor 30 (which in my experience takes about 35-40 minutes) only to recieve about two scentences of lore is incredibly tiring and feels dissastifying when the main plot is already over.

It's lack of variation in level design, tasks and chips doesn't help with the climb each time if you're looking for the lore or just to 100% either. And you can argue this is a roguelite problem, but Splatoon's scenario's for a tower climb are pitifully small and you will start to seem repeat almost immediatly on your second or third run.

I also feel like it relies far too heavily on the player knowing and caring about Octo Expansion. I'm not saying that I think it was a bad idea to have most of what's going on in Side Order happening because of Octo Expansion's events. Hell, I was happy when they were very blatently showing this early on.

But it does very little with its ties to Octo Expansion, making Side Order feel like its constantly struggling to be its own thing away from the original DLC.

I think I can almost see what they wanted to go for here, and its frustrating, it felt close to something at least telling a decent story.

Every single little beat I've gotten has helped me understand more and more what they were going for, but since the main conflict is already resolved I find it hard to be excited and more frustrated that I wasn't given these during my initial playthrough.

I feel as though the roguelite formula was an interesting idea that they polished the best of their ability and to make work both for casual and experience players- but I think thats where the problem comes in.

With Side Order being the same price as Octo Expansion and offering very little in terms of replayability and most especially for me, story, the whole thing ends up feeling like a muddled mess that would've worked better had the roguelite aspect perhaps been dropped in general for a general tower climb.

Missed opportunies feel like they decorate Side Order in a way that leaves me fairly disappointed.

I think, overall, Side Order is a fun time that can be enjoyed but the way it was implimented into the gameplay formula was largely a mistake, especially coupled with the marketing of this being something more indepth with its story when it's not, and I can absolutely understand why I'm seeing a lot of disappointment for it.

[lurkingshan]

La Pluie: We Must Speak Our Love

La Pluie, my precious child, my perfect show, I could not love you more. You stayed true to your themes the entire way through, and you trusted the audience to use our brains to understand what you were trying to say. You stuck to your guns about focusing on the relationships and the choices the characters made as the driving forces of this narrative, not the mythology and not destiny. You knew exactly what story you wanted to tell and you told it with a clarity and completeness that is extremely rare in these drama streets. I salute you.

This show never intended to solve the questions around the workings of fate in this universe, and while the characters individually may or may not believe in soulmates, what matters is who they choose to love. Tai even said it a few times in this episode to make sure the point was extra clear:

As for the destiny and soulmate stuff, they are like a trap in our relationship.

Love is about two people. It doesn’t need destiny to pave [the way]. I don’t care whether you are my soulmate or not. The most important thing is our feelings…I love you, Patts. I don’t care if it rains or not. I do love you no matter what happens.

No one chooses to find an answer anymore [about hearing loss or soulmates]. Because whether or not we know, it doesn’t have anything to do with the path that each person chooses. At least, we get to choose our own path, instead of destiny determining for us.

With that theme (which has been present through the entire show) coming through loud and clear, in the finale La Pluie was able to turn to another very important theme and hammer it home: the importance of speaking our love out loud, and communicating clearly with the people we care about. The fantasy of romance novels–that your lover will just intrinsically understand you without need for you to speak–was fully dismantled. This show said it is selfish to hold back your true thoughts and feelings from those you love, and we can only really connect with each other when we are willing to use our words. Below, I break down the many places this theme showed up in the finale’s excellent resolutions for our characters. 

Dream and Nara

First of all, let me just scream again because AHHHHHHHHHHH. I did not dare to dream that we would actually get this pairing, not as subtext, but as actual text in this show. We got to see Dream ask Nara out! And importantly, we got to see Nara nudge her into doing so by asking her to be clear. When Dream started hinting about whether Nara was open to a new relationship, Nara said straight out:

Can I ask why you want to know that?

Dream then got shy, but Nara kept talking to make it very clear exactly what they were discussing. She didn’t want any uncertainty between them, so she told Dream directly that she was welcome to hit on her. We love a confident and direct communicator! And we see in the epilogue montage that this clear communication paid off for them, and they are now happily dating.

Lomfon and Tien

I have to start this section by giving mad props to Lomfon, because that boy: understood exactly what he did wrong, reached out to Tien to try to make amends many times despite being rebuffed, put his effort into a film project that would get Tien’s attention, and then when the crucial moment came, used his words and used them well.

Lomfon was determined to show Tien how he felt, which was an important part of their resolution. His persistence mattered because it proved to Tien that he was serious. But his actions alone were not enough. When Tien asked why he made that film, Lomfon said:

I have already told you. I would show you with my actions.

And Tien walks away. It is only when Lomfon opens his mouth and begins to speak, in no uncertain terms, about what he did wrong, why he is sorry, and what he wants with Tien going forward, that Tien accepts his sincerity (and lays one on him). 

The words mattered. Tien needed to hear them to know that he could trust Lomfon with his heart. And now that he has heard him, he will.

Tai’s Journey

When we first see Tai in this episode, he is still stubbornly clinging to the idea that Patts is going to reach out to him first, passively waiting for that to happen, and resigning himself to giving up if it doesn’t. Tien shares our frustration with this knucklehead, and tries one more time to get through to his brother:

For the past two years, you haven’t talked to him. He had tried to reach you so many times.

Tien said brother, I love you, but it is your turn to try. And he’s right! Patts has been doing all the heavy lifting in this relationship, and Tai is the one who was in the wrong. He needs to be the one to reach out to Patts this time. 

This inspires some further reflection for Tai, and he finally makes an important connection: he has been doing to Patts what his mother did to him.

You’re really not going to say a thing?! I can’t understand [if you] say nothing.

Yadfah’s silence hurt Tai deeply, and as he remembers his painful conversations with her in the aftermath of the divorce, he realizes he stonewalled Patts the same way his mother stonewalled him. He finally seems to grasp how unfair that was, and he immediately springs into action. 

Tai’s first stop is Dream, who he is hoping can tell him where Patts is. In his conversation with her, we hear him reflect again on how his silence harmed their relationship.

If I’d understood him and talked to him earlier, it wouldn’t have turned out like this.

He also learns about Patts seeing him with Lomfon, which clarifies for him why Patts hasn’t reached out and why he has cut off contact from everyone. His determination grows, and with only the knowledge that Patts is helping to open a veterinarian clinic somewhere in Chiang Mai, he hits the road. 

But we’re not quite done with Tai’s lessons yet! As Tai wanders aimlessly around Chiang Mai, checking every clinic he can find, he makes some new friends when he runs out of gas and a shockingly kind couple invites him to eat dinner with them and stay overnight in their home. Art and Phueng are lovely people who have been together for years, sticking it out through Phueng becoming permanently disabled. Tai asks them for their secret to being happy together, and Phueng tells him:

We listen to and understand each other. We listen more, and speak less…if we speak more but listen less, we don’t hear [each other’s voices]. Then we don’t understand each other.

Do we got it yet, friends? Communication is the key to a happy relationship. 

Tai and Patts 

After days of searching, Tai finally finds Patts by chance, looking like a dead man walking in the street outside his clinic. And Tai wastes no time, calling out for him, running to him immediately, and launching into his verbalization of everything he’s realized. Crucially, he starts here:

You don’t have to say anything. This time, please let me say it.

And y’all. Y’all! Those words meant so much to me, let alone how it must have felt for Patts. We see Patts draw in a surprised breath after Tai promises he will say it this time, and as Tai goes on his eyes get increasingly misty and he struggles to keep his face neutral–you can see how much it all means to him. To finally have Tai acknowledge that Patts has been the one doing all the communicating, that he understands where he messed up now, that he was wrong, that he is sorry, that he absolutely does love Patts and he should have been able to say it. 

I didn’t talk to you well. I let it slide until [it got] bad like now.

Tai finally understands that his refusal to speak was the core problem, and he is saying it all now.

And that is all Patts needs to forgive him. Just the words that Tai has been holding back. Tai’s silence was always the thing that caused him the most pain, and now that he is speaking his love out loud, they can move forward. They can choose each other with no further doubts and a commitment to keep talking.

(Thank you thank you to @wen-kexing-apologist for grabbing screenshots for this post for me, and an extra special shout-out to @bengiyo for grabbing me after episode 1 of this show and telling me in no uncertain terms that I needed to start paying attention immediately. It has been an honor to clown with you and work to bring so many along with us for this wonderful show.)

[trickstarbrave]

once again i feel like digging into elder scrolls lore is like playing historian

so. im writing a fanfic that takes place in the first era in resdayn. nerevar is from house mora. the ra'athim clan is part of/the leaders ??? of house mora (listen house mora was a minor house that got absorbed into other houses im working with what i got) and a notable figure from the ra'athim clan is moraelyn

moraelyn is first brought up in the games in daggerfall. he's an important character in the fictional, but based on actual historical figures and likely written about based on retellings and folklore, novel king edward. this was before a lot of the lore was solidifed, but in the novel it describes moraelyn as a 'witch-king'

see, daggerfall came out irl in 1996. i can tell what they meant. when they wrote the novel for the game, they fully intended to just evoke lotr with witch-king of angmar. thats all that was, was to invoke a certain kind of image in the mind of the average fantasy fan who would be playing the games.

but in universe, the term 'witch' is not widely used. its primarily only used in a specific region of tamriel--breton/reachfolk occupied areas, or places where there would be a lotta cultural mixing. we see it a bit in nordic culture, primarily around the reach, high rock, and bits of the summerset isles. it's seemingly used to describe women who are out practicing daedric magic and herbalism in the woods. a couple of covens are mentioned, but you get the picture. they dont seem to be a common phenomenon and most daedric worshipers are called just that--daedric worshipers.

which means i gotta think through an in universe explanation. i mean technically i dont have to, but its fucking bothering me, so yes i have to.

what i came up with is this: the novel 'king edward' where we see the term the most (hes not described as a witch-king by the warrior-poet vivec in the culture moraelyn is actually from so) is from high rock. this is, of course, breton territory, which means bretons would be the primary audience for the novel. so picture this, you're from the following eras after the chimer have turned into the dunmer, and have gone from worshiping daedra to instead worshiping the tribunal. you're passing these stories down primarily orally until someone writes them down. you need to think of a way that communicates to your breton audience in as few words as possible "moraelyn was king in resdayn--what we now know as modern day morrowind and populated by dunmer. this is also back when they worshiped the daedra, not the living gods of the tribunal. he was skilled in magic that was likely daedric in nature and was a devout following of the three". so you call him "the dark elf witch-king" because from that description alone the average breton will go "ohhhhh he does daedric magic and is a dunmer historical figure"

[more-than-a-princess]

@lightcreators asked: ❛  do you ever wonder what it would be like if things were different between us?  ❜ (from kokichi ouma, friendship-wise of course, since ouma have an reason to remove his mask for one second)

Pining/Yearning Sentence Starters

"Hm?" Sonia asked. She'd been in the process of reaching for a salmon-filled onigiri when Kokichi had interjected with his question. And at their small table in the cafeteria, there weren't many others it could be directed towards.

The Main Course classes often kept to themselves, as it were, but Class 79's Kokichi Ouma was another category in and of himself. As far as Sonia knew, the common terms that were used when referring to him were 'gremlin' or 'menace,' for all the times her cohorts were caught at the receiving end of his pranks, jokes, and schemes. Even Hiyoko, who was also commonly referred to as a gremlin herself by her peers, clashed with Kokichi's methods of befriending others. More trouble than he was worth, that was how most of her fellow students seemed to view him.

An opinion that Sonia herself did not share. Admittedly and embarrassingly, she could admit that the initial reason she reached out to him was due entirely to his talent: as Ultimate Supreme Leader, she'd never actually met the leader of a cult before. For all of her interest in them, her first-person exposure was nil. Still, she'd tried to be polite when inquiring after his talent and the duties associated with it: how did he attract members? Did they have secret rituals? What about death pacts or prophecies for the future?

Instead, her friend seemed more keen on practical jokes than giving her firm answers to her questions. Just as well, a bit of mystery kept things intriguing. But to that end, Sonia was one of the few from her class who was willing to have lunch with him, or at least be present as a captive audience for any amount of time. And she fully expected him to tease her about some sort of Japanese culture she'd managed to mess up, something she took in stride until she couldn't anymore, when her eyes narrowed and tone switched and the line she'd drawn had been crossed between good humor and ill-intended jabs.

This, however, was surprisingly philosophical for him. "If things were different between us?" She repeated. "Like talents? If we had different talents? Ooh, like if I was the Ultimate Supreme Leader! Though I wonder if my followers would simply be members of a coven at that point. Or otherwise devoted to the supernatural!"

She chuckled at the thought: it would be a far more exciting life than what her reality amounted to: endless meetings, ribbon cuttings, tea parties, memorials, and balls. Even the annual Masquerade each October only had subtle hints of the macabre, eagerly borrowed from her own personal collection of occult artifacts.

"What do you wonder then, if things were different between us?" She asked, setting her onigiri down on its plate. "Maybe I am a bit off in what you had in mind."

[pastshadows]

Shadows of the Past

Chapter 13: Imprisonment

Summary: After a year of blissful cohabitation, Astarion disappears without a trace, leaving behind a heartfelt letter explaining his departure. Determined to find him, you traverse Faerûn in search of your lost love, only to realize that some absences are meant to be permanent.

Returning to Waterdeep, you find solace in the company of Gale as you come to terms with Astarion's absence. But just as you begin to heal, Astarion reappears, begging for a second chance at love.

The question looms: can you forgive his abandonment and trust him once more? As you grapple with your emotions and trauma, a sinister force lurks in the shadows, targeting you for unknown reasons.

With danger closing in, you must navigate the treacherous waters of trust, love, and betrayal to uncover the truth behind the mysterious entity's motives. Will you be able to reunite with Astarion while facing the demons of your past? Can you unravel the secrets that threaten your very existence?

Setting: Post End-Game. Mostly canon compliant.

Word Count: 6.2K

Content: Explicit 18+ - intended for mature audiences.

Warnings: [Additional tags will be added, but expect mature content / read at your own risk.]

Spoilers. Mentions of in-game missable content. Violence. Sexual Assault [Implied/attempted sexual assault: Chapter 7]. Past Trauma. Murder. Death. Longing. Sexual themes. Smut. Blood drinking. Angst. Innuendos. High use of sarcasm. Completely fabricated camp interactions. Panic attacks. Anxiety.

The guards aren’t gentle as they march you through the streets, soaked in the mid-morning sun. You were not even extended the courtesy of putting on shoes, and your feet are chilled by the stone-paved roads that have yet to amass any warmth from the sun as they are gouged by pebbles and glass squishing in revolting puddles of fluids you dare not give much thought. The guards push and prod with unyielding pointed tips of their gauntleted fingers, chewing your skin and causing pinprick points of blood to plume on your pale blue shirt.

Mr. Blackwell trails the procession, spitting lies and causing a stir. Waterdhavians whisper in hushed tones, snickering and gawking. Parents holler and cheer as their unruly children throw rocks with their trilling laughter as you progress through the crowds toward the Waterdeep County Jail, which lies just beyond the city walls. It’s a mercy when you reach the large, square-shaped complex.

You instinctively scan the building and surrounding area, counting guards and inventorying potential escape routes and exits. The corridors and halls are a maze as you’re ushered through them into a small, cramped cell. Rubbing the raw skin of your wrists, you realize you don’t occupy this cell alone. Dirty faces with sunken eyes barely reflecting the low light are huddled along the walls, peering at you through the murk. Some are sullen and morose, barely lifting their heads at your arrival, while other’s lips are twisted in repellent smirks.

The air is damp and chilled without the sun to warm it, and you shiver harshly, wrapping your arms around yourself to try and muzzle the nip that feels like it’s penetrating your bones. The Weave doesn’t heed your call when you reach for it, and there’s an uncomfortable hollow pang where your magic usually resides in a burning reservoir.

You limp to the back of the cell and eye a corner that might give you an advantage if one of these ruffians decides to try and see what you’re made of. This is not the first time you’ve been in prison, and just as in the animal kingdom, the weak are conquered.

“I wouldn’t sit there if I were you,” an amiable voice from your left warns. “Tempting as it is, that’s the… lavatory corner.”

“Thanks for the warning,” you mutter with a cringe, peering around to scout out a place to sit and think about how in the Hells to get yourself out of this mess.

“Here,” you hear shuffling, and the woman’s voice growls, telling off whoever was beside her. “You can sit with me.”

You squint to make out details in the dim illumination. The woman is as dirt-streaked as the rest of the prisoners. The Tiefling’s white hair is tied back, and her flaming orange eyes starkly contrast the drabness. She pats the floor beside her with a sincere and kind smile that gives her an appearance of harmlessness. Then again, all the best and worst scoundrels appear innocuous at first glance.

The options are limited, and she looks less malicious than the rest of the brutes huddled around you, so you sit with a feigned affable smile.

“I’m Hecat,” she holds out a deep purple hand. “A pleasure.”

“Nice to meet you, Hecat,” you shake her hand but do not offer your name in return.

You glare at your upturned palms, trying to claw at the Weave, but it doesn’t matter how deep you dig; you cannot even get the faintest of sparks or magic to emit. Having your magic suppressed like this feels akin to having a limb amputated, and you let your head rest on the wall, staring up at the ceiling.

“A sorcerer?” Hecat chimes pleasantly while she throws and catches a small rock for amusement, “Right?”

“How do you know?” You hiss more harshly than you should, narrowing your eyes at the Tiefling.

“Oh! Easy now,” she chuckles and puts up her clawed hands innocently. Hecat points to your face. “Your scales. Draconic sorceress, right? Not many of your kind around. You blend in with those as much as I do with horns.”

“Oh,” your fingers idly dawdle over the glassy-smooth, iridescent scales engraved into your skin. “I’m sorry. I— I’m a little on edge.”

“Not a problem,” Hecat nods curtly with a toothy grin. “We are all a little on edge given the environment we find ourselves in. I’ve been in more pleasant sewer canals.”

“Me too,” you can’t help but let out a small laugh, remembering Astarion’s expression when you told him you had to go trudging around the sewers under the Lower City.

“Come now,” Astarion cringes with an exasperated huff, “Do you really expect me to go down there? In these boots?! With this hair and these nails?! You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“You don’t have to join us, Astarion. You are free to lounge around camp while we do all the hard work,” you giggle, rolling your eyes at his theatrics as he glowers at you with crossed arms. “I’m sure Karlach or Halsin won’t mind getting out for a bit.”

“Absolutely not! No, no. Nope! Don’t you dare think about asking me to stay behind.” Astarion clicks his tongue disapprovingly, jutting out a hip and cocking his head defiantly. “There is no way in all nine Hells I will let you go without me. I can’t trust those fools to protect you sufficiently. Where you go, I go, my love. Always. Even if that means I have to go gallivanting through the bloody sewers. Gods above. Well, come on then - lead on. Let’s get this over with.”

“I’m definitely going to splash you when we’re down there,” you laugh mirthfully, jogging away from him, trying to retreat quickly.

“That had better be a joke, Kamena!” He growls. In a couple of soundless, long steps, Astarion picks you up by your waist, crushing your back against his muscular chest, kisses your neck and grumbles low near your ear. “Don’t jest, darling. I bite.”

Astarion whined every minute you spent down there. He annoyed everyone except for you, of course. You could happily listen to that voice nonstop, even when it’s complaining, scoffing at your not-so-funny jokes, or calling you “idiot” or “pig-headed.” Gods. You wish you could hear his voice now. You swallow the urge to cry and scold yourself for being weak. This is not the place for another pathetic breakdown. Inhaling a deep breath, you contract and relax every muscle, from your shoulders to your toes, to centre yourself. You’re not a maiden that needs saving from the jaws of a dragon; you are the dragon, and you will pour oceans of fire and eat the shadows whole.

“Your magic will do you no good down here, I’m afraid. They have an anti-magic field wrapped around this place.”

“Lovely,” you sigh while inspecting your bloodied feet, trying to pick slivers of glass out of the soles.

“Did they drag you straight out of bed or something? Hecat queries.

“You could say that,” you mutter, cool and dry.

Gods. I should have stayed in bed this morning.

“Animals,” Hecat scoffs. She shuffles around and offers you her soiled coat. You glare at her with questions in your eyes. She shrugs nonchalantly, “You look cold. We can share while we’re stuck here.”

The days in prison drag by slowly. It’s hard to know how much time passes in places like this where the sun does not rise or fall, but you’ve been paying attention to the stone’s temperature to figure it out. During the day, the walls and floor are still cold but generally dry. During the night, the bricks are bitterly icy and damp. It’s the best you can do in your situation. Your best guess is that you’ve been here nearly a week. You’ve been watching the guards, their routines, counting how many are on duty at once.

The prison corridors and halls are always well-lit by several wall torches placed at specific increments to leave no corner or cell door obscured by shadow. Sneaking out of this place is unlikely to be feasible. Magic is also out of the question, and there’s no knowing how far the barrier extends. From what you can gather without looking too suspicious, there are always ten to fifteen guards on duty. Pairs of them walk in perfected circuits.

You’ve been taken from the cell a dozen times for interrogations that you’re not sure usually happen. The guards query you about attacking Mr. Blackwell and why you would do such a thing to such a nice man. Then, they move on to his son and ask you where Aldous is. When you don’t answer the guard’s questions, they try to beat the answers out of you.

You’re tired, battered and bruised from head to toe. The last time was particularly rough, and you’re sure that one or more of your ribs have been broken, as indicated by the large hematoma that now extends up your side and the need to take shallow breaths lest the pain make you nearly faint.

Despite the dire situation you find yourself in, you’ve become increasingly close to the Tiefling, Hecat, coming to rely on her much more than you want to. The first night, you accidentally fell into your trance. The other prisoners thought that might be an excellent time to see if you had anything valuable to offer them. Hecat had stepped in and scared them off. She was a formidable Fighter that much is clear to you. Now, you take watch while she sleeps, and she watches when you trance. She also assists you with your wounds in any way she can, which is admittedly not much, but she tries. You continue to share the grimy coat, although she tends to let you have it more often.

If Astarion were here, he would say it’s because you’re “grumpy when you’re cold.” You can practically hear his voice tutting you, and it makes you want to laugh and cry concurrently.

The other captives in your cell have started to dwindle, and the room isn’t so crowded now. You and Hecat have taken a corner to yourself, far away from the dreaded lavatory corner.

“How are those bones of yours today? Hecat asks when she sees you yawn upon waking, wince and strangle back a whine.

“Never better,” you smile, but your voice sounds breathy.

“When they come for you next time.” Hecat snarls with her fists balled at her sides, “I’m going to take them out.”

“Don’t bother,” you sigh, shaking your head. They didn’t seem to take any other prisoners, but you haven’t yet figured out why. You assume Mr. Blackwell has paid them off, “I wouldn’t doubt if they were being paid to torture me personally. It’s fine.”

“You must have pissed off someone with deep pockets.”

Neither of you speaks to the reason you’re in prison. For all you know, Hecat murdered her entire family, or perhaps even worse. But, right now, you need each other, and the alliance has turned out to be rather helpful.

“The guards deviated from their routine last night,” Hecat whispers low, leaning in by your tapered ear. “There was some commotion, but I couldn’t make it out, and they all left their posts.”

This commotion she speaks of, you pray, is not Astarion. Hopefully, Gale has been able to talk some sense into that marvellously beautiful bastard. You’re relieved he hasn’t come in here, blade swinging. It would just cause a further scene that there is likely no coming back from. You believe, on some level, Astarion knows this. You can and will get yourself out of here. It’s just going to take a little time.

But Good Gods, you miss him. His voice, his fragrance, the way he feels like home, safety and happiness. You miss his lips on yours, his hands on your body, and his cock stretching you.

Not the time for these thoughts. Hells, Kamena. Get a hold of yourself.

“Would it have given us a chance?”

“No, I don’t think so.” Hecat shakes her head, “They were all summoned to the gate for something, and if what you’ve said is correct, that gate is the only way in and out of this godsforsaken place.”

Truthfully, you don’t know if that’s even the way out. At most, you know it’s the way out of this wing or sector, but what lies beyond the door is a mystery.

“We just have to bide our time.” You smile half-heartedly at the memory, “A smart friend once told me that “with patience, anything can be done.”

“Sounds like a smart friend indeed,” Hecat winks. There must have been a little too much fondness in your voice when you said that. Damn. “Patience has never been a virtue of mine.”

“Nor mine,” you laugh, but it’s low and almost sullen. You want out of this place before you get taken for another talking to. “But I don’t think we have much choice in the matter right now.”

“Will this friend of yours be coming to perform a heroic rescue anytime soon?” The Tiefling teases with a toothy grin. She’s obviously caught on to the fact that this friend of yours is a little more than a friend. You’re going to have to be more careful, “Throwing rocks is getting very boring.”

“I am hopeful he’s smarter than to come barging into a place he doesn’t know, but there’s still time for him to do something stupid, so who’s to say?"

Hecat laughs, “So, is this friend smart or stupid?”

“I’d wager a little bit of both,” you sigh. Missing Astarion hurts in a way that’s hard to describe. You’re undecided if talking about him is making it harder or easier, “He’s the most cunning man I know, but he can be reckless and a little murder happy.”

“Oh. Murder happy? I like him already,” Hecat says, and although it’s silly, your jealousy flares wildly. It takes considerable effort to remain poised, “What if those brutes come again and take you?"

You’re not sure if her concern is really for your safety or because she thinks you’re the best chance she has of escaping this place.

I assume it’s the latter.

“Don’t worry about it. Really.” You assure her, hiding your fear behind confidence. The beatings have only been progressively getting worse. You’re not sure how much more your body can take.

You are, of course, a little worried that if you do take Hecat with you when you escape, you’re releasing a murderer back into the city, but you’re going to need her fighting skills to get through the guards. You suppose if she is some heinous criminal, you can deal with her after. Astarion would likely be happy to have someone to murder.

Hecat puts a hand on your shoulder to get your attention, “Should we go over the plan some more?”

“Sure,” you nod and start reviewing all your possible escape routes and options.

Currently, you both think the best course of action is to rush the guards when they try to come and drag you away, but that will need to be done at night when fewer guards are on duty. Unfortunately, the guards do not appear for you at night often. There’s a concerning abundance of details that remain unknown. Like the prison layout, for example. You’ve only been in this corridor and one other where the small room of your torment exists. You don’t remember much of what you saw on the way in. There were too many twists and turns, and they made you walk briskly so you couldn’t get a good look at them. Hecat mentioned her arrival was much the same.

You’ve only seen the outside of this place once when you were being brought in. You remember very high stone walls, guard towers and gates. None of these would be any trouble if you had your magic, but you don’t, and you can’t imagine they would stop the anti-magic barrier until you’re at least outside of the complex, which means you will need to figure out how to get over the fucking walls or through the gates while being chased by guards.

No wonder Astarion always says that murder is efficient.

“Not exactly much of a plan,” Hecat snorts, but she already knew this.

“I never was much of a planner,” you shrug and comb your fingers through your increasingly filthy hair, trying to brush the knots and snag out, but to no avail. “Chaos was always more my thing.”

“I like you,” Hecat laughs. “I’ll take the first watch tonight. Get some rest.”

Your cottage amid a heavily forested area is hidden away on the outskirts of Rivington, close enough to the city to enjoy the comforts, shops and taverns and easy access to the forest so Astarion can hunt freely. You’d offered to be his primary food source, and he’d giggled at your enthusiasm to be a vampire’s juice box.

The wildflowers grow in patches, filling the air with a honey-sweet aroma. The tall trees filter the dappled sunlight as they sway slightly in the afternoon breeze. You tap on the door before opening it a crack to warn Astarion to get away from it if he happens to be nearby upon your return home. You only open the door a crack, enough to fit your body through, close and lock it promptly.

“Darling,” Astarion chuckles as he strides toward you with a bemused grin. It doesn’t matter how long you live with this man. You’re always awe-struck by his beauty, especially when he’s smiling at you like he is now - broad, happy, and unashamed to show his fangs. “You know you don’t have to knock when you get home. How many times must I tell you? I can hear your trampling approach long before you arrive.”

“I’m aware. You keep chastising me,” you roll your eyes with a snort. “What if you were tranced or otherwise occupied? Maybe I am extra quiet one day, and you don’t hear me? It’s just safer this way. It hardly takes any effort to knock on the damn door.”

“You, my sweet, fiery love, could never hope to be quiet enough to be successful in such an endeavour,” he taunts with a hand on his hip and boyishly handsome lop-sided grin. “You do realize that even if the sun touches me, I will be fine. It’s not an immediate death sentence. You have seen it for yourself.”

You cringe at the memory of the docks as it warps your heart, making your chest burn with a mixture of rage and despair. You still have nightmares of watching Astarion’s hopeful expression contort into one of mourning as his milk-white skin starts to smoke and turn matte grey. It was just not fucking fair, life rarely is, but this was an injustice that you’re having a hard time reconciling with. Astarion had accepted it with little fuss, but to you, it was unacceptable. You curse every single God in your head for their abandonment of the hero before you.

"I know,” you mutter. Your body suddenly feels heavy, laden under the weight of memories of watching the sunrise together, basking in the sun with him in meadows and fields, the way he was so captivated by colour, and you slam your palms onto the table to stabilize yourself. “I will find a way for you to walk in the sun again, Astarion.”

Astarion’s demeanour changes instantly. He knows this is a sore subject for you, even more so than himself.

“Kamena.” The timbre of his voice lowers into an auditory caramel, soothing, buttery and rich, “It doesn’t bother me any longer. I missed it briefly, but the shadows are part of me. I am at home in them. You are all the light I need in my life. You are my sun, Solicallor.”

The guilt makes tears start to prick your eyes. Astarion should not have to be comforting you over this; you should be comforting him. Your stomach sinks nauseatingly like an anchor has been tied to it and cast into a bottomless ocean. The feeling is so physical that your head spins and throbs.

“I will find a way,” you say, quieter than a whisper through a clenched jaw, but your voice sounds distant even to yourself.

“Sweetheart?” You totter on your feet, and Astarion wraps a solid arm around you. He places his hand, which feels colder than usual, against your forehead and cheeks, “You’re hot.”

“Why, thank you,” you try to giggle through this rather odd stupor you find yourself in and sag into him, allowing him to hold your body weight up.

“Not exactly what I meant.” His warm voice is steeped in cottony concern with a hint of alarm, “You’re a vision, but I mean, your skin feels hot - too hot. I think you have a fever.”

“Oh,” Astarion guides you to a chair to sit on, helping you into it. “I suppose that makes sense. I’m not feeling great.”

“You’re sick?” The tenor of his voice increases into a high treble, showcasing his worry.

“Maybe,” Astarion’s eyes are streaking around the room. No doubt, for some potion, scroll or other supplies that could help. He looks terrified, and you guide his eyes to you. “It’s okay, Astarion. Mortals get sick sometimes. It will pass. It’s nothing to be troubled over.”

“But I—“ he swallows thickly, making his Adam’s apple bob, “I do not know what to do. I haven’t had to worry about being sick in two centuries, and I hardly have practice taking care of someone ill. Tell me what to do. Please. Tell me how I can help you.”

“You don’t have to take care of me.” You walk his bouncing eyes back to you. You would find this a little humorous if Astarion weren’t so clearly distressed. He must understand that not every sickness is terminal, right? In another situation, you might taunt him playfully, but you decide reassurance is the best route. “Everything is okay, my love.”

Astarion places his hands on your forehead, which starts to sheen with sweat and then to your neck and chest. He looks utterly disorientated and afraid, believing a fever might kill you.

“I’ll help you get undressed and into bed,” he finally instructs, but his voice shakes.

Astarion’s fingers have less finesse than usual as he undoes the claps and ties, keeping your robe on, and removes it. Scooping you into his arms, he takes you to the bedroom and gently places you on the bed. Astarion busies himself with removing your underclothes until your bare, even while you protest that you’re okay. He glowers at you, and you’re sure he’s going to call you an idiot, but he keeps his mouth closed, deciding he probably called you an idiot enough with his eyes.

He has.

He pulls his shirt over his head, folds it neatly just as he did for your clothing, and starts unlacing the ties of his breeches. Astarion catches you staring and winks with a roguishly handsome grin, and you think this, right here with him, is bliss. Fever be damned.

“What are you doing, Astarion?” You chuckle but watch in rapture, taking in how magnificent he is; all toned muscle, perfect skin, perfect hair you long to tangle your fingers into and those damn breathtaking red eyes, “I mean... I wouldn’t say no.”

You would, in fact, scream a resounding “yes,” or probably several.

“Bloody Hells. Get your head out of the gutter,” he teases, head falling back and laughing, deep and gravelly. “You have a fever, and I am deathly cold. I don’t know much about mortal sickness, but I’m pretty sure we need to try to break your fever, yes? What better way than to curl up with your cold, vampiric lover.”

“I will take any chance I can get to cuddle naked with my vampiric lover,” you giggle, patting the bed with a theatrical pout, “What are you waiting for? Get in bed, Aerasumé. Come cool me down. I am ever so warm.”

“Always so eager.” Astarion chuckles, climbing into bed and pressing your back to his chest, making sure to get every contour of his body to align with yours. He places a gentle kiss on the back of your neck. “If you’re not feeling better come nightfall, I will fetch Jaheira. She’s still in the city being an absolutely fantastic mother, I assume?”

“Yes, she’s still in the city. She’s helping with rebuilding efforts. I spoke to her the other day, but you don’t need to trouble her.” You shiver against him, and he rubs your arm with his nose in your hair, gripping you tighter to him. “This will pass.”

“I could steal some Potions of Healing or whatever else you need.” His words come a little too quickly, not in his usual balmy, drawling baritone. “Tell me what you need, and I will get it, or I will be fetching the Druid come nightfall. I will drag that wizened elder here if I must.”

“I only need you.” You roll over to face him, wrapping your arms around his neck and resting your forehead on his. Astarion hugs you tight as if he’s afraid you might drift away. “Tell me why you’re so scared, Astarion. Surely, you’ve seen sick people before. It’s normal.”

“Of course, I have seen the infirm before,” he says, hands roaming your body in gentle, soothing caresses. You know Astarion is trying to use himself as a vampiric thermometer, but his touch always feels good - so you won’t complain. “The difference is I have never cared about anyone before. Whether they lived or died was of no consequence to me. You are the first person I truly care for. I love you. I can’t lose you. I could not bear it.”

“I love you too. You will not lose me to a fever. You’re stuck with me for hundreds of centuries yet.” He smiles widely at that and kisses you intimately, slow and savouring, with his fingers combed into your hair, massaging your scalp. You suppose one of the perks of having a vampire for a partner is you can’t exactly get him ill.

“Stuck with you for hundreds of centuries, am I?” He pulls you in so that your head is resting on his shoulder and his on yours, “I think I can live with that.”

“You think?” You purse your lips, jutting out your chin in a way that mimics how he does it. It takes a monumental amount of effort to keep your giggling suppressed. “I’m offended.”

Astarion knows you too well and simply chuckles at your display, “You know an eternity with you still wouldn’t be enough, silly thing. Now. If you’re quite done being dramatic, what would you like to do with our day lazing around in the boudoir?”

“Will you read to me?”

“Of course, love,” Astarion points at a pile of books beside the bed. He chooses which book to read on any given day depending on his mood, so he’s always in the middle of several at once, "What would you like me to read today?”

“You pick.” You giggle, making sure it’s the sweetest, chiming giggle he’s ever heard. “But will you do the voices?”

“I don’t know,” he glowers at you playfully while you wrap yourself around him, slinging a leg over him. You’re sure he’s softer than any silk you could ever import, “It’s terribly unbecoming of a hero.”

“Please, Astarion.” You pout, batt your lashes, and give him your best puppy-dog eyes. “I am sick.”

“Ugh,” he rolls his eyes, trying to look irritated, but it fails as the corners of his perfect lips twitch up, “You’re too fucking adorable. It’s inconceivably irritating. Fine, but only because you are not feeling well! If you ever tell anyone about this, I’ll fucking kill you.”

“What fun!” you snicker.

“Get up, dragon girl!” Hecat is furiously shaking you from your trance.

It takes you a minute to become fully aware of the clash of steel swords vibrating like a swarm of angry bees bounding off the cold stone walls. Metal boots thud, sprinting down the corridors with the angry wails and roars of battle.

“What in the Hells is going on?” You ask, looking to Hecat for answers. Your heart is pounding in your chest, requesting more breath than you can give it without feeling the shooting agony of your fractured ribs.

“I don’t know,” Hecat shrugs. “I tried to get a look, but the bloody cells are designed so you can’t see much of anything going on beyond a couple of feet.”

Please. Please. Don’t be Astarion.

Shoving and pushing the other prisoners away from the cell door, you try to get a good look, craning your neck to see if you can view anything over the stone lip, but as Hecat had said, visuals are limited. These cells are built depressed into a thick block arch to block prying eyes. You can see, at best, about halfway up the corridor, give or take a little. The melodies of battle are only increasing, but where there were bellowing battle cries and roars. Now, there are screams and pained yelps for help, but whether the screaming is from the attackers or the guards – you're unsure.

You and Hecat slink to the back of the cell together, giving yourself distance from the other prisoners so you can talk in private. Thankfully, everyone else is too focused on what’s happening outside the cell to pay you any heed.

“This wouldn’t happen to be your daring friend trying to rescue you,” Hecat waggles her brows with a saucy grin. “Would it?”

You shake your head at her, “No, I doubt it. My friend would not create this much havoc.” Something doesn’t feel quite right, and it’s nagging at you. You rub your arms to try and dispel some of your rising anxiety, “No. This wouldn’t be a rescue for me. Something else is going on here.”

Hecat gives you a once over, “You’re not wearing any shoes, and your ribs are still broken. You’re in no shape to be running, even if we manage to get out of here. Much less battling with guards and who knows what.”

“You let me worry about myself,” you scoff, crossing your arms with a scowl. Hecat has no idea who you are, and you’ve kept it that way on purpose. Although, you are sure that you don’t look very battle-proficient right now. “If I fall behind, you can leave me and get yourself out. You don’t owe me anything.”

“You think I would leave you behind?” Now it’s Hecat’s turn to scoff and glower at you. You like her, but you only trust her as far as you can throw her, and that isn’t far at all.

“Look,” you try to put your silver tongue to work. The last thing you need right now is to fight with the one person who has helped since you got here. “I didn’t mean it like that. If I become a burden, you need to watch out for yourself. I might not seem like much, but I have been in countless battles. I can hold my own with or without shoes and intact ribs.”

Hopefully.

“Can you use a sword?” Hecat’s pacing, tapping her lips in the usual way she does when trying to think, “If we could procure some from the guards, we might have a better chance.”

“No,” you admit, almost sheepishly. “But if we can get our hands on a dagger, I am slightly better with those. I am death incarnate when I have my magic, though. If we can get out from under the suppression, that’s where I will really shine. Admittedly, I won’t be much help here.”

“That’s okay,” Hecat smiles, patting your arm. “We planned to run, and I think that’s exactly what we should do as soon as we get the chance.”

“I agree. Running is our best bet. There are too many guards for only the two of us.”

Hecat nods and keeps talking strategies, but you’re drawn away from the conversation as you listen to the screaming getting quieter and the clash of blades reducing. There’s an odd aroma in the air. You’ve smelt it before, but it’s not quite strong enough to connect any specific memory to; it smells organic, earthy, wet, and cold. Whatever that smell is, even if your brain cannot comprehend it, it seems your body does. You’re shaking, surging with adrenaline, but you cannot place the unease you’re feeling.

There’s commotion in the hallway by the cells near the front where you can’t see. All the prisoners seem to gasp at once and start screaming, skittering and flailing. You can hear the sound of boots grating on the ground as they press themselves up against the walls of their cells. The high-pitched screeching of iron bars being wrenched on and doors being forced open increases the utter cacophony. People shout, but you cannot make the word out when it’s buried under so much noise.

You and Hecat push your way to the front of the horde, everyone trying to stick their heads through the bars so they can see what’s going on. They step on your bare toes with boots, and elbows smash into your already smashed ribs, making you let out a whimpering breath.

Hecat is right. You’re in no shape to fight or run.

Suddenly, it hits you like a gust of icy wind of a summer’s day, freezing you to your core and sending shivers down your spine. Your maltreatment wasn’t done as some pointless abuse at the hands of petty guards - no. They weren’t truly interrogating you for information or because they were paid to make your stay here extra special.

Someone wants you to be weakened, hurt, and your magic stripped away.

Someone needs you to be weak and helpless.

But that still begs the question - who and why?

You catch rapid glimpses of a pale arm here and an ashen leg there. They are sickly looking, slim and emaciated. Your heart palpates in your chest as you remember where you last smelled that raw organic scent.

The Szarr Palace.

You drift to the back of your cell, taking Hecat with you until your backs are pressed against the stone. Hecat quirks a brow at you, obviously confused with the dread you’re sure is framed in the features of your face. Sticking your hands behind your back, you hope she didn’t notice them trembling.

You swallow and whisper, “Have you ever fought vampire spawn before?”

Questions march through your head like a restless army, but you try to focus on the most important ones. How many spawn will you need to outrun? You shudder at the thought. You know firsthand how quick vampire spawn are, and your fingers hover over your broken ribs.

Hecat gawks at you with brows raised so high they look like they might be trying to mount her scalp. “I’m sorry. What?”

“Vampires,” you repeat hoarsely, obliviously trying to fight back tears. “Have you ever fought them before?”

You just got Astarion back, and now you might fucking die here in this prison after being arrested for a crime you didn’t even commit. What kind of cruel joke is this? Why can’t life give you a damn break? Why can’t you have a happily ever after with the man you love?

Fear suddenly relents and bursts into anger, and you stoke those flames to kindle it because anger is far more productive than fear.

Hecat is looking at you with a slack jaw and round eyes, “How do you know what’s out there is vampire spawn?”

“I have had a lot of experience with vampires.” You try to keep your intonation as unwavering as possible. “You don’t have to take my word for it. You will see them soon enough.”

“Yes,” Hecat confirms. Her forehead creases in worry, “I have some experience with them, but not much. I tend not to enter into battles I’m not sure I can win.”

Smart woman. Maybe I need to take a page from her book.

“The plan is still the same,” you instruct. “Run and only fight when you have to.”

“They are fast!” Hecat is pacing now, hands in her hair. “There’s no way we can outrun them, especially with you injured and magicless.”

“With this much blood, they will be frenzied. Their bloodlust will make them distracted. It works in our favour.”

“And the others?” Hecat points to the horde of prisoners still trying to figure out what’s happening, craning their necks at the gates.

In another life, you might have tried to save them, but you’ve learned that not everyone can be saved.

“Fodder.”

Hecat eyes widen at your detached answer, but she doesn’t have time to argue with you as the first spawn start coming into view from your cell. Everyone jumps back from the bars as their bloodied fangs snap, claws clench, and they hiss like snakes. Their eyes bore into you, black and glowing crimson like Astarion’s siblings when they were under Cazador’s compulsion.

“Oh, fuck,” you hear Hecat stutter as several more come to stand before the cell.

“Get ready,” you slide your feet across the stone floor, curling your toes into it, testing your purchase.

The spawn lunge at the cell door. Their teeth snap around the iron bars with loud, metallic pinging. They wrap their hands around the bars and pull with ferocious growls. The metal whines under the force, the stone where the door is moored cracks and crumbles, and the door gives way.

The spawn flood the cell like an ashen wave, cresting with bared frothing fangs over a restless, screaming sea.

Thank you to all those who read/like/comment/follow/reblog/etc. I'm forever thankful for the support. I love reading your comments :) Keep them coming (if you feel like it - of course 😅)

Chapters Master List - Shadows of the Past

AO3: Crossposted

If you're interested, I also write fanfic for Ascended Astarion x Spawn Tav - Fangs and Fractured Hearts

Small Notes:

Expect us to stay in Kamena's POV 75% of the time, but we will be returning to Astarion's eventually. I want Astarion's POV to remain interesting and special, so there will be less of it. We're still going to explore more of what he got up to when he left though.

Vampire attacking the prison? Why? Is it Mr. Blackwell's doing or something more sinister?

I just want to express that I hate, loathe, detest, Mr. Blackwell.

[selvesdiscovery]

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edit: personal boundaries and introduction below the cut

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[downwiththeficness]

Shadow and Veil-Chapter Seventeen

Summary: Eva Moore’s life was a carefully constructed fiction.  Every day, she did exactly what her mother in law, her husband, and his  best friend expected of her. No mistakes. And, that was going pretty  well for Eva right up until a huge complication literally tried to run  her over. Now, she’s faced with trying to keep the pieces of her life  from falling apart while attempting (and failing) to keep her feelings  for her husband’s new business partner at bay.

A/N: This fic is a sister-fic to A Need So Great and A Need Unleashed.  You do not need to have read ANSG or ANU to read this fic, but there  are Easter eggs from those fics in Shadow and Veil for readers with keen  eyes.  This fic is explicit for canon-compliant blood, gore, violence,  and sex. As such, it is intended for an adult audience, only. A/B/O  dynamics come with their own warning. Anyone under the age of 18 should  not interact with this work. I do not consent to reposting this work to  other platforms. Reblog only to Tumblr.  

Word Count: ~4000

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She waited the agreed upon few days before making a trip to the library. Holding her Intro to Spanish book against her chest, Eva strode inside. They hadn’t discussed how the messages would be passed back and forth. No time to work out the details with the threat of being found out so close.

Turning down an aisle, Eva tried to put herself in Horacio’s mindset. It wasn’t exactly easy. Other than the barest details of where he was from and what he was doing in her life, Eva didn’t know that much about him.

She couldn’t help but to have doubts about whether or not she’d put her life into the hands of the right person. History had proven that she wasn’t the best judge of character and the stakes were too high for her to make this kind of error. She kept coming back to the conversation Horacio didn’t know she overheard, to the way he cut off any plan to use her as a tool for the investigation.

Horacio was a man on a mission, a man determined to close this case with an arrest and justice served. There was simply no other option, no other acceptable outcome. Eva was a key resource that he’d refused to tap in pursuit of his goal. He could have pushed her into testifying, threatened or bribed her to bend to his will.

But, he hadn’t.

Horacio gave her all the control, let her decide the terms of their relationship. He negotiated her wildly oscillating emotions and, at the same time, stubbornly held the line  when it came to her safety. His dedication, in hindsight, was nothing less than baffling.

Eva didn’t know what to do with that kind of confusion. She supposed she would do exactly what she was doing now—looking for a message in the non-fiction section. Another ten minutes or so passed like this, Eva meandering through the stacks aimlessly while she looked for clues. Eventually, she had to resign herself to the knowledge that she would need a little help.

Swinging around the corner, Eva headed for the circular desk in the center of the library. Behind it sat a middle aged woman who was carefully checking a stack of books back into the system before setting them on a rolling cart to be returned to their proper shelf.  Eva didn’t recognize her, but she looked friendly enough.

Eva approached with a smile and held up her book, “Hi, I’d like to check this out again.”

The librarian returned the smile, “Of course. Any others catch your fancy?”

“Um, no,” Eva replied, “But, I thought maybe you might have something for me. My name is Eva Moore.”

It was a reach, a shot in the dark. But, Eva was more anxious about leaving Horacio waiting for her than she was about asking stupid questions in a nearly empty library.

Leaning forward, the librarian said, “I’m Margaret. Unfortunately, I don’t know anything about having something for you.”

Eva’s heart dropped a little in disappointment. It looked like she was going to have to keep trying. Nevertheless, she’d been there for half an hour at least already and she didn’t have much more time between meetings. She would have to come back tomorrow and see if she could figure out where the message was hidden.

“Do you like music, dear?”

Thrown by the odd change in topic, Eva shrugged, “A little.”

Margaret reached over and picked up an eight by three card from a small stack on the desk, “There’s this new group playing our charity event next week. Maybe you’ve heard of them. Stag Nation?”

Brows lifting, Eva almost smiled, “Yes, I’ve heard of them.”

“A bit too rock and roll for my taste, but their singer is just lovely.” She handed Eva the card, “You should stop by, maybe make a donation.”

Eva nodded, “I’ll do that, thank you.”

“Wonderful,” Margaret chirped, “Here’s your book. You’ve got it for another two weeks.”

Thanking Margaret, Eva took the book and tucked it against her chest again. It wasn’t until she got to the parking lot that she realized the card in her hand was probably how Horacio sent the message. Eagerly, she dropped into the seat of her car and read it over.

She read it over again.

If there was a coded message in it, Eva was hopeless as she tried to decipher it. Frustrated, she sighed and tossed the card into the passenger’s seat. She picked up the book in her lap and went to do the same with it, pausing when she caught the edge of a bookmark peeking out from the pages.

Opening the book to the marked page, Eva checked the little piece of cardstock for writing or anything unusual in the type. Nothing. Just a standard bookmark with the library’s information on it. She threw it atop the Stag Nation invite.

And that’s when she noted the post it note. Yellow. Standard size. On it was writing that was neat and orderly. A date. A time. An address. Eva smiled as she read it over. Then, she closed the book and started the engine.

The rest of her meetings for the day were a blur of note taking and pretending that being asked to make coffee didn’t make her want to toss a cup of it into their face. She wouldn’t allow herself to think about the post it, wouldn’t even touch the book again, until she pulled into the driveway of the house.

After throwing it into her purse, Eva slung the bag over her shoulder and walked inside. At the door, she listened for an indication that there was someone else in the house. Josh hadn’t paid her any attention since the night of the party and Alexei seemed to have disappeared, as well.

She didn’t know what was discussed in The Lounge that night, or why Josh felt the need to call an emergency meeting. There was nothing on the books that indicated any shift within the company—no large sum of money transferring to one of the off shore accounts, no unusual expenses. There weren’t even any complaints from one of their employees.

It had to be the new project Josh was working on. Eva cringed as she thought about it and what the consequences of a success would mean for others like her. If Horacio already delivered the product, Josh would be running tests on it. One or more of those tests would be given to omegas under the guise of a federally funded clinical trial.

The only silver lining about the whole thing was that it would take months for Josh to synthesize a viable product. Eva hoped that Horacio would have his investigation wrapped up by that time.

There were no sounds, no footsteps, no voices. The house felt empty. Eva released a soft breath and she pulled off her shoes. The ache in her feet eased as she ascended the staircase.  It was echoed by the bruising that was still healing along her side. Every day it got better, but Eva still made herself look at it in the mirror so that she didn’t forget why she was doing what she was doing.

As Eva cleared the landing she heard the drag of something heavy against carpet. She froze, listening intently. Another soft scrape—it was coming from Josh’s office. From this angle, Eva couldn’t see the if the door was open or closed.

Setting her purse and shoes aside, Eva tip toed along the well-mapped path towards Josh’s office. Each step was deliberate. Silent. She turned the corner into the upstairs hallways just in time to see the door open to Myra’s surprised face.

“Eva,” she yelped, “I thought you were at work.”

“I was,” Eva replied, “My last meeting ended early.” Then, “What are you doing in Josh’s office?”

She stumbled over her words before settling on, “I was looking for a print out of the raffle winners so that I could send them a thank you note.”

Eyes narrow, Eva felt her disbelief crawl over her expression, “Peggy has that information. You know that.”

“She said she gave it to Josh.”

“Why would she do that?” When Myra went to lie again, she cut her off, “Why are you really here?”

Myra’s mouth pursed in frustration, “Josh has been keeping secrets. Some new initiative that he won’t talk about.”

Eva shook her head, “He’s allowed to have his hobbies.”

“Not when it affects the company,” Myra bit out.

“He’s the CEO.”

“I’m the chair of the Board.”

“I don’t see how that matters.”

Myra huffed, “Because we are at risk for an audit—IRS, OIG, the whole alphabet soup of governmental agencies. They’re weeks away from a documents request.”

Eva stared at her, trying to discern if she was aware of the other investigation, “How do you know that?”

Tossing her head, Myra answered, “You think Josh is the only one with friends in high places?”

Fair enough.

“Those friends,” Eva hedged, “did they tell you why they were investigating?”

Myra crossed her arms and leaned against the door jamb, “Embezzlement, mostly.”

“Mostly?”

“Among some other minor issues.”

Eva took a calming breath, “And, you were in his office…?”

“To find your financial files.”

She didn’t know if Myra would be able to decipher the books well enough to spot where Eva moved their money, or how she protected it from being discovered. The IRS and OIG would have a significantly higher chance of figuring it out.

“What were you going to with them?”

Myra shrugged.

A little voice in Eva’s head whispered angrily. Out loud, she said, “You were going to destroy them.”

A shocked ‘no’ shot out from Myra’s lips, “I was hoping to head off the investigation. Give them something to chew on to that their superiors would back off.”

Eva almost believed her. Almost. It wouldn’t be the financial documents she filed every month that would tip off whichever agency took lead on the case. They were pristine—she’d seen to that. Which left a suspicion that Eva was not prepared to voice, nor make accusations about.

She stepped to the side, “You need to talk to Josh about this. I’ll give you a few days to sit down with him. After that, I’ll tell him, myself.”

“Eva,” Myra pleaded, “this is serious.”

“I know,” she replied easily, “That’s why Josh needs to be pulled in. He’ll never forgive you if he’s blindsided by this.”

Visibly swallowing, Myra nodded, “We’ll go out to dinner this week. I’ll tell him.”

“Good.”

Saying nothing, Eva went and got her purse and shoes from where she’d left them and trudged to her room. Only when she was safely behind the closed door did she let out a hiss of anger through her teeth. Throwing the bag on the bed and the shoes on the floor, Eva’s mind whirred with a thousand angry thoughts.

She stopped.

Standing in the middle of her room with her hands on her hips, Eva just...stopped. Whatever Myra might be planning was immaterial when it came to her plans. She had a goal to meet and had to keep her eyes on that goal until it was achieved. Myra was a distraction she didn’t have time to look into.

Intro to Spanish peeked out at her from the depths of her purse. Eva eyed it as she thought about the other distraction in her life. Really, she shouldn’t be entertaining Horacio, either. Meeting him was a massive risk that she shouldn’t undertake.

Eva was still going to meet him.

She tipped her head back and sighed towards the ceiling. Eva was such an idiot, but she was going to meet him. Not because she wanted his help with getting her out of her marriage—which she did. That wasn’t all of it.

Eva was going to meet him because of the way he looked at her. Her mind drifted back to his face cast in the glow of moonlight. Open and vulnerable, he lost all the sharp edges that kept others at bay. She recalled the reverence of his hands as he touched her side and the wide honesty in his eyes.

Horacio might be playing the part of Diego, but only when he had to. As soon as they were alone, the disguise fell away and Eva was left with a man who confounded everything she knew. An alpha who hadn’t once tried to assert himself as such. A law enforcement officer who was willing to let Eva, a criminal, slip away while he sought out a larger target. A person who had—not once—harmed her, threatened her, talked down to her.

She was going to see him because she needed to know that such a person existed outside of her little bubble of a life. Eva, for the first time in so long, had hope. This small, but growing, hope was more dangerous to Eva than her husband, than even Alexei.

Eva didn’t care.

She was going to meet him.

And, that’s what she did. On the assigned date, at the assigned time, Eva pulled into the small parking lot of a nearby wilderness reserve. She got out of the car and locked it, scanning the area for Horacio.

It was a lovely day. Fall hadn’t yet set in, but the heat of Summer was abating. A cool wind blew through trees whose leaves were just starting to turn. All around her, people were enjoying the weather. There were mothers playing with their children, dogs fetching toys from the grass. Eva smiled as she took it in.

Leaning against the side of her car, she crossed her arms and waited. Horacio would find her eventually. In the meantime, Eva could think about what she might tell him when he did.

Eva wasn’t surprised by the fact that there were concurrent investigations in to Ardent. She was being smart about moving their money around, but Josh’s insistence on this new project of his had forced her to make moves with the accounts that would definitely be noticed. The fact that Myra hadn’t yet told Josh made Eva think that the investigators were further along than Myra let on.

Despite the fact that Eva agreed not to make any moves without Horacio, she was already picking up the small caches of money stashed around the city. There were two or three left, one of which she would have to be extremely careful in retrieving. After that, she would get her passport from Josh’s safe and drive like hell to the airport. And that’s where her plan got a little fuzzy.

She didn’t know where she would go once she actually walked up to the desk to buy her ticket. Alexei had resources, would go just about anywhere to track someone down. Leaving the country wasn’t going to be enough to deter him. And, even if she flew to the ends of the earth, Eva’s passport could be tracked.

Having the cash would help. The bills stacked neatly in the duffle with the dress still carrying Horacio’s scent would be all she had. After it was gone, Eva would have to figure out how to keep herself alive with the skills she’d developed working for Josh.

It was doubtful that anyone would let her be an accountant, or work at the level she was accustomed. But, Eva would definitely excel at secretarial work. She could take the condescension of an incompetent boss if it meant she got to live with a small modicum of freedom.

Footsteps drew her attention. Horacio sauntered up with a fond smile, stopping just short of her. Eva dropped her arms and straightened as she looked him over. He was wearing a button up that was less Horacio and more Diego. The fabric shimmered lightly as it molded around his shoulders and chest. It was tucked into a pair of slacks that were tailored to his frame. The hem perfectly draped over a pair of blue leather shoes that had been on display at a high end department store a few weeks back.

“You’re not dressed for a hike,” Eva said.

Without missing a beat, Horacio replied, “Neither are you.”

She looked down at the sundress she was wearing. Eva debated putting on a pair of sweatpants and a t shirt that morning, but something about the delicately embroidered flowers called to her. And, of course, she had to wear the espadrilles to match.

“You have a point.”

Horacio held out his hand, “Take a walk with me.”

His palm was warm against hers. Eva followed behind him as he led her to a paved path into the trees. As she walked, his scent curled into her nose. Eva took deep breaths of it, enjoying the way her body responded.

The hair on her arms the back of her neck stood on end. Her heart palpitated in her chest, sending heated blood into every extremity. Instincts that Eva didn’t even believe she had not too long ago rose up and demanded that she slow him down so that she could pull him into her body—a body that was reminding her that she hadn’t been able to kiss him for almost a week.

Horacio slowed as they approached a bench and motioned for her to sit, “How are you?”

Eva blinked away the fantasy of scraping her teeth over the nape of his neck, “I’m fine.”

Easing down onto the bench, he fixed her with a disbelieving look.

“The injuries weren’t serious,” Eva explained, “I’m all healed up.”

He sighed as he rested his arm across the back of the bench, “I’m not talking about the bruises, although I am glad they’re healing.”

The way his fingers brushed against the bare skin of her back was distracting, “What are you talking about?”

“I asked you not to make any moves.”

“I haven’t.”

“That means you were supposed to act as normal.”

“I have.”

“You haven’t been shopping.”

“What does that mean?”

Horacio looked out towards the lake in front of them, “It means that you’re deviating from your routine. You need to go pick up some expensive pair of shoes or purse, do what you’ve done all along. Otherwise, your husband and his friends are going to get suspicious.”

Eva’s mouth curled as she bit back the venom that wanted to spill forth.

He glanced sideways at her, “Say it.”

“Say what?”

“The inside thought you’re holding back. Say it.”

Passing her hand over her brow, Eva did as he asked, “I’m balancing a lot of obligations right now—to my husband, to myself...to you. I am facing the possibility of jail, if Josh doesn’t kill me first. You’re going to have to forgive me if I’m not in the mood to shop.”

Horacio smiled, “Its good to see that there is still some fight left in you.”

“Fuck off,” she bit out.

He laughed and her stomach flipped in her belly. Eva was irritated with him, but the sound of his amusement went a long way to soothe that irritation. She fought to hold onto it and failed. And that made her irritated all over again.

“I’m doing the best I can.”

Horacio touched her shoulder, “I know.” Then, “Honestly, you’re handling this a lot better than I thought you would.”

“Gee, what a compliment.”

His touch lingered, “It was a compliment.”

Embarrassed by the sincerity in his eyes, Eva looked towards the lake. There were ducks swimming peacefully in a row—babies following their mother. A few fishermen were casting their lines on the opposite shore. People and animals, alike, unaware of the untenable situation she and Horacio were facing.

“Are you aware of the IRS and OIG investigations?”

He nodded.

“Then, you know they’re getting ready for a document review. Documents that I prepared.”

Another nod.

“Myra knows. She’s going to tell Josh in a few days.”

Horacio rolled a shoulder, “He won’t take that well.”

“No, he won’t. I have no idea what he will do with that information.”

“I do,” he replied.

Eva looked at him, “What?”

Horacio licked his lips and his hand flattened against her shoulder blade, “He’s going to try to pin it on you.”

Her mouth opened in shock. Eva had her suspicions, especially after talking to Myra, but to hear it said out loud set her back on her heels. Horacio hummed a soothing noise as his hand ran up her shoulder to the back of her neck where he squeezed gently. Eva leaned into the pressure as she accepted what he said as fact.

“So, I am going to jail.”

“No,” Horacio contradicted, “Not if I can help it.”

She rolled her eyes, “You won’t get a choice. Not if he’s done the job right. I handled all the books, bribed government officials.”

“And your husband,” he added, “used that money to fund illegal drug trials and run an opiate ring that will soon expand into a second state.”

Eva shook her head, “We’re both culpable.”

“No,” he said again as he slid closer to her, “I saw him hurting you on several occasions. I’m willing to testify that he used physical violence to coerce you.”

Her jaw set as she prepared to be fully honest with him, “That’s not truth. Not really. I’m good at it, Horacio. Very good. I liked the puzzle of moving the money, of hiding everything we were doing behind layers of protection and deals brokered behind closed doors. And, that’s the truth.” She paused to take a breath, “It was the thing that kept me going.”

Until I met you, she didn’t say. That would be too honest.

Horacio gave a very small smile, “I’ve learned a lot working with your people. Their policies and procedures. The way they think about criminals and the way they go about their business.” He leaned close, “I also learned that they don’t care about the truth. They care about finding someone to blame.”

He wasn’t wrong. But, there would be something he needed from her to make it happen.

“Only if I testify, right?”

The resignation in his expression told her all the answers she needed to know. Eva blew out a breath and stood from the bench. They had nothing to talk about and she needed to be getting home.

Horacio followed her onto the path that led to the parking lot, “Eva, wait.”

Over her shoulder, she said, “I’m not testifying.”

He caught up to her, stopped her with a hand on her elbow, “I’m not asking you to.”

Eva swung around to face him, “Then, what are you asking me to do?”

They stood there, heavy breaths between them. Impatient, Eva made a kind of ‘well?’ gesture with one hand. It was a dare for him to tell her the truth of what he wanted. To be as honest with her as she had been with him.

Horacio shifted on his feet, but said nothing.

Disappointed, Eva stepped away, “That’s what I thought.”

Chest aching with rejection, Eva strode away. She got into her car and started the engine. After pulling out of the parking lot, Eva drove the whole way back to the house in silence. Then, she walked inside and headed straight for her room.

In her closet, Eva reached to the very back and opened the duffle. Beneath the piles of money, she found her dress. Refusing to bring the fabric to her nose, Eva took it straight to the washing machine and threw it in. She added more soap than was strictly necessary and then shut the lid firmly.

Standing against the wall of the laundry room, Eva watched the machine move through its cycle. It was wrong to put so much hope into Horacio and it was wrong to expect him to bend to her will. He had rules to follow, laws that kept him walking the line. Laws that Eva had broken time and again.

If she was going to get out of this house, out of her marriage, Eva was going to have to rely on herself. That was all there was to it.

[jujorising]

While this is still sort of all over the place, a few people have requested I post the Official JuJo Timeline™ so here it is (´｡• ◡ •｡`) ♡ [Warning: Some canon spoilers mentioned ahead!]

For convenience, I will be separating the timeline into the general year events take place and which part they would most closely correspond with.

1999

♡ Jupiter travels to Morioh from the US to investigate possible alien life ♡ They meet Jotaro while interviewing locals ♡ Jotaro remains skeptical of their "investigations" despite his own status as a stand user ♡ As time progresses, Jupiter is somehow looped into assisting the Duwang Gang in the hunt for Kira, throughout which they work closely with Jotaro and slowly develop feelings for him ♡ Celebrating the defeat of Kira, over many drinks, bits of Jotaro's family life are brought to light; he confirms that he is recently divorced and has partial custody his 7 y/o daughter back in the states ♡ Jotaro tells Jupiter that he's due to head back to Florida by the end of the summer, however he intends to return to Morioh in a year's time to "check up on Josuke" definitely not for Jupiter, which further convinces Jupiter to take up residence in Morioh

2000

♡ Jotaro is caught up with his work as a marine biologist but continues to write Jupiter and keep in touch via email

2001

♡ Jotaro finally returns to Morioh with plans to send Koichi to Italy ♡ When the two finally reunite, Jupiter keeps Jotaro up to date on their life in Morioh, mentioning that they're on good terms with Mikitaka as they continue to learn about alien lifeforms ♡ Eventually, Jupiter finally confesses their feelings for Jotaro ♡ To Jupiter's surprise, Jotaro reciprocates said feelings, stating that he'd been hesitant to return to Morioh in the event that Jupiter had settled down with someone else ♡ The two officially agree to start dating

2004

♡ Jotaro refers Jupiter to secure a position with the Speedwagon Foundation, allowing them easier access to keep in touch as he continues to travel for work

2006

♡ Jotaro proposes to Jupiter with plans to marry shortly after Jolyne finishes out the school year

2007

♡ JuJo wedding wooooo!!! ♡⸜(˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶)⸝♡

2008

♡ Jupiter and Jotaro decide to relocate to Florida full time ♡ Jotaro struggles to mend his relationship with Jolyne

2011

♡ Jolyne is imprisoned, Jotaro is on a mission to help her escape ♡ After Jotaro's discs are taken, Jupiter works around the clock with the Speedwagon Foundation to keep him stable ♡ Jupiter is then removed from the case, as other members of the foundation are concerned that the situation may be too personal for them to keep a level head ♡ During Jupiter's forced leave of absence, they reach out to the Duwang Gang, as well as other connections they've made around the world in efforts to organize a backup plan to save Jolyne ♡ Eventually, they land on Rohan, only managing to convince him to help if only to save Pink Dark Boy - stating if Pucci manages to succeed, there would likely be no audience to read his work ♡ Jupiter and Rohan join Jotaro and the others at the Kennedy Space Center ♡ In the final moments, the group utilizes Star Platinum, LBDT, and Heaven's Door to defeat Pucci (Happy Ending)

2012

♡ Jupiter and Jotaro officially adopt Emporio and enroll him in a private school for gifted youth

So there it is, the JuJo timeline in all its glory ( ˘͈ ᵕ ˘͈ ♡) I may change bits of it later, but as of right now I'm happy with how it's turned out! Thanks for reading~

[butterflyeffectiveless]

toffee ramble, sorry

The whole Toffee thing in the show confuses me... because of the narrative and plot and the ending. I'm not against him being a villain who wasn't redeemed, but his role in the show feels like he was a very long-term plot device.

Just hear me out. The Magic High Commission turned out to be "bad" people who have lied and concealed truth to save themselves, causing many lives to be destroyed Because of their actions. I heard that some of them were even partially resposible for the tensions and war between Butterfly Queens and monsters. They basicallly commited big crimes against people, but their actions were addressed in the show and sort of talked about. And they still contributed to plans of the main characters despite everything they'd done.

The key if not Core part of the show is uh... monsters vs Butterfly Queendom, where monsters are the ones who deserve to get what was taken from them, that monsters arent evil, etc. And Toffee is A Monster. The show treating him like a hindrance that needed to be killed, felt off, Even if we take into account that Toffee is a cold murderer who takes his ideas too far. Even if Toffee was this way, he still needed some other treatment in the show, Beause of the Plot of the show (mewmans vs monsters thing) . Maybe Toffee could have worked as a foil or "reverse image" of Globgor, aka a monster who is also oppressed but who makes wrong decisions and turns to a dark path so he must be stopped. But the show didnt treat Toffee that way either: essentially what he was , was just "a random villain who did bad stuff and therefore our princess must kill him".

If the show had made Toffee not a monster but someone else it probably would have been better. But making him a monster and giving him the role of a hindrance or "a character who moves plot forward" feels v out of place.

The show making Toffee a mysterious smart monster who appears in the 1st season, it feels like the creators only intended for him to lure the audience and to keep them hooked for the Other characters to show up. It was as one of the crew members said "Toffee was just a pawn in Eclipsa's plan". Toffee feels like a very long introduction to Eclipsa and not like his own character, judging from the show's perspective. Me thinking about how he was not intended to have deeper character and how he was planned by the creator herself as "a pure evil", led to me thinking that the crew only intended for Toffee to be a plot device for the show's future seasons. I mean...If (hypothetically) I thought my character was just evil, and I had other characters who had a lot more to them, I'd use said evil character as a device for my other characters to proceed further in the story.

(explanation: I DOnt think Toffee is an empty character, I Dont think he is just a device, what i was saying is that he was Intended By The Crew to be one. Im trying to say that I feel kind of sad about that decision).

And I feel like, the problem with Toffee as a Svtfoe show character was probably that he was a Monster. If he was something else. and not a monster, his death would not have caused as much upsetness in fandom as it had. Toffee being a plot device villain while being a monster really undermined the message the show tried to convey.

Or, maybe Tofffe should have been introduced in later seasons. not in the first season. I feel like, had he been introduced in later seasons, he wouldnt have been given role of a plot device, bc there would not be much insentive for the team to do that to him (the plot reached its peak, must work on this character's flaws and motives and write dialogue between him and others, - is what i imagine they'd plan for him)

Also after watching reviews on High Commission I realized something..... characters being stubborn and not wanting to change their views, seemed to be a common trait for many characters in the show. People see Toffee as the type to never change his views and to never change as a person (or monster), but..isnt almost every character in svtfoe that way..? I mean, MHC hasnt changed their views and stayed biased against eclipsa and monsters until the end, even though they are supposedly the good guys. Moon hasnt changed either. Star hasnt changed either but she was never that much biased against monsters in the first place (she did beat them up but she always saw them as "fun rivals" and not as "evil evil must eradicate").

Toffee not getting redemption seems not like a culmination of what he is and what he's done, but more like the show's narrative trait. Because in the show many characters refuse to change their views , why would Toffee be developed as an exception to that rule.

I used to be one of those who didnt want him to get redemption but now that i think about it.. wouldnt it be more fun if many characters in the show changed? And including him too. Yes I know it would be soapy, yes I know it would be sappy, I know it would be annoying. But it would be fun to see how the crew would play around with their feelings and journey toward character development.