#if anyone wonders how long i hoard asks for

[muzzlemouths]

Were the DMD boys ever witnesses to a baby's firsts? Like first words or first steps?

Superstar Shopping Center, circa 1977

“Did you need help with that?”

Sun moseys up to a mother who looks like she’s got her hands full – literally. Four shopping bags balanced on one arm and a baby in the other. A second child — five or six, if he had to guess — clings to the tail of her mother’s jacket in lieu of a free hand, dressed in her Sunday Best. She ducks behind her mother’s arm as Sun nears and addresses him with a look tied between awe and apprehension.

Contrarily, her mother regards Sun with nothing but relief, handing over all but one of her bags the moment his hands extend to take them. “Well, thank you!” She reorients the remaining bag to sit at her elbow so the little girl at her side has a proper handhold and gently scolds her for continuing to hide.

“It’s quite alright,” Sun assures her with a kind smile. He crouches to be more at eye-level with the child and offers her a little wave, taking no offense to the way she peeks only slightly out from behind her mother. “That’s a very pretty dress,” he says. It’s a Carter's collared plaid, Christmas-time red, with a white dog-eared collar and rabbit embroidery. Perfectly suited for the season. “Are you headed somewhere special?”

“Just down to Shutterbug,” the mother laughs, answering Sun’s question when her daughter doesn’t budge. “I know it’s still early in the season, but I have an endless list of things to get around to before the month’s end, so we’re just going to get our photos done now, and the family will just receive their cards a little early, this year.”

“Oh, certainly,” he nods sagely, as if he’s even once sent a Christmas card himself, “better to get it over and done with before everyone and their mother realizes they’ve forgotten to sign and seal their envelopes!”

“Exactly!” She laughs again. “I figure, well, I might as well get some gift shopping done since I’m already here, but–”

Right on cue, the infant in her arms begins to wail his poor little head off, and she grimaces.

“Finding it hard to get anything done with your hands full?” Sun asks, waiting for her nod before continuing. “Well, that’s nothing I can’t fix! I could carry your other bags for you, or–”

“Could you babysit?”

He straightens with a jolt, nearly dropping the bags he already carried in the process. “Oh! Well, um, company policy doesn’t exactly allow me to–”

“It would just be for a few minutes. An hour, at most.” She gives him a pleading look. “You’re coded with childcare protocols, aren’t you?”

“I–” Sun scrambles for an answer. “My training extends to some childcare etiquette, but–”

“Perfect!” She lofts the infant into his arms like he is nothing more than a small sack of potatoes. “This is George. He’s nine months old as of last week, was just changed, and ate an hour ago, so he should be an angel for you.”

“W-What about his shoes?” He tucks the child against his shoulder and gestures worriedly towards his itty little toes, clothed in nothing but the navy blue footie he wears.

“Oh, don’t be silly, he’s still too young!” The woman insists, “George has only just learned how to crawl, I doubt he’ll be walking any time soon. You have nothing to worry about!”

“But–”

“I’ll come find you in an hour when I’m all finished up. Thank you again!”

The mother turns on her heel like she’s being chased out by fire, leaving Sun there in the center of the mall aisle, still as a statue and stunned into silence.

There was a kernel of truth to his words. Both he and Moon had been programmed with the know-how in terms of child rearing basics, and in fact it was the very first frame of coding that he recalls having. For what purpose, he isn’t sure. It has lied dormant beneath layers of more relevant protocols for years and only ever makes an appearance when he’s interacting with the few children the mall sees from time to time. Even still, it is nothing in the way of proper training for how to care for an infant so small, and for so long.

Needless to say, he was panicking.

The first thing he does after quieting the infant’s cries is find another employee and hand off the bags, instructing them to be brought to Shutterbug and kept behind the desk for the time being.

With his hands freed he can focus all of his attention on the child who, for what it’s worth, has been a perfect angel in the short time since he was haphazardly carted into Sun’s arms. Quiet as a church mouse after that first little outburst, and just as cute, too, the little bundle of joy looking up at him with big brown eyes full of wonder.

Sun returns his gaze with a long sigh. “Now then, what are we going to do with you?”

The protocols that once were dormant now rose to the surface and screamed at him to engage the child in “stimulating activities“, whatever that meant. Instructions for playtime involved everything from games like peekaboo and patty-cake to more developmental activities, such as playing music, coloring, or toying with building blocks. Sun doubted that Bee Gees’ hit single “Stayin’ Alive” was anything in the way of educational for the tiny tot as it played over the speakers, and — to the best of his knowledge — he can’t recall ever having access to building blocks or coloring books. That left nothing but the traditional baby games, tried and true, and easy enough!

He borrows a small blanket from a store nearby and finds a cozy spot on the floor, tucked safely between two plant boxes, to set him down. Sun finds that playing these games comes almost naturally to him — but that’s a given, isn’t it? He follows the instruction manual in his code to the letter, pride and joy overwhelming his stint of uncertainty each time he comes out from hiding behind his hands to the sound of shrill laughter, every “Peek-a-boo!” earning him a motley of giggles and a baby-toothed smile.

Distraction arrives in the form of an employee struggling to carry a stack of boxes into the store behind him. He’s on his feet and across the room in an instant as one protocol briefly overrides the other, and it’s only for a moment — just a moment — but when he turns around again it is to the sight of an empty blanket.

His charge has gone missing.

Panic overwhelms every one of his sensors, rushing along his circuits like adrenaline through veins gripping him with a fear so potent it threatens to shut down his system right then and there.

No, think! His mother said he had only just learned to crawl, which meant little George couldn’t have gone far. Unless the infant hadn’t gone anywhere by himself at all, and rather, someone had come along and–

Sun shut down that train of thought the moment it struck him. He would never forgive himself if something so terrible happened on his watch, saying nothing of what management would do to him if a child was abducted right from under his nose.

He decides the best course of action right now is to follow the same protocol he would use for any other “lost” child. Yes, lost, that’s all they were. It’s so easy to get lost in a mall as large as this one. Sun comforts himself with the knowledge that he has never let a lost child go unfound before. His success rate is a perfect 100%, and he intends to keep it that way.

First, he scans the security cameras for any sight of the child. He is sure to look in every nook and cranny, and he deflates with growing dread when that little navy footie doesn’t appear anywhere on the screens. His voice cuts through the employee radio a moment later and describes the child with every possible detail he can think of, asking that any sighting of the little straggler be reported to him immediately. He hopes against every star in the sky that the mother doesn’t happen to overhear from an employee nearby.

Lastly, he heads out in search of help.

Moon is meant to be working on the upper floor today, helping Sun handle the usual holiday rush, and his lack of response to the radio call is concerning. Not too concerning, though, given that Sun finds him right where he’d been expecting to.

That is, sprawled atop the lockers in the employee break room, one arm dangling over the side, the other resting casually over his waist, and a VOGUE magazine draped over his face.

‘Lazy’ doesn’t even scratch the surface of the words Sun wants to use. They’ve talked about this, the bad habit having put Moon in trouble a number of times already, but that’s an argument for another day.

There’s no time to mince words right now, and so he doesn’t. Instead, Sun stalks across the room and slams his fist against the lockers beneath his sleeping coworker, who sits upright with such force that his head makes contact with the ceiling and crashes through like a train into glass.

It might have been funny if Sun wasn’t as whipped up into a panic as he is, but as it stands he can hardly even keep from raising his voice when he addresses Moon with a scowl. “Good morning, sleeping beauty,” Sun hisses, arms crossed, foot tapping impatiently. “I take it you didn’t hear my radio call?”

Moon serves him with a glower of his own, snarling deep within his voicebox as he runs his hand over the glassy side of his faceplate to ensure that it’s still intact. He has the decency to look a little guilty, if only for a moment, cerulean blue eyes lowering to the radio attached at his hip that is visibly turned to OFF.

“Of course not,” Sun tuts.

Griping, Moon dusts the ceiling powder from his shoulders. “What could be so important that you had to–”

“I lost a baby.”

The words render him speechless, a long, uncomfortable silence taking up the space between them for all of a minute before Moon blurts out, “Sun, you don’t have a baby.”

“That’s because I lost him!” Sun shrills, beginning to pace. “I was helping a mother with her bags, and she asked me to babysit, a-and I know we aren’t technically allowed to, but– but it all just happened so fast!” His arms flailed for emphasis. “She said he wasn’t even walking yet, I thought it’d be easy! Everything was going so well, too, we were playing a game of peek-a-boo and then – then someone needed help. I only had my back turned for a minute, Moon. Maybe even less! But then I turned around, and…”

“You lost a baby,” he mutters to himself. Moon runs both hands over his face, sighing into his palms. “You lost a baby,” he repeats. “How do you lose an entire child?”

“I don’t know!” Sun answers, voice cracking with guilt. “Will you help me find them?”

“Obviously.” Moon hops down from the lockers (pointedly ignoring the massive hole in the ceiling – he’d come up with an excuse to tell management later) and is already crossing the room when he speaks again. “Management will take it out on both of us if they find out, so you need to get a grip. Your face looks like you just watched someone plummet to their death, for fucks’s sake.” He pauses at the door. “Did you get a scan of their face?”

“O-Of course!”

“Good. Transfer the image to me along with any other information that might be helpful. I’ll search the exits, you take the first story department stores.”

“What about the second floor?”

He fits him with a quizzical expression, going as far as to form an eyebrow with the stars on his faceplate screen and arch it pointedly. “You said this kid wasn’t walking yet,” Moon reminds him. “If someone ‘napped the little guy, they aren’t going to stick around, much less be caught shopping. They’ll head for the exits, first.”

“I guess that’s true…”

“And if you just coincidentally happened to have been babysitting the world’s fastest crawler, they would still be stuck on the first floor,” he continues, “which is why we’re checking there first.”

“Right. Right. You’re right.” Sun’s nod is shaky at best. His hands wring together with a tension that threatens to pop the joints out of place with each anxious tug.

Moon sighs and crosses the room again to place a hand on Sun’s shoulder. “We’ll find him,” he comforts, giving the shoulder a gentle squeeze, “but we need to go now. You won’t fix anything by standing here worrying.”

“Right,” he repeats, working to smother his nerves for the sake of focusing on the task at hand. “You check the exits, I’ll check the department stores. We’ll meet up at the fountain in thirty minutes if neither of us find anything?”

“Ten minutes,” Moon asserts. He wastes no further time, leaving Sun with only that and a firm nod before pacing out of the room.

Sun hopes they aren’t already too late.

-

Their search yields nothing but more disappointment. Ten painfully long minutes of searching that ends with them meeting at the fountain equally empty handed and with no further leads.

“We’re too late,” wails Sun, already catastrophizing. “How am I going to explain this to their mother? She’ll never forgive me, I’ll never forgive me–” His fingers hook around the rays beside his chin, the thin metal groaning beneath the force and threatening to snap right then and there, “–and management — stars, Moon, we’re going to be dismantled over this!”

“Lower your voice!” Moon snaps. He looks around, ensuring that that their crime — Sun’s crime — hasn’t been overheard. Luckily, it appears the fountain has drowned out their conversation sufficiently. “You need to calm down,” he continues. “I’m sure they’re somewhere around here.”

“We’ve checked everywhere!” His left ray bends under the pressure, molding to the shape of his fingers, slowly but surely. “I should have never let this happen. What was I thinking, turning my back on them? Now they’re all alone, o-or hurt, somewhere, or–”

“Hey, hey.” Moon takes him by the wrist, careful yet firm as he pries Sun’s fingers away from his mangled ray then holds his hand at a distance, so he can’t hurt himself further. “You made a mistake,” he agrees, “but it’s not fair to hold all of that blame yourself. You have no frame of reference for this sort of thing, we aren’t meant to be taking care of children in the first place.”

“I should have known better!” Sun insists. “How can I be expected to run a daycare if I can’t even look after one kid?”

Moon freezes, his optics flickering in a blink. “We–” slowly, he releases Sun’s wrist, “–we aren’t a daycare, Sun. We’re a mall. Are…are you feeling okay?”

“I…” Alarms and notices flood his screen, blocking Moon from view. Corroded files long since forgotten behind firewalls and newly instated protocols. He looks for answers in their overwhelming code and finds nothing but more questions; a lingering sense of awareness always just out of his reach. Then they’re gone, swept away all at once as his system tidies itself up, and he can think clearly again. “We’re in a mall,” he echoes, nodding to himself, “we run a mall. We’re mascots, not – not–” He faces Moon with a calmer disposition, forcing a smile, “I’m alright, now.”

“I always preferred the term Icon,” says Moon, “’mascot’ makes us sound like those people in animal suits waving around signs outside of businesses.” He laughs, and Sun laughs, too, but it’s strained. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

He sighs with the last crumb of uncertainty. “I’m fine, just…confused, I guess. I think the anxiety is getting to me.” When he straightens again it’s with newfound gusto, a determination to make things right. “None of our employees have reported seeing anyone carting off with a baby that fits George’s description, so he must still be here. Do you want to try the second floor after all?”

“I guess it’s worth a shot,” says Moon. He takes another look around, eyes scanning the area for any possible lead, until his star-studded eyebrow arches downward. “You said he was wearing a blue footie?”

“Navy blue,” Sun nods his confirmation, “with a little white pocket on the front.”

“Like that?”

He follows Moon’s point all the way to the escalator, where good ol’ George is sat, halfway up to the second story, already, suckling at his thumb like this is any other Tuesday.

“That’s–” Sun feels like he’s going to scream, “that’s him!”

“Huh. Baby on an escalator,” he mutters inquisitively. “Never seen that before.”

“Moon!”

Not wanting to risk any more dillydallying, Sun rushes past him and beelines through the crowd, anxiety pulsing through him tenfold as he gets caught up in a group of customers gathered on the escalator themselves.

Moon takes an alternative route, opting to skip the escalator steps all together. Instead he leaps directly onto the handrail, steady and practiced, and carefully avoids his customer’s fingers as he races upward.

Sun meets him at the top an excruciating few seconds after and feels his composure slip further upon seeing him empty handed. “Where–?”

“I don’t know,” Moon interrupts, looking just as confused. “He was already gone when I got up here.”

“Seriously?” He braces both palms across his arms, hugging himself tightly so he doesn’t just rip out his rays all together. “He’s a baby, for Pete’s sake. How far could he have gone? How does this keep happening?”

“There!” Moon points a little ways off, where little George — somehow, someway — is spotted riding a runaway janitor’s cart, its wheels spiraling uncontrollably forward and headed straight for the wall.

“Stop that cart!” Shrieks Sun, already halfway across the room and hot on the cart’s tail.

The crowd is thick, clusters of customers all aiming to get their holiday shopping in before the real chaos begins, and it makes the already out of hand situation that much harder.

Sun hears the crash before he sees it, and feels his battery operated heart sink. The sight he’s met with upon finally reaching the end of the balcony is disastrous at best. The cart rests in a broken mess on the floor, having evidently bounced into a pair of trash cans rather than collide with the wall. One of said cans has toppled onto its side from the impact, and the trail of garbage leading out of it paints a perplexing picture.

Moon catches up with him a minute later, fans whirring like he’s out of breath. “Is he–”

“Gone,” Sun answers, aghast. He points to the breadcrumbs (literally) that trail out of the toppled can. “I think he fell into the garbage.”

“Well, that’s better than the wall,” hums Moon. “Maybe it cushioned his fall? And then the trashcan fell over…” he trails off.

“And he just…crawled out?” Sun finishes the thought, then raises his chin. The two share a dumbfounded expression.

“Sun, what kind of mutant child did you agree to babysit?”

“Don’t be rude!” He chastises. “George is just…special.”

“Yeah, specially designed to outwit us. They should have called him Curious George.” His eye follows the garbage trail until it peters out a few feet down. “Where do you suppose he went now?”

“Your guess is as good as mine,” Sun groans. “Should we split up?”

“Good idea. You take the east wing, I’ll go west. Reconvene in thirty minutes?”

“Ten,”‌ corrects Sun, grimacing at the deja vu. “His mother promised an hour, and it’s already been over half of that. If we can’t find him in ten minutes, then we - we–”

“We are going to find him,” Moon assures, bolstering Sun’s confidence as best as he can. “We just need to focus, alright? No more running around like chickens with our heads cut off.”

Sun nods his agreement. “Right, okay. You’re right. I won’t let a baby run me in circles around my own mall.” His frazzled expressions calms, at that, and he smiles. “Just a nine-month infant who crawls a little faster than normal, that’s all he is. Easy peasy!”

-

What happens next is neither easy nor peasy. In fact, calling it ‘running circles’ is an understatement. In the next ten minutes alone, little George sends both of them out on nothing short of a wild goose chase, appearing in nigh impossible positions each and every time and always just out their grasp.

Sun is the first to find him. Tucked into the one corner of a store that the cameras don’t reach, donning a pair of sunglasses of all things (upside-down, mind you), and playing with a silicone whisk from the kitchenware section. Sun is only a short distance away when a customer taps him on the shoulder and asks where they can find the bathroom. Of course, the little tot is already gone when he turns back around.

A few meters down, Moon discovers some discarded sunglasses on the floor. He spots a familiar pair of white padded feet a moment later and finds George climbing the side of an information kiosk. The employee inside is busy with a customer and doesn’t even notice the little rascal scaling the grounded kiosk sign like he was born to climb Everest. They notice Moon, though, and are all too eager to introduce one of the mall’s very own mascots to the customer who is, apparently, visiting for the very first time. It’s all Moon can do just to act polite in front of the woman as his guest-orientation protocols take over, keeping him paralyzed there even as the infant merrily drops from the sign and disappears from his sight.

Five minutes later Sun hears a shrill of laughter and turns around a corner to see George playing in the plant trough like it’s a sandbox, his navy footie all but smothered in dirt. An internal scream rips silently through his system as he grapples with the knowledge that he’s now going to get an earful even if he does successfully get his hands on the kid.

True to character, George is nowhere to be found when Sun winds up in front of the planter. He calms his nerves and protocols alike by fixing the poor flowers back into their proper position from where they had been carelessly plucked out and thrown aside. He knows there’s no saving a few of them, and he’ll need to reorder more seeds to make up for it, but that’s a headache for another day.

The current source of his vexation appears to have shown some mercy, at least. Sun finds a trail of muddy footprints leading out of the trough and down the aisle. An employee glances up from their storefront desk upon seeing him and points to the right, towards the candy store, knowing exactly what he was looking for, already. For the life of him, Sun cannot understand why they — or anyone else for that matter — hasn’t thought to stop the runaway infant. Apparently, a nine month old crawling around without parental supervision is nothing to bat an eye at to anyone in the mall’s entire vicinity.

Moon is passing by Waning Lights theater when he hears a small commotion inside. On a hunch he peeks in, expecting nothing in particular, and instead sees two enormous baby hands covering the screen. That is, two very small baby hands waving in front of the projector.

He’s up the steps in a matter of seconds, mechanics racing with the adrenaline of having finally caught the little devil, only — of course — the little hands have already disappeared, and the seat is empty, leaving only a confused employee where he once was. “You’re joking…” Moon whispers, exhausted. An already irritated customer shushes him from somewhere downstage. Distantly, he hears the telltale sound of infant babbling and begrudgingly follows it out of the theater again.

He bursts through the door and right into Sun, colliding with a loud clatter of metal and recoiling, each holding their heads respectively and groaning in perfect unison.

“Did you find him?” Sun asks around a wince.

“Technically yes, but–”

“He got away from you too?”

Moon nods. “What is it with this kid?”

“I don’t know, but we need to figure out a different plan soon. We’re already over our ten minutes.” He looks around once more for good measure, knowing the child couldn’t have gone too far, already, if they had both just spotted him a moment ago.

That’s when he sees it. Little George, nine months old, walking down the balcony aisle. Rather, the little tike is running like he’s off to the races.

“Well, that explains why he’s been able to get everywhere so fast,” says Moon, following Sun’s gaze. “I thought you said he was only starting to crawl?”

“He’s, um, a fast learner?” Sun answers sheepishly. He watches George go for all of one long, lovestruck moment — feeling like a proud parent himself — before the swell of pride in his chest shatters to make way for circuit frying terror.

See, little George has shown himself to be quite the impressive little acrobat. He can walk, he can run, he can climb, and at that very moment he is making quick work of closing the distance between himself and a stack of boxes pressed up against the balcony railing.

The only thing awaiting him on the other side is a long, long fall.

Sun darts forward without a word, but Moon is faster, weaving through the crowd with a nimble speed that he cannot compete with. “We aren’t going to make it,” Sun gasps, announcing it to himself, mostly, as horror grips him throughout. Even if they reach the railing on time, George is already at the top of the stack, raising himself onto unsteady feet and peering out into the great beyond. He’ll be over the edge before they can stop him, and they won’t make it to the first floor on time to catch him there.

But then Sun hears it; the whir of a wire, quick and sturdy as it races through its ceiling track to Moon’s beck and call. He watches its metal hook begin to lower from a few paces away, just as the infant topples up and over, and his body seizes with fear as Moon leaps over the railing after him.

He hears a click, the wire latching out of sight, going taut. Sun holds his breath until the sound of giggling follows. Peering warily over the railing, hands shaking, he sees Moon dangling halfway to the floor. Little George bounces in his arms, clapping and cheering and laughing away like this is all just another game.

Moon lowers himself the remaining distance to the floor as Sun scrambles down the elevator to meet him. He looks rightfully shaken, his faceplate screen blank of even stars, but his grip remains persistent. He’s not going to risk putting the kid down for a moment, even if he feels like he’s going to bluescreen any second now. Their landing is celebrated with the undeniable sound of George taking the world’s largest shit, and though Moon wants to be angry, all he manages to come up with in response is “Me too, kid.”

A voice calls over their internal radios right as Sun’s feet hit the floor.

“Can someone ring the mascots?” Asks the employee, “I’m stationed at Shutterbug with a customer and she says they have her baby…?”

“I’m on my way!” Sun answers the radio aloud. He takes the baby from Moon, who extends George to him from a distance, grateful — now more than ever — for their ability to turn off their nose receptors.

“What about the footie?” Moon gestures to the dirt-soaked clothes once his hands are free. “I don’t think she’s going to be happy if he’s brought back all dirty – or naked. That might be worse.”

On a whim, Sun turns George over to check the footie’s tag. Relief floods his system when he reads the name. “We carry this brand – I’ll bet anything that we have this exact footie somewhere in the store. Can you go find it?” He makes a face and turns his own nose receptors off a moment after. “Maybe a pack of diapers, too,” he laughs. “Oh! Can you also pick up a rabbit from Fluff-&-Stuff?”

“What about you?”

“I’m headed to the bathrooms so I can clean the little guy up.” He holds George up, then, wielding him like a stinky little weapon. “Unless you want to try changing a diaper?”

“Navy blue footie with a white pocket, got it,” answers Moon, already turning on his heel and heading in the opposite direction.

-

Ten minutes later, Sun exits the bathroom feeling like a brand new person. A scarred, mortified person, but new all the same. Who knew baby poop could be so traumatizing?

Moon had returned a moment before, toting with him the items that Sun had requested, and together they figured out how to dress the freshly cleaned child in a new diaper. Whoever said it wasn’t rocket science was right. It was somehow worse. Still, they persevered, and at the end of it all they had a clean, happy, freshly diapered baby to show for their efforts. Now it was just a matter of delivering him back to his mother.

“Why did you want the rabbit?” Moon asks as he trades over the stuffed animal, happy to hold little George now that the little tike isn’t a stink grenade.

“You’ll see,” answers Sun, refusing to elaborate. He rounds the corner with Moon following at his heel and steps into Shutterbug, greeting the mother with his best customer-pleasing smile. “So sorry for the wait, ma’am. George here had a bit of an accident on our way back.”

The woman tuts guilty, but is happy to see them all the same. “Oh, goodness, how embarrassing. I can pay for the diapers you used.”

“Nonsense!” He tells her with a casual wave of his hand, “We’re happy to lend a hand, and it’s not like the little guy could help himself.”

“You’re a sweetheart,” she smiles. “And he behaved for you, otherwise?”

Sun glances over his shoulder at Moon, and the two share a look.

Nodding, Moon steps forward and hands the child over when his mother extends her arms for him. “He was an angel,” Moon tells her.

They had both already agreed to keep their mouths shut on the entire ordeal, including and up to George’s newfound capabilities. Aside from how much trouble they would both find themselves in if anyone ever found out about the chase this single child had put them through, it simply wasn’t their place to mention it. Sun, especially, didn’t want to take away that special moment when his mother rightfully deserved to have it to herself.

“Well, I’m glad to hear it,” she sighs with relief. “Thank you again for watching her. You two are a real blessing, you know that? I wouldn’t have been able to get all my ducks in a row without your help.”

“Anytime!” Sun answers. He spots a plaid dress hiding behind her, and lowers himself into a crouch. “Hello, again,” he calls to the little girl using his kindest voice, and extends the stuffed rabbit for her to take. “I noticed you had some bunnies on your dress, so I thought you might like this.”

Behind him, Moon relaxes into a fond smile.

“That’s very kind of you,” says her mother, who nudges her forward gently. “Go on, it’s okay,” she reassures her. “It’s a gift.”

The child hesitant, but eventually she peeks out from behind her mother just enough to take the offered rabbit, which she tucks against her chest in a great, big hug. “Th…Thank you,” she whispers. Then, feeling brave, she rewards him with a gap-toothed smile.

Moon clears his voice-box. “Well, we should let you get to it,” he says, full-well knowing that Sun would stay here cooing at the children all day if he let him.

And Sun, for what it’s worth, knows exactly what the vocal nudge means, and detaches himself from the family with a wave and some merry goodbyes before the two of them depart together.

“That was sweet of you,” Moon comments once they’re out of earshot. “You aren’t hoping for kids of our own, are you? I don’t think I’m ready for that level of commitment.” He elbows Sun with a smile, getting a hearty laugh out of him.

“Moon, I’ll be honest. I will be the happiest bot in the world if I never have to change another diaper again.” This time it’s Moon’s turn to laugh, and he laughs until his vocals strain with effort. “But, you know, it wasn’t too bad. Taking care of a baby, I mean. I think we make a pretty good team – and decent parents.”

“I’m the better parent,” Moon says around a wide grin. “You’re too much of a stick in the mud.”

“And you’re too spoiling!” Sun laughs, “Don’t think I haven’t seen you giving out candy to the kids that sneak off without their parents.”

“I’m teaching a valuable lesson,” Moon insists, hand flying over his heart like he’s offended by the notion. “If parents want to leave their children unattended, they have to face the consequences. It won’t be me dealing with the inevitable sugar rush.”

A gasp in the distance interrupts their playful bickering. They turn halfway, back towards Shutterbug. 

“Did you see that?” Chirps the mother, loud and clear. Her giddy voice followed immediately by the shutter of a camera. “Look – look! He’s walking!”

Again, the two share a look. Surprise becomes amusement becomes pride, then joy, and they laugh, and laugh, and laugh.

[after-witch]

Bus Stop [Yandere Geto x Reader]

Title: Bus Stop [Yandere Geto x Reader]

Synopsis: You’ve escaped from Geto–but for how long?

Word count: 3200ish

Notes: yandere, kidnapped reader, noncon sex scene, female reader, degradation

Despite everything that has happened to you within the last year, your hands have never shook so much; your breath has never been this ragged, this desperate; your chest has never heaved and pleaded with the most fervent of thoughts: please, please, for the love of everything I used to believe in, answer your door!

It feels like your knuckles will begin to bleed against the wood grain but then, the door opens so swiftly that your hand falls forward and you nearly stumble over the threshold.

A man is standing in the doorway. A man with a button down sweater and a concerned, fretful expression--well, no wonder, with the way you’d been rapping on his door.

The man is your psychologist. Mr. Mayeda. You’ve been going to him for several years–or at least, you were going to him, before everything happened. Before you were taken and kept and–

His eyes widen. He takes in your state. Oh, how you must look. Forehead beaded with sweat, eyes round and pleading.

And then there is the matter of the collar around your neck.

“Come in,” he says, sounding dazed and concerned all in one breath. “Tell me what’s happened.”

–

“Will you miss me, pet?”

You nod, and keep your eyes downcast. He likes your eyes downcast when you’re in the presence of anyone else–like now. Unless he tells you to look at him. But even when you’re alone with Geto, you’re prone to keeping your eyes glued to the floor, your lap, the ceiling. Anywhere but his face.

“Do speak up,” he says, trailing a finger possessively along your cheek.

“Yes, master Geto,” you murmur. “Please return quickly.”

He pats your head. Like a dog, like a pet. Because that’s what you’ve become, isn’t it? His pet. You even sit at his knees when he’s addressing his legions of followers, most of whom you can’t stand; and the ones you can stand only possess that particular description because you haven’t really met them yet. 

This one, the woman Geto is leaving to monitor you while he’s off on some awful errand, is not someone new. She’s someone who dislikes you out of jealousy or supremacy or perhaps a bubbling mixture of both.

But there’s an advantage in that. She doesn’t try to talk with you, like some of the milder ones do. As soon as Geto is gone, she throws a disdainful glare your way and gets out her phone. She doesn’t even bother staying in the room with you; she goes into the next room and slides the door shut. She’ll talk to her boyfriend until she hears the telltale sound of Geto’s footsteps leading up to the room, then pretend like she’s been happily watching over you the whole time.

Which means she won’t notice when you pry open a loose floorboard and retrieve a backpack you’ve stuffed with papers, with cash, with a few necessities. 

Which means you’ll have an easier time escaping. 

Which means you’ll finally be free.

It almost seems too easy, when you make it out of the compound. You expect Geto to pounce on you at any moment. But you make it out,  you do, and you make it to a bus station and slide some of the money you stole from Geto’s room over to the ticket counter.

You could call the police. But Geto would look for you there first. He would know you’d run, little rabbit that you are, to the only authority you could think of; but they couldn’t protect you. Not from him. 

So your mind drums up the only address you can really remember–that of your psychologist’s office–and you ask the ticket taker for the next bus to the city.

–

Mr. Mayeda does not say anything at first. 

Even though what you’ve told him sounds wild. And crazy. And wholly made up. That is to say, you’ve told him everything. About how Geto Suguru can control monsters, only they’re not simply monsters, but curses. About how he sees them and eats them and hoards them, like he’s tucking them away for some awful winter. About how he kidnapped you and kept you, how he treated you like a pet, how he wouldn’t let you go. 

About how you escaped and didn’t know where else to turn.

“I know,” you say, leaning forward, arms crossed over yourself. “I know it sounds crazy. But you have to believe me.”

Mr. Mayeda frowns. 

You pull your backpack into your lap and rummage through it, until 

“I didn’t believe any of it myself at first.” Memories come flooding in. Those early days,, spent crying, gritting your teeth so hard that your jaw ached for a week, unbelieving everything Geto told you in the calmest, most horrible tones. “But it’s true. And–and I don’t know where to go or what to do. He’ll try to find me, and, and…” Your breath begins to quicken, your heart pounds. How could you think you’d be free? Oh, he’ll find you, and kill poor Mr. Mayeda, and then where will you be? What will he do? 

You’re only barely aware of your hyperventilation when Mr. Mayeda places a firm hand on your shoulder. He says your name. He says it again. And again. And when you look at him, eyes bleary with tears, he speaks again. 

“You have to calm down. I can’t help you until you calm down.”

His voice is an anchor in the storm. Help you, he said. Help.

 Your hand shakily goes up to clasp his; it’s a foreign touch, the first person that you’ve touched since Geto took you. No one else was allowed to, except Manami, but that was only in case of emergencies. 

“You don’t think I’m crazy?” Your voice is a hoarse croak. 

Mr. Mayeda gives your fingers a squeeze, and then lets you go. He stands up and looks down at you with a sympathetic smile.

“I don’t think you’re crazy. I think you’re very upset, and need someone to listen to you.” He sighs and looks you over. “I’d like to grab your file from my office. Would you like anything? A glass of water? Food?” 

“Oh–oh yes, water, please. If it’s not any trouble.” Your stomach growls, but you don’t think you could keep anything down right now, anyway. 

And what does food matter, when he’s going to help you? When he believes you? You’d imagined this conversation so many times. In some of them, he escorts you out of the building and slams the door in your face. In others, he has you picked up by ambulance and committed to a hospital for delusions. In others, he yells at you for wasting his time.

But instead he doesn’t think you’re crazy and he’s going to help and it’s the best possible outcome. One that you, in your hopeless state, didn’t even foresee.

By the time he returns with a glass of water, your breathing has returned. You smile wearily and wipe your clammy hands before you take the glass. The water is cool and refreshing down your sore throat. 

Mr. Mayeda gives you a few moments before he begins to speak. He has your file now, and opens it up on his lap.

“I need to ask you a few things. Just to get an idea of how we should proceed, all right? Please let me know if you feel uncomfortable.”

You set the empty water glass down and nod. What’s a few questions, compared to the hell you’ve been living?

“Have you been to your home, since you’ve left this mysterious compound?”

“No.”

He scratches the answer on the pad.

“Did you call anyone else, or contact anyone else except for me?”

“No.”

Scratch-scratch.

“So no one else knows you’re here?”

“No.” You bite your lip, and ask questions of your own. “What are we going to do? Where can we go? Do you know anyone that can help?” 

He raises his hand.

“One thing at a time. First, I’d like to get everything straight on your end.” 

You nod, and bring your knees up on the chair, feeling like a child in a doctor’s office for the first time in ages.

“Yes, of course, I’m sorry, I’m just…” You don’t finish.

Mr. Mayeda simply smiles, pity in his expression. You don’t need to explain to him what you are “just,” because he’s confident and calm and he knows exactly what to do.  “That’s all right. I understand this is stressful. I’m going to go make a call, and then we’ll talk about what we can do next. Okay?”

You nod. You don’t want him to leave you–he’s going to help you–and worries begin to creep in about Geto somehow finding you here. Maybe you had a tracker on you that you didn’t know about. Maybe there was a curse attached to your shoulder and he’d simply sniff it out. 

Maybe you were too anxious to think straight.

By the time he returns, your knee is bouncing. He regards it with a frown, and you force yourself to stop.  You don’t want him to be mad at you–you want him to help you. He said he’d help you. You just don’t know what he can do to save you from Geto. What anyone could do. 

But he sits down, and gets out your file again. Then he begins to go through every detail of your story, confirming, questioning, writing down notes. It’s hard–you start to cry, thinking about everything–but it’s necessary to create a plan of action. Right? 

In the midst of all this, the doorbell buzzes.

He sighs, and his frown deepens. He must have forgotten an appointment–you can’t blame him, with your sudden arrival.  “Let me get that. I’ll just have them reschedule the appointment.” When he gets up from his chair, he looks older in the moment; more tired and slow. Well, the stress of you dropping your predicament in his lap can’t exactly be easy to take. 

You wipe your teary eyes, and grab a tissue to blow your nose. You hope he doesn’t have to reschedule too many clients because of you. You don’t want to be too much trouble.  You just want to be safe and free and–

Geto and Manami walk through the open doorway of the office, and your stomach drops to your shoes. 

Behind them, Mr. Mayeda looks remorseful. 

“I had to,” he says, voice quavering. “My daughter–she… she’s used his services, you see.” 

Geto looks back at Mr. Mayeda, who immediately shuts up and stares at the floor. 

Ah. So he threw you back to the wolves to protect someone he loved. You can’t begrudge him for it. Not really.

But it doesn’t change the loss of your short-lived freedom. 

–

Manami drives. You don’t have the strength to look anywhere but your own lap, at your hands curled up so tight that they hurt, resting on your thighs. 

Geto hasn’t said a thing since he collected you. 

“Suguru,” you say, voice shaking through the words. “I… ” You’re about to lie. He knows this. You know this. But he’s never minded you lying, before, as long as you said what he wanted. “I won’t do it again, I promise.” Still, he says nothing. 

“Suguru–” you try again. He finally looks at you, a slow, languid turn of his head. His lips curl just a little. Not in a way that makes you feel good. 

 His voice is soft and sweet as honey. His words are anything but.

“You think you have the right to address me right now?” 

He’s angry. Not just annoyed, not just mad, not just disappointed. Angry. It’s a heavy, dreadful feeling that glues you to the seat just as well as any bonds. 

Gravity seems to pull your chin down, until you’re once again staring at your lap.

This time, you clench your fingernails so hard that your palm bleeds. 

–

You don’t remember the walk back into the compound. You didn’t dare look up from the ground underneath your feet–walking step by step behind Geto, even though you wanted nothing more than to run in the opposite direction–to see the expressions of those devout followers. No doubt some were glaring as much as they dared.

It’s not until you’re back in Geto’s quarters and Manami has been dismissed that you hazard a glance at something other than your shoes, now dirty from your short journey outside these walls. 

You look up at Geto, who is standing, silent, head tilted just-so as he stares at you. When he finally opens his mouth, he issues a command.

“Go to the bedroom.”

They are words to be obeyed, and you do. 

He’s not yet in the room when he continues the orders.

“Disrobe. Lay on the bed. Spread your legs. Do not speak.”

Dread pools in your stomach, thick and slimy. It makes you want to run into the bathroom and hurl the contents of your last meal into the toilet. But you dare not deviate from what he’s said, not when the world feels so heavy; not when you know he’s angry with you.

So you slip off your clothing and lay on the bed and spread your legs. The cool air of the bedroom does nothing but increase your trembling as thoughts come one by one.

What does Geto intend to do? Something related to sex, surely. Maybe he’ll fuck you so hard that you can’t sit properly for days. Maybe he’ll make you lay here, naked, simply for his own amusement. Maybe he’ll hurt you, finally, and that underlying, coil-tight fear you’ve had since the moment you were kidnapped can finally release.

After far too long for your mental sanity, Geto finally does come into the room, stripped down to only an undershirt and thin cotton pants. Casual clothing he only wears around you, and no one else. Maybe he expects that to be flattering, but for whom, you can’t quite tell.

He crawls on the bed, his weight dipping the mattress. 

He places his hands on either thigh, and pushes your legs further apart. 

You wait for some pain–the pain of him entering you without preparation, perhaps, or something more insidious. The crack of his hand. The crack of a leather belt. 

But you wait in vain, because instead of pain–instead of something harsh and cruel–you instead feel the soft touch of his fingers against your folds. His thumb rests softly against your clit, and begins to rub, sending an unwelcome jolt through you. 

“Suguru?” You ask, and boldly prop yourself up on your elbows. 

“I told you not to speak,” he murmurs, and you press your lips together. Now, you think, surely he will hit you.

But no. Instead he returns to his former ministrations, gently rubbing against your clit, other fingers gently squeezing the flesh of your pussy. It almost tickles, pleasantly. After a while, the dull pleasure begins to heighten, and you can feel a mild orgasm beginning to reach its peak. 

He stops. The pleasure hovers for a moment, and then begins to fade. 

He begins again. 

You want to ask him what he’s doing; you want to ask him why he stopped. But his order to remain quiet thrums through your head and you merely keep your head back on the bed, staring at the plain ceiling above you. 

The pleasure is different now. Sharper. Wetter. Instead of a dull, mild orgasm, it begins to feel like the ones you’ve had with him before; the ones where he spends a while building you up, getting you wet, wanting to hear you moan. 

Your breath begins to catch in your throat, and you can’t help but squirm your hips. It feels good,  you don’t want it, but he knows your body well enough to make it feel good.

And like before, you can feel yourself starting to reach your peak, getting to the point when pleasure becomes sparks. And–like before. 

He stops. 

And begins again. 

And stops. 

And begins again.

Until you are wet, and sweating, and squirming. Until your breath is not mildly catching in your throat but coming out in desperate pants. Until your hands are clenching the sheets. 

Until you are crying out, not because of pain and a sharp slap against your skin, but the unbearable heat that has built between your legs. A heat which Geto has carefully stoked with his fingers and his mouth, and the unrelenting pattern of bringing you to the top, only to let you fall before bringing you there once again.

You know you’re not supposed to speak. But you can’t help it, you just can’t help it. Not with the way his thumb is idly circling your clit. Not with the sweat clinging to your back. Not with the way your head begins to turn side to side of its own accord, unable to deal with the teasing. 

“Suguru–” Your voice is a needy whine. “Please, please–”

“Apologize,” he says, simply. Calmly. All the while continuing to slowly rub your clit with his thumb.

“I’m sorry,” you croak. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry–”

His thumb pauses, and you can feel your clit twitching against it.

“But do you mean it?” 

“Yes!” You don’t hesitate. Tears leak from your eyes. Wetness leaks from in between your legs.

“Then beg.” He keeps his thumb hovered above your clit. “Beg like you’re my pet. Because that’s what you are, isn’t it?”

Your thighs tremble. Your lips quiver.

“Please, Suguru.” Your cheeks heat in shame, but what shame can you truly hold onto, when your pussy is this wet, when you’re gyrating against him so pathetically? You say everything you think he wants to hear. “I’m your pet, I won’t run again, I’ll do what you say–”

You feel half-delirious, raising your hips towards the air to try to get some friction against his finger. All you succeed in doing is humping yourself against him, teasing your swollen clit with the promise of an orgasm that can only come from his fingers.

After a while, your words trail off into a pathetic whimper.

It’s then that Geto crawls up further on the bed and plants a kiss on your forehead. 

You sigh in relief. 

“No,” he says. “Bad pets don’t get rewarded, do they?”

You have only a moment to think before he yanks your sweaty wrists up and ties them to the headboard with cuffs he must have put there before he even collected you from Mr. Mayeda’s office. You pull against them once before he gives you a harsh look that makes you freeze. Once he’s satisfied with your stillness, he begins to take off his own clothes. 

“I would make you sleep on the floor,” he murmurs, shrugging off his shirt. “But that would be a punishment to me, to deny myself your body, no?” 

You can only shake your head in response as you shift your legs, trying to catch the fleeting orgasm that has begun to fade even further from your grasp. Geto raises an eyebrow and places his palm firmly on your hip to keep you in place. 

Once you stop squirming–it’s useless, you realize–he sighs and cuddles against you. It might be sweet, if he wasn’t who he was; if you weren’t in the position that you’re in. If there wasn’t an aching, warm soreness between your legs that has gone unfulfilled. 

His voice is not so sweet when he whispers against your ear.

“If you ever try something so foolish again, I won’t be kind about it.”

[bluegiragi]

Hi friend!! I've been following you on a couple platforms when it comes to your amazing art!! I know you've talked about ghostprice, but I saw the Price's hand on the back of Kyle's neck and was wondering if you could talk about the relationship between price and gaz? I loved the ghost price one, but I totally understand if you don't have the same write up for these two lol

!!! thank you so much for this ask, because i love thinking about this dynamic in my free time.

lots of reading under the cut!

so, because I like to cherry-pick influences from canon, in the monster au, Gaz and Price met before Gaz got drafted into the 141. Gaz was the harpy escort to a standard military op that got off-track when doing recon, and ended up wrapped up in a territorial dispute with two griffin hybrids. The whole team got stuck sandwiched between the two with neither side willing to let them move, and when Gaz tried to fly above to do some surveillance he got beaten out of the sky by both of them (they don't take kindly to interlopers interfering with griffin disputes). They had to request emergency assistance from the closest party which, by chance, happened to be Price's team.

This all happened after Price lost his wing, and on this mission he collaborated with Gaz to help get (most of) his team out safely without having to rely on his skill of flight. They both made strong impressions on each other then, with Gaz forming the first seeds of a long-term loyalty to Price. When his contract with his current station ended, he was all too happy to get poached for the 141.

Coming from a more interpersonal perspective - Gaz is a harpy, which means he's fiercely independent and bases a lot of his identity on not being reliant on anyone. Price is a dragon, which comes with a lot of pesky hoard instincts that instruct him to 'provide' for his hoard. It means that Gaz dislikes being taken care of and a strong instinctual part of Price is unhappy about that. When they're more intimate, Gaz insists on giving as much as he is getting (if not more) and is always seeking ways to contribute and prove his value to the group. Even though he might be chill by harpy standards, Gaz is still very proud and he gets flustered when forced to accept things without 'earning' it.

(also he might have a little bit of hero worship for price lingering in the recesses of his mind)

Price only having one wing and being essentially grounded also adds an extra layer to their relationship. Harpies put a lot of stock in their flying prowess, so the loss of a wing is truly a world-ending event in their culture and he's extremely uncomfortable broaching the subject with Price even though he'd be happy to talk about it if pushed. He also feels that it is his role to be Price's 'wings' now, which is a sentiment that he hasn't shared to anyone but puts a lot of pressure on himself to live up to. He doesn't think this way out of any sort of pity for Price - his captain has proved time and time again to be the kind of monster worth following - instead, this mentality is him militantly breaking himself down to how useful/valuable he can be to others.

tldr; gaz is bad at accepting care, price wants to take care of him so bad and is slowly figuring out loopholes

[heavysighing-dreamyeyes]

Hello you amazing wonderful awesomely awesome person! I’m so madly obsessed with your work

Very curious on your thoughts on this: zombie apocalypse au

Do you think Jason and readers first meeting would be need to be more in a life threatening situation in order to stick or would they be able to meet in a calmer environment and stick together?

This isn’t a push for you to write any one shot! Just curious what you think and any additional thoughts or headcanons you might have for this au 👀

Tysm for continuing to put out awesome writing all the time!

The Death Stench

Ahh, asks like this is why I love taking requests!! Thank you, nonnie!! Seriously, so many great ideas come through my inbox that I never would have thought of myself! I was actually so excited when I finally sat down to write this. Sorry it took so long! :)

~1.4k words

Gotham has always been a cesspool of filth and rot. It's something Jason has long grown used to. But the hoards of groaning, decaying zombies are something he's still learning to live with.

It's been four– no, five months since the world fell apart, since the apocalypse broke down society. The government is in shambles, if it still exists, and Jason hasn't seen or heard another living person in weeks.

He thinks he owes his survival to whatever the pit did to him. The corpses that line the streets just seem to ignore him and shuffle past as he breaks into a little corner store for supplies.

It's why he's started to get complacent. It is so easy to not double or triple check your surroundings when the undead treat you like one of their own.

It's a fact he didn't realize until he's staring down the barrel of a gun and maybe the only other living, breathing person on Gotham.

He blinks at them. They blink at him. "You're not one of– you're alive," You half question, surprise and shock clear in their voice.

Jason slowly raises his hands, the last thing he wants to do is get shot when his medical supplies are dwindling, "I'm alive."

He stares at you for a minute, and you stare back before slowly lowering your gun, "I was here first."

He laughs. It's ridiculous. The world ended, he hasn't had a proper conversation in weeks, and you're trying to lay claim to a corner store in shambles. But, he steps back anyway and gestures to the ransacked aisles, "All yours then."

He quirks an eyebrow when you actually look panicked. "Wait," You start, and lower your gun completely, "I'm sorry, I just– haven't seen anyone in a while. I think I forgot how to talk to people."

You're both aware of the risk you took admitting that, to tell a stranger you're completely and utterly alone in this city, that there's no one waiting for you to return.

Jason has the overwhelming urge to make your risk worth it. He can't explain it, but he chalks it up to some form of loneliness.

So, he smiles at you, easy-going and every inch the charming grin that used to win over the old ladies at charity galas, "I haven't been around people in a while either. Maybe we can figure it out together?"

His heart stutters when you smile back, so clearly relieved. "I'd like that," You admit and holster your gun.

The two of you carefully pick through the store, and an uncertain but steady partnership forms between the two of you.

It takes some time, but he learns which shots you can make and which you can't. You learn which knee hurts him when he jumps over chain wire fences. You both learn to cover each other's blind spots, to trust each other to make decisions.

You haven't quite learned that zombies just don't seem to detect him, and he hasn't found a good way to bring it up, to explain that, 'Hey, I was dead and apparently I qualify as one of them. But don't worry! I won't eat you!'

Yeah, Jason figures you wouldn't be too comfortable with him sleeping near you if he said it like that.

He doesn't really get the chance to explain until he has to use his uncanny ability to blend in with rotting corpses to save your life.

It was supposed to be a normal supply run. Pick over what's left of a pharmacy and get out. Cut and dry. Something you've both done more times than you can count. Until it goes wrong.

He'd cleared the area, he'd been so careful, you both were. But you hadn't been lucky. It was no one's fault, when you open a cabinet and a skittish raccoon jumps out at you, sending you falling back.

The animal knocks over cans and boxes as it frantically scampers to get away. It's loud. Too loud.

The two of you froze, when the sounds of shuffling feet start to make their way to the door. Jason weighs his options, and the piece of his heart that had become undeniably yours won quickly.

He grabs your arm and hauls you to your feet. "C'mon," he mutters, dragging you towards a supply closet.

"We need to run," You say quickly, tugging at your arm and trying to push him towards the exit.

"We won't make it," he says firmly and shoves you into the tiny space. He follows you in and pulls the door shut. The door doesn't lock, and he reaches around you to grab an extension cable off a shelf.

"Jason," You half hiss, eyes wide as the groans start to get louder.

He shushes you, heart racing as he ties one end of the extension cord to the door knob, and the other to the metal poles of the shelf.

It's a start, but it wouldn't stop anything from breaking down the door. "Sorry," Jason mumbles. He returns your confused look with an apologetic one, and immediately crowds you against the wall.

He grabs the back of your neck to press your face to his chest. His other hand grabs at your hip, almost desperate. Jason realizes he hasn't been afraid in a long time.

He buries his face in your hair and silently wills you to understand. If he can keep them from getting your scent, hearing you, you'll be safe. He can protect you, he just needs you to stay like this, hidden and sheltered against the dirty wall of the closet.

He knows you can't begin to guess why he's doing this, but you don't make a sound. Your fingers curl into his jacket as the zombies shuffle around the pharmacy. Grunts fill the air as they pass by the door, and Jason feels you stiffen against him.

It's instinctual, when his thumb starts to rub back and forth across your hip. He wants to help, wants you to feel calm and safe even as the smell of death fills the air.

He's surprised when you do relax against him, tucking your face further into his chest. He's not sure how long you stay like that. His thumb never stills, and eventually, the sounds of undead fade, and he's left with just you.

Jason lets himself linger for a moment, savoring your closeness, before slowly untangling himself from you. "You're okay," he says softly, he means for it to be a question, but it comes out as a fact, a complete certainty that you are okay.

You look up at him, eyes wide, "How are we even alive? I've never seen– they've never just ignored people before."

He winces, "I'll– Let me explain. Please. Just not here." He deflates a little at the uncertainty that flashes across your face, but you nod and follow him back to the rooftop that's become his and your base.

He tries to explain, really, does his best to talk about the Pit, who he was, what he used to do. You never interrupt, you listen to every word he says as he lights a fire, methodically making food over the open flame.

You don't say anything as he admits the undead have never been interested in him, but you do let him sit next to you to eat.

He runs out of things to say, as the sun sets over a desolate Gotham. Jason thinks you're going to leave. Or ask him to leave. But you don't. You lean your head against his shoulder, and all the air leaves his lungs.

"I'm glad you're here, Jason," You tell him. And for the first time in a long time, Jason is too.

"I'm glad you're here, too," he echoes, and he hesitantly lowers his head to rest against yours. He breathes a sigh of relief when you don't move, only relax into his side.

Jason closes his eyes to bask in the moment, in being with you, and swears there's not a thing he wouldn't do to keep you like this. To keep you with him, to keep you happy, to keep you alive.

He thinks it might be the reason he's still breathing.

[kingkatsuki]

— say “yes”

Choji wants to go out with you, and he won’t take “no” for an answer.

Listen, Choji has the yanderest yandere vibes I can’t explain it.

Pairing: Tomiyama Choji x f!reader.

Warnings: borderline yandere behaviour, stalking, intimidation, obsessive!Choji.

Word Count: 1k.

Choji has certainly been spoiled over the years as the leader of Shishitoren. With his best friend Togame placed second in command to ensure his leader gets whatever his heart desires.

And it just so happens that the only thing his heart desires right now is you.

But Choji would never get anyone else to ask you out though, oh no. He’d do something like this all by himself— that’s why you find yourself flustered and surprised by his blatant proposal as he approaches you inside a dingy dive bar on a Saturday night, offering to buy you a drink before following it with a “will you go out with me?”

It’s certainly fair more blunt than you’re used to, and unexpected. Living around Makochi for so long you’re fully aware of Shishitoren, and the stories you’ve heard about their fearless leader. And you’ll admit, Choji is attractive— but the cons seemingly outweigh the pros as you try to give him a kind smile and let him down gently.

Giving him the politest “no” that you can manage, before grabbing the drink — you bought yourself — and making your way back to your girl friends.

Because even without all the infamy surrounding Shishitoren— You’re not really interested and he’s not really your type. He definitely is cute enough, especially up close. But it would be almost impossible to keep up with the sheer exuberance he exudes every hour of the day, and being affiliated with Shishitoren like that could unknowingly put a target on your back.

But Choji won’t accept “no” as an answer, unsure the word is even part of his vocabulary as he gives you a smug grin. Like a petulant child throwing a tantrum inside a candy store, Choji always gets what he wants. Even if it means he just has to try a little harder, to work a little smarter.

Luckily for him he has the man power of Shishitoren behind him, a hoard of men ready and willing to do whatever their fearless leader decides for them. Some may call it underhanded tactics when they scare off any potential suitor that comes within a foot of you— from a guy at the bar offering to buy you a drink, to the date that you’d swiped right on from one of those dating apps that stands you up completely. It has you starting to wonder whether the only men you’ll be able to date in this town are Choji or Bofurin, wondering if that would start some sort of gang warfare like West Side Story.

You were shocked to finish work one evening to an influx of notifications on your social media account. Every single photograph of you had a like paired with a slew of praises— talking about how pretty your hair looked, or how cute your smile was. One particular photograph of you on the beach managed to get six comments in a row describing how perfect you looked, and warding off the few guy friends that had left comments or stood beside you in photographs — all from the same account.

Chojitoren.

And if that wasn’t enough; it surprised you the next morning when you received a text from an unknown number. A flirty good morning message, telling you to have a good day with a promise to see you later. A text that terrified you at first— until you’d asked who it was and you discovered it was Choji. Suddenly wondering how in the world he’d managed to get your contact number, and what other information he had for you.

Choji wouldn’t exactly call it stalking, not really— and besides, it isn’t even him doing it. Getting his friends to track your location and send him updates just to make sure the love of his life is safe isn’t stalking, he’s protecting you.

A few weeks later you’d managed to reach a third date with a guy you met in your local coffee shop before Togame cut it short. Telling the guy to go home with a tap on the shoulder with the bottom of a ramune bottle that he definitely didn’t buy from here. Sliding into the now vacant seat across from you as he leans across the table with a lazy smile. Drawling on about how you should give his best friend a chance, that he’s a good guy really, and that he’s completely obsessed with you (if that wasn’t obvious).

“Just one date,” He gives you a lopsided grin, “How bad can it be?”

But that’s always how it starts, isn’t it? That’s just a way for Choji to get close to you until he’s made you completely dependent on him, because why would you want anyone else when you can have the most perfect guy there is?

And perhaps he is a little crazy — but can you blame him when he’s certain he’s in love with you?

You didn’t agree. You’d made it clear to Togame that it was another firm “no”, and yet here you were sitting in one of the tiny back rooms inside the delapidated Ori across from a beaming Choji.

“I knew you’d say yes!” He laughs, as though Togame hadn’t showed up at your door and practically forced you into Shishitoren territory, barely letting you toe into your shoes before delivering you directly to his best friend.

“God, you’re so frigging pretty.” He coos, resting his cheek in his palm as he stares across the table at you like a lovesick fool. It has a weird sensation churning in your stomach as he practically kicks his feet at the sight of you, “I’m glad you agreed to this.”

You didn’t.

“I’m gonna make you happy— the happiest, you’ll see,” Choji grinned as his vibrant eyes darkened, “I’d do anything for you.”

And yet he’s practically leaning over the table to get closer to you now, splaying a palm out on the surface to tuck a piece of hair behind your ear before stroking his thumb against your cheek.

“I’ll be the best boyfriend there is— the bestest.” He gives you a toothy grin that takes up half his face, “Isn’t that right, Kame-Chan?”

“Yeah, Choji,” Togame smiles back, “The bestest.”

[yiiyiiwrites]

🗡️ | Relics and Ruin | 2 |

Part Two [Previous part] [series masterlist]

Summary: you're a mender in the dawn court, tasked with fixing cursed and broken relics. Azriel x dawn court reader 2,546words

Two days of staring at the truth-teller and it kept repeating the same word. Lies.

The dagger rattled on the table, your older sister pacing the free space in front of you. If you didn't know any better you'd think the relic wasn't fond of her hurried speech or tone either.

"Mother above," she snapped, her hand steadying the truth-teller. "You can't even talk about it, yet you're going down there with those people."

"I think they're more than capable to go there," you said swatting her away from the table.

Truth truth, the murmurs somehow reassuring your fears. You wondered what other energy surrounded the dagger, the thought pulling you to pick it up. The hilt warm against your skin, surprisingly light and it moulded to the curve of your palm as if it were meant to be.

Your sisters words were muffled, the sharp blade drawing your attention. The hold it had on you, intense. A dull twinge pierced your chest and you recognised the aching tug of longing. You'd felt it under the mountain, the burning desire to feel the sun upon your face and breeze washing over you.

A gloved hand circled your wrist and you gasped, truth-teller clinking to the table. Blinking back the blurry vision, shadows swarmed around you, the wind tracing your cheek. The hold on your wrist acted like an anchor, firm but light as you calmed your racing heart.

"Hello," a low, smooth voice spoke beside you. If there wasn't a weight clutching you, you'd think it was the shadows speaking.

Just like the truth-teller, it's owner seemed to tug and draw you in. His touch oddly welcome and familiar, it had been years since you'd allowed someone so close. You stared up at him, hazel eyes focused on your sister.

You slipped out of his grasp and stepped back, your hand shooing the wisps of darkness. Of course he'd look at your sister, so much light and love.

Lies, lies.

The difference was startling as Lena, your sister stood in the golden light of the sun. Her bronzed skin held a warmth you denied yourself, keeping yourself in your studio. Hair that reminded you of rising sun, long and swishing halfway down her back. You on the other hand had chopped your hair off as soon as you were free from under the mountain.

As Lena spoke to the Illyrian, you took the opportunity to study him. He's quiet, but his gaze focused on Lena's as he listened to her rambling on. His gloved hands tucked behind him, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips as if he knows you are admiring him.

He didn't say a word to your sister, but she's leaning closer and smiling up at him as if he's inviting her. Maybe that's why you feel a pull towards him, he's magnetic and drawing anyone in.

Lies, Lies.

Lena placed her palm on his arm, "I'm sorry, I didn't get your name." She'd been weaving through the court, denying her hand in marriage until she either met her mate or someone with high nobility.

You couldn't help but feel the burn, brows furrowing at your sister and the smooth action, something you'd never dare to do.

"Azriel," he said, stepping back and bowing his head slightly.

His gaze met yours and you looked away, finger following the woods grain of the table. The relics hoarding your studio were quiet, truth-teller the only one seeking your energy. The silence all too consuming, your thoughts flowing freely. Multiple energies were dulled since the dagger had been left in your possession, commanding you to face your mind or maybe your own truths.

Bidding your goodbyes to your sister, eyes trailing after her to make sure she left. As you turned back to your desk, you flinched away from the shadows. You hadn't realised how close he was, didn't hear him approach your workstation.

"What are you doing here?" You asked, regretting the harsh tone of your voice.

Azriel picked up his dagger, turning the blade over and inspecting it. His shadows snaked around his gloved hand and to the scripture on the hilt as if reading it aloud. "Just wanted to see if you'd familiarised yourself with the energy."

Lies,lies.

He tensed, wings twitching briefly, but you caught it. Could the truth-teller speak to him too? Truth, truth

"You lie." The words tumbling from your lips before you could stop them.

His brow arched, "so you have familiarised yourself. Truth-teller rarely calls or speaks to others, you must be special." You didn't say how his energy matched, how you felt the same tug to him. A reason you couldn't hold his gaze, didn't want to get lost in the possibilities of your emotions.

You shrugged, "I'm not, just merely open to an objects energy and have a well trained ear to seek them out." The one advantage of rotting under the mountain meant you could hone your mending abilities, not that you had any choice. Fifty years tethered to cursed objects and magical relics, haunted by touch alone.

"And what do the other relics tell you right now?" Azriel asked, once again distracting you from your thoughts and memories.

The energy you used to seek comfort in was nothing but a withering buzz. Even the cursed relics usual shrieking, underwhelming. “Truth-teller calls above them all, draws me in as if it’s the only thing that matters.”

Two sides of the same blade.

The boundary of the dawn court and the beginning of the middle was somewhere you vowed never to step over again. You glanced over your shoulder at the rising sun, as if you’d never see it again for another fifty years.

Your body moved on memory alone, legs carrying you through the large stones entrance hidden beneath the weaving branches of trees. All source of natural light vanished as you stepped over the threshold. Your boots squelched in the trickling water that ran down the caves wall.

A small ball of light floated in front of you, but you were the one guiding them through the maze of passageways. Your head tilted to the side, pointed ears straining to hear of anything beyond your path.

Under the mountain was a place no one had mapped out completely. This entrance however led to the least desirable section. Not intricately carved out like the main area or the throne room. Granted, you’d never been out of this quarter, only three times had you walked the narrow passageways. You’d always remember though, your memory being something you trained as well as your mending skills.

No one had uttered a single word, afraid to hear your voice echoing back to you or summoning something from the depths of the darkness.

As you rounded the corner, your steps faltered. The familiar dingy hallway, doors lining each side. It felt just like before, the deep rooted knot in your stomach twisting. You expected to be shoved forward, but a light touch pressed against your lower back and you leant into the warmth.

“Rhys will go in if you cannot face it.” Azriels whispered breath fanned against the shell of your ear. You’d gone over the plan with them over a hundred times, each time Azriel had reassured you that you were not alone. That you did not have to do anything you were not comfortable with.

You shook your head, retreating from his touch and away from the warmth. Seven doors down, you stopped outside and glanced to the one opposite, the one that still haunted you at night.

“This is the relic room, I will check the other.” Your hand hovered over the broken chain, the ward spelled over the wooden panel zapping your fingertip. Thesan had warded the room so that no one could steal the relics, Rhys learnt how to break and remake it from entering his mind.

Rhys nodded, “we’ll meet back out here, try to keep it quiet. Don’t want to wake anything lurking,” he said, his magic making easy work of dropping the ward. The energy of the spell fell like a sheet of liquid gold, particles disappearing into the gravel.

Halfway through the door opposite you paused, “oh, stick to the shadows and if you hear screaming do not follow the light. Stay in the darkness and do nothing.”

The floating light whizzed past you into the room, it followed your gaze and lit up the areas you searched. You took the gloves from your pocket and shoved them on, the one thing they never allowed you under the mountain.

Touch meant more to menders than any other fae. It being both creation and destruction. Normal fae were more inclined to destroy something they did not understand, whereas you studied and mended. Just couldn’t mend all the destruction they’d done to you.

You tried not to remember this room, the contents still exactly how it had been when you’d last been there. The bed unmade, desk strewn with papers and his messy cursive writing. He’d always have ink staining the side of his fingers, sometimes it’d transfer to your jaw or cheek.

“This was your room?” Azriel asked, sifting through the papers on the desk. His hazel eyes glistening in the dull light as he glanced to you.

Those eyes, you couldn’t quite hold for longer than second. “No, this is someone else’s.” You dropped to your knees and pressed your cheek to the ground, arm sweeping underneath the bed. A small silver box scraped towards you, lock sealed shut.

You didn’t miss the scrunch of Azriel’s brow or the burning gaze that trailed your movements. It’s like he’s in a trance, that or he’s trying to figure you out in a room that isn’t, wasn’t yours. You removed your gloves, the leather too stiff, the constant squeak unbearable in the silence.

He sidestepped you as soon as your hands traced the side of the desk and opened the drawer. Vials of ink rolled to the front, a set of keys jingling on a metal ring. You took the keys, knowing what each one was for.

“I have what I need, let’s go to the relic room,” you said, glancing over your shoulder one last time before you leave the room for good.

Azriel’s hand hovered behind you, but you can feel the warmth and energy alone without his touch. It calms your racing heart and gives you the strength to the meet the relics again.

Cassian’s gaze flicked from the box in your grasp and to Azriel who remained close to you. Rhys staring at the hoards of relics, eyes glazed as he tried to listen for the murmurs of the desired object.

Dark wisps tumbled over your shoulder and twisted around one another as they travelled towards a glimmering spec of light. You would have missed it, if it wasn't for the pesky shadows whirling around the hilt.

The moment your gaze latched onto the relic, a high screech tore through the room and you dropped the box, silver slipping through your fingers. You heard the echo of voices, they merged with the swords energy as if they were connected.

"We've got company."

Azriel spoke, but as you turned to look at him you were met with nothing but shadows. Rhys vanished in a blink of an eye, Cassian crossing the space between you. He balanced a small dagger, blade between his fingers waiting for you to take it. You shook your head and picked the small silver box from the floor.

You grabbed his wrist, "stay in the shadows, don't go to the light." The lock clicked open with the turn of the key, you hesitated with the clasp, steadying your breath for what was to come.

Before you could open the box, Azriel's heavy hand slammed into yours keeping the lid closed. "Together," he said, giving you a slight nod, keeping his promise of not doing anything alone. His shadows swarmed around the two of you, those Illyrian wings curling in as you opened the lid.

You did not know, nor did you ask what spirit lived within the box. Only knew that when you closed it again, you would summon it back to its dwelling it was contained to.

A grey mist snaked out of the top and dove towards the remaining light through the gap between Azriel's wings. The hair on the back of your neck stood up, goosebumps rippling your bare arms. An icy cool breeze hung in the spirits wake, but it seemed to drag Azriel's shadows with it.

The darkness cloaking Azriel and you faded, his grasp on your hand loosening. "Go, help your friends," you whispered. You don't know what possessed you, but your finger smoothed the line of tension settled on his forehead. Blue ink stained his forehead, your fingertips painted the same colour.

"Autumn guards are here, the darkness devours them," he said, more to himself than you. The screams in the passageway filtered through to the relics room, high pitched shrieks tugging at Azriel like his shadows were trying to draw him out to the destruction.

He moved as quick as the shadows, the floating ball of light flaring in front of you. You saw the darkness shift, felt the breeze knock you back a few steps.

Stumbling back, you crashed into a firm chest. Scorching heat enveloped around you, burning touch forcing your hands to close the lid before the spirit devoured your light. You leant into the embrace, eye's closing as you savoured the thousand sparks of energy spreading like wildfire through your body.

"Do not touch her," Cassian spat.

You opened your eyes, the three Illyrian's scowling at the one behind you. The one you knew so well, the one that knew you too well. He let go and you turned to face him.

"Vanserra," you whispered. Eris Vanserra smirked down at you, his hand picking yours up. Ink smudging his fingers, he glanced between your stained hands and the blue smeared across Azriel's forehead.

"It's good to see you," Eris crooned, lifting your chin with his ink splotched hand. "My little mender."

You hated the way your body betrayed you, the mark on your chest burning at his silent command. The tethered bond coaxing you to lean into his touch, despite the stinging burn. You couldn't bring yourself to look at the shadow-singer or his friends, but you knew from his silence that whatever he thought of you before, was nothing now. Why did it bother you so much though?

Before your lips could touch Eris's, he'd winnowed you away in a blur.

taglist: @rcarbo1, @st4r-girl-official,@azrielswhore, @cynthiesjmxazrielslover, @shizukestar, @wolfbc97

I'm already writing the next part, sorry for the long wait between the first part...I was sick so only just getting back to writing now -Yiiyii

[fishyvamp]

I wonder which one of the killers would be a monsterfucker

I bet the Knight. He sees some fucked up, ancient horror and he's just "damn, that's beautiful. I need to build an altar."

"Tarhos I think that's a monster."

"This is my beautiful spouse who fell from the very stars. Fuck you."

"Hell... hell of... the void."

Personally I think we have a few monster fuckers in the line up, but out of the human like killers there's Ghostface, Knight (which I firmly agree with), Frank and Julie with Susie as a possibly (The Legion), Doctor, Nurse, Trickster, Clown, Skull merchant, Mastermind, and Pig. Which gets me thinking—

Imagine an Eldritch!reader who's power is on par of the Entity, feeds on the same thing, emotions. You who looks both ethereal and unnerving, who feeds on the emotions thrown your way. You who wanders the Entity's realm freely and without fear. You who finds a knight, a knight who watches as you slaughter hoards hidden in deep in the realm without even a breaking a sweat.

Eldritch!Reader who finds The knight at your feet. Mesmerized by the carnage you wrought wherever you go. Tarhos who has always been seduced by dangerous things. Who has always craved something dangerous to call his own. To own him and force him to submit. You are absolutely stunning even if you feel wrong. A voice in the back of his head screaming to run, but he can't help but reach out wanting to touch you even if might burn him from the inside out.

He who begs you bend him to your will, to use your otherworldly powers to bring the Knight to his knees so he may taste the sheer strength behind your very existence. He wants you to feast on him. To claw a hole in his chest so you can crawl inside and make him your home.

He begs you to stay with him, to hide in his realm. He can't bare the thought of you ever leaving him even if it meant death. The others stare and why wouldn't they? Your presence and power is enough to send anyone fleeing for the hills because you feel wrong and they can not explain why.

He touches you with reverence, as if he's worshipping you, he mouth only where you ask it to be and he will not remove it once you have placed it there. His head resting on your thigh he licks your sex moaning loudly just so you know he's enjoying himself. His body shaking as he humps your shoe groaning as you press the toe of it against his groin. He needs you to know how completely devoted he is to you.

Eyes rolling back as the Knight feels your hands carding through his hair. Your finger tangling up in the long hair as you coo praises to him. "'m not worthy," he whines as you tell him what you want from him. Your shadowy tendrils holding his "mortal" body in place. You are his deity and he is your ever faithful follower.

[osarina]

Vampire Dazai and hunter reader, who’s from an honorable ancient family of vampire hunters who also possess semi-magical abilities that make them immensely powerful and influential in the hunter world. Dazai is a very old, powerful vampire that is bored of his long, dreary life. He’s also a complete horror, having been terrorizing people for centuries and causing bloodbaths to sate his ever growing appetite. When rumor has it that he, who many people think do not exist due to how mythologized he has become, has been sighted in Tokyo, reader, as a part of one of the most powerful hunter families is sent out to exterminate him. For the old vampire whose heart stopped beating long ago, readers appearance made him feel like the organ had suddenly become functional again due to how lovestruck he was at first sight. Their first meeting was her catching him off guard and throwing a dagger at him that narrowly missed, slicing his cheek and causing blood to dribble down. He knows that he should just attack and get rid of this new hunter that just made an attempt at his life, but never has he ever felt so intrigued or starstruck by anyone before, neither while he was human or vampire. Reader does not want to admit it, having been raised her entire life to believe that vampires are the enemy by her prestigious hunter family, but she’s also attracted to and intrigued by this new target with the dark, menacing coat, flawless translucent skin and inhuman beauty. For the first time, she is hesitating before dealing a blow. I can just see them playing a game of cat and mouse for a while, both of them being strong enough and capable of killing the other but refusing to do so against their better judgment, all whilst falling in love. I also definitely see this as a Dazai falls first AND harder situation, like he’s completely obsessed with reader. I can see one of their fights coming to a climax in an abandoned warehouse or something, and reader is pinned to the ground, clutching her dagger desperately in her hand, but she can’t lift it from the ground. He’s looming over her, and looking at her so intensely, she genuinely feels actual terror for the first time with him. He’s slowly bending down over her, pupils becoming slitted, reminding her of his inhuman nature. The tension is thick in the air and he’s looking at her so intensely while leaning over her and grabbing her other wrist delicately, eyes lovesick and desperate. She’s genuinely scared because she thinks that he will finally kill her. So she nervously asks him if he will. He gently cups her cheek and says that it’s something else that he wants from her, before capturing her lips in a deep kiss. She knows that she could, she should, kill him with the dagger right now. He’s in a vulnerable position with his guard down, it might be her only chance, but all she does is let the dagger clatter to the ground before intertwining her hands in his hair and pulling him closer. In the end he turns her into a vampire as well and they both run away and become a menace together, living with each other for many more centuries. Yeah excuse my lack of eloquence this is all over the place but I am drunk rn 🙏🏻

I HOARDED THIS FOR SAURRRRRRR LONG IM SORRY NONNIE BUT WOW. WOWWWWWWWW. THERE'S SOMETHING ABOUT VAMPIRE X VAMPIRE HUNTER DYNAMICS THAT DRIVE ME INSANEEEEE

i wonder if ... i wonder iffffff ... do you guys rmr that au i was talking about a while back about vamp!dazai & vamp!fyodor, set maybe during renaissance or some other older time period ... i wonder if it could be set up with some of the old noble families being hunters ...ill have to sit here and BUILD HAHAH u guys know worldbuilding is my favorite thing, maybe ill make this whole kinktober project .. four parts all posted throughout the month .. we'll see

BUT ANYWAY BACK TO YOUR PROMPT, I AM SOOOOO OBSESSED WITH THE IDEA OF DAZAI BEING SO BORED WITH HIS LIFE, all he has is bloodshed and terrorizing people for entertainment but then he meets reader and he's like .oh. he's just so obsessed and enamored by her at first sight and at first she's just deadset on killing him but he just is SOO persistent and he whittles down all of her barriers so when she finally has the chance to kill him .. she doesn't take it

UGHHHHHH

you say excuse ur lack of eloquence because you're drunk but you have me OBSESSEDDDDDD THIS IS SO PERFECT

[tired-fandom-ndn]

your post on the extended abernant family and will readings is making me want more on the abernant family as a whole not just adaine, aelwyn, and the parent’s whose names i cant spell if i tried

just adaine and aelwyn having an extended stay in fallinel because word spreads amongst the family that the two nieces/how ever many great grandkids have returned home after so many years

and they just have a small (actually quite large) and impromptu family reunion

where the sisters tell their tales of solace and in return they get a general info dump of their family members they havent seen since they were quite small

and oisin is getting a shovel talk in the corner by their dragon born cousins and after that they start binding over dragon things like their hoards and etc. while the elves catch up

[context]

YES YES YOU GET ME ANON THIS IS EXACTLY WHAT I WAS THINKING ABOUT

They get a letter from a great great aunt just complaining about how they were in Fallinel and didn't even visit their family except for their useless father??? The fact that they were in PRISON is not relevant, their aunt would've posted bail for them if she'd known! Anyway the whole family is getting together for a reunion and they HAVE to come, obviously, grandma's been asking about them for AGES and don't they want to see everyone and meet their new baby cousins??

Adaine and Aelwyn aren't given the chance to argue, they're just told a time and place (their grandma's castle, the same one she'll eventually leave to Adaine) and invited to bring any friends/partners/children (their family does not understand how old they are). Adaine drags Oisin with and maybe the Bad Kids if she can convince them; maybe even Ivy if she and Aelwyn are a thing. They have to have a powerpoint presentation for everyone going with, covering all the most important people and explaining to Oisin why exactly there's a giant fucking dragon skeleton so that he's not caught off guard or made to feel threatened.

There are. So many fucking elves. And half-elves and silver dragonborns and a scattering of other races from marriages. But just A LOT of elves with very long names who are all speaking different dialects of Elvish and still seem to understand each other somehow?? Adaine and Aelwyn are both MOBBED by family members they haven't seen since they left Fallinel (or even earlier, I could see their parents isolating them from the family) and even by family members they've never met; there's an uncle who left to become a forest hermit and that reunion is the first time anyone's seen or heard from him in 300 years.

They get people picking at their hair and complaining about how much fashion has changed (that cousin still wears their hair in styles that were popular 1,000 years ago), older family bragging about being related to the Elven Oracle, teen cousins wondering why they weren't sent to Kei Lumennura too, their grandma praising them for being so lovely and intelligent and good and how on earth did her useless grandchild (I can't decide if I like Angwyn or Arianwen being the Abernant more) produce such wonderful children, and lots of baby cousins getting shoved into their arms. One of their uncles asks why Adaine didn't just talk directly to their cousin in the Court of Stars about being paid and she's like what fucking cousin?????? They get passed around the reunion for hours and spend what feels like every possible moment of the days (and weeks?) following telling every single family member stories about their adventures and life in Solace; their little cousins play games about their adventures, pretending to defeat the Nightmare King and slay Kalvaxus.

Meanwhile YES, Oisin has absolutely been cornered by a dozen or so silver dragonborns (maybe with a scattering of other colors) to interrogate and threaten him, which would be a lot more effective if they weren't speaking a mix of a Fallinel dialect of draconic that Oisin can only understand every other word of and a variety of dialects of Elvish (which Oisin can barely speak) while Oisin's Solesian dialect of Common is difficult and confusing for the other dragonborns. They eventually figure out a system of communication though and Oisin happily hangs out with them (and away from Adaine's more intimidating family members) until he sees Adaine holding one of her baby cousins, a tiny silver hatchling snoozing in her arms, and he needs to be next to her IMMEDIATELY.

[regencyrosalie]

Hey there! <3 I really loved the way you write about modern! Anthony and I was wondering on maybe doing something with Benedict?

I was thinking always a modern one, either a xreader or maybe dating! headcanons!

in that case, thanks in anticipation and have a good day/night!!🩷🌸

hi hon ! thank you so much for sending an ask ! im going to structure this like i did for my anthony hc’s, i hope thats okay! im working on a fic rn that’ll be out hopefully soon!

biblically accurate modern!benedict hcs

- benedict WILL draw you

- he will draw quick little silly sketches of you in funny outfits and hats with exaggerated eyes and show them to you while giggling relentlessly

- but he also has an entire sketchbook filled with accurate and detailed drawings/paintings of you. he gets bashful every time you find a new one.

- may or may not have a caffeine addiction

- when you move in with him he moves his little art corner to a different room so you can still sleep while he works

- will get frustrated and come back into the bedroom and watch you sleep until he gets motivated/inspired again

- he loves dogs, specifically small dogs. chihuahuas are probably his favorite but he wont tell anyone.

- his sleep schedule is HORRIBLE, but it evens out when you live together because he wants to fall asleep with you.

- speaking of, i feel like Benedict is a human heater

- which is amazing during the winter

- but when it’s hot it is actually torture because hes trying to fall asleep practically on top of you.

- and youre like PLEASE get the FHUCK off of me and then he pouts and huffs until you make it work or he falls asleep

- benedict is close with every one of his siblings. but especially anthony and eloise.

- has funny uncle vibes

- especially with the younger siblings. he will sneak them candy and also probably money.

- anthony and violet have yet to find out

- i think he probably likes savory foods more than sweets, but will eat anything you make him.

- i feel like hes fully clothed about 50% of the time. the man despises pants i can just feel it in my bones.

- favorite color is red. he likes the versatility.

- cannot sing. but will sing. and will sing loudly. every shower is a concert.

- probably the closest with his mother

- love language is quality time

- this means picnic dates, movie dates, target run dates, going to the grocery store dates

- will make you handwritten cards and paintings for holidays, and puts sticky notes with sappy notes and bad pickup lines on everything you own.

- other than visual art, i think he has a few other hobbies. he likes movies, in fact, he pretty much likes every movie he watches. cant get into shows though, his attention span is not long enough. he also likes puzzles, and will frame them and keep them hoarded in his closet.

- i think a part of him is still grieving his father. violet was in constant agony after he died, and anthony was busy inheriting everything and dealing with the trauma of witnessing it: so benedict was left to pick up the pieces with the rest of the siblings. ie. explain what happened to the younger ones, try to cheer them up, etc.

- for that reason, i don’t think he ever really processed it completely, and he gets weirdly quiet when he thinks about it too long.

- cant be in anthony’s office for more than an hour at a time, because it used to be edmunds, and all he can think of is how he would pester his father all day while he worked.

[six-eyed-samurai]

hii so I have been reading lots of your fics and oh my God I was wondering if you could do either denki or tamaki x reader where shes fighting w/ a best friend and shes breaking down and they comfort her about it? thank you for reading!!! - 🌀

SUMMARY: Denki does his best to patch you up after yet another argument with your best friend...and your shirt as well. A/N: I have no idea how long this has been sitting in my inbox AND I'M SORRY I HOPE YOU ENJOY IT also I love spiral emojis can anyone tell WARNINGS: Fem! Reader, your best friend kinda-

Denki isn't the greatest at reading one of the world's most mysterious creations (women; beautiful creations but mysterious and unexplainable creations nonetheless) but he's pretty sure you throwing your phone down to scream into your rolled up jacket is a definite indicator that something is wrong.

That's kinda odd, because he's also pretty sure he cleaned up his room before you came over to chill and he hasn't done anything dumb today…yet. And you both hadn't really seen anyone else since your movie marathon started so Denki can't think of anyone who's around to frustrate you like that either. Maybe you don't like the chips he bought? But you're hoarding them, so maybe it's the juice box flavour? He quickly checks the one in his hand - nope, it's the one you specifically asked for.

Wisely Denki decides to wait until you finish raging on the poor pillow before asking. “Hey, are you…uh…am I drinking too loudly or something? Or is there some other reason as to why you're bullying my pillow?”

“It's stupid. Nothing to worry about.” You lift your head up, something irritable in your expression as you bend down to pick up your fallen phone. The way you're digging your nails into his blanket now is a big contrast to your words though.

Denki freezes in scrolling for the next movie, closing his laptop. “When my girlfriend starts acting like Bakugo right before he explodes I think it must mean something.”

“I'll get over it,” you grumbled, sinking deeper into the hoodie he had lent you. “Let's just get on with the movie.”

“Uh…sure. Nothing I did, right?”

“Nah, don't worry. Like I said, it's stupid.” You shake your head and shift closer, returning to your position of leaning your head on him as he selects a classic and starts playing.

You're still pissed off, Denki can tell, with the way you're still mumbling under your breath and the crease between your eyebrows is still there. And you're squeezing your juice box a little too tight (much as he loves you Denki will FREAK if juice drips on his bed) to be considered normal. What could've made you so upset in the short intermission between movies?

Hmmm. Consulting his council of brain cells Denki reaches the conclusion that it must be something you had seen on your phone with his great powers of observation and also because it's pinging like mad right now.

Leaving you focused on the scene being played (”No, Charlotte, you dumbass, don't go in there!”), Denki pretends to reach for a new bag of chips and not so subtly knocks your phone to the floor. He leans down to get it and in doing so turns it on and…woah. That's a lot of notifications, even for your best friend. Gossip? Reels?

“Kaminari, you know I can see you spying on my phone, right?”

Denki jolts a little from the shock (literally. Electrification Quirks and jumpy attitudes don't mix well).

“I was not!”

“Hand it over with no questions then.” You raise your eyebrows, hand outstretched.

“…” He surrenders it. “So, uh, that's a lot of spam from your bestie, huh?”

“What did I say about no questions?”

“I take it we're not watching the movie anymore then? Cause, if you wanna talk about it, I'm all ears. Listener boyfriend and I am amazing at keeping secrets, swear.”

You give him the stink eye. “Not so sure about that…ugh, it's nothing. Just really stupid.”

“I'm all for stupid.” Denki pulls you back onto his lap and starts playing with your hair and rubbing your shoulders; hey, you're comfortable and he'll get to hear the tea, so win win. “Spill.”

“Ugh. You're so annoying, you know that?” Your words held no bite though, not when you're succumbing to Denki’s comfortable hold. “Just had a fight with my best friend. You know how it is.”

“And what was it about?” Denki prompts.

“She borrowed one of my shirts and said she'd wash it for me in return.” Man, it sounded like such a petty reason to fight about now that you're saying it aloud. “But she shrunk it by mistake.”

“Oof. I mean, that kinda bad. Did she apologize?”

“That's the thing, she didn't. I wasn't mad at first, y'know, but she just kept insisting I didn't tell her she had to wash it this specific way and I just got irritated. Like, is saying a sorry really so hard?” You threw up your hands indignantly. “So I'll admit I shouldn't have snapped at her and now here we are, blowing things out of proportion and arguing over text.”

“I take it back, that's kinda harsh.”

“Yeah! Ugh.”

“Wait, which shirt was it?”

“It's the one you gave me….so we'd match…!” You wailed.

“SHE DIDN'T!” Denki gasped.

A moment of silence passed for the lost shirt.

“And like, I’m just so tired of arguing about it with her all the time. How hard is it to say “sorry”, huh? It's one word!” Your ranting vent comes to a muffled stop as you bury your face into a pillow. “I felt really bad I made such a fuss over it - ‘cause it's an honest simple mistake right? And she's my friend and I'm thinking all these things of her like “she's always been like this”, “why is she such a drama queen”. But then she told me that if I was so worked up over the stupid shirt I shouldn't have given it to her in the first place. Jerk.”

“Yeah, I don't think you mean that.” Denki gently pushed you onto your side before you accidentally choked yourself of air. “I’m sure you guys will get over it and out of your systems - you and I've argued over worse and here we are, you love me, I love you-”

You quirk an eyebrow at him. “Keep dreaming, Jamming Whey.”

“Wow, I comfort you and this is what I get?” He clutched his heart. “ANYWAYS, my point is that she's probably just acting like this because she feels bad that she messed up big time. Heck, one time I avoided Kirishima like the plague ‘cause I kinda tore his Crimson Riot poster just a teeny little bit…”

“You did not!”

“He still doesn't know so…I guess that's a moot point…” Denki gestured wildly. “Moving on, okay! My point is that you're also not an ass for getting sick and tired and mad and all of the above at her because it's normal! Like, if you didn't get mad that'd be weird. Plus, who cares about the shirt I used all my savings on and we didn't get a chance to match yet! We can buy another one! And if your bestie still has shit to say, we could always set Mina against her.”

“You're so eloquent, Kaminari.” The sarcasm in the droll words was evident, but it was rendered meaningless as you hung off his neck, tucking your face in between his shoulder blades. Your next words were quietly mumbled. “…thanks, Denki. You’re a really great person to vent to.”

“Well, I hope I’m more than a vent - movie buddy maybe?”

“Alright, alright, we’ll continue with the movie, jeez.”

You should probably get Denki a Best Boyfriend of the Year Award, because a few days later he showed up with one of his hoodies, with a graphic previously on the shrunk shirt now sewn in front, proudly declaring it was his idea but Momo did the work.

[giorno-plays-piano]

Metamorph

Part I

Pairing: art teacher!Aemond Targaryen x reader (Horror AU)

Warnings: dark!Aemond, obsessive behavior, murder, horror, yandere, kidnapping, misanthropy, general creepy stuff.

Words: 1.5k

Summary: Drawn to the artworks of one of the most esteemed artists in the city, you wish to learn from him and find out what inspires him to create his masterpieces. You have no idea how much his secrets will cost you.

P.S. Unhinged Aemond, my dear Ewan nation! No physical harm done to the heroine, though.

___________

"Are you ready?" He asks you calmly, but you can see his impatience, the way he restlessly looks at you and back at the door leading to one of the smaller studios he always keeps locked at all times. Aemond can't wait to show you something, some other paintings of his he prefers to hide from others, and you feel both intrigued and disturbed by what you will find.

He is a genius, no doubt. One of the best artists of the century, the critics say, and while your city literally consists of art studios and galleries, people speak of Aemond Targaryen with a weird reverence, and his name is constantly on the ear.

His drawings caught your attention the moment you saw them online, mindlessly looking through your feed. It was hard to explain what exactly made you stop and look at them - even after months of attending his course you still couldn't quite put your finger on it - but you saved the pictures, printed them out, and then was staring at them hanging from the wall for days like you had been hypnotized. The ones you stumbled upon first depicted all sorts of buildings, always only in black and white, overgrown with... something. Flowers, vines, some greenery that looked like flesh and bones, painted in vivid red, of course. It was sort of scary... but also sort of not. It was a work of art, not some background picture from a cheap horror movie. The architecture he chose, they way he drew it as if he was recording his own perception onto the paper, each stroke written with his style, perhaps his very soul embedded in it... It was impossible to describe it with words. One had to see it to understand.

So, you had visited a gallery where his works had been exhibited, and since then you were fully supportive of city's infatuation with Aemond Targaryen. There was no way you could stay indifferent to his art, especially considering your own desperate attempts to get better at drawing.

How could he be so expressive while mostly using just black, white and red paint? Most of the time, he wasn't even painting but drawing, making sketches, that sort of thing. And yet you were obsessively saving and printing all of his artworks you were able to spot online. Some you hang on the walls of your apartment, some - the ones that made you held your breath - you kept in a drawer like you were a dragon guarding your treasure chest. One time when your mom accidentally spotted them you literally wanted to fall through the floor. It was... too intimate for sharing with anyone. Despite the paintings and drawings showcased openly in the galleries for everyone to see, they felt like they were your great secret, your own hoard, too precious to even talk about it, less let people see printed artworks you kept hidden in the bottom drawer of your cabinet.

Who was he, the man who brought these breathtaking paintings to life, you had often wondered. How had he done it? How did he make the red paint so vivid, so expressive and yet not vulgar? How could he lay strokes with such precision, but not the same way most artists did? How did he build his compositions that they felt real and surreal at the same time? What sort of magic was that? Everyone around joked he must have sold his soul to the Devil.

When you saw Aemond for the first time, you thought the same thing because he scared the Hell out of you. First, he wore an eyepatch and had a long, ugly scar crossing half of his face. An incident from his childhood, someone whispered to you. Someone had stabbed him in the eye.

This felt disturbing and surreal, too. Stabbed a child in the eye? What the Hell? Wasn't he from some wealthy, upper-class sort of family?

Perhaps, it was one of the reasons why Aemond seemed so sullen and chilly, his only presence making the temperature in the room drop a couple degrees. Despite his obvious attractiveness, it felt like he was an alligator waiting in front of a crowd of stupid bunnies who came to admire his teeth. Didn't help he was dressed in all black, and both his skin and hair were alarmingly white like he wasn't really a human being.

A stupid suggestion, really.

He'd been through some serious shit, someone kept murmuring you in the ear as you stared at the artist, open-mouthed and frozen in place. His dad was really wealthy, but rumors had it he didn't really care about him or his siblings, and his mother was constantly on antidepressants. Then the incident with the eye-stabbing happened, but it was still shrouded in mystery even with journalists trying to dig up the truth for years. After he grew up, Aemond went to study business and started working under his grandfather. Rumours had it he made some crazy money but started hating his life, ended up having serious issues with drinking, and at one point, he suddenly left everything and disappeared.

Whatever happened then was a mystery, too, and the artists never spoke about it in any of his interviews expect for saying that drawing has saved him. Although nothing suggests he is a former alcoholic and had once been homeless thanks to the immaculate way he dresses, you thought there was something in his face that made you wonder if he actually got better. Aemond seemed... very hostile.

But he'a an artist, too, and you've found all of them weird in one way or the other.

Of course, despite the fact that you've been drawing for years, you've never thought yourself an artist. No, no, you just enjoy it as a hobby, and you're nowhere near people like Aemond Targaryen.

But when you heard he opened a drawing course for the general public, you were so frantic about getting in you swore to yourself, regardless how much it costs, you would get in. Even if you wouldn't be eating for the next few years.

Seriously, it was Aemond freaking Targaryen you were talking about. A literal King! He had been the talk of a month even in the capital thanks to his recent dragon paintings collection that was sold in an auction for a ridiculous sum of money. So what if he's scary and had this chilling-to-the-bone stare? Most successful people you knew seemed at least a little frightening. Besides, if anything, you could just drop out of class.

But if you were brave enough to apply, you could have a chance to actually see him at work.

How did his studio look? What sort of routine did he have? What kind of paint and pencils did he use? How had he gotten that amazing crimson color you were trying to replicate for months without any success? What did he use for inspiration?

Clearly, you just couldn't let this opportunity slip away. You had to try to get in.

Surprisingly, the course wasn't even that expensive, sold at nearly the same price as most other art courses as if Aemond was just like any other artist in the city. The problem laid in his way of choosing the students: he requested to see the artworks of applicants to determine whether he'd take them or not.

It nearly put a stop to the whole thing because you were terrified of him seeing your drawings. What would he think about an amateur like you? How could you even dream about coming to him instead of improving your technique first with some other, way less known artists? He was Aemond Targaryen, for God's sake.

But you knew he might never take other students again. He might even move to the capital that would give him much more than your city ever could. What if he just disappeared? It could have been your only chance to see him work.

When he accepted you along with 9 other students out of more than two hundred participants, you thought you were dreaming. How? Why would he? You were far from professional. Goodness, you weren't even planning on becoming a true artist, and it felt like you were cheating on people who did. So, how could he take you, knowing that?

Not that you were going to drop out before the start of the course. Over your dead body. You literally spent the entire week shopping for new materials even though you knew he would give you suggestions later. But how could you show him your pencils and brushes that looked like your dog chewed, ate, and then threw them back up? You'd rather jump from the roof.

___________

Alas, on the first day of the course, you stood there among other students, holding your breath as you watched the door of the studio open. Aemond Targaryen was going to teach you his art.

Part II

Tags: @heavenly1927 @yazzzmints @devils-blackrose @lost-and-founds @kennafild

[sapphicseasapphire]

So i was wondering, if mer need to soak frequently to stay alive, what happens if they don't? How has it affected ravio for example?

Hello! This is a great question, thanks for asking!

Mer are built for water, they’re 100% aquatic, though they perform an involuntary magical transformation to keep them from immediately suffocating when they’re on land: this transformation makes their lungs stronger and also turns their tails into legs. And while it’s integral to their survival, it’s very fragile. The moment they get wet again, it is undone. Their legs reform into their tail, their lungs weaken in favor of their gills, and they become vulnerable.

This transformation, while altering their body’s function, does not change everything. Their skin is more susceptible to sunburn and they dehydrate easily. They require saltier foods- more minerals in their diets. And, most importantly, they must soak in water- completely submerge themselves- for at least an hour three times a week. Salt water is preferred, but not always available. Just adding salt to water doesn’t have the minerals that Mer need to be healthy, but the ocean isn’t very accessible to the Mer adventurer.

Soaking is NECESSARY. If Mer don’t do it, it will only be a few days until they completely dry out and die. There’s just no getting around this- even with the magic items that both Legend and Ravio hoard. Generally, soaking helps ease the other ailments of being Mer on land. A few hours after good soak and they might not even feel the sun on their skin. But give it a day or two and they’ll burn instantly. And I mean they BURN. Blisters and angry red. It bleeds. It scars.

(I would never let it get this far right? That would never happen to Legend. I never hurt my little guys. And I would absolutely never ever have the Cryptid Chain have to go on a rescue mission in the middle of a desert without Legend’s items-)

Ravio and Legend are both unable to return their homes- for different reasons. Legend was banished from his pod, exiled by his people. Ravio simply has no home to return to. For my au, when Legend fled to Hyrule, he was completely alone for a very long time. He was able to adjust to living on land (making a routine of when he’d soak, taking care of his skin, etc) before there was any kind of Hylian interference. Ravio didn’t have that.

He was found after only a few days on land and immediately swept up into a (not so great) Hylian household. He was able to soak by means of Very Long Baths but he never had access to salt water- he never ever returned to the ocean. Most of the time, he wasn’t able to soak for nearly as long as he needed to, so he resorted to “taking baths” more often. He was a scared little kid- he never let anyone see him for what he truly was.

This was very VERY detrimental to Ravio’s health. He wears big long robes to protect himself from the sun because he has built up so little immunity. He’s constantly dehydrated, passing out and getting lightheaded and drinking so much water but it never seems to help. It’s not until he meets Legend that he picks up healthier habits, and it’s even longer still that he finally goes back into the ocean.

[prophetszendo]

Shift in Vampirism

Summary: after looting an abandoned manor, you find a strange scroll, which can change everything for you and Astarion.

Pairing: astarion/you (no pronouns or y/n used, can be any of you)

Word count: 4.7k

Warning: blood, and more blood, and a bit of pain. Also english is not my first language, yet this is my first ever english fanfic I've written. Feel free to point out mistakes or spelling errors or sentences that just sound weird <3

Also, about the dialogs: the software I used to tyoe this out automatically turns the first " into the downward version of it: „. It is because it uses my native language, and here this is how we write them. I didn't figure out how to turn it off and by the time I finisned the fic, manually doing it would have taken me a long time.

This fic is based on a dream I had a few weeks ago. Enjoy!

You sat on your bed as you were sorting through what you looted today. You found an empty village which had an abandoned manor, and you and your teammates didn’t waste any time searching for valuables, food and alcohol. You also picked up some miscalleneous items, of which you weren’t sure what they exactly were.

You rummaged through your bag once more, because you recalled picking up a ring too, and it was not on your bed yet. Technically its wasn’t your bed, but it was the one in the room you decided to spend the night in. All of you got to stay in a rather luxurious room, even if it seemed like noone had been here for some time. Honestly, who cares about some dust and spiderwebs, when you spent the last weeks sleeping on rocks and branches?

Your hand caught onto the ring, and you took a closer look. It was pretty, that’s for sure, but if there was more to it, like magical properties, you weren’t able to deduce.

"I will have to ask Gale about this” you murmured to yourself. It was a pretty dark red colour, which reminded you of a certain pair of red eyes. You wondered whether his room was comfortable too. Knowing him, he was hoarding the best loot he found, not necessarily willing to share with the group. You sighed, put the ring down, and started looking through the possible junk pile that was on your bed.

After seperating the edible and not so edible foods, you were left with a bunch of papers, some more jewellery and some actually useful items, such as torches and a rope, that was hopefully not too decayed.

While you really wanted to just throw away the seemingly useless papers, you knew there might be some useful information for you. Maybe about the manor, or what happened to this place, or about the tadpoles. You knew there was only a slight chance for that, but you were grabbing onto every possibility.

Letter, letter, recepie for some food, another letter, oh, a juicy letter about someone cheating... Overall not so interesting. You were starting to get disappointed, when a title caught your eye: Shift in Vampirism. Curiously, you picked it up, and nervously ran your eyes over it. You have heard about a spell with the same name, but it was very rare, only a few people knew how to cast it. But against all odds, what you were holding in your hand was a scroll of that spell. Your stomach started sinking, as you clearly read the spell, where you can take over someones vampirisim, changing it for your normal, average traits.

You and Astarion had an interesting relationship. He flirted with you nonstop (but he kinda was doing that with everyone, so you tried to not take it too seriously), he drank from you when he got hungry, but was still so cold towards you, in a sense. Not that he excluded you, or was mean to you, but you felt like there was this invisible barrier he put up around him, and no matter how hard you tried, you were always shut out.

And you tried. A lot.

You would never share this with anyone, but you fell for Astarion basically as soon as you laid eyes on him. It was such a suprise, even to you, that you nearly let yourself be killed by him. Fortunately, soon it turned out you were in the same boat. And since then, you were trying to get to know him a bit more. You never did anything that could be understood as more than friendship – well, maybe apart from the flirting back, but that seemed to be a fun little game you two play – because you weren’t sure how he would take it. Worst case scenario, he would believe you also just want to use him for your own desires, and then he would push you away completely. You simply cared for him too much for this to happen.

But maybe with this spell, he would be more free. The pressure from his shoulders would lift a little bit, and he would be able to enjoy life more.

Your hands were shaking. You still needed some ingredients for the spell to work, this magic simply couldn’t fully be captured in just a scroll.

„Of course this spell needs candles” you sighed, then chuckled a little. As you got off your bed to collect said candles, you stopped for a second. Were you really doing this? Offering to take Astarions burden without a second thought? Wow, you must be charmed by him even more than you believed.

Your room had only one suitable candle, the others were mostly all used up, so you decides to look around once more, hoping that the the others didn’t cause such a big mess, that you wouldn’t be able to find a few more candles.

You were able to find just enough. You were also glad you didn’t bump into anyone during your adventure, and you didnt have to come up with a lie on why are you running around with an armful of candles.

You didn’t want to share the truth, because you were certain, the others would advise against it, maybe even actively try to stop you. They didn’t have the best opinion on vampires, and they were barely used to Astarion being one, and they always kept an eye on him, as if he would bite through their throats, given the right time. While he did joke about it, you knew he was secretly glad, he had some nice (or as he would say: „bearable”) company on this hard road to Baldur’s Gate.

But you couldn’t care whether the others will now eye you similarly or not. If it meant that Astarion would be free of his hunger, you gladly took all his spawn traits.

You dumped the candles on your bed, picked up the scroll and gathered the courage to show it to Astarion.

His room was a bit further away, but when you spotted the door, you were sure he choose that one. It was the most detailed out of the ones you saw while looting. „It must’ve been the master bedroom” you thought to yourself as you raised you hand to knock on the door. You still hesitated. The weight of what you held in your hand was starting to dawn on you.

„Come in, dont’t be shy” you heard his voice from the inside, before you could actually knock.

When you opened the door, you were greeted a room that was bigger than your home back in Baldur’s Gate. Astarion was standing in front of the fireplace, looking at the painting above it.

„You know them?” you asked, trying to sound casual. He was beautiful, no matter what he did. As if he was radiating some magic, you couldn’t take your eyes off of him. His hair looked silver in this light, and his eyes were focused on the family that was painted.

„Of course not! But looking at a painting is a better passtime, than doing nothing, or getting dirty in this dusty place.” he said, as he shifted his gaze to you. As your eyes locked, a shiver was sent down your spine, and for a split second, you forgot why you were there in the first place.

But you quickly collected yourself and witgout saying a word, you raised your hand towards him and offered him the scroll.

„What is this dear? Some juicy letters between the past owner and some lover?” he asked excitiedly. But you remained silent and just looked at him. You weren’t sure how you woukd even describe it. As he saw your seriousness, he went quiet too, and took the scroll.

„Just read it” you said, as he turned it around in his hand, seemingly unsure what to look for.

His brows furrowed as his eyes were going faster and faster over the lines. His concerned face made you worried.

„Is this a joke? I never thought you to be this cruel with me” he said to you, looking up from the paper. „If there actually was a spell like this, I would’ve heard about it, at least rumors.”

„It is a rare spell, I believed it was a legend, because a friend of a friend once saw it in action a long time ago. But this is a real thing.” you reassured him. His eyes lit up, as he took another look onto the scroll. You saw a glimpe of hope, but it was quickly replaced by something you weren’t sure about.

And then he started laughing.

„This is still cruel. This spell clearly exists to give false hope to people like me! Because who would even be so crazy to wish this up on themselves?” he asked and he held the scroll with two hands, with the intent of tearing the scroll with you.

„I would” you said firmly, trying to look into his eyes, looking for that little hope again.

He raised his gaze, and held eyecontact with you.

„Why?” he asked silently. You saw that he was truly confused. „Why would you want to go through these horrible stuff? Are you mad?”

„I’m not mad. I just want to...” but you couldn’t finish your sentence, because Astarion interrupted you.

„A favour? My life? You want to be able to hold control over me by taking over this burden I carry? Well thank you but no thank you! I would rather stay how I am if it means I am free from any puppet lines that make me do anything the puppeteer wants to!” he raised his voice.

„Astarion, I promise, I don’t...”

„You don’t want to control me? Of course, everyone would say that. But you? I thought you to be kinder than this. Especially after all those adventures, and everything I’ve ever told you about Cazador and my life in Baldur’s Gate! I thought of all people, you would be the one who would not even think about these stuff! Or was being understanding also part of the act?” he yelled by the end of the sentence.

Tears gathered in your eyes. You rarely if ever saw him this angry, and it hurt you so much. The barrier between you has never been so thick, so impenetrable.

„Please Astarion, hear me out...” you said, but your voice cracked as you said his name. However, Astarion was way too in his head to hear, or even see you.

„And what would you even say? Please trust me? Noone would take over my vampirism willingly, for nothing in return. And i don’t want to be in anyones debt! Feeding from you, it is already on a thin line, but it is something we both seem to enjoy. But this? You wouldn’t enjoy this” and he would have kept saying more and more harmful stuff, if you didn’t interrupt him. Once more.

„ASTARION” you also raised your voice. „I would do it because I care for you! I would do ir because... Because...”

„Because?”

„Because I love you” you closed your eyes. You couldn’t bear seeing his reaction. He most likely didn’t love, or even like you back. You weren’t even sure why you said it now. You planned to take this secret to your grave.

„And I care for you” you continued, as if trying to still explain yourself. „And you suffer so much already, and being a vampire seemingly makes it worse. Day by day, you put on the act of being a carefree man, but I feel like you have so many thoughts, fears you never even admit to yourself. If I could ease this pain by taking away something that is holding you back the most, maybe... Maybe you could live a better life. Maybe you would be able to heal from what happened to you.”

Your eyes were still closed. You waited for his reaction, but he was silent. A few painfully long seconds passed and then you heard his footsteps. You were afraid, they were moving away.

But then you felt his hands on both sides of your face. His thumb was caressing your cheek. He wiped a tear away. You didn’t even realize, that you started crying.

„Darling. Open your eyes.”

You slowly peeled your eyelids open. At first, you were looking down, somewhere at his chest. You felt embarassed. Confessing love was not your strong suit, as you have never done this before. Of course you had crushes here and there, maybe even a fling or two, but this overwhelming urge to be with someone, like you feel with Astarion, this was raw, honest, and heavy.

Astarion put his right hand under your chin, lifting your head to properly face him.

His eyes were like rubies, as he deeply looked into yours. There was no mockery in them, yet you still felt like you have to explain more. You tugged on his tadpole, and invited him into your mind.

You started sharing memories.

The first time you saw him, and how forgot to breathe for a second. Then he started speaking, asking for help, only to hold a knife to your throat later. Yet held no grudges against him. You now knew how confused he must have felt, and how vulnerable.

The night he first drank for you. Especially how scared he looked when you woke up. You were not repulsed by vampires, they didn’t choose to be turned into a spawn. You offered your blood, wanting nothing in return. The way he seemed more relaxed, more vibrant, more... alive after feeding, was enough for you.

That one time you thought he would die. It was an unfortunate ambush on you and the team. Astarion, as usual, was lurking in the shadows, but a rouge spell hit him square in the chest, and if Shadowheart wasn’t that good of a healer, he might not be here right now. Your heart ached as you held his hand, hoping his beautiful eyes would open once more. You screamed and cried your eyes out, trying to wake him up. And when he did, you gave him the first real hug that ever happened between you.

You looked away. These were some of your most sacred memories. You felt vulnerable.

„I... You don’t have to like me back. Just seeing you happy and free makes my life fuller. This is why i want to take your burden” you said quietly to him.

There was a second of silence again. They started to feel like you were cut with a knife. Painful anticipation.

„I don’t have to like you back?” Astarion said in a low voice, then chuckles a little. „It might be too late for that...”

You felt a familiar tug on your tadpole, as he was inviting you into his mind. You obliged.

You saw yourself through his eyes. He was taken aback by your presence. The kindess, with which you looked at him made him uneasy. He feared you would betray him the first chance you had. So he went ahead, and held a knife to your throat. And you still forgave him.

This is why he decided to drink from you. Maybe you wouldn’t be as mad as the others. And then you looked at him, and still wasn’t angry, and offered a drink. He felt something that could best be described as butterflies in his stomach. If his heart was beating, it wouldve bursted out fo his chest, he was sure.

And when he was hit by the spell, the only reason he held on was because he heard you. Felt your hand on his.

„This is why I can’t let you take this over” he again, turned your face towards his. „Because, I too, care about you deeply. And you don’t deserve to go though any of this. Especially what happens after we remove the tadpoles.”

„You suffered from it for two-hundred years. You deserve to rest now. And if you’re so adamant, you can search for one of those mages, who can perform this spell. Then you can take it back, if you want to” you said, now with a stronger voice. You knew just how rare the spell was, and doubted he would ever find anyone able to cast it. You were content with this.

„You would really do this... For me?” he asked gently, still unsure.

You nodded, allowing yourself to have a little smile too.

Then you felt his lips on yours. It took you by suprise. You didn’t even have to process that the feelings were mutual, and now he was kissing you.

After the initial suprise, you didn’t hesitate to kiss back. His lips were suprisingly soft and warm, and you wanted this moment to never end. You opened your mouth, allowing him to kiss you deeper. Astarion immediately understood your desire, and made his way towards your tongue. You felt his sharp fangs on your lips, but they felt exciting, if anything. You slowly wrapped your arms around him, hugging him closer than you ever did.

„Gods, how long I wanted to do this” he said, as he pulled back a little. You were lost for words. You still felt his mouth on yours, and you yearned for more.

But there was something more important that needed to happen, before you could properly explore your feelings towards eachother.

You slowly unwrapped yourself from him and picked up the scroll, which made its way on the floor sometime before.

„So, do you want to do this?” you asked, still short of breath. You handed him the scroll one more time. He took it, a briefly went over it.

„I can’t believe im saying this” he shook his head. „But yes. Let’s do this. And after it, I will track down all the scrolls and mages.”

As the sentences left his mouth, he already seemed to feel the pressure lifting. His shoulders seemed less tense and his forehead turned smooth.

You smiled at him shyly.

You went back to your room to collect the ingredients you needed. Your pouch had all the small ones, and you scooped up the candles you collected before.

You were excitied like a kid, which came to you as a suprise. You expected yourself to be scared of the ritual, especially knowing the details of the spell. But all you saw with your mind’s eye is Astarion, laughing carefreely.

„And with this” you stepped into Astarions room „we can finally start the preparations.”

He looked at you, and took a few of the candles off of you. Well, like four of them.

You laughed at him playfully, and he shot you a „i fucking dare you” look, which suited him just perfectly.

You set up the candles how it was desdribec on the scroll.

„Now we just need to mix the remaining ingredients with my blood, and paint up the Shifting Circle” you read through the instructions. You picked up your dagger and a bowl, and started investigating your arm.

„Darling, let me” Astarion took your arm and dagger. „As a vampire, I will have a much easier time finding the right place.”

„For now.” you murmured.

„Pardon?” he looked at you, pulling away a little.

„You won’t be a vampire for much longer.”

He laughed.

„You’re right, darling.”

He made a small cut on your arm. It was barely noticable, if not for the blood that was dripping down into a designated bowl. After the needed amount, Astarion patched you up, and put a bandage on your arm. He has never been so caring with you before.

You mixed together the dry and wet ingredients, and used it to paint up the shifting circle. It had two smaller circles incorporated: one Astarion, the giver, and one for you, the reciever.

You stood there, admiring your work. It wasnt perfect, but it should do it. It will do it – you thought to yourself.

„Lastly, I would need some rats” you said, and started to look for them. You heard them before, hopefully they haven’t fled yet.

„Rats? Why?” asked Astarion suprised.

„I will need it, because after I change, I will crave blood and if that hunger is left untreated, I might go feral” you explained. You weren’t keen on rats, but they seemed like the best option.

„Oh that won’t do” said Astarion, shaking his head. He came over to you and grabbed your clean hand. „You’re making such a sacrifice for me, the least I can do is offer my blood in return.”

You gulped. The thought of you drinking from Astarion the same way he drank from you sounded very intimate. You had to admit, it was to your liking.

„Thank you” you nodded. You were very touched by his offer. After what he went through, he still offered himself for a future vampire.

You sat in your circle and Astarion sat in his. He put his hands on the line, touching the mixture, as the spell instructed. You already lit all the candles that were neatly next to the lines, all around you. You opened up the scroll, but before reading it out loud, you looked at Astarion one more time. He gave you an encouraging half smile.

„O ipwuli vji nehod vu tipf vji wenqosi vseovt vu ni simoiwoph jon gsun jot cysfip!”

With every word, you felt a strange buzzing in the room. Magic was happening, and it did so all around you. At first, nothing happened. You were starting to get discouraged, the thought of the scroll being a fake bubbled up in your mind.

But then, suddenly the candle lights grew downwards, and all touched the big circle. Fire spread towards you and Astarion too. It was fast, too fast for any of you to react, and in no time, it reached the small circles.

In that moment, your bones, your skin, your blood also turned into fire. Pain shot from everywhere. It started burning you up, or at least it felt like that. You started screaming, and fell on the floor. You grabbed onto your arms, trying to get rid of the feeling.

Just next second, Astarion cried out too, but you weren’t sure if it was because he also was in pain, or because he saw you in such agony. You just hoped that he would remember to not stop touching the now burning mixture, as it was the connection between him and you.

You couldn’t wonder further, and a striking pain hit your mouth, specifically your teeth. You quickly moved your hands to it, half expecting them to simply fall out. You felt your canine teeth grow long and sharp. Just like the ones Astarion has. Had.

Suddenly nausea took you over. The dinner which you happily had before checking your loot, quickly made its way out of your stomach, as it was no longer suitable you. You were trembling, you felt that with this, you had nothing left, that was human.

The burning pain started to lessen. Your skin felt cold, your bones felt light. Your head was spinning, as you gathered yourself into a sitting position.

And then the hunger hit. The most primal hunger you have ever felt. As if you have not eaten for weeks. Your hunger was strong, and you wanted, no, you needed to feed. To feed on blood.

A strong, appetizing scent hit you. Before you realized what it was, your body started moving on its own. You basically crawled towards Astarion, who seemingly also had his fair share of the ritual, because he was lying on the floor, quickly breathing.

You crawled over him, and without a second thought, you bit him, and started drinking his blood. It tasted heavenly, like ambrosia. After the first drop on your tongue, you lost yourself even more. You ate, fed, as if you had never actually eaten before. You drank as if you just walked trough the driest desert.

He squirmed under you. Instinctively, you tried holding him down. More, more, MORE! The hunger can never be saited, you felt that. But temporarily, you just need more of his blood. More of his delicious, rich, glorious blood. More of... Astarions blood.

As this thought went through your head, you froze in place. Your animalistic instincts evaporated, you were yourself again. You slowly pulled away from Astarions neck. You feared the worst, as you looked down on him. He was not fighting back, just laid there, head turned to the side , for you to have better acces to him.

His movements were only to help you, not to shake you off.

Tears formed in your eyes. You knew that after the transformation, you would need to feed. You wanted to gently ask Astarion to bite his wrist, letting him dictate how much of him he gave to you. You didn’t plan for you losing control as soon as you turned.

Astarion turned his head towards you. His formally scarlet eyes were now a silverish blue. They looked breathtaking.

„I’m...” you started saying, but your words drowned in sobs. Blood was still dripping from his wounds.

„Hey. Shhhh. I’m alive” Astarion slowly sat up, and he wrapped his arms around you.

It felt like years of supressed stress and held back emotions just flowed out of you, like a tap, that hasn’t been opened in years. You clinged on him, and cried harder than you ever did. Transforming really took a toll on you, emotionally and mentally. The last drop was Astarion holding you gently but tightly. An act you only dreamt about before. Something you only imagined, a longing that kept you going in the hardest times.

Now, it was real. And you were absolutely overwhelmed by everything.

He held you until you calmed down. He didn’t say a word, but he didn’t need to. His gestures were telling enough for you.

„Your heart is not beating anymore” said Astarion, with a sharp sadness in his voice. You put your hand on your chest. He was right, you also felt no beating. It was unusual.

You put your hands on his chest. Under your palm, his heart was going wild and alive. You looked at him in detail. His eyes were the most striking change, but you noticed other parts too, that just made him look more... Alive. His cheeks gained some blush, he was not pale as a ghost anymore. His face looked more relaxed, more playful and youthful. He looked stronger, like someone who can handle everything.

He looked more beautiful, than ever.

„And your heart is about to jump out of your chest” you said, smiling for the first time since the ritual. You felt your fangs emerge from behind your lips. You quickly hid it behind your hand, as if it was something to hide.

Astarion clearly thought otherwise, because he smiled back at you, and carefully moved your hands down.

„Don’t hide them darling. They are nothing to hide. You thought me this. And trust me, you’re still beautiful. The most beautiful person I’ve ever seen.”

His words caressed you. You allowed yourself to smile once more.

„Thank you” Astarion said with an honest voice. „I haven’t felt like this for... 200 years. And while I will search all corners of the world for the wizard, or any other cure, I can’t form the right words to properly say just how thankful I am for your actions. You’re the kindest soul anyone can ever meet. Most people would’ve stabbed me the first chance they had. Having someone like you by my side makes me feel... Safe. And I haven’t felt like thaf for a long time. And on top of that, we both seem to have fallen for eachother, which is just perfect. And I truly mean it.”

He looked into your eyes deeply before planting a sweet and hot kiss on your lips.

You stayed like that for a while.

Astarion, the not-so-pale elf, and you, the new vampire.

[things-arent-what-they-seem66]

I’m in the mood for angst, so imagine when Adam revives as a sinner he’s just horribly depressed that he doesn’t do anything but lay in bed and stare at the ceiling. Doesn’t help that there are people who don’t trust him as much as he trusts them

Adam laid there on his bed in the hotel wrapped up in blankets surrounded by pillows. The rooms that he shared a hallway with were empty save for Lucifer's down at the end, so in the middle of the night Adam swiped all the extra pillows and blankets to make a makeshift nest for himself.

He had taken to staring at the ceiling, he didn't want to be around people who barely tolerated him. The only reason he was even at this third rate hotel was because of the deal he made with Lucifer and his brat taking pity on him.

Adam still remembers the look she gave him, it made him sick.

He missed his home up in heaven, where he could be himself and not worry about anyone judging him. Adam had his own little garden he would go to when he would feel an ounce of stress.

Now all he had was a somewhat decent sized hotel room in Hell to hole up in.

All Adam wanted to do was go home, not just to heaven but to Eden. His true home the one he lost forever ago.

He was forced out of there like he was forced out of heaven. Fuck his life.

He only ever left to eat when all the hotel freaks had gone to bed, even then he'd hoard enough to get him through the next day so he wouldn't have to leave.

It's been six months.

At first Charlie tried knocking on his door trying to coax Adam out, but he didn't even have the energy to yell at her. He just ignored her until she went away.

She eventually stopped trying.

"So, this is what you do all day?"

Adam jumped at the voice and glared at the King who was now standing beside his bed. "What the- Get the fuck out!" He threw a pillow at Lucifer.

Lucifer dodged it with ease. "Charlie has been wondering where those pillows went. Come on, it's time to get your ass out of bed." He made a move to rip the blanket from Adam's bed only to get his hands slapped.

"Fuck off and leave me alone, asshole!!" Adam wrapped the blankets and his wings tighter around himself and turned away from Lucifer.

They remained in silence for so long Adam thought he left.

Until he felt a dip in the bed. "You, I get it. Falling from grace is a traumatic experience, not only that it's painful leaving your home behind."

Adam could feel his eyes get wet. "Like you care."

"I care." Lucifer placed a hand gently on Adam's back, he hoped it was as comforting as he meant it to be. "You can't spend your afterlife in bed, I've been there. Trust me."

The spot where Lucifer's hand was on his back felt hot through the blanket. "I'm fine."

"Yeah you look it." Lucifer commented. "Believe it or not Adam, I do give a shit. But I understand why you don't trust me or anyone here."

"No one trusts me either."

"Can you blame them?"

"Fuck off." Adam snapped, a tear rolled down his cheek. He's not the fucking bad guy here, he's been severely wronged!

Lucifer sighed and removed his hand. "I know you likely won't, but if you ever need someone to talk to my door is always open." He got up from the bed. "Maybe try coming down for a meal once in a while."

"Do you remember that song from Eden?" Adam asked, he wasn't sure what brought in the question but he had to know. "The sung at night?"

Lucifer blinked, yeah he remembered how could he forget? "Yeah, why?"

Adam didn't answer, he was too embarrassed to ask. It was a song that Lucifer would hum or sing to him to help him relax. He felt the weight return to his bed.

Lucifer laid down this time behind Adam leaving enough space between them. He started humming the melody of the song before softly singing the words. He watched as Adam physically relaxed and smiled. Lucifer pulled the blanket back slightly from Adam's head and gently ran his fingers through silky soft dark brown hair.

Adam felt his eyes grow heavy and he smiled small, he closed them and for a moment, just a moment, he could pretend he was back in Eden with his best friend and first love.

They both could pretend.

[valcubust-writes]

Read the Demo here! / art account is @valcubust​ / Da Spotify

...

2027, A voice transcript found on a recording device:

"...can be killed with fire, testing done in..." A french accent. "September of 2025. If I am counting correct."

. . .

"Now, with more testing I can hopefully learn more about them. Learn advantages. Sending someone out to rile them up. Will check in later."

...End transcript.

You're alive.

One survivor amongst thousands of dead. The actual death toll (if there was ever a record of it) is unavailable now. The world ended in 2026.

Now, four-hundred and twenty-three days later, you're here. In the outskirts of Scarswater, Ohio; you live in what used to be a small farming community. Once full of life and a bustling economy, but even before The End, the area had been steadily gentrified. Dead fields, closed businesses, and now, a beautiful wasteland of parking lots and unused plazas.  

Whatever caused it is unknown. Of course, you could ask everyone you know and they would all have their own ideas about what happened.

All that you know for certain is that in January of 2026, everything stopped working. Cellphones, computers, televisions... all electronics went on the fritz before shutting down entirely. After that, people started disappearing. Animals, too. And then went the crops, mass death of acres and acres of valuable foods and materials. All gone within six months. Mass hysteria ensued, people got scared, started hoarding goods. Everyone and their mother had a gun pointed right at the road, just in case anyone got any funny ideas.

And all of that was before the bizarre sightings.

The... things. Gooey, tar-like. They absorb, and absorb, and absorb.

You wondered, for a bit, how they could eat so much. But that thought has long passed. They have no limits, no voices, no care in the world except consume. How long until they finally consume you, too?

FEATURES

Play as a nonbinary, male, or female character; straight, bisexual, or gay.

Custom Pronouns (I'm considering adding duo pronouns as well. like, she/they etc.).

Choice for a ‘common’ name or something bizarre. In which characters will definitely recognize that you have named yourself something batshit.

Asexual routes (this is very important to me)!

A mildly customizable backstory

Several love interests

LOVE INTERESTS

Miles/Mindy (He/they, She/they): A surprisingly bashful stranger with a farmer's tan, M has the means to keep to themself alive and safe, so why are they bothering to make sure you make it, too? Circumstances have thrown the two of you together, whether or not they stick around is up to you.

Audria (They/them): Goofy and a little out of touch, Audria is a certified genius, not that it matters anymore. The key to your protection — and your group's — is them. They often head out of the camp to scavenge, and  know how to keep a car running. Audria is one of the few people still around who knows anything about electronics. They often seem preoccupied with something important, but Audria always makes time for you.

Calvin/Carissa (He/him, She/her): The unofficial leader of your group — not that they'd want to claim the title — C is in charge of food collection, distribution, and growing. They have a chill attitude about life, and a whole mess of conspiracies. Still, you wonder what's hidden behind all of the easy smiles.

Lola (She/her): Lola is an unfriendly, hot mess. You've never met someone so flighty in your life. She is distrustful and stubborn, and you suspect even the name she told you might be fake. It might be hard to get to know her.

Sandy (She/her, He/him, They/them (genderfluid)): Sandy is a transfer from the West Coast. during a yearly visit to family, they got caught up in an unfamiliar setting. Sandy floats about life, taking very little seriously. They remain fickle in just about every category in their life; they have an easygoing attitude and a tendency to make everything into a joke.

OTHER CHARACTERS

Bea, Preston, Courtney

Bea (She/her): Bea is soft and caring. Not just to you, but the other people in your group as well. Being the only person around with any knowledge about healthcare, she is charge of medical.

Preston (He/him): Preston is a proper hill-billy, not the most likeable of people, but you can't deny he's a good shot. Preston keeps watch and hunts for the group.

Courtney (She/her): The younger sister to C, Courtney juggles many tasks, usually helping out with what others are doing. She always wants to go with you when you leave.

The rest will join later!:)

WARNINGS

 Definitely some bad language, and slang that might not immediately understood by everyone. I’ll most likely include a glossary if it is too ‘Ohio’ of me.

A warning that there is definitely going to be reference to death and hardship (often), as well as active death among background/side characters.

I’m still waffling over a couple of the names I’ve chosen, but for now I think I’m satisfied with them. We shall see!

General warning for horror elements, there’s for sure going to be body horror in the future, and as well as I can write grotesque imagery.

Mentions/explicit depictions of drugs/alcohol/addictions/guns

content/trigger warnings for gender and body dysphoria, plus mild transphobia ( NOT EXPLICIT, it is implied, referencing a point in time in the past )

This setting is (obviously) very specific to me, as I’ve always wanted to tell a story about the type of scenery I see often. I’ve gotten to see a fun mix of rural yet urban in the area I live in that I haven’t seen someone really tackle before.

I’m also super busy, so writing will come pretty slow for me.

Important note: This story may be enjoyed by people who have the same tastes as me, but it’s mostly being written for myself! I love my characters dearly and it absolutely tickles me to see them finally coming to life in text. But it’s very sculpted to my preferences. This story is for me, and it is about my experiences and those I know closely. Give or take a few monsters.