#is that so difficult to write and manage?

[lavandulawrites]

could you write honkai star rail men with an escaped darling just like the genshin one but hsr version?💗

Yandere HSR Men with an Escaped Darling

Characters: Anaxa, Argenti, Aventurine, Blade, Boothill, Caelus, Dan Heng, Dr. Ratio, Gallagher, Gepard, Jiaoqiu, Jing Yuan, Luocha, Moze, Mr. Reca, Mydei, Phainon, Sampo, Sugilite, Sunday, Welt (all separate)

I had already started on this when you sent me the request anon:) This was so fun to write:) Yandere hsr scenario requests are open. Though I can’t promise I will do all the characters. Which part is your favourite and why? If you want to be apart of my taglist, let me know!<3

Masterlist

Genshin Impact version

Warnings: imprisonment, abduction, murder, violence, gore (Blade’s part especially), threats, drugging, manipulation, stalking, delusional behaviour, Stockholm syndrome, some yanderes are more unhinged than others, mind break, female reader (though only briefly mentioned in some parts), some parts are longer than others

Word count: 9646

Anaxa

The summer breeze welcomed you with a warm embrace as you set foot outside of Anaxagoras’ home. You were finally free. You let out a silent, but gleeful laughter. Finally. After all this time. Had you told yourself from a few months ago that you would manage to escape the professor a few months later, you would have thought you had gone mad. Maybe you had? Though that hardly mattered. All the things you could do flooded your mind and your nerves buzzed with adrenaline and excitement. The possibilities were endless. First you would have to lay low as you found a way out of the city. Going under the radar of the most intelligent person on Amphoreus was no easy feat, but you would have to think of something. You would have to scrape together enough money and you would have to change your appearance, get new clothes and maybe change your hairstyle. It would be extremely difficult, but you had no other choice.

You stretched your legs out in big steps as you stepped down from the stairs that led up to his home. The stone was cold underneath your bare feet, but you didn’t care. When you reached the bottom of the stairs, the sound of someone clearing their throat broke the tranquil silence. You shot your gaze towards the sound and let out a strangled gasp. There by the iron gates, stood Anaxagoras. His posture was rigid and his hands slightly clenched before they relaxed.

You both started at each other’s for a while, before he broke out into long strides towards you.

“What are you doing?” it wasn’t really a question as one could easily see that you clearly had attempted to escape. It was obvious he just wanted to hear you admit it. Admitting your misdeeds was something he found important (especially when it came to you). He eyed you up and down with a narrow eye, clearly displeased.

When your voice failed you and you only managed to let out a tiny sound, he sighed. “Get back inside. Now” he commanded. “It seems like I might have to teach you a lesson” he clicked his tongue. “A pity really. Here I thought that you already understood that stepping a foot outside is prohibited” he guided you inside with one hand on your lower back. He locked the door with the other hand. “This will have grave consequences. You truly don’t understand how dangerous Amphoreus has become.”

“Go to my study, I will be there in a few minutes.”

Argenti

The petals of a thousand red roses rained down upon you, covering you in their embrace almost choking you. They were a sign of love, a type of love you did not want. The little stream had turned a frightened red colour and if you stared long enough into the murky surface, you were sure you could see the souls of the people he had slain with his lance. For a Knight of Beauty he could be rather ferocious towards those he deemed a threat to your beauty. They never saw it coming as even as he started at them with hatred, his words still sounded like beautiful poetry one could find in ancient texts. Argenti was delusional and his delusions clouded his judgment. Your complains and cries fell on deaf ears as he continued to shield you from the ugliness of the universe. When it came to you, he saw you through his rose coloured glasses and everything he didn’t agree with he ignored. Ignorance was bliss they said and it was some truth in that. You hated yourself for falling for his carefully crafted compliments and his romantic style. You had fallen into his web and it was all too late to get out. You were stuck.

He called your name with his melodic voice, your name sounding like a prayer. You were the closest thing he could get to Idrilla and he was convinced the goddess had personally blessed you themselves. “Oh, my love. Why won’t you respond to me pleas? Why won’t you show yourself? The world is so bleak without you. All colours have drained and the flowers have withered into nothing but ash” his desperation was like no other. Had he not forcefully taken you away from your home in the name of love, your heart would have ached for him.

You sunk down into the stream, the water cold against your skin. Your white clothing soaked up the red like a sponge and you looked more like a ghost than a living person. You had no energy left nor hope. You were but a shell from your former self. All you could do was wait for him to come with his white horse, saving you like he always did.

The rose petals clung to your skin just like he did. The thorns were scattered across your form, changing you in.

He kneeled before you with a hand over his heart. Devotion was clear in his action and his emerald eyes filled with the horrible thing that was love. Argenti would rather burry the world in roses than loose his hold on you. This was true love.

Aventurine

“Please please please! I beg of you! Don’t kill me! I will do anything you ask of and more! Just- just don’t kill me!” the man kneeled before the Stoneheart whose face was cold and devoid of emotion. He was like nothing you had ever seen, his usual self gone and replaced with something sinister. Something more akin to a monster than a human. His blonde hair still looked as soft as it always did, but you could almost see two horns sprouting from beneath the locks. The more you watched him, the more you realised that the rumours you had heard about the Ten Stonehearts were true. They were devils.

You cowered behind the divan in the hotel room. Fearing for what’s about to come. “Aventurine, please” you pleaded. You didn’t want anyone to die because of you. You shifted your gaze from Aventurine to the man who had helped you escape. He was a kind middle-aged man. He would never harm you, though Aventurine didn’t believe that. He had said that he knew men way better than you and he knew how vile their thoughts were. Your pleads fell on deaf ears as Aventurine stalked towards the man. His beautiful multicoloured eyes narrowed and his jaw tight.

“He will pay for his misdeeds. Betraying me like this. How dare you” he sneered through gritted teeth.

“I just wanted to help her! Keeping her locked up is wrong! Please you must understand this!” the man cried bowing his head as fat tears rolled down from his eyes and plopped onto the ground. “I have a wife and kids! My daughter’s weeding is next week! I can’t miss it!” his voice broke into ragged sobs. His eyes flickered up to meet yours in a silent plea. Your heart tightened and sorrow consumed you. You were just about to open your mouth when Aventurine shoved his sleek dark brown designer shoe in the man’s face.

“Don’t look at her” his usually collected tone was fiery and deadly. He turned to you as he slipped his hand in his dress jacket pocket. “Close your eyes” magenta and blue eyes softened for a second before they turned away.

“No! Don’t!” you rushed forward from behind the divan and grabbed his arm.

He only shook your grasp off him as he said “Close your eyes. Now.”

Tears were overflowing your eyes and you were shaking so violently you thought you would pass out. You sunk down to the wooden floor as you tugged at his pant leg. “Please. He doesn’t deserve this!”

“Nonsense” you couldn’t see anything through your tears, but you could hear the sound of Aventurine loading his gun. The sound was sickening. “I will make sure to send your daughter your remains.”

The bang was piercing and you could feel it in your heart. You sobbed uncontrollably as you heaved for air. You weren’t the one who was shot, yet you felt like you were dying. Aventurine crouched down and pulled you into his arms. He shushed your sobs as he gently stroked your hair. “You are okay, I promise” he whispered. Your tears soaked his expensive shirt, but you didn’t care. The only thing you felt was guilt and you were certain it would kill you.

Blade

Many thought that the Stellaron Hunter when mara struck was the most frightening version of him, but you begged to differ. The most terrifying version of Blade was when he was his usual self. His lucidity was far more disturbing than when he was clouded with the need to destroy. Blade was a man that was near impossible to negotiate with, his stubbornness unyielding. When he had made up his mind there was absolutely nothing that could change it. You had long lost count of all those who had died because of him, because of you. He was a ticking time bomb.

The air was filled with the thick and heady scent of blood and rot. The grounds were filled with more corpses than you could count. The harbour on the foreign planet was painted in red, the blood still warm. Screams were everywhere and it made it difficult to orientate yourself. With the sounds of hell ringing in your ears, you made your way towards what you thought was the way towards a ferry. Nausea washed over you in waves with every inhale and you had to force yourself to not vomit.

Something shattered underneath your sole and you gulped before hesitantly looking down. Up stared the blank eyes of a man. The left side of his skull was completely shattered and your foot was inside the hollowness were his intact brain once was. His mouth was forever frozen in a silent scream, most likely a plead to spare his life that had undoubtedly fallen upon deaf ears. It was straight from your nightmares and you wondered for a second if you had died and found yourself in hell. The rest of his body was mangled to such a degree you wouldn’t have known it was a human body unless you had seen his head. You let out a shirking scream before you quickly scrambled to the side, clutching your stomach. You head was swimming and tears flowed freely from your eyes. You looked down at your shoe that was covered in brains, blood and some skull fragments.

You ran as fast as you could. He had by no doubt heard your scream and was right behind you. You couldn’t see him in the darkness of the night, but you could hear his maniacal laughter. Blade was getting closer and closer and you felt as if you were a helpless lamb getting chased by a vicious beast.

You stumbled over a severed arm and your body came into contact with the cold ground. Your head had smashed against a slab of cement in the process, causing it to crack slightly open. Warm blood ran down your skin and down onto your hands. It hurt and you were dizzy.

Bandaged fingers reached for you and you could feel yourself sinking into the abyss of hell. Like a venomous snake they wrapped around you, forever binding you to him. Wherever you went, death were sure to follow unless you accepted his deadly love.

Boothill

The gunslinger had kept you by his side as he moved from place to place. He was madly in love and even though his flirtation gave you butterflies and his silly romantic gestures played at your heartstrings, you still wanted to get far away from him. Boothill was a man who wore his heart on his sleeves, he had been through a lot and you almost felt bad when you snuck away.

Your guilt was short loved when wherever you went, you were met with corpses with more bullet holes that you could count. The sight was horrifying and disgusting, but it followed you no matter what you did. It was clear that Boothill was not pleased with your escape and took up it out on anyone he deemed deserving.

The music that was playing in the worn down bar was a romantic jazz song. The singer sung with yearning, in a way that reminded you of the cowboy. The lyrics were desperate and pleading, a classic that was well known throughout the cosmos. You sighed as you sipped the drink in your hand. Cheap red wine. The taste wasn’t satisfactory, but you didn’t care. You didn’t really like alcohol, but you needed to get your mind of things.

You knew he was the one who entered without looking behind you. The warmth of the alcohol turned into fire in your mouth as you braced for the worst.

“Hello darlin’” his voice breathy. “Duck” was all he said. Despite being slightly confused, you did as he said. After you ducked your head against the countertop, a gunshot could be heard. It echoed through your skull and you let out a yelp. A loud thud came from in front of you and you slowly looked up. The bartender who had been previously cleaning some glasses were now slumping against the countertop, a bullet hole had pierced straight through his skull, causing his brain matter to paint the cabinets behind him. The colourful bottles were now covered in red and pink-ish grime. You froze as you tried to scream, but no word came out.

“Sorry ‘bout that. Just can’t have men looking at what’s mine” he blew the smoke from the barrel of his revolver. “Let’s get goin’. We have a long way ahead of us.”

Caelus

“Come back! [Name] I love you!” Caelus screamed somewhere behind you. You had lost your sight of him as you quickly manoeuvred through the labyrinth like hallways of the hotel. You had to quick, lest the crazed Nameless would get his hold on you.

You pushed your legs as hard as you could and you ran faster than you had ever before.

Images of the nights you had spent together and the sweet memories you had made with him flashed through your mind. You tried to shake them away. Now was not the time to go down memory lane.

A foot came out from around the corner and tripped you. You watched in slow motion as the floor came closer and closer. A hand came under your midriff and pulled you up, just in time.

He pulled you into his embrace and his arms snaked around your waist tightly as he burrowed his head in your hair.

“Don’t ever run away from me. It’s dangerous. You will get hurt” he rambled frantically against your hair. “To think I almost lost you.”

You were completely frozen as the young man continued to go on and on about all the dangers of the universe. You were so tired and you couldn’t help the few tears of exhaustion that welled up in your eyes. Unsurprisingly, Caelus mistook your tears for anxiety of caused by all the frightening stories he had told you and he began to hush you.

“Shush, it’s okay. I got you. I will never let any harm happen to you. I promise” he gently stroked up and down your back in a soothing manner.

“I love you, I love you, I love you” his mantra echoed through your skull and you couldn’t help but feel defeated. You would never escape from him, all you could do was lose yourself to the sweet dreams that came to you at night.

Dan Heng

The water was akin to a black void as it swallowed everything except the pale moonlight. The waves were harsh as they crashed into the shore, splashing water everywhere. The smell of saltwater strong as you walked against the waves. The sand stuck to your bare feet, but you did not care. You were exhausted after days of running. You had managed to escape Dan Heng’s clutches as you had stopped on a foreign planet. You had decided for a midnight walk as you looked for your next shelter. Your muscles were aching and screaming for you to rest, but you couldn’t risk getting captured. You could only imagine his light cyan eyes filled with worry as he turned the entire planet upside down looking for you. You wanted to laugh at the image, but you couldn’t muster up the energy.

You thought back at all the time you had spent together with the Nameless and your heart ached. It fluttered within your chest like a dying star and you clutched your hand over it as if to comfort it. You couldn’t let your emotions take the steering wheel. Not now. A lone seagull flew over the shore as it looked for a place to rest its wings. Your eyes wandered from the bird and onto the dark night sky. The stars were endless and you envied them as they gazed down at you, carefree and free. You could almost hear his voice as he told you about all the constellations.

“That’s the Orion’s Belt. Beautiful is it not?”

Your eyes widened at the sound. Your imagination was good, but it could not possibly be that good. “Dan Heng…?” you called out with a smaller voice than you had intended.

He didn’t answer for a while as he continued to stargaze. Horns adorned his head and his hair gently swayed in the wind. “I found you. Finally” he sighed. He sounded exhausted and you almost felt bad.

“How?” you asked.

He turned his face towards you. “Your necklace” was all he said as his gorgeous eyes flickered down to the silver necklace that rested against the upper part of your sternum. Of course. Of course he had installed a tracker in your necklace. How could you be so foolish?

“Oh.” “Why did it take you so long?” you returned your gaze to the stars. It was almost as they pitted you as they blinked down at you.

“I suppose I wanted you to know how dangerous it is without me. And considering your bruises and cuts, I succeeded” Dan Heng’s voice was as gentle as the breeze that carried the scent of the sea. It gently ruffled your hair and stroked your cheek.

“I suppose you did” you admitted defeated. There was no point fighting it.

Dr. Ratio

The famed genius was away on a seminar which had left you with the opportunity to escape from his elegant home. You had managed to break the intricate locks on the heavy front doors with the help of some good old technological malfunction. Your heart was hammering so fast against your ribs as you swung the doors open that you thought your would die from heart attack (though the doctor would without no doubt bring you back to life). You knew the security cameras would get you on film, but you did not care. Not when you were so close to getting your old life back.

Oh how you missed your boring lazy days by the window of your living room, just lazing the day away with a silly romance manga and a stupid movie on in the background. You missed the days that Veritas had called unproductive and a waste of time and brain power. There was a time you had pinned for him from the distance at the small cozy cafe you both had frequently visited. You had been over the moon when the handsome man had taken a seat at your table and struck up a conversation about the classic you were reading. He had told you it was one of his favourite for years (however you weren’t sure if that was a lie or not).

You cast a glance back at the empty manor, the newly polished hard floors reflected the orange light of the soft afternoon sun. The same colour as his beautiful eyes. The eyes that always saw through you. Should you really run?

No! How could you think such things? You shook your head as you took off in a run. You had to be quick. He would be back. You knew that the location where the seminar took place was not far away from his home. Your home, but not anymore. Your lungs screamed as you ran. The sun was warm against your bare arms. The wind played with your hair like a lover would, raking its fingers gently through your strands. It reminded you of him. You clenched your teeth together. Now was not the time for reminiscing.

You don’t know how long you ran for, but it had to be hours. Your legs were aching so much they were shaking. Blood were rushing through your head so fast you could only hear the stream off blood. Your face had reddened and cold sweat stuck your t-shirt to your skin. Your vision was blurry and your breathing shortened as you wheezed. You had only gotten so far. Ratio’s house was on the outskirts of the city and you weren’t familiar with the area. You had ran in circles and despair had started to bloom in your chest. It was an ugly feeling and you wanted nothing more to throw it up together with your lunch. You contemplated to back home, but then he would by no doubt strengthen the security. But maybe you could convince him to give you freer rains? You groaned out loud as your thoughts were at war with each other’s.

You didn’t know how you found yourself before the gates of Ratio’s estate, but there you where. He was standing in the door way, his muscular arms crossed and his handsome face unreadable. With a bowed head you made your way over the gravel and up the small steps to him: your captor. You were nothing but defeated and you wanted to turn away and run, but for some reason found yourself unable to. Something was wrong with you, that was for sure. When you were only an arm’s length away from him, his arms uncrossed and he reached on off them out.

“I am glad you took to logic and returned home to where you belong. I was worried about you” his deep voice had softened and you felt sick. “Stay with me and I will keep you safe from everything” Veritas pulled you into an embrace “I love you [Name]. Remember that. Everything I do is for you.” You however missed the smug smile that tugged on his lips.

Gallagher

Gallagher was an enigma. Everything about him was a mystery that you could only hope to unravel. His past was a puzzle with pieces you couldn’t piece together. Why you became his subject of his obsession was nothing but a mystery. He had treated you kindly, but when you voiced that you wished to return to reality, his face had turned uncharacteristically hard, his warm red eyes turned cold and dark and his lips turned into a strained line. He had only said “no” with such finality you were taken aback. After that you had spent days planning your escape. Gallagher was a smart man and despite his supposedly carelessness he was always watching.

You had managed to slip through the cracks of the window and down onto the cold ground of the Dreamflux Reef. You were wearing soft slippers in order to make as little sound as possible. You slipped past the streets quietly, making sure none of the residents saw you. Everyone knew each others and everyone trusted Gallagher, if they saw you they would without doubt tell him and bring you back to his arms. You were still unfamiliar with the streets of the Dreamflux Reef and you tried to orientate yourself as you made your way towards where you thought the lift to where the “surface” might be. You passed multiple black hound statues and you tried to shake of the unease they gave you.

You let out a sigh of relief as you reached the elevator. The lift was nowhere to be seen and you could only wait for it to come back down. The shaft was empty and you stared down at the gaping abyss. The minutes ticked by and cold sweat had begin to coat your temples. The hinges started to screech as the lift slowly but surely made its way down. You cast a look over your shoulders to be sure you were all alone. Time was running out. The lift let out a soft ding and you turned your head back towards it.

Your blood froze and your eyes widened as a pair of blood red eyes stared back at yours. Fuck. You tried to turn on your heel and make a run for it, but the gate of the lift opened and out sprung a strong hand. He pulled you back and held you still with such strength that shouldn’t be possible for a human. “Where do you think you are going?” his tone was cold and hard. Gallagher’s usually sleazy voice was completely gone. “You are not leaving me. Ever” strong arms caged you in and all you could smell, see and feel was him.

Gepard

The snowy landscape of Beloborg was unbearable. Your boots sunk into the snow making walking hard and running near impossible. The harsh wind whipped against your cheeks. Your eyes were teary due to the cold weather. Thick snowflakes fell down from the grey skies enveloping everything in a thick white blanket. It was impossible to see more than a few meters in front of you.

A yell came from somewhere behind you in the dense snowfall. You could recognise the raw and desperate voice anywhere. The captain of the Silvermane Guards, Gepard. The same man who held you imprisoned in his home for your protection.

Cold air gripped your lungs in a searing hold every time you inhaled as you started to sprint. The snow was like the quicksand in the ancient books you had read in the library when you were younger. Your earlobes were raw and icy and you were sure they would fall off. The tip of your fingers were pale and under other circumstances, you would have been worried, but now was not the time.

You rounded a corner of an abandoned house with smashed windows. A figure appeared out of the snow storm in front of you. The silhouette leaped forward and dragged you closer by your hand.

“Why on earth are you running away? Don’t you know how dangerous it is out here?!” Gepard’s voice was loud and laced with panic. His blue eyes were wide as the quickly raked over you, looking for any injuries. “You could have been killed! Do you understand?” his voice died down as he pulled you into a tight huge. “You are going back home with me. It seems like I will have to upgrade the locks” he whispered against your hair as he kissed your head. “I love you.”

Jiaoqiu

The foxian was a cunning man who was overly cautious regarding you. He had experienced much pain and suffering, which explained why he treated you like porcelain doll and why he refused you to leave his home. He had put in a lot of thought when it came to preventing your escape. He had however, not thought of the possibility that you would smash the living room window and climb out.

The sharp edges of the broken glass had pierced through your forearms and sliced them open, causing warm red rivers to run down your skin and soil your clothes. You clenched your jaw tightly shut as you jumped out and landed rather graceless on the soft grass underneath. You should stop the bleeding, but freedom was calling. A call that you couldn’t ignore.

Your legs ran as fast as they could and the pain in your arms had dulled to nothing but a sting in the back of your mind. Your eyes were wide as you scanned your surroundings for the familiar pink hair. Being caught now would by no doubt bring you more punishments than you had ever experienced and that was something you wished to avoid (naturally). Your traditional Xianzhou- style slippers slapped against the cobblestone as you rounded corner after corner. You needed to either find a Cloud Knight or a Starskiff. You abruptly stopped in your tracks as you heard the approaching footsteps coming from around the corner of the alleyway. The hairs on the back of your neck rose and you knew who was approaching. You spun on your heal and were about to take off when you heard the all too familiar gentle voice.

“Where do you think you are going?” his tender voice had a biting edge to it. You didn’t need to turn around to know he was furious. All your resistance vanished and your feet were stuck to the ground. Fury and disappointment was oozing from the foxian behind you.

You slowly turned around. His handsome face was twisted into a deranged smile. His ears were slightly pinned back and his fangs barred. You gulped at the sight.

“Not going to explain yourself?” He tilted his head slightly. His smile widened further as he took a step forward and reached for your arm. Even though he was unable to see you expression, he was able to hear your frantic heartbeat. “I won’t ever let any harm fall upon you. Ever. I cannot bear to lose you. You understand, don’t you? You wouldn’t let an old man like me suffer again, am I right?” his arms wrapped around your arms, trapping you. He inhaled your scent like a ravenous beast and you felt like those who had had the misfortune of being his prey and suffered the strike of his butcher knife. You were trapped.

Jing Yuan

People were going to die for this. People were going to die because of you. Blood would be on your hands. You would have to live with it for the rest of your life and there was nothing you could do about it. It was too late. It was too late when you had stepped foot out of the sanctuary you and the general shared. The general who was so in love with you it made him mad. He was a dangerous man.

You could hear the blood splattering in the not-so-far distance. He was close, almost breathing down your neck. You regretted ever asking for directions. You regretted escaping. The screams grew louder and the sickening sound of a claymore slicing through flesh became more audible. You prayed to whatever Aeon that might listen that he wouldn’t find you. You had hid behind a closed kiosk in the rather empty and forgotten street. You closed your eyes tightly together as you tried to steady your breathing. The cries stopped and the air fell eerily silent. Your hairs stood on end and your instincts told you to run. But where could you run? The alley was a dead end.

“[Name]. I know you are there. Please come out. I won’t hurt you.” Jing Yuan. He sounded oddly calm and it only made you more anxious.

“You are safe. I promise. You know I keep my promises, don’t you” no he didn’t. He hadn’t kept his promise when he told you, you would be able to roam freely outside of the house and away from him. It was all a lie, a lie he had crafted in the name of protecting you.

You didn’t scream, you didn’t hide and you didn’t run when he crossed the corner of the kiosk where you were crouched behind. He gently smiled down at you, revealing his charming dimples. “There you are my love. Let’s get you home” if he was angry, he didn’t show it. Jing Yuan’s soft white hair was speckled with crimson and his clothes stuck to his form soaked with blood. The scent of iron clung to him, but he didn’t seem to care. He noticed your frightened expression as your eyes raked over him and his face softened. “My apologies, you shouldn’t see me like this. How tactless of me” he scooped you up in his arms like you weighed nothing, and to him you probably did. “Let’s take a nice bath, shall we?” he kissed your cheek, blood smearing your skin and tainting you.

Luocha

Your eyes raked over the blackboard menu. The cafe had a great variety of tea and coffee and a lots of different cakes that looked mouthwatering. What to pick. You ended up with getting a cup of apple and cinnamon tea and a slice of chocolate cake. You found a table in to corner of the restaurant, hidden away but with clear view of the entrance. In case he decided to show up. You lifted the beautiful tea cup up to your lips. It’s floral design pink and red with hints of green. You tried to take a sip from the steaming hot tea, but your lips burned and you hissed out in pain. You gave it a few blows before enough sat it down again in order for it to cool. Your attention turned to the cake. It wasn’t too big nor was it too small. It was just right in size. The buttercream was fluffy and the cake spongy. You pushed the fork into your moth and sighed at the taste. It was truly delicious. You needed this. You deserved this after all the days you had been on the run from the travelling merchant.

You needed to unwind, only if just slightly. Your muscles were stiff from all the anxiety that constantly ran through your veins. If Luocha had been there he would have made your soreness disappear. He would take care of you, but that wasn’t enough. You wanted to be free, not chained to a man whose line of work was even more enigmatic than Mythus themselves. You were young, with dreams and a future ahead of you.

You held the tea had cooled down slightly and you lifted it to your lips once more. The sweet and round aroma of apple and cinnamon filled your nose as you inhaled. You took a big sip of the tea. It was just as good as you had imagined. You leaned slightly back in the vintage sofa as you continued to sip your tea. After a while you cake was finished and your tea cup empty. You decide to sit for a while to let the food digest. The minutes flew by and your eyes grew blurry. Your head started to drop, but you weren’t tired. Your arms had lost most of their strength and you struggled to grip the table as you tried to steady yourself. The cafe and the guests in, it all blurred together and all sound muffled.

In your hazy state you didn’t notice the approaching figure nor did you pick up on what he said.

“Thank you. This favour will be remembered.”

The footsteps came to an halt by your table. Your eyes were open, but your mind was somewhere far away. You had been drugged. Despite your weakened state, panic had taken over you and your breathing had turned rapid.

“Are you feeling sleepy, darling?” a soft chuckle followed. Cold long fingers brushed away a few strands from your damp and feverish forehead.

You let out a strangled whine. “You drugged me.”

“No no, I didn’t. It was the lady who owns this lovely cafe” he shushed you. Your eyelids pulled back slightly as you took in his face. He was akin to an angle, whose beauty made your heart ache. His green eyes sparkled like emeralds as he gazed down at you. “I have been following you since your little escape” he kissed your forehead, seemingly uncaring about your sweat. “You are so adorable. Sweet dreams” he kissed you one last time before he gathered you up in his strong arms. His soft hair gently tickling your cheekbones. Sleep awaited you and you could feel yourself slipping away slowly but surely, you could only dread what you would wake up to.

Moze

The shadows reached for you with boney hands. They were hungry for your flesh. You could feel him, even though you couldn’t see him. Just like he wanted. He was stalking you like a hungry wolf stalked a helpless lamb. You had rented a little flat. It was rather shabby with wires sticking out from the ceiling where lamps had hung before the landlord decided to take them down for whatever reason. The floor was creaky and you got splinters if you walked on it barefoot. It was a hellhole, but everything was better than being held prisoner by the assassin. He said it was for your own good, for your protection, but you found it hard to believe him. You weren’t anyone special so you doubted the dangerous men he spoke off would be after you.

Walking alone at night had always been dangerous (with Moze in your life or not). The Mara struck, gang members and men with evil intentions were all something to be cautious of. Though now you had to worry about the grey haired man. The streets were dark and the lamps flickered slightly. It was a shady place, one that you happened to live by. It was idiotic to be walking alone at night, but you had no choice. You were terribly hungry and all your food in the fridge had turned bad so you had no choice to take a trip to the only store that was open at this hour.

Footsteps sounded from the other end of the street, in the direction of the store. A heavy lump in your stomach formed at the sight of four haggard staggering men. The were all bigger and appalled than you and could without quickly overpower you should they want to. They had spotted you and one of them let out a low teasing whistle. It made bile rise up in your throat and fear spread through you. You had to act fast or this would be the end of you. However, before you even got to make the decision to fight or flee, a mist of black and purple appeared before you.

Faster than what your eyes could pick up, he had leaped forward and slashed through the men. Crimson blood spurted from their necks like a fountain and it rain down on Moze like warm summer rain. The sight made you sick and you had to bite your tongue in order to not throw up. He turned to face you with a determined expression. His hands were soaked with blood and the red coating coat the dim light in its reflection.

Suddenly he was in front of you. He gripped your face with his hands, for once not caring about the mess. “It’s dangerous without me” was all he said as he dragged you home. You should have known better. You would never escape him.

Mr. Reca

Escaping a Memokeeper was nigh impossible, but you would be damned should you not give it a try. It was no secret that the famed director Mr. Reca was insane. However, it was not known how far his insanity ran. He was nothing if not obsessive and his obsession with documenting memories was nothing like the obsession he had for you. Though he didn’t seem intimidating, save for his crazed eyes and unhinged behaviour, he was far from harmless. Even after all those long months of knowing him, you did not know about the true extent of his powers. Therefore you had to be extremely cautious when coming up with an escape plan. He had access to your memories and he could alter them at will (though he seemed to prefer not to as he wanted you to be just yourself, which was something you appreciated).

Your breath was ragged as you ran across the streets. You ran over the crosswalks without looking and you nearly ran multiple people over. You didn’t have time to look back. Not when freedom was waiting for you with open arms. Before you knew it you found yourself in an ally that led to a dead end. The sudden sound of a camera shutter going off sliced through the silence like a sharp blade.

“Brilliant! Truly magnificent! You are beautiful even utterly helpless! Oh am I glad I got this on camera” the energetic voice of the brown haired director made your blood freeze. In the blink of an eye he was in front of you, showing a black vintage camera in your face. “Smile darling! You are on video!” The shutter went off with the speed of lightning. “I shall call this documentary: “The Failed Escape Attempt”! What do you think my love? Isn’t that fitting?”

Mydei

The roars of the crown prince of Castrum Kremnos echoed across the ruins. The moon hung high in the black night sky, watching over you. You wanted to reach towards it, to feel her feather light touches. You envied her freedom.

Another battle cry sounded through the ruins and you picked up your pace. You had to get out of Kremnos before Mydei found you. You were running out of time, Mydei was after all a demigod whose strength far surpassed any human. He was fast, extremely so, and if he found you he would reach you before you even managed to blink.

Screams of dying titankin was getting closer, meaning your pursuer was hot on your tail. Your lungs were screaming at you to stop and the taste of blood filled your mouth. You jumped over lose stones and broken walls and you ducked between openings in the broken façade.

A red crystal appeared before you like a spear sent from the heavens above, stoping you in your tracks. You spun on your heels to run the other direction, but you collided in the hard chest that belonged to no other than Mydei. His hands were quick to take a hold onto your shoulders. The talons of his gauntlets burrowing in your flesh. You hissed out in pain as you tried to escape his grasp. He looked down at you with a deadly stare. His eyebrows were furrowed and the corners of his mouth pulled downwards in a frown. To say he was mad was an understatement. You could feel the fury radiate from his toned body, choking you in its intensity.

He didn’t say a word as he dragged you back to the room where he kept you. He steps were long and determined and you had to jog in order to keep up with his long legs. His back was tense and his muscles were strained. Multiple veins were popping out from his neck and arms, but he still controlled his grip on your forearms so it wasn’t too hard. Bruised had already started to form and it didn’t seem he noticed (or cared for that matter).

He flung the door open and threw you in. Mydei just stared at you silently before he closed the door. The lock clicked signalling the end of your short lived freedom.

Phainon

“Please come out” a twig snapped “I know you are there!”

You shrunk further into the bush. You hoped that the big boulder would be able to conceal you. Your ears were on alert and they picked up every little sound. You eyelids were peeled far back as they scanned your surroundings.

“[Name]! Where are you?” his was getting closer. His voice was loud and frantic. You could clearly hear his worry that bled through his words. You knew he would stop at absolutely nothing in order to get back what was his.

Phainon was a possessive man and his possession spiralled further out of control for each day that passed. His sweet caring façade had started to crack and underneath lurked a madman. He was still overly sweet, so much so that it suffocated you. His overprotective behaviour was overwhelming and you felt as if he was breathing down your neck every second off your waken moment, always making sure you were alright. You were confined to his home in Okhema, the holy city. His house were rather spacious, yet you felt the walls creeping in, squeezing you against their weight.

The boulder that cowered the bush was thrown away with enough force that it shattered. Deranged icy blue eyes stared unblinking down at your pitiful form. His clothes were ripped from running through the dense woods and his face was littered in small cuts. Though it didn’t seem he had noticed them. For his attention was only on you. As it always was. For Phainon it was always you. No one else could even hope to rival the intense love he held for you. His nostrils were flared as he inhaled and exhaled fast. He leaned down and kneeled in front of you. He mad himself smaller as he reached a hand out towards you as if you were a scared animal (though there was some truth in that).

“I won’t hurt you” Phainon’s voice was soft. A small smile tugged on his lips when you hesitantly took his hand. “Good girl” he gently stroked the back of your hand.

You stared down at your hand in his much bigger one, and you could see the chains tightening around your interlocked hands, forever chaining you to him.

“Let’s run us a nice hot bath. We can use your favourite soap if you would like” he spoke to you, but his words went unregistered by you. You could only watch as your freedom became further and further away from your out stretched hand.

Sampo

“Oh how I have missed you my dear!” arms leaped out from the shadows, knocking the air out of you. Your throat ran dry. How did he manage to find you in Penacony? You had left Jarilo-IV as soon as the planet opened up for interstellar travel. You had thought you would be safe. Safe from this lunatic.

You tried to wriggle out of his hold, but he was way too strong. “Let me go” you sneered.

“Nah ah! No can do! Not when I finally have you in my arms again” Sampo tightened his hold on you like a snake and he buried his head in your hair and inhaled. He let out a moan like the freak he was. Anger boiled within you.

“Let. Me. Go. Now!” you sneered louder this time. He only tsk-ed as he placed a kiss on your cheek.

“You’re so adorable when you’re angry” he snickered. He let go of you with one of arms as he reached up and pinched your cheek. “So cute!”

“I told you I never wanted to see you again. Why can’t you get that into your thick skull?!” you pulled back from his grip.

At your harsh words his smile fell and his expression hardened. His usually bright and mischievous eyes narrowed and the hand that been pinching you fell to his side. He swallowed slowly “Oh really? Is that so…” His eyes flickered from yours down to his feet and up. “You really should be kinder to good ol’ Sampo.”

“And why should I? You kidnapped me! You fucking psychopath!” you hissed through gritted teeth.

“Because your family is still in Belobog. I know where they live. I mean, of course I do, I know everything about you after all” his voice were more serious than what it usually was. He lowered his tone “It would be a shame if anything were to happen to them.”

Colour drained from your face as you stared up at him in horror.

“Just kidding! Haha you should have seen your face!” he gave you another kiss, this time longer lasting and more possessive. “But seriously though, don’t do anything stupid” he whispered.

Sugilite

The maid walked with hurried steps as she dragged you through the magnificent hallways of the mansion that belonged to one of the Ten Stonehearts. Her hold on your wrist was tight and it would by no doubt leave bruises. Her heels clicked against the dark mahogany flooring and it was a stark contrast to your hushed steps. Your socks were slippery against the newly polished floor and you had to concentrate in order to not slip and fall. Your heart was drumming against your chest.

She said nothing as she pulled you closer and closer to the awaiting wolf. The wolf who didn’t seem to ever get enough of you. He was a monster. A true beast that took on the skin of a human and lived along side them. Sugilite was a man many feared and that with good reason. He took pleasure in ruining people’s lives and he often told you about those instances over dinner (much to your dismay).

She swung the tall doors open that lead to the main living room. She bowed deeply before she fully entered. “Here she is, my Lord.”

She yanked your hand and you followed her inside. The room was dimly lit by only candles and a violet lamp that stood by the corner. The curtains of large windows that overlooked the garden was drawn open, letting the pale moonlight through. The master of the house himself was sitting comfortably in a deep velvet arm chair. His tapped his fingers against the deep purple armrest as he looked up at you. His legs were crossed and he reminded you of a king sitting upon his throne.

“Running away?” he chuckled “Not the wisest decision really…” He turned to the maid. “You are dismissed” he waved his hand.

With a bow she hurried out of the room as fast as she could without running. Sugilite’s attention was yet again on you. “Did she drag you?”

You swallowed before you shook your head. “No” you muttered. The maid had been nasty, but you didn’t want her to face any consequences. Not by the hands of someone as eager as Sugilite.

“Oh yeah? Then why is your hand all red?” he rose his brow.

Your mouth ran dry “It’s nothing.” You quickly hid it behind your back.

“I don’t believe you. Not that it matters. I needed some new staff anyway. Consider this you doing me a favour” a grin spread across his face. “Aww don’t look so beat up. You got yourself to worry about, no need to worry about her”. “I won’t take your little stunt so lightly. I have spoiled you too much” at your fearful expression he laughed. “Take a good look at the outside, because it’s going to be a long time till you will see it again.”

Sunday

You were strapped to a sky blue embroidered chair. It was antique and looked like it belonged in a museum. “You have wounded me” Sunday’s melodic voice sounded from your left. He was behind you, slightly leaning down. His hands were clasped behind his back, his back straight. You tried to tug on your restraints, but the white fabric only dug into your skin, making it red with irritation. The pleasant scent of his refined cologne (one that without doubt cost more than what you had earned in a month when you were still allowed to work) filled your nose as you breathed short breaths. The normally calming scent had now turned into nothing more than the stench of impending doom. The feathers of his wing gently brushing against your cheek and you were once again reminded of the tale of the helpless bird he had saved when he was a child. He had often referred you to said bird and he often mused over your likeness.

He had kept you in a gilded cage (both metaphorical and literally), but he had understood the need for you to stretch your legs. Boredom was the killer of the mind. Sunday had preached to you about the paradise he was building he promised you that you would get the best treatment of all. Everyday he drilled into you the dangerous of the outside world, the weak could not survive on their own after all, and for each day that passed by, the more you believed him.

Had it not been for a careless newly employed servant who had left the door open by a mistake, it would not be certain that you would ever try to escape. You had been terrified, but the allure of the outside world was too strong. You had only gotten a few hundred meters from the Dewlight Pavilion, when the familiar feeling of being watched crept over you.

It had all happened so fast. Rainbow shapes flooded your vision and something familiar yet foreign invaded your mind, taking control like one would a puppet. His voice echoed from within your mind, speaking words you could not understand. Then blackness took over and your body fell into his arms.

“I have been perfectly clear that wandering outside of the walls off the estate it strictly forbidden. Any transgressions against this rule will be punished” you couldn’t see him, but you could feel his presence like the blade of an executioner. You had been clinging to your sanity for so long, but you could now feel it slowly slipping between your grasp. An invisible blade pierced through your mind and thoughts alike, making you whine in agony. The pain was unbearable and breathing became difficult. You slumped forward as much as the bindings let you, the fabric cutting into your chest like a knife.

“It’s time you learn your place. I have shown you so much kindness, yet I get nothing back in return” Sunday was now in front of you with his hands folded in front of him. The dim lighting of the office made his face eerily beautiful. You tried to say something, but your words got stuck in your throat. His brows furrowed as if he had heard your protests (and knowing him he probably could). His mouth flattened into a thin line. “I have been nothing but mercifully, but you have ignorantly ignored it and only given me coldness in return. It is only in due time that I do this” his voice was icy and completely devoid of humanity. “Relax and the pain will be brief. I am doing this because I love you.” The familiar darkness swept over you once again.

Welt

The scent of coffee from the small coffee shop you and found yourself in was overwhelming. You had been quick to escape the Express after it had stopped on a small planet for some errands. Your eyes scanned the soundings for your captor and you sighed in relief when he was nowhere to be seen. The familiar sight of red hair made you pause. Himeko? Hope washed over you and you made your way towards her with quick steps. She was sitting at a corner table, sipping a cup of black coffee. Her eyes widened when they spotted you and she waved you over.

“[Name]?” she tilted her head in confusion. “What are you doing here?”

“Himeko! You’ve got to help me! It’s Welt. He has gone absolutely mad!” the words had already spilled from your lips before you had blinked.

“Mad? I don’t think I understand…” she rose her eyebrow.

“No please believe me! He has held me captive in his room for all this time! He is fucking insane!” you took a seat upside of her and spoke with a frantic hushed tone. You looked over your shoulder from time to time, looking for the familiar brown eyes.

She sighed. “[Name], it’s Welt we are talking about. I want to believe you, but he is the kindest man I have ever met. He is my best friend and I doubt he would ever do such thing.”

Why didn’t she believe you? You blinked at her with disbelief. “I swear I am telling the truth! You have to help me!” you plead. Tears stung behind your eyes, but you refused to let them fall.

She chuckled defeatedly like a mother would when her child told her about their imaginary monsters. She gently patted your hand that was curled into a fist in the table. “Don’t worry too much, Welt is a good man.”

“Listen to me! I swear I am telling you the truth!” you cried out in anger and frustration.

Her golden eyes flickered up at something behind you before they flickered back down at you.

“Thank you Himeko. I owe you one” a deep baritone rattled through your chest. Cold sweat coated at your neck and you couldn’t get yourself to turn around. If you did it would all be too real.

A big hand rested on your shoulder.

“Of course. This is the least I could do. I am sorry [Name], but I can’t help you” Himeko gave you a pitiful look.

Filled with betrayal you glared at Himeko. “How could you” you sneered though it was no more than a broken whisper. Despite your hurtful tone, she only softened her gaze.

The hand on your shoulder gave you a gentle squeeze as his thumb drew circles. “Let’s go back, love. You have had enough adventure for today” a soft kiss was pressed to your cheek.

You glanced back at Himeko as Welt led you out of the cafe. His arm was secure around your waist as if he was afraid you would fly away with the autumn wind.

Taglist:

@dimestrella @hoo-hoo @yae-yu127 @deathrespect @1mlilith @pinkvoidfishcash @justboredforreal

[utopeian]

be sweet to me

SUMMARY Bob notices that you're painfully shy to initiate physical touch and takes matters into his own hands. Literally.

PAIRING bob reynolds x gender neutral!reader

GENRE fluff, slight humor, established relationship

WORD COUNT 1.7k

WARNINGS a lot of oh's, reader is a working civilian, bob & reader's relationship is fairly fresh, no Y/N mention

AUTHOR’S NOTE requested! i listened to japanese breakfast's be sweet on loop while writing this, enjoy!

The city’s usual hustle and bustle has died down a little considering it was the middle of the afternoon, the sky was bluer and brighter and clearer than usual, soft music murmuring from the cafe’s hidden speakers. Or maybe it was because you were with Bob that everything happened to feel a little lighter.

You’re in disbelief that a man has made you think and feel this way.

You were in the middle of a discussion with Bob about the new book he picked up when your phone vibrates on the table. You shut your eyelids just to roll your eyes under them and redirected your focus back on Bob.

However, he also got distracted and pointed out, “aren’t you going to check that?”

You are, but you knew once you confirmed it was a message from your job, you’d have to burst the comfortable bubble you were sharing with your boyfriend. The title still felt incredibly new, in the awkward, squeaky clean way. In the way that makes you tiptoe around it to make sure the dirt from your shoes don’t soil the shiny ground.

“I— yeah, I probably should.” You sigh, getting the inevitable over and done with.

You see that the notification was, in fact, from your co-worker. Something about needing you to come in at the last minute, revoking your day-off privilege with a promise of giving it back some other time instead. Yeah right.

You grumble to yourself— or so you thought, not used to having a partner with heightened hearing— before putting your phone face down with a little more force than necessary, “I can’t believe I thought I could ever get a day away from work.”

(Bob doesn’t know if it’s acceptable to admit that he finds your annoyance attractive.)

It’s not that you found it difficult or that your co-workers gave you a hard time, but rather it gets tedious and boring at times. Sitting in front of a screen waiting for clients to get back to you regarding revisions and cramming them because it was their fault they didn’t email back right away didn’t sound so appealing right now. You didn’t really have the liberty of choice, though. So much for living in New York.

“Bob, I’m so sorry to end our date here, but I’m being summoned to work.” You sadly tell him. The hand you rest on top of your phone itches to reach over and hold his own that cradles his drink, but you manage to will it otherwise; it takes your whole being not to touch him. Too soon, you think to yourself, don’t scare him away.

He noticed the way your fingers shifted slightly towards his direction, eager to finally feel your hands intertwine. Keeping his eyes on your regretful expression instead, he waits for you.

Your hand never found his.

Bob slumps in his seat out of disappointment due to two things now. But living with a bunch of retired assassins forced into public duty has desensitized him from taking conversations cut short too personally.

He shakes his head to recover, a reassuring smile now resting on his lips. “Don’t apologize, I get it. The others also have times when they need to leave abruptly in the middle of conversations.” 

You’re sure he didn’t mean to, but now you just feel like more of an asshole. As you sluggishly start doublechecking your things, you ask him something out of curiosity. “Do you ever join them?”

He thinks about it a little, trying to see if there have been instances that he tags along because he was also summoned with them. “Hmm. No, not often. Too many risks involved.”

Half of your attention was towards fixing your bag but you manage to nod thoughtfully, listening as he vaguely recalls a time he actually joined The New Avengers to an important meeting, not wanting him to expound further if he wasn’t comfortable.

Before you had gotten together officially, when he knew he could trust you more than the level of friends, Bob had forced himself to open up a conversation with you about everything: his fucked up past, how he landed in Malaysia, and the time he had lost control of his strength and engulfed almost the entirety of the city in darkness.

You heard it all. And you decided to stay.

(If you put it that bluntly, it doesn’t exactly sound… romantic. There were obviously more nuances you considered before dating him.)

You lift your head up to see Bob already looking at you patiently and attentively, both his hands still on the paper to-go cup. You give him a little nod to indicate that you’re good to go if he is. He acknowledges it, standing first to be by your side before you get up. Cute.

Bob throws the empty cups in the garbage bin beside the receiving area; you hadn’t even noticed that he also grabbed your trash.

The barista by the counter says ‘come back soon!’ as the two of you exit, the little chimes above the glass door clinking to announce your departure from the cafe. The two of you walk a minor distance to stand outside by the glass display, not wanting to cover the doorway.

Your thumb slides under the handle of your bag, pretending to readjust it on your shoulder because you don’t know what to do with your hands yet, still painfully hesitant to reach for Bob’s. You peer up at him shyly. “Um, this is where we part ways, I suppose.”

He blinks at you owlishly, your concern only grows when he says a single syllable defeatedly.

“Oh…”

You blink back at him. Anyone intently watching your interaction from a distance might think you were communicating through morse code. “‘Oh’? What, ‘oh’?”

Bob fiddles with the sleeve of his soft sweater, eyes looking away from yours every few seconds. He can feel his face getting warmer and he’s sure you can physically see it.

“I, uh, wanted to walk you to work to… make sure you get there safely. I–If that’s alright with you, of course.”

Oh.

You’re stunned. You know it’s the bare minimum, but you can’t help but be surprised that anyone ever thinks to be a decent person nowadays. The rise of assholes, you suppose. “No, yeah. That’d be perfect, Bob. Thank you.”

He waves you off then stops his hand out right in front of you. Again, what is it with this man just being an annoyingly perfect gentleman? You felt the blood in your veins freeze, thinking he was going to ask for your hand, before he offered, “I can hold your bag.”

Your mistake for thinking he wanted to hold your hand, too! Whatever. You put your harmless bitterness aside to thank him again and give him your handbag, keychains rattling at the motion. Bob looks for the source of the noise, eyes lighting up once he sees the charms hanging on the side of your bag’s buckle.

You start walking towards the direction of your work building as he follows, cradling your purse cautiously in his arms to inspect your decorations and points one out. His finger taps on a sun-shaped charm inspired by the opacity of suncatchers.

“I like this one.”

Your eyes move from the street in front of you to what he was looking at.

…Oh.

“Me too, it’s my favorite,” you share, yet you’re reluctant to verbalize what you want to admit to him. Fuck it.

“I actually bought it ‘cause it reminded me of you.”

Your pace picks up nervously as your eyes immediately fleet anywhere except for the presence to your right; at a rat making its way down the subway stairs, strangers haphazardly crossing the road, a distant digital billboard blinking colorful images out.

Too frantic at the idea of Bob being weirded out at your confession, you don’t realize that he had finally shouldered your bag to reach out for your hand. The moment his palm slides into yours, your whole body is electrified. You love it.

You jolt to look over at him, a shy grin on his face, clearly pleased with your reaction. You realize that he had noticed your reservations and took matters into his own hands. Literally. You mirror his expression in double the glee.

From that moment to when you finally arrive in front your office, your hands never once detached from the other.

“This is where we part ways, I suppose.” You smile at him cheekily, parroting what you had told him earlier. 

Bob gives you your handbag; you almost forgot about it. His face hurts from smiling. Your moods are contagious. “For real this time, then.”

“Yeah…”

You really don’t want to go and Bob really doesn’t want to leave. But duty calls and bills and dates and gifts won’t pay for themselves. This time, you’re the one to take the step forward first, wrapping your arms around his shoulders.

The way you bring him into the embrace is rigid at first but once you feel his body reciprocate, you melt together perfectly. You can’t believe you were nervous to hug Bob.

Pulling away seems like a foreign concept to you, so he does it for you, knowing your work desk awaits your arrival. He didn’t know he was capable of grinning this widely, laughing at your playful pouting.

He thinks you’re about to bid him a verbal farewell when you take another step closer, placing a delicate lip gloss-coated kiss on his cheek. He feels the same exact electricity you had felt minutes ago. You whisper when you pull away, gazing meekly into his affectionful eyes. “Thank you for today, Bob. I really enjoyed it, even if it was cut short.”

“Thank you too, I also had fun.”

You just look at each other, rocking your feet. After a moment of sweet silence, you finally point at your building with your thumb along with an exaggerated look of disgust playing on your features, sighing dramatically to get a laugh out of him. You think his laugh is cute.

Unwillingly, you turn your back on him to move forward, only to turn around a millisecond after. Bob’s still there, looking at you so lovestuck, hand awkwardly raising to wave. You giggle, finally taking your eyes off him and walking into reality.

Damn, you’re in deep.

[prettycalla]

|| genua ||

Pairing: Geta/Reader

Summary: The blade of a sword brings to light a new side to your stoic husband. (Prompt fill)

Word count: 4.5k

Tags and warnings: Very appropriate use of a sword (putting your annoying husband in his place - Geta's way into it though, don't worry), period-typical sexism, a little suggestive at the end but no actual smut, as historically accurate as I could manage, Geta is a nuisance (affectionate), empress!reader, reader is she/her, no use of Y/N.

(Welcome back to another round of 'I'm gonna bully Geta onto his knees'. This took way longer to write than I'd like to admit. A big thank you once again to @getaapologist for the idea and for brainstorming with me - you're the best!)

Geta Masterlist || Fic Masterlist || Taglist

The title of Empress is certainly a grand thing to hold, but often in name alone. You were to quick to realise that much of your role would involve accompanying your husband on many of his duties, such as meetings with respected figures and tours of important buildings. It is often difficult to remain as graceful and dignified as tradition dictates, especially when you are as warm and dreadfully bored as you are now.

Much of the afternoon has been dedicated to overseeing the affairs of the Roman armoury. For Geta, at least. You have been left in charge of keeping your hot-headed brother-in-law entertained and trying not to faint. Neither are easy tasks.

Caracalla sits in the chair next to yours, entirely slumped into it in frustration. He has been digging at a loose thread in his robes for the last fifteen minutes or so, growing more and more restless as he is forced to wait.

You, by contrast, attempt to remain upright, but are feeling very much like a wilting flower, as you watch Geta hold conversation with the man next to him.

You can tell that the cloying heat is affecting him as well, if the rising red flush along the back of his neck is any indication.

Caracalla huffs a long, loud sigh, and not for the first time. You turn to look at him. He is the very image of an impatient child. He looks exactly how you feel.

"What is the point of a tour of an armoury if I am not allowed to touch anything?" he mutters irritably, pulling at the loose thread with such violence that it is a wonder he does not tear a hole in the fabric.

You gently place a hand over his, to calm him. He looks up at you then.

"Will you not speak to him?" he asks, rather petulantly. "I wish to leave. Now."

You know that there is no point. Geta will tell you that he must attend to his duties as Emperor, and you will return to your seat, worse for wear from having had to leave it in the first place, and this conversation with Caracalla will repeat once more, and you will rise to speak with Geta again, and so on, ad infinitum.

Before you can gather the energy to attempt to explain this, you notice that Geta is in the midst of crossing the room to you.

You sit up a little straighter, in the hope that it is finally time to leave.

"A marvellous arrangement, is it not?" he asks, taking your hand as you raise it to him.

"Quite," you reply politely, as Caracalla scuffs his sandals loudly against the floor with yet another impatient sigh.

Geta turns his attention to his brother then.

"Whatever is the matter?" he inquires, his brow furrowed slightly. "I would have thought that you would be ecstatic to visit such a place."

Caracalla scoffs. "What good is it if I am to look and no more?"

Geta holds his tongue - as you do. There is no explaining to Caracalla the dangers of his own sudden fits of bloodlust, and that it is far safer for all involved if his hands remain empty of a sword or axe.

Geta turns back to you.

"And what of you, wife?" he asks. "What do you make of such a display?"

You raise an eyebrow at Geta wearily. As if he is truly unaware that you have been left to attend to Caracalla and little else.

"I do not see what all of this fuss is about," you say, resting your cheek against your palm, finally allowing your composure to slip for a brief moment.

While the skill required to wield the weapons stored within these walls is of course not lost on you, you do not understand why men would rather gut each other than simply speak.

"Well, of course. You are a woman, you need not concern yourself with such matters," Geta replies, as casually as if he were discussing the weather.

You know that there is no true malice behind his words, yet you find yourself seeing red all the same.

"Is that so?" you reply, a sweet smile that borders on sickly pulling at your lips.

Caracalla watches the pair of you in fascination. He pats your arm in an almost sympathetic manner.

"Ignore my poor brother," he says, now very much enjoying himself. "He knows so little of how to speak to women. It is his curse to bear."

Geta glares at his brother, seething. Caracalla lets out a cackle in reply.

You remain silent, and no more is said of the matter.

But that does not mean that you are not thinking. Your husband may not mean offence by what he says, but he must be taught a lesson.

The question is - how, exactly?

As someone of your station, it is rare that you are ever truly alone. Even in the baths, there is always someone posted on the other side of the door for your safety.

How it irks you.

There is only so much to gain from arguing with Geta about this. You are adept at wearing him down on most matters, but on this one, he refuses. The best that you have been able to manage is that the crowd - for lack of a better word - of guards that would follow your every movement has been reduced to three, and only one of them is with you at a time.

You do, however, hold a particular fondness for one of your guards. He is an older man, by the name of Tiberius. While he may not be quite as young as many of the others that are stationed throughout the palace, he is certainly a force to be reckoned with, and there has been many an occasion when you have been witness to it first-hand.

You owe your life to him, though he does not see it in quite the same manner. It is his duty, after all.

You have built an easy rapport with him during your time together. He has been married for almost as long as you have been alive, with two daughters not much younger than you. You enjoy hearing his tales of his family, and inquire about them often, going so far as to send them gifts on their birthdays and at Saturnalia. There are times when he is reminiscent of a father figure, though you would never embarrass the man by telling him so.

It is during the course of one of your afternoon walks that a thought occurs to you - on the matter of your husband and his behaviour.

Summer has just passed its zenith, and autumn is drawing closer with each day, for which you are grateful, as the heat has continued to be nigh unbearable. Tiberius follows behind you diligently; although he leaves enough distance between the two of you to afford you a little privacy.

You stop for a moment, turning to peer at him from beneath the brim of your parasol. He stops as well, with a curious look as he smiles at you. The other Praetorians are so terrified of you - or rather, of your husband - that none of them dare to even meet your eye. It can be lonely, holding such a lofty title, and so you appreciate that there are men like Tiberius who treat you for what you really are - human.

"Is everything alright, my lady?" he asks. "Are you tired?"

You shake your head, your gaze instead dropping to the ornate sword that so rarely leaves Tiberius' side.

"I have a question," you reply. "A request, in fact."

"Of course," he says, with a slight nod.

You retreat under a nearby tree, neatly folding your parasol once you are certain that the foliage above you will provide enough shade. Once you are satisfied, you turn your attention back to Tiberius.

"You are, of course, well trained in combat," you say. "I have been witness to your skill on a number of occasions."

Tiberius bows his head.

"You flatter me," he replies humbly. "I am grateful for your kind words."

You cannot help but smile. It is not sycophancy that causes him to act in such a way; it is merely his nature.

Nevertheless, you wave your hand in a dismissive manner.

"Please, it is the truth," you say, insistent. "You are an incredibly skilled fighter. Which leads me to my request."

You point to the sword at his hip.

"I want you to teach me how to wield a sword."

His eyes widen for a brief moment, before he quickly schools his expression back into something more fitting of a guard.

"My lady, I am unsure if..." he begins to say, faltering as you immediately shake your head.

You, of course, are prepared for this.

"Not a word about my husband, if you please," you command, but your tone is still kind.

Thankfully, he obeys, holding his tongue.

"I know that while you may be my guard, you must answer to him," you continue, with a little shake of your head. "But surely there is no harm to be found in what I ask of you, is there?"

"There is the danger of injury, or worse, my lady. I cannot in good conscience allow that to happen to you," he replies, well-versed in what he must say.

"But what would be the likelihood of such a thing? When a man with your skill and training is here to guide me."

Tiberius may not be like most of the men you have encountered in your life, but he is still a man. A little flattery, well-timed, and he will surely crumble to your will.

He looks to speak, but no words pass his lips. Finally, he nods.

"As you wish," he says, with another bow of his head.

You clasp your hands together in delight, a wide smile spreading across your face.

"Wonderful!" you reply happily. "We will, of course, keep this between ourselves. No one else need know."

Tiberius' shoulders relax a little at that, as if in relief.

"Thank you," he replies, with a small smile of his own.

You turn back to your parasol, opening it up as you step out from beneath the tree's dense leaves.

"Shall we continue?" you ask.

Tiberius gestures in front of him.

"Please, lead the way."

Tiberius, as ever, as is as good as his word, and is ready to begin your training as soon as you are.

There is, however, a problem.

It is not so much the training itself that proves difficult, though it is certainly taxing in of itself; it is the task of keeping it a secret that causes you the most trouble. It seems as though no matter where you are, or what time of the day it is, there is always someone to act as witness.

This, you cannot allow. Not a word of this must make its way to your husband's ear. You are insistent on this.

The palace is a vast place, and many of its rooms lay dormant. You learned this rather quickly after it became your home. You have always been a creature of curiosity, and how could you possibly resist the veritable treasure chest of secrets that lay in front of you?

This knowledge lends itself to your advantage, and it is not long before you are able to secure a private place for you to begin your training.

Tiberius is a fair teacher, and ensures that no harm comes to you during your time together. It is tougher than you had initially thought; even holding the sword with the correct posture leaves you tired within minutes at the beginning.

But you are determined.

Regardless of how long it may take, you must accomplish your task.

A number of weeks pass before you feel confident enough to put your plan into action. There is still far more for you to learn, but you did not come into this venture with the hopes of mastering the skill; rather, your true goal was to put your husband in his place for his irksome little quip, amongst the others that have slipped past his lips in the time since.

Besides, you do not need to possess his exact level of skill when you have the element of surprise on your side.

You have not informed Tiberius of the entirety of your plan, of course. He has been far too complicit thus far, and you do not wish for trouble to fall upon him. Not that you would allow it in any case.

Besides, you are more than capable of completing the rest by yourself.

Within your chambers are a number of swords, intricately displayed. Geta is rather fond of keeping them within reach, though they have been reduced to mere decoration in their lack of use. The Praetorians are well-equipped to handle any potential threat that may arise.

Procuring one for yourself, therefore, will be an easy matter.

You wait until Geta next has training of his own. He is not the most diligent student, as you are aware, but he at least makes an effort.

You wait patiently in your chambers until he returns, pretending to be completely absorbed in the codex laid out on the table in front of you.

"Wife," he calls, as he crosses the room to greet you.

You acknowledge him with a soft hum, smiling pleasantly as he lifts your hand to his lips. A part of you feels a little guilty for what you are about to do.

"I trust your training went well?" you ask.

He gives your hand a little squeeze before he lets go.

"It is nothing for you to concern yourself with," he replies.

His tone is just patronising enough that you suddenly no longer feel guilty in the slightest. You rise then, your gaze falling on the arrangement of swords.

"You are quite right," you agree cordially. "It is certainly nothing for a woman to concern herself with."

Geta hums in assent, as if he has unheard your verbal jab, and you have most certainly made up your mind. You carefully lift one of the swords, now prepared for the sheer weight of it.

"I have never given these much notice, but I must say, they are beautiful," you murmur, peering at Geta from the corner of your eye.

He was in the process of removing his own sword, but has since stopped, eyeing you somewhat warily.

"Yes, they are," he replies distractedly. "You must be careful-"

You lift your head to give him your full attention.

"Whatever is the matter?" you ask, an amused expression on your face.

You tilt your wrist downward, acting as though the weight of the sword is too much for you. The sudden look of surprise on Geta's face is almost reward enough.

Almost. But you have not come this far merely to come this far.

Before he can react further, you tilt your wrist upward once more, turning your arm so that the length of the sword now faces you. You delicately run the tips of your fingers along its flat surface, as the other maintains a tight grip on the hilt.

Geta has not moved.

"Did you know that I have trained as well?" you ask, as you admire the intricate detailing along the hilt.

"No, I did not," Geta replies quietly.

It may well be your imagination, but to your ears, he sounds...different.

It is enough to draw your attention back to him.

He is staring, his gaze fixated on the blade in your hands. A faint blush is beginning to creep across his pale complexion.

"Is there something wrong?" you ask.

Your tone is light, innocent even, but you are quite sure that you already know the answer.

His gaze snaps up to yours then, and any uncertainty you once held has disappeared. His pupils are blown wide, much like those of a cat when it is on the hunt.

But it is not you that is prey. No, if you were a gambler, you would wager that is quite the opposite.

"You have never spoken to me of this," Geta starts cautiously. "When did you acquire such training?"

"That is neither here nor there, is it?" you answer, though you are both aware that there is far more lurking beneath the surface.

Slowly, you stretch your arm out, so that the sword is now pointed directly at Geta. The light of the lanterns glints across the blade ominously. You stand far enough away that you are of no impending danger to him.

And yet the intent is clear, judging by Geta's wide eyes. His expression is one of surprise, naturally, but there is something else there. Something you cannot quite place.

"What ails you, wife?" he asks, his gaze fixed upon the point of the blade.

"Whatever would lead you to such a conclusion, husband?" you counter sweetly.

You have not lowered the sword.

Geta dares to step forward, stopping just short of injury.

"You have made your point," he says calmly, in that same tone reserved for senators who will not see things his way.

Ever the diplomat.

"But I think perhaps we can talk instead, would you not agree? No more of this nonsense," he continues, raising his hand as if to wave the blade aside.

A mistake. Strategy never was Geta's strong suit.

No sooner have the words left his mouth when you move, withdrawing the sword in a swift, circular motion, before bringing it up once more - this time, to rest against his throat.

Once again, he is in no impending danger, and yet the intent-

"Wife," he says thickly, evidently choosing his words carefully.

Oh, the intent has very much been made clear.

"I have upset you, that much is obvious to me now," he continues, his eyes never once leaving yours.

There it is again. But what is it?

You tilt your head to one side.

"Is that so?" you say. "Please, do go on."

He grimaces, hardly daring to move from where he stands. You, by contrast, are certainly enjoying yourself.

How satisfying it is to see your husband pay for his ignorance.

Perhaps now he will think before he speaks. You can only hope.

"It was...something that I said," he says, tight-lipped as he struggles to think of what exactly it was.

"That hardly narrows it down, does it?" you ask.

Your voice is bordering on simpering, and you can see already how much it grates on Geta's already frayed nerves.

"No," he reluctantly agrees. "It does not."

He huffs a quiet sigh. His patience is rapidly wearing thin.

"Perhaps it would be best for me to sit, so that I may think better," he says tersely, regarding you carefully as he does so.

"Yes, I think that would be for the best," you reply lightly.

Geta's eyes narrow. He was not expecting you to be so agreeable.

"I would hate for you to become tired when we have so much to discuss," you continue, pressing the sword ever so slightly closer.

Geta stiffens suddenly, with a sharp breath inward.

You incline your head in the direction of the ground.

"Sit."

Geta glares at you, his expression nothing short of venomous.

"I beg your pardon?" he all but spits.

"You may beg, if it would please you," you tell him with a smile.

How can you stop yourself, when an opportunity so perfectly presents itself?

Geta manages to hold his tongue, which surprises you. You know all too well how fond he is of arguing.

There is a tension in the air, thick and palpable in its presence. You wonder how long it will take for him to break.

It is not a question of if, but rather, when.

Stubborn though he may be, you are certainly patient when you need to be. Particularly when it comes to matters such as this.

At last, when you have shown no sign of relenting, he concedes defeat. He will not, however, allow you victory in its entirety, choosing to drop to only one knee.

Even so, what a beautiful picture he paints as he kneels before you.

"A wise choice," you murmur. "Now you can think. I know how tiresome a task it can be for you."

Geta is quick to open his mouth to argue, but you are quicker, positioning the point of the sword beneath his chin. With a gentle movement, you tilt his head upwards to face you.

His already dark eyes are almost black now, and there it is. That expression you have not been able to put a name to.

You are quite certain of what it is now.

"Please correct me if I speak out of turn, but...you do appear to be enjoying this, husband," you offer in a soft voice.

Geta says nothing. The room is so silent that you can hear him swallow.

If this is the power he feels as Emperor, then you cannot entirely blame him for his actions. It is rather addictive.

But even so, he must learn.

"Shall I give you a clue?" you offer.

"Yes," Geta replies curtly, not daring to move his head.

You let out a little huff, as if in disappointment.

"Have you forgotten your manners?" you ask in a saccharine voice. "Try again."

Geta looks as though he is at war with himself. As if he wishes to fight back, but there is something else, something beyond the sword beneath his chin, that holds him back.

Something more.

He shuts his eyes, a pained expression on his face.

"...Please," he whispers.

To say that you are delighted in this very moment would be an understatement.

"Now, was that really so hard?" you murmur.

The softest little scoff escapes him, but he somehow manages to restrain himself.

You decide not to push him too much further. He is in the midst of discovering something new about himself, after all.

"Do you remember the visit to the armoury we made together?"

His brow furrows for a moment.

"Yes," he answers.

"Think for a moment. What, exactly, might have upset me about that visit, hm? Something you said, perhaps?" you continue, pressing.

To his credit, Geta does seem to be giving what you have said a great deal of thought. His expression changes suddenly, and you smile knowingly.

At last, he remembers.

"And so now you understand," you say.

"Yes," he says again, his voice barely more than a whisper.

"I must admit that you have behaved far better than I could have ever dreamed. However..."

You trail off with an exaggerated little sigh.

"...it is not quite enough."

Geta does not speak, instead watching you warily.

The knowledge that his own sword still remains by his side, and yet he has not once made a move to draw it, is not lost on you. It is an overwhelming thought.

But you will not allow yourself to become distracted.

While you are more than aware of how much you have tested Geta thus far, what you are about to do next may well be the undoing of your little game.

"Apologise," you command.

You are prepared for the fight that is to come. The outrage, the poisonous words spat at you, the uncomfortable, lingering silence that far outstays its welcome.

But it does not.

Geta remains where he is, silent and still. It is as if he has been carved from stone. His wide-eyed gaze never once leaves yours, boring into you with such a fierce intensity.

His tongue runs across his lower lip, and you hear his intake of breath before, at last, he speaks.

"...I am sorry," he murmurs softly. "Truly, I am."

It is not often that you hear him speak like this. Right now, he is not the charismatic ruler of the Roman Empire. He is your husband, a man who has been truly and utterly humbled.

By your hand.

Satisfied, you slowly lower the blade, holding it by your side.

"May I stand?" Geta asks, in that same soft voice.

You nod.

"You may," you reply.

It takes him a moment to move. His expression is dazed, as if he is under some sort of spell.

When he is at last able to rise, there is a moment of stillness. As though time itself has halted in its tracks. And then Geta is crossing the room to you. There is a fire in his eyes, the likes of which you have not seen before.

He takes the sword from your hand, tossing it across the room. Before you can say a word, he reaches for you, his hands tight against your shoulders as he drags you into a bruising kiss.

So often must he restrain himself, particularly amidst the prying eyes of the Empire, that it surprises you when he allows himself to let go like this.

So unguarded. Exposed.

Although, it is most certainly not an unwelcome surprise.

There is a ferocity to how he kisses you, how he wraps his strong arms around you and holds you flush against him. It is as if he must redress the balance between you, to reassert his dominance.

But it is not only that.

There is a vulnerability to his actions; as if he lays himself before you, all of him, for you, and only you, to see.

It is an indulgence that you are rarely ever afforded, and so you allow yourself to bask in it, all too readily.

You are as hungry for it as Geta is, and he is downright ravenous.

Kissing you is no longer enough, he needs more; having moved lower to your neck, his tongue and teeth causing a weak feeling in your knees that could prove dangerous if his hold on you was not as tight as it is.

A breathless laugh escapes you, as his teeth nip at the skin just below your ear. You hear him hum softly, as if in approval, and he does it again, worrying at the skin, hard enough to surely leave a mark. You gasp, and he relents, running his tongue across it, as if in silent apology as he lets go.

He presses closer still, and it takes a moment before you realise his intentions. You allow him to guide you across the room, when suddenly you are released from his embrace, to find yourself falling back onto the bed.

You look up at him. He is the very picture of a man possessed in how he undresses, his own sword clattering to the floor in his impatience. You open your arms to him, and he goes to you, all too willingly.

There is, of course, a part of you that wishes your beloved husband would behave himself. But, if you were to be entirely honest with yourself, there is another, slightly darker part of you that hopes that he never learns.

After all, you do seem to find such pleasure in reminding him of his place.

And while he will not bring himself to openly admit it, you know in your heart that Geta is very much in agreement.

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[can-of-slorgs]

*japanese funky nightcore cover music in the background*

[landwriter]

Talk about sandman WIPs you say? 👀 Your porn AU and San Francisco gays still live in my head rent freeeeeee ❤️

Pella! I'm glad Professional Fuckers lives rent free in your head because I definitely forgot it existed. In spite of this, I am somehow still confident I'll actually finish and post it one day. It's just so easy and refreshing to write a setting purely from experience. Still needs several more scenes but I know the whole shape of it.

I think there's a lot of really fun potential to be mined from indie porn in a rom-com sort of story: you have this professional physical intimacy that can mean absolutely nothing, an intimacy that is itself altered and shaped by the demands of performing for a camera, by the visual and literal language of any given shoot genre; but separately to that, there's this variable of the chemistry you have with them, as colleagues, as co-performers, and of course, though somehow least significantly, as people fucking. The chemistry that plays out on screen does not always track onto the chemistry you feel with someone. So there's this, I think, super funny territory you can get into, where you've just fucked someone, and the prescient question of did we make something good and the vain little one of was I good, did you like that are entirely separate. But imagine the urge to ask when you're doing something you've never done before.

Imagine, too, nursing a crush on somebody and still not being sure if they like you like you in spite of fucking them in shoots all afternoon and pretending to be in a relationship for half of those. Imagine doing all this demanding, intimate work with a near-stranger, and then making friendly small talk after because outside of this work you hardly know each other. Imagine feeling like there's something there, beneath all the performance, and the commingled horror of crossing professional boundaries--of finding out your co-performer is just so good that they sold the story you were telling together to you too, without meaning any of it--and the desire to find out how good it could be with the cameras off. No awkward blocking, no performing, no story, nothing: an entirely novel, unprofessional, and maybe even more intimidating kind of fucking altogether.

That's what this setting is all about. In the spirit of that, have a mildly NSFT scene ft. Dream sucking cock for the first time while on a shoot, and Hob making a suggestion after.

[ask me anything]

“Dream,” says Hob. “Dream, please, I’m gonna cum, oh, fuck.”

He looks up at Hob, jaw afire, and Hob swears and twitches and comes in his mouth. Dream swallows it without thinking of making a show of it, just swallows and swallows and pulls off, panting. He doesn’t realize how swollen his lips are until Hob traces them with a warm thumb, and murmurs, wow, so low it’s surely not for the cameras, more a breath than a word.

“Was I good?” he asks. His voice is fucked out and low and Hob laughs breathlessly as he tucks himself in.

“Yeah. Yeah, shit, you were good, baby. So good for me.” He looks down at Dream with undisguised lust. “M’gonna want this all the time now.”

Dream doesn’t know what to say, so he just stares up at Hob, until Hob smiles and shifts to sit up. “Great,” he says, in a normal tone, the scene sloughing off him. “Happy with that?”

“Was it enough time?” Dream asks.

“Oh, yeah. We’re probably at thirteen, fourteen minutes. I know you only wanted ten but I didn’t want to tread on perfectly good footage and say something.”

Dream can’t conceal his surprise that it’s been so long already. Hob takes it as skepticism and laughs. “No, you can check, but I’m like a fucking egg timer. It’s my party trick on shoots.” He stands and goes over to his camera, squinting at the display. “Yes! Thirteen twenty-nine,” he announces triumphantly, and turns it off. “Right,” he says, all business when he turns back to Dream. “Water and onto the next?”

Dream, still kneeling, awkwardly stands. “Yes,” he says, and clears his throat when it comes out rough. “Yeah, sure.”

Was I good? Truly? Hob is so good at inhabiting someone else that Dream isn’t sure. He would cover it up well if it was bad. “That’ll sell well,” he says, as neutrally as he can.

Hob takes the bait and grins at him. “Oh, definitely. That was perfect. You were great.” Then he takes in Dream and frowns. “Hey, do you want to, ah?”

Dream realizes he’s still painfully hard. Hob is grimacing down at his tented jeans. The moment of satisfaction is popped like a soap bubble. He adjusts himself, feeling his face heat. “Sorry,” he mutters.

“Oh, fuck, don’t be sorry. Always good to know I’m not repulsive. I meant, do you want to deal with it now since you didn’t come?”

Dream glances toward the guest bedroom, unable to believe Hob is actually propositioning him. Unable to believe the yes that offers itself at once. Hob continues. “My facial shoot, later? Could just switch things around and get it done now if you’re ready to go.”

“Of course,” says Dream, magnanimously. Of course that’s what Hob meant.

[purplecelestial-buddy]

There gets a point in the semester where college students have to ask:

What would benefit me more?

Getting sleep so I can actually concentrate enough to do my work

Or

Doing the work so I can actually sleep without worrying about it?

It's 1 am and I still haven't chosen an option

[uhbasicallyjustmilex]

currently wanting to burn my writer’s block at the stake. it’s been MONTHS, i just want my happy little source of escapism back pls is that too much to ask?? 😩😭

[amethystina]

Pops out from the box I was sorting through. Oh, hello! Anonymous raccoon popping back in to check in. I see that tag …. very funny lol. I’m also very honored! Never thought I’d build myself a whole ask series with raccoon but I’m not complaining. They’re adorable funky fellas anyways too.

Now on to my response. I do really want to say first of all, please please do not feel pressured to respond or reveal personal information that may make you feel uncomfortable! Of course if this is a chance for you to vent/work through things etc, then disregard my words haha, and please continue! I just wanted to make that clear. Because I’m a firm believer that nobody owes anyone an explanation for anything especially for why you’re not updating! I’m not here to nudge and prod in a ‘why aren’t you updating way.’ I’m here to check in, offer support in any I can, and just be a raccoon offering empathy or holding spaces for thoughts. Any thoughts lol.

(Intermission - Is there a character ask limit? I might break it if so, so if necessary this will turn into a multi-post. Sorry! Haha.)

I’m really sorry to hear that so many aspects have been just a shitshow one after another. I’m really glad to hear your wife is doing better — and also hopefully your aunt? even if it’s no news type deal — because god health issues are genuinely horrible. So I’m really glad there’s improvement on that front even if things aren’t perfect, but I’m sending you optimism as well. It seems that both of you are doing for sure what is best for you and downsizing truly can do wonders sometimes for making sure energy remains with you and not on taking care of a big house when you already got no energy. I can only imagine that it might work in y’all’s favor too with having that chance to have more energy to dedicate to spending time together! I’m sorry though because I know that leaving a place you love is always rough. Fingers crossed for comfy apartments in the future!

Alas, the therapist situation resolved itself as you expected. I saw the comment previously on your post about most therapists being CBT adjacent and my god, yeah. I know that it’s actually common that CBT is just not the right method for folks. Therapy methods are so individual specific. It’s good to hear that your therapist at least wasn’t awful but sigh yeah, unfortunate. I’ll still hold out hope that maybe further down the line you find someone who can actually offer more help. But for now — im glad he was at least able to offer you a chance to briefly at least just rant. Screaming into the void is very healthy-

I WILL continue to hold out hope that you can take things easy — but since I can see that you unfortunately most likely won’t be able to — I’m instead going to hold out hope that things improve and that this barreling train of things piling up one after another has a stop soon so you can breathe at least even briefly.

(Intermission 2.0- there’s no limit?? I survived making this one answer??)

Take care of yourself as always and treat yourself if you have to chance to <3

Cherish is, Anonymous Raccoon 😉

Don't worry, I don't talk about my problems until I'm actually ready to do so, at least not publically. Which is why it took me over six months to mention the fact that my wife has been sick and that we'll be selling our house. That was something I needed to keep to myself and only discuss with my closest circle until I had processed and dealt with it as best as possible. I've had lots of practice in figuring out when I can talk to people and in what forums. And there are definitely things I would never mention here in such a public place, mainly because I've learned the hard way to keep my more vulnerable rants in more private spaces. But, when I feel ready, I'll share what I think might be relevant.

And while I know I don't owe people an explanation, it's still beneficial to at least say something. When people ask me why I'm not updating, it's a lot easier to link people to a Tumblr post that details the situation instead of vaguely trying to explain that I'm just not able to post right now. I have a tendency to become more curt and evasive when I feel like I can't explain why I behave the way I do, and so I probably come across as a lot more rude than I intend to. And, again, while I don't owe people anything, I don't like the thought of being rude to them, either.

So yeah. Don't worry about that! It's pretty difficult to make me do something I don't want to do 😆 And thank you for wanting to check in 💜

My aunt is doing better, yes! She'll be celebrating her 60th birthday real soon! So, under the circumstances, I'd say things worked out well 😊

Yeah, I'm going to miss the house, but it's definitely the right choice for us. I do prefer living in a house over an apartment, but this house is just too big. And it's not like I won't have a house later anyway, since I'm set to inherit the old family home on my dad's side. It's located on the island where my family has lived since the late 1800's and I love it so, so much. The house itself is from 1870.

That's taken from the church tower (yes, we have a church in our backyard — just roll with it) at 11 PM. Because the midnight sun doesn't fuck around where I live 😆

(Fun fact for my Who Holds the Devil readers: Whenever I write about Ga On's feelings on being in Yo Han's house — the calm, comfort, and longing — it's this house I'm describing. I'm drawing from my own experiences of what it feels like to have found the one place on earth that will always feel like home)

Anyhow! For now, I'll settle for buying an apartment — one that's closer to my office. Since I've noticed that one of the things that drains my energy is the commute. There's actually an apartment I'd love to buy but I can't yet because the bank won't give me the required loan until we've sold the house. So right now I'm just hoping that no one else will want it and that it'll remain on the market until I can place a bid on it. We'll see!

I'd also like to find a therapist that works for me, but it's somewhat complicated by the fact that not even I know what kind of therapist I need 😂 But yeah. This one did help during the few appointments we had, so that's something? And I can see the light at the end of the tunnel now? I'm still exhausted, sure, but it's easier to stay afloat when I know that better things are ahead, you know? And I'm looking forward to getting there, even if it won't be a painless journey.

So yeah. I don't think the barreling train is stopping quite yet, but I think it will sometime in the future? And that's what I'm clinging to right now. That and The Sentinel fanfics 😆

Congratulations on not breaking the character limit! 😉

And thank you again for checking in. I'm very humbled by the knowledge that people care this much about me.

You take care too 💜

[pidgefudge]

shadow the hedgehog actually takes up a concerning amount of my brainspace

[shirogane-oushirou]

trying out procreate brushes again but with more Purpose. i found a fantastic ballpoint pen, alongside some ink-based brushes that give you Sloppy Effects... which i appreciate as someone whose ballpoint drawings always ended up a smudgy mess no matter how hard i tried to avoid it ;;;

(and a colored version to play with his fursona's colors a little + see how he looks with slightly more accurate paws and proportions hehe)

[catsafarithewriter]

Been a bit since we had some angst 👀

"How much more do you need? How much more do you need me to give?"

"All of it. More than you could ever give."

A/N: How dare you throw this angst at me when you know I'm already looking at Slay the Princess AU angst?! How much angst do I need to offer to satiate your thirst?? Anyway, this is not a StP AU, but is loosely based on Moonlighter, an indie game where you play as a merchant moonlighting as a dungeon delver to collect stock for your shop.

I've been eyeing this particular AU for a whlie, so thank you for inadvertently giving me an in for this.

(This, uh, hit 10K, so heads up for a lot under the readmore. I'm gonna post this to AO3 in time, but for now, enjoy this monstrosity here.)

Happy birthday, you menace <3

x

Baron has been gathering dust in Moonlighter's cellar for longer than he cares to count.

This, however, is less remarkable for him than it might be for another; he is built of magic and wood after all, ageless in a way that makes noting the passage of time meaningless.

There is also precious little to mark such time, down in the cellar. There are no windows, no sunlight, not even the changing breeze that might denote seasons. All he has are the brief sightings of Moonlighter's owners – a man and a woman, and in his early days he had seen them come and go often to the cellar, but now their hair has greyed and their limbs have slowed and their detours to the basement are brief.

Recently, it's been only the woman.

Until one day it's not.

"I'm telling ya, there's nothing to be worth selling down there, Chicky."

The voice isn't young, but it is new. From his vantage point on the shelf, Baron can see the light spilling from the doorway is almost entirely eclipsed by the man on the threshold. Another light – that of candlewick rather than sun – bobs past the man and a significantly smaller form begins the descent.

"Maybe not, but it has to be worth a look."

"Your ma told us everything in here was either impossible to flog or cursed."

"Yeah, my mother also worked herself into an early grave trying to run this place solo," the other voice retorts, "so forgive me if I want to deviate somewhat from her teachings."

The second figure nears Baron, and now he can make out a face notably similar to the woman he has watched grow old. Her hair is darker, and her skin is clear of not only wrinkles, but also the scars that had marked even the younger years of the previous woman. Only her eyes show signs of wear – red rimmed and tired.

"Moonlighter was never meant to be run alone," the man says. He begins a cautious descent after his companion. "It was manageable when your pa was alive; then he could delve the dungeon for artifacts during the night, and your ma could sell them in Moonlighter during the day."

"And people wondered why I was an only child," the woman mutters.

"Moonlighter has been in the Yoshioka family since it started–"

"I know. But a lot of those inheritances were sideways along the family tree for good reason."

"Look, Chicky, if yer need any help, Toto and me can run the shop a few days so you can rest between delving. We used to help yer ma out when Daichi passed–"

"You and Toto have your own shop to run though," the woman says. She opens up a chest and finds only moth-eaten breeches. "And I can't just rely on the kindness of others to make this work, Muta."

"'Course you can."

"There's got to be a way to make ends meet – properly." The woman stops before Baron and looks – really looks. There's a fire in her eyes that Baron hasn't seen in a long time. "You're different," she says, and lifts him off the shelf.

The man joins her, and he eyes Baron with distrust. "Don't bother with that one, Chicky."

"Why not? It looks like fourth tier – and no one's been able to get as far as the fourth tier in decades. Someone's gotta be willing to pay up for it."

"Yeah, yer ma thought the same. Only it kept coming back."

The woman turns Baron over, running calloused hands over the immaculate morning suit and painted fur. The callouses are unfamiliar to Baron, earned from daily chores rather than wielding a sword. "Coming back? Coming back how?"

"Depends. If she sold it to a hero, they'd usually enter the dungeon, do pretty well for themselves, and then one day never be seen again." The man rubs a hand across his chin. "They'd always get... weird towards the end, too. Reclusive. And then yer ma would find it abandoned in the upper levels of the dungeon and no hero in sight."

"And if she sold it to someone who wasn't a hero?" the woman asks.

"Then they'd usually complain about hauntings and return the damn thing. In the end, she gave up on it. Guess she could've kept selling it to wannabe heroes, but she felt bad about it."

"Bet it paid the bills though," she mutters, but without any real rancour. She sets Baron back on the shelf and moves onto the next artifact.

That's okay.

Baron can wait.

x

He sees the woman half a dozen more times before he makes his approach.

The second time she enters the cellar, she sets to work furiously dividing the room's contents into possible sales versus the lost causes. Some of the latter she removes – presumably to be thrown – whilst others she leaves to gather dust.

She stares at Baron for a good long while before setting him into the final category.

It is some time before she returns. Baron wonders whether she followed in her mother's footsteps and attempted to run Moonlighter solo. Sometimes he wonders if she sold the shop and left for greener pastures. And sometimes he wonders whether she's died, ending Moonlighter's Yoshioka line once and for all.

But return she does, and she looks all the older for it.

Not older in a temporal sense, although Baron would be the first to admit difficulty in recognising that, but life has been unkind in ways other than time. Her skin is sallow, untouched by sun, and a scar clips her jaw. She moves such a way to make him question when she last truly slept. She doesn't stay long, just long enough to gather up some of the less hopeless causes, and haul them into the upper belly of Moonlighter.

He sees her sooner after that, and the following descents into the cellar become more frequent – and each time, she looks the worse for wear. Every time she looks a little bit more like her mother, and every time he wonders if this will be the last time he'll see her.

On the sixth visit, she collects him up and he sees sunlight for the first time in decades.

The light is low outside – either dusk or dawn – and she sets him onto a display stand. There are no sign of the artifacts previously claimed from the cellar; instead the other stands are filled with low-quality offerings, items foraged from the upper levels of the dungeon. Their prices are notably lower than the value she sets before him.

After writing out his price, she leans against his display stand, staring into his gemstone eyes and evidently seeing something else reflected in them. "Oh, don't look at me like that," she says. "If I sell you, I'll make enough to cover this month's rent and be able to skip a few night's delving in favour of sleep." She sighs, and Baron notes a new scar, running along her throat. "And goodness knows I can't keep this up."

"There are other ways, you know."

To her credit, the woman doesn't scream. He's usually found that to be the most common response to his initial greeting – occasionally paired with a clumsy swing of the nearest makeshift weapon – but, then again, she looks too tired to scream. She merely blinks, once, twice, and then says, "Oh goody, the cursed cat doll talks."

He sweeps his hat from his head and gives a once well-practiced bow. It's a little rusty after all these years, but whatever passes for muscle memory in him remains. "Greetings, miss. I think you'll find that I am no cursed cat doll, but a Creation. When someone creates something with all their heart, then that thing is given a soul, you see?"

"I see that the sleep deprivation is already on the hallucination stage."

Personally, Baron thinks the sleep deprivation is probably a few notches further along than that. But, then again, what would he know? He's immortal. "I assure you, I am no hallucination, Miss...?"

"Haru." She yawns, and there's a tremble in her limbs that the yawn exasperates. "And that's just what a hallucination would say, Mr...?"

"Baron. Call me Baron." He sets his hat neatly back between his ears. "And if I am a hallucination, what harm could come of merely listening to my proposition, Miss Haru?"

"Time. In case you weren't aware, I don't have much – or any – of it going spare."

"And if I were your hallucination, I should know such things."

She blinks slowly. He can visibly see her try to comprehend his words. And fail. "I'm too tired for this. I'm going back to..." She falters, brow furrowing. "No, I'm not. I've got a shop to run."

"And then a dungeon to delve," Baron hazards, "and then a shop to run, and then a dungeon to delve, and so on and so forth. Tell me, Miss Haru, when exactly is sleep scheduled in this busy life of yours?"

"Never. Sleep is for the broke."

"It is going to break you, Miss Haru."

"I don't have much choice," she says. "The pittance I make from dungeon artifacts barely cover a day's rent. I don't have the money spare to skip a day." She grimaces. "Or night."

"That's because you're only selling the artifacts from the very highest levels of the dungeon," Baron says. "If you went deeper the artifacts would fetch enough to tide you over for longer." He pauses. "Long enough to sleep."

"Nice theory, save for one fact." Haru gestures to herself. "I'm a librarian. Or I was, until I inherited this place. If I go any deeper than the shallows, I'll get myself killed." She brushes a hand, subconsciously, across her throat. "Quicker than I'm already likely to, anyway."

"As you are, there's no doubt," Baron agrees. "Not without help."

She blinks again – but this time it's laden with suspicion. "Muta said you only stick around with heroes."

"I do."

"I'm not a hero."

Baron cocks his head. "And yet you enter the dungeon."

She snorts. "For artifacts. I'm a merchant. Heroes go into the dungeon for glory, fighting monsters and suchlike, while merchants are just doing a job. Or, at least," she adds off-handedly, "that's the idea. In theory, a job pays."

"I have little interest in glory," he says. "All I'm looking for is someone who wants help in exploring deeper into the dungeon. In the past, that's only ever been heroes."

"Yes, and look what happened to them."

"Yes, indeed."

Her gaze narrows. "What did happen to them?"

"They pushed themselves too far, too fast. My aid can only do so much; they sought monsters too powerful too soon and were killed in the encounter. But, as you said, you're not in it for the glory. Perhaps your survival instincts will be stronger."

Haru snorts. "Given my life choices so far, that's a bit of a leap."

"Maybe," he admits, "but I've been offering my help to heroes for long enough to no avail. Maybe a merchant is exactly what I've been looking for." He offers a hand. "What do you say?"

Haru eyes the tiny gloved hand. "What kind of help did you say you give?"

"I can unlock a human's potential for magic," he says, and it's true enough. "Over time and practice, your power will grow, enough to face even the monsters of the fourth tier. So long as you take it slowly, you will be at no risk."

The first lie he's told but not, he knows from experience, usually the last.

Still, Haru doesn't take his hand. "Why help?" she asks. "What's in it for you?"

"It's what I was made for. All Creations have a purpose. This is mine."

For a moment, he fears he's misjudged, that she's going to refuse. But then she glances to the windows, where the sun is steadily rising and the flicker of shadow denotes people passing by, and a fresh wave of fatigue passes over her. Baron wonders just how close she was to breaking.

"Fine," she says, and drops her hand against his. Her palm dwarfs his. "I only need to go a little deeper anyway."

Baron smiles. He's heard that before, and no one has ever kept to it. "Good," he says instead. "Now, lock up the shop and tidy yourself to bed. We have a big night due."

x

The entrance to the dungeon is much the same as Baron last remembers it. The dirt track opens out into a dirt courtyard, and a large stone doorway is built into the hillside. Seated on Haru's shoulder as she pushes the door open, Baron can see the interior is also much the same – wooden beams outline the tunnel, deceptively manmade, with lanterns set at regular intervals. It almost looks like a mining shaft, except mining shafts don't usually echo with the sound of tiny skittering feet further within.

Haru falters before entering – as if she's tempted to flee – but enter she does, even if the hand that holds her rusty blade shakes.

"Alright, you promised me magic," Haru says, "so how does this work?"

"Magic works through intent. You must focus your desires and manifest them through intention." He thinks of previous would-be heroes. "Start small; that's all you'll be capable of at this point."

"So don't try running straight to fourth tier, otherwise I'll end up barbecued," she says.

"No, the fire monsters are on third tier. If you go up against fourth tier monsters unprepared, your remains will be less the charred type, and more the type best left to a dustpan and brush."

Haru glances Baron's way, eyebrow raised. "Are you speaking from experience or...?"

"Just take it slowly." He's spent years, possibly decades, sitting on a shelf. If he loses this mortal, there's no telling when he'll next find another willing.

Haru raises a hand, and Baron can feel her focus narrow. He converts the magic as needed, unlocking just enough potential – and a smidgen more – to fulfill her request. It's a modest affair, just a sphere of light that chases away the shadows that the lanterns cannot reach. It surprises Baron – but maybe it shouldn't. He's learnt from experience that too much magic, too soon, can burn out a mortal, but that hasn't stopped previous heroes from attempting more than they ought on day one. He's learnt now to keep a tight rein on a mortal's magic level, but Haru is a merchant, not a hero. Her priorities are based in survival, not glory.

Still, too restrained can be as dangerous as too ambitious.

"You can do more, if you so wish," he prompts. "You'll feel it when you reach your current limit."

"Are you sure?"

"Absolutely." After all, he has no interest in burning through a mortal so soon.

Haru focuses again, and the light dissolves into dust. It hangs, suspended in the air like stars, and then begins to dance.

Baron blinks. He's never seen the magic used for that. "What is the purpose of this?"

"Light," Haru answers, and she starts down the tunnel. The lights bob around her, still not using up her current magic potential. "And they're pretty."

"Beauty is rarely advantageous in survival."

"Are you going to be so judgemental the entire time we're working together, or are you just getting it out of your system early?"

Baron begins to reply, but then hesitates. He's never been called judgemental before – but, then again, his own goals have usually aligned closely enough with his current mortal that such remarks are unnecessary... or, if they are spoken, usually readily agreed with. "I don't mean to be judgemental," he says eventually. "I merely am accustomed to a different nature of dungeon delver."

"Yes, and they all died," Haru reminds him. "If I'm gonna be going out the same way, I intend to have some fun with it." She tilts her head enough so that Baron, still seated on her shoulder, can see her grin. "Come on, Baron. You can't say you don't like them."

The lights cascade around him, and from the eddies twirl forms that might be birds. An unfamiliar emotion skitters through his heart.

He suspects it may be bewilderment. Perhaps he had kept with heroes until now for good reason if merchants are all as impractical as this.

He's saved from the indignity of trying to find an answer by a monster dropping from the ceiling.

Each tier has its own biome and, by proxy, its own breed of monster. The first tier carries its facade of man-made origins in both environment and monster, and the creatures here are oft the animated remains discarded by humanity. The monster that attacks Haru appears to have once been an umbrella.

And not a moment too soon.

Baron braces himself for the inevitable overreaction, for the blast of offensive magic and the smouldering remains. Humans always underestimate their power on the first attack–

Haru smacks the flying umbrella with her rusted sword and sends it slamming into the far wall.

It flaps weakly, and then goes limp.

A beat passes. Haru is breathing hard, her face flushed and her sword arm shaking.

"You have magic now," Baron says, eventually.

"I forgot."

Baron glances to the light show, still dancing above their heads. "You... forgot?"

"I've been doing this job a lot longer with a sword than I have with magic," she reminds him.

Yes, Baron thinks, and the sword is definitely showing its age. It looks like it's seen several generations of Moonlighters.

Haru approaches the fallen monster and kneels down beside it. Baron is prepared to believe she's about to perform last rites – he'll believe anything of this not-hero at the moment – but instead she begins to strip it down for parts.

"Most of this will sell," she says, as if she can sense the raised eyebrow. "Attach a piece of the wings to an arrow and it'll fly farther, or use the rods as arrows and they won't break so easily. But the best part to sell is pretty much impossible to get–"

As she reaches further into the monster, the umbrella-creature twitches, and Haru jolts back. Finally – finally – her magic flares into action, and those dust mote lights fire into the beast, where from its body they erupt into vines, twisting and tightening, contorting the monster until it ceases to struggle.

Baron releases a breath he hadn't, until then, realised he'd been holding. "See?" he says. "It's so much simpler with magic."

Haru rocks forward on her heels, and gingerly drops a hand into the mess of vines and umbrella. The greenery parts ways and both wings and rods are mangled beyond use. "Dang it."

"Oh, what a shame," Baron says. "It's for the best, though; anything worth selling is going to be a good deal deeper–"

"Maybe not." Haru cracks open the centre of the main shaft, and a tiny blue stone falls free. "It's a crystal. I've never been able to break open one of these things to get them, but they're meant to be pure magic. Look."

She passes it up to Baron and he does, indeed, look. It emits a gentle warmth, uncomfortably familiar, and he wonders if his own crystal pulses the same steady beat. "Then all the more reason to keep going–" he starts.

"Keep going? This thing will sell well enough to tide me over for a couple of days. No," she says, and straightens up, "I'm going back home so I can catch some sleep while the sun is actually set."

x

Baron's never had this kind of problem with previous humans. It's infuriating. It's ridiculous. It's... stumped him, honestly.

Usually the promise of power or fame or treasure is enough to lure even the most reserved of heroes into the dungeon's depths, and a merchant should have been no different. After all, everyone knows the deeper one delves, the more precious the artifacts.

And yet Haru is frustratingly, impossibly content with the meagre findings she retrieves from the first tier. The gold she makes is just enough to give her days off and a little to spare.

But that's okay.

Baron can wait.

x

The push Haru needs comes from an unexpected source, when the town's herbalist approaches Haru with a peculiar request.

"These roots you sold me," the woman says, setting dried tubers on the counter, "I need more of them."

"They're only to be found in the lowest levels of the first tier, and even then only sparsely." Haru picks up the roots. She hadn't even been sure they would sell, but had taken them on the assumption that curiosity would trump common sense and purse strings. "How many do you need?"

"As many as you can get your hands on. Julian's daughter is sick, and nothing I've tried has helped – but these. She's making a recovery, but I fear she'll worsen if I don't get more."

Baron waits for the gentle refusal – the explanation that such plants are too deep for reliable sourcing, the apology – but instead Haru's mouth curls into a stubborn twist that Baron will come to know well. "I'll see what I can do," she promises.

x

"It was only chance that brought you upon those roots originally," Baron tells her on their next dungeon delve. Usually Haru skips a night and savours the sleep, but tonight she has gone straight from shop to dungeon. "If you want to be sure of finding them, you'll need to descend into the second tier."

"Then that is what we'll do." She glances his way. "Only for as long as it takes to find them, mind you. No more."

He smiles. "No more," he agrees, knowing the oath will never keep. She's already proven a willingness to break such promises, even if she takes longer than most to alter her priorities.

By this point, Haru's magic is strong enough to make the journey down to the second tier almost an afterthought. The monsters that dwell on the upper levels can sense her power enough to steer clear, and most only attack now if cornered.

The monsters on the second tier are a different kettle of cave fish altogether.

The mine shaft tunnels become more natural, more roughly-hewn on the second tier. Here, light is sourced not from ever-burning lanterns, but from glowing moss that clings to the walls and bioluminescent fungi sprouting at the edges. The monsters also alter in appearance, offering threat in the form of carnivorous plants and thorny poison. They are bolder, stronger, than their first tier brethren, and it doesn't take long for Haru to encounter one.

The vines that snare her are uncannily like the ones that spring from her magic, and they are little defence against her new opponent. Baron is quick to leap free – the plants ignore him, as they always do – and even if he was inclined to help, there is little aid he can offer at his current stature.

What he can do is transmute a little more magic her way, strengthening her power.

"You'll never defeat it like that!" he calls. He watches a new wreath of greenery spiral out from Haru and immediately be throttled by the snaring vines. "You must tailor your fighting styles to your opponent! Try fire!"

She stumbles backwards, trying desperately to kick her feet free. "If I lose control of that kind of magic, I'll set everything aflame!" she shouts back.

"You don't have the power to do that!"

"Once it gets going, I mightn't be able to stop it!"

The plant monster lashes out and strikes lucky. Its vines catch around Haru's waist and she is dragged off her feet.

Dammit.

"If you don't do something, you won't need to worry about losing control!" he shouts. Dammit. No other human has ever needed such coaxing; usually he's the one preaching the virtues of restraint. "Attack it, Haru!"

She swings at it with that ridiculous sword, its blade too dulled to do more than dent the monster, and the vines tear it out of her hands almost disdainfully. The vines curl up along her arms, around her shoulders, towards her throat, and Baron remembers vividly the mangled mess Haru's own plant magic had made of that first umbrella monster.

Lesson learnt: next time he sticks with heroes.

All he can do is watch as her feet kick uselessly against the monster, nails scrabbling in vain, face reddening, hands reddening...

Wait.

Hands?

Her fingers dig into the vines about her neck, and now he can see her palms are molten-red. He catches the smell of smoke and firewood, and suddenly Haru is thrown free from the vines. She rolls to the side as a thorn-lined vine slams where she had been only moments before. It hits the ground with enough force that Baron feels the floor shake.

"Baron! In the bag!" Haru yells. She pulls her satchel open and lingers only long enough for Baron to follow her instructions, before she's off running along the corridor.

Thankfully, what plant monsters have in thorns and vines, they lack in the way of feet. Haru outruns it with ease, even injured as she is. When they reach a secure corner, Haru slumps to the floor. Her breathing is heavy, irregular in a way Baron recognises to be pain.

Baron is out of the bag almost before Haru has sat.

"What happened back there?" he demands.

Haru doesn't answer immediately. She has her right arm close to her, her left hand tight just above the elbow. "Plant monster," she says eventually. She proffers a thin grin. "Or weren't you paying attention?"

"Not that. I meant with your magic." He gestures to her obviously injured state. "At your level, you shouldn't have had any such issue with it. Your magic is strong enough, trust me. So why didn't you use fire back there?"

"You're made of wood."

"And?"

She blinks. "You're made of wood," she repeats, slower this time like he's missing something obvious. Like that comment should mean anything in this context, like it should explain why she nearly got herself killed instead of–

Oh.

There's blood seeping through the sleeve of her shirt, ruby-red staining the hand pressed to it. Thorns, most likely. Poison, possibly. And all because she feared she would burn him.

He steps forward, and as he does so, he shifts into a human height. Haru balks, but isn't really in any state to do much more than stare.

"Since when have you been able to do that?"

"I always have. But my role here isn't to fight; yours is."

Her mouth sets into that stubborn line, and he suspects she's thinking of all the time that having another body beside her would have been useful in traversing the dungeon. There's a reason he rarely shows this ability to humans.

"You shouldn't have worried about me," he says. "I'm hardier than I look. But you, it appears, are not." He collects the healing kit out of the bag and passes an antidote to her. "Drink. Not all monsters on this floor are poisonous, but we can't risk it."

She takes the vial and downs it with a wrinkled nose. "These things always taste foul."

"Would you rather risk dying a slow, painful death?" Baron asks. "Or perhaps being petrified. I believe there is at least one monster on this floor whose poison turns one into a chicken. How does that sound?"

Haru snorts, and Baron is surprised by the relief that blossoms in his sternum at the sound. Surprised and... unnerved. His purpose is to find a human capable of reaching the final level, so their survival is always optimum – up to a point – but this feels... uncomfortably personal.

He turns his attention onto safer matters, such as rolling the torn sleeve away from the injury. The skin is equally torn; not deep, but intricate lines mar the arm. He sets to binding the wound with bandages.

"Why did you stay?"

Haru rolls her head away from the wall. "What?"

He hadn't meant to ask that, but now the words are out and his curiosity is whetted. "At Moonlighter," he specifies. Between his fingers, he can feel how soft, how delicate human skin is. He wonders why any mortal would take to this life when it could be ended so easily. So off-handedly. "Surely you needn't have taken over the business, even if it is a family affair."

"Oh. That." She leans her head back against the wall. "Apparently, Moonlighter must be inherited by one of Yoshioka blood."

Baron recalls what snippets he has learnt of Haru's life before. "Yes, but you were a librarian. Surely there were better candidates?"

"You'd think so. But, no; it turns out that having a family of dungeon delvers/merchants is a pretty good way to not have a family before long. The death toll is high and the lifestyle isn't, shall we say, conductive to having a kid."

"And yet you pursued a life elsewhere before coming back here."

"I wasn't meant to inherit this place. That was to be my cousin – but then she got on the wrong side of an ogre, and..." Haru shakes her head. "The only other Yoshioka left is her daughter, all of five years. I couldn't let her inherit Moonlighter so... well, here I am."

"Here you are," Baron agrees. "Would she have really inherited Moonlighter if you hadn't accepted it?"

"There are two things impossible to get out of: fairy deals and legal matters." Haru rolls her head to one side, but this time her gaze lingers on the wound she has been so carefully avoiding until now. "I came, knowing a librarian was never going to be a good owner for Moonlighter but, I thought that I might at least last long enough here to give her a chance to grow up. So maybe she'll be able to handle the job when she inevitably comes into possession of it."

Baron slows in his tending. The resignation in her words sets his heart cold. "Is that really how you feel?" he asks softly. "That this life would be the death of you, and still you came?"

"It's killed pretty much all its previous owners," Haru answered, far too blase for Baron's liking, "and most have been much more capable than me. Sooner or later, everyone slows or errs, and this job isn't the forgiving sort. So, yes, I was pretty sure this would kill me, probably sooner in my case." She glances his way, with a smile Baron does not deserve. "At least until I met you. With the magic you've given me, I might survive this. Perhaps even thrive."

Baron doesn't recognise the emotion that pools in his gut, cold and heavy.

He thinks it might be guilt.

x

After that, Haru begins to venture regularly onto the second tier. If he had thought her close encounter with the vine monster would push her further onto the path of cautiousness, he is very much mistaken – instead, it seems to have emboldened her. She still plays carefully with her fire magic, keeping it close to her skin, even after Baron's assurances that she shouldn't fret over him, but it works well enough against the second tier creatures.

She gathers enough of the root to satisfy the herbalist, but news that Moonlighter's owner is venturing deep begins to get about. More come to Haru's shop with requests – fetch these seeds, find these leaves – and Haru is happy to help. If they merely spoke of a rich payout, Baron isn't sure Haru would be so willing, but the offers she accepts are always for a worthy cause.

Once upon a time, Baron would have been relieved she was finally comfortable delving deeper, but now the thought seems to give him vertigo; satisfaction and grief warring inside him.

One of the owners of the neighbouring weapon and armour shop stops by, and he eyes Moonlighter's array of stock with a wary look. He's tall, birdlike somehow in the way he holds himself, and avian in his sharp eyes. "When Muta told me you were managing, it set my heart at ease," the man remarks, "but I'm startled to see you've been delving so deep. What did you say your profession was before?"

"Librarian," Haru replies.

"Librarian," the man echoes. "You've caught on well, then."

"Thank you, Toto."

His gaze roams the shop, until it seems to find what it's searching for in the form of Baron. He starts towards it, but Haru is quicker. She scoots between them, as if guarding Baron from the man.

"He's not for sale."

"Glad to hear it. Muta did tell you what happened to the heroes who bought it, didn't he?"

"He did."

The frown burrowed into the man's brow doesn't lessen. He regards the stock around him, salvaged from levels even experienced heroes were reluctant to venture to. "Haru, if things are difficult, if Moonlighter is proving impossible to run along, you know you can always ask myself and Muta for help, don't you? You don't need to turn to... alternative sources for aid, you understand?"

"I understand. Muta made it quite clear what happens to heroes who bought the cat doll." Haru smiles. "So it's just as well I'm a merchant, isn't it?"

x

Baron knows it is only a matter of time before Haru braves the third tier.

All it takes, as all it ever takes, is someone asking for something from the fire levels – Baron can't even remember what she needs; all he remembers is that she's one step closer to the final level – and she's venturing yet further than she promised she would.

The third tier is one of fire and smoke, lava flowing in molten-red rivers that home monsters built to scorch would-be heroes to cinders.

Haru almost refuses to bring Baron along.

"And if a stray fireball hits you, what then?" she demands. "Poisonous trees and over-active accessories are one thing, but the monsters on the third tier could really kill you."

"I'm at no greater risk than you have been during our adventures," he reminds her.

"That's different."

"How?"

Haru opens her mouth. Closes it. But Baron has a pretty good idea of the kind of answer she'd like to give – that the standards she set for herself, and the standards she set for other people are two very different things.

She admits defeat, and he accompanies her on her next delve.

This would all be easier if he could convince himself the care she affords him is purely self-serving. And he's met plenty of those sorts over the years. Those who have protected him, as far as they have felt the need, have been doing so because of what he grants them; because if he is destroyed, then maybe their newfound magic will be destroyed also. It has always been a means to an end – and that's worked just fine for him. After all, the exploitation goes both ways.

But Baron has seen the way Haru cares for those around her, sometimes even fetching high-priced items from the dungeon and refusing payment if the need is too great and the cost too dear for the recipient. It is easy to believe that same reckless care has been aligned over him. However ridiculous it may be.

"You needn't worry about me," he assures, all the same. "I've been here before and, as you can see, I'm still here."

"You've been to the third tier before?" Haru asks. Here, the only light to be found is in the glowing lava and ever-burning torches, and it bathes the tunnel and its occupants in an ember hue. Her hair carries a reddish shade that almost looks like her mother's in her younger years.

"And to the fourth and beyond," he answers.

"There's a fifth tier?"

Baron shakes his head. "There's only a single floor below fourth tier."

"I wonder why no one's heard of it."

"It's because all who venture there only meet death."

Haru eyes him. "Except for you."

"Except for me," he admits, "but I, as you have probably discerned, am a special case. The monsters here have a preference for attacking humans over a cursed cat doll," he says, echoing her words from so long ago with a smile.

"So what's down there?"

Nothing, he wants to say. Nothing worth seeking.

"The monster," he says instead.

"Same old, same old."

"No. This monster is the reason this dungeon exists."

Haru stops walking. "What?"

He's told this tale a hundred times, and each time tailored to pique his mortal's curiosity. Promises of riches or glory or power tied to success, and yet none will guarantee Haru's aid here.

Good.

"A long time ago, there was a monster terrorising the world, so great in power that to slay it was impossible. Many tried, many failed, and in the end all that could be done was to trap it away. To create a dungeon for it."

Haru blinks. "I never wondered why this place was called a dungeon."

Baron nods. "Some clues to its history have survived the eons. It's sealed away on the very lowest floor, trapped, but still very much alive and very much dangerous."

"Have previous heroes tried to kill it?"

"Yes."

"And I'm guessing none have succeeded."

"None."

He watches her, wary of the urge to seek out such a danger, but she seems to slot this new knowledge aside and move on.

He shouldn't feel relief.

But he does.

x

The fourth tier is the lowest part of the dungeon – before the inevitable, anyway – and the one that best betrays the abilities of those who built it.

Of those who built Baron.

Baron may be a more complex Creation than his bellicose brethren which occupy the fourth tier, but he is still a Creation, and his artisans didn't deviate far from previous forms. Although all monsters in the dungeon run on magic, those on the fourth tier most obviously owe their existence to it. Living statues, living suits of armour, living gargoyles... they all call the fourth tier home, and are so clearly built for that intention that it is only a matter of time before Haru looks to him and wonders.

They sit in an offshoot tunnel, lit by lanterns that glow blue, and Haru has been quiet ever since taking down a statue with a feline face. Baron sits beside her. He's been taking on a human height more often than he ought recently – more often than he ever has before – but for some reason he keeps coming back to it.

Haru runs a thumb over one of the gemstone eyes she looted from the statue. It's a glittering red, and sure to fetch a good price in Moonlighter... but Haru doesn't seem to be seeing that in it.

"Who are you, Baron?"

He offers the smile that has reassured many a hero before Haru. "I told you before: I am a Creation. When someone creates something with all of their heart–"

"You misunderstand me. I didn't ask what you were. I asked who." She looks to him, and suddenly he's wondering if she's seeing his own eyes echo so closely that of the statue, save for colour. "When I first saw you, I said you looked like fourth tier, but I didn't really dwell on that. I didn't really think through the implications." She rolls the gemstone eye in her palm. "Who created you, Baron?"

For all the heroes he's encountered, he's only had this conversation with a handful. Few seem to care exactly what or who he is, so long as he can benefit them.

He doesn't have the practice for this.

The truth – or as close as he is allowed – it is then. He inclines his head towards her hand. "I think you have a guess."

"Is it true, then?"

"Yes."

Her thumb rolls past the stone, and instead carresses the scar that runs across her palm. "You're not like the other creatures in this place thought," she says. "You don't harm."

Oh, how wrong she is.

"They're made for a different purpose," is all he's allowed to say. "They are designed to challenge heroes, to slowly increase the difficulty so that only the strongest of fighters reach the final floor and, perhaps, will be strong enough to slay the monster trapped there."

Haru considers this. "The dungeon is a test."

"And the monsters are the questions," Baron says.

"So what does that make you?"

The guillotine, Baron thinks. But that would warn Haru of the final step in his purpose, and he's forbidden from such truths. "I was designed to find such a hero," he says instead. "Or, more exactly, to make one. The final monster is beyond any mortal's ability to slay it, therefore I was tasked with finding a willing hero and giving them that power."

"Why?" she asks. "If the final monster is trapped for good, then surely it can just be left as it is, no need to throw wannabe heroes at it, unless..."

She goes quiet, and Baron suddenly realises with awful, heart-wrenching guilt, he knows exactly how to get Haru to the final floor.

"The monsters have been getting worse, have you noticed?" she asks. "Even on the first tier, they're more dangerous now than they were in my mother's time. Back then, the boldest heroes could make it as far as fourth tier – not often, mind, but still, it did happen – but it's been decades since anyone's delved this far." Except for herself. She doesn't voice the thought, but the words still hang in the air between them. "The town used to be bustling, but now even the firrst tier is a risky business."

Baron nods. "The binding wards are weakening."

It's true, but he wishes it were not. Not because of the threat it poses – but because he fears Haru's reckless selflessness, the care that has thrown her as far as fourth tier, breaking her own imposed limits again and again.

"What wards?" she asks.

"The wards that keep the final monster trapped. It was always going to happen – no magic lasts forever – but my creators had assumed I would have found a hero by then."

"The monster is waking up," Haru translates.

"Its power is rejuvenating," he corrects. "And with it, the power required to slay it is increasing. So the rest of the dungeon is adapting accordingly – in order to create a hero able to slay it, the other levels must increase in threat also."

"So, eventually even first tier is going to be too dangerous for anyone to enter..." Haru says.

"And the monster will one day break free," he finishes. "Yes."

Baron has been searching for a hero to slay the monster for longer than he cares to count.

It has been long enough for him to forget the faces of those who made him – and his memory is sturdier than most – and their voices may be gone, but never their words. Never the purpose for which he was created. For in his chest there lies a crystal, a condensed heart of magic, and in that crystal is his purpose carved. He can no more disobey his purpose than he can tear out his crystalline heart and live.

He's never wanted to.

Until now.

"You can still walk away," he says. "There's time."

"If I do, you'll merely find someone else to take my place," she replies. "Won't you?"

He wishes he could deny it. Not because the truth makes him sound fickle – although it does that also – but because Haru's humanity has crawled under his skin and the idea unsettles him. How could he offer his aid to a human, knowing he was just leading them to their death?

And yet he would, because that is the way he was built.

He doesn't answer, and apparently that is answer enough for Haru.

"Maybe the next person will succeed," Haru says, ignorant that success will kill as surely as failure, "maybe they won't. Maybe," she continues, not looking to Baron, "you'll one day offer the same deal to my cousin's daughter. Assuming, of course, the binding wards last that long."

"It's what I was made for," he says, voice hoarse with apology, but unable to deny it. "All Creations have a purpose. This is mine."

"That's what I thought," she says, and there's no anger in her words. He wishes there were. He wishes she would rage, wishes she would hate him as she should, but there's only sorrow.

"Tell me truly, Baron: do you think I could do it?"

"You are nearly strong enough to defeat it," he answers, "and, when the time comes, I will grant you enough magic to succeed."

Ask me if you'll live, he wants to beg. Ask me so you can see me lie, so you can see the truth.

But, of course, she doesn't. She trusts him too much by now to doubt, to search for hidden truths. She cares too much to ask after her own wellbeing.

He wishes she could be just a little bit more selfish.

Haru looks to her rations. She has, as always, been careful with her magic and supplies, and despite the long journey down, there's still fire in her veins. "Then I guess there's no time like the present, huh?" She grins, and Baron's heart wishes to break. "Let's go slay a monster."

x

Baron has been to this final floor only a handful of times. More than once, the hero's eagerness has overtaken sense, and Baron has watched them be scorched into oblivion. The first time Baron got a hero this far, it was his own underestimation of the monster's power that killed them.

But, more often than not, it is the hero's own magic that kills them in the end.

Baron's never spent this long with a single mortal, and Haru's magic reflects that. It's no longer the messy instinct that reacts without thought, but is instead more akin to muscle memory, honed through practice. It moves with her, responding to her needs the way a hound follows the subtlest of its master's orders.

He has created many monsterhunters over the years, but Haru is the first he actually believes will succeed in the task.

It doesn't matter. It'll still kill her in the end.

Even after all this time, she still carries that damn rusted sword at her side, despite the fact that it's even more useless now than it was in the beginning. Her hand flies to its hilt in some remnant self-defence when she sees the creature she plans to slay.

"It's a dragon?" she whispers to Baron.

"Yes."

"You couldn't have told me that?"

"Would it have made a difference?" he asks.

"...No. But it would have been nice to know." She drops her hand away from the sword and flexes her fingers. Magic – that iridescent blue – sparks between her fingers. She inhales slowly and the magic retracts, drawing close under her skin, carefully reined in. "Right. I'm guessing this is a fire-breathing dragon–"

"Magic, but it comes to the same sort of fate," Baron amends.

"Either way, you're staying back."

He bridles at that. "I can–"

"You said it yourself – your role isn't to fight," Haru reminds him, "so you're staying out of the way. Or has your purpose changed since we last talked?"

Baron scowls, but there's little he can do against the truth. He's not sure his purpose will even allow him to intervene – but he wishes he could at least try. "There's still time," he tries once more. "You can walk away."

"I can," she admits, "but we both know I won't."

"I know."

She leans in quickly and kisses him – brief enough to be little more than a breeze brushing him – and she grins that that daring grin that he knows so well. "I'll see you on the other side," she whispers, and then she is gone.

She moves quickly with a speed honed from the delving, and is nearly upon the dragon before it even notices her. She flings her arms out and vines spring up from the ground. They wrap around the beast, thick rope-like shoots binding it down, and already she's moving onto her next stage of attack. Fire simmers in her palms, hot enough to burn blue and she slices through the air with razor-thin flames. They slice through the dragon and it–

It doesn't even notice.

Haru rolls to the side as the tail sweeps towards her, lined with spikes that will kill with a single blow. She tries again, this time with balls of ice, thick enough to be fatal for most monsters.

Again, it shakes it off, this time with a wing that smacks into Haru. She catches herself with her magic – air swirling beneath her to form a cushion – but that damn sword spins out of its sheath and skitters to a halt close to Baron.

Baron can't stand this any more. He steps out into the cavern. "Forget elemental attacks!" he cries. "The only thing that will cut through a dragon's skin is pure magic!"

The dragon swings its tail again, and this time it strikes the columns nearest Baron. He leaps out of the way – but not wholly. Chunks of stone slam into him and he feels the fracture that runs through him. And as he gathers his senses back together, he hears Haru scream.

She screams, but it's not one of pain or terror. It's a scream of rage and grief, and magic erupts from her palms. Jet streams of pure, unaltered power slams into the dragon's chest, and Haru stands before it, hair crackling and eyes glowing, and in that moment she looks as monstrous as the creature she was tasked to slay.

And then the magic runs out and she slumps to her knees, terrifyingly mortal.

When the light has dimmed, both can see the beast is down, a death rattle wheezing through its charred body.

"It's nearly dead," Haru rasps. She tries to rise to her feet, but the strength has gone from her limbs and she doesn't understand why. She looks to Baron, and he braces for the betrayal, but there's only reckless determination. "Magic. Baron, give me more magic like you promised."

The dragon is inches from death, but already it's beginning to stir. The blistering skin is bubbling, healing. This is the way Baron's creators made his own spell to work – the dragon can only be killed by using up everything a mortal had to offer. Even as Haru's magic is regenerating, so is the dragon's, perfectly matched to end them both.

"Baron!"

He knows what his purpose is. He knows he was made to create a hero capable of slaying a dragon, and now success is so close, he can almost see it.

But, more importantly, he can see Haru.

His purpose demands he gives her the means to slay the dragon.

And he refuses.

Baron's magic is carefully crafted to his role. It's designed for exactly two things: to keep him alive, and to transform life force into magic. He isn't designed for combat, and that's a feature, not a flaw. He was never meant to do anything more than watch.

But the dragon is so close to death, perhaps that doesn't matter.

He kneels down to the rusted sword by his feet, and its weight is alien to him, balanced in a way his cane is not. Dulled but still, possibly, deadly.

He starts into a run, aiming for the chest where the scales are still soft from healing, and where the muscle is still so thin he can see the heartbeat pulse within. He hears Haru shouting, but he can't make out the words. All he can do is duck as the dragon swings claws and wings at him, running for his life – for both their lives – and stab the rusted blade into the bubbling flesh.

The sword sinks into the marred skin, past warped ribs and melted muscle, and he feels the give as it pierces the heart. The dragon writhes. Baron clings on, suit tearing and gloves bloodied, and when he is finally thrown free, he feels something crack when he hits the wall.

He watches through fractured vision as the dragon contorts, screaming and curling in upon itself and then, finally falling still.

A silence settles. It settles so deep that he can feel it rooting through him, even as footsteps echo across the room. Haru drops down beside him, her face pale and her limbs shaking, but alive.

He waits for his purpose to remind him that shouldn't be – that he has one more duty to perform – but the silence prevails. He follows Haru's horrified gaze and sees the reason why.

A crack runs down his chest, split open from throat to stomach as cleanly and bloodlessly as a log struck by an axe. He presses a ruined glove to the opening and cradles the fissured crystal as it falls from his shattered chest.

"Ah," he says, and he can already feel his magic drying up, the ebbing tide tugging at his lips. "That would explain it."

"You idiot," Haru rasps. "What did you do that for? I had everything under control; you had just given me that little bit more magic like you'd promised, instead of leaping into the fray yourself–"

"Haru–"

"Hold still, I can help."

"Haru–"

She presses her hands over his, over the shattered crystal, pushing it back into his chest, and he can feel the magic begin to pour out of her, trying desperately to do the one thing it was never designed for – to heal.

"Haru, don't–"

"I can do this, if you'll just unlock that last bit of magic–"

"I can't–"

"You can! Why won't you–"

"Because it'll kill you."

Haru's frantic movements falter, and at last there is that doubt he has deserved all this time. "What?"

"I lied." He curls his hand around hers and gently peels her hold free of his chest. She lets him, too numb to press back. "I don't unlock your potential for magic. I convert it from life force. From your life force."

"What?"

The sight flickers in his left eye. He blinks, and Haru's face falls back into focus. Despite everything, for some reason she's still here, still by his side. "My creators never intended for the hero to live," Baron says, and every word is a truth he was never meant to reveal. But now his crystal lies shattered, and the purpose written within it lost. "From the moment you took this deal, it was designed to be the death of you. No one powerful enough to defeat the monster could be allowed to live; you'd be a threat greater than the dragon you slew." He draws a shuddering breath, but Haru should hear this. She deserves to. "And so the spell I was given was to transmute life force into magic, so that anyone powerful enough to defeat the dragon would have to drain their own life in order to succeed."

He waits for the anger, for the betrayal.

"How much more do you need?" she asks instead. "How much more do you need me to give to heal you?"

"All of it," he replies softly, softly enough he is sure he can hear his nonexistant heart breaking. "More than you could ever give."

"Well," she says, with a twist of her lips that is part smile, part stubbornness that he both loves and hates, "that's not quite true. More than I could give and live, sure... but not more than I could give."

"Don't–"

She untangles her hands from his and presses them back to his chest. "I can't," she agrees, "at least, not without your help. You're the only one who can give me the power to heal you, to create me into someone who can – so let me."

He shakes his head. "Why would I do that?"

"Because I can save you."

"At the cost of your own life," he rasps.

Haru's gaze lingers on her own hands, grazed and bruised after the fight, blood caught beneath the nails, and brushes her fingers over the crevice nearly cleaving Baron. Even now, she's emitting a steady stream of magic, just enought to keep him from collapsing altogether. It's only a temporary remedy; once she stops, it'll only be a matter of time before the inevitable.

"Do you love me with all of your heart, Baron?"

"Yes." And in that moment, he realises it to be utterly, indeliably true. "Yes, of course."

She grins, bittersweet. "Don't forget that. Now, please, just trust me. Let me help you."

When she asks of him such, how can he refuse?

"Don't let me regret this," he says, and transmutes the last of her life force to magic.

Haru heaves a shuddering breath and collapses forward. Baron catches her as she falls into him, but her hands are still pressed against his chest. The magic flowing into him sputters. Flickers once, twice, and for a heartbeat its extinguished entirely.

Then it's like a dam has burst, and the power that sinks into him is like the sun compared to the candlelight of before. The surface of his wound springs to life, greening until branches grow across the fissure and knit it closed, while the crystal within reforges, setting into a new shape, untouched by the purpose once carved into it.

And still Haru is folded against him, her skin glowing with the sheer power held within.

"Haru, that's enough–"

He goes to grab her shoulders, but his hands jolt away, burnt.

No, not burnt. He runs his hands over one another, but there's no sign of scorching. He cautiously reaches for her again, and this time recognises it as intense cold instead, like that of ice, or snow, or...

Or metal.

His hands realise the cause before his head does, and by the time he's fully registered just what Haru's plan had been, he's already reaching to her with his own magic. It's crazy. It's reckless. It's trusting him with far too much heart, and yet – and yet it has to work.

With his own magic, he shapes the raw magic that runs rampart through Haru, and begins to herd it together. He condenses it down, smaller and denser, until he can sense that where Haru's heart used to be is now a crystal made of pure, solidified magic, just like his.

When the light dies down, he's holding in his arms a knight in shining armour. Where once there was skin, there's now only silver, soft flesh traded for metal, and a heart traded for magic. But when she stires – and she does – it is still Haru who stares out of those glittering gemstone eyes.

"Well," she says, and the metal face resembles her own, the metal shifting in impossible ways to facilitate speech. She pauses. Twitches her mouth experimentally. "Well," she tries again, "this is different."

Baron pulls her into an embrace, and the body fits all wrong, too many angular shapes and ice-cold surfaces – but it's her. It's Haru, alive in the closest thing they could be granted a happy ending. "Reckless, crazy, foolish," he mutters into her shoulder. He draws back to see the face again – and those eyes, still hers. "How could you possibly have been sure that would work?"

"I didn't," Haru says. "But you said it yourself – when someone creates something with all of their heart, then it is given a soul." She passes a gauntlet along the line of her jaw. "You were told to create a hero and it seems you succeeded."

"It was incredibly risky."

"I know. But some things are worth the risk." She sighs and glances to the dragon's corpse. "So now what happens to this place?"

Baron follow's her gaze. "Now, the dungeon will begin to degrade. It was made to bring about the monster's death, and now it's succeeded, it has no use."

"Moonlighter will close without a dungeon to maintain it," Haru says.

"Does that sadden you?"

"No." Haru rises to her feet, steadied with Baron's aid. "No," she repeats, "Moonlighter claimed enough lives. It's time us Yoshiokas got to choose our own futures."

She smiles his way, and even amid the metal and magic, Baron still knows that smile.

"And I think I know what my future holds."

[paging-possum]

was going to start writing an essay about the possible overlap between christianity and OCD and then I remembered im on Tumblr dot com and also a fucking idiot when it comes to putting things into words

[ismyteadoneyet]

conversation: *takes a turn into gen-ai*

me: I have trained for this for months. I have heard every stupid argument possible and nothing will baffle me

brother: *somehow comes up with an even stupider argument*

me: what in the entire fuck

[hawthorn-j]

This is getting out of hand. Now there are two of them!

Two chapters of Hard Pressed! In a day! Second one can be found here!

I'm not sure what quite possessed me on this one - I'm a good chunk of the way through the next chapter already. I had previously planned to try and get one chapter of this thing out a month, but 2024 was a goddamned bitch of a year and it killed a lot of my motivation. Now, however, we're up to one a month on average - not bad for a story that I had mixed feelings about coming into the new year.

I hit a bit of a wall in terms of how I wanted it to go, and more crucially how I was going to get information about the setting out without drowning the thing in exposition. Stormshield was coming much more easily, to the point where I considered sticking it on Ao3 and calling time on Hard Pressed, but I think I'll stick with the plan I had - there will be shorts/other art from Stormshield, but I'm writing the main story with the thought of self-publishing when I've finished it. I'm in a place where I can enjoy both stories, apparently to the point where I can put out over 2k words in a day, and that's fine by me.

[baronessblixen]

I was so hoping I'd unexpectantly get hit by inspiration, or confidence or *something*, but it hasn't happened. I ignored Fictober as long as I could and now it's here. I know no one cares whether I write or not. But *I* care. So I'm still gonna try. I will be rusty. The fics might be boring. But I will at least try.

Posting this to hold myself accountable.

[lokh]

i know people complain about like. learning the rules for te-form or informal past tense in japanese being difficult but. right now swedish feels a million times worse