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hoo-n-i-ki · 19 days ago

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Cold One. (Chapter 3)

Only when death looms do regrets surface.

PAIRING - Volturi!Riki x Cullen!fem!reader

GENRE - Twilight AU

CHAPTER WC - 7337

WARNINGS - Vampires, shapeshifters, graphic violence, cursing, plot heavy. Mentions of death + organized crime. Brief cameo of villain shapeshifter Enhypen. (This is a complete work of fiction and is in no way a representation of Riki or Enhypen).

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Once the shock wears off, Misora lunges at her brother.

At the Mind Stealer. At the most devastating angel—despite the eyes of a demon.

You watch as your new best friend moves, driven by over a century of pain. She slams into him with all her inhuman strength, knocking him back, snarling like a feral creature.

And the Volturi guard? He stands as he is, and takes it, despite the likelihood that he could overpower her.

“You left us!” She roars, but her voice is ragged. “We thought you were dead! We thought the Yakuza killed you after you stole all that blood money and left it on our doorstep!”

“I’m sorry.” His apology drips with sincerity. But his words fall onto deaf ears.

“But in reality—this is where you were? Off playing assassin for those parasites? Do you know what you did to mom? If you thought she lost it when she lost her husband, you should’ve seen her when she lost her son.” She laughs bitterly, a cackle so loud it sends the birds flying off the treetops. “She used up part of the money you left us to throw you an elaborate sōshiki, to honor you, and even though there was no body, she cried at your memorial stone for weeks.

“Weeks, Puppeteer, weeks!”

Misora starts screaming. Actual, gut-wrenching screams.

And him? If vampires could cry…

“Jasper, how about you calm her down?” Carlisle whispers to him on your side of the clearing.

“Let them keep going,” Edward interrupts. “He deserves it for using his power against Bella 19 years ago. Any Volturi bastard deserves it.”

“But he’s with us, now.” Carlisle says.

“No he isn’t. He’s with Misora. And…” Edward throws a momentary glance at you, almost contemplative or confused. But he doesn’t finish his sentence.

“I only left to protect you from myself, I swear—“

She punches him, square in the stony jaw.

“Don’t you dare. Don’t you dare swear a single thing to me, because I’ll never believe you, anymore.” Her chest heaves. “You swore that our family would always be together. But guess what? You left. You’re not even the son our parents raised, anymore. Mom, dad, Konon, they’re all gone.” She lifts her arms in exasperation. “I was almost gone, and I was excited to finally see my big brother again, but I got hit with the curse that you so openly embrace.”

He kneels.

“Miso, please, hear me out.”

“I will never,” her voice breaks, “ever be your Miso again!”

She starts shouting in Japanese, but he simply watches with furrowed brows.

It’s like he… forgot his mother tongue during his time with the Volturi.

He lost his identity.

She keeps going. He keeps kneeling. The Cullens keep curiously watching.

And you keep wishing to intervene. But it’s not your place.

Until Misora’s voice tires, and finally stops. She stares at him for a while, heartbreak radiating off of her skin. She recognizes her brother, but she doesn’t know him at all.

She turns to re-enter the Cullen house, you follow her, and the Cullens follow you.

You turn to the angel one last time, and he’s still on his knees with his eyes cast downwards.

The family tries to calm down Misora by giving her a bag of O-.

“(Y/N)?” Esme turns to you with the second blood bag in hand.

You shake your head. You haven’t drank in a week. You feel weak, but you don’t wanna give in—not to human blood, at least.

There’s nothing wrong with you that you’re so unable to ingest animal blood, whereas the Cullens are able to.

Right?

“No, thank you. I wanna give animal blood a try again.”

Esme nods with a sympathetic smile. “Just drink this so you can be strong enough to hunt with us next time, then?”

You sigh and take it with a grateful nod.

A couple sips. Just a couple sips.

Hm.

It’s not as warm as it is fresh—straight from the source—but it still has the sweetness no deer or mountain lion can replicate.

Your fingers tighten around the bag and your fangs ache the more it floods every single one of your senses.

It’s an addiction, but you can control it. You can. You have to—because you refuse to relive that shame.

You tell yourself that this is just closure. Just one last drink. You certainly need it in more ways than one.

It’s just so easy.

But you’re (Y/N) (Y/L/N). You’ve never chosen the easy way out—so when you’re done, you force yourself to pull it away for the final time, even as your throat burns as though it’s upset at saying goodbye.

Misora turns to you. “You’re sure you can do the deers with the sliminess in their blood?”

You trade a glance, and the two of you burst into miserable laughter.

“I’m not sure about anything, anymore,” you scoff.

The two of you sit in a distracted silence whilst the Cullens split off—washing away the remnants of the morning. So you take the opportunity to slip outside.

You weave your way through the trees, feet silent against the damp earth. Something in your gut tells you he’s still here. It’s not logic—it’s instinct. A quiet pull in your chest that you don’t quite understand. You don’t know why you’re doing this. You don’t know him. His scent isn’t familiar like the Cullens’ or Misora’s—it doesn’t pull at any memories or feelings of safety.

And yet, there’s something about him. Something magnetic. Something that urges you forward, despite every rational part of you telling you to turn back.

And then you see him.

Riki kneels at a small creek’s edge, staring into the water like it might hold all the answers he’s lost. His reflection wavers, distorted by the gentle current, but he doesn’t move. He’s unnervingly still—too still, even for a vampire. And his cloak is discarded on the ground, beside him.

For a moment, you just watch.

It’s strange, isn’t it? That you followed him here. That your feet carried you straight to him. You shouldn’t be here. He was sent to kill you, wasn’t he? And now, with Jane and Alec gone, the Volturi will come for him.

And that should scare you. It does scare you.

But you don’t turn away. Instead, you step closer.

“This place… it reminds me of home. There’s a creek behind our old neighborhood in Okayama. My sisters and I used to play there—before everything changed.”

He exhales sharply, gaze still fixed on the water.

He heard you… or maybe he felt your presence, the way you did his.

“Volterra isn’t like this. It’s stone and shadow. Cold. The only water runs through the underground tunnels, and it reeks of death.”

The sound of his voice settles into your bones the more he speaks—a deep, rich tenor that seems to hum through the air itself, and it lingers even after his words have faded.

Yet, when he speaks now, there’s a quietness to it, a vulnerability beneath the depth of his tone.

It shouldn’t be so mesmerizing. He shouldn’t be so mesmerizing.

But the way his voice brushes against your senses—it’s like gravity itself shifts, pulling you closer.

You smile softly as you near his side. “Misora never talked about her old life.”

He shrugs. “It was a tough life, I don’t blame her. And pretty sure I only ended up making it worse, no matter how much I thought I was doing good at the time.” He looks down for a couple of seconds, then back at the water. “I never spoke about it either.”

“Well, pretty sure the company you kept isn’t the type where you sit in a circle sharing secrets while you braid each other’s hair.”

He laughs.

It’s quiet at first—just a short exhale through his nose, like he’s caught off guard by the amusement creeping in. But then it deepens, a low, rich chuckle that rumbles from his chest and melts into the evening air. It’s unpolished, like he isn’t used to laughing anymore, like the sound itself has been buried beneath years of blood and duty.

And it’s… warm. Unexpectedly warm, considering everything about him should be cold. You shouldn’t be wondering how someone who has done such terrible things could sound so human when he laughs.

But you do.

He quiets down and continues. “Not just that. I didn’t want to remember, because I knew that the memories would never stop haunting me if I let myself dwell on the past. It worked… even though it was at the expense of everything I’d ever held dear to me. Until now.” He sticks a tongue in his cheek. “And now? It feels like I’m drowning in everything.”

You hesitate for a moment, studying him as he stares into the water, lost in something only he can see. His words hang between you, heavy and raw, like he’s only just realizing the weight of them himself.

And then, before you can stop yourself, you ask, “Why are you telling me this?”

His jaw flexes. For a second, you think he won’t answer. That maybe he regrets saying anything at all. But then, he exhales sharply through his nose and finally turns to look at you.

His eyes—so red, so beautiful, so unreadable—search yours like he’s trying to find the answer in them before he even speaks.

“I don’t know,” he admits, voice quieter now. “Maybe because you’re the only one who doesn’t look at me like I’m already damned.”

You nod thoughtfully, and turn to gaze at the waters, trying to see what he’s seeing.

If he was truly damned, he wouldn’t have betrayed the kings for the sake of love.

There’s humanity in there, somewhere. Perhaps you’ll be lucky enough to get to slowly uncover it as you uncover your own.

The silence you share is not awkward. It’s peace.

“You were right, by the way. I did hesitate. And maybe that cost me everything. But it feels like I gained something, instead.” He scoffs. “I definitely didn’t gain Misora back. Hell, I deserve everything she threw at me—because I don’t even know how to be a brother anymore. I just…”

You turn to face him fully, the weight of his words pressing into you. You can see the conflict in the tense set of his shoulders, the way his hands rest loosely at his sides, as if he’s unsure how to move forward.

“You got some closure?”

For a long moment, he doesn’t speak, doesn’t even move. His eyes flicker to yours, and when rubies meet bloodstains, there’s an intensity—something raw and searching.

His gaze holds you captive, and you’re not sure if you’re the one who’s getting pulled in or if it’s him. Maybe it’s both. It’s like the world itself has narrowed down to just the two of you.

“Maybe I’m just trying to figure out how to be someone who’s worth trusting again.”

You give him a tight-lipped smile. “She’ll come around. You just have to prove to her that she can trust you again. And hey, you have all the time in the world to do that, right?”

He chuckles dryly. “If Aro doesn’t kill me by tomorrow.” He shrugs. “I’m not sure she’ll be able to look past the past 200 years, though.”

“You might’ve known the Misora from back then, but I know the Misora now. I genuinely do believe she’ll forgive you one day. She might be cynical and great at holding a grudge, but she is crazy loyal. Just try to live long enough to see her loyalty, okay?” You try to laugh.

He smiles with those plump lips. “I was sent here to kill you. Why would you want me to live?”

You pause. Why indeed. “Because it would make my best friend happy, and you didn’t kill me, now did you?”

“Is that it?”

You both fall into a charged silence, and for a fleeting moment, the world feels like it’s holding its breath.

Something stirs inside you. Maybe it’s the lingering threat of danger, or maybe it’s the unspoken understanding between you two that you don’t know how to name.

You can’t hold his gaze for long. The intensity is too much, like it’s pulling you into some unknown abyss. Had you still had a beating heart, the pulse would thumping in your ears.

“I don’t know,” you finally say, your voice barely above a whisper. The truth.

He nods slowly, eyes never leaving yours, and it’s as if he understands—like he knew you didn’t have an answer, but he needed to hear you say it. For a moment, there’s nothing but the rustling of leaves in the breeze and the soft gurgle of the creek before you.

Then, you both get the urge to move at the same time. As you do, your hand brushes against his, and it’s a fleeting touch, but it’s enough to send a jolt of electricity up your spine.

You don’t pull away immediately. Your eyes flicker down to where your fingers are lightly grazing against his skin. Riki’s eyes shift to your hand, then back to your face, his expression curious. But there’s something in the way his lips twitch upward, just slightly.

You pull your hand back, awkwardly, but it doesn’t seem to matter. The connection remains, thick in the air, heavy with unspoken words.

You both start walking, and you try to fill the silence, trying to let your mind wander away from the ending conversation you just had, but it keeps coming back.

“So,” you ask, breaking the quiet, “you planning to stick around at the Cullens’ place for a while?”

Riki scoffs, his hands stuffed in his pockets as he walks beside you. “Highly doubt Carlisle would let a Volturi into his home, even if his daughter does vouch for him.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “I’m not his daughter.”

The words are out before you even think about them. But then they land heavier than you expect. You hadn’t really thought about what it meant to not have parents ever since you entered your… current state.

You slow your step, the sudden weight of the memory crashing into you. Your parents. Their deaths. The vampires who took them from you. What would they think of you now? What would they think of where you are, who you’ve become—who you’re standing next to?

The thought is suffocating, and it almost stops you in your tracks.

Riki’s footsteps falter slightly beside you, and when you glance at him, his gaze is far off, focused on nothing in particular. His brow furrows in quiet thought.

“You know,” he murmurs, “I can’t help but wonder what my parents would think of me. If they could see me now…” His voice trails off, and for a moment, it’s just the two of you once again. You’re sharing something, without ever having to say it.

You understand that neither of you can change the past, can undo what’s been done. But you both have to keep going.

You force yourself to shake off the dark thought and turn your attention back to Riki, the smile creeping back onto your lips. “Don’t worry about it. Carlisle’s good with lost causes. You’ll fit right in.”

He glances at you, that same quiet amusement flickering in his gaze.

But it falls once you step up to the edge of the property. You follow his gaze—to where his sister sits in the living room, exposed by the floor-to-ceiling windows.

“On second thought, I’ll go occupy myself with something else.” He gulps. “Thank you for your… kindness.”

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Riki walks away, and he doesn’t stop until the lights of the Cullen house disappear behind the trees.

It’s better this way—that’s what he tells himself.

But the weight in his chest doesn’t agree.

He tells himself Misora is safer without him, that she’s better off not facing the repercussions of what he’s done. He tells himself he didn’t leave because he was afraid of her reaction to seeing him again.

But that’s a lie.

He is afraid.

He saw the way she looked at him. That uncertain betrayal, like she was trying to make sense of the person in front of her. Like she didn’t recognize him.

Maybe she doesn’t. Maybe she never will again.

Because the brother she remembers—the one who looked out for her, protected her, stayed by her side—he doesn’t exist anymore.

The person standing here now?

He’s a murderer.

The words taste like blood, metallic and bitter.

He doesn’t regret it. Alec and Jane deserved to die.

But the Volturi won’t see it that way, because they don’t care the way he does. The members of the Volturi all have their mates with them, and that’s all that matters to them.

He’s never had a mate… but today struck him with the loneliness and seclusion he’s been in for 200 years, and when faced with impending death, he wishes he went about everything differently.

They’ll come for him. That much is certain. Maybe not tomorrow. Maybe not next week. But eventually.

No one kills the Guard and walks away unscathed. Not even the Volturi’s most prized possession. In fact, they’ll probably be more eager to kill him, considering his position.

He knows too much.

So why does he still feel like he lost something else, tonight, besides his life?

He exhales sharply, shaking his head.

Misora will be fine. The Cullens will protect her.

And (Y/N)…

His steps falter.

Her face flashes through his mind—eyes steady, voice unyielding. She spoke to him like he’s a person. Not just the boogie monster of vampires. He’s been somebody else for centuries, now, but for a moment… he felt like Riki Nishimura.

He laughed.

She looked at him like he was more than just his sins. Like there was still something left worth saving.

Stupid.

He scoffs under his breath, pressing forward. She’s just a reckless newborn. She doesn’t know what she’s doing. She doesn’t know him.

And yet, that brief moment with her is the only thing that doesn’t feel tainted by the rest of tonight.

His fingers twitch at his sides.

Stupid, reckless, exquisite newborn.

But none of it matters.

Not her. Not Misora. Not this useless ache in his chest.

Because soon, the Volturi will come for him.

And when they do, there won’t be anything left of him to mourn.

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Morning light filters through the trees outside, casting soft, shifting patterns on the Cullen house’s pristine walls. The peace feels deceptive—something you haven’t had since turning.

And then Rosalie, standing by the door, lets out a sharp breath.

“You’re going to want to see this,” she says, unfolding a piece of parchment.

It’s the blood-red V emblem imprinted into the wax seal. It’s the same logo on the letter itself.

You’ve seen it before, months ago in Carlisle’s office.

Back then, it was a warning about the tiger shifters. A very vague warning, because there’s nothing actually in it for them. It wouldn’t have affected them or their authority if the Cullens were killed by the Baekho clan.

This letter, though, leaves no room for interpretation.

“To the Cullen Family,

It has come to our attention that one of our own has chosen to defy us. Riki, a member of the Volturi Guard, has committed an unforgivable transgression. The breach of our laws cannot go unpunished.

We understand that he may be under your protection, but we warn you—this is not a matter to be taken lightly. His actions will have consequences, and we demand that you return him to us.

Bring us the boy.

Failure to comply will result in actions that will not be limited to just the one who defies us. You may believe yourselves untouchable, but know this: the Volturi do not make threats. We make promises.

Consider your next steps carefully.”

You’ve barely read the words before Misora’s exhale, barely more than a whisper, breaks the silence. “Riki…”.

She’s already on her feet before anyone can react, moving toward the door like she’s running on instinct.

“Where are you going?” Jasper asks, stepping into her path.

“To find him.”

You speak before you even realize it. “I’ll go with you.”

Misora hesitates for only a second before nodding.

Once outside, the cold air bites at your skin—not that you mind. You don’t speak at first, just move quickly through the trees.

But where would he go? Misora seems to be as aimless as you are.

Then you remember him at the creek. Quiet, lost in thought. So water is nostalgic to him.

“Should we try the Goldstream River?”

Misora shakes her head. “No. That doesn’t make sense. Riki isn’t… he isn’t that person anymore.”

“Then where would we find him in this entire town?”

Misora doesn’t have an answer, but this is the only idea, the only lead you’ve got.

So you run.

The forest blurs around you as you race toward the river, branches whipping past, footsteps quiet against the undergrowth. And then, finally—

There he is, in all his shimmery glory.

Riki stands at the water’s edge, arms crossed, gaze fixed on the slow-moving current. His expression is unreadable, but something about the way he holds himself—shoulders stiff, jaw tight—tells you that brain of his has not quieted down.

Misora exhales sharply, and glances at you, then back to him.

You just watch him for a moment. Misora doesn’t think he’s the same person she used to know, the brother that played with her by the water. But this is where he always finds himself.

Misora freezes, and she can’t bring herself to move closer. He’s noticing, though. You can see the red of his irises in the corner of his eyes watching, waiting, hoping.

Well, you hope that you’re enough.

“Riki,” you start, stepping forward. “You need to hear this.”

He doesn’t turn, doesn’t shift from where he stands. But you see the way his fingers twitch at his sides. He’s listening.

“The Volturi sent a letter,” you continue. “They’re demanding that we hand you over.”

Misora flinches beside you, but Riki… he just smiles. It’s small, barely there. A resigned kind of thing.

“Of course they did.” He finally turns his head to glance at you. “It was only a matter of time.”

Something about how calm he is unsettles you. There’s no panic, no urgency—just this quiet acceptance, like he’s already laid himself at the Volturi’s feet in his mind. Like he’s been waiting for this moment all along.

“You don’t have to do this,” you tell him, stepping closer. “The Cullens—Misora and I—we’re not going to let them take you.”

His gaze flickers, but he shakes his head. “You don’t understand. This isn’t a fight you can win.”

“That’s not your decision to make.” Your voice is steady, firm, and that surprises even you.

He looks at you then—really looks at you. Eyes scanning, searching, trying to figure out what the hell you’re doing standing here, offering him something no one ever has.

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“Absolutely not.”

The words hit the air like a slap, and Riki flinches, though he doesn’t show it. Edward stands rigid, his gold eyes dark with what Riki knows is a mix of disbelief and fury.

“You can’t seriously think we’re going to risk everything for you,” Edward continues, voice low and harsh. “I don’t care how much we owe Misora or care about (Y/N). We’re not going to stand by you when you’ve already made it clear how little you think of us,” Edward spits out, the words laced with a sharp edge. “All you’ve done is hurt people, Riki. You were there when the Volturi wanted to kill Renesmee. You don’t get to walk in here and expect us to fight for you.”

Expect them?

He never expected a single thing. The only thing he’s expecting is death.

It’s just that (Y/N) let him hope. He really should’ve known better.

His guardian angel who for some reason decides to speak up. “If he dies, it doesn’t change what he did. It won’t undo the blood on his hands.” She narrows her red eyes at her gold-eyed family. Because the way they stand together? This really is a family—regardless of whether or she accepts it.

And he… is envious.

“But this isn’t about the past. It’s about the present,” she continues. “I thought you guys don’t leave someone behind, not someone who needs us!”

Carlisle, who had been quiet up until now, finally speaks. “The moment that letter arrived, we were already implicated. The Volturi made that clear—we’re in this, whether we like it or not.”

The words settle over the room like a cold realization.

Still, Misora doesn’t move. She hasn’t said a single word since they returned, standing with her arms crossed, watching it all unfold. But now, finally, she steps forward.

“Why should I fight for you?” Her voice is quiet, but the bitterness in it is unmistakable. “You never fought for me during this life.”

Riki exhales slowly, his expression unreadable. “Misora…”

“You stood by and let me believe I was abandoned,” she continues, the edge to her voice sharp. “I fought to keep myself alive. I’ve already done more than I needed to by deciding to warn you.”

She laughs bitterly, but there isn’t a single glint in those crimson eyes of hers. The eyes that used to hold nothing but mischief are now all sorrow, and it’s his fault.

But like she said, she did warn him. Does she want him to live long enough to make things right?

Carlisle exhales. “I understand why none of you want to fight, and I’m not asking anyone to put themselves in danger.” His gaze lingers on Riki before moving to the others. “But that doesn’t mean we do nothing.”

“So, what?” Rosalie crosses her arms. “We just watch from the sidelines?”

“If that’s what it takes.”

Silence stretches, thick with tension.

Alice shifts, arms wrapped around herself. She looks at Riki, then at Edward, then finally at Carlisle. “I’ll try to see what Aro’s planning,” she says, closing her eyes.

Riki watches the crease form between the psychic’s brows. Her fingers twitch at her sides. Seconds pass.

Then Alice’s entire body tenses.

“I… I don’t see anything.” Her voice is barely above a whisper. Her hands curl into fists as her golden eyes snap open, wide with disbelief. “It’s blank.”

The words freeze the room.

Riki stands with his body taut, trying to plaster on that mask of indifference he had screwed onto his face back in Volterra. It would be easier to block everything out—to feel nothing and not care that no one is willing to fight for him. He wishes his sister’s bitterness didn’t pierce so hard, and didn’t remind him of all the years he let slip away. The numbness was so much safer—it prevented him from disappointments. But now? With Alice’s vision going blank? He realizes that it’s all too late.

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A week passes. A whole week, and still—nothing.

The Volturi don’t come. There’s no sign of them, no whispers of their approach, no ominous figures in the distance. Just silence.

It’s like the entire purpose of the letter was to put everyone on edge. And it worked. Even Alice, who has spent the past few days trying and failing to see anything, looks unnerved. Every conversation in the Cullen house circles back to the same thing: Why haven’t they come yet?

You don’t have an answer. No one does.

But in the meantime, you force yourself to focus on something you can control.

The animal blood still doesn’t taste right. It never will. Even the hunt doesn’t fill you with the adrenaline rush you used to chase for three whole months. But you drink it anyway, pushing past the revulsion, the longing for something richer, warmer, stronger. Every time you force it down, you remind yourself why.

You lost your way and became the very creature you resented your entire life. You let yourself forget that when you woke up with red eyes, let yourself believe the hunger was all that mattered. Even now, part of you still wonders if it’s too late—if you’ve already crossed a line that no amount of restraint can erase.

But if you can’t bring back the lives you’ve stolen, then maybe this is the least you can do.

Still, you miss it. The chase, the thrill—the way Misora used to grin at you right before the hunt began, sharp and wicked. But you hunt with the Cullens now.

Misora still chooses human blood, but she doesn’t hunt here. The Cullens made their treaty with the tiger shifters clear: no human blood within Victoria. So she vanishes for hours at a time, returning only when the hunger is sated, and you don’t ask where she goes, so that it doesn’t trigger your cravings.

Riki, on the other hand, appears to be too… dejected to hunt. He’s only drank a single blood bag so far, courtesy of Carlisle, just enough for his eyes to not turn black. But he did try out a coyote that Emmett dragged back to the lot a couple of days ago, and he didn’t look as disgusted as you’re certain you still do.

You’re perched on the back steps of the Cullen house, staring at the trees beneath the grey clouds when you hear him approach.

“You’re changing,” Riki says. His voice is quiet, not quite neutral, but close.

You glance at him. He’s standing a few feet away, hands in his pockets, eyes unreadable as they flicker over your face.

“What?”

He gestures vaguely. “Your eyes. They’re not as red as before.”

You blink, momentarily thrown off, before realization settles in. He noticed something so little. You lower your gaze, staring at your hands.

“Well.” You shrug. “I never liked the red much, to begin with.”

Riki doesn’t respond right away, and for a moment, there’s only silence between you. It’s not uncomfortable, not really. It’s just how things have been. He doesn’t seek you out, but he doesn’t avoid you either. There’s a strange in-between that you’ve both settled into—where he doesn’t push, and you don’t pry.

But now, he stays.

You glance at him from the corner of your eye. He looks as beautiful as always—messy dark hair, sharp features. And yet, something is different. Maybe it’s the way his shoulders don’t hold the same rigid tension, or how his expression isn’t completely closed off.

He almost looks… lost.

You watch as he shifts his weight, debating sitting down next to you.

Until he does.

“Is it a you hating vampirism kind of situation?” He asks calmly.

“I hate… what it reminds me of.”

You tell him everything.

Your memory of your parents’ death. The rampage you went on up until a month ago. All the while, he doesn’t judge. Certainly not the way you’d expect red-eyed royalty to—or at least, the direct subordinate of royalty. He just takes in what you have to say, the red of his eyes warm.

After a moment, he runs a hand through his soft hair. “I get it,” he says, voice quieter than before. “The whole… hating what you are thing.”

You blink, caught off guard.

He doesn’t elaborate immediately. Instead, he leans forward, resting his forearms on his knees, gaze fixed on the woods ahead. “Back in Volterra, I used to tell myself it didn’t matter. That I’d already lost everything, so what was the point of feeling bad about it?” His jaw tightens. “But then, at some point, I stopped having to tell myself. It just… was.”

“So what changed?” you ask, because clearly, something did.

He hesitates. Then, his lips curve into something that isn’t quite a smirk, isn’t quite a frown. “I saw the very reason I begged to be turned, again. I was killed, and then I was almost drained, but I begged the vampire I woke up to to save me somehow. I just wasn’t aware that by being saved, I would end up having to leave everything behind.”

You look at him, but he doesn’t meet your eyes. It’s not avoidance, exactly—it’s something else. Like he’s letting you in, just a little, but not enough to be exposed.

Little does he know, you were in a very similar position. Except you didn’t have a family to leave behind, you just had to let your career go… but in turn, you gained a family.

“I don’t wanna leave people behind, anymore, as long as they’ll have me.”

Instead, you huff a soft breath, nudging his arm. “Careful, Riki. That almost sounded sentimental.”

That earns you a glance, a glimmer of amusement in his expression. “Guess your coven rubbing off on me.”

“You wish.”

The corners of his full mouth twitch, just slightly. And you notice. You always notice. And you can’t help but stare.

But your gaze drags his to your lips, as well.

Until the creak of the door breaks you apart, so you re-enter the house.

Carlisle steps in, his footsteps a lot more… guarded than usual.

And in behind him comes Dr. Park.

You haven’t seen him in months. Since that night.

“(Y/N),” Carlisle starts, his lifted eyebrows almost telling you to be wary. “Dr. Park here wanted to check on how you were doing.”

Riki gets the hint and walks away, away from the brown-eyed man.

“Dr. (Y/L/N), how lovely it is to see you!” His tone is cheerful, but his eyes flicking between your blood orange ones are uncomfortable. Assessing.

“How are you holding up?” he asks, in a tone that suggests he’s genuinely curious—but something about it feels calculated. He gives you a sympathetic smile, but you’re in no position to trust it. “I can only imagine what a change it’s been for you, adjusting to this… new lifestyle.”

You tense, but you force a smile. “I’m managing.”

Dr. Park shifts, and though he’s trying to act casual, his body remains rigid. “I must apologize again for what happened that night… with the tiger shifters.” He holds up a hand, as if to stop you from interrupting. “I know it wasn’t just a simple accident. It was my responsibility, and I—” He pauses, then looks at you like he’s about to offer a kind gesture. “I never intended for any human to be hurt.”

He doesn’t regret attempting to kill Carlisle. He regrets the outcome.

“I’m sure you’ve been through a lot, with… everything you’ve had to give up,” Dr. Park adds, his gaze flicking to your hands briefly. “Family, friends, everything that you once were.” His words are soft, almost too soft. “But you should know that as soon as you build up your self control , if you ever want to come back…” His voice trails off, leaving a silence in the air.

Riki, standing off to the side, frowns slightly. You catch the flash of annoyance in his expression, but he says nothing. Misora, too, watches from the living room—her similar expression making her appear more like Riki’s twin than just his sister.

Carlisle steps in. “She’s doing fine, Dr. Park.”

“Of course, of course.” His smile falters for just a moment before it returns to its practiced warmth. “I just thought I’d offer my assistance.”

He turns toward the door, clearly not wanting to overstay his welcome. But his gaze lingers near the living room for a second longer than necessary.

But you might have hallucinated it.

Just like how the next day, when night falls, you start hallucinating a tiger’s roar. Because there’s no way Dr. Park would violate the treaty for no reason, right? Right?

You, the Cullens who aren’t out hunting, and Riki all share curious glances.

They heard it too.

A low, rumbling growl that wouldn’t belong to any vampire or human. It carries through the trees, deep and guttural, setting every nerve in your body on edge.

Riki hears it too. You see it in the way he tilts his head slightly, listening—then in the sharp flicker of his gaze toward the door. The two of you move almost at the same time, stepping outside alongside Carlisle and the others.

And that’s when you see them.

The tigers.

Your entire body locks up before you can stop it. The world narrows, sharpens—too bright, too loud, too familiar. The way they stand, the way their muscles coil like they’re ready—

It’s just like that night.

Your fingers curl into fists at your sides, nails biting into your skin. You try to force yourself to stay still, to ignore the way your throat tightens—but then Riki shifts.

At first, you think it’s just him moving closer to get a better look. But then, without a word, he steps in front of you.

It’s subtle. Casual, even. He doesn’t bare his teeth, doesn’t snarl like he’s challenging them—he just exists between you and them, a silent blockade.

“What is this, James?” Carlisle calls out to the woods. The man isn’t actually around, but who else could be commanding the shifters?

The amber-eyed tiger steps forward. You remember him—Jay, Dr. Park’s son. The one with icy eyes, Sunghoon. The largest, Heeseung.

And the one who attacked you, the one currently standing at the back but is the fastest, regardless. Jake.

Then shadows shift behind the tigers.

“Ah, how lovely to see you all again. I do hope we aren’t intruding.”

A voice that’s all warmth and poison.

A man you’ve never seen before steps out, with his long, brown hair and black and red coat, followed by a taller man with similarly dark hair and a blonde man.

Gasps ring out near you. Riki tenses in front of you. And you know his name right away.

Aro.

The one Misora once told you is the worst of them all. Thank goodness for her that she’s currently away from Victoria, hunting.

Alice takes a hesitant step forward, flanked by Jasper, her anchor. “So that’s why I couldn’t see you coming,” her voice shakes. “You were hiding behind shifters.”

Aro’s smile widens at that, his eyes gleaming with amusement. “Ah, dear Alice,” he muses, tilting his head slightly. “You always have been quite the gifted one. But yes, it seems our little allies here have provided quite the convenient cover.”

His gaze flickers toward the tigers, then back to you. His expression is unreadable, but the way he looks at Riki, and then you behind him—like he’s peeling back your layers, examining you from the inside out—makes your stomach churn.

The tigers remain silent, their eyes fixed on you. And you truly wish that Edward is here to read their thoughts. It’s clear they don’t like standing alongside the Volturi, but they’re tolerating it. A temporary truce.

“We have a truce with the Baekho clan.” Carlisle’s eyes flicker from the shifters to the Volturi.

“Your treaty was nullified the moment you allowed the boy and his sister to stay in your town,” Caius growls.

“And so,” Aro’s quietly delighted voice rings, “we formed our own treaty with them. Kill the red-eyed, and they’ll never have to see us in Victoria again.”

A slow, creeping chill settles into your bones.

Aro watches you carefully, but there’s something particularly pleased in the way his gaze drifts to Riki, his fascination clear.

“How curious,” Aro muses, almost to himself. “That the very one who was sent to eliminate you is now your shield.” His gaze flickers between the two of you, lingering on the way Riki’s posture remains stiff, unwavering.

Riki doesn’t move. He doesn’t react. But you can feel the tension rolling off him in waves.

Aro’s fingers twitch at his side, as if the urge to reach out and confirm what he’s seeing is almost unbearable. “Riki, Riki, Riki,” he sighs, tilting his head. “I must say, you continue to surprise me. First, you slaughter my dear Jane and Alec. Then, you desert us. And now?” His eyes gleam, lips curling upward. “You protect the very newborn you were sent to destroy.”

His voice is almost admiring, like Riki’s betrayal is nothing more than an interesting puzzle to solve.

Riki shifts slightly, but he still doesn’t move away from you. “Not my problem if you sent me on a job I didn’t finish,” he mutters. “Guess you should’ve picked someone else.”

Beside Aro, Caius stiffens, and Marcus—who has remained silent this entire time—finally lifts his gaze, watching with interest.

Aro, however, just laughs. Soft, entertained, yet there’s something razor-sharp underneath it.

“Oh, Riki,” he sighs, almost fondly. “You misunderstand.”

He takes a small step forward. Riki doesn’t back away, but you can feel the way his muscles tense.

“You didn’t just fail your assignment,” Aro continues, his voice dropping into something softer, silkier. “You abandoned your family—your true family that has been with you for centuries. You took the lives of our own.” He claps his hands together gently, though the sound is eerily hollow. “That is not something we can simply forgive.”

The threat lingers in the air like poison.

Riki still doesn’t move.

Aro hums, his gaze flickering back to you. But I must know—” His head tilts slightly, eyes narrowing in thought. “Where is your accomplice? His lovely sister?”

You keep your expression carefully neutral. You cannot let him see an ounce of concern.

Aro studies you for a moment longer, then sighs. “Ah, well. No matter. We’ll find her in time.”

His focus shifts back to Riki. And this time, the amusement slips, leaving something far colder in its place.

“You do understand, my dear boy,” Aro murmurs, voice quiet but unyielding, “that deserting the Volturi is a crime punishable by death?”

The moment Aro speaks, the air changes.

It’s subtle at first—a shift in the atmosphere, the way the trees seem to stand still, listening.

For the snarl. Low and rumbling.

The tigers move first.

Jay lunges, a blur of muscle and fur aimed straight for Riki. Thanks to his vampiric speed, he’s able to shift his weight, sending them both tumbling.

You stumble back just as Sunghoon and Jake launch forward. Jasper intercepts Sunghoon, the impact sending shockwaves through the ground, while Jake barrels toward you.

For half a second, you freeze.

Not again. Not again.

The memory punches through you—Jake lunging in the dark, his weight crushing you, claws digging in.

But then—

Riki.

He rips himself free from Jay’s grasp, and in a blink, he’s in front of you again. His fingers twitch at his sides, and the tiger freezes in the air, until he falls backwards. The massive body jerks like it’s being pulled by invisible strings, and Jake snarls, trying his hardest to to break free.

But the Puppeteer is far too practiced.

And then the Volturi join.

Caius moves first, aiming for Carlisle. He’s fast—but Carlisle sidesteps him, forcing him off balance just long enough for Alice to charge in. Jasper and Sunghoon are locked in a brutal exchange of claws and limbs, neither gaining the upper hand.

Riki is facing both Jay and Jake at once, switching between combat and his own power, since it appears two minds are his limit.

And you move.

The heavily striped one, Jungwon, comes at you, but this time, you react. He lunges, and you drop low at the last second, sweeping your leg out to knock his balance. He stumbles, and before he can recover, you slam your palm into his ribs, sending him skidding backwards.

Your hands shake, but you refuse to stop.

Until movement flickers in your periphery. Aro.

You whirl just in time to see him standing perfectly still amid the chaos, watching you, studying you.

Like he’s waiting.

You feel it before you see it. The shadow moving behind you. The air shifting.

You turn too late.

And cold fingers wrap around your throat.

☽✦✧†✧✦☾✦✧†✧✦☽✦✧†✧✦☾✦✧†✧✦☽✦✧†✧✦☾

Comment if you’d like to be tagged on the last chapter!:)

Prologue | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Finale

@angelengene3011 @opheliaas-stuff @lizzygrantwrld @meyinyin @melzonly

#Spotify #enhypen x reader #enhypen #ni ki x reader #vampire au #enhypen angst #nishimura riki #riki x reader #riki x you #twilight #twilight au #enha #enhypen fanfiction #ni ki angst #ni ki imagines #enha x reader #enha imagines #enha scenarios #enha niki

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pinescent-and-gingerbread · 8 months ago

Note

Can I request a drabble where Arthur comforts a female reader who has a broken heart? The reader's ex-boyfriend cheated on her and left with another woman.

Here we go! I took the liberty to name Reader's ex Jim (pretty random name for that place and time so I thought it would fit alright.)

I hope you'll like it anon!!🙌

࣪ ˖✧ The World is living.

✦ Pairing: Arthur Morgan x Fem!Reader ✦ Warnings/Tags: Mention of cheating, reader's ex is a loser (boo him), reader is in a pretty bad mental state but Arthur is here to save the day, cursing cause he's mad as hell someone hurt you. ✦ Words: 1,5k ✦ a/n: As Anon had requested a drabble I tried to keep this short! Takes place in Clement's Point because the lake is so good for that kind of work, reader is part of the gang. Clearly this drabble is a big hug to all my sis out there who have been poorly treated by their ex🫶🏻

You were sitting by the shore, just behind camp. Flat Iron Lake was always beautiful at that time, just before dawn. Frosty, pastel colors on the sky and the water surfaces, melting into a soft shade of pale lavender and teal blue. You could only hear the occasional chirping of birds, splashing of an adventurous fish jumping out of the water, and lonely howls of coyotes.

The World was living.

You couldn't understand how. How did the World was still turning while you were hurting that much? It should have stopped. It should have. This was the only option after what you had been through.

You felt tears watering your eyes again. You couldn't sleep, as often lately, so you just had decided to come and sit here in the sand to do something, anything else than just lying in your cot, alone in the cold night, alone in the cold silence, alone in the cold emptiness. Alone, so alone even though you were surrounded by people at camp; it didn't mattered. He was gone now, and everything felt tasteless without him, everything looked drearier, even the beautiful morning scenery under your eyes.

You were now crying hard. Damn it, you didn't even knew you still had water in your body for it. You had cried so many times in the past few days your eyes were permanently red, your cheeks scarred by two trails of dry tears; you felt like one of those oranges that people squeeze to get the juice, leaving behind only a corpse of fruit devoid of all substance.

You couldn't do it anymore, it hurt too much. You buried your face in your hands, sobbing once again, trying to let out the sorrow that was eating you up from inside like a noxious parasite since he had left you.

"Y/N? Is everythin' okay?"

You tilted your head up, a slight feeling of panic and shame crashing on you as you searched for your interlocutor.

It was Arthur. He was a few meters away from you, empty bucket in his hands. He probably was on his way to the lake to fill it, but had heard you crying. You weren't too surprised to see him this early, Arthur had never slept much, he was always up before you in normal time, already helping everyone around camp.

He looked at you in the eyes, waiting for an answer. He seemed genuinely concerned; you realized you hadn't seen him for a while since he had been on a difficult job for weeks, he probably should have came back during the night, but you were far too deep in your own dark thoughts to have noticed it. He was clearly clueless and surprised about your state, his arms hanging awkwardly by his sides, his blue work shirt's sleeves rolled up carelessly.

"N-no..." You only answered, trying to wipe what you could of the literal torrent of tears flooding out of your eyes, but it just wouldn't stop, you felt even more ashamed. You must have looked pitiful right now.

Arthur let go of the bucket, letting it fall on the ground without an ounce of care. He then slowly approached you, and sat down in the sand next to you, leaving a little space between your two bodies. He didn't look disturbed or annoyed, but almost as stoic as usual. Except for his eyes. His eyes were telling a hundred stories even if he didn't wanted it. Their azure color bright and deep, you almost recognized a hint of sadness in them, as if he was pained seeing you like this.

"What's happenin' to ya, miss?" He inquired, voice deep and maybe a bit more empathetic than usual. He wasn't extremely expressive in usual times, so yet you could feel just by his presence how he cared about your well-being.

"It's Jim... He... He slept with one of these pretty girls from the Parlour House and he left me for her..." Saying it was making it all even worse. It was making it all too real. You struggled to get those words out, your tone cracking up as if they were crushing your vocal cords.

More tears, your eyes shutting close in a pained expression, the ache in your heart physically hurting you, as if someone had opened your thoracic cage and was crushing it with his bare hands. In a way, that's exactly what he had done to you.

"Goddamn piece of shit..." Arthur mumbled before looking at you, his intense indigo stare fixated on your face. He felt genuinely sorry, and outraged for you. Who in the world could have to audacity to hurt such a sweet girl like you? He was starting to clench his fists, feeling his blood boiling, a silent kettle on a burning fire. After a few seconds of hearing you cry, he couldn't hold it anymore, empathy getting the better of his rage, and opened his arms to gently pull you against him.

His strong, wide body enveloped you, and you let him. You buried your face into his chest, not really thinking about it, your hands wrapping around his waist, and gripping tight on his shirt. Looking clingy or odd was your last concern, you were way too blinded by your pain. You started crying loudly, wanting to make everything go out of you, your pain, your sadness, Him, everything.

"Yeah, that's it girl, let it all go..." He encouraged you, in a calm and quiet whisper. One of his hands had found its place behind your head, gently caressing it, the other resting around your waist. He carried you, as you screamed your pain to the World, as you poured all these gnawing feelings outside of you.

"He's a damn fool, Y/N. You deserve way better than him, lemme tell ya." Arthur murmured to you, voice still deep and caring. You could also hear behind that a hint of genuine anger in his tone, as he truly was pissed at Jim for having harmed you like this. "And you're gonna be okay, alright sweetheart?"

You slightly nodded into his chest, barely able to answer something properly. His scent and warmth were enfolding you, and you felt like you were somewhere else now, somewhere sunny. Somewhere pleasant. Somewhere better.

As the minutes went by, and his embrace didn't loosen, you slowly started to get out of your personal darkness, breath calming, thoughts clearing. You were taking in the fact that usually, Arthur wasn't frankly fond of hugs or other physical attention, and you felt thankful. He was doing this just for you.

"You're gonna be okay." He repeated like a silent vow. You felt like he was going to make sure of it. And for the first time in days, you honestly believed these words. You were going to be okay. It would take time, of course, but you just knew you would, as certain as the Sun was rising and setting every day.

You gently pulled back, both of you still holding each other in your arms, sitting on the sandy shore, but not as close, so you could look at this face. Your tears had soaked his shirt. You tried to apologize for it, but he quickly opposed it, telling you he had been covered in far worse than your tears. You smiled a bit, knowing he was right.

"Thank you so much for that Arthur..." You told him, genuinely feeling so grateful.

"Eh, I may be a cold-hearted killer, but I wouldn't have let a sweet lil' flower like ya cry..." He asserted, a slight grin on his face. You noticed how he looked a bit reassured himself, less worried. Maybe, just like his affection towards the other members of the gang, Arthur actually cared much more about you than what he was letting everyone see.

He carefully wiped the last tear from your cheek, thumb feeling rough but gentle against your skin, before getting up, his hands leaving your body but not going too far away as he proposed one of them for you to take and help you get up. You gladly took it, enjoying the warm contact of your fingers on his skin.

"I just feel like... I'm not enough..." You concluded with a pained tone, your eyes looking down at your feet. The fact that on top of having broken up with you, Jim had left you for another woman, was absolutely destroying you, making you feel like you were worthless. It was also this feeling that was so hard to handle; so hard to live with.

"Listen t'me." Arthur told you a bit more firmly, his eyes searching for yours. He knew how you felt, he felt bad about himself every day of his life. He didn't wanted you to feel like this in any way, ever. "Don't let this bastard make ya feel shitty. You're a beautiful, sweet, kind young woman, that is the truth." He asserted, his hands squeezing yours in a comforting gesture before letting go of them.

"Thank you, Arthur..." You said once more, feeling like you were repeating yourself, but he didn't seem to mind. He was walking back to where he had left the bucket, grabbing it to finish his chore.

"Ah, no worry, miss." He said to you with a smile, now feeling better as you felt less depressed. "Let me tell ya, this piece of shit better be far by now, 'cause I'm goin' to beat the Hell out of him if I ever see him again." He added, still smiling, but you knew he was being dead serious, and he was way more than capable of it. You almost chuckled, thanking him for the third time and telling him you wouldn't mind if he did.

He noticed the little grin that had curled up your lips. He loved it. His days at Clement's point weren't the same without your bright smile and your pleasant presence.

The Sun had completely risen now, the camp slowly emerging from its slumber. The first drowsy voices of your companion softly filling the air, yawning, saying greetings, some already teasing, merging with the sound of nature around you.

The World was living.

And now, so you were.

#rdr2 #arthur morgan #red dead redemption 2 #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan fluff #arthur morgan x female reader #arthur morgan x you #pinefic #arthur morgan comfort

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tinfoil-jones · 3 months ago

Text

Gravity Falls: For Your Own Good, Ch. 11

Summary: A few years after moving to Gravity Falls and having his lab built, Stanford Pines happens upon his estranged twin brother, Stanley. He mentally prepared himself to be suffocated by his brothers neediness all over again - what he wasn't prepared for was Stanley walking right past him like he didn't even notice him.

Rating: M for language, violence, and adult implications

Preface: Dialogue only, but some actions will be annotated for clarity. Cross-Posted on AO3 Here

First - Prev - Next

CH. 11

“One paddle-paddle, two paddle-paddle-.”

“HEYYY! Miss me, little brother?”

“...What the f-”

“It’s ironic! You used to smother me, with your dependency and lack of originality. Now I’m smothering you, by keeping you in a cage. It’s poetic, in a way.”

“...What are you supposed to be?”

“It’s just me, Stanford Pines. I’m definitely your twin brother, and not a maniac who kidnapped you because I can’t admit when I’m wrong or accept that I push people away.”

“Naw, you’re not him.”

“I assure you-.”

“No. Whatever you are? You’re not the guy who's been keeping me down here. You’re something else.”

“Oh?”

“This some… Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde situation? You one of those hive mind aliens that possess people? Or…?”

“Sixer was right to not underestimate you, conman. Let’s just say I’m a friend.”

“I’ve heard that before, but I recognize another wiseguy when I see one. What do you really want?”

“Why are you in denial, Stanley?”

“Denial is my fourth best skill, actually. It’s right above hoeing, and right below theft.”

“...Ignoring that. Why do you keep insisting you’re not Stanley Pines?”

“Show me the proof, guy.”

“You and Stanford have the same face.”

“Some people are just like that.”

“You have no memory of having a family, but Fordsy here has a gap in his, a gap you could slot into so easily.”

“Lot’s of families ‘lose’ members to homelessness.”

“Sounding a little bitter there, conman. Got personal feelings about that?”

“People aren’t ‘lost’ to homelessness, they’re forgotten. For the comfort of everyone else; for people who love to wax poetically about how other people struggle, but don’t have the stomach to look at it with their own eyes.”

“Well, well, well, well, well-.”

“Buddy, you get a nickel every time you say that?”

“Funny. What’s also funny is your ‘deep insight’. You’re so mad about people like you being forgotten, and yet… You forgot you.”

“What’s your point?”

“Why are you afraid of remembering? Are you afraid that you’ll remember loving people who couldn’t be bothered to remember you?”

“You seem to think you know a lot about me. Why don’t you tell me?”

“I think you cling to this ‘hardcore vagabond with no past’ persona because it’s convenient for you. Because it’s less painful for you. I think you wanted something so bad at one point that it consumed you, and when you couldn’t have it, there wasn’t anything significant left of you.”

“Wow. That’s quite a theory. Wanna hear the one I have about you?”

“Hit me, conman.”

“Oh, I wish I could. My theory is that you’re a lonely, nosey, parasitic little bi-.”

*‘Ford’ presses the mute button*

“Sorry Stanley, but I’m getting the last laugh here- and you’re giving me the bird. No, two birds. The audience will never know if you’re actually doing that, or if I’m just saying that you are.”

(...)

“Hey, Doc?”

“Yes, Stanley?”

“You know how I normally don’t ask you questions about your life because you’re crazy and I’m here against my will?”

“...Are you about to ask me a question?”

“Did you make a Faustian bargain with some eldritch abomination?”

“...What?!”

“Or… Do you use cocaine? I’d believe either, but I can help you with that second one if that’s it; you see, the key to kicking the habit is-.”

“Stanley. Why are you asking this?”

“Because last night something possessed you and tried talking to me about my feelings. But it failed because I don’t have any. What was that?”

“...Nothing possessed me.”

“PhD, you are terrible at lying.”

“Nobody possessed me! You must have just been dreaming.”

“No, I don’t have dreams. I only have nightmares about being suffocated. Or the IRS. Or the IRS suffocating me.”

“...What?”

“Are you a Warlock?”

“A- a what?”

“There’s this game that dorks play - and there's elves, and wizards, and stuff. Warlocks are those guys who use magic, but they have to get it from otherworldly entities. Are you that? Is that what you are?”

“...You are talking about the tabletop roleplaying game, Dungeons, Dungeons and More Dungeons?”

“Yes.”

“You.. play that?”

“No. I never played it.”

“But you know the mechanics?”

“Some of it. Just the basic stuff. None of the actual- I don’t know, rules? Something something something D38; something something something THAC0.”

“How do you know?”

“I dunno, I don’t think too hard about it. Anyways, so you’re a Warlock and you’re hiding it because your patron, boss, eldritch pimp, or whatever you wanna call it is gonna be mad at you? Is that what this is?”

“Stanley, please. Stuff like that is simply… fantasy.”

“Oh really? This is coming from the guy who has an anatomically accurate poster of a dissected fairy that you drew yourself.”

“...You can see that?”

“Why wouldn’t I? It’s right over there.”

“Stanley, you should not be able to see that. It’s too far away, and you’re not wearing glasses or contacts.”

“Doc, I don’t need glasses.”

“You have needed them our entire lives, just like I do. You have a bad habit of breaking them, or not wearing them because you think you won’t look cool.”

“Shows just how much you know. Are you gonna tell me what that thing last night was? Or are you going to keep changing the topic and hope that I get too distracted to follow up?”

“Nothing happened last night. I’m not a warlock. I can’t believe you lied to me all those years ago when you told me you ignored all of my long talks about the finer mechanics and lore surrounding DD&D. And you should need glasses.”

*Ford goes upstairs*

“Well, guess I have nothing better to do than to take a nap. I wonder how the IRS is going to suffocate me this time…”

To be continued…

#for your own good #early amnesia au #mystery trio #fords evil basement sub-lab #Stan calling Ford anything but his name #ford isn't beating the mad scientist allegations anytime soon #gravity falls #cross posted on ao3 #fanfic #fanfiction #stanley pines #stan pines #stanford pines #ford pines #bill cipher

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tinuviel-ancunin · 6 months ago

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The light shines into his eyes and as he drowsily comes to he realizes he's been laying in a sunbeam. He bolts upright to check his skin but he's completely unharmed. Looking around, he realizes He's in a grove of trees, laying in tall grass decorated with purple flowers. A slight breeze moves the leaves and he stops to listen to the birds chirping above him. “Gods, I haven't heard that in 200 years” How is he not being burned to ash? How did he make it out of the crash? A surge of pain rushes through his head and it all comes back to him, the parasite. Mind flayers, of course that would happen to him. He gets to his feet and looks around to get his bearings, but this place is completely unfamiliar. “Where in the hells have I ended up? What the fuck is going on?”

To the west he hears footsteps and lowered voices, sounds like two people are walking close by. He crouches down into the tall grass and edges towards the trees. An elf with long red hair and facial tattoos comes into view, a druid by the awful way she dresses. Next to her a half elf with an annoyed look is dressed in armor, her gear looks familiar but he can't quite place it. He almost lets them pass when a wild boar runs by, giving his position away. Time to act.

“Hello? A little help? I have one of those brain things cornered.”

The druid takes one look at him and he knows she doesn't buy this charade for a second.

“You look perfectly capable, you kill it.” She rolls her eyes but still walks towards him.

He grabs her and pulls her to the ground “ Don't struggle, wouldn't want to hurt that pretty neck of yours. I saw you on that damned ship.”

The druid headbutts him and rolls effortlessly to her feet, grabbing a small dagger at her waist. Shit she's good.

“ I'm sorry! I just…aaagghh!” His mind somehow connects to the stranger, showing her dark alleys in the city, a camp, a child's hand in his, Sebastian’s lips, searing pain on his back. He looks up at her and he knows; she saw all of this. “What did you do to me?”

She puts the knife back in her belt which her companion does not seem to approve of and puts her hands out, a truce. “I was on that ship too, the tadpole.. I think it connects us. I'm Tav, this is Shadowheart. We're going to look for a healer, maybe we should all stick together and figure this out .”

This total stranger is trusting him and he didn't even try to charm her, he must have hit his head harder than he thought. “I'm Astarion, I was going to go it alone but no harm in joining the herd. Lead on.”

As he goes to follow Tav up the trail, he realizes he's standing in full sunlight. To his left a sparkling blue stream shimmers in the daylight. Flowers surrounded by butterflies are bursting with colors he almost forgot existed. A breeze teases through his white curls and he wonders if he could hide here forever from his master. Nonsense, he runs to catch up with his new companions.

A large piece of the ship blocks the path forward, as they step over debris and small fires looking for anything useful for their journey a mindflayer comes into view. It lays in the ruins of its once massive ship, a gash in its belly- the look on its face shows that it knows its near death. He looks down at it with disgust but as he does, the orange eyes lock with his and try to get him to help it. Help it? Not in this life, even if he can walk in the sun. Tav steps in front of him and smashes its head in with her boot. Who is this woman and why is he impressed?

All of this sunlight and walking is exhausting. His mind wanders to thoughts of a goblet of wine or maybe something more sanguine. Can he trust these new companions with the truth of his nature? Best to play it safe for now but how much did Tav see when her mind locked with his?

He emerges from his thoughts and realizes Tav is about to put her hand in a malfunctioning portal. The purple sparks go up her arm and she lets out a yelp. “Well what did you think was going to-”

A hand juts out of the rocks and swirling purple sparks and a man's voice echoes faintly through the portal.

“Hello, anyone care to give me a hand?” The hand politely asks.

Tav looks at him for approval, like he cares what happens to this mystery hand. She grabs on with two hands and braces a foot on the cliff side. Out tumbles a wizard in a long purple robe, a strange marking on his chest is barely visable. “Oh Gods I can't stand wizards, I'm surprised this one didn't blow up.” he muses to himself.

“Hello! I am Gale of Waterdeep. Thank you so much for my rescue. I was just experimenting with a new spell when Tara, that's my cat, opened up a portal and blah blah blah..” He does not care.

“Can we go camp somewhere now? I'm positively exhausted!” Astarion complains.

“I suppose we should figure that out while we still have day light. Are you any good with a bow Astarion? We'll need something for dinner.” Tav hands him a small crossbow and he can't help but think she's teasing him.

“Of course I am, give me that.” The audacity of this druid.

#astarion #bg3 tav #bg3 #bg3 astarion #fanfic #astarion x tav #baldurs gate tav #baldur's gate 3 #fantasy #fandom

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starlitangels · 1 year ago

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That’s Mine

Another Guy/Honey ficlet for the girl who can’t seem to write a full fic for these two to save her life

—

I glanced up from my laptop upon hearing the apartment door open. “I’m home!” Guy called at the same time I heard the thumping of him literally kicking his shoes off at the door.

“Welcome back,” I said flatly, going back to my report.

I could hear him groan with the several popping noises that came with him cracking his back. “I’m gonna shower,” he announced as the front door shut.

“Careful. Kayla left a makeup bomb in the bathroom,” I warned.

“How does she even do that? Like we should not be finding powdered foundation in the bathtub of all places. A little falling off the palette or brush into the sink is one thing but like the bathtub?” He appeared in the doorway of my room and leaned against the frame on one shoulder. “I don’t get it. I’ve worn some makeup in my day but I’ve never been that messy with it.”

I grunted and shrugged.

Guy sighed dramatically. “Not in the mood to talk, honey?”

I shot him a withering glare. “Go get in the shower before I punt your ass into the bathroom and bar the door. I’m trying to work.”

He smirked lasciviously. “If you bar a door that locks from the inside and swings inward, you’d have to be in the bathroom with me.”

I raised a brow. “I’d figure it out. Go away.”

He winked with a click of his cheek and pushed off the doorframe, vanishing down the hall.

I went back to my paper.

Apparently I got really sucked into it because I didn’t even process that I heard the shower start and stop a few minutes later. Hell, I barely even processed Guy singing showtunes while he was in it.

I vaguely heard the bathroom door creak open on that ungodly loud hinge I still needed to oil (the landlords had promised to do it months ago and never had and I was getting sick of it), while Guy continued his one-man-show of Phantom of the Opera. But I ignored all of it. Guy’s singing was a constant in the apartment and I’d just learned to tune it out.

When the essay was done, I submitted it and finally stood up, wincing as my knees popped.

With a heavy sigh, I left my room.

Guy spun around in the kitchen almost instantly. In his favorite hot pink “Kiss the Cook” apron that had been a gag gift from his siblings that he’d actually loved. “There’s my favorite person!”

I grunted. Then froze. “Hang on a second here,” I said, folding my arms. “Hm. Black T-shirt way too long and wide in the arms, logo for a band you don’t listen to poking out from under the top of the apron. Coincidentally matching the one that went missing from my things after a load of laundry a few weeks ago…” As I spoke, I undid the neck loop of the apron and let the top fall away from his torso.

He chuckled nervously, ears and neck turning blotchy and red. “Heh-heh… uh…”

“Guy Erikson, that’s my shirt,” I snapped.

“Whaaat? I don’t know what you’re talking about. Obviously this is mine. See how it just fits me perfectly—ow, ow! Okay okay you don’t have to pinch I get it I get it—damn!” He pouted as I let go of his shoulder. “Can’t I just borrow it for the rest of tonight though? It’s so soft. It’s not my fault that you have the comfiest shirts on the planet!”

“Give it back. Now.”

He sighed dramatically and stripped it off, hurling it at me with all the grace and power of a newly-hatched bird. “Fiiine. You loveless, joyless buzzkill.”

“Thieving parasite,” I retorted, taking the shirt back to my room and chucking it into my hamper.

“Just for that, I’m not including you in my dinner plans.” He whipped the apron back up over his torso and started fixing the neck loop.

“I never asked you to. And I’m going out tonight anyway.”

His head snapped up to look at me. “What?! With who?”

I raised a brow. “Does it matter?”

Guy spluttered. “Oh. Well. I, uh—no, obviously. It’s just—you know what? Never mind.” He turned back to the stove and went back to preparing his pasta.

I snorted. “It’s my stupid reading group for my upper level class. There’s gonna be like five people there. It’s not a date. Don’t wait up for me, honey,” I said sarcastically before ducking back into my bedroom and slamming the door.

I picked the band shirt out of the hamper and held it up to my nose. Curious.

It definitely smelled like Guy.

A small grin tugged at the corners of my mouth. I folded the shirt and set it on my desk. “You know what? I’ll wash it later,” I muttered to myself.

—

Tag list: @pinksparkl @darlin-collins

#ficlet #redacted asmr #redacted audio #Redacted Guy #Redacted Honey

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jupiterswasphouse · 7 months ago

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WASP REVIEW - PARASITICA (TEENAGE MUTANT NINJA TURTLES 2012)

[Image ID: A screenshot from the 'Parasitica' episode of TMNT 2012, of the parasitic wasp, which is the focus of the episode, mid-flight /End ID.]

Now, for a change of pace, let's have a look at something that isn't from a video game for the first time in this review series! It tends to be harder to find wasps in TV in particular that are notable enough to properly review, which makes it all the more fortunate that I got this suggestion, as this mutant species of wasp is the entire focus of the episode!

Now, I've never been a TMNT enjoyer, I just didn't get into the franchise as a kid and have yet to look into it on a wider scale, however, I did enjoy this enjoy this episode. That's not to say it's without its inaccuracies, though, so let's get into it, starting with the wasp's general appearance!

Looking at it them, they have the shape and eyes of wasps of the family Vespidae, fairly standard fare for wasps in media, likely based on some black and yellow species of paper wasps, or otherwise yellowjackets. The latter would makes sense, given what appears to be an abundance of setae around the mesosoma especially, reminiscent of a fair number of yellowjackets, although of course the glowing lines across the wings, meso- and metasoma, and eyes aren't accurate, but they aren't meant to be. I have to say, props to the modeling crew for making a fairly detailed model with an appropriate amount of wings and legs.

[Image Source: Wikimedia Commons | Image IDs: Two screenshots of the episode, showing one wasp standing and three wasps flying above the Ninja Turtles respectively, followed by a real photo of a common wasp, a type of Yellowjacket, also known as Vespula vulgaris /End IDs.]

They're also notably large, roughly the size of a medium breed of dog, having grown significantly from their mutation. Funnily enough, just before the first appearance of the original wasp, after being asked by Michaelangelo how big the arthropods in a set of photos are Donatello makes a statement I feel the need to comment on, that being "Well, a bee is about four millimeters, and a wasp would be six", which is an odd statement. For one, which species does he mean in particular, he gives an oddly specific measurement when the wall displays images of multiple different types of wasp, including fairyflies (or Mymarids), which can be as small as 0.127 millimeters (Dicopomorpha echmepterygis), and Vespids which can reach up to 45 millimeters (Vespa mandarinia). The western honey bee (Apis mellifera), the most likely candidate for the bee that Donatello is referring to given how common and well loved the species is, itself is 10 millimeters at minimum among the average worker.

[Image ID: Another screenshot, showing the wall in question, which has 4 different papers pinned to it with multiple different species of wasp /End IDs.]

But anyway, with that side-tangent out of the way, let's get into the behavior of the wasps, starting with the first things we see. When the initial wasp appears, we hear vocalizations from it, which isn't necessarily unheard of, although these noises aren't quite the same as the vocalizations of some other types of animals, such as mammals or birds, as these aren't produced through complex vocal cords and structures, but they are created by vibrations in the wasp's body by stridulatory organs or other muscular structures. These are called stridulations, you may have heard of them in cicadas and Orthopterans, but they can also be observed in mud collecting and digging wasps such as potter wasps and Sphecids, as well as velvet ants, and sounds like a charming little squeak! The vocalizations in the wasps in this episode sound like processed sounds produced by birds like corvids or vultures, reminiscent of sounds associated with prehistoric dinosaurs in movies.

After this, we see the wasp start hunting the turtles. One could make the argument that the wasp is simy protecting its egg rather than hunting, but the events of this episode make it very clear that the wasp is hunting the turtles. While there are many social wasps that may forage for carrion or pieces of your barbeque dinner in order to feed their larvae, the specific targeting of a vertebrate species is highly unusual for a parasitic wasp, as they tend to only target other arthropods like their fellow insects or spiders. But it's likely that this particular behavior was onset by its implied genetic modification by Kraang, known enemy of the Ninja Turtles.

After a short chase around the room, the wasp stings Leonardo in the arm and promptly falls to the ground, dying immediately. This is most reminiscent of the worker honey bees, which have a barbed stinger that cannot be removed from a thick-skinned animal such as a mammal, thus taking parts of the abdomen and internal organs with it (including the still-pumping venom gland), killing the bee within minutes. It's a bit longer than the near instantaneous death we see in this wasp, but it is rather quick! The wasp in this episode appears to have a similarly barbed stinger, although it has only one barb, rather than the row of barbs honey bees have, being shaped almost like a fish hook. Other wasps, including parasitic wasps, have smooth stingers, and thus, can sting multiple times. Notably, worker honey bees are infertile females, as opposed to the stinging parasitic wasps, which are, of course, fertile, the stinger being a modified ovipositor in all wasps that have them (including bees and ants), only being found in females.

[Image Source: PBS, Rose-Lynn Fisher | Image IDs: A screenshot of Donatello holding the stinger of the mutated wasp, and an extremely close up, colorless photo of a worker honey bee stinger /End IDs.]

We know that this wasp is a female due to its possession of a stinger, as well as being fertile due to the egg we see just a moment later. The sting does not kill, nor paralyze Leonardo, despite the size of the wasp, instead having a different, immediate effect in that Leonardo becomes extremely protective of the egg. Over the course of the episode we see that Leonardo appears, in a way, brainwashed to protect the egg, the eventual intention being that the egg would hatch safely and he would be consumed by the young wasp inside.

Shockingly, this does have parallels in the real world, first, and in possibly the more well known example, a form of direct brain change is induced by the emerald cockroach wasp (Ampulex compressa). It first delivers a sting to a thoracic ganglion of a cockroach, causing temporary paralysis in the forelegs, allowing the wasp to deliver a second sting to the head ganglia, inducing a zombie-like state, inhibiting its escape response and allowing the wasp to lead the roach by its antennae back to the wasp's burrow, where it lays an egg upon the roach, allowing its larvae to feed.

[Image Source: iNaturalist, ravinaidu | Image ID: A photo of an emerald cockroach wasp leading a 'zombified' cockroach back to its burrow across dirt and rocks /End IDs.]

However, there's another genus of wasps that I believe is the one they took inspiration from here, that being Glyptapanteles, a genus of Braconid wasps that deposit their eggs directly into Lepidopteran hosts, specifically caterpillars. The eggs hatch, and the larvae of the wasps feed on the caterpillar's bodily fluids from the inside, specifically avoiding the vital organs as the caterpillar appears to continue to behave and grow normally despite the parasite inside them. Then, they emerge and pupate, spinning a silk cocoon for themselves, at which point the caterpillar stops moving much or feeding. It only moves then to add its own silk to the pile of pupal cocoons, and, should it be disturbed, thrash around in order to protect the pupae, serving as a bodyguard until it eventually starves to death.

[Image Sources: Wikimedia Commons, José Lino-Neto, and ResearchGate | Image IDs: A photo of a brown Geometrid moth caterpillar looking over Glyptapanteles wasp papae, followed by an image containing several photos of a brown and black Glyptapanteles wasp adult /End IDs.]

There are a few differences, however, evident in the fact that the egg has already been oviposited externally a considerable amount of time before even having a host. This is, of course, understandable given the fact that, if they were to make it more accurate, then this episode would look less like a PG iteration of zombie media and more like an Alien film.

Speaking of the zombie media comparisons, while the change in behavior is down to a direct sting to the brain in the case of emerald cockroach wasps or a chemical concoction in the case of Glyptapanteles wasps, it's described in the episode as being a virus. This virus takes hold and darkens Leonardo's eyes, his mouth producing a viscous fluid, which is eventually spread to all of the other turtles via bite, until Michaelangelo creates an antidote by Donatello's instructions. Obviously, this part is not true of real parasitic wasps.

While Donatello and Michaelangelo are researching the wasp, looking at an article describing its non-mutated equivalent, several photos are shown, and it's here we start to see a couple more inconsistencies and inaccuracies. For one, Donatello refers to a single species as "The Parasitic Wasp", but in reality, there are estimated to be hundreds of thousands of different parasitic wasps, none specifically referred to as being the parasitic wasp. Secondly, at the start of the article, we see an adult of the species, which appears to resemble some form of black and yellow ichneumon wasp, much different from what we've seen thus far.

[Image Source: BugGuide.net, James Reben | Image IDs: A screenshot showing the image of the supposed species, followed by a photo of a real black and yellow species of ichneumon wasp /End IDs.]

After this, we see images of the species emerging from the egg, coming out as a full-fledged, winged adult, more like the wasps we've seen thus far, oddly skipping the larval and pupal stage entirely. This is especially odd considering the fact that adult wasps cannot eat meat, only the larvae, and, as mentioned, the wasps feed on their host after hatc

[Image IDs: Two screenshots of the aforementioned images, showing the wasp emerging and then crawling over its host caterpillar to consume it /End IDs.]

This is later confirmed to be the case in the mutated wasps, which not only emerge from their eggs as adults, but also emerge in a group of three. It is seemingly not unheard if that one single insect egg could produce multiple offspring, but it is exceedingly rare and hard to find information on. In any case, wasp eggs, more often than not, only hatch singular individuals.

[Image ID: A screenshot of the three hatchling wasps above the unconscious Leonardo and Donatello /End IDs.]

As a final note on these wasps, as they go straight for the Ninja Turtles before promptly being taken out by Michaelangelo (with a cannon no less), it seems as though these wasps are all females. It can be inferred from this that this egg was fertilized, as opposed to the males that would come from unfertilized eggs, implying that there was either already more than one of these flying around, or that the female had already mated before becoming mutated, potentially by Mutagen.

All in all, there are many inaccuracies throughout this episode, though I do have to give points for the interesting choice of inspiration! In terms of rating, the episode itself was entertaining and interesting, but it doesn't have much in the way of accuracy to any one specific wasp species.

Overall: 4 or 5/10

This wasp review was suggested by @kernelbastard ! Leave your wasp review suggestion in the replies, tags, or askbox!

#Wasp House Review #WHR: Wasp Review #Bugblr #Wasps #tmnt 2012 #Teenage mutant ninja turtles #tmnt #Insects

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themultifandomfreak · 3 months ago

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Hi king! What is SCP? And how do your OC's tie in? (Permission granted to blab as much as you want abt it)

Greetings the OC slorper xoxo

Idk how to explain what scp is but i can use this as an excuse to write whole paragraphs to explain my oc and a bit of his lore 😎

Uh basically

Naythen Graham Smith, born [REDACTED] Smith on April 30th 1977, was the 2nd of 6 children born to Percival and Mary Smith.

Not much is known about his childhood, other than that he was heavily mistreated, which ended in the murder of his family when his family died in a car crash.

After this event, Smith was left homeless until he had enough money tomove from his small house in Portsmouth, to somewhere in New Jersey, where he managed to get a scholarship for Biochemistry, something he excelled at.

He did normal college stuff, like drinking and hanging out with friends. An example of this is when he was dared to eat gross things on the side of the road (this would never lead to life changing consequences!).

When he was 18, he met someone. He didn’t exactly have a crush, but he did care very deeply for her. She was in most of his classes, so they managed to become friends. They shared the same last name, which is because it’s a common last name, but they still jokes that the reason why they were so close was because they were secretly twins.

She gets pregnant (not by him, don’t worry.) but soon after the baby is born, oh no! She dies in a fire. Only her child lives. Now, smith is excellent at forgery, an example is that he never legally got his name changed. Anyways, he decided “well I am NOT letting her child go up for adoption!!” And he forges her birth certificate into saying his name as the father.

Little side note, the woman was a little mad, and was testing on herself/her child WHILST she was pregnant, and was seeing how she could change a human embryo’s dna without killing it. Some bits of dna include wolf, dog, cat, bird, other human, lizard, and axolotl. This causes Maddison(the daughter) to have some slight birth defects. Such as, an allergy to chocolate and grapes, amazing hearing and sense of smell, slight sight issues (she doesn’t like using glasses though), the ability to grow certain things back when cut off, she also sometimes grows useless feathers, which she usually plucks out. She also has a tail and ears, similar to a wolves or a dog’s. She normally hides this (when required) by wearing hats and long dresses

Btw she was made by my little sister!

Anyways he doesnt actually care for her properly (basically the bare minimum) until he is almost 21. At that point he ditched the friends that made him eat random stuff off the road (again, will NEVER have life changing consequences), and he somehow figures out a way to stay in college and also look after a 2 year old??????????? Anyways he graduates at 22, works at smt like fast food or retail for a year, and then somehow gets hired by the foundation??!???

This is where i make him fit into the lore. Somehow.

Luckily for me, whenever I make an oc, I make an au so i can rewrite characters to make him fit. If only i can figure out how i’ve rewritten them. Idk. All ik is that he kind of uses his job to an advantage, because OH NO!!! THE CONSEQUENCES OF HIS ACTIONS!! OF BEING DARED TO EAT STUFF OFF THE FLOOR!! HE ATE AN INCURABLE PARASITE! AN ANOMALOUS PARASITE!

So he tests on himself to figure out a cure. He only finds a treatment which is still only ever temporary. This testing actually causes a cursed gene in him to activate, because the bloodline he was born into was cursed by an entity to be immortal and be able to heal quickly and shit. This gene got turned off at some point, but he’s managed to turn it back on. He also finds out he keeps being reincarnated because of a curse on his own soul by the same entity. He only finds that out because people in the past have been documented of having the same birthmark, having a second birthmark that represented the way that life died, and having some slight memories of the life before them. He has the same birthmark, a birthmark shaped like a knife slash across his chest, and wow! Memories of his past life.

You might think “oh what a coincidence! He has 2 curses from the same entity!” WRONG!

The parasite was actually ‘blessed’ by the entity.

This is actually pure coincidence though, the entity told me.

Anyways that was like in the 2000’s. He lives in the modern day!! Ish. It’s more like august this year. Anyways he’s 47 now, and he directs the anomalous and scientific research department (is that a real department! I don’t know, i just wanted to make him be a bit higher up than a normal scientist.)

Does any of this make sense? Hell no! Do i care? Hell no!

Random fun facts about him but my phone is lagging oh dear oh no

He is allergic to aspirin, ginger, and pollen.

He will absolutely brush off his trauma. Do not expect what he is saying to be the actual truth. It will only be a really washed out version of it (washed out? Washed up? Ehhh idk the phrase)

His healing is actually sped up by the treatment. The only special thing about his healing without it is that he can heal from fatal injuries and stuff.

He can also still get sick.

He actually needs many things, like a pacemaker and a cane, but he will NOT ever get them or acknowledge he needs them until its actually a diagnosed full on problem

The parasite causes a sort of rotting (ik quite a few do but this one is special shhhhh) which looks like the host is wasting away. The rotting is normally pure black. It is also only ever able to be in 1 host at a time. It also acts like a sort of hivemind, and has an almost human-like sentience. The queen of the hivemind is immortal. Whoops! It can do many things to the host. An example is being able to manipulate the host’s body, basically called possession. It can also sort of sometimes melt the rotted flesh into a black tar-like substance. On the rare occasion it can do that, theres a rarer chance that it’ll be able to melt the whole body into the substance. When it does this, it can sort of change its shape and form into what it wants. This involves being able to break the host’s bones just so it can do that. Of course, this is normally at the final stage of the parasite being there, and is normally deadly, but oh no! Smith is immortal.

He does still die, its just more where he can be unconscious for a bit, sometimes. Like I said, only sometimes. There is a chance he can just be walking around with a bullet hole in his head waiting for the wound the heal up or smt

Self inflicted injuries are more likely to scar up compared to when someone else injures him.

He did his own top surgery because of this. Owie.

He once had something not work in his body, causing him to do the thing where he dies temporarily, and so he decided to basically do an autopsy on himself so he could see what happened.

Every time he does something like this he will either be in extreme pain or he will put himself on so many pain medications that he’s surprised he’s able to move.

He can play the piano, and a little bit of the violin.

Like i’ve said before, he WILL insult you if you tell him to not wear his bowtie.

He likes the paisley pattern. His bowtie has a faint pattern of it

He started out as a “what I want to look like as an adult” oc on gacha, and them i decided i wanted to make him look more interesting, and it’s gone on from there.

He wears gloves not for anything like germs or smt, but just because he doesn’t really like his hands. This was originally because they were almost fully rotten but now i’ve just made them heavily scarred with a bit of rot.

Do NOT ask for photos of him when he was in his early to mid 30s. Bc that was when some of the real parts of his features were changing. His canines had fallen out and were slowly being replaced by the sharper versions, his scleras were yellowing, his pupils were also sharpening and becoming more white. He also didn’t really take any pictures of himself in that time.

He is missing an eye. This was more because it was becoming so rotten that it was unusable

He can loose blood faster than he can regenerate it.

He is afraid of being buried alive, fire, and heights.

If he thinks he has no other choice in attacking you, he will probably bite you. He doesn’t like this though because his teeth are sharp enough to draw blood and he doesn’t like the taste of blood+it’s unhygienic

Says he hates the cold, but his office is constantly freezing, even in winter.

He most likely has PTSD, possibly C-PTSD. He also has Bipolar II disorder, NPD, ASD, ADHD, and a couple other stuff. However, he refuses to get diagnosed for some reason.

There is probably more fun facts but ive forgotten right now. Oops.

I will probably edit this when I want to change his lore or add a new random fact about him or smt.

#scp foundation #scp fandom #scp #scp doctors #scp oc #scp ocs

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deathlywounded · 13 days ago

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The Bear and the mushroom shepherd ram – Chapter 1

I`ve finally wrote about how Halsin and my spore druid, Revna, met. It's a longer, more detailed take on the comic I did about them. I hope you enjoy this journey as much as I’m enjoying crafting it. No warnings are necessary for this chapter, but rest assured, I’ll provide any required ones in the future as the story unfolds.

The first autumn leaves fell onto his snout as he ate truffles at the base of a chestnut tree. Halsin had navigated the whole afternoon in bear form, taking the opposite path he usually followed. The Drow attack during his walk with Nettie had repeated itself several times. In every case, the attackers were infected with mindflayer parasite. Each specimen lay cataloged in jars in his study, waiting for answers. This uncertainty added a new layer of concern to the tension already present in the grove, so he had spent the last few weeks patrolling the surroundings. He had strong suspicions about an area that seemed too ideal for an infected colony: isolated, wild, and unexplored—the heart of the mountain.

In his youth, he had listened to the elders tell terrifying stories to the children about that valley. They said that somewhere, buried under the roots of a white hawthorn, lay the heart of a giant who couldn’t stop searching for it, finding no peace for hundreds of years. The children trembled with fear, imagining the terrifying descriptions of the monster tearing apart unfortunate villagers and adventurers who had crossed its path while seeking the rumored treasures of his domains. But Halsin had always felt a sort of melancholy when hearing those tales. His small self imagined the pain of losing one’s heart—of someone stealing it and hiding it beneath the cold earth, in darkness. He imagined winters passing without knowing where it was, and the sensation of an invisible thread tugging desperately at his chest in all directions with the unbearable feeling of emptiness. He felt nothing but compassion for the giant.

His mind filled with those memories, with others villains and monsters: similar stories, creatures, witches, malevolent fairies peering through shifting shadows, now just tales to keep children from wandering too far from their villages. Real dangers lurked in the shadows—real enemies infected by a greater evil spreading like a disease. There was no time to search for any giant’s heart. What mattered was finding the source of these parasites.

The first thing that caught his attention as he ventured deeper was the unusual number of mushrooms on the trees and ground. The truffles were especially large and flavorful. The trees were adorned with beautiful, glowing fungi that became brighter and more varied as the darkness deepened. The grass under his paws was thick and soft; it had been a long time since he had seen a place with such an abundance of untouched, pristine vegetation.

The second thing that drew his attention was the behavior of the local animals. They didn’t display the usual ease he was accustomed to. Most watched him from afar, with the exception of a young sparrow that perched close, as if wanting to speak.

“You’re Halsin, aren’t you? You’re like the guardian,” it said, tilting its head. Its young voice carried the sweetness of a bird that had just learned to fly. “I’ve heard the crows say good things about you. Be careful—the guardian must not catch you snooping.”

“The guardian?” Could the stories about the giant be true? Had the being, resigned after losing its heart, taken to guarding the mountain, accepting only the precious company of birds and flowers?

“Who is your guardian, little one? Do you know where I can find them?” The small bird hopped onto his snout. Silvanus had bestowed upon Halsin the gift of calming beasts, of earning their trust simply by speaking.

“I won’t tell you! He mustn’t see you!” The birds on the other branches whispered along with the little one: “He mustn’t see you! He mustn’t see you!”

“Let’s make a deal. If you answer one questions, I’ll leave—just for today. Is that fair?” The little birds looked at one another, discussing in a language only they could understand, a lost tongue of the forest only for the beasts and the trees. “Very well, but make it quick. He-mustn’t-see-you!”

Halsin asked if they had seen more people recently, specifically Drow. Had they seen their guardian handling any kind of larva they hadn’t seen before? The birds replied that the guardian had dealt with several strangers with lilac skin and white hair. He had extracted worms from their heads as they slithered out of their ears upon death and crushed them—all except one, which he had carefully opened with a sharp thorn and observed for many hours, writing in his wordless books.

This meant the infection was not only unrelated to this unknown being, but also that the guardian wasn’t some wild giant. They were a rational being capable of dissecting and studying larvae. Could Halsin be in the presence of one of the hermit dark druids he had heard about many times during his novice years? He would have to proceed with caution. Decades ago, his order had tracked down several sectarians in small groups around the region. But this was not the time for investigation. It was nearly nightfall, and he had given his word—losing the favor of the birds was never a good idea.

Back in his study, he exhaled the smoke from his pipe slowly while his gaze was lost in the rhythmic dance inside the fireplace, but his mind wandered miles away. It still roamed those knotted trees, covered in luminous pearls and beautiful turquoise bells. Usually, he would go straight to discuss his discoveries with Nettie, but this time he had only mentioned some trivial information, omitting anything about the unknown being living in the mountain. He had searched the grove’s library for the names of the mushrooms he’d seen that evening. Three were listed as extinct, and the rest had no record. He was certain the being was connected to the abundant vitality of these species, and this only piqued his curiosity even more. What if one of those mushrooms had some kind of unknown healing effect? Beyond preserving their species, was this being propagating those fungi for a reason?

He spent the next morning solving problems within the grove: arguing with Khaga, helping the Tieflings—the usual. It was 3:00 PM when he set off for the mountain. By the time he arrived, the sun was high in the sky. This time, the birds didn’t greet him. A peculiar silence filled the spaces between the branches, the rocks, the grass. Only the sound of the wind whispering its unintelligible poems filled the clearing he had reached. He was deep in the forest when a sharp breath made him turn suddenly. Before him stood a ram, black from the tips of its horns to its tail. Its long, wavy hair seemed to absorb the light around it, but its expression and bright golden eyes betrayed its nature—it was as much beast as Halsin was.

The beast rose onto two legs and let all its weight fall onto the ground, sending the birds perched on its horns flying in different directions and cracking the earth beneath its sharp hooves. A familiar golden vapor surrounded it sinisterly as it took a menacing step forward.

The bear also took a step forward, but to close his eyes and offer a small, courteous bow with his massive head. “You must be the guardian the birds spoke of. Please, don’t be afraid. I’m nothing more than a servant of nature, just like you.”

As he finished speaking, the druid allowed the same golden vapor to return him to his human form, and he knelt before the being. In his outstretched hand lay a bundle of Goodberries. “My name is Halsin. Would it be too much to ask for yours?”

Some minutes passed before the ram began to approach slowly. After circling him a few times, it leaned its head in and sniffed the berries in his hand. Eating a couple as a gesture of peace, it spoke without changing form.

“Revna.” Its voice was rough and raspy, as if it had been a long time since it had spoken aloud. It wasn’t too deep or too high—a brownish tone, like dark sugar. “Hal-sin,” it repeated slowly, as if absorbing the syllables little by little. “The birds speak of you too.”

After saying this, it walked away slowly, studying him, memorizing his face. “I’ll let you pass. Thank the sparrows—they spoke up for you.”

It hopped off into the underbrush until blending into the darkness. In the distance, only a pair of golden eyes were visible for a moment before disappearing.

Halsin spent the following weeks visiting almost daily. He always arrived in bear form and returned to his human shape once there was no danger of being seen by any villagers. During the hours he spent there, he observed the different species of mushrooms taking notes in the small notebook he kept strapped to one of his paws on the way there. There were many more than he had seen the first time. The deeper he ventured, the more colors and shapes he discovered. Occasionally, he would see Revna walking slowly in ram form in the distance, observing his activities calmly. When not visible, Halsin could still feel his gaze from some indiscernible location—so much so that, over time, it became a game to figure out which direction he was being watched from, to turn quickly and catch him in the act. When he did, he always saw the bushes subtly rustling, and could have sworn he had once heard his spy’s snort of laughter.

During all that time, he didn’t dare take a single mushroom, though he was very interested in collecting a few samples and asking questions about their qualities—their effects upon ingestion, their origins, the reasons for their preservation.

At the end of the fourth week, he arrived determined to enter the forest in the form of a wild cat, trying to remain as stealthy as possible. The brownish color of his fur blended perfectly with the thick foliage of the valley. A part of him feared that venturing deeper without being watched would ruin the trust he had gained, but he couldn't contain his curiosity about what lay beyond the glades, beyond the ram form. The further he went in, the more insects he saw: moths, butterflies, beetles, caterpillars. Species he thought had long since migrated had settled there, in the peaceful and solitary darkness, cared for by that faceless being. At some height, he began to wonder if his ears were deceiving him; someone was singing, a soft voice, a bit hoarse, sweet, so very sweet, carried by the wind to him, lulling him in like sirens pulling sailors into the deep sea.

At the foot of a gray apple tree, a beautiful structure of red and purple oyster mushrooms grew. It looked like a miniature castle from which, at any moment, a swarm of fairies or an army of tiny myconids might emerge. They emitted an iridescent light that faintly illuminated the pale fruits of the tree and the long ivy hanging from its branches. At the base of the structure, a stream of cold, pure water gently sprang forth, and crouching in front of it, whispering its melancholic song, was a small figure. Upon paying more attention to the texture of their skin, he noticed that, just like him, it was a Wood Elf. But this one had a very long tail with black curls at the end, a thick bandage on the left thigh, and a pair of horns, long and curved, like those of a mountain goat or a wild ram. Their body was slender but small, and their dark olive skin was covered in freckles, full of thick scars. Long black hair piled up on the ground beside them, like a serpent. There was no doubt—it had to be him.

The Druid filled his lungs with air and, after returning to his human form, took a step forward. He had no idea how they would react, so he immediately took the same posture as when they first met and extended his hand, full of Goodberries.

“Revna? Is that you?” His first reaction was a look full of alertness and hostility, his arched back like a cat indicated he was about to pounce at him, claws first. All he could see was red. There was a stranger in his home, at the foot of his apple tree—how dared he? How had he come without being seen? And what kind of guardian was he to have allowed such a thing?—All of that passed, and the alertness melted away upon seeing the hand full of Goodberries in front of his face. It was the Druid, the bear who came almost daily, the one who observed the mushrooms without damaging them, the one the sparrows said was caring and gentle.

“Hal-sin,” he said, the same way he had the first time.

“How did you get here?” The words came slowly, as if he had to remember how to talk to people.

“I’ve been looking for you. I have many questions I’d like to ask you about the insects and mushrooms you’ve been caring for, about the strangers who’ve been attacking our valleys.”

“Our valleys,” Revna repeated. Halsin also had a valley to protect, beings to care for, and species to preserve. Had he too been attacked by those strange white-haired ones?

Despite how alarming the possibility was, the thought brought calm. To feel that they both had too much to lose, too much to protect. He extended his hand, this time it was his long fingers that took a handful of berries and gave him the approval to follow with a head gesture.

Revna seemed wonderfully comfortable walking naked through life. Halsin watched him with the fascination of someone seeing a white deer in the snow for the first time; this time it was his eyes following Revna’s steps. A pair of small birds perched on his horns, one of them the little chick that had welcomed him the first time. It jumped onto his shoulder and spent the rest of the journey chirping next to his neck, among his reddish braids.

They walked in silence for about twenty minutes or so until reaching a stone structure covered in ivy and white clusters of flowers at the end of the valley. It was half buried at the base of the mountain, half built with large stone blocks sticking out. In front of it were a pair of baskets with straw in which two geese were having a heated discussion about who was eating all the worms from the pond. Halsin saw the guardian smile for the first time. When he spoke to the animals, he did so in a very soft voice, almost a whisper.

“Sonia, Sur Sur, there are enough worms for both of you.”

Once the ladies were calm, he turned and gestured for Halsin to sit on a thick wooden chair by the water ravine in front of his home. Placing a few bright pink apples in front of him, he reclined on a log against the porch and began to eat the Goodberries the Archdruid had just conjured.

His thick, dark hair fell over his shoulder like an ebony waterfall, his eyes were yellow like those of a goat, every gesture careful and precise. Before bringing a fruit to his mouth, Revna examined it as though it were a ruby between his fingers. Halsin tried to tame his curiosity so his host wouldn't misinterpret his gaze, but he couldn't help but let his eyes fall on the deep scars across his body. The bandage on his thigh had nearly fallen apart during their walk, and a fairly recent wound peeked out beneath it. A wide gash along the muscle, still half-healed.

“It was the first of those strange white-haired ones,” he said, his eyes fixed on him.

“Would you let me heal it for you?”

Revna slowly sat on the table in front of him, and Halsin gently placed his hand, eyes closed, over the deep wound. It must have taken a long time for such a deep injury to heal naturally; it looked like it had been made with a spear. When he removed his hand, there was nothing left but a faint change of pigmentation.

“I’ve never been good at healing. Thank you.”

There was a weight in his words, it made the Druid think of the giant, searching for his heart in the darkness.

“Now you have me. You can ask me whenever you need.”

Their faces were very close, but neither of them seemed intimidated or shy, rather curious. Revna studied his face, and Halsin remained still, so he could observe as much as he pleased.

“Did you build it?” He gestured to the house with his hand.

“No. There was another before me, but he was already dead when I arrived.” He took one of his thin reddish braids in his hand and stared at it. “I found his bones in his bed, buried him there.” He made a brief gesture with his head toward the base of a vine as thick as a poplar and returned to his meticulous investigation, his brow furrowed in concentration. Halsin stretched out his hand slowly and took a lock of his long hair between his fingers; it was soft, as black as a raven's feathers.

“How long have you lived in this place? How did you get here? People fear this valley—they tell all kinds of stories, don’t they?”

Revna listened with an amused air, a tad of pride on his smile. He had worked hard to keep those beliefs alive.

“I know.” Now he was inspecting the clasp on the ribbon in his hair, running his long claws lightly over the surface of leather and bronze.

“Take it,” said Halsin, closing his eyes as his skilled fingers untied his hair.

“Forty summers. I would’ve lost count, but the trees count them for me.”

The Druid opened his eyes in a mix of surprise and dread.

“You’ve been alone for forty years!?”

Their gazes met for the first time during all this time.

“I was raised by shadow druids, Hal-sin. Loneliness does not scare me.”

He looked at the brooch in his hands as he spoke, his words, unaccustomed to concealment, dripping with unfathomable sadness.

“I ran away when I saw the cruelty they were capable of. I lived for a long time in the city, saw many people, so many people. I got sick of them and wandered aimlessly until I arrived here. Haven’t left since.”

The Archdruid pulled his eyes from his face and slowly began to braid the hair in his hand in an effort not to wrap his arms around him.

“How old are you, Revna?”

“Seventy-seven summers, I think.” He lifted his head to watch the two geese fighting again, now about whether or not to make room for a third.

“But I don’t feel lonely.”

He took the braid Halsin had made in his hair and looked at it, then placed it alongside his own and observed both up close.

“You’re the first being I’ve spoken to in all this time who isn’t an animal or a mushroom.”

A shy, tired smile graced his expression, Revna gently ran the tip of his fingers over the red mark adorning Halsin's face, concentration visiting his expression again. The little bird that had been hidden among the reddish hair of the bear all this time had now returned to his caretaker's nape. Halsin stretched out his hand and gently stroked the scar beneath one of his heavy horns.

“Guardian of the mountain, would it bother you if I kept coming often to your home to spend time with you? I promise your secrets are safe with me.”

When was the last time he had touched another person’s hair?

Revna thought of the night he first arrived at this place. His exhausted body tearing off his light armor and throwing it away, assassins and hunters be damned. Crying until growling, feeling the weight of all those years in Baldur’s Gate, having moved from the violence of his upbringing to that of the powerful, the wealthy, those with names that were supposed to mean something to him. The world had always seemed harder for him to understand than for others; his mind would freeze when he had to defend himself, and he ended up acting like a beast filled with fear and panic, being treated as one as well.

He left the forest in his adolescence, drawn by the tree beneath which the shadow druids had killed his father. It called to him, whispering the truth they had hidden: his father hadn’t abandoned him to starve or be devoured by beasts as they told. Seeking the remnants of his family in the city, he found nothing—only the same cruelty, disguised under different names.

The forest and the mushrooms were simpler, honest. With time, they told him his father had been a hunter, poor but kind, that he sang to him to make him fall asleep at night. That was enough.

Now, a druid with reddish hair like freshly cut wood sat at his table. He smelled of meadows and homemade bread, he smelled like sunlight. His eyes held a sweetness he had seen only a few times before. Perhaps it was because the first time they met, he too had looked like a beast—just like him—or maybe it was simply the exhaustion from endless solitude, but this one seemed good.

“I choose to trust you, bear. Don’t make me regret it.”

There was no trace of threat in his voice, it was a plea.

Halsin pressed his forehead against his and nuzzled him with his nose.

“I promise, little ram.”

They talked for hours, about the drow but mostly about the uses of the spores Revna could produce. Slowly, his broken voice became steadier, gaining strength. Still, it retained a naturally soft, hoarse quality. He passionately explained the possible medicinal uses of the mushrooms—how to differentiate them, how to catalog them, and which ones to avoid at all costs. The reason for their preservation was none other than fascination and study. This is how the Archdruid learned that the guardian was a devoted Spore Druid. His creations could be used to help as much as to harm, in equal measure. It began to make sense that he had chosen a life of solitude; his heart seemed as peculiar as those strange beings—so vital for the natural balance of life and yet so alien.

By the time they parted, it was nearly night. The last rays of the sun tinged the sky with reddish hues, casting a golden glow on their skins. Rev looked smaller beneath that pink mantle, sweeter. The late wind swayed his long hair like the branches of a willow, and Halsin had to force himself not to take him in his arms and carry him away. It pained him, thinking about those forty years of loneliness; he knew that one more night wouldn’t make a difference, but in his heart, he didn’t want him to be alone anymore. Perhaps the fearsome giant of the shadowed borders would never be able to discover where his heart was buried, but he wished with all his being that he could help him fill that void with his own.

As they said their goodbyes, Rev placed a small cloth bag into his hands.

'Before you leave, this is for you.' The bag was made of natural fabric, likely crafted by him from the herbs of his terrains.

'Are these... spores? It smells like earth kissed by rain!' The scent was nostalgic, fresh.

'Haste spores, yes. Bring a basket when you return, and I’ll give you others—the ones we talked about today, and any others you want.'

He paused, a flicker of worry crossing his expression. 'You’ll return, won’t you?' His eyes began to shine as response to the darkness growing over them, and the druid, already struggling to resist taking the guardian with him, had to hold himself back even more at the sweetness of that question. Would he return? As many times as he could, as many times as fate would allow."

He took his slender, scarred hand in his and held it for a moment, contemplating.

"You’ll have me here every time I can, as soon as I find an opportunity."

Revna had accompanied him to the boundary between his forest and the meadows, his eyes scanning the horizon as if it had been a long time since he had seen those fields. It was as though he had forgotten the world, and the world had forgotten him. He had awoken from a forty-year dream to discover that life had continued beyond the mountains. Halsin's voice was what finally woke him up.

"I’ll bring different fruits and books. I saw you had some, but you’ll probably want to read other things. Tell me anything you need, and I’ll bring it to you."

"Could you bring me paper? I like the paper you use—it smells like sunlight, like you."

A small gasp escaped his lips when Halsin embraced him, but he didn’t pull away.

"Paper. Noted," a thread of a voice.

Rev let himself be held, perfectly still, his eyes closed, taking it all in. When Halsin finally released him, he stepped back slowly, almost reluctantly.

"I’ll be waiting."

The druid, in bear form now, waved his paw at the hill of the meadow, where the golden horizon kissed the grass. All that could be seen was his silhouette and his two glowing golden eyes, shining like his own. Revna returned to his stone house with an uneasy heart, wondering if that had truly happened. He sat by the entrance, holding his trembling knees, and two large tears slid down his cheeks. Instantly, the sparrows surrounded him, whispering sweet nothings.

"What’s wrong, gentle guardian? What hurts?"

"Little ram," he murmured softly, recalling the Druid’s words. "are we sure we can trust him?"

A rat in the winter of its life, climbed onto his shoulder and gently nuzzled his cheek.

"Don’t worry, guardian, the tall druid is kind to everyone, he’ll bring berries for you too!"

In the heart of the mountain, at the foot of a stone staircase surrounded by white Wisteria and all kinds of colorful mushrooms, the guardian slowly ran his fingers over the small braid at the end of his hair, as if reading a love note in Braille. Meanwhile, on the other side of the valleys, the Archdruid of the Emerald Grove entered his study and filled his bag with paper.

#BG3 #Baldurs Gate 3 #Original story #Original character #Halsin #halsin silverbough #tav #Deathly Revna #fantasy #druid lovers #The Bear and the mushroom shepherd ram #things are tame for now - but get ready for the ride.#jogh

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lavenderfluorite14 · 10 months ago

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A Taste of Plums | Astarion x Female!Tav

Chapter 9: Derailed

Summary: The day is derailed even further, but that might be for the best.

Rating: 16+ for violence and gore. Kissing, making out.

Warnings: This chapter contains detailed descriptions of violence and gore, specifically arrow removal.

Full tag list on AO3. Read on AO3. Chapter 8. Read from the beginning.

Morale plummets in the wake of Lae’Zel’s departure. The rest of the morning is spent in silence as everyone finishes preparing for the day ahead. Even Shadowheart’s smug superiority at finally ousting Lae’Zel fades to a grim determination. Already, the hole Lae’Zel has left feels palpable.

Astarion is sure Lae’Zel will be fine out there. She is a warrior through and through. But an additional prickle of fear ripples through him at the idea that the others may leave him too. He cannot do this alone, he needs every ally he can get.

He knew this was coming, he reminds himself. He knew Lae’Zel was always going to leave. It’s just happening earlier than expected. This is a good thing, actually. He has less competition now. And less opposition to the illithid powers. He cannot compromise that.

He had never really minded Lae’Zel’s condescension or rudeness, even when it was directed at him. Cazador had been much crueler. At least Lae'Zel was almost funny. And her passion for bloodshed had always been inspiring. He supposed he was just disappointed to see a strong ally leave over such a trifle.

Perhaps there was a tinge of worry for her as well.

At least he knows that Tav won’t leave. Certainly not with the promise of tonight hanging between them like luscious, unpicked fruit.

Tav, Shadowheart, Karlach, and Astarion all trudge through the forest in silence, doggedly following the billowing smoke plume that Lae’Zel had spotted earlier. Along the way Tav and Shadowheart stop to forage, gathering berries, mushrooms, and eggs from bird nests. They even find a big, juicy honeycomb. All treats Astarion can’t truly enjoy.

“Are you sure about the tadpoles, Fangs?” Karlach asks him when they are finally alone. Tav and Shadowheart are far ahead at this point, digging up what appears to be a buried chest.

“Of course I am,” Astarion insists. The tadpole set him free. He has to follow this thread.

“Even if it means you’ll become a Mindflayer?”

“That’s not going to happen.”

“But what if it does?”

He briefly imagines the pain and horror of his bones turning into jelly, his handsome face sprouting tentacles, his personality and memories siphoned away to feed the gluttonous parasite. It’s too grotesque, too unimaginable to feel like a real possibility.

But he can imagine Cazador placing his favorite knife against the coals of a blazing fire, the searing heat guaranteeing that its blade will be horrifically painful. He can imagine Godey behind him with the pliers, laughing a deep, clacking chuckle.

“As I have said repeatedly, that is not going to happen.”

Karlach just sighs. “Well. If you’re sure, then.”

Silence resumes. The smoke cloud looms ever larger above them. Astarion thinks he hears a Worg howl.

“I’m just asking you to be careful. Your actions affect the rest of us too. If you begin to transform-"

“I won’t transform!” he yells at her. Up ahead, Tav and Shadowheart try to look busy. “I won’t let it get that far. The idea is to control the tadpole, not become it.”

“But we don’t know if that’s even possible,” she responds.

“But what if it is? We have to inv-” There’s something up ahead.

Tav’s message throbs through all their minds, rife with concern. Immediately everyone reaches for their weapons.

“Finally, some action,” Karlach growls, grabbing her sword.

“Finally, I agree with you,” Astarion replies, unsheathing his daggers.

Let’s carefully approach-

Karlach charges ahead, bursting through the underbrush. She streaks ahead of them through the forest, a comet made flesh. They all race to catch up to her, nimbly dodging rocks, branches, roots, and all manner of forest debris as they hurtle towards danger. Soon they begin to hear the clangs of swords, the twangs of bowstrings, and they feel the unmistakable thrum of the Weave. There’s fighting up ahead, in the town square of the abandoned village.

What remains of a band of goblin marauders have cornered something against a wall. Whatever it is has put up quite a fight: goblin carcasses litter the ground in pools of dark, sticky blood. Astarion reflexively licks his lips.

“Kill it!” a goblin booyahg cackles as she conjures a poisonous green cloud. She unleashes the magic on her target, which doubles over in a fit of hacking coughs. “Skva!” Lae’Zel barks between wheezes. A worg leaps at her, sinking its jaws into the hard muscle of her thigh. Lae’Zel snarls in pain, rapping its head with the pommel of her sword. The beast releases her, dazed, its jowls dripping blood. As Lae’Zel shifts into a new stance to compensate for her injured leg an arrow strikes her thigh, missing her plate by centimeters and embedding itself into her other leg. She screams in Githyanki, but somehow finds the force to keep standing. Multiple arrows have pierced her, jutting out of her flesh like pins in a horrifying pincushion. Blood drips from a cut on her brow, where a rock had struck her face, pooling in her eyes.

“Oi! Meatheads!” Tav roars, her mockery grabbing their attention. “The frog is ours! Back off, or you’ll be joining it!” one of the goblins yells. Lae’Zel uses the distraction to strike, knocking the nearest goblin prone.

All hells break loose. Karlach jumps into the fray, cleaving the worg in half with her sword. Astarion shimmies up a decaying roof, crouching low as he surveys the fight. He silently looses arrow after arrow, picking off goblins from his vantage point. There’s another booyahg perched on a nearby gable and Astarion quickly dispatches him with a clean shot to the neck, sending him plummeting to the stones below with a sickening thud. A goblin slashes at Lae’Zel but Tav grasps her with Hold Person, freezing her in place. Lae’Zel seizes the moment, chopping off her head with a clean sweep of her blade. The goblin band is no match for all of them, together.

“Lae’Zel! Are you alright?” Tav calls out to her as the last goblin falls.

Lae’Zel does not answer. She briefly wobbles for a moment, blinking blood out of her golden eyes. Then she swoons, hard. Karlach dives to catch her but Lae’Zel’s head strikes the cobblestones, knocking her out cold. Shadowheart rushes forward, her blue healing magic flickering at her fingertips. They all stand back as Shadowheart works to save Lae’Zel, watching as she feverishly casts her magic. They may hate each other, but that doesn’t mean that Shadowheart would let Lae’Zel die like this.

“Lae’Zel better live through this,” Karlach murmurs. She has given Shadowheart the most space, ever conscious of her burning engine.

“She’ll be fine, darling. She’s too tough to let a couple of goblins get to her,” Astarion hand-waves. She won’t die. She can’t die.

“Tav!” Shadowheart calls frantically over her shoulder. Tav rushes over, her hands starting to glow with her own lesser healing magic. The two begin working in tandem: Tav props Lae’Zel’s head up so Shadowheart can carefully pour a healing potion down her throat. Lae’Zel groans, her eyes flickering open in a haze of pain.

“Astarion!” Tav cries. Astarion dashes over, crouching at her side. “You have the best dexterity. We need you to help excise these arrows,” she explains. “I’ll walk you through it. Just do as I say, and everything will be fine,” Shadowheart assures him. “I can push this one through. But these two are pretty shallow, you will need to rip them out of her. I can’t finish healing her until they’ve been removed,” Shadowheart instructs.

“That will make it worse!” Astarion frets.

“Not with goblin arrows. They’re just simple metal spikes, they don’t have the fancy head. You’ll still need to be quick though, so they can heal her before she bleeds out,” Karlach explains. “Please Astarion, just do it,” Tav pleads.

Tav gently supports the arrow shaft, holding it still. The shaft wiggles, which is a good sign. It hasn’t struck bone. He surveys Lae’Zel’s thigh, making note of the two arrows he will need to remove in rapid succession. Delicately but firmly, he grasps the shaft near the root. Lae’Zel swears thickly but Tav quietly soothes her, casting Calm Emotions. Blood bubbles forth from her flesh as he quickly rips the arrow out. The urge to bite almost overwhelms him, but Tav swoops in with a rag to staunch the bleeding before he can lose himself. Lae’Zel writhes in pain but Shadowheart does her best to hold her down. Karlach hovers over them, burning too fiercely to safely help.

They repeat the grisly process, removing all the arrows from Lae’Zel’s body. Lae’Zel screams, she swears, she twists in pain, but she does not complain. The last one is too deep, so Shadowheart snaps the shaft and swiftly pushes the arrow through her thigh, forcing it out the other side. When the horrible work is done, Karlach passes Shadowheart a Greater Healing potion, which Lae’Zel gulps down. Shadowheart stands up, wiping the sweat from her brow. Tav stays crouched, casting Prestidigitation to clean the blood and viscera from Lae’Zel’s prone form. Lae’Zel tries to stand but Karlach moves over her. “Hold it, soldier. Your wounds are closed but you are not fit to move,” she says. Lae’Zel chks. “She’ll live, but she needs to rest.” Shadowheart declares. “And so do I. I’m almost completely out of magic now.” Tav swears under her breath.

“I could still accompany you to the goblin camp, but I’ll only have my cantrips,” Shadowheart adds. Tav stands slowly so as to not disturb Lae’Zel, then kicks angrily at a nearby tuft of grass. “As much as I’d like to kick some goblin butt, I’m not going into enemy territory without another healer,” Karlach insists.

“Nor I,” Tav agrees. “Not if there’s as many goblins as I suspect.” They all glance up at the billowing smoke cloud. Lae’Zel was right, the camp is just beyond the ridge.

“Well, at least this was fun,” Astarion says. Karlach wraps Lae’Zel in a blanket from her pack, then hoists her up into her arms, gently cradling her.

“Let’s get this one back to camp, yeah?” Karlach suggests.

“Put me down this instant,” Lae’Zel demands. She squirms indignantly. “I am Lae’Zel of K’liir, not some hatchling.”

“And right now you are recovering from some serious injuries,” Tav says. “We’re going back to camp so we can all re-coup.”

“You tell me if it gets too hot, ok?” Karlach says. Lae’Zel grunts.

“Were you anyone else I would strike you down for such disrespect,” she grumbles.

“Yeah, yeah, we can fight about it after you rest,” Karlach teases.

“As fierce as you are, darling, you shouldn’t run off like that. We were quite worried about you,” Astarion gently scolds her. Lae'Zel glowers at him but she does not rebuff his chastisement. Perhaps they really are growing on her after all.

As they walk, Lae'Zel eventually settles into Karlach's strong arms. If Astarion didn't know better, she almost seems content there.

Tav falls into step beside him. “Good job today,” she says. She gives his arm a quick, affectionate squeeze. The contact sends a jolt of something through him. He isn’t sure if it’s pleasant or not, but he does know that he loves the compliment.

��Why thank you, darling. What can I say, I’m quite skilled with my hands.”

Tav giggles at him. He leans in close to her, so the others won’t hear. “You’ll find out for yourself soon enough,” he promises. Tav playfully pushes him away, pantomiming annoyance, but once she’s done she shoots him a heated look that belies her true feelings. Astarion smirks back at her.

Tonight is the night.

There’s a dog waiting for them when they return. Apparently Wyll and Gale had found it wandering around the woods. It had not wanted to leave the body of its dead master, but Wyll had given it his scent anyway. According to the collar, the dog’s name was “Scratch.” Karlach and Shadowheart are delighted, but Astarion isn’t impressed. But he supposes he can live with the dog, so long as it doesn’t slobber all over his pillow.

Somehow, Wyll and Gale had also found the time to trek back to the Grove, trade for more potions and alchemy supplies, forage for food, and discover an owlbear cave. They had certainly been busy bees while they were gone.

They all help pitch Lae’Zel’s tent, then Karlach lays Lae’Zel down gently in her bedroll, where she quickly falls asleep. They all mostly agree: if Lae’Zel wants to rejoin their group then she is welcome to stay. Shadowheart loudly objects, but she is overruled by Tav, Wyll, and Karlach. Everyone is welcome here so long as they are willing to cooperate with the group.

Astarion knew he had bet correctly on Tav.

They all take turns checking on Lae’Zel, even Astarion. When at last she stirs, Gale hands her a bowl of stew and Tav flits into her tent to talk. They all quietly gather nearby to eavesdrop, Gale included this time.

Lae’Zel doesn’t apologize. She is still adamantly against using the tadpole, but she does agree to stay. Astarion intuitively understands that this is Githyanki for “thank you for saving my life.” Tav concedes that they are taking an enormous risk and agrees that if they begin to transform, Lae’Zel should kill them. Lae’Zel swears that she will see it so. Astarion frowns to himself. Even though he is confident that they can eventually control the tadpole, he still doesn’t appreciate that Tav has essentially forfeited their lives. But this seems to be an acceptable enough compromise for now.

Tav gives them all a knowing look as she exits Lae’Zel’s tent. No one tries to hide the fact that they were listening in.

The sun is already beginning to set, so Astarion settles in and begins his grooming regimen. Tav will be expecting him soon.

“Astarion! Can I trouble you for some help chopping these vegetables?” Gale calls to him from the makeshift kitchen he has staged by the fire.

“I’m afraid I’m a bit busy, my dear,” he calls over. Astarion doesn’t have nail scissors or clippers, but he’s skilled enough with a knife to make do.

“Very well, then I shall come to you,” Gale announces, laying down his own knife and making his way over. As Gale approaches, Astarion wonders what he has done to deserve this.

“I’d like to speak to you in private, if I may. About this morning,” Gale says. Astarion raises an eyebrow.

“I didn’t know we had more to say to each other,” Astarion says icily. “You already made your point quite clearly.”

“I actually don’t think I have,” Gale says. Oh good, more lecturing.

“I spoke in anger and in haste this morning, and I wanted to offer my apologies. Although we have only known each other briefly, I meant what I said. I would stand at your side again, tadpole or no.”

“What?” Astarion says flatly.

“I spoke in anger and in haste-"

“I heard you!” Astarion snaps.

“It occurred to me that you and I are not so different, in our ways,” Gale continues. “To be at the beck and call of a supernatural hunger has been challenging, even for a wizard of my acclaim.”

“That has certainly been true in my own experience,” Astarion offers slowly.

"I know we didn’t meet under the best of circumstances and we have all been relatively slow to confide in one another. But now that we have a tad more trust and understanding, I hope that we can move forward towards curing our mutual infection,” Gale says.

“Do we have more trust in each other?” Astarion cuts in, ignoring Gale's mention of the parasite. “Because right now it seems as though the one waxing poetic about trust is keeping a pretty important secret from all of us.”

Gale sighs. “You are right, Astarion. I am asking a lot of all of you. But I assure you, now is not the right time. I promise that when the time is right, I will tell you everything,” Gale pledges.

Astarion looks him up and down, warily. “I suppose I understand better than most the need to keep a secret until the right time,” Astarion concedes.

“You’ve got to get the timing just right, I’m afraid.” Gale sighs again. “And as powerful as I am, I can't say I've been at my level best this past week. This whole adventure has been rather exhausting, if I’m being honest.”

“I quite agree,” Astarion replies.

“If also a bit invigorating,” Gale continues, conspiratorially. Astarion’s lips twitch.

“I quite agree,” Astarion smirks.

“So! Shall we put this spat behind us?” Gale offers his hand for a gentlemanly shake.

Astarion eyes Gale’s outstretched hand. He briefly considers asking the wizard about his intentions with Tav. But his brief glimpse inside Gale’s tent lends credence to Astarion’s hunch that nothing of significance is going on between them. Wyll and Shadowheart are wrong.

Besides, they have almost no chemistry. If Tav would have rather bunked in Gale’s tent, she would be in Gale’s tent. Instead she’s promised herself to him.

“I suppose I can forgive you,” Astarion says, clasping Gale’s hand in his and giving it a firm shake. “Your words are…appreciated.”

“And is there anything that you would like to say to me?” Gale says hopefully. Astarion pauses. The cheek of this wizard.

“I suppose I can also make an effort to be more forthcoming in the future. Within reason. I do have an image to maintain, after all.”

“I can content myself with ‘an effort’ so long as it is a genuine one,” Gale chides him. “Although I hope I prove a worthy confidant,” he adds, smiling.

As Gale retreats towards Shadowheart’s tent, ostensibly on his apology tour, Astarion admits that Gale can be charming, on occasion.

It occurs to Astarion that he hasn’t received a genuine apology like that in decades.

Freshly bathed, trimmed, and coiffed, Astarion swaggers over to Tav’s tent, tapping on the flap by way of greeting. Tav beckons him in.

“I hope I’m not disturbing you, my darling,” he asks, sliding inside. Although, he wouldn’t have cared even if he was disturbing her.

“Not at all,” she reassures him. Tav sits on a stool, applying mascara to her eyelashes with the help of a hand mirror.

“We finally have a quiet evening,” he observes lightly, coming around beside her.

“As quiet as it can be around here, anyway,” she retorts. She screws the tube of mascara shut, slipping it into a little pouch. She then produces a small tin of salve, which she opens with a small click.

“A perfect night for two souls who would like to take some time to themselves,” he hints flirtatiously. “If you catch my meaning.”

“Hm, I don’t think I do,” Tav replies, swiping a fat dollop over her lips.

“No?” Astarion questions, his tone playfully patronizing.

“No,” she teases, rubbing the balm between her lips. “You’ll have to be more explicit,” she says, the challenge clear in her voice. Her lips look so pretty and glossy, a tempting target.

“Well then, since you apparently need it spelled out for you-“ Astarion leans down and kisses her, ruining the immaculate shine of her lips with a single press of his own. He lingers against her, enjoying the cloying scent of lavender and honey, the soft pillow of her lips against his own. It must be a beeswax of some kind. Tav opens her mouth to deepen the kiss, but Astarion pulls away.

“Not here,” he says, stopping her in her tracks. “There’s a clearing just over the hill. Once the others have gone to sleep, come find me there. I’ll be waiting for you.”

“I will,” she promises. Already she’s rosy-cheeked and breathless.

He’s going to positively wreck her. ~ Chapter 10: Want❤️‍🔥

#astarion #astarion x reader #astarion x tav #the night shift #a taste of plums #Shadowheart #Karlach #lae'zel #gale dekarios #bg3 scratch #astarion fic #astarion longfic #bg3 longfic #bg3 re-telling

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werezmastarbucks · 7 months ago

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forestling

pic credit

masterlist

Damon Salvatore's conscience acts up after he kills a pregnant woman in '94

author's note: yup, now I feel I'm getting old. When Damon, of all people, stops being your vampire crush, and becomes an older brother figure, it's time to call it quits. jk

word count: 994

warnings: parent figure!Damon, Y/N is an orphan

The forest was glowing golden in the morning hour, and the birds were spooked by the sharp cracking sounds of the trees being broken and snapped in half. A vampire row is no joke. When Damon gets pissed, that's one thing: he might throw stuff around and push people under the trains. But when he feels like this, half-empty, disillusioned, and dirty, regretful, he becomes really dangerous. Love was a thing of pain, but a feeling so filthy, so intrusive, did not occur in him too often. It was guilt, and Damon hated it. Not the 'what's people gonna think now' type of guilt, and not the 'Stefan's going to pout'. It was sincere, and it was pulling on his ribcage, and now the rage that he felt was urgent, and hypocritical as he swung his hand again to strike Aidan. Aidan was his buddy. A guy he met in Penzance about twelve years ago or so. A kind of a wild card. It was enjoyable drinking with him, they didn't have to confess anything, or speak eye to eye. Aidan was fun at the times when it was easier to let go. But Damon had a fatal drawback: from time to time he swam up. And looked at his life and the scale of destruction. While he still posessed a superego, Aidann lacked it completely. It was fun until it wasn't.

The slender birch trees, growing in a perfect circle, and the light golden pollen of August were reminiscent of magic that used to reside here. Aidan now sacrificed two mortals to gods of his hunger. When it came to the point of taking the baby in the blanket, Damon's eye started twitching weirdly. Unwelcome flashbacks. The conscience, the ultimate bitch. She was now drilling her crooked nail into the back of his neck. And, almost without any consideration, he stroke Aidan again.

"Not the baby", he hissed, warning.

Aidan regrouped and looked at him from the ground with his animalistic, lunatic eyes.

"Why? What does it matter to you?"

He looked in the direction of the bloodless bodies lying on the edge of the clearing. This all looked like an illustration from a children's book. The sun was above the forest, and the white of young trees, the trees that were younger than them, made this place shine with eternal light.

Damon could hear the child whimper, but she did not scream. Two big, thoughtful eyes were looking at them curiously from the blanket nest she was now abandoned in. The eyes were old. Because, he thought, those were the eyes of the unborn child he murdered three months ago. He already forgot the woman's name, but the child's consciousness manifested in his mind. Like a parasite. Such useless, human instinct.

"That's where you draw the line? Babies?" Aidan continued, laughing. His laugh didn't suit this angelic place.

He didn't have it in him to talk things out, come up with witty responses. He attacked again, and, after some commotion that included a broken and recovered arm, and even a bite, managed to impale him with a branch. Aidan's face went white with pain, but the tip of the stick only scratched his heart slightly. The unwellness that washed over Damon was so great that he was determined to avoid any death at all. Just today. So many things in his life he sincerely wanted to fix, and now was hurriedly scooping the baby and the blanket with his bowed head.

He looked into this stupid haunting baby face, thinking, now what? Idiot. You're in the middle of the forest, and now you can't even use the vampire speed to carry it out. It will get a whiplash and die.

So he walked, and walked, through the young slender trees, and the afternoon golden glow, as the light of the sun changed against the greenery. The baby cried a little and then fell asleep. He stood on the top of the hill, allowing his mind to wander for a while. It was good to be old. You had friends in almost every country.

He changed hands and looked at the sleeping child again. She is very peaceful, he thought. A uniquely unbothered new born. Being a vampire does not automatically make you a human conoisseur, so, he gathered, she was about six, seven, eight months old? Who knew. He would find out about her parents and will know soon enough. Maybe, maybe keeping this one baby safe will make up for all these horrible things he's done.

He walked down the hill into the beach as the heat soared. The house with shelves on the eaves was closed off against the summer swelter. He blew on the baby's face gently, trying to keep it warm. No idea how long a mortal baby can whithstand high temperatures. A good witch lived here. She wore boho dresses and had long silver hair - it used to be black. She was the kind of person to accept whatever fate throws at her; that's why she never shut Damon out of her life. She went to the sea every day and did her marine magic. This little old island is protected by her and her ethereal kindness.

He knocked on the door. As she opened, Damon gave her his typical cat smile.

"Ever wanted to be a mother?" he asked, standing in the door like an ink spot against the bright golden of the day.

"Hello to you, too", she replied, standing on her toes. He face changed into the expression of worry.

"If you wanted to visit, you could've just come..."

Damon shrugged.

"What do you think?"

"You look disheveled".

"Do I?"

"Had to fight?"

"A friend of mine has a thing for killing off the families whole".

Her clear bright eyes squinted at the sun and focused on Damon.

She was a little suspicious but agreed that the weird orphaned baby was uncharacteristically quiet.

#vampire diaries #damon salvatore #damon salvatore imagine

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jtficprompt · 1 year ago

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A Young Outlaw's Guide to Hitching a Ride Home

Prompts for a series of fics I'll likely not get around to ever writing.

Feel free to adopt and adapt, using as little or as much as you like.

----

Wonder Woman; Tim Drake; Ferdinand the Kithotaur (title ideas: "Tell an Adult" "Doing what needs to be done")

Batman is on a plane somewhere over the Atlantic. A slow civilian plane, that definitely isn't big enough to fit the BatPlane in the hold.

Which isn't kind of plane Batman takes when he knows Robin is being hunted by the Joker.

Superman looked half dead in the news footage. He was barely walking by the time parasite was arrested.

The Titans seem to be off world. Tim has no idea how to contact the Flash.

That means Wonder Woman. Which means Tim need to get to the Themiscarian Embassy in DC as fast as possible.

(Also featuring: Cooking lessons and discrete child neglect assessment questions with Ferdinand the Kithotaur.)

----

Roy Harper (title ideas: "Friends in Low Places" "The Corn Pollen Path" "First Step")

You don't stop shooting up because heroin stops feeling like heroin. You stop shooting up because you find something more important than the next score.

Roy Harper finds that in a seedy bar in eastern Kasnia, when he hears two thugs he recognizes as Joker henchmen talking about "the boss" going bird hunting in Ethopia.

He may be an addict. He may be a has-been. But he was a Titan, and he will be damned if he scrounges for his next score while another Titan falls into that clown's trap.

Even if it kills him. (He tries not to hope too hard that it does).

----

Veronica Vreeland; Roxy Rocket (title ideas: "Ronnie & Roxy's Rescue Service" "I'm the Cool Aunt")

"Roxie! Darling! I need a ride! I have to get to Ethopia so I can kill Harley's ex."

Roxie knew Veroinca Vreeland was crazy. She regularly encouraged Harley to kidnap her "for brunch." She dated the Penguin. Voluntarily. Before today, she just didn't know that "crazy" extended to HALO jumps from a rocket plane on a mission to kill the Joker. … Maybe Ozzie has good taste after all.

----

Jordan Hill; Barbara Gordon (title ideas: "Someone who's been there before")

"I'm not an idiot, Babs. I've known you and every single member of the Wayne family since we were kids. We don't have time for this. I don't care what you all get up to at night: Jeckko is hunting Jason, and I'll be damned if I let that asshole hurt another kid."

----

Garth of Shayaris (title ideas: "Tagging in" "The-Batman's-an-Asshole-Phone-Tree")

"You're telling me that Vic has a program running that goes through the entire internet to sort out if I'm doing 'something weird'."

"I mean, it used to track Dickie-bird. But yeah."

"Because if Dick was doing something weird, it means B was an asshole."

"Obviously. He's still an asshole, right?"

"Yes. And there is a phone tree for this. For when B is an asshole."

"Yes."

"Aren't you supposed to be King of Atlantis right now? Seems like you should have shit to do. Besides following my ass to Ethopia."

"Acting King. And if Arthur can be an asshole and dump all his work on me without asking, I can definitely take a personal day."

----

Ra's Al Ghul (title ideas: "Ra's Al Ghul is many things")

"Sir, he has the boy."

"Where is the Detective?"

"He's on his way. But, sir, he won't make it there in time."

"I should never have allied myself with that madman."

Ra's paused and gazed out the window. Talia wondered how may people besides her would recognize regret in her father's face.

"Then I must go in the Detective's stead. Have the hangars ready our fastest plane, then fetch my armor and swords." Her father did not turn from the window as Ubu rushed out to see to his orders. He simply stared out the window until he spoke again.

"Talia. Prepare the pit while I am gone. His father will not thank me for it, but if my folly comes to its worst end I will not deprive my grandson of his brother."

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robinyourcreator · 3 months ago

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@defira85 tagged me in wip whenever and i am up WAY too late already but here have some scribblings

draft is called "beach episode" in my documents because unfortunately for all of you, I think im funny.

In which Adana continues to have a Time, as she has the world's scrungliest stalker, and will eventually learn that her new friends are all terrible at lying and that some of them have very strong feelings on the tactic of taking hostages.

You wake up alone on a beach. The sun is shining, birds are singing, and the mind flayer ship is a smoldering wreckage on the cliffs above you. You’re alive!

And because you’re alone, you are well overdue for a proper breakdown.

You’re alive! There is an alien parasite actively eating your brain as you think this thought.

You’re alive! You will turn into a terrible monster over the course of the next week in the most agonizing, repulsive death imaginable if you don’t find help soon.

You’re alive! And even though you’ve woken up alone, without your ‘buddies,’ they've hopefully come out of this unscathed. You had no reason to survive that fall, so maybe whatever saved you, saved them, too. They had been… good people, you think. Certainly interesting ones. You hope they’re alright.

A distressing thought, that they might not be. If only you’d been faster reaching the helm’s controls, it wouldn’t be a question.

If they aren’t, there’s nothing you can do about it now. And if they are… you need to pull yourself together enough to go find them. You need to calm down.

So you close your eyes and let your heavy head fall back against the warm sand, humming idly to yourself until you can find that calm. Gods, you’re tired. Your whole body feels like it’s made of lead. What is this tune you’re humming? It’s not one of the bawdy, crowd pleasing drinking songs or overly long dramatic ballads that have made up the bulk of your performances since you attended the College of Lore.

…Oh. It’s… a concerto. One of your first recital pieces from when you were six, when you had to play on a violin specifically made for a child’s tiny, clumsy hands. The piece that made your surly grandfather concede your music lessons might be worth the expense. How… disgustingly sentimental of you.

You haven’t heard that piece in twenty years. You haven’t even touched a violin in ten. You would surely only butcher it now, were you to pick it up again. Even such literal child’s play as that.

It quickly ceases to be comforting after that, so there’s hardly any point in wallowing in it anymore.

You sigh and force yourself to open your eyes, only to find… Alde staring down at you.

Unsettlingly. But that seems to be how she does a lot of things, actually, so you’re not planning on holding it against her.

“...Alde, how long have you been there?”

Alde continues to stare unsettlingly down at you. “A while.”

“...And how long is ‘a while?’”

She frowns minutely, taking a moment to consider her answer. “Long enough to hear you talk to yourself and sing. About ten minutes? The singing was nice.”

“I didn’t realize I was… talking to myself. Or singing.”

“You were saying things like ‘you’re alive,’ and ‘you need to calm down,’ and then you started singing with your mouth closed.”

“...Humming. That was humming, Alde.”

“Well, when you stopped ‘humming,’ I got worried you weren’t alive so I stopped stalking you from the bushes and came to check on you.”

#robin vs gates #adana taveth #merciful alde

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prince-simon · 9 months ago

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AIGHT I thought DBD was gonna be a fun lil show. You have: two dead boys with AMAZING chemistry (I LOVE their different accents/slangs/outfits to reflect the times they're from), two living girls with AMAZING chemistry (deadass thought Crystal saw the lights around Niko because maybe she liked herrrrr and the lights were psychic related instead of LITERAL SPRITE INFESTATION), two wildly horny demons who I believe need to get it on and leave Crystal and Edwin alone please and thank you (David and the Cat King), TALKING CATS, a witch cosplaying as Cruella de Ville (I thought she was MURDERING her poor bird Monty!!!!), the cutest adorable most precious little astrology nerd I've EVER SEEN (the aforementioned Monty who wasn't a victim of animal abuse after all), a cursed walrus (still salty Edwin interrupted Tragic Mike's story of how he was cursed, I was INVESTED) OH AND A SUPERHOT BUTCHER LADY!!

ANYWAY this show was supposed to be fun. I watch Supernatural and yeah there were scary episodes but I can't think of anything as traumatic as the Devlin House episode! 😭 Just... watching the dad murder his poor family over and over was awful, seeing how affected Charles was broke my heart, the dad having a secret room to spy on his family was creepy and disturbing and OH MY FUCKING GOD?!?! THAT MISERY WRAITH?!?! I ALMOST THREW UP!! I NEARLY DIED!!! ABSOLUTELY AWFUL TERRIFYING 0/10 WOULD NOT RECOMMEND I NEVER WANT TO SEE IT AGAIN!!!!!

I can't wait to watch more DBD tonight!

PS sorry for the essay

okay okay first of all. i'm so excited about this ask. don't apologise haha i've got things to say!!! (i hopeee i'm not spoilering you for anything with this longgg reply lol)

the chemistry between all of them is soooo insane i'm so happy about it!! and yeah lol i think the entire fandom thought it was gay lights for crystal and niko lmao (and you know what? just bc it was parasitic lights who's to say it's not ALSO gay!! sksk i was spoilered about this particular thing before i watched the show and when i saw that scene i STILL thought it was gay lol

sksk thank you for clarifying that by demons you mean david and the cat king bc i was like ??? david and edwin's demon??? interesting take but sure. let's go with it slfjsldfj but yeah calling the cat king a demon works too lmaooo i just love how pathetic the cat king is kssksk

the talking cats are sooo iconic hahaha

omg i totally thought esther was killing monty too. when i first watched it i did a bit of a live reaction with friends and i literally was like noooo not monty!!! he doesn't deserve it!!! i was FLOORED when he turned human skjdflsj in general esther is such a good villain. like i fucking hate her so so so much but man. i LOVE to hate her she just steals every scene she's in ("ouch my ghost skin" lives rent free in my head tbh)

SUPERHOT BUTCHER LADY yesss i love jenny so much. her "oh my fuck" cracks me up every time. fun fact before i watched the show and only saw stuff on tumblr i thought she was gonna be the bad guy sksksk

the show is so camp one second and then soooo devastating the next!!! the devlin house absolutely broke me!! fun fact- or actually not fun at all, idk if you noticed but when the camera is on charles when they're watching the murder happen, you can hear him begging his father to stop hurting him in the background. also another not so fun fact i was listening to jayden revri's charles playlist and the song that's playing in that episode is on there and when it came on i literally had to skip it after a couple seconds bc it triggered me sooo much lmfao but yeah omg don't get me started on the misery wraith!!! the first time i watched it, i was binging and i'd started pretty late already so when i got to that episode it was already dark and i was supposed to go to bed soon and i literally had to cover my screen bc i usually can't do horror at all!! so i was like nopenopenope this isn't happening nope

enjoy the rest of your watch and you're always welcome in my inbox for more yelling!!

#dead boy detectives #ask #darling-in-the-fandom

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nellyofthevalley · 1 year ago

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truths, ch.1

astarion x fem!tav rating: explicit

content: piv sex, fingering, biting/blood drinking, emotionally repressed losers who can't communicate, angst I guess

summary: this fic is mostly an excuse to write a bunch of dialogue bouncing around in my head. astarion is a sad little idiot who turns his fears into a self-fulfilling prophecy because he never learned how to love. it may or may not turn into a tragedy

“As I told you—you broke my cold, dead heart. Of course it was cruel,” Astarion says, melodramatic, hamming it up for her. He wants her to feel guilty for it; he wants her to stop being so tiring and play right into his hand. Make it easy for him.“I don’t believe you,” Tav says. “Everything you say sounds like a pretty lie, and you all but told me that’s what it is. Pretty lies. I’m not interested.”

chapters: ch.1 | ch.2 | ch.3 | ch.4 | ch.5 | ch.6 | ch.7 | ch.8

read it on ao3 or below the cut

Camping in the Underdark is unsettling, to say the least. The party hears noises in the distance, reminiscent of the howl of wolves or the songs of birds on the surface, but here, the sounds are warped and unrecognizable, and when they travel, they never meet the creatures that match the sound. Their party travels lighter with fewer bodies, having stricter lookout shifts with more on nighttime patrol. Tonight is Lae’zel and Shadowheart on shift, and Tav can imagine that’s going well. After all, it was only a few days ago they’d been at each others throats.

At least they are speaking to one another—Astarion hasn’t talked to her for days. Not since she turned him down at the tieflings’ celebration at camp, back by the grove. It would be fine, if it weren’t for the fact that it’s so obvious and awkward; he is clearly avoiding her, and she doesn’t know how to handle it. Avoid him? Act normal? What is normal anymore, anyway?

She hadn’t meant to let him down so callously; how smug and fake he sounded finally got on her nerves. She didn’t expect him to seem so wounded by it. He was so good at putting on a fake face and fake words, so why was he surprised that she’d rejected him? What did he expect?

‘I’ve gotten on my back ten thousand times or more and forgotten half of them,’ he’d said after. ‘But you... you I’ll remember.’

The words linger in her mind like a parasite, fighting for space with her tadpole. It bothers her that she can’t let this go. Were they just more pretty words he spouted to get her in bed again, or something else? For a moment, it almost seemed like his facade had cracked when he said it. For all she knows, that could've been a performance as well.

This evening, Tav finds herself in Halsin’s company while she works at her braids, discussing the road ahead. It won’t be long before they’re met with the shadow-cursed lands, and out of them all, Halsin knows the most. He recounts his studies on the curse and tadpole, eager to head off to their next destination despite the danger. Halsin clearly feels a certain responsibility to the cursed lands, though he’s also struggling with leaving the grove behind.

“They’ll be fine without you—they’re tough,” Tav offers, doing her best to provide some kind of comfort. “You’ll be missed, I’m sure. I’m glad you’re with us, we’re lucky to have you.”

“I remain optimistic that Francesca will strive in my old position. Still, it is difficult to leave my home behind,” he says. “I’m afraid the city will be an even harder adjustment for me. The busy streets and crowds are a far cry from the comforts of nature.”

“There, there, Halsin,” Gale chimes in, joining the group by the campfire. “You might be pleasantly surprised. I admit, the city park has nothing on your lovely grove, but, well. You share the pursuit of knowledge, I assume? Baldur’s Gate is home to many wonderful things—the best of which being an extraordinary bookstore known as Sorcerous Sundries.”

Gale likes to hear Gale talk, so Tav backs off and lets him engage with Halsin in her stead. Her attention turns toward the campfire on this particularly cold night, stretching her arms and hands out in front of her, taking in the warmth it provides. Her own tent is dull and cold, so she can find sleep only once the boys have talked all they can talk and finally leave, allowing her the silence needed to rest.

Tav glances over at Astarion’s tent, and unsurprisingly, he’s nowhere to be found. Likely off hunting, she thinks. Ever since the party and their strange little silent treatment pact started, he’s been getting his fill elsewhere. She used to provide for him—to help him be ‘stronger, fight better,’ as he’d argued. Now, things were too tense to invite him back.

She finds herself wondering if he’s chasing animals or people. It’s none of her business who he feeds from, but she can’t deny the slight twinge of jealousy eating at her, at the thought of him having his needs met from another ‘thinking’ creature.

‘Truth be told, you were my first,’ he’d said. Tav felt shame as her cheeks flushed. His first. Something about that sounded so… personal.

Her attention snaps back to the present, settling into the bed roll by the fire, watching the flames frolic. As her eyes start to drift away, the need for sleep washing over her, the sounds of the wilderness become duller, drowned out. She didn’t realize how tired she was, how exhausting this day had been. Her muscles relax, sight fades, and thoughts morph into concepts as she drifts away to the warm comfort of sleep.

Tav wakes in a sweat. Her skin feels like it’s melting, like she’s being boiled alive; her hands rush to her face, and when she touches herself, the skin oozes off her bones, flowing down her fingers and arms. She tries to scream, and nothing comes out, her mouth a gooey mess dripping onto the ground beneath her.

She tries to stand and flee, but her ankles are already turning into liquid fire. Her body lowers, slowly liquifying into the ground below. She’s helpless, a lost cause; an existence destined to fade away and be lost forever. A voice—her voice—tells her so, tells her ‘give up’.

Tav wakes again, this time with an audible scream. She instinctively jumps out of bed, rising to her knees; hands rush to touch her face again, relief and surprise coursing through her body as she realizes she’s still there. All of her, in one piece; not melting away as her dreams try to convince her.

She sits upright and tears flow from her eyes, frustrated—these dreams keep happening to her, and she doesn’t understand it. The campfire is all except gone, hardly any flame or heat remains.

“Tav!” Shadowheart calls to her, running and kneeling beside her. “Did something happen? Are you okay?”

“I-I’m fine, I think,” she gets out, looking over her fingers and feet again, as if she has to remind herself they’re still there, still real. “Just… having nightmares.”

“Chk. If a dream bothers you that much, I question your sanity,” Lae’zel comments in her typical, apathetic tone, approaching the duo. “Soon you may develop a fever, grow tentacles, become ghaik at last—the moment you do, I’ll be ready to strike.”

Tav rolls her eyes, prodding at the campfire, hoping to reignite the tiny flame. Despite her dream, the air is cold, and her bedroll isn’t enough. Shadowheart and Lae’zel head off in separate directions to resume their patrol, and Tav catches Shadowheart glancing back at her on their way out. She seems genuinely concerned for Tav, and it’s nice to know someone does. The others are either sleeping peacefully in their tents or pretending to. Tav wishes it’s the former, hating to make a scene.

The campfire crackles again, a little flame rising from the wood. It’s a much needed comfort, though not enough to relax and find sleep again. Tav lays on her bedroll, looking up at nothing besides a dark abyss and the faint glow of mushrooms growing far above.

“Well, didn’t you cause quite the scare?” says a familiar voice—Astarion.

Tav jumps in surprise, leaning up onto her elbows to see him walking over from his tent. The last person she expected to see tonight.

“I’m fine, thanks for asking,” she replies, a bit more haughty than intended.

Knowing sleep will escape her for some time, she concedes and rises from the bedroll to sit on the log bench by the fire. It’s a silent invitation, how she leaves room for Astarion to join, and he accepts. The atmosphere is quiet, save for a few indescribable sounds in the distance, the very same type they’d learned to accept in the Underdark.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” Tav says, willing to make the first move.

“Darling, I’d say you’ve been avoiding me,” he answers, and it prompts Tav to realize he might be right; maybe it was all in her head and she played a one-sided game. “Tell me about your dreams.”

“What? Why?”

“Can’t I simply wonder what troubles you at night? Our ‘fearless leader’, who shows no weaknesses—yet you wake with a scream, and you weep because of it,” he says, revealing he’s been listening to it all. “Call me worried if it makes you feel better about it.”

“Are you worried about me?” Tav asks, staring daggers at him, challenging him to take off his mask.

“Possibly,” Astarion answers with a dramatic shrug. “Or maybe I’m curious and you owe me. I told you plenty of my past, of my nightmares, and then you kept your secrets and so cruelly denied me your company. I think you can spare me a sentence or two, dear.”

She can’t tell how much of this is an act and how much isn’t. He’s putting on his usual theatrics, his dramatic tone and way of storytelling, but it’s hard to see beyond it this time. She’s certain he wants to know; she’s not certain if it’s because he’s worried. Or if he is serious about perceiving her rejection as cruel.

“There’s not much to tell,” Tav offers, now looking away, down to her fingers and the soil beneath her feet. “Tonight, I dreamt my skin was melting off—that’s it. Sometimes, I dream that I’m drowning. Stupid, right? It’s different from other dreams I’ve had. Feels more… real. I feel the pain as my skin turns into lava, I feel my lungs fill with water. Harder to acclimate to reality when I wake.”

She pauses to let him comment, and he says nothing. He’s not even looking at her anymore. He’s staring at the ground too, like they’re looking at the same thing. There’s nothing there besides the dirt and weeds.

“Did you really think I was cruel?”

“I don’t believe you,” Tav says. “Everything you say sounds like a pretty lie, and you all but told me that’s what it is. Pretty lies. I’m not interested.”

“It’s not all pretty lies,” he rebukes, almost sounding like he’s taking offense to her skepticism. It’s frustration that he has to work so much harder with her. “Some of them are ugly, others are pretty truths.”

“Oh? Enlighten me, what truths have you told?”

“That I miss petty vanity,” Astarion answers, keeping it simple; refusing to give more, what she wants him to give. “How it’s hard not to have fun with you.” That one is merely a consolation prize.

“Is that all?” Tav asks, wondering if ‘fun’ he means that he enjoys himself with her, or if it’s how he so evidently enjoys messing with her. Toying with her emotions.

“For tonight, yes. That’s all you get. You can continue guessing at the rest.”

Astarion meets her gaze now, giving her those sad, red eyes. It might be an act, it might not be—he doesn’t even know himself. It reminds her of the look he wore when she turned him down, and she questions whether that was an act as she’d initially thought. He finds himself entranced by how the orange light from the flames bounce off her pale lavender skin.

He leans into her, watching to see if she recoils or pushes him away. Instead, she keeps staring at him, wide-eyed, and he senses her heart pace a little faster. She smells faintly like blueberries. He can’t resist moving in closer, nose nearly touching her neck and taking in her scent, thinking of how he’ll never get to taste them again; he’ll have to settle for the aroma.

Tav is convinced he’s going to bite her, and she knows she should stop him, but she doesn’t. She braces, waiting for it, and it doesn’t come. Astarion pulls away, and before he can decide where to go from here, she’s taking the initiative and pressing her lips to his.

His hand instinctively raises to cup her face, deepening the kiss, pushing his mouth to hers like he wants to bruise her. It’s not him, he thinks; it’s something else, something he can’t control. His tongue seeks entry and she doesn’t deny it, parting her lips with a little sound that he swears makes his stopped heart start again, for only a second.

When he turns to unbutton her night shirt, movements methodical and practiced, she stops him and pulls away.

“You don’t want this?” he asks.

“I do,” she says, that defeated look in her eyes that he can’t tolerate. “Not like this.”

It unnerves him that he knows exactly what she means. How she saw right through him, how she could so easily read his hand movements, experienced and suave; understood another way. How he can’t even bring himself to deny it. She really isn’t like his other conquests. She is special.

She is difficult.

Astarion moves to leave, to go think about this, or at least think about how to avoid thinking about it, but she grabs his wrist to stop him. He looks back at her, astonished by her audacity, her ability to bother him so.

‘Stay?’ her face asks, and he doesn’t know how to say no or yes. He just sits right back where he was, mind swimming; though not a single one of the swimmers composes a coherent, tangible thought.

“Darling, you’re freezing,” he observes, picking up on the goose flesh spreading across her arms, and shakes so small, Tav hasn’t even noticed them. The campfire burns away; somehow it’s still not enough to warm her.

“I suppose I am,” she says. “I’d better get used to it. I find it difficult to believe that our journey will be getting much more comfortable anytime soon.”

Astarion sheds his coat, placing it around her shoulders, wondering what he’s fucking doing the entire time.

“It’s always cold for me,” he offers, like he has to justify himself, “and you wear it better.”

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