#lost in pure silence arc

[darkshrimpemotions]

The thing is, Guillermo being too kind and pure of heart to eat humans was always a fucking lie. Like??? Obviously, I think. And the Cannon Capital arc isn't really a departure for his character, it's us seeing all his worst traits highlighted in an environment that makes them MUCH less fun and sympathetic.

Guillermo has always been an intensely stubborn, self-serving character prone to tunnel vision who was willing to turn over pretty much every corner of his soul if it served his goals. Even if he did sometimes feel bad about it or force himself not to think about it so he wouldn't feel bad, he still did it.

He's still the guy who befriended people with the express purpose of luring them in to be killed. For years. He's still the guy who offered one of his oldest friends up to be murdered at an orgy, and only changed his mind at the very last second. He's still the guy whose version of trying to have a normal human life for once involved lying to pretty much every human in his life--his bio family and his boyfriend--about every aspect of his life but his name. He's still the guy who dismembered the corpses of his victims--yes they're still his victims even if he didn't strike the killing blows himself--in the front yard each morning with a dreamy smile on his face as he talked about the heart wanting what it wants.

Sacrificing Nandor to serve his goals at Cannon Capital is really not that different than sacrificing Jeremy to serve his goals as Nandor's familiar, except that in this case he had a lot more time to think about it and still did it, not via silence or omission but via a direct act of betrayal to Nandor's face. Perhaps it's because he never had to suffer any real consequences for his betrayal of Jeremy that no lessons were learned?

It's also really telling that when you reset Guillermo to his base state via sleep hypnosis, it's the sweetest, most wide-eyed and innocent version of him and STILL the first thing he does is offer himself up to be a vampire's familiar, all in a bid to have enough power that he can't ever be bullied again.

It's understandable. It's reprehensible. It's really ugly in a way that's harder to laugh off when you attach that to an extremely timely, familiar (heh) real-world scenario such as a venture capital firm that makes their money through shady real-estate deals that absolutely gut local livelihoods. But the Guillermo we're seeing right now is just as tunnel-visioned and stubborn and selfish as the Guillermo we've always known. We just very understandably like him less for it when it's real-world monsters we've all seen ruin real lives instead of fantasy monsters that are silly and fun to watch.

But this isn't out of character or off course or a step back. Guillermo is deep in denial and clinging to the Cannon Capital job because he can't face what he's lost as of the end of season 5. He's replaced Nandor with a master that's worse in every way, he's still clinging to the house while pretending he's separating himself, he's still sleeping on the remains of the makeshift coffin Nandor bought for him. He tells himself he is facing it and moving on, but I hope this time we all know that's a lie.

And I'm here for it when it all falls down around his ears, and he finally has to face himself. I'm really excited for it, actually!

[saerotonins]

the love that came back

ft. nanami kento x fem!reader

"what more could you wish for?

when the love you once lost, came back into your arms again,"

content warnings: jjk shibuya arc spoilers, angst, fluff if you really squint, little dialogues, going through grief and depression, pure pain, just reader's life through her perspective, implied major character death, bittersweet, depictions of the afterlife, happy ending (i promise)

wc: 4,933

note: i'll just be letting my feelings out because we're about to mourn LMAO enjoy!

inspired by and best enjoyed with: this love by taylor swift

October 31, 2018

when you heard a knock on the door, you expected kento to great you with a smile on his face and a sweet kiss to your lips.

but what you got instead is shoko right in front of your doorstep, giving you the news that your fiancée lost his life in the middle of the war across shibuya— then you felt like your world had crumbled right before your very eyes. he had promised. he had promised to come home to you tonight and come trick-or-treating and give the kids around the neighborhood some candies.

kento never breaks his promises, especially when it comes to you.

but there's always a first time, as they say.

you felt your knees turn into jelly as you fall onto the floor, eyes wide, and heart incredibly shattered. you couldn't believe what you were hearing, this must be a sick fucking joke. there's no way the love of your life is just gone like that. he doesn't fucking deserve this.

"i'm so sorry, y/n," you hear shoko said as she guides your limp body to sit on the couch but you could hardly hear her between your ragged breaths and the ringing in your ears.

what would her apology do anyway? would that sorry bring him back? would that bring him to your arms once again? 

you feel your eyes swell with tears and let them fall off as they please. you wail in shoko's arms, you let out the loudest screams you ever let out in your entire life but none of those did anything to the amount of pain your heart is currently bearing. and for shoko, who has seen a fair share of gore and violence in her life, has never been so disturbed and heartbroken when she saw you wept and mourn for your lover.

that night when shoko left you on your own (not that she had the choice), you drank the fruit flavored champagne you usually sip with kento as he enjoys his whiskey, downing it like it was water but it tasted different.

there's this saying that alcohol tasted better when you're happy and around the people you cherish the most.

your sweet champagne started to taste bitter ever since, and a part of you died that day.

the days have gotten colder.

you miss the way kento's arms would wrap around you, you miss the warmth that he provided, something the heater in your shared home couldn't give.

you feel empty, everything has gone silent, and you hate it. at times like this, when kento is home, you would hear him hum with the vinyl he chose to listen to going along the silent rustle of either the newspaper or a book he had been looking forward to read.

now it's just silence. it's all new to you. you almost even forgot how your voice sounded like because you had no one to talk to.

for the past few weeks, your family and friends, even shoko had visited you to make sure you were okay. but whenever they try to initiate a conversation, they only get either a curt nod or nothing. they have also noticed the change you have been going through. the usual sparkle in your eyes gone, you've gone extremely quiet, your appetite has drastically changed, but they understood nonetheless. 

a few days ago, with the help of his family and from the mercy of any entity that existed out there, the jujutsu tech was able to retrieve kento's body, whatever is left, that is— cremated him and finally held a proper burial. that's the least he deserves.

you asked if you could keep some of his ashes in a little urn, and his family, bless their hearts, agreed as they know that both of you share the pain of losing a loved one. there, it sits in his study together with his pictured frame. another one also sits on your chest, a necklace that holds some of your beloved. a piece of reminder that you and him will still be together.

you walk towards back to the living room, seeing the mess that has been made because truthfully speaking, cleaning up the house was the least pf your problems when you had a lot going through. it has been really rough. every night, at 7 pm, you yearn for the knock of your door, kento's voice declaring his arrival, "hon, i'm home," he would usually say.

now, it's all gone. the clothes he had worn the previous days still in the laundry bags, untouched, for the fear that his scent might go away. 

it scares you. the thought of forgetting the sound of his voice, his smell, his warmth, his company, not being near your reach, terrifies you to the core. but you have to face it all. put on a brave face, live on a life where he doesn't exist anymore. but deep in your bones, your heart, and your soul.

he's still around.

he should be. he promised eternal life with you, willingly get on one knee to put on the prettiest engagement ring you had ever seen.

the saddest part is, he wouldn't be able to see you walk down the aisle. both of you had dreamt of a wedding so perfect. you designing your own gown that would compliment his, a small wedding enough for your family and closest friends, and a honeymoon trip to malaysia where you could just bask in each other's presence, forgetting everything and savor each moment.

he had promised you forever.

and kento never lies. 

but then again, there's always a first time.

it has been months. nothing has changed.

you still feel so empty. nothing has changed around the house either. sure, the living room is clean enough but the bedroom you once shared with kento stayed the same.

you refuse to wash his clothes that was in the laundry basket, you refused to wash the bedsheets, you refused to even make up his side of the bed. and despite how much you missed him, you refuse to sleep on his side of the bed, fearing that sleeping over his scent would lose him completely. it was exhausting to yearn for someone you know is not going back, but you do it anyway.

from the tailoring shop you own, many bride-to-be's are going in and out to pick out wedding dresses with their pretty engagement rings decorating their hand. it feels like a slap to the face, angering even. why do these women have to be so happy picking out the perfect wedding gown while you're out there sulking, stuck with what if's and what could have been.

what could have been your gown? his suit? what could have your wedding venue look like? what could have happen in your honeymoon?

and when you realize that it will always stay that way, it fills you with envy, but more so with sorrow.

it's so unfair to be mad at these people who were lucky enough to find the one but you couldn't help it.

you just also hate the pity smiles they give you when you answer their question, "when's your wedding?" once they caught a glimpse of the engagement ring kento gave you with, "my fiancée passed away," with a forced smile on your face. you're just thankful they don't push you to answer any more questions.

the ring kento gave you is one thing that you will never remove. aside from your necklace, this is a reminder that kento loved you enough to propose, to ask your hand in marriage. that may not be enough considering your situation, but it is something, so you keep it around anyway.

when the shop has finally closed for the day, you come home, sit on his study and sketch more of the wedding dress ideas that you had on your what could have been wedding with kento. you have gone through almost 3 journals sketching everything aside from the dresses. it was venues, suits that he could've worn, your dress, and of course sketches of the both of you walking down the aisle.

whenever you sketch, a tear falls down, then another, and another, until you cry a river all over the page, not caring if the lead from the pencil is barely there due to the wet pages or the ink from your pen is smudging. when you go back to the pages, you see it. you don't mind that it has become messy, it represents the feelings that you have. the yearning, the grieving, the sorrow of a what could've been wife to a what could've been husband.

more months pass by and it's still the same.

it's empty, it's all routine. you wake up, wash your face from the dried tears that you wept from the night before, shower, get dressed, go to kento's study just to admire his face from the picture frame where his urn is placed and say your goodbyes as you kiss his pretty face through the the frame and off you go to work.

it's clockwork, but you don't mind. it's one of the few things that kept you sane, but a deep burning hole in your heart still fire ablaze, waiting to be set off. you doubt it will happen, but some coping might help, so you pretend that you don't mind.

when the night comes, you still prepare meals enough for two, it's muscle memory, you seem to master making portions of two and you plan to keep it that way. it's one of the only ways that keeps you alive. you either save the other half on the fridge or give them to your neighbors.

you had also convinced yourself to wash the bedsheets, but you always remember to spray kento's cologne on his side so it feels like he never left, but his clothes on the laundry basket remains untouched. you have gone through multiple bottles of his favorite perfume from spraying almost every surface of the house, it's expensive but it doesn't matter. as long as it helps to keep his memory, you don't mind.

your friends and family visit you from time to time, to check up on you. they know you're just putting a smile on your face, it's obvious, because your eyes don't shine like they used to, but that's fine enough for them. they also noticed how the house strongly smells like him, but they don't complain anyway.

and as you close your eyes, you take one careful sniff of his pillow that you have grown accustomed to embracing every night (but you know it doesn't feel the same but it would suffice), and drift yourself to sleep as quiet tears fall down.

today is a pretty quiet day. you took a week off from the shop but you're lucky enough that your sister is more than willing to help you. you've been doing nothing but cleaning around the house, watching shows, doing strolls across the neighborhood, visiting parks, and mostly sleeping. it wasn't the most productive way of spending your days off but these are just the things you do with kento when he was still... alive.

it was usually lively when you do it, but now it's quite different. the hums he would usually do to accompany the vinyl he is playing and the quiet rustle whenever he turns a page on his books, all gone. the silence is so loud that you could swear you can hear a hair pin drop. you could only hear the swirls of the fan and your breaths. 

it's silent but it's deafening.

you stood up from the couch and decided to spend some time in his study. these months, you had been spending a lot of time there, doing whatever you can to bring some life into it. 

kento has always been an organized man, not a speck of dust present or a single item misplaced. but ever since, you always thought that it looked like no one was there to inhabit it anymore. so, with a silent apology, you try rearranging things around, keep his lounge and study chair warm but that's about it.

once you entered his study, you remembered that kento has a lot of books left unread. he has been planning to get around and read it. but now he can't, the thought just broke your heart.

skimming through his shelves that was adorned with many books, one caught your eye. it was slightly misplaced, leaning towards another book with a bookmark sticking out.

kim jiyoung, born 1982, it read.

you remember this book.

October 24, 2018

"dear," kento had called out as you were scrolling through your phone with your head on his lap.

"you should read this book sometime, i think you'll like it," he said, making the book cover more visible so you can read the title.

"kim jiyoung, born 1982?" you read out loud.

"yeah, it's a very powerful book from what i've read so far, i think you'll feel the same way about it,"

you hummed, with the busy schedule around the shop, you're not so sure, "i'll borrow it from you when i finally have the time, besides, you can finish reading it first and tell me your thoughts about it, how's that sound?" you say with a smile on your face.

"sounds like a plan, but i can read it a lot to you right now?" 

you like the idea he proposed, his voice is relaxing so you definitely won't mind.

"okay, but i like it better when you read it to me anyway," 

a small smile escaped from kento's lips as a playfully scoffs, "whatever you say."

you hear him clear his throat before reading, "when jiyoung was in fiftth grade..." 

for the next few pages, you felt your eyes grow heavier as you heard his soothing voice grow quiet and let yourself drift asleep.

you regret sleeping on his voice that day. if you would've known it was the last time you would hear him read a book to you, you would've listened more attentively, record his voice, and listen some more. you feel your lips quiver as you feel tears threatening to leave your eyes.

you pick up the book and opened the page where the bookmark sits and you realize he's almost halfway through. you remember him saying that he'll get back to reading it after halloween once his schedule opens up.

guess that will never happen.

you sit on the lounge chair on the drawer where his urn and picture frame is placed. through shaky hands, you remove the bookmark and open the book wider.

"kento, i'm sorry if my voice isn't as soothing as yours but i will try and help you finish this, so just listen and relax, alright?" you voice is shaky and cracking, and you hope he won't mind, you he will listen just like you did, you hope he closes his eyes and rest wherever he is.

after releasing a ragged sigh, you read, "jiyoung's mother received information that the new..."

as you read through the pages, your ready becomes more and more sloppy, sometimes having to repeat sentences or words when you feel like you didn't say them properly. some of its pages soaked with your tears, and take deep breathes when the pain is caught up in your throat. you give kento a silent apology for ruining his books. 

and you hope it's enough, because that's all you can do.

hope.

from then on, you finish book after book during your free time, slowly going through the unread books across his shelves. as time passes by, you may have gone through a lot of his books but reading them never goes easier. every time, you would flood the pages with tears, your breaths are never steady, and by the end of every reading, you would hug the book and close your eyes, sometimes creasing some of its parts.

and you hope he doesn't mind.

July 03, 2019

this is his first birthday that you would have to celebrate alone. and the thought breaks your heart.

as you set the cake on the table beside his picture frame and light the numbered candles.

you blankly at the flames on the cake. he would've been 28 today.

you take a very deep breath and started to sing.

"happy birthday to you," tears started forming in your eyes, singing the song out of tune and through your shaky breaths, "happy birthday to you,"

"happy birthday, my dearest kento," you take another deep breath.

"happy birthday to you." you sang for the last time before blowing out his candles.

another deep sigh. you kiss the pendant that sits on your chest, "i love you," and then the engagement ring on your ring finger, "so, so, much."

from then on, every time the 3rd of july comes around the corner, it becomes clockwork. you sing, blow the candles, kiss the pendant and the ring, and eat the cake all alone. 

it never gets any better, though.

through the years you watch the numbers from the candles grow older.

but you know deep inside he doesn't. the ticking of his clock has stopped.

and so did yours.

October 31, 2019

you dreaded this day to come. on the same year, you managed to come across both of kento's firsts.

his first birthday without him celebrating with you and his first death anniversary.

ever since his funeral, you never had the will in you to actually visit his grave, where his family decided to bury his ashes. you were a coward, you admit.

but losing someone you loved the most is never that easy to get over with.

having to come face to face with your lover's grave is no easy task. you touch the tombstone where his name is engraved.

Nanami Kento

July 03, 1990-October 31, 2018

your soul will always be in our hearts

you sit onto the green grass, put your arms on his tombstone and rested your head over it.

for a while it was silent.

until a rain of tears eventually dropped.

"you're so unfair, kento," you said. your voice hoarse but considerably unnoticed as the pain took over. "you said you'd come home to me, but you didn't," you don't care if there were other people around you, you need to let go of the bottled-up feelings you had for the past year. and so you wail, and wail, and wail, and yell about how much of an asshole he is for leaving you alone. cursing every entity that exists for not protecting your beloved enough. the anger through your voice seeps in but you know deep inside that he's not an asshole. you're just mad and you don't have any way to cope but this.

but your cries have been met with silence, a daily reminder that he's really not here with you. and it breaks you. 

"i love you so much, i miss you so much, i'm sorry for being mean. rest well, my beloved, you have done so much." you say and seal it with a kiss before going back home, if you could still call it that.

every year when this dreaded day arrives, you pick yourself up and go to his gravesite. but this time, you spend your time telling him new hobbies you picked up on, adventures you've gone through, and stories that you have already told him before.

when he was still around, he would ask some questions and reply with either a comment or a laugh.

but this time you were only met with silence.

conversations with him never sounded the same.

20XX

years had gone by without him. you didn't know how you did it either. every day is a new pain that you have to face but you suck it up anyway.

tonight is just a typical night, you were tired from managing the shop and just finished reading kento a book. nonetheless, you prepare yourself a meal as you feel your stomach growling.

as you sit down at the dinner table, you notice something incredibly wrong.

this is the first time you have prepared a portion enough for one.

that thought alone terrified you to the core.

every night you miss his voice still. you wish the voice messages that he left you on the phone would suffice but they didn't. through the phone, his voice doesn't sound as soft and as caring compared to what you usually hear when he's around. but it's not like you can do anything about it, can you?

you have gone through every voice message that he sent you, hundreds and hundreds of them, but you never get tired of it. it has been your lullaby for the past years. you convince yourself that this is the same as when you hear his words fresh from his lips, but you know it's not. it will never be the same. you miss the sound of his actual voice. every laughter, every chuckle, every syllable that escapes his mouth, you miss it. 

the sound from your device isn't as comforting as it was, and it scares you to think that at some point, you will forget what his actual voice sounds like. you didn't like that thought one bit. 

he had flooded your senses. his touch, his smell, his voice, his love, it had invade all of you and has become a part of you and you're afraid that one of those will be forgotten so you desperately try to keep everything alive. 

even when he's not.

you're old now. wrinkles have adorned your whole body and you're not as strong as you used to.

but your love towards kento remained the same. it has become stronger, in fact. being old sometimes makes your memories a bit blurry but everything about your lover is something that you could never forget.

you browse through your photos in the album that has been left. you stroke through his pictures like you can still feel the heat through his skin. you miss the feel of his sharp features and the soft gaze of his eyes. you miss the way he would kiss every part of you and show you how much he loves you in every way possible.

everything still feels like it's yesterday. while everybody moved on, you stayed. deep inside you're still living in a time where kento was existing. you know he would've loved your nephews, nieces, and your grandchildren.

after him, you never loved anyone. you could never love anyone other than him. how could you, when he's all that plagued your mind, you keep on trying to keep his legacy alive, not a part of him forgotten, that he will always be remembered. 

you've been diagnosed a chronic heart disease, but whenever a pain pangs in your heart, you're sure it's not your illness, but the pain of being left alone by a lover who swore to stay by your side.

you know you don't have much time left, and you have come to terms with it, happy, even. you want to meet your lover once again. you want to see kento right before your very eyes and reach him just like you did in your youth.

so by the summer, you have decided to visit kuantan, malaysia with your family.

it's the place you wanted to avoid the most but you know now for sure you're brave enough to visit it. he would've wanted you to go here, he wanted to go here. even if you're a little late, you're glad to make it just in time.

your eldest granddaughter have been guiding you along the shore. you bask in the fresh air and the sound of the waves from the ocean. every thing is so peaceful, but you wish kento was here to witness it with you.

you inhale the air with a weak smile in your face.

one of your nephews then had helped you tuck in for the night.

it was so peaceful. and for the first time in years, you have finally let out a big and genuine smile.

you feel your eyes getting heavy and you know it's going to be the last. and you've never felt any happier.

October 31, 20XX

you have finally died twice.

you were finally buried next to the love of your life. 

in your funeral, your family used the picture you took a long time ago, back when you were 27, mourning and incredibly heartbroken for the lost of your lover.

the kind elderly photographer from the studio you took your photo from was confused as to why you could have been taking one while you're young and looking healthy.

"i don't want to pry sweetheart, but if you're still young and healthy, why are you taking a picture now?" she asked, but you don't mind it one bit.

"when i die i want to look like me and my husband were the same age," you answered with a big smile on your face.

since i too, died that day, you would add but decided against it.

the lady seems taken aback but appreciates the sentiment behind it anyway.

you let out a wide smile so that when both of your pictures are put beside each other, it would look like the one you wore when he was still around. 

when you opened your eyes, you were greeted by the blue sky and a fresh breeze of air. you felt the grass tickle against your skin and it was pleasant. when you get up, you feel your body get lighter, it's as if you weren't old, that you were back from your youth. you looked on your arms and every wrinkle that you remember being present there was all gone.

you look around you and you see a very pleasant scenery. there were trees around and from far away, the splashes of the ocean can be heard. for some reason, everything feels light, including your heart. some butterflies swarm around you like you were a flower, you reach your hand out, letting some of them sit on the tip of your finger.

you were enjoying the company of the butterflies and taking in the beautiful scene before you.

"darling," 

you hear a very familiar voice, and your eyes immediately widen

this isn't a dream right? this is really happening, right?

you whip your head towards the direction of the voice and there you see it.

your lover, your soul, the love of your life, nanami kento.

he looks so ethereal, so peaceful, especially with the soft smile spread across his face.

you're dumbfounded but you take a step, and then another, and another, until you ran your way across the grassy field and leap into his arms. and it was—

oh.

it was so warm. just like how you remembered. you feel your tears fall from your face and weep as you bury your face on the crook of his neck. you decide to take it all in. you inhale his scent, one you have been longing for years, your hug tightens around him. oh he feels so warm. so, so, warm. it's like time has never gone by.

"i'm so sorry," kento said, apology obvious from his voice, "i'm so sorry i was weak—"

"no!" you say as you immediately face him.

"do not say that darling, don't, i know you have fought long and hard enough," you carefully lift your hand to touch his pretty face. you were shaking but you were careful, like he was something fragile, something you're afraid to break. when you finally place it on his face, he immediately leans towards your touch. "t-this is real, right?" he nods, his smile growing much wider, "we don't have to be apart any longer," kento declared with full confidence.

that sentence alone urged you to chase his lips onto yours, the kiss was full of yearning, it was passionate but never aggressive. all of those years, you share silent longings and the hurt between your lips. kento pulled you deeper into the kiss but he was careful enough to handle you gently. every apology was spilled onto both of your lips as you felt tears stream across his face, and that's how you knew he longed for you as you did for him.

without words, you knew how much kento appreciated you for keeping his memories alive. it was enough for you to know that he listened to every word you let out as you read the books in his study, every word that you sang during his birthdays, and every word that you let out whenever you visited his grave. he knew all of it. he watched you weep in sorrow which broke his heart because he doesn't know how to comfort you, but he greatly loved and cherished every gesture. and so, it is his turn to return all of it back to you. 

and he now has forever to give you.

without words, you know what his lips spelled against yours.

i love you.

for once, the love that was once lost, the love that you had to let go free—

finally came back to you.

both of you have finally turned 28.

then, you feel the clock started ticking again until eternal ends.

another note: this is officially the first fic i wrote and i hope everyone enjoyed reading it as much as i enjoyed writing it. i feel like this piece will always be so dear in my heart. rest in peace, my beloved nanami kento, you have fought long and hard. 

[rileyglas]

The List ~Pt. 2 - Catalyst~

Alastor (Hazbin Hotel) x Reader

Summary: You make your way to the Hazbin Hotel and quickly realize keeping to your list and helping the sinners might be more difficult than planned.

Themes: The usual angst, mystery (Alastor), sassiness, cursing, fluff, eventual smut (it's coming, pun intended), actual plot, slow burn, and of course 18+, keeping these chapters shorter for easier reading

1.3k Words

Part 1 Part 2 (You're on it!) Part 3 Part 4 Part 5  Part 6 Part 7 Part 7.A Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12

**sentences in italics are internal thoughts of the reader

"Please Carmilla, I really don't think you understand what this hotel could mean for--"

Carmilla raises her hand to cut you off. "I have too much going on - to PREPARE for - to entertain this 'redemption hotel'. If you wish to leave my safety so be it but I will not waste my time on such ludicrous ideas." Her words were sharp and concise. She was right. With extermination day coming sooner than expected she had plans to make and orders to fill. After some silence she looks up from her desk, softening when she sees the slight hurt in your eyes.

Taking a deep breath she walks over to you, grabbing your shoulders with a light squeeze. “You’ve learned so much and are so much wiser beyond your years here. I know how much this ‘redemption arc’ means to you even if I don’t fully support or understand it myself.” Her grip tightened as she sighed, carefully choosing her next words. “I need you to realize that I won’t be able to help you…to protect you…if you choose to go to that hotel. Are you ready to close our deal over the slightest possibility that little Morningstar girl is right?” Carmilla would never admit that she took a liking to you. If anyone asked, you were just there out of convenience as you never gave her much hassle. This gentle warning was her way of saying she cared about you - though neither of you would ever say such things out loud. Rule #3 Never bring anyone too close.

The lump in your throat grew as you fought off the tears trying to pool in your eyes. She knew the answer already. Just the idea of a hotel to redeem sinners went hand in hand with what you did for the souls you collected. Helping lost souls? Who knew you shared the same hopes and dreams as the Princess of Hell itself.

“I will always be grateful for what you’ve done for me Ms. Carmine. I believe our deal is done.” A bright light flashes between you and Carmilla. The thin pink thread tying the two of you together by the wrist fades in, snaps, then fades out of existence. “Good luck out there…you’re going to need it Ms. ‘Saving Grace’.” Carmilla jabs. You share a small smile with each other before she sees you out of her office.

Walking up to the hotel you were a bundle of nerves. Not out of worry ok maybe a little but pure excitement, mentally rehearsing what you were going to say. “Hey you know that Saving Grace Overlord everyone is curious about? Welp that’s me and I’m here to help!” Rule #2 Never tell a soul what (or how much) power you have. You laugh to yourself knowing damn well that isn’t the way to go. No, you’ll need to play the part of a sinner looking for redemption. But you are a sinner looking for redemption!

You shake your head at the thought. You’re here to help Lucifer’s daughter not seek your own salvation. Taking a deep breath, you make the last few strides to the font of the hotel. The window in the door was clean enough for you to catch sight of your reflection. The walk from Carmilla’s slightly disheveled your usual cleanly pressed outfit. You adjust your black button-down shirt, fixing the sleeves so they're nicely rolled to the elbow and the shirt tail is gently tucked into your slacks. Hair slicked back into a high bun - damn these fly aways, let me just ----

The front door flies open and you’re suddenly nose to nose – or rather nose to chest – with the Princess of Hell.

"Oh shit! Wasn’t expecting someone to be standing there! Hi hello -welcome!! Are you here to check in?!" she says quickly recovering from the surprise.

You spend the next few hours with Charlie on a tour. The hotel was run down but just listening to her speak so passionately made you see all the extraordinary potential. You meet the other residents - the bartender, the maid, some snake, and the...uh spider angel thing? Fuck names are hard. There was so much information flying at you, everything was blurring together. With this being your new home you were sure to get a better understanding of who's who and names. Nothing to worry yourself with tonight.

Charlie and her girlfriend - Valley? No, Maggie? - lead you to your room. "And here is your new hopefully temporary home! Let us know if you need anything." Charlie wraps you into a hug that knocks the breath out of you. "Thanks so much" is about all you can get out as you try to regain the air you lost. You place your hand on the doorknob when a high pitch ringing and static hit your ears. Freezing in place you try to pinpoint where the noise is coming from. Something (or someone) has materialized behind you with a familiar voice booming through the hall -

"Ahhh a new resident. Apologies I wasn't available for the initial introductions. The name’s Alastor, quite the pleasure!"

In turning abruptly to face the demon you not so gracefully fall against your door. Jesus H Christ – Get your shit together!

"No need to be so jumpy here my dear. This hotel is protected QUITE well if I do say so myself. You don't have to worry about any dangerous sinners here." There’s that unhinged smile. It registers that this is the same charming Overlord who tried to stare into your soul from the last meeting. Ironic how such ominous creature is trying to convince you of safety.

Does he recognize me? He has such a way of looking right into my --- “Ah yes...sorry! Bad habit from being in the streets for so long. Nice to meet you, Alastor. I'm [Y/N]. Are you also here for redemption?" You already knew the answer but best to play stupid. No use in stirring suspicion less than a day into your stay.

"Oh my no. I'm just here for my own amusement and to help Charlie as needed." He hummed shifting his (is that a microphone?) cane from one hand to the other. The static continued in your ears as his half-lidded eyes studied your face. You were far from intimidated, but it was clear he was hiding more power than you initially thought.

"Well, that's very kind of you and it has been such a delight, but it is getting late. I will see you around Mr. Alastor." The sooner this transaction is over, the better. His eyes were starting to bore into you as if he was trying to find any possible flaw he could prey on.

He breaks his gaze to lean into your ear, lips practically grazing your skin. His ever so subtle cologne floods your senses, making little butterflies form in your stomach. Of course such a devious man would be so enticing. Trying not to flinch, you hold your ground. You feared no one or so you told yourself. Rule #4 Never let your weaknesses show.

“Yes, you will be seeing quite a bit of me my dear. And please....just Alastor……for now." he purred into your ear before melting into a shadow - gone as quickly as he appeared. A cool breeze taking over where his hot breath was.

You finally released the air you didn’t realize you were holding in as the static faded from your ears. Quickly getting inside your room you melt to your knees as your head whirls. What the fuck was that about? Was I ATTRACTED to that? Six years in hell and a DEMON OVERLORD makes me weak? That cannot happen again.

Things may be a lot harder than expected with Alastor making his mark on the hotel, but you’re not going to let him stop you. Rule #1 Never trust another Overlord.

[angeart]

hhau mimic arc rambles part III bonus: the eclipse

(~2,8 k words) // other parts & au masterpost here

Every couple of years, there’s a total eclipse in this world. The moon is big, obscuring the sun in a horrible totality, entrapping it for what feels like too long. This is a big event, but not because people are eager to spectate the sky and bask in its weirdness. No, it has much worse connotations.

Because the eclipsed moon affects many of the hybrids. Especially the animal ones.

Hunters look forward to the eclipse because it promises a lot of loud, distressed, instinct-driven hybrids scattering about without many defences. They prepare traps specifically for this occasion and organise big hunting parties, eager for the upcoming bloodbath and bounty.

The eclipse happens mid-winter while Scar and Grian are on the server.

And it’s awful.

[cws violence, murder (no known characters), panic, mind-altering states and a loss of self control, haywire instincts, non-consensual manhandling, horrory vibes]

They don’t really know what is happening at first. Hermitcraft is a safe server which has many things coded differently, and because eclipses hurt many hybrids, they never happen there. So Scar and Grian have never experienced anything like this, and the yank it has on Grian’s state in particular is startingly sharp and terrifyingly confusing.

Scar himself is alright, because—and the two of them don’t know this at the time—vexes are immune to the eclipse. 

Actually, that’s not quite accurate. The eclipse helps heighten their magic.

They thrive.

Grian does anything but thrive.

His instincts go absolutely batshit haywire. He starts getting disoriented and incredibly uneasy, anxiety holding him in a choke hold, and all rationality and caution leave him, replaced by pure fear. 

He starts making inadvertent chirping sounds, panicked, and no matter what Scar says or does, Grian can’t seem to stop.

It’s so dark outside. And Grian’s chirping isn’t the only one that sounds through the forest.

In a world where they thought avians might be all nearly hunted to extinction, there are now suddenly, in this darkness, piercing faraway chirps. Just as panicked and lost-sounding as Grian’s own.

But those are not the only sounds the looming forest has to offer.

There’s also hollering and cheers. Whistles and barks. Twigs snapping under careless boots. Hunter parties following every single hybrid noise right to its source only to slice it shut. Shrill, chilling screams before some hybrid inevitably plunges into absolute, horrifying silence.

Scar’s desperately trying to get Grian to shush. He pleads him to stop, to be quiet. Tries to calm him down.

But it’s all futile. Grian has no control over himself. He can’t make it stop; it’s a wholly new kind of fear, overpowering and unfamiliar, yanking at his instincts. (It feels, a little bit, like a huge moon crashing down while the ground underneath him shakes and disintegrates.) (It feels like locking eyes with someone and not being sure if he’ll ever get to see them again.) (It feels like apocalypse. Like the end.) (His mind screams at him and he can’t help but scream along with it.)

Scar wonders if he should put a hand over Grian’s mouth. He doesn’t know what to do, but the hunters are out there, in large numbers, tireless and eager, and Grian’s voice is now the beacon luring them over, pinging with their exact location.

Grian is slowly backing away, hunched, feathers puffed. His wings are semi-curled around him, no longer tucked under the cloak, even though they’re out in the open. 

He doesn’t seem like he’d do well with being touched.

But Scar needs him to be quiet. For Grian’s sake too.

Before Scar can do anything, though, Grian’s earwings flit wildly and he whips his head to the side, honing in on some noise.

It’s a distressed chirp, one that sounds closer than any of the other ones. 

It’s an avian in distress calling for help.

Grian thought there aren’t any avians but him, and now there is one, still alive, so very close, desperate for aid, and— Grian’s mind blanks. There’s only one single thing to do here. He isn’t thinking. His heart beats wildly in overdrive. His body moves.

Blindly, Grian bolts in the direction of the sound. 

And it’s up to Scar to scramble and run after him. 

It’s more than that. More than just following Grian. Because there is so much at stake, and he needs to stop him and quiet him and— And he might have to exert force, and—

Oh. He is basically hunting Grian down here.

He is the hunter following in the steps of a terrified avian.

And Grian, in his dazed and fragmented perception of the world, feels just like prey. There is so much happening for him right now: it’s dark and all he can see is Scar’s piercing vex eyes when he glances over his shoulder; he’s lost in panicky instincts, trying to reach another avian in distress, hurtling blindly towards potential danger; and he does feel hunted.

On top of that, he can’t stop the stream of bird noises. He can’t pull his wings under his cloak either. He’s stumbling and tripping and scaping himself all over, but he feels like he needs to keep running.

He no longer knows if he’s even heading the right way. The chirping he was following fell dead silent. His head is just screaming at him. Hot white panic and a cacophony of unstoppable, overpowering instincts.

Scar has to stop him before he gets himself killed.

As awful as it is, Scar doesn’t care about that other potential avian (it could be a trap) nearly as much as he cares about Grian. His priorities here are clear, desperation thick and loud in his lungs, pressing at his ribs. There’s no time for bargaining or for steeling himself. 

He needs to act.

Scar grabs Grian and tackles him to the ground.

He’s pinning him down, sort of straddling him, hands on Grian’s mouth, hopelessly trying to muffle the noises. He feels absolutely vile, but he doesn’t know what else to do. His breaths come in little sharp huffs of blue magic, shiny through the darkness as he expels a ton of emotional energy just to keep himself from panicking and crying.

He finds that it’s not as easy to hold Grian down when he doesn’t want to be pinned down. But also it is. It is easy, far too easy—harrowingly so. Grian’s so light. (It frightens Scar to even touch the thought of how simple this would be for the hunters too.) 

He’s terrified of hurting Grian accidentally. He’s very capable of it; Grian’s made of brittle hollow bones after all, and Scar’s grip is a bit too strong, but he doesn’t have a choice here. Grian won’t stop thrashing, fighting to be freed. (But Scar knows that letting go would almost surely result in Grian’s death.)

And where Grian’s attention is kind of selective, not processing things at all, Scar’s attention is sharp—sharpened by panic—keenly attuned to their surroundings. He hears all the various noises come and go. Not necessarily chirps; other hybrids, too. Them falling silent. The hunters yelling. And the screams. God. The awful screams.

They’re all too far away for now, thankfully, but if Grian won’t stop, they’re bound to come this way. After all, if Scar can hear them, surely they can hear Grian too—?

Scar feels nauseous and horribly helpless. The hunters cheer and laugh as the hybrid noises go dead silent, one by one— only the hounds left barking and howling in their wake.

Scar knows that, even though it’s awful, they can’t help any of those hybrids. But he’s going to do everything in his power so that at least the two of them can survive this.

Despite all his (pointless) efforts, the hunters catch up to them anyway.

As they approach, Scar is struggling to quiet Grian down, and Grian isn’t thinking straight enough to properly fight. It’s the worst possible situation. 

There’s no point in quieting Grian down anymore when the hunters are right here though, and so Scar moves on the defensive, ready to give it all to keep Grian alive. The fight is ugly, drenched in frightening desperation; Scar is numb to the pain even when something tears. Grian’s chirps get worse. Warmth drips down Scar’s face.

But then a different sort of howling breaks through Scar’s mounting panic, and—

A group of wild vexes rushes in. Not to save Scar and Grian in particular; it’s just a lucky timing.

Because as it turns out, just the way hunters set off to hunt down hybrids during the eclipse, the vexes—who are more powerful at this time, magic thrumming strongly in their veins—set off to hunt down the hunters. So nicely accumulated for them. So loud. So easy to find. 

The vexes and the humans clash, and in the swell of the chaos, Scar manages to drag Grian away. 

He wants to keep going, increase the distance between them and everyone else as much as possible, but all too soon the forest opens up into fields, and no way he’s pulling a dazed Grian out there where they can’t hide. So instead he swerves, anchoring them against a rock formation—an array of boulders and a jagged cliff wall. 

He presses Grian into a small dent there, covering him with his own body (imprisoning him there, in a way). Hiding Grian’s wings, muffling his chirps, whispering frantic things that are meant to be soothing. The sky is still dark, and Grian’s still chirping, although it’s quieter now; it’s clear he’s exhausting himself, but he’s still making noises. Still unable to stop, despite the terror and the fatigue.

They get found again.

But it’s not the human hunters that find them this time. It’s the vex group, sneaking up on them, all their sharp edges drenched in blood, glowing with magic.

Scar turns his back to Grian, still pressing against him, tucking him against the rocks, hiding him as much as possible. He’s ready to lash out. He’s ready to fight with these vexes, even if he’s outnumbered. (He’s got no species loyalty here, after all.) 

In a curious tone, one of the vexes says: “That avian is going to get you killed.”

The words register to Grian through the haze. He’s still absolutely lost amidst this all, barely understanding the world around him, struggling to process anything. But there’s something about the words avian and get you killed, and the thought of Scar, that makes it through the fog.

It only serves to make him more distressed. He breathes in sharp, shallow breaths, and his chirping grows louder again, high pitched. But it’s not just the chirps this time. Some of the sounds he makes are choked, merging into something more like himself—the sound of helpless sobs.

Scar is shielding Grian with his back, but that means he’s turning his back on Grian’s cries and all of his misery. He cannot comfort him. He has no words that would make Grian not afraid right now.

The vex suggest leaving Grian or—worse—using him as a bait.

Scar’s staring them down, growling lowly, one eye squinted as blood runs down his face. “How about you leave.”

The vex don’t budge. They think they’re after a good thing here, after all. Surely, Scar also wants these hunters dead?

What they’re suggesting isn’t to sacrifice Grian as a bait—they don’t actually want to outright hurt or endanger him, even if it maybe doesn’t translate well through their stance and words. They’re not malicious in that way. What they’re suggesting is simply pragmatic in their minds. (I mean, they wouldn’t grieve if the avian happened to die there, but it wasn’t their goal to let it happen.) 

“We’re hunting the humans,” they note, as if that should’ve been enough to sway Scar. “We could use the avian—”

“No.”

One of the vex, white hair braided and smile sharp, peeks past Scar, trying to glimpse the feathers. The violet shade reflected in the glow of their magic tells him everything he needs to know, sating his curiosity, and he whistles, impressed. Amazed that an avian like this has lasted so long.

Scar lunges at him for getting too close.

He gets laughed at in return. What’s he gonna do, all alone? Not even channelling his magic to heal his own wound. It’s just funny to them. Cute. “What’re you going to do?” they tease, a bit too cheerily for the situation at hand. It rings threatening. “You’re outnumbered, pal.”

Scar doesn’t back down. “I’d take at least one of you down with me.” It’s a big statement. Covering up all of his nauseating fear and unending tension. Because he’ll do it. He’ll fight if he has to, and it will be ugly, and he might fail—he might die—but he’ll for sure give it everything he has.

And he can tell there’s camaraderie between this group of vexes. That they don’t really want any of them seriously hurt. 

They, as vexes, know the best how dangerous a feral, cornered vex with something to protect can be.

There’s a sliver of respect this earns Scar, unbeknownst to him. The will to stand up to them even when he’s outnumbered like this. To not give in to the pressure and instead fight for his values. For what he cares for.

The white haired vex—seemingly a leader of the group of sorts—reiterates, tone a bit lower, that the avian is going to get Scar killed. That he’d be better off without him. (Essentially voicing the deep rooted fear Grian already has.)

He also extends an invitation, almost in the same breath, impressed by Scar standing up to them. But it’s only Scar who is invited, and it’s blatant—the condition laid down is drop the avian or let’s use him as a bait and hunt together. 

With sharp ire and a swell of protectiveness, Scar counters that he’d be better off without them, actually.

There’s a snort and a mocking, “Aight, let’s see how long you can last.”

The relief Scar feels when they relent and leave is immense, leaving him weak in his knees.

He thinks they’re foolish, risking themselves like that. In his mind, they’re the definition of the violent vex, that dark reputation that seems to now stick to Scar and follow him too by the virtue of being the same kind of hybrid. He doesn’t want anything to do with that. 

And of course, he’d never leave Grian.

Grian is his last connection to home. He loves him, even if it never feels like it’s enough.

Excruciatingly slowly, sun eventually peeks back out. But even then, it takes Grian a very long time to untangle himself from these dazed, nonsensical instincts. It’s such a heavy, sticky veil and he’s left disoriented and confused for the longest time. Through his exhaustion, he feels weak and dizzy and out of it.

Scar is also exhausted, but they’re nowhere near safe yet. Still pressed against the rocks. Every nerve ending is flared up, Scar’s senses alert to the point of flinching at the subtlest sound, hypervigilant. But as Grian slumps and quiets down, Scar’s firm grip on him follows. 

Slowly, so slowly, Scar’s hold on Grian becomes comforting instead of restricting and terrifying.

He can tell that it left bruises.

Scar hates everything about it, but— They’re alive.

The sun is back, Grian is quiet, and they’re alive.

But they still need to find safety. And Grian’s so frazzled, still processing what even happened. The blurred memories of chirps and howls and screams swirl through his mind. He feels lightheaded, and like his skull is stuffed full, unable to think clearly. He doesn’t quite understand any of it, and his body feels locked in place. 

Grian wants to stay sitting here until everything starts making sense, but they don’t have that kind of time. They can’t stay. They need to move. They need to properly hide. 

Scar feels awful, but he needs to push through. He needs to force Grian to move.

The snow is splattered with blood. The forest is dead silent, scattered bodies left behind all across it. The area is riddled with traps, some activated and others still hidden, waiting to be triggered. 

The sun is shining.

The silence is eerie.

The scent of blood is thick and fresh and nothing feels safe.

--

Later, when Grian’s more coherent, he says, “They were right.” In an incredibly quiet, fragile, unsteady voice—but laced with determination—he tells Scar: “You should’ve taken their deal.”

Scar immediately tries to dismiss it. Preferably to not engage with this conversation at all. “Not interested.”

Grian registers the shut down of the discussion, but that doesn’t make it any less loud inside of his mind (and heart). He simply goes quiet and withdraws. Lips pursed, lightly frowning, staring somewhere away.

They don’t talk about it again.

Late at night, when Grian can’t sleep because he’s too high strung, he thinks of how it’d feel like, to be used by those vexes as a bait.

He dreams about it.

He dreams of faraway chirps and laughter and hounds finding him.

He has so many nightmares after this.

-------

BONUS screenshot for shits n giggles:

[pastshadows]

Shadows of the Past

Chapter 18: Who Are You?

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

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

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

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

Setting: Post End-Game. Mostly canon compliant.

Word Count: 6.4K

Content: Explicit 18+ - intended for mature audiences.

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

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

The ruins stippling the mountainous valley look ominous at night when the chalky light of the moon stumbles upon the toothed edges of broken walls and sharp-angled vestiges of what used to be a grand temple. The wilderness has reclaimed the land stolen, and the spindly trees forge stringy shadows that squirm when the wind tangles through the cliffs.   

Your legs dangle over the brink of a dizzyingly sheer precipice, and you’re laid flat on your back to stare at the celestial blanket, embroidered with flecks of stars. The party will leave this behind come dawn and enter the Shadowlands. You’ve never ventured there; not many have after the curse eclipsed the land in Shar’s dark silhouette, but from what you know, it’s entirely possible you will not make it out alive. If that is to be the case, you want to remember that there is light in the universe.   

The serene silence is fractured by the snapping of twigs and the rustling of dried leaves and underbrush. You sit up with orbs of fire already hovering above you in an arcing semicircle.   

Astarion stands with his hands up, but a haughty smirk quirks up the corners of his lips. “And here I thought we were friends,” he drawls.   

“You really should learn to announce yourself when you’re lurking around in the dark.” The balls of fire descend into your hand and fade out. “It’s not like you to be so careless with your feet.”   

“Careless? Hardly.” Astarion crosses his arms, jutting his hip out. “I was loud on purpose. I feared that if I popped out of the shadows, you might throw yourself off the damn cliff.”   

“You know what would have worked? Saying, “Kamena, it’s Astarion. Please don’t burn me to death.” You throttle the laughter that threatens to snap out.   

“Oh, please. You’re no fun. I think I was being very polite giving you any warning at all.” Astarion saunters over, lying beside you. “What are you doing out here anyway? Should you not be trying to get some rest?”   

“Probably, but I wanted to see the stars before we entered the land of monotonous darkness.”   

Astarion nods. “I’ll miss the sun.”   

“You’ll see it again,” you reassure, even though you know it’s entirely possible he won’t. The thought makes your lower lip quiver, but you’re swept up in a sudden surge of pure defiance. You will survive the Shadowlands, if only to get him back into the sun. “I’ll make sure of it.”   

“You’re sweet,” he quirks a brow at you, rolls onto his side, and props himself up on his forearm. “But I am no fool. I know well enough that the odds do not favour us. You don’t have to coddle me.”   

“Coddle? Gods forbid anyone tries to reassure you!” You roll your eyes at him. “The odds might not be particularly charitable, but neither were the odds of making it this far in the first place. We seem to make impossibilities into possibilities daily right now.”   

“True. The odds of a vampire spawn being infected with a tadpole that just so happens to break his master’s compulsion and most of the other rather pesky downsides of vampirism are infinitely minuscule, yet here I am.”   

“Wow, that sounded very close to optimism,” you quip. “I’m impressed!”   

He scoffs, deigning not to answer, and flops down onto his back.   

You bashfully whisper. “Can I ask you some questions about vampires?”   

“I suppose,” Astarion says hesitantly, sitting up to look at you with a furrowed brow. “I guess I am the only one here with a wealth of knowledge on the subject. What exactly would you like to know?”   

“Vampire Lords, how do you kill them?”   

He shrugs. “Like most vampires, a stake, beheading, dismembering, incinerating. The trick is not so much how to kill them; it’s actually getting them weak enough for it to even be plausible. They are incredibly powerful and resilient bastards.”   

You sit up, crossing your legs, and peer out into the valley. “But it can be done?”   

“Yes, of course, but I wouldn’t advise it.” Astarion looks at you skeptically, leaning back and away.  

“And what happens to the Vampire Lords spawn if they perish?” 

“They are free to do as they please.” Astarion’s forehead pinches, creating a line between his brows. “Why?”  

“Cazador is in Baldur's Gate, correct?”   

“Yes, but…” Astarion’s eyes bulge, and he starts shaking his head. “Kamena. No. Please tell me you’re not thinking about doing what I think you are?”   

You smile at him angelically. “I would, but it would be a lie, and I don’t relish the idea of bullshitting you.”  

“Cazador is not to be trifled with.” Astarion blurts out hastily. “He will kill you. I was not exaggerating when I said he could walk into our camp and kill us all before we even woke.”   

“Oh, Astarion, don’t worry. I don’t plan on trifling with him. I plan on killing him outright.”   

“You’re actually serious?” Astarion exclaims.  

“Dead serious.”   

“I…” Astarion looks around. “Why would you do that for me?”  

Because I’m in love with you. 

It nearly leaps off your tongue like a startled frog off a lily pad, but you manage to snare it before it can be ejected from your lips. You feel the heat rush to your face as if your skin is trying to mimic the scarlet of his dissecting gaze. You glance away, clearing your throat and regaining the poise that was misplaced when your judgment nearly lapsed.   

“You’re my friend, and you deserve to be free. I will do everything in my power to make that possible.”   

Astarion looks down, picking up a rock and idly running his fingers over the surface. “I do not believe the others will share your sentiments.”   

“You leave the others to me. You have not yet witnessed exactly how persuasive I can be.” You smirk with a foxlike guise. “Plus, I think they all rather like you even if you do annoy the shit out of them.”   

Astarion chuckles. “Perhaps with the exception of Gale.”  

You quirk a brow at him, not quite understanding. Gale seems no more annoyed than the rest of the group at Astarion’s antics. “Why do you think Gale has anything against you?”   

Astarion’s eyes snap to you, and a handsome, crooked grin coils one side of his lips upward. “I have become rather close friends with a charming sorceress he fancies, I presume. Intimately close, one might say.”   

You flush red again and flop onto your back with a groan, hoping it might hide the rosy hue of your skin. Unfortunately, your traitorous heart lurches into a rapid pace you know he can hear, and he giggles spritely and genuine. You close your eyes and smile at the lightness and mirth that remind you of softly tinging windchimes. It’s not a sound you are granted too often, but you would do anything to hear it.   

“You’re so easy to fluster. It’s utterly adorable,” he purrs. Astarion lays back down beside you, looking up at the sky.   

The light of dawn is breaching the horizon, and the stars are starting to appear faint. The coolness of Astarion’s hand butting up against yours surprises you, and you tentatively lock your pinkie with his. Gradually, your hands seem to move of their own volition until his hand covers yours. You splay your fingers, his curl, and fit themselves perfectly in the spaces between, like your hand was made to hold his.   

“I envy you,” he murmurs. “Even when a literal God appears and threatens your very existence, you are fearless.”   

“You couldn’t be more wrong,” you say, shaking your head. You crane your neck to the side to look at him. “I’m terrified.”   

He seems surprised by your candidness. His jaw clenches, making the muscles in his neck strain and pop out. You want to reach out and soothe that tension away, but instead you twist your hand into the earth to keep it from roaming where it shouldn’t.   

“How do you do it, then?” He finally asks, looking deeply into your eyes. There’s an openness there that makes you feel as though you’re truly seeing him, perhaps for the first time. “How do you keep going?”   

“I place one foot in front of the other, and then I do it again, and again, and again.”   

“You make it sound easy,” he breathes with a frown that’s weighted in the heaviness of sorrow.   

You know, at some point, he’s let fear paralyze him. Does he have any memories of true happiness? Are his memories all pain, torture and slavery at the hands of a barbaric master?  

“It’s not easy.” You conclude tightly. “Every step is hard, and sometimes you have to take a break between steps, but eventually, you take another step.”  

“Hmm.” A silence stretches out, and you just gaze at each other as the first rays of sun begin to plod over the land. “Take another step… May I kiss you?”   

The young beams of sunlight appear to infuse his eyes, lighting up the desperation in them. His stare is intense, like that of a coiled viper that’s ready to strike. You sit up, letting your hand drift toward him like it’s been yearning to do, but you hover just shy of his cheek. If he wants to be touched, he will close the gap. He glances at your hand, smiles sweetly, and pushes into your touch, closing his eyes when your thumb sweeps across his cheek.

"Of course.” 

Before the consent can even finish sighing from your lips, Astarion’s hand winds into your hair, and his lips catch yours with a greedy fervour that makes you groan into his mouth. He takes full advantage, his tongue expertly exploring, tentatively stroking yours in a slow erotic dance that’s all sensation and passion.  

His arm wraps around your waist, tugging you closer until you’re pressed tightly against the muscles of his chest. Your fingers twist into his shirt. You’ve never been kissed quite like this. It feels like he steals the air straight from your lungs and replaces it with him until you’re drowning in him.   

You can’t say you mind that much.

Astarion breaks the kiss only when your heart is racing like you’ve been running up a mountain. He smirks, placing one more chaste kiss on your still parted, swollen lips as you try to iron out this disequilibrium making your head swoon.

“Do you kiss all your friends like that?” Astarion quips playfully.  

“No!” You squeak too high and a little too hastily.   

“Good,” he surmises plainly with a curt nod.  

“Good?”   

“Good. I think I would rather like to keep it that way.” Astarion stands, offering you his hands. “Come on, darling. We best get back to camp before Gale’s brain starts to conjure up images of the sinful delights we’ve snuck away to partake in. I fear he might explode and kill us all out of sheer jealousy.”   

You slip your hands into Astarion’s, and he helps you to your feet. Your eyes drop to your embraced hands with a million questions revolving in your head, but you don’t dare ask any of them as you let him lead you back to camp hand-in-hand.

The courtyard door clicks closed behind you, and you lean on it with a resigned sigh. The woman you used to be, who now only lives in memories, would never have entertained such a proposition, but she had nothing to lose. Now, you have your soulmate, friends, and yourself, who all stand to lose their lives if you decide to pursue this fight to its inconclusive end. 

Does a ring with the power Aldous described even exist, or is this just a very clever rouse to pique your interest? It would be smart to prey on your greatest desires, and it’s something a Vampire Lord would certainly take advantage of. 

But ... a little voice whispers, But what if it’s true? What if the answer to Astarion’s sun intolerance is sitting somewhere in Waterdeep, and all you have to do is make a deal and walk away? 

Astarion likely won’t agree, let alone let them sketch his scars, but you’ve been trailing your fingers over those scars every night. You might not be much of an artist, but you could replicate them closely enough. 

Your back slides down the door until you’re sitting on the floor, shivering, with your fingers twisted in your drenched hair. You can’t seriously be considering this, can you? Who are you anymore? Are you too far gone? You used to be so fucking unshakable, and now you’re shaking on the floor, stuck between what you are and what you think you should be. 

It feels like the vultures are circling, the walls are closing, and the devil is knocking. 

But you will always do whatever it takes to keep those you love safe, and they will never be safe if you allow another Vampire Lord to ascend. There is always the risk that, as soon as your usefulness has been depleted, they will kill you, Astarion, and your friends. 

It’s not a risk you’re willing to take. 

“Sorceress?” Tara’s eyes gleam in the low light as she trots in from the corridor with her tail held high. “You are soaked! Did no one ever teach you how to dry yourself?” 

You let your chin rest on your knees and hold your hand out. At the invitation, Tara comes trotting over, and you scratch behind her ears while she gives you a rumbly purr and butts her head against your palm. 

“You are burdened this night.” Tara states, sitting and wrapping her tail around herself. Her words make tears prick your eyes, but you force them away. You are so tired of crying. “I see how the others look to you for answers you do not have. You carry much responsibility on your shoulders. Yet, I do not believe this is what bothers you this night.” 

“Astute, as always, Tara.” You push yourself up to your feet, grab the milk, and pour some into a bowl, letting your palms heat until the milk steams slightly. 

Tara’s tail sticks straight up in the air and vibrates happily as you put the bowl down for her and return to your spot on the floor. She waits for you to speak while she laps up her milk.  

“I feel like I’m constantly falling apart. I’ve changed. When I look in the mirror, I don’t always recognize the woman who is reflected back.” 

“And this is a bad thing?” Tara asks, taking a break from lapping at her milk and licking her lips and chin. “Change is inevitable, sorceress. Seasons change. Time changes. People change. Even the stars change given enough time.” 

“It’s not the change itself; it’s what I’ve changed into,” you sigh, letting your head rest on your knees. “The me in my memories was dependable, sure, and bold. Even when I was afraid, I was at least steadfast and reliable. I cannot say that’s the case any longer. Now, sometimes, I fear the dark or storms — things I would not have batted an eyelash at before.” 

There’s no stopping the tears now. Despite your restraint, the rivulets inch from the corners of your eyes. “I’m just so fucking sick of crying, of being afraid, of running, of being this version of me.” 

“Yes, you have struggled with fear since you came to stay.” Tara looks at her feet, almost as if she’s contemplating what you need to hear, but more likely, she’s trying to decide if she needs to clean her face. “Fear is a serpent whispering uncertainties and breeding unease about moving forward into the unknown. It convinces you to remain rooted in your misery simply because misery is known and safe. Sometimes it helps us avoid legitimate danger, but other times it keeps us stuck in a self-perpetuating cycle.” 

“I don’t know how to break the cycle.” You wipe the wetness from your cheeks and eyes. “But I know I will never be who I was again.” 

“Nor should you be.” Tara scoffs. Her lips curl, pulling back her snout, clearly dissatisfied. “Stop glancing backward and look forward toward growth and change. Let go of this foolish notion that you should be who you were.” 

“I liked myself better that way.” Your voice is harsh and bitter, but Tara does not so much as flick an ear or twitch her skin. 

“Stop being so stubborn, Kamena.” Tara scolds you with a hiss, arching her back. “It is okay to be afraid, to be hurt, and to feel broken, but you needn’t wallow in it. You have two options. You can either let your fears chase you and run, or you can chase your fears and make them run from you.” 

“What if I make the wrong choice and get us all killed?” 

“Well, then you’ll be dead, and you won’t have the capacity to dwell on it.” Tara concludes brashly. 

She’s not wrong.   

“I would hug you if I wasn’t worried you would scratch my eyes out.” You hiccup out a laugh. 

“You are positively sodden!” Tara scampers back, far out of reach, and crouches low to the ground, ready to flee. “You would wet my fur! I would have to leave a dead mouse in your bed for such an egregious trespass!” 

“Hmm,” you hum, patting your lips with your index finger. “Worth it, I think.” 

When you sneak down the quiet halls back to your room, you’re surprised to see soft light radiating out under the doorway. Depending on how long he’s been awake, he likely heard the entire conversation with Tara and probably Aldous as well. 

Stupid vampiric hearing.   

You let yourself in and suck in a sharp breath at the incredulous scowl on Astarion’s face. A small fire is popping and crackling in the fireplace, eating away at the timber and suffusing the room with a light pine scent. 

Astarion sits in bed, leaning against the headboard with one knee up and the sheets pooled around his waist. Even though you know you’re likely in for an earful, your eyes still devour the sight of him — chiselled, toned muscles, pristine ivory skin, and those scarlet eyes that are seemingly burning as bright as the fire, bleeding into you. 

“Well?” Astarion asks. 

“Well what?” 

“Come now,” Astarion drawls, but his intonation is bordering on cruel, rougher than any stone. “I heard the little deal that worm offered you. Please tell me you’re not truly thinking about this. I do not have to remind you that Vampire Lords are not trustworthy.” 

You slip out of your wet clothes, grab a towel, and dry your hair. “I’ll admit, it’s tempting.” 

“Have you lost your godsdamned mind?” Astarion balks, eyes narrow, with a scowl so menacing that if you didn’t know him, it might scare you. 

“Probably,” you say solemnly, staring at your feet. “I was going to discuss it with you first.” 

“Oh,” Astarion’s scowl eases, and he looks askance. “I… Why?” 

“Because it’s your life, your siblings, your body, and your scars,” you state, sitting on the bed cross-legged and staring at him. “If what he said is true, and I’m not saying it is, there’s also the matter of that ring. You could walk in the sun without worrying again. I want that for you more than anything, but I won’t make these kinds of decisions without you. We are a team.” 

Astarion racks his fingers through his hair with a sigh. “If it were me a couple years ago, I’d likely have taken the deal and ran, but... I’m not that selfish a man any longer. Even if the ring does exist, it’s not worth all the lives that will be lost should we turn a blind eye.” 

“I suppose not,” you murmur, looking down at your lap. Your damp, wavy hair creates a wavy curtain between you and him, and you’re thankful for the coverage. 

“You would turn a blind eye to it?” Astarion asks, brushing your hair back. “All the lives the Rite would cost, and all the deaths that would come after?” 

“To ensure your safety and gain the ring to let you enjoy the sun again?” You breathe heavily. “Yes, I think I would. I would take the deal, run, and never look back.” 

Astarion cradles your cheek, bringing your gaze back up. “Tell me where this truly comes from, because it does not sound like you.” 

“Maybe this is the new me,” you growl. The fire sparks angrily as your emotions become manic. 

You want to yell. You want to cry. You want to turn back time and forget all of the last years. 

You want peace. 

But peace has shunned you. 

You dig your fingernails into your palms, jerking away from his fingers poised under your chin, and lower your head, squeezing your eyes shut. “Maybe I’m not who you think I am; maybe I never was. Maybe all that’s left of me is broken pieces and ragged edges.” 

One of your legs jiggles erratically, shaking the bed. The old urge to run or hide is overwhelming, and you cannot keep your body still. Poisonous resentment and spiteful thoughts cross your mind. It’s his fault you’re this shattered shard of the person you once were; your soul a broken mirror that reflects some recognizable pieces of you, but some - most - of the splinters are too small to retain anything. You gave him your heart, and he absconded with it, like he had done to so many naive people before you. 

Now, he thinks he can return and tell you that you don’t sound like yourself without any consequences? Of course, you are not yourself! How could you be? But if you are not you, then who the fuck are you? 

Will whatever remains be enough? Are you enough? It would be so easy to blame him, so splendidly simple to lay the burden of pain at his feet, and he would shoulder it, likely without complaint. You don’t truly believe any of these thoughts. They are misguided animosities searching for anyone or anything to blame other than yourself, because at the crux of it all, you loathe what you’ve become. 

“Darling, tell me what’s going through your head,” Astarion urges, and his voice breaks you from your spiral and makes your head jerk up. 

“No.” 

You know your response and tone are clipped. Pulling away from him seems like the easiest way to keep yourself from hurting him needlessly in moments like this when your pain and anger coalesce into venom. Though it seems you’ve failed as you watch the hurt skip across his features and settle in his imploring eyes. 

“You talk to the cat more openly than you talk to me.” Astarion shakes his head, clearly frustrated. 

“Tara’s never abandoned me in the middle of the night,” you hiss through a clenched jaw. 

The memories of waking up to a tomblike silence, the creaks and groans of the wooden walls well up in your mind, his voice whispering to you that everything was going to be okay, which was a blatant lie. He had known he was going to leave. He had premeditated the breaking of your heart, and it stings. 

“I did,” he snaps, his shoulder tense. “I left you in the middle of the night. I abandoned you, and I knew what I was doing. I knew it would hurt,” he goads. 

His intention to provoke you into lashing out is obvious, but you seethe nonetheless. The guilt of having such toxic thoughts is gnawing at you, making your stomach unsettled. How could you even consider hurting him for a moment? He is your heart. Your soul. Your world. Your everything. 

He could kill you, by accident or purposefully, and somehow you would still find a way to crawl out of your grave and back to him, to love him so completely that you wonder if there’s even enough room left in your heart to love yourself. 

Astarion examines you for a moment, searching and trying to read you. Most days, you like being seen, but right now, it’s only intensifying your pique. 

“Stop it,” you sneer as the hurt simmering in you only grows. 

“Do you remember asking me if something was wrong that night?” He continues with a forced calm. His pain is carefully hidden behind a stone-cold expression, but you see it because, try as he might, he cannot keep it from his eyes. “Do you remember telling me you were scared, and I lied to you, didn’t I? I told you everything was fine when it was anything but.” 

Nothing will ever be able to erase that night from your memories. No amount of alcohol, tears, or running will ever be enough. You need him to shut up, lest you lose your tongue with unreasonable cruelty. White-hot rage clouds your mind, and there is a creeping sense of wanting to hurt him, wanting to let the corrosive words rise from your tongue and burn him. There is a sick part of you that wants to see just how far you can push him to see if he will leave. 

This conversation has become too much, and you do the worst possible thing you can in your desperation to hide. You lunge at him, slamming your lips into his in a bruising kiss and twisting your fingers into his hair hard enough to be painful. Astarion is not the only one who can use sex as a weapon, as a means of avoidance, or as a way to distract. 

His surprise is barely registered in the half-yelp he was able to get out before your lips mould to his despairingly, but his discomfort is abundantly obvious. There is a rigidity to his body; all his muscles are tense and flexing under you like someone who is waiting to be struck. Though he returns the kiss, it is mechanical. You know that this is wrong, but you press ahead heedlessly. 

“Stop,” he gasps against your lips. 

You throw yourself off the side of the bed as soon as the tight plea skitters across your lips. You clutch at your heaving chest, staring at him wide-eyed and wild with the horror of your actions. You stand awkwardly, half-lurched over, and unable to think straight. 

The same question keeps plaguing your mind: Who are you? 

“Astarion, I—“ 

He doesn’t let you finish. “No, don’t be sorry. I know better than most what that was. I see you. I understand you. You do not need to use sex to hide from me.” He sighs, running his fingers through his hair. 

He smiles kindly when he looks up at you. It only makes you feel worse. His arms spread, offering you sanctuary. As much as your first impulse is to dive into the safety promised, you take small, careful steps, keeping a close eye on him. Astarion waits patiently, and you see no signs of discomfort or the blankness that echos in his eyes when he withdraws. 

Climbing up the bed, you slide into his embrace. He pulls the duvet up, tucking you both in, and you settle into the comfort of being tangled up with one another. Your head rests on his shoulder, your forehead pressed into the crook of his neck, and your legs hooked over his lap. Astarion wipes away the wetness from your cheeks that you didn't even realize was there. 

“I’m sorry,” you murmur again. “I don’t know what happened. I wasn’t thinking clearly. I just—“ 

“Can’t get enough of me,” Astarion says, keeping his tone lighthearted. You can feel the smug smirk slink across his lips. “I’m not surprised.” 

But you know what you’ve done is a serious offence, so you try again. “Astarion, I’m serious. I feel terrible and sick over it.” 

“If kissing me makes you feel sick, I think we have bigger problems than you throwing yourself at me to get me to shut up, my love,” he quips, but his arms hug you tighter, pulling your flush against him. 

You’re flooded with warmth and gratitude, and you wordlessly press a small peck to his throat. It’s not nearly enough to express your appreciation or make amends for the boundary you just crossed, though. 

“We will get through this, Kamena,” he assures in a low baritone. “But we will have to talk about it at some point. You cannot keep running and hiding from this conversation. It must be had. I’m trying to be patient, and I can wait. Gods know I have a literal eternity, but I do not like to see you suffer so. I do not know what you need from me to feel safe.” 

“Was it easy to leave me?” You blurt out before you can rethink. 

Astarion jolts as if you’ve slapped him, easing back just enough to see your face but not enough to break the amount of contact between your bodies. “Leaving you that night was the hardest thing I’ve ever done. Two centuries of torture, and nothing has ever hurt me that much. Nothing.” 

This information sickens and stirs a revolting sense of gratification in equal measure. It is comforting to know that you’re not the only one who has suffered at the hands of his desertion. It should not console you, though, should it? You should not be relieved that he hurt just as you did. The knowledge of just how far you’ve fallen disgusts you to your core, and you have to smother the urge to retch as if you might be able to purge this darkness your soul harbours. 

Maybe that is why you’re so afraid to move forward, one step at a time, into the future and away from the miseries that cast their grim shadows across your past. You are afraid that you will not like what you find there and that you will not like the iteration of you that awaits. 

All you can think about is how you wish for him to spread you open and fill you with him, with pleasure, with his love, as a reminder that you are still capable of feelings beyond fear, loathing, and disgust. You can’t even bring yourself to look up at him, afraid he will see the delight reflected in your eyes. 

“I know I’ve said it before, but I will keep saying it until the end of time; I’m sorry,” Astarion starts. “I—“ 

You clutch at the blankets and pull them up to your chest in a foolish attempt to shield your heart with something, anything. You cut him off. “We’ve discussed this. You don’t have to say anything. It’s in—“ 

“Stop,” he barks, and you can feel his glare, the heat of his eyes boring into the crown of your head. “Enough, love. Stop granting me avenues of excuses and room to distance myself from what I’ve done at your expense. You need to hear this, and I need to say it. Listen to me — I’m begging you.” 

You freeze, your fingers curling into his chest with enough force to leave red welts on his skin. Astarion doesn’t so much as flinch. If it hurts him, he does not show an iota of it. He cups your cheek, trying to get you to look at him, but you refuse, squeezing your eyes shut. 

He continues anyway, his thumb gently sweeping back and forth across your cheek. “What I did was cowardly. I was terrified to lose this, the love we share, due to my difficulties. You deserve so much more than I can ever hope to give you. By leaving, I thought I was protecting you from a lifetime of pain.” 

You mean to tell him to stop before your heart bursts, but words do not form, and it comes out as a pleading whine as you press further into him. Your heart hammers in your chest, and your breaths come quicker and quicker, progressively getting shallower until you’re dizzy. His arms tighten, and the hand on your cheek gently presses your face against his chest. He kisses the top of your head, burying his nose in your hair. 

Astarion inhales deeply. His chest rises and falls in a steady rhythm. “Breathe, my love,” he coos. “With me now.” 

It is a difficult task to sync your panicked breathing to his calm, and it takes minutes before you’re able to do so. He waits patiently, humming in a deep dulcet like he used to. 

When you begin to relax, he picks up where he left off. “I knew I should have spoken to you about my worries and told you my doubts and fears, but I didn’t. It has always been my way; for centuries, I suffered in silence. I lost the fight between what I knew to be right and two hundred years of programmed behaviour. I am sorry for the pain I’ve inflicted upon you, for making you doubt how much I care for you, for making you afraid — all of it. I cannot undo what I've done. Gods, I wish I could go back and change it, but I cannot.” Astarion strokes your hair. 

His voice is becoming strained with emotion as he forces himself to bare his heart to you. “I hope we can rebuild what we’ve lost, and maybe it’s different than before; maybe we are both different than before, but that’s okay. It’s okay to be different. Whether you are light or dark, fire or ice, good or evil, you are still you, Kamena. You remain the same wild, goddess-like woman I met on the beach and referred to as a shrew." 

A raspy giggle sighs from your throat, and you finally tilt your head up to look at him. A small smile breaks through onto his perfect lips, and you trace them in the perfect bow as they curve upwards slightly. 

“You would still love me if I were evil?” You ask a little shyly, with your thumb still brushing over his bottom lip. 

If he can love you, even in darkness, maybe you can face whatever lurks in the future you’ve been avoiding by digging in your heels and sitting in your misery. 

If the only thing you have left is him at the end of this, you can live with whatever life throws at you. 

“Oh,” he smiles fiendishly, grabbing your hand and kissing each finger with his attention completely rapt on you. “Most certainly. If you want to burn the whole of Faerûn to the ground and dance in its ashes, I will hand you the match and help you start the fires.” He smirks momentarily. “Not that you would need matches, of course. You are fire incarnate, but you understand my point.” 

He pauses, placing a kiss on your wrist against your veins. His eyes comb over your face, studying you and reading the hidden language of your soul as if it were etched upon your skin. 

Pain and anxiety are largely writ on Astarion’s face. “I love you. I wish you would tell me every dark thought you’re having, even if they are about me — every wicked inclination, every doubt, and every fear. I would have you tell me every thought that goes through your head, so I can show you that I will always love you anyway and that I am not going anywhere.” 

The fact of the matter is that you resent yourself for being stubborn and unable to fully trust him when he is so evidently trying to show you in any way he can think of. It’s not that you don’t see it; it’s that you purposefully ignore it, but there is no ignoring it tonight. 

You must do better than this. You steel yourself. Take the step. 

“I’m scared, Astarion. I’m scared that if I take the steps to move forward, you will not like the person I’ve become. Underneath all these broken pieces, there is a darkness there that wasn’t there before. I can lose everything, but I cannot lose you.” 

It may not be healthy, but you would rather spend your lifetime in his broken state, battling with yourself all the while, if it means that you will rest, wake, and do everything in between with him by your side. 

“Come here, my heart.” Astarion shifts you so that you’re straddling him, arms wrapped around his neck, and your head resting on his shoulder. He presses a soft kiss on your shoulder, rubbing your back. “You could never be unloved by me, Kamena.” 

You are better than this ; your shame whispers in your ear. Try harder. Be better. The way forward is clear, and you can walk into it at any time. Why do you languish here?   

What rises tends to fall, you answer solemnly. 

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

Chapters Master List - Shadows of the Past

AO3: Crossposted

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

[staycalmandhugaclone]

You'll Have to Go Through Me

We're at a point where I strongly recommend not reading this until after working your way through the entirety of Doc's Misadventures beginning, of course with Touch Starved!

There are still some slots left for the 400 follower celebration. I'll be bouncing between Doc fics and reader oc fics bit by bit (though, I can't really stop mid arc for brain reasons, so you'll get part 2 of this fic before I pop back into Asks)

Last head's up: Given my last fics weren't Doc fics, I didn't start this yet, but after today, I'll be reducing my tag list. If folks haven't interacted in some way for a few fics, I'm going to stop tagging you. Because Tumblr just can't do things easily for me, I frequently hand type my entire list, so if yuh want me to take the time to tag you, ya'll have to give me something back so I know I'm not tagging people who've lost interest or aren't even on here anymore. To all my lovelies who silently reblog: I adore you and you can do no wrong in this world! To those of you who frequently comment/chat with me about this crazy little world I accidentally made: I would happily burn the world to see you smile

Warnings: Lots of heavy emotions in this one - angst, guilt, angry, blame, got some profanity in there, and reference to child soldiers kinda

WC: 3,171

There was a rumor that the Kaminoan’s eyes could see colors humans simply couldn’t; that everything from the unblemished armor of shinies to the very reports endlessly updating on their communicators was overlaid with additional data invisible to those deemed a “lesser race.” That rumor left the identical, monotone halls of their cities feeling even more unwelcoming; as though secrets laid all around me, taunting my every step in some undeniable proof that their prejudiced beliefs held a merit I would never be able to fight, but I couldn’t bring myself to care about that anymore.

I roamed those immaculate halls aimlessly, purely for the want of letting myself get lost in them. The need to hide, to flee despite there being nowhere I could run drove me to wander endlessly through the most distant corridors, blindly staring at barracks that had long since been left abandoned as the production of clones lessened with every day that passed. Once, each of the countless rooms around me had been home to cadets too young to understand the horrors awaiting them, and I bleakly wondered how many of those children were now lost to the never-ending demand for sacrifice towards a goal that seemed just as distance now as it had during that very first battle.

I’d nearly walked past him, utterly oblivious to his presence until his helm shifted just enough to catch my attention, and, with a sharp gasp, I was ripped from the illusioned reprieve of my thoughts.

“Kriff!” The curse hissed through clenched teeth, wide eyes locking on the lithe figure leaning silently against the tiny inlet of a doorframe. That silence lingered until my panic withered into that too familiar dread, air catching in my lungs as I stood frozen before him.

“We’re leaving in an hour. Hunter sent you a com.” He stated, and I nearly broke from the chill in his raspy voice.

“I… I haven’t read it, yet…” I finally admitted, jaw stiff. I’d remembered how my heart had dropped at the alert for the incoming message, certain I’d find orders detailing my reassignment lingering within, and I hadn’t been able to bring myself to look. Crosshair said nothing for a long moment, and I had to fight the nervous dance of my fingers. Without another word, he turned and began to walk away, and a new panic overwhelmed me.

“Wait!” I gasped, body stealing a half-step toward him before locking up once more. He paused, but didn’t turn back, and I could feel something on the verge of shattering within me.

“I thought you said you didn’t regret it.” It was quiet, as though whispering those words might hide the hurt in them, and the air fled me in a shuttered exhale.

“I…” My throat locked around that choked word, and I cursed myself for faltering when I so desperately wanted to offer him some hint of reassurance, but I could only stare as his shoulders sank before starting through those sickeningly pristine halls once more.

“Wait…” I begged, voice barely audible, but he didn’t stop, and finally, my body remembered itself. “Wait! Wait, dammit! I don’t regret being with you!” I shouted, racing forward to cut him off. He said nothing as he stared down at me, that emotionless visor offering nothing of the warmth with which he’d looked at me just days prior, and I could feel myself wilt beneath it. Letting out a carefully controlled exhale, I reached up to remove my own helmet, robbing myself of what protection that barrier feigned to lay myself bare before him.

“They… they can’t even look at me, Crosshair…” I whispered, and I could see the dark circles beneath my eyes in the sliver of my reflection, “and I don’t… I don’t know how to deal with that.” I couldn’t breathe as I waited anxiously for some manner of response. When he finally began to move, that need surged anew within me, and I could only watch as his hand slowly reached up to trail lightly along my jaw until his palm rested against my cheek.

“I told you they’d figure it out.” A short scoff escaped me, and I couldn’t keep myself from shifting further into his touch. My lips parted, breath catching with the beginnings of speech, but I felt the words abandon me, too weary to force out a response. Instead, I let myself grasp his hand reverently between both of mine and turned just enough to press my lips firmly against his gloved palm, fingers tightening with a desperation I couldn’t risk giving voice as I listened to the air leave him in a slow sigh. Without a word, he pulled his hand away and wrapped his arms around me. I didn’t hesitate, eagerly pressing myself against him for that familiar comfort of his embrace.

“Every time that damn com went off…” I whispered hiding against the rigid planes of his chest plate as sobs vied to rob even those strained words from me, “I was so sure it was an alert that I’d been reassigned…” and, I couldn’t fight back the tiny hitch of a sob as his arms tightened.

“That’s not going to happen.” A hopeless huff of laughter escaped me, but when he called my name, I found my gaze automatically turning up to his, and I couldn’t bring myself to doubt him. “Just give them some time… Please.” How could I not yield beneath the raw need in his voice? I barely noticed the way my head subtly nodded against him, but that didn’t diminish the truth of the gesture. Of course, I would give them time. I would grant them as long as they needed regardless the way my heart twisted at the mere thought of subjecting myself to the terrible quiet they fell into at the very threat of my presence… I knew I could never leave them… any of them… not unless they told me to… I’d promised.

-

I’d hidden away in those abandoned halls for three days before he’d come to find me. Following him back to the hanger had the same taste as an akk dog being dragged home from the pound, and I couldn’t keep my gaze from studying the metal ramp below as we eventually reached the Marauder. I’d finally glanced at my datapad as we walked and found myself wishing I hadn’t. There were only two lines of text in that initial com: the time of the mission brief, which I’d missed, and the time we were meant to leave, which we only barely made it back by. A subsequent message appeared to summarize that brief, but I didn’t have time to more than open it.

As soon as the ramp locked into place, Crosshair pulled off his helmet and stored it in his gun locker. I started to do the same, but paused at the sudden quiet that stole through him once I’d removed my bucket, fingers absently shifting over the ridge where padding covered the unyielding plastoid. He said nothing as he stepped toward me, but I melted at the first feel of his hand slipping up the back of my neck to just tangle into the base of my hair as his lips pressed against my forehead. He held me like that until the ship began to rise, and then he left, silently disappearing into the cockpit where, I assumed, the rest of his brothers waited.

I knew those little moments of softness were, in part, merely an effort to distract me from the guilt ceaselessly twisting through my chest, but that realization didn’t lessen the warmth they granted me. I’d always believed there was more to him than the snarky, eternally unimpressed persona he so loved to flaunt about, but to find myself the subject of such gentle affection was something I would never weary of.

Finding myself alienated from his brothers, however, was a sorrow that contrasted so starkly with the thrill that lingered after Crosshair’s touch that I was left in a place of violently conflicting wants and regrets each too overwhelming to allow even a moment’s understanding of any one emotion. Part of me wanted to follow him, to plead some ignorance that the easy dynamic we’d fallen into hadn’t been shattered so effortlessly, but I couldn’t.

Images of the detached distance in Hunter’s eyes when he’d last looked at me sent me, instead, to the small kitchenette if only to busy myself with restocking menial items in some useless plight to distract myself. When those heavy footsteps sounded from down the hall, however, I found myself regretting that decision, despite how I loathed the thought of hiding away in the medbay again, but my heart raced at the thought of Wrecker coming to a sharp halt at the doorway, at the awkward silence that would fall as he tried to make some excuse to flee, and the coming devastation that would bring me.

I didn’t turn to him when he stopped just outside, attention carefully turned away from him to grant an easier escape, but he didn’t move. After a few tense seconds, I glanced hesitantly toward him, and found myself frozen at the quiet in those mismatched eyes as he looked at me.

“I was worried you weren’t coming back.” He murmured, and I had to turn away for a moment, lungs straining to draw in a steady breath before I could answer him.

“I was worried you might not want me to.” His broad shoulders dropped, automatically taking several steps nearer to me before catching himself.

“Of course, we do!” He said quickly, voice vainly forced into something of a hushed whisper. “It’s just… it’s hard, I guess… different… but that don’t mean we don’t want you around! Just… gotta figure out how everything fits, now, I guess…” Relief and turmoil warred through me as he stammered to explain, and I had to catch my lip between my teeth at the question that followed. “Is that why you stayed away?”

“I think… I think I was trying to figure out how things fit, too…” I answered, stumbling over the same inadequacy of spoken word to touch on the chaos and doubt that led me to wander those abandoned halls.

“… Crosshair… he makes you happy?” He asked suddenly, and my gaze instantly darted back up to find his focus staring blindly toward the too-small table meant to house half the number we’d so often crammed around it.

“… yeah… he does” I hated the hesitation in my voice, and found myself wanting to say more; to offer some promise that… that what? That it wasn’t that Wrecker didn’t make me happy? That the whirlwind of emotions storming relentlessly through me was so devastatingly confusing that I couldn’t begin to sort through them? That I had to bite my tongue to keep from begging him not to hate me? Trapped in that indecision, I allowed myself to say nothing at all, and his response nearly brought me to tears.

“That’s good.” There was still a subtle edge of sorrow in his voice, but I couldn’t doubt the sincerity of his words, which made them all the more painful to hear. “Things have been… hard lately - guess they always are, but… you and Cross… Yuh both needed something to be happy about. So, I’m happy for yuh… Just… sorry it took me a while to figure that out.”

My breath fled me in a broken sigh, and I instantly threw myself toward him, arms locking around his shoulders as my face hid against his neck. I felt him automatically move to return the embrace before freezing, body tense.

“Uh… is…” He stammered hesitantly. “Is it, yuh know… okay for me to-to hug yuh?” The laughter that escaped me sounded too akin to a sob, and I held him even tighter for it.

“Of course, it’s okay for you to hug me.” I said, voice dropping back into a whisper lest the words break, and some of that crippling weight finally slipped from my shoulders as he readily locked me against him.

“You look at the briefing, yet?” He asked after I finally released him, and I couldn’t help but notice the trace of tension hidden beneath that boisterous excitement.

“Not yet,” I replied, watching him carefully though I tried to keep the hesitation from my voice, “I was planning to read over it tonight. What’s the mission?”

“Just stealin’ files off’a some fancy database, but after I get to blow the whole thing up so they can’t figure out what we took!” There was an overzealousness to his too-quick response, a nervousness that I doubted many others would note, but I knew him, and, when I reached for my datapad to finally look through the message, I wasn’t surprised to hear the way his breath caught slightly in his throat. It took only a brief glance to understand why, and whatever traces of guilt within me went silent beneath my sudden rage.

“Hunter!” I shouted, already storming around Wrecker, blind to the way his face pulled into a barely restrained cringe. Two data ports needed to be spliced simultaneously at opposite sides of a large compound on an isolated world recently lost to Separatist forces. Crosshair was being dropped off on a nearby cliffside to provide cover and report troop movement, while Wrecker would begin placing munitions strategically throughout the facility. Hunter and Tech would infiltrate the northern port, and Echo the southern one nearest Crosshair’s position. Meanwhile, I was meant to remain on the Marauder as “backup”.

“What the kriff is this?!” I snapped. He was just cresting the cockpit ladder as I approached with my datapad clutched in my hand.

“If you’d been at the briefing, you wouldn’t be asking that.” He retorted, arms crossing over his chest as he stared down at me.

“Oh kriff you, Hunter!” I snarled, numb to the hurt I knew I should have felt at the feigned impatience in those eyes. His brow twitched briefly together, but he offered no further response. “You’re leaving Echo practically defenseless!”

“Echo is an arc trooper. He’s more than capable of taking care of himself.” He replied blankly.

“Not when he’s plugged in!” My words reverberated slightly against the metal walls, and some part of me wanted to feel guilty for how his sensitive hearing surely ached because of it, but I couldn’t stop myself. “The instant he’s connected, his reaction time-”

“Is still better than yours.” He interrupted harshly. My jaw snapped shut, heart pounding against my chest as he began walking toward me, movements slowed beneath a purposeful intent, exhibiting every ounce of the intimidating, elite soldier he’d been painstakingly created to encompass, but my anger, my dread that something would happen, that his benching me might cost his life or the life of one of his brothers forbade me from yielding, from feeling even a whisper of fear as I stared him down.

“Until we figure this out, you’re a liability. I can’t have them distracted out there in the middle of a mission just because you don’t want to feel left out.” He continued, voice sharp, and I wanted to spit at the word ‘they,’ balking at the vain implication that he’d managed to convince any one of us that he was somehow unaffected. “Unless you want to go running off somewhere again, we can try to figure this out after, but we’re set to land in four hours, and I’m not spending that time playing mediator when we need to be focused on not getting killed.”

Later, the silence that fell between us would break me. Later, I would remember the way my hands clenched into fists as I glared at the man before me with an animosity that, just days prior, I would have thought impossible. Later, I would remember that I was to blame for the crippling discordance that so effortlessly brought our unbreakable family to ruin. In that moment, however, I wanted to hurt him for all the ways I was hurting, and I hated myself for it.

“This is a mistake, Hunter.” The words left in a strained growl, teeth clacking as my jaw snapped around his name. “You know that… and it’s going get one of them killed.” His lips tensed with the beginnings of a scowl just as his attention shifted ever so slightly behind him.

I couldn’t hear what was said, but I held no doubt that that was the intent, that one of his brothers had murmured some warning or plea before he could offer whatever justifiably harsh retort lay seething atop his tongue, and I was glad I couldn’t hear them. If it was Crosshair, would I have lashed out against his attempt to protect me? If I’d heard Tech recant some psychological study dismissing my concerns in favor of Hunter’s logic, would I have yelled at him with that same vehemence? Or if Echo… I couldn’t… I couldn’t do this… I couldn’t breathe beneath the sudden certainty that I was alone in that moment… that I had no one to turn to as my thoughts cascaded into a darkness I feared would consume me.

Gaze falling to metal flooring forever stained with oil and grime and far too much blood as my chest tightened into a vise around my heart, I found myself frozen for a mere second longer before turning away from him. He made no effort to stop me. I didn’t think I could have stopped even if he had. I needed to think… no… I needed to run; to hide… I needed to escape the unspoken accusation in his eyes. I needed to escape the nightmare of my own thoughts berating me for each word that fell so thoughtlessly from my lips, the terror that Hunter was right, that I’d turned myself into the deadly distraction I’d so feared becoming all those months back. I needed to escape this faltering reality as the consequences of my own actions threatened to rip my very sense of self from hands I still couldn’t manage to unclench.

It wasn’t until hearing the quiet beep of the medbay’s door denying entry that I even realized I’d locked it behind me, and I instantly knew who stood just beyond that wall of chilled metal. Wrecker would have called out, and I doubted the others were quite ready to speak to me directly yet. I knew it was Crosshair; knew that he stood there waiting to see if I’d yield, but the seconds turned into minutes, and I made no effort to haul myself from where I sat tucked against the corner, fingers tangled into my hair as I merely let myself hurt beneath the weight of everything I’d lost, everything it felt like I was still losing. I heard his fist fall lightly against the door just once before, after a final moment of denial, treading slowly back down the hall.

Look at this adorable FANART!!! - Thank you so much @mythical-illustrator!!

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[banjjakz]

route warnings: (dubious-ish?) non-con; forced fellatio; manipulation; power imbalances; misogyny. please proceed with caution this one is kinda rough

➡ Turn back.

Shame cows your ambition, curtailing your hand’s daring arc towards the doorknob. Your arm retreats back into your body, burned by a phantom pain.

How could you be so audacious? It should be enough to simply admire Yuuta from afar… Just imagining how scared and confused he might be to see a fan in his personal quarters is enough of a gruesome mental image to shock you out of your starry-eyed stupor.

Shaking your head in disbelief, you hurry to put some distance between yourself and your tantalizing desire. Now that you are once more aligned with your cognitive reasoning and critical thinking, the darkness of the backstage corridor is kinda…spooky. Despite the deafening roar of the frenzied crowd just a few moments prior, the venue is now almost entirely empty. The only soundtrack accompanying your foolish venture is the ominous dripdripdrip-ing of the faulty, leaky water pipes hidden behind the sodden ceiling and peeling drywall.

Suddenly, this feels very much so like a place in which you do not belong. Turning on your heel, you make a mad dash to evacuate the premises from the way you originally came – only to run straight into something tough, solid, and warm.

Evidently, it is not a wall – otherwise, your nose would’ve probably been shattered on impact, considering how hard you bowled straight into the surface. But what else could be this immovable, this well-fortified and impassible? The only things that come to mind are brick and bone, which—

Oh.

Tremulously, you caution a glance upward, shivering in your grimy concert shoes at the thought of having to confront the absolute beast of a security guard who’d been eyeing you all night…

Instead, when your eyes finally grace the features of your obstacle, it is not at all the formidable security guard of your nightmares. In fact, the reality is much worse.

Looking down at you is Geto Suguru, ShinShow’s lead singer, in all of his six-footed, long, luscious haired, tattooed, gauged lobed, pierced-faced glory.

When you fail to produce any words, he smirks at you, seemingly relishing in the uncomfortable silence. With dawning horror, you realize that he intends to wait you out. His imposing stature is so broad and the dim hallway is so cramped that you would not be able to pass unless he let you. And, judging by his sardonically amused impassivity, he has no intention of doing anything of that sort.

Your gulp is audible in the dead quiet. Frozen, you linger in paralysis, an animal of prey caught in still waters.

“Well, you look lost,” says Geto Suguru, deceptively calm.

His face is the pinnacle of classic beauty: an unblemished, sanguine ivory mask. The deceptively easygoing set to his superhuman features sets the lids of his eyes low, cutting across the horizon of his irises in one neat, lethal swoop.

Any ShinShow fan with half of a functioning brain knows not to be fooled by this theatrical performance. It is this same, seemingly lackadaisical Geto Suguru who unleashes live performances inspiring pure, unadulterated horror and dread amongst an eager, addicted audience. His antics as the band’s front man have included, but are certainly not limited to: lovingly instructing his fans to refer to him as “Geto-sama”; regurgitating fake (?) blood on stage; displaying a seriously terrifying proficiency in martial arts as a form of choreography; and, of course, passionately and enthusiastically belting out self-composed lyrics lamenting the state of the world, the salvation to be found in existential dread, and the anarchist desire to destroy life as it currently manifests.

So, you know. Light work.

Point being: this is a man who you do not want to fuck around with. Even as a dedicated superfan, there are some risks best left unchallenged. You don’t even want to think about what he would say (or do…?) if he found out that you’d been sneaking around and preparing to break and enter into one of his bandmate’s dressing room…

“I am,” you lie, bowing your head in an attempt to shield your quivering bottom lip and your wet, shifty eyes. For some reason, you feel like he’ll see right through you if you let him. “Could you please direct me to the exit? I am very sorry to trouble you.”

Geto’s hearty laugh startles you into looking up at him. “Sure you don’t want a polaroid pic before you go?”

There are sparkles and glitter and sunshine and rainbows melting out of your head, leaking out of your ear canals, dripping down your neck and shoulders and onto the dirty concrete like liquified brain matter. “If—if you insist.”

This is how you find yourself posing against a disgusting brick wall with the one and only Geto Suguru. You would squee, if the thought of fangirling in front of Geto Suguru didn’t make you want to violently extinguish your own existence.

The only thing worse than fangirling embarrassingly hard in front of Geto would be the insinuation that he is your oshi and you are one of his “followers,” as he has lovingly (?) dubbed his personal fanbase. To bear the brunt of his condescending, considerably sadistic attitude which he wields against fans like a whip of love…

It would be indecent(ly erotic)! It would be humiliating(ly pleasurable)! You would not survive (with your dignity intact)!

Out of the kindness of his cold, dead heart, he takes multiple shots with you. The first picture sees the both of you shoulder-to-shoulder, smiling serenely at the camera – a standard shot for oshi and fan. The second picture is his signature M.O. for fanservice photos: your faces are deadpanned in joint, mildly disgusted unison, staring down the viewer with thinly veiled contempt. It’s a popular, ironic style for niche idols like ShinShow to poke fun at both themselves as well as the concept of idol fanservice in general. Secretly, you derive a different meaning entirely from the farcical display of scorn. It is as though you gaze at the viewer as a voyeur. Why are you here? Why are you looking at him? Why are you looking at us? Go away. You aren’t worthy.

The white-hot flash of a successfully snapped shot sears across your vision like the wink of a shooting star, immeasurably awesome, woefully transient. As you mourn this interaction’s inevitable end, Geto surprises you by asking if you’d like some digital photos as well.

Charmed, you find yourself unable to do anything but agree, albeit not too enthusiastically. Appearances are important, here.

After quickly unlocking the device, he smoothly slips your smartphone from your shaky, clammy grasp, raising it up to a fashionably high selfie angle. Inside the four-by-four digital reflection, you are confronted with a reality you have never dared hope to imagine:

Geto Suguru, long black hair loose and in disarray from a recent stage performance, makeup running down the chiseled planes of his face in pigmented rivulets, black-painted nails splayed in a facetious peace sign right underneath your chin.

Crap, his hand is really warm! You can’t help but to lean into the plush crevice of skin between his pointer and thumb…is it weird, that you’re kind of obsessed with how soft it is? For a seasoned musician with quite the gnarly disposition, his hands – much like the rest of him – are deceptively soft.

Is it really alright, to be this close to him? As he snaps the third and final photo, you lose yourself in the intoxicating sensation of skin-to-skin contact. Delusional from the proximity, your consciousness has been untethered from your body, entirely outside of the reach of normal human sensibilities. You are only slammed back into your own mind when a sudden, swift constriction of pressure on your lower jaw demands your attention.

Shocked, you try to turn your head to look up at your idol.  Subsequently, you are horrified to realize that it is his hand who restricts your movement.

In the mirrored image displayed by your phone camera, your trembling pupils track the slow spread of Geto’s lips which peel back from his teeth like unfurling layers of some fruit repulsively past the point of ripeness. Suddenly, his beautiful, white face of traditional peerless beauty now appears to you as an eerie mask concealing an unimaginably horrific reality.

“Did you know that I can smell your fear?” says Geto conversationally, still facing the camera, still smiling.

His mirrored image belies a reflection perhaps even more terrifying than an overtly antagonistic expression of anger or wrath. Instead of obvious malice, Geto’s undisturbed sanguineness installs within you a new and revolutionary kind of desperate terror.

“E-excuse me?” You ask, voice a tremulous, pitiful thing. “I don’t think I understand, Geto-san—”

Fast as lightning, and just as electrifyingly immobilizing, Geto’s large hand reaches upwards to smother your “You’ll use that mouth to properly address me Geto-sama, or you won’t use it at all. What is a follower’s role but to obey?”

A chill runs down the length of you, infiltrating your nervous system, hijacking your senses, arresting your higher functioning. Geto’s words sink in with fatal clarity: you are not escaping this. This is your fate.

Oddly, this realization excites you.

As though the line about smelling your fear wasn’t merely a maniacal bluff, Geto’s neatly-trimmed brows raise almost at the same time as you come to this conclusion. As a heady sort of anticipation fills your gut, his mask cracks for the first time, toeing the line between disgust and another, unnamable sentiment – one that lends a new kind of scintillating, sadistic twinkle in those small, dark eyes.

“Don’t tell me--” His fingers dig even more deeply into the supple flesh of your burning cheeks. “—that you like this.” Before you can curb it, a damning whimper flies forth from your dry throat, betraying your weakened knees, the weeping arousal between your quaking thighs.

More than being scared, you are egregiously humiliated. Not even a momentary reprive through fluttering your eyes shut is granted to you, for Geto violently shakes your skull in his palm until you are jolted back to staring into the selfie camera.

The frightened, excited tears that spill from the corners of your eyes only serve to further validate his salacious suspicions. “You do. How interesting.”

His gaze strays from your own in the phone camera, wandering to fixate on a point a few centimeters above your head. Is he plotting his next move? Does he know something that you don’t? Is he wholly sane?

Of course he isn’t! You scream at yourself, internally. Any guy who holds a girl hostage backstage is absolutely off his rocker!!

And yet – shamefully – you’re kind of into it.

Will you die tonight? Maybe.

Will you go out with a bang? Hopefully.

“Ghkfdbmmsnnmm,” you plea from behind his fingers. Graciously, he peels back his fingers, one-by -one, partially releasing your voice from his clutches even as he still hostages your face with cautious interest.

This time, when you speak, your voice sounds like a gunshot in the empty stillness of the desolate corridor. In this atmosphere, it feels as though there is not another soul alive besides you and your captor.

“Geto-sama. Please have mercy…”

He must be able to tell it’s an act. You don’t even sound convincing to yourself. The last thing you crave is his mercy.

“My, my. Such a turn this has taken,” he muses, fingers idly tapping away at your back molars. “What shall I do with you?”

Eat me alive, supplies your brain. “Whatever Geto-sama wills, it is my duty to fulfill.”

When you lock eyes in the camera, meeting each other’s gazes through the digital mirage for the last time, Geto shuts off the phone with one quick, decisive movement. You watch the system warning flash across the screen before everything goes dark and quiet. No more camera. No more phone. No more location services. The device drops to the ground with a heart-dropping clatter. You don’t have time to wonder if it survives the fall.

Geto turns to you for the first time in what feels like eons. Without the layer of pixelated filters softening the blow, being subject to his direct line of sight paralyzes you to the core.

“Get on your knees.”

Instantly, you obey. Refusal does not even cross your mind. The grimy floor rushes to greet your knees with a firm thud! The impact reverberates throughout your entire body, setting every single nerve alight with stimulation.

He draws over to you lackadaisically, like a tiger stalking its sure kill. Playing into it, you shuffle backwards, scraping your sensitive knees and shins against the unforgiving platform until your heels hit the wall behind you.

“Your fear is waning. You aren’t scared,” says Geto, undoing his fly. “You should be.”

Without further ado, he pulls out his dick and shoves it inside the wanton cavern of your willing, wanting mouth.

It happens so fast that your eyes can’t quite keep up with his movements, unable to visually register just how large his appendage is until it’s being stuffed down your throat. Bile rises to greet the tip of his dick and he is, apparently, into that. Makes it all the wetter.

For your part, you are struggling to maintain your initial excitement. In your lust-addled, starstruck stupor, you imagined that you and your idol shared a similar appreciation for the taboo mirage of consensually non-consensual liaisons. What you had failed to realize was that you were the only imaginary in this particular fantasy scenario. What used to exist merely as the stuff of wet-dream musings has now crystallized into a concrete reality; a reality wherein there are no safe-words, no underlying currents of care or affection, and no opting out.

You realize the extent of your disadvantaged position when Geto takes a break from brutalizing your esophagus to release you from his clutches and decides that he would rather rub his dick all over your face, instead.

Not only this, but he smacks you with it.

This isn’t even the stuff of brutal pornos. You’re no stranger to the horrors of exploitative snuff film, and even those seem to pale in comparison to the way he holds the back of your skull with one hand as he beats your cheekbones, your nose, your eyelids, your mouth, your chin, your jaw, even your fucking ears with his cock. From the crest of your hairline to the peaks of your clavicles, you are sodden with wet, sticky precum, battered with blooming bruises.

It all happens so fast that you barely have time to blink – definitely no time to indulge in the privilege of breathing. Geto’s movements become frenzied, harried, washing over you dark and fast like the rolling thunder of an impending typhoon.

Caught in the midst of severely troubled waters, ears roaring with adrenaline, blood, and terror, rooted to the spot by forces beyond your body’s will, your mind sparks to life with one last-ditch attempt at a moment of clarity:

What will you do?

>  Call for help.

>  Take it.

[asksavel]

( Alt Youtube Link )

A recap video covering all events from past to current, though it does skip over the majority of the current arc cause I couldn't fit it in the video.

Nonetheless, I hope you all enjoy it. ovo

There's a place at the end of the road Where our lives turn to light pure as gold Where the past is just a sparkle of time And the world is all good by design

Song Lyrics transcript below:

Title: Andrew's Song Artist: End Of Silence Composer: IMAscore Vocals: Nathan Nasby Album: Kaleidoscope

Lyrics: Follow the path To where no one's ever been Don't turn around Until you reach the end Across the sea And beyond the distant lands The world awaits So don't make any plans There you go There you go

When every step Takes you a thousand miles away You'll find the edge Beyond the break of day And leave behind Everything you've ever had The one's you love The pillows in your bed There you go There you go

What you call home Is a box of memories Forever lost But good enough to keep Cause you don't know What tomorrow holds for you Another path Or just a glimpse of truth There you go There you go

There's a place at the end of the road Where our lives turn to light pure as gold Where the past is just a sparkle of time And the world is all good by design

This is not a farewell Just a goodbye

[brazenlystrong]

[ 𝐇𝐀𝐈𝐑 ] ― sender strokes receiver’s hair ( reverse for sukuna, play with his hair pls )

🌙  *  ―     𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐈𝐕𝐄 𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐒𝐄𝐒  // @koseigu

Under the soft pink canopy of a blooming cherry tree, petals drift down like delicate confetti, dancing in the breeze. The world falls still, wrapped in a moment that feels almost sacred. One of them lies stretched out on the grass, head resting in the lap of the other.

Gojo’s eyes are closed, lost in the calm, as if the worries of the world have melted away in this tender peace. Then one eye peers open to peek down at his companion. His fingers move gently through soft strands of hair, an unspoken rhythm in every stroke. It is a soothing, absent-minded gesture, full of affection.

The sun filters through the cherry blossoms, casting dappled shadows across their faces. A petal floats down and lands on Sukuna's cheek. Satoru carefully brushes it away, fingertips lingering longer than needed, tracing the curve of his face. The light shines upon fair skin, making Satoru's features appear ethereal, almost otherworldly. His snow-white hair flows in graceful arcs in the light breeze. Dressed in pure white garments, radiant, blending harmoniously with an angelic aura. Luminous blue eyes gaze at Sukuna through a curtain of feathery lashes, the mild up-curve of shell-pink lips is subtle yet genuine, exuding an air of tranquility.

In that silence, in the shared comfort of simple touch and presence, there is a sense of timelessness. The world outside doesn’t matter; all that matters is this—two souls finding solace in each other’s presence.

[lunanoc]

xiaoge (and liu sang if you want to) for the ask meme 👀

sorry for the late reply that I’m writing while procrastinating on other things but thank you for asking! <3

Xiaoge 

My first impression

I honestly can’t remember all that well because it was such a long time ago, but when I first discovered Daomu Biji, it was through PingXie clips on twitter from Ultimate Note, and because I had nothing to do and found them cute I ended up finding a carrd where someone gave a barebones rundown of what you had to know to not be extremely confused if you wanted to watch it. The way Xiaoge was described in it and his initial appearance in Ultimate Note made me think he was the quiet warrior stereotype that felt a lot of things strongly but just didn’t express them openly, a lot introverted and a little lost in a lost puppy kind of way

My impression now

Xiaoge to me now is multifaceted in ways I feel deserve their own separate post, but I’m going to tl;dr it as in some ways, I feel like he’s almost a subversion of the stereotypes he’s presented as. So much of Xiaoge’s character arc both in the present timeline and in past events is about his dehumanization, but that dehumanization isn’t purely about the ways others treat him, it’s also in the way he himself has become “other”. The Three Days of Silence extra goes into this the most explicitly, but the llama at the temple wants Xiaoge to carve a statue out of a stone by infusing emotion into it because he feels that “no man is a stone”, that is it say that no human being is without emotion, and only by proving that he can feel can Xiaoge prove that he’s human. But the problem is that by that point Xiaoge, both by circumstance and by design, to all intents and purposes has become a stone in some respects in terms of his distance to people on a personal level. It’s not an accident that Wu Xie often compares him to a god or to Buddha with no passions or desires of his own, because it’s what he’s been made to be, and his indifference, that’s a defining character trait, isn’t feigned. It’s genuine.

So Xiaoge’s character development very much revolves around breaking free from his identity as a tool and as something almost akin to a bodhisattva to obtain his own identity as a human being that can connect with others.

It’s more complicated than that and I’m generalizing, but I feel that Xiaoge is someone who’s inherently merciful and kind, but is also generally speaking not invested in most people on a personal level, mostly because forming a connection with anyone is an exercise in futility, both because Xiaoge’s life experience and what “fate” has imposed on him make it difficult for people to relate to or understand him, and also because that distance means most people will inevitably only want to use him. But he does care about the people who’ve successfully forged a connection with him, he just shows it through actions, not words. Is he also a little awkward in interpersonal relationships sometimes? Yeah that too

Favorite thing about that character

Probably the fact that despite everything he’s gone through he’s Daomu Biji’s goodest boy. He’s kind in a completely uninterested way. That and how much of a troll he is that’s the Zhang in him coming out

Least favorite thing

Maybe that he’s so flippant about his own well-being and bodily comfort. He tends to view himself as an extension of a purpose and is in general very pragmatic, but because of how removed from people and humanity he is, it means he doesn’t really take himself into consideration much over the people he cares about. There a bit in the Fishing King extra where he slashes his own hand open and when Wu Xie later realizes it, he asks Xiaoge if it hurts, and he replies that it doesn’t. And Wu Xie doesn’t comment on it, but his overall internal thought process is a bitter “of course it doesn’t hurt”

Favorite line/scene

Trying to pick a scene that’s about him specifically and honestly the entirety of the stories about when he’s doing his release into the wild during the Tibetan Sea Flower flashbacks. Jaded and ruthless baby, but even before he was ever Zhang Qiling he was still more humane than everyone around him despite having been used as a disposable blood bag by his own family

Favorite interaction that character has with another

Everyone’s expecting the “If I disappeared no would notice” scene with Wu Xie but you know what I’m gonna go with something else even if that scene is up there.

In the Fishing King extra when Wu Xie goes to fist bump him because they beat Pangzi at rock paper scissors and Xiaoge doesn’t understand so they stare at each other awkwardly and he ends up covering Wu Xie’s fist with his hand like ‘paper’ my heart

A character that I wish that character would interact with more

To be honest Xiao Hua or Huo Xiuxiu? You don’t ser much of those three in the same room but I imagine Xiaoge and Xiao Hua would be a very efficient, pragmatic and silent duo

Another character from another fandom that reminds me of that character

Not entirely because I don’t think I know any character that’s exactly like Xiaoge, but a little bit Shenhe from Genshin. Emotionally restrained to the point of lack of emotion but by design, mistreated as a child, also a little bit of a troll and straightforward when confronted with people with bad intentions. Also very combat efficient.

A headcanon about that character

I don’t know if I have a really big one besides I like the headcanon that Xiaoge is ace or demisexual? I have a hard time picturing him having had any kind of romantic relationships and to be honest even casual sex doesn’t feel likely to me just because even that requires having some form of interest in the other party which Xiaoge doesn’t ever really seem to have. But who knows what he might have had to do out of necessity or if there were people he’s forgotten

A song that reminds me of that character

This is really hard but I haven’t found anything more fitting than ‘The Ghost on the Shore’ by Lord Huron

An unpopular opinion about that character

I had to think about this a little but if I had to pick something it might be the fanon perception of Xiaoge as a ‘feral cat’ that Wu Xie and/or others have ‘domesticated’. Part of it is personal interpretation, because I feel like he’s hardly feral considering outside of crisis situations he’s probably one of the most chill characters in Daomu Biji. But it also feels… I don’t know dismissive? To be calling him that when Xiaoge being out of touch with most people on a personally involved or intimate level is the fruit of so many things outside of his control he’s been subjected to. He’s spent the better part of his life being subject to the whims of an unnamed entity that uses him as it sees fit for an agenda the reader only knows exists let alone what it entails. He’s seen people at their most vile, been used by people in the most vile ways, and that mixed with his sense of duty as Zhang Qiling and his age (though he was already jaded even as a teenager before he was ever made into Zhang Qiling) has made him into someone who wanders the world without any real connection to the people in it. For a very long time Xiaoge just ‘existed’ in the most literal sense, and just because as a result of that he doesn’t care about social niceties (why would you care about face and other people’s attempts to maintain the façade of it in a cutthroat business like tomb robbing?) or knows or cares how to maintain relationships doesn’t make him ‘feral’.

Plus calling him ‘domesticated’ veers a little too much into dehumanizing him as if he’s some animal Wu Xie (or someone else) tamed and that answers to his beck and call. As if the entire point of Xiaoge’s story arc isn’t that Wu Xie is the first person he can remember who ever persisted in forging a connection with Xiaoge until Xiaoge was forced to realize he cared and felt a connection with another human being. As if the conclusion of that wasn’t him making a gamble on Wu Xie’s sincerity that he would come and pick him up in ten year’s time, as if Xiaoge choosing to stay in Yucun with him and Pangzi isn’t Xiaoge reciprocating that sincerity with his own, making an active choice to stay and call somewhere ‘home’ for the first time in his life.

I might be looking at this too deeply but it rubs me the wrong way

Favorite picture

Hard so I’m not picking absolute favorites just ones I like. For book Xiaoge I like versions of him that look similar to this:

(Source)

And for drama Xiaoge there’s so many good shots of all the versions of him, so looking at the most recent version of him in the Misty Creed movie, this one shot is 10/10:

(Screenshot courtesy of @shaish)

Liu Sang

Disclaimer: Since this is tagged, apologies in advance to Liu Sang fans. I’ve tried to be as reasonable as possible about my opinions, but that being said be warned I don’t like him, so if you'd rather not see any negativity about him, feel free to skip

My first impression

My introduction to Liu Sang was through fandom, both fanon, fanfic, and discussions about him that I’d seen/read before I ever watched Reboot, since I started with the dramas. From how people talked about him I was pretty hyped about him I’m not gonna lie, and I definitely got the feeling he was an important character, so seeing how loved he was, I was looking forward to seeing him for the first time in canon.

Then once I started watching Reboot my first impression kind of yoyo-ed around. There was a little whiplash from the gap between how fandom presented him vs. how he acted at the beginning of Reboot towards Wu Xie and Pangzi especially, but I figured given people liked him he probably got better. And to be fair he did! On my first full watchthrough of Reboot I ended up feeling pretty neutral about him, not in a negative sense, but more like how I tend to view most of the more minor characters (like Xiao Bai for example since we’re talking about Reboot). I appreciated he got character development and was left with a general “yeah he’s alright” impression

My impression now

Full disclaimer, I’ve only read half of Restart the book so far, so I can’t fully talk about book Liu Sang beyond his appearances in the South Sea King’s tomb and the immediate aftermath of that. I can talk more about Reboot the drama Liu Sang though.

The problem with my general impression of Liu Sang now is that it’s very polluted by my interactions with his fans. I won’t get too much into that because this is supposed to be about Liu Sang the character and not the Liu Sang fandom (because yes there absolutely is a Liu Sang fandom that exists as a subset of the Daomu Biji fandom), but to keep it short, the version of Liu Sang that I find is pushed forward a lot by his fans is a version that doesn’t correspond to either the drama or book version of him, and is instead heavily steeped in widely accepted fanon to the point it’s almost a different character sometimes. And that widely accepted fanon version is something that his fans have the unfortunate habit of being very pushy and single-minded about, and it’s caused a number of issues and rifts within the wider Daomu Biji fandom.

Keep in mind this is all my personal feelings and doesn’t necessarily reflect on every single person who likes Liu Sang as a character, but to get back to the point, it means that my overall impression of Liu Sang now is a pretty negative one. Full transparency (if it wasn’t already obvious) I don’t like him, and while I do find what I’ve seen of the book version of him has the potential to interesting, and I can absolutely appreciate that, not to mention the genuine character arc he gets in the drama, because of how his fans act about him, he’ll never be a favorite 

Favorite thing about that character

In the book so far what I find most interesting about Liu Sang is the ambiguity of his past and of his intentions. He’s initially presented in a way that’s puzzling in hindsight, and while part of that I think you can put down to Restart being a weird time for Wu Xie in general, there’s little clues that makes you wonder what his deal is and that his role in the story might be more than meets the eye.

He’s introduced as a consultant Wu Erbai trusts the competence of, and Pangzi is immediately incensed by him in ways that are almost uncharacteristic. Because Pangzi (in the books at least), is someone who regularly puts up a loud front and throws jibes at people when he doesn’t trust them in a way that’s both testing but not too aggressive to instigate a conflict unless the other party is openly hostile. But with Liu Sang he’s immediately, and to Wu Xie without apparent reason, extremely hostile and vitriolic. You learn later that Pangzi has heard sinister rumors about Liu Sang, and you infer from there the vitriol is coming from Pangzi wanting to keep someone potentially nefarious and ill-intentioned to a sadistic degree away from his friends. But you also later see him again when he listens to thunder at the beach in front of the guesthouse Wu Xie and co. are staying in, and Wu Xie’s observations give you the impression there’s something deeper going on. In Wu Xie’s words, he doesn’t like him, but he’s intrigued by what he represents (and not gonna lie I am too)

Least favorite thing

Besides the egregious fanon version of him I’m not touching on because it’s not actually canon, ironically I find early drama Liu Sang to be worse than early book Liu Sang. To be fair I don’t know how he evolves in the book, but in that Liu Sang is more focused on his job, and apart from his one iffy moment in the car where he’s constantly trying to snap pictures of Xiaoge without his consent (to which both Wu Xie and Pangzi react with variations of yelling and kicking his seat in), he’s really not doing anything questionable, unless you count being in on Wu Erbai’s test as questionable. Drama Liu Sang however by this point not only throws jibes around at both Wu Xie and Pangzi, but uses Wu Xie’s terminal illness as a leverage point to mock him and almost gets Wu Xie and Pangzi killed because he thought it was funny. Which is honestly at odds with his book character that’s actually very professional, because none of that is professional

Favorite line/scene

Uhhh I don’t know that I have any? Maybe the part in Restart where he walks out into the thunderstorm to listen to the thunder and Wu Xie watches him until it triggers a moment of self-reflection. It’s not really about Liu Sang so much as it’s about Wu Xie and his headspace, but it’s a meaningful scene

Favorite interaction that character has with another

Ok I’m not gonna lie that one moment in the Reboot drama where Liu Sang tells Xiaoge he’s his biggest fan and Xiaoge of all people takes a moment to emote because he’s that confused and baffled by the direction the interaction is taking is hilarious

A character that I wish that character would interact with more

Maybe Xiao Bai? I haven’t seen them meet in the book, but arguably in both that and the drama especially both Liu Sang and Xiao Bai are mirrors of each other in terms of what they represent in relation to Xiaoge and Wu Xie respectively. Plus their interactions in the drama were wholesome

Another character from another fandom that reminds me of that character

I can’t think of one to be completely honest

A headcanon about that character

I’m going to call this headcanon for now since I’m not done Restart the book so I can’t be sure, but I like the idea of book Liu Sang just being an ornery bastard with his own nebulous agenda. Let the man be a bastard! Bastards can be interesting too! 

A song that reminds me of that character

I honestly can’t think of one right now

An unpopular opinion about that character

I could probably go into this for a hot minute but everything surrounding the sanitized fanon version of Liu Sang that’s both in my opinion inaccurate (despite being presented as accurate) and absolutely in your face unless you take extreme pains to block out pretty much everything to do with him. To be clear, what people like is their business, but unpopular opinions aren’t called that for nothing, and this entire post is meant to be about my feelings, not objective facts.

That being said, fanon Liu Sang to me is woobified to a level that completely erases any traces of his actual character to cater to a very specific view of him that’s as far as I can tell made to be palatable. His fans make a concentrated effort of pushing forward, in my experience sometimes aggressively, what’s essentially a sanitized version of him that glosses over or deliberately erases any unsavory aspects of his character.

Which to be clear I have no problems with, most of if not all the characters in Daomu Biji are fundamentally imperfect and flawed, some to the point where other less niche (in western fandom spaces anyway) fandoms would label them as ‘problematic’. It contributes to making the characters complex and more human in my opinion. Which is why it’s kind of sad that Liu Sang has been reduced to being the fandom’s (or part of the fandom’s) ‘poor little meow meow’ who’s suddenly inherently likable.

Again, if you like that then that’s your business. The only reason I have strong feelings about this in the first place is because Liu Sang fans have, in my experience, the bad habit of shoehorning that version of him into everything, and by that I mean to the point of encroaching on other people’s lanes in ways that are incredibly tone deaf. It also feeds into the general problem the Daomu Biji fandom as a whole has of assuming that everyone is ok with anything and everything, and doesn’t believe in personal boundaries. But anyway, the point here is that I don’t like fanon Liu Sang, and the only reason I’m talking about him is because of this ask

Favorite picture

I also don’t really have one

[wibzenadarksiderwithasoftheart]

WIP Wednesday

Not quite just a WIP

I've decided that this year's main fic project is the rewrite of Nanika, Daughter of the Force, and finally writing the next instalment of the series it was meant to be a part of.

This is one of my first SW fic and only my second longer fic, so… well, the original fic could use some updating.

So what I'm going to share with you is not just a WIP because it's also an existing work.

***

Anakin was surrounded by infinity. Above him was endless light stretched out blinding and warm, beneath him was the eternal darkness cold and frightening. Somehow, impossibly, he was standing in the middle, in the collision between the two, where the light faded and the darkness brightened, and the two sides touched and flowed together, merging.

Startled he noticed that he could feel his body, and he looked down at himself in alarm. He was whole, but it felt strange, unreal. Even the hand he had lost in the duel with Dooku was no longer missing, and it felt wrong.

Where was he? What hat kind of place was this? What had happened?

As the questions flashed through his mind, the answers came to him too, and he knew, but before the devastating truth could take hold of him, the silence was broken by a gentle voice.

"My child," it greeted him as he spun around, surprised that he was not alone. Astonished, he stared at the apparition that had revealed itself, standing in the unreal reality as if created by the shifting shadows and shimmering light. They was tall and neither female nor male, but somehow appeared to be both. The dazzling white skin seemed almost translucent and was covered in swirling ever-changing black glyphs and symbols, many of which were completely unfamiliar to him. The creature looked at him with cold, black eyes lacking irises and pupils, and somehow he knew that if he looked into them for too long, he would get completely lost in the blackness.

Gray veils waved around them in a non-existent wind, obscuring their shape, and two large wings of multicolored light spread out behind them, flickering and shimmering like a mirages in the desert on Tatooine. The light and darkness twisted around them in arcs of power, and where they came in contact, luminous multicolored sparks were created, swarming in the air like multi-colored fireflies. They was an awe-inspiring sight, frighting and overwhelming, but at the same time shooting and reassuring. In his mind their presence felt like a blazing firestorm and the cold embrace of a deep ocean.

They was raw untamed pure power, the Force, everything condensed into a being.

[k0na-core]

Okay, I have an AU in my head rn. Its Evil Kai centric obviously but I wanted to push his elemental power to the limits since it's very obvious that his limits are way over than what we've been shown. If he defeated a whole ice dragon at his weakest, imagine what he could do at his strongest.

Maybe it'll be in the same vain as Nya merging with the sea but not really. Its more of, Kai's powers goes to the point where anything related with fire can be controlled which doesn't sound like a lot but remember, I'm saying ANYTHING. I was gonna say lava is too but that's also in Cole's reign and I'm not really sure how to flesh that out yet. Maybe something like manipulating him into joining forces out of desperation or like a self sacrifice.

I'm planning this to come after Nya's merging with the sea and a way to delve into his grief better. So here's how his arc is planning to be:

Kai always protected any of his younger siblings, Lloyd or Nya or anyone really. After he failed to protect his own sister, his own blood, he thought himself as powerless. During possession, he knew there was a way to get Lloyd back but after Nya's presumed permanent merging, he knew he couldn't do anything. He doubted himself and his capabilities. Out of this self-loathing, he started training harder either out in the open or in his own room.

Everyone was grieving obviously but failed to see Kai eye-to-eye since he just kept it to himself: not wanting the others to see his weakness out of that obsession with being stronger. He couldn't grieve properly or get help or anything like that, bottling it up inside him and with that bottling up of his emotions he started getting more and more angry. Upset at himself, upset at Nya, upset at everyone because they did nothing.

Kai took a breather and thought on how he can't do his job if he's like this. So, with a heavy heart, he left despite him being an essential part of the team. The team stayed strong, even without them and now had to put in extra effort for the empty space left behind.

In his own life, Kai kept training however. He still wanted to be strong, feeling a need for revenge. Even if he saw Kalmaar being eaten and Wojira destroyed, bringing him with her. Kai essentially disappeared, cutting ties with his friends, family and just didn't talk to anyone. When the team try and look for him, they got reports of him being sighted doing ordinary things, as if he wanted to put the Ninja life behind.

Then, one night on the day of the departed, Kai sat by the sea like usual until he heard a voice, so beautiful and majestic and felt like home. It sounded too much like Nya. He thought he'd finally lost it until the waves responded to his heart. It sounded as if the sea was speaking to him. Be one, be with me, together. And then, silence.

This took too much of a toll on him, it's as if the spirit of his sister was haunting his mind, telling him to be stronger so he could be one iwth his element. He started training more, working harder, getting stronger until one day he decided to give his powers a try one more time. He denied himself of its use, years of associating elemental powers with the loss of his sister. Her powers being the exact reason she left. What came through was huge fires of unimaginable strength, it could've easily decimated an entire acre of greenery. And he didn't even try.

That thirst for power became more sinister, he wanted more, to be more. So he set out to find a way to truly be strong again. Until, he looked up and saw the sun. This glowing ball of hot fire, metal and gas that pulls everything in space around it, being so far away yet it's smothering heat could burn ones skin. Anything that comes close is instantly incinerated, untouched. If only he was as powerful as the sun, pure unfiltered power of fire. He didn't want to be one with it, no, he wanted to get a hold of its power.

And so, the crown for the King of the Sun was placed on his head.

Now, this is just the basic premise, some of it is not completely fleshed out but I wanted to know if any of yall would actually want content of this. Kai being like a fire emperor except the staff is his own mind. He also starts a cult at one point as well as raising an army. Not sure how but there must be some sort of religion in Ninjago that worships the sun, right? His arc is all gonna be about how not everyone can be strong for everyone all the time, not only giving himself a break and understanding that rest is vital but also, an obsession with being better or stronger can push yourself away from others. I wanted to make Lloyd the one to make him accept that not only because he is closest to him, but also because he is like his other younger sibling, making him realize that he pushed away the one he was supposed to protect.

[xhusu]

Analysis of the Rock Scene: idealisation and realisation

  AN: This is a purely personal point of view on this scene and on the characterisation of both Jellal and Erza. That is how I personally analyse them and, thus, comprehend this scene. I don’t see myself as an expert on those matters. I’m curious to hear your thoughts!

  It is in chapter 264: Only the Amount of Time Lost that the rock scene happens. The title itself guides us to an important thought on the matter. Erza and Jellal’s relationship is built on crossing paths and losing time. Fate is hard on them and the most time they spent together was as child slaves. It is unknown when they met exactly. In canon, we only know that Erza was banished at the age of 11 – I personally believe that they shared the same age; ergo, Jellal was 11 too.

We can suppose that the two children spent some years together at the time – my personal headcanon is two years as Erza arrived around the age of 9, this age was deduced by Mashima’s style when he draws children. When Erza saved Kagura who is 3 years younger than her, her appearance was similar to Sho and Millianna’s during the revolt, and the children were 9. It also coincides with Kagura’s ability to survive on her own at a young age, as she would have been 6. That is already quite young and unrealistic (I do not take August into account in this thought even if the man survived on his own since he was a mere infant).

Two years as children against eight where she was banished and pressured. They met sometime during those eight years at the Council while he was under the persona of Siegrain – it is said that she even attacked him at first, before believing the lie that he was Jellal’s twin. This is another important piece of information. It supposes that this lie was believable because she had no way to know if it was the truth or not. Therefore, Jellal never talked about his family before his enslavement to Erza – an important detail, that we will come back to later.

Of course, they meet in person, as themselves again, during the Tower of Heaven arc, the Nirvana arc and finally in this scene. Death is always the reason for their partings. In the ToH arc, Jellal fuses with Etherion and it is believed that he died doing so. In the Nirvana arc, he is arrested and it is stated that he will either have a life sentence or the death penalty. While I always thought that his sentence was open to interpretation, it is said in chapter 263 that he was indeed sentenced to death.

As I said, fate does not work on their side. Most of their relationship was built as children, from 9 to 11. Yet, during the rock scene, Erza is 19 and Jellal is 26. It had been 8 years for her, 15 for him.

The scene begins with a shot of a turtle passing by and complete silence. Erza is the one to speak first, asking about his memories. Jellal had retrograde and episodic amnesia. Retrograde amnesia means that he was unable to access his memories before the incident – here, his fusion with Etherion. Episodic amnesia means that he had access to his knowledge (semantic memory), but not his memories (episodic memory). We can suppose that the cause was damage to areas of his brain that are vital for memory processing, damage due to his fusion. Nonetheless, amnesia is a very traumatic experience. He started to regain his memory 6 years ago in prison (chapter 263), it supposes that it was a long process which is realistic. We actually tend to retrieve the oldest memories first rather than the recent ones. That is a sad concept, meaning that Jellal remembered his time as a slave in prison before his time as a “free” man, controlled and brainwashed by Ultear really (chapter 263; chapter 102)

The first question Erza asks when it comes to his memories is a question about Simon. To which he bluntly answers “I killed him” after a short pause. Followed by that, Erza avoids the subject and asks about Nirvana, to which Jellal answers that he also remembers all of that – “I remember it… as if it were a self I had forgotten. It is a strange feeling”. While the translation may be a little clumsy, the idea of a forgotten self is very important. Whose self is Jellal talking about? Erza get it right away as she asks “So I can think of you as your old self?” Jellal’s child self is the Jellal Erza knows the most, she spent more time with him than any other version of the man. He is the Jellal she misses the most and always did, since her banishment. But Jellal here associates this self with a forgotten entity. To Jellal, his child self is someone he no longer is, someone who disappeared years ago in the torture room when Zeref’s ghost, Ultear really, brainwashed him. The brainwashing was the disappearance of the Jellal Erza still misses. This Jellal does not exist anymore.

Nonetheless, Jellal confesses that her seeing him as his old self would make him happy. He knows that this person does not exist anymore, but he too misses how things were, how Erza was with him back then, that is what would make him happy.

Yet he adds that he would “understand if she wanted to keep her distance from him” after all that happened because to him it is the normal reaction. To avoid getting hurt, you avoid the source of the pain. Jellal is someone who does that all the time, he is a person who prefers to avoid people rather than hurt them – he does not give them the free will to avoid him or not, he is the one making the choice for them.

This comment is followed by silence. Erza is looking at him but he is looking at the ground. Not even once in this scene, Jellal will look at Erza. He is either looking at the ground or looking away. We turn our eyes to where our body wants to go and what our minds want to engage with, Jellal does not want to have this conversation but it is a needed one and he knows that. The last time they talked on a deep level was 15 years ago as children. It is also a way for him to ignore her presence, he is speaking on an emotional level, letting out things he never said. Looking away is a way to continue speaking without feeling overwhelmed, and Jellal is overwhelmed because it is the first time, he is talking to her about the core of his emotions.

He is sitting down and she is standing. He is avoiding eye contact and she is looking at him. She is the one asking the questions. Here Erza is dominating the discussion. Jellal put himself in the position of submission and demonstrates that he is defenceless. This is directly linked to what he says next.

While Erza is here to talk, Jellal came to let her take his life. It is also why he is so open to talk when he obviously does not want to. For him, it could be his last words. Though, we may wonder why Jellal believes in the first place that Erza would want to take revenge. Jellal went through one year of imprisonment where he was treated like the worst thing on Earth, starved and tortured for others’ fun. He internalised the fact that he deserves everything he went through. What he wants was never considered, not even once in his life. He was a child slave with no free will, he got controlled and fooled by someone he believed to be his friend, he was forced to live by Erza and he got taken out of prison by Ultear against his will. Here, Jellal believes that everyone hates him to some extent, and I would not be surprised if he believed that even Ultear does – as his existence is a reminder of what she did, increasing her guilt every time she sees him. Why would Erza be different? She told him to live with the guilt during the Nirvana arc, forcing him to live to pay for what he did. To him, Erza still resents what he did and he has every reason to believe so. After all, even if Ultear declared that she was the one who controlled him, Erza did not contradict him when he said that he killed Simon earlier.

Those are two important beliefs that Jellal internalised, one: everyone hates him to some extent, two: the only way to fix it is to let them take revenge (beating, starving, killing, etc…)

Erza then asks if he thinks that is what Simon would that. And Jellal does not answer. Truly, he cannot. As children, Simon was jealous of him because Erza loved him, and as adults, he ruined the man’s life by keeping him on this cursed island and finally killing him. In canon, we never see any positive interaction between Jellal and Simon. So why would Jellal believe that Simon would be different? Why would Simon be the only one who would not want to kill him?

Here, Erza points Jellal’s accomplishment: he created Crime Sorcière with Ultear and Meredy. I never liked how this scene make it sounds like it was only Jellal’s idea as I truly believe that it really was the three of them’s (and chapter 263 supports me on that). Crime Sorcière – at that point – had no guild master, they never needed one as they were only three. Though, here Erza believes that they set up this guild to right their wrongs. It is not exactly the case. Indeed, it is a key element of their work but as it was said in chapter 263:

Crime Soricère’s goal is to destroy Zeref’s heritage. Dark guilds, R-Systems, and even Eclipse as we learn later, all come from Zeref. Zeref never intended to create those things with obscure intents, it is quite the opposite; he only wanted to bring back the little brother he lost. But to Jellal, Ultear and Meredy, all they know is that Zeref created all of that, and that people are blinded by what he represents to them. The world sees Zeref as a dark mage with vile intentions while it was never true. The cultists from the R-System along with Grimoire Heart are proof of what Zeref’s heritage can do. That is what Crime Soricière is seeking, they want to put an end to it all. Sadly, it is quite an optimistic and unrealisable goal – pure and brave – but unreachable. They can do their best of course, but Jellal is unhealthily fixated on that because that is what keeps him going, it became his sole reason to exist but this dream is obviously quite childish (again, we’ll come back to this).

The darkness Jellal is speaking of is not really darkness. By darkness, he means hatred, indoctrination, brainwashing, selfishness, and everything people can go through that makes them do wrong. The lack of supervision, or help, when someone is so low in life. Ultear was desperate and felt abandoned, Meredy got indoctrinated by Ultear, and Jellal felt so alone, scared, and powerless that his hatred became an opening for Ultear to brainwash him – all of that could have been avoided if there was someone, just one person for them. The world is cruel, but we can help one another. It is in the darkness that we become the worst of ourselves, just like in real life. That is what darkness means here. In some way, darkness just means the bad side of humankind, and everyone can fall into this darkness.

Their cause is way more complex than what is just said. Of course, by trying all of that, helping people as they can, they do better and ‘repent’ but they never chose to do so just for that – at least Jellal never did. Because Jellal truly believes that he is irredeemable – there is not even one trace of selfishness in his actions, he is not doing it to repent, he’s doing it so no one ends up like him.

And he speaks his mind, he does not know anymore. At first, he did it to feel better because he was eaten by guilt and felt like he selfishly fled his redemption – his death sentence. And the more he tries, the more he understands that in fact, it is not helping. He does not feel like it is because he still feels miserable. After her sacrifice, Ultear is finally at peace, but Jellal does not even feel like he’s getting close to this peace. He keeps ruminating on the past, on actions he committed in an illusion of free will. Why isn’t it working after 6 years? What is wrong with me? The reason is simple for that. Jellal is a victim, he never was truly guilty of everything that happened in the ToH. If anything, Jellal is quite the scapegoat everyone needs. It is easier to blame one person than ourselves. And that is what everyone does. They are blaming Jellal, who was an 11 child at the time, who went through days – maybe a week or so – of torture. Anyone would have lost their mind but the boy kept fighting as he could, he never would have done what he did if it was not for Ultear’s brainwashing and control. The proof of his innocence is evident when we learn that the first thing he did once freed from Ultear was fuse with Etherion, giving his life to save Erza, their old friends, and her new friends he did not even know. Jellal will never be able to make up for his crimes because there are no crimes he needs to make up for.

But back then, no one knew about Ultear, and people blamed him. And like I said earlier, he internalised all of it, he believes that the world hates him and that he deserves this hatred. “If you are prone to blame yourself, you leave yourself open for manipulation” (Jonathan Decker), by hating himself, Jellal is prone to believe everything people say. And what people say to him is that he should just die.

This is the closest to Jellal’s heart we ever were and ever will be. Here he states his questionings, his pains and most importantly his suicidal thoughts. As we said before, as a child Jellal did not even speak about his family prior to his enslavement, so it is simple to imagine that he would not speak about his fears and pains. There are only two instances where he spoke this way. First, when he lied to Erza right before the Etherion blast, telling her that he was possessed by Zeref’s ghost – it was a lie (based on truth, as the best lies need to be somewhat true); second, right before his arrestation, as he confessed to Erza that he was scared of what would ensue.

Here, Jellal is the most honest and fragile he can be. He let out a pressure he has on his shoulders. He is lost, he is still the same as he was right after Nirvana – even after recollecting his memories. What will happen? What is he supposed to do? He has no idea, his dream is impersonal, and he is doing it for others, but as I said, this goal is also unreachable. No matter how hard he tries, it will never be enough. Because he cannot change the world alone. There is no catharsis possible here.

And since his childhood, the only thing seemingly reserved for him was death. Zeref’s ghost was a skull, to save Erza he had to sacrifice himself, everyone wants him dead since the ToH and that has not changed. At some point, he starts to believe it – because he is completely open to manipulation, and because if there is a thing, he hates more than darkness, it is himself.

When he lied to her back at the ToH, Erza shared his pain and hugged him. When he confessed his fear after defeating the Oracion Seis, Erza comforted him and promised to always be there for him. And when he finally tells her how he truly feels…

Jellal internalised two beliefs. One: that everyone hates him to some extent. Two: that the only way to fix it is through revenge. And once again, those two beliefs are solidified in his mind, but this time by the person he trusts and loves the most.

That is why it is the last time Jellal will be that honest and fragile, because right when he opens his heart, he is met with violence once more. You can clearly see how shocked he is. And quickly, his face changes. He accepts it, he even understands it, and probably he thinks “I deserve it.”

To Erza, it is not as deep as that. Truly, I believe that hearing him say all of this scares her. Because she believed that she would never see him, that he would die – and when fate, for once in their whole life, gives them the chance to meet again and reconcile, it is him that brings up the topic and states that even in the most peaceful moment, death is lurking. Erza too had suicidal tendencies, it happened during ToH as she was ready to sacrifice herself. But she learned from that and understood that “You don’t die for your friends, you live for them.” It was her new motto and she was categoric about this.

“Cowardly tripe” is a hard way to put it. Is suicide the easy way out? Is it really something only the weak do? But then again, the word “coward” is more than important. To Erza, deciding to die rather than fight is a cowardly act.

It is important to remember that even if all the events of ToH, Nirvana and now this, are happening the same year for Erza; for Jellal, it had been 7 years. Erza sees him not trying enough, while Jellal is just giving it up as he already fought alone for 6 years. But they do not even put it into perspective, they do not understand that there is an important missing point here. Because they are both overwhelmed.

He knows that she felt the same at some point – because of him. And that is why he defensively says “I’m not as strong as you!,” he isn’t even looking at her – he resembles a child getting lectured. As he wants to add something, “I am…” she cuts him off, continuing her tirade with a sudden movement that looks like she is ready to slap him once more.

“To fight to live one that is strength”, of course, it is. But Erza is off-topic. She is not talking to someone refusing a fight, she is talking to someone who is losing the fight, who fought for 6 years and is getting tired. And Jellal is not fighting anyone, Jellal is fighting suicidal thoughts and depression. When Erza had the same thoughts, she was stopped without violence, with cries and Natsu begging her to never do the same, she saw how important she was to others and she kept them close, she continued to be proved that everything was worth fighting for.

Jellal here is met by violence and screams, he is again held accountable. She does not try to understand the whys as it would be too scary and painful to her, as it would recall what she moved on to. Jellal is truly alone, he is surrounded by only two people, one of whom ruined his life. The world is against him. While Erza would have become a mage saint if she had died, Jellal’s death would be cheered on. She is actually projecting her fears on him, trying to help him the way she should have been helped – but it cannot work because even if the thoughts are the same, the reasons are nothing alike.

And here we arrive at the reason why I did this post and why I choose this title. Because like I said earlier, the Jellal Erza knows the most is the boy he used to be, and he is the one she misses. By saying “You aren’t the Jellal I used to know” she is holding him accountable for his disappearance, for this change, as if Jellal wasn’t going to change with time. Everyone lost something during those 7 years: reputation, titles, or just mere time. For Lucy, it is her father and for Erza, it is the Jellal she used to know. And it is difficult, even if Jellal is still alive, he is not whom he used to be. Erza need to grieve the little boy she once knew; she has every right to. But she cannot except Jellal to be the same as he used to be, it is impossible but most importantly, it is not fair.

“That Jellal was always doing his utmost to live” is also a powerful statement. Because it is not entirely true and that’s where Erza is biased. Erza refuses to hear Jellal having suicidal thoughts, she refuses to accept that he is weaker than her because she sees in him the idealised version of the boy he was.

To understand that, we need to go back to their childhood. Erza and the others were the scared kids while Jellal was not. He was the leader of the group, the one who would comfort and stand for them, ready to get punished for their sake. And they all admired him for that. He had this image of a protector, of a safe person they could fully trust, and he needed to keep this image because if he were to break it, it would also break their hopes and dreams. They kept going because of him, he is the one who gave Erza the strength to try to escape, who told her to not be scared. He is the one who stood for Sho while the boy was whimpering. And finally, he is the one who went for Erza when she was in danger and told her to fight because there was no other way to live.

The imagery of “fighting to live” comes directly from him and that is the reason why she cannot stand seeing him give up so easily. But Jellal was not whom they believed he was. Jellal was an 11-year-old boy, a mere child who could not let them see his weaknesses and flaws because it would break them. Jellal was scared but because of this image he built himself, he had no one to comfort him. And that self-destructive behaviour is what led to his doom.

In chapter 98, the truth is told. If Ultear brainwashed and controlled him so easily, it is because torture really did break him – he was scared and hurting, and no one came for him. The reason why Jellal ended up with his life ruined is that he desperately needed someone in dire times, and this someone had vile intent. Again, this is the darkness we talked about earlier. Nonetheless, all of that means one thing: Jellal has always been scared. He jolted and cried as he saw Erza’s mangled face, and he trembled when he was alone in the punishment room.

Jellal’s self-righteousness is what kept him going as a slave, he felt needed and useful – he had a goal of his own. Serving people while never being served, because of the image he built, is what made him who he was. But at the end of the day, Jellal needed to be helped, yet he had no one who could. He never spoke about his life prior his enslavement, he never talked about his emotions, he built himself his own armour – as a protector. Because as a protector, he needed to be strong, and that was his reason to not give up. Erza and the others were his strength and he cherished them so much that he could put himself in danger for them. Loving someone is putting their needs before our own, but putting their needs instead our own is unhealthy – but that is how the boy he used to be lived.

Jellal never was as strong as Erza thought he was. She only knew what he let her see, the image he built, the image of this strong and brave protector he deeply was not. Because he was a mere boy who just found a wicked way to keep going, to survive.

Of course, Jellal is not who he used to be. But he today is closer to who really was rather than this false image he gave them, and that is why Erza saying that Jellal is not the same hurt. Because he is not the same, but he’s not so far. “That Jellal was always doing his utmost to live” is true, but Jellal was not doing this for himself, he was doing that for them all. And he was ready to give his life for them (taking Sho’s and Erza’s place). Yet today, Millianna, Sho and Wally hate him, Simon is dead because of him, and Erza hit him as she understands that the boy she loves is in fact dead – or more precisely, that he never really existed.

And Jellal tells her: “You may be right.” Because it is the truth, he is not the boy she knew, because this boy was an illusion he entirely created. This boy was an idealised version of who he really was.

But the pain is too strong, the grief is clearly there. It is the death of the boy she held dear, and realisation struck. Again, her response to this is violence. She takes him by the collar, she swears, and he closes his eyes – ready to be hit. He never was going to defend himself, as he said earlier, but he finally reaches for her as they fall – to protect her.

Interestingly enough, Erza is part of the main cast which means that this chapter is focusing on her relationship with Jellal and not the other way around. And we can actually see it here, Jellal’s face is seen as a point of view, we are seeing him through Erza’s eyes. That is why the next panel isn’t what Jellal sees but Erza’s reaction.

Finally, Erza does not see the boy she used to know, this idealised version of an abused child. She realises what he truly is, the man he became. She must mourn the kid and accept the man so she can finally love him freely. “If you chose to love somebody, you’re choosing to love a different version every day, every month, every year. Because if you just love the original – you’re in love with somebody that doesn’t exist anymore” (Jonathan Decker), this quote works perfectly for Erza in this case. She cannot keep seeking someone Jellal no longer is.

The tenderness of Jellal’s words, the realisation of the hurting man he has become, and the softness of his actions are what calms her. Jellal believes that Erza is always right because he has always followed her lead since Nirvana. He accepted his sentence because of her, “live with the guilt” is something he still does to this day – he is just getting exhausted by such a mission. But Erza knows she is not, her behaviour from earlier proves it, so she explains herself. “I know I’m clumsy” is such an important detail to what she says. She did not apologize but she acknowledges that her behaviour is not the best. Apologizing should have been done though, as no matter the gender, you do not hit your friend – especially when they are sharing their suicidal thoughts.

“I live as strong as I can” is such an Erza line. Erza is a strong woman, an incredible warrior, but she meets times where she feels fragile and weak, where she cries and trembles. And that is what makes her human. She’s just trying her best and never giving up, and she just wishes he could do the same. Actually, Erza doesn’t see herself as that strong, she knows her own flaws and weakness, which is why she stated earlier that we don’t need to be strong to live – she believes to be the perfect example of that.

And he gets it. Because even if he is giving up, he fought for years alone. Yet now, he is not alone anymore. She is there, once again, and she forgave him.

When she says “I thought I’d never see you again” she finally breaks. That is why hearing his suicidal thoughts are so difficult for her. Because she never wanted to lose him, it is fate that kept taking him away from her. For him to say such things, means that death is now something he could bring to himself – while before, it was always against their will. Truly, Erza wants him to live, as selfish as it is, because she wants him by her side. Nothing more.

And he looks at her. He listens and understands. For 6 years, he believed her to be dead. “You don’t die for your friend; you live for them” but how can you if they are either dead or hates you? But now, they are together and he has no other excuses.

Seeing her crying and trembling is something he hates. Because she is crying because of him, again. It is why Natsu held such a grudge against him for so long. But this time, those tears are different, almost relieved. He probably does not understand it, and probably feels guilty just for seeing them. But Erza is not crying because he hurts her, she’s crying because he could have died – and she understands how lucky she is to have him here.

Erza is the one reaching for the kiss. She needs it. First, she touches him, then she approaches their faces. And he follows her lead because he loves her, because it is what he wants, and because she is crying and needs comfort.

Those two pages are beautiful. We see how they both evolved and grew, from childhood friends to enemies, from enemies to friends, and finally from friends to lovers. We see their struggles, their pains, everything they went through, yet here they are – still alive, safe and sound. As said before, this chapter is from Erza’s point of view, those are her thoughts. She is reminiscing everything and accepting little by little that the Jellal she knew has changed into the man she is about to kiss. He is not a stranger, but he is not a boy anymore. Here is her grieving whom he was and accepting who he is. And it is an important step to start loving him fully.

But Jellal cannot. There are too many reasons why he cannot. He does not see himself as deserving, he just made her angry and cry, he despises himself and wouldn’t want to taint her – she walks in the light, and he walks in the darkness. He came here to let her take her revenge, not kiss her. In kissing her he would find pleasure, and he believes that he does not deserve this.

That is when he lies. A childish lie; because Jellal still has an innocent side in him. He is not his child self anymore, but that doesn’t mean that he isn’t childish anymore. It is quite the opposite. His dream is childish: impersonal and unreachable, too optimistic. His vision of the world is simple: darkness and light, black and white. And finally: he lies like a child.

He looks to the side, he blushes, he sweats and trembles. His lie is ridiculous, out of nowhere and unbelievable. Who would get engaged as a criminal? And to whom? Jellal lies like a child, horribly bad.

They are both quite a mess. It is at this moment that Erza acknowledges that 7 years have passed. And then she looks at him and sees who he truly is. And gentle man, quite childish, quite shy, yet so brave and devoted. And she smiles oh so tenderly at him because she realises that she does not have to love who he used to be, there is plenty to love here.

When she asks this question, she is talking about herself and he knows it. He stutters as he thought she would have a different reaction – closer to the one from earlier, but he receives finally what he truly needs: warmth.

Finally, “then you must live on for that person’s sake” only includes her. If you cannot live for the others, live for me. If you will not do it for yourself, do it for me. Erza finally says the word he needed to hear. And his face, his soft expression says it all, he still is not looking at her as it is too difficult for him, but he smiles. The first and only smile he gives her in this scene.

To finish, I’ll talk about this page. It empathises with the fact that Erza knows that the fiancée thing is a lie.

And another important detail is “He’s always been a bad liar. At least, that part hasn’t changed.” As I said earlier Erza is grieving the old Jellal. We see her sigh and think “at least,” meaning that it is a comfort for her, she needed him to keep something from how he was, she needs to have something to hold on to, a familiarity in this man. And his behaviour, his horrible way of lying and his shy posture, reminded her of Jellal’s child self. We know that he never told her about his family because she believed in the Siegrain lie; if he had tried to lie about it back then, she would have known. This tells us a piece of sweet information about how things were for them back then, Jellal did try to lie to her as a child, but it never was about important things – if it was important, he would either say it or say nothing at all.

“It’s better this way. This is our answer.” Often, I see people taking those two sentences as Erza accepting their relationship status: nothing yet. But after all we have said, I believe it to be different. “It’s better this way”: Jellal being different from the idealised version of him she had. “This is our answer”: but we still love each other nonetheless.

[kariachi]

Some fic for directly after the end of the Rooters Arc, because damnit this shit was needed.

~~

Argit and Zed came to a stop seconds before Kevin did, as the portal between Earth and the Null Void closed behind the lot.  He closed his eyes, gave a deep sigh.

“It’s done,” he said plainly. Gwendolyn squeezed his hand while Argit smirked.

“Yep.”

“And we’re out,” he continued. Manny, Helen, and Alan all took a large step to the side, as Argit’s smirk grew toothy.

“Proctor’ll never know.”

For a brief moment Kevin’s lips quirked into a smirk of his own. He nodded. Dropped Gwendolyn’s hand and the smile. Turned around, opening his eyes and squaring his shoulders.

Ben was on the ground, clutching his nose, before anyone but Helen could blink.

“The fug, man-?!”

“The next time,” Kevin growled, glaring murder down at him, “I see you pulling that bullshit you did with Alien X again? Going out of your way to beat on people who can’t fight back? Trying to lie about it like I don't have eyes in my head? I’m breaking your fucking legs. Especially if it’s any of my people again. Got it?”

The group stood in silence for what felt like half an eternity as the threat sunk in for half of them. The honesty behind it, and the dawning realization that maybe there had been some things Servantis had changed. Only his former team and Argit were unaffected, watching like this was normal behavior from him.

“Go’ it,” Ben eventually answered, warily accepting the hand Kevin offered to pull him up. The glare mellowed to a disappointed glower as he did.

“You’re supposed to be better than me. Act like it.” Stepping back, Kevin shook his head, sighed, and turned his attention on Gwendolyn. She stood tense and wary, but didn’t shy away.

“Kevin-”

“Please,” he interrupted, the glower falling to just, pure disappointment, “explain why you brought them to the Rooters?” He gestured to Alan, Argit, Helen, and Manny as he said it. Gwendolyn squared her shoulders.

“We weren’t going to let you fight them on your own,” she said.

“I wanted you to keep Manny and Helen safe,” Kevin countered. “Argit and Alan can watch each other’s backs no problem but getting shit out to those two would’ve been too dangerous.”

“You really would trust Argit to watch somebody’s back,” Gwendolyn asked, arms folding over her chest as she raised a brow. Kevin’s frown deepened.

“More than I can trust any of you to listen to reason, apparently!” He threw his look around the crowd as he said it, shoulders getting tenser with every word. “It’s not like I made not wanting you all involved a secret!” Argit locked eyes with Gwendolyn and gestured emphatically Kevin's way. Alan, Helen, and Manny stood their ground.

“It was our fight too,” Alan said. “We weren’t going to just leave you to fight it for us, no matter what you said.”

“And look where it got you!” For all the world it looked like he had more to say to them, but instead, after a beat, he turned on Argit. “You know better, the fuck did you let them in for?!”

“Hey!” Rearing back, Argit gave him a sharp look, ears pinning back. “I didn’t 'let' anyone do shit! Red kicked me through the portal!”

“She did do that,” Helen confirmed, enough to get Kevin to round on Gwendolyn again.

“Why?!”

“He wouldn’t let us through,” she said. “And was acting like you were lost forever!”

“It’s the Null Void,” Argit pointed out, though nobody paid any mind, “it’s a reasonable assumption!”

“And you wanted him along that bad you couldn’t just shove him aside?!” That shut her up right quick. There was no way to talk yourself out of that logic trap, either you admit you hadn’t been thinking before you did the very dangerous thing, or you admit to having thought Argit would be helpful. Neither was anything Gwendolyn was liable to go with under anything less than pain of death, especially in the midst of an argument. Still, her silence was enough to tear the wind out of Kevin’s sails. He slumped with another sigh, walking over to drop his forehead against Argit’s.

“You’re the only person I can rely on…”

“Yeah,” Argit said, reaching up to fiddle with his hair. “It’s kinda pathetic.”

“Yeah….” With what was almost a whine and Zed nudging at his hand until she got pats, Kevin pulled back. “I was gonna get you four their heads if I didn’t die. Figured target practice, maybe you could put Billings’ skull on your desk as a warning to others…”

“Aww, Ravrsa.” Looking half-smitten, Argit gave his hair a gentle tug. “Maybe you can get some actual sleep now, huh? Buy this lot something to eat and get you someplace to nap?”

“That would be amazing.”

“Alright then.” Argit gave him a nod and a pat, then leaned around to face the rest of the group. “Alright you lot, pick a venue, preferably one with take-out or bench seating. And no, Benny, we’re not doing your fucking smoothie joint.”

In a smooth motion Zed and Kevin both started moving again, the little trio starting off ahead while the other regained their bearings. Gwendolyn ran up to join them, not going for Kevin’s hand again but sticking to his side, as the rest slowly began to follow after.

~

They ended up at a burger joint Manny liked, and had to haul Kevin, dead asleep, out of the building when they were done.

It'd been a major time.

[avoidingcertaindoom]

Trufulla; Prologue

This is the Beginning

Next Episode | Next Arc

Summary; An Acolyte shares the story of the loss of the gods...

[“When Trufulla was young, and it’s people were still carving the land to their needs, the deities that previously called it home found themselves at war, goaded by mortal praise and pleading”]

A small hand, fingers dyed a bloody red, pours sand to illustrate the words of the narrator, sparkling grains guided carefully into looming figures over a battlefield with a blazing pyre in the center

[“The gods that loved this land and each other fought valiantly against those who would covet it, even granting mortals massive feats of magic in order to protect themselves.”]

Another image of a mage, blasting a sort of ray of energy off the steep side of a cliff, is etched out in the sand, the energy coloured a deep red in contrast to the tawny gold scattering in its wake.

[“They were powerful and they were clever; but this was war. And what is a war without casualties?”] 

The next is a woman, silvery grains of sand scattered over her hair and shoulders like a starry veil, while the lower part of her image is a messy, scattered sprawl, as though the artist gave up halfway through creating it.

[“And oh, did the gods weep for their loss. Solange herself stumbled across the scene of the crime against them, and gave her report to the holy ones.”]

The hands are in focus again, casting more silver sand, before there is an abrupt cut to a hand with elegantly polished fingers holding a veil black as night with true stars sparking in the crumpled folds. A stain of gold edges a tear in it.

The owner of the hand comes in to focus, her head bowed with an expression of pure sorrow on her face. Her eyes are hidden in a curtain of bronze hair while black tears seep out of the corners.

“I was too late… we were too late.” Solange looks helplessly to a black skinned god with glistening scales accenting his skin. “Cyris and I, we tried to help, but she was already gone…”

There is a stunned silence while the others slowly process her words, and Adyriz, queen of nature, with her crown of ever shifting plants takes the veil, staring at it with shock while frost crests over her crown and fingers. “Oh Velyana, dear Velyana! It cannot be!” 

A stifled sob comes from another deity, Ulula, so heavily veiled it’s a wonder this was heard, and she covers her mouth. “We should’ve been with her, we should have. This dreadful war has taxed her so…”

“And it will tax us yet.” Stepping forward, Sous gently takes the veil from a distraught Adyriz, holding it up. “Solange, pray tell, how did you find her?”

Solange runs her hands through her waves, staining her hair with the golden ichor of the lost goddess’ blood. “She was weak… clutching at her neck, a vicious wound that would not close…” She fell against Cyris, clutching at the greyed hide of his cloak. “I didn’t know any such thing that could cause the likes of us to bleed so much. I couldn’t do anything but hold and watch while she became one with the dust.”

Cyris places a hand against Solange’s back while the goddess shakes and looks up to Sous, his slitted pupils flickering. “When last we spoke I warned her, talking of mortals making deals with forces they couldn’t contend with. I’ve seen too many with weapons humming with dark energy. I didn’t realize it was so bad a threat.”

“She shouldn’t have been alone like that,” Adyriz closed her eyes, the greenery of her very being withering into a dry, lifeless brown. “My darling, my sister, I failed her…”

“No.” Solange fell to her knees.

[“As goddess of knowledge, Solange knew a great many things.”]

“I failed her. I knew of the deals, dabbled in them.”

[“And the burden of the god’s loss weighed on her heavily.”]

“There’s so much mortals ask to learn, and I couldn’t say no. It’s all my fault.”

[“And so she confessed…”]

“Do what you will with me.” Her hair hid her face as she kneeled, penitient, waiting. “I can never forgive myself.”

There was a silence, alarm on the face of the assembled gods. Ulula’s clinging veils began to drip the salt water of her oceans, tears finally ready to fall, while sand whipped around the assembly.

Finally, Adyriz exhales, and the frost melts away while new growth finds its way through the woven thick of her hair. She holds out a hand to Sous, and he seems to get the message, repairing the veil with a touch (the stain becoming part of the fabric, a splash of gold to liven up the night) and giving it to her.

Stepping forward, Adyriz drapes the fabric over Solange instead, the night seeming to come to life as the black settles over her shining mane.

Adyriz; “What is done is done. You did all you could.” Kneeling, she rests her hands on Solange’s shoulders. “But Velyana understood the lure of knowledge well, she wouldn’t see you punished for following your nature.”

Solange looks up, the blackened tear tracks on her cheeks continuing to flow from where the rosy edges of the veil stopped below her eyes. "But she's gone… a-and I cannot bring her back."

Ulula; "And you would let it happen again?"

Solange; "No! I only mean…"

Adyriz; "We understand what you mean. And we should like to hope that you would learn from this, so that you can make it up to her memory by preventing another instance."

Sous nodded, his eyes passing up from Solange's distress to Cyris' distance. "That goes for you both. We're in this together, are we not?"

Cyris returned his gaze with a steely one of his own. "Of course."

Solange rises, gathering the cloak around herself self consciously, and Adyriz and Sous move away to discuss matters. Exchanging glances, Cyris and Solange to the same.

The scene moves over, back to the sand illustration, and red dyed fingers rest against the edge.

["And do you know what happened next?"]

The artist, gowned in a veil that is a weak imitation of Solange's glorious cloak of night, looks up with dull brown eyes. 

["Of course. The gods won, and the land that remained was shaped into their image and host to the remaining mortals, and the world moved on…"]

[vischys]

𝐥𝐞𝐠𝐚𝐜𝐲

The dying shriek of a Baphomet class demon resounded before the fiend dispersed in a gush of frost along with the conclusive click of the Yamato being sheathed.

“It was Dante who gave her to me, you know.”

The scion of Sparda tilted his head toward where his son was, a mere distance away from him, hand still posed over his shoulder as he had just sheathed his own blade, but his gaze was focusing on the dark-forged katana that the elder held against the left side of his hip.

“So I have surmised,” he responded with a slight arc upon his slender brow, a hint of curiosity over the sudden rise of the certain subject.

“I used to wonder why he did that, cause he said it's something very important to him yet he still gave it to me after that.” Nero dipped his head and hid his face, a blatant gesture of diffidence.

Emotions erupted in his chest, for whilst he did entertain some thoughts to himself about how his father's keepsake and subsequent extension of himself had ended in Nero's possession and deduced several scenarios, never had he ever obtained a confirmation to any of them. Thus now, discovering the actual event, especially the disclosure of his brother's intimate involvement in the matter, tightened his chest with an odd ilk of warmth. It delighted him to know that Dante used to cling, possibly sought it far and wide, for any memento, anything left behind as his sole comfort and reminder of Vergil's existence. The very existence he thought to have personally ended by his own blade.

“Then I figured it out that he must have known since then,” Nero's continuation thankfully forestalling him from submerging further into an emotional reverie. “About... well, the relation between us.” The latter was delivered in such a bashful discomfort that it couldn't but amuse him, to see his oisillon's attempt to come in terms with their state of being family.

“The thing is,” the fledgling's voice was stronger now, likely in an attempt to salvage his dignity over his newfound parent. “I just wish he didn't keep that detail from me.”

Ah, therein lies his actual perplexity. He fully turned toward the discomfited youth upon the realization. He must have been assailed by no end of whys in an attempt to comprehend the true circumstances concerning his seemingly dysfunctional kinship. Did he consider Dante to be cruel, mayhaps, for keeping such an intimate minutiae of his origin and only revealed it later, at the eve of his duel with the genocidal usurper who happened to be his long-lost progenitor and also the very source of not only the recent mayhem, but also his loss of arm and subsequent near death experience? Or did he realize that Dante, ever the sentimental sap he is, likely did so out of pure attempt to protect him from the painful truth? As in the proverb, "Ignorance is bliss." I wouldn't put it past my brother to be motivated by the latter.

“Would it change anything, had he not?”

Nero fell into silence as he visibly pondered, weighed, the outcome of the scenario of the past had he been aware of his parentage. The way his abashed expression hardened into a grim acceptance conveyed his wordless answer: No. Vergil would still carry out what he believed needed to be done and Nero would strive to fight and put an end to his genocidal crusade.

“Then it is pointless to dwell upon it,” he concluded with finality, turning around as a gesture for them to move forward, figuratively and literally.

“Nero,” he called back upon his shoulder when his son failed to heed his bidding. “We are here now.” He repeated what he once had told Dante, this time referring to the three of them and how despite their respective upbringing and past circumstances, they had found each other in eventuality and continuity. That is what matters.

“Yeah.” His son bounded toward him with notable lighter steps and countenance, his response a reenactment of his brother's. “Guess you're right.”

Peas in a pod these two are, the progenitor noted internally in amusement as he strode forward with his offspring in tow.