#my shoulder hurts too much to draw so i did some writing instead

[witherby]

we NEED more mermaid and damian content 😔🙏

(i dont know if ur accepting requests but maybe we could get a glimpse of Jon? its fine if not!! just a silly thought!!🫶🫶)

ANYWAYS I LOVE UR WRITING (and im new to ur blogs 😿)

I haven't read any of the comics... Jon is the kind one and Kon/Con is the bad boy with the attitude, right? I sure hope so, but if he isn't, then it's an AU, take it with a grain of salt! Haha.

Here's your "glimpse" of Jon 😈

Human!Damian x Mer!Reader, part 6!

The Masterlist is here!

You're awoken from your sleep by a familiar disturbance in the water.

Swish, swish, swish. Swish, swish, swish.

You bump harshly into the sides of your castle spire as you practically claw your way out, long tail unfurling as you get free, and you propel yourself eagerly towards the top floor where the opening to your tank is located. You're a blur in the water, stirring up the aquatic fauna and creating ripples from how fast you're going. You barely pay it any mind, too overjoyed by the presence of a person you didn't think you'd get to see again.

Your sense of time is shaky, especially after breaking your own routines in the wake of your separation from Damian, but you'd know that summons from anywhere. You could feel its disturbance from a mile away.

Did he miss you as much as you missed him? You hope so. Oh, you can't wait to be reunited!

You break the surface with a happy trill, arms extended to embrace your favorite caretaker, and flop over the lip of the tank with him in a tangle of limbs. Your arms encircle his shoulders, webbed fingers skittering against the familiar texture of the wetsuit, and you nuzzle into a head of black hair with a coo.

He's here! He's here, he's back, he's finally with you again! You're so happy —

"Ah — whoa! It worked! I can't believe it!"

You stiffen, eyes snapping open as you process that voice.

That's not what Damian sounds like.

When you take in more details, you come to understand the mistake you made faster and faster. The shoulders you're hugging are too broad. The hair you're nuzzling is too long. The wetsuit you're touching is a different color. The caretaker you're holding is too tall.

You draw back, chittering, and stare at soft, blue eyes, instead of your favorite glittering green.

"Hi!" The boy greets cheerfully. "I'm Jon Kent, your new primary — wait, no, waitwaitwaitwait!!"

You push yourself away from him and turn to get back into the water, but a pair of arms around your waist halts your progress. You snap your teeth threateningly, and the land creature at least has the decency to look chagrined. He's lucky you're too hungry and tired to put up much of a fight at the moment.

"Hey, I'm not gonna hurt you," he insists. "Look, look — I brought you a bucket of food, and I grabbed you some new puzzles and toys, and I'm in a wetsuit! Bruce told me you know what that word means, because you used to swim with Damian."

You elbow Jon roughly in the stomach. He groans, but continues to hold you. There's not enough of your tail currently in the water to slip away, either. You hiss, annoyed.

"Please," the boy insists, "give me one chance! We don't have to be best friends, but you need care. You're underweight, you're overtired, and my dad says you need those patches on your tail looked at. My job is to help. I just want to help you."

Jon tugs you close, mindful to stay out of swiping range of your claws, and rests his chin on top of your head.

"One swim. I won't touch you anymore, either. Let me at least pop into your tank to clean up the discarded food and straighten up the place, okay? Just one swim together. Deal?"

You squirm and wriggle, snapping your teeth a few more times to try and slip out of his grasp. Unfortunately, Jon is stronger than he looks, and you really are overtired. The fight doesn't last much longer before you're slumped against him and panting slightly.

"Please," he murmurs again, using your name to get your attention. The fins on the sides of your head twitch, and you finally weigh your options.

A long amount of time has passed. When you see Damian walking people through the tunnels under your tank, he no longer looks at you. You are exhausted, and bored, and lonely. You miss him terribly.

You have caretakers. They are not Damian, but there are still people that come to see you and maintain your home. Jon wants to be one of those people.

You do not have to like Jon, but he has offered to play with you and look after you like Damian once did. You don't want a new playmate, but...

Maybe...maybe it will be okay. Your heart yearns for Damian, but you can nurse that particular wound yourself while letting others tend to the physical injuries. You can allow someone else to occupy your time, as long as you don't get too attached lest they, too, get dragged away from you.

Was that the problem? Was Damian taken away because you wanted him to be your life partner? Would you be able to maintain a bond with someone else as long as you remained unmated?

Jon gently calls your name again. His grip has gone slack around your waist.

"Can we be friends? Or at least cordial?" He asks you, very patiently. "Pretty please? With sprinkles on — you're a mer, you can't have sprinkles — uhhh, with fish flakes on top?"

Hmm. This new caretaker is a little bit stupid, but he's got the spirit.

Fine.

Your shoulders slump, and you hum and turn towards the bucket he set a few feet away. Jon perks up immediately.

"Really!? Thank you! Thank you so much, oh, you have no idea what a relief this is!"

He lets you go and you shimmy back into the water, leaving your head above the surface as he grabs the bucket and holds it out to you.

"Here you go. If you want more, I brought two. You can have as much as you want, I promise!"

Your eyes dart towards the doors, where you watched Bruce take your favorite person away, where there is no sign of his return, then they flicker back to Jon, and you take the bucket.

Everything will be fine. It won't be the same, but it will be fine.

--

Damian makes his way stealthily through the halls. The other staff members know he's not supposed to get near your tank, and if they caught him now, the jig would be up.

Luckily for him, the other staff are all idiots, so when he finally makes it to the door and swipes his father's pilfered key, the lock clicks apart and he waltzes inside your enclosure with a grin.

"Princ —" he starts to call, only for the rest of his sentence to get caught in his throat.

He watches Jon Kent, the new caretaker, adjust his wetsuit and put a rebreather on, then jump into the water where you're spinning around in cheerful circles to play with him. He watches Jon carefully spin with you, then get dragged further into the tank with your hand on his wrist. He watches a gentle smile paint your face before you swim too far down for him to see you anymore.

It took months of work for Damian to build that level of trust with you. Months. And this moronic, gap-toothed, clumsy little plebian had come in and done it in two measly weeks? Was he that skilled of a Mer caretaker?

Damian leans against the wall when his knees threaten to buckle, feeling sick.

No. Maybe he wasn't an expert handler. Maybe you just liked Jon more.

Damian was aware of his decidedly "prickly" personality, and for the most part it suited him just fine. You certainly didn't seem to mind, especially after warming up to him. Was there any warm up at all, with Jon? Or did his winning smile and people-pleasing attitude charm you instantly?

Would you eventually give him some of your scales, too?

It doesn't matter, he thinks, quickly stumbling back out of the room with a thundering pulse and burning eyes. He's seen the joy on your face. His misguided sense of importance, of thinking you needed Damian in order to be happy, of thinking he meant just as much to you as you did to him, was clearly wrong.

You'll be just fine.

[monopersona]

Dragon Queen

Aria noticed her little brother out of the corner of her eye and frowned. “Kai, you can’t be the Dragon Queen too! There’s only one Dragon Queen, and that’s me!” Sylus's son wants to do everything his big sister does, much to Sylus's amusement.

Married + Parents Sylus x MC (Lili), Baby Aria and Kai :D, family, domestic fluff. 1034 words.

A/N: I had some fics lined up but this one just came to mind and I couldn't resist writing it. Enjoy!

You can read on ao3 here

Series master list here

Kai was always a quiet child.

Where Aria burned bright throughout every space she occupied, Kai lingered in the spaces she left behind. It had always been this way.

At three years old, he followed her everywhere. If Aria ran, Kai ran. If Aria climbed, Kai climbed. If Aria jumped, Kai jumped—even if his legs were too short to make it as far as hers. He never complained nor whined when he stumbled or fell behind. He just picked himself up and kept moving forward, chasing after his sister.

Aria, for all her fiery energy, had little patience for a shadow.

It was a sunny Saturday; sunlight streamed through the living room curtains, casting a golden glow over scattered toys and forgotten drawings. The house was rarely silent nowadays, filled instead with endless chatter and mischief of two young children. Sylus sat in his favorite armchair, a cup of coffee in hand, watching the scene unfold with quiet amusement.

Aria was in the middle of one of her elaborate adventures. Her white hair—an uncanny resemblance of her father’s—was tied up in a messy ponytail, and her brown eyes sparkled with determination. She had draped a blanket over her shoulders like a cape and brandished a wooden spoon as if it were a sword.

“I am the Dragon Queen!” she declared, her voice roaring with authority. “And I must protect my kingdom from the evil sorcerer!”

Kai sat quietly on the floor nearby, his dark hair—so like his mother’s—a mess, and his crimson eyes—a mirror of Sylus’s—wide with admiration. He clutched a stuffed bear in his tiny hands, but his attention was entirely on Aria. Without a word, he stood up, dragging the blanket he had been sitting on behind him. He tried to mimic her stance. His face scrunched in concentration as he held up a plastic spoon near her, his bear left forgotten.

Aria noticed him out of the corner of her eye and frowned, dropping her spoon. “Kai, you can’t be the Dragon Queen too! There’s only one Dragon Queen, and that’s me!”

Kai didn’t respond, his expression unwavering as he continued to mirror her movements. When Aria stomped her foot, he stomped his. When she swung her “sword,” he did the same, though his movements were clumsier and more rooted in admiration than frustration.

Sylus chuckled softly as he set his coffee cup on the side table. He had always found it endearing how Kai idolized his older sister. From the moment Kai had learned to crawl, he had always wanted to be with her so much that Lili had to take him away and distract him so their daughter could have some time to herself. Sylus couldn’t help but find it heartwarming.

Aria, on the other hand, was growing increasingly exasperated. She turned to Kai, hands on her hips. “Kai, you’re ruining my game! Go play something else!”

Kai’s lower lip trembled, but he didn’t cry. Instead, he simply sat down on the floor with the plastic spoon clutched tightly to his chest. His crimson eyes were downcast, and for a moment he looked so small and vulnerable that Sylus’s heart almost hurt.

Aria hesitated, and Sylus could tell she was starting to feel guilty. She glanced at him, and he silently nodded, urging her to make things right. With a sigh, she kneeled beside Kai.

“Okay, fine,” she tells him in a softer tone now. “You can be the Dragon Prince. But you have to do what I say, got it?”

Kai’s face lit up as he nodded eagerly, scrambling to his feet. Aria rolled her eyes but couldn’t hide the small smile tugging at her lips. She handed him a toy shield, and together they resumed their game as a team.

Despite her annoyance, Aria never truly pushed Kai away. Sure, there were times when fights occurred in the house between the two (either Aria throws a tantrum because she is annoyed or Kai is the one that has a tantrum because he can’t be with his sister—both situations where one of their parents has to step in and set some boundaries). She would sigh, roll her eyes, and pretend she didn’t care—but she always made space for him whenever she had the capacity for it. If she ran ahead, she would slow down just enough for him to catch up. If she found something interesting, she would talk about it loud enough for him to hear even if she never addressed him directly.

And if Kai ever truly fell behind, she was the first to turn back. Sylus had seen it before—Aria’s sharp, brown eyes scanning for her little brother, her body going rigid with worry. She would never admit it, but she never really wanted to leave him behind—not most of the time, anyway. Kai knew this too.

So even when she called him a copycat or that he’s “cramping her style,” even when she grumbled about him getting in the way, Kai never stopped following her. Lili and Sylus still try to teach Kai about boundaries, and hopefully as he gets older, he will grow out of this phase. But for now, when it’s harmless, he found it amusing.

Sylus leaned back in his chair, a contented smile gracing his face. He glanced at Lili, who had entered the room with her own cup of tea. “At it again, are they?”

Sylus nodded, his gaze lingering on the children. “She’ll figure it out eventually,” he said softly. Lili laughed, sitting down on the sofa next to him. “She already has. She just doesn’t know it yet.”

As the morning wore on, the sounds of laughter and playful bickering filled the house. Sylus and Lili watched their children, hearts swelling with love and joy. Aria, with her fiery spirit and boundless imagination, had always been force to be reckoned with even at the tender age of seven. And Kai, quiet but steadfast, was her perfect counterpart. A gentle soul who found joy in simply being near his sister.

In that moment, Sylus couldn’t imagine a life without them. There was nowhere else he’d rather be.

A/N: What did you guys think? Do let me know, as I'm very open to feedback. I do hope you enjoyed it, though! Thank you for reading and I hope you have a pleasant day/night wherever you are.

If you are a reader on ao3, please consider giving this a kudos and leaving me your thoughts! They're very much appreciated as I want to get better at writing.

[alessiathepirate]

Until Dawn

A SMALL JOY: Josh Washington x fem!reader

Summary: Taking Dr Hill's advice, Josh and his lover go up to the lodge and look through all the things his sisters had left behind - after an interesting find she does her best to take his mind off the sadness he's experiencing.

Notes: English isn't my first language. I apologize for any mistake I may have made while I wrote this short story.

To be honest, Until Dawn is still one of my favourite horror games. Thanks to the game I found my favourite YouTube channel, my English improved a lot because I wanted to understand every word, and I have a huge crush on Rami Malek to this very day. Me and my friends were obsessed with him the time the game came out, and soon started to watch more of his work together.

Josh Washington was one of my first fictional crushes, I could defend him for years without getting tired and I drew him so many times I actually learned how to draw portraits correctly.

There's a gameplay I like to rewatch every year, because of the great memories I have connected to it. I always fall in love with Josh Washington once again - and thanks to that tradition, I started to write for him as well.

Warnings: a bit of swearing, mentioned depression and loss, mentioning the Washington sisters' disappearance and/or death

•••

° "(...) We would come up in the summer and we would have the best time. The whole family was there - mom, dad, my sisters. It was some serious competition out there on the big lawn... I don't know. Can't go back. New reality." °

She listens carefully, noticing every little pitch or drop in Josh's voice as he speaks - and as he puts down the baseball bat all she can think about is grabbing him and pulling him into a hug, a tight one, the kind that is both loving and comforting. She watches him, she examines his every little move and her heart aches every single time she finds a new sign of sadness.

She hates it.

She hates that look on his face. She hates that change in his voice. She hates that he feels alone. She hates that the whole case is making him go crazy. She hates that nothing is certain and he can't even grieve.

She hates that he had to change so much; that he had to become this depressed because of some stupid, messed up prank their friends had decided to pull on his sister.

He didn't deserve any of it. He doesn't deserve any of it. None of the Washington kids do.

Coming up here was already hard - back to the mountain where Hannah and Beth disappeared, where they played around like stupid teenagers do. Dr Hill said it's for the best - Josh needs some closure, some proof that he needs to slowly start to move on. She thinks it's bullshit - Josh thinks so too. It won't be easy to put yourself through something like this.

But regardless, they came. They are here now, looking through the rooms, the basement...

The memories are hurting her - and if she as a friend is hurting this badly than Josh must suffer a lot.

"Teach me." the words suddenly burst out before she can stop them, wanting to make Josh concentrate on something else - not wanting him to get lost in his own mind.

"What?" the question is loud in the basement.

"Teach me how to play." she continues on, feeling unsure like she tries to cross a very thin and sensitive line. "I've never played baseball before."

"It's been a while since I did so." Josh starts to explain, his gaze falling on the bat he put down. "You really- want to?"

She steps closer to him slowly, carefully, as if she tries to get close to a very scared and wounded animal. She touches his arm, her fingers hold him as her thumb brushes along his skin in an up and down motion. She leans towards him, her face touching his shoulder as she presses a kiss to the area what isn't covered by his t-shirt.

"You don't have to if you don't want to." she whispers. "I know it's not-" she holds that thought and says something else instead: "I just haven't seen you play yet and I want to join in."

Josh looks at her over his shoulder, he looks at her as she tries to smile even if her eyes stay sad. He watches her like she's the only thing he has left, like she's the only person who matters anymore. He looks at her and feels something break inside, realizing that she really is the only one who he has.

"All right." he says and when he sees her eyes change a tiny bit - showing a bit of happiness - he feels his heart flutter. It makes him feel better, it makes him want to touch her too, putting his hand over hers - over the one which is still clinging onto his arm. "As long as you promise me you won't accidentally hit yourself with the bat."

And there's what he wanted to see - her expression changes, playful offence takes the sadness' place and she gently hits his back.

"Hey! I wouldn't do that."

"You totally wouldn't." his sarcasm earns him another punch and despite the situation and the place, he feels like he got something back.

The last time they bickered like this was half a year ago, the night his sisters had disappeared. They drank and played around until they started to make out in the kitchen, only stopping when Chris stepped inside the room wanting some booze for himself.

As they climb the stairs hand in hand they both feel somewhat relieved. They found a kind of small joy, a bit of happiness - something what they had left here months ago. Josh chuckles when she trips and almost falls, she feels excited as he hands her the baseball bat outside.

"Since there're only the two of us here, I think it's best I teach you how to hit the ball and not yourself."

"I'm not that clumsy Mister!" she tries to sound offended, but it doesn't work.

"I know you too well, girl; and I don't trust you with that at all."

Josh stands behind her, keeping a gentle hold on both of her arms as he explains how to stand and how to hold the bat. She chuckles when he playfully tickles her and this time she doesn't feel guilty about laughing. Before he lets go of her to throw the ball, he gives her a short hug and presses a kiss into the crook of her neck.

She misses the first time...

and the second time; and the third time...

She misses and Josh laughs and she thinks it's the most beautiful sight she's ever seen.

They change positions after a while and no matter how she throws, Josh never misses - not even once. He hits the ball every single time and it flies and lands far away.

She has the feeling that in that very moment, doing that very thing they both feel somewhat complete. She feels like Josh's smiles are honest, his laughs are honest and she forgets about Dr Hill and his stupid advice.

"No shit you like to play it." she says after a while as the both of them are lying in the grass, her head resting on Josh's arm. "It is fun."

"Believe me darling, it is much more fun when you actually hit the ball." his voice has a teasing edge to it and for a moment she thinks about turning towards him and hitting him playfully once again - but she doesn't.

Instead - hoping to get something more, trying to get a kind of good change out of him, she says: "I will, after a bit more training. You'll teach me, I have no doubt about that."

Josh turns towards her, gently touching her face and playing with her hair. She tries to read his face and she realizes that he understands what she's playing at. She wonders if he'll get upset or sad... but she gets an answer pretty quickly.

"I will - of course I will. You'll be the best player in this damn country."

The muscles in her face twitch and she feels like she'll cry. It's been so long, so long since Josh smiled and laughed that now seeing it again feels like a whole new experience. She doesn't want to leave the place or the moment. It's too nice.

"Better than you?"

"Way better." he promises and lets go of the lock of hair he's been playing with. "I love you, you know that, right?"

She feels frozen at the question and starts to wonder where it's coming from. The doubt in his voice, the softness in his eyes... He deserves the world, he deserves everything in it and he deserves to know that he does enough for her - she feels his love and every single emotion and action it causes.

"Of course I do... I know." she promises. "I love you too. And I'm here for you, no matter what."

It's her turn to lean in and she kisses him, making sure the kiss is soft and calm. She wants to make him feel whole and safe. She wants him to be happy.

They lay back down and stay quiet for a bit, enjoying the sunlight and the light summer breeze. She feels like she could melt. Melt into the feeling and moment forever, without ever getting bored.

"You know," Josh starts suddenly, his voice soft and unsure. "it's been a while since I've taken you out on a date."

"It's fine, Josh. These past months weren't exactly the best."

"No... I know." for a few moments he stays silent, not knowing what to say. "All I want to say is I have a few movies here we can watch and we can have a nice time before we-"

"-go back to them." she finishes, understanding what he means.

Them. All the friends, all the family members and pals who show an annoying amount of pity. All of those people who try to comfort Josh when doesn't want to do anything with them. The people who make him feel worse than better.

"I'd love that." she smiles at him as he turns towards him and hugs him. "But no horror."

"No horror." Josh nods.

It wouldn't be good for either of them.

She kisses his shoulder as they get going, stretching their muscles, before climbing the stairs to go and find the movies Josh was talking about.

As they look over his DVDs while hugging, all she can think about is how unfair life is, because Josh doesn't deserve any of the problems life threw at him...

[blackwall-my-tiny-husband]

Thursday Bangers 6/4

Lyric game started and hosted by @woundedsoul12 this week

Rules: Free from a blurb or drawing based on the weekly lyrics prompt. It doesn't have to include the prompt just whatever you're inspired to write, write it! Then tag some friends so they can play as well. It doesn't have to be finished on Thursday just post it whenever you can (you have a whole week between Thursdays)

Baby I'm so into you // Darling, if you only knew // All the things that flow through my mind - Fantasy by Mariah Carey

Very Alternate Universe for this fic c:

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

The air was cold in the little village. Zalan breathed it in although his chest still felt tight and locked up. Emmrich would probably say it was stress from fighting, and killing, gods. Viago would tell him it was emotions better packed away where they had no control. Lucanis would say it was everything finally catching up to him, it had been too much to put on someone, and the first talon would know.

Zalan exhaled past the feeling and drank, the liquid warm going down his throat and he looked up with a tired smile as Harding approached. He held out a hand from his spot in the back of some dark little bar some place in southern Tevinter. She rolled her eyes at him but accepted the hand and slid into his tiny booth.

“Isn’t it a little early to be drinking?” She teased setting her elbows on the table and her chin in her hands, staring pointedly at him and his flask.

“Couldn’t sleep.” He explained, sleep had been hard to come by after killing Elgernan and ruining Levellan’s chances of being with Solas. He shouldn’t have let his temper get the better of him and he should have reasoned with the Dread Wolf instead of choosing to fight the elf. He’d seen the inquisitor just off to the side, eyes wide and pleading and still chosen to lunge for Solas. It had been a mistake, he should have talked with him.

“You have to let it go.” She told him, looking sympathetic. But the look on the woman’s face would haunt him, he’d taken her love from her. He wouldn’t be able to forget it. It swirled with all the other regrets he still held. He’d escaped the prison of Solas’ design but his choices plagued him.

“Lace…” He said her name like a drowning man. He looked up at her soft eyes, she hadn’t moved away, and set a hand on his shoulder so lightly he almost couldn’t feel it.

“It just takes time.” She told him with a quiet sigh. He felt his heart clench at the words. How many times had he heard them after getting back from the prison, after finishing the job Viago had assigned him all those months ago? Too many and he didn’t think they were right. How could they be? Time wouldn’t make him feel better. He nodded though, automatically despite the bile raising in his throat.

Harding leaned away from him and he took another swig of the drink. Capping the flask and tucking it back in his shirt, he looked to the scout.

“Will you ever forgive me?” He asked. The inquisitor and her had been close. He almost wanted to ask the elf the same question but feared the answer would be yes she would forgive him.

“You know I already did. I could never have blamed you.” Her voice was soft and she leaned back over, wrapping her arms around the one arm she could reach. He desperately wanted to press his nose into her hair, he wanted to smell the soft earthy scents that lingered there. He wanted to tell her how much he loved her and all the things he’d wanted to tell her since offering to spend the night with her to keep away nightmares. He had so much Lace Harding flowing through his head that it swam with her.

But he couldn’t. It would hurt him too much to say any of those things out loud now. He tipped the flask- when had that gotten back into his hand- and drained the contents.

Familiar voices were coming unexpectedly from the doorway to the little tavern and he blinked and tried to look over. He thought he succeeded but it was blurry and hard to make out. Harding was leaning away from him again and the panic was pressing in his chest at her withdrawal. She couldn’t leave him, not yet.

But then Davrin was standing in front of his table, Bellara beside him. Bellara let out a little gasp but Zalan ignored her, fumbling with the flask. He shook it desperately but there wasn’t even a splash left. Davrin scooted into the booth beside him while Bellara snatched the flask from his hand bringing it to her nose to sniff. Davrin was in his face, Harding was standing near Bellara in front of the booth looking sad.

“You can’t keep living this fantasy. You know what you have to do.” She said and Zalan could feel his heart break again. Bellara made a noise and Davrin who was trying to get a good look at the crow’s eyes glanced over his shoulder at her.

“It’s Lyrium.” Her eyes were wide and horrified.

“No wonder he looks so bad- he’s been taking that.” Davrin turned back to zalan with a sadness in his eyes, “Come on let’s get you back to the lighthouse.”

But Zalan wasn’t looking at him and instead at the space between the two,

“Harding…” It was a plea, and the scout sadly shook her head. Bellara looked at him then, pulling her attention away from the container in her hands.

“Is that why you disappeared after the gods? Why you’re taking lyrium?” Davrin asked while Bellara looked so sad, eyes shiny with tears, but Zalan was trying to look past her at where Harding had been. Only it was so blurry and he couldn’t tell where she was. Which made more of the panic set in. He needed more lyrium, that would fix it.

“We all miss her Zalan. But she wouldn’t want you doing this to yourself. She’d want you to keep living.” Bellara’s voice wobbled and she looked like maybe she wanted to cry. Zalan couldn’t see the scout at all now and the world was blurry, from the effects of the drug or because of the tears welling up in his eyes he wasn’t sure.

“I just wanted to see her again.” It was mumbled, voice broken. It was hard to see, Davrin might have been trying to wrestle him out of the booth and into his arms but he was numb to it. But it didn’t matter, Lace Harding had died on tearstone, sacrificing herself so everyone could live, and wherever the two elves took him she’d still be dead. Their help wouldn’t fix that.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Hi welcome to my Worst Case Scenerio AU (jazz hands)

This fic is dedicated to @woundedsoul12 you made me sad so I had to be sad too

Zalan decided since Harding got hurt in solas’ ritual because he took her this time he’d send her to the B team at tearstone to keep her far away from the main fight. This worked super well (definitely) and she died. Because she died he went full scorched earth and chose to fight solas at the end despite Levellan’s pleas because he wanted to blame solas. He feels guilty for this after and leaves the team and antiva after the final battle.

I did play this scenerio out in one of my playthroughs hoping that I’d get some ending credits for beating the game with my LI dead but sadly no (I was really hoping for that flower photo but like the love interest flower wilted or cut so I did it myself)

Gently no pressure tagging (most of you have probably done this but just in case) @davrinsleftpectoral @jukkaricity @chaosherald @hedwigoprah @therivercrow @falcatas @kabsey @therivercrow

[lostinwildflowers]

A Little Dirt Never Hurt Anyone, Right?

Sierra Six x Reader

Summary: You can't wait to show Six what you've worked on for the majority of your day, but he's not on the same page as you.

Word Count: 5.5K

Warnings: Some big girl angst, harsh language/swearing, Six MAYBE is a little OOC, hurt/comfort

A/N: Here is another part of The Gray Scale, a collection series that I'm writing when I feel like it! I let the angst call to me on this one, I really needed to hurt my feelings... GET THIS MAN ON HIS KNEES OKAY - Birch<3

Wind chimes dancing lightly in the late afternoon breeze draw your attention to the front porch. The white farmhouse door is propped open to let in fresh air while you work in the kitchen, the cool air circulating around the house.

You did keep the screen door closed, however, as you didn't want to endlessly chase down bugs and whatever bird flew in. A quick glance at the clock hanging on the wall tells you it's just after 5 o'clock.

Six should be home soon.

The thought brings a smile to your face, and right on cue, you can see Six's old Chevy truck pulling up the driveway. Gravel spits and pops underneath the tires as you catch sight of his left arm hanging out of the window.

It was too nice of an afternoon not to enjoy the breeze, after all. Your smile widens as you stop working at the sight of the truck halting in front of the house, and you can just barely hear the engine cut out a moment later.

The truck is a bit rusty and has some chipped spots of paint, but every day you watch it successfully take Six down the road to the cattle farmer next door. The older gentleman needed help maintaining the farm, and he paid Six handsomely for keeping up with the farm equipment, moving the cows, and completing any odd jobs that always needed to be done.

It wasn't much, but the farmer was nice, and so was his wife. The farmer had immediately taken a liking to the former assassin, and the wife enjoyed sharing her recipes with you. They were kind to keep Six employed, and for the moment, life was okay after escaping the CIA with Claire in tow.

The dull sound of the truck door being shoved closed draws your attention, and you notice Six had shut it a little uncharacteristically hard. It makes you blink in wonder, your smile faltering ever so slightly as you try to brush it off.

Instead, you focus on the vegetables set out on the counter in front of you - freshly picked from your garden, and some still dotted with bits of dirt and grime from the enriched soil.

You've gathered up carrots, zucchinis, and squash from your garden, gently washing each in the sink to rid them of their dirt. Just as you finish setting the final squash out to dry, you can hear the screen door at the front of the house snap shut.

You have to swivel your head to look over your shoulder, but you can see Six's tired figure hunched over in the doorway. Hurriedly, you set the vegetable down and duck out of the kitchen to make your way over to him.

With your smile regaining its joy, you catch the edge of his gaze and hum out, "Welcome home, Six." Your head cocks cheerfully at the end of your words, your eyes flitting over him out of habit.

His blonde hair is tucked under one of his ball caps, holding the thick locks out of his eyes. There is some dirt on his blue jeans and boots, but nothing that seems out of the ordinary.

The bearded blonde hums in acknowledgement of your greeting, setting his work boots on the bottom shelf to avoid tracking in too much dirt. The simple response isn't unusual, so you pick up the slack as you step to the side and ask, "How was work on the farm today?"

Six lets a groan slide from his lips as he shucks off his jacket, the thick muscles in his arms flexing tenderly from throwing bales of straw all day. His back faces you for a moment as he turns to hang the jacket up, but he grunts lowly, "Just another Thursday on the farm."

There's a bit of a bite to his voice, and it takes you aback slightly as you watch him turn to face you. When you regain eye contact with him, you can see the worn-out look on his face. Maybe it was just a long day.

You try to push the thought out of your mind and hike a thumb over your shoulder to motion to the kitchen behind you, "Do you want to see what I've been working on today? I think it's pretty cool."

Six raises his brows in interest and offers a tight-lipped smile as he shrugs, "Sure, Y/n/n." The nickname slides off his lips with ease, and it makes your heart flutter in your chest as you glance away.

Shyly, you grab hold of his bicep and playfully tug him toward the kitchen, a small skip in your step. You lead him over to the counter where your haul of vegetables awaits, and you look over them proudly before glancing up at Six.

When your (colored) eyes land on the bearded blonde, his blue gaze is trained on the tiled floor near your back door, which is also propped open. The screen door there allows him to see the few steps on the backside of the house that lead out to your garden.

But there, on the tiles just inside the door, are a few small clumps of drying mud. And before you can notice what he's looking at, you hear him mutter quietly, "You didn't clean up that mud?"

At the sound of his voice, you follow his gaze to the ground, and a pang of bashful guilt washes over you as you slowly release his arm. You scratch at your cheek as you reply a little less enthusiastically, "Not yet, I was just finishing up cleaning these vegetables, and then I was going to mop."

You chuckle awkwardly as you motion to the dirty ground, "I guess I lost track of time for a little bit." Six doesn't respond, but glances from the floor to you, and then back to the floor.

Then, his gaze narrows as his voice turns a bit sharper, and he pushes, "Is that my jacket?" On a chair next to the back door, one of Six's black and red tracksuit jackets lies crumpled over on itself. The arms of the jacket are caked with drying bits of mud and pieces of shredded weeds, while the body of it is smeared with dust and grime.

It was truly soiled.

A sharper pang of guilt floods over you as your gaze settles on the jacket, and you instinctively wrap one around around yourself. You wince slightly as your fingers rub at the skin on your opposite arm, and you shrug defeatedly before mumbling, "Y-yeah, it was a little windy earlier when I was weeding, so I just threw it on for a bit."

You look back at Six just in time to see his jaw clench and his eyes flit from the dirty jacket back to you. There's a mild annoyance on his features, his brows knit into a slight frown. But he lets out a silent sigh through his nose and nods once to himself, wiping at his face.

You can't quite make out the mumble he lets out under his breath, but you try to brush it off as you turn to the counter in front of you. With a smile beginning to curl on your lips again, you grab one of the zucchinis that had been drying, and you offer it to him proudly.

The bearded blonde looks at the vegetable in your hand and lets his eyes flutter closed before taking a deep breath. A moment later, he blows it out of his mouth before opening his eyes and glancing sharply at you, grunts, "This is why you tracked in all of that dirt and ruined my last clean tracksuit?"

His words come out a bit harsh, and you pull the vegetable back toward your chest with a frown of your own. You blink up at him in slight confusion and reply, "Well, I told you this morning before you left that I would be harvesting a bunch of stuff from the garden today. This was one of the ripe ones."

Six swallows thickly and points toward the chair, huffing, "So you couldn't dirty up your own jacket?" He stares at you for a second before pulling his gaze away, muttering a quiet, "Geeze," under his breath.

Guilt seems to eat at you now, and you take a step away from the bearded blonde. You lower the vegetable and shakily set it on the counter before mumbling, "Look, I'm sorry, okay? I can run a load of laundry now and throw it in."

While you speak, Six skirts around you and walks over to the chair, avoiding the dirt on the ground. He pauses next to the chair and calls over his shoulder, "No, I think you've done enough for the house today."

You blink at him silently as hurt washes over you. That was a bit uncalled for. A lump forms in the back of your throat, and you glance around as you try to come up with something to say, but he's not done yet.

Six leans down to pick up the soiled jacket, and he sneers, "God, all I wanted to do was come home from work, take a shower, and put on some clean, comfortable clothes," more to himself than anything.

But, with a harsh glance, he lifts the jacket higher in the air for you to see, and chides, "But no, you just had to go cake dirt and muck all over my last tracksuit jacket with your stupid garden."

The cruelty of his words hits you like a bus, and the lump in your throat wells up as tears burn at the edges of your vision. Your hand shakily slides from the countertop and wipes at your cheek as you sniffle and retort, "Well, I was trying to harvest food for us from my stupid garden so we don't starve to death."

Six points to the vegetables on the counter with his free hand and scoffs, "With those? They would hardly feed a person for a day." The insult hits you square in the chest, and you feel defensiveness bloom inside you as you raise your voice, "I'm trying, okay!"

The bearded blonde lowers the jacket back to his side and looks at you incredulously as he shuffles on his feet. He raises his eyebrows and retorts, "You're trying? All you've managed to do today is dirty everything in the house with slop and mud, and soil clothes that aren't yours!"

At this point, you can't help but blink rapidly to try to clear your blurry vision, Six's broad figure blending in with the house as you repeatedly brush tears from your cheeks. You take a step away from the counter and shoot a glare at the vegetables on the counter that you had been so excited to show him.

"I said I was sorry! I didn't realize it was going to be such a big deal," you start, your voice cracking as you fight off the sob you know is rising in your chest. Six just stares at you for a moment as his jaw clenches again, and he looks away from you and mutters, "You are unbelievable right now."

Then, he mumbles to himself, "I don't know why you thought coming with me and Claire was the best thing for you."

Everything pauses. Your mouth falls open in pained awe as you stare at him from across the room. His broad figure seems so far away, the cold look in his eyes putting a million miles between the two of you.

The best thing for me? I was thinking of you and Claire, the thought scrapes across your mind. It was never about me. I wanted the two of you to be safe.

Your eyes narrow as you blink past another set of tears, and with a quick wipe at your cheeks, you whimper, "If you want me to leave, just say so, and I'm gone." Your voice gives in at the end of your sentence, and you are left with Six's scathing gaze watching your figure.

"As long as the dirt is gone and you leave my clothes alone, I don't care," he all but growls out.

The air flies from your lungs like you've been punched in the gut, and you take a staggering step backward at his words. He... didn't care if you stayed or left? After everything the two of you and Claire had been through together?

You reach your hand up to briefly cover your mouth as a sob rips its way out of your throat. It takes you a moment, but you manage a quick breath, and you reiterate, "You don't care?"

Six tightens his grip on his jacket before motioning toward you with it, and snaps, "Isn't that what I just fucking said?" A beat passes, and he rubs at his face again with his free hand, massaging at his temple.

"I can't do this," he huffs, his hand dropping against his side with a dull thwap, "I'm getting a shower." However, you move before he does, your body unconsciously shuffling toward the front door as another sob breaks through your lips.

Your tearful gaze flits over him one more time, taking in the hostility in his stance, the scorn in his eyes. He didn't want you here. Then, you turn away from him and break into a run toward the front door.

You crash through the screen door as the lump in your throat breaks, sobs heaving from your chest as the flood gates open. Unsteady footsteps carry you across the front porch and down the stairs. Despite your focus being on running away, you can hear the door clicking closed behind you, and that's enough.

With your body running on memory, you focus on stumbling down the slope off to the side of the house that leads to the barn. Meanwhile, inside, Claire has popped her head out of her room after the yelling ceases.

When she sees Six, a slight frown sets on her face and she states matter-of-factly, "That was harsh, even for my standards." At that, she turns back around and disappears into her room.

The bales of alfalfa underneath you dig at your jeans and prick at your hands, but you can't bring yourself to care. You had managed to make it into the wooden barn without tripping over yourself, your sole focus finding somewhere safe and away from prying eyes.

The tackroom near the front of the barn was too easy, and you didn't feel like bothering one of the horses by sitting in one of their stalls. So, you had gone deeper into the barn where you and Six had thrown down this week's hay, the bales stacked high up to the ceiling.

Then, with as much strength as you could muster, you moved a couple of bales to create a small nook in the tower of hay, shielding you on either side from unwanted viewers. Directly ahead of you is one of the horse's stalls, but the bay gelding is just quietly munching on some grain, paying no attention to you.

As you climb into your hiding spot and tuck your legs up to your chest, your mind seems to give in, swirling with bitter frustration. I'm just trying my best. I really didn't think borrowing his jacket was going to be such a big deal.

A cry rips itself from your throat as another thought hits you. Obviously, you didn't think. You shouldn't have used his jacket without asking; it's obviously special to him.

You pull your chin to your chest as you curl up into a ball, doing your best to block out the rest of the world as you weep.

All you were trying to do was provide for Six and Claire. Yes, Six worked just down the road and made most of the money that the three of you lived off of. But the two of you had saved some from your time spent with the CIA.

Now, though? You couldn't get a normal job.

You didn't exist in the real world. You had completely wiped your file before going on the run, so no one knew anything about you. You couldn't exist; otherwise, you could get caught, and Six or Claire would have to deal with your consequences.

So, you did what you could to provide for the three of you. Tending to the household was the main one, but you had recently tried your hand at gardening. You figured growing whatever foods you could would save you money in the long run.

It was worth a shot, right?

The bay gelding in front of you paws at his stall door in annoyance when he finds his grain is all gone, the noise making you lift your head up to stare at him. A shaky breath falls from your lips as you watch him for a moment, your mind going into overdrive.

Was it smart to go on the run with Six and Claire? Probably not. But now what am I going to do? Should I try to make a new, fake identity and live somewhere else? I would be homeless for a while. Could I survive that?

The thoughts come spiralling at a rapid rate, and it makes your head pound as you brush tears away from your eyes, the skin there growing tender and raw. Deep down, there was no need for Six to be as cruel as he was about your simple mistake.

That much, you do know.

Despite that, you don't know what to do, so you shuffle again to get comfortable on the hay, the alfalfa poking at your arms when you cross them over your chest. You take a deep breath to try to calm your breathing, Six's words echoing in your head over and over again.

I don't care.

All you've done is dirty everything with slop and mud, and soil clothes that aren't yours!

So you couldn't dirty up your own jacket?

You shut your eyes in an attempt to help yourself push the thoughts away, but it doesn't seem to work. With your actions and Six's words eating at you, all you can do is sit silently and watch the sun sink through a window from the comfort of the barn.

The moonlight is streaming through the windows of the barn by the time you wake up with chills running through your body. You have to peel your eyes open and blink a few times to focus your vision on the warm-toned lights that are still on from the afternoon chores, lighting the center of the barn aisle.

With a quick peek out from your cubby in the hay, you peer out the main door of the barn toward the house. The lights are still on up there, and it makes a lump form in the back of your throat.

You clear your throat and glance away as you shuffle lightly, a groan falling from your lips as you wipe the crusties away from your eyes. Your arms beg to stretch a moment later, so you extend your limbs as a shiver runs up your spine.

Goosebumps rise on your skin as the chill of the night sets in, and you hum as you let some of the tension leave your body. The sound of the horses munching on their hay puts you at ease for a moment, watching them as you try to relax from the stress of the day.

The stress of the day.

The thought makes you sigh and sit up straight, your fingers searching for your phone in your back pocket. When you don't find it after a moment, your eyes flutter closed as you internally curse.

It's still up at the house.

You mull over what to do for a second, but you freeze when you hear the sound of footsteps approaching. Boots. Men's boots. Your heart jumps to your chest as the first thought hits you - someone from the CIA is here to get you.

But then, you barely peek your head out around a bale, your face shadowed by the strands of hay. There, in the entryway of the barn, you can see Six's figure ducking into the tackroom. He reappears a moment later, and your eyes narrow as you take in his appearance.

His blonde locks now fall loosely over his forehead, seemingly washed and air-dried with no styling. A soft-looking pair of navy sweatpants hangs low on his hips, a gray t-shirt of sorts covering his torso. His fleece lined jacket is slung over his bulk frame, so it makes it hard to tell.

You watch him silently, watching as he walks over to the first horse and pets the mare on the nose, whispering something indistinctly to her. She snorts a second later, turning her head away to search for more hay.

The simple action makes a smile tug on the corner of your mouth, and you lean back into your hay cubby a moment later. Unfortunately, you just barely graze a loose flake of hay, the blades of dried grass drifting to the floor with a quiet hiss.

Your eyes snap shut as an annoyed grimace settles on your lips. Shit. He probably will have noticed it. You sink as far back into the bales of hay as you can, keeping your breathing shallow in hopes that he'll give up and leave.

But you aren't that lucky.

"Y/n?" you hear his voice call out huskily, "That you?" Fuck him and his impeccable observation skills, you curse internally. It's been a couple of months, and he still can't forget any of his training.

But neither could you, though.

You painstakingly tuck your aching legs closer to your chest, and you take a deep breath in through your nose before holding it. You can hear his footsteps get closer, his boots barely scuffing the ground.

Then, you see him.

He's walking along the side closest to the horse stalls, his eyes scouring each stall and horse to see if you are hidden among them. The entirety of the barn aisle separates you two, and you pray he won't look at the haystack.

The bearded blonde stops in front of the bay gelding, offering him a flat palm. The horse sniffs at his hand for a moment, and you can hear Six mumble, "Must have just been you, huh, buddy?"

The gelding pulls away for a second and lifts his head straight up into the air. Six frowns at him for a moment before following the horse's line of sight.

With a single glance at the stack of alfalfa bales, Six notices some have been displaced, and there is a gap in the middle of the pile. Then, he squints slightly before his blue gaze brightens in interest.

There, you watch him with a defensive scowl resting on your face, your body curled up into a ball at the back of the pile. He notes the puffiness around your eyes and in your cheeks, and he flattens his back against the stall door.

He instantly raises his hands in surrender as he gazes at you, his mouth slowly working on a piece of gum tucked into his cheek.

"I'm not hear to yell at you or to argue," he says slowly, like he's talking to a scared animal. He swallows thickly when you don't respond, and he gently lowers his hands to his sides where they clench into fists.

The bearded blonde sniffles once and then starts, his voice rough, "I just-" but he pauses as he tries to find the right words, "I just wanted to make sure you didn't leave."

You glare at him and hiss through gritted teeth, "If I recall, you don't care if I stay or go." You throw his words back at him with venom, hurt evident in your voice as you watch him slightly sway side to side.

You can see Six wince at the harshness of the words, and his mouth parts as he once again tries to come up with the right thing to say. He lets out a sigh and his eyes flutter shut, his right hand releasing from a closed fist to wiggling next to his side, then clamping shut again.

"Look, I'm sorry for what I said," Six murmurs, his eyes blinking open after a moment to find your tense figure hasn't moved. You see a vulnerability in his eyes, but you aren't sure if you can trust it.

Even though you want to.

When you don't say anything, he takes that as a sign to continue, "I do care if you stay or leave. I need your help to take care of Claire, this place." He dejectedly points at himself and glances at his feet as he mumbles, "And me."

A scowl still rests on your features as you watch him, but a harsh wind rips through the aisle of the barn. It picks up old pieces of straw and hay, and somehow manages to cut through your little nook of protection.

Chills run wild up and down your nerve endings, shivering at the frigid sensation that seems to rock your body. At the sight of your body quivering, Six immediately starts tugging off his fleece-lined jacket. His fingers work at tugging his arms out of the sleeves, and he steps forward away from the stall door as he urges, "Here, take my jacket."

He watches your arms fold around yourself tighter, and he says softer, "Can't have you getting sick." You recoil as he offers the jacket to you with an outstretched hand, flattening yourself against the pokey bale behind your head.

You angle your chin away from him as you spit out, "No thanks, I'll just get it dirty." At your response, Six's arm wavers in the air before he drops it back to his side, the expression on his face one of pain. The jacket almost drags the ground, but Six doesn't seem to care as he watches you.

A thick moment of silence goes by, and then he murmurs, "I guess I deserve that one." You just shoot daggers at him with an icy gaze, and Six shuffles uncomfortably on his feet as he tries to come up with something else to say.

"I'm sorry," he manages to blurt out, "For all of it. There is no acceptable reason or excuse for the way I talked to you at the house. You were just... trying to do your part to keep us alive, and I berated and belittled you for that."

The harshness of your gaze softens into more of a frown, but you don't interrupt him as he continues, "And I know it's not an excuse, but I had a rough day at work. We lost a calf today, and the cow wasn't doing well when she realized it was dead."

He rubs at the back of his neck with his free hand and looks at the ground, muttering, "I let it get to me more than I should." The bearded blonde kicks at a rock with his boot and then shrugs, "Between that and the stress of not knowing if someone is hunting us down every minute, and trying to make ends meet, I've... been stressed out."

Six glances back up at you and sighs with a slow blink, "But that doesn't justify me treating you like that." Tears have started to burn at the edge of your vision as he spoke, and now they stream down your cheeks as you manage to croak out, "You were cruel."

Guilt floods Six's face wholly as he takes a step toward you, and when you flinch, he instantly pauses. He gives you an understanding nod and murmurs, "I was. I'm sorry."

You let a sob out and then hiccup between ragged breaths, "All I was- was going to do was show you what I- I harvested. I was just t-trying to provide f-for us."

Six's brows knit together as his expression softens even more, his features laced with remorse. He cocks his head slightly to the side as his voice grows thick but quiet, "I, know." There's a hitch in his voice, and then you hear him sniffle again.

He takes a quick breath and then he confesses, "I know you were. I know you work hard at trying to keep us fed and taken care of. And I shouldn't have called your garden stupid. It's not."

Your legs ache from being trapped close to your chest, and you slowly shuffle to sit on the end of the bale. His words ring in your mind as your face catches in the light of the barn, and you lower your gaze to avoid looking at him.

With a quick breath through your nose, you mumble out, "I shouldn't have worn your jacket without asking. That was selfish of me." You glance up at him and give him a sad, upturned smile with your mouth and shrug, "I'm sorry."

You see the resolve in Six's eyes crumbling, and at the end of your words, it crashes. His hand clamps around his jacket harder, and he takes long, fast strides to cross the barn aisle.

The bearded blonde lands in front of you and instantly drops to one knee as he sets the jacket on the hay next to you. There is a pleading look of sorrow on his face as he murmurs, "No, no, don't be sorry. I'm the one at fault here, Y/n."

He hesitantly offers you one of his hands, and you stare down at his extended palm with uncertainty. There is a silent plea in his stormy blue gaze, and you can't fight your will anymore.

You gently rest your hand in his, his skin warm and rough against your own. It makes your body tingle, but you try to push it out of your mind when you see him shuffle closer and he admits, "Yes, I was upset that what I wanted to wear when I got home wasn't there."

His blue gaze dances between yours before continuing, "I wanted to wear one of those tracksuits because now that we are free, I can choose what I want to wear." You watch him carefully, and he lightly squeezes your hand and then sighs, "And it just blew my fuse, and I took it out on you."

The pad of his thumb brushes over the back of your hand, and he glances down at your intertwined digits before mumbling, "If it were any other day, I probably would have thought it was cute, knowing you were wearing my jacket all day."

This makes your cheeks burn in slight embarrassment, your frown giving in to let a minuscule smile rest on your lips. Six clears his throat and then glances back up at you, and you can tell he's serious when he tightens his grip on you and implores, "I want there to be another day where you wear my jacket."

There's a meaning behind his words that isn't lost on you. Please don't leave.

You take a sharp breath and hold it as your mind seems to swirl, but looking deep into the depths of Six's eyes, you know there is only one way to go forward.

You loosen your grip on his hand and slowly tug your fingers away from his. You see a crestfallen look crash across Six's face, and you swallow thickly as you watch him stare up at you.

The lights catch the corner of his blue gaze, and there, you can see them shining with water that hadn't been there a few moments ago.

Then, you lunge forward. Your arms wrap around Six as you bury your face in the crook of his neck, your body crashing into his. He's quick to respond, his arms catching you with ease and wrapping snugly around your waist.

You can feel a shaky breath leave his chest as he rests his head on top of yours, and you tighten the grip your arms have around his neck. There is a silent intensity to the hug - one that screams of apologies, but also whispers of forgiveness.

Six is warm and real under your touch. Yes, he's flawed, just like every man is, but ultimately, he recognized his wrongs and came clean about them. But with the bearded blonde blinking away tears of his own, you know that the former assassin has a heart in his chest that cares for you.

And for tonight, the dirt coating his knees and the hay falling onto his jacket isn't harming anyone. Tonight, the dirt might just be okay.

[imperhine-deactivated20241019]

get lost.

aughsuhdh apologies for my sudden disappearance! i forgot how to write and how to characterize the ghouls... hopefully you guys would still like this somewhat.

ghouls featured: aether, cirrus, dewdrop/sodo, swiss

for the sake of continuity, let's say that this is the situation: someone approaches you and the ghouls start to get jealous. you deny any advances, and the person gets more aggressive. the ghouls step in.

warnings for: boundaries crossed (nothing graphic), more protectiveness and less possessiveness, a little bit of ghoul violence <3

+ the party went by smoothly, for the most part anyway. you've went around the place, stopping by to talk to a few people and small groups. you end up at the bar, leaning against the table. you catch a pair of unwanted eyes. you do your best to hide how your eyebrows furrow as you politely decline their offers to buy you a drink or take you someplace else.

+ their voice is bit louder and rougher, they take a step towards you. the interaction catches more attention as the person's actions become more aggressive. out of the corner your eye you see your ghoul approaching.

aether

- something about aether just makes him very good about feeling things out

- he takes steady steps towards you and the guy

- aether's purple gaze is almost striking as he stares them down

- he's right beside you. he trusts that you can take this one down (be that verbally or else) but he's letting you know that he's got your back

- "i think they've made themself clear. and it seems like your best option now is to go.

- that usual warm energy from him is replaced with something immovable. a threat unsaid, especially with how much force was put on that last word

- and if that person had eyes, they best back away.

- after that exchange, aether checks up on you

- he rubs your back and doesn't dwell much on that creep, instead focusing on you

- but if you ask, he's more than happy to teach them a lesson

cirrus

- cirrus is very protective, definitely

- so when she notices? she's infront of you, no questions asked

- you didn't even feel her move, just the slight gust of air

- cirrus has a sharp expression as she rests her hand on her hip

- there are little wisps that blow strands of her hair

- "hey you. what made you think that you had the right to run your mouth like that?"

- when an argument arises, cirrus punctuated her words with her tail. it slapped on the ground, sounding almost like whip that's been cracked

- that silences them quick

- if anything happens, cirrus will not have been the one to start it. but she'll counter hard. even with fabulous nails (claws).

- might have left a scar too. she will neither confirm nor deny

- she'll turn back to you as if she just swatted a fly

- "apologies, darling. but they won't be bothering you ever again. did you get hurt?"

- cirrus takes your hand and presses a kiss to your wrist

- she asks what you want to do next. she's happy to keep you distracted with a dance but won't mind if you want to go home. she'll pamper you <3

dewdrop

- he will throw hands

- his eyebrows are furrowed, he purposefully bumps against the person's shoulder

- dew's hand is protectively hovering in front of you

- "back off, shithead." he half growls

- dewdrop saw the way they talked and cornered you, he is not letting that slide

- he'll make sure to bruise that fucker in some way, drawing blood

- he looks at them with so much disgust once they scurry away. he wipes his claws and shakes it

- he sighs but it turns into a sheepish smile when facing you

- "sorry 'bout that... i couldn't help it. but more importantly, are you okay?"

- he tends to you and gives you anything you need

- dew is a little more cuddly afterwards, head rubbing against you adorably. he reminds you of a cat

- probably wants the smell of everyone else gone off you

swiss

- oh you just know that swiss always has his eyes on you

- for many reasons, but mostly because he thinks that you're eye candy

- the moment he notices something is off, he's immediately coming closer

- swiss lingers behind you, carefully eyeing them

- his hand wrapped around your waist

- swiss makes a clear sign that you're taken by the way he holds you

- "they said no." he says, annoyed. "now why don't you take your bullshit somewhere else?"

- swiss is ready to jump and fight as soon as they take a step closer

- will break their knees if needed

- but swiss will do his best to limit anything, as he wants your discomfort to end fast

- swiss clicks his tongue as they leave, eyes still glowing

- he holds your face as he moves a little closer to you

- "don't worry, i'm here for you. do you want me to... handle them later?"

- he says jokingly, but you know that you can answer and he will

- swiss kisses you on the nose

- he's more than happy to provide anything you need, kisses and comfort included. wanna order dessert? sure! cuddle? he's immediately going home and pulling you into his lap.

[the-kr8tor]

i absolutely love how you write hobie, so tenderly and sweet but still very much hobie😭❤️I was wondering if I could ask for hobie with a s/o with fibromyalgia, maybe fluff hurt/comfort? I don't know if you're familiar with it but it's kind of a chronic pain disorder, (I just got diagnosed oof), totally okay if you're not comfortable with it tho!

I'm sorry that you're going through this, I hope this helps lift your spirits, I'll keep you in my thoughts, hun ❤️ I hope I wrote this okay, I did some research about it, to make sure I'm writing it well for you. Sorry this took awhile, hope you're doing okay ❤️

Pairing: Hobie Brown x gn! Reader/ Spider-Punk x gn! Reader

Tags: no use of Y/N, no specific physical description of the reader, descriptions of pain, Hurt/Comfort.

ʕ⁠·⁠ᴥ⁠·⁠ʔ

You lay on your back, the old sofa's springs digging into your shoulder which certainly doesn't help the throbbing pain in your entire body. You're in too much pain to move into the bedroom, especially with the sharp pain digging in your feet. Hissing out when a wave of pain sends shivers through you.

Hobie holds out a cold glass of water near your head, the condensation drops on your cheek, Hobie reaches out to wipe at it quickly but carefully, so as to not cause you anymore discomfort.

"Sorry," his long fingers grazing your cheek gingerly. Hobie crouches down to your eye level, eyes gauging your emotions. " 'm sorry, love" you don't know if he's apologizing for what happened, or if it's because you're in pain.

He hates seeing you like this, your face scrunched up, eyes glistening at him. Hobie wishes he could just take it away from you. Fight it for you. He drops the glass right next to him, you crane your neck to look at him, despite the dull pain, a tight lipped smile.

"It's okay, not your fault" you softly say.

"You haven't drank water in a bit, sorry"

"Stop apologizing, I know you mean well" you raise your finger at the knit on his forehead, trying to straighten it out. "I'll take that water please"

You lift yourself up, Hobie rushes to help you, his hand warm on your hand and back, his grip on you is soft, fully aware of his strength. You exhale, thanking him with a small smile.

Hobie crouches in front of you, he wipes the glass, getting the condensation off it, before handing it to you. You gulp it down, not realizing how thirsty you've been.

"Thank you" he grabs the glass from you, careful not to touch your fingers.

You notice he's been avoiding touching you, opting for small careful touches, you completely understand his sentiment, not wanting you to feel any additional discomfort from his touch. But you want it though, he doesn't know how much it helps, how he helps.

Hobie can't read your mind, so you hold out your hand towards him. "Can I hold your hand?"

Hobie smiles "I'll always say yes to that" he lifts his palm over yours, drawing small circles over your wrists. "This okay?"

"Mm-hmm" you tilt your head, watching as his large hand envelops yours. He places a small kiss over your knee, heat blossoming on your face from the affection.

"It'll be okay, yeah?" He stops himself from resting his forehead on your leg. Instead he watches as you look at him through half lidded eyes. His heart aches for you.

You answer him by squeezing his hand three times. He knows what you meant, so he squeezes back gently, three times, then a small kiss over your fingertips.

"Do you want me to carry you to the bed? This old couch won't do you any good" you know he's not scolding you, genuinely concerned how the bumpy couch isn't helping you.

"Okay"

He stands up, delicately holding onto you. He's cautious of where he's stepping, as to not jostle you too much. Hobie lays you gently on the bed.

"There, let me grab you another glass" before he could leave, you grab his hand, stopping him from his tracks.

"Stay? Please"

"Of course" he goes around the bed, laying next to you. You shuffle closer to him, your fingers intertwined, helping you fall asleep, knowing when you wake up he'll be right next to you.

ʕ⁠·⁠ᴥ⁠·⁠ʔ

Thank you for reading ❤️ please consider reblogging if you enjoyed ❤️

[steviewashere]

This may be a bit out there request (also feel free to ignore) for a small oneshot, but can I request some pure steve angst? him and hop sharing a drink, no ships, just two dudes talking about shitty things that have happened to them over the past few years. My boy desperately needs a father figure.

Okay, I'm so sorry this took so long to answer. I literally started writing it, forgot about it, and then came back and couldn't think of anything. And I also didn't have Hopper share too much, but I hope this suffices some. This was a fun challenge. <3

Pairing: Steve Harrington & Jim "Chief" Hopper CW: Discussion of Canon Traumatic Events, Brief Mention of Canon Violence Tags: Post-Canon, Post-Season 4, Angst and Hurt/Comfort

🫂—————🫂 He’d been sitting outside with his head between his knees for the better part of half an hour when the door creaked open behind him. Even as the footfalls, heavy and slow, made their way towards him, Steve didn’t dare drag his eyes up. Kept them securely at his feet. To the wooden step underneath him. On the off chance that whatever world existed around him was a mirage.

The person sits down next to him with an unceremonious grunt. Their breaths are as heavy as their steps. A swallow clicking in their throat, probably dry and overused. Something chilled is pressed against his denim clad thigh. And that’s when Steve finally draws enough effort to look up.

Hopper sits hunched, head pointed at the trees beyond his cabin, eyes darting between them. In his right hand is an offered, cold bottle of beer. A firm outstretched bridge. And Steve tentatively takes it. He’s not quite old enough to be partaking in this, Hopper should know that, but also—he’s not the chief anymore, is he? So, why should he care?

His beer is already uncapped when he raises it to his face. Knocking it back and taking it in with a deep swallow. The foam churning on his tongue, sugary between his teeth, and moist on his lips. He heaves a sigh. Mutters, “Thanks.”

Another bottle is drank from. The slosh against the sides of the glass an easy sound. Hopper smacks his lips together. “Looked like you needed one,” he states gruffly. A swig. “God knows I did with all that damn commotion in there.”

“Yeah,” Steve murmurs back, “it’s too loud for me.” He takes a small sip at his drink. Shifts the bottle back and forth between his palms, relishing in the crisp condensation on his skin. Begins to pick at the label where it looks like it’ll peel away easily, if he just gave it his full effort. “I don’t even know why I came over. I can’t stand noisy shit.”

“Feel like the old Steve Harrington that I’ve met would say otherwise,” Hopper muses. Instead of dignifying it with a response, Steve just nods his head in silent agreement. Because yeah, pre-November, 1983 Steve would be doing keg stands and chanting at the top of his lungs. Not moping around on the front porch of the ex-chief of police. Sharing beer of all things.

The noise inside the house floats out from under the crooked front door. A mixture of birdsong and laughter. The subtle soft chirps of crickets beginning to wake up. It’s good outside, the air cold on Steve’s face and the sun nearly set. He takes a deep breath and just absorbs.

“Sometimes,” Hop starts softly when their shared silence stretches too long, “sometimes I look at you and see myself.”

Steve swallows around nothing. “That a good thing?” He asks just as quiet.

“No,” Hopper answers honestly. “You look like you’d rather be under the dirt than be anywhere. There’s…you’re a lonely lookin’ nineteen year old.”

He shrugs. “Yeah, well—“ Steve sighs. “—maybe I’d rather that. All things considered, Hopper.” There are eyes on him, he can sense them through the aching joint of his left shoulder. They burn him. It hurts to have attention like this on him, after so much time alone. And he knows that he’s got Robin and the party members—he’ll maybe have Eddie if he pulls through in the hospital. But that doesn’t make his house any less silent, or his parents’ room any less dusty, or his bed any less cold.

“You got anybody you can talk to, kid? Outside of Robin?”

Steve sniffs. Picks at the label on his beer bottle. Tries not to notice his shaking hands. “Who ‘m I gonna talk to?” He asks lowly. “A shrink is gonna think I’m crazy, put me away. And y’know how my parents are. They aren’t going to believe me, let alone listen.”

Hopper’s leg bumps his. Beer bottle clinking against the porch as he sets it down. He ducks down, enough to make direct eye contact with Steve. His eyes are fierce, yet inviting and soft. Steve’s stomach churns. “Talk to me, then. You need an adult who will understand you? I’m right here.”

He scoffs. “What do you want me to talk about?”

“Anything. Everything. Something, Steve.” A hand lands gently on his shoulder. The warmth a lull, a sweet thing. And something inside of him begins to melt. But he doesn’t say anything, still. Hopper sighs long and winded. And the touch dissipates, leaving Steve drifted and yearning.

Behind them, Hopper’s cabin swells with noise. That raspy laugh of Robin’s. And Mike’s honk snorting. Even Jonathan is adding something, a few loud comments here and there. “I can’t believe we won!” Dustin crows and the others join in intense agreement. And Steve wonders why he can’t celebrate like they can. What happened to him. Where his joy lays in all this.

Hopper sips his beer again, looking out at the trees once more. Smacks his lips together. “I don’t know how to celebrate this shit,” he admits quietly. “I’m…Part of me is excited to not see my girl use those powers of hers again. To hopefully see her hair grow out. But another part of me is��I just remember all the bad shit that happened before we got to this point.”

“Yeah,” Steve croaks. He gulps a good third of his beer in one go. The sour bitterness of the drink burning his throat alive. When he pulls the bottle away, he absentmindedly rubs at the dark red demobat scar on his neck. “Especially when my body remembers and is covered in my failures,” he mutters.

Beside him, Hopper makes a noise of agreement. A hum. A grunt sort of thing. “I used to be a fat guy.” He half-heartedly chuckles. “Now I’m just this skinny dude with real short hair and the eyes of a World War Two soldier.”

Steve snorts. “And I used to have plain, blemish free skin. Now look at me, Hop.” He gestures loosely at his own face and neck when Hopper does turn and look over. “No amount of coconut oil—or whatever—is going to get rid of this shit. Like my mom keeps insisting on. I mean…She doesn’t know all the shit I’ve been through. The—The plate I took to the crown of my head or the needle to my neck or those Russian shitheads that knocked me senseless.”

Hopper’s breath hitches. Steve curses at himself internally. Remembers the haunted body that pulled him in close when they reconvened. Remembers the frantic calls from Jonathan, of all people, asking what to do when it comes to nightmares—“Not mine,” Jonathan had said, “Hop’s. He just…He just yells.” And even remembers the faint hints Hop gave: the relief in finding a jar of peanut butter, the biting cold, the labor, and the cells. The separation from who he used to be. The loneliness within what he’d gone through, which Steve knows all too well. “Russians?” Hopper softly implores anyway.

And part of Steve knows what he’s doing. The crack to his shell deepening, stretching. But he answers despite it all. Keeps his voice leveled, careful as to not be heard from inside the cabin. “Yeah,” he whispers, the syllables cracking. “Robs and Dustin and I, we all decoded this tape, right? There was Russian speech on it or whatever and I ended up finding the source of the intermission. It was coming from underneath Starcourt. So, y’know how stupid we all are, we went ahead and found these assholes and…Well I—“ He rubs the lip of his beer bottle to his own bottom lip. Eyes glossing over, remembering. “They were going to hurt Robin,” he states, his own voice like gravel, “and Dustin. And little Erica. So I did the stupid thing. Answered their interrogation. They didn’t like the answers; I earned a few punches. Went unconscious. Got hit with some truth serum drug bullshit. Threw up my guts, ended up with a concussion, saw a guy die in front of me, went home and threw up again in the shower, and then I went to bed.”

All at once, the world narrows to just them. Hopper’s completely silent though and Steve doesn’t want to glance over. See the pity written on his sullen, aged face. So he shrugs, takes another swig of his beer, and burps lightly when the carbonation comes up. Nonchalance. “Play stupid games, win stupid prizes. Right, Hop?” Steve pokes quietly. “Throw myself in danger for the people around me. Try to keep them on my good side. Show them I’m worth giving a shit about. Save ‘em. Love ‘em for a bit. Wait until they turn on me or whatever.

“I know you do it, too. So don’t try to lecture me,” Steve mutters, “At least we don’t have to do it again.”

He’s not sure what to really expect to any of that. But he doesn’t think he’d ever expect a firm, heavy arm to wrap around his shoulders. To tug him in close and warm. To hold him gently.

“I’m sorry, kid,” Hopper murmurs.

Steve tries to pull away, but the hand on his opposite bicep squeezes him back. “It’s not your fault, Hop. It’s—“

“You’re a kid, Steve,” he emphasizes. “A kid with a long fucking life ahead of you. And you’ve already seen enough for, well, for lifetimes. You should’a never been in any of this shit, none of you teens should’a. Not just those Russians, Steve. But for everything.”

He doesn’t feel like a kid. Doesn’t really feel like anything, but Hopper doesn’t need to know that right now. Sure, he’d understand. That liminal space after losing his daughter, right after war, before his world quite literally turned upside down—Hopper lived that nothingness for a long while. Maybe he lives it again, Steve isn’t sure.

But he just sighs. “You shouldn’t have been there, either,” Steve murmurs. His face is warm and his eyes sting. And before he really knows what’s happening, he’s crying. Hot tears that sear all the way down to the underside of his jaw. That don’t really produce much noise from him, but he supposes the terrible stuttering in and out is something.

“C’mere, kid,” Hopper mutters.

His beer gets set aside somewhere. Pulled even further in. Head nestled on Hopper’s shoulder, the fresh shave of his beard burning on Steve’s forehead. A hand between his shoulder blades and the other on the back of his head. Steve’s arms sit limp at his sides. But within Hop’s warmth, the musk of aftershave and Irish Spring soap, and his firm and careful hold—Steve finally breaks.

It’s not a catastrophic thing, like he had expected. It’s not all that quiet either.

Shoulders shaking, eyes heavy, and nose burning—Steve cries. Cries with the force of a sudden summer downpour. Heaves giant breaths as if he’s just come up from drowning. And he sobs against the bare skin of Hopper’s neck. Open mouthed. Wet exhales. Big globs of spit sticky between his lips.

When he can finally catch his breath, feel the exhaustion into his bones, he pulls back.

Hopper lays his hands on either side of Steve’s face. His own cheeks wet with tears. Sniffling. “I know, okay? I know, kid,” he says quietly. “You need a home to run to? A shoulder to cry on? You just need a good dad hug? Come over, okay? Steve, you just gotta come over.”

And with that, all Steve can do, is give in.

He cries again into Hopper’s shoulder.

Later, he’ll listen to Hopper in turn. Hug him just as fiercely. Laugh at the absurdity of it all. But this is nice. Just this for a little while longer.

For the first time in his life, though, he feels like he’s got a home to return to. An ear to hear him. And a heart to care about him.

🫂—————🫂 Thank you for the ask, this was an interesting one!

[andreaheartscats]

Sally Face Headcanons

-comfort Sally Face Headcanons because my feelings got hurt :')

possible TW: scars/ mention of self harm.

Sal Fisher

× he is great at comforting people let me just say that first.

× if youre crying he would hold you close to him and let you pour your heart out.

× at first he would be a little awkward not knowing what to do but then he would just hug you and hold you tight whispering comforting words to you such as

"itll be okay" "im here for you now dont worry" etc..

× he cares a lot so if anyone hurt your feelings like your boyfriend/ girlfriend / partner, he would go BATSHIT crazy and be very overprotective of you.

× so once you are done crying he would offer you some tissues/ watch a movie/ go ghost haunting/ or something like that to get your mind off of whatever was bothering you

× he is a great hugger!

× he would let you cry into his shirt not caring if you get it wet.

× if you have sh scars, he would draw over them and or kiss them. He would draw little stars, hearts or cats.

- a little scenario here:

you were at your apartmant, blade in your hand. Your eyes full of tears as your face and eyes got all puffy and red from crying. Your wrists were stinging with red lines across them wondering where did all go wrong, thoughts flying through your head unable to hear anything or anyone as everything was just too much for you to handle at this point.

Sal was worried about you, he noticed that you werent yourself for the past few days and it bothered him a lot. He tried calling you but you didnt answear your phone or his texts. He decided to go check up on you in your apartmant room. Trembling a little with fear not knowing what would he walk into he knocked on thr door a few times waiting for a response. Yet no one opened. A little more worried he knocked again, this time a bit more louder and aggressive. Yet again no answear.

He opened the door as it was unlocked and walked in hearing little sobs coming from the bathroom. Sal rushed to the noise and there he saw you, on the bathroom floor. Blade in your hand, eyes full of tears and wrist bleeding. Without saying a word he sat down next to you snapping the blade from your hand and holding you tight as tears started to form in his own eyes. He didnt bother saying anything as he just held you close him letting you sob into his shirt.

Once you were done pouring your eyes out he looked at you cupping your cheeks in his hands as he managed to mumble the words "why..?" you didnt say anything. He then took a deep breath opening one of the cabinets and taking the first aid kit to bandage your wrist up. He cleaned your cuts as you wince a little at the pain. Slowly he put bandages around your wrist as he hugged you once more but this time you didnt let go for a while.

× after this scenario you two were laying on the couch, your head against his shoulder as he held you :)

(i am SO sorry if this was bad i honestly tried my best to make this scenario as good as possible consdiring that this was my first time writing something like this, also please keep in mind english isnt my first laungage!)

Larry Johnson

× poor guy doesnt really know how to comfort people but he tries his best

× he would hug you tight, sometimes even too tight (lol)

× he would let you know that he is here for you and even if he is not too good at comforting he is definitely a good listener

× but if you didnt want to talk at the moment he would alsk respect that. So then instead he would play some music in the background and let you get yourself cozy in one of his bean bags giving you some tissues and food if you wanted.

× consdiring the fact that he doesnt know how to comfort people he would just sit across from you a little awkwardly but mind you he cares deeply about you and just wants to help you but doesnt really know how.

× if you ask him to bring you anything while you were all depressed and sad that boy would RUN and i mean full on sprint to please you and give you what you asked him to.

× and if you needed a hug, he would not only hug you that guy would full on cuddle you. Letting you lay on his chest as he held you close to him, his arms wrapped around your waist letting you peacfully and comfortably lay on him/fall asleep.

× lets say you did fall asleep, he would not dare to move, AT ALL and i mean it. even of he had to jse the bathroom or something he wouldnt dare to move and wake you up from your dream.

_________________________________________

note : i apologize if this was a little depressing (yea no shit it was) but i hope you liked it and if youre struggling with anything such as your mental health, please seek out some help! or you can just dm me i have no problem with that :)

[m1ckeyb3rry]

Pomegranate Ink: XXII

Series Synopsis: Unable to heal but willing to fight, with a fiancé in Kyoto and a last name that looms over everything you do, you accept an offer to study at Tokyo Jujutsu Tech. What you did not know was that your salvation and your ruination alike would soon join you at the school, neatly wrapped in the form of a boy followed by death.

Chapter Synopsis: Your second exchange event goes awry when one of the disaster curses makes an appearance.

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Yuta Okkotsu × Female Reader

Chapter Word Count: 6.8k

Content Warnings: angst, misogyny, naoya zenin, forbidden relationships, canon-typical violence, character death, original characters included

A/N: me when i’m in a “accidentally giving two best friends the most romantic storyline” competition but my opponent is tumblr user m1ckeyb3rry writing pomegranate ink

You all took off into the forest at full sprint, with Maki and Itadori naturally pulling ahead of the rest of you. Clapping his hands together, Megumi summoned Divine Dog Black, who manifested with a unearthly howl. It effortlessly charged forward, nose raised in the air, testing it for the scent of the Grade 2 curse which had been released into the forest. This was the advantage of having more teammates than just Yuta — you weren’t responsible for nearly as much. Doubtless you would take advantage of your cursed signature detection, but the brunt of the tracking would be borne by the shikigami, who looked happy to do it, tail wagging as it bounded along.

At about the same time that you sensed a presence approaching, the Divine Dog barked out a warning. A grade three curse shaped vaguely like a spider dropped down in front of you, baring its fangs in an attempt to look threatening, though none of you were impressed. The Divine Dog looked proud of itself for detecting the curse, but unfortunately, it was not the curse’s signature that you felt drawing nearer.

“Watch out!” you shouted, grabbing onto Itadori’s red hood and yanking him backwards just in time. A huge fist rammed into the air where he had previously been standing, instead making contact with the grade three curse and sending it flying into a tree, where it promptly exploded from the force of the exorcism.

“Y/N L/N!” Todo thundered, pointing at you. “You owe me a fight!”

“Remember the plan!” Maki shouted.

“Sorry, Todo,” you called over your shoulder as you veered around him. “You’ll have to deal with him first!”

You split up into your predetermined groups, with Toge, Panda, and Nobara going in one direction as Maki and Megumi went the other. You and Tullia continued forwards, though you did turn your head, craning your neck to catch one last glimpse of Maki.

She locked eyes with you, and you tried your best to communicate to her with just that single glance what you wanted to say. Please. I will tell you everything when I can. Please don’t be hurt. Please know that you are my best friend. Something like that. If anyone could understand you from just one look, it had to be her, so you prayed that that was enough.

You couldn’t be sure, though. She rounded the corner before you were able to tell. Gradually, Toge, Nobara, and even Panda’s heavy footsteps faded as well, leaving you and Tullia truly alone. Reaching out with your cursed signature detection, you felt nothing, so you motioned for her to slow down.

“There’s no point in wasting energy,” you said. “There aren’t any curses or students in the immediate vicinity, so let’s slow down until we can pick where we want to go next.”

“Got it. How do we pick? Want me to close my eyes, spin, and point?” Tullia said.

“No,” you said. “I’ll be the one closing my eyes, and stealing some of your cursed energy while I’m at it. I’m sorry.”

“Oh, it’s no big deal. I’ll keep my eyes peeled in the meantime, just in case, though you know I won’t be much help while you’re borrowing my energy,” she said.

“It won’t be too much. I don’t need to use Composition; rather, I’m using your power to broaden the range of my cursed signature detection,” you said. Her mouth made a small ‘o’ of acknowledgement.

“Makes sense. Good luck!” she said.

You screwed your eyes shut, firstly reaching out for the other presence that was constantly intertwined with yours. It was the core of Tullia’s cursed technique, dancing alongside your own — in tandem for now, until you dipped your hand into it, siphoning it off bit by bit and letting it pour into your own self. It took a moment, but then there was a sudden surge of strength in your veins as the newfound source of power rushed through them.

Taking a deep breath, you widened the area of your cursed signature detection — which was really just an application of Dissection but supremely simplified — and searched the entire forest for the students. They were your biggest threat; although any of your classmates could handle a Grade 2 curse, you knew that some of the Kyoto students might pose some trouble to them, especially if they had teamed up.

Immediately, though, you noticed something curious. Towards the east were the signatures of Megumi and Divine Dog Black, and to the west were Toge, Panda, and Nobara, but for some reason, all of the Kyoto students’ signatures were concentrated near where you all, the Tokyo students, had begun the event. That is to say, all of the Kyoto students and —

“Itadori!” you gasped. “They’re trying to kill Itadori!”

“What?” Tullia said, voice trembling as she pressed a handkerchief to her nose, red overtaking the white of the fabric. Her face was pale and sweaty, but she smiled bravely at you, a reassurance that she was doing fine even if she looked the opposite. Inside, you felt her cursed energy thrum, rallying as she took a sip from the water bottle full of bleach she had brought with her, reinforcing her facade.

“Are you okay?” you said anyways. You often suspected that lending you her energy took a greater toll on Tullia than she’d ever admit to, but whenever any of you — Ieri, Gojo, or you yourself — asked, she denied it profusely. This time was much the same, as she shook her head, balling up the handkerchief and shoving it back in the small backpack she carried with her.

“I’m not the one you should be worrying about right now. What do you mean, they’re trying to kill Itadori? How can you tell?” she said.

“It’s only a hunch, but what other reason would all of the Kyoto students have to be gathered around him? That’s where they’re all located, by the way, and why we haven’t run into any of them despite how proactively they sabotaged us during the last exchange event,” you said.

“Why, though? He’s such a sweet boy!” Tullia said.

“Tullia,” you said incredulously. “You know, I really admire you for getting to know someone like that, but did you forget that he’s literally Sukuna’s vessel? It’s not a surprise that they want to kill him.”

“But killing is forbidden in the challenge. The only objective is to hunt down the curse,” she said.

“Oh, they’re hunting down a curse alright,” you said, pulling out your phone and swearing loudly when calling Noritoshi sent you straight to voicemail, further confirming your suspicions. “Just not the one that was released for us to exorcise.”

“They really see him like that?” she said. You sighed.

“Of course they do. Or maybe it’s just that it doesn’t matter to them; at any rate, I know Noritoshi is the dutiful type. I wouldn’t put it past Principal Gakuganji to ask him to do something like that, and if the principal demanded it, then he’d definitely oblige. And the rest of the Kyoto students would probably follow his lead, so that’s just as likely of an explanation,” you said.

“I can’t believe they’re all ganging up on him,” Tullia said. “That’s ridiculous, and cowardly.”

“No, not necessarily all of them,” you said, allowing yourself to smile fondly. “There’s one that might even take a liking to him. If it’s like that, then he’ll only have to prove himself once, and that’ll be enough. The others will leave him alone then, too.”

“Todo?” Tullia guessed. You nodded.

“He’s that sort,” you said. “If Todo decides he likes Itadori, then it’s just up to Itadori to prove himself worthy of standing beside him and fighting. Whether he fails or succeeds is a different matter entirely, but I know Todo won’t let the others interfere in the process. That’s the scenario we should be hoping for.”

“What should we do in the meantime, then?” Tullia said. “How far are we from Itadori? If you take on Todo, we should be able to deal with the others. Tell me which way so that we can get to him as fast as possible! That would be the best case scenario, right?”

“No,” you said. It was a split-second decision, but you made it and hoped that your instinct was correct. This time, it was Tullia’s turn to give you an aghast look.

“You’re seriously going to leave him to die?” she said.

“Of course not,” you said. “I can guarantee you that Megumi and Panda, at least, have come to similar conclusions as us, just based on how peaceful the forest is at the moment. Megumi won’t leave Itadori to fight on his own, that’s for sure, and Maki will definitely support him in that. Panda always makes good judgments, so I’m certain he’ll split up their group, with him and, if I had to guess, Nobara heading to Itadori’s defense, while Toge, the higher ranked of the group, continues to search for the second grade curse. Just like we will.”

“With Megumi, Maki, Panda, and Nobara there to help him, they should be able to handle things,” Tullia agreed. “But why should we focus on the event? Doesn’t it kind of take a backseat to something like this?”

“Normally, I’d agree. Even now, it leaves a bad taste in my mouth to seemingly abandon him like this; however, leaving him behind and searching for the target is actually the best thing we can do at this point. Think about it: once we kill that curse, the challenge is over. If we do it quickly enough, then they won’t even get the chance to kill Itadori. Furthermore, we can then confer with Gojo about our suspicions and figure out what to do next,” you said.

“I get it now!” Tullia said. “No wonder you’re a Grade 1 sorcerer, Y/N. You’ve got this stuff figured out.”

“Thank you. It’s really just practice, though — you remember how many missions I had to go on as a Semi-Grade 1? Those were the worst few months of my life. I had to get better at reading and adapting to situations in the moment just because if I didn’t, people would die,” you said, shuddering at just the memory of how many odd missions you had been sent on. You thought it was a little cruel that the majority of difficult assignments were actually given to Semi-Grade 1 sorcerers instead of the Grade 1s, but it made sense; after all, once a sorcerer attained the rank of Grade 1, they had weight behind their name. They could make decisions and choose what they did and didn’t do, with the power and status to reinforce those decisions, but the same could not be said for Semi-Grade 1 sorcerers, who were chasing their recommendations and therefore willingly accepted whichever missions came their way.

“I’ll be on your level one day,” she said. “You can count on it.”

“I believe you,” you said. “I don’t think you’re too far off, either. If you do well enough during this event, you’ll definitely get your initial recommendations in.”

“Right! Then let’s get the curse exorcised!” she said, clenching her fist, determination blazing in her eyes. You patted her on the shoulder.

“Yes,” you said. “Let’s do that.”

Just then, a shout resounded through the entire forest. Birds flew out of the trees in alarm, and it genuinely reverberated in your bones from its depth and volume, though you knew that its origin was somewhere far from where you currently were. Though it definitely sounded like something concerning, the voice made you grin widely.

“Wrong!”

“What was that?” Tullia said, literally jumping in surprise. You laughed.

“That,” you said, some of your worry easing at the development, “was Todo. He’s taken Itadori under his wing, alright; it seems like he’ll be okay for now, as long as he can keep up with Todo’s nonsense.”

“Great!” Tullia said. “Though, doesn’t that mean that the rest of the Kyoto students—?”

“—are free to do as we please? Yes, it’s true,” a musical voice said. Before Tullia could react, there was a shrill whistle piercing the air, and then a rope slithered through the underbrush, wrapping around her ankles and pulling her down to the ground.

“Elakshi,” you greeted, tossing a needle at the rope which whipped towards you. Though it wasn’t a human, it was still an object imbued with cursed energy, much like Momo’s broom had been. Therefore, Dissection worked perfectly fine on it, showing its weak spots and allowing you to destroy the entire thing in one hit.

“Hello, Y/N, Tullia,” she said, revealing herself from where she had been hiding in the trees. In the meantime and along with much angered muttering, Tullia managed to untie the rope from around her ankle, staggering to her feet and stomping on it irritation before kicking it away.

“We both know you aren’t a match for me,” you said. “So why’d they send you after us? I thought for sure that Noritoshi would come himself.”

“Noritoshi is otherwise preoccupied,” Elakshi said evenly. You noticed that in the time she had been in Kyoto, her accent had grown thinner, though it would likely completely leave her. This made you strangely proud of her. If her accent was the only thing she had left of who she had been once and where had come from, then you hoped she never got rid of it, that she clung onto it forever.

“Y/N, can you just beat her up?” Tullia complained. Elakshi whistled again, a low, sweet tone. The rope reared up at Tullia, but this time she was prepared, punching it out of the way in disdain. It fell to the ground once more, but Elakshi did not bother with it, instead returning her attention to me.

“What you said is indeed correct. There is no world in which I can beat you. Even Noritoshi would struggle. In this moment, in the situation we are in, you seem to be the strongest sorcerer participating in the event. You, Toge Inumaki, and Aoi Todo: those are the three that we are the most wary of,” she said.

“So Todo isn’t allied with you all,” you said. “I knew he wouldn’t be.”

“Todo isn’t a person who allies with anyone, but he also won’t fight us without reason. As long as we stay out of his way, he’s not an issue. That leaves you and Inumaki as our biggest concerns for the purpose of this event. We spent a long time thinking of ways to counter the two of you, but eventually, we figured it out,” she said.

“And what would said counters be?” Tullia snapped from the background. Elakshi rolled her eyes, whistling again at the rope, which once again tried to go after Tullia. This time, though, Tullia took a shot of bleach before grabbing the rope and ripping it in half. It wilted in her hands, and she smugly threw it into a nearby bush, brushing her hands off against her pants.

“I’m not at liberty to discuss such confidential information, but rest assured, they definitely exist,” Elakshi said.

“It has something to do with you. There’s a reason why you came instead of Noritoshi,” you guessed. She hummed in thought before shrugging mysteriously.

“Yes and no. There’s a reason it was me and not one of the others, but it could’ve been Noritoshi if he chose it to be like that. I was not jesting when I said that he was currently engaged with other tasks,” she said.

“Like killing Itadori?” Tullia guessed. This time, Elakshi did not send the rope after her just for daring to speak; instead, she pressed her lips together.

“Todo is the one handling Itadori. The person whom Noritoshi is concerned with is different, but that’s not anything that the two of you need to focus on at the moment,” she said.

“What should we focus on, then? You just seem to be talking a lot at the moment, so what’s the big deal?” Tullia said. Elakshi pinched the bridge of her nose.

“I’ll stop talking then,” she said. “Since you’re so opposed, how about I whistle instead? Would that please you more?”

“Not really,” Tullia said. “But — shit!”

Ropes descended upon the two of you, shooting out from the tree branches, rising up from the grass, wriggling out from under Elakshi’s uniform. It was like a swarm, ropes swirling everywhere and battering at you while Elakshi continued to whistle in the background, an eerie tune that grated on your nerves.

You brandished your needles, but to your surprise, most of the ropes flew past you. The ones that tried to wrap around your limbs were quickly dealt with, bursting into smithereens and then raining down on the grass like the dying embers of a fire. However, the majority of them were concentrated on Tullia, and when the storm finally ceased, all of the ropes now where Elakshi wanted them, you realized why she had targeted Tullia instead of you: Tullia didn’t have a method to completely destroy the ropes the way you did, especially not so many at once. She had clearly managed to rip apart a few of them, but they had remained under Elakshi’s control, and the result was that Tullia was totally restrained, with something resembling a noose hanging around her neck.

“If you don’t drop your needles right now, I’ll tighten it,” Elakshi said. “She’ll die.”

“You can’t kill during the exchange event,” you reminded her. She stared at you blankly.

“Don’t put me in the position to, and I won’t,” she said. You ground your teeth. Would your needles be faster than Elakshi’s whistle? Most definitely, and even if they weren’t, Tullia would probably not be choked for long enough to actually kill her before you destroyed the rope. She’d likely suffer from some injuries, but Composition would be enough to take care of those, so it was a risk worth taking. You had just about decided to throw the needles anyways when you were interrupted by Tullia clearing her throat.

“You don’t have to do that, Y/N,” she said. “You’re already a Grade 1 sorcerer, right? There’s no need for you to play the hero and save me. Let me take care of the situation; I want to look good so I can get a promotion, after all!”

“You’re fully restrained,” Elakshi said, obviously unamused. “What can you even do at this point? It would be in your best interest to ask me not to kill you or to beg Y/N to save you.”

“Those are the kind of options that a sorcerer who doesn’t aim for Grade 1 status would take! But that’s not who I am. I’m a person that’s planning to receive my initial recommendations after this event!” Tullia said.

“It doesn’t matter who you are or aren’t,” Elakshi said. “You can’t do anything. Accept your defeat.”

“This idea came to me earlier,” Tullia said. “After seeing Itadori. Did you know they call Sukuna the King of Poisons, too? I remembered that after looking at him, and it made me think…aren’t I like that, too?”

“What do you mean?” Elakshi said. The corners of Tullia’s mouth curled upwards, but the expression she was donning could not in any world be considered a smile. Biting your lip, you tucked your needles away and bowed your head at her in acknowledgement. If she wanted it this badly, and if she was really so confident that she could beat Elakshi, then it’d be unfair of you to take the chance from her.

“I used to think that the poison I drank was converted directly into cursed energy, but now I don’t believe that that’s the case. For me, poison is a stimulant, something that drives my body’s cursed energy production into overdrive. It can’t harm me for that reason,” she said.

“Get on with it,” Elakshi said. It was clear that she wanted to tighten the noose and be done with the affair, but then she’d have to contend with you, and that was a fight she wasn’t willing to risk, even with the knowledge of whatever weakness of yours that the Kyoto students had discovered.

“That doesn’t mean it leaves me, though,” Tullia said. “It lingers in my body. Again, it doesn’t harm me, but don’t you think that it’d harm someone else? Something else?”

Elakshi’s eyes widened, and she extended her hand as if to stop Tullia. Belatedly, she remembered to whistle, and it was a high-pitched, panicked sound, but it didn’t matter. Tullia had already bit down on her lip, and blood began to flow from her mouth, first in little droplets and then all at once, streaming down her chin and sizzling when it landed on the ropes, reacting with their latent cursed energy and eating away at them until they dissolved into nothingness, leaving Tullia entirely free to move once more.

“No,” Elakshi whispered, now entirely defenseless and facing off against not one but two fully armed sorcerers. “No!”

She whistled again, and the pieces of rope Tullia had discarded in the bush earlier slunk out from it. You prepared to defend yourself, as did Tullia, but it seemed that this time, you two were not the target of the ropes — Elakshi herself was.

“What are you doing?” you said in alarm as she began to choke, the ropes growing tighter and tighter around her neck. “Elakshi, what are you doing to yourself?”

“Seeing if Noritoshi was right,” she wheezed out, coughing dryly from a lack of oxygen. You and Tullia could only watch in horror as she cut off her own air supply until eventually, her eyes rolled back in her head and she collapsed, the ropes falling limp beside her.

“What the hell?” Tullia said. “Why did she do that?”

“I don’t know,” you said. “I’m trying to think, but I genuinely can’t understand why she’d choose to do such a thing.”

“Maybe she just wanted to go out on her own terms instead of ours. I guess it doesn’t matter; if she’s out, she’s out. Do we just leave her here and move on?” Tullia said.

“Let’s heal her first. Neck injuries are no joke, and she should be dazed enough that I can paralyze her with a needle before she thinks to fight back,” you said. “Oh, also, nice job with the blood thing! That was really clever, though I am a little confused. Why doesn’t your blood react with everything like that? Your handkerchiefs, your clothes, why don’t any of those dissolve like those ropes did?”

“It was a wager that I made,” Tullia said. “I didn’t explain it fully. The lingering poison in my bloodstream is closer to cursed energy than anything, as an after-effect of encountering my cursed technique, so I bet that it only reacts to things that also have cursed energy, and even then, only when they were actively using cursed energy — so, like, a sorcerer wouldn’t be impacted unless they were in the immediate process of using their technique or something. I guess my bet paid off!”

“I’d say so. That was definitely good thinking, Tullia, congratulations,” you said. She gave you a thumbs up.

“Thanks! Alright, if you’re planning on using Composition on her, then just know that I’ll be weaker for a bit. It’ll be my second time lending you my cursed energy with not so long in between the instances, so even though I can drink poison to replenish myself, it’ll probably still leave me drained for a bit,” she said.

“I don’t detect any curses or sorcerers in the vicinity, so we should be okay. Once I’ve healed and paralyzed Elakshi, we just have to exorcise the target curse. It won’t be hard for me, so I’ll get it done and then buy you pizza while you relax and recover in bed,” you said.

“Okay, sounds like a plan,” Tullia said, sitting criss-cross on the ground and motioning towards Elakshi. “Whenever you’re ready.”

You knelt by the fallen sorcerer, rolling your shoulders in preparation and then once again seeking out Tullia’s cursed energy. It was there in an instant, and you swallowed before scanning over Elakshi’s body, focusing especially on her throat.

“Composition,” you said. There was a thud as Tullia hit the ground; you must’ve stolen more energy than you had originally anticipated, or maybe she was just that spent. You vowed to heal Elakshi as quickly as possible and set out to do just that, but you soon realized something was wrong: for some reason, despite the fact that you had literally watched her choke herself to unconsciousness, your technique was insisting that there was nothing wrong with her.

A twitch of Elakshi’s lips was all the warning you got before her eyes flew open and she whistled with an ear splitting intensity. The ropes she had choked herself with — no, feigned choking herself with — moved too fast for the eye to see, and by the time you thought to react, they were already wrapped around your hands, binding them together behind your back, your needles out of reach.

“You bluffed,” you said. “That whole thing was just an act.”

“Of course,” she said. “I’m not the sacrificial type anymore. It only worked because we knew you so well, though; at any rate, I was hoping you’d be paired up with that other Zenin girl, but I guess that in a pinch, Tullia and I work.”

“What do you mean? Are you talking about my weakness or whatever?” you said, struggling against your bonds, though it was in vain.

“You haven’t figured it out yet? Well, I can hardly blame you. People tend to be blinder when it comes to recognizing their own flaws,” she said. “Say, do you think I’ll be recommended for promotion now, too? I’ve restrained a Grade 1 sorcerer. I think that’s pretty promotion worthy.”

“I’m going to tell Gojo to levitate outside of your window without his blindfold tonight,” you muttered rebelliously. “I hope you stare into his absurdly blue eyes and feel true fear.”

“Let her go!” Tullia said, though she was obviously a little woozy, stumbling as she ran towards Elakshi.

“Sit down,” you said to her. “You need to recover. I might be out for the count, but you can still fight if you drink some poison and let yourself rest.”

“That’s true, she is still a threat,” Elakshi said, looking at Tullia before clicking her tongue. “It’s fine, though. She won’t recover in time. As long as you’re no longer a viable player, Y/N, Kyoto will win.”

You went to argue in defense of your classmates, but just then, a dark veil began to creep over the sky. You furrowed your brow, giving Elakshi a worried look. She was staring at the sky, obviously just as confused as you were.

“As someone who participated in the event last year, I can say with full confidence that that’s not supposed to be there,” you said.

“Who could possibly be putting down a veil at this moment?” Elakshi said.

“I know it seems counterintuitive, but you have to let me go now. I don’t know what this whole veil thing is about, but if you have me restrained like this, then you’re seriously jeopardizing everybody in the forest. If someone has hijacked the event, then I need to get to Todo and coordinate a plan to take them out,” you said. You thought it might take more convincing, but Elakshi was sensible enough to let her ropes fall away in an instant, leaving you free to move around once again. You flexed your wrists before looking up at the sky, your mind working overtime to figure out what the likely explanation was.

Like a punch to your stomach, you felt an enormously malevolent presence enter the area of the veil. There was only one type of being that emitted that kind of aura: the disaster curses that you and Gojo had encountered. Your nails dug into the soft skin of your palm, forming crescent moons in the skin, and you shifted from foot to foot at the development.

It had to be the work of the spy. They must’ve informed the curses that you all would be alone in the forest like this, away from the safety of the teachers’ protection. Gojo was all of the way in the faculty building, which meant that he might not even know what was happening — you weren’t sure if Mei Mei’s crows worked through veils, so there was a real chance that he was in the dark. That meant that this was the ideal moment for the curses to strike, and it also supported your earlier assessment.

“Elakshi,” you said. “Take Tullia and get out of here. Forget about the event, just get out of the veil and take her to Ieri if possible.”

“What about you?” she said.

“Whoever put this veil up is working with special-grade curses, one of which is inside the veil at this very moment. Because of the veil, it’s not a guarantee that the faculty knows what’s going on, which means that as of this moment, Todo and I are the highest ranked sorcerers aware of what’s happening. That means it’s my responsibility to take care of everyone. I have to hold this curse off until help can arrive,” you said.

“By help, do you mean Gojo?” Elakshi said, at first trying to get Tullia to lean against her but then giving up and picking her up, carrying her bridal style.

“Yes, he’s the only one who can certainly deal with this,” you said.

“I’ll try to reach him first, then,” she said.

“Sounds like a plan. Be safe. Avoid combat at all costs; this is not an opponent you can fight alone and win against,” you said.

“Understood. You be safe, too,” she said. “Don’t let your weakness make you lose again.”

“I’ll do my best,” you said, even though you still couldn’t understand what that weakness could possibly be. There was no time for further chitchat, though. Without another second to waste, the two of you took off in opposite directions, her towards the exit of the forest and you towards the river where you sensed Megumi facing off against the special grade curse.

It wasn’t the volcano-headed one, that was for sure, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t powerful. And was Megumi fighting it alone? No, there was no way he was. Maki was definitely with him, but you just couldn’t sense her due to her lack of cursed energy. She wouldn’t have abandoned Megumi, and she was fine. She had to be fine. There was no way she wasn’t.

Still, the mere chance that she might not be was enough to push you further, faster, until you were bursting out of the forest and skidding in the slick mud of the riverbank. Both Maki and Megumi did not even notice your arrival, so focused were they on fighting the enormous humanoid curse with the branches for eyes, but the tension left you as you saw that Maki was alright.

The curse must have been the one Gojo and Itadori had encountered the other day, the one who had saved the volcano-head at the last minute. It hadn’t attacked them, only run away with its accomplice, but that only meant that it was theoretically capable of anything, that none of you were aware of what the extent of its skills and techniques were. Maki and Megumi had the upper hand for now, but how long would that last? And everyone was moving so fast that there was no way you could throw a needle, for fear of accidentally hitting one of your allies instead of the curse.

You could not hesitate, though. Even if hand-to-hand combat wasn’t your area of proficiency, you still had to try. You were the Grade 1 sorcerer; you were the one responsible for the lives of your classmates. Todo was nowhere to be found, which meant that it was really up to you. You were not allowed to let any of the others fall before you, especially not her. Especially not your best friend.

There was no one single explanation for it, at least not one that was immediately evident. Maybe Megumi faltered having to use an unfamiliar weapon, or maybe it was the splash of your boots in the current that caught them off guard; either way, for a moment, the two of them were distracted, and in that moment, the curse struck. Strange bud-like growths blossomed in Megumi’s torso, ripping his stomach open and cackling amongst themselves as they did so. He collapsed, and you inhaled, about to run towards him when you suddenly realized something — the curse wasn’t poised to deal a finishing blow to him anymore. Instead, it’s focus was on something — someone else.

“I was hoping you’d be paired up with that other Zenin girl.”

“My needles. My friendship with Maki. Those are mine.”

“The next time you mention my friends — the next time you even dare to say Maki’s name — I will aim my needle a little lower, and I will not miss.”

“Well, I love her. She is the reason that I am the person I am.”

Why had Elakshi said that? What did it all mean? Why were you thinking about these things now? What had Noritoshi and Elakshi comprehended about you that even you had not yet? Because there was something you were missing. It was right in front of you, but you could not understand it yet, nor did you have the time to, because that curse, it was about to attack — it was about to attack —

“Don’t let your weakness make you lose again.”

What was your biggest weakness?

“Maki!” you cried out, wrapping your arms around her shoulders as you shielded her body with your own, knocking her out of the way of the assault. The curse’s branch pierced your back, gouging a hole into it before retracting in victory as you fell to the ground at Maki’s feet.

“Y/N?” she breathed. “Y/N, what are you — hey, don’t you touch her again! Let go of her!”

A root sprouted from the ground, wrapping around you and ripping you away from where Maki had been about to pick you up. Suspending you in midair, the curse regarded you carefully, batting Maki away with a different root as it did so.

“Are you the one that Jogo met? There’s a different air to you than there was to the other two,” it said.

“Y/N!” Megumi said, coughing up blood as he tried to stand. You knew he wanted to protect you, you knew Maki wanted to protect you, but they weren’t strong enough. Both of them were beaten down already, tired off from holding off the curse for so long, but you didn’t blame the two for it. They had done the best they could. In fact, they had done better than anyone could’ve expected them to do.

“It’s alright,” you said, even as your vision began to swim, the pain of your wound and the subsequent blood loss causing your mind to grow blurry. Tullia was exhausted already, so you couldn’t call upon Composition at the current moment, which meant you couldn’t heal yourself, but it was fine. “Megumi. Maki. It’s okay.”

“What do you mean?” Megumi said.

“I’m not the only Grade 1 sorcerer around,” you said. “I think it’s just about time for my rival to make his appearance.”

As if on cue, there was a great crash, the force of which sent the curse reeling backwards. In the ensuing chaos, hidden by the waves of water that were created from the impact, you were dimly aware of your body being snatched from the curse’s grip and cradled in a pair of bulky arms.

“Sorry for the delay,” Todo said, so gentle with you despite how rough his exterior seemed. “Poor Y/N, always getting hurt like this! Don’t worry. My best friend and I will avenge you!”

“Best…friend?” you mumbled. “Never mind. Listen, this thing is a special grade.”

“You think I can’t handle it because of that?” he said derisively.

“No, just be careful,” you said, your head lolling against his shoulder. “Don’t die or anything, okay?”

“Well, if it’s my most trusted advisor and dearest rival asking for that kind of favor, then I can’t say no!” Todo said. “Panda! Take these three and get them out of here. According to Nishimiya’s report, the veil is an anti-Satoru-Gojo veil, so the rest of us can come and go as we please.”

“I’m on it!” Panda said, slinging Megumi over his shoulder, prompting a groan out of him. He went to do the same to Maki, but she shook her head.

“I can walk,” she said. “I’ll take her.”

“Are you sure?” Panda said. “You look tired out.”

“It’s fine,” Maki insisted. “She’s only even like that because she took the blow for me. It’s my fault, so I’ll be the one to take her back.”

“If you say so,” Panda said. Then you were being deposited into another, more slender embrace, and you knew even with your eyes drooping closed that it was Maki’s.

“Maki,” you said. “Maki, I miss you.”

“I miss you too, idiot,” she said. “Why’d you have to go and be all dramatic about it, though, huh? And why aren’t you healing yourself?”

“Tullia’s…unconscious. Can’t draw on her cursed energy when it’s so depleted,” you said, and even though every word hurt, you kept talking, because it was Maki, because you’d take all the pain in the world to keep talking to her.

“I see,” Maki said. “And how’d that end up happening?”

She was trying to ensure you stayed awake. She must’ve been afraid that if you went to sleep, you might not ever wake up again. You didn’t think the injury was that serious, but it must’ve looked like that, with so much blood everywhere and the wound so deep.

“Elakshi,” you said. “D’you know she figured out my weakness? Her and Noritoshi. I don’t even know what it is myself, though.”

“It’s that you’re shitty at hand to hand combat. How many times do I have to kick your ass until you understand that?” she said. “I bet if you trained with me more often, you wouldn’t be like this right now.”

“Maybe not,” you said. “I’m really tired, Maki.”

“I get it,” she said. “Yeah, me too. Can you stay awake for just a little bit longer? We’re almost there.”

“Don’t know,” you said. “Don’t think so.”

“Okay,” she said. “I’ll watch over you if that’s the case. You can rest, Y/N. You’ve done what you needed to do.”

With Maki’s permission, sleep claimed you all-too-easily, though it was fitful and uneasy, like you couldn’t quite rest yet, like your mind had been jostled and was trying its best to recover. Even the familiar scent of her laundry detergent wasn’t enough to soothe you, and it was only once you were being placed onto the cold surface of a hospital bed that you were able to wake up.

“Mama?” you said. Nothing was in focus, but there was a woman at your side, and even though it should’ve been your father and his Reverse Cursed Technique that you sought out, it was your mother who you hoped was there. Your mother, who you had not called mama since you were a child; even if she couldn’t do anything, you wanted her there.

“No,” the woman said. “Your parents didn’t come to the event, Y/N, remember? It’s me, Ieri. We’ve called the healers of the L/N clan to come work on the rest of the students, but it might be a bit until they get here. I’m healing you and Tullia first in the hopes that you can help me in the meantime.”

“Oh,” you said, and though you had nothing against Ieri, you couldn’t help but feel disappointed. “Gojo? Where is — where is Gojo?”

“He’s trying to get Todo and Itadori out of the veil,” Ieri said. “I’m sorry. It’s just us two.”

A tear trickled down your cheek, and then another, and another. Ieri was silent; for a while, you thought she might be ignoring you, which you would not blame her for doing. Her job was only to heal you, nothing more but nothing less, either.

Yet she was your teacher, too. You didn’t think she would’ve done it for anyone else, but for you, for the Reverse Cursed Technique user that she had helped train herself, she healed with only one hand, doubling the pain and the effort it would require, doubling the strain she took upon her.

With the other, she held yours and squeezed.

[agerefandomrambles]

hiii ik I’ve already sent in some requests for hbh agere so I hope you don’t mind me sending another — could you write a fic about little!quinni & little!spider being taken care of by caregiver!cash & caregiver!harper? or any of those characters paired up if four characters is too much <3

ofc no pressure, ik you’ve got a bit to work on already!

Title: Crayon

Word count: 958

Little! Quinni + Spider

Cg! Cash + Harper

Warnings: impure regression, sensory overload

Plot: When Spider regresses during SLT'S, it sets off a domino effect

The SLT's slowly filter in after recess. Ms Obae is standing at the front of the class with a set of pencils, pens and paints in front of her.

The class slowly sits down and she takes the role before starting the class.

"OK everyone. We're going to try some art therapy today. I want you to pick which ever medium speaks to you and tell me a story though your art."

Spider borderline stomps to the front of the class and grabs the first jar he sees.

"Miss! Spiders gone with mental illness gray" Missy teases, grabbing a jar for herself and walking back to her seat.

Spider just sticks his tounge out at her and stomps back to his seat, muttering under his breath. He grumpily sits down next to Harper, still muttering.

Meanwhile, Quinni is sinking further into her seat. She glances around the room, taking note of all her possible escape routes.

"Hey" Cash says, gently nudging her. "You good?"

Quinni just nods and starts to draw on the paper. Cash gives her another concerned glance before giving the class a quick once over.

He does a double take when he sees spider scribbling on his piece of paper and silent tears streaming down his cheek.

Cash elbows Harper rather harshly to get her attention, not wanting to scare Quinni.

"Ow! What?" Harper hisses, rubbing her side where Cash elbowed her. She goes very quiet, with a small, "oh" when she's sees the tears slowly dripping off of spiders face.

"Spider? Hun?" Harper asks softly before placing a hand on his shoulder, trying not to spook him.

As she gets closer, she can hear what he's been muttering under his breath. "This is so cringe. Why are we even doing this?"

"Oi. Cut it out." Harper says sternly. It's mostly to tell him off but it's also to test his mental age and to assess whether or not he's regressed.

"Why are we doing this?" Spider says louder, meeting her eyes in a very clear challenge. His eyes flicker over to quinni and his expression softens for a moment when she covers her ears at his noise. But then he glances over at Darren and it's like a fires been lit in his chest.

"Why is this a more valid way of expressing my emotions then just telling you that this class sucks? How is this crayon going to fix it? How is this crayon going to fix me?" He's standing now, facing the class as he rants.

His voice breaks into a sob on the last word and he raises his hand to his face, alarmed when it comes back wet. When did he start crying?

Harper doesn't even say anything to him, she just stands up and drags him out of the class by his shirt.

It's only once their out of SLT's and she's sat him down in an empty classroom that she turns to look at him. He flinches, expecting yelling and hitting and anger.

She surprises him instead by kneeling down at his level and just holding eye contact. Her face tells him that she's not impressed and he physically feels his heart break in two at the thought of disappointing her.

"What's going on Spec?" Harper asks gently, still holding eye contact.

He goes to talk but all that comes out is a garbled sob. He stammers as he tries to find a way to express the complicated mix of anger, hurt, upset and overwhelm that's swirling around inside him.

Oh. He's regressed. That's why he lashed out and why everything was too much all of a sudden.

"Too loud. Lights too bright. Dusty gone. Ant hurt" he stammers, breaking eye contact to look at the floor, tears still flowing freely down his cheek. "I'm sorry" he says, barely above a whisper.

"Hey. Spider. Can you look at me for a sec?" Harper says, gently lifting his chin to meet his gaze. "You never ever have to apologise for being small. You're allowed to be overwhelmed but you are not allowed to take that out on other people. Especially Ms Obea"

Spider just nods and drops his gaze again. "I don't feel as little as normal. I kinda feel like a pre-teen? If that makes sense? Like I feel all stompy and grumpy" He says after a moment of figuring out how to articulate what he is feeling.

"Oh, that's all good. Tell you what? How about we meet up with Quinni and Cash and we go back to the apartment and we play some video games?" Harper offers, making sure to lower her voice to a more appropriate level.

In the room directly next to them, Quinni was happily telling Cash all about the different types of ducks and what makes them different.

Quinni was on the verge of a meltdown but Cash, knowing Quinni and her regression, pulled her out of the class and into an empty classroom not long after spider and Harper left.

They did some deep breaths, then Cash pulled out a colouring book from his backpack and they decided to colour together until the period was over, then they'd go back to the apartment.

A ping on Cash's phone grabs his attention and he glances down at it. It's a text from Harper reading "Spiders middle regressed. Going to apartment. Wanna grab others and come and turn it into a gathero?"

He quickly texts her back "Quinnis regressed too. I reckon we just bring the two and chill there. Less chance of meltdowns."

Harper texts him a thumbs up and both caregivers quickly gather up the gear spread on the floor before getting in their respective cars and driving to the apartment.

[bardic-inspo]

Okay so I also happen to know nothing about BG3, other than what several characters look like and sorta...general D&D knowledge? if that counts?

but "Blood in the Mortar" sounds veeeerrrryyyy interesting 😗

@krokaxe Thank you both! <3 <3 I think general D&D knowledge definitely counts!!

[Ask me about a fic on my WIP List]

This fic features an Vampire Ascendant Astarion (a powered up vampire lord is the short of it) with a vampire bride Tav. The Tav I'm using (Naomi, a bard) is the same main OC from my multichapter with her and Astarion, Midnight Chimes, but this fic is very much a standalone and a sort of "what if they both ended up evil" AU occurring post-game. It's just a smutty one-shot for now, but I might end up writing more of their "evil" versions at some point if I have enough fun with it.

There's a lot of different interpretations of Ascended Astarion out there, but some concepts I'm playing with in Blood in the Mortar are:

Tav has been made into his bride and not just his spawn. This is a concept a lot of folks have played with and is based heavily off this excerpt from what I think is an old monster manual talking about vampire bride/groom rituals.

In the rendition of this I'm playing with, a bride and a spawn is really similar. Astarion could compel Tav if he wanted to. But, they have a really intense/intimate mental/telepathic link and he's gonna take a buttload of psychic damage if he did anything to hurt or really upset her.

It also works as a sort of perpetual feedback loop. They feel each other's happiness and affection for the other as if it was their own (and other, less pleasant feelings, too). Who the emotion originally started with starts to get a little blurry. Their individual wellbeing is really tied up in the other's happiness. It's intense and probably toxic but for the most part, they're both happy about it. (As Wyll comments in-game, they are the "unholiest union")

I wanted to toy with the protective/possessive streak in Ascended Astarion, but also, some text I saw in an epilogue that I think was ultimately unused in the game. Something about him hosting grand masquerades at his palace while Tav bolts the doors behind the party guests.

So, some uppity nobleman (or maybe another true vampire, I haven't decided yet) starts talking shit about Tav at one of Astarion's masquerades. It's clearly an effort to get a rise out of him, or to poke at what this nobleman perceives as Astarion's only weakness (Tav). But instead of getting the desired result, Astarion takes the "have you met my wife?" angle:

“Do you know what they call her? Other than mine, of course?” “The hero of Baldur’s Gate." Astarion waves a manicured hand irritably, as if swatting away a stray fly. “One of them, true, but isn’t there another name that comes to mind?” The man swallows thickly. “The Siren of the Sword Coast.” "And yet here you are," Astarion sneers with a curled lip, "ready to dash yourself upon the rocks like a little wayward ship blown astray. I can hardly blame you." His eyes soften, just past the shoulder of the lordling's gaudy doublet. In the low flutter of candlelight, he spies the sheen of sapphires set amongst delicate feathers wrought from silver. He'd had the mask made for her, with the likeness of a swan in mind. Still, as pretty as it is, his favorite gleam is those eyes, set between the glittering finery. She still kept the kiss of violet in them, even in death. It mingles with the red in her irises, like a rich, deep wine. "She is captivating, isn’t she?," Astarion sighs, a faint smile grazing his lips. "My beautiful bride." At long last, it seems, lord what's-his-name has found the decency to shut up. Astarion draws a long draught from his goblet, drawing a dark glare over the sheen of sweat that's started on the other man's brow. “You see," Astarion drawls, as the vintage seeps sweetly down his throat, "my beloved, oh, she’s a monster too. She so does love the taste of blood in her mouth, now that she’s supped of mine.”

And then they do murder and steamy (if wildly impractical) sex together. I think there's a grand piano involved. 👀

[districtxii]

it's not hard to fall when you float like a cannonball (everlark fic from 2012)

Posting this here on the new dedicated Hunger Games blog. It's the only complete fic I ever posted for this fandom, for a fic exchange back in 2012, even though I spent many hours in private RP.

Link to AO3.

Rating: T Warnings: none Word Count: 6,019 Post-Trilogy hurt/comfort everlark

it's not hard to fall when you float like a cannonball

🌿

My eyes follow the marks Peeta makes on the page, opposite a long burst of painstakingly neat handwriting that belongs to me. I can see where the pressure of my writing darkened and thickened the lines, corresponding with the moments when I clenched my teeth in anger or struggled for deep breaths that wouldn't turn into easy, overwhelming sobs. Some days it's harder than others, to write down those things that I refuse to forget.

Peeta had reached out and squeezed my shoulder, his thumb running up a cord of tension in my neck, his hand as steady as it is now while he draws on the paper. He asked me if I wanted to stop and I snapped at him, but his hand stayed in place for a while anyway. Finally, I wiped roughly at my face, drying beneath my eyes and against my cheeks and kept writing, causing yet another of the dark marks on a line.

I can't stop writing, even when it's harder to write down the things that had felt like hope, that had made me smile at the time. The things that I might say made me happy are the ones that bring me most dangerously close to stopping. They're all gone now, those moments, taken away or simply over, but I can't forget them. Peeta has forgotten too much, lost too much in his mind, for the both of us.

The sketch begins to take shape from the initial, seemingly random soft lines that look a little chaotic to me. I rub beneath my strained eyes and lean forward across the kitchen table against my elbows to watch more closely as the page becomes something almost living, the ghost of a moment I recalled on the page beside it. When I glance up at him, there is a faint smile on Peeta's lips and I know I'm not returning it. Instead, my mouth is a little agape and I reach for the book impulsively. The edge of the cover brushes against my fingertips as Peeta slides it over to me so I can see the image in the direction it's meant to be seen. I can't help but marvel at how deep the piece of paper has become, as if I could step into it. He captures the past as easily as any photograph, more easily. The drawing looks, feels real, and it's not even finished yet.

“It's good,” I say, remembering that I should probably give Peeta some kind of positive feedback for simply being here with me, for holding onto what he knows. It's more than that, though. It's so easy to forget. For such a long time I was without him. First he was left behind, taken by the Capitol, while I spent all that time in District 13, wishing for a person to be safe, to be there with me—a person who would never really come home. Then Peeta did come back, different, and then gone forever. The boy with the bread, the boy on the beach, not mine anymore and unreachable. Even with the pieces of him that seem to come back and to become a bit more real, natural each day, it's easy to lose just how much of it he was there for. I spent so much time trying and failing to steel myself against the raw, painful truth that the steady, naively adoring, real Peeta was gone, dead, killed in some cold sterile room in the Capitol, that I still don't dare let myself believe that he'll really come back, stay with me. But he was there for so much of what has happened to me, since that first reaping, and what he has drawn matches what's in my head, but he hasn't drawn it just from my writing. It's in his head, too. It belongs to him and he's sorted it free from the shiny, false memories the Capitol gave him.

“Thanks,” he replies in a leading tone that I'm sure is trying to draw a returned smile from me, like he doesn't believe I mean the compliment, but only in jest.

“... I'm going to get some air,” I announce abruptly, pushing the book back firmly into Peeta's possession and getting up from my chair.

“I'll come with you,” Peeta asserts, getting up with an urgency that almost startles me and still makes me worry about his leg. We just stare at each other for a moment and he reaches out to carefully close the book and set it out of harm's way. It's just a reminder that there's no one ever there besides us to spill anything on it or to damage it at all. The world is so still now.

“I'm going out into the woods,” I tell him, almost hoping that it will deter him from following me, but I guess it might be a bit of a test, too. I'm just not sure what I'm testing for.

“... And I'll make too much noise,” Peeta supplies, not quite a question. He looks down, away from me, apparently disappointed.

“No,” I say quickly and then wonder why I did. Now I've trapped myself, though, and have to keep going with the train of thought. “... No, I'm not going to hunt. If anything it might... keep anything from wanting to sneak up on me.”

Peeta's expression brightens a little and he pushes up the chair I had been sitting in, too and moves to follow me out the door. There's a little spark of satisfaction that runs through me when I see some kind of life go back into him at the promise of coming into the woods with me, but I don't trust it. I take a few backward steps and then turn around, tensely leading the way out the door, my thumbs sliding down into my trouser pockets for a moment until I pull them back out, compelled to fidget.

I'm meandering toward town and eventually on to the fence, so Peeta easily catches pace with me and we walk along in silence for a while. It only occurs to me after several minutes to glance over at him to see whether he seems to be enjoying it. I remember the last time he and I walked into town together. I'd asked him if he would run away with me—not just with me, though. My family, his, Haymitch—all gone now except for Haymitch who has enough liquor to last him at least another week or two. For a moment I want to hide my eyes from what remains of the 12 I knew, from what they're building back on top of it, but I keep my feet moving, going through the motions.

“Are you alright?” Peeta asks.

“Great,” I reply, a little breathlessly. I'm a little surprised at my attempt at sarcasm, but then I'm too busy worrying about seeing the raw earth above the mass grave that the Meadow has become. It still isn't much easier and Peeta being with me makes me even more aware. Soon we're passing by where the bakery once was and I notice the momentary falter and subsequent quickening of his step. All the things I know about his family with the exception of his father are somehow negative and fill me with resentment. His bruised face, the way the one brother who could have didn't step up to take his place, but if he had then I'd never have known Peeta at all. The thought gives me pause and I wonder if I should ask him if he misses them, but I know he must and I don't want to talk about all the things I miss anymore today. Instead, I reach out and brush my fingertips along the edge of Peeta's hand, not quite taking it in mine but drawing his attention down to my fingers and then up to my face. I expect some conversation to follow but instead Peeta takes my hand, apparently perceiving some invitation, and I don't revoke it.

When we finally reach the edge of 12, Peeta finally lets go and reaches down to hold up a section of the fencing for me as if I hadn't been crawling under on my own for years. This earns him a strange look from me for a moment, but I'm about to just accept it and squirm my way beneath to show him how at the very least when he speaks up.

“Finally getting out of the district with you... Running away,” he muses lowly, offering a sad smile in place of the hopeful, searching one I've gotten almost used to getting sometimes. The thought that his thoughts run along the same tracks that mine do, that the moments that make up my memory of the past are so entwined with his, makes something catch in my throat and I try to swallow it. I search his eyes for a moment and then look abruptly down at the ground at the looser section of the fence down at the bottom that's familiar.

“We can't run away anymore, Peeta,” I say simply, not sure why his name rolls from my tongue. There's nothing left worth running from and what's left of 12 is all that's left of home. Then I take a deep breath and get down closer to the ground to step through and roll my body beneath the fence to the other side. “Like this,” I say, settling my balance once I've gotten through to the other side. Peeta listlessly lets go of what he'd been trying to hold up for me and instead reaches out for the loose one and tries mimicking my movements with as much grace as he's ever managed. He makes it through, but when he's trying to get his balance again, I hear a metallic snapping that makes me terrified that the electrical current in the fence has gone live again even though I know better. Instead of being electrocuted, Peeta just stumbles back a little and I instinctively reach up to stop his progress backward. My hand against his back seems to give him the stability he needs to stop. He's holding the fencing still when he's much too far out from it because it has snapped away from one of its posts. I stare at it and at the slacked gap that it's now left just above the ground, a window between two places, the woods and the district, that I still can't imagine ever really touching.

The breaths that follow from me are a little halted and I find myself looking back at Peeta and wondering just how it was that he survived two arenas, even with my help—and then without it. I swallow hard and try forcing the kind of tentative, hopeful smile he gives me.

“Are you okay?” I ask.

Peeta nods and looks down at the fencing he's holding and lets it down gently, as if it might minimize the damage. While he does this, I look out beyond him and try to decide where to take him. The idea of taking him to the place where Gale and I looked out for such a long time seems wrong, off, so I set off to guide him deeper into the woods toward the only other landmark I can really think of.

- - -

“I didn't know this was here,” Peeta comments with some measure of awe when we're at the edge of the lake, surveying around it, focusing for a moment on the ancient, untouched building hidden away by time.

“You didn't know any of this was out here,” I remind him. Peeta exhales in the same halted way I had at the fence and hearing it from someone else, I realize it's some attempt at a laugh that something broken within each of us blocks from escaping. “... My father brought me here. That's... how I knew how to swim,” I tell him with the most careful confidence I can, as if someone else might be around to hear us and I don't want them to. There's no one else, but I still feel some kind of vulnerability as I admit it.

“I still don't really know how to swim,” Peeta replies after a moment I realize was filled with some acknowledging reverence.

“I know,” I say quietly, giving him that same attempt at a smile and this time we both manage it at the same time. I walk a few paces around the lake's shore and find a gap in the trees were unobstructed sunlight touches down, warming the earth. Then I sit down, leaning back a little against the heels of my hands and nodding for Peeta to do the same if he wants.

He joins me after a moment and I notice that he's looking at me in the light with startling clarity, his gaze moving down until it falls against my stomach. I straighten a little and draw up my knees, tugging down at my shirt but finding that an extra fold of fabric bunches against my thin body. I'm not actually emaciated the way I got dangerously close to being at one point since we got home, but I'm not wearing the clothes that still hang in my closet that were from Cinna, tailored for the girl I used to be.

“I could teach you,” I decide quickly, looking up to Peeta's face and hoping to catch his eyes, to steal them away from my body.

“What?” he asks, startled.

“I could teach you how to swim,” I say more idly, hugging my knees and then leaning my chin against one of them.

“Are you sure--” Peeta starts to ask dubiously, looking out at the water contemplatively.

“I taught Gale,” I say quickly, cutting off any argument and staring out at the water, my face flushed with something I tell myself isn't shame. There's no reason for it to be, but I can't deny that there's a tightness in my stomach that no longer feels like confusion, really. Gale's gone, too, and I don't need him. When silence is what follows, I finally furtively glance over at Peeta and am relieved when I realize he hasn't become angry. Instead, I see him nod if only to himself and then shift to get back up to his feet.

“Okay,” he agrees as he offers me a hand I don't need to help me up. I get up on my own anyway, dusting my hands off on my pants and glancing at the water as I consider what I need to do. Again I've volunteered for something without thinking it through, without letting myself think it through because I can't stand the alternative. Now I've put Peeta's life in my hands again without any hesitation. For a moment all I can see in the water is the potential for him to sink beneath into the shadows provided by the trees. Even if I could get him back to shore, I don't know how to do the pressing on his chest, the kissing him that Finnick had known how to do to breathe air and life back into him. I simply can't let that happen. I can't let Peeta drown, can't let him die.

“You've got to do everything I tell you,” I insist when I face back to him, cementing my demand with a stern expression.

“Yeah,” Peeta agrees with some kind of dismissive reassurance, widening his eyes at me a little. “I know... I've got no idea what to do in water much deeper than a bathtub.”

I catch my breath and nod, first at him and then toward the water.

“Take off your clothes,” I tell him, not making eye contact as my hands go down to the bottom hem of my shirt. I realize too late that I hadn't really thought through the idea of distracting Peeta from looking at me. The only way I can get myself to proceed with taking off my shirt is steeling myself with as many layers of defiance as I can to remind myself why it shouldn't matter. As the fabric catches on my fingers and drags up across my stomach, I remember how I'd once tried everything to insist that I not take off Peeta's pants to examine and clean an almost certainly fatal wound. Now my body is scarred, lines running across it where surgeons have left marks where once different doctors had removed all traces of everything I'd ever touched, but Peeta has scars, too.

“What?” Peeta asks, breaking my resolve with a single syllable and causing me to quickly lower my shirt back down just as it had made its way midway up my abdomen. I look at him, nearly glaring but then realize that it's pointless. He hasn't suddenly grown shy or reprimanding or squeamish I gradually realize. He's just surprised, confused.

“... So the water won't drag. You're less likely to get hurt if you're not all weighed down.”

Peeta considers and smiles wryly.

“Just never thought I'd hear you say that to anyone.”

“You can leave your underwear on if you want,” I say calmly, having resolutely decided to keep mine on. There had been no secrets about my body between my stylists and me, but Peeta is different. He's seen me nearly naked quite a number of times and I think of the way my last arena outfit had torn. Only then does it occur to me that I've brought Peeta back to another shore, another beach, but even as I narrow my eyes at him I cannot imagine being the girl, him being the boy that had lost themselves to something I still can't name in one another's kisses. It just makes my skin flush and a lump of regret weigh on my chest and then my throat.

“Deal,” Peeta agrees and then he's pulling off his shirt and I decide to let mine join his at the same time. I get mine over my head just seconds after he's dropped his to the ground and then I'm glad I am wearing a real bra rather than simply wrapping my chest the way I had done before I'd ever gone to the Capitol. I'd owned one bra before then. When I hear my shirt fall down against his I look up for a second and catch him doing the same. I'm not sure if it makes it easier or harder, to have our knowledge of the state of one another's bodies become experience and reality. We don't approach each other and there's nothing said about it, but scarred we are but he's remarkably the same. I just momentarily let myself wonder if he thinks the same about me. Then under some silent agreement we look away from each other again, not quite making full turns toward the water as we both remove our shoes—it takes Peeta a little longer with his artificial left leg but not much anymore—and then our trousers join our shirts on the ground in a mingled pile.

The next time our eyes meet, I hurry over to the edge of the water, feeling the more coarse soil beneath my bare feet. I kneel down and brace myself for the feeling of water completely surrounding my body for the first time since the last arena and am helplessly reminded of Annie for a second. It won't be abrupt, though, or terrifying, to wade out into the water until it's deep enough to lose my footing. I look up when Peeta joins me and my eyes run along the complex artificial limb that he hardly seems to notice at all now.

“What do we do first?” he asks.

“Are you afraid of the water?” I ask, getting back up as I feel less compelled to curl my body in against itself.

“I'm afraid of drowning,” Peeta quips but he doesn't seem very nervous. He trusts me now. He's always trusted me, even when he shouldn't have, as long as he could remember that he wanted to.

“Don't be,” I demand, then let my expression soften, looking over at him less intensely as I swallow down the anger I feel at the suggestion. “I'm not going to let you,” I say more quietly. I reach for his hand again, a little less reluctantly than back in town, taking it gradually with my fingers. “First we need to get you used to the water. We can wade out for a little while, but let me keep a step ahead so I can feel for where it drops off,” I explain, taking the first two steps out into the water. I take a deeper breath, surprised at how cool it is on the warm day. Peeta follows me and I glance back and see his jaw tighten a little once we're deep enough for him to feel the water up to his right knee.

“Colder than you'd think,” he comments.

I look up at the canopy of trees that almost completely surrounds us and nod in that direction as I look back down to meet his eyes.

“Lots of shade and it's not really into the summer yet. We can go in a little faster,” I suggest with a bit more of a smile that I feel tightening my cheeks, almost instantly making them ache. “If you think it'll help.”

“You're the mentor,” he replies easily and for a second I wonder if I should give into the stinging the word causes. Haymitch isn't a mentor anymore and the word doesn't hold the same meaning it did in the world before. I guide Peeta a little further into the water, focusing on its rippling surface to keep him from noticing how my brow has furrowed. I catch our reflections anyway in the part of the water that's illuminated by our gap in the trees and I remember the way Finnick would joke about dying so easily with a rope, how it made us laugh. Laughing then might be one reason I'm alive, we're alive, today even though Finnick is gone. I frown a little more tightly and then all at once I'm letting myself smile again and nodding as I look back up. “Don't let yourself tense up. Your muscles cramping is one of the easiest ways to drown if you can't stand up,” I warn patiently.

Peeta nods and looks apprehensively further out into the lake, but he just tightens his grip on my hand. He trusts me.

He trusts me, so I take his other hand and feel my feet backward along into the lake, letting myself trust him a little, too. Sometimes I feel a tiny plant snap beneath my feet but my feet are tough enough for it to not cause me any real pain and when I'm confident about how far we can go back I try and get a little momentum to draw us both into the water about chest deep. The sound that's drawn abruptly from my mouth is a shrill gasp as the sensation of unexpected cold overwhelms me for a moment. I know I'm breaking the rule I just gave Peeta, my body tense as I try not to shiver, but we're both still firmly on foot. I open my eyes, letting them refocus on Peeta's face and he's grinning but his breath has quickened, too, and I think one of the reasons his teeth show with his smile if that he's trying not to chatter them.

“Try kneeling down,” I get out, leaning a little until I've bent at my knees and feel them knock his, the water rising higher against my body. Peeta follows my instruction and I can feel his body heat and then a faint indication of his heartbeat as I move my cautious grip up from his hand along his arm until I feel the firm muscles just beneath his shoulders. We search each other's eyes and then Peeta's teeth do chatter once and I'm breathing fast, but this time it's that same thing I had recognized earlier as an attempt to laugh. This time I try letting myself and a faint sound comes out and it's unfamiliar, foreign even, but it catches Peeta's attention as much as mine and he smiles in return. “It gets easier after a few minutes,” I try telling him, reminding myself as I find myself wishing that the rest of the water were as warm as I feel where my skin almost touches Peeta's.

He moves abruptly in the water and I flinch, but then he's just reaching for my hair, catching some of it that has come loose on the side opposite my braid that falls along the side of my face. He draws it out a little and examines it quietly before tucking it behind my ear, his hands a little less steady than they usually are. He's still trying not to shiver and so am I. I feel my eyelids closing when his damp fingertips brush against the dry skin of my ear, but I quickly try to just move past it and swallow down what I'm afraid might be sadness coming back again.

“The next thing you need to do is get out where your toes barely touch, and--”

“Katniss,” Peeta interjects, a soft plea. It catches me off guard so I stop and purse my lips to listen. “It's too cold,” he explains without delay, laughing softly without that broken hesitation.

“No, it's--” I try to persuade him gently but then my words catch because I'm breathing deeply again against the cool water. It's not warm enough to just get used to comfortably. Then I'm laughing too and run my hand up to his shoulder on his right only to lightly push. I don't push hard enough to let him go, though. Even though there's no danger, I'm not about to let him think there's any either. I don't want to frighten him and that's also when it's the worst for him, more likely that he'll forget for a while again and have to find some focus, some kind of pain to hang onto what's real. “Okay. We'll try again in June.”

Then I let go of him and wait long enough to make sure he's headed out of the water too and make my way back to the shore. At the edge, we both sit down and I still stubbornly try letting my toes dip into the water. I know that I could swim in it if I needed to, but the season hasn't warmed enough yet to teach Peeta. Peeta must read my expression as disappointment or something because he immediately tries to reassure me.

“I don't think I really need to know how to swim anyway,” he says.

“You should know if you ever--” I start to snap in reply but then I stop arguing and won't even let myself follow that thought through to conclusion. Peeta looks over at me expectantly but doesn't demand completion. Suddenly weary, I look behind us and move a little closer to the pile of our clothes and decide to let my skin dry a little before I put mine back on. I lie back against the ground, feeling grass against my back and the sun warming my skin. Peeta's eyes follow my movements and this time I don't try covering the network of scars on my skin or anything else, deciding that it really doesn't matter.

“Thanks for letting me come with you,” he says, taking a deep breath that isn't quite a sigh before he follows suit and lies down on his back. I wonder if he's disappointed somehow and about what before I realize that I am. There's an emptiness that settles into my chest again and I'm thinking of being back on shore, back on the edge of something I can't have anymore. I look across the space between us, the full width of the pile of our clothes. I've lain beside Peeta so many times now, shielded from nightmares and darkness by his arms, but the light of day somehow chases away his regained freedom to hold me and all at once I hate it.

“Peeta--” I start, not quite sure what I want to say. I'm not very good at saying something, not even when I need to desperately. His name gets his attention, though, and I lock eye contact with him and try and let it invite me in the way I'm certain he'd been trying too so many times before we lost so much, back when I couldn't see. I crawl the short space over to him and inch by inch settle into my place at his side, easing into the feeling of his skin's warmth the way I'd tried to ease into the water's cold.

“Katniss,” I'm answered when I feel him tensing again.

“Shh,” I try to insist, but then I realize that I'm in his space as much as I'm drawing him into mine. I lean against my arm and look down into his eyes and glance down his chest for a moment before I manage to ask. “Is this okay?”

Peeta nods and shifts to tentatively put out his arm for me and I lower myself down, even more drawn to lying beside him now that I have started to feel some sense of relief now that I've begun the slow, arduous process of working through countless seemingly impossible questions so painlessly. For the first time in a while, I'm too tired to resist a feeling so good as relief and I try tucking my head down against Peeta's damp chest, my ear pressed to the place were I can hear his heartbeat. He moves, though and grabs his shirt from the pile of clothes.

“Wait a second,” he instructs quietly, placing the soft fabric over his shoulder and one side of his chest. “It's dry,” he explains when I look at him with a slight frown. Agreeing to what I feel deeply, almost viscerally is a compromise, I nod and finally find the place against him where the old Katniss would have fit with the old Peeta, more than she ever knew. I can't get comfortable against the shirt, though. I let my arm extend over him, feeling his body heat move through me at each place where I can find contact. A breeze blows across the lake and I roll over slightly toward Peeta and he wraps his arm protectively around me. The real Peeta still wants to protect me. I look down at the color of his shirt and take a deep breath, smelling Peeta's skin on it and deciding that I'd rather see it, too, scars and all.

“Peeta, it's okay,” I tell him. Then I look up at his face and catch him looking quizzically at me. “It's okay,” I repeat. “We can still--” But then I stop talking, face flushing as I realize at least in part what I'm asking for and feel ashamed.

“... Katniss, what's wrong?” Peeta prompts, reaching up and touching the bottom of my damp braid, the way he had touched me before. “What are you talking about?”

I don't want to talk about it because I don't know what to say, so I pull back and think about moving away from him again but then remember something that had worked a long time ago. My lips press to his and I can't quite remember what to do. I'm not the girl who simply, clumsily did back on the beach. Instead, it's so unnaturally still for a moment that I'm not sure it counts as a kiss and that it might even be worse than the first time I'd tried for the cameras.

Then Peeta's hand moves from where he'd pinched the very bottom of my braid to the side of my neck where he steadies me gently and his lips move against mine in turn. His movements are tight, halting as my own, unfamiliar and learning how to do it again, even though it'd always come more naturally to him. After just a moment he tilts his chin down and breaks the contact. I can feel my breath mingling warm and damp with his but he doesn't try for my lips again and I don't know if I should start feeling an even deeper ache of regret. I don't know if we've lost everything as much as I thought he had.

“It's okay,” I plead this time. I'm answered with a light peck of a kiss against my lips that doesn't last at all and a nod that I can feel brushing against my own forehead.

“Yeah, Katniss. Of course it's... okay,” he says, once again taking for granted something that terrifies me a little. I nod and pull back enough to meet his eyes and he smiles at me and I do too. “... I just... don't know what you want, sometimes,” he apologizes, glancing down.

“Neither do I,” I say quickly, a little bitterly but then I realize this isn't the place, the moment for that. There actually is a time now for something else, something a little better. “... Stay with me,” I supply after a moment's searching my mind, the threatening hollow in my chest for the words. I grip at the fabric of his shirt with my fingertips but then realize that he can't feel the tugging and instead pull it back down to the ground beneath us. “Not just... when I have nightmares. When we walk through town or... anytime you need to, it's okay. Stay with me.”

Peeta examines my face so intensely that for a moment I wonder if he recognizes me at all and I have to look away.

“... Always,” he says, an echo and a reminder that he does remember. Then I can't look at him because I know my eyes are wet again but this time not because I'm sad or angry. Instead I press a kiss to his bared shoulder and another a little lower, water from the lake touching my lips. Another breeze blows across the water and over us and I hide from the cold against his body's warmth and feel his hand against the skin between my shoulder blades. When my eyes have stopped stinging, I press my cheek down against his chest, my ear down over his heart again, this time without the shirt between us.

“I'll teach you how to swim when it's warmer,” I insist.

“Yeah?” he prompts, sounding almost amused.

“Well I can't teach you to hunt,” I reply and realize I'm teasing. He laughs again, though I know it's not very funny.

“I'll teach you how to bake when we get back,” he offers, bartering.

“I know how to bake,” I argue, rolling toward him a little firmly and then back since I can't push him but he's undeterred.

“Knowing how to make bread isn't the same,” he teases and I can hear the smile in his voice.

“Fine,” I agree. “I'll let you teach me how to bake, or try. Later,” I try to appease him because I want him to be quiet. I hear him start to reply but I quickly hush him and turn my lips down to kiss lightly against his chest again. He starts to speak again and I sigh wearily and press another slightly more sure kiss to his mouth which he returns and I can feel him smiling against my lips. I wonder if he'd lured me into the kiss on purpose, but I decide I don't care as I break it again and feel my nose brush against the side of his. After a few more tentative, shared kisses I finally lie back down against his chest and he's content to be quiet so I close my eyes and let his heartbeat lull me half to sleep, not hidden away, cold in a cave but warm against his skin in the sunlight.

[eyes-0f-etro]

4, 13, 22 for fic writer's ask!

4. A story idea you haven’t written yet

So my guardian angel/time loop au THING has been in planning hell for over a year now. I have like a 40-page doc of all the story beats, characters, character motivations/flaws/fears/desires, themes, etc. But I've been so worried that I won't do this idea justice that it's been hard to actually start on... I know that if I wait until I think I'm "good enough" to pull it off, I'll wait forever, but I want to at the very least finish Death Spiral first, or otherwise get back into my writing groove. Truthfully I haven't done any writing since December because Life Events Keep Happening and it's been exceedingly difficult to write, but I miss it and would love to return to it asap.

13. A fandom you’re thinking about writing for

Umineko!!! I don't know if this has been done (I don't want to browse the Umineko tag for fear of spoilers) but I really want to write about Beatrice and Rosa having a girls day (based off their meeting and relationship in Episode 3) and getting their nails done together and then like... Hitting Kinzo with their car. Just a campy romp for fun because Beato deserves it!!!!!!!!! I am #1 Rosa hater because her treatment of Maria is waaaaaaay too much like my own trauma with my mom, but I don't have an issue with young Rosa; she's just a traumatized kid who isn't hurting anyone (yet).

I also have a couple FF7/Aerti fic ideas kicking around, including an AU where Aerith is in a all-girls punk band called Acid Pussy and she's also a werewolf. That one is fun :)

I'd love to write for Naruto someday too but the sns scholars intimidate me, I feel like I'd get one detail wrong about their characterization and never be forgiven, lol. Characterization is, in general, the thing I feel the least confident on in my writing, so there are certain pairings and fandoms that interest me but I may never write for because I don't know if my grasp on those characters are strong enough to be up to the level that might be expected? If that makes sense.

22. Do you ever worry about public reaction to what you’re writing? How do you get past that?

Oh boy, do I ever. So, jtsys being my first fic and all, I didn't know what to expect in term of feedback/comments at all. So I was blown away by the comments I was getting, and the fact that people were even going so far as to draw scenes from that fic and stuff. This was a huuuuuge motivator for me and kept me writing, but it also became a double edged sword; I became terrified every time I sat down to write that I wasn't meeting expectations. I was so afraid that people liked my work and I was going to ruin it with the next update. I sometimes wonder if that's why I finished that fic as abruptly as I did. At the time I felt good about it, but I think I was almost afraid to take risks and flesh things out because I didn't want to let anyone down. So instead I ended it kind of limply and let EVERYONE down (at least, that's my perception of it, lol).

It was definitely a big thing to have on my shoulders, and as much as I view it as a blessing, it did cause me some stress because I'm very sensitive to how other people perceive me and have performance anxiety and perfectionist tendencies. I have never let anyone read my writing prior to JTSYS because I felt like anyone not thinking it was perfect would destroy me. Similarly, I have made so much digital art that I was too afraid to post, and I don't sing anymore because I'm anxious people will hear me, etc. Stuff like that really rules me and my life -- cptsd has given me very very very deep shame. SO ANYWAY.

While working on Death Spiral, I was having trouble getting motivated, and I realized that those comments really did motivate me more than anything when I was working on JTSYS, so I posted a few early chapters even though my original intent was to NEVER post something that was incomplete ever again. It kind of worked, but in general my hyperfixations have really taken a backseat lately so motivation has been hard to come by. The lack of traction Death Spiral has gotten (in comparison to JTSYS) has actually been kind of a good thing because it feels like there's a lot less pressure surrounding that fic. Which, again, all of this "pressure" is pressure I put on myself, but. I feel a little more able to make mistakes and take risks in Death Spiral given that it hasn't blown up in the way that JTSYS did.

I don't know how to manage this going forward. I very often wonder if being a creator is not the right avenue for me because of how poorly I handle people actually paying me any attention. I crave it, but once I have it, I fall apart and it keeps me up at night. I need a stronger sense of self! I want it to be enough to be proud of what I wrote.

[rita-repulsa-ke]

Drabble from the silk, knives universe, my messed up little AU where Eve is a sadist and Villanelle is her pet. SFW except for all the profanity, I just really wanted to let Eve be mean to someone who wasn't Oksana (though it kind of turned into her being mean to everyone). This is very much not canon, which technically means I'm writing fanfic for my fanfic. Oh well.

Gregor shoved Oksana up against the wall, and every ounce of instinct screamed at her to hurt him. Only the knowledge that once she started, she wouldn't stop and that would almost certainly count as going rogue, made her force herself to be still. “I don’t know how Eve is training you,” he snarled. “But if you ever interfere in my business again—“

Her eyes went past him, a magnet responding to stronger gravitational force, because Eve had strolled around the corner. Every other handler and assassin watching the show also shifted their attention to her as she assessed the situation, then stalked over like unbottled lightning.

Gregor hadn’t noticed, still ranting, until Eve leaned against the wall next to Oksana, so close they could have touched. “Aw, come on, Gregor,” she said, shaking her head, her tone almost pitying, the way she often talked to Oksana, like Gregor were very, very stupid. Oksana found she liked when Eve talked to other people like that much more than she did when it was targeted at her. “Every goddamn person in this place knows I hate when people touch my things.”

Gregor didn’t let go, though he did shift attention to Eve. “Then discipline your bitch better.”

Eve’s attention on her, the scrape of a blade across her skin. “Kitten?”

She shook her head, slightly frantic. “Eve, I didn’t do anything!”

Eve considered, gave a one-shouldered shrug. “Doesn’t sound like you, to be honest, but we can handle that at home. Hey, Gregor, did I stutter? Take your hands off my property.”

Gregor hesitated, but stepped back, teeth gritted.

Eve snorted. “There's a good boy.”

He tensed and for a moment, Oksana thought—hoped—he would attack Eve, because if she did, she would get to hurt him. She slid between them and heard Eve make a soft sound of amusement.

“One of these days,” Gregor said instead.

“Oh god, come on, bring it,” Eve said, her voice suddenly too loud, too sharp, spreading her hands and looking around the room. “One of you pansies try, I know you all spend half your time complaining about what a bitch I am, so step up! Take a shot!” Her smile was a feral thing, a wild, familiar excitement Oksana recognized, the urge to hurt, to bite and rip and tear. She pushed off the wall, strolled up to Gregor and he didn’t back away, but he watched her like Oksana would have watched an opponent with a drawn blade, waiting for the first strike.

And she couldn't blame him, because Eve, grinning like that, didn't need a knife to draw blood. “I don’t have to eat half the shit I do from any of you, except that my team complains about it, oh, Eve, be nice, we don’t want to fight everyone, stop making enemies. But if you want to take the kid gloves off, by all means, let’s fucking go.”

“Your team. You mean your little girlfriend, Lee.” Gregor sneered.

Half the room seemed to take a step back. Eve’s expression shifted from excited to a kind of cold that stole the breath from your throat and froze your tears before they could fall.

“You put that woman’s name in your mouth again and I will rip your tongue out of your head,” she said, her tone completely matter-of-fact and this time Gregor did flinch ever-so-slightly. “Hey, Gregor, buddy, want some friendly advice? Quit. Jump ship. Take a mercenary contract or go back to the military. You aren’t going to make it here, because you are a sack of shit who wants to be able to throw his weight around, but doesn’t have the balls or the firepower to back it up and no alliance would want you, because you don’t bring anything to the table that is worth dealing with your personality. You’re dead weight, and you are going to sink like all the other bottom feeders in this room.”

There was some murmuring from the handlers, but Eve didn’t seem to notice and all of Oksana’s attention was locked on Eve.

“Or," Eve purred. "You’re going to piss me off and then you won’t have to worry about it ever again. Goes for the rest of you too. Try something. I love that shit, livens up my day and then I get to put some of my old skills to use, you know I'd hate to get rusty. So, any day, any time, any of you. Come at me. See what happens.”

She turned away, motioning Oksana to follow, then seemed to remember something, turned back. “Oh, right. Gregor, say sorry for touching my things or I will do that thing where I get all petty and start taking things personally.” Oksana could hear the way the excitement had crept back into Eve's tone. She wanted him to say no. She wanted to hurt him.

Gregor weighed it, then forced the words out of his mouth with mildly impressive discipline. “…Sorry, Eve.”

She sighed, deflated slightly. “No balls in this room. Come on, sweetness, let's go home.”

Oksana bounded after her, waited until they got to the car because that was the rule. "I like when you are mean to people who aren’t me,” she announced.

Eve laughed. “Yeah? Good, because I am going to catch so much shit from both Niko and Lee for that little speech. But hey, if I don’t let them fix something I’ve broken every now and then, they won’t feel useful, right?”

Oksana was just caught, watching her, pretty, excited. She slithered closer, across the middle of the car and Eve ruffled her, fingers in her hair, electric signals extending that touch to every nerve in her body. “Yes, Eve.”

Eve looked at her, really looked at her and it was her turn to flinch. “And now, my precious little pet, you’re going to tell me what you did wrong.”

[thealwaysanxiouswitch]

Memories, Part I.

“Her first memory was of blood. Cedric’s blood. Dark red against the whiteness of milk. It was the sweetness of the smell that she remembered the most. He used to feed her a bottle of milk mixed with his own blood when she was an infant, to quench her thirst and keep her from seeking more from the humans that lived at the manor. Mina never knew if he did that for the safety of the servants, or for hers. Cedric was always very secretive about her deathless nature. She knew she wasn’t human, but she wasn’t quite as undead as he was. Her heart still beat, though she didn’t need to draw breath. Sunlight did not hurt her as it hurt him, but the brightness felt uncomfortable against her golden eyes. She did not need to be invited inside in order to enter a house, but she felt uneasy everytime she crossed a threshold, like she never truly belonged anywhere. And, at last, there was the matter of her appetite.

Blood was not the only thing that could nourish her body. She could eat human food — Mrs. Beaumont, the cook, even taught her how to bake. But she did not enjoy it as much as she did the rich taste of the blood that Cedric fed her at night. He only ever fed her his own. — “I do not wish you to acquire a taste for human blood” — He had warned her, with no further explanations. When Mina was old enough, he began teaching her how to feed without piercing skin. How to draw strength from the essence of living creatures, like he did. 

He had not fed on blood for centuries, for all she knew. He’d learn an alternative, long ago. Instead, he fed on emotions and energy, raw life source. Mostly of animals, but sometimes, of humans too. Always with consent and moderation, of course. When he taught her his technique, he took her to the woods near the manor. They went on horseback, with hunting gear, so that the local’s from the nearby village would not find it strange. They tracked a family of deer by scent, Cedric took down the mother, and told her to do the same to the small fawn left behind. She focused her mind towards the creature, her hunger made her throat ache. She could hear the animal’s heart beating fast and feel his despair as whatever force that animated his body flowed through the air towards hers, lending her its strength. 

— Well done, you learn fast. — He praised her, when the job was done. — It is quick and cleaner this way. — Said Cedric, but she remembered the animal’s anguish when she drained it of its life, and she did not think it was very clean at all. Seeing the torment on her small features, the vampire placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. — It is not gentle, what we are. — He said. — But our choices do matter, and this violence is better than the alternative. 

His words were comforting, the touch on her shoulder an uncommon display of affection. Cedric usually kept to himself. He was very formal and soft spoken, but he was kind, and he was the closest thing she would ever have to a family. He found her as a babe and raised her under his protection. Without him, she would have grown into a monster. Whatever she was, she was grateful to him for making her into something gentler. “

— In honor of our Curse of Strahd table getting back together this weekend, here’s a little snippet of my bard’s backstory. (I might write some more later, if the muses allow)