#or if the detachment came even before the dislike did

[essercipertuttienonperse]

can't have a gender crisis if you've never once felt attached to your body

[criminalamnesia]

everyone’s asking for a part two so here is more angst bc cedar by gracie abrams is perfect for this [ also inspired by what @shotmrmiller said in their reblog :)) ]

part one here

part three (aka version 1 of the ending) here

part three (ending version 2) here

it’s odd coming home to an empty house. unnerving, even. he doesn’t like it— dislikes it even more than he did your celebrations. fuck, he’d kill for those damn streamers right now.

“love?” his voice is soft as he calls out into the dark, once lively little flat. it hasn’t felt this big since before you had moved in.

he takes a few more steps inside, toeing off his boots and letting his backpack fall to the floor. by now, you would’ve been launching yourself into his arms. where were you? you’d never missed the day he came home. ever. you would have it marked on your calendar from the day he left, exclamation points and stars decorating the date.

“love?” he calls again, his voice a little louder. he keeps moving; notices there’s no smell of freshly baked goods or a home-cooked meal.

he rounds the corner, his eyes instantly finding the little note propped up on the dining table. eyebrows furrowed, he approaches. it’s addressed to him, clearly in your handwriting.

he reads it, and he really should’ve seen all of this coming.

he doesn’t cry. doesn’t even feel sad, really. it’s not like he hadn’t loved you— he had, but sometimes you made it really damn difficult to. your constant touches and words, doting on him, talking his ear off about this and that. he’d loved it at first, then came to tolerate it, and eventually he found himself hating it.

it wasn’t fair to you. he didn’t hate you, he hated the naivety. the unconditional love. partners were supposed to show each other that kind of love, were they not? so why did he come to despise it?

perhaps it was some deep rooted self-hatred. something dark and twisted inside of him that had done too much and taken life. killed and killed and killed. watched his comrades die in a number of ways. slowly. quickly. suddenly. brutally.

it hollowed him out, but it was his job. it was his job to do what he could for the damn world— get his hands dirty so people like you would never have to worry about a damn thing.

he should’ve seen it coming. you had been acting a little odd the last time he was home, he realizes now. detached, almost. quieter. he had cherished the quiet then.

now it was weird. he didn’t know how to feel.

he placed the note back down onto the table before making his way into the kitchen. some utensils were missing. some plates and bowls. the colorful dishrags you’d hung from the stove handle. the little plant you’d stationed in front of the window above the sink.

all the pictures of the two of you remained on the fridge. he could see in the photos how he slowly became detached. but you— god, you wore that dazzling smile in every photo.

he turned around and headed towards the bedroom.

——————————————————————

there wasn’t really any defining closure. you’d left the note, sure, but he hadn’t gotten to speak his piece.

would he have begged you to stay? told you to leave?

he didn’t know. all he knew was that it wasn’t fair to you, how he acted. what he did.

he also knew that if you called, or if you showed up and said you forgot something, or hell, if he saw you on the street, he’d say something. apologize at least, because that’s the least you deserved.

but you didn’t, and after a few days, he stopped thinking about you. what you’d be telling him right now if you were there. stopped thinking about how you sang when you cooked dinner. how you would reach for his hand when the two of you were in the grocery store.

how you would throw those damn ‘welcome home!’ parties.

he fell back into who he was, and your memory became nothing but a minuscule dot on a large piece of paper.

but for you? you had been miserable when you’d shown up at your friends apartment. cried into her shoulder as you told her about the note. sobbed as you realized that he didn’t care about you, and how you’d wasted so much time on this man who didn’t give a damn.

but even still, when you stirred in the middle of the night, you expected to feel his hands around your body. expected him to press a kiss to your head as you drifted back to sleep.

you woke up and expected him to be there. you forgot that he wasn’t yours. you found yourself missing him, even though you’d starting doing that far before you actually left.

it took the man you loved days to move on. it took you months— almost a year. he put you in fucking therapy, for god’s sake, because that shit messes with someone.

loving someone so completely, so wholly, only to finally realize it’s one sided? it’s crushing. he crushed you. but you picked up the pieces, and you put yourself back together.

you move on. find someone who actually cares for you— someone who communicates and doesn’t lose interest. someone who appreciates your enthusiasm. someone who returns it.

and when the man that broke your heart several years ago tries to stop you on the street one day,

you keep walking.

[harleehazbinfics]

A tainted dove.

hazbin hotel x devout!reader devout series

Note: i could expand this more but lmao it's already long as it is. react down below if you wanna see more!

You lived as a sister for the church in your past life. You always followed the rules, devoted yourself to praying and doing charity work. You enjoyed that kind of life that just helped people and feel appreciated for your services.

However, most people in the convent didn't seem pleased with you being such a "goodie two shoes" and "outshining" the other sisters, by things holy, even the Father seemed to dislike how well liked you were in the community that he sent you off to a far and remote place.

There was no electricity, a scheduled running water system and there was very little livestock from the extreme climate that most animals die before they reach their first spring. There was only one other person there in the church as well, he was a Father that helped and did services for this small community. He was too old and frail to do tasks outside the community but he had to do it since be was the only one that the people here could depend on.

You could see how extremely happy he was when he found you at his doorstep lending a hand in his mission.

You lived peacefully there with the Father and the villagers, attending mass, helping cultivate the land by going to the next town that you had to travel on foot to get to with how remote the terrain was, and just generally trying to make everyone be happy despite the unfortunate circumstances.

However, men came and destroyed the village, setting it ablaze. You hurriedly evacuated the people to hide and take them to the nearest village for help.

Unfortunately, you were caught and imprisoned by these men, and were defiled as you died by your injuries to resist them, ending futile.

•°•°•°•°

When you sat and looked at the crimson sky your broken wing made it unable for you to fly feeling very detached from yourself.

You did everything they asked, you became a very good sister until your dying breath only to end up here. Were you fed lies? Or, was this the fate you were already dealt?

Collapsing from the stress, you failed to notice a figure flying towards you, scooping you up and leaving with you to his castle.

When you finally woke up, you felt your wings be in better shape. You gave them a stretch holding them in your hands as you inspected them. They were red on the top and white underneath with gray swirls as a touch.

You were startled when you saw a blond male in a white suit and hat come to you. He gave you some soup with a wry smile.

You accepted his kind help feeling indebted to him for being the only generous person that you ever crossed paths with while being here in hell for a good while.

He introduced himself as the ruler of hell, Lucifer himself. This fact obviously shocked you. Lucifer was this short, dorky, kind man? It was quite hard to believe from all the scriptures you've read while you were alive.

He explains his backstory which you found quite pitiful and explained how he was surprised to find your existence here in hell when you should've been in heaven.

He promises to make things right with you, so he takes it upon himself to call his daughter, Charlie to help you. While he tries to deal with it.

When you get to the hotel, you were enamoured by the passion that Charlie had for her cause and felt like you needed to help her.

So, you worked with them for a month getting accustomed to life here. It was actually quite delightful being genuine friends with them. They often talked to you when they felt lost or frustrated or lost touch of themselves and their emotions. You didn't mind it, it was your life's work after all.

After getting closer and closer to everyone, Lucifer comes back and tells you that Heaven doesn't acknowledge the mistake that they made and that you were to stay here for the rest of eternity.

This deeply saddened you but you touched Lucifer's shoulder and smiled.

"Thank you for trying, Lucifer. It's fine! I've actually made friends here. And since you're here, why not join us? We're celebrating Angie's birthday!"

He smiled comforted as you walked with him to the banquet table served with various dishes.

The night ends happily. Despite being unhappy and failing to connect with other people to create deeper relationships on Earth. You felt more at peace here with these sinners than you've ever felt before.

[rahuratna]

Synopsis: Five different perspectives on Nanami Kento.

Tags: Angst, humour, mystery, character study.

Warnings: canon-typical violence.

"I am silver and exact. I have no preconceptions.

Whatever I see I swallow immediately

Just as it is, unmisted by love or dislike.

I am not cruel, only truthful‚

The eye of a little god, four-cornered."

~ The Mirror, Sylvia Plath

Yoshinari remembers that day well. Even now, decades later, his team leader's near-panicked expression stands out with harsh clarity in his mind. Yoshinari had just mentioned that he hadn't finished the analysis due that afternoon because he'd been struck down with a bad bout of flu. Whirling on his heel, the team lead had really let fly with his irritation.

"But we had an agreement! You were to complete the analysis the day before yesterday! There'll be no excuse at all for us walking into that meeting unprepared!"

"But sir ... I had a lot to catch up on that evening. And I - "

"I'm done with this conversation! Come up with something, or explain to the chief why you couldn't finish your basic tasks on time."

Left standing in the empty hallway, Yoshinari had let frustration, anger, self-pity and helplessness wash over him, bitter as a brackish tide. Nobody ever listened to him. Nobody ever understood how the demands of this job couldn't be humanly met unless he practically lived at the office. Nobody cared what his state of health was. Nobody -

"Are you all right?"

Hastily wiping off the corner of his eye, he turned to see none other than Nanami Kento standing in the doorway leading from the hallway to the main office floor. Nanami, whose reports were always turned in on time. Nanami, whose suits were never rumpled, whose clients never complain, whose presentations were always meticulous, who never spilled a drop or wasted a crumb when he ate -

Tamping down the rising envy and resentment for the tall man standing before him, Yoshinari sighed and embraced the inevitable. It isn't Nanami's fault. Nanami is simply doing the job, like the rest of them. He just happened to be a lot more competent at it than most. 

"I'm a bit ... under the weather, that's all. There's a meeting this afternoon. I won't be prepared because I haven't had time to get the quarterly analysis done."

Nanami watched him in silence. Yoshinari continued, chest feeling slightly less heavy as he vented to his quiet companion.

"I just wish ... that we were given more value, you know? We're not robots. We're people. And sometimes, we ... I can't get all my tasks done. I just wanted ... some understanding. That's all."

Yoshinari realized just how petulant he sounded the more he spoke. His voice trailed off, and he avoided the other man's gaze. What must Nanami think of someone like him? Did he pity him? Was he annoyed by him and his complaining? Was he indifferent, like everyone else? It was hard to tell.

Nanami never lost his composure, never expressed strong emotion, never seemed anything other than cool and detached. He must think that someone like Yoshinari was worthy of pity and contempt. Nothing more.

Without waiting for Nanami's reply, Yoshinari turned and made his way to the elevators, trying to focus on the client briefing lined up (and not the humiliation and reprimands he'd have to endure later.)

The humiliation never came, though. Walking into the meeting that afternoon, Yoshinari was met with the huffy, slightly startled demeanor of the team leader when he was complimented on his 'sterling work', handed a steaming cup of coffee and patted on the back. He sat through the rest of the meeting in a daze, mind still struggling to grapple with what had occurred.

When he got a chance, he snuck a look at the analysis that supposedly came from him. There, in the phrasing, the layout, the orderly sequences of figures and the in-depth breakdown of each element, he recognises the hand of Nanami Kento.

When the meeting was over, he tried to find Nanami, to thank him for that unexpected favour. A part of him was beginning to take the assistance with a pinch of salt; what did Nanami expect in return for this?

When he eventually spied Nanami, he paused, the report crumpling slightly in his hand. Coat draped over his chair, tie cast over one shoulder, sleeves rolled up and chair reclining, Nanami's hollowed eyes and sharply-defined cheekbones were covered with a white handkerchief, the marks of exhaustion clear in his bearing.

Many years later, watching his grandchildren chase each other around the darkened trunk of a plum tree, a soft, secret smile finds its home on Yoshinari's face as he remembers that day. He glances up at the delicate blossoms, pushing their heads insistently into the fresh bite of a new spring day and wonders if Nanami ever had grandchildren of his own.

Warmth. Kinship. Command.

When Master calls me out, I recognise the tug and relentless pull into another place. This place. This world of scent and colour and sound, where I am given form.

My Master's hands smell of paper, freshly cut apples and grass. They are firm and familiar as their fingers run through my fur. Sometimes, Master brings us out of the other place without urgency, simply to keep us at his side.

Megumi.

That is my Master's given name. He is dark in spirit, light of foot, and his mouth seldom curves, like the other humans. But when we are all together, pack, bodies curled up and sharing warmth, Master's eyes are like a distant lamp, flickering softly.

The white-veined one names my Master as Megumi. He is the one with power like a great summer storm, sweeping with acrid sharpness across the senses and scorching the unseen world in his wake. His hair is white too, his spirit leaping from one focus to the next, lightning and laughter.

The white-veined one is trustworthy. He is pack, but even though Master trusts him completely, he makes others nervous.

And then, there is the Blademaster. This one is almost familiar. He is like Master in many ways. He smells of good food, old leather and the sharp tang of polished metal. His power is an underground river, swift and subtle, rising to a well-controlled roar when he calls upon it.

The Blademaster avoids pack. He likes to sit alone on the benches at sunset, sometimes, with his food in an oval box at his side. He stares a lot into the sky. Only he knows what he sees there.

The sky doesn't hold much interest for me, but the smells from the Blademaster's box always call for attention. He has meat in there. And cheese. Sometimes, if I press my nose into his hand, he shares his food. It is good food. It tastes better when he offers it out of his own palm.

The Blademaster's hand is bigger, rougher around the fingers than Master's. He is an experienced warrior, and he has been in many fights. The scent of it is on him, in ways that cannot be disguised. He carries the smell of old wounds, of battles that etched away at the parts of him than leave no visible scars. 

Sometimes, his pain is great. Those times, he needs pack, even if he doesn't know it. I find him, at his bench. Even though he has no food, I sit with him. His fingers in my fur are different, but warm, like Master's.

We watch the sky together.

It's the bustle of the lunch rush that brings him suddenly into her mind; tall, broad-shouldered, imposing in his dark, pinstripe suit. She's seen many, many salarymen enter her establishment over the years, but none quite like him.

He'd seemed hard, humourless, exacting, a man of substance and character, whittled away bit by bit by the hundred inconveniences and troubles of everyday life. Her attempts to cheer him up always fell flat. Her jokes landed like stale bread on a food critic's plate.

"Hey, Nanami! Good to see you! Decided to loaf around on your lunch break again?"

"How am I loafing?"

"Ah, that was just a pun. You know. Because you come here to buy sandwiches."

"Do you charge extra for the puns? Because I'm not paying for that."

"Wow. So cold ... "

And on another occasion:

"Hey Nanami! Knock knock."

" ... "

"You're supposed to say 'who's there?'"

"Who's there."

"As a question, not a statement!"

"Does it matter?"

"Fine. It's doughnut."

"Doughnut who?"

"Dough nut enter the shop without checking out the specials!"

"Please just give me the sandwich."

Ah, those were good times. Maybe he did appreciate her silly attempts at humour on some level. She'd never know.

Sometimes, she wonders if she shouldn't have asked him for help. Maybe she should have just kept her mouth shut about that pesky stiffness and pain in her shoulder joint. There was no way she could have known what would happen next.

She recalls, with perfect clarity, the sudden change in his demeanour. The subtle straightening of his posture, the focus of that intense honey-brown stare, the way he'd looked at and past her, as if glancing through some secret window into an unknown she could never fathom. And then, he'd raised his arm, swung it in that swift, decisive motion, and her pain disappeared in a matter of seconds.

She still wonders how exactly he'd accomplished that. Was he a spiritual healer of some kind? She couldn't think of an occupation less suited to someone like him. All the same, she was thankful. She'd even packed a free almond croissant and coffee with his sandwich the next day, kept aside for the lunch rush.

Except, he'd never shown up. Not that day, or the next, or the day after that. Nanami simply disappeared from the normal routine of his life altogether.

Of course, she made some enqueries. She was somewhat concerned, considering how sudden his absence had been. What if he'd overworked himself enough to end up in hospital? It wasn't unheard of.

His work colleagues, some of whom also frequented the bakery, told her that he'd suddenly up and left. Handed in his resignation and promptly disappeared.

She'd never heard from him, ever again. It wasn't that she was upset or offended. Customers changed their whims daily. But with him ... something about it concerned her. What would prompt a creature of habit, like Nanami, to suddenly change his routine? There was probably a perfectly sound explanation for it, but it worried her all the same.

After all these years, even now, as manager of her own small dessert shop, not far from the original bakery she'd served at, she'd never taken the casse-croûte off the menu.

It would remain there, for the day he might come through the door once again, and she'd say it, just like she'd rehearsed in her mind so many times. 

"Welcome back, Nanami. The usual?"

Pain. This is all that she thinks, all that she feels. It is all-consuming. It isn't like the time she broke her finger after a particularly bad fall when she was ten years old. Not even like the wound left when her mother died; gaping, raw around the edges, on display for all that looked her way.

This pain was, somehow, even worse than that. Pain that twisted and tore through the fabric of her, agony piled on agony, neverending. It stretched beyond her, into a night of unknown horrors that she had no means of comprehending.

Something was very, very wrong with her body. This much she could tell, even as she wove in and out of consciousness. The sense of change to her own form, of being maimed in some fundamental sense, was so strong that she wondered how she was still alive.

His hands. So cold. Pain beyond imagining. She doesn't want to enter that forbidden entryway in her thoughts. Someone did this to her. Someone made her helpless, controlled her. Turned her into this grotesque travesty of a living thing. She should feel furious, that this had been done to her. But she doesn't have the capacity for anything but pleading, begging for a swift release from this torment.

Something is shifting around her now. She cannot even brace for the agony, because there are no known muscles for her to do so. Her body feels like a shapeless, amorphous mass that changes according to the unknown puppeteer's will.

Now, she feels the brush of fetid air on her flesh, the dank, mossy wall of some subterranean feature, a dizzying sense of being propelled at high speed through a narrow space.

Someone is moving alongside her, dodging, weaving. Not the puppeteer. Another. Their movements are swift, strong, filled with a measured grace that dances around her striking, flailing limbs (if they can still be called such) with dexterity. She tries to fight back against the overpowering will, to stop any harm coming to that person. It is futile.

Another shift, her body stretched in another direction. And - oh! Air! Damp and rank in scent, something like a sewer, but never more welcome. Her senses had been cloaked, due to the current nature of her body, but now, she was aware of eyes, ears, nose, a budding mouth that opened in a soundless cry for help.

He heard her.

He was standing over her, feet braced on her alien form. A man in dark glasses and a suit, a strangely patterned sword at his side. The sensation of the strangely blunt blade cleaving her flesh as she hurtles at him is weighted, some kind of energy behind it.

He can cause damage to her in this form! He can ...

But her mouth doesn't work the way it's supposed to. She can't beg him, can't plead with him to end this abysmal existence that only serves as torture. The terror, anger, frustration and hopelessness have no channel by which to reach the outside world any longer.

No! Please! Help me!

Wrung from dregs of her despair, a single tear forms at the corner of her existing eye, rolling down the distended, distorted skin.

Is this it? Is this all she can summon?

But he sees it. His hand is reaching down, towards where she lies, helpless beneath his feet, helpless to the whim of another. His thumb is warm, so warm, as he strokes beneath her eye, dashing away the trace of the tear.

In the moments that follow, before her consciousness finally descends into blessed, blessed darkness, she memorizes the feel of that touch, the last thing on this earthly plane that she'll ever know.

For all her suffering, let it never be said that she hasn't known true kindness.

Gojo and Namamin. Side by side, they're day and night. Yuuji can see that, and often delights in it. He thinks about it now, as he brushes his teeth, one hand carding absently through the tangles in his hair.

Gojo operated on a certain wavelength Yuuji had been attuned to since the very beginning. Nanamin, less so.

When Yuuji really thinks about it, it reminds him somewhat of the recipes his grandfather taught him. Gramps's house was one run on self-sufficiency. There was never an excuse for slacking off.

Gojo was like the spicy miso ramen he'd learned to make, the one with the specially crafted chilli oil and the perfect ramen egg for topping. A wash of heat, scorching the tongue and throat, a burst of flavour that somehow lingered long after it had rushed past your teeth like a flashflood. It entertained, it sustained, it left you feeling warm and energized.

Nanamin was like bread.

Now, Yuuji wasn't crazy about bread. He was more of a rice-bowl kinda guy. But the baking of bread was something he'd never quite managed to get the hang of, to begin with. His grandfather eyeballed ingredients, kneaded with rapid, dexterous fists, added an extra pinch of salt here, or a splash of milk there, depending on the type and texture of bread he wanted. It was as if Gramps could envision an end product that Yuuji had no concept of at all.

Namamin had been just as difficult to gauge in the mixing bowl of Yuuji's experience. Practical, rule-following, collected and proper. Spontaneity could take a hike, as far as Nanamin was concerned. Not the kind of man to pretend to be dead and then hop out of a box when you least expect it.

Ha. Anyway.

Bread. That's the analogy he was going with, and the one he was finding increasingly appropriate.

Pulling on his uniform jacket, Yuuji felt the familiar tug and rumble of hunger ascend from his stomach. He tied the laces on his signature red sneakers and grabbed his backpack, heading for the Tech cafeteria for breakfast.

Thinking over it further, bread was ... a staple. It was not to everyone's taste. It was simple, filling, a great companion piece for more flavourful ingredients. And hellishly difficult to bake correctly. For Yuuji, at least.

Yeah. Bread. It was a good comparison.

Turning the corner, Yuuji nearly ran right into the current occupant of his thoughts.

"Ah ... Nanamin! You're here early today!"

"Good morning, Yuuji. Please be careful. I have a cup of hot coffee here."

Falling into step beside the stoic sorcerer (uninvited) Yuuji decided to share some of his thoughts, an uncharacteristically serious expression adorning his face.

"Nanamin, there's something I've been thinking about."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. If I had to compare you to a food, it'd be bread."

A silence meets this statement. Nanami takes a sip of his coffee. Undeterred, Yuuji continues.

"Like, I love a good katsudon, but when it's midnight and I've been training hard, and I wake up all tired and my body's all sore ... I just go make a sandwich, ya know? Even when Gramps was in hospital and I used to get back from school, and oh, yeah, I sometimes forgot to buy groceries ... there was still bread. Just a loaf, there on the counter. And it didn't matter if there were no other ingredients to cook with, or anything, because you can't go wrong with a fried egg on some fresh, crispy toast. Ahh, yeah. The best."

Nanami adjusted his glasses slightly.

"Itadori ... is this your way of informing me that you find me reliable?"

"Huh? Oh ... I mean, yeah. But that's not all."

"It isn't?"

"Nah. 'Cos I baked bread with my Gramps, see? And it was hard to get right. But I did, at some point. And it felt ... great. And I never got it wrong again. And Gramps is gone now, I know. But when I miss him, kinda, baking bread helps me remember what it was like having him around."

Having said his piece, Yuuji folded his arms behind his head, marching peaceably alongside Nanami, lightly humming the theme song to the latest show he'd been watching. Nanami was now looking down, into his coffee. He didn't take another sip. His voice, when he spoke, was quieter than usual.

"I like sandwiches. Trying different fillings is something of a hobby of mine."

Yuuji nods, a light grin forming on his face.

"I can tell."

"Having said that ... I'm partial to fried chicken and beer on a Tuesday afternoon. It ... reminds me of when I was younger."

"Whoa. For real?"

"Yes."

"But Nanamin ... isn't fried chicken and beer the kind of thing you share with others?"

"It is."

"Hmmm."

Yuuji appears to give this some serious thought, before slapping his fist into his palm as an epiphany strikes.

"But wait! Let's get it together next time! I won't drink the beer, don't worry. I can get a soda or something."

"What - "

"And we can order the MegaBox deal that also comes with a medium pizza and cheese croquettes!"

"Yuuji - "

"Oooh, I'm so excited! I wonder what their pizza base is like? But hey, Nanamin, I've gotta run ahead. Maki-senpai's training with me today and she'll kick my ass if I'm late. See ya on Tuesday!"

All thoughts of bread firmly shelved for the present, Yuuji trotted further up the corridor and through the sliding doors of the cafeteria, pausing to wave at Nanami as he left his line of vision.

Yuuji doesn't get to see the small smile that temporarily eases the harsh lines of the sorcerer's face. It is fleeting, gentle, an echo of a smile he'd worn for another, long ago.

Dividers by: @sister-lucifer

[pauking5]

Under the Mistletoe 🍒🌿

Pairing: Roronoa Zoro x reader

Genre: tooth-rotting fluff, mutual pining,

Word Count: 5.3k+

A/N: I did promise you more Zoro so here it is! This one has been sitting in my drafts for a while and I didn't really feel like posting it but something told me to do it now. Merry belated Christmas everyone and happy holidays! Hope you like it :)

ps: Thank you to @jiyaxedits for these really pretty dividers! They put me out of my misery a little 🫶

Zoro wasn't big on celebrations. Birthdays or holidays didn't really exist in his vocabulary for the sole reason that he was happy to drink on any occasion. He didn't need a date in the calendar to tell him when to open a bottle of alcohol.

That was until you joined the straw hats.

You were the total opposite of his detached nature to almost everything that required an extra emotional effort. Even with that, it wasn't long until you piqued his curiosity.

Observing you, he came to the conclusion that you were emotion in pure form. You showed your caring nature for people in any way you could. Whether it was by helping out one of your fellow crew mates with something or just trying to ease their own load, you were always there. He didn't think much of it until he felt self-conscious enough to get involved and help out like you did. He wouldn't admit it but you had an influence on him.

The more time you spent together the more he was drawn to you, seeing things in a different light. Before he knew it, all those random dates in the calendar held some kind of meaning to him because they held a special meaning to you.

Although, he still didn't fully understand why you got so excited whenever one of those dates would approach. You would spend days planning the activities for the day, often going out for your way.

You would go over a special menu with Sanji, making sure all meals of the day and the dessert were covered. Then you would take Nami shopping for decorations wherever you happened to be docked, picking things that encapsulated the occasion. Usopp would also pitch in with helping you put the decorations up and add a tad bit more cheer to the atmosphere.

He noticed you and Luffy made a great team when it came to picking out small attentions for the crew. You both knew the crew better than anyone and it showed not just on those days, but the ordinary ones too.

In short, everyone became an extension of your excitement for the day. Well, everyone except Zoro.

You knew he wasn't used to the whole we are a family thing and you planned on changing that.

When you joined the crew he was really reserved. But after spending some time together, you managed to crack him open. You learned more about him, what he liked and what he disliked.

You tried pulling him out of his stoic bubble and it seemed to work because little by little, he started helping out too. It was small things like helping you fix the table before the food was served or picking the drinks out by preference of each straw hat. That's where you noticed that his love language was acts of service.

As small as they were, those acts were sincere and full of kindness. Whenever someone thanked him for his help, you would catch a glimpse of his face lighting up, the rarest smile pulling at the corner of his lips.

He cared and protected people in that way. It spoke volumes of his love he had for his crew and you admired that. Even if he didn't realise the impact he had, especially on you.

The winter holidays were approaching fast, but it seemed like the cheer was absent on the Going Merry. The latest adventure left the crew exhausted and without a trace of enthusiasm. So much, that it was Christmas Eve and you didn't have a tree up, festive decorations hung around the ship or any food ready to munch on.

Out of all yearly celebrations, Christmas held a special place in your heart. It was a time to get together with your loved ones and celebrate the bond you have.

This would be your first Christmas with the crew and you have been looking forward to it for a while. They made you feel so appreciated and welcomed into their own little family and you wanted to return the appreciation.

So, bracing for your proposal to be rejected and a small hope that it would be accepted, you marched around the ship like an elf and pulled everyone out of their rooms and onto the deck.

Most of them didn't look too happy to be disturbed. Nami was in the middle of working on a map and she almost put her foot through your face for pulling her away from it. Sanji was putting some clean dishes away when you dragged him out, wet towel hastily tossed on his shoulder in the process. Luffy and Usopp were already on deck messing around. They seemed to be the only ones a little ecstatic for what you wanted to tell them.

But before you could start your speech, you noticed a certain straw hat was still missing.

Zoro was the hardest one to find, especially when he didn't want to be found. You searched his room, both the upper and lower decks, including the storage room filled with alcohol barrels and bottles. There was no sign of his presence anywhere on the ship.

You were ready to give up until you remembered there was one place you didn't search in, the crow's nest. And that's exactly where you found him, napping the day away.

Too engrossed in rushing to get everyone on deck, you were about to shake his shoulder. But as your eyes registered the sight in front of you, you halted all movement.

You saw him napping before, but none of those times did he look so deep in restful sleep like he did now.

He laid on his back, one of his hands propping up his head like a pillow, His legs were placed against the wooden mast. His body was angled in a way that the mast cast a shadow big enough to shelter his eyes from the early afternoon sun. His chest rose up slowly in sync with his soft snores, mouth slightly open. The light made his green hair look so soft that it took everything in you not to rake your hands through it.

There was something about him that put you at peace. Maybe it was the way his earrings jingled against each other and you knew he was nearby. Or the way his deep brown eyes changed to a warmer shade of chocolate while watching the sunset with you. You fell for those eyes of his a while ago and you didn't want to stop the bottomless drop at all.

Everything about him was peace to you. Even during battle, when he sliced through enemies and his blades were drenched in dirt. Or when he teased his crew members about something, with anything but good intentions in his head. Despite his hellish reputation, to you it felt like the heavens sent him down to earth. To fight and protect what he believed in with his all, laying down his own heart on the blade of his swords.

Your thoughts were cut short as the man before you stirred awake.

He sensed your presence for a while and contemplated whether he should make you aware that he knew you were staring at him. He wondered what you were sighing so softly at and couldn't hold in his curiosity anymore.

He opened his eyes to find you sitting down next to him. Your eyes locked with his and you just gazed at each other for a while. Adjusting the hand behind his head, he tilted it to get a better look at you.

You had that smile on your face, the one that grew on him the past months you've spent together. One look at it and it made every single one of his worries disappear into thin air.

That's the impact your whole presence had on him. Besides pure emotion you were also tranquility and harmony, while he was chaos and destruction. You neutralised his worst fears when he needed it the most with just that one smile and he couldn't get enough of it.

Your eyes suddenly went wide with realisation. You were supposed to get back to the other straw hats with him in tow a while ago. Wrapping your hand around his free one you tugged him up with you.

"Whoa, slow down. What's the rush?"

"You. Me. Downstairs. Now. Will explain in a bit."

He let you pull him downstairs on the deck where everyone else waited expectantly.

"Sleeping beauty decided to finally join us," joked Sanji.

"Is that a compliment, sandwich maker?"

"We thought you ditched us for a second," added Usopp, wiggling his eyebrows in a suggestive way.

You and Zoro were both confused. But then it hit you that something warm surrounded your palm. You looked down to see his hand securely intertwined with yours. Your hand was definitely on his forearm when you left the crow's nest. He probably caught your hand in the rush of pulling him down the stairs to avoid breaking his neck.

His eyes followed your widened ones to see your hands together.

He held your hand before, when he would hand you a plate with food or to help you down from the ship onto land. But not once did he hold it fully like this. His palm was entirely enclosed around yours. Your hand looked so small in his. Like it fit just right with his larger one.

You let go first and he hesitated a little. He wanted to hold it a bit longer. To study all the ridges on your knuckles as his fingers would thread between yours. To just hold them.

But he was conscious of the four pairs of eyes darting between the two of you and he let go of your hand, going back to his serious self beside you.

Shaking the awkwardness away, you turned back to the crew, remembering the task at hand.

"So, I gathered you all here today because it's Christmas Eve!" you said, waving your hands around enthusiastically, though your joy wasn't that well received on the other end.

"Okay and?" asked Nami, rather devoid of the holiday spirit.

"What do you mean okay and?! It's Christmas Eve! We don't have a tree up, decorations or any food to properly celebrate."

"I don't get why we need to celebrate a white bearded old man breaking into people's houses every year," deadpanned Nami.

"Yeah, I kinda have to agree with her on that," said Zoro, scratching the back of his neck.

"It's not just about Santa. We also celebrate the appreciation and love we share together as a crew," you stated. You took to walking around the deck, as their eyes followed you trying to make sense of your behaviour.

"Christmas is about making new memories by spending time together. It's putting up decorations and dressing up silly. We could set up our Christmas tree here," you pointed to the tall mast in the middle. "String a few sets of lights up from the jolly roger all the way down the veils to the decks, like a multi-coloured umbrella," you said excitedly, turning back around to them.

"Christmas is also a time to reflect back on the past year and talk about our best moments over a hearty dinner. It's a moment where we all get to be honest with each other. To share the hope, the joy and the love we hold for each other," you concluded.

You looked at them with hopeful eyes, earnestly wishing they will understand why you were so hellbent on doing something for the day.

But all you got in response to your speech was unsure neck rubs and a sense that you were the only one who wanted to celebrate today.

You felt like your excitement was maybe a little too much this time. Maybe they really just wanted a peaceful night in, doing whatever they had planned by themselves.

None of them were saying anything and it only made your uncertainty grow inside.

Maybe forgetting any of this even happened was better than making them feel like they should be doing something they weren't comfortable with.

Defeated, you took a step back and decided to retaliate.

"Actually, we don't need to do anything extra today. We can just chill out and all," you laughed nervously. "Sorry for bringing you guys out here for nothing."

You mumbled the last part and turned on your heels to make your way back to your room. Maybe not saying anything would have been better than whatever that was.

The crew remained on deck after you left. If anyone felt defeated it certainly wasn't you, but them. Especially the green-haired swordsman.

His mind was stuck on you. On the way your eyes twinkled with joy the more you gestured around you how you pictured everything. On the smile that never left your lips as you spoke of what the holiday means to you. And the fact that you wanted to spend this with them, your current family.

For him, the concept of family was a hard one to grasp. He didn't think he would ever feel as welcomed as he felt with the family he had back at the dojo. With Kuina.

He thought he would never be able to find a place he belonged. Until he came across the straw hats. They annoyed him, pestered him, drove him crazy most of the time. But they cared. They fully supported his dream to become the greatest swordsman in the world, without doubting his ambition or his skills in the slightest. And that meant a lot to him.

They grew on him and they felt like family. That included you too. It was you who showed him how to give back to the people that support you relentlessly. It was you who taught him that opening up to people wasn't selfish. That he should be open to not just giving but receiving too. The straw hats had a lot of love for him and they would stop at nothing to show it.

That's what you did a few moments ago. You put yourself out there, doing everything to convince them that celebrating shouldn't be a chore. That you wanted to celebrate your new found family.

He felt his heart break when he watched you back away like that. He knew you were beating yourself up for it, for thinking you were too much. But that wasn't true. He wanted to tell you that he wanted to celebrate with you. But it took him a while to register everything you said and that was one of the things he was working on.

By the looks on their faces, everyone was questioning themselves now. Searching for some kind of meaning that Christmas could have for them. Somewhere, deep down inside their hearts, they wanted to celebrate this too, just as much as you did.

Something seemed to click in their heads after a while, their eyes connecting in a knowing look. You could consider them convinced because they took the initiative themselves. It just took a while for your words to process.

"You know what, she's right," started Sanji. "I haven't cooked a hearty Christmas meal for ages. I could do with a roast, some eggnog and a cake."

"I can clean up around here a little. Get the table out here and some chairs," chimed Usopp.

"We could go into town and see what decorations we can find," added Luffy, linking his arm with Nami's in excitement.

"All we need is someone to go and get a Christmas tree," said Nami.

All eyes moved to the green-haired man leaning on the stair railing. He was the only one who hasn't pitched in with anything yet and they all looked at him expectantly.

He, on the other hand, did not seem to get the idea, looking back at everyone slightly confused.

"What?"

"You really are an idiot," face palmed Nami.

"Hey! Why are you calling me an idiot?"

"She was suggesting you would go and get a tree that we could put up over here," said Usopp, motioning to the mast. He realised that it was the spot you said you wanted it to be in.

"Why me?"

"You're forgetting you're the more muscular one out of all of us," uttered Nami, pinching his bicep. She thought that if she spoke to his ego he would realise what he needed to do sooner. "You don't expect me to carry it back to the ship now do you?"

"Fair point."

Finally, with tasks assigned and a plan for battle in place the straw hats took to their duties. They decided Christmas would happen this year, though it would take some work. And possibly a miracle.

It's been a while since you retreated back to your room. You stared at the Christmas plan you had written down on several sheets of paper on your nightstand, tracing the colour coded activities as you sighed. Maybe next year.

A knock on your door pulled you from zoning out. The light from outside dimmed down and the sun was just about to set, telling you it's been hours since your Christmas show on deck.

You walked to the door, wondering who it could be. It was probably Luffy, coming to check on you. But you were surprised to open it and find a rather distressed Nami. She had a weird smile on her face that was unlike her. What was even weirder was the silver tinsel hanging around her neck and the red and white santa hat on her head.

"We need some help out on the deck," she smiled wider, holding out a bag filled with different colored tinsel to you.

Your frown was instantly replaced by a smile matching hers as you took the bag from her hand.

"What made you change your mind?"

"You did," she said, pulling you into a hug that you returned. "We were too deep inside of our heads to see the bigger picture. We gave it some thought and realised you were right, so we got down to business."

You separated and walked down the halls. The walls inside the ship were decorated with lights all the way to the doors leading on deck. Nami's smile only got brighter the closer you got to the kitchen because you opened the doors and got hit with the most Christmas-like smell: Sanji's special roast. He just pulled it out of the oven, steam rising in the air spreading a divine aroma. But that wasn't the only thing cooking.

The oven was still working, baking a few batches of cookies in all kinds of shapes. A warm scent of cinnamon embraced you, followed by zesty citrus touches.

"It smelles like heaven in here, Sanji!"

"I'm glad angel," he smiled at you warmly.

Nami beckoned you outside. Luffy and Usopp were up in the crow's nest, struggling to untangle what looked like five rows of lights to hang from the jolly roger down to the veils. Just like you told them you wanted them.

You quickly climbed up to them with Nami in tow to help them before they could get hurt.

"Guys, you didn't have to do all this."

"Of course we did!" jumped Luffy. "You do so much for us and it was about time we paid you back."

"Well, at least let me help with the rest."

"Please do!" cried Usopp. He was tangled in one of the light sets from top to bottom.

"We could use you as a Christmas tree instead," joked Nami. "We just have to plug you in."

Everyone laughed at that. This was the atmosphere you desperately wanted, with the people you loved the most. It was where you belonged.

The only one you haven't seen around was Zoro. No one mentioned his whereabouts. All you heard was Nami complain that he's been gone for hours and that he ahd one of the easiest tasks to do. Maybe Christmas was a little too celebratory for him.

You just finished hanging up the last set of lights from the crow's nest when you heard grunts and enraged thudding of boots on the main deck. You made your way down only to be met with a sight for the history books.

There he was, hidden by a sturdy tree that was a shade of green darker than his hair. He carried it on his shoulders like it weighed nothing. But then again, he was Zoro. It must be something normal for him.

Everyone stopped what they were doing to stare at him. The look on his face told you he was a bit annoyed. Well, by the way his jaw ticked, probably very annoyed at the fact that no one rushed to help him with the huge wood angled on his back.

Luffy and Usopp got the idea and rushed to take it off his shoulders. They lifted it up on its trunk and that's when you all noticed the tree was actually massive.

Zoro rolled his shoulders to get rid of the ache in them and proceeded to dust his clothes off the tree's fallen pine needles that were scattered across his body.

"We thought you got lost," said Nami.

"Well, I did get lost," he deadpanned.

A lot of pine needles got stuck in his hair. He shook his head around to get rid of them but there were still some sticking out between his green strands. He raked his hand through them but he still couldn't get them out. He huffed frustrated in defeat and you decided to put him out of his misery.

Walking in front of him, you got on your tip toes, reaching out with your hand to whip the rest of the needles out. He froze in place, hands mid-way to his scalp to do it himself. He let them back down to his sides and watched as you took them out of his hair one by one and threw them away on the ground.

You had your bottom lip between your teeth, focused on getting the little fuckers out. He bent his knees so it would be easier for you to work on finding them without having to stay on your tip toes for too long. Once you were done and your heels were flat on the ground, you clapped your hands to get rid of any leftover pine needles. When your eyes lifted back up you realised just how close you were standing as you were eye to eye with him. You sucked in a breath as his eyes studied your face.

He was happy to see that you had a smile on your face this time, which was a hundred times better than that frown you had when you went to your room a few hours ago. In return for that bright smile of yours you always gave him, he gave you one of his own.

This smile was new, more rare than the smile he usually wore around you. You could literally see his pearly teeth. The muscles in his cheeks pulled the edge of his lips to curve up and his eyes crinkled into crescents. It was like a half smile, half smirk kind of smile. And it drove you absolutely crazy.

Who was he and what did he do with Roronoa Zoro?

"Uh, Zoro? Why does the tree have pine cones on it?" asked a confused Usopp.

His smile fell, eyes narrowing on the straw hat behind you.

"Is that not how it's supposed to be?"

"Where did you get it from?" asked Nami. "It's been hours since you went out."

"The woods," he said proudly, hands on his hips.

Everyone burst out laughing at his words, including you. This was too good to be true.

By the looks of it, he used his swords to chop it down. The few tears in his shirt told you the tree fought him a little for cutting it down.

"What are you all laughing for now?"

"There were trees for sale, already cut up in town," wheezed Nami through her giggles.

"I knew that," he said, hands coming to sit around his chest. You narrowed your eyes at him this time and he scoffed, averting his eyes from you.

"Fine! I didn't. I just wanted to get you the real thing."

"That is the real thing too," said Luffy.

"You know what, next time you can all take goldi-locks over there tree shopping. I doubt he'll do a better job at it."

"I heard you, peahead. And I will take you up on the challenge," shouted Sanji from the kitchen.

Zoro helped you to fix the table and lay down the new silver cloth Luffy and Nami bought. It was so long, but so nicely decorated with white snowflakes falling off the edges and different winter patterns drawn along it. You both lifted it up and spread it across the table, smoothing out the ridges from the middle to the edges. One of the longer corners got caught under the leg of the wooden table and you struggled to pull it out.

Zoro rushed over to you. He dove under the table and saw the material was caught in a piece of wood that was sticking out. He unwrapped it and moved to hand it to you just as your hands reached out for it. Your fingers touched again for the second time today and it caught you both in a daze. He gazed at you and you stared at him, feeling like you were transported to a different world.

He leaned in closer to you and you did too. The way his eyes focused on your lips told you that he wanted to seal yours with his. Your lips almost touched, if it wasn't for the unwanted interruption.

"Is the table done, lovebirds?"

You were snapped out of zoning out into each other's eyes. You both looked to your right to see the rest of the straw hats looking at you. You let go of each others hands and went back to getting the table ready.

Zoro brought over cutlery and plates from the kitchen and you arranged them around the table. He also got some glasses and drinks, placing them by preference to everyone's assigned seats.

Finally, Sanji brought the food over and everyone dove in before the steam evaporated completely from the roast. A tray with six eggnog glasses was then served and you all clinked your glasses together, toasting to the crew. You looked around at everyone sat around the table and it finally felt like the holidays.

Zoro was sat next to you nursing a glass of red wine. He couldn't tell if it was the alcohol, the festive cheer or you that had a strange sense of peace wash over him. Like he did not have a worry in the world.

He looked at you from time to time absolutely enthralled by the way your laugh bounced in his ears. You were laughing at one of Usopp's stories that was most likely glazed with little reality and over the top sarcasm. The origins of the story didn't matter, because you seemed to love it by the way the corners of your mouth curled in a knowing smirk. Your eyes crinkled in delight every time he would reach a point in the tale that was too funny not to laugh at and you would let that laugh out and he would laugh with you. It was slowly becoming his favorite sound.

In the midst of it all he found himself smiling at you and the crew that was now his home. Maybe celebrating things wasn't that bad. Especially if they were things that mattered to him.

After dinner, the crew dispersed to each their own. You wandered to the tree and sat in front of it, staring at it in awe. Multi-coloured baubles decorated it so joyfully, together with random kitschy ones. The tinsel waved around every corner, acting like an twinkling extension of the tree itself. More lights were wrapped around it, carefully placed around the pine cones. You chuckled remembering how badly Nami wanted to take them all off and you argued with her to just leave it be. Despite looking as wild as you could get it, it was the perfect Christmas tree.

Zoro was looking for you and found you in front of the tree. You looked so at peace as the lights twinkled, just like your eyes did as you looked at it. He thought that maybe having pine needles even in his boxers was worth it to see you smile that bright at the fully decorated tree.

"I hope it's to your liking," he said, walking beside you.

"It is," you smiled at him. "I wouldn't have it any other way."

"I've got one more thing for you."

You eyebrows raised in curiosity as you wondered what it could be. You already opened gifts at the dinner table so it couldn't be that.

"Close your eyes," he instructed.

You did as he told you and waited. He told you to open them and you saw him looking up, smirking at something. You followed his eyes to see a small twig with green leaves and red berries toed to a tree branch above you with a piece of ribbon. You instantly recognised it to be mistletoe.

"Did you just tie that up there?" you chuckled.

"Well, that diminishes the surprise effect."

You wondered if he knew what the plant's meaning was, especially on Christmas. Or if he just got it because it looked pretty in the woods. That was a possibility that kept your heartbeat from rising dangerously.

The confusion on your face told him you weren't sure of his intentions and he decided to make them somewhat clearer for you.

You were busy gauging the meaning of this by staring at the mistletoe. He took a step towards you closer to you, stopping as the tip of your boots touched. You lowered your eyes from the mistletoe only to find him almost nose to nose with you. He grabbed a hold of your hand with his free one, lacing your fingers together and pulled you even closer.

"So, does the man who doesn't celebrate holidays know anything about the mistletoe tradition?" you asked, getting a little closer to him.

"I might be an idiot sometimes, but I do know this much," he scoffed, signature smirk on his face.

"Hmm. You don't look so sure of that," you teased, playing with the hem of his shirt absentmindedly.

"How about I show you then?"

Your breath hitched in your throat as he dipped his head closer to yours. His eyes hungrily darted between yours and your lips waiting for your approval to finally kiss you.

"Want to do the honours?" you asked biting your lower lip in expectation.

"Gladly," he breathed out, closing the distance between you.

It turned out your palms weren't the only ones that fit together like pieces of a puzzle. Your lips did too, moving in sync with desire. Your free hand fisted his shirt to pull him closer as his free one came to sit at the back of your head pulling you impossibly closer. You felt him smile against your lips and you couldn't help but do it too, smilling against his.

You broke apart for air, foreheads pressed flush against each other. Your hands were still laced together, his thumb tracing the outline of your palm.

"This is the best Christmas ever," you breathed out.

He chuckled at that. His hand moved from the back of your head to cup your cheek and your hand came to rest on his wrist. You leaned into his touch, laying a kiss of appreciation on his palm. He smiled at you and that's where you knew that you wanted to spend all your holidays with him. Just like this.

It seemed like you spoke your mind out loud because he grinned widely at you. You buried your head in his chest in embarrasment as he laughed at your adorableness.

"I wouldn't want anyone else to spend them with either," said Zoro, laying your heart at ease.

Thank you for reading! As always, comments, likes and reblogs are welcome!

[brabblesblog]

Ch 2: Whither is thy beloved turned aside?

Astarion has ascended, and she has stayed with him. Life in the Crimson Palace isn’t as idyllic as it seems. Is there a chance for their relationship to go back to how it was? Or is it too late for the Ascendant and his consort?

This series is about Ban, my Tav, and the Vampire Ascendant. Will be angst and smut, with sprinkles of fluff.

This fic is a softer take on Ascendant!Astarion and of the changes he undergoes after the rite. Can Ban handle the change, and if a chance came, would she choose to run? And can the Ascendant win her back in time? Inspired by the concept of vampire wives and that IGN interview with Larian that discussed the ascension.

Professionally edited by @editing-by-night

The invitation to the Withers’ party arrives at the Crimson Palace during a ball. Astarion allows her to go, with some caveats. Angst and smut.

Read on AO3

Masterlist.

The invitation could not have come at a worse time for Astarion. They read it after the party, as the last of the guests prepared to depart.

He glanced at Ban, who was still staring at the letter. She looked a little lost, and he immediately knew she wished to go. If it had been up to him, the letter would have been tossed into the fireplace immediately. Seeing them, his old friends, would be an unwelcome reminder of who he’d been. He knew they preferred that Astarion: weak, someone who acquiesced to their wishes - with snide words, perhaps, but nary a protest. They had all slowly stopped talking to him after the rite. Not that he cared, he reminded himself; he needed no one other than his consort.

“So.” He broke the silence, tapping his fingers on the armrest of his throne. She was perched on his lap, still staring at the parchment, as if she hadn't heard him. He hated being ignored. Especially by her.

His hand slid down to grip her muscled thigh, squeezing a little harder than he normally would, aiming to draw her attention back to him. Ban’s eyes flicked up in surprise, then settled back into that detached expression she usually wore when talking to him in the presence of others.

“Yes, my lord?” she said mechanically. There were still some guests mingling in the ballroom, so she maintained the decorum befitting the Ascendant’s consort.

“If you wish to go to the reunion, pet…” he said, weighing it even as he spoke. He’d let her go. As much as he disliked the idea, she’d probably be delighted. But there was no way he'd let her out of his sight, especially not across that sort of distance. And especially not around the people who knew him before - people who had less than stellar opinions about his improved self.

“I would be glad to accompany you,” he drawled, masking the amount of time it actually took for him to decide. He stretched his legs as he spoke, as if it was a trivial matter and he’d decided on a whim.

He knew she exchanged letters with them, and it had never bothered him before. It did well to give her entertainment in between their work and overseeing the renovation of the palace. None of them had paid her a visit, however, and he found himself glad of it. Gods forbid they came and tracked mud on his carpets, touched his furniture with grubby hands, or worse - spewed supercilious, self-righteous drivel.

Ban put the parchment down. She was dressed in a tight dress with thigh slits that went up all the way to her hips, revealing the long, hard planes of her thighs. Astarion had chosen it, of course. It reminded him of the one she used to wear, the one that was given to them by Umberlee’s priestesses. His hand moved higher, rucking the dress up several inches, letting his greedy lust take over momentarily.

“We can go, pet, if you’ll let me have a little more than I usually get tonight,” he purred.

Ban nodded. Of course he’d ask for something in return. But this opportunity was far too important to pass up, especially after Gale’s most recent letter.

I may have come across some information that might be useful to you, he’d written. I shall look into it further and will update you soon.

“What… more… would you want to have?” she asked. Her pulse picked up slightly in apprehension, but also arousal. He could ask for anything, really, and if she were to deny him or push him too far, she worried it might finally be when he chose to compel her. And yet her body still responded to his words, to the mere idea of what he might ask for tonight. Still her beloved, even as they stood in the ruins of what they had built.

“I’ll let you know when we’re there.” He gave her haunch a light slap, indicating she should stand. She did, and he headed into the thinning crowd to see off the last of the guests.

She watched him go, his sharp figure cutting across the ballroom gracefully. As was their protocol during events like these, she headed for the doors, seeing the guests out and thanking them as they slowly ambled out of the palace. Her face felt tight, her smile too stiff. No one noticed. To them, she was simply the Ascendant’s plaything. No one was aware of exactly how much she contributed to his endeavors - just the way Astarion preferred it.

Before long, the ballroom was empty, and Ban headed back to their shared bedroom. The moment she opened the door he was upon her, his clothing already discarded on the floor. He growled as he pushed her against the wall.

“I have been wanting, my love. Waiting all night. I wanted to take you right in front of everyone,” he hissed against her ear, hands greedily grabbing every square inch of bare skin he could reach.

Ban arched her neck, moaning when he spoke. It was well-rehearsed and well-executed, and he usually bought it - or at least found it sufficient. Tonight, however, he did not. He drew back, arms on either side of her face, caging her against the wall.

The eyes boring into hers were as hungry and feral as ever, but then he shook his head as if to clear it. His erection stood proudly out from his abdomen, but he made no move just yet.

Ban eyed him warily, tonight’s discussion on her mind. She braced herself. “What did you want then, Astarion?”

As she said this, she slowly began to move to her knees. It was a pretty good guess; he did seem to like her in that position, to remind her who exactly was in charge. But she immediately realized it couldn’t be this. This was… normal, and he had asked for more.

Astarion’s hand on her shoulder stopped her, helping her back up. He gave her a long, thoughtful look. “Not that.”

Instead, he pressed closer. When he cupped her cheek, it was surprisingly, achingly tender. He pursed his lips, a small moment of uncertainty passing over his features.

“Love me,” he said, and it was a challenge. “You have not done that in so long, my treasure. Love me.”

It was one of those rare moments when he acknowledged that things had changed. She didn’t answer, but neither did she flinch. And he took that as his cue.

Hot, searing lips met Ban’s, yet another reminder that he was different. His free hand took hers and placed it flush over his heart. In the wilds, his slow, undead heartbeat had been a source of comfort to her; she had lain against it, listening to it night after night. Now it pounded and raced, something it had been incapable of before. She fought down the urge to draw her hand back.

“You haven’t done that in ages,” Astarion whispered as he broke the kiss. For a split second, he looked at her with desperate, longing eyes, but she missed it, her own eyes closed. “You haven’t listened to my heart, haven’t felt it beat for you. You used to,” he hissed, and there was anger there.

Did she prefer it when it was slow and abnormal? Did she prefer it to this one - strong, racing, living? It hurt him to think about it. Gods, it hurt him to think of before. The hand on her cheek tightened for the briefest moment, but he mastered himself. No.

“I need it again, Ban. If only for tonight.”

The words were a plea. Laced with demand, yes, but a plea nonetheless. His voice threatened to crack at the end of his sentence.

Ban exhaled roughly at his words. She was torn; a part of her wanted him to know exactly how to make her love him the way she used to. The other, larger part of her merely wished to pretend and get it over with.

“I love you,” she countered, “always have. Forevermore will.”

And that was the truth; for however changed and twisted he’d become, she would always harbor feelings for him.

Astarion wrapped his arms around her and lifted her up. It was a far cry from the time they’d slept together in the clearing, when he had hopped into her arms. He carried her to the four-poster bed effortlessly, setting her down on her back. He climbed over her, kissing his way up from her abdomen to her throat.

“You do?” the Ascendant said quietly. Inside, he was pained; he knew this to be largely true, but that resignation was there. That distance. Part of him wondered if that was the actual price of ascension.

Part of him thought that had he known, he would have refused it.

He kissed her throat, hiding his face. He let a growl escape him, let his hands grab her wrists and pin them above her head. He was not, would not, be weak. He wasn’t that mewling cur. Not anymore.

He had ascended. Now he must pay the price.

He brought a hand down to cup her breast. She whimpered when he gripped her wrists a little too tightly, and he instantly eased his grasp, sensing her discomfort. He lifted his head from her neck to watch her face. She had her eyes squeezed shut, face turned to the side to give him access to her throat. It was as if she was in the act of turning away from him.

How pathetic, he thought. I’m the king of my own little kingdom, and I feel as if I have lost everything.

But the Ascendant refused to let these thoughts rule his deeds. Vulnerability was something he had cleansed from himself. He released her wrists, his hands deftly undoing her dress. She shifted to help him strip it off of her.

As they finished, she finally spoke up.

“Yes, I do,” she said carefully, her face guarded and neutral. “I have loved you from the day I first laid eyes on you.”

And what a stupid godsdamned idea that had been.

Astarion wanted to push her, to force her to admit that the love they shared had been changed. By her. Because she wouldn't accept what he was. Because everything he’d given her - riches, power, sex - wasn't enough. Because she wanted the one thing he could not provide - doing so would pave the way for the ghosts of who they used to be. So he’d force them both to settle for this farce.

“And I love you, my dearest consort,” he said thickly, letting it go. He crawled his way back to her, settling his head between her legs. He pressed a kiss to her inner thigh, feeling her muscles tighten under his lips.

“I am nothing without you,” he whispered, and they both knew it to be painfully true.

He sunk his teeth into her thigh.

It wasn’t horribly painful, and Ban forced her leg to stop twitching. She watched her lord suckle at the wounds, his fingers gently making their way to her mound and finding her clit. He thumbed a soft, circular pattern he’d mastered long ago. Licking off the last of the blood, he met her gaze with heavy-lidded eyes. The sanguine hunger had been cured in the ascension, but he still craved her blood, simply because it was a part of her.

One dark, hungry look was all the warning he gave before he spread her folds and dove in, his tongue lapping needily at her core.

Ban hissed at the sudden warmth of his tongue, growing wet almost instantly. Sex may have lost most of its passion, but that didn’t mean there was none, or that it wasn’t enjoyable. Astarion was still Astarion, after all.

What Ban worried most about were his thoughts during the act. Did he still dissociate? They had been sleeping together almost every night since the rite, at his behest, but she had never dared ask. Before the rite, he’d finally been able to let her touch him, and even still it had been fraught. It was one of those topics she worried would hurt his ego and remind him of his past.

But Astarion was incredibly present; had been for some time now. He’d vowed to erase his past, and that had included the damage done by the parade of bodies he’d had to lie with. There’d been a learning curve, but it hadn’t been too difficult. Being in the moment was no longer challenging, not something he had to work at. Not when there was no longer anything to fear. He was the master now: he took what he wanted, in the time he wanted and in the manner he wished it to be.

And of course, because it was her. His Ban, the only one he’d ever allow to touch him, see him, know him this way, and she was the strongest balm of all. He knew he would be likely to relapse if they invited others to their bed - that shared event in Sharess’ Caress had proved as much - but alone with her, in his palace? Surrounded by everything that was his? It was effortless to be present in the moment.

He licked at her clit eagerly, alternating soft, feather-light touches with longer, harder laps. Then he wrapped his lips around it, letting his teeth graze her bud gently. He was rewarded with a low whimper and he chuckled darkly, satisfied. As broken as their love was, at least he knew he was still able to bring her to the heights of ecstasy. He snaked a hand down, palming his cock, grinding into his fist and the bed.

He licked her a bit more, bringing her close to peak, and then slowly slithered up her body. He met her gaze and saw a mix of lust, love, and that ever-present and all-encompassing resignation.

“Let me make love to you?” His tone was gentle and a little uncertain. He disliked the way it had slipped out of him, but found her reaction - surprise and… hope - well worth it. He figured that if he wanted her to at least pretend to truly love him tonight, then he may as well give her something to work with.

She gulped, the facade broken. “Yes, Astarion. Just like before.”

At any other time that would have enraged him, but his need to feel her love was too great tonight. He bit back a retort, watching her face as he stroked his cock a few more times before lining up and slowly sinking into her wet heat.

As she watched him slide into her, a small thought occurred to her: there’d never been a time they’d made love without something being off. The first two times they’d been together, he had been manipulating her. Their time in the Shadow-Cursed lands and even those final days before the rite had been filled with exploration, but also with worry. His ability to enjoy intimacy had still been fraught with setbacks. Every time after that had been after he’d changed. It was ironic, she mused bitterly, that the closest they’d gotten to healthy sex had been him seducing her for protection.

And then all thought was quickly chased away by the sensation of his cock burying deep inside her.

Astarion began thrusting. He squeezed his eyes shut, not wanting to see Ban’s pained expression. He needed to think of her as she’d been, laughing as they made love - that genuine joy in simply being with him. He imagined her in the clearing, wincing a little as he remembered uncharitably thinking her gullible. Shifting course, he brought forth memories of their time in the Shadow-Cursed lands, when they had finally started something real and stopped having sex, but had found other ways to be intimate. When he would touch her, make her come undone, and she would look at him like the sun rose in his eyes. Those, he realized belatedly, were the happiest moments of his cursed existence.

He would give almost anything to see that again. Almost.

He rarely allowed himself to think of the past, but tonight was an exception. He’d asked her to love him again for one night, and so he indulged himself. He thrust faster, driven by his memories, trying to use his body to love her broken pieces back together; trying to give her what he couldn’t back then.

Ban noticed, saw Astarion’s eyes were closed. He was usually very visually greedy, eyes eating up her every reaction as he fucked her senseless, but tonight he seemed like his old self. His thrusts were hard, but with the intention to give, angling himself so that he hit her spot with every pass. She felt tenderness breaking through her apathy and was unable to stem the flow. She couldn’t help it; she stroked his cheek, surprised when he whimpered in response.

His eyes remained shut, but his face was less pained. “Stay with me,” he said, his tone entirely different. It was softer, more earnest. “Just like this, forevermore.”

“I will, if you stay like this too.” It wasn’t a demand, rather a plea. A prayer, one she hoped her Astarion could answer from across time and whatever distance now separated them.

They were both nearing their peak, Astarion thrusting as hard as he possibly could without hurting her. He shook his head at her words, an agonized expression on his face. In those few moments he’d stolen from the Ascendant, he wanted to grant her wish. But he knew once he came, he wouldn’t be able to.

He would have to be the Ascendant again when the dawn breaks, and the Ascendant refused to be that spawn - refused to be anything that man was. The spawn could only ever be allowed to surface in the dark of night, between silken sheets and whispered words; a secret the Ascendant could not allow her to see.

And if that broke her heart, well, the Ascendant could live with that. She’d still be here, and they could both continue the dance they knew all too well.

Ban decided to try again. It was a risk, and she feared being compelled, but if there had ever been a moment in the past six months that it could work, it would be this one.

“I would stay. If you let me be free, Astarion, I would st-”

“No!”

His eyes flew open, the moment evaporating instantly. Freedom? What? So she could run away from him? So he would be left with absolutely nothing, a wretched creature in far worse misery than he’d been in as a spawn? No. She could not be freed.

For a split second, he wished he’d made her into what he was under Cazador. But the thought was instantly swallowed by disgust and self-loathing. No. He would never.

But she couldn’t know.

Ban deflated at his outburst, the resignation returning to her eyes as she nodded. “Fine. For tonight, though, I can.”

He’d settle for that.

The Ascendant closed his eyes again, hips resuming their movement. He wanted to drown in his memories again, and so he let his mind fill with them, let his mind be caught in their current, allowing them to drag him under.

Her, laughing at some silly prank he’d pulled. Her in their tent, coming undone as his fingers touched her and his lips kissed her. Her, telling him she loved him for the first time, but not asking for anything in return.

The power of that final memory unraveled him. His climax washed over him, and the low whine that escaped his lips sounded nothing like the Ascendant. It was in that moment that his mind inadvertently reached for his creation - his bride.

They both gasped at the contact. He tried, frantically, to stem the flow of thoughts, and was mostly successful. Only one slipped through to her, the one which brought him to his peak.

He was reading a book while she rested on his chest, part of their usual nighttime routine. He looked down at her, brushing back a lock of her hair.

“You should sleep,” he said. “If we’re going to push for the nightsong tomorrow, you’ll need all your strength.”

She rolled her eyes and nodded. Tomorrow could decide the fate of the Shadow-Cursed lands, and she did need rest.

“I want to spend as much time with you as I can. Just in case things go wrong tomorrow.” Her hand splayed over his chest, and his undead heart sped up at the contact. He smiled.

“Once this is all done, darling, you’ll have eternity with me. I promise you that. As for tomorrow, we’ll be fine. I've got you,” he assured her lightly, miming shooting his twin crossbows.

Ban laughed, and her next words came forth unbidden.

“I love you, Astarion. You don’t ever have to say it back. I just wanted you to know.”

The memory washed over Ban and she felt the wild, intense surprise, the joy he’d felt at her words. The strength of his remembered elation stole her breath, and she stared at Astarion in shock. When the alien presence of his mind had entered hers, she’d thought he was finally going to bend her to his will. She had been prepared to fight. Instead, she’d seen this memory, one she had thought rejected by him.

Was he thinking about that? Was that on his mind as he came?

Astarion jerked back quickly, feeling threatened by this sudden, unwanted vulnerability, and much like a cornered animal, his only recourse was to lash out.

“How dare you,” he hissed. “You ask for freedom, but invade my mind. Look at me.”

He grabbed her by the jaw, turning her to face him. He was aware that it had been his mind that had reached out for hers; she didn’t even know such a thing was possible. But his need to never show weakness was too great. Indignation won out; he took umbrage at this evidence that she could coax that sort of softness from him still, that even the Ascendant could be swayed by her love.

”You will never be free. You understand? Everyone - everything you need is here. In. This. Palace.” He let go of her, his chest heaving. Tears threatened to prick his eyes but he refused to consider why, holding them back by sheer force of will.

“You’ve done as I asked. We will go to the reunion. And then you’ll see,” he sneered, “exactly how pathetic the past was, compared to now.”

With those venomous words, he turned away from her. He missed the determined gleam in her eye, the one that he used to find so vexing and yet so alluring, the one that had never failed to charm him.

Later that night, whilst the Ascendant was in trance, his creation began to prepare a bag. She packed her old armor and weapons from their adventure. In the morning, she would say that she was giving them to Karlach for her battles in Avernus.

And he would believe it, because he’d forgotten her strength, forgotten the stubborn determination that had lured him to her in the first place. He’d believe it because he would be there, watching her. Because he, in his insistence on keeping her a caged bird, had forgotten what she was capable of.

[dragonwitch77]

Tiny

Chapter 1: Armless

“Oh Syringeon~! You home~?” A sing-song jovial voice called out, and that was enough to make the frown on Syringeon’s face go deeper. 

The fuchsia colored Mutant narrowed his eyes, debating if he had time to pretend to be too immense in his work to hear Bittergiggle’s voice calling out, or whether he should just chase the jester out himself just to get some peace and quiet.

He was leaning towards throwing the sharpest object around him to scare the jester off when Bittergiggle’s face appeared around the door frame, the grin half of his face growing wider when his miss-matched eyes landed on the four-armed surgeon. “Syringeon! There you are, old buddy!”

“Go away, Bittergiggle. I’m not in the mood fer any of your jokes.”

“Aww, but I came up with a really good one this time!”

“Bittergiggle–”

“It’s one I’m sure you’ll get a real kick out of!”

“Bittergiggle–”

“I promise you’ll–!”

“Bittergiggle.” Syringeon hissed, narrowing his eyes at the jester while activating his tools.

“… one joke for an entire year of none?” The jester offered meekly.

Syringeon glared at Bittergiggle, before sighing and turning off his tools. “Fine. ONE joke.”

The grin on Bittergiggle’s green side grew and he eagerly began to tell his joke. “What do you call someone when they stick their arm between a door?” He waited, though Syringeon didn’t bother to answer. “Armless!”

The surgeon groaned as Bittergiggle let out a series of giggling fits at his own joke. “Terrible. As usual.” He said as he turned away from the door. “Now leave me alone. I’m busy.”

“… um, Syringeon?”

“If yer goin’ta say another joke, I’m goin’ta clock ya right in the jaw.”

“I-It’s not a joke. I promise no jokes after that one, remember?”

“Ay, fer a whole year.” The surgeon kept his back to the door, searching around his desk for something. “Carol! Bring me batch eight from sector E!”

“R-Right. Um, well, funny story about that joke, you see–”

Bittergiggle didn’t get a chance to finish his sentence. Whatever Syringeon was looking on the desk, he found it and pressed it. The doors swiftly closed, locking Bittergiggle out on the other side.

The grin half of his face dropped as well as his frown half deepened as he stared at the door. “… well that was just plain rude.” He sighed, looking down at the severed snake arm in his hand.

In all honesty, perhaps he should have shown Syringeon the arm first. That certainly would have caught his attention, though Bittergiggle wasn’t quite sure if he’d help.

The surgeon never really got along all too well with Bittergiggle. Even when he wasn’t telling jokes, Syringeon couldn’t stand being in the same room with him for an hour. Bittergiggle wasn’t sure what he did to make Syringeon hate him so much.

He wasn’t sure what exactly he did to make everyone dislike him. Was it his jokes? Or was it his personality? Or did they not like the way that he dressed?

What was wrong with being fashionable? He was a jester, he was supposed to look like one. They shouldn’t care about all the little details or extra features he added to his clothes! … Maybe he should cut back on all the extravagant details and designs?

Be a little less flashy and showy? Would that make people like him a little more?

Maybe. Maybe not.

People were just so hard to please these days.

His frowning half deepened even more on his face, lifting his detached arm up and wondered what he should do with it. He didn’t want to toss it away. He would much prefer to have it back on his body where it belonged.

The little face smiled innocently at him, as if it didn’t see the problem of being severed from his shoulder that was still dripping Givanium on the floor. He should probably find something to stop the flow before he lost too much of the stuff.

Taking a random hallway, Bittergiggle looked around for anything that he could use to stanch the flow. A towel or some bandages might do, and he was sure Syringeon wouldn’t mind or notice some items going missing if they weren’t Givanium related. While he was at it, maybe he could find something to reattach his arm. It couldn’t be that hard to stick it back on with the right tool in hand.

“Now where does he keep supplies at?” Bittergiggle mumbled, poking his head into rooms. Syringeon had to keep his supplies close for his operations and experiments. There was no way he would let his lab go into a complete disarray, even if the floor could use a few scrub downs here and there.

His searching finally became fruitful as he reached the end of the hall and found boxes filled with medical equipment sorted inside. “Bingo!” His grin half grew wide, stepping inside the room and began searching for anything that could help.

The arm was getting a bit in the way, so he set it down on a table and continued looking through the boxes. “Bandages. Bandages. Bandages. What the heck even is this thing? Bandages. This doesn’t even look medical. Bandages. Bandages…” Both halves of Bittergiggle’s face went into a fine flat line as he pulled out a human skull from the box.

Wordlessly, he set the skull back in the box and pushed it away. With some slight hesitance, he went back to looking through other boxes, hoping he wouldn’t find any more disturbing surprises waiting for him as he searched. 

“Where are the bandages? Ugh! There’s got to be something useful! Come on Syringeon, where do you keep the bandages?!” He huffed, searching through the last box. “You’ve got to have a towel here at least!” He let out a small snort, feeling compelled to kick something at this point.

Just then, something moved in the corner of his eye. Bittergiggle jumped, but relaxed when he saw it was only just a towel being held out to him. “Oh, thanks!” He said cheerfully, taking the towel and pressing it to his wound.

“Don’t mention it.”

Bittergiggle froze.

Slowly, he turned his head, finding Syringeon standing behind him.

Frowning with a displeased look in his eyes.

“… Hey Syringeon!” Bittergiggle said, with a little too much cheer in his voice. “Funny seeing you here! Not that you wouldn’t be here since this is your lab and all… so, uh, how’s it going?”

The surgeon gave him a firm stare.

“… okay, if it’s about the joke from earlier, I was being serious about not telling you anymore for a whole year. Not that I would even think to visit you for an entire year, you are a very busy Mutant and all that, and I know how much you don’t like to be disturbed from your work and normally I wouldn’t think to do so… under normal circumstances, b-but, um,” He motioned to his shoulder, smiling shakily on half of his face. “C-could you patch me up? Just this once? Please?”

Syrigneon stared at him.

“… two years?”

A moment of silence passed before Syringeon huffed and motioned Bittergiggle to follow.

The jester’s grin grew genuine as he followed Syringeon back to his lab, grateful that he wasn’t being turned away again.

“A part of me really doesn’t want to know, but I have to ask just so I don’t wreck my brain over all the possible scenarios you could have possibly done to end up like this.” Syringeon said as they entered his lab.

“Well, to make a long story short, it’s not the greatest idea to stick an arm through a hole in a door.” Bittergiggle said as he sat himself down on the operation table. “Especially when the door is surprisingly fast when it opens and you’re not fast enough to pull your arm out in time.”

“And just why would you be sticking your arms in places it shouldn’t be in?” Syringeon question, adjusting the lights above the table. “You normally aren’t dumb enough to do somethin’ like that.”

“The button was on the other side. There really wasn’t much of a choice besides breaking them down.” Bittergiggle said with a shrug, though he winced at the action when his shoulder flared in pain. “… thinking back on it, a dislocated shoulder would have probably been better than… this.”

“Maybe.” Syringeon agreed, adjusting the light to the proper angle. Satisfied, he turned his focus on Bittergiggle’s shoulder, pointing at him with one of his tools. “Take off your shirt. I need to see how bad the damage is.”

“From the pain I’m in, I can only guess how bad it is.” Bittergiggle said as he unbuttoned his shirt. It was a bit difficult to manage with only one arm, even when Syringeon helped him out in the end, but they managed to free him from the article of clothing in the end.

Bittergiggle frowned at the ruined shirt, grimacing at the large stain of Givanium dripping from the fabric. He especially frowned when he saw the hole where his arm should be, and the teal green liquid that stained his purple fur. He was going to need a bath to clean this up.

Bittergiggle HATED baths.

“Oooh.” Syringeon hissed, looking at the wound with a mild of curious fascination, a smudge of irritation, and… was that the smallest hint of… concern? “That does look bad. Very bad.”

“Bad as in bad but fixable? Or bad and unfixable?” Bittergiggle asked in concern as Syringeon examined the wound.

“I wouldn’t exactly say that.” Syringeon said, poking at the wound carefully with one of his tool hands. “I would say this would be simple if you still had yer arm to reattach with, but I might have to sew it up close just to stop you frem losin’ anymore Givanium.”

“M-My arm? It’s back in the storage room.” Bittergiggle quickly pointed, not enjoying the idea of losing his arm forever. “The one I was looking through for bandages.”

“Really? Well that makes thin’s a bit easier then.” Syringeon looked over his shoulder, addressing a Givanium Citizen standing off to the side. “Go to storage room T and grab me Bittergiggle’s arm. And while you’re there, grab me a few empty vials and syringes.”

“Vials?” Bittergiggle parroted as the Citizen left. “Syringes? W-Wha-why do you need those? A-Aren’t you just going to reattach my arm?”

“Yes. AND while you’re here, we can finally get to work on some of the missed checkups you’ve been skippin’ out on fer the past two years.”

Bittergiggle winced, boxing in on himself as Syringeon gave him a look with those brown eyes of his. “O-oh. T-Two years, h-huh? H-hadn’t noticed.” He chuckled nervously under Syringeon’s glare, wishing the floor would just swallow him up now.

“M-hm. Likely story.” Syringeon said, just as the Givanium Citizen returned with the requested items. “Thank you, Carol. This will do.”

“Carol. Carol.” Bittergiggle narrowed his eyes at the Citizen, studying them head to toe. “Wasn’t the name of your assistant Sharon?” He asked. “And what happened to them?”

“The last assistant was Arial. And they’ve been moved to the lower sector of the lab.” Syringeon answered, readying a syringe. “Don’t be given’ me that look. You’re past overdue fer a health check and you know it.” The surgeon huffed at the terror on Bittergiggle’s face, rolling his eyes as the jester stared at the needle.

“I-I-I-I know that! It’s just–” Bittergiggle hissed, moving away from the needle as Syringeon moved it close. “… I… don’t have the best memory with… needles.”

“I know, lad. I know.” Syringeon gave his knee a small pat, almost in a way that could be called sympathy. “We’ve all been there before. I know all too well what you mean”

Bittergiggle made an odd noise, turning his face away from the needle. He let out a quiet hiss of pain as he felt the needle stick into his body, his hand gripping the rim of the table, digging his small claws in as he felt the small tool draw out his Givanium.

A shuddering sigh left his lips as the needle pulled out, and Syringeon, in a surprising out of character moment, gave Bittergiggle a small pat on the back.

“I know. I know.” Syringeon almost had a pitying look in his eyes, yet it didn’t stop him from sticking another two syringes in the jester and filling them with Givanium. Once all three were filled, he transferred them over to vials and handed them off to Carol. “Take these down to lab B. Make sure they get properly labeled fer testin’ later.”

“Testing? For what?” Bittergiggle questioned.

“The usual.” Syringeon shrugged as Carol walked off with the vials. “Normally for deformates, mutations, changes, and a number of other thin’s that might pop up. Givanium is an interestin’ thin’, and there’s no tellin’ what possibilities could pop up out of nowhere–”

A crash sounded out in the hall, interrupting Syringeon and startling Bittergiggle.

“WATCH WHERE YOU’RE GOING!”

{Me? You’re the one who ran into me!}

“I RAN INTO YOU?! YOU RAN INTO ME! NOW LOOK WHAT YOU DID! YOU MADE ME DROP IMPORTANT VIALS FATHER ENTRUSTED ME TO GET! LOOK! MOST OF THEM ARE CRACKED! YOU KILLED SOME OF OUR FUTURE SIBLINGS!”

Syringeon let out a sound that was a mix between a growl and a sigh, one of his eyes twitching as the shouting continued in the hall.

“… more infants?” Bittergiggle spoke up. “You’re planning to make more Givanium Infants?”

“And what of it?” Syringeon turned his glare on the jester, who held up his hand in surrender.

“Nothing! I just… don’t you already have plenty of them around? Why have more? What’s the point of making them?”

“First of all, it’s none of your business.” Syringeon regarded him with a cool glare. “YOU TWO! STOP ARGUIN’ ALREADY AND GET BACK TO WORK!” He yelled towards the door and the voices outside went quiet. He turned his focus back on Bittergiggle. “Secondly, I like havin’ somethin’ to care fer down here. The Infants might not be much use, but I like their company. Tweak them enough and they become the only thin’ keepin’ me sanity in check.”

“Is that their only purpose?” Bittergiggle asked.

“Well, no. Some of them have certain genetic programmin’ while others don’t. I like to think that, given the chance to grow and learn, they might perform tasks better than others when they’ve grown into maturity. It’s a trial and error process, but the work speaks for itself in the end.”

Bittergiggle stared at Syringeon for a good moment before nodding, catching sight of a different Givanium Citizen walking by the door with a small crate in their arms passing by.

For a moment, he thought he saw some Givanium dripping out from the crate.

Syringeon was sure to have a fit about that later.

“Alright, we’ve wasted enough time chit-chattin’.” The surgeon spoke, grabbing Bittergiggle’s severed arm from the table. “The quicker we get this done, the better. I don’t want you spillin’ out your Givanium all over my floors.” He held up the limp appendage, making a face at the snake puppet hand. “This hand of yours still disturbs me.”

“What’s your problem against Philbert?”

“Philbert?” Syringeon gave him a bewildered look. “You named your hand Philbert?”

“I didn’t name it! The Sheriff did!” Bittergiggle clarified, appalled that Syringeon would think that he would name his hand such a name. “I wanted to name him Sir Serenity Serpent Samuel Simmons The Seventh!”

“… what?”

“… I lost in a game of rock, paper, scissors and Toadster picked Philbert.”

“Ah.” Syringeon nodded his head. “Makes sense. Alright, lay down. Let’s get Philbert back where it belongs.” He pulled a face as Bittergiggle laid out on the table. “Philbert. Who names a hand Philbert?” He grumbled as he got to work.

🧪

“Just clean up the mess, they said. Most of the vials aren’t even filled, they said. Our siblings should be just fine, they said. They’re not the ones in risk of Father’s wrath.”

Deep in the levels below the lab, a Givanium Citizen was growling to himself. He had been given an important task, one given to him by his father, and he did not want to disappoint him in the slightest.

Both in fear of his disappointment. And his anger.

The Citizen, who was giving the name Jotham, was currently sorting vials in a specific room. The room where every Givanium Citizen and Infant were created and breathed life into.

Jotham didn’t have many memories of this room, nor did he have a clue as to how his father created him and his numerous siblings. If he had to guess, the big machine in the back probably had something to do with their creation. He had never seen any new siblings pop out of it, but Jotham was sure that he and all his siblings came out of that thing at one point or another.

And he was certain that his father would have him repurposed when he found out that most of the vials in the box had been cracked.

Irritation and worry bled together inside Jotham, pulling out broken vial after broken vial from the box. Teal liquid slipped through the cracks of their tiny glass containers, staining the box with Givanium. If his father didn’t get upset over the loss of future children, he would surely be mad over the waste of Givanium.

Jotham swallowed uneasily, recalling when his father got angry with another Citizen over a simple mistake and used their body for a new formula to test on.

He could still remember their screams of agony.

When the last vial was taken out of the box, Jotham’s heart plummeted to his feet. Only five vials remained intact. Five vials out of thirty.

Five out of thirty potential new siblings.

Jotham panicked. Father was surely going to be angry about this! Only five vials out of thirty?! He would surely be angry that such a large number of siblings were lost! And the loss of Givanium! 

Jotham groaned, holding his head in despair. What was he going to do?! Father had given him such an important task and he failed! He failed and twenty-five of his new siblings were dead! Gone! Oh why did Carol run into him?! Why did she have such issues against him?!

What should he do? Father would surely repurpose him! He didn’t want to end up as a new testing dummy or be put through numerous operations! He didn’t want to end up like Jim, Allen, Tiffy, Kamil, or Charlet!

He… he needed something to distract father. Something that would pull his attention away from his mistake.

But what? Father would always get immersed in his operations and his testing, but not immersed enough to delude his anger. What else was there to keep father’s focus away from him?

Jotham thought long and hard, looking around the room for anything that might help.

Then it came to him.

Infants!

Father loved Infants!

He partially made them every month!

Infants took up most of father’s work for hours on end! Especially the recently created ones!

Filled with a sense of hope, and maybe clouded judgment from fear, Jotham grabbed the vials and hurried over to the machine. It took some fumbling, and losing two more vials in the process of getting the machine to work, but Jotham finally managed to figure it out in the end.

It was alright! Three new siblings would be more than enough to distract father! He was always very attentive to newly created siblings for the first few days! And by then, father wouldn’t even recall his mistake!

Hopefully.

Feeling confident, Jotham now turned his attention to finding Carol and giving her a piece of his mind for almost ruining his task.

If Jotham had managed to stick around long enough, he would have spotted some words coming up on the screen of the machine. But being sure that his safety was secured, he didn’t bother nor care to stick around long enough to read what was being typed.

Genomes Detected

Vial 1: Homo Sapien, Bipalium Kewense, Stable

Vial 2: Homo Sapien, Bipalium Kewense, Stable

Vial 3: Homo Sapien, Thamnophis Sirtalis, Stable

Appling Givanium X Chromosome

Appling Givanium Cyan

WARNING

Additional Givanium Detected In Vial 3

Approximating Survival Rate Of Incubation

32.6% 

Adjusting Givanium Levels For Stability Of Developing Fetus In Vial 3

Approximating Time For Fetus Stability

One Month

Next >

[cielwritings]

May I request poly Seba Ciel x (nonbinary+autistic) reader throuple headcanons? Any genre is fine. Thank you. :3

! Sebaciel x Reader !

once more i have not much to say other than I hope you enjoy it :)

Sebastian and Ciel were partners before you came along. When you did, Ciel felt conflicted. It was one thing being partners with his demon. Who was his butler. Who was also a male. Who was also centuries older than him...

You, though, were different. You were much younger than Sebastian (thankfully), and quite.. odd. At least in Ciel's eyes. He's never seen someone like you before.

You always covered your ears whenever Mey-rin came stomping down the halls squealing. You always squint to block the light of Baldroy's explosives. When Lizzy was around, you ignored her completely. She was a loud girl, and loved bright things.

Ciel felt some sort of relief around you. While your reasons could be different from his, he also didn't like just how loud and bright she was.

Sebastian was the first to notice your disliking to certain textures and flavors. He'd given you jello one day, and you nearly cried at the slimy feel. He swiftly apologized and gave you something to your liking.

He had to change the sheets in the guest bedroom, as you would bawl your eyes out or gag at the feeling of the fluff on dry skin.

Speaking of dry skin, lotion absolutely irked you. The gross feel of it to your skin make you gag.

When you, Ciel, and Sebastian all started dating, they had to make even more adjustments. Changing the fabric of Ciel's clothes to make sure you AND him were okay with it, changing the lightbulbs, heavier training with the servants...

You felt bad they had to do this, but Ciel would reassure you by holding your hands. Sebastian would tuck your hair behind your ears.

Now, when you spoke about how you didn't like either of the 'my lady' or 'sir' titles, that's when they got confused. It wasn't new for Sebastian to see or deal with someone who didn't like feminine or masculine clothes.. but straight-up denying any sort of gendered title was new.

They discussed this with you. It was quite easy for Sebastian to grasp it, but Ciel had to have a 'for dummies' explanation.

Men typically wore darker clothes, or if bright they'd be clearly masculine. Women would wear light clothes, or if dark they'd be clearly feminine. This was hard to mix into one complete outfit for you.

Sebastian arrived one day, two pairs of clothes in hand. One was a light brown, the other white. He helped you put both on. They were identical, except for the colors.

A short-sleeved buttoned shirt with short overalls. You wore gloves that reached to mid-arm, socks that nearly reached knee level along with matching boots. In the back is what seemed to be a detachable dress cloth, giving the look of a cloak around your waist. He also had gotten a matching dress coat, hat, and other accessories for the outfit.

Sebastian had let you know Ciel sketched this idea, and he had done the work to make Ciel's idea a reality.

Safe to say, they adore you, and you adore them.

[beewolfwrites]

The Weight of Guilt

Request: 

I feel like there’s some serious childhood trauma in Chishiya’s past and would love a story where he gets triggered by something which causes a panic attack and his girlfriend try’s to help but it’s difficult because he doesn’t feel he deserves help or has never had help before??

Chishiya x OC/Fem!Reader (The girlfriend could be either really, she wasn’t given a name)

Here guys, have a one-shot because why not! Bear in mind, when I was writing this, I figured that Chishiya doesn’t seem like the kind of character to have a full-blown chaotic panic attack. He seems more like someone who would be very still and quiet until it goes away. 

(Also Beware! This is very loosely proofed. Some of you all know how bad my proofing can be)

__________________________________________________

Well, this had never happened before. Nor had he ever expected it to. 

A simple medical supply run had taken him straight back to the very hospital he had been itching to escape from prior to the Borderlands. And while his companion had disappeared into the musty wards in search of bandages, antibiotics and morphine, Chishiya took the opportunity to pay a little visit to his old unit.

It was fascinating in a way. The operating theatres were dark inside and hauntingly devoid of life. Recovery was just the same. The beds were all empty, as expected, but the patient charts were still attached to the end of each one. Naturally, he wandered down the corridors into the very ward he had been stationed in that day, right before the world disappeared. 

He traced each bed, noting how the bedside tables were covered in small mementos, flowers and gifts from family and friends. All relics of a world long gone. 

‘Chishiya?’ 

His companion’s voice sounded in the distance, but he barely heard it. 

He barely heard it because he realised that he was standing before that bed. The sheets were dusty, but a familiar plastic dinosaur was on the bedside table and a vase of carnations had dried to a crisp. 

‘Chishiya?’

That voice again. The sound was drowned out by a surging sensation throughout his body, a strange gushing in his chest. His fingers felt almost detached from his hands, like those of a marionette. He clenched and unclenched them, yet he felt nothing. 

He felt nothing back then too. When they handed him a manila envelope and rearranged the priority list for heart transplants, Chishiya had felt nothing. Even when they had wheeled the boy’s body to the morgue in the basement, his mother still in the ward, clutching her chest as she howled, he had felt nothing but acceptance. 

So why now? That was the question. 

And why now, of all times, did his head feel underwater? Why was his throat constricted, as though there was a tight band wrapped around it? Why did his tongue feel larger than usual in his dry mouth, swollen enough to restrict his airways?  

And that strange gushing sensation had only grown stronger, fuelling him with the urge to run away. And yet he couldn’t move himself from the bedside. 

Why couldn’t he move? 

‘Chishiya?’ 

She was right behind him now, in the doorway of the ward. Her footsteps clacked against the floor, growing uncomfortably loud, and a hand touched his shoulder. He didn’t have the energy to shrug it away. 

‘Are you okay?’ 

Normal. He had to appear normal. ‘I’m fine.’ 

‘Don’t lie to me,’ she said quickly. 

‘And why exactly would I do that?’ 

‘Don’t try to distract me either.’ She moved around him, checking him over. ‘You don’t seem okay.’ 

She was trying to read him, something that he disliked intensely. He didn’t want her to see this part of him. He had never told her about the things he did before they came here. If he did, surely she wouldn’t stick around. 

But would she still stick around now? After this? 

He knew exactly what he was experiencing. The DSM-5 had been sitting on his desk for months after he had completed two modules in advanced neuroscience. He understood the symptoms of an anxiety-provoked fight or flight reaction… on paper at least. But he had never truly understood it until now. 

He shoved his hands into his pockets, forcing himself to move away from her. ‘I told you, I’m fine.’ 

In truth, his head was swimming and he had to lean against the railing of the bed for support. But she didn’t need to know that. Nobody could see this kind of weakness, not even her. 

‘Chishiya,’ she stepped towards him again. ‘You… you’re tilting. Just—please just sit down with me, okay? You look like you’re going to faint.’ 

‘I’m not going to—‘

‘Please.’ 

He looked at her properly, although it was difficult to focus on the softness of her features, pinched in concern, when everything felt so watery and distant. All he needed was these symptoms to go away. Though he knew he wasn’t in any danger, and this was just his body’s reaction, there was no way he could logic himself out of it. Perhaps distraction was the answer. 

‘Fine,’ he said. ‘But we’re just wasting time.’ 

‘The supplies aren’t going anywhere. They can wait.’ 

She sat down on the bed — that bed — and patted the space next to him. He looked at it for a long moment, knowing that if he didn’t sit beside her, she would immediately realise why. So, whilst the thought appalled him, he took a seat on the soft mattress. 

She sighed, smiling. ‘You should have told me this was your hospital. I had a feeling when we walked in.’ 

He didn’t reply. All he could do was focus on a spot on the vinyl floor in hopes that it would somehow make these irksome sensations disappear. 

‘I’m guessing this is where you did your clinical rotations, right?’ She paid no mind to his lack of response. ‘You know, when I was a kid I ended up in a place just like this. I was pretty sick for a while, and it wasn’t looking too good. There was an intern there. He wasn’t my actual doctor, but he was shadowing.’ 

‘Oh really…’ 

It was the only reply Chishiya could muster. 

‘Yeah, even though he was an intern he must have been a mature student because he had a pretty impressive moustache. He used to style it in all these weird ways, just to make the kids laugh.’ 

She chuckled a little, lost in her own memory.  ‘I thought it was funny at the time.’ 

‘You would,’ Chishiya muttered. 

‘Hey!’ She lightly pushed her shoulder into his, careful not to actually shove him. 

Despite the fact that he was only half listening, her story was giving him something to focus on. His tongue still felt swollen, and the band around his throat was as tight as ever. But that strange gushing sensation had quietened, and somehow just anchoring himself on the bed helped ease his lightheadedness. 

‘Looking back now,’ she continued, ‘he’s probably an amazing paediatrician. I didn’t realise it at the time, but there were some kids there who were dying. He did what he could for them, even if it wasn’t much.’ 

Was she trying to make him feel better or worse? It wasn’t clear. He would much rather face the humiliation of dying in an Ace of Diamonds game before growing out his facial hair and styling it like a clown just to please some children. Was that why he felt this way? Because deep down, although he was just a medical student, and although death came with the job, Chishiya knew that some deaths were preventable. 

And yet, he had stood there, watching passively as they wheeled the boy’s body away. 

‘Look,’ she said. ‘I don’t know what’s going on, or what caused this — and you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to — but if you ever do want to, I’m here.’ 

Chishiya swallowed, unable to meet her gaze. 

‘I get that you like to keep your old life pretty private, and that’s fine. But I just need you to know that no matter what happened in the past, I’ll listen. I’m always here to listen.’ 

He couldn’t speak, simply because he didn’t know what to say. And if she knew what he had done… 

It wasn’t the time for a conversation like that. 

Maybe one day he would take her up on the offer. But right now, her words alone were enough to quench the dryness of his mouth and the tightness of his throat. A weight lifted from deep within his chest, and the world that had seemed so blurry only minutes before was now just within reach. 

[themsource]

Frans, Shipping, and Me

A bit of context before we start.

For those that don’t know: I don’t like shipping myself. 

While a majority of my stuff has been and is for the insert enjoyers, I personally don’t like self shipping. It hits on that same nerve that makes me squeak at RPF (real person fiction), it just crosses a line for me. Because those are people with real feelings, and I can’t bring myself to objectify myself or others just for an imagined storyline or scenario. Even when reading it I don't truly insert myself into it.

Don’t get me wrong, I love and have a major crush on a ton of characters, especially Sans and I can ramble all day about what I would do or say in a relationship with him. But actually putting myself in the situation?

No, I can’t do it.

I managed to get one insert art made that I actually paid for myself and… while it did do things for me on both a good and bad level, and felt amazing to have, I wouldn’t do it again. 

It felt very personal, like I had been cracked opened and exposed on a level I didn’t want others seeing just for their entertainment or just because there were parts of myself that I wanted to keep just for me. 

I had received insert art and writing in the past from very close friends at the time, and while I loved them and they touched me very deeply, there was always a bit of uncomfortableness that came with it. Which is why I only willing accepted insert art with my OC Oreo from people I knew and trusted. But even that was and still is a bit much sometimes, because I’ve had Oreo since I was young, very young, so she’s as close to me as you can get without inserting me directly.

When I write insert, “y/n”, is a character. It makes it easier to write as I have a detachment and can enjoy what happens like watching a tv show or play, I’m just along for the ride with my fingers on the gas pedal. If people connected on a level with “y/n” and were able to see themselves in what I wrote, then that was amazing! That’s what I wanted… to be able to affect people and help them feel or experience things that they couldn’t or wouldn’t want to otherwise in a safe environment: so they could expand their perceptions or thoughts on certain subjects or view a topic in a different light.

My insert writing has always been about helping others explore, and even exploring myself.

I’ve learned so much about myself and how the world works with the stuff I’ve written and drawn, the good, bad, and the ugly. There were things I never dared to try and explore for personal reasons… until I started insert writing, because then it was like bringing a friend along, a friend who couldn’t actually get hurt by going on a journey with me. 

A journey that could help both me as a writer and those as a reader to think and reflect, to learn empathy and grow by maybe learning something about yourself you didn’t like or did like, and embracing yourself as a flawed human being just like each one of us are so you can be at peace and live your best life or even to work on yourself if that’s what you were inspired to do.

My insert writing is about learning, and having fun while doing so.

And this all leads into why I love character shipping more.

Characters aren’t real, no matter how many of us might wish that they were. Characters can be objectified, characters can be harmed or loved without committing a wrong against those that really matter, people. There is also yet another distinctive wall of division between a person and a character than there is an insert that makes me more comfortable.

And characters have a solid personality that can be worked with and challenge you as a writer to make work or have fun experimenting to see how they’d react in a certain scene even if it’s in a way you end up disliking.

They’re more limited but so much more versatile.

So when I fall in love with something I fall in love with the characters not the possibility of what I could do in the world.

Characters are what draw me in.

Well, one day I… discovered some interesting fanart of Sans, featuring him and his “light saber”.

And that sparked a curiosity for context.

When I first played Undertale, I had no interest in shipping “the human” with anyone, in fact I had no interest in shipping at all or what have you. Like I said it was like watching a tv show, just something for entertainment. 

The message of undertale did touch me deeply though so I did go looking at fanart and stuff as I was at a point in my life where grief was all I felt and Undertale had managed to make me feel something else other than that, but I was also more into Moana at the time. It’s honestly difficult for me to get motivated to create fanworks for something, to just create. I never made anything for Moana, and never made anything for Persona, which I was ADDICTED to at the time.

I had tried making fanfic in my youth but yeah… 14-19 year old me was awful.

And then the pacifist ending happened.

The absolute SHOCK I felt at seeing everyone call the human “Frisk” rather than what I had named them and learning the name we gave was actually Chara’s…. It made me watch replays, made me spend hours looking at everything I could have missed.

And that’s when I started falling for the characters, when I started falling for Sans and then Frisk.

Frisk, this character who had been possessed by “us” in a word, and “us” that was actually another character we just happened to give an identity to in yet another but milder form of possession, all fitted together like Matryoshka dolls. 

Do you realize how tragic that is?

Frisk was a puppet… of a puppet… for US.

My heart was stolen as soon as that realization was made. I have a weakness for broken and damaged characters, characters that have gone through hell or have been hurt in ways that people normally don’t come back from… because I love more than anything seeing them bounce back.

Combine that love and sympathy I found in Frisk, with the humor and comfort I found in Sans…

And there you have it: My love of Frans and why it’s my OTP.

That love has only gotten stronger as the years went by. 

Another truth I have to share, is I started initially doing insert because I didn’t feel confident enough to portray Frisk right, and character shipping and insert shipping have since drastically evolved into two different things for me with different meanings and reasons for why I do them. 

I really gained confidence in my Frans writing once my dear friend Shay introduced me to several broken down and researched articles by nochocolate that showed me exactly what Frisk and Chara’s personalities were like and how they were separated from “the player”.

And I’ve been on a nonstop Frans high ever since, and will be until the day I die. They are my OTP and I will ship them more than any other pairing, even Insert.

I am very much a “ship and let ship” person, and I have and will support people shipping whatever they please, in fact I tend to ship everyone because these characters are just so great you can’t help but find dynamics where they just work no matter the previously established bonds or relationships, and the same goes with good AU derivatives.

But Frisk and Sans were the ones who drew me in and kept me here.

I’ve made jokes and called other ships OTP in a show of support of fellow writers, however frans is it for me. If I was asked what ship’s hill I’d die on in a war, it’s them.

For me, Frans will always come first.

So now we get to what exactly my dynamics are for Frans.

I like portraying Frisk as female, because I am female. I find it easier to write emotions from that perspective than others, and I want people to love Frisk and feel what Frisk is feeling. I have written Frisk as nonbinary and male before, but I feel those pieces weren’t as good as my writing when I had Frisk as female, simply because I’m not actually of those genders. I will take genuine characterization over a subpar attempt at accuracy that undermines the experience the writing is supposed to give you.

I also like writing Sans as strictly male. Can he change his equipment if he pleases? Yes, he’s made of magic after all, but I don’t see him preferring or actively wanting to do that, he’s male and identifies as a man, pure and simple. You’d have to be pretty fucking special for him to honor an equipment swap request.

A bit of a TMI personal note for this too though in why I like this interpretation with Sans the most… is the fact I don’t like vaginas. 

I have one, and all I care about is the fact it can make me feel good. It’s not pretty or “looks like a flower”, it’s a hole that’s a direct opening into the body… gross. And no, before anyone starts, I would not feel better with a penis or think I’m trangender in any capacity. I’m a woman and I feel like a woman one hundred percent, I just don’t like that one part of my anatomy.

So while I’m willing to write about one vagina for smut, I’m not comfortable writing about two and creating the image that… two working together would make. Can I write two vaginas in a smut scene sure… if there’s a penis involved. I could even write lesbian sex if I wanted if there’s a dildo, vibrator, hands, or whatever. Just no vagina on vagina action. It’s my preference and for my comfort. I’ve read plenty of fics that include that but I happily ignore it in favor of the plot and interactions.

Anyways…

For me Sans and Frisk…

They are soulmates, they are always meant for each other. 

No matter the time, place, ages, personalities, or circumstances, they are always supposed to be together. I may write or make pieces where they’re not soulmates, but they still very much are in my head if that makes sense. This is why I love to indulge in any and all content involving them.

Now do they actually end up together? 

That’s a different story. Not all endings are happy ones. But what matters isn’t the ending but the journey. What matters is the time they have together and how they affect one another. What matters is the fact that they met.

Sans could be a complete asshole to Frisk, a deranged psychopath, and Frisk could be as equally messed up with them both going at each other’s throats, or one of them could be a complete sweetheart that suffers in the name of love and hopelessness, or they could even be in a perfect balance where they’re in a healthy relationship filled with compassion and consideration, but in someway, somehow, they will still just work. 

Even if it’s not in the way others would hope for.

I personally can write pure healthy fluff, I have before, but what I really like writing about is them struggling to overcome something. I generally like writing like that in the first place. 

But with Sans and Frisk…

I always write about change.

What I like most is a Sans who struggles with his emotions, whether that be displaying them or feeling them while hiding behind a calm and collected mask. I like it when he’s carrying that mysterious air about him that makes you question what he’s really thinking or if he really understands what’s been told to him. I like him leaving someone in doubt and constantly on the tips of their toes, before making them laugh with a joke.

And I like Frisk being able to crack that mask, to read through his charade.

She changes him by bringing more of him out from behind the curtain, making him more in tune with his SOUL and even his humanity and all the complications that come with it.

If that’s a good thing or not, depends on the situation and context, but yes always this.

For Frisk, I like her shy and innocent. Someone who’s learning the world at the same time that she’s learning herself, and is forever merciful and forgiving towards those that wrong or hurt her sometimes to her own detriment because she’s just that kind hearted and hopeful for that kindness in others. But as much as she forgives, she certainly doesn’t forget. Frisk remembers and counts the scars she carries.

I enjoy when Sans manages to push her into becoming stronger, to not let herself continue to be silently walked on, and to fight back.

That’s the basis for my work with them.

Sometimes, Sans makes her stronger by pushing her to an edge with abuse until she finally reaches a breaking point and fights with all her strength, and in her rebellion Sans slowly begins to see where he’s gone wrong to have changed her so and gradually becomes kinder, more open as he seeks forgiveness.

Other Times, Frisk sees Sans as nothing more than an empty shell just costing by in life with a false grin on his face and slowly starts overcoming her shyness and reluctance in other to try and help a friend facing down depression, and this slow build of strength and show of kindness is enough to cause Sans to start reacting more honestly to jokes or statements, to dare smile for real even though it hurts to do so.

Then there can be times of bloody revenge - where one becomes stronger to take out the other while the opponent seeks to manipulate their perception on what they knew was right or wrong, and both end up more broken than from when they started, but still irrevocably changed in a positive way that was negative between them.  

Times of tragic love not meant to be.

These are just a few scenarios, but with the same theme: change.

And I apply it differently each time depending on the scenario or idea, depending on who is in the wrong or not. The theme can be subtle to the point you have to read between the lines and really think on what’s happening to see it, or it can be really obvious right from the start and is fed to you with every action and word.

Every time I look at Sans and Frisk together no matter who’s portraying them, I see change.

The potential for it.

And that’s what I love most.

So that is how my Frans works, and incidentally, why I love the ship so much. 

I will continue to love that ship til the day I die and I will continue to write for frans no matter what, even if I lose interest in all other ships including insert you can bet I will continue to write about the funny skeleton man and the sweet hearted human.

They’re my ultimate power couple.

And if hearing this at all upsets anyone, more so my insert readers who I’ve heard the majority of backlash from since I first came out about my love for frans… (Seriously the DMs and anon hate was unreal - especially the... material I got sent and had to report at one point) Well, let’s just say that If you can’t handle me in my character shipping moods, then you don’t deserve me in my insert shipping moods, sorry.

Like I’ve said before, I love my readers and friends regardless if you agree or disagree with me, including on the ship or ship(s) I make stuff for, you’re allowed that right as people. And no I still won’t love you any less for your thoughts. Because again that’s how we’re supposed to be as people, mature enough to let bygones be.

I’m just saying, frans is life for me, and explaining why that is and always will be.

[lightdancer1]

One of the big reasons I think that it's always a bit of a bad thing to forget the Endless really aren't human:

Is because, and I admit here that this is from the POV of someone who does most, if not quite all, of my fanfics from a Death-centric perspective flip both because Gaiman did Dream well and like prequel Anakin there is only so much man pain and mangst I can take before wanting to reach through the screen and strangle the son of a bitch. Disliking Dream as a wangsty jackass who is the architect of almost all of his own problems does not mean being blind to how dysfunctional the Endless as a whole are.

Yet at the end of the day Dream is not your pantsfeels, he's the in-universe true architect of fear and maker of all nightmares, the guy who casually sends a woman to Hell because she told him no. He is inhuman and fickle and dangerous for any mortals that cross his path.......and as a being of story he is also bound by story-logic to pursue the path that makes the better story at the expense of multiple logical and even emotional reactions.

And in terms of this Dream is not really so different to the rest of the family. Even Destruction, when he walks off, very much remains an Endless and is still Destruction. He doesn't become human, he doesn't give up his powers and he goes into a long rambling set of justifications on that and believing simultaneously that the Endless interfere too much in human affairs and turns his group of friends into a minefield to ensure he stays hidden. Destruction, in short, is a flaming hypocrite at best and should not be taken as the reliable one true truth. None of the Seven Endless are that.

So what does all this have to do with Death? Simple. She will outlive the universe and Death of the Endless will be a title and a moment in time. Unlike any of the others she did outright completely quit and walked out and where Dream's captivity and Destruction's hippie moment didn't cause immediate unraveling of reality as opposed to the realm Death did. She is unlike the other six in ways that would and do contribute to why there's so much talking past each other.

The other six, even Destruction, all see their natures as intertwined with their functions, spheres, and all that go with them. Every hundred years for a day Death gives up all that power and becomes fully, truly mortal. She takes the step none of the others can bring themselves to do, and in spite of being the one that outlives the universe, she has died the most of all her kin and the DCU being what it is probably more than a few of those deaths were not pleasant ones. And this is without the equally logical assumption based on Overture that we only see the Earth mortal day, that there were and are such days on all worlds, in all forms of life.

And as I've brought this up before, too, Death's little apartment is not her realm. The realm is only glimpsed partially once, in her second miniseries and it looks every bit as dark as a realm called 'sunless lands' would. With the exception of Destruction all the other realms are seen in detail and not just a partial glimpse. Death has that detachment from that realm, which is as much a part of her as she of it.

In short, unlike the rest of her siblings I think Death is if anything in the comics the least truly focused on duty and much as I consider the 'none of them came for me' to be a good example of Dream's self-serving hypocrisy as he'd hate and scorn and react violently to anyone that actually did and Gaiman is repeatedly on record as noting that, I see the 'our purpose is our function' line as a bit of self-serving hypocrisy in the interest of cheering up her brother. Death couldn't and doesn't take dealing with her function or being an Endless well. She walked out, she keeps trying to turn herself mortal, she will one day continue to exist but no longer be an Endless.

Thus in the end, there is a great irony here. Dream is too rigidly bound by duty to ever truly entertain the idea that he could leave and figure out how to do so short of dying. Death is too frantically eager to discard her Endless status to figure out why anyone would, given the choice, choose to remain one even if it hurts them.

[nova-dracomon]

What Vaguetypes Mean to Me: Ga'Hoole Owl Edition

Source

I've been thinking more and more about how there's not nearly enough othervague content. So! Here's my contribution on why I personally love othervague and call my Ga'Hoole owl 'type a vaguetype vs a fictotype.

Why Othervague?

The easiest answer is a dislike for labels. Having the freedom to exist in-between gives me more breathing room to explore my identity. There's no pressure to "conform" if the label is inherently, well, vague. Ha ha. I don't have to worry I'm pushing myself into feeling a certain way to fit--or stress about having to change labels or whatever if my experiences change. Hell, even created knowledge would be fair game here. But we'll talk more about that later.

To clarify, this is not a temporary label for me to use until I sort everything out later. Vaguetype is the final stop. No matter where my self-discovery takes me, the label is reliable and works.

Below I'll pick-apart my various feelings and connections to these owls and how I experience the in-between.

Intrinsic and Integral

I'm avianheated and I don't think it's a mistake that I identify as one too. Which came first is kinda a chicken or the egg scenario. I've heard it spun both ways before and it really comes down to the individual's interpretation of their experiences. Would I feel so drawn to these owls if I wasn't so attached to birds? Or, did I attach to birds because I innately knew they were similar to myself?

I don't know and I don't really mind either way.

I am an owl, but my owl-ness competes internally with dracomon (another vaguetype I'll discuss in a part 2) and human. Even if my feelings wane, I know they'll eventually begin to wax again like the moon. It's like they're tied in with my default settings. I could probably take actions to suppress them and test how true that is, but wtf that sounds awful. Existing this way makes me happy, I feel like myself and I'm certainly not hurting anyone else.

Archetype of the Guardian

What separates archetrope from otherkin?

Sometimes it's easy to see. Like someone identifying with a role totally detached from being explicitly nonhuman. However, when I think about this, archetropes come off as more action-focused to me. They're more concerned with doing things, what actions they're going to take next or at the least concerned with living in alignment to a set of values/role/code. At least, that's the vibe I get.

A big part of my identity is the role of being a guardian, upholding their oath and extending a helping talon to others. For example, few things make me feel more like an owl than working on archival duties (besides maybe being out in a storm!) It's a way to live one of the core values of the tree which is to grow our collective knowledge and share it with all.

The act of continuing the legacy and upholding the tree's standards is a very present ideal for me.

Created Knowledge

Straddling the line between noemata and otherlink, knowledge we acquire and stitch together is probably one of the more contentious areas.

How can you tell noemata from headcanon?

I don't feel it matters to my personal experience. Stories and legends are true in their own way. They're feelings we get in our gizzards that over time become true in our hearts. Thinking about how I was a hireclaw before coming to the Great Tree emboldens me to try harder to be patient and compassionate to others. To be a better owl.

I don't want to concern myself rigorously picking apart what is voluntary or involuntary--100% true kin memory or a fabrication of my mind. I rather spend my time living and being an owl. These feelings are true in my reality, they affect my behavior and drive me to new heights. Even the bits of knowledge about my vaguetype that border more on the headcanon side have important messages about my life and journey. I don't choose things at random, there's something resonating with me that draws me there.

As another piece of this is my kinsona representation. I don't have strong feelings towards a certain owl species, but I feel drawn to long-earred owls at the moment so I represent myself as one. (That's me on the right in the top photo!) The colors and markings are just stylized natural looking ones.

I am an owl of the Great Tree, I long for flight and freedom, knowledge and understanding -- my species is secondary to my actions and words.

The Heart of the Matter

Could I call myself something different and be taken seriously in the community? Of course! But at the end of the day, after all this talking, it comes down to what I want. My desire is to have a nebulous label. If I was forced to pick something else, I think I would simply call myself "unlabelled" or perhaps only "fictionfolk."

-Hortense

[asongoficeandthrones]

A Clash of Kings First Read - Chapter 11

(POV: Theon I.)

Setting: At sea near the Iron Islands; Pyke (Balon Greyjoy et al).

Favorite character: Um... No one? Seriously, usually there is something that I like about someone, at least, but in this chapter? Nope. Well, I'm lying. I guess I liked something about Theon: the way he was clearly longing for home (seriously, all his thoughts about home: [...] and looked for home, or I must remember this, Theon vowed to himself. I must never go far from the sea again, and Theon Greyjoy came home at last, only for it to turn to: A bleak and bitter homecoming... it kinda makes me feel for him). Also, his uncle Aeron Greyjoy seems harsh but not cruel, so there's that.

MVP: Balon Greyjoy. For sticking to his (admittedly terrible) principles, which means that something is going to happen, though I couldn't tell what exactly. Where does he mean to strike? Maybe Theon knows, but I don't... though maybe that's because I can't seem to work through their schemes and battle plans at the same speed as they do (so yeah, I definitely wouldn't have lasted long in there).

Things I loved/liked:

The ending? Pretty mysterious, like I said before.

The scene where Theon is "reborn," especially the prayer to the Drowned God, but see below for that.

The descriptions, I guess? Pretty bleak but well-written.

Things I disliked/hated:

The sex scene. Ugh. Seriously, Theon seemed so detached, and the way he treated that girl (we don't even know her name, and I don't think he does either!)... Double ugh.

Everyone's attitude: Theon's a jerk, everyone's bitter, his uncle is harsh, and his father is even more of a jerk than Theon is. Now, I can understand why the Greyjoys and inhabitants of the Iron Islands in general might be bitter, but to have to suffer through it for an entire chapter? Thank you, but no. I really did not like that chapter, if it still needs to be said.

Quotes: The prayer to the Drowned God, both bleak and hopeful, I guess? As Aeron Greyjoy says it, "Let Theon your servant be born again from the sea, as you were. [...] Bless him with salt, bless him with stone, bless him with steel. [...] What is dead may never die, [...] but rises again, harder and stronger." Also, when Theon thinks, Boys believe nothing can hurt them. [...] Grown men know better, because that sounded very true, considering the universe.

Thoughts overall: Long and frustrating.

[silverbladexyz]

Diluc x Akutagawa!reader

Guess who’s backkkk! I decided to try something new here because I’m currently on my Genshin brainrot ehehe

Akutagawa is a character from Bungou Stray Dogs. I highly recommend you read his character profile first before reading this, as it will help you understand the reader more. His character profile can be found here. 

The image does not belong to me. It belongs to it’s original owner.

TW: Mentions of death. Reader has better morals than Akutagawa and isn’t as violent. Gender neutral reader, and uh this kind of ended up quite long. I hope you enjoy ^-^

-He probably first met you when you asked him to investigate someone for you. Afterall, you were also one who wasn’t interested in small talk and preferred to get the job done straightaway. Your straightforwardness and no-nonsense attitude was something that Diluc found refreshing

-You worked in a detective agency that was more suited with dealings of the darker side of Mondstadt; like solving and taking care of crimes committed by underground organisations. You were quite successful in your cases, as nobody had ever escaped from your deductions and ruthlessness. Nevertheless, you always kept a low profile; so low that Diluc probably had only heard of your name once in his life before

-He was slightly wary of you at the start. Your personality made you seem intimidating and cold, and the fact that little about you was known just gave all the more reason for Diluc to keep a close eye on you. Yet when you spoke to him, he was a bit surprised at how bluntly polite your words were. You could even be considered attractive if only you weren’t so intimidating

-But when Diluc assists you in your case though, he finds that ‘blunt’ and ‘detached’ wasn’t all that there was to you. While you may be cold and aloof, you were also smart and your actions were all for protecting this city and it’s people. Even when you scoffed and said that you only did this because it was your job, Diluc knew that you were also doing it out of the goodness of your own heart

-After your case had been solved, Diluc didn’t really want to say goodbye to you for some unknown reason. Your calm and honest personality attracted him, as well as your sass and straightforwardness. So he told you to come to him anytime you needed his assistance; and you did. Not only because he was the person with the most connections inside and outside of Mondstadt, it was also because you kind of grew to like his company. Although you two wouldn’t speak much other than talking about business, the comfortable silence you two often shared was proof of your trust in one another. Both of you find yourselves warming up to the other over time

-Your ability, named ‘Rashoumon’, works well with Diluc’s in battle. Being able to manipulate your coat into any shape and texture you wanted allowed you to not only act as support for Diluc, you were also able to form unbreakable shields around him if the enemy’s attacks came too close. Ice, water, wind and earth elements didn’t really affect you, since Rashoumon could destroy and eat everything; even the air itself. Fire was something you were more wary around, but Diluc knew how to handle fire, and even then, you just had to make Rashoumon eat the oxygen around the flames to make them die out

-I can see a friendship forming after a few more of your cases. Loyalty was something you and Diluc treasured, so rest assured since neither of you would betray the other. You are also openly honest with your thoughts and feelings, which he is thankful for, since he also seems like the type to dislike lying. Over time, you might even show up to his tavern sometimes for a few drinks and some talk, and he starts to realise that he was beginning to look forward to your visits more and more

-Now since both you and Diluc take a long time to develop feelings for someone, it’s most likely that he would fall first. Even though he is awkward and dense with emotions and feelings, you were someone who had nearly zero experience with feelings and the sort. You weren’t sure why every time he smiled at you or even complimented you, your chest would tighten up and a foreign, warm feeling would settle inside you. If it weren’t for Kaeya, you would’ve gone to a healer and demanded to let them check if you had a new illness

-To be honest, Kaeya was the wingman for you two. Since you two were dense and stubborn with feelings, a push and shove from the charming Cavalry Captain was what made Diluc confess. Diluc’s pride is too big to let you confess first, so he takes any opportunity he has to tell you about his feelings in private

-The whole confession part was quite amusing. Diluc was pretty straightforward in voicing his feelings, and since you never had any experience of any sort in feelings anyways, trying to find the best answer proved to be quite a challenge to you. You wanted to say that you reciprocated his feelings, yet you couldn’t seem to say it in a way that didn’t sound awkward or blunt (don’t worry you still told him you felt the same way towards him)

-Now the start of your relationship was a lot of trial-and-error. You both are pretty new to this, so safe to say it was slightly awkward since neither of you have been this close and vulnerable to someone before. Yet with enough persistence, I can see that your relationship will be able to blossom into something quiet yet passionate

-Diluc is much more softer with you in private. The official wiki says that he has a ‘gentle, tender and modest nature’, which he no doubt shows only to you. He still retains some of his bluntness and aloofness, which is refreshing, because seeing a soft Diluc was rather foreign and kind of concerning to you. You don’t mind, however, because you like it when he is like that

-However, your soft side was something Diluc was not expecting. He was so used to you being blunt and harsh that when you actually smiled a little at him and gave him a compliment, he thought he was dreaming. But he notices how you are softer and gentler to the people you loved. When the both of you are soft to one another at the same time, it’s as if all traces of your former personalities had vanished. This only happens in private, since you two have reputations to live up to

-It amuses Diluc how unused and awkward you are to physical touch. Even just a simple brush of his fingers on yours, or placing his hand gently on your arm is enough to let you freeze and nearly become flustered were it not for you using your coughs to disguise what you were feeling. It’ll take some time, but soon enough you two can hold hands and initiate more physical affection in private more comfortably. He is always warm; probably because he is a pyro user

-Speaking of which, whenever he holds your hand or kisses you, it’s mildly concerning to him how your skin always feels cold. Because of your past, you had an illness in your lungs which caused you to cough a lot and made your body quite frail. He hates how he can’t do much to help alleviate your sickness, so he seeks out the best of healers in Teyvat to heal you. In the harsh winter times, Diluc will let you hug him more so that he could help warm up your fragile body

-Diluc is pretty protective over you. He knows that you can defend yourself, yet sometimes he sends someone to act as some sort of a bodyguard for you. You found it pretty annoying at the start, and it even started a few quarrels, but you knew he was doing it because he cared for you. Next time, just drag him along with you whenever he has the time. It’s a nice bonding moment, and it’d definitely do him some good to take a break every now and then

-Kaeya thinks that you’re interesting and often initiates conversation with you. While you still reply him in a blunt manner, you don’t find him annoying and actually think that he is quite refreshing to be around. He sometimes flirts with you, but you didn’t really understand his pickup lines, so fortunately for him he stopped before Diluc could murder him

-Sometimes you help him out in the bar. While your body may have been slightly weaker than the average human, you still are very effective with putting violent and drunk people in their place. A single glare from you is enough to make anybody think twice, whether they were sober or not. Diluc appreciates that, since dealing with drunk customers drains him a lot. You still don’t kick Kaeya out of the bar though

-When he has free time off, Diluc would be perfectly happy to unwind by drinking some tea with you and just relaxing in the comfortable silence between you two. If you wanted, he would listen to you talk about art, antiques, figs, anything you liked. You also like listening to him talk about his job and his experiences, since being the richest man in Mondstadt is no easy feat

-He would like to spoil you with his riches, yet you had no interest in money or anything of the sort. To you, Diluc himself was worth more than all the Mora and treasures in the world. Simply being with him was more than you could ask for

-Deeper into the relationship, Diluc does open up to you about his whole complicated past and his insecurities. You didn’t judge or scoff; instead, you stood there silently, listening to his every word. When he finished telling you about it, you had merely coughed and offered him comfort in the bluntest way possible

-‘If you still think that you are the one responsible for your father’s death, then it is one of the most foolish things I have ever heard. The Fatui were the ones who had possessed Ursa to kill many people, not you. It is a rather unfortunate accident, however, it is what had helped to shape you into who you are today. And I wouldn’t have wanted you to be anyone else apart from yourself.’

-Slightly cheesy and very candid, yet it makes Diluc’s heart beat all the more for you. He himself also offers words of comfort and advice to you when you are at your lowest, and it always helps you to bounce back again. Sometimes, you two would simply hug it all out. No words are exchanged, yet the negative feelings vanish as you rest in his warm embrace

-Cuddling rarely happens, mostly because both of you are quite busy and because you didn’t prefer physical touch as much as other love languages. But you are secretly quite touch-starved, so your cuddling sessions with Diluc often end up quite long. Sometimes, there might even be a few kisses involved, yet you’re perfectly content to just rest your head on his shoulder as you hug him

-Jean was surprised at how someone as bitter and aloof as Diluc managed to get together with someone as blunt and cold as you. Frankly speaking, she was quite intimidated by you, but when she sees that you’re capable of expressing love and tenderness to someone she once admired, it makes her less scared of you. But the slight fear is still there, even though you would never hurt her in any way

-In all honesty, I can see your relationship with Diluc being a long lasting one... possibly for the rest of your lives. You see, when he falls, he falls hard. Neither of you even want to think about the possibility of breaking up, because you two always manage to work out any problems or miscommunication amongst yourselves due to how well you work together with him. So I hope you’re ready for the day when he kneels to the ground on one knee and takes out a ring :)

@circinuus​ @chuuyas-beloved​ @yuugen-benni​ @i-just-like-goats​

[thepaintedlady00]

Burden Chapter 10 Sneak Peek

Y'all broke my votes with a 4 way tie. 😅 SO, I got to pick this peek personally 😈 Enjoy!

⌛

The thick blanket of snow did little to conceal the scorched trees and mask the smell of lingering smoke and sulfur. What had happened here? Why was she not the one to greet him with her companion? Dream feared the answers more than anything and yet his feet continued to carry him forward toward the faint hum of life. The white wolf spoke little, but he was used to Daunt’s companions disliking him this was different. In the short vision he’d seen of the creature before he regained his power and restored his realm, the wolf was healthy and appeared to be of a kinder nature. The creature he followed closely behind now was cold and detached, hardly even looking back to make sure he was keeping up through the ever-thickening snow.

Dark shapes and sharp hisses darted across the treeline at random as Dream felt the ever-growing sensation of eyes watching them. “What manner of creatures are these?”

“I do not know,” the wolf admitted. “My lady once called them lost spirits.” Turning his head that blue eye pierced him. “Though some, she said were nightmares.”

Nightmares? Why would his nightmares have been here? “I did not send them if that is your concern.”

The wolf scoffed. “My first memory of this life was of catching my ladys tears. She bore a deep sorrow… one forced on her by you. She never confirmed my theory, but it was obvious when we went to your precious Dreaming to offer aid. Her pain was far more palpable there.”

Regret brought Dream to a slower pace as he sighed, closing his eyes. He should have known that Daunt sought the comfort of the stone after his unkind words. At least she had not been alone all this time, though as Dream looked at the wolf he couldn’t help but feel sad as the price for such had clearly taken its toll.

When at last he could feel a warm breeze against his skin and the sight of a great wall of twisted trees and thorns Dream could hardly breathe. Matthew hopped on the ground beside him. “Are you sure about this? We have no idea what’s waiting for us on the other side of this.”

“Daunt will not harm us,” he assured his raven, a flash of her darkened anger unleashed upon The Corinthian replayed in his mind. “She came for me and I swore to do the same.”

The white wolf pressed his frozen snout to the scorched bark of the trees and with a groan and what sounded like pained whispers in a language he did not understand, the trees parted just enough for them to pass through. The flooded meadow was one he recognized in an instant. Her home had stood here, at the base of The Great Tree… the tree that was now gone. It fell before its time… This is what she’d spoken of. Cut to the bone. Crying out and bleeding, left to burrow. Left to rot. He looked at the blackened leaves and the bark, peeling away and covered in cuts and scars, but it was the roots that caught his eyes and made his heart stop. The roots dug too deep.

There in a bed of knarled tree limbs and a settling frost, Daunt lay. The roots of The Great Tree snaked all around her, shifting with the squelching sound of blood following after. They were burrowed deep into her chest, splitting it open so deeply he could practically see her faintly beating heart. Matthew stopped in his movements and quietly cursed beneath his breath as the wolf pressed his head into the pale, limp hand that hung over the side of the crude bed.

He whined for a second before the blue of his eyes shifted to Dream. Sitting beside his master the wolf spoke again, “You will bow in the presence of the Lady of The Forest. For it is the beating of her heart that has kept your realm safe all these years.”

“Daunt,” Dream breathed and the whole meadow shifted.

*

You were weak, so very weak. Every inch of you was thin, little more than skin hanging off the bone. Blood pooled all around you, and the stench of it made you want to retreat further within the tree's roots as the pain that your life had become filled your lungs. Wheezing breaths forced from your chest echoed around you, but it was a voice… his voice that had called you back.

“Dream?” You called out, weakly as you lifted your eyes to the dark figure that now stood beside you, looking down with tears in his eyes. "You came," you whispered, relief filling you as you cried.

Dream knelt before you, bowing his head deeply he answered, "You called."

"Has it truly been so long?" Your eyes took in the sight of him, not aged in appearance but different, visibly so in the way he spoke and carried himself but more in the way he looked at you. "Oh, how I have waited to see those eyes..." Your fingers brushed against his high cheekbones. "These lips." They were soft beneath your fingertips as you shook your head. "This face." More tears blurred your vision as you sobbed. “It’s been so very long… so long…”

"Forgive me,” he said gently. “I should have found you sooner… should have been here long ago." Dream raised his hand to gently hold your wrist, keeping it in place so he could press a kiss to your hand.

"You are here now," you whispered. "That will have to be enough."

Dream kept his cheek to your hand as he spoke a soft and desperate demand, "Tell me how to stop this."

"Oh, Dream,” you shook your head and stroked his cheek. “You cannot stop this. Neither of us can now.”

[noahschnappinfs]

Do you also feel sad sometimes that most of the byler fans are finn stans? Like… okay, I get it Nooow. Noah’s "canceled" and everything, but even before this happened everyone were just Finn stans. I have guesses why, but I’ll stay silent about it lol

Even almost every will stan I saw years ago disliked noah for stupid reasons, meanwhile mike stans worshipped the ground finn wolfhard walked on

tbh i could write a whole book about this, i mean…people have always been weird about noah. i wasn’t in the fandom before season 4 came out so i can’t speak about everything but i’ve noticed and done deep dives so i’m perfectly aware that within the fandom, people have always made a weird distinction between noah and will. obviously they aren’t the same person and that’s totally a correct thing to establish but there’s instances when it’s straight up weird, like when before he came out, there were tweets with tons of likes saying stuff like “i don’t know how noah can play will, he is such a straight frat boy but he’s like a different person when he plays will”and then, after he came out, some were still acting weird like that and some others became kind of parasocial which is also weird imo.

i think there’s also the fact that finn is so detached from the fandom that fans can make up whatever idea they want about him in their minds and project their own ideals into him so that way nobody is ever disappointed and just keeps being finn’s fans. meanwhile noah is different because he’s always been more involved and open so it’s way harder to project an idea into him so a bunch of people never got too attached to him or if they did, it got into parasocial territory which is also something that ended up badly. this way after he got cancelled, most decided to just drop him asap and focus on the other actor that plays the other half of the ship.