#rubbery romance

[waterlogged-detective]

I want what the Surgeoness and the Barber Surgeon (@viric-dreams) have

[viric-dreams]

🎲 for rubbery romance please!!! 🥰

27. A kiss in greeting

[colorfulcuttlefish]

Did not love that last run. Amelia's witty and highly superior self went as intended, but the relationships I wanted turned out to be ones that aren't possible, I kept picking the wrong options, and pretty much nothing turned out like how I wanted.

I'm glad this was my second playthrough so I know what it's like for choices to go as planned and to not be completely wrong-footed.

[secrets-of-ty]

Danny Phantom Fanfic Masterlist

I've been meaning to do this for a bit! Since I've been in the Phandom for 10+ years I've picked up a lot of good fanfics over the years and I think it'd be great to share them again in case people have forgotten/haven't encountered them!

I mostly used Fanfiction.net in my older days so a lot of them will be linked there. I'm also pretty picky when it comes to fics being completed, so expect the ones listed to be bingeable with an ending! And finally, I'm not huge on romance/smut so most of them probably won't involve those genres, I'll point out ones that do. (These are in no particular order).

👻 Happy Reading! 👻

👻 = Regular Fic

🟢 = Alternate Universe Fic

⚔️ = Crossover Fic

💙 = Would Recommend!

💙💙 = One of my Favorites!

💙⚔️💙 Mirrored by Lynse

"As a general rule, diving into unknown swirly vortexes in the Ghost Zone is a bad idea, but this was a time when Danny had no other real choice. Meanwhile, Jake thought he was through dealing with ghosts, but Rotwood, well, he's just getting started."

I posted about this one a few years ago and the author, @ladylynse , said it's also available on AO3. This is by far one of my f a v o r i t e fanfics that I read annually or so! If you're a sucker for American Dragon too, definitely check this one out <3 The characterization of both Jake and Danny, plus watching their friendship grow, always gets me in the feels.

💙👻 Phantom's Sketchbook by AkoyaMizuno

"Mr. Lancer finds himself in an unparalleled situation, he has access to something which can give him incredible insight into the personal workings of Amity Park's local ghost teen hero, Danny Phantom."

It's been a while since I've read this one, but I remember it having a lovely characterization of Lancer plus his mentor relationship with Danny. (I loved this one a great amount back in the day that I, uh, made fanart and turned it in for a school assignment. Which is lost to the ages now 😅)

👻 Darkness by Cordria

"Maddie and Phantom are trapped in the dark. Can they come to an agreement to work together before they both die at the full moon? Part 1 of Illuminations Saga."

I don't quite remember this one but I DO remember Cordria had some absolute bangers. You'll probably see their name a few more times on this list.

💙👻💙 Masks by Cordria

"Sometimes, people hide who they truly are behind masks. This is a short story about the day that Lancer decides enough is enough when it comes to Daniel Fenton. Sequel is 'Plunge'"

When I said Cordria had bangers, THIS is one of them! Another fic that I read annually, this one involves Lancer getting closer and closer to Danny's secret while he's stuck in detention for the weekend. I love love LOVE the characterization of Danny and Lancer in this, another at the top of the favorite list!

👻 Plunge by Cordria (sequel to Masks ^)

"Sequel to 'Masks'. Now that Lancer has learned the truth and has let Danny out of his office, Danny needs to face the next hurdle: his parents."

For some reason, I always forgot to put this on my favorite list so I often missed out on reading it with my annual read of Masks. I remember it being a decent sequel where the Fentons pick up the pieces of Danny's reveal.

👻 Pits by Cordria

"Danny has been captured and thrown into the Pits by Walker to fight for his life. Listen in as he tells his dark, twisted tale of surviving despite the odds. Warning: dark and depressing. Sequel is 'Final Exam'."

Another one I don't fully remember, but it had to be a solid read since it's on my favorites haha! I have a vague sense that it was a little angst/gore-y(?) as the description warns, so just heads up!

👻 Lab Rat by AnneriaWings

"The look on my parents' faces – eager, curious, somewhat hateful – wasn't exactly hard to give away their intentions. I knew what they were going to do to me even before Mom snapped on a pair of rubbery, white latex gloves."

*** This one is definitely a vivisection fanfic with graphic descriptions, so beware that content. Again, haven't read it in a long time but it had satisfied my angst itch back in the day.

👻 Wondering by Phantomrose96

"A continuation to Cordria's starshot #69 "Wondering". Danny's been captured and tortured by his parents, but he refuses to say a word until his psychiatrist starts connecting the dots. Can he risk keeping it a secret any longer?"

*** Another angst, lab experiment-esque fic. There are definite graphic scenes (as warned in the first chapter). I do remember this fic being huge in the 2010s (definitely a staple of the Phandom). The relationships and Danny recovering from his torture were great highlights.

👻 Connections by Lynse

"Maddie knows that the Booo-merang has keyed into Danny, for whatever reason, so what's she to think when she sees it collide with Phantom?"

Don't quite remember this one, but Lynse is amazing at writing, so it's bound to be a good read.

👻 Confessions by Lynse (Sequel to Connections ^)

"Follows Connections. Danny's secret's not as safe as he thinks, what with Maddie unable to ignore her wild suspicions any longer and piecing things together and Jack asking questions all on his own."

Same as above!

💙👻 Earthquake by Turkeyhead987

"Danny leaves with his bathroom excuse and leaves Dash curious. He follows Danny and ends up the the gym room with him. While they're in there, an earthquake occurs and leaves them trapped inside. Will any secrets be revealed? No DashxDanny! They're just the main characters!"

This one is another one that I've read multiple times over the years! From what I remember, it was a fun read involving Dash and Danny being trapped in the gym after an earthquake, and explores how Danny handles his secret around Dash while they wait for rescue.

💙👻 A Jock and a Hard Place by AnneriaWings

"Danny and Dash were silent, trying to wrap their mind around that stupid, simple fact – the door was locked. They were trapped. In a janitor's closet. Together. (Collab with Haiju)"

No romance in this one! Another story where Danny and Dash get trapped together. I've read this one several times, and remember enjoying the tension of Danny's secret being revealed. I also think they explored Danny and Dash's relationship in a fun way!

👻 An Unlikely Alliance by Represent

"Maddie wants her family back. In an attempt to understand her Danny's change in behavior, she unwittingly enlists the GIW to exorcize Phantom from her son."

Gonna be real with ya'll, I don't remember this one at all. But uhhh I'm gonna throw it on here just because I can. :)

👻 Flip Turn by dreamsweetmydear

"Danny's life the last couple of years has been chaotic and pretty scary, to say the least. However, one detention with Mr. Lancer opens a window of opportunity that promises to turn his life around in more ways than one. Revelation fic. Post-"Kindred Spirits.""

Yet again, I don't remember this fic. Sorry! But it's under 8000 words, so it's a little bit of a shorter read than some of the ones on this list!

👻 Journey of Secrets by WolfKael

"First Danny Phantom fic! DXS, TXV, but not super-heavy. Lancer's class is on a trip to the Ghost Zone, courtesy of the Fentons! (Takes a couple chapters to gain momentum, and I promise it isn't your average 'field trip' fic!) T because I'm paranoid, but it could probably be K ."

Also not a fic I remember. It's got about 50,000 words so thought I'd throw it in for anyone that likes a longer fic!

👻 Vulnerable by HaiJu

"A desperate moment leads to a difficult choice, and Danny must deal with the consequences. A collaboration between Anneriawings and Haiju."

Don't remember it, but HaiJu had/has some great fics! Seems to involve Danny and Maddie after skimming the first chapter.

👻 Little Fires by Represent

"My family's supposed to be geniuses, yet they've never figured it out. Now I know why. Because they already know I'm Phantom. They must know. The better questions are: Have they known this whole time? What's in that vial? What happened to Skulker? And what's in the locked drawer?"

You know what, if I remember it, I'll say something 😂

👻 Judge, Jury, Executioner by Cordria

"The Observants and the Ghost Council are sick of the Fentons creating half-ghost creatures that disobey the rules of the universe. It's time for them to step in before more are made. Can Danny save his parents and keep his secret intact? A three-part fic."

💙👻 A Phantom Marooned by LordPugsy

"No one but Danny was suspicious when his English class was awarded an all-expenses paid cruise trip by an anonymous benefactor. Everyone but Danny thought it was bad luck when they became ship-wrecked on an island in the middle of nowhere. No one but Danny fully understood the dangers lurking in the trees. No one but Danny knew how much danger they were all in so far from home."

This one involves Danny and his class getting out of Amity Park, so it's a little more oc-filled and explores a nontraditional setting for the trio. There might be a little SamxDanny in this one if I remember correctly, but overall I do remember having fun reading through this!

🟢 Candlelight by HappyLeif

"Sam's only friend is the ever-loyal Tucker, ever since Danny began slowly distancing himself from them after some accident freshman year. She wanted a friend, but she never thought she'd find the one she was looking for in the highly debated ghostly hero of Amity Park.

AU = Danny alone during the portal accident. Looks like there's some SamxDanny in this one! Don't remember it but heck I might have to reread it since the synopsis has me interested.

👻 Crashing and Burning by GriffinRose

"For two years, Maddie has put up with Danny's ridiculous lies and excuses. She's tried everything to get through to him, but the pattern just goes on. She's so tired of fighting him on this all the time. And so, after two years, she's done. She doesn't care what her son does anymore, because Danny doesn't seem to care that he's her son."

👻 I'll Be Here by HaiJu

"Some days you can't pick yourself up. Having family means you don't have to. Danny-centric, three oneshots. Completely shameless hurt/comfort. Bring tissues… and antiseptic."

👻 What Little Girls Are Made Of by HaiJu

"Phantom and his younger double save Amity Park from a monstrous ghost, nearly destroying themselves in the process. The Fentons have always hunted ghosts; now it's time to save one."

💙👻💙 You Should Be Dead by SaphireDragon11

"Dash and Kwan are horrified to discover they've accidentally killed their classmate, but perhaps even more so when he shows up at school the next day. With his secret on the line, Danny soon discovers Dash and Kwan are the least of his worries."

THIS story is definitely a favorite and fun read! The ending battle chapters always gets me excited to reread! ***Danny does get straight up shot by Dash at the beginning so be warned for that content. But I remember a post going around a year or so ago where someone had drabbled about Danny getting up after being shot by Dash. This story explores that concept with a longer plot!

💙👻💙 Roughing It by HaiJu

"Lost deep in the woods with an undead pack on their heels, Maddie and Phantom find themselves entangled in an awkward alliance. Can they cooperate long enough to get out of this mess?"

Another favorite! This one explores Maddie and Danny's relationship, kind of similar to how the show did in the Maternal Instincts episode. I adore how HaiJu explores Maddie's thought-process with dealing with Phantom in a situation where she kind of needs him and he won't leave her alone. Great mother-son fic!

👻 Phantom of Truth by Haiju

"Locked away in a secret government lab with Phantom as her subject, nothing stands between Maddie and the truth... except, perhaps, herself."

Haven't read this one in a loooooong time, but I remember being around for HaiJu updating this fic, posting about it on Tumblr, and the Phandom being generally hyped for it. Another staple for the Phandom! It's another torture fic, so heads up regarding that content!

💙👻 Shadow of a Doubt by Haiju (Sequel to Phantom of Truth ^)

"The truth was supposed to save Danny. Fix things. The lab, the experiments, the lies, those were all in the past. Weren't they? Sequel to Phantom of Truth."

And then BAM on top of finishing Phantom of Truth, HaiJu hit us all with a completed sequel! I was super excited whenever this fic got updated, felt like I was waiting for a new episode to air on TV every time! There's some OCs in this since it explores Danny running away from Amity, but I remember genuinely loving the OCs and loved reading about Danny mentally recovering from being experiment on.

👻 Just a Boy by Tay1019411

"Maddie and Jack finally have Phantom right where they always wanted him: in there lab, helpless, but everything is different now. Now, Maddie faces the truth about what Phantom really is."

🟢 Make It Go Away by DarkNymfa

"Not for the first time, Danny cursed himself for never telling anyone about his extra-curricular activities. And now, far more injured than he could fix himself, Danny desperately wished that he had told just one person."

No one knows AU

👻 Flicker by DarkNymfa

"It had taken just one moment, one split-second in which she had seen Phantom instead of Danny. Now she found herself on a path she didn't want to be on. One she couldn't leave, not anymore."

👻 The Scientific Method by ReconstructWriter

""After two years of failures you'd have better luck asking Phantom to be your lab-rat," Jazz said. The Fentons decide to try just that."

👻 Phantom Hitchhiker by ghostanimal

"Phic Phight Oneshot: While students get to leave early after a ghost attack, teachers have to stick around for boring meetings to discuss the attack. The ghost attack was now over, but it didn't mean all the ghosts were gone. Lancer finds himself driving a certain Phantom home while reflecting on how young the poor kid is."

👻 Returning After the Reveal by Illusn

"Phic Phight attack, using a prompt by Love-ly-ish. Danny returns to school after his secret was revealed in a ghost attack, having to deal with people suddenly treating him differently."

👻 Vantage Point by Lynse

"Phantom was young. Painfully young. Somehow, Lancer had never really noticed that before. One-shot, written for the 2019 Phic Phight."

👻 Oddities by Lynse

"Jack can't deny that their ghost hunting equipment malfunctions around Danny-consistently and exclusively around Danny-and decides to get to the bottom of it, once and for all. One-shot, written for the 2019 Phic Phight."

👻 To Be a Hero by cosette141

"Danny has always known the consequences should he be captured by the Guys In White, but now Tucker is going to learn firsthand just what the stakes are for his superhero friend and what it really means to be a hero. (not slash) hurt/comfort"

👻 Family Reunion by Dp-Marvel94

"For Phango. Prompts used- Setting: Family Reunion, Wes Weston, Aunt Alicia, Stuck in the thermos. And Identity Reveal…kinda (does it count if Wes had already worked out that Fenton was Phantom but hadn't seen him actually transform so wasn't completely sure?)"

Wes Fic!

👻 Stuck by SummersSixEcho

"[OneShot] After a prank from two of his ghostly acquaintances, Danny is stuck in ghost mode during one of the most important events of his young half-life. If only he didn't have to give a speech on top of it... [Phic Phight 2020 entry; prompt by Ghostanimal]"

👻 One-Eighty by SummersSixEcho

"[One Shot] After a grueling battle, two teenagers at a diner try to sort out a night of revelations. [DannyMay 2020, Day 28: Diner]"

👻 Threads of Time by ZombieRed

""I just want to know what's going on with you, Danny! I wish I could just, I don't know, spend the day figuring out what you've been hiding from me. Then maybe I could help you. But you being closed off from everyone is only hurting you. Can't you see that?" Or Maddie keeps on waking up to Thursday morning [No PP, pretty much ignores season 3 as a whole]"

👻 Invisible Stitches by Lynse

"Family bonding time might be less dangerous now that his parents know his secret, but that doesn't mean Danny is wild about being kept in the dark when it comes to his dad's plans for the weekend. One-shot."

Loved the concept of Danny having trouble being away from Amity Park!

👻 Whenever You're Ready by SummersSixEcho

"[OneShot] Jack and Maddie try to show their son they are very supportive of Phantom once they find out his secret. They want him to tell them on his terms, but everything ends up in bigger misunderstandings and more revelations they weren't prepared for. [Belated Phic Phight entry for Star G, Arioz, Bird, Dekalkomania, and Wife]"

Written in a Journal-Entry style! Interesting format if I remember correctly.

👻 An Attempt at Camping by Seasilver17

"They should have known that even when they were in the middle of nowhere camping. Something would have to go wrong. Curse his Fenton luck"

👻 Secrets Secrets and Advice (This Teacher's Vice) by AppleScentedLazers

"After a particularly grueling day Mr. Lancer just wants to go home, kick up his feet, and read some Shakespeare. But, when he runs into two of his students looking for their missing best friend, Lancer ends up with more questions than he has answers for. Such as, who is Phantom? And just what is Daniel Fenton hiding?"

👻🟢 Going Ghost by cosette141

"My take on the moment Danny turns on the ghost portal and becomes half-ghost… as well as an alternate way for Sam and Tucker to find out. Friendship Oneshot"

👻 Lair by Lexosaurus

"When something goes wrong with a piece of Vladco tech, Valerie ends up stuck in the Ghost Zone. With Phantom."

💙👻 In Case of Emergency by Unlucky Alis

"Lancer is grading papers when he gets the call. "I'm calling from Amity West. I have an underage patient here who has named you as their emergency contact." Lancer rushes over, of course, fretting all the while about what accident Danny Fenton has gotten himself into now, because it could only be him. Except, when he arrives, it's not the Danny he expected to find."

I remember enjoying the little twist on Lancer being the emergency contact for Phantom yet having no idea. Lancer handles it pretty well all things considered. (I think you guys can tell I just like Lancer fics at this point HA)

👻 Furthest from Myself by WastefulReverie

"An accident during a ghost invasion leaves nearly a hundred citizens with inexplicable ghost powers. Little did they know, this was only the catalyst for a series of revelations."

👻 Ghost Smarts! by Dekalkomania

"When it becomes clear the ghosts are here to stay, the Amity Park school district decides they need to teach proper safety precautions. In dire need of extra credit, Danny takes Mr. Lancer's offer to be the assistant in an assembly titled, "Ghost Smarts!"

Very unprepared for what he signed up for, Danny must deal with the eccentric detective J.J. Bittenbinder, all while not blowing his cover."

[maddie-dog-story-blog]

The Book Store

The familiar sound of the bell ringing as you entered the door along with the musty smell of books assaulted your senses as you stepped into your favorite book store. You couldn't help but smile as you were hit by the rush of nostalgia as you crossed the threshold into the cozy, little shop.

Each time you left the shop, you left with a new book, a new story, and, in a lot of ways, a new life.

You smiled at the shopkeeper, a lovely woman who had owned the store since you started coming here with your parents as a small child.

"Hello, Sweetie!" She called out cheerily, as you waved at her, "Can I help you with anything?"

"No," You say as you walk towards your favorite section, Romance, "Just browsing today."

You feel a strange tingling course through your body as you drew closer to the books decorated with steamy covers, a nod to the smut hidden inside. You didn't notice the shop owner standing behind you before you feel her hand on your shoulder as you reach for a particularly raunchy dark romance.

"And what do you think you're doing, Little One? I think these books are a bit too mature for you!"

You tried to protest as she dragged you away from the bookshelf, but suddenly felt something soft and rubbery filling your mouth, making it impossible for you to talk.

"Here we go, sweetie, these books are a little more your speed. Why don't you plop down on our magic carpet, and I'll find us a book to take us on a little adventure together?"

You wanted to protest that you were much too old to sit on the store's "Magic Reading Carpet," let alone be read to like a toddler. However, as the woman spoke, you felt your legs turn to jelly, causing you to sit on the carpet right where she indicated with a suddenly suspicious squishy feeling cushioning your uncoordinated fall.

Before you could assess your situation further, the store clerk came back with a copy of Green Eggs and Ham.

You tried to groan at the thought of being read such a childish book, but instead found yourself giggling around the rubbery object in your mouth as the women settled into the rocking chair on the carpet and began reading.

As the story progressed, you find yourself utterly entranced. You don't notice when you lean forward at start grunting, and remained oblivious to the horrid smell emanating from you the feeling of a lump growing under your bottom. You were fully absorbed in the story.

When the story ends, you foundd yourself suddenly wanting to cry. Tears start to fall unbidden to your cheeks as you softly lisp out, "More, more!"

The clerk smiled warmly as she closed the book and looked over your head.

"Oh, baby, that's all the stories you need for today," a cheerful voice rings out from behind you, "I think it's time to get you home though."

You turn to see a beautiful young woman walk up behind you, before she lifts you from the floor and into her arms with surprising ease.

You find yourself clutching her, almost as if out of well-worn habit, as she talks to the clerk.

"Thank you for the story! I think it's time I got my little monkey home though!" The new woman said as she carried you out of the store.

"Bye, bye!" The clerk said as bell on in the front door rang.

You waved feebly as you looked at the clerk over your new Mommy's shoulder, leaving the book store with yet another new life.

[merakiui]

his blueberry eyes (anagapesis in paradise).

yandere!azul ashengrotto x (female) reader cw: yandere, unhealthy behaviors/relationship, death/murder of reader, obsession, codependency, emotional manipulation, psychological abuse, mentions of self-harm/suicide attempt, brief mention of pregnancy + loss of baby, vague mentions of binge-eating/disordered eating, angst, characters written as 18+ note - the color blue haunts azul. // loosely based on clingy, codependent bf azul.

the prelude - forever lost in cerulean paradise.

Azul Ashengrotto, a man forever bound in burdensome blue, surfaces from the numbing sweetness of an all-consuming slumber and finds the tops of his hands are littered with deep, dark, desperate scratches. They’re furious and distinct, standing out like pearly teeth on black tile, spotting his pale, paper-thin skin like a child’s poor attempt at proper handwriting. Carefully, he runs a trembling finger over the length of one as it travels from ring finger to the delicate bone of his wrist. A wet laugh bubbles out of him, ink-stained and heartbreakingly pained. He wipes tar-colored saliva from the edge of his mouth, smearing it, and shudders through another laugh. The sound wavers as if caught in his esophagus, pronounced choked and raw.

“Ah… I did it again.”

He sits back on his haunches, small and scared like the squishy thing he once was all those years ago, and inhales a steadying breath. His vision, once narrowed so scarily slim, widens to encapsulate the rest of the sitting room, which is cast in a cool glow from the crystalline cityscape beyond. He spies his haunted reflection in the glass, his hair mussed and matted. From sweat, most likely. It’s unsightly, his unkempt, ugly appearance, but it’s him staring back. 

Looking on with those bewitching blueberry eyes.

Swallowing thickly, he pushes a swoop of silver hair out of his face and whispers, “I fell asleep…again. Right. Again. That makes it—what is it now? Four times in a week? No, not quite… I fell asleep, but then I…”

His gaze slides from the windows to the floor. Lying sprawled and stiff, amidst shattered glass and crumpled, lemon-hued tulips, is the love of his life.

“Ah, I see now.” He runs two fingers over the injuries on his hand. His nose wrinkles once and then twice. His throat is set aflame, constricting like a python coiled around its prey. Blueberry eyes sink in a rising tide, overtaken by tears spotting a weary lash line. “My world… My angelfish…”

He forces himself to stand on rubbery legs. He stumbles once, reaches for the coffee table’s reliable support like a newborn grasping their mother’s outstretched finger, and peers at a shattered portrait splayed on the floor. It’s you on your wedding day, flashing a toothy grin at the camera, while he holds you close, an arm secured around your waist. Clinging to you like you were the only buoy in a rocky sea. Planting parasitic roots by way of attraction, and you were simply too blinded by the charms of shimmering, sparkling cheer to realize. So was he in that regard—struck dumb with a too-large love, unable to handle the full capacity of what it meant to fall into a sugary-sweet romance.

It’s a happy picture, one of many, but then the memories of the many elude him at this moment. He, the brilliant, benevolent actor, struggles to differentiate the real from the fake. What is a smile if not another foggy reflection of something far sadder? What is laughter if not the sounds of a hollowed sweetheart howling joyous tunes to placate?

His fingers curl around the wooden table. It’s too familiar and, as if having touched something hot, he jerks away. Azul turns his hands over, searching for imperfections he’s already found. Slowly, he pivots to confront the body.

“My darling angelfish, please wake up. It’s not… It’s not very nice of you to play pretend. We’ve been over this.” He shakes his head and steps around the overturned vase and puddle of flower-spotted water. He lowers to your height, offering a hand you don’t take. “Please, my love. I’m sorry for scaring you. I won’t do it again. I… I’m getting better, you see. I’m doing it for us. I want to get better. I promised I would, didn’t I? Aren’t I a man of my word?”

You remain there, eyes shut in blissful permanence. Azul sucks in a breath through grit teeth. You’re always so…difficult. Sometimes. Not always. And even when you act like this, he still cherishes you. But fighting is not something he loves, and he wants this feud to end sooner rather than later.

Azul Ashengrotto hates the sharp, bitter sides to his marriage.

“I can be patient,” he says, though it’s more of a consolation than a promise. “I’ll be patient. But, really, being vindictive will get you nowhere, my dear. Haven’t we been over this?”

Still, no matter what he says, you don’t stir.

He allows silence to fill the room to a suffocating degree.

One minute passes. Then two. He drums his fingers along a newly forming bruise on his arm.

Now it’s three.

Four.

Five.

It’s too quiet without your pretty voice filling the empty room, filling the hollow in his heart, filling the gaps in his brain to snuff any other self-destructive thoughts from pushing through.

“I love you,” he whispers, less forceful this time. “And… And I’m sorry. Truly, I mean it. I’ll never put my hands on you again. Never. And I’ll go back to therapy. I won’t skip my sessions. I’ll even take my meds!” A crooked smile stretches across his lips. “I promise. I won’t lie to you. I’ll leave the cooking to you. I won’t touch sharp objects. I’ll stop hiding knives from you. I’ll be honest from now on. So please…” His voice cracks, weak and raspy. “P-Please… Please don’t ignore me…”

Azul reaches out to you, fitting his trembling hand in yours. It’s cold. He brings it to his face, kisses the top of it, and then cradles it close. His shoulders shake, wracked with silent sobs.

It’s cold.

His breath hitches.

You’re cold.

“Angelfish, please…” He sniffles. The tears are already falling in thick, salty rivulets. He’s always been an ugly crier. “Please don’t leave me. Without you I…”

His untrimmed nails dig into your palm, and a great sob shudders through his body when he presses his thumb into your wrist to check your pulse.

It’s stopped.

He scrubs his face with his free hand. A fruitless effort. The tears won’t cease.

Without you, I’m nothing.

He gathers you, stiff, cold you, in his arms and holds you like you’re a treasured childhood plushy who’s lost its stuffing. His reflection blinks back at him, blueberry eyes awash in watery tragedy.

Without you, I’m all alone.

He spies the markings on your neck and his throat closes up. He grabs your face between both hands, searching it for any indication of life. A lie, surely. You’re just pretending. You’ve always done that, putting on acts to keep him and everyone else pleased. You, the best actor, knew him better than he knows himself. Because, in spite of the loose, fraying seams, you took them, poured remnants of your heart into each tear, and stitched them up until they were better again. You’ve sewn him anew when he thought all hope was lost.

So it’s impossible. A lie, definitely.

You’re a pretender, and he’s the captivated audience member. Soon you’ll open your beautiful eyes and shout, “I got you! You should have seen the look on your face!” And the cycle will repeat itself. He’ll pretend to be okay and you’ll follow along with a sweet smile, chopping vegetables with the same knife he used to threaten his own life days prior.

You can’t fool him.

Only you do. And you have.

He peels your eyelids open. Your listless stare pierces something in his brain, wires the circuitry correctly so that Point A and Point B can connect.

With a horrified gasp, Azul drops your limp corpse. Your head smacks against the floorboards, but you don’t groan in pain. Because there isn’t any pain to be felt. Because you’re not going to wake up. Because this is the final act and the curtain has closed on your skillful pretending.

Azul Ashengrotto, a man forever bound in burdensome blue, has lost the very person who once made him feel so whole.

the first vow - to have and to hold.

“We should make a baby.”

In the first month of being newlyweds, you’d told him that. He leaned over to nudge you with his hip while you painted swirling designs on a blank kitchen wall. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m not opposed to it.”

You pulled away from your canvas and grinned. “Neither am I.”

“Sooo,” he encouraged, nodding, unable to curb the glee in his curling smile. “What? Should we make one?”

“Can we?”

“This conversation feels rather circular, my dear.”

“You’re circular.” You stuck your tongue out at him and dipped your brush in a bright blue. “I’m gonna paint an entire field of cornflowers on this wall.”

Azul hesitated at the sudden change in subject, considered the meaning of a cornflower, and snorted in amusement. He came up behind you and wrapped his arms around your waist. “If you want a baby, just say so and I’ll give you one.” He nosed your neck, humming into your skin. Sneaky hands slipped under your loose cotton T-shirt to cradle your stomach. “I once read a statistic that claimed marriage improves the outcome of a pregnancy. Shall we see if it’s true?”

You rested your free hand over his. “If you help me paint.”

“You know I’m no good at art.”

“Anyone can be an artist.”

“Angelfish—”

You shifted in his arms and held up a clean paintbrush. “Anyone, Zul. That includes you.”

He stared at the brush, frowning. “I’m nowhere near as good as you.”

“I’ll have none of that talk.” You rested your head against his chest and peered up at him through your lashes. A pleasant smile softened your face. “I don’t want this wall to be my masterpiece. I want it to be ours.”

“Yes… Yes, I’m aware. But even so—”

“The best things come in two, don’t they? Come on. You won’t know if you’ll enjoy something until you’ve tried it.”

“But I have, dear.”

“Not with me you haven’t.”

Azul laugh-scoffed. “Stubborn,” he chided, pinching your side and shaking his head in disbelief. One hand slid out from beneath your shirt to grasp the brush. “I suppose I can try. An entire field of cornflowers won’t paint itself now, will it?” He winked.

“That’s the spirit! I think blue suits this room, don’t you?”

“I’m struggling to see your vision, darling.”

“It’s a nice color. One of my favorites. And…” You turned in his arms to press your lips to his cheek. “Blue is you.”

He was smiling; he could feel it—the tug of toothy jubilance. “Is that right?”

“It is! I thought that the moment we met. If it weren’t for your pretty eyes, I don’t think I’d have approached you.”

“Ah, right. You thought they were rather lovely, didn’t you?” His hold on you tightened as he recalled the memory. “How did you say it? ‘Sir, I just had to come up to you to compliment your eyes! They’re the nicest shade of bewitching blueberry blue I’ve ever seen.’ You said it like that, yes? And it was the first time I’d ever heard such a strangely specific compliment. Normally, most go for the outfit or the hair.”

“But you liked it, didn’t you?” you say, singing the question like a pansophical siren.

“I did. I…really did. I still do, in fact.”

Your body shook with your laughter. “Then it’s not so strange after all.”

“Not in the slightest.”

His fingers brushed your navel, a fleeting touch that turned giggles into shivers. You put your brush to the wall, but no designs bloomed. He did much the same, meeting your brush halfway, bristles dipped in friendly yellow. Only after he’d marred the wall with it did he realize his error.

You always ruin everything, he thought, resenting his clumsy ways. Everything you’ve ever touched, you ruin.

“Ooh, yellow and blue. That’s pretty. Like sunflowers and cornflowers!”

“But I… Your blue—I completely tarnished it.” He couldn’t help it; the words rushed out.

“What? No way! I like it.”

“You’re just saying that.”

“No, it’s true. It adds something to the blue. Makes it come together, you know?”

Azul stared at the wall, his face scrunched with poorly veiled vitriol. “I fail to see how that logic tracks.”

You gathered both brushes and set them down on the countertop before turning fully in his arms. “Hey, it’s okay. We can paint over it if you want. But… Well, personally, I think we should keep it.”

“Why?” It came out hushed, a broken murmur.

“Because it’s like happiness amidst sadness.” Like the angel you’ve always been, you reached up to cradle his face between your warm, gentle hands. He melted in your hold, weak to the ways in which you often lifted him up. “Too much of anything in abnormal amounts is unhealthy, so we need happiness to balance the sadness. Plus, if this room was solely blue, I might go crazy.”

He wanted to reject your explanation, gripe and groan about how it was much too fluffy and foolish, but you were right. You have always been right with emotions, reading him well enough to pick apart his tells.

It’s your lips on his that brought him back to himself. He blinked when you separated.

“You’re not perfect. No one is. Not even me, and this wall definitely isn’t going to be perfect either. But it’ll be special because we made it. Because it’s a unique combination of us.”

Azul felt himself nodding along.

“So don’t worry. Sometimes mishaps like these are for the best. They help put things into perspective—to show us something we might not have seen before.”

“Like painting a new picture.”

“Exactly!” You squeezed his hand. “So no pity parties, got it? Not unless we’re going to throw one together and have snacks and tea.”

He exhaled shakily, reciprocating your affectionate touch. “Thank you, my love.”

You smiled so beautifully that he was compelled to enshroud you entirely and keep you with him in a cage of limbs. To ensure you’d never leave. To keep you backdropped by a work-in-progress wall forever.

And for the first two years of your new life with him, you remained in that cozy, quaint house, adding details to the wall when you could. The kitchen shaped itself nicely, embroidered in an array of blue hues, accompanied by sunny yellows and frilly whites. Every morning, you’d stand at the counter and cook, ever the early riser, and he’d drag himself in just after the sun had peaked in the sky; and together you would eat in front of that wall, tied together by the bright, beautiful wonders of young love.

Sometimes it was the yummy temptations of good food that brought you together. Other times it was each other, bodies pressed flush. Clothes wrinkling and coming off in heaps. Windows left open in the aftermath to bring in sweet spring breezes. Gathering each other and sitting in the bath, giggling about something silly. More kissing and touching; playful squeezing while washing the other. If Azul’s life had been a tragedy before, then this was certainly something far better. A new chapter in a new book with crisp, unturned pages, each one ripe and ready to receive love in loads.

You fell pregnant just as the changing winds ushered summer in, and suddenly that storybook blossomed considerably, pages stained with all things good. He had pinched himself before just to ensure this wasn’t a delusion or a dream, and finding that it was neither proved that there was indeed tenderness in his world. It was destiny that you two would meet by pure chance, fall for the other’s quirks and charms, and agree to a whirlwind marriage, so swept up in the authenticity of redamancy.

Azul thought his life couldn’t get any sweeter. A perfect wife, a perfect job, a perfect house, a perfect paradise built for two. It was a future he’d only ever fantasized about, an illusion he imagined to be forever out of his reach. But he had attained it, miraculously grasped it with both hands, and from here it would only be days and days of wonder and whimsy.

Thirty-one weeks into a perfect, pretty pregnancy, you fell again. Down the stairs, crumpled in a heap of limbs and broken promises. He stood at the top of the stairs, his chest heaving with the remnants of some animalistic emotion. You shattered like porcelain, a marionette cut free from her strings. The baby fell with you.

Then came the darkness: creeping, encroaching, all-consuming.

Then came the lies.

Then came the obsession with omniscience.

And all throughout it, you’d continue to imprison yourself in his eyes.

the second vow - to love and to cherish.

“You shouldn’t work so much.”

By the fourth year, he had told you that.

You looked up from your plate, which you’d spent most of dinner pushing the food around rather than actually eating. Meals carried out in this fashion, a cyclical routine you dreaded. Ever since he’d purchased a penthouse suite and moved you to the city, abandoning the life you had built in the tiny, two-story house with its friendly neighborhood of faces, your world became the sky: sad and cloudy. Always rainy. It was empty up there, and the luxuries he provided did nothing to fill the holes in your shattering heart.

You couldn’t paint any walls here, for they had already been colored in boring monochromes.

“But I like the coffee shop. Everyone’s really nice to me, and the hours are reasonable. I’m paid well, too.”

“It’s minimum wage, (Name).”

“Still…”

“I make enough to support the both of us.”

And it was true. He’d just opened the first branch of the Mostro franchise, an elegant, high-end eatery stuck right in the heart of the city. Money has never been an issue, not when he was so determined to see each of his dreams through to the very end. You were dragged along through the wild currents of those ambitions. Simple luxuries were no longer sleeping in on weekends or watching the sun rise and set in the garden. Now it was extreme excess and opulence, devouring you with designer brands.

“I’d rather not be home all day. It’s lonely.”

“Jade or Floyd can provide company should you need it.”

You stared at him, your mouth agape. “I don’t need babysitters. I’m an adult, Azul.”

“They wouldn’t babysit—” He sighed, shook his head, and pinched the bridge of his nose. “You’re welcome to accompany me to the office instead.”

“But I like my job. I like talking to customers and taking orders and making drinks. If I quit, I wouldn’t have anything else.”

“That’s not true. You’d have me.”

“The regulars would miss me. So would my coworkers.”

“Darling… Angelfish, I don’t quite care for them and I don’t think they care for you either. At the end of the day, all of you are working a dead-end job, putting up with nonsense from rude, impatient customers who never bother to tip despite having full pockets. You’re not working.” Azul smiled, his blueberry eyes ripe with a strange sort of light. “You’re surviving, and that’s not a quality of life you should shackle yourself to.”

You pushed food around on your plate, unconvinced. “I just don’t feel right about lazing around and doing nothing. It’s not very fair if you’re the one doing everything while I just sit back and reap the benefits.”

“Why not? I hardly mind. Besides, I enjoy spoiling you. You deserve this and so much more.” He made a sweeping gesture with his hand. “If I could, I’d package the world in a little box and give it to you, my dear.”

“We had that once and you broke it.”

His body stiffened, eyes flicking to your mouth. He couldn’t meet your eyes. He’s never been able to—not since that day. Neither of you can figure out whether it was intentional or an accident, or maybe it was something more: an intentional accident.

“P-Pardon?”

“I had the world and you broke it.” You set your fork and knife on your plate, perfectly vertical in accordance with proper etiquette. “Back at the old house.”

“Darling, you know we couldn’t stay… We were due for a change of scenery.”

Furiously, you opened your mouth, tears springing forth, but no words came. Instead, you clamped your jaw and stood from your chair, turning away from the table in a hurry.

“(Name), sweetheart, please wait!” He stood as well, nearly stumbling over himself as he moved to intercept you. “My love, you know I never meant for that to happen. If I could, I’d go back and I’d fix everything so that we’d never have to experience such sorrow again.”

He reached for your hands, but you slapped them away and took a grand step back. “You knew we were at the top of the stairs. You knew, Azul. You knew it was wrong because you moved me away so no one could question it!”

His face contorted with offense, nose scrunching as if he had just smelled something foul. “I did not.”

“You did! You pushed me down those stairs and you watched me. Watched me cry and groan because it hurt and the baby was hurt. You watched and you waited because you knew.”

“I did not!” he said, louder this time, his face blue with rising frustration. “I was in shock, (Name). You can’t possibly expect me to jump into action when I was frozen stiff and horrified. And it was an accident. We’ve been over this before. I’ve apologized numerous times.”

“Sorry, but words aren’t gonna fix anything. See? I’ve said it and nothing’s changed. It’s not words that fix broken things, Azul. It’s action.”

You stomped out of the room in a huff, blinded with tears and rage. You weren’t sure if you were more frustrated with the circumstances or Azul himself, but it might have been the latter when he pursued, insistent like the worst kind of thorn. One that’s wedged itself so deep you couldn’t possibly pluck it free with your fingertips.

You’re not sure tweezers would work either, for the hold he has on you was and still is a nasty vise.

“I… (Name), love, darling, I’ll do better. I’m trying.”

Though he made these claims, he expressed them rather pathetically—his arms outstretched, palms up, as if to show you he was no longer a threat to your mental and physical well-being. His face was in poor shape; he was blue all over, flushed from the rush of emotions, his eyes much too small. He looked almost deranged in a desperate, animalistic way. As if someone was cutting him into meticulous slivers with a precision so painful it would leave him to bleed out for hours.

You inhaled a deep, shaky breath, freezing the red-hot anger for a moment. I have to be the bigger, better person. Fighting isn’t going to accomplish anything.

“Look, if you want to make a conscious effort to be better I’m all here for it. But you have to actually try, Azul.”

“I am—I… I will!”

“I’m serious.”

“As am I.”

“Then please let me do things for myself. Marriage is about fairness. It’s you and me. We have to work together. And if that’s you supporting us with your business and me working part-time for extra cash, then let it be that way. That’s togetherness, not forcing the twins to babysit me like I’m senile or convincing me to quit a job I enjoy doing. Money shouldn’t matter if we’re both making it and we both trust each other to be responsible about it. So, while I appreciate surprise purchases, I’d much rather we do things together like before. That’s more meaningful and priceless to me than materialistic ploys meant to win me over.”

He swallowed thickly. Blue bled into the rest of his scleras. You watched him gradually inflate with relief. “I… I understand. I’m sorry. Truly, I am…”

“Stop telling me that. Show me. Please. And mean it.” You held your hands out. Hesitating, he fidgeted on his feet before gingerly placing his palms in yours. They were ice-cold. “Every relationship has its faults. Ours is no different. I’m forgiving you for the past, but I’m not going to forget and I’m not giving you a free pass either. I want to trust you, Zul, and I want you to trust me.”

“I do…” he began, only to curb himself. “I… Well, you know I worry. I know you have good friends, but when you’re out so late… O-Or when you don’t text me back… I’m always worrying.”

“Don’t.” You smiled and squeezed his hands. “I can take care of myself.”

His face darkened at that, a slew of stormy emotions brewing behind blue eyes. “Still.”

“I don’t worry about you when you’re at work or flying out for business trips. I trust that you’ll be okay because you know what you’re doing.”

“That’s different… That’s—”

“I’m happy that you care so much, but I promise I’m always safe when I’m out. You know this.”

“Yes. But… Well…” He sighed and shook his head. “At the very least, please let one of the twins drive you to and from your destinations.”

You fixed your lips into a moue. “Azul.”

He squeezed his eyes shut, groaning softly. “Yes, I know how that sounds. I know.”

“I’m not asking you to change overnight. No one can. It takes time. Everything does. I understand that you worry, but I’ve proven to you more than once that I’m plenty capable on my own.”

“All right.” His eyes flicked open at that, and without warning he tugged you into his chest. The embrace was constrictive with an alarming tightness that seemed to mean: I can’t lose you, so I’ll never let go. He buried his face in your hair, clinging to you out of sheer need. “All right. From now on, let’s be together.”

You nodded, slow to reciprocate. “No more gloomy dinners?”

He shook with awkward laughter. “No more gloomy dinners.”

You thought you had it under control. You thought you could reel him in and sculpt him from the shards—take all of the hateful, broken parts he harbored and glue them whole. You thought it’d be safer to organize his medication with encouraging notes each morning in hopes that he wouldn’t neglect it. You thought you’d ease into discussions with a gentle approach, if only to avoid stoking the flames of something monstrous. If only to ensure neither of you would scream at each other until your voices were spent.

You thought you were making progress when he showed you all of the secret spaces in the penthouse, admitting to squirreling things away out of weakness, out of greed, out of some tangle of complicated feelings. The majority of his stash was comfort foods, each one more unhealthy than the last, accompanied with a tiny notebook he’d used to scribble calorie counts. The pages were brittle and stained when you flipped through them; he had been crying each time he documented the amounts. Pieces were beginning to fit themselves together. On days when he surpassed his recommended calorie intake, he hardly indulged in dinner, preferring to pick at his plate. Instead, he would feast on empty conversations with you and those would be enough to sustain him.

Throughout all of this, Azul kept his gaze firmly glued to the floor and tore at the skin near his nails. The tips of his ears were flushed blue with humiliation.

“I hate eating,” he muttered, tapping his foot in quick, anxious rhythms. “I hate it so much.”

“Azul,” you said, soft like linen, “do you really mean that?”

His eyes found yours, glossy and defeated. “I… I…” He shook his head, the truth spilling free like paint dripping from a slain canvas. His arms, trembling and twitching, rose to his face. “No, I don’t,” he wailed into his hands, the sound echoing in the hall. “I really, really don’t.”

You shut the diary. It’s because you love food so much that you hate it, you thought, pitying him and the self-deprecating notes he’d scribbled alongside columns of calculations. Because when you eat, you don’t want to stop. Because if you aren’t thinking about numbers, you enjoy it. It makes you happy. And you restrict yourself and this happiness because it hurts to have any more than the bare minimum. Because the bare minimum also hurts, but it feels better when you have less in your stomach so you can eat the rest in secret.

“Let’s start small,” you offered, placing your hand on his arm. He lowered it to reveal a snotty, teary face, blueberry eyes darting to and fro. “Let’s plan our meals together. If we know what we’re eating in advance, we can avoid falling into bad habits. And meal plans are a good way to budget.”

Wiping his nose with the back of his hand, he sniffled. “I��m…not opposed to the idea.”

You had it under control.

But then the knives would go missing, later turning up when it was most convenient. When he needed a clever way to get you to stay.

You had it under control.

But then you would forsake plans with friends and family in order to help him through another spiral.

You had it under control.

But then it felt like he was breaking himself into pieces nearly every day, at every hour, over the smallest of inconveniences. Working a minute too late. Eating dinner before he could get home to join you at the table. Going out on your own without supervision from Jade or Floyd.

You had it under control.

But then his shadow was stretching too far and too wide, swallowing you in a portrait of possession.

You had it under control.

But then that was at the cost of your sanity.

the third vow - till death do us part.

“Hypothetically speaking, if I were to die tomorrow, would you grieve me forever? Or would you simply get over it and remarry?”

By the sixth year, just a few hours ago, he’d asked you that.

You looked up at him from the notebook in your lap, where you’d been aimlessly scribbling in circles. The lines overlapped, ink blotting together in manic patterns. Originally, you were going to write a grocery list. But now all you had were jagged lines and not-quite-right geometry.

As if you had rehearsed it prior, you answered smoothly, albeit with an edge to your voice, “But you’re not going to die tomorrow.”

“I could.”

“You won’t.”

Azul slumped back against the sofa and pulled his knees into his chest. “Maybe not. I have a clean bill of health.”

Not mentally, you thought, morbidly wry.

“You shouldn’t sound so disappointed. It’s good to be healthy.”

“You won’t care for me as much if I’m healthy,” he mumbled, gazing out the window at the sparkling cityscape with those dull, dreary blueberry eyes of his. “I wish I was sick. Then I could take a week off from work and just…exist.”

You frowned at him from where you sat opposite in a comfortable chair. It was the only piece of furniture he took from the old house. For sentimental reasons, of course. Sometimes you thought it still smelled like home, even if the scent of home was so warped and far-off now.

“You’re the boss, aren’t you? If you need to rest, take some time off and recuperate.”

“I want to, but my schedule can’t afford any interruptions. Not now.”

“Don’t overwork yourself.”

“I’m not.”

The conversation flatlined, only to soon breathe again when he suddenly added, “We should go on a trip.”

“A trip?”

“New scenery would do us a world of good.”

“Oh. Um, okay. Where should we go?”

“Anywhere.”

“Anywhere is too broad. Plus, we’d have to plan it in advance. Make sure everything’s covered. Expenses and whatnot.”

Azul’s expression soured. “Ah. Right.” He hummed his contemplation, drumming his fingers along the sofa’s armrest. “We could go somewhere nearby. Hospital food sounds good.”

You speared him with a sharp, stern look. “Don’t joke about that.”

“I’m not!”

You set your notebook and pen on the coffee table, aware of his powdery hues tracking your every move. “Azul?”

“Mhm?”

Your heart wouldn’t stop pounding. Relentless, the sound skyrocketed into your eardrums and joined in chorus with rushing blood. But you had to tell him. You had to broach this subject. It had been gathering dust and cobwebs, aged by many tiresome years. You couldn’t do this anymore.

“Azul, I think—” You swallowed hard, your fingers curling up into tight fists. “I think we… I think we should get a divorce.”

His head snapped up from where it had previously rested on his knees. He stared at you for a long, silent time.

And then, sucking in a breath, he asked in a fragile, breathless whisper: “What?”

“Um… I… We…” Your chest heaved with your exhalation. “We’re not happy.”

“We are.” He blinked at you, owlish and unwilling to look past the gilded lie. Unable to stop playing pretend. “We’ve always been.”

“No… No, we haven’t. Azul, it’s—really, it’s so exhausting. I’m so tired.”

“Then let’s sleep.” He lowered his feet onto the floor, intending to stand.

“Mentally, Azul. I… Fuck, I’m so tired. I really can’t do this anymore.”

Color seeped from his eyes. His pupils widened and shrunk, and then a wobbly smile overtook his gaunt features. “Angelfish, that’s not a very pleasant joke…”

You could only offer him your most forlorn look, finally defeated after six years. Six years of pushing a stone up a hill, never to advance and never to succeed. This conversation was well overdue.

Azul rose to his feet, his apparent horror dawning. It molded his features into something wrong and fearsome. Something panicked and cornered. “Darling, you’re not serious about this, right? You… We’re just going through a bit of a rough patch, but we’re okay. I’m okay. Yesterday’s session went so well. I’m getting better. I… I’ve done all of this for you—for us! So we don’t need to do anything rash. We don’t need to get divorced. We just need to—”

“You’re not okay. Azul, I’ve tried so hard. I really have. I’ve done everything, but I just can’t keep exhausting the same tricks.” You heaved a dry, tearless sob. “I can’t keep doing this anymore. I want to go back to work, but I can’t because I never know if you’ll be okay on your own. I want to trust you, but I can’t. We’re not communicating. We’re just—we’re playing the same delusional game and it’s getting us nowhere. You and I both know we’re not working. We stopped working the day you pushed me down those stairs.”

He froze, his lip quivering. “Darling, please… Please don’t say that. You don’t mean that.”

“I want you to get better—genuinely get better—but I’m not the help you need.”

“That’s not true. You’re all I need—all I’ve ever needed. With you here, I’m whole. I’m happy. What was it you told me? That marriage is togetherness? That it’s you and me? So as long as we’re together—no matter what may come between us—we’ll always be happy. We have our disagreements, yes, but every relationship is like that. It’s normal, my dear. So please don’t say those things. I am better, and I’ll continue to be better until my final breath.”

“Azul, you’re not listening.” Now you were standing from your chair. “Togetherness is not this. This—” you gestured to yourself, to the way your clothes hung from your body, a size too large, before pointing at him— “isn’t healthy. We’re not healthy. Every day I’m with you is hell. I need a break as much as you do. We can’t keep doing this. Let’s save ourselves the insanity and misery, and let’s be sensible adults. A divorce is the only—”

“You’re wrong.”

The rest of your tirade stuck in your throat. “W-What?”

“Divorce is an expensive, lengthy process.” Azul stepped around the coffee table, his stare blank and haunted. Twin pools of the darkest ocean bored into your skull. “I can easily afford it, but it’s a price I’m not willing to pay.”

Despite what little confidence you had before, it’s all but diminished now. You shrunk away from him. “A-Azul, calm down. You… You’re scaring me.”

“Well, that’s nothing new now, is it?”

“Azul—”

“You want sensible adults? Very well. Let’s have an actual discussion instead of picking each other apart like this.” He peered down at you from where he stood, his head angled in such a way that his acknowledgement of you appeared contemptuous. “So sit back down in your chair and talk like a sensible, mature adult.”

Opening your mouth, you intended to respond. But the words wouldn’t come. They were lodged in your throat, coagulating with raw, rich fear.

“Well? I’m waiting.”

I can’t say anything, you thought, your body petrifying with every passing second. I’m scared…

“If you put just a little more thought into your brainless idea, you’ll find it’s quite…lacking. Divorce ruins our togetherness, splits us apart and condemns us to two different worlds. And if I’m no longer able to cross into your world—if you forbid it and leave my world—I’ll truly die. I refuse to let that happen. So, no, darling, we won’t be getting a divorce. I won’t agree to it.”

Perhaps it was the hopelessness in your heart that forced fresh tears from your ducts, or maybe it was the final straw in your weakening defenses, but the words came bursting out in a hurry.

“I don’t care anymore! I want you to die!”

You slapped your hands over your mouth. Azul stared at you, stupefied.

“I… I want to be rid of you,” you continued, your words muffled and distraught. “I’ve always thought… Always hoped you might just disappear one day and I’d finally know peace… Please, Azul. Let’s end this. I don’t want to be stuck in this cycle. I don’t even love you anymore. I’m just…done.”

“You don’t mean that…” He made a strange sound, a hybrid between a gasp and a laugh. “Y-You’re just saying that. You still love me. You don’t actually want me gone. You love me… R-Right? Please say you do. Please, angelfish. My love… Please…”

“You’re not well, Azul. I think… I think this is for the best.” You turned away from him. “I’m going to stay in a hotel tonight. Please take some time to calm down and then we’ll talk more in the morning. I… I’m sorry. I really do want you to get help, but I can’t be around you any longer than I already have. It’s draining. You’re draining.”

You took one step further and something inside him splintered.

His power was cut, a line between consciousness and reality severed.

You did not love him. You wanted a divorce. You did not love him. You wanted a divorce.

Did not love him. Divorce. Did not love him. Divorce.

Did not love did not love did not love did not love not love not love not love.

Divorce divorce divorce divorce divorce.

Not love not love not love.

All alone.

Alone like before.

Back to the disgusting creature he once was.

You were walking away, your back turned on him.

He was going to lose his world. It was slipping through his fingers, fleeting and frail.

He couldn’t lose his world, for it’s all he’s ever had.

Azul lunged, seizing your wrist and dragging you down.

Your scream was cut short when his hands clung to your throat.

From then on, everything was a blur.

Two blueberry eyes swallowed you whole, entrapping you in cerulean paradise.

the epilogue - there will never be two without you.

“They used to call me all manner of cruel things when I was a child,” Azul admits to the desolate quiet of his penthouse suite. “I was ridiculed every day. I couldn’t even recognize myself in the mirror. Isn’t that just terrible?” He leans against the sofa and exhales slowly, running a hand through his disheveled hair. “But then you told me I was pretty and suddenly the mirrors blinked back at me. Suddenly the world looked just a little wider and…brighter. So bright! The sea swallows so much color, my dear, and so you’ll never know just how vibrant the surface is to us merfolk.”

He deflates with a wet, wheezing laugh. “No one’s ever told me I was pretty. No one’s ever loved me. Not in the way that you did.” Sighing, he runs a hand down his face. Tears track his cheeks; his blueberry eyes exist in a field of splotchy red. “You were such an angel. To love a filthy, hideous thing like me… Only an angel could do that. Only an angel could look beyond every flaw of mine and love so gently.”

Azul lowers his arm and peers at the knife clutched tightly in his other hand. “I never deserved you. I’ve treated you so horribly. I—” He chokes on a rising sob and shakily lifts the blade to his wrist. It presses against his skin for a moment before he’s yanking it away.

“Fuck,” he spits, his voice trembling. “I… I can’t do it.”

You’re a coward, his inner critic berates. A cowardly, clumsy fool of an octopus.

Gritting his teeth, he steels himself and tries again. The blade digs deeper into his flesh, enough to draw the tiniest pinprick of blood. Pain flashes through his nerves, prey instincts firing off commands. He attempts to push past the curtain veiling his thoughts—Stop before you hurt yourself! Stop before you kill yourself!—but then he spies the blue rising to the surface, pooling under the blade, and he retreats immediately. Horrified, he discards the knife at once. It soars across the room in an imperfect arc before settling on the floor with a clatter, just inches from your body.

“Fuck,” he whispers, closing his hand around his wrist to halt the bleeding. “Fuck. Fuck!”

I really can’t bring myself to do it…

He throws his head back against the cushions, eyeing the ceiling. “I’ve done such an unforgivable thing to you and yet I… I can’t do it to myself. I just can’t.” He shuts his eyes, inhales deeply, and opens them again. “I so selfishly took your life, but I’m clinging to mine like a spineless loser.”

Azul lowers himself onto the floor, curling into a fetal position. He grips his wrist in a tighter hold. His glasses are somewhere in the room, likely cracked or worse. He can’t be bothered to seek them out.

“Did you ever believe in soulmates? Ah, what am I saying? Stupid… But I truly think we were soulmates. Perhaps not in this lifetime. But somewhere on a distant horizon…” He smiles dreamily, pressing his cheek against the cool floorboards. “I wonder if we’ll ever meet again. It’s a matter of luck and fate. Sea Witch below, I hate those odds.” Another noisy sob bubbles up in his throat. He shakes with the force of it, his throat raw and ruined. Another onslaught of tears pours from his eyes. “I was r-really happy that day you approached me. I was so happy… More… More happy than you’ll ever know. Thank you for looking at me and seeing me and opening your heart to me. I’m sorry I couldn’t cherish you more than this.”

He forces himself up onto his arms and then, as if just learning how to walk again, rises to his feet on wobbling legs to cross the slim distance to arrive at your body. Like a sinner on trial, he drops to his knees and gathers you in his arms as if you are his Madonna della Pietà.

“Without you, there is no world,” he murmurs, holding you close for a moment longer before lowering you to the floor. His tears dot your cheeks like somber rainfall. He reaches for the knife next, his mind made up. “Thank you for loving me. Sincerely. Truly. You’re the only one I’ll ever love. For that, I’m grateful. Because of you, I was able to know the taste of romance. And…” He hiccups through his bawling. “And it’s so very sweet.”

Blue blood spatters the floor, spilling from a messy gash in his abdomen. The knife is sharper than he thought.

Azul flops onto his stomach beside you, reaching out to run his fingers over your cheek. He inhales a weary breath and agony fills his lungs.

The world is dyed a brilliant, burdensome blue.

Azul Ashengrotto wakes in captivity. Bandaged, dressed in a plain gown, and cuffed to the bed, he is alive.

He moves his wrist, each of his senses filtering in at once. His other arm is turned over and pierced with an IV. Groggily, he lifts his gaze to the machines humming around him. Blue blood sits heavy in a bag, and he watches the liquid travel down, down, down through the tube. He blinks. His eyes are crusty. Has he been crying?

Assessing the handcuff once more, he turns up empty.

Why is he here?

Why does it hurt to move?

Why are there so many bandages around his stomach?

Most of all, where is his world?

What is this place?

It’s a hospital, yes, but why is he here? He has a clean bill of health.

Where is his world?

It’s when he starts actively struggling against the restraint, his breath coming in terrified huffs, that the nurses file in to tend to him. They check his vitals, run some harmless tests, ask him a few questions—it’s a lot all at once. He goes through the process as if stuck in sludge.

“My… My wife,” he croaks, unable to think of anything else. His heart tightens in his chest. “Where is she? What happened? Is she okay?”

Nervously, the nurses skirt around his questions until, eventually, he loses patience and tries to tear himself free from the bed that confines him.

“Where is she?!” he’s screaming, thrashing on the bed like he’s Frankenstein’s monster—a haunted reanimation shocked with electricity. “Answer me! Where is she?! She has to be here. Please… Please tell me she’s safe. I need to see her—need her here right now.”

They hurry out just as he curses at them.

“You can’t keep her away from me! She’s my wife—mine! If you lay a hand on her—”

A new face appears in the doorway; it’s a man dressed in striking attire. A police officer. Azul stares at him, his nostrils flaring wildly. For a short beat, they simply watch one another. Eventually, the officer nods towards a chair.

“May I?”

“What do you want?” He narrows his blueberry eyes, immediately suspicious.

“I’m here to have a chat with you. It’s about your wife. Is that okay?”

At the mention of you, Azul’s thoughts stall out. “Do you know where she is? Is… Is everything okay?”

The officer lowers into the chair and casually crosses one leg over the other. Casual in the friendly sense, Azul realizes. He really doesn’t like this man. Any longer here and he’ll start trying to build rapport.

“We’ll get there in a second. First, I’d like to introduce myself.” He goes through the motions; Azul is only half-listening, replying when it’s beneficial.

(Name). She’s safe, right? She must be. She has to be. Everything’s okay.

(Name). (Name). (Name). (Name). (Name). (Name). (Name).

Where are you? Do you realize how worried I am? Oh, this must be my fault. I did something foolish again.

I must have tried to hurt myself. Angelfish, please wait for me. I’ll be okay. You’re safe and so am I.

Safe. Yes. Right. Safe. Safe. Safe.

Safe… Right?

Right.

Right?

“Had your friends not called in, you wouldn’t be here right now.”

That brings Azul back to the world. He blinks at the officer, one eye at a time. “What?”

“You were on the verge of bleeding out.”

“Friends?” He’s slow on the uptake. “Jade and Floyd?”

The officer nods. Silence fills the space. Azul wonders when he’s going to open his mouth again.

“What about them?” he asks instead.

The officer frowns. “Do you not recall anything?”

Azul thinks long and hard about this. “I… I was having a discussion with my wife. It was something about a trip. No, not that. Um… Something…important. Something else, perhaps?” He shakes his head, unable to turn up anything useful. “I haven’t a clue. Why? Is something the matter? Where’s my wife?”

Silence is his only reply.

Somehow that tells him everything and nothing all at once.

Somehow he suspects it. His body knows. His fingers twitch with phantom spasms, curling inwards to cut off airflow. The puzzle is scrambled and the image is fuzzy, but he knows.

He knows because he’s already crying, and there’s only ever been one thing that can bring out the inner crybaby he despises so.

It’s always been you.

Azul Ashengrotto is the sole speck of blue in this white hospital room.

And he certainly feels it.

He’s right back where he began: alone and clumsy, an octopus out of water, viewing the cramped, compact, colorless world with his bewitching blueberry hues.

[asleepinawell]

sorry if this seems a bit out of the blue, but ever since youve been posting about fallen london, im a bit curious about it! What is the game about and where can I get it?

oh no worries! I'm happy to ramble about it

fallen london is a free to play browser game you can find here. the basic premise is that sometime in the 1800's the entire city of london is engulfed in a swarm of bats and then falls through the earth into a cavern a mile below. this is the neath, a huge underground cavern where london sits on the shore of a vast ocean. queen victoria is still around locked in her palace being a typical shitty british monarch, who, amongst other things, decided that 1900 was cancelled and we were just going to have 1899 for a second time

things are a little...different down there. humans are far from the only ones running around. there's devils, rubbery men (think mind flayer vibes), clay men, and the shadowy cloaked figures running the bazaar (and the city) called the masters. death mostly isn't permanent and the dream world is a little too real. also, most importantly, cats can talk! and there are tons of them! and tigers too

it's got victorian, gothic horror, dark humor, lovecraftian vibes. also it's extremely queer as is everything the dev, failbetter games, makes. something I especially appreciate is that you don't have to give your character any particular gender (though you can) and some of the little avatars are very gender neutral:

since it's free to play it comes with the normal things that type of game has such as real money transactions (completely optional and unnecessary for enjoyment (though some of the bonus side stories you can buy are extremely cool)), limited number of actions you can take (max of 20 at a time and refills 1 per 10 minutes). it is definitely grindy too though there's so many things to do (cannot emphasize the insane amount of content enough) I will usually just switch things up every so often

it's single player for the most part but you can ask friends to assist you in certain actions and there are some specific items that can be sent to other players

(if you like the setting but not the free to play part you can check out mask of the rose which is a visual novel they just released set right after london fell. it's a romance but with full aro and ace options (which I actually preferred) and a murder mystery. that one is a normal just buy the whole game deal and I think it's on most platforms. there's also sunless seas and sunless skies which take place in the same world but are a very different type of game and would require their own post. all of these have great writing in them)

but back to fallen london. it works based off of 'storylets', or little short stories when you usually do a skill check to accomplish something in return for advancing the story, levelling your skills, and reward items. you unlock more and more things as you go and get access to new stories and areas. here's an example of one of the little activities and its resolution

since it's a game designed to be able to play endlessly there isn't really a way to lose or game over. you can die but dying is just a minigame of its own and sometimes even a thing to do purposefully. (the only actual way to die is the notorious story called seeking mr eaten's name which you may have seen me post about, which is a very unique story that will permanently erase your character at the end. why you'd ever want to do that would also be its own post. it's pretty hard to stumble on accidentally I think and extremely well-marked as a thing with severe consequences that you probably shouldn't do. or should you...)

anyway I'd definitely recommend giving fallen london a try if you're interested in the premise and aesthetic

[cartoon-and-animal-lover]

Have you noticed that the complaints about the Hellaverse are the complete OPPOSITE of the complaints about the recent Disney and Pixar animated films?

They complain that Disney is too scared to write actual villains nowadays, then they complain that Hellaverse villains like Stella (and to a lesser extent Crimson) are TOO evil and DON'T have a sob story or get redeemed.

They complain about how Disney is too scared to write romance nowadays, then they bash every single Hellaverse romance for different reasons (Stolitz for being toxic and unhealthy, Chaggie for being bland and generic, plus changing their mind about HuskerDust despite it originally being a popular ship).

They complain about recent Disney films like Encanto being obnoxiously overanimated and that they can't do subtle animation anymore (as well as using similar complaints about Don Bluth films and even Klaus), then they complain about Hazbin Hotel looking stilted and lifeless (to the point of comparing it to Family Guy) and wish it was all rubbery like a Bob Clampett cartoon or the later SpongeBob seasons.

They complain that Disney can't write flawed protagonists anymore and that characters like Asha are boring flawless Mary Sues, then they complain about Hellaverse characters like Stolas being TOO flawed.

They complain that Disney and Pixar films nowadays are too light and soft and they can't do dark edgy films like Hunchback or The Incredibles anymore, then they complain about the Hellaverse being TOO dark and edgy.

This is what I mean when I talk about the inconsistency of social media critics and how I have no idea what people like or dislike anymore.

[jaybeess]

One Piece DND AU — Romance Dawn Trio!

Here is something I have been working on for a couple of months— One Piece DND! I wanted to mix DND lore and One Piece lore. Make them into playable characters that are balanced and fun! I am also making playable sheets and sprites— show some love if you would like me to post them!

Basic Back Info:

Monkey D. Luffy:

Aasimar Protector (wanted to do something based on his Nika origins… also his role as a leader. The flight can be revamped into his bounciness)

Pirate background (duh)

3 Barbarian Beserker (Wanted to show how he shrugs off his attacks and the damage, and punches twice as good. I don’t think monk really displays his rubbery capabilities. Maybe before the time skip— but as a barbarian berserker he still gets a lot of attacks)

5 Battlemaster Fighter (More of the leader and how he has special menuevers his his fighting abilities. I think he would want to protect his crew as much as possible) + Unarmed Fighting Style

Mobile Feat (Wanted to keep freedom of movement + be able to weave through the battlefield)

Cloak of Displacement (His build is less a tanky build, but more an avoid being hit build.)

—x-x—

Roronoa Zoro

Shifter Beasthide (I wanted to include some tiger aspects that he has and also include the animalistic aspects to his special attacks. I think his were mode can correlate to his demon mode without being a squishy tiefling.)

8 Samurai Fighter + Two Weapon Fighter (Kind of a no brainer)

Bounty Hunter

Dual Wielder Feat (AC Bonus)

Dragon’s Wrath Sword (Wado) + Alchemy Jug (Haha)

—x-x—

Nami

Summer Eladrin (I wanted to play more off of her connection to the weather and nature, that she often shows on the sea. I think also fey ancestry has to do with her trickery and summer with her fiery personality)

8 Storm Sorcerer (I wanted her to go crazy with the lightning damage and really have her be a fun build. I think meta magic also shows how clever she is in her fights. The flight plus the fey step makes her stay as far away as possible aswell.)

Ruined Background (Wanted to go into more of her backstory with Arlong and I think the Alert feat fits her well aswell)

Elemental Adept Feat - Lightning (Make sure she does all the damage with her lightning and thunder damage)

Staff of Defense (Climatact) + Magic Tattoo of Constitution - (Wanted to maintain her crappy AC while also being able to cast mage armor for free. Also can be workshopped to include Zeus as protecting her!)

That’s all for now will be posting the next three next.

[geraldofallon]

Romance in the Neath: Boneless Consort

What plastic passions are inflamed behind closed doors?

You’ve become better at telling Rubbery Men apart. This one keeps seeking you out. It doesn’t want your Warm Amber. It has other intentions…

Your love does not dare writhe its name in public.

[waterlogged-detective]

Rubbery Romance is real and alive and beautiful (Rubbery Barber Surgeon of course belongs to @viric-dreams )

[viric-dreams]

What's more romantic than a beachside date under the light of the Imposter Moon?

[animatorweirdo]

When the dragons fly

You return to the village and receive news you never wish to receive in your life. Aelon contemplates as he is now a prisoner to the most violent creatures on earth.

Chapter 8

[] = Valyrian

Warnings: mentions of an awkward encounter, panicked Falconer, severe wounds and mentions of blindness, orcs, a crappy vampire, getting cut, creepy, tasting blood, imprisonment.

---------------------------------

The wagon moved across the road, bumping up and down. You felt the wind brush against your face and listened to the sounds around you while trying to ignore Helena's constant giggling after she pressured you to tell what happened with the elf at the tavern. 

"How can this be?" Helena laughed dramatically. "The first guy who willingly walks up to you, and the first thing you do is slam his face against the table," she giggled, making you sigh in exasperation. 

"In my defense, I was having a moment, and I was not aware of him," you said. 

"But still— it would have been nice if you finally got some action on the romance side of your life," Helena smiled in mischief, making you roll your eyes at her. "I think my love life is my business only," you stated. 

You three then heard something in the distance. 

The horses stopped abruptly, whining anxiously and hesitant to go further. "Wow, what's the matter with you two?" The driver questioned while trying to calm them down. You looked at them with confusion. 

"What was that?" Helena asked. "What was what?" Mika asked back. "That sound from before. It sounded like a shriek of sorts," she explained. You three tried to listen to the sound again. The sky and the forest around you remained silent. 

You tried to remember what the sound sounded like – something about Helena’s remark made it sound familiar. Too familiar. 

Your eyes widened when you had an assumption about what the noise could be, and hopped down from the wagon. 

"How about we take a break?" you turned toward Helena and Mika. "I can feel nature calling for me, and the horses need to calm down, so I'm going to take a quick trip to the forest," you explained with a quick smile. 

"Alright, don't be gone for too long. These forests are filled with strange creatures," Helena said as you turned around and walked into the forest. "Don't worry. I won't," you said without turning back. 

Stepping through the forest, you hopped over rocks and trees while trying to get distance from your companions. Your ears picked up something in the air, and there it was– the shriek. You stopped in your tracks to listen. 

It was quiet for a moment before you heard what seemed to be heavy beatings of wings. You frowned. It couldn't be –?

A gust of wind pushed you back by surprise. You covered yourself and then looked up, seeing Falconer flying above you, screaming frantically. Confusion filled you from within, but you kept your composure and observed his movements. 

He was flying hastily and was obviously in a lot of distress. You needed to calm him down before he attracted unwanted attention. 

"[Serve! Falconer!]" you yelled in your mother tongue. Falconer roared at you but seemed to have heard you. 

"[Listen! Calm down!]” you continued, and he slowly descended toward you. 

"[Calm down!]" you said and slowly approached him. Falconer landed roughly on stones before you and whined with his head down. 

"[Calm]," you whispered as you gently held on to his tiny head, shushing and slowly petting. 

Falconer's nostrils flared wildly before calming down. He whined in anguish, but you hushed and kept him calm. You frown when you notice something in his eyes. You brush your fingers against the skin beneath his eyes and find some kind of dark matter on your fingertips.

Rubbing it between your fingers, it felt slimy yet rubbery. You took a sniff and nearly gagged from the foulness of the smell. It was perhaps one of the most unpleasant scents in the world. 

You glanced at Falconer’s eyes. There was red around his pupils, so they were definitely irritated. You could only guess someone threw this stuff into his face. But by whom? And why was he outside the cave?

Realization struck you like a hammer. You grabbed Falconer and looked at him in the eyes. 

"Falconer. Did something happen to Aelon?" you questioned, hoping it was just your paranoia kicking in. Falconer whimpered and grumbled, looking back at you with heart-fallen eyes. 

"What?" you uttered in disbelief. 

After ordering Falconer to return home, you quickly returned to your companions and pestered the driver to make the horses gallop back to the village. They were confused by your sudden panic, but you silenced them by claiming something terrible had happened at home. You could feel it in your guts. 

They complied, and you arrived to the village much sooner than expected. To your growing fear, you saw people standing in front of Dwenn’s workshop, surrounding Dwenn as he sat at the steps, wrapped in bandages. They were stained in blood, and a deep red mark dressed the fabric around his right eye.

Eda was among the group, calling Dwenn names and trying to make him go back to rest, but the wounded man refused, insistent to sit and wait for your return. 

You quickly jumped from the wagon and approached them in worry. 

“(Name)!” Dwenn stood up when he saw you and struggled to walk to you. You were there to catch him when he tripped and nearly fell to the ground. He groaned in pain as Eda and the other people followed him. 

“You stubborn goat! You need to rest! You’re already in a bad condition! Do not make it worse!” Eda scolded him while you held him up. He was deathly pale and coughing. 

"What happened?" you asked. 

"(Name)... I am so sorry." Dwenn began to sob. "I lost Aelon," he said. You stared at him with concern. “What do you mean you lost him? Tell me what happened,” you questioned. 

"We... we were getting some planks from the wood field, and I looked away for a moment, and the little boy was gone," Dwenn started. "I managed to follow his footsteps to the forest and tried to defend him from this creature that lured him away with music and turned into a swarm of giant bats," he described.

"I tried to fend it off, but then Aelon was taken by another creature. The bats kept me down. I couldn't do anything. I am so sorry," Dwenn broke down in tears. Eda scolded him and took him away from your arms. 

You stared after them, progressing what you just heard. Helena tried to comfort you after seeing your silent reaction, but you couldn't hear her voice as the old lightning scars in your hands began to shimmer with cold.

You knew the creature Dwenn talked about was a vampire. You had some encounters with them and knew they were the only ones associated with creatures such as bats, but that was not what caused you to feel immense dread. 

Aelon was in danger. 

You felt numb by the thought. Aelon had been taken by the creatures of the dark, people who could do more terrible things to him than a simple wild animal. Falconer’s appearance made more sense now, but Aelon was in danger, and you didn’t know where to look for him. 

You looked toward the forest where the incident happened with only one thought in mind. Your dear little brother was in danger. 

The cave was dark and damp. Bugs such as cockroaches, ants, and spiders scurried all over the place, and there were roots hanging from the ceiling. They looked like small hands, trying to reach the bottom and grab onto anything that moved beneath them. 

Aelon was shaking. The dirt and the moisture from the walls had dirtied and drenched his clothes, making his stay in the cave cold. He couldn't see well, but he could feel the dirt in his hair and the tears that had dried up against his skin after crying so much. 

His violet eyes were locked on a creature that stood on guard in front of him. It was tall, ugly, and incredibly mean. There were others like it, yelling and running around in the thin tunnels that were connected to the cave. 

Aelon didn't know what they were till he remembered the stories you told about orcs, the servants of the dark lord. 

You told him they were vicious creatures that hated all life. They held no empathy and would not even hesitate to harm children like him. 

Those stories always scared him and now it was much worse now that he had been kidnapped by the said creatures. 

Aelon silently sniffed, hugging his knees and quivering against the walls the orcs forced him to stay against. He now wished more than ever that you would appear and save him from the orcs. 

Falconer was possibly badly hurt, and Dwenn... Aelon shuddered at the memory. The memory of the forest ground being dressed in blood. 

Aelon's tears fell freely. There was no way Dwenn could have survived that. 

"Come here," the guard suddenly forced him up. 

Aelon yelped and winced in pain as the orc was holding his tiny hand in a painful grip. The orc dragged him along like a bag of potatoes. 

The orc took him through tunnels. Aelon tried to obediently follow, even though, seeing more orcs frightened him to death. 

Aelon then saw other people. Adults and children like him who were most likely lured and kidnapped in the same way he was. It made him even more terrified to know what might happen to him next. 

Aelon was then blinded by a light. It took his eyes a moment to adjust and for him to realize he was now outside the tunnels. It gave him some relief to breathe some fresh air, but that air was soon gone from his lungs when he saw the terrifying fortress before him. 

Its walls and towers were tall, and it looked old, so old it had holes and sickly-looking vines growing all around it. It was surrounded by a lake, which was blocked by a damp, and there were small ravines that were filled with blood and bodies. 

Some of the adults were frightened by the sight, and some of the children began to cry as the orcs forced them to move toward it. 

"Keep moving!" the orc holding Aelon forces him forward. Aelon complies, too afraid to anger the orc even though he is more afraid to approach the fort in front of him. 

The inside was scary. The whole fort was filled with orcs, mean, armored, and holding weapons that could slice the little boy in half. 

Aelon followed the orc and other prisoners. He then sees a familiar figure. It was the hooded figure, standing in the corner and holding their silver flute. 

Aelon stared fearfully, knowing what the hooded creature was capable of. 

The hooded person snapped its gaze at him. Aelon looked away in fright. 

"Hey! Give this one to me," the hooded person said, and the orc pushed Aelon to stand in front of them. 

Aelon's heart raced as the hooded figure laid one of their hands on his shoulders, then suddenly took off their hood. The hooded person had a face of a man with eyes like rubies and teeth like snakes. He was really beautiful in appearance and nearly looked like a human, but Aelon knew the man was nothing but a human. 

The man grabbed him by his chin, gently turning him from side to side while looking straight into his violet eyes. The man's red eyes were filled with intrigue and there was a grin on his face. 

"My, my... you sure have beautiful purple eyes, little boy," he says. "I do not think I have ever seen anyone of your kind possess such a rare eye color," he added, then looked at him whole. "Or beauty like that — You could almost be mistaken for an elf," he stated. "What's your name, little one?" he asked, but before Aelon could answer. Another voice appeared. 

"Amdirvelui! Stop playing around with your food and come over here!" The voice called out.

The man clicked his tongue in annoyance. "Gwarth. Your mood killer," he shook his head then looked at Aelon. "I will see you for another time. I hope you taste as good as you look," he said, then suddenly scratched Aelon's cheek with one of his sharp fingers. 

Aelon yelped, holding his bleeding cheek as the orc took him away. 

The man stands up and licks his bloodied finger. He smacks his lips but then stops and frowns. "Hmm– that's strange," he says as he contemplates the taste of Aelon's blood in his mouth. 

"Amdir!" The voice calls out again in anger. 

"I'm coming! Stop yelling at me!" The man calls back and walks away. 

The orc opens the cell door and throws the little boy in. Aelon falls harshly against the floor, holding his bruised hands and arms. The orc closed the door, leaving him alone in the lonely cell. Aelon looked around, finding other people in cells like his. His eyes then saw someone familiar in the opposite cell, crying. 

"Samuel?" Aelon calls out. 

Samuel stopped crying and turned to look at Aelon in shock. “Aelon… they got you too?!” he asked loudly. 

"Are you hurt?" Aelon asked. "No... but it's scary. I want to go home," Samuel started crying again. 

"Silence, brat!" One of the guards suddenly slams their weapon against the bars, making Samuel weep quietly. 

Aelon stared at his friend in worry and sorrow. He watches as the guard leaves and then back at Samuel. "Hey... it's going to be okay," he tried to say in a comforting tone. "How?" Samuel asked quietly. 

"Somehow..."Aelon whispered, not knowing how to answer the question. He sits down and leans against the bars, thinking about you and how you would react to his disappearance.

He hoped you would save him, but now he was uncertain if you could even find him. The place seemed hidden, and the path back to the village was long.  How in the world would you find him? 

He sniffed, hugging his knees. He quietly began to cry while wishing to be in the safety of your arms again. 

Taglist: @natchayaphorn​ @kimnamnu@thatrandomidiot182

[theaceofflamesposts]

Monkey D. Luffy - 6. "Piggy back ride?"

For: Shelby

Less romance/sweet fluff and more just goofy friendship.

Jungle. Jungle. Jungle. Everywhere you look, more freaking jungle.

You’re hot, you’re sticky and you’re tired. Everyone seems kind of done – except maybe Zoro who seems to still be treating this like some kind of training, and naturally, Luffy. Luffy is bouncing along, excitedly pointing out bugs and admittedly chattering cutely with Robin who is all too happy to talk about every bug the rubber man is pointing out.

“Say, Luffy…” You murmur, squashing down a yawn, “What about a piggy back ride?” 

Instantly his eyes light up, and you have a split second to regret that you weren’t more specific before Luffy leaps onto your back. You trip over your own feet with a yelp and fall, immediately beginning to roll down the hill. 

“Luffy!” You hear Nami yell in exasperation.

“Oh dear.” Robin says with thinly veiled amusement. You don’t hold it against her, because a moment later, hands sprout out of the ground and grab hold of you to stop you from rolling any further. 

You’re laying face down and Luffy is still on your back, wrapped around you. He’s giggling like the crazy rubber man he is, while you sigh and blow some leaves away from your face.

“This wasn’t exactly what I meant, Luffy.” You mumble, and he laughs again.

“It was fun though, right?” He asks, making you groan. 

“If I say yes, can I have the piggy back ride next time?”

His arms unwrap from you, still laughing brightly as he hauls you back up to your feet and then turns around to allow you to jump onto his back. You sigh with relief, just as Usopp asks with complaint in his tone why you get a ride.

Naturally, he changes his mind when Luffy begins to run full tilt down the hill and all they hear is your scream on the wind.

When he finally reaches the ship, you’re clinging to him so tightly that your fingers are making indents in his rubbery skin. Anyone else would have complained but Luffy doesn’t even seem to notice that you have an absolute death grip on him.

Or maybe he does, since for once he doesn’t just fling you both up on deck but climbs the rope ladder instead. Then he starts stretching himself to turn in your hold and you release your death grip to just your arms looped around him and put your feet down on the deck. Luffy beams at you and wraps his arms around you for a squeezy hug before looking around.

“Hey, where’s everyone else?”

[undermounts]

bite the hand - chapter 1: slow knife

pairing: Astarion/The Dark Urge

summary: Astarion helps her hide the body. Romance ensues.

“Power,” Irileth says softly, and she is surprised by the silkenness of her own voice. It sounds like it comes from another person, another life. “Is that all you like about me?”

Astarion’s laugh is a sultry and wicked thing. “Darling,” he croons, and with his free hand, he reaches out to twirl a lock of her white hair around his slender finger. “There are a great many things I like about you.”

Ah. She wonders just how much he would like it if she told him what a pretty corpse he would make.

check it out on AO3

It seemed fitting that Irileth should return to the world surrounded by violence and smoke. Her rebirth went much like she assumes it had before: with her kicking, screaming, and covered in blood.

The nautiloid, the mind flayers, the cambions—all of it felt like a too-vivid nightmare. When Irileth first surged back into consciousness, sodden on the shore of the ravaged beach, she’d nearly mistaken her time aboard the illithid ship for a vicious hallucination.

But sure enough, the wreckage is there, spread out on the beach below her, a heaping mass of smoke and cinder. The rubbery material that made up the entire structure of the ship juts out in jagged ends. It is the vivid purple of a fresh and perfect bruise, but as Irileth stares down at the ship, a different memory comes to mind: glossy white peaking through shimmering red, like a pearl embedded in sumptuous, briny flesh. Cartilage.

The nautiloid is a beast, some organic monstrosity, that carried her, screeching through the Hells. It has been two days since the crash, and still, it moves below, massive tentacles twitching in the shallow sea. Irileth will be glad when it’s finally dead, if such things can die, although it fills her with an almost glib satisfaction to see it slowly burn. 

Perhaps death can take its time.

Irileth reflects on the chaos, the catastrophic event that marked the beginning of her new, wretched life. Somewhere below is the pod that held her captive—for how long, even now she cannot say. When she roused to wakefulness sometime after the tadpole insertion, she threw herself against the pod door until it gave way and, all flailing limbs and atrophied muscles, she struck the floor of the nautiloid with a pathetic thud. 

The scent she remembers well: the acrid tang of smoke in her throat, the sulfur-stink of burnt hair filling her nose. The memory alone nearly makes her gag, the sense of revulsion at odds with the almost pleasurable shiver that runs down her spine.

How her head had pounded! Blood loud in her ears, it drowned out the din of a nautiloid under siege. In it, she heard the only scrap of self that remained in this strange, empty body.

Irileth. My name is Irileth.

By comparison, camp tonight is quiet, although not quite at peace. They are camped in the mouth of the overgrown ruins they cleared out that afternoon, not far from the Druid’s Grove they plan to enter come morning. Nearby, Gale broods by the fire, studying the scrolls he found in an ancient study in the depths of the temple below. Shadowheart has retreated to the furthest corner of the pavilion, her makeshift tent conveniently planted on the exact opposite side of the site from Lae’zel, who is silently polishing her armor with a near religious zeal.

And Astarion—well, Irileth tries not to look at him too much.

She can sense him though. The tadpole has made them all too aware of each other’s presence these past few days. Irileth knows the elf is sprawled out by the fire on the only decent bedroll they’d managed to recover today. And of course, he’s reading—of all things—one of the books they’d found in Withers’ chamber. 

As if this were some sort of vacation, not an abduction. Absurd.

Although, he hasn’t turned a page in quite some time. Either it’s dense reading, or, Irileth has the uncanny feeling that he is watching her too.

Astarion is clever. And obviously, a performer. From the very start, he tried to deceive her, claiming he had “one of those brain things” cornered, before pointing a dagger at her throat. Yes, clever indeed. Nevermind the fact that she’s fairly certain her own blade would have found his sternum first.

Irileth holds one of her daggers now as she thinks, cradling it with one hand while its point presses into a fingertip of the other, the pressure just shy of breaking skin. 

She quickly discovered that she is remarkably skilled with a blade. It was an easy thing, to sever the wings of an imp, to sink the blade into the gelatinous bodies of the intellect devourers that scuttled among the wreckage. Pale pink cerebrums quivering, the foul little beasts died shrieking—one, two, three, went the simple beat. What her mind forgets, the body remembers.

Even Shadowheart seemed impressed.

“You fight well,” the cleric had said approvingly, tossing her head back, black braid swaying like a pendulum. She held herself with pride, chin tilted up, and motes of golden light still fluttered around her fingertips. Behind her, ribbons of smoke curled up from the lumpy body of a charred devourer. “Perhaps our survival isn’t such a distant prospect.”

But the intellect devourers were one thing. The bodies in the temple behind her… Irileth shivers in remembrance of the way they fell beneath her blade, how each little death spurred her on, left her craving more.

Where did she garner such an affinity for weapons? (For death?) Any will do, but daggers, she thinks now, must have always been her favorite. Why else do her senses jump to attention with such fervor? The weight of them are familiar in her hands and Irileth feels that this knowledge is intimate: the sting of a slice, the pressure under which skin will give, part, and burst.

When she reaches out for the how and why she knows these things, there is only blankness. A void where the whole of her used to be. It makes her shudder with apprehension when she thinks of how little she knows of herself.

A breeze flutters up the cliff face where Irileth stands vigil, bringing with it the still glowing embers of the wreck. From this distance, the stench of the illithid ship is nearly diminished, mostly smothered by the freshwater earthiness of the River Chionthar and the surrounding flora.

“It won’t be long now,” a voice croons to Irileth’s right and she startles, suppressing the urge to glare at Astarion as he sidles up beside her, his gaze fixed on the wreckage. 

“For it to die, I mean,” he adds, glancing sidelong at her. “That’s what you’re waiting for, isn’t it?”

Quiet, too, Irileth thinks with an almost bitter admiration, adding onto the list of things she needs to be wary of around him. When he wants to be, at least.

There’s a certain curl to his lips, just visible in some turns of the firelight, and she knows he enjoys having the jump on her.

“Do you think it can?�� she asks, lifting a brow. “I’ve been wondering.”

“All things do,” Astarion replies lightly. “Or at least that is my hope.”

“I think I’ll rest easier when it does,” Irileth admits carefully, well aware of how his crimson eyes, just a shade darker than her own, seem to pierce right through her. As much as he likes to feign indifference toward her and the others, Astarion is searching for something, always. Information, perhaps, to use or to be wary of.

“I agree with you wholeheartedly on that front, my dear.” He sounds almost somber, Irileth thinks, as his attention lingers on her for a moment more. But then Astarion shifts back to the nautiloid, where his edge whets once more. “But I certainly won’t mind if it suffers a little while longer.” 

It unnerves Irileth, how open Astarion is with his casual displays of cruelty and violence. It feels perverse, like he is, albeit unknowingly, making a mockery of the restraint she so desperately clings to. Just last night, he’d asked her how she’d like to be killed, should ceremorphosis finally take place. 

Knives, poison, strangulation—whatever you’d prefer.

She’d nearly laughed at his question, ruled by her giddy madness. As if she could really pick just one.

But in some part, Irilieth is relieved and grateful to know that this well of violence she seems to carry within her is not so singular. How odd, the things that bring people together.

“Then we are in agreement on that as well,” she confesses and Astarion barks out a laugh. His laugh is harsh and startling, and it might just be the realest thing about him so far.

“You know, you’re quite fun when you want to be.” He hums, amused, and returns her stare with a look of appraisal. “That is, when you aren’t playing the hero, I mean. Watching you fuss over our friends is so sweet, it’s sickening.”

“I try,” Irileth replies dryly and Astarion’s mouth curves in amusement as he steps forward, pressing into her space. Stubbornly, Irileth forces herself to stay put, which only seems to add to his interest. She is starting to understand his game—how he likes to pick her brain, make her react to him. Like he’s testing how far he can push.

“I mean it. It was a spectacle, darling,” Astarion continues, his voice dropping to a near-conspiratorial purr. The tone of it sends a sweet trill through Irileth’s bones. “Watching you dispatch those bandits today with such a flourish! It really makes me wonder who exactly you were before all of this.”

The laugh Irileth releases is rueful. 

“You and me both,” she mutters and Astarion rewards her with one of his coy little smiles. (How many men and women have fawned over that smile? He offers it like a gift, like a treat, like a trap. She wants to take it.)

“You must admit, it’s a fascinating little mystery,” Astarion drawls, tilting his head as his eyes roam over her. “Very intriguing, your memory loss. Perhaps you were a bard? No. A thief? An assassin? Hm, yes, that would track.”

Irileth’s stomach twists at that and she fixes him with a look. “You’re teasing.”

“I am,” he admits, white teeth shining in the firelight. His smirk is in full bloom now, and those red eyes, so magnetic, narrow. “It’s too much fun with you. But I might be right. You’re quite the punisher, after all.”

Irileth’s mouth dries, even as her grip on the dagger firms and the tip presses harder into the pad of her forefinger. Any more force and it will burst skin. “It was just battle, Astarion. They would have killed us if we didn’t fight back. Nothing more.”

Astarion grins like they both know she’s lying.

“Of course, darling, of course. It all worked out in the end. We got into the temple and picked up our very own magical skeleton as well,” he says flippantly, brandishing his book through the air toward Withers. His expression turns sly as he thumbs his chin innocently. “But there’s nothing wrong with a bit of pain for those who deserve it.”

A shudder passes through Irileth, and the sensation is not entirely unpleasant. She wants to agree, wholeheartedly. It almost feels as if her very marrow calls for it.

But Irileth reins in the impulse. There is a feeling in her gut that makes her hesitate. Perhaps it is the phrasing she takes issue with, or the intent, but she is… conflicted. That familiar headache is starting again, a throbbing at the base of her neck that sparks through her temples.

“And who,” she asks, rolling the hilt of her dagger in one slow circle, “decides who deserves it?”

She has surprised him with this question. Astarion’s brows lift and his eyes dart across her face, searching. He has the same look about him, Irileth thinks, when he’s scouting an area and checking for traps. 

(What a cautious life one must lead, to be constantly anticipating that which would hurt you.)

“You really are asking, aren’t you?” Astarion huffs, drawing back. “It is up to the powerful, my sweet,” he answers as if it is obvious. “He who holds the cards decides how they are dealt. Today, that was you.”

A thrill runs through Irileth at that, one she quickly tries to tamp down.

“Don’t look so scandalized,” Astarion tuts and he grazes the back of his hand down her arm. His fingers are cold and dry. 

Like death, Irileth thinks, suppressing the urge to shiver in delight.  

“I quite like a bit of power,” he says softly, and gods above, he is laying it on thick tonight, this seduction. “It’s… alluring, especially on you.”

Hells. Astarion truly is quite a vision, even when he’s looking at her like she’s something to be toyed with. Perhaps especially then. 

Irileth is overcome with the sudden desire to smile back at him. It’s adorable, she thinks, brazenly, madly—the notion that he could pose a real threat to her (Hah!). Astarion could never truly harm her, but maybe… Irileth’s blood burns hot. Oh, maybe he might bite back.

Wretched thing , Irileth admonishes herself, for that idea should not appeal to her so. But she has lost the run of herself, now. Emboldened and a little incensed, Irileth finds that she wants to indulge him in his little game.

“Power,” Irileth says softly, and she is surprised by the silkenness of her own voice. It sounds like it comes from another person, another life. “Is that all you like about me?”

Astarion’s laugh is a sultry and wicked thing. “Darling,” he croons, and with his free hand, he reaches out to twirl a lock of her white hair around his slender finger. “There are a great many things I like about you.”

Ah. She wonders just how much he would like it if she told him what a pretty corpse he would make.

Irileth jerks away, her heartbeat suddenly thunderous in her ears as her hair snags around Astarion’s finger, then gives and uncoils. Revulsion and shame roll through her at such a depraved thought— where had it come from? (Inside, inside!)

Hastily, she shoves her dagger into her waistband, struck with the irrational fear that her own hands might act on their own accord. Something stings, badly, though she’s not sure what it is, nor does she care.

“Are you alright, dear?” Astarion’s voice is still a sugary drawl, but there is alarm, no doubt on his face. Irileth can tell he is suspicious of her behavior; his gaze was magnetic before, but now it pierces, as if he’s found a gap in her defenses and plans to twist the knife in. “You’ve gone rather pale.”

“I’m fine,” Irileth says hastily, taking an unsteady step back as she feels her head pulse and a cold sweat break out across her skin. “I’m just—tired. I think I need to rest.”

“Yes, of course you are. It’s been a long day,” Astarion replies mildly, although there is a sudden rigidity about him as he looks her over. He swallows, flickering shadows contorting across the long pale column of his neck. “You go rest, I’ll keep watch tonight.”

Irileth nods gratefully, desperate to get away from him, to put space in between him and her depravity.

Though she doesn’t get far. With a sharp yank, Astarion pulls her to a halt. Those crafty fingers—the same that delicately twisted her hair only moments ago—are now wrapped around her wrist like a vise. Irileth is surprised to find that it hurts.

Then gently, as if to make up for startling her, Astarion lifts her hand up between them.

Her finger, the same one she’d held against her dagger’s point, is a bloody mess. Crimson slides down the length of her forearm and drips off the end of her elbow. The droplets strike the earth with a soft pat, pat, pat.

“I think,” Astarion says slowly, his voice thick as he stares steadily at her face, unwavering, “you should get that patched up.”

And then he releases her. 

Irileth merely nods, thinking nothing of the ache she feels in her wrist, or how her wicked heart races at the sight of blood, even her own. She stumbles toward Shadowheart and thinks nothing of the way Astarion’s pupils have dilated, nearly dwarfing the red of his irises, until much later, in the dead of another night.

Shadowheart is not amused.

“You should reserve your knifeplay for the battlefield,” the cleric chastises with a disappointed sneer. “Next time, I might not be so gracious.”

Irileth sits quietly, watching as Shadowheart drags a wet rag across her forearm and all around her hand, wiping away the blood that spilled from her newly healed finger. The remnants of Shadowheart’s magic still linger, a pleasant coolness that has washed over Irileth, soothing all of the aches she’s collected throughout the day, save for the incessant beating against her skull. 

It feels… familiar almost. Like she’s been in this position before, pliant beneath a healer’s hand. But when Irileth reaches out to grasp it, the memory slips away.

“I’m sorry,” Irileth mumbles, curling and straightening her finger. “My hand slipped. I’ll take care of it next time.”

“Will you now?” Shadowheart scoffs, affronted, as her grip on Irileth’s arm tightens. “And do you know how to stitch a wound?”

Irileth bites the inside of her cheek and thinks that she just might. She doesn’t say this though, simply shrugs.

“Just as I thought,” Shadowheart huffs, shaking her head. “‘Next time’… Spare me.”

But despite her chuffing, Shadowheart’s hold eases and her last few strokes of the rag are nearly gentle. She likes this, Irileth realizes. Not just being the healer, but taking care of people.

Not that she would ever tell Shadowheart that.

Irileth gnaws on her cheek a little while longer, feeling the flesh turn raw and metallic before she asks, tentatively, “What do you think I was? Before all of this?”

Shadowheart’s green eyes flick up to meet her. Usually so guarded and flinty, they search Irileth’s face, slowly scrutinizing, and come away with something akin to… pity. She sighs and sits back on her knees, laying the rag in her lap. 

“It still bothers you, your memory loss. Well,” Shadowheart sighs, moving her gaze over the campsite in a long drag. “I suppose I understand that. Though it’s not as uncommon as you think.”

Irileth raises her brows, but the cleric doesn’t elaborate. 

“I don’t quite know who you were,” Shadowheart admits after a few moments have gone by. She plucks at the rag as she considers, the perfect white crescents of her nails pulling reddish brown threads free. “You remind me of—” 

Her voice breaks off suddenly, and Shadowheart’s expression turns stricken with alarm, then confusion. 

Irileth frowns. “Shadowheart?”

The cleric blinks, then shakes her head, pursing her lips. “I’m—sorry. I thought you reminded me of someone, but the name escapes me.” Her smile is tense and bitter. “You might take comfort in knowing that you are not the only one who is missing memories. Though, before you start to wonder: our afflictions are not the same. Mine was… voluntary. For my mission. I can say no more than that.”

“That sounds…extreme,” Irileth observes. It seems unfathomable, to choose the endless void that sits at the center of her. The yawning emptiness of self.

“It is.” A certain steeliness returns to Shadowheart. “It is not a sacrifice undertaken lightly for—for my Lady.”

Irileth, unsurprisingly, does not know much about the gods that govern Faerûn beyond what she has recovered from one of the books they found in Withers’ tomb. Right now, all she has is guesswork regarding which altar Shadowheart worships at.

“The gods seem to demand a lot,” Irileth muses and Shadowheart laughs, a soft little sound that dies quickly in the air.

“You’ve no idea,” Shadowheart replies with a surprising weariness. Then she straightens up, eyes narrowing, and tosses the rag aside. “But back to your original question. There’s something about you that I recognized. When you killed that mind flayer in the wreckage.”

Irileth remembers the event well, the creature pinned beneath the rubble, purple flesh shining. Glittering orange pearls of malice. They’d found it on the first day, she, Shadowheart, and Astarion.

“It was going to die anyway,” the cleric continues, and although her hands twist about, fingers running over the plaits of her hair, her gaze is steady. “But you still killed it. You were so… gentle. Like a lover.”

Irileth swallows, dread unspooling in her stomach even as her heart thumps with glee.

“You cradled its head as you pushed your knife through its skull.” Shadowheart’s voice was flat and almost ponderous, but here, it inflects with unease, “You were slow about it. You needn’t have been.”

Irileth’s mouth feels dry. She hadn’t realized it looked quite like that. She remembers only that she’d wanted it to suffer, for what it had done, for what it tried to do to her.

It tried to command her to love it.

“It captured us. It wanted to control us,” Irileth replies, defensive.

“Yes. And I am glad it’s dead.” Shadowheart is unwavering. “And still, you were unnecessary.”

“What did it remind you of?” she asks, nails biting into her knees as she presses her hands into the tops of her thighs to hide how they shake. “You said you recognized something.”

“Yes.” Shadowheart frowns. Looks away. “You reminded me of myself. When I pray.”

Oh.

Irileth pushes herself to her feet. That is… She doesn’t know what it is. She doesn’t know what it means, but whatever it is, she doesn’t like it.

“Thank you,” she says, and if she sounds a little winded, Shadowheart doesn’t comment on it. “For the healing.”

Shadowheart merely nods. “Just don’t expect me to heal you every time you prick your finger. Next time, try asking Astarion to stitch you up. He seems to know how to use a needle.”

Irileth huffs out a breath that she thinks might be a laugh. She remembers the squawk Astarion let out when his clothes snagged on a bramble, how he mended them the moment they set up camp last night. 

So careful with himself and his things, Astarion is. Like he has lost both before.

“Speaking of,” Shadowheart adds before Irileth turns away. Her voice drops, just loud enough to pass between the two of them. “You should be careful around Astarion. I saw the two of you, standing by the cliffside. Don’t be fooled by his pretty looks.”

“You don’t trust him?”

“I don’t trust anyone,” Shadowheart corrects, as if this is an important distinction. “But especially not him. He wants something. I just haven’t figured out what.”

Astarion has returned to his spot by the fire, his book spread out in his lap. Irileth watches as he slowly moves the page with a perfect, practiced grace—a performer through and through—and thinks that Shadowheart might be right.

The next morning, the nautiloid dies.

Once more, Irileth watches from the cliffside as the massive tentacles undergo their final death twitches, then fall still amongst the waves. Behind her, the rest of her companions pack up their tents. Today, they will enter the Grove to finally find a healer and hopefully get their cure.

Last night’s sleep found Irileth in fits and starts. No dreams, thankfully, just red smoke and metal. Her perpetual headache has subsided, or she has grown to tolerate it, and it has resolved itself to a dull pulse at the base of her cranium. Overall, she feels… better. More in control of herself. She just prays that her clarity of mind will persist.

It has to, Irileth vows to herself. It will. There will be no repeat of what happened last night. She can master her perversions. If her companions knew what rot festers in her jellied brain, they would surely cast her out.

 “Hm. Pity.” Astarion appears by her side once more, the scent of bergamot fresh in the air. There is a whine in his voice as he hums in displeasure. 

Speak of the devil. Irileth raises her brow at his dramatics and Astarion glances at her out of the corner of his eye, putting his palm to his cheek as his bottom lip juts out in a perfect pout.

He sighs with all of the grandiosity that only he can master. “I just hope it hurt.”

Then he walks off, swaggering and elegant. Irileth’s eyes catch on the back of his doublet as he goes, where a row of fine stitches crawl up the hem, just along his ribs.

Irileth presses her thumb into the pad of the forefinger she pierced last night. She won’t hurt him—she can’t. Nor any of her other companions. They are her only chance of survival; there will be no tadpole cure without their help.

But anyone else—their enemies? Irileth glances back at the ruined mind flayer ship one final time before grabbing her pack and checking the daggers hilted at her hips. 

For them, she can make no promises.

[the-insouciant-scientist]

Character Sheet - Harper

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Name + Title: Harper Faraday, the Insouciant Scientist

Pronouns: They/Them

Referred to as: Professor

Profession: Silverer (Ontological Cartographer), Scientist (focus on chemistry, but does a bit of everything)

Closest to: Rubberies

Ambition: Bag a Legend (completed, A Vast Network ending)

Associated stats: Watchful, Persuasive, Artisan of the Red Science

Associated quirks: Steadfast, Austere, Melancholy

Sign of the Chiropteromantic Zodiac: The Lovers

Destiny: The Memory

-------

They say...

"Is that a weasel in their labcoat, or are they just... Oh! It is a weasel! Actually a few weasels. Wait, why are they all looking at me like--"

-------

Backstory:

(warning for vague mentions of both child abuse and neglect, and forced partnership/marriage, also sorry this is a wordy one but I promise it's for a reason lmao)

Isabelle Evans (she/they) was born in 1874 to a lower upper-class family in Norwich, England. She was beloved for what she represented, but not for who she was.

Bear with me, here. I promise this will make sense.

Isabelle's childhood was a lonely one, spent mostly learning how to grow up into a proper lady and trying to avoid her parents' ire. Her education did include reading and writing, to her endless delight, but the majority of it was the usual: embroidery, sewing, violin lessons, how to cook. Not skills she was upset to have, mind you, but what they represented was... less than ideal. The idea of becoming someone's wife one day was horrific to her at absolute best.

Her parents seemingly couldn't strike a balance between harshness and grace in their parenting, and it left her often feeling like she was walking across a glass pane so thin that she could fall through at any moment. She made up imaginary friends for herself to cope with it all, kids her age who liked to talk with her, who were good at the things she struggled with (so they could help when she failed), who understood that her parents weren't just the proud and friendly society folk they presented as to others. Imaginary friends who could hug her tight as she nursed skinned knees and bruises, who could hold her hand when she was scared.

She was eight when she was talking to her parents, trying to understand why they were upset with her, when she realized she didn't feel like she was the one talking. Like words were just flowing forth unbidden. If someone had asked her what her name was, right in that moment, she would have said Eleanor, but would not have been able to say why. The conversation ended with her mother hugging her, a rarity between them, and it had... resolved peacefully? She could hardly believe it.

Thereafter, Isabelle noticed things like that a bit more often. In tense moments, feeling like she was her imaginary friends, or maybe they were her. Perhaps that should have frightened her, but mostly she just felt loved, that she had people on her side for once. The odd forgotten day or misplaced needle case was such a small price to pay for their companionship. And from the outside, it only seemed like she had become more confident, more polite, more ladylike. A bit more forgetful, perhaps, but nothing out of the ordinary.

Isabelle found a small passion in botany and flower cultivation in her teens, and made a few friends as well. Her parents loosened their grip on her a bit as they saw how well she was taking to the life they made for her, and she absolutely took advantage of that. It wasn't an unusual sight to see her racing down the street with a friend's hand in hers, off on some adventure or another. Her imaginary friends quieted, less needed, but were never far when she called.

Things became more tense again as she grew into a young adult, though. Isabelle's parents were keen to marry her off while she was still young and pretty, hopefully to someone with money and power. Isabelle (who by today's standards would be considered a sex and romance averse aroace) was... not keen on that. She scared quite a few suitors off over the years by any means necessary, hatpin stabbings included.

At the age of 24 she was set up with one of her friends from her teenage years, her parents reasoning that she'd have a harder time frightening him off. And so Theodore ________ set to wooing her. She tried to shake him off like she had the others, but to no avail. He was absolutely set on making Isabelle his bride. Even went so far as to ask her parents for her hand in marriage, which they accepted immediately.

And so, with the death sentence of her own wedding hanging over her head, she drove herself half-mad looking for some escape. It was only when she heard gossip outside her window about some strange and wondrous cavern below the earth, where London had fallen to before she was even born, that the gears really began to turn. They only picked up speed when she heard of a card game that, when won, would grant a wish.

She could wish to disappear. Or be free, forever. Or whatever she wanted.

And so the Sentimental Spinster hatched a plan to find a way down there. Some petty crime that would land her in New Newgate, and then she could descend from there. But something went very, very wrong along the way. Maybe if you asked her, she could tell you what, but...

A person woke up in a cell in the very beginning of the first 1899, with no memory of how they got there, and in a body they didn't recognize. They quickly gained the name Harper from their inability to stop rambling. The surname Faraday came later, a name from a newspaper to fill the blank space at the end of theirs.

They made their escape as so many others do, and so Harper Faraday came to the Neath, full of curiosity and an insatiable desire to learn anything and everything they could.

The card game lay entirely forgotten in some shadowed corner of their mind, no longer a driving force or ambition.

There were simply so many other things to do.

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In-game storyline (not entirely in order) -

Harper took to detective work almost immediately upon arriving in the Neath, which eventually lead them down the path to the Correspondence, and the University. Their dedication to the truth got them kicked out (in what was honestly one of the worst days of their life that they were aware of) but they made it back eventually, even more determined to bring truth and knowledge to light. And set things on fire with the Correspondence, literally and figuratively.

Originally went after the Vake not as a hunter would, but as a cryptozoologist would. The idea of a batlike monster stalking the night, the likes of which no one had ever seen before? That sounded like an incredible research opportunity to them. By the time their internal compass went from "neutralize and study" to "end its reign of terror and kill it", it was... no longer quite them doing so. The Stubborn Vake-Hunter (it/he) was a self that formed out of necessity. Its sense of duty and single-mindedness was the main reason they saw it through in its entirety, untempted by the knowledge the Vake could give them.

They met Elias Leroux (@the-dye-stained-socialite) in 1899 (the first one) a little over half a year into their time in the Neath, in a bit of an incident at the University. Harper had been running full tilt back to their lab with a flask of colorful but deeply caustic chemicals, and tripped and spilled it over Elias's skirts as they had been wheeling in the opposite direction. They whisked Elias back to their lab to neutralize the spill before it could burn them, but Elias insisted that they try to set the color as a dye because they were so enamored with it. The two of them ended up spending the rest of that day doing nothing but experimenting with dyes and chemicals, and marked the start of a fast friendship. Over the years friendship turned to something more, though, and they were married at the Bazaar on May 3rd, 1899 (1901).

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Trivia -

They currently have about 440 weasels, including a salt weasel, a weasel of woe, many weasels of social discomfiture, some araby fighting weasels, and enough lucky weasels to overrun a city. Their favorite is a little cream colored lucky weasel with brown splotches on it, named Florence. It likes to curl up in tight spaces, like in their waistcoat, or in weasel-sized Florence flasks. Hence the name. Harper usually has 3-7 weasels on them at any given time.

Very allergic to grass and did not know this until their first Fruits of the Zee. It's not as if there's much grass in the Neath, it wasn't super relevant before then!

The Chorister's Bomb affected them Really Weirdly as a dissociative system. They and their alters are a bit more distinct from each other since then, although their dissociation is still such that they don't actually know that they're a system. They definitely don't have the words for it. Also I never intended them initially to be a parallel to Veils's different identities and selves, but it really did line up pretty much perfectly.

On the topic of their alters, they have an alter who's a Fingerking. No one knows if it's an introject or just a really confused actual Fingerking who tried to possess them and mostly failed. It's a mystery!

They make tea blends as a hobby, based heavily in flavor chemistry and Neathy history. Their current project is a series of blends based on the previous Fallen Cities.

Harper has a tendency to refer to everything scientifically, frequently using the words 'experiment', 'procedure', and 'formula' in place of more common words.

They're very friendly with The Manager of the Royal Beth, albeit also absolutely terrified of him. For good reason, I mean. They trust him implicitly to be a safe haven if they have to escape from Veils or anything else, but they are Fully aware that his help will come with a cost.

People tend to completely overlook them when they're next to Elias, which is absolutely fine by them given their wallflower tendencies. It's hilarious though when someone accuses them of faking knowing Elias for clout at Their Wedding... which is also their wedding... that they are marrying them at. Which is a thing that happened to them. Most Bohemians and Society folk view them as Elias's freaky little pet scientist, assuming they know of them at all.

Of the bats, they're probably closest to Wines nowadays (post Vake killing) by default. They help clean up at its revels sometimes out of guilt for what they've done. It doesn't care all that much, probably, but sure as hell isn't going to tell them to stop working for free.

They don't like alcohol. Black Wings Absinthe is the only thing they'll partake in, and that's only out of necessity. Was once possessed by Jack-of-Smiles. This surely has not traumatized them :-) (<- lying)