#so i can't write much longer

[your-god-empress-lavender]

Brief update:

One of the RAs on my floor has completely prohibited me from doing more experiments in the dorm. I'm going to try to find some lab space or something, but it's not seeming like something i'll be able to continue to do. Also, my last few experiments have been absolutely awful in that they don't work at all. Like, i used the same ingredients in the same proportions as in the experiment that worked best, and it showed no reaction to a magnet, all the way up until it fully dissolved itself. The only thing i changed was doing it in a ceramic coated pan. I don't see why that would be an issue, but it presumably is the issue. It may also not be getting hot enough since the whole pan does heat way slower than a much thinner can, but it's not like i can test that now (and the burner got red hot, even with the pan on it, so presumably that's also evidence that it's not the heat).

[nerdallwritey]

Perfect Every Time

Summary: You got up and joined him in the ankle deep water. “Do you want to try right now?” Astarion thought for a moment and clicked his tongue. “I have a better idea, actually.” He gave you a sideways look, his lips quirking up slightly.  “What?” you matched his smile. Rather than answering, Astarion reached for the hem of his shirt and pulled it over his head.  You furrowed your brow. “Looks an awful lot like you’re preparing to swim.” He started fiddling with the clasps on his pants and groaned in your direction. “Swimming is not the only thing one can do while submerged in water, dearest.” He gave you a sensual smile that sent heat to your cheeks.  OR Before your party travels into the Underdark, you and Astarion catch one last sunrise together.

Pairing: Astarion x f!reader Rating: 18+ Word count: 7.2k CW: smut, reader is new to sex, hand job, piv sex, water sex, dirty talk, mentions of Astarion's past trauma, blood drinking, extra mild angst, soft Astarion, porn with feelings, reader is an idiot (and a bard), so is Astarion (not a bard, just an idiot), Illmater's blood-stained rack Spoilers: Minor spoilers for Act 1 (in-game dialogue, plot points, etc.), as well as Astarion's plotline Also posted to: AO3 FAIR WARNING: This is PART 4 in my series, "Beauty and the Bard." Find the masterlist here.

a/n: Surprise!! I'm back with a new chapter of Beauty and the Bard! This part is shorter than the other ones (who cheered) because it morphed from a little smut scene into one that deserved its very own part. One million thanks to everyone who's read and enjoyed the series so far, it's so much fun chatting with you guys and hearing your thoughts and it truly means the world that you guys care so much about these goofs. I already have an idea for Part 5, so that will be coming soon, but I have a request to fill first! Thank you all for your patience. In the meantime, please enjoy our regularly scheduled silliness with Astarion and bard!tav :) (Thank you once again to @kermitwazowski for beta reading!) As a reminder, the last part was the Tiefling party!

Taglist: @a66-1, @khaleesiofthewolves, @khywren, @lollipopsandlandmines, @mizuki-nautilus - Let me know if you'd like to be added to the taglist for this series!

Several days had passed since the hijinxs of the Tiefling party had taken place. By now, the former refugees of the Emerald Grove were well on their way to Baldur’s Gate, the looming threat of goblins and power hungry druids far from their minds, their thoughts instead replaced with hope for new beginnings in the city. 

Just like he’d promised, Halsin had returned the next day to discuss the parasites, officially joining your party of misfits on your journey towards the Shadow Cursed Lands and Moonrise Towers. His calming presence and sage advice was a welcome addition to the group, especially given that this leadership role had been thrust upon you by the others with next to no discussion. Having Halsin around finally felt like there was a responsible adult among you. Not that you all weren’t adults, but you definitely had your… quirks. Sure, Halsin turned into a bear if he let his emotions go unchecked, but Gale was a bomb. 

As for you and Astarion, not much had really changed, you were both still yourselves, but now you openly tortured your companions with more pet names and cheek kisses and obnoxiously loud banter. Lae’zel had threatened to cleave you both in half on multiple occasions, but had yet to follow through on that threat. The others would groan loudly or avert their eyes politely.

Your days with Astarion were spent fighting side-by-side and teasing one another, and your nights were spent chatting and reading together. Aside from the physical intimacy and emotional vulnerability that came with being in a new relationship, it was really as if nothing had changed. And those were small prices to pay for where you currently found yourself: wrapped together with a trancing Astarion.

Ever since the Tiefling party, Astarion would worm his way into your tent at night. Whether he asked permission, or stayed a little too late into the night reading or talking or drinking from you; you would never ask him to leave. You’d slept together every night, sometimes beside each other, and other nights wrapped in each others’ arms. You were allowing Astarion to set the pace, as you were in no rush to get anywhere in particular. You simply enjoyed his company and his magnetic presence. 

The pair of you hadn’t been too intimate since the party, barring stolen and sometimes steamy kisses. That was plenty for you, and Astarion continued checking in to see if you were okay with his touches and advances. Whenever you assured him that you were, he’d smile and return to your lips. You never asked him for more than he was willing to give, and even though you knew he wouldn’t say anything about it, you could tell he appreciated the courtesy despite the smug mask he so often wore.

Now, you found yourself stroking your hands through his hair as he tranced on your bare chest, breathing quietly; a habit he told you he’d picked up to look more alive when prowling the Gate. 

It was funny, honestly, how sweet and unassuming he looked when he wasn’t fully conscious. And yet, you knew the kind of violence and debauchery and bad jokes he enacted and adored when he was awake. A small sound escaped his lips and you paused in caressing his hair to make sure you weren’t waking him. When his breathing returned to normal, you resumed raking your fingers soothingly over his scalp. 

The hour was a little before dawn. Truthfully, you hadn’t gotten much sleep last night, knowing that today was the day your party would pack up camp and make your way into the Underdark for the foreseeable future. You’d re-emerge eventually to find the crèche Lae’zel knew to be nearby, but the Underdark was worth investigating for the sake of further answers about the tadpoles and a possible alternate route into the Shadow Cursed Lands. Plus, Shadowheart was adamant about seeing the rumored temple to Shar hidden down there.

All that to say, you and your companions wouldn’t be seeing the sun for quite a while. The thought saddened you immensely, knowing how much the man trancing on you would miss it terribly. How cruel, you thought, that your adventure was leading Astarion back into the shadows after he’d just gotten a taste of the sun for the first time in centuries. 

“Why are you awake, my darling?” came Astarion’s raspy voice from the dark. He shifted his head to look up at you, his grip around your midsection tightening a bit, his eyes heavy with grogginess.

“Couldn’t sleep,” you admitted. “You should get a little more if you can.”

Astarion chuckled. “Too busy thinking about me to sleep? I wouldn’t blame you.”

You sighed. “And if I was?”

Astarion’s face fell a little. “Why the hells would you allow yourself to lose sleep on my behalf, pet?” His voice was soft and one of his hands unwrapped itself from your body, taking your hand, and bringing it up to his mouth to kiss the back of your fingers. He cleared his throat. “I mean, obviously I can understand why,” he tried deflecting the sweetness that had seeped into his words by injecting his tone with fake bravado.

You let out an amused breath and allowed your hand in his hair to continue petting him gently. “I want to watch the sunrise with you again this morning.”

Astarion hummed. “And that kept you awake?”

“I didn’t want to oversleep.”

Now it was Astarion’s turn to let out an amused breath. “You could have asked. I would have woken you up.”

“No you wouldn’t, you keep letting me sleep in. It’s like you enjoy watching me sleep or something, you creep.” You poked his nose playfully.

“It’s just amazing how much drool someone of your stature can produce.”

You smacked the side of his head and he laughed softly. The two of you sat in comfortable silence for a little while before you decided to speak again.

“This will be the last sunrise we see for a while.”

Astarion let out a long sigh and remained silent. After a moment, he said, “I know.” 

He sounded sad. 

“It’s not forever, though,” you assured, moving your hand to stroke his cheek and regaining his attention.

He chuckled. “I know that, too.”

You yawned, a little more loudly than you meant to. “Good. I promise you’ll see the sun again.”

Astarion tsked. “Honestly, darling, did you get no sleep at all?”

“I got a little,” you lied.

He held your gaze, lifting a skeptical eyebrow. “I don’t believe you.”

“What does it matter?” you asked, caught. “I can handle a little lack of sleep.”

Astarion rolled his eyes and sat up to look at you more directly. “It matters because we need you alert. None of us knows what awaits us in the Underdark and I- we can’t have you getting hurt because you didn’t get enough rest!”

“I’ll be fine,” you assured, bending upwards to kiss the corner of his mouth. “Besides, I’ll have you to protect me when I get sloppy.”

Astarion groaned. “You shouldn’t get sloppy,” he complained. “I swear, if you somehow hold us back down there, I’ll slaughter you myself.”

“Promise?”

He groaned again. “Would you, just once, allow me to threaten you seriously?”

“No,” you patted his cheek lovingly. 

He sighed and pushed some of his mussed hair out of his face. He took your hands in his. “Just… stay vigilant, alright?”

“Can do,” you said, withholding another obvious yawn.

“I saw that.”

“Saw what?”

He shook his head at you and sat up fully, stretching his arms above his head and giving you a clear view of the scar on his back. You sat up and kissed his bare shoulder.

“I’ll be fine,” you repeated.

“Mhm.” Astarion passed you one of his shirts. “Come on, darling, let’s get a move on.” He tossed on a spare shirt and watched you as you pulled his shirt over your head. 

“There’s still a little time before sunrise,” you said.

Astarion snorted and fixed some of your hair that was sticking up from putting on his shirt. “You could stay here if you want. Drown in your own drool. Up to you.”

You huffed at him, making him laugh again.

“Only joking, my love.”

“Sure,” you said, opening the flaps of your tent and crawling out into the blue that preceded dawn.

You went to stand, but felt Astarion’s cool fingers wrap around your wrist and pull you back. He turned you slightly and caught your lips in a kiss, one that wiped away whatever fake ire you had towards him and replaced it with a dopey grin. 

“What was that for?” you asked when he pulled away.

“Delicious,” he breathed, raising a seductive eyebrow. 

You laughed and grabbed his hand. “Come on.”

You’d only been able to catch two more sunrises with Astarion following the one you watched the morning after you’d slept together for the first time. You’d woken up once on your own after Astarion gently shifted himself away from you, and another time when he woke you up purposely, not wanting to be alone with his thoughts. You’d whine and moan whenever he let you sleep in, despite the fact that it was probably for the best to keep you in tip top shape for fighting and recharging your magic. He’d always find his way back to you, and you knew he needed his own space sometimes, but you still loved to watch him bask in the golden light of the morning and you couldn’t help feeling a little disappointed whenever you felt his gentle hand on your back before opening your eyes and seeing that the sun was already up.

Astarion led you through the forest again, his hand holding yours firmly. You knew your way to the ravine lookout by now, but you liked not having to take the lead for once. He helped you across the little stream that led into the clearing where you first laid together and you felt your cheeks flush at the memory.

“I can hear your heart picking up speed, darling.” He turned to smirk at you. “You’re adorable.”

“Pardon me for still being shy,” you half-joked.

“Mmm,” Astarion hummed. “I’ll pound that out of you eventually.” He furrowed his brow sensually at you and you scoffed.

“Shut up.”

“I, of course, don’t have to-”

You made a whiny sound and he laughed.

“I know, my love,” he said, removing his hand from yours and instead wrapping his arm around you to pull you close. “You’ve been so patient for me,” he nipped at your earlobe. “So good.” 

“I’m in no rush,” you reassured on a shaky exhale. 

Astarion made his own whiny sound and pulled you closer, leading you to the cliff’s edge where he’d opened up to you willingly for the first time, just a few days ago.

He sat, pulling you down with him, far enough away from the edge, where he knew you wouldn’t be nervous of falling. In the distance, the sky was just starting to indicate the sun’s arrival. 

You sighed happily and rested your head on his shoulder. You felt him tense a little. “Is this alright?” 

Instead of answering, he leaned his head on top of yours. 

“What’s something you want to do in the Underdark?” you probed.

Astarion groaned. “You don’t need to make small talk with me, darling, sometimes silence is golden.”

You scrunched your nose, knowing he hated pure silence. “I wasn’t being polite, I genuinely wanted to know.”

He groaned again. “Even worse.”

You laughed lightly and felt him laugh too, his arm gently shaking against your own. 

He thought for a moment before he responded. “That Zhentarim fellow we met mentioned a cache of supplies hidden somewhere down there. That might be fun to pillage.”

You laughed. “I’m surprised you ever stopped thinking about that!”

“Oh I didn’t, but I wanted you to think your little thought experiment had actually evoked some sort of… thought… in me.” He made a face.

“Want to try and rephrase that?”

“Not particularly.”

You hummed fondly, taking one of his hands in your own and examining how your fingers slotted together just so. 

“I suppose you want me to ask you the same question?” Astarion asked, clearly not wanting to ask.

You laughed. “Your interest in my interests always astounds me, Astarion.”

He rubbed his cheek against the top of your head. “Get better interests and I might actually want to pay attention.”

“Rude,” you muttered, a smile on your face. “But since you so desperately want to know, I’ll answer anyway.”

“Oh, goodie.”

You thought about it. There wasn’t actually all that much you knew about the Underdark, aside from the few mentions of it in the books you’d read growing up. One thing did stick out in your mind.

“Singing mushrooms.”

“........What?”

“I read somewhere that apparently there are colonies of sentient mushroom people who communicate through song.”

Astarion pulled his head off of yours to hang it in front of himself instead, groaning loudly. “That sounds like a nightmare.”

“It’s not! It’s fascinating!”

“Sentient mushrooms?”

“Yes.”

“That sing?”

“Yes.”

Astarion shook his head. “Am I still asleep? Do you hear yourself?”

“I’m not making it up!” you exclaimed incredulously. When he didn’t say anything else, you crossed your arms in front of yourself. “We’re going to see the mushrooms.”

“Whatever you say, darling.” He kissed the top of your head almost pityingly. 

“You’re an ass,” you said, pulling away from him and sitting back on your forearms. The sky was turning a faint pinkish orange in the distance. You snickered to yourself. “More like Ass-starion.”

The ass in question scowled. “That will not be one of your pet names for me.”

You shrugged. “I’m surprised no one’s called you that before.”

“I’ve been called far worse.” Astarion tilted his head up pompously, as if nothing you could say would hurt him.

“Okay great, so ‘Ass’ is nothing new.”

He sighed heavily. “It’s like you want me to throw you off the cliff.”

“Go ahead,” you challenged, catching his eye mischievously, knowing his threat was empty. 

Astarion looked at you and then towards the horizon. He inhaled deeply and rose to his feet. 

“What are you doing?” you laughed nervously as he approached the cliff’s edge that gave way into the ravine below. 

He peered over the edge, his brow furrowed in deep thought. 

You shifted uncomfortably and sat up completely straight. “Astarion, please be careful, you’re making me nervous.”

He ignored you and walked along the edge, looking past a batch of trees and into the distance to your right. He nodded and turned back towards where you sat.

“Up you go,” Astarion approached you and gestured his thumb upwards, indicating that he wanted you to stand. When he reached you, he helped you to your feet.

“You’re not actually going to throw me off the cliff, are you?” You kept your tone playful, but the anxiety you were masking was obvious.

Astarion smirked. “Stop annoying me and I won’t have to.”

You rolled your eyes and began to follow him as he started walking to the right, down a slanted slope and into a patch of trees. 

“What’s happening?” you asked when you caught up with him.

Astarion tilted his head. “I just thought an occasion such as this needed a change of scenery.”

“‘Occasion?’” you echoed.

He nodded. “It’s my last day in the sun-” he saw you about to protest and quickly added, “-for a little while. Might as well start the day off right.”

You hummed. “Why do I get the sense that you’re up to something?”

Astarion stopped in his tracks, a hand held to his unbeating heart in mock offense. “Me? Up to something? You’re far too paranoid, darling.”

“Uh huh.” You kept walking, but quickly realized you didn’t actually know where you were going. You looked back at Astarion for help and found him watching you. 

He rolled his eyes affectionately. “This way, dear, it’s not much farther.” He walked past you, deeper into the trees, and kept talking. “Did you know that that ravine we’ve been sitting above gives way into what I can only assume is either the Chianthar or the Sea of Swords?”

“I didn’t,” you said. “Though those are two very different bodies of water.”

“Give me a break, my geography lessons occurred well over 200 years ago. And we’re in the gods damn middle of nowhere, might I remind you.”

“Mhm,” you affirmed with a smile. “Go on.”

“Well, it just so happens that that ravine’s mouth isn’t far from our little sunrise spot.”

“‘Our?’” you teased.

“Focus, darling,” he said. He turned to the left, leading you back towards the cliff’s edge that had continued along the treeline.

“Astarion, please be careful,” you called after him, hesitantly following him towards the sound of rushing water. 

He turned back and held out a steadying hand for you as you approached the edge. Not too far below you were narrow rapids that gradually became calmer. The cliff that had been on the other side of the one you currently found yourself on had disappeared, forming a mouth where the ravine did in fact empty into a much larger, much calmer, body of water.

You wrapped your arms around Astarion’s middle to anchor yourself and leaned forward a little to see where the cliff you were on ended. A little farther down, you squinted to adjust your eyes to the dim lighting, and saw a tiny beach that quickly shot upwards into a new cliff. Rocks surrounded the shore, keeping it slightly out of view, and gentle waves lapped at the sand, far enough away from the rapids of the ravine to remain serene.

You caught Astarion’s eye and pointed towards the small patch of sand in the distance. “Is that where we’re going?”

Astarion pursed his lips. “Yes, that would be much easier than jumping in, wouldn’t it?”

You scoffed. “You expected me to jump in from this high up? There could be rocks we can’t see! And we don’t know how deep it is!”

Astarion sighed. “You’re no fun. Though I suppose you’re right, I hadn’t thought that far ahead.” With your arms still around his middle, he started walking back into the trees and down towards the tiny beach. 

You laughed as he dragged you along. “You can’t possibly be serious. You’d get your hair all wet!”

“Nobody said I was going to jump in with you,” he teased.

“I’m not going in alone,” you narrowed your eyes at him. 

“Pity,” he tutted. “I like it when you’re wet.” He smirked and you shoved yourself away from him. 

You picked up your pace to put distance between the two of you. When you didn’t hear his footsteps gaining on you, you decided to quickly slip behind a tree, hoping you’d lost him and that you’d be able to jump out to scare him as he sauntered past.

Unfortunately, nothing but silence greeted you. After a heartbeat or two, you peered around the trunk of your hiding spot but saw no sign of his sleek frame or shock of white hair. You started to second guess yourself; was it possible he’d passed you already? Or that he stopped, out of sight for some reason? 

“You’ll have to do better than that, darling,” came his voice softly next to your ear.

You yelped and clutched at your heart, which raced with surprise. 

Astarion sighed happily. “I do love the sound of your blood pumping.”

“How do you do that?” you asked, breathing deeply to calm yourself. 

“Years of practice.” He paused. “Centuries, even.”

You conceded with a nod. “I shouldn’t have even tried.”

“No, you shouldn’t have. The effort was hardly there, either.”

“Alright,” you rolled your eyes and continued on through the trees down to the beach.

“I mean honestly, have these weeks on the road with me taught you nothing about stealth?”

“I play music for a living. My job is making noise.”

“And I don’t know why I even try at this point.” He raised his eyebrows playfully.

“You like my noise,” you said, sing-songingly. 

“You’re loud, I’ll give you that.”

It was then that you emerged from the trees and onto a grassy dune that sloped downward onto the flat sand below. You slid down the dune with as much grace as you could muster, only falling on your ass once, before taking off your shoes and sinking your toes into the cool sand that made up the shoreline. Astarion followed after you, his long strides keeping him upright and as elegant as ever. He came to stand next to you, taking his own shoes off and placing them neatly beside yours.

You exhaled wistfully and grabbed Astarion’s bicep, leaning your head onto his shoulder. From here, you had a clear view of the sun on the horizon. The sky was a deep shade of pink, giving way to golds and oranges the closer you watched. You looked at Astarion, whose eyes were focused on the sunrise in the distance. 

“What are you thinking about?” you asked quietly.

Astarion looked over at you and blinked. Then he smiled. “Just that it’s truly a wonder you’ve made it this far in life.”

“What?!” you exclaimed, shocked and amused.

You could tell he was holding in a laugh. “You are inept at hiding and fall down sand dunes. What were we thinking when we started following you around Faerûn?”

“I’ll push you into the water, pretty boy.”

“I’d pull you in with me, my love.”

“Touché,” you smiled and released his arm, sitting on the sand. You pulled your legs to your chest and rested your cheek on your knee. Around you, reeds and tall grass swayed in the morning breeze. Astarion remained standing, watching the horizon. 

As much as you enjoyed watching the sunrise, you enjoyed watching Astarion watch it more. The way his attention became transfixed on the sky, the way the vibrant light painted itself onto him like a blank canvas, the way his entire body relaxed when the warmth of the sun finally reached his skin. 

You heard him sigh and watched as he walked forward a little, allowing the tiny waves rolling off the water to rush gently over his toes. He flinched a little in shock and you let out an affectionate breath through your nose.

“Cold?” you asked.

“You know, it’s funny,” Astarion said, his voice a million miles away. “It’s been so long since I’ve been able to move through water like this.”

“What do you mean?” You furrowed your brow. “I’ve seen you in the lake at camp before.”

“I don’t know, I guess I haven’t given it too much thought until now. Normally, I can’t move through running water like this. Don’t ask me why, it’s one of those idiotic vampire laws dictated by some ancient devil with an infuriating sense of humor. I can bathe, sure, but I haven’t been proper swimming since… before.”

You stayed quiet as he moved further into the water, letting the waves wash over his ankles.

“I have to imagine I knew how to swim at one point,” he said quietly.

“I could teach you,” you offered. “I was going to teach Shadowheart at some point too. You’re welcome to join us if you want.”

Astarion snorted. “And look like a fool in front of the cleric? I’ll pass.”

“You don’t need swim lessons to look like a fool,” you clarified. 

“Ha ha,” he said humorlessly. 

You got up and joined him in the ankle deep water. “Do you want to try right now?”

Astarion thought for a moment and clicked his tongue. “I have a better idea, actually.” He gave you a sideways look, his lips quirking up slightly. 

“What?” you matched his smile.

Rather than answering, Astarion reached for the hem of his shirt and pulled it over his head. 

You furrowed your brow. “Looks an awful lot like you’re preparing to swim.”

He started fiddling with the clasps on his pants and groaned in your direction. “Swimming is not the only thing one can do while submerged in water, dearest.” He gave you a sensual smile that sent heat to your cheeks. 

“Oh,” you said, stiffly watching him undress. “Should I-?” you awkwardly pulled at the collar of his shirt that was currently resting on your shoulders. 

He straightened, naked but for his underwear. He frowned a little. 

“You don’t have to do anything, my love. I just thought we might have some fun while watching the sunrise.”

You bit your bottom lip, thinking it over. “I do like fun.”

“I know that about you.” Astarion walked towards you and reached for the hem of your shirt. “May I?”

You nodded and lifted your arms to help. He took the shirt and tossed it over to where he’d discarded his own clothes. He stepped closer to you, pulling you to him so that you were chest to chest, and nuzzled his nose into the area where your neck met your shoulder. He placed a slow, gentle kiss there that had you inhaling sharply and exhaling unevenly. He groaned with need before pulling back and readjusting to kiss your lips. He came at it with more force than you were expecting, causing you to stumble back a little, but his hands firmly gripped your biceps, keeping you steady. You suppressed a giggle and instead smiled against his mouth before opening up for him and allowing his tongue to meet yours. Astarion hummed with pleasure, moving his mouth against yours and bringing his hands up to tangle in your hair. When he finally pulled away, he left one more chaste kiss against your lips before fully pulling back. 

His eyes were alight with something that morphed into joy when he saw the gooey grin on your face. He rolled his eyes affectionately before looking you up and down and exhaling a laugh.

“You are perfect,” he said, almost in awe.

You smiled. “When?”

Astarion pulled you closer, his eyes narrowing seductively. “Every time.”

You snickered and pulled away from him, a teasing grin plastered on his face. You bent to remove your own pants and watched to see what Astarion would do next. When you saw him reach for his underwear, you averted your eyes and heard him laugh.

“Nothing new over here, darling,” he said, and the soft splashing sounds that followed indicated he’d walked into the water.

“I know,” you replied, embarrassed. You turned back towards him and shrugged. “Habit, I guess.”

“Well, cut it out,” he called, now knee deep in the water. His body was rigid from the temperature, his shoulders rising up to his ears. He turned back to look back at you, still standing on the shore. “Illmater’s blood-stained RACK, this is cold!” 

“I don’t know what you expected,” you called back, hugging your arms to your chest and trying to convince yourself to brave the frigid waters and join him.

“I rather expected you would be in here with me to keep me warm,” he said, turning back towards the sunrise ahead of him.

You quickly pulled off your underwear and started walking into the water, tensing at the cold, but willing yourself to keep going. 

“If you wanted my blood, you could have just asked,” you said when you finally reached him.

“There you are, darling,” Astarion said and grabbed your hand. 

“Hi,” you said softly.

“Brace yourself,” he tipped his head forward a little.

“What?”

Without warning, Astarion lowered himself into the water so that it was just below his shoulders, and pulled you down with him. You hadn’t expected to be yanked so forcefully and unsurprisingly lost your footing. You plunged downward, reaching your free hand out to break your fall and ended up dunking your face below the surface. You were submerged for less than a second, but you came up sputtering and made eye contact with a gleeful vampire. He sucked in his lips to keep from laughing.

“And what was that?” you asked blandly, flicking wet tendrils of hair out of your face.

“Apologies, darling, I didn’t mean for you to get your pretty hair all wet,” he pouted at you and sounded less than sympathetic. 

“Uh huh,” you narrowed your eyes at him. You crawled closer to him, made weightless by the water, and sat beside him, the water level reaching slightly higher on your chest than his. You scooted back a little and dragged your arm out behind you. You pushed it forward quickly, creating a splash that soaked the back of Astarion’s head. He instantly hunched forward and yelped. 

“How dare you?!” he exclaimed, his curls flattening and falling partially into his face. 

“Whoops,” you shrugged. Your eyes widened when you saw him wind his own arm back in retaliation and quickly dunked your head below the surface to avoid his onslaught of water.

When you reemerged, you heard Astarion snicker.

“Look at that,” he said, his tone mocking, “you’re all wet for me.”

You wasted no time in splashing him directly in the face.

“Let’s not do this,” he said flatly, his eyes closed. He brought his hands up to wipe the water off his face, even though his hands were equally wet.

“But now you’re all wet for me,” you teased. 

“I’ll show you what I am,” Astarion growled and took your hand underwater. He pulled you closer and led your hand to his cock, which was already rigid with desire, despite the temperature of the water. 

You made eye contact with him as you started pumping your hand up and down his shaft and he hissed out a breath. 

“Easy, darling,” he said shakily. 

“What’s the matter?” you asked, close to his ear. “Don’t you want to cum while watching the sunrise?”

Astarion groaned and you moved your hand up to swipe your thumb across his tip and then back down to continue pumping. You lifted your weightless body up and swung your leg around so that you were sitting between his legs, facing him head on with the sunrise at your back. 

“I know what would make you even harder,” you cooed, wiping wet hair out of his face with your free hand. Instead of finishing the thought, you tilted your head to the side, offering up your neck to him. 

Astarion’s eyes, half lidded with lust, went wide and looked at you. You nodded to him, and he pulled you closer to his chest, kissing your throat feverishly upon contact. Your hand was still wedged between your legs, twisting around Astarion’s length. He moaned as he nosed along your throat for where your pulse thrummed the strongest.

“Thank you,” he said before sinking his fangs into you. 

You let out a moan of your own, your mouth falling open as goosebumps broke out along your arms. The cold water mixed with the ice in your veins created a delicious mixture of pleasure and pain. The hand pumping Astarion’s length started to slow as you felt yourself focusing instead on the satisfyingly dull thrum that came with him drinking from you. 

“Don’t stop,” he murmured against your skin, kissing your throat and licking a few wayward drops of blood that had escaped before returning to his meal.

You made a noise of affirmation and squeezed his dick before continuing to twist your hand up and down, from base to tip and back down again. 

Astarion whined lamely and dug his nails into your scalp and shoulder, which in turn made you moan wantonly. You rolled your hips, trying to find some relief of your own and ended up brushing your clit against the base of his cock. You both groaned in pleasure and you brought your free hand up to tangle into his hair as you continued rolling your hips. 

“Hah,” Astarion huffed sweetly as he pulled himself away from your throat, his cool breath made warm by your blood. He licked at the wounds he left behind and kissed them gratefully before angling his head to kiss your mouth deeply.

The metallic tang of your blood on his tongue sent a chill through your body and you opened your eyes when you felt Astarion’s hands make their way to your hips. You broke the kiss to give him a curious look. 

He returned your look with a blissed out smirk. “I want you to ride me,” he drawled. 

Your eyes widened and the hand that was still working his cock slowed to a stop. 

He surged forward to kiss you again and moved his hands to your ass, where he lifted your weightless form to position you over his length. 

“Are you sure?” you asked. “I thought I was close to getting you off.”

“You were, sweet girl, but I’d much rather finish inside, if it’s all the same to you.”

Your lips quirked up. “I think we can make that work.”

Taking his cock into your hand again, you guided the head to your entrance before sinking down on him slowly. Astarion’s eyes closed in satisfaction and he tipped his head up to the sky, golden light painting his beautiful face into something ethereal. You sucked in a breath and rested your forehead on his shoulder, taking a second to adjust to this new sensation. You hadn’t ridden him yet, nor had you ever fooled around in water, by yourself or otherwise. 

Astarion kissed your ear before encouraging you: “Use me, my love. You’re deliciously warm.”

You nodded and tested lifting yourself up a little and bringing yourself back down. Your mouth dropped open and you adjusted your legs so you were resting on your knees, making it easier to bob on his dick. Your arms wrapped around his neck as you lifted yourself higher and brought yourself down with more force.

“That’s it,” Astarion cooed, “take your pleasure from me.”

“Touch me,” you whined, rolling your hips and picking up the pace of your bouncing.

“With pleasure,” he bent forward to kiss your neck, bringing his hand down to circle your clit. His other hand came up to squeeze your breast. 

“You make me feel so good,” you sighed, raking your nails over the ridges on his back.

“The feeling is mutual, d-arling,” his voice caught when you brought yourself down on his cock. “And I’m the only one who can make you feel this good,” he grazed his fangs across your collarbone. 

“I don’t know,” you said, your body shuddering with euphoria, “Halsin seems like he could give you a run for your money.”

Astarion raised a disbelieving eyebrow at you.

“Teasing, my love,” you kissed him softly before letting out a loud “Ah!” when he started raising his hips to meet yours.

“Oh really?” he asked, his voice coming out like a growl. “You think Halsin could fuck you as well as I can?”

“Hah,” you half laughed, half moaned. “I think technically, in this position, I’m fucking you?” A lopsided grin graced your lips. “But I don’t know, I’m new to all this.”

“Funny,” Astarion remarked sarcastically and pulled his hand away from your clit, making you whimper in protest. 

“Hey!”

“Take it back.”

“Take what back? I already said I was teasing!”

“Say I’m the only one who can fuck you like this.”

You smiled, panting and still riding him beneath the surface of the water. “Are you jealous or something?”

“Hardly,” he rolled his eyes. “But you’re mine and it wouldn’t kill you to remind yourself of that.”

“Sounds an awful lot like jealousy to me.”

Astarion groaned in what sounded like frustration and pleasure. “Do you want to cum or not?” 

You leaned forward and kissed him deeply, moving your mouth slowly in time with the rhythm of your hips. When you pulled away, a string of saliva connected you to his lower lip. 

“Astarion,” you said softly, “I don’t ever want anyone else to fuck me. Only you. For as long as you’ll have me.”

The smirk on Astarion’s face was smug. “Because?”

You rolled your eyes. “Because I’m yours, you stupid bat.” You kissed him, then whispered conspiratorially, “And I like you the most out of everyone at camp.”

“You flatter me,” Astarion said, immediately returning to his ministrations on your clit. You gasped at the contact, which quickly morphed into a moan of delight as you rested your forehead on his shoulder again. His hips rose to meet yours once more and the moan he let out as a result sounded as if he’d been holding it in for a while. Perhaps it was to sound eloquent during your back and forth, but the noise was music to your ears.

“Am I making you feel good?” you asked a little shyly.

Astarion opened one of his eyes to look at you. “My sweet, you’ve only ever made me feel good.”

“I know that’s not true.”

“It’s not, but it is true about the sex.”

“Thank the gods,” you laughed, though you shut your eyes tightly when Astarion hit a particularly pleasant spot inside you with a roll of his hips. “Whatever you just hit felt heavenly,” you relayed to him.

“Good to know,” he said mischievously, and repositioned you on his lap so he could rise to meet that spot every time you sank down on him. 

“Oh, Astarion,” you sighed, a grin overtaking your features.

“You like that, love?” he nipped at your shoulder. 

“Yes,” you sighed again.

Your bounces on his cock were starting to become sloppy as the knot of your climax began to build low in your stomach. You moved your hand to his and reversed the direction he was currently circling your clit.

“I’m close,” you confessed.

“Thank the gods, so am I,” Astarion’s voice was strained.

You opened your eyes to watch him as he approached his own peak and exhaled dreamily at the sight of him, bathed in the orange glow of the sun which was now halfway risen. 

“You’re so beautiful,” you whispered, “and I like you so much.”

“Don’t make me throw up when I’m trying to cum,” he opened up an eye and smirked at you. “You’re not half bad yourself, gorgeous thing.” He groaned when you sat back down on him forcefully. “Now, would you cum for me already? I’m dying here.”

“Almost there,” you laughed. “And you’re dead already.”

“You’re making this very difficult, darling.”

“Let me help you then,” you said, reaching a hand forward and lightly caressing his balls.

Astarion’s mouth hung open in silent pleasure, his fangs glistening in the emerging sunshine. He watched you wordlessly as you leaned forward.

“You’re so powerful,” you purred next to his ear. “You make me feel so good, and you’re the only one who can fuck me this well. The others will never know how good I feel because I’m yours and I’ll only ever be yours. You’re the only one who will ever be inside of me.”

“That’s right,” he groaned. “Your cunt is mine and I love the way it feels around me. The way it grips me so tight. You filthy thing, letting a vampire take your innocence. I could have killed you and instead I brought you the most pleasure you’ve ever felt. Isn’t that right?”

“Yes,” you moaned. “Astarion, please. Need to feel your cum in me.”

“You want this cock forever, darling? Prove it. Prove you want it by cumming for me and screaming my name.”

His command brought you to your peak and you wailed out in pure ecstasy. His name fell from your lips like a prayer, over and over, and your cunt gripped him like a vice, as if claiming it for itself. In return, Astarion groaned loudly and spilled inside of you, moaning your name repeatedly and throwing his head back in rapture and delight.

As you came down from your high, you leaned forward to place sloppy kisses on his exposed throat. He brought both his arms around you and pulled you closer as he returned from his climax. 

“You are-” he didn’t finish his sentence before crushing his lips into yours, moaning pathetically and you giggled in response. He bit your bottom lip with his blunt front teeth before releasing it and peppering kisses along your cheeks and jaw. 

“Go on,” you teased, encouraging him to finish his thought.

He looked as if he wanted to argue, but instead gave in and said, “You’re wonderful.”

The words caught you off guard and you bent forward to kiss him in a way that you hoped conveyed your gratitude. 

“I think you’re wonderful, too.”

“Obviously,” Astarion smirked.

You pushed him backwards, causing him to slip and submerge his head fully underwater briefly.

“My hair was just starting to dry, you wretched beast!” he sputtered, looking appalled. 

“Aw, but you’re so pretty like this!” You brushed some wet hair out of his eyes.

“Um, hello? I’m always pretty, darling.”

“Ah, you’re right, how could I forget.” You gingerly lifted yourself off of Astarion and floated yourself to sit beside him, facing the sunrise. 

“Perhaps you’ve had the lovely head of yours hit in battle one too many times.”

“That must be it,” you agreed jokingly, resting your head on his shoulder. 

He leaned his head on top of yours in return. You sighed happily, enjoying the vibrant hues of the sky above, still filled with the euphoria of your high and the presence of the man beside you.

“I really do like you, so much,” you said softly, accompanied by the quiet lapping of the waves on the shore nearby.

“Ugh,” Astarion groaned. “Let’s not get sentimental, darling. After we just had such an excellent time together.”

You laughed. “Pardon me for wanting to express my feelings.”

“You are pardoned.” He gave you a sideways smile. 

“Thank you, Mr. Magistrate.”

“Of course, beloved citizen.”

You both laughed quietly and returned to a pleasant silence. The sun rose steadily up into the sky and you knew you’d have to head back to camp soon to help pack up, but for now, you were content to sit and watch the horizon with your favorite traveling companion. 

“How are you doing that?” Astarion asked, breaking the silence.

“Doing what?”

“Tickling my thighs. Did you cast mage hand or something of the sort?”

You sat up a bit more to look and snorted. 

“Astarion, my love, I think it’s a fish that’s tickling you.”

“Ah,” he said calmly. Then he shot up, flinging you backwards and underwater. When you came up for air, he was rushing towards the shore, barreling through the water.

“At least it had the decency to wait until we were finished!” you called after him.

Astarion ignored you. “Slimy, disgusting, vile creatures!” He shook out his entire body as if he couldn’t rid himself of the sensation.

You watched him with adoration as he muttered to himself about how irredeemable that particular fish was as he pulled on his pants. It was then that you felt your heart swell with something big and alarming.

Oh no.

You were in love with him. 

Fuck!

[littleoddwriter]

can't stop thinking about Dmitri choosing what Sergei wears for the birthday dinner; especially because he does it in a manner that is so indescribably hot to me. (the way he looks him up and down, smiles almost condescendingly, but is clearly excited, tells him off for wearing what he does and wanting to stay in, almost whining about how it's his birthday and so obviously Sergei has to comply, already having a fitting suit ready at hand, etc.)

and so I'm just over here and absolutely running with that because nobody can tell me that Dmitri wouldn't do that with his partner, as well.

just- Dmitri choosing your outfit when he's going out with you (or for other occasions, or even generally), and you're both loving it because it's casual yet intimate, and it's also a great act of love and affection because in order to dress somebody in a way that makes them comfortable and happy you have to know them so deeply that it's transcending.

[front-facing-pokemon]

[joethehoeee]

My last prompt from Stricklake month was a little...Angsty. So now I will give you some fluff.

My sweet babys, I love them so much 😭🩷

For anyone who might ask "but Strickler technically can't walk under the sun- 🤓☝️"...SHUT-

Nooo. Valid Question...

Answere:

There is a small ring on his finger...a certain object that was magically changed to allow him to walk amongst Humans in the sun.

I made it so that Barbara and Walter are bound together, she get's a longer life/his aging while He gets her ability to walk throu the sun/eat more human stuff. I personally didn’t wanna make him have his human form because...

Come on...We all know Troll Walter is supermercy and absolutly more attractive than human Walt...right?

Anyways...this is MY happy ever after AU and YES you will get a writing and possible art for their Wedding as well...and maybe the Wedding night...👀

But for now, enjoy my Art and fanfiction for it.

Fanfiction Link

Other Versions + Closeup:

[withthewindinherfootsteps]

So we know that Wei Wuxian's treatment after his death was horrible. Even if nothing could impact him directly, there was still neverending slander, hatred, misinformation, theft...

But, for a while after he died, the sects did try to impact him directly – namely, frequently trying to resummon his soul. And today I'll explore the possible reasons for this, their likelihoods, and why I'm so, so thankful that Wei Wuxian's soul managed to resist the summons. Because, spoiler alert (or, you know. maybe not)... none of them are good.

(Long meta ahead)

In my opinion, there are four likely motivations for this: confinement, coercion, torment, and potentially destruction.

Out of all of these, confinement is probably the most likely motivation, at least for most sects (Jins and Jiangs excluded, though it was likely what the Jin sect said their motivations were – but I'll get to them later). This one is the most simple – we know spirit-trapping pouches exist, and we know the sects also placed 120 stone beasts on the Burial Mounds to prevent Wei Wuxian's soul from escaping. Therefore, this seems to be the most likely motivation – and fortunately for Wei Wuxian, probably also the best case scenario, though it still certainly isn't a good one.

For the second, coercion – this is where the Jin sect come in (more specifically Jin Guangshan with the help of Jin Guangyao). Due to their wealth and resources, they're likely the sect who played the largest role in the soul-summoning rituals. We know what they're willing to do to try to gain power – keeping Wen Ning under the pretence he was burned to death and trying to control him with the nails, and working with and helping Xue Yang torture people to help him refine his demonic cultivation, in order to have the Yin hufu fixed. Along with working with many other cultivators, alongside Xue Yang – Jin Guangshan really, really wanted that seal.

And so, Jin GuangShan sought after all those who imitated Wei WuXian in cultivating the ghostly path and gathered them under his rule. He spent a great amount of money and resources and these people, ordering them to study and analyze the structure of the Tiger Seal in secrecy so that they could replicate and restore it. - Villainous Friends extra, EXR

(Note that working with these cultivators very likely happened after Wei Wuxian's soul had failed to be summoned, since this happens some time after Wei Wuxian's death, whereas the soul-summoning ceromonies presumably started happening very close to it.)

In the previous paragraph, he's also quoted as having 'lusted after' the Yin hufu, which we already knew but it's nice to have a direct quote as evidence.

Now, would Wei WuXian willingly work with the Jin sect in doing this? No. We know that, and, given Wei Wuxian's actions in his first life (refusing to hand over the Tally, not being afraid to stand up to the sects, etc), I’m pretty sure Jin Guangshan knows that, too:

He beat around the bush a couple of times, using all his skills, yet Wei WuXian didn’t give in no matter what, and it made him run into a bunch of obstacles. - Villainous Friends extra, EXR

So this could actually make things go two ways. One, I'm wrong and that wasn't actually part of the Jin sect's motivations, since they know they wouldn't be able to control him (and in that case, had they managed to summon him, I could imagine them putting him in a spirit-trapping pouch and doing something similar to what Jin Guangyao did to Nie Mingjue's head. Which, also, not good). Two, it was a part of their motivations, and they hoped to find a way around that. After all, there are other guidao users out there now, and Wei Wuxian would now be a gui*. Also, cultivators can obviously harm ghosts – see the very existence of Night Hunts, and I'd include Xue Yang's talisman-caused destruction of A-Qing as well (while he isn't a traditional cultivator, talismans can be used by everyone).

Now, would either of these methods actually work? I'm inclined to think not really (and I expand on the former method in a note below). Would that stop Jin Guangshan/Jin Guangyao/the cultivators they employ from trying? Especially considering Jin Guangshan's lust for power?

I'm inclined to think no, too.

For the third, look no further than Jiang Cheng's reputation of capturing and torturing demonic cultivators after Wei Wuxian's death, due to thinking they could be him. And this does happen – Jin Ling knows and talks about it, and there's not real motivation for him to negatively lie about someone he loves. Also, when they come across each other at Dafan Mountain, we're told this in Jiang Cheng's inner voice:

A moment ago, Jiang Cheng was certain that this person was Wei WuXian, and all of the blood in his body started to boil. Yet, now, Zidian was clearly telling him that he wasn’t. Zidian definitely wouldn’t deceive him or make a mistake, so he quickly calmed himself and thought, this doesn’t mean anything. I should first find an excuse to take him back and use every possible method to get information out of him. It’s impossible for him to not confess anything or give himself away. I’ve done things like this in the past anyways. - MDZS Chapter 10, EXR translation

This mainly shows that he's tortured people before, rather than that he's tortured people because he thinks they're Wei Wuxian, but this reason is confirmed by Jin Ling in Chapter 24. Of course, the reason is also mentioned in this chapter, and there are other moments in the chapter that illustrate my point better**, but they come from second-hand sources which I know are easier to deny. Do take note of Jiang Cheng's expression both times he comes across 'Mo Xuanyu' (after he suspects he's Wei Wuxian) in Book One***, though:

After a moment, the corners of Jiang Cheng’s lips pulled into a twisted smile. His left hand started to unconsciously stroke the ring [Zidian] again. He spoke softly, “… Well, well. So you’re back?” - Chapter 10, EXR Although his face had always been clouded, marked with arrogance and satire, it seemed as if every corner of it had come alive. It was difficult to determine whether it was vengeful wrath, fathomless hatred, or raving ecstasy. - Chapter 23, EXR

This does seem to line up with what people say his attitude to Wei Wuxian is – there doesn't seem to be any happiness at seeing him again at all. The only time a word that could suggest that ('ecstasy') is used, it's accompanied by 'raving', and considering the context and the other possibilities of his expression, it's... probably not due to happiness at being reunited.

So, considering 1) this, 2) his contribution to the Siege specifically intended to kill Wei Wuxian, and 3) that at the time of frequent soul-summoning Jiang Yanli's death would be even closer for him, I feel pretty confident in saying that yes, this is likely a motivation for the Jiang sect in trying to re-summon Wei Wuxian's soul after his death. And, as mentioned earlier, cultivators can harm ghosts (and we know Zidian is able to remove souls posessing a body from that body, and that Jiang Cheng used Zidian on 'Mo Xuanyu' in Chapter 10. If it wasn't able to restrain/harm ghosts, or other methods weren't able to, why would he risk Wei Wuxian's soul escaping?).

And finally, option four: destruction. We're heading into much more speculative territory here, so don't consider this on par with the first three. But consider this:

We know there are some spells, like Xue Yang's talisman used on A-Qing and the body-offering ritual, that can ruin the returning soul’s reincarnation cycle by destroying it. Therefore, soul destruction is possible.

The 'main'/supposed reason for summoning Wei Wuxian's soul back is to stop the "cultivation world, or even all of mortal land" from being "faced with the most insane damnation and revenge, sinking into nothing but chaos and despair" when Wei Wuxian inevitably returns. While, as mentioned above, I severely doubt this is the motivation for certain sects – and to me is likely a rumour which the Jins (again, especially Jin Guangsha) fanned the flames of to justify summoning Wei Wuxian back for their own purposes**** – there are other sects which would take it more seriously.

Although likely disrespectful, people already thought it served Wei Wuxian right to die without his body intact by the time of the second siege – something believed to negatively affect your reincarnation in your next life*****. This is only the logical next step, and I'm pretty sure the vast majority of people would believe that, again, it would serve Wei Wuxian right, or would at least lead to less harm of the world in the long run.

For these reasons, I could definitely see this as an option for some sects, especially the sects who consider themselves more 'righteous' (cough cough the Nies under Nie Mingjue cough cough). After all, evil is evil and good is good, and the evil deserve what's coming to them. And what better way to prevent that than from preventing his soul from returning at all? So for the Nie sect – and likely some of the smaller sects involved in the Siege, since among them, additudes probably vary – yes, I do think it could be a motivation.

I’m not as sure about the Lans being willing to go this far, and that’s largely for two reasons. One, Lan Wangji’s presence and his relationship to Lan Xichen, who does (not always, but he does) let this affect how he treats Wei Wuxian. An example of this is that, when Wei Wuxian's return is made public, Lan Xichen does let him hide and shelter at the Cloud Recesses instead of trying to pursue him, likely majorly due to Lan Wangji. I'd argue that the aftermath of the Nightless City also acts as an example of this, although it definitely isn't perfect. But though he, Lan Qiren and the 33 elders do come to find Lan Wangji and do not let him continue to shelter Wei Wuxian (after they see Lan Wangji's feelings), Lan Xichen doesn't use this opportunity to kill/capture Wei Wuxian, despite Lan Wangji being in a worse condition due to having fought 33 elders, Wei Wuxian being catatonic, and Lan Qiren likely supporting this outcome (especially considering he was the one who led the Lan sect in the Siege – chapter 68, Wei Wuxian's POV). And he did let Lan Wangji take Wei Wuxian back to the Burial Mounds after:

After he went out of his way to send you back to Burial Mound and returned in such low spirits to receive his punishment, how long he kneeled before the Wall of Rules! - Chapter 99, EXR

Again, this was right after the Nightless City massacre – there isn't any goodwill towards Wei Wuxian at this point in time.

Of course, the Lan sect did participate in the siege after Lan Xichen knew of Lan Wangji's feelings towards Wei Wuxian, which Lan Xichen was no doubt a part of (although Lan Qiren lead the Lan sect in the siege, Lan XIchen had to have at least known/given his support, if not participated.) And it should be considered that Lan Xichen letting Wei Wuxian shelter at the Cloud Recesses was after Wei Wuxian had been back for a while, and had not caused the downfall of the Cultivation World, like many suspected he would after his death. And of course, as stated previously, his handling of the aftermath of Nightless City wasn't perfect either (though please note that his main motive here was to protect Lan Wangji from being potentially executed, rather than anything about Wei Wuxian himself). So caring about Lan Wangji doesn't mean he won't harm Wei Wuxian. But I do think he could find bringing Wei Wuxian's soul back to completely destroy it a bit excessive. There is, though, the chance that the elders of the Lan Sect would react to this differently, and of course they would have a sway on both Lan Xichen and the Lan sect as well.

The second reason is smaller, but there seems to be more focus in the Lan sect than in others when it comes to letting ghosts rest peacefully/helping them move on. And that could definitely lead to more resistance to the idea of summoning a soul back to destroy it as well, which could especially impact the elders. So I'd assume that the Lan sect would be the most likely sect to summon Wei Wuxian's soul back just for confinement, or just for some way of making sure any resentment is disippated, his spirit moves on, and he can't cause more harm to the world (eg via Inquiry)******. Not that he would or does as a ghost or as a reborn person, but that's unfortunately not relevant to this.

But yes, as a motivation for the Nie Mingjue-led Nie sect? Absolutely.

So, these are the main motives I suspect to be behind the attempted summoning of Wei Wuxian's soul after his death (and if I've missed any, please let me know – I'd love to have a discussion). And, of course, none of them lead to anywhere good. Because of course it wasn’t enough to besiege Wei Wuxian, murder the 50 non-combatants he was responsible for (and throwing them into the blood pit as a mark of disrespect because why not?), and lead to his death via him getting torn apart. It wasn’t enough to steal all his inventions, and use them commonly while still slandering him with no reprieve – or to steal his notes and give them to people like Xue Yang to study (Villainous Friends, again) and to use for their own, extremely extremely harmful, purposes. Of course, the cultivation world has to try to harm Wei Wuxian after death as well ((:

We don't know whether Wei Wuxian rejecting the summoning ceremonies was conscious or unconscious, but if it was the former, these are very likely reasons he refused to return in this way. If it was unconscious – for example, maybe during the frequent soul-summons his soul was in a weakened state due to him dying from a backlash of resentful energy and getting torn apart, and it healed over time but not before the soul-summoning rituals stopped – well, I can only be thankful.

Finally, let me leave you on the thought that – although it may well have happened since we don't spend much time in the immediate aftermath of the Sunshot campaign – there isn't even any textual mention of this happening to Wen Ruohan. Who, while not being a guidao user, was still very dangerous, still an extremely powerful cultivator, and still had a lot of reason to feel resentment. So.

:')

Thank you for reading!

--

*Considering what we see of how Wei Wuxian's guidao functions – redirecting the ghosts'/corpses' resentment into doing something they'd want to do, eg attacking people, and directing it towards a target – I'm not sure using it to force a spirit to do something 1) extremely specific, and 2) explicitly against their will would actually work. Iirc the closest thing we get to this in text is Wei Wuxian using the corpses of Wens to attack other Wens in the Sunshot Campaign, but he's still just directing their resentment to a target of his choice, and fierce corpses do tend to be on the less concious side of things (hence why Wei Wuxian had to awaken Wen Ning's consciousness). Considering how Wen Ning attacks Wei Wuxian and the Burial Mound Wens before his consciousness had fully awoken, I... really don't think those fierce corpses were able to differentiate (or didn't care).

Meanwhile, ghosts seem to be a bit more in control of themselves – see A-Qing, and Wei Wuxian's own descriptions of his ghost self.

That, alongside ghost!Wei Wuxian being able to resist his soul-summoning and the fact that pretty much all of the new guidao users are a lot weaker than he was, does make me think that this this wouldn't work. I do wonder about Xue Yang, since his methods are pretty different as well, but he's more of a modao user than a guidao user (he controls living corpses rather than dead people) and I don't think you can insert physical nails into ghosts?? Though if he was specifically instructed to figure out some way to control ghost!Wei Wuxian (who's probably kept in a spirit-trapping pouch in this scenario), he might be able to do something at least. Though also he was also struggling to piece Xiao Xingchen's ghost soul back together, so he may struggle with those areas?

Well, whatever the potential outcome, I'm so so happy once again that Wei Wuxian's soul managed to resist the soul-summonings...

**Mainly this:

Everyone in the cultivation world knew that the young leader of the Jiang Clan watched out for Wei WuXian in an almost crazed manner. He would rather catch the wrong person than let go of any possibility, and took anyone who seemed like they held the soul of Wei WuXian away to the YunmengJiang Sect, inflicting severe torture on his victim. If he wanted to take someone back, the opposition would surely lose half of their life. - Chapter 10, EXR

But I have heard people say 'you can't prove that it's just more rumours' before, and I wanted my evidence to be as watertight as possible.

(And, off-topic... isn't it really sad how Jiang Cheng, in the present day, is described as young? Because, for a clan leader, he is. And another thing he is, is close in age to Wei Wuxian – who was killed 13 whole years prior :') )

***And do note that the only other time they run into each other before Wei Wuxian's identity is revealed to the world apart from this is their brief interaction at Jinlintai, where he can't just act however he wants. The next time they run into each other after it, Jiang Cheng is literally taking part in another siege against him, and still extremely hostile ("surrounded by hostile energy, face insidious, staring straight at him" – from EXR chapter 60). Then he loses his spiritual powers and can't do anything. By the time he regains his powers, Wei Wuxian, Lan Wangji and the Wen remnants' corpses have saved everyone during the Second Siege, and though public opinion hasn't properly shifted quite yet, it will soon after Sisi and Bicao tell the story of Jin Guangyao, and voila, a new scapegoat (do note that he doesn't completely bar Wei Wuxian from entering Lotus Pier after the Second Siege, though). Plus, throughout it all, Lan Wangji is still constantly present, which makes it hard for Jiang Cheng to really do anything. And then he's finally faced with the Golden Core reveal, which does alter his motivations towards Wei Wuxian (obviously the resentment is still there – read chapter 102 – but it's also mixed with other complex emotions, and he seems to start being able to move away from that a little in Chapter 103). I still definitely wouldn't describe Jiang Cheng's attitude towards him as positive, but it isn't at the point it was at the start of the novel (eg Chapter 10).

But even if his attitude does change, or would for whatever other reason apart from the reveal, that still doesn't change an initial motivation so isn't relevant to this meta. We know his intentions at the start.

****It's also possible they may have originated it, but I think WWX's reputation was bad enough for it to form naturally. Though you can trace a major part of that back to them, too.

*****That belief isn't outright stated in MDZS, but the fact people are specifically talking about the status of WWX's body in the aftermath of his death suggests that this belief does have some grounding in the MDZS universe, at least? And we know MXTX has included it in TGCF (though that doesn't mean it's definitely in MDZS), so she has used it in her works. If this isn't the case in the MDZS universe I am sorry (although that could also mean there's less importance placed on not disturbing the reincarnation cycle in the world of MDZS...? Which would work towards my original argument) – I don't want to spread misinformation that something is definitely true, I just think there's evidence to suggest it is true, which isn't the same thing.

******Again, I think this would depend on who ends up having more influence over who in the Lan sect. After all, normal resentful spirits only do what they do because of their resentment in death, whereas Wei Wuxian is 'dangerous' because of who everyone thinks he was in life – so him being reborn naturally could also 'cause a lot of harm to the world' during the time period this version of him would live in, unlike the resentful ghosts they appease. This could definitely lead to many advocating for confinement, I think.

[fluffypotatey]

To be honest I am a huge Nalu shipper. But the thing is I want to know the difference between the way Natsu cares about his guildmates and Lucy. Like what is the obvious difference since that boy sees every as Nakama so how can we say that the wag he cares about Lucy is different?

Like even when Erza passed away? (All the way back in first season there was a segment where the guild was gathered at her grave and all) Natsu was still very reactive. Plus he was also said to be depressed even when Lisanna passed.

What's the difference between all of them and Lucy?

the fact that he stayed. the fact that before he met Lucy, Natsu wasn't one to stay in a group or even want to work with anyone besides Happy at the start of the story. hell, he was ready to just file Lucy down as "New Guildmate" once they reached Fairy Tail

but then, Lucy doesn't leave. she follows him on his mission to save Macao despite her not needing to or even really understanding everything about it. she stays and then fights with him and saves him. it's no secret that Natsu is strong and can take care of himself really well. he's been going on solo missions for years now, and no one has really stopped him, but that means he's been in a lot of sticky situations where he and Happy are on their own and have no backup. and yet, without asking, Lucy offers it

and i think this is the moment when Natsu considers that maybe it's okay to have someone there to have his back (sans Happy)

"but Natsu only needed Lucy for the next quest because of the requirements," well, Natsu also wouldn't have taken or even considered that quest if it weren't for Lucy, yeah? he was not a team player (in the picking job's sense) or really wanted other people to help him on his quests sans Happy. and then he goes and picks a job that caters to their team whilst ensuring that Lucy can't say no

or maybe i'm reading too much into it 🤷🏻‍♀️

or maybe Natsu's got horrible abandonment issues that he will latch onto people so fast (Igneel & Lisanna) but also cause him to distance himself so far when left behind (his 1st time at the guild, Lisanna's death). Erza and Gray are Natsu's closet friends after Lisanna and yet they cannot reach him when he closes himself off. and then we have Lucy, who stuck by and had his back, so who is to say Natsu didn't make some contingencies to ensure whether or not she'd join him?

but maybe it's the rose, colored ship glasses i have on

because yeah, Natsu cares for all of his guildmates. the power of friendship is his biggest motivator. when we meet Natsu, our first introductions of him is defending his guild's reputation from Bora (who was using it as a guise for human trafficking) and saving Macao. and our 1st big arc (Galuna Island), where Natsu adamantly refuses to allow Gray to use Ice Shell and sacrifice himself despite how antagonistic they've been to each other. we get Natsu 100% at Erza's defense throughout the Tower of Heaven and he is even ready to defend Wendy though they only met hours ago

Natsu is a character with a bleeding heart and cannot help but wear it on his sleeve, but we don't really see him allow others to fight his battles or have his back until Lucy comes in. to be honest, i don't even think he had his heart on his sleeve until Lucy. he still has a bleeding heart (i don't think anything could stop that), but he was not ready to be open in receiving company because he was so used to it being ripped away from him

that being said: of all the characters he interacts with, he finds Lucy to be someone compatible enough for him to start going on team missions and inviting her on them (for example, his 1st S-class mission, which he stole, he went to her house to show it to her. the fact that part of the reward was a celestial key might be a coincidence, but i wouldn't doubt it as Natsu and Happy's trump card in case she refused)

but yeah, the difference is that he stayed and didn't push her away at the beginning, but instead continued to invite her along with him to the point that doing a mission without Lucy wasn't his regular anymore. compared to the rest of the guild, of whom he spent most of his childhood with, even if he spoke to no one, they would still be around and talk to him anyway. he might not invite them on job and only challenge them to fights, but the guild is his home and a constant in his life, a constant he needs (bc heavy abandonment issues).

"okay, but he still pushed her away after he watched Igneel die right in front of him. and he left the guild for a whole year, too. so what's the difference there?" you may ask.

so 1) Natsu never thought the guild would disband. he returns to Fiore after a year and is the last to know that they disbanded. he assumed, like all the other times before and while he and others were sealed for 7 years, that Fairy Tail would still be there when he returned. he assumed that his disappearance would not impact so hard because the guild would still be around and Lucy would have the others with her

which, did not happen :)

and like, so many guild members go off on jobs, quests, or even just leave for an indiscriminate amount of time (which i, personally, believe was his rationality for leaving), so him being gone for a year was nothing! right? no harm, eh? his plan was never to be gone forever :))))

2) he just watched his father die and lose any chance of having some semblance of a long term reunion with Igneel. he literally lost one of his main driving motivations for getting stronger and taking jobs. before Fairy Tail, before anyone, it was Igneel. and to learn that a) Igneel was always with him to begin with and b) he only got to see him for less than a day after 14 years of nothing......i would feel lost too ngl

man's needed space from everybody. and he also needed comfort, but Natsu has been shown not to really be the character who asks to receive comfort (and when he does receive it, it's usually when he's already emotionally compromised). he is in the habit of shutting people out after being abandoned or losing someone close to him, with his next rationale being to "get stronger" in order to prevent what happened in the past to ever happen in the future.

anyway

what makes this different? well for one, he sent the letter only to Lucy (or it's implied since no one else is shown getting one) because of how the two spend most of their time together. even the line that goes with the panel makes it sound like Natsu is unsure on how the note will be received (maybe even hesitant? but that could be my own hopes)

and one of the 1st people he reunites with after a year is Lucy and we get such a similar parallel to the first chapter of Fairy Tail between the two as if the narrative itself is slotting them together to say "ah yes, now everything is back to normal and new journeys can begin"

but yeah, this is just a long way of saying, that Natsu does love his friends and guildmates but even when he is close to them, he kept to himself (and Happy) and sort of stayed in their orbit but always with some emotional distance because of his fear of abandonment. and then you have Lucy where he will stay for and allow her to orbit around him and he will invite to new adventures no questions asked

that's the difference

[ranticore]

the reason i haven't been drawing is insufficient room temperature. so i guess i'll plan the aul website instead .. and what secret pages i can put on it...

[mamawasatesttube]

experiencing the horrors . save me lil guy from comic book. lil guy from comic book PLEASE

[radley-rambles]

I don't understand people who say things like 'but it doesn't matter if we don't pay artists/writers for their labour, or use free AI programs to replace artists/writers to improve our profits, because in a perfect world everyone would have UBI so it wouldn't matter xxx'

like. yes. but until we reach that perfect world, artists and writers need to eat?

why are you promoting AI replacement of creative people instead of working towards UBI? Until we have UBI, supporting generative AI in the creative field is no different to supporting supermarkets laying off all their till staff to turn to self-check out, or supporting factories who shut down and move overseas to exploit workers in countries with fewer human rights legislations?

Yes, in a perfect world, everyone would receive UBI. Therefore, people across the globe couldn't be exploited by corporations, and artists could create for the joy of it, in whatever way we desire - including with AI!

But we do not live in that perfect world.

Do you seriously expect this move towards generative AI to encourage people to support UBI, as opposed to people being forced into jobs they hate to make ends meet or no longer being able to support themselves financially?

Especially all the disabled people who make a living creating art and writing/editing, because that is, in fact, a career that is often far more available to disabled folks than a regular 9-5 or a retail job where you're expected to be on your feet all day (miss my disabled ass with the 'anti-AI = ableism' stance lmao).

This is not going to create your army of revolutionaries. This is just going to result in more independent creators being crushed under the boot heel of capitalism, as anyone who would've hired them flocks instead to the free alternative, and they're forced back into an incredibly exploitative labour market.

I agree that generative AI by itself is just a tool and is not inherently a problem.

But it is being abused, in ways that hurt creators.

If you support generative AI... what are you doing about that?

[valeriianz]

Parent Trap AU part 2! told from Robyn and Orpheus' perspective haha. (part 1!)

“Lemme see!”

“Quit shovin’!”

Robyn hovered above Orpheus, forcing the boy to crouch low so they could both poke their heads around the corner to spy on their dads.

Hob and Dream had been dancing around each other all week. Smiling and laughing and even touching each other with more and more frequency (a tap on the shoulder, a hand on the small of the back, even shoes brushing under the table). The twins’ masterful plan to make Hob and Dream fall in love again seemed to be going well… but just before anything earth-shattering happened, anything concrete, the two men seemed to remember themselves and backed away. To the utter bewilderment and anguish of the twins as they retreated back to the drawing board. 

(Literally. It was a large crayola canvas that Orpheus had in his room to doodle on).

Robyn didn’t get it. It was so obvious Dream– the father he’d always known existed somewhere– still had feelings for his dad. It had been hard to tell, in those first couple days pretending to be Orpheus, but once he’d started earnestly asking Dream about Hob, forcing him to recall stories from the past and watching as he’d smile or laugh softly to himself, his gaze far away and misty, it became clear.

But then Dream would shake his head, clearing it, and change the subject.

Robyn and Orpheus had felt that connection between themselves instantly. That zap of recognition like, “Ah-ha! We were meant to find one another.” Why was it so difficult for Dream and Hob to see it?

Robyn huffed. Grown-ups.

After briefly parting for a couple days, Robyn found himself back at Orpheus and Dream’s luxurious home, under the pretence of one last stay to reacquaint themselves to the idea of shared custody or something along those lines, the boys didn’t really understand it, but what they did understand, was that their dad’s would be sleeping under the same roof. But only for a few days.

And after chasing Cori out of the house (good riddance, the pompous git. The boys made sure to give him hell), Robyn and Orpheus knew they had to utilise their time well, plotting their biggest scheme yet.

They, along with help from Dream’s butler, Mervyn, had set up this elaborate dinner that– oh no, Robyn and Orpheus wouldn’t be able to attend, leaving their parents to dine alone. Orpheus had set the scene: candlelight dinner, serving their dad’s favourite dishes, and (Merv’s idea, bless him for taking interest in the boy’s tomfoolery) soft jazz that would eventually transition into a very special song.

“You’ll see,” Mervyn had winked at the boys as he set up the playlist. 

Robyn and Orpheus watched now, as their fathers sat down for dinner, perplexed at the absence of their sons (Dream looking exasperated and Hob scanning the room knowingly, biting down a smirk). The table was clearly only set for two people, and Robyn had done a fantastic job (in his opinion) of decorating with candles and flowers– he had studied that old photograph of their dad’s, copying the layout of the table they sat at there.

Mervyn came out and poured the wine, which is when Dream inquired where Robyn and Orpheus were.

“Afraid they couldn’t make it,” is all Mervyn said, as if the boys were very busy, tied up in meetings and paperwork and whatever else grown-ups did.

Hob propped an elbow on the table and let his head fall in the palm of his hand, shaking it slightly and fully smiling now, amused.

Robyn grinned too.

It took them a moment to finally start talking, but they fell into it, eventually. Discussing the boys at first, “little tricksters…” pranking Cori, stealing his glasses, setting the dog loose while they had wine and cheese on the terrace, and finally spooking his horse while he and Dream were out riding so the horse galloped wildly into the brush, knocking the ridiculous blond American off his saddle and into the mud.

Hob tried hiding his snickering behind his hand as Dream recanted these events to Hob, but Dream caught him with a woebegone sigh.

“It’s not funny, he sprained his wrist.”

Hob took a deep inhale, gathering himself.

“After all that wine and cheese, I hope he shit his pants, too.”

“Hob!” Dream snorted inelegantly, slapping a hand over his mouth, which only set Hob off again, laughing in earnest now.

The boys had to move away once they heard the squeaking of their own muffled laughter, both hands over their mouths, wheezing through their teeth.

“You’re just as bad as them,” Dream finally spoke after the giggles had worn off.

Hob shrugged noncommittally, mischievous grin still on as he took a long sip of his wine.

“You like it,” he said confidently, eyes sharp.

Dream said nothing, popping a forkful of beet and pear salad into his mouth.

After appetisers was dinner, then dessert. The time ticked away slowly and the boys eventually moved from their vantage point to the kitchen, asking Mervyn how it was going and the butler shooing them out with barely anything to go off of.

But it was going well, as far as the boys could tell. The conversation between Dream and Hob was flowing steadily, Dream giving out his smile more and Hob unable to take his eyes off of him. The grand finale was coming up and Robyn and Orpheus held their breaths as the jazz flittered out and in its place, a violin came up and both Dream and Hob seemed to seize up at the same time.

Orpheus was beginning to think this was a bad idea, especially as his father sat up ramrod straight, his fingers drumming on the table's surface. And Robyn’s dad looked…

Well, he looked– tortured, was a pretty close description. His lips had parted and he kept looking between Dream and his own hands, which he had begun wringing out in his lap.

“You’re just too good to be true…Can’t take my eyes off of you…”

A male’s voice crooned through the speakers, but Robyn and Orpheus paid it no mind as they silently watched their fathers.

Finally Dream met Hob’s gaze and held it. The boys held their breath, too. Wondering what was going to happen now.

“Do you think they know?” Hob asked quietly, so quiet that Robyn barely heard him speak.

“It’s our wedding song, of course they knew,” Dream sighed, casting his gaze up to the ceiling.

It was Hob’s turn to tap his fingers on the table, thinking, and making his mind up about something as he pushed his chair out and stood.

Orpheus took Robyn’s arm and shook it as Hob stepped up to Dream, dipping slightly and offering his hand.

“Dance with me?”

Dream stared at Hob’s hand, lips parted. Robyn felt himself shaking with the effort to remain calm.

Dream swallowed, Robyn could see from here.

“Do you think this is wise?” he asked in a whisper, eyes flicking up to Hob.

After a moment of tense silence, nothing but the song quietly playing, Hob took a long breath.

“It’s our song, we can’t not dance to it.”

And as if that was sound enough logic, Dream carefully took Hob’s hand, fingers elegantly curling around it, and allowed himself to be pulled up and led to a spacious spot away from the table.

Hob took the lead, using his hold on Dream’s hand to pull him close, the other hand circling his waist and causing Dream’s eyes to flutter shut as he willingly stepped closer, their bodies nearly touching, his own hand resting on Hob’s shoulder.

Robyn and Orpheus could barely watch now, from this angle. They scooted back out into the hallway to find another spot where they could see more clearly.

The only other option was from above, a loft directly above the dining room which was Dream’s study, a place Orpheus wasn’t allowed to be in by himself, but he figured this was a good enough excuse to break that rule.

Orpheus led the way, quiet tiptoeing turning into a full blown sprint up the stairs and around the corner, shushing themselves as they got to the door of his father's office and quietly pushed it open. The music was louder up here, closer to the speakers that hung from the ceiling, so they wouldn’t be able to hear their fathers if they spoke, but they could properly spy on them now without being seen or heard.

Robyn followed Orpheus’ lead and crouched down, crawling forward on his tummy and poking his head out through the railing and peeking below.

Dream and Hob were still swaying to the music, just as close and eyes open, gaze locked to each other. They had picked up momentum now that the song was more than halfway over, the second chorus coming in with trumpets and bringing the rhythm up to something more infectious, more daring as Hob’s grip around Dream’s waist circled around the small of his back, holding him tighter as he began to spin them around the room.

Dream’s long legs kept up as Hob visibly loosened up, leading them in an informal waltz. Robyn caught his dad’s wide, toothy smile every time he turned and he could see his face clearly. His eyes seemed to sparkle. 

Orpheus nudged Robyn. “I’ve never seen my father smile like that.”

Robyn had noticed that Dream was smiling, too. But it was lips only, parting every now and then, like he was holding it back, biting his bottom lip afterwards to keep it at bay. But his eyes lit up in a way that was almost unrecognisable, focused solely on Hob.

Hob’s hand on Dream’s waist dropped, taking his other hand suddenly and taking a step back, turning Dream in his hold so his back was against Hob’s front, and spun him out, Dream following along with a surprised yelp and laughter that the boy’s heard from their vantage point.

When Hob pulled Dream back in, they were closer than before, chests flush together and noses bumping fleetingly. 

The song was coming to an end, fading out as Hob and Dream slowed in their dancing to a standstill. 

Orpheus gasps next to Robyn. “They’re gonna kiss.”

“Shh!” Robyn bumped his elbow to his brother’s side. 

The boys held their breath as the song finally ended and another one started, instrumental jazz again. The men stood so Robyn and Orpheus could see both of them from the side, watching with bated breath as Hob brought up Dream’s left hand and kissed the knuckles, eyes glued to Dream’s.

Hob said something, his lips moving, unable to make out from here, but Robyn could see how Dream’s eyes widened as Hob dropped his hold on the other hand, moving his up to cup the side of Dream’s face.

Hob leaned in, agonisingly slow, eyes half-lidded. 

And was met with Dream turning his face away, so not even the boys could see what expression he gave off.

Hob’s head dipped, defeat radiating off him, his forehead resting solemnly on Dream’s temple.

Robyn had to bite his tongue to hold back the groan of frustration that bubbled up in his throat. All Orpheus’ and his hard work!

Dream swallowed again, his jaw twitching, saying something, to which Hob shook his head, finally dropping his hands and ripping himself away.

“Hob, I’m sorry…” the words barely made it up to the twin’s ears, spoken by Dream, broken and thick.

Hob shook his head again, a painful, false smile plastered onto his face as he took another step back, then another, putting more and more distance between them.

“No…” Orpheus bemoaned, sitting up slightly. “What’s happening?”

Hob said something, quiet, before finally turning around and walking out of the room.

A long, heavy moment permeated the air, made doubly awkward as the music continued to play.

Dream stood, wrapping his arms around his middle.

And the boys simultaneously rolled onto their backs, staring blankly up to the ceiling.

So they missed the way Dream wiped a hand over his eyes, took a steadying inhale, and ran after Hob.

[mechazushi]

God, you're dense [Affectionate].

{a Kn8 short story}

Hoshina wasn't one to play games. Sure, he liked to have fun, but playing with people's emotions and perceptions wasn't something he could get into. He raised himself on the belief that being straight forward on something was the best course of action. If someone couldn't get on the same page as him, that was on them. He worked in a position where the best moves forward and anyone else that can't keep up with him were best left behind. Of course, much like most rules in life, there were exceptions to the rule. His biggest fault to everything he stood for was a tall, jolly, brute of a beast named Kafka. Kafka would be an exception to most everything he would die on a hill for. On the opposite end of the spectrum, however, was one person that he held to the highest accordance of his standards. His brother.

Hoshina made a point not to talk to his brother after he got accepted into the defense force. The restrictions on that got tighter after he got accepted as Mina's Vice Captain. Since before, he still showed up to family gatherings at the least to entertain his mother's concerns about his livelihood in the Third Division. Still, just because he didn't make attempts to contact his family, doesn't mean his family doesn't make attempts to contact him. It was always inevitable (because they don't tell him ahead of time) always with the supposed best of intentions (Because what quality road to hell isn't paved with them) and always at the most inconvenient times (an ability that seemed to be an inbred skill in every other family member). Between catching up on chores that should have been done yesterday, decaf in the communal coffee machine, and his third favorite pen breaking, Hoshina found he wasn't in the mood to talk. So obviously it was a perfect time to be visited by his least favorite person.

Walking down the hallway with a mountain of signed paperwork, his pace was intended to be brisk, but felt sluggish all the same. As he passed an intersection in hallways, he noticed the large frame of a burly friend catching up behind him. As Kafka slowed his pace to match his commander's, Hoshina tilted his face in his direction and flashed what was hoped to be a casual and respectful smile.

"Had a feeling you'd feel like that once I heard about the incident at the coffee machine. Here. Brought this for ya." Kafka said as he handed over a steaming mug of dark tan coffee.

"Oh, I already had coffee today." Hoshina tried to politely decline. he guessed his smile wasn't as bright as it should have been if Kafka could see he was feeling off.

"Yeah, but that was decaf." he insisted as he held the mug by its rim and pointed its handle temptingly toward its intended recipient.

Hoshina stiffed its steam heavily as it wafted under his nose. The smell of a caffeinated brew being much more rejuvenating than the bland swill he choked down this morning. He didn't think twice as he shifted the paper load more securely under his arm and took the offered mug greedily. There was a low, grateful moan as the hot, searing, and just lightly sweetened liquid burned pleasantly down the back of his throat.

'You might've just saved my mental state yet again, Kafka." Hoshina finally muttered after nearly downing half of the mug.

Kafka just chuckled as he walked in time with him, and after a while, held out a hand in an offer to carry the paperwork. Hoshina politely refused again, feeling genuinely better now that he had something more stimulating coursing throughout his system. Walking side by side, they engaged in pleasant idle chatter as they continued down the hallway. Without checking how far they had walked, they neared an area that had a lobby that was sparsely populated. As they got closer, an irritatingly familiar voice rang clear in the partially echoey room.

"Brother Dearest!" Soichiro Hoshina, Soshiro's older brother, was leaning against the desk in the back center of the lobby, relaxing like he deserved the space he was taking up.

"Oh God, why aren't I being delivered from evil like I ask every Shrine visit?" Soshiro muttered as soon as he realized who was occupying the open room with them.

"That's your brother?" Kafka asked as he laid eyes on the visitor.

"Unfortunately." Soshiro said with every letter somehow overflowing with distain and loudly enough to be heard by the other person.

"Come on, brother! You had to have known that one of these visits was to have to happen soon? It's been, what, months since you've even sent at minimum a hello to Mother." Soichino's words were playful, a clear difference in demeanor to the attitude his younger brother was radiating. A second had passed as he clearly gave the plus one an interested once-over after he lifted his sunglasses off his face.

"Well, hello soldier. And who might you be?" A salacious smile slithered coolly over Soichiro's glossy, thin lips. His tongue flicked out and over his teeth teasingly as he continued to stare down Kafka with a darkened sense of interest. Kafka bowed deeply in greeting before he introduced himself.

"Kafka Hibino. Officer of the Third Division." was his militantly clipped response.

"Kafka... Kafka... Where have I heard that name before?" Soichiro drawled out as he shifted over to Kafka's side, poking his shoulder with the arm of his sunglasses with playful emphases.

"He's our Kaiju Number Eight, you salacious cur. Now what are you doing here?" Soshiro snarked as he took another sip of his coffee. His brother made no move to acknowledge the comment as he continued to speak directly to Kafka.

"Kaiju Number Eight, huh! So you're the beast on the battlefield. Is it too much for me to ask if you're a beast anywhere else?" That Cheshire smile never left his face as his eyes turned into a more evaluating gaze.

"Well, I'm the Division's only on call Kaiju. It's pretty safe to say that I'm always the beast when it's needed." Kafka smiled bashfully as a hand came up to scratch the back of his neck. Soichiro practically giggled as a hand came up to mischievously smack the other shoulder.

"Look at you! Making out to be something that strong and powerful as a humble brag!" the older brother seemed to slide in closer to Kafka's personal space, with Kafka playing it off as business as usual. Soshiro could feel the handle of the mug creaking under his tightened grip as he looked on at his brother's shameless display.

"Ya know, I had originally cleared out my schedule to take my brother out on a lunch date, but I've just realized he's been a horrible brother and hasn't shown me around the Third Division's main facilities not once!", Soichiro saddled up impossibly closer and even had the audacity to slip a hand around the back of Kafka's forearm, "Why don't I be a good Captain and help clear yours so you can show me around? I'm sure any tour by you would be far more interesting than what he could provide." Soshiro watched as he saw the offer being sealed with an obviously flirty wink.

"Well, I'd be happy to! That is, if it's alright with my Vice Captain?" Kafka asked as he looked innocently toward the younger brother, seemingly unaware or unaffected by the attention he was currently being given.

"No Kafka, that won't be necessary, If my brother is going to come out all this way to see me, then he's just going to have to settle for my company alone." Soshiro said as he placed his paperwork and his coffee mug on the abandoned reception desk.

"Yeah, that makes sense. Maybe some other time?" Kafka asked as he looked at the older Hoshina brother.

"Such a shame. Don't be surprised if I take you up on that offer." Soichiro tittered as he patted the other side of the forearm he was still holding onto. The two brothers watched intently as Kafka turned around and walked down the hallway. Soshiro waited until he was out of every possible hearing range before he decided to speak.

"Alright, you bottle-platinum harlot. What the hell was that display all about?" Soshiro made no attempts to restrain his irritation at his brother's expense. He had no idea what game his brother was trying to play with him, but he wouldn't stand for it since it seemed to involve a very close and personal friend of his.

"I don't know what you mean." Soichiro said as he kept tittering. His posture and demeanor revealing to his younger brother that there was a plan brewing behind those evil eyes.

"I will not have you seducing my strongest man over to your division while I'm here." Soshiro commanded as he leveled a piercing gaze at the other person.

"Excuse me, 'Your man'? I'm sorry, but I didn't see a ring on his finger." Soichiro teased as he turned to face his brother.

"That's not what I meant and you know it, you vile rake." Soshiro spat the words out in an attempt to dissuade any further conversation on the topic.

"So catty today, are we brother? I was simply taking in the local selection. I'm not surprised you're interested in him." Soichiro chatted as he teasingly bit on the arm of his sunglasses.

"I also see you've decided to take up slander as a hobby since last we met." Soshiro grumbled as he found himself forced into a position where he had to talk to his brother in person for more than a minute.

"Oh, please! You know our family has a history of liking them sweet and dumb. How do you think Mother's marriage has lasted this long?" Soichiro continued as he leveled a knowing stare at him.

"If you're going to keep insinuating things that don't exist, I'm going to order you to cancel the lunch date and leave." the younger brother retorted as he turned around to drink the last sips from the coffee mug.

"What do you think I'm insinuating?" Soichiro purred as his sight never left his brother.

"Don't toy with me today, you troglodytic trollup. I am in no mood to bat around this string of yarn you're trying to spin here." Soshina kept snapping back as he took the opportunity to avoid eye contact as he shuffled around the stack of papers.

"Why all the denial, Brother Dearest? Especially since we're so far from Egypt. Besides, it's not slander saying you like a coworker as if your interactions weren't displayed all over the news two weeks ago." The grin broke into a full blown, toothy smile of superiority as the Captain of the Sixth Division draped himself over the desk's top next to Soshiro.

"What... interactions?" the Vice Captain hissed as he slowly turned his head to side-eye his brother

"Should I reenact it for you?" Soichiro giggled before flopping onto his back and dramatically fainting, "Oh! I seem to have taken a terrible fall and broken both of my legs! Oh, is there some dark, handsome, Knight in living armour that can princess-carry my oh so fragile body to the farthest fucking ambulance on scene and completely bypass three others that were unoccupied and were going to take me to the same fucking hospital!" It was clear that he was taking a massive amount of joy retelling his version of events that he saw on the news as his voice raised in volume with every reveal.

"I didn't break my legs, I dislocated my ankles! What would you have me do, walk?" Soshiro started to match his brother's volume and had now fully turned to him to confront this problem of point-of-views head on.

"The cameras clearly show you two having a conversation where it shows you convincing him to carry you!" The two of them were so close to each other's faces now their noses could touch.

"I was trying to convince him not to!" Soshiro returned.

"Because the cameras were rolling?" Soichiro asked.

"Yes!" his brother answered.

"AND BECAUSE YOU TWO ARE IN LOVE! Why else be camera shy about being carried around in public?" The eldest returned triumphantly as he poked him in the chest.

"NO." Soshiro shouted back as he shoved his brother backwards, "We are not in love! What part of this do you think it's okay to date someone like him?"

"Oh don't act like you can't because he's under your position. He makes his own precedent as he breathes! And you are the right type of rebellious, attention craving, delinquent punk that would absolutely fall for someone that is perfect for you in all the right ways, while also him being a human anomaly in every sense of the word! He turns into something our family has been training it's young to kill for centuries so of course you're going to deviate from the norm and be practically head over heels for him!" The Captain couldn't stop himself from cackling as his lungs quaked from talking for so long without breath.

There wasn't anything left on the matter that Soshiro could say to make his brother change his mind, so he decided to let his fists do the talking for him as he sent a vicious right hook. His fist connected to his brother's left eye and caught him off guard for a second. Before he could speak out against the assault, the younger brother wasted no time in jumping onto his brother and throwing his fists left and right. The two soon became a mass of tangled limbs and colorful curse words on the floor. It wasn't like this for long as two other people came across the fight and helped break up the fray.

"Alright, alright! Break it UP!" You two are grown up men, and Defense Force officers at that! ACT LIKE IT!" Okonogi reprimanded them as Aoi held them off the ground by their jacket collars.

"Yes, Okonogi." The brothers said in unison. As they were set back on the ground, they straightened their outfits and waited to see if their new company would leave. When they didn't, Soichiro decided to speak what was left on his mind anyway.

"The lunch date is still on, by the way. Mother's orders. How about I give us an hour to cool down and we try this whole 'conversation' thing again?" he tried to say with as much possible conviction in his smile. Soshiro just glared violently as he picked up the stack of papers from the desk.

"I do what I damn well please, you leporid bunk bunny." he said as he stormed off. Everyone watched as he walked away before his older brother spoke up again.

"He'll be fine."

 𓈒   𑁍 𓈒

It was a little after seven thirty before Hoshina felt fine enough to interact with anyone. Spending some time in the gym helped him feel better after dealing with the Lunch Date From Hell. It also helped that he got to meet his favorite punching bag for sparring.

"Look -huff- I get you -huff- don't like your brother -huff-, but did you really -huff- need to literally -huff- kick my ass?" Kafka's lungs heaved after spending what felt like hours defending himself from his Vice Captain's volley of blows.

"Ya snooze, ya loose Kafka. Intense training is for your own good." Hoshina quipped back as he walked over to his duffle for water bottles. Kafka shambled behind him slowly and sat down on the bench the bag was next to.

"Intense training, my entire bruised ass. That last chokehold felt personal." Kafka began to regulate his breathing by the time Hoshina made it over with the water bottles.

As Hoshina drank from his, he subtly tried to look at Kafka as he poured some of the bottle's contents onto himself. He watched as the water made his partner's bangs stick to his forehead at odd angles and made a swift attempt to cool his fiery red cheeks. Hoshina didn't let his imagination run too far away from him as he thought about Kafka looking worn out and sweaty for a different reason. Of course he denied everything that was said earlier that was concerning the situation between him and Kafka. Mainly because it all implied that Kafka felt the same way he did. Had it been a complete stranger talking to him this morning, it would have shocked everyone that knew him once they heard how different his answers would have been.

As Kafka finished rubbing the cool water into his face and straightened his back and arms out into an intense looking stretch, Hoshina forced himself to look away from the rippling of muscle and the straining of his tank top around said muscles. In moments like this, when he was sure no one would be looking or they were alone, Hoshina liked to play a little game with Kafka. It wasn't one that you could win with points or anything. Hell, some days it made Hoshina feel like all he did was lose by playing, but he couldn't deny that conniving little twitch that begged for him to play over and over again. All so he could see that dumb little smile.

"Still improving as slow as always." Hoshina said after a minute of relaxing on the bench.

"Hey, at least I am still improving, right?" Kafka returned as he looked back at his Vice Captain.

There was a smile, sure, but it wan't big. He could do better.

"Can't say I don't find you to be consistent at least 1% of the time." Hoshina offered as a response, deciding to bring up a well used joke between them. He turned back to look out at the empty gym in front of them.

"God, I still haven't gotten higher than that, haven't I?" Kafka chuckled out of the side of his mouth.

"It was a good thing we found out you were a kaiju when we did. Could you imagine what would have happened if you couldn't raise that percentage up high enough in three months?" Hoshina thought the comment sounded funnier in his head, but once he heard it out loud he wanted to smack himself for it. Everyone knew that it was a horrible thought, thinking about Kafka not being around anymore. Even that was something Hoshina couldn't bring himself to deny or joke about.

"I do every day." Kafka sighed heavily, "Everyday I wake up here." He closed his eyes for a second as he smiled softly, his head coming to rest against the back wall the bench was against.

Hoshina turned back to look at him, taking Kafka's moment of vulnerability to look at him fully this time. He thought about it too. A life in the Defense Force where he didn't get to see Kafka everyday. A life where he didn't bring him coffee or hear his laugh or have drinks with him after work hours. Hoshina could feel his heart squeeze at the thought of Kafka not being in the Defense Force, or worse, suddenly living at a different Division. Being close by technicality, but feeling oh so very far.

"Did you notice my brother was flirting with you at all?" Hoshina felt himself ask before he could take the words back. He felt himself brace for the answer in the brief moments in between his heartbeats.

"Wait... really?" Kafka asked with genuine interest. Hoshina could feel his face twist into something between curiosity and mild disgust. Kafka couldn't tell he was being flirted with? And was okay with it coming from his brother?

"Ye-yeah?" Hoshina returned hesitantly.

"You sure? 'Cuz I mean... wow. He's... actually interested? In me?" Kafka's smile grew bigger and more wonky as he processed what he was told.

"You're okay with this?" Hoshina questioned incredulously. He could not believe what he was seeing, and was actively praying that this wasn't the case.

"Are you kidding? Of course! You're brother is frickin' hot!" Kafka replied with joy, "Is he, like, still around? I mean, I know he's not here kinda around, but I mean, is he like, nearby? Like in a hotel or something? Nah, that would be creepy. Oh! Could you let me have his number?" Kafka prattled on as Hoshina continued to become more and more disgusted. Sure, he was a little happy to hear that Kafka was cool with being hit on by guys, (and clearly reciprocated the sentiment) but felt absolutely horrified at hearing Kafka wanting his brother's number. So much so that he immediately stood on the bench seat so he could get a good enough vantage to stomp on Kafka to stop his train of thought.

"You! Will! NOT! Be! Dating! My! BROTHER!" Hoshina shouted out between the stomping.

"Jesus! And here I thought you wouldn't be having a problem with me liking guys! Yah know, since you told me about it!" Kafka shouted back as he tried to defend himself from the onslaught.

"I don't have a problem with you dating guys! I have a problem with you dating my brother!" Hoshina said as he pressed his foot down firmly onto Kafka's hands that were protecting his head.

'Well then, who would you rather have me date?" Kafka returned rhetorically.

"Me for starters!" Hoshina finally admitted. Once he did, he let the pressure off of his foot and just stayed in the position for a hot minute, feeling as awkward as a school girl admitting to her first crush. Kafka just held onto the foot as he looked up at his commander with wide, unbelieving eyes. All Hoshina could bring himself to do was look away, his cheeks flushing hot and bright. Kafka helped lower the foot down as he got up from his seat to face him from the front.

"Have... have you been flirting with me too?" Kafka asked. Hoshina still couldn't look at him or answer, so his cheeks answered for him.

"How long have you been flirting with me?" Kafka asked again.

"Two... two years." Hoshina answered quietly.

"We've known each other for two years." Kafka responded. Hoshina still hadn't made a move, only crossed his arms defensively.

"YOU'VE BEEN FLIRTING WITH ME SINCE WE MET?" Kafka shouted as he made the realization.

"To be fair, I don't flirt like a normal person and you clearly can't read context clues." Hoshina said as he finally regained some control over his mouth. He just wished he had better control over what it said.

"Why didn't you say anything before now?" Kafka sounded incredulous at the thought of how he could have been dating the most amazing person on base before now, had be been able to read between the lines.

" I kept thinking it was funny?" Hoshina responded in a shy, quivering voice as more blood rushed to his face and made it redder.

"Okay, now I have to ask. What about me do you like? Do you think I'm handsome, or do you really just like to think I'm funny?" Kafka questioned as he waved his hands around animatedly.

"Honestly? I just really like that you're funny." Hoshina said as he relaxed and playfully shrugged. Now feeling better about having all of this out in the open.

" So, just, fuck my face then." Kafka said in a sarcastically irritated manner while turning around and waving his arms.

"I would if you'd stop talking." Hoshina accidentally let slip.

He wasn't ashamed of saying it, but probably should have found a better time to say it. It didn't seem to matter anyway as Kafka took a second to stop his flailing and slowly turned around to face his commander again. A sly smile tugged at the corner of his lips as his eyes darkened at the play on words they stumbled into.

"Well alright then." Kafka chuckled darkly as he strode over to where Hoshina was still standing. He grabbed his legs and threw him over his shoulder, holding onto Hoshina's calves for dear life as he carried his thrashing lover out of the gym.

"Wha-what do you think you're doing?" Hoshina cried as he tried to look back at his kidnapper. Kafka returned the most intensely flirtatious side-eye back at him as they walked out of the gym.

"Moving training to your place, so you can properly shut me up."

"Wha-what, no dinner first?" Hoshina stuttered nervously as he continued to be paraded down the hall on Kafka's shoulder. He got even more nervous as Okonogi slid past his line of sight and watched them walk away.

"You've been flirting with me for two years. Dinner can wait." Kafka growled as the other hand came up and audibly smacked Hoshina on the ass.

[buckevantommy]

Agh too many options! Okay this is severely pared down and still a lot so, sorry or you're welcome idk 😅

👔👔👔

🎓🎓🎓

🥺🥺🥺

(your username is perfect for the suit one btw)

👔 — Tommy shows up at the firehouse in a suit. Buck has feelings about it.

"Do you have to go?" Evan doesn't break the bounds Tommy sets, keeping a small amount of distance between them even as he comes to stand between Tommy's thighs.

That pink, sulky pout and those lust-blown pupils and the wall of bothered heat radiating from Evan is almost enough to make Tommy forget about his responsibilities.

Almost.

Evan's hips sway forward and Tommy's hands move to meet them. Stop them. His aggrieved sigh fills the dense air. He doesn't have the kind of power to postpone today, but even if he did he wouldn't use it because they need his help with the defence and he gave his word.

"Would you really want me to blow them off?"

"I got somethin' you could blow.."

"Evan." He tries to sound stern, he really does— but he can't help the way he finds Evan's shameless desire delightful, and his fondness comes through in a smile.

The cocky little grin Evan busts out makes Tommy want to kiss him about it.

So he does.

He guides Evan in by the back of his neck and he all but melts against him, tries dropping his jaw to deepen the kiss, hands sneaking up Tommy's thighs—

"Mh— nope, c'mon." It's partially his doing, he won't deny that. But they can't keep going in sexy circles like this or he's going to be late even if he does manage to escape with a more or less clean suit. Standing, he maneuvers Evan back towards the closed door with ease, and with only minor resistence.

"No fair," Evan whines.

Tommy spies the clock on the wall. He really has to get going, and it's a struggle to not dive back in for another kiss as Evan leans back against the door, the long line of his body inviting, tempting. "From where I'm standing, I don't disagree." Because duty calls, so he takes Evan's hand and leads him out into the bright hallway, his mind a carousel of all the ways he could make this up to his boyfriend later that night, and reward himself in the process, too.

🎓 — College AU.

Buck finds the door open and no one inside. "Uh, h-hello?"

A poster pinned to the wall catches his eye: it's a man with an intimidating physique and the bare muscles of his chest and arms glistening in the sun. Buck can appreciate a good workout when he sees the fruits of that labour. He wonders what this guy does to maintain the kind of body that essentially doubles his size. 

He takes in the rest of the image, noting the suspenders and the hose and the helmet. A firefighter. It's a calendar of half-naked firefighters, the kind sold for charity. He wonders if one of the dormers is related to a firefighter and made everyone buy one, or if it was a gag gift, or maybe—

"Can I help you?"

Buck flinches at the voice behind him, dropping the calendar page and jerking away from it like he's been caught looking at something he shouldn't. He was snooping. "Um, I—" He whirls around so fast he knocks the shelf beside him, knocking a small box onto the floor and scattering its contents. "Shit— I-I'm so sorry." He's on his knees gathering up the—sticks of charcoal?—before he can think.

"Oh, that's— don't worry about it, really." The guy drops to a crouch, reaching for a few wayward pieces.

Their fingers brush where they both place the charcoal back in the little box. Buck pulls his hands back like he's been burned. "M'sorry, I just—" For the first time he gets a look at this guy. "I'm.. lookin' for Tommy?"

"Well, you found him."

There's a small quirk at the corner of Tommy's mouth like he finds Buck amusing but Buck can't really focus on that because he feels too hot all of a sudden. Is there no air-conditioning in this crappy dorm? "Uh. Hi."

Tommy's smile breaks free and crinkles his cheeks and the skin around his eyes a little. It's a really nice smile. "Hi. You got a name?"

"Bu—uh, E-Evan. Buckley."

"Good to meet you, Evan." Tommy pushes up from the floor and extends a hand down to Buck. He raises his brows expectantly, and. Well.

Buck grasps his hand firmly.

Not that he couldn't get up on his own, but Tommy was willing to help and it would be rude not to let him, right? It doesn't even occur to him that he should support most of his weight as Tommy pulls him to his feet—because he's not a small guy. But Tommy isn't exactly lacking in the physical department either; he could probably book a spot on that firefighter calendar if he wanted.

🥺 — Alternate Canon: just friends with pining!Tommy and “straight” Buck, hurt/comfort.

i'll have to leave this one for now. i can't find it in my gdocs or my tumblr drafts. i think it might be a rambling idea i put in the tags of a post i reblogged - but for the life of me i don't know what to search for to find it.. 🥺🫶

[coollyinterferes]

The unmistakable sound of footsteps approaching begins to fill the air. Whoever is coming seems to have brought some company along…

They are getting closer… and closer… and closer…

…and closer…

……until..................

"Goooooood evenin'!!" Comes the loud greeting from a certain blond man. A big smile on his face and all.

"We beg your pardon for our prolonged absence. It was completely beyond our control..." Then adds the gentleman standing by his side, apologizing on behalf of both, offering a genuine smile along with the apology.

"...BUT! We're back!" And hopefully for good this time…

[spotaus]

New Age AU (The King's Bed)

Hi. That title sounds super dramatic but istg it's not. here's a Drabble which I've kinda been cooking because! Guess who needs to start writing the main story! (It's me!) This happens immediately following This Drabble which begins the main plot! (There's a bit of the same scene but from a different perspective at the start, my apologies! Picking up that strat from a certain pal of mine lol!)

Hello to @ancha-aus @papiliovolens and @mutzelputz ! (if these tags ever get old lemee know, but otherwise I'll keep trying to remember to add them!

No edits or beta-readings so, as per usual, good luck!

That wasn’t normal. Whatever had happened to the king was not normal. Everything had been tilted sideways in that moment. 

Cross had just been talking to Horror. He’d known what he’d stumbled on, the king was always encouraging him to break his rhythm and he was very aware that Horror always took it easy on him when they sparred. He had great self-control and an amazing handle on his strength. Cross couldn’t even take it as an insult, because he was honestly relieved he wasn’t coming out of trainings beat to a pulp. That hadn’t ever happened here, to any of the knights, no matter how dirty they claimed to fight. It gave Cross a change to evaluate himself. Ask the others what they thought of his work. Get honest answers. Horror was always receptive to the discussions, but Cross always wanted to act fast to ask, to get it out of the way. Training could stay in the training room, for once. 

He’d just finished hanging his armor up in the designated stand, only four were ever in use, his being tucked between Killer and Horror’s, when, past Horror’s hulking form, he noticed Dust shift and duck back towards the rest of the room. Unusual, normally he’d be quick to discard the set and move off to his room. 

The surprised sound from behind him finally convinced him to quiet and turn. Just soon enough to catch the way that Killer and the king were about halfway to the exit. To catch the way the king’s tendrils seemed to be propping him off the floor, how some were writhing, slinging around Killer. To catch how the king’s cyan eyelight disappeared behind Killer’s shoulder as he stumbled and collapsed. 

Killer caught him, of course, letting the weight of their king drag him down to the ground like a safety cushion. Killer never let any harm come to their king. This, though? The king had dropped like a sack of potatoes, and even as Killer held him, he seemed disoriented. Cross felt frozen as he stood and watched what he could of the scene, most of it being of Killer’s back. The king’s tendrils lashed sluggishly against the ground, tugged and slid away from the armor of the knight holding him. He seemed to shift, pushing himself up and turning his head to look around him, ignoring the increasingly worried prompting from Killer. My lord? My lord, what’s wrong? It was still stoic, but it was obvious his hackles were raised. This wasn’t normal. 

Dust had moved beyond the pair, standing at attention, his magic wafting over the room like a miasma. Dry and crackling, enough to make Cross wince at the familiar aura. It hadn’t hurt him on purpose, not since that first day. That was just it, though. Dust was searching for a threat. Some sort of enemy. Anything that might have done this to the king. 

“He’s not responding.” Killer voiced, though Cross couldn’t tell exactly to who. The king had sun down, now. His one socket was closed and- Was he trembling? Cross thought he could see the way the king was shaking in Killer’s grip.

“He’s losing magic.” Dust asserted, not turning around. 

It was hard to tell with Dust’s magic coating the room, but Cross could feel it too. That heavy, encompassing, energy that always followed the king? It was smaller. Less imposing. It seemed… It seemed like it was fading away, rapidly draining from some unseen leak. That shouldn’t happen. That’s not how magic worked. Unless, of course, a monster was bleeding out. A dying soul would flicker and fight, until it suddenly gave in, magic rushing out all at once as they started to dust. 

“He’s what?” Horror, from beside him, seemed to break out of the same confusion that had held Cross back. Kept his feet in place. “Is he injured?” He questioned, already taking a step towards Killer. 

“No, he’s not. Not that I can see.” Killer replied, though he didn’t turn to his fellow knights, his skull was trained down on Nightmare as he shook and hunkered with his eye closed. His tendrils were… His tendrils were melting. Sinking into the grouted brick of the training room and leaking away like little veins. Cross wasn’t sure Killer noticed. It made him feel sick. 

Cross watched as Horror stepped forward again a bit more quickly. 

“Let me take a look, Killer. Maybe it’s-” Horror was cut off by a quick snap from Killer.

“No. There’s no time. Go find Ccino.” It was an order. If it had been directed at him, Cross would’ve already been out of the door, but it was to Horror. Horror was a stubborn monster. A caring monster. Cross could see his expression shift as he stopped moving forward and stared at Killer’s back.

“This is bad, he needs a healer, not-”

“Horror, I told you. Go get Ccino! Now!” This time there was a bite in Killer’s words. One Cross wasn’t sure he’d ever heard from the senior knight. “ This isn’t some sort of test, I don’t know what this is. It can’t be good.” 

The burly skeleton in question grit his teeth. It was obvious to Cross he didn’t want to leave, but he shifted on his feet. His eyelight didn’t even meet Cross’ as he barrelled past him and out the door of the training room. 

That left him alone over on the other side of the room, watching things happen like a horrible accident. As Killer muttered something and Dust seemed to grow more stiff in his posture. Cross gripped the hilt of his sword nervously. What could he do? Killer didn’t want Horror’s help, he certainly wouldn’t want Cross’. He didn’t know much healing, and he couldn’t sense any threats, and-

“Shit.” Dust’s voice again. “His magic levels are dropping. Fast.” 

It was almost like a ripple of water being splashed into Cross’ system when it hit him. Just a moment after Dust’s words. That thick aura barrier dropped. Entirely. Whatever it was that made the king so imposing, so powerful, so familiar to be around. It all seemed to disappear. Cross rocked on his heels. Everything seemed too open, like he’d come up from under the surface of the water. 

“Cross, try to grab his magic.” The order rang in his ears a moment. 

Killer wanted him to do what? 

Everyone knew the king had never allowed Cross to attempt his control magic on him for long. It was supposedly for Cross’ safety, because the godlike magic was so dense and consuming. The king seemed to fear it would backfire not unlike Dust’s, only with a much more fatal result. Cross had respected the boundary placed, only gripping at the edges of the dark magic. Frankly, the king had been right, even the smallest of spells he attempted to control would require too much energy, and would slip away before he could do anything useful. This was an absurd thing for Killer to tell him to do!

“W-what! I- I shouldn’t-” Though he found, just like Horror, that Killer wasn’t looking for others opinions right now. 

“Just try. Now. Hold it in place and see if it stabilizes.” Killer demanded.

Cross knew better. This order did not make him feel good. The king was unresponsive, and technically Cross knew Killer was his superior, and he should be listening, but would the king be mad at him for trying to control his magic? Would-

“When the King and Ccino are unavailable, I’m in charge. Listen to me.” Killer sounded like he was getting frustrated. 

Cross could understand why, though. Their king lay shaking in Killer’s arms. The king lay dying. 

Cross moved closer by a few step, just close enough that he could see the king’s upper half. Killer had tucked the king’s skull into the space between his shoulder and chin, something so deeply gentle that Cross had little time to really process. Cross thrust his hands out, both sending out his wave of intent. He needed to grab tight to the source of that fast-fading magic. The one that he recognized so well and had lost track of in the air. 

Unlike usual, his magic cut through the tar-like body of his king and grasped at something settled in his ribcage. A tight, sticky, sickly orb of magic. When his magic brushed against it, the king’s magic seemed to solidify slightly, recoiling from his intrusion, and he snatched at it. 

Holding the magic looked like nothing. It felt like sticking his hands into a sopping wet puddle and trying to collect the wet dirt at the bottom, the pieces slipping through the space between his fingers, no matter how tightly he cupped beneath. So, he adjusted. Pulled his hands into a circle, entirely enclosing the magic and ensuring there was no escape. A cold feeling bit at his palms, radiating in the space, but it wasn’t as painful as he had expected. Though, he also doubted what he held was the entirety of the king’s magic. More likely, it was whatever was left after the big loss of energy, 

He was so focused on holding it in place, he had no clue how long he actually managed to hold it stable. It was still, there was a brief second where the familiar energy had returned. 

And just like that, it was gone. 

Cross still had hold of something, but it wasn’t the king’s magic. It was something else, tiny. Still familiar, sure, but the slime and gunk simply disappeared, like it had decided it had better things to do. He searched after it, but found it had gone, and there was no sign of it attached to the king’s soul. Distress filled him. Had he failed?

No time to linger on it. 

Cross jolted back a little as the king seemed to regain his senses. Cross watched as he shoved himself out of Killer’s hold… only to retch. He knew the feeling well, magic escaping in any way it knew well. His usually only did that after sustaining injury, though. As far as they knew, the king had never been hurt. Never was touched. 

Killer leaned forward, following the motion, and Cross was shell-shocked to find that the first knight refrained from touching their king as he gagged and lost more of that black goopy magic. It was dripping off of his bones now and.. Oh. What?

The king. The longer he heaved, the more of that magical substance sloughed off from his body. He wasn’t dusting. It was more like… he was shedding his skin? The goop pooled beneath him, slinking away into the crevices of the floor, and revealed bones. Bones. Pearly white, unmarred, clean bones. The king was a skeleton monster, they all knew that, but Cross had assumed he was a hybrid, maybe some sort of earth elemental in his ancestry. The monster who was crunched in on himself just inches from Killer was certainly a normal skeleton monster. 

And. he was small. It wasn’t obvious at first, but as Killer kept easing closer, Cross noticed. The king, or, he assumed the king, had a small skull. His tunic and cape nearly enveloped him. Sleeves hung baggy over his hands and his circlet had slipped over his skull to hang around his neck. Was this his true appearance? Was this their king?

It wasn’t until one socket blinked, a pale violet eyelight popping into view, that anyone spoke. 

“My king?” 

Even Killer seemed frazzled by the proceedings. Dust turned around now, and the three of them watched silent as the king lifted his skull and turned it. Slowly but surely. Until he met Killer’s gaze. Killer was looking at him so gently. The same way he looked at the kittens he’d show them in the stables. 

The king seemingly hardly noticed, because in a split second he whipped his head around to face Dust, only to lose his balance and topple over. 

“Woah, steady!” Killer was quick, and Cross was relieved to find he’d caught the king, pulling him closer and onto the steady platform of his lap again. 

He almost missed Killer asking their king a question. He almost missed the quiet squeak of a response which was promptly cut-off by the white-boned king. From this angle, Cross could see the other side of his skull. The king, before, had a cascade of magical energy obscuring the place where a second socket would have sat. Now, Cross could see the cracks of an old injury, trailing up from a dead socket into the top of his skull. An impact wound, by the looks of it. That didn’t set well.

The king still shook in Killer’s arms, but Dust seemed to have relaxed a bit. All of them could feel it, as Killer practically bundled the king up between his arms. The loss of magic had stopped. The king was stable. Weak, it felt like, but stable. A quick meeting of eyes from Cross to Dust revealed the truth of the matter. They’d need to wait for Ccino. That was all they could do. 

Killer had been right. Insanely right. 

Horror had returned with Ccino, and the poor guy had been frazzled and covered in flour, probably right in the middle of making desert for dinner. It looked like he was going to chew into someone, sounded like it too, and Cross backpedaled out of the way as the head of house made a b-line towards Killer where he was still dutifully on the floor. 

Horror stood just behind Cross, and everyone was there as witness to see Ccino’s expression entirely change. To something gentle and soft. An expression they each recognized, from brief moments of weakness, where Ccino would show them a kindness. They didn’t expect him to say the king’s name, or to see the small form of their leader scramble out of Killer’s protective hold and straight into Ccino’s awaiting arms. 

Cross almost felt uncomfortable, standing vigil to something he didn’t understand. The king, this… this boy? He curled into Ccino and began to cry. It felt like something he shouldn’t see, some private moment, some vulnerable piece of a secret he wasn’t aware of. 

The other knights, if they shared his discomfort, did nothing to show it. In fact, Dust took it upon himself to tell Ccino what had happened as they knew it. “Magic loss. A lot of it.” And Ccino just nodded and cradled the king’s skull closer into his shoulder. 

When the king passed out, it had only been a moment of distress before Ccino settled again and insisted the knights recount to him what exactly happened. Killer took the lead, he’d seen it all. 

Of course, there was a lot to worry about. Maybe he’d been in shock? Yeah, he could blame it on that. After all, their king seemed to be a child all of a sudden. But for some reason he couldn’t help but notice how the other knights were acting. Reacting. As Killer told Ccino the recap of the past few minutes, Cross noticed how Dust was tense. His white eyelights were moving subtly between their king and the rest of the room. His fists were balled at his sides, and his magic unreadable under the shadow of his hood. Meanwhile, beside him, Horror was only staring at the king with wide eyes. His good eyelight trained on the little form which would occasionally shiver against Ccino and be tucked closer into the arms holding him. And Killer. Killer was crouched exactly where he’d been, but Cross noticed that he leaned closer to Ccino, his arms a bit outstretched as though half-expecting to have the king returned to his arms. 

Cross felt awful. Standing there. 

The king’s magic had escaped him. Entirely evaded him. Maybe if he’d trained more, maybe if he’d been quicker to listen to Killer, he could’ve done something. Kept the magic in-tact. Maybe if he hadn’t reacted in the first place he wouldn’t have scared the magic off. Was this… No. No, the king had told him once. One person alone cannot be at fault for the whole. He imagined the king would be gently correcting him right about now if he were conscious. 

“Cross.” 

The soldier blinked as his name was spoken, and he realized that Ccino and Killer were both looking at him. Had they said his name sooner? Ccino’s face softened a bit. 

“Cross, go clean up. We’ll reconvene in the king’s quarters in an hour.” Ccino said.

“A-and the king?” He didn’t know why he questioned it. 

Killer rose to his feet, then. “I wasn’t planning on cleaning up anyways, I’ll be with him and Ccino. Just go about our schedule as normal. Word cannot spread until our lord wakes up and we can speak with him.” He seemed… unnerved. Cross wasn’t sure how he could tell. He just… could. 

Cross, against his better judgement, saluted and hesitantly moved away. It seemed Dust and Horror were already in motion. Had he spaced out? That was embarrassing. 

-

“Horror?” 

Cross muttered the other knight’s name. He’d cleaned up quickly, restless, and had rushed to the quarters of his bulky comrade. When he’d knocked, Horror had opened the door a bit. 

“Yeah? Come in.” Horror answered from somewhere inside.

Cross did just that, slipping through the doorway and shutting the door behind him. 

The inside of Horror’s room was warm. Cozy. Cross wasn’t sure how he kept it so warm, but he thought he’d heard something about magic-weaving from Ccino when he’d mentioned the warmth of a lent blanket. He hadn’t ever realized the comfort magic could bring in that capacity. Inside Horror’s room it was also very dark. Only a few scattered candles lit the space, and the soft orange glow was just enough to illuminate the furniture,a few cushioned chairs, a couch, a table, the wardrobe, and the large bed. The window had a curtain drawn over it, banishing outside light. 

Near the wardrobe, Cross spotted the shifting weight of his fellow knight, and the glow of his eyelight briefly came into view before bouncing away again. Cross drew toward the chairs and leaned his side against the high, sturdy back of one. 

“Something wrong?” Horror asked calmly. Seemed like he was rummaging through his clothes, and Cross noticed that the mass of fur which usually sat over his shoulders was absent. The tunic was missing too, his ribcage exposed. Cross tried not to pay it any mind. 

Something wrong. Of course something was wrong! 

“Our king, Horror. That- that doesn’t happen to normal monsters! Have you seen something like that before?” He whispered it, quietly. No one aside from them should’ve been in their wing of the castle, but then again, their king really shouldn’t have peeled like a banana either, so who knew what could happen next? 

Horror glanced back at Cross. It was a little bit of silence as Horror was seemingly formulating an answer. Cross was always willing to give him as much time as he needed to think, because he had good things to say. It was his own fault that his heel tapped against the floor, only muffled by the thick rug beneath his boots. 

“Mm. No, I haven’t.” He answered simply. “Then again, the king’s not like anything I ever knew. Just one more odd thing on the list.” 

Horror tugged a fresh tunic out of his wardrobe and tugged it over his shoulders, moving to ever-so-carefully clasp it in place around his front. Cross was quiet for a few breaths. Sometimes Horror would have more to say, but this time it seemed like he’d said his peace. He finished with his tunic and looked back to where Cross was stood. 

“It just doesn’t seem right. He was so small, and even Killer didn’t know what was going on! None of us could do anything!” He whispered again. 

At this, Horror turned and walked toward his bed. There at the foot, resting atop a chest, was his fur cape. He lifted it and shook it in the air a bit. Cross could see a bit of dust fly off in the low-light, but it was just as quickly clasped around Horror’s shoulders. 

“Killer hasn’t been here the longest. Ccino was here before all of us, remember?” Horror suggested. “He seems like he knows what he’s doing. We all look to him for a reason. I’m sure you’ll get answers when he wakes up.” 

This wasn’t what Cross wanted to hear! He was hoping for some wisdom, or insight into a secret previously barred from him. Horror had seemed all too calm when he saw the king in his state, Cross had figured he’d known something! Anything! 

“This is… weird. We’ll be fine, though. Promise.” Horror said finally. 

Cross sighed. No matter how desperately he was hoping this was all some sort of big practical joke, or that what he’d seen would make any sense to him at a reasonable pace, he knew that wasn’t the case now. His answers lay with the unconscious king and his most trusted follower, the head of the house. He guessed he’d just have to be patient. No matter how agonizing the wait for answers would be. 

-

The hour passed by rather quickly. 

Cross had made the choice to stay with Horror until they were meant to meet, and he hadn’t regretted the choice. He definitely preferred to have someone else nearby, it helped to keep him from spiralling.. Wondering what he did wrong. 

As usual, the wing was empty aside from them, and it wasn’t far to reach the private room of their king. The door was large and carved with the image of a tree, something Cross had grown very used to seeing ever since arriving here. Horror had knocked, and it was Killer who opened the door to let the both of them inside. 

The king’s room was large, though not much larger than the knights, and was decorated all in shades of cyan with that familiar red-ish wood that seemed to trail all the furniture of the royalty. The big desk in the king’s study was the same shade. The room was brighter than Horror’s, but darker than the torch-lit hall beyond. Sunlight beamed into the room through the two large windows and the balcony doors, providing the only light and casting heavy shadows on the far wall. 

To the left, where Horror started to move towards and Cross followed, was the king’s bed. It was large, it felt like it could probably fit half the council on its surface. Or, maybe it just felt so big because of its occupants. 

Near to the edge sat Ccino. His clothes seemed to have been loosely dusted off from the flour previously coating his front, but it seemed he hadn’t been able to do much else. He was sat with his back against the headboard and his legs partially covered by the heavy comforter of the royal bed. Plastered to his side, though, was the form of a young skeleton monster. The king. He still seemed unconscious as far as Cross could tell, but he was partially curled onto Ccino’s lap. His too-big cloak was wrapped around his sides, comforter tugged up as far as it would go without smothering him, and his skull exposed. Ccino was using one hand to press a cloth to the king’s forehead, while the other draped over the king’s back. The two of them seemed so small in the bed made for a god. 

Ccino didn’t acknowledge them, and Horror stopped a few paces short from the edge of the bed. Cross followed his example and stood tense and awaiting. Answers? Orders? He wasn’t exactly sure. 

It only took a few more minutes before Dust appeared in the door. Killer had been pacing circles into the floor at the foot of the bed, and Horror was seemingly entranced by the little monster the head of house was keeping close to his side. 

“It’s clear. Nobody.” Dust reported in a mutter, and Killer seemed to sigh in relief. He planted a hand on Dust’s shoulder, which the other didn’t shrug away. 

The both of them moved closer to the edge of the bed, and Killer was the one to round to Horror’s other side, closest to Ccino and the king. Only when they were all still was there any reaction from Ccino.

“Thank you, Dust.” Was what he said first. Dust must’ve been searching for hidden foes, saboteurs, assassins. Part of Cross worried that Ink might’ve been around, before he realized how irrational that idea really was. Dream would do a lot, but he wouldn’t risk Ink like that. Dust didn’t give any response.

“I am aware that this is a sudden change and I thank all four of your for your quick action to protect our king, on his behalf.” Ccino voiced then, his eyelights lingering on the small skeleton plastered to his side. Cross caught the way his thumb curved along the king’s forehead in a comforting motion. “It would be unfair and unwise to leave you in the dark about his state, so I’ll trust that our king was correct in appointing you as his most loyal and explain best I can.” 

It was only then that Ccino seemed to peel his eyes away from the small king and up to the surrounding knights. 

Cross realized, as Ccino skimmed over each of them, that. Well. He wasn’t technically a knight at all. A trainee a best, but no knight. He didn’t have a mask and had never been knighted. Was this a conversation not meant for him? 

The head of house’s eyelights lingered on Killer for a moment longer than the rest of them before he spoke. 

“Our king, Nightmare. This is the form he had on his thirteenth birthday, just over seven years ago when he attended his twin’s coronation. It’s the form he lost when he completed the ritual and became king as you all knew him, god-like and powerful.” Ccino’s voice was small. “I’m not sure how, but it seems that the magic which made him that way is gone, lost, and now he’s back to the way he was all those years ago.” 

There was a resounding silence in the aftermath of Ccino’s words.

“He never mentioned the possibility of something like this happening, I’m not sure it ever has.” Ccino said. “Despite that, on his behalf I request that we keep news of this change within this circle. I have no doubt that this is still our king and he will still perform his duties as needed when he adjusts to the change.” 

Cross was stunned. Their king… 

“You… said he’s only about 13?” Horror asked from beside Cross. He jumped a bit in surprise at the noise. 

Ccino gave a nod of agreement. Cross was pretty sure none of them missed how Ccino’s hold around the king’s back tightened. Just a bit. Protectively. 

“Young king.” Horror established what they were all thinking. “Is he wounded? I thought I saw…” Horror trailed off, but he gestured to his skull. He pointed to his uninjured side of his head, just above his empty socket. Right, that crack along the small king’s skull. Cross had caught a glimpse of it too when Killer was holding him. 

Ccino seemed all too tense at Horror’s question. That was when Cross noticed all of them had, at some point, gotten a bit closer. It seemed like they were looming. 

“You may take a look if you like, Horror. It doesn’t look like it’s harming him, but I believe it was a result of a blow to the head he took just after his coronation.” Ccino relented, and Horror stepped forward.

Ccino was gentle and honestly seemed practiced at gently shifting and nudging the king. Where he had been tucked into Ccino’s side and mostly hidden, Ccino managed, with a few small hums and leading of limbs, to twist the king so his skull was a bit more exposed and he lay instead with his back to Ccino, an arm now wrapped at his front. Horror waited patiently beside the bed, and only when Ccino had Nightmare in front of himself, practically fully in his lap, did he pull down the now oversized hood for Horror to see the wound. The king seemed to wince in his sleep at the loss of cover. 

It was as Horror looked, ever-so carefully pressing on the edges of the crack, and seeing the sleeping flinch of their ruler, that Cross realized just how much trust Ccino was putting into them. 

This room was full of killers, soldiers, ones who had chosen to follow a god-on-land. It was full of potential threats to the life of a wounded king. 

For just a moment, he was brought back to Ritten. The coup his brother had worked for years and years and years to bring to fruition. If XGaster had ever shown nearly an ounce of the vulnerability that the king was showing now, he would’ve been slaughtered on the spot. Many wanted his head, and now Cross realized, it was for good reason. Now, here, the king frail and asleep, only guarded by a single servant. This, if ever, would be the time to strike. To destroy the crown and claim the land as their own. No one in Orchard rivaled the strength of the knights. 

“It’s raw.” Horror’s report snapped Cross back to the present. The burly knight leaned away from Ccino and the king, but spoke to Ccino still. “Need to clean it, but it’ll hurt. Might want to wait till he wakes up.” He paused. “You said seven years ago? The wound?” 

Horror was always the gentlest of the knights, at least from what Cross had gleaned since arriving. Killer was full of sharp edges and had the same energy as a stray animal. Dust was always so closed off, and Cross knew better than anyone that he was skilled and attacked ruthlessly. Horror seemed so baffled by the wound. 

Ccino nodded in agreement with Horror’s question, and seemed put at ease as the other took another step back to stand tall again. 

“That’s. Someone struck him while he had the magic? Hard enough to hit bone?” Dust questioned quietly from his other side. He too sounded awestruck. 

Cross was aware that none of the knights were ever able to strike him during training, neither had Cross, but he assumed that was because the king had adapted to their fighting styles. Did this imply that the king had never been hit by any of their attacks dead-on? 

Ccino nodded almost sadly. “Tensions were high and both princes were distressed. Prince Dream lashed out and our king did not expect it.” 

Dream? That might’ve been the first time that Cross had heard utterance of the Prince’s name since he had arrived to the castle. He certainly hadn’t been forgotten, his traces still lingering about the place, but Cross felt like a bolt of ice slid down his spine at the mention of the one who had recklessly sent him here. 

Dream had told him the basics. How at the coronation his brother rushed in and took their mother’s soul from his hand. How Nightmare, the king, had eaten it in his place and been transformed into a beast unfamiliar. Had sent him away. For some reason, Cross had dismissed it as rumor, another piece of propaganda that Dream was telling to the hopeless saps that stumbled his way. But… This sounded like it would fit. A second half he didn’t readily share with the world, one where he was outraged at his twin and struck him. 

His mind wandered back to the tapestry. Nightmare’s image had just the same, round, perfectly childlike expression as the crown prince. No injury in sight. Did that imply there was a time where Nightmare had two eyelights? That the way his face had formed and obscured half his face was not a choice, but the result of a wound from his twin? Now that Cross thought about it, this young king did share the boyish features fading from Prince Dream’s face with age-

“That rat.” Killer spat all of a sudden. “I’d do worse than send my brother away if he bashed me over the skull like that.” He voiced. Ccino didn’t react to the comment, only gently shifting the cloth over the king’s skull. The king was looking a bit flushed, maybe from the magic loss? “Good thing you guys know better.” 

There was a scoff from Dust.

“So, our lord is alright. Just a bit… under the weather, we’ll say.” Killer continued, “Ccino and I discussed a little while you guys were cleaning up. Until he wakes up to give us new orders, we’re going to act business as usual. Training and rounds again tomorrow, tonight we’ll trade off guard shifts to keep watch and make sure there’s no one out to get our king or Ccino. Sound good?” 

He sounded jovial as he usually did, but Cross could see the tension held in the way he stood. Like he was waiting for an attack to go flying or to have to start running. Much like before when he had pulled rank, it wasn’t exactly a question. 

Horror nodded beside him. Dust, on his other side, shifted a bit. 

“No problems. Just.” He paused a moment to think. “If Ccino stays.” He gestured to the door. Right , of course, Ccino was the head of house. It would be suspicious if the king fell ill and his servant when missing. Along with that, he was pretty sure Ccino kept this castle running practically by himself. All the servants and guards would probably be lost without his coordination. 

“Don’t worry about that.” Ccino spoke up, “I trust the staff to be capable in my absence, and if I’m really needed I’ll ensure our king is in safe hands before handling any troubles.” 

Dust nodded then, seemingly satisfied. 

The focus then, he realized, fell to him. 

Cross stared blankly at Killer for a moment, before jolting a little. 

“Oh! I-” He stammered for a second before his mouth snapped shut. For some reason, in this exact moment, the past months he’d spent in the presence of these people all left his mind. Was he meant to be speaking? Did this apply to him? He hadn’t even realized he was part of the assembled group for a moment. Maybe it was all the years of simply standing around during important conversations, invisible and ignored. Maybe he was just spooked by Killer’s intense gaze. The weight of a choice. “I… Didn’t realize you were asking me, too.” He answered dumbly.

Killer blinked once. “Of course I am. If our king didn’t trust you to be included in conversations like this you would’ve been out of the castle months ago. So?” 

Cross glanced back to the king. He was still resting. He’d shifted so his face fell towards Ccino’s chest and the head of house had tugged the comforter up and around his lap as far as it would go. 

This was not like last time. There is no evil tyrant. There is no worthy resistance. This was not blind devotion. 

“Then yes. That sounds like the most logical plan. I will partake in whatever ways I can.” 

Cross felt pride well up in his chest with his agreement, an oath if only to himself that he would see this through of his own volition. Killer seemed much less excited by the news and gave an easy nod before looking to Ccino again. 

“Well then what are our plans for tonight, O' mighty Head of House?” Killer questioned. 

The tone shift seemed jarring to Cross, but the others didn’t bat an eye. 

Ccino took a deep breath before speaking. Four knights all awaiting his instructions. “Your first move should be to eat. I was done with all of dinner aside from the dessert, I’ll have to ask for your forgiveness on that front.” He said, “I’d like one of you to remain here with the king, have one of the servants bring a meal for whoever stays and one for the prince. The rest of you focus on maintaining normalcy. In the morning, I will go about rescheduling meetings and arranging for visits to be delayed.” His voice seemed to peter out the longer he went on, until silence followed in his wake. 

“Dust, you should stay for first shift.” Killer suggested, and the other knight nodded in agreement. “I’ll go clean up and bring food your way. I can take the shift into the morning so that Horror and Cross can get some rest.” 

Cross glanced to Killer at the mention of his name, but the knight was un-subtly watching the royal bed. Ccino with their king tucked tight against him still. For a second, Cross wondered how that must’ve been for him. The king suddenly growing small in his arms? Killer had been quick to cradle him after all.

Horror hummed at his side, and Cross noticed him back away. As much as a part of him desperately wanted to stay, to keep watch, to know anything more… Killer had spoken. Dust moved forward, hoisting himself up a bit to sit on a chest towards the foot of the bed. His vigil. Meanwhile Killer dragged his gaze away from the party on the bed and focused in on Cross and Horror, nearly ushering them out himself. 

This was a whirlwind, but Cross was not the victim. Just someone swept along. It’d be fine. The first hurdle would be dinner, and he could do dinner. 

-

Are you eating with the others? That trainee still had a little while to go before he’d be a knight, Killer was sure of it. Not that he didn’t have amazing skills, he just… needed to be a little more observant. 

No, save my seat still. I just know Ccino forgets to eat when he’s working on a project. He can’t go running on empty. Killer had shot back in the confines of the little personal kitchen that Ccino always used for the king’s meals. True to word their food was complete, minus some dough that had gone a bit flat and shapeless on the far counter, surrounded by flour powder. Normally they’d be served by the man himself, but they were all adults, they knew how to serve their own food. 

Killer had kicked the door open with his foot, moving through the doorway with ease and navigating into the halls. Balanced on his arms were three plates of nice warm chicken and various vegetables. Were those carrots? Sick.

He didn’t think much of it as he passed by servants and guards. They all knew better than to ask him what he was doing, and he knew that none of them were threats. Dust would’ve sniffed out a rat in the first minute of his search, let alone the hour Killer had given him. No threats were left inside if there ever was one in the first place.

He came to the ornate door and kicked his heel against it three times. It swung open revealing his shorter fellow-knight. His hood was still up, though Killer could see his eyelights were calm and white. No danger, no harm, but also probably no developments either. 

“I bring gifts! In the form of a warm meal I didn’t make!” He jokingly announced in a stage-whisper as he slipped in past Dust. 

Just as he expected, Nightmare was still curled up into Ccino’s side, though he’d once again been moved to lay more on the mattress than on Ccino’s dirty uniform and chest. Now, Ccino’s one hand was pinned by the sleeping king, gripped in his own, little, boney hands. 

Somewhere behind him the door closed, and Dust slipped past him with a quiet ‘thanks’. With his shape went one of the plates, taken seamlessly from his bicep where he’d carefully been keeping it steady. Dust didn’t bother with much else, taking up his position on the chest once again. If Killer didn’t know better, he would’ve joked about how he could totally fit Dust inside it. …He was saving that one for later. 

For now, he moved towards the bed again. Ccino watched him approach with a hesitancy, but it was not the same awkward and reluctantly docile stare he’d grown to know over the years. Ccino had never really wanted Killer here, he was a criminal and the king fresh to his rule, but he had welcomed Killer when he realized that Killer was sticking around. Ccino might not have known it, but Killer wanted nothing more than to bridge the gap imposed between them. He tried not to get his hopes up that this might have been another of many other little baby steps they’d taken over the years. 

Killer moved closer and set one of the meals on the bedside table just near Ccino’s side. “He’s still out cold, then?” Killer asked the obvious, and Ccino hummed in agreement. His free hand gently caressed Nightmare’s skull, and the pearl-white bones shifted comfortably under the contact. 

Something about this felt all too familiar. Those first days, back when Killer had arrived. When he’d spot the king crumble under his own weight and bare a weakness. It had always been to Ccino. In the nights he couldn’t sleep, he’d sometimes find the king lingering in his study, Ccino not far off on a couch. And then, of course, the documents. Ccino had cared for the king since he was a babybones. 13 years worth of helping and watching him grow. If it hadn’t been obvious to Killer before, it had to be now. How easily Nightmare slept at Ccino’s side, how Ccino had been so receptive to the change. How he had dropped everything to care for this now young king. 

“Are you eating with us after all?” Ccino questioned. Hopefully he hadn’t been staring, that would be awkward. He’d embarrassed himself enough times in front of the other that it probably wouldn’t matter, but he had to keep his composure now of all times. 

He glanced to the plate still in his hand. He scoffed. “As much as I’d love to, four’s a crowd.” He claimed, “This is for you. I figured I’d take up the sacred duty of making sure you remember to eat for yourself, too. At least until our Lord is awake enough to tempt you himself.” 

He gracefully bowed and firmly pressed the plate into Ccino’s open lap. A playful look revealed that Ccino was staring at the food a bit baffled. He opened his mouth to say something, probably to tell him off, but apparently decided against it.

Ccino shifted the plate to his right thigh, probably so he didn’t risk getting any on a sleeping Nightmare. He stared at it a second, before he nodded very subtly to himself.

“Thank you, Killer.” Was all he said. 

Killer grinned wide and nodded.

His spin back to the door left him double-glancing at Dust, but the other gave him a thumb’s up. “Enjoy the meal you guys, I heard the best cook this side of the sea made it.” He teased and slipped out before he could be scolded for the bad joke. 

He would stay, he would love to stay, but it wouldn’t be good. Dust was a lot more attuned to the magic in the air. He could sense threats and react a lot more quickly. Besides, Killer didn’t want to make Ccino uncomfortable. Sure, they were overcoming differences, but Ccino had always been the king’s left-hand man while Killer was his right. Ccino made sure he was calm, and happy, and feeling alright and taking care of himself. Killer was handling his dirty business, warding off harm and threats, acting as his voice. In a room where Nightmare commanded all, they could work like they had for the past seven years. A well oiled machine that had its own parts. This? This was emotional work. Killer hadn’t missed how the king had been shaking and trembling in his arms, tense and worried. The king had ripped away from him the moment Ccino had spoken. Of course, Killer couldn’t really blame him for that, if Ccino said his name like that he might go running too. Point was, Killer knew better than to cross that line. He’d defended Nightmare. Now it was time to give Ccino some time to himself… figuratively. 

He figured Dust would be invested and alert, but unlike Killer he wouldn’t be hovering, and fidgeting, and tossing his knife in the air, or pacing circles into the floor. He wouldn’t be internally cooing over the king’s soft baby features or trying to sneak closer just to see him. Make sure he was really, truly alright. 

Killer needed time to cool off. To come to terms with the current state of things. When he came back for his morning shift he was sure he’d be in a better state. Not worrying so much over how wrong it felt when Nightmare had shuddered and gone limp. Yeah. He could be normal about that. He just had to give it a few hours.

[puppetmaster13u]

You may regret this @phoenixcatch7 lol, what if I start spamming you /j

Less cryptid Batman in this particular WIP since it's semi-outsider pov lol (one of two outside person not unnerved by them lol)

🦇👻🪆🦇👻🪆🦇👻🪆🦇👻🪆🦇👻🪆🦇👻🪆🦇👻🪆🦇

   Clark knew Batman wasn’t human, even before that disaster of a mission where he had let it slip to the others. 

   He’d known for a long time, from one of their early meetups, when Batman had first referred to him as Clark Kent instead of Kal-El, and he had panicked. He hadn’t ever lied to his teammates when he said that the cloak prevented him from seeing his body, but his ears still worked. 

   He’d tried to listen to a heartbeat, to see if his at the time temporary ally was lying when he stated he wasn’t going to tell anyone and… Nothing. There was no heartbeat, no breathing, nothing even remotely human, and if he didn’t know any better, nothing even remotely alive about the silence. 

   He couldn’t help but to pay attention more, to seek out the strange almost silence-feeling that accompanied the Gotham vigilante each time he felt it. It was… almost comforting, like the swaying of branches and the rustling of cloth over stone. Familiar, compared to the hustle and bustle surrounding him in the city. 

   The first thing he had noticed, physically that is, was Batman’s ears. Previously he’d thought the man unemotional, what with the rough voice, expressionless white eyes, cloak-covered body and the gas mask covering a good chunk of his face. 

   Yet the longer he watched, even idly, the more he noticed that while the man’s face or body didn’t show much, his ears did. 

   While Batman could stay silent and still for hours, the long ears twitched and swiveled, catching on the hood that he’d always wear around them. They’d pin back sometimes, a near silent sound he couldn’t quite place accompanying the movement, while other times they’d twist a near full three-sixty, as though searching for whatever sound it had caught. 

   Sometimes, when he’d startled the other vigilante, there’d be rattling noise, like wood and metal clacking together before it was cut off. It was a strange sound, one he’d not heard anywhere else, except with his… friend. 

   Were they friends? He’d like to think so. 

   The next time he was reminded that his friend wasn’t human was when he saw him get injured. It hadn’t been a bad injury, even if the Gothamite’s head had hit the wall with a very loud cracking noise, but he’d still smelled what he’d eventually come to recognize as blood. There was an almost pickle-like scent to it though that wasn’t quite it either. 

   Honestly the closest he could think of describing it was some sort of formaldehyde. And once he focused, he could pick out other things beneath it. Maybe not flesh and blood in the traditional sense, but still. 

   There was always that scent of cloth and wood, but he could smell the black liquid, paint, a metallic thing underneath like iron and steel. No heartbeat, no breath, but life all the same. It was honestly beautiful in a way, like a part of the city the other vigilante called home had come to life. 

   And it wasn’t like Batman minded whenever his own human mask slipped. Clark may have been raised by his Ma and Pa, whom he loved, but it didn’t make his body any more human in nature. There were just some things that he couldn’t change, and it took effort to move like one all day as a civilian when his body wasn’t designed to do so.

   So he stayed quiet for the most part when their group of three grew, and people started to speculate. He diverted the conversations whenever it turned to him, lightly admonishing over the various rumors. 

   It didn’t matter if Batman wasn’t human, he was still his friend, their ally and teammate. Was he curious? Oh of course, he’d gone into journalism for a reason after all, but it was still his friend. If he wanted to tell, he’d tell, and Clark wouldn’t break his trust.