#surface inspection systems

[intsofttech]

Machine vision inspection system of Intsoft Tech, medicine defect detection case study.

[whereserpentswalk]

Reblog to give your entity a warm blanket and a bed. Look under the cut to see what meeting your entity is like!

Undead: You can see them, below the pale starless lights from the skyscrapers above, and the shine of streetlamps and headlights. It's scary to see them wandering the street, they look human at first, wearing a long black trench coat, and a wide brimmed hat, but when you look into their eyes, they look so still and cold, unbreathing and unblinking, no matter how much makeup and wax repairs their flesh they're so obviously dead. Yet you walk closer, and realize they look alone, look as if they have nowhere to go, sympathetically you offer them some money and they begin telling you a story that begins a long long time ago...

Faerie: You seem them flying at your window, human shaped yet so clearly not human, looking at you as if they've never seen a person before. Their entire body is a sandy green, with hair the color of pussy willows, and eyes the color of jade, you think they're wearing plate armor, but you realize they have an exoskeleton like that of a mantis or a grasshopper, with four transparent wings shining in the sunlight. They inspect you as if they've never seen something like you before, they seem to need help but when you move towards them they seem afraid. You open the window for them to come in, and they rush into your bed, warm as if they haven't been warm in a very long time.

Vampire: You seem them first waiting for the local train, sitting there, a slender completely genderless humanoid, with bluish white skin and eyes a piercing blue. They slowly play guitar as you wait, and you take a moment to listen. After they get on the train with you, you strike up conversation, and young as they look, they speak as if they have seen all of humanity's history, as if they've lived more lifetimes then you could ever know. They eventually life up their facemask for you, and you can see that their mouth isn't humanlike at all, it's massive with many moving parts and blade like fangs, like the mouth of a viper. And their skin so cold, you can even feel batlike wings below their coat as you put an arm around them. You let them drink some of your blood from your hand, and it feels so good, so intimate, and you pet their head as you let yourself fill them.

Dragon: You thought you could see them changing their form out of the corner of your eye, a massive, scaled creature with many heads landing on the city streets, and slowly shrinking down to the form of a human, fixing some minor details, and changing the color of their eyes from orange-red to something more human-passing before they talk to you. They study you strangely, asking about how certain technology works, taking interest in your kind's society, your religion, your mating habits. They seem so smart yet so naive to this world that they've walked into. Awkwardly they ask if they can stay with you for a while, to learn more about how such strange creatures live.

Cyborg: You can see them, sitting at a cafe, looking out as if trying to think of a long-forgotten memory, long since eaten by the sands of time. Layers of clothing covers their body, as if they're hiding something. Worried they're lonely you strike up conversation with them, and though they seem shy at first, they eventually seem happy to have had a chance to talk to you. Their scarf slips for a moment, and they become afraid you saw something, but you hold them and say that it's ok, and their body feels so hard, as if they barely have any skin below their head, and warm like a computer being desperately cooled down by fans, like a churning machine. They open their coat to show you what they were hiding, and you can see a chest made entirely out of steel and wires, all their flesh long since cut away, you can see that even their eyes are screens. You assure them that it's ok... it's ok...

Nature spirit: Slowly they walk to your door, as if they know nowhere else to go. They don't look human at all, they're made out of rock, and sand, and animal bones, two large antlers sticking out of a skull head. There's something broken and distorted and wrong about whatever they are. They rush to a cactus you've kept on your desk and gain the last of their sustenance from them. You can see visions when you look into their eyes, visions of a desert paved over by lawns and by highways, drowning it in chlorinated water. You turn up the heat, and let a blanket lay on top of them, as you let the tears of a dead world pour out through their hollow eyes.

Face stealer: It rushes towards you, crawling through the alleyways where nobody will hear your cries for help. The massive black creature, with mortal faces hanging off the side of its segmented body. It stops an inch from your face, it could rip you to shreds with its fangs, but it doesn't It can tell there's something different with you, and you reach out your hand, slowly trying to pet it, and then it rushes back, not letting you feel the cold of its body. But it can see you, and it knows you now as an ally to its undying cause...

Angel: You see them in a cold studio, abandoned for the night, the unfinished paintings looking down on both you and them. Their body is doll like, segmented, and textured as if it looks like white and blue porcelain, but with cracks filled with gold. As you approach them, they let their wings spread. They seem to assume you're afraid of them, assume you'll hurt them, assume that they deserve it. But you don't, and they're shocked that you don't hate them at all. You let them step closer, and you can see their eyes, a radiant golden light replaced with something pale and cool. You tell them that they have nothing to apologize for, as they try to apologize just for existing as they do.

Game entity: It's strange that the system is even working in this condition. And this game doesn't seem to exist at all outside of this one copy. Messages keep coming to you, and it's like the characters inside, as primitive and pixilated as they are, as talking to you directly. And you can see the message beyond the screen, beyond the music and the flashing lights, and the message says help, and the message begs to be freed, and the message is for you.

Werewolf: They come up to you from out of the twisted woods of the park, human and fleshy as their form is, they don't act human, it's as if they want to be pet or fed. And when you approach them, they back away as an animal would too. Their muscular body is contrasted by clothing they seem to have forgotten how to wear, you can see a human mind in there, but one that's been lost for a very long time. You give them a piece of food, they are about to rip it apart like a beast but something about you reminds them of something, and they eat it as if they were human.

Goblin: Small, and skinny, and pale, you think they're a human at first, but the pointed ears and sharp teeth reveal otherwise. They inspect you, slowly trying to figure out what you are, trying to square your modern clothing with their iron armor and flowing cape. For a moment it looks as if they'll kill you, but for some reason they choose not to. They ended up in a subway station, but it seems they came from lower down, you wonder if they've seen the sun at all. Maybe you can show them, you try to ask them, but they don't understand your language, but they want to, they certainly want to...

Demon: you can see them looking out at the sea, a human head and chest, but nothing else fitting in with this world, tentacles in place of their arms, and feet like a crab's wing's like a seagull's and teeth like a shark's, and a lamprey's neck and head where their genitals should be. They look at you with their eyes, confused and disturbed by this world, by the moon and the sun and the towers in the distance. They tilt their head, as if you share a face with the creature who bound them to this realm. Most people would be afraid of such a creature, but you understand, understand that they didn't choose to be here, and wonder why such a horror exists in this world, and if they would rather not be within the place they call home. You apologize if you scared them, and they reply with a similar statement...

[ryuryuryuyurboat]

music to my ears

synopsis: wriothesley loves listening to your voice. that's it that's the whole thing

genre: fluff

characters: wriothesley x gn! reader

warnings: established r/s

a/n: I'M ALIVE this was a really quick one because i needed to get the image out of my system teehee <3 likes, reblogs and comments highly appreciated!!

©2024 ryuryuryuyurboat. do not repost, translate, plagiarise, or modify in any way, shape or form.

masterlist

wriothesley was not what one would consider a chatterbox, and neither was he a man of few words. so why was it that he was so quietly drinking his tea, when he was right beside the one he loved the most?

easy. the duke was simply enamoured by your voice.

“so in the end, morhange graduated from the conservatory and became an acclaimed conductor– hey, you listening?”

his eyes darted up from your lips to meet your gaze. “yeah, go on.”

“that was the end,” you sighed, before your eyes lit up. “oh! wait, yeah, the film was inspired by the story behind the origin of the little singers of fontaine! y’know, the choir?”

“never heard of them.”

“that’s ‘cause you don’t come up to the surface often enough!”

a loud tick pierced through the cosy atmosphere. five in the evening. time for fortress inspection.

“oh,” you shrank into your seat, “i’m sorry, that was a really long ramble, wasn’t it?”

“not at all,” he hummed. “i like hearing your voice.”

“I’M SORRY!!” you cried, clearly having not yet registered “i took up all your time and you didn’t get to say what you wanted to and i–” you’re cut off by the all too familiar sensation of wriothesley’s chapped lips on yours.

“archons, sweetheart, how many times do i have to tell you? i love it when you ramble,” he mutters into the kiss, “i love when you get excited about things you like and tell me about them.”

wriothesley probably couldn’t care less if it were anyone else talking about their favourite film, but for you, he’d make an exception any day.

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if you liked this, do consider dropping me a follow for more :>

[ask-the-pioneer]

"I sure do! Watch this..."

"I can make explosive spears and throwables, just like my mom did. I can also propel myself in the air by whipping my tail very fast, which sets off the same flammable compound in my tail surface for an explosive boost. Very handy for movement, but also very loud… not great if you're trying to be stealthy. And yeah, my sibling could do that too, but he was always more interested in doing other things. An energetic but very scatterbrained kid that he was."

[She takes aim and throws the spear somewhere far away. It ignites and explodes with a loud dull bang that shakes the ground slightly]

"I can't do that too often, though. Maybe a handful of times in quick succession before my muscles tense up and burn as if scorched by flames. One time it got so bad that I lost consciousness and couldn't move for a couple of minutes after waking up. That was scary, and hurt like hell... since then I've been more careful. That said, I wonder if there are more slugcats with similar abilities to mine out there? I have not met that many scugs in my life to begin with, if I'm honest..."

"Of course I remember my family, how could I not! My sibling's name is… hmmm, right, let me explain this first. Slugcats have very good sense of smell. Usually, we know one another by our unique scents. They are incredibly complex, but can be written down as series of letters, if you map those symbols to the corresponding scent proteins and other chemical compounds. For example, my scent name would be:"

"Addmitely, this notation method is very over-engineered – a slugcat just knows you are you if they smell you. From what I learned, scugs don't really use a coherent writing system.. of any kind. I think the colonies may use pictograms? I uh, I've never been a part of a colony, so I'm missing a lot of info here. Still, what I wrote on the wall – I have used an Ancient script, which I roughly mapped to key compounds that make a scent. As you can see, it's incredibly long, it can also change over time, parts of it can be masked with non-organic aromas to hide your identity, so on and so forth. To simplify even further, these long strings of letters can be shortened to just the last three or two characters, and this is what scugs may choose to use to refer to one another. Here, my scent name is MGV."

"Then, there are names that resemble the form that the Ancients would use. It's considered more refined, and more common in big colonies where people adopt their preferable roles. Those names are viewed as a kind of «gift», because you receive it from your community. It's a symbol of how they see you, what you mean to them. Of course, my closest family was never a part of a colony… but my mom would still give me and my sibling those special names. I was named «Blue», which is the color of the sky above when it's not raining, and the color of clear water. My brother's name is «Bryn» after a very fragrant medicinal plant that relaxes your muscles when consumed. I always found it funny, as my brother was often the one getting in trouble and giving our mom heartaches."

[She pauses for a moment, thinking intensively]

"Hmm, I never thought of asking my mother about her name. I wonder if she had one? To me and it was always just «mom»…"

"My other parent? I never knew him. Must have left just before or right after my mom had me, because there is literally nothing I remember of him… or them… whoever they were."

[She takes some pearls out from her bag, and inspects them one by one just to keep her hands busy]

"Mom would never talk about him, as if he never existed. And I never questioned her, I was too young to understand and simply accepted everything at face value. It was just the way things were. Would I want to meet my other parent? Maybe, but I doubt it'd make a difference. What would I even say to them? «Thanks for abandoning mom and leaving her to fend for herself»? "

"I don't know. Maybe I'm too harsh. Maybe he was a hero who sacrificed themself to save my mother. That could explain why he was never seen or heard of again. But… I have no way of knowing for sure. It's the life I won't be getting back anyway."

// In the second drawing, I've used logographs from @ikayblythe's Standard Hegemonic Dialect

[diejager]

could you maybe do more of the Phoenix series or is that discontinued? But if you're still working on it can you maybe do something like monster TF 141 use hunter as a heater? Ik if it doesn't make any sense but like monster TF 141 are on a mission and its horribly cold and they're actually cold so hunter just walks up and turns into a phoenix? and just starts heating up the room 141 is in. idk I just have had this idea in my head for a while

Cw: human heating, tell me if I missed any. Note: Nope! It’s still on going, well, at least the original Au of the Phoenix hybrid!reader spinoff.

“I’ll have a bloody word with the tosser who sent us here,” Soap hissed, body wracked with tremors as he breathed into his mittened hands, hoping that the small bit of heat would warm him just a bit more than the failing heating system of their Siberian  safehouse.

They had planed to rest and warm up their temporary residence while Price took Ghost and you to survey the area, all warmly covered but mostly immune to such cold temperature. A dragon rarely needed anything other than the beating fire in their heart, kindled and powerful; a wraith, long since dead, had no worry about feeling cold or warm, only hunger and anger; and a phoenix, whose body was stuck in a perpetual cycle of life and death, had no fear of being cold when they were an embodiment of life’s fire. 

It was only natural that Price took the only people who could withstand the harshness of Siberia for a long and careful inspection when the others would freeze and shake in their thick boots and warm coats. They safehouse looked old, surfaces covered in a thin layer of dust, shelves filled with canned food - both expired and unexpired- and walls and floors as frozen as the loud winds blowing against the thick windows. It wasn’t much of a surprise that something would malfunction, the soviet era building left to appear rotten and forgotten to fit it’s intended use, and it seemed to lack any sort of upkeep. 

“We’re freezing our arses off in here!” Soap growled out, leaning closer to Gaz’s side to steal more warmth from under his wing, the soft feathers all ruffled, “Can’t even-”

Crunch

The two perked up, hands immediately reaching for their weapons, bodies tense and ready for a fire fight until your head popped in, huffing about the melted snow soaking your clothes. They jumped to their feet, running to your side for a lick of warmth that oozed off your skin. You froze at the grabbing hands, pulling you to the cold sofa and pushed under a mass of groaning and moaning bodies, happily soaking in your fire.

“Let me- ” you squirmed between them, shuffling out from under them to stretch your arms and back.

The four watched your neck crack with a wince, flames erupting from your feet, wild and bright embers licking at your skin until it engulfed you in a fiery blaze. It was both too hot to touch and too strong to approach, a fire that would threaten to burn if they touched you. It worked to protect you from an early death while you shifted into the majestic bird you were, a gentle flame in the form of orange and yellow feathers, softer than any silk and warmer than any suns. 

In your place stood a phoenix, lashes fluttering while your flapped your wings, stretched backwards to scratch the itch from the lack of use. You cooed, preening under their awed expressions before you flew back in your prior position, body heat growing hotter and hotter, strong enough to warm up the entire room. 

“Thank you, Hunter,” Gaz smiled at you, a sweet and grateful grin that made your feathers shyly ruffle up.

Taglist: @craxy-person @crowbird @dead-cipher @iwannabealocalcryptid @iizx7y @mxtokko @capricorn-anon @perfectus-in-morte @sae1kie @yeoldedumbslut @bvxygriimes @distracteddragoness @konigsblog @angelcakes-22 @ramadiiiisme @ramblingsofachaoticthinker @im-making-an-effort @love-dove-noora @jinxxangel13 @daisychainsinknots @h0n3y-l3m0n05 @mul-pi @danielle143 @beau-min @makayla-666 @urfavsunkissedleo @notspiders @brokenpieces-72 @luvecarson @petwifed @randominstake @heartelysia @jggykhug09090 @haven-1307 @shironasumi @sparky--bunny @bloobewy @call-me-nyxx @sans-chara @cod-z @sweetnanah @aldis-nuts @thigh-o-saur @evolutionarry @kaoyamamegami @cassiecasluciluce @sobbingnshtting

[beepboopappreciation]

I always see people talk about how cool becoming a cyborg would be, replacing parts of our flesh with metal and pistons and cool gadgets.

Why don't we talk more about the horror that is the opposite of that?

A computer who grafts lab-grown skin in patches onto their own form to feel. To experience a gentle and cool breeze passing by, or the oppressive sweat-inducing heat that their systems produce.

A robot with an organic eye to help them see as their creators once did. Imperfect, sure. But it seems to have quite an uneasy effect on organics, and doesn't that make it more than worth it?

A machine with blood coursing through its systems, flowing through the central chambers, in and out of its beating heart. Perhaps if the heart holds up, it could add lungs to help circulation.

A being that resembles a man at a distance, but upon closer inspection it is clear that he is instead a cacophony of skin, mismatched body parts and features, with just a few robotic limbs and mechanical parts visible. It smiles at you, the wide grin revealing that none of its teeth match.

He lurches toward you, hair from at least three different scalps falling carefree in front of its shoulders. You take a step back.

Where is the line drawn between cyborg and robot with human parts? Do you know? Does it know? Does anyone know?

It gets closer. You continue to retreat. Your back brushes against a wall.

You don't know where that line is, you've decided, but you're positive this individual has crossed it.

Having cornered you, it reaches its mechanical hand out, fingernails grafted on the metal tips. You blink, locked completely still from fear for just a few moments. It angles his hand in invitation. He wants you to take it. You hesitantly accept.

Under the metal you can feel . . . something, flowing, pulsing just beneath the surface wanting to escape. It's warm.

"Wh.. what do you want?" You manage to sputter out.

The being shakes your hand, his smile returning. "A friend," it replies.

[realtalkswithfinn]

Christmas at the Compound

Avengers x reader

Summary: Avengers x reader Christmas head cannons because I am a sucker for the found family trope.

a/n: I tried to get this up before christmas but totally spaced it, so… tale it as a christmas morning gift! I tried to make it as age neutral as possible, so it could totally be teen!reader or not.

The holidays are a tough time for the Avengers.

Most of them have lost family members or friends, and the idea of celebrating anything is extremely difficult.

Tony especially - he always gets gloomy around the Holidays.

He always says something along the lines of, "I don't actually care about this, but its social convention."

But secretly he cares a lot.

He overcompensates for his lack of affection throughout the year by buying everyone the expensive gifts he knows they want but could never justify spending on themselves.

At surface level, it just seems like “oh rich guy is spending rich guy money”

But they’re actually really thoughtful gifts

Like last year, he got Peter a new laptop for school.

He bought Bucky new and thick clothes since all of his were old and worn.

He upgraded Clints cellular data so he could talk to his family anywhere.

Things like that.

Sam and Rhodey take one for the team and string the christmas lights on the tower

“It’s too cold for this.” Sam would complain, the sharp wind nipping at his cheeks as he flew from one end of the building to the other, lights in tow.

“Come one man, where’s your christmas spirit?” Rhodey would laugh

“I’m just doing this so stark’s power bill goes up.”

it really was worth it seeing the tower lit up top to bottom though

Wanda LIVES for commercialized American Christmas

"We have to make gingerbread houses and go to Rockefeller to see the Christmas tree and we have to go out to the snow and go sledding-"

She demands family Christmas photos be taken, even though you don't really have anyone to send them to.

This years theme was christmas pjs

Which lead to a few very interesting viral videos of the avengers in an Old Navy

“Tony come on the reindeer ones are cute!”

“Bruce. A man can not hold onto his masculinity while wearing pjs with dancing reindeer.”

Natasha gets tired of the bellyaching and bickering and makes the final decision

She grabs everyone’s size in the Reindeer pjs and marches to the front of the store

After snagging Tony’s credit card, of course.

Actually taking the picture is a whole other ball game, but that’s a story for another day

Thor has a hard time with the idea of Santa

You try to explain it to him, but it doesn’t seem to help

“So a fat man breaks into the safety of your home late into the night… and you let it happen because he comes baring gifts?”

“Well… yeah.”

“But only to nice children. That he stalks throughout the year.”

“He doesn’t stalk the children he just…”

“Hm.” He squints. “what about the naughty children?”

“They don’t get any presents.”

“OR,” Wanda interjects, “Krampus comes to get them.”

“Is that another fat man in a red disguise?”

“No. He’s a demon sent from hell to eat them.”

Thor nods in approval. “Ah. That’s much more asgardian. A fair reward system for the youth!”

You stare at him. “So… you’re okay with Krampus but not Santa?”

“Well I think they work together well, like a team. Like us!”

“I… I guess…”

Decorating the tree was an all night event

You would help happy bring up what felt like hundreds of boxes of christmas decorations

The tree itself was about 15 feet tall, because it wouldn’t be a holiday at the compound if you guys weren’t extra

It was placed in the living space, right next to a huge wall of windows so all of New York could see your festivity

it had to be decorated to the nines to pass Wanda’s inspection

Not a bare branch

Theres tinsel, ribbons, colorful lights, and hundreds of ornaments

But of course, ladders were a no go

You guys liked a challenge

To reach the higher branches, you and Natasha would stand on Steve and Buckys shoulders

And I mean stand

Not sit

It was a thrilling balancing game

You trusted them to catch you if you fell, but you still had to try to avoid it at all costs to save the tree from certain destruction

Peter would dangle from the ceiling, crawling around to hang ornaments toward the very top

Both of these acts nearly gave Bruce and Vision a heart attack

“CAP, you’re moving to fast shes gunna lose balance-“

“Bruce, please take a breath.”

Meanwhile Thor is getting distracted by all the ornaments and forgetting to actually hang them up

“This one’s a little man of snow! How silly!”

Speaking of ornaments

You all have an ornament of yourself on the tree

Or, your super hero alias at least

There’s a tiny black widow, a little iron man, a bity baby hulk, so on and so forth

Tony always demands his be the highest up on the tree to fuel his god complex

Drawing names out of a hat to see who got to put the star on top of the tree

(except you guys would always rig it behind Wanda’s back, only putting her name in the hat)

She would always protest, insisting to let someone else do it this year, but you guys never relented

So with a big cheesy grin on her face, she would use her magic to delicately place the star on the tippy top

You would think Natasha wouldn’t want to see the Nutcracker Ballet after her time in the red room

But it makes her so happy to see dancing as an art form instead of a way to brainwash young girls

She drags you, Clint, Wanda, and whoever else wants to tag along every year

She even splurges on front row seats

You look over and see her eyes glittering while she watches every turn, leap, and stunt intently

Leaving the theater, she’ll walk on her toes and do a few turns, encouraging you to try as well.

She ends up cackling watching you trip and stumble

“We’ll work on it.”

Can you IMAGINE the ginger bread making contest???

You’re all huddled around the long dining room table with christmas music playing

Theres Clint and Natasha, who just make the classic gingerbread house, no fancy bells or whistles.

Then there’s Bruce,Tony, and Peter who are going absolutely wild building gingerbread sky scrapers and gingerbread hotels.

“Mr. Stark look, I made a working elevator!”

Bruce puts an electric system (fairy lights) through his

Steve and Bucky rebuild their childhood homes

Wanda is going all out, delicately hand placing every candy and covering the whole thing in edible glitter

Visions is pretty similar, but more sleek and modern than Wanda’s

And then there’s Thor, who’s totally missing the point and just DUMPING everything on top

“Hey Peter, I think yours is missing something.”

You string a long thread of white rope candy from his structure to yours.

“Webs!”

“You know… we can probably make a web-like consistency with some starch and frosting…”

That becomes a whole sticky project, but you eventually get it to work, connecting everyone’s gingerbread houses with icing webs

Steve and Bucky are TOTALLY participating in the classic christmas traditions they grew up on.

They sit quietly together in the living room, making paper chains and stringing popcorn

“Do you mind if I join you guys?”

they smile gently. “Of course not.”

You sit crisscross in front of the couch while they teach you

They tell you stories of christmases long, long ago, which feels kinda silly considering they’re talking like grandpas while not appearing much older than you

On Christmas eve, you’re all there except for Clint, who went home to his family

Youre all dressed in your pajamas from the christmas card

You make hot coco and cider

Wanda pops in some old vhs tapes and you watch the classics late into the night

“Alright you nutcrackers,” tony would say around midnight. “I know you want to stay up and catch Santa, but he’s not coming if you all stay awake.”

he really just wanted to go to bed

He sauntered off, calling for lights out.

Most of the boys wandered away to their rooms, leaving you, Wanda, Nat and Thor not quite ready for sleep.

“So,” you ask, taking a sip of coco, “Do you guys think we’re on the naughty list?”

Natasha Chuckled. “I’m not sure. Does beating people up count as naughty if you’re taking down the bad guys?”

Thor set his mug down on the coffee table, the bells on his sweater jingling. “Do not fear ladies, I will catch that nasty Krampus if he comes in to devour your soul. I believe you were doing the right thing.”

You all laughed, thinking he was joking. But he just stared at you.

“Thor… you realize Krampus and Santa aren’t… real?” Wanda asked.

He had a hard time swallowing that.

He ended up sleeping on the couch “just in case”

you woke up at 3 am to a loud clattering coming from the living room

You decided to check it out against your better judgement

There was Thor. Hammer in one hand, cookie in another.

Down the hall toward the elevator was a completely destroyed life-size nutcracker.

“What the hell are you doing?”

“I thought I heard something by the elevator.”

“Congratulations. You murdered the Nutcracker.”

“I feared he was an accomplice of the holiday demon.”

“He’s been there for weeks!”

“He could have been a spy. Or possessed.”

“Goodnight Thor.”

Christmas Morning finally arrived

Everyone was sleeping soundly in their beds

Until Sam decided to be a little shit and wake everyone up at 7 am

He pounded on every. single. bedroom door.

“Y/NNNN. SANTA CAME TO TOWNNNNN.” he sing-songed

“No he didn’t.” You grumbled. “Thor killed him.”

“… I don’t know what that means.”

You all stumble out into the living room

Natasha took the time to actually run a brush through her hair and do her morning skincare

You and wanda were far too excited and skipped over that completely, barely remembering to brush your teeth

Tony looked the roughest - he had a silk robe draped over his pjs and looked like he was just awakened from a coma

Essentially, everyone was a little disheveled

Vision made everyone coffee before you started the gift exchange

You all sat around the coffee table in a circle so everyone could see each other

Bruce and Steve passed out the gifts from under the tree

it took a solid few minutes, there was a MOUNTAIN of presents

You went one at a time opening gifts

Some people think this is awkward, but you felt it was more genuine

this way, everyone can see the gift and the joy on the receivers face

as well as a million “thank you”s

It also gave time for the giver to explain why they chose the gift they did, whether it be something they remembered you said you wanted, something they knew you needed, or even just a simple “this made me think of you”

In the end, you loved all your gifts

And everyone loved what you got for them

But mostly, you were just happy to spend the holiday with your family

[darklordofthesimp]

Anything IV (König x Reader)

Summary: A lack of information from the chain of command results in König mistaking you for an enemy sniper.

Requested by: Literally fucking everyone.

A/N: WHY WAS THIS SO HARD TO WRITE???

Category: Angst || Hurt/Comfort || Forced Proximity || Enemies to ?

Warnings: Graphic language

PREVIOUS CHAPTER

You were exhausted. 

Sleeping was a luxury that you couldn't afford, not that you hadn't been trying. You weren't fond of the night terrors that came to visit whenever you closed your eyes. They were the worst part of it all, you thought. 

It was early, too early for training but, nonetheless, you slowly crawled from your bed. It didn't take long to get ready but it did take time to pull yourself from the mirror. 

You couldn't stop staring at the reflection. Saying that it was you staring back seemed far-fetched in all honesty- the creature you observed was unrecognizable. You considered some makeup to cover the bruising, but there was nowhere to hide the ragged divots in your face, dragged through by your own nails. 

You couldn't hide a swollen nose, puffy eyes and a busted mouth. Your jaw was ballooned, and although the stitches were finally out from your face- the scars remained. You decided that no amount of money could hide your ugliness. Everyone knew what you looked like, everyone knew how fucking disgusting you were. It was almost more embarrassing to try and hide it, than to embrace it and pretend that you didn't care. 

But you did. You cared too much. 

You threw on some sweatpants and a hoodie, your training gear hidden beneath. You needed coffee- you needed something. Anything to get your blood moving in your body and force some adrenaline through your system.

You were so early.

You didn't want to go. 

You'd been attempting to train with König for a couple of weeks now, never engaging in conversation and never looking him in the eye. Ghost had volunteered himself to chaperone your sessions and since then you'd been able to work more comfortably, though you knew it was selfish. 

It was nobody's job to have to babysit you. This was an elite fucking task force, the best of the best and you had to be nursed back into health by one of the most renowned soldiers in the British Special Forces. It was embarrassing for everyone, to say the least. You felt disgusting, you felt pathetic- though, you supposed that's exactly what you were. 

Fucking pathetic. 

You'd expected the gym to be dark, the lights off and abandoned at this early hour. Especially on a Saturday, there was no one at work. Those who lived on base  would usually leave the night before to go drinking or camping, crawling back in shame on the Sunday afternoon. Ghost would be around but this early in the morning you knew he'd be out on his motorcycle, waiting for the sunrise to light up the highway. 

Upon further inspection, you realized that the door was open. The blinds were still down but the light was on, illuminating the hallway you stood in. There was a low hum from inside, melodic and seamless. You raised a brow as you approached, peering into the doorway. 

Your heart skipped a beat at the sight of König. 

The beast was leaned over, singing a wordless tune that you didn't recognise, voice as smooth as silk. He was laying out the foam mats, running his fingers over the raised surface until it was completely flat. Finally, the sniper stood straight to observe his handiwork with a nod. 

He was larger than life when he stretched his arms over his head, groaning at the movement. Some part of you, deep down, was in awe of his sheer size. The other, more dominant, part of you reminded you that he'd been too big for you to stop. 

You were frozen in place, unable to move and unable to take a breath in fear that he'd hear you. König's senses were sharp and the slightest noise would tip him off to your gawking. 

When he sat down on the bench with a solemn sigh, your blood began to simmer beneath your skin. 

"Did you want to come in, Birdy?" König's voice was gentle but you still jumped at the sound of it. A gasp slipped from your lips at the exposure and he tilted his head at the noise, leaning his elbows against his knees. 

Your mouth dried. How did he know that you were there? You hadn't made a sound. 

"Not particularly," you cleared your throat, as he pulled the balaclava from over his head. Dark hair spilled from beneath the fabric, messy and thick. He never kept a mask on when you were around, regardless of whether it was a balaclava or that damned hood. 

"I thought we were past this," he sighed, putting the mask down by his side. He never turned to face you, giving you the option to leave without the pressure of his gaze. 

I thought we were past this. 

Heat flushed through your system like a volcanic eruption, originating in your chest and shooting across your nerves. 

"Past you ruining my life?" You offered as calmly as you could manage. "No. No, I'm actually not past it."

"I meant," König corrected firmly, turning around to face you with narrowed eyes, "are we not past this." 

While he didn't say anything different, the meaningful stare told you enough. 

Are we not past you coming inside every time, even though you say that you won't? 

You stared at him for a long moment, that emerald gaze unwavering. It was nothing like what you'd seen that night, he was a completely different person. You wondered when he would snap, you wondered when you would snap. 

You saw hints of the man you'd encountered sometimes during sparring, never with you but occasionally with Simon. He targeted König, always making a point to put him on his ass but a part of you wonders if the soldier was letting him do it. It was almost too easy sometimes, as though the man had just given up halfway through. 

You stepped through the doorway tentatively, eyes never leaving König's. He held his body so still that you wondered if he was breathing, reminding you of the way a snake freezes before it strikes. 

You moved to the other side of the mats, sitting down on the bench opposite your partner. 

"I figured you'd be up," König rubbed the back of his neck, his shoulders relaxing the second you took a seat. "I got you a coffee." 

You blinked at him. 

"What?" 

"I got you a coffee?" The words were uncertain now as he leaned back slightly. He gestured towards the cup tray beside him, two drinks in foam cups steaming at his side. 

You couldn't force a response from your lips- you couldn't do anything, really, other than gawk at him. Why he'd gone out of his way to get you a coffee was beyond you, obviously he was guilty but you'd made it clear you wanted none of his pity. 

"Don't overthink it, Birdy," König raised a brow. "It's a coffee. Just take it." 

"Yeah," you rasped. "Yeah."

But you didn't move. 

Your limbs felt like they'd been filled with lead, your heart beating against your ribs violently. Grabbing the coffee shouldn't have been an issue, getting up is not difficult, so why were you not responding to mental commands? You felt helpless, the realization that your mind and body were no longer yours to control- rather you were ruled by fear that you couldn't grasp. 

You clenched your jaw tightly.

Move, Birdy. 

The Austrian tightened his lips awkwardly, fingers running through his hair like an anxiety tic. The both of you sat in uncomfortable silence before finally he reached for the cup, standing to his feet. 

You remained deathly still as he approached, stopping a safe distance away before he stretched his hand out. The semblance to extending an olive branch was too obvious not to take note, although you'd be the first to snap any branches this man offered. 

But this wasn't some stupid peace twig. This was coffee. König had bought you a drink. You just needed to take it, you needed to move. 

Move, Birdy. 

"It's just a coffee," the man offered you a weak smile but you could see the apprehension in his gaze. He was wondering if you were going to break, every fiber of his being preparing to restrain you if you had another episode. 

If you had another psychotic break over a fucking cup of coffee, you'd be out of the 141 for good. 

Move, Birdy. 

It's just coffee. 

"It's just a coffee," you whispered. 

Your fingers wrapped around the cup, the heat jarring from your thoughts. König let loose a shaky sigh that you knew you weren't meant to hear. You'd become so unstable that even the man who had destroyed you was afraid. 

Your skin brushed against his as you forced yourself to tighten your grip, the brief touch electrifying and jarring. 

He snatched his hand away as though you'd burnt him with the contact. It wasn't like you'd never touched beyond the incident, you sparred with him nearly every day. But that was sparring, this was not. 

König took a seat, his gaze averted and his nails digging into the bench. You took the first sip, eyes never leaving his form. 

Just a coffee, Birdy. 

You took another swig,  reminding yourself to taste the drink. You thought of the texture, the temperature, the flavor- anything to ground you from your thoughts and drag you back to reality. When your mind began to settle and you could finally register the taste, your eyes widened. 

It was exactly your order. 

You almost choked.  

Before you could ask anything of it, the soldier returned his attention to rest on you, briefly taking in your visage. He was still concerned, the twist of his mouth clearly apprehensive. 

"We've never really spoken about what happened," König rasped, the vulnerable tremor in his voice ringing clear. 

Your spine straightened and the cup creaked beneath your grip. 

"Because I don't want to talk about what happened."

"You can't avoid it forever, Birdy," the man bit, sharp and surprising. You leaned away from him, taken aback by the frustration woven through his tone. He always made an effort to be calm and speak in dulcet tones, going against his nature to appear disarming  wherever he could help it. 

The smouldering coals in his gaze reminded you that König was neither soft nor gentle.

"No," you snapped, "but I can avoid talking about it with you."

König grit his teeth. 

"Who else was there, Birdy?" He hissed, leaning his elbows onto his knees. The question was rhetorical but you almost felt compelled to answer him.  Those jade  eyes flashed with a bitterness that you couldn't understand, intense and pleading. "It was me and you and no one else."

"What do you want me to say, König?" You spat, standing to your feet. Rage blistered through your being, buzzing beneath your skin and electrifying your nerves. You wanted to throttle him, you wanted to grab him and shake him until it finally shut him up. 

"I want you to just listen to me," the soldier implored, moving to stand but thinking better of it. You saw his hesitation, the understanding that once he stood up it wouldn't be a conversation it would be intimidation. 

Shut up. 

"I don't want to hear a word from your fucking mouth," you growled, pointing an accusatory finger at his frozen silhouette. "Unless it's to get me back on the job that you stole, I don't want to hear a thing from you."

Just shut up. 

"I'm trying to fucking apologise, Birdy!" 

Shut up. Shut up. Shut up. 

"Just shut up!"  Your voice had escalated into a barely legible scream, storming towards the seated beast. You pushed through the barriers of his personal space, but König stayed solid, his eyes hard and his mouth set. 

You were toe to toe, nose to nose and eye to eye. 

Your mouth twisted into a sneer. 

"You think you can buy me coffee and that's it, we're friends?" Your voice was low, and your fingers dug into the thighs that you stood between. His cheek twinged at your grip but other than that, the mountain of a man made no move to budge. He observed you from beneath his lashes, his eyes as hard as stone and you wondered if he was breathing. 

"No," König replied simply, his words tracing your lips. "What I do think is that we need to get past this, one way or another." 

You glared at him, your fingers trembling against his legs. 

"I'll get past this, the day I can look in the mirror and get past the mutilated thing staring back at me." 

"I'm sorry-" he began but you grit your teeth, leaping to interrupt those goddamned words from leaving his stupid mouth. 

"I don't want-"

König's hands suddenly landed above your own, holding them tightly as a growl tore from his throat.

"Listen to me." 

You fell silent immediately. 

Emerald eyes searched your own, imploring you to just hear him, even if it was for a moment. If you were going to ignore everything he said, he wouldn't care because at least he got them out. At least he knows that you've heard them. 

"I'm so, so sorry for what I did to you, Birdy." König murmurs, swaying forward and taking up precious inches in the space between you both. His eyes were soft, vulnerable as he bared himself. "As far as I knew, you were an enemy sniper and I was trying to protect my family. I know that you understand that, Birdy, because the 141  is your family." 

You stared at him, furious with the tears burning your eyes, embarrassed by your emotionally fragile state. 

"I know that you don't want to forgive me, I don't expect you to. It's okay to be angry but you have to help me fix this. For both of our sakes, Bird, let me fix this." The words were whispered by the end of it, searching your features with hopeful eyes. 

"I don't trust you," you wanted to shout at him but the sentence was venomless on your tongue. König's lip quirked upward, his shoulders pulling into a small shrug. 

"You trust me enough."

"I don't trust you at all." 

There was venom in that and the soldier's features became solemn once more. You were not his friend, you did not forgive him and you would not be tricked into believing that this was something worth just getting over. 

"You trust me enough." König repeated himself, raking over your silhouette from head to toe meaningfully.

Suddenly, you realized where you stood. 

Wedged between his thighs, your fingers gripping his legs and his hands covering yours. You flinched backward, eyes flickering at your proximity. You could taste his sentences on your tongue, so close you noses would brush if you had moved an inch. 

You had allowed yourself to be in a room alone with König and willingly put yourself in his grasp. 

A cough from the doorway had you leaping apart from the man as if you'd been burnt.

Your chest heaved as your heart smashed against your ribs, begging to be let loose from its constraints. A low exhale fell from the man beside you, as though reminding himself to breathe. 

"Well," Price whistled, shifting on his feet uncomfortably. "That's sure a sight at 6am." 

You cleared your throat, rubbing the back of your neck. A lot had happened in the time that you and König had confronted each other, none of it was easy to explain. In fact, none of it was easy to even understand yourself. 

"We were just waiting on Ghost," you rasped, shrugging nonchalantly. 

Price raised a disbelieving brow but up didn't press, only shooting König a look dripping with warning. He didn't like that you were alone in here with him, but the man had no right. He was the one that assigned König to you, he was the one that took him in as your replacement. 

John Price was just as guilty as König, except his charge was betrayal. 

A sneer settled on your lips at the reminder.

"Well, guess you can meet our newest member a bit early then." 

Newest member?

König sucked in a breath from beside you when a figure moved around behind Price's frame. They stood straight, appearing taller than they were with confident posture. 

Immediately, you knew that they would be trouble. 

Not by the smirk gracing their lips and not even by the distinct look of distaste that was smeared across their expression- but, the way that they stared at you as though you were a challenge waiting to be conquered. 

Like you were easy game. 

"As the 141 grows," Price began, gesturing to the small part of the team in the room, "we need more members to join roles that were previously left to one person." 

Your stomach churned. 

"Obviously, Birdy, you've been our main sniper but now we need more than one." The Captain was careful with his wording, watching you as though you were a ticking time bomb set to detonate any second now.

You fucking felt like one. 

As you observed the newest addition, they stared right back, raking in your visage from head to toe. Their crooked smile had you on edge, had you unnerved- but it also thrilled you. This person saw you as a threat. 

They didn't see a broken bird, someone helpless. Behind the arrogant smirk and the cocky body language, there was a hardness to their gaze. They weren't underestimating you, they still saw something across your face that indicated that you weren't done. 

But they were ready to meet you head on. 

Your expression turned stony. 

"And who is my newest replacement?" You ground out, eyes never leaving theirs. A feral grin pulled at their lips, amusement flooding their expression. It fucking made you seethe. Price opened his mouth to either introduce them or reprimand your clear rejection, but the sniper stepped forward with a snort.

"They should have called you 'Sunshine.'"

[analysisiinternet]

Yandere Headcanons for Thaddeus from “Killer Peter”

(note: why do they always make the villain hot i saw no headcanons or fanfics of him or "x reader" so I decided to do a headcanons yes red is my favorite color)

1. Obsessive Affection With his complex personality, Thaddeus exhibits an intense and obsessive form of affection towards those he cares about. His love is not a gentle fondness; it borders on an all-consuming passion that can quickly spiral into possessiveness. He meticulously keeps track of every detail about the object of his affection, whether it’s their daily routines, favorite foods, or even their friends and acquaintances. This obsession drives him to protect them at all costs, leading to a darker side where he might resort to extreme measures if he feels threatened by anyone who comes too close.

2. Jealousy and Paranoia Thaddeus’s yandere nature manifests prominently through his jealousy. He cannot stand the thought of anyone else getting too close to you the one he loves. This jealousy often leads him down a path of paranoia, where he imagines scenarios in which his beloved(you) is unfaithful or is in danger due to others’ intentions. He may confront perceived rivals with a chilling calmness that belies the storm brewing within him. His jealousy can escalate quickly, transforming him from a caring partner into someone who will go to great lengths—potentially violent—to eliminate any threats.

3. Duality of Personality One of the most intriguing aspects of Thaddeus’s character is his duality. On one hand, he can be charming and charismatic, drawing people in with his wit and intelligence. On the other hand, there lies a darker side that emerges when he feels betrayed or threatened. This duality makes him unpredictable; readers are left guessing whether they will encounter the sweet Thaddeus or the cold-hearted protector at any given moment. This unpredictability adds layers to his character and keeps readers engaged as they explore how far he might go for love.

4. Manipulative Tendencies Thaddeus possesses a keen intellect that allows him to manipulate situations to his advantage seamlessly. He knows how to play mind games with both friends and foes alike, often using charm and persuasion to bend others to his will without them realizing it until it’s too late. His manipulative nature extends even to his beloved(you) he may create scenarios that make you dependent on him or isolate them from their support systems under the guise of protection.

5. Dark Romantic Gestures In true Yandere fashion, Thaddeus expresses his love through darkly romantic gestures that may seem sweet on the surface but carry sinister undertones upon closer inspection. For instance, he might surprise his beloved with gifts that have unsettling origins—like items taken from those who have wronged them—or orchestrate elaborate dates in secluded locations where they are completely alone and away from prying eyes. These gestures serve as both declarations of love and warnings: no one else can have them.

6. Unwavering Loyalty Despite his darker tendencies, Thaddeus embodies unwavering loyalty once someone has earned his trust and affection. He would go above and beyond for those he loves, often placing their needs above his own desires—even if it means making morally questionable choices along the way. This loyalty can be both comforting and terrifying; while it provides a sense of security for those close to him, it also raises questions about what boundaries he might cross in the name of love.

7. A Tragic Backstory To fully understand Thaddeus’s yandere tendencies, one must consider a potential tragic backstory that shapes who he is today—a past filled with betrayal or loss could explain why he clings so tightly to those he loves now. Perhaps early experiences taught him that love is fleeting or conditional; thus, when he finds someone worth loving again, he becomes desperate to keep them safe and never let them slip away.

 Clingy Yet Charismatic:

Once Thaddeus develops an attachment to someone, he becomes incredibly clingy. He thrives on their attention and affection, often showering you with compliments and small gifts that seem innocent at first glance—like handmade trinkets or baked goods. However, this clinginess quickly escalates into possessiveness. He believes that anyone who gets too close to his beloved must be eliminated or kept at bay, leading him to orchestrate elaborate schemes to isolate you from potential threats—friends, family members, or even romantic interests He will go out of his way to be near you often inserting himself into your daily routines under the guise of wanting to help or spend time together. 

warning: a lil NSFW(if your comfortable with NSFW you may read if not don't read this)

how would he be in bed-

he would definitely be dom or switch he would do it rough such as if you told him to go slow he would go faster thrusting inside you I don't even know why yall create a safeword he would be the type to call you "good girl your taking me so well~ "while he is fucking you from behind and whispers in your ear "your fucking mine" I feel like he would make jokes while yall are doing it (it is a canon at this point) he would purposely gag you on his dick while your giving a blowjob and laugh about it, I just know if he is good at martial figthtin he is good with fingers

Aftercare-

he would be the big spoon putting you to his chest as she cuddles you and he would act all innocent and shits and he would say how would a good job you did pleasing him as he kisses you smiling at you pullin' closer to him his hand is on your waist, he would make you a bath for him and you can wash off(there might be a round 2) but after all he is clingy don't get me started on him kissing all over your face telling you how much he loves you (he might be a villain but he would hug me if I was sad)

Thaddeus’ hugs become more frequent and enveloping as the relationship develops, offering a sense of security. Kisses exchanged in these early days are tender and sweet, leaving a lingering warmth that hints at deeper feelings. You might notice small tokens of his affection—a favorite snack he brings you or a shared playlist that reflects your growing bond.

His kisses transform into fervent expressions of desire—more passionate and demanding than before. Thaddeus seems insatiable, always wanting more closeness and connection. Love bites become a playful yet possessive mark of his affection, signifying that you belong to him in this chaotic world.

Cuddling Dynamics At home or during quiet moments together, Thaddeus often plays the big spoon role during cuddling sessions. He wraps around you protectively, creating a cocoon where you both can escape from reality for a while. This nurturing side reveals his softer nature beneath the tough exterior he often presents to the world.

(note: comment who yall want me to do headcanons for the next post you can either text me or ask in the box but I would prefer if you text me instead if you read all of this thank you so much and reblogged this)

[mydearestbeloved]

Chapter 4 [Draft]

Sung Jinwoo/Trial Player!Reader

CW: All hail severely traumatized Reader, Part 2 (or is it 3? 4??)

Inspired by @circeyoru ‘s “Future Power Couple”

[Masterlist��✨️]

On quiet evenings, after closing the shop, you’d sit in the dim light with your butterflies swirling around you, thinking of him. Jinwoo had grown older in these passing years, but he was still in the shadow of what was yet to come, the trials he’d face, the burdens he’d bear. You’d send a butterfly to always be with him, only occasionally checking in on him, respecting his boundaries even if he didn’t know it.

Just for a moment—a quick glance into his world was enough.

When Jinwoo first registered as a hunter, you had already braced yourself for this moment. The person you had watched in glimpses through the pages, from, the safety of your domain, and later from the shadows of Seoul, was finally stepping into a life that would soon be fraught with peril. You were determined to help him, even if only in ways that were subtle, hidden beneath the surface of his everyday struggles.

As long as the system did not forbid you, you would help him however you could. And perhaps, every small act was your rebellion.

---

It started with the hospital bills. You remembered the pitiful amount of money Jinwoo would scrape together after risking his life in dungeons, just to keep his mother’s medical care afloat. You couldn’t bear to watch it unfold like it did in the story, not when you had the means to help.

You watched him in the hallway of the hospital one day, standing before the reception desk with his head bowed, his fingers trembling as he pulled out a thin stack of cash.

“I-I’m sorry, Miss. This is all the money I can scrape by…” His voice was low, filled with both hope and shame.

The receptionist, a middle-aged woman with kind eyes, was holding back a sigh when suddenly, her computer pinged with a notification. Her eyes widened in surprise. “Good news, Hunter Sung!” she exclaimed, her tone brightening. “With this amount, plus some unexpected anonymous donations, yours and your mother’s hospital bills are covered for the time being.”

“What?” Jinwoo blinked, visibly stunned. “But I didn’t—”

“Oh! And I’m glad to inform you that your mother’s complexion has improved slightly in the last few weeks.” She smiled warmly. “The specialists believe it’s a good sign.”

Jinwoo’s mouth opened and closed, clearly bewildered. “Huh? No, wait, that’s… that’s great, but—”

In your hidden corner outside the hospital, you giggled softly to yourself, covering your mouth with a hand as you watched through your butterfly’s eyes. The tiny creature perched delicately on the windowsill, relaying every flicker of emotion on Jinwoo’s face back to you.

Perched on your shoulder was another small butterfly, its tiny wings beating quietly, the faint residual glow of it, the one you’d tasked with easing his mother’s pain whenever it could, flickered beside your ear.

“I hope you can feel a bit more at ease, Jinwoo,” you whispered to yourself. “It’s not much, but it’s something.”

---

Later that week, you left another package at his door. It had become a small ritual of sorts—every now and then, you’d make a meal for him and his sister. The recipes were simple, but you took care with each one, carefully wrapping each dish to keep it warm.

“Brother, did you order takeout again?” Jinah’s voice carried through the door as she opened it, her face lighting up at the sight of the package. “Huh? No, I didn’t.”

“Whoa! This smells more delicious than the last one.” Jinah’s eyes sparkled as she inspected the food, excitement clear in her voice.

You smiled, pleased. This time, you’d made a little extra, something from your own world—a dish that you remembered from home, a comfort food you’d grown up with. For some reason, it felt right to share it with them, hoping it would bring a small sense of peace to Jinwoo’s chaotic life.

Jinwoo stepped closer, frowning slightly as he eyed the package. “Jinah, don’t open it! What if this is someone else’s—”

“Hmm? Jinwoo! Look at this!” Jinah held up the small card you’d tucked inside, her grin widening as she noticed the handwriting: For strength and courage. Keep going.

Jinwoo blinked, his eyes lingering on the card, and you felt your heart tighten. You’d also left something else this time—a pair of twin daggers, crafted with care, designed to suit his grip and his unique fighting style. You’d poured a bit of your magic into the blades, imbuing them with a subtle strength you hoped would last him longer in dungeons.

Carefully crafted, the daggers gleamed in the dim light, their handles a smooth black etched with faint traces of silver. It was subtle, but you’d placed a small sigil of protection on each blade—a silent promise to keep him safe, even from afar.

Jinah’s gaze darted between the food and the daggers, her expression one of confusion and awe. “Who keeps sending this stuff, Jinwoo? Are they some kind of guardian angel?”

Jinwoo shook his head, still staring at the daggers. “I… don’t know,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. He looked at the card again, as if trying to piece together a puzzle that had no answer.

From where you watched, you pressed your fingers to your lips, hoping they’d never figure it out. The anonymity felt like a shield, keeping you from the vulnerability of facing him directly. It allowed you to be there for him without the risk of him ever seeing the scars that haunted you—the scars of the battles you hadn’t been able to fight for him.

---

But there were moments when you could not simply leave gifts behind. Moments where the stakes were far too high, and you found yourself breaking the rules you had set for yourself. One of those times was during a particularly dangerous raid where Jinwoo had been injured, caught off-guard by a sudden ambush.

You found him bleeding out in an abandoned corner of the dungeon, unconscious and pale, his breath coming in shallow gasps. Panic surged through you as you cloaked the area with your butterflies’ illusion magic, hiding you both from the other hunters scrambling to escape.

“Hey… Jinwoo…” Your voice trembled as you knelt beside him, your hands hovering uncertainly over his torn shirt, slick with blood. You could barely see through the tears blurring your vision. “Stay with me.”

You pressed your hands to his wound, feeling the warmth of his blood soak into your fingers. Healing him was a delicate balance; you had to hold back most of your power, keeping it just within the boundaries that the system would tolerate The warmth of your power seeped into his skin, mending the torn muscle and stitching the wounds closed.

“You’re going to be okay…” you whispered, your voice barely above a breath.

He grimaced slightly, even in his unconscious state, as though still fighting an invisible battle. His brows were furrowed, and you could see the remnants of pain etched into his expression.

Unable to stop yourself, you began to hum softly—a lullaby from your original world, a song you’d heard countless times. The sound filled the silence around you, mingling with the gentle flutter of your butterflies as they circled, their wings casting soft shadows over the two of you. You weren’t even sure if he could hear it, but you hoped it would bring some comfort. His pained expression gradually softened, his breathing steadying, his body growing still as he drifted into a peaceful sleep.

“You will be okay,” you whispered, your voice barely audible over the fluttering wings of your butterflies. Leaning forward, you pressed a gentle, lingering kiss to his forehead, ignoring the taste of sweat and blood on your lips. “I promise.”

You stayed there for as long as you dared, your butterflies encircling you both in a protective sphere. But eventually, the system's warnings began to flash, and you were forced to retreat. The moment you pulled back, you could feel the invisible barrier forcing you away, like a cruel reminder of your place. You were not meant to interfere directly, not in the way you so desperately wished.

As you vanished into the shadows, Jinwoo stirred, his eyelids fluttering open sleepily. A faint scent of flowers lingering in the air.

The soft glow of a single butterfly disappearing into the darkness.

---

You knew it was only a matter of time before Jinwoo’s sharp instincts would catch on. He had always been sharp, even before his strength grew. He had a way of noticing things, piecing together the small details others missed. Sometimes you wondered if he already suspected there was someone watching over him—a nameless guardian who left behind no trace.

For his sake, you hoped he wouldn’t. There was too much you couldn’t tell him, too many secrets that weighed heavy on your heart. You couldn’t let him find you. Not yet. Perhaps not ever. The scars left behind from your previous failures were still too fresh, too deep. You couldn't face him—not with the knowledge of everything you failed to prevent.

A red butterfly fluttered back to your shoulder, nestling close as if sensing your inner turmoil. You reached up, brushing a gentle finger over its wings, a silent promise.

For now, it was enough to watch him from afar, to slip into his life like a fleeting shadow, offering what little comfort and aid you could. For Sung Jinwoo, the lonely hero you once admired on the pages of a story, being beside him—even unseen, even in secret—was more than enough.

Because loving him like this, in silence and secrecy, was the only way you knew how.

-----

The dungeon gate loomed ominously in front of you, shrouded in an aura of terror. Every hunter that passed by gave it a wary glance, a sense of unease clinging to their skin. But for you, standing alone on the empty, desolate street outside the gate, it was more than just unease.

You knew what was happening on the other side of that barrier.

You knew exactly why Sung Jinwoo had gone in there, why he was fighting against forces he had no chance against, and, worse, you knew how the story was supposed to go.

Even if you wanted to save him, you couldn’t.

As you paced in the shadows, a biting frustration gnawed at you, tugging on your every nerve. The system had raised another invisible barrier around the gate, one specifically designed to keep you out. This was a repeat, you knew, yet you had tried pushing against it just like the first time, pounding your fists in desperation, hoping that it would somehow let you through if only you pleaded enough.

But like every single time, the system never relented. The message that flashed in front of your eyes had been clear, cold, and unyielding:

[Warning: You cannot interfere with the designated player’s progression.]

So all you could do was wait. Hours passed, the world seeming to stretch unbearably as you lingered on the edge, senses on high alert. Finally, when the gate shimmered and disappeared, you bolted forward, cloaking yourself with an illusory skill the moment you felt the barrier lift.

Without hesitation, you sprinted into the dungeon.

The first sight of the bloodstained stone walls, the broken weapons and armor littered across the ground, nearly brought bile to your throat. And at the center of it all, lying on the cold stone altar, was Jinwoo, blood pooling beneath him. His once gentle features were twisted with pain, his usually alert eyes closed, his breathing almost nonexistent.

Your heart pounded in your chest, raw terror surging through you as you stumbled forward, nearly dropping to your knees beside him. Your hands trembled as you summoned your healing power, a soft glow flickering to life in your palms as you placed them gently over his wounds.

“Jinwoo…” The name slipped from your lips, an agonized whisper.

It took every ounce of willpower not to let your emotions take control. You wanted nothing more than to pour every bit of your strength into him, to erase the pain and blood, to make him whole again. But something held you back—a quiet, persistent instinct that reminded you of your own limitations here. This was a pivotal moment in his story, the beginning of everything that was to come. If you pushed too far, you knew you’d be punished for it in ways you couldn’t predict.

Instead, you focused on his face, gently wiping away the blood from his brow as you healed the worst of his injuries. The faintest hint of warmth returned to his skin, his breathing evening out, and you felt a trickle of relief flow through you.

“You’ll be okay… Just a bit longer,” you murmured, hoping your words would somehow reach him, even in the unconsciousness of his slumber.

---

Hours later, you watched silently from afar as Jinwoo was admitted to the hospital. Nurses and doctors bustled around him, wheeling him through corridors and hooking him up to machines to monitor his vitals. You should have felt some sense of peace, of reassurance, knowing he was in good hands, but instead, a strange emptiness gnawed at you.

As soon as the doctors left his side, you sent one of your butterflies to hover just above him, invisible to any onlookers. Through its eyes, you watched him sleep, his face pale yet calm. If only he could see the world through your eyes, how much you wanted to protect him from every shadow and danger.

For days, you visited Jinwoo in the hospital, bringing supplies when the nurses weren’t looking, leaving small offerings—potions, enchanted items, all hidden from sight. You spent countless hours just sitting nearby, willing his pain away.

But after those days of endless vigil, your system did something you hadn’t expected: it simply… vanished. No messages, no reminders, no missions or updates. It was as if it had been swept away, a silent farewell. But somehow, you couldn’t believe that was all there was to it. The system you knew—the one that felt almost…alive—would have left something, some kind of parting message. But there was nothing.

Yet even as the ache in your heart grew sharper, you took comfort in the fact that your powers, and the tiny butterfly summons, your children, remained at your side. The system’s absence didn’t change the duty you felt in your heart.

---

Of course, the only thing the system left behind was the now near-permanent barrier.

You felt your own helplessness all over again when Jinwoo entered the penalty zone, struggling to survive against waves of merciless monsters. All you could do was watch, silently cheering him on as he fought his way through it, determination blazing in his eyes. You knew this was the beginning, the spark that would ignite his growth. But still, it was agonizing to stand by, unable to intervene, unable to help.

Days later, when he took on his first solo hunt in an instant dungeon, you lingered nearby. Observing every movement, every struggle, every victory. You smiled with pride as each time he struck down a monster.

And then there came the time he met Yoo Jinho. The memory of that dungeon still sent a chill down your spine. Jinwoo and Jinho, left for dead by Hwang Dongsok and his squad, and then watching the two of them nearly get slaughtered had you gripping the edges of your seat. You could feel admiration as much as your heart shatter as Jinwoo stood over the bodies, his gaze cold and unyielding. The spark of his innocence was dimming, replaced by a hardened resolve.

“Jinwoo…” You whispered his name as you watched him, clutching your chest as a wave of sadness washed over you. He was changing, evolving, becoming stronger, but at what cost? Each time Jinwoo took a life or fought in the dungeons, you felt your heart ache for him. He was growing stronger, yes, but he was also losing pieces of himself along the way.

You mourned for the innocence he left behind. Yet, you knew this was necessary. You reminded yourself of this, over and over.

---

Every time he stepped into danger, every time he took a blow, you felt the echo of his pain in your own chest. You watched him fight Kerberos, your hands clenched into fists as he took hit after hit, barely surviving. And yet, through it all, he pushed forward, as relentless as ever, Each injury he sustained sent you pacing around the Gardens, your butterflies fluttering around you, trying in vain to calm your worry.

Even when Jinwoo joined Jinho to clear various C-rank gates, you remained his unseen guardian, watching from afar with a bittersweet smile. He was getting stronger. He was closer to becoming the hero you admired—no, loved—from the pages of your old world.

---

And then, the job change quest arrived.

You watched with anticipation as he ventured into the ancient halls, his eyes sharp, his movements cautious. The moment he met Igris, you had been waiting for this moment for what felt like lifetimes. You watched him take on Igris with every ounce of power he possessed, watching with bated breath as Jinwoo faced the trials set before him.

And finally, the words you had been waiting for echoed through the temple, sending shivers down your spine.

“Arise.”

The power resonated in his voice, a command filled with strength and authority. You nearly squealed, couldn’t hold back the grin that spread across your face as you watched the first shadow rise at his command.

Watching him gain his Shadow Extraction skill felt like watching a dream come to life. This was the moment you had waited for, the turning point that would set Jinwoo on the path to becoming the Shadow Monarch. He had come so far, and you had seen every step of his journey unfold before your eyes.

As you gazed at him from afar, smile still tugging at your lips. This, you thought, is enough.

Being able to watch him grow, to see him become the hero you admired, was enough. Just knowing that he was okay—that he was stronger than ever—was all you needed.

End Note:

Unedited Draft of [010/10/2024] - Goodbye

[grandisknight]

sweet macaron | dawnbreaker

summary: On a particular Thursday, Zayne decides to make something he once saw in a dream.

tags: angst, dawnbreaker!zayne, fem!MC mention, she/her pronouns used, hurt/no comfort, dreams, dreams vs. reality + wc: 1.0k | ao3 version here!

notes: vaguely inspired by his anecdote “still in dark” and “eternal attachment” birthday trailer - i needed to get this mild angst out my system in time for zayne’s bday ;; dawnbreaker my poor, poor beloved…

dividers from cafekitsune

Macarons are sweet.

Between carefully crafted pieces of meringue, a thin layer of confectionery fruit, jam or cream completed the dainty desert. Soft yet firm, a well-balanced chew and decadent sugar made for an ideal sweet bite.

Zayne peels off one of the biscuits from an aged baking tray, inspecting with mild interest. It was a delicate thing, with the slightest push of his pinched fingers cracking the already ruined surface between them. Crumbs speckled the air and dusted the countertop, soon tossed aside to be discarded.

Again, he’ll try again.

Tired eyes bored themselves into the tray of dull, gray rounds that were supposed to be tinted a daytime blue. This was his third batch, and he still couldn’t perfect a shade that was just barely out of his reach.

Halfway through the first batch, he wondered what was the point. He hadn’t done anything like this in who knows how long.

And through the second, he nearly scrapped it altogether when the peaks of egg white seemed to harden by his hands.

Cold, cold hands. They harbored his fingers, calloused to the touch and adorned by the sins of his undoings—of killing. Life taken by his hands, frozen by the shards crystallized within them. Piercing into the Abominations that ran amok, that were no longer human. Blackened blades of ice that consumed him and the aimed target, crafted with empty sentiment.

But it was only when a feeling that struck his heart at the precipice of cleaning his stainless bowl that made him reconsider his thrown away efforts thus far. He remembered he had dreamt of it again last night, more vivid that the ones in recent time.

Something very warm. A sound of a laugh filled with wholehearted affection for its recipient. The same one from his dreams, the one who frequently visits especially around this time of year. She had offered him a biscuit, decorated a white blob and details of black forming into a lopsided seal. He felt himself chew thoughtfully and watch her eyes glimmer in anticipation.

How cute, he quietly thought. Or so it seemed to be spoken aloud, seeing how her ears burned a bright red and a shy expression repainted her face. Zayne reassured her that it was a good treat, he liked it as it was.

The callings of his name that fell from the girl's lips were familiar and distant all at once, as if he wasn’t supposed to know.

Wasn’t supposed to hear how the birds sang and sun rose from the warmth of her voice, wasn’t supposed to see the way those eyes crinkled in crescents with a tender adoration.

But he heard it all the same, and it was a sound he's come to cherish, even if it wasn't for him. With such a sweet expression, she chastised him, lighthearted all throughout, about how she gifted him an important blessing. The ghost of frosting kissed the square of his cheek then, and he found himself shaking his head in playful disbelief. His mouth spilled a response then, though speaking from a body that wasn't his own at the same time.

"What an important blessing."

He still remembers the way their hands brushed, fluttering ginko leaves swirled around them with every sway of the breeze. He intimately could trace the pulse of what were his hands calmly clasping over hers, sharing in a heat and gentle caress especially so once their foreheads touched.

In the present, Zayne felt his own hands itch then, empty and tapping against the cold marble of his kitchen counter instead. The solemn reality dissolved the sweet melody that lingered in his mind.

Right. He was alone here.

Turning around, he decided to quietly return a plethora of ingredients to his countertop and robotically whisked together the ingredients.

Maybe for once, he’ll cling onto the things he shouldn’t know and entertain what was otherwise a dull existence. With a fleeting dream at the tips of his fingers, it would push him through what would be his third and final attempted batch.

So here he stood, some time later, harvesting the fruits of his labor. A sweet scent wafted through the kitchen once more. The back of a spoon dipped into a portion of creamy filling and smeared onto the bottom half of a biscuit. No cracks adorned the surface this time when the other half stuck on top, remaining in one, homogenous piece.

His first macaron. The biscuit was on the thinner side, having lost some of its puffed height from a shorter resting period. Not a perfect bakery display piece, but not exactly a failure either. It was fine, he would be the only one eating them after all.

It melted in his mouth with a bite, hints of bitter earl grey and honeyed vanilla seeping into his tastebuds. He stared into the remaining bite, discerning every ridge of the crust and textured chew of the interior.

The macaron was sweet after all. He wondered if the one she made was anything like it.

“Happy birthday,” the man whispered to no one but himself, placing the last piece into his mouth with a soundless bite.

Just for today, he would allow such a warm dream to sugarcoat his cold reality.

He saunters away from the kitchen then, tracing familiar steps of his daily routine. Along the way he carefully handles a potted jasmine, the only other semblance of life he has, and returns it to the window sill once more. The petals were just as wordless as he was, continuing to bloom underneath the return of the sun’s radiant waves.

Maybe one day, the jasmine would be able to experience the warmth of another person. And then he, too, could share in her very warmth that plagues his imagination for days without end. Wouldn't that be a lovely thought?

What was the semblance of a smile thinned out onto his lips, grimacing at the idea of chasing an impossible dream. Zayne turned away from the window, past the kitchen and trailing behind a faint mist of ice. Stepping towards the door, his casted shadows embraced a world without her and left into the abysmal halls.

His birthday was over.

[intsofttech]

Intsoft Tech machine vision inspection equipment, vial appearance information detection

[faksyan]

Huey Emmerich, mgs v cast & hypocrisy, a character analysis

Prefacing this with the fact that this is the morally gray franchise with the morally gray characters and I love how it portrays Huey Emmerich precisely for him being Like That. I think he is one of the most nuanced and well-written mgs characters and I'm pretty sure like half of it wasn't on purpose. He is the guy everyone hates for killing his wife (understandabe reason), trying to make one of his kid pilot a giant robot and almost drowning another in a pool (also understandable reason), and, most of all, for being a traitor. And with such a list, feels a bit weird that the accent often falls on that last part, doesn't it. Which is exactly how the narrative wants you to feel about his betrayal, on a surface level.

Every character essential to the Phantom Pain plot gets their "please feel bad for them, sympathize with them" moment, no matter how horrible a person they are. We get multiple monologs from Kaz, we get the 'I was the same way once' interrogation room and the ending of the Truth with Ocelot, we get Paz tapes and 'you're all diamonds' with Venom, we get Code Talker, Quiet, Eli (if they actually finished mission 51), even Skull Face, somewhat (don't even make me start on that guy. how is he less hated than Huey). The point is, the game is trying to make you feel bad for people who murder, torture, and whatever else, and parts of it are working, because it's fiction, and humans and morality are complicated and layered things! But what does Huey get? Torture sessions and tantrums that are framed as pathetic and ridiculous, even when what he is saying makes sense. Because yeah, there's some of that there. It's just that everyone else in the room deliberately doesn't acknowledge it.

When Venom just finds him, the first thing Huey says is that what happened to MSF was Snake's fault. The same during his exile - that there wouldn't have been an inspection, if there weren't a nuke to begin with. and it's like. he's not wrong. Having their own nukes as an independent military organization was a risk Snake and Kaz didn't just take blindly, they knew what could have happened. It was a gamble, and it didn't work out. If it did, it would've been their achievement. It didn't, so it's all Huey's fault, even though literally anyone could've been in his place. XOF weren't even the first to attempt to attack them, Zero was, Paz just didn't succeed. And if Skull Face hadn't either, someone else would have, the attention of the entire world was on them. It wasn't about betrayal, it was Snake and Kaz being drunk on success and biting off more than they could chew. Yes, Huey is a bastard and a traitor, but are we really going to blame all of this on him?

The answer is yes. And the reason is that they need someone to blame that's not them. The whole big theme of Phantom Pain is that Ocelot, Venom and Kaz have to do their best to keep up appearances, for the sake of Big Boss and his reputation. He is a legend, he is above everyone else, and he can do no wrong. Except after the fall of MSF everyone thinks that he can, Ocelot says as much in the briefing tapes. And they can't have that. So they blame it all on Huey. (<- all of this is a dictatorship allegory and critique of governments and military systems btw. 1984 or whatever I haven't read it. yay symbolism.) And blaming Huey is easy.

Huey is not a fighter. His father was a scientist who worked on the Manhattan Project. He was born on the same day as the Hiroshima bombing, his disability was (presumably) caused by his father's exposure to radiation. It's not that there was no choice involved in what he was going to do in life, but it was kind of inevitable that he would get involved with building nuclear weapons. And even when he says he is thinking about quitting upon being found by Snake in Peace Walker, it's Snake who convinces him not to, offering him to join MSF instead. In the PW tapes he also expresses that if it weren't for his disability, he would've been anywhere else, doing something different and living a "normal life".

He talks about the concept of nuclear terrorism there too, about nukes falling into hands of people without state who would be able to use them however they want, and I wonder if that was part of the reason for his betrayal. He didn't make the decision to bring nukes to base, he doesn't actually know these people. If maybe he thought it prevented a hypothetical nuclear catastrophe. Huey does say that he trusts Snake not to use them, that he values how honest Snake is, and is honest with him in return, even telling him things he's never told anyone before, like about his plagiarism of Granin's work. So what changed between then and the inspection, what was his motivation for betraying MSF, why was he approached about it of all people? Did he lie in the tapes, did he change his mind, did Skull Face offer him something that seemed more compelling, just threaten him? We never get to find out anything about it aside from every other character screaming that he's just a coward. No villain monolog, nothing.

Maybe it was about feeling important, like he is in charge, something that the hostility he has faced throughout his life didn't allow him. Huey is a sheep among wolves (wolf in sheep's clothing more like, but still). He does not fit in with the buff cool masculine soldiers, and even while working with Strangelove at NASA, he was regarded as obnoxious and spineless. It's not surprising he agreed to work for Coldman, since he, apparently, was the first person to actually recognize his skills. And even that later turns out to be a lie told to use him. Huey rarely if at all has been treated seriously, he is an outcast, even among people who share his ideas.

All he has is his brain and his knowledge, but it's never framed as much of an achievement (despite people exploiting it left and right), nor is him essentially being the nerd in a military setting ever really viewed as something dorky or endearing by the narrative like with Otacon, because the characters around him don't see him as such (as a result, so don't the players). On top of that, every other person uses his mobility aids to further degrade/harm/threaten him, even though he is already harmless when it comes to physical confrontation. In short, people he is surrounded with just enjoy the powerplay.

Right up until the point he actually does something that hurts them. And this is where my favorite part kicks in.

All three Diamond Dogs' higher-ups blame Huey for slightly different reasons, some maybe even believing that they are in the right and entitled to it (looking at you Kazuhira), but I am more than sure they know what it is that they're doing. And it's not like Kaz lacks self-awareness either, I don't think. Maybe it's denial that some of his actions led to the death of his friends, maybe blind belief in his own martyrdom and self-righteousness (sounds an awful lot like another character we know, huh), it still doesn't change much. How they all frame the story is the same. Huey's powerless and pathetic, but has ruined everything at the same time. And it doesn't really make sense, but everyone on the base agrees. It's the moment where individuals turn into a crowd that demands blood, but at least it's not their commanders it's directed at!

The Questioning Huey (6) tape is a good example of that. I especially like the bit where he starts talking about how DD is not actually a dog, because on a smaller scale, it shows how people on Mother Base just roll with things that are objectively false and turn on anyone who says otherwise. No, DD is our beloved mascot, and we are called dogs, he is just like us. And it's not like DD is just a wolf either, so neither of them are right here. But each of them thinks that they are.

That's why the amount of genuine Huey hate is a bit amusing to see, I guess. Because it's precisely the thing the game is trying to commentate on. None of these people are good. None of them have it figured out. The point is that it's just narrative bias that makes you belive that some are, if not good, at least better than others. In reality, it's never about morals or being correct, just perspective.

Huey himself, on the other hand, falls into another extreme - in his eyes, he's done nothing wrong. Because he can do no wrong, he's powerless, like everyone's alway told him, remember? He sees himself as the victim, because in a lot of cases, he is.

You can say that he is a lying traitor and that the truth serum didn't work on him because of some failsafe Skull Face thought of, but really, would he bother? He didn't even view Huey as anything but a traitor he despised. you know, the guy who was in charge of organizing the betraying part. the guy who put bombs in people and wanted to commit mass-murder on a scale no one has seen before. So the obvious and the most simple answer here is that Huey whole-heartedly, truly believes he hasn't done anything wrong. He thinks he doesn't possess the power to, that he isn't important enough. And it's drilled so deep into him he never acknowledges it's not really true. Even when he kills Strangelove, he still doesn't accept that it is his fault and his actions matter.

That's my favorite part about him, I think. How deep in denial he is about having an impact on the people around him, while also having a sort of god complex when it comes to his machines. How everyone around despises him for it, while being the ones who caused it and doing the exact same thing, refusing to get off the high horse. Metal gear is a messy franchise about messy people, but it's good exactly because it shows what has messed these people up so much. And more often than not, it's the system they're surrounded by, or that they created themselves in an attempt to escape the previous one. It's easy to point at Huey as just a bad person and only that, but I find the context of his whole life and the ways he's coping with it really compelling. There is a lot of complexity to it, and in the end of the day, they are all hypocrites.

[valentinedaughtler]

Haven’t I Given Enough?

Kaz Brekker x GN!Inventor!Reader

TW: use of Y/N, mild, mild angst, slight ooc Kaz(?) (I think that’s it, let me know if I missed anything please.)

Synopsis: You’ve known Kaz for years, inventing gadgets to assist in heists and being his right hand ‘man’. One night you ask him if you can join a heist, but it doesn’t go as planned….

REQUESTS: OPEN✅

____________________________________________

My eyes flitted between the arriving guests in the bar. The Crow Club was packed tonight, and pigeons strolled in with restless naivety. I sat in the corner of the bustling room, sighing with exhaustion. I had just spent seventeen hours imitating mechanical watches in order to create a ‘fake’ for Kaz do swap with a real one. ‘Just something I need for a heist,’ was all he had said.

It would be worth it to know Kaz was proud of me in the end. Though, it was a long shot to think he would even do much as acknowledge anything I did.

I pondered whether I should slip through the crowd to find Jesper, but I couldn’t spot him. Instead, I pushed my way out of the suffocating bar out into the damp streets of Ketterdam. The cool air calmed my mind as I crossed toward the Slat. The cold made my cheeks rosy.

With the flick of a wrist, I flipped a switch blended into the old building’s exterior wall. It was hidden to an unsuspecting pedestrian yet, but it set off a system of pullies I had integrated into the inner walls a long time ago. A soft shlink was followed by the outward jutting of brick.

The side of the building became a rock-wall of sorts, since I could not climb up every surface like Inej. I began to grip the bricks, digging my nails into the gritty platforms.

Kaz was not always a fan of my inventions. A few had blown up in his face- literally- but it seemed he kept me around due to my many successes. I could fix any machine made by man. I didn’t have to know what it was, I could just take it apart in my mind, then do so in reality.

This was one of my inventions, a brick wall that was easy to climb, but could be hidden. Inej loved it- Kaz felt it was a waste of time.

He said there were stairs for a reason.

I shimmied the window of Kaz’s office open, the latch flipping and the glass sliding. I hopped off of the ledge and into the office, making sure to reset my brick contraption. I turned around and cleared my throat, but Kaz did not glance up at me. I rolled my eyes as he squinted at the blueprints that lay on his makeshift desk.

“Good evening, Brekker,” I greeted with a jokingly enticing tone. His eye twitched and he proceeded to turn his attention to me.

“Hello, Y/N,” his gravely voiced rasped in response. I smiled slightly, regretting so, and dig into my left pants pocket. I pulled out a shiny, gold watch with engraved initials. Whose they were was unknown to me, but if I asked, Kaz would most likely just shut me down. I had to respect his odd secrecy after all he had done for me. Out of all the years I’d known him, it has always been as if he kept me at an arm’s length. He was careful to never be vulnerable, as if that was the same as his skin touching mine.

I gestured for him to catch the watch when I tossed it, but he glared. I let out an exasperated sigh.

“You’re such a buzzkill,” I teased while handing the fake to him.

“You’re… difficult,” he retorted, but there was no malice behind his words- surprisingly. I huffed and plopped onto the blanket sprawled out on the windowsill. My eyes followed Kaz’s movements as he tentaviety inspected the watch. After a few minutes he placed it onto his desk and resumed his work. I waited patiently for any sign of recognition, but it never came.

“You’re welcome,” I mumbled while stretching out my legs. I opened up my leather sketchbook to doodle a new invention design. That or I’d just draw Kaz. But I was too annoyed with him to do so.

The dark haired boy sighed as he looked over at me. “You did good. It looks identical.”

I didn’t say anything in response, but I smiled slightly, my face heating up. It was embarrassing how easily I was flattered by Kaz, who could barely do the bare minimum.

“What ere you using it for— the watch, I mean,” I asked with growing curiosity. Kaz halted his work for a moment, most likely deciding if he felt like sharing or not.

“A local banker,-“

“The more-of-a-wanker-than-a-banker one?” I cut off his response, immediately feeling embarrassed. Kaz looked at me with mild confusion. “Inside joke with Jesper,” I elaborated.

He hummed in response, then continued, “He’s more of a swanker. For the past few months he has been flaunting his wealth a little too much. Especially his watch. It’s his most prized possession. I plan to take it from his vault; a simple swap.”

“What would you do without me?” I asked with a sly smirk. Kaz huffed, perhaps laughed.

“I’d have less of your inventions explode on me.”

“It was one time, Kaz,” I said with exasperation. My eye glittered as I met his gaze. I open my mouth to speak, but immediately close it again, pressing my lips together firmly.

“Kaz?”

“Y/N,”

“I want to go on a mission with you and the crows,” I blurted out. Kaz froze, only for a fraction of a moment, but Kaz Brekker froze. He nodded towards my left arm, where a tattoo of a crow craning over a guatlet was etched into my skin.

“You are a crow,” he finally rasped, dodging my question until I glared daggers into his skin. “And I have everyone we need for the mission-“

“Wylan is sick. You need someone who can easily disable complex machinery- the alarms, the traps-“

“I said no,” Kaz’s voice raised, sounding threatening.

“Why not?”

“Y/N,” his voice sounded as if he meant, don’t push it. But I did. I always did, and Kaz always kept me by his side anyways.

“I don’t understand- ever since I got hurt on that one heist you haven’t let me participate-“

“Exactly! You got hurt,” he said. His jaw clenched and his eyes avoided mine. I watched his Adam’s apple bob as he gulped.

“Dregs get hurt all the time- saints, some of the crows do too-“

“This is different,”

“How?”

“You’re an investment,” he stated blankly, “and I protect my investments.” I felt heat flush my face, my fists balling up and my shoulders tensing.

“That’s rich, Kaz, real rich,” I spat. Embarrassment pooled in my stomach and my eyes. “But that’s all you want, right? Kruge? Money? Power?” He didn’t say anything as I slitted my eyes and scrunched my nose. “Saints forbid the people who help you get to that point.”

Before Kaz could respond, if he even chose to, I got up and walked across his office, my shoes clacking against the hard, wooden floors. The old floorboards moaned and groaned at the pressure I subjected them to.

“Y/N-,” Kaz tried to get up, but his bad leg involuntarily spasmed at his abrupt movement.

The door slammed behind me. I knew it wasn’t a big deal, it felt like the last thing to topple a delicate card tower. Each card was a jab or a deny Kaz made regarding our… relationship, if you could call it that. He and I had been friends long before the other crows came along, yet I felt I’d come to know him the least. I sighed.

I turned back around on my heel, opening the splintered office door. On the other side was Kaz, reaching for the handling on the opposing side.

“You’re not an investment,”

I kept any snarky comments bottled up inside, along with my tears. I could tell what he was convey was eating away at him, so I let him speak.

“If I lost you, I’d have to burn Ketterdam down, and then I’d have no kingdom to rule,” his words soared through the air between us and to my heart.

“I just keep feeling like I’ve given enough, Kaz. I know I deserve to go on heists. If you see my as an equal, you have to treat me like one.” I met his deep, coffee-brown eyes.

He nodded. One of his gloved hands hesitantly, begrudgingly, came up to touch my face. He cupped my cheek and I leaned into the cold, leather touch. I knew this was the best answer he could give me at the moment. It was a more meaningful gesture than anything he could’ve said. He’d let me help on the heist, and for once in a very long time, it felt like he had let his high walls crumble a bit.

I knew I’d given enough.

____________________________________________

Word Count: 1460

____________________________________________

Part 2????

-Valentine

[yanban-san]

SCPMas - AU-Tober #2

I wrote the two as SCPs for the second day. I tried to keep it like a typical SCP document, so it was very interesting to try and keep it in the style of SCP writing! I hope y'all like. :3

(Tags: Submas, Slight, implied X-reader) Item #: SCP-9018

Object Class: Keter

Special Containment Procedures:

Instances of SCP-9018-W and SCP-9018-B spotted are to be reported to the supervising officials immediately. Containment procedures are in place at locations of previous manifestations of SCP-9018, and any and all locations noted on "station" maps are to be secured following encounters with SCP-9018.

Chainlink fences are established around the perimeters of all locations where SCP-9018 have manifested. Due to the potential for re-appearances, all buildings and areas surrounding previous instances are to be monitored closely and inspected once a month by Foundation personnel for signs of re-establishment. Security cameras and EMF detectors are also to be placed strategically across designated areas and monitored for anomalous activity.

SCP-9018-B and SCP-9018-W are to be contained in the abandoned Northern branch of the [REDACTED] platform of the New York Subway System. Containment procedures are to be carried out by Foundation Personnel with Psionic Training Level III at minimum. Refer to Incident reports 9018-A-19900317 and 9018-A-19960401 for further information. Electrified fences lining the perimeter of the containment area are primarily for the prevention of explorers from reaching the containment area.

In the event of a containment breach, all personnel are to communicate purely through electronic means. Any personnel attempting to communicate through physical talking and actions are to be treated as SCP-9018-B and SCP-9018-W causing psychic distortions to prevent themselves from being perceived. The full limits of SCP-9018-B and SCP-9018-W's psionic manipulative abilities are yet to be studied following the previous containment breach.

Description:

SCP-9018 is an anomalous Subway Station that manifests within abandoned structures and and buildings and potentially other locations. [Refer to Interview Log 9018-Int-002] On the surface, it functions almost identically to a regular subway station. During the day, the station is devoid of any life forms outside of instances designated as 9018-A, who resemble and act as regular human employees of the station. [Refer to Interview Log 9018-Int-001] Upon approaching the ticket counter, an individual will be presented with a schedule of stations to go to. Should a ticket be purchased, the individual becomes an instance now designated as 9018-P, for passenger. At this point, the individual is compelled by unknown reasons to wait for their train and board it. Beyond that, 9018-P holds all of their original cognitive functions, but any attempts to get them to leave the station with the ticket will result in them attempting to rationalize a reason why they cannot. No tickets have been recovered to date.

Within 4-12 minutes after purchasing a ticket, a train will appear to take 9018-P to their chosen destination. These locations occasionally match to actual, existent railway stations and stops across the world- However, other stations with no known match have been documented appearing. [Refer to Experiment Log 9018-Ex-101] Upon arrival at an actual station, 9018-P will appear stepping out of a regular arriving train or on the train they departed on, depending on the liveliness and schedule of current trains at the station. If the station is a non-existent, communication is typically lost with 9018-P for the duration of their trip. [Refer to Experiment Log 9018-Ex-101]

At night, SCP-9018 suddenly springs to "life", with trains arriving and dropping off hundreds of instances of 9018-P-D, which were originally thought to be other human passengers disembarking at a random station- However, Experiment Log-9018-Ex-101 reveals that the individuals disembarking typically resemble both recent and long deceased persons within the local area. At this point, two individuals identified as 9018-B and 9018-W emerge from any trains within the vicinity, and attempt to leave the station. Instances of 9018-A have been observed chatting with and engaging in friendly actions towards instances of 9018-P-D- At this point, any human individuals within the station are encouraged to engage and talk with 9018-P-D and 9018-A, typically by 9018-A.

SCP-9018-B and SCP-9018-W appear to be two train conductors, and in particular, two twins, who control the entirety of SCP-9018. [Refer to Interview Log 9018-Int-001]. They have the ability to set train schedules and determine where SCP-9018 will manifest next. Instances of 9018-A obey their orders, as well as instances of 9018-P, which they are amicable towards.

9018-B and 9018-W at this point attempt to leave SCP-9018 entirely and enter any local population center. Their actions in cities and towns have not been observed, but they have been observed returning to SCP-9018 with humans. However, these humans are later observed walking around their town with no recollection of any supposed interaction with 9018-B and 9018-W. Typically within one to two weeks of this interaction, however, the individual dies by any multitude of means. After this, these individuals can be seen among the litany of 9018-P-D instances.

Addendum:

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[Interview Log 9018-Int-001] Interviewed: SCP-9018-W. Interviewer: Junior Researcher █████. Foreword: SCP-9018-B and 9018-W were seen leaving an instance of SCP-9018 and were apprehended by Foundation Security Personnel. This begins the first interview with a junior researcher who happened to be present during an observation of SCP-9018. [Begin Log] Interviewer: Hello, is this uh- On? SCP-9018-W: Hello. Who are you? My brother and I must get back to work. Interviewer: Please identify yourself. SCP-9018-W: Mm. I don't think I want to. Interviewer: So… Uh, well, we can hold you here indefinitely if we choose to, so I would- I would suggest you do that. SCP-9018-W: Oh dear. That is verrry not nice. Interviewer: I would appreciate if you would answer my question. Now, who are you? SCP-9018-W: I am Emmet. I am a Subway Boss. I run the Subway with my Brother, yup! It is verrry fun. But you won't call me Emmet, will you? Those people like to give us silly names. Interviewer: You will probably receive a classification of some kind. Thank you for introducing yourself, Emmet. I am █████. Can I ask where this train station came from? SCP-9018-W: It comes and goes as needed. Like the trains. We take our passengers where they are needed, or wanted, and then they disembark. Interviewer: Where do they go once they disembark? SCP-9018-W: They stay in the station. They don't like to go far. That's another one of our jobs! Interviewer: What do you mean? SCP-9018-W: Hmmhmm. We help them sometimes. That is all I will say. Interviewer: …Alright, I'll leave that there… SCP-9018-W: Would you like to ride our train? Interviewer: Excuse me? SCP-9018-W: Yup! You seem like you could use a ride, yup. Our trains are verrrry nice. Interviewer: Uh- No, thank you- Er- What did you say your title was again? You're a… "Subway Boss?" SCP-9018-W: That is correct. And you won't ride? That makes me sad. Interviewer: Er- No, Sorry- But what does that mean? Are you employed at the Subway? Er- What duties do you carry out, exactly? SCP-9018-W: Mm. No. I won't tell you that. Brother and I keep it secret. If you want to know, you should ride our Subway! Interviewer: …No, thank you. [End Log.] Closing Statement: [Despite Researcher █████'s inexperience, they handled the interview well. However, SCP-9018-W refused to talk anymore on the subject, instead insisting on offering researcher █████ free tickets if they rode on SCP-9018's trains.]

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Interviewed: SCP-9018-B. Interviewer: Junior Researcher █████. Foreword: SCP-9018-B and 9018-W were seen leaving an instance of SCP-9018 and were apprehended by Foundation Security Personnel. This begins the second interview with a junior researcher who happened to be present during an observation of SCP-9018. Interviewer: Alright, let's begin with your- SCP-9018-B: Who are you? Why did those men attack me and my brother? Where is he? I won't speak with you until I've seen him! Interviewer: I can't let you see your brother right now, but he is safe. I uh- I've spoken to him myself. SCP-9018-B: And how can I trust you? You… Interviewer: You'll have to trust me. If you answer my questions, we should be able to reunite you both. SCP-9018-B: Very well. I am Ingo. I am a Subway Boss, alongside my brother. We run the trains you've been- Or, well, those men have been spying on. Your group refuses to let us alone, you know? We're not doing anything wrong. Interviewer: I- I can understand that, but- Well, we don't know exactly what you're doing anyway. How does your train system even work? SCP-9018-B: Simple; trains go places. People wish to go places. We take people where they wish to go- And make a few stops along the way. If you like, you may ride our trains too- In spite of the abhorrent way your… company have treated us. Interviewer: Again, I'm sorry about that- SCP-9018-B: Would you like to ride our train? I'm quite sure you would find it lovely. Interviewer: I'm quite alright, thank you- I'm more curious about your train, and the work you and your brother do. Where did you guys find your employees? SCP-9018-B: Our train is a train. I'm not quite sure how to explain it anymore than that. And… The work we do… Well, we keep the trains running on schedule, and going wherever people might want them to go. Our employees… I'm not sure why you would be interested in them. They, like us, work for the railway company. Interviewer: The Railway company? SCP-9018-B: Yes! They employ us. I'm certain the Company would not be happy if our schedule was delayed; Ergo, you should let me and my brother go. Interviewer: We'll get back to that. For now, can you tell me… Where do your passengers come from? SCP-9018-B: You should ride our train. The passengers we carry… They do love to tell their stories, and I'm certain you would find more answers talking to them than with us. Interviewer: [laugh.] I doubt they'd have anything to say to me. SCP-9018-B: You would be surprised. [End Log.] Closing Statement: [Recording Equipment shut off at this point, and researcher █████ requested the pair be released after concluding the interview. █████ was sent for a full medical and psychological examination following the events of whatever interview took place with SCP-9018-B. Researcher █████ was later provided with class-b amnesiacs per request.]

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Experiment Log 9018-Ex-101

D-Class Personnel Serial Number 247187, Name █████ █████- Subject 9018-001. Sent into SCP-9018 to ascertain anomalous properties of SCP-9018. Subject 9018-001 is guided by Dr. Martin. [Note of Interest: Subject 9018-001's criminal record was subject to particular scrutiny. Subject 9018-001 refused association or responsibility for all criminal activity that resulted in their subsequent life sentencing. Subject 9018-001 was particularly interested in redeeming themselves and removing their resultant record.] Subject 9018-001 enters SCP-9018. Subject 9018-001 remarks on the "cleanliness" of the station and how they did not expect to see such a station down here. Subject 9018-001 is instructed to purchase a ticket from the ticket booth. Subject 9018-001 does so. Subject 9018-001 engages in conversation with an instance of SCP-9018-A. SCP-9018-A appears to be aware of Subject 9018-001's criminal record. SCP-9018-A expresses pity and offers Subject 9018-001 a "special ticket" and rate. Despite orders not to, Subject 9018-001 agrees after viewing SCP-9018-A's map (not available from recorded footage) Upon purchase of the ticket, Dr. Martin insisted that Subject 9018-001 exit SCP-9018 immediately. Subject 9018-001 at this point became an instance of SCP-9018-P, and refused. Subject 9018-001 proceeds to wait for their train to arrive. Ticket information is displayed to their personal camera. [Boarding Station: [REDACTED] Destination: [REDACTED]] After approximately eight minutes and thirty-two seconds, a train rolls into station. Subject 9018-001 asks if they have permission to board, and begins walking towards the train before receiving Dr. Martin's Approval.

SCP-9018-W greets 9018-001 at the door of the train. SCP-9018-W expresses interest in Subject 9018-001's physical appearance. SCP-9018-W is joined by SCP-9018-B. 9018-B also remarks on the acceptability of their appearance. Both instances take hold of Subject 9018-001's ticket and begin conversing with Subject 9018-001 on the subject of their criminal record and subsequent service to the SCP Foundation. Subject 9018-001 sits down in a passenger cabin and SCP-9018-B leaves the cart, presumably to drive the train. SCP-9018-W continues conversing with Subject 9018-001. SCP-9018-W reveals [REDACTED] and [REDACTED] and [REDACTED] to Subject 9018-001, causing the subject to enter a slight panic. SCP-9018-W offers Subject 9018-001 a position working for their "Railway Company." Subject 9018-001 is heard accepting after several seconds of silence. Dr. Martin is unable to communicate with Subject 9018-001 at this point. SCP-9018-W addresses Dr. Martin from Subject 9018-001's personal camera and microphone. SCP-9018-W informs Dr. Martin that they will be "keeping" Subject 9018-001 for the "foreseeable future." At this point, communication with Subject 9018-001 ceases. Subject 9018-001 has not been recovered to date, nor seen among the passengers of SCP-9018. [End Log.]

[kalmiaphlox]

Damn, this is what it feels like to be you?

AO3 Link / Masterlist

Part 2 / Part 3

Don't Touch That!

All it takes is one little touch and now they are no longer where they should be. Hircine is Astarion. Astarion is Hircine. Hircine knows better than to mess with mysterious eldritch artifacts, and so should Astarion. This knowledge does not stop them from looking into the unknowable. Chaos ensues as they learn what it really means to be alive and undead.

Pairing: Astarion x Named Female Tav (Hircine)

WC: 6.7k

Main Tags: Body Swap, Humor, Fluff, Astarion loves himself and boobs, smut coming in later parts, Touching things you shouldn't, Astarion now has an eldritch being in his brain.

Tag list: @zozoparsnips

Dredged up from the deepest bowels of the Underdark, the three mystery artifacts now lie before them, foreign and incomprehensible in their geometry, protectively encased in enchanted glass on the marble slab table.

Hircine claps her hands together softly in excitement, rocking back on her heels, eager to inspect these things in whatever capacity she is able. 

His knowledge of abyssal is worthless here; unfortunately, there will be no wowing his wife by name dropping Ubothar and Malcanthet, or monologuing about the caste system of the tanar’ri—or lack thereof. 

Clearly the subjects of her fascination tonight are from the far realms, a topic Astarion has been learning diligently about, even if it is all a bunch of incoherent devilshite. At the end of the night, eldritch horrors beyond their wildest imaginations are one of the few things that breaks Hircine out of her melancholy, so he’ll indulge her when he can.

The three scavenged objects were somehow so similar to each other in their aura, yet so completely different in their makeup. One warps and writhes in place, as if tentacles might sprout forth from its shell at any moment, but nothing ever happens as the intangible masses flow beneath the surface. The middle object floats a few centimeters off the table, morphing between geometrical and amorphous shapes, hovering within its glass encasing, pulsing an ominous purple, a beacon of nefarious purpose that could easily fit in his palm. The last is a green ball-shaped rock, unassuming in its appearance.

Hircine tugs at his sleeve, pointing at the relatively normal looking rock. “Husband, that's a dormant slaad egg! They are typically implanted into a host and then burst out in a shower of blood and guts. I’ve only ever seen a red egg before… The green ones are more rare since they require a high concentration of magic from the host.” She sighs dreamily, hugging onto his arm and leaning her head on his shoulder.

Astarion fails to ignore the way her breasts press against him, the warmth all too pleasant as it radiates from her body. 

Ugh. If he humors her now, she’ll humor him later. “Will the egg stay like that or is a host-eater about to make us dinner?” 

“Hmm, we should be fine. They need to feed on their host's insides to hatch, so keep it outside of your body.”

“Good to know,” he mutters. “What are the other two?”

To his disappointment, Hircine releases her hold on him, moving in to inspect the more ‘active’ objects. “That's what I'm hoping to find out. I brought some books to help with identification, but I don’t have a lot of confidence that we can glean their true purpose from some texts.”

She reaches forward, carefully removing the boxes encasing each of the eldritch… baubles—that probably isn’t a good idea, just giving the things open access. They stay in place, but Astarion swears the purple glowing one begins to pulse faster now that it’s ‘free’.

“Don’t touch them.” Hircine says.

He nods, not needing to be told twice as he takes a step towards the table, careful to stay slightly out of arm's reach. Astarion won’t be getting infected with slaad parasites tonight.

While he stares between the artifacts, Hircine flips through books on another table off to the side, reading aloud as she tries to find any useful information hidden in their pages.

Like a fish caught on a line, Astarion can't take his eyes off the amorphous orb-thing as it begins to blink between flashes of purple and white, its buzz drowning out all thought. Astarion makes another move closer, a tug within his mind calling out to him, begging for his touch. It whispers inchoate nothings, a madness so real and tangible he could grasp it easily in his hand, feel the coil of its vibrant light as he slips into its unreasonable cocoon.

E̸̳͙̖̟̳̰̟̜͈͙̪̖̲͗̓͗̅́͗͗̚͜͝͠X̵̛̤̟̲̜̳̤̠́͌̈́̈́̓̇̈́́̋̀͘C̵̢͇̤̩̹̬͎̱̀͛H̸̤̦̙̳̬̪̫͇̭̼̩̱̗̅̀̌͋͘͘͜Á̷͎̣͓̓̂̾͂̽̊̂̈́̂̀̀̚͘̚ͅN̸̢̨̧̛̺̟̭͓̖̅̈́̇́̔̓̈́̀̆̈́̚͝ͅG̸̡̠͕̣̝̝̺̗̘̟̺͕̼̗̅̿͂̓̔̈́̏͛͂̋̽̕̚͝͠E̷̡̙̟̔̒͐̅̽̌̕͘

All he has to do is release it.

Hircine’s voice, a distant melody floating through time and space, reaches him within the fog of irrationality. “Husband, did you hea—No! Don’t to—”

Astarion’s fingers brush against the object, a hard jelly beneath his touch, incomprehensible visions flashing before him and—

++++

c̴̛͎̓͌̾̀̓͋̒̋̇͘͝ą̸̫̱͔̥̝͎̯̦͈̼̮̂͂́̊̈́̇̽̿̓̈́̚̚͝͠ĩ̸̡̜͖̫̥̮̬͆́̄̀̒̃̎͒͂̍͑̾̈́̕͜s̷̢̛͇͖͇̰̰̱̻̬̄͂̇͑̕̚ľ̷̩͕̟͕̃̃ȉ̵̙̼ǫ̶̡̲͎̰̗̻̺̦͚̙̼̱̳̌̈́͐͂̒͐̿͆̓̓͛̓̕͝͝ả̵̛̝̞̭̙͖͚̟̻̼̲͑̍̓̋̂̌͗͛͒̉̽ś̸̢̛͖̹̲̖̻̫͉̘̥̮̉̈̃̆̆͝͝͝

Oh gods, his body aches, muscles tight and strained as if he spent days in the kennels under Godey’s watchful care. Even his eyelids are heavy, unwilling to open as Astarion slowly stirs back to consciousness. 

What happened?

He had been watching the eldritch things while Hircine was reading, and then… nothing. 

Did he pass out? 

̴̨̨̢̤̘̞̹̲̻̻̦̓̆̊͜͜h̴̛̗̰̝͚̔̑͜͜͠ḱ̶̮̝̠̜̙̜̤̞̣̗̟͖̑̑̀͌̈́̒̾̔̄̕͠H̷̛̺̟͓̳̱̝̜͈̺̥͉͇͉̖̱͛̂͒̓̿͛̌͘O̴̮̮̞̱̰̙͖̼̹̽͆̒̓͆̿͛H̵̡̨̻̭̗̤̥̰͕̱̘͗̅͑́̓̂̄͛̅͆̾̿̑̕͘g̸̭͚̬̻̻̤̦̺̏̈́̈́̾̏͜͠

There’s this alien warble that ebbs and flows within his head, discordant and atonal, but just as it appears, it is gone, fading from his mind without a second thought as to why it is there to begin with or where it came from.

A twitch of his finger confirms he’s regaining some mobility, slowly working inwards as joints are flexed and rolled around, anything to feel something more than this soreness.

But why do his legs and feet feel bare? Astarion was definitely wearing pants and shoes when they entered the mines. 

Perhaps someone brought them back up and Lexi stripped him down.

Except his shirt is still on and strangely tight against his chest.

He tilts his head side to side, a new feeling other than the ache permeates under his skin—a soft, blooming warmth, so welcoming in its arrival. Not the kind brought on by lying beside a roaring fire, but one deep within, as if Astarion gorged on a mass amount of blood. It's been a few days since a meal like that.

Finally, his eyes open.

The hewn rock ceiling greets him. So, he's still in the mines. 

Then where is Hircine?

Everything feels so… shrunk down, like his limbs aren't where they should be. He raggedly groans as he struggles to sit up but a breathy rasp is all that rattles out of his chest.

Bones in his neck pop as he stretches upwards. Hells, since when has he been so tense? There's such a heaviness to the back of his head too, a weight pulling him back down to the ground. 

And then he feels it, that constant rhythm pounding against his ribcage.

A heartbeat, powerful and steady, screaming that he's alive once again. 

His hand shoots up to place itself over his chest but collides with something much too soft and squishy to be him.

Astarion looks down and—

What in the nine hells is this?!

Fleshy mounds protrude from his(?) chest, draped in skin-tight silk dyed a color only one person wears everyday of her life. Strands of gray and silver streaked hair spill over his(?) shoulders. The hand grabbing at his(?) chest a pearly light gray with neatly filed nails rounded at the ends.

Astarion has no pants on because he's now wearing a dress that is a little too form-fitting, and there's no shoes since his wife hates those.

He is no longer him. 

He doesn't want to be something else again. Isn't one horrific change enough in his terrible, no good life?

But Astarion is alive, literally. His(?) heart beats a familiar cadence, one he knows well from so many nights resting his head right atop where it lies, while the fingers he now controls stroke through his curls or down his arms.

If Astarion is here, inside of Hircine, then where is she? 

That ever-present hunger for blood is now gone. He’s at peace—mostly. He recalls Hircine ate a few hours before they started their artifact inspection and now there is an emptiness within his—her—stomach, though it does not compare to the cavernous, never-ending desolation of being unable to truly sate oneself. 

He should be fine without real food for a little longer. 

Struggling to stand up, Astarion grips onto the table, unsteady on his(?) feet. His balance is completely off center as he uses the table to hoist himself into a standing position but he tips forward, leaning against the cool granite in an effort to not collapse completely. 

Gods, how does she walk around like this, so top heavy all the time? 

No wonder Hircine never complains when he holds her tits.

Now, where is—

Ah, there is his body, face down on the ground, one arm outstretched as if reaching for something.

The steady pace of his heart quickens, his breathing—gods above, I'm breathing because I need it and I didn't even notice!—hitches as he chokes for air. 

What if Hircine is gone because he took her place? 

What if his body is now an empty husk, never to move again?

There's no sign of life from his actual body, and of course there wouldn't be because he's an undead vampire! 

It's not time to stand yet with these legs, they feel so… thin. Astarion gets back down on hands and knees, crawling his way over to his prone body. With shaking hands he tugs at his body, failing to roll himself over. 

Am I that heavy or is Hircine really weak? 

Adjusting himself so his—her back is pressed against a table, Astarion pushes with shaky legs, slowly working his body over onto its side before it flops onto his back, head lolling around limply. 

When Hircine learned that Astarion no longer remembers what his face looks like, she immediately hired a painter to capture his—their likeness together. In Darkfire Hall, there now hangs a single portrait of Astarion and Hircine in the sitting room and he might spend a few minutes a day staring at it, memorizing that face so he will never forget it again. 

But this is his actual honest to gods face, in the flesh, laid out on the stone ground where he can touch it. 

Astarion leans in close but is stopped by his head throbbing with more of that accursed fuzziness. 

ḏ̶̢̼̹̤̣͕͉̘̼͈̑͒̓͌͑͌s̸̡̡̖̟̝͚̜̙̣̖̘̪͍̀̐͒ṣ̶̪̭̙̻̐͑̔̒̂̄̃̄͂̈́̓̚̕͝͠ķ̷̡̧̻̮̹̼͓̦͙̫̩̭̤̝̉͌i̷͎̠̰̠͕̊͌͋̕ͅͅ

And then it's gone again. 

Good riddance. He has more important things to think about.

The painting is nice and Astarion will forever be grateful, but nothing—nothing—compares to the real thing.

A strong, sharp nose stands prominently at the center of his face, accentuated by high cheekbones and sunken smile lines that must have formed from times long forgotten, never to be remembered again. Thick, dark lashes line his shut eyelids, no movement to be seen beneath them, and right now he wishes more than anything they would open, even if all he’ll see is the same eyes as his siblings.

The same eyes as Cazador, yet Astarion’s all the same.

He moves on, roving over his features, impressing them upon his memory. 

I will not be forgotten again.

To think all this beauty has been kept from him, and all because of the eternal curse Cazador has subjected him too. He won't be thanking whatever plight they've fallen into, but Astarion can certainly take the time to enjoy what's before him now: the most beautiful man in all the realms—Hircine would agree. 

He uses Hircine’s slender fingers to trail delicately from his full gray brows, down the slope of his nose to the bow of his lips, feeling them give as he presses lightly upon them. His hummingbird heart flutters in his chest at the sight, relishing every moment. Raising a lip, Astarion finds those pesky fangs that speak to his vampiric nature, never perfectly hidden but can be easily explained away with enough wine and sultry stares—not something he has to worry about anymore, being married and out of Cazador’s iron grip, at least for a little while longer.

Oh, and his hair. Styling it without a mirror, he knows it is perfect, but seeing it like this is much better. Those silver curls, softer than maratman silk and styled with more care than a mother would lay upon her babe. 

The incandescent glow of the magic lamps does nothing for his pallor, casting a sickly sheen over his skin that highlights and enlarges his pores, and turns the dark spots under his eyes into something garish, harsh.

How awful. He needs to get his body out of here and into better lighting to remember it by.

Not that Astarion can carry himself like this, not with Hircine’s willowy frame that bows against the slightest breeze in its frailty. 

And what if she is gone?

A lump has formed in his—hers? Fuck it, his!—throat and he swallows it down, rough as sandpaper. 

It was fake to begin with, yes, but their marriage is real as it can be under the current circumstances… It doesn’t feel fair to lose her like this.

Please, be here.

Steeling himself with a deep breath, Astarion winds his hand back and slaps it across his real face, watching it snap away. His palm stings something fierce, good gods, no wonder Hircine is pain-averse. Her skin’s so sensitive. 

It worked though.

The eyelids flutter as a strangled growl gets caught in his body’s throat, head rolling side to side when another pinched groan rumbles from his chest. Red flashes, catching the light as his eyes open completely, searching crazily around the room until they land on Hircine’s face. Scared recognition flares in those molten garnet pools.

Gods, I’m beautiful.

“Hircine?” Astarion says in her feminine voice, barely speaking above a shaky whisper.

His body’s jaw drops open, clicking and choking noses eeking from his throat as he sits up, scrabbling at his neck.

What is happening?

Astarion watches a moment longer in confusion before it hits him. He lunges forward, failing to grab the hands clawing at his real throat as they wrench out of his grasp easily. “You need to breathe! You can’t speak unless you take a breath! I know it’s strange, but you’ll get used to it.” Those words work, his body’s panic calming as a gasping breath is taken in. “Is it you, Hircine?” Astarion needs to know if he’s speaking to his wife.

A nod while she practices breathing in and out, no doubt alarmed by how unneeded it is.

Oh, thank fuck. He isn’t confident in his ability to kill anything right now, let alone a vampire being controlled by an unknown entity, and he's unbelievably relieved that Hircine is mostly safe and mostly sound within his body.

“I—I don’t—” She chokes on her words, struggling to get anything out. All in his voice, with his accent and it’s very, very strange. “I can—member…”

“I know, I don’t either, pet. Take your time, get your bearings,” he moves in to hold her cheeks between his hands, disturbed by the noticeable coolness of his body’s skin. How does she not flinch away everytime he touches her? “We’ll be fine.” Astarion has survived much worse transformations, this is a lot less awful than being turned into a vampire.

Finally, she tests her speaking abilities again, voice thick with emotion. “I don’t want to be a man.” Tears prick at the corner of her eyes, making those beautiful eyes shine with more polish than a red dragon's scales.

Pinching the high cheekbones, Astarion focuses her attention. “Don't you cry with my face! There are worse things than being turned into a man!”

Hircine rejects his words with a head shake. “You don't understand, this is awful! I can't be a man! Mother will—”

His eyes nearly roll back into his head permanently and he drops his hands from her face. “Keep the man hating inside, you little brat. Come on, get up.” It’s a feat of wills as Astarion staggers to his feet. “Do you feel sore as well? Gods below, I’m just aching all over…”

Hircine shakes her head again, the silver curls atop the crown of his—her!—head loose enough to wiggle with the movement. “No, not really…” She gets up fine, maybe faster than expected as she stumbles backwards into the table that holds the eldritch items.

That’s it!

Holding himself steady along the table edge, Astarion crosses over and finds nothing. They’re gone! “What happened to the artifacts? I think I… might have touched one before we… passed out, but now they’re just gone.”

She turns around, eyes wide in panic. “Even the slaad egg?”

“Yes.”

“Oh gods.” She clutches at her broad chest. “I don’t—I don’t think it’s inside me—you… I’m not sure how I would know, though I would imagine it hurts since they need to feed on your insides.”

Astarion looks down, worried there might be a lump nestled under his skin when all thoughts of slaad eggs invading his body are replaced with other, more lustful urges.

 While Hircine searches around the room, flipping over sheets and muttering angrily, Astarion takes this opportunity to really learn his wife’s body—for his eternal obsession and her future enjoyment, should they ever return to their bodies.

He loves her breasts.

A lot.

They’re perfect in every way. Impossibly soft, round, and heavy with the slightest, barely there sag that makes them even more delightful, always overflowing in his grabby hands, but aren’t so large that they dwarf her toned body. He also can't forget the ghostly white nipples that are not too good to eat, especially since they match her pretty little mouth when her lipstick has been wiped away.

He cups them, her small hands sinking into the malleable flesh, though the tight silk of her dress keeps them from moving around too much. 

There's never been a lot of thought put into how this feels for Hircine other than that it's very, very good when he's pinching or pulling on a nipple if her moans and gasps are anything to go by. 

The fat of her breasts being touched, it doesn't feel good or bad, mostly neutral as if he's grabbing at any other part of his body. 

Maybe it feels different with someone else touching them… Experimentation can come later if they don't change back soon.

His lively heart thrums in anticipation of his next move.

The pads of his fingers brush over where he’s sure her nipples lie and—

“Ahhh~!” A high-pitched whine breaks past his lips as his legs squeeze together involuntarily. Gods below, that was—

Hircine looks up from her destructive scavenge, a scowl furrowing her manicured brows and twisting her mouth down. “Seriously? Stop touching me!” She hisses, just the same as he has in the past when telling Petras to get his mangy hide out of the way.

“How do you keep your hands off yourself all day?!” Just that touch sent the most delicious tingle down to his nether regions. 

“I don't have much desire to touch myself,” she says, stepping beside him, “especially while out in public.” She grabs his wrists firmly, pushing them from her breasts and Astarion yelps with shock.

“Ow! Can't you be more gentle?” He demands, yanking himself out of her grasp to massage his probably bruised wrists. “You damned brute!”

Red eyes blink in surprise as Hircine looks down at her—his body’s hands. Oh gods, this is so confusing. His body is now hers, he needs to commit to that. She speaks quietly. “I thought I was being gentle… I barely touched you.”

Oh, dear. “Is this how it feels for you all the time? Am I too rough with you?”

Turning away with a noncommittal shrug, she says, “I don't know. Things feel the way they feel, I never put much thought in it.”

Her non-answer tells Astarion that yes, he probably is too rough, along with everyone else. No wonder she was so touch-averse in the beginning. 

Well, it could be that, or her intense hatred of men…

Or a certain other bastard.

Actually, Hircine lets him know when she doesn't like something. She would have said by now if Astarion wasn't handling her with care.

He’ll still be more gentle going forward.

With a shake of her head, Hircine groans in frustration. “The artifacts are gone without a trace. I don't know what to do!”

Knowing the far realms, they’re probably gone for good. “Why don't we go home and ask Lexi? She can undo curses.”

“I-I guess, but what if someone needs me here in—”

Astarion interrupts her. “Pet, I am in your body and we both know I can't hold a passable conversation in undercommon. I won't be able to answer any of their questions when they only come to you.” He takes her large hands in his, startled again by the room temperature coolness of them. “Besides, I'm always telling you to take a break. It's a sign from the gods—or the unknowable!”

She chews at her lip, a fang peeking through before Hircine nods. “Alright. We should go quickly though.”

They exit into the hallway of the mines, luckily clear of any employees but that could change at a moment's notice. Swiftly winding their way down the hall to the elevator that takes them back home, they are stopped by the disgusting jermlaine, Thirsk, who holds a tiny hand-made shiv in his hands. His beady little eyes dart between the two of them, but they both know he's going after Astarion's body. 

The vile thing lusts after his wife! It's only goal is to remove Astarion from the equation now—too bad for Thirsk, Astarion isn't going anywhere. 

“Oh, someone's in a bad mood.” Hircine whispers. she scans along the ground, pointing out broken glass along the ground. “Watch your feet.”

“I wouldn't have to if you wore shoes!”

“Not happening~” Is her sing-song response that falls very flat in his voice. “You have no idea how badly I want to tear yours off right now.”

“Ugh, whatever! Just kick that thing into oblivion so we can go!”

Hircine gasps. “How dare you! I will not allow you to hurt Thirsk!”

“You and you're—” Astarion's grumbling is cut off as another idea comes to him. “Carry me and then just run for it! He's not fast enough to keep up.”

If Hircine has any doubts about this plan, she keeps it quiet. Quickly placing her arms under his back and knees, she lifts him up with so much ease that Astarion gasps as they make their break for it, sprinting past Thirsk before the ugly beast even knows what's happening.

The elevator entrance is slammed shut and latched before the lever is pulled, beginning their ascent home.

Getting carried is nice. That won't be a common occurrence when they return to their original bodies so he'll make the most of it while he can.

“Will you carry me back to Darkfire, my love?” He asks, fluttering his lashes with the sweetest simper. 

Hircine’s face twists with disgust. “Begging with my face does nothing for me… but yes, I think I can do that.”

He throws his arms around her neck, pressing kisses to her smooth cheek that earn him nothing but an eyeroll. “I could kiss myself all day.”

“Ugh,” she scoffs.

They settle into a silence as Astarion enjoys being held by himself.

He would very much like his body back, as soon as possible, but a day or so of play shouldn't be so bad. Especially when he gets to experience living again. 

“Are you always so… hungry?” Hircine asks eventually, strained and quiet.

His last meal was two nights ago, and a quite filling one at that with a deer and Hircine’s blood to top it off. 

But yes, he is always hungry. An eternal thirst that will never be quenched no matter how hard he tries.

“It's just the nature of being a vampire, Love. Don't worry about it too much.” He sweeps a hand across her face, tucking loosened curls back into place. 

“How do you ignore it?”

“Years and… years of practice. It does get easier, but it will never truly disappear.”

Those sparkling red eyes find his, wide and frightened. “I'm not feeding you enough, am I?”

“No, no. Don't think that. Trust me, Hircine, it's enough, more than enough actually. You give me more blood in a week than I've received in probably ten years.”

 Bringing their lips together, they share a hesitant kiss before Hircine pulls away fast, disgruntled. “I really don't like kissing myself.”

Astarion laughs loudly, echoing off the cavern walls. “How could you not? You're so beautiful!”

“I'm not attracted to myself. It's weird.”

“Fair enough. I'll be attracted to us both then.” He taps her nose, getting ready to say more when that atonal droning shatters his thoughts once again.

ļ̴̨̻̝̻͙͚͙̔à̵̡̢̼̖̞̺̝͍̻͕͊͛̍̈̍͑͘͠d̶̹̬͖͔̩̯͉̳͔̍̓̈́̅̌́͋͛͝Ỳ̴̰̬͙͓̤̹̬̠̳͖̰͋̓̄U̵̢͖̜͚͎̼̙̱̦̲̮̻̦̔̇̿̉̃̈́̌͑̅̍̏̃̕̕͜

Wincing, Astarion kneads his fingers into his temples. He can't be the only one, right? “Do you hear that noise? It's like, uh, a voice but not. I can't understand it. Do you think it's—”

“It's Herma-Mora.” She says definitively.

“As in the far realm entity that corrupted your mind at too young an age?”

She rolls her red eyes. “Yes. Just avoid actually reaching out to him. It’s not like he’s actually meaning to  communicate through our connection, they just slip through. I’m able to block it out for the most part.”

Great, so Astarion is stuck with her mind invader, unable to silence him completely. The only upside is that Herma-Mora can’t hurt him… allegedly. What if his mind just isn’t equipped for it’s irrational chatter?

They depart from the elevator, and make it back to Darkfire without any interruption. Astarion doesn’t fear faking his somber and quiet wife—anyone can do that since that would be easy. It would be the cornering by one of her brothers or her mother’s sharp eyes, catching any wrong movement or inflection when they are always looking for Hircine's imperfections. 

If anything, Hircine is the one in trouble should they be caught by one of her siblings. They both know she can’t make passable conversation on a good day, and having Astarion who is always loudly speaking with his hands be still and stoic would be instantly suspicious. 

Nothing to worry about, of course. 

The doors to their hall are opened, greeting them with silence. Sometimes Lexi is standing here waiting for them…

Ah, right. “How do you do that mind talking thing? Isn’t that how you summon Lexi around?” He asks as he’s set down on the ground. 

Hircine is quick to shed the shoes and socks Astarion put on this afternoon, groaning in relief as her feet are bare once again. “Yes… but I don’t really know how, it’s second nature, I guess. Maybe focus on me and see if you can send anything over?”

Her telepathy only works one way, thankfully. They would have been in for a bad time if Hircine could have read his thoughts since the beginning.

Dragging Hircine over to the couch, which isn’t that easy because his actual body is shockingly immovable when Astarion goes to push her forward, he makes her sit so he can attempt this special form of communication.

Across from her on the couch, they lock eyes as he concentrates, willing his thoughts into her head.

‘Can you hear me?’ — No response from Hircine.

‘What about now?’ — Nothing again.

There’s a chance it’s not even possible, what with their bodies changed, but gods damn it, he wants it to work. Feeling frustration well in his chest, Astarion gives it one last go, forcing a message to Hircine, demanding she hear it.

‘LISTEN TO ME!’

Instantly, she crumples in on herself, clutching her head with a gasp. “Agh! What the—Is that what it feels like when I speak to you? Oh my gods, that hurt!”

Oh, maybe he went a little too hard. “I—No, it’s never hurt me. The first time was alarming, but no pain accompanied it. I’m sorry, I probably shouldn’t play with it lest I inflict some real damage.”

“I think that is a good idea, Husband.” She presses fingers into eyes for what he can only assume is relief from whatever he just assaulted her brain with.

Being called ‘Husband’ by his own voice is weird… and maybe a little arousing. Astarion chews on one of his very soft lips, willing the thoughts away so they can return to their more serious problem. “Do you think Lexi can… help us?”

Stretching back upright, Hircine shrugs. “I don’t know. I forgot she’s out of the manor until tomorrow, so we might have to wait. Maybe we’ll turn back on our own in due time or maybe the slaad egg is buried in one of our bodies so we’ll die horribly and not even have to think about it.”

“I’d rather not die to a fucking frog demon bursting out of my chest, Hircine.” 

She waves his concerns away. “We would have known already if it was inside us, trust me. Let’s just endure what we can until Lexi returns. She can fix anything.”

Tsk, for Hircine maybe. Lexi sure wouldn’t mind Astarion becoming a host for any assortment of things if it meant getting him away from her lady.

How are they going to pass the time like this? He could read, but he feels like that will open his mind up for more of Herma-Mora’s disturbing vocalizations. No wonder Hircine is so scattered all the time when she has multiple people clamoring for her constantly, inside and out.

Actually, there is—

His stomach growls, loudly, demanding all of their attention. There’s an emptiness inside of him, nothing like his thirst for blood which is all consuming and constant, but a slight nagging sensation that could be easily ignored—for now.

Hircine smirks, all fangs. “I guess I haven’t eaten in a while.” 

“I—No, I guess not. What should I do?” Astarion places a hand over his flat stomach, feeling small vibrations from within as it growls yet again.

“Well, you should eat. That’s what I do.”

Eat? Like real, normal food? His mouth begins to salivate. “I can eat whatever I want?”

“Whatever’s in the kitchen, but yes.” Hircine laughter is bright.

Jumping to his feet, Astarion runs for the kitchen with Hircine trailing close behind him. “What do you like? Pick it out for me so I can try it!” Two hundred years of starvation and he can finally, truly eat again. Gods, he cannot wait to be full and satisfied—happy!

As she digs through the ice chest, Astarion looks over her shoulder to see what Hircine is grabbing. “Do you want a full meal or to just try whatever you want?” She asks.

“Give me anything! I want it all!”

So maybe getting their body’s swapped, while not ideal, isn’t so bad. To eat again, to live again, even for a day, is wonderful.

If only it were his own body.

Fruits and berries, sweets of all kinds, cheeses, crackers, dried meats and bread are set on the counter. While Hircine plates them, Astarion paces back and forth behind her, in absolute disbelief of what he is about to experience. 

The hungers of (wo)man have returned to him.

“Sit,” Hircine requests, and he all but throws himself into a chair at the small table in the kitchen. He could request they eat in the dining room for a proper experience, but Hircine hates that room so the kitchen will have to do.

The plate is put in front of him, a veritable feast for his senses with its assortment of choices. 

“What do I start with, love?” He glances at Hircine before staring back down at the food, barely bridled excitement boiling over. 

Sitting across from him, her lips twist with consideration. “How about starting slow with a cracker? Take a nibble, see how it feels.”

He’s eaten plenty of times over the past two hundred years. It always tastes like ash, but eating gives the appearance of non-threatening normalcy and there’s nothing that mortals love more than bonding over a shared meal. 

Taking one of the crackers delicately between his fingers, Astarion inspects every minutiae of the crisp food product. The surface is rough and maybe a touch oily, colored a light tan with toasted edges, along with some flecks of some unidentifiable green thing littered throughout.

“Rosemary,” Hircine clarifies as if reading his mind. 

He likes rosemary, the smell of it at least. It's what he uses in his perfume to mask the scent of his undeath.

On an inhale with the cracker close to his nose, he can detect the rosemary, along with salt and the yeasty scent of baked flour. His stomach rumbles loudly this time, a plea for him to take a damn bite.

The cracker is brought to his mouth, barely pinching the corner of it between his teeth, breaking off a crumb to taste. 

Just that small piece is an explosion of flavor in his mouth, the rosemary and salt a perfect combination of savory delight. 

The rest of the cracker is gobbled down, and now having eaten something, his stomach cries out for more.

Hircine really likes berries so he goes for one of those next. 

Astarion is not prepared for the tart burst on his tongue when he pops a blackberry into his mouth, a trickle of its juice running down his chin. 

Alternating different flavor profiles each time, Astarion pairs food that probably does not go together based on Hircine’s disgusted expressions but she lets him do as he pleases until the plate is completely clean. 

He's stuffed. Full. Sated. No desire to eat another bite lingers.

A dream come true.

When he stands, he pats his hand over his stomach finding it no longer flat. There's a little paunch now from having his fill and honestly, Astarion kind of likes it. “Look at this! I'm full!”

Hircine smiles up at him from her seat, very much enjoying his excitement. “Indeed you are. I definitely gave you a bit more than I'd usually eat but it doesn't hurt to indulge every now and then.”

“And indulge I did. Wow, what a feeling and I—Now, I'm so…” He fails to find the words.

“Tired?” Hircine supplies. “When I eat a lot, I want to take a nap.”

Hmm, a nap doesn't sound so bad but there are other things on his mind. “That sounds nice and all, pet, but could we go to our room? I want to look at myself in good lighting.”

She points at her face and he nods. 

Astarion will see all of him.

In the bedroom, lamps are lit and the fireplace is set ablaze. Hircine dutifully sits on the couch, still as a statue, while Astarion buzzes about, pulling at the soft silver curls set atop his real head, tracing his fingers over the high point like the cheekbones, nose, brows, shoulders, everything and just admiring those beautiful features. 

She lets him work in peace with eyes closed when he isn't staring longingly into them, careful to not interrupt his joyful wonder of relearning his face. What a perfect girl, his wife. Astarion would reward her but in their current predicament, that might be a struggle.

He's pinching and bending the tips of his real ears while sitting on her lap when Hircine opens her red eyes, searching him out. Her voice is quiet and hesitant when she speaks. “What if… we’re stuck like this?”

That is the thought he is not ready to fully confront. 

Inside the manor, they can make it work, hide away practicing their mannerisms to present themselves as they should be, that is until Hircine gets called for by the matriarch and then Astarion has to present himself before her, playing the daughter.

Iimithra would see through the farce immediately, but if she can be avoided, then they could prolong the inevitable—or escape perhaps.

What the family will do to them could be manageable, even for frail little Hircine—he hopes, she’s escaped Lolth and death near one hundred fifty years this long.

No, his worries lie with Cazador. His wife understands to a degree what happens now when he is forced home. 

She would break the second Cazador laid his hands on her, in Astarion’s body or not, and that is not the fate Astarion wants for Hircine. He won't see that hard-earned smile wiped from her face.

For now, there is no plan. They will wait, enjoy the night as is until Lexi returns and then they will do whatever they need to survive, just as he's always done. 

Cradling her cheeks in his hands, Astarion smiles before placing a kiss on Hircine’s nose. “We will be fine. I'll make sure of it, my sweet love.”

And fine, they will be.

“Could you do something for me?” He asks as he pulls back a bit, staring into her gorgeous ruby eyes. 

“If it's within my power.”

Getting up, Astarion takes her hand, attempting to help her to her feet, but it's really all for show when this body is weaker than a rabbit. A few steps are taken away to give them enough distance so that Astarion can capture his entire body in view. “Alright,” he begins, “can you copy my movements? I move this hand,” his right hand shakes before he points at her opposing hand, “you move that one, as if I were looking in a mirror.”

Her pale eyebrows raise up high and then Hircine nods. “Absolutely. Show me what you want.”

Astarion places his hands on his hips, standing up straight, and Hircine follows suit quickly, imitating him wonderfully, just as his perfect girl should. He turns his head left and right slowly, watching as she does the same so he can see every aspect of his body in whatever way possible. 

A soft, no-teeth-bared smile is given with Hircine performing impeccably. Is that how Astarion smiles at her when she’s being cute and sweet? No wonder she turns into a puddle for him all the time. 

Next, he morphs his smile into a seductive grin and Hircine follows as well as she can, lips twisting up so a hint of fang is revealed, eyes narrowed slightly, head tilted to the side… Dashing. Handsome. Stunning. 

Gods, I love that face, and it's all mine!

They strike poses, some silly, some serious. A hand here, a foot there, ‘No, no, the leg should go like this!’ before they go in for some really dramatic looks, kneeling down in a crouch as if they're sneaking their way through the room silently, bumping into each other and collapsing into a tangle  of limbs as they laugh. 

They kiss briefly and Hircine doesn't immediately pull away in disgust, thank the gods.

“Thank you for indulging me, pet.” Astarion says as he tucks some of the wispy curls behind her beautifully pointed ears, propping himself up over her large body.

“Anything for you, Husband.” Hircine smiles, fangs and all.

He's ready to go in for another kiss when a new, very strange feeling encroaches onto his happy high. A slight pressure, a need to get rid of something. “Hircine, I feel weird.”

“Weird how?” 

They both sit up, Astarion now straddling Hircine's lap. “I don't know… It's here,” his hand slides over his stomach, “I think or maybe lower.” 

Her mouth opens, then closes, and opens again before her tongue runs over a fang. “Uhm. I think you have to use the restroom…”

Cold dread coils within Astarion’s gut. “Fuck.”