#there are many sorts of pain the survivors carry

[rotzaprachim]

obsessed with the whole jyn and cassian as penelope and odysseys thing like the metatextual levels of the Ordinary Human couple in the midst of this mass mythos of gods and war but also the sense they are for almost their entire lives separated and yet inexorably bound by the narrative, they are threaded together they are looking in a mirror they are drowning in the wine dark sea they are standing on the beach they are the warp and weft they are coming home to each other they have never not once in their lives yet met 

[mylight-png]

Today I went to hear a Nova survivor speak on my campus. This is not the first survivor I've heard, but her story was by far the most horrifying I've heard so far.

Here's just a few of the many things worth mentioning:

Her sister came back from the festival with half of the people she arrived with. The others were murdered.

The speaker saw a girl get shot and killed while she was speaking to her. She barely escaped situations from which there were no survivors. At some point they (she and her friend) were hiding in some sort of shed (not really a shed but I'm not sure how else to describe it) and then they saw Hamas members running towards there. So she, her friend, and a few others from the shed, ran. Later they learned that everyone who had stayed was murdered.

There is more I could mention, but what this strong and incredible woman went through is not the point of this post. The point is what she did after.

She said that, even though she was alive, after she made it home she felt more dead than ever. And, considering the hellish nightmare she went through, that feeling makes complete sense.

But she took her life into her hands. She's going around campuses and conferences talking about what she experienced. She made it entirely clear that she has a lot of strong faith in Hashem, something that did not lessen in any way after her experiences.

The point of this post is that she didn't just survive. She lived.

I came up to her after told her that her ability, her strength, to carry what she carries and go on being the brave and amazing person that she is, is awe-inspiring. (I wish I could've been this eloquent about it, consider this a spruced-up paraphrasing of what I said, but that's the gist of it.)

To look into her eyes and know what those eyes witnessed was just a feeling I cannot describe. But she was there. She was standing right there. She survived and she lived.

That feeling was Am Yisrael Chai. She took her pain and turned it into advocacy, into the mission of spreading the truth.

This is what Am Yisrael Chai means. It means we take our pain, we take what we witness, and we don't just survive it. We don't just push it down. We take it and use it as building blocks for a better future. Just as this incredible person, this survivor, used her experiences and turned them into advocacy and truth.

[katerinaaqu]

Odyssey Parallels to my "Survivor's Guilt and Survivor's Duty" story (Rhapsody /Book 5 of Odyssey, Calypso's Monolog)

So here is a small break down of one of my most beloved fanfictions of Odyssey line by line from Calypso's monolog in 5th rhapsody of the Odyssey where she complains to Hermes for demanding to let Odysseus go, listing what she did for him. I find interesting how she speaks of the things she indeed DID do for him as if that somehow makes him her "property" or rather having a right on him (or as my brilliant friend @artsofmetamoor stated "like she was keeping a cat!" XD) Buckle up this analysis is long! XD

And I was the one to save him, while he was alone holding onto the ship's keel, for his fast ship was split open in the middle of the wine-dark sea by Zeus's thunder!

(Translation by me)

"Odysseus traveled once more; this time alone and grabbing upon the last remains of his beloved black ship… The night came cold and he was shivering. By the morning another storm caught up with him and his mast was once more drifted by the huge waves that resembled white top mountains, tearing apart his clothes and his flesh. And yet his hands endured… It was as if his heart and hands combined turned into oak or stones. The Man of many Torments endured. (From Part1)

Next day the sun was merciless over his head, sending him almost to the brief of hallucinations and heat as sweat was running down his already wounded body. The night the gods felt pity on him and sent a drizzle rain. Odysseus raised his head to the heavens trying to grab as much of the fresh god-sent water as if that would be enough to quench his insatiable thirst and the burning of the salt. Once a passing seaweed came close to him to which Odysseus made some sort of imitation of a meal for himself. How many times he nearly slipped off his life-raft he lost count…how many times he probably actually fainted on it he could no longer remember. And yet, the King of Ithaca endured…in strength that he had no idea he had. It was as if both his body and spirit had decided he had a duty to survive. He survived the agony and pain as well as the anxiety and fear every time something touched his foot beneath the waves or a passing fish would bite his legs. He had long stopped feeling much." (From Part 1)

"Therewith the worst came; a thunderbolt stroke the ship and the sudden flash and tremendous sound left them all blind and deaf. Odysseus screamed in pain shielding his ears. The ship cracked from side to side down in the middle; splintering in the winds like it was a pile of leaves." (From Part 1) => [This moment more graphically described by Odysseus himself in 12th rhapsody]

There all his goodly companions perished and the winds and waves brought him here!

(Translation by me)

"By night before the tenth day of his painful journey he had collapsed. He didn’t feel the sand beneath his body as his raft finally beached at a sandy beach. He didn’t move as some crab or beach beetle walked over his sea-beaten body. By dawn some hints of his consciousness returned. It was only for a brief second that the rays of sun touched his salt-crusted cheek but Odysseus saw or at least he thought he saw a tall slender figure picking something up from the beach many meters away from him (maybe a seashell). The figure turned towards him and walked there. And then everything turned black…" (From Part 1)

"He yelled till his throat was sore…till his voice was gone…he sobbed and cried tears almost as plenty as the waves of the sea. The storm was roaming around him… There was no one there to hear his lament… His voice was carried around by the wind…his tears were washed away by sea and rain…His body was borne by the direful winds… Six hundred men had started that fateful journey… Now there was only one… Now he was alone." (From Part 1)

I took him in with care and love and gave him food, I even told him I would make him immortal and ageless for all eternity!

(Translation by me)

"She slid her arm behind his back and half-raised him with unexpected strength, bringing the goblet to his lips. As the liquid touched those thirsty, dry lips, Odysseus gained strength anew to his arms; the type of strength you get when you need to survive. He greedily downed sips from the drink and aimed to hold it with his weak, shaking hands. He tasted the sweetest drink he ever thought he would taste; it was sweeter than honey, smoother than wine. It was all the tastes he ever knew and none at the same time. He coughed as the drink went down the wrong way but he drank more ignoring some that escaped his lips and down the thick layer of curly hair that adorned his wide chest. He was thirsty! He was thirsty to the point of madness!" (From Part 2)

"���My maids shall bring you some food, Odysseus. I believe you are strong enough to eat now. Nectar and potions we created should allow you to heal to that point” “I am grateful, beautiful goddess…” “Rest and regain your strength first” Calypso advised sweetly, “The rest shall come…”" (From Part 2)

"The weeks passed and Odysseus was indeed trying his best to keep himself in good condition. A few days more and he could walk about Calypso’s grotto without any problems and soon he felt gaining his old strength back. Eventually he got out of the grotto and got to explore the isle around and know his surroundings. Under the tender care of Calypso and her maids, Odysseus felt like finding himself again. He gained the weight he lost by his cruel misadventures and managed to built his previous physical strength." (From Part 2)

"“You nearly lost your life out there, darling… Why must you torment yourself over them? Why must your heart always mourn? Forget about this…mortal coil. Stay here with me…stay and rest, finally, Odysseus… You shall not want of anything here… I could offer you the gift of immortality… Never shall you fear sickness or death again! Never shall you find yourself in the same pitiful state that you were when you first showed up at my doors! You shall be my equal! All you need to do is ask…” (From Part 3) => [also remembering the first rhapsodies how Athena says t the council of the gods that Calypso aims to make him forget his homeland]

***

So yeah... I tried my best to follow the Odyssey but of cource details filled in by me! For those interested the three parts of this story are here!

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

And of course viewe's discression is advised given the hard hemes it includes (yes it includes the mention of SA so yeah...sad and dark stuff)

My Calypso fanart based on my story

My Odysseus fanart based on my stories

[outofangband]

Awhile ago, @mozart-the-meerkitten sent an ask about how Angband effects the senses of its prisoners. So this is so late and I’m so sorry. I have a couple of relevant posts, namely this one where I talked about time and routine in Angband. I also made a post awhile back about how Maedhros’s senses are affected! A lot of this will apply more generally! I’m thinking of reposting this and adding sections for other survivors.

Content warnings: structural/coercive control, mentions of solitary confinement and sensory deprivation

Angband world building and aftermath of Captivity Masterlist

Angband is not an environment fit for long term habitation by elves or by humans. Indeed, most humans in the fortress die within weeks to months. The orcs and other mortal residents are forced to adapt in brutal ways to survive and the consequences upon their physical, mental and emotional health are extreme.

Angband is structured to be oppressive and disorienting to the prisoners and this effects all aspects of sensory processing. I talked about this mostly on my time and routine post but the control of structure and information is one of the most important aspects of how prisoners are maintained.

Sensory information is often intentionally limited of a variety of reasons; the environments of cells and to the areas where thralls are forced to work are often kept as monotonous as possible. What scraps of clothing prisoners are allowed are often muted, by design and by usage, singing, poetry and speech between prisoners are forbidden, and the air is heavy with suffocating scents of ash, rot and the deep earth. I didn't want to get into food too much because I've made so many posts specifically about that but this is another important aspect of communal and cultural life that is heavily and violently controlled. I think a lot about the most literal manifestation of this, how Gwindor emerges with the color seemingly drained out of him.

Many lose their ability to take pleasure in the variety of sensory experiences that make up meals, or play, or art.

Some prisoners go years without hearing another's voice.

Sensory experiences unique to elves are also affected. Elves navigate and orient in certain unique ways, using the earth, trees, and even rocks to orient themselves. (I’m basing this in part of Legolas’s words about the elves of Hollin where he appears to draw sense memories from flora and stones)

When elves are kept away from the natural world, in monotonous environments, without access to plant life or even a variety of geological information, some can enter a sort of stupor. Even in Angband which of course does contain rocks and life in the form of fungi, algae and even some plants, Cyanobacteria and certain creatures, much of the mines and dungeons are deliberately kept barren, lifeless and separated enough from the caverns and tunnels. What information they receive is rarely comforting.

After the monotony of Angband, the normal sights, sounds, smells, tastes and other sensations of the outside world can be extraordinarily intense.

In the aftermath, some prisoners experience extreme awareness of sensory information as a form of hyper vigilance. Of course acute perception is typical for elves but for some prisoners, reactions and emotions to sense perception are incredibly heightened or they become unusually overwhelmed. Life is a barrage of unbearably bright lights, whispers heightened to a painful degree, the slightest smells unbearable, and different senses intermixing to create

Others experience a sort of numbing, have difficulty distinguishing or processing sensory information, or become highly dissociated.

Sensory deprivation is frequently used as a punishment, often alongside solitary confinement. On many of the lower levels of cells where prisoners are held for this purpose, the only light comess from the torches carried by the guards who passed infrequently. The din of the fortress, a cacophony of countless anvils, of the shifting of stone, of growls and screaming and snatches of song, was dulled here. It was not uncommon for long stretches to go by without any sound at all.

Other note: as always when I make Angband posts, I think additionally about Aerin and other characters in oppressive environments outside of Angband. Especially for this I have so many things on Aerin and the senses which I’ve explored in several posts and want to write more about especially if there’s interest. Even without the claustrophobic, geographically isolated nature of Angband, the effects of complex trauma on sensory experiences are really interesting. Anyways just wanted to say this because I love her :)

[kewpikayo]

"Partners...?" Human Alastor x Reader

Chapter 2: WC: 5,109

I dedicate this second chapter to the sweet @ritualofcirice, the exquisite @lumikello24, the utterly superb @fraugwinska and the fantastic @macabr3-barbi3 . Thank you all so much for making this event such a pleasure to be a part of. Hope you enjoy part two!!

Here's Chapter 1: Team Player.

your at Chapter 2: Left Hanging.

here's Chapter 3: Burning Alive. Warnings & Tags: Violence, typical bloodshed associated with Hazbin hotel and Dead by Daylight. Alastor still being a little shit, etc. death of minor characters

Multiple hours passed until mid morning became late afternoon as the sun was continuously locked away in the realm of mist and shadow.

At least the darkness provided ample cover for further protection, but it was terrible to navigate the necessary equipment needed to fix the machines. Luckily, you had a miniature flashlight from your time pilfering through stray boxes. It was currently held under your chin to create a steady light source for your tedious task.

Despite your unfortunate hooking accident and the pain it still caused you, your progress with the generators had gone rather smoothly. You had somehow managed to get three out of the five generators up to working condition; plus or minus the few instances when hiding in a locker or behind brush became necessary. 

For the most part, your partner seemed to be carrying out his delegated task quite well. At least that’s what you assumed. You hadn’t heard from him in hours, but the looming threat of capture or death had somehow lessened in severity. It had been quiet…

Maybe striking a last minute deal with that strange, smiling guy was the best rash decision you had ever made .

As your bloody, oil soaked hands worked meticulously, your mind strayed to less demanding thoughts.

The asshole of a stranger, Alastor, was unbearable to say the least. His sharp wit was easily comparable to the nice, bloody blade he had acquired when he chose to ignore you. The insufferable bastard didn’t even bother to ask if you were okay or needed help, but just decided to leave you hanging. Literally.

Regardless of his initial purposeful ignorance of your person, perhaps you made the decision to reach out to him not only out of necessity, but also for the sole reason that he looked like the type to have his shit together. 

You remembered the dark man stood tall with obvious pride in the presentation he held for himself. It was as if he was opulently adorned in only the best of linens. He was a bit too pompous for your tastes, but you had to admit the man did have pretty privilege. Alastor was indeed a looker. 

Surprisingly, no blood was to be seen on him and his smile had never left his face even when he had seemed cross with you. It was a peculiar habit. There was just something about that grin of his and how it continually cast a supernatural glow to his warm skin. It was almost as if it was glued or stitched to his features permanently. It was creepy; and you hated how effortlessly charming it was.

His eyes spoke of a different tale, however. They were dauntless and expressive; amber jewels that were attuned to his face in unwavering self assurance hidden behind gentle, dark curls. It was obvious he was of the calculating, intellectual sort. Maybe that was why you felt comfortable enough to beg him to help you. You were assured he had a plan brewing under that steadfast grin, and you wanted in on whatever strategic formulation his mind deemed worthy to conduct.

He was a survivor, a victor, and you had always liked being a part of the winning team. Acquiring a partnership with another like minded, capable individual was only the most logical step forward. Anyone within their right mind would’ve done so.

Wiping your brow of the sweat that accumulated under the ball cap you donned, you went back into an intense focus. There was no time to daydream. How much time had you lost already? You didn’t know, but you did know too many valuable minutes had already passed you by. It was one moment too many to risk doing so a second time.

Rewiring your focus, the specific cable in your grasp was of the stubborn sort; unwilling to bend to the plan you had for it with a burning passion. 

You readjusted the flashlight underneath your chin and moved closer to have a better look, wincing when the twinge in your shoulder wouldn’t go away. You cursed to yourself, frustration dripping into your vocabulary.

“Havin’ a wrench would’ve made this a helluva lot easier…Dammit…Just connect, you stupid wires…It literally isn’t that hard…It’s not rocket science!”

As if a resistant response to your furious words, sparks flew into your face with a loud, rambunctious pop. You jolted backwards with a colorful curse, a sting in your fingertips. The light and sound startled you; and with a wince your expression contorted into a deeper scowl due to the pain.

“Shit!”

Waving your hand, a harsh hiss escaped from under your breath as your fingers were brought to your lips. You bit back the pain, shutting your eyes and blinking back tears as the taste of blood and oil flooded over your tongue. The blackest smoke quickly bellowed into your vision as the bold smell of gasoline was the only scent available to you. It was to the point that any oxygen had been snuffed out and made breathing an even greater hardship. 

You stifled multiple coughs. The force of each constricted your chest painfully; each spasm threatening the contents of your stomach to make an unsightly appearance. Too enraptured in retaining air, you failed to hear the soft snap of a twig behind you.

However, upon calming down from the attack on your lungs, the feeling of wind and metal brushing against your ear rivaled the active popping of the nearby generator.

You were left stunned as you stared at the butcher knife lodged in the wooden pallet next to your head. Raising a tentative hand, you brushed your fingers against the edge of your ear and hissed when you felt the sting and the promise of blood. 

Another knife launched itself into the wood again, landing closer to your head this time.

If the first knife didn’t get your attention, then that one certainly did.

You whipped your head to look behind you, beholding an ominous figure in a vibrant trench coat. The fog swirling around the marsh mixed in with his clothing to the point it was hard to make out who it was, but the shadow looming over you was so profound that the fear the sight instilled held you firmly in place.

That was until the threat took another dagger from his sheath and stepped forward with ill intent.

“Oh fuc-!...”

A third dagger was thrown in your direction with the intent to hit its mark as one of the Entity’s champions boldly pursued you. Jolting backwards, the dagger thrown managed to nick your cheek in the process of piercing into the nearest pallet.

As your most recent threat, referred to as the trickster by the other survivors,  rearmed himself and prepared another blade with a bold laugh at your misfortune;  you took the chance to flee. Scrambling to your feet, adrenaline powered your movements as your converses dredged deep grooves into the mud. You slipped, but not before pushing a pallet over to maintain some distance between you and your attacker. 

Hissing in pain, you grabbed at your shoulder as you haphazardly continued to run, your breath leaving you in frantic spurts. Your legs had a will of their own, knocking you into every spare piece of wood or type of debris imaginable. It took great effort just to keep yourself on your feet.

Almost to your destination, hope was ripped from you as your foot got lodged in an unnoticeable hole, twisting uncomfortably to the point a guttural growl turned gasp escaped you as you hit the ground. Hard. 

The rest of your air deflated from your lungs and into your  surroundings as your ball cap was knocked from your head in your descent; flying and disappearing amongst the weeds. You cursed. There was no time to search for it. It was lost to you now.

Amidst your thoughts, somehow your rib cage  managed to land on the largest, sharpest rock known to man. You yelped in pain, assured yet another of countless bruises would appear on your skin within the hour.

Dazed and light headed from pain, but the last of your adrenaline pushing you to your limits; You grabbed at the soil and lunged  yourself forward with strenuous effort. You were so close to your designated hiding spot, and now that option was taken from you as well.

You wouldn’t give up, though. Not that easily.

Determined, you crawled to the next best thing: A spare pallet with just enough room underneath to provide some sort of cover. The entrance of the hole was covered with weeds and the occasional cattail. Perfect. Cover was just what you needed. 

Panting , you willed yourself to continue on, elbows digging into the ground to gain leverage in the moist soil as you hurriedly crawled in desperation. You were almost there. You were sure you would make it..

You had to. 

Unfortunately, your pursuit of safety was denied when the trickster caught up with you. You managed to crawl a few more inches to safety when you felt hands grab at your sides. You looked behind you and in a panicked fury started kicking your legs and wiggling to struggle free; but to no avail. Fate has other plans for you, much to your terror and disgruntlement.

The trickster hoisted you up and had you hanging from his shoulders like a light, limp sack of fruit. It irritated you how frail you were.  Still, delicate and bruisable as you were, you would not go down without a fight.

So fight you did, kicking and hitting any reachable orifice or weak point you could. You managed to hit your target every so often with sufficient force, but it was as if the man was made of impenetrable stone. Nothing you did weakened your kidnapper and it proved useless to struggle. Your attempts just made you more tired in the end and you needed to conserve your strength. 

Still, your fierce spirit wouldn’t be silenced and you wouldn’t give up your fight for survival just yet. Thinking it your best, and only, option; your voice illuminated the space around you. Your words ignited your attacker’s hearing in colorful, torrential succession as you also continued in your physical attack.

“Let me go, you fucker!! Put. Me. DOWN!!!”

This only supplied the trickster something to laugh at, your voice reverberating through his useless ears as your words came back void. To no surprise, your request was denied with yet another muted, sadistic chuckle. Great. Why did you think that would work? 

You continued in your struggle and berating words until you were nearing your destination; a particularly rusty hook that already had fresh blood from a recent victim acquired on the metal. You blanched at the sight. You didn’t have the possibility of acquiring Tetanus or blood poisoning on your agenda that evening, or ever, but you guess fate certainly didn’t give a damn. 

This particular hook was beneath The Pale Rose; and unfortunately was a good bit away from your nearly completed generator. You hoped that somehow one of the other survivors would take a hint and aid you in finishing your work, or at least come to your aid. It was unlikely though. The majority of people, if in your predicament, would’ve certainly attuned themselves to the idea of “Every man for themselves.” You certainly did. You tried rescuing someone before and it only resulted in your first capture. You wouldn’t make that same mistake again. Not without getting something in return.

There was only one other person you hoped would come for you, and even then it was still a long shot of if he would actually help you or not. From your short time of knowing him, Alastor has proved himself to be a wildcard and a man of conviction, but only if it suited his own needs or desires.

Left with no other options, you shamelessly screamed your partner’s  name with all the graceless volume in your lungs. 

“ALASTOR!!! WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU?!?! I NEED YOU!!”

Your desperate plea was met with nothing but your own continued screams as your injured shoulder was violently shoved into the rusty hook you spotted earlier.

The screams that left you didn’t sound like your own voice. They were raw and saturated with agony, foreign in pitch and deeply feral in cadence. Desperate, a shrill shriek left you as the tendons and veins in the muscles of your shoulder were ripped anew. Black dots adorned themselves to your vision, your head light from blood loss. You swore you even saw stars in your disoriented state. 

Before the worry of passing out or worse could visit your thoughts, the entity's claws were upon you. The sharp blades of horror forced you into a life or death struggle as your captor stepped away to watch your promised demise with glee. 

Gritting your teeth, you glared at the trickster, stubbornly clinging to life. With the last of your strength, you held the claws aiming to puncture holes into your chest and abdomen at bay as exhaustion loomed over you.

With a fury so profound you swore you saw your attackers eyes widen in surprise, you snarled out the most putrid threat you could think of in your pain. Your grip tightened on the entity’s claws as you pushed against the trap.

“I hope you fuckin’ die and burn in the hottest part of Hell, you stupid ass piece of shit! You’re lucky I’m hangin’ here otherwise I’d kill you myself! I-I’d gut you like a fish and rip out your eyeballs and… And feed you to the gators!!! Mark my words, I’ll make you wish you were dead!!! ”  

“Ha! What poetry~! But it would be quite hard to make one wish for death when they have already experienced it. Wouldn’t you agree?”

Not expecting the figure in front of you to slump over dead, your eyes widened when you saw your partner appear out of nowhere to pull a knife from the trickster’s back. Alastor’s blood soaked hands tightly gripped around his weapon of choice as he gently disposed of his latest victim’s blood on his dark denim jeans. 

“Now, this fellow’s descent into the nine circles can most assuredly be arranged. It is plausible that it is already well under way…”

When did Alastor show up? Amidst the chaos and trying to keep conscious, somehow he had appeared before you instantaneously. Perhaps he was just very close by when you called out to him? 

Glancing toward you, Alastor chuckled as his smile grew in smug satisfaction; curiosity glinting back at you from his calculated gaze. You continued fighting off the iron claws in silence, hoping seeing you in a struggle would alert him that his assistance was most definitely needed. You bit back a frustrated growl when he failed to notice your hidden cry for help. Perhaps he just actively ignored you again, preferring to continue talking instead.

“Though I’m sure it would’ve been such  a nice sight to witness your spin on taking out the trash… It pains me to know I won’t have the opportunity to see you do so…”

Despite his words, Alastor looked chipper with the outcome that had transpired. The man stood tall, his cream button up and blue jeans soaked  in viscera and gore, blood splatter decorating his spectacles and face. His conquest to gain the lives of the killers you requested most likely was going smoothly. Good. The more he killed, the greater assurance that you wouldn’t be.

What was surprising about his presentation, however, was that you could tell the blood wasn’t his. You thought that his close contact with various types of killers around the premises would have at least scored him a few wounds to keep as souvenirs; but he managed to surprise you yet again. He didn’t even look injured in the slightest. You could tell from the way his expression was lively and full of enjoyment that he was high off of the chaos, obviously receiving great pleasure from his conquest, and even more so about his most recent kill…

 Just how had he managed to do so well? You supposed that wasn’t important. What did matter was that your partner was taking the deal seriously. 

Choosing to ignore the unhinged vibes Alastor was giving off,  you scoffed and did your utmost to hide the tremendous pain you felt in your shoulder. Talking was getting very hard to do without pausing for much needed air. With each moment that passed, the Entity’s claws encroached closer to your person, making an exhausting task even more strenuous. 

You gasped as your hand slipped from one of the iron grips holding you firmly in place, the pain in your shoulder immense as the hook tugged on your overly sensitive flesh. You were fighting for your life and Alastor didn’t even seem to care. What kind of partner was he?

You supposed you couldn’t blame him. He had mentioned he always preferred solo work. Even so, anyone with even a slim amount of sanity would see you were very much in need. Your patience was about up, your struggle using the majority of your brain power. Words were hard to form at the moment. Brevity became necessary.

“Yeah, well he… Woulda looked like he does now…Dead…Stupid and…Fucked up…You did…A good job, I guess…”

“My, Is that praise I hear? Glad to know you approve of my efforts. I’m flattered.”

Alastor’s smile couldn’t have been more smug even if he tried. You rolled your eyes at the sight; stifling a low groan from both annoyance and affliction as the claws inched closer to your abdomen and collarbones. Sweat poured down your brow in your attempts at escape. You were too exhausted at this point to really call him out on his bullshit; and you really didn’t want to risk him leaving you on that hook again. Playing it safe, you decided to ignore his obvious attempts to get under your skin in hopes that he would lend you aid this time around.

“Yeah…Yeah, you don’t gotta mention it. Now…Are ya gonna help me out and… Let me down or…Or what? We’re wastin’ time…”

Still tall and poised, Alastor tilted his head as he looked at you, placing his blade back into its sheath, a question to counter your own on his breath.

“Just how many times do you intend to be captured this evening, dear? You certainly are a bloody mess, aren’t you?”

Scoffing, you stared at the first three buttons on Alastor’s shirt, blood splatter staining his fabric to ruin. He looked how you felt, every flinch and twitch of your muscles shooting agony through your body as your own blood created an ocean down your jean jacket. 

You groaned. It was too much energy wasted to look anywhere else.

“No Shit….Look who’s talkin’, but no, seriously… Are your arms not workin’ or somethin’?…Let me down…”

Wincing, you used the majority of your remaining strength to readjust your body weight on the hook. Another hiss of agony leaked through your gritted teeth. Your attempts were enough to bring brief tears to the corners of your eyes. You blinked them away. You wouldn’t let him see you cry.

“We’re…Supposed to be partner’s, right? Don’t just….leave me hangin’….”

“Ha! Good one…”

Another encore of enthused chuckles escaped him as he crossed his arms. It still didn’t look like he was in any hurry to come to your aid. Shocker.

“...Unfortunately, you are missing a simple, vital phrase…It’s rather rude to forget it, wouldn’t you agree?”

Once again you were left dumbfounded by the man’s words. What did he mean? You were left in tremendous confusion until it hit you. The bastard was wanting you to beg him for his help. Again.

Swallowing as much pride as you could spare, as well as the urge to let out another scream, you let your head hang as low as it would go without causing anymore needless damage to your shoulder. Your hands still firmly grasped around the claws of the greedy Entity.

“...Please…”

Without seeing him, you could tell he was smirking just by the way his voice sounded, conceited and self important. Vain.

“Please what?”

A low growl entered your voice in a mixture of exasperation and discomfort as you looked up at your so-called partner with a deep scowl. You bit into your cheek before uttering yet another shameful, pitiful plea. You absolutely hated how weak it made you feel.

“Please…If you’d be so…gracious as to lend me your….Assistance…I'd be so appreciative…”

You wanted to make sure that Alastor knew you were pissed.  The words you managed to mutter were drenched in so much sarcasm that it brought an obvious, irritated twitch to your partner’s eye. Good. He deserved it after refusing to help you for a second time. If he thought it was a burden to help you, you would show him just how much of an inconvenience you could be, should he continue to refuse to come to your aid.

Alastor remained silent. Another claw formed on the hook, causing you to have to split your efforts of keeping the iron talons at bay; one hand for each claw that formed. 

Frustration flooded into you to the point you let out a shout and another string of vibrant  curses.

“Arrghhhh!  Just. Get. Me. down! I’m bleedin’ out, if ya haven’t noticed!”

“Oh, I’ve noticed. I do think the color red suits you rather well…”

Yet another vexing pause was seen on his part as he shifted his weight from one hip to another, his arms still crossed and his gaze curious as he stood infront of you, tantalizingly close but resistant and mute to your continued pleas.

“Besides, what was your earlier phrase? Ah, yes…I do believe it was ‘“Fuck you. I’ll just do it myself.”’? Where has all that spirit gone? You seemed very capable before. Surely nothing has changed since?”

Dumbfounded, you didn’t know how to reply. You were in such shock that one of your hands slipped, allowing one of the Entity’s claws to pierce deeply into your opposite collarbone. You let out an ear piercing scream as you managed to dig the iron out of your skin; adrenaline sending shivers swimming through your bloodstream.

Struggling to form words, you paused to take breaths in between your verbiage.

“It’s...Complicated…Hard to…Explain!”

“Then try. Enlighten me.”

“Look…I…I already used my perk, Deliverance ... .I can’t use it again; so I would greatly appreciate it if you got your head out of your ass and…and helped me! The Entity’s rippin’ me apart!”

A look equally offended and appalled darted across Alastor’s features, distorting his toothy smile to the slightest degree.

“Your…Perk? Entity? Whatever do you mean? Speak plainly, dear. What you’ve just said is very much akin to gibberish…”

If you weren’t actively fighting for your life you would’ve stared at him in disbelief, mouth agape like some braindead fool. Did this idiot not know what a survivor’s perk was? Was he actually galavanting around this entire map without using any of his? And he still managed to not get a single scratch on him? What type of creature was he?

It was as if he wasn’t even human…

Irritated that your partner was seemingly perfect, except for the one flaw that he would not willingly help set you free; you grumbled out the expected information. Somehow amidst gasping for breath, you managed to explain what a perk was and a little about the entity until Alastor’s expression changed to one of mild understanding.

“...Now, help me already….Please!”

Gasping for air and on the verge of passing out, or passing away, you looked toward your so-called partner with the utmost desperation hidden in your eyes. Yet another pause was shared between the two of you and he still refused to move or help you. Your patience for this man was about over.

“Look, shithead, I said please three times, didn’t I?!”

“My, how rude…You do realize whose life is still on the line at the moment, yes?”

In a tone that could only be described as patronizing, his grin grew in conceited splendor. Did he really enjoy getting a rise out of you that much? Your scowl deepened at his sick joy. 

That sadistic fuck…

An even wider smirk adorned Alastor’s features as you blanched, your complexion pale due to both your realization as well as blood loss. His smile was more genuine when you whispered an apology. It was obvious he was pleased to know he had bruised your pride even more than it already was.

“Hmm…I suppose I will let you off the hook for your blunder, if only this once…The tendency to lose manners when one’s life is threatened is something common and albeit expected. Here, brace yourself…This will surely hurt.”

Reaching up to you to finally offer you aid after what seemed to be a millenia, a dark and teasing laugh seeped into Alastor’s breath.

“Feel free to scream if necessary…”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After a few minutes and a superfluity of stifled screams and curses from his little lady, you were freed. It didn’t take much for Alastor to procure you from your entrapment, but he did silently muse on just how light you were in his arms. If he so wished, throwing you with one hand would’ve been as simplistic as breathing. Of course, he had no time for such tempting indulgence. As you had rudely prompted him before, time was slipping away from you both. 

So, with minimal effort and all the grace the radio host had at his disposal, Alastor allowed your liberty to take place. He encapsulated your waist in his hands, deftly  pulling you from your perch. You were worse for wear and covered in filth, of course, but freed all the same. 

Fortunately, the subsequent screams from you were a sufficient reward for his efforts.

Alastor listened to you grumble under your labored breath as you dusted the first of many particles of dirt from your clothing. Your attempts did nothing to satiate the need for disposing of the blood and oil that collected themselves upon your bodice and skin. At least an attempt was made on your part to better your appearance.

Looking over his shoulder to survey the area for any additional threat, Alastor caught sight of the tell tale signs of your dingy cap underneath the shadows of the cattails nearby. Ah. That’s where he had placed it when he acquired it out of the weeds and spare piles of wood when your belligerent cry for assistance rang through his ears. Luckily he was close by, but even so. A little more patience would’ve been appreciated on your part.

Within minutes he left you behind to attain said cap, only to daintily dust it off and provide it to you. You propped your forearm on one knee for a moment before pulling yourself up from the mud to look at the outstretched hand he offered. It was a most generous gift he bestowed to you. 

“I do believe this is yours?”

A deeper scowl was returned to him for his efforts; but he only laughed. You certainly were of the feisty sort.

 You snatched the gift from his hands and donned it swiftly, tugging it over your eyes and adjusting its place on your head as your back arched forward in an atrocious attempt at remaining on your feet. Your posture was lacking, but Alastor supposed you did have a right to not be at your best. It was a marvel how you steadfastly willed yourself to remain standing, let alone conscious. Your stance was shaky, but surprisingly firm as your ever present scowl looked up to meet his curious gaze. 

“Alright…We don’t have much time…There’s only two gen’s left. So you go…Uh…Stab people or what have you…and I’ll…I’ll fix those machines. We’ll meet back up at the exit….Sound good…?”

Alastor quirked a brow at your words, but remained silent. Just what type of tenacity compelled you to continuously move forward when you were considerably near death's door? Surely you were ready to give in by now. 

However, even if your complaints were mostly of his “incompetence” your ferocity was never aimed at your own predicament; but just one glance at your pale complexion instantly notified him that you were tired. More than tired. You were a corpse walking.

It was very interesting how you hadn’t fallen over dead, and Alastor would go so much as to say you colored him impressed. Perhaps only the fiercest of  fighting spirits remained within you? You were of the obstinate sort, after all.

Still, there was something else about you that piqued his interest. Something he couldn’t quite name; and he wanted to figure out what it was. 

Perhaps your natural inclination for survival was just emboldened by the circumstances the two of you found yourselves in. It was an admirable attribute. You weren’t weak and your folly wouldn’t be by your own hand. No, you were stubborn, determined, and just did not know when to quit.

Perhaps that was a good thing…

Alastor’s smile grew. Yet another intriguing thing was learned from you. A few more close observations would surely supply him with even more delightful answers? If you still proved entertaining and useful as the night dragged on, he wouldn’t mind offering you the continued chance to thrive… 

So far, that prospect was promising. Loathe as he was to admit it, however, your eclectic nature, your stubbornness and that persistent disgruntlement of yours had piqued his full curiosity with ease; providing him with a surprising amount of amusement.

Perhaps you had already earned your chance to be spared…

Commanding his thoughts to cease for a moment, Alastor watched as you stepped away from him with a deep heaviness in your footwork. You certainly were a tenacious little thing, compelled by your convictions to a fault. Of course, he would expect nothing less from a partner worthy of his time. He conceded. Your work ethic was impeccable. You were doing well.

Alas, however a nuisance it was to obey someone else’s orders, Alastor assured you he would do as asked as you continued down your chosen path. He only received a small nod and a barely raised hand as you slowly retreated.

The radio host made his way down the opposite path, taking his knife from its home on his belt as he continued his previous stalking through the brush; eager to bleed yet another soul dry that evening…

[delzinrowe]

Aftermath - Kento Nanami

WORD COUNT: ~4.2K WARNINGS: Some minor & major alterations to Shibuya Arc! No Culling Games in this fic. Otherwise no serious warnings. F!Reader SUMMARY: Three days after the Shibuya Incident in the midst of the aftermath Y/N is trying to sort out her emotions and deal with what happened. A/N: Feedback is always appreciated! If you want to be tagged in upcoming fics/drabbles, please let me know!!! Thank you, and enjoy <3 Considering there are alterations to Shibuya: PLEASE, keep your replies/comments spoiler free, to ensure the unaltered enjoyment of other readers. Thank you!

Curses had claimed Shibuya. Half the district was gone, reduced to ashes and debris. Thousands of human lives were eradicated, leaving nothing but pain and emptiness in the hearts of those who miraculously survived the tragedy.

The remaining sorcerers tried their best to evacuate those who lived too close to the newly created wastelands of Tokyo. There was no telling how long it would take to get rid of all the curses, if that was even possible. Therefore saving and protecting all non-sorcerers had priority.

Within record time Y/N had scouted through the rackages in search of any survivors and brought them to Shoko for treatment. It was a tiring task, not only physically but mentally. Seeing the devastating destruction caused by Sukuna, Kenjaku and the countless curses truly took a toll on everyone.

All it took was a few hours to save all the survivors. But this small win was overshadowed by the carnage left behind. Every sorcerer had returned to the Tokyo Jujutsu High grounds, even the ones from Kyoto decided to stay. Considering the immediate threat posed by the countless curses roaming the streets it was the most logical decision for everyone to stay and aid the Tokyo sorcerers.

Many of the sorcerers made it their daily mission to eradicate as many curses as they possibly could, it was their way of dealing with the losses. Among those was Y/N. After the incident she focused all her attention on the vile creatures, spending every minute on the battlefield. As one of the teachers at Jujutsu High she had always made it her priority to keep everyone safe. If going on a rampage and killing curses left and right was the only way for her to ensure no one else would be hurt, so be it.

Just after killing the last of the evil spirits in front of her she fell to her knees. The exhaustion of the past few days took over her body, but she fought against it.

“You can’t keep going like this, Y/N.” Nanami Kento’s voice sounded from a bit further away, as his feet slowly carried him closer to her kneeling form. The blonde sorcerer seemed exhausted as well, carrying scars and injuries from the massacre days ago.

“Sure I can. I have to.” She responded, but her words didn’t hold as much strength as she had intended. And when she stood up she realised how much her body trembled.

“When was the last time you slept?” He inquired with this slightly disappointing tone that made her feel aggravated all too quickly.

“For your information I slept last night.” By now he was standing before her, watching with eagle eyes as she brushed the dirt off her clothes.

“How many hours?” His question earned him an eye-roll in response. Why did he feel the need to act like this right now when he knew the current situation better than anyone.

She refrained from answering, knowing fully well that in her agitated state she might say something spiteful or mean that she’d regret later on.

“You cannot keep this up.” His voice now held a more stern tone as he tried desperately to get through to her. However, the more he tried to reason with her the more she resisted.

“I’m not a child, Kento, I can take care of myself. Thank you.” She had never raised her voice at him like this before, but his nagging really was not what she needed right now. While she knew that it came from a good place, it fell on deaf ears. She had lost too many people, had watched close friends be slaughtered like pigs in front of her.

“Obviously you can’t!” He yelled back at her when she had already turned on her heel.

“You’re a teacher, don’t you think you should be a role model to your students?” Y/N couldn’t see it but she knew that he wore a pleading expression on his face, simply with the way his voice sounded almost desperate to get through to her.

“I am!” Was all she shouted back at him before walking further away, out of his field of vision. She had to get away from him right now even if she knew that he only meant well.

Didn’t he understand that she needed this? That she needed to exorcize as many curses as she could? That she needed to make these streets safer for everyone?

Nanami knew her better than anyone. And he knew that she needed this, but not ‘to make the streets safer’. Not because Exorcizing curses was the simple job of a sorcerer.

No. Y/N needed this for herself more than anything.

Once she had walked further away, when she was out of earshot, she once more collapsed, physically and mentally. She dropped to her knees, not caring that the tiny stones on the ground would leave marks on her knees even through her pants, and balled her hands into fists. She made no attempts in stopping the tears that started filling her eyes, eventually rolling down her cheeks and dropping onto the ruined ground, which once was a bustling street filled with life.

Minutes passed in which Y/N cried without a care in the word if anyone saw her. The overwhelming guilt she felt caused her chest to tighten and burn as if it was on fire.

“Survivor’s Guilt”, is what Shoko had called it when she patched up Y/N’s injuries. “It’s the belief that you did something wrong by surviving when others didn’t.”, she explained it further. Y/N knew that it wasn’t rational to feel like this, but what did that help when she was convinced on a deeply emotional level that by surviving she truly did do something wrong.

“It’s not fair. So many talented and skilled people died, but I survived. Why? It’s just not fair…” She had argumented, but Shoko was quick to smack the back of her head, effectively capturing her full attention. The healer had made it clear to her that she didn’t survive for nothing, that people still needed her. It was enough to give Y/N at least some mental strength, but as soon as she had left Shoko’s infirmary she fell into the habit of not eating, not sleeping and using all her time to hunt down every cursed spirit she could find.

Y/N wasn’t sure how much time had passed, it couldn’t have been more than half an hour, considering the sun was pretty much still at the same spot in the sky. She frankly didn’t care all too much about it either way.

After wiping lazily over her face she finally stood up, skillfully ignoring that her knees felt like dough and her legs trembled. It simply did not matter, she felt as if nothing mattered. At the same time everything mattered.

By now she deeply regretted snapping at Nanami, he was the least person to deserve that. He had always been some sort of role model to Y/N. His moral code in keeping children safe and not letting the youth experience any misery greatly inspired her to become a teacher at Jujutsu High.

She decided to apologise when she saw him next. He’d understand her, she was sure of it. For now she just wanted to get out of here. Her strength was decreasing due to lack of sleep and nutrition. As skilled and talented as she was, she wasn’t arrogant enough to believe she could take on multiple high grade curses in her current status.

Her walk back to the next operating public transportation wasn’t short, giving her plenty of time to think of the exact words she wanted to tell Nanami during her apology and how she’d explain herself. Even though she knew that his maturity wouldn’t expect her to explain anything. He surely knew how she felt. She guessed that he was ridden with the same form of guilt that plagued her mind and heart.

Y/N paid it no mind to the unamused glares and frowns of disapproval she received from strangers on the train. She knew that the blood stains and tears in her clothes were bound to attract the attention of non-sorcerers. Sometimes she’d even jump at the chance to horrify some particularly judgmental bystanders.

“Don’t worry, it’s not my blood.” She’d muse in an assuring tone of voice while showing a smile that seemed far too friendly. Every time, without exception, it would earn a wide-eyed stare.

However, today she was not in the mood to provoke anyone. She settled for mindlessly watching the passing landscape, it was all a blur to her unfocused eyes. Only when the mechanical voice announced the next stop was she ripped out of her thoughts. Due to a quick message she had sent when she stepped into the wagon she was greeted with Ijichi’s soft smile.

The tone between the two had always been kind and casual, almost friendly, which was something Y/N deeply appreciated. Other assistants sometimes didn’t dare to pursue a friendship with sorcerers, especially higher grades. They claimed it was due to professionalism, but the truth was that the assistants didn’t want to get attached to someone who’d end up dying well before their time.

Ijichi, in his gentlemanly behaviour, held open the car door for Y/N. Behind his nervous smile was a wave of worry when he glanced at the countless cuts and bruises that littered her body. The dried up blood as well as the torn clothes only added to his inner turmoil. Yet, every time he brought up his concerns for her wellbeing she shot him down with a lazy attempt at reassurance. It never worked.

“Has Yuji-kun already talked to you?” He asked with an almost cautious tone after he slipped into the driver’s seat and ignited the engine. Through the rear view mirror he could see how she furrowed her brows in confusion. It was enough of an answer for him.

“He mentioned that he was looking for you.” Ijichi explained further but Y/N only shook her head.

“I’ll find him when I’m at Jujutsu Tech. Thanks for telling me.”

After these words the remainder of the drive was spent in silence. It wasn’t unusual for rides with assistants to be quiet. Most trips with Ijichi however, were spent chatting about missions and the current state of affairs. 

This time the assistant kept quiet. Perhaps because he wasn’t fully well yet either. Shoko had only allowed him to operate the car he was currently driving. Everything else was strictly off limits to prevent him from overworking. A trait shared by seemingly everyone and their mother in the sorcerer society.

The two of them reached the school grounds quickly and while absent-mindedly muttering a “Thank you.” Y/N stepped out of the car, heading straight towards Shoko’s infirmary to get her wounds treated.

The eerie silence in her mind, surrounded by the noise of nature in the form of birds chirping and leaves rustling, were all that filled the air, but not for long. Before she even made it halfway to her destination she was suddenly stopped by a voice yelling her name from a bit further away. It was a voice she had come to know well.

“What’s up, Yuji?” She asked as she turned towards him. The boy stopped a few feet away, despite seemingly running he was barely out of breath.

“Y/L/N-Sensei, you’re not forgetting about later right?” The pink haired boy almost seemed timid and hesitant but Y/N didn’t read into it. There was no reason for something like that at a time like this.

“About the little get-together later? I won’t forget, Yuji.” She had to force a little smile onto her lips as she reassured him. It seemed to be all the young student wanted to talk about as he quickly nodded and shot her a smile, that seemed far too out of place for the mindset she surrounded herself with at the moment, before he turned around and disappeared into the direction he came from.

Y/N didn’t like that Gojo was throwing a get-together at a time like this, just days after a devastating tragedy that caused pain and loss to so many people. Yet, another part of her could understand it somehow. Even though he acted like an idiot at times, she knew his heart was at the right place. She figured quickly that he wanted to bring them all together to strengthen the bond of the remaining sorcerers, ultimately making it easier to rely on each other. Perchance he even had a plan to deal with the curses, and most of all, the curse user formerly known as Geto Suguru.

With all this in her mind she finally made her way to Shoko. The breeze, that was far too warm for this time of the year, went by her without any recognition. All she could do was try not to get lost in her thoughts, her planned apology to Nanami still lingering in the back of her mind.

“You’re looking great again…” Shoko’s voice was filled to the brim with sarcasm.

“Thanks, always a pleasure to see you.” Y/N attempted to respond with the same level of mockery as she rolled her eyes, but her tone sounded more annoyed than anything else.

“Is that why you’re making it a habit to visit every day with new injuries? Y/N, you can’t keep doing that.” It was uncommon for the (now again) heavy smoker to show this level of concern for others. She was well aware that her fellow sorcerers could handle themselves well.

“Damn, I heard that before.” This time Y/N’s words were dripping with sarcasm. There was no ill-will in her voice, but Shoko immediately realised that she had more luck getting through a wall than her patient’s thick skull. With a sigh she simply decided to drop the subject.

Only mere minutes later all of Y/N’s injuries were healed, or at least taken care of and she left Shoko’s infirmary after voicing her gratitude.

“Should I pick you up later, or..?” Y/N didn’t answer the question that was yelled after. She heard it, but she wouldn’t acknowledge it. Why would it matter if Shoko picked her up for the stupid get-together? It came as a surprise that Shoko even cared about one of Gojo’s plans.

The sky had cleared up within the past minutes, allowing the sun to shine down on the scenery and dipping the landscape in a plethora of orange hues. However, the colour spectacle went unnoticed by Y/N, whose feet carried her to her assigned room. Out of courtesy, or rather practicality, the higher-ups had decided to offer the empty dormitories to the remaining few sorcerers. Considering the school was protected by barriers, this served as a means to keep them safe more so than goodwill.

Time passed by quickly, or maybe it didn’t, but Y/N was simply too caught up in her own thoughts. She could feel herself being dragged down once more, spiralling into the depths of her sorrow. She thought that maybe as soon as she reached the room the thoughts would dissipate, but nothing of that sort happened.

Seemingly like a zombie trapped in her own mind she undressed herself, showered, dried herself off and changed into a set of clean clothes. She settled for the only black dress she wore. Taking into account the circumstances it felt fitting to wear black, even if Gojo would possibly find a way to bring colour into everything.

Maybe this get-together was exactly what everyone needed right now. Maybe this was a chance to reconnect and move on. Maybe, just maybe, Gojo’s idea wasn’t too bad.

After checking the clock on her phone for the nth time Y/N to get going. Arriving early was always fashionable, wasn’t it? Besides, she knew that Nanami, as much as he disliked these gatherings, would most probably be there early as well. She’d simply take the time to talk to him and apologise. This way she had a chance of enjoying the rest of the late afternoon, possibly even with Nanami next to her.

And wouldn’t you know it, just like she had predicted, the blonde sorcerer stood outside the venue, glancing at the watch on his wrist. To no one’s surprise he wore the same white suit as always. He likely owned it multiple times to make dressing up in the morning easier, a simple fact she had never cared to think about before. Now it almost seemed hilarious to her. Nonetheless there was a frown on her lips. Knowing that she had to act like a responsible grown up and apologise for her earlier outburst left a bitter taste in her mouth.

“Kento! Hey.” She greeted him almost hesitantly, if he noticed the nervousness in her voice he didn’t show it. He simply greeted her back while turning towards her.

“Can I talk to you about earlier this morning?” What a stupid way to have phrased it. Of course she could, she evidently had the ability to do so. Internally she scolded herself instantly over her choice of words.

“If you want to apologise, there’s no need for it, Y/N.” Here he went again, being the ever considerate and thoughtful person she knew him as. The expression on his face was almost soft, something he only showed around a small number of people, which she considered herself lucky to be a part of.

Before she even had the chance to respond to him he spoke up once more, prompted by the uncertainty shown on her features.

“I’m serious. It’s a difficult time for everyone, we’re all on edge. It’s alright.” Nanami uttered with a tone so full of understanding that it almost blew her away. Then again, despite him being the youngest of the adult sorcerers, he had always been the most mature one and the voice of reason.

For a few short minutes a comfortable silence was shared between the two, until Y/N glanced over his white suit and remembered her train of thought from before.

“You decided to keep wearing that same white suit? Don’t you have anything different to wear?” Y/N’s almost playful glance revealed the nature of her words, there was no malice or ill-intent. She prided herself on being the only one who could get him to engage in conversations in a light-hearted manner.

“Why? Don’t you think it looks handsome?” Nanami’s response came quickly, eliciting a chuckle from her.

“Oh, it definitely does.” She replied back, unable to help herself from chuckling once more as she saw the slight smile forming on his lips. At this very moment it almost felt like nothing bad had ever happened.

“Y/N, there is one thing you have to do for me.” Nanami spoke up once again. Y/N didn’t pay too much attention to his somewhat more seriously sounding tone, that was simply his nature.

“You can't keep me from getting absolutely shitfaced drunk.” If this get-together was anything like Gojo’s previous festivities there would be an unlimited amount of alcohol provided. Even if the host of these gatherings never drank an ounce of it himself.

When Nanami didn’t respond or smile at her quick remark she straightened her posture and looked at him expectantly.

“You have to forgive yourself for everything that went down the other day.” He continued then, judging by his tone it was clear as day what exactly he was referring to.

Without any sort of warning a wave of guilt washed over Y/N. Her chest tightened at the reminder of how many lives were lost, how many people she couldn’t save. The destruction was terrible. But it wasn’t the source of her pain. Involuntarily her mind wandered to the corpses which had littered the grounds of the Shibuya station. Her lips started to quiver but she was determined not to give in to the tears. No other word was needed, no clarification or elaboration. She knew what he meant.

Nanami didn’t rush her in her response, instead he gave her all the time she needed by waiting patiently. Something she was thankful for, even if he was the only reason she needed time in the first place.

Y/N hardly noticed when the index finger of her right hand started to scrape at her thumb’s cuticle. Her head was turned away, gaze averted from him. A part of her knew that she had to forgive herself. In fact, she knew that there wasn’t anything to forgive herself for since she had done everything in her powers to save as many people as she could. She had done enough. But her heart did not agree with her head. In her heart she had failed the people of Tokyo. She had failed her fellow sorcerers. She had failed herself.

“You can be really annoying sometimes.” She responded after what seemed like forever, allowing a deep sigh to leave her lungs. ‘Mostly when you’re the voice of reason’, she added in her thoughts bitterly while turning her gaze back to him.

“Yes. Maybe.” His words of agreement were simultaneously out of place and so very typical for him, at least when he was with her. It was enough for her to crack an unwanted smile.

She breathed in deeply, once, twice, and another time.

“Okay.” She finally answered his previous request. Both of them knew that Y/N needed more time to actually forgive herself, but it was a step in the right direction. It was an unspoken promise that she’d attempt to do this for him.

Nanami only responded with a proud nod, barely mouthing the word “Good.”

The quick change in atmosphere had almost caused her heart to beat irregularly. A silence hung over them, but this time it was heavier than before.

Y/N needed to shift the mood again, she needed to uplift not only his spirit, but also her own. She knew that otherwise she’d be glum and gloomy during Gojo’s get-together. There had been too much tragedy within a short time, a killjoy was definitely not what any of the sorcerers needed.

“Since you’re forced to attend this get-together, when are you gonna start complaining?” She chuckled, a little forced anyways, as she asked the blonde sorcerer.

“Complaining about what?” It was Shoko’s voice that sounded from behind Y/N, making her turn around and face the healer with a smile. Although Shoko was never full of energy and happiness, she seemed even more dispirited than ever.

Y/N shrugged her shoulders, “You know, about Gojo’s obnoxious attitude, about our tone deaf singing when we get drunk, about music that’s way too loud. The whole thing, really.” It seemed obvious to her that Nanami wouldn’t enjoy any of these things.

Shoko’s brows furrowed, her head tilted ever so lightly and her lips pursed.

“Where do you think we are?” She asked Y/N. A question like this would usually have resulted in the female sorcerer chuckling and replying in an amused tone. However, something about Shoko’s tone made her hesitate.

Y/N turned around towards Nanami once more, ready to smile at him.

Except, he wasn’t there anymore.

In a split second Y/N’s entire world came crashing down on her as the realisation set in that he had never been there in the first place. Images of her fights in Shibuya flashed before her eyes. Imagines consisting of sorcerers dying in front of her because she had been too slow.

A ringing set in her ears, intensifying with each memory that surfaced. The sound became stronger when she remembered finding Nanami again amidst the chaos and rubble of the destroyed Tokyo district. She had watched him fight, she had yelled after him, she had attempted to reach him and aid him.

Y/N swallowed hard, slowly turning towards Shoko again. Her chest tightened enough to leave her breathless. With a bitter smile on her face she lowered her gaze. Reluctantly she forced herself to walk, taking one painful step at a time towards the row of outdoor chairs that were neatly set up in front of the closed casket.

She had saved lives and exorcised many curses in Shibuya. She helped search for survivors and consoled the ones that were left behind after the losses.

Alas, the only thing she would forever remember about that night was how she witnessed Nanami dying right in front of her, when she had been too slow to save him.

Without any form of communication she sat down on one of the chairs in the first row, right in front of Nanami’s picture.

She was soon joined by Shoko who sat down next to her, placing a warm hand on her thigh and rubbing it assuringly. The gesture went unnoticed by Y/N, whose eyes were focused on all the little details she could make out on the picture atop the casket. Details that blurred more and more when her eyes filled with tears upon realising that it was all an illusion.

The arguments, the smiles, the quick light-hearted banter she shared with the blonde man during these last few days. It was nothing more than a beautiful hallucination.

[findmeinthefallair]

Retraumatization vs. Self-Soothing (Part 2)

Part 1 is here.

As is expected when I talk in depth about this skrunkly, the usual warnings apply i.e. heavy discussion surrounding how trauma works, mentions of self-harm, suicidal ideation, death, effects of abuse and discussions about therapy from my perspective as a practicing therapist.

The lengthy meta I have pinned on my blog (link) is the general overview of Hunter's pre-epilogue recovery, whereas this meta will have more observations I hadn't yet made when writing any previous metas, and importantly, using other characters - especially King - as a comparison: because King has been raised by Eda with secure attachment - to better handle traumatic incidents, at only half of Hunter's (supposed) age. Lilith was in the Emperor's Coven for a long time, and while I'm in no way discounting her own deep wounds, her proximity to Belos was not the same as that of Hunter's.

Thanks to the Youtube channel Cinema Therapy, there will be one brief reference of other media: a scene from the movie Big Hero 6, to better highlight a couple of points in this meta. So, spoiler warning for that movie too~

Here we go with Part 2, the second and final piece of this particular series!

Retraumatization:

Belos was such an abusive control freak that he would've wanted to leave a mark on every area in Hunter's life. And he would have left many marks.

Before Hunter would've been able to learn how to carve palismen under Dell's mentorship, it's highly likely that it was problematic for him to even think about or interact with palismen. We already see signs of that in this short scene:

For all you know, after everyone leaves The Collector's Palace, Stringbean (or the other palismen) being their silly playful selves and flying in front of his face or jumping on his shoulder or lap...would be enough to jolt him into a flashback. Not unlike this:

or he might accidentally step on Ghost's tail while carrying heavy loads helping the CaTTs move into new makeshift offices, and Ghost would hiss at him, and he might have a short fuse like in FtF. With this kind of physical risk, it'd be too early for him to begin the carving lessons.

So I think quite a few little bouts of being retraumatized - like aftershocks of an earthquake - await the poor kiddo.

During the course of the show, we have seen him in a state of what's called "hyperarousal" multiple times: e.g. flinching, panic attacks, sweating, shaking, even widening his eyes in rage. This involves the body's sympathetic nervous system to fire up, preparing him to either flee or attack. But in the offscreen pre-timeskip period, he would have swung to the other end - "hypoarousal" - which involved shutting down, numbing out, being lethargic and bored, dissociating from being present, and slowing down to sleep more. It involves the parasympathetic nervous system which prepares a person to shut down: if physically fleeing or attacking is only going to be futile. There would be a new enemies for him to face such as survivor's guilt, moral injury, and loss of meaning and identity at a more serious level than what he faced in Hollow Mind or King's Tide.

It's heartbreaking that by killing Flapjack, Belos inflicted enough pain upon Hunter to sort of send him back to square one. To explain, Belos prevented Hunter from connecting with the outside world and trusting in it: doing this in order to keep Hunter as compliant as possible. The themes of connection vs. isolation seem to be visually represented by 1. palismen and 2. the Golden Guard uniform, especially the helmet covering the face and gloves covering the hands. On a wider scale in the show's lore, you could say that there's a clash between the themes of freedom and captivity, represented by wild magic, and the coven system with the Emperor's Coven at its helm.

Once Belos knew that Hunter was willing to rebel against him by leaving the Emperor's Coven, snatching the boy's palisman as well as his bodily autonomy away, made Hunter believe that he himself could only do harm. It's the same damage that he inflicted upon Luz, and by removing Flapjack from Hunter's life, arguably that would impact Hunter in a way that he had gloves on all over again. Invisible gloves this time, preventing the sense of connection with the world, that would eventually come off once again - like the visual symbolism of him removing his signature gloves when he arrives in the human realm. I go off on this specific tangent (the motif of hands in his arc) in this post: (x)

Evading capture and fighting off a physical threat? Hunter has had much preparation for that, via military training. But that is still more familiar territory compared to the battleground he would've faced pre-epilogue, which involved having to utilize new skills such as emotional regulation, distress tolerance, radical acceptance, and reframing in the context of trauma: to combat the pervading state of hypoarousal. He hasn't been equipped with these in the years of his upbringing.

With his needs and desires being discarded by Belos and the castle's residents for most of his life, he has been primed to believe that any of his true feelings deserve no space. Even in the finale, this old habit dies hard.

He was a parentified kid, conditioned to make sure that he was not inconveniencing his family (and god...his family, only consisted of one cruel deceptive person, before he fled the coven). Yet, he pushed and compartmentalized to survive.

But he would've had to pick those new skills up while navigating a whole new world that had no more Belos and Flapjack in it. In the right environment, he could be himself.

Comparing the three different smiles he has above is just, arghhh. C-PTSD is a roller coaster ride which makes one's world topsy turvy. Healing from that is grueling work, after you realize that what you thought was safe/normal is in fact insidious and dangerous,

while the actually good and actually healthy stuff will initially be scary and painful: before you trust that it will do the opposite of killing you.

In Labyrinth Runners, we saw more of a flight response from him, while in For the Future it was largely a fight response. Both of which were comfort zones at those times, compared to the much scarier act of quietly and mindfully sitting with the pain of bereavement, holding it front and center in his mind, trusting that it wouldn't destroy him to sit with such pain.

What then, after Belos's death?

His physicality would be affected. The gravitational centre of his body would have changed,

since he is without any staff and magical bond now. This vital piece of info comes from reading two metas about his fight scenes in Eclipse Lake, which feature some shared firsthand experience in martial arts and in using a staff to fight: - Meta by @ashanimus (x) - Meta by @polyhexian (x)

In Flapjack's absence,

he will not get back to regularly using a staff until Waffles comes to life...my guess is he takes around 2 years till he completes her carving process. And this is after years of using the artificial staff, even before Flapjack came along.

After being manipulated like putty in Belos's hands through intimidation for years, leading up to being directly and physically controlled via possession...his relationship with his body, not just his emotions, would be altered. And we can't ignore the mind-body link either; there is an overlap here.

He has deep abandonment wounds from Hollow Mind, compounded by being on the receiving end of active harm in Thanks to Them.

When it comes to his treatment plan as a client in therapy, there are frameworks to consider. Risk factors (whatever can aggravate his condition) vs. protective factors (whatever can help to improve his condition), the values that he as a unique person would like to believe in, taking note of his unique strengths, and assessing the rules he grew up with that were extreme, inflexible, and no longer serving him now that he is free from the Emperor's Coven.

There will be the overarching conflict of his temptation towards isolation vs. needing to connect with emotion to carve palismen. I suppose this is the clearest theme because the proof is in Belos isolating him to remove his personhood vs. the Bat Queen's explanation that palismen bond through emotion, and bonding therefore requires connection: not isolation.

In the throes of depression after Belos's death, the danger is that Hunter would want to give up, and he'd find it easier to fall into the antitheses of what he stood up for in his Thanks to Them speech.

Feeling like he can never truly be free of the Emperor's Coven's hold on him.

Feeling like he'd never (emotionally) leave that throne room.

Being tempted towards the belief that...in his pursuits of studying wild magic, learning to carve palismen, learning at Hexside, spending time with his friends, and in erasing Belos's harmful influence on the world.....that all his efforts would be futile, and that he can only bring harm and not good. Just like how during Luz's own depression, she told Stringbean, while the palisman was still unhatched, "Maybe you'll never hatch, and I messed up your life too."

This belief that he can only bring harm and that he didn't deserve the gift of being brought back to life, would be fused with what is obviously his worst darkest memory:

and for a very long time, he'll feel that he could've changed something to prevent this. If only he had been smarter, more vigilant...if only he were not having so much fun being engrossed in creating things in the human realm. This is Belos's hold on him, as he relives that night many times over the years. Even after Belos dies.

The foundation and main driving force of Hunter's therapy sessions will be the rapport built up between him and the therapist. This is a parallel to the trust he has already built up in his non-therapy relationships, and having both of those together would have a wonderful effectiveness.

And the therapy sessions would gently help him to defuse and untangle himself from that very unhelpful belief.

It's also about him thawing out from a childhood of very repressed emotional expression. As his arc progresses, he grows more into expressing his feelings, needs and desires. We start to see him express what feels like such a natural excitement for his personality, once he's in the human realm. And it's crucial for him to believe that he can voice out his needs without the worry of negative repercussions...Repercussions that he's been conditioned to believe are 'healthy'/'normal', and that it's him who is the issue (ewww...). As he has been unlearning that in the course of his arc, he is discovering that it is a basic right for him to have ownership over whatever he thinks and feels.

A major obstacle would be the guilt about leaving Flapjack behind: the worry that the more new things he tries out, the more morally wrong it would feel...because he is not commemorating Flapjack. There would be that fear that Flapjack is taking up less and less space in his thoughts. This is very common when it comes to bereavement. Luz's own version of this, playing out effectively onscreen, was the wave of fear and sadness she felt as she let go of the glyph sheet in the finale and let the wind carry it away. In the moments right after that, as Stringbean gave her the Azura hat to put back on, I'm sure she still had the fear of the unknown ahead. But she could also trust in herself to be able to brave that unchartered territory: together with her sweet palisman and her found family.

We don't know whether Hunter used the same method as Luz and carved an egg that would hatch on its own, or whether he really did make Waffles from scratch. Either way, he could still have Flapjack in his life in a new way: the Hexsquad's new tattoos, the palisman shop sign, Flapjack's gravestone.

But before he could enter that place in his heart and soul, he would first have to agree in both mind and heart that he wouldn't hear the happy chirps of his best friend ever again.

We see him still talking to Flap here:

whereby in his logical mind he can definitely see that Flapjack is gone...but emotionally (subconsciously) he is frozen, not yet able to feel in his heart that his best friend is gone.

And something to note is how quickly he interjected here:

when Gus was about to spell it outright that "Flapjack is gone"/similar sentence.

And Hunter himself couldn't directly name it. He has to skirt around it with "I already know", because it would hurt too much and be too frightening to directly describe what just happened.

I suspect this would sort of repeat over time: he may come across reminders in the human realm, as he tries to attend school, etc. For some time, he wouldn't want to hear it directly said that his best friend faded away. Because Flapjack was after all...slain by Hunter's own right hand. Hearing it would mean being retraumatized, potentially feeling as though the incident were repeating vividly, all over again.

Sometimes in grief, especially sudden loss via bereavement, it will be a long time before the grieving person can fully state, let alone see, that the one they lost isn't coming back.

The movie Big Hero 6 shows what it's like for its protagonist, a bereaved character, to hear himself verbally expressing the words that he can't avoid anymore: "[Name of the person I lost] is gone."

Plus sitting with the effects of doing so, without avoidance. Choosing to sit with the pain that has come to the surface, since it has been heard, since he has acknowledged that it's time to try something new instead of avoiding it or pushing it away.

Hiro hears himself telling Baymax (and also himself) that "Tadashi is gone", months after he has felt a deep sense of unrest from the loss of his brother. It's a beautiful scene because just a moment later, by accident, Baymax then plays a video log of Tadashi being himself and leading a meaningful life by working hard to help others. And Hiro is able to reach this new emotional place, seeing that beauty of the life his brother lived:

and Hunter will need time to reach this new mental space.

For some months, he'll have frustration, irritability and numbness - i.e. both hyperarousal and hypoarousal - shielding him. That is, until his heart is ready to allow whatever Hiro felt above, to enter and transform him. His own grief walk would have a different rhythm, since every loss in this world has the uniqueness of a fingerprint. But he would be hitting very similar story beats as Hiro's example above, in his recovery process.

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Self-soothing:

Becoming familiar with this is going to help him ride the waves of emotions in a smoother way, as he alternates between hyperarousal and hypoarousal.

And when he feels loved or connects with his own personhood, he has visible nervous tendencies. You can see it when he twiddles his fingers while Luz gives him her attention in Hunting Palismen, and he touches his opposite shoulder and grins shyly in Any Sport in A Storm after Willow snaps the team photo, and you see him rub the left side of his face in Hollow Mind when he fondly looks back on inheriting his staff.

But the later example I wanted to show is him gripping at his left sleeve with his right hand here:

which happens just after Luz affirms him with "Can't blame you for being paranoid after everything we've been through".

C-PTSD flips your world upside down, as I mentioned earlier. The stuff that is good for him - in this case, having his emotions being affirmed - feels awkward and not natural yet. Feeling loved feels uncomfortable, instead of being naturally expected. So in fact, he tugs at his sleeve like this to self-soothe: because being listened to like this (Titan bless you, Luz!) is just that foreign to him. Over time, he'll discover more ways of self-soothing and can have a sort of toolkit ready to pull out whenever self-care is needed. And being actually loved won't be such a foreign experience for him anymore T___T

Below is an outline of C-PTSD from Medical News Today shows possible options for his treatment plan. The first is therapy itself, which I have touched on in quite a few of my metas:

Next, EMDR which is a focused and specific intervention technique: If he had his own version of Eda's scenes where she accepts the Owl Beast in Knock Knock Knockin' on Hooty's Door, that would be a great way of having this particular intervention playing out in an animated show with fantasy elements. The difference would be that a therapist would be present to guide him towards that powerful breakthrough.

And exposure therapy: This is a gradual exposure to any sensations that are similar to the horrible feeling of injuring his own palismen - so that Hunter can form new positive associations with those physical feelings in his hands.

He could help Camila in her vet as a good start, since many of those animals seem larger than palismen:

He can then try interacting with smaller-sized creatures. He could eventually play more often with his friends' palismen, and that would be a cute positive way to associate touching them and connecting with them with new memories beyond his one worst memory. After all, it's canon that they have tried reaching out to him i.e. Clover and Emmi following him around outside Eda's house.

Him borrowing Stringbean for flyer derby would be fantastic. When he starts carving lessons, Dell and Eda could be there as company to supervise him and give small demonstrations bit by bit. Even better, he could start out by just holding the wood with one hand while the other person performs the carving strokes with their hand. If Hunter is comfortable, his friends/family could sometimes hang out, watch with interest, and provide small but vital encouragements. He shouldn't be carving all alone, if there is the chance that he'd be retraumatized by spooky phantom feelings that feel like being possessed all over again.

He shouldn't be in the workshop alone until he has built up some new associations and is getting familiar with the strokes. But once he can, it's beautiful to imagine him making that space truly his own. By then, his self-soothing skills would be more polished.

In Part 1 of this little series, I talked about skills like containment and distress tolerance. He needs an environment where he is offered a balance of having his own autonomy and also a sense of safety. Sometimes, the line between those two things may become blurry e.g. me mentioning in this meta related to the grimwalker graveyard (link) that Camila and Darius may have to allow some room for him to "fall", and they'd fall together with him so he doesn't feel alone.

And as he forms closer bonds with new parental figures, his attachment style can change from disorganized attachment (which results from having a very unpredictable caregiver growing up...god, the stress in being a young kid in that environment) to secure attachment. This in turn will give his self-soothing skills a further boost.

This is where King comes in as a comparison:

He is a kid who is securely attached to their caregiver, and he has natural emotional responses to things that upset him or cross the boundaries he has put up. Instead of what Hunter has done for a long time i.e. repressing feelings to minimize harm done to him and to literally survive, along with the tendency to rationalize and intellectualize whatever upsets him, to create so much distance from the hurt that he can keep going.

King also has a good sense of personal autonomy and safety, thanks to the environment Eda raised him in. Eda's parenting style involves offering him choices, laying out the consequences for whatever choices he makes, yet unconditionally being there to protect and support him no matter how bad any past conflicts have been.

This screenshot above, showing him hugging her leg, is a foundational building block of good parenting and a healthy home. I hope Hunter gets to experience this at some level with Camila and Darius. Let him be a kid in his last few years prior to turning 18 T___T

And well...we have seen the impact that physical and emotional neglect has had on the Bad But Sad Boy: to the point that he has to reframe it as either a fun experience, or blame himself, in order to keep going. Because he wouldn't have been able to carry on if he was aware that his 'parent' had 100% bad intentions.

Perhaps the most jarring comparison between King and Hunter would be the non-verbal signs here:

King can be assertive, having his non-verbal body language be congruent with his choice of words: that he's firmly asserting himself and voicing his opinions, and I doubt he worries that Eda will cause him physical harm. His posture is tall and leaning forward. While Hunter...has to gather up immense courage to just say the words (the verbal element) while his non-verbal body language is telling us so much about the effort he's putting in to be assertive. He is shrinking into himself even as he utters those words.

King could flare up in anger and fight back, asserting himself, upon being traumatized in his Collector nightmare:

but it's not going to be this way when Hunter learns about the grimwalker graveyard...

The good news is: Hunter can still build up secure attachments with the adults in his found family whom he'll be spending the most time with. He needs it more than ever.

If Lilith - a kid who was emotionally neglected - began to feel worse after she left the Emperor's Coven:

with her long repressed painful emotions resurfacing and leaving her frightened, Hunter will go through similar as the memories of his past actions come flooding in.

The meadow where we saw Hunter carving a palisman in the finale...and any location which Dell works at, seem like they would be pleasant quiet places where anyone would feel soothed. In addition to getting more comfortable with the peaceful hopeful atmosphere of Dell's workshop, Hunter could bring his works in progress or any non-palismen creations to therapy, if he is willing to entrust the therapist with updates on how he's doing. That would be good because he'd have an additional safe space like that to share and bounce off his thoughts and ideas. Not just the space of friends/family, to do the same thing. All this is needed after years of Belos denying and dismissing any open sharing.

Last but not least, in the real world: grief and bereavement is being viewed less and less as a problematic condition to be gotten rid of, the more time passes. Which is a good sign! Because we shouldn't be expected to view mourning and remembering as a form of pathology.

Here is a tool that grief therapist and expert Dr. Joanne Cacciatore (author of a book called Bearing the Unbearable) came up with, for her clients:

It is a grief number line that doesn't pressure a client to even reduce how much they are grieving, and she lets any client have as many sessions as they want with her, to honour lost loved ones. Even if they keep coming to see her for many years. She focuses on honouring losses instead of viewing them as inconveniences or hurdles, and she doesn't even rely on the normal kind of healthcare model of setting up treatment plans. By doing this, no expectations are set for any sort of linear recovery from the pain of loss. Ultimately, she is trying to show that grief is natural, however painful it is.

The Owl House is a show with a central theme of remembering those whom we have lost, and the variety of ways in which the characters process those experiences. One of the last few scenes were 1) Luz's grief changing into a different form - I wouldn't say her grief was "reduced" - as she bid the Titan farewell and lost her use of the glyphs, and 2) around four years later, finding a new glyph from a whole new system, as King's own magical glyph system has recently awoken.

After Belos was gone for good, Hunter's life was no longer a big test in which he had his worth and survival determined by someone who had power over him. He has inherent worth, has always been good enough, and he can rest easy. Like what Luz experienced with her dad and Papa Titan, his relationship with Flapjack is changed and not lost. While remembering and honouring someone we lost can hurt, in and of itself those actions aren't "wrong".

[boilingheart]

Arcane Hunger

Pre-Relationship Gale x Male Tav (Lucius Skorn) Takes place in early Act 1. Magical items stopped working for Gale a while ago, and the symptoms have kept coming. The Ilmatari cleric Lucius wakes in the middle of the night to find Gale in the woods, pained and tormented by the Orb in his chest. With nothing else left to treat it, Lucius comes up with an idea to sate it. Rated T Read on AO3 See: Kitchen Territory for another Gale/Lucius slow burn one shot

This was a life lived on the precipice of peril.

Four centuries as the hunter and the hunted. From the delicate youth of a fawn to the wolf whose maw it was made for, to a broken dog leashed by its masters and starved — Lucius learned well not to sleep through anything. In rest is vulnerability, and every small sound in the night is the potential for a great threat.

This was the first lesson his father taught him the second he’d heard that tell-tale jingle of a belt buckle. A lesson he carried as a thief, then a leader, and then a slave.

If the foliage rustles, there’s an enemy nearby. A threat to the coalition, an incoming attack — many times in the night during the Lockjaws’ camp, Lucius had caught all sorts of aspiring predators intent on ending their reign.

Floorboards creaking, rusty doors squeaking, the faint pitter patter of feet upon the ground — Lucius never took any risks. Most of the time, it had been nothing. Others, there was the impending dagger incoming, followed by a corpse that was not his own on the floor.

The alert are victorious. The survivors are the winners. 

Lucius will not be flayed.

His head snaps up, hands instinctively reaching for their daggers as he whirls to his knees with vigilance. Try him, someone fucking try him, is all he can think, but as he blinks the sleep out of his eyes, he finds there’s no one there.

Once again, he has woken to nothing.

Lucius doesn’t rest his daggers just yet, still staying frozen in position in case anyone did dare enter his tent. One moment, two moments and three, his heart beats and echoes in his ears in time with the wind, but nothing comes.

Of course nothing comes.

He sheathes his daggers and rubs his face. How long has it been since he had a full night’s rest? Years? Decades? Centuries? Had he ever had a full, undisturbed rest? He can’t help but recall the one night Father Lorgan woke him in the middle of the night, and Lucius had very nearly assailed him before recognition flooded. Even in the two years of peace at the Open Hand Temple, he hadn’t been able to find rest.

Being in the forest with tadpoles in their heads isn’t making it any easier.

He’s about to convince himself to lay back down and sleep when he hears a noise again. His ears flick back, and he holds perfectly still. An animal? A voice? Has someone gotten up in the middle of the night?

He peeks his head out of his tent. Nothing looks out of the ordinary. The half-moon illuminates the tents with a gentle caress of blue, and the wind rustles the leaves with a soft layer of noise to fill the silence. There’s the chitter of distant nighttime animals and the occasional buzz of little bugs that have their own homes nearby. By all means, it’s a lovely night, and as far as he can tell, no one has gotten up. Gentle snores emit from the tents, and even the camp animals sleep soundly. 

Great. No source. Lucius sighs, retrieving his cloak and daggers, and decides to slip out and search around for himself. There’s no rest until he knows what it is.

And whatever it is, it feels… off.

He slips into the woods quietly, the muscle memory of a rogue taking over and carrying him with swift stealthy steps. Like a wraith, he slips through the foliage silently, unencumbered by the weight of any armor, free to stalk and to listen. Hundreds upon hundreds of times he and his gang had found themselves in forests, climbing the trees, hiding within the plants, staging the perfect ambush against those who pass by. Merchants, rival guilds, the Zhent, nobles – anyone they decided to make their victim that day. Not even daylight could stop these beasts of blood — but that was a lifetime ago. Yet still, that shadow does not leave the cleric.

Step by step, halt, listen. The wind whistles. The leaves rustle. Nothing new. Step, step, ascend, investigate, stop — and there, he hears it: labored breathing, like something, or someone is injured.

Something cold shoots through his veins. Adrenaline or fear? The sound is too humanoid to be an animal, which is far, far worse than what Lucius wanted to hear.

If they need help, they need it fast.

But if they need help, whatever put them here could still be lurking.

One quiet step after another. He has a dagger out, ready for any wrong move to try him. Step by step, he follows that hollow sound, feeling something in the pit of his gut turn when it starts to sound familiar. He’s close now — it’s most certainly humanoid, and they’re in pain, no doubt. But how? And who? And why —

He rounds a tree, and feels his blood turn to ice at the sight of a wizard’s signature purple sleepwear.

“Gale!”

Caution be damned! All thoughts of it melt away in alarm at finding Gale drenched in sweat, propped up against a tree trunk with a hand pressed tightly against his glowing chest. His head is thrown back, expression twisted and eyes screwed tight in agony, and he doesn’t seem to respond to Lucius in the slightest.

Is this fear?

“Gale, hey, Gale!” Lucius shakes his shoulder, only for Gale’s brows to scrunch further. “Gale, look at me. Hey, are you alright? Please look at me.”

Gale lets out a pained breath, peeking an eye open. They look unfocused, as if they can barely see Lucius in the slightest. It takes a few breaths before his lips quirk to a strained smirk and he gets his voice to work. “Hi.”

“The fuck you mean hi — Gale —” Lucius searches him for any injuries, his hands held out with a spell at the ready. There didn’t seem to be any visible wounds, and nothing quite off with Gale aside from the dirt and grass stains that now adorned the rich purple of his clothes. Well, aside from… 

His eyes trail up, and beneath Gale’s hand at his sternum, he can see the markings of the Netherese Orb glow up his neck and to the corner of his eye. The purple hue intensifies rhythmically, as if beating in tune with Gale's quickening heart. Lucius’ hairs stand on end.

“What’s happening to you? Why are you out here?”

Gale tries to laugh. It dies in his throat. “I was just… trying to get some air…”

“You look like you’re dying, Gale.”

“Well I certainly hope that’s not the case,” He says, struggling to get the words out. He digs the palm of his heel harder into his chest. “I’m… too close to camp.”

“Don’t tell me you were trying to go find some place to die.”

“No, no,” He takes a deep breath. “I-I just needed air.”

How long had he been out here? How long has the Orb been tearing him apart like this beyond what Lucius could tell? Had he been hiding the severity since the artefacts stopped working? Lucius raises his hands, a curing spell upon his fingertips, but there’s no place to put them. What would he do? What can he do?

Gale’s eyes are squeezed shut again, riding another wave of pain while Lucius sits on his haunches uselessly. He didn’t hear him get up. He should’ve checked on him. He should’ve thought of something. Lucius bites down the terror and buries it in its grave in his chest to speak.

“Tell me how I can help you.”

“Lucius…”

“There’s – There’s got to be something I can do,” Lucius says, leaning in closer. “Anything!”

Gale cranes his head, opening his eyes to look at Lucius as best as he can. He can barely focus. “I just need to ride this out. The Orb won’t feed anymore. I can’t… It’s fine, Lucius.”

“This is very much not fine! You’re not getting rid of me that easily, Gale.”

“I’ve had these episodes before, this is… nothing I can’t handle.”

“Sure, sure…”

Maybe he can’t help him. But he can at the very least keep him from suffering alone in the woods.

Resolute, Lucius makes up his mind. The prepared spell drops, and he slides one hand behind Gale’s back to prop him up. He slides his cloak off and wraps it around the wizard.

“What are you —”

“You see, here’s your first mistake, Gale,” Lucius says, hugging Gale close to him. With ease, he secures his other hand under Gale’s knees and hoists him up. “You’re telling a cleric of Ilmater to let you suffer alone. I think you should know by now that I’m not letting that happen.”

Gale tenses as he’s suddenly lifted, curling in closer to Lucius and shutting his eyes. “Please put me down.”

“And just let you rot in the woods? Come on, Gale.”

“There isn’t anything —”

“To the Hells with that. Maybe I can’t stop the Orb…” Lucius makes certain he has a good hold on Gale before heading back towards the camp. “But the very least I can do is keep you company.”

Gale is both lighter and heavier than he expects. Lighter, in that it was significantly easier to lift him than he imagined it would be. Heavier, in that the man is real, warm, solid, and in his arms. The darling wizard that’s had Lucius spinning dizzy for some time now was now cradled close to him. Gale likely isn’t able to fight back against him, for which Lucius feels a crumb of guilt over. He hates to whisk someone away when they don’t want it — but with how Gale collapses into himself, not taking his hand off his chest for a second and screws his eyes tight, he can’t help but feel he has no choice but to watch over him, or at the very least keep him where he can see him. Where he’s not exposed to the elements and gods forbid whatever else might be out there.

He treads the outskirts of the camp, circling away from where the others are sleeping in order to get to his own tent a little ways off. He’s long since learned that not many of the others are quite… fond of Lucius, which means his tent has the least amount of traffic in the camp. An advantage in this case, seeing that Gale needs to be away from the others in such a vulnerable state like this.

He hunches into the entrance, crouching low until he’s able to safely lay Gale down on his bedroll without tussling him, resting his head gently on his pillow. Gale peers up at him through squinted eyes, trying to follow him as Lucius closes up his tent and begins to rummage through the baskets and satchels he had around.

“Lucius…”

“Not a word, Gale,” Lucius says, pulling out a small crate from under his makeshift desk. “I’m sure you’ve got plenty of protests and excuses and other words to try and discourage me from helping you, but they will be on deaf ears, my friend.”

Gale stays silent for a moment. When Lucius looks back at him, he has his head turned away.

“I just have to ride it out in waves,” Gale says weakly. At the very least he seems to have caught his breath a little. “Whatever it is you’re going to do, I’d rather save you the time. I’ve tried to feed it already. It doesn’t work.”

“Mm, I’m sure you have. I don’t doubt it. But if you’re just going with rings and trinkets, I just don’t think it’s strong enough.”

“Lucius —”

“Here, but first,” Lucius pulls out a rag, giving it a quick sniff to make sure it’s clean and dusts it off. With the quick incantation of a water spell, the rag soaks, dripping onto the floor. “Whoops, shit —”

He folds it neatly, wringing out the excess, and gently wipes down Gale’s face. Gale closes his eyes, but allows Lucius to move him when he brings his other hand to turn his head, bringing the cool, soft rag across his cheek, his nose, his chin and his temple. The process is automatic, for which Lucius is grateful for. In the Open Hand Temple, they’d sometimes take in the sick who needed help, and as one of the adorned who worked with the medicines, Lucius was often tasked with caring for them. The feverish, the elderly, all those who needed someone to care for them but were utterly alone. That’s what the Ilmatari are for. To help bear those burdens for those who couldn’t carry it. They take their places on the rack and bear it for them, for no one should suffer if they don’t have to.

He refreshes the rag and refolds it, laying it horizontally across Gale’s forehead. He’s done it a hundred times before, sometimes for faces that he often forgot, and for the faces who only had the Temple to go to. And though muscle memory shields Lucius from any strong feelings, he finds himself resting his hand over the rag, lost in observing Gale’s features up close. There’s no denying he’s a beautiful man, no matter how many times Lucius tries to convince himself otherwise. Soft brows, hooded eyelids, long lashes, laugh lines, a well kept beard, and those dark veins at Gale’s left eye that connected to his Netherese scar — he has to catch himself lest he linger for too long watching over him tenderly. It’s not appropriate.

“There we are,” He says, clearing his throat and patting the rag on his forehead before moving to the other side of the tent. “That should help you cool down. Let me see if there was any tea I salvaged. A good cup of tea ought to do you some good. Tea usually helps. Tea’s good.”

He can hear Gale huff with amusement. That’s good. He’s coming back to himself somewhat. He rummages through his inventory, trying not to bang all the pots and pans he’s found around in their travels, and finally manages to find some flowers he knows in his heart to have medicinal properties.

“I don’t have sugar on me. And I ate the last of my honey yesterday, so you’re going to have a bitter brew,” Lucius says out loud while he tries to arrange the shittiest set up of a teapot to boil without a stove or proper bonfire to boil at. He sets a wide copper pan missing its handle upside down on his table, a miniature brazier frame atop of it, and the dinked up teapot he’d salvaged on top. Water incantation fills it, and he flicks his fingers to try and light the brazier.

“Are… Are you starting a fire inside your tent?”

“Hm? Oh, no, not at all.”

“It very much looks like a homemade stove there.”

“Yes, but it’s not fire,” He pokes a finger onto the piece of charcoal laid in the metal frame. “Incende. Sacred flame cantrip — I was never good at the fire one.”

“Still technically fire.”

The made up stove lights up. “It’s sacred flame. Radiant. It’s different.”

“You’re using it to ignite something. It’s fire now.”

“But it’s holy fire.”

“Fire regardless.”

“I’m not going to burn this down, I’ve done this before,” Lucius says with a laugh, settling back onto his haunches to open the box he’d pulled out. “And even if I do, I have a water spell on hand. I’m glad I took the time to learn it. Never needed to use it so often than when I got stuck out here.”

“Oh, I hear that,” Gale huffs, wincing again as the Orb seems to coil him with pain. When he speaks again, it’s with significant strain. “I’ve gone through a handful of spells in my day I took for granted. Up until the moment I needed them.”

“That’s always how it goes, isn’t it.”

He crab-walks towards Gale, dragging the box with him. Gale cranes his head up, the rag covering his brows to create the illusion of an angry look on his face. “What are you doing?”

“You know, when you first told me about your whole uh, condition thing,” Lucius says, sticking his hand into the box and clattering all the various objects inside. “I actually went through the effort of hoarding all sorts of magical items that I could find.”

Gale’s expression softens. “Oh! That’s… very appreciated.”

“I mean I got a lot, Gale.” Lucius holds Gale’s gaze as he knocks the box over, spilling all of the items on the floor. A shortbow, daggers with various runic inscriptions, a dozen rings, a handful of necklaces that have tangled into each other, several maces, an axe, some crumpled scrolls, two pairs of gloves, a helmet that belonged to a halfling once upon a time, and other trinkets covered by the mess of items. Gale watches as all of the objects pour out and onto the floor, staring at it wordlessly, then back up at Lucius, then back to the pile.

“When did you… H-How did you… Where did…”

“This might sound hard to believe,” Lucius says, rubbing the back of his neck. “But I used to be a… pickpocket, back in the day. There were just too many useful magical stuff we were finding and not very much I was able to spare, and it was scaring me. So, whenever we got to some higher crowds, I… went ahead and relieved some of them of their excess weight.”

Gale stares at the pile. “That is a lot of stuff.”

“I wasn’t about to let you starve.”

There’s a moment of silence while the two of them watched each other. Lucius can feel the distance between them — they were still strangers to each other for the most part, even if Lucius had suddenly found himself with an inexplicable infatuation for the wizard. He has no doubt he’s put Gale in an awkward position, having whisked him away bridal style into his tent while his ailment ate away at him, leaving him at his most vulnerable. He won’t pretend to understand Gale’s life story, or how this condition has treated him, or what he’s normally used to under those circumstances. He just knows that he can do what he can to ensure he can lift that burden in any way, and he wants Gale to know that he’s willing to do so.

And from that look on his face, perhaps Gale wasn’t expecting that Lucius would at all.

He tries not to feel anything about that. He hasn’t given many reasons for the camp to like him much, and that’s fine. But he’s willing to go through the effort for them. He’s not sure anyone has fully realized it just yet.

Gale’s expression drops to one more solemn, and Lucius feels his heart sink with it. “I don’t even know if this will work.”

“Will you at least try? I know you said it’s not sating the hunger anymore, but… maybe the doses were too small. Maybe you need a big go all at once. It’s… like a neverending maw, isn’t it? One ring a week can’t keep you going forever.”

Gale presses his lips together. “Are you sure you don’t want to keep some of it? It just… it all looks so valuable, Lucius, I —”

“Quit looking for excuses and let me help you damn it!” Lucius snaps, louder than he expects. It shuts Gale right up, sure, but the last thing he wanted to do was raise his voice at this man. He rubs his face, dropping into a proper seat on the floor. “Look… I told you. I set this stuff aside for you specifically. I hid this from everyone else for a reason. You think Astarion and Shadowheart wouldn’t go crazy for some of this stuff? I left it out of the inventory logs. What I gave you to help before came from this pile. Except the first one, of course, as you kind of caught me off guard — but still.”

Lucius doesn’t want to make assumptions about this man. He would think it’d be a little easier for a man of his caliber to understand and accept gifts. He pressed the urgency for having something to sate him, but now he wants to back off? Why can’t he just let him? And why can’t Lucius just let it go?

Why is it filling him with such a deep, profound sadness that Gale is hesitating?

Gale sits up, slow in his movements and carefully pulling his hand off his chest, as if doing it too fast would cause something to spill violently, the other taking the rag off his head. Up into a criss cross, he slouches dejectedly, staring at the vaguely glowing pile of goods.

“I appreciate it, Lucius, please don’t mistaken me,” Gale says softly, rubbing a hand down his face. “It’s just… I don’t know. It hurts sometimes. Not just… physically. I’m a wizard, Lucius, I command control over the Weave. I dedicate my life to studying it. It was more than just my everything. My very being, intertwined with me, at my fingertips. Even Mystra herself, the mother of magic, had caressed me once with such divine power — and now I’m…”

The Orb glows under his shirt, and he grinds his teeth as it gnaws on him from the inside out. Lucius can almost feel it. That dark, radiating magnetic power — subtle enough that Lucius could ignore it if he didn’t know what he was looking for, but strong enough that if he does, he can feel the pull of it towards Gale’s chest. It seethes and it burns and claws and chews. He can see how it’s left bruises over his skin.

“I know I brought this on myself. It’s the consequences of my own actions, my own hubris, but it doesn’t make the burden any lighter. The Orb… all it does is consume. It takes, and it takes from me. Magic is my lifeblood, and now I’m doomed to spend the rest of my life destroying it, lest it kill me and bring catastrophe to everything and everyone else unfortunate enough to be nearby.”

He takes a deep breath, exhaling it slowly. Trying to keep control. Lucius lets the silence balance, lest he knock something over with words.

“These are all very nice things, Lucius. I just… I hate that this is what it’s made of me. To consume and destroy the Weave. Magic that is my world. So many powerful and valuable items intertwined with it in this world that I’ve destroyed because I took something too far. I can’t help but feel that I am robbing you of so much utility for something I can no longer sate…”

Lucius casts his gaze back to the pile. Sure, there were some things in there he could find use for. He had already plucked some things out of the box a couple times when he realized he could make use of some of the rings and such in there, but… for the most part, Lucius felt no attachment to them. He knew when he lifted these items that they were going to be destroyed, and it was a sacrifice he was willing to make. 

He decides to be a little brave and moves to sit beside Gale, close enough that their arms touch, catching his gaze. Gale makes considerable effort to focus on him, and though he’s more conscious now, it’s clear it’s taking every ounce of energy he’s got into this conversation.

“Gale, I literally let a highly suspicious vampire feed on my literal blood on the regular to sate him.”

Gale can’t help but honk a laugh at that, shaking his head.

“Look at me, Gale, I’m serious! It sounds funny, mostly because it is, but this is where I’m coming from. You think someone who’s letting in a spawn walk around the camp — and let us not forget, I am a cleric here — that I’m going to just call you, a chronically ill wizard, a burden?”

“Now, to be fair, I am quite literally a walking bomb —”

“Everyone here has some weird shit going on!” Lucius says. “Sure, not everyone’s about to blow up, but you think you’re the only one with baggage? The only one here who isn’t worth saving? A vampire spawn. A Sharran cleric. Noah being Noah. Infernal engine lady. A githyanki warrior — well, her deal is more a culture shock than anything but I won’t digress, ‘cause listen, I thought at least Wyll was the normal one here, and then it turns out he’s a fucking warlock!”

On the tip of his tongue, the precipice of his mind, Lucius imagines for one wild moment that he spills his own story to Gale. That he admits the kind of person that he was — still is, even. That he’s only been a cleric for two years, that he spent decades in prison prior to that, several more decades as a slave before that, and centuries being the absolute worst, rotten filth in Faerûn with the Lockjaw Gang. The blood of hundreds, mostly innocent, stains his hands always and forever. He still remembers the feeling of his hand around a dagger, blades plunged into flesh just for the thrill of it. How he’d first begun robbing for money and stability to live, and then became so good at it he just did it because it was fun. A horrific, terrifying menace, Lord Skorn, so awful that there had once been rumors that he was a Bhaalist —

But he doesn’t say any of it. And he knows Gale won’t ask. As far as anyone knew, he used to be a rogue, served time for being one, and found Ilmater when he came out. It’s good enough. No one needs to know. His scars and his tattoos speak for themselves.

“Besides,” Lucius continues, bumping his shoulder. “You’ll hurt my feelings if you don’t accept this. I got all of this for you, Gale. If you let it go to waste, I will be mad. Is that good enough for you?”

Gale looks at him, taking a moment longer than normal to process his words before scoffing, shaking his head. “Fine. So be it. I suppose you’re right. All this effort just to go to waste…”

“Exactly. Now, come on. I can’t stand to see you like this. You have to at least try.”

Gale takes a deep breath, staring down at the pile of magical items. Lucius plucks the rag out of his hands and scoots to give him some space. It takes the wizard a moment to find his bearings, and he watches his expression change as he drops his hands on top of the pile. Hunger. A ravenous, desperate, wild look, one Lucius had only seen on the most spurned of men who’d never been spared a moment of kindness or earned enough gold to live. The look of a starved wolf, manic over the bones of a long since picked at carcass, desperate to find even a modicum of flesh still left on the kill. The look Lucius had seen in his own eyes, his own reflection as a child when winter came, and neither he or his father were able to secure enough food before getting stuck in the snow. The look in his eyes the day he decided to cut his father’s own throat out —

Here comes the glow. Each of the items light up in a vivid violet, illuminating the tent with its brightness as they begin to pull like magnets towards Gale’s hands. Lucius had watched him consume these kinds of items before, but never this many. Never more than one at most. It was always fascinating to watch the ring or pair of gloves or mace disintegrate into Gale’s hands and feed into his chest, but this, oh, this was different. This, Lucius feels, shows him a better glimpse on the extent of the hunger, the raw, visceral, chaotic magic that plagues the wizard. It has never glowed this bright before, rattled and tangled and crumpled in on itself on its way to Gale’s hands, leaving fettering trails of flaky purple dust and an electric sting to the air. The magic funnels through and around Gale, siphoning into the center of his chest with a vacuum of sound. Sitting this close, he can almost feel the pull of the Orb, and finds himself leaning back out of sheer instinct as the items disintegrate.

He doesn’t want to call it beautiful, because it feels like a cruel thing to say to such a sight. It’s a horrible thing, this Orb and its hunger. What it does to Gale. But it’s an awe inspiring sight. The magic paints the tent in a violet hue, and he can almost taste it in the air, potent and raw as it breaks and breaks and breaks towards Gale. One by one, each item loses its form and becomes nothing. The tangled necklaces become one, and then become none. The rings lose their shape and become dust. Weapons that have likely slain many forgotten faces in the past are rendered useless. Fodder. Consumed.

Perhaps Lucius had simply always found beauty in destruction. 

Perhaps that’s what made Lucius an unforgivable man.

Eventually, the pile is rendered to nothing. Just a light trail of pink smoke to ever hint that anything existed at all. Gale still swells with magic, his hands pressed tightly over his sternum as if to cram all of it into the Orb and keep it there. His expression is screwed tight with pain, and Lucius wishes he could alleviate it, wishes he could reach out and smooth out those creases with his thumb and hold him close.

(How much longer can he pretend that these kinds of thoughts are platonic? How many times can he tell himself that it’s simply because he is Ilmatari that he feels things like this? It is his duty to bear these burdens, yes, but such feelings of care never did come naturally to Lucius. It has always been an active effort to bring himself to care about anything or anyone. Why it comes so easily when with Gale… well, how can he keep pretending there isn’t merit to these thoughts?)

The Orb releases him, and Gale slumps, the tension loose from his body after the effort it took. It startles Lucius so much that he immediately has his hands to catch him before he can fully understand what was going on. Did it hurt? Did he faint? Did it work?

“Gale, hey hey, are you okay?”

Gale trembles in his hold, and after a moment, he turns, suddenly burying himself into Lucius’ chest. Lucius freezes, unsure what to do or where to move. Gale is warm. He’s a comfortable weight, and he fits so nicely in his arms. He fell into his arms — he is seeking him out.

But he’s shaking.

Lucius rests his hands on Gale’s back tentatively, feeling Gale cling onto Lucius’ shirt. Lucius prays that it’s relief that Gale feels, that he’s simply overwhelmed with it and overjoyed with it, but he knows in the pit of his gut that it’s probably not true.

He asks anyways, in case the gods decided to grant them mercy.

“Did it work?”

His voice is a whisper. 

Gale takes a sharp breath. He’s crying.

“No.”

Lucius closes his eyes, feeling his chest twist at the confirmation. He was sure. He was so, so sure this would work… 

He wraps his arms around Gale tight, pulling him in close, and Gale throws his arms around Lucius just as tight in turn, clinging onto him. His cries are quiet, composed mostly of sharp breaths. A despair Lucius can only imagine. The pit of his gut churns with frustration at how helpless he is to the situation. Lucius rocks gently in the embrace, resting his chin atop Gale’s head and staying silent, letting him take all the time he needs to gather himself. Or to fall apart. If Gale needed to shatter, Lucius would be here to piece him together if he had to. 

Either way, Gale won’t be alone. He’ll be here. He’ll hold onto him.

He doesn’t know how long they stay here like this, but eventually, Gale does manage to settle his breaths and find the strength to pull away. He doesn’t look up at Lucius, though he can see how disheveled his hair has become and the puffiness in his eyes from the emotion. Lucius wordlessly hands him the wet rag, and Gale accepts it, wiping his face.

Silence hangs between him. Lucius wonders if that distance between them has grown any shorter than when he last felt it earlier, or if it’s become a chasm now with the raw wound on his pride.

Gale unfolds the rag, draping the entirety of it against his face, covering him completely as he keeps it pressed against his eyes. After a moment longer, Gale clears his throat, intending on gathering his bearings as quickly as possible.

“... You should check on your fire hazard.”

“My wh—”

Ah. The shitty teapot on his shitty made up stove.

“Martyred Father…”

Lucius springs up in a hurry, nearly tripping over the box he discarded and extinguishes the heat with a cantrip. The water has since boiled, some of it evaporated with the time that’s passed. He retrieves one of his chipped mugs, placing the flowers and herbs into it before pouring the hot water in. In a perfect world, he’d have some cinnamon, perhaps some cream. Some sugars and some honey. A nice, new mug with different painted decals, one that wasn’t chipped. And he’d have a real stove, a real bed, running water and a fire in a fireplace. He’d make all of this look nicer, taste nicer, feel nicer, and they’d be comfortable.

But instead, it’s their salvaged resources out in the wilds, a sewed up tent, parasites in their skulls and a ticking time bomb in a man that’s slowly convincing Lucius that there may just be some merit in the stories people tell about falling in love.

He hopes that making the tea is giving Gale enough time to recover, enough distance to patch himself up from the vulnerability he’s just exposed to Lucius. He knows keenly what this moment was, and he knows that it’ll be raw for a while. He won’t poke it. He won’t push him further than he has to. This is sacred, and this is important. He will hold it in the cup of his hands gently and take care of the trust Gale has given him in this moment, and he will simply do what he can to help him without wounding him.

Sure enough, by the time Lucius returns with the mug, Gale has laid back down, the rag folded now over his eyes and brow, and his hands clasped together over his belly. His breathing was more even, and he was more collected than he left him.

“It’ll take a few minutes for all the flowers and stuff to seep in the water,” Lucius says, mostly to announce his presence as he sits back down beside Gale. “Water’s still clear. Needs a sec before it gets that nice amber color. Wish I had sugar.”

“You’ve been sweet enough to me already,” Gale says quietly, though not moving from his position. “That’ll be enough to get me through the tea.”

Lucius huffs with amusement. His gaze can’t help but travel to the markings on Gale’s chest. The Orb doesn’t feel nearly as unstable as it did earlier, but it was still glowing, still etching into the wizard’s skin. 

He decides to ask the delicate question. “How are you feeling?”

Gale takes one long, slow deep breath. “Admittedly, better. The pain is… somewhat duller, but still…” He shrugs. “... still pain. That amount of magic should’ve held me off for at least a month. Now it just…”

He scowls. Lucius can already imagine the types of things he’s readying up to say. Apologetic and avoiding the subject of how he actually feels.

So Lucius answers. “It’s still hungry.”

Gale sighs. “Yes. Very much so.”

Lucius sets the mug aside, rubbing his hands together in thought. The fact that there was relief gained was good. It meant he could treat it somewhat, but getting a hold of that many magical items again just for a temporary amount of relief was going to be difficult to maintain. Gale says it comes in waves, so it won’t always be this bad, but it also means that he’s in constant pain. 

The thought twists something in his gut. There were a few moments recently during various combative encounters that Gale wasn’t able to focus on his spells completely. His missteps cost Lucius and Wyll a great deal of trouble with the goblins, and were it not for Shadowheart, they’d have seen a greater deal of blood on their end. He feels guilty for not noticing it before. Every moment he’s had with Gale where he seemed off was recontextualized now, and by the Rack it ached to think about. 

There had to be something he could do. Anything. A steady stream of magic to at least take the edge off, and at least provide him some relief so he’s not panting in the woods at the dead of night.

Lucius looks down at his hands. An idea brews in his mind.

“The magic helped a little though, didn’t it?” Lucius asks. “You’re at least not falling apart at the seams anymore.”

“It’s definitely helped me feel… present,” Gale says. “I… still feel like it’s going to start eating me alive at any second if I move the wrong way.”

“Do you mind if I try something else?”

Gale turns his head a little, carefully raising a hand to peek out from the rag. “Don’t tell me you have another box full of stolen items.”

“Haha, not magical ones,” Lucius says, scooting over to sit closer to Gale. He holds up a hand, feeling divinity flow through his fingertips. “I… have a theory I’d like to try. I think at this point anything is worth a shot, right?”

Gale squints at him, his gaze flickering between him and his glowing hand. There’s a quirk of his lips. “Are you putting me down?”

“Yes, actually, that was exactly what I was about to do, you caught me,” He waves his hand around. “No, Gale. You need to consume magic, don’t you?”

“The Weave, yes…”

“Well… I don’t really control the Weave like you do. Actually, I’m not sure if what I control counts as the Weave — but what I do know is this,” Lucius brings his hand closer to Gale, still tentative, and holding it so Gale can push it away no problem if he doesn't want any part. “The magic I wield is given to me by my god. Ilmater, the One Who Endures — He preaches that we must take on the burdens of others so they do not have to suffer. What’s a more noble cause for Ilmater to intervene in than to call for His power to alleviate this ailment of yours?”

Gale scrunches his brows in thought, his eyes flickering away as he tries to run the theory over in his mind. “... I can’t say I’ve tried feeding off of the magic of holy items or the equivalent thereof - though, that is mostly because I’ve not come across any of them in my tower, nor a cleric to boot. In theory, I don’t think the Orb will respond to it — you and I wield very different magics. I, of the Art, and you, of the Power — but again, I haven’t tested it. It’s… Hmm, it could be an alternative source…” His gaze flicks back to Lucius. “But… won’t it exhaust you? I don’t know how much it will need to take. It’s one thing for me to take your material things, but an entirely different thing to take from you directly.”

“Oh holy Martyred Father — Gale what did I just say? Cleric. Of. Ilmater. I let a fucking vampire take from me. Stop stopping me, damn you.”

“I’m just —”

“Stop it. Seriously!” Lucius huffs. “If you don’t want to try it because the magics don’t mix or for some other hypothetical reason that puts you on edge, that’s perfectly fine. But if you’re refusing it because you think I’m going to lose something from it or whatever, please don’t. I’m telling you right now I want to help you, and through the power vested in me by the God of Endurance, I assure you I could absolutely fucking handle it.”

Gale lets out a puff of air, looking up in thought. The Orb still glows, painfully so, and Lucius can see him running through all sorts of ideas in his head.

Finally, the wizard seems to settle, leveling his gaze back to Lucius. “... Fine. I have to admit, I am rather curious what sorts of effects divine magic will have on me.”

“There we go, there’s the nerd in you.”

“You caught me. I am always a sucker for testing theories.”

“If it doesn’t work or has a worse effect, we can stop and save the trouble, if that makes you feel better.”

“That sounds good to me.” Gale sits up, pointing a daunting finger at Lucius. “But you have to promise me that if at any point during this you experience a significant amount of pain, you must stop.”

“If it stings a little, I can bear through it man —”

“You must promise me that, Lucius Skorn. If it feels like this Orb is a threat to your life and safety, you will stop.”

Lucius tilts his head a few times in thought. “Alright. Fine.”

“Promise?”

“I swear it on my Lord.”

“Thank you.” Gale settles back down, staring straight at the tent’s ceiling ahead. “Your God is watching you, so I do hope you keep to your word.”

“Har har.”

A buzz of excitement flows through him. If this works, then they’ve found a solution to hold them off enough until they can find another alternative. Just kneeling before Gale, preparing to use the powers given to him feels holy in and of itself. Though Lucius’ connection with Ilmater has been somewhat hazy these days, his magic still flows strong, and he swears it feels even stronger as he summons divinity through his veins here. 

Lucius rests his hand over the Orb in Gale’s chest, light to the touch before fully committing. In his mind, he calls out to Ilmater, seeking a pathway to that holy power, hoping to tap into the very vein of it and channel it in one go. “Ilmater, the Tortured God, the God of Endurance, holy Martyred Father on the Rack — grant me your power to bear this burden. Give me the strength to carry it on my shoulders, offer me your divinity to alleviate my friend. Allow me, Ilmater, to take his place on the rack.”

Gale closes his eyes, and Lucius follows. There’s a moment of fear that flickers through him. What if Ilmater doesn’t respond? What if he calls out for his power and nothing happens? What if he just made a fool of himself here, and has nothing to show for?

Cruel, cruel thoughts. Purge them, cleric, and open yourself. Self doubt will get you nowhere. Bear this burden, Lucius.

The power runs through him like a shock of cold water dumped on him all at once. It crashes through his heart and travels through his veins, overflowing through his fingertips in a flurry. The Orb glows viciously, and he feels the magnetism of it pull his hand closer against Gale’s chest, pressing against him with far too much pressure. He can barely move the hand — he plants his free one on the bedroll beside Gale to keep balanced, and feels Gale immediately snap to clutch it tightly. Gale writhes with the power that flows, the glow reaching to the veins of his eye as divinity spills from Lucius’ hand into him.

Lucius has to grit his teeth to stay rooted and keep control over the sudden power coursing through him. “Is it working?!”

Gale can barely respond. His other hand has gripped Lucius�� wrist as it funnels the power, and he’s kicked his knees up to dig his heels into the bedroll, his breath caught in his throat. It makes Lucius run cold with fear, but when he begins to pull the magic away from him, Gale only pulls his arm in.

“I’m okay,” He hisses through grit teeth. “It’s… It’s doing something. Don’t stop.”

Lucius nods, and lets the magic continue to flow. The Orb has begun to shift in hue, the violets and blues changing to that of the golden oranges and yellows that Lucius funnels into him. Gale’s grip is tight against him, clawing through his sleeves and digging into his skin hard enough to leave bruises. Lucius grinds his teeth as he tries to keep his balance. He’d witnessed the hunger itself only once before when Gale had him place his hand over his heart and project the memory of the Orb through their tadpoles. But being on the other end of it, feeling an incorporeal force latch onto him and try to tear him away, all teeth and jaws and a bottomless pit of a stomach, oh, it does scare him. Every time the Orb pulls and licks at skin that his holy magic didn’t cover, it fills him with an overwhelming visceral fear, a force so strong that Lucius wonders if it’s even his at all.

The Orb pulses. Waves of magnetism shake both of the men, throttling them and pulling them into its center, knocking Lucius off balance and nearly collapsing on Gale. He remembers being told that the Orb will erupt. That just a fraction of this power is enough to level a city the size of Waterdeep. He aggravates it now with his magic, feeding it something other than the Weave, this hungry thing. It pulls and pulls, and Lucius can’t move his arm. He might be damning them. He might just kill them both, kill everyone in this camp. He might just ruin everything, ruin everyone, ruin it all.

But the divine magic is a fount he can’t stop, a waterfall that pours and pours into a maw that takes and takes. Could he possibly hope to feed it all? To satisfy it enough? How does one feed that which never stops hungering?

(How do you feed yourself, when you yearn and ache and writhe with hunger that you can’t seem to kick? When you travel the world after seeing bars and chains for years, and look for something, anything that can feed you? Can a soul ever be nourished? Can a curse ever be cured? Could the starving ever be full?)

Gale pants, throwing his head back. His breaths are uneven, and the magic seems to render him speechless. How far do they go? Is Gale present enough to figure out when they should stop? Is Lucius sane enough to let go even if it becomes too much? The force of it takes the strength out of Lucius, and he finds himself hunched over Gale, bracing his weight on his forearm on the ground and his head dropped onto Gale’s shoulder while the magic pours. Gale’s back arches, pressing further into the magic, hand still tightly wrapped around Lucius’ wrist. Like magnets they cling to each other, every ounce of their beings and the powers that claim them tangle them together, choking the breaths out of them.

It’s almost addicting, the way it feels. Like two pieces that fit together perfectly, however destructive. But Lucius always did find beauty in destruction, didn’t he?

Just when he thinks it’s becoming too much, he starts to feel the force weaken, as if the Orb was starting to release its jaws off of Lucius. Gale no longer writhes as violently, resting back onto the bedroll flat, his grip on loosening. Even the fountain of power gifted to Lucius begins to pull back, as if it too had begun to sense that it was ending. The golden glow of the Orb against Gale’s skin starts to shimmer and dim, no longer violent and uncontrolled. A burden slowly relieved, slowly lifted. 

Though the power begins to dissipate from them, Lucius still feels his hand stuck to his chest. The last bit of holy power drains from him, and he starts to feel the world spin around him. His mouth is dry, and he’s starting to wonder when the last time he breathed was. His knees slide out, leaving him practically laying on his side with his hand still stuck, his elbow bent high in the air as the last ribbons of gold flutter through. It seems like Gale’s not in pain anymore. That’s good. That’s very good. He’s not sure what he would do if after all of this, there was still nothing to be gained.

Everything flickers. Lucius blinks hard. It becomes difficult to tell whether he’s stopped channeling the magic or not.

A bit of humor washes over him. It feels funnily similar to nights that Astarion drinks a little too much from him.

Gale's hands wrap around his wrist, gentler now, and in one swift motion, he plucks Lucius’ hand off of his chest, severing the connection completely. Golden flakes of dust flutter away from his fingertips as the magic stops, and the Orb finally quiets. The relief wipes Lucius out instantly, all the tension in his body uncoiling and dropping next to Gale, not a thought spared to how he’s buried in the crook of his neck and laying atop his arm, hand flopping back onto his chest. The silence almost hurts his ears, making the sounds of both of their heavy breaths all the louder than it has any right being.

Neither of them make any effort to move, no doubt fully drained by everything the impromptu ritual put them through. It’s only when both of their breaths start to even out that Lucius cracks his voice to speak.

“Did it… work?”

Gale lets out a long, shaky breath. “It’s… To give you a short answer and save us both the time, yes. I think it did.”

Lucius closes his eyes, a swell of relief and pride washing over him. With it, he feels a warmth — whether that is from the absolute incurable affection he bears for the wizard, or the fulfillment of his holy duty to bear the wizard’s burden, he cannot tell. “God, I’m so fucking glad to hear that.”

“I… have never felt anything like that…” Gale says, his voice tired. “I didn’t think it was going to work, but… it was enough to satisfy it, I think. Between the… magical stuff you gave me and this… Gods, my eyes are heavy.”

“Same…” Lucius makes a move to shift away from him, but can’t seem to make it far. “We should… get you back to your tent so you can sleep this off.”

“A sound plan.”

Neither of them move. The last cognitive thought in Lucius’ mind is remembering the mug of tea he’d made, and he forgets the rest of everything else.

--

This was a life lived on the precipice of peril.

Four centuries as the hunter and the hunted. From the delicate youth of a fawn to the wolf whose maw it was made for, to a broken dog leashed by its masters and starved — Lucius learned well not to sleep through anything. 

In rest is vulnerability.

In rest, there is the potential to lose everything.

This was one of the first lessons Lucius learned and carried with him for centuries. 

Don’t sleep in the unfamiliar. Keep one eye open. Leap to action at any and every sound, never be caught off guard, always have a blade in hand, never sleep in, always be ready, always be sharp —

And yet…

Lucius sleeps in.

It’s a rest he hasn’t gotten in years. Perhaps never. Between his childhood, the life in the Lockjaws, running for his life in the Underdark or in prison, he’s never slept in. Never found himself comfortable. Never found himself so lost like he is now atop this warm pillow, floating soundly, dozing delightfully.

Peace. 

Is this what it’s like?

He should be awake. Instincts scream at him to wake up and get up and assess the environment and see what he’s got, get ready for the day, check on the others, get breakfast started — but they float away, carried by the river of exhaustion, ferried away to be someone else’s problems. Down, down, down…

He shifts, and sunlight dares impede his darkened vision with dapples of light. He buries himself further into the pillow, hoping to chase away the dance of consciousness. Not yet, he thinks. Not yet, not yet. Not when he’s so cozy. Not when for the first time in his life, he’s been able to just cuddle up and rest. Not when this purple pillow is doing everything to —

Lucius’ eyes snap wide open. He doesn’t own any purple pillows.

Reality dawns on him as he slowly, slowly raises his head. One moment, two moments and three, his heart pounds and echoes in his ears faster than a pulse beneath him, and horror begins to take root in the pit of his chest. His hair sticks out from every which way, clinging to his mouth as he peels away from what is very much not a pillow, and is very much a highly specific wizard from Waterdeep sleeping peacefully on his bedroll.

Gale never did make it out of his tent.

The horror continues to pile on. Their legs had tangled themselves together, Lucius’ hand stayed on his chest, and Gale had an arm thrown around his side, a comfortable position their sleeping forms must have found themselves in during the night.

They slept together.

Innocently, yes, sure, but they slept together.

This is too close. Too intimate. It wasn’t like that, surely — it was an accident. He didn’t mean to. He shouldn’t be here. Shit, shit, this shouldn’t have happened.

His face runs hot, and he’s frozen, fear rooting him in place with a quickened breath. He can’t tear his eyes away from the sight just beneath him. Gale’s hair had become a mess, splayed out over the bedroll in such a way that tugs at Lucius’ gut with affection. His face, which had been so contorted in pain not so long ago now rests peacefully, absent of that horrible despair and twisted curse, almost appearing younger with his features at rest. His brows don’t furrow and fold, his eyes closed gently and resting the skin — Lucius follows the trail of those darkened veins down his neck and to his chest. The skin was bruised all around where the Orb marks him, and Lucius gets the horrible, horrible thought that he wishes he could kiss it better. 

That ache pulls at his gut, at his heart and even his throat, this longing to kiss Gale, to follow the trail up his neck and to his cheek and kiss him awake. The ache that they could wake up like this without a problem, without it being weird, without it being some kind of situationship that Lucius would often find himself in. He aches, he aches, he aches —

Gale starts to stir. All of the alarms in Lucius’ head ring and blare, his pulse pounding in his ears. Move, move Lucius! Move, damn you! Do something, quick! How many seconds are passing? Think, damn you! Get up!

Those beautiful brown eyes — knock that off! — flutter open, blinking the sleep away and come into focus. The hand still around Lucius moves and then halts suddenly, his eyes locking with Lucius. He can practically see the cogs in his head turning with thought, booting up and bringing him to full cognition.

It’s over.

With all the grace of a startled cat, Lucius scrambles off of Gale, pushing himself up and away with haste. Gale backs away just as fast, though seemingly more in response to Lucius than anything else. Lucius’ back crashes into something, a quick burst of pain blooming and hisses, pulling his knees into his chest to rub at the spot. Damn it all.

“Are you quite alright?”

“No — Yes! Yep, I’m… fine…” Lucius fumbles, cursing his cheeks for still feeling hot with embarrassment. He feels as though he’s been caught in the act of something terrible, and all he wants to do is shrink away. “Um. Good morning.”

“Good morning,” Gale replies easily, a look of amusement to his features. Lucius tries not to focus on the color that paints the wizard’s cheeks, or the intense curiosity in his eyes that Gale rakes him with. “It appears I did not… make it back to my tent…”

“Mm…”

They stare at each other for another awkward moment longer, and then suddenly, everything about the situation just felt ridiculous. Gale’s hair is a wreck, Lucius has drool dried on his cheek, their clothes were wrinkled and pulled to the wrong corners, and they’d all but cuddled with each other in the night. All at once, the tension snaps, and the both of them burst out laughing, Lucius loud like a barking dog, and Gale with a squawk like a bird.

Lucius runs a hand down his face, pinching his nose and wiping his cheek. “I think I drooled on you.”

“That can’t be the worst thing that’s happened to me out here.”

“Gods. I hate it here.”

Gale chuckles, stretching his arms out with a yawn. “For what it’s worth, Lucius, that was the most rested sleep I’ve had in a while.”

“Man...”

It’s a shame to miss the warmth he had just moments ago. He tries not to linger on it. He tries not to think about it too hard.

There are several choice words that dance at the tip of the cleric’s tongue, but he does well to swallow them all down before he chokes.

“Well, that’s good at least,” Lucius finally lands on saying. “I uh. I hope all of that stuff helped?”

“That it did, my friend. I feel… revitalized today,” Gale says, a grin spreading across his face and a sigh of relief. “I think this is something I may have to write down. It raises so many questions about the nature of this Netherese magic inside of me. It has only ever fed on the Weave before, and theoretically, it should only feed on the Weave. That’s what it’s made of. Divine magic, the Power, is very much not Weave magic, and yet…”

Lucius can’t help but spare a look to his hand that casted the spell, startling somewhat when some of his veins seem to have retained a dim, golden glow. “The power of Ilmater, my friend. I told you so.”

“Well, it looks like I’ve got a mighty amount of thanks to give to the Broken God. Remind me to pass an offering to His shrine if we ever do make it to one of His temples.”

Lucius gives him a two-fingered salute. “I’ll hold you to it.”

Gale gives an amused huff, his attention shifting back down to his chest. He presses a hand to it tentatively, and the Orb glows dimly in return. “It’s… very strange, honestly. How all of that felt. The Orb rejected it at the beginning, as if it didn’t quite know what to do with it. By the time I felt it begin to consume… Ack, it’s so strange. I lack the vocabulary to define what it all felt like.”

Lucius rubs his chin in thought, crab-walking closer to Gale to seat himself criss cross. “Just say it badly. Don’t need to dress it all up. You can give it pretty words later.”

“Hah. Suppose I can.” Gale hums, idly chewing at his fingertips as he tries to find a phrasing he’s happy with. “Ah, I got it. I would imagine it as a proper diet. One should have enough balance in what you eat. Meats, vegetables, a healthy amount of grain and just a little bit of sweets — all the proteins and nutrients to sustain yourself, yes?”

Lucius nods along. “My greatest lament is our sad little diet out here.”

“Ha, as is mine. Now, the Orb requires proper sustenance. The Weave, in this case. You’ve given me a fraction of what it needs — but with the food analogy, you’ve given a starving man the quarter cut of a steak, but nothing more. It satisfies the hunger enough not to pang the stomach, yet still isn’t quite enough.” He gestures meticulously throughout his explanation, miming as if he’s cut the steak and served it, pointing to his own belly as he speaks. A very visualized man, Lucius thinks. “Now, nutritional sustenance will get you far. But not everyone eats well. In this case, I’ve been given an alternative. It’s like… hmm, I don’t want to say being on a vegetarian diet when one needs meat — it’s more like one has filled up on bread and butter as much as they could until they couldn’t eat another bite. You’re full, yes, but you’ve missed out on all the nutrients.”

“Are you calling my god’s power a serving of bread?”

“No no no, don’t take it too literal!”

Lucius barks a laugh. “Go on.”

Gale huffs. “What I mean to say is that the hunger is satisfied. I have filled up on enough to keep me going. I think after a while, if we were to, in theory, keep this up, it will eventually take a toll on me, but not eating is always worse than eating filler foods. It’s better to eat something than to starve.”

Lucius smiles, finding himself more than happy to hear the dissertation. “That’s good! That’s really good, actually.”

“Oh, most certainly! I must admit, I was starting to get… well, I was… starting to feel a little hopeless about the whole situation, but now…” Gale looks up at him, a glint in his eyes of awe and appreciation, a gaze that makes Lucius almost shrink back at the fondness within them. “I cannot possibly thank you for this gift you’ve given me, Lucius.”

Lucius waves a hand, rising to his feet. “It’s my duty, Gale. This is a fight we’re all in together. All I want to do is find a way to take care of all of you while we figure this hell out.”

Gale nods, rising as well. “Your efforts are noted and appreciated, good leader,” He says with a bow. “But now, I do have to ask you. Are you alright? You started to look weak after the whole thing, and considering how we’ve woken up this morning, you cannot deny that it took a lot out of you as well.”

“Well… I can’t say it’s every day that I call upon my god to grant me an intense amount of magic to feed my magically hungry friend…”

“True.” Gale raises that accusatory finger once more. “But you promised me that you would stop if it became too much.”

“I promised I’d stop if I was in pain.”

“And if it was going to compromise your safety.”

“My safety wasn’t that compromised.”

“See, there’s the trick of your words. It was compromised. Maybe at a miniscule level, but the promise was broken there.”

“In my defense! I was doing fine up until the very end. Which is when I… kind of lost it.”

“That’s what I didn’t want to happen Lucius —”

“Ah ah!” Lucius raises a finger at him now. “It was fine. I’m willing to do this again, but this time, I know what to expect. The hardest part was just handling how much raw magic Ilmater granted us. Once it ran out, it all… Well, I know when to let go now. Alright?”

Gale frowns at him, crossing his arms. Lucius purses his lips, and crosses his arms as well, staring at him.

“You promise?”

“Swear on my Lord.”

“Your Lord is watching.”

“I sure fucking hope He is. I’m His greatest little boy.”

Gale chuckles at that, shaking his head. “Very well. Thank you again, Lucius. It means more than you know. I don’t even know where I’d begin to repay you.”

You could kiss me, Lucius wishes he could say as a tease and feel nothing about it at all.

He claps a hand on his shoulder instead. “Just keep chucking spells, and we’re good. I don’t need that much but your company, your prowess, and a helping hand in our sorry little kitchen.”

Gale lifts his head with a little pride at that. “Then you will have me there to the best of my abilities.”

Lucius smiles fondly at him. Wherever did this crush start, he wonders? How did this infection spread and fester within his chest without him noticing? It’ll bring him down to ruin and rot if he’s not careful. He’ll collapse and wither and die if he can’t get a stop to this disease.

This churning in his chest… his heart does not normally stir, and when it did, it ended in blood. What about Mauve? What about Virena? Lessons they were to keep his heart anchored to this cage of bone.

But Gale smiles at him with a glint in his eye, and Lucius still feels the echo of his warmth upon his body. Where did it start? Could it be that shared moment of magic? When Gale confessed the horrors of the Orb? Or could it have been the very second Lucius pulled him from that stone?

The tremor in his hands makes itself known, and he has to bite down to keep from trembling. Curses to the body for reacting so dramatically, as if a human man could do anything to bring Lucius to true ruin. As if… As if…

Gale’s about to turn to leave. “I think I should get going. Wouldn’t want to overstay my welcome, after everything you’ve already done for me here.”

“No no!” The words tumble out of Lucius’ mouth before he can stop them. He swallows hard when Gale regards him with curious eyes, and Lucius has to follow up with something pertinent. He turns Gale, taking a look at the poor abused skin surrounding the Orb marred to his flesh. “I’m not letting you go like this.”

Gale drops his gaze down to his collarbone. “Ah. Yes, this was…”

“Very bad.” Lucius finishes. He calls upon his holy power once more, and the magic flows easily through him. Moreso, even, as if channeling raw power previously had made it easier for the spell to take root. He places his hand on Gale’s chest, letting the soothing magic flow through him in his incantation. Slowly, the violets and blues of bruised skin soften to reds and yellows, and soon, to none, golden magic caressing the sites of injury and tracing the Orb’s pattern on his skin. The Orb shimmers as Gale takes a breath, for a moment taking on a golden hue before settling back to its darkened, slumbered state.

“Oh!” Gale says, touching his chest as Lucius drops his hand. “Oh, that final piece of relief — I’d been so used to this I nearly forgot what it’s like to be without that pain…”

A pang of sadness hits Lucius. “My friend, please do not hesitate to come to me for healing.”

“You’ve given me more than I could possibly ask for.”

“There’s nothing I wouldn’t do if you asked for it, Gale.”

Those words tumble out again, unfiltered, and Lucius schools his expression into something casual. The severity and weight of his words can’t reach Gale like this. Not like this. Gale’s cheeks color, and Lucius pointedly ignores it.

“You are far too kind to me, Lucius. I will treasure this.”

There’s a moment where both of them linger. Goodbyes are in place. They’re to meet again anyways when they convene at the fire pit and set out for adventure. They’re to get back to the road and back to business within the hour or two. They’ll see each other again, but still, they pause. Hesitant. As if something else should be filling this moment.

Lingering looks. Awkward hands. Perhaps Lucius should reach out. Perhaps Lucius should say something more. Perhaps Gale wants to say something else. It’s on the tip of his tongue, and the air is heavy, it’s thick and hazy and Lucius is drawn to it.

But the moment ends. No spark ignites the thick air, and Gale bows his head to the cleric.

“I’ll get started on breakfast,” he says.

“I’ll meet you there,” Lucius replies.

And Gale leaves.

Lucius waits until he’s certain Gale has gone long out after before dropping to the ground and letting out a long groan. He’ll never get over this, he’s certain. Not with the way his heart pounds against his chest. Why does it stir so much? Why does it make him fumble? Where did he go wrong? Where did he possibly go wrong?

He has to get ready. He has to clean up, fix his makeup, and behave like a proper, genuine, functioning person. He has to pretend this never happened, and remember who he is. He is Lucius Skorn, and he does not get crushes. He is Ilmatari. This is his solemn duty. This is his charge.

As he moves to get to his sponges and rags, his foot kicks something, splashing liquid all over the place. He stares at the ground, watching that chipped mug from the night before roll around on the ground uselessly, spilling its soggy flowers.

He forgot about the tea.

[deadbydangit]

I hope it isn't weird to say but I've fallen in love with your writing ^^

Could I have reader who's a bit touch starved? Like they can do anything, pick them up to hook, subtly touch their face to get something off, or even grab off a pallet and the reader just... leans into it. Bonus if reader is too afraid to act affectionate with anyone else other than said person ^^

Could I have this with Knight, Huntress, Frank, Joey, and Ghostface please? Thank you!

Aww thank you. That makes me feel so happy. I can absolutely do this. That's such a cute idea! Sorry this one's a little shorter.

With a Reader who is touch starved.

Knight, Huntress, Legion (Frank), Legion (Joey), Ghostface

Knight

Please... Please stop.

He can't move if you're clinging to him.

He doesn't understand why you'd want a hug from him anyways?

He isn't exactly soft.

And why do you only do this with him?

There are three other knights you could bother.

Why him?

Ugh! Fine!

Tarhos will pick you up and carry you around for a little while.

But he has things to do!

So don't expect too much.

How did you get that cut on your face?

Let him clean it off.

He's really going to be confused when you lean into him.

He's not a super cuddly guy, but, for you, he'll make an exception.

Huntress

Despite her looks, she's super cuddly and touch starved herself.

She grew up all alone after he mother was killed, so she craves the same sort of affection you want.

But, please, don't hide in lockers just to get her to pick you up.

She'll give you a hug any other time.

But this is a trial and she's got to work.

She wasn't planning on hooking you anyways.

She never does.

Also, you don't need to hold her hand every time you two walk anywhere.

She needs her hands ready to swing her axe if she needs to protect you.

Still, she loves all the hugs and kisses.

Her favorite is when you pet her hair.

No matter how clingy you may be, she's always going to love you.

Legion (Frank)

Okay, so, he's pretty touch starved too.

But like, he needs some space.

He'll totally give you a hug after the trial.

As many as you want!

But you can't keep sitting by hooks so he can pick you up to hook you.

Frank knows you crave attention, but you can't hurt yourself for it.

Trials over, he's pulling you into his arms.

Kisses. You'll be drowning in kisses.

He moved from foster home to foster home.

He never received any affection.

He was never able to show anyone affection.

So having someone like you who is willing to give and receive all that attention?

A dream come true.

You're a dream come true.

Legion (Joey)

Joey loves all your snuggles.

And, don't get him wrong, he loves the attention.

The realm is a cruel cold place.

Everyone has their own way of dealing with it.

But, darling, don't sit on top of the pallets to get him to grab you.

This is a trial and he's got work to do.

And please don't run in the way of the frenzy!

Look, he'll give you all his attention after the trial, just please don't put yourself in harm's way to get it.

He loves you so much.

He knows how starved you are for love. He knows it isn't your fault.

You drive him crazy, but he loves you anyways.

Ghostface

Uh, you can let go of him now.

You're on the hook.

Why are you holding onto his hand?

He's got other survivors to hook.

And isn't that painful? Don't you want the others to, you know, save you?

You're making the hunt really awkward, you know that, right?

Ugh, fine!

You can have one kiss before he goes after the others.

And you still won't let go.

He promises he'll snuggle you all you want after the trial, he's just got to do his job.

Alright, fine, one more kiss. But that's in.

Please stop trying to ruin his fun.

Danny loves you, he does.

But this is getting out of hand.

He won't be hooking you anymore.

You are going to help your team, and you are going to like it!

[whatanightmaregrinch]

“Hellfire” from The Hunchback of Notre-Dame gives me Elder Maxson x Sole Survivor vibes- hear me out, lyrics such as

“ you know I am a righteous man, of my virtue I am justly proud” (here would be him explaining how much of a dick he is)

“Tell me, Maria, why I see her dancing there. Why her smouldering eyes still scorch my soul?” (Here would be after the brotherhood first arrive in their big ole airship and meeting the Sole Survivor for the first time. Maxson can’t understand these feelings he has, perhaps he is kept awake for the first night, maybe concerned he’s coming down with an illness but in actual fact he has the big ole feelings)

“This burning desire, is turning me to sin.” (Self explanatory, he realises his big ole feelings)

“It’s not my fault, if in god’s plan- he made the devil so much stronger than a man.” (Perhaps Blind Betrayal? I can liken this to a BoS Sole Survivor begging him to not order them to destroy Paladin Danse, Maxson standing his ground in his beliefs but quietly regretting the pain he’s causing. I can see this carrying on if the Sole Survivor passes the Charisma check to save Danse’s life- with Maxson purposely treating Danse as if he’s dead on the Sole Survivors return to the airship. I’m running with the idea that Maxson has not revealed his feelings, but they instead just influence his favouritism of Sole Survivor in giving them Danse’s position and things. He’s an angry tired 20 y/old I doubt he has much indication for romance beyond abusing his position. I’ve also taken liberties in suggesting that Sole Survivor is running double agency for the Rail Road, just to make things interesting)

“Destroy Esmeralda, And let her taste the fires of hell. Or else let her be mine and mine alone.” ( Maxson getting more aggressive in trying to sort out his feelings, perhaps reflection on Maxson threatening Danse that if he was ever seen by the Brotherhood again, he would be considered ‘shoot to kill’ )

“Minister Frollo, the gypsy has escaped.”

(What?) She's nowhere in the cathedral. She's gone.

But how, and—? Never mind. Get out, you idiot. I’ll find her. I'll find her if I have to burn down all of Paris!” (Okay this makes me WEAK to consider- but let me rewrite it for you guys to think about. The context would be on Maxson finding out about the Sole Survivor’s betrayal in favour of the railroad, and Sole Survivor abandoning their post completely, their quarters on the Prydwen empty.)

{{Lancer-Captain Kells: Elder Maxson, the Paladin has escaped. (What?!) They’re nowhere on the Prydwen. They’re… gone.

Elder Maxson: But how?! Never mind. Get out you idiot! I’ll find them. I’ll find them even if I have to burn down all of Boston! }}

——————————————-

GOOOOD the concept makes me weak!!!! So many emotions, so much spice!!! aAAAAAA thankyou for coming to my ted talk about my feelings; I’m feeling some sort of way about elder Maxson recently so I might just post fanfic for the dumb boi.

[chillingintheunderdark]

TW for sexual assault/r*pe

God give me the strength to write the fic where druid!Tav is a rape survivor herself, but she is good at hiding her trauma and her inability to truly enjoy sex. Astarion had no idea that her waking up when he tried to drink her blood stemmed from grueling experience that made her be on guard even when she slept.

He also didn't know that him asking to drink from her directly paralleled how other people used her body for their pleasure, and hurt her in the process, not caring in the slightest. Even though she agreed to let him drink, the conversation tore old wounds anew, and left her feeling like no matter what she does, all people will ever want is to use and abuse her body.

Later, she agrees to Astarion's proposal regarding sex as well, despite that being absolutely NOT what she really wants or even enjoys, but unlike Astarion, she can clearly see through his facade, and she is content to make him feel safe by making him believe he succeeds with his manipulation, and also because this way she can be sure that she won't end up with a dagger in her back in the middle of a battle, or fall asleep and never wake up due to blood loss.

And no, she absolutely did not start to slowly fall for him, especially after he surprisingly saved her life in battle. She. Did. Not.

And she was most certainly not hurting deep down due to the fact that Astarion was clearly still trying to manipulate her by using sex against her. Oh no, she is wholly detached from all this, it does not affect her at all!

But one day, when they stole away into the forest again, Astarion decides to try something new. He pins Tav down with all his body weight, holds her hands firmly in his grip, and goes for her throat – not to bite down, but to scrape his fangs alongside her skin, hoping to make her shudder.

In his defence, he did meet a lot of people who were into this sort of sex. If Tav were not one of those, he expected her to speak up, and he’d stop, but she did not. Instead she went rigid for a long moment, and then she started violently trashing in his grip.

Astarion lets go immediately, letting Tav gain some distance from him, but he also sees an opportunity – as distraught as Tav is right now, her defenses down, he can easily use the tadpole to gain some insight into her thoughts.

What he sees there – the pain, fear and disgust he feels through the memory! -, hits so close to home for him, leaves him stunned in so many ways, that he misses how Tav quickly grabs her clothes and disappears through the woods.

He finds her in the middle of an ancient druid circle – a circle surrounded by stones, the earth saturated by druidic magic to the point of repelling any necromantic powers, including vampires, if the damage he received upon entering is any indication.

He immediately steps back out, though the sight of Tav’s hunched back and her arms defensively around herself like she is one push away from falling apart make Astarion want to touch her, hold her, press her close and never let go. He’s never seen her so defenseless and vulnerable before – it made him realize that he didn’t understand her until now, didn’t see any of the signs.

With the circle keeping him out, the only thing he can offer is an ear, when Tav starts talking – pours out all the pain she has been carrying inside her, and the realization that he has been contributing to it makes Astarion flinch. He can’t stay out any longer – magic be damned! He rushes to her, ignoring the sting of druidic magic repelling him, and finally crushes into her, pulling her into his arms.

Tav, who’s been far away, didn’t notice him approaching until strong arms pressed her into his chest, tearing her out of her thoughts, and the dam finally broke.

Astarion held her as long as she needed – until her tears ran dry and she stopped trembling, her breathing evening out. At some point she started neutralizing the druidic powers surrounding them, so that Astarion stopped feeling the damage. He was lucky she did so, because he wasn’t sure he’d let her go even on the threshold to death.

At the end of the night they found themselves sitting on the ground, confessing their feelings, and fears and traumas to each other, and Astarion wished nothing more than to turn back time and never have approached her about blood sucking, or the sex. If he’d only taken time to get to know her, instead of trying to manipulate her from the get go…

Tav fell asleep in his arms at dawn, and he carefully carried her back to the camp and into his tent.

Once they’d wake up, it would be time to start anew, and he’d begged the Gods that he won’t do any mistakes this time.

[miqomonkly]

Alright, the OC brainworms are strong today, so I'm gonna take some time and write down some thoughts I'm having for new OCs. If I don't, then I'll never do it, and they'll never see the light of day, which is too horrible a crime to imagine! 😫

Alright, first we have:

Derniergeant Noblecoeur

This character is a male Elezen Duskwight. I'm still trying to determine his name; I want it to be something that can be shortened to John.

Yes, "John." I know it's considered to be a boring name, but this name has special meaning to me, and I would be remiss to not give it to a character I play.

The idea behind John is that he is a bit of a self insert, though not quite; he's a shy sort of fellow, can be awkward to be around, and is actually very intelligent! And deep beneath the weird and knowledge, his heart is bigger than that of a dragon.

Speaking of dragons, John actually spent a good portion of his life in Ishgard. After his parents, former Duskwight bandits, died in an ill-conceived raid on a Gridanian supply caravans, he was passed around between several "caretakers." Each would pass him off quickly as his desire to be one of them was nonexistent. Eventually, the boy would stow away on a diplomatic envoy to Ishgard.

Once more, fate would conspire against him; the envoy was attacked shortly after crossing into Ishgard by none other than the Dravanian Horde. No survivors... except John.

Temple knights arrive sometime after, and take the little Duskwight back to Ishgard. There, he meets a younger Stephanivien, and discovers the wonders of Machinstry.

I have to stop there. I wanna write more, but I've got two others to introduce and this post feels long already XD

Minnow Merigyem

Minnow is a Hyuran Midlander girl. She was born to a woman by the name of Nevva; she never learned her birth father's name. During her youth, her mother became betrothed to a Roegadyn man named Wastlahz, a sailor in work for the Admiral.

Though he was more often out at sea than at home, the leave he accrued allowed him anple time to watch his little Minnow grow into a fine young woman. The two shared many a tale of ne'erdowells and scallywags, adveture and treasure, all while their mother laughed and sang along to their boisterous sea shanties well into the night. When Watslahz finally proposed, it was with his soon to be daguther's blessing.

The marriage was due to take place around her 17th summer. Unfortunately, it was that same summer Garlemald made their move on Cartenau. Their little family had been in Gridania, making the final preparations for the ceremony when word of Dalamud's descent reached them.

Wastlahz took the fastest carriage he could find and herded his family inside, riding west to try and get to the coast. They made it as far as Eastern Thanalan...

Then Bahamut emerged. Their cart was caught in the raining debris and Megaflare.

Nevva didn't make it.

When the chaos finally settled, Minnow's father by bond carried the lifeless body of her mother to Drybone. There, they mourned for a great while, both devastated by the sudden, painful loss of one they both cherished so dearly. Minnow couldn't imagine a world without her...

But the courage of a single Miqo'te woman, with tearstained cheeks and a heart of gold, pushed her forward.

😏

NEXT CHARACTER!!

Tijin Denijin

Tijin Denijin is a lalafell of a peculiar nature. Son of a wealthy Ul'dahn family, it was expected that he would fall in line and study to become the proper heir to his family's estate.

This was not at all what Tijin had in mind!

Ever since he was a whelp, Tijin was loud and slightly obnoxious, but lovable all the same. He would often do crazy and rambunctious things just to get people to laugh or react in any manner. It gave him a spark of joy, of excitement, though his parents assured him he would grow out of it.

Now, he is almost forty summers old, and he can assure everyone that he has certainly not outgrown it!

Leaving his parents at the age of twenty, he joined with a caravan of performers to make his way across the continent. He would dance, sing, and pantomime his way into the hearts of many, leaving them with a smile and a flamboyant bow.

Then the Calamity came.

His caravan was destoryed; friends he had grown close to annihilated in the blink of an eye. Everything he had once enjoyed... gone.

Save for him.

He awoke in the care of the conjurers of Gridania, having slept comatose for nearly seven moons. When he learned the fate of his Caravan, he was dumbstruck and heartbroken. All he had worked for and with, no more?

What was he to do? He had nowhere to go, no means to get home... would his family even accept him?

He broodes on this dilemma for weeks while being tended to. He nearly gave into despair when a family with a young boy was brought into their care. The child was sullen, quiet... cold. The devastation wrought upon the world had touched the poor boy with a numbing finger, consigning him to a life of apathy and nhilism...

If Tijin didn't do something.

And sure enough, he did something.

Well enough to stand, the lalafell began to jiggle and jive in a way that caught the boy's eye. Soon, a smile would spread on his face. Then his parents, the chirurgeouns... soon, everyone in triage was laughing and signing in a way that would not be heard for some long time again.

Tijin didn't know what his future held. But he would be damned if he didn't go out and bring a little light to this bleak world.

Aaaaand that marks the end of my current OC ideas. There is still SOOOO much I wanna write about them, but first, I need to get a few things squared away... namely, actually create them in game! XD

Don't worry! You'll see lots more of these guys to come, I promise

...though if someone wants to shoot me an idea or two for my Elezen's name, I'd be grateful xD

[bunnyscar]

The Siliven's Request: Part 22

When Pim woke, he found himself in a tent that appeared to be an infirmary of sorts. There were several rows of cots with men lying on them, many of the men groaning in pain, others lying silent and still. Bending over some of the invalids were healers, using their magic to close up the men’s wounds. Was Pim in a hospital? What had happened? Suddenly, he remembered and sat bolt upright. The woods. A loud explosion….

“Ah, you’re up,” a voice interrupted his thoughts. A lady wearing a blue robe, the symbol of a healer, walked up to him. Following her were two men dressed in armor, one with an ornate cape around his shoulders. Pim’s eyes widened. A captain of the army?

“Wh-where am I?” Pim stammered.

“You’re in a war camp on the front lines,” the captain replied, sitting down next to Pim. “My name is Captain Frank. This is Lieutenant Gren. Who might you be?”

“My name is Pim,” Pim replied. “But what am I doing here?”

“You must have gotten caught up in the battle somehow,” the captain sighed. “It seems like a lot of civilians and refugees have been stuck in between when both sides start bombing.”

“Bombing?” Pim whispered.

Lieutenant Gren nodded. “You heard of bombs? A new weapon both us humans and the Silivens are using now. It’s very destructive. Anyone caught in it wouldn’t be able to survive...which begs the question how you survived.”

“I don’t know, I don’t remember any bombing….I was gathering firewood in the forest for our camp and then blacked out…” Pim murmured.

“You were traveling with other refugees, is that it?” the captain asked compassionately.

“Yes...yes, did you find anyone else?” Pim asked anxiously. “It was a group of human refugees, and we had a cart. One of them is a magician.”

Captain Frank shook his head. “I’m afraid not. What kind of magic did the wizard have? Perhaps he was able to teleport the group away,” he suggested.

Pim shook his head gloomily. “No, Master Alf is a water wizard,” he said.

The captain started. “Alf? You don’t mean the wizard Alf?” he asked.

Pim nodded slowly, confused at the captain’s reaction. “Yes, I’m his apprentice,” Pim said. “Do you know him?”

“Why yes, Master Alf was a very powerful wizard who helped at the beginning of the previous war! It was thanks to him that we didn’t lose more cities than we did. Though he left in the middle of the war for unknown reasons. He never told you?” Lieutenant Gren interjected eagerly.

“No,” Pim said wonderingly.

The captain sighed. “Well, he never did like to boast about himself. Back to the topic at hand—there are no survivors we know of besides you. And even with Master Alf’s water magic, I’m not sure he would be able to withstand the bombs. I’m sorry,” he said.

Pim clenched his hands, dread filling him. Was Master Alf really dead? And what about Sara? “But...I’m alive,” he murmured.

“Ah, I suppose there was one other person we saw who came from the battlefield. Last night, a Siliven came hurtling over the trench we’d built and rolled into our camp carrying you,” the captain said.

“A...Siliven?” Pim repeated. Could it be Manas? Who else could it be? But why was Sara not with him as well? Had Manas abandoned her? And if it were true that the Siliven had carried Pim here, then Manas had saved his life. Again. “Where is he?” Pim asked slowly.

“We shot at him, thinking he was an enemy. He rolled off the cliff nearby, probably to his death,” Captain Frank replied. He paused, then asked somewhat apologetically, “Was he a friend of yours?”

Lieutenant Gren scoffed, “A friend? Captain, surely you joke. There’s no way a Siliven could be friendly to a human!”

The healer, who had been silently checking Pim over, raised an eyebrow and finally spoke, “Well, if this Siliven was an enemy, he’s quite a strange one. Whether he meant to or not, he seems to have protected this young man quite well; except for a bump on his head, he doesn’t have a scratch. And considering that he was out on the bomb field, that’s almost a miracle.”

Before Pim could reply, a commotion from outside the tent interrupted them. Another soldier rushed in and called to the captain, “Sir, there’s a Siliven!” The captain, the healer, and the lieutenant hurried out of the tent, followed by Pim. At the edge of the cliff were several soldiers, pointing swords dangerously at two people who stood just at its edge. Pim’s eyes widened. It was Sara and Manas!

“He’s not an enemy!” Sara was saying desperately. Her hair was disheveled and dirty, and her dress was soaked. Behind her, Manas looked utterly exhausted. He seemed to be holding onto Sara for support, and his face was paler than usual, almost white compared to its usual grey.

“Wait! I know them, they’re not enemies,” Pim said, stepping forward.

The soldiers looked uncertainly between Pim and the two intruders. Sara’s eyes widened and she exclaimed, “Pim!”

The captain waved a hand, and the soldiers withdrew their swords. One soldier protested, “Sir, but he’s a Siliven--”

“He’s not going to hurt you. He’s a...friend,” Pim said hesitantly.

“Stand down. This boy is Master Alf’s apprentice. We can trust him,” the captain ordered, and the soldiers withdrew.

“Sara, are you all right?” Pim asked, walking up to her. Glancing at Manas, he raised an eyebrow and said, “You look like you’ve been dragged through hell.”

“Basically,” Manas groaned and sat down with a sigh as if he could not take another step.

“It's a long story," Sara said, and glanced anxiously at Manas. "But before that, Manas needs a healer."

Link to Part 21:

[cookinguptales]

Could I have a tarot reading please? Thank you so much! 🌿🥀🪐

Yes, sure! This one is from the Impressionist Tarot.

(Nine of Wands, Nine of Swords, Two of Cups)

Hmm. Okay.

Sort of getting the implication from this spread that you're struggling, anon, and I hope things get better for you soon.

The Nine of Wands indicates a survivor mentality, I think. You come through your many challenges intact, if not always entirely victorious. Unfortunately, those struggles aren't over -- but this card offers encouragement for the trials ahead. The idea here is that you have survived many things before, and you will survive yet again. It's a card of endurance and eventual success.

The Nine of Swords, though, tells me that these struggles are weighing heavily on you. This is a card of worries, fear, and nightmares. It usually indicates some kind of lasting trauma, honestly, and it's never pleasant to see.

Seeing these two cards together tells me that while you have successfully navigated painful experiences in the past, their echoes still exist in your mind. And while you will persevere through your current struggles, it will not be without a mental cost.

Both of these cards call to you to reach out for help if the weight you carry grows too great. I think the last card here, the Two of Cups, just doubles down on that implication. The Two of Cups is a card of harmonious partnership, and it tends to refer to a close partner of some kind, whether that's a friend, a life partner, a close family member, a business partner, etc. I think right now, this card is telling you to reach out to someone close to you and ask them to help you through this tough time -- especially with regards to the mental toll it's taking on you.

I'm sorry to hear that things are so rough for you right now. Please don't try to take on the world alone. There's no glory in going it alone, okay?

[geminai-ramblez]

PUPPET AU

Summary: An AU surrounding a mysterious purple haired boy with green tips and pupils that sometimes look like buttons! Oh, and can't forget about the creepy doll this boy takes everywhere and I mean everywhere.

HELLO EVERYONE! I'M BACK AGAIN WITH ANOTHER MIDORIYA AU! However, this time with puppets. :D

Trigger Warnings here though because this AU is very messed up and bloody.

🚨 T.W.: Ambiguous Interpretations of Love, Character Deaths, Denials, Identity Theft, Mentions of Blood, Body Possession, Gore, Memory Gaps, Negligence, Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, Psychotic Breaks, Pyrophobia, Stalking, Suffocation, and Suicidal Thoughts, Survivor's Guilt, Toxic Love, Messed Up Morals, and Murder.🚨

Plot Points:

Okay, to begin this Dark AU, I will start with Izuku's backstory!

His backstory begins during the beginning of quirks or meta abilities as they were first called. Izuku lived with his mother, Inko, and an ambiguous father, Hisashi. He was 5 then but when the quirk wars started everything went to hell.

Neither Midoriya's were rich but they weren't that poor either. Every once in a while money was a concern but they were satisfied with how they were living.

That is till the quirk wars broke out.

Hisashi, without either Inko or Izuku knowing, joined All for One's side in the war and wanted to drag his family alongside him so, they could get a meta ability like Hisashi, which in no surprise was fire breathing.

Now this is where stuff get messy since there's a sort of timeskip because I haven't had time to think very heavily on it.

So, I'm summarizing, but considering the time and moment I'm talking about, Izuku and Inko are in a war, times are tense, and meta abilities both on opposing sides can get gruesome.

Especially, since Izuku has caught AFO's attention which puts Inko in a tight position. And some background in Inko's character in this AU, she's a qualify trauma nurse, she came from a middle class family, and her family does have a history with mental health.

Inko, in her part, was feeling the pressure of the war as she helped many people, often times neglecting Izuku because of the amount of carnage that has been left behind.

Izuku for this part, tried his best to help his mother and to lessen the burden by behaving quietly. And keep in mind that Izuku is still 5, coming close to 6, Izuku while a bit clueless on what's going on knows that there is danger.

Something bad is happening.

Which leads me to this point in his backstory, the big catalyst. Izuku is 7 this time around and his mother can't handle it anymore. She can't handle the stress, the blood, the meta abilities that target her world. She was already on the brink of her sanity when Izuku hugged her.

It was a simple hug.

Either due to the stress, the trauma, or a combination with her fear of meta abilities, she, in the most vague and subtle themes, "kills" Izuku.

She isn't very responsive when Izuku asks what is she doing but she repeats the words 'Love,' 'I love you,' and 'I hate you.'

And when she does come back to her senses, she's terrified, she couldn't believe she's done this. Izuku is barely holding on to life, when he staring at Inko asking if she meant what she said. She denies it. She tells him she didn't mean to. She didn't mean to hurt him.

And Izuku can still see this; her pain. He hates it. Izuku with what little time he has tells his mother that no matter what he stills loves her. And that when this big war is other they'll both live happily ever after.

Keep in mind the language here.

Inko still denies the fact that Izuku is dead and does something so, mortified here, and that was to stuff her own son into a doll and carry him everywhere. Which is why I put a FNAF reference.

She carried her 'son' everywhere and no one really bat an eye to it but maybe just a bit. It looked wrong and it felt weird.

And at some point in time, an attack happens in the place where Inko was stationed, and in her final moments she tells the doll; she tells her son to 'Stay safe... Be happy... Mommy... loves you.'

That's Izuku backstory, however, we're yet to finish the Quirk Wars section of Izuku's character.

Now, it's during the moment where Inko 'protects' her son and her death that some black goo comes out of the doll.

The black goo gently lays a 'hand' on Inko and 'cries.' The black goo being a part of Izuku that never passed away.

Which is where things get confusing.

Because I was debating on giving Izuku a quirk or not since I wanted an explanation as to why Izuku's spirit remained/how the black goo appeared.

But then I decided, eh, let's reference something I comprehend which was FNAF, now, I'm not going to deep dive into FNAF lore because it's confusing nowadays but I'm referencing it's earlier games.

Which is FNAF 1 and FNAF 2, maybe a bit of FNAF 3.

Now back to Izuku's lore, at some point someone finds Inko's body and sees the doll which the person picks up.

However, when the doll is picked up that's when the black goo reacts.

Again, I'm trying to keep it subtle with the themes, but in short term, the black goo suffocates the person and takes over the body.

This is when Izuku wakes up again, there's no indication of physical change in the person's body per se, however their pupils, very subtly, look like the center of a button, and their hair has hints of green in it.

Is the person dead? Yeah, most definitely.

But what happens to the doll?

The doll, essentially, is Izuku's main body, its 'protector' and Izuku continues to take over people's body because he can't stop body decay.

Which is where we get to the present!!! Yay!!

Now, for clarification reason, Izuku takes over people's body not only because he needs it but out of 'love.'

Whenever, Izuku kills someone he thinks he's doing this out of love. That by killing them he is promising them a better future and that they won't have to worry anymore.

Izuku becomes that person, he lives this person's life whether they be male or female.

He thinks he's doing them a favor and by definition showing his love for them.

Now, remember that when Izuku technically died, he was 7, his "love" is strictly platonic/familial.

His last concrete memories about his life were that his mother was stressed and that he wished he could take away her pain.

Izuku, much like Inko, denies the fact his mother killed him. He refuses because in a messed up way, they both loved each other.

Call it a darker/messed up version of the unconditional love a parent and their child has for each other.

So, he genuinely believes that killing and taking over their life, is showing love, appreciate, and care. That by doing so, he's helping them live a better life by taking the burdens and stress like he tried doing when he was alive.

It's years before someone makes a connection because Izuku tends to bury the bodies of his "family" in beautiful hidden sceneries in his new body.

Heck, he goes as far to put a mini tombstone and list of accomplishments they have done and prays for their reincarnation to live a easier and simpler life.

The only possible reason why he could get caught or have a case is by the black goo that he leaves behind after taking over the body.

The process of taking over a body last a solid 30-40 seconds, Izuku tries to makes it easy and quickly for the person he's trying to show his love for.

Either the police find a body Izuku used as a host or people dig up the grave of that person who went missing suddenly and they always found some traced of black goo leading into an investigation.

Izuku for this part of his story took over the body of one Akatani Mikumo leading to where we begin a new section of his character's story.

Now please keep in mind this is another timeskip because I genuinely was stumped here since I thought of this moment before making a concrete plot point.

"Mikumo" meets someone who after studying his character, personality, etc. was named Aizawa Shōta.

Now this Aizawa is young, a teenager just like Mikumo.

However, Mikumo acts more childish, more playful, more young because again, Izuku was 7 when he died, his spirit didn't age and despite having multiple lives, heck, years, he's forever a 7-year-old. Which definitely doesn't sound familiar to a particular anime I love to reference.

Aizawa found Mikumo odd since he acted like a child and he continues to do so till he figured Mikumo's—I mean Izuku's secret.

This is where the timeskip happens because this part is iffy for me. I haven't thought too much on this part either but I know things will get messy here because not only does Aizawa find this all too fucking creepy, but an investigation, and the ongoing loom of UA's entrance exam come crashing down on him.

So, he's stressed to the fucking max.

Now this timeskip happens when "Mikumo" and Aizawa are in their second-year which we all know is where things get depressing.

And this gets depressing.

Because not only does Aizawa loose Oboro, he loses Mikumo as well.

Now, this timeskip skips over the part where Izuku/Mikumo bond with Aizawa despite the oddity/creepiness/messed-up morals Izuku has.

It was just something about Izuku ('s charisma) that made Aizawa hesitate on giving him away. On letting the police know the culprit because again not only is Aizawa a kid here (by technicality); he's also raw on emotion.

He looses Oboro first before loosing Izuku.

This moral dilemma leads to Izuku's identity being found and for fear to take over.

Now, Izuku's investigation, aka case, was meant to be to catch the culprit/send him to Tartarus, however, after realizing how old Izuku is; how death was probably the only way to truly capture him.

In a rare moment, in time, a kill call gets to be made for Izuku.

Now why do I call it rare? Well, because heroes, in this age and time, learned it was better, by moral standards, to capture the villains then to just kill them.

Also, to progress and learn from the past.

The Quirk Wars were violent, bloody, and quite frankly a dark part of Quirk's history, so, just like in a history class, heroes learn and become better than their ancestors.

Which is why I like to believe that unless the crimes committed are beyond from just being atrocious and or treason, having a villain killed is rarely, if ever an option.

But why does Izuku get a kill call?

To be honest, thinking of this as the creator of this messed up AU, the only true way to "capture" Izuku is via death.

Izuku is basically immortal, the only weak spot he does have is the doll that used to be his body.

And Izuku never parts from the doll; its his doll. His soul. His body. He's tied to this doll with both mind and spirit.

Which is why people find him or any of his host creepy because they see this doll that looks weird, it's old, and it smells odd.

If Izuku looses the doll, he cries and whines, and begs for it to come back to him like a child loosing his or her favorite toy.

And one fact about the doll is that while the doll is part of Izuku's spirit it essentially is its own entity.

It can't really speak because it's a doll but Izuku can have full-blown conversation with it whenever he couldn't make friends.

The doll like I have mentioned is Izuku's protector. It's two entities but one body. Like Ume and Gyutaro.

Which is where we come back to Izuku and Aizawa!

Now, I already established the kill call made for Izuku and this was by chance really but the police used fire to kill Izuku. Again another FNAF reference.

It wasn't the original plan, they wanted to secure an area and destroy Izuku and the doll in the process but fire happened and Izuku is dying. Again.

Which is where we get emotional Aizawa because not only did he started to care for Izuku but he was loosing him like he was loosing Oboro all over again.

However, there are explosions and fires.

Izuku cries and whines about not wanting to die and that he was begging the doll, his doll to help him but neither of them could do anything.

The doll was flammable. Which is why Izuku always strayed away from flames or fire, forming a fear from it. He always associated fire with danger and war. Not safe. NOT SAFE!

So, Izuku's only other option was to have someone save him but who would save a bad child?

Who would help an evil child?

Izuku is in distress and when he see the doll melt, die, and wither is he reminded of his past, once again, and he sobs because he's bad. He evil!

It's not like Izuku is coming to terms about it, he still denies that his mother killed him because she couldn't handle the situation anymore, but it's more of Izuku coming to terms that his love, his affection, his adoration was never right.

It was wrong.

That he was bad and that this was his punishment for not obeying the quote on quote rules.

Which is how Aizawa finds Izuku, the doll semi- burning and Izuku loosing his life.

They have a heartfelt moment, Izuku apologizing to Aizawa for scaring him, that he shouldn't have done such things, and that this was his punishment for being a bad boy.

Aizawa, much like Izuku, is in distressed and tries, and he actively does try to get the doll and Izuku out but Izuku cries out in pain and asking for Aizawa to stop.

Another moral dilemma for Aizawa because he doesn't want Izuku to die; he doesn't want to see the child he learned to love wither away.

However, Izuku begs Aizawa to let him burn despite the fear he holds on dying, especially, by flames.

The doll is just about be to completely burned and Izuku asks Aizawa to 'Live and strive to be better... than the past... Live a happily every after, Big Brother.'

Now, hear me out! This scene and time is 100% influenced by season two of Kimetsu no Yaiba, the Entertainment District Arc, it's a rough plan out but thinking of Daki and Gyutaro, I think Izuku in this AU and Aizawa's relationship would be somewhat similar to Daki and Gyutaro.

Aizawa acting as the rational and Izuku as the childish, forever child, minus Aizawa giving Izuku backhand comments.

Aizawa was just tired and trying to not anger Izuku because he wanted to live and after spending quite a long time (2+ years) with him, he learned to go with the flow and take it with strive.

Adaptability is a great tool, you know?

Now, time for end scene where Aizawa promises Izuku he'll do his best to live his best life because that was all Izuku wanted out of life.

Izuku's character wanted a life out of war, happiness, and peace. He wanted to make people smile and live peacefully and hopeful that they could accomplish anything. Izuku was young when he first died and he was stuck on that mindset no matter how many years passed.

He saw the pain, the grief, and the toll life—war—had on people and in a messed up way, he decided to take that burden and help those to live their best life.

Izuku wanted, in a dark, messed-up way, he learned from his mother, to help people be their best selves and live a happily ever after like he promised his mother.

He wanted to live blissfully with his mother because in the time Izuku was born and died, misery, pain, and corruption was all he knew; what he hated the most.

Aizawa does try to keep his promise but there are times where his fight withers away. Where life and death have a blurry line that Aizawa couldn't differentiate from.

But he makes it.

He lives a life that he's happy with and almost religiously says good morning to the shrine dedicated to both Izuku and Oboro and good night whenever he comes home after a patrol.

In a way, he's still mourning but has come to terms that life is full on unfairness and having to loose two friends—family members—wasn't his fault.

No matter how much guilt he holds for making it out alive.

However, this rush of emotions he gets when he meets another Class 1-A he has too teach is unexplainable.

He feels like a teenager for a moment because Izuku is alive. Once again.

And no, this time as an actual human boy.

Izuku reincarnated.

However, a key difference here is that Izuku is quirkless. He never gained OFA and got to UA purely by rescue points. Maybe a few villain points but mostly rescue points.

Aizawa didn't look too deep into Izuku's file since the name not only felt too raw for him but the colour as well.

Green.

But he takes a good look at Izuku in the first day and instantly recognizes him as his Izuku. His little brother.

The green hair, which were similar to the green tips Izuku had, the mannerism, Izuku always loved to ramble about something he was passionate about, and yet what took the cake here were his eyes, emerald green irises with permanent—not temporarily—pupils that looked like the center of a button.

Izuku was reborn and this time... with a second chance at life.

Izuku much like canon Izuku, faced discrimination for being quirkless, and for being weird.

However, the reason Izuku acted as such was because of his past life, Izuku isn't aware of his previous life and he might never find out but he knows that he's special in a way.

That he acts odd.

And as for the quirkless part, it's like his punishment for what he has done in previous life. Izuku can be blamed for the deaths he created, however, mental health is no joke and for that, some outside force or God took mercy on him for just a bit and let Izuku be reincarnated again but without a meta ability to call his own.

This was karma insuring that there wouldn't be a redo and that this Izuku face the consequences of his actions.

So, yeah, this Izuku is a sort of mix, of his past life and canon Izuku but for the most part he gets a hopeful ending.

A second chance.

And Aizawa can't help but breathe a bit easier.

Will Aizawa and Izuku reconcile? Yeah, sort of.

Aizawa wouldn't actively seek Izuku out and vice versa but little by little Izuku will see Aizawa as a big brother figure/someone to trust both by how Aizawa protected his class—and him—and by his instincts.

Again, Izuku is a reincarnation and I love the trope of a reincarnation remembering or at least having choices be influenced by their past life(ves).

Same goes here for Izuku.

Will Izuku remember his past life? High chance no because Aizawa isn't trying to make Izuku remember nor is Aizawa wanting Izuku to remember. Maybe he had a thought or two but on his part, seeing Izuku as a kid, as a child who still is a firm believer in helping people—morally correctly—this time around brings peace to Aizawa's heart.

And another fun fact—Inko reincarnated too! So, both Midoriya's get reincarnated together and get a second chance!

And while this AU is messed up and turns lighter towards the end, I couldn't help but just make it that way?

Like I could've just ended with an open ending or even just a happy ending but I wanted for once to make this happy or at least hopeful because in no way am I justifying Izuku's actions but I'm also not wanting to this make so miserable.

Also, I'm taking into account, the ages here and mental health for both Izuku and Inko, people can only take so much and some people just can't recover from that.

Not even Izuku this time around.

But hopefully he can with his third (fourth?) chance at life!

Now why do I say third. Well, in short, Izuku's first life was his human life during the beginning of the Quirk Wars, his second life was him being a sort of unrested soul, and third being his "second" chance in life with his karma insuring that the past won't be repeated another time.

So, yeah! That's my Puppet AU! One of my more darker AU's but not necessarily the darkest, since I have a God AU that his probably darker or similar to this but the answer if it had a hopeful or happy ending is unsure!

Thank you for reading this post and for your patience, really, because this is one of my longer rambles since this AU was stuck on my mind for days.

The reason why I called it 'Puppet AU' was because of Izuku's methods. The main inspiration here was the song 'Daze Daze' by ENHYPEN where the lyrics 'daze, daze, daze, can't control my body, dance, dance, dance, this sweet scent, red fangs too. Enjoy this carnival, wow, wow, wow.'

Which helped create the bases of it, I'll probably ramble more about how this AU came to be on a later date but for now, that's all I have for tonight!

Enjoy the rest of your day and have a wonderful time! - Bye-Bye and rest well, Gemini!

[astral-from-afar]

sad yuki headcanon! because i read your happy ones and i cant go 10 seconds without my favorite characters being in pain (exception being that i refuse to acknowledge ch 208) 😍 the only reason she travels and goes around so much is because shes got this "irrational" or pervasive fear in the back of her mind that her life could end at any moment (spv trauma?????? riko dying made her survivors guilt even worse) so she tries to fill it up with as many things as possible, sort of in a live life to the fullest way? i also think she absolutely HATES her birthday. since getting older for a very long time, meant that shed be a year closer to getting merged with tengen. so that day doesn't hold a lot of positive feelings for her. i still can't really wrap my head around her being stressed out by missions? i get her disliking them but cause of stress? im intrigued!

on a lighthearted hc, shes veryyy messy and disorganized especially because she had to learn everything about surviving outside from scratch so the first time she'd gone outside of japan was obviouslt tough but she wouldnt trade it for anything because that ended up being a catalyst for her love for travelling.

Its ok anon, I too like my favourite characters to be in pain.

I also don’t know why her stress would be by doing missions but I would see it as more as grief for her peers back when she was a student.

Yuki was obviously a special grade before even Gojo was born so she would have been considered the ‘strongest’ at the time. I would imagine that her attending Jujutsu Tech or Kyoto school (I’m inclined to believe the former because the higher ups would probably want to keep a close eye on her which would explain why she would want Todo to go to Kyoto).

She would have had some peers her age but she wouldn’t be able to connect with them as they would see her as either a traitor or a saviour. Now Gojo’s birth caused a spike in cursed spirits which meant that students like Yuki who were obviously unprepared would have either been slaughtered or left the field like Nanami did. This meant Yuki would have had to carry the load by herself until Gojo and Geto would become students. Maybe the increase in curses thanks to the Night of a Hundred Demons causes her to think back to the previous time it happened, to those around her being killed on the battlefield.

It’s funny to think that Yuki never got a partner or someone to confide in until Todo came into the picture. And even then it was more of a older sibling-younger sibling dynamic. Whereas Gojo had Geto and vice versa. And Yuta had Rika then when she left he had the second years. Yet Yuki in most of her adolescence had no one. A lone star one would say.

Also your light hearted headcannon is SO TRUE. I think her first trip was more of a necessity to get away from Tengen but then she started liking it more and more until she travels constantly around the world. She hates staying put in one area (contrasting Tengen staying put in the basement) so she makes an effort to visit everywhere she can