#this chapter wrecked me lmao it's so goddamn long

[verbenaa]

to eden | chapter 8

𝓈𝓊𝓂𝓂𝒶𝓇𝓎: “You spoil me darling, really. But I am simple man—” Rin stops him off with a look of admonishment, cutting off his sentence to start her own.

“A simple show for a simple man, then.”She hopes her emphasis on the words will speak loudly enough for him to understand the meaning of them as she mockingly bows towards him.

“I take offense to that assessment, you know.” Astarion huffs with a frown, casting his head aside to instead take a sip of his errant goblet of wine, already forgotten beside him.

𝓅𝒶𝒾𝓇𝒾𝓃𝑔: Astarion/F!Tav

𝓇𝒶𝓉𝒾𝓃𝑔: E, 18+

𝓌𝑜𝓇𝒹 𝒸𝑜𝓊𝓃𝓉: 14.8k 😮‍💨

𝓌𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔𝓈: mentions of torture/abuse, mild descriptions of blood/gore, striptease (?), fingering, cunnilingus, vampire bites (duh), handjobs, piv sex, multiple orgasms, Soft Dom Astarion returns 😌

𝒶/𝓃: hellooooo, sorry it's taken so long for me to get this written and posted! but it's here now and I very much hope you enjoy! let me know your thoughts about the chapter, too!

ao3

masterlist

MDNI, 18+ CONTENT

The air is quiet, the ever-present darkness lingering around them like a stagnant weight. Rin finds that she quite hates it, no matter how lovely the promise the warmth of Last Light Inn and its alcohol is to be. 

Her fingers are poised on one of the delicate strings of her lyre as she strums it lightly, a low hum reverberating out from the instrument that fills the air with what she hopes will be something that sounds effortless, beautiful, ethereal.

She frowns at the sound of it from where she leans against a conveniently placed rock near the fire, the note falling flat as it dies in the silence of the dark night.

“You’re off.” A familiar voice echoes out from above, the sound of it supercilious and downright annoying, as she huffs out a breath in minute agitation.

With a turn of her head, Rin sends Astarion a withering look from where he lounges, imperious, on the rock right above her; a book held in his hand as he reads by the light of the roaring fire. 

“And so is your stitching, but you don’t hear me calling you out on it, now do you?”

His stitching wasn’t, of course. It was always practiced, perfect, and near precise—Astarion as good with a needle as he was with a knife or an arrow. 

But, as always, he didn’t have to know that. He has enough of an ego as it is and Rin has no intentions of adding to it unnecessarily.

Astarion flips the page with unnecessary force, his obvious agitation dragging a secret smile to her lips that she hides into the strings of her lyre. 

He really made it far too easy to tease him, sometimes.

Astarion hmphs into the nighttime air, looking astutely back down at the book in his lap in an attempt to ignore her as she bites back a laugh that threatens to break free.

Rin turns her attention back to the instrument in her hands, fingers running down the carved edge of it as her mind wanders aimlessly in the silence and she stares out at the utterly boring landscape. 

It was pretty, she supposes, if one cared for a setting devoid of most kinds of life. Ultimately, there was just not terribly much for her to look at, leaving her with nothing but the amusement of her own thoughts, much to her frustration. 

There wasn’t much left for her to do but think, it seemed.

Rin had already eaten dinner while conversing with Gale; engaged in some gossip over a glass of wine with Shadowheart; discussed the merits of carnivorous fauna with Halsin; indulged Lae’zel in a practice sparring session (which she lost quite terribly, much to Astarion’s joy and Lae’zel’s disappointment at Rin’s apparent lack of skill); shared a nice pint from the inn with Karlach; and then watched on as Astarion drained poor Wyll dry of some gold in a game of cards (she’ll have to try to figure out how to get him his money back, one way or another).

She would probably have to beg Astarion to do it—something she was not eager to do, but would for the sake of Wyll and all his noble, princely goodness. 

Perhaps she should try to steal it off of him, instead. It certainly would make for a good challenge, at the very least, provided she didn’t get caught doing it. Rin has no doubt the cost for that particular crime would be steep, one that she doesn’t know if she can afford to pay for.

Astarion already spent enough time in her thoughts as it was, the price nothing more than that of her precious yet dwindling sanity. She already feels as though she is slowly losing her mind every time she replays the events of the other night over in her head, no longer than a mere week ago.

She and Astarion had both quite politely ignored the events of that night, the memory of the closeness of their lips and the things she had said settling into the recesses of her mind as if they were nothing more than a dream, one that haunts her when she lays down her head onto her sad excuse for a pillow. 

It was a lapse in judgment, at the very least. The klauthgrass had clearly addled her mind more than she thought when she looks back on it. It’s the only logical reason she would ever had said the things she did—whether spoken from her lips or written down in a letter never to be sent. 

She also still needed to burn the damn letter, but that was neither here nor there.

What mattered was that they had settled back into their usual camaraderie, trading cutting words and sly smiles back and forth with one another as they had always done despite a brand new, gently simmering tension that now lay just underneath the surface.

But it was fine. 

Rin was nothing if not an expert at ignoring the things that were bothering her, was she not? Their little…situation was simply that. 

A situation. 

One that was easily forgettable once she set her mind to actually forgetting about it.

Rin trades that particular line of thinking out with a deep exhale, shoving it back into a conveniently placed box in a corner of her mind and instead sets to retuning the instrument in her hands, worn pine both familiar and comforting as its weight rests against her.

Her wonderful, familiar lyre that had been with her for years now, through both thick and thin. It hadn’t helped her make terribly much gold, but it had been a better friend to her than any person had over the years.

She turns the pegs on the back of it little by little, tiny twists of her fingers adjusting the strings in a way she hopes will make her next attempt at song better and not worse. 

The night flows by as she sits in the warmth of the fire, the soft crackles of the logs soothing as Rin retunes the instrument until she’s finally happy with what she hopes will be a drastic improvement to the earlier noise it had made.

With a satisfied sigh, Rin moves to strum at her lyre, fingers just about to touch the strings when a biting voice interrupts her.

“I do hope you didn’t make it worse. My poor ears can’t take much more abuse.”

Rin ignores the jab with a serene blink before deigning not to answer as her raised hand closes into a fist, nails biting into her palm as she prays to anyone listening for an ounce of patience.

In lieu of violence—despite him deserving it—she sees a perfect opportunity to turn the conversation from another of her apparent failures onto one of his instead.  

She turns to look at him with a sly look, fixing him with clever eyes alight with mischief. 

“You know, Astarion, I happened to read something quite interesting in one of the books I found at The Waning Moon.”

Astarion turns another page in his book as he feigns disinterest, but his eyes don’t scan the rows of elvish decorating the page in neatly printed rows. “Oh? Do tell, then. Was it something violent? Gory? Scandalous?” 

“Scandalous, certainly. I seem to have come across a small little volume that contained a list,” Rin’s brows waggle conspiratorially. “A list of banned patrons.”

Astarion’s interest is firmly piqued as soon as she says the words, finally looking up from the tome in his lap to focus on her, indifference giving way to a fiendish gleam in his eye.

“You should have said so from the start. Tell me more, darling, what are the offenses? Give me all the sordid details.” 

He leans in closer from his seat above her, Astarion and his flair for the dramatic never failing to amuse her and she can’t help the equally wicked smile that spreads across her lips in response.

“Most of them were ordinary—you know, the standard. Bar fights, skipping the bill, unnecessary wanton activity with a pickle. But there was one that really stuck out to me, quite a striking description frankly. I think it said something along the lines of ‘a pale elf with a snide mouth’ that apparently insulted someone of particular importance. Sound familiar?”

“Well, whoever they are sounds like they had a fantastic time to me.” His smile is devious as he smirks. “In fact, I’d say that whoever it was deserved such words.” 

“Oh, I have no doubt. I’m sure the insults thrown were of the highest calibre, as well.” 

Astarion grin is a roguish one that looks terribly handsome on his features but something heavy intercedes over the amusement in his eyes as the deeper meaning behind that seemingly small and unimportant notation sinks in.

The smirk falls slowly from Astarion’s lips, a slight darkness settling across the features of his face as the corners of his mouth turn down ever so slightly.

Ah. Of course. 

“You have no memory of ever coming here, do you?” She softens her voice, only slightly, but she has no doubt Astarion notices the change regardless.

“No. I’ve already told you I don’t have many memories from my life before Cazador,” He snaps. “But clearly I’ve here before. Obviously.”

Rin had given some thought to the presumed Astarion of before in the rare moments of peace that were few and far in between, when her mind was free to wander before sleep overtook her. 

The Astarion that existed before the tadpole, before Cazador. Back when his heart still beat and his skin was flushed with life. Astarion, with not-red eyes, wearing finely tailored silks and wools, drinking the richest of wines; for he was sure to have been wealthy. 

She had spent many years watching the upper echelons of Baldur’s Gate from her place on the streets, staring up into their windows at twilight to watch them swoon and twirl in their finery, and Astarion moved like the best of them—graceful and elegant, proud and arrogant.

He had been a magistrate, or so he had said. 

She could only trust so many of the words that come from his lips, but somehow the image of Astarion in ostentatious robes handing down whatever judgement he deemed worthy is far too easy for her to envision for her to entirely disbelieve the notion.

But he must have had a family, surely. 

Parents, siblings, friends—perhaps even a lover or two. Or three, knowing him. 

Gods forbid he had sired any children.

But the implication remains all the same. So many questions, almost all of which he may never know the answers to. 

“You should be proud, Astarion.” Rin attempts a tiny bit of levity, though it doesn’t seem to help. “An annoyance both alive and undead. Not many could ever hope to achieve such a thing.”

“Well,” he sniffs with an air of put-on pride, smile weak. “It’s nice to know I’m consistent, at least.”

“You did get thrown out of a tavern last time you were here. Perhaps this trip to sweet, little Reithwin is faring much better than the one prior. Your last visit didn’t have me present, after all.”

“My last visit was probably still more peaceful, I’d wager. I doubt I was busy being vexed by a senseless blonde bard all the while having a worm buried in my head.” His voice raises a few octaves as he narrows his eyes at her. 

She would rather have his ire than his sorrow, it’s a much better sight than the mournful look beginning to creep over his features.

“Presumably weren’t being vexed by a senseless blonde bard.” Rin shoots Astarion a small smile. “Maybe you have a type.”

He only gives a mirthless laugh in response. 

“I am sorry, Astarion. I wish you were able to remember more.”

Astarion sighs, uncharacteristically defeated and the sound of it has her chest tightening. 

“Yet another thing I can add to the unending list of things that Cazador took from me. From us.”

“Us?” Rin muses over the word, the answer to a question she had long considered but never managed to ask, not amongst the seemingly never-ending amount of things that popped up on their list to be taken care of. “So, you aren’t the only one, then? Of Cazador’s spawn, I mean.”

She briefly worries she’s overstepped an invisible boundary, that Astarion will shut her down and storm away without another word, leaving her with no answer to the question.

Her curiosity about him grows with every passing day and she simply wants to know more about him. 

Not the charming, surface level vanity he would normally put forward for her, but the real Astarion. 

The one who tells her and only her small stories about himself and his life, the one who responds to her silly little letters, the one who had thanked her, with actual gratitude, drawing of his scars in hand.

The Astarion who—for some unfathomable reason—no matter how much he may complain or insult her, still chooses her above all others to spend his time with.

Rin turns to look up at him, the straightening of his spine obvious even in the darkness of the camp. Astarion, for his part, takes her question in stride, though there’s a telltale tightness around his mouth that signals his ever-present bitterness at Cazador’s mention.

He nods, the motion stiff as Rin’s brows draw together into a frown.

“There were seven of us, in all. Brothers and sisters, as he liked to call us. Quite the family.” Astarion lets out a derisive laugh, words acrimonious as he spits them out.

Ruby red eyes look ahead, his gaze catching on nothing in particular as he stares at the barren world on the other side of the water, the landscape as bleak as his expression.

“But I was one of his first. He was a monster to us all. Tortured us. Carved the same thing into my back as he did into all of theirs. But Cazador took a special pleasure in my pain. In my screams. He said my screams sounded sweetest.”

And oh, how her heart twists to hear the fragile timbre of his voice as his breath hitches, an undercurrent of agony flowing so readily and truthful from him. 

Rin averts her eyes as his voice breaks on the last few words, settling her vision on one of the red ferns flowing in the ever-present breeze in an attempt to let him keep some of his suffering to himself, to leave some of his dignity in tact.

It’s the least she can do. 

“And now that I’m gone…I don’t know. I pity the other six.” Astarion takes a deep, bracing breath, his sorrow palpable, and Rin’s chest aches again.

She doesn’t have anything to say, and how could she?

Oh, terribly sorry you spent two centuries being tortured unendingly. That must have been awful. You didn’t deserve it, Astarion.

No, any words of consolation she has only seem to fall flat in the face of his misery. He doesn’t need her to tell him about how horrible it is, how neither he nor his siblings deserved the pain, the anguish, the endless torture that Cazador dished out on a whim to bend and break them all to his will.

The only thing Rin can think to give him is her own paltry attempt at comfort as she leans in towards him slowly until her head rests just against the side of his leg in silent consolation. 

He doesn’t like to be touched at the best of times, but somehow she knows he would hate the inevitable pity he would choose to find in her words much worse. 

Astarion freezes, muscles tensing as if in wait for something, sending a sharp look down at the messily braided head now resting against his knee. But when nothing other than the presence of her subtle weight leaning against him ever comes, the only movement she makes the easy in and out of her breathing, he relaxes slightly.

Rin doesn’t dare to look up at him, instead returning her attention back to the lyre still in her arms. With a careful hand, her fingers come up to strum at a string, followed by another and another and another; music flowing out from the instrument in a slow, soft melody.

It’s nothing in particular that the plays; no well-known song or tune, only a series of notes and chords she pieces together with minimal thought that somehow manages to sound more lovely than anything she’s had luck playing the past week.

Eventually, she hears the soft rustle of a page being flipped once more as Astarion returns to his book, no words spoken to break the silence between them as Rin keeps her head resting just against him, playing her song just for him.

✧· · ─── ·✧· ─── · ·✧ 

She should know better, by now, than to ever be surprised by the horrors they come across—and yet, as she had walked into the operating theatre of the so-called House of Healing, her footsteps quiet over the dark, ornate, and rotting woodwork, she still managed to be shocked by what she beheld as she had peeked over the railing.

She had noticed the man first. It was impossible to not have when his blood, a bright red incarnadine, was splattered across the walls and dripping onto the floors in sickly streams. She followed the trail of it to the source, taking in the carnage of his body; eyes no more than bloodied pits and mouth opened in silent scream as he writhes on the table, somehow still alive despite the butchering of his body. 

A moment later, her eyes drifted over to Doctor Malus Thorm in all his horror; elbow deep in his victim’s innards with hands that were no longer quite hands, digits turned instead into some sort of mechanical claws as he lectures aloud to the sightless nurses who stood uselessly around the body.

She had stepped into that theatre expecting a battle, her own blood to be added to all that had already been spilled and soaked into the grooves in the wood over the many years. 

Instead, she managed something quite different. Something possibly worse.

She hadn’t assumed that she would be able to kill him with only her words, not when the menace of him spelled violence and promised pain, a Shar devotee to the bitter end. 

And yet, it was with words that she had convinced him to sacrifice himself to his nurses, a dark turn of events that somehow seemed to fit the narrative of this terrible place all too well. 

She blames the power she feels when his body finally gives its last, miserable breath on the shadow curse, on the innate darkness of this place, on the tadpole. 

Any excuse works, so long as it covers up the fact that she had liked it.

It was the very same power she had felt when the other two Thorms fell; silvered words falling off her tongue to bend them to her will and end them both without her having to lift a single, gloved finger.

It had only been a small inconvenience to finish off the remaining Sisters of Mercy after they had done Rin’s dirty work for her, their trepans and bonesaws no match for her rapier, Karlach’s axe, Shadowheart’s spells, and Astarion’s blood thirst.

Her heart still beats too quick, the sound of it loud in her ears as she stands stock still on a bated breath—in fear, in anxiety, in a strange and twisted excitement.

It’s both thrilling and terrifying in equal measure. 

Rin wants nothing to do with it.

“Remind me not to get on your bad side.” Shadowheart remarks quietly with a laugh from beside her, breaking the silence of the aftermath. There’s a new awe present in the cleric’s voice that Rin hates the sound of.

Rin looks at her friend with a small smile. “So long as you don’t get in the way of me and a good time, we’ll be dandy.”

“I wouldn’t dare after that performance.” Shadowheart laughs, a twinkling little sound, and it breaks up a bit of the nerves that had settled in her chest.

“Well. That was positively sickening. Who knew there would be so much fun to be found here?” Astarion sheathes his dagger with a twist of his wrist, the added flourish elegant as blood flicks off the blade and splatters onto the ground. “Though I do wish for a more satisfying kill. I’m in desperate need of a snack.”

Karlach claps a hand on Astarion’s shoulder with enough force that he only just manages to keep his footing. “Don’t worry, I’m sure we can find something else alive for you to sink your fangs into.”

“Does all that blood not quite do it for you, Astarion?” Shadowheart gestures with a raised brow to the drops of blood still dripping off of the surgical table, a nauseating mixture of both the man's and Thorm’s blending together.

“Hardly.” Astarion crinkles his nose at the thick, dark ichor. “I’ve had worse, but it smells terrible and I can’t imagine it tastes much better.”

Rin glances up at Astarion beside her, taking in his somehow paler than normal complexion and a thought hits her, her brow furrowing in consideration.

When was the last time he had fed? 

And what on? 

He had been subsisting on a diet of—well, mostly her, honestly; along with the occasional forest creature.

Astarion certainly hadn’t tasted her since their last night on the Mountain Pass, longer than he’s ever gone without her blood since his first feed from her all those moons ago.

Rin had become so used to his little visits, popping into her tent during the evening to have his fill of her—blood and more. The absence of them since has felt surprisingly stark, a loss she didn’t realize she would mourn in the wake of the palpable tension that had settled between them no matter how hard they each attempted to ignore it.

For just as surely as he hadn’t drank from her neck, he had not come to taste the rest of her either; their nights spent instead trading remarks back and forth by the fire.

Not that she was complaining. 

Quite the contrary. 

She had found herself growing quite fond of this new aspect of their relationship that they had eased into; trading stories and anecdotes with each other over a bottle of wine or a game of cards, he reading his books while she plays her music, Astarion working on his stitching as she looks on and inevitably bothers him with her presence. 

It was…nice. Normal, almost. 

Or whatever their version of nice and normal was.

Rin snaps herself out of her thoughts with a blink and turns to her companions with a nod, hoping the daze she was in doesn’t show on her face. “Right then. Let’s loot, shall we?”

They meander their way about the rest of the room, navigating their way around the bodies and books scattered about the floor, some of the thin pages now soaked with the blood of the fallen. They don’t find terribly much, some gold here or an interesting text there. 

But mostly, it’s all useless.

Rin thinks that at one time, the quatrefoil tiles lining the floors of this place must have been beautiful—crisp, clean white contrasting against vibrant blue. 

Now, though, they are covered in long streaks of dark, sticky blood, the ichor long staining tile and grout alike; the corners of them chipping as they step over them on their way out of the long hallway at the entry of the building. 

Rin falls back beside Astarion as they make their way onto the uneven cobblestones of Reithwin, gnarled roots threatening to trip her as they grow up in between the grooves. With a small smile and nod, she gestures for Shadowheart to take the lead, the cleric walking ahead as her long braid bounces behind her.

She falls into step with him easily, matching his pace as she keeps her eyes ahead, always on the lookout for what the next danger to jump out at them will be.

“Have you been hunting recently?” It’s a casual question, no accusation in her tone as she stretches her arms behind her back.   

Astarion casts a surreptitious glance her way, eyes wandering across her profile as she stays looking ahead. “There’s precious little living here, my dear.”

“Then why haven’t you come to me? You’ve never cared about bothering me before when you would pop into my tent unannounced.” 

“I-” Astarion looks away from her for a moment before returning his gaze to her. “I assumed you needed a break to…replenish your sources."

His non-answer has one of Rin’s brows drawing up in skepticism, which he readily ignores. However, the thought of him perhaps not coming to her for her own health is almost sweet, if believable.

If. 

She’s not so sure that it’s the truth, but she will take it at face value, for now.

“Astarion,” she leans towards him to give him a slight nudge with her elbow, the touch light. “I think my ‘sources’ have been thoroughly replenished. You can feed on me tonight, if you’d like.” 

It would be careless of her, as a leader, to let him continue to starve himself. She’s only doing the most responsible thing by offering herself up to him again. It’s for the better of their entire party and Faerûn at large, wasn’t it? The Absolute wasn’t going to just disappear into thin air, after all. 

And if it happened to mean she got to spend a little extra time with him—well, that would be nothing more than luck on her part. 

“Well, if you’re offering, sweet thing,” His lips curl up in a smirk, eyes alight with a predator’s gleam at the promise of her blood. “Come find me in my tent tonight, darling, and we shall feast.”

“Feast? Shall there be something there for me then, as well?” Rin releases a breath she didn’t realize she was holding and glances up at him with a small, secret smile that has a corner of his mouth turning up in a smirk.

“Only the best for my favorite little treat.”

“Careful, you’ll spoil me.” If only, she thinks, and the thought is terribly traitorous as she bites down on a corner of her lip in hopes of stopping the pink that threatens to rise to her cheeks. 

But from the answering smirk on Astarion’s face as they venture further into the into the crushing darkness of Reithwin’s destroyed streets she thinks he must able to glean the thought on his own. 

“We can’t have that, now can we?”

✧· · ─── ·✧· ─── · ·✧

Rin steels herself outside the flap of Astarion’s tent, readying herself for whatever waits for her inside. She isn’t sure why she’s so nervous. It wasn’t like he hadn’t fed from her before.

Or slept with her, for that matter.

There’s no flickering flame to be seen from the outside of his tent, nothing to give her any sort of hint of what possibly awaits her inside aside from him, his silhouette undecipherable in the darkness.

With a deep breath, she pulls the flap to the side and steps forward, a familiar scent—rich brandy curling together with earthy rosemary and fresh bergamot—swirling in the air as her eyes land on the vampire in question.

“Well,” Astarion lounges casually against his bedroll as his eyes find her own, leaning back on his elbows with enviable ease as a silver goblet rests beside him. “Hello there, darling.”

Her eyes are drawn to the exposed skin of his chest, the sight of him waiting for her shirtless so reminiscent to that first night together that she pulls up short.

It felt like eons ago, now; her traipsing through the forest outside of the Emerald Grove to find him waiting in a picturesque clearing for her and her alone. While there was no soft grass with charming little flowers to decorate the ground and no glittering moonlight to beam down upon them and highlight their skin as they moved together—she feels just as out of her depth now as she did then, when she had discovered him with his shirt already off and honeyed words just waiting to fall from his lips.

“Hope I didn’t keep you waiting too long again.” Rin snatches her eyes up from his chest to meet his own, a smirk already decorating his lips at her momentary distraction.

“Oh, I’ll always wait for you, beautiful.” Her eyes roll despite herself as she lets out a huff at such trite words.

“Did you need a nibble or should I see myself out?” She points behind herself to the exit of his tent for emphasis, brow arched.

“Let’s not be hasty, shall we?” Astarion answers a touch too quickly as he sits up a little higher, body tensing as if ready to jump up in the event she were to actually leave. “I would so hate to see you go.”

He must be hungry, then, if he’s so desperate for her presence.

Rin smiles at him as she looks around the tent expectantly, crossing her arms in front of her chest as she spies not a single treat aside from an empty goblet she presumes to be for her. “You know, I recall you promising me a feast.”

Astarion has the audacity to not look even the tiniest bit sheepish as her eyes narrow and her bottom lip juts out into a pout, a noise of frustration escaping from her lips. She should have known better than to trust a vampire when it came to procuring treats.

“I’m short on baked goods, pet, but I can promise you something else delicious instead.” His intent is obvious as he sends her a decidedly suggestive look. “Won’t you give me a show first, though?”

“I didn’t realize you were in need of entertainment, Astarion. I could always bring Volo in to recite some poetry while you dine, if you’d like.” 

“A charming idea, to be sure.” Astarion rolls his eyes. “But I was thinking of something a little more…intimate.”

Astarion eyes her form tip to toe as she stands in front of him, but it lacks the casual closeness she’s come to expect from him, something in the forced insincerity of the gesture grating.

“Make yourself comfortable. Stay awhile,” He gestures passively with a wave of his hand through the air towards where she stands as he continues. “Get yourself out of those wretched clothes, for example. You look much prettier without them on, anyways.”

Irritation sparks along the line of her mouth, emerald eyes sharpening as she stares at him. Weeks ago, the words would have had her blushing and the beginnings of desire kindling in her belly; but now they fall lifeless upon her ears, none of the ease and familiarity she has come to enjoy during their little interludes present in them. 

The words are merely mechanic—as calculated and practiced as they were on that very first night.

Worse, it doesn’t even seem like he enjoys saying the words, the sound of them hollow as they leave his mouth and the smirk pasted on his lips halfhearted.

It feels utterly obvious once she realizes what he’s trying to do and she can see through his ill-prepared idea with ease, this little power play of his nothing more than a paltry attempt to control their situation, some sort of damage control after the other night. 

They’ve both given too much of themselves now to return to the shallow, impersonal relationship they once had whether he likes it or not, and Rin will be damned if she lets him call the shots and force them back to the beginning.

But, if Astarion wants to play a game—well, she’s never been one to turn down an opportunity to win.

Rin looks down at her clothes with a pointed look and while they were perhaps nothing fancy—the oversized linen and worn leather may be simple but they were far from wretched. 

“Well. I’d hate to offend your delicate sensibilities.” Her smile is an inch too wide to be believable, betraying her irritation. “Shall I do a twirl for you as well? Or perhaps you would like a little trick?”

Rin holds up her hand, ready to ignis the damned tent if necessary to illustrate her point. Nothing that a few gold and a trip to dear Withers couldn’t fix if she accidentally managed to char him in the process.

“You spoil me darling, really. But I am simple man—” Rin stops him off with a look of admonishment, cutting off his sentence to start her own.

“A simple show for a simple man, then.” She hopes her emphasis on the words will speak loudly enough for him to understand the meaning of them as she mockingly bows towards him. 

“I take offense to that assessment, you know.” Astarion huffs with a frown, casting his head aside to instead take a sip of his errant goblet of wine, already forgotten beside him. 

His eyes are drawn quickly back to the center of his tent when he hears the soft rustle of fabric, returning to Rin just in time to catch a glimpse of her hands running down the front of her blouse. “It’s a perfectly reasonable one, if you ask me.”

Astarion frowns, opening his mouth to protest before quickly shutting it as her hands reach the waistband of her pants, fingers dipping just beneath the worn leather. Rin raises her brow, a teasing smile forming on her lips now that she has his attention.

Any irritation she feels is tempered by the thrill of Astarion’s gaze so set on her, his complete focus hers and hers alone as honest interest finally sparks to life in those red eyes of his.

With little flourish she begins to pull her leggings down her legs, peeling the pants away from her skin with less grace than she would prefer, but it would have to do. She kicks them to the side once she frees herself from them, uncaring where they land as she adjusts to the cool air of the night against newly bared skin that Astarion’s eyes rove.

“Do you think I should take this off next?” She thumbs at the hem of her shirt, examining the fraying stitching at the hem in desperate need of a mend. She’d have to ask Astarion to do it for her, damn it. “Since you find it so offensive and all that.”

“Be my guest, darling.” He gestures with a hand towards the garment, a corner of his mouth lifting. “I’ll even do you a favor and burn it for you for later.”

“How kind of you to go through all the trouble.” 

Rin’s smile is wry as she grabs the hem of her plain tunic and deftly lifts it over her head before dropping it. 

It drifts to the ground, fluttering down softly to fall in a graceless heap beside her bare legs, Astarion’s eyes darkening ever so slightly at the sight of her in nothing more than an unadorned corset and plain underwear, upping her confidence tenfold as she lets a corner of her mouth lift. 

“I suppose you’ll want to burn this too?” She runs her fingers teasingly across the top edge of the corset, her touch light as she brushes against the cotton and the plush of her breasts where they spill out above the garment.  

She hadn’t worn it with the intent of being admired, but when Astarion’s eyes follow every brush of her fingers against her breasts she’s suddenly quite grateful that she had chosen to wear it tonight instead of opting to go without as she normally would have, if only for it to act as a different kind of armor—one last layer to bolster her defenses in a battle she will surely lose. 

Astarion swallows, legs shifting slightly as his eyes caress over her curves. “We can negotiate the corset.”

“Your kindness truly knows no bounds.” Her fingers hover over the looped bow that sits at her breasts, tied in a hurry earlier after she had changed out of her armor.

The corset itself was nothing more than a plain ivory cotton—no expensive satin or fine boning—but when she pulls at the laces keeping the pretty little bow tied at the center of her cleavage, the tiniest bit of her full breasts exposed with the motion, the look in Astarion’s eyes could fool her into thinking it was the finest thing he had ever seen. 

Little by little, she pulls every cross of the laces, freeing more and more of herself with every delicate yank of her fingers as Astarion’s eyes obediently follow every inch of skin exposed until she reaches the last one, tugging it gently to loosen the final cross. 

It hangs loose around her form, the curve of her breasts just visible with the line of skin exposed down her chest. Rin wills her hands to steady under Astarion’s study as she brings them up to the straps on her shoulders, pushing each one off so she can shrug out of the garment. 

With one last push, the corset falls to the ground at her feet and she steps out of the circle of it before sending it aside with a soft kick.

Rin’s breasts pebble in the cool air, heat beginning to curl deep in her stomach under Astarion’s watchful gaze. She keeps her limbs loose, relaxed; her face at ease as she meets his eyes.

“You aren’t quite finished yet, my sweet.” Astarion’s voice is tight as he gestures with a brief nod towards her nearly naked form, gaze moving from her bare breasts and down lower to linger on her still-clothed center.

“You know, I think I’ve grown tired of being your entertainment,” She cocks her head to the side, unbound waves of darkened wheat—the color barely discernible in the darkness of his tent—cascading with the movement. “If you want them off so badly, do it yourself.” 

He raises a brow in question but obliges her nonetheless, moving from where he had been so indolently reclined against his bedroll as he watches her with keen eyes. 

With slow, careful steps Astarion makes his way towards where she stands before him and she is helpless but to admire the way his muscles shift on his lithe form, the grace with which he moves as he stalks closer to her that of a predator on the hunt for his prey.

And what was she, she supposes, if not his prey? It was why she had come here tonight, after all—to let him drink his fill of her blood with his lips at her neck, sucking down her life’s essence to his heart’s content.

She certainly feels like his prey, at least. How could she feel anything but when he moves around her in a slow circle, eyes brushing over her bared skin like a lover’s caress, knowing and intimate.

Astarion moves around her in another perfect circle before he finishes his perusal, stopping to stand behind her close enough to touch, his bare chest almost brushing against her spine. Familiar hands come to her waist as his head lowers to rest upon her shoulder, thumbs rubbing light circles into the skin. 

His lips press a featherlight kiss to her jaw that has her catching a breath. “Who said you were in charge here, my dear?”

His touch is electric against her skin, and Rin resists the urge to lean back into him, to press against the coolness of his chest and relish the feeling of his skin on hers. His mouth is terribly distracting where he adorns her with little kisses across the curve of her jaw and down the line of her neck, and she briefly wonders if he means to bite her just like this, held tight in the circle of his arms.

“Whoever said that you were?” Rin counters back with a glance out of the corner of her eye to where his cheek rests against her shoulder, ignoring the wetness that has begun to pool between her thighs. 

She has no intention of giving into his every want and demand, or at least not yet.

The hands bracketing her waist begin to move despite his protests, sliding down over her hips with frustrating slowness until he reaches the hem of her embarrassingly simple underwear. 

“You really can’t help yourself, can you?” Astarion sighs dramatically against the column of her throat. “Must you be so difficult?"

There’s an unexpected fondness in his voice, an affection that she can’t remember if she’s ever heard so openly from him before that has the air around them changing; shifting from something practiced and performative to familiar and lovely and absolutely perfect.

The sound of it has a shred of something warm blossoming in Rin’s chest—unknown but not entirely unwelcome, she decides. 

He plays at the edge of her panties, fingers toying with the thin cotton where it rests against her skin on either hip, his touch sending another wave of heat straight to her core as she bites back a sigh at the sensation. 

“You should be aware by now that listening has never been one of my strong suits.”

“Yes, well,” Astarion’s fingers hook into both sides of her underwear before beginning to pull, the garment sliding down over her hips and bottom as Astarion sinks down with it. “You seem to remember how to follow my instructions when it counts, dearest.”

He drops silently to his knees behind Rin, dragging her underwear down her legs as he goes, each slide of the fabric against her skin only serving to heighten the heat kindling inside her. She gingerly steps out of each leg, desperately wishing she could see what he must look like lowered behind her in such a manner—the sight of him on his knees surely one that she has seen in her dreams of him. 

But before she can make up her mind to steal a glance or even just turn, Astarion is gliding back up her body, hands glancing against her skin as he goes, leaving a trail of goosebumps in his wake. 

“You know, I thought I came here for you to feed on.” It’s an effort to keep her voice steady as his arms wrap back around her waist, touch cool against her skin.

His head lowers back to her ear, lips brushing against the shell as a shiver of anticipation runs down her spine. “Oh, you did. But I don’t see why we can’t have a little fun as well. It’s been awhile, darling, and I’ve missed you.” 

A hand traces down her stomach in a teasing touch; long, sweeping lines of his fingertips back and forth across her skin brushing down until he reaches the apex of her thighs. 

Astarion moves at a glacial pace as his fingers dip lower and lower until they find their way to her center, swiping through her folds to spread her essence on the tips of them as Rin’s head falls back onto his shoulder, a sigh escaping her lips as he explores. 

“Miss my blood or miss me?” Rin’s lashes flutter shut as he runs his fingers up and down her, careful to avoid the two places she wants him to touch most as she flushes at the evidence of her arousal he finds.

“Can’t it be both?” His fingers finally find her entrance, tracing around the edge in slow circles as she sharply inhales. 

She’s not ready to admit how much she wants to believe him that he had missed her, had missed this—the easy intimacy they had been building together bit by bit. It’s a dizzying thought, one that has her heart skipping a beat that he surely can hear this close. 

“With you? Unlikely.”

“Why, you think so little of me, darling.” Astarion punctuates his words with the press of a finger slowly in; and were it any other time, the mock outrage coloring his voice would draw a laugh from her. 

This time, however, he draws a moan from her instead as he pushes deeper, seating his finger inside her before slowly withdrawing.

“Give me more to think about, then.” Rin sighs, lips opened as she tries to still her hips.

“Only if you ask nicely.” He smiles into her skin, lips brushing against the column of her throat as he pushes back in, sliding home to the knuckle.

Her mind ceases to a halt on whatever clever words she had been preparing when a hand draws up to her breast and cups it, Astarion’s touch a balm against her over-warm skin as he runs his thumb over the hardened peak.

Astarion’s finger moves only barely inside her, but it’s enough for Rin to feel it, friction building in her core with the simple motion. She should be embarrassed by how quickly he has worked her up, her ire so easily forgotten when wrapped in his arms and at the mercy of his skilled hands.

He’s lucky that she likes him, for she would never allow anyone else such lenience. Though, she would never allow anyone else the opportunity to get quite so close to her, either—a thought that borders on terrifying if she thinks too long about it.

A second finger joins the first, and she welcomes the slight stretch as he finally begins to pump them while he mouths at her neck, moving in a steady rhythm that has a fire burning deep in her core as she moans in relief.

Astarion’s pace is easy and unconcerned as he thrusts in and out lazily, slowly building her up higher and higher with every press forward. Her curls pillow against his pale skin as she sighs at the pleasure coursing through her, that welcome heat billowing deep inside her. His thumb finds her clit and rolls against it in soft circles as her lips open in a low moan, limbs tightening at the added touch. 

The hand cupping her breast runs back down to her waist to wrap around the circle of it, fingertips stroking her skin as he secures her closer to him and the outline of his cock presses hard against her ass.

Rin can feel the grin he hides in her neck as he breathes in the scent of her and his fingers curl, searching for the place to make her fall apart under his hands. He moves them just right, finding that one spot, and she cries out as her hips buck into his palm. 

“Ah, Astarion!” 

“Yes, darling?” He curls his fingers again and she practically melts in his hold, the arm he has wrapped around her waist squeezing tighter to keep her upright. “Did you have something you wanted to say?”

He could finish her off so easily, the bastard; only a few more presses of his fingers and she would be done for, but Rin doubts that Astarion has plans to let her off so easily. 

Astarion has never outright denied her the release she craves, but he certainly likes to make her work for it.

“Only that I don’t want you to stop.” The words come out sounding more wanting than she would prefer, but she’s beyond the point of summoning up a care.

Astarion tsks, and as if on cue his fingers slow to a stop before pulling them from her body. Rin whines in protest as she lifts her head to glare at him, narrowed eyes meeting amused ones as he simply smirks back at her.

“Sorry, dear, I didn’t catch that.”

Astarion spins her around in his hold, her breasts pressing against his own bare chest as his hands run up and down her waist. A quick glance down and she can see the evidence of his own arousal, his cock pushing urgently against her stomach, still hidden by pants that she needs to rid him of preferably sooner rather than later.

“Liar. You heard me just fine.” Rin’s arms wrap around his shoulders as she leans in closer to him.

“It’s neither here nor there.” Astarion begins to walk her back, the two of them stepping together as he leads her towards his bedroll. “There’s no need to rush. Now, lay down.”

Rin arches her brow at his bossiness, but doesn’t argue as she lowers herself to the ground and spreads herself out on his bedroll. She frowns when she sits, the surface not nearly as soft as it should be, an unfamiliar hardness beneath her.

“Astarion, what in the hells is it that I am sitting on?” She shifts to peek underneath the blankets, spying some sort of wooden thing underneath her.

“Are you really going to ruin the mood to ask me about something so stupid? You are truly impossible.” Astarion looks down on her with a pointed scowl as he moves to kneel down before her, his lithe muscles shifting as he crawls over to her in smooth movements. 

“I’m not the one sleeping on a plank of wood every night. Have you no standards for good night’s trance? No wonder you’re so touchy all the time.”

He’s upon her in mere moments, an elegant hand finding the space just below her collar bone as he only answers her with a stern look. This thumb runs along the line of it, brushing against the skin as his eyes follow the motion. 

Rin looks down at the hand poised on her chest, so pale against the sun-warmed gold of her own, and brings her own up to run fingertips down the back of his. She swears she can see him shiver at the touch, a barely noticeable intake of his breath as her hand rests on top of his.

Astarion’s eyes cut up to hers, and with a raise of his brow, he pushes her backwards.

Rin lets him do it, lowering herself back with the help of his little push until her head hits his pillow, a rush of his scent surrounding her as she lays. His hand still rests on the skin of her chest, the weight of it like a scorching brand as she stares up at Astarion as he cages himself above her.

She doesn’t know what he sees when he looks down upon her, hair most likely curling in an unruly halo around her head and cheeks undoubtedly colored an unbecoming shade of pink, but his eyes run over what feels like every inch of her face before his hand begins to move, tracing a featherlight line down her skin. 

Her stomach jumps underneath the drag of his fingertips as his touch stops low, their eyes meeting together in a heated glance as Rin waits with bated breath.

Astarion’s head lowers towards her, and her heart beats a little faster at the thought of his lips meeting hers, the want she has been blatantly ignoring the past week begging to break free from its confines safe in the corner of her mind.

But instead, Astarion’s lips find her neck, placing a kiss on the two pinprick scars that decorate the column of it before running them across her skin—kissing over her collar, upon the peak of her breast, down her ribs one by one.

She gasps at the feeling as he drags his lips down her body, her skin flushed with desire.

He’s kissing the sensitive skin just below her stomach with teasing presses of his lips when she speaks, breathless and wanting. “Astarion, don’t you want to feed?”

Cool hands travel down the curve of her waist and over her hips before reaching her soft skin of her thighs, palms running over the tops of them as he settles himself in between her legs.

“Oh, I do.” Astarion makes to spread her thighs further, pushing them wide. “Don’t you worry, my dear, I’ll get my fill.”

Rin’s cheeks fill with heat as he moves his gaze to her bare center, running claret eyes over her as she sucks in a breath. With little ceremony, his head moves forward and his tongue glides along her center, lapping at her wetness. 

Her hips buck up into Astarion’s face as she reaches down to grab at his soft, downy curls as he circles the pearl at the top of her sex, the tip of his tongue light as he traces shapes along it.

He laps at her clit as she tries to quiet her mouth, holding back her moans and cries as best she can as he works her up ever higher. With a last circle, Astarion’s tongue ventures further down, abandoning her clit to instead run through her folds, groaning at the taste of her before exploring the wetness that has collected at her entrance. 

“Asta—” Rin gasps sharply as his tongue traces around the edge of her, so like he had with his finger earlier—ever teasing. He dips in her entrance, the tip of it whorling against her before pushing deeper. 

Her hands scrabble for purchase in his hair as he licks inside her, eating her out in earnest as her thighs tremble around his head. She swears that she can feel him chuckle against her as he tastes, tongue curling inside her as she grasps his soft curls harder between her fingers.

He thrusts his tongue deep and she keens, back arching off the bedroll as her hips roll against his mouth, chasing the heat coiling deep inside her with every press of his tongue. It’s a different sensation than that of his fingers, but no less welcome or wonderful as the feeling in her belly tightens more and more. 

She’s terribly close when his mouth leaves her, and she mourns the loss of his tongue for mere seconds before he fills her with fingers that press urgently, curling just right as his lips kiss their way to her thigh.

“Do it.” She spreads wider for him, and she can hear his satisfied hum against her skin before he opens his mouth and sinks his teeth in the tender flesh of her inner thigh.

The familiar ice of his bite hurts far too good, the frosty pain warring against the heat surging through her limbs as he drinks from her, blood running in scarlet rivulets down her thigh to stain the worn blanket beneath her.

Astarion’s messy as he drinks, her hips writhing in time with the fingers still artfully working inside her. Her back arches as she tries to quiet her cry, a fist curling into the threadbare blanket below her.

The metallic scent of iron tinges the air of the tent as he drinks and Rin can’t help the moan that falls from her open mouth at the feeling of his lips on her skin, sucking and licking and—gods, kissing. 

“There, please.” His fingers hit perfectly, over and over again, and her thighs tremble. “Please don’t stop.”

Astarion sucks hard at the bite as she begs, fingers keeping pace with the movement of her hips as he drinks down another surge of her blood. With only a few more presses of his fingers, curving just right to hit exactly where she needs him, Rin comes.

A hand unclenches from the blanket to cover her mouth as she muffles her moan into her palm, back arching as precious heat courses through her limbs and her hips writhe. 

Pleasure whites out her thoughts as Astarion fucks her through her orgasm with his fingers; lips and mouth still pullings sips of her blood from her thigh all the while.

She comes back to herself as his fingers slow and he peppers kisses to her leg, lapping up any stray drops as they fall from the wound. Astarion pulls his fingers from her gently, another hum of satisfaction breaking free as he brings them to his mouth and sucks, tongue licking her come clean from the digits.  

She’s still floating in a euphoric haze when Astarion finally rises from between her thighs, appetite sated and pale skin flushed with the slightest hint of pink from the blood that once belonged to her now flowing through his veins.

His mouth is glistening with her—her blood, her arousal, her scent. She’s entranced by the sight of it as Astarion licks his rouged lips, tongue swiping at a small drop of blood at the corner of his mouth that threatens to roll down his chin.

“Did I taste as good as you had hoped?” Rin’s chest heaves as she tries to catch her breath in the aftermath, the words no more than a whisper.

A corner of Astarion’s mouth lifts upward as he runs his eyes over her; from his mark on her thigh, over her sex, and up her flushed form beneath him until he meets her eyes. “Better.”

Rin’s breath hitches as he kisses his way back up her body with warmed lips, leaving a trail of red upon her skin with every touch of his lips, small blooms of her crimson blood like stains of watercolor.

He kisses up the valley between her breasts before turning his head, lips running over the plump curve of one before capturing her nipple, sucking at it before flicking his tongue against the bud. Rin’s back arches at the unexpected touch, more heat already kindling as he gives it a hard suck.

Astarion pops off her breast to kiss towards its twin, her hands burying back in his hair as he sucks at her other nipple, laving it with his tongue as a whine breaks free from her lips before she urges him higher, fingertips running through his curls. 

He obliges, placing one last kiss upon the tip of her breast before moving to bury his head in her neck, licking a line up the column of her throat, the very tip of his tongue tracing a thrumming vein.

Rin wraps her arms around his shoulders, hands running over the corded muscle as he slots himself between her legs, his still-clothed erection brushing against the too-sensitive skin of her thighs.

It simply wouldn’t do, she decides. 

“Let me touch you. Please,” she runs her hands down his chest to dance over his skin until she reaches the waistband of his pants, his cock painfully hard as it strains against the fabric. “I want to touch you, Astarion.”

She’s taking a chance by asking, but it’s one she’s willing to try her luck for.

Despite how many times she’s enjoyed the feeling of him inside her or how well he’s come to learn her body, he’s never quite allowed her the same opportunity to touch or taste him.

She knows enough of his past—he’s told her plenty of the many different people he had taken for Cazador against his will and under duress, his body used without the ability and choice to say no.  

“I want to make you feel good too, Astarion.” Rin peers up into his eyes, fingers no longer trailing along him as she pauses, waiting patiently for a real answer. “Do you trust me?”

His gaze is intense as it meets her own, the heated desire in his eyes tempering for a moment to give way to a tentative vulnerability that crosses over them as he considers her words. 

“I-” Astarion speaks softer than she had expected as he breaks off, gaze intent on hers as the weight of the implication that he has a choice—one that is his and his only to make—bears down on him. “—I do.”

“Only if you want me to. You have to promise me that you want it.” She urges, hands flattening on his abdomen as excitement stirs in her chest.

“Fine. I promise that I want it.” Astarion snaps, but his words lack any real bite as a corner of his lips quirk up into a crooked smile. “Show me what you’ve got, then, if you’re so eager.”

Rin moves slow as her hand slides back down his pants and over the curve of his hardened length, caressing him over the fabric as she feels him, cupping his length softly before flitting back up to join the other still at the waist of his pants.

Astarion’s breath catches at her touch before on his own hands comes down to help as she pushes the barrier down, freeing his length from the confines of his clothes. In a smooth motion, his pants and underwear are down his legs and off, baring his erection.

Precome shines at the tip of his cock as she runs her fingers down him in a barely there caress from top to bottom, his length twitching with the motion as Astarion draws in a harsh breath.

Her eyes stay on his as she grazes the soft skin again, watching for any sign she should stop as she runs her fingers along a prominent vein that runs along the side of him. 

He’s velvet soft under her palm as she wraps her fingers around his shaft, giving him an experimental pump of her hand, touch gentle as she revels in the feel of him.

“Is this alright?” Rin looks up at him from under lowered lashes.

Her hand glides up, brushing over the head of him as she collects the precome leaking from his slit, running her fingers over it before caressing down to the base once more. 

“By all means, please continue.” Rin knows he means for the words to be casual and unaffected, but there’s already a telling breathiness to Astarion’s words that has her smirking.

The weight of him in her hand is nothing short of perfect as she gently wraps her fist around him, stroking him. Astarion moans and it’s the easily one of the most beautiful things Rin’s ever heard, the sound of it sending a spike of heat to her core.

She brings her other hand to her mouth, running her tongue over her palm before it joins the other around his cock and the added bit of glide has Astarion gasping as his hips jump. 

His head falls heavy onto her shoulder as she works him, careful pumps of his length bringing him closer to the edge far faster than she ever thought possible with only her touch. 

His cock weeps as Rin glides her fingers over the crown of him again, collecting more of the precome that glistens at the tip. Her hands move together, one carefully massaging the head of his cock while the other strokes at the base, the breathy moans leaving Astarion’s lips only serving to spur her on further as she works him closer to the edge. 

“Does this feel good, Astarion?”

“Gods, yes.” He shudders in response, lips open against her skin as he presses a messy kiss into her shoulder.

Her palms move faster, intent on his undoing, his pleasure at her hands nothing short of exhilarating. 

Gods, she would let him come wherever he wanted. Onto her stomach, across her breasts, down her throat—the thought is enough to send another spark of electricity to her empty core.

“Ah, darling,” Astarion’s voice is tight as he buries his face deeper into her neck, hips bucking into her hand as she works him from the crown of his cock to the base, his breathing getting harder with every stroke. “Much more and you’ll spoil the main event.”

“I’ll stop, if that’s what you want.” Rin slows her motions as he catches his breath against the column of her throat, so close to his own completion she can practically feel it in the way his body shakes above her own, muscles quivering with the want of release. “But would it be so awful if you were to come like this? On my hands, all over my skin?”

Astarion raises his head from her neck, pupils blown wide and hair thoroughly disheveled as he pants. “Decidedly not, but I think I want to fill that sweet cunt of yours tonight instead.”

“If you say so.” She brings one of the hands that had been stroking him to her mouth, the tip of her tongue peeking out between her lips to lap at a shining string of precome still sticking to her skin, savoring the flavor of him for the very first time.

Astarion swallows hard, eyes fixated on the pink of her tongue as she wraps her mouth around the tip, sucking lightly. She smiles sweetly around it, lips pink and plush, as she sends him a wink.

With a soft pop, she pulls her finger out of her mouth before moving to twine her arms around his neck, running through the soft curls at his nape. “I wouldn’t mind getting to taste more of you, either, if you’d let me.”

“Salacious girl. Whatever am I supposed to do with you?” That same fondness from earlier sneaks back into his words as she gazes up at him with as much innocence as she can muster.

“Hmm,” Rin muses, pretending to think through her answer as her fingers toy with his hair. “Whatever you want, I suppose.” 

“Whatever I want?” Astarion’s brows raise in mock surprise. “You might come to regret those words, darling.”

“I find that sometimes I don’t mind being at your mercy.”

“Your self-preservation instincts need some reevaluating, my dear.”

“Is that what you think?” She laughs as her fingertips abandon his wild curls to dance absentmindedly across the lines of his shoulders.

“What I think is that these wandering hands of yours are trouble.” Astarion leans down to whisper into her ear, a smirk decorating his lips as they brush against the point of them. “It’s a pity I don’t have any pretty ribbon at my disposal to tie them up with.”

Nimble fingers move to find and circle her wrists with surprising delicacy as he removes them from around his neck to instead guide her arms up to rest around her head. 

Desire pools deep in her belly at the mere mention and she doesn’t even try to fight against Astarion’s hold, not when there’s nothing she wants more than to be at the mercy of his hands. 

“So, you’ll just have to be a good girl and keep these up here for me.” His hands encircle her wrists so very easily as he applies the slightest bit of pressure on them to illustrate his point. “Can you do that? I know you have a very hard time following directions.” 

“I’ll try my hardest, but I make no promises.”

His hands slide down from her own where he left them resting above her head as he rises back to his knees, running over her breasts to anchor at her waist before he takes in the sight of her—warm skin and eyes bright and utterly alive. 

He fits perfectly between her thighs as he moves his hips to slide his length through her folds, her slick coating him with every pass.

“No touching,” Astarion tuts. “Don’t forget.”

“Like I said, no promises. But I’ll give it a fair shot.” Rin grinds her hips against his erection, still gliding up and down her slit.

Astarion’s only response is a raise of his brow as he positions himself at her entrance, the head of his cock barely pressing against her as he smirks, moving his hips away every time she tries to move hers forward.

Teasing. Always, always teasing.

Rin rolls her hips against his own as Astarion finally pushes forward, hilting himself inside her warmth in a smooth thrust, twin moans escaping from their lips at the feeling as he fills her completely.

His hands caress down to her thighs where they open for him, thumbs running up and down soft skin marred only by the red of his own bite, the marks smeared with still drying blood.

Astarion’s hips finally move, pulling away from hers only to push forward again until he bottoms out, burying himself deep. Rin relishes the feel of him moving inside her with a soft moan as she throws her head back against his pillow, back arching as he settles his hands on her hips to pull her deeper onto his cock.

His thumbs grip into her skin as he thrusts into her, hips meeting her own with long, deep strokes that have her trying and failing to hold back the little noises of pleasure that loose from her lips.

She yearns to move her hands from where they still rest above her head—yearns to drag her fingers across his skin or wrap her arms around his neck to draw him closer to her—but she resists the temptation, settling on moving her hips instead.

Rin grinds against his cock buried deep inside her as she moves her hips to match his own, thrust for thrust, the slide of him achingly flawless as they move together.  

“Gods, you’re absolutely perfect.” The words slip out of Astarion’s lips, murmured low on a hard thrust. She tightens around him as the praise washes over her, lips opened on a barely restrained whimper as her lashes lower.

He’s more than beautiful in the darkness as he throws his head back on a moan, the drag of his cock smooth as he hits deep and she craves more—more closeness, more of his touch, more of his lips. 

“Kiss me,” she gasps and instantly regrets the words and the desperation of them as her hands still lay obediently above her head, her back arching with every thrust.

Astarion’s hips stutter, losing their rhythm as he looks down at her, fixating on the petal pink of her lips, and Rin’s heart practically stops at what she sees when he looks at her.

A hand traces its way up from her hip to grab hold of her chin, touch firm as Astarion’s eyes move away from her lips to stare into her own, searching for something in the verdant depths of them. His gaze is alight with a precious heat that threatens to burn every inch of her—the fire she’s secretly dreamed of seeing there in his eyes when he looks at her.

His lips crash into hers with no words or preamble, meeting her half way as she surges her head up and their lips press together. Her arms lift, leaving their resting place above her head to wrap around his neck as Astarion’s tongue runs against the seam of her lips in askance, her own parting eagerly for him.

She can taste the remnants of herself on his lips, both the richness of her cunt and the metallic tang of her blood; and it’s heady, it’s divine as his lips chase after her own as they kiss and kiss and kiss, his hips still joined with hers all the while.

The hand that had been poised on her chin strokes upward, running over the plane of her cheek in a barely there touch that has her heart stuttering as their lips move.

Gods, she’d been wishing for the feeling of his lips on hers, and if the only way she can get it is when he fucks her, then so be it. 

It’s not the only kind of kiss she wants from him but it’s the kiss she will take, desperate despite her every wish otherwise.

She’s gasping when Astarion finally breaks the kiss, taking in precious breaths of air as his lips lift only just away from hers. His hips slow and Rin looks questioningly up at Astarion, arms still twined tightly around his neck.

A small burst of panic bubbles up in her chest as she feels him slide out her, hips pulling away from hers to leave her empty; and worry that she had perhaps done something wrong or said something she shouldn’t have fills her mind. 

“Astarion? Is everything alright? Did I—” she cuts herself off as the hand at her cheek brushes a stray lock of hair behind her ear while its twin travels up her thigh to curve around her waist, urging her body upwards with a gentle pull.

“Let’s try something a little different, hm? Now, up.”

His hold is tight—secure—as they both shift to sitting, Astarion helping her along the way until she is upright in his lap, knees on either side of his thighs as she hovers.

“Now, tell me, sweet thing. Have you ever been fucked like this before?” His eyes pierce into her own as a hand curls around the back of her head, fingers tangling in her curls.

“No.” Rin shakes her head from side to side, biting her lip as his length finds her entrance once more, pushing with the barest hint of pressure against her.

“Good.” 

With a swift thrust, Astarion sheathes himself inside of her as his lips capture hers, swallowing her answering moan as Rin arches against his chest. The hand wrapped around her waist travels down, fingertips squeezing into the flesh of her ass to help guide her hips up and down his cock.

They’re on equal footing like this, noses brushing against each other’s as their bodies work, Rin’s hips meeting Astarion’s own in a smooth cadence. The closeness—the intimacy of it—is intoxicating as their lips meet again and again, arms wrapped around each other as their fingertips dig into each other’s skin.

It’s not as fast or as hard as she’s used to, but somehow it’s better—the lack of quick thrusts is made up for instead by hard rolls of their hips, Astarion reaching the deepest part of her core as they hold each other close, not an bit of space between them.

His length brushes against what feels like every inch of her walls, sending sparks through her body as the heat coiling in her stomach rises higher with every move they make.

Rin is only mildly aware of the marks he left on her thigh breaking open once more, tiny drops of her blood leaving ruby red smears against both her and Astarion’s flesh as her hands map the planes of his face and their lips press.

Any other time, she would be blushing at the noise of their bodies moving together, the wet glide of his length driving in and out of her and the sound of skin on skin audible in the confines of Astarion’s tent; but instead she’s unabashed as she moves up and down his cock and he thrusts up to meet her, moans falling freely from both of their mouths as their kiss breaks.

She’s getting closer and she can tell he is too, the intensity of his thrusts only getting harder and deeper as every roll of his hips has his length brushing against her sweet spot as she loses her rhythm against him as her body begins to quake.

“Eyes on me.” Astarion’s forehead presses into hers as her lashes flutter, the height of her pleasure curling around her, ephemeral and just out of reach.

The heat burning inside her reaches a crescendo, his name whispered from her lips on a broken gasp as her hold on him tightens, fingertips digging into his skin.

She’s tremulous as she tightens around him and he kisses her moans from her, quieting the sound of them as her hands grasp for purchase around his shoulders and he pumps his cock, hitting the very same spot that never fails to have her falling apart in his arms. 

Rin sees stars behind her eyes as she tumbles over the edge of the crest, constricting hard on him as she comes on a near silent cry. Her hips writhe as Astarion holds her steady despite the ragged moan that falls from his lips as he watches her fall apart with half-lidded eyes.

She’s clinging to him as she rides out the rest of her orgasm on the hardened length still thrusting inside her, Astarion working her through the waves of pleasure that suffuse through her limbs.

A dreamy, hazy euphoria descends over her like a fog as she finally comes back to herself, her first thought to press another kiss to the pair of lips that still brush against hers. 

Rin takes a lungful of air on a deep breath, beginning to move her hips against his once more despite the contented exhaustion blanketing her as she speaks with a soft, teasing lilt. “I thought you were going to come in my sweet cunt, Astarion.”

“Still the plan, darling.” Astarion’s lost in his own pleasure as he speaks, eyes fixated on her own as his hips snap hard into hers.

The hand on her ass tightens, fingertips near bruising as Astarion’s thrusts begin lose their rhythm in the wake her orgasm, the feeling of her cunt spasming around his length as she had come only serving to drive him closer to his own completion.

Her fingertips run down his cheek as he looks at her, his control breaking on every push of his hips that she meets readily.

“Then do it,” She whispers. “Please come for me, Astarion.” 

Rin presses her mouth to his in a hard kiss, gasping as he changes the angle of his thrusts to hit the very end of her cunt.

At her words, Astarion follows her over the edge, moaning his ecstasy into her lips as he comes. His hips rut frantically against hers, spilling himself inside her with unrestrained thrusts. 

Rin grasps him tighter as his orgasm rushes through him, taking each and every sound that falls from him as he works through the waves of pleasure coursing through his limbs. 

Finally, Astarion’s hips slow to a halt as their chests heave, still locked in their embrace, the haze of the aftermath floating around them. His lips press against hers one last time before he ducks his head to fit against her neck, breathing in the scent of her.  

Rin’s not sure how long they stay like that, both catching their breath as her arms hang loose around him, Astarion’s face still buried in her neck as his fingers grip around waist. 

Eventually, it’s Astarion who moves first, gently pulling his softened cock from her as he lifts his head and leans back towards his bedroll, taking her down with him. 

They lay next to each other on the ruined blanket, a light sheen of sweat sticking to their skin.

“That was—” Astarion starts, running a hand through his hair in an attempt to push it out of his face.

Rin finishes the sentence for him, her heart still beating in a staccato rhythm. “Amazing? Fantastic? The best sex you’ve ever had?”

“Well, you think quite highly of yourself, don’t you?” Astarion turns his head to face her, brow raised.

Rin leans in, bumping their foreheads together in a light touch before whispering her reply on a smile. “That wasn’t a no.”

Astarion rolls her eyes and she laughs, and she swears she can see the slightest hint of pink coloring his cheeks, no doubt from the help of her blood still running through him.

He sits up, stretching his arms above his head, the muscles in his back shifting and Rin lets out an appreciative hum at the sight. 

“Oh, and Astarion.” Rin smiles as she rolls her shoulders, settling further into the blanket. “If you burn my shirt, I will be forced to take action. Possibly with a knife. Just so we’re clear.”

His head whips back to glance at her, a wicked look in his eye. “Flirting again already? Give me a moment to recover, dearest.” 

Astarion’s eyes skate down her naked form, still lying in a boneless heap upon his bedroll. 

“Gods, look at you. You’re an absolute mess.” She can feel the blood drying on her thighs and on the spots where he had left bloodied kisses up her body, his come threatening to spill out of her with even the slightest movement. “Get ahold of yourself, darling.”

“An absolute mess that you made.” Rin peeks down to look at herself, skin still flushed and dotted with red marks in the vague shape of his lips.

“I’d gladly make it again, too.” Astarion turns back to the side, reaching for a spare decanter of presumably water and grabbing a piece of soft cloth.

“I’m sure we can come to some sort of agreement.” 

She takes in the bloodied blanket beneath her as she hazards a stretch, reaching her arms above her head as her feet point, back arching as she comes up to her elbows. 

“Has anyone ever told you that your bedroll is absolutely awful? How you manage to sleep on something so hard is beyond my ability to imagine. We should steal you a new one.”

Even with the awful plank beneath her, it would be so easy to stay on a night like tonight. Too easy to imagine settling into his side, the now familiar contours of his body beside her own as they rested together, limbs tangling. She’s never slept in anyone’s arms before that she can remember, and she wonders how it must feel to spend hours simply wrapped in Astarion’s embrace and then to wake up next to him at first light.

Please ask me to stay. 

The words come from a deep, dark part of her mind unbidden; but the wanting they bring with them threatens to ruin her as her heart beats harder.

“Or you could always come share mine, I guess. I promise I’ll keep you nice and warm.” It’s a risk speaking those kind of words, Rin crossing a line they’ve never dared to before.

Astarion’s body tenses slightly, the line of his shoulders stiffening.

He dips the mouth of the decanter over onto a spare cloth to wet it before turning back to her, expression strangely blank. The sight of it puts her ill at ease, as if the warm intimacy they had shared had been snuffed out like a candle’s flame. 

Astarion runs the cloth over her form, erasing any evidence of him from her skin. His spend, the blood on her thighs, the messy kisses up her chest—all of it gone with a simple brush of water on cloth.

She nods her thanks, her heart sinking as regret burns in her throat. 

“Well, it’s been lovely. You’re always such a treat.” Astarion summons a veil across his eyes, an empty smirk on his lips as he sets the cloth to the side. “You should go get some sleep, darling. Who knows who else you’ll need to convince to kill themselves tomorrow.”

It’s like a slap to the cheek—cold water to wake her from the warm embrace of a dream. It wasn’t the first time he had said such words to her, but this is the first time she realizes that she hates them with every fibre of her being.

“Oh.” She bites her lip, hoping she hides her disappointment well enough; but from the way Astarion averts his gaze to focus on an invisible point on other side of the tent, she doesn’t need to worry much. “I suppose you do need your beauty sleep, don’t you? Far be it from me to get in the way.”

Rin doesn’t want to hear what he has to say, she decides, as she pulls herself up to sitting beside him. She’s not certain she can look at him either, not at the cool and aloof expression that seems to have taken residence across his features. 

He hadn’t looked like that when he kissed her. 

No, he had looked the exact opposite, his expression mirroring the longing she knows had been etched onto her own as their lips had met.

Without a word, Rin stands and walks over the blankets heaped along the floor to where her clothes lay discarded in a heap, her footsteps soft against the ground. 

Silently, she redresses, not bothering with the corset as she leaves it unlaced at her feet and pulls the rest of her clothes back on with perfunctory ease. Her tunic is partially over her head when she dares a look back at Astarion, the collar floating down to rest against her skin as she turns her head.

His face is imperceptible as he watches her, sitting still as stone. She forces a small smile, hoping that the dejection she feels doesn’t come across as she speaks to him one last time for the evening.

“Sleep well, Astarion.”

Astarion nods his head, a clear dismissal if she’s ever seen one. “Until the morning, darling.”

Until the morning, indeed. 

Until the morning, where they’ll pretend everything is fine and nothing has changed as they play around each other in some sort of tiring, endless game.

And maybe Astarion can. Maybe, for him, nothing ever did change.

Rin doesn’t know quite what it is that they are building towards; but between the little bits of their lives shared with one another, the tiny little secrets that bare ragged pieces of their souls, the long evenings spent by the side of the fire laughing and talking and playing games, between the kisses and caresses and the meeting of their eyes—it feels like something.

Something more than simply being bedmates.

With a single, deep breath she reaches down to grab her corset, collecting it in hand as she turns and walks out the front flap of his tent without another look back, unable to promise she can keep her expression even in the face of his seemingly cold indifference. 

Rin keeps her eyes ahead as she walks by the campfire, Gale politely looking the other way, not commenting on how she must look or what he must have heard—her hair is undoubtedly a mess, corset rumpled in hand, lips still too swollen to be confused with being anything other than readily kissed.

She withholds the sigh that threatens to break free as she makes her way towards her tent, and she’s grateful that at least there is no one else by the fire to witness the utterly pathetic sight of her as she keeps her eyes straight forward. 

“I hope you know what you are doing.” Gale’s voice stops her before she can step into her tent, and she freezes, shifting the corset in hand in hopes of hiding it better, though she knows it’s useless. “I say this with the utmost respect, you understand. As your friend.”

Rin can hear the slightest bit of judgment in the words despite the kindness of them but she shakes it off. She probably deserves his judgment, in the end.

She pastes a weak smile on her face, squeezing the corset tighter in her hand as she turns to look at the wizard where he sits by the fire, a familiar spell book in hand. 

“It’s all good Gale, nothing to worry about. I promise.”

“I trust your judgement, then. Sleep well, my friend.” Gale gives her a polite nod, but the look on his face says that he’s thoroughly unconvinced by her words.

Such aspiring confidence her companions have in her, it seems.

Rin certainly doesn’t blame him for it.

She can barely convince herself of the fact, after all.

With one last sigh she walks through the flap of her tent, letting it flutter shut behind her as she steps inside the familiar surroundings she now calls home.

It smells like it always does, jasmine and honey hanging in the air, and not a one of her possessions is out of place—however few of them she has. 

But as she drops the corset on the ground, she can’t help but feel that something is missing.

Hands come up to cover her eyes as she presses the heel of her palms into them, hoping to rid her mind of such thoughts, however there’s no comfort to be found as shapes swirl on the back of her eyelids.

If she had any sense at all, she would quit while she was still ahead and could leave somewhat unscathed from whatever this thing growing between them is.

But she knows herself better than that.

She knows that, instead of stopping this and sparing herself the almost inevitable promise of pain that their little affair will bring, she will pull herself back together just in time to face the darkness of the morning and pretend that everything is just fine—all the while knowing deep down that she will keep making the same mistake over and over again and relish it every single time.

[bitchkay]

Free anonymous ask to talk about Quartus and any headcanons you have about him lmao

Heck, make this about a fanfic if you want

Talk about him, go crazy, go stupid, go batshit insane even

[Ask received: oct 2nd]

You dont fucking understand I'm so fucking feral about him.

Its the fact I should probably be embarrassed about it but yall I'm too far gone😣😣

You know how you see comments like "oh I hear sumn puring😼😼" that was me.

Literally as soon as that man came on the screen I was like 'oh... *gulp*... why my pussy thumpin--'

Like bro is saying the most horrifying, terrible shit and I'm like

I'd literally let that man do unspeakable things to me.

Quartus was introduced in the second to last chapter of book four so in the last chapter yk when Secondus was introduced literally as soon as he popped up on the screen I was like "Hi daddy😋" OUT LOUD‼ LIKE I SAID THAT SHIT‼

IM SO FUCKING DELUSIONAL YALL IM SO MENTALLY ILL ABOUT HIM

Bro said this —THIS EXACT SCREENSHOT TOO- and I was like... I need to fuck him right this minute😋😋

Yall I'd let him face fuck me until I throw up all over it.

I'd literally let him ruin me.

Tear me the fuck apart.

I'm but a hole.

I'd literally let that man use my mouth as a cum dumpster.

My throat is a daycare.

As soon as he has an erection I'm on my fucking knees. Tongue out. Ready to serve. Bent over. Pussy wet. Cock sleeve ready to be filled.

I wanna be fucked.

I want him to fuck me.

Yall do not fucking understand, every and all ounce of decorum just goes straight out the fucking window

He can misgender me and I'd call it degradation bitch I'm moaning louder‼

Slap me around like a whore‼

Quartus: *literally just on the screen*

Listen

I'm not gon lie yall.

I'm so horny rn--

Nah cus look, the gold chain is enough for me.

BUT THE RINGS--⁉️⁉️

IM LITERALLY OUT OF COMMISSION

IM DONE

IM FUCKING DONE

IM SO FUCKING FERAL YALL

no cus--

YALL--

those rings will be covered in cum when hes done with me.

listen--

WHEN HES KNUCKLES DEEP IN MY--

im gonna cry yall.

I want that gold chain swinging in my face while he wrecking my shit up.

That goddamn necklace be slapping me in the face and shit all while hes plowing me into oblivion.

HIS DICK IS SO BIG YALL😭😭

YALL

NAH CUS HIS DICK IS SO BIG YALL IM GOING INSANE

it's so meaty and thick--

MY BRAIN IS BRAINING YALL

Oh I bet it's heavy too--

IM SHORT CIRCUITING

I probably wouldn't even be able to take it🤭🤭

It's like shoving a sausage into a key hole😳

He'd make it fit tho😋(by force)

Yall lucky I'm flexible, bro would break my fucking back

Fortunately for me I have scoliosis so my back would hurt either way😼😼

HE HAS BOOBS YALL

BIG BEEFY BOOBIES MMMFFHSHSHIWHENDMDKDHDHD--

I'm not okay.

I'm so unwell yall🤒

This how you know I'm gone😵💫💫

Cus all self respect I ever had for myself just goes flying out the windows poof💨 gone

It's not even like bro is morally grey, bro is just evil and I fuck with it😋

I wanna fuck w/ him👁👁

I wanna fuck him.

Yall I think I been celibate for too long-- LMFAOO--

Cus yall I want him so bad

I need him to be injected into my bloodstream(sexual)

Literally toss me arround like a slut😵

I will be nothing if not a concubine for him.

Quartus can literally break all my bones and I'd cum.

Like it's crazy

I'd drink his cum like a fucking milkshake yummy

Fill me up daddy😩😩

Me when he's done w/ me:

I'm not okay yall

Like I'm so out of sorts rn😣✨

He can kill me and I'd just like "harder daddy😋😋" like I'm so fucking crazy

Like bro literally showed up on screen and worked his way into my fucking prefrontal cortex.

This man makes my mars sign go haywire like I'm so fucking horny for him😣😣

Yall I think I need a lobotomy--

Like I need to fixed

I'm so not normal

I'm not okay

I'm so fucking unwell

I need Quartus literally inside my body.

I'm literally just a vessel. A hole. A pussy.

Bro showed up on the screen and made me his bitch.

[douwatahima]

Turns out I have some more feelings about the manga I finished yesterday. Not naming it so this doesn’t end up in the tags. Please don’t read this, lol. The fourteen year old version of me jumped out.

I think the thing that bugged me most about this last stretch of DN Angel is how much it felt like Yukiru Sugisaki was just...done with the whole thing. Like everything felt very rushed towards a specific, easy conclusion that didn't address a lot of the interesting pieces she had previously laid down.

Like, I remember reading those last few chapters before the eight year long hiatus and HOLY SHIT there was so much! The Dark/Risa relationship all of a sudden becomes an actual threat, not just to Daisuke/Riku, but to Daisuke himself! Satoshi completely lets his guard down around Daisuke, trusting that the person he loves will make this huge sacrifice for him, and when Daisuke refuses he POINTS A GUN TO HIS OWN HEAD. AND THEN WHEN HE GETS CAUGHT HE GOES OFF INTO THE FOREST WITH. THE. GUN!!! AND THEN!!!! RIKU FINDS OUT DAISUKE IS DARK!!!!!!!! IT'S WILD AS FUCK!!!!!!!!

And then we come back and a lot of this is immediately dealt with in a comedic fashion and we just move on. Dark and Daisuke don't talk about that Risa interaction. No one goes after Satoshi. Daisuke comes up with some excuse and Riku is satiated for now.

Then we got the whole dream circus arc. Which was honestly alright. I enjoyed Daisuke coming to terms with the fact that he cannot separate himself from Dark. They are one and the same, for better or worse. And honestly, at first I thought this arc was going to lead us somewhere interesting. Because if Daisuke and Dark now understand that they are a package deal, how do they deal with the whole Riku and Risa thing???? (The answer is they basically don't but I'll get there). I was 100% ready to love this arc and then they did...the thing and I...

Okay, look. Full disclosure, I've been a DN Angel fan since I was like, fourteen. It is linked to me in a way that can only happen when you're obsessed with something at the height of your awkward teen years. And the thing that continues to be my favourite part of the whole story is the relationship between Satoshi and Daisuke. They were my number one ship, not just at fourteen, but...honestly probably through all of my teen years. Like, remember when people used to make jokes on this website about someone asking about your otp and you pull out your binder of reasons? I literally made a Satodai binder. That's not a joke. They were it for me.

And, don't get me wrong, there was never a point where I honestly thought the manga was gonna have Daisuke leave Riku and end up with Satoshi. I dreamed about it, but didn't honestly expect it. BUT I loved the way the manga addressed Satoshi's feelings for Daisuke. This is someone who Satoshi treasures above all others. The person who makes him believe the world can be better. The person he would do ANYTHING for. Like, Satoshi LOVES him.

Which is why it's so frustrating to me that Yukiru Sugisaki decided it would be better for Satoshi to have a two second dream about Risa that changes all of his feelings instantaneously. Like, I'm not here to shit on Satoshi/Risa fans, and I'm happy y'all got your ship. Honestly. But, the two of them have barely spoken before this and then Satoshi has a dream and literally says, "oh I guess my feelings have changed now" like...two volumes before the end! AND THEN THEY DON'T EVEN TALK UNTIL THE VERY END OF THE SERIES. FOR WHAT????

It honestly just read to me as, the mangaka wanted to end the series and Satoshi continuing to be into Daisuke was too emotionally complicated to quickly wrap up so he loves Risa now. And hey, that clears up the whole Dark/Risa thing, right? I'll get to that.

ANYWAY, so then we jump into an elongated story about some past Niwa/Hikari drama which would've been fun if I hadn't been growing more and more confused as I noticed how few chapters were left and we were STILL ON THIS. Like, I love when DN Angel gives us fun new characters to talk about. Hell, the Freedert arc and the Argentine arc are two of my favourites. But, when you only have a limited amount of time...It just felt like this was something Yukiru Sugisaki was maybe sitting on for awhile so she didn't want to skip it, but she also wanted to finish the story as soon as possible so the ending comes IMMEDIATELY after which makes this whole arc feel...weird. Like...we could've spent our last few chapters on the characters we know and love but...instead...

Then we get to the endgame. So, quick poll, do we think the mangaka already had this ending in mind before the anime came out or do we think she decided to do the anime ending because she had no idea how to finish the story. I'm really not sure, but either way it felt soooo anticlimactic given that we've had the anime ending for almost 20 years. Like...what was I waiting around for if you were just gonna do the same thing????? And look, I honestly never finished the anime because I couldn't stand the way they chose to characterize some of my favourite characters (most notably Satoshi and Risa) and I'd read what the ending was and hated it lol. But I digress.

The thing about the ending that gets me most is that it all comes on so fast. Like, you wanna do the anime ending? Okay. Don't love the idea, but okay. BUT it all happens in like... 2-3 chapters. Like, all of a sudden the Black Wings is sucking up power from the artwork and, oh no, here comes Krad ready wreck shop. And then we, randomly at THE END OF THE MANGA find out Satoshi's adopted Dad is actually his real Dad and also he's a piece of artwork which makes Satoshi half a piece of artwork???? Why are you telling us this now???? Then Satoshi and Daisuke seal Dark and Krad into the Black Wings the end. Like...????? That's it?????

OH ALSO I FORGOT TO MENTION THAT THE HARADA TWINS ARE MOVING TO ANOTHER COUNTRY. HONESTLY PROBABLY BECAUSE IT FEELS LIKE YUKIRU SUGISAKI FORGOT TOO SINCE THERE'S NO CLOSURE ON THAT?????? (Honestly, I'm laughing because I literally forgot about this fact until just now. AGAIN WHAT WAS THE REASON LMAO!!!)

Okay, so the story's done but where does it leave our favourite characters???

Daisuke and Riku have figured their shit out and are...presumably going to do long distance??? Idk, they never really address whether they're staying together or not as far as I can remember???? Like, this is the relationship I thought we would get the most closure on but ?????????

Risa just gets to be sad for awhile I guess. It's honestly so infuriating to me that we got this awesome moment before the hiatus where Dark asked Risa if she would love him no matter what and she says yes with her WHOLE CHEST and that's enough for Dark to almost, like, take over Daisuke's body permanently. Like, her love for Dark is as real as Riku's love for Daisuke but she's not allowed to have a happy ending like her sister. She gets to see Dark one last time where he kisses her and hopes she'll always be his best girl and then he flies off into the night while she begs him not to leave. Then, she gets to cry in the street, trying to remember him while everyone else is forgetting. Well, at least she has Satoshi, right????

But like, we don't even know if she likes Satoshi that way. There's been...no indication that she does as far as I know. And as he's hugging her, Satoshi is having these thoughts hoping she'll be able to remember Dark because he knows how meaningful he is to her. So their ending is LITERALLY Risa gets to be horribly heartbroken and Satoshi gets to pine for someone else who, at this point, doesn't love him back.

Like, once again not to shit on Satoshi/Risa fans but...is this the ending y'all wanted????? Because as someone who stans them both this just felt horrible. It reads as a feeble attempt to "pair the spares" (since in the story the mangaka wanted to tell, neither of them could be with who they originally loved) but, like, even then this is the saddest way to do that. OH! And once again, if Risa is moving, ARE THEY EVEN GOING TO BE TOGETHER????? Like, what are we supposed to get from this what is the REASON??????

And then there's Dark and Krad being stuck in the Black Wings for eternity. The biggest reason I didn't like this ending in the anime. Like, look. I get that you have to end your manga somehow. BUT if your plan was to reunite Dark and Krad in this way I don't understand why you would write a whole interaction, mere chapters before, having Dark say that that's the LAST thing he wants to do. HE SAYS THAT THEY AREN'T THE SAME ANYMORE AND THAT HE DOESN'T WANT TO RETURN TO HIM. AND THEN HE'S FORCED TO DO JUST THAT. FOR. WHAT?????

Like, Dark isn't a villain. He's one of our main protagonists and has been this whole time. I get that in stories sometimes characters have sad endings. (I've already argued that I think both Satoshi and Risa's endings were bittersweet at best). But to have Dark say mere chapters before it happens that he categorically DOES NOT want to rejoin Krad and then force him to do just that feels like such a needlessly cruel thing to do to this character we're meant to love.

Once again, it just felt so much like Yukiru Sugisaki wanted to end the series as quickly as possible. I get her wanting to come back to it; she's kinda notorious for not finishing things so I get the impulse to just drive through and get at least one story done. But, it felt like so many things were skipped over or changed just because it made getting to the end goal easier and less complicated. Not addressing some of the cool shit she laid down before the hiatus, completely morphing Satoshi's feelings in a dream, writing off Risa's feelings for Dark, telling us all of the Satoshi backstory stuff at the last goddamn minute, giving Dark his worst nightmare as an ending, so many of these things done just to move things along towards a specific end goal as fast as possible.

Honestly, there's a part of me that wishes she hadn't come back and finished it at all. I was happy enough with the ending I had written in my head and would've preferred it to what we ended up getting ¯\_(ツ)_/¯. Anyway, to anyone who actually read this (and a part of me hopes no one does lmao) thanks for listening to me ramble. And if you're a Satoshi/Risa fan, uh, sorry I hated on your ship lol. You're cool.

[chrysalizzm]

i uh. realized people follow me now because of uh. you’re human tonight on ao3 asdjgfs

i have content!! behind the scenes content as promised. i do outlines for my fics as a general rule of thumb just because i personally can’t write things to a satisfying finish if i don’t Do That, and so - here are my chapter/plot outlines for you’re human tonight ^^ (i have no idea if this is interesting content or not i thought i’d put it out there because i think outlines are kinda fun hhhh)

chap 1 fundy

subtitle: an inkling

fundy makes an iron golem gone wrong, dream makes it go boom

chap 2 purpled

subtitle: uh oh social interaction

purpled shelters a fugitive, gets his house explosion-proofed as thanks

this is probably gonna be the only chapter with a funny title hh oh well

update: it’s not and i’m pleased with myself for branching out with my dry humor

chap 3 sapnap

subtitle: dust to dust

sapnap’s dying via wither effect, and he knows respawn’s around the corner but goddamn if it doesn’t hurt til then. dream skids in around the nether fortress corner, drops all his weapons cradles sapnap’s head in his hands, has always taken death much harder than anyone sapnap’s ever met. at the last few seconds, when death creeps up like a shroud, dream starts to hum to him hoarsely, pressing his forehead to sapnap’s, and in the final moments sapnap doesn’t hurt at all. the last thing he hears is dream whimpering. he visits dream’s bunker the next day, knocks on the door over and over, but there’s no sign of life there. sapnap shrugs, bites his lip out of guilt for forcing dream to sit there watching him die (if temporarily), and moves on.

the chapter that introduces dream’s primary ability of soothing hurts. put a lot of emphasis on the fact that sapnap ached up until the moment dream started humming, because for dream to do that is pretty frivolous considering once sapnap died he’d respawn and the hurt would just disappear but dream wanted sapnap to have a peaceful last few seconds. emphasize how abnormal it is that withering stops hurting. 

chap 4 ponk

subtitle: beaches dry of sugarcane

dream visits ponk after george burns down the first tree. when ponk arrives to the second tree to move in, he realized dream made the tree flourish, grow healthier and bigger. 

chap 5 sam

subtitle: fuck this shit i’m out (edit: the official subtitle is “oh god oh fuck”, i changed it last-minute)

dream picks sam’s brain for manhunt strategies while the latter is mining for redstone. sam stumbles upon a spawner and reels back, trips, nearly misses the moment dream sweeps him behind him and his eyes flash beneath the mask and when sam gets back up, dazed, there’s nothing but the splay of cobwebs all over the walls. 

chap 6 punz

subtitle: lines drawn

in an unrelated skirmish, punz drives his sword up to the hilt in dream’s chest, relying on respawn for dream to not feel any pain and for punz to get paid. dream doesn’t die. this is understandably alarming. 

can we get some funnies in chap? just a few laughs?? a lil funny for mr luke punz man?

can we get some panicky dry humor for real tho because punz strikes me as someone who copes with morbid humor and dream spluttering up blood is def a situation that punz would not know how to deal with

chap 7 wilbur

subtitle: so about that date

wilbur makes platonic moves on dream while dream fake texts his fiance under the table. wilbur also accidentally vents to dream about his little brother tommy and how afraid he is that tommy will get himself hurt for how reckless he is. dream siphons some of his anxiety from him, smiles as they depart from one another. wilbur notes that dream is shaking when they leave. 

chap 8 skeppy

subtitle: get wrecked noob

dream walks skeppy through some pvp. when skeppy demands a rematch w tommy and gets a lil stage fright kinda sorta thing, dream siphons his anxiety and his nerves and goes full soccer mom with bad and skeppy loses 5-2 but like!! he won!! against tommyinnit!! HH

is there any mental image nearly as powerful as dream wastaken, the soccer mom

chap 9 jack

subtitle: mandatory volunteering

after tommy goes on another one of his destructive rampages lmao, dream enlists jack, newest-comer, to help him rebuild stuff bc underclassmen have to do whatever upperclassmen tell them to do thems just the rules. after rebuilding a statue near the community house, dream pats it fondly, and when tommy sneaks back to set in on fire for shits and giggles, he finds that it’s fuckin fireproofed AGAIN

rebuild efforts, i promised monuments rebuilt so thats what theyre gonna fuckin Get

chap 10 antfrost

subtitle: twist the knife

ant on what ends up being an unpublicized manhunt: dream stops the manhunt because he’s triggered a raid and by the time the hunters get there, alarmed by the screaming and the fire and dream’s unresponsiveness, the villagers are all dead and there are raider corpses everywhere and dream is lying near the bell on his side, whimpering. (what the hunters don’t know - dream tried to fight off the raid but was overwhelmed and witnessed the village get slaughtered, he took the pain of the villagers that weren’t dead but were dying.)

segment: There’s a reason they do the manhunts, and it’s not just for them to horse around and try to kill one another for a few days. Antfrost is the newcomer but he’s always been good at reading people and from the outset he knew that Dream was someone filled to the brim with the restlessness that characterizes humans, that never-settling wanderlust, and his brain works too fast for the rest of his body sometimes, and he just needs an outlet. It’s part of why he eggs Tommy on in their little war games, why he holds onto those discs even though he doesn’t need them, why he gets that delighted look on his face when someone tells him that Tommy’s griefed them or stolen from them or otherwise ruined their morning. Antfrost thinks the only times he’s ever really seen Dream silent, Dream waiting, Dream unmoving, are when Dream is 

chap 11 karl

subtitle: head in the shallows

karl, sapnap, george, and dream have a sleepover after mcc 11. karl, nearest to dream, wakes up when dream starts tossing and turning from a nightmare. when he tries to shake dream awake, dream’s eyes fly open and he slams his fist into the wall behind him and the earth, the literal earth, the entire slab of it, shudders like an earthquake. sapnap and george sleep like the dead, so it’s just karl and dream staring at one another. finally karl asks, concerned, “do you want some tea or water or anything?”

chap 12 hbomb

subtitle: a maid’s burden

“i want to dress up as a maid for fundy,” says hbomb with false bravado. fundy’s fiance levels a very impassive look at him for an awkward minute or two and just when hbomb thinks he’s misread dream and fundy’s relationship dream says “i’ll get you a wig” and the entire chapter is just dream idly twisting the fabric of reality to get hbomb the items he needs to put the outfit together

pranks, i promised pranks, theyre gonna get pranks

chap 13 alyssa

subtitle: message in a bottle (edit: official subtitle is “ship in a bottle”)

alyssa’s leaving, at least temporarily. 

alyssa tells dream it’s getting dangerous on his server, doesn’t relish the expression that brings to his face, but he holds her hands and nods and bids her safe journey. when alyssa returns, running for something (later we’ll learn she had heard that dream was bad, that he might be dying), she finds that her house is completely inaccessible by everyone save her, placed in complete stasis by someone. 

start of the chapters leading up to festival arc. build unresolved tension in this one. 

chap 14 niki

subtitle: life doesn’t discriminate

wilbur and tommy are relentless, they waste no time; niki is willing to wait for it. 

the night before the duel, she goes to dream and holds a sword to his throat and demands he call it off, even though she knows it’ll mean little because of respawn, tells him she won’t stop hunting him down until he gives up l’manberg. dream smiles a little sadly and pats her hand and her fright, her rage, it simmers back down, and the anger that had swarmed her and made dream out to be the devil dies down until it’s just her friend, who was playing along with tommy til it got serious and he got cocky, who’s just as in over his head as she is, and maybe niki’s soft but she likes that about herself, that she’s always the first to forgive. niki is looking at the healing cut on dream’s neck, uncovered by any bandages, when dream shoots tommy, a clean shot that causes no suffering.

a long chapter, probably. i think at some point in this i want to mention niki’s respect for dream for apologizing during the first pet war, for not letting things get any bigger until fundy came back. some parallels can be drawn here - that dream let the fire die down in the initial stages of the pet war, that dream won’t let go of the l’manberg war now, and it occurs to niki that she doesn’t know dream nearly as well as she thinks she does if she expected him to act exactly the way he did during the pet war. she’s got what she’s wanted - dream’s remorse, proof of dream’s humanity - even though it’s not in the form niki wanted it. 

chap 15 eret

subtitle: crown of thorns

the king in name only consults with the true leader. 

they’re both upset about pogtopia’s exile, eret arguably more so because they think their early betrayal of l’manberg somehow butterfly-effected into the current dumpster fire, and as they talk eret works themself into a full panic attack reflecting on things that were, things that could’ve been - and the tide washes out all of a sudden, and eret’s left with the same looming hollowness they’d been feeling before, no dregs of the panic, they’ve never had a panic attack that left them feeling normal after - but dream is now wheezing like he’s about to die and eret immediately walks him through the panic attack, levelheaded even as they’re confused out of their mind. 

chap 16 quackity

subtitle: water to blood

quackity is a snake in the grass. 

quackity at schlatt’s side during the few weeks of his presidency. he knows schlatt from before, has been his friend, so he knows when his friend is acting off. the cynical, straight-faced humor is still there, his completely bland delivery and brazen showmanship, but it’s twisted to the left somehow, to make it so that those qualities that make up his friend have rotted, hurt people. quackity eventually goes to dream after schlatt first overdoses with a lot of questions, maybe even to confess that his allegiance has begun to shift because he can’t go to pogtopia and he can’t go to schlatt - and dream just gives him a long, sad look before lightly patting quackity’s shoulder and says “i can’t guarantee anything - just that you’ll be safe” and shooing him off and as quackity heads back to manberg he realises all the hostile mobs are avoiding him like the fucking plague. 

it’s big q!!!! fattest ass in the cabinet!!!!! pog!!!

fun fact this chapter’s subtitle was almost “chekhov’s gun” until november fucking 16th of 2020

chap 17 tommy

subtitle: most disputes die and no one shoots

tommy learns how a legacy dies.

a compendium of tommy watching the madness consume wilbur. it needs to be emphasized in this chapter that wilbur becomes an entirely different person when they’re ejected from manberg, that he becomes obsessed with the legacy he’s created and watching it crumble is what twists him; when dream gives tommy his crossbow, tommy, out of desperation and a need to have an older sibling again, asks what’s wrong with wilbur; dream’s face hardens and he asks tommy to take dream to wilbur. it’s a terse meeting, the only one they have before techno and before wilbur completely loses it and demands the tnt; wilbur says a lot of things tommy doesn’t understand (it’s complex mythological jargon hinting at dream’s status as a god but could be misconstrued to refer to dream’s status as simply the world owner) and at one point wilbur sneers, “are you trying to play god, dream?” and dream lurches forward and grabs wilbur by the wrist, and there’s a completely silent moment where tommy feels the air suck out of his lungs and there’s an off buzzing in his ears and he fancies he hears something that sounds, just a bit, like dream, whispering desperately wilbur wilbur wilbur it’s me it’s me listen listen listen then a shrieking, acrid wave of no and tommy reels back and when he looks up dream has staggered back, his hand to his mouth, blood dripping from somewhere beneath his mask, sounding like he’s gagging or maybe he’s sobbing, as wilbur shrieks in a voice that is entirely not his “get out get out if i can’t have l’manberg...” and tommy understands, finally, as dream sprints out. that’s not wilbur.

a distinction needs to be made perfectly clear in this chapter, as with schlatt’s chapter: it’s not them. they’ve been twisted out of control by something bigger than them, something that wants to toy with the young god running an oasis of peace for his people. it doesn’t need to be outright said in this fic; in another we can delve into the madness and who did it and why. for now, just make it clear it’s not explicitly anyone’s fault.

chap 18 techno

subtitle: colosseum

dream had to let techno in first, you know. 

techno and dream have interacted often - the duel, the championships, they’re friends more than acquaintances now. but techno was called in by someone wearing his brother’s face that he honestly doesn’t recognize from his voice and when he arrives at spawn, before tommy fetches him, he sees dream sitting cross legged waiting for him and they talk about the situation, dream giving techno a quick brief. when tommy comes, crying “techno, this way, this way to pogtopia”, and crossbow bolts are being fired at techno, dream gives him a lil wave goodbye (or what techno thinks is a lil wave goodbye but what actually turns out to be putting a swiftness effect on him).

“that’s not my brother, dream,” says techno, and dream’s mouth wobbles and he says, hoarse, “i know.”

techno Suspects, but only knows that dream has world-manipulating powers and thus standard minor god powers. he doesn’t let dream know he suspects. 

chap 19 bad

subtitle: run devil run

bad trusts dream, perhaps against his better judgement. 

dream comes to visit bad and skeppy on neutral grounds in the interim leading up to the festival that everyone on the server is side-eyeing and side-stepping. bad considers his friend and the owner of the world as he gives dream an impromptu tour through the escape route he and skeppy have dug out, wonders with a little reproach how dream could let things get to this point, then, soft, gentle as always, acknowledges that dream is only human kindly. when he says that, though, dream’s face crumples, as though those words hurt him more than any criticism bad’s given him in the time he’s known him, as though bad had driven a blade into his heart, and bad doesn’t understand but he lets dream run away from that. when a small flock of creepers explode over the tunnel the night before the festival and bad grumbles that he has to fix it, he learns dream left him with a fortified escape tunnel.

a/n: i’m sure the irony isn’t lost on you.

chap 20 tubbo

subtitle: cadmean victory

what say the sacrificial lamb?

tubbo is coming to terms with the fact that he might not make it out of office in one piece and it’s not his first time respawning but the older members of the server always, always did their best to shield the younger ones from death. he runs into dream by complete coincidence while he’s avoiding pogtopia (mostly wilbur) and manberg (mostly schlatt), caught between two strangers wearing his friends’ faces. he looks at dream, who looks back at him impassively, and tubbo starts to cry, because it finally hits him that even with his death and respawn nothing will be fixed, nothing can change, the poison’s run too deep into the veins of dream’s beautiful little world and now nothing can be right anymore and it feels like he’s shattering into tiny, aching shards - and then dream kneels before him, takes his hands, presses his forehead to them, sighs like his heart’s breaking, and tubbo feels a small calm thread back into him as dream stands abruptly, jittery. dream, with hands that shake, grips tubbo’s shoulder, hovers for a second, then his head jerks up and he bolts into the forest, clambering up a tree with admirable ease and disappearing away into the leaves as schlatt suddenly emerges from the bushes nearby with a joyous, plastic “hey! tubbo!”

chap 21 george

subtitle: lantern burns low

a moment in the night; george is visited by a specter. 

dream comes, pale, and asks george if there is anything wrong, is everything okay with you? takes george’s caught-off-guard face in his hands and says george george george, are you - and george catches a glimpse of dream’s powers (is he safe safe does he hurt no but fear but anxiety there are dregs hush now quiet now he is safe all quiet quiet quiet he’s safe) and he says, stricken even as the constant thrum of nervous energy he’d kept with him fades out, “dream what was that,” and dream presses his hands to his mask where his eyes are and says, despairingly, “they don’t get to have you too,” and staggers back out. 

george is the first person dream overtly “comes out” to. this is also why george doesn’t see dream til the festival. 

chap 22 schlatt

subtitle: the empty throne

dream visits schlatt in his office. 

schlatt, possessed by madness, has no idea what he’s saying but it feels right, it’s exactly right, everything is in his hands, and when dream approaches, his hands facing up, is he there is he there yes yes yes tainted polluted this is twisted this is madness madness madness dream reels back, shaking, and schlatt leans in and leers, not even knowing what he’s saying, “you can’t even fix it, young god,” and relishes the way all the color drains from dream’s face.

=)

chap 23 dream (edit: this monster ended up being split into three for pacing purposes and also if i left it together it was gonna be. h. 14K WORDS. also the drama of a cliffhanger at what most people thought was going to be the last chapter was too good to pass up don’t @ me

subtitle: do you feel like a young god?

running, running, running again

finale!! dream takes everyone’s old hurts into himself, takes the madness from schlatt and wilbur, promptly passes the hell out because no one should be doing that, wakes up, gets the shit hugged out of him, and explains a little, and gets told that he’s loved over and over. 

i uh! take questions! i like talking about this story, there’s a lot i still want to show, and even apart from that i just really love mcyt haha

[denbroughism]

━━  𝐅𝐀𝐍𝐅𝐈𝐂 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

It’s Lilia Barber ( @jaedenphy​ ) day and guess who’s making a fanfic masterlist for her?? That’s right, me! Okay, so I gathered together a bunch of fics I’ve read and considering that you’ve read the fics I sent you, some of these fics you’ve read before but are still godly. List under the cut for length purposes <3

My comments and reviews may contain spoilers and the ones without a specific chapter count are one-shots :)

The way making this masterlist made me reread the fuck out of so many fics smh

LAST UPDATED: 1 August 2020

Bill Denbrough / Richie Tozier

"Game Over, Bitch” by sweetpeacheddie | General

Richie plans a surprise date with Bill, but it doesn't quite go according to plan...

MY COMMENTS: smug Bill? yes. the Bill in this fic made me grin like an idiot just from how sneaky and attractive this little piece of shit is. Richie being soft and scared about Bill not having a good time is so adorable and the way Bill used it against him made me go jsjjdjsjd

Twister by @antisociallilbrat | Teen

Fluffiness, tongue twisters, and making out

MY COMMENTS: it’s short but still adorable idc idc. fics about love interests helping Bill with tongue twisters is adorable in itself and the flirting and the teasing in this fic made me scream from how cute they are pls

The Cruel Irony of Sunshine by @theflirtmeister​ | Teen

That’s when Richie spots him.

Leaning against one of the ridiculous fake palm trees, clearly not listening to the conversation he’s caught in, is Bill Denbrough in the fucking flesh. Richie could have picked him out from a hundred yards away, with his floppy hair, perfect eyebrows and jawline that could cut crystal.

Richie hates everything about him.

MY COMMENTS: the reason why i want to write bichie fanfics. the amount of angst and fluff mixed with longing and pining is godtier. the way they fell apart because of a fight and the first thing they do when they meet—after pining and longing mixed with anger—is fight made me cry :’)

Disciplinary Action by Apuzzlingprince | Explicit

He simply sat down on the end of Bill’s bed and patted a knee. Bill stared at him, uncomprehending.

“Bill,” said Richie, gesturing for him to come closer. “Pants down, over my knees.”

Bill balked. “Wait, s-seriously?”

Bill does something stupid and reaps the reward.

MY COMMENTS: i don’t think i’ve sent you this one because i remember i read it on my laptop instead of my phone lmao. this fic is the definition of “i’ll make it up to you with sex” fics but holy fuck this one is good. i remember reading this a while ago and yelling internally because wow this fic is so jsjsj

Dissolve by @wonderwheelzier | Explicit

After eight years of radio silence, Bill Denbrough finds himself at the same Hollywood party as his once best friend, and his first and only love, Richie Tozier. As adolescent memories come flooding back, Bill has to decide what he wants to do with this second chance.

MY COMMENTS: first off, the author is a brilliant writer so let’s put that out. second of all, this fic is 17K words long so that’s really fun. third of all, what the fuck? this fic is amazing and so well written, honestly. the way the pining and the smut were tied together wonderfully just blows my mind. this is such a pretty fic and the way the story ends with Richie leaving and BIll knowing that there’s no going back? that shit HURTED

If Your Love Was Bad for You by @perceabeth​ | Teen

Prompt: angsty unrequited type of situation with a happy and/or bittersweet ending.

MY COMMENTS: i gotta be real with you, i forgot about this fic whoops. but i read the last paragraph and i started heaving. i love this fic but i forgot the title and the way this fic started jsjfjsjf this fic is ends in a bittersweet tone holy fuck. the account on AO3 is an orphaned account, but i found the tumblr user of the author so here ya go

Soulmate AU by @perceabeth​ | Major Character Death

n/a

MY COMMENTS: i still think of this fic to this very day, this fic is the reason why i hate soulmate AUs oh my God. Richie and Bill’s dynamic isn’t too laid out in this fic, but the ending? God, the ending—absolutely wrecked me. I cried and I screamed and I couldn’t function properly after reading this fic. It’s one of the best fics I’ve ever read and deserves all the love you can give. I love this fic, I adore it, read it.

One Week Away by @trash-the-tozier | Teen | 2/2

School is out for spring break, and the Losers are taking a week long trip to visit Beverly in Portland. Could there have been a worse time for Richie to realize that he was in love with his best friend?

MY COMMENTS: I remember sending this to you but reread it. this fic is so soft and adorable my babies istg. Richie pining for Bill while Bill tried to stay away from Richie because he has a crush on him? God-tier trope. Put it in, roll it up, give it to me. The Stanlon in the background and Bev being the cheerleader she is? i love this

What We Built by @sinningtozier​ | Teen

each nail, each plank, the little scratches on the walls and the sloppily carved initials were a testament to them, a testament to their love and what they built.

MY COMMENTS: Soft boys in love that is all. The connections between kisses and hugs and the tears and pain was just adorable. Bill and Richie always being there for each other makes me smile and cry oh my God

Blood Brothers by @fairyling​ | General

bill and richie don’t say they’re dating but they kiss and they fight. their relationship isn’t one that the other’s understand or event try to.

MY COMMENTS: i read this fic once and i still cry about it <3 it’s just a really soft and adorable fic but then the ending made me scream and cry oh my God. Blood Brothers. The way Bill remembers vaguely even as all else fades away just hits hard. i love this fic so damn much and i think you would too

Eye On the Ball by @call-me-eds​ | Mature

Bill tries to cope with his role in his friend group and Richie can’t stand it.

MY COMMENTS: first of all, everyone say thank you to them for making Bichie Week and making fic hunting a gazillion times easier. Second, this fic is amazing i don’t care. the way Bill is so tight and Richie is trying to loosen him up is a concept that would first come to mind when you think of Bichie, but somehow I’ve rarely seen this put to work. This fic is amazing that is all

The Math Tutor by @sinningtozier​ | General | headcanon

georgie needs a math tutor, bill’s strong point is english not math, so his mom hire’s her coworkers son to tutor him three times a week 

MY COMMENTS: look, i know this is a headcanon but lol i love this so much. Bill is so awkward around Richie and i find that hilarious omfg

Like I Do by @thegreatwhiteferret​ | Explicit

Richie is feeling down on himself because of his ADHD and Bill jumps in and tries to teach him to appreciate all of his flaws for how beautiful they are.

MY COMMENTS: I’ve always been a sucker for Richie’s ADHD going feral and his s/o helping him calm down. This fic covers that part along with smut so bonus points on that

Bill Denbrough / Stanley Uris

Ain’t Eez-Eh by simplerplease | Mature | 17/17

Bill gets drunk, texts a number written on the club bathroom wall, regrets it, then falls in love.

MY COMMENTS: deadass the first thing that comes to my mind when anyone says Stenbrough. this fic is iconic and god-tier. I’ve read this a few times and I love it :’) if you haven’t read this fic... wow alright, cool. read it.

All My Little Words by jojenstarked | Teen

Stanley Uris never considered himself a jealous person. That is, until he met Bill Denbrough and suddenly he was jealous of the person getting songs stuck in his head.

Bill Denbrough had always wanted to meet his soulmate. Then he met Stanley Uris and he forgot all about them. All he wanted to do was get him to love him back.

Good thing they're soulmates.

MY COMMENTS: this fic is so adorable and so soft holy fuck i remember crying a bit after reading this from how sweet this fic is, i love this fic sm

More Like Baerista, Am I Right? by @billdensbrough​  | Not Rated

In which Stan is a fake black coffee drinker, Bill really shouldn't be a barista, and the rest of the losers just want them to get together without a counter in-between them.

MY COMMENTS: First off, this fic is 10K words long and contains slow-burn and a lot of pining so there’s that. Other than that, it’s really soft, adorable and fluffy. It’s just a really adorable stenbrough coffee shop AU, truly one of the best coffee shop AUs

Richie Tozier / Stanley Uris

Untouched (Need You So Much) by breathplayed | Explicit | 9/?

Stan Uris could’ve gone his entire life without knowing what Richie Tozier’s dick looked like.

(Or, Richie has a big dick and Stan the Man has a Big Crisis.)

MY COMMENTS: this is the abandoned fic i cried about the other day omfg i can’t believe i started an unfinished fic :’) but either way, this fic is so sexy and hot holy fuck, the pining, everything is godly. Richie singing a song for Stan and Stan being awkward about it?? amazing. last updated in 2018 and ends with a sort of cliffhanger, but still—

Stan My Man! Series by @birdboyinthedeadlights​ | Explicit | 4/4

n/a

MY COMMENTS: bitch you thought i wouldn’t add this fic on this masterlist when it’s the definition of goddamn iconic. you really thought i was going to leave the fic that pushed us both into the Stozier hole? as if. the was the Stozier friendship and dynamic is laid out is wonderful. The banters and the snark along with the lovely fondness is tied perfectly. i love this, you love this, we all love this, i’m dragging you back into the Stan My Man! series hole, you’re welcome <3

I Wanna Hold You Like You’re Mine by @birdboyinthedeadlights​ | Explicit

Stan's hand was moving before he could think better of it, wanting to touch the pleated navy skirt in front of him. God, it looked so soft, it must feel amazing. The whispered drag across his thighs -

“What’re you doin’?”

Stan’s hand froze, looking up at Richie’s unfocused gaze. No aide of glasses to let him see Stan’s heating face in the low light.

“Nothing.”

Richie’s eyes squinted, trying to make out the shapes around him until he looked to where Stan’s hand still hovered. The small inhale and grin let Stan know he didn’t need his vision clear to figure out what was going on. He always did know Stan too well.

“You’d look pretty in that.”

MY COMMENTS: Hello, yes, the author is so great at writing Stozier fics oh my God. The intimacy, the relationship, the pining, the need. Everything about this fic is brilliant. The way Stan wants Richie’s love and Richie wants to give Stan love but they’re both so afraid, so nervous. God, the way they dance around each other and when it’s time to take a dip, they were both to scared. Oh God, I love them so much and this fic ties the intimacy of pining and the ‘friends-with-benefits’ line so well, so perfectly. The mirroring between past and present? I love this and the author is a genius.

I Need You by @childrenofthe80s​ | Teen

Richie Tozier was a mix of emotions. He was absolutely miserable and it was all because of a motherfucking named Stan.

MY COMMENTS: the way the insecurity trope is flipped to Stan being insecure and Richie holding onto him and comforting him just makes me so soft oh my Lord

The Truth is That I Think I’ve Had Enough by @eddieeatsass​ | Explicit

For the first time since Stan developed feelings for his best friend, Richie was finally single on Valentine’s Day, and Stan was fully planning on taking advantage of it. He invited Richie on a camping trip, just wanting one night where he could pretend, but Richie had different plans.

MY COMMENTS: Yo, do you remember this iconic fic? Because I sure as hell do. The camping mixed with the repressed feeling and Richie slamming his head on the tent cover when he tried to strip? Amazing

why not me? by seeingredfics | Mature | 1/?

everything between stan and richie was supposed to be platonic, especially their secret hook-ups and longing stares.

MY COMMENTS: This is unfinished but even the first chapter has a satisfying end to it. Richie is so soft for Stan, Lord Christ and wasted!Stan gives off second-hand embarrassment like no other. But other than that, it’s amazing.

I Guess That's Love by @birdboyinthedeadlights | explicit

Stan shook as Richie held him.

Richie was used to this - used to the damaged boy with his fractured face and shattered soul. Used to playing clean up to his meltdowns and sitting with him through his dissociations. Richie knew he was a burden, wouldn’t ever say it, but Stan knew.

Stan was tired of knowing.

MY COMMENTS: I don't think this author can even write a bad stozier fic, this is so good as well tf? The angst is so wonderfully done and put together with a Stan Uris who's trying his best just mames it perfect

Bill Denbrough / Richie Tozier / Stanley Uris

Not Complete Until There’s Three by @thoughtfullyyoungduck | Not Rated

Mike’s call brings back some memories for Stan, more specifically memories about Stan and Richie. Stan is in for a rough awakening when he comes back to Derry and finds out Richie and Bill are married.

MY COMMENTS: see my reaction here :’) but other than the angst from Stan’s half, the fic is godtier. There isn’t much Stenbroughzier fics out there, but this one is so satisfying and the way everything falls together was simply perfect.

Sk8er Boi by @s-s-georgie | Teen

Stan and Richie are dating. It sucks that Bill likes both of them.

MY COMMENTS: Honestly the first Stenbroughzier fic I’ve ever read. This fic dragged me into the Stenbroughzier mess I’m now dragging you into, but holy fuck. This fic is really adorable and the pining—the lovely, lovely pining. It’s so soft and adorable aside the slight angst that is all

To Make You Feel My Love by @thegreatwhiteferret | Explicit

Stan takes care of his very neglected boys.

MY COMMENTS: i remember finding this fic and falling in love with it immediately. i know it’s on Tumblr somewhere, but I can’t find the author’s Tumblr (if you know, please respond so I can change it) and this fic covers the intimacy and the worry along with the love and fondness. Really cute, really smutty, threesome warning.

Happy Birthday, Mr. Uris by @thegreatwhiteferret​ | Explicit

Stan is always taking care of his boys and making sure they feel loved, so for his birthday Bill and Richie decide to show him how much they love and appreciate him by fulfilling his biggest fantasy.

MY COMMENTS: This is the second part to this series but it’s optional to read the first one. If you read this in order of the list, then you’ve read the first part lmao. 

Soulmate Tattoos AU by @peachyuris​ | Not Rated

stenbroughzier w/ soulmate tattoos!!

MY COMMENTS: The amount of pining here? Godly. Bill misunderstanding the situation? Stan and Richie feeling like something’s missing? I love this, I love them and I know you’ll love it too.

Milkshake Date by @winterstenbrough | Not Rated

stenbroughzier milkshake/diner date?

MY COMMENTS: Insecure!Richie is something used a lot, but never fails to warm my heart whenever his significant other(s) help him out. This fic also covers that aspect and is really soft, babies

[wetalkinboutbooks]

Girls of Paper and Fire by Natasha Ngan

Summary: Each year, eight beautiful girls are chosen as Paper Girls to serve the king. It's the highest honour they could hope for...and the most demeaning. This year, there's a ninth. And instead of paper, she's made of fire.

In this richly developed fantasy, Lei is a member of the Paper caste, the lowest and most persecuted class of people in Ikhara. She lives in a remote village with her father, where the decade-old trauma of watching her mother snatched by royal guards for an unknown fate still haunts her. Now, the guards are back and this time it's Lei they're after -- the girl with the golden eyes whose rumoured beauty has piqued the king's interest.

Over weeks of training in the opulent but oppressive palace, Lei and eight other girls learns the skills and charm that befit a king's consort. There, she does the unthinkable -- she falls in love. Her forbidden romance becomes enmeshed with an explosive plot that threatens her world's entire way of life. Lei, still the wide-eyed country girl at heart, must decide how far she's willing to go for justice and revenge. (Taken from Goodreads).

Our Ratings: 

 → Geena: ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

 → Kae: ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

Overall: We really enjoyed this book!! It was well-written, had both engaging characters and an interesting plot. The world building is well done, the plot twists are WILD, and the romance is wholesome. TW: Assault, but Natasha handles that well. The spoiler-full discussion is below the cut.

The Good:

Lei and Wren

Kae: Okay. So we have Lei, the main character with these ~wonderful~ golden eyes. She is taken from her home on account of her golden eyes and delivered to the King as a gift. This all happens because a guard wants to get back on the Kings good side. Now, our girl is a concubine

Geena: We also meet Wren and we know almost nothing about her other than she’s hot (according to Lei) and cold. In addition, a group of other concubines, one of which... Blue... has it out for Lei.

Kae: Wren! I liked Wren from the start. She captured my attention the way she captured Lei’s. She’s always watching. Always calculating. Always alert. We soon learn that Wren’s cold demeanor is just a facade and she’s secretly a bad bitch. 

Geena: I agree, I also liked that Wren was written aloof, but not like an asshole like Blue was shown to be. Both Blue and Wren were from powerful families, but Wren knew how to act. Also! The development we see from Lei seeing Wren and just thinking she’s hot like every other girl and slowly falling for her was *chefs kiss*. 

Kae: Watching Lei slowly fall in love with Wren was so nice to see. In a lot of YA books, the character meets the love interest in one chapter, then they’re declaring their love two chapters later. So it was refreshing to see them fall for each other the way they did. I liked how the audience knew Lei liked Wren, but LEI DIDN’T KNOW SHE LIKED WREN. Silly girl! Wren also takes her time with Lei and allows Lei to take the lead most of the time. They’re going at Lei’s speed and whenever she isn’t ready for something, Wren backs off like the suave lady she is. 

Geena: Oh my god, you’re so right, I didn’t even notice. Wren is probably the most respectable love interests I’ve seen written in a long time, she didn’t force Lei into doing anything she didn’t want to. And like Kae said, it wasn’t INSTA-LOVE, also I don’t know if I’d classify this as YA? More like New Adult, since it does deal with mature subjects like assault. Also god, every time Lei was like “Wren looked ravishing, and it made me feel a type of way… I wonder why…” I wanted to throw my book, she was clearly infatuated but refused to acknowledge her feelings.

Kae: “NA.” That should be a genre. New Adult. That’d work really well. YA shouldn’t even be “YA”. It should be like, not “YA”. ANYWAY. UNRELATED. Yes. Lei had a BIG OL CRUSH. Like, GIRL. YOU LIKE HER. MAKE A MOOOVE. And then… Wren made the move. UGH POETIC CINEMA. Or... Poetic literature. 

Geena: Overall, Natasha wrote a really sweet wlw pairing, and it was refreshing to read… Especially the fact that it was well written AND the main pairing, and not just a jab at “diversity” a lot of books tend to do. 10/10 Romance.

Worldbuilding

Geena: Time to dive into that furry shit. First off, the author takes inspiration from her Malaysian roots, which is cool and all but GODDAMN there was some furry shit going on. She did explain the class separations and overall history really well, right?

Kae: I 100% agree with you on the furry shit and how well everything is explained and written. So basically, we have the Moon Caste (the full on furries/demons) which are the ruling/upper caste. The Steele caste (humans who have partial animal/demons qualities) aka the middle class. Then last but not least (well, absolutely the least in their case), the paper caste who are humans with no special qualities. Except Lei, who has literal golden eyes. 

Geena: Natasha did a really good job on simplifying the differences between the castes and the history that led to their current states. BUT I wasn’t sure of how her magic system worked? Like can only furries be shaman, how do people become shamans? Are they born with it, or is it Maybelline. ANOTHER THING, it was kind of hard to visualize the demons she described, only because my lizard brain always thought of the animals from Kung Fu Panda. Though one thing that threw me for a loop was the fact that Natasha chose to have a Bull-Form demon as the king, because 99% of the time Lions are used to represent rulers (It was cool ngl). What wasn’t cool was when Lei called the king handsome. 

Kae: GEENA I CACKLED. But yes! Kind of freaked me out that she thought he was a cutie. Also was super interesting to not have the king be a lion. But I guess she was going for something different? It definitely works! Natasha also elaborated on the uh- *ahem* way that they’re all built the same when it comes to certain parts which made me think and I didn’t like my thoughts! First thought: HOW? Second thought: OUCH! Third thought: Size LMAO! But give it up to Natasha for explaining that in the simplest way possible without making me have any more than those three thoughts. Either way, moving on, did we explain that Wren, Lei, and these other girls are his concubines? I think we missed that. Surprise…? The Bull King also goes on to explain how he doesn’t have his own name. I also got a hint of him being a little… off. Off as in kind of crazy. Eh? 

Geena: RIGHT I FORGOT that by the end the so-called ‘handsome’ Bull King goes batshit crazy, and I’m wondering if this was the product of the Sickness (which isn’t really discussed) or him being mad that he’s shooting dust and has no kids. Also, thank you for Natasha for constantly reminding us that he was jacked. BUT ANYWAYS. 

The Bad:

Characters that DIED for NOTHING

Geena: Kenzo and Zelle were two different characters that provided both Wren and Lei with support as they all conspired to be free from the King. Kenzo (Wolf demon) being the King’s advisor and Wren’s training partner, and Zelle lowkey Lei’s confidant (who was also a prostitute). BOTH were passionate and the part of the same cause: Get rid of the King and liberate themselves. But then THEY DIE… FOR WHAT? For that BITCH to still be ALIVE? 

Kae: Kenzo and Zelle. Both very likeable characters and both a little sketchy at the start. Just a little. But yes, as Geena stated, they totes died for nothing and it was such a huge let down to see them fall. Especially Kenzo (at least for me), because I thought he had a chance. In the end, he didn’t make it. You know who SHOULD’VE got murked in the end? Blue’s little annoying ass. 

Geena: I LOVED KENZO. I have this bad habit of getting attached to side characters the inevitably don’t play a big role. It would’ve been cool to see his motivations behind getting rid of the King. Zelle, who was paper caste, had made her motivations clear. But Kenzo? Also, Lei and Wren essentially lost, as Natasha described it, a ‘brotherly’ figure. FOR WHA?. 0/10 character deaths that made sense. Blue should’ve eaten shit for ratting out Lei/Wren.

Kae: EAT SHIT BLUE. 

The Ugly:  

The Demon King 

Kae: Alrighty. The Demon King aka little BITCH.  The Demon King presents himself as somewhat of a decent bull-man at first. He is described as handsome and like Geena said earlier, freakin’ ripped. Suspicion of him not being too good of a dude came to me after he had finished with one of the girls. She came back bruised and beaten and shooketh. Didn’t like that. I assume these girls are a lot smaller than him so I expected him to be… gentler? At least considerate. But, that was just a glimpse. When Lei is finally summoned, she decides that she absolutely does NOT want the Bull-King D and fights the guy off of her. He doesn’t like that… at all. He’s up in arms and ready to fight because he has been denied something he wants. Lei is sent to what’s basically solitary confinement for a week with no food. But she does get a special visitor who brings her food and potential cuddles. The King doesn’t summon Lei for quite some time after that and when he finally does, he takes what he was denied from the start. The scene, thank goodness, is not described. But the after-thats what sucks. Lei is beaten and battered and bruised and has to be carried to her rooms. It’s horrible and I couldn’t imagine how that must’ve been. Especially since he’s a literal animal humanoid. Blegh. 

Geena: KAE SUMMED IT UP SO WELL. The king, who has no name and honestly he doesn’t deserve one, is the embodiment of an entitled piece of shit that deserves to be made into ROCKY MOUNTAIN OYSTERS. The scenes that we get a glimpse of including him and the girls is scarring, he does NOT know the meaning of consent and it’s obvious the way he wrecks Lei that he doesn’t care. That made me unbelievably uncomfortable and like you said, I’m so glad that we weren’t subjected to a description of that. In addition, the King was also manipulative as fuck? The way he made Aoki (another concubine, and Lei’s friend) fall in love with him *cough* Stockholm syndrome *cough*.  We hate his guts, and he should’ve choked on his blood but :/ I guess the fact that we hate him with such a passion is a good indication that he’s a well-written villain. How the hell he only have like 4 scenes but those 4 scenes just emitted the WORST VIBES. The moment lei said he was handsome and jacked I knew this bitch was going to fuck shit up (a handsome bull demon…. Like really,,, if we’re leaning into that furry shit the only handsome demons are tiger and wolf demons). 

Conclusion

Kae: ALRIGHTY Y’ALL. So this concludes our thoughts of Girls of Paper and Fire. I give it a 9/10. I really enjoyed it and it was a good read. The story was very well written as were the characters. I hope we get to see a little more of the magic of this world in the next book. I look forward to what more Natasha has to tell. 

Geena: I’d give it an 8.5/10, the 0.5 less comes from the fact that the bitchass king survived at the end. Personally, he could’ve died and there could’ve still been another book BUT I DIGRESS. AND I AGREE, it’s a well-written story with likeable characters, and I’m curious to see how Natasha tackles the mystery behind Lei’s golden eyes in the upcoming books.  

[asurayuuhaven]

Chapter 73 - Reaction & Analysis

(Spoiler for Seraph of the End / Owari no Seraph, chapter 73, that isn’t translated to English yet. Do not click the “read more” below if you want to avoid spoiler)

We haven’t had any great chapter for many months, and it’s finally here. Frankly this chapter is one of the best OnS chapter for the whole year. And that’s not an understatement. The action sequence is glorious. It’s like what you’ll see in the end of the season in the anime.

So you all fellas better go grab the seat belt...

Because this going to be one hell of a ride

You know a chapter going to be hype when Asuramaru is on the cover, and he didn’t looks very happy there

Another Asuramaru focused chapter? Sign me tf up

We start with Yuu being a happy little dork as always and-

DID MIKA BLUSHED

THAT’S ADORABLE

I maybe get annoyed by Mika sometimes (actually, a lot) but I love it when Mika shows his positive, humanly side like this

That being said, I still hate his obsession over Yuu

Yuu, Mika, Guren, Shinya and Kureto talk about something idk not like I could have understand the discussion, so let’s skip that lmao

Apparently, Yuu is strong enough to control his “seraph mode” at will, and the wings alone could tear apart the bound that restrict him

(Though considering that Seraph!Yuu can pretty much destroy the whole city easily, that’s not a big surprise)

FIVE MINUTES AND CHILLING

THEN WE’RE ALREADY ON THE HYPE TRAIN

LOOK AT THAT

SHIKAMA DOJI IS FREAKING BEHIND YUU

I got a bad feeling about this

I got a bad feeling about this

FUCKING HELL REEEEEE

These, guys, these....

These.... are what I called as.... “the hype page”

It’s when Kagami gives a freaking goosebump over what’s gonna be happen on this freaking chapter

....And ironically, it’s VERY similar to the scene where Asuramaru confront Yuu at the manga chapter where he fought against Mirai

(This one, here, below)

Coincidence?

I really don’t think so

I can’t believe this

We’re living in a timeline where Shikama Doji, who’s pretty much the most powerful character on the series so far, and the “big bad villain” who control everything, who’s behind the whole fucking plot of the whole story, as the grand mastermind and the very first progenitor of all vampire....

....is confronting Ashera....

Who is, what we can consider, his favorite child

....Words cannot describe how hyped I am....

AND LOOK AT ASURAMARU THERE

MY BOY, THAT’S A BATTLE STANCE

HE’S GONNA WRECK HIS ASS

*announcer voice*

DEATH BATTLE! ONE MINUTE MELEE!

ASURAMARU VERSUS SHIKAMA DOJI!

Also anyone realized how he pull the sword outta his own body?

Well, apparently, that’s one of many thing that he could do

We finally see Asuramaru showing his true combat capability

Can we appreciate how badass he is there?

Hand down the most badass demon

Whoa whoa wait a minute

Shikama Doji throw his scythe, Asuramaru dodged...

AND HE CAN MAKE ANOTHER SCYTHE?

TWO OF THEM?

INSTANTLY!?

This guy is OP as heck, nerf pls

Oh my god

Let’s get a better look at that

THICC SHOTA TRAP DEMON THIGH

(lol jk that’s not what I wanna discuss here)

Apparently, Asuramaru is fast enough to react against TWO attacks at once, from two different direction

....Even Krul Tepes couldn’t do that, as shown that when Ferid and Crowley attack her at the same time, she’s distracted

Not to mention how Asuramaru attacked FOUR times in a second, against freaking death scythe of doom flying at ballistic speed

My boy is strong af

OHHHH MY GOOOOD

HE HIT HIM!

Also that special ability whoa

I can’t wait until Yuu can master that ability

So apparently, Asuramaru got more than one “special move” other than Asura Kannon to use.

Remember, Shinoa and Mitsuba said that “possession type” demon cannot use “special ability” and thus, the fact that Asuramaru (and Kiseki-o) can use special abilities, are exceptionally rare, nearly impossible.

Now we got to see that Asuramaru can do ANOTHER ability

AND WHAT CANONICALLY HURT SHIKAMA DOJI

...This is Shikama Doji that we talked about....

If you didn’t remember, Shikama Doji is someone who’s freaking goddamn powerful, not even Kureto with help of Raimeki AND Mirai’s Abaddon could even land a single scratch

And Asuramaru manage to hurt him 

Reminder that Asuramaru is strong as hell

Oh no

Shi, please be nice

F U C K

Goddammit nooooo

My precious shota trap demon.. ;A;

Apparently, being bitten by Shikama Doi makes Asuramaru remember his past, which makes sense because he used to be his master

(Either that, or it’s just an illustration)

But what is that.... box.... thing?

Is that some kind of prison?

Apparently, Shikama Doji try to cut off his communication with Yuu, because we immediately switch to the scene where Yuu appeared

Annnnnd there you go

Some more Yuunoa moment for those who shipped them

So uhh... I couldn’t understand the dialogue (of course) but it seems that Yuu is in dire condition since he shouted at Shinoa before, probably asking about what the heck is happening

And Yuu seemingly tried to try to contact Asuramaru, but he couldn’t, which makes him went panic as he realized that something terribly wrong is happening right now

HOLY FUCK

GET THE FREAKING HYPE CANNON READY GUYS

YUU IS CONFRONTING SHIKAMA DOJI!!! o_O

AGHHHHHH

GODDAMMIT

Asuramaru is suffering and Shikama Doji give us the “come get me” face

Oh my god

My heart cannot take this

Look at them

I just.... cannot....

;w;

But ironically, VERY IRONICALLY, this is 90% similar to my headcanon on where Shikama Doji will visit Yuu and Asuramaru at certain chapter in the future. And at that time, Shikama Doji will awaken the forgotten memory of Ashera. Then, Yuu will try to save Ashera... in a pretty much NEARLY IDENTICAL visualization that depicted here on the canon

So apparently, Kagami and I think similarly

THEY’RE BAAAAACK TOGETHER

Oh god this makes me so happy

I mean, Asuramaru and Yuu working together to fight against Shikama Doji is pretty much the BIGGEST EVER PLOT DEVELOPTMENT IN THE WHOLE FUCKING STORY SO FAR

Like, hell.... this is a big jump on the plot

It’s like they’re gonna face the final boss

(Also wait.....)

We got a canon height comparison of Yuu and Asuramaru, at last!

My precious smol demon is so smol hahaha

But in all seriousness, let me appreciate this panel. Look at how they stand together, side by side,

Yuu, with Asuramaru... someone who used to be just a normal rookie in the army with his sword, is going far enough to get here.

The two are indeed friend, perhaps almost like a family, but I never imagine for them to stand by side like a comrade in battle, fighting against the big bad villain together like this

Honestly.... it’s an amazing development

God bless this chapter

According to a rough translation that I seen somewhere before, Shikama Doji said that seeing Yuu and Ashera being together makes him felt nostalgic.

Will we able to finally see the truth behind Yuu and Asuramaru? Will the next chapter going to be the chapter that finally reveal their backstory when they’re still together thousands years ago?

BOOOOY THE HYPEEEE

So yeah, this chapter is amazing and it’s been a long year since we can finally some freaking big plot development (not just character development) with the great plus side of a really epic badass battle scene

Great chapter  10/10

[makeste]

KHR 071: Miniboss Fight Bingo (Part 1)

Okay, get ready, everyone, because this chapter has (part one of) Tsuna VS Lancia, which in hindsight is such an outrageously cliched shounen fight that after rereading it, I went ahead and made this:

Let’s see how long it takes us to win this thing.

So! Last time we left off, Yamamoto was facing off with Lancia while Tsuna was running aimlessly through the woods thinking about how that mysterious evil kid from the forest was acting really mysterious and evil.

However, Tsuna recalls that Fuuta was also acting weird, which goes a long way towards his excusing Mukuro’s strange behavior. But then I think to myself: “So if he thought that ~MYSTERIOUS KID~ really was innocent and was just being manipulated or something, WHY DID HE LEAVE HIM ALL ALONE IN THE WOODS AGAIN.” And the answer is… …. ……………………… um

It actually was kind of funny though, in hindsight.

Back to the fight! Yamamoto got hit by Lancia’s ball and chain and is now lying on the ground emitting smoke for some reason!

WHY THOUGH

Then there’s another panel of Gokudera being so worried about Yamamoto! Intellectually, I know that Gokudera having feelings of empathy doesn’t automatically equate to them being soulmates or anything! But emotionally I don’t even care, I am already on board this ship and it sailed ten fucking years ago and I don’t know where I am anymore! So you’ll just have to live with me enjoying my 8059 angst!

TWO EXCLAMATION POINTS MOTHERFUCKER

All right, and here we go. Brace yourselves and get those cards out, because Lancia is about to start monologuing.

Wow guy could you just cool it there for a sec

Can we count this as “it’s no use”? Eh, for the time being I’m going to play things straight. So no score as of yet, but we’re only just getting started.

So upon hearing this, Gokudera tries to stand up EVEN THOUGH HE’S DYING because HE IS HEROIC AND BRAVE

“Trying to stand up and failing” is pretty much all he manages to do for this entire chapter, so I have to give him whatever props I can while the giving is good.

BUT WAIT, WHAT’S THIS

LANCIA: ABANDON ALL HOPE

YAMAMOTO TAKESHI: (୨୧ ❛ᴗ❛)✧

THIS CHEEKY MOTHERFUCKER. I NEED AN MP3 RECORDING OF YAMAMOTO SAYING “OI OI” TO SET AS MY DAMN RINGTONE

LOOK AT GOKUDERA’S “HE’S ALIVE” FACE

I DON’T EVEN KNOW HOW TO INTERPRET THAT FACE BUT IT’S GREAT

Also nice to see that Bianchi has finally set aside her own differences with Yamamoto! Things were a little dicey there for a while.

Not to spoil things here, but my guess: It’s probably something really stupid that makes absolutely no sense.

Lancia continues to monologue at them all like some sort of Sith Lord, and throws his giant ball at Yamamoto again.

Incredibly, I didn’t have “it is foolish to resist” on my card either. Lancia is so cliché that I couldn’t fit all of his damn clichés on a 5x5 card, goddamn.

Anyway! Yamamoto, who you have to remember at this point has no kind of formal sword training—or any sort of fighting training, really—whatsoever, then instinctively goes right into one of the Shigure Souen Ryu defensive forms, only using the dirt and his bat rather than water and Shigure Kintoki.

Can we give this boy some fucking props because damn. Seriously, though, this is Surging Rain. Completely untaught. This kid is a fucking legend.

So he uses the dirt he just swept up to track the ball’s rotation. It doesn’t make much sense but it seems to work within the context of the series so let’s just roll with it.

WHY IS HE SO CUTE!!!

Reborn then explains that Lancia’s ball and chain weapon works via the power of bullshit.

Look, I’m not a physicist or anything, I’m just your everyday layperson reading a shounen manga who is nonetheless telling you this is bullshit. If you go over to NASA and ask them if you can create a tornado using a grooved wrecking ball, they are going to say no, once they stop laughing long enough to speak.

But then again, a girl was microwaving things with her clarinet two chapters ago, and another girl turned that clarinet into toxic food sludge simply by touching it, so I’m not sure what it is I’m actually complaining about. I guess it’s that they tried to fudge a scientific explanation when they could have just said “magic” and it basically would have amounted to the same thing lol.

I’LL STOP RANTING ABOUT THIS NOW.

So Lancia doesn’t give a fuck if they’ve “figured it out” or not, and goes on the attack again. Yamamoto charges in, thinking he can avoid it now, and oh no

—THERE IT IS!!!! FUCK YEAH

SWEET, WE’RE OFFICIALLY ON THE BOARD 

Okay, I just want to press pause here for a sec and acknowledge that Lancia threw this thing at Takeshi again, Takeshi dodged it, and then the thing just magically changed direction and started going the complete opposite way, at the same time creating this fucking whirlwind somehow, that FUCKING LIFTS YAMAMOTO UP IN THE AIR. Like, this is a really entertaining fight, but it’s also just. SO ABSURD. NOTHING ABOUT IT MAKES ANY SENSE.

ANYWAY THIS THING’S ABOUT TO HIT HIM LIKE A WALL SO BRACE YOURSELVES

Oh my god right in the babymaker

AND YOU’VE UPSET THE BOYFRIEND AGAIN

1. You bitch, and 2. We know you’ve already said that, please say something new so I can update my bingo card again please and thank you.

YEEEESSSSSSSS [FISTPUMP]

Gokudera is all like “DAMN YOU” and trying to stand up to protect Yamamoto but then he falls down again because of his plot ailment!

NO MY SONS, ALSO, I’M LOVING IT THOUGH

BIANCHI GOES FULL GANDALF AND IT’S AMAZING!!

AAAAAAAAAAHHH

AND THEN LANCIA DELIVERS THE CLASSIC “ONLY USING X PERCENT OF MY STRENGTH” LINE, AND WE’RE ON FUCKING FIRE NOW WITH THIS BINGO SHIT

WHAT A SHOWDOWN

Time for Tsuna to finally blunder in just in the nick of time!

“WHERE IS EVERYONE—HOLY FUCK”

But then he sees that all his friends are either dead or dying and Bianchi is all on her own (REBORN WHO?!) protecting Yamamoto because she’s a goddamn hero!

And then Tsuna’s face does this.

LOOK AT THAT INSTANT 180 IN DEMEANOR. HE’S JUST ONE OR TWO RAGES SHORT OF JUMPING STRAIGHT INTO DYING WILL MODE RIGHT THERE ON THE FUCKING SPOT

Tsuna I love you so much and I want to write another rant about you becoming a different person all of a sudden when your friends’ welfare is at stake, but I think I’ve made my point on that already in past recaps lmao

Still, this is great.

Then a split second later he realizes what he’s actually done, and

SOB

Tsuna has no idea what to do. Until Lancia turns back to Bianchi and says he’ll just kill her first. 

Then Tsuna knows what to do.

REBORN SHOOTS THE DYING WILL BULLET, BUT ALSO MAKES THE MISTAKE OF SAYING OUT LOUD THAT IT’S THE LAST ONE THEY HAVE. THIS WILL BE IMPORTANT LATER PROBABLY

ANYWAY

He actually moved to catch it before the bullet fully took effect. I choose to believe he was already in motion when Reborn shot him, because even if he hadn’t been in Dying Will mode he was still going to catch that thing one way or the other.

AH THE NOSTALGIA

Tsuna is SO ANGRY he SWITCHES TO A DIFFERENT FUCKING FONT TO SHOW HOW ANGRY HE IS

Reborn again says out loud that THIS IS OUR FINAL TRUMP CARD!! JUST FOR ANYONE WHO MIGHT SECRETLY BE LISTENING! NOW YOU KNOW! AFTER THIS WE HAVE NOTHING LEFT!!!!

Come to think of it, wasn’t there some guy in the very last chapter who said he was going to watch and wait for the Arcobaleno to show his hand first?

Uh oh

You were fucking timing him, Chikusa?

Yeah it is the last one. Yeah they have completely fallen into it.

HOW MANY FUCKING STEPS ARE THERE

Back to Tsuna!

This one’s not on the card either, but least they got him to say something other than “THE END IS NIGH REPENT YOUR SINS HEAR ME AND REJOICE YOU ARE ABOUT TO DIE AT THE HANDS OF THE CHILDREN OF THANOS”

Lancia sticks to his one trick, unaware that Tsuna is the main character and this shit’s not going to work this time.

I LOVE THIS PANEL. THE BLURRY MOTION LINES ON TSUNA’S ARM. LANCIA’S HEAD TILTING BACK. THE RAW “OOOOMPHH” IN THIS MAGNIFICENT UPPERCUT. This was back in the days before we had fancy schmancy X-Burners and the like! Back in the days when problems were solved WITH OUR FISTS. LIKE MEN!!!

Bianchi and Reborn watch like proud parents from the sidelines.

Lancia does a backflip for no reason and then Kamehamehas the ground!

Tsuna catches the ball and chain again because NEWS FLASH LANCIA YOU CAN’T BEAT HIM LIKE THIS

And then to add insult and injury, Tsuna Kamehamehas that shit RIGHT BACK AT HIM

oof

Without checking to make sure Lancia is actually dead, Bianchi and Reborn start patting themselves on the back and making celebratory dinner plans.

Mukuro and Chikusa watch from the window. Mukuro admits he’s surprised, but…

Holy shit. You know what that means, kids. SAY IT, LANCIA. SAY IT YOU COWARD!!!!

MOTHERFUCKER HE REALLY SAID IT!!!

Hot damn. 

And that’s where the chapter ends! It feels short, but it was actually 23 fucking pages. It’s just that a good deal of those pages were just Lancia’s giant metal snake ball whirling around over and over and over.

NEXT CHAPTER WILL CONCLUDE THIS EPICALLY GENERIC FIGHT. Will we ever get bingo?? STAY TUNED

[lavendercitizen]

At this point I think I may have to ask you if you are set on absolutely annihilating me, emotionally, mentally, spiritually, etc. I will literally show up at your doorstep tomorrow I swear to god this is getting so out of hand I have never been more insane over a fic series like I can right now confidently tell you that this will forever be my no.1 fanfic series.

You are such a goddamn fucking menace, I am somehow baffled each and every time at a) how fucking good your writing is b) how I proceed to be more wrecked with each chapter and c) HOW YOU PROCEED TO MANAGE AND MAKE THIS MORE AND MORE HEARTBREAKING— IF I READ ONE MORE SIMPLE YET SO COMPLEX, BUT ALSO ELEGANT AND BEAUTIFUL LINE ABOUT BUCKY'S SMILE AND HIS PAIN AND HIS IMMINENT DEATH AND THEIR FUCKING ADORABLE, ABSOLUTELY BITTERSWEET INTERACTIONS I WILL LITERALLY POP LIKE A BALLOON.

Anyways I love uuu Nika 😌🥰🥰 <3

Nat looked at you for so long you were almost sure she wasn’t going to answer your question. Then, she said, "I took you on because you needed a reason to get up in the morning."

why would you make me tear up again?? right at the start too? because the last thing I thought of was Natasha's voicemail and that goddamned scene and Bucky carrying her over the shattered glas AND—

🙂🙂🙂 it's fine, i'm fine. totally fine.

"Congratulations," Strange says. "You can read."

"You’re not serious."

“Deadly.”

LMAO listen, aside from the small spark of power coming back and being able to slightly heal your wounds (progress, we love to see it.) the interactions between strange and the reader just....

I changed my mind, I'm not showing up at your doorstep, I will be up bright and early, knocking on Marvel's door with you in tow😤

But also...

don't think I didn't catch the fact that our dear time witch remembers everything, like....everything everything? Every time Bucky died and every loop? 😃 Oh, my beloved angst <3 This is only fuelling me more, I hope you know that.

"Well, I had to cancel my plans because I got an amateur stalker on my heels."

Aside from Bucky being a little shit and forcing you to do involuntary exercise by leading you through Manhattan for almost, what, 2 hours?? I am literally dying to know where he wanted to go. i NEED to know this Nika why is this so fricking mysterious, w h a t were his plans⁉️

— Actually, nevermind i just read some comments and 4th of july + plans...so...possibly = Steven?? i can't believe i forgot of the importance of that day :'))

"Yeah, but you always get the same thing," Bucky says, as if him knowing your order couldn’t possibly be news to you.

HE KMWOS OUR COFR EORDR

Genuinely laughs. His nose scrunches up, his eyes creasing and his head thrown back a little, shaking with a quiet and almost childish glee as you blink at the unusual sight.[...]

Everyone, shut the fuck up!!! I'm so done, I have yearned ENOUGH for one James Buchanan Barnes

Except he doesn’t even know his calculator is broken.

Bucky stares at you. "What’s that even supposed to mean?"

You didn’t mean to say it out loud. Not today. Your fingers twitch automatically to take it back, but of course, nothing happens. Nothing apart from his attention being brought back to your black rings.

"What did you do?"

Have you ever known a minute of peace in your life my dear Nika?

[...]he steps out into the street with his head half-turned to you and—well.

HAVE YOU?

"All of the pressure, I’m afraid," Strange says grimly. "There’s really no time to waste anymore."

Ahahahaha😃😃😃 no pressure at all, i mean all the pressure, totally fine (you're stressing me so hard right now😭)

"FRIDAY, turn this shit off. Call an ambulance."

Please don't do us like that, I'm in tears thinking about Sam's reaction— I'm in fucking shambles

Black out. Rewind. His eyes are on you, not even on the white jacket shooting him.

.......... . . . . .

This is not an SOS by the way that's my nika-has-done-it-again silence

"I need to tell you something," you whisper, barely loud enough for him to hear. "One more time. And then … Then that’s it."

EX-FUCKING-CUSE ME?? What do you MEAN distancing yourself from him, oh my god, i can sense the angst like an impending train honking at me, oh geez, oh lord i'm not prepared

Natasha's blip orphans😭 bye

I have to go over the broken calculator part again because I just wanted to express my pain but let me dissect why I am so beyond fucked up over that part. The subtle twitch of the readers fingers, quite literally wanting to pull back the words, Buckys FUCKING ATTENTION being brought to the black rings, the silence, the WORRY in his eyes and Nika...oh my god Nika??

[...]you look at him, whole and confused and missing parts he can’t even remember leaving with you[...]

!??!?!?!?!??!?!?! I have run out of threats to throw at you. actually no, I have decided I will remove you from this planet, I'm also getting this line tattooed on my eyeballs!

time after time [5]

series summary: After what starts out as a fairly normal mission, you find yourself stuck in a time loop. Which would already be bad enough in itself if it didn’t also mean having to watch Bucky die over and over again.

pairing: bucky barnes x f!reader

word count: 10.9k

chapter warnings: nothing except the usual ones; another panic attack near the end; the riveting resolution of the coffee side quest?

a/n: after my week of technical difficulties (got shadowbanned, had a breakdown, bon appetit), this chapter finally made it to tumblr as well. thank you so much to everyone who reached out, it's meant more than you know!! <3 this one starts out fairly harmless and then i threw some punches again and for that i apologise

series masterlist | main masterlist | read on ao3

five: carousel

The first mission they took you on was nothing short of a disaster.

It should have been simple, was simple, a quick extraction to get a microchip from this decimated group of criminals operating out of an abandoned toy store that Nat had discovered through one of her contacts. You were only supposed to tag along to get a feeling for being out in the field, an additional pair of eyes just in case things went south.

Did they ever.

Not only was the chip accidentally destroyed, your ensuing panic got you stuck for a good twenty minutes until the world started spinning again. Steve fell down a full flight of stairs when you reappeared out of thin air next to him the moment it did.

Needless to say, you went into hiding as soon as you got back to the Compound.

She gave you about an hour before the hatch in the floor boards opened, even though for you, it was much longer. She didn’t know that, though. You sat very still, your breath finally silent again. Maybe she didn’t know you were in here.

"I know you’re up here, Y/N."

You pulled the cape off your head with a sigh. Natasha grimaced.

"Don’t do that, I’m not talking to a floating head," she said with a shudder. "You know how weird that is?"

You huffed and let her pull the fabric into her lap, watching your own limbs reappear, your arms hugged around your knees. She sat down next to you, leaning against the wall with her eyes closed. You watched a spider scatter away from you.

"How did you even find me?" you asked quietly after she made no further attempts to speak to you.

"My sister had a similar hiding spot when we were little." You could hear the smile in her voice as she said it. "And you kicked up quite a bit of dust."

She didn’t elaborate on either of those things and you didn’t ask, even though you wanted to. Anything that could get your mind off what happened.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"Yeah," you said dryly. "That’s why I’m sitting in the supply closet."

"That’s exactly what I told Steve." Your face fell again, but hers didn’t. "He’s alright. Or he will be, once he forgives me for laughing at him for five minutes."

That didn’t make you feel any better. "I fucked up today," you said softly, your voice still rough.

"You didn’t do anything wrong."

"I did, though. I literally froze as soon as things went wrong, and the chip—"

"Is expendable," Natasha interrupted calmly.

You shook your head. "I only mess everything up for you guys. I’m not a real agent, and my powers just make things worse, and I should just—"

"Do you realize that this thing you were given can be a gift?" You cringed and started turning away, but Natasha reached out for you, a gentle hand on your arm. "I mean it. You think every time you’re unable to use your powers is your personal failure, but you don’t see how every time you are able to use them is precious."

There was a delicate hue to her green eyes, a weariness that was visible even in the dim light of the closet. For the first time, you had the feeling she let you see something she usually wouldn’t.

"Our lives … they’re hard," she went on. "Unpredictable. We live on borrowed time. And you get to have more of it. That’s …" You waited for the words you’d heard before. Invaluable. Instrumental. Priceless. "Beautiful."

You swallowed hard. "Is that why you took me on? For the team?"

Nat looked at you for so long you were almost sure she wasn’t going to answer your question. Then, she said, "I took you on because you needed a reason to get up in the morning."

You stared at her, your nails digging into the palm of your hand until it hurt more than the ache in your chest. Natasha kept looking at you as she continued.

"I lost a lot of people over the years, you know. But never like this. Never this many at once. Something like that …" She trailed off, her eyes wet. "The entire planet was grieving and struggling and blaming us, because at that point hardly anyone understood any of it apart from the fact that the Avengers were involved. And then one day, out of nowhere, a letter materialized on our doorstep, and the security cameras didn’t show a thing." Her grip on your arm tightened, as if she needed to steady herself. "Do you remember what you wrote?"

I’m sorry for your loss.

You’d struggled to put it down for days, because how else could you apologize for something you might have been able to prevent had you only been there instead of hiding? In the end, you’d only added your name and the address of that diner in Brooklyn where you picked up a few shifts after their waitress had been blipped.

You’d gotten a call less than twenty-four hours later.

"You were the first person to say that," Nat continued, because she could see the memories flit across your face as easily as others watched a movie. "And yet, when you got here, you looked as guilty as if you’d personally murdered every single one of the Vanished."

"Well, if I’d been with you—"

"Stop it." For the first time, her voice was sharp. Your mouth fell closed. "We’re all trying to do better, right?"

You could only nod.

"That’s all anybody here is ever going to ask of you. And sometimes 'better' is just getting one hell of a kick in during a mission. Don’t think I didn’t see that."

You smiled ever so slightly. "I have a pretty good teacher."

"Yeah, you do." She shoved your shoulder lightly. "You can’t do more than show up and do your best, honey."

"My best looks like a dead possum next to yours."

"Then stop looking at me." Natasha got up to her feet slowly, patting you on the knee when she did. "Unless it’s for a post mission wind down because I have a movie queued up and I know where Steve hid the cookies."

"Can I have my cape back?"

"Nope." She folded it up with the green side out, letting it hang loosely over her arm. "You’re supposed to use it to hide from your enemies, not your friends."

You didn’t attempt to argue further, warmth rising to your cheeks.

"Nat?" She turned again, halfway down the hatch, caught by the emotion in your voice. "Thank you."

Her smile told you that, as always, she understood.

*****

There simply isn’t a world in which you can do this even one more time. It’s too much.

"You need to sort out your priorities," Sam says, zero sympathy in his voice. Bucky has the audacity to look amused.

"I’m serious," you say, looking between the two of them. "My day is bad enough already. I don’t care where we order, but it’s not going to be Italian unless you want me to puke on your cat."

Over the past couple of weeks, you’ve eaten your way through the entirety of your pizza place’s menu. If you have to smell the rank cheese Sam likes to order one more time, you can’t be held responsible for your actions.

"How about sushi?" Bucky says, and you almost start protesting out of habit before you realize that for once, he’s not arguing your side. You turn to Sam with an expectant grin.

"Fine," he grunts, shaking Alpine off his trouser leg as gently as he can while his nose twitches. "I guess Russian Doll has the right to choose his last meal."

Bucky frowns at him, but you gasp in delight. "Are you finally joining us in dark humor land, Sammy?"

He flips you off wordlessly as he leaves the room and you chuckle to yourself, pulling up the sushi menu on your phone. Alpine starts nibbling on the bandage around your foot that’s stretched out on the couch and you wiggle your toes a bit. It seems to entertain her.

"What," you ask when the staring becomes unbearable.

"Nothing."

When you lift your gaze to meet Bucky’s, his jaw is clenched again, his eyes fixed on you with a distant expression in them. You tilt your head, and he lowers his.

"So what’s the plan?"

You send your part of the order to FRIDAY and put your phone to the side. "I have to get back to Strange to figure out how to stop this loop from happening again."

You’ve almost felt sorry to see your series of library heists break, even though you have no reason to feel his way. This is progress. Strange’s offer to help has been genuine enough so far, even though you hate paying him in answers.

Now that he’s not deliberately keeping you out anymore, getting to the astral plane has been a lot easier, at least, even though emptying your mind enough to cross over without a prior emotional breakdown has still proven somewhat difficult. Weirdly, it’s easiest on the couch.

Bucky nods shortly. "And what do I do?"

"Whatever you want."

He scoffs. "Right."

It makes your insides twist. "Bucky, as much as I hope that today is the last time we’re doing this, I can’t guarantee it. So you should just, I don’t know, enjoy yourself." You cringe even as you say it.

"I wanna come see Strange."

You blink, watching him clench and unclench his fists slowly, deliberating. The golden parts of his arm gleam in the sunlight. "Why?"

His voice, when he speaks, sounds haunted. "I can’t just sit around and do nothing."

Something in his voice sticks with you as you lie down on the couch and stare up at the ceiling. You’re not even sure if what he’s asking is possible.

"No, it’s not," Strange says bluntly. "Not as long as you’re in the loop."

"Why not?"

"Stop asking questions and focus."

With a roll of your eyes, you raise up your arms again. So far, you’ve spent most of your so-called lessons trying to make sense of the cryptic texts Strange makes you read and then summarize like you’re in fifth grade. If you’re not doing that, you’re talking him through the events of your July 4th, or explaining your powers to the best of your abilities, going through the motions and habits you’ve taught yourself over the years. It all feels like you’re revealing something very personal for someone else to judge.

You don’t care much for any of it.

"Again."

"Is this supposed to teach me something new?" you ask, turning your thumb and first two fingers upwards again while your other hand balls into a fist by your side.Threads of sunlight glittering like spun gold. You take a breath and shake your head.

"Do you feel anything?"

Annoyance. You bite your tongue and reach out, carefully, like you would to a scared animal, searching for that old familiar feeling.

It takes a while.

Dim, at first, but clearly there, vibrating deep in your veins, hesitantly stumbling towards your hands like it was suprised, too, to be called upon again. Softly glowing embers slowly filling the void you’ve grown so hopelessly accustomed to.

You open your eyes to find the tiniest green spark dancing across your fingertips and almost laugh in relief.

"Interesting," Strange says.

You flick your fingers softly, once, twice, letting the spec of power grow until it’s the size of a pinhead, cradling it softly with your other hand as if to protect it from a gust of wind. Slowly, bit by bit, it settles back into your skin, and you feel it tingling all the way up to your ears.

Strange contemplates you for a long moment. "When did you get that cut?" he finally asks.

At this point, you should be used to his unfazedness. "Yesterday," you say, the 'obviously' clinging to every syllable. Riff was putting up a better fight than usual; or maybe you’re getting sloppy again.

Strange moves his right hand in that circular motion you’ve seen him do before, and the air in front of you cracks. It’s weird to see your own slightly translucent reflection suspended in the middle of your room. The gash on your cheek has barely had the chance to scab. You subconsciously reach for your necklace again.

"Look at the wound, and hold your hands like this."

You try and mimic Strange’s gesture. "I feel ridiculous." Like a mime. Or a really bad stage magician.

"Good," he says. "Now focus your powers, and follow my lead."

You watch Strange move his shaky hands out of the corner of your eye while trying to concentrate on that little spec of power you’ve felt earlier. Slowly, itchingly, the wound starts knitting itself together, as if it’s been healing for days. The skin smoothes over as if nothing had ever happened.

A rush of excitement goes through you at the sight, and there’s a stutter. With a flash of pain, the cut tears up again and you flinch, your hands falling.

"Fuck."

"I told you to focus."

"Well, if only saying it made it happen," you snap, then try again. This time, you let go of your power more carefully, almost coaxing it down. The gash doesn’t heal completely, but at least it looks better than what you started with. Strange watches you closely, brow furrowed deeply in thought.

"Let’s try something different," he says, and with another flick of his wrist, the mirror vanishes again. "Sit down."

You bristle at the command, but obey. A sidelong glance confirms that your sleeping body’s cut on the cheek has somewhat improved as well. There seems to be something connecting the two of you after all.

"When is this here, anyway?" you ask.

Once again, he doesn’t give you an answer. With another quick movement he grabs something through a small portal and throws it at you without any regard to your reflexes. You grab it off the bed incredulously.

"That’s … a meditation CD."

"Congratulations," Strange says. "You can read."

"You’re not serious."

"Deadly." He unfastens his cloak, which flies over to drape itself over the reading chair like a blanket, and then joins you on the floor, crossing his legs as well. It’s bizarrely casual. "If you don’t learn to focus," he continues, "there’s no moving forward from this point."

You huff, holding the CD out for him to take back. He doesn’t. "I’ve tried meditation," you say impatiently. "It doesn’t work for me. My mind—it doesn’t work for me."

"Your mind what?"

"It’s too loud."

You put the CD on the ground with a little too much force, moving to twist your rings around again, but they’re still absent. Your nails dig into your skin, instead.

"Did you know I don’t really forget stuff? Did I tell you that?" You laugh humorlessly, because what else can you do. "Fun side effect of the traveling back and forth through time. I always know where I’ve been and what I’ve done, and what everyone else has done while I was there. All that information is in my head, all the time, and I can’t get rid of it."

"All the more reason to have it quiet down every once in a while," Strange says calmly.

You want to strangle him.

"Believe me, I’d love nothing more, but I can’t. It’s not like I’m a computer and you can do the whole'Hello, this is IT, have you tried turning it off and on again?' It doesn’t work like that."

"You do know a lot about how things don’t work."

"Welcome to my world," you mutter, flexing your fingers and crossing your arms before you draw blood.

Strange sighs. "Your mind isn’t a hard drive. No matter what your powers entail, your brain is still human. And it needs to rest every once in a while."

For some reason, in the middle of this whole crazy situation, that thought settles. Maybe it’s because it’s possibly the first genuinely kind sentiment he’s shown you so far. Maybe you’re just tired of pushing.

"How?" It’s more a croak than a question.

"Just stay like that and breathe." You look at him incredulously and he raises an eyebrow. "What? No one said you have to think nothing. It’s fine if you just sit there with your thoughts."

There’s a short pause. "That sounds terrifying," you admit quietly.

Strange considers you for a long moment, as if he’s contemplating what to say, until he finally admits, "I know."

***

You blink awake slowly this time, as if gradually awakening from a deep sleep. The TV is on again, quietly chattering in the background, and a weight on your legs tells you that Alpine has found a new spot again.

A glance at your phone shows that surprisingly little time has passed. When you sit up, the white cat on top of you complaining loudly, you can see Sam leaning against the kitchen counter, laptop closed, talking to Sarah on the phone.

The fact that you’re not alone quite yet is weirdly comforting.

In a moment of sleepy contentment, you reach out to scratch Alpine under the chin like you’ve seen Bucky do countless times. Curiously, she lets you without immediately extending her claws. At least for a moment.

"You’re awake."

Immediately, Alpine loses interest in you and jumps onto the backrest of the couch to nestle her head into Bucky’s palm. You roll your eyes.

"Keen observation, sarge."

He slowly peels his gloves off, not quite looking at you. "What did he say?"

Right. There was that.

"Nothing, to be honest," you say, folding up the throw blanket Sam must have put over you while you were sleeping. "Apart from the fact that he really can’t actually do as much as one would think."

"Can’t, or doesn’t want to?"

You shrug. "Same difference."

Despite everything, somehow you feel inclined to believe that there really isn’t a way to get Bucky to the astral plane, though. After all, things haven’t been normal ever since this loop began; and since you’re the only one who can lift it, maybe that also means you’re the only one who can do things like that.

You can only hope that at some point, something—anything—you do is going to stick.

Bucky studies your face, but doesn’t tell you whatever is still clearly gnawing at him. You don’t know why for a moment, you thought he would.

It reminds you of something you haven’t asked in a while.

"Is there something you want to tell me?"

His mouth opens, but he doesn’t speak immediately. "Like what?"

"It’s just …" You struggle with the words, as if your mind is still half-asleep. "In some of the loops, it was kind of …" You trail off when you notice he’s holding something in his other hand. "Did you go get coffee again?"

Bucky clears his throat. "Yeah. I thought since you didn’t get one earlier, ya know …"

You’ve stopped getting caffeinated drinks for yourself in the mornings to make it easier to get to that voidlike state you need to be in to enter the astral plane. It’s been making you rather irritable; though, truth be told, that might also be due to Strange’s charming personality.

"That’s nice," you say, reaching for the paper cup with your name on it, taking a sniff before tasting it carefully. It’s perfect. "I should change my habits," you say lightly, "if Lucy knows my order even if I don’t pick it up myself."

"Who’s Lucy?" Bucky says, sitting down on the couch next to you.

You stop yourself from rolling your eyes. "The pretty one on register? Stars and stripes on her cheeks?" He hums noncommittantly and you decide it’s not worth the effort. "What did you get?" you ask with a nod to the second cup.

"Just … coffee."

You squint to read the sticker, but he puts his fingers over it in a motion so smooth it almost hides its defensiveness. There’s the slightest hint of a grin on his face as you scowl, trying to catch his sleeve to get him to twist the writing back in your direction. Your thumb grazes cool metal and you still. Bucky does, too.

"Did she actually give you her number?"

Your laugh comes out through your nose, somehow, as if it’s not much more than a breath. The expression on Bucky’s face doesn’t quite fit his widening grin, or the slight tinge of pink on his cheeks, but you couldn’t say why.

"So?" he says. Alpine stares at you accusingly, settling in his lap once more.

"Nothing!" It comes out quickly. "I’m not surprised. I mean, she thinks you’re hot."

His eyebrow quirks. "Does she, now?"

You take a gulp of coffee so large it makes your eyes water. "Her shift’s probably over by now. You should call her."

"Why," Bucky says wryly.

"To take her out." Should you be weirded out by the fact that this is happening as soon as Bucky entered the store without you? You tug at the ring on your pinkie.

"Why do you want me to take her out if I’m gonna die later?" Bucky asks.

"Well, it might take your edge off for one."

"And why does my edge concern you?"

"Have you met yourself?" You shrug, your ears drumming. "Besides, it might be fun."

He doesn’t look at you as he takes a sip from his own coffee, as if still determined not to let you see his reaction. "You have a strange definition of fun."

Alpine yawns as if to agree. You stand up abruptly, suddenly nauseated from drinking too fast.

"I’m just gonna …"

Again, you don’t finish your sentence, and Bucky doesn’t stop you from grabbing your takeout containers and taking them with you to your room, where you stare at the toilet for a good minute, waiting for the queasiness to pass. Your meet your own gaze in the mirror.

The cut on your face looks better than it did a few hours ago.

You walk back into your bedroom and take a critical look at your bookcase.The Wind in the Willows is back in its place where it belongs. What isn’t there is the CD Strange finally managed to force upon you.

The rules of this multiverse crap are going to give you another migraine on top of your current one.

You sit down on the floor next to your window to eat, but your cheek keeps itching until you notice yourself tapping your chopsticks against the plastic container so hard soy sauce is splashing everywhere. With a displeased twitch of your mouth, you reach for your phone.

It rings for a very long time and you realize it’s already past midnight in Seoul when finally, there’s a voice on the other end.

"This better be good, agent Y/L/N."

Her voice is quiet, tired, and you press the phone to your ear even harder. "Can I ask you a hypothetical question?"

Doctor Helen Cho sighs deeply on the other end of the line, and you can almost picture her leaning back in her ergonomic office chair. "Alright."

You toy with the edges of the building scab on your cheek. "Is it possible for someone to go through physical changes and … not go through them at the same time?"

There’s a pause on the other end, followed by a sigh. "Are you asking me if Schrödinger’s cat is real or not?"

A living being that simultaneously is and isn’t dead? That’s a paradox you have an answer for.

The problem, as always, is you.

"Sort of. I don’t know." You bite your lip.

"You realize quantum mechanics is not exactly my specialty, right?" Even while she says that, you can hear the clicking of her keyboard. "You are talking about a body, I presume. A human one?"

"Mhm."

"And the changes?"

You think of the cut and the writing and Bucky’s blood on your sheets. And your changed clothes. "They’re only to the body itself. Everything around stays the same. Pretty much like Schrödinger’s cat, I guess. Nothing about the box changes." Ever.

There’s another pause before Helen speaks again.

"Look, as far as I know—and with all these new and upcoming aliens and superheroes and so on that have been appearing over the past couple of years that’s less and less, mind you—but as far as I know, humans can only be in one state at one particular time. There’s ways to accelerate healing processes or even meddle with the body in other ways, but it’s still an either–or scenario."

"So, it’s impossible?" you ask, biting your cheek.

"It’s improbable, based on what I understand." Time has definitely started to bleed into itself, then. Great. "But like I said, that’s not really my area of expertise," she continues. "Speaking of, though, I got an e-mail from your new captain earlier."

"You did?" you ask, surprised. Sam hasn’t said anything to you, not today or any other iteration of it.

"You can tell him I’m hearing the same things he has," Helen says. "My lab wasn’t approached, but I have a colleague at a partner institution who left for Madripoor a couple of weeks ago."

You’ve barely thought about ULTIMATUM and their experiments since you laid everything out for Sam and Bucky earlier this morning. Another wave of guilt flashes through you.

"I’ll tell him," you say tonelessly. "Thanks, Helen."

"In this hypothetical of yours," Helen says before you can hang up. "Who’s the observing party?"

You watch the green symbols circle around your wrist, once, twice, three times. "I’m not sure yet."

You stare at them for a while longer after the call disconnects.

"There’s nothing to observe when the flow of time is reduced to a single day," Strange says when you relay the question to him the next day, his voice dripping with annoyance.

"So there would be, usually?" you ask, eyes narrowing as you try to channel the flow of your powers into the palm of your hand, like he’s told you.

"It’s not a perfect comparison," he answers. "The cat is only dead or not because time passes. Time is only our way of perceiving space dimensionally."

"Time and relative dimension in space," you hum with a light smile. Your palm starts tingling. "But if it’s not that, either, then … I still feel like there has to be something I’m missing here."

Every single review of the mission fills in another piece of the puzzle, the map of the lab you draw on the whiteboard growing more and more detailed each day, but still, it’s never enough. You miss the way Steve would draw out detailed building plans and escape routes before any mission, such ease to the stroke of his pen; your own talent for drawing is borderline abysmal by comparison.

The green shimmer around your hand dissipates again. Strange groans, fingers massaging his temple like he, too, is getting a headache from this stupid realm. His cloak wipes a bead of sweat from his forehead.

"What you’re missing," he says through gritted teeth, "is the point of this exercise."

"Enlighten me," you snap back.

You watch him take a deep breath before he answers. "Do you, or do you not realize that this isn’t all about you?"

You huff. "If you say something like this is the universe imparting a message upon me, I got that point. The message is that I suck at what I’m doing."

"If that’s the message, then how come you’re not the one who’s really getting knocked around every single day?"

The anger and remorse that wash over you make your power flare up like a bolt of electricity, your fingertips and the dark of your eyes flashing an eery shade of green. You can feel the little hairs in the back of your neck stand up. Strange only looks at you, his expression unexpectedly somber.

"At least he doesn’t remember," you say tonelessly.

Strange smiles, but there’s no joy in it. "Indeed," he says.

The rush ebbs off, bit by bit, and you blink to get rid of the last of the strange double vision you sometimes get when time stutters again.

"You keep telling a man he will die today because you think that’s best for him," Strange goes on. "Better than him getting to choose his own path. Have you ever paid attention to how he spends his last precious hours once he knows?"

Of course you have. Sitting around in the Tower, going over mission plans again and again. Getting coffee. Lurking in doorways, leaning against walls, thinking, talking, looking.

It’s all time spent with you, and Sam, and Alpine.

It’s weird that you shouldn’t have realized this fact when in the beginning, you kept wondering about the time he came back to the Tower. Because before you’ve started telling him, Bucky always left.

Maybe that’s what you’re missing.

"Careful," Strange says, noticing your change in expression.

"You know me, doc," you answer, letting the power crackle again ever so slightly. It’s a thrill, getting to feel it again. "Careful’s basically my middle name."

***

"Doesn’t matter," Bucky says when you ask him what he’d be up to if you hadn’t told him about the loop.

"Oh no, leave me out of this. That’s his thing," Sam says when you ask him about the whole thing, and he so clearly knows what it is and yet refuses to tell you.

"None of your business," Bucky says when you press the matter, his jaw clenched tightly, and you hate to do this, but you don’t exactly have limitless options here. Besides, it’s the first new idea you’ve had in a while, which means there’s an almost moral obligation for you to go through with it. And still.

This feels wrong, you think when Sam comes to knock at your door and you throw on your gym clothes, pulling the sweatband over your wrist tightly.

This feels wrong, you think when you climb into the ring as if nothing had ever happened, as if this was just a normal day. Your side is still a little sore, but you’re able to play it off as a scratch with ease. How would he know to call you out on it?

This feels wrong, you think when you close your eyes as you lie on the mat and wait. You promised.

"You look like shit."

Your head turns like muscle memory. "Hey."

"Hi." Bucky’s eyebrow raises at your silence, but you’re not sure if the words aren’t just going to come bursting out of you. You have a tell. "You alright?"

Your grin tastes just a little bitter. "Why wouldn’t I be?"

"Right." He doesn’t quite believe you, of course, but it’s fine. You can do this.

You turn your gaze back to the ceiling and try to recall the very first July 4th, the version of you that you were. She resists you slipping her back on, but you take another deep breath, just like you’ve been practicing. A chuckle slips free.

"Fuck you, Barnes."

Your heart is still beating fast in your chest, but he must chalk it off to the training, because you can hear him huff. "There she is."

You close your eyes with a petulant sigh, just in case he can see your conscience written all over them. Again, you remind yourself that you tried asking him, that you tried everything else, that this is the only option you can think of right now.

"You’re horrible." It’s more like talking to yourself out loud, but of course Bucky doesn’t know that. And the sad truth is, he’s used to your temper.

"Take the towel on the right, I already used the other one."

You give an affirmative hum, waiting until you hear the door close behind him. Then, you rush to the showers, wasting no time to get ready and dressed again.

Bucky walks out the door of the Tower at precisely 09:43, a fact you know thanks to the time stamps on the security footage from the lobby you had FRIDAY pull up early on in the loop. This leaves you with a pretty small window of time to clean up, add another line to the tally on your thigh, and get back to your room to grab your stuff without making what you’re doing to obvious to either him or Sam. You have FRIDAY call up the elevator with barely a minute to spare, going down to the second floor and quickly heading towards the stairs. Behind you, the elevator dings once.

You basically sprint downstairs, readjusting your backpack. You almost barrel into the fire door, peering through the window into the lobby after another glance at your watch. Only a few seconds later, you can see Bucky walk across the entrance hall, the usual resting scowl on his face as he looks around once and then ducks out the side door.

You tug the cap you found at the back of your closet deeper into your face and start after him.

This feels wrong, and it’s a terrible idea, you can’t help but think as you watch him head down Lex, hands stuffed into the pockets of his leather jacket. His strides are long, but unhurried, and even though you know he’s the furthest thing from vulnerable, the fact that you’re seeing him unguarded like this doesn’t sit right with you. Nevertheless, you continue.

You expect him to head for the subway, but instead, he turns left after the Chrysler Building, going east. With a slightly confused frown, you briefly join a group of clearly lost tourists to cross the street and follow him back up Third Avenue. At least there’s just enough people around to make it easy enough for you to hide in a crowd, you suppose.

You’re going to follow him, and find out what he’s up to, and then you’re going to see if and how it all connects to this stupid loop.

Easy as that.

It’s about an hour and a half later when you seriously start cursing Bucky’s name. Inexplicably, he’s still just walking around the streets of Manhattan like a fucking peasant. Your clothes are sticking to your body in ways you don’t care to describe, and you’re sick of having to pretend to be interested in shitty Independance Day memorabilia and battered paperbacks on sale while trying to avoid eye contact with the people trying to sell them to you.

You’re also pretty sure you’re walking around in circles.

Letting your head fall into your neck, you blink up into the bright sunlight from underneath the shade of your cap. As always, there is not a single cloud in sight, a perfect Friday in July. It’s making your eyes burn.

You glance back at Bucky, who has continued walking after taking a look at his phone, and sigh. All of this would be so much easier with your powers.

"What on earth are you up to," you mumble to yourself as you watch him take another left.

You count to ten before rounding the corner as well—and then you yelp when you almost slam into Bucky’s chest.

"What are you doing?" He doesn’t sound annoyed at all; more entertained. You take a step back, assessing, but his face doesn’t betray him whatsoever.

"Going on a walk," you try cautiously.

"Yeah, right." He tilts his head, features despicably neutral. "Why are you following me?"

"I’m not?" He stares at you, and you groan. "Fine. I just wanted to see where you’re going?"

"Why?" There’s an edge to his voice that you can’t quite make sense of, but your thoughts tumble right over it, scrambling for an excuse and coming up empty. The glint in his eye is distracting.

"Because …" Because you don’t know what else to do at this point. "I don’t know, I was just curious."

Bucky raises an eyebrow. "That’s a lot of dedication when you could’ve just asked."

You look at him doubtfully. "So you’d have told me?" you say, already knowing the answer.

"No." He puts his hands back into his pockets and turns around, leaving you standing there staring at his back.

"Well, there you go then," you shout and start to follow along again. You take the stupid hat off with a sigh and stuff it into the backpack, wiping sweat off your forehead. "How long did you know I was there?"

Bucky shrugs. "About when I got outside."

"Seriously." He stares at you over his shoulder. "Seriously?!"

"You came down the stairs," he says, shaking his head. "And in a Yankees cap."

"So?"

"Don’t tell me you suddenly like baseball."

"I might like baseball," you mumble. "It’s a very fine … ball sport."

He snorts. "Sure ya do. I’ll remind you next time the game’s on."

"Circling back," you quickly change the subject, "why the fuck did you make me chase you halfway across Midtown if you knew I was there anyway?"

"It was funny." The shit-eating grin spreading on his face surprises you so much you stumble over your own feet. His arm extends to stop your fall if necessary, as if on instinct. "You know," he continues, "I thought you’d lost me on Times Square. Almost asked one of those guys in costume to help you out."

You slap his hand away. "You’re the worst, Barnes."

"And you’re a shit spy, time powers or not." The smile changes, but stays. Somehow, you’re glad.

Your fingers twitch inside your own pockets, your thumbs tracing along your rings. "So," you say, suppressing the nervous chuckle. "Where are we actually going?"

"Don’t know yet." Bucky turns his head to look out for cars before he continues walking. It takes you a second to match his pace again.

"What do you mean, you don’t know."

"Well, I had to cancel my plans because I got an amateur stalker on my heels."

"Wow." You squint at him and the blinding sunshine behind his head. "And you’re calling me stubborn."

"To your face? I would never."

Oh, you hate this.

"So we’re actually just walking around town for the hell of it." And you’ve done all of this for nothing.

"Yup."

The realization that you wasted yet another day by thinking you could be sneaky around Bucky almost takes you down a spiral, and you don’t even notice he’s still talking to you until he ducks his head to catch your eye. "Huh?"

"I said I’ll buy you a coffee. Think you might need it." He pauses. "That is, if you wanna."

"I could always go for coffee," you say, and it’s true. First, though, you should tell him. Rip the band-aid off and get it over with. "Listen, I—"

But then he looks at you, his eyes impossibly blue in the sunshine, and for the first time in weeks, you don’t have to deal with that damn preciousness in them, because he doesn’t know. He doesn’t know what’s going to happen, and so he just looks at you like he has a thousand times before, the normalcy of it like a breath of fresh air after his eyes have dragged you under again and again.

How come you’re not the one who’s really getting knocked around every single day?

Maybe it’d really be a kindness to spare him the news, just once. It’s still so early.

"What?" Bucky asks when the silence stretches.

You think of the ever unchanging Tower and the neverending pizza delivery and the fact that you hate this. You hate lying to him. You do it anyway.

Just once.

"I thought of something, but it doesn’t matter now," you say. "We have time."

***

"Are you gonna tell me what’s up with you?"

You pretend not to hear him, shuffling the straws around in their container until they look a bit more orderly. Even though you’re not working, even though this isn’t even your store, it’s hard to shake the need to feel useful. Particularly if you’re trying to ignore Bucky’s gaze burning into your neck.

You’re saved by your name being called out because your coffee is ready. For some reason, you half-expect him to swoop in front of you and take the drinks himself, but of course he doesn’t. Why would he?

With a shake of your head, you rid yourself of the ridiculous thought and hand Bucky his coffee without looking at him.

"You know," you say, stepping out of the crowded Starbucks into the sunshine. "I have a blanket somewhere in here." You point at your backpack. "We could try to fight for a spot in the park."

There’s a pause, and then Bucky sighs. "What else do you have in there, anyway?"

"Spy stuff."

You don’t expect him to find that funny, but he snorts slightly. Then, like a habit he can’t break, his gaze falls on your hands again.

"I’m just tired," you say wearily before he presses the matter.

"You should try the floor," Bucky says. "If you can’t sleep."

It helps, sometimes. "I’ll keep that in mind."

You take a sip of your coffee and scrunch your nose when you realize it isn’t what you ordered for yourself; it’s what you ordered for him. In your haste to change the topic earlier, you must have switched the cups.

"Sorry," you say, "this is actually—"

But you stop talking, because he’s already taking a tentative nip of yor drink, and then he licks his lips. And they curl slightly upwards.

He blinks a few times, as if he’s as surprised as you are, and tries again, less hesitantly this time. Then he looks at the writing on the cup. "Wait," he says, frowning, "I think you’ve got mine."

Your mouth closes, then opens again. "How do you know?" you finally say. "They both have my name on them."

"Yeah, but you always get the same thing," Bucky says, as if him knowing your order couldn’t possibly be news to you.

"It’s fine," you say when he tries to hand you your cup back. "Maybe I should try something different sometimes."

Bryant Park is already bustling with people, and it’s just about noon. The little green tables are all occupied by chess players and chatting families, the carousel horses manned with happily shrieking children.

Still, you find a place to spread out your blanket near the edge of the lawn, almost within talking distance of the Public Library’s security guard, who is currently on his first smoke break. You demonstratively sit down with your back to him. If ever a man took his job too seriously.

"Aren’t you hot in that?" you ask doubtfully when Bucky uncomfortably sits down opposite you, the collar of his leather jacket pushing up.

"'Course I am," he answers, not elaborating.

You let your eye roam through the park. "Terrible news," you say dryly. "Not a single person is looking at you, Sergeant Cool."

Bucky shakes his head, not looking at you.

"No one cares," you say, more sincerely this time. "Even if they did, they’re not gonna say anything. And they’ll have forgotten about you tomorrow."

He huffs again. "And you’re wonderin’ why I call you stubborn."

"I thought you didn’t do that to my face?"

He pulls his gloves off, throwing them on the blanket between you with his eyebrow raised. "Happy?"

In the bright sun, his left hand is gleaming, the inlets reflecting the light in a way that makes it dance across the cotton like swirls of pure gold. You smile and lean back, closing your eyes.

You don’t come to this park often, even though it’s not far from the Tower at all and it’s easier than returning to Central Park with all the memories it holds and that have turned more bitter than sweet after everything. It’s the same as with the library, you suppose. Sometimes you don’t even know you’re missing something until you find yourself in the middle of it.

It might have been a Saturday, you think, the last time you were here. What a concept; Saturday. You sit with the thought for a while, and then you let it drift away, just like you’ve been practicing.

It’s such an unexpected feeling, to get to experience this moment of quiet reprieve when lately, most of your time in this loop has been spent studying, or training, or fighting. You already know you’re getting another talking-to if you don’t return to the astral plane at all today; but it’s just the one day. Surely, you can be allowed one day.

Your brain craves it more than anything.

When you open your eyes again, Bucky is contemplating your backpack with a frown so oddly different than the one you’ve gotten used to in previous loops. He seems so … It takes you a while to come up with the right word, because somehow, it makes you think of Alpine, and that doesn’t make any sense at all. Comfortable. He seems comfortable.

His shoulders are relaxed, his jaw unclenched, and even though he’s still wearing the jacket, his eyes aren’t flitting around to assess everyone within sight. His head tilts slightly.

"Are you trying to see through it?" you say, and the dryness tastes wrong on your tongue.

Bucky nudges the backpack with his foot. "Just wonderin’ what you thought you were gonna be up to."

"I like to come prepared."

"Since when?"

Well, ever since resetting has kind of stopped being an option whatsoever. "This isn’t gonna turn into one of your 'constant vigilance' talks, is it, Moody?" you say lightly.

He looks at you again, and you’re not really sure if that’s better or worse. "You’re deflecting, doll."

"Well, what do I know!" you say. It’s worse, definitely worse, but you don’t know why. "You might have been off on a covert mission or visiting a secret girlfriend or buying a beehive to put on the roof or—"

He unzips the backpack. "So you brought a blanket, a baseball cap, binoculars and a banana?"

You try to bite your tongue, but it’s impossible. "I was kind of set on the bee scenario."

Bucky laughs.

Genuinely laughs. His nose scrunches up, his eyes creasing and his head thrown back a little, shaking with a quiet and almost childish glee as you blink at the unusual sight. It’s over almost as suddenly as it began, but … still. A warmth spreads from your chest to your cheeks as you watch him, your own smile almost hesitant by comparison.

Joy looks good on him.

It leaves a twinkle in his eye even as the laughter subsides, like specs of sunlight.

"What?" he says, his mouth still twitching.

"You seem happy." And it’s astonishing.

Bucky shakes his head slightly, and if you didn’t know any better, you’d think he’s blushing. "No need to sound so shocked about it."

"You sure?" you ask, your voice cracking only a little. "I feel like I need to call an ambulance."

"Shut up."

"Or Area 51. I think you might’ve been swapped with an alien doppelganger." You sit up properly. "Tell me something only the real Bucky would know. Oh, wait. He wouldn’t have told me, either."

"You are the most dramatic person I know, you know that?"

"You’re one to talk, Sergeant I Need Nobody’s Help, I Will Jump Out Of  A Plane Without A Parachute."

"So many rank drops today."

"Now who’s deflecting?"

"I take calculated risks."

Except he doesn’t even know his calculator is broken.

Bucky stares at you. "What’s that even supposed to mean?"

You didn’t mean to say it out loud. Not today. Your fingers twitch automatically to take it back, but of course, nothing happens. Nothing apart from his attention being brought back to your black rings.

"What did you do?"

The concern in his voice is quiet, but it’s there nevertheless, and it makes your heart ache, long desperately for it to go away, to be replaced by the joy that was there mere seconds ago. You want to make this day stop, make the world stop so you can continue living in that ease of just sitting here and laughing together without thinking about anything else.

And then you realize what’s really happening, and the world chokes, like something falling into place.

For a moment, you can’t breathe as you look at him, whole and confused and missing parts he can’t even remember leaving with you, and you feel as though your heart might stop because the only thought running through your head is Please, not now. Not now. Not now. Every single beat is an echoing no inside your mind.

You are so fucked up, you think, but you can’t find it in you to stop looking at his face, nearly flinching as you shove the feeling all the way down, down, down, until you can feel it like a brick in your stomach. It’s nauseating, like the vertigo you get at the very top of a roller coaster just before the car drops into freefall.

"Y/N?"

"I don’t know," you say tonelessly. He must have noticed your face change, he must have. So why doesn’t the frown deepen?

"Liar." Your heart is still pounding so loud he must hear it, even over the racket of children screaming in delight and cars blowing their horns in the distance.

Concern, you think again. Exact same thing that you see mirrored on Bucky’s face right now. You're concerned for your friend.

Roommate, really.

Colleague.

Guy you sometimes work with, professionally.

Exactly. That’s it. That has to be it.

You’re in deep enough shit already.

He’s still waiting for you to say something and you can hear the blood rushing in your ears, the buzzing in your head getting louder, and the only thing you can think to say is, once again, "I’m sorry."

Before Bucky can answer, his phone rings, and there’s the flicker of annoyance you’ve been waiting for.

"Hold that thought," he says. "Sam?"

Your heart sinks as Bucky presses his phone to his ear, reality catching up with you again. You try to rearrange your features into a neutrally curious expression when he glances back at you, but you’re probably failing horribly.

"No, I’m good, I didn’t end up going.Yeah. Alright."

You clear your throat as he hangs up. "So. Sam’s about to give his big speech then?"

Bucky looks bemused. "I’d hope not. That was hours ago."

"What?"

Confused, you look at your watch. Then you look at Bucky’s watch. Then you look at your phone.

Even though you can’t have been sitting here for more than thirty minutes, every clock you look at tells you it’s past 4 p.m. Confused, you twist your rings around your fingers, one by one, but they’re as pitch black as ever, and yet somehow …

"Should we go?" you ask, your voice just a little pitchy.

Bucky gazes at you for a very long moment, and then gets up to his feet and holds out his hand to pull you up. He still hasn’t put his gloves back on.

You take it.

"You’re really off today," he remarks and you hum noncommittantly as you fold the blanket back up and unceremoniously stuff it into the backpack. He shoulders it himself before you can grab it. "You’re just gonna complain again," he says, even though the Tower isn’t that far.

You don’t say anything, though, just trudging behind him without a glance back.

Probably because of the time of day, 42nd street is packed. You watch Bucky pass through the crowd with his head downcast and his hands back in his pockets. If it’s been a struggle not to get separated from him earlier this morning, it’s near impossible now.

He looks over his shoulder when, for the third time, several people have pushed between the two of you, and you shrug helplessly as you try to catch up to him. Again, you can’t help but think this would be so much easier with your powers working the way they’re supposed to; just stopping everyone else for a second while you move past them.

"Sorry," you mumble when you reach him waiting for you at a crossing. All of a sudden, you feel how tired you’ve been for a while.

"Wanna just go home?" Bucky asks.

"That’d be nice," you say, cringing at the thought of having to change immediately once you get back. Sam is probably already impatient.

Bucky’s mouth twitches. "Don’t make this a thing."

And then he takes your hand again and links his fingers with yours as if he’s done it a thousand times before. The light changes to green, but you don’t move, and Bucky softly tugs to get your attention. His hand is solid and warm in yours, and it does nothing to ease the feelings of unease and contentment that mingle in your stomach with his touch.

Neither does the fact that as soon as the crowd disperses and you slowly, reluctantly let go of his hand, he steps out into the street with his head half-turned to you and—well.

You wake up with a start to the sun in your face and FRIDAY blasting The All-American Rejects at full volume, and it’s like the air is getting knocked out of your lungs.

After that, the days start to blur.

***

"Why would it have anything to do with the mission?" Strange asks, and you can’t decide whether he sounds condescending or genuinely confused.

"Because it’s never happened before then, maybe?" you say, throwing up your arms. "I don’t know!"

"The loop is tied to you, not the other way around. If Sergeant Barnes has only ever died during the mission before today, the only other variable in that equation is you."

His cloak curls at the seams in a way that’s almost apologetic. What a stupid thing to say about a piece of magical fabric, you think.

"Great," you huff, sitting down on the ground and crossing your arms in order to not shake violently. "So first time’s skipping and now if I spend time with him, he’s just gonna die earlier?"

There’s a pause as Strange frowns. "Show me your wrist."

You press your lips together tightly and hold out the arm with the swirling green symbols. Strange examines it with a particularly grim expression.

"Just say it," you mutter when it becomes unbearable.

"Time is a precious thread in the fabric of the universe," he says, dropping your hand. His silver eyes are very serious. "You don’t get an endless supply of it."

"I literally do," you reply, flourishing your wrist demonstratively. "That’s the whole problem."

"No." Strange shakes his head. "Your reality is going to collapse if time can’t move on from where it’s stuck. Not today, not tomorrow, but it will happen."

You stare at him with wide eyes. "What does that mean?"

"It means, no more distractions. Things are detereorating more quickly than I’d hoped." He sighs, and there’s something about his demeanor that lets real fear course through your bones for the first time in a while.

"Okay," you say, swallowing it down. "Let’s do some overtime, then."

"I’m afraid that’s not how it works. Look at her."

You glance at your sleeping body, stirring in her sleep.

"You asked when this is," Strange continues. "That’s the thing with this version of the astral plane. It’s unstable. It only exists between dreaming and waking, and so our time here is very limited. You are then, and now. Past and present and future all folded into each other and wrapped into one. The nature of time doesn’t like this."

"So, what?" You laugh humorlessly. "I go through an endless day, and then reality crumbles anyway?"

"Do you understand now why it’s so important that you get a grip on your powers?"

Because you’re the one who created the loop, and therefore the only person who can untangle it again.

"So no pressure then," you say tonelessly.

"All of the pressure, I’m afraid," Strange says grimly. "There’s really no time to waste anymore."

***

"When we live such fragile lives, it’s the best way we survive. I go around a time or two, just to waste my time with you."

Your head has started pounding to the beat of the song and Sam’s fist at your door, but you keep staring at the ceiling, unmoving. It all just starts over.

Even this godawful song.

"Tell me all that you’ve thrown away. Find out games you don’t wanna play."

You must admit, the universe has a certain sense of cruel humor. Not that that’s any news. It doesn’t fucking matter what you do any of these days, because the outcome stays the exact same, and there’s a moment each and every time where Bucky knows that, too. Only by then, it’s too late.

"Geez, I hate you."

You’re so tired.

"I know, Buck."

Fade to black. Back in with a blast and the sun in your face, FRIDAY blasting The—

"I’m coming in," Sam finally shouts from the other side of the door. "You better not be naked!"

You hear him enter, but you still don’t move. You’re busy replaying that look on Bucky’s face in your mind of the exact moment it goes wrong. It looks so pale, his mouth twitching downwards, a bit like with his coffee, but much more devastating.

Black out. Rewind. His eyes are on you, not even on the white jacket shooting him.

Black out. Rewind. The fingers on his metal hand grasp so tightly around your wrist you feel something move underneath your skin.

"What is going on with—Y/N!" You feel Sam rushing to your bedside in three long strides.

Right. You’re still covered in blood.

You can’t look away from his eyes until the last second. Black out. Rewind.

"FRIDAY, turn this shit off. Call an ambulance."

"Calling 911."

The sudden silence slams you back into the present with a start. "Cancel call," you say loudly, your voice only slightly shaking. "I’m fine, Sam."

"You don’t look fine!" He helps you sit up, looking you up and down, a sense of urgency still vibrating in his every movement, but of course, you’re not bleeding. "You look like you just shot a man and then rolled over."

"You’re not wrong," is all you get out before you start crying.

Black out. Rewind. God, you’re pathetic.

You shrink back from his arms, cradling your wrist to your chest. It’s starting to swell.

And yet, the green symbols swirl.

You’re not sure why you’re reacting like this now, after … you’re not sure. It’s not like this is your first time. Does that make you an even worse person? Probably.

Sam is talking to you, you recognize his voice, but you can’t focus on the words. You’re desperate to find something to focus your attention on, like you’ve been trying, training, grasping to do, but you’ve got nothing. Just numbness, a gaping nothingness, and the scars to prove you’re not just stuck in a nightmare but this is in fact your reality, and you are the only thing that remains while everything else resets in an endless cycle of hell, over and over and over again.

Nothing stays.

And you can’t help but feel like you’re running out of time, anyway.

This is ridiculous, you know that. You know you’re worrying Sam out of his mind, that you just need to focus, damnit, take a breath, stop crying, anything. Your incompetence to do any of these simple tasks is like another slap to the face.

Time passes, and doesn’t pass; it doesn’t matter at all whether you’re there for a minute or six hours, it’s all the same to you.

Through the fog of it all, Bucky’s voice is like your lighthouse.

And you despise yourself for it, even as you reach out for him.

"Hey," he says quietly, his hands rubbing circles into your back until he slowly, carefully pulls you out of your head back to earth. "It’s alright. Everything’s okay."

He says it over and over and over again until you nod slowly. It’s a pretty lie, after all.

"What happened to your wrist?"

You know what you have to do, but that concerned undertone makes it so hard. You’re still not used to it, but you want to be. Fuck, you want … No.

It doesn’t matter.

"I need to tell you something," you whisper, barely loud enough for him to hear. "One more time. And then … Then that’s it."

You have to do this. Have to close yourself off emotionally. Distance yourself from Bucky in order to stay rational about this situation and find your way out. Treat this like you’re not involved at all; like this is just another puzzle for you to solve, and nothing else.

It’s the only way.

You’re going to fix this mess you’ve created, if it’s the last thing you do.

*****

"If we die here tonight, I’m blaming you," you told Steve through chattering teeth, and he laughed at you. If you hadn’t still felt bad about his bruises—no matter that they’d already healed completely again—you might have kicked him in the shin.

You’d reached the point of wanting to kick Captain America on a concerningly regular basis.

This time, though, you felt completely within your rights, because you’d been training hard all week, and thanks to New York being just about the most disgustingly freezing place on the planet if they asked you, you really didn’t see the point of driving into the city to a random ice rink. Particularly not on an evening in early January when it was already dark outside.

"You’ll be warmed up in no time," Steve said and waved at Nat, who was already waiting for the two of you, the hood of her sweatshirt pulled up so the red roots of her hair stayed hidden.

"Couldn’t we have done this at the lake?" you asked, looking around wearily. The crowd was substantial.

"Sure," Nat said and put an arm around you. "Do you have about fifty friends we can invite so we can properly train your powers around other people?"

You grimaced. "There are children everywhere."

"Oh, yeah. Some of them went home early, but most opted to stay when I told them Steve would drop by."

You groaned. Of course they were Natasha’s Blip orphans; they had the same mischievous shimmer in their tired eyes. "Thanks for that, Nat."

"You’re so welcome," she answered, patting your shoulder. You narrowed your eyes when her coat shifted to the side.

"Is that my hoodie?" you said.

She looked down as if she hadn’t noticed what she was wearing at all. "Yeah, I think so."

"I was looking for that everywhere earlier!"

Natasha merely shrugged. "It’s your own fault for leaving your stuff in the dryer for anyone to take."

"Don’t pay attention to it, she does it to all of us," Steve said, putting an arm around her.

"That is not true."

"It is. You’re like a clothes hoarding dragon."

"Did you just call me a dragon?"

You didn’t listen to the rest of their bickering, because your eyes had started to water, and not because of the cold. It’d been a long time since you’ve felt this warmth inside, this feeling of belonging, of, well … family. It made your powers pulsate through your veins soothingly.

Still, the worry came back when they gave you a helmet and knee pads to wear.

"I’m a travesty on skates, but it’s not this bad," you told Natasha again when you shakily followed her to the rink entrance.

"We’re here to train, not to have fun," she said, taking your hands. Of course, she moved like a dancer even on the ice. "Well, both," she amended when you looked unconvinced. "Oh, don’t look at me like that, it was Steve’s idea."

"Then why is he sitting over there doing nothing?"

"He’s got the day off." She pulled you to the side of the rink. "Here’s what we’re gonna do," she said, pointing to the far end. "I’m going to close my eyes and you’re going to guide me straight through the middle to the other side."

You stared at her. "You’re insane."

Natasha ignored you. "One straight line, you tell me when to dodge someone. We’ll go slow."

"I don’t know how many times I can jump."

"It’s not exactly a life or death situation, Y/N. I can survive a few bruises and so can the kids."

"I’d rather not injure a child if you don’t mind," you say, trying not to sound hysterical.

"And I’m confident that you won’t. Do you trust me on this?"

You met Nat’s calm gaze and took a breath, even though the knot in your stomach tightened. "Fine."

"Such a vote of confidence," she snorted. "Just watch what they’re doing, and keep it in mind. Think of it like a dance recital. It’s all just a sequence of steps in a specific order."

You bit the inside of your cheek and nodded. Natasha closed her eyes. "Ready?" you asked.

She smiled. "I love this song."

You could barely hear the music over the thrum of adrenaline, but you supposed that was her way of saying yes. This’ll be the day that I die.

You pushed forward.

thank you for reading!! you can follow my library blog @intrepidacious-fics for update notifications 💚

[goforwardgreenwriter-blog]

The Worm Reads: Empire of Storms, Ch 13 - 14

Every time I turn the page to a new chapter, I tense up, not knowing whose POV I’ll be stuck in. Fingers crossed.....

It had been a long while since Dorian had seen so many stars.

Oh thank God, it’s my precious ice son, Dorian. He deserves to be stretched out on his back across some cool grass, gazing up at the twinkling night sky, happy and safe.

“You were impaled by a poisoned barb,” Rowan said, his voice no louder than the waves lapping against their boat as the swift wind pushed them from behind. “Your magic was drained keeping you alive and walking. You need to eat, or else it won’t replenish.” A pause. “Didn’t Aelin warn you about that?” Dorian swallowed. “No. She didn’t really have the time to teach me about magic.”

Yeah, to teach Dorian magic requires patience, kindness, and intelligence, and Aelin is pretty well lacking in all three of those categories.

Dorian could feel Rowan’s stare pin him like a physical blow. “The choice is yours how much you allow it into your life, how to use it—but go any longer without mastering it, Majesty, and it will destroy you.”

Damn, I don’t like Rowan but at least he’s helping Dorian out here... The bar is set pretty low here.

Dorian angsts about Sorscha. For those who didn’t know, she was a character introduced in Heir of Fire (she was in earlier books but not named) for Dorian to fall in love with, only for her to be beheaded by Dorian’s father near the end, so totally not a waste of everyone’s time. Sorscha deserved better.

[Dorian’s] magic had felt the bond between Aelin and Rowan—the bond that went deeper than blood, than their magic, and he’d assumed it was just that they were mates, and hadn’t announced it to anyone. But if Rowan already had a mate, and had lost her…

Nononononono SJM please please please don’t use Dorian’s POVs for gushing over Aelin and Rowan please please please I’m begging you.

Rowan and Dorian talk, and Rowan... is actually helpful? He’s listening to Dorian’s problems and fears, offering solutions. What happened to the Rowan we all know and hate?

“You know,” [Dorian] said, “sometimes I wish Chaol were here—to help me. And then sometimes I’m glad he’s not, so he wouldn’t be at risk again. I’m glad he’s in Antica with Nesryn.”

Not gonna apologize for saying it; I ship Dorian and Chaol. I want Dorian and his people to leave this shitty war behind and move to another place and Dorian and Chaol to reunite.

Dorian asks Rowan to teach him magic, and I’m so happy SJM is letting these two be friends. The  Rowan gushes about Aelin forever and I want to claw my eyes out.

Dorian nodded his thanks. “The first time you met Aelin, did you know …?” A snort. “No. Gods, no. We wanted to kill each other.”

Yeah you two spent most of  HoF beating the shit out of each other, insulting one another, and Rowan goddamn BIT Aelin. This is supposed to be romantic how......?

The two leave for Skull’s Bay, and Chapter 14 starts.

Clothed in battle-black from head to toe, Aedion Ashryver kept to the shadows of the street across from the temple and watched his cousin scale the building beside him.

Oh yay, Aedion’s POV. Let’s see how SJM butchers him even further.

They are leaving to go wreck shit up or something. The town is empty and dark and cold, because symbolism. They also paid a captain for a ship.

Aelin’s face had gone a bit bloodless, and [Aedion] braced a steadying hand between her shoulder blades.

Wait, between her shoulder blades? That’s kinda odd, ain’t it? Wouldn’t it make more sense for him to put his hand on her shoulder, or is this a gesture from another country I have no idea about?

The captain they paid says that Maeve is putting together an army.

Aedion glanced at where Lysandra waited behind him, on the lookout for Aelin’s signal. She was in her traveling clothes — a bit worn and dirty. She’d been reading an ancient-looking book all afternoon. Forgotten Creatures of the Deep or whatever it had been called. A smile tugged at his lips as he wondered whether she’d borrowed or stolen the title.

Haha... because theft is hilarious.... Seriously, if these guys were morally grey of bad guys that’d be alright, but SJM beats us over the head about how they’re in the moral right 100% of the time, so why is Aedion so nonchalant about Lysandra swiping an ancient and probably valuable book?

Lysandra cleared her throat a bit and said too softly for anyone to hear, either the queen or the soldiers across the street, “[Aelin]s accepted Darrow’s decree too calmly.”

TOO CALMLY???? You call threatening Darrow, almost stabbing him, threatening to burn all of her allies, CALM???? WHAT THE FUCK DOES SJM THINK CALMLY MEANS???????

Aedion and Lysandra gush about Aelin some more and makes sure the readers know that even though they are up against a dangerous war, Aelin can handle it because she is the best queen ever!!1 Whatever. Then they flirt.

So [Aedion] snapped his teeth at [Lysandra] and said, “Good thing I know how to make women purr.”

Aedion is a furry, confirmed?

[Aedion] didn’t even want to think about what else Darrow had implied—that a union between Wendlyn and Terrasen had been attempted over ten years ago, with marriage between him and Aelin the asking price, only to be rejected by their kin across the sea. He loved his cousin, but the thought of touching her like that made his stomach turn. He had a feeling she returned the sentiment.

EWWWWW PLEASE STOP. At least the characters are confirming that this is gross shit IG. I’ve read worse.

They just leap off a building and go corner a bunch of the soldiers. What a flawless plan. Better hope none of the soldiers have crossbows or your ass is grass, Aelin.

The soldiers blinked. One of the townsfolk behind them began weeping as a crown of fire appeared atop Aelin’s hair. As the cloth smothering Goldryn burned away and the ruby glowed bloodred.

Bloodred isn’t a word; you’re thinking of simply, blood red. Also lmao Aelin is so dramatic. I guess it’s working because the guards have crossbows but they’re not shooting any of them for some reason...?

Aelin burns a man from the inside, turning him into ash. That is kinda cool, not gonna lie. Just wish a better character had these awesome abilities, you know?

They took back the temple in twenty minutes.

Um... okay? How did you all come out of this fight unscathed? I believe that they could win, considering Aelin has magic and Lysandra is a big leopard and the soldiers are humans without magic, but you’re telling me they had no archers with good aim? That none of them even thought of shooting Aelin while she was there threatening them? Aiight.

And as for the shifter who had ripped into those soldiers with such feral savagery … Aelin left her again in falcon form, perched on a rotting beam in the cavernous archives, staring at the enormous rendering of a sea dragon carved into the floor, at last revealed by that razing fire.

Is Lysandra gonna turn into a sea dragon? That would be cool, but how the hell is she gonna turn into a huge ass dragon? How does her shifting magic work? SJM said earlier that it takes energy from her to change into even simple animals, so wouldn’t she drop dead after shifting into a dragon?

Aelin enters the temple and goes to see the sacred Rock. Chapter ends.

[vicekings]

im super curious to know more abt bryn and ben king? could you talk about how they got together and just some general facts maybe? i love bryn loads im dying to know more abt him

I'm 100% glad u asked this because goddamn do I love me some rambling about Bryn and Ben tbh. putting it under a cut because it got lonnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnng holy shit

Ok so the tale of Brynden A.J. Stark and Benjamin Motherfuckin’ King starts with both a bang and a whisper; as Julius sends Brynden to save Ben from the Vice King’s coup.

Ben, shot in the left arm and burning with rage, finds himself desperately both clinging to consciousness and his sudden saviour on the back of the “”the playa’s”” motorbike. He's got no idea who the fuck Julius sent, but is grateful anyways. He's too tired to protest when he finds himself being carried from the motorbike and into the church. He's a little more resistant when the Playa plops him down on Johnny's desk and successfully fucks up johnny's cat nap.

Bryn stitched up Ben in complete silence, using the first aid kit he stocked in johnny's office long before hand. The entire procedure is odd, as Bryn basically kicked Johnny out of his own office to tend to his patient (a move he would soon have to make up for with high quality scotch that Johnny doesn't question where “the Doc” got.) Bryn isn't speaking that much either- it's clipped and rough bits to make sure Ben is okay and to keep him relatively calm and focused.

The saints meeting with Ben is done with Bryn watching Ben like a hawk the entire time, though Ben doesn't realize that's because Bryn wants to make sure his stitches aren't gonna open up. They most likely won't, and they don't, but still. Bryns a worrier. The entire time bens talking he can feel silver eyes burning into him.

And like?? Bens in no condition to fight yet. So when he agrees to take on the VKs, he can't actually do much. Julius sends him off with Bryn to recover and lay low in Bryns apartment. Normally Ben might object, but a) desperate times & b) out of the Doc and Johnny Gat, the Doc seemed a lot more reasonable.

Those weeks Ben spent in bryn's apartment were the ones that cemented their friendship. During that time they actually talked to each other like… Once. Bryn rarely talks in SR1, and with Ben around he mainly just communicated through gestures, short notes, and shrugs. Bryn woke up early and made breakfast, and left it on the stove for Ben before he went out. Usually Bryn would make a homemade supper; a nice change from freckle bitches or coffee on the go.

Bryn came home a lot with bruised knuckles and dark bags beneath his eyes and an exhausted air about him. Sometimes he'd pass out on the couch while watching the news. Ben would usually just throw a blanket over him and then go to bed himself. Sometimes he’d sit with Bryn for awhile and they’d watch a movie. Sometimes Bryn would scoot over on the couch enough to rest his head in Ben’s lap and doze off. It worked for them.

“Worked for them” is p much what sr1 bryn&bens relationship was lmao. Bryn got Ben non-addictive painkillers and monitored his healing progress. Ben made tea for them and sat with Bryn while he mapped out locations and jotted down ideas. They benefited a lot off of each other's quiet company.

For the longest time, Ben had no fucking clue what Bryn actually sounded like. He only heard Bryn without a quiet voice and fake accent in like, the middle of the night when Bryn came home late. Bryn was singing in the shower and Ben was unable to fall asleep before hand. All of a sudden Ben just heard this absolutely fucking /angelic/ goddamn voice floating into his room an lo and behold it's Bryn singing something ben's never heard. Ben's enchanted, listening in stunned silence and eventually falling asleep to bryns voice. He thinks it's a bit ironic, how a man who's quiet all the time turns out to be a fantastic singer.

That’s their one conversation. The next morning, Ben casually asks Bryn why he’s still running with a street gang when he could be putting out albums and making millions. Bryn smirks, leans back, and replies cryptically that he “enjoys the temporary anonymity” - no fake accent, just pure irish gold that makes Ben pause. Bryn takes a sip of his tea afterwards and goes right back to his selective mutism.

They both miss living together a little bit whenever Ben’s healed up enough to take the fight to the VKs. If Bryn squeezes Ben’s hand when they get in the elevator and johnny doesn’t notice, well, Ben doesn’t mention it. If Ben squeezes back before letting go, Bryn pretends not to realize.

(That’s the second time Ben hears Bryn in his normal accent. “Hope you don’t mind hepatitis” sounds especially biting coming from Bryn in his own voice. It takes most of Ben’s effort not to laugh.)

When Tanya’s finally dead and Johnny trots off in search of Aisha, Bryn and Ben take a moment together to just stand and wait. Ben tosses over the keys to his now wrecked car, a gift to a sort of friend. A thanks for the care. Ben expects that to be it, so he turns away and starts to walk off, only to be stopped by Bryn’s hand on his arm tugging him back. Bryn smiles and asks Ben if he’d like to go for a coffee. After that coffee date, Ben doesn’t see Bryn again, or even really hear about him.

Until the explosion.

Until Ben chokes on his coffee as he reads in the paper about the death of Alderman Hughes. He reads about the gang member who was fished from the water barely alive, who’s on life support and in a coma in the Stilwater prison. The paper doesn’t say who, but Ben’s gut tells him it’s the Playa.

Ben still doesn’t know Bryn’s name.

He writes him into Regicide anyways-  calls him Apollo and details the quiet moments that they spent together. It’s hella gay lmao. No one fails to notice. Bryn doesn’t, but he’s in a coma. He’ll notice when he reads it later.

Brynden’s back on the streets with a bang in SR2. He only meets with Ben again by accident- they run into each other while visiting the now-refurbished church and go for coffee again. This time around, Bryn doesn’t bother with fake accents. They talk quietly and eventually part ways with promises of meeting up again. For the first time in a long time, Bryn actually feels a bit of calm run through him.

After they grab coffee, Bryn borrows Pierce’s copy of Regicide and reads it. Of course he focuses mainly on the chapters about him, but he does read it all. And of course, Bryn takes not of how much it sounds like Ben has a crush on him.

They meet up for coffee every now and then during the course of the saints reclamation of Stilwater. They’re close enough to call each other friends.

And tbh with so many aus and so many ideas running thru my head for Bryn in SR (gotta remember he originally was a skyrim character and i still do a lot with skyrim bryn) I don’t really have one solid plotline for brynben following sr2. Generally they end up together around the time where Bryn turns 39.

Bryn asks Ben casually to sign his well worn copy of Ben’s book, flirting happens, and then kissing, and then before u know it bryn’s blowing ben on his desk and ben has his hands fisted in bryn’s hair.

Some verses I have BrynBenErik going on with the three of them in a polygamous relationship. It generally starts with Bryn and Erik both flirting with a flustered Ben and pulling him in with them.

But basically bryn and ben’s relationship is built off of mutual respect and snark. They cuddle up a lot, with Bryn’s head resting Ben’s lap as Ben toys with his hair and reads aloud from whatever book they’ve chosen to read together. Bryn makes the meals and Ben does the dishes.

Also au stuff!! Domestic au with Ben as a crime novel writer and Bryn as a doctor, or spy aus with Brynden and Ben snarking at each other while kicking ass.

And ofc Ben does learn Bryn’s real name. How so depends on the verse, but generally Ben’s reaction is “what kind of fucking name is Brynden Arthur James Stark?”

Ben gets along really well with Bryn’s mom, Atla. he’s kind of a little starstruck tbh, because Ben did put in some research on gang stuff in other countries while writing regicide. What the underground info has to say about Atla is stunning. (that and she showers him in gifts and declares him an honorary Stark. Atla’s a huge fan of his book.)

I do have a brynben tag here for other stuff tho i don’t have much there yet lmao so have a real quick brynben doodle