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vixstarria · 8 months

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Mark me as yours

This takes place immediately after and is interlinked with 'Missionary with the lights off' but from Astarion's rather than Tav's POV - check it out if you haven't already, the fics complement each other.

Soft sassy Astarion, F!Tav, Gale, minor appearances by other origin characters, Astarion POV

Fluff, humour, banter, pining, non-explicit sexual references

A day in camp in the life of Astarion. Features brooding, sewing, doing laundry, being dramatic, engaging in improper use of archmage of Waterdeep, reading erotica, and more!

Approx. 2,000 words

AO3

You frowned at the stuffed bear you held in your hands, weighing up your desire to showcase your skills against the absurdity of the task at hand.

The whole thing was coming apart and needed to be washed and restuffed if you were to do this properly. What was inside, anyway? Fur..? You supposed you could go hunt something furry. Or maybe save yourself the time and just give Scratch a quick partial shave, he wouldn’t mind – the mutt lying at your feet was stupid enough to like you. To prefer you over anyone else, in fact.

You reached down to give him a fond, absentminded pet.

And then there was the matter of not letting it burn to a crisp the moment Karlach touched it.

“Is there a flame ward enchantment on this..? Can you reapply it?” you asked Gale, who was nearby at his usual spot by the fire, concocting something edible for the rest of your group.

“There is and I sure can,” he replied.

Great. You had gotten yourself into a group project with the wizard to rescue a teddy bear.

“Don’t tell me this is what Wyll was so concerned about earlier...” Tav had finally made it out of your tent and sat down next to you, looking somewhat less disheveled than how you’d left her.

“The bag of holding finally tore. Naturally I was the only one competent enough to fix it.”

You gestured with your thumb towards a towering pile of assorted crap that Wyll and Lae’zel were still sifting through: Lae’zel inspecting and setting aside any weapons and armour she deemed worth keeping, and Wyll sorting through an array of scrolls and potions no one was ever going to use, or would forget were in your possession if the need for them ever did arise.

“Darling, this is your fault, you know,” you added. “Must you pick up everything?”

“Karlach made me do it. Also I don’t know what you’re talking about, I am prudence and sensibility personified,” she said.

“You’re uh... You’re also bleeding,” Gale said, pointing at her neck.

A trail of blood had started running down from the puncture wounds, which must have reopened.

Shit.

Before you could reason yourself out of it, your instincts kicked in and you pressed your mouth against her neck, licking the blood off. By the gods, she actually leaned into you as you did that, not away. You glimpsed a guilty, sheepish smile she threw at Gale, as you pulled away.

“Idiot... Here, apply pressure, I’ll get the amulet,” you said.

“I’m the idiot?! You’re the one who ran off to resolve a sewing emergency, like a good little seamstress, before sorting me out!”

You strode over to your tent, in part to grab the amulet of Silvanus, in part to discreetly tuck away the erection that had immediately started developing as soon as you tasted her blood.

Hells, am I 239 or 15? you thought, annoyed with yourself.

“An amulet? I was wondering why you’d stopped visiting me in the mornings...” you heard from Shadowheart.

“We have a system,” Tav replied.

“Clearly,” laughed Shadowheart.

A scene from the night sprung up in your mind as you went about your day:

She’d fallen asleep on your shoulder, half lying on you, her nose buried in your neck.

It was... nice. Really nice. And you didn’t think this bizarre scenario would ever happen again.

And yet, pleasant as it was, she still felt too far. You needed to feel her closer. Perhaps you were being greedy, but after all these years, why should you get anything less than exactly what you wanted?

Carefully, very carefully lest she stir awake and leave, you rolled over onto your side, holding her against you.

She was still asleep. Good...

You cautiously slipped lower and lower until your head was at her chest, delicately wrapping your arms around her torso.

Then she stirred.

Shit.

Without waking, she sighed, drawing you into a tight embrace, clutching you against her chest, complete with throwing a leg over your hips to pull you even closer.

You finally relaxed, your arms wrapped around her waist.

Perfect...

She felt so warm... She smelled of comfort.

You could indulge in this for the night. You would wake up before she did anyway.

You drifted away, lulled by the beating of her heart.

You didn’t have any nightmares that night.

“Is your boyfriend coming?” you heard Karlach somewhere in the distance.

You cringed at the juvenile term. Still, you were curious how she would answer.

“He’s on laundry duty,” she responded. “Just us gals today.”

“So your idea of doing washing is to pawn everything off to me,” said Gale.

“Vampires and running water, remember,” you said. “Also you don’t look like you’re exerting an awfully large amount of effort yourself... Although I must admit, this is ingenious.” A little flattery wouldn’t hurt.

Gale sat at a riverbank at a deeper section of the river. Some sheets and clothing were being tossed and spun in a small bubbling whirlpool within the water, together with foaming slivers of soap.

“Surely few archmages possess such finesse and creativity?” you continued.

Gale sighed and motioned for you to throw your bundle in as well, expanding the whirlpool.

“Just toss your shirt in too, it's splattered with blood,” Gale added wearily.

Her scent lingered on it. The last thing you wanted was to wash it off.

You pulled the shirt over your head and hurled it into the whirlpool.

“Not Tav’s creative nailwork, I presume..?” Gale asked with a wince, looking at your back.

“Nope” was all you said, as you pulled a book out from your pocket, making yourself comfortable on the bank. To his credit, the wizard did not probe further.

‘Mark me as yours’

Those words had been echoing in your mind over and over all day.

It couldn’t have meant anything.

A little expression of some vampire fetishism finally poking through – you shouldn’t have expected any different from her, she did offer you her blood consistently, not even asking for anything in return.

Still, you’d felt like something inside you might burst from your desire and thrill when you heard those words.

And then everything that followed after...

You had actually lost yourself for a short while. Not dissociated and detached. Lost yourself. In bliss. In the scent of her skin, in the sounds of her need for you, in the sensation of her blood merging with yours and flowing through your veins.

And now she was walking around somewhere, with telltale bitemarks on her neck for all the world to see. Scandalous...

No, it couldn’t have meant anything.

‘Mark me as yours’

Still... What a pleasant little fantasy...

‘Yours’

“You’ve been smiling at that page for ten minutes straight now,” Gale’s voice snapped you out of your musings.

“It’s my favourite page,” you retorted.

“What’s it about?” he asked snidely after a short pause.

“I have no idea,” you confessed, begrudgingly, snapping the book shut. If the wizard knew what was best for him, he would abstain from any further comments.

“She’s quite fond of you,” Gale said sombrely after another pause.

“Is this about to turn into one of those ‘You break her heart – I'll break your face’ talks?” you scoffed, rolling your eyes.

“Oh gods no,” Gale laughed. "No, I would go straight to incineration... You just strike me as the type that needs to have the obvious spelled out for them.”

“I am not entering this type of discourse with someone who’s presently washing my spend off my bed sheets,” you said, laying back and shutting your eyes, to bask in the sun. No answer followed.

Not even a minute had passed when a shadow fell over you.

Odd, you thought. There hadn’t been a single cloud in the sky.

You opened your eyes to see a giant water bubble hovering a few meters above you. Was that... a bedsheet floating in the middle..?

Worth it, you thought just as the undulating bubble spilt and crashed over you.

You coughed and spat, trying to untangle yourself from the sheet, as the unleashed torrent nearly swept you off the bank. And yet, above all else, you found yourself curious.

The water had no longer been running as part of the river, true, but given its sheer volume and the velocity at which it hit you, it should have hurt more than merely your pride.

You made it to the edge of the bank, and cautiously dipped a finger in.

Nothing...

You proceeded to submerge your hand, then your entire forearm, to your elbow.

Nothing.

Of all things... Why this? Why not your reflection? Why not the blood craving? Oh well. Beggars, choosers...

You were laughing.

“This tadpole,” you turned and shouted at Gale, unabashedly stripping yourself of your pants, as Gale turned away, muttering something about going blind, “is the best thing that’s happened to me in centuries!”

The best? Maybe second best? It had some tight competition, but you supposed nothing would have been possible without it, so it reigned supreme.

You leaped into the river, diving and letting the gentle current carry you downstream for a while.

You knew what you would be doing later that evening with her.

“What have you got there?”

She slid onto your lap like a cat that refused to take ‘no’ for an answer as it sought attention. You had been idling away your time by your tent, with some pulp you had picked up earlier. The rest of the group had been drinking and roasting something at the campfire.

“Trash. Disappointingly boring trash, this time,” you answered.

“No pulsating flesh tunnels in this one?”

“Alas... There were not one but two mentions of ‘velvet-wrapped steel’ however, and plenty of ‘sword-sheathing’.”

“To the hilt?”

“Is there any other way?”

“Wouldn’t want to sheathe it only partially, I suppose...” she mused. “Come join us. We found some half-decent wine. And you don’t have to be alone all the time, you know.”

“Spare me, I’ve had enough of Gale’s lectures and Wyll’s tales for the day. And besides, ugh, all those chewing noises!” You made a gagging sound.

None of them want me there.

“Oh don’t be such a delicate princess,” she rolled her eyes. “How’s this: it’s our joint meal time. It would be rude and completely unfair to exclude anyone. You should sit down with everyone, bite down on my wrist and make a great deal of slurping.”

“You can’t be serious.”

Delightful. Simply delightful.

“It will be funny!”

“I fear you might be the only one laughing, darling.”

That is hilarious, I can just imagine Gale squealing or getting sick.

“Is there anyone else you’d care to make laugh?” she asked with a slight upturn of her lips.

Not in the least.

“I could die again knowing I have accomplished something if I ever make Lae’zel laugh. But perish the thought – I am perfectly happy right here with my literature.”

“Well, if you don’t want to join the group, perhaps I will stay and you can...” She snatched the book from your hands and tossed it aside, leaning in and bringing her lips up to your ear. “...Release your kraken in my field of rose petals,” she purred in a sultry voice.

“Stop,” you choked back a snicker.

“Get tangled up in my beef curtains?” she continued with the same tone.

“You’re disgusting.”

“Sink your meat shaft in my cream tart!” she persevered.

“By the gods, woman, I am never having sex with your again.”

“Suckle the nectar from my weeping core!”

“Alright, fine, I’ll go, anything is better than this.” You got up, pushing her off your lap.

“Taste my forbidden, oozing fruit, Astarion!” she cried out from the ground behind you as you covered your ears and shouted “LALALALA”, making your way towards the campfire.

You would endure the prattle of your companions.

Then you would take her for a moonlit swim in the river.

Then you would see if she might spend the whole night in your arms again.

Perhaps she could sleep in your shirt and leave her scent on it again – it was foolish to sleep completely in the nude out in the wild after all, what if there were intruders?

Everything was going according to plan, you reminded yourself.

~~~~~

Next in series - Down by the river

Series master list

AO3

Tags: @littleenglishfangirl @something-pithy @darlingxdragon @tallymonster @tragedybunny

Also @spacebarbarianweird - you haven't asked for a tag but sounded interested

#astarion #bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 fanfic #astarion fanfiction #astarion x tav #astarion romance #astarion x reader #astarion POV #gale dekarios #bloodweave more like beefwave #archmage of waterdeep as a washing machine #the narrator may be somewhat unreliable #reflections on author's own inventory management

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oscarwildin · 3 months

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realizing it’s all in my head is the best and worst thing that could have happened

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greenfinchwriter · 2 months

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Tempted to add an extra tag of "Armand de Romanus" to any post including Armand just to enjoy witnessing certain people clutching their pearls so hard they could fit right in at a 50s Utah potluck.

I'm a petty person,what can I say.

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quatregats · 6 months

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Something I've been thinking about is how Patrick O'Brian manages so skillfully to write characters whose actions contradict their beliefs, which I think is honestly a big part of why his characters feel so real. Mostly with Stephen and Jack—e.g., and perhaps most notably, Stephen has notably leftist sympathies (honestly I have no idea how to characterize his politics in period terms) who nonetheless becomes very comfortable with his rise to the landed gentry, while Jack is a card-carrying Tory who much of the time sympathizes far more with working class sailors and farmers than with the upper classes—but I'm sure he does it to a lesser degree with some of his minor characters (James Dillon, while perhaps not precisely minor, comes to mind), and I love that he's able to do that, especially the way in which he embeds it in the narrative. We see how they're all unreliable narrators of themselves; we understand how they want to be seen and how that does and doesn't coincide with the reality, but most importantly, this isn't presented as something reprehensible, just as a part of their own humanity. They are not their expectations for themselves, but they don't need to be those expectations to be beloved.

#stephen is especially guilty of this and i think it's very interesting how he thinks of himself versus how he acts #which is probably an essay on its own #but i do think that this is another point he and jack make a fun foil on #(for jack this manifests much less explicitly but i think it's definitely still there)#i can't think of other characters atm besides james dillon #(who okay. his actions don't contradict his beliefs exactly but there is a weird and complex relationship between them)#though i do suspect that there are probably more #idk i've been thinking about this a lot because o'brianizing hornblower has brought to the forefront #how different those two authors treat internal/external narratives #patrick o'brian is kind of like yeah they don't really line up but that's okay that's just what it's like to be a person #while for hornblower and cs forester it's like the internal narrative is so unbelievably unreliable and negative #but the external narrative also seems to be resoundingly positive #(which is probably why. in my humble opinion having watched two episodes of it. the tv show is much more Fun)#writing hornblower in o'brian format is just like wow there is no weirdness going on did i write him wrong #but no it's hornblower he just sounds so much more normal without the 24/7 mental gymnastics #perce rambles #aubreyad

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shsl-heck · 1 year

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Thinking about the Chevalier interlude, specifically the inaugural team of Wards. Like in universe, they sell it to this first group of kids (and presumably the rest of the world) as a place for second chances, to find friends and mentors who understand what youre going through, where you can learn to use your powers safely while making good memories. The kids broadly seem to believe in these noble intentions of course, but what really gets me is that I've seen readers buy into it!

"Oh, it's such a tragedy that the Wards program became this awful thing that traumatizes kids even more, and expects them to die for the sake of civilians! It's fallen so short of what it was originally supposed to be!"

No it has not??? The fact that the triumvirate and Hero are saying it has this noble goal doesn't make it true. The Wards was pretty clearly always a way to increase the amount of bodies the prt could throw at threats, and we know this because it was started by the fucking Triumvirate as a part of the Protectorate! Alexandria literally came up with the idea of the Protectorate to legitimize the power of capes, and have a consistent source of heroes Cauldron could throw at problems. That is the whole reason for the PRT/Protectorate existing. So when we have this group of children brought in a subsidiary, there are 2 real options.

1). Cauldron and Alexandria decided they would be really niceys and created this program with no intentions other than helping these kids out.

Or 2). As things got worse, they realized the Protectorate didn't have enough manpower to do what they needed, and so they expanded it to include children (the demographic most prone to triggering). That way, they greatly increase the number of capes who they can send to fight and die as needed, and the ones who do survive their tenure in the Wards will be better trained when it comes time to join the actual Protectorate.

At the risk of sounding conceited, I think the second one is far more likely based on everything we know about Cauldron. Maybe it was originally a little nobler, and the goal was just to create more well trained heroes and cut back on young villains, but there's no way Alexandria, Doc Mom, and Contessa didn't factor in the ability to sacrifice the kid heroes if it improved their chances of success. That was absolutely a perk at minimum.

That's the real tragedy of the inaugural Wards. The kids were lured in with promises of safety, comraderie, and second chances like lambs to the slaughter. All the while, Alexandria and Cauldron knew that many (if not most) of these children would suffer abuse by the prt (like in the case of Reed), die, or face a fate worse than death like poor Mouse Protector. It's horrifying! The idea that they didn't know the danger these kids would be in is literally inconceivable. Especially when one of you is also the head of the prt! They knew, and they didn't care. It improved their chances at the end of the world, and so they did it no matter the cost.

#the same ppl will talk about Taylor being an unreliable narrator who we cannot trust #and then take Alexandria at face value #i think a lot of it is that this genre of guys very uncritically support and assume the best of authority figures #especially law enforcement #in a way that they just dont when it's a teenage girl who's never so much as glanced in the direction of a healthy coping mechanism #the great irony here being that fundamentally the prt/protectorate and Cauldron are all *also* being run by traumatized young women #and also that pretty much every negative opinion Taylor expresses abt the prt is 100% vindicated as the story goes on #genuinely baffled ppl can read Worm and be like 'Taylor's distrust of the prt was irrational'#it's the same energy as calling a woman hysterical #yes this *is* just me remembering the We've Got Worm podcast guys #they are my mortal enemies when it comes to wormposting #worm spoilers #worm #worm web serial #worm wildbow #parahumans

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thatrandomblogsays · 8 months

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PJO fandom look at me, look at me, Percy is not an unreliable narrator. an unreliable narrator is a narrator is an untrustworthy storyteller who is either deliberately deceptive or unintentionally misguided and forces the reader to question their credibility. That is not Percy. He doesn’t try to hide details from the reader & is open about his feelings. Him misreading a situation or having prejudice towards someone is normal. Every character has flaws and bias, especially when the character is a child. Can it result in his narration being skewed? Yes. But that’s still not what an unreliable narrator is. You guys have got to stop calling him that.

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mytragedyperson · 1 year

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ok, kinda wish we got to see the conversation between Choi Han, Deruth and Hans at the beginning of the novel, when he tells them about Harris Village. Because what did he say for Hans to see him defeat the Count's knights and just not question it? How much of the tragic backstory did he tell them, all of it or just the Harris village bit? Because if he didn't tell them everything, to them, it looks like Cale just came home one day with a random homeless stranger, who told them about the assassination at Harris Village, and possibly that he'd killed the assassins but, again, not clear if he actually told them that part or just the assassination of the villagers. And then the homeless stranger from Harris Village fought and defeated Count Deruth Henituse's knights. and they had no further questions? What did Choi Han tell them? Because while it makes more sense that Choi Han told them the whole story about the assassination and that's why neither Hans nor Deruth questioned it, I'd find it a lot more funny if this wasn't the case, that Hans just saw this, was impressed so forgot to question it and then just went on with his day. Maybe he even forgot to mention it to Deruth and he found out some other way, or maybe Deruth didn't know about this. Hans forgot to mention it in his report and none of the knights were about to admit that they'd been bested by some random stranger who their young master randomly found. God, imagine being one of those knights. seriously, no one, not one person, questioned it? Not one of them was so paranoid they worried that Choi Han was lying about who he was or where he was from. I can't imagine every single knight knew about what happened at Harris Village, though I could be wrong. They might've been told in case the assassins were sent to their territory again. But this was still early on. everyone just took this at face value and accepted it? Honestly, one of the things that makes this story work is how utterly unphased everyone around the main character is. Yes, Choi Han and Rosalyn and Lock and the Calefam are completely unphased. But even the unnamed knights, Hilsman and Hans just never question anything. Honestly, I love Deputy Butler Hans. He comes the closest to questioning Cale but you can almost tell he wants to ask but then realizes actually, on second thought I don't wanna know, and just goes about his day, oblivious to the craziness that surrounds him. Either that or he's about to ask or say something but gets interrupted before he can and then it just feels too awkward to ask later. This book wouldn't work half as well if the characters didn't all share a brain cell.

every time I remember Choi Han is physically seventeen and Cale is physically 18, it makes me sad that they're dealing with this shit. I know Cale is 20 now but that's insane. i know mentally or whatever they're older but can you imagine? 18-year-old Cale acts as a father to On, who is only 8 years younger than Cale Henituse. Like Kim Rok Soo is older, I get that but damn. To everyone else, this 18-year-old who's acted like trash for years is suddenly helping people, making friends, and adopting children. every time he returns home there's someone new with him. He's best friends and brothers with the crown prince. God they drive me crazy. i love them

Also, the way Hans asks Cale if it will be okay for Choi Han not to go back to Harris Village in the beginning of the novel is everything. He just automatically trusts Cales judgement and sees him as the person to ask. Now he may have asked the Count as well but we have no proof of that and, if there's no proof it didn't happen so I'm choosing to believe he waited to ask Cale since it was his guest, which is even better when you consider that the day before he was scared Cale was going to throw a bottle at him. Like the fact that he trusted Cale enough to trust his judgement on this matter after he'd been different for two days. God I love Hans and Cale. And I've never seen anyone talk about them and their relationship but like Hans is one of the first people to feel completely at ease around KRS!Cale. It doesn't take him that long to drop the formality. Man I love deputy butler hans. His relationship with Cale feels so underrated.

Also for future reference when I talk about relationships in this sense I mean the Canon relationship. If I make headcanons, which is a real possibility, that may change to include a romantic aspect, but for now, in this case its purely platonic.

And Hans mentioning Ron hurting himself while working again, and that letting us, the audience know that Cale is wrong when he says Choi Han, Ron and Beacrox seem to be getting along. Because we already know about their first spar, but none of the other characters do. Uts another example of unreliable narrator Cale and we love to see it. OK so I really like this story. There's a huge chance that any posts I make are just gonna be this, like talking about unreliable narrator Cale, nobody ever questioning anything that happens and just general reactions as I reread and most of it is just gonna be random thoughts I have while reading. I already feel like I'm going to be so annoying about this but I have zero regrets and refuse to apologise so consider this a fair warning for if you seem to stumble across my posts a lot

Also Cales immediate response without thinking about it being "give him medicine". Further proof that KRS!cale is way nicer than he gives himself credit for. Also I'm sorry but him saying this while thinking "he probably killed somebody again" absolutely sends me. And the fact Ron hasn't actually killed anyone yet. Also its giving "I don't care if he's a murderer, he's one of my people" which is just so Cale

The interview scene is a great example of why Cale can never seen to get rid of the strays he collects. So, as usual, he thinks he's being selfish and using Choi Han, whatever. And obviously there's the whole, if you can kill people, then you should be able to protect people thing, which is already a pretty good message for Choi Han to hear at this point, that he's good for something more than hurting other people or things. But more than that, by phrasing it as an interview, when Choi Han passes that means he's qualified, that Cale believes he can protect/save people. Cale is probably one of the first people to believe in him, to believe he's capable of more than hurting others, and for someone like Choi Han who's just lost everyone he cared about and killed people for the first time, and is probably suffering some serious surivivors' guilt, it's probably what he needs to hear, that someone still believes in him, even if it is a complete stranger. And it's not actually like Cale is being selfish because, if everything went how he planned at this point, it wouldn't even be like he'd gain Rosalyn and Lock's skills to use because he planned to just send them on their way. Also, the way he asks Choi Han's name and introduces himself - it shows a certain level of respect that most wouldn't expect from a noble. He's not looking down on Choi Han, He's treating him as an equal and, by saying he's heard his name from others but wants to hear from Choi Han himself, it shows that he wants him to have his voice and speak and that he'll listen. this may seem like a reach because it's such a small thing but how many nobles would care enough to ask a commoner, one who looked homeless, their name. Most wouldn't even bother to ask to confirm the name they'd heard was correct but Cale does. Imagine how that must feel to Choi Han, knowing his status, that Cale bothered to ask and treat him like an equal.

also can you imagine if Choi Han had slipped up and admitted Cale sent him when he first met Rosalyn and Lock. It wouldn't be completely insane for him to assume they knew each other. that would've looked so bad. oh yeah, this guy who you've never met somehow knew, not only who you were, but where you'd be in order to send me to find you. God the amount of times Cale just gets lucky is insane. He's also insanely unlucky. i Can't decide if the God of Luck loves or hates him.

also don't know if this was the intention but I've always in my head read the "I'm glad you know how to read" bit as sarcastic and throwing shade, especially because he knew before this he could read and because he doesn't offer any further information about who these people are and why Choi Han has to go get them or whatever. i get that it was probably written down on the paper, or maybe he just didn't mention it. It probably wasn't intended but that's how i always read it.

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avesseloflanguage · 3 months

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what the fuck do you MEAN im the same age as darry curtis. from the outsiders. what the fuck do you MEAN that motherfucker was my age raising two whole little shits and all their little shit friends. what the fuck do you M

#very startling realization today. yuck. what the fuck #like i know hes young and thats a whole point in it all #but its very excellently unreliable narratoringly written (narrator is 14 and therefore 20 is so very adult of an age)#and also having read it. at 13. means 20 is a very adult age.#and now im 20. and would you look at that.#ITS NOT #the outsiders #i should stop thinking so much abt a middle grades novel at the not very adult but not teen age of 20 #but i will not. death of the author brain has taken over as of late. more to come im sure.

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fearofahumanplanet · 11 months

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Karma Killer - Out This Halloween!

Pre-order eBook now on Amazon & other digital stores!

eBook and Paperback available this Halloween, October 31st!

First three chapters (56 pages) FREE TO READ on my website!

Happy Friday the 13th! Blurb below...

In the troubled mountain town of Lake Leer, Colorado, a bullied high schooler by the name of Kora Lynch becomes the latest in a long line of local killers when she ends up drowning herself to escape her persecution. Rescued from herself by a goddess of mysterious whims known only as Ira, Kora is offered a choice - to die alone and wither away forever, or to become a "Vision of Vengeance" and do away with all who bring harm.

Choosing to become Ira's latest slasher, Kora is given a weathered kabuki mask and the gift to see anyone's every sin with a glance. Eager to seek revenge on those who drove her to die in the first place, Kora takes the name of "Karma" and begins slaughtering her classmates in a misguided attempt at justice, disguising her descent in a gruesome homage to her favorite slasher movies. As she further disconnects from the real world and loses grip of her moral compass, the woman that broke her rallies the town into defiance, and the ensuing conflict tugs all of Lake Leer into irreversible carnage.

#horror #slasher #psychological horror #queer horror #psychological thriller #villain protagonist #indie novel #indie author #female protagonist #unreliable narrator

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insomniasymphony · 1 month

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Delico's Nursery And The Embrace Of Flames

Attention, this is a 9 chapter long story. This here is chapter 1. If you want to read the rest of this story, please consider bookmarking the story on AO3. Maybe leave Kudos there too!

Rating: For this Chapter: Teens and up audience. For the whole story: Explicit Warnings: This chapter - None ; This story - choose not to warn Pair: Dali x Gerhard!

Screams filled the streets. The carriage shook with loud neighing, stopped abruptly and while Angelico clutched the door with his small hands, whimpering, Gerhard pushed the other open with his foot – one hand on the hilt of his sword. He leapt out in a single movement, only hearing the dominant clacking of his boots on the stone floor in the background, and let his gaze wander.

Humans and vampires chased past him, throwing his senses into an unruly turmoil. Pressing his lips tightly together, Gerhard ventured a step forward – not too far from the carriage in which his son rested – and darted a glance at the coachman, whose wide-open eyes hung lifelessly on the horizon.

“Hey, what happened?” Still, Gerhard shouted over to his coachman as if there was a chance of an answer. A tingling sensation under his skin made his forehead sweat. Too much was happening between the panicked crowd and this motionless man.

Without further ado, he clicked his tongue. Then he took a step to the side and grabbed the first woman he passed by the upper arm. The shock travelling through her body reached into his bones as he asked, “What happened?”

He was probably too loud, too bossy, asking too much of a frightened figure who stared at him wide-eyed and wriggled, trying to escape his grip. She looked over her shoulder twice, then followed a few others with her eyes before tearing herself away from him. “Run, we all have to run away!”

“From what?!”

“There’s a monster,” she shouted back at him. “He’s murdered five ... humans or vampires ... I don’t know anymore!” Her sounds resembled the desperate screeching of an animal. “He’s going to kill us all!”

Before Gerhard could ask any more questions, she started moving again, following the other figures as they ran off, infecting other passers-by like a running fox. So he retreated to the carriage. Mouth twisted, he scrutinised each one as the picture in his head slowly came together.

If they were all running away, it had to be a vampire. In the end, his race was still stronger than humans with their fragile lives. They were faster, more merciless, more dangerous in every way – and yet, five victims remained remarkable.

For a moment, he associated the confusion with the TRUMP case; a daring attempt to draw attention in one direction to distract from something else. An absurd thought, considering the secretive movement of these maniacs under normal circumstances. What was going on here?

“You aristocrats are prettier up close.”

Whispers nestled against Gerhard’s ears, sending a shiver down his spine and spinning his body around almost automatically. Simultaneously, he swung his sword – almost blind to the overwhelming feeling of surging panic – and plunged the blade into the body of a crookedly grinning man. Sharp teeth dug into the stranger’s lower lip, blood trickled down his chin. The rest was covered by a black hood pulled down low.

For a second, not another muscle in Gerhard moved. Only the stranger’s grin burnt itself into his senses, blocking out the world. He realised too late when the stranger raised his hand, took a breath and in the next blink of an eye blew a handful of powder into his face with his bloody breath.

Surprised, Gerhard gasped for air, constricted by the sudden scratching of his throat. A cough overcame him, stabbing through his body. Meanwhile, the blade slipped out of the stranger’s waist, leaving nothing but billowing blackness – an ugly construct of viscous black water that refused to splash to the ground. His fingers trembled, detaching themselves from the handle. The steel thundered to the ground. Saliva collected and ran down his chin. Gerhard tried to swallow several times, but failed due to the tightness of his throat. In a flash, he put his hands to his neck, searching for stability, while a slightly bitter flavour spread across his tongue. Behind it was a strangely stale flavour combined with a gentle sweetness. A kind of sugar he thought he could smell.

He breathed through his open mouth for a few seconds until he thought he could swallow again. Then he ran the back of his hand over his mouth. Saliva seeped through the white gloves, leaving dark stains he stared down for a second. His head was spinning. Every thought he tried to grasp ran through his mind like sand, and when he raised his eyes, the stranger was gone. The panic of the crowd slowly subsided in the background.

“Father...?”

The tearful question reaching him tore at his mind. Far too frantically, Gerhard jerked his head towards the carriage. Angelico stood at the door, ready to jump out or stumble back inside. The stranger had disappeared. Part of him wanted to hug that little blond mop of hair tightly to him. The rest took a stance and a deep breath.

“Get back in the carriage!” It was too dangerous to let his son out in this confusion – in the middle of an incident lying before him, both, finalised and unconquered.

There was nothing he could do.

Still, he dragged himself to the carriage door to close it before walking up to the coachman and grabbing him by the arm. With one pull, he tore the man from his seat, caught him, and set him down on the ground. The coldness of his skin, the lack of life in his eyes – he didn’t need to check to be sure of his death.

He carefully dragged the body over to the wall of a house – contrary to every honourable act of a nobleman. Bile bubbled up his throat. If he went to Dali now and sent word from there, someone else would take care of this body. Someone would take care of this forfeited life. Someone other than him.

Swaying, Gerhard heaved himself onto the coach seat. The reins lay light as a feather in his hands, a little like his sword, which he could no longer feel on his hip and whose relevance diminished with every breath he took. Immediately afterwards, he chased the horses ahead at a fast gallop along the road. The clatter of hooves thundered in his ears, reminiscent of thunderstorms and pouring rain – and somewhere in between, Gerhard thought he could taste drowsiness. A draining feeling that forced his soul out of his body, ready to fuel unknown pleasures.

He clung tighter to the leather straps, his gaze fixed on the brown stallions. For almost an eternity, the muscular movements of the animals burned themselves into his mind. Then the nausea spilled over. His stomach turned, the high died down, and clarity settled in. Lips tight, Gerhard swallowed the bile until the Delico estate came into view and the nausea faded as he passed through the heavy double gates.

However, progress didn’t get any easier. Gerhard’s legs wobbled as he dismounted and stumbled to the carriage door to let Angelico out. His son’s whimpering had still not subsided, and it didn’t stop even when he harshly urged him to follow and not dawdle. Meanwhile, the servants who hurriedly came to meet him gazed in silent astonishment, and it was only within Delico’s four walls that a hint of relief settled over Gerhard’s shoulders.

Weakness swept over him, paralysing the muscles in his body and casting reality in a new light. His breath rolled heavily over his lips as he bumped his shoulder against the wall. Sweat stood on his forehead, making him swallow drily; and if he hadn’t known better, he would have returned home. But there was nothing wrong with him. The powder punished him with after-effects, combined with lingering shock and unwanted surprise. Sensations that would pass as soon as he could rest for a few minutes.

“Father...” Angelico’s small hands plucked at his black coat and although he wanted to answer, his throat felt too parched to make a sound.

He had to swallow a few times before he found his voice again. “Bring Angelico to the others. I assume Dali is in the library?”

He always was, ever since they’d started looking into the TRUMP-related mission. He usually did the research there when Dino reviewed files and documents from past cases.

“But Father ... what about you?”

His gaze briefly wandered to Angelico. “I have work to do and now leave.”

It was strange. His voice always sounded too brash when he reprimanded Angelico, and yet in those seconds, it almost seemed as if he had added a gentle undertone. Even though he wasn’t allowed to show any weakness towards his son. He had to set an example of how a proud man of nobility should behave. Courageous and strong and determined, so that Angelico would one day be a boy who wouldn’t bring dishonour to the House of Fra.

“Master Delico is, as you mentioned, in the library, sir. Would you like someone to accompany you?”

Gerhard waved it off in a flash. “I’ll find the way.”

Since they had made this house their headquarters for this case, he knew almost every goddamn corridor by heart. That made the walk up to the heavy double swings almost short, and as Gerhard pushed powerlessly against the wood, it almost refused to open. It took nearly two breaths to get inside and discover Dali at first glance.

“Goldilocks! You’re ... late?” Dali’s humour turned to mischievous seriousness far too quickly. “What happened? Had a rough ride?”

Gerhard dragged his heavy feet to the red upholstered armchair, where he sat down with a gasp.

“I ran into a mass panic on the way here.” He ran a hand over his face, barely noticing.

“They said someone had killed five victims – of uncertain origin, probably vampires – and in a careless moment, someone blew a powder in my face.”

“A powder? Poison?”

He shook his head. “No poison. No big deal. It seems to have been a drug that makes its victims dizzy.”

“And the attacker?”

“I hit him with my sword. Then he disappeared.”

“That’s why it’s not in its sheath.”

A brief tension dug into the pit of Gerhard’s stomach before he glanced at his belt, where the sword and sheath usually hung. He must have left it there.

“Damn...” His fingertips ran over the empty leather. “Besides, my coachman is dead.”

“Then maybe you should pass this news on to the agency before any more panic breaks out.” Dali’s brows lifted. “You probably left him lying around, too.”

“I took care of it properly!” Gerhard countered sharply. “Shouldn’t you be wondering whether the whole thing is connected to the TRUMP case?”

“Ah, yes, certainly.” He lifted the book in his hands. “History lesson for today. I was actually going to get Henrique to do it, but his love of history is so immense he chose to play with the twins.” He sighed dramatically. “In the meantime, Dino’s files are growing over his head. So when you’re ready, you’re welcome to make yourself useful.”

Snorting, Gerhard averted his eyes. Dali didn’t bother to show any kind of tact. For him, gimmicks were at least as meaningless as extravagant words and useless game pieces. Sometimes Gerhard wanted to believe that he was a friend. But the murder of Dali’s wife – his blade in the body of this near stranger who was nothing more than a victim of circumstance – probably made him a pawn as well.

All too slowly, his gaze fixed once more on Dali – on the slender figure of a man whose pitch-black hair had a strange lustre. It seemed disorganised, a little jumbled, strangely wayward, and yet he could hardly imagine Dali any other way; different from all the years they had worked together. Gerhard swallowed. It had been years in which he had appreciated this man. His skill, his intelligence, his ability to overcome every obstacle as if it didn’t exist. Just like then – just like the day when Frieda had left with a smile on her lips and Gerhard had hoped to experience ridicule and hatred in order to smother the blossoming affection under the veil of a broken, even fickle friendship.

His gaze slid carefully over Dali’s bare forearms, over the slender fingers that were skilfully leafing through one book. Then, all at once, up to his thin lips, which had curled into a half-smile – deeply immersed in the writings of historical memories.

He had looked at Dali like this before. Two years ago, somewhere between doors and hinges of another mission that had made Dali laugh. Gerhard remembered how much he had shouted at him that day to take something seriously for once. But Dali had never given a damn about his opinion or his excessive temperament. Without further ado, Gerhard lowered his eyelids. He wasn’t quick-tempered. He just took things much more seriously than Dali would ever see them. And perhaps that was the reason, at some point, why he had begun to prefer being near his friend to his own home. Or even his wife.

He licked his lips gently before tearing himself away from Dali. Dwelling on past events wasn’t the answer. It shouldn’t matter. In the end, they had both walked down the aisle at some point – with women – and had brought children into the world. The Delicos and the Fras had gone their separate ways, hadn’t mixed or mingled, because there had been no way to turn rivals into a true unit. That also meant he was done with it. With his feelings, with that warmth in his chest whenever he saw Dali, and also with the thought of ever getting closer to those unknown lips.

Still, his hands clenched into fists. The hazy confusion in his head was gone, his body felt better, and he saw things clearly – undistorted and sharp, as he always did. And when he looked at Dali again, the former warmth of that time settled under his skin like a sea of flames.

Longing flared up, joined with the heat of the day when he had tried to confront Dali; when he had tried to find out whether Dali hated him for Frieda’s murder. It connected with the hunger he had suppressed for years and danced with the tingling of seconds gone by which he believed he had finally smothered. Somewhere between the sheets, his wife’s legs, and the damn paperwork of his missions. It seemed as if all those boundaries, all those temptations, would evaporate in a single breath. What remained was desire.

Everything in Gerhard wanted to get up and embrace Dali. His black hair would probably glide through his fingers like silk and his body would replace the shallow coldness of his skin with barely perceptible warmth after a few minutes. His breath would flit over Gerhard’s lips and perhaps they would kiss. The only thing he had to do was reach out and grab the white fabric on his body. He just had to-

“Gerhard?”

Blinking several times, Gerhard’s gaze fell on his gloved fingers, which had stretched out in Dali’s direction. The armchair was a few steps behind him and Dali’s proximity was no longer just an idea in the middle of confused thoughts.

“Is everything all right?” Raising his brows, Dali tilted his head.

“If you’re feeling better, you could take over here. Ul will surely wake up in a minute and-“

A rumble coursed through the shelf as Gerhard slammed his hand against the wood, trapping Dali between himself and the writings of days gone by. His friend’s eyes widened. His delicate mouth opened, but there were no words. Only a disorganised silence forced its way between them – so oppressive that Gerhard heard himself swallow.

“I want you.” A simple statement. Not a question. Almost a command.

“Are you sure you’re all right? Or have you taken to making poor jokes lately?” Restrained laughter overcame Dali, emanating from his body like a sweet hum that, for the first time in all these years, didn’t drive Gerhard mad. Not directly.

Instead, he grabbed the book in the other man’s hands, removed the leather cover from his grip and threw it over his shoulder straight onto the round table, on which at least another twenty books were piled. Then he pressed his other hand against the shelf next to Dali’s head and leant down slightly towards him. Those few centimetres separating them seemed like the last hurdle between affection and forbidden touches.

Meanwhile, Dali’s eyelids drooped slightly, making his dark eyes appear even darker. “Gerhard, stop that.”

Was there a gentle tremor in his voice, a sound of pleasure that lured Gerhard without making it clear? He didn’t know. His body automatically took a stance, ready to let Dali go. For just a moment, his arms lowered and his friend threatened to disappear. Dali’s narrow sideways glance, a demanding, light-coloured expression, however, conveyed something else. Just at shoulder height, resistance twitched through Gerhard’s body. In a flash, he grabbed Dali by the arm, pushed him back against the shelf – books thundered to the floor – and leant forward.

The sweet smell of blood entered Gerhard’s nose, played around his senses, swept them clean, inviting him to savour it, so he opened his mouth. In the background, he heard Dali’s protest, his hands against his chest, but not enough force to push him away. But Gerhard let go, put his head back far enough to look at Dali and drowned in the other man’s grey-black eyes.

“It’s against the rules to bite someone,” Dali hissed. “You know that. Unless you’re planning to control me. Since when are you a rule-breaker? Usually, you’re practically the ultimate lapdog of your superiors.”

An amused snort escaped Gerhard’s lips. In the next blink, he brought a hand to his mouth, gently bit into a corner of the fabric, and pulled off the glove. He gave up. For once, he wanted to give up, surrender to the warmth and fulfil his desire. Maybe then it would stop burning. Maybe then he could finally breathe more freely without having to worry every other time he met Dali about what might have been if he had found the courage to break the rules long before they had both walked down the aisle.

As he placed a hand on Dali’s chest and carefully ran it along the fabric, Gerhard thought he was losing himself for the first time. “It’s a single rule. A single law that forbids me to be close to a man.” He leaned forward again, burying his nose in Dali’s black hair and inhaling the smell of warm milk and caramel.

“A law to keep our race alive because we have become mortal and weak.”

Dali’s chest rose and fell under Gerhard’s hand; a life that coloured this moment strangely real, so he lowered his head, the dark strands down to Dali’s neck.

“Gerhard!” This time Dali twitched noticeably, pushing so hard against Gerhard’s chest that his breath squeezed forcedly over his lips. “You’re no longer free!”

One second.

A single moment in which Gerhard grabbed him by the wrists and squeezed the soft flesh to the bone. A gasp came over the other; pleasure in Gerhard’s ears. He pressed him harder against the shelf, his mouth wide open.

In the next breath, he tasted blood. He even thought he could taste it long before he had penetrated Dali’s skin. A metallic sweetness spread across his tongue, eliciting a choked sound from his partner. Perhaps it was pleasure; a hint of understanding causing Dali’s resistance to collapse.

Without further ado, Gerhard removed his teeth from Dali’s flesh and licked over the injury, leaving a trail of saliva that he ran up to his ear. His voice dropped to a whisper. “You’re no longer free either.”

The answer was silence. Calm in which Gerhard rested his forehead against the wood of the shelf and closed his eyes. “Only until this mission is over. After that ... I’ll let you go.”

“What’s got into you? It can’t be reason...”

Soundless laughter rolled off Gerhard’s tongue, unheard, lost in the skirmish between them. Dali was right. What had come over him? Why was he overcome by everything he had buried so fiercely? Why today? Why at all?

Why?

“I ... want to know what it’s like.” His hand slid down Dali’s chest until it rested on his hip.

“Ever since then, I’ve wanted-“

“I was told to bring this here.”

With a leap, Gerhard put distance between himself and Dali – his friend’s flushed cheeks conveying shame, perhaps even favour between stress and distress – before whirling around. Theodore stood in the doorway, one door barely open. His gaze was fixed on them. A bit as if he’d been there all along.

“Documents that will help us on our mission?” Slowly, Dali pushed himself off the shelf.

Theodore nodded. “Father said there’s a consistent pattern here of vampires suddenly losing their minds after coming into contact with someone strange.” He placed the files on the table, not giving Gerhard a glance. Instead, he fixed his gaze on Dali. “Do you want me to give him a message?”

A gentle shake of the head on Dali’s part ended the conversation between them and yet he accompanied Theodore out of the door, leading him into the corridor like a small child. He would probably devote himself to his own children now – he would feed Ul and give Raphael his attention. In between, he would forget about Gerhard. Probably.

Clenching his teeth, he savoured the taste of blood on his tongue a little longer before swallowing and balling his hands into fists.

Dali wouldn’t forget him. He would replay the seconds he had experienced constantly in his head and remember where the gentle pain in his neck had come from. After all, he had enjoyed it despite all the resistance.

Gerhard wasn’t imagining any of this.

He surely wasn’t.

#fanfiction #fanfic #anime #romance #ao3 author #ao3 writer #slash fanfiction #delico's nursery #dali delico #gerhard fra #unreliable narrators #angst #no happy ending #tragedy #lovers

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flying-thing · 8 months

Text

Kiss Me in the Rain

This is a SoapGhost fic for Call of Duty Modern Warfare 2. No one requested this, but my heart yearns for more angst, and as such, here we are. This is all based on the new Ghost skin in the war zone part of the game that I've never touched.

I'm not typing out Soap's accent.

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Playlist:

Work Song - Hozier

My Love Mine All Mine - Mitski

So My Darling - Rachel Chinouriri

Atlantis - Seafret

Here With Me - D4vd

Romantic Homicide - D4vd

Dark Red - Steve Lacy

Advice - Alex G

The View Between Villages - Noah Kohan

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CW: major character death, broken promises, gore, unreliable narrator, angst, domestic fluff, zombies

Word Count: 3457 (Unfinished and not edited!!)

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

It was no surprise when Price told Simon and John that it was close to the time in which they needed more supplies. They were the scouts, after all, and it was their job to go scavenging. They still had a few days before they needed to leave, and as per usual, the two were enjoying their time together until they needed to leave.

Simon walked out to the garden the team had started a few days ago, and he found John watering the plants. It was a lot easier for sprouts to come out when there weren't birds and squirrels to steal the seeds from the soil. It has become oddly peaceful since the outbreak, nobody to disturb your slumber, no wars to fight, and barely anything to worry about. Recently, the 141 have been looking for any type of farm animal so that they can fully sustain themselves without needing to leave every month or so for supplies. Everyone has taken to reading books, whether it be to pass the time or to learn how to do certain things. Price has figured out how to build buildings— after some much needed practice. Gaz has learned to make soap and cook delightful food (when there was actual food to cook), and Soap has put his demolition skills to good use in that he can make things that create electricity and even plumbing. Simon has become very interested in gardening, interestingly enough.

Everyone had a place, and the routine worked. The rest of the world was plagued, but here in their little home? It was perfect. Most of the soldiers left when the outbreak happened so they could protect their families. The rest died when the undead broke in. Simon wonders sometimes what it would be like to be dead. He fantasized about it a lot when he was younger, but now that there was little to live for, life was everything to him.

Before he got too lost in his thoughts, John walked over to him. "What's happening in that brain of yours, Simon?" He asks. Simon snaps out of whatever trance held him, and he shook his head. "I don't know how to explain it, but it's nothing exciting. What are you doing out here?" He counters, earning a grin from the scot's face.

"Just trying to find out why you enjoy this so much, and I think I've just about figured it out."

Simon looks at him amused. "And what is the reason?"

"I said 'just about,' not completely," he jokes, making Simon laugh. He did that more often now that he barely wore a mask anymore. John was fascinated with how expressive he was. Crow's feet at the corners of his eyes, the barely-there blush on his cheeks, the corners of his mouth lifting. Apparently, when he called Simon gorgeous in his mind, he said it outloud, and it made the taller man smile more.

"You flatter me too much, Johnny. Do you want to know the reason I enjoy it?"

"Would you tell me if I said yes?"

"Probably not."

John scoffed playfully and shook his head, his eyes closed with the gesture. "Has Gaz made dinner yet?"

"He's about to, I think. He's excited for everything to start growing so we don't need to live off unseasoned and almost expired canned food."

"I'm in the same boat with him. Cannot stand what we're surviving off. Beggars can't be choosers, I suppose." John said solemnly.

Simon quirked an eyebrow. "Did you learn that phrase from Price?"

The comment earned him a punch to the shoulder, and Simon just chuckled again. "I've been around you English folk longer than you think, bastard." His words held no venom, and Simon rolled his eyes. "Thanks for watering everything, even if you didn't find answers to your questions."

John looked up at him and nodded. "I'm glad you found something you enjoy. I don't need to understand it."

It was always a change of pace from when Simon was tearing himself apart to find out the answers to unspoken questions he had about himself to John wholeheartedly accepting him, no questions asked. He'd slowly started adopting the mindset of not needing to know everything for there to be understanding. Johnny really rubbed off on him, he supposed.

"Price wants us to leave tomorrow. We need more food and blankets. Winter might be harsh, and we still don't have a heater that works," Simon said, changing the subject.

The shorter man nodded before chuckling. "Can you imagine us bringing back mattresses? That'd be feat."

"We would probably need to bring the four of us for proper backup. There's a mattress store in the mall we go into sometimes," Simon said. John thought for a moment before nodding his head. "Project for another day."

---

Simon got his and John's clothes while the latter got the shower ready. The routine was comforting for Simon after their 'normal' was all discombobulated. He had folded the clothes as neatly as he could before walking into the shared restroom that was slowly fogging up the broken mirror. He set the clothes on top of the closed toilet seat and made sure their towels were still where they were supposed to be.

"The water's just how you like it, Si," Johnny said, peaking his head out of the curtain. He had always looked at him like he was the most precious thing he'd ever seen, and it was sometimes overwhelming for Simon. He didn't deserve this. But he had it, and so he would enjoy it until the world decided it was time to tear them apart.

Simon only smiled as he undressed and put his clothes next to the pile Johnny had already made before getting inside the shower with him. John made room for Simon to feel the warmth of the water. His eyes closed for a moment as he basked in it. When his eyes opened, Johnny had some of the homemade shampoo in his hand and Simon leaned down so he could wash his hair.

Soft moments like this made him feel all warm inside, and he never could resist melting into his lover's hands when he'd held him. They took their time in washing each other, not wanting to waste a single moment together. The water was still hot when they finished and they dried off and got dressed. They spent the time in a comfortable silence, both having acknowledged that no words needed to be shared.

After they climbed into bed, Simon wrapped himself around John. He wanted to tell him about the feeling of dread he felt but got lost to the sound of John's heartbeat. John rubbed Simon's shoulder with his thumb as they laid there.

"I have a bad feeling about tomorrow," Simon said. John hummed. "Do you know why?"

Simon shook his head. "Just feels like something is going to go wrong."

"We haven't had an incident in a while. We cleared out most of the hoard that went through the city," John said, trying to clear the other's worries.

"Maybe that's the problem," Simon said. He'd never been scared to go out on a mission. The zombies were no more a threat to him than a soldier would have been. A little less if he thought about it.

"Promise me you'll be the one to kill me if I get bitten."

"What are you talking about? You're not going to get eaten. Stop talking like that," John said.

"Johnny, I need you to promise me. I don't know what I'd do if I was the one who hurt you in the end," Simon says, sitting up to look at him.

"I will protect you, Simon. I promise that if push comes to shove, I'll kill you. I'm not going to lose you to a damn biter though, you hear?" John said, pulling Simon in for a light kiss.

John sat up with him and cradled Simon's face in his hands, his thumbs gently wiping away tears that Simon hadn't even realized were falling.

"Don't cry, my love. It's okay."

"I don't understand why I'm so upset," Simon said. "But I just can't stand the thought of hurting you. You're so dear to me."

"Don't get too sappy on me," John chuckled, trying to lighten the mood. "I love you, Simon."

"I love you too, Johnny."

John's eyes widened, and Simon didn't think he'd ever seen his face get so bright.

"Well, you can't die now. Not when you're finding your voice. I'm so proud of you, Simon."

"It's all because of you."

---

Beep beep be- click.

John clicked off the alarm clock with a sigh. He sat up and rubbed his face before turning to look at Simon sleeping peacefully. His light brown hair is laid across the pillow, and his mouth is slightly agape. His hair had gotten longer as he had not cut it in a while. It looked so soft and John couldn't help but carefully run his fingers through the other's locks. The action woke him up and he opened his glossy eyes to see that it was only Johnny there.

"Good morning," he said, his voice gravelly with sleep. "Morning," the other responded. John removed his hand and allowed Simon to do a full body stretch and yawn before sitting up as well. He leaned on John's shoulder, his cheek smushing up against it.

"You're like a cat, Simon. It's sweet," John said endearingly.

"I blame you for making me soft, Johnny," Simon mumbled, making him chuckle.

"We should get up soon. Gaz ought to be making breakfast by now."

"Let me go to the bathroom first," Simon said, getting up and stretching again, yawning as he scratches his stomach.

John followed behind him and then to the cafeteria after, sure enough hearing Gaz making noise in the kitchen.

They walked up to the window in the wall and watched the man do his thing. "Good morning, Gaz," John says loudly so he hears him. He looked over and grinned. "Morning, boys. How'd you sleep?"

"I slept well enough. Simon's still waking up, if you couldn't tell," John answered. Gaz nodded.

"Breakfast is almost done, if you two want to sit down. I'll bring it out to you."

"Make enough for me too," Price said, his voice carrying through the room. Gaz rolled his eyes. "No, I think I'll let you make your own food," he said sarcastically. It made Simon laugh and he covered his mouth with one of his hands.

"Don't think you'd want me messing up your space. You'd probably kill me if I set the kitchen on fire."

"Damn right, I would."

They all laugh and after a couple minutes, Gaz walked out with two trays with two plates on each tray. He sat them down on the table they routinely sat at.

"I found a hen in the woods yesterday, so I went and grabbed it. I need you to make a pen for it," Gaz said to Price. The three of them grinned. "So we get eggs more often?" John asked, earning an excited nod.

"Yes!" John exclaimed, doing a little happy dance. Simon laughed and shook his head. "Eat your food. We should leave soon."

"Aye, you're right, but we still need a list of what we need to find. You're also not even dressed yet," John said amusedly. "Neither are you," Simon quipped.

John rolled his eyes and grinned, eating what was on his plate. The four of them conversated for a while even after they'd all finished their food. It was calm; exactly what Simon needed after stressing all last night.

When they finally got dressed, it was about noon. Simon slipped on his vest and grabbed his knives and backpack. He waited for John to finish putting his boots on before walking out to Price's office. John knocked, and Price called them in.

"I've got your list here. It's the normal stuff with a few additions," the older man said, looking between the two.

Simon nodded and took the list from Price's outstretched hand. He looked it over before handing it to John, who put it in his bag. "We'll be back in a couple days then," Simon said, putting on his mask.

"Be safe, boys. We'll be waiting for you."

"Of course, sir," John said, putting on a mask of his own. They walked out of the room and saw Gaz waiting for them at the door. He hugged both of them when they got close enough. "Don't get lost, got it? We'll come find you if you don't check in properly, so don't leave us hanging."

John grins and fist bumps the man, holding their fists together. "We'll come back. Don't miss us too much, yeah?" Gaz nodded and looked at Simon.

"I'll keep him kicking," he said with a grin. "Good man," Gaz responded, giving him a fist bump too. He opened the door and watched them head out and down the road.

"How long do you think we'll be out this time?" John asked, his head slightly elevated to look at the tops of the trees. Simon hummed in consideration. "Four days. Only because we have a lot to get and ground to cover."

"I'll say a week then. Factoring in anything potential issues," John said in consideration. Simon nodded, "Makes sense. I don't think we will though. It's been a while since we've seen so much as a group."

"Better safe than sorry, hm?" John said playfully. Simon chuckled and shook his head. "Learned that from Gaz? Picking up all sorts of things, I see."

"What do you expect? I'm around you guys all the time. Bound to happen," John said, amused.

"We'll be at the city soon. I can see it ahead," Simon said, changing the subject. Since they left so late, they wouldn't make it in daylight and would need to set up camp and get there the next day. Walking give miles takes longer than one would originally expect. They were pretty close by the time the moon was a quarter of the way up in the sky and decided to make their border so they could sleep.

Simon threaded three lines of barbed wire around the trees where their camp would be; one close to the ground, one about torso level, and one in front of his face. After that, he pushed leaves closer to the wire so it would be easier to hear if anything on through. John made a small upside down fire in the meantime, putting down their sleeping bags and using their bags as pillows.

"Did you remember the spoons, Johnny?" Simon asked as he watched him pull out a couple cans of food. John looked around as he thought about it before grimacing. "I'll take that as a no. Good thing I remembered for you," he said, pulling a couple out of his own bag.

"I can't go anywhere without you, Simon," John said playfully, knowing full well that he would forget his sleeping bag if Simon wasn't there to remind him or grab it for him. "I know," the other responded, handing him a spoon.

They ate in a comfortable silence and watched the fire. When they finished eating, Simon took the cans and put them in a spare bag he had brought, putting the spoons in with them to wash them when they got to the stream on their way back. They sat next to each other, their shoulders touching.

"We should sleep soon," Simon said as John leaned his head on his shoulder. "You won't sleep, so I won't either," John said in determination. Simon chuckled and shook his head. "Sleep, Johnny. I'll watch over you."

The man was already asleep, much to Simon's amusement. He never could stay up like Simon could. He fell asleep a little after, laying them both down to get comfortable. Simon layed on the sleeping bag while John was sprawled out on top of him, his head on his chest.

Simon woke up to rustling and at first thought it was John moving. He soon realized that he would have felt the man move and opened his eyes to see a walker fallen over the wire. It was quickly crawling towards them and Simon grabbed the knife from his side pocket and slipped out from under John. He met the zombie halfway and he stabbed into its ear. It was a clean kill, if he did say so himself. The sun was decently up and thought it would be good to get up and go before it was super bright. Sunglasses are hard to put on over the hard shell of a mask.

John woke up from the commotion and shot up when he saw the dead zombie slumped at Simon's feet, thinking it was still alive. "It's alright, Johnny. Took care of it," Simon said, easing John's worries. "We should go soon, so get ready to leave."

He nodded and stretched before getting up and taking deep breaths to calm his adrenaline. He always feared Simon would get bit protecting him. He rolled up the unused sleeping bags and put them away while Simon undid the wiring. They both took a whiz before continuing their trek to the city.

They took their knives out just in case something came at them. Every now and then, they would encounter a runner and they were the worst of them. John opened the makeshift fence they'd made to keep the area contained. Ammo had been exhausted at the beginning of the outbreak and they didn't have much left. As such, guns were rarely used.

They'd never found other survivors. It was hard to live in a world like this and not many had good survival instincts. It really was a wonder the military fell so soon when they were supposed to be trained for it. Oh well, Simon supposed. More resources for my group.

Closing the fence, they ventured further in. "What store should we hit first?" John asked, his eyes scanning the area in front of them. "Necessities first. Probably the chicken feed since the store is farther away. We can work our way to the front."

"Makes sense. It would keep us out here longer though. I don't remember where the store is exactly."

"Neither do I. But if we want eggs, we need to hope we find it quickly and that it's even there."

John nodded, and they kept walking. "We should stock up on toilet paper as well. Maybe grab a thing of water until we get the well pumping properly."

"Should get some for our vacation."

"While this isn't a vacation I would want, it's funny," Simon mused. John stifled a laugh.

They spent most of the day walking down the streets until it got dark enough that they would need to find a building. They found one without a bunch of broken windows and it looked secure enough. They went to the door and carefully opened it, hoping it didn't squeak too much.

The windows let in enough light that they could see well enough. Simon walked over to the wall and banged on it a few times. The door was still open in case a crowd came and they could easily leave. The downside was that the noise could have attracted some outside. It would do them no good to be cornered. When nothing came and no sound was made, John closed the door. They scouted the room and found nothing. The windows were stable and the door leading upstairs was barricaded. As long as they secured the door leading out and stayed out of sight, they would be just fine.

They were unable to make a fire, much to John's dismay, but they did have an electric lantern still. Price was able to fix a solar panel onto it and now they could test to see if it worked. Simon desperately hoped that it would work like this, although he would never admit it. He wanted to be able to see everything if anything happened. That would have been his explanation. The real reason, however, is that he wants to be able to watch John. He didn't know how much time they had left and he wanted to see as much of him as possible.

It's not creepy. It's endearing, Simon thought. How many times will I see him before our inevitable deaths?

He broke free from his slightly morbid thoughts after seeing John grin at him with his teeth showing. It meant that he was pleased. That's good. It was moments like this that made him feel the urge to commit whatever crime he needed to just to see him smile all the time. Not that there was any structure anymore, but his point still stood.

With confirmation that it works, they turned it off. No use in wasting electricity when there was still light outside.

"Hungry, Simon?" John asked as he rifled through his bag for food. Simon nodded when he looked at him. “These are so much better when they're hot, but here you go.”

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calidore · 5 months

Text

i have no patience for a happy ending

artist!dazai x artist!chuuya academic rivals to lovers (? but not really) bsd meets mesterul manole some parts are inspired by chuuya nakahara's poetry and some quotes are also taken from there. i really recommend reading something by him ao3 link : i have no patience for a happy ending - bonefire - 文豪ストレイドッグス | Bungou Stray Dogs [Archive of Our Own]

summary

chuuya and dazai are looking for inspiration for their art project. looking for inspiration doesn't go as planned and i am insane.

i don't know who is narrating this

The difference between a happy and a sad ending lies in the heart of the reader.

“Please!” the artist begged the Moon, not taking his eyes away from it. He could have shed a tear, if only there were any left.

The reason for his desperation was the painting for his master, which for the untrained mind might seem exaggerated, but for the young artist seemed like the only chance he got to impress his master; and his rival too, but that part will never leave the darkest part of his heart. For the ordinary man, the theme for the painting would not present any impediments : beauty; but for the artist, who has a peculiar hunger for beauty and grotesqueness, it seemed impossible. He has thought about every beautiful thing he has ever seen: the woods before a storm, the mountain reflected in a dead deer’s shiny eyes, the full Moon hidden behind clouds, his reflection in a pond of tears, but once he started painting them the beauty vanished. And after three sleepless nights, he had decided to ask the Moon, which should not be even the last option.

“I will do anything.”

That is something only someone who is willing to destroy themselves would say and the Moon is not merciful.

“Is there something more beautiful than the heart of a lover?”

The artist’s eyes darkened. He knew the perfect answer to this question.

The moon awaits her executioner. It was time for him to leave.

~~~

Three weeks had passed since the master gave the assignment and all Chuuya had done was ask his fellow artists about their piece. One of them was painting a watercolour self portrait using their own tears, one was carving a crown onto their head and another was writing a prayer about himself. There was only one person he had not dared to ask, even though the curiosity was eating him alive.

Chuuya stared long at the canvas in front of him and started to leave careless strokes of colour on it, hoping some sort of inspiration would come. He gave up soon and with a sight he laid on his back, looking at the stars.

Dazai was admiring the state in which he found his rival. People are most vulnerable when they are alone and looking at the stars was his favourite activity. He could spend hours recognizing each constellation, creating a different story for it each time, and counting stars until he fell asleep. If you asked him why the stars were so important to him, he would laugh and tell you that the stars became him when he stared at them.

Dazai stepped closer to Chuuya, not making any sound, which was not on purpose, but wandering around without making a noise was pretty useful, so he got used to doing it unconsciously.

“What are you doing?” Chuuya yelled at him once he realised how close Dazai was.

“I came to you with a proposal.” Dazai’s speech was composed of short and vague sentences. You always had to ask questions and continue the conversation if you wanted to get to the point of the interaction.

“I am not…” Chuuya started, but got interrupted.

“We should work together.”

“Why should we do that?”

“I believe that we would be a great inspiration to each other.”

Chuuya almost let himself believe him.

“I hardly doubt it. You see, our views on beauty are very different.” Chuuya said.

“Is that so?” Dazai was curious why his rival thought that. It seemed like they had a very different perception of their relationship.

Chuuya looked at Dazai thinking that the statement was obvious. He believed that they were different in each aspect of their lives, because they could never reach an agreement. But maybe that was because they were too similar.

“The main difference between us is that I would die for beauty. You would kill for it.” Chuuya said, and without breaking the eye contact, Dazai answered:

“I would kill it.”

Dazai gave him a smile, a smile he did not recognize. A smile that didn’t look like someone living.

Chuuya did not understand what he was trying to say, but he never understood anything Dazai was trying to tell him. Dazai’s ambiguity was far superior to his and was the only thing that kept him with an unbroken heart. Everything he does has a hidden meaning and purpose, and it seems like sometimes not even Dazai knows what they are; that’s where his power and mis(t)ery lies.

“But that is even better. Rivals bring more interesting things out of each other than lovers do. Tomorrow is gonna be a full moon. I’ll meet you under the willow tree.”

And without getting a chance to answer back, Chuuya looked at Dazai’s figure disappearing into the dark.

~~~

The willow tree was Chuuya’s favourite, and secret, spot. It was perfect to watch the moon on sleepless nights and he didn’t like the idea of sharing such a spot with anyone, let alone with Dazai. But he did not have a choice. He had to meet with him if he wanted to finish his work.

The moon had taken its place as a viewer when Chuuya arrived. And with the moon so high, looking after every soul, he felt safe; as safe as a character would feel in the hands of an author. Dazai was nowhere to be found.

“You actually came.” The voice came unexpectedly from behind. Chuuya turned around to see a grinning Dazai.

“Surprised? You know, most people are actually truthful.”

Dazai chuckled at his statement. It was true, he preferred to lie than to tell the truth. Lies were easier, safer, more interesting. He held the belief that language was invented by the need of humans to lie to each other.

“Now can you tell me why you brought me here?” Chuuya asked.

“To help you with your art piece.”

“What about yours?”

Dazai stepped closer to him. He was now only inches away from him and Chuuya could clearly see his eyes; they looked like the starless sky.

“I’m actually almost done.”

“You are?”

“Yes. I titled it `Dying Youth Under the Willow Tree`.”

They were staring at each other with a look that said “I would set the world on fire”; one to keep the other warm and the other just to watch everything burn. That right there was their little world. A world neither of them dared to touch, let alone destroy. Their little world, perfect in its inexistence.

They stayed like this for a while because neither could touch the fragility of this silent agreement between them. But when entrusting to someone, you have to take into consideration any possibility of betrayal, because the likelihood of treason gets higher when the heart is distracted. And if it wasn’t for the warm blood dripping on his chest he probably wouldn’t have realised that his ache was caused by hand, not by heart.

The deeper Chuuya’s knife went, the more painful Dazai’s heartache became.

Tears fell down his cheeks, tears which could as well be tears of love, but who am I to say how tears of love should look like.

Chuuya laid down his body so he could see the stars and soon enough he will become one of them.

~~~

The next morning a new painting was exhibited. It was a painting of a heart. The red used was so rich and bloody that any artist would question its origin.

At the bottom of the painting was written “a place to hide secrets”.

#bungou stray dogs #bungou gay dogs #bsd #dazai osamu #chuuya nakahara #dazai x chuuya #artist dazai #artist chuuya #dark academia #unreliable narrator #but the narrator is the author #or maybe god ?

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