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fangsandfracturedhearts · 11 months ago

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Fangs and Fractured Hearts

Chapter 5: Rebellion

Summary: After embracing eternity as a vampire spawn under Astarion's wing, the Crimson Palace becomes a haunting symbol of the man he once was. As his personality unravels into a dark abyss, you flee. A year of hardship unveils the harsh reality of existence as a vampire spawn.

Just as all hope seems lost, a twist of fate reunites you with Astarion, revealing a glimmer of hope amidst the shadows. As you navigate the complexities of your relationship, you must confront the unsettling truth behind the Rite of Profane Ascension and the devilish secrets it holds.

In a race against time, you embark on a daring quest to save Astarion from his descent into darkness. With each choice you make, the stakes grow higher, testing the limits of your courage and determination.

Will Astarion find redemption, or is he destined to succumb to his own inner turmoil?

Word Count: 5.8K

Pairing: Ascended Astarion x female!Tav Spawn

Warnings: [Will try to continue to add more, but in general expect explicit content for mature audiences]

Possible spoilers. Eventual Explicit Content. Slow Burn. Thoughts of Suicide. Violence. Blood. Injury. Mature Content. Self-Harm.

If you notice a very critical tag missing, please don't hesitate to let me know

Rating: Explicit 18+ - [Meant For Mature Audience}

Run?

Your stilled heart may not be able to beat any longer, but all-consuming fear still afflicts your battered body. You feel the familiar prickling sensation of adrenaline expanding outward from your constricting chest like a glassy lake disturbed by a thrown stone. All your hair stands on end as you think about the approaching dawn.

Staring into the icebound pools of Astarion’s scarlet eyes, you think about everything he has stolen from you - your life, your body, your soul, your love, your loyalty, your freedom.

He has taken everything from me.

Your voice shakes, “The sun can’t harm me if you’re near.”

“How certain are you that I don’t control that lovely little benefit?”

“Do you?”

One of his eyebrows pulls down hauntingly, “Perhaps I do. Perhaps I don’t. Are you willing to risk your life on it, pet?”

“Yes.”

“What about dear Shadowheart’s life? I would give her a very warm bloody welcome when she comes looking for you.”

Shadowheart.

“I won’t let you touch her.”

“If you’re a pile of ash on my front step, I don’t see you having much choice in the matter, darling, but you’re welcome to loiter out here all you like.”

Astarion turns his back on you. You seethe with a noxious loathing - for yourself, him, and the mess you’ve dragged your friends into. A deep rage you have kept caged for too long finally breaks free of its prison.

With a bellowing roar, you lash out at him, casting Telekinesis and hauling him off his feet, throwing him across the courtyard.

His body impacts a stone statue with a thud, shattering it into rubble. The ground greets his body with such force that he bounces off it.

What have I done?

His muscles tense, and he shifts his body, using the momentum to easily roll back onto his feet. A weeping gash on his forehead causes blood to stream down his face, streaking it with vicious red to match his eyes.

“You’ll pay for that.”

I know.

His reflexes might be like liquid lightning, but you’re not some feeble halfwit. Even though you’re not sure it will hold him, you cast Hold Person on him, catching him off guard. You see his frame flicker slightly as he tries to turn himself into mist, but your magic is strong, fuelled by your rage.

Shadowheart.

You have a choice - you can hold your ground against him as long as possible and allow either the sun or him to end you, or you can try to make it home before sunrise. He may follow and hunt you down like a rabid animal that needs exterminating, but either way, your fate remains the same.

Gale. Shadowheart. I have to try.

You pivot and force your body to move forward as fast as you can. Feeding off your rage, hatred, and all the devastated pieces of your broken heart, you run.

You dash over fences, skip across roofs, pull on every ounce of magic your body can contain and Misty Step until you’re not sure whether you’re mist or corporeal from one moment to the next. You push forward erratically, skittering towards home.

You don’t look back. If Astarion follows, you don’t want to know. You already know the fate that awaits should he choose it.

Your muscles twitch and cramp woefully with over-exertion as you draw closer. The stars no longer shine in the sky as they are snuffed out by the quickly rising light of dawn, but you can see the little house just up ahead.

I’m so close.

As the first light starts to break over the horizon, you throw the old wooden door open, throwing yourself to safety inside, slamming it shut.

Backing away from the door, you wait pensively, wondering if Astarion will burst through at any moment to make you pay for what you’ve done. You watch that door with a fixed, heated glower for hours, but nothing happens.

You go up to your bedroom and sink to your knees on the ground. Without the swarming fervour of hatred to dull the aching of your heart, you fall to pieces.

He really is gone, isn’t he?

The spasming pain in your stomach cleaves at you, awakening you from the troubled trance you slipped into. Your arms curl around your midsection, trying to stifle the recurrent waves of convulsing pain rocketing through you.

I need to eat. Badly.

You have to force your starving body to move forward. Your muscles cramp and jerk out of your control. Each step has to be taken with purpose and effort as you try to control your writhing body.

The journey is agonizing and takes you longer than it should. When you finally reach the forest, you’re already exhausted. You fill your useless lungs with air they don’t need in an instinctive sharp inhale.

Another spasm in your unruly limbs causes you to stumble. You catch yourself on a tree and rest your forehead against the rough bark, squeezing your eyes shut so tightly that the muscles of your face ache.

“There you are, little love. I’ve been waiting.”

You groan at the velvety smooth voice and force your eyes to open, casting them toward it. Astarion is standing on the other side of the small clearing.

Dressed in black, he melts into the shadows like an apparition. His clothing is reminiscent of what he wore the first night at camp after the crash, and you curse at him inwardly for wearing something that reminds you of old times.

You push yourself away from the tree and try to stand tall, but the cramping in your stomach persists, and you lurch over awkwardly.

“What the fuck do you want.”

“To talk.”

You scoff, “I have nothing to say to you.”

Astarion starts to walk towards you, and you grasp at the weave. Using Telekinesis, you throw him backwards, off his feet. He skids harshly across the moss-covered ground.

Once again, using the momentum, he tucks and rolls onto his feet, righting himself, “I’m not here to hurt you.”

Yeah, right.

“If you come anywhere near me, I will burn you with every ounce of magic I have!”

Will I?

He starts towards you again, but before you can cast anything, he shifts into mist and rapidly reappears behind you. Terrified, you turn, ready to defend yourself against whatever horror he is going to inflict.

You might be fast, but he will always be faster. He effortlessly grabs your hands and forces them together, rendering you unable to cast. You struggle against him furiously, but he easily overpowers you, barely wavering.

He snarls, “Why do you insist on making me treat you in this manner? Why do you fight me at every turn?!”

Make him?

You break into venomous, hysterical laughter, and his eyes widen in shock.

“No one can make you do anything anymore, Astarion. What you do and who you are - those are your choices to make. You have no one but yourself to blame for any atrocities you commit and your shitty behaviour.”

His eyes soften, “You’re right, which is why I need to speak with you.”

Wait...

I’m right?

No.

Don’t fall for this again.

“Did you not hear me? I want nothing to do with you!”

He sighs, “I understand. If you wish, I will leave Baldur’s Gate and never return. You will never have to see me again, but you must hear me out first.”

… What?

“I’m going to let your hands go now. Are you planning on attacking me some more, or will you listen?”

“Let go and find out.”

He chuckles, “Fiery as ever, my dear.”

Astarion releases his hold on you and puts his hands up in an innocent gesture, backing away from you slowly.

You watch him through narrowed eyes as he retreats. You position yourself in a defensive stance. A fireball blooming in your palm, and your fangs bared.

“What is this, Astarion? What kind of sick trick are you playing now?”

“No tricks. No games. Please, hear me out, but allow me to get you some food first.”

“You want to feed me?”

He nods, “It will allow you to think clearer. I can see you’re in pain…”

He pities me, but Gods, I am so hungry.

“No, thank you. The last time I accepted your help, it nearly got me turned into a pile of ash.”

His crimson eyes look at you sadly, downturned at the corners, “Let me help you. Please.”

Starving.

“Fine.”

“Excellent. Perhaps you should stay put. You are likely to scare everything away. Do you have a preference? Deer, boar, bear… Kobold?”

What the fuck is happening right now.

You wave a hand at him in dismissal, “It doesn’t matter. Blood is blood.”

Astarion vanishes somewhere into the thickly treed forest, leaving you with your thoughts. Your mind is reeling, confused, and unsettled. Your nerves buzz, your skin feels like it’s crawling, and you have no doubt that if your stilled heart could beat, it would be throwing itself around your chest, trying to break your ribs.

What part of the nine Hells have I fallen into?

Astarion returns quickly, and you consider for a moment if he may have poisoned the animal, but what do you have to lose at this point?

Once you finish your four-legged feast, you stare at him, observing his behaviour. He stands with his arms crossed, leaning against a tree, looking exceptionally pensive. His cardinal red eyes dart rapidly, never focusing on anything in particular.

He looks… anxious, scared even.

“Are you going to tell me what this is all about now?”

He jolts out of his thoughts, “Yes, of course. Do you feel better?”

Gods, yes.

You could almost moan at how relieved you feel - clear-headed, strong, no more gut-wrenching pain, turning your insides to mincemeat. Your muscles have stopped their relentless, painful spasming and are finally under your control again.

You might hug him simply for this feeling alone, but you lock your knees and keep your feet firmly planted.

“I feel fine. Tell me what you want.”

Astarion shifts away from the tree he’s been leaning against and steps toward you. You take several steps back, instantly lowering your centre of gravity protectively, and fire sparks to life in your hands.

He stops, a dismal expression on his face, “You’re afraid of me.”

“Observant, as always.”

Afraid doesn’t begin to cover it.

“What I did to you… What I’ve done to you… I… I abhor myself for it.”

You scoff, “Which part?”

“All of it.”

You stand there clinging to your fire for comfort. Your mouth is dropped open in astonishment. You observe his features keenly. His crimson eyes are downcast and glassed over, melancholic remorse shining brightly in the waxy moonlight.

His shoulders are slumped. His demeanour reminds you of the night he tried to bite you in your sleep, and you awoke to him hovering over you, fangs bared.

What can I even say to this?

He drags his fingers through the highlighted silver curls of his hair, “I feel different after the ritual. Something in me is… broken. I am not myself.”

No shit.

He looks at you with frightened, round eyes, “I don’t want to be this way, this person, but the power…” He looks at his hands as they ball into fists and clenches his bared teeth, “It corrupts, and I lose myself in it.”

“Why are you telling me all of this?”

“I need your help.”

“You want my help? After you threatened to kill me?” You shake your head, “What kind of morbid trick is this, Astarion? What games are you trying to amuse yourself with now?”

“No games, my love.”

My love?

Am I actually considering this?

Have I gone completely mad?

Tightness coils like a spring constricting your chest, and you let the fire burning in your palm retreat, “How can I ever trust you again? How can I know if this is real?”

Astarion comes closer with slow, deliberate steps, “You can cast Detect Thoughts, no?”

“Yes, you know that. You’ve seen me use it countless times. Why?”

“Cast it.”

“What?”

“You need to know this is not a trick, and I can hardly blame you. Cast, darling. Tell me what you see.”

Astarion continues his slow advance toward you. The one good thing about being dead and having no heartbeat is that he can’t tell how scared you are. You hold your ground with a rigid stance, muscles tight and ready to react at a moment's notice.

He searches your face, looking deeply into your eyes, “They never did completely change colour, did they? Your eyes, I mean.”

All of your friends had remarked that although your eyes did take on the red hue of his, your irises held splotches and slivers where your original eye colour was still visible. You wonder what it must look like, but your face will forever be just a memory until one day it too fades.

“I wouldn’t know. I have no reflection anymore.”

“I’ve taken much from you.”

My love. My passion. My life.

Astarion hand trails down your arm to your wrist before turning your palm up and kissing it softly, “Cast, love.”

Do I want to do this?

You shouldn’t even be humouring him; you should be asking him to leave the city as he said he would, but there’s something in his voice, in the way he moves, and in his eyes that you recognize, and it tugs at your inherent intuition. You grit your teeth and cast.

My Astarion… If there’s even a small chance, I have to take it.

“What do you see?”

“Nothing. I haven’t used it.”

“Why?”

“I’m afraid of what I might see, hear.”

He chuckles, “Me too.”

You delve into his mind. There is so much noise in his head that it makes it hard to focus on any one thought, and you struggle with isolating them. The cacophonous commotion maims your conscious mind and makes you want to yelp.

Shaking your head, you try to stifle the throbbing pain between your ears, “You need to settle your mind, Astarion.”

“How?”

“Focus on something that calms you.”

“Okay,” Astarion anchors his eyes on you, “try again.”

The chaotic mess of his mind batters yours as you try to focus yourself from one thought to the next. You manage to catch snippets here and there, but nothing concrete, nothing that can tell you if this is a trick, game or some other form of callous manipulation.

“Not calm enough, Astarion.”

“Is everyone's mind like that?”

“No one’s mind is like that. At least no one I’ve done this to. Thoughts are usually coherent and fluid like a slow stream slipping into a bigger river, but yours are chaotic, loud, like a raging storm.”

Although this certainly sheds some light on his erratic behaviour.

“What now?”

This might not be my brightest idea.

“I have an idea, but you might not like it.”

He narrows his eyes at you, “Well, what is it?”

You take a deep breath and exhale slowly, trying to calm the fear curdling in your stomach. Closing the distance between you, your lips meet his tenderly.

He’s shocked for a moment, and you wonder if you overstepped, but his arm comes around you, pulling your body flush against his. He deepens the kiss with a low moan.

Now, the hard part is trying to keep enough of your mind off this moment to be able to read his thoughts accurately.

You once again focus your spell. The blaring white noise that had obstructed and retaliated against your intrusion slowly drops to a low murmur in the background.

His thoughts start to form coherently, and you follow the meandering stream. You can hear them now, as long as you don’t allow yourself to get too lost in him.

A challenge all on its own.

There’s something different about his thoughts compared to others’ minds you’ve read. He’s in there, but there’s something else, something sinister that chants malice, hatred, and corruption. It grasps at and infects his thoughts as they flow, polluting them.

You can hear his thoughts as they drift.

“What have I become?”

“Who am I?”

“Help me.”

He’s not lying.

Having heard enough to get answers, you allow the spell to wane. You intend to break the kiss, but his mouth on yours feels divine. He hasn’t kissed you with this much passion since the night he turned you, and you soak into it and immerse yourself in him.

I have to stop this, but Gods, I don’t want to.

His tongue trails along your lower lip, sending spiralling shivers running down your spine, and you gasp, parting your lips for him. He explores your mouth skillfully, tasting you, and a growl reverberates in his chest. Feverish need washes through you in a deluge and pools hot in your stomach.

You push yourself further into him, trailing your hands greedily up the smooth contours of his body. His thumb sweeps affectionately across your cheek. He is the center of your universe, and you can’t help but be pulled into him. Your yearning desire swells between your thighs, and you sigh against him at the throbbing ache, begging for him to relieve it.

You can feel your rationality start to slip away from you as you gravitate towards him helplessly.

Reluctantly, you push him away, with a panting breath, “Stop.”

He groans but releases you immediately, “Sorry. I didn’t mean to-”

Shaking your head, you hold your hand up to stop him. This wasn’t his fault. You had initiated it in the first place and allowed it to go on far longer than you should have. Your lips still tingle with the phantom feeling of his urging mouth, and you crave more.

His sultry gaze penetrates you, “I did very much enjoy that idea.”

Me too.

“You’re not lying, as far as I can tell, but I still don’t know what you think I can do for you.”

“You’re the only one that will stand up to me. Well, that I know I won’t kill anyway.”

“I’m not so sure about that.”

His eyebrows round, and his mouth drops open, “You think I will kill you?”

“Yes. I think you might. You’re certainly more than capable of it.”

“I…” Surprise dances across his features, “I would never.”

You scowl at him, “You almost did.”

“Darling, I was right behind you the entire time, just out of sight. I would never have let you burn.”

Was he?

“Oh, I see. So, you just, what? Enjoy seeing me running for my life, terrified? I hope you enjoyed the show.”

“I don’t enjoy it, but I feel… compelled to do it like something takes over, and I’m out of control…” he sighs, “again.”

“I don’t know if I can save you from yourself, Astarion.”

His eyes fall to the ground, full of sorrow and fear, and your heart breaks for him.

“I… I understand.”

“But I will try.”

I have to.

“You will?”

What do I have to lose?

Reflexively, you take a deep breath and nod, “Yes.”

Astarion takes your hand in his, “Thank you.” He smiles, “Will you move back into the palace?”

You pull away from him, “I have to think about it, Astarion. I need time to process…. Whatever this is.”

“Yes, of course. That’s eminently reasonable. Shall we discuss your terms tomorrow night?”

Another transaction for my help. Lovely.

“Fine. Until tomorrow, then. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, my treasure.”

You sit in the stark chair by the fireplace in the empty house you share with Shadowheart and Gale. Anxiety prickles your skin and ripples through your thoughts.

Am I falling for another trap?

Agreeing to help him may prove to be your undoing, but when have you ever been able to resist him when he’s pleading for your help? It’s what got you into this mess in the first place - isn’t it? If the ritual did cause this change in him, you can’t help but feel it’s your fault.

It sounded like he was still in there. If he is, how do you save someone from their own corrupted thoughts?

Tears slip down your cheeks, and you bring your knees to your chest. The fire wanes in the fireplace as it runs out of fuel, and you allow it to die like you allowed Astarion to take your life. As the fire burns out, it washes you in darkness. You wish Shadowheart were here to try and talk you out of the stupidity you’ve just agreed to.

Can I even be talked out of it?

You have always been headstrong, likely to your own detriment at times. You preserve where others balk. That resilience had carried you through after escaping the Nautiloid, but could it carry you through this?

The hectic cacophony of Astarion’s mind makes you shudder. You’ve listened in on the thoughts of countless people and never encountered anything similar. It had been like watching a crystal-clear stream slip through a contaminated bog, turning it into a gelatinous, toxic soup.

Could the ritual have caused that?

There was no way to know for sure. You had never listened to his thoughts before. Even when you had the tadpole, you never forced your way into any of your friends’ heads out of respect for them and their privacy. The only times you had crossed those boundaries was when the tadpole resonated with his out of your control.

Going to your room, you crawl into your bed. The wooden walls creak and groan eerily around you as if the ghosts of the 7000 souls you condemned were haunting you. You let your consciousness glide into the meditative tranquillity of your trance.

You awake when the shadows have devoured the light again. Slipping into a tightly fitting robe, you bolster yourself for what’s to come. You run a comb through your hair and adorn your favourite circlet. The metal is delicately shaped in prancing dragons, and a shining red gem hangs low on your forehead.

A knock on the door makes you twitch slightly, though you already know who it is. Astarion is waiting when you open it, leaning against the doorframe, handsomely bathed in the small beams of pale light that slip through the parting clouds covering the inky sky.

He’s dressed in a fancy red and black jacket with silver and gold piping and finely embroidered. His scarlet eyes are vibrant, dazzling you.

“Hello, little love. Are you ready to discuss?”

Am I?

“Yes. We can talk.”

“Where are Shadowheart and Gale?”

“Not here.” You leer a warning at him, “Stay away from them.”

His eyes cast down, “Do you truly think I am such a monster that I would hurt them?”

“I don’t know who or what you are anymore.”

He shakes his head with a sigh, “Neither do I sometimes, my dear. Shall we get you something to eat before we talk?”

“You’re not dressed for hunting.”

He chuckles, “I may be a tad overdressed. I came from a business meeting.”

Business meeting?

“Come, let’s go get you some food.”

You and Astarion walk to the forest in uneasy silence. A low fog covers the ground in an eerie, chalky mist. You keep a tight grasp on your magic, ready to cast at a moment's notice.

Astarion may seem different, but you’re not entirely sure if you can trust him. Part of you thinks this is all just another manipulation, and you’re walking straight into it.

The lovesick hero… Gods, he couldn’t have been more right.

“Do you always stomp so loudly when you’re hunting?”

You scoff, “I am not a hunter, Astarion.”

“Yes, that’s evident. How did you keep yourself fed?”

You shake your head, abject, “I didn’t. Not well, at least.”

Astarion strips himself of his jacket and shirt once he’s surmised you’re deeply enough into the forest. His pallid skin makes him appear almost ghost-like in the washed-out glow of the diffuse beams of light that flicker, cast from the full moon glowing brightly behind the clouds. His muscles appear as though they have been etched from stone by a master mason.

Fuck.

He looks ethereal in this moment, and you can’t pry your eyes away from him.

“Enjoying the view, precious thing?”

“Yes, the forest is beautiful tonight.” You cast your eyes upward before meeting his with a taunting glare, “I could take or leave your body.”

“Oh,” he giggles, “feeling bold tonight, I see.”

This feels too much like before he usurped the Rite of Profane Ascension, making you restless. You fidget with your hands and shift uncomfortably on your feet. Your palms are still warm, prepared to cast, just in case he turns on you like he has so many times.

“We can talk about what’s bothering you if you wish.”

You didn’t even notice him walk over. Astarion stands in front of you. His eyebrow is cocked, and he eyes you acutely with a probing gaze.

“No. I’m fine.”

“Stay put, and do try not to move about too much. You scare away the animals.”

You roll your eyes at him, “I’m well aware of my inadequacies, thank you.”

Just like the night before, Astarion returns promptly with your dinner. He redresses himself while you eat, and you mourn the loss of that mouthwatering sight.

Get ahold of yourself.

“Where would you like to talk? I presume you have… demands.”

“The palace is fine as long as you don’t currently have any… guests. ”

“Guests?” He cocks a brow at you, confused.

“Your new lover. Whatever her name is.”

“Oh…” He shakes his head, “It’s not what you think, my dear. We will discuss it.”

Not what I think? She basically told me as much.

Once you hit the city streets leading to the palace, you are overwhelmed by all the people outside, even at this late hour. They smell like prey, and even though you just ate, that hunger is insatiable. You could likely eat every person in this city and still not quench that sanguine thirst.

Their hearts beat lazily in their chests as they mull about, and it’s the only thing you can hear. You grimace and grit your teeth, trying to stay in control of the bloodlust that consumes you.

Astarion notices your unease. He had spent two centuries with it, after all.

“Hold my hand, little love. I’ll keep you safe and them.”

He holds his hand out to you, and you look at it tentatively, unsure if you should take it. A child runs past you, chasing his friends, laughing hysterically, and you grab Astarion’s hand in a death grip. You clamber and hug tightly to his side as you fight the urge to chase the gleefully playing children.

Gods, what have I become?

“Eyes on me, darling. You’re alright.”

“Astarion, I can’t.” Your voice is panicked, pleading, “I need to get out of here before I kill someone.”

He nods and looks around, “Do you see that rooftop?”

“Yes.”

“Can you make it up there?”

You nod, “Yes.”

“Go.”

You cast Misty Step and disperse into a fog, reappearing on the rooftop. Astarion is already there waiting for you, no doubt turning himself into mist as he had done in the forest to subdue you. He holds out his hand again, and this time, you take it gratefully. Despite the fear he has instilled in you, there is solace in his touch as there always was.

Astarion leads you over rooftops, jumping from section to section and catching you when you inevitably nearly fall. The breeze up here is unhindered by obstacles and remains fresh and mostly void of the smell of the living, allowing you to calm your raving mind.

Walking into the palace courtyard, you eye the statue you had thrown him through in your rage just a few nights prior.

So much can change so quickly.

The square base of the statue remains largely intact, but the rest of the marbled-grey figure lies in large, jagged pieces strewn haphazardly on the ground.

Astarion follows your gaze and smirks, “I didn’t like it much anyway.”

You follow him into a large, lavish sitting room, obviously meant to occupy the spawns’ guests before Cazador came for them. Looking around the dim, dreary palace, you shudder.

I hate this place.

“Darling, do you mind?”

“What?”

He points at the fireplace, “Would you be so kind?”

With the flick of your wrist, fire springs to life, igniting the kindling and logs, crackling and popping. A soft, tawny glow casts across the room. The tacky paintings and art he hated still embellish the walls, and the furniture remains the same.

Why has he not changed any of this?

He sits down and watches as you glide through the room, inspecting it. You finally shake your head and bring yourself back to the matter at hand.

Let’s get this over with.

“I have stipulations.”

He chuckles, “I would not have expected any less.”

“I don’t want to live in this horrid place.”

He waves his hand dismissively, “This is my home.”

“It’s not mine. Let me be perfectly clear - I will not live here.”

He sighs, “Alright, but please tell me you are not asking me to move back in with Shadowheart and Gale?”

“Absolutely not. I don’t want you anywhere near them.”

“I will purchase another then.”

“I don’t want to see your lover. If you must be with her, you can go elsewhere. Return to this palace for all I care as long as I don’t have to see her and you together.”

“It upsets you.”

Your anger flares, the fire in the fireplace pulses and sputters along with it, “Yes, it fucking upsets me. Does that make you happy?”

He stands and walks over to you. You cross your arms over your body and keep your eyes off him, not wanting him to see just how much it breaks you.

Astarion uses his fingers to gently bring your eyes up to his, “Why does it upset you so?”

You scoff at him, “That’s a stupid question.”

“Be a dear and humour my stupidity then.”

“You wouldn’t even touch me after you turned me into… this. You barely laid a finger on me.”

His eyebrows knit together, “Did you want me to?”

“… Yes.”

“Why didn’t you say something?”

I wanted you to want me...

“It hardly matters now. Let’s move on.”

“I’d rather like to know why you care so much about the, what did you call her?” He cocks his head, eyes upcast, “Ah yes, my “purple-haired hussy.” You left me, remember?”

“You didn’t give me a choice. It was either run or be ruined by you, but I don’t wish to drudge this up. Let’s move on.”

He grabs your robe aggressively, tugging you close to him with a threatening sneer, “I said tell me.”

Well, that didn’t last long, did it?

Here goes nothing.

Reaching up, you grab one of his fists holding you, and you burn him. He winces, recoils and throws you to the floor.

“You little shit!”

“Stop listening to whatever is whispering to you in your head, Astarion.”

I need to snap him out of this, but how?

Your words in the forest float through your head, “Focus on something that calms you.”

Me… He anchored himself with me…

In a swift motion, you throw yourself up and wrap your arms around him in a tight embrace, “Don’t let it win.”

He growls menacingly, and you squeeze him tighter. Your whole body is trembling, terror-stricken, and you clench your jaw hard and wait for whatever comes next.

He’s either going to throw me off, kill me, or….

Astarion stills. His muscles flex and relax chaotically. You look up at him, and his eyes are tightly shut with his teeth grit together so harshly they rasp sickeningly. The tendons in his neck jut out unnaturally. His hands are balled into fists at his side. You reach up and cradle his face, and he snarls threateningly, but you sweep your thumb across his cheek.

“Hey, eyes on me, Astarion.” You echo his words from earlier when he had saved you from your own morbid, intrusive thoughts.

His eyes open slowly and meet yours, “Easy now. You’ve got this.”

Quiet minutes tick by without a word from either of you. You watch the war raging inside him through his eyes. They flash from cold and dead to the crimson warmth you recognize and back again while he battles with himself.

With a slight shake of his head, his whole body relaxes instantly, and his eyes warm again.

“I… I apologize. I…”

“Lost yourself, I know.”

He pushes you back and looks you up and down, “Are you hurt?”

“No, you didn’t hurt me, but I burnt you. Apologies.”

He looks at the reddened marking on his pale hand, “Think nothing of it. I heal quickly.”

“Yes, I’m well aware.”

Astarion’s eyes look at the floor, ashamed of himself, “Are you going to leave? I’ll take you home if you wish.”

“No. I believe we still have terms to discuss.”

“You’re still going to help me?”

You smile, “Always.”

“You truly are full of surprises, aren’t you?”

His confession at Moonrise rings through your mind. The memory is overlayed in sorrow, and your chest clenches tightly, remembering his words, “I want us to be something real.”

You thrust the thought away as quickly as it reared up, “Are you okay now, or do you need a moment?”

“No. I’m fine. We can continue with your demands. You will not live here, no lovers, what else?” He smirks, “You are a particularly demanding little thing tonight.”

“You need to teach me how to hunt so I can feed myself.”

“We’ve swayed to this particular song already, love. Don’t you remember?”

“Yes, I remember. I will endeavour to be a better pupil this time.”

He chuckles, “You may get the hang of it in a century or two or three. Fine. I will do my best to educate you. Anything else?”

“When this is over, I want my freedom. I know you won’t turn me into a True Vampire, but I want to be free to decide my fate.”

“Why do you think I won’t?”

“You told me as much. “Trust me, it doesn’t happen.” After you turned me, I was too blinded to realize you were saying what I wanted to hear in honeyed lies. I am not so naive anymore."

He scowls but takes a deep breath, “Then you will have it, my dear.”

Big thank you to everyone who takes the time to read/follow/like/reblog/comment/etc. I'm honoured to know you're enjoying reading my fics!

I'm sorry this chapter took awhile to come out - I've rewritten it so many times I've lost count, so I hope you like it!

Master List of Chapters: Fangs and Fractured Hearts

If you're interested I write another fic with Spawn Astarion x Tav called - Shadows of the Past

AO3 [Crossposted]

#ascended astarion #astarion fanfic #bg3 fanfiction #astarion x tav #astarion x reader #bg3 astarion #bg3 #astarion x you #astarion smut #astarion #soft ascended astarion #astarion x oc #astarion ancunin #astarion bg3 #astarion x named tav

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my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction · 1 year ago

Text

Trine

Anselm Vogelweide X Blue Jones X F!Reader • Rating: 18+ pals • Trine Masterlist • Masterlist• ao3• want to be tagged? | request info

Summary: Blue needs to make a deal with Anselm, Anselm has other things on his mind.

Part 2/Series Masterlist

A/N: I'm sorry.

Warnings: overuse of italics, oral sex (m receiving), hand job, Blue kinda going into sub space, I have not proof read this (I’m so sorry I just can’t look at it anymore), please let me know if I've missed a warning.

Word Count: 3793

________________________________

Blue shifts a little nervously in his chair. He wasn’t used to this, being the one that wasn’t in control, wasn’t holding all the cards.

He didn’t like it.

But there wasn’t any way around it.

Anselm owned the police, owned the government, and if Blue wanted to expand the club and make certain annoyances go away, then he had to get into bed with Anselm. Figuratively, of course.

Blue hadn’t expected to actually meet with the man in person, surely he was far too busy for that. And while Blue didn’t doubt the personal sway he had in his own fair sized pond, he was aware enough to know Anselm was a big fish in a very big ocean.

Which was why this meeting, and the suddenness of it, had caught him off guard a little.

“And obviously, that percent of the cut would be very highly in your favour.” Blue stumbled a little over his words, his normal silver tongue rusted over.

Anselm sat on the opposite side of the desk, his fingers elegantly placed over his chin as he listened. He was, irritatingly, unreadable. Though the smallest smile did pull at the corner of his lips.

Blue hoped that was a good sign.

The other thing, person, that was throwing him off his game was you.

When he’d been shown into the impressively large office, more space in this one room than most people had in their whole homes, he had noticed you instantly. Reclining on the red chaise lounge to his left.

You had given him a small smile and that had been enough to make his throat bob and blood quickly rush downwards. He had shaken his head and tried to ignore you, sneaking small sideways glances every so often.

Anselm hadn’t introduced you, but he looked at you every now and then. Only moving his eyes in a silent question to which you either nodded or shook your head.

It was unnerving to say the least.

Your eyes stayed fixed on Blue, admiring him as if he was a sculpture in a gallery or some sumptuous banquet, not a businessman trying to make a deal.

Anselm had been staring at him for a good fifty seconds now without speaking, without replying.

Blue swallowed and risked another small glance at you.

“And what makes you think that percentage is of interest to me, Mr Jones?”

Anselm’s voice, low and velvet smooth, cutting through the air like a dagger.

“I, ah, it’s very generous for you, and,” Blue tried to make sure to choose his words carefully. “And, of course you would be able to have full use of my club and it’s services at any time-”

Anselm chuckled, not unkindly, and leaned back in his seat. “What makes you think I have need of your club's services?”

“Well,” suddenly his tie felt a little too tight, “there are many things my club has to offer, alcohol, gambling, my girls-”

“Are you implying,” he moved his hand from his face to rest against the desk, “that my wife,” he glances at you, “doesn’t satisfy me?”

You chuckle.

Blood visibly drains from Blue’s face. “No, I, that’s not,” oh shit, oh fuck, ohshitshitshitshitshit, “I obviously didn’t mean any offense, I,” his wife, his wife, you’re his fucking wife, he’d been sneaking looks at one of the most powerful and dangerous men in the world’s wife. “Of course, meant that you might be needing, wanting to entertain business associates and-”

“Stop teasing him.” You say to Anselm, a wide grin on your face. “Can’t you see the poor thing’s going to pass out from fright?”

While normally Blue would take a little more than umbrage at being called a ‘poor thing’, in this instance he was very thankful for it.

Anselm visibly relaxed, holding his hand ups. “I have to apologise for my tendency to wind others up.”

“It’s no problem,” Blue swallows. “Nothing to apologise for.”

Anselm smiles. “So, you want my help so that your business can expand, yes?”

Blue nods.

“What I want to know is, what will you offer me in exchange?”

Blue pauses, the question throws him for a loop, he’d just spent the better part of the last forty minutes explaining all the things he was offering Anselm. Every single thing that he could possibly think of to make the deal and sweeten it too.

He gripped his hands together, interlocking his fingers and squeezing to stop the slight shake that threatened to breakthrough.

“Like I said,” Blue pulls his best customer service smile onto his face, “there are many things this deal has to offer that would benefit you, the cut of profits alone-”

“I’m not interested in money, Blue.”

Blue frowns, a look of confusion crossing his face. A deep sense of dread begins to build in his stomach, why did Anselm even want this meeting in the first place? Surely he knew what was on the table, he wasn’t an idiot, he-

You place your hands on Blue’s shoulders and he visibly jumps, having not realised or heard you get up and walk behind him. The action brings a smile to your face.

You lean down ever so slightly, brushing your chest against the back of his neck. “Anselm’s interested in you.”

Blue freezes, his brain going over your words and checking for errors, making sure he really did hear what he thought he had.

“Does that make you uncomfortable?” You ask, leaning close and whispering against his ear. “My husband being interested in you?”

Blue shivers as your proximity, the smell of your perfume intoxicating. “I… um, well, I mean…” He swallows, surely you mean as a business partner, yes, of course, that was it. “I’m faltered, I try to run my club to the best of my-”

“No, no, no,” you whisper, biting back a smile and lightly tracing your hands over his shoulders. “Interested in you.”

“Oh…” Blue paused, the smallest flush dusting his cheeks. “I… I imagine it’s not a big deal, I don’t think, I mean, well, I’ve never…”

“You’ve never… what, Blue?” You whisper, your voice even softer than before as you slowly kiss his neck, just under his ear.

Blue swallows again, the audible gulp echoing in the silence, his breathing hard.

You skim your hands along his chest and start to loosen his tie as Anselm watches with interest.

Blue blinks heavily. “I… what, what are you doing?” He makes no move to halt your actions, if anything he leans slightly into it.

“Do you want me to stop?” You mutter against his skin, in between kisses.

His dick twitches, growing harder with every brush of your lips.

His heartbeat echoes in his temples and shakes his head. “No, don’t stop.” His voice sounds wrecked already, weak and wanting. The anxious energy from the meeting, the adrenaline, quickly mixed with arousal.

“Good.”

You glance up at your husband, he smiles watching you both with rapt attention, amused at how quickly Blue seems to be falling apart.

He shifts in his seat, moving back towards you and your mouth and breathing heavily.

You suck lightly on his pulse point and he lets out a soft moan. He doesn’t notice you continuing to undo his shirt buttons as you scrap your teeth over his skin.

“Don’t any of your girls take care of you?” Anselm asks, amusement clear in his voice.

It takes Blue a good few seconds longer than it should for him to register that he’s being spoken to, and then a few more seconds after than to formulate a response.

“They… ah, they do, they,” he swallows and gasps as you drag your teeth over his skin. “Not like this… never have any of the girls… been like this.”

There was something about it, something heady and thrilling that made him almost lightheaded. That he wasn’t taking, he was being taken.

Anselm chuckles softly.

Blue lets his eyes fall closed as he leans his head back, giving you more access. It was like he could melt away, just let everything go and just be. “It’s…” He swallows again, struggling to even formulate the words in his mind to begin with. “It’s… different.”

You sink your teeth into his neck, hard enough to bruise, and then suck a love bite against his jugular.

Blue moans loudly, wantonly and instinctively reaches back with his hand to grab at you, any part of you. He squeezes your leg, a whispered, “please,” falling out of his lips without him even realising.

“She’s very good with her mouth… and her hands.” Anselm growls, his eyes dark and blown wide with lust.

You smile against Blue’s skin, biting him harder, the action just on the border of being too much and somehow not enough.

“Oh, oh god…” Blue mutters, keening into your touch as you slide your hands under his now completely open shirt and across his chest.

You lightly pinch his right nipple, scratching over it with the tip of your nail and Blue gaps, his breath catching in his throat at the sensation.

You repeat the action and his hips buck upwards automatically, another soft moan escaping his lips.

There’s no way he could possibly hide his erection straining against the fabric of his trousers, begging to be let free.

“You like my wife’s hands and mouth then?” Anselm asks matter of factly, his voice low and rich.

Blue manages to open his eyes, to focus on something other than you for more than a second, “yes,” he whispers at the exact moment you bite down on his skin again. “Oh god, that, please,” his eyes close, scrunching up tightly as his stomach muscles twitch under your hands.

He shouldn’t be letting you do this, letting you touch him and tease him and completely wreck him. He’d blush at the thought of someone doing this to him in private, let alone in front of an audience. But all he wants to do, all he can bring himself to do is just lean back into your touches and caresses and let the pleasure grow warm in his belly.

You sink your left hand lower and lower, grazing along his chest and stomach until the tips of your fingers skim the edge of his trousers. Your touch light and teasing.

“I, oh please,” he swallows, his throat bobbing under your tongue, “yes, please,” he squeezes your leg, needing something solid to ground himself. “I-”

“That mouth of yours is so pretty.” You mutter into Blue’s ear, your voice soft and sweet. “Why don’t we put it to better use?”

Blue’s lost for a moment, still mesmerised by your lips on his skin. He tilts his head to the side ever so slightly, trying to give you better access.

It’s only when your lips still, your right hand sliding up to his jaw to hold him in place, that slowly your words start to trickle into his brain.

“I…” He bites his lip, a small frown of confusion blossoming across his face.

“Come on,” you slowly coax him out of the chair and to his knees as Anselm stands gracefully and walks around his desk to stop directly in front of Blue.

Blue follows your directions, distracted by the little kisses you plant over his cheek and temple.

It’s the click of Anselm’s shoes that bring him back to his surroundings. He glances up, catching the other man’s eyes and swallows nervously. His pulse thunders under your hands and lips.

Anselm looks down at Blue and smiles, admiring how ruined he already looks, his skin flushed, hair unkept and his neck littered with bruises that your lips and teeth left.

Heat rises to Blue’s face, he’s captivated by Anselm’s gaze, hot and needy, like liquid gold burning into him. It’s almost enough to distract from the sizable and obvious bulge in the older man’s trousers, that is now at perfect eye level with Blue.

A strange mix of panic and anticipation twists in his chest and Blue looks down. Surely, if-

“”Uh, uh, uh,” you tut and tilt Blue’s face back up to Anselm, keeping a firm hold of his jaw while your other hand teases along his trouser’s fly.

He looks up at Anselm, forced to once again make eye contact. Shame boils along his veins, humiliation at being here, in this position like some common whore and not even trying to fight it.

The urge to just give in, to revel in it is so strong. He wants to- No, he’s doing this for his club, his staff, his girls, his customers, if this is what it takes to expand then so be it. He’d get into bed with Anselm, literally.

You press your chest into Blue’s back, forcing him forward ever so slightly as you reach up and leisurely unzip Anselm’s trousers.

He watches you and Blue, his head tilted to the side as if he was reading some amusing anecdote in the morning paper.

Painstakingly slowly, you unbuckle his belt and take out his cock. Anselm sighs as your warm hand touches him and finally frees him from the confines of his trousers.

You run your hand over his length a few times, pumping him up and down and rubbing your thumb over the head in a way you know he likes.

Blue watches, hypnotised, his dick twitches and aches with every touch he sees you make. He’d never been this close to another man’s… He shouldn’t be enjoying this. He shouldn’t be getting off to this.

You kiss Blue’s neck again, soft and teasing, amused at how enraptured he is with the sight before him.

A small moan escapes Blue’s lips, it’s quiet, but undeniable. His eyes go wide instantly, and he stiffens as embarrassment overtakes him.

“Good boy,” you whisper against his ear. “You like it don’t you?”

Blue stays quiet.

“Hmmm?” You pinch his chin lightly with your free hand.

And slowly Blue nods.

Anselm gets out a shaky sigh and you grin.

“We’ll make you feel so good, I promise.” You whisper again, though Blue isn’t completely sure who you're talking to.

You place another kiss against Blue’s neck and slide your hand on his chin down to grip his jaw with just enough pressure to border on painful.

“Just enjoy it.” You mutter into Blue’s ear and guide him towards Anselm’s weeping cock.

He lets you move him, your chest still flush against his back, using your weight as an extra guiding movement.

Blue pauses, faltering for a second as he gets close, nearly able to touch Anselm if he stuck out his tongue.

It’s obviously what you want him to do, what you both want him to do, but panic still flares in his mind, he’s never, not with a guy. And it’s so big, there no way he’d be able to fit it all in his mouth and-

“Shh, it’s okay,” you soothe as Blue lets out a little nervous whimper. You tap against his lips with your forefinger, pushing down gently so that he slowly parts them. “There we go.”

Blue breathes out shakily as you press him closer, guiding him forward. How did his girls even do this? Blue tries to recall past memories, maybe if he'd paid closer attention and not been so caught up in the pleasure of their mouths he’d have a little more to fall back on now. Not that he ever realised that he’d need to rely on that information.

Heat rises to his cheeks as he pauses, letting his mind overfill with racing thoughts. But it doesn’t last long.

Anselm takes hold of the back of his head as you guide Blue, pulling at his chin as he takes Anselm’s cock into his mouth.

“Good boy.” You whisper.

Anselm lets out a sigh as he swallows around him and Blue tries to force his full length into his mouth. He coughs, chokes and splutters and even though Anselm groans he pushes Blue back slightly.

Blue looks up at him, tears in the corner of his eyes from coughing. There’s a panic there, a fear of being disappointing. He opens his mouth to apologise but Anselm speaks first.

“Don’t want you to suffocate on it.” The older man teases.

You chuckle. “Good enthusiasm.”

Blue bites his lip and swallows, your praise goes straight to his dick.

“Let’s try slower, hmm? Don’t take as much. Why don’t you lick it all over?” You run your finger over your husband’s cock, from the base to the tip, showing Blue where to put his tongue.

He nods, the movement small and almost shy.

You guide him back to Anselm, pressing lightly on the back of his neck and whispering praises as he darts out his tongue.

“There you go,” you breathe as Blue licks him slowly, broad flat strokes that run up the length of his cock.

He flicks his tongue over the head, remembering a blow job he’d received on the couch in his own office and Anselm groans low in his chest.

The precome is salty, but pleasant and he realises, surprisingly, that he sort of likes it.

“You’re doing so good Blue.” You kiss below his ear, your own voice needy as heat builds between your legs.

Blue lets out a soft moan at the praise and sucks the tip into his mouth. He slowly bobs his head up and down, eyes closed, trying to get a little deeper, take a little more, each time.

Anselm’s hand goes back to Blue’s head, pulling lightly at his hair as he guides him.

“So good Blue, keeping going, that’s it.” You slide your own hands down to Blue’s waist and unbuckle his trousers.

Blue’s breathing hitches, he almost stops his movements but Anselm gently presses him back down, slowly guiding his cock in and out of his eager mouth.

You trail the edge of your nails down Blue’s dick teasingly and he twitches against your touch, hard and hot, as he moans around Anselm’s length.

“You’re doing so good,” you whisper as you take Blue’s cock in your hand and start to pump him in time with the bob’s of his head. “I know he’s big, you’re doing so well.”

Blue moans again, a strange lightness builds in his chest with every positive word. His jaw aches, salvia is running down his chin and every now and then he takes Anselm just a little too deeply and has to pull back and try again. But it feels so good, so right, to have you both there, touching him and using him, and- oh!

He moans deeply, bucking his hips into your hands as you twist your wrist and start to move faster, changing your teasing strokes into full blown movements.

He swallows around Anselm, his muffled cries of pleasure vibrating around his dick deliciously.

Anselm groans, thrusting a little harder into Blue’s mouth and growling.

“Oh, he’s gonna come all down your pretty throat. You gonna be good and swallow all of it aren’t you?”

Blue lets out a muffled cry, yes, yes he wants that, wants this so badly.

You stroke him harder, pressing your chest flush against his back and feeling how his thighs shake, his muscles twitch under every movement.

Pleasure drowns him, overwhelms the pain in his jaw, the ache in his knees. All he can feel is Anselm hot in his mouth and your hand on his dick, pulling him closer and closer and-

Anselm moans loudly, throating his head back, one hand gripping the desk behind him as he thrusts deep. He holds Blue tightly against him as he cums down his throat.

Blue moans, trying his best to swallow and not choke. It’s easier said than done and some of Anselm’s cum slips past his lips and trails down his chin.

You take hold of Blue’s neck, pulling him back as Anselm lets go and leans back against his desk, breathing hard.

“Well done, you did such a good job.” You bite his neck, sucking hard as you hold him against you and pick up your pace.

Blue cries out, moaning beautifully, as you stroke him faster and faster, his hips shaking, every muscle in his body tense.

“Oh god,” it’s too much, everything’s too much, he’s going to burst and fall apart at the seams and- he sobs as he cums, thrusting up into your hand and spilling himself all over the polished wooden floor.

It seems to go on and on, the pleasure flaying his every nerve, as he cums harder than he ever has in his whole life.

He falls back against your chest, boneless, and would have surely ended up in a heap on the floor if you hadn’t been supporting him. He breathes hard, skin flushed and sweaty.

You lightly kiss his temple.

Blue’s mind is blissfully quiet, so caught up in the afterglow it was impossible to even think.

Anselm smiles down at him as he tucks himself back into his trousers. He side steps the cum on the floor and leans down, licking his own spend from Blue’s chin before kissing his lips.

Blue lets out a contented sigh as Anselm’s beard tickles his chin.

“Such a good boy,” Anselm mutters, his low voice rumbling through Blue.

“He is, isn’t he?” You smile.

Both you and Anselm hold Blue for a few minutes, kissing and caressingly gently, whispering soft praises as you massaged his skin.

You then both helped him to stand and dress as Blue wobbled a little like a baby deer taking his first steps.

Blue watched you both, a little stunned and still blissed out as you straightened his tie.

You kiss his left cheek, while Anselm kisses his right.

“Well, Mr Jones, I’d say that was a very productive meeting. You’ll have my full support.” Anselm smiles and shakes his hand, his tone calm and professional, as if they had just both played a round of golf and not done… that.

Blue nods, his mind still not caught up with him.

“My assistant outside will show you out and we’ll be intouch.” Anselm walks Blue to the door, opening it for him and seeing him out.

Everything still seems a little hazy, dreamlike almost. Blue turns to say something, even though he’s not sure what it is.

Through the closing gap in the door he sees Anselm kiss you deeply and lead you back to the chaise lounge, pushing you down and hooking your legs over his hips while you hold him tightly.

For a moment he catches your eyes and you smile, biting your lip. And then the door shuts and you both are gone.

____________________________________

Thank you for reading!

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twignotstick · 1 month ago

Text

Mud Dogz - How to be Homeless 🏚️

Warnings (if there's anything I should add here, tell me please!): homelessness (as if that wasn't already obvious), eating thrown out food, violence involving children, fire, happy ending [More spoilery tags at the end! This story doesn't get too dark, but read at your own risk!]

Words: 7,440

Summary: Eight year old Daniel Tesseau, who would one day become the infamous Dastardly Danny, runs away from his family after finding out about their criminal business. However, living on the streets isn't as easy as he first believed. Can he earn the trust of an unlikely ally to survive?

Notes: This is the first fic of my Mud Dogz AU! The goal of this AU is to expand on the many questions left unanswered by the Hidden City in ROTTMNT, specifically following the lives of the Mud Dogz before, during, and after canon. I hope you enjoy!

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

For the first time in his life, Daniel Tesseau had no idea what he was doing.

He had done all the research he could. He read countless books, even some from the surface. He had packed his bag to the brim with filling, easy to carry food and other necessities.

And yet, only a week after running away, he had no idea what he was going to do.

He knew that, in the end, this would be better than staying with his family. He didn't want to be what they wanted him to be. Ever since, two weeks before his great escape, his mother had told him about what he was destined to become.

He had known that his family was composed of powerful mages. He, himself, was one. He knew that they specialized in enchanting artifacts. They had a nice shop, too! He just hadn't known about their underground dealings with one of the most dangerous people in the Hidden City, and their history of selling dangerous things to dangerous people.

When his mother finally showed him the terrible, besmirched inheritance he was set to overtake, and set to start involving himself in scarily soon, he knew he had to leave.

So here he was. three weeks after his world fell apart, one week after he left his broken world; sitting in an alleyway, contemplating whether or not he should try dumpster diving.

Daniel knew he needed to eat. He could potentially go for longer without food, but he had already proven that his reaction time and street skills weren't the greatest in a less than fortunate encounter with some birds. If he didn't keep his body in the best shape he could, he wouldn't stand a chance on the streets.

He glared at the dumpster like it owed him money. The smell was utterly awful to Daniel's heightened senses, but he knew statistically that there had to be something salvageable in there. It just might take some… digging. The thought made him want to gag, but his stomach was too shallow to risk that.

“Why are you in my spot?”

Daniel flinched at the voice that appeared at his side. He looked over to see a green skinned yokai around his age with a large nose and unkempt, black hair. He had a strip of light blue fabric struggling to keep the hair from his face, and a tank top seemingly made of the same material. A pair of baggy brown pants hung around his waist, held up by a piece of rope tied into a sloppy knot slipped through the belt straps. He had a single tusk showing through his grimace.

“Dang, with ears that big, you'd figure you hear me fine.” The green yokai leaned down to get closer to Daniel's eyeline. “What are you doing at my dumpster?” He asked, slowly emphasizing each word.

Daniel's eyes widened and he struggled to stand. “O-oh, is this your building?” He stuttered. “I can go if you-”

“No, it's not my building. It's my dumpster. Now go away before I make you.” The yokai grabbed the lid of the dumpster and flung it open, leaning over to dig around inside.

Oh. So he had the same idea.

Daniel watched the kid, obviously already experienced in this, open a trash bag and start digging. He threw a good amount of napkins to the side before coming up with what he was looking for.

A greasy pizza crust.

He took a bite and glared back over at Daniel. “Well?” He asked, raising a bald eyebrow. “I said scram. Go back to whatever rich people convention you came from.”

Daniel looked down at his clothes. He had almost completely forgotten that he wore some of his most comfortable clothes when he ran. He had a purple sweater vest over a soft off white undershirt, and his most casual dress pants. He basically didn't own anything less fancy.

“I didn't come from a ‘rich person convention’. That isn't a thing. You sound stupid.” Daniel crossed his arms and stared back at the boy.

The yokai's eyebrow rose higher. “Why are you here, then?”

Daniel rubbed his heel into the floor, deciding what information he should tell this complete stranger. “I'm… on a mission. From my family. T-to prove my worth without my magic.”

“Here?” The boy questioned, leaning back into the dumpster to dig out another crust. “This place is the pits. Why would you come out here?”

“B-because it's the best place to prove myself, obviously!” Daniel tensed his shoulders, seriously contemplating jumping in the dumpster to find anything to get rid of this terrible hunger in his gut. “It's better to prove yourself in a tough situation, not an easy one.”

“You don't look like you're ‘proving yourself’ that good. You look like a runaway.”

Daniel's ears flipped up and his tail straightened. “I-I'm not a runaway! I didn't run away! You can't prove that! O-only stupid kids run away from their family!”

“Woah, man, chill out!” The kid backed out of the dumpster to better look at Daniel. “I'm a runaway, I get it.”

Daniel sucked in a gasp. “Oh.” Daniel dug his heel harder. “Sorry. I didn't mean that. Runaways aren't stupid.”

The yokai laughed. “Eh, it's alright. We're all a little stupid.” He glanced from the dumpster back to Daniel. “Are you hungry?”

Daniel grabbed his tail to fidget with. He nodded just a bit, looking away.

“Here!” The yokai reached back into the dumpster and tossed a pizza crust into Daniel's hands. Daniel fumbled to catch it, but managed to do so. “I'm Leonard.”

Taking a small bite of the slightly stale and weird smelling crust and holding back a pout, Daniel responded, “Thank you.”

Leonard watched Daniel uncomfortably eat. “Y'know, when someone tells you their name, you should usually tell them yours.”

Daniel quickly finished the crust, forcing himself to swallow the last of it. The aftertaste wasn't great, but it was good to have something more on his stomach. “Uh,” he mumbled, “I'm Daniel. Daniel Tesseau.”

“Daniel? Cool!” Leonard walked over to him, stopping just a bit away. “Why'd you run away?”

“None of your business.”

Leonard's face flattened at the sudden aggression. “Oookay.” He looked Daniel over before gasping. “You're like, a literal street rat!”

“Wha-” Daniel scoffed. “I'm not a rat, I'm a yokai. Just like you are. I'm just a rat-like yokai. What kind of yokai are you supposed to be, anyway?”

“I'm an ogre. Obviously.”

Daniel squinted at him. Sure, he had the green skin, the pointy teeth, the offensively big nose, but something was wrong.

“Why are you so skinny, then?”

Leonard puffed out his chest and crossed his arms, pushing his biceps to make them look bigger. “You're one to talk! Y-you look like you can't even lift five pounds!”

“Anyone can lift five pounds.”

“Nuh-uh.”

“Yeah-huh!”

“What about babies?”

Daniel paused. “Okay. You have a point. But I'm not a baby. I'm almost eight.”

“Hey, me too!” Leonard grinned. He glanced back at the dumpster, then at the sky. “I should probably get going. I've got something I need to do. Seeya around, Danny!”

“It's Daniel.”

“...uh, okay. Bye ‘Daniel’.”

“W-wait!” Daniel held up a hand just as Leonard started to turn to leave. “Uhm,” he swallowed, “how long have you been a runaway?”

Leonard took a second to think, scrunching his face. “Uh, I think I was almost six? So…a year?”

“...that's two years.”

“Oh! Guess I lost track of time. Two years, then.”

Daniel took in Leonard's appearance one last time. He was skinny for an ogre, sure, but he still had a good amount of muscle mass. He looked like he ate well. He looked (relatively) clean.

He was experienced.

Daniel breathed deeply. “Well, Leonard, I hate to ask this of you, but I must admit to my desperation. I have only been… a runaway for a week, and I've discovered that I do not yet have the skills required. I need help learning just how to survive out here without the aid of my magic, as I refuse to use it.”

Leonard squinted. “Are you…” Leonard chuckled. “Are you asking me to teach you how to be homeless?”

If Daniel wasn't covered in fur, his face would have become flushed. The twitch in his ears and tail was telling enough. “N-no,” he stuttered, “I'm just asking you to help me learn how to survive on my own without my magic.”

“Or your parents?” Leonard asked slyly.

“...yes.”

“Or your rich people house?”

“...yes, Leonard. I'm proving this to myself. Now will you help me or not?”

“Hmm..” Leonard leaned back on the alley wall, rubbing his chin. “How about this?”

Daniel looked up, his attention fully taken.

“I have a scheme to pull tomorrow. Tomorrow night, same time, meet me here. I'll tell you the details then. If you swear to help me pull it off, then I will promise to give you my money-less wisdom.”

Tapping his toe on the ground, Daniel weighed his options. He could accept Leonard's offer and possibly be getting into way more trouble than he bargained for, or he could refuse and possibly die because he doesn't know how to… be homeless.

Or he could just go home.

“Okay.” Daniel stood straight as he could. “I'll help you enact this… scheme that you're planning. But you have to help me.”

“Sounds good to me!” Leonard patted Daniel's shoulder, causing him to flinch and grab his tail again. “I'll see you tomorrow then, Danny!”

“It's Daniel!”

Leonard was already prancing away.

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

When Leonard returned to the dumpster the next night, he found Daniel standing with his heel dug in the dirt and his tail twisting in his hands. He was side-eyeing the dumpster again, glancing side to side intermittently. Leonard approached more comfortably this time, making sure to make a little noise.

“Hey Daniel!” Leonard greeted. “You ready for the coolest thing ever?”

“Hello, Leonard.” Daniel tried to gather himself and swung his tail behind him. “Uh, I guess? I don't think a ‘scheme’ is exactly the coolest thing ever…”

“It will be!” Leonard almost ran forward to grab Daniel's arm, but stopped when he heard a grumbling sound from Daniel's stomach. He looked Daniel up and down again, asking, “When did you eat last?”

Daniel mumbled something, grabbing his tail again subconsciously.

“Huh?”

“Last night.” Daniel spoke louder, obviously upset by the fact.

Leonard's eyebrows furrowed as he frowned. “Do you not like digging in there?” He asked, pointing to the dumpster. Daniel shook his head.

Leonard stood up straight. “That's alright, I'll do it for you!” He jumped onto the dumpster and tossed the lid open, talking as he started to dig. “There's a group that always throws their crusts away that comes once every week. I think they came in yesterday, but I still might find- oo, jackpot!” He hopped back out with a half eaten slice of pizza in his hand. “This works, right?”

Leonard took the way Daniel's eyes lit up hungrily as a “yes” and handed the slice over. Daniel almost took a bite before pausing and ripping the slice in half, holding one half to Leonard. “Oh, I ate before I came,” Leonard said. “You go ahead.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah! You need it more, anyway.”

Daniel started eating, mumbling a “thanks”. Once he was done, Leonard grabbed his arm, shouting, “Come on, I'll fill you in on the way!”

Daniel nearly tripped over his own feet, but eventually the two boys fell into stride. He still felt very uncomfortable about using his talents to help a total stranger, but it was better than going hungry. Leonard tried to make some small talk, but nothing seemed to land right. When they were closer to their destination, Leonard started getting to the point.

“Alright Dan, you're a man with a plan, right?”

“Daniel.”

“...okay. Daniel, you're a maniel with a planiel, right?” Leonard rephrased condescendingly.

“I would say so,” Daniel replied, equally condescending.

Leonard sighed heavily. “Well,” he started, “there's a shop over here that's got a big exchange going on. I want to try to take some of the moolah from right under their noses. I've seen them do exchanges before, but I don't know exactly how to get the cash. Got any ideas?”

Daniel slowed a bit. A robbery? He needs to steal money to earn this kid's trust?

Well, correction.

He needs to steal money to get this kid to teach him how to be homeless.

“...well,” Daniel said, “I'd have to scope out the place first. But if we can somehow make our move during the exchange, then we could have an opening to take some… ‘moolah’.”

Leonard nodded along as he explained the vaguest plan he had ever thought up. “Do we know what they're exchanging?” Daniel asked.

“Nope,” Leonard said bluntly. “She sells meat, though. Mostly fish.”

“Do you know the owner of the shop well?”

“She's some bird yokai, I think. Not too old, so she's probably not blind or whatever.”

“Okay,” Daniel nodded, “and the other party involved?”

“Dunno. She gets stuff from a couple different groups. I've been scoping the place out for a while, and I think I've seen her trade with, like, eight different people?”

“So we have to be ready for anything?”

“Basically. But she always brings the meat and stuff inside and sets it on a table before bringing the money outside, so if you can come up with a good plan, it'll be a breeze!”

Daniel slowed their pace a bit, rubbing his tail in his hands. “Where does the exchange usually happen?”

“At the back door. And there's not really any good windows into the back room where the cash is, I've checked. The building's sorta… split in two.” Leonard tried to illustrate the floorplan with his hands. “It's like, one big room for the shop, and a smaller room where she does all the meat cuttin’. And they always park their big mounts in the back to unload.”

Daniel nodded in understanding. “Okay. So all we'll need is a good spot to wait, and then a good opportunity to slip inside. And then… I guess we'll figure out the way out from there.”

“Sweet!” Leonard pumped his fist. “Slip in, grab the cash, slip out, profit!”

Daniel grabbed his tail tighter, looking to the side to hold in a smile and a giggle. “I guess.”

“Great! Well, here's the spot!” Leonard said, holding his arms out in a grand gesture. They were standing before a shop that could easily be recognized as a butchery, with many advertisements for various meats hanging in the windows. There was, as Leonard had previously mentioned, an emphasis on Hidden City seafood. In addition, there were ads for more exotic, hard to find forms of seafood. It was easy to assume that those were the kinds of things that required a late night exchange.

The storefront was closed, and there was a thin alley that allowed for access to the back. Leonard sidled into it, keeping his back braced to the store wall. Daniel, hesitantly, did the same.

The area behind the building was basically what Daniel expected. The space was pretty open, obviously to make space for any mounts or vehicles carrying heavy cargo. The back of the shop was nothing interesting, just a single door with a few steps in front of it. There weren't even any windows.

Leonard looked over at Daniel, waiting for him to speak. The yokai in question met his look with an exasperated one. “This isn't much to work with.”

“Well, it's what you got.”

“Do you know anything about the inside?”

“...it's a fish store. There's a door behind the desk that goes to the back.” Leonard pointed at the closed door. “That's the back.”

“Do you know what the back looks like?”

“I think there's, like, a table in there. I've never been in there before.”

“So you're useless. Great.”

“Hey, you didn't think I was useless when you asked me for help!”

Daniel was adequately silenced by the accusation.

He turned back to look at the space, noticing a small movement above. The movement got closer, forming into the shape of a large flying creature. It looked to be a dragon-like creature, though on the chubbier side, and seemed to be turning around in the air. Tailing behind it was a carriage, with the back corners being held up by two gargoyles. As the dragon turned and put the carriage facing where Daniel and Leonard were, it became obvious where they were landing.

Right behind the butchery.

The boys ducked down out of sight behind a trash can. The carriage landed slightly before the dragon, both with loud thuds. Daniel could feel the rumbling of the dragon's throat in his chest.

There was the sound of a latch opening in the carriage, and two tall, muscle-covered yokai, who had the features of bulldogs, came through the doors of the carriage. The gargoyles who were previously lifting the carriage flew inside the open doors. One of the bulldogs was wearing thick rubber gloves and carrying something. A strange chittering noise was coming from it.

The back door of the shop opened shortly after, and a bird yokai walked through. The bird was feminine, with bluish black and gray feathers and light blue eyes. Her hands and feet bore sharp talons. She wore black pants and a matching black jacket, with an apron hanging over her front.

The bird yokai looked mildly upset by what the taller bulldog yokai was holding. “What is that supposed to be?”

“Your catch,” the yokai grumbled, dropping what he had on the ground forcefully. The chittering became eerily childlike screaming.

On the ground, writhing from the force he had been dropped with, was a very small eel yokai. He looked so young, nearing infantile, and the sounds he was making were some strange mix of chittering and squealing. He was orange and a light teal, with freckles across his snout, spots on his body, and short, teal fins. Leonard and Daniel had to cover their mouths to keep from gasping and revealing their location.

“Can it,” the shorter bulldog growled, as he stomped on the eel's tail. The eel squeaked loudly from the impact, but his squealing quickly lessened to whimpering.

“This isn't what I sent you to get,” the bird yokai stated calmly. “I wanted three adults.”

“There were only two adults there,” the first bulldog grumbled, “and they put up more of a fight than you warned us about. Mari’s been knocked out for four hours. So give us our money.”

“Money?” The bird yokai laughed lightly. “That thing's a baby, it hardly even counts as one. I told you to get me three.”

“We risked our lives for this one, Koya!” The dog stepped forward, stepping on the eel's tail and making it scream again. “We aren't leaving until we get paid!”

The bird, Koya, tried to respond, but the eel kept screaming, slamming his fins against his attacker's foot. His screaming reached a peak, and a bright flash and loud zap emanated from him. When the light died down, the dog yokai was curled on the ground, and the eel was desperately pulling himself away, crying weakly.

Koya stepped up to the crying child and looked down on him scornfully. With hardly any effort, she reached down and grabbed the eel's tail, holding him up in the air. He had no more energy to fight, so he just dangled there like a wet rag, panting and shaking. Koya glared into him.

“You will get paid half,” she said to the yokai on the ground, not looking away from her prey. “500 unicorns, that's it. And you should thank me for being generous.”

The bird slowly walked into the building and to a tank filled with water, just barely visible from Daniel and Leonard's perspective, and dropped the eel in, watching it steadily drift to the bottom. His eyes were half lidded. She turned around and walked back out of the building, kicking the shaking bulldog still on the ground. “Get away from my shop before I change my mind.”

The second bulldog yokai helped the first stand up and walk back to their carriage. The gargoyles reemerged and the dragon flapped its wings, lifting the carriage into the sky and away. Leonard and Daniel made sure they hid completely. Only after the shop door shut behind Koya did Daniel realize.

“No!” He whispered, grabbing his ears. “We totally lost our shot!”

“‘Lost our shot’?!” Leonard hissed. “That's what you're worried about?”

“Well…” Daniel hesitated. “...yeah? You said-”

“Yeah yeah yeah, I said I'd help you out if you helped me, but there's bigger problems now!” Leonard started leaning around, searching for some other way to look inside. “This isn't just a freaky meat shop anymore, they're kidnapping people! We need to get that kid out.”

“Woah, that's way more complicated than just grabbing some money and leaving!” Daniel grabbed Leonard's shoulder to get his attention, earning a somewhat intimidating child's glare. Easily the scariest one he'd ever seen. “You said you'd help me if we could pull off a robbery, not a rescue mission.”

“Well, now I won't help unless we can pull off a rescue mission,” Leonard pressed snidely. “And if you don't help, I'll save him myself.”

Daniel scoffed at the disrespect. “You lied!”

“No I didn't! I just…” Leonard contemplated for a second, then sighed. “Things are different now. We can't just do nothing. That's a kid, he looked younger than us!”

Daniel shut his mouth to think. He needed Leonard's help to live on his own, but this was a big job. It would require making a whole new plan, and figuring out another way in.

“Please, Daniel.”

Something stirred.

“Fine,” Daniel conceded. “But only if you promise to help me regardless of if we actually save the kid or not.”

“Deal.” Leonard spat on his hand and held it out. Daniel stared.

“I'm not shaking your gross spit-covered hand.”

“You want me to be honest? This is me being honest.”

“You're being unsanitary.”

“Ugh, what is up with your-”

The sound of a door opening stopped their arguing abruptly, and Leonard grabbed Daniel to pull him back into their hiding place.

“EW!” Daniel screamed, as quietly as he could.

“Oh, get over it! I think you'd per-fer a little germs over getting tossed in a cage!”

“...it's pre-fer.”

“Ugh.”

Koya stepped out of the door again, holding a trash bag. She tossed it to the side of the door, on top of a couple others. She then re-entered the building, shutting the door behind her once more.

After a couple seconds had passed and the boys were sure the bird was gone, they crept out again. Looking at Leonard and feeling safe enough to stop whispering, Daniel said, “I trust your word this time. No need for gross spit pacts.”

“Basically just did one.” Leonard smirked.

“Nope, nuh-uh, not thinking about that,” Daniel said, wiping his arm clean and using just a little magic to be sure.

“Yeah, sure,” Leonard said, rolling his eyes. “You got a new plan?”

Daniel rubbed his chin in thought. “When does she usually get deliveries like this?”

“Every couple days, but she's stocked up good right now, so it'll probably be a while.”

“He might not have that long…”

“W-what?!”

“SHH!!” Daniel rushed to cover Leonard's mouth and push him further into hiding, glancing over his shoulder to make sure no one saw them.

“Sorry, sorry, what do you mean?” Leonard asked, lightly pushing Daniel off.

Sighing, Daniel loosened. “When I peeked at the inside, she had display tanks for live fish, and a separate display for dead fish.”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“Why do you think she has a separate tank in the back? With nothing in it? That tank is for the stuff that's about to be dead.”

Leonard looked almost offended. “You really think she's gonna kill him, just like that?”

“What else would she do? You do know that birds eat fish, right?”

“You think she's gonna eat him?”

“I don't know, maybe she owns a butcher shop!?”

Leonard backed up a bit. “You have a point.”

“Of course I do, I always do,” Daniel mumbled. “Whatever. Look, the point is, if that kid is going to stand a chance, we need to get into that place pronto. And, unless bird lady feels like taking out more trash, the backdoor isn't an option anymore.”

Leonard scrunched up his face uncomfortably, obviously trying to make him look like he was thinking more deeply than he truly was. “Maybe we could just… go through the front?”

“Oh yeah, go through the front,” Daniel said. “In case you've forgotten, the shop's closed. We can't get in until she opens up again in the morning.”

“We aren't supposed to get in…” Leonard said, walking around the building with Daniel close behind. “...but maybe we can!”

“I just-... I just said we couldn't. Are you- are you not listening to me?”

Leonard stepped out onto the sidewalk and stood proudly with his hands on his hips. “We just need a disjunction!”

“...distraction.”

“That's what I said!”

Daniel sighed and pressed his palm to his forehead, looking over at Leonard. “And just what did you have in mind, genius?”

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

“This is a horrible distraction.”

“You're just jealous that I came up with it and you didn't.”

“There is nothing to be jealous of! Why do you have a jar of bugs?!”

“They're not bugs, Danny-”

“Daniel.”

“-they're pixies. They wreck stuff for fun! All we have to do is wriggle through the window, hide in a corner, and let ‘em loose.” Leonard held up the jar of fidgeting fairies. It was nearly the size of his head, and the pixies within were buzzing around rapidly. There were maybe thirty in the jar, but it was hard to count with how fast they were moving.

“And just how did you come to have these pixies?” Daniel questioned.

Leonard moved the jar to hold it under his arm. “I caught them trashing my place. There were like, a ba-jillion of them then, but I was only able to catch these ones.”

“Don't most houses have anti-pixie protections? They shouldn't have been able to get in in the first place.”

Leonard scoffed, mumbling, “Maybe they wouldn't have if it was a house,” and walked up to the slightly ajar window. He obviously hadn't intended Daniel to hear, but with the rat’s keen ears, he did. A slight pang of guilt shocked Daniel's chest, but he did his best to brush it off.

Leonard pushed the window slightly further up, making a good enough opening. “It's a tight squeeze, so don't get your tail caught, street rat,” Leonard mocked as he lifted himself in through the window. It took some shimmying, but he was able to drop down on the tile floor inside with a quiet grunt, picking himself up with his arms.

“Okay, I deserved that.” Daniel hefted himself in the window as well, a little more gracefully. The inside of the shop was scarily silent, though sound could be heard from behind the back door. It sounded like Koya was cutting through something, her knife repeatedly hitting a cutting board. “Where are we hiding, Leonard?” Daniel whispered.

Leonard surveyed the room, his eyes landing on an empty shelf behind the counter. It was just big enough for both of the boys. “Let's go there, fast.” He ushered Daniel over to the spot, simultaneously starting to unscrew the lid of the jar. The pixies became more excited at the possibility of freedom, and were ready to cause problems.

Once Leonard was sure he and Daniel were properly hidden, he released the pixies. They quickly started filling the shop with pink light, knocking things over and attacking the dried meat still left on display. Daniel pulled Leonard further into the shelf instinctively as the noise in the shop became louder. The squeaking laughter of the pixies was grating on the ears.

The backdoor opened with a slam and Koya stepped through, holding a slightly bloodied knife in one hand. She squawked at the sight of the fairies trashing her store. “Wh- How did you get in?! OUT!” She started swinging her knife at the pixies in a fruitless attempt to cut them down. They only laughed louder and started pulling at her feathers.

Leonard and Daniel eyed the open door and looked at each other, nodding. Quickly but quietly, the pair slunk into the back, away from the aggressive bird.

Finally being able to see the entirety of the back room, they took note of the table to their left with meat piled on it. A small oil lamp sat on the corner, illuminating the space where Koya had been working before. With a tightness in their chests, they looked to the tank they'd seen before; sighing in relief.

The eel was still laying at the bottom of the tank. He only looked half awake. When he saw the strangers enter the room, he tried to push himself backward, accidentally pressing his injured tail against the wall and choking on a yelp. It was hard to tell if he had been crying due to a lack of tears, but his eyes looked irritated. He had at least been rubbing them.

Maybe he just wanted to stay awake.

Maybe he was scared he wouldn't wake up again.

Leonard grabbed a chair and pulled it to the side of the tank, using it to pull himself on the edge and look down at the frightened child. “Hi, little guy…” he whispered.

While Leonard spoke with the yokai, Daniel busied himself with making sure the backdoor was ready for them to rush out.

“We're here to get you out, buddy,” Leonard assured. He put his arm in the water, shivering from how cold it was compared to the outside. “J-just grab my arm, buddy, then I'll pull you out.”

“Be careful,” Daniel pressed, getting Leonard's attention. “You saw what he did to that big dude, imagine what he could do to you.”

“He won't, I know it.”

“How?”

Leonard looked back down into the frightened eyes of the eel, seeing all the innocence and fear in them. He was broken, both mentally and physically. He didn't have a clue what was happening.

“...I just do.”

Leonard reached his arm down further into the tank. The eel looked at his hand, examining every finger. After an endless stretch of maybe 10 seconds, he scooted forward slightly and swam up in the tank, flinching from the pain it caused in his tail. He reached out both fins to Leonard's hand-

-and grabbed on tightly, allowing himself to be lifted out.

He yelped as soon as he hit open air. Koya was still occupied, so it didn't really matter, but the pixies’ laughter was dying down. They needed to get out of there.

Leonard dropped off the chair and lowered the kid as slowly as he could, holding under his armpits. His tail hit the floor somewhat heavily, making him wrap his arms around Leonard and stuff his face into his shoulder to muffle a scream. “It's okay, it's okay, it's okay, we're getting you out, we're gonna keep you safe, just hold on,” Leonard consoled hurriedly.

Unfortunately, the kid was a little bigger than expected. He was thin, but his tail- while not adding to his height at all- made him a little heavier than Leonard could easily handle. Leonard tried to grab him where he assumed his waist was to get him into a princess carry, but his skin was too wet to properly grab.

Daniel was listening closely to the sound from the other room, keeping one eye on the door and one eye on Leonard scrambling. The struggle beyond the wall was nearly gone. “We need to move, now.”

Leonard grit his teeth. “Well, a little help would be nice!” He growled.

Daniel sighed, hurrying over to help lift the eel's other end. He had begun making those chittering sounds again. It sounded like he was trying to ask questions.

The boys finally got the eel off the ground and started moving to the exit.

“What do you think you're doing?”

Koya stood silhouetted by the doorway, the knife brandished in her hand. Her eyes held nothing but discontent. The boys stared, stunned in place.

“Let go of my PROPERTY!” Koya screamed, moving forward.

Both boys felt a surge of electricity through their arms. Not enough to knock them out, but just enough to send them falling backwards. The eel flopped to the floor between them, squealing and sobbing.

“Little freak,” Koya hissed, walking over with purpose and grabbing the eel's tail to dangle him above the floor again. “Thought you could call in some favors, did you?”

The eel yokai screamed.

“Let go of him!” Leonard pulled himself off the ground, still keeping a few feet of distance to stay away from the knife in the bird's hand. Daniel was still on the floor, shaking more from fear than the shock.

Koya laughed. “You don't have a clue what's going on, do you?” She clutched the tail tighter, grinning down at Leonard. “You're so cute. You don't even know who this kid is, and yet you're risking your life for him. You don't even have the common self preservation to run when you have the chance. Your rodent friend seems to understand how much danger you're in.”

Leonard looked at Daniel behind him, who looked ready to bolt.

“And you,” Koya said to the eel, holding the knife closer to him, “you will behave. You'll thank me for my generosity. I'm saving you from having to live that pitiful life with your pitiful-”

Ears rang with the strength of the blast.

A burst of electricity, blinding every soul in the room.

Emanating from the eel.

Once they were able to properly see again, Daniel and Leonard found Koya lying on the ground with her knife knocked just out of reach and the smallest flame on one of her feathers. The eel was laying on the ground again, close to motionless. He was breathing heavily, and his eyes were fighting to stay open. Mostly losing.

Leonard ran over to the kid. He grabbed his shoulders and tried to lift him up again. “You're gonna get out of here, okay? That was so cool! I can't wait to see what else you can do!”

The eel whimpered a little in response. Without him trying to help, he felt a lot heavier.

Daniel was still frozen. He couldn't bear the thought of moving any closer. Even though Leonard needed help. Even though the threat was on the ground, unconscious.

Not unconscious.

He watched as, unbeknownst to Leonard, the bird rose on her elbows. She shook as she reached out and grabbed her knife. She leaned over Leonard and held the knife high.

Something stirred.

Daniel ran to grab the lamp off the table.

“WATCH OUT!”

The glass of the lamp shattered as it slammed into Koya's shoulder. The small flame that had been on one of her feathers from the blast quickly caught the oil that spilled. She screamed as she tried to bat the fire out, but only caused it to spread.

Leonard was the one frozen in place now. Daniel, filled with adrenaline, slapped him on the shoulder to bring him back to the land of the living. With tight breath, Leonard picked up the eel in a princess carry like he'd been trying to before. Both boys, with their rescue, ran out the door to escape the spreading flames.

They didn't stop running until they were blocks away.

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

“He's still not waking up?”

“N-no,” Leonard wheezed, hefting the body in his arms up again. Their adrenaline had faded, and it was becoming increasingly harder to hold him up. “B-but my place isn't too far! We can lay him down when we get there.”

“Let me,” Daniel said, gesturing for Leonard to put the eel down, to which he gladly complied. Sighing, Daniel conjured the magic within him to lift the eel above the ground.

“Woah…” Leonard stared in awe. “But, didn't you say-”

“-that I didn't want to use my magic anymore, to prove I could live without it?”

“...yeah?”

“This isn't for me.” Daniel smiled at the boy floating in front of them. “It's for him.” His smile dropped a bit as he glanced to the side, mumbling, “And you too, I guess. Cause you clearly couldn't carry him anymore.”

“I coulda!” Leonard refuted, before dropping into a calmer state again. “But… thank you.”

Daniel just smiled. He kept a close pace behind Leonard as he directed Daniel to his place. Apparently, this “place” was a garage. Leonard had to put a lot of effort into lifting the large door open, but he did, and he let Daniel pass with the eel. When Daniel got inside, he was genuinely a bit shocked by what he found.

The garage was dark until Leonard pressed a button on the floor. The button was attached to a string of fairy lights that were strung all around the room. Leonard ran around the garage, flicking on lamps and other small lights. He was climbing over pillows, blankets, and avoided running into a sofa that sat just to the side of the center of the room. There was a cooler to the right, plastic battered and broken in spots, but still effective. To the left, on a rug, piles of paper and pencils. Most of the paper was just crinkled posters, flipped to the back so they could be written on.

In the back of the garage, there was a metal tub. On the side, an embossed design of a pumpkin surrounded by three apples. Sitting beside it were two buckets.

“Can we put him in that tub?” Daniel asked as Leonard flicked on the last lamp. “It might help him heal faster.”

“Oh, uh,” Leonard looked back at the tub. “I should probably change the water first. I used it a couple days ago.”

“How long will that take?”

“Ehhhh, five minutes?” Leonard held his hand out in a shaky gesture. “I have to go out to the fountain, cause all the other water nearby is nasty.”

“Try to go fast. We don't know if he's okay to stay out of water for long,” Daniel said as he laid the eel on the sofa.

“Got it!” Leonard ran and grabbed the buckets by the tub, lifted the garage door again and ran out with a bucket in either hand.

Seeing nothing better to do, Daniel sat up on the sofa with the eel. To fit nicely, he had to lay the boy's head on his lap. He noted then that the eel was shivering a bit, his face scrunched up and jaw grinding. Daniel placed one hand on the eel's chest, and used the other to rub his head. He lightly pushed the teal fin on top to the side, and the eel started to relax. He unconsciously rolled his head so he could rest against Daniel's stomach.

“...you're going be okay. I promise. Me and Leonard are going to take care of you. We're going to make sure you get better. Then we'll figure out where you came from and bring you home.”

He sat and comforted the eel until Leonard came back, signaled by a knock on the metal garage door. Daniel gently slipped out from under the eel and helped hold the door open while Leonard brought the buckets in, full of water. Leonard tipped the tub over, emptying it of all the old water as it drained into the grate in the center of the garage. Daniel found it interesting how perfectly everything was arranged in the room, making sure nothing got wet when the tub was drained.

After Leonard tipped the tub back upright, he emptied both buckets into it. “Do you think it should be hot?” He asked Daniel.

Daniel thought for a moment. “Lukewarm, just a little. He's cold now, and we don't want to hurt him or shock him with hot water.”

“Lukewarm,” Leonard confirmed, getting a nod. “I can do that. Give me a second-” Leonard reached into a bag that was sitting near the wall, pulling out an orange and red mushroom. Daniel felt the mystic energy from it immediately.

Leonard dropped the mushroom into the tub, and it started to glow and dissolve. Daniel looked with a curious expression, which Leonard noticed. “I found a patch a couple months ago where they grow,” he explained. “They make water warm. I usually use a couple when I want a warm bath, so just one should do the trick.”

“...cool,” Daniel whispered as he watched the glow fade, the mushroom fully dissolving. Remembering who it was for, he reached into the tub to check that the temperature was good and used his magic again to lift the eel over to the tub, slowly lowering him in.

“...cool,” Leonard mirrored, watching the sparkles of Daniel's magic dissipate.

“He should be okay to leave there,” Daniel spoke. “He was breathing the water before, so we don't need to worry about keeping his head up. We should keep an eye on him, though. Try to be here when he wakes up, so he knows what's going on.”

Leonard smiled. “Sounds good to me. You can take the couch, I'll be on fish duty.” He started gathering blankets and pillows to put next to the tub. “It's late anyway, so we should sleep.”

“W-well, I-” Daniel hesitated. He didn't want to leave the kid alone, even if he was with Leonard. He wanted to make sure he would be okay, with his own eyes. “-I don't think I can trust you with making sure he's taken care of properly when he wakes. I have to be on fish duty.”

Leonard snorted, seeing through Daniel's excuse. “Alright, how bout we both do fish duty. Your loss on the couch, though, it's really comfy.”

“Yeah, sure,” Daniel said, grabbing some pillows before stopping and looking up at Leonard wide eyed. “Uhm, is it okay if I grab these?” he asked shakily.

“Grab whatever you want,” Leonard chuckled. “Just don't touch the food or the paper. And make sure you set up on this side. In case you didn't notice, that part of the floor is still wet.”

Daniel nodded, grabbing what he could and avoiding the wet spot on the ground. He ended up right next to Leonard, laying on some discarded decorative pillows and a blanket with a clumpy, itchy texture. He hadn't seen anything better, but he was hating the way the blanket grabbed on his fur.

Leonard watched him uncomfortably try to settle before speaking. “Hey, how about you grab that blue bag over there? It's got some mouthwash and water bottles in it. You can go outside and spit it out in the alleyway. And… I dunno, pee probably, cause I don't want you peeing on my stuff in your sleep.”

“Wh- I wouldn't pee on your stuff!” Daniel sat up and walked over to the blue bag Leonard had mentioned. “But I will do as you said, for the sake of sanitation.”

“Thanks,” Leonard said as Daniel went out. Without an audience, he walked around turning off lights, grabbing a small battery powered lamp to keep by the tub.

He leaned over the tub. It was hard to see inside it, but he could still make out the shape of the eel. The eel that they had saved. No- the boy they had saved. The boy who almost had his life put in danger, that he and Daniel had saved.

Daniel had saved Leonard's life too.

Putting one hand into the water to rub the eel's head, Leonard whispered, “You're going to be okay. Whenever you wake up, I'm gonna be here for you.” He paused, thinking, then continued. “Danny's gonna be here for you, too. We'll make sure you're loved, and safe, and you can do whatever you want with your life. I promise.”

Leonard laid back down, tucking himself in. And if he had switched his own comfortable blanket for a clumpy, itchy one, no one would complain.

○●○●○●○

Spoiler warnings: kidnapping, black market trade, dehumanization

This fic will (hopefully) be the first of many. I've had many ideas for the Mud Dogz, as well as other new characters for them to meet! I hope that you will stick around to see everything these funny little guys will get up to. :)

#tmnt #tmnt au #rottmnt #tmnt fanfiction #teenage mutant ninja turtles #save rottmnt #unpause rottmnt #mud dogs #loathsome leonard #malicious mickey #dastardly danny #fanfiction #fanfic #twig writes #mud dogz au

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minhosimthings · 11 months ago

Text

Hold me Without Hurting me

Chapter 14: Hibiscus and Holding on

A/N: In which an old friend fills your life with flowers again, along a bumpy sided road.

Pairings: Ceo!Jay × Ceo!fem!reader, includes rest of Enhypen and certain other groups

Warnings: angst-fluff, hurt/comfort, friends to enemies to fake dating to enemies to lovers, Mentions of food and alcohol, swearing, nothing much but it's a bumpy story.

Story prompt: If I had a flower for every time I fell in love with you, I would walk in my garden forever. (This story is based on the language of flowers.)

A/N: Oh my god what! Mona posting two chapters in one day? It's a Christmas miracle. But real guys this is the second last chapter before the big ending and ITS GONNA BE LIT. im gonna go slow with the last chapter, make it as poetic as possible, so that these two idiots finally get a happy (sappy) ending. Also tagging @yunabi436 I hope this keeps her fed for a few days until the last chapter!

SERIES MASTERLIST

Jungwon was never one for relationships and love and all that jazz. Although his mother constantly pestered him to get a wife and give her some grandkids, he never took interest in it. After all, he was young, younger than his boss, whom he had never seen with another man wraped around her arm.

But Park Jay was different.

Although Jungwon didn't know his boss that well, he knew that she was a no nonsense woman who liked to get her job done on time. So when he saw her excitedly narrating her tales of her Jay and her played in the mud and planted flowers, he knew that this was something special, along with Jay's own assistant Kayla of course.

"Promise you'll call?" Kayla said, giving a small peck to Jungwon's cheek. Jungwon smiled down at her frame, and caressed her cheek. "I'll try to get a transfer here, alright?"

"Why is Miss Yang leaving so soon anyway?" Kayla questioned, still holding onto her lover, "I thought Mr Park were the full lovey dovey couple." Jungwon chuckled at his girlfriend's words and shrugged his shoulders. "Don't know much about that." He stated, hearing you call for him, "I love you babe, I'll call you when I get back." With a tight squeeze of her hands and a kiss to her lips, Jungwon scampered away, suitcase in hand, and a sad frown on his face.

"Congratulations Mr Park." A dreary faced man, with an awful moustache have a key to Jay, "You have earned this." Jay's hands trembled as he took the key and opened a mighty metal safe. Everything felt cold, his mother's stare, the lawyer's smirk, the metal of the key and the ringing noise in his ears. The wilted hibiscus in the corner begging for water, reminded him of your cold stare, as he shook hands with all the Ceo's, thanking them for coming to the meetings. Your hands didn't have that touch anymore, that cotton touch reminding him of why he still pestered on with life. And now, you were gone.

"Leave us." Jay commanded to the lawyer, who scampered away like a rat, leaving Jay and his mother alone.

"Why?" Jay slammed his hand on the table, making the old woman clutch her pearls tighter, "Tell me why the fuck you had to drive her away."

"She was ruining you." The woman spoke, her tone high and commanding, "Jay, this is your entire future, you can't risk it all for a girl you fell in love with fifteen years ago."

"I loved her!" Jay shouted, his voice echoing throughout the room, "And you just had to make history repeat, didn't you? Driving me away from her again and again, so that this stupid buisness can thrive." The woman clutched her pearls tighter, furrowing her eyebrows.

"Son, look on the bright side." She sighed, "You can expand the buisness now with these papers!" She looked at all the documents strewn on the table, "You can build an empire, Jay."

Jay had never felt angrier before, as he looked at his mother, greedily eyeing the papers. He would have drunk a snake's venom right now, if it meant having your hand twist in his, if it meant having to see you again, daintily flowing in a mud caked sundress, if it meant telling you, about all the times he had experienced death, thinking about you.

"You know what, mum?" He scoffed, putting the key in his hand down, "You're fired, from now on, you are excused from your position as my Chief of Management. You may leave now."

The old woman let out a pained cry, her face forming something akin to shock. "Jay, sweetheart-" "Leave mother." Jay glared daggers at the woman, "No more excuses from you. My lawyer shall be contacting you in a few days about your position from now on. You're excused."

As the woman got up slowly from her seat, pearls on the verge of breaking from how tightly she was holding them. Her face was a disgusting painting of horror and pain.

"I'll tell you this Jay." She said, before leaving, "Don't come scampering back when that girl ruins your chances of capital."

"Oh I'll take that chance." Jay spat his words with sweet venom laced in between.

He had one last chance.

And he wasn't going to waste it.

"Ma'am?" Jungwon wrapped his head around your door, frowning at the sight which beheld him. Your head was held in your hands, as you stared at all the papers in front of you.

"Yes Jungwon?" You cleared your throat, quickly sitting up straight and wiping the tears from your eyes, "Are those the reports for today?"

Jungwon nodded and sat down on the chair opposite you, an action quite unusual, as he usually just deposited the files and ran away. "Ma'am you need to stop working so hard." Jungwon's lips formed into an adorable pout, "You haven't even eaten a morsel in so many days."

You tried your hardest to smile up at Jungwon, and ran a hand through your hair. "I'm alright Jungwon, just hand me those reports."

"No you're not." Jungwon stated simply, as if to take control of the conversation.

"Ma'am no matter how much you try to distract yourself from Mr Park, it's not going to work, and especially not if you keep drowing yourself in work like this." You were taken aback at his words. What happened to the shy, nervous assistant you had been hanging out with for so long?

"I know I'm not supposed to butt into your personal life, but it is really taking a toll on your health too." Jungwon sighed, "So please, for God's sake, would you go home and rest for once?"

Jungwon's ears had turned hibiscus red by the time he finished with his impromptu speech. The confident mask he had once worn seemed to have deteriorated now, that he was fiddling his fingers and nervously biting his lips.

"I forgot how convincing you can be." You chuckled, easing his nerves a bit, "If I go home and rest for a few days, can I trust you to manage the office, Jungwon?" Jungwon's face lit up and he nodded frantically.

"I will literally do anything for you to go home and rest." He giggled, as you quickly packed up your things with his help.

"Thank you Jungwon." You sighed, as he dropped you off at the entrance of the building, "I don't know what I'd do without you."

The warm touch of the water hit your skin like a blanket enveloping you on Christmas night. When all were asleep, and you just couldn't bring yourself to drowse off, until a boy wrapped you all comfy in his arms, and cradled you to sleep, humming a song into your ear.

You had forgotten how cold the evening was, as you wrapped yourself tightly in your bathrobe, glass of wine all prepared and your cat Perry, lazily dropped on your bed, hid whiskers untamed.

Seven pm, the clock read. Still enough time to make dinner, you thought and relax to watch a sad Disney movie. Maybe you'd watch Up or The Good Dinosaur, you didn't really have a choice.

Outside your window, the winds of Zephyrus, Notus, Boreas and Eurus ran through time like an expatriate, leaving your lips cold and dry, without the touch of someone else's on them. Someone very specific.

The sudden sound of your cat leaping off of the bed, broke you out of your deep thought.

"Why do you sit on my phone, if you know it scares you, you stupid cat?" You rolled your eyes at your cat, who by now, had rested himself on the bedside table, and picked up your phone, which showed Jungwon's caller id.

"Won hey. Is everything alright?" You said, picking up the phone. "Yes ma'am.... And also no ma'am." Jungwon's voice rang in your ear. "What do you mean?"

"Mr Park has just landed in Seoul."

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noforkingclue · 1 year ago

Text

Right, so, here are my opinions from yesterdays episode of Doctor Who.

Warning: if you click 'read more' you will be seeing spoilers for the 60th anniversary special. I will also be tagging this with 'Doctor Who spoilers' so read at your own risk.

Also, these are just my opinions. Everyone has different opinions (the world would be a very boring place if everyone agreed all the time) so please be respectful to my opinions.

Anyway, on with my thoughts!

So, I have mixed opinions on this episode. There were certain things I really like and certain things I really didn't.

First thing I didn't like was the MCU style opening. I really hope that this is just something for the 60th specials and not something they're going to keep in the main series.

I did like most of the script and most of it felt like Doctor Who was back on form. However, you could really tell that the production value has gone up and where all that Disney money has gone. There's also a lot more CGI and it is starting to feel more MCU-y which I hope they tone down.

The elements of the script that I like was mainly with Donna. I love how she defended her daughter and when she had a go at the Doctor when she re-gained her memories. I also love the relationship between her and Shaun. They have a trust and love for each other which is very clear and I adore it!!!

Now then, here were things that I didn't like. I felt that the scene with the pronouns was a bit cringe and felt very forced. I also didn't like the bit where Donna and Rose said that the Doctor should've remained a woman and that he wouldn't understand because he's now a man, completely ignoring the fact that he was a woman.

There are a lot of things the I hope RTD will expand in the other two episodes. So while not my favourite episode ever it's also not my least favourite.

#doctor who #doctor who spoilers

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voxofthevoid · 6 months ago

Note

Re: the person who had a hissy fit about your fic on AO3 not having the tags they wanted... these people DO understand that tags are a courtesy, right? Like, you don't HAVE to tag anything at all. It's a COURTESY that writers tag as much as they do, and if there's something that the reader is particularly bothered by, even if it isn't explicitly tagged for, then assume it has it! Don't assume it's safe!

VERY GOOD QUESTION!

Honestly, no, I don't think they understand. Or bother to. I'm not expecting anyone to memorize the ToS, but it'd sure be nice if people would at least check the tagging FAQ before showing their entire unwashed ass in the comment section. To be clear, I'm talking about entitled demands and other nonsense, including weird guilt-tripping bullshit and attempts at peer pressure. Polite requests and dialogue are encouraged by the archive itself, though individual mileage may vary.

A general rundown, not directed at anon but for those unfamiliar with Ao3's content policy: The archive leaves damn near everything to author discretion. Some things are mandatory, like accurate language, fandom tag, rating, and main warnings—the latter two, however, can be opted out of via "Not Rated" and "Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings," respectively. Even if you make a mistake in these, Ao3 will contact you first, and if you don't respond, they may recategorize or hide a work; they have specific policies for this too, which can be found in the FAQ linked above. Point is, the entire Additional Tags field is optional. So are the character, relationship, etc. fields. You are fully allowed to tag as much or as little as you want.

From the reader end, a lack of information is also information; it lets you know what the author is willing to tell you before you enter a story. If, for instance, you want to avoid all underage fics, don't touch stories tagged with "Underage" or "Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings."

I'm fond of extensive tag usage, but it's this freedom to tag how you want that I value more. It accommodates all kinds of writers and readers: the minimalists and the ramblers, the risk-takers and the cautious. Both what's there and what's not there are telling. Having preferences for how tags work is one thing, but dear god, the entitlement you see these days is something else.

The reason I switched to using Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings was that I kept seeing people say that writers using "Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings" for stories regardless of the content was denying them fics they had a right to. Fucking fuck that. I stopped tagging top/bottom for a similar reason, though connected directly to hypocrisy rather than entitlement alone.

What I've been seeing, both in my comments and in general fandom spaces, is an increasing number of people who want their specific tagging tastes or expectations to be followed by all writers. The writers' own choices don't matter; it's all about catering to some rando without the manners god gave an algae.

The most egregious instance of it I've experienced was on a recent fic where I went out of my way to explain the sexual and romantic split in an unbalanced poly ship and still got people bitching (among other things) that they couldn't be arsed to expand a drop-down tag in the author's notes.

It's like the more you try to accommodate people, the more entitled they get. I used to add tags or even tweak bits of phrasing to make my readers as comfortable as possible. All that got me was increasing demands and entitlement. I've seen others share similar experiences. I take it as a learning experience in establishing and enforcing my own tagging habits and boundaries, but the entire atmosphere pisses me off.

The vast majority of readers are perfectly nice and polite. The minority comprised of pissrags are, however, loud and prone to ruining fandom as a whole. I'd say we're seeing the effects at the pan-fandom level right now, judging by fandom spaces I frequent.

...This got obscenely long. Oops. Sorry, anon! I've been pent up about this recently.

#i love my anons #anon #vox has opinions #was gonna answer the other asks too but gotta scram now

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annaraebananawriter · 2 years ago

Note

"We just can't seem to get it right, huh?" With Dream and Nightmare? Maybe after some kind of truce and they had a fight?

Oooh, how I love writing Dream and Nightmare having a fight and then making up afterward. Even though my skills for writing dialogue in arguments are still rusty and generally not the greatest, in my opinion.

This got a little long, and that's my bad. But I had lots of fun writing it, and I hope you have lots of fun reading it!

Small warning for smoking and some implied self-hate.

That said, happy reading! Prompt is italicized.

~oOo~

Dream sat on the curb of a random street in a generally negative AU. The despondence in the air weakened him just enough that he didn't have the power to summon his own portal. He was definitely late for dinner.

Sighing, he took a drag of his cigarette and stared into the concrete at his feet.

Usually, he stayed clear of negative AUs. He didn't want to risk being stranded there until Ink realized where he was and took him home or his brother's gang found him and thought he was intruding. Fighting was a necessity, not a want. Even now, after the truce, he still tended to stick to his regular AUs, helping the people there until he couldn't anymore. Then, he would sleep, if he felt like it, for a few hours and repeat it all in the morning.

It was his way of spreading positivity, the way he was used to. Nightmare, upon learning this, had frowned and seemed frustrated at something, but otherwise left it alone.

Until earlier.

He had just been hanging out with Nightmare. Part of the truce was an agreement they made to try and understand each other's jobs, and the way they did their duty. Dream tagged along on some of Nightmare's routines, and vice versa. Sure, the negativity or positive made their magic weaker, relying on the other for transportation, but physically they were fine.

Today was a Nightmare day--or night. His brother tended to work at night, drawn to those having bad dreams or bad thoughts or things similar. He heightened the emotions closest to the surface and kept an eye on things.

Dream usually hung back and watched silently. Not today.

They had been by a kid's house, whose dream was just on the edge of turning into a nightmare. He watched from the window as Nightmare expanded the drop of fear into something more, watched the kid start to turn and whimper. His brother appeared beside him not long after and they both stood there for a moment.

Fidgeting with his fingers, Dream found himself talking before he really knew what he was going to say. "Are you sure you need to do it this way?"

Almost immediately, he inwardly cringed, tensing up for the coming response.

Nightmare's gaze turned to him. "Do what this way?"

Dream had shifted in place, uncomfortable. "Well, you know...spread negativity, I guess. Do you have to do it this way? It just seems..."

Nightmare still stared at him, almost daring him to complete his sentence.

"...cruel?" Dream's voice lowered, bordering on a whisper. It almost feels like saying something taboo, he thought.

"Why would it be cruel?" His brother's voice was clipped.

"I just mean--"

"I know what you mean," his brother had said, icy, turning to walk away. Dream hurried to follow. "I had thought we were past this, Dream."

"We are. I honestly didn't mean it that way. I just--"

"What other way is there? For kids, nightmares are a sure way they learn what to fear. At the same time, it creates a memory for them with their parents or guardians or siblings, good or bad. It helps them."

"Yes, I know."

"Do you?" Nightmare stopped at the end of the block. "Do you? I think you still have a bias about what is good and what is bad. You agreed to not let this bias control your actions."

"I am not."

"Aren't you?"

Dream floundered for something to say, understanding he upset his brother and wanting to make things right. "I...I do not think so, no. I had simply meant that I don't see the need for scaring a child into submission." He remembered something one of the villagers used to say, repeating it absently. "Negativity is not something to be pushed or heeded, simply something to be controlled and rid of."

A beat of silence passed.

Nightmare straightened, smiling bitterly. "Funny. That sounds exactly like something the villagers that beat me used to say." He ignored Dream's flinch away, turning. "You claim to be learning and go and say things like that."

Dream stood frozen for a moment. "Night, I--"

Nightmare held up his hand. "If you want to be rid of me, you just had to ask." Then, Nightmare slipped into the shadows and vanished from the AU. Dream stood there alone, hand half-outstretched.

The position reminded him of someplace else. He hastily shoved his hand into his pocket.

In the present, he took another drag of his cigarette.

He can see that he said all of the wrong things. That's easy to understand. It's also easy to understand why Nightmare got so defensive over what he did. He is not angry over that. He is mostly angry at himself and his stupid beliefs that he can't seem to shake. Why must he always see things through a black-and-white lens? Even Ink and Blue are far better at being open-minded than he is. Is there just something wrong with him?

A guardian should be mindful and respect their opposites, he reminded himself. And yet, when had he done that? He's failed at the simplest thing of being a guardian.

(Just like everything else in his life.)

It was probably for the best that Nightmare left him here before things escalated even more.

And yet, just as he finished the thought, someone sat beside him. Nightmare gazed out across the street, stoic. Dream watched him anxiously, an apology running circles in his mind. Just as he managed to get it down to his mouth, Nightmare spoke.

"We just can't seem to get it right, huh?" he said, holding his hand out as he turned to him. Dream stared for a moment, not getting it.

Nightmare sighed, plucking the smoke out of his fingers to take a drag himself.

"What do you mean?" Dream asked, tugging his knees to his chest.

"We seem to always argue, even when we don't mean to." Nightmare said, taking another drag. "I apologize for leaving you here. I just had to cool down for a moment. And I already know you're sorry, the guilt is practically dripping off you, so shut your mouth."

Dream sighed, ignoring him. "I'm sorry for what I said."

Nightmare groaned. "Did you not hear me? I said to shut your mouth. I already forgive you." He fell silent.

Dream looked away. "I..." He struggled for the right words. "I think...I think I've been taught that negativity is akin to a sin, something to atone for should you indulge in it. I am truly trying to understand that that is wrong, but..."

"You haven't had five hundred years to unlearn everything," Nightmare finished, saying what he was hesitant to. "I know. And it might be overdue, but I'm sorry for that." He seemed genuinely sad as he said it.

"It's not your fault."

"Isn't it?"

Dream frowned, turning bitter. "No. If anything, the villagers should be to blame." Something in his soul instantly tried to protest, still clinging to the belief that they were once friends. He shook it away.

Nightmare hummed. And Dream must really be getting sleep-deprived because he could've sworn he felt a prick of pride from his brother for saying such words. "I suppose you're right, brother." Taking one more drag, he held it out for Dream to take. "They were really shitty people, weren't they?"

With a heavy soul that felt ten times lighter from the simple act of Nightmare calling him his brother, Dream let himself smile. "They were. They really were." He took the cigarette and took the last drag, stamping it out with his foot.

They watched the stars together for the rest of the night.

#my writing #ask #ask prompt #fanfic #drabble #prompt #utmv #dreamtale #dream sans #nightmare sans #undertale #tw smoking #tw self-hate

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yet-another-heathen · 1 year ago

Text

Separation

1,483 words. Original Work: Liliholm & Page.

<< | previous | next | >>

Author's Note | This is the re-penned version of everyone's favorite Liliholm and Page chapter! Since originally writing this, Luca and Garcia have evolved so, so far into their own characters and their own story arcs, and I wanted to go back to have this chapter actually reflect that. I hope you enjoy getting your first glimpse at them, there's more to come soon!

Want to see the original version? You can still find it (and all the beloved comments and replies) here <3

Chapter Warning | interrogation, torture, stress position, suffocation, head trauma, loss of conciousness, dislocation, knives, blood, cursing

Tag List | @ink-and-salt @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @whumpvp @redwingedwhump @lave-whump @castlehillwhump @sideblogformindtrash @burtlederp @fanastywhump

And special thanks to @whump-in-the-closet, who found this series the very day that the update was set to post <3 Hope you enjoy!

"I'm going to give you exactly one chance, Deimos," they said calmly, lifting his chin with the tip of their shoe. Wesley's entire body was trembling with strain and desperate agony, "What did you do with the files?"

He had been interrogated before. Tortured a handful of times, too—so came the risks of sticking his nose into places he knew he shouldn't. But this?

They tsked down at him.

This was brutal.

The ropes tightened again, and a groan of pain clawed its way out. It felt like every muscle in his chest was about to tear. It ended with an ugly, bitter laugh.

"You know, you'd be a lot more intimidating if you weren't all of five foot fucking nothing," he rasped, trying to relax into the oncoming waves of pain, "At least that brute is imposing, even if he's got all the brains of a meatloaf."

"Hm."

They let their shoe fall away, and Wes' head slumped. Out of the very corner of his eye he saw them nod to the other interrogator.

The mountain of a man who had been looming in the corner walked up behind him and pulled the restraints further up his arms, lifting them impossibly higher behind his back. He increased the pressure until his shoulders were on the verge of dislocating. His breaths came ragged and shallow through his nose, and he couldn't help but let out a gasp as he pressed his forehead against the ground.

And this time, the biting weight of a hard rubber sole pressed into the nape of his neck, tearing at the hairs. Luca's weight crushed his forehead down into the concrete as they ground their foot into the back of his skull.

Wes opened his mouth to gasp, but no air filled his lungs. Something about the angle had cut off his breathing, and the pressure just kept increasing and increasing—

"He thinks he's cute, doesn't he? Garcia, you think he's cute?"

Wes' diaphragm started seizing, stabbing pain jerking through his ribs when his lungs refused to expand.

"Maybe before you started making such a mess of him. Now? Not so much."

His consciousness slipped along the edges of their minds, searching for cracks, but it was like trying to hold onto a glass sphere covered in soap. All he could think about was his diaphragm, and the burning of air that wouldn’t come.

Darkness began encroaching on his vision. The figures above him exchanged something that he entirely missed, but the shoe and all Luca's weight still didn't move.

His body started jerking, fingers clawing into the empty air behind him as desperation finally took control of his movements.

He couldn't breathe he couldn't breathe he couldn't breathe—

The shoe slid down his spine, catching agonizingly on his skin until it threatened to rip. And with one final, tiny push, his shoulder left its socket. A lurching POP rent the air.

Darkness became white, and everything fizzled out into agony.

When the room came swimming back into focus he realized his teeth were vibrating with bitten-back sobs of pain. He dragged in wet, rasping breaths through his teeth. The fine grit covering the floor was sharp against his cheek.

Luca was a few feet away from him with their back turned, the dull echo of voices shifting under the void of his thoughts. Pain rang up his arm, down his back, and so deep into his chest it felt like something was trying to crush his heart.

Wes curled one lip and spat a mass of blood and spit on the floor, trying in vain to lift his weight off his injured arm.

Voices came back in slowly, muffled and too loud all at once.

"—like this."

They turned around, and Wes tilted his head back to see what they were holding in their hand.

A kitchen knife. A really fucking big one, glinting as it caught the harsh light from above.

...of course.

They handled it so casually, twirling it loosely by the hilt. "I've always appreciated the simplicity of household implements," they said to their coworker over his head.

"Almost poetic, in't it?" Garcia's deep, gravely voice replied, "After all, it's still all just gristle and meat."

Wes felt his heart pick up, pounding in his ears and throat. They knelt down beside him, looking him over with a hollow smirk.

"Make sure you hold his head up. I want to watch his face."

A huge, thick hand tangled in his hair and wrenched his head upward, exposing the bare curve of his throat. But it wasn't his neck they went for, they were leaning over him and—

His eyes went wide, only moments before the tip of the blade stabbed downward through his skin. He jerked and hissed, trying to lean away.

The knife dug slowly, so so so slowly, into the bent mass of his shoulder where the joint had been separated from its socket.

It took every single ounce of his resolve not to scream. The horrible, horrible pressure of the blade digging in between cartilage and bone made his face pale, nausea rising in his mouth.

He felt the grating echo through his entire body as the knife scraped along bone, inside him, like an ice pick wedging between his teeth.

The sound that left him was inhuman. Low and bitten back and so deep with agony that it scarcely counted as breathing.

"Hm. Tough crowd," the big one teased.

And it finally ripped a frantic cry out of him as the flat side of the blade tilted downward, prying the bones apart.

Nausea rose to an unbearable limit, and blackness overcame his mind.

When he came to he was slumped with almost all of his weight in Garcia's hand, neck bent backwards at a painful angle. Sticky heat was pouring down his chest and dripping to his thighs. It took him a long moment to realize that it was blood. A lot of blood.

His body was jolting with hiccupping little half-sobs, breaths coming so shallow that he wasn't truly breathing at all. He squeezed his eyes shut, fighting back against the unbearable pain that sent little floating wells of black across his vision.

Luca wiped the blade clean on Wes' trembling arm, squatting so close to him that it made him sick.

"Reconsidering your position yet?"

Wes recoiled, surprising himself when a little surge of anger split through the fog of pain. He gathered himself to spit a mouthful of blood at them. He stopped short only when the tip of the knife pressed against his lips.

"I wouldn't do that, if I were you," they said quietly.

Wes glared at the blur of them, entire body trembling with exhaustion and strain. The unspoken threat made his blood boil.

"Go fuck yourself," he snarled, ignoring the way the cutting edge tugged at his lower lip.

He reached for his powers, and threw everything he had at them. They almost dropped the knife when the sound hit, eyes flying wide with shock and pain as they gasped and covered their ears against the raging scream of noise only they could hear.

"Garcia!"

And Wesley's head was slammed into the concrete floor. His attack was immediately cut off, gold blooming behind his eyes from the ferocity of the blow. He felt his hair ripped upward, ready to slam him down again—

Luca barely stopped Garcia from simply cracking his skull open on the concrete. This time when they seized Wes by the chin, their nails dug in. Every ounce of amusement was gone from their eyes.

"You little shit," their voice was scathing, "The next time you pull that stunt, I'm going to peel off your face, piece by pitiful little piece, and feed it to you."

Wes wanted to snarl something clever at them, but his brain was having a difficult time staying any form of coherent. His ears rang. Everything was swimming, the walls seeming to zoom out around the edges of their silhouette.

That wasn't good. That really wasn't good.

It didn't stop him from spitting that dark spray of blood directly into their face. Red and clotted black splattered across pale skin.

No matter what they did to him for it, Wes decided then and there that the look of shock and disgust on their face was worth it.

They slowly wiped a hand down their cheek, a cold mask slipping over their expression. Then they sighed.

"Well, I did warn him."

They leaned forward again, knife breaking the skin just above Wes' other shoulder, only to stop at the sound of approaching footsteps and muffled words from the other side of the door.

"Ah, now the show's starting."

Despite so much blood, despite the arm loose from its socket, despite the fact that he was trembling from head to toe and very, very much in pain, Wes growled at them, "I'm not fucking scared of you."

He startled when both of his interrogators laughed. The door lock snapped in its casing, heavy hinges creaking as it was pushed open and the sallow light from the hallway poured in.

"Oh, I'm not the one you have to worry about."

They casually flicked the tip of their blade toward the thin, frail-looking old man that entered the doorway, wiping his hands clean.

"He is."

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undercityrezident · 27 days ago

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The Pristine Cut is Fantastic!

I'm not going to spoil anything by writing one of my trademark overly-lengthy in-depth reviews on Slay the Princess' The Pristine Cut expansion (though I hesitate to call it such because I do believe all these additions were something intended for the game from the start, but were not included for various logistical reasons--oh and it's free for anyone who already owns the game!) because I'll have to talk about the plot. And considering the nature of the game and how intrinsic and crucial the story experience is to it, I don't want to risk spoiling anyone on it, even with proper tags and what have you. Even people not aware of this game and its tags should have the chance to go into it completely blind.

But trust me when I say that, even after having played this game back in January, these new additions flesh out this game ever deeper, add more great scenarios that will make you laugh, cry, fist-pump excitedly, and question your sanity.

Masterful music, voice-work, artwork, and writing are still on proud display in this game, maintaining and even raising the standards set by the game's original version. I also managed to preserve the experience of seeing many of the new animations, redesigns, and writing additions made for a few existing parts of the game introduced by patches prior to The Pristine Cut for this particular jaunt back into the Slay the Princess universe. I have to say I'm glad I did hold out for The Pristine Cut. While I was sorely tempted to check these updates out, getting to see and hear it all in one thrilling experience was worth the wait.

While I don't know if there's any further intended additions to come for Slay the Princess, I can certainly say, having played it extensively over the past few days, I believe this is the best and most definitive edition of the game so far.

Anyone who has played and enjoyed the game already should dine well on this game's expanded scope. And newcomers, if you're able to take on the many, many trigger warnings for the game, should be in for a great first-timer's treat!

If you have the chance, I highly recommend playing this game.

But if you do, remember:

#Slay the Princess #The Pristine Cut #STP #As always #I'm going to be thinking about this game for months after #Or more #And listening to its soundtrack for even longer than that #I'm STILL listening to some of its songs since January #And I don't see that changing anytime soon

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marrow-and-bone · 1 year ago

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Fic: you don’t know how you got here (you just know you want out)

I wrote a fic for the @dtqkbigbang! What better way to inaugurate this Tumblr, yeah?

Title: you don’t know how you got here (you just know you want out) Rating: M Words: 16K Fandom: DSMP Ships: Quackity/Schlatt, Quackity/Wilbur, Quackity/Karl/Sapnap

Summary:

Like every other severed employee of DSMP Inc, Alex exists as two different people, who share the same body but know nothing about each other. Every morning when he goes to work, Alex becomes Quackity, and until now he’s been content to leave his other life a mystery.

But then late one night in a diner parking lot, Alex is confronted by a strange older man with mutton chop sideburns and alcohol on his breath, whom Alex can’t remember having met before but who clearly recognizes him, who calls him “Quackity” and tells him they’ve been lied to. And less than five minutes later, that man is lying dead on the ground.

Notes:

Mind the tags!!!!! This is a weird one!! Q is not having a great time!

I'm also planning to expand on it, so if you enjoy what's been posted so far, definitely keep an eye out for more. :3

Preview:

Alex needs to stop doing this.

He’s gonna get a formal reprimand if he keeps missing his clock-in window at work — it’s the one part of his job description he’s really responsible for, and warnings keep turning up in his locker, polite anonymous form letters printed on plain white paper. And probably the worst that would ever happen is a ding to his end-of-year bonus, but Alex isn’t gonna risk it. He needs this job – this job in particular, with all its peculiarities, with all the ways it keeps him sane. He needs to be standing in the office elevator no later than nine fifteen tomorrow morning. He should already be in bed right now.

Instead, he’s alone in a booth at McPuffy’s at one in the morning, nursing a bad-idea coffee with a notebook open in front of him, pretending like maybe he’ll work on his music if he stares at the blank page a little bit longer. He’s primed for a singer-songwriter era right now, after all — if being dumped by one fiance is great material, then two should be a goldmine. And maybe it would be, if he ever let himself think deeply about where he’s ended up — about the cold bed he’ll go home to tonight, or the empty apartment he’ll wake up in, or the rings that sit wrapped in a handkerchief at the bottom of his nightstand drawer. If he sat with how any or all of that felt, maybe he’d be the musician his mama always believed he could be.

But that’s not the choice he’s made, is it? That’s not the road he decided to take.

Funny, how people will judge you if you get blackout drunk every night as a way to cope…but if it’s your job that swallows your days, that strangles the part of you that feels much of anything at all, that’s fine. That’s capitalism, baby. That’s the system working as it should.

Alex doesn’t need to ask his waitress for the check. He gets the same thing every damn time, and he tips the same way — an empty coffee cup and a few crumbs of toast left on his plate, a ten dollar bill pinned under the salt shaker. There’s only one other customer, and he doesn’t look up as Alex takes his coat down from its hook. No one looks at Alex at all as he leaves, and he tells himself that’s how he likes it.

He’s alone because he wants to be. He chose this for himself.

The night air is a shock — cold in a way that makes all the muscles of his back seize up. He’s already got his keys in hand, tucked into his coat pocket as he walks between pools of streetlight.

Later, Alex won’t really remember what he was thinking about — probably hoping his car will start, or wondering if he should stop at the all-night pharmacy to buy more melatonin. He’s on auto-pilot, after all, normal thoughts for a normal night, variations on a bone-deep familiar theme.

Alex won’t remember what he was thinking, but he’ll remember the exact moment his night went off the rails; the pivot on which his life would turn.

Someone coughs, wet and painful-sounding and loud as a gunshot in the silent parking lot. There’s a rasp of gravel and asphalt under a heavy shoe.

Alex stops and turns toward the sound, his body humming with fresh adrenaline. He’s small and tired and alone. He calculates how long it would take him to reach his car; he slots his keys between his fingers, makeshift spikes on a fist he hopes he will not have to use.

A figure steps out from behind a pickup truck, stumbling forward into the light. A man, easily twice Alex’s size and at least a head taller – even stooped and shambling like this – leans heavily on the truck as he shuffles closer. He’s coatless and hatless, dressed only in a rumpled suit and a stained white cotton shirt, a cardinal necktie hanging loose around his neck, his dark hair and mutton chop sideburns heavily salted with gray. Even from here — at least ten feet away — Alex can smell that he’s been drinking. He reeks of whiskey and vomit.

Alex’s grip tightens on his keys. His voice is too high — too obviously scared — as he asks, “Can I help you with something?”

The man’s sharp bark of laughter dissolves into more coughing, and he wheezes as he catches his breath. There’s a smirking chuckle in his voice as he says, in a rough-throated rasp, “Jesus Christ, Quackity…you took your fucking time in there, you little shit.”

#dtqkbigbang #quackbur #tntduo #pumpkinduo #c!quackity #c!schlatt #c!wilbur #severance AU #seriously I have a giant-ass outline for this story and I will finish it or die trying #sometimes you are two guys in one bod and both of those guys are gay idiots having a very hard time #my fic

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tarabyte3 · 2 years ago

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The Devil Makes Us Sin

Fandom: Luther, Luther: The Fallen Sun

Pairing: David Robey/F!Reader

Chapter 1/? (5.2k words)

Chapter 2 ->

AO3 Link

Summary: Your life isn't perfect, and you don't enjoy moonlighting as a camgirl for so many repulsive men, but you need the money and it's yours. You're getting by just fine. You're content.

At least you thought you were. Then you get a strange text message. And you aren't sure if you're horrified or intrigued.

Warnings: Explicit rating, smut, stalking, spying, blackmail, manipulation, dubcon, dubious consent, Dom/sub, sadism, masochism, unprotected sex, oral sex, masturbation, mutual masturbation, choking, dirty talk, praise, humiliation, possessive love, yandere, minor description of gore, minor description of violence, murder, discussion of murder, shame involving sex work, light shaming of sex work, emotionally abusive mother, troubled mother/daughter relationship

A/N: Work title is from "Paradise Circus" by Massive Attack. Chapter title is from the poem "Saint Joan" by Louise Glück, The Seven Ages

(There's a more indepth note below the cut)

A/N pt 2: I know those warnings seem like a lot! I try to tag everything, no matter how small, because I want to make sure no one is blindsided by anything in my fics.

But remember, David Robey is not a good man. He's a murderous psychopath, he's cruel, and he feels no remorse (though I do REALLY flex the boundaries of all that because this is fantasy and fanfiction after all.) This reader character is also NOT a good person, just to a lesser extent than he is. Therefore this is going to get quite dark on occasion. Though if you're here because you want David Robey smut, I suspect you're well aware of what you're in for. Still! Heed all tags and warnings. I will continue to expand them as they come up in the story and try to point them out as I add them, but always check the end of the list for anything new.

If you're worried, know that I have personal boundaries I will not cross in my fics. No gratuitous descriptions of violence, murder, gore, or torture in my smut fics unless specifically and clearly warned. No noncon or SA. No physical or domestic abuse. And though it is a smut fic about a fictional serial killer, any mental or emotional manipulation will be in line with what exists in canon, so no wild cards there either.

Pregnancy scares, worrying about or fear of getting pregnant, taking steps to avoid pregnancy through the use of contraception or other means, or having my reader character get pregnant—all as the result of unprotected sex between the characters—will also never come up in anything I write. They won't even think about it. I want my fics to be a fun escape for myself and for you all so I say no thank you.

Finally, there is some shame from the main character and problematic language used about sex work in this and I want to be clear: We respect sex workers in this house 👏😤 Sex work is work. Anything that suggests otherwise in this fic is because the characters are assholes.

Chapter 1 - I heard a dark prediction rising in my own body

You're always very careful not to show your face on camera. It's not what's for sale. Certainly not for fifteen pounds per monthly subscription. These men watching aren't paying you enough to risk your career.

Or worse, to risk your mother finding out.

She's always harping on you to settle down, get married, and have children. You don't have the stomach to tell her how absolutely horrible all of that sounds. Most men bore you with their undeserved egos, horrible ties, and inane chatter about sports clubs. Or the way they smother the spark that drew them to you in the first place because afterwards they want a good little wife instead. And you definitely don't want children.

So no, you don't want to marry any of them. Instead you'll gladly take advantage of their desperation to escape their dull lives and their tired, jaded spouses. Likely women who thought marriage would be different, only to find out what you already know: most men can never give you what you truly need.

Now you've been doing this for over a year. For an hour a night, you sit in front of your webcam in low cut blouses and secretary skirts and undress down to your lingerie and panties. You run your fingers between your breasts and whisper lies into your microphone.

At first it was out of desperation.

Your flatmate had moved out with little warning and left you scrambling to make rent. Your job didn't pay enough for you to afford the entire sum by yourself until you found someone else to take her place. Sure, you could have moved or downsized, but you didn't want to. The location was perfect and to get the same rate, you'd have to move further to the edge of the city. Your morning commute would be longer, and you didn't want to spend so much time on the tube with the smell of sweat, crying babies, and creeps brushing up against you.

It was a pop-up ad that gave you the idea. "Live women on camera. Watch now! Get your first month at a reduced rate!" It declared over a scantily clad young woman who was pushing her cleavage together with her arms and fluttering her eyelashes.

If only it were that easy, you had scoffed.

Then you opened your laptop and did some research. Because what if it was? Which is how you ended up making an account on a smaller camgirl website and sitting uncomfortably with your webcam pointed at your torso and nothing but a white wall behind you.

After a few days of no activity, you unbuttoned your blouse a bit, wore a push-up bra, and finally got your first viewer. So you unbuttoned it further and further, and, as your numbers rose, your top came off completely.

You learned to tease them after that.

And degrade them.

"BigDaddy47 wants to know if I'm wearing panties. Mmm, what do you all think? Should I take off my skirt and let you find out? If you were all very good, I could show you what's underneath, but you don't deserve it, do you? I know how filthy you all are, asking me to take my clothes off. You disgust me."

Oh, but then you apologize and beg for forgiveness for being so mean to those poor, overworked men that no one else appreciates while bashfully covering your body with your hands and telling them you're just a little shy. That's what really boosted your numbers. They ate it up. Because more than seeing a pair of tits, they love being told exactly what they want to hear. And they especially love believing it.

That's why they're really there. To forget. To pretend.

You made enough extra money to keep your flat. Barely at first, and it completely wiped your savings, but with each new paycheck there was more leftover. Eventually you also bought better lingerie. More strappy numbers to hide under your office girl persona. More ways to hint at your bare breasts without showing them. Because you will never get naked on camera. Ever. The thought of all those men seeing your full body repulses you. They repulse you. That part, at least, is never a lie.

Then the empty second bedroom became your recording studio. You put a feminine, silky comforter and fancy pillows on the bed so you could pose in different, carefully pre-selected positions. You draped a blanket over the back of the chair so you could cover yourself while you pretended to be shy and repentant, and they all begged you to take it back off.

It was almost too easy. It took less than seven months for your stream to be featured on the front page of the site as a hot new account, and another two for you to make the top fifty. Now you're making as much in seven hours of streaming a week as you do in a week and a half of full-time work at your day job. And you keep nudging your way closer to the top twenty.

So you could say things are going well.

At least, they were.

The first time you got a strange text message from a number you didn't recognize, you shrugged it off. All it said was: How are you doing? Which could be anything. A wrong number, a phishing attempt, or an old friend you deleted the contact information for ages ago. Of course you ignored it.

But a few days later you got another one from the same number.

You don't want to chat?

That one had made you a little uncomfortable, but you could still tell yourself it was a mistake. Maybe even a guy you gave your number to for a hookup during a rare night out that you never followed through on. You set your phone down, went about your day, and managed to forget about it quickly.

Then today it buzzs again.

You're not even this shy on camera.

As you read it—and reread it to be sure you're not seeing things—your heart leaps to your throat with your first rush of fear. How had they gotten your number? You never entered a phone number into the website. You've been so careful. You even set up a separate bank account.

"Who is this?" You finally text back.

A fan.

You quickly fumble with your phone to block them, but a new message appears on the screen before your trembling thumbs can manage to tap the correct buttons.

I wouldn't do that.

And then there's a video.

You hesitate.

You know you should just block them anyway, but something about the blurry still of the preview seems familiar. Naggingly familiar. So you tap play.

There's a figure standing right in front of the camera. They're so close, all you can see at first is a plain black shirt and a bare arm. Then they move away, further into the room. It's your spare room, you quickly realize with horror. You can see the familiar layout and the blush colored comforter on the bed. After a few more seconds, you also realize the person in the video is you. You're folding the blanket you use during your stream and setting it on the chair. Except it wasn't taken from your stream because there's daylight coming through the lacy drapes covering the window. You only stream at night. And your face is visible as you bend over to pick up a pillow from the floor.

It's you in your pajamas, tidying up the room the morning after a stream. When your camera isn't supposed to be on. When you aren't being careful.

You feel sick.

Now would you like to chat?

"What do you want?" You type out with shaking hands.

I want a private show.

"If you don't stop harassing me, I'll call the police."

Now now. No need for that.

Because if you do, I'll have to send a few videos to your mum. This is her contact information, isn't it?

Then you're staring down at your mother's phone number and home address. You let out a sob.

"Why are you doing this?"

I told you. I want a private show.

"I don't have a private stream."

Your phone buzzes with another notification, but this time for a new email. In your personal inbox.

You have fifteen minutes.

You reluctantly open the message. It's an invite with a link to a private chat room.

Wear the black nightie with the same bra and panties you wore two nights ago.

You don't respond. Instead you throw your phone down onto the couch and you pace.

What do you do? Do you block the number and call the police anyway? Do you call your mother and tell her not to check her messages or answer the door? But then she'll ask why. And what do you tell her? That you have a stalker? That they're threatening her, too? God, she's so stubborn and nosey! She'd look at her phone anyway to tell them off and then it'll be over. She'll see. You were raised Catholic! She'll disown you.

You stop pacing.

Would that be such a terrible thing? You're very much an adult. You're not dependent on her for anything. You have every right to do what you want. It's not like you're doing anything that bad! Not really. You're just trying to survive! If she can't handle that, then that's her problem. You're doing just fine. You can live without her nagging and berating you all the time. Making you feel small or as though you're wasting your life by not doing what she expects. Asking you, "What will people think?" after everything you do. Plus, it's her religion, not yours. It stopped being yours when you were very young, even though the guilt still rears its ugly head every once in a while. Usually because of her forcing it on you. No more.

With renewed determination, you pick your phone back up and go to block the number.

The buzzing of a new message startles you.

Did I mention that I also have the contact information for your boss and the passwords to all of your social media accounts?

Fuck.

Ten minutes left.

You start to cry. Because you feel truly helpless now. You think for a brief moment that maybe this person is bluffing. Surely he's just counting on you to obey immediately and doesn't plan on doing anything. But he filmed you without your knowledge and he had your mother's personal information. Finding where you work would be even easier than that. Plus, are you willing to risk your whole life and your career to find out?

No, you realize. You aren't.

With tears streaming down your face, you run to your bedroom. You have to upend your hamper to find the specific bra and panties he requested since you hadn't washed them yet, but you manage to get changed faster than you ever have before.

Are you supposed to put on make-up? He didn't say. You check your phone for the time. Four minutes. And you still have to boot up your laptop. So you grab your eyeliner and a tinted lip gloss off of your vanity and sprint towards the other bedroom.

While your computer is starting, you use your reflection in the screen to hastily put on the eyeliner. It probably looks horrible and uneven thanks to your puffy eyelids and lack of mirror, but if he wanted something better, then he should have been more specific or given you more time. Or not harassed you at all. So fuck him.

You click over to your inbox with one hand and dab the rouge color onto your lips with the other. Then you're staring at the link with a minute left. No use stalling, you think. It won't make this go away.

You take a deep breath and click it.

The chat window pops up and then, after a brief second of loading while your heart pounds in your chest, your own scantily clad breasts and lace covered torso are displayed onto the screen. In the corner, there's a black square icon. Both the video and audio indicators have Xs through them.

He's here, then. Of course he is.

There's a chat window along the side, and, as you're looking at it, a message pops up from the username YourBiggestFan.

Fix your camera. There's no reason to hide your face any longer. Not from me.

You swallow and reach forward to tilt the camera a little higher. The video is shaky for a moment, and then you're staring at your own image on the screen. Your full image. It's unnerving.

There's your lovely face.

"Why are you doing this to me?" Your voice waivers. "There are millions of women on the internet. Thousands that do what I do."

They aren't you.

"I'm not that special."

You don't do nudity on your stream. Why is that?

"Because…" You hesitate. You really don't want to talk to this man, but not doing so feels risky, too. He does have all the power here, after all. "Because I don't need to."

You would make more money if you did. Or if you moved to a better site.

"I'm getting by just fine." You glance up to glare into the camera.

You could quit your job.

"I don't want to quit my job."

You want to be a glorified secretary for the rest of your life?

"Fuck you," you hiss.

Answer the question.

"Of course I don't! But I don't want hundreds of men seeing my tits every night, either! So if that's the trade off, I'd rather keep being a glorified secretary, as you so kindly put it." You start to roll your eyes, but stop yourself from reacting this time. You may already be pushing your luck as it is and there's no need to piss him off. "I don't do either of them because I enjoy it. I do what I have to so I don't have to worry about money."

You certainly seem like you're enjoying yourself every night.

"It's called pretending," you sigh irritably. "Surely you've heard of it. Do you think all of those men would tune in otherwise? Tell me, would you? You're one of them, after all."

I'm not one of them.

"Aren't you? Mr. Your Biggest Fan," you scoff. "Sure you aren't."

No. Because I see you.

"That is rather the point."

You're very clever. You know exactly how to manipulate all of them into staying without giving them what they want.

"I have to be. All of the women that do this learn how to keep the audience interested."

But yours comes from a place of hatred.

You blink in mild surprise, but quickly school your features. You don't want him to know he's caught you off guard.

Your stream is the only one in the top 50 that doesn't show their face and the top 100 that doesn't include nudity. Did you know that?

You shift in your seat. "I…I didn't, actually. I knew I was the only one with my numbers, but not that many."

You're an anomaly.

"I'm good at my job," you correct him.

Yes, you are. You know how to manipulate all of them because you find them rather predictable, don't you? Predictable. Pathetic. Dull. Beneath you. They make it easy for you.

You aren't able to hide the shock on your face this time as you stare at the chat. He doesn't wait for you to respond.

You don't take your underwear off because you and I both know that's beneath you, too. And you're right, you don't have to. It's quite impressive.

"Is that so?" You don't sound as dismissive as you hoped.

I told you. I see you. And you intrigue me.

"Fine, you can see through my bullshit. And?" You cross your arms. "Am I supposed to be impressed? What's the point of all this?"

I wanted you to show me the real you.

"And me angry at you is the real me, is it?"

Yes. Because you aren't lying to me.

He has a point there. This is arguably the most honest you've ever been sitting in this chair. Sure, you're being guarded considering the circumstances, but otherwise you haven't lied to him.

Tell me, have I gotten anything wrong?

You bite at your lip as you consider whether or not to continue being honest. But if you change tactics now, he'll sense it. You know, instinctively, that he will. Because you would in his place. So you finally look into the camera and say, "No. You haven't."

More honesty. There's a good girl.

Your heart skips a beat while there's a brief flutter of interest in your stomach, and you're disgusted with yourself for your body's reaction to that. He's a creep just like the rest of them, you tell yourself. Worse because at least the rest of them are harmless. To you, anyway.

He doesn't type anything else and his silence feels almost smug. Like he knows exactly the inner turmoil he's caused you and he wants you to stew in it. The flutter spreads lower.

"Now it's your turn to tell me how you guessed at any of that since I don't even show my face," you blurt out, desperate to think of anything else and not wanting to give him the satisfaction of thinking he's won somehow.

It wasn't a guess. I can hear the difference in your voice. The only time you mean what you say is when you berate them.

You think back to all the times you've snarled into the microphone and called them despicable. Disgusting. Useless. The one slip in your act.

You enjoy it. You enjoy getting to tell them exactly what you think of them while you take their money. You enjoy it so much, you have to stop yourself from pushing it one step further. But you want to. I can hear how much you want to. It feels good, doesn't it? To not have to hide, even for a moment. To treat them the way they deserve.

"Yes," you breathe out before you can stop yourself. Because it does. It feels incredible. The fluttering between your legs has grown into a slick heat now from his words alone.

How could he know that, though? How could he know that you've dreamed of telling them their only worth to you was their wallets because there at least they had a use. That having to read every horrible thing they said through the veil of anonymity made your skin crawl. That they're the reason their own lives are so miserable. Sexless bedrooms. Loveless marriages. Endless failed relationships. The inability to find someone to look twice at them. And you're glad they came slithering to you rather than have the self-awareness or brain cells to look in a goddamned mirror. Pathetic.

You've never even admitted that out loud to yourself. Only in your darkest thoughts. Now this man is typing out those inner thoughts as though they were written plainly on your face.

"You enjoy it."

"It feels good, doesn't it?"

Like he understands.

You both sit in silence for a minute that stretches out for far too long while you read his message over and over again, until your sex starts to ache.

You should feel ashamed, you realize. This is the moment you should feel horrible for thinking those things. And for being turned on by the way he told you that you enjoyed it. Only you don't.

"I don't know what you expect me to say," you whisper.

You've said enough. That was all I needed.

He knows, you think. You've given this man too much. "So what now? You still haven't said where all of this goes."

Yes I have.

"Right. A private show. How could I forget?" You mean for it to sound sarcastic, but it comes out confused because you're a little dazed from all of this. "You really still want me to flutter my eyelashes at you, push my cleavage at the camera, and say some insipid bullshit, even though it's all lies?"

No. I want to see ALL of you.

Your face flushes in embarrassment and anger, and you have to squeeze your thighs together to quell the want that is continuing to build in your core. "You're blackmailing me just to see my tits?"

You're going to talk to me as well.

"And say what?"

More of how you really feel. I want to hear more of the truth from your lips. As I said, I want to see all of you.

"Well, right now I'm feeling quite pissed off."

And as you're talking, you're going to touch yourself for me.

There's a swell of panic in your chest and it's as though you've been dunked in ice water because you've gone from hot to bone chilled. "Fuck you. I'm not doing that."

Why not?

"Because it's a violation! I'm not consenting to any of this. You're not giving me a choice."

You have a choice.

"Oh, choosing between masturbating on camera for you or you ruining my life? My mistake! Nothing dubious about that."

You're beautiful when you're angry.

You close your eyes and take a few deep breaths to stop yourself from throwing your laptop across the room. You will still need it after this, after all.

When you open your eyes, you look up into the camera with a serious, pleading expression on your face. "I don't want to do that. Please don't make me. I'll get undressed for you. I'll let you see all of me. But don't make me do that."

You shift your attention to watch the text box. There's a pause.

A long pause.

You start to think maybe you've finally angered him by saying no and he's in the process of messaging your mom and your boss. Just when you begin nervously shifting in your seat, a new message pops up.

What if you wanted to touch yourself for me? Then would you?

You stare at the message in disbelief. "Are you serious?"

Answer the question.

"If I wanted to, then…" You hesitate as you consider how to tell the truth. "I guess, yes I would. But that's different. I don't want to."

You don't want to yet.

"So you won't make me?"

No. I won't make you.

You exhale in relief. "Thank you," you whimper.

But I will make you want to touch yourself for me, that I promise.

"I highly doubt that. You've given me plenty of reasons to want literally anything else, the most important of which is that I'm still here because you're blackmailing me."

There is that.

I could delete all of it. If you ask nicely.

You furrow your brows in confusion. "What do you mean?"

I could delete it. Then there would be nothing forcing you to stay.

"And I'm supposed to just trust you?"

Yes.

You scoff. "Yeah, right. Besides, if you delete it, I'll just leave."

And go back to lying on camera?

"Surprisingly, I do still have to pay my rent after this."

What if you didn't have to?

"Didn't have to pay rent?"

No. Go back on camera or back to that laughable firm you work for. What if you didn't need the money?

"I already said I'm not doing either of those things because I enjoy them. Of course I wouldn't go back if I didn't have to."

Check your bank account.

The OTHER bank account.

You sit there and stare at your screen in horror. Because you've only just now realized that, in your panic, you'd been thinking too small before. You were worried about phone numbers and addresses. Such little things to keep you distracted and focused so you didn't have clarity of mind to stop to wonder at what else he could find and hold hostage.

"Why?" You whisper.

Just look. No reason to be afraid.

You frantically pick up your phone and swipe until you find the banking app. The last time you checked, you had over eight thousand pounds in that account after paying rent. Nothing extravagant. But it's reassuring knowing the savings is there if you need it. That you're relatively safe and comfortable. Because it's yours. You earned it.

The balance reads £308,218.72.

Three hundred thousand pounds more than should be in there. It's more money than you've ever seen in your life. It's more than you could ever hope to have at one time in your life.

"What is this?" Your voice sounds small from the shock.

A gift.

"I can't accept this." You look up into the camera. "I won't accept this."

Why not?

"Because I'm not a whore!" You snap at the lense. "And I refuse to be beholden to you. I won't let you own me."

No strings. You can take the money and run if you like. But we both know you're not going to.

"Won't I?"

No.

"And why not? Are you going to say something ridiculous like, 'There's more where that came from?'"

No.

"Why then?"

Because whatever you run off to do will bore you just as much as what you're doing now since the money doesn't change what's making you miserable. But you're starting to understand that I could offer you so much more. And I don't mean the money.

You clench your jaw in frustration and rage. You want to yell. To protest and deny it. You wish you could. But deep down you know he's right. Your world has been upended and laid bare in the span of, what, half an hour? From the moment he forced his way into your life, it has been many things, but boring is not one of them. Because, you realize, he does see you.

"I still…" you start helplessly. "I don't understand."

I told you. You intrigue me. No one intrigues me.

"For some reason that doesn't feel like a compliment."

I know I intrigue you, now, too.

"What do you really want from me?" You say quietly. "I know this isn't about getting a private show. It never was, was it?"

You.

I want you.

"Then why the money?"

I don't want you distracted.

You know nothing about this man. You don't know what he looks like and you can't hear his voice. But there's something about the way he referred to your entire life as a distraction that sends a shiver of fear up your spine. And something else rekindling inside of you that you now refuse to acknowledge.

"So I'm not giving you a show."

Oh, you'll give me one. Eventually. And I'm going to enjoy myself knowing I'm the only one who's ever seen you like that.

"How do you know I've never stripped on camera for anyone else before?"

It's beneath you. Because there's never been anyone on the other end deserving of it.

"You think you are?"

Am I?

"You seem like the kind of man that thinks he is."

That's not an answer.

You mentally curse because he's so damn perceptive. Your usual tactics don't work on him and that throws you off balance.

Am I?

"I don't know yet," you finally admit.

You really are so beautiful without the mask. Honesty suits you much more than the lie.

"My honesty suits you, you mean."

I'll never deny that I'm enjoying it. But you deserve to know that what's underneath isn't hideous like you fear. You can always take it off in front of me.

"And you'll enjoy it whenever I do," you murmur, almost entranced by the thought.

I will. Immensely.

"How do I know you're not just some creepy slob in a basement somewhere that's really good at hacking?"

You would have seen through me if I were.

He's right. Something about him seems sophisticated, but effortlessly so. Too effortless to be an act. Which leaves, what, bored rich guy? Well, at least you have one thing in common.

"Who are you then? And don't just say a fan. The only way you'll get me to even consider not running the second I close this window is by giving me something that isn't money or text on a screen."

I'm a man that knows what it's like to live with the mask. How do you think I saw through yours? I also know how good it feels to take it off. But even better than that is to be seen and embraced for what's underneath.

Does that satisfy you?

"Not nearly enough."

You'll learn more next time. The link will stay active. When you come back here, I'll know.

"When," you huff in disbelief under your breath.

When.

"We'll see, won't we?"

Before I go, is there something you're forgetting? Something to ask me maybe?

"Something to ask…?" You trail off in thought because you have no idea what he's talking about. But as you replay parts of the conversation in your head, you remember that he said he would delete everything if you asked. Nicely.

You clench your fists and take a deep breath to prepare yourself. Because you know he added the "nicely" specifically to see you squirm and you refuse to give it to him. Then you look up into the webcam, and, with all the sincerity you can muster, you ask. Nicely.

"Please delete it. All of it. I want you to. I won't promise you anything in return because I don't know if I'll come back, and I won't lie to you or myself with a false promise. But it would prove to me that you mean what you say. That you want me. Because if you have all of that to hold over me, if I can't make this choice on my own, you'll never truly have me, will you? There will always be parts of myself that I keep back and I'll never look at you or talk to you as a man. Only as my captor. So please, I am begging you. Delete it."

You look down to the text box and wait.

His video comes to life then, surprising you and splitting the screen in half. But what's there isn't his face. It's a computer screen with a desktop so basic, it almost looks unused. There's also an open folder, and it's full of video, image, and text files—far more of them than you would have guessed. He's been observing you for a while and you had no idea he was there. You can see your own face and your lingerie in a couple of the video and photo thumbnails. Then you watch as he highlights all of it and, without fanfare or hesitation, deletes it. The folder—which you now realize is titled after you—sits empty.

You open your mouth to protest because you aren't an idiot, but as though he anticipated that, he shifts over to the trash can and empties that as well.

It's done.

"How do I know there aren't backups?"

I guess you'll just have to trust me, won't you?

Then he leaves the chat and you're left staring at your own face on the screen.

Before you close the window, you have to wonder if you aren't truly seeing yourself for the very first time.

Chapter 2 ->

A/N: I hope you enjoyed and are now properly buckled in for this trainwreck of a gratuitously smutty and fucked up romance. Please keep your arms inside the vehicle at all times because I have already lost complete control of this. But I promise it's gonna be a lot of fun. 😌😏

#david robey #david robey x reader #david robey x f!reader #the devil makes us sin fic #luther the fallen sun #luther the fallen sun fanfiction #luther #luther fanfiction #fanfiction #andy serkis #x reader

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twiceasfrustrating · 2 years ago

Text

Deal With a Devil

Rating: Mature (for some violence) Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply Category: Gen Fandom: Shall We Date?: Obey Me! Relationships: Barbatos & Solomon Characters: Barbatos, Solomon Additional Tags: Omnipotence, Minor Violence, Demon Summoning Summary: Solomon is willing to give anything to get back what he lost, even if it costs him his immortal soul and a headache. A/N: If the game won’t give me their backstory, I will write it myself. Word Count: 2153

Some things were worth whatever risks came with them. That's what Solomon told himself as he finished dragging his finger through the sand in front of him. The symbol he'd made was ancient and nearly forgotten, a borrowed darkness from another land, a relic that time had tried so desperately to hide. If his gods wouldn't aid him, he would turn to the horrors of a different making.

His hands trembled in anticipation, his mouth going dry and the nerves blurring out his vision. He had already come so far. He had already come too far to turn back. Even knowing that, he was terrified. What would become of him after he went through with this? Would he still be king of his people? Would he still be beloved and revered for his wisdom? Would this even work? More terrifying, what if it didn’t?

That was the one outcome he couldn’t accept.

With one final breath, he steeled his nerves and grabbed the knife from his side, slicing into his palm and letting blood drip along the blade before stabbing it into the last spot in the circle.

“Hear me, denizens of darkness, you who are born of shadow and you who give birth to it.” Solomon began to chant the words he’d found, ignoring the lump in his throat and the feeling of dread in his gut. “Hear me and do as I command. I call upon you to send forth one of your number.” If he could even manage it. “I summon the demon Barbatos.”

As soon as the last of the words were out of his mouth, frigid air whipped past his face from the symbol on the ground, twisting and blowing his hair about as magma pulsed through his veins and burned him from the inside out. He doubled over, crossing his arms in front of his chest to try and contain the feeling that his organ would expand and burst inside of him. All of his muscles, from the ones in his feet to the one behind his eyes, felt like they were being stabbed with millions of tiny needles that were pushed in slowly and deeply.

He couldn't help but puke from the pain, not even noticing that the harshness of the frozen wind was like a razor cutting and pulling away layers of his skin while the blood that oozed out boiled and raged and burned what flesh it could still find. As something inside of him began to slosh around, flooding his organs and drowning him from the inside out, he couldn't help but consider his own mortality.

This is how he was going to die.

"If that's what you want, there are significantly easier and infinitely less painful ways than this. Don't you think?"

Solomon froze at the voice he'd never heard before. It was like a song, or perhaps a scream? A man or maybe a woman? Ancient and young simultaneously. His limbs shook as his body began to fail him and the sound of the voice breaking down his mind.

Despite the stabbing pain, he flicked his eyes up to see who had spoken to him. Before him, inside the symbol he had drawn, stood a man. No, not a man. No man bore horns like wings or a tail that glistened. No man has claws so deep and teal for fingers or arms and legs marbled in black and teal with white lightning coursing over then. No man had eyes that seemed to hold entire galaxies. No, this was no man; this was a demon.

"Barbatos, to be exact. At your service." He bowed low and deep. "I'm impressed to see you've yet to die. Usually, I arrive to a corpse or three when I come to the human realm. Color me intrigued." He smiled in a way that didn't quite reach his eyes.

Solomon tried to speak, but all he managed was to cough up some of the blood filling his lungs.

"Ah, yes. Just because you're not yet dead doesn't mean you aren't dying. That's unfortunate." The demon stood upright, tall and proud with a lackadaisical smile still on his face. "You may want to fix that."

Were all demons so capricious?

"Can you not, yet? I do suppose this is the start of the timeline…" He appeared to ponder something with bemusement. "I always join at the worst moments. I really should start toward the climax. That's where all the delightful rising tension is."

His eyes peered downward, lips frowning slightly at the edges. "You can do better than this, can't you? Or, you will someday, at the very least," he said as he reached a foot over the outer rim of the symbol without so much as flinching.

Solomon, even through the pain, felt shock. The symbol he drew wasn't only meant to summon the demon, but to keep him contained so he wouldn't prove a threat to those that called on him. This demon, however, was able to step over what should have been his most steadfast barrier of safety.

"It's not much of a barrier, really. Nothing like what you will make when you're more accustomed to your magic. Although, even then my staying in place will be more out of camaraderie than your own power. Assuming you live, that is. Which, you must, given what will be. Unless we're in an offshoot timeline, in which case you should probably pray to your God now because we're about to be eradicated from existence."

Solomon wanted to respond, but his body was too broken to hold a conversation.

"Ah, yes. I should fix that first or else this truly will become a discarded timeline." Barbatos held his hands in front of him, palms up and open as he caught a book that seemed to fall from the sky.

"Traditionally, at least at this point, aiding a human would be ridiculed and looked down upon; superiority complex and all. However, if one were to get a hold of a demon's grimoire even the most powerful of us would have to humble ourselves." He dropped the book in front of Solomon. "Oh my, it seems you've found mine."

It was suspicious how easily this demon seemed to be aiding Solomon. He had expected a creature more nefarious and cunning.

"There is no point in playing games when I already know what will happen. You and I shall be phenomenal partners in the future and I would rather begin this chapter on an amicable note rather than an antagonistic one." His tail flicked behind him as he grinned knowingly. "Please take the book, or else I'll have to divert to a different reality where you do and, therefore, subsequently don't die. We'll consider the pact made and the terms agreed upon once you touch it. Fair for both parties, don't you agree?"

Without any negotiation, this demon was trying to seal a deal that Solomon hadn't agreed to. Even dying and in pain, he knew agreeing to such terms was a terrible decision.

"There are no tricks, I assure you. I already know what the terms of our deal shall be and am acting within them. Relationships are built on trust, you know. You simply have to trust me."

Solomon couldn't say trust came easy, especially in this moment. However, he knew where he stood. He was crawling closer to death with each passing second and wasting even one more meant he would lose everything he so desperately wanted. So, even if he didn't trust Barbatos yet, he would have to rely on him.

He reached out a shaking hand and placed it on the book. As soon as he made contact with it, a new searing pain shot through his nerves and straight into his heart.

Solomon swore out loud, almost too shocked to realize he no longer felt like his inside were flooded with thick blood.

"Yes, for all intents and purposes, you are better. Or, rather, this you was never injured because they never had the courage to offer part of themselves to me. Unfortunate, but it means a spare body was lying around. Everything else of importance has remained the same, so it is what it is."

Solomon shook in anger, both at the roundabout way this demon spoke but also at the realization that he had gotten himself involved in something far beyond even his limited understanding.

"Are you unpleased? I thought you wanted to summon me. That's why you went out of your way to find my summoning circle, is it not? I only showed up because I thought you were invested in the future we'll have together. If not, I would much rather go home. The king is liable to set something on fire if I'm gone for too long. He's nothing like his great grandson, unfortunately."

Solomon couldn't get a word in edgewise.

"Because I already know the script. It's already hard enough to wait for the proper prompt so the timeline remains consistent. If I had to wait for it to be said out loud, I think I would get too frustrated to tolerate this conversation at all. I'm not the man I will be someday. He's much more tolerant of the slow pace of all of you living in the present moment after he stops looking through time. I'll practice." Barbatos kneeled down to Solomon's level and tapped on the book. "This is an aide. You'll need it for our pact; for the time being, anyway. Until you become the greatest sorcerer, anyway. Simple enough once you begin to ignore death of your own volition rather than my generosity since you'll have all the time in the world."

"Now you speak," Barbatos finally ended.

The first thing Solomon finally managed to say was a string of curses and expletives.

"Strange. I expected something more profound."

"What have you done?" Solomon finally managed to ask, eyes wide in horror.

"I forged our pact. That was the point of our meeting. Mutual benefits symbolized through the carving on your flesh." He seemed to think for a moment. "Your heart in your case. That's the only thing I would accept."

Solomon took a deep breath, trying to calm himself and make sense of this conversation. "How am I alive?" He knew he'd been grievously wounded from the inside out, but there wasn't a trace of it left. Whatever Barbatos was going on about, he had to understand it.

"Because this body is fine."

He didn't understand that part.

"Think of it this way. You are here, at point a, at the moment, but if something happens to you that causes you to die," Barbatos narrowed his gaze before stabbing his long claws through Solomon's torso and grabbing his heart to pull it back out. Solomon gasped in surprise before his vision went black. Then he blinked and everything was back to normal, Barbatos with an empty hand still clutched around a heart that wasn't there, "that's when you jump to point b, where a body that isn't dying is waiting to receive your consciousness. Understood? That's part of the pact we made… will make?"

Solomon would have to ignore the fact that he had nearly died twice tonight. "We haven't even spoken about a pact yet."

He knew about pacts from the text he'd found; the same that taught him how to summon a demon in the first place. He knew that were a barter between a demon and human, but he'd yet to offer anything in exchange for this demon's power.

"But we will. After this script ends, we'll establish what we both want. I simply couldn't wait and went ahead with it before you could actually die on me. Speaking of which, this script is starting to bore me, so would you mind starting at the beginning again so we may have that conversation? I really must get back before My King does something unimaginable. Such an act would really upset my one-day Young Master."

Solomon opened his mouth to voice his desires, resigning himself to whatever in the world this conversation was, only to have the demon raise a single sharp finger against his teal lips and shushed him.

“I would so love to hear what it is you’ve summoned me for," after all, he needed to hear the desire voiced out loud at least once to keep the timeline consistent, "but you'll have to wait for about… 67 more words.”

Solomon's lips sneered back, anger boiling inside of him after all the strange mind games and past, present, future speak the demon had made him put up with so far. “Why not?”

“Because,” the edges of Barbatos’ mouth pulled back, exposing his toothy, unholy grin, “someone who shouldn’t be here is still watching.”

And don’t you agree that it’s rude to intrude on someone else’s private affairs?

#mine #obey me #obey me barbatos #obey me solomon #obey me fanfic

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