#warning: this post contains sarcasm

[wheels-of-despair]

Could you please add a warning to your last billy hargrove fic that it contains cheating?

It has been brought to my attention that the Billy Hargrove x Reader blurb "Can You Feel It?" should contain more content warnings. Please accept my sincere apologies for this error, and be advised that interested parties may want to read the following detailed summary of the content before reading the blurb itself.

Can You Feel It Warnings: reader hating Billy Hargrove, reader hating Billy Hargrove's hair, reader hating Billy Hargrove's earring, reader hating Billy Hargrove's car, reader referring to someone as a skank, reference to a party thrown by Tommy Hagan, reference to Billy Hargrove confessing his love for reader, reader thinking about fucking up Billy Hargrove's car, use of curse words in warnings, and also in the work itself, reader crying, reader being angry, reference to a fight with Billy Hargrove in the Hawkins High parking lot in Hawkins Indiana, staff of Hawkins High threatening to call parents about aforementioned fight, mentions of death, specifically: Billy Hargrove being dead to reader, Billy Hargrove winking, derogatory term for female with loose morals, reader thinking murderous thoughts, interruption by an original character named Ashley M., references to underage drinking, references to an unsupervised keg party, 80s hair, Cyndi Lauper makeup, reader hiding revealing clothes from guardians, inappropriate term for footwear, boy drool, arriving late to a party, using a poor innocent boy of the author's own creation, forgetting aforementioned boy's name and giving him a new one, touching without explicit consent, reader being dragged, possibility of walking in on teenagers committing tomfoolery,

improper use of restroom facilities, bad kissing, reader touching a penis through pants that she notes is "comically small", reader uses unkind term for young athlete, boy being used stops mid-make-out to hang up his jacket like a good boy whose name reader forgot, reader's neck being mauled, reader's breasts being grabbed by someone she doesn't care about in an amateur and unpleasant way, reader possibly attempting to strangle boy with his own shirt, reader deciding she'd rather have untalented boy groping her ass rather than her tits, use of the words ass and tits in place of buttocks and breasts in both fics and warnings, reader being declared "hot", reader rolling eyes, reader being bored, reader anticipating the arrival of Billy Hargrove, reader expecting Billy Hargrove to be angry, Billy Hargrove kicking a bathroom door open, Billy Hargrove leaving a dent in Ashley M's bathroom wall, reader calling Billy Hargrove a fucking moron in her head, reader moving a boy's body without his consent, reader obviously using boy to make Billy Hargrove jealous, Billy Hargrove looking ready to kill, reader's neck being slurped on, reader scratches her nails down boy's back just like the lyrics in the header state, references to Alanis Morissette songs, references to Alanis Morissette's "You Oughta Know", references to 90s hits by female artists, references to songs about rough breakups, references to angry girl music, fanfiction inspired by song, fanfiction written for a tumblr event, fanfiction written for a valentine's day event, reader insert fanfiction, a boy in pain, boy scratched with fingernails, references to Billy Hargrove liking his back scratched, implied kink, reader scares useless boy away with scratching, Billy Hargrove grabbing boy by scruff of neck, Billy Hargrove bouncing boy's face off of wall, Billy Hargrove shoving boy to floor, Billy Hargrove slamming a door, Billy Hargrove locking a door, Billy Hargrove's hand on reader's throat, reader's head being smacked against a mirror, fire blazing in Billy Hargrove's eyes, reader revealing that she actually loves Billy Hargrove, references to Billy Hargrove being moody and difficult and snarky and a liar and a cheater, references to Billy Hargrove breaking your heart, reader longing for Billy Hargrove to love her, aggressively making out with Billy Hargrove in Ashley M's bathroom, body buzzing when being touched by Billy Hargrove, reference to Billy Hargrove having massive hands, reader moaning into Billy Hargrove's mouth,

Billy Hargrove squeezing reader's breasts in a pleasant way, reader willingly opening legs for Billy Hargrove, reader wearing barely-there panties, Billy Hargrove inserting his finger into reader's vagina, (reader gets to pick which one), references to reader's vagina being in a state of arousal, use of the word douchebag as an insult, use of the words limp-dicked dumbass, implying that boy bleeding in hallway is too dumb and/or inexperienced to operate a calculator, Billy Hargrove snorting in amusement, reader admitting she did this for Billy Hargrove, reader calling Billy Hargrove an asshole, Billy Hargrove smirking, reader hooking her leg around Billy Hargrove to pull him closer, Billy Hargrove grabbing reader's ass, Billy Hargrove physically moving reader without her explicit written consent, use of 'member' as a term for boy parts, use of 'heat' as a term for girl parts, reader claiming that Billy Hargrove assaults her mouth, reader clinging to Billy Hargrove, reader very close to getting off from friction caused by Billy Hargrove's jeans, Billy Hargrove taunting reader, Billy Hargrove jerking his hips, reader refusing to beg for the dick she so desperately needs, reader trying to grind her hips against Billy Hargrove, Billy Hargrove holding reader still, reader biting Billy Hargrove's neck, Billy Hargrove slapping reader's ass, reader and Billy Hargrove glaring at each other frequently, Billy Hargrove unbuckling his belt, Billy Hargrove unzipping his pants, vague terms for penis in vagina sex, Billy Hargrove thrusting hard and fast, Billy Hargrove making you look at him, Billy Hargrove wanting to watch reader's face when his penis hits that one spot found inside reader's vagina that makes reader's eyes slide out of focus, reader and Billy Hargrove having a simultaneous orgasm on the bathroom sink at Ashley M's house, sex between high school students, sex in a bathroom, sex in a bathroom at a party, sex in a bathroom at a party at Ashley M's house, Billy Hargrove's head resting on reader's shoulder, reader claiming that no one can make her fall apart like Billy Hargrove does, reader wanting to tell Billy Hargrove that she loves him, reader fearing that Billy Hargrove will acknowledge that he knows and leave her again anyway, reader admitting that she does not actually hate Billy Hargrove as was stated in the opening sentence of the fic in question

Words in the Blurb: 1438 Words in the Warnings: 980

[just-antithings]

antis be like “oh reading dead dove fanfiction will turn you into a groomer and a pedo!!1!1!1!1!1!1!” what? why? how do YOU know? huh? HOW DO YOU KNOW?

bc one time they read a fic where a character was eating pizza and it made them hungry for pizza and obviously it works the same way to make you a pedo!11! /s

[vanteguccir]

── ୨୧ !　5 TIMES CHRIS AND Y/N WERE CAUGHT KISSING

chris sturniolo x reader

SUMMARY: Where a fan creates a 5-minute video with all the times that Chris and Y/N were caught kissing.

WARNING: Making-out.

REQUESTED?: Yes, by anon.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: That is my work, I DON'T authorize any plagiarism, copy, or "inspiration"! | English isn't my first language, so I'm sorry if there's any grammar error.

　　　༻✦༺ 　༻✧༺　༻✦༺

Chris and Y/N sat side by side on the plush couch in the living room. They were half-watching a movie that had been playing for the past hour, but neither of them was truly invested. Chris's arm was draped lazily around Y/N's shoulders, his thumb drawing idle circles on her upper arm. It was one of those rare, peaceful evenings where they could just relax and enjoy each other's company, without the usual hustle and bustle of filming or the pressure of content creation hanging over Chris head.

Y/N was scrolling through her TikTok, a small smile playing on her lips as she came across fan edits and posts dedicated to Chris and his brothers. Her fingers stopped suddenly, her eyes widening as she stopped on a video with the caption: "Top 5 Times Chris and Y/N Were Caught Kissing in the Background." She let out a small laugh, nudging Chris's shoulder to get his attention.

"Baby, look at this." She muttered, her voice filled with a mix of amusement and shyness. She turned the phone screen towards him, and his brows shot up in surprise as he read the title.

"Are you serious?" He asked, a grin spreading across his face as he leaned closer to get a better view. "I didn't even know we were caught that many times."

Y/N pressed play, and the screen lit up with the fan edit.

　　　　　༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

1. Baking Blind, Deaf and Mute. (Two Times)

The first clip was from a Baking Blind, Deaf, and Mute challenge, recorded when the triplets had visited their parents in Boston for their birthday.

The video opened with Nick standing in the foreground with Matt by his side, leaning casually on the marble table, his hands gesturing animatedly as he explained how that video would be with the participation of Y/N. His voice was filled with that signature mix of enthusiasm and sarcasm as usual.

As Nick continued to lay out the idea, the camera caught slightly Chris and Y/N in the background, standing by the fridge. Chris was holding a spatula in the air like a sword while staring at Y/N, trying to look serious but failing miserably as a playful grin tugged at his lips.

Next to him, Y/N was meticulously reading the ingredients list, ignoring his playful manner successfully, her brow furrowed in concentration as she tried to memorize the steps, fully aware that she wouldn’t be able to see anything in a few minutes.

The atmosphere was light and filled with anticipation, the kind that comes with knowing things were about to descend into playful chaos. Matt and Nick were already debating loudly over what constituted a valid ingredient while picking the necessary ones from the cabinets, their voices a blend of mock seriousness and barely-contained laughter.

But then, probably with the hope of being hidden behind his brothers' back, Chris leaned closer to Y/N, his shoulder brushing against hers. The gesture was subtle, almost as if he were seeking her out in the midst of the noise, a quiet connection just for them. Y/N looked up from the list, her eyes meeting his, and a soft laugh escaped her, the sound so gentle that the camera barely picked it up.

Listening to his favorite sound, Chris, with his eyes sparkling with mischief, turned fully toward Y/N. He leaned in, whispering something in her ear that drew another quiet laugh from her - just like his goal -, her smile wide and genuine, the kind that made her eyes crinkle at the corners.

And then, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, Chris dipped his head and pressed a quick, tender kiss to her lips. It was brief, a mere brush of lips, but the affection behind it was palpable. Y/N’s cheeks flushed a delicate pink, and she ducked her head, pretending to be engrossed in the ingredients list once more, though the small, secretive smile playing at her lips betrayed her.

Meanwhile, Matt started trying to talk to the camera, his voice raised to make sure the viewers could hear him over Nick's teasing.

　　　　　༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

2. DTI

The second clip was from a particularly memorable livestream that Matt and Chris had done from Matt’s room. They had recently started playing a game called Dress to Impress, and after recording a small video for their YouTube channel where they played the game for the first time, it quickly became their newest obsession.

Y/N had been hanging out in the room during the stream, perched comfortably on Nick's chair off-camera. Although she wasn’t actively participating in the game, her presence was felt in subtle ways; every now and then, a hand would appear on the edge of the screen, holding out a bottle of water, an energy drink or a bowl of snacks for the boys. Each time, Chris would glance away from the screen just long enough to offer her a grateful smile or a quick thank you before returning to the chaos on Matt's monitor.

On this particular moment, the livestream had taken an amusing turn. Matt was deeply engrossed in a competition against another player who had, to his disbelief, apparently copied his entire outfit design. His face was a mix of shock and indignation, his voice rising with every word as he expressed his frustration.

Chris couldn’t help but laugh loudly. He leaned back in his chair, his eyes crinkling with amusement as he listened to his brother’s angry words, his eyes focused on the screen.

It was in this moment that Y/N leaned forward, her face suddenly appearing in the corner of the camera. She moved quietly, almost as if she was sneaking up on Chris, her eyes sparkling with mischief. She leaned in close to him, her lips brushing against his ear as she whispered softly - something about 'knowing that Matt would win either way, since he - Chris - was the creative mind who helped creating the outfit'.

Chris’s reaction was immediate. The playful grin he had been wearing just moments before softened into something warmer, more affectionate. He turned his head slightly, meeting Y/N’s gaze with a look that was full of amusement. Without a second thought, he leaned in, catching her lips in a quick, sweet kiss. The kiss was fleeting, lasting only a second before Y/N pulled back, her cheeks tinged with a faint blush as she disappeared back into the background.

The moment was so brief that it could have easily gone unnoticed, especially with Matt’s voice still rising as he ranted about the blatant theft of his outfit. But their fans were nothing if not observant. The chat lit up almost instantly, viewers flooding the comments with a mixture of excitement and teasing.

Despite his attempts to play it cool, Chris couldn’t help the faint blush that crept up his cheeks. The tips of his ears turned pink as he tried to brush off the attention, focusing back on the game with a slightly embarrassed laugh.

"Alright, alright, focus on Matt, not me." He said, trying to redirect the conversation, though his smile never wavered.

　　　　　༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

3. Fortnite Late Night

The third clip captured a moment during one of Matt and Chris's late-night gaming streams, "Fortnite Late Night." Each brother was in his own bedroom, Chris’s camera angled perfectly to frame his upper body, revealing a glimpse of his bed in the background, the soft light from his monitor casting a cool, blue glow over the room.

Meanwhile, Y/N had been upstairs, finishing up in the kitchen. The quiet house amplified the sound of her soft footsteps as she went to the stairs, heading towards the room she shared with Chris.

When Y/N reached the end of the steps and stepped into their bedroom, she found Chris completely engrossed in the game. His posture was tense, shoulders slightly hunched forward, eyes fixed on the screen with an intense concentration. The dim lighting highlighted his features - his lips were slightly parted, pink and plump, forming a small, unintentional pout, and his dark brown eyebrows were knitted together in focus.

He didn’t notice her at first, his mind fully absorbed in the game, but Y/N couldn’t help but smile at how adorable he looked in his concentrated state.

She was ready to crawl into bed, exhausted from the day, but there was one thing she had to do before she could even think about sleep. It was a nightly ritual at this point. No matter how tired she was, Y/N couldn’t fall asleep without saying goodnight to Chris.

Moving with sleepy steps, she walked over to where he sat. Chris didn’t need to look up to know she was there; he could sense her presence. As she leaned over the back of his chair, he could feel the soft brush of her hair against his neck, a comforting sensation that made him momentarily forget about the game.

"Goodnight, honey." Y/N whispered softly, her voice low and gentle, meant only for his ears. But her words, though quiet, were picked up by his sensitive microphone, echoing faintly through the livestream, reaching the ears of the hundreds of fans watching.

Without hesitation, and without any regard for the live audience, Chris tilted his head back, silently asking for his goodnight kiss. It was an instinctual, almost automatic gesture. Y/N, smiling at his adorable demand, obliged him, leaning down to press her lips against his in a tender, familiar kiss.

The angle was a bit awkward, the kiss upside down, but it didn’t matter, it was soft and unhurried.

On the other end of the game, Matt was fully aware of what had just happened. The sudden silence from Chris’s side was enough of a giveaway, and when he glanced at the small preview screen showing Chris’s camera, he saw it all. Matt smirked but kept his eyes on the game, unfazed by the interruption - he had grown used to these moments.

"Dude." Matt finally spoke up after Y/N’s figure disappeared behind Chris’s back, his tone dripping with teasing exasperation. "Can’t you keep your PDA for when we’re not live?"

Chris didn’t even flinch. With a lazy grin spreading across his face, he shrugged, entirely unapologetic.

"Sorry, couldn’t help it." He replied, his voice light and carefree. The grin on his face said it all - he wasn’t sorry at all.

　　　　　༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

4. hello world

It had been a late-night gaming session - again -, one of those times when Chris and Matt were fully immersed in it, talking to fans while navigating through Dress to Impress. The energy in Chris’s room was electric, with his monitors casting a blue glow that bathed everything in a dim light. His headset was on, and he was deeply focused, his eyes glued to the screen.

But the concentration was constantly broken by Chris’s rumbling stomach and the string of complaints that followed.

"Ugh, I’m so hungry." He groaned into the mic, making a face. "Seriously, I could eat a whole pizza right now."

Matt laughed on the other end of the line, his voice crackling through the headphones.

"Dude, we just had dinner like three hours ago."

"Yeah, and?" Chris shot back, pausing for a second to take a sip of his energy drink. "That was hours ago. I’m starving. Hey chat, send food!" He laughed at his own joke, glancing over at the live comments.

Little did Chris know, Y/N was watching the livestream from the living room. She’d been lounging on the couch, scrolling through her phone, when she heard his complaints. A smile spread across her face as an idea formed in her mind. She knew Chris’s favorite takeout place just down the street and decided to surprise him.

She slipped on a pair of sneakers, grabbed her keys, and headed out. The whole trip took barely fifteen minutes. When she returned, the aroma of Chris’s favorite meal wafted through the bag she was carrying, and she made her way quietly up the stairs to their room.

Chris was still completely absorbed in his game, his back to the door. He didn’t notice when she slipped in, the door clicking softly behind her. Y/N could hear him talking to his brother, still complaining about his hunger, completely oblivious to her presence.

She smiled to herself, holding back a giggle as she crept closer. She set the bag down on his desk next to his keyboard, the movement catching his attention. Chris looked up, his eyes widening in surprise when he saw Y/N standing there, holding out the takeout bag with a grin.

"Hey." She whispered, leaning in close so the mic wouldn’t pick up her voice - unsuccessfully. "I heard you were hungry."

Chris’s face lit up like a Christmas tree. He pulled off his headset, letting it hang around his neck, and stretched out his arms to catch the bag from her.

"Oh my God, you’re the best." He said, his voice low and filled with genuine affection. He opened the bag, inhaling deeply, and let out a content sigh. "You got my favorite!"

Y/N nodded, her smile growing wider.

"I know you too well."

Without another word, Chris set the bag down and reached out, pulling Y/N into his arms, forcing her to bent her upper body. He didn’t care that the stream was still going or that his brother and the fans were waiting. In that moment, all he could think about was how thoughtful and sweet she was. He tilted his head up, capturing her lips in a deep, grateful kiss.

Y/N kissed him back, her hands resting on his thighs, feeling the warmth of his skin through the fabric of his sweatpants.

It wasn’t until they broke apart that Chris remembered they were still live. He glanced over at his screen, the chat scrolling so fast it was a blur, and he could see the comments exploding.

Chris laughed, picking up his headset and sliding it back on.

"Sorry, guys." He said into the mic, a huge grin on his face. "Got a little distracted there. Y/N just brought me food, so, uh, I’m gonna eat while we keep playing."

　　　　　༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

5. We became dad's for 24 hours!!! (to eggs)

The last clip was one of a quiet, intimate moment captured during one of the boys' more absurd challenges: taking care of an egg as if it were their own child for 24 hours.

It was the middle of the early morning, the clock barely ticking past 3 AM, when the sound of three simultaneous alarms pierced the stillness of the house. The sharp, grating beeps echoed through the rooms, signaling that it was time for them to wake up and "feed" their eggs.

The absurdity of the situation was only amplified by the ungodly hour, the boys' groggy voices muttering incoherently as they stumbled around, trying to remember where they had left their fragile "children".

Y/N, who had been curled up in bed, still wrapped in the warmth of sleep, found herself jolted awake by the noise. Her eyelids were heavy, barely lifting as she pushed herself up from the bed.

Dressed in one of Chris's oversized T-shirt that hung loosely over her frame and a pair of soft pajama shorts, she looked the very picture of someone who had been dragged from sleep far too early. Her hair was tousled, a wild halo around her face, and her eyes were half-closed as she shuffled out of the room.

She used the commotion as an excuse to get a drink of water, her feet moving on autopilot as she padded quietly into the kitchen. The house was dimly lit, with only the soft glow of the moon filtering through the big window and the faint blue light of the fridge as she pulled it open.

The boys’ sleepy voices floated to her from the living room, muffled but distinct, each of them trying to outdo the other in their groggy banter about their "kids".

Chris was sprawled out on the couch in the living room, his body sinking into the cushions, looking cozy yet disheveled. His legs were stretched out, feet propped up on the coffee table, and his head was tilted back, his eyes blinking slowly as he tried to stay awake. He was mumbling something about the challenge, his words barely coherent.

Y/N, still in her sleepy haze, wandered toward them, her footsteps soft against the hardwood floor. The coolness of the water bottle in her hand provided a small comfort as she made her way toward Chris, passing by Matt’s legs, narrowly avoiding his outstretched foot, and maneuvered around the coffee table until she stood in front of her boyfriend.

Chris’s gaze followed her movements, his tired eyes lighting up slightly as he watched her approach. His arms opened wide, almost instinctively, inviting her into his embrace without needing to say a word. There was a small, sleepy smile on his lips, one that matched the one Y/N gave him as she stepped closer. The moment was quiet, almost dreamlike, the world around them fading into the background as she climbed over his legs and nestled into his lap.

She settled herself against him, her legs folded up on the couch as her body molded against his. The right side of her body pressed against his chest, and she could feel the steady rise and fall of his breathing beneath her. Her head found its place on his shoulder, her nose nuzzling gently against the exposed skin of his neck.

Chris’s arm wrapped around her, pulling her closer, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on her back. He leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to the top of her head, causing Y/N to smile against his neck, feeling the warmth of his breath on her skin, and she tilted her head back just enough to look up at him.

Almost automatically, Chris leaned down again, their lips meeting in a soft, lazy kiss. It was gentle, a mere brush of lips, but it was enough to make Y/N’s heart flutter.

When they pulled back, Y/N let out a small sigh, her eyes fluttering closed as she nestled back into the curve of his neck. Chris held her close, his hand resting on her back, his thumb stroking gently up and down in a soothing rhythm, letting his brothers finish what they wanted to say before going to bed again.

　　　　　༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

The video ended, and Y/N hit pause before it replayed again by itself, looking up at Chris, who was leaning back with a satisfied smile.

"Wow." She started, dragging out the word. "Look at you, Mister Romantic."

Chris shrugged, unabashed.

"What can I say? When you've got a girlfriend as amazing as you, you just... can't help yourself."

Y/N, sitting up and adjusting her position, rolled her eyes but smiled, her cheeks tinged pink.

"You’re such a dork." She muttered, but there was affection in her voice.

"And you love it." Chris shot back, leaning down, pressing a kiss to her temple, and Y/N couldn't help but smile, leaning into his touch.

"I really do."

　　　　　༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

extra - comments:

"this compilation was the perfect one to prove what the boys said about chris being the only one who would make-out with his girlfriend in front of everyone 😭"

"stop, the way chris looks at Y/N in every clip???? ugh, I NEED this 😩"

"forget the baking, chris and Y/N's little kiss right there? too cute omg"

"okay but that livestream moment when Y/N brings chris food 😭 she's so thoughtful and caring ;(("

"chris and Y/N in the background just being all lovey-dovey while matt and nick are doing their thing is EVERYTHING!!! they’re so in love it hurts 🥺"

"honestly, I’m all here for how they’re always caught kissing like they forget the cameras are on 😞"

"chris couldn't even focus on the game anymore after Y/N kissed him LMAOOO, he's down bad, guys"

"STOP IT RIGHT NOW!! Y/N laying on chris lap while they do their thing with their eggs omg 🤧🤧 they're so precious"

[cheapshrimpysheep]

There's a Calm Surrender

SUMMARY: The Bead Brawl tournament ends and Leona and the other three run away leaving you, Grim and Jack behind. This causes Neji(Kifaji) to reprimand Leona and trigger him into taking you on a ride to confess to you.

CHARACTERS: Leona Kingscholar x Reader 🦁

TAGS: Fluff; GN Reader; Love Confession; Kiss; Flirting

WARNING: Spoilers from Cloudcalling on the Savanna (Sunset Savanna's Tamashina-Mina) and its respective cards.

WORD COUNT: 2.200 words

COMMENTS: At first, I was going to write scenarios for all the event cards, but as Leona's was so personal, it ended up inspiring me to write a lot. So I decided to let him have his solo post. I'll still write scenarios for the others in a separate post.

By the way, I was undecided whether to use the name Neji or Kifaji, so I used both. 😅

I hope you enjoy. 😘

To escape from Cheka, Neji(Kifaji) and the palace guards who were with them, Leona rushed to the car to drive back to the hotel. Vil, Kalim and Lilia went with him. And you, Grim and Jack were left behind in the rain.

I mean, Leona wanted to escape and the car didn't have seats for everyone but... still... it made you a little sad. At least you had Jack who never left your side. Eventually, Cheka and Neji(Kifaji) reached you, after Leona and the others had already fled. Of course the first thing Neji(Kifaji) did was apologize for Leona's rudeness and offer to take you back to the hotel.

During the ride back, Cheka wanted to stay with you, especially after finding out that the name Leona used to win the tournament was yours. You were like his new favorite person. He even started calling you Unca, like he does with Leona.

There was a moment when it seemed like Neji(Kifaji) was going to correct Checka, perhaps explaining that since you're not married to his uncle, calling you “Unca” as well wouldn't be correct. But for some reason, he interrupted himself with a smile and just said amused: "Yes, they are the real Unca [Y/N]."

SUNSET SAVANNA - SUNSET VILLA

When you arrive at the hotel, you decide to take a shower to clean yourself from the rainwater. And after that, you hear two voices arguing in a nearby room. One is from Neji(Kifaji) and the other from Leona. You can't contain your curiosity and lean against the door to listen.

“The other three only went with me because they wanted to!” Leona says “I could have left alone.”

“And you, as a prince, would leave all your guests behind?” Neji(Kifaji) replies “In the middle of the rain? It would be shameful enough if it were discovered that you did it to three of them.”

“There were no more seats in the car.” Leona says in that smug tone of his. “It would be dangerous if I took more people. I took whoever I could and you took the rest. And for that I thank you. For bringing my other dear colleagues when I couldn't.”

“Hum, dear colleagues. Fu fu.” Neji’s(Kifaji) tone sounded like he was smiling in amusement. “Is that all they really are to you, prince Leona?”

“You know even the ‘dear’ part was deceiver sarcasm. And I don't like that smug on your face.”

“Oh, forgive me, Prince Leona. Far be it from me to insinuate that I know, for knowing you, what feelings you hide for them.”

“Feelings? You don't really think they're my friends, do you?”

“I wish. But I didn't mean all of them. I was referring to [Y/N].”

“And what exactly were you referring to?” Leona's voice lost its smug and sounded slightly annoyed.

“You know, Prince Cheka liked them very much. He even started calling them Unca [Y/N]. Something tells me you would like the sound of it.”

“No, I wouldn't. And it's a good thing those thoughts and assumptions of yours never leave your mouth ever again! Or be written in any way!” Leona had a growl in his voice.

“But of course, Prince Leona. I would never do such a thing.” and his tone became more serious. “You let them get closer and at the same time they are the first person you push away.”

“I didn't ask them to come. The furball insisted that he wanted to come and he is unbearable without his caretaker.”

“You are trying to deceive others by deceiving yourself.”

“Mind your own business and get out of mine!” He roars. There is silence for a few seconds.

“Very well. I will withdraw now. Forgive my intrusion, Prince Leona.”

“I will not.”

“But there is a limit to which a person can be pushed.” His footsteps and voice approach the door and the last thing you hear before leaving is the phrase: “Until they find someone who is willing  to embrace them.”

SUNSET SAVANNA - SUNSET VILLA (later)

It was night. You were only going to return to NRC the next day. You were in your room with Grim and he was already fast asleep, when someone knocks on your door. With your pajamas on, you open it.

Leona looks you up and down. “If you want to come on one last ride, get changed and head to the entrance in half an hour.” He tells you and leaves.

You did as he said and a few seconds later you hear a car approaching. Leona stops, the front passenger door right in front of you ready for you to open and step inside. There's no one else in the car other than the two of you. You can't contain a little smile.

SUNSET SAVANNA - LEONA'S CAR

You ask him where you are going.

“I don't know.” He responds, very naturally.

What did he mean he didn't know? Why did he invite you to take that ride? What was happening?

“I know you heard our conversation.” He says, without taking his eyes off the path and speaking as he normally does. “I heard your footsteps and smelled your scent.” He smirks. “What a rude guest. If he knew maybe he wouldn't praise you so much.”

You apologize.

“It's a little late for that, don't you think? You already overheard a private conversation. And between a prince and the chief chamberlain of his royal family. Few would have such insolence.” he was grinning smugly.

“And what are you going to do with me?” you ask. “For this so-called insolence.”

“I could have you arrested for espionage. I invite you, out of the kindness of my heart, to introduce you to my country and culture, for you to betray me and try to find out personal information about the royal family of Sunset Savana.” He finally looks at you, from the corner of his eyes and with a serious face. “You know I could really do that, right?”

You immediately looked worried and flinched a little.

He laughs. “I’m kidding. Don’t be frightened of each little joke. It's not like I mean any harm to you.”

“Then... what is this?” You ask.

“A night ride.” Leona answers. “Just enjoy it. Look up.”

You do it and you see a beautiful, clear, dark sky full of stars you didn't even know could be seen from earth. He was calmly driving, which made you also feel like everything was okay and that you could relax too. He ended up making his way to the arena where the Bead Brawl tournament took place. But he continued driving toward the colossal boulder that was the tournament's background.

SUNSET SAVANNA - PRIDE ROCK

He parked right at the base of the stone. He gets out of the car, knowing you would follow, and walks up to a locked steel door. He takes a key out of his pocket and opens the door. You ask if you can be there.

“I can. I have the key, don't I?” He starts to climb the stone stairs and you follow him. “Close the door, will ya?” He turns on the lights in the passage and you close the door behind you.

You go up the stairs until you reach a kind of room with a large opening, like a cave. It was blocked by a fence with a locked door, probably for the safety of visitors. You look outside and see that extensive ledge in front of you, the most striking point of that place.

“When planning began to turn this place into a tourist spot,” Leona explained “they thought about placing the fence outlining the stone, to create a landscaped balcony, I think. But the stone has an unstable shape to support a lot of weight, so they blocked the passage here. For the tourists.” He takes the keys again and opens the fence door. “You're not afraid of heights, are you?” He laughs and walks along the ledge.

You go carefully after him. He stops halfway, takes off his cloak and spreads it on the ground. And he lays down beside the cloak.

“I know I'm hot, but wouldn't you rather lie down next to me and see the stars? You can admire me all you want at school.” He was referring to the cloak, it was for you.

You lie down and look back at that wonderful starry sky. It was calming.

“Legend says that it was on this stone that the shaman presented the newborn prince or princess to the other animals.” he tells you, and points to the tip of the stone. “The shama would go there, right on the edge and lifted the cub. Like the golden statue in the city center. I wonder if any lion has ever fallen from there.” he laughs. There's a short moment of silence. “Sorry.”

“Hum? Sorry for what?” you ask

“For leaving you behind in the rain.” he explained looking at the stars. “But if you had been faster I would have brought you too.”

“You’re apologizing?”

“Why are you herbivores always surprised by that?” he sighs.

And then he rolls over and positions himself on top of you with his arms stretched out. Making you look at him with the starry sky behind him.

“And just so we're clear, I didn't want to bring you because this wasn't a vacation. I was just trying to resolve an inconvenience. I didn't want to involve you in these matters, and I just wanted to get this over with quickly.” he smirks “However, I admit it wasn't bad that I had the opportunity to show off in front of you.”

You get flattered, maybe even blush and end up looking down instinctively from his face. But when you do this, your gaze ends up stopping at his torso, with that tight top and the muscles on his abdomen exposed and flexed. And you end up looking to the side, even more flustered, and with a little smile. He interprets this as a green light.

“You heard what Neji(Kifaji) said, right?” He wasn't smiling, but his face was relaxed and he was looking at you with strangely tender eyes. “About you.‘You let them get closer and at the same time they are the first person you push away.’... And you're still here.” he sighs. “Fine, then. I surrender.”

“What do you mean?” you ask “Surrender from what?”

He bends his arms, now supporting himself on his forearms and getting closer to your face.

“From the fight. You’re too persistent. Stronger than me apparently. Always wanting to see me happy. Always present with that smile. You looked like a puppy excited to go for a walk when I let you and Grim come with us... Cute... I’ll put all my cards on the table and give you a choice. And make sure you listen to me because I won't repeat myself. I like you and I'm willing to make you mine. I will give you the choice: Look away and refuse me or kiss me and accept me.”

You take your time. You look at his lips instead of looking away.

“It's your choice, herbivore. Let me be your number one and I'll make you mine... [Y/N].”

You kiss his lips and he lets his body move closer to yours. Until you're in each other's arms. You had started cuddling each other when he tells you:

“Don't tell anyone about this yet. I don't want Neji(Kifaji) to get all cocky thinking he was right and that he had a hand in this.”

“And he didn't?”

“He doesn't need to know that. No one needs. I never thought I'd say it this way, but...” with an arm around your waist he brings you closer. “Hakuna Matata... Let's not worry about it tonight.” and he kisses you again.

You will start to feel him more relaxed, even more than usual. He has nothing left to hide anymore, no feelings to fight against. Instead, he is free to behave however he wants, to hug you, kiss you and fall asleep next to you, especially if you pet his ears. But don't worry, he'll still wake up easily if you need to escape before you two get caught there and people start asking questions.

SUNSET SAVANNA - SUNSET VILLA

The two of you return to the hotel, when you are getting close to separating to go to your rooms, you say good night to Leona and turn to go to your room. But he holds you by the waist.

“And where do you think you're going?” he asks with a smirk. “I skipped the parade, but I still want to celebrate my victory.”

“Do you mean my victory?” you say “After all, I'm pretty sure that masked mysterious warrior that appeared last minute had my name.”

He laughs. “Whoever we celebrate, I want to do it in my room. And I want you there with me.” The way you smile is enough for him to know that you want the same. He picks you up and takes you with him to the prince's bedroom.

If you would like to read more from me, you can find it in my pinned post: INDEX

[angelicjackles]

— reckless heroine.

cw: fem!reader, best friend!reader, hurt/comfort, angst with a smidge of fluff, injuries and blood descriptions — 2.2k a/n: this is the first time I've posted anything publicly in years so consider this a testing the waters fic, trying to find my groove and decide if i want to make this a regular thing.

summary: after a rough, but successful hunt, you and dean arrive back at the motel, only you were reckless and got injured, some duct tape patching up ensues from an angry dean.

The storm had arrived just as Dean and her pulled into the grimy parking lot of the Twin Pines Motel, how very Montana. The heavy raindrops pummeled against the windows like a stark warning. The sky rumbled with low growls, and flashes of jagged light illuminated the dim, rundown building. Inside their basic motel room, the air was thick with tension and the unmistakable smell of almost damp carpet—a cheerful welcome after a semi-successful hunt with a werewolf.

Dean slammed the creaky motel door shut behind them, the force alone almost enough to splinter the plaster around the hinges, his expression a maelstrom of anger and concern blended into one explosive temper as he flicked the lightswitch, the gross orange-ish glow of the overhead bulb highlighted the unsavoury nature of their accommodation. They’d come a long way from Kansas for this hunt.

Sam and Cas took off East together for a potential case, something something bizarre circumstances, frankly, there’d been little resistance offered when the duo took off to the east coast, leaving her and Dean to take Montana—although if they were real, they’d probably have taken anywhere over the east coast.

The door was barely closed for a moment before his gruff voice crackled through the air like a whip. “Did that brewing concussion knock all damn common sense out of your head?” Dean snapped angrily, his demandingly sharp voice rising above the impending storm. “You got a fucking death wish or something?”

She grimaced, carefully moving to sit on one of the twin beds, feeling the throbbing pain radiating from the gash on the back of her shoulder, the wound still steadily leaking blood, instinctively rubbing the spot on the back of your head that had collided with the concrete earlier in the night when he mentioned a concussion.

“Very funny,” she retorted in deadpan, infusing her tone with a touch of biting sarcasm that was quickly becoming a defence mechanism, and all but guaranteed to rile him up further. “The victim needed help, she was bleeding out and scared, and unlike you I actually gave a shit about more than ganking the mutt.” The implication that he didn’t care if the victim survived so long as they handled the werewolf wasn’t helping Dean’s mood, but the remorse she showed was negligible. ��Besides, I handled it, didn’t I? And it worked—aren’t you always telling me ‘trust your instincts, your instincts are good’.” she added on before he had a chance to respond, putting an emphasis on the drawl of his voice. The mock only made that muscle in his jaw clench so hard it wouldn’t be a surprise if his teeth shattered. Heed the warning.

A growl bubbled in the back of his throat, but somehow he managed to keep it partially contained and tossed both his and her bags down onto the bed she hadn’t plopped down on. He may be pissed at her right now but that didn’t mean he was going to let his injured best friend carry her own bag. “Trust your instincts?” He gestured wildly with his hand, like that would somehow show just how worked up he was right now. She was getting to him, bad, and it was taking every ounce of willpower he was summoning from Chuck only knows where to stop from lashing out at her. “You were reckless and got yourself attacked in the process of playing heroine!” He rasped, his low voice reverberating off the thin motel walls with how loud his words escaped. 

Just for good measure he had to force his eyes elsewhere, just so he’d stop being faced with those claw marks on your shoulder, every glance at them made something in him coil and burn. Stomping towards the foot of the unoccupied bed, he aggressively unzipped his duffle bag and rummaged through it. Meanwhile she was busy shedding herself of the unnecessary clothing and gear, kicking her shoes off and abandoning them on the mysteriously patchy carpet next to the bed, unbuckling her belt and unlatching the clasp on the blade sheath on her hip, tossing both onto the lone chair off to the side of the beds.

Finally after a few long moments his fingers found the squished edges of the first-aid kit he’d grown used to keeping in there—the first-aid kit that only remained stocked up because she meticulously replenished what she, him and Sam went through after every hunt—Snagging it up, deft fingers were quick to unzip and flick through it haphazardly, plucking out several different medical supplies.

When he realised she hadn’t responded to his last few retorts, which was uncharacteristic for her, his eyes flickered back towards her, forest green eyes darkening at the blood leaking against her pale skin. “You put yourself in danger, again, and walked away with a souvenir I’m not too keen on.” He continued despite his better judgement, gesturing angrily at the deep werewolf claw marks on the back of your shoulder blade, having torn through her flannel and undershirt, soaking both in bright crimson and leaving her down to a base layer tank top.

The retort had her glancing over her shoulder, but able to see little more than the dark streaks of blood sticking to wet skin. The amount of blood she’d lost so far wasn’t enough to be life-threatening, but it was definitely a worrying situation that needed attention. God forbid the pair didn’t do their back-and-forth arguing before that though, not like she was bleeding out over here or anything. “You’re lucky you didn’t get yourself killed.” He grumbled, not so hotly as before, the edges of concern leaking into his voice. “These are gonna scar ugly...” The last part was more of an afterthought.

“More to add to the collection,” she mused out far too casually for the situation. “What did you ju—” He interjected, a warning hiss in his voice, but she was quick to wave a dismissive hand over her shoulder at him. “Forget it.” She brushed off, cutting off his warning remark.

‘It’s like she’s trying to piss me off,’ Dean thought to himself, and hell maybe she was. “For once, couldn’t you have followed the game plan, sweetheart? Fuckin’ hell…” His tone was a mixture of worried fondness and scolding terseness. Either way, she was quick to turn her entire body around on the bed to glare at him, ignoring the searing pain from her wound with the quick movement.

“Oh? Am I supposed to bow down to Dean Winchester’s expert advice? Follow orders blindly?” She shot back at him, a chilling kind of coolness to her voice. “‘Cause I’m pretty sure that’s your speciality,” she added, venomously, the tension in her voice masking the discomfort that coiled within her body.

And she could have sworn she saw him flinch as soon as the words tumbled out of her mouth, making a low simmering pit of guilt fester inside her, knowing she was out of line. Low blow. His gaze pained for a fleeting moment, pretty green eyes widening and mouth falling open the smallest amount like those words had quite literally taken the breath from his lungs; but it quickly hardened again as he stewed on those words, cracking open a bottle of antiseptic with more force than necessary. “Just— shut up, for once.” It was almost a plea, more of a pained demand, but she knew she’d hit a nerve. “Sit still and let me patch you up, okay? I may not be a doctor, but I can keep your ass from bleeding out.”

She rolled your eyes, watching as he pulled out a smorgasbord of supplies from the first-aid kit. “I’m perfectly capable of handling my own medical emergencies. This isn’t my first skirmish with fangs and claws, Dean. I don’t need your help,” her voice came out more snapped than intended.

Despite the fact they both knew the precocious positioning of this wound left her unable to attend to it herself, she’d have to be a pretty fine contortionist to deal with it without help. Dean opened his mouth to inform his best friend of just that but thought better of it in the final second, slowly his mouth slipped closed.

A frustrated grunt slipped past his lips and one hand racked impatiently through his short, messy locks. “Well, congratulations on surviving past encounters, but this looks like a crime scene,” he replied tersely before sighing in frustration, the adrenaline of the situation beginning to die. “—plus, you’re bleeding on my marginally clean bed,” he added on, in an attempt to diffuse the situation, which pulled a scoffed laugh from her mouth before it could be helped.

His tense shoulders dropped slightly in relief when she responded by gingerly peeling the fabric of her black tank top away from the wound, letting it slip down off her slender shoulder so he’d have access. 

The next fifteen minutes were deafeningly quiet, the only sounds were the soft pained noises that left her mouth, and the heavy breaths of concentration from Dean as he worked at disinfecting and patching up the wound on her shoulder as best as possible - Would this be easier to do in the bathroom instead of on the bed? Absolutely, but here they were.

Thankfully the wound didn’t need stitches, the claw marks the werewolf had left her with were nasty but not deep enough to be genuinely worrisome—not that it would stop Dean from worrying like a motherfucker. They’d leave some impressively disgusting scars, and hurt like a bitch for the next couple weeks as they healed, and as much as he was tempted to suggest going to the nearest a&e to get her properly seen to, just to be safe, he knew what her answer would be, so that wasn’t a battle he’d win. His basic hunter duct-taping would have to suffice.

The mood wasn’t great, both seething with worry and anger and pain that blended together into a chokingly intense thickness that lingered like smoke in the air, so it was in everyone’s best interests that they shut up.

“Done.”

Those words out of his mouth seemed to break the atmosphere and she slowly glanced back at him over her shoulder right in time for his thumbs to smooth out the medical tape that adhered the thick, white dressings to her pale skin, his touch extremely gentle despite everything, ensuring the tape wouldn’t come loose.

Turning on the bed so she was facing him as he remained stood up, her shoulders rolled back slowly, testing out the movement with the fresh patch up, it seemed to be healing. “How’s it looking, doc?” She quipped, her voice slightly lilted, making a weak attempt to lighten the mood up, too damn tired to argue further with him. His mouth quirked up in what could be described as a lazy grin. “Think you might just survive the night, thanks to the tireless effort of your handsome doctor.” He teased, only because he wanted to see her roll her eyes in that fondly affectionate way, and he got his wish.

The way she made a point to shake her head at him was all he needed to see to know that the sparky atmosphere had diminished; even though it was likely due to the adrenaline dying out and the pain kicking in.

His eyes followed her when she pushed herself to stand up, hands instinctively reaching out to steady her. “Mm, I don’t know, can’t say the bloody hands add to the sex appeal.” She hummed, eyes flicking down to his hands that were stained with her blood, hands that were now staining her arm in deep crimson too, her brows furrowing in distaste, but he didn’t seem in a rush to pull his hand back so she didn’t move to knock him off either. His gaze dropped to the offending hands in question, nose scrunching up at the sight of the blood as his thumb stroked against her elbow. “So… you’re saying I have sex appeal?” 

The tone of his voice in that moment was the most playful thing she’d heard from him in a long time. She couldn’t help but laugh, a real hearty ‘you’re such an idiot’ kind of laugh, the kind that had him grinning crookedly at her in return.

“Your ego needs no further stroking, I’m gonna plead the fifth on that one.” She held her hands up in mock surrender, which only rumbled an amused laugh from deep in his chest.

“That’s my girl.” Dean beamed, running his tongue over his teeth with a soft sigh. The adrenaline had long since faded and now he was left with that anxious worry and tired stress lingering in his body. “Fuck… C’mere, you,” he beckoned suddenly, barely giving her time to register his words before he was pulling her in against his chest, strong arms wrapping around her in such a delicate way, careful of her injuries while somehow managing to squish her into him. The height difference leaving the top of her head tucked perfectly underneath his chin as his fingers carted through her messy hair.

“Look... Call a truce, sweetheart?” The gruff hunter muttered into her hair, his arms cradling her close to his larger body. “Truce.” She conceded, placing a complacent kiss against his clothed shoulder, which earned a soft little rumbly hum from him.

The storm raged outside, but within the cramped motel room, a warmth had blossomed between the pair of them—a reminder that despite all the chaos of the job, it was them against the world and in this tempest, as the thunder rolled across the darkening horizon and the lightning split the sky, they both knew they’d face them together, side by side.

[mattsnight]

Pissed off - Matt Sturniolo

Summary; Matt is pissed off about y/n going to a party, but will she make it up to him?

Warnings; Sex, oral (!male receiving), swearing, use of y/n, idk what else.

A/N; THANK ALL SO MUCH FOR ALMOST 100 FOLLOWERS!! it means a lot, i love you all!!

━─━────༺༻────━─━

Matt barely had any bad days, but if he had one he would be pissed off. Most of the times when it would happen, you and him would argue and later forget about it, but now it was different. You went out with some friends and you didn’t tell Matt. Eventually a friend of you posted a picture online and he saw it. He didn’t like this, so he started ignoring you.

You walk into his room, noticing he’s busy with his playstation. It’s clear that he’s angry at you.

“Matt? Hey..” you speak up. His fingers clench the mouse tightly, his face red with anger.

“Im sorry for what i did okay..?”

He pauses the game and turns to face you, his eyes blazing with jealousy. “You think it's okay to just disappear without a word?” He says. You sigh, not knowing what to say.

His voice is low and dangerous, barely contained rage simmering just below the surface. “Did you even think about me once? Did you ever consider that maybe I might want to know where you are? That maybe I might be worried about you?” His hands ball into fists at his sides.

“Im sorry, i should’ve told you.” You apologize. He scoffs, not mollified in the least. “Sorry? That's it? Don't you think you owe me more than just a sorry?” He shifts in his seat, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “So where did you go?” He asks.

“Jim’s party.” You admit. Jim was someone you both knew from high school and he wasn’t exactly matt’s favorite. His eyes narrow, his jealousy turning into anger. “Jim's party? And why didn't you tell me?” He stands up, towering over you, the rage visible in every line of his body. “Are you trying to hurt me on purpose? Is that it?”

“No matt! I didn’t mean to hurt you. I just wanted to have fun..”

A deep breath leaves his mouth. He’s trying to control his anger, but it's clear that he's still upset. “You wanted to have fun? And you couldn't even spare a thought for me? Was it really that hard to send a text?” His voice is tense with frustration.

“im sorry.. can i make it up to you, please?” You beg. Matt sighs, rubbing the back of his neck as he sits back down. “Fine. What do you want to do?”

A smirk forms on your face as you sink to your knees in-front of him. His eyes flicker down to you, and he raises an eyebrow at your sudden closeness. “What are you doing?”

“Oh you know.. just.. this.” You say as you unbuckle his belt. His breath hitches as he watches you. “Oh, I see. You want to play that game, huh?” He leans back in his seat, letting you continue unbuckling his belt before he reaches down and brushes a hand through your hair.

You take off his belt, pants and underwear until his cock is in-front of you, fully erect. He lets out a soft sigh as you remove his pants and underwear, revealing his bare legs. He looks down at you, his eyes darkening with desire. “Alright, let's see how you plan on making it up to me.” He spreads his legs slightly, inviting you to sit between them.

You suck on his slit, making him shudder at the first touch of your tongue and letting out a soft gasp. He threads his hands through your hair, holding you close as you continue licking. “Y-yes, just like that...” He lets out a soft moan, his hips twitching slightly as you continue. A groan escapes his mouth as he leans his head back in pleasure as you take him fully into your mouth. He grips the arms of his chair tightly, his breathing growing heavier as you continue to move your mouth. “Ah, fuck... that's so good..”

You pump your head up and down his cock, determined to make him cum. He thrusts his hips up into your mouth, moaning loudly as he gets closer and closer to climax. He can't help but grip your hair tighter, rolling his head back in ecstasy. “God, yes... oh fuck, I'm gonna cum...” he moans out.

You keep going and going.

He suddenly bursts into a loud, desperate cry, his entire body shaking as he cums hard in your mouth. He grips your hair so tightly it almost hurts as he thrashes in his chair, his cum shooting down your throat in thick, hot spurts. “Fuck! Oh fuck!”

As he comes down from his high, you pull back, happy with your work. He collapses back in his chair, panting heavily as he looks at you with a dazed expression. He's still gripping your hair tightly, his heart racing from the intense orgasm. “H-holy shit...” He finally releases your hair, running a hand through it instead.

“Was that good, baby? You still mad?” You ask him. He looks at you with a mix of annoyance and satisfaction, his chest still heaving from his orgasm. “I'm still mad, but...” He trails off, his gaze drifting back to your mouth. “Maybe not as mad as I was before.”

“Do i need to show you again how sorry i am?” You look up at him, smiling innocently. He looks down at you with a smirk, his chest still heaving slightly. “i dont think im able to take it.”

“Oh we’ll see about that.” You say, biting your lip.

And that, that was the most memorable moment ever.

━─━────༺༻────━─━

yalllll i love this! Make sure to follow me for more<3

[ew-selfish-art]

Dpxdc AU: Danny can’t fix Jason’s whole…deal… and doesn’t want to answer any questions on ectoplasm but he can get Jason to the best therapist he knows! Jason mistakes Danny constantly pushing Jazz his way as an awkward little brother move to set them up romantically- which uh, isn't necessarily a bad thing? Jazz has her own vested interests.

… heads up that this got long...

Jason ran his hands through this hair, relieving them from their previous position of cradling his face in embarrassment. Why was he sitting in a nice cafe with Danny’s redhead sister and a five dollar chai latte? For all the awkward live wire feelings he had, at least she was calm and composed. How many times had this happened already?

“So… the green stuff again?” Jazz asks, taking a sip from her own stupidly expensive drink and giving him eyebrows that beg for his explanation.

“Yeah. I was trying to get your brother to explain stuff without all the science mumbo jumbo. I just, I guess that means he defers to you.” Jason sighed, and tried to not think about how pretty her eyes were as she observed him.

“Not likely. But is the search for your answers helping you cope from day to day or making you climb an impossible mountain?” Jazz asks and it makes Jason fluster.

“It’s a moving goal post, sure, but I need answers if I’m going to fix my-“

“I think it might help you to realize that people don’t need to be fixed, they just need to grow.” Jazz interrupts.

They finish their drinks in a comfortable nonchalance, the rest of their conversation doesn’t go anywhere beyond their mutual hobbies and he’s grateful for that.

Jason's been doing a lot of introspection since this all started.

——

The first time it happened was months ago.

He confronts Danny after a mission, just wanting a simple answer on whether or not Danny thought the Lazarus pit contained ectoplasm? Could ectoplasm be separated from blood? Danny looked a little uncomfortable.

“Look dude, I know you want to know more but like, having this info isn’t going to help you. You need to talk it out.” Danny sounds sad and his eyes are filed with something adjacent to pity. It riles up the pit inside him.

“Oof. See that whole reaction thing. That’s not ectoplasmic, that’s something different. C’mon follow me.” Phantom cringes as he talks to him, and then floats across the rooftops, going slow enough that Jason can keep up on his grapple.

The arrive at a modest apartment building, not too far from his territory but clearly outside of it. Danny opens a window and slides in ahead of Jason, and all of a sudden he’s seated at a kitchen table with hot chocolate and teal blue eyes peering into his soul.

“Danny, some warning next time you’re bringing a crime boss to my apartment.” Jazz sighs and its not said with any malice or sarcasm. Danny gives her a grin and a peace sign before disappearing.

“So you want to talk about it?” Jazz turns back to him and asks.

“About?” Jason’s deep voice is going through the modulator and it sounds more sinister than it should.

“Death. Dying. The afterlife. Those are the normal things Danny brings people to me for.” She blinks.

“There’s a misunderstanding, I don’t need to talk, I need answers on Ectoplasm.” He grits out.

"Hm. Well that's not my field of study, but I can tell you that however your feeling is probably a valid response towards the trauma you've faced in life. Do you think showing yourself some kindness might lessen your desire to know the knitty gritty details?"

Jason scoffs.

"Oh. You're serious. No. I don't think being kind to myself is a valid approach to dealing with an infection that's cost me a lot of family relationships." Jason rolls his eyes. The woman looks contemplative for a moment and Jason can tell that while the dim kitchen lights are doing her no favors, she's incredibly beautiful. He pockets that information and refuses to think about it.

"So...Lets take this a different direction. Do you think successful people know what they're doing or do you think successful people need help to get where they want to go?"

"Most people are dumb and trying to get by." Jason grits out.

"So, accept that you're dumb. And then get by." Jazz replies, and then sighs and leaves the room.

Jason however, is now pissed off. Who the heck was she to say that to him?

____

The next time he finds himself across the table from Jazz, he's been on a wild goose chase with Danny and lands himself in a fancy restaurant. Why the hell was she here?

"Uh, it's called self care." Jazz replies, because apparently Jason asked that out loud. But he's not going to let this lead get away from him.

He takes off his helmet, years of muscle memory make him check that his Domino mask was in place, and sits down across from her. She raises a brow and then sighs.

"You think Danny might give me answers if I hold you hostage over, what is that, some kind of gnocchi dish?"

"Mm. Probably not." Jazz says, taking a bite and pulling out her phone.

"You're just going to ignore me then?" Jason finds himself a bit flabbergasted, he was a fucking crime lord, not someone to be ignored! Like he's just- just some bad blind date!

"Uh huh. You don't want to work on your issues and it's not my job to lead a stubborn horse to water."

"The expression is that you can lead a horse to water but you can't-"

"Can't what? Or are you still going to tell me it's not a huge waste of my time to tell you that you need to accept and forgive yourself to be able to move on. Find peace. Rest." Jazz is taking bites between her last few words but her glare remains unshakeable.

Jason is about to get up and leave when a terrified waiter comes over: "A dish, as compliments from the chef. Your guest's meal as well." He's shaking as he speaks and it makes Jason feel bad.

"Thanks." He grits out.

"...Is that the lasagna?" Jazz is looking at his food curiously, and Jason pushes it forward to indicate that she can take a bite. Probably not the safest thing for a civilian to do considering people regularly try to poison Jason but, meh. He's kind of pissed off at her still.

"It's pretty good. I was debating between that and the gnocchi- Okay let's think about this differently. You want to know about the green stuff, Danny is never going to tell a mortal about it and you keep denying yourself basic self-respect. What does your support system look like?"

"You're really pushing my buttons lady-" Jason can feel the green, but after a breath and seeing her unimpressed gaze "-I have a few friends who know what my deal is, I have an older brother who claims to forgive me, and a merry band of goons that I call my henchmen."

"Henchpeople?" Jazz asks.

"I mean, sure. That's more accurate."

"What do you do for fun?" She asks.

"I take down crime syndicates-" she levels him with another glare, he wonders why its so effective on him "-I read."

"Yeah? What genres?"

"Classics." He can admit only that much.

"Nerd. Are you going to eat any of that? You really shouldn't let food waste like that when it's not even fighting back."

"I don't know why I'm even bothering to talk to you right now." Jason spoke plainly.

"I dunno either but it's easier to tolerate you without the stupid helmet speaker. Anyway, If you like to read, hopefully that means you like to see new scenarios, new plots, stuff like that. You ever think to put yourself in side-character mode and contemplate what your whole deal is bringing to the table?"

"...How so?"

"Like, if you don't think it's worth it to treat yourself well, how do the main characters feel? Or, you know, if you were a child reading your story, what would you shout at them to move forward differently?"

"... I've decided that I only read poetry." Jason grumbles, trying to deflect with humor the fact that he does have some thoughts about what she's saying. She actually laughs at his joke though- he hadn't anticipated that.

"Uh, what is the Dr. Suess line? Stop telling outlandish tales, stop turning minnows into whales? something like that."

"Dr. Suess? Really?" Jason laughs.

"Sorry Mr. Classics, I spent most of my childhood raising my brother, forgive me for not knowing any fancy poetry." She huffs but he can tell she's laughing with him still.

They get off the topic of his mental health crisis and it turns out the Lasagna isn't half bad.

----

Jason keeps chasing Danny. Danny keeps leading him to Jazz. It goes for a few rounds before the ghost kid makes a joke about Jason liking her better anyway. Jason asks what the hell Phantom means by that, but Danny just laughs and says that Jason should just ask for her number.

...This does not sit right in his gut all of a sudden. Does he think that, that Jason is only pursuing this knowledge to keep talking to Jazz?? Does Danny want him to pursue Jazz? Does HE want to pursue Jazz???

----

He spots the Replacement in the Cave's lab before he heads upstairs to grab a cookie and leave as a civilian. The reason he even looked that way being that Tim is holding glowing green vials.

"Is that-"

"Yeah. They're literally the same except for the magic mumbo jumbo that Ra's has mixed in with the pit. Leave me alone now."

"So there is a way to heal it or, or extract it or-" Jason can feel his heart racing, but his constantly-exhausted sibling is looking at him like he's grown a second head.

"Dude. You're not gunna be able to flush it out with like, a juice cleanse. You're probably better off trying to find a magic user to deal with the curses and a therapist to do the rest." Tim looks like he's trying to be patient despite being deeply, deeply vexxed.

"Therapist- why in the hell would I-"

"I mean hasn't that been Danny's entire solution for you? He's only had one strategy the whole time he's lived in Gotham." Jason rolls his eyes.

"His solution is setting me up on dates with his sister not-"

"Dates!?! His sister is THE break out psychologist, she's done more for Arkham in the last year than decades of political reform! You've been goin on- wheez- oh my god I have to call Danny-" Tim is cackling, the lazarus water all but abandoned.

"Don't you fucking dare!"

After a (from both brothers) number of punches, a few headlocks and a large portion of threats, Jason agrees that Tim can tell his boyfriend but no one else.

Kon can keep a secret right? That's why he's the favorite?

----

"So... You and Jazz huh?" Danny looks amused as he floats by- Kon could not be trusted. The entire Justice league knows. Jason might have to die again. Apparently he said as much.

"Oh buddy, it's okay! You don't have to die again! I'm sure that if she likes you, she likes you just as you are, weird little zombie boy." Danny teases, turning intangible as Jason swings a punch at him.

"What do you mean if she likes me?" Jason asks, swinging with his grapple, trying to keep up with Danny.

"You think I read her diary or something? Weirdo. You need to talk to her about it tho, it's funny and all but I'm sure she's not a fan of the JL hot goss."

"I didn't start any of this-"

"My guy. Chill. I know, but uh, I did definitely tell her about it so... Oh look! We made it all the way to her apartment! BYE!"

Jazz is standing in the window and she looks like an absolute vision. Her glare makes him want to shit his pants however, and he knows that it's going to take all of his brain cells making contact to survive this encounter.

He sits on the fire escape when he realizes that she's not moving from her spot in the window, blocking his way. Ouch.

"So let me get this straight, you thought this whole time-"

"I thought Danny was being annoying and trying to set us up! I didn't know you were a shrink!" He tries to defend himself.

"...Why should I date an idiot?" the like yourself goes unsaid but he can hear it. Jason is scrambling.

"...I can make even better lasagna than that fancy restaurant you like." is what he lands on. Jazz bursts out a laugh.

"I was just fucking with you, but honestly what a great response." She's wiping tears of laughter from her eyes.

"Just fucking with me?" He grins a bit, unable to stop himself from getting excited.

"Yeah, I've been telling everyone at work that I'm dating the Red Hood for like, months now. It's been stellar for my hostage record, I haven't had an issue since I started the rumor!"

"We're dating?" Jason asks, a bit bewildered but charmed.

"I wouldn't give free therapy to just anyone! Now about that Lasagna-"

Something, something, something- they seal the deal with a kiss.

[tiredfox64]

I absolutely LOVE your “You Have Freedom” fic!! We need more Havik appreciation—

Can you write about Havik w an S/O that changes her hair almost every other week?? Kinda like Ramona Flowers from Scott Pilgrim.

You’re that bestest ever💖🔊‼️

Chaos Chameleon

Yip notes: Ugh I need to redye my raccoon tails again. I think I need to buy a better dye cause the black part is the only lasting color 😭

Pairing: Havik x Afab reader

Warnings‼️: Don’t clutch your pearls due to dyed hair it’s 2024

It’s a mystery how you could afford so much hair dye and take good care of it to keep the color popping.

You are not the kind of girl who picks natural hair colors like black, brown, blonde, or ginger. No, you go for the colors that shock old people and make children want to be you. From the bright neon colors that are fit for a rave to the soft pastel colors that would have been perfect for a Tumblr post when pastel goth was popular. Why stick to one hair color when the universe has an abundance of colors for you to try out? It’s never too late to have fun with the body you were blessed with.

As much as you loved dying your hair and seeing how the color popped off in the sun, there was someone else who loved the sight of it as well. That someone would be Havik.

He knew you had a bit of a chaotic side when he first saw you with your hair split into two colors. You looked like sweet cotton candy with one side of your hair being a blush pink and the other side being a baby blue. Add in the fact that you had black strips in the front part of your hair to make raccoon tails, you caught his attention quickly. He was already showing you off to Darrius before he introduced himself to you.

“Darrius, have you ever seen an Earthrealmer this exotic? I had no clue they could be so colorful.”

“Well, if you like her so much why don’t you go introduce yourself?” Darrius said in a somewhat annoyed tone, finding Havik’s fascination with some hair to be a weird distraction.

However, Havik took his words seriously and jumped at the opportunity. You could kinda thank Darrius for meeting your boyfriend. If it weren’t for his sarcasm you wouldn’t have seen a large man with a mangled face and strange clothes running towards you. Sure, it was horrific at first but once he complimented your hair you realized he wasn’t all that bad.

══💤══╡°˖✧🦊✧˖°╞══💤══

Gosh, Havik didn’t know there were so many different colors. And yet you manage to own a lot of them in bottles and containers.

He got used to the smell of hair dye and how it differed between colors and brands. There were a lot of Arctic Fox bottles scattered around while there were containers of Manic Panic stacked on shelves. All of them were opened and used at least once. They had to be considering you dye your hair often. You dye it almost every other week.

It was a shock to Havik. One week it’s like cotton candy on your head and the next week it’s lemons and limes. When he asked you why you changed it so quickly you replied,

“I’ve had it for two weeks, it’s time for a change.”

Sometimes it’s just one color, sometimes it’s split, multicolor, two-tone, ombre, the list never ends. He likes it when you hide one color under another, it’s like a surprise. One moment he thinks it’s just a silvery white but the second he runs his fingers through it, BAM, a plum purple color right under it. Get ready for your hair to get messy and possibly knotted because he will not stop playing with it.

You always clarify the specific color name too. Cause it could never be just blue. It’s always something specific when all he can identify is that it’s blue and sometimes it’s dark. He can sometimes identify aquamarine he just needs to think about the ocean.

If only you told Havik every time you dyed your hair. He’s irresponsible with time, he doesn’t realize when weeks have passed by unless he is waiting for something to happen. The second time you dyed your hair he had no idea it was you at first. That lemon and lime hair now turned into a fiery red that could only be compared to a ripe watermelon. When you went up to hug him he pushed you off of him.

“Get your hands off of me, woman!” He yelled.

“It’s me you idiot!” You yelled back.

“What!”

He stared at you for a few seconds, blinking rapidly before realizing it was you. No strange woman was trying to force themselves upon him.

“Oh…it’s nice.” He tried to fix his wrongs by giving a compliment. The head pat doesn’t fix it either.

Nonetheless, he still loves what you do to your hair. It’s crazy, it’s colorful, it’s a burst of your personality. He’s never witnessed a girl like you. You are a rare, colorful gem who can match his chaotic energy. So…why doesn’t he dye his hair?

Eventually, you would suggest doing his hair. It is quite long so there is lots of potential there. You even have a dark red that would match well with his attire. If that man can wear bones as clothes, it’s safe to say he could allow some dye in his hair. So you pleaded and begged, whined and nagged. Then finally he said,

“Give me a good color. Don’t you dare make it neon or that ugly pastel mess.”

“Aww, but you would look so cute with light pink hair.” You teased.

“…I love you, but I won’t hesitate to rip my head off and crush it just to prevent you from putting that stupid color on me.”

“Oh, you’re such a drama king. Come on, I’m gonna make you my masterpiece.”

══💤══╡°˖✧🦊✧˖°╞══💤══

You were like a painter who couldn’t risk anything. Your masterpiece had to be perfect. One wrong move and you might have to switch up your idea.

IF ONLY HAVIK WOULD SIT STILL!

You didn’t do his whole head of hair like you usually did with yourself. Gotta take baby steps with this kind of stuff. You colored some strands of his hair with the front being special. You were going to do a raccoon tail since that was his favorite thing. He specifically pointed it out when you first met him. Plus, he has black hair so there is no need to use any dye for the black parts. Just use that dark red and go for it.

Havik never knew the process took so long. It would have been much longer if you decided to bleach the strands. That would have been a whole new struggle. You wanted to keep the color dark so it worked out. Still meant he had to sit still for a while and get sprayed with water to remove the excessive dye. Did you need to spray him directly in the face? No, but it was funny.

You were about to show Havik the end result but you hesitated.

“Wait,” you paused for a while, “I want to do the other side too.”

“Ugh! We have been at it all day!” Not really but it’s been two hours.

“I promise it will be worth it! I’m having fun with this, don’t kill my vibe!” You pushed him back in his chair before putting more dye in the bowl. Round two here we go.

Yeah, you wanted to dye the shaved side as well. You were gonna do a raccoon tail look for it. Havik had to sit there for another hour-long process, feeling your nails dig into his head to prevent him from moving and having the cold dye touch his scalp. Guess this shows how much Havik loves you. He’s willing to sit here and take it.

Time to splash him with water again. Don’t put the hair dryer on high you’re gonna remind him of when his face first melted off. BOOM! He is finished. You brought him over to your mirror so he could get a good look at himself. And…well…he loved it. It was different and unique. The raccoon tail was what caught his eye the most. He ran his fingers through his hair to see the red and black strands mixed together before separating. You knew he truly liked it once he picked you up and squeezed you tightly to his body. He nuzzled his face against yours to show his appreciation which you gladly accepted.

Just then Darrius walked in and immediately noticed something different about Havik. Havik was about to tell Darrius about what you did but he was interrupted by a question.

“Who is that woman? Where is your girlfriend?”

“THAT IS MY GIRLFRIEND! IT IS THE SAME GIRLFRIEND EVERY WEEK. I CAN NOT KEEP EXPLAINING TO YOU THAT SHE DYES HER HAIR!”

Darrius really needs to take his glasses off when he’s inside.

Yap notes: Can you tell which gear I like to put on him? I enjoyed doing this it helped my brain a little since the writer's block has been kicking my butt. Oh well, time to eat more Wing Stop. Adiós!

[pastshadows]

Shadows of the Past

Chapter 7: Complications Abound

Summary: After a year of blissful cohabitation, Astarion disappears without a trace, leaving behind a heartfelt letter explaining his departure. Determined to find him, you traverse Faerûn in search of your lost love, only to realize that some absences are meant to be permanent.

Returning to Waterdeep, you find solace in the company of Gale as you come to terms with Astarion's absence. But just as you begin to heal, Astarion reappears, begging for a second chance at love.

The question looms: can you forgive his abandonment and trust him once more? As you grapple with your emotions and trauma, a sinister force lurks in the shadows, targeting you for unknown reasons.

With danger closing in, you must navigate the treacherous waters of trust, love, and betrayal to uncover the truth behind the mysterious entity's motives. Will you be able to reunite with Astarion while facing the demons of your past? Can you unravel the secrets that threaten your very existence?

Setting: Post End-Game. Mostly canon compliant.

Word Count: 6.7K

Content: Explicit 18+ - intended for mature audiences.

Warnings: [Additional tags will be added, but expect mature content / read at your own risk.]

Spoilers. Mentions of in-game missable content. Violence. Sexual Assault [Implied/attempted sexual assault: Chapter 7]. Past Trauma. Murder. Death. Longing. Sexual themes. Smut. Blood drinking. Angst. Innuendos. High use of sarcasm. Completely fabricated camp interactions.

** Warning ** This chapter contains implied/attempted sexual assault. Please be careful and read at your own risk.

The Sussur Bloom’s glow pours like a phosphorescent waterfall over the delicate blue petals. You can taste the honey-sweet aroma of the flower suspended in the air.

You observe it acutely, trying to figure out where the boundary of its effect terminates.

Aldous grins deplorably, “You would not believe how much this cost to procure.”

Does he think that will impress me?

Drawing in a deep breath, you calm your rampaging heart and swallow the terror balled in your throat.

Adorning your face with an overtly sweet, innocent smile, you summon every snippet of charisma you possess, “A beautiful flower indeed.”

“Not half as beautiful as my current company,” Aldous winks.

Ew.

“Where is your father?” your eyes flash around, assessing the surroundings for advantages you may be able to exploit, “I believe he should join us.”

“Father is away on business. He will not be participating in this discussion tonight.”

Convenient.

“Perhaps we should postpone this little discourse until your father returns.”

Aldous ignores you, “Did you know that the Sussur Bloom nullifies all magic in its vicinity? A useful item against an ornery sorceress.”

“Aldous…”

“Ah, ah, ah,” he sneers, wagging his finger at you, “You will give me the respect I am due.”

HA! A ludicrous notion.

You clench your teeth so hard that the nerves sing, “Saer, I’d like to-”

“Where is the man who was with you?” Aldous cuts you off, “The Elf.”

The door lock clicks, and you nearly wince, but you keep your illusion of poise intact. A grin slinks across Aldous’s lips as he stalks toward you.

“There was no other Elf. You were roaring drunk.”

He chuckles sinisterly, “You may have been able to pull the wool over my father's eyes, but I am not so easily fooled.”

The distance between you and Aldous recedes as he continues his menacing approach. You take wary steps backward, striving to retain as much space as possible.

The poorly lit gloom only deepens as you’re pressured further to the rear of the shop.

Glancing at the door behind Aldous, you concentrate on the stained-glass window. Daylight is fading fast. You silently rejoice and then scold yourself harshly for it.

I shouldn’t be counting on Astarion to save me.

You soak your voice in your most persuasive, candied inflection, “We can sort this little mishap out. There’s no need to involve anyone else.”

“Who is he?!” Aldous rasps.

Anger. A weakness I can exploit.

“No one.”

“Don’t play dull, Sorceress. I will pry it out of you one way or another.”

“I don’t know who you’re talking about,” you smirk patronizingly, “It seems you’re seeing ghosts. Perhaps a visit to a healer is in order?”

Aldous growls threateningly at your taunting. His teeth scour together harshly, sending shivers rushing up your spine, making your stomach reel and pitch.

“He means much to you,” he sneers, “You protect him by putting yourself in harm’s way,” Aldous’s finger taps his chin, “I can’t help but wonder why he would let you come alone. Perhaps you don’t mean as much to him as he does to you.”

“Perhaps,” you shrug, “I don’t."

“You shouldn’t settle for that, Sorceress.”

This little shit dares scold me?  

“As if I care what you think.”

“You deserve someone like me,” his hand comes to his puffed-up chest arrogantly, “prestigiously bred of noble blood, wealthy, handsome, and influential. Someone who can provide you with a life of luxury.”

“Gods, you sicken me.”

Aldous places the Sussur Bloom on a table behind him, but close enough that you are within the negating influence.

His face burns red, brows pinched in a nightmarish scowl, “You’re going to have a very miserable night then.”

“If you fucking touch me, I will kill you.”

Not a threat, a fucking promise.

“You’re all bark and no bite without your magic. I will take my apology in whatever form I choose.”

Your stomach warps nauseatingly, and you swallow the bile that soars into your throat.

Grabbing the hidden dagger in your boot, you swipe at Aldous frantically, grazing a weeping cut across his pudgy stomach.

Aldous lunges at you with a howl, grabbing your arm and twisting it, slamming it hard against the corner of a towering bookcase. The dagger rattles to the floor, and Aldous kicks it away swiftly.

“You miserable swine!” he barks, eyes savage and enraged.

Aldous pins you to the bookcase with a bruising grip. His chest puts so much pressure on yours that the air you inhale whines when drawn into your constricted lungs.

Gods, please, just a little longer.

Aldous wrenches at the high collar of your robe, and a snarling shriek tears from your throat. His forehead slams into your face, cutting off your scream.

Pain causes a disorienting parade of light to erupt behind your eyes, and your lip swells and aches furiously. The sharp, ferrous tang of blood coats your tongue.

You spit, and red-tinged droplets splatter across Aldous’s face, “I should have killed you.”

“My, my, what's this on your neck?” he snickers while eyeing the bite mark marring your flesh, “If you like to be bitten, all you had to do was ask nicely. I would have happily obliged.”

Your stomach churns with the insinuation. You yearn to see the little worm beg and plead for you to spare his life."

Pale hands rip Aldous backward.

Astarion’s voice resounds in the dark, “I hear you like to bite, but do you like to be bitten?”

Aldous shrieks as sharp fangs sink into the supple flesh of his neck. You stand, a wicked smile on your face, watching the life slowly drain from Aldous’s eyes.

You could ask Astarion to stop. You could spare the feeble runt his life. You could, but you don’t.

I was never a hero.

Astarion releases him when his eyes are dull and listless, and Aldous’s body crumbles to the floor.

The door creaks unexpectedly, making you jump, and you grasp at the intrinsic magic usually ever-present, only to find a yawning void.

Right. Where is that godsdamned flower?

Gale jogs in, huffing harshly out of breath. Eyeing the Sussur Bloom sitting innocently on the table, you throw it down and grind it to nothing but a blue paste smeared across the floor with your boot.

Astarion and Gale study you with apprehension as if worried you may buckle and break apart. You cross your arms and frown at them.

How soft do they think I am? 

“I don’t need mollycoddling like a spoon-fed babe,” you tut, clearly vexed, “What are we going to do about him?”

Gale’s fingers his chin, “This will certainly complicate things.”

“I will handle this,” Astarion concludes.

“No,” you stammer, “I can help.”

Astarion shakes his head, “You and Gale go for a lovely, very long, relaxing night stroll. Greet, chat, mingle with everyone you see, stop at a pub and drink; I care not, just make sure you are seen far from here.”

Gale nods, “We must set the lanceboard in our favour, so to speak. Astarion can handle this. This is hardly the first body he’s had to make disappear.”

Astarion smirks, “Far from it.”

“I could simply set this whole place ablaze,” you muse.

An excuse, more than anything, to see this place eradicated from existence.

Gale pales, “Burn all these books?”

Astarion snickers and sighs dramatically, “Truly, darling, did you not consider the books?!”

You roll your eyes, “They would make for fine kindling.”

Gale mumbles, mouth agape, “How unseemly.”

Astarion giggles at the ill-humoured scowl darkening Gale’s face before looking at you, “Still that twitchy palm of yours. Nothing screams guilty like a raging, fiery inferno.”

“I suppose you are the expert in these matters, Astarion.”

“Oh,” he grins, “Please do continue showering me with your praises.”

“Good Gods,” Gale grumbles, “We should not linger, my friend.”

“Fine,” you throw your hands up, exasperated, “I will spare the damn books.”

Astarion snaps his fingers, “Gale, the scroll, if you please.”

The scroll?

You cock your brow at him. Astarion unrolls the scroll, recites the incantation, and it vanishes.

The swell and tender ache in your lower lip dissipates. Astarion pulls a handkerchief out and wipes the leftover drops of blood from your chin that had dribbled down from the split in your lip.

“Good as new,” he purrs, but there is concern laden in his eyes.

“Your incantations need work,” you tease to relieve Astarion’s anxiety.

He grins but clicks his tongue in disapproval, “As do your manners, it seems.”

Gale weaves you through small, dim alleys and paths while avoiding the populace until you’re far from the shop.

Once you can return to the main thoroughfare, Gale skillfully greets passersby, striking up mundane conversations to ensure you’re noticed and seen.

Neither Gale nor you speak of what happened until you’re safely back in the manor.

“Fuck,” your fingers wrack through your hair, “I’m so sorry, Gale.”

“You need not be,” Gale squeezes your shoulder, “I’m just glad you’re alright.”

“We need a plan.”

Run. Run. Run. Take Astarion and run - your mind chants.

Hells. My inclination toward avoidance has gotten out of hand.

Gale pats your arm, “What have we always done?”

“Outflank. Outsmart,” you echo his words.

“Spot on,” he grins, “We can delve further into the particulars come morning.”

“You’re right,” you take a calming breath, “I think that’s about enough excitement for today.”

“You have a strange notion of excitement, my friend,” Gale chuckles, “Now if you will excuse me, I am in dire need of a bath. Hells. That vampiric bastard can move swiftly. Perhaps I have gotten indolent in retirement.” 

After bathing and changing, you sit on your bed and stare at the unfilled space beside you. Just this morning, you had awoken in Astarion’s room, and your eyes overindulged on the sight of him still peacefully at rest.

Can I go back to resting and waking up alone again? Moreover, do I want to?

No.

Your heart whimpers in your chest at the concept, sinking into your stomach with a quiver. The battle between your fearfulness and what you want continues to war on. Everything you crave is situated on the other side of your doubt.

Why do you keep yourself seated in the dark abyss you retreated to when he left when the light is right in front of you, and all you have to do is walk into it?

I’m still running.

Coward.

Reprimanding yourself for being so spineless, you leave the emptiness of your bed behind and make yourself some tea. Sinking into the chair on the terrace, your legs curl up under you.

The waves flourish and flaunt in the inlet, making the boats dance in concert and the tangy brine of the sea wafts in the air. Coasting clouds cause the pastel glow of the new moon to wax and wane.

The fluttering beat of wings alerts you to Tara’s approach before you see her soar and land on the terrace with a grace only she and Astarion could muster.

The pitter-patter of her little paws on the wood boards makes you smile as she draws near.

Tara stretches her wings before settling, “Would you like some company while you await the vampire’s return?”

“Tara, do you know the vampire’s name?”

“Of course,” she scowls, “You’ve been calling out to him in your sleep for months.”

Oh… 

Right.

“Why do you keep calling him vampire then?”

“He calls me cat or cat with wings, does he not?” she huffs exasperatedly, “It does not vex him as I hoped, though.”

You giggle at her, “You must try much harder if you wish to aggravate him.”

She nods curly as if she’s taken that into advisement, “I have not seen you out here recently. What is troubling you this night?”

Patting your lap, you invite her up, “It’s hard to find enough peace to rest when your heart is at war with your mind.”

Tara jumps up and lays down with a soft purr, “Have you always been so meek?”

Meek? Not a word I would have ever described myself with.

“No,” you stare off into the distance blankly.

Her round eyes reflect what little light the moon provides, “You have been lonely here, yes?”

How does she know these things?

The unmistakable glint of unshed tears brims in your eyes, “Is there a cure for loneliness?”

She cocks her head, confused, “You do not seem lonely when he is near.”

“I-” your brows pinch together, she’s right again, you think, “I suppose I’m not.”

“Then he is the cure you seek.” Tara concludes, “May I speak bluntly?”

She’s never asked before. This should be good.

“Please do.”

“You are being an idiot,” she says factually.

You laugh, almost spewing your tea at Tara’s curtness, “I’m sorry. Care to elaborate?”

“The longer you keep yourself tethered to this unhappiness, the longer you will live a life not meant for you.”

I hate how right she is.

Your fingers tap the mug fretfully as tears tiptoe out of the corners of your eyes, “What if I can’t get over my fear, Tara?”

Tara puts her paws on your chest, levelling her green eyes with yours with a stern yet empathetic glower, “Then you must do it afraid, Sorceress.”

She makes it sound so simple.

But it is really that simple, isn't it?

You stifle back a sniffle and scratch behind her ear, “Stop being so smart and wise.”

“Perhaps when you stop being an idiot.”

Another strangled laugh escapes your throat as you stroke her silky fur, making her purr loudly. Resting your head on the high-backed chair, your eyes flutter shut.

“You must do it afraid.”

I will.

I just need a little more time.  

Tara leaps off your lap, and your eyes open sleepily to see Astarion standing before you. Dirt streaks the pale skin of his face and hands, and trails, where sweat rolled down his temples and forehead, are evident.

“Wake up, sweetheart.”

You scan the sky as the haze clouding your vision disperses slowly. It must be only hours from dawn.

Your nose crinkles, “You smell like dirt.”

“I thought I would try something new; groundskeeper with a hint of grave robber,” his brow cocks seductively, “Is it working for you?”

You giggle, “Absolutely not.”

“Well,” he pouts with a dramatic sigh, “don’t be afraid to tell me what you really think.”

“I think you really need a bath.”

“I do love it when you sass me,” he tuts, “Naughty thing. What are you doing resting out there? You’re shivering fiercely.”

“I was talking to Tara,” your teeth chatter together, “I must have drifted off.”

He kisses your forehead, “Come on. Let’s get you warmed up inside,” Walking through the kitchen, Astarion turns to you, “Are you gracing my bed with your delicious self again tonight, friend?”

Hells. I was heading to his room without even thinking about it.

“Do you want me to?”

“It’s up to you,” Astarion shrugs as if it doesn’t matter, but there’s a hint of hope reflected in the scarlet of his irises.

Gods, tell me we belong together. Please.

“Tell me what you want, Astarion.”

“You, my love. Always and forevermore, you,” he purrs, taking your hand, “My bed it is.”

Astarion’s room is a chasm of blackness when you enter. With a flick of your wrist, you light the candles instantly with a smug smile.

He chuckles, “I forgot how handy you are to have around.”

“Truly indispensable,” you chime back in jest.

“Better set that ablaze as well,” Astarion points to the fireplace, “You get grouchy when you’re cold.”

You gasp, hand coming to your mouth theatrically, “I’m never grouchy!”

“Oh, don’t fret, my dear,” he glowers at you playfully, “You’re adorable when you're grouchy.”

“Go bathe, you smell.”

He giggles with a shallow bow, “As the lady wishes.”

You sit on the edge of Astarion’s bed, and a smile trails across your lips. These moments with him feel so familiar, so right, and they quiet the clashing present inside you.

Why are you making things so complicated for yourself? It could be as simple as telling him you want to be with him, so why don’t you?

He would finally stop calling me “friend,” at least.

Astarion returns with only a towel hanging loosely around his waist. He nudges your legs apart with his knee and leans in close. His hands slip up the bed by your sides, forcing you to lean back until you’re propped up on your forearms. Your heart parades in your chest, seemingly skipping beats the closer he leans into you.

“Well, you’re not wrinkling your cute little nose at me anymore,” Astarion taps the tip of your nose softly, “A good sign.”

Leaning in close, you kiss his shoulder while making a dramatic show of inhaling deeply, “You stink… less.”

He giggles and gives you a gentle shove, “Less?! Darling, I’m hurt,” he imitates shock with a sulky flair, “I smell excellent.”

Hells, does he ever.

“How do you know?”

Astarion taps your chest over your heart in rhythm with the quickened pace with a sly, boyishly handsome smile, “Your body tells me everything I need to know.”

“Pleased with yourself, are you?”

“Indeed,” he coos, “Now, to bed with you, sleepy love.”

Yes, rest. Gods, I’m tired.

Astarion’s thumb sweeps lazily back and forth over your arm, and you lay your head on his chest. Your eyes feel heavy and sag closed.

Lifting your hand, you draw all the flames from the candles into an orb floating above your palm, extinguishing them. The flaming sphere winks out, bathing the room in darkness except for the glow from the ebbing embers in the fireplace.

Astarion kisses your forehead, “Braggart.”

You giggle, but your voice sounds distant to your ears as the current of your trance pulls you under. Astarion starts to hum while running his fingers through your hair.

“I love you,” you say in a whispering sigh.

Wait… did I say that out loud?

Astarion’s crooning hum cuts off, and his fingers come to your chin, guiding your face up.

The silky skin of his lips caresses yours tenderly, “I love you too. Rest, my only one.” 

Gale rubs his eyes, “Where was Mr. Blackwell?”

“Aldous said he was away on business,” your leg bounces nervously, “He didn’t elaborate further.”

Astarion’s hand slips over your thigh under the table, stilling the ferocity of its jostling.

“We have some time then,” Gale concludes, “I have business in the city today. I could make some inquiries.”

“Bloody Hells, you are terrible at this,” Astarion groans, clicking his tongue and rolling his eyes, “Gale, if you go making odd inquiries, you’ll implicate yourself.”

Gale scoffs, “Oh, my deepest apologies if I am not proficient in the matters of covering up a murder.”

“Apology accepted,” Astarion drawls, “We could always kill Mr. Blackwell. What’s one more murder?”

“Mr. Blackwell has a wife,” Gale scowls, “Aldous’s mother.”

“You say that as if it’s a problem, Gale,” Astarion shrugs, “The wife as well then.”

Gale’s skin goes a deathly white as his mouth drops open, eyes round, “You cannot seriously be suggesting we murder an entire family!”

You cut them both off, “Astarion is trying to get under your skin, Gale. Don’t let him.”

“You’re no fun,” Astarion’s lips purse into a pout, “I had the wizard going.”

Gale’s body unknots with relief, “Very funny, my sharp-toothed friend.”

You rub your temples to stifle the headache brewing, “How well connected is Mr. Blackwell, Gale?”

Gale’s fingers tap his chin, “Connected would be an understatement. The man is friends with every high-ranking official in the city.”

Certainly a complication.

Astarion’s fingers drum on the table, “Could we not convince him that his son ran off with some trollop?”

“I could try,” you nod, “but Mr. Blackwell is already suspicious of me. He will not make an easy target.”

“You do have a very delicious silver tongue,” Astarion’s hand slips up your thigh and between your legs, “I have no doubt you could persuade him.”

You sit stiffly, trying not to expose the crudeness happening below the wood tabletop as Astarion’s fingers sweep over your crotch.

“I could try,” you choke out as you clench involuntarily at the sensation, “but it’s not foolproof.”

Astarion scoffs, “If you want foolproof, my dear, we better circle back to the murder option.”

“Do you not feel any remorse for what you’ve done!” Gale explodes out of his chair, irritation creasing his forehead.

Astarion stands with bared teeth, leaning threateningly close to Gale’s face, “I feel only pristine satisfaction. You have NO idea what he was about to do to her, Gale.”

“Stop it! Both of you,” you roar, slamming your hands on the table to get their attention, “I could have stopped Astarion, and I didn’t. If you must hold someone responsible for this, the blame is mine, Gale.”

“Enough!” Astarion’s crimson eyes send shivers down your spine, “You are not accountable for my actions!”

This is about more than just this event.

“Gale,” you sigh with a forced smile, “Go make your inquiries, but be discreet.”

Gale bows shallowly and excuses himself, glancing between you and Astarion. There is a grim tension in the air.

Astarion’s finger taps rhythmically on the table, a telltale sign he’s upset with you.

“Spit it out, Astarion. What is really troubling you because it isn’t this.”

Astarion’s forehead creases as his brows pull down low, and he shouts, “You must stop holding yourself at fault for what I’ve done!”

“Aren’t I?” you scream back at him, coming to your feet abruptly, “The night you left, I made you uncomfortable, and what happened? You fucking ran from me, from our life, from us!”

He left. Gods, he left, and it nearly killed me.

“It-” Astarion’s eyes dart around, “It wasn’t because of something you did.”

“My fault or not, I paid dearly for it.”

You ran and took my heart with you.

You rush to your room, locking the door. It’s too much. It’s all too much at once, and you cannot process it quickly enough.

It was my fault Astarion left in the first place, wasn’t it?

I pushed him too hard, didn’t I?

Gods, you don’t know. You’ve been punishing yourself for all of your missteps since he disappeared, and you can’t relinquish your guilt no matter how hard you try.

Why will I not allow myself to let this go?

Astarion’s soft knock resonates on the door, and your head plummets into your hands.

You cannot do this right now, and your voice rumbles, “Go away, Astarion.”

Astarion plunks down on the floor outside your door, “I will wait until you are ready to speak to me.”

He used to do this when you lived with him, giving you space but ultimately staying close by.

Wrenching the door open, you seethe, “Go. Away.”

Astarion rights himself and pushes into your room as if nothing is amiss. Despite your fiery temper, Astarion was never easily goaded into a fight with you.

“Astarion,” you leer at him in a warning.

“You’re angry with me,” he retorts, “I’m well aware and well acquainted with your ire.”

“Then you know you should be leaving me alone,” you admonish him.

“You never used to retreat from arguments with me.”

Fuck. He’s right. I ran.

Again.

You groan, slamming your door and drop to the floor. The headache you had felt starting is now throbbing in your temples like a battering ram. Pressing your eyes shut, you kneed at your head with your fingers.

Astarion sinks to the ground opposite you, and his hand settles on your forehead, “Darling, are you alright?”

The chill of his skin eases some of your discomfort, and you push into his touch with a relieved sigh, “Just a headache.”

“You did not get much rest last night,” his fingers massage your temples, “I’m sorry. I should not have shouted at you.”

“I don’t want to talk about this right now.”

“You do not have to talk, but you will listen, and listen closely,” Astarion tilts your head up, and you open your eyes to meet his, “You must stop blaming yourself for what I’ve done. The guilt is not yours to endure.”

“But…” you swallow the lump in your throat, wrench your eyes down and fidget with your fingers, “But I made you uncomfortable the night you left.”

“My leaving was not due to anything you did or did not do. I’m-” he sits back, running his fingers through his hair, tousling it, “I’m a coward,” he shrugs, “I’ve always been a coward.”

“You have never been a coward, Astarion,” you shake your head, “What’s changed? What will stop you from leaving again?”

“I am no longer afraid,” his fingers sweep across your cheek before rubbing your temples again, “Well, perhaps that’s not entirely true. I am afraid of losing you again.”

How did he get over his fear?

“Astarion,” you sigh as his fingers skillfully knead the throbbing ache, “you could never lose me.”

“I did,” the corners of Astarion’s mouth creep downward mournfully, “did I not, friend?”

This word haunts me.

“May I ask you something?”

You nod, “Anything.”

“Ever since I returned, you have been exceedingly gentle with me, far beyond customary, even for you. Why?”

“You mean,” your voice trembles slightly, “when it comes to being intimate with you?”

“Yes.”

Fuck, I don’t want to tell him this, but I must stop trying to escape from the truth.

“I-” you inhale a long, slow breath to calm your pounding heart, “You left me the night I made you uncomfortable. I suppose,” you pause, trying to gather yourself, “I suppose I have been worried that if I make that same mistake, I will scare you away again.”

Astarion takes your hands, “I promise you do not have to be afraid. I am here to stay. You need not be so gentle with me.”

Don’t I though?

“Can I trust you to tell me when it’s too much?”

“I will always tell you,” he says conclusively, “Could we please get off this floor now, beautiful?”

Right…

“Sorry. Where would you like to sit?”

“The bed,” he says, helping you to your feet, “Does your head still hurt?”

“Yes,” you groan.

Your brain is bashing against your skull, trying to escape your head.

“Sit. I will rub it for you like I used to.”

Sitting on the bed, Astarion pulls you between his legs, your back against his chest, and you let yourself sink into him. His fingers work the achy spots perfectly.

“What happened yesterday,” Astarion says in a low timbre, “with the boy. Are you alright?”

Am I?  

“It’s not the first time I’ve been attacked.”

“Yes,” Astarion looks around anxiously, “but there is a difference between being attacked and being,” he pauses, searching for a way to put it delicately.

“I know what you’re getting at,” you sigh, “I’ve lived a hard life, Astarion. This is just another one of those things that’s better forgotten."

“I understand,” Astarion kisses the top of your head, “But if you cannot forget, I am here if you need me.”

I always need you.

“Thank you.”

“You will tell me more about your life someday, yes?” Astarion’s voice is hopeful, “I wish to know everything.”

My past - another thing I run from.

“Will you tell me more about yours?”

“For you, my love, I am an open book,” Astarion murmurs, “Ask, and I will tell you to the best of my ability, but there are things I cannot recall.”

“Like your face?”

He smiles sadly, “Yes, like my face.”

You and Gale have been practicing magic together, and you asked him to teach you Mirror Image. The incantation was straightforward to learn, but Illusionary magic is not your realm of expertise and mastering the hand movements was tricky.

Mirror Image was meant to be used on yourself, but you and Gale often try to find new ways to use or cast various spells.

After many trials and failures, you’ve figured out how to use Mirror Image to mirror someone other than the caster.

Should I?

“Do you-” you trail off, wondering if this is a good idea, “I could try something - if you want. If I can pull it off, you will be able to see yourself.”

“What?” Astarion jolts off the bed, eyes round with astonishment, “How?”

You turn to look at him, “Do you remember that night in camp when Gale was inspecting a magical copy of himself?”

His red eyes shift around, crazed, and you wonder if you’ve made a mistake and stepped too far.

“Of course,” he groans, “How could I forget his incessant preening?”

Astarion looks anxious, and unease blooms in your stomach, “Are you okay? Maybe I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“Please,” he pleads, his scarlet eyes wide and wild, “If you can, would you please?”

“This may feel odd at first,” you warn, “like countless fingers running over your skin. Don’t be alarmed.”

I can do this. I will do this.

Grasping the Weave, you wrap it around you and Astarion with the finesse of an archmage. Reciting the incantation is as easy as breathing, and it rolls off your tongue poetically.

The hand movements are far more complicated, but you’ve practiced this, and your fingers dance the perfectly choreographed pattern.

Astarion’s eyes stay locked on you.

You pull the threads, and the Weave unravels, only for you to stitch it back together in the image of Astarion.

“It’s done,” you smile, “All you need to do is turn around.”

Astarion takes a deep, shuddering breath but doesn’t turn, “What should I expect?”

You cock a brow at him. You’re not entirely sure how you expected him to react, but hesitancy didn’t even cross your mind.

Is he scared he won’t like what he sees?

“You will see yourself as the world sees you,” you say, calm and encouraging, “You don’t have to, Astarion. If it’s too much, I can always recast this when you’re ready.”

“No, I want to. Gods. It’s been so long, and I just… I just do not know,” he swallows hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down, “Will you hold my hand? I do not think I can do this without you.”

“I’ve got you,” you interlace your fingers with his, “When you’re ready, love.”

He smiles, “That’s the first time you’ve called me that since I’ve been back.”

No… No, I couldn’t be. Is it? 

“I- Uh…I-”

“Oh, don’t worry,” he giggles, “I won’t get my hopes up, friend.”

Astarion takes another slow, shaky breath and turns around slowly. The image of Astarion faces him, but its eyes are closed. For a moment, you think you didn’t cast the spell correctly, but when you look at Astarion, the figure mirrors him as it should.

Giving him this moment, you lean your head on his shoulder and wait patiently.

Astarion recoils slightly when his eyes open, and he sees the image standing there. The figures stare at each other, awestruck.

Astarion takes a step closer to the image and touches his face, running his fingers along his jaw, down the bridge of his nose, and over his cheekbones. He racks his fingers through his hair. Leaning in closer, he inspects his eyes and fangs, utterly captivated.

“Good Gods,” he pants breathlessly, “That’s me?”

“It’s you, Astarion,” you can’t help but smile, “in all your earth-shatteringly, realm-ending handsome beauty.”

“I am positively magnificent, aren’t I?” he muses agog, “Now, all your fiery jealousy makes perfect sense.”

You nearly chastise him, but when you look at him to shoot back some witty retort your mind hasn’t yet formulated, he’s staring at you with tears shining down his cheeks.

Shit. Maybe this was a bad idea.

“Fuck, Astarion,” you wipe the tears spilling from his eyes with your thumb, “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

He looks at the image of himself again, “I- I don’t believe I’ve ever cried happy tears before,” he chuckles low, his eyes downcast, “Not that I can remember, at least.”

Happy tears?

Before you can process his words, he sweeps you up in a cradling embrace, pulling you off your feet, “Thank you, my love.”

The spell wanes, and the figures form flickers before fading away. Astarion lowers you to the floor and looks at the empty area woefully.

“Astarion,” you guide his eyes back to you, still shiny with unshed tears, “I can recast that spell whenever you want. You only have to ask. This need not be the last time you get to see yourself.”

“Gods, don’t tell me that,” he sighs dramatically, with a striking crooked smile, “I’m likely to overindulge."

“Fine,” you giggle, “You will have to earn your overindulgence.”

“Oh,” Astarion smiles devilishly, eyeing you through thick lashes and hooded eyes, “How would you have me earn it?”

“Oh,” you tap your lips, “I’m sure I can think of something like warming Tara her milk,” you taunt.

Astarion scoffs, “The cat can wait for her milk. I was thinking more along the lines of depraved carnal lust?”

“Now?”

“Well,” Astarion smirks, “Now is as good a time as any, but I need to ask something of you.”

“What?”

Astarion sweeps your hair back and looks deeply into your eyes, “Stop being excessively gentle with me. I’m not as fragile as you presume me to be.”

Isn’t he?

“I-” you stammer with worry in your voice, “I will try.”

“Good girl.”

“Lock the door,” you tug at this shirt, “and lose this.”

“Demanding thing,” he chuckles, sliding the lock into place, “As you wish.”

Astarion pulls his shirt off and stands so close that your breasts graze his chest with the rise and fall of your breath.

Astarion’s fingers curl under the hem of your top, “May I?”

You nod, and Astarion lets his cool fingers caress the warmth of your skin as he strips you. The temperature contract makes your skin prickle, and desire flushes your complexion red.

Your nipples skim across the chilled skin of Astarion’s chest, making them harden into peaks instantly, and you shudder at the sensation.

The pad of Astarion’s thumb teases your sensitive peak, “You have no idea how perfect you are, do you?”

His teasing causes a breathy whimper to escape your lips, and heat pools as your nerves are set alight. Astarion takes your lips in his. The kiss quickly becomes primal, urgent, and all-consuming.

He nips your lower lip gently, forcing your lips to part, and his tongue traverses your mouth. Bolts of electricity ripple down your spine, awakening the achy need in your centre.

Astarion grabs your hips and rolls them against his throbbing erection with an urging grunt. The swell between your thighs sings with the decadent banquet of friction, and you moan low, ghosting your lips over his ear as you melt into him.

“You have no idea how much I miss being inside you,” Astarion growls with a voice soaked in burning want.

Gods. I miss it too.

The walls of your core clench uncontrollably as depraved thoughts and memories of him stretching you, claiming you, swim through your head.

Astarion shoves you hard, and you fall onto the bed with a giggle. Pushing your legs apart, he crawls up, kissing your stomach before swirling his tongue around your nipple, making your back arch and body twitch.

Gods. He could undo me with that alone.

Your splayed fingers slip us his chest, sweeping across his nipple, eliciting a pleasant rumbling groan deep in his chest. His lips meet yours urgently, and he bucks his hips into you, pushing the throbbing bulge in his trousers against your swell.

His presence is intoxicating, and you can’t control your body. Hells, you don’t want to control your body, and you writhe against him greedily, needy for relief.

Astarion’s hand slides up your thigh and his fingers ghost over the pulsating flesh, “How wet are you?”

Embarrassingly so. Nigh on soaked.

You groan as the flush of embarrassment courses through you and cover your face with your arms.

Astarion gently moves one of your arms away from your face, “Do not hide from me. You never have to hide from me.”

He rocks his hips against you, and you convulse and tremble against him with whimpering, sputtered murmurs.

“You’re soaked, aren’t you?” he teases, “May I, friend?”

“Gods, yes.”

Astarion slips his fingers into your waistband in an agonizingly slow descent that makes you wonder if you might combust before his fingers find their target.

He parts your folds while expertly avoiding that pulsing bundle of nerves that is craving his stroke.

“Hells, you are positively soaked,” he drawls, “You’re making quite a mess. We should get these off, yes?”

Astarion hooks his fingers into your waistband. You lift your hips in silent consent, and he slips your pants off you.

You squeeze your thighs together, feeling far too vulnerable under those piercing hooded crimson eyes studying you.

“I wish to look upon you, friend,” Astarion glides his hand between your thighs, “Will you let me?”

He uses gradual force to encourage your legs to part, and you allow your legs to spread for him.

Those cardinal red eyes devour the sight of you, full of unwavering adoration, “You’re beautiful.”

His fingers roam down your thigh to your folds, slick with desire. Breathy, sputtering moans escape your lips as your hips lurch at his touch.

His fingers trace the swollen border of your achy clit, “Do all your friends make you drip with need?

“Astarion,” you gasp.

“Yes, love?”

“Please,” you beg, “For the love of all the Gods. Please.”

“How many fingers?” he growls.

What?

Your mind can’t focus enough to string together what he’s asking. You squirm, trying to motivate his fingers to move faster, but he stills and waits for you to stop your writhing.

“When was the last time you were filled?” Astarion says firmly as he eases the contact of his fingers to nothing more than a light tease.

Do I admit this?

“You.”

Astarion’s brows pop up, eyes round with surprise, “Me? You haven’t been with anyone since I left?”

You stare at him, confused by his shock, “You are all I want, Astarion.”

Wait, does his shock mean he’s been with others since he left?

Don’t be so blind and naive. Of course, he has.

He has...

Under the overwhelming realization, your heart warps and bursts, violently rocketing the razor-edged shards you’ve been cutting yourself with, trying to glue them together. You clutch your chest as they tear you asunder anew.

The world feels like it’s crumbling down around you and drowning you in it.

Your cheeks feel wet. Are you crying?

Astarion’s hand cradles your cheek, and you leap off the bed to your hands and knees on the floor, recoiling from his touch.

How many others has he touched with that hand? 

Stop.

But Hells, how many since you?

No. Stop.

Astarion is coming toward you, distress twisting his brows and shining vividly in those beautiful crimson eyes.

How many people have looked into those eyes since you while he drove them to their release?

Stop. Stop. Stop.

Fuck. How many?!

His mouth is moving, but Gods you hear nothing over the stampede of your heartbeat thrumming in your ears.

Run. Run. Run. Run and never stop , your mind wails.

You can’t breathe. Hells, you’re suffocating in this room as it caves in around you.

You can’t take anymore. You must escape. Picking yourself up off the floor, you throw on your clothes in a panicked scurry.

Astarion’s cool hand grazes the skin of your arm, and you shrink away, gritting your teeth.

How many? Fuck. How many?!

Astarion backs away from you, alarmed.

Run. Run. Run.

You’ve barely finished dressing before you find yourself sprinting through the manor.

You need to get away from this place, get away from him, get away from yourself.

Swinging the door open, the sunlight floods in. Someone cries out, but you barely register Astarion’s pained yelp. You launch out the door, slamming into a startled Gale, eyes wide with confusion.

Gale tries to halt you, but you push him away with a hard shove that nearly sends him toppling over.

You don’t stop. You can’t stop.

You run. 

Thank you to all those who read/like/comment/follow/reblog/etc. I hope you're enjoying reading this! Let me know what you think :)

Chapters Master List - Shadows of the Past

AO3: Crossposted

If you're interested, I also write fanfic for Ascended Astarion x Spawn Tav - Fangs and Fractured Hearts

Small Notes: - Well, the noble is dead (yay), but how will they deal with the consequences? - Poor Tav :(

[storyscribeforthesentiment]

the detective & the dark knight | chapter 6

Summary: Detective Marie Manning, investigating a series of brutal murders in Gotham, crosses paths with the mysterious Batman. As they work together, their mutual respect turns into a deep, passionate bond. Amidst danger and corruption, their unlikely partnership evolves into a profound love, forever changing their lives in Gotham’s dark corners.

Pairing: Batman/Bruce Wayne x f!main character

Author’s note: I've been meaning to post this for days! Prepare for lots of tension & anxiety as Marie finds out who the man behind the mask really is.

Word count: 5.5k

Warnings/tags: mentions of gun violence, police bribes, fighting, murder

Chapter List

Marie stumbled into the precinct, barely managing to down her coffee in one gulp as she weaved between desks. The place was alive with the usual chaos of the early morning shift — phones ringing, papers shuffling, cops yelling at each other over case files.

Her head throbbed from lack of sleep, her body protesting the nonstop grind, but this was Gotham. There was no pause button.

“Another late night with your millionaire boyfriend, Manning?” Harvey Bullock’s gruff voice broke through the noise. He was leaning back in his chair, half-smirking, a toothpick hanging from his mouth.

His desk was a mess of takeout containers and open case files, but that was Bullock for you — rough around the edges but sharp where it mattered.

Marie shot him a sideways glance, her exhaustion momentarily lifting as she fired back, “Billionaire boyfriend.” she corrected, her voice dry but playful. She couldn’t help the small smirk that followed, despite the exhaustion gnawing at her.

Bullock raised his hands in mock surrender, his lips curling into a grin. “My mistake! Didn’t mean to downgrade Gotham’s golden boy.”

Marie rolled her eyes, shaking her head at his usual banter. As much as Bullock could be a pain, his sarcasm was one of the few constants around here, and she appreciated it more than she’d admit. Passing his desk, she noticed the grease-stained paper bag sitting atop his mess of files.

“Already on the burgers, Bullock?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Breakfast of champions,” he shot back with a wink, holding up a half-eaten sandwich.

“Gonna kill you one day,” she muttered before walking on, though she couldn't help but shake her head at the man’s complete disregard for his arteries.

“Manning.” Gordon’s voice cut through the banter, calm but firm. He was standing outside his office, arms crossed, a thin layer of weariness clinging to him.

Marie straightened, her mood instantly sobering as she met his eyes. He gave her a quick nod, signaling her to follow. She took a breath, nodded in return, and made her way to his office.

Once inside, she saw the mess of Red Lotus case files scattered across his desk. The room smelled faintly of old coffee and paper, the remnants of long nights spent chasing ghosts and leads that seemed to disappear the moment they were found.

She slumped into the chair across from Gordon, her body still sore from last night’s kickboxing session. Bruce had volunteered to be her sparring partner, and to her surprise, he was far more skilled than she’d expected.

She knew he worked out, but the way he moved—fluid, precise, like a seasoned martial artist—had caught her off guard. Turns out, Bruce Wayne was full of surprises.

“Have you slept at all?” she asked Gordon, taking in the dark circles under his eyes. He didn’t answer immediately. He was rubbing his temple, his focus glued to the papers in front of him, his glasses perched precariously on the tip of his nose.

“Not much,” he finally muttered, leaning back and exhaling deeply. “We’re close on this one, Manning. Too close to stop now.”

Marie glanced down at the files, her brain kicking back into detective mode despite the fog of fatigue clouding her thoughts. "You piecing something together?"

Gordon leaned forward, hands resting on the desk as he rubbed his temple again, clearly tired but determined. “Cobblepot’s little outburst at the Iceberg Lounge got me thinking. He said something about someone using the chaos of the Red Lotus murders to settle old scores... leverage it, even. They’re covering their tracks while making moves of their own.”

Marie’s brow furrowed. She recalled Cobblepot’s cryptic words, the way he seemed to almost enjoy dangling just enough information to stay out of trouble. “Right. He practically confirmed the murders are part of a bigger plan... someone trying to frame Falcone.”

Gordon nodded, his jaw tight. “Exactly. Someone’s orchestrating this whole mess, using the killings to throw us off. Falcone’s empire is a mess right now, and whoever’s behind it is taking full advantage.”

Marie bit her lip, her mind already working through the possibilities. “It’s gotta be Maroni. He’s the only one with the guts to make a move like this against Falcone. The way these bodies keep showing up? It’s too convenient.”

Gordon let out a tired sigh, leaning back in his chair. “Yeah, well, if we push too hard, Maroni’s going to know we’re onto him. He’s not the type to sit back and wait. We’re talking about a full-blown war, Manning. And he’s not afraid to put a bullet in a cop’s head if he feels cornered.”

Marie clenched her fists, feeling the frustration bubble beneath her skin. “That bastard’s not getting away with this.”

Gordon raised a brow, his expression softening a little. “I know you’re eager to take him down, but we have to be smart about this. If Maroni even suspects we’re closing in, he’ll disappear, and we’ll be back to square one.”

Marie slumped back in her chair, rubbing the back of her neck. “I get it. I just... I can’t stand feeling like we’re always one step behind.”

Gordon gave her a long look before shifting the conversation. “How are things with Bruce?”

The question caught her off guard. Her posture stiffened for a moment, and she hesitated before answering. “It’s... good.” She smiled before continuing, “Almost too good, you know? Feels like something’s bound to go wrong.”

Gordon gave her a knowing smile, leaning forward with his elbows on the desk. “Listen, Manning. Life’s messy. It doesn’t hand you perfect balance on a silver platter. You’ve got something good going on right now. Don’t spend too much time worrying about when the other shoe’s going to drop. Enjoy it while you can.”

Marie felt a pang in her chest at his words, a sense of dread she couldn’t quite shake. “Yeah... I hear you. It’s just... complicated.”

“Life always is, especially in this career.” Gordon said, his voice softer now. He glanced at the case files, then back at her. “But complicated doesn’t mean it’s not worth fighting for. You know that better than most.”

Marie met his eyes and nodded, appreciating the brief moment of humanity in the middle of their relentless pursuit of Gotham’s worst. The room fell silent for a moment, the weight of both their words and the case looming large over them.

"Alright," Gordon said after a beat, his tone shifting back to business. "We need to be careful about our next move. If we’re right, and Maroni’s behind this, the whole city’s gonna blow up. We’ve got to be ready. I’m heading to his side of town today, I’m planning to interview him about the cases."

Marie frowned, crossing her arms. "You don’t want me to go, boss?"

"Absolutely not," Gordon shook his head. "If Maroni’s involved, he’s probably been tracking everything. The moment you walk in, he’ll know he’s under our microscope. You’re the lead on this case—he’s got eyes on you. But he doesn’t know I’m in the loop yet. I can play it off like I’m just checking in on folks who know Falcone, make it look routine."

Marie nodded, her exhaustion fading as determination set in. "Just be careful. He’s not the type to leave loose ends."

Gordon grunted in agreement, giving her a knowing look. As tangled as their lives were, as grueling as Gotham’s streets could be, backing down wasn’t an option. Not for either of them. Not now. Not ever.

—-------------------------------

At Wayne Manor, Bruce stood in the Batcave, his eyes fixed on the glowing monitors that filled the room with their eerie blue light. Crime reports flooded the screens, each one a new reminder of the chaos that plagued Gotham, but his mind was elsewhere. Tonight, he had made a decision that had been weighing on him for weeks. He was going to tell Marie the truth.

For too long, he had lived with the lie, balancing his double life with increasing difficulty. But Marie wasn’t just another person in Gotham. She mattered to him, and he couldn’t keep deceiving her. She deserved to know who he really was.

Bruce stood from his seat, his heart racing as the weight of his decision settled over him like a heavy cloak. He cast one last glance at the case files spread across the Batcave’s central table before closing them.

Alfred stood there, waiting as though he could sense the inner turmoil swirling inside Bruce. He raised an eyebrow, his usual air of quiet wisdom about him.

"Are you sure about this, Master Wayne?" Alfred asked, his voice calm but tinged with the concern of a father figure who had seen Bruce through too many dark nights. "Once you tell her, there’s no going back. The truth... well, it has a way of reshaping everything."

Bruce clenched his fists, the tension in his muscles taut, as if the armor he often wore had seeped into his very being. "I’ve been lying to her for too long, Alfred. Every time I look at her, I feel like I’m betraying her. She thinks she knows me, but she’s only seen half the truth." His voice wavered slightly, betraying the raw emotion he so often buried deep inside. "Marie deserves to know everything."

Alfred studied him carefully, his gaze softening as he took in the sight of his surrogate son, visibly struggling. "And what if the truth isn’t what she wants to hear?" he asked, his voice gentle but pointed. "Are you prepared for that?"

Bruce swallowed hard. "I don’t know if she’ll ever forgive me for hiding this from her. She trusted me... trusted Bruce. What if... what if she hates me for lying to her like this?"

Alfred’s eyes softened with empathy. He stepped closer, placing a hand on Bruce’s shoulder. "Miss Manning is a strong woman, Bruce, and a fair one. I don’t believe she’ll hate you. She may feel betrayed, yes, but hate? No. It’s not in her nature."

Bruce’s jaw tightened, but the vulnerability in his eyes betrayed the fear he’d been carrying. "What if this is it? What if I ruin everything? I can’t... I can’t lose her, Alfred."

Alfred exhaled softly, squeezing Bruce’s shoulder reassuringly. "Master Wayne, love is a complicated thing. It’s messy, as you well know. But if there’s one thing I’ve observed, it’s that Miss Manning cares deeply for you—for Bruce and for Batman, even if she doesn’t know they’re one and the same. You’ve fought battles, both of you, in your own ways. This will be just another one to face together."

Bruce ran a hand through his hair, the weight of Alfred’s words sinking in, though the anxiety still gnawed at his core. "I’ve faced criminals who would kill me without blinking. But this? Telling her the truth?" He shook his head. "I’m terrified, Alfred. She’ll look at me, and everything will change. She won’t see Bruce anymore."

Alfred’s lips curled into a faint smile, though it was tinged with sadness. "Perhaps, Master Wayne, it’s time for her to see all of you. The man beneath the mask. The one who’s been carrying this burden alone for too long."

When Bruce didn’t respond, Alfred stepped forward, his calm demeanor grounding Bruce’s chaotic thoughts. "Bruce, Miss Manning is no stranger to the complexities of Gotham. She’s seen her share of darkness. I dare say, she’s faced it head-on in her line of work."

"That’s different," Bruce snapped, but the desperation in his voice was clear. "She deals with criminals, with the scum of this city, but this... this is me. She’s never seen me like that. I’m not just handing her the truth—I’m giving her everything. The rage, the guilt, the weight of it all. And I don’t know if she can handle that."

Alfred remained still, his eyes never leaving Bruce’s. "You underestimate her, sir. Miss Manning is stronger than you think. She might surprise you."

Bruce shook his head again, more frustrated with himself than anything. "She deserves better than this—better than the lies, better than the secrets. I don’t know if I’m being selfish, wanting to keep her close, knowing what it’ll do to her once she knows."

"You’re afraid she’ll run," Alfred said quietly, his words cutting to the heart of the matter.

Bruce met his gaze, the truth of it settling heavy in his chest. "Yes."

Alfred sighed, walking closer, his expression softening even further. "Master Wayne, you may carry burdens too heavy for most, but that doesn’t mean you need to carry them alone. Miss Manning... well, she may be more prepared for that than you think."

Bruce swallowed hard, feeling the weight of the conversation. He wasn’t worried she’d see him as weak. He was scared that when she saw him completely—both Bruce Wayne, with his broken facade, and Batman, driven by vengeance—it would ruin the image she had of him. He feared the truth might be too overwhelming for her and that it could drive them apart.

—-------------------------------

Marie stepped into Wayne Manor, feeling the familiar warmth of the place wrap around her. The stress of the day began to slip away as she spotted Bruce standing near the foyer, his tall frame dressed in dark slacks and a wool sweater, perfectly casual but still effortlessly composed. The sight of him always had that effect on her, like her world could pause for a moment just by being near him.

She smiled, her steps quickening as she closed the distance between them. Without hesitation, she slipped her arms around his waist and pulled him into a hug, pressing her cheek against his chest. Bruce stiffened for a second, then slowly relaxed into the embrace, wrapping his arms around her shoulders, holding her close.

“God, I needed this,” she murmured into his chest, her voice muffled but content. “You wouldn’t believe the day I had.”

For a moment, neither of them moved. Bruce’s hand gently stroked her back, his fingers tracing slow, soothing circles that made her melt further into him. She could feel his heartbeat under her cheek, steady and strong, but there was something different about it tonight. A slight tension, an unease she couldn’t quite place.

Marie pulled back slightly, her arms still around his waist, and tilted her head up to meet his eyes. “Hey, are you okay?” she asked softly, her brow creased with concern. “You feel... tense.”

Bruce didn’t respond right away, his eyes flickering with an intensity she rarely saw in moments like these. Instead of answering, he leaned down and captured her lips in a kiss, his hands sliding up to cradle her face. The kiss was gentle at first, almost hesitant, as though he was trying to lose himself in the moment. But it deepened quickly, the unspoken weight of what he wasn’t saying bleeding into the way his lips moved against hers.

Marie sighed into the kiss, her hands tightening around him as she leaned up on her toes to pull him closer. She didn’t mind the sudden shift; in fact, she welcomed it, feeling the connection between them grow stronger with each passing second. For a brief moment, everything felt right—the world faded away, and all that existed was the warmth between them.

But when they finally broke apart, Bruce’s eyes were still clouded with that same tension. His forehead rested against hers, his breath heavy as if he’d been holding something in for far too long.

Marie’s hand slid down to his chest, feeling his heart pounding beneath her palm. “Bruce,” she whispered, her voice filled with both tenderness and concern. “What’s going on? Talk to me.”

He hesitated, his grip on her tightening. “I’m fine,” he murmured, though the strain in his voice betrayed him. “I just want to hear about your day first.”

Marie frowned, studying his face. She knew him well enough to tell when he was deflecting. She pressed her palm more firmly against his chest, her thumb brushing over the fabric of his sweater. “No, something’s wrong. I can feel it. Please, just tell me what’s going on.”

Bruce exhaled slowly, his jaw clenched as if he were fighting an internal battle. His hand dropped from her face to hold her hand, squeezing it lightly. “There’s something I need to tell you,” he said, his voice low, almost reluctant. “Something I’ve been keeping from you.”

Her stomach tightened at his words. She stared up at him, her mind racing as she tried to read his expression. “Bruce, whatever it is... you can tell me. I’m here.”

His eyes softened for a moment, but the weight of what he had to say was clear. He brought her hand to his chest, holding it there like an anchor. “I should’ve told you a long time ago, Marie. This... changes everything.”

Before he could continue, Marie’s phone buzzed in her pocket, startling them both. She sighed, reluctant to break the moment, but when she saw Gordon’s name flashing on the screen, her heart sank.

“Shit,” she muttered, glancing at Bruce with an apologetic look before answering the call. “Gordon, what is it?”

“Marie, we’ve got another body at the docks,” Gordon said, his voice serious. “You need to get down here. This one’s big.”

Marie’s chest tightened with frustration as she glanced back at Bruce, her heart torn. “I’m sorry, Bruce,” she said, her voice soft but filled with regret. “I have to go. It’s the case.”

Bruce nodded, his tension evident in his clenched jaw. “Of course. Be safe.”

She stepped away, but not before placing one last lingering kiss on his lips, as if to reassure him. “We’ll finish this, I promise,” she whispered, before heading out the door.

As she stepped out into the night, Bruce watched her go, the words he’d intended to say still trapped in his throat. The silence of the manor pressed in around him, heavy with unspoken truths. With a deep breath, he turned and headed straight for the Batcave. If Marie was going to the docks, he’d follow—but not as Bruce Wayne.

—-------------------------------

The Gotham Docks were shrouded in an oppressive fog, the mist wrapping the scene in a ghostly pallor. Marie’s footsteps echoed eerily as she approached the deserted crime scene, her pulse quickening with each step. The eerie quiet felt wrong—no flashing lights, no yellow tape, no usual hum of police activity. The stillness was unsettling.

As she approached, her heart dropped at the sight of Gordon, slumped in a chair, his face swollen and bloodied beyond recognition. Panic surged through her veins as she rushed to his side.

“Gordon!” she gasped, grabbing his shoulder, her voice laced with urgency. “What the hell happened? Where’s the body?”

Gordon’s head lifted slowly, his swollen eyes barely open. His voice was a raspy whisper. “Marie... it’s a trap. Maroni... he made me lie. There’s no body.”

Before he could finish, a voice, as slick as oil, cut through the fog. Maroni emerged from the shadows, his grin sharp and menacing, his goons flanking him.

“Ah, Detective Manning,” Maroni drawled, relishing every syllable. “So glad you could join us. Gordon here has been very cooperative. His acting was almost believable, wasn’t it?”

Marie’s eyes narrowed, her fingers twitching around the grip of her gun. “What are you talking about, Maroni? What the hell is this?”

Maroni’s laugh was low and guttural. “The Red Lotus killings, Detective, were my little work of art. A way to shake up the city. You and your little friends kept sticking your noses where they didn’t belong, and now... you’re going to pay for it.”

“Why? Why kill all those people?” Marie’s voice cracked with anger.

“It’s simple,” Maroni sneered. “When you control the chaos, you control the city. Falcone was getting too comfortable at the top, but now... I’m the one pulling the strings.”

“You’re insane,” Marie spat, her hand tightening on her weapon. “You won’t get away with this.”

Maroni’s smile widened. “Oh, but I already have.”

He gave a small nod to his men, and they descended on Gordon, beating him with merciless precision. The brutal sounds of fists meeting flesh echoed across the docks, making Marie’s heart race. She aimed her gun, her mind focused only on survival, on taking out as many of them as she could.

A shot rang out, and one of Maroni’s thugs fell, but there were too many. They closed in, forcing her back. Maroni was still laughing, his voice cutting through the chaos.

Suddenly, a shadow moved in the fog, swift and brutal. Batman appeared like a force of nature, emerging from the darkness with calculated precision. His cape whipped around him, cloaking Marie as he positioned himself between her and the advancing thugs.

"Stay behind me," Batman growled, his voice low and protective, a command more than a request.

Marie’s heart raced, but she didn’t argue. She knew better than to question him in the middle of a fight. Batman was already moving, a force of nature unleashed on Maroni’s men. His body twisted and turned with brutal precision, blocking a punch meant for her and retaliating with a strike that sent the thug crumpling to the ground. The sound of bone crunching under his fist was drowned out by the chaos of the battle around them.

The docks echoed with the grunts and shouts of Maroni’s crew, but none of them could stand up to Batman. He was a whirlwind of motion—disarming guns with a single swipe, breaking limbs with ease, and flooring anyone foolish enough to challenge him. Thugs came at him from all angles, but he fought them off like it was second nature, each strike efficient, each movement perfectly calculated.

Yet something wasn’t right.

Marie noticed it first in the subtle shift of his movements—still powerful, but slower than she’d ever seen. His strikes weren’t as sharp, his dodges not as precise. And then she saw it—the flash of a blade in the midst of the brawl.

One of Maroni’s men had gotten too close. Too close for Batman to react in time.

The thug plunged a knife deep into Batman’s side, the sharp edge slicing through the armored fabric with a sickening sound. Marie’s breath hitched as she saw the blade sink in, the shock of it mirrored in the sudden pause of Batman’s movements. He staggered for only a moment, his gloved hand instinctively pressing against the wound, but in the chaos, he didn’t stop. There was no time to register pain, no time to falter.

But the damage was done.

Blood seeped from the gash, staining the dark fabric of his suit. Each punch, each kick, pulled the wound open wider, and though he fought to keep going, the toll it was taking on him became clear. His jaw clenched in pain, muscles tensing under the strain, but Batman didn’t let up. He couldn’t—not with Marie still in the thick of it.

Marie’s eyes darted between him and the thugs swarming around them. She could see it now—the way he was favoring his injured side, the subtle stumble in his step as he tried to push through the pain. Batman was still dominating the fight, but he was weakening, his strength fading with every passing second.

A thug wielding a steel pipe rushed him from the side. Batman blocked the blow with his forearm, but the effort cost him. He grunted in pain, his hand instinctively clutching his side as his body swayed. The thug seized the opportunity, landing a brutal kick to his ribs.

The impact sent Batman stumbling back, his boot scraping against the concrete as he struggled to stay upright. His vision blurred for a moment, the edges of his focus dimming as the pain from the wound radiated through his body. He inhaled sharply, trying to steady himself, but the pain only grew worse. He could feel the blood soaking through his suit, warm and sticky, making every movement a challenge.

"Batman!" Marie’s voice cut through the chaos, filled with alarm. She saw the blood now, trickling down his side and pooling beneath him.

Another thug came at him, swinging wildly with a crowbar, but Batman was slower this time. He managed to deflect the first hit, but the second strike caught him square in the shoulder. He staggered again, his balance faltering, and for the first time, Marie saw something she never thought possible.

Batman was losing.

“Batman!” she called out again, her voice more urgent, but he was already in motion, his focus locked on his attackers despite the obvious strain. He gritted his teeth, lunging forward to drive an elbow into one thug’s face, sending him crashing to the floor. But it was taking everything he had left.

Batman faltered, dropping to one knee. Another hit landed—this time a solid punch to his jaw that snapped his head to the side. Marie’s heart raced as she watched him stagger, his strength quickly draining. She could see the blood trailing down the side of his face, and the way his chest heaved in uneven breaths. He was hurt. Badly.

With her remaining rounds, Marie was able to shoot a handful of Maroni’s men, though more were advancing on them.

“Get out of here!” Batman growled, his voice strained, almost pleading. “It’s not safe. I can’t hold them off much longer.”

“I’m not leaving you!” Marie shouted, her voice thick with fear. She could see Batman staggering, the blood soaking through his suit, his strength fading.

The remaining thugs, sensing their chance, converged on Batman and Marie. He fought back with everything he had left, but it wasn’t enough. A vicious blow knocked him to the ground, and he didn’t get back up. Just as they closed in for the final strike, a sudden round of gunshots rang out.

Gordon, with a final burst of strength, lifted his weapon and fired. The bullets found their marks, dropping the remainder of the men in rapid succession. The recoil sent a jolt through Gordon’s already battered body, and as the last thug fell, he slumped over, unconscious.

Marie’s heart raced as she watched Gordon collapse, but her focus shifted instantly to Batman. She had half a mind to look for Maroni, though she figured he was probably long gone. The real priority was Batman, who was losing blood fast.

She dropped to her knees beside him, her hands trembling as she pressed them to his wounds, trying to stop the bleeding.

“No… no.” Marie’s voice shook as her trembling hands pressed down hard. “You’re gonna be okay. Just hold on.” Her voice broke despite her best efforts to stay calm.

His breaths were shallow, pained, each one more labored than the last. When he finally lifted his head, it was slow, almost too slow. His eyes, usually sharp and focused, were glassy with exhaustion and pain.

Her heart pounded in her ears, drowning out everything but the sound of Batman’s ragged breathing beneath her fingers. 

“I can’t do this job without you.” She said weakly, her voice barely above a whisper.

Placing his hand over hers on the wound, Batman spoke, “Marie...” His voice was a rasp, barely audible. He winced, his mouth twitching in a grimace. “I wanted to tell you... I wanted to...”

“No.” She shook her head, her vision blurring with tears that she couldn’t hold back any longer. “Don’t talk. Just save your strength. Help is on the way. You’re going to be okay, I promise.”

But Bruce’s eyes were starting to lose focus, his gaze drifting as though he were looking somewhere far beyond her. His hand, slick with blood, trembled as it lifted, reaching up weakly toward his mask.

The motion was slow, hesitant, as though he were still deciding whether or not to go through with it.

Marie’s stomach twisted at the sight. “No... no, don’t.” Her voice was barely a whisper now, thick with fear and confusion.

But he kept going, pulling weakly at the mask with trembling fingers. His hand faltered, and for a moment, Marie thought he didn’t have the strength to finish.

She reached out instinctively, catching his hand as if to stop him, but Bruce shook his head, a soft, barely-there motion.

“Marie,” he whispered again, his voice cracking with the weight of everything he hadn’t said. “You need to know...”

Her heart stopped as she watched him. Her mind raced, trying to process what was happening, but it felt like the world was collapsing around her. She watched helplessly as, with a final tug, he pulled the mask off, revealing the battered face of Bruce Wayne beneath.

For a second, Marie just stared. Her breath caught in her throat, and her mind struggled to connect what she was seeing with the man she thought she knew. “Bruce?” The word slipped out, barely a breath, as if saying it would somehow make it less real.

Bruce’s eyes met hers, bloodshot and full of pain. “I wanted to tell you,” he repeated, his voice hoarse. “So many times... I just couldn’t.”

Marie’s tears fell freely now, her heart twisting painfully in her chest. “Why didn’t you?” she choked out, her hands still pressing against his wound, desperate to keep him here, to keep him alive. “Why didn’t you trust me?”

“I did trust you,” Bruce whispered, his hand weakly gripping hers. “But I was scared... scared of losing you... if you knew... everything.”

Marie shook her head, disbelief and hurt swirling with the fear that now coursed through her veins—the fear of losing not just Batman, but Bruce too. “You’ve been lying to me this whole time?” Her voice cracked as she spoke, the weight of the betrayal cutting deep. “All those times... Bruce, why didn’t you just tell me?”

Bruce’s breathing grew shallower, his strength fading with each passing second. “I didn’t want you to be a part of this... of my world. It’s too dangerous. You deserve better.”

Marie bit her lip, fighting back a sob as she leaned closer, her hand cradling his face gently. “I don’t care about being safe. I care about you, Bruce. You didn’t have to carry this alone.”

He closed his eyes for a moment, his body trembling under her touch. “I couldn’t lose you,” he whispered, his voice barely audible.

“Stop,” she pleaded, her voice breaking as she leaned down, pressing her forehead against his. “You’re not losing me, okay? You’re gonna be fine. Just hang on. Help’s coming.”

Bruce’s hand reached up to brush the tear from her cheek, his touch weak but filled with tenderness. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice thick with regret. “For everything.”

Marie shook her head, her tears falling onto his face. “Don’t apologize. Just stay with me. Please.”

But Bruce’s eyes were drifting shut again, his breathing growing more shallow.

He was slipping away, and there was nothing she could do but hold onto him, her heart breaking as she watched the man she loved fighting to stay alive.

“Damn it, Bruce. Don’t do this,” she pleaded, her voice breaking. Her tears fell freely, mingling with the sweat and grime on his face.

The sound of sirens approached, their flashing lights cutting through the fog. Marie scrambled to her feet, waving her arms frantically to flag down the approaching ambulance.

She felt a brief surge of hope as the sound of approaching ambulances cut through the night air. But when she turned back to where Bruce had been lying, her heart plummeted—he was gone.

The spot was empty, the blood on the ground the only trace that he’d ever been there.

Her eyes darted frantically through the thick fog, searching for any sign of him, her breath quickening as panic set in.

But there was nothing—only the swirling mist, thick and unforgiving, swallowing everything in its path.

“Bruce!” she cried out, her voice breaking with fear and desperation. She strained her ears for any response, but there was only silence.

The fog closed in around her, heavy and oppressive, and with it came the gut-wrenching realization that he had used the last of his strength to disappear into the night.

[loupy-mongoose]

Warning: This part contains discussion of Pokemon abuse and neglect, as well as the general topic of death.

Edit: I didn't realize when I posted that this part is kinda long, so I'mma slap a Read More on it.

PREVIOUS NEXT

ARC START | CHRONO

Lavender stared in shock at the man who'd approached her.

It was him.

The man she'd seen in the articles online.

The man she'd seen in Nico's dream vision.

Fuji...

The man tilted his head a bit. Ah, so you've heard of me. I'm guessing you've read about the orphanage online?

I, uh...

Lav had no idea how she would begin speaking to him, let alone broach the subject that drove her to this moment.

I... I...

She hugged herself, shivering. Her mind and emotions were spent.

Fuji's concerned look grew deeper. Easy, there. Easy. What's troubling you? Maybe we can work it out.

She could feel his genuine concern for her wash off of him, and her own loneliness and regret crashed over her. She asked him in a timid, shaky voice, can I have a hug?

His eyebrow rose, but he smiled warmly at her. Of course! If it'll help!

She charged into his arms almost before he could open them wide enough. Oh how she missed this feeling of being safe in a pair of arms...

So what's got you so upset? Or is it something too personal to tell a stranger like myself?

Uh...

His voice lowered to just above a whisper. Your family isn't mistreating you, are they? I can help get you out if they are.

At that Lav pushed away from him, waving her arms. No no no no, nothing like that! I-I'm sad because I left them... And I wish I hadn't... I came here looking for someone, but... She wiped her eyes for the hundredth time since she'd taken off. It was a rash decision and I wish I could go back...

I can help with that too. Fuji smiled again. Where do they live? I'll do what I can to get you back to them!

Lav gripped at her elbows, biting her lower lip. Should I tell him? How much would it give away...?

How much will I need to give away...?

She took a quiet breath and answered. Paldea.

Paldea... He became thoughtful. That's a long ways away from here... You came here on your own?

Lav nodded, rocking slightly back and forth. All the warnings she'd heard from her parents flashed through her mind, almost making her feel sick again.

Finally she gripped her jacket sleeves and took a deep breath. Listen, Mr. Fuji, there's something I wanted to talk to you about. But... not in the open.

The gentle man lowered his brows questioningly.

I-I know that sounds weird... But... C-can we go to your house? And talk in private?

Fuji's face creased in confusion, but he shrugged. Alright. I'm all ears. Maybe I can offer you a drink to calm your nerves? Coffee, tea, hot coco?

Lav smiled widely at the sound of that. Ooo, yes please! Hot chocolate! Please!

Fuji chuckled as he turned to go and motioned for her to follow. A sweet tooth, huh? No problem!

Hey, I never got your name.

She gave a shy laugh, well recognizing how this might sound to him. It's, uh... Lavender, actually. Lavender Linden.

Hah!! Oh dear, it might be a little hard for my old brain to remember that one. His voice oozed with joyful sarcasm, and Lav felt herself warming up to him.

You can call me Lav if it's too much for you~

Lav. That sounds lovely. He chuckled softly. It's nice to meet you, Lav.

Lav smiled, finally feeling a sense of comfort for the first time since leaving home.

It's nice to meet you too, Mr. Fuji.

The pink Mew carefully peered down into the cliffs surrounding the purple-hued town. It was too far away to make out distinct people. But where his eyes failed him, his senses gave him hope.

I feel her.

He looked at Akoya. They're eyes passed the message without use of words or mind. They flew down to discuss with Persim what the next step would be.

Oooooh, look at themmm!!

Lav looked into a pen containing several little land-dwelling Pokemon. Ratattas, Growlithes, Nidorans, and Mankeys, and others mingled together. Some were missing eyes and limbs.

So you take in orphaned Pokemon and take care of them?

Fuji smiled softly, but with a sad gleam in his eyes. Orphans, injured, sick... Trainers will often bring in Pokemon, either their own or ones that they've found in their travels. It's sad when they're mistreated, but I like to think we offer a little bit of hope and comfort for those in need.

Lav watched a few Ratattas running together, including a dark colored one that had a set of wheels attached to its back legs. She pointed to it. What happened to the Alolan one there?

A Karate Chop went too far. HP shields will only protect so much. Fuji sighed. Her trainer pushed her to fight beyond her limits--against a Machop, no less--and she paid the price. And of course her trainer left her for dead because she couldn't fight anymore.

A lot of the Pokemon in our care have similar stories. I swear, trainers who don't bother learning type matchups drive me up a wall! Just because they're protected from elemental attacks doesn't mean the protection lasts or is perfect every time! And when the shields fail, it can fail spectacularly.

Lav thought about her dad's journey as a trainer through Sinnoh, as well as her own dream of doing her own journey. She had to venture a question. D... Do you feel that way about all trainers?

Absolutely not. There are plenty of good trainers out there, and I adore them. I want to support those ones however I can! And of course trainers will make mistakes. Sometimes mistakes that will cost a life, unfortunately... As long as there are Pokemon trainers, that will continue to happen. But that alone doesn't make one a bad trainer.

And the sad thing is, it's those trainers who suffer most from their mistakes. The ones who throw away the dead or injured, they move on to the next victim with nary a backward glance. But when a loving trainer loses...

He sighed again, leaning on the fence. It's heartbreaking, really. All the trainers who feel like they failed because of their losses, when in reality those are the best of the best. They don't realize that in taking a path of love, they've taken the hard path. Grief is the price we pay for love, after all, and sometimes in can bankrupt trainers...

Suddenly he leaned back. I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to get sad on you! I see both ends of it, so I have trouble keeping them apart sometimes. I hope you can forgive my morbid rambling...

Of course. Lav smiled morosely. ...I can tell you pay that price a lot...

Fuji met her eyes with warmth. Yeah... Yeah. It's not always an easy job... But it is my greatest love. And grief is a price I'm willing to pay for it.

PREVIOUS NEXT

ARC START | CHRONO

This makes me want to do a Nuzlocke. XD

[just-antithings]

very progressive!

[runawaydr3amerao3]

The Sims 4 Mods/Custom Content I Use

See my Simsnatural posts here! (Warning: May contain actual or references to Wincest, CGI and animated nudity and sex, kinky shit, and other absolute nonsense.)

I've decided to make a masterpost of the mods and custom content I use to play TS4, so that I can just link back here instead of listing them every time on every post I make of my Winchester Sims. I'll list all of my mods, but I'll only list CC if it's visible in a screenshot I share or mentioned in a post. Otherwise things would get unmanageable.

For reference, I play The Sims 4 with all expansions and stuff packs. EA can bite the big one.

Mods:

Better Exceptions

Bouncing Sim Boobies

Child Birth Mod

Ding & Ditch Smart Doorbell

Education Overhaul

FlirtyFetishes: BDSiM

GeneralPieMenu

MC Command Center

Mood Pack

More Columns in CAS

Pose Player

Selectable Pets Always

SharedTuning

Smarter Pie Menu: Searchable Interactions

Teleport Any Sim

Unlock/Lock Doors for chosen sims

Wicked Whims

Wicked Whims Inappropriate Unlock

XML Injector

Custom Content:

Appearance:

Dimples by PralineSims

Eye colours by PralineSims

Eyebrows by PralineSims

Penis Meshes by Supern4tural

Pierced Penis by Khlas

Clothing:

Boxer-briefs with side mesh by Joliebean

Lace boyshorts by Joliebean & Imvikai

Layered autumn plaid by SimmieV

Pentacle sweater by SimmieV

Sarcasm Inc t-shirt by PralineSims

Gameplay:

Pregnancy Pose Pack by Katverse

Wicked Whims sex animations (shown in posts so far: Anarcis, Artista De Bastardo, FausTTerM, Khlas, MOTHERLODESIMS)

Objects:

BDSM Easel by YrSa

Beer bottles by Around the Sims 4

Glass of vodka by Around the Sims 4

Glock handgun – original by XanKriegor, TS4 edit by SG5150, found here

Naughty TV by Reitanna

Sex toys by 0zzzy: ball gag

Sex toys by asketo: anal beads, dildo with handle, hanging chain, tentacle dildo

Sex toys by chisami: Lovehoney g-spot dildo and wall dildo

Sex toys by Julie J: collar and leash

Sex toys by Khlas: fleshlight

Sex toys by Kodenu: hanging belt and bull whip

Sex toys by Noir and Dark / scaled by wild_guy: chrome dildo, metallic plug, realistic dildo, wand massager

Sex toys by Supern4tural: horse dildo

Whiskey bottle by leosims

Wine cellar by Kaydazzle420 (in-game gallery)

Supernatural-themed Custom Content:

1967 Chevrolet Impala – original by Fresh-Prince Creations, TS4 edit by SG5150, found here

Anti-Possession Tattoo by plumbobfae

Dean's Amulet by BAkalia

Devil's Trap Rugs by WWOM_KittyKatt

Mark of Cain by Nys!k

Men of Letters Bunker by xogerardine

Winchester Bros t-shirt by simmi98x

Sincere apologies if I forget to list anything at any stage. I'm always open to being reminded. And if any links break, do let me know.

Also, please note that I cannot guarantee the security of each link indefinitely. Use your own discretion as well as protective software the way you would/should at any other time.

[no-nameno-face]

Auburn Thoughts (Pt.1)

Pairing: Reader x Ellie Williams

Summary:  You are an art student working on a rather boring assignment. The girl across from you makes it a bit more bearable. 

Warnings: ummm painting and flirting ig? Some sarcasm? Not sure what qualifies as warning material in a chapter like this. lol.

Author's Notes: I'm literally a college drop out so idk if this is even close to a real college experience so bear with me. I'm really excited to be writing a slow burn, I love reading them so I'm having a lot of fun making one of my own. This chapter is mostly fluff, but with that being said I definitely plan on this leading to some heavy smut so fair warning. I’m still new to writing, like I said in my last post that was my first time writing, so be patient with me please. I'm already almost done with part two, the story definitely picks up a bit. trying to contain myself to keep it a nice slow build, but writing Ellie makes that so hardddd. Anyways, I hope you enjoy! <3

Part 2

I balance, perched on my wooden stool. Knee to my chest and a paint brush resting in the corner of my mouth. I squint at the bowl of fruit on the pedestal in the middle of the empty classroom. 

How the fuck am I supposed to feel inspired by a god damn banana? My eyes shift to the canvas in front of me. A base of powder blue covers the surface with a rough outline of my perspective of the assigned model. So boring. My forehead drops onto my knee. “Im fucked.” I breathe. I rest there for a minute, trying to get past the mental block of painting something I have absolutely no interest in. I didn't anticipate this side of art school. I was picturing passion projects and creative people with minds for the picking. Not fucking bananas. 

I look up at the ceiling and take a deep breath. I’m not gonna get anything else done today. I can tell. I’ll work on it tomorrow in class, see if I can figure anything out. I begin gathering my brushes head to the sink on the side of the classroom. Turning on the faucet I begin gently squeezing the paint out of my brushes, and drying them one by one. The colored water coming off of them was more exciting than anything I've created today. 

I hear the classroom door swing open. It startles me and I jump a bit, turning automatically to find the noise. Green eyes meet mine. 

“Shit, sorry.” she says as she looks away and paces to the canvas storage on the other side of the classroom, pulling off her hood as she walks revealing short auburn hair pulled back in a loose ponytail. It’s a nice color, I thought as I turned back to my brushes. I finished washing them as I thought about what colors I would have to mix to match it. My color theory class is getting to me, I shake my head softly. 

As I dry my last brush I realize how quiet it is. Just the sound of my bristles on the cloth, and that girl from my class setting her canvas on her assigned easel across from mine, on the opposite side of the cursed fruit. 

I turn and walk back to my easel and put my brushes in their case, then load it into my bag resting on the floor next to my seat. I stand up and address my canvas hopelessly one more time, letting out a small huff before I pick it up and haul it to the canvas storage. I load it into my assigned slot then head back to grab my bag, glancing first at the fruit, then at the girl. She sat comfortably eyeing her canvas, I wondered if she was having as hard of a time with this assignment or if it was just me. I reach my stuff and lean down to grab it.

“God, this blows,” she sighs. I look up at her. It's like she read my mind.

“What, you're not, like, crazy intrigued by the,” I wave towards the model “fruit.” I give a sarcastic smile. She looks up at me and returns the grin. She's got a pretty smile. 

“Can't say I am,” she says looking back at her canvas. I smile swinging on my bag.

“Well that makes two of us.” I say turning to leave the classroom. Walking back to my dorm my mind drifts back to the colors I would need to make that auburn. 

My following few nights were spent, paint brush in hand, and her across the room. Working hard on our assignments, with the occasional aggrieved comment discussing the problem at hand. I found my gaze lingering a bit longer on her than I would like to admit over these days. Smiling a bit too hard at her jokes. Laughing quietly to myself when I’d hear her drop a brush and curse under her breath.  

I started actually looking forward to painting the stupid bowl of fruit. There was something so nice about being in our own worlds, occasionally colliding, then bouncing back to our own little universes on our canvases. She makes me feel safe. Motivated. It was refreshing. 

I wondered if her mind would drift to me late at night like mine drifted to her. Definitely not. So fucking stupid, I would tell myself holding my pillow over my face.

______________________________________________________________

The next day I sat in class listening to the professor go on about the power of perspective, and how angles can truly change the emotion of a piece. My eyes drift as she's talking and I catch a glimpse of green before it darts away. Wandering eyes. Happens to us all. I think nothing of it. 

I endure the lecture and we enter the freepainting portion of the class. Finally okay with the outline of my painting, I go to the paint station to collect the colors I need to start laying the foundation of the subject. I’m rummaging through the bottom drawer of the color supply when I hear someone approaching.

“So how's the emotion of your piece coming?” came her sarcastic voice. I smile at my scavenging hands.

“Oh, it's life changing.” I say with a small nod, not looking up. She chuckles lightly, then leans against the cabinets next to me, crossing her arms over her chest, looking over the classroom. I stand, feeling satisfied by my color choices and meet her eyes, giving her a small smile, before walking back to my easel. I put my headphones in and shuffle my music. Diving into the project, desperately riding the momentum of the lecture before I lost the little motivation I had. 

The class time ended, but I planned on getting another hour or so of painting in to make up for my lack of progress during open room yesterday. Students were drifting out of the classroom leaving it quieter, which I much preferred. Finally finished with the base colors of the painting I began the shading, shuffling through my brushes in my case finding the one I needed. When I found it I pulled my knee up to my chest and leaned around my canvas to look at the subject.

I noticed she was still here, sitting across from me. Just legs beneath her work. Jeans, well worn converse, one tapping the floor. Then she's leaning around to look at the model, I dart back behind my canvas before she can catch me looking. I think I was fast enough? Why do I care, it's not a big deal? My brows furrow, confused by my own actions. Why am I being so weird?

I shade away at the apple on the left side of the bowl, frustrated with the highlights. I tilt my head up and feel the tension in my neck. I grab at it and roll my head. My eyes absently scan the classroom. Empty. All but that one seat. 

I checked my phone for the time, shit it's been over 2 hours since class got out. I look at my canvas, mentally making a plan for tomorrow's work. Then I gather my brushes and head to the sink. A repeat of the day before, and days before that. Watching the colors strain down the sink, drying my brushes. This time she approaches with her own brushes, turning on the faucet next to me and begins working the paint out of them. 

“I didn't realize what time it was, I'm glad you got up when you did. I would have been here for hours” she says looking at the brush in her hands. 

“Time flies when you’re having fun,” I respond, looking over at her then back to my brushes. I see her smile in my peripheral. That pretty smile. We wash in silence for a bit before,

“My name’s Ellie. I just realized I never introduced myself” she says, glimpsing at you.

“How rude of you, Ellie.” I say smirking at her. She squints her eyes at me with a crooked smile. “I’m _____.” I say picking up my drying rag. 

“Hey, for the record you never introduced yourself either.”

“Didn't know you wanted me to.”

“Touche.” 

I turn and walk back to my bag, following my daily routine. Putting my brushes in their case, loading it in my bag. Hauling my canvas to the storage then heading to the door. 

“Hey,” Ellie calls to me. I turn and see her putting her canvas away. “You seemed like you really knew what you were doing, picking your colors out earlier.” I grab at the straps of my backpack as she walks up to me “I was just wondering, could you give me some tips? I'm more of a graphite, charcoal girl myself. Color is not really my thing.” she said looking down at her shoes then back to me. 

“I guess,” I say with a smile heading out the door. She follows me, catching up to walk by my side.

“Now?” She looks at me while we walk.

“I'm a bit painted out at the moment,” 

“Oh, yeah. No for sure,” she responds, directing her attention to the floor. She almost sounds flustered? No, I'm definitely reading into it. A small smile paints my lips at the possibility.

“How about we meet up during open room tomorrow? I'll give you some pointers.” She  looks up to me with a bit of surprise in her eyes, I look ahead of myself. “I mean I'm no Warhol, but I'm happy to help.”

“Fuck yeah, that sounds perfect! What time do you wanna meet?” she asks eagerly. A light in her eyes. 

“4:00?”

“My last class gets out at 4:30, can you do 5:00?” 

“Oh you're making demands now?” I say with a sarcastic grimace at her, brows furrowed. She bites at her smile. It's an image I'd like to immortalize in my sketchbook. What? I look at the ground, thrown off by my own thoughts. “Yeah, let's meet at 5:00.” I say just looking up enough to catch her eyes already peering at me, she glances away from me quickly. Pushing through the doors of the building we are hit with the cold air. She pulls her hood up over her ponytail. 

“See you then.” she nods at me and heads down the stairs and to the left towards her dorm I presume. I grin at myself, my cheeks feeling a bit warmer than they should in the breeze.

Back at my dorm I find myself doodling the image of her bitten lips. Auburn thoughts.

[lilydoesdrawsometimes]

Paratober 2023

So I am unhinged. Very, very unhinged.

And I decided that for Inktober/Paratober I'd draw Thierry for every single one of them (or involve Thierry in some way) Because, as I said, I am violently unhinged. Of course, I did that! It took me a bit because I had a THREE PART EXAM and was a week behind with stuff, but TODAY I caught up with everything! Isn't that WONDERFUL! The days are going to be VERY out of order since some of them contain blood and I can't really "spoiler" them so some will be under a cut. I'm using three different Paratober prompt things for my own sanity. The first two are the "Main" Paratober ones, both canon and non canon, by @/themochimadeoftaro and then there's "The Stanley Drawable 2023" Prompt list made by @/a-game-of-beginnings.

All that being said, here it is!:

Note: This one is actually Mantra and Thierry's fusion! Designed by myself [insert proud grin here] Under the cut here is going to be Gore, blood, Spoilers for Chapter Ten of The Narrative Parable (Link: READ IT )and the wORsT oF aLl (HEAVY SARCASM) A shirtless man! Good god how could I...

Anyways, be wary if you proceed please :) You have been warned. Other Note that's kind of at the end but also not because wehoa;fdlsi A huge thank you to @vellichorom for being supportive of my cursed antics and violent obsession with Thierry <3 I really love your guy so much lore and all. Not only has he given me the motivation to actually draw regularly where usually I would just give up, but so have you. The rest will be posted individually each day (or every other day if I end up having to miss one) Had to PUT SPACE here because TUMBLR IS STUPID and decided to add the KEEP READING AT THE GODDAMN TOP like a STUPID IDIOT if you read it a certain way

haha get it? Fresh off the pr- [Gets blown up]

He's gonna get sunburnt I stg

[yyako]

There Are No Credits in Sun Haven: 1.3 Edition

Sun Haven's 1.3 patch, adding lots of new art, vfx, new characters and additional writing drops today. What it will not contain is a list of the artists who created that art, crafted those vfx, designed those characters, and wrote the new writing that went into the patch, nor will it contain the names of anyone who previously contributed to the game. All "credits" seen in the game go to Kickstarter backers only. This has been a known issue in the game for as long as it's been in development-- my partner worked on the game and he's had a chance to talk with other ex-Sun Haven devs about these problems.

I really wanted to be nice and try not to hurt the people still working on the game. At this point, though, I think it will hurt more people to be silent. Pixel Sprout is hiring basically every position and I'd feel bad if I didn't warn people away from this scumbag company.

A couple of things: in the game industry there's not a single game that's made without any pain, stress, or mis-development. It's a creative field and a job; those things are inevitable. I wouldn't be out here saying that Pixel Sprout is a bad company if the development was rocky but they paid their workers fairly and gave them credits. But the fact of the matter is that they don't pay their workers fairly, and they don't give credit.

So I've already gone over the credit thing. Let's talk about pay! The director, Bruce, doesn't want his employees to talk about pay, which is always a good sign [sarcasm]. I only know 2 salaries, but they're both illustrative. My partner was one of the best-paid members on the team, being paid $15/hr for a highly specialized skill. This was significantly lower than his usual rate, and he didn't get a raise until two years of work had passed. Though my partner was expected to function as an almost full time, exclusive employee, he was on the books as a contract worker-- meaning he had to do his own taxes and received no medical insurance.

The other salary I know was for one of the lead writers, who quit explosively and alleged that he was earning $7/hr for his specialized work. Though I don't have any more precise numbers, I know that Bruce hires aggressively in countries with weak economies so that he can pay those workers below the American minimum wage-- and those positions are specialized work like pixel art.

Now, about those credits... I think people understand why they're important, but let me make it clear: even if you as a layperson don't usually look at credits, they're extremely important to the people credited because credits are how you get work. The games industry is very insular: everyone knows someone who worked on some game, so it's hard to break into. It's easier to break into if you can point at a game you've worked on and others can go and check to see that you're not lying. Not including credits in your game robs people of the ability to get jobs. It's gravely serious.

I'm going to end this post by once again saying that I'm not calling for a boycott, and you can decide for yourself if you want to play the game, knowing that playing it isn't going to affect whether or not credits get added. But please, do NOT submit an application to work for them until you know you'll be compensated for your work through credits. And keep pestering the developers about it. It's not going to make the credits happen (see: how hard they've been failing to produce a Switch release), but if we can annoy the director, my petty heart will be warmed.