#where else am i meant to over think this game to death? where?

[fabdante]

i can't leave tumblr because the like 12 people in the dmc reboot fandom are here

[woahjo]

The People We Became (Bakugou x Reader)

masterlist | ao3

Pairing: Bakugou x Reader

Summary: Zombie Apocalypse Au.

The world fell apart almost a year ago and you refused to go with it. Left alone and to your own devices in a world full of monsters, where the dead come back to life, you believe that maybe surviving isn't living.

When Katsuki finds you alone in the woods and on the precipice of collapsing from exhaustion, he decides to bring you back to the house his group calls home. Against your better judgement and hesitancy to become attached, you decide to stay. In this world, everyone has lost someone. No soul is spared the violence, and you start sleeping with Bakugou Katsuki to dull the ache. Somehow, peace finds you anyway, but not without sacrifice.

Chapter Content Warnings:  fem!reader, gender neutral pronouns, strangers to lovers, violence typical of zombies, blood, gore, romance, slow-ish burn (for the emotional stuff), angst, kissin', questions of identity, loss, grief, graphic depictions of death and/or violence, mentions and descriptions of starvation/exhaustion typical of an apocalypse setting, very slight implications of possible sexual violence typical of an apocalypse setting, derealization, depersonalization, weapons (guns, blades, and traps), loss of identity

All content warnings can be found on ao3 with the rest of the series.

Word Count: 14.4k — 53k total on ao3

A/N: it's finally done... i'm sweating. i screamed. i cried. i bled. you know the drill. i am posting this a little differently than my other fics and series. only the first chapter will be posted here on tumblr (this post), with the rest of it broken up into chapters and posted on ao3.. purely because it was originally meant as a one shot and i don't like posting chapters on tumblr. it's not built for that and im tired. anyway, im nervous this is my new baby and im pretty sure my soul is somewhere in here. if u read this, pls come tell me what you think.. it fuels me. enjoy, cry, sweat, or whatever else you do when you read. as always, thank you and i love you.

Two hundred and seventy six. It’s been two hundred and seventy six days since the world completely went to shit. You don’t really count the initial outbreak. The initial outbreak was relatively contained once people found out about it. You quarantined. You stayed inside. All it really took were a handful of idiots. Someone selfish. Someone who panicked and ran instead of facing the world honorably, and that was it. It only took days to lose almost every semblance of a normal life and a week to lose everything else. 

The light of your fire is dim, embers burning low as you sit in a foldable chair beside it. The chair is from a friend, someone you’re not with anymore and who went somewhere you couldn’t follow, and you've got a metal spatula in your hand. You're not sure why you grabbed it when you fled, but panic does weird things to the mind. You absentmindedly wonder why you’ve brought it along with you all this time. There’s no logical reason for you to tote the thing around. A friend had told you how strange it was that you thought to toss it into your bag and continue carrying it. This, along with a few other oddities, are all you managed to take from your house when the world fell to ruin. Everything else are things scavenged along the way or from people you'd met, joined, and lost. 

Maybe it’s because the spatula is somewhat normal, like somehow when you cook the game on your makeshift tin over your shitty fire, you can pretend you’re in your kitchen. A smash burger sounds good right now, with grilled onions on a brioche bun like the ones from the place by your apartment. 

The night is near silent and trees creak and crack like the hulls of great ships under heavy pressure, but the birds don't sing and nothing in the crowded wood you're taking shelter in makes a sound. Well, except for you and the gentle crackle of your fire. 

It’s easy to miss the noise that used to irritate you when the world goes quiet. You used to hate the sounds and lights of passing trucks when they’d cross on the street below your apartment window. Now, you’d do anything for the familiar comfort. The world is so dark and quiet, like it’s holding its breath and waiting for this to be over. The silence is almost too much, so loud that it hurts your ears. You huddle closer to the fire, craving its quiet sound. Focusing on it lessens the anxiety of the other noises. The ones you don’t want to hear. 

Your head is on a swivel. It has been for months. Ever since the outbreak, ever since the dead rose and began consuming and infecting the living, you've kept watch. A paranoid, never ending cycle that you suppose—if left on your own—will burn itself out. You swallow thick and return your attention to the fire, watching the tree line just in front of you for any hint of movement or monsters. 

A branch cracks just behind you. A swift sound, followed by rapid footsteps. You stand, quickly turning your head, only to see a figure a few feet away from you. They move quickly and the dancing light of the fire obscures their features from view. Their eyes, most importantly. You can always tell if someone is dead or alive based on their eyes and the sounds that their joints make. In this light, should this stranger have that milky white film over them, you wouldn't be able to tell. 

You make a small noise, something between a whimper and a shout, as the person comes to a stop in front of you and holds a flashlight directly into your face. You squint, panic in your veins as your eyes adjust as best they can to the sudden assault. It takes you a moment to realize that there is a gun pointed directly at your forehead. The living. This person is alive. You're not sure yet if encountering one of the dead would have been worse. 

"Shut up and drop your weapon," he says in a hurried voice. It's aggressive and threatening. It comes from deep in his chest, like somehow fear has gripped and mutilated it into something violent. 

You raise your shaky hands to your head quickly at the order, screwing your eyes shut in the beam of the flashlight. 

"It's not a weapon!" you shout, voice cracking. "It's a spatula. It's a spatula." 

The words are rushed and heavy, fear seizing your chest as you look down the barrel of the gun. The flashlight turns off, sending you back into the dark. Your eyes fight to adjust, catching the firelight that glints off of the barrel, and you begin to makeout the man’s features. He's big, blonde under the grime, you think. A man, not the best thing to encounter alone at night in times like these. 

You see him hesitate for a moment, eyes darting between you and the silver kitchen item in your hand. You drop it quickly, hoping to appeal to his humanity. 

"Do you have a weapon on you?" he questions, voice a little less urgent. 

You shake your head in response and then shakily look beside the chair, choking out the word “ground”. There's a knife there and a pistol with no bullets. You're a poor shot and you had run out of ammo the previous week. He glances at it, the gun still raised at you, and sidesteps to grab the two items. When he does, he cautiously lowers the weapon and you start to lower your trembling hands. 

Then, as if struck by some realization, the man stomps towards the fire and you jump as he does.

"The fuck are you doing lighting a fire this late?" he says angrily, opening the clip of your pistol. "And with no fucking bullets. Those things may be dead, but they can still fuckin' see. That's a good way to get yourself killed." 

He stomps out the fire as he talks, urgently stamping out what's left of the low-burning logs. 

"I didn't think there were many in the area," you justify, furrowing your eyebrows as you step away from him. 

"And that's a risk you want to take?" he says indignantly. You wonder briefly what business he has worrying about you. 

"What do you want?" you snap, "My food? Weapons? Life? What is it?" 

The man scoffs, "Jesus, none of that. I don’t want your shit." 

You narrow your eyes and take a step back. One thing this world has done is remove trust from every chance encounter, and that was already hard enough when the place was sane. 

"Not all people who camp out in the woods are good," he says. "But I sure as shit didn't expect to find someone like you alone lighting a damn fire. Stupid." 

"There were others," you say indignantly, like somehow that makes it better. "Force of habit, I guess." 

The man pauses for a moment as understanding passes between the two of you. It's a relatable feeling. Everyone has lost someone now. 

"Got a name?" he asks. 

You hesitate in giving it to him and the pause causes him to roll his eyes. “You want me to call you Idiot-with-no-bullets instead?” 

You give him your name and the man nods as if he likes the sound of it, turning it over in his head before inhaling. 

"I'm Katsuki," he furrows his eyebrows. "You're alone?" 

You nod, swallowing down the grief that pushes at your throat. 

"Wasn't always," you respond, "but yeah. Now, I am." 

He nods his understanding. 

"Come with me." 

"Where?" you say instinctively, a defensive edge to your voice. Katsuki looks at you as if you’re stupid, or maybe it's pity, like you're a wounded animal. Probably both. 

"Where the fuck do you think?" he retorts. "We've got a camp a little ways from here. I saw your fire from the watch post we have stationed." 

You look at him like he's a little crazy for even thinking to bring you. Kindness, especially the selfless type, is so rare now and you find it difficult to believe that he’s willing to take you there at no cost. 

He scoffs and rolls his head over his shoulder. "Look, we've got men and women," then he pauses. "Used to have children. We're not gonna hurt you. World's gone to shit, do you really wanna keep at it alone?" 

He's probably right. You've been alone for weeks now, exhausted for longer, and though your common sense tells you not to go off with a strange man in this kind of world, the promise of rest is far too tempting. You nod and glance back to your camp. A measly collection of supplies haphazardly put together. You suppose that it doesn’t look so promising. 

"We'll come back for it when it's light," he says. "I don't know about you, but I'd rather not spend longer in these dark ass woods than I have to." 

"Okay," you say. The presence of another person both sets you on edge and makes you feel the press of fatigue even more. A gun's barrel on your nose followed by the promise of safety and you're going with him? You must be stupider than a horror movie protagonist. "Do you take in a lot of strays?" 

Katsuki looks over his shoulder and you think you see him smile a little at the phrase. 

"If that's what you want to call it," he says begrudgingly. Then, with a softer tone of voice, barely noticeable with the quiet whisper you both have been speaking at. "I'm sure the others won't mind one more."

You nod a little and follow him through the wood, stepping over obstacles. Your eyes have adjusted to the dark, but you feel unsteady on your feet. Everything you’ve ever learned about this world tells you that maybe you shouldn’t go with him. What if they’re dangerous? It’s easy to lie about women and children, about a community that doesn’t exist. Or worse, it’s easy to fool yourself that where you are is good, but you don’t know yet if he’s the type to delude himself. He doesn’t seem it. 

The two of you walk for what feels like forever, even if it is only a little over half a mile. Your feet have been aching for days and every step you take feels like a blade into the heel. Katsuki seems steady, his gun secured at his hip and a large knife in his dominant hand. He doesn’t have the flashlight out, but he seems sure-footed and takes every step in stride, as if he’s too heavy to be swayed by any missed step. 

As you move, you can barely make out his back in the white tank top he wears. You use it as a landmark, following the glowing white as it catches the light from the moon. Like chasing a ghost through the trees. 

Then, the wood eases up. The trees grow sparse and the suffocating humidity of the forest eases into a more breathable, open-air breeze. Katsuki steps out into a clearing. It’s relatively small, for how large the world is, but it’s some of the most open space you’ve seen in a while. The feeling of stepping out into the tall grass, where you’re both visible to any wandering thing, sends a rush of fear through you. 

By the edge of the clearing, there’s a small house with a short steeple. It almost looks like a Christian church, but you get the sense that it’s likely a barn. That must be the watchtower and you wonder just how good the view of the forest is from up there if Katsuki managed to see the light of your fire. How many other people had seen your fires over the weeks and not made it out to confront you? How close had you come before to safety or annihilation? 

"Hey!" a girl's voice calls. "He's back!" 

In the near distance, you can see a large and dimly lit house. It looks a little worn down, but soft and hardly noticeable light emanates from it in a way that makes it seem inviting.You can’t make out its exact silhouette and night blurs just how broken-down it is, but you can tell that people live there in the same way you can tell when someone has just left a room. 

Someone runs across the field to you both. It looks like a man and a woman, maybe around Katsuki's age. They move quickly through the tall grass and for a moment, the urgency that they move with frightens you. You worry that your presence will ignite some protective sort of panic. You linger back, letting Katsuki grow a little farther from you as they call out to him. 

“Yeah, yeah," he half-shouts, no longer seeming to care about keeping quiet. Guess that's what happens when there's a group. "I found the fire I mentioned." 

The two come to a stop in front of him, resting their hands on their hips as they catch the breath they lost. 

"We started to get a little worried," says the girl. She's pretty, with big eyes and curly hair that looks like it probably used to be dyed. "You've been gone for a while." 

"Well, I'm back," he says. 

"And you brought a friend," the other man says, sounding shocked. His tone is noticeably kind. The boisterous type of kind and when he smiles, you can see that he has sharp canines. His hair is straight, sticking out in different directions, and tinged with red in this light.

"More like an acquaintance," Katsuki says. “I found them in the woods with a fire and an empty clip. Felt like their blood would be on my hands if I didn’t bring them back.” The red-haired man gives him a telling look and Katsuki scoffs in response and turns to the girl. "Get them settled, Mina, will you?" The girl called Mina nods and Katsuki takes off toward the house without another word. 

"You're lucky," she says, pausing when you flinch as she steps closer. "You're gettin' the last solo room in the place. Kirishima, is it set up?" 

Kirishima shrugs his shoulders. "You'd have to ask Izuku. He'd know all about that, but I can go check." 

Mina shakes her head and turns her attention to you, giving you a quick once over with her eyebrows pulled together.

"You must be tired.” 

When you nod, she gives you an empathetic smile and motions for you to come with her. "We'll fix that. You hungry?" 

"What do you think?" you manage, saliva pooling in your mouth. "Do you have food?" 

"Plenty," she smiles. "not quite enough for leftovers just yet though, don’t tell anyone." 

You smile awkwardly. Who on earth would you tell? 

"Sounds like a good deal," you say. 

You follow Mina up to the house. Around it, there are a few parked cars. They look like they could pull out at any moment, and through the dust covered windows, you can just make out supplies in the back seats as you pass. In the distance, you can see the fuzzy silhouette of the barn you’d assumed was a watchtower in the dark of the field and you figure that maybe it used to be a place to keep livestock. 

Mina doesn't say much to you as you pass through the field, and when you walk into the door, the first thing you notice is a large group of people seated at a dining table. They all look up at you when you enter and it's with a bit of shock that you register their faces as healthy. Well, healthier. These people live well. Something stirs in your chest, both anxiety and excitement at the thought of possibly having found somewhere safe. They blink at you for a moment, exchanging looks that all end up landing on Katsuki. 

"This is the group. Well, most of us," Mina says pleasantly and with a light huff. "That's Izuku, Denki, Ochako, Sero, and you already know the handsome guy on the end there. Kiri's probably checking to see if the room is half decent.." They all greet you with a glad murmur. "Group, this is..." 

She looks at you expectantly. When you tell them your name, you can't help but look at Katsuki who already knows it. He raises his eyebrows unconsciously and turns his attention to the glass in front of him. 

There’s an awkward pause as you stand in the doorway, suddenly conscious of just how dirty you must look. Remnants of an older world, you suppose. No one really worries about things like that anymore.

“Uhm…” you search for something to say, but your people skills seem to have left you. 

“You’re okay,” Mina says lightly. “Plenty of time to get to know you when you’ve rested and had something to eat.” 

Mina sits you down at a chair that she pulls in from the other room. It doesn't match the other ones in the dining room, but you suppose no one is really thinking of the decor in their house anymore. It's only now that you realize the house has electricity.

"You have power?" you say incredulously, looking at the center light in the dining room on its low setting. 

"Mhm," Mina hums as she sits down next to you and spoons a helping of vegetables onto your plate. "It's got a generator. We got lucky finding this place. I don't think many of us would be alive if we hadn't." 

Those listening in the group nod their affirmation. 

"It draws from well water too," she adds. "With the right care, the place practically runs on its own. Hard work but what isn't nowadays?" 

“Like you do any of the heavy lifting," Sero scoffs across from her.

"That's not fair," Katsuki adds with a slick smirk, "you know damn well none of our vegetables would be so well socialized if she didn't use them like a damn diary all day." 

The group laughs a little and Mina rolls her eyes and sits back in the chair. You avoid looking at anyone, shoveling the food into your mouth. You’re salivating an almost embarrassing amount, struggling to eat at a normal pace. There’s something about food cooked inside, about the way food tastes when you can smell it wafting in from the kitchen. 

"Don't worry," she turns to you, as if you’re at all concerned with the implication that she doesn’t do much work, "they know we’d hardly have vegetables at all if it weren't my job to tend them. I used to garden quite a bit before all of this." 

Sero tosses her a sideways glance and you get the sense that maybe it isn’t just her doing it. 

"Mina does a lot of the garden stuff," Ochako pitches in, her voice hesitant. "We all sort of just do what we can." 

You can’t really keep up with the conversation and instead just blink at her for a moment before turning back to your food. Maybe that’s rude, but you don’t have the energy to consider it. There’s food in front of you. Food that doesn’t taste like it’s been poorly slaughtered or rotting in a cabinet for months. 

The group at the table with you shifts back into what you feel is their normal conversation and you watch them through your peripheral. You can’t relax yet, maybe you never will. Always on watch with your guard up. 

They pass the dishes around the table, plates going from hand to hand over mismatched sets of silverware. The action feels strange to you. Your chest squeezes at the thought. Just a few weeks ago, you’d done this around a fire with the people you loved. You’d passed a too-hot-to-touch pot around a circle of friends, laughing quietly at the little moments of joy you could find. It feels far away now and jealousy rouses beside hope as you sit. 

“So, where did you come from?” Izuku at the end of the table asks. 

It takes you a moment to realize that he’s talking to you and there’s an edge to his voice that has everyone at the table sitting up with curiosity. You stare at him for a moment, exhausted and defeated and unable to muster the words. 

“Leave them be,” Katsuki says, looking up from his plate. “They just got here. They’re probably freaked out.” 

The table goes a little quiet, a hush falling over it. You look around as glances are exchanged before Mina stands up quickly and quietly claps her hands together. 

“I think,” she says with an awkward laugh, “it may be time for bed.” 

Mina turns to you. “I’ll show you where you can sleep.” 

You nod, standing up and turning to the group with furrowed eyebrows. You want to thank them, to tell them that you’re grateful for the meal and their kindness, but the words don’t come. Instead, you meet Katsuki’s gaze, grateful for the intervention, but suspicious at such forthcoming kindness. He scoffs a little and turns away. 

—

“It’s just up here,” Mina says as she guides you through the house.

You pass rooms with their doors ajar. They are lived in, with unmade beds and glasses of clean water on nightstands. It’s like something out of a life gone by, with a few less amenities. You can imagine a family moving through this house. Girls in school uniforms calling through the halls about a stolen hair clip. Now, you picture these people doing that. Living and not just surviving.

“The bathroom is across the hall,” she says. “You can take a shower if you want. I’ll leave a towel and some clothes in there just in case.”  

You nod. 

“No worries if you don’t,” Mina adds in a whisper. “When I first met everyone, I didn’t undress to bathe for days so… take your time. We won’t be offended.” 

She shuts the door behind her when she leaves and you stumble back onto the bed, shocked by just how soft it feels after spending weeks on the floor. It’s not much, but it’s nicer than anything you’ve experienced in the last nine months, and there's a working shower. You haven’t had a shower since everything fell apart and the layer of grime on your skin is so thick that you can feel it. You haven’t felt safe enough to properly wash since you’d lost the rest of your group, only stopping to rinse your body in streams you pass if the thought occurred to you. The idea of running water and a shower is near euphoric. 

You probably shouldn’t. It may not be wise to shower tonight. You still don’t know these people or what they’re capable of, but the temptation of being clean is too great and as soon as you hear Mina close the bathroom door and walk away, you hurry across the hall on the balls of your feet. 

The bathroom looks old and the sink is white porcelain, eggshell now with a lack of care. The shower has a bathtub in it and though it’s cloudy, there’s a mirror over the sink where you catch the first clear glimpse you’ve had of yourself in weeks. 

You don’t know who you’re looking at. The person in the mirror is nearly unrecognizable. Their eyes are wide and frightened, wild like an animal’s, and their face is covered in a layer of grime that looks like it can never be washed out. Their hair is unruly, sticking out in some areas and matted down with blood in others. This is a person you’ve never seen or met before. Someone you would have avoided only a year ago if you’d ever encountered them. 

You reach up to touch your face, running your hand over the dried blood that has made a home on the underside of your jaw. How long has it been there? Have you always looked so unwell? So sick in mind and body? The promise of a shower grows unbearably pleasant. 

The knob squeaks when you turn it, screeching as the pipes hum and clang to life. Water spits out in a few bursts before raining down from the faucet and hitting the back of the tub in a steady thrum. It sounds a little bit like music to you, constant and heavy, and it gives the impression of normalcy as you begin undressing. 

The fabric of your clothes sticks to your skin, peeling from your body in an unbearable and disgusting way. You don’t look at your body in the mirror. In fact, you avoid it entirely. Not recognizing your face was enough, but your body—a part of yourself you never really recognized—would drive you over the edge. 

Then, you pull the shower curtain back and stick your hand under the water, stepping into it fully with a deep sigh. The water is lukewarm. They probably turned off the heater to conserve power and allow the main generator to function for longer. That’s fine. Beggars can’t be choosers and everyone is a beggar nowadays. Besides, it’s warm enough outside that the water isn’t too cold as it is. In the winter, you probably wouldn’t be able to shower and the pipes might freeze entirely until the following spring. 

There’s a normalcy that you settle into as you wash your body. You return to muscle memory, running your hands over your skin and scrubbing the grime out. It’s simultaneously like the first shower of your life and as if you’ve been doing it every day. You return to a state of pleasant, familiar humanity as you wash away dirt that has built up for weeks. You feel as it pours off of you, see it run down your body onto the porcelain of the tub and swirl down the drain. It’s dirt and dried blood that has been caked onto your skin. You worry that even after washing, it will leave a permanent mark. 

The person in the mirror when you get out of the shower is in stark contrast to the person who went into it. They’re someone that you recognize. You could almost convince yourself that nothing ever changed. Your water-soaked skin is so familiar to you, that you could be getting out of the shower and dressing to go to work. If it weren’t for the look in your eyes, you could have fooled yourself. Something undefinable has changed in you, something that you will carry with you forever. You glance at yourself in the foggy mirror and think that there is no going back. 

The house is quiet when you dry yourself and open the bathroom door. You step across the hall on the balls of your feet, careful not to make any noise, and when you push the bedroom door open, you do a visual sweep to make sure that it’s safe out of habit. 

Your body is exhausted. You are so thoroughly tired that you think you could collapse at any moment, but when you sit down on the bed in your fresh clothes, you find yourself restless. This place is new to you and you’re unsure if the safe feeling is your mind playing desperate tricks on you or the real thing. The lamp by your bed is on, casting a yellow glow across the bedsheets and the dark wood furniture. Come to think of it, you didn’t get a good look at the house when you came in and the thought starts to bother you as you stare at the closed door to the hallway. 

Someone could be behind it. They could be waiting for you to lay down, to sleep, before doing something awful. You almost feel guilty for thinking this way about them. They’ve fed you, given you a shower, given you fresh clothes. Luxuries you weren’t sure even existed anymore, yet you’re sitting here doubting them, wishing you had your pistol or knife.

The bedroom door creaks as you open it. You wince, nervous that you’ve disturbed the quiet peace of the house and that everything will come crashing down as quickly as it seemed to come together. The hallway is dark, save for some light coming from under two doors at the end of the hall. One of them turns out as you creep past it to the stairs, and you hear the distinct sound of box springs squeaking as someone crawls into bed. You let go of the breath you’d been holding, straightening up as you relax into the late-night environment. 

The house looks old even from the inside. It gives the impression of having once been dirty and in near disrepair. There are dust stains and dull spots that no amount of scrubbing could get out. You can almost picture how this place may have looked when they found it and it’s entirely possible that it had been abandoned before the actual outbreak. Someone run out of their home for lack of money. What a trivial thing now. 

The stairs are sturdy, probably held together so well by the foundation of the house, and they’re made of dark wood. They’re steep too, the kind that a baby or old person might trip over, and you hold the railing to calm the shaking of your legs as you slowly feel your way down. You can see the light on in the kitchen from around the corner, spreading out onto the floor of the old fashioned drawing room. Dishes clink in the kitchen, like someone is washing them, and you jump a little at the noise as you creep around the corner. 

Kirishima is standing at the sink with his back to you, whispering something to someone beside him. The expanse of his back is broad, moving every time he goes to run his hand over the dish in front of him. Then, he turns to look at you and you see Mina pop her head around the corner. 

“Oh,” Kiri says, “did you need something?” 

You shake your head. “Not really, I just couldn’t sleep.” 

Kiri nods sympathetically as if he knows the feeling. “Well, you look like you feel a little better at least.” 

You pad over to where he’s doing the dishes and Mina offers you a soft smile and a knowing look. It all seems so normal. Doing the dishes, whispering quietly as they do. Something about it screams a kind of humanity you haven’t experienced in a long while, even with your last group. 

“Are you sure we can’t get you something?” Mina says, furrowing her brows. 

“Why are you all being so nice to me?” You ask. “You don’t know the first thing about me.” 

“Is there some reason why we shouldn’t be nice to you?” Kiri says over his shoulder. 

“No,” you shake your head. “I just think it’s reckless, that’s all. I could have been anyone.” 

Kirishima and Mina exchange a look. They glance at each other, like they’re debating on saying something, and then Kiri turns and rests his palms on the back of the sink. He looks at Mina. 

“We don’t usually decide to do this so quickly,” she admits. “We’re friendly, but nobody’s that friendly anymore.” 

Kiri nods his agreement and you listen quietly, trying to determine if they plan to toss you back out into the woods in the morning. 

“But, Katsuki doesn’t usually bring people in,” she continues. 

“He’s a little more closed off than the rest of us,” Kirishima adds. “He’s a good guy, just takes a while to warm up, is all.” 

“Mhm,” Mina says. 

“What does that have to do with me?” you ask. “This is nice and all, but I’m sure you get why I’m wary.” 

“He’s a good judge of character,” Kiri adds earnestly. “He doesn’t bring people in often, but when he does, he’s usually right.” 

You nod, not quite understanding. Sure, you don’t plan to do anything terrible. In fact, you’re content to accept their kindness and stay, if they’d let you. Anything is better than being alone, but their blind trust in one man’s judgment of character makes you uneasy. 

“He was alone for a really long time,” Mina adds. “A lot of us were. I got lucky meeting Kirishima early on, but Katsuki’s luck was a little less fortuitous.” 

“So you all just… happened upon each other by chance?” You ask. 

“Yeah, pretty much,” Mina says. “It was me and Kiri for a long time. Just the two of us. We’d found Izuku and Katsuki together a while later, but they didn’t seem to like each other all that much. We still haven’t really figured that out, especially because they’re so close now. Ochako and Sero ended up cornered together by accident. We found them just before we found this place, and Denki just sort of showed up here one day and promised to fix the generator in exchange for safety. That was months ago. We’ve been like this since.”

“So you’re all strays,” you say and Mina laughs a little and looks at Kiri. 

“Sure,” she says. “We’re all strays. There were others too. Shoji. Jirou. She was Denki’s girlfriend.” 

“I’m sorry,” you say with a frown. It feels pointless to apologize for the dead, if you get caught up in it, you’d be apologizing forever. 

“Don’t be,” Kiri adds. “But best not to bring her up. It was pretty recent and Denki’s only just started to get over it.” 

You swallow thick and nod a little. 

“Anyway,” Mina says, “we can’t really explain it. We just trust him. We trust Katsuki. That’s all.” 

“Hm,” you hum, understanding that to a degree. 

You trusted the people in your group. If they believed in someone, you were willing to as well, so you suppose you can understand a little where they’re coming from. 

“What are you talking about,” Katsuki rounds the corner, walking into the kitchen and putting his water bottle under the sink. 

“Nothing really,” Mina says. 

Katsuki furrows his eyebrows and then looks at you. He gives you a once over, taking in your new clothing before scoffing lightly. 

“Don’t you look cozy,” he says. “You get settled?” 

“When can I go get my stuff?” You ask. 

“Someone’s eager,” he says through lightly gritted teeth. “Didn’t I tell ya we could go in the morning? Besides, what’s there really to miss in that lot of junk?” 

“Katsuki!” Mina quietly chides. 

“I have things I care about there,” you say. “Things I’m not ready to lose.” 

Katsuki blinks at you for a second before swearing under his breath. “We’ll leave when you get up in the morning.” 

“You don’t have to come with me,” you say, frowning a bit at his sour attitude. 

“Like hell,” he scoffs. “What if the dead are waiting back there for you?” 

“I made it this far on my own,” you respond. 

Katsuki nods for a second. “I’m going. Come find me in the morning.” 

He walks off and around the corner. You hear him go up the stairs, followed by the distinct click of a bedroom door shutting. 

“Don’t pay too much attention to that,” Mina says. “It’s past his bedtime.” 

“You’ll get used to him,” Kiri adds. 

“Right,” you say, swallowing down your frustration in favor of trying to be appreciative of the help. You sway on your feet a little and then steady yourself. “I’m going to go to sleep. Thank you for the meal and the bed.” 

Mina and Kiri nod, but you don’t stick around to hear a response. Fatigue creeps up on you. It ambushes your senses and you go from feeling dream-like to delusional in a matter of moments. You make your way up the stairs, your body feeling heavy as lead, and wobble your way into the bedroom they’re letting you stay in. 

When your head hits the pillow, you’re out. The world around you fades to dark and just before you sleep, you swear that you can hear the sounds of cars passing on the highway. A busy night, Saturday maybe, and people go about their daily lives outside of the window the way that they always have. They live, never the wiser to just how quickly things fall apart and how little it takes for our humanity to leave us. 

— 

Mornings in this place are boisterous. The sun coming through the lone window in your room wakes you up and you can hear the calls of busy people getting to work outside. There are voices from the porch out front that your window looks over and though you can’t see them, you get the sense that they’re having a pleasant conversation. 

As you rouse, you come to the realization of just how exhausted you’d really been. They probably saved your life by bringing you to this place, feeding you, and offering you a bed. In hindsight, it’s easy to see just how little you had left in you. You get the sense now that you’d been running on an empty tank for days, slowly coming to an inglorious, gruesome, sputtering stop. 

Things seem a little clearer, like the sunlight is somehow less bleak than it had been the days previous and you feel a little bit like you have a new lease on life. There are no big emotions, no swells of hope or humanity just yet, and you dread the moment you are rested enough to let grief consume you. Right now, you can’t feel it, but there is a fear in you that as you get to know these people who live relatively beautifully in an ugly world, it will weigh you down so much that you’ll never be able to outrun it. 

You wonder if they’ll let you stay. They very well may not, even with the way they were talking last night. Strangers are more dangerous than they’ve ever been and if they ask you whether or not you’ve killed someone, you refuse to lie to them. Sitting up on the bed, you mull over the very real possibility that you could be back out there on your own again in a matter of days and you don’t even have that many good acts under your belt to plead your case. You’re just a person and you’ve done what you needed to in order to survive. Now, you’re not sure if that’s enough. 

You swallow thick, wandering over to the mirror on the dresser. It’s fogged, though less than the bathroom mirror, and you can make out your features a little better than you could last night. You feel a bit more sane, though you still don’t recognize the frightful and distrustful look in your eyes. Like a wounded animal. Inside your head, you acknowledge that you are completely different from the person you were two hundred and seventy seven days ago. 

The voices grow louder as you climb down the stairs, more secure on your feet than you felt last night. You can hear them talking about the generator, as well as a name you don’t recognize. 

“He should be back by now,” a woman says. “Shoto’s never gone longer than a day or two, max.” 

“We shouldn’t jump to conclusions,” another woman says with a worried bite in her voice. Mina, maybe? “We’re only a few hours into the day. He probably got holed up somewhere.” 

“Someone needs to go look for him,” a man says.

“And what? Risk getting yourself killed?” the first woman says. “No, it doesn’t make sense. We need you here.” 

“You’d rather we leave him to die on his own?” 

“No one’s fuckin’ dying.” 

You recognize Katsuki’s voice. 

“He’s perfectly capable of going on a gasoline run,” he continues. “He’s done it before.” 

“I should have gone with him,” says the same woman. 

“On that leg? You wouldn’t have made it halfway to town, let alone there and back,” his voice raises a little. “Don’t be stupid. He’ll be back.” 

You clear your throat and step around the corner. The group turns to face you quickly at the sound, their eyes wide for a moment before relaxing. You can’t sneak up on anyone nowadays. 

“Sorry,” you say, “I didn’t mean to eavesdrop. Is everything okay?” 

It’s not your business, but you ask anyway, wondering for yourself about the safety of Shoto. 

“Fine,” Izuku says, shaking his head. You recognize him to be the one who'd vouched for going after their friend. Katsuki takes a step away from the broad man as he says this. “Nothing for you to worry about. Did you rest?” 

Izuku smiles gently at you, his chest inflating a little at the question. The movement broadens his shoulders and you realize that he stands almost a head taller than Katsuki. You look briefly between the two of them before nodding. 

“I did,” you say. “Thank you.” 

“Nothing wrong with a little hospitality now and then,” he smiles and you can’t help but furrow your eyebrows at the distinct hesitance in his voice. 

“I don’t think we’ve met,” the woman standing across from Izuku says. “I’m Momo. Sorry I wasn’t there to meet you last night. I’ve been a little under the weather.” 

You introduce yourself to her and glance down at her leg. Her ankle is swollen and wrapped in a bandage. Her sneaker laces are untied at the top to make room for the swelling and you can see that she’s guarding that side of her leg. 

“Is it…?” you grimace, taking an instinctive step away from her. You almost feel bad for it, but sometimes good people make bad decisions when loved ones get bit. 

“No,” she says quickly, “no, it isn’t. Caught an edge in an old chain link fence on the property a couple days back.” 

Momo smiles slightly at you as if to reassure you. She’s really beautiful, with thick dark hair pulled back into a somewhat messy ponytail. Her eyes are bright, like she’s engaged in lively conversation, and you find yourself feeling a little sad for her. She’ll need medicine soon, if they can get it. Infections set in easily these days and you get the sense that even she knows that she may not have long without it. Maybe that’s something else their friend Shoto set out to find. 

“I assume you’ll be wanting to go get your supplies?” Katsuki says, cutting the conversation short. Maybe he could sense the sour turn of thoughts. 

“Ready when you are,” you respond with a nod. 

Katsuki glances at Izuku, who gives him a slightly disapproving look. 

“Someone get them something to eat,” Katsuki says. “...I’ll get my shit ready.” 

“Fig jam…” Mina mumbles as she motions for you to follow her to the kitchen. 

You oblige her, not exactly jumping to turn down a meal. She walks you into the kitchen and opens up a cabinet, where she pulls out a jar filled with a dark and seed filled paste. It’s a jam, sealed in a jar that looks older than what’s inside of it. The seal breaks open with a pleasant pop. 

“This stuff is so good,” she says to you over her shoulder, pulling out a package of crackers that have likely gone stale. “You won’t believe it.” 

She spreads the jam on a few crackers and sets it in front of you on a plate, pushing it across the counter towards you. 

“It’s fig jam,” she says with a smile. “Homemade.” 

You look down at the plate, your mouth watering at the prospect of something sweet like this. It’s been so long since you've had fresh jam. It could be as long as 10 years. You don’t think you’ve had it since you were a kid, when jam came easily and you preferred the processed brands at the supermarket to the ones your mom used to make sometimes. 

You raise the cracker to your mouth and stuff it in with little grace. The sweetness spreads across your tongue as soon as you bite into the stale cracker. It fizzes and pops almost, the sugar melting across your tongue as the seeds crack softly between your teeth. The smile that hits your face is completely involuntary and though you know that nine months ago, this jam wouldn’t have been much, today it is something extraordinary. 

Mina nods a kind of girlish agreement, like the way people used to when they had their friend try something at their favorite restaurant. 

“We got here in the fall. I want to say late October or early November?” she offers. “We were starving and there wasn’t enough food to feed all of us. By that time there were like… nine of us.” 

You listen as you eat your crackers. 

“This place was in such an awful state,” she laughs. “I mean, really terrible. But, it was big and there was a fig tree in the back. A little thing, probably only a few years old and it had fruit on it. We ate so many of them that if the world were normal, we’d have sworn off of them forever. When we realized that the house actually had some old food in it,” she interrupts herself “-nothing good, canned stuff mostly- we decided to jar up the rest of the figs so that they didn’t rot.” 

She smiles at you like it’s a pleasant memory, but you can only think about how hungry they must have been. Your stomach growls as you eat. 

“I know it doesn’t sound like much,” she says, “but for some reason it’s a really nice memory. Honestly, we’re lucky we didn’t die.” 

Mina laughs a little. 

“I mean,” she continues, “we didn’t even clear the area before we started pulling at the figs and throwing them into our mouths.” 

You tilt your head at her and furrow your eyebrows with a small smile. 

“You’re really forthcoming with information.” 

“You just seem a little hesitant, is all,” she answers. 

“Can you blame me?” 

Mina shrugs her shoulders but doesn’t really offer an answer. You assume it’s because she can’t, because Mina has the same doubts everyone carries with them in this world. All of the what ifs people would think about before they slept have become more prevalent than anyone would have ever liked. 

“The jam is good,” you say, trying to be friendly in the same way she is. “Even if it is months old.” 

“Things keep well in jars,” Mina defends softly, smiling a little as she gets another out of you. 

This place feels like a little slice of paradise. A blessing from whoever lived here before and kept a garden stocked with vegetables. From someone who lived in an old house with stables and well-water, who kept canned food past its expiration date. It feels almost too good to be true, like these people live in a bubble bound to pop. 

“You ready?” Katsuki thuds into the kitchen with an empty backpack slung over his shoulder. 

You turn, startled by his sudden appearance and nod as you quickly finish chewing the last cracker. Katsuki furrows his eyebrows as he watches the way you scarf it down. 

When you stand from the table, Katsuki turns on his heel to make for the front door and you follow with a light step. Mina says something about staying safe, but you don’t respond, glancing once over your shoulder at the girl. 

It’s strange, the world has made you wishy-washy and uncommitted. You never used to be like that, never so distrusting as to second guess someone’s kindness the moment your back is turned to them, and you’re certainly not the type to be friendly one moment and closed off the next. Now though, you find that doubt creeps in easily through cracks and any foundation that didn’t exist before, seems to be swallowed before you can finish building it. 

Katsuki leads you back across the small clearing you’d come through the night before. It looks different in the day, almost romantic, and it lacks any of the ominous feeling it had the previous evening. He steps over mounds in the dirt from moles and gophers that have made lawns their new home and you try to mimic his steps, sinking occasionally into a particularly soft patch of dirt. Every now and then, Katsuki glances behind him to check that you’re still there and you offer him a forced smile that he never returns.

You catch up to him when you hit the trees, sticking close at his side like something will come and take you away if you’re not. It’s unintentional, but you don’t have a weapon on you. Your knife is back at your makeshift camp, along with the unloaded pistol and your trusty spatula. 

“How do you know where we’re going?” You ask in a whisper. 

Katsuki tosses a look at you over his shoulder. “I’m good with directions.” 

His tone is clipped, like he’s pissed about something, and your expression sours at it. Sure, you get it but it irritates you to some small degree. You hadn’t asked him to come along. In fact, you’d have been fine getting back here to collect your stuff on your own. You’d have asked for a knife and set out without a second thought, if only because being alone in the woods with some guy was less preferable than doing it by yourself. Of course, some guy also probably saved your life, but you’re not quite ready to relinquish your trust completely. 

“Thanks for coming,” you decide. A peace offering. 

Katsuki doesn’t answer and you furrow your brows a little bit. You wonder if he’s always been like this or if the end of the world brought on the loss of his manners. 

Then, he stops, taking you by the arm and pulling you down beside a bush. You gasp and he puts his hand over your mouth to silence you. There’s the urge to bite him, to catch the fleshy bit connecting his thumb and pointer finger between your teeth and bite down till he bleeds, but you stop when you catch what he’s looking at. 

Two of the living dead crouch by a tree, clicking their tongues as they eat something just out of sight. You furrow your eyebrows, eyes widening at the horror of it. For some reason, seeing them always brings about a round of momentary shock. You’ve yet to let go of the hounding thought that they used to be people and sometimes have to reorient yourself to the world you’re in now. 

You catch Katsuki’s eye behind you, his calloused hand still clasped over your mouth, and nod your head. It’s a silent communication that you’ve seen what he has and he removes his palm from your face to grab a knife tucked into his belt, passing it to you quickly. 

The two infected haven’t noticed the two of you yet, but they will soon, if only by the smell of your flesh which has yet to rot. You hear Katsuki let out a breath, as if to calm his heart, and do the same. There’s time to look at them like this and you’re struck by how human you can pretend they are in your head. Well, you suppose they were human once, now they’re a disease using someone’s skin as a mask. 

Infected people aren’t quick, that’s one thing to be grateful for. Back when the outbreak first started, the CDC had released information on what to look out for in those who might have contracted the virus. The first was obviously a bite wound from another infected person, but you can tell from other symptoms. Early symptoms are average. Body aches, fever, lethargy, and delirium. All things you might see with a nasty flu. Then, infection of the wound site, twitching, foggy eyes—like low-grade cataracts—that develop within a matter of hours or days, severe disorientation, aversion to food, insomnia, with the final symptom being a coma that no one ever wakes up as themselves from. 

These are the symptoms that people are conscious for. The ones they feel. The sickness that people tried to nurse others back from. There is no coming back though, not alive at the very least. The virus attacks the nerves throughout the brain and body, that’s what causes the twitching and convulsions. It’s what ultimately kills us, and it's what they think causes the bodies to come back. 

Most infected will crack when they move. It’s the cartilage breaking down as the bones grind together and crack as they’re weakened from the marrow out. They twitch like rabid animals, unable to keep masterful control of their bodies because they are run like puppets from the brain stem. You don’t know if they think. If somehow the people they used to be are still in there, unable to stop themselves from consuming and spreading the virus to others. All you really know is that they twitch and click, functions of the brain that still remain. Tiny impulses sent through the synapses. You imagine it to be like the way you twitch when you sleep, an arm here or a leg there, the way someone might call out with their voice to a room with no one in it. 

Maybe the infected think they’re dreaming. A nightmare that they never wake up from, like those of us who have to put them down. You could see it as a mercy from that perspective. You have an easier time rationalizing putting a knife in someone’s skull if you convince yourself that they’re silently begging for it. 

Katsuki shifts his weight and looks at you. He mouths the words no guns and you nod, briefly wondering where the fuck he thinks you could have gotten a gun from. 

Then, you kick off and run with Katsuki towards the infected. They don’t really have time to begin moving towards you both. You’re faster than them, but you hear the crack of their legs as they stand from their crouched positions, pulled in at the idea of their next meal.

Katsuki takes the farther one, sinking the knife into the soft spot of its temple with relative ease. You switch yourself off and take the one closest only a few moments later, sending your blade through the top of its skull. That happens to you when you have to do this. You turn yourself off for a bit, just so that you don’t have to remember the way it feels to hit the soft part of someone’s brain. You didn’t used to do that, only starting when you realized that there’s no going through this world anymore without it. 

Katsuki wipes the blood on his pants. It’s brown, no longer oxygenated, and the area around you begins to reek. You notice, but for some reason the smell of decomposition doesn’t register in your brain and you continue on behind him. 

There are a few beats of silence, save for twigs breaking under your feet, before Katsuki speaks up. 

“You okay?” It’s barely above a whisper and you wouldn’t have caught it were you not listening for the distinctive crack of human bones. 

“Yeah,” you say, continuing forward. 

The campsite rounds into view and in this light, with your full night’s sleep under your belt, you can see just how pitiful it looks. A tent that you’d hastily put up before nightfall, the remains of your stamped out fire, the folding chair which has since been knocked over, and your weapons on the floor covered by a few leaves disturbed by the wind. 

You snatch them up and move to grab your backpack out of the tent. The inside is shitty too and your torn sleeping bag hadn’t even been rolled out yet. You pick up the bag, returning to the folding chair as Katsuki begins to take down the tent. The polyester and nylon blend zips together as he makes quick work of folding it. Then, he kicks some dry brush over the remains of the fire, like he’s covering your tracks. 

“The next person that comes through here might not be alone,” he says plainly. “And they may have more bullets than you did.” 

“Right,” you respond. Your voice sounds a little far off and you settle your backpack on your shoulder in one quick motion. 

“Got everything?” 

You nod, following him as he heads out in the direction you both came from. The two of you pass the bodies of the infected you’d killed. The smell has permeated the air, lingering like how it does in cities, only less pungent. Their fogged eyes stare blankly at nothing, expressions plain and unreadable. You pass and try not to think much about it. 

Katsuki is a few feet ahead of you and he doesn’t glance back to make sure you’re following. You could leave now and never get attached to these people. You could head off in another direction and never have to think twice about it. No more worrying about who you could lose, about who’s next to become one of the sick masses. Just you by yourself. Then, when you finally kick the can, someone else can put you down the way you did to those strangers. 

Is there really a point to it anymore? To community or living in general. No one is as they once were. Does that make it fantasy to live in their beautiful bubble? Could you even find it in yourself to pretend again, to make nice and play house in that place? They saved your life, sure. They fed you, clothed you, bathed you, but for what point? Tomorrow, you could end up back in the woods, lighting fires with twigs you found in the brush, paranoid that someone would find you or the fire would spread. 

You watch Katsuki’s back as he moves, shoulders shifting with each step. His shirt is stained, white turned eggshell from the wear and tear of time. It seems so off to you that he looks relatively clean, like he lives well. 

Fear strikes you as you realize that your rambling thoughts have merit. Anything you fear now has become real and loss is so tangible to you that you can squeeze it in your hand. They could turn you out. Tomorrow night you could begin the starve and step all over again, moving from place to place, talking to yourself, filling your hours with paranoid thoughts like these that plague you when you’re alone. Is that worse than loss? If you’re alone long enough, you’d probably forget what you’re missing. Losing anyone else could make the wound fresh. For now, the hunger wins out. 

Katsuki jogs ahead of you to get to the house. Momo is on the porch waving him in and he hurries up the steps and bursts through the front door. As you approach, you can hear voices, some of which are relieved, others hurried. When you enter the room, you find a man standing there whom you’ve never seen before, Shoto maybe. 

“A plus one,” the man looks up, tilting his head at you in an odd way. 

“Katsuki’s,” Kiri says with a low smirk. 

Shoto’s eyes widen as he peers at his friend, clutching what looks like an injured shoulder. Katsuki just huffs his irritation. 

“Well, that’s rare,” Shoto says. 

“What’s rare?” Katsuki spits. “They were in the woods with a fire. What was I supposed to do? Let ‘em die?” 

“Maybe,” Shoto says, a light smile creeping onto his features. Then, he turns to you. “What’s your name?” 

You give it to him and he nods his head, tilting it at you again. 

“How long are you staying?”

You’re not sure how to answer that question. In fact, no one is, and it feels like more of a test than it does a genuine inquiry. Kiri and Mina exchange a glance and Katsuki tosses a somewhat dirty look towards Shoto. Ochako gives Shoto a knowing glance and Sero and Denki shift uncomfortably on their feet. Then, Momo clears her throat, spurring Izuku to say something. 

“Shoto,” he says. “You’re probably hungry, you should eat something and lay down. Ochako? Could you take a look at his shoulder?” 

“Sure,” the girl says softly, giving a closed mouth smile to Shoto as she takes him by the arm. 

She glances at you as she passes, almost like she’s too embarrassed to look at you fully in the face. You suppose this is what happens when people are forced to think about whether or not they will potentially leave someone else to die. It’s like the trolley cart question and though in this case there is always the possibility of a better outcome, it’s not likely in this world. 

“Just until I’m rested,” you add with a small tilt of your head. “A few days.” 

Shoto looks at you over his shoulder and gives you a small smile. It’s funny, you can see kindness there. His actions aren’t kind, but you can feel that he has kindness in him, though his rudeness stems from something different than Katsuki’s, you think. Like he’s strange in some way. 

“I’ll start on dinner,” Sero says. “Kiri, give me a hand.” 

The group disperses and you head upstairs without speaking to anyone else. A few days to rest and then cut the first people you’ve spoken to in weeks loose. What sort of idiot gives up something like this to avoid a little awkwardness? Not that you necessarily had your mind made up. You wonder briefly if you’ve just sealed your own tomb. 

—

After dinner, you go upstairs to sleep after eating as much as they would offer you. Your stomach has ceased its constant growling and the shakiness that comes with hunger has receded almost entirely into the background. The bed is soft, with a slight dent in it from whoever slept in here before. The thought unsettles you that they’re probably dead now, but you try to push it from your mind as you steel yourself for what comes within the next few days. 

You had volunteered yourself to leave. To what? Save yourself the embarrassment of pleading? Did you even want to plead? Why are you regretting not asking to stay? These people don’t know you, what trust can you have built with them in only a few days? Your skin crawls at the expanse of possibilities in front of you after so many weeks without any. 

You think that if you let yourself walk away, you’ll probably die. You’re out of bullets and don’t know where to find any food except by luck. You can try to catch prey, but prey hides whenever infected are around, and they’re everywhere nowadays. It’s spring, water wouldn’t be a problem, but running water has its clear comforts. Then, there’s the possibility of loss. You’d come to care for these people if you stayed, you know it. 

You furrow your eyebrows and look at the ceiling. There’s really no choice to be made. You’ll let them make it for you, even if you don’t know them. It’s their house and you won’t walk in uninvited or try to take it. You’re not about to become a monster just because the world is full of them now.

The darkness grows and your eyes drift to the dim light wandering in under the crack of the door. Hushed voices whisper in the living room, you can hear them. It’s a heated discussion, lively, but deliberately quiet. It’s been hours since everyone went to bed, yet you get the impression that many people are chiming in. You’re too nosey to leave it be. 

You open the bedroom door silently, turning the cool knob with a wince as it clicks out of place. When you peer into the hallway, every upstairs bedroom door is open with the room empty. The light is coming from down stairs and around the corner, and you can see shadows move as you inch closer to the source. 

You pause at the top of the stairs, knowing that they creak, and crouch by the bannister to listen. You’re out of sight. The only way they’d know you’re listening is if you made a sound, but you won’t. You’re good at being quiet. 

“We don’t even know them,” someone says in a rushed whisper. “We don’t know what they’ve done before.” 

“Everyone’s done things they’re not proud of now, Shoto,” a woman adds. It’s Mina. She’s spoken enough to you that you recognize her voice. 

“I agree with Shoto,” says another woman, her voice higher pitched. She sounds guilty and her voice is tight as she speaks “We have no clue who they are. They could be dangerous.” 

“You mean like me, Ochako?” A man adds. “I could have been dangerous.” 

The group grows quiet for a moment. 

“No,” Momo says. You recognize the cadence of her voice. “Shoto might be right, Denki. It’s been nearly six months since you got here and the world has changed a lot. We don’t- we can’t know for sure.”

“Can we really know anything for sure?” Another man adds, Kiri.

“What about you guys?” Shoto says, presumably to the rest of the group. 

“I don’t know.”

“I’m hesitant, but I don’t know either.”  

“Jesus,” another man with a baritone voice, harsher than the rest. That’s Katsuki, the first voice you’d heard of the group. “You guys make me a little sick.” 

“That’s not fair,” Ochako says. 

“No,” he interrupts. “It is fair. You guys want to… what? Send them back out there to die?” 

“It’s not like that,” Shoto says.  

“It is like that,” he says, raising his voice and then lowering it back to a whisper. “You didn’t see them when they got here, Shoto. They- they didn’t look… shit. The rest of you, you saw them. You really want to send them back out there to fuckin’ waste away? I don’t know about you all, but I won’t do that to a person.” 

There’s a pregnant pause.

“Katsuki’s right,” Izuku says with a bit of conviction, like he’s finally made up his mind. “Sending someone out there alone is a death sentence. How does doing that make us any better than the people we’re trying to protect ourselves from?” 

“What if there are more of them?” Ochako says quietly. “What if they’re not alone?” 

“Trust me,” Katsuki says, “They were alone.” 

“But what if they’re not?” She insists at a whisper, a bit of shame creeping into her voice. “What if people come for us?” 

“See?” Shoto says gently. “There are so many what-ifs.” 

“That works the other way too,” Mina adds. 

You don’t listen to hear the rest of their conversation. They’re going to run themselves in circles debating about you. They’ll go around and around and land on whichever argument ends with the most votes. They’ll convince each other of one thing and it will happen totally out of your control. 

The bedroom door shuts with a low click that makes you wince again. You think about the people who went to bat for you and the people who didn’t. You don’t blame those who opposed. You’d have probably reacted similarly if your old group were still alive and you understand very clearly why they do it. One person’s stupid reaction can be catastrophic and they don’t know enough about you to be certain that you’re not one of those stupid people. It’s how the world went to shit in the first place and though nine months ago you’d have surely condemned someone for making the same decision, you know that fear has warped humanity beyond comprehension. You didn’t get it until you lived it. 

Still, Katsuki’s humanity feels intact somehow, more so than yours at least. His response is something you probably never would have said under the same conditions and you can’t help but feel some sort of fondness bloom in you for him. Call it connection, gratefulness for his willingness to stick his neck out for you, a trauma response. You still feel it. Mina and Kiri had said that Katsuki was a good judge of character and that’s why they were willing to back him. You wonder briefly if maybe Katsuki sees something in you that you don’t recognize in yourself anymore, or maybe something you don’t expect other people to recognize. What is it that he wants so badly to protect? 

Someone stomps down the hallway, heavy boots against the old creaky floors. You hear the steps recede down the hallway, maybe a door or two down, before it shuts quickly. The sound makes you wince and you listen as the house grows quiet and then hums quietly with the sound of others coming upstairs a few moments later. Someone pads to the end of the hall, pushing the door open. 

You hear a woman’s voice, so muffled that you can’t make out what she’s saying. Then, you hear the sound of a man’s affirmation before the bedroom door shuts and the visitor moves back down the hall to a separate bedroom. Information passing through the house. 

Someone is moving around in a room below you and you figure that there are probably bedrooms downstairs as well. From the outside, you’d never guess that the place could house ten people. Inside though, the bedrooms are small. That’s probably why so many can fit. You’d guess that the place used to have multiple generations living in it, or maybe even rented out rooms to people for a few months. It sort of has a boarding house feel to it, like many people have come and gone even before people stopped staying in one place. 

That’s a good thing to call it, the boarding house. It certainly has that sort of feel to it, many of its spaces undeniably communal. 

You turn over in the bed, facing the bedroom door. The lights have gone out completely now and the house is quiet save for the occasional creak or thud from someone preparing to sleep. It’s been a long while since the sounds of living have been so prevalent near you. You’re eased by the sounds of the house settling, a familiar reminder of what living used to be. Your group had been on the road long before you lost them and the comforts of an interior are almost overwhelmingly nostalgic. You’re better rested to notice it now and shutting your eyes, you savor the feeling. 

—

“Need some help?” You say. 

Denki turns around, grease smeared across his nose where he likely wiped it with his dirty hands. He’s holding a wrench in a glove so tattered that it hardly counts as a glove anymore. He looks startled, amber eyes widening before he uses his forearm to brush stray hairs out of his face. The rest of it is pulled up into a messy ponytail, revealing the moist back of his neck. 

“Oh, sure,” he says, a bit surprised. “Do you know how generators work?” 

He crouches back over the machine and you step up behind him. 

The machine is rusted near the bottom and between the exposed winding pipes. Its paint has chipped away, leaving the weather-damaged metal open for you to see. On the side, a fan-like piece spins slowly in circles and the machine whirs and sputters softly as it… generates power, probably. 

“Not quite, but an extra pair of hands is always helpful,” you say softly, passing him a tool he’d been reaching for. “Did it break?” 

“No,” Denki says, “but it’s probably on its last legs. The thing’s almost as old as we are, probably older, so it’s good to tune it up a bunch.” 

You hum your agreement, tilting your head as you stand and watch him work. 

You’re not necessarily comfortable with Denki, but he feels like a safe person for some reason. Maybe it’s because he’s got a sort of ditzy, non-threatening vibe to him. You can almost distinctly picture him tripping over his own feet and something about that makes you feel considerably safer than someone who wouldn’t. That and he was the first person you’ve come across this morning who you don’t think distrusts you too badly. 

“Are you dodging something?” Denki smirks up at you from his crouch. 

“Who on earth would I be dodging?” you snort a bit defensively. 

“Shoto,” he says with a light smile. “He put you in a tight spot the other day.” 

“Yeah, well,” you say, glancing over your shoulder. “It wasn’t anything he didn’t have a right to ask.” 

“Right, but it sure was rude, huh?” 

Denki laughs to himself a little and you’re surprised by how easygoing he is. You subconsciously begin to categorize him with Mina and Kiri. The dichotomy of this group baffles you a bit, but you can certainly see all nine of them as a collective. Tightly knit and well acquainted with the habits of others. 

“Oh!” He exclaims, “I have something you can do for me.” 

You tilt your head. 

“There’s a bucket over there,” he says, pointing absentmindedly to a shitty plastic bucket against the side of the house. “We use the water from the creek as coolant. It’s not factory grade, but it does the trick. You wanna go fill it up and bring it back for when I’m done tuning this thing up?” 

You furrow your eyebrows, not sure where the creek he’s talking about is. 

“The creek is just over there,” he points behind the house to the edge of the treeline. “I know you can’t see it from here, but if you walk in a straight line, you’ll hit it. Katsuki should be down there too, so you can use him as a landmark.” 

When you don’t immediately answer, Denki whines a little. 

“I mean,” he says, “I’d go myself, but-” 

“I’ll do it,” you laugh a little and Denki seems surprised that you do. 

“Really?” 

“Yeah,” you shrug. “I’d like to pull some weight at least while I’m here. Plus, I offered.” 

Denki mumbles his pleasure and you walk to the bucket without another word and set off in the direction Denki pointed. You’re much more willing to go out to the treeline now that you have a knife back at your side. 

The walk to the trees is longer than it looks, like how sometimes the horizon looks like something you could reach out and climb up onto. The walk stretches with each step you take and you become a little more understanding of why Denki didn’t want to do it himself. But the walk is actually pleasant, the warmth of mid May collecting evenly on your skin as the humidity grows more intense with the sun. 

You wonder what Katsuki would be doing by the creek. Maybe he’s fishing, or crouched over himself sharpening an arsenal of knives that you think he might keep in a roll attached to his belt sometimes. You’re not sure why, but Katsuki sort of has that expression to him. He’s handsome, but the scowl projects something hostile that makes him seem unapproachable. 

As you cross through the middle of the clearing, you could almost imagine that this is a normal day. Humidity collects on your skin, making you sweat a little as you dodge gopher holes and soft spots of dirt. It almost feels like summer camp, if it weren’t for the looming idea that you’re contributing to something you may not be a part of. Denki’s attitude though, has you hoping for a more favorable outcome, if you want to call it that. 

You’re only a few steps into the line of trees when the earth dips into a sand-lined ravine. The trees leave room for the sun to beat down on warmed rocks, making the area seem brighter with their subtle reflection of the light. The noise of the creek drowns out the sound of your footsteps and you shuffle toward where the earth flattens just before the water starts. A little ways to your right, you can see Katsuki sitting on a rock in the sun, his hands dipped into a large bucket. You narrow your eyes as he pulls what looks like a cloth out of the water, rubbing the fabric together before dipping it in the cool water of the creek.

As you approach, you realize what it is that he’s doing. It’s laundry. On the other side of him, you can see a bin of what look like dirty clothes and water-soaked clean ones. Talk about misjudged character. 

“Katsuki,” you say as you approach him, the bucket still empty in your hand.

He squints up at you, shifting his face so that it's in your shadow. 

“You’re still here,” he says plainly, returning to his task. 

“Clearly,” you respond, watching as he runs his fingers over the next piece of clothing in the bucket. 

“Why are you down here? Did Denki pawn the generator water onto you?” He says, like he’s somewhat frustrated. “He does that shit to anyone he can.” 

You shrug your shoulders and continue to stare at him. 

“Are you just gonna stand there?” He huffs out. 

“You’re doing laundry.” 

“Yeah?” he furrows his eyebrows and looks at you. “So?” 

“Nothing,” you say. “I just didn’t expect that.” 

“Yeah well,” he stops for a moment like he’s struggling to find the words. “It needed to be done. Figured I might as well.” 

“How progressive of you,” you joke with a straight face. 

He looks at you out of the corner of his eyes and sighs, not justifying your comment with a response. You find yourself smiling a little bit. 

“If you’re going to linger, sit down and do it,” he says. “You’re creeping me out.” 

You oblige him and sit down on a rock next to him, far enough that you’re not touching, but near enough to hear him if you speak in a low voice. For some reason, you feel a sort of kinship with Katsuki. You’d thought longer than you’d like to admit about his willingness to vouch for you and find that you want to live up to his expectation of your goodness, even if it’s not what you believe yourself to be anymore. Maybe it’s because you’ve slept well the past few nights and feel more like yourself, but there’s a certain casualness to conversing with him that you enjoy. He’s not looking at what you could be, but rather what you’re showing him that you are. His lack of doubt in that is something you find relatively attractive. 

You watch his arms out of the corner of your eye in between gazing at the treeline and the sky. Your field of vision catches on them, his sleeves cut short to expose his biceps, a bit muddied near the elbows where the mud has begun to stick. 

Katsuki doesn’t seem all that bothered by your presence, but now and then you’ll catch the sideways glance he gives you, almost like he’s trying to figure out exactly why you’re lingering. 

“How long have you been with them?” You ask, more as a way to fill the silence. 

Katsuki’s hands pause as he thinks about answering, then, they continue their steady pace. 

“A decent amount of time,” he says. “I met Izuku first, probably in November just before Mina and Kiri. The rest came later.” 

You furrow your eyebrows. 

“No offense,” you start, “but you don’t really seem like the group type.” 

“And you don’t seem like the type who’d be alone,” he retorts, like your statement was stupid. 

You press your lips into a tight line, not really knowing how to respond. 

“Sorry,” he says, shaking his head a little. 

“Were you?” 

“What? Was I sorry?” He furrows his eyebrows at you. 

“No,” you shake your head. “Were you alone? Before Izuku.” 

He goes silent. You’ll take that as a yes, but you regret asking a little. It had just slipped out. If someone were to ask you something like that, you’d probably react the same way. That’s just as well, you don’t really need to know him like that anyway. 

You wonder briefly if anyone does. He seems closed off, but Mina and Kiri spoke about him a few days prior like they knew him well. Well enough at least to allude to a history you’ll likely never be privy to. Then there’s Momo, who whispers little things to him that he answers in kind. Curiosity gets the better of you, if only to tease. 

“Do you have a girlfriend?” you ask and Katsuki’s response is to rest his elbows on his knees and let out a dry laugh. 

He turns his head and looks at you from the side. “And what the fuck are you asking me that for?” 

“Just curious,” you say. “Is it Momo?” 

“Momo?” He makes a sour face at you. “Yeah, right.” 

“She’s pretty,” you say. 

“Sure is,” he responds dryly. “If you’re into the mom type.” 

“What? You’re not into moms?” You grin a little and Katsuki furrows his eyebrows at you. 

“So you do have a personality,” he scoffs a little. 

There’s a pause. You haven’t felt this in a while. The feeling of bonding with someone new, compatibility on the human level that feels nearly instant. 

“I’m kinda serious though,” you say, tilting your head down to catch his eye. “Do you?” 

You’re leaning a little closer to him now.

“You seen any nice restaurants to take a person out to these days?” he questions, clearly a little frustrated with you in the way someone gets when they’re a bit amused. 

“You don’t have to take someone out to a restaurant to fuck them, you know?” You laugh a little. 

Katsuki’s lips part and he swallows like his mouth has gone dry. 

“Yeah, well,” he starts, looking away from you. “I’m a romantic. Sue me.” 

He’s just full of surprises, isn’t he? You find that you’re captivated by this feeling, this humanity, that exists in him. It’s something alive between you both, something left behind from the old world, and you crave it the same way you crave food. 

Katsuki continues scrubbing the clothes, rubbing the fabric together and then dunking it in the bucket before plunging it into the freshwater creek. You’re not sure why you do it, but the next time he looks at you, you kiss him. 

It’s not as if you like him, but it’s something to feel. Some remnant of the butterflies you used to feel on dates and the kiss makes you feel like you could be close to human again. You pull away almost as soon as you put his lips to yours and you can tell that the expression on your face is one of surprise.

Katsuki blinks for a second, looking at you with his brows knitted together. The expression doesn’t leave him as he places a wet hand on the side of your face to kiss you again. It’s an anxious kiss, confused and slow but—like someone riding a bike for the first time in years—it quickly becomes something familiar. Muscle memory that you both let yourselves sink into. 

You can feel his expression as he kisses you, something between confusion and desire, like his own actions are perplexing. You feel the same way, hesitant, but reaching in the dark for the promise of some sort of normalcy. You want to feel like a person again. You haven’t felt it in so long and you push yourself against him as the ache swells in you. 

The two of you continue like this for a moment, Katsuki’s fingers pressing lightly into the skin of your neck. You moan softly as his tongue slips into your mouth, taking a sharp inhale at the sensation of skin on skin. The sound of the creek drowns out the clicking of your mouths, but you can feel the way he hums into your mouth. They’re little sounds, involuntary ones driven by the nervous, desirous feelings inside of you both. 

Then, Katsuki pulls away, swallowing thick as he takes his bottom lip between his teeth for a moment. You appreciate the way they look. They’re swollen, anxious to continue and keep forgetting where you really are. He drops his hand from your face with a sigh and almost seems like he comes back to himself. You do the same, moving back into an upright position. 

“Denki will want that water soon,” he clears his throat and motions to the empty bucket by your feet. 

“Oh,” you say, laughing a little. “Right.” 

You stand, dusting off the back of your pants and dunking the bucket into the water. It sloshes, the liquid hitting the back of the plastic with a satisfying elastic sound. You begin to walk away without another word, heading down the way you came to climb up the gentler part of the slope. 

“Hey,” Katsuki calls softly. “You should stay. We talked it over last night. You can if you want to.” 

The last part, he says facing the wash, his hands moving as if he hadn’t said anything at all. You don’t respond, knowing that the obvious answer is already yes. 

Dread settles in your stomach. It’s an icky, swirling feeling that threatens to make you double over. You climb up the bank, the water in the bucket sloshing as you move through the trees and enter the clearing. The feeling doesn’t dissipate, growing as you leave the cover of the trees. You probably wouldn’t have kissed him if he’d asked you that earlier. 

The boarding house comes into view and you can see Denki sitting beside the generator, conversing with who appears to be Shoto. They turn and Denki waves you down, Shoto turning away and starting around for the front of the house. 

Denki jogs to meet you, taking the bucket from your hand. You flex your fingers as the weight is removed, wincing a little at how stiff they feel. 

“Jeez, what took you so long?” Denki laughs and with your new information, you understand his willingness to be friendly with you a little better. 

“I asked Katsuki for his life story,” you respond dryly, following him back to the generator. 

Denki looks over his shoulder and laughs at you. “Did he tell you?” 

You pause for a moment, watching as Denki unscrews something and pours the water in. 

“Nope,” you say. “Not a thing.”

Click Here to go to the second chapter and find the rest of the series on ao3. The remainder will not be posted on tumlbr, but please feel free to reblog!

[kiame-sama]

Little Spider, Fun and Games- (Yan!Chrollo x Reader)

Warnings; fem reader, yandere, yandere behavior, yandere relationship, blood, murder, causal slaughter, mention of kidnapping, chronic illness (narcolepsy), troupe opinions, fluff with murderers, a bit of domestic cuteness, nsfw, somnophilia, rando insults reader, unnamed character death,

By selecting read more you consent to view the content included and affirm you are of age to view content.

If you are a minor, go the hell away. This fic is not for you.

~~~~~~~~

You shivered slightly as another howl of wind whistled through the building, metal struts groaning from the force. A sudden warmth wrapped around you and you glanced over to see Chrollo had placed his coat over your shoulders. Truly, you hadn't even been aware that he was keeping tabs on you, but it didn't surprise you to find out either.

Chrollo was always ensuring your needs were met and quickly taken care of regardless of the situation you two may be in. Luckily the current situation you were in was a familiar one, hiding out in some abandoned building until whatever heist Chrollo has planned goes into motion.

"You seem cold, Little Spider."

"Yeah, I am kinda cold. We don't usually go anywhere like this for a heist..."

"How about I warm you up?"

"Chrollo, not here..!"

"I meant by using my nen, dear. What were you thinking?"

You felt the flustered feeling in your chest as you tried to avoid eye-contact with him, knowing he was thrilled to be teasing you. He had been suggestive for a reason, and you walked directly into his trap. There was little more that amused Chrollo beyond seeing you get so adorably flustered by his absolute lack of shame and open flirting.

"Ugh," the scoff that came from Feitan surprised you as the troupe didn't often comment on the relationship you had with their beloved boss, "too damn cute, stop."

You were almost hurt by the callous words before you realized that he meant your interactions were quite cute. The two of you were being painfully sweet with your domestic behavior and casual flirting. Everyone in the Troupe found the relationship you had with Chrollo to be extremely wholesome regardless of his less than wholesome personality.

It was obvious- even to you- how much Chrollo favored you over anyone else.

~~~~~~~~

Waking up was usually very difficult for you, even on a good day. From the alluring pull of sleep to the rather comfortable feeling of a bed, everything worked against you. Even your lover was just another contributing factor to your constant desire to sleep.

Chrollo contributed to your need for sleep in plenty of ways, but the most prominent being his rather unusual appetite for intimacy with you. It did give you a twinge of pride to know that he was so addicted to you that he sought out intimate behavior and actions whenever he could. But Chrollo had more energy than you did and it was rare that the man ever actually slept.

As if to balance the difference in sleeping habits and physical needs, Chrollo had developed quite the kink for Somnophilia. So on the evenings where you dozed off early or spend an extended time sleeping, you fully anticipated him to help himself to your sleeping form. This is why you were not particularly surprised to wake face-down with your hips propped up and a distinctly familiar voice moaning.

A loud moan from you let him know you woke up, feeling an intense pulse of pleasure from being caught. Though you were quite alright with his somnophilic behavior, he still felt a certain thrill if you ever woke up while he was on top of you. The act of being caught doing perverse things with your sleeping body was just the thing his narcissism needed when it came to his perception of his hold over you.

Chrollo continued pounding into you frantically, feeling your walls tighten around him and coax him closer to his orgasm. Your moans were punctuated by each thrust, somewhat muffled as you gripped tightly to the bed beneath you. It didn't take long for the feeling to overtake you as you were practically thrown into your climax, feeling your walls trying to clamp down on his pounding cock. He was quick to follow and let out a groan of satisfaction, thrusting a few more times just to squeeze out every last bit of cum.

As the afterglow of your orgasm faded away, you felt Chrollo lay his body over yours and gently kiss your neck. His arms wrapped around your waist as he pressed as physically close to you as possible. You could feel the way your heart seemed frantic in comparison to his heartbeat which rolled in a steady rhythm in his chest.

"It seems you've caught me red-handed, Little Spider."

Chrollo could only chuckle as you failed to respond, still catching your breath and trying to adjust to being awake. No matter how many times he got to see you fall to pieces in his hands, he would always feel such a thrill just being with you. Years without significant amounts of emotion left him drowning in a cocktail of dopamine and serotonin that he was almost dangerously addicted to.

"It's not often I get caught, what ever should I do to convince you to keep this between us, hm?"

"How about another round?"

"Darling, I thought you'd never ask."

~~~~~~~~

"I'm here to make a deal with the leader of the Phantom Troupe, not some dumb slut."

The words echoed in your mind as the arrogant man sneered at you, clearly having a rather negative opinion of you and your presence. Though his words shouldn't have bothered you, they actually managed to sting more than a little bit.

There was a long moment of silence as you turned away, not wanting to look at the man who so gleefully insulted you. Naturally, the Spiders- that had been rather bored and relaxed when the man approached- were all furiously glaring at the man now. The Spiders cared about you just as they cared about Chrollo and the man insulting you easily set them all off.

"There are two leaders of the Phantom Troupe. Myself and Little Spider. What deal do you think you could make with us when you so blatantly disrespect one of the leaders of the Troupe?"

The man seemed confused before he glanced at you again, the weight of his folly suddenly smacking him in the face as he realized what he just did. He seemed to now take note of the many eyes glaring at him venomously despite how slight the offense may have seemed at first glance. The only thing that could save him was your forgiveness, and with how you refused to look at him, he was unlikely to recieve such a blessing.

"Wait, but I- hey!"

He struggled against the crushing grip of both Machi and Feitan as they forced him into a kneeling position, his arms twisted and being slowly crushed. Despite his clear discomfort and upset tone, you still refused to look at him or at any of the Troupe. Chrollo took this as a sign that you would not forgive the transgression and acted accordingly.

All the man could do was let out a choked sound as his arms were suddenly removed, a ballpoint pen sticking out of his forehead. He collapsed forward into the dirt floor and silence once again returned to the Troupe. You refused to look back before Chrollo wrapped his arms around your waist, resting his chin on your shoulder.

"Are you okay, Little Spider?"

"I guess."

"Don't worry about what that fool said, you are much more than that to me. And if anyone else tries to insult you, I'll kill them."

[theemporium]

Hey Cece, happy Monday! I'm not sure if you're taking requests right now but if you are I'd (please) love fem driver x Charles or Daniel. Maybe after a race doesn't go so well she barges into the after party (in front of everyone) and demands one of them fuck her right this second 👀 thank you x

it is very much not monday anymore, i am so sorry but thank you for requesting!🖤

.

The tension had been lingering for months before this race weekend.

Everyone knew there was something brewing between you and the Aussie driver. The two of you knew it too and you both constantly toed the line of friends or something more, but there was always something holding you back from making the move.

But this weekend was different. 

It was meant to be a good weekend. Your pace was good. The car felt good. You were setting fast laps for all three practices. You even qualified pretty fucking well on Saturday afternoon in peperation for the race. But the second lights out were called, everything seemed to go to shit. 

Between bad strategy calls and even worse luck with safety cars and pit stops, you had been on edge since the race ended. You were frustrated, pissed and you needed something to take your anger out on—and getting shit-faced wasn’t enough for tonight. 

You needed something more. 

Scratch that—you needed someone. 

You had stormed into the party looking as pretty as death herself in the little black dress you slipped on, the two shots you had before you left your room only fuelling your determination as you strided through the party like it was for you—and not Max who had won the race. 

Your eyes locked on the Aussie driver as you made your way across the cramped club, pushing through the throng of dancing people until you made it to the booth where Daniel was sitting with a few other drivers and Red Bull team members.

You stopped short by the booth, your hands crossed over your chest. 

“Fucking hell, sunshine,” Daniel grinned up at you, shamelessly letting his eyes wander your figure as he took in the sight of you. “You’re looking gorgeous tonight. Is this all for little ol’ me?” 

But you were done with the teasing remarks and the back and forth game. You wanted him and you wanted to know if you were wasting your time. 

“Are you gonna fuck me or not, Ricciardo?” 

Max, who was sitting next to the Aussie driver, had all but choked on his drink as the words left your mouth, smacking his chest as he looked between the two of you with wide eyes. 

Daniel laughed nervously. “What?”

But you didn’t hesitate as you leaned over, one hand leaning on the table and the other placed on the booth just behind his head. “I have had a shit day and I need some help working things off,” you said, your voice a little lower than usual and you didn’t miss the way his eyes fell to your lips. “Now, are you gonna finally stop pissing around and fuck me, or do I need to find someone else to do it?” 

He quickly shook his head. “I’m your man, sunshine.” 

“Good. Then fuck me.” 

“Yes, ma’am.” 

Neither one of you could be bothered waiting for a taxi to head back to the hotel, so Daniel had quickly linked your hands together and guided you towards the bathrooms at the back of the club. You both quickly scampered in, locking the door behind you before your hands were all over each other. 

“I’m gonna fuck every thought out of that pretty head of yours,” Daniel groaned from behind you as he pushed the material of your dress to your hips, tugging your panties to the side before he slid inside you, swearing at how wet and tight you were. 

“Please,” you moaned out, your hands gripping the edge of the sink as you felt him bottom out inside you.

“That’s it, beg for me,” he whispered in your ear, his hands caging you in against the sink as he began to thrust his hips, each one hard and deep. “Beg for me to fuck you dumb.” 

“Fuck me until I can’t think,” you whined to him, your eyes meeting his heated gaze in the mirror as he grinned back at you. 

“Gonna make sure my name is the only thing you remember, sunshine.”

.

[northlt03]

I am a sucker for sibling Angst, man

Sirius who stayed in an abusive house just to keep an eye on his younger brother, just to make sure Regulus was always safe. He would rather his parents focus all their negative attention on him, if it meant Regulus looked tame in comparison. So that's what he did. He grows his hair long, endures the curses and when it gets too much, when he sees no other answer but to run away, Regulus doesn't come with him.

Sirius who watched his brother grow more and more distant each year until one morning, it was the middle of the war, there were deaths left and right. People Sirius had seen and talked to, people who became corrupted husks of their former selves with no backbones.

Sirius who was rude and blunt, hating Death Eaters with a burning passion, but when it's his brother's name in the paper, he breaks down. Looking after Regulus was his job. He can't help but think he should have done better. No one else could ever hope to understand and there's nothing to be done.

Nico di Angelo who's only constant for ten years had been his older sister. She was there when their mother died, she was there when a weird lawyer took them to a casino, she was there at the weird boarding school.

And then suddenly she was pulling away and Nico was only ten with no clue what to do. Bianca wouldn't listen to him, she discarded him at the first opportunity. And still he couldn't hate her.

They were siblings, cut from the same cloth, with the same blood running through their veins. How could he ever hate her for wanting to live her life?

Nico di Angelo who's sister probably sat with him and let him explain mythomagic to her. They would play for hours, Bianca wouldn't understand half of it, but that was okay, Nico just liked her presence. It wasn't as though she didn't pay him any attention. She followed the game, the cards and the statues, asking him questions and talking about it to cheer him up.

Nico di Angelo who ran up to the first demigod he had ever seen in action, where's my sister?

Thalia Grace who was only seven when her baby brother was born. She would laugh and play with him, because their mother certainly didn't care. She was there when Jason got the scar on his lip, when Jason rolled over, when Jason started to crawl, when Jason learned how to walk, when Jason's first word was "Tha- Tha". It was a while before he could say her name, and even longer until he could say "mom".

Thalia Grace who stayed for her brother and left only for a moment. That one moment. When she lost her brother. And when Jason was gone, there was no more need for her to stay anymore. She was afraid, afraid for what their mother might have done. What if she had too much to drink and in her drunken state did something horrible to her brother. Her brother. Jason had always been hers more than he was their mother's.

Thalia Grace who's last thought before being turned into a tree was probably that she might get to see Jason again (Halcyon Green had basically told her that). And when she wakes up, all she can see is green-ish blue eyes and blond hair and her first thought is Jason but it's some new demigod, a son of Poseidon.

Thalia Grace who found her brother over a decade after first losing him. She wraps her arms around him, pulling him close and telling him about a mother he didn't remember. Good she thinks. Beryl Grace was not a mother he should remember.

Thalia Grace who's baby brother is fifteen when she meets him and she looks almost sixteen, no one could be able to tell they had a seven year age difference between them.

Thalia Grace who's brother died at age sixteen. Older than she was biologically. Her baby brother.

Gone. Again.

[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 :(

[itsfairly]

10:22pm // Nanami Kento x gn!reader

word count: 1.4k

cw: gn!reader, fluff, slight angst if you squint, established-sh relationship, basically yall are dating but not publically, alcohol mentions, death mentions (no one dies).

summary: you're out drinking with other staff at jujutsu high when you decided to step out. when nanami comes and joins you, small talk gets you two thinking.

a/n: i wrote half in a bathroom stall when drunk, what was i even doing? i was supposed to meet no people not pin over my fictional husband. anyways, yeah, took an impromptu break but hey, if i wasn't feeling like writing, i wasn't gonna push it. but here i am again, wanting to write, so here is this!

“What are you doing here?”

You turned around, looking at Nanami standing a few feet before you. You sigh, your breath creating a small fog against the cold of the night as you lean against the bar’s entrance by the window.

“It was too loud.”

“And it’s too cold.” He responds, taking off his blazer and wrapping it around your shoulders.

You chuckled, clinging to the warmth of the fabric. “They are gonna know if they see us like this. They are all right there and we are right on sight, you know?”

Nanami walks beside you, looking at the street before you two. You were right. Considering that the two of you seemed like just coworkers to everyone else but something else between you two behind the privacy of whatever space you could find, seeing you two together like this with his blazer around you was going to raise some flags. And yet, he couldn’t help but search for you when he noticed you were gone for a longer time than his liking.

“Gojo is keeping them busy, trying to get them to play his game of saying why they like him for them to even notice we left.” He looked through the window, where, sure enough, a sober Gojo was determined to get those reasons out of the either drunk or tired rest of the table. It didn’t seem like it was successful despite Gojo’s huge energetic grin.

“Is that the real reason why you stepped out?” You smirked, teasing at his rather push-and-pull dynamic with the white-haired sorcerer. “Because you didn’t want to play that?”

“I can have multiple reasons why I stepped out. Maybe that’s one of them, but seeing you in the cold was another one.” He looked down at you, his voice softening as he saw how you were gripping his blazer closer to you. “A big one at that.”

You chuckled, looking with a warm smile that made the cold become much more bearable even when standing outside the bar well past sunset. “Aw, what a gentleman.”

“You deserve one. I want to be one for you.” He said, his eyes on the street before the two of you.

If you didn’t know better, you would say he’s quite flustered. Despite his composed demeanor, he was not looking into your eyes when he said such genuine and affectionate words, but rather towards the street in front of you two. It was almost like a confession despite how many times the two of you have gone on dinners together, or grazed each other’s hands when others weren’t looking, or the soft “be safe” whispers whenever either of you went on a mission. Yeah, those acts were confessions within themselves and you were fine with them, knowing that he wasn’t the most vocal about his feelings upfront. But hearing such feelings come from his lips into a soft and gentle tone meant a lot. Those nine words meant that he was opening up to you more and more.

You furrow your brows, however. It didn’t matter how direct his or your words were or their frequency, being a sorcerer wasn’t the best job to fall for your coworkers. Death lurked in every mission, reminding you of how dangerous it was and how painful it would be if either of you would just be gone. Never again to tease him about how buying books was his hobby rather than reading them, never again for him to feel your hands on his shoulders as you insists on helping him relax as you massaged them, never again to see each other’s eyes full of life and the possibility—the yearning of being more. The longing to not be restricted of being together because you didn’t know how much you had left.

It may be the alcohol that got you thinking about this, but it was always a thought you wanted to push away whenever you saw him, wanting to feel the happiness of what you were experiencing rather than feeling the pain of what-ifs. You wanted more, to be closer to him. Sometimes, you could see how he ached for the same despite his wish to not burden you—or anyone for that matter—with the uncertainty of his safety.

But one thing was certain, not only tonight as he accompanied you outside with your breath puffing into the air while the rest of the group drank the night away for some escape of the jujutsu world, but every day since the distance between you shortened by the day.

He never burdened you with the uncertainty of his love for you—because it was certain and it was visible in the most beautiful way. His longing for you, his worry for you, his inability to completely adhere to his idea of staying single while a sorcerer, his goddamn devotion towards you that it made you wonder how no one has even caught on that you two are a thing. He loved you, loves you in the smallest ways that, when put together, are the biggest act one has ever done for you.

“You are.” You whisper, not even realizing the words escaped from your mind and were spoken into existence until he turned to look at you. Now that you had his attention, you stood a little straighter and said with much more conviction, “you already are.”

Nanami takes a second. His eyes looking deep into yours, unable to look away as if he is trying to read them. His brows mirror yours, knitting together ever so slightly. He was taken back by how much softer you looked in this moment despite the cold tensing your body. The warm light from the bar spilled outside and kissed your skin with a yellow, gentle glow. It was hard staying away from you, which is why it was a no brainer to follow you when you stepped out. It wasn’t just because he wanted to check on you, but because you always managed to pull him closer to you without even trying. You felt so close, but he wanted you closer.

It felt natural the moment he grabbed your hand, entwining his fingers with yours without giving it much thought of his own. He was tired of thinking anyway. He didn’t want to gather more reasons to stay away from you when the feeling on his heart weighed too much for them to hold water against it. He didn’t want to love you from afar, to have you in an arm’s reach but never hold you for the world to see. He didn’t want you to be like the books that sat on his shelves, gathering dust that taunted him with the fact he bought them and had yet to read them. He didn’t want that with you. He wanted to read you like a book. To go as far as to highlight his favorite parts of you, to read you over and over until he could recite you from memory to the world. He wanted you to be his favorite book in that sense.

“Then I’ll make sure to be more than just a gentleman to you.” He adds, his thumb moving against the back of your hand to warm it up.

Without skipping a beat, you take a deep breath before repeating your words, “you already are, Kento. More than that even.”

As your hand squeezes him and your eyes shine as if they were reflecting the moon themselves, things become certain for him as well. You loved him. Through the teasing and the burden of what could happen to either of you, you loved him with such a confidence and fulfillment that the feeling would stay the same for a long time and your actions would follow. You wanted to close that distance and hold him in your hands with such care and warmth that would shelter him from the stress of his everyday life. To cherish his skin, his hair, and every crook and cranny that he allowed you to see and touch until your fingertips burned with his feel as if you were to draw a map of him from memory. He was your favorite sensation in the world. You wanted to protect and nurture that sensation called Nanami Kento.

“I guess we want the same thing then.” Nanami softly spoke, taking a deep breath and squeezed your hand back.

“You guess right.” You answered back, nodding slightly with a smile.

Nanami nods back, holding your hand and guiding you back to inside the bar and back to your coworkers. This time, when you get near the group, he doesn't let go of your hand and you don’t let go of his.

[amica-aenigmata-naboo]

COLLISION

Astarion x Y/N - Chapter 1 - 2.6K WC

Masterlist

Chapter 1 (you are here!)

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5 NSFW 18+

Chapter 6 NSFW 18+

Chapter 7 NSFW 18+

______________

You sat at your desktop and sighed. The clock in the corner of the screen read 2:38 AM. You could feel your eyes throb, the blue light from the screen was going to cause them to be bloodshot tomorrow you just knew it. You should probably call it a day but the Gauntlet of Shar was kicking your ass and you felt beyond dejected. Saving your progress you quit the game. You stare at the screen which had the Baldur’s Gate III loading screen, the green “play” button tempting you despite just logging off. Shutting down the computer you went through your night routine. Shower, brush teeth, pet the cat. You slid into your bed and sighed. Life felt so mundane, you wished you could adventure. Maybe that’s why the game was so appealing to you. You were already thinking about playing tomorrow after a grueling day of work. You set your alarm and slowly let yourself relax before going limp into a deep sleep.

____________

You could feel the migraine in your head before you even opened your eyes. You groaned before you realized you could also smell grass and feel a slight breeze on your brow. Suddenly a swift kick was planted into your side. Your eyes squeezed shut as you curled into yourself, holding your right side and coughing. 

“What the fuck!” You yelled. 

Coughing some more before you felt cold metal against your throat. You finally opened your eyes to see six people standing around you. People is a lose term as some had horns, tails, scales, etc. 

“Give me one reason I shouldn’t slit your throat where you lay istik.” Said the green woman in dazzling armor.

You couldn’t speak. Your heart was beating so fast it felt like it stopped. This was a dream. A fucked up dream. You really gotta lay off the Baldur’s Gate III because this is ridiculous.

You knew everyone looking at you but they did not know you. The blade pressed further into your throat and you let out a whimper. You did the only thing you could think of. You slowly put your hands up next to you head, palms open to show you meant no harm. Lae’zel let up ever so slightly but kept her eyes fixed on you. 

“She asked you a question.” Said Karlach as she crossed her arms over her chest, looking at you with curiosity but also caution.

“Y/n…. My name is y/n.” You squeaked out, feeling the blade start to dig into your neck.

“And how is it that you managed to stumble upon our camp?” Asked Astarion with an unimpressed tone. 

“I - I didn’t… I wasn’t looking for you I swear…. I just woke up here and I don't remember anything else.” Is sputtered out quickly, praying they believed you. 

You felt a sharp sting and a… wriggle? Behind your eye, Shadowheart forced herself into your mind. Just as quickly as she had entered, the pain stopped. 

“She’s telling the truth.” She said.

“Are you friend or foe? Speak now so I may offer you a clean death istik.” Lae’zel spat.

“Friend! Definitely a friend! I don’t want any trouble I promise!” Your voice shook and you could feel tears brimming in your eyes as you felt the blade draw blood.

Karlach gave a “tsk” before pushing past Astarion and Wyll. She stretched out a hand to you. You glanced at her, then back to Lae’zel. 

Karlach looked to Lae’zel before speaking, “They look like a scared puppy you can’t possibly think they’re a threat Lae’zel.” 

Lae’zel let out a huff before withdrawing her sword, your hand immediately flying to your throat only for it to be coated in blood. You looked at Karlach and quickly took her hand, scrambling to stand up before hunching over when you felt the shooting pain in your side.

“Ahhhh fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck” you whispered to yourself. 

“Any sign of aggression and I will not hesitate to smite you.” Lae’zel said before walking back to her tent.

You finally straightened out. Looking at Karlach you spoke, “Thank you.” You gave her a smile, or what you could manage as a smile in the moment.

She looked you over before smiling brightly at you, “No worries soldier! I’m Karlach, pleasure to meet you.” She said while vigorously shaking your hand.

“Y/n.” You said softly while looking around. “I’m sorry, do any of you have a mirror?” 

“Not even with us for more than five minutes and you’re already preening for a mirror. Petty vanity will get the best of you darling. Besides, not much to admire if you ask me.” Astarion said with a sassy yet disinterested tone.

You scoffed. Karlach pulled out her sword, you went to take a step back, ready to book it, before she held it horizontally in her hands. She looked at you before glancing at the sword. You stepped closer. 

“You’ve gotta be shitting me…” you said, feeling your face and hair. The reflection looking back at you was your Tav from Baldur’s Gate III. You pinched and pulled at yourself not believing what you were seeing. 

“Something wrong?” Asked Shadowheart whom you made eye contact with in the reflection.

“I - I ummm… I’m um….. I’m not myself…” was all you could manage. Karlach sheathed her sword and you turned to finally face everyone. “Come find me when you want your bedroll y/n, I should have an extra one somewhere…” Karlach said before walking to the bonfire. 

Shadowheart looked you up and down before shrugging “Lady Shar’s blessings upon you stranger. Please join us, you must be in want of a meal.” she gave a soft smile before going back to her tent. 

Gale and Wyll introduced themselves. Gale healing the cut on your throat after mumbling a quick apology about Lae’zel stating she was the definition of overprotective and outrageously homicidal. Everyone had seemingly returned to their tents or the bonfire in the middle of camp. 

You sat back down in the clearing you woke up in. This was not real. No damn way. Maybe you’ve had a severe psychotic break. Maybe you have a brain eating parasite (literally). Maybe you ate a cordycep and this was the end for you. Literally anything else would make more sense than “Oh my ass got Jumanji'd”. You stared off into space, trying to keep your shaky breathing consistent. You felt the air chill around you as the sun fell behind the horizon and Shar’s embrace consumed the night. 

“You know it’s rude to stare.” said Astarion without looking up from you from his tent, the closest to your clearing and the direction you just so happened to be honing in on. 

You slowly shifted your eyes down, resting your head against your forearms as they rested on your knees. You just wanted to curl into a ball and disappear. “Sorry.” was all you could whisper. 

“Ugh gods, Karlach was right, you look like a scared puppy. Honestly, I don’t know how you’ve survived this long if you’re so…. fragile.” he continued his tone laced with a tinge of venom. 

Your eyes started to water. You stood up, your joints yelling at you as they snapped and popped. You walked into camp, trying to make yourself as quiet and invisible as possible, walking swiftly to Karlach’s tent. You took your bedroll silently and found a spot in a clearing under a tree opposite to the clearing you woke up in. Leaning your head against the trunk you closed your eyes, crying silently until you fell asleep. 

_________________

Astarion gazed at you from his tent for a large chunk of the night. Everyone else was fast asleep and he had just returned from a hunt. He could hear your heartbeat: soft, steady, calm. He heard your heartbeat when you arrived in the clearing, he’s the one who called the others to investigate with him. He was surprised you were so still when he found you. Your heart was beating hard, fast, endlessly. Terrified. He hadn’t heard a heart beat like that in a while. It was how all his victims' hearts sounded after he gave them to Cazador. He pushed the thought out of his mind, which wasn't hard as it was overtaken by another, more overwhelming thought. Why had he only heard your heartbeat and felt the immediate urge to find you and protect you? He felt something stir inside his chest when he laid eyes on you. That wasn’t allowed. That wasn't his purpose. He didn’t get to feel his own feelings. Everything was consumed by Cazador and the looming threat of him returning to Astarions life. He shuddered. He could smell the faintest scent of your blood that was dried on your hand from earlier. Gods it was sweet, even thinking of it made him salivate. His best option was to avoid you enough and reject you enough that the feeling inside him would cease. It was easy. You were already distressed. How much more could you fall emotionally? And yet, as he watched the gentle rise and fall of your chest he couldn’t help but think of anything else beyond how soft you looked. How peaceful. Your face relaxed, your jaw unclenched, your eyes puffy, fly aways clinging to your face, eyelashes still wet, short breaths being exhaled from your mouth. You were… cute. 

Shit. 

____________________

You awoke just as the sun started to rise. The sky is a beautiful mixture of blues, pinks, and purples. You sat up as if it would get you a better view of the heavens. Astarion walked up behind you quietly. “You’re up early.” he stated. You jumped slightly before facing the sky again. “Early riser.” you said back. Astarion hummed back before walking down the hill of your clearing. You followed him swiftly, not wanting to be completely alone in a camp full of sleepers. Astarion bent down softly into the small stream, gathering the water in his hands and gently rubbing it into his face. You sat silently next to him, gently letting your fingers dip into the rushing stream. 

“What is that?” Astarion asked, glancing at your boot. You looked at him confused. He leaned over and pulled out the object.

There, in all its glory, your phone. You quickly snatched it from Astarion, his voice fading into the background. You turned your phone on, it had no service but it still worked and that was a great comfort. Suddenly it was ripped from your grasp.

Astarion stood up, holding the phone up and away from you. “What is this? Must be important.” He teased with a sneer. “Is it powerful?”

You stood quickly, putting your hand out “Please give it back its mine.”

“Oh I don’t doubt that it is yours. You need to answer my question though before I’ll consider giving it back.”

“I… I don’t know how to explain it… they don’t have these devices in your world…” you trailed off.

Astarion rose an eyebrow at you, “My world? So you’re from another world? Now I know you’re lying.”

“Wait! Maybe… maybe I can show you something with it.” You said in a small voice, reaching your hand out once again. “Something you’ve wanted for a long time…”

He eyed you up and down repeatedly before tossing your phone at you, “This better be worth it.”

You opened your phone's front-facing camera and stood next to Astarion, gently turning the phone in his direction. You saw his face drop then he just… stared. You started to bring the phone back down before his hand caught your wrist. His hold was gentle and cold, “Just a moment.” he whispered.

You nodded and let him hold the phone. He gazed at his eyes for ages before opening his mouth. He licked over his fangs, gently tracing his lips with his fingertips. “What is this thing? Why can I see myself?” He spat at you, suddenly angry. He tossed the phone at your feet before storming off to camp, leaving you alone at the stream.  ____________________

The sun was now high in the sky and you had enough of sulking by the stream. If you were going to be stuck here for a while, better start working on making some friends. You walked back to camp before seeking out Gale.

“Morning! Is there something I can help with, you have an inquisitive look on your face.” he smiled at you. 

You gave a small smile before asking, “I was hoping you could help me… enchant something? It needs power to survive, usually electric power but I don’t think that will work right now… can you try?” 

Gale looked away as if thinking about what he could do; he snapped his fingers, “Ah! Yes, I think I might have something for that, Mystra willing and all. Can I see what you are talking about?” 

You nodded quickly, shoving the phone into Gale’s hands. 

“This little thing?” he glanced back at you. You nodded and gave a pleading look. 

He nodded and sent you a soft smile before speaking strange words over it. Colorful beams of misty light enveloped your device, now floating in between Gale’s hands. He finished his incantation, all the beams shooting into your phone before he caught it as the spell seemingly ended. He smiled brightly and handed it back to you before crossing his arms over his chest. “Well… did it work?” he asked you, unsure how the device worked he was iffy about his magic in this instance.

You turned your phone back on, full battery that seemed unchanging for now. You smiled back at Gale “Yes! Thank you so much…. I appreciate you and your kindness towards me as a stranger.” 

“With pleasure friend, bring it back should it start to falter, I’d be more than happy to fix it.” he said.

You smiled at him one final time before walking towards Karlach who was currently accompanied by Shadowheart and Lae’zel. Slipping your phone back into your boot, you quietly walked up to them. Their conversation died down once they saw you walking over. Lae’zel shot daggers at you, her gaze alone felt violent. Shadowheart and Karlach sent you small smiles. 

“If you are going to travel with us we need to know your strengths. How are you useful to us and our endeavors?” Lae’zel questioned “You’re obviously no warrior, so what are you?” she gritted out. 

“I’m a cleric… I practice under Ilmater… though I haven’t seen a battle before.” You spoke, picking at your nails instead of focusing on the women in front of you.

Lae’zel spat on the ground, “Not only have we taken in another mouth to feed, we have taken in a useless cleric with no combat experience. We may well have taken in a child.” she went back to her tent, wildly slashing at the poor practice dummy as if to further demonstrate her displeasure. 

You winced watching, imagining every blow aimed at you. Shadowheart put her hand on your shoulder. “Perhaps we should go see Gale. He’s a follower of Mystra and I of Shar, I’m sure we can teach you a few things. Do you know much about Ilmater?” she asked, leading you by the back of your arm towards Gale. You shook your head no. “Well, my knowledge is limited, but if I recall correctly he is the protector of the persecuted and oppressed. There are worse gods to be in service to.” she chuckled. You smiled and gave her hand a squeeze as a soft ‘thank you’ for her simple kindness. 

“I overheard, let's get to work shall we?” Gale asked you both before conjuring the weave, creating a safe, fragmented reality to practice in without causing any real damage. 

Hello! This is my first ever public fic so please be gentle lol I'd love some drabble requests in the mean time before I send out chapter 2. I hope you enjoy! :)

[night-market-if]

Spoiler Ask

So I'm going to address it all here under the cut because I've gotten a few asks in that are pretty similar and I'm sure I'm going to get more. So I thought instead of answering the same thing over and over, I'd just do a response below. Warning, spoilers for the end of book 1.

Full disclosure. I am sick. We are going through a lot of family things at the moment. My patience is probably thin.

For everyone that says MC is already too forgiving of Milo. Milo has not even come into the story yet. You've only observed memories of him. If you feel like you need an inner dialogue to tell you how angry you are over this "betrayal" or "death", I don't know what to say here. Because MC is literally just observing things at the moment. Any options that have been put forth to comment on Milo and what has happened, have been more to lay ground work and to also give a scope of the type of emotions that will be offered in the game. But literally, Milo has not even shown up yet into the story in a real capacity. So please stop sending me asks about how you are upset that MC has "forgiven" him because there has literally been no real interaction between Milo and the MC.

As for this betrayal and death thing. I am going to state this now for those who aren't going to like where my story is going so you don't need to read if you don't want to. As the Night Market, you knew you were going to die. You gladly came down and wanted to experience death. You looked at what Milo (a non magic user) was doing, and said "hey, this would be a cool experience" and then you came down here. So, yes, you are going to feel the full range of emotions that come with it. But you are also going to need to take some personal accountability for your actions. That is what is going to be explored in this book. An entity that didn't realize what emotion actually meant, came down thinking it wasn't going to be a big deal to die, and it turned out it was a big deal. A big fucking deal, in fact and that by doing so, they actually hurt people they loved. So, don't forgive Milo. I'm not forcing anyone to. But, I will not be writing an MC that puts all the blame on him. Because guess what? The Night Market would have died if he didn't do what he did. So, everyone also saying that he killed the MC? No, he literally saved the MC and billions of people. And I don't care what way you spin it? One person is never worth a billion souls. And with the MC being someone that literally cut themselves open over and over again to save most of the people living within the world, I would think they would probably not be too keen on Milo sacrificing them so they could die together in some bullshit Romeo and Juliet act.

Now, I am all for exploring how an MC comes to terms with the feeling of betrayal along with the feeling of needing to take responsibility. I am all for exploring an MC that goes "holy shit this emotion thing is way bigger than I thought and I'm angry and confused". I'm there for it. I'm excited to write it. But, I will not be writing a willfully ignorant MC that doesn't take into account that they did this to themselves as well. And yes, if you choose to not acknowledge it in game, others are going to acknowledge it for you. If you want to not read because you can't become a villain, rock back and forth in a corner and weep, or violently get mad at someone who saved the world? That's cool. I'm not offended by someone not reading it. Anyone coming into my ask box and saying "I just am not going to read now because you aren't doing xyz" I wish you a good night and hope you find something else for you because there are thousands of stories out there.

I am not interested. Nor will I ever be interested. In writing a story where I add to the plague of ignorance that is this world. Aren't we kind of all struggling enough with that in our own lives? MC is a being of compassion. They will always be a being of compassion. That is going to shift and change based on circumstances and there are going to be moments where that compassion can fall into question. When it comes to Milo, it is going to be a messy bit of confusing emotions because there is so much more than just the black and white strokes of "OMG he killed me" that seemed to be the rhetoric on here. Now, you don't want his character around? Alright. Other than when you have to see him for Gatekeeper purposes, you probably won't.

To all of you guys complaining or sending me ask after ask stating how you don't like what I am doing. I am going to tell you this and it will not ever change. If you don't like reading this, then don't read. I am not here to write a story for you specifically. You don't like the direction of a work and can't ever broaden your scope of fiction to give it a shot? Then please don't. But to have this kind of messages coming through when literally we are a chapter in? Seriously. The instant gratification is bullshit. I'm going to suspect this is coming from the younger half of my audience who is way too accustomed to a confirmation bias internet algorithm and who has had a very small scope of real life. This is of course not all of the younger crowd but it's starting to seem like a pretty good amount.

I love having conversations with everyone. My discord is always open but most of you anons hide because you are far too scared to come at me with your user name or engage in a conversation feed where more than just me can answer. I mean, you guys send me asks, citing others user names, to call them out through me. It's laughable at this point.

I love having discourse with all of you but I'm not going to keep answering the same thing over and over again and justifying my work when it doesn't need to be justified. This is a small little bit of fiction in a vast sea.

If I sound pissed, it's because I am at this point. And I'm sure I'll get more asks in that are stating they are jumping ship or that they are disappointed in me or what not. I'll delete them and move on with my evening.

To all of you who are here for the ride and just want to experience what I'm writing? Thank you. Fiction is just meant to be a form of entertainment. I am not writing anything profound. To anyone that is looking for something more, move on. I'll see everyone who wants to get mad or saying I'm too harsh, in my inbox, I am sure. Thank god you can block anons.

[deconstructivesurgery]

I saw someone online recently discuss the reality of Wesker not killing Chris or Jill permanently in any of the RE games because

A) as per usual, long-running series hate to kill their darlings, even when it would occasionally be a believable or satisfying death (plot armor, because people would get mad and mald if their faves were killed by the Villain(tm) they're supposed to shoot dead)

and

B) "well REALISTICALLY it would be SO easy for wesker to kill them because of how strong/fast/etc. he is so point A is the only believable and acceptable answer because obviously they couldn't have killed Chris or Jill off"

and like no dude I get it totally you are right. I can't even argue that you're incorrect you 100% are. I could rightfully argue that realism doesn't matter when it's far more enjoyable to NOT have Chris or Jill dead, especially when their deaths would serve no real compelling narrative purpose except (:() HOWEVER

If you're willing to hear me out, there's an explanation for Wesker never entirely killing either of them for reasons that turn plot armor into something as simple as believable characterization.

Nostalgia. Literally. Just. Nostalgia.

He avoids killing them outright because once upon a time, these people meant something to him. He saw WORTH in them, valued them, possibly even to the extent of finding it difficult to try and sacrifice them initially (something I am going to go ON about in another long ass post soon enough). TLDR: He was attached.

Long ass post underneath if you want to hear me blather on about why I think this :)

After his initial failed attempt to have them all killed because Umbrella commanded it, I'm not surprised he simply settled for toying with them for the most part. He doesn't need to, and more importantly- doesn't want to. He can never have their allyship back, but he can still see them in action. He can best them, sure- but why would he kill them when he still savors those interactions, when they clash? Why would he destroy the last pieces of a past he's attached to to the point of bringing it up constantly up until his death?

I've always found it funny how many lines Wesker actually has referencing the past. You were my best man, your 'partner' (said snidely in reference to an era where they were in the same squad) is in danger, I should've killed you years ago, etc.

And just the line. The fucking line. From the Umbrella chronicles. I'm not even going to retype it I'm just putting it here.

I understand, by the way, that he's being sarcastic, but I do genuinely believe there's a grain of truth in this. I think he does in fact want to see them survive.

Side note: What with his appraisal of their skills and his direct use of Jill's own blood later to temper Uroboros to make it less fatal, I love to make the mental stretch here that somewhere in his little ape brain he was hoping if infected with uroboros both would be "quality" enough to become like him. I think his ideal future still has them kicking around in it, viable hosts for uroboros mutation so they could join him in his new Minecraft server for cool people.

ANYWAYS tangent aside back to the nostalgia argument, on an individual basis this time. We're starting with Jill, because even though Wesker isn't an obsessive freak over her like he is with Chris, I still firmly believe he's attached to her as well.

Why else would he do what he did to her, after her presumed death via falling-off-a-cliff? Sure, you could argue it was simply a calculated decision based on the fact that he knew her blood would be useful, but I like to think of it a bit differently.

You crash into the rocky water below a tall, tall bluff, battered beyond belief- but quickly repairing yourself- and the body of another (probably also fucked up by that impact, and not capable of immediately fixing that) next to you. I don't think even Wesker would be doing mental math in his head at that very moment, considering the precise reasons why Valentine might be valuable to him down the line. I think he just automatically assumes he needs to take her with him because it's her. She gets dragged out of the water and slapped into medical care as quickly as he can manage it simply because she's an important part of that past he refuses to move on from. A part of the team. Then, she's a useful source of antibodies to help with the transformation of uroboros- but she's also a brainwashed bodyguard, something of a sidekick. Why? He could hire someone. He could use anyone. If she was useful for samples alone, he could've kept her in a cell for years to intermittently steal a few ounces of blood. But of course he wouldn't, and he wouldn't kill her or dispose of her otherwise, either- because Jill Valentine was skilled and strong and a dedicated team member, and maybe- just maybe- it's nothing short of satisfying to have her fighting at his side again, even if it's a facsimile of their old team dynamic. Plus, you know: bonus points that it'd horrify Chris to see his best friend and beloved work partner of many years through thick and thin working for him, when they inevitably clash again.

And then, of course, there's Chris. He beats him senseless only to piss off over very mild retaliations, promising to meet him again. You've probably heard a lot about that before. I could go on about that. But what I'd rather go on about instead is the one time he clearly determines that killing Chris for good is necessary, and that's in RE5.

...And look at how he talks during that. He brings up the "should've killed you years ago" thing- and fails to explain why he didn't. It wasn't due to any failure on his part, truly. He's beat Chris in combat several times, he's had the chance before and refused to take it. He asks Chris why he can't *understand his plans*, as if somehow expecting that there'd be a chance that he WOULD understand- and then what? He wouldn't need to kill him? Could get him to be a part of this new world he has planned, even?

Going over the times he could've killed Chris and didn't is fun, but I don't think anything illustrates my point of unwilling attachment and nostalgia for the past more than his gambit of literally asking "why can't you understand this" to the man he's actively attempting to bludgeon upside the head with virus tentacles, because he'd much prefer it if he didn't feel compelled to do that.

...so yes. At the end of the day, it's plot armor that prevented Chris from getting snapped like a stick during one of their brawls, or from Jill being dead after her cliff stunt, probably. But it's always going to be more fun- to me at least- to see it as the product of Albert Wesker genuinely not knowing how to let go of those "lovely stars members" (a line I think about way more than I should).

[hopepetal]

for the writing prompts, pearl getting hug-bombed after double life <3

Hiii Wren

Yeah this isn't all that great but here ya go

--

PearlescentMoon joined the game.

<GoodTimeWithScar> where is she

<GoodTimeWithScar> looking through her base. she's not here

<ImpulseSV> Doesn't look like she's near boatem at all

<Xisuma> One moment, please.

<Xisuma> She's at spawn.

<Grian> Makes sense

<Grian> I'm near spawn, I'm heading over

<MumboJumbo> I'll grab some blankets and water, can someone grab potions?

<ImpulseSV> I got you

<ImpulseSV> Scar, where are you

<ImpulseSV> Scar?

<Xisuma> He's flying.

<Grian> At spawn

<Grian> I see her

<MumboJumbo> I'm heading over with Impulse, we have supplies

<GoodTimeWithScar> Don't bring golden apples

<GoodTimeWithScar> bring potions or anything else but not golden apples

<GoodTimeWithScar> Grian is she okay

<GoodTimeWithScar> well obviously not but

<Grian> She's got some pretty bad scars

<Grian> And she's not really... Here

<Grian> Mentally, I mean. She looks pretty shaken

<Xisuma> I'm coming to spawn. I'll see you all there.

--

Pearl's feet touched stone before the rest of her followed as her knees gave out. She didn't even register the familiar heaviness on her back from her wings, coming back into existence after being suppressed during the death game. Her ears still rang from the explosion, her left eye forced shut from the stinging pain seared into scars on her skin.

She had to get up. She had to– had to pull herself together, had to reorient herself or else she would die, and death meant more pain and suffering and loneliness and...

“Tilly,” Pearl heard herself cry, sounding as though she were underwater, “Tilly darling, where are you?” Her vision was too blurry for her to see far, and the complete darkness in her left eye terrified her. If she couldn't see, then she was in danger because anyone could sneak up on her and hurt her or kill her.

She was about to call out for Tilly again before she remembered.

Pearl remembered pain.

She remembered fighting.

She remembered betrayal, and killing, and blood and the screams, and she remembered dying.

Pearl... remembered dying.

Pearl thought she was crying, but she couldn't tell through the haze of blood and death and pain and victory, bitter tasting victory. She didn't even flinch away when gentle hands reached out and cleaned the blood and dirt from her face, brushed the knots from her hair, bandaged the new scars she bore from the final explosion.

She saw red at one point and flinched away, and the red was replaced with green and brown and a kind, concerned voice asking if she was okay. Pearl wanted to laugh at that. Wasn't the answer obvious? She wasn't okay. She didn't think she ever would be okay again.

She was sitting on something soft now, wrapped in blankets (when had she started shivering?) and in a room that was both familiar and strange to her. Her ears had stopped ringing but she still felt as though she was underwater, everything muffled and moving in slow motion. Something soft– bandages, maybe– covered the left side of Pearl's face, keeping her eye shut. She was still on edge about not being able to see on one side, but it was something that would heal in time.

Unlike her heart, which still beat sorrowfully in her chest, shattered into one thousand pieces. She felt... numb, numb and tired and hurt and scared.

Pearl didn't even know she had spoken until the background noise of unintelligible conversation stopped. For a moment, she was confused, before looking around at the people she thought she should know.

“Pearl?” And his voice is so startlingly familiar it pulls her back to Earth, and Pearl found herself gazing into Scar's eyes. “Pearl, are you with us?”

Somehow, Pearl found it in herself to crack a smile and attempt a joke. “Looks like I am.”

Scar blinked, and his eyes filled up with tears. “Oh, Pearl...” He threw his arms around her and hugged Pearl tightly, shoulders shaking as he started to sob. “I'm so glad you're back...”

One by one, the others in the room– they were in one of the houses closer to spawn– murmured a 'welcome home' and carefully joined the hug. Mumbo, Impulse, and Grian, who wrapped his wings around the entire group.

Pearl's throat closed up as she practically melted into her friends' arms. The gentle touch after spending so long alone practically burned, and Pearl was unable to hold back tears. She broke down sobbing, clinging to Scar.

And maybe, the hug helped to mend a piece of her heart, stitching the parts back together with threads of love.

And maybe, just maybe, it gave Pearl hope that one day, things would be okay.

[aluria-sevhex]

so now i'm in Act 3 i guess

notes:

-methinks Siffrin is panicking

-plot twist: you can't escape the time loop until you deal with your... ???

-no you little bitch don't pretend everything's fine that's not good for your mental health

-YOU *KNEW* THIS WOULD HAPPEN??? FUCK YOU LOOP

-i'm not giving up you little shit

-ok Loop what IS your deal. you *asked* to be here???

-ok i need to help Mira with her mysterious papers

-:O A HINT AT ODILE'S FIELD OF STUDY

-the music is more unnerving than it was in Act 2. also it sounds glitchy now

-oh it's normal now. was i just suffering from an actual audio glitch and just. didn't question it? like "oh yeah ofc it's glitching things are fucked now"

-...that enemy didn't spawn down here in Act 2.

-eh ima get off for the night

-late in the evening on July 4th and i am back yippee this is probably a bad idea considering how long my play sessions get

-YEAH THE TITLE MUSIC MY BELOVED

-ok i can't help Bonnie on this loop- HOLD UP. DID SIF'S ART CHANGE IN THE MENUS? YEAH HE'S NOT SMUG ANYMORE ToT also i think their profile used to say "It's you!" with an exclamation point but now it says "It's you." with a period :(

-rip my darling blorbo Paper α V

-side note: idk if i've mentionwd this before but i like how the levels, stats, and skills all show the fact that you're near the end of the journey (ex. Odile having Rock, Paper, and Scissors III at the start)

-I FOUND THE BOOK BONNIE WAS LOOKING AT.

hmmm... death rituals...

-hehe i found the stostorage roomoom

-NONE OF THESE BARRELS WILL LEMME TAKE THE NUTS >:(

-another book in the headache-inducing language i can't read.

-weird shit going on: Siffrin, Loop, the King, the disappearing island, the headache-inducing shit

-hehehe yeah Isa i'm sure you'd *love* to pet your taciturn hopeful-future-partner

-it's not just the menu art i think Siffrin's battle art is also less happy. :(

-HOLD UP. also! Siffrin's profile used to call them the Traveler but now he's called the Wanderer. :(

-hehe. Sif hit the counter and said nya again. cat Sif

-this enemy ALSO did not spawn on this floor before. fucking giant hand thing

-ok thinking: can't help Isa until i've helped everybody else in one loop, can't help Bonnie on this loop and i need to prove i know them via their favorite foods, need to help Mira and Odile...

-thank you Loop for being available- OH I CAN BRING UP THE SADNESSES BEING DIFFERENT :O

-ok need to help Mira with the papers. some are in her dorm. Odile wants to read a familytale. i'll have to find one in the library or secret library. need to find out Bonnie's favorite foods by trying different ones. maybe i should loop forward a bunch to different areas, find out their favorite foods, and THEN do the big loop where i help everybody!

-i need to talk to the King eventually

-looping forward to Floor 1's end

-fun fact i'm keeping track of all my causes of death in another note. i'll share it when i finish the game

-man i also need to figure out how to help Mira's fan and remember where the last book issue is...

-the looping screen art is nice :]

-yeah yeah i need to beat this asshole to get to the snacks

-hold up. the coin fell on heads this time. strange...

-last time i picked plantain chips. this time i'm picking cookies. would probably be good to check what Bonnie eats each time

-ok they like rice. time to loop forward!

-while i'm on Floor 2 i might as well find a familytale for Odile...

-LOOP 24? THE MATH DOES NOT CHECK OUT.

-WAIT THE GAME ACKNOWLEDGES IT. HUH. YEAH I SHOULD BE ON 23. SIFFRIN IS SUS 𐐘

-fuck. i accidentally moved forwards when i meant to go to the library. it's fine i'l help her when i help everybody

-oh great i have to fight these assholes again.

-fuck. i think i fucked up and didn't make sure Mira had Pretty Moving Cure. i might get a game over.

-this is by far my dumbest death

-LOOP 27??? I WENT FROM 24-27

-gonna try to be less liberal with loop usage because the skipping is kinda scaring me

-aw... Siffrin's friends try not to touch him as they squeeze through that's nice... wait. he seems to not be remembering why. did he forget that they don't like being touched... maybe. maybe i should call Loop.

-well that was unhelpful

-time to adjust the memories i have equipped. welcome back my lovely scrimbly blorbos Lovely Moving Cure and Paper α V

-hm. ok so the boulanger in Dormont has a familytale...

-oh my god we're discussing colors. what happened to them.

-THEY STILL EXIST. BUT WE FORGOT HOW TO SEE THEM. ???

-*SIFFRIN*. HOW IS THIS FAMILIAR. JFC YOU ARE SUS

-plot twist! Siffrin is from our world and forgor that he got isekai'd! :P (i love making random bullshit predictions it's very entertaining)

-oh yeah so RE: Siffrin's altered art: Sif's time-frozen portrait used to look panicked but now it looks calm

-hehe openphrase123 worked

-love Sif's habit of picking up random shiny shit. magpie or crow behavior.

-oh? Siffrin didn't always hate croissants?

...bruh.

-also damn shout-out to Mira's crisis over not knowing some of the people

-the combination of Siffrin's silly attack names and serious battle portraits feels so *wrong*

-:o Sif learned a new skill

-ok i'm gonna log off for the night

hey if you wanna read all of my posts as i play through ISAT, they are all tagged as #Aluria plays ISAT for the first time (please don't spoil)

bruh when i was making this post i accidentslly pasted the notes again there instead of pasting the tag name. that truly was. delightful. to go through and delete it all

also shout-out to those of you who i keep seeing popping up in my notifs liking these posts ;) and also anybody who takes the time to read all this stuff :D i know that *i* like seeing other people's reactions when they experience stuff i like for the first time so i'm very happy to provide that for others! also it's nice to see some of the responses ^-^ :D

[evita-shelby]

Hi,

I want to ask if you can make a story when the reader wants to break up with Thomas Shelby, but Tommy is really against it and is more possessive toward the reader🤭 adding some smut will be hot😍 thank you so much💝

So sorry for how this turned out.

I know you wanted sexy and manipulative, but i don't really write smut and this took a very dark turn that i personally adored

Cw: suidcial tendencies, infidelity, child death, murder

Gif by @brody75

Death shall set you free

In the beginning everything had been great. He was the best man you could have ever thought of building a life with and not a single thing he did could ever change your mind about it.

Then Grace showed up and he broke your heart by fucking her while you waited at home to tell him he was going to be a father.

You weren’t supposed to find out, not until Polly confronted him about it, not until Grace asked him to run away with her only to be rejected by him. She told you herself, stabbed and twisted the knife in your heart by showing Tommy was just like the rest of them.

Only thinking with his cock and only caring about himself.

You tried to leave, you packed your things and decided if he didn’t respect you enough to be as loyal to you as you were to him, then fuck him.

But then he chased you down to the train station, having repented from his sin and begging you not to leave. Begged and pleased with genuine guilt and sorrow in his inhumanly beautiful eyes and like the fool you were, you forgave him.

For a while he kept his promise. He was the man you married and never gave you cause to doubt him again.

Then May Carelton with her sad doe eyes and loads of money showed up and he fucked her.

Not only her, Lizzie too and then Grace came back and he fucked her at a party he had been promising to take you.

This time you made damn sure no one knew where you were going, with who’d you stay for good measure.

You were done with Thomas Shelby. You were done for good.

But he found you, clothes torn, head bloody and covered in graveyard dirt.

He couldn’t believe you’d take your boy and leave.

“Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me.” You said as you rejected his pleas for a third chance.

“Y/N, please. I need you.” He begged with a quiver in his voice that told he did. “They were just whores, nothing serious, you are the only one I love, the only one I need. You’re the mother of my son, you’re my wife until you die, you said it yourself.”

But the thing is, if he needed you and loved so much then why weren’t you enough?

“It’s over, Tom.” You said and turned to leave only for him to pull out his gun and aim it at his own head.

“If you get on that train, I’ll pull the trigger.” He said and you knew he meant it.

So you stayed.

Tommy lulls you into a false sense of security like last time. You have two children now, sweet little Diane had come nine months after her manipulated you into staying.

He tries to make you love him again, but it doesn’t return.

The house, the gifts, the parties and now the sapphire, weren’t enough to forget the pain he caused you.

You still let him in your bed, but only because as his wife you couldn’t belong to anyone else, not even yourself. And if you stopped fucking him, you’d know he’d take up his old habits again.

And yet, when the Russian Duchess appears the story plays out the same as before.

You don’t even try to leave, not when you know he will do anything to stop you.

Instead you give him a taste of his own medicine.

Angel Changretta sure knows how to make a woman forget Tommy, a shame Lizzie had to be hurt. Actually no, fuck her, she fucked your husband too.

Its all fun and games until Tommy tells you he killed him for daring to take what was his.

“Oh, so I am only yours, but you belong to every whore that crosses your path, honey?” you say venomously as he dares to call you out on your betrayal.

“You’re my property, y/n, don’t fucking forget that.” He seethed and locked you in your golden cage.

It’s 1929 when Tommy’s business comes crashing down, years after he managed to rid himself of the Changretta Family and after you served him his karma.

The marriage is strained to say the least. He has his whores, you have whatever man you can think of and so far the children you have with him are his.

10 years ago you loved him, now you can’t even call it love.

Its not hatred, not yet anyways.

A divorce might be nice. Linda is getting one, escaping her husband because she too didn’t know the monster she married.

You entertain the idea, get the lawyers you need, the generous alimony and enough time for the children to see him.

All you need is his signature and its all over.

You never get that signature, of course you wouldn’t.

Freedom is a dream out of your reach and hell is ruled by your fucking husband.

“You’re going to regret not leaving with her,”Polly says lighting up her cigarette. “Tommy’s not the man you married.”

I know you say as you watch him take the stage with Oswald Mosley.

And she was right.

On December 1934, your sweet Diane dies of tuberculosis because a scorned woman wanted to make you pay for staying.

Your daughter dies in your arms and he seeks comfort in the arms of Diana Mitford the night her little body is burned.

“If Michael ever did that to me, I’d kill him.” Gina says as the two of you share drinks after you fuck her in the same bed you share with your beloathed husband.

“I should shouldn’t I.” you fond yourself joining Mosley on his quest of making Thomas Shelby kill himself.

The day he plans it opens his eyes to a new him, one that wants to fix the mess he made.

Only this time, he can’t. He had his chance and he squandered it.

“Goodbye, Tom. Its over.” You say as you fire his gun into his head.

[mcflymemes]

MISCELLANEOUS SENTENCE PROMPTS *  collection #6

i'm sipping wine in a robe.

you look like hell.

i tried to warn you.

it's hard to let you go.

i can't sleep without you.

this life is still worth living.

was it good for you?

when will our eyes meet?

i threw it out the window.

i get by, but i'm tired of myself.

so many things were left unsaid.

i want to spend my life with you.

you seem very well.

i'm much too young to die.

i told you not to get lost in the wild.

you're tired of me.

in my mind, you're mine forever.

if you're leaving, i gotta know why.

come on over. i'll adore you.

put on the dress you wore the night we met.

i had to close down my mind.

they'll never understand.

i told you i could never love somebody else, but i lied.

did you ever like it then?

i will never be set free.

darkness brings evil things.

it's out of my control.

i know what it takes to move on.

they're dead wrong. i know they are.

i'm a shoulder you can cry on.

am i not the one you're dreaming of?

i told you i'd be coming back again for you, but i'm not.

every word that i say is coming straight from the heart.

there's so much love we could be making.

yeah, i'm drinking again.

don't laugh. you'll make me cry.

i've got something to say.

when can i touch you?

you smell like death.

i never thought i could act this way.

take me back to the night we met.

just wait until i catch my breath.

you can run but you can't escape.

go on, baby. hurt me tonight.

shut the door, baby. don't say a word.

i can't forget this evening.

i am coming for you.

i'm here just waiting for you.

you've got holes in your clothes.

what the hell am i supposed to do?

i had a vision tonight that the world was ending.

i would stand in line for this.

i don't even know who i was last night.

i'm not trying to be your hero.

what if the world dies with the sunrise?

just you wait and see. believe me.

anything you want. any place you want.

people love it when you lose.

i didn't have much to say.

i'm leaving this place behind.

if you ever get lonely, please let me know.

now it's only fair that i should let you know.

how i hate to see you like this.

i know how it feels to lie.

you make me feel so brand new.

i hate to bug you in the middle of dinner.

i wish nothing but the best for you both.

every time you try to fix me, i know you'll never find that missing piece.

there is no way you can deny it.

those days are through.

it's a lovely day today.

you don't want to know how far it's gone.

soon i will be free.

i can't live if living is without you.

this is not what i had planned.

all we need is a little time.

this is not the end.

put your arms around me.

things look peaceful.

you changed the game.

this was never meant to last.

i know it's crazy, but it's true.

can you feel it?

i feel brave and daring.

i had to close down everything.

i'm so in love with you.

won't you believe me?

wish i had the strength to stand.

when will this strong yearning end?

they say i won't last too long on broadway.

show me where you've been.

you were always sure of yourself.

i thought it felt right.

after last night, i think i'm in love with you.

i can't forget your face as you were leaving.

the best that you can do is fall in love.

i lost friends along the way.

there are rules.

the hardest part of ending is starting again.

when will i hold you again?

if you ever want to see my face again, i want to know.

[oddlittlestories]

So I have finished season 1 of d20 fantasy high (freshman year).

First of all I am SO sad it was so short. Like the episodes were long, I’m cool there. I’m just sad it only felt like half a season at most. Just as things were warming up it was over.

Moping aside—I LOVED IT I LOVED IT I LOVED IT

I think I’ve said before that it feels like the way I run DnD campaigns but it *does*

Brennan Lee Mulligan is 100% on the side of the players and characters. Like he’s rooting for them 100%

And as things develop it is also clear that this story is built around the characters and not the other way around

Like I totally get why people love actual plays that are Dramatic and Big and Intricate and Epic Fantasy

But I spent most of my time as a player dreaming of a game that was structured around the PCs instead of us just having to play within the DMs world. It’s what I bring as a DM and it’s so the vibe FH gives me.

And it’s improvised! Like I can tell! Brennan Lee Mulligan obviously spends an enormous amount of time planning, it’s true. But when it comes to the moment, if something else is better—he does that!

Generic characters get turned into genuine NPCs. Like. There’s no way that the halfling family were meant to be anything more than a bit part. There’s just not. They remind me at the start of that little Dutch family in the commercial about learning English—the cute, polite ones dancing to the deeply explicit song. And then the players get invested. Ask if they’re gonna make it, if they’re okay, etc etc

And Brennan’s first response has such “that’s not our story” vibes.

And then he rethinks and he brings them back to check on the kids. And at some point he either thought “ooh this is gonna be funny” or “what kind of person would actually go pick up a group of kids fighting a gang to the death in the street?” And he just amps it up to eleven. It’s great.

And that whole halfling encounter leads to the ice cream shop with the super vivid ice cream elemental character. Did Brennan have that character in his back pocket? Possibly. He could’ve developed a bunch of shops in town. But I’ll tell you that I’ve improvised characters that my players found just as memorable. And now they’re going for ice cream again so it’s gonna be A Thing

And then T-Bone, the bouncer! There is no way this character was meant to be anything other than a bit obstacle, and now he works at their school. Because it was important to the PCs. I’ve seen any number of DMs, actual play and otherwise, who shut that stuff down. “Oh no the school isn’t really appropriate.” “You don’t think this will get anywhere with Goldenhorde.” Or finding another job posting to shuttle the character off. But the players want it so the players get it.

And Brennan is constantly throwing out these little details that just beg for character empathy. T-Bone’s sick dog. How the necromancer kid loved his little rat, named himself after emancipation, and wanted so desperately for the cemetery caretaker to like him. Those throwaway lines about Johnny Spells’ gang- “how’s his home life? It’s–it’s bad!” and “yeah they all had names, and backstories [starts listing them off]”

I’ve never seen another actual play where the players and DMs have DnD bits. Where it’s like. Funny but also we’re taking it seriously.

Idk. I’m probably not describing it the best but it’s just exactly how I love to play & run games and it feels so Genuine to my experiences where most actual plays just don’t connect

Also I love love love the characters and story

[ahintofchaos]

Glory at the End

A rewrite of episode 8 of Agatha All Along. So spoiler alert for that, obviously.

Summary: Agatha has completed the Road, but where is her power? Rio comes to claim her reward, Agatha or Teen's life. One for the other. But Agatha has spent her whole life thinking she cannot be loved, that the only person she could ever be useful to is Death. And she will not be beholden to her any longer.

Or, Agatha resists Rio's bargain.

Since Marvel is cursed to create really good shows with really shitty endings, I have rewritten episode 8 of Agatha All Along so that it makes actual sense. I don't vibe with creating dynamic female characters just to kill them off in sacrifice for the single male character. Agatha deserves a chance to live, unburdened and real. So I am giving it to her.

“You’re calling me evil? I am the natural order of all things, baby. And you love me! You are a coward!”

When she calls you a coward, hit the deck. And Agatha does, just in time. A sink tears through the wall of the house and narrowly misses her. She breathes, just as a vine lashes out and slices her ankle. It’s a new fresh pain to accompany her thousand weeping cuts. There’s blood dripping down her face, into her eyes. She tries to stand, or at least crawl, but more vines whip around her, one at each wrist and another around her throat. 

Rio comes down from her perch on the roofline, slowly pacing toward Agatha, as if this was one of their old games. But there’s a frown threatening to crack her playful mask. “Why don’t you want me?” 

“I–” 

“You love me!” 

 “I don’t,” she says, mostly to herself. Then louder. “I don’t. I DON’T!” She is shouting, and Rio stills. 

“I love you,” Rio says, as though she’s pointing out the obvious.

Agatha shakes her head as far as the vine around her neck will allow. “No. You took from me. You followed me. You love the bodies, and you love my anger. Not me.” 

“I kept you company. All those years. I was by your side when no one else was.”

“Death is not good company.” 

“You don’t get good, Agatha. You get me.”

“I get good. I’ve had good.” She thinks of Lilia, fearless Lilia, and Alice and Jen. Jen, who not a moment ago had her wrapped in a bond of her own hair, taking her power back. Is that what Agatha is meant to do? Take her power back? She breathes in, out. “I am good.”

Rio shrieks in delirious laughter, tilting her face up to the clouded sky. She’s cackling, almost breathless. And then suddenly she’s quiet, thrown through the sliding glass door of the house. Lightbulbs fizz and pop, and over Agatha’s shoulder she can sense someone touching down.

Teen. Billy. Son of the Scarlet Witch. 

Agatha coughs weakly. “You look good.” 

“You don’t.” Mouthy as ever. He studies her, held against the metal yard structure. “Don’t take it all.” 

The world goes bright. It’s a feeling Agatha should be used to by now, siphoning magic. But this time is different. Lighter. Usually she is thrown up in a heady rush of electricity, but right now she feels more grounded than she’s been in years. More substantial. She closes her eyes and breathes deep, feeling magic back in every cell of her body, then opens her eyes again.

Billy is on his knees, hands shaking as he gives Agatha a steady stream of his magic. She moves slow against the overwhelming current, and finally slices her hands across her body, cutting off the drain of energy. Billy gasps for air, and she can’t help but smile. Death will not have him, not because of her. 

Rio stands just inside the threshold of the house, allowing the moment. She doesn’t care. One way or another, she’ll have her body. “Looks like you two are finally on the same page,” she calls to the pair in the yard, stepping toward them, “so I’ll let you decide. One of you stays with me, the other walks free.” 

Agatha turns to Billy. “This is futile. You can’t fight death.” She means to say more, but Billy steps away from her, closer to Rio. 

“I’ll go with you. That’s my choice, take me.” 

Rio sneers. “I don’t want you. I want her.” 

“Then why let us decide at all?” Agatha’s usual flippancy is back. She tosses her muddy matted hair as best she can and steps forward too. Rio looks anywhere but her face. 

“You should come with me.” 

“I don’t want to,” Agatha says. “I don’t want you. I don’t want to see you again.” 

“You love me!” Rio screeches. Agatha doesn’t flinch.

“I don’t. I thought I did, I thought this was all I deserved to have. A pile of bodies behind me, everywhere I go. Hundreds of witches, dead, and you to feast on them. If I was born evil, I would at least be useful.”

Rio finally met Agatha’s eyes, stretching out a hand toward her face. “And what a talented one you are. No one has served me better. No one has given me so much.” 

“I am tired of giving. I am tired of you taking. I am not beholden to you.” 

“Oh, but you used to me.” 

Billy pipes up. “Nicholas Scratch,” he says, eyes darting between the two witches. Neither turn to look at him. 

“You gave me time with him. But you were cruel.” 

“You were cruel too, witchkiller.” 

“I was afraid! I stole as much time as I could, no matter the cost. I was useful to you, I gave you bodies so you wouldn’t take his. But the moment I stumbled, you were there to take him from me.” 

Rio shrugged. “Your grief-stricken killing spree was quite the show.” 

Agatha’s blood thrummed with her newly recovered magic. Her palms itched to throw every ounce of power she had at Rio, to shove her far enough that she would never come close to her again. But it would never work. Death comes for us all. Agatha swallowed her fury and channeled it into her voice. “I will not go with you. You cannot take me. I refuse.” 

Rio cocked an eyebrow. “You refuse death?”

“It is not my time. And when my time comes, a long, long, long time from now, I will go. But right now, you cannot take me. You cannot kill me, and I will not go willingly. I am not beholden to you.” And because it feels right, she says it again. “I am not beholden to you.” 

Rio straightens. “Very well. Then I’ll have the boy.” 

Billy gulps, sputters. His eyes bore into Agatha’s, but all she does is wink at him. “Really?” she says, “You can’t kill him, and he looks pretty far from dying to me. Plus, you said it yourself that he would just find another body. Slippery, this one. I don’t think you could take him until he’s old and gray.” Her hand finds its way into his dark hair, ruffling it playfully. He ducks slightly under the attention, but doesn’t take his eyes off Rio, or the way her fingers run over her curved dagger like she’s itching to use it.

Rio’s eyes shift from Agatha to Billy and back, but Agatha’s eyes stay trained on Rio. Her former lover, the woman she convinced herself she was destined for. With all her killing and her loneliness, who else would have her? Death was the only person she could ever please. The only person who could ever want her. But that wasn’t true. Agatha had a coven now. Living and dead. Jen and Billy and Lilia and Alice. Mrs. Hart, even. Sharon or something. 

Rio’s eyes stopped. She glared at Billy as she spoke, but she addressed them both. “I will come for you eventually,” she said, her voice as dark as she could make it.

“I know,” said Agatha. “But until then, we are alive.” 

Notes: Hope you enjoyed, and stay tuned for more Agatha fics because I've got like 12 more in the chamber. Probably will be reader inserts and all based on the events of this fic, since as far as I'm concerned this is canon.