#you can claw this theory from my cold dead hands

[sableeira]

So Chuuya shooting Dazai is just a fake out death, the bullet didn’t kill Dazai immediately because he was still talking, there is no impact crater matching the bullet shot to his head so Chuuya probably gravity manipulated the bullet, this is all still part of operation “goodbye”. Got it, I can be normal again now.

[momolady]

Florenz the Vampire Bat

An arranged marriage and a regal manor where sunlight cannot come in, sounds like it could be a nightmare. But it isn't, only in theory is this a bad situation for you to be in. The bite of reality is much better.

Female Reader x Male Monster (both cis)

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From your window you can look down upon the village you once called home. At night, the windows twinkle and shine from the lights within each home. In total darkness it almost appears as if the sky has nestled upon the ground, gathering itself between the cracks and nooks of the rocky mountainside. You are supposed to be within those craggy pathways, walking yourself to the market to buy the children pears and treats for all their hard work. Instead, you are in Florescu castle with a new master.

Stepping away from the window, you let the heavy curtains fall back into place. The curtains are to always remain closed, so the castle is always in the bounds of night. You walked back towards your bed, crawling in to pull the covers up and fix the pillows back in place.

As you set things right, pillows and stuffed toys, the door opened and Ms. Nita stepped in. She saw you making the bed and she tutted like always.

“Now, now! My lady!” She came in and shooed you off the bed. “You need not be taking care of that anymore. I’m shocked you even do.” She smoothed her hand down the comforters and looked back at you with those strange wide eyes of hers’.

You looked aside with a small shrug. “I don’t mind making it.”

Ms. Nita sighed, placing her hands upon her hips as she turned towards you. “You do a fine enough job, but it’s my job you are doing. I promised our lord to take good care of you.”

A small scowl appeared on your face and Ms. Nita took hold of your chin. “I know that no girl is fond of an arranged marriage. But chin up my dear. It could be worse. There are worse houses than the Florescu house to marry into.”

You looked Ms. Nita in her slightly bulbous eyes and removed her hand. “It isn't the marriage.”

“Then what’s the sour puss look about?” Ms. Nita went over to your wardrobe and took out clothing for you.

The dress she picked was much finer than the one before. Somehow your wardrobe was a vast and endless sea of pretty dresses in delicate patterns and soft pastels. You crossed your arms along your chest, rubbing your palms along your bare skin. The castle wasn’t cold, in fact it was always perfectly warm. But you still got chills every morning when you would meet your new husband for breakfast.

“Come now. Get dressed and I’ll do your hair.” Ms. Nita was a peculiar sort of woman. She was extremely pale, short, and round. But she was a miracle worker with your hair. She was able to take the tight curls you grew and style it carefully with thought. She had been given the job of taking care of you in the castle. And while the official weddings had taken place, your new husband had other traditions e wished to follow before he considered you both completely wed.

Breakfast wasn’t held in the dining hall. Instead, you took it in your husband’s chambers. He had a large table set up before his fireplace, and Ms. Nita would serve you both then leave to let you two be alone.

That morning as you walked in, you noticed your new husband standing before the fireplace. He was wearing a bright blue robe with golden stars carefully stitched all over it.

Ms. Nita scoffed as she stepped in with the breakfast cart. “You aren’t even dressed, my lord.”

He turned from the fireplace and the robe fell from his right shoulder. The fire glowed about his dark fur, and one of his clawed hands rested upon the downy fluff of his chest. “I slept awful, Ms. Nita. How am I supposed to face my gorgeous bride when I have not had an ounce of beauty sleep-” He stopped dead when he saw you standing by the table.

He quickly lifted up his robe over his shoulder and a soft smile appeared on his face. “I am to be taken off guard apparently.”

“You didn’t sleep well, Forenz?” You asked and took your seat at the table.

Florenz’s dark eyes shifted around before he moved towards his chair. “I hope you rested well at the very least.”

Ms. Nita placed food upon the table, shaking her head slowly.

“I slept,” you answered plainly. You were keeping a cool front, but inside it felt like your soul was being ripped to shreds. Your chest was tight and your stomach was in knots.

Florenz had no clue as to how you felt. “That’s good. I am glad to hear such good news.” He smiled at Ms. Nita as she placed a solitary cup before him. Meanwhile you had small plates placed in front of you as well as a pot of tea.

Ms. Nita left the room and only the sound of the crackling fire was left.

Florenz picked up his cup and glanced inside. You picked at your food, too anxious to eat, but knowing you must perform or else he might catch on.

“I know technically it isn’t morning. At least, not from what you are used to.” Florenz murmured as he gazed into his cup. “It will get easier once you acclimate. I am sorry you have to do that too. But being what I am, I have no choice over my schedule.” He laughed then quickly shut himself up.

You looked up from your plate, seeing a yellow gleam to his eyes from the light of the fire. His bat-like appearance didn’t bother you, not like they thought it would. The village saw all sorts of creatures wandering through it. You had grown up seeing them hiding and staring from the rocks and behind trees, as well as walking along the same streets you did.

“Are you adjusting well?” Florenz asked. “I mean, I know you are used to a certain lifestyle, a certain affluence, and I am trying to provide that comfort to you.”

“What do you mean? You’re far richer than the Domitry family.” You quickly shut your mouth and cleared your throat.

Florenz nodded, looking back down into his cup. “Yes, well, even that can take some getting used to. But you’ve barely asked me for anything aside from art supplies. You don’t need to be afraid to ask me for anything.”

“I don’t need much,” you murmured.

Florenz sighed and leaned back into his chair. His robe once again fell away from his shoulder. “Don’t take this the wrong way, dear wife, but I had expected you to be much more spoiled than you are.”

You chewed slowly on a piece of meat then drank some tea to help you swallow more easily. “I suppose one would.”

Florenz chuckled. “I was not told you were an artist, mostly that you enjoyed fashion and having a large wardrobe.”

That explained one thing, you thought to yourself.

“I would have been better prepared had I been told more about you. But from what your father told me, I assumed you would be-” He hesitated and finally took a sip from his cup.

You set your cup down. “Vain? Lazy? You already said spoiled.”

Florenz looked at you surprised. “I did not want to make such harsh judgments. But I am sorry if that offends you.”

“Not really,” you shrugged.

Florenz’s eyes narrowed. “I suppose you get that a lot?”

You sighed. “I’ve thought the same things.”

“I suppose you’re trying to…distance yourself from that sort of image. Correct?” His soft smile returned. “Because I think you are doing quite well.”

“Thank you.” You really weren’t sure how to respond.

Florenz took another drink from his glass. “Do you have plans today? I suppose you’ll be going back to your art.”

“I will be. Do you have business to take care of today?” You pushed yourself away from the table and smoothed your hand down your skirt.

“Unfortunately I do. There is much to take care of before the full moon. I want to make sure once it is here I will be able to have the time to spend with you.” He stood with his glass and walked over to you. He extended his clawed hand to help you rise from your chair.

If there had to be one thing you appreciated about your new husband, it was how tall he was. Back home in the village, you took after your father, who moved to the village when he was young. Most of the village, like your mother, was on the shorter side. You often stuck out like a sore thumb. Florenz’s height was nice to stand next to.

“Not much longer now. I suppose you are nervous.” Florenz opened the door for you.

He had no idea. “A little,” you lied.

Florenz smiled and you could see the sharp fangs in his mouth. “I too get butterflies. But there is nothing to worry about. I think you and I have a beautiful future together.”

You nodded. “I hope so.”

Florenz lifted your hand and dipped down to kiss the knuckles. His tail under his robe swished back and forth. “Have a good day, my wife.”

“You as well.” You waited until the doors were closed and then you let your body sag and slouch. You clutched your chest as you walked down the hallway. Everyday you felt he was closer to figuring it out.

Once you were back in your room you sat and cried for a spell. Once it felt the weight in your chest was relieved you took deep breaths. You missed your family, you missed your home, and you were angry about being placed here.

You weren’t supposed to be here. You weren’t even the right girl.

The door opened and you turned to see Ms. Nita with a glass of water. You tried to return to your formal posture, but it felt impossible.

“I can’t keep it up,” you whispered.

Ms. Nita handed you the water. “Keep what up?”

The glass was cold in your hands, it felt nice after all the tightness and fear you held during breakfast. “I can’t tell you.”

Ms. Nita flitted about the bedroom, checking for dust while also taking out another outfit for you to wear while you worked on your artwork. “You said the marriage didn’t bother you. Then what is it? The hours? The altitude? Trust me, you will grow used to both.”

“I really can’t say.”

Ms. Nita stood and put her hands upon her round hips. “If you cannot say, then perhaps I can guess.” She pulled up another chair and sat before you. She looked you over with a very studious gaze that made you feel uneasy.

“Making your bed every morning has never settled right with me. Girls from wealthy families like yours barely know how to wipe their noses, let alone tuck a sheet properly.” her large eyes kept gliding over you. “You’re very modest for a rich girl as well. You seemed shocked by your clothing.” She folded her arms against her chest. “Are you rich?”

You bit the inside of your cheek.

“You aren’t, are you?” Ms. Nita whispered.

You looked at her with fear.

Ms. Nita sighed. “Oh dear. Oh, dear, dear, dear.” She clicked her tongue then held her jaw tight. “That foolish old mule pulled a grand switch didn’t he?. So what are you? A maid? A cook?”

“I was a governess to his younger children,” you admitted weakly. “But please. You can’t tell Master Florescu. Lord Domitry promised to give my mother money. My little sister is sick-”

Ms. Nita raised her hand. “Why did Domitry do it?”

You sniffled. “His daughter refused. She destroyed his office in a fit, and since we both looked similar he thought-” Your throat tightened up as you spoke.

She sighed. “That sounds like the real bride we were told about. Can’t say I’m surprised.” Ms. Nita stood up from her seat. “Lord Florenz deserves to know the truth of the matter.”

“No! Please!” You jumped to stand. “If he finds out, then Lord Domitry will stop providing money to my family. I won’t have a job anymore! My family relies on me.”

Ms. Nita gave you a cold look. “My master has been lied to. He’s been deceived. He was promised a bride.”

“And I am!” You exclaimed. “I am his bride. He would be happy with the one he was told, but he does have a bride as promised.”

Ms. Nita huffed. “Do you really think this would be the end of you if he found out? Domitry has made you a pawn, a victim. He used you to make a laughing stock out of Florenz. I have raised that man since he was a child. I raised his mother before him. The Florescu family is my family.” She jabbed her finger into your face.

“It guts me to think Florenz is in the dark. He’s no idiot, but he can be a fool.” She grumbled.

“I have not met a kind man with money,” you murmured.

Ms. Nita nodded. “I suppose you haven’t. Well, if Florenz is cruel, then I will deal with him.” She took your hand and patted it. “You have nothing to fear. Ms. Nita runs this estate more than young Florenz thinks.” She grabbed your hand and had you follow her back towards Florenz’s chambers.

She forced her way inside, no knock, no warning of your arrival. She strode in with confidence while you floundered behind her.

Florenz was getting dressed. He had on pants but his top half was bare. He squeaks as you both came in and he crossed his arms against his broad chest.

“Ms. Nita, what are you doing?!” He snapped.

“I have figured out a plot!” Ms. Nita raised up her arm, still clutchingyour hand.

You and Florenz looked at one another and his gaze went soft. “My dear, have you been crying?”

“Not the plot!” Ms. Nita snapped. She let go of your hand and paced around in front of Florenz. “I have discovered that Lord Domitry has played you for a fool!”

Florenz was still looked at you with concern, like he wanted to approach but his own partial nudity was making him embarrassed. “What?” he looked back down. “What was that, Ms. Nita?”

“Focus!” She snapped her fingers. “Look at her.” She waved her hands towards you. “Take her in. Think about all you know about her. I want you to think hard, Florenz. What about her stands out?”

You wait anxiously, folding your hands together and standing stiff as Florenz looks at you. His gaze is soft. Confused, but very much affectionate. His ears fold back as a shy smile appears.

“A lot of things. I’m very fond of my wife.”

Your heart isn’t sure in which direction it should go, and neither did you.

Ms. Nita scoffed. “No! She’s not a Domitry.”

Florenz’s eyes widened. He looked from you, to Ms. Nita, and back to you. “No! What? Come on now, Ms. Nita. No! Darling, what is she going on about?”

“She’s not a Domitry,” Ms. Nita repeated. “She worked for them.”

His whole body stiffened and the wings upon his back fluttered. Florenz looked at you again, eyes widened as he began to realize. “Oh,” he breathed “Oh!” He exclaimed.

Tears began to well up in your eyes.  “I’m so sorry.”

Florenz took a few steps forward, a serious look upon his face. “So it’s true? Domitry pulled a grand switch on me.”

“That’s right.”

“Well,” Florenz muttered. “That's good then!”

Tears fell down your cheeks as Florenz approached you and placed his hand upon your shoulder. “I am much happier with you. But I do still have Domitry to deal with.”

You weren’t sure what to think.

“What do you plan on doing?” Ms. Nita asked. “Both with this girl and the Domitry family?”

“She’s my wife,” Florenz corrected. “I will be her husband and protect her. As for Domitry, this marriage was supposed to end the feud between our families. But I suppose, if he wants to play me for the fool, then he will live with the consequences.” He walked across the room and pulled on his robe again to cover himself.

You watched him in awe, still barely taking in his words. Florenz handed Ms. Nita a sealed document, which she took and gave him a nod.

“Send that directly to Domitry, he will know what it means.” Florenz placed his hand upon your back, turning you towards him as Ms. Nita left the room.

You were shaking, afraid of what would happen next.

Florenz cupped his hands around her face. “What do we need to do?” He asked. “You must have family back in the village. Should we bring them here for safe keeping? Perhaps once Domitry is dealt with, they can have his house. After all, I’d like us to be alone for the full moon.”

“What?” You voice shook.

Florenz smiled on you. “I may have been fooled into marrying you, but I do not regret it. I find myself falling for you.”

You had been so terrified of your secret getting out, you had barely had a chance to think of your own feelings for him. You sniffled, falling into his arms to cry with relief.

“It’s alright, my dear. I will take care of you, no matter what.” he sat with you upon his bed, stroking your back until you calmed. You fell asleep in his arms and woke up tucked into bed.

Across the room you saw him sitting at his table, looking over a stack of documents and an open tome. His ear twitched as you moved the blankets and he turned in your direction. He stood from the table and approached you.

“I hope you rested well,” he said gently.

You rubbed your eyes. “I didn’t mean to-”

“Hush now. You’re my wife, what’s mine is yours.” He placed a soft kiss upon your forehead.

“I’m so sorry-” You tried to apologize but he tapped a claw over your lips.

“You were forced into a corner. I’m sorry I didn’t realize sooner.” He smoothed his palm up your cheek and tucked back loose curls.

“No, you don’t have anything to apologize for,” you murmured.

Florenz nodded. “Well, now that I am aware, let’s start back at the beginning.” He cupped your cheek in his palm. “I want to know you, the real you.”

You smiled brightly. “What do you want to know?”

“Your name might be nice.”

You chuckled, giving him your name.

“It’s beautiful,” he murmured. “It suits you much better.” He snuggled with you upon the bed. “Now, do you really like clothes so much?”

“Not really,” you chuckled. “As silly as it is, I like stuffed toys.”

Florenz’s fangs showed as he smiled. “That’s much more interesting.”

////

Without the constant stress of being found out lingering over your head, you’ve been able to enjoy life at the castle much better. Especially since your sister is getting the care she needs. Once he knew the story, Florenz was happy to take care of everything. Even as the full moon ceremony loomed, he worked to take care of the troubles caused by Domitry.

“It won’t be the first time a Florenz marries someone outside their station,” Florenz told you.

You looked up from your easel, having set it up beside him at his work table. “What do you mean?”

Florenz’s large ears twitched back. “Ah, well you see, My great-great-grandfather fell in love with his cook. So he turned her into a duchess. Made all sorts of stories for her, turned her into quite the gem. Then my grandfather took after him and married my grandmother who had been a practicing nun.”

“A nun?” You giggled.

“Oh yes. She had come from a more esteemed family, but after they came to ruin she came to god until grandfather stepped into the picture.” Florenz turned back to his work. "I still make donations to the convent regularly.”

You smiled softly as you continued to work on your canvas. “And now, you’re going for a governess.”

Florenz sat still with a deep look of thought upon his face. “I would describe you more as an artist than a governess. But luckily, our story has a funny twist to it like the others.” He smiled at you, trapping you in a gazefor a long moment.

You grew shy the longer he stared. You smiled,  and felt your face grow warmer. A nervous laugh then bubbled up. “What?”

“Just looking at you, my dear. I’m thinking about how lucky I am to actually like the person I am with.” His smile turned dreamy. “My parents were never fond of one another, so I always looked at my grandparents as inspiration.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” you murmured.

Floren shrugged. “Yes, well, I think it all stemmed from the fact my parents were more inclined to their own. They had me and I think that’s the last time they shared a room.”

“Oh, I see.” You said softly.

Florenz’s ears twitched again. He looked up from his work, checking on you from the corner of his eye. “Do you think you’d prefer separate rooms when the full moon is over?”

You furrowed your brow. “What do you mean?”

Florenz glanced over at his bed. “Nothing. Ignore me and my babbling.”

You set your things aside and took off your apron, draping it over your chair. You then approached Florenz and placed your hand upon his shoulder. He twitched slightly, glancing down at your hand then looking back at his work.

“Are you worried I won’t want to sleep beside you?” You leaned down closer to him, slipping your arms around his neck. “Because I’ve thought about it.”

Florenz’s body went stiff and still. “You have?”

“Have you?” You spoke close to his ear which fell flat onto his head.

He turned to look at you and shrugged. “I would be a liar if I said I hadn’t. Especially considering how nervous I am for the full moon.”

“Then tell me about it.” You hugged him from behind. “I want to know.”

Florenz tapped your arms and he began to rise from his chair. You stood aside to let him up, wondering what he was going to do.

Florenz held out his clawed hand. “I’ll show you something.”

Taking his hand, he then led you through the castle, taking you further up than you had been before. You went into one of the towers, going all the way up the spiral staircase and through the door in the ceiling. Florenz let you up first and you stood in a room where the ceiling was entirely glass. The night sky was directly above you and the nearly full moon was so close you felt you could touch it!

“This is where we will start the ceremony,” Florenz murmured. He then motioned over to a massive bed in the back of the room that was covered by sapphire blue curtains. “We will spend all night there, and in the morning we will fall asleep there.”

This bit of news stunned you. “Isn’t that dangerous for you?”

Florenz waved his hand up to the glass. “During the night, this glass is clear. But during the day it will turn dark. An old family secret,” he chuckled.

“That’s amazing.”

Florenz walked over to the bed as you marveled at the night sky. He pulled back the curtains and stared inside. “I’m nervous about…being good enough.”

You looked back him. “Good enough at what?”

Florenz’s tail twitched behind him while his ears went flat against his head. “Being a husband is one thing,” he murmured. “But being your lover is something completely different. I have studied, and I have read up on the art. But studying and doing are two completely different beasts.”

You placed your hand upon his back and he shivered all over. Glancing down at you he saw the shy little smile upon your face.

He sighed. “I do not want the full moon to go to waste.”

“I have an idea,” you stepped closer to him. “What if we…practiced?”

His ears stood up.

“Is it against the rules? Because…I’m nervous too. But I don’t want you to be terrified and worrying on the important night.”

Florenz swallowed. “I suppose it’s not entirely against the rules.” He looked down at you. “I would call myself a hands-on learner anyways.”

A few nervous butterflies fluttered around in your tummy. “Then, maybe we could just…I don’t know, maybe just try a few things tonight?”

Florenz took in a deep breath and nodded. He extended out his arms and his robe fell from around his shoulders. “If you would like to, I am more than willing.”

You began pulling at the strings of your blouse, letting it fall open enough that Florenz could see the curve of your breasts. His robe fell upon the floor and he stretched his wings out a bit. His eyes focused upon you, seeing bits of you he had yet to spy.

“Let me help you.” He reached out, helping you remove your clothing. He did well with buttons, and as your skirt fell upon the floor he took a step back from you. Moonlight shown through your blouse and he could see the shape of you through the thin fabric.

Florenz cleared his throat and sat himself down upon the bed. He rubbed his hands over the tops of his thighs. Coming up closer to him, you slowly eased down upon his lap. His arms wrapped around you, pulling you close and causing you to straddle his lap. You both shifted and laughed anxiously. Looking into one another's' eyes you grew silent again.

Florenz took the first kiss, plunging in as his hands grasped around your back. You leaned in, furthering the kiss as your hands went through the soft plumage of fur upon his broad chest. You sighed as your lips parted, and Florenz’s hands moved lower.

“Not so bad, huh?” he chuckled softly.

You shook your head. “I liked it.” You looked down at his chest, his dark fur turned pale in the center, leading a trail down his belly and into his pants. Your fingers traced the rim of his pants and Florenz shivered,

“Maybe we should…get fully naked,” you suggested with a crack to your voice. “Just to…” Your mind drifted.

“Yeah,” his voice fluttered. His hands went up under your blouse, touching bare skin. His lidded eyes glazed as he slightly pulled it up, glimpsing the bare bottom of your breasts. His hands dropped back down and he held back a smile as best he could.

“Okay, okay,” he breathed. “I can do this.” He moved you onto the bed so he could stand. He fumbled with his pants, losing grip a few times before he could get them loose. He tugged them down, keeping himself huddled over while your eyes were upon him.

You removed your blouse, sitting there naked with your arms crossed against your chest. You watched him rise up, standing his full height with his head partially hidden by the canopy. Your eyes traveled down his chest, his belly, down to the shadow against his groin.

“Dear,” he whispered.

You looked up as he knelt down to join you on the bed. You smiled to reassure him and lowered your head a bit.

“Are you cold?” He chuckled.

“A little.”

Florenz reached out, wrapping his arms around you. “Then let me warm you back up. It must be chilly without your clothes.”

You moved your arms, holding him as he held you. Two bare bodies pressed against one another. His fur was soft, and his body felt warm and strong.

“You’re so tender,” Florenz murmured. “So supple.”

Your cheeks burned. “Thank you.”

Florenz’s grip tightened around you and he buried his face into the curve of your neck. You whimpered softly as his cool breath beat upon your skin. You stroked your hand up the back of his neck and moved the other around his waist.

“Florenz,” you whispered.

He lifted his head, looking deep into your eyes. He cupped his hand around your cheek as his breathing began to even. “I was hoping this would help my nerves. But it feels as though it has only added to them.” He looked down your body with a look of lust. “Now I worry I will have no control over myself.”

You bit your lip. “How so?”

“I will turn into a beast.” His finger trailed down your neck, onto your chest, then glided between your breasts. “I will feast upon your body, and never quite satisfy my hunger for it.” His eyes flicked back to yours. “For you.”

You swallowed and remembered to breathe. “That doesn’t sound all that bad.”

“But it is. I do not know what I am capable of. Only that I now have the drive to do it.” He brushed his knuckles against your breast, eliciting a stuck breath in your chest. He laid you down upon the bed, stroking his hands down your body until he came to your thighs. He opened them with a gentle touch, moving his palms down your soft skin.

Florenz moaned to himself, licking down your supple thigh and rising back up with kisses upon it. He looked back into your eyes, staring up helplessly from the bed. His long tongue lapped over your skin again.

“Do you mind if I taste you, my dear?” He breathed.

You shook your head. “Go ahead.”

His mouth opened wide along your thigh, revealing his sharp fangs and teeth. He bit into the soft flesh, which only hurt for a moment. Then it turned into warmth and soft tingling. His mouth was pressed against you, tasting your blood as it beaded from the bite mark.

Florenz moaned, his body arching and writhing as he drank. He lifted his head from your thigh, pressing more kisses before he took another bite, much lower than the first. He moaned again, and those vibrations against you traveled up your body.

He licked his lips, letting out a shuddering breath. “Sweet is the nectar, but how is your wine?” He reached down, pulling open your plump mound to see inside. Wetness has gathered around the lips, and has given you a delicate glaze.

“You’ve become just as aroused as I have.” Florenz licked the corner of his mouth.

You shivered, watching his eyes then lookin down.

“Do you want me to touch you?” He breathed.

You swallowed again and nodded. “Yes.”

He looked into your eyes. “I didn’t hear that, my dear. Do you mind saying it again for me? Much louder this time.”

You gathered up your courage, hoping your voice didn’t break as you tried to speak. “Please touch me. I don’t know why, but your bites, they-” Your couldn’t bring yourself to say the words.

“Did you like that?” Florenz lowered down again. He kissed your breast, suckling it before trailing kisses down your belly. “I’ve never tasted anything as delicious as you.” He used his knuckles to open you, careful of his claws to not scrape your skin. His knuckle rubbed against the top of your folds. You writhed a bit, whimpering loudly at the touch.

“You appear to be quite sensitive, my dear.” Florenz sat back up and took a breath. “I appear to be getting drunk upon it.”

You swallowed again, trying to catch your breath. “It’s okay. I suggested we…that we do this.”

Florenz laughed softly. “I did not expect it to go so well. So temptingly.”

You stroked your hand down your body, making sure he saw. His eyes followed your fingers, watching them as you began to touch yourself. He focused intently while you circled around your clit, dipping your fingers inside before returning.

He spread his thighs, showing you what hung between them. His cock bobbed heavily in the shadows, a deep, dark red with purple veins. The head of it flared slightly, and the base tapered into a slight bulge at the base. He took the shaft into his hand, stroking slowly as he watched your fingers.

You then opened your arms beckoning him to come close to you.  His eyes widened, slightly glowing in the dark. He lowered himself down upon you, kissing you and embracing you as your bodies pressed together.

You stretched out your neck, letting Florenz bury his face there. Another bite and you moaned loudly, arching your back as Florenz grabbed tighter around you. Your bodies pressed tight together as he bit again. You gasped for breath, shuddering as his claws sank into your rear, angling you closer, mounting himself at the ready.

A quick pulse was all it took. A snake in your ear, a fluttering of your lids, and you and Florenz were inseparable. You stayed still, both quivering and aching for the next move, but savoring that first, sweet moment for as long as possible.

“You’re so warm,” his voice quaked. “I’ve never felt this-”

You held on tight to him, aching slightly from him being inside you. But it was a good sort of pain, just like when he bit you. “Keep going,” you urged. “It’s…it’s good.”

Florenz moved shakily, unsure at first. He took his time, finding himself a bit more confident as it felt better. The more fluid he moved, the more you felt as well. He fit snug inside you, so you were able to feel every inch of him. You closed your eyes, focusing on that pleasure as he pressed into you. He went deep, then stayed shallow, just to test what felt best.

He went still again, holding his breath.

“What is it?” You whimpered.

“I’ll come if I’m not careful,” he whispered. “I want to keep enjoying this.”

You stroked your hand down his back. “Can you only do it once in your whole life?”

“No. That’s not-” He chuckled. “I can do it many, many times.”

You smiled. “Then do it again when you are done.”

His eyes widened. “But…I thought this was just practice?”

You pulled him down close, kissing him until you felt a shudder inside. His mouth hung open, and he pulled out, releasing upon your thigh and belly. His body grew limp, and the expression on his face was more cute than erotic.

“Sorry,” he whispered. “I’ll clean that up.” He took his pants, using them to mop up his mess. He then touched your loins, seeing them swollen with arousal. “What do I need to do now?”

“Touch me.” You wriggled your hips.

He rubbed his knuckle to your clit again, gently nudging it as he watched your wetness seep down onto the sheets. His eyes lidded watching and he lowered down, kissing and licking softly. You whimpered out loudly, panting deeply as the kisses grew harder. He suckled upon you, moaning softly as your thighs closed around his head. You trembled, arching slightly then pushing him away.

You fell back, breathing hard as Florenz wiped his mouth. “Was that…good?”

You nodded, covering your head with your arms.

Florenz rolled you onto your back again and smiled down upon you. “I’m glad we practiced.”

“Me too,” you breathed. “Now…you won’t be so nervous on the full moon.”

He kissed your breasts and then your lips. “Can we practice again before then?”

You giggled. “Maybe.”

Florenz laid down beside you, wrapping his wing around you to cover you. “At least…could I taste you again?”

You smiled shyly at him. “Did I really taste good?”

“You tasted amazing.” he nuzzled into the curve of your neck again. “So warm and soft upon my tongue. Your blood was like velvet.”

You sighed dreamily as he pressed closer. “That sounds nice.”

“Because it’s yours.” He kissed your neck and then nuzzled to your hair. “Because it’s you, I want you.”

“It was…good wasn’t it?” You said shyly. “Being entwined like that felt better than I expected. I had been told my first time would be painful. But you…even your bites felt good to me. But when you were inside me…I was shocked by how much I liked it.”

Florenz smiled proudly. “It was an experience. So wet and sweet,” he breathed. “So warm and…and deep.” he swallowed. “I need to be careful.”

“Is something wrong?” You asked.

He nodded then shook his head. “I’ll be fine.” He laid back down beside you. “Now that my nerves are gone, I suppose I am a bit more excitable.”

You smiled. “I see.” Rolling over you curled up against his body. “I uhm…I wouldn’t mind if you got excited again. I mean, what else have we to do today anyways?”

“Nothing I suppose.” he gave you a soft delicate kiss. “We should be careful though. I would hate for Ms. Nita to come looking for us and find us in the middle of practicing.”

You giggled and placed your arms around him. “Then let's close the curtains.”

[bitethedevil]

I swear, I’m minutes away from pulling out a giant bulletin board and covering it in pieces of string that connect Rafael to every single event in the game. I feel like a crazy person, but I know that he basically spiderwebbed most of the plot together.



Goddamn it, anon (said lovingly). Now I feel like making my own too. Because I swear, he pops up all over the place, even just for stuff that’s not even plot relevant.

Spot the Devil: Raphael's Involvement in the plot

I’ll start out with letters and books I’ve found that made me go “hmmmm”.

Letter in the Harpy Nest (Maybe)

When you’ve saved Mirkon he mentions something about a nest nearby. If you get to it there is a ring, a journal, and a letter. The letter is what made me go “hmm”. You can read the full thing here. Basically, a guy named Edmund tells wife/girlfriend that she doesn’t have to worry about someone named Maggie Two-Fingers anymore, because he has settled a debt. To pay off said debt, he makes a deal with a cambion and becomes a warlock:

”[…] I took the deal the cambion offered. I'm not going to say I had no choice, because that would be a lie. But I don't regret it. I'm a new man. I feel strong for the first time in my life. Aside from being awoken in the middle of the night by the smell of sulphur (he likes to drop by to 'see how everything is going') I have no complaints […]”

Now, there was a journal too, but I don’t believe the two things were related, even though the journal talks about a devil too. From what I can see, the journal is an easter egg for a campaign called ‘Tomb of Annihilation’. Besides, Edmund is going to Icewind Dale and the campaign takes place in Chult.

It just makes sense to me if its Raphael. We know he hangs out near the grove because we get jumpscared by him before going to this area. It could be our boy and with how much he pops up constantly it wouldn’t surprise me.

A Pleasurable Deal (Maybe)

You can pry this theory from my cold dead hands: Raphael was involved in making this play. It stinks of him.

So, A Pleasurable Deal is an erotic play. The plot isn’t completely written out, but a cambion, who is named Carlisle in the play, is involved.

“Carlisle: Weep not, young man, though free your wife has fled,

And comfort found in comrade's arms and bed.

She licks her lips and cries his name, oh my!

And now you seek to be the apple of her eye?”

Carlisle basically helps a man named Robert get a bigger dick, or…something along those lines. The ”apple of her eye” line is just so Raphael. The whole thing is, to be honest. In the A Pleasurable Deal: The Shocking Truth, it’s revealed that the author sold her soul to make it:

“Interviewer: So .. what was your deal?

Harp: I beg your pardon?

Interviewer: In fact, this was your directorial debut, wasn't it? You couldn't even get published in the tabloid 'Baldur's Bash' before this play came out. Did you honestly trade your soul for an erotic play?

Harp: I- all right, we're done here.”

I mean, come on. This is so him. It’s right up his alley.

Devil Don’t Rhyme

This is a book you can find in the Devil’s Den. Devil Don’t Rhyme is definitely about him:

“[This is a heroic fantasy in verse form, told in the first person by a bold poet who challenges a devil (clearly modelled on Raphael) to an improvised poetry contest to win back the soul of his lover. The following couplet has been circled in red ink.]

'If the line doesn’t scan,' the devil sneers, 'you forfeit your soul and end in tears.' / 'Ha! I’ll keep my time and make my rhyme, with vim and snap and no "down came the claw" crap.'”

Which is just so fucking funny to me. He has been seething and underlining the parts that prove it’s about him.

Alright, onto actual events: Netheril

Raphael was there when Netheril fell. He told us in the Devil’s Den. He has been searching for the Crown of Karsus ever since. He saw the entirety of Karsus’s fuck-up, but didn’t manage to snatch up the Crown of Karsus itself. We do know, however, that he has other Netherese artifacts (the Archivist says so). The Regalia of Karsus were three objects and Raphael has at least one, meaning that if Raph gets the crown, he has a much bigger chance at actually controlling it and using it like it's supposed to be used. This might also be why Mephistopheles hasn't used it: he doesn't have the other artifacts to properly harness its powers.

There are also theories that he has been skulking about and trying to find it after. There’s a really well written theory by @firlionemoontav that connects him to Lenore from the Arcane Tower in the Underdark. He has left no stone unturned.

Orpheus and Vlaakith

I learned about this from an amazing theory post made by @certifieddilfenjoyer

When you go to the Astral Plane, near Orpheus, there is this Githyanki slate that you can find. It depicts Vlaakith making a deal with a Devil, “his face twisted with wry charm”, for the Astral prism. Yeah, Orpheus’ imprisonment? Raphael helped with that. He even taunts Orpheus while he waits for us to approach him and says something about him looking good in chains or something along those lines (kinky old man yaoi).

And honestly, it makes perfect sense as to why he has the hammer then. The hammer has multiple purposes, but in About Creation of the Orphic Hammer he mentions it as “insurance policy”:

“The Hammer is not a weapon, it is an insurance policy. Its function is specific, but its utility is boundless. No chains forged by infernal hand can withstand its power, for its core is a metalifferous compound combining the purest of essence of all Nine hells. If I should ever need to liberate the prisoners held in the Iron City of Dis, to shatter the vaults of Nargus, or even to free the child of Gith, my hammer will be equal to the task.”

Makes good sense because what he has done with the Astral Prism is a pretty big deal and hard to undo otherwise.

Moonrise Towers, the Gauntlet of Shar and Astarion

So, Raphael makes a deal with the architect of Moonrise Towers, who you also see wandering around the House of Hope. The architect gives up his soul in exchange for Raphael ending Ketheric’s army.

To do that, he sends Yurgir who is tasked with killing every last justiciar. Raphael then makes a deal with one of the justiciars who he then turns into a bunch of rats so that Yurgir can’t fulfill his contract.

We then help Yurgir or kill him, and Raphael helps us with Astarion’s scars. (This is just me theorizing from here) I find it kind of interesting that Raphael seems to know so much about Astarion. You get the feeling that he has obviously done his research on all of the companions, but with Astarion he makes that nasty “you’ve kept your clothes on this entire time? How unlike you” comment. Astarion would be such an easy target to go after, which makes me believe that Raph definitely knew beforehand about Astarion AND Mephistopheles’ deal with Cazador, but he hasn’t been able to pettily do something about it before the things that happen in BG3. But he has kept an eye on it. He can’t be seen defying his father like that directly, after all. I just find it hard to believe that Raph wouldn't jump at the business opportunity of 7000 desperate vampires hiding in Baldur's Gate. Like he definitely knows.

Gortash

Raphael bought Gortash from his parents when he was a kid, and Gortash eventually got out. It’s quite possible that Gortash only knew about the Crown of Karsus because of Raphael. He even went through Raphael’s house to steal the crown (and probably took a portal from there to Cania).

Might also be the only reason that he would ever make a deal with Zariel. He knows the Hells and how they work. In a way its even more of a “fuck you” that he goes to Zariel because she is far above Raphael as she is the Archdevil of Avernus (and thus she is sort of Raph’s boss). We also don't know what Gortash gets in return for handing Karlach to Zariel. It's speculated that it has something to do with the construction of the Steel Watch, but it wouldn't surprise me if peace from Raphael was a part of it too.

A world without Raphael

So, basically: had Raphael not been there, Orpheus would be free and a whole people would have had very different lives under someone else than the Vlaakiths, because Orpheus would have rebelled and told everyone what she did to Gith (his mother). We wouldn’t have had the Astral Prism to protect us, but on the other hand, we might not even have had the whole tadpole business to deal with anyway if Gortash didn’t know where the Crown of Karsus was. The whole thing could literally have been avoided.

(Thank you for the ask <3)

[hamlets-ak]

rainy day ༊*·˚

m.list ◦ askbox

synopsis: it’s a rainy day and you are bored, so you decide to watch a movie with your kids

It was a rainy day; the world blurred. A dusty sky with its veiled hush was covering like a blanket the already dead calm.

Your stare was fixed at the window, watching droplets drip down, as young winds whispered at the glass surface. A huge smokey shadow covered the buildings around, deepening their color, while showering the trees at the glistering road, pattering sharply on their leaves.

No one had warned you about the sudden change of weather in the middle of summer.

It was one of those days, calendars blank and empty and telephones off. You could go nowhere because of the weather and you could do nothing but keep watching this otherworldly winter unravelling in front of you.

Earlier Timothée was so bored that he asked you to cut his hair - just a little - and you made him cut yours back. And now you both sat at the kitchen table, eating some leftover spaghetti while discussing your upcoming vacation.

It was mysteriously cold, so cold that Timothée took off his sweater and offered it to you. Wet hair was pinching your neck and hands were deeply buried in the sleeves, trapped between dark blue knots. You were both so tired and bored, eyes almost closing. The only light that entered the room was these faint altered rays, lining the furniture and making shadows jump up and down.

Flip-flops clapping against the floor broke the hypnotizing atmosphere. Before your eyes even turned to the door, you both knew that those little steps belonged to your daughter, Irene. She was always running, as if someone was chasing her.

« Baby ! », Timothée called her in a melodious tone. He pressed his lips into a grin when she popped at the door.

« Hello ! », you opened your mouth into a surprised smile.

« I’m bored ! », she whined desperately.

« Bored ? », he asked, like he just heard the craziest conspiracy theory, and stood up from his chair to open the lights.

The room burst with blinding rays, so blinding that you had to squint your eyes. 

« Yeah, » she pouted her mouth and raised her hands in Tim’s direction. He took her in his arms, letting her claw tight onto his chest, fingers slowly drifting on the back of his neck and fumbling on the silver chain that hung around him.

« What do you wanna do ? », he whispered in her ear, his lips brushing on her shoulder.

« I don’t know, » Irene mumbled.

You couldn’t restrain your smile, and even though you didn’t participate in that sweet father-daughter moment, you felt your heart steeping pure happiness. And suddenly, you were alive, and awake, and full of energy. The same spark that appeared in your eyes, you could see it in Timothée’s as well. It was magical how your kids could change your entire mood by just appearing in a room and whining about being bored.

« You don’t know ? », Tim asked softly, pulling some roots of hair behind her ears. « We can do something all together. Mom and I are bored too. »

« Ren, where is your brother ? », you asked then. She slightly raised her eyes at you and shrugged.

« Don’t know, » she mumbled with her sweet childish voice and then breathed out heavily. « I’m bored ! » Tim let her sit on the kitchen counter as he moved to make some coffee. « Mom, I’m bored ! »

« Okay, what do you want to do ? We could play a board game, all four of us. »

« We always play board games when it’s raining, » she pouted her lips again, arms hugging herself and feet kicking the air. « And Marc always wins... »

« What are you all doing here ? »

« There he is, my sweet boy ! », Timothée turned his head back.

« Hi, » eyes scanned all of you.

« Come here, love, » you opened your arms. Marc walked closer leaning his back on the table beside you. He looked at you for a while before speaking.

« It’s nice, » he said, his fingers moving to your hair. « Did you cut it ? »

« Yes, daddy helped me cut it. It’s nice, isn’t it ?», you smiled and planted a kiss on his skin. You heard Timothée chuckle in the background as Irene gasped, rushing to get back down at her feet.

« Hey, careful there, » Tim said. She ran to you and started touching your hair, twirling pieces and playing with them. Gradually she took a seat in your lap and you brought her closer until her head nestled on your chest just like when she was a baby. Your hand pulled your boy close into a tight hug and your mouth touched his forehead.

« Ah mom ! », he groaned trying to set himself free.

« Oh, don’t play it so tough, I know you love hugs, » you kissed him again all over the face, laughing at his failed attempts to free himself before he actually managed to escape.

« I don’t need hugs ! », Marc groaned.

« You don’t ? », you ruffled his hair. « Dad cut his hair too, you know. » They both turned to him.

« Dad, dad, can I see ? », Irene asked excitedly.

« It’s just the edges, baby. Nothing noticeable, » Tim answered to Irene, pulling his hair back.

« I want to cut my hair too ! Dad, will you cut my hair ? »

« There’s no way I’m cutting your hair, » Timothée replied with no hesitation. « If you want to, we can call the hairdresser tomorrow and... »

« But you cut mom’s, why not mine ? »

« Isn’t it better if we go to a professional ? », he asked her, walking closer to you. « I don’t want to accidentally ruin your hair. »

« But mom’s hair is not ruined ! You’ll be careful. »

« Will you stop being such a baby ? », Marc popped up but she just stuck her tongue out at him and he imitated her move.

« Hey, hey, hey, guys, » you entered. « Be nice to each other. Come on, you are brother and sister. » They breathed out at your words and rolled their eyes. « So, » you clapped your hands together, trying to change the subject. « What are we going to do ? »

« We could watch a movie, » Tim suggested, slithering his arms around Marc’s shoulders.

« Yes ! », Marc looked up at him eyes wide.

« Yes ! Puss in Boots ! »

« No ! Not again ! »

« Okay, why don’t you go to the living room to pick a movie as I cut you some fruit ? », you let Irene to the ground.

« Okay ! », she kissed your cheek before storming out. « First one that goes to the living room picks the movie ! »

« Hey ! That’s not fair ! », Marc yelled following his sister’s steps. « Dad she cheated ! »

You glanced at Timothée as you stood up, his eyes still fixed on the door even when they disappeared, hoping for a small head to pop again and run in your arms.

« I love them so much but they’re crazy, » his words made you chuckle. He grinned, his stare following you as you moved to the counter to get some fruits. Tim helped you, getting the plates from the upper cupboards. « I feel a little guilty. Do you think I should’ve cut their hair ? Irene does need a haircut. Her hair is way too long. »

« No Timothée, you can’t always do what they want, » you replied focused on your work. « They literally have you wrapped around their little fingers. »

« Come on, » he leaned against the counter. You gave him a look that made him laugh. « Maybe just a little. » His fingers moved to your hair. « Your hair is still wet. » You touched his head, hand sliding down to his cheek.

« Yours too. » He grinned, stare fixed on you, watching your every move. Even if you felt his eyes you tried to ignore them.

« You need help ? », Tim asked then, coming closer, standing right next to you.

« No, love, » you replied. His arms circled around your body as he pressed his lips on your cheek. You giggled at the ticklish feeling of his cold fingers running under your sweater and around your stomach, causing small spasms in your waist. « I’m holding a knife ! »

« Then put the knife down and kiss me ! », he pinched your skin.

« Ah ! Okay ! Okay ! », you let it fall down.

You turned to him and cupped his face, bringing him down until his hair touched your forehead and his lips lingered close to yours. He tilted his head to the side, a sweet smile marked on his mouth. And with eyes closed, he kissed you softly and settling. When you separated you held his cheeks squeezed, and sprinkled kisses all around his face, making him let out the prettiest giggle.

« Why don’t you go and check on the kids ? », you asked.

« You don’t need help ? », he asked.

« No. »

« No ? You sure ? »

« Yeah, just take the coffee, please. »

Timothée stared at you for a few moments smiling fondly like he wanted to tell you something.

« Okay, » he pecked your cheek one last time, stroking your back on his way out.

« Found a movie ? » They both mumbled something in response, laying on the couch in front of the TV remote. « Irene, baby, turn your head, » Tim said. She listened, even though she was too focused on watching Marc changing the movies. He set her curls free and while balancing the scrunchie in between his teeth, he pulled them up high, out of her face.

« Not that one ! », passionately her voice echoed.

« Mars ? », he asked then.

Timothée loved your kids. He loved watching them, spending time with them, taking care of them. And the more they grew, the more he loved them. That’s why he couldn’t stand the view of his boy having both hands under his t-shirt, hugging his shoulders.

« Mmm... »

« Are you cold, baby ? »

« Just a little. »

« Want me to bring you a sweater ? »

« Yes, please. »

« Ren ? »

« I’m not cold. »

« Alright, » he lightly laughed, thinking how funny it must have looked that he just couldn’t sit for two seconds without having to stand up again.

A few moments later, you walked inside, taking a seat next to your kids.

« You picked a movie ? », you asked, leaving the plates on top of the table.

« Marc, Marc, Marc, Marc... », Irene held his arm and pointed at the TV.

« Ohh, there’s a new Spider-Verse movie ! », he looked at his sister. They both burst into giggles of excitement. You grinned at their reaction.

« We haven’t seen the first one, will we understand anything ? », you asked.

« Of course, mom, it’s Spider-Man ! », Irene said. « Don’t you know Spider-Man ? »

« Mom, I love this movie ! », Marc added. « We have to watch it. »

« Here I am, » you turned your head, watching Timothée stride towards you. You smiled. « What are we watching ? »

« Across the Spider-Verse. »

« Ooh, I’ve heard very good things about the movie. Let’s watch it, » he said before turning to Marc. « Hands up. » The boy raised his arms and Tim passed the sweater over his head. « Here’s the other arm, dummy. » He rubbed his knuckles against his head.

« Ah ! », Marc let out a painful groan with hair laying messily all around him. Timothée laughed and grabbed his head with both hands pressing a kiss on top of it and leaving a ‘mwah’ sound. He then got his feet on top of him, letting Marc lay on the couch more comfortably.

« Mom, can you hug me ? », Irene asked. You grinned and quickly opened your arms for her to tilt her head on your shoulder.

« Okay, let’s watch. »

[arislore]

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆.˚જ⁀➴ You Take My Breath Away

this is an angst(?) blurb based off the kas!eddie theory if it were to happen in my au that i have yet to write about. peace and love. not proofread or beta read. 499 words.

This movie night was going to be the death of you.

Yeah, it was nice that Nancy invited you over, but you only said yes because you knew she would worry, and when Nancy worries, she smothers. But now you were cold, and all the blankets were in the wash. The popcorn is burnt and the candy melted into one giant ball. And, on top of all that, the VHS player wasn’t working.

“Just the TV on the side,” She said, as if it were that easy.

That was a half an hour ago. Nancy decided to start baking snacks to make up for the candy a little while after. You were kneeling in front of the TV, cursing under your breath every time something happened.

The doorbell rang. You hoped that she called for a pizza delivery, because you were not in the mood to deal with nosy neighbors.

“Can you get that?” Nancy called from the kitchen.

You stood up from your position in front of the TV, walking towards the door and opening it. You gasp, your hand flying over your mouth.

You jog up to the meeting place, counting four people instead of five.

“Max, Lucas, and Erica are in the hospital,” You tell them. “It’s bad.”

“Well, we should go then,” Steve said.

“Hold on… where’s Eddie?” You ask Dustin, your head on a swivel. “Is he okay?”

He looks at you, letting out a soft sob.

“Dustin…” Your hands ball in and out of fists, your breath quickening. “Where is he?”

“He’s gone.”

“Wh…” You pause, your eyebrows furrowing. “How?”

He steps toward you, silent. You return the favor, eyes widening as his fingers wrap around your throat. You cough, clawing at his hand.

“Stop!” You scream, but it comes out more like a whisper.

It’s me! It’s me! I love you, stop!

You felt his skin begin to build up under your fingernails as you clawed at his hand, his wrist, his arm–anything you could grab. His head tilted to the side as his grip tightened around your throat.

“Ed–” You choked, your eyes rolling back.

He lifted you by the neck, your legs kicking wildly.

“Who was it?” Nancy called.

Your foot hit the door, sending it flying into the hall table behind it. Nancy called your name, her voice frantic. You didn’t–couldn’t answer.

The sound of feet running past you and up the stairs barely registered as he lifted you higher, walking into the house another couple steps. Tears streamed down your face, into the crevices of his fingers and your neck.

BANG. BANG. BANG.

You crumpled to the floor, gasping for air. You brushed your hands around your neck, sobbing as you stared at the lifeless body in front of you.

“What the fuck just happened?” Nancy asked, squatting down next to you and putting a hand on your shoulder.

You jumped at the contact, turning to look at her with wide eyes.

“My dead boyfriend just tried to fucking kill me.”

[blood-orange-juice]

Pushing my "Childe is inspired by Uther Doul" agenda.

I wrote about how everything that he does contains a contradiction and we discussed with Cricket how Canotila's quest implies that the Abyss might not be just a place with monsters and dead forgotten gods, but rather a place where things randomly flicker in and out of existence or change to random other things.

And a huge part of my fascination with Childe is how three years after the start of the story I still can't figure him out. Human psyche doesn't bend at this angles, his combination of traits is not supposed to exist in one person (nor it can be imitated).

Yet, somehow it doesn't feel like ooc or bad writing, I have a very clear sense of what would be childelike and unchildelike, it just doesn't feel like anything that can exist inside a human brain, unless I resort to a very weird theory.

*

The theory.

China Mieville's "The Scar" has a concept called "possibility mining", certain places and certain magic/technology being able to conjure all the possible versions of a person or an object at once. It can be navigated to some extent.

There's a character called Uther Doul, a warrior-scholar, the pirate city rulers' bodyguard and overall a charming fellow. He's consistently described as someone changing the direction of his actions too quickly and unpredictably or having traits that shouldn't coexist in one person.

(he also wears grey, is proficient in most kinds of weapons and is generally polite and soft spoken. do you see my vision?)

First meeting:

  “Surrender,” he said quietly to the man before him, who looked up in terror and sobbed, fumbled idiotically for his knife.    The grey-clad man spun instantly in the air, his arms and legs bent. He twirled as if he were dancing and stamped out quickly, the bottom of his foot slamming into the fallen man’s face and smashing him back. The sailor sprawled, bleeding, unconscious or dead. As the man in grey landed he was instantly still. It was as if he had not moved.

A fight at a city arena (mostly quoting this for the reaction of other people to him):

It was only when the frenzy spread to her own boat that she realized it was a word. “Doul.” It came from all around her. “Doul, Doul, Doul.” A name. “What are they saying?” she hissed to Silas. “They’re calling for someone,” he said, his eyes scanning the surrounds. “They want a display. They’re demanding a fight from Uther Doul.” He gave her a quick, cold smile. “You’ll recognize him,” he said. “You’ll know him when you see him.” [...] Uther Doul did not seem to live in the same time as anyone else. He seemed like some visitor to a world much more gross and sluggish than his own. Despite the bulk of his body, he moved with such speed that even gravity seemed to operate more quickly for him.

The heroine contemplating after (I don't think need to comment):

They left and walked the winding nightlit pathways of Thee-And-Thine toward Shaddler, and Garwater and the Chromolith. Neither spoke. At the end of Doul’s fight, Bellis had seen something that had brought her up short and made her afraid. As he had turned, his hands clawed, his chest taut and heaving, she had seen his face. It was stretched tight, every muscle straining, into a glare of feral savagery unlike anything she had ever seen on a human being. Then a second later, with his bout won, he had turned to acknowledge the crowd and had looked once more like a contemplative priest. Bellis could imagine some fatuous warrior code, some mysticism that abstracted the violence of combat and allowed one to fight like a holy man. And equally she could imagine tapping into savagery, letting atavistic viciousness take over in a berserker fugue. But Doul’s combination stunned her. She thought of it later, as she lay in her bed, listening to light rain. He had readied and recovered himself like a monk, fought like a machine, and seemed to feel it like a predatory beast. That tension frightened her, much more than the combat skills he had shown. Those could be learned.

Uther explaining lore:

   Uther quoted something like a singer. “ ‘We have scarred this mild world with prospects, wounded it massively, broken it, made our mark on its most remote land and stretching for thousands of leagues across its sea. And what we break we may reshape, and that which fails might still succeed. We have found rich deposits of chance, and we will dig them out.’    “They meant all that literally,” he said. “It wasn’t an abstract crow of triumph. They had scarred, they had broken the world. And, in doing so, they set free forces that they were able to tap. Forces that allowed them to reshape things, to fail and succeed simultaneously-because they mined for possibilities. A cataclysm like that, shattering a world, the rupture left behind: it opens up a rich seam of potentialities.    “And they knew how to pick at the might-have-beens and pull out the best of them, use them to shape the world. For every action, there’s an infinity of outcomes. Countless trillions are possible, many milliards are likely, millions might be considered probable, several occur as possibilities to us as observers-and one comes true.    “But the Ghosthead knew how to tap some of those that might have been. To give them a kind of life. To use them, to push them into the reality that in its very existence denied theirs, which is defined by what happened and by the denial of what did not. Tapped by possibility machines, outcomes that didn’t quite make it to actuality were boosted, and made real.

Fun detail: he also wields what's called a "possible sword", it takes the shape currently preferred by the owner.

If I recall that correctly, it's never actually stated explicitly or explained why does Uther have such a weird combination of traits and fans argue a lot about which side was real.

I think all of them were. He just switched constantly between all the different versions of himself. And I think so does Childe. Not just in "he compartmentalizes" way (although that probably too) but in reality-shifting way.

I also think that's the real reason why Childe wasn't in Sumeru. His thought process itself is probably a massive spoiler. Also Nahida would have probably speedrun a corruption arc with a pace inconceivable both to King Deshret and Rukkhadevata if she tried to peek into his head.

*

It gets weirder and even more fun when you see the drops from the 4.2 boss, but I'll wait for the patch to drop to draw parallels. For now I'll just say that it involves a whale and a music instrument.

[timelorddarthswagger]

@theblackknightofworcestershire

" At first I thought he’d been shot, then I realized he was praying. “Tehlu shelter me from iron and anger,” he murmured softly. “Tehlu keep me safe from demons in the night.”

( why would you need shelter from iron and anger? well, from the story Tehlu hit them with the hammer to drive the wickedness from them when they crossed to his side so they were sheltered in iron and anger might also be a way to remove glamor but also since we know iron only has such an effect on the fae. we've seen something in the story that could possess bodies but Bast mentions how it seemed kind of dumb so maybe it was injured.)

"Marten still lay praying on the bank.

“Tehlu who the fire could not kill, watch over me in fire.”

(it's clear what this is a reference to but tehlu also had wings of fire. but it's the next part that throws me)

"but his arrows were scattered, and he took up his litany again as he searched the muddy bank for one. “Tehlu who held Encanis to the wheel, watch over me in darkness.”

(why in darkness but I suppose that could mean unseen)

Tehlu, whose eyes are true,

Watch over me."

"leader paused and

cocked his head. He held himself perfectly still as if listening to something. Marten continued praying: Tehlu, son of yourself,

Watch over me.

Their leader looked quickly to the left and right, as if he had heard something that disturbed him. He cocked his head again. “He can hear you!” I shouted madly at Marten.

“Shoot! He’s getting them ready to do something!”

Marten took aim at the tree in the center of the camp. Wind buffeted him as he continued to pray.

Tehlu who was Menda who you

were.

Watch over me in Menda’s name, In Perial’s name

In Ordal’s name

In Andan’s name

Watch over me.

Their leader turned his head as if to search the sky for something."

also I noticed something when looking back over this section.

" I fell out of the Heart of Stone and let the pieces of my mind slide back together, reeling a bit in confusion.

Chill, wet, and dizzy, I clawed my way back to the top of the ridgeline. The rain felt cold as sleet on my skin.

I saw only one bowman.

Unfortunately, he had kept his wits about him, and as soon as my face appeared over the top of the ridge, he drew and let fly in a smooth motion.

A gust of wind saved me. His arrow

struck harsh yellow sparks from a stone outcrop not two feet from my head.

" I kicked at him. “Get up here damn you, or we’re all dead.” He paused in his praying and looked up. I shouted something incomprehensible and

leaned over to drag him upward by the scruff of his shirt. I shook him hard and thrust his bow at him with my other hand, not knowing how it had come to be there.

Lightning flashed again and showed me what he saw. My hands and arms were covered with the sentry’s blood.

The pelting rain made it streak and run, but hadn’t washed it away. It looked black in the brief, glaring light.

Marten took his bow numbly.

“Shoot

the tree,” I shouted over the thunder.

He looked at me as if I had gone mad.

“Shoot it!”

Something in my expression must

have convinced him,

( my theory is that Kvothe was unconsciously using the name of the wind. the blood on his arms and how he says it must have been something in his expression. But as Denna Has mentioned Kvothe's eyes change. and the only other person in the series that we've seen with changing eyes was Bast. )

"Then he went a little

crazy. He ... No. All I’ll say is this. I think he called the lighting down. Like God himself.”

Like Taborlin the Great, I thought.

And smiled. And slept.

(To Martin Kvothe could have looked like a young Amyr. and while Martin Compares Kvothe to god himself. Kvothe compares himself to Taborlin ) I didn't feel like putting all of this in the notes.

King killer chronicles theory.

We've already been shown how to kill the leader of the seven.

A man who's face is hidden in shadow. And we've seen how to cut shadow when Kvothes Shadow cloak was made. And she used moon light to do it.

That's why the songs say to fear a night with no moon.

It's not just that the moon is more in the fae world then the mortal one.

That's why his former friend and ally bound his face in shadow. Now it's not his name that needs to be known. Because once you know the name of shadow you can bar his path. Make it so he can't escape and so that tehlu and his angels can imprison him again or cut him down.

Brought to you by 2am thoughts!

[ikaroux]

I promised you... Xiao, part 2

Synopsis: Even death could not separate you.

You were now at his side in another form. He had found the happiness of life and a new goal: to make you human again.

Style: Part 2, angts, love, romance

Alert: None.

Characters: Xiao.

Coming soon: Venti, Albedo, Kazuha, Childe, Razor, Ganyu, Scaramouche.

Note: (SPOIL) For Xiao, I went with a theory I had after watching the Genshin Impact trailer again. I am sure that the city we see destroyed in it is not Khaenri'ah but Mondstadt. Moreover, our brother/sister tells us during the archon's quest that she already finished her journey, but whether it's Venti, Zhongli or Baal, none of them seems to know her/him, which is quite surprising...

The continuation of Venti is being written...

Masterlist

I promise you. Part 1

Apocalyptic landscapes flashed before Xiao's eyes.

Teyvat was burning.

Cities all over the world were collapsing in on themselves.

Screams and cries pierced the ears of the stunned Yaksha.

When he looked up at the ash-covered sky, he noticed that someone was floating there.

A woman with long white hair, the one from whom escaped the titanic power that had destroyed the world he so cherished.

Above her, Celestia stood proudly.

Cold and ruthless.

Xiao felt his body tremble and when he raised his hands to his face, he noticed that they were covered in blood.

His blood.

He collapsed to the ground, suddenly drained of all his strength.

He was gradually losing consciousness.

The shadow of death hung over him.

He could barely make out the blonde-haired girl who was running towards him, desperate and afraid.

Strange and familiar at the same time. She looked like him.

Aether.

His last thoughts were of you.

You were dead. Long gone from him now.

Tears welled up in his eyes as he whispered your name.

"y/n... y/n... I hope so... to find you in death..."

An unfamiliar voice interrupted his musings. Was it a woman's? A man perhaps?

"I can help you... Find the god of time... Alatus."

Xia...

Xiao stirred in his nightmarish sleep.

Xiao...

The images of his dream were still vivid in his mind.

Wake up Xiao.

Xiao abruptly opened his eyes. He was sweating and a stabbing pain was shooting through his head. Above him was the worried face of a small kitten that purred as the follower woke up. Xiao raised a trembling hand to the feline, which went to meet his palm with love. Xiao, whose breathing had been jerky just moments earlier, was slowly returning to a normal rhythm.

"Did I wake you up y/n?" - You abandoned his hand to come and rub against his cheek.

"No." - You were deliberately lying, and he knew it by the intonation of your voice. - "You were moaning in your sleep. I was worried. A nightmare?" - Xiao sighed, more exhausted than ever. Had he really slept?

"That was strange... I've never had that dream before. Teyvat was on fire and blood, destroyed by a deity that is completely unknown to me. It looked like... Aether's description of her when he was looking for his sister in Liyue. His sister... I think I saw him in my dream." - Xiao breathed again, his hand coming to cuddle your body gently. "I was dying. I was thinking about you, wanting to join you in death. But then there was this voice that called to me. I don't know who it belonged to, I don't even know if it was a man's or a woman's. She wanted me to find the god of time."

"The god of time?" - Did you repeat, curious.

"An ancient being and forgotten by mortals. There was a time when he stood by the side of... Barbatos."

Xiao took you in his arms and slowly stood up from the roof where he was previously lying.

The city he had seen in his dream was Mondstadt.

His eyes became lost in contemplating the landscape beyond Liyue.

Mondstadt.

The land blessed by the archon anemo.

"Xiao?" - Concerned, you gently dug your claws into the skin of his hand, careful not to hurt him. His eyes returned to you, a glimmer of hope making his gaze shine.

"The god of time... Thanks to him, I could... save you... I need to find Barbatos." - Xiao jumped off the roof to land on the balcony of the Wangshu Inn. He gently placed you on the bed before heading out.

"Wait Xiao!" - He stopped in his tracks and turned sharply, alarmed by the distress in your voice. - "Don't leave me here alone. We promised each other we wouldn't split up again. Please... I won't get in your way." - The Yaksha's heart was beating fast. He didn't know what to do. Taking you away was a real danger for you, but leaving you here, alone and unprotected for perhaps days was just as risky. He clicked his tongue against his palate. He didn't have to think so hard, keeping you close was a no-brainer. He walked over to the bed, crouching down in front of you to get to your level.

"y/n, if I take you, you have to promise me that no matter what happens, no matter what happens, you will do what I ask you to do. If I tell you to run, you run. If I tell you to hide, then you hide. Promise me that." - Your ears had lowered, exposing to his eyes the fear that was taking control over you.

"I promise." - Xiao smiled at you, his hand coming to slide down your back before lifting you up by your stomach. He pulled you closer to his lips to place a pleasant kiss on the tip of your muzzle.

"Stay on my shoulder. If any monsters ever attack us on the way, you'll need to get as far away from me as possible, I don't want to hurt you." - You purred against his ear.

"Where are we going?" - Xiao opened the door to his room.

"Mondstadt."

Mondstadt

The streets of the city were empty of its inhabitants, all already comfortably settled in their homes before nightfall. Only a few of them were still wandering the city's alleys, their steps unsteady and their eyes clouded with alcohol.

Xiao walked slowly, looking for the divine presence of the archon anemo. Those he passed stared at him with undisguised curiosity. Xiao stood out in the streets of Mondstadt. His eyes, his looks, his attitude, even his walk commanded the respect of the people still standing to notice him. Anyone could have said that Xiao was not human.

You both ended up in front of a tavern.

Angel's Share.

From outside, you could hear laughter and singing coming through the walls of the building. Xiao breathed in before deciding to push open the wooden doors of the tavern.

The room was full and... incredibly loud. There were civilians, but also knights and bards who were setting the mood over a few glasses of wine. Xiao took a step, examining each face he passed with his eyes.

"If it's for drinking, young man, minors are not allowed to buy alcohol." - Xiao's piercing eyes planted themselves in the bartender's. A dark-haired man with chestnut eyes and a beard was busy cleaning up the dirty glasses he had picked up earlier in the evening.

"Tsk. You don't know who you're talking to, mortal." - The man stopped his movements and raised an eyebrow at Xiao's insolence.

"Xiao... don't look for trouble. The people of Mondstadt, like most humans, don't know who you are!" - You whispered in his ear.

"Charles! This boy is my friend, let him join me." - interposed a young man covered in a beret and an emerald-colored cape.

"You, I'm only tolerating you because the boss asked me to."

"Eeeh~ Come on! I'll thank you with a song."

"Pay your bard bill, if you want to thank me." - The young man laughed before grabbing Xiao's arm to drag him upstairs. Once upstairs, he invited you to sit on the chair of a table ideally placed away from curious eyes.

"Well. I think it's safe to say I've never had the pleasure of welcoming the vigilant Yaksha to my grounds."

"Barbatos..." - The archon anemo's smile was almost childlike.

"What brings you here friend?" - Before you could open your mouth, Xiao unhooked you from his back behind which you were hidden. At the sight of you, the archon jumped out of his chair in fear.

"Iiik! Get that creature away from me!" - Xiao raised an eyebrow, bewildered. Nevertheless, he placed you on his lap, ignoring the god's comment. After a few seconds, during which your gazes remained fixed on each other, Barbatos breathed with relief before sitting back down apprehensively in front of Xiao, who watched him curiously. - "I'm allergic to cats. Except yours apparently... On closer inspection... um~ it's not an ordinary cat, is it?" - Xiao looked down at you.

"No, you're right Barbatos... She - sigh - She was human once." - Leaning on the wooden surface of the table, Barbatos rested his chin in the hollow of his palms, listening carefully to the Yaksha.

"What happened to her?" - Xiao stroked your fur, his eyes darkening at the painful memories that resurfaced.

"y/n loved to explore ancient ruins and observe plants. She was studying the remains of an ancient temple when the ground suddenly opened up beneath her feet. She died instantly. She... didn't have time to suffer..." - Xiao's voice trembled at the growing emotion raging inside him. He didn't dare to look away from you, tears stinging his eyes. Xiao rarely cried, but since your death, his emotions often overflowed against his will. The memories of your damaged and lifeless body had haunted him for a long time. So, to calm him down, you sat up on your hind legs to rub against his face.

"It's all right, Xiao. You're right, I didn't feel anything. It's not your fault. Please don't cry." - Xiao lifted you up to give you a hug.

"We promised to stay together. I guess it was that promise that bound him to me..." - Xiao finally looked up at Barbatos, who was looking at both of you with compassion.

"Fate can sometimes be cruel... If I may correct you my friend, it is not your promise that binds you to each other, it is your feelings. They are powerful and intense." - The archon's words were soft and sincere. - Now that I understand your situation better, I would like to know what brought you to me. Why me and not Morax?" - Xiao closed his eyes briefly, vaguely revisiting images of your smile before his mind was once again plagued with nightmarish visions.

"I had a dream the other night. Mondstadt was being engulfed in flames and darkness. Celestia seemed intent on destroying mortals, archons and the abyss. There was also this young girl who looked like Aether... I had never met him and yet... her face looked familiar. Like now, she had died, but she had not been reincarnated in the body of an animal. And as my dream came to an end with my death, a voice called me by my old name, Alatus. It asked me to find the god of time." - Barbatos straightened up with wide, bemused eyes in his chair.

"The god of time? Impossible, he disappeared since... Since when? It's funny, my memories of him are vague, but I can tell you that he and I were friends. But overnight, it was as if his existence had been wiped off the face of the world... Strangely enough, it is now that you talk to me about him that some memories come back to me. Besides... what a strange dream... Mondstadt destroyed. Celestia at war with the seven and the mortals. A girl you've never met, but who looks familiar... Maybe... Maybe the god of time was forced to use his powers to save us all..."

"What do you mean Barbatos?"

"Rha! Don't call me Barbatos, please. Venti will do. As for the God of Time, I suspect that your dreams are not just dreams, but memories. It could be that everything you saw really happened and, for some reason, the god of time decided to act by going back in time." - Venti leaned heavily against the back of his seat, his face set in concentration. His eyes fixed on Xiao's and then on you. - "Don't look at me like that, I'm just theorizing."

"Why me? I don't understand why I would be the only one to remember a future that hasn't happened yet..."

"Our childhood memories fade with time, yet sometimes all it takes is a smell or an object that reminds us of our past to bring back images, as you did for me a few moments ago. I didn't remember my friend's existence until you told me... As I explained to you, it is as if his existence had been deliberately erased from our memories. Coming back to you two, you are connected by fate, an anomaly in the continuity of time. The death of y/n was undoubtedly the trigger that you needed for the memories to come back little by little. In your dream, y/n was dead, whereas here, she managed to come back to life by some means. If the god of time still has some strength left, it is possible that he used it to contact you through your dream... Maybe... y/n has more to contribute to Teyvat by being alive than dead. Maybe she can save us from the doom that awaits us." - Xiao tightened his embrace around you. The horrified look he gave the archon anemo triggered a shiver down your spine.

"No, I don't want her to have anything to do with this! You don't know what I saw, Barbatos! The world... our world was a pile of ash. What does y/n have to do with this?" - Xiao had risen from his chair, completely tense. Despite his anxious state, his grip on you remained gentle and comforting. Venti studied the yaksha carefully, waiting patiently for him to regain his composure before continuing.

"Sometimes a single breath can change the direction of the wind, Xiao. I don't know what it wants from you two, but what is certain is that the god of time will be able to save your mate." - Venti conjured his lyre in his hands, beginning to play a musical tune. Xiao seemed to relax instantly at the sound of the lyre. His gaze shifted to the window, where the high walls separating Freedom City from the Mondstadt Plains stood. - "Tomorrow I will take you to the Arrachétoiles cliff so you can access the temple of time, or at least what is left of it..."

Starsnatch Cliff

Venti had escorted you to the edge of the cliff, where an island and the remains of a ruined temple could be seen in the distance. Your hair stood up at the frightening distance to the island.

"Xiao, you will never be able to reach the other shore..." - Your trembling voice alerted Xiao, who quickly reached up to scratch the back of your ear, forcing a few purrs from you.

"Don't worry about that. Barbatos is with us." - He reassured you.

"Hm?" - Venti's innocent smile soothed you a little more. - "Oh she's scared? Don't worry, I'll create a corridor of air that will quickly transport us to this island." - With that, Venti conjured his lyre, scraping the strings to make several rings appear over the ocean. Without saying anything more, Venti leapt into the void, making his wings appear from the firmament on his back.

"y/n, I'm going to have to see about putting you in my satchel. I'm going to need my arms to stay balanced." - Xiao was very considerate of you, preferring to explain the situation as it was rather than surprise you. You obviously agreed, easing Xiao's gestures as he placed you in the satchel he'd taken with him when he left Liyue. - "Are you ready? I'm jumping!" - You felt your heart rise as Xiao jumped in. When Xiao took the Venti corridor, the dizzying speed of the journey made you scream. Xiao's very slight chuckle did not escape you.

As soon as Xiao set foot on the beach, he hurriedly pulled you out of his saddlebag, chuckling quietly as he saw your bristling hair and your legs barely able to support your weight. The dark look you gave him made him turn his face away from you. The shaking of his shoulders betrayed his amusement, and though the experience was unpleasant for you, you couldn't help but feel a little joy at seeing Xiao laugh again.

"Well, enough laughing both of you. I spotted a camp when we were in the air. Maybe we can find some clues there." - Xiao lifted you up in his arms, saving you from an exhausting walk in the sand. He followed closely behind the archon anemo as he made his way to the right side of the beach.

Hidden in a corner, a camp had been set up there, but no sign of life seemed to lurk around. By mutual agreement, the three of you looked for clues about the god of time. - Here? What's a shovel doing planted here?" - Venti plucked the shovel from the ground. - The sand has been turned over here, as if someone wanted to dig up a treasure... Strange, it's as if time on this island is frozen. This island has been deserted for centuries, and nothing has moved..." - Venti looked up at the center of the temple, where a large sundial stood. He dropped his shovel and ran towards the stairs leading to the temple, not noticing that he had inadvertently awakened the guardian of the ruins hidden behind some rocks. Xiao followed him.

Silence fell upon you as the three of you looked around. You felt a presence, something invisible to human eyes, yet it was there, watching you from the unseen.

"Xiao, use your elemental vision. I feel that it is there, camouflaged in the cracks of time..."

"I feel it too..." - Xiao confirmed, handing you to Venti for protection while he finished. As soon as Xiao activated his elemental vision, he froze in front of the crack before him.

"Alatus..."

"Are you... the god of time?"

"Yes... and at the same time... no. I am... an echo... a fragment... of his power... The god of time... travels alongside... the star child."

As Xiao chatted with the invisible god, your keen hearing alerted you to the threat approaching you. Climbing onto the archon's shoulders, you could see the ruins' guardian in the distance positioning himself to send his missiles at you.

"XIAO!" - The adept gasped as he heard you yell his name. As he swiveled toward you, he saw the danger in the sky that threatened to kill you all. Xiao conjured up his spear in his hands, but when he tried to step in to protect you, Venti stopped him.

"Xiao! I'll take care of him, focus on the time god!" - Xiao's expression was frozen in horror. Barbatos struggled to keep the guard at bay, with you still hanging on his shoulder.

"y/n..." - You stopped the move he was about to make to retrieve you.

"Do what you need to do Xiao. It'll be okay..." - You knew it deep down... you had to say goodbye to Xiao. Since the god of time intervened in your resurrection, that meant that Xiao would be sent back to the past, to the exact moment when your accident took place. Your existence will be permanently erased...

"Alatus... I just... have enough strength left... to send you... back in time..." - Xiao slowly turned away from you, his eyes glistening with tears. - "Save her... she is a hope... for our future..." - A giant hourglass appeared between Xiao and the time god. The object turned around, allowing the sands inside to flow the other way. Xiao began to disappear... An explosion caught the follower's eye. Venti was lying on the ground, badly injured, with you by his side.

"Xiao... I love you... We'll meet again soon... I promise..." - Although your voice was weak, it still reached the Yaksha's ears.

"y/n..." - Xiao murmured in a trembling voice. - "Forgive me... I love you..." - Xiao didn't know if it was him who had disappeared from this world or if it was the world around him that had faded away... To tell the truth, he didn't care... He had lost you... once again...

Cuijue Slope

In the middle of the giant pillars were hidden ancient ruins that were once sealed. Thanks to the traveler, it was now possible for you to access the hidden knowledge of an ancient world. You were accompanied by some members of the adventurers' guild who wanted to learn more about this place, just like you.

Further into the ruins, there was a hidden room covered with murals. Although the floor and walls of the room looked like they could collapse at any moment, your curiosity pushed you to enter despite the risks.

"This is amazing... Different chapters of Liyue's history are displayed on its walls. The Archon War, the founding of Liyue... and here, isn't this a representation of Celestia?" - Too focused on your findings, you didn't feel the ground crumble under your feet. - "Why is an hourglass represented under the domain of the Gods? Hm?" - A tremor beneath your feet suddenly distracted you from your observations. The ground opened dangerously beneath your feet, and as you began a sudden movement to get away from it, it only hastened your end. You felt yourself falling into the darkness, pieces of rock threatening to crush you. You closed your eyes, waiting for death to take hold of you. But it never came. Instead, it was powerful arms that trapped you in a desperate embrace. When you opened your eyes, you were half lying on the grass, looking up at the blue sky. Xiao was standing over you, his face buried in your neck. You could hear sobs escaping his throat and feel the tremors running through his body.

"Xiao?" - Your hand came to rest on his back, lovingly caressing his tense muscles.

"y/n... y/n... y/n..." - He repeated between each sob. - "I'm sorry it took so long. I'm here now. I won't let anything happen to you again." - You weren't used to seeing Xiao so emotional. He seemed in shock, lost and broken.

"It's okay Xiao, I'm here. I promised you, I'll always stay close to you." - He tightened his embrace around your shoulders, almost smothering you awkwardly. Your hand found one of his cheeks, wiping away the tears that lined his skin. Xiao finally stepped back, looking into your eyes. His gaze broke your heart, so to ease his pain a little, you urged him to kiss you, which he did without any form of resistance.

"And now... may time... pass... with the hope... of a world without gods..."

[araniaart]

Undead / Kas / Vampire Eddie Theories

It’s tinfoil hat time! Okay, so I’ve been rewatching Stranger Things after getting a massive dose of the Kas / Vampire Eddie brainrot, and been paying particular attention to the traits of creatures from the Upside Down. SO, here’s my current theory of how this could be possible with just things we’ve seen from the upside down, as well as how a lot of those traits line up with vampire myths/pop culture: Resurrection: - Even if dying from bat bites doesn’t have some property that hasn’t been seen before, and Eddie just is left dead or near dead in the Upside Down, just the fact he’s killed from bat bites alone is pretty poetic before a vampire-inspired resurrection. - The Mindflayer / the particles have the ability to animate the dead.  We’ve seen this twice now: when the mind flayer takes a physical form in the real world through a conglomeration of bodies of people and animals AND in the Russian prison: the dead demo-dogs are reanimated by the particles when the glass is broken. - Vecna canonly absorbs the minds and memories of his victims, and the Upside Down is a hivemind.  Even if things aren’t physically linked through the vines, if a demo dog finds prey, the others know.  If a bat dies, the other bats know.  It’s quite possible that not just the four three victims were absorbed by him (plus all the other people he massacred before coming to the upside down) - but anyone killed in the upside down.   - the Mindflayer and Vecna can possess people.  Will has been possessed/ turned into a “traitor” just from the connection of having been in the Upside Down and been a temporary host to demogorgon larva.   - Therefore, I see no reason, if he wanted to, Vecna couldn’t put a mind/memory back in an animated body if it served his purposes.  Likely with a bit of possession on the side.  For funsies.  (And spying/traitor/Kas storyline reasons). Vampire-Like Abilities: These are just things we’ve seen from other creatures already in the upside-down: - Transformation of human bodies: Vecna arrived in the Upside Down human, but scarred.  During his time there he not only got, well, gross- bonding with the living vines and joining/taking over the hivemind, but he also developed literal claws on one hand.  He also seems to have taken on many of the traits of other creatures of the upside-down (see below): - Resilience to normal damage: creatures from there are particularly hardy: able to be shot and stabbed and walk it off * Except for decapitation - another classic Vampire potential death method). and vulnerabilities to fire and sunlight.  (Dart was a great representative of that, letting Dustin study a creature up close, see how sunlight/light seemed to irritate and hurt it).   - Regeneration - everything seems to heal very well - even the portals themselves have a ropy/sinewy/visceral regeneration to them. - Stronger/faster/more agile than normal counterparts (See the Demogorgon in Russia vs armed humans) - Cold Bodies: When Will is possessed, his body temperature drops, and he dislikes the heat.   - Blood Sense: In season 1, the demogorgon had an acute sense of (smell?) when it came to detecting, in particular, blood.   Also, obviously, a hunger for said blood/meat. Put all of those traits on a person, and what would that look like to you? Add into that fun potential like claws, teeth, the potential to make that eerie chittery vocalization that upside down creatures can, plus anything else you want to add in for funsies, go nuts!

[littlebigmouse]

Dirtyhands (not Kaz, I mean specifically his alias)

Oh, that's a good one. I'm not even sure where the lines blurr between man and legend in canon, but that just means I can have more fun.

Headcanon A:  realistic: He wears the gloves so his hands don't become soiled by all the dirty deeds he commits. Discard the gloves and he'll never be caught red handed. Anyone in Ketterdam who deals with dead bodies on the regular knows to protect their hands this way, and just shake their heads at the upstarts and the reckless knuckleheads who feed into legends about his demonic claws.

Headcanon B: while it may not be realistic it is hilarious: The council leaves him alone because they theorize he may be a counceler's disgraced son. They don't know who's, though, and they don't want to meddle in each other's affairs and cause unnecessary conflict with each other. Surely, the respective father can take care of his own mess. He's known as the bastard of the barrel, a young man who dresses in a merchant's colours, who is well-educated and possesses a mind for money rivalled by few men twice his age. Of course Dirtyhands fell from a higher place then most. So they side-eye each other when talk of the barrel lords comes up, they look for a twitch of an eyebrow, nervous sweat. They see it everywhere. One counceler coughed, another's lips twitched. They all have different theories on whom Dirtyhands belongs to. Some make subtle suggestions about it. Two councelers started a fist fight once because one implied a bastard of the other becoming a barrel rat. (One of them was Van Eck before his fall. You go figure why).

Headcanon C: heart-crushing and awful, but fun to inflict on friends: Dirtyhands has no friends. His people are incredibly loyal, but do not mistake loyality for companionship, do not mistake fear for reverance, not usefullness for good grace. Dirtyhands owns the Wraith, because he pretends he doesn't care for her ownership, that she can be free. His associates are all indetured, all bought with the promise of freedom, as soon as they are payed for. None of them realize Dirtyhands would leave them for dead in the ditch the second they outweighted their usefullness to him. Dirtyhands cares more for the life of his enemies than the lifes of his associates, because at least his enemies can still be bled dry.

Headcanon D: unrealistic, but I will disregard canon about it because I reject canon reality and substitute my own: Whatever crawled out of the river that night wasn't entirely human. His shadow is longer and darker out of the corner of your eye, if you get close enough to his person you can smell the lingering stench of rot and decay. The rasp crawling from his throat is laced with the desperate pleas of the souls he's claimed. They say he has a ledger, and once you shake his hand your name will be forever marked in black ink, regardless of the nature of your agreement. Even if the deal goes smoothly and to the satisfaction of both sides. The monster that dragged a boy's corpse out of the cold and dirty riverwater always requires interest. And you will always pay up, one way or another.

[finrays]

31) Spooky!

For the last day, I thought I’d take us back to a D&D AU setting!

Where it’s just another standard day in the very, very, VERY haunted Claim.

Thanks for sticking with me through another Horizontober, y’all :)

-

It’s just past breakfast time, and the skeletons have gotten into the granary again.

Armed with a broom and her seething annoyance, Ralga kicks the door open, swinging hard for the nearest one with all of her might. The end of the broom impacts the undead creature’s ribs with a hissing clack of straw and wood on bone.

“Go on,” she shouts, taking another swing at the hapless creature, “git! Get out of here, you pests!”

The skeletons clatter their mandibles threateningly at her, reaching toward her with bony fingers. The chill of the grave intensifies as their fleshless hands draw closer and closer.

Undeterred, Ralga brings the broom up over her head, smashing it down on the nearest skull.

“I SAID GIT!!!!”

Finally, the bony creatures get the message. As the last of them clatters out the door and into the light drifts of snow scattering the ground, Ralga takes a moment to breathe, leaning on the doorframe with a weary groan.

“By the forge! Haven’t even finished my porridge yet. Now it’s going to be cold. Damned things.”

That’s just life in the Claim, though, she supposes; cold, hardscrabble, and full to the fucking tits with curses and undead. No one is really sure why the place is so damn haunted. Every ealdorman and clan has a different theory as to the origin of it all, of course. But none of them has been able to come up with a satisfying theory, no matter how many ruins they search, now many rituals they perform, or how loud they shout in the smoky debate rooms of Mainspring’s meeting halls. It’s a question that has, thus far, remained without a proper answer.

If there even is an answer to the question, which Ralga seriously doubts, herself.

A Carja traveler had come through with a caravan some years back, and he’d damn near lost his mind over it. Something about “missing leylines” and “a land untouched by divine magic.” He’d ranted and raved to anyone who’d been willing to listen until, blessedly, he’d talked himself hoarse, and his scant audience had gone back to more useful endeavors, like tending to the forge, and chasing the shadows out of the brewery.

Ultimately, no one had paid him much mind; it was just the way things were, here. The way they had always been. The dead didn’t always stay down, if they weren’t burned on a proper pyre. The ghost of your former mentor might whisper their trade secrets in your ear for a month, sending chills down your spine and leaving you weak at the knees before finally, blessedly, moving on. Your clanmates would come back with fang marks in their arms, and there would be a scramble to find someone who can brew the Bane before the next full moon.

Other people would probably have left, by now.

Other people who weren’t the Oseram.

As Ralga steps from the granary and latches the door firmly behind her, a bell begins to clang on the other side of the settlement. Rolling her eyes, feeling annoyance wrinkle her nose, she lets out a groan.

“Ugh. Three chimes. Zombies again.”

For a moment or two, she toys with wandering on over to help with the pests. She is still armed with her broom, after all. A good swatting ought to send them off even quicker than the skeletons, with their squishy flesh still around to feel the brunt of her blows.

Then, finally, she waves a hand dismissively; that rapidly-cooling porridge is not going to get any warmer.

“…someone else can deal with it.”

Raising the broom onto her shoulder, Ralga strides off through the town commons, toward the mess hall and the rest of her breakfast. From beneath one of the benches, a dismembered hand scuttles out into her path, rearing up to expose its clawed fingernails menacingly.

She crushes it under her heel as she goes.

[punemy-spotted]

The Price You Pay Chapter 4: Breach

Pairing: Mob!Steve Rogers x Reader, Senator!Andy Barber x Reader

Warnings: Rape/Non-Con elements, Dub-Con, Dark!Fic, Abuse of Legal System, Murder, Character Death (minor, possibly major), Love Triangle, Political AU, Mafia AU, Workplace Sexual Harassment, Abuse Mentions, Possessive/Obsessive Characters, Other Chapter-Specific Warnings May Apply, Possible Dead Dove: Would Not Eat

Chapter Warnings: Angst; Mentions of Past Sexual Abuse; Betrayal; Lies; F!Reader’s Age Kind of Finalized; Specific Reference to Age; Blackmail; Crying; Slight Panic Attack; Dead Dove: Do Not Eat

Chapter Summary: Even the truth can’t set you free.

Chapter 1; Chapter 2; Chapter 3

Notes: And we’re back to pain. My outline got derailed for this chapter so bear with me, sometimes revelations need to be hammered in. No smut here for now but I also needed to get this arc finished so I can start on the next.

Also I know I keep jumping forward — I swear I will write about their relationship growing.

Thank you all for reading and commenting! As always, feedback is greatly appreciated, even if you’re yelling at me.

Not beta-read, these sins belong to me and me alone.

All of my work is 18+ Only, Minors DO NOT INTERACT. I do not consent to my work being posted anywhere besides Tumblr or Ao3 and I post my work there myself. Do not copy, translate, or repost any of my content.

The air is…

Shifted.

Shifted enough that the whole office notices, avoids yours, avoids the glare Steve Rogers fires at them the moment they approach the door, avoids your eye. Shifted enough that you miss the before, the pressure of his presence demanding your attention, the smugness in his endless eyes you denied looking at.

Shifted.

Counsel.

What?

We need to talk.

Is that not what you’ve been avoiding doing all morning, Captain?

You swear you can hear his molar crack in the dead silence, but your eyes never flit upwards from the contract you’re poring through, red pen in hand.

Focus.

It’s a job, this life, and this is a part of it, the presence of him, the pressure of him. It’s a job, and he calls on you to do your duty and you do but no one has ever asked you to be kind and no one has ever asked you to smile as you bear it so you don’t.

It’s a job, this life, and this is a part of it.

You. Are a part of it.

Counsel.

It’s a bark, an order, an annoyance and you shouldn’t let his stubborn fury be the thing that derails you. This is your domain. Your palace of glass and steel, remember? New York buzzes behind you and you surge forward on the tightrope of his affections, teetering dangerously close to his temper and always, always daring him to pull you down.

Try it again.

Fine, with a sigh and a setting down of your papers, You’re closer to the door.

And in your defense, he is, seated on your couch as stiff as a board, scrolling through his phone on occasion and — previously, at least — deftly ignoring your inquiries about the status of his office and why he needs to spend his morning in yours.

He fixes you with a look you do not name and proceeds to stand anyways. The door clicks shut and stays that way — both of you have learned.

Do you still talk to him?

Excuse me?

The Senator. Are. You. Still. In. Contact.

He spreads out every word like an accusation and every word turns you a little colder. You’ve been avoiding this. Avoiding him, distracted by work, the both of you but now you are back in each other’s orbits and this…

This cannot be avoided.

I haven’t spoken to him beyond to tell him I returned home safe that night.

Not. For lack of wanting.

If he’s hurt you, just say the words.

There’s nothing you can say.

It’s been a week. Almost two.

He’s been kind, stayed away, kept his distance but that… that will not last. Only as long as whatever conference has his office busy and then you know what comes next and then you know what comes after.

The bruising may have faded but the memories remain, after all.

They always do.

Steve Rogers is not Andy Barber, is not warm-eyed concern or a soft-voiced invitation, is not trying to save you from the horrors you cannot name, is not to be trusted but Andy Barber is also not Steve Rogers, is not exactly the man you expect, is not the answer to your dilemma, is not the devil you know and you…

Are still testing your wings.

Get up.

Get up and walk away from the prison of your desk, see how far you can get before you shackle yourself to your own ambition. Get. Up.

Blue eyes watch you like he’s calculating the next angle of his attack and technically you know that’s exactly the case but let’s pretend a moment he doesn’t have his claws out and you aren’t trapped in a cage for him to batter.

Delude yourself into the power you think you have, and keep him there, across the room where he cannot show you how effortlessly he strips you of it and how deeply you enjoy it.

Don’t.

You may be in bed with the mob but you are not asleep to his crimes and this is just an interim, a plan, a moment.

You stood me up, Counsel. After we made our deal.

It was a week ago and you ever-so-kindly taught me my lesson — don’t wince as you speak, don’t let him know you remember, don’t let him think you actually learned from his hand, hard against your body.

He hasn’t since, after all.

He says your name.

He says your name and your blood runs cold and you freeze by the coffee machine you keep in your office and you turn. Senator Barber is a friend.

A dangerous friend. I won’t even ask if you know his stance on —

On the Syndicate? Oh I know. I know who he shakes hands with.

Then you know why I’m asking.

Are you loyal?

Are you?

Is it loyalty that keeps you here?

Don’t let your hands shake when you look at him. Don’t let him see the slide of your eyes, the glance outside, the wondering how long before your window would be a portal and that tightrope would snap.

You are not a fool.

This. Is not loyalty.

I keep to my ethical duties, Captain.

You’re sleeping with your boss.

Oh that one makes you laugh, sharp and cruel and you do look at him then, fix your eyes onto him and raise an eyebrow and watch. All that power, all that smugness, wrapped up in one body and how does he contain it, do you know?

I believe the actual term is serving at your pleasure.

It’s back to the game, the dance, the ruse, the steps you take around each other, the blades he digs into your chest the reminders he gives you you are a whore you are a whore you are a whore and you lift your chin up, dare him to look at the bruises his lips leave on your skin and ask him in the silence and what will you do about it.

You could hate him. You do, technically. You hate that you could love him in the early hours of the morning, when his eyes seek you out and soften at the reminder you’re still here. You hate that his invasive presence in your office is a shield as much as it is a virus, a comfort in the silence and you hate most of all that the way he looks at you with that open desire women might normally have just dreamed was possible makes you want to return it.

You hate that he is dangerous. That he has bound you to him like this, chained you to the idea of his warmth and that there is a sick sort of safety in the binding.

You hate that he looks at you now with something like hope, with something like obsession, with something like vulnerability and you hate that it strips you of that cold armor as effortlessly as his hands strip you of your resistance.

And he could hate you too, in the whispers he leaves on your shoulders when he thinks you’re asleep. He could hate that you are soft, that you are sweet on his tongue that you…

Are his.

Could hate that he has thought of nothing else but the very theory of your betrayal and you know none of these things but his eyes are not so inscrutable as he thinks and so—

He twists the knife.

I talked to your Judge, by the way.

You did what?

You heard me. Interesting conversation.

Excuse me?

You really sold yourself to me for a lover’s spat, Counsel? I thought you were better than that — woman of the law and all.

A lover’s spat? That’s what he told you?

Just what would you call it, if not that?

He’s daring you, back to somewhere between smug and angry, as if disappointed you made him waste his time and all you can do is feel your heart sinking, feel yourself back in that place again, the decade-long sting of control over your body, the painful reminder of the girl you once were.

Where is he?

Did you think I’d clean up your dirty laundry for you? I’m not a breakup counselor, and you nee—

You left him alive!? The panic in your voice is so palpable it stops him in his tracks all over again, suspicious and surprised and you step back to reach for something — steady yourself steady yourself steady yourself you are not safe you are not safe you are not safe.

I’m not killing your ex-boyfriend without a good reas—

I was nineteen!

The world tilts, shifts, your knees are buckling, that’s tears in your eyes and you.

Are that girl again.

Too small, too scared, too naive to know better, too easy to mold and break and manipulate and you promised you’d never be her again, you promised you’d get her justice and you promised it wouldn’t be like this over and over again, promised he wouldn’t sink his fangs into you a third time.

What? He sounds smaller. Or is it faraway? You are too busy trying to stand, trying to still the shaking of your hands, the cold chill in your veins, too busy feeling your knees surrendering, too busy sliding to the floor and staring blankly into your memory.

Counsel. What. Did. You. Say. He repeats himself, and then he’s crouching before you, holding your chin in his hand and when did you start having tears on your cheeks for him to wipe away?

I was nineteen, you repeat, blank and broken, not seeing his brow furrow, not seeing the regret flash over his expression, I didn’t want it. I never wanted it.

What are you saying, sweetness? How dare he sound so soft? How dare he sound like he actually cares, when he’s the reason you’re here, on this floor, barely resisting your breakdown yet again?

You know better.

I was nineteen, a third time, I needed a job, something to give me experience, and he — he used me. That was my experience.

He’s starting to understand, but it doesn’t matter to you, not when you’re staring too far into the past, into a sneering face and cruel hands.

(I can ruin you or I can help you, Intern, so you make your choice. You need me.)

It never stops. Not after the first time — but you know that.

But you know that. That’s your knife, the one you twist into his chest and the realization sinks in heavy as an anchor, the thing he’s done.

The thing he’s done to you.

So why wait until now?

I would have waited forever.

You hid the letter. Hid it well enough even he wouldn’t have found it rifling through your things. Hid the threat in those typewritten words and the casual signature swept across the stationary, unaffected.

Men like him never face consequences. Only you, only the women they make use of, the ones they turn into commodities for their enjoyment. Who would care if you’d made it public, if you showed the world the kind of man he was — he was appointed for life, he was friends with the Governor, he was powerful and you were never going to be strong enough.

(You wouldn’t want anyone in the District Attorney’s office knowing just the sorts of things you’re willing to do to get your way. I can still help you be an exceptional lawyer, Intern.)

What are you? Ambition and drive and skill but what does it all mean when it can be reduced to plaything and pet project and whore.

I helped him get appointed. He helped me get into law school. Introduced me to… To Andy Barber, who calls you Sunshine and watches out for you and comes to New York despite having no power in the state just to see you again because he worries, because he cares.

You pay.

And sometimes that payment bounces back.

You pay and you pay and you pay and you struggle but what is the culmination of your strife is it the sight of you finally broken on the floor, is it the moment he’s been waiting for, dragged off your pedestal why couldn’t he have left well enough alone didn’t he know the horse was for your protection and not his pride?

No.

They never do.

They never do, do they, always so wrapped up in themselves and even now he kneels in front of you and wipes your tears but he has no words to say to atone for what he’s done and you know he can never.

I need you to leave.

The words come out without your control.

You know what you are. You are fury made flesh and you will not be manipulated again, not by the pressure of his hands on your face, not by the way he almost hugs you, he lied he lied he lied he lied.

Sweetness…

No. You don’t get to call me that. Not anymore.

You could have tolerated it. You could have accepted it you could have let yourself become the prize he took, owned his defeat by defeating you, you might even have enjoyed it but no.

No.

I held up my end of the bargain.

[archangelsquill]

to hell and back || damien darkblood x reader 

pairing: damien darkblood x partner reader (gn, no y/n)

fandom: invincible

word count: 1448

summary: after omni-man flees earth and things begin to settle down, cecil feels he owes you -- the demon detective’s partner in solving crime -- a favor.

warnings: none

a/n: a sequel to this. darkblood deserves better, and by the gods, i’m giving it to him! enjoy, my fellow simps.

———

“If anything happens to them, on your head it will be, Cecil!”

Those were the final words of the demon as the pits of hell called him home, and as Cecil met his gaze, he knew it was no threat. It was a promise, and though he considered himself a bastard, Cecil saw no need to keep you in danger. He knew without Darkblood around, you were a target for Nolan. He’d already had security detail on you, but against Omni-Man, he knew it was useless. If he ever decided he wanted you dead, there’d be nothing stopping him.

Then, if Cecil was lucky (or maybe unlucky) to stay out of the warpath, he’d have Darkblood breathing down his neck, even with such distance between this world and his.

Sending him back to Hell wasn’t something Cecil wanted to do. It was a necessity. He owed him big time for that, and he’d start with keeping you off Nolan’s radar.

The official report was that you’d gone to stay with an imaginary Aunt Sue, somewhere in the Dakotas, but the reality was you were to be kept in the Global Defense Agency Headquarters -- well hidden, out of sight, and away from Nolan Grayson.

No one told you a thing. You’d been in your apartment, waiting for Damien to show up with those coffees he’d promised. Evidence, photos, and papers of theories and notes were scattered around the small space, occupying every inch of surface area, as you paced, a bad feeling in the pit of your stomach growing stronger and stronger the longer your demon detective was away. Something was wrong, and as Cecil Stedman appeared suddenly before you, making you jump out of your skin, you knew for sure. 

“You’re the demon’s partner, right?”

“Yeah, that’s me. I guess you’re Cecil.”

“You guess right. You need to come with us.”

“Why?”

“You’re not safe anymore.”

“What?”

“I can’t answer your questions now. Pack a bag. You won’t be coming back for a while.”

You didn’t argue. You didn’t have a choice.

The Global Defense Agency took care of your monthly expenses while you were gone, as if that made any of this less scary or confusing. All you’d been told was Damien was back in Hell, Cecil put him there, and you were in danger.

No one told you much else. Cecil had acted civil toward you -- kind, even -- but it didn’t help. Damien was gone, it was Cecil’s fault, and life may never be normal again.

All because you two asked questions.

Because you wanted the truth.

And you both had paid the price: freedom.

Meanwhile, Omni-Man roamed free, ready to kill again.

You lost count of how long you’d been at GDA HQ when Nolan finally struck.

Initially, you’d been barred from the control room, but Cecil let you choose to watch the chaos or stay blind to it.

You choose not to watch. No one needed you to be in the room when all of the ruin, disaster, and chaos you and Damien knew would happen happened. Based on what Cecil told you after, you were glad you decided to stay out of it.

All of those innocent people, now dead. All of that destruction. All of that carnage, and for what? Omni-Man had fled.

It was for nothing.

And Debbie…

You’d offered as much comfort as you could. You knew how it felt to lose a loved one (it took all you had not to look pointedly at Cecil when you told her that) and the woman needed someone to lean on. Someone not quite so cold as Cecil.

And he’d watched you. Despite everything, you comforted Debbie and Mark, putting on a brave face as if you haven’t lost everything, too. Cecil knows you’re still hurting -- why wouldn’t you be?

Cecil was many things, and a man who paid his debts was absolutely one of them.

He’d been searching since he put Darkblood back in Hell for it: the spell to undo what he did. To summon him back. His plan was always to bring him back, if such a thing existed. He’d had his people looking for months with no luck, and he’d already given you the all clear to go home, with the promise your rent and utilities were paid for until you could get back on your feet.

Yeah. Right. How the fuck do you do that? Your partner -- not only in profession but your partner -- was gone, your office had been trashed, and your apartment felt so empty it was somehow suffocating.

For weeks after you’d returned, you’d laid on the couch, staring at the ceiling, jumping at any change in the temperature, hoping one day you’d look up and see him, only to find it was the apartment complex’s shitty circulation.

The news talked about things going back to normal, yet normal sounded like a foreign language now. How was the world supposed to be any kind of normal again?

Cecil made a few visits to check on you, but you regarded him with coldness that could rival that of Damien’s. He couldn’t blame you.

You’d lost track of the days when the sigh that escaped your lips was accompanied by a small fog. You froze, sitting up from your temporary home on the couch before exhaling again. Just to be sure.

And there it was again: the small visage of your breath indicating the decrease in temperature you’d been ignoring out of lost hope.

“Damien…?”

“Yes, amare?” the gruff baritone was music to your ears as you turned toward your kitchen. There he was: red, large, and intimidating -- yet that soft look in his gaze remained, as if no time at all had passed.

“Damien!” you leapt over the couch, nearly tumbling to the ground before two strong arms grab you, pulling you into the warmest yet coldest bear hug you’ve ever gotten.

“Sorry for delay. Had to...speak with Cecil...” he rumbles, clawed hand carding through your hair, “Need to be ‘debriefed’ but...had to see you.”

“I can tell you what you missed.” you mumble, burying your face in his arms. He pulls you tighter still, resting his chin on the top of your head.

“Later,” he says.

And for a moment -- how long, you’re not sure -- you both just sit there on the living room floor, holding each other in a silent, loving embrace. Tears stream down your face, stinging from the cold emanating from Damien. His hand moves to brush them away, and the contact makes you cry more. You missed him. It had been so long.

After what felt like forever, you part -- just enough to look at each other. He, of course, looks no different. Demons didn’t age like humans did. You, however, probably look like shit. You hadn’t looked in a mirror in forever, but you knew your hair was much longer. You hadn’t bothered to get it cut in...how long had it been? It wasn’t like you could’ve gotten it cut, anyway. The city had been rebuilding, and getting anywhere was...well, hell.

“Beautiful as the day I lost you,” he says, and your tears well up again.

“I know I look like shit, Damien,” you say, trying to laugh off the sudden absence of your grief. He smiles slightly -- a rare sight.

“To me you look like heaven, amare,” he replies.

Amare. His nickname for you. You think its Latin, but you’ve never looked into what it means. You never asked, either, assuming he’d just tell you one day.

But you almost lost him.

You couldn’t bring yourself to look into it after he was gone, and now that he was here again….you decide to ask.

“You’ve called me that since we became partners. What does it mean?”

“Supposed to be a detective.” he replies. His own attempt at a joke, you muse. You’re in no mood for it.

“Damien, please.”

He looks at you fondly, placing a kiss to your forehead.

“Love. It means love.”

You should’ve figured, yet you find yourself crying again, and his arms wrap tighter around you in a protective, loving embrace.

There was more to be said between you two. You both know it. What happened to Damien in Hell? How did everything with Nolan go down here? Now that Cecil knew how to banish and summon Damien as he pleased, what would become of your demon detective?

All need answers. Resolutions.

But not now.

Now was the time for healing: for the world, for humanity, and for you and your demon in that tiny apartment.

You had him back, and though so much hangs in the air, that was enough.

[redwinterroses]

RIIIIIIIIIGHT SO.

I just finished chapter 13 of Dog At The Door and holy hot cross buns batman if you're not reading this fic you NEED to. It's literally one of the best written fics I have ever read in my life and I've been reading fanfiction for over 15 years, lol.

I went back and reread the entire fic to lead up to chapter 13 and I decided to treat it like I used to treat things I had to read in college so I took notes as I went and please I am warning you this post is incredibly long. Almost 3k words. PLEASE do not hit that "read more" button unless you're good with having to scroll past it all and also spoilers ahead. Proceed with caution.

~*~

Rereading Dog at the Door reactions (spoilers, obviously):

· Doc finding Ren’s body to be cold and for a second thinking he’s actually dead—my heart

· “That’s Ren, alive and kicking.” Oh…no, Doc. No it’s not.

· The first “Where is my hand?” hits different the second time through

· Gah the ice and winter imagery ALL over the place—my English degree brain wants to watch and see if that shifts to warmth at any point as we go? Thoughts for future Red to think.

· It’s fascinating to me to see Doc constantly thrust into the prey role. This is a guy who is very much not that person normally, but something about the Red King is beyond anything he’s really encountered before—or at least not since Dinnerbone—and it pushes him into an entirely new role that he clearly chafes in

· “I should get back to work on your new arm soon,” he says, making a mental note to add claws to the fingertips. Honestly Doc why tho. XD

· “It feels like something Ren would want him to do.” </3

· Side note: I just watched Doc’s freaking hour long shulker farm vid, and that’s making it a lot easier to hear his voice in this fic

· I’m more curious about the hand.” New Ren laughs a bit at his own words, as though there’s something funny about that phrasing. I MISSED THIS LINE THE FIRST TIME THROUGH

· The bead curtain being cursed hippie treasure XD

· The fact that Doc just so quickly accepts that Ren is gone—maybe not permanently, but at least for now—is kind of heartbreaking. Because you know he hasn’t really accepted it, he’s just… deciding not to feel anything about it. Just nod and move on and pretend you don’t need to stop and cope with the possible/probable death of your best friend and the fact that Someone Else is wearing his skin. That’s so sad.

· “high-fiving the finished hand with his own metal hand.” Aww… Doccy.

· “He shoos away the images of New Ren holding him up by the throat supervillain-style and turns around.” Hmmmmmmm want that fanart. Scary New Ren/RK is good stuff. (post-chapter-13 Red popping in with a WHAT THE HECK)

· “that makes him seem like a ghost in Ren’s body.” YA KNOW. LIKE HE IS.

· Okay side note time: why is the Red King here? Ya know? Like – in 3rdLife the idea of a possessing spirit of bloodlust makes some sense. But why stick around? Was RK trying to escape the 3L server, or was this not deliberate? At what point did he take over from Ren—at Black Heart Altar? In which case, was the whole idea Ren’s to begin with, or was he influenced? Maybe it happened the first time Ren died? The Red King took over then—or at least started to? Thoughts, thoughts, thoughts, thoughts…

· Wait more theories—what if RK is connected to the ????? entity that spoke to Martyn when he died? In which case, cMartyn said he was considering making that canonically a Watcher (he ended up not doing it, but he also didn’t do anything that contradicted it either). I’m not saying RK is a Watcher… but boy he sure does stare a lot, don’t he.

· Holding the screwdriver like a dagger—mmmm

· Okay funny thought: all this frost, RK’s gonna need to be real careful about rust lol. And straining the metal, tbh, all that freezing and thawing is going to have an effect but the rust idea is making me laugh

· Until I realized it would look like blood and it’s not funny anymore

· “Renbob is in the beanbag stuffed next to the driver’s seat” right so is this where Renbob sleeps because I have been wondering—

· “something about having two people look like Ren when neither of them are makes Doc stop to take a shaky breath” *sob*

· “Renbob clears his throat, looking up at Doc with a smile that is so obviously fake that it hurts.” Ugh the LOT of you stop repressing everything you’ll give yourselves a collective hernia

· “he’ll probably have to break the news to the other hermits, too, Iskall and False and all the others.” All these painful lines I somehow missed the first time through

· Awww warm air comes in when Renbob opens the door—with the flowers and everything, Renbob is so easily associated with spring, I love this contrast.

· Aaand there it is, yup, RK is shocked to see his face on Renbob, and Renbob is shocked to see that this is so clearly Not Ren.

· They both recover pretty quickly, though. Survivors, both of them.

· RK calls Renbob their “ferryman” and I’m not sure if I was supposed to get “crossing the river Styx” vibes from that But I Did. (does RK think he’s dead? That they’re all dead?) (post-chapter-13 Red here with a little bit of wordless screaming.) (and also a bit of pride that I picked up on this.)

· “And what a help you’ve been! Fixing me up, replacing my hand.” Hi yes, 911? there’s a dagger stabbed into my feels.

· “he’d rather remember rage than see another person’s heart break.” Dang that’s such a raw line. Oof.

· ”the Red King says, his voice hoarse with tears.” Really interesting that this blood deity can feel such emotions—like, anger or even fear, I can get. But to see this entity upset to the point of tears is fascinating.

· “There is a crown on Doc’s workbench.” Right, yeah so like—is RK unwillingly manifesting these artifacts? Because that’s wild, man. …how long before he manifests an “enchanter”?

· “I’ve never seen it [the crown] clean before.” Okay that definitely implies that maybe RK didn’t come around until after Black Heart Altar?

· “The Red King has the crown in his lap when Doc turns back around, claws gently tracing over the engravings, leaving frost patterns behind.” I really wish I had art skills because there’s this image in my head of a drawing of the crown held in RK’s hands, with his face (one eye glowing, one in shadow) reflected in the surface, and frost patterns following behind a claw that’s daintily tracing the surface. But I can’t draw so—

· RK asks for a change of clothes. What was he wearing when they rescued him, I wonder? The Red King outfit with the fur capelet? Or Ren’s Stargazer outfit? Which begs the question: where does Stargazer fit into all this? Was Ren’s return to Hermitcraft RK free, but when he came so close to dying to Sith, RK found that as a gateway to take over? (Post-13 Red here, Looking Intently at this note.)

· Awww… the image of a one-legged RK clutching new clothes to his chest and hopping down to change in the bathroom… That’s weirdly endearing. He’s less menacing when he stands up somehow. Less lurking, maybe.

· Oooohhhhh he messed up his back sleeping on the floor. Gotcha.

· Doc keeps telling himself (and RK) that saving him and working on these parts is “the right thing to do” and while he’s not WRONG I just want to see him realize that it’s not only the right thing, it’s realistically the only thing, because if he didn’t, then he’d have to deal with the fact that he’s lost his best friend and we can’t have that.

· “I don’t need to eat” ummmmmm no hold on this definitely implies that RK is possessing a dead body and I’m not okay with that where is Ren

· LOLOL “I can’t stand to see [you do] this” is such a raw line to be about watching Doc eat cereal with his hands

· “The voice doesn’t belong to who he thinks it does.” Ugh, Doc. This isn’t the first time he’s lost a close friend to Something Else, something otherworldly.

· “All of them are waiting for him, waiting for him to do something more, something better—” aaand there it is. Doc’s characterization in this fic in a single sentence.

· Doc waking up and thinking he’s seeing Ren and RK’s hesitation and the gentle “I’m not Ren”—OH MY HEART

· RK’s coffee = Renbob’s friendship bracelets

· Randomly can I just say that I love how RK’s dialog is all in italics? It concerned me at first because I thought it was going to keep pulling me out of the narrative, but instead it really just feels right. Also I’m looking forward to the moment when he says something and it’s not in italics because it’s REN and oh my lands please give this to me I beg you (post-13 Red here with a bit more mindless screaming)

· “watch your tongue with me, Atlas, because I’m the one person you can pass the sky to.” Okay okay okay—English studies brain coming out. This suggests that there is a burden RK and Doc can share: something Doc is currently struggling against that only RK can help him with. In the moment, I don’t know if this is really fair of RK to say—after all, Doc does technically have Renbob too, if we’re just talking about Doc’s unhealthy coping mechanisms. In fact, if that’s the context, then Renbob is a much better fellow-Atlas because he and Doc have known each other much longer and they’re both dealing with the loss of Ren. BUT, knowing about the upcoming conversation where Doc and RK both realize that they’ve lost someone (Ren for Doc, Martyn for RK) this line suddenly has a lot more weight. Again, I don’t think that in that moment RK quite has the right to pull this zinger. But in later context, it turns out to be true after all. They are the only two with this particular shared pain.

· Doc upset with himself because he can’t get over his “stupid hang-ups” DOC MY LAD. “I’ve lost my best friend, you’re in his body, and I don’t know how to process any of these emotions” is not a “stupid hang-up” PLEASE stop blaming yourself for everything!?

· “I’m so tired” in the middle of his nightmare—oh my gosh. That hurts so much for some reason.

· I also very much wish I had the ability to draw the image of Doc with tears on his face, staring dead-eyed down at his workbench while RK looms over from behind, pinning his wrists to the table with one metal arm and one frost-bitten one, a look of exasperation and concern on his face. Why can’t I draw the things

· “How do you know Etho” “I watched him die.” OW ow ow ow ow

· Doc takes this as calmly as only someone used to living in a world where death has low consequences can. Oh. Oh—that means… huh. Doc isn’t used to losing people permanently on any basis, especially not death. So no wonder he doesn’t know how to process Ren being gone (I can’t bear to write “dead” there). He literally doesn’t have context for it… and what context he DOES have is like—I mean, Etho and Bdubs came back. Ouch.

· “Twenty-five.” The Red King makes the number sound like a threat. Yet another banger line I missed the first time through. Imagine waking up and thinking you’re in 3rd Life again but instead of 14 players there’s almost twice that many and you think you don’t know any of them.

· I still don’t quite understand the “when was etho added/should have known there was something different” bit or why RK is so emotional about it… but I have trust that it’ll make sense at some point. (post-13 Red: ...is this something about the fact that he thinks he's dead...so he thinks Etho has died before? Like, that 3rd Life wasn't Etho's first hardcore? ...I feel like I'm almost grasping this but I'm missing an element somewhere.)

· And now a sword. RK. My man. You need to stop manifesting things—especially when they scare the ever-living daylights out of you.

· I absolutely adore the in-universe lore that Fire Aspect is a PvP enchantment because it threatens dropped loot, and yeah I very well might steal that. (Along with something I read at one point who-even-knows-where that Knockback is a coward’s enchantment, because I love that too.)

· He really shouldn’t. / Doc picks up the sword by the scabbard and hands it to him, hilt extended. Doc you already trust this guy so much and you don’t even know it—but is it just because you still subconsciously trust the face he wears? Or is it something deeper?

· Ugh, the “I was supposed to kill someone for him” conversation/scene is SO FREAKING GOOD

· “I don’t want it. Not like the crown.” Why, though? Why doesn’t he want it? Because it’s more to do with death than kingship? OH. Oh, I hadn’t even considered that. I’ve been thinking of RK as this like, god of blood and vengeance but maybe he’s not. Maybe he hates the bloodshed (“the blood! It’s drippin’ in me eyes… I’ve been blinded by the violence…”) just as much—more?—than Ren did/would have. Huh. That’s a new facet.

· Oh my heart the “have you ever lost someone and it was your fault” line. Dagger to the feels. Dagger to the feels.

· This like… “I’m on a roll and even though I know I should stop I really don’t want to” mode? Man. That’s relatable. Especially when you’re working to avoid dealing with something else.

· “Not making it for you—it’s for Ren” oh ouch ouch ouch the denial suddenly breaks through it’s okay, Doc I’m with you on this

· The second time reading through it’s far clearer that Doc has a blind panic attack here—when he starts rambling that Ren’s coming back, he’ll be there for season eight and RK goes to…do whatever he was going to do and Doc just blanks out. The manic productivity should have been a warning sign, the poor guy is crumbling.

· “Doctor” and “he’s not sure he deserves that title right now” UGH Doc needs a hug someone please hug him and tell him it’s all going to be okay. Someone please hug me and tell me it’s all going to be okay.

· “his hand on his throat” over the scar from the Red Winter axe? </3

· “I did do that. I have done that.” RK admitting to it actually having been him in Doc’s nightmares?

· Okay sorry the conversation about beating Dinnerbone will never not be funny to me

· RK mentions that people used to call him m’lord or Ren, and then mere minutes later you have “Ren. You couldn’t save him because of me, could you?” He knows exactly what’s going on here. Not maliciously, but he’s no dense-head, he’s put the pieces together. (post-13 Red: MOST of the pieces. Most of them.)

· Watching Doc slowly stop fighting his nightmares—like, the first time, he fights. The second time, he accepts it but still struggles. And this time… this time he gives up before it even starts. That hurts, man.

· Good grief the whole “get my head chopped off” / “you really don’t want that” bit. O.O I’m not sure what emotion I’m feeling but I’m Feeling An Emotion.

· “Snow’s new. Dream’s not.” </3

· …Doc’s not gonna be a fan of snowier-snow after this trip…

· "Dr. M77" Actually he’s Doc Monster, RK, but we’ll let it go. XD

· OKAY BUT THIS EXCHANGE? The “how are you feeling” / “better” / “you’re a bad liar” / “I said better not great” that’s such a good exchange and I don’t know why every other time I’ve ever seen it used they stop at the lying accusation? Doc with the snappy comebacks, man.

· Aaah, Doc and RK, two establishment bros bonding over a shared disdain for hippies.

· The bit about the fella who wore an iron helmet and called it a powdered wig—fear is in my heart. *shoves Scar into an obsidian box and blocks it closed*

· “Who was Ren to you?” </3

· Doc is more than willing to spread the flames, to sear his loss into RK’s bones. / The king’s face stops him. Ren’s face stops him. Holy CRAP is that a good set of lines. So much going on there, and ALL of it good.

· Again. I wish I could draw. I would draw RK sitting on the edge of the bed, gently hugging a collapsed-in-on-himself Doc. </3

· “And I hate the devil that forced us apart, that mixed my blood with his.” *adds another layer to Scar’s obsidian fort*

· OKAY STARTING CHAPTER THIRTEEN I made the mistake of logging into Tumblr earlier and saw people screaming so I’m sure I’m not ready for this but here we go

· Oh no RK has been hippie-ified

· “You started a paramilitary organization because you have hay fever?” *dies laughing*

· Ugh I need to go back and watch s6 I’ve only seen the tail end of Mumbo’s side of things and there’s so much I don’t know.

· HAHAHAHAH I do know the trident bit though—

· Wait he said Scar

· PANIC

· “Kingslayer. bloodthirsty. Time King. The coward. And the mastermind behind it all, the loyal soldier to the very end, the whole damn reason either of us are in this mess.”

· HOLY CRAP HOLY CRAP HOLY—

· “Is this the afterlife I deserve? After everything, this is the hell I’m going to endure?” I AM SCREAMING

· Doc pinned to the wall with ice, struggling to breathe—I CAN’T WHAT IS HAPPENING

· ((You know I’d get through this a lot faster if I stopped pausing to write reactions—))

· “A break in the ice. A whisper of spring.” Symbolism. Symbolism.

· “Ren was dead when I found him again,” NO I REFUSE TO READ THIS

· “don’t use the hand I built you to hurt yourself” DOC. SIR. MY HEART.

· RK don't run, RK get back here—what are you—

·

·

· I

· JUST

· ACTUALLY

· SCREAMED

· AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

· *several long moments of just breathing*

·

·

·

· *rereads*

· Holy crap on a garbage cracker with an extra serving of what-the-heck sauce

· REN

· REN

· Okay lol okay hahaha calming down

· I literally threw myself back in my chair away from the computer reading that last paragraph. I don't usually... physically react to things I read. LOL. Heh. I’m. Ah. I’m not emotionally invested in this or anything.

· Holy crap.

· Okay. Okay. Okay.

· Um.

· Great chapter, guys. Awesome stuff. Really good. I’m absolutely okay right now and it’s all totally fine.

· …please enjoy your break and get lots of rest and I very much look forward to the return of this fic you have no idea.

· I need to go breathe for a little bit.

EDIT: no, you know what--I'm not going to be a nice polite fangirl over here and quietly hope y'all see this I'm straight up tagging you, @fluffy-papaya and @betweenlands. THANK YOU but also how dare.

[teacup-crow]

Complications

Zombies Run Secret Santa gift for @musickmage! Shout out to @runnerzero and all the organisers!

I had fun with this one. I’ve been looking for an excuse to write Simon/Janine for the longest of times, and you just hand it to me as a ship you like? How can a person resist?

Set mid-S2, hard spoilers to S2E18. Some minor references to character backstories from Season 3 so best enjoyed with S3 knowledge, mild references to sex. Fluff with a side of unease. Just a gentle Christmas Day at Abel where Janine definitely isn’t feeling any emotions whatsoever at all.

Merry Christmas and happy holidays!

PS: I stole the idea of the cat from @chaoscatty and forgot it wasn’t canon till I was done. Credit where it’s due because their fic was adorable. Credit also to @justanothercricket because I’ve been obsessed with her Simon/Janine stuff lately and because ZRTM got me big into this ship.

These are her favourite sort of mornings, waking up to a cockerel crow rather than the sounds of impending disaster.

She stands silhouetted by the rising sun flickering through the blinds. When she cracks the window open to ice-cold air, she can hear the shuffle and scratch of an early morning farmyard: a couple of dogs chasing each other around and around in circles, a teenager cursing up a storm about being covered in chicken shit, and the man in her bed, snoring as if he has a cold. She glances over: he’s still fast asleep, his ridiculously long hair falling in soft curls to his shoulders. Her father would have hated that. Her father would have hated every single thing about Simon Lauchlan, from his terrible tattoos to his accent to his clothes (or usually lack thereof). She knows that there’s a certain appeal to that for some women, and that maybe that’s part of why she’d ended up waking up beside him so often lately. Not that the theory she was trying to anger a man over two decades dead who she’d always respected makes much sense.

The sex is good, too, an uncomplicated pleasure. Or at least, it had started off that way. The longer it had been going on, the more complex things seemed to have gotten. His toothbrush had turned up at her sink last week, and she hadn’t removed it. Her pillows had started to smell like him, of sweat and pine. She kept finding hair-ties on the bannister, on door handles, on window-sills. He was using her best honeycomb soap, and she hadn’t asked him to stop any of it.

Well, she asked him all the time, but she never really meant it.

As Simon shifts in his sleep, his snores quieting, the blasted one-eared cat he’d insisted on letting into her bedroom eyes her balefully from its spot on his feet. She recalls the argument they’d had when he’d dragged the clawed thing by the scruff of its neck into her kitchen.

“He’s a mouser! He doesn’t need to be inside or eating our scraps!”

“Yeah, and he’s a great hot water bottle too! Dual-purpose cat!”

“Great at getting my things completely covered in hair. Like someone else I could mention.”

She knows she ought to wake him - he’s the one who’s been looking forward to this day for weeks on end - and yet she can’t quite bring herself to do so. She almost likes him better without his sneering, daring grin, when he’s not challenging her, when he’s not putting up a fight. With his defences lowered, he almost looks like a different man. A man she could see herself with, in a different life.

She finds a bra in the drawer, a blouse, a thick jumper, jeans, socks. The day is bright and cold, and she has the sense that half of the swearing earlier might have come from the kid slipping on frost on his way out of the coop. Through all this, looping one of Miss Marsh’s scarves around her neck and lacing her boots, Simon fails to stir. They never leave the farmhouse at the same time, anyway; it’s an unspoken arrangement that he usually wanders out of the back door sometime after they both awaken, and has some way of getting back to the Runners’ barracks without being spotted. It’s not like people don’t know, of course, but she finds a little comfort in the pretence that their relationship is purely professional.

Looking at him there, she has a sudden urge not to leave him, or at least if she has to, to plant a kiss on his cheek, the promise that she won’t be gone long. She shakes her head at her own ridiculousness and slips out.

***

“Mornin’, Janine!” Mr Yao smiles through a mouthful of Marmite-on-toast, his orange hoodie adorned in tinsel and garish lights, a red crown propped on his head. She can see the chewed up particles of breakfast in his teeth and fights a wince. “Want to pull a cracker? The kids made them, so they’ve got an interesting range of prizes. I got a conker and a five pence piece.”

“How delightful,” she replies. “Merry Christmas, all!”

“Have a seat,” Dr Myers pulls back the chair beside her. “We’re short on eggs, unfortunately, but there’s plenty of bread left. They must have been baking all night, doesn’t it smell amazing in here?”

She nods her agreement, and takes a slice, slathering it in butter and raspberry jam from one of the jars someone must have dug out from cold storage. The table is oddly empty. “Where are Miss Marsh and Five? Where’s Ms Smith?”

“Christmas Day football match with New Canton,” Mr Yao replies thoughtlessly, and Dr Myers widens her eyes at him in warning. He swallows. “I mean -”

“I don’t remember authorising that, or the Advisory Council mentioning it to me,” Janine reaches for the teapot. It had been one of her own, blue and white china chipped in the handle and spout and donated to the cafeteria. “I can’t imagine them approving it without making me sign off on at least twelve risk assessments.”

“It was, er, more of an impromptu thing?” the young man gulps down his own tea, which is still a little too hot from his pained expression. “Don’t worry, they’re within the New Canton gates, we watched them get there all the way on cams, and they’ll be back before lunch. We’ve got a group of supporters keeping an eye in the comms shack. Jack and Eugene are giving a running commentary.”

“I thought you’d want to follow Runner Five anywhere they went,” she says, and then wishes she could bite off her tongue. She’d meant it to sound teasing, but it had come out flat. Luckily, he takes it in stride.

“Honestly, Janine, I did my best to avoid footy before the apocalypse. Standing out in the cold at eight in the morning watching a sport I don’t like doesn’t sound like my idea of Christmas.”

“Same here. Paula was the soccer fanatic in our house, but in my opinion, Brits just don’t know how to do sport right. Where are all the cheerleaders? Where’s the band?”

“I feel like these days they’d all get eaten very quickly,” Mr Yao muses. “I’d like to see a zombie take on a pom-pom, though.”

“Anyhow,” Janine cuts in before his choking zombie impression can completely spoil her appetite. “I suppose it is Christmas, and sports are a good boost to morale and community relations. And if Sara’s there, I have no doubt it’s being well managed. Although next time I’d prefer if someone let me know if we were risking key operatives for football.”

“Got any views on the beautiful game, Janine?” There’s a note of relief in Mr Yao’s tone, and Janine suspects the game might have not gone completely unorganised. Still, she pulls the cracker he holds out. He wins a pebble, a bottle cap, a paper hat. Simple treasures. “I’ve already got a party hat if you want this one!”

She obliges and puts it on, if only to enjoy his momentary delight at her looking ridiculous in it. She can’t help being fond of the younger man; his earnestness catches her off-guard more often than she would like. “My younger brother was an Arsenal fan, so I… I supported Tottenham when we first moved to London. To annoy him, I suppose. I was never really that invested. Anyway, there’s plenty I have to organise before lunch, so I’ll be seeing you!”

She jumps up, grabbing a stack of toast to bring with her, spooning a dollop of jam onto the edge of the plate, and hurries out.

“Never knew she had a brother, did you?”

“No, that brings my total number of Janine background facts up to three…”

***

She elbows her bedroom door open to find the cat has scarpered, its adoration fickle. Simon is curled up, knees on his chest, looking awkward, rigid.

“Simon?” she murmurs, to no response. His face is hidden from view. She places his toast on the dresser and perches on the end of the bed to take off her shoes, unwrap layers of wool. From there, she can hear him, his voice low.

“Nobody was supposed to… she wasn’t supposed to… I...”

Before she knows what she’s doing, she climbs back under the quilt, warm from his body heat, and holds him tight, her knees tucked behind his. She can hear him sobbing in his sleep, his chest rising and falling jaggedly. It hits her somewhere in her gut, the realisation that she would take this pain from him and feel it herself if only she could. Another complication.

She feels him snap awake mid-scream, gasping like a fish out of water. She rubs circles on his shoulder, and tries to model steady breaths.

“You were talking again. What were you dreaming about?”

He waits a while before answering. “Doesn’t matter now. She’s dead. So, I won.”

He doesn’t sound thrilled at that. She wishes that the confidence would come back into his tone, just a little. He rolls over, out of her arms, and pulls a face.

“Cheer up, love! Might never happen, hey?”

“You do know that’s the most obnoxious thing a man can say to a woman?”

“Oh, I pride myself on being obnoxious,” he smirks, and he’s back. He cups her face in a hand and kisses her on the mouth, his eyes big and smiling and every colour at once. “Did you know you’re wearing a crown? It suits you.”

He tugs it over her eyes, and the world is masked by yellow tissue paper. She goes to push it off, laughing despite herself, and his hands reach for the buttons of her blouse, his fingers nearly as rough as her own. He’s quick-witted, quick on the draw, her quickest Runner. As far as she knows, this is the only thing he knows how to take slow.

***

“Merry Christmas, Jenny,” he calls from the doorway, fresh out of the shower, joggers and a hoodie, wielding the hissing barn cat under one arm. He grabs some now-cold toast and heads out the back way, over the threshold, back to being Mr Lauchlan, Runner Three. He never hangs around afterwards, another part of their silent agreement. That would make things too complicated. Yet, she feels a pang of loneliness as she remakes the bed, still half dazed.

It hits her again at lunch, him sitting on the other end of the table with the victorious, raucous Runners who’d won their match five-one. Mr Landis’ cheeks turn pink when Miss Marsh begrudgingly admits he’s good in goal, and Mr Woods and Mr Holden jabber on about Five’s heroic hatrick to anyone who will listen, embellishing the story a little more each time. Simon fits in with them so easily it’s like they forget he missed the game at all.

Sara keeps surreptitiously filling both their glasses with more wine, and Janine’s not about to argue. Christmas Day is joyous, yes, but it always hits everyone hard: there’s a moment on so many faces where for a second, their delight flickers like candles under a child’s breath as they remember everything they’ve lost to be here. Only Simon’s face never drops as he winds up the children and forces games of charades and eventually brings out a battered ukulele to equal parts delight and despair. He’s the life and soul of the party. Occasionally, he gives her a wink, and she pretends not to see it, but can’t keep the small smile off her face. She sips at her wine. She wishes she could have him all to herself.

“Penny for ‘em,” Sara remarks, and she shrugs.

“I… simply never thought I could get so used to this.”

“You can get used to anything, given enough time. Any word on the Major?”

“None. I suppose everything is still very much down to me.”

“Us,” Sara says, gesturing around to the people carolling and making merry, pushing back tables to make more room to dance. “Look at how many people have your back.”

“I hope so,” she sighs, runs a hand through her hair. It’s something he does, unconsciously. In her coarser hair it doesn’t quite have the same effect.

Sara downs her glass, and pours them both another, drinking with vigour as the children clamour to open presents. Janine decides to make a concerted effort to stop staring at Mr. Lauchlan. For a while.

***

“Did you have a good day?” He’s under a pile of blankets in her office when she finally gets in after bidding half the town good night, reading the comic he got in the Secret Santa and nursing a bottle of schnapps. Crawling in beside him again seems undignified when she’s so fresh from her leadership persona, so she lingers in the doorway, arms folded.

“Mr Lauchlan, will I ever get to have my private rooms private?”

“Did you have a good day?”

“Well, it turns out you were right, pushing for a celebration. It was an excellent morale boost. Things went according to plan. My prepared spreadsheet for the kitchen proved invaluable to an efficient cooking process, and-”

“Did you have a good day?” he repeats, swigs.

“It was… yes. I did.”

“It was the best, and all the better for me arranging our little lie in.” He puts his drink and book aside, and gazes up at her, drinking her in. She feels like her bones are on display, like he’s burning holes in her skin. “Thanks. For letting us go all out, I mean. I didn’t want the kids to have a shit time of it.”

“Why are you looking at me like that?” It’s almost a whisper. She clears her throat.

“Worried I’ll forget what you look like.”

“What on Earth is that supposed to mean? Don’t tell me you’re that drunk. What happened to ‘my body is a temple?’” she jokes, but he isn’t laughing. That seems to happen to her often.

“Oh, I’m drunk.” He pats the space beside him, and she ignores it. “You know, I never really did Christmas before Z-Day. Growing up, Nan called it ‘pagan devil-worshipping’, but to be honest I think the cheap old bint just didn’t want to buy presents. I never really got the hang of it later: you need kids to understand the magic, I reckon. Did you see the little brats when Ed walked in?”

“Mr Harrison really outdid himself,” she can’t help but smile, thinking of the man in the Santa suit juggling Molly and ‘ho-ho-hoing’ for Jamie rest ’s swarm of children until he was blue in the face. The excited screaming had given her a pounding headache, but it had certainly been a price worth paying.

“Keep bringing up Nan, and I can’t even remember her properly. Crazy, right? She’s been in my head all day, and I can’t put a face to that nasty little voice any more. And Maggie, the old Six? She made my armband last Christmas, and she’s gone too. And then Archie… and now I’m just thinking… if something happened… Jenny, if I…”

He breaks off, and slips from serious into a languid grin, an expression that infuriates her on a daily basis.

“Sorry, ignore me. It’s stupid. I’m hammered. I just… I like seeing you smile.”

She can feel herself growing worried, something not quite right pinging at the back of her skull. The thought that he wants to say more. The thought that his dreams have been getting so much worse lately. She’s jumped to conclusions before, of course: her gut is not infallible, and this is a difficult day. If he seems off, that makes sense. It’s only natural.

“Come here, will you? Got you something.”

He presses a necklace into her palm, his lips to her throat, and the twinge of unease is gone as quickly as it arose. She wonders, again, briefly, why she’s allowing her life to become so complicated. She wonders if she should tell him about the voice in her own head, that she’s been hearing her brother again, eleven years old and pouting about the football results. She wonders-

“Wait. What did you mean about arranging our lie-in?”

“Shhhh.” He kisses her jaw.

“You organised that ridiculous football match behind my back, didn’t you? That’s where you’ve been sneaking off to, you irresponsible-“

“Shhhhhhhhh, Jenny.”

“Simon, I am going to have a word-“

“Have it in the morning, all right?” His breath is hot on her skin, and she lets everything go, because sometimes being held is worth a few complications.

[fusrodie]

ash & soot

Long before the Winters come into play, a monster stalks the Forbidden Forest that surrounds the Village. Karl Heisenberg is sent to investigate, and heads deeper into darkness to find his prey, a thorn on his side and someone just like him.

chapter 1 - grisly reunions

SFW, canon-typical violence, blood, mention of death. 2K words.

link to ao3 (or read down below)

Nothing ever happened in this boring old village. Every day he would wake up to the same dull sky, the biting cold on his skin, the smell of blood in the air. And the chanting, for fuck’s sake, the goddamn chanting. In the silence of night, you could hear them if you listened close enough. Even cooped up in his factory, trying to focus on bringing his latest creation to life, through the humming of engines and rattling of pistons, he could hear their voices pleading forgiveness and salvation.

It paints a perfect picture in his mind: a bunch of old farts holding hands in a circle, standing over a creepy-ass painted crest of an unborn baby, pouring their heart and soul into their prayer, accepting death and giving glory to their murderer. The prayer itself never made sense to him, not really, but he had to admit it was a damn good way of justifying their atrocities. Nobody batted an eyelash when someone was taken away, went poof overnight to never return. Something about the sacrifice having been made, fate had led them to the light at the end or some shit. It used to fascinate him back in the day, when he was just a child watching everything unfold hidden behind his mother’s skirt. But he was no longer a child, and after almost a century of bullshit, it was hard not to impale every single fucker who talked about devotion and destiny.

Not that anyone would care about it, of course - sister dearest routinely kidnapped girls from the village and no one seemed to notice the Castle was a death trap. Boxes and boxes of wine would make their way into the village and out into the world, the truth right there in the label, and no one seemed to put two and two together. Dimitrescu had offered him more than a few bottles as a courtesy, an attempt to bridge the gap between them - even he had limits, however, lines that he would not cross. The very thought of bringing a goblet of blood-infused wine to his lips made his stomach turn; he had never been one to experiment much with food. He drew the line on frozen pizza and energy drinks.

It’s a wonder the village still had people in it, really; between Alcina’s obsession with maidens, the poor sods taken to Moreau for Cadou experiments and the failed vessels Miranda would discard like common garbage, he figured at this point there were more lycans than people around. More for him to experiment on, he figured, though digging up corpses in the dead of night had done a number on his back. Haulers could only do so much, and more often than not he would have to get his hands dirty. Not having a proper bed, sleeping on a bare metal cot and decades of living on borrowed time had nothing to do with it, of course.

The Castle drawbridge lowered as he approached, hammer thrown over his shoulder, one last peaceful drag of his cigar before he was thrown into yet another boring council meeting. The vineyard greeted him with the bleak vibrancy of a cemetery, scarecrows drained of color, barely recognizable but eerily preserved in chunks of ice. A waste of perfectly good specimens, really.

The halls were quiet for a change, no tormented screams and blood-curling wails, no giggling sisters running around in the hallways. It all smelled of death and old people, expensive perfume and a good dose of arrogance.

He flashed a charming smile at one of the Castle’s servants, laughing when the girl turned a bright shade of red and scrambled away from him. Heisenberg could hear the bickering as he pushed the doors open, Angie’s joints clicking incessantly as the doll moved about. Moreau’s breathing sounded as loud and disgusting as ever, yellow teeth and the smell of a polluted riverbed with a hint of fish. There they were, his beloved little family, waiting patiently for him, staring at him like he had fucked every single one of their mothers.

“You are late, Heisenberg.” Alcina began, as she always did, eyebrow raised in contempt. “As always. Mother,” she turned to Miranda, gesturing towards him with her hoity-toity, stupid cigarette.

“You are obnoxious, Dimitrescu.” He replied without sparing her a glance. “As always.”

He could practically hear her seething as she finally placed her humongous backside on her chair, having given up on chastising him when Miranda paid both of them no mind. Mother sat at the end of the golden-trimmed table, looking awkward in her great black gown and modly crow wings. Dimitrescu’s finest china was laid perfectly for their little afternoon tea party, cup handles that were too big to fit his fingers, minuscule spoons that were fit for Angie’s creepy hands. The servant that had scurried away at the sight of him had come back with a tray of hot tea, biscuits and blood - the house’s specialty. Miranda began speaking as the girl poured her drink, some small chitchat about the state of the village, the influx of foreigners and progress on her grand resuscitation project.

“Thank you darling, but I brought my own.” He started as the girl circled around the table to serve him, pointing down towards his belt buckle to the whiskey flask he always carried around. She couldn’t help but look down, and then up at his sly smile, the blush returning to her cheeks in full force. Dimitrescu’s reaction was swift, a well placed slap with the back of her hand square on the girl’s cheek. He felt sorry for her for a moment, but it was good training - if she wanted to survive the Castle, she would have to learn that it was better to be blind and deaf, and that she had much more provocation coming her way than his harmless flirting.

Heisenberg tuned out of the conversation as he poured his whiskey, pinching the teaspoon between his index and middle fingers, swirling it slowly, scraping the sides of the porcelain. Alcina’s displeasure at his use of her china for such vile beverages made it all the better. He slurped it loudly to add insult to injury, savoring the drink for a second, sloshing it around his mouth before swallowing, a satisfied “ah” escaping him when the liquor burned down his throat. If Alcina didn’t already look like a corpse, he felt like she would have turned purple. When he unceremoniously shoved an entire biscuit in his mouth, crumbs falling all over the tablecloth, he thought she would vomit.

“The latest vessel, unfortunately, has been a failure.” Miranda announced with sadness in her voice, which prompted all of his other siblings to sigh collectively in sympathy. What a bunch of morons. “However, we have made some progress. It seems my theories were correct - younger subjects are far more receptive to the Cadou.” Kidnap babies, got it. There was no limit to how low Miranda would get to fuel her quest for a daughter that had been dead for longer than she was alive. “I regret to say there are no suitable infants at the moment,” she stopped to sip at her tea. “We can only hope the harvest fares better in the coming months.” Had she seen them as nothing but guinea pigs back then, too? No doubt in his mind she did. The only reason she kept them around is because she might not be able to kill all of the monsters she created - better to keep them close than risking losing it all.

“There is but one more matter I would like to discuss, Mother Miranda,” Dimitrescu began, a lilt in her voice, the telltale sign that whatever would come out of her mouth next would be positively foul. “My girls have brought me troubling news.” Troubling, he repeated to himself, but she had a smile on her face as she said it. Miranda gestured at her to continue, which she gladly did, excitement rising with every new word. “It would seem a monster prowls near our blessed haven. There is talk among the villagers of bodies being found drained of blood, organs harvested, but without a single cut left behind.” She stood up to pace the room, one of her favorite displays of grandiose that made her look like the world’s biggest buffoon. It suited her. “At first I believed this to be a mere rumor, a lycan attacking the livestock, a corpse refusing to rest. But then,” she clapped her hands, the doors to the room promptly opening to give way to Crazy, Dumb and Ugly, giggling in their flowing black dresses, dragging a corpse along like it was a treasure they had found in the forest. Angie tagged along with their excitement, pushing Moreau away to get a better look at the stinking body thrown onto the hardwood.

There was no mistaking the lycan, all teeth, claws and complexion of the finest of silver poisonings. It smelled just as bad dead than it did alive; bruises and injuries and gums that stuck out of its mouth. How, pray tell, was this thing still in one piece? Heisenberg rose to take a closer look, pushed its stringy hair away from its face to reveal glassy eyes poking weirdly out of their sockets. He tested its consistency with a slight kick, stabbed it with the butter spreader, shoved a gloved hand in the cut to pull it apart and open. It looked fresh enough, but nothing but a foul vapor oozed out of the body. Crystal dust lined its insides, shards poking out of muscles. He pushes his arm deeper, feels around the chest cavity to find nothing.

“No cuts, no holes,” he begins as he pokes and prods. “No bites, either. Heart’s missing. This your handiwork, Alcina?” Heisenberg quips, suspicion seeping through his stoic facade. For a moment, he swears he can see the lycan’s flesh pulse, the smallest contraction of a muscle. This whole situation got weirder by the second.

“The technique is truly admirable, is it not?” She offers with a gleeful smile, picks up her cigarette and places a hand on her hip. Here we go again. “I simply must have it. Besides, we must know if it poses any threat to us.” She was right, this time. After decades of experimentation, none of them had ever managed to keep an infected subject whole after death.

His shoulders slumped as she spoke, head bowing to hide his discontentment behind the brim of his hat. He knew what this meant: being sent on a stupid adventure in the ass-end of the woods, because he was the only one out of this freak show with the brain and brawn to venture out into the world in broad daylight, without dying to the cold or stopping every five seconds to infect and pet wild animals. Some of these missions he did enjoy, like being sent to nearby towns for special supplies - or special victims. He was never gone long, nor would he stray far, but those escapades never failed to serve as a reminder that he had a reason to keep going, that maybe one day he would be free and the world would be his to explore.

The four of them eyed Miranda quietly, waiting for the verdict that was certain to come. Moreau cut the silence by volunteering to investigate, the pathetic pitter-pat of his feet filling the room when Mother smiled at him.

“I would not risk you in such a way, my son,” she patted his head without a hint of affection. “Not when we are so close to answers. You must continue your research - Heisenberg will look into this… Whatever it is. You are dismissed.” Her tone was nonchalant, her confidence rock solid. This was merely an obstacle, not real danger. At least, that is what she wanted them all to see; if one looked close enough, they would notice the slight furrow in her brow through the slits of the golden mask.

“As you wish, mother.” He tipped his hat before taking his leave, chewing on his unlit cigar, feet pressing hard against the gravel underneath.

Heisenberg never thought he would come to regret having a proper spine and a functional pair of legs.