#you wretched little man i wanted a lie in

[soulaires]

Sweet Dreams | A.W

pairings: dad!Aaron Warner x mom!Reader

synopsis: Aaron loves his daughter, he really do. Hell, he would burn down the world for her but sometimes,, all he wanted was to spend one night alone with you—his beloved pretty wife.

warnings: interrupted sexy times, domestic life, GIRL DAD AARON WARNER LESSGOOO, comfort, nightmares, Aaron Warner is so done, reader and dior are little shits, fluff, married life, light smut obvi, it was interrupted though (literally the whole plot) not proofread …

« words: 1,607┇ao3┇reblogs are appreciated! »

🏷 :: @ravisinghs-wife @ab-baybay @aaronwarnerobsessedmylove @cosmicswan @nomournersonefuneral @lilyevansstudygroup @arinexeisnotworking

Aaron Warner is a good father.

He really is, he educated himself on the risks, pros and cons, he even bought himself a book on how to take care of his pregnant wife, a beginners guide on being a father and what not.

He would like to pride himself that he knows about everything, knows how to handle when the baby cries, when the baby throws a tantrum, or when his daughter wants something and such.

but…

If there was one fact no one mentioned to Warner about being a father, it was just how quickly his sex life would evaporate.

He loves dior, he really does. She is his most beloved daughter, baby girl, light of his life, his princess, his Achilles heel (plus you, of course.) and unfortunately the bane of his existence.

he’s kidding.

but of course there are some times that he just wants an alone time with you, his beautiful wife without being interrupted by a certain little princess.

All because you drove him to madness, igniting an insatiable desire within him, awakening the hidden beast that eagerly salivated and panted in response to your lustful glances, strategically unleashed whenever the mood struck.

He would be a fool to lie and pretend you didn’t stir something inside of him, some wretched version of himself rattled the bars of its cage, akin to a hurricane relentlessly tearing through barriers to reach you whenever you allowed your sugar-sweet voice to caress his sensitive ears.

He was a slave for the love you easily gave him as if it’s the easiest thing you can ever do. How can you easily love someone like him? a hopeless man yearning for thirst and begging for a single drink, a solitary taste, as if dying of thirst and pleading at your feet.

You were his goddess, and the privilege of sharing your bed, your throne, surpassed all his wildest dreams. Simply being by your side was more than he believed he deserved, and he vividly recalled the day he first encountered you—the day you convinced him that he was truly worth something.

—

The room is awash with the silvery glow of the moon, you notice, setting a tranquil atmosphere that amusingly contradicts the feverish warmth of Aaron's caresses. His kisses trace a journey from the curve of your neck to the hollow of your navel. However, any sense of composure shatters when your husband playfully bites your right nipple, sending all rational thoughts scattering out the window.

“Ah, Aaron,” you groan after a sharp nip against your collarbone. “fuck! baby…I—we can’t—!”

“Shh, we can, love. Dior is asleep” he whispers against your ear, “just let me take care of my wife, yeah?” He said as he caressed your hair, admiring your beauty under him. “It’s just us…” he said as he chuckled and that made you shiver.

“Pretty, momma…look at you, my pretty wife.” Aaron shifts to readjust himself as he hurriedly vanishes the remaining clothes and attacks your lips and kisses you passionately and hungrily as if he has been starved for years.

“Gods—look at you, ma, pretty as life and poison, want me to put another baby on you, hm?” he said as he dragged his teeth against your chest to taste your beating heart and he then placed soft and slow kisses on your face while stroking your face with his thumb.

You draw him closer, intending for a light and sweet kiss to allow your husband to continue his gentle touches. Yet, it’s not your fault that you find yourself getting lost in the sheer perfection that is Warner.

He, in turn, envelops both of you with his hand, stirring a gentle desire for more within you and oh, dear god, you need more.

Just as you are about to open your mouth to voice out your desires for a little more, a soft, almost inaudible knock interrupts the intimate moment.

The unmistakable soft voice of your three-year-old daughter pierces through the room, calling out, “momma..? dada..?” Panic flashes between you and Aaron, and hastily, you both scramble to locate your discarded clothes.

“mommy! daddy!” yelled dior through the door as she started knocking continuously that makes you and your husband panic more. “‘s da door broken..?!”

“just a second, princess,” Aaron softly calls out, panicking when his hard-on doesn’t seem to go away. Hell.

He glances up at his wife and stares at you, baffled when he realizes that you had already put on your night gown and on your way to open the door.

“Wha—how?” he asks in disbelief. “You were literally just—”

“Don’t underestimate me.” You joked.

Aaron dismissively shakes his head, muttering under his breath, and takes a seat on the bed, discreetly covering his arousal with the white comforter just as Dior bursts into the room and enthusiastically throws herself into your arms.

“Hey, baby,” you whisper, gently rubbing comforting circles on her back. “Nightmare, love?”

"Uh-huh," Dior nods against your neck, her tears leaving your nightgown slightly damp.

you picked her up and went to the bed as dior hugged her dad, sniffing as she softly cried, “oh, darling. What happened, princess? hm?” Asked Warner as he hugged his crying daughter to his arms.

“I—hiccup t-thought monsters got you,” said dior, her green eyes filled with tears. you then pulled her into a hug.

“aw, baby, we are fine,” you said, patting her back. you brush the blonde curls out of your daughter’s eyes. “yeah, sweetheart, no monsters here.”

“Are you sure?” She asked, looking suspiciously around their room.

“Promise,” you replied, assuringly as you stood up to rock her to calm her down.

“We promised, sweet princess. And if there is, daddy will scare the ugly monsters away,” your husband assured her from the bed as dior starting to calm down,

“really?” she said with a shaky voice and a glassy doe eyes and you almost cried seeing her state.

Poor baby.

“I promise, Di, daddy will protect you and momma.” Aaron said sincerely as you rocked her back and forth in your arms, running your fingers through her wild curls.

Dior sniffles start to quiet down. “Mhm…,” she says. “Can I stay here?” She looks at you with puppy eyes that is impossible for you to say no so you nodded.

“Of course, princess ,” Aaron responds, quietly mourning the loss of one night with his wife, alone.

As you continue rocking Dior in your arms, attempting to lull her into a peaceful slumber, your efforts are momentarily interrupted by her sweet voice, breaking the silence of the room.

“Mommy?” Dior queries after a few minutes, perched on your lap with a wide-eyed expression. “What's wrong with daddy?”

Your gaze shifts toward Aaron, who remains sprawled face-down on the bed, emitting occasional groans and muffled whines in his attempt to compose himself for the sake of your toddler. Suppressing a grin, you find amusement in his comical efforts.

“Well, Di,” you murmur, showering light kisses on your daughter’s chubby cheeks to conceal your amusement. “I think your daddy is having a nightmare, much like the one you just experienced.”

Dior gasps in innocent concern. ”Oh no! Mommy, give daddy kisses to scare the monsters away!”

Smiling at her pure-hearted suggestion, you gently explain, “I don’t think that will help, sweet thing.” Observing Dior's face scrunch up in confusion, you swiftly add, ”You see, adults have different nightmares than kids do.”

“But kisses always help!” Dior insists with unwavering conviction.

”Well, if you insist,” you reply, giving in to her innocent plea, and share a quiet laugh at the sheer delight evident on Dior's face.

As you comply with dior’s request, you peppered kisses onto your husband’s face, eliciting a chorus of giggles from both him and Dior.

After showering Aaron with a cascade of kisses, he playfully remarks, "Mhm, daddy is okay now, but he'll be even more okay if you give daddy a kiss too."

Dior, with her eyes sparkling, responds enthusiastically, "Okay, Daddy!" She complies, peppering him with a flurry of sweet kisses as you heard Aaron giggles so you did, and in the midst of the joyous exchange, she graciously plants kisses on your face, too.

“Thank you, baby. Ready for sleep?” You asked and the response is a barely there nod.

“Love you and g’night, little missy.” You whisper, your voice sounds like a lullaby to the quiet room.

Aaron chimes in, taking on the role of the protector, “daddy will be right here, chasing away any monsters that dare to bother you, emerald.”

Dior, even in her drowsy state, manages to mumble a sleepy “luvu, daffy, momfy” before succumbing to dreams. The room, now quiet except for the soft breathing of your little one.

Your husband then looked at you and softly smiled, “I’ll chase all of your monsters away, too, love.” you softly giggled and gave him a peck.

However, as the night deepens, you feel a pair of eyes on you. Turning your attention, you find your husband, his expression akin to a kicked puppy, a playful pout adorning his features. It’s a silent plea for the solitude that eluded him tonight, a longing for those moments when it’s just the two of you.

You meet his gaze, understanding the unspoken disappointment in his eyes. As a promise of solace, you assure him with a tender look that whispers, ”Next time, it'll be just us.” you promised him.

And you were never the one who breaks promises.

So, was it really a surprise that after you fulfilled your promise you found yourself with two positive pregnancy tests?

No, not really.

📫 :: my first post in 2024 ?!?!!? Anyway this will be a series !!! Next one will be the introduction of the new addition to the family and THE question of “where does baby come from?” From baby warner. Also, if you want to be added to my taglist please do let me know!

[mirrology]

I wanted to request Platonic Boothill and child reader!

After finding out about what happened to Boothill’s daughter wanted to request him finding child reading and taking them in as his own kid and caring for them, taking them to little events or fairs 😭

FEEL SO BAD FOR BOOTHILL ☹️ HE LOST HIS HOME, HIS DAUGHTER AND HIS BODY 😭 IM BALLING MY EYES OUT

— Wunderkind .ᐟ ʚɞ

୨୧ Wunderkind: (noun) a wonder child or child prodigy

Ft. Boothill, gender-neutral reader, platonic. wc: 972

Content: child reader, reader is a sort of 'prize' for an unknown person, the first scene is inspired by mizisua meeting but its platonic, got a little lazy so the rest is headcanons, reader gets surprise adopted, boothill is the best dad ever, he spoils the reader, they both go to fairs and parks often. / a strange man took you in when you were at your lowest. You never knew that you would be at your highest when with him. slight angst but then fluff

Notes: thank you for the request!! i tried my best to incorporate everything that you mentioned. boothill's backstory is so sad and it truly made by tear up, also the IPC sucks.

Fate hadn't been kind to you, you don't remember how you ended up being a so-called prize for a person you barely knew. You don't remember your parent's face nor remember if you even had any. They dressed you up in the fanciest clothes, ones laced with ruffles and the softest cloth, made sure your hair was always neat and tidy. Yet they never actually cared for you, they only wished to show you off as a trophy as they called you.

When out of all the eyes that watched you, they treated you roughly. Grabbing your head and pushing you down to the ground when you didn't meet their expectations, gripping every inch of your arms and leaving blooming bruises in their wake. All while showing you off to everyone in their premise.

You stared blankly at the street, watching people walk by and cars pass. You sat down in an alley way, leaning against the wall of a shop, just, waiting. You had escaped from that manor, from that wretched place. Although you had no hope that you would be free, sooner or later they would find you and bring you back all to restart that agonizing cycle. Just the thought made you squeamish, it made you disgusted.

Your eyes drooped as you looked at people living normal lives, you oh so desperately wished from someone to take you away from this world. As you were lost in your thoughts a pair of boots stopped in front of you, you snapped out of your daydreaming and slowly tilted your head up. Your eyes met with grey ones, you stared blankly at the man in front of you. He had white and black hair, the two colors clashing like yin and yang, it was pretty. He... looked concerned? The man crouched down on one knee to be at your level, you watched him as he did, not once did you take your eyes off of him.

"Hey, uh, ya' okay, kid?" he questioned, his tone was soft and barely above a whisper as if you would run away at the slightest noise. You blinked in surprise, you hadn't expected to be asked such a thing. Your eyes darted somewhere else that wasn't his face, did he want to help you? You considered saying that you didn't want help, but what would that mean for you?

You would be stuck living a life full of emptiness, unfulfilled by your wrongful choice. You looked back at him. He was still there, patiently awaiting your response. "I'm..." You momentarily stopped, your throat felt dry, you swallowed. "I'm lost and... alone, " you squeaked out. Although this wasn't the entire truth, yet it wasn't a complete lie either.

"Hm.." He hummed as his eyebrows furrowed, a conflicted expression on his face. He then perked up or rather tensed. He noticed a bruise, one which is black and dark purple at the moment, looks like a darker spot beneath your sleeve. He slowly reached out towards your arm, and he looked back at you. "May i?" He asked, his robotic fingertips gracing the edge of your long sleeve. Your eyes widened slightly, but you nodded. You suppose that this man really does want to help you.

He gently grasped your smaller hand in his, it was cold and stiff. Yet it didn't feel like theirs, this one was careful, considerate. The cool material felt nice against your sweaty palms.

The bruise spread from halfway up your arm down to almost your wrist, a deep purple-black bruise that stood out from the lighter colors of your clothes. It looks like it was recently made and very painful. The man looked stunned, as if this wasn't a normal occurrence. Well, you guess it wasn't for anyone else other than you. "Yer gonna need medical care, bud." He swiftly picked you up in his arms, holding you softly as if you would break in an instant.

You jumped slightly; you weren't used to being picked up nor touched in a way that wasn't aggressive for that matter. He led your arms to wrap around his neck, "Hold on, bud." He grinned at you, showing off his shark-like teeth. You stared in awe at your savior, being helped felt... nice. No one had ever been at your Beck and call, only ever "helped" when they wanted.

Tears sprung up into your eyes. You closed them tightly, not wanting to be seen in such a vulnerable state. "Thank you..." You whispered as you burried you head into the junction of his neck. He smiled and stroked the back of your head.

"Uhm.." You hummed out "What's your name mister?" Your head turned to look at him as your cheek was pressed against his shoulder blade. "Boothill, don't forget it." He chuckled and started walking to the nearest hospital.

You nodded, taking his words into account.

You wouldn't forget your savior.

Boothill is the best dad confirmed, he gets you whatever you want, whether it be food, toys, clothes or accessories. He gets it for you.

He's always patting your head or ruffling your hair; you don't mind thought. It's actually very comforting.

CONSTANTLY tells dad jokes and it makes it funnier when he tries cursing but it gets covered up by his synthesia beacon.

The both of you go out often to parks to play. He definitely pushes you on the swings, and helping you go as high as you can. And when he sees your big smile as you reach the bar, he knows he did a good job.

He brought you penacony once (when he was actually let in) and you had the time of your life.

It was very bright but new and exciting.

You got to eat new things that you've never seen before, such as cotton candy

[gremlinmodetweeker]

So You Summoned Eldritch!König...

Okay, so everyone loves tentacle König, so let me tell you about what I think about him because as the Resident Monster Fucker (tm), I think I want to give out my own two cents on this.

For one, in this version of CoD (which I am no dubbing Eldritch!CoD), summoners summon a powerful avatars of the other world to reality and use their summons to wage war and maintain peace in society. To start us off, I wrote a little background drabble of you summoning your new little war buddy.

Story below the cut. Asks and requests based on this are welcome.

MDNI 18+

Intro pt.1

You were hired as a summoner for the military based on your bloodline's potential, not based on what you've actually done before. You were told to do your best, but before that day your best had been a small lesser demon that fizzled out after a couple of hours. You'd had absolutely no control over the little terror as it rampaged through your house. Now, they're asking you to summon a full-on demon? They wanted you to die.

You sniveled pathetically as you drew the chalk symbols on the hardwood floorboards of the safe house. You had to wipe your tears away, lest you put out the tall crimson candles that you lit with archaic murmurs. You stopped at one point and tried to beg for them to let you go, one last plead for life, but you were beaten and thrown back into your own circle. You made your bed, now lie in it.

So there you stood, an ancient tome in your hands and the old masters watching your every move through a one-way bulletproof window. You suspected they had as much faith in you as you had in yourself.

You spoke the ancient words, your hands floated through the air like swallows over a lake at twilight. The old hymns that came from your wretched throat sounded like saccharine sickness in the musty silence around you. You stood, and waited.

Nothing came.

You laughed. Maybe this wasn't so bad after all?

Your breath was sucked out of you by rumbling beneath your feet, bringing you to your knees in a mess of infantile scrambling. Black fire encircled you in a burning ring. Deathly wails pounded in your ears so hard that you thought your ear drums burst and you begged and pleaded for mercy that seemed to never come. You closed your eyes, winds whipping so fast around you that you thought you'd be torn apart. You screamed in agony, and just as you did, it stopped.

You were still. You waited for something to happen, but there were no winds, no wails, no blistering heat. You opened your eyes and looked at the center of the circle.

A tall man built like an aurochs lowered his hand with a delicate, graceful wave. He wore nothing but the skin on his omnipotent frame, but even that seemed to stretch thin over the pugnacious muscle that coiled beneath.

He turned and faced you, staring you down with eyes like arctic oceans, freezing you in your pitiful place.

"Hallo?" he asked in a harsh, pitchy voice.

You blinked like a waking babe.

You didn't summon a demon.

You summoned an avatar of madness.

What have you done.

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

[ha1taniwh0re]

What a conversation

Summary: You are fallen angel and you were done with Charlie's ideas about sinners getting to Heaven.

Warnings:reader is angel, curse, reader is backstabber, reader is with Alastor..

A/N: Im obsessed with song "You didn't know" and thought what if I use this as conversation but at hazbin hotel between main cast and reader.

The whole hazbin hotel crew was sitting in lobby waiting for extermination.

"I HAVE A PLAN!!"

Charlie jumped from sofa.

"UGHHH STOP IT CHARLIE!!" I yelled at her

I was laying my shoulder on wall annoyed. Everyone looked at me confused, except Alistor who stil had his grin.

"What do you mean?" Charlie asked.

"There is no help anymore if we survive we survived the end" I said.

"No Angel changed he deserves to go to Heaven, he saw the light, (name) checked all the boxes that they said would. Prove a person deserves a second chance, now you turn your back on second glance?" Charlie was annoyed

"It's not as simple as you think not everything is spelled in ink" I said with sad face

"It's not fair, (name)" Charlie said.

"Careful, Charlie, keep a cool head" Vaggie tried to calm her.

"No! Don't you care, (name)? That just because someone is dead, it doesn't mean they can't resolve to change their ways. Turn the page, escape infernal blaze" Charlie said with angry face ready to fight me.

"I'm sure you wish it could be so but there's a lot that you don't know" Alastor said.

I was glad that Alastor took my side but this annoyed me, everyone knows Im fallen angel and that I worked with fucking Adam why can't she just listen.

"What are we even talkin' about? Some crack-whore who fucked up already? He blew shots, like the cocks in his mouth. This discussion is senseless and petty" I yelled i walked to Charlie who was standing in middle of lobby.

"There's no question to be posed. He's unholy, case closed!! Did you forget that Hell is forever?!" I yelled.

"A man only lives once, they'll see us in one month gotta say, Adam can't wait to come down and exterminate me" I yelled.

"If Hell is forever, then Heaven must be a lie!!" Charlie yelled

"Charlie!" I wanted to sya something

"If angels can do whatever, and remain in the sky The rules are shades of gray when you don't do as you say When you make the wretched suffer just to kill them again" Charlie yelled

Vaggie came to comfort her girlfriend who had tears in her eyes now.

"I was told not to trust in angels" Charlie said.

"BY HER?!" I yelled and smiled

Alastor came and tried to calm me.

"Dear don't" he said.

"Ha! She should know" I still had angry smile

"We should go" Vaggie tried to take Charlie to other room

"Don't you act all high and mighty" I said to Vaggie

"Did you ever think your little girlfriend might be a liar" I was now looking at Charlie.

"Don't, (name) please!"Vaggie begged.

What's the fuss? Why hide the fact that you're an angel just like me~?

[falkarph]

SHADOW OF THE ERDTREE STARTERS

rp prompts taken from the dlc shadow of the erdtree to the video game elden ring by fromsoftware. some have been edited.

❛ while my devotion remains unchanged, by my troth, i am unsure about the others. ❜

❛ i can wield my sword to cull the undeserving. ❜

❛ i'm feeling rather lost. haunted by memories. ❜

❛ my fighting days are far behind me. ❜

❛ vengeance changes a man. ❜

❛ for your sins you will have your recompense. ❜

❛ is there no hope for redemption? ❜

❛ mark my words, you too shall know fear. ❜

❛ how glorious it would have been, had we met in battle as sworn enemies. ❜

❛ i will never forgive you. ❜

❛ my purpose stands unchanged. ❜

❛ a brazen fellow you must surely be, to loose your tongue to a stranger such as i. ❜

❛ you shall haunt me no longer. ❜

❛ i have spoken far too freely. ❜

❛ they must've recognised something. the scent of the killer that slept within me. the stench of crusted blood. ❜

❛ i am loath to admit it, but even at this very instant i wish to run very far away indeed. ❜

❛ we're not gods, you and i. ❜

❛ all this time, i held in my heart only you! ❜

❛ this evening is a sign, of a greater night to come. ❜

❛ you are a wretched soul, a nightmare come to plague me. ❜

❛ embrace your oblivion, as shall i. ❜

❛ there is life in me yet! ❜

❛ revenge alone assures me peace of mind. ❜

❛ don’t get the wrong idea. we are neither friends nor confidantes. ❜

❛ i'll thank you not to lie to me. ❜

❛ i am the chosen, not you. ❜

❛ perhaps you have yet to feel true want. i am patient. there will come a day when hunger knocks. ❜

❛ the night is ever dark. i need the stars ... give me light. ❜

❛ i'm weak as a kitten and thick as two planks. ❜

❛ do you think me in need of alms? i desire not to be in your debt. ❜

❛ think not to hinder me upon my path. lest you too wish to face the reckoning. ❜

❛ no matter our efforts, if the roots are rotten … then we have little recourse. ❜

❛ i ask, why would you think to purloin from me? ❜

❛ how could you inflict such cruelty? ❜

[euphoricfilter]

Devil That I Know: The Prologue

Pairing: Demon! Jungkook x Human! F. Reader

Genre: Fluff || Smut || Angst || Demon au || Non-Idol au || Yandere au || Reincarnation || Strangers to Lovers

Summary: It's a shame how refuge will become your downfall.

Word Count: 3.3k

Tags/ warnings: mentioned death/ murder, sacrifice, sexy demon jungkook who has 4 arms, jimin is just mean (for now), the start of the yandere and just taehyung being a cutie

Notes: she’s back! and better than ever, new and improved, my baby <3 even if you’ve read the old version of dtik, i recommend reading again!! there has been a few added elements + way better writing!

devil that i know masterlist || my other stuff

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

[a little death]

[1859]

Death seemed to have found solace in your shadow. Slithering around your ankles and chewing up any unfortunate living being you came across; acting as a parasite, touch of your fingers sticky poison. The rawest form of hatred radiating off your skin into the world, a curse. 

A simple wish for the price of a life, and maybe this was the universe’s sick joke, that you’ll live to suffer while the rest of the world carries the burden of a small selfish wish.

Maybe death has found home in your sorrows, wretched sadness, anguish, ugly ugly emotions cradling you like a mother would her child. Truly pitiful comfort where anger is useless.

It must have been almost a year ago your misfortune had truly started, foolishly leaving a life you never wanted. Though you suppose you never really had a choice, this day was inevitable when you were the odd one out, a leech, a pitiful child– not that that mattered at all to the man who was the starting point of your resentment. 

A wish for a life that was solely your own. A wish you never thought had been too big of an ask, leaving fragile hope in the hands of fate, praying that the world would take pity on your wilted soul. 

Now, freedom was a day’s journey away. Coastline so close yet so far away, a new life, one you’d been dreaming of since young, slipping through your fingers like dry sand– every step forward, the sea pulling away until you’re chasing after sodden dreams, leaving you stranded at the shore. 

Life looked like a damp cell in a run-down village, barely holding on; dependent on trade, though only one other village thrives in this area, hours away– over the mountain. Trips far and few with the horses they have, produce barely worth a piece of gold. 

The true situation of the village should have become apparent at their panic of unexpected visitors. Accusations spat your way, your own life flashing before your eyes, only for your friend to bear the brunt of their temper. No one of them had thought to hear you out, their words like venom, because in their eyes you’d come to spy on their village, a lie that would ruin you. 

You weren’t like them; and so you’d become an easy target. 

Secrets locked behind closed doors, lies fed to those clueless of what really happened when the sun falls over the horizon and the world is shrouded in darkness. 

Corruption was everywhere, the world so unfair, where fickle human emotions consume those greedy enough to sell their souls for power, for something more, anything to get out of their awful little lives. 

If you told a lie long enough, if you yourself believed in it, then surely it must be true. 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

You’d never expected your first encounter with death, you suppose no one really does. And in your months of solitude, locked up against your will, you’ve learnt you can’t change the past. No matter how many tears wet the dry ground, how much you scream, how much you pray to anyone listening, the past will forever be how it is and you can’t change that. 

Regret is an awful emotion, a million ‘what ifs’ consuming your mind. What if you and your friend had chosen the village over the mountain? What if you had never decided to leave? What if you had traveled alone?

If things had been different, minute details that could have changed the whole course of your life, then maybe your friend would still be alive. Maybe you’d have found the coast, hair windswept as you stand on the deck of the boat, life that of a bird; free. 

You could never see much out of the small window of your cell, rare that the sun would dare poke its head in to say hello, never there to kiss your cheeks red, or warm frozen toes.

The nights had started to get colder, the few seconds you got to see the outside world through the open door is enough for you to know the leaves had begun falling off the trees. Dusty path blanketed with reds and oranges, footsteps harder to hear on the few days you’re fed– never more than what’s left over from the village men. 

The second time death had chosen to lurk was when a crisis had become of the village. Their crops rotting, black mold greedy in the way it had chewed through their livestock. Animals sent from the gods, lay dead on the ground, useless when their harvest season was right around the corner. 

“An evil spirit has cursed the lands” 

You’d wondered how you’d escaped the clutches of death a second time. But your purpose had become apparent when you’d heard whispers of the demon that lived in the mountains. A ruler of this very land.

Rumors carried by the wind had told you that he’d become restless, that the townspeople needed a sacrifice to sate his growing rage. They couldn’t go a season without crops, and none of the men dared push their wives forward as the gift. 

And so you, had been the sacrifice. The true purpose of them keeping you locked up and alive, was to act as their gift for the one that lived in the mountains.

Human fear is often the scariest, compassion absolutely destroyed, empathy non-existent. 

That’s why you don’t find yourself begging when you’re woken up one morning, cold water a shock to the system. Adrenaline useless as it pumps through your veins. It doesn’t take long for you to grasp the reason one of the village boys had come to see you so early, the sun barely having woken herself. 

You cough, wiping your wet face with the backs of your hand. Eyebrows creased into a frown as your eyes flit over to the entrance of your cell. 

“Get up” 

He mustn't be much older than you, pretty lips turned down into a prominent frown that you have to will yourself not to scoff at. Because really if anyone should frown as though the world were against them, it should be you. 

You don’t move, a dangerous game you’d been playing since you’d first arrived in the village. Because if you acted as though you didn’t understand them, language not your own, then you’d keep a little bit of your freedom. Ignorance covered as misunderstandings; actions out of spite, simply accidents. 

The boy tuts, door to the cell creaking, almost yanked off it hinges as he strides towards you. He’s rough as he grabs onto your arms, pulling you up from the sorry excuse of a bed. You pull your arms from his grip, skin prickly with pure hatred. 

“Change into these” he shoves a pile of clothes into your arms, tattered underwear falling to the floor.

If you had any shame, maybe you’d be a little embarrassed as he turns around, arms crossed over his chest. Though it seemed that any lick of shame that dared plague your mind, was consumed by anger as you yank your clothes off—Wringing your wet hair out, rolling the bottoms of the pants up. 

You flinch at the sound of another voice, “Jimin, are you almost done?”

The village boy turns around, eyes raking over your body, “Almost” he calls back. 

You eye the open door as Jimin steps out of your cell, “Don’t even think about it” 

It’s uncomfortable how tight he ties the ropes, hands bound behind your back where one mean tug from Jimin could send you tumbling face first into the floor. 

And it’s infinitely more uncomfortable how the whole village seems to gather, the chief parading you down the split path of people like a prize as Jimin watches your back.

A gift sent from the heavens to save their village, to save their people. Ironic when months ago everyone had been cursing your existence, asking why they should keep you locked up, why you hadn’t died beside your friend. 

It takes almost a day to hike up the mountain on foot, they may have thought of you as their sacrificial savior, that didn’t mean they were willing to waste their resources on you. 

Sweat tickles the back of your neck, hair clinging to your skin uncomfortably. You’re tired. Moments away from your legs giving way, willing to let the sun melt your skin and bones until you become one with the earth. Summer sun still clinging onto the sky before the seasons truly change.

The world takes pity on you as you stumble over your own feet, almost headbutting Jimin’s back as he stops. Your heart is in your throat as reality sets in, the rumors of a demon true. It didn’t look like anyone lived here; picket fence damp, old in a way that bugs had chewed through the wood.

Your eyes settle on the sign that hangs from a tree branch– “Jeon”. 

Jimin grabs the thick rope of the bell, muscles in his arms flexing as he announces your arrival. 

The shred of hope that you held in your heart shatters when you hear the crunch of footsteps. Silhouette of a man wandering through the archway of trees behind the fence.

You think he looks more like an angel than a demon, hair a fluffy mess, almost cute in the way he almost trips over his sandals. He catches himself before he can fall, stopping in front of Jimin on the other side of the gate. 

He places a hand over his heart, taking his time in catching his breath– and you can see Jimin’s patience wearing thin, heel of his boot tapping against the grass. Face etched into a permanent scowl that you can only assume is your doing.

You wet your lips at the sound of the boy’s voice, deeper than you’d expected, “Hello, how may I help you?” 

Your eyes fixate on the mole sat at the tip of his nose. 

“Are you the demon that resides here?” Jimin tugs you forward, heavy hand falling on the back of your neck. 

“Oh–” the man’s eyes widen, running a hand through his hair, “No, he’s inside” 

You peek over his shoulder, path veiled by trees, dark abyss waiting beyond the rotted gate. A world that looked so far from your own, a little secret hidden between the trees.

Jimin hums, “Here” he pats your back, “A delivery from the village” 

You dig your heels further into the ground as Jimin’s fingertips trail over your back, silent warning to do whatever you’re told. Maybe a cruel little goodbye, because the both of you knew that you might not ever make it out of there alive.

He waves at you as he starts his descent down the mountain, sadistic little smile of his face.  

Now would be a good time to run, though you wouldn’t know where to go. You suppose anything would be better than this. Maybe if you begged nicely the demon would kill you painlessly; maybe listening to your cries of mercy. Granting you an easy death so you could finally rest. 

The demon’s friend slips through the fence, “Do you understand me? Are you okay?” 

You nod. So many words hanging on the tip of your tongue, though you don’t seem to know what to say first. 

“I’m Taehyung” he tells you, smile fragile as he moves to take a look at your bound wrists. “May I?” he asks, and you turn to give him better access to your back. 

“What’s your name?” 

You swallow, wetting your dry throat, “Y/n” 

“Jungkook is really nice, I’m sure he’ll let you stay for a while” 

It’s weird how even as the ropes make a dull thump against the damp ground, you don’t feel any more free than you had when you’d been bound. 

Opening the gate, Taehyung motions for you to step inside, letting you follow him down the path and into the open area. Your eyes wander over the courtyard, freshly fallen leaves the color of a sunset scattered across the grass. Stood through the archway of trees stands the heart of the house. 

Without knocking, Taehyung pulls the door open. Intricately crafted table sat in the middle of the room.

He sits at the table like royalty, posture that of a king– clothes that of a nobleman. He looked younger than Taehyung, book held by one hand ever so elegantly, really he could be mistaken for a royal if it weren’t for the inky black snake that peeks out of the sleeve of his shirt. 

You try not to linger on his extra pair of arms. Breath catching in your throat when they fold over his stomach. Entirely unhuman, something you’d never seen before.

His eyes flicker over your face, turning to Taehyung with his eyebrow raised. You flinch as he shuts his book, full attention now on you and his friend. 

“Who’s this?” 

You feel the embarrassment lick up your spine as he takes in the way you’re dressed, warm blush surely flushing your cheeks pink. Both of your lives so dramatically different. 

Taehyung clears his throat when you don’t say anything, “This is Y/n” 

“Does she understand us?” Jungkook asks, curious eyes meeting your own. Taehyung turns to you, nudging your shoulder with his elbow. 

“I do” and Jungkook hums, a little taken aback with how formal you’d come off. 

“Why are you here?” there’s no malice in his voice, simple curiosity. Something you hadn’t been expecting. And you wish he had just shouted, unexpected understanding strange when you had prepared for the worst. 

Taehyung grabs a pillow from under the table, fingertips barely grazing your back as he helps you sit opposite Jungkook. 

“I’ll make us some tea” Taehyung smiles. A whisper for him to stay stuck on the tip of your tongue as he wanders further into the back room leaving you alone with Jungkook. 

Your eyes stay trained in your lap, picking at your nails, fiddling with the hem of your shirt; really anything to keep you from having to look into Jungkook’s eyes. 

“I asked a question” he reminds you, “why are you here?” 

“I’m a sacrifice. A gift from the people in the village of the east” 

“A gift?” he urges, utterly enraptured by the mind of humans. 

“Their land had been cursed, or so they say” you meet his eyes, “this is an offering for you to save the land, to sate your anger. That’s all I know, no one ever spoke much around the cell they kept me in” 

“Cell?” his eyebrows raise, curious.

You hum, “It is nothing but rumors, but they say the king wanted people like myself dead, the chief had told his people I’d come to spy on them. That my life would be of use, so they let me live” 

“Is that so?” Jungkook falls back, holding himself up by his arms, “Taehyung hadn’t told me such rumors were going around” 

You open your mouth, a question that’s been playing on your mind since a child put to an abrupt stop when Taehyung wanders back into the room. Teacup and delicate little porcelain plates balanced on a wooden tray. 

“Thank you” your voice is barely above a whisper as your fingers delicatly take hold of the cup. 

“So–” Taehyung starts, taking a seat beside you, “are you staying with us?”

Your hand flies to your mouth, a lame attempt in covering a cough as your eyes meet Jungkook’s. 

“Please? I could always use the extra help” Taehyung continues, arm slung over your shoulder, “What do you think?” 

Jungkook raises an eyebrow, head tilting in question. It’s strange how far you can get lost in someone’s eyes, how for some it’s ever so easy to nitpick seemingly insignificant changes in expression. Maybe it had been a self-defense mechanism, a means to survive, but you’d always felt you’d been good at knowing how people felt, knowing where to build a wall, draw a line, anything.

Jungkook was a strange being, how what lies beneath his gaze is unattable no matter how long you search.

Jungkook’s eyes gave no indication as to how he felt about you. Expression eerily neutral that even if you were to ask him how he felt, his tone would be of no help. Someone so in control of their body and mind, someone above that of natural human nature; and you suppose thats only fair considering he weren’t a mortal like you or Taehyung. 

“You guys do whatever you want” Jungkook picks up his book, touch gentle as he flips back to the page he’d left. 

You turn to Taehyung, “If it’s okay, then I don’t mind staying” because living a life secluded from the world, protected by the rotting gate at the end of the path, was a safer way to live than travelling alone with no place to call home.

And as long as Jungkook held no resentment towards you, letting you live a life of peace, even if only for a fleeting moment—then maybe you’d hold onto that last selfish little sliver of hope. 

Taehyung takes ahold of your hands, the prettiest smile gracing his face, “You must be exhausted. How about a bath? You’ll have to wear some of my clothes until I can make you some–” 

“Tae” Jungkook laughs, “Slow down, you’ll overwhelm her” 

Taehyung’s fingers intertwine with your own, tugging you to stand.

You turn back to Jungkook before Taehyung can drag you out of the room, “Thank you” you call out to him.

He waves you off, thumb running over his bottom lip, “It’s nothing” and really it wasn't, he already housed one human, what was one more? Not when like Taehyung, you’d been betrayed by your own kind.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

“Have you heard of any rumors circulating the village?” Jungkook asks his friend, Taehyung running a hand through his hair. Having left you to wash up and change before he would show you your new bedroom.

“Rumours?” Taehyung’s head tilts a little.

Jungkook hums, “About the king” 

“None” he shakes his head, “Only whispers about bandits raiding the outskirts of the capital” 

“Nothing about any spies?” 

Taehyung’s tongue runs over his bottom lip, back straightening slightly as he gazes down at Jungkook. “Is this about Y/n?” 

Jungkook sighs, “Something’s happening in the east, don’t go there from now on” 

Taehyung nods, “I’ll keep an eye on her, just in case” 

“I doubt there’s a need. The two of you are quite similar” Jungkook hums, “Just make sure she’s comfortable, that’s all I ask” 

“And you?” 

Jungkook pushes himself to stand, “Nothing much will change around here” 

Taehyung’s role in Jungkook’s life hadn’t been a coincidence. And as much as it felt like Jungkook was the one helping Taehyung, demons were a little more selfish than that. Sure, Jungkook gave Tae a second chance at life, but that was only because he wanted something from him. It all worked out in the end, Jungkook made his first friend and Taehyung lived comfortable. 

You, however, Jungkook hadn’t seeked you out. You were handed to him by the graces of hell, destiny walking you up this mountain. Adorably strong-willed, though perhaps too trusting of the very being that could bring you to your downfall.

Jungkook was anything but a saviour, everything he ever did was only to with his own wellbeing in mind. But you, you were the one thing that he hadn’t planned. An anomaly thrusted in his face, how could he turn away his gift from the world?

Your desire for freedom was endearing, the human will to live something Jungkook found utterly intriguing when all the world seemed to do was fuck you over. Naïve hope disguised by a hard exterior, pitiful in the way the world had rejected your mere existence. Something Jungkook was more willing to use, arms curling around your fragile existence.

Because as much as you thought of him as your refuge, he knew that he would become your downfall.

[ziipzeepzop-eez]

❝ just like magic, here you are! just like magic, in my heart. ❞

━━ ⁎˚ ໒ 🍥 𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐞!𝐥𝐞𝐨 𝐱 𝐮𝐧𝐢𝐜𝐨𝐫𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐤𝐚𝐢!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 ⊹ ࣪ ˖༄

request — @snipersiniora : " Cool! Cool! As a ROTTMNT big fan my requests goes there especially either platonic, romance or sister reader in general (you can say i love these types of HCs/one-shot). ⨾ About the request; May i please - and as always if you don't want to, don't feel comfortable about it you can delete the request - Rottmnt romantic hc about Leonardo x fem!reader who's a Unicorn yokai? ⨾ Like she has a habit to flip her wings whenever leo is aroundshe loves wearing pink but once leo became her boyfriend she wear blue his color and she's super sweet and trusting of him. Something rotten tooth sweet type of hc. "

𝐚 / 𝐧 ༝༚༝༚ ☁︎ :: my dearest love. at user sniper siniora. here it is. i bestow this upon you with trembling hands and a stoic grace. i won't lie! — with this being my first time doin' an official sorta " request " outside of the usual shenanigans with my shawties, i was more than a little nervous. but this was a lot of fun!! i hope it makes you feel at least a lil better :')) <3 thank you for your endless patience, the creativity juice, and most of all - for requesting from me! 🩵💫 it's been an honor, and i reeeally hope you like it because if you don't i will JUST BE CRUSHED.

now, on with the show. *bows with a flourish*

HE'S OBSESSED WITH YOU Awww, look guys!! It's couple of the year! (ﾉ^ヮ^)ﾉ*:・ﾟ✧

༘⋆✿ No but seriously. How dare you exist? How dare you become the exact embodiment of this boy's wildest dreams? (/lh + /aff)

The world of the yokai is already a diverse plane, so the possibility (read: literal existence) of unicorn yokai being a reality was never not thereeee . . . .

Our Neon Leon just never got that far. Haha.

So trust that when homeboy sees you for the first time, he does a whole double-take.

༘⋆✿ He is, enthralled. You have him entirely wrapped around your pretty li'l majestic finger. Ope- there he is, kissing up your knuckles! (Just shove him away.) (He'll come back. He knows you can't resist his charm.)

Let's be real: the first time he caught a glimpse of you, it was in passing, and he could not stop thinking about you for the rest of . . . well, until you see each other again!

His brothers probably know every little detail about you (physically wise) before you guys even get together lmwoooo.

He would NOT SHUT UP about the "majestic unicorn lady down in Times Square down in the Hidden City (⁠人⁠*⁠´⁠∀⁠｀⁠)⁠｡⁠*ﾟ⁠+ . . . NO, HE WAS NOT HALLUCINATING DONNIE. He really saw you! >:("

(Donnie definitely wouldn't miss out on an opportunity to tease his twin but I feel he'd be just as interested in the aspect of your existence! What can I say? The man's a scientist. He tries to run genetic tests but Leo doesn't let him and shoo's him away each time he even comes close to you with in-the-name-of-science intent lolz)

༘⋆✿ Thinks you're the most magical thing to ever grace this wretched earth.

And, if magic is a bit of a stereotype for your kind?

If you can't actually- . . . if you don't have magical abilities— that doesn't make you any less in Leo's eyes!! To him, your whole existence itself is magical. ✨ His words, not mine. (/lh)

He's all over you any other way.

Casual settings, ranging from cozy atmospheres such as date nights to the eccentric zany missions, circling back to midnights on the rooftops,

Just sneaking into your everyday life in broad daylight,

with or without his signature hoodie,

but always with his charming smile.

He's your new constant, just like you're his.

However! If you do share in the mystic aspect that comes with being a yokai, or a direct descendant mutant of a mysticism involved bloodline (*stares hard in bro's general direction*) —

you're gonna get dragged into a bunch of crazy thematic shenanigans that

- more often than not -

end up with you guys bustin' your butts in a mad escape from some rogue yokai of sorts.

During the calmer times tho? You'd indulge him.

Set off little magical cotton-candy pink shadow puppets dancing across the walls of his bedroom while he cuddles close to you, churring softly while rubbing his cheek against yours, his eyes sparkling with nothing short of adoration.

Whether you're casting those little puppet shows out of your own volition,

or from the music box Leo had gifted to you on a date he'd nabbed from a cute little shop in the Hidden City,

that's up for you to decide.

It's a sweet bonding time either way. (✿ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈)⁾⁾

༘⋆✿ . . . He has his moments of trademark insufferability, tho. You knew it was coming.

"Ooo! Ooh, I know!- can you magic up a pizza?"

"Can you teleport like me? If I got you in a high enough position, could you defeat our enemies with the power of friendship?"

"Can you make fireworks come outta your fingers? It'd make a lotta sense, seeing as you have magic fingers; that massage last night did wonders for my scales, cutie. I'll help brush your feathers later, hm?"

"Oh- OH! I know! Can you-"

"Leonnn."

༘⋆✿ Magic abilities, no magic abilities. Noodles, no noodles . . . One thing about this funky blueberry muffin is he will be absolutely obsessed with you, through and through.

"You're all the magic I need in my life, [Name]."

༘⋆✿ If being one of his favorite existing creatures wasn't enough, let's talk about your fashion!! Now he adores your fashion sense. Your entire aesthetic. He loves unicorns, he loves every sugar-spice-and-everything-nice thing surrounding said unicorns! You're such a vision to him.

But shortly after you both got together, and you started incorporating blue into your everyday style??

Mm.

Reeeeemember when I told you that he's a little (read: extremely) obsessed?

Yeah. Good luck tryna get him off of you like this. (/hj)

Like, girl- as soon as you step into the lair and he catches you wearing blue?

It could be the most inconspicuous detailing of an accessory - and he'll still catch it.

NOTHING EVADES HIS NINJA TRAINED SUPERWEAPON MUTANT VISION.

—And he is ZOOMING OVERRRRR with the biggest grin and just.

Purely cajoling. An absolute cajoler.

A professional flatterer.

Honey is what his words are made of, made to drown you in their syrupy sweetness and trap you like a helpless fly in his venus flytrap of all-encompassing love.

(Except he's being 100% serious.)

"I knew it'd be a matter of time before I rubbed off on you, bonita. Look at you! Spitting image of absolute beauty, if I do say so myself. Blue is definitely your color. You should wear this forever, actually, from now on. Always."

Expanding on this, he lends you his clothes! :'))

If they can't fit you (y'know, wings and all) HE WILL LITERALLY CUT HOLES IN THE BACK SO YOUR WINGS CAN POP THROUGH AKSHDJDHFH —

*SLAMS FISTS ON TABLE* YOU GUYS WILL DO THE ICONIC BOYFRIEND-GIRLFRIEND HOODIE STEALING THING, IT IS NON-NEGOTIABLE.

(He's a simp. And a little bit freaky. (/ns) But you didn't hear it from me.)

Something about seeing you in his clothes just makes him feel so fuzzy and warm inside.

It makes him feel wanted. Sorta gives him a sense of security. A reaffirmation that you're his and he's yours.

Soft, warm, pure, fuzzy feelin'. Good for the soul. ☁

Like when you hug him with your wings!

He loves that feeling. (..◜ᴗ◝..)

༘⋆✿ Speaking of those luxurious wings . . .

Each time they start to fluff up and flap when he comes within your general vicinity, he gets SO SMUG.

What can we expect from Mr. [Macho Ego] Charmer himself??

"Looks like someone's happy to see me." As if he's not over the entire universe to see you too, smh.

and then you excitedly affirm his words — rather than getting annoyed, even if playfully — and he just gives you the most enamored expression.

Well — it's a fine mix of smugness (because I mean c'mon. It's Leo.) and fond adoration.

He thinks you're so, so adorable.

Cuteness aggression galore.

Once you're trapped in his embrace there's no escape.

Nobody is safe, and

He is fooling NOBODY.

I mean, his own tail starts wagging whenever he sees you . . .

and sometimes, he subconsciously churrs loud enough for you to hear whenever you guys are close, which is literally all the time, . . .

So he can't really speak. Now can he?

(He does anyway. It's Leo.)

If you're okay with it, he definitely pets your wings.

He likes to run his fingers through the feathers. They're just so fluffy.

' Is this what clouds feel like? '

At first he mostly did it to fluster you, seeing as it seemed to have the same blissful effect of him getting shell/chin scritches, but over time, it just happens naturally.

He seeks it out ─ it becomes a source of comfort to him.

Not only because they're so soft and fluffy, hereby appeasing his sensory needs, but also because it's you.

Asks you if you can fly lmwo.

Begs you to take him for a flight by moonlight but y'all will literally go crashing down AJSHDJDHD

Until, you actually do . . . pick him up, that is.

Until you actually do . . . take him for a moonlight flight.

Until you indulge him in everything because you love him so much and would do anything and everything to put a smile on his face.

He's shell shocked (I AM SO HILARIOUS).

A blushing, stuttering mess.

Bro doesn't know what to do with himself.

A turtle? Nay. A tomato.

Someone tell bro not to dish what he can't take lolllll.

༘⋆✿ Sure, he'll tease you a little bit (It's Leo.) but it's all out of love!! Pardon his major ego, he'll throw it all away for you at the drop of a pin; he genuinely loves and cares for you and how you perceive him.

In turn, this causes him to show out a lot more whenever you're around, subconsciously standin' on bidness 25/8 to 'prove himself' to you,

but you also just make him so giddy.

How can he not want to squish and hug and cuddle you and plant kisses all over your cute little face every time he sees you?

He treats you so, so gently.

You're his princess and he beholds you like absolute royalty.

Yes, he may roughhouse from time to time, but he's capable of handling you like fine china.

It makes you feel just as special as it sounds, aughhh.

It's a nice balance in your relationship. <3

At first, he may be a little shy and not know how to handle how trusting and loving you are.

Well, lemme rephrase : he loves how much you love him, because he loves you a lot too!! Whatever affection you give him, he returns tenfold.

You're just so precious he can't help himself, nor would he try.

It's the trust part.

He's . . . well, he can get kind of overwhelmed and in his head about it sometimes.

Especially when his insecurities come to play at the surface :(

He just cares for you so much, it's scary. How much he cares.

— it's a swirling mess of many different things: "you'll put her in danger", "you'll end up disappointing her", "there's someone better out there for her", "why should she trust you?" but at its core, it's all the same:

does he really deserve you?

Precious, pure, sweet, ethereal you?

Surely not, is what his mean brain tells him.

But you're persistent. And with time, dedication, and consistency, you get him to realize that.

Leo is family-driven.

He's deeply devoted to his loved ones and would give the entire world for those he cares about.

Despite his boasting of how awesome of a character he is, he doesn't really believe it like that all the time :((

But he really is a wonderful person.

and you help him further recognize that!!

༘⋆✿ He wants to become the best version of himself when he's with you. He wants to be worth your trust and affection and attention; the self-expansion that manifests from your guys' relationship is one that will turn him for the decades to come. (bro just needs to realize he was worth it all along 😔✊ he's a little slow but he's trying his best, that's what matters.)

It's wondrous what can come from a foundation built on mutual love and trust and respect.

Trust and be trusted.

Love and be loved.

Leo is one who gives and gives, even when he's running low on it for himself.

Blessedly, breathtakingly, you're there to fill that cup for him every time.

And he couldn't be more grateful.

Cuddles close to you, planting loving kisses all over your soft face, from your eyebrow ridges to your lips and relishing in the sweet giggles that he's rewarded with in return.

"I love you," he murmurs. "I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you"

And onnn and onnnn he goes. (♡ˊ͈ ꒳ ˋ͈)

Because he does.

He really, really does.

And you believe him too.

━☆・.ೃ࿔:･♡

One thing will forever remain for sure:

Choosing and loving you was the best decision of his entire life.

And having you choose him day by day as well? Ah, well, what can I say?

He's in the sugary pink cotton candy clouds, and it's the beautiful serenade of you. (⁠*⁠´⁠ω⁠｀⁠*⁠)

@cafekitsune + @rookthornesartistry + @animatedglittergraphics-n-more for the dividers / "hc" banner ! 🩷

[xenascribbles]

context: he calls her Bird bc she keeps referring to herself as a bird and she doesn’t remember her name

⚔️⚔️⚔️⚔️

Kieran believes in magic just a little bit more when, in the fraction of a second it takes him to blink, Bird leaves her cot and ends up just in front of the door, inches from him. He jumps only slightly at her sudden proximity, but recovers quickly. Confusion flashes through her crystal eyes, and then her profound sadness returns as she asks, “Do I frighten you?”

Heart thrumming, Kieran shakes his head. “No, not at all,” he murmurs. As he stares into her eyes, it’s easy to get lost in them. So blue that her irises nearly match the whites of her eyes, they seem bottomless. It’s how Kieran would imagine it would feel to fly through the open sky, to soar amongst the clouds.

She reaches up to grab the bars of the window between them and her fingers brush his. Kieran looks at the contact, where it feels like a jolt of electricity shoots into his skin. He’s been shocked before by a rogue live wire, but this isn’t that. The sensation that rocks through him is softer, like the tingling of static, a lively buzzing like a happy swarm of bees.

“If you were a smart man, you’d be frightened. Like the rest of them.” Lightly, but purposefully, she brushes her finger against his once more.

Kieran looks at the contact, his heart thumping in the base of his throat. “Then maybe I’m not all that smart. I think …” He brings his gaze back to hers, and when they connect, he can’t hold his tongue. “I trust you more than them. I want to free you, Bird.”

“Bird,” she coos. The pain melts off of her face, a sweet, dreamy look taking its place. “You’ll save me, won’t you, prince?”

A knife twists inside Kieran’s gut at the familiar look in her eye, the dreamy lilt to her tone. He doesn’t know how, or if he even can, but he promises, “I’ll save you.”

In an instant, anger overtakes her and she takes a step back, glaring at him. “Do not lie to me. You are not my prince. You are an imposter. A liar.” Her hands fold over her heart as she flips from irate to swooning in the next second. Her quick switching moods are making Kieran dizzy. “My prince is handsome. My prince is sweet, and kind, and noble. My prince …” Another quick switch as her face falls. “My prince died. My Prince’s life was snatched by a wretched man who could set the world aflame. My Prince will not save me. I shall be here for another lifetime.”

She stumbles back until she finds her cot once more, climbing onto it to lie with her back to Kieran. Her sobs start again.

“I’m going to get you out,” Kieran promises. “I’m going to figure out what the fuck is going on in this city, and I’m going to find your prince, and we’re going to find a way to free you. I swear it.”

She curls in tighter on herself. “Leave me alone. You are not my prince.”

⚔️⚔️⚔️⚔️

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Do you have any dialogue prompts for a person who doesn’t speak much?

In literature, we can find characters who are generally quiet. Some of them are perhaps so because it's innate, whilst others may not speak much due to certain events (e.g., a traumatic experience). Maybe some quotes from these quiet characters could serve as dialogue prompts. Below are just two examples I chose.

In Louisa May Alcott's Little Women, Beth March is known as a quiet, introverted character:

...We’ve each got a dollar...‘I planned to spend mine in new music,’ said Beth, with a little sigh, which no one heard but the hearth brush and kettle holder.

‘I used to be so frightened when it was my turn to sit in the chair with the crown on, and see you all come marching round to give the presents, with a kiss. I liked the things and the kisses, but it was dreadful to have you sit looking at me while I opened the bundles,’ said Beth, who was toasting her face and the bread for tea at the same time.

‘Serves me right for trying to be fine. I wish I’d let my hair alone,’ cried Meg petulantly. ‘So do I, it was so smooth and pretty. But it will soon grow out again,’ said Beth, coming to kiss and comfort the shorn sheep.

‘I saw something I liked this morning, and I meant to tell it at dinner, but I forgot,’ said Beth, putting Jo’s topsy-turvy basket in order as she talked.

‘I like that kind of sermon. It’s the sort Father used to tell us,’ said Beth thoughtfully, putting the needles straight on Jo’s cushion.

‘I wish I’d known that nice girl. Maybe she would have helped me, I’m so stupid,’ said Beth, who stood beside him, listening eagerly.

‘Jo talks about the country where we hope to live sometime—the real country, she means, with pigs and chickens and haymaking. It would be nice, but I wish the beautiful country up there was real, and we could ever go to it,’ said Beth musingly.

...so that is my favorite dream.’ ‘Mine is to stay at home safe with Father and Mother, and help take care of the family,’ said Beth contentedly.

‘If something very pleasant should happen now, we should think it a delightful month,’ said Beth, who took a hopeful view of everything, even November.

‘I don’t see how you dared to do it,’ said Beth in a tone of awe.

‘My head aches and I’m tired, so I thought maybe some of you would go,’ said Beth.

‘I’m so full of happiness, that if Father was only here, I couldn’t hold one drop more,’ said Beth, quite sighing with contentment as Jo carried her off to the study to rest after the excitement, and to refresh herself with some of the delicious grapes the ‘Jungfrau’ had sent her.

In Maya Angelou’s novel-like autobiography I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings, the protagonist becomes mostly mute after a traumatic childhood event:

When we still didn’t force ourselves to answer, she asked, “You want me to tell Santa Claus to take these things back?” A wretched feeling of being torn engulfed me. I wanted to scream, “Yes. Tell him to take them back.” But I didn’t move. (An example of internal dialogue)

It occurred to me that she expected a response. The sweet vanilla flavor was still on my tongue and her reading was a wonder in my ears. I had to speak. I said, “Yes, ma’am.” It was the least I could do, but it was the most also.

“What you doing sitting here by yourself, Marguerite?” She didn’t accuse, she asked for information. I said that I was watching the sky. She asked, “What for?” There was obviously no answer to a question like that, so I didn’t make up one.

Stunned but trying to be well mannered, I said, “Hello. My name is Marguerite.”

“What the hell is this?” He hunched himself up on a hip and brushed the pants. His hand showed red in the porch’s cast-off light. “What is this, Marguerite?” I said with a coldness that would have done him proud, “I’ve been cut.”

The lie lumped in my throat and I couldn’t get air. How I despised the man formaking me lie...The tears didn’t soothe my heart as they usually did. I screamed, “Ole, mean, dirty thing, you. Dirty old thing.” Our lawyer brought me off the stand and to my mother’s arms.

Sources: 1 2 3 4

Hope this helps inspire your writing. Do tag me, or send me a link. I'd love to read your work!

More: On Mutism

[perfinn]

the heat that drives the light

aemond targaryen x tyrell!oc - part iv

wc: 2.6k

summary: aemond eavesdrops on his wife, meets her dog, and suffers a moment of profound weakness

cw: NSFW, blind oc, masturbation (for aemond), feelings of guilt (implied to be based in religion?), tbh theres not much this chapter

masterlist, read on ao3, divider by saradika

The pain Aemond has been caused by the loss of eye is something he had long hoped to grow used to, but time and again failed to do. It is a constant ache, on some days a distant throbbing and on others an excruciating pain so overwhelming he cannot face the public for fear of them seeing him weak. Aemond wonders, as he watches his lady wife in the Keep’s gardens, whether Cecily’s blindness causes her any pain. Did the unnamed disease that blinded her leave any other damage? He supposes he could ask, if only he could stand to speak to her. 

It has been a fortnight since their wedding and all the celebrations that followed it, and he has barely spoken a word to her. She has spoken words to him, has tried many times, but he doesn't respond– cannot. He cannot even be around Cecily for how strongly she allures him. And she isn't even trying. It's wretched, bewitching, and entirely too distracting. He tells himself, rather, that he has more important things to attend to than speaking to a silly girl. 

And yet, here he stands in the cover of cloister shadows, watching her as she sits with Flora and shares a pot of tea. He could be doing anything more productive, but instead he stands here and eavesdrops on his spouse. Pathetic.

She looks beautiful, even from here, in a gown of green and gold brocade with her dark hair braided half up into a spiral on the back of her head. Her lilted voice carries through the Godswood so smooth and perfect, he’d call it sweet if it weren’t accompanied by Flora’s softer tones. 

“Is it not what you’d hoped?” says Flora. 

“I tried not to have too many hopes,” Cecily responds, her voice carrying up clearly to where Aemond stands. “I was told of him but not much. Besides, it is not so bad to have a husband who is aloof. People call me aloof too.”

“But aloof and aloof do not make for much of a relationship,” says Flora. “Not that you are aloof, in truth.”

“Perhaps not with you. Others think it so.”

“Others do not matter, do they?” Flora does seem to have some emotional intelligence. Aemond supposes it makes up for her lack of cunning, but it will not get her far in this world. “Who matters,” says Flora, setting down her cup and reaching to touch Cecily’s hand. “Is me. And your husband, should you wish him to matter.” 

Cecily laughs, intertwining her fingers with Flora’s. “You are sweet, Flora.” And foolish, thinks Aemond distantly. “I am happy enough with Prince Aemond.” 

Aemond knows that to be a lie. How can it be anything else? How can she be happy with a man who will not even speak to her? She must be lying to ease her cousin’s worries. She is not aloof, she is in fact a social creature and she must be utterly miserable with a husband who barely gives her the time of day. Aemond could change this in a heartbeat, sure, but he has not a clue where to begin. He would make a fool of himself if he tried.

Flora hums, lifting her cup to her lips and sipping slowly at it. “Well, I hope when you find a husband for me he is just as handsome with none of the aloof nature of the prince.”

Aemond ought to be insulted, but he’s not certain he can find it in him. He is more stunned by the fact that Flora believes Cecily is to find her a match, and not her own father. He knows little of Moryn Tyrell, but he knows perfectly well that the man is still alive and perfectly capable of making matches for his daughter. Surely he’d want to, after his son’s potential for an advantageous match was squandered by his joining the Kingsguard. Are the girls just delusional to their position in the world as women?

“My lady.” A new voice enters the conversation. A squire, perhaps a steward. He does not quite recognise the man speaking. Cecily’s head turns toward the new voice, and she stands. Flora follows, whispering in her ear. “I apologise for the interruption. But by your request, your dog has been brought from Highgarden.”

Cecily’s face brightens in a way Aemond has never seen before, her eyes alight with joy. “Bud is here already?”

Bud? He supposes a dog would make sense, a clever beast to help guide her so she does not constantly need Flora’s help. What he expects to see is a hound of some kind, perhaps something smaller than a hunting dog to better suit her needs, a retriever maybe. Only, the creature that bounds across the grass toward the two Ladies is nothing of the sort. Bud is a tiny thing with floppy ears and a shiny coat the colour of bronze, and Aemond finds him to be rather ugly. 

Cecily, however, crouches down to pick the dog up when it yaps it her, cooing at it as though it were her very own child she cradles it in her arms. Flora coos with her, scratching under its chin while its tail wags wildly. Who Aemond assumes to be the handler jogs in, exasperated for not having been able to keep the dog under control. Flora, at least, seems to notice him

“Cecily will keep him out of trouble, sir,” she says, assuring him. “He is a good boy, just excitable.”

Good? What good can he be? What purpose could the little beast serve but to sit on a woman’s lap and lick at her fingers? 

“I should like to bring him to meet my lord husband,” says Cecily, pressing a kiss to the dog’s round little skull. “Perhaps he’ll like him.”

Gods be good. Now Aemond must decide between lying to his wife and saying he thinks the little creature is sweet, or being honest with her and disappointing her again. He’s not certain he could bear to see that disheartened look on her face again. 

Some hours after Aemond takes his dinner alone in his apartment, a knock reaches his door, Ser Leo come to tell him his wife has requested his presence in her own rooms. Undoubtedly to introduce him to the ugly little creature she has the nerve to call a dog. He debates telling her no, and keeping to himself, but some force he cannot put a name to has him standing and following the kingsguard across the halls toward his wife’s chambers. 

Leo opens the door for him, announcing his presence. Aemond watches as Cecily turns around and smiles, lifting Bud from her lap into her arms as she stands. 

“Lord husband,” she greets him sweetly, taking a few steps towards him. “I hope I did not disturb you.”

“No,” says Aemond, watching as Bud settles comfortably in her grasp, hairy tail wagging lightly. “I had finished eating.” He hesitates before he speaks next. “And who is this?”

“Ah!” Cecily breathes, and Aemond hears the door click shut signalling that Ser Leo has left them alone. “This is Bud. When I came east I left him at Highgarden as I did not expect to be here quite so long, but my father tells me his business will keep him here for some time. So, I had this one brought here.”

The dog looks up at Aemond, squished little face tilting in curiosity. To sate Cecily, he reaches his hand out and lets the dog sniff at his fingers. “Does he serve a purpose?”

Cecily smiles wryly. “I am most certain you’ve heard of Reachmen’s love for lapdogs. His purpose is to be spoiled, I rather think.”

“Mmm,” hums Aemond, reaching to scratch under the dog’s chin when it has decided it trusts him enough to be petted. Aemond takes note of the collar he wears, soft leather dyed green and stitched with pink roses. “It looks as though he serves it well. Curious choice of name.”

Cecily smiles, and Aemond despises the way it tugs on his heart. “Leo thinks so too,” she says, gently smoothing a hand over Bud’s head. “I think it is sweet. Like Rosebud. Were he a bitch I might have named him that. But I have no wish to emasculate the poor pup, hm?”

She lifts him up closer to her so she can kiss his head, and he licks her cheek in return. Cecily laughs, and it's a sweeter sound than any bardsong. She bends over sets Bud down, saying firmly, “To your bed now.” 

And obediently, Bud trots over to a wicker basket with a soft cushion inside and curls up, perfectly content. Aemond cannot help but admire how well his wife appears to have trained the little hound. He knows small dogs to typically be disobedient and hard to train, yet Cecily has managed it without ever even seeing the thing. 

Or perhaps she had someone else do it, though Aemond doesn't think so. He cannot know why he thinks this. It just seems correct. 

“I hoped,” begins Cecily, turning back to face Aemond, her eyes seeming to find his. It's as though she looks right at him, Aemond could almost be fooled for a second. “That we might lay together tonight. It has been a fortnight since our wedding, and I-”

“Not tonight.” The words are out before Aemond can stop them. 

He cannot fuck Cecily, cannot put himself through it again and still manage keep his control. To be so near her naked body would drive him over the precipice of absolute madness, he knows it. He squeezes his eye shut, a dreadful pang of pain shooting across his nerves. He inhales sharply, trying to will the pain away. “We will be as vigilant as we must until your womb quickens, but I will not put you through such an act any more than is necessary.”

And there he has done it. The disheartened look takes up residence on her face once more, her head falling as though she were looking shamefully at the ground. What he would not give to read her mind. Can she not see he does this only out of respect for her? He is his wife, not some pleasure house whore he would degrade to sate his own carnal desire. 

She is a humiliation upon him. He knows this. He has not and will not change his mind. Nevertheless, the very thought of degrading her makes his stomach twist. He does not care what she thinks of, but he can't stomach the thought of her thinking so badly of him. What might she think of him if he were to treat her so callously?

(He already does, he treats her callously and unkindly. But he cannot see it.)

“I understand,” she says after a moment. “May I ask one more thing of you?”

Aemond hesitates. Wishes he could give her just a nod. “Yes.”

“I do not know what you look like,” she says. Aemond startles with the realisation. Sure, she has no doubt been told how he looks, what his features are, but she can't know what he actually looks like. The finer details, the shape of his face or the scars he bears. “If you’d allow me, I dearly wish to find out.”

“How?”

Cecily smiles, gently reaching out until her hand touches his clothed chest, fingers trailing up until she touches the skin of his neck. She steps closer, mere inches between them, and trails her fingers upward. Her soft fingers trace the length of his jaw, and Aemond watches as she closes her eyes as though trying to create a clearer picture of him in her mind. 

“Do you remember the way people look?” Aemond asks, not realising he’s spoken until the words are in the air. 

“In a broad sense?”

“No,” he murmurs. “Individuals.”

Cecily hums, fingers finding his lips and tracing them with a slow and deliberate touch. “I remember somewhat how they looked when I was a girl. I am told my mother and father look much the same. But I remember how Flora and Leo looked as children. The colour of their skin, their hair and eyes, I know has not changed. But we were just children then, so of course they have grown.”

Aemond wonders if she knows what she looks like. She may touch her face whenever, but is it the same? The soft pad of her thumb finds the lower end of his scar and she pauses. Her eyes open, and her lips purse as she traces upwards and finds his eyepatch. 

“May I?” She asks. Aemond nods, knowing she’ll feel it. Cecily carefully lifts the eyepatch off his face, and Aemond watches as her face shifts and she takes in the length of his scar. She’s difficult to read in this moment, he cannot tell whether she pities him or she fears the scar. He does not know which he prefers. 

She does not linger too long on the scar, or make her touch any heavier than a light brush. She moves on to his nose, satisfied with the shape and size of it if the smile on her face is any indication. After another moment she lowers her hands, searching for his and placing the eyepatch back into his palm. 

“Thank you, lord husband,” she murmurs, fingers lingering on his hand. Her touch sets his nerves on fire, but only in the best of ways. “You are most handsome. More so than I was promised.”

Aemond hums, tracing one finger over her palm, as though he does not dare touch her any more than that. “You are kind,” he says, watching as Cecily trails her own fingers up toward his wrist.

 Her intentions are not difficult to read. 

Soften his resolve with such an intimate act and proceed to seduce him into her bed. Has she no shame? Aemond pulls away from her and hears a startled breath leave her lips at the sudden loss of contact. 

“Goodnight, Cecily,” he says, turning away from her and heading for the door. He hears her huff in frustration but pays it no mind. He must get back to his own chambers. 

“My prince-”

“Stay with her,” Aemond says as he passes Ser Leo by, footsteps falling heavily on the stone floors of the Keep. He is ever thankful his own rooms are so close to his wife’s. As soon as he’s inside and the door is closed, he closes his eye, tearing off his eyepatch and throwing it across the room. 

Treacherous fucking body, he curses himself. He unlaces his breeches with deft hands and tugs them down past his swollen cock. 

He takes his length into his hands, biting his lip to suppress any noise. Heavens forbid anyone discover him doing this. He leans his head back as he begins to stroke himself, harsh breaths leaving his nose as the heat of Cecily’s touch lingers on his hands. He tries to imagine how her hands might feel wrapped around his cock, how different her soft palms might feel from his calloused one. How her cunt might feel wrapped around it– not the shallow thrusts he’d given her on their wedding night, but to feel her warmth envelop his cock entirely. 

A shuddering gasp leaves him before he clenches his jaw, forcing any sound back down his throat, as though he could draw back the gasp. His cock twitches in his hand as that treacherous image of Cecily on her knees invades his mind’s eye once again.

It takes little more than that image for him to reach his end, seed spilling into his hand as Aemond pants, feeling as though his knees might buckle. He opens his eye, looking down at himself with slow breaths. 

He knows not whether he can deny himself the pleasures of his wife much longer.

part v

[animentality]

seen some posts joking about gortash’s “anti-anxiety coat” due to the immune to frightened enchantment, and its probably not that deep or meta but i actually do find it a compelling look at how he really does walk around almost supernaturally fearless. like even when you threaten him he brushes it off like its funny or just nonsense, if worth reacting to at all! even when you meet him at the morphic pools to face down the netherbrain, his words convey a lack of confidence in winning but his tone and body language do not. and i think part of it is that he is insane (affectionate) but also, possibly, the power of the anti-anxiety coat lol.

he also does things like robbing the crown of karsus from the personal vault of the archdevil mephistopheles, and befriending a bhaalspawn on purpose. things that normal people or even average villains probably wouldnt dream of attempting, and he pulled them off near-flawlessly. but if he’s so effortlessly unflappable, why the coat enchantment right? the game could have made “immune to frightened” an inherent feature, but they made it something he only gains from his equipment. it’s just interesting to think about!

and since i am thinking about it… if we imagine that he is genuinely prone to anxiety or panic attacks, and has difficulty controlling it enough to be worried about appearances in public and have a whole enchanted coat about it, what do you think he’s actually scared of? does he have more of a generalised anxiety thanks to growing up in hell and etc, or do you think there are specific things that really get to him? is it other people? politics, secretly? the idea of powerlessness?

ironically i think the dark urge would probably be the only thing that genuinely does not scare him in the least, and couldnt if they tried.

I think that he was a scared little boy when his parents sold him to pay off their debts.

I don't believe his parents, when they said that he was a spiteful and hateful wretch from birth. Nubaldin says that they sold him to pay off a petty debt.

Now either of them could be lying, but I fail to see why Nubaldin would lie to you. He has no reason to, he just thinks you're one of the spirits of the damned.

Gortash's mom, on the other hand, would lie because she hates Gortash for tadpoling her, and it would be her justification for what she did to him. Plus, she's hoping you can save her, so she has to make herself look sympathetic.

So I think Gortash was hurt and abandoned, and enslaved by an awful devil, who allowed his servants to beat him black and blue. Everyone in the House of Hope is a miserable wretch. The Archivist mentions that his spine was like...I think punctured or broken for making a mistake?

And we know Nubaldin used to "bruise his knuckles" on Enver's "whimpering face."

So he must've been terrified, all of the time he spent imprisoned in the House of Hope. Of being punished, of being trapped there forever...

So when he manages to escape one day, slipping out due to a silly mistake on Nubaldin's part...

What's the first thing he would do?

Try to attain power. But not just because he's scared and wants to feel powerful! I actually have another theory.

See...some people data mined the game and discovered that Gortash might've been intended to be in the House of Hope at some point... because Raphael still has his contract.

So he's still not free of Raphael, even though he escaped him.

He has a note on his body, indicating that he might've been speaking with Helsik about going back, so he could get his contract, presumably.

Now imagine this poor lost young man...whose parents sold him. Who spent his childhood being tortured by souls of the damned and the devil and his servants.

He would never ever want to go back there. Not in life, not in death.

So what does he need to do?

Become powerful.

Strong enough to raid the hells, and either kill Raphael, or at least steal back his contract. so what does he turn to first?

Weapons. The black market. People who know about slipping in and out of the hells, and how to kill monsters, demons, and all other manner of creature.

Then, he needs to curry favor with a powerful god. One who can help him. One who can use him, for his fear and desperation. Who is a good god to turn to for that?

Bane. God of tyranny. Someone who could have use for him, if only he was clever and ruthless enough. And young Enver Gortash has a lot to prove.

And he would be drawn to the power of Bane, the ability to force others to submit to your will.

And the Dead Three?

That's even more power for him to obtain.

Siding with Ketheric, finding the Dark Urge...

I mean.

Listen.

Just on a character level, a powerless abuse victim seeking power does make sense...but I also think.

Wouldn't it be interesting, if he was doing all of this, so that he could both obtain power for himself...and also obtain the power he would need to kill Raphael?

Just food for thought.

Anyway.

Off topic.

Back to the subject of his cloak...well.

He would never want to be afraid again.

Fake it till you make it. Maybe he made or bought the cloak with the no fear enchantment so that he could fake confidence and power, until he actually had it?

Either way, it makes sense with his backstory. It's also so goddamn sad.

Also, he should be afraid of the dark urge, but isn't. Maybe that's why they were drawn to one another.

[look-a-yandere-fandom-blog]

I would like something (hcs or else, whatever you can make out of it/feel like writing) for Dr. Stockill and a darling who is not eating.

Eiter because they decided to hunger strike as a form of protesting against him (totally terrible idea but not every darling is the sharpest tool in the shed heheh...) or because they are sick and that makes it hard for them/takes away apetite.

Hunger Pains | Headcanons

Dr. Stockill / Gender Neutral Reader

Fandom: The Asylum for Wayward Victorian Girls.

No Spoilers.

_________________________________

Ambiguous yan - can be read as platonic or romantic.

_________________________________

Content Warning: Hunger strikes, disordered eating, illness, brief mention of force feeding, brief mentions of animal/human death.

(If there’s anything else I need to add to these warnings, please let me know.)

Tysm for the ask anon! <3 I hope that this lives up to your request/expectations!!

_________________________________

- It doesn’t take Stockill long to notice they’ve stopped eating.

- In the months, maybe years, that Stockill has known them, they have never displayed an avoidance of food to this degree.

- Despite his detachment, disgust, and apathy to almost everything around him, he is an observant man. Especially when it comes to his darling.

- Within a few days, the interrogations start.

- He begins questioning his darling; and the longer he goes without an answer, the more insistent he becomes...

- "Don't lie to me, I know something is wrong with you."

- Once he finally manages to get an explanation out of them, he's bewildered.

- This odd behaviour is out of spite? Some silly protest against him?

- Stockill believes that he treats his darling rather well, at least in comparison to the other inmates he oversees.

- His darling is given decent food and drink; dressed in clothes that keep out the asylum's chilling cold; and is kept close to the doctor whenever possible.

- Stockill even allows them to rest in the safety of his room, in his own bed (which is often unused due to his frequent neglect of sleep).

- And yet, they still fight him?

- They would prefer the bleak darkness of the asylum's wards, accompanied by nothing but filthy rats and those wretched whores, over staying with him?

- Even going so far as to starve themselves, just to prove a point?

- His darling begins to deteriorate... day by day. Their movements becoming slower, their thoughts foggier, their gaze more distant. All despite his attempts to reason with them.

- As he tries to rationalise it, his confusion gives way to anger.

- Convinced that his darling's behaviour must have been instigated by another, threats soon follow.

- "I swear, if you do not stop this idiotic demonstration... I will find whichever inmate placed the idea in your head, and I will make her suffer!"

- From here, there's only two ways that it can end:

- In one, his darling ceases their little hunger strike, giving into the doctor's demands. Whereupon things will return to how they were, and Stockill will limit their contact with others even more as a precaution.

- In the other ending, his darling continues. Until Stockill does something...

- Drastic.

- But, he would rather not resort to something as vile as force feeding, or harming their companions to threaten them into relenting...

- So, it would be wise for his darling to stop. After all, they don't want to have their friends' blood on their hands... do they?

_________________________________

- Alternatively, if his darling’s lack of appetite is a result of sickness or some other affliction, he’s more…

- Well, he's not exactly sympathetic, but perhaps more understanding.

- Now, this is a problem for him to solve, a condition to be alleviated.

- He quickly sets himself to work: to find a cure for whatever is ailing them.

- There's a sudden influx of dead rats (and eventually dead patients) scattered throughout his laboratory, all in his attempt to cure this illness.

- But, with the limitations of victorian medicine, there's a good chance that Stockill's ventures will remain fruitless.

- If the illness becomes long-term, or is in fact some incurable/chronic condition, then Stockill will continue to seek for ways to lessen it.

- All the while, he will focus on keeping his darling healthy; maybe even neglecting his plague research until he is confident that their condition is stable.

- They won't be leaving Stockill's room for a long while... As he will insist they remain bedbound to avoid the affliction worsening.

- He would try to encourage his darling's appetite with more pleasant food than the asylum typically provides.

- "I recall you mentioning this dish. Something you enjoyed before you were sent... here."

- The costs for which are taken from the asylum's funds... but that is of no matter to him. His darling takes upmost priority.

- "Also, don't attempt to smuggle some to the other patients again. Yes, yes, I saw that. You are not nearly as sly as you think you are."

- He's almost considerate in this state.

- It's eerie.

- Incredibly eerie.

- But, all things considered, it's far from the worst situation his darling could be in.

- And as they fall asleep, curled up in Stockill's bed, the doctor watching them with a hawk-like gaze...

- They see the ever so faint, ever so unnatural, twist of his lips.

- A smile.

- "I will see you tomorrow, my dear..."

_________________________________

[evillittlebirdie]

Salvation (Tav/Kar'niss)

Tumblr Prompt Fill for Tezzy

Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine

Kar'niss was the latest addition to the menagerie and stuck out more than anyone. By all rights, Tav's interaction with Kar'niss should extended to combat only. She should have looted his body and moved on. 

Tav could not admit that she had a masterful experience with Drow. But, she knew that the abominations were paying the price of folly and incompetence. They failed a test and as such, were punished. She should have ignored Kar'niss like she ignored the numerous unnatural phenomena. But instead, she allowed a nagging sense of compassion to override good sense. 

Kar'niss lingered on the line between death and life. Most of his legs were broken and twisted. Blood coated his lips. Still, even in apparent agony, Kar'niss tried to reach the Moon Lantern. Astarion had already grabbed the lantern and was enjoying goading the pixie inside. Kar'niss was using his arms, shaking from exhaustion, to pull his body along the ground. As heavy as his abdomen was, Kar'niss only managed to pull himself a few inches. Desperation clouded his eyes before he finally collapsed. The Harpers and Tav's party did a number on his body. 

Tav walked over to the drider and raised her leg. She would give him a proper stomp to the head. Her body weight coupled with metal boots would ensure a cracked skull. Before she delivered the final blow, she heard a sudden whine. Something in her body lurched as Kar'niss' whimpers devolved into cries. Wretched, anguished sobs radiated from the drider. His voice was faint, but she could hear his pleas. He begged for his Majesty's protection, for the Absolute to save him. 

Lolth disfigured him and now the 'Absolute' would abandon him. 

Tav would later tell herself that his fanatical devotion would be useful. She would tell herself that his broken mind could be molded. He would be a loyal pet. 

Tav returned her foot to the ground and pulled a potion from her backpack. She stared at the health poultice in her hand before kneeling. "Shh, shh," She hummed to Kar'niss. 

"Heretic, don't touch me," Kar'niss hissed out, pain dripping from each phoneme. Tear tracks were running down his filthy cheeks. His capillaries had burst, reddening his vision. 

"Just drink," Tav insisted, taking the cork out of the bottle.

Kar'niss began to lose the ability to utilize his words. He merely pulled back from Tav, shutting his mouth tightly. The eyes collected on his forehead blinked unseeingly through strands of unwashed hair. 

"Hells," Tav muttered. "Stubborn little bastard." She did not want to utilize her tadpole, especially on such a delicate creature. But she pushed herself into his mind. 

Voices bounced in Kar'niss' brain, bounding off the walls of his skull. Tav could barely decipher the madness inside the drider's brain. Her pity for him increased, as well as her desire to save him. Tav had to compete with the Absolute as well as the broken man's illness. "Drink..."

Kar'niss suddenly stiffened. His eyes turned to Tav but he kept his mouth closed. "I want you to live," Tav told him through her connection. "Please drink."

Kar'niss kept his eyes on her before finally opening his mouth. Tav sighed in relief before she slid forward. If the scene involved one of her companions, she would have told them to lie on their back. Then, she would support their head as they drank the poultice. But Kar'niss was awkwardly on his chest, his abdomen preventing him from rolling over. Tav quickly problem-solved. She used her free hand to tilt Kar'niss' head up. She could feel the particles of grime, the notes of blood. 

"They are a True Soul. They would touch me..."  The voice sounded astonished, almost bewildered. 

"Yes, I would," Tav told him with a gentle smile, invoking a soft gasp from the drider. "What's your name?"

Suddenly, a foreign vision assaulted Tav's mind. A feminine voice, demanding and harsh, shouted, "Kar'niss!" A vile mixture of guilt, fear, and self-loathing twisted angrily before leaving Tav's cognition. 

"Kar'niss. It is a lovely name. Mine is Tav."  Tav brushed the hair out of his eyes, tucking it behind his ear. 

"They walk without a lantern. They are sent from Her Majesty...A Chosen. A Fourth to the Three."

Tav could not deny Kar'niss and risk him rejecting the help again. "Yes," She lied to him, hoping that deception could carry telepathically. 

"I accused you of heresy. I attacked you. Why would you save me?"

Tav could not give him a forthright answer. Instead, she ignored his question.

"Be careful swallowing," Tav advised before bringing the poultice to his lips. She tipped slowly and watched as Kar'niss took in the potion. She kept an eye out, watching as the cartilage in his throat moved. He didn't choke or aspirate. Tav let out a breath she didn't know she was holding. He would recover. 

"Breathe," She stated, using her voice instead of the tadpole to communicate with the drider. She pulled the potion from his lips, allowing him to inhale. 

To say the least, the adventuring party was not surprised when they learned of their new companion. "Tav, my dear, you have a penchant for collecting strays," Astarion told her with a playful smirk on his lips.

***

Tav knew of a small cave near the Last Light Inn under Isobel's protection. No one would bother Kar'niss. Once Kar'niss' legs healed enough to support his body, Tav split from the group to take him to the cave. Kar'niss still was not speaking to her. Instead, he kept his gaze on her in an intense fashion. Tav truly hoped that saving the drider wouldn't bite her in the ass later. 

"You can stay here. It's safe. The shadows will not find you here. I promise," Tav told him, bringing him to the mouth of the cave. Kar'niss looked around the cave and a small chitter reverberated in his throat. Hopefully, that was a good sound. 

"I imagine you would prefer raw meat, but there's a lack of that around with the shadow curse," Tav continued, not sure what would happen next in the care and feeding of driders. "But my friend, Gale. You saw him. He was the human wizard that..." Tav paused before she continued awkwardly, "was probably responsible for one or two of your broken legs. Anyway, he is a lovely cook. I'm sure he can whip up a nice haggis." 

Kar'niss turned to look at her. He pursed his lips before inquiring, "They would concern themselves with my subsistence?" After speaking it aloud, Kar'niss visibly mulled over the dynamic. "They are too kind. To heal a wretch, shelter them, and feed them."

Tav's pity for Kar'niss intensified at hearing his words. Knowing how the Drow ostracized and abused driders, she was not surprised at his attitude. "Oh...well," Tav cleared her throat nervously, "I need you to regain your strength. And you need care, rest, and food to do that."

Kar'niss nodded, accepting this proposition, "They are merciful and benevolent."

Tav felt their cheeks flushed with guilt. If only he knew how close he was to having his skull smashed under her boot. She quickly changed the subject.

"Do you need anything for your nest?" Tav inquired. She looked past him to the cave. The ceiling was high and deep enough to deter claustrophobia, but small enough to sustain a web. 

"I will not bother them with non-necessities," Kar'niss stated firmly, as though the idea was out of the realm of possibility. "Not spoiled, not needy," Kar'niss added, his tempo increasing, "I will make them proud, and make them pleased to save this unfortunate being." The words invoked a time long ago. Tav didn't have to be a genius to see the poisoned memory in his eyes. Kar'niss had a story that led him to this point.

***

Tav returned to the cave with dinner for Kar'niss. As she approached the lair, she was surprised to see how prolific he had been. Even halfway healed, Kar'niss had managed to spin a sturdy, intricate web in the space. Tav could see his nimble fingers moving along the strong strands, weaving the material. Kar'niss was so engrossed in his work, that he did not notice Tav's entrance. It was not until he looked up that he saw her. He let out an almost frightened gasp, "Her Majesty's Chosen!" He skittered from his place on the web, traveling to the mouth of the cave. 

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to interrupt your work. I just wanted to bring by dinner," Tav offered with a smile. 

Kar'niss stared at Tav, bemused by the offering. His gaze traveled to the bowl she had in her hands. He raised his hands almost hesitantly. His eyes darted back to Tav, and a breath caught in his throat. Confused by Kar'niss' hesitance, Tav cleared her throat, "Haggis, like I said before. But I can get you something else." 

"Her Majesty's Chosen would allow me to take?" Kar'niss questioned. 

"What? Of course. That's why I brought it to you," Tav insisted. 

Kar'niss raised his hands as though to take the bowl before suddenly jerking, taking a few steps back. Tav could see the tension in his jaw traveling down his neck to his shoulders. He whimpered before returning to his position in front of Tav. "They shame me, Her Majesty's Chosen. They offer food with no stipulation. I return their pity with uncouth behavior." 

Tav needed to add Lolth to the list of gods she planned to kill. 

"Hey, it's alright, Kar'niss. You almost died today. You have the right to be a bit skittish. Here, take it," Tav offered once more. She kept a smile on her face, hoping the gesture made him comfortable with her. "Also, 'Her Majesty's Chosen' is a bit of a mouthful. Please call me Tav." 

"Tav," Kar'niss repeated, his lips pursing at the sound. "It is not proper." But Kar'niss did not press the issue. He slowly reached to take the bowl. Tav took in his hands, especially his fingers. They looked normal at first glance before they morphed into talon-like claws. He took the bowl from her before retreating into his cave. 

Tav let out a sigh. She could take minor victories where she could

***

"Her Majesty, I am forever in your debt. Thank you for sending me your Chosen. Thank you for leniency. I will serve them until I am cast away. Speak through them and I will obey." 

Kar'niss climbed into the top cavity of the cave. He could see if anyone would invade his space before they could even notice his web. It was a fine nest.

"They speak sweetly. They offer. No demand. No request."

Tav, as she told him to call her, was beautiful. Even though his lantern lay broken, he could feel a light shone on him through her gaze. Her words foretold of a future where he could serve safely. Her hand was steady and gentle. If she were to punish...

"And yes they would punish. Because I am weak, your Majesty. Foolish, lazy, spoiled boy! But they would punish to correct. Only to correct, like you would. Not like Matron. Too far. Too much. Ilhar, Ilhar, please, I am sorry. Despicable, useless boy!" 

Kar'niss could feel his body tremble as his mind took him to his childhood. He shook his head and ran his clawed fingers along the wall of the cave, hoping the sensation would ground him. 

He would ensure that Tav would not regret wasting her time, her healing supplies, on him. 

"I have no right to ask this of you, Your Majesty. But if you could spare me one more blessing, please do. I wish to recover quickly. I shall protect your Chosen." 

Kar'niss' heart began to race as he thought about Tav. If her smile would shine on him once more if he served her well. Until he was healed, he could not physically protect her on her journey. But perhaps there were other ways to show his appreciation. His throat vibrated at the implication. But reality slapped him.

"Foolish thing. Your Majesty, guide me. Give me humility. They have a harem of males to serve them. To think they would allow me to serve her in that manner. Hideous, twisted, castrated, pathetic."

For once, the voices lowered to whispers. And Kar'niss could give into his exhaustion.

[whumpsday]

Astarion and the Cleric #1: Lesser Restoration

Masterlist / AO3 Link (first time posting on ao3 since original fiction doesn't get traction there and this is my first fanfic :P)

content: baldur's gate 3 (fandom), astarion/tav (ship), vampire whumpee, starvation, comfort, caretaking, blood drinking

so i'm trying something new! never really been a fanfic person, only ever really written original fiction before, but astarion's been taking over my brain. so i wrote some incredibly self-indulgent fic for astarion and my tav. this is maybe the least whumpy thing i've ever written lol. prob cuz the game has so much whump already. there will be whump further in the series tho, and i have some VERY whumpy AUs planned too.

-

It was a no-brainer to decide which of his delectable new companions to snack on. Astarion had been thinking about it ever since he realized that Cazador’s control over him had slipped. A free man, he no longer had to obey his wretched master’s orders. He could feed on whoever and whatever he liked, whenever he liked.

And of his soundly sleeping campmates, the pick was obvious: Gentle. Even his name advertised him as the one least likely to put up a fight if he awoke in the process. He was small for a tiefling, not offering as much in the way of blood volume as someone like Karlach, but he would do nicely.

Would do nicely, if only he hadn’t been such a light sleeper. Astarion had scarcely hovered himself over his curled-up form when his eyes flew open.

“Shit.”

Gentle woke all at once, before Astarion could steal so much as a nibble. He squeaked in terror, not quite a scream, grasping half-asleep for his quarterstaff.

“What are you doing?” the cleric asked, voice pitched with fear, clutching the staff close like a treasured plush toy.

“No, no–It’s not what it looks like, I swear.” Losing his place in the group would be far worse than another hungry night, a severance of all means of protection. That was, if the little priestling and his friends didn’t stake him outright. “I wasn’t going to hurt you! I just needed– well, blood. It’s not what you think! I’m not–”

“Astarion, it’s okay!” Gentle interrupted, lowering his staff as the fear left his eyes. “I’m so sorry I didn’t realize. You’ve been suffering this whole time.”

The complete sincerity was almost sickening, as relieved as Astarion was at the priestling’s ready acceptance. “Yes, well, I’ve certainly been peckish.”

“You can have my blood,” Gentle offered, pulling the neck of his shirt down a little.

Just like that. So utterly easy. He hadn’t even needed to ask nor justify.

Astarion couldn’t stifle a small laugh at the absurdity. “My, you certainly know what to say to a man.”

“I would never knowingly let you go hungry.” There it was again, that cloying sweetness. If the cleric hadn’t been actively helping him, Astarion might have been more inclined to roll his eyes at the display.

“And I appreciate it ever so much,” he replied smoothly. “Let’s make ourselves comfortable, shall we?”

Gentle blushed a deep violet, a reminder of the blood that would soon be his. “Yes, I suppose we shall.”

Astarion directed him to lie down, positioning himself over the cleric before sinking his fangs into his neck. It was absolutely decadent. This must have been why Cazador saw fit to deny him the blood of thinking creatures, reserving such a luxury only for himself.

He was so lost in it, he didn’t notice Gentle’s little gasps until he felt a timid tap on his shoulder. “Astarion?” he piped up, “Could you stop for a moment?”

It wasn’t enough. He wanted to drain the cleric dry from head to toe, every last drop sating what he’d been wrongfully denied for so long.

But he had an image to maintain.

“Of course.” He wrested his fangs from Gentle’s neck, standing up and stepping back.

“Just a moment,” Gentle repeated as he sat up, motioning Astarion closer.

Curious, Astarion returned to sit beside Gentle’s bedroll. “Oh?”

The cleric clasped his hands together, his palms emitting a soft, blue light. “Te absolvo!”

For a moment, Gentle’s whole body glowed the same soft blue. It faded as quickly as it came, leaving him with a little sigh of relief.

“There we go,” he breathed, lying back. “You can continue. I apologize for interrupting you in your time of need, but I felt as though I’d faint otherwise.” He tilted his head to the side slightly, inviting him back to the bite wound. “I have plenty more blood now.”

Astarion stared in disbelief. “You’re quite the character, you know. Though I can’t say I’m not a fan of your little eccentricities at the moment.”

“He wept for the hungry,” the cleric recited dutifully, likely quoting some dogma. “I’m honored to be of service.”

Never had Astarion been so thankful for one of Faerûn’s useless gods.

After he’d truly gorged himself on hearty tiefling blood and Gentle had cast Lesser Restoration a second time, the two sat in the warm glow of the crackling fire, Astarion’s stomach full for what felt like the first time in forever.

“Do you feel better?” Gentle asked, rubbing the sore skin of his neck.

“I do.” It was an understatement. He’d scarcely felt this good since the night he became Cazador’s. “Good, strong, happy. I should be of far more use in fighting.”

Gentle hummed anxiously. “Don’t like fights,” he murmured. He smiled anyway. “I’m glad you feel better. May you suffer no more. Why didn’t you tell me? I didn’t realize you were a vampire, I could have offered you aid sooner.”

“If I’d known you’d throw yourself at my feet, I wouldn’t have bothered hiding it,” Astarion said lightly. “Most wouldn’t be so…” Naive. Foolish. Suicidal. “Trusting.”

“Help all who hurt, no matter who they are. The truly holy take on the suffering of others. Suffer in His name…” Gentle trailed off, suddenly aware that Astarion wouldn’t care to hear it all. “I’m a devotee of Ilmater. It is my pledge.”

Lucky, lucky, lucky. Astarion doubted the Sharran would be so generous.

“Besides,” Gentle continued, “Regardless of my faith, I wanted to help.”

“Hm. Well, praise be to Ilmater.” Astarion tried his best to keep the cynicism out of his voice, not fully succeeding. He stood, preparing to go back to his tent. “This is a gift, you know. I won’t forget it.”

“You can feed every night, if you’d like.” Gentle looked up at him with unabashed compassion. “It’s no trouble. Just get me when I’m awake next time, so I won’t be so startled.”

Astarion smiled, no longer taking care to hide his fangs. “That can be arranged.”

-

everything taglist (lmk if you only wanna be tagged in original fic):

@lilac-and-lemon-whumps

@t0rture-me

@whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump

@whumpshaped

@pigeonwhumps

@the-scrapegoat

@whumpycries

@lonesome--hunter

[theredofoctober]

MANNA- Part 2

Dark!Hannibal Lecter x Reader x Dark!Will Graham fic, TW for eating disorders, noncon, abuse etc.

---

"What do you see?" asks Hannibal, forcing you, by an immovable hand at the base of your neck, to stare at your reflection in the mirror. "Speak the truth. It won't shock me, nor should you be ashamed of it."

You have already attempted to close your eyes against the glass, and were gently threatened into opening them again. Now you force your gaze to unfocus, refusing Hannibal in a way that even he surely cannot discern.

He says your name into the quiet with a subtle, yet dangerous edge. It is so rarely used now that you jolt almost guiltily, unsure whether, like Will, Dr Lecter can be frenzied to strike you.

Hannibal's threat is more of a sleek, hunting animal, you think, cunning and serene; he can be cruel in a manner of exact and elegant genius, the bruising of the psyche, and the soul.

"Don't disobey me," he says. "You will not welcome my disappointment."

A tremble of doe-like terror wreathes you in its grasp.

"Doctor," you whisper. "I want to quit. I'll pay you the money my parents sent for me to come here; I'm not a child, and I don't need any of this. I'm not playing your game. Please let me go home."

There is certainly no chance that your family are aware of and approve of this treatment; it is torture under a clinical guise, a sinister, sexual sadism.

Still you cannot deny that the longer you remain here, the more you begin to see Hannibal and Will in the roles that they take within these walls: the strict, hard-handed father, the nurturing and gentle dad.

Each are relentless in their goal to reduce you to their supplicant doll, driving you further into the same hungering madness they wish to cure.

"You cannot leave here," says Hannibal, almost affably. "Your family unburdened themselves by releasing you to more comprehending hands. They think less of your wellbeing, and more of the weight that they no longer carry. Do you believe they would accept you back if you were not cured?"

"There is no cure," you say, bitterly. "You said it yourself. No cure, just recovery and maintenance."

Hannibal strokes the back of your neck, soothing you even as you shudder in repulsion.

"And do you trust yourself to do that alone?"

You don't answer, sinking miserably against the man at your back if only so that you do not fall to the floor in your despair.

"Tell me, little one," Hannibal commands, and his left hand comes down your shoulder, across your breast, tracing your hip with the ease of ownership. "What do you see?"

Swaying, crying, you blink at the horror in the looking glass, this imperfect beast in the arms of so evil and oddly beautiful a man.

"Failure," you spit. "It's disgusting."

Hannibal leans into you, breathing in the scent of your hair, and kisses your temple.

"I see a perfect little girl. Or else one with the potential to be."

You shake your head, certain that he is taunting you. That he is not repulsed seems an impossibility; Will certainly makes no attempts to hide his disdain, even when he fucks you.

"I do not lie to my patients," Hannibal insists. "With instruction, discipline, and loving guidance, you will become everything you should already be."

Warmth under your skirt; Hannibal's fingers cupping your wretched heat, pressing themselves into a self-loathing wetness, a sobbing response to his words.

"You shouldn't do this to me," you say, as always, repeated like a prayer, all frantic fervour. "You're my doctor. You're hurting me."

"It's what is required for you to change. Why do you cling to your chrysalis when it no longer serves you? There is no sustenance in it. You hold yourself here because it is safe. Because it is known. You have grown to love the illness like family."

He circles the heart of your folds with fingers that know you with the certainty of language.

"I suggest that you exchange the subject of your affections for those that will return it."

His lips are soft against your neck, an angel come down in a romantic painting, or fallen, rather.

Your vision of the creature in the mirror disappears into a prism of tears.

"You don't love me, really," you whisper. "And Will... he hates me."

Hannibal pushes you forwards, against the mirror, bending your form in a balletic motion. You are glad that you cannot see yourself in such close proximity to the glass, only the pupil of your eye, black and endless.

"He does not hate you," says Hannibal, softly. "He is gripped by desires that anger him, for he neither wants nor understands them."

Your legs are eased apart, and you whimper as a sudden thickness parts you like a scroll.

"Sometimes he watches you when you sleep," Hannibal tells you. "He finds such beauty in you, when you allow yourself to dream."

[its-ironic-right]

Coalecroux prompt idea, sickfic? Your choice on who's sick n such but I got a real hankering for it ❤️

Ever get food poisoning so bad you want to die

It didn’t matter what the problem was, Gideon was there to solve it. No gods, monsters, or prisons could keep him from bounding in with reckless abandon. This was a different problem.

Kremy wretched. A loud, wet sound that reverberated around the clearing. They’d traveled all through the night. The alligator man had complained about being cold, but in the crisp fall air Gideon assumed he was being dramatic. Vomit splashed into a helpless bush.

“Oh gods, I feel like shit.”

“You look like shit.”

“Gee, thanks Gid. Way to make me feel better.” Neither of them got sick often. Gideon wasn’t sure he’d ever been sick in life now that he thought about it. Cursed and poisoned, absolutely. Burned even on a few unfortunate occasions, but illness was out of his purview. Kremy gagged and bent over, a spasm racking his body. More vomit. Gideon stepped back, out of the splash zone. He didn’t know much, but he knew Kremy wasn’t supposed to look that pale.

“Hey man, you alright?” The alligator stood up. He adjusted his coat lapel.

“We’re setting up camp right now. I can’t travel like this.” He squirmed. “Oh baron help me…” He ducked into a thicket of brush. Gideon grimaced. Well no time like the present.

Gideon ignores the noises coming from the woods. Every once in a while he’d hear a moan or a curse. Sounded like things weren’t going well. They were miles away from a decent town. There was no way Kremy would make it without stopping every few minutes. No doctors would come out in the middle of nowhere for people like them. They should really get a healer… The tent was up, Gideon was just starting the fire when Kremy stumbled out of the greenery.

“How’s it going? Gideon ventured.

“Fucking fantastic. I think that inn yesterday poisoned me. I knew that stew was awful.” Gideon thought back on rancid soups. It was terrible, but Gideon didn’t have a good idea on what made it poisonous.

“Do we need a doctor? I could probably find one.” Capture a doctor, hold him hostage. It was doable. Kremy shook his head.

“It’ll pass. A little food poisoning never killed anyone.” An abject lie. Gideon didn’t know enough about food poisoning to argue. He focused on the fire, that much he did know. Kremy sat down in front of the fire. He looked… delicate. The warlock was larger than life. He wasn’t the largest lizardfold, fairly slim as far as alligators go, but he could fill a room with his presence. Between the golden eyes and sly smile, no one noticed his size. He’d dropped the coat, tie, and hat next to him. He looked exhausted. Gods it was weird to see him so vulnerable. The alligator shivered. Finally, something Gideon could help with. He sat next to Kremy and pulled the man close.

“Gid what’re you doing?”

“You’re shivering.” The genasi’s body heat was palpable, it soothed Kremy’s aching muscles. Suddenly the stomach pain wasn’t so bad.

“Thanks Gid.”