#I don’t want to be this thin!! I don’t want to be bony and painful to hug and have nothing fit me

[pastshadows]

Shadows of the Past

Chapter 11: Fate's Folly

Summary: Astarion remained a spawn after ending the reign of Cazador with your help. After defeating the Netherbrain, you and Astarion stay together, moving forward with your lives. You reside in a small house in the city. One night, after an awkward and concerning interaction with him, he disappears without a trace.

Setting: Post End-Game. Mostly canon compliant.

Word Count: 6.4K

Content: Explicit 18+ - intended for mature audiences.

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

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

Winter has gripped Faerûn in a deadlock. The trees have long since shed their leaves, and the bare limbs reach for the sky like bony fingers trying to scratch the heavens. The winter sun is dipping below the horizon, leaving the land stark and frigid. The wind whistles over the plains and whips your hair, churning it wildly around your face. You can’t even pick your feet up anymore, so your boots scuff across the hard earth.

How long have you been walking this road without stopping to eat or sleep? Your feet ache, your eyelids feel like lead weights, and your mind urges you to make camp for the night to allow yourself to slip into your trance, but you dare not. You don’t want to be assaulted by your nightmares any longer as they feed off sorrow and torment you. They pain you more than this exhaustion ever could.

Your fingers are frozen and numb. Lifting your hand, you try to summon fire, but you’re so tired even the Weave has abandoned you until you rest. With a defeated sigh, you pull your hood up and wrap your arms around yourself, shivering so hard your muscles cramp painfully, and your jaw chatters, clicking your teeth together.

If I can keep walking, at least I am advancing toward him.

… Hopefully.

As you continue your sluggish walk, your eyes begin to drift closed of their own volition. You’ve pushed your body too far, and it’s succumbing to exhaustion. You trip, sending yourself sprawling, and pebbles, twigs and gravel bite into your palms and knees. With no energy left in your reserves to push yourself up, you can do nothing but slump over on the cold earth and curl up.

If you do not trance, it will force itself upon you, and you quickly fade into a half-conscious state. You can feel the ground sap your body heat and infuse you with a raw, frigid sting that balls up your muscles and lances your skin as it permeates your robe. Your head hits and cracks the thin layer of ice atop a muddy puddle, splashing and submerging your hair in the slush. The murky liquid is piercing on your forehead and scalp, but you don’t have the energy to move. Unable to keep your eyes open, you drift and see Astarion in your mind’s eye.

Astarion relaxed at home, reading to you, cuddled up in bed while you giggle at his theatrical character voices. He only does these for you. He would never do such a thing in front of anyone else.

Astarion and you drinking his favourite wine by the fire all day, laughing, and dancing.

Astarion and you jump into a cold lake in the dead of night because he challenged you to see who would get out first. He won, of course.

Astarion walks through the rabble of taverns, playing your little game with a mischievous glimmer in his beautiful eyes, and he winks at you when he catches your glance.

Astarion and you making love. Your ears twitch, and you can almost hear his voice panting, “I love you, Kamena, my only one.”

Astarion humming a soothing tune because you were having trouble sleeping while you lay on his chest.

A wolf howls somewhere in the distance. When your eyes finally allow you to open them, your eyelashes are burdened with frozen teardrops, an icy stage for your woe. Your hair is an icicle of mud rooted to the ground. The first snowflakes drift from the sky, kissing your cheeks. You don’t have any strength left to rise, so you lay there as the snow starts to form a blanket akin to a death shroud on your body. You can’t even weep. You lay and wonder if this is it. Is this the end of your story? A powerful, fierce sorceress, torn asunder, doomed and destroyed by true love?

Why did you leave me, Astarion? What did I do?

You wake with a start, lunging upright and taking deep breaths. Your bones still ache from the cold, the remnant of your dream still evoking shivers. You flex your fingers, forcing them to release the bed linen balled in your fists. Nightmares still plague your meditation, but at least this one didn’t wake you up screaming. You glance at Astarion’s side of the bed, letting your hand slip over the silk sheets. He must still be out hunting. Every time he leaves, you worry that this time is the time he does not return.

Will I ever be able to trust him again?

Winter is starting to settle over the land, and the nights have become far too cold for your liking. There is no way you’ll be able to fall back into your trance. Flicking your wrist, a fire roars to life out of thin air, and you push it to burn unnaturally hot. Slipping Astarion’s shirt on, you sit on the floor before the fire and hold your fingers close to the flame, hoping the heat might blow away the remains of the dream gripping you. It doesn’t work. Your fingers still tremble with that panging soreness that will not relent.

Intense shivers run up and down your spine, making your body tremble with the same verve it did on that rigid, icebound earth. A cutting, frigid cold settles over your body as if you’ve been plunged into a crevice and fallen to the very depths of Cania. The flames of the fire start to turn a frightening blueish-white. Yet, no matter how hot you push it to burn, you cannot get the gnawing ache to abate.

You don’t hear Astarion enter, and you jump when he sits in the plush chair behind you, with you between his legs. He drapes a blanket over your shoulders, rubbing your arms, “You are up late or early, depending on how you view it. Nightmares again?”

“Yes,” you sigh as you pull the blanket around you. Your teeth continue to chatter despite the sweat sheening your skin.

Astarion kisses the top of your head, “I’m sorry. Do you want to talk about it?”

“No.”

What does he expect you to say? The year you spent without him by your side still haunts your dreams and thoughts. Lately, it has been all-consuming, and it’s absorbing your happiness. You can feel yourself slipping, and no matter how hard you try, the slipping never seems to stop. Anything you say will hurt him, and he’s had enough pain in his life. He does not need to bear your misery.

“We used to talk about everything and anything. I told you all about my…,” Astarion’s jaw clenches. He’s uncomfortable talking about that night he cried in your arms for hours, but he pushes himself to continue, “My feelings and fears. It’s not easy for me either, you know. I am unaccustomed to sharing my weaknesses. Hells, I’m not even used to feeling it. I spent so many years feeling only hatred, disgust and loathing, and then you came along and ruined it all,” he smirks, trying to lighten the gloomy mood.

“We used to before you left me,” you whisper. There’s a hint of irritation in your voice. Being pushed to share your pathetic moments and weakness grates at you, but then again, maybe you need someone to drag it out of you. You’ve been keeping this woe bottled inside you for so fucking long, “I’m not sure what you want me to say, Astarion. Whatever I tell you will be painful to hear, and I don’t want to do that to you because it’s not your fault.”

Astarion bursts out of his chair. He shouts with an inflection rough as gravel, “It is my fault! Stop making excuses for me because there is no excuse for what I did. I am not a fool, and I am not fragile. What did you ask of me? The truth even when it hurts? Do I not deserve the same courtesy?”

“I don’t want to hurt you,” you whimper, hand covering your mouth and blinking away tears.

“I deserve the hurt, and I can handle it. Let me bear it with you.”

“No,” you shake your head, eyes fixed on him, “You don’t deserve it.”

Astarion wracks his fingers through his hair and over the frustration that darkens the planes of his face, making him look severe, “Stop being so bloody pig-headed!”

You’re swayed in a sudden grip of outrage. It festers in your veins, heating your skin and palms. The fire leaps wildly as if pure alcohol were poured onto it as you jump to your feet. You can’t help yourself, and you pace as you scream at him, “What do you want me to say, Astarion?! You want me to tell you that I walked for days at a time. All day and all night! I never stopped to eat or rest because if I did, I didn’t know if I would have the strength to get back up!”

Good Gods. You’re so fucking livid that flames are starting to writhe over your skin like snakes in a pit. That draconic fire is hard to control when your emotions are high. All the feelings you’ve been tampering start to spew out of your mouth spitefully, and you can’t stop the avalanche.

“You want the fucking truth?” You roar, unable to stop the emotion seeping from your pores, “I walked until my feet and legs were numb from pain. I walked until I was so exhausted that my eyes closed without consent, the Weave, even fire abandoned me, and my pathetic body forced me to stop. Do you know what happened when I stopped? Exactly what I feared would. I had to relive memories of when I was happy, memories of us, as the cold earth sapped the rest of my strength. When I came to, I did not have the strength to continue, so I lay there while snow blanketed me and considered letting death have me because I was so godsdamned miserable without you!”

Tears stream down your face, dripping from your chin. When you look at Astarion, his cheeks are as wet as yours, scarlet eyes ashine behind sorrow. This is what you did not want to do. You don’t want to hurt him. Astarion told you he left you because he was afraid, and at the time, it felt like the best option available. That need to run, ignore, and flee your problems is an old friend now, and you can’t blame him. It’s what you did for a year and are continuing to do.

Instead of facing the fact that he was gone and he did not want to be found, you kept pushing your body to its limits and putting yourself into stupid situations because you could not accept the fact that maybe he did not want you any longer. Your heart is hammering as you choke and suffocate on all the memories you’ve been repressing. Days and nights of walking or running as far as your feet could take you until you were senseless. Battles with brigands, ne’er-do-wells, and all manner of beasts. The boiling heat of summer and the glacial cold of winter. Staring at the moon while you wept because your soul could practically feel the distance between you enlarging.

The fact he’s made you upset him stokes those embers of anger further. You rasp low, wiping your eyes, “There. Now you know how pathetic I am. I am not a fearless leader or a fucking hero. I am just a broken, foolishly weak woman who could not even take care of herself and could not accept that you left me. Is that what you want to hear? Are you happy now that my fragility and broken pieces are displayed for you to gawk at and judge? Go ahead, Astarion. Tell me how objectively stupid I am.”

Astarion’s brows furrow as tears tiptoe from the corners of his eyes, gliding down his cheeks. Astarion’s voice is gruff, a woven lace between anger and anguish. “By the Gods. Why would you do that to yourself? For me, of all people?!”

Good Gods, is he truly so blind? 

“Because I love you! The way I fell for you was as effortless as breathing. When you left, the moon split, and the stars fell from the sky into the sea I was endlessly suffocating in. I watched my whole world crumble.” Splaying your hand on your chest, you try to halt the ever-increasing tightness constricting your lungs. You laugh sarcastically at yourself, “And it’s all my damn fault. You are not accountable for my happiness or lack thereof, or how I handled you leaving, or what I did after the fact. It’s all on me.”

It’s an epiphany of sorts. All that anger, fear, and hurt you’re holding onto, repressing, and running from is not his doing - it’s yours. You cannot blame Astarion for how you reacted to his leaving, regardless of how he handled it. You’ve been smothering yourself, and your anger is entirely misplaced. You are angry at yourself, and you have been for some time.

The silhouette standing in the road, blocking you from happiness, is yours.

You need air and space to think, and you dress quickly while Astarion begs you to stop and talk to him. Gods, you’re going to asphyxiate if you stay in this house. Your chest heaves in short, quick breaths that only make you dizzier. Your heart is thudding in your ears. Your muscles tremble with the urge to run, and you lunge toward the door.

Run.

Astarion steps in front of it quickly, “No,” His voice shakes, tears streaking down his cheeks as he blocks your path.

“Get out of my way, Astarion,” you snap at him sharply. “Get out of my way, or I will move you out of my way.”

Please don’t make me move you.

“Then move me,” he challenges with a scowl.

With a grimace, you cast Telekinesis and glide Astarion across the floor to the other end of the room gently. His eyes round, shocked. You’ve never cast against him in anger before. Guilt devours you, consuming whatever was left of your rationality.

Once again, panic takes the wheel, and you run.

I’m sorry, Astarion. I’m so sorry.

He watches the slow rise and fall of her chest and listens to the somnolent beating of her heart as she trances by the fire to keep warm. He only needs a taste, a nibble, to test how far this newfound freedom truly spans. He can walk in the sun, and so far, Cazador has not been able to control him, but is he still bound by the rules Cazador planted in his mind?

If he’s quiet enough, he should be able to… Her eyes snap open, and she jumps to her feet with a scowl.

“…Shit.” He puts his hands up and backs away slowly, watching her intently to see if she reaches for a weapon or if magic starts to dance on her fingers, “No, no - it’s not what it looks like, I swear!”

Shit. Shit. Shit. He’s got to recover from this. Quickly, or she might try and stake him, “I wasn’t going to hurt you. I just needed - well, blood.”

“How long since you killed someone? Days? Hours?”

“I’ve never killed anyone! Well… not for food,” He glances at the ground. How much should he reveal? It’s a fine line to tread. He needs to tell enough of the truth to earn trust but not enough to unveil his “little plan.”

She is not wholly soft-hearted and pure, but he’s spent two hundred years manipulating people. He can surely get her to spread her legs for him, to fall for him, and ensure his safety. The living are as much of a slave to their more animalistic desires as he is to bloodlust. It makes them simple prey.

“I feed on animals. Boars, deer… Kobolds. Whatever I can get. But it’s not enough. Not if I have to fight! I feel so... weak. If I just had a little blood, I could think clearer. Fight better.” He slips on his expert manipulative demeanour and intonation, ”Please.”

He feels an odd pinch in his mind as it half unfolds for her. Gods. She has access to his memories and thoughts. Will she intrude into his mind unapologetically and violate him as so many have in the past? More than likely. He sighs, resigns himself and awaits the transgression.

Her brow quirks up, and her defensive stance relaxes slightly as she shakes her head to rid herself of the unfamiliar sensation of the tadpole writhing behind her eye. Her voice is gentle, almost hurt, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

She… she didn’t force herself upon him? She didn’t take the bait and play his mind like an instrument, plucking the strings of his memories?

“At best, I was sure you’d say no. More likely, you’d ram a stake through my ribs. No, I needed you to trust me. And you can trust me.”

She scrutinizes him in a way that makes him feel like he’s been stripped of his clothes and naked. “I do. I believe you.”

“Thank you.” he sighs, relieved. She trusts him? Objectively stupid, but he will take it. “Do you think you could trust me just a little further? I only need a taste, I swear.”

She nods, “Fine. But not a drop more than you need.”

His brows shoot up his forehead. Is she really just going to allow him to bite her? Stupid woman. “Really? I - of course. Not one drop more. Let’s make ourselves comfortable, shall we?”

“Wait!” She halts him, pushing him back by the shoulders.

He recoils, a little aggravated at her blockage. He was so, so deliciously close. “What is it, Sorceress? Don’t tell me you’ve chickened out already. I’ll be gentle, I swear. It will only hurt for a moment.”

“No, Rogue,” she frowns at him. She is cute when she’s angry. Her fingers hover by his lips, “Pain does not frighten me. Open your mouth.”

“Open my mouth?” He arches a brow at her, “Why?”

“I’ve noticed your fangs, but I’ve never paid them much thought,” she muses with a wily grin. “I would like to see what you’re about to plunge into my neck.”

He scoffs, “I am not an exhibition for your eyes to feast upon.”

“Do you want to eat or not?” She smirks, “I believe it’s a simple request.”

“You’re very strange,” he clicks his tongue but opens his mouth for her with a roll of his eyes. It is a small price to pay if this works.

She pricks her finger against his fang, “Ouch! Sharp!”

“No, shit.” He chuckles with a scoff, “Have you finished examining me now? Shall we continue?”

She scoffs back at him, “You’re very impatient. Very well. You may continue with your supper.”

She lolls her head to the side. His fangs break her supple flesh, and her blood flows freely into his mouth. Cazador’s rules do not bind him any longer. Gods, she tastes like clouds parted, heaven is stroking his tongue, and angel wings flutter through his veins. She leans into him with a sigh. Her body shakes, excited. Excited? An odd reaction, but alas, who is he to complain? He can feel her inside of him. Her essence fills him, and his nerves hum a sonnet he’s never heard or felt. He loses himself in her.

She pushes against him feebly as her body starts to grow cold, “Stop! It’s too much.”

Reluctantly, he removes his fangs, cleaning his lips, and licking his fingers. He will not waste a drop of that liquid bliss, “Ah! Of course. I was just swept up in the moment. But it worked. I feel good. Strong. Happy.”

He got carried away. He will have to watch himself more carefully if she ever allows him near her again.

She wavers on her feet, hand coming to her forehead and eyes glossy. She groans, and he expects her to chastise him. Instead, she steadies herself and chimes resolutely, “I’m looking forward to seeing you fight.”

That’s it? No beating? No flaying? No putrid rats? Not so much as a “bad vampire!” Just... looking forward to seeing him fight. What in the Hells?

He hides his surprise behind that practice veneer of confidence, “Shouldn’t take long. So many people need killing. Now if you’ll excuse me, you’re invigorating, but I need something more filling,” he lies. He’s full, happy, but inexplicably highly aroused.

Is this something that always happens with thinking creatures? Is it simply a natural response because she’s his first? He has nothing and no one to compare this experience to.

“This is a gift, you know.” She might be a gift from the Gods after they’ve ignored him for centuries. He is no longer bound by his puppet master or the rules rooted in his brain. He has broken his chains. He purrs, “I won’t forget it.”

She stops him, giggling lightheaded and ethereal, “The boar was you, wasn’t it?” 

She is clever, isn’t she? He chuckles, “Yes, my dear. I said a vampire killed it, did I not?”

She plops down on her bedroll, “You conveniently left out that you were that vampire. Very clever, Astarion,” she smirks. “I’ll watch you and the pretty words that leave your beautiful mouth more closely from now on. Happy hunting.”

She thinks his mouth is beautiful?  

The door slams hard enough to cause the tower to shake, and she’s gone. Kamena had always been the unshakable light of their group of misfits. She took everything in stride.

Gale’s orb might explode and kill them all? No problem, we will find magical items for him to consume.

Sharran Cleric? No sweat. Your beliefs are your own.

Warlock bound to his contract? Easy. We will find a way to break that.

Murderous Gith with a superiority complex that could rip out her spine? Tell me more about you and your people.

Tiefling spewing Hellfire from her body with an infernal engine for a heart? Welcome aboard. Now, let’s find a way to fix that heart of yours.

Vampire spawn who tries to bite her while she tranced one night? No matter. I trust you. While we are at it, let's make a pit stop and kill your master so you can be free. 

She never flinched when confronted that they might all burst into Mind Flayers any second. She always kept the group moving forward toward their goals while taking the time to sort out everyone’s problems. His stomach sinks. It’s nearly dawn, but he can catch her before the sun rises… probably. He sprints out of the room and down the stairs.

“Let her go, Astarion,” Gale grips his arm and shakes his head.

“Are you mad?” He pulls his arm away. “Don’t touch me.”

“You look lost,” Gale pats his shoulder. “Despite our differences, we do share one thing in common. Our love for her.” Astarion’s jaw tightens. “Purely platonic on my end, of course,” Gale assures with a genial smile. “If you need to speak to a trusted… friend. Well, I do hope you might consider me one such friend.”

“Are we,” he quirks his brow at the wizard and grimaces, “… friends?”

“Perhaps friends is a little superfluous,” Gale chuckles. “But I am here for you if you need a friendly ear or advice. I have navigated the waters she’s currently treading. It can be a dark path.”

“Ugh,” he scoffs, crossing his arms. The wizard always likes to beat around the bush. He prefers someone to speak their mind, “Just speak plainly.”

“Come, my friend,” Gale gestures toward the sitting room, “Let’s sit. I would offer you some tea, but… I know that doesn’t fit your particular dietary needs.”

Astarion groans, relinquishing his hold on the door handle. He looks longingly, willing it to open and for her to rush back into his arms. He sits on the sofa and lets his head fall into his hands. His fingers splayed into his hair.

“Do you want to be with her, Astarion?” Gale begins.

“What are you getting at, Gale?” He mutters annoyance weaved in the deep baritone of his voice that he can’t hide, “Get to the point.”

Gale’s voice loses the honeyed intonation, “Do you want to spend your life with her until hers ends, or will you run again when it gets hard? There is an imbalance in your relationship. You are immortal. She is not.”

“You know as well as I that there are ways to extend life - beyond my… condition,” Astarion drags his hand through his hair.

“There are, but nothing is assured,” Gale retorts, “If she cannot extend her life or find a cure for you, are you willing to stay with her when she gets old, and you remain forever young? It’s an eventually you must consider.”

Can he do it? Is he capable of spending the next 800 years with her only to have her age and die, leaving him alone again? Gods. A world void of her fire? Perish the thought.

Astarion cants a brow at him and scoffs, “If this is your attempt at a pep talk, you’re failing abysmally.”

“You have enough pep,” Gale chuckles, rubbing his hands together. “No, I am trying to have a real discussion with you, and you are making it exceedingly gruelling.”

“Yes,” he answers truthfully. Astarion swallows hard, trying to dissuade the ball in his throat to ease, “I want to be with her. More than anything.”

“Good,” Gale’s hand comes to his chin as he contemplates. “Then you must keep fighting for her. Every day, you must treasure her. When the days are cold, warm her. When the shadows disturb her rest, hold her tight. When she needs space, let her go. Show her you can handle the storm, and be prepared to weather it with her.”

“I am trying,” he sighs, leaning back in his chair. His brows furrow as he eyes Gale with palpable caution. Gale is still in love with her, and he knows. It makes him wary to have these conversations with him, “I have never done this - a real relationship. Love. It’s all new to me, and I have no idea how to navigate it.”

Gale’s bourbon brown eyes reflect the firelight as he examines Astarion with a probing case that makes him uncomfortable, though his expression remains nearly blank. Is there empathy in his eyes? Delight? Pain?

“You hurt her deeply, but I don’t need to tell you that,” Gale finally says and leans forward. “You, of all people, should know that pain leaves scars, whether visible on the skin or unseen on the heart. Remember, Astarion. When you’re speaking to her, you are touching her scars.”

Hells below. He had not thought of it like that before.

Gale smiles, “Now, that awkwardness is over. Tell me, Astarion. What do you know of the Wish spell?

Astarion balks at the quick change in subject, although he’s happy about it, “Wish? I know it’s a powerful spell, but not much else. Spells are not my expertise, Gale. You know this. I leave magic up to you and Kamena - much more so Kamena.”

“Kamena is a substantially powerful sorceress. We have not seen the like of her kind for some time,” Gale smirks with an amused chuckle. “She gave up sparing with me because I could not keep up. Can you believe that - an archmage unable to keep up with a sorceress? I often wonder if her ancestor is Tiamat herself.”

“I am well aware of how powerful she is,” Astarion snickers, “But you’re getting off-topic. What of this Wish spell?”

Gale’s eyes brighten, and he beams. “Kamena never stopped looking for it, you know. Even when you left, she continued and persuaded me to continue as well. I have a lead - an excellent lead.”

“Is Kamena capable of casting it?” Astarion mouth drops. “Could she actually use it?”

“She is more than powerful enough to cast it,” Gale nods, but his expression turns sullen. “Though spells of this power often have a cost and can be rather… finicky. It could be dangerous - for you and her. I have not found it yet, but I believe we are getting close. In theory, she could use it to cure you, but it might go awry. We cannot be sure of the consequences, though. We have not found any documentation on such.”

“Can it kill her?” Astarion asks bluntly. Spells of such power often have unforeseen consequences. You cannot evoke such power without cost. Sometimes, it is minimal. Other times, it is life itself. He’s read enough books to know this much.

“Possibly,” Gale concludes with a grim look. His jaw clenches, setting his lips in a thin line.

“Stop looking for it, Gale.” Astarion shakes his head. His heart sinks a little. This would be the closest thing he could get to a cure since he didn’t complete the Rite, but he cannot justify the payment, “Her possible death is not worth my possible life.”

“My friend, you will have to speak to her about that,” Gale chuckles with a sullen shrug. “She has already been appraised of my objections.”

“Ugh,” Astarion scoffs, tousling his hair, “Let me guess. She said, and I quote, “Your objections have been noted.”

Gale’s laugh booms through the halls, “Yes, precisely. She is stubborn, and that silver tongue of hers is dangerous. Sometimes, she persuades me to do things I was adamant I didn’t want to do! Are all Elves like that, or is she just special?”

“Gale,” Astarion smirks, “I think we have much to discuss. I do not indulge in tea, but do you have something harder?”

Gale’s fingers come to his chin, “Like wine?”

“No,” Astarion tuts, clicking his tongue with a scoff. “Much harder.”

Gale grins widely, “Oh, now you’re speaking my language, my sharp-toothed friend! Join me in my cellar, and pick what you like best!”

You close the bedroom door softly behind you and lean on it. Astarion is sitting before the fire in one of the chairs. He does not even twist to look at you, but he would have heard and smelt you coming even before you reached the manor. He sits with his head in his hand, propped up by his arm. You take a deep breath and force the fire to take the shape of a dragon, fly out of the fireplace, around him and to you before you make it land on the log and continue burning in its natural state. Astarion does not flinch at your display. He barely seems to blink as the dragon gambles around him, driving and twirling. It’s a sure sign that he’s angry, which is precisely what you wanted to know.

You have been caught in a stormy ocean of despair. You’re being tossed like a ship on rough waves. Some days, the waves calm, and you feel like yourself again. On other days, the waves are agitated, and you toss, just trying to stay afloat, but sometimes you get dragged under the surface and start drowning again. It does not matter how hard you kick or fight to break the barrier. An anchor on your legs and arms that drags you down into the depths.

Perhaps it’s time to stop fighting the storm and weather it instead. Emotions are messy, and you are not well acquainted with these. You’ve never been in love before this. You spent most of your adult life alone, hunting down the wizard who purchased you and tortured you for your childhood in the name of “teaching you to master your talents.”

“I’m sorry, Astarion,” you murmur from the door, not daring to get closer to him. “I should not have cast on you. It was uncalled for.”

“You shuffled me across the floor,” he chuckles, twisting in his chair with an amused smile. “That hardly requires an apology. I am impressed with your control. However, I would prefer it if you don’t use magic when we argue. Otherwise, think nothing of it. I should not have pushed you. I was too harsh... I’m sorry.”

“I need to be pushed, I think,” you sigh, combing your fingers through your hair. “I keep trying to calm myself, but I just need to weather it as it comes. Sometimes... I get swept away, and there’s nothing I can do. I think... I need to stop trying to stop it and try to survive it instead.”

“Come,” Astarion taps his lap with an affectionate smile and empathy shining in his eyes. “Sit with me, and we can talk.”

Walking over, you discard your robe and are left in your underclothes. Astarion’s arms wrap around you as you ease down onto his lap, and he pulls you close to him. He kisses your temple, his cheek on your forehead.

Astarion takes your hand, interlocking your fingers with his and squeezing slightly. He asks blatantly, “Do you want to be with me, or is my presence here just hurting you further?”

“What?” You cup his cheek with your palm, and he nuzzles your hand. Astarion’s silken lips ghost over it, and he kisses it before resting on it, “I want to be with you more than anymore, but I need time. I told you. I am broken. I mentioned I was drowning when you left, but I am coming up for air now. I’m fighting to keep my head above the waves, but sometimes I fall below them…. I don’t want you to leave. Please, stay with me. You are all I need.“

He nods. Astarion’s scarlet eyes swallow you, and empathy and understanding wash over you. “You are not broken, sweetheart.” Astarion places a soft kiss on your lips. “You are healing, and sometimes healing is messy. I know that better than most.” Astarion pauses and nuzzles your cheek, “Stop running from me and start running to me, Kamena. I can be strong when you feel weak, just as you are for me. We do not walk these roads alone any longer. We walk them together, my Solicallor, my only one.”

Solicallor… His Elven nickname for you means “Warm light of the sun.”

What did I ever do to deserve someone so understanding? 

That’s it, that breaks you, tearing you apart and rending you inside out. Your breaths come in rapid heaves, and your heart feels like it might fly out of your throat onto the ground before you. You clutch at your chest, and you start to tremble. Your eyes swarm with tears. You slip your hands down the back of Astarion’s shirt, needing to feel the cool chill of his skin, but are careful not to touch his scars. He doesn’t appear to notice when your fingertips accidentally brush the raised edges.

Astarion purrs, crushing you against him, “Breath with me, my love. Deep breaths. In” he counts to 30, “and out,” he counts to 30.  You try to synchronize your breaths to his as best you can.

“You have not called me Solicallor in some time,” you shake while forcing a fireball to circle you as if you’re the gravity keeping it in place. You push all your hurt, fear and anger into that fireball, making it double in size and burn white-hot. “I can be your sun, Astarion. For now, at least.”

“Yes,” he chuckles, but there’s an edge to his voice that you didn’t expect. “Gale and I had an interesting chat today, but we shall discuss that later.”

“He told you of the Wish spell.” It’s not a question. You knew Gale was going to out you eventually. You’re going to have to scold him later for it. You were not going to tell Astarion until you had the damn spell in hand and were sure you could cast it.

“He did,” Astarion nods, rubbing your back and weaving his fingers into your hair. “But that’s a conversation for another time. Let’s focus on us for tonight.”

“I am going to have to chastise Gale,” you frown. You cannot help the anticipation dripping from your voice, “Us?”

“Don’t chastise him too hard, darling. He is rather insecure, but who wouldn’t be with me around?” he chuckles with an arrogant smirk. “Yes. Us. Whatever that may be right now. We can stay in this limbo of indecision as long as you need. But to me, we are still us. You are only mine, yes? Or do I have people I need to murder?”

“We are us.” You agree with a broad smile. Wrapping your arms around his neck, you pull yourself close, “And I am yours.”

“Only mine?” He sounds agog as if he cannot imagine you would be wholly his.

Does he still not believe he deserves me?  

“Only yours, Aerasumé,” you kiss his cheek, calling him the nickname you gave him in private derived from your language. It means “Silvermoon of the Evening.” You’re reluctant to say it, but it’s been on your mind since you met him, “I think I was born to be yours, thiramin.”

Astarion stiffens at your mention of “thiramin.” It is your Elven word for what is basically a soulmate. His clutch on you strengthens, and his fingers start running through your hair, but he doesn’t say anything, and his jaw is tight. Your heart sinks into your stomach. Have you gone too far? Have you frightened him? Will he run?

“You don’t have to say it back, Astarion,” you encourage in a honeyed intonation, running your fingers comfortingly up and down his neck. “I do not expect you to feel that same. I just… I guess I just wanted you to know how I truly felt.”

Astarion’s mouth opens and closes, but no words come out. He swallows hard, making his Adam's apple bob. It’s one of his tells when he’s uncomfortable. He kisses you intimately, but his reluctance to answer causes your heart to spasm, clench and descend into your stomach. Are you more in love with him than he is with you? Is that why you were so incapable of letting him go, but he so easily ran from you?

“I think... I need some space,” Astarion murmurs. “I’m sorry, I-”

You cut him off, slipping off his lap and shaking your head. You remain stoic, forcing tears to stay behind your eyes, “It’s okay. I understand. Goodnight, Astarion."

I went too far. 

Thank you to all those who read/like/comment/follow/reblog/etc. I'm forever thankful for the support.

Chapters Master List - Shadows of the Past

AO3: Crossposted

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

Small Notes:

I just wanna hug Kamena.

Also Astarion

And Gale too for good measure.

#astarion x tav #astarion x you #bg3 astarion #astarion x reader #astarion #astarion romance #astarion x mc #astarion ancunin #astarion smut #baldurs gate astarion #astarion/oc #astarion x oc #astarion x named tav #baldurs gate 3 #baldurs gate #shadows of the past

[bakedbakermom]

Takeout Interruptus (read on ao3) fluff and humor // T // 1k words tagging @today-in-fic @ao3feed-msr

A makeout session is interrupted by an over-enthusiastic delivery boy who just can't take a hint. (Note: "OK Chinese Restaurant" is a real place in the SF Bay Area, so I hope you will forgive me for the name. I always wanted to open another place across the street called "Good Chinese Restaurant.")

Scully’s tongue thrusts hot and wet into his mouth, her hands tangled in his hair. She gasps as his fingers slip under the hem of her shirt to begin a teasing journey up the sweet plains of her stomach, inching higher and higher... when a loud knock sounds at Mulder’s door. “Sorry,” he murmurs against her lips. “Forgot I ordered food.”

She whines when he pulls away, though her stomach is rumbling. “Hurry back, G-Man.”

He smiles over his shoulder as he grabs his wallet and opens the door, revealing a gangly teenager with bright red hair, a smattering of acne, and an anemic little caterpillar of a mustache valiantly attempting to crown his upper lip. In his hands are two bulging bags of takeout, their stylized font proudly proclaiming them the product of Mr. Fung’s OK Chinese Restaurant (Ask About Two-for-One Tuesday Special!).

“Hey, Zack, how’s it going?”

“Good, Mr. Mulder, thanks. That’ll be $27.50.” He holds the bags up for emphasis and Mulder thumbs through his wallet. “Hey, so, you were right about that book you told me about, the one with the yetis? Susie thought it was really cool and now I think maybe she thinks I might be really cool and so I was just wondering if you had any, like, recommendations for more? Because, like, I’m not great with girls, and she’s so pretty and so smart and she smells, like, so good and I just don’t want to blow it, like—“

Mulder pulls out a few worn bills with an unnecessary flourish, waving them right under the boy’s nose, and Zack’s motor mouth dies abruptly. “Next time, okay? Keep the change.”

Oblivious, the young man bumbles on. “Come on, man, it’s just that I’m, like, really nervous? I’m supposed to meet up with her after my shift tonight and she was like, ‘it’s no big deal’ but, like, it’s a super big deal and you’re always so, like, suave and stuff I just thought maybe—”

“Zack,” Mulder says with emphasis, though not without kindness. “I’m a little busy tonight.”

The boy peers around his shoulder into the living room. “Oh hey, Ms. Scully.” She smiles indulgently and wiggles her fingers at him in a small wave. “You guys got some cool new case going on? Oh is it gross? Susie loves when I talk about the gross ones, that Flukeman thing had her fascinated for days so maybe you could just, like, give me a few details and I could like—”

He is inching closer to the door and Mulder sticks a hand out to grab the frame, his forearm forming a barricade before the boy can cross the threshold. “Not exactly, Zack.” Scully can’t see his face, but she can hear in his voice the wide eyes, the raised brows, the way his mouth presses into a thin line as he silently begs the boy to take the damn hint (and the money) and go.

Zack peeks around him again, slower this time, and his eyes widen along with his grin. His gaze flicks back and forth as he takes in Scully’s pinked cheeks, Mulder’s disheveled hair, the coffee table with a pair of near-empty wine glasses and no casefiles in sight. “Oh man! Oh, oh wow. Is this—? Are you—? Oh man!” He gives Mulder a bony but encouraging punch on the shoulder, thumping him in the gut with the takeout bag in the process. “Yeah, sorry, yeah, no, you got it, Mr. Mulder, I’m outta here, say no more, I’ll just, yeah, okay uh—”

He bolts all of three steps before realizing he forgot something, and nearly drops it all as he tries to hand Mulder both bags and take the money at the same time, with only two knobby arms to handle the job. One more glance into the living room, his smile so big it looks painful and shows off an impressively shiny array of orthodontics. “Yeah, okay, bye guys, have a good night, I mean, uh, I’ll just—”

“Bye, Zack.”

“Right, yeah, uh, bye!” He nearly trips over his own oversized feet as he sprints down the hall, shoes squeaking all the way. Rolling his eyes, Mulder pushes the door shut—but not before they hear him whispering excitedly to himself, “Wait ‘til I tell Susie about this!” His voice cracks on the last word.

“Scully?” Mulder asks as he turns back to her. “Do you ever get the feeling that everyone in the world was just waiting for us to get together, and we were too dumb to see it?”

She rises from the couch and takes the bags, then pushes up on her toes to press her mouth fleetingly to his. “Frequently. I’m pretty sure Skinner has Barbie dolls of us and he makes them kiss when he thinks no one is watching.”

He follows her into the kitchen, grabbing plates from the shelves she can’t reach while she rummages through the drawers for clean utensils. When she turns to face him, she finds him already close enough to touch, close enough that his body heat washes over her in a wave that sends tingles from her scalp to her toes. He grabs the counter on either side of her waist, trapping her between the firm brackets of his arms. “Think that kid is gonna get lucky tonight?”

Scully smiles, hooking her fingers through his belt loops and pulling until his hips are flush with hers. She threads her hands into his hair and pulls his face down close. “The more pressing question is,” she whispers, her breath ghosting over his lips, “are you going to get lucky tonight?”

“Would it improve my chances if I started talking about yetis?”

She reaches around, squeezes his ass with both hands, and he yelps as he bucks against her. “Let’s not risk it,” she smirks into his mouth, and kisses him like she wants to swallow him whole.

The takeout goes cold on the counter, but warms up nicely for a midnight snack.

I could not get this idea out of my head. At first I wanted to make it a scene in a larger piece of smut, but ultimately decided it was too funny and needed to be shared on its own. So. Here you go. I do not know why all my fics lately are food-related.

#x files fanfic #the x files #xf fic #xf fanfic #dana scully #fox mulder #msr #xfiles #the xfiles #mulder and scully #my fic #my writing #dailytxf #takeout interruptus

[mrsshabana]

i'm intrigued by the mantis!gyutaro?

The mantis Gyutaro fic is one I started about a year ago and I have 2 chapters written. But I never posted it because I didn't want to commit to another fic. I will say it is one of my favorite things I've written though. ・:*(〃∇〃人)*:・

Someone gave me the idea of a cryptid Gyutaro on my old blog, then I made these sketches which inspired the fic.

I'll also include some paragraphs from chapter 1! If you like it, maybe I'll post more of this au because I really do love it -♡

𝑴𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒔!𝑮𝒚𝒖𝒕𝒂𝒓𝒐 𝒙 𝑹𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓

Scrambling to your knees, you turn around to face whatever thought you’d make an easy meal.

It’s a man. No… It’s an insect.

The creature has the body and the face of a man, albeit very thin and bony. He has black hair that fades into green halfway down, partially tied up in a messy topknot. Large folded up wings lay on his back. His forearms are decorated with long, sharp spikes. His entire body is covered in ink-like black splotches. Two long antennae hang in front of his face.

The thing is sitting down, groaning with its head in its palms.

Your thoughts are spiraling. There’s no way that this is actually happening right? The sane person in you wants to run away screaming before this thing gets back up. But the entomologist in you wants to investigate further. You know you’re playing with fire, but your curiosity gets the best of you.

You take a moment to admire his appearance again. Antennae, tibial spines, large wings. This creature resembles a mantis. Ok, what do you know about mantids? They’re aggressive predators, territorial, and they’ll eat almost anything. Shit, none of that information helps you right now. It only diminishes your chances of getting out of this alive.

You took too long, and the creature has recovered from your headbutt. Staring at you with wide eyes, it slowly moves towards you. Inching ever so slowly. 

Reaching into your pocket, you grab the small jar of honey you were going to use as bait later in the night. You know that mantids only eat live prey, but this is all that you have. 

You fumble with the lid, scooting yourself backwards as the creature continues its crawl towards you. With a huff, your back hits a tree, stopping your path. You are met with glowing yellow eyes and deadly mandibles inches from your face.

Somehow, you managed to open the jar. The sweet aroma of artisan honey fills the air around you. In a desperate attempt to distract the creature, you hold the honey out to him.

“H-here. F-for you…” you stutter, voice barely above a whisper.

Guttural clicks rumble from his chest. He exhales in your face, the rich scent of blood fills your nose. Almost making you gag. You must’ve not been the first item on the menu tonight.

With curiosity, the creature sniffs the jar in your hand. He places a hand on your hip to keep you in place, as a long tongue slips out of its mouth. Its tongue is pitch black and forked at the tip. 

You feel like you can’t breathe as this thing starts to lick the honey from the jar. Seemingly satisfied by its sweetness he continues. This creature is quite literally, eating from the palm of your hand. 

It’s great that you managed to distract it, but what do you do now? It’s holding you down so you won’t be able to get away. All you can do is watch as the jar slowly empties, your fate approaching. You thought you were being smart by offering the honey, but all you managed to do is give him an appetizer.

It only takes a few minutes for the jar to be licked clean. His hungry gaze shifted back to you. He licks his mandibles as he inches his face closer to yours, tickling the top of your head with his antennae.

“P-please… I-I don’t wanna die,” you whimper. Lowering your head and squeezing your eyes shut as tears roll down your cheeks.

All you can do is wait for the pain of being ripped apart.

#gyutaro #gyutaro shabana #gyutaro x reader #gyutaro x y/n #kny x reader #demon slayer x reader #gyuutarou #gyuutarou x reader #mantis gyutaro #cryptid #cryptid x reader #gyutaro fanart #kny fanart #demon slayer fanart #replies

[dracowars]

Do you think you could write a part two of The Right Thing? It’s so good🥺👉🏼👈🏼

the right thing² | draco malfoy

pairing: draco x slytherin!reader

word count: 3,5k

summary: where draco and y/n meet again after her betrayal

a/n: i know it took ages but i finally managed to write the sequel to the right thing, yayyy!! since this is one of the few stories that i came up with by myself from scratch, it truly means a lot to me and made it so much more difficult to write a part II because i really wanted it to be perfect >.< so many of you have been asking for a second part, so here we finally are (check out the first part here) <3 please make sure to leave a comment and reblog, it literally means the world to me and is so important! thank you for reading and for the constant support, i love every single one of you ♡♡♡

warnings: angst, violence/abuse, mentions of blood, mentions of severe injuries, mentions of death

universe: harry potter

Shocked and completely stunned, Draco stares at where you were still standing a few seconds ago. Where you were standing before you vanished into thin air and disappeared. Barely believing what just happened, Draco’s mind torments him by repeating how the dagger flies straight towards you over and over again, which is why Draco’s legs suddenly go very weak and he collapses.

He feels his mother trying to lift him back onto his feet, but Draco’s body no longer obeys his commands. The uncertainty is killing him. He is too weak and all that is left of his body is an empty and lifeless shell. Narcissa talks to him, but her words don’t get through to him, her voice far away, like hearing a sound through masses of water.

You are gone and with you, you took a part of him.

Draco doesn’t understand why you did what you did. Why you stood up for the enemies, for the people you were supposed to be hunting down and hand over to the Dark Lord. That was your task, your job as a Death Eater.

But by helping and freeing them, escaping with them, you decided against your own kin. Against Draco.

The chaos that surrounds him now as his aunt ferociously screams and can hardly be contained is only shut down when Voldemort steps into the living room through dark shadows, exactly on the spot where you disappeared moments before, a vicious grin on his lips as he is holding his wand in his bony hands, ready to strike. As soon as he takes a look around, however, his facial expression changes drastically.

The pain that Draco has to endure shortly afterwards is unbearable.

════════════

Breathing heavily, you are roughly placed on top of a wooden table, your entire body trembling in pain while the people around you blur before your eyes, turning into mere silhouettes. Tears stream down your cheeks from the excruciating pain, your hands clasped around the dagger whose sharp blade has disappeared into your abdomen, streaked with blood. During apparating here, it felt like your entire body was falling apart, shredding, bursting. Hardly able to grasp a clear thought, there is only one thing that comes to your mind at this moment.

“D-Draco.”

“She is bleeding out! We need to do something”, you hear Hermione say from afar, your world spinning around you as your limbs grow limp and the blood in your veins slows down. You perceive that you are being touched, here and there you feel a little sensation, but your eyes no longer focus and black dots cloud your vision.

The pain you feel as the dagger leaves your body is unbearable.

════════════

Slightly limping, you follow the others through the corridors, some of which are now hardly recognizable as such. There is rubble and ash everywhere, no wall remains intact. But some of them keep the castle upright with their last strength and allow you to escape through the long hallways. Hermione leads the way, the map of Hogwarts imprinted deep inside of her, so you won’t get lost, with you and Ron close behind. Harry has gone the other way with Luna and Neville to help other students.

Your hand gently pressed against your side where, beneath layers of thick bandages, the wound inflicted by Bellatrix denounces, makes itself known with every step, taunting you. Your will is stronger though and you don’t let it influence you, following your new friends to a part of the castle that had remained more or less intact. What you did not expect, however, is that two Death Eaters are waiting for you, wanting to put an end to this. Two Death Eaters who look all to familiar to you: Dolohov and Goyle Sr.

“Ah, ah, ah. Who do we have here?”, Dolohov laughs enthusiastically, his wand playfully waving between his fingers as if neither of you were remotely a threat to him. Immediately, he gets your blood pumping through your veins with that disgusting grin of his.

“If that isn’t little Y/L/N”, Goyle Sr. adds as they both slowly walk closer to you. “Foul traitor.”

“Your father is so terribly disappointed in you, dear. Oh! And don’t even get me started on the Dark Lord. He really wasn’t thrilled when he heard about your betrayal”, Dolohov mentions with mock pity, lower lip pushed out in a pout. The mention of your father makes you heart beat even faster and the thoughts you have been suppressing ever since come crashing down on you.

“Your poor father, he suffered a lot because of you”, Dolohov laughs mischievously, turning the seething anger inside of you into a roaring fire. “Your mother really died in vain just to give birth to a monstrosity like you. What a shame, I truly liked her.”

With those last words, he finally goes too far and you immediately fire off a magic spell that sends him slamming across the corridor and against he last remains of a stone wall. Ruthlessly, you let out all your anger on Goyle Sr., who ends up lying on the ground next to his friend, unconscious. Dolohov, who gets up quickly, doesn’t have a change against you and your friends anymore, but still manages to cause a streak of purple flames with a sudden slashing movement of his wand at the last moment, severely burning your arm. Eventually the two Death Eaters are knocked out and weakness overcomes you for a few seconds, making you stagger sideways. If it wasn’t for Ron and Hermione quickly supporting you, you would have made contact with the hard ground.

A while ago, these two men were part of your family, they had the same goals as you before you decided to follow the only right one. You can vividly remember Dolohov teaching you new curses and Goyle Sr. raving about your upcoming marriage to Draco Malfoy.

Draco.

“Come on, Y/N. We have to move on!”, Ron shakes you back into reality, to the here and now, before you regain enough strength to stand up unaided. Without further talking about what just happened and the ease with which you suddenly defeated the two wizards, you continue running through the hallways, which are echoing with agonized screams and explosions. The flesh wound caused by the flames on your forearm burns at the contact with air and the puncture site on your abdomen tugs uncomfortably, slowly eroding your strength.

After escaping Malfoy Manor a few days ago because of your help, there wasn’t much time to calm down and rest. Fleur and Hermione have done their best to sew up your wound and hurt you as little as possible in the process, but such a deep and fatal wound will take time to fully heal, probably leaving a scar that will forever remind you of your actions. Time you simply don’t have.

To this day, even now as you walk and fight through Hogwarts with two parts of the Golden Trio, you are not sure if your decision was the right one after all. Guilt plagues you every night, and the looks that Draco and his family gave you while committing your incredible betrayal haunted your dreams. You will never forget the disappointment on their faces, this sheer bewilderment. You have hurt numerous people who were so important to you with your actions and yet, you know deep down that it was the only right thing to do.

After a few minutes of fighting your way further through the castle, you come across the rest of your group that is currently in the process of defeating three Death Eaters. Quickly, you join the fight, but as soon as the Death Eaters see you, it suddenly seems a lot more important to kill the traitor than the Chosen One that the Dark Lord has been after for ages.

“Y/N!”, Harry shouts at you in panic, but unfortunately any warning comes too late and you are thrown through the air, landing on the hard ground several meters away with a loud bang. Desperate and in pain, you try to push yourself up with your arms but without success and you collapse again while the others are cornered by the Death Eaters.

A pain you haven’t felt in a long time runs through you all of a sudden and you quickly look at your arm, the source of this sudden pain. The black snake slowly coils around the skull, the tattoo moves on your skin and makes you cry out in pain before the realization hits you hard and you roll onto your side.

“Harry! He is coming!”, you yell at him, clutching your arching arm to your chest. Harry’s eyes widen when he hears you and he immediately understands what you mean. Luna and Ron rush in your directions to pick you up and flee with them, but unfortunately, they are nowhere near you when the ceiling above you is hit by a Death Eater’s curse and collapses with a crash. Some of the pieces come dangerously close to you before the loud noise disappears and you find yourself separated from your group, from your friends.

Groaning in absolute pain, you pull yourself closer to a rock in front of a wall, finally managing to lean your back against it. Breathing heavily, you open your jacket, already tattered from the fighting, and look at your lower body. The thick bandage intended to protect your wound is almost brimming with blood. Softly cursing to yourself, you press your palm onto the red bandage, unable to suppress a cry of pain.

You should have suppressed it, however, as you have now drawn attention to yourself and you hear footsteps that are suddenly coming in your direction. Knowing that you are not able to escape in your state, you aim your raised wand at the end of the hallway, just waiting to cast the first spell you can think of to keep whoever it is away from you.

You just didn’t expect that person to be Narcissa Malfoy, turning around the corner. You are speechless for a moment, and without really thinking about it, you lower your wand as soon as her eyes meet yours. Abruptly, she stops, eyes wide and her own wand ready to fight, aimed squarely at you. If you didn’t know better, you would imagine her hands shaking with every step she takes towards you. Even if you wanted to, you wouldn’t have the strength to raise your wand now. Seeing her gave you a glimmer of hope, until bitter reality caught up to you.

She is a Death Eater and her only goal is to hunt down Harry Potter for the Dark Lord. If she runs into the traitor while doing so, she can quickly defeat her too.

But Narcissa does nothing of that sort, but suddenly lowers her wands as she seems to realize something, running towards you with quick steps, lifting her long black skirt so that she can get to you even faster.

“Y/N!”, she loudly says upon approaching you, noticing your dire condition. “Oh god, what happened? Dear, are you alright?”

Since you didn’t expect such a reaction, you are left speechless and the incredible pain you are still enduring doesn’t help. You open your mouth several times to answer her, but you can’t get a single word out. You don’t deserve her sympathy. Not after what you did. Not after you caused her so much suffering.

When Narcissa looks down at you and sees your wound, she sucks in her breath sharply, but quickly catches herself and looks you in the eyes.

“We will fix this, Y/N, ok? You just have to.. hold on a little longer”, Narcissa talks to you caringly and thinks about how to best get you out of here as quick as possible.

“Narcissa- Please don’t”, you stop her movement and grab her hand, unintentionally spilling your blood on her skin. You look at her with tears in your eyes. “I d-don’t deserve it.”

Horrified, Narcissa looks at you, examining your face for any signs that you actually mean what you are saying, and opens her mouth to say something, but…

“Mum?”, a deep voice suddenly sounds behind Narcissa and she turns around, giving you the opportunity to look at the corridor as well. Draco.

His body clad in a black suit that is already covered in dirt and ripped at the arms, Draco stands there looking over at you, the hand holding his wand clutched tightly at his side. As your eyes meet, pain rips through your broken heart, another piece breaking off. It feels like an eternity since you last looked at him, and yet a sense of security suddenly washes over you. Although Draco is exactly the person you can’t expect any protection from anymore.

But you didn’t think that he would come rushing towards you the second he realizes whose eyes he locked with. He kneels in front of you, taking your face in his hands firmly while leaning his forehead against yours. He should yell at you, he should ask you what the hell you were thinking, he should loathe you, and yet he touches you so tenderly as if you had never done anything wrong, as if you didn’t tear his heart into a thousand pieces.

“Oh, thank Merlin, you are alive”, Draco repeats over and over like a mantra, running his hands over your body without ever touching it for fear of losing you again. On the other hand, you thought that you were already lost in his eyes anyway.

“Please, Draco. Don’t-”

“I only saw how the dagger disappeared with you. It rushed right at you and I thought- I really thought..”, Draco stutters, not able to finish his sentence, and puts his hand on the back of your head, pulling it to his chest so he can place several feathery kisses on the crown of your head. “You are alive.”

With his hand on your cheek, he now looks deep into your eyes and although you expected to see pure hatred and raging anger in them, they are bathed in hope and affection only. The relief of knowing that you are alive even made him forget how much you actually hurt him. A pale scar runs along Draco’s cheek to his left eye that wasn’t there when you last saw him, and you hate yourself for it. Whatever happened to him, you weren’t there.

You raise your trembling hand to touch his skin, but as soon as you do so, Draco already grabs it and pulls it to his lips, kissing your knuckles. Your engagement ring is still glittering on your finger and Draco’s slightly simpler ring is still where you last saw it, on his finger. A quick stray glance at Narcissa, who is eyeing you with concern, is enough to finally make all the dams burst and the tears flow down your cheeks.

You thought they hated you. You thought you would never be able to face them again without them wanting you dead. But you were so incredibly and terribly wrong.

They are still your family. The family you never had but found in them. Family supports each other without limits and they are here now, with you. In the worst of times, they came to rescue you. That is what makes a true family and no blood in the world could ever compare.

“I’m so terribly sorry”, you whimper as Draco pulls you into the most loving hug you so desperately needed.

“Don’t apologize, angel. Please don’t apologize”, he softly whispers in your ear before kissing your forehead several times, wiping away your tears with his thumb, although there are some tears running down his own face as well. “You did the only right thing.”

“W-What?”

“You opened our eyes, Y/N. Family is and always has been the most important to us, but we seem to have lost sight of it”, Narcissa tells you gently, stroking your hair. “All these years we’ve been blinded. We supported something so terrible, contributed to what happens today, but that has to stop now. Never again do we want to be responsible for the suffering of others.”

A huge, heavy load falls off your shoulders and it seems to be evident on your face, because Draco softly runs his finger along your chin again.

Narcissa is right. You too have supported all of this for far too long, your father dragged you into all of this, even before you were born you were doomed to follow the Dark Lord unconditionally. Unlike Narcissa, unlike Draco, unlike your mother, you were the first to finally turn on Voldemort. And now they will follow you.

Everything ends today.

However, when you want to rise up to pull Narcissa into a hug the next moment, you are quickly thrown back into the bitterness of your reality. Your huge wound is still gaping at your stomach and the pain is unbearable. Narcissa and Draco exchange looks before Draco scoops you up in his arms without any hesitation. No matter how careful he is, you still whimper in pain and your vision is once again littered with black dots. Before the darkness invites you in, you hear the last few words between Draco and his mother from the distance.

“She needs help or she will-”

“I know someone who can help us.”

════════════

Sharply inhaling as if you were about to drown and are now surfacing, you awake from your unconsciousness, only to be greeted by three figures romping around you. Fear and terror runs through your veins, not knowing where you are or with whom.

“Vulnera Sanentur”, a deep voice repeats three times in a row, and you have to blink a few times to finally make your eyes focus. It is only when you see Draco, Narcissa, and Professor Snape in front of you that you realize all your pain is gone in an instant.

Looking down at yourself, you are in shock to see that the spot where your huge wound inflicted excruciating pain upon you is gone, only a small scar left to remind you of what you experienced. Carefully, you run your hand over it and when you don’t feel any pain, you look around, not knowing what to say or how to say it. They saved your life. Again.

“Now that she will be among the living for a bit longer, we must proceed with the plan”, Snape says bluntly, turning to Narcissa who is still eyeing you with concern. When your eyes meet, she manages to muster a small smile.

“What plan?”, you question, sitting up with Draco right by your side, just in case.

“Even though we have done horrible things, being at Voldemort’s side for years turns out to have its perks”, Snape explains gravely, motioning for you to follow.

════════════

You are completely surrounded, with only Death Eaters swarming around you who would like to see you dead immediately. And right in front of you, amidst the circle of his companions, is the Dark Lord himself. He clutches his wand in his bony hands, a victorious grin on his serpentine face. His malicious laughter rings out and soon everyone on his side joins in.

“Now it will end like this”, Voldemort speaks up in a voice as if announcing your end to the whole world. You stand back-to-back with Draco, your hands that are not holding your wands intertwined. Next to you your friends – Harry, Ron, Hermione, Fred and George, even Neville. They all stand by your side, facing the enemy for one last battle.

“You will never defeat us”, Draco announces proudly, telling the truth. Because Voldemort feels so sure about his victory that he apparently lost sight of how his followers feel about him. That is why he doesn’t see how the majority of his Death Eaters, including your father, who just had their wands pointed at you, is aiming at him now. That is why he doesn’t see how many have turned against him in all this time he has led with fear and terror. So, the last thing he sees is everyone turning against him and condemning him to death together, making the world a better place again.

As soon as he turns to ashes and dust before your eyes, you can’t believe it at first. And you don’t seem to be the only one with that feeling, because there is pure silence. At least for a few long seconds, until suddenly, loud and trembling, cheering breaks out and everyone is laying in each other’s arms.

Relieved, Draco pulls you into such a tight hug that it takes your breath away and the next moment, many other arms are wrapped around you. It is finally over.

There are a lot of casualties, a lot of injuries, a lot of dead. But in the end, you are still here, Draco and you, breathing, standing. And you created your very own happy ending for yourselves by doing the right thing.

#draco lucius malfoy #draco malfoy #draco malfoy os #draco malfoy imagine #draco malfoy fic #draco malfoy one shot #draco malfoy one shots #draco malfoy imagines #draco malfoy fanfic #draco malfoy ff #draco malfoy fanfiction #draco malfoy x female reader #draco malfoy x y/n #draco malfoy angst #draco malfoy fluff #draco x female reader #draco x y/n #draco fluff #draco angst #draco os #draco one shot #draco one shots #draco imagine #draco imagines #draco fic #draco ff #draco fanfic #draco fanfiction #hp imagine #harry potter os

[stxrshxpxd]

"i'm not your trophy" || uni damon

pairing: 90s/uni damon albarn x reader

word count: 1.008

warnings: smutish

prompt: damon and reader have known each other forever but never got along. at last they have ended up in bed together.

* * *

Three loud knocks shook my brain awake. One thin stripe of sunlight nearly blinded me as I tried to open my eyes, and a thicker one was drenching my bare shoulder in warmth.

“Yeees,” I grumbled into my pillow and an arm suddenly moved from on top of me to lay next to my face. Shit. Every little detail of last night flashed before my shut eyes in an instant. I moved my head from the sunlight and tried again to open my aching eyes.

“It’s nearly 10! Do you want breakfast or not?” my best friend Cassie shouted rhetorically through the door. Two more knocks and I propped myself up on my elbows, my breasts nearly exposed to Damon next to me. He too had opened his eyes and was glancing at me smugly. I shifted slightly under the covers and came to the conclusion that I was fully nude.

“Stay here.”

“I want breakfast!” he introjected way too loudly. I hushed him immediately but Cassie was already giggling on the other side of the door.

“Is that Damon?”

“Fuck me,” I muttered and shoved my face into my pillow again. “Don’t!” I said and lifted my head again, stopping Damon’s inevitable comment.

“Come onnnn,” Cassie shouted between giggles and she knocked again.

His palm pressed against my rib cage and his lips refused to leave mine, shoving me into my dormitory back first. The sharp corner of my desk pierced into the side of my hip suddenly, but all I could do was laugh into Damon’s mouth. The last two shots had ensured my pain receptors were completely out of order for the next hour or so.

I spotted the bruise in passing as I shimmied past my full body mirror to my left, my duvet draped very poorly over my body. I rummaged through my underwear drawer desperately and managed to slide a pair on, just as I noticed my t-shirt from last night that hung off the top of my dresser.

Damon’s fingers tugged on the stretchy fabric and pulled my t-shirt over my head swiftly, only leaving my lips for a second. He tossed it across my small room somewhere behind him and seconds later I was on my back with my cool pillow against my neck. His hand had already found the button of my jeans.

“Don’t break tradition!” Damon protested and threw his own t-shirt at me. I looked down at the grey shirt by my feet and remembered all the girls that had paraded around in his baggy shirts and smug smiles all around the refectory during breakfast.

“I’m not your trophy,” I stated and slipped my own shirt on instead. It was closely followed by pulling my jeans on as well.

“Okay. Maybe I’m your trophy.”

I didn’t know what to say to that, and then Cassie banged on the door again.

“If I tell you it’s boring news you fucked Damon, will you come out? They’ll seriously close the kitchen in 5 minutes.”

“Oh, shout it a bit louder, would you?!”

”Can we- Can you-” I stammered and failed to finish my sentence, as I watched him squeeze into an oversized top of mine. It fit him tightly over the chest and the deep cut of the neck left his collar bones exposed.

I was sat on top of him, my knees digging into my soft mattress on either side of his bony hips. My lips were attached to his left collar bone and his soft pleased grunts fell into my tangled hair as I sucked a bruise into his skin.

I stared at the dark red spot for a second too long, while Damon slipped into his blue jeans again.

“Sorry, you have a few of those too,” he grinned. He wasn’t really sorry. I spun around to study the visible parts of my body and found two large hickeys down the side of my neck.

“I feel about 15,” I muttered and rolled my eyes as I turned back around.

“I feel hungry.”

Damon made a quick decision and dragged me with him, firmly gripping my wrist, and unlocked the door. On the other side of it stood Cassie with a massive smile and a giggle on its way out.

“This didn’t happen,” I stated and waved my hand around in the air between me and Damon.

“I think Damon’s been wanting this since year one, have you not?” Cassie laughed, stepping into possibly risky territory. Cassie didn’t know Damon very well, apart from having been dragged into multiple drunken arguments between the two of us. Damon and I had grown up together, always known each other but never gotten on. It wasn’t until we began going to the same parties, especially the uni ones, that we really began talking to one another. And those talks were always heated discussions to say the least.

“Been wanting this since I was twelve,” Damon singsonged jokingly and Cassie and him giggled in unison.

“Been wanting this since I was twelve,” he had drunkenly breathed into my ear, while his one hand clasped my two wrists, pinning them down above my head. Not a single giggle could be heard.

We paraded into the half full refectory and gained a few looks. I saw the whispers but couldn’t hear them over the rest of the loud rumbling of conversation.

I slid away to an empty table nearby and sank down with a heavy sigh. The hangover was catching up with me. Cassie gave me a questioning look and Damon copied it.

“I’m not hungry,” I said with a steady voice.

“I fed you enough last night, huh?” Damon said with an intentionally loud voice and some of the other voices died down around the room as a reaction. The silliness of the purple low cut top hugging his torso teamed with his smug grin made me exhale another deep sigh and roll my eyes.

“Plenty,” I settled and nodded my head reluctantly as I sank down further in my seat.

#i don't have the energy to proof read this one last time istg i hope its good and makes sense #graham coxon #blur #alex james #dave rowntree #damon albarn #90s #britpop #smut #fluff #angst #y/n #au #fic #imagine #damon albarn x reader

[yandere-sins]

Property

I couldn’t resist from writing for Pantalone again... Soon we’ll have Dottore, so that’s a start but I am yearning for this man especially (’:

Fandom: Genshin Impact Pairings: Yandere!Pantalone x GN!Reader Warnings: Yandere, Violence (Mention of Whipping/Bruises), Manipulation, Gaslighting, Degradation, Verbal Abuse, Arranged Marriage

Prompt: @sintember Possession - To belong to someone, to have them wash over you, erasing you, becoming you. Did you ask for this? Does it matter?

»»———————— ♡ ————————««    

Being a possession meant being nothing and everything at the same time.

You were nothing in the sense that you didn’t exist on your own. A nobody. A caged bird adorned in velvet, jewels, and gold, never to fly from your cage that was Pantalone. His hand on your shoulder and his arm around your waist made it seem like you were locked to his side. You had to follow the softly spoken order to link your arm with his, lest you’d be punished for disobedience. If he wasn’t next to you, no one would know who you are. No matter how pretty and extravagant you looked, they wouldn’t be able to recognize you as anyone of importance. A nobody in the masses of the rich and famous. Not like Pantalone ever left you alone in the first place, but it was still an unsettling feeling to not have a name to yourself.

But at the same time, you were everything because people could yearn to be you. Watch after you as you traveled the world and got to attend every luxurious banquet with him while never having to endure hardships or discomforts. You were being envied for having everything, for being able to live a life in the lap of luxury your husband provided. The top-class ring on your finger was a sign of love just as much as its presence on you ended your independent existence and any chance of reclaiming being someone other than Pantalone’s spouse. Even though everyone seemed to know you, greeted you, talked to you as if you were friends—and Pantalone pinching you to humor them and keep up a good facade—they never saw the turmoil and pain you were going through. They never saw you.

No one ever recognized the bags under your eyes as signs of having cried all night. Your hands were always clothed in lace or satin gloves to hide the nails you regularly chewed off because of the constant anxiety you were under. Hickies under your collar, bruises beneath designer clothes. The marks of last night’s whipping on your ass burned when you sat down, especially on the terrible bony lap of his. But who could see any of that when they were so beautifully covered by his gifts? Who’d ever notice anything about the abuse you endured just because he chose you?

Pantalone hated it when you interrupted his work. And yet, he never allowed you to be further away than an arm’s length from him. There was nothing else to do than sink into your depressive thoughts and play with the button and adornments on his clothes while he worked. The thin borders between sanity and madness were so finely manipulated by him that you had a hard time discerning his concerned, “I don’t want anything to happen to you just because you are too far away to protect you,” as something bad when he made it sound so genuinely caring.

So you latched on to his chest while he flipped through his reports, one hand on the small of your back while the other worked. Even if you wanted to say something, he’d have an excuse as to why not to do what you wished for. “I want to leave you.”

“And then what?” he murmured, not giving you any more attention than his cold touch at the small of your back. He wasn’t annoyed yet. You could dig some more. “I’d live somewhere that’s warm… the beach. With dogs.”

“Mhm,” he hummed dismissively, clearly just humoring you with his responses.

With a deep sigh, Pantalone threw the report back on the table after a moment of silence, gripping your hand instead and prying it from his shirt, pulling you to sit upright on his lap. “Darling,” he spoke, his voice cold like the snow outside his office’s window, unlike the affectionate nickname. “You’re not even capable of choosing whether you want to have roast or vegetables for dinner. How would you ever choose a place you want to live? And how would you pay for it? Should I pay for it even though you are leaving me?”

Sitting downcast, you stared at the buttons on his shirt. Pantalone shook his head, disappointed at you for not thinking ahead before saying something—in his opinion—stupid. It had begun. He started to clean his glasses as annoyance was building. But it was too late to back out now. “Any…” you whispered, taking a deep breath to build courage. “Any place away from you is good. And I could work!”

Raising an eyebrow, Pantalone huffed, one corner of his lips jerking upwards. Finishing wiping off his glasses, he grabbed one hand of yours, bringing it up to your face. “With those hands? Do you think anyone would want someone so sheltered? They’ll think you are too weak for physical jobs and too proper to do finer ones. No one wants someone like you working for them. Besides, you’re not especially talented in anything. What could you even do for a living when you don’t even have the basic skills?”

Pantalone sighed as you felt your expression falter, tears filling your eyes. He was wrong—of course, someone would take you! And you’d work hard to earn your place! But… what if he was right? He knew so much about the world, and you went from being a child to being a spouse. You had been so happy when he asked for your hand in marriage. But you realized now that this union forced you to never learn about the world outside his reach.

Bringing your hand to his lips, he gave it a long, thoughtful kiss of dedication. “Am I not giving you enough? I am trying so hard to make you feel loved and happy. Why must you always hurt me so, Love? I wish you’d stop speaking about things that don’t matter.”

“It does-” Hiccups interrupted your words as you quickly reached up to wipe the tears from your eyes. Pantalone hated tears. Each tear was a second of strangulation you’d have to pay after. And he was always the one counting. “It does matter. To me.”

“You matter to me, too,” he countered, no hesitation delaying his answer. “You matter so much, so…”

Letting his shoulders sack, he closed his eyes. Now he was annoyed. Hidden behind an expression of worry and hurt, you knew him well enough to know he was upset about your actions. “Please don’t say these silly things anymore, okay? I have to work now, but we can look for beach-side properties afterwards.”

Pushing you gently back into his chest, you sunk into his body, tears rolling down your cheeks and seeping into his expensive fur coat. Pantalone huffed, bucking his legs warningly. “And stop your crying. You know I hate you staining my papers. There’s not even a reason for you to cry. Yet. Really, you should be relieved I love you so much. Who’d want a crybaby like you?”

Was he wrong? Was he right? Would anyone want someone like you, with your anxiety, tears, and wishes to be far, far away from your husband and this ugly, cold land of ice and snow? Could there be someone whose confession of love didn’t make you feel worse than when Pantalone said it?

You never asked to be married to him. It had always been his idea and his money paying to make it a reality. And even when you thought you were happy, there was never really a day that his position, name, presence, and the very same money that bought you, hung over your head as a suppressing force. Losing the chance to be your own person and never experience life outside the one he decided to have, only sounded good in Pantalone’s ears.

Would there ever be a chance that you could be anything or anyone other than his property?

“And the dogs?” you muttered quietly, whispering the words into the fur, the only warm thing about this man.

“If they make you happy, Darling.”

You nodded, and Pantalone sighed, relieved to be over with the topic. It would not spare you the punishment later between silk sheets and cracking whips, but he decided to be done with it, so it was. Resting his hand on the small of your back again, he left it there as a silent reminder as he returned to work after dealing with you.

A reminder that you were his.

And deep down, you knew better than to wish for a change that would never come.

#Pantalone #genshin #genshin impact #yandere #yandere Pantalone #yandere!Pantalone #yandere genshin #yandere!genshin #yandere genshin impact #yandere!genshin impact #yandere imagines #yandere headcanons #yandere scenarios #yandere fanfiction #yandere writing #yandere stories #yandere oneshots #yandere oneshot #yandere drabble #yandere x reader #yandere x darling #Yandere TW #Sintember 2022 #OW

[girlwithherheadinthestars]

The Last Villain (part 1/?)

c/w: mention of blood

a/n: this is part one of something i've been working on, let me know what you guys think! i hope you like it <3

“Tell me something.”

He swallowed and squeezed his eyes shut. Her voice.

It still haunted him like a ghost of shifting white light that twisted and danced in the periphery of his mind. 

“Tell me something.”

Anything. Anything. He would have told her anything in that moment, her eyes glassy and her lower lip cut down the middle and bright red streaking out of it like a madman had attempted to put lipstick on her. He would’ve done anything, said anything, killed kings, conquered oceans — anything.

He squeezed his hands into fists so tight they turned so white they were almost the same color as the shackles on his wrists that dragged and scratched against the metal table in front of him with every little motion of his hands. 

He stared at the table with a ferocious kind of intensity as if he could replace the image of her face with the dull table’s metal in the sickly white light above him swinging in a draft coming in from the bottom of the door. A fly buzzed somewhere. Water dripped from a pipe. He saw her smile, her eyebrow arching in that little amused way of hers. 

“Tell me something.”

The door opened and the smart clicking of expensive business shoes walking over and then stopped in front of him, drawing a chair that scratched on the floor like nails on chalkboard. One business shoe crossed over a knee. Arms leaned forward, thin fingers laced together.

“I see you’re committed to your vow of silence.” The newcomer said self-importantly.

He didn’t say a word. He didn’t even have to look up to know who the newcomer was. He’d been expecting those business shoes for two days. 

“A hello would have been nice given how long we’ve known each other.”

Ah. The business shoes had a sense of humor.

The corner of the shackled man's lips turned up in a little amused smile.

The business shoes man sighed and leaned back in his chair. “Or if not a hello, at least some condolences.”

He stiffened and finally looked up at the pale, bony face of his interrogator. The interrogator said nothing.

But it was not much of an interrogation if you asked the alleged interrogatee, it was more of an intimidation. There was nothing they needed to know. They just wanted to see his pain. They fed off it. 

He looked away with a scoff.

“Don’t act so superior. You weren’t the only one who cared for her. I loved her very much. I know how you must feel — ”

“You know nothing.” He finally hissed, looking up at the little shred of a man before him. “You loved her but I love her. There is nothing I love but her.” His voice broke as he fixed him with a dark glare. “I shouldn’t be offering condolences. You should be begging for mercy.”

The man before him froze. “So it was true.”

“Tell me something.”

“Anything. Anything, my love. Anything.”

“What was true?” He snapped. 

“I thought they were only… rumors. You did…you did truly… love her.” 

“How could that have ever been in question?” He spat. 

“I…I don’t know…I…didn’t think…”

“What? You’re upset the woman your father decided you would marry actually made a choice of her own?” He let out a bitter laugh that edged on manic. 

The man pouted, almost offended. “I did love her.”

“No.” He crowed with laughter. “No, you didn’t. You don’t know what it is to love. Love is madness and chaos and…and happiness all in one single look. It's absolute pure insanity. No….no you don’t know what it is to love, my friend.”

“Tell me something.”

Her hair between his fingers, soft and dark.

The man is silent for a long moment and then finally, “Tell me.”

He looks up. 

“Tell me what it is to love. Tell me what happened — what really happened.”

He hesitates for a long moment, shifts in his shackles, sighs. It was a long story but that man had it in him to wait. And anyway, if he was going to rot in prison, someone ought to know. Someone ought to remember. He didn’t care if he withered till no one even recalled he had ever existed but he could never allow her to be any less than the bright, shining light that she had been. 

“Tell me something.”

He sighed. “Well I guess it was all because of the damned puppy.”

“Tell me something…"

Her eyes glassy. Her lip cut. The last look she would ever give him.

"Tell me something...

...was any of it real?”

taglist: @kurai-hono-blog

#writeblr #writing #enemies to lovers #hero x villain #villain x hero #villains and heroes #hero and villain #villain #spilled ink #my writing #writers on tumblr #snippet #part 1 #writers of tumblr #creative writing

[shmorp-mcdurgen]

Mandela Prophet AU: Intuition

Thatcher Davis awakes in the middle of the night to his intuition telling him to find the source of a strange noise he hears somewhere in the neighborhood.

TW: Suicide ideation, blood, body horror, vague mentions of spiders, spoilers for new TMC upload, holy shit Adam’s having a bad day, please listen to the warnings.

Notes: this is 2777 words long I think. Don’t know if this is canon to the au or not, as I wrote it on a whim and don’t know if it fits the au timeline very well just yet. I just went a bit crazy seeing how perfect the end of Mandela Catalyst worked for this au so. Yeah. Here’s this thing :)

-----

Screaming.

Screaming is what awoke Thatcher in the middle of the night. It sounded like someone was calling for help nearby, yet it almost sounded…dreamlike. As if it was nothing more than a hazy hallucination from while he was half asleep. Something else within Thatcher’s mind told him to follow the noises, despite the pit in his gut whenever he heard it. He shifted in his bed, being nothing but a couple mattresses on top of one another, shutting his eyes even tighter as he tried to ignore the loud screaming he heard in the back of his head. It was no use; he needed to wake up.

Thatcher’s eyes flicked open, the screaming ceasing as soon as he did so. He sat up, brushing his straight, long, dyed blond hair out of his face before looking around his room. His thin body was covered by a pair of sweatpants and a faded “The Exorcist” shirt. His scruffy facial hair was unkempt, and he had bags under his eyes. He noticed the stillness in his room, with nothing making a single sound; not even the wind outside blew against his window. Thatcher sighed deeply, his brows furrowing before he stood up out of bed, his curiosity unquenchable.

He threw on a leather jacket, replacing his sweatpants with a pair of dusty jeans before glancing towards his nightstand, seeing his pistol and flashlight. He stared vacantly at both of them before grabbing them, placing the pistol in his belt and holding the flashlight in his hand. He felt something in his gut, but something was telling him to look for the source of the screaming, no matter how he felt about it.

He could only hope he wouldn’t regret it.

 Adam could feel it again. It wanted out, like it always did at the worst times imaginable. He stumbled around the abandoned home he found to be all too familiar, clutching his stomach as he wandered into one of the bedrooms, shutting and locking the door behind him. He trembled, muttering thoughts that weren’t his own as he sat on the bed, his wide, dilated eyes staring at his bare feet. He was woken up by the parasite that night, not having time to put on shoes before he was out the door.

His breathing was heavy before he grimaced, his thin, bony hands grasping his shirt before sliding it off, tossing it to the ground; he didn’t have it in him to sacrifice another T-shirt. His ribs and spine poked out from under his thin skin, and his blue eyes were sunken in. His arms were longer than typical human arms, along with his legs. He felt like complete shit, reflected by his messy, pale brown hair and the bags under his eyes. However, he would’ve taken the permanent exhaustion and lack of an appetite if it meant he didn’t have to go through it again. Alas, he knew what was to come in the next ten minutes.

Adam laid on the bed, convulsing slightly as he grimaced, feeling the parasite shifting inside of his stomach and chest in an all too familiar way. He could feel tears falling from his eyes, despite the pain only being minimal at that moment, but he could hear the voices in his head, screaming at him as if wanting him to let it out and accept it. He was tired of feeling this pain and soon-to-be agony over and over again, like a morbid record on repeat. He had begun to forget when the first time the parasite took over his body, only remembering the pain it caused him. Adam didn’t know what he did to deserve such a cruel fate, but he supposed curiosity in fact killed the cat.

Adam wanted to tell Jonah he was sorry; sorry for ignoring his concerns, sorry for pushing him to the side, and sorry for acting as if Jonah wasn’t the only true friend he’s ever had. He wished he could find Jonah again, sewing the remains of his head and body back together, just to hug him one more time. He wanted everything to be over, and to be free of this disease he’s been cursed with. He wished he never spoke to the false angel, and that he just kept walking instead of taking a bite out of the rotten apple of knowledge. He wanted to be human again, despite knowing that would never be the case again.

He wanted to die.

As the discomfort slowly turned into pain, all he wanted was to be put to sleep. He wanted someone to jab a needle in his neck, or shoot him in the head; anything to not feel the agony and mental anguish he knew was coming. He wanted to believe that he was still human, and to go back to living in blissful ignorance of the true nature of his being. He wished he felt connections with his friends before it was too late, but more than everything, Adam wished he had died, just like Jonah did. The only coward was Adam. The one who was too afraid to show he cared. Jonah didn’t deserve to die, but Adam did. Perhaps Adam deserved to suffer.

 Thatcher’s car radio blared as he drove down the suburban street, basing every turn on his own intuition. He felt as though he was growing near to wherever he was supposed to go, drawn by an inaudible sirens call. Something in him wanted to know where the screaming came from, even though he could no longer hear them. Perhaps it was his own guardian angel, leading him to the answers he wished for. He could only hope.

Thatcher’s subconscious told him to stop outside of one of the abandoned homes, seeing that none of the lights were on except for a single bedroom window. Thatcher sighed heavily through his nose, his hands clutching the steering wheel tight before letting go to grab his pistol and flashlight. He exited his car, noticing the BPS van sitting in the driveway, barely illuminated by the nearby streetlights. He slammed his door shut, pointing his pistol and flashlight in front of him as he approached the home. Hopefully the pit in his stomach would start to fade away.

 “I-It’s…only…tonigh…t.” Adam whimpered in between breaths. “O-Only for a-a-a little…while.” He clenched his jaw, growling and groaning loudly through grinding teeth as he felt his ribs shifting inside of his torso, all while shutting his eyes tight. He was splayed out on the bed, drenched in his own sweat, merging with the tears pouring from his eyes. “God…F-F-FUCKING GAH!” He curled in on himself, shifting to the side before falling off of the bed, narrowly missing hitting his head on the nightstand. He sobbed and yelled, pressing his bare back against the cool wooden table, the force of doing so causing the lamp on top of it to shake slightly.

His legs kicked, sliding against the dusty carpet as he uncontrollably shook, convulsing as he felt the parasite pressing against his back, only to hit the wooden nightstand on the other side of Adam’s skin. He hated the parasite more than anything he’s ever experienced before; only rivaled by the Angel that gave it to him and himself for even taking its offer. He felt so cold, yet overheated all at once, with his entire body crying out. He could hear inhuman murmuring and squealing inside of his chest as the parasite continued to scratch the underside of his back skin. He no longer cared if he was heard. He needed to scream.

 Thatcher flinched at the front door when he heard the loud, agonized yelling from the other room, his flashlight barely illuminating the living room, which was littered with junk and strewn around items of all kinds. Thatcher’s gaze pointed towards one of the doors as he inched closer, narrowly avoiding tripping over everything around his feet. He heard faint sounds from a radio in the living room, seemingly having been turned on right before he entered. It played a version of Amazing Grace, nearly consumed by the static that drowned out most of the vocals. The music made him sick; too many memories of choked singing and hijacked radio signals.

He trained his gun at the door ahead of him, continuing to hear the gut-wrenching screaming that made him want to puke. Nevertheless, he proceeded towards the door, reaching for the door knob before slowly turning it, realizing it was locked. He thought silently to himself before backing up, taking in a deep breath before kicking the door right beside the door knob.

 Adam flinched at the sudden noise, feeling his heart sink as he realized it only meant that there was someone on the other side. Adam wanted to call to them; to yell for them to run, but the only thing that came out was a pained whimper, as pathetic as a dog’s. He could only listen and watch in horror as the door shook with every kick, soon finally opening, slamming against the wall beside it. Soon enough, a figure emerged, and seeing who it was only made Adam feel even worse.

Thatcher stared into the room, his eyes eventually fixating on Adam’s body, seeing his chest heave and hearing his harsh, choked breathing. He slowly lowered his pistol, yet something in him couldn’t let him return it to its holster. Adam’s gaze was haunting, staring at him with pleading, terrified eyes. Adam’s pupils were extremely dilated, nearly completely covering his irises. His hands grasped at the shaggy carpet below, clasping onto it as if he’d fly up into the ceiling if he let go. He looked as if he ran four miles, sprinting away from something that was planning on killing him as soon as it reached him.

Thatcher thought for a moment, remembering the young man’s name before swallowing hard and speaking. “…A…Adam, isn’t it?” Thatcher stated. “What the hell are y—”

“Kill me.”

Thatcher froze when he heard the begging sob before sputtering out a response. “W-What?”

“J-Just fucking kill me, please,” Adam curled up in his body, feeling the parasite growing restless inside of him. “O-Oh God…I just c—” His plea was interrupted by another heart dropping scream, his mouth opening further than most human jaws can go.  His eyes darted around, struggling to see Thatcher in the other corner of the room through his tears. He slammed the back of his head against the nightstand repeatedly, Thatcher watching with awe and horror as he watched him thrash around against an unseen force.

“I’m…Listen I-I’m not…going to hurt y—” Thatcher started, being interrupted by Adam once again.

“FUCKING SHOOT ME!” Adam begged in between groans of pain, his voice beginning to distort as if he was speaking through a tape recorder. “SOMEONE FUCKING KILL ME, PLEASE!”

Thatcher was frozen, unsure if it was wise to do as Adam wished or try and get him out of whatever situation he was in. It looked like a case of M.A.D., yet he felt too…in physical pain to only have that condition. Thatcher had no clue what to do, only able to sputter half words he could barely form before Adam suddenly became silent. His harsh breathing caused his chest to move, but he seemed surprised. He looked down at his body, swallowing hard before continuing to breathe heavily.

“…Adam.” Thatcher saw Adam’s head snap towards him as he took a step forward. “…I have some questions for you.”

“Wh-What?!” Adam whimpered, wondering why the parasite abruptly calmed down. “You need to go—”

“Listen.” Thatcher stated. “…I’ve been having…dreams; dreams involving things that I can’t even…begin to describe, and I know that your group knows a lot about the things that hide behind the veil. I need you to answer some questions for me, can you do that?”

Adam remained silent, still visibly panicking before he looked down at his chest. “You…y-you don’t want to be here.” Adam stated, sounding at least mostly calm for the first time all night.

“…Why do you say that?” Thatcher asked.

Adam went to answer, though his words got caught on his throat when he suddenly gagged and coughed up a small puddle of blood onto the carpet. “Oh God, OH GOD, FUCKING—” Adam began to scream once again, though this time his crazed stare was focused on his chest and stomach, his clammy, shaking hands grasping onto it. He let out even more horrified screams, causing Thatcher to back up a few steps.

“NO, NO, PLEASE GOD JUST FUCKING KILL ME ALREADY! SOMEONE—” Adam felt the parasite clawing at his ribs, scratching the skin and muscle underneath his chest and stomach as he screamed as loud as his throat would allow. For the first time however, Thatcher could see what was going on; seeing things wriggling around underneath Adam’s skin. Thatcher’s gun lowered, him slowly backing away as Adam’s thrashing became even more violent, with him hitting his head on the nightstand and slamming his arms against the walls. Thatcher could only watch as something began to dig out of Adam’s chest.

Adam could hear his ribs cracking and shifting as he looked down at his bare chest, screaming as he saw one of the parasite’s fingers poking through his skin. The rest of the blackened hand followed, pushing through the new wound until the entirety of the impossibly long, mangled arm was out in the open. Thatcher’s eyes widened in shock as the arm laid itself on the bed to Adam’s right, seemingly unaffected by Adam’s thrashing and ear-splitting screaming.

Adam watched in horror, seeing the limbs begin to forcefully push out of his body one by one. Thatcher wanted to help, but seeing no way to do so, he backed away a few steps before turning around and running.

“NO, NO, GOD PLEASE DON’T LEAVE ME—” Adam begged, outstretching his own arm before one of the parasitic limbs covered his mouth, smearing Adam’s own blood on his face. Thatcher was already out of the room, tripping over the junk on the floor before stumbling towards the front door. He slammed against it, fumbling with the door knob before realizing it was locked.

“Damn it, damn it, FUCK!” He shouted, turning back towards the bedroom with his back pressed against the door. He swung his gun up, hearing the sound of muffled screams and struggling through the wall, all before everything became silent. Thatcher watched in anticipation, wondering what was going to come through that door before he glanced to the side, seeing that there was a chair in the living room, and a window leading outside. He began to plan something in his head, though was distracted when he saw something coming from the bedroom door.

A hand grasped the doorframe, leaving a bloody smear as it slid down the wood. Thatcher watched as “Adam” came through, his limp, paralyzed body hanging from the arms like he was the body of a spider. Four limbs “walked”, being two long, mangled limbs and two more looking, albeit forcefully stretched out, arms that helped stabilize it. Adam’s face was covered by three of the eight hands, covering his mouth and his eyes, at least until the one covering his mouth moved away.

“…Da…vis.” Adam’s voice sounded choked, as if he was being forced to speak against his will. “The…fool.”

“…What do you want from me?” Thatcher questioned, his gun trained on the thing in front of him.

“You…left her…all f…or what?” The prophet continued. “This town…is in…shambles because of you.”

Thatcher felt his heart sink, all before he furrowed his brows and pointed his gun towards Adam’s head. However, before he pulled the trigger he swung it downwards, shooting it towards the main arms holding his body up. Thatcher heard high-pitched, inhuman screeching as he ran for the chair, feeling a sense of déjà vu as he threw it through the window. He vaulted over the broken glass, choosing to ignore his bleeding hands as he ran for his vehicle.

The prophet’s arms pressed against the window sill, uncovering one of Adam’s wide eyes just to see Thatcher driving away. The parasite let out another screech, forcing mandibles out of Adam’s mouth as it wriggled around in a display of anger. Adam could feel it ripping his skin the more it writhed, unable to do anything but cry as it began to crawl out of the window, deciding to find another target if it couldn’t get to Thatcher on time.

Adam hated that Sarah is who came to mind.

#shmorp writes sometimes #mandela catalogue #tmc #Mandela prophet #tw suicide ideation #tw suicide mention #tw blood #blood tw #body horror #Adam's terrible no good very bad day is the other title for this /j #I got inspired and felt like i'd explode if I didn't write something so here! /lh #Mandela prophet au my beloved. is that self centered to say cause I made the au? #Prophet Adam (tmc)

[no-light-left-on]

another snippet of my whale song au, one of the rare private conversations between Corvo and the Outsider. they don't exactly get along

Corvo finds the Outsider in his office at 11 in the evening after a meeting with one of his contacts. The hour is far too late yet he has to bring the records back and set them up for the next day.

…And the green-eyed brat is feeling at the edges of a painting to find one of his safes.

The motion is a blur, an instinct rather than intention, as Corvo grabs the Outsider’s hands and yanks them harshly away from the ornate frame. The Outsider yelps and stumbles until his back collides with the wall and Corvo has him pinned, bony wrists clutched in his own hands.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Corvo hisses. When he gets no response, he yanks at the Outsider’s hands, enough to pull him off the wall and for pain to flash through his eyes. He’s hurting him – Corvo knows that, somewhere at the back of his mind, but the exhaustion makes it hard to care. “What in the Void do you think you’re doing?”

The Outsider gasps and forces himself to meet Corvo’s eyes.

“Unhand me,” he demands, though his voice strains and tightens. His eyes are wide and glossed over the tighter Corvo’s grip grows. He pulls, shakes, but Corvo’s hold on him does not budge, and colour drains from his face.

“Outsider-”

“Unhand me,” he repeats, more urgent and desperate. He pulls back against Corvo’s grip and Corvo relents, his grip loosening until the Outsider can draw his hands back, closer to his body, and step away, and Corvo lets him.

This man is hardly a threat, crosses Corvo’s mind. Just a nuisance.

The Outsider cradles his hands to his chest. He rubs at his wrists, the skin having gone red with the force that Corvo held him.

“Don’t do it again,” he says, his voice flat. It’s flatter than Corvo remembers it from the bad old days, yet pleading all the same. Somewhere at the back of Corvo’s memory, he recalls Emily telling him about the Outsider’s untimely demise.

“Maybe don’t try to get into my shit next time,” Corvo retorts with less agitation than he hoped for.

“Don’t,” the Outsider says, toeing the line of plea and a warning, “ever do that again.”

It’s such a simple demand, and the first Corvo can recall him ever making since his arrival to the Tower. So Corvo nods.

“And stop-” His voice twists once more, grows thin until it is gone and the Outsider needs to breathe out before he can try to speak again. He’s shaking. “Stop calling me… that. Just stop.”

He has a name, now. A name he shared with hesitation and a name that makes him flinch every time Emily speaks it. He hates that name almost as much as his old title.

“What were you doing here,” Corvo diverts the conversation from all those thoughts.

“I needed something from you,” the Outsider explains.

“From my safe, you mean,” Corvo interrupts. “A hidden safe, no less.”

“You used it when I came here with Emily last week,” the Outsider rebuts.

Corvo remembers, if only vaguely, that the Outsider was trailing Emily for that short conversation.

“You had little issue opening it then. And you put in those plans Emily passed you, and I need them now, and you were gone too long and I did not know when you’d be returning, and I want to retire to my chambers and sleep.” He takes a breath, the sentence having left him with little break between them, and when he exhales he exhales the hysteria that underlined his voice. “But I suppose you are here now, so I can ask you give those to me so I can go over them with Emily tomorrow.”

They’re both exhausted, Corvo notes. The hour is too late for these conversations, and the Outsider is still trembling as he passes him by to open the safe and retrieve the plans from the safe. Anything to end the day.

“Thanks,” the Outsider breathes as Corvo passes the plans back. It’s the second time he’s thanked him that night. It should not bother Corvo nearly as much as it does. He grunts and the Outsider scurries past him to the doors to his chamber and bids him goodnight. Corvo does not echo the words and waits until he hears the door click closed before sinking into the chair at his desk.

#dh #dishonored #corvo attano #the outsider #whale song au #i havent been working on this au much I have a different one on mind and that ones been occuping my thoughts full time #(that au too is corvosider) #(and yes. this is corvosider. or will be. they suck at it for now) #this ones not all that good but I couldnt stop thinking about it #writing tag

[solar-sunnyside-up]

Defeating Windigo - final chapter Braiding Sweetgrass

The snow hisses against the window, the wind moans in the trees. He has come, followed my tracks home just as I knew he would. I put the sweetgrass in my pocket, take a deep breath, and open the door. I’m afraid to do this, but more afraid of what happens if I don’t.

He looms above me, wild red eyes blazing against the hoar frost of his face. He bares his yellow fangs and reaches for me with his bony hands.

My own hands tremble as I thrust into his bloodstained fingers a cup of scalding buckthorn tea. He slurps it down at once and starts to howl for more— devoured by the pain of emptiness, he always wants more. He pulls the whole iron kettle from me and drinks it in greedy gulps, the syrup freezing to his chin in dripping black icicles. Throwing the empty pot aside, he reaches for me again, but before his fingers can surround my neck he turns from the door and staggers backward out into the snow.

I see him doubled over, overcome with violent retching. The carrion stench of his breath mixes with the reek of shit as the buckthorn loosens his bowels. A small dose of buckthorn is a laxative. A strong dose is a purgative, and a whole kettle, an emetic. It is Windigo nature: he wanted every last drop. So now he is vomiting up coins and coal slurry, clumps of sawdust from my woods, clots of tar sand, and the little bones of birds. He spews Solvay waste, gags on an entire oil slick. When he’s done, his stomach continues to heave but all that comes up is the thin liquid of loneliness.

He lies spent in the snow, a stinking carcass, but still dangerous when the hunger rises to fill the new emptiness. I run back in the house for the second pot and carry it to his side, where the snow has melted around him. His eyes are glazed over but I hear his stomach rumble so I hold the cup to his lips.

He turns his head away as if it were poison. I take a sip, to reassure him and because he is not the only one who needs it. I feel the medicines standing beside me. And then he drinks, just a sip at a time of the golden-pink tea, tea of Willow to quell the fever of want and Strawberries to mend the heart. With the nourishing broth of the Three Sisters and infused with savory Wild Leeks, the medicines enter his bloodstream: White Pine for unity, justice from Pecans, the humility of Spruce roots. He drinks down the compassion of Witch Hazel, the respect of Cedars, a blessing of Silverbells, all sweetened with the Maple of gratitude. You can’t know reciprocity until you know the gift. He is helpless before their power.

His head falls back, leaving the cup still full. He closes his eyes. There is just one more part of the medicine. I am no longer afraid. I sit down beside him on the newly greening grass. “Let me tell you a story,” I say as the ice melts away. “She fell like a maple seed, pirouetting from the autumn sky-"

#solarpunk #braiding sweetgrass #quotes #windigo #k so someone should chat with me bout this bc she talks bout how Companies are the modern windigo and i NEED TO TALK BOUT IT PLZ

[sashi-ya]

霊圧 + 淫慾. // spiritual pressure + lust. [twoop x sy]

𝑰𝑵𝑺𝑻𝑰𝑵𝑪𝑻 // 𝑯𝑬𝑨𝑹𝑻. by sashi-ya 𝐀̈𝐒 𝐍𝐎̈𝐃𝐓 𝐗 𝐆𝐍! 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑 .nsfw

𝐭𝐰: 𝐍𝐒𝐅𝐖. dark to say the least. blood kink, bite, death threats, fucking in the middle of hueco mundo. first time i write something with him, bare with me. reader is gn, no genitalia specified nor pronouns used. // 𝚠𝚌: 654 // 𝚖𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝 // 𝚝𝚊𝚐 𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝: @tealcat001 @dumbbitch223 @bookandyarndragon @ilibili @stygianoir @zell69 @jin-supremacy01 // 𝚌𝚘𝚕𝚊𝚋 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 @the-witch-of-one-piece

The fear cold, silent. White fabrics, why is everything lacking colour here? his skin, his clothes, no sound.

His touch, so subtle, his nails grazing your completely naked flesh. Inspecting you, feeling the bumps of your body on his fingertips. He looks at you with his head tilted to the side, his long hair falling like a black waterfall. And black are also two orbs that observe you with curious stare.

His gloved hand reaching for your face; pulling down your cheek he inspects your eye socket. The sound of his soft breathing echoing in your head as he comes closer to your lips.

The spikes on his mask about to poke holes into you. “Please don’t hurt me” you plead.

You can’t see his mouth, but his eyes show he might be smiling. “Why? Are you scared of feeling pain?” the Sternritter asks, with low raspy voice, so calmed, enjoying your now shaky limbs.

“Yes… but, I know you don’t want to hurt me…” you whisper, with trembling lips.

His hand round your neck, As’ arm is as thin as bone covered in a fine pale skin mantle. He presses softly, like a sweet torture, enough to make you feel uncomfortable, but not to make you faint.

“Is that what your instinct is telling you? Or that’s just your own heart trying to give you a reason not to succumb to pure fear?”

You blink, maybe he is right… maybe he isn’t… but there are instincts way stronger than fear…one of them, is Lust.

“Are you afraid, As?”

A sudden reaction that leaves you unable to respond, gets you pressed against the darkness over a wall of who knows where.

You can feel his bony constitution carved against your back, the protrusion of his pelvis hitting the small of your back. The scent of his skin that reminds you of a mix of the smell you found in hospitals, blood, and flowers… visitation, funeral perfume.

The Quincy’s nails scratch the wall, the spikes of his mask seems to pierce your nape. “I only fear two things, and none of them are you” he whispers, taking away his mask, nuzzling in your hair.

“Should I penetrate you with my thorns first? Or should I use my own body to instil fear in you?” he asks, taking his long coat off.

You dare to look at him from the side, as now your cheek is squeezed against the wall. A subtle blueish light comes from the moon of the eternal night of Hueco Mundo, your reishi and his aligning somehow, and a growing anticipation for the experience you are about to live.

“Body, use your body” “Hng”

Your eyes turning white, his ribcage pressed against your back, merciless thrusts that both make you shiver and moan. Your palms against the wall, his over your hands, his claws carving marks on the base of your phalanges for a better grip.

His long hair tickling your skin, your shoulders. His low growls, your loud whines. Images of the worst of your fears overcoming pleasure, and pleasure overcoming them in an endless circle of terror and lust.

“Why are you screaming? Out of terror? Out of pain? Why?” “Out of pure pleasure… don’t stop, please”

Bites on your shoulders, on your back. Teeth so exposed grazing your skin, and you are not afraid, you are not grossed out… is not looks what scares you, his beauty could never really scare you.

The scent of blood growing stronger, his tongue tasting your ferrous liquids coming from your skin sheading to pieces.

“it’s ok, feed on me, on my instinct” “I wanna kill you, I wanna rip you apart so many times… I want you to tell me what hell really feels like”

Endless drilling, in and out. Mercilessly, violently, painfully, and yet so blissfully good to your body…

“You are the one scared, you are the one with fear…”

#as nodt #as nodt x reader #as nodt bleach #bleach #bleach fanfic #bleach x reader #bleach anime #bleach imagines #bleach fanfiction #bleach fanart #spiritual pressure x lust #as nodt fan fic #as nodt fan fiction #byakuya is hating me right now #sashi ya #i'm attracted to long haired skinny white creepy guys #what can i say #bleach quincy

[midnightcreator12]

....Chula Verd in Mutant Mayhem

Because this scene got stuck in my brain so I slammed it out real quick.

Obviously not canon to Hunter and Turtle but there are slight spoilers for what's gonna happen with Chula after The Portal Home and some spoilers for Mutant Mayhem.

Anywho, enjoy!

Raph yelped as needles stabbed into his wrists and ankles. The yelp turned into a shout of pain when another needle burrowed itself between his shell scute. It hurt like hell going in but the continued feeling ‘wrong, wrong, get it out’ made his skin feel like it was covered in roaches.

He tried to pull away from the needles, get away from the deadly little points but it just made them shift under his scales and burrow in deeper.

Yup, they were going to die here.

And Raph wanted to get more angry about that, because his brothers did not deserve to die because these humans had gotten the wrong guys. But all he could focus on was the fact his joints were being torn apart.

He almost didn’t notice when an alarm sounded. He probably wouldn't have paid attention if the buzzing sound wasn’t followed by the lights suddenly turning red and flashing.

It was annoying and he wished they’d quit it. Wasn’t he miserable enough?

He lifted his head and frowned when he saw all the soldiers in the room and spun towards the door, weapons raised, like they were waiting for someone to come through.

Had April come back for them?

“What the heck is going on?” Donnie whispered.

Leo’s voice was low as he replied, too low for Raph to catch with all the cotton in his ears.

Every person in the room, human and mutant, had their eyes fixed on the door as it hissed open.

And every single one froze when they saw who- or what?- was on the other side.

It was…kinda human looking? Well, no, the legs were bent the wrong way, kinda like Dads, but Dad had thin, bony limbs. This person was the opposite of bony, they were freaking huge, easily towering over everyone in the room by a foot or two.

They were decked out in armor too, the black and gold plates bulking out the person's frame and making them look even bigger. They were holding a staff over their shoulders, hands draped almost casually over the metal and they took a slow step into the room, clawed toes scraping loudly on the floor.

The black visitor of the helmet scanned the room and the lights flashed, momentarly turning the glass into a bloody red.

And then a voice, femine and raspy with a sharp edge that made everyone tense, crackled into the room, “You all have ten seconds to fuckin' run.”

There was a click. Four blades popped out from each end of the staff, thin but clearly sharp and glinting viciously in the light. And it was only emphasized when the ends also started to glow yellow and crackled like a really big taser.

Raph was still in pain but he couldn't help but say, “Oh my gosh, that’s awesome.”

That seem to shake some humans out of their shock, one stepping forward and growling, “Look buddy, as cool as that Mando cosplay is, you’re not allowed in here-”

“Seven.”

“Uh,” the man stammered but managed to keep going. “Look, I don’t want to hurt ya lady, but I have to ask that-”

“Five.”

“That you put the weapon down and put your hands-”

“Threeee.”

“ON THE FLOOR!”

“It’s not a cosplay,” the staff whistled as it was suddenly spun off the woman's shoulders and into an opening stance. “One!”

The metal staff whistled as she swung it like a club, slamming it into the man's side and sending him flying across the room.

And then everything exploded into chaos.

Raph watched in slack jawed awe as the stranger started beating down every single human in the room, staff whipping back and forth and electrified prongs zapping every person it connected with. Men went flying every which way, none getting ever close to landing a hit.

A few kept back and opted for shooting at her, but the blue canisters were swatted out of the air like flies, shattering harmlessly on the floor as the stranger tossed one gunman into his neighbor and kicked another into a metal cabinet.

Raph and his brothers were cheering as another man was slammed into the floor, whooping in excitement as they watched whoever this person was kick everyone's butts.

It was like watching a Jackie Chan movie but a thousand times better.

The last soldier was gut punched by the staff, limbs seizing as he was zapped. The woman grabbed the back of his head and smashed it into a control panel with a loud crunch.

Whatever the man broke with his face was important, because the alarm suddenly went silant, the lights turned normal again and the restraints on Raph and his brothers snapped open.

Raph squeaked in pain as the needles were, very suddenly and not at all gently, ripped out of him. He stumbled, hands shakily coming up to his aching wrists-

Only for Leo to practically pouch on him, grabbing his arms as he started to babble at a mile a minute, “Oh my gosh, oh my gosh, you okay? You feel okay? Of course you don’t, you just got freaking milked. Oh, that’s blood, that’s too much blood. Uh, okay-”

Raph was only half listening, because the room was tilting and that was bad, rooms shouldn’t tilt like that. And he suddenly felt really woozy? Oh, yeah, definitely woozy.

His shell was saved from a very hard landing by Leo catching him and helping him sit on the floor. Donnie was close behind, helping Mikey sit right next to Raph.

All four breathed for a few moments.

Then slowly turned to look at the only other conscious person in the room.

The woman stood there, right in the middle of knocked out soldiers, staff deactivated but still clutched in her hand.

Now that they were on the floor and alone with this random new mutant…oh, boy she was huge…and she just took out, like, at least thirty guys by herself….and they didn’t know if she’d come to beat them up or help them out. Superfly could hold a grudge, maybe had sent someone to beat them down more?

Leo immediately stood up, hands going automatically to where his katana usually rested, "Who are you? W-what do you want?"

She took a few steps closer, weapon hissing as it collapsed into a much smaller stick. Raph tensed when she stopped, close enough to easily reach out and grab Leo if she wanted to.

Once huge, clawed hand pushed the helmet up-

To reveal a human-esk face and two huge, teary green eyes.

“Oh my gods, you’re all so tiny!” she cried, voice much higher pitched now and her mouth pulling into a massive grin.

And Raph…had no clue how to respond to that.

Neither did Leo, if his confused stammering was any indicator.

The woman didn’t seem bothered at all as she crouched down, getting right at Leo's eye-level and squeezing his face between her huge hands, “Oh, look at you, you’re so tiny and squishy in this dimension. Are you even fifteen yet? The crazy stuff usually starts when you’re all fifteen. But you are all way too tiny to be fifteen already. Oh, except for you!”

And suddenly she was in Raph’s face, hands patting heavily at his shoulders and beaming, “Look at you, always gotta be the big guy lookin' after his brothers, right? Oh, but you’re still so squishy!”

“What the heck is happening?" Donnie muttered.

It was a mistake on his part, because the woman was suddenly turning her attention on him, cooing happily, “Oh, lookit! You got glasses this time! And now I know you boys are not fifteen yet! Your voice is still all squeaky. What are you kids now? Twelve? Thirteen?” She twisted, rubbing a hand on Mikey’s head like she was ruffling his non-existent hair. “Aw, you ade have had a tough day, huh? Maybe I should wake these creeps up and beat ‘em down again.”

Mikey nodded, leaning into her touch without any hesitation, "That'd be cool."

Raph shook his head at Mikey but his brother was clearly not listening. He was leaning into the head pats, lapping up the attention and almost falling into the lady's lap. He probably would have if she didn't just scoop him up into a hug with another soft, “Oh, baby, you need a break, huh? World threw too much to soon at you, huh?”

And this was definitely the weirdest thing that had happened to them today. Superfly and his ooze superweapon had nothing on the weird, red, armored tiger lady with the weirdly human face…who was now trying to pull Raph closer, probably to hug him too.

If he wasn’t still dizzy, he’d put up more of a fight. But his limbs felt like jelly, so all he could manage was an unhappy whine, “Who the heck are you?”

“Ah, right, sorry. Got excited!” she leaned back a bit and Donnie yelped when she suddenly grabbed him- with her foot! Because she had weird monkey toes!- and Leo was quickly swept into her grip as well. “But can you blame me? You’re all so shabbin’ cute!”

Raph grumbled and opened his mouth to ask what her deal was.

But his question was interrupted by the door hissing open again.

All eyes snapped to the entrance. Their stares met by two more people, one a teenage human journalist and the other an old, gray furred rat mutant.

April and Dad blinked in bewilderment.

And Raph could understand why. They probably look ridiculous, the four of them being cuddle by some six foot tall tiger lady who had clutched them even closer when the door opened.

April blinked, slowly raising a hand, “I…brought your dad…to save you…do you still need saving ooor-?”

“Who are you? What are you doing to my boys? Put them down!” Dad, after getting over his shock, started stomping his way over as he talked, shaking his walking stick.

The woman giggled, actually giggled like a little kid, “Sorry, sorry, you’re usually a lot more ‘wise old master’ than ‘grumpy old man’.” She wormed a hand out of the turtle pile, sticking it out to Dad. “Chula Verd of dimension nineteen-seven-seven-two-five. Lovely to meet you all again!”

Raph blinked.

Donnie voiced what was probably going through all their minds, “Wait, what?!”

#tmnt #lone hunter and turtle #mutant mayhem #tmnt mm #mutant mayhem spoilers

[thesandsofelsweyr]

HOLLOWED OUT

《 CH4 // FILLED BACK UP WITH HATE // PART 2 》

When Jason saw that photo of Batman and his new Robin, the thin cord of hope holding him together had snapped and he had broken into a million pieces. No one was coming for him. Not one single person on the planet cared whether he lived or died, or how much he suffered, or how loud he screamed. No one except the Clown. He was Joker’s now, and he would say or do anything to get a reprieve from the torment and the pain, even if it meant letting himself be reduced to something less than human.

《RATING》 🔞 Mature 《WORDS》 866 《CHAPTERS》 4/6

《CHARACTERS》 Jason Todd/Robin, Joker, Bruce Wayne (mentioned), Dick Grayson (mentioned)

《TROPES》 Hurt No Comfort, Angst, Whump, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat

《WARNINGS》 Dehumanization, Bathing/Washing, Master/Pet, Collars, Ownership, Brainwashing, Humiliation, Non-Consensual Touching, Torture, Mindfuck, Scars, Suicidal Thoughts, Self-Loathing, Past Child Abuse, Daddy Issues, Forced Nudity, Swearing

《SERIES》 Part 4 of My Arkhamverse, Part 4 of Ruined

《NOTES》

What’s this? TWO UPDATES in less than a week??? 😎

This fic is my pride & joy! It was the first thing I published after a 5+ year hiatus, and the longest story I've ever written by far!

This fic is also dark so be aware of the tags (especially the DD:DNE tag)

My Arkhamverse canon is a mix of game canon and Arkham Knight: Genesis canon. I pick and choose what I like best 😉

If you enjoy the read please consider kudosing, commenting, and reblogging ❤️

《 ALSO ON AO3 》 (comments & kudos there are very much appreciated)

After the Clown finished butchering Jason’s hair to his satisfaction, he exchanged the scissors for the bar of soap and the wet rag, which he worked into a sudsy lather. Then, as gently as a lover, he took Jason’s chin in hand and tilted his face up. Jason tried to keep his tearful eyes downcast, but the insistent pinch of his jaw between thumb and bony forefinger was all the warning he needed to obey. When their eyes met, Jason’s insides twisted into knots while Joker’s painted lips skinned back from his yellow teeth and he crowed: “There’s those beautiful baby blues!”

Joker’s shark-like grin never left his lips as he scrubbed away months of grime, blood, and old tears from Jason’s upturned face, paying special attention to the raw ‘J’ that still burned on his cheek. The branding iron might’ve scorched away those nerve endings, but the memory of that agony still blazed as hot as the moment that unforgiving metal sank into his flesh, leaving behind the permanent mark of ownership. The tears that always welled up at the thought of his disfigured face edged his pale blue eyes, clinging to his lower lashes. He tried to blink them away, to swallow down the lump in his throat, but the Clown still noticed, and his own green eyes glittered with sadistic glee.

“Oh, don’t be so glum, chum,” Joker soothed. “You’re gonna be the talk of the town when I’m through with you. Gotham’s newest sweetheart! You may even knock your billionaire ex-daddy off his princely pedestal.”

Again with the star talk. What the hell is he gonna do to me? Joker probably wanted to film himself putting a drill through Jason’s skull so he could upload it to YouTube for clown clout. He wouldn’t die of course. Oh no. The Clown would make him a vegetable. Or better yet, he’d survive like the dude who had the railroad spike—or was it a crowbar? Heh, fitting—driven through his brain. Maybe he’d end up with a new personality like that dude, but he’d definitely still be around for more torture.

He vaguely remembered telling Joker about Bruce and his wardship. That was the nail gun, I think. He flexed his gnarled fingers as the memory pieced itself back together like a jigsaw puzzle. He’d started singing his entire life’s history once the fingers and palm of his left hand were nailed to the desk and the Clown was starting on his right. At least I haven’t told him Bruce’s secret. Joker hadn’t asked though, and at this point he wasn’t sure if he could still keep that secret once the Clown started “encouraging” him to talk.

At first, when this hell was just beginning, he’d been proud. Proud that he hadn’t broken when the Clown used the drill and the blowtorch on him. Proud that, instead of crying or begging, he’d taunted and cursed the Clown between screams while his fingernails were ripped out one by one. Proud that he hadn’t failed Batman, that he hadn’t disgraced the mantle of Robin.

He’d been trained for this, of course; for a situation where he was held captive and tortured. There had even been torture simulations: electric shocks, waterboarding, force-feeding, solitary confinement, stress positions, sleep and sensory deprivation—all the shit they did at Guantanamo Bay—closely monitored by Bruce and Alfred. He remembered gloating to Dick about destroying his record, after holding out much longer than the first Robin had. Wonder how long the new kid lasted. He’d been taught to keep his captors talking, to play for time while he waited for Batman. The simulations had lasted for a month, not six-plus months. And Batman was always supposed to come rescue him at the end…

An insidious thought wormed its way into his brain and pierced his broken heart. If Dick Grayson was the one rotting in this pit, Bruce would’ve torn Gotham apart to find him. A tear slipped from his lashes and trickled down his soapy cheek. Grayson: the golden boy, the perfect Robin, the blueprint for all of Batman’s future partners. Grayson didn’t break bad guys’ collarbones. Grayson didn’t steal Bruce’s Lambo and get arrested for drunk driving. Grayson didn’t beat a rapist to a bloody pulp, then stand aside while the piece of shit staggered and fell off his own penthouse balcony. Grayson didn’t watch the scumbag splatter on the pavement below with a satisfied smile on his face. Bruce would’ve believed Dick when he said the man fell. But not Jason. Not the juvie he pulled off the street, the unwanted spawn of two degenerate tweakers. Not the stopgap solution until Bruce could find a Robin that measured up to the first. Not the loser who ran off to kill the Clown and got his dumbass captured instead. I’m sorry I wasn’t a better partner, a better son. I tried… I always tried…

Joker finished with his face, dabbing the remaining suds away with the hot pink loofah before tossing it aside, retrieving the rag, and lifting Jason’s left arm.

Then he started singing his stupid fucking song again.

“♫ Gray skies are gonna clear up, put on a happy face… ♫”

#sands writes #fic: hollowed out #series: ruined #my arkhamverse #jason todd #joker #robin #dick grayson #bruce wayne #arkham asylum #arkham knight #batman arkham knight #arkhamverse #whump #angst #collars #jason todd angst #jason todd fanfiction #dcu #dead dove: do not eat

[yetanotheraltwhumpblog]

posting year of whump early bc i can 💪

January 29: chained to a table / betrayal / end of a relationship / handwritten notes of encouragement / “I’m begging you; I’ll do anything”

@oddsconvert bc she is the best ever

cw for gore

“Look, I really don’t think this is working out,” Nick said as he sat across from Virgil, the lights flickering. He sighed.

“I’m sorry if this hurts, but it’s the truth.” 

He cleared his throat. 

“That being said, I can’t have you telling anyone about this.”

Virgil squirmed against the zip ties holding him to the chair as Nick walked past.

“I saw a play one time…a Roman one…” Virgil heard him whisper as he shuffled through a drawer. “I don’t want to hurt you,” Nick said, holding a hypothermic as he leaned over Virgil’s shoulders. “This is epinephrine,” Nick said as he leaned next to him and positioned the syringe at his forearm. He jabbed the needle into Virgil’s arm. He felt a sharp sting, as Nick went behind him. 

He took a pair of pliers before turning around and dragging a chair across the warehouse floor. He put his hand on top of Virgil’s, cold against flush skin thick with blood.

He took one of Virgil’s thin fingers and held the pliers in the other. 

“Don’t make this harder than it needs to be…” 

Nick said as he placed the pliers between Virgil’s skin and nail. His breath quickened as he desperately tried to pull his hand away, scraping it against the dirty plastic. He could feel his heart rate climb.

“This hurts me more than you.” 

The pliers clamped down and Virgil gasped as his nail bent inwards. 

“Just breathe…” Nick said as he began to pull.

Virgil choked as the skin split and blood ran down his finger, seeping into the wood of the chair. The nail came free with a snap and dropped to the floor.

“You’ll be fine,” Nick said as he placed the pliers underneath the next one. He held the bony appendage in place as he twisted the metal sideways. Virgil screamed against the gag as he thrashed. Shock from the first nail breaking off was fading. Now it was pure pain, burning through his body and up his throat in the form of screams that penetrated the air.

“You’ll be fine,” Nick repeated as he began to pull another nail free. He could hear tearing before Nick broke it off and tossed it behind him.

“I promise you’ll be fine.”

Virgil cried out as the nail broke through the skin of his thumb and split it wide open. Warm blood began to pool under his hand. “Just a few more.” Is what Virgil could make out over the ringing in his ears. 

Nick tugged on the ring nail, causing Virgil to cry as the metal hit quick. But the nail didn’t budge. Nick thought for a moment before twisting the pliers, digging the keratin into his skin. Virgil’s quiet tears turned to blubbering sobs as he gasped through the gag. 

The nail was removed and fell to the ground landing in a small pool of blood. Nick positioned the pliers sideways before the last nail slid out. It was as if Virgil's hand was on fire. His fingers twitched as they slid in a puddle. He screamed into the gag, writhing as the pain sent him into convulsions. A bubbly wheeze filled the air. 

“It’ll be okay,” Nick said as he placed the pliers on the table. He brought his hands to Virgil’s face and wiped away the tears before taking the gag out. Virgil sputtered before Nick leaned in to kiss him. He shut his eyes tight. Nick kept his wide open.

He pulled away and wiped his mouth, leaving a trail of red on his cheek. Nick popped the tie back in Virgil’s mouth before picking the pliers up again.

“Just one more hand,” Nick said as he pressed the tips of the hand he wasn’t using into the craters on Virgil’s.

“It’ll be okay,” Nick repeated as he cut through the skin of Virgil’s hand and pressed hard into the crevices of the other. Virgil’s throat burned as he screamed and sobbed. It went faster this time, his nails scattered across the dirty floor. Nick kissed his cheek as he stood up again, wiping his hands on his jeans. 

“Just one more thing and then we’re done.” He walked over to the sink to clean the tool as Virgil cried and shook in the chair.

Nick walked back over to look him in the eyes. His puffy, red eyes. He smiled. 

“You’re so messy! I don't even know how to take care of you…” he said as he undid the gag. Virgil coughed and spat. As he was hacking, Nick slid his hand to Virgil’s face and held his mouth open. “You can't tell anyone about this, can you? ” 

He shoved Virgil’s head against the back of the chair, forcing him to stare into the fluorescent lights. 

“Bite me and I’ll cut your tongue out.”

Nick placed his knee in between Virgil’s leg as the pliers found traction on Virgil’s top canine and latched on. His eyes went wide as he began to shake. He tried desperately to roll the chair back, but it was bolted to the ground. 

Virgil felt like his tooth was going to split in half even before Nick began to pull. He shrieked as the butt of the pliers hit the bottom of his mouth. The pain was immediate. The pliers pulled at his teeth, chipping bits off as they tore through the soft flesh of his mouth. He could taste the thick metallic fluid as Nick yanked again. 

The tooth came out with a wet sucking sound, the blood and spit trailing the instrument. Virgil tried to scream, but his mouth was too full of blood.

“Just relax,” Nick said as he repositioned his knee on Virgil’s leg. He grabbed his hair and forced his head back. He wrapped his arms around his neck and kissed him, his tongue prodding the bloody holes in Virgil’s mouth. Virgil cried into his shoulder.

Nick kissed him again, more softly this time, before letting him go. He wiped Virgil’s face, leaving blood smeared on his lips as blood dribbled down his chest.

“I changed my mind… I might keep you for a little longer…”

#2023 year of whump #2023 year of whump january #whump oc #whump #whump blog #whump community #whump scenario #virgil oc #nick oc

[korribanarchive]

Emilia's Holodiary- Running Away

Fandom: Star Wars Legends (Darth Bane Trilogy)

Warnings: Canon-typical violence, murder

Emilia Omek is abandoning the sinking ship that is The Brotherhood of Darkness no matter what she has to destroy to do so.

Inspired by Dialogue prompt #194 (linked at the bottom) from @peachieprompts

“And just like that, you’re running away…” The voice hissed behind her.

Em turned, her hood being blown back by the dry wind. The rainy season had ended on Ruusan and with the dry season both sides of this pissing contest they were calling a war were readying to make their final moves. She wanted no part of it.

She eyed the tall, pale figure, curling her lip in an overt show of disgust as his bony fingers adorned with jewel encrusted rings. Qordis had never sat well with her. 

“I’m not running. I’m abandoning a sinking ship,” she spat. “Just because you’re too blind to see what’s in front of you doesn’t mean I am,” she added and began to walk away.

“I did not dismiss you, Emilia,” he hissed, making her stop and turn once more.

“You speak as if you are my superior,” she replied, arching an eyebrow. “I thought we were all equals in the Brotherhood of Darkness…” Only silence answered and she strolled closer. “But we aren’t are we? The weaker will always be below the strong. But you know that and you know where you stand. You pretend to be strong and powerful, but really you’re just a simpering, lowly peon that will be begging for scraps at the feet of whomever rises to power no matter what.”

Even over two feet taller than her, he seemed to cower as the Dark Side rolled off of her in waves. At the Academy she had never fully dropped the veil. She had always hidden herself. Flown under the radar. Always being just good enough to get through. Just good enough to keep the attention of those she needed to learn from, but now all bets were off. With a flex of her hand the thin frame of the Sith Academy’s headmaster rose into the air in front of her and his bony hands clawed at his throat. 

“You are nothing,” she said. “Anyone who follows Kaan so foolishly is nothing.”

“Don’t kill me, please!” he gasped, true fear flashing across his pale face.

“Mercy isn’t our way,” she reminded him, recalling the first lessons she was taught within that ancient pyramid.

She reveled for a moment in his fear and pain, drawing strength from it before his body went limp and she dropped him to the ground. The feeling of eyes on her drew her attention to behind her and she met the eyes of a hulk of a man stepping out of Lord Kaan’s communications tent. Another from the Academy. Bane.

They stared for a long time at one another, neither saying a word regarding what they had both just witnessed. Without a word, Em called the rings on the fallen Sith Lord’s fingers into her hand and pocketed them. He nodded to her. She nodded back. No words needed to be exchanged. The unspoken agreement of I’ll stay out of your way if you stay out of mine was struck. Em turned on her heel and walked away from the encampment, intent on using the chaos of the distant battle to her advantage.

Taglist: @kurocommitsacrime

#ficlet #my ocs #emilia omek #em omek #lord qordis #guest appearance by #darth bane #Em's holodiaries #oc prompt #writing prompt #em's writing #star wars #star wars legends #darth bane trilogy #the old republic #new sith wars

[cloudbattrolls]

Through The Looking-Glass

Ḙ̸͉͂ṯ̵̛̣ͅư̵̥̹͖̼͈̓u̵̢̦̻̿y̴̢̖̘̥͂́́a̷̢̛͂̎ ̶͕̍V̴̾̈͠ͅâ̷͓̗͎̝̫̏͋͆n̶̤͍̜͐̈́̊̂̈́ņ̸̥̬̯̥͛̽͆y̴̤͂́̕͝n̵͉̗̟̿ || ?????? || ??-??--??---?

The rainbowdrinker sighed and tugged at a strand of their wavy hair, worried, as they left Uunive in her room once more.

They walked back to the small living room and sat on its couch. Her smiles were so…tight, these days and nights. She looked at them like she didn’t know them anymore when they brought her tea or their constructs fetched her laundry. 

How silly! They were her lusus, same as ever. They were more open now about some things now that she was properly one of the family. She would adjust. She had all the time in the world…and now so did they. 

They felt so much better!

Life was so simple. They went out collecting, they came back and tended to their daughter. There was nothing else to worry about.

They sewed even if their hands seemed to resist the old motions, as if they were drawing their sewing machine through thick mud, patterns and stitches no longer lining up like they used to. New clothes would help their child feel better!

It was a pity her body was still solid flesh. She wasn’t truly free, and they ached for her. But she didn’t want to listen to their sympathy, and they had stopped giving it. 

Never mind. She’d come around, or they’d make her -

Make her -

A sharp bolt of pain shot through their head, and they put a hand to their skull.

They blinked, looking down at their other hand, dark gray and bony. Were their fingers supposed to be thin, their wrist bones pronounced under meager layers of worms? No, they’d always been small, right?

Being lean was good, it made them look like -

Look like -

They glanced in a mirror and saw a strange, angular face. They closed their eyes, the pain increasing again.

When they opened them, their constructs had assembled containers full of blood - high-tech things that chilled the liquid so it didn’t congeal into dry uselessness. The containers laid on the grass outside the hive.

A cool breeze tossed their wavy hair around, hair that was shorter now. When had they cut it? They couldn’t remember…they’d gotten forgetful, lately.

They looked at the blood, several different hues, but something held them back. They weren’t supposed to eat much. It wasn’t for them…it was for - family. Yes, family.

Family that wasn’t Uuni -

They screamed from pain, and this time, this time -

This time the drinker gasped as they woke up, surrounded up to their chest by massive green worms.

You struggle so, murmured a voice. You show such hate. You truly have forgotten me. 

The voice was heavy with sorrow.

The drinker tried to struggle, but the worms held them fast, slowly writhing around them. They couldn’t think. Nothing made sense. How had they gotten here?

Why was there no sky, instead only a rocky ceiling above them?

I haven’t seen the sky with my own eyes in four thousand sweeps, second worm.

Terrible loss. Mourning. Regret. 

Resentment. She looked bitterly at her children, who brought memories of the sky she could never see for herself, who felt the wind and moonlight of the surface with their own bodies instead of having to experience it through someone else.

The worm swarm shook their head. None of this meant anything. Pure nonsense. They hadn’t gotten a bad trip off some blood, had they? The last time they’d been high -

The last -

They blinked, and there were no worms, though they were in the cavern. There was only Ozryel, drinking quietly from the containers. Strange to see a creature so large hunched over them so, her long proboscis darting in and out of her vast mouth as her first pair of forelegs steadied her. She shook slightly, and her green eyes seemed almost…glazed. Bleary.

A small animal ran past their feet. How odd.

She looked at them without recognition.

Who are you? You are not the first worm.

They tilted their head.

They were…

Who were they, again?

“I don’t know.” They said, hesitant. “I’m…Uunive’s lusus?” 

Yes. They were Uunive’s lusus. Were they someone else’s too? They couldn’t remember. Where had they been, before? What was their name? They’d had more than one, hadn’t they? 

Too many questions. Their head hurt.

She drank more blood as they stood in silence, then shook her head, massive teeth stained multiple different colors before her proboscis curled around them, wiping them clean.

But there were still stains on her face, stains she couldn’t get to with how her legs were positioned. As they moved closer, glow brighter so they could see better, they saw the dried stains of many sweeps…centuries, maybe.

They saw scars. Deep, ridged scars in the carapace, rough and grayish jade in the off-white. They reached out a hand in concern, only to yelp and snatch it back as she snapped at them and missed by inches.

“I was only trying to help!” They squeaked. “Please - please don’t hurt me.”

I do not know you! Withdraw! You could be one of the ten, back to kill me!

“I don’t know who those are! I don’t remember anyone!” The worm swarm pleaded, bright green eyes wide as they raised their hands in surrender. “I don’t know anybody except you and Uunive, I swear, I promise.”

She paused.

Uunive?

“My daughter.” They said proudly. “My wonderful daughter, raised her myself from a grub! Oh, Anders will be so happy when I tell him how accomplished she is - “ They cut off, blinking. 

Anders…the name had come out of their mouth without even thinking about it.

They tried to focus on it, but any further scraps of memory scattered like dandelion seeds in a breeze. Had they made him up? Had they gotten Uunive’s egg themself? From where? Their cavern hadn’t had a mother grub in centuries…

No, that was silly, wasn’t it? They’d never been in another cavern except Ozryel’s. This was where they’d come from. Uunive must have come from here too.

Strange how they didn’t have a name, though. Maybe they didn’t need one? As long as they weren’t one of the ‘ten’, whoever those were.

Ozryel watched them, uncomprehending. 

Then her gaze sharpened, and their ears went back against their head. Somehow, that felt like trouble. Like they’d done something wrong.

She shifted, turning away from them, and their feelings lurched as they craved her approval, but then she beckoned them onward with a shaky gray side leg. Her long wings rustled against her sides, the feathers dull and ragged from long disuse. She smelled of dust and decay, a hint of putrid rot beneath it all.

“You haven’t seen the sky in so long…” They echoed, a vague memory finally surfacing. “Why? Why can’t you leave?”

Trolls. They shot me down once. They would finish me if they could. Unlike my children, I cannot change shape to hide. Not anymore.

The bitterness and grief tore through their mind, and they put a hand to their head. Oof.

“That’s why you need us, then.” They said in wonder, in comprehension. Some things began to fit together.

Us. Yes, they felt certain there was an ‘us’, even if they couldn’t recall the others.

She whipped her head around to snarl at them.

Don’t you gloat at me. You are merely a shadow of the first worm. If I could extract them from you, I would. 

Anger seared their thoughts, and they yelped. Ozryel paused, silent. Then she moved again.

Not knowing what else to do, they followed, ears still flattened. What had they done wrong? Why wouldn’t she tell them how to fix it?

Who was this first worm?

They hunched their shoulders and kept silent, not wanting to anger her further. After a minute or two of walking, they came upon…they weren’t sure what it was, actually.

Well, it was some sort of…hive? It was shaped like a beehive, big and carved from stone. Yet there were only a few scattered insects skittering about, centipedes and the like, and the cells were roughly the size of their head.

One of her arms extended slowly, carefully, to get out a very faded and threadbare green suit. Yet despite its woebegone state, it was of good make and had clearly been well maintained; their tailor’s eye knew the damage stemmed from age and frequent use, not carelessness.

Another went out to fetch a golden cane, scuffed but barely tarnished - they knew it must have a good deal of genuine gold in it. Worms of the same color spiraled around its length, except for the top. She laid these things on a rough stone table with surprising delicacy, its surface large enough for her to maneuver her limbs comfortably over it.

The last item she set down was a faded photograph, the glass over it cracked and the frame itself dull and worn. It had four trolls…were they trolls? Three sparked vague memories, and the fourth…

The fourth both was and wasn’t familiar.

The drinker was certain they’d never seen the angular face with spiky hair and a slightly mocking smile before. Yet it buzzed in their head as if they should know it, the knowledge fluttering just out of reach. Their ears flicked in frustration as they toyed with a strand of hair, chewing their lip slightly.

Ozryel watched them, then bowed her head, her great twisted horns dull orange-gray in their glow. Patches of lichen grew on them, trailing off into wisps of gray fungus.

You do not recall, do you. The wasp was right. The first worm is truly dead to us, and we do not even know why, after all this time.

I have seen memories of your former trollhood now, I accept you were telling the truth. It was the other one of your bloodline who had the worm…but they were mindless ones. My child would have never consented to be put in a flesh body that way. They would have fought. They would have eaten you. 

A vast, chittering sigh echoed from the wickedly sharp mandibles around the fanged mouth. It was a strangely weary, casual noise from so vast a creature. 

How, then, did my blood not kill you?

The worm swarm shook their head helplessly. They were getting a headache.

They closed their eyes only for a moment, but when they opened them again, someone else was there.

One of the faces from the photograph. A violet - no, a swarm. Butterfly. 

Too bad it wasn’t really a troll. Hunger gnawed at them, their insides writhing. 

They felt light - too light, in their body and their head. Un-anchored, drifting, as if they weren’t there at all. As if they were only watching themself stand there, clutching the table for support.

What are you doing here, butterfly? It isn’t your time to send blood.

Her tone was accusatory but not harsh as she loomed over the pair of them. Curiosity wove through her words as well. 

“We have a way to know the truth, mother. Right under our noses. We can access Lleios’s memory hives again.”

They looked directly at the worm swarm.

Lleios.

Lleios.

Yes, they knew that name.

They knew beyond a doubt it wasn’t theirs.

“I am not them!” They hissed. “I’ll never be them. I don’t know what you’ve done to me - why I can’t remember things - but I know I’m not Lleios.”

It was strangely comforting. This was something to start with, even if they couldn’t recall their own name. Something sure, something true.

Ozryel and the butterfly ignored their words, the butterfly picking them up with one hand by their neck. They struggled, but were far too small and weak to make any difference against the tall bulk and strong grip of the other swarm. After a few moments they went limp, exhausted even by that exertion.

The butterfly paused, then put them down again with surprising gentleness. The worm swarm wobbled as they stood, blinking. Their headache was worse, pounding in their skull.

“Mother. You haven’t been feeding them.”

They look better this way. More like the first worm.

“Don’t be impractical.” They said, a hint of irritation in their usually flat voice. “If they hibernate from starvation, then what will you do?”

Don’t you take that tone with me!

Ignoring her further protests and curses, the false seadweller took out a large canteen of blood from their sylladex and unscrewed the cap, offering it to the worm swarm.

They snatched it out of the other rainbow drinker’s hands and gulped it down before they even knew what they were doing. Tiny drops splattered on their clothes as their hands shook.

Inshii - yes, that was their name - raised an eyebrow, but took the chilled container back and put it away again. They desperately wished for another - for a dozen others - but they could tell from the other drinker’s unyielding expression this was all they were getting. They swallowed. At least they could stand on their own now.

“Come with me.” The butterfly said, and they followed, hating themself for being so meek, so obedient. 

But what else could they do? They were still quite weak, and it was better than being alone with Ozryel. They shivered at the thought.

They walked up, out of the vast cave into the rest of the cavern, skirting some fallen chunks of stone. Inshii looked at them with an unreadable expression, but kept moving. They passed murals, and Tuuya paused to look at a troll in one who seemed familiar, a canine lusus with ropelike fur by her side…but they couldn’t place her.

They passed another, depicting other, unknown swarms, and it tugged at something Ozryel had said.

“Inshii…who were the ten?”

The butterfly swarm stopped.

“Not now, Etuuya.” They muttered, before they kept moving. “Not when she might be listening.”

They nodded, mouth shut, but they couldn’t help smiling. Their name! They knew their name again. It was a bit of a mouthful, though. 

Tuuya, they thought. Tuuya sounded much friendlier. 

The two rainbow drinkers came to a beautifully carved stone case, several feet tall and across with mother-of-pearl and gold decorating its handles, swirling designs twining together almost like spirals…for some reason, it made Tuuya feel resentful. 

It was all so gaudy, too. It practically begged for attention.

“It’s very…bright.” They said, trying not to make their distaste too obvious as Inshii opened it to reveal…something. 

Spiderwebs? No, the white shapes were wrong for that, the structures more solid, with odd clusters in between the strands. 

The butterfly swarm snorted, their lips curling up slightly at the ends.

“My sibling didn’t have much in the way of taste.” They said dryly. “They were the youngest of us. Ozryel’s favorite. I am the oldest…not that it matters much, anymore.” 

They waited a few moments - for what, the worm swarm was unsure - then shook their head.

“Of course you won’t know how to work it. Still, if there was enough of Lleios in you to survive Ozryel’s blood, you can certainly manage this. Let a few of yourself out. Look back about two hundred and fifty sweeps. That’s when they died. See if you can tell who killed them and why.”

Hesitant, suddenly worried about what they’d see if they did this, Tuuya bit their lip. Yet they did let a few worms out of their hand, instinctively opened their small mouths to gently bite into the intricately woven white strands -

Back. Back so far the trees in the forest outside the cavern weren’t even saplings. Back so far they saw clothing that hadn’t been worn in over three thousand sweeps. 

Forward. They saw - Rhyssa, yes, that was her name, they saw Inshii, and Gallen - other swarms too, crab and flea and moth, several others -

They saw Ozryel, far more lively, her movements quick and darting despite her size. They saw her smile, spreading her feathered wings in a gesture of welcome to her children.

A rush of memories flooded past them, so many, so so many - they cried out, struggling, writhing, how could they do this? How could they find one point of time in this endless abyss of thoughts and feelings and recollections?

They felt a pressure, distantly. As if their shoulders were being covered with butterflies, wings slowly flapping and rustling. They breathed deeply. They could do this. They didn’t have a choice.

If they were honest, part of them wanted to know.

Slowly, they wiggled their way through the mass of information, searching for a time before they’d been hatched…but not too far back. Mere moments for Lleios, a decent chunk of life for them.

Sunlight. Beautiful green hills. 

A small hive with a jade microscopium symbol on the door.

Their breath caught.

Rhomox. Oh god, it was their ancestor, younger, with no gray in his hair, his horns shorter and with three spines like their own.

They were so shocked they withdrew, their perspective of the situation moving back, and thanked every divinity imaginable they did -

Because Lleios kissed him.

“Bleugh!” They said, jolting out of the memory in disgust, their worms recoiling and going back in their skin. “What - what the - what the HELL was that?!”

“What did you see?” Inshii asked. Their butterflies were no longer on Tuuya’s shoulders, a few flitting around the false violet’s troll body as their fins twitched.

“Your sibling KISSED my ancestor!” The worm swarm complained, hardly caring that they were being loud, arms curled around themself. Oh god. Horrible.

The other drinker looked slightly surprised, then shrugged.

“They were like that.” They deadpanned. “The amount of times I had to drag them away from bars before they tried to seduce half the trolls there…it was all a game to them. They were the only one of us like that. A side effect of their purpose, I suppose.”

Tuuya stared. What the hell did that mean? Was there an assigned job that turned you into a classless floozy? There was nothing wrong with sleeping around, but toying with people like that…how cruel and undignified.

Ozryel’s favorite child. Clearly the two had deserved each other.

“Go back in.” Said Inshii. “This is useful, but we need more information.”

The worm swarm folded their arms.

“If I have to see them kissing more, you are paying my therapy bills. Honestly, I’m just as shocked about Rhomox! The man never showed any interest in a single troll when I knew him, and I thought it was because he was too obsessed with his project.

Besides, he had all the appeal of rotten eggs. I’m disappointed in both of them, but on the other hand I suppose they were meant to be in their mutual horribleness.”

They paused.

“Oh god he WAS too obsessed with his project, oh god what - ”

“Go back in before you have a fit.” The false violet said, voice betraying a hint of impatience. 

Their mouth wobbled and stretched across their face, but they sighed, let themself back out again, and entered the memories where they left off.

This time they saw the two working together. Lleios offered their worms - offered? 

What? 

The first worm swarm had a wide, sharp smile on their face almost twin to Tuuya’s own (only lacking their buckteeth), handing themself over to the jadeblood willingly. They looked perfectly at ease, languid and confident as they laid back on a sofa in what they assumed was Rhomox’s hive.

He took them with a nod, and turned to a table full of scientific equipment they remembered from their youth. The surreal nature of it all made them dizzy.

Why? Why had Lleios done it? They’d always blamed Rhomox for his terrible, stupid idea…but it was this bastard’s fault too! How could they? Giving themself to a man like that? 

They flicked through other scenes - skipping past the intimate ones with disgust - but the two were just…a couple, even if a strange one. They went out together. Argued. Chased each other around their hives. Exchanged gifts.

Two sweeps. This had gone on for two whole sweeps.

Then…

A letter. Kaningård - the cavern Tuuya and Rhomox came from - threatened to cut off his funding. Despite everything, they wish they could have screamed a warning to the other drinker as they read it.

They knew all too well what that thoughtful, reserved look from their ancestor signified.

They slowed down the pace of the memories, all of them curled up and sluggish with dread, as it came to the inevitable conclusion.

Rhomox used some mist he sprayed to paralyze them. Lleios laid on the floor of their own hive, utterly still except for their mouth, yet…they weren’t angry. Their face only showed a sad sort of amusement. A kind of resignation in those ancient green eyes.

Their ancestor knelt down next to his partner. He stroked their face, their hair.

“I’m sorry.” He said, in a voice nearly empty of emotion, yet his brows knit together in the way they did when he was sincere, the rare times when he truly cared about what he was doing.

“I don’t have a choice. I need all of you, and I can’t risk you interfering. You could change your mind any time and choose to ruin me. I know how you feel about the caverns.”

“Ah, now why would I resent them so?” Murmured Lleios. “They sent me a way out.”

Rhomox paused, taking his hand back. His ears flicked in confusion as they continued.

“I’m tired, dear. Ozryel won’t let us go if we want to, did you know that? My siblings couldn’t have died any other way but by her own will. Maybe that’s what they really hoped for when they tried to kill her. Despite how I begged for their lives, perhaps they’re better off. I’m ready to see them again. This time I’ve spent with you…well, I do hope you don’t feel led on.” They said, cracking a half-hearted grin.

The jadeblood didn’t move. Lleios waited for a moment, then coughed.

“Rhomox…this only ends one way. Don’t tell me you’re getting cold feet, now. Not a good look for you. Kill me like you mean it, you rotten robber baron. You know you want to. Get whatever glory you feel you were so cruelly denied by those stuffy old broads.”

Their expression turned smug.

“Besides, I am better than anything you could’ve come up with on your own.”

Hesitant, but resolute, their ancestor took out a syringe filled with a dangerous-looking cloudy liquid. Something in its gleam instinctively made Tuuya very, very afraid.

“Aah.” breathed the first worm swarm. “So you did succeed…I suspected so.” 

They shut their eyes.

“Good day, love.” They said sleepily. “Make something interesting of me.” 

The syringe went down.

The memory went black.

#cloud writes #etuuya vannyn #children of ozryel #ozryel #inshii #lleios #rhomox vannyn