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chiqelatasblog · 1 month

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Can I request imagine: Bi Han fell in love with Shang Tsung's daughter; unlike her father she is gentle and soft spoken and thanks to her father she mastered soul magic takes place when Shang Tsung captured Bi Han and Kuai Liang please?

Um… Well… This imagine turned into a whole one-shot. I'll try to shorten it in the future. I realized that I can't write short fic.🥲

Fates Intertwined ♾️

-> Ao3 link is here.

Pairings : Bi-Han/ Sub - Zero x You

Tropes : Major Character Injury, Blood and Injury, Near Death Experiences, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Falling in Love, Strangers to Lovers, Protectiveness, Possessive Behavior, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence , Intimacy

Summary : Bi-Han, gravely wounded during a mission, finds himself lost in the uncharted territory of Outworld. As he teeters on the brink of death, he awakens in an unfamiliar home. There a woman, a master of soul magic, emerges into his life, her presence calming and gentle as she tends to Bi-Han's injuries. Drawn to her unexpectedly, Bi-Han finds himself experiencing feelings he never had before.

However, little does he know, his savior harbors a secret...

Author’s Note : This is the first request I’ve ever received, I didn’t get any notifications about it so I found it on accident actually. Anyway I’m kind of excited to share it, it’s over 8k (I got away with feelings.) Hope it lived up to expectations! 💕

He was on the brink of death.

Bi-Han felt the specter of death looming closer than ever before as he dragged his battered body through the uncharted terrain of Outworld. While he had faced dangerous situations in the past, none had brought him as precariously close to the brink as this one. With every step, he pressed a hand against his stomach, where a gaping wound on his right side oozed blood, a portion of it torn away. His vision dimmed gradually, like a flickering lamp nearing its end, his breathing ragged, his steps unsteady. Despite having accomplished his mission, he snarled with what little strength remained, enraged that his slight lapse in caution would cost him his life.

Each step grew more arduous, his coordination failing as darkness encroached upon his sight. Unable to discern what obstacles tripped him amidst the dimming landscape, he collapsed heavily onto the ground. The wound, incessantly bleeding with each convulsion of his body, sent tremors of agony coursing through him, threatening to shatter his teeth as he gritted them in pain.

Struggling to roll onto his side, Bi-Han expelled the soil that had invaded his mouth and smeared his lips, laboring to draw oxygen into his weakened lungs. Above, the sky darkened, with the moon and stars emerging while clouds gathered ominously, presaging the impending rain. It was a grim realization that in this barren, lifeless landscape, he would meet his end alone—a consequence of his arrogance and overconfidence in his abilities. Dry and lifeless plants dotted the cracked earth, while rocks and pebbles stretched as far as the eye could see, with no sign of a river or any semblance of life.

Death had never been a fear for him, he was raised with the understanding that every moment could be his last. Memories raced through his mind like fragments of a shattered mirror; his training, the teachings of his clan, and the faces of those he had loved and lost along the way. Amidst the pain, a sense of regret gnawed at him, whispering of unfinished business and promises left unfulfilled. Yet, amidst the turmoil, a resolute determination surged within him, a steadfast refusal to succumb to the darkness that threatened to consume him. While the frustration and ambition of leaving his goals unfinished weighed heavily, he found a measure of peace in knowing that Kuai Liang would capably assume the mantle of grandmaster and safeguard the clan.

As he drew a deep breath, a fit of coughing wracked him, the bitter taste of blood filling his mouth. Turning his head to the side to avoid suffocation, he surrendered to a numbing sensation that dulled his senses from head to toe.

Finally, unable to stave off the encroaching darkness any longer, his eyes, barely able to remain open, fluttered closed.

▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃

The first sensation that washed over him was a soothing warmth, cocooning him like a comforting embrace. Blinking open his eyes, Bi-Han found himself lying atop a soft surface, the faint scent of clean soap wafting around him. In the distance, he could hear a soft female voice humming a kind of melody, accompanied by the clinking of plates and dishes. Struggling to lift his heavy eyelids, he squinted at the wooden ceiling above him, its rough texture illuminated by the soft glow of candlelight casting dancing shadows across the room.

‘’The hell?’’

His words emerged hoarsely from his parched throat. As he attempted to sit up, the covers slipped off, landing on his lap, and a sharp pain shot through his side where the wound lay. Clenching his hand over the bandages wrapped around his abdomen, he felt the fabric instead of his usual cold skin. The bandages appeared freshly changed, but his right side had already begun to bleed anew due to his carelessness.

With a muttered curse, Bi-Han glanced around the room, his body tensing as footsteps approached. Instinctively, he summoned an ice kunai into his hand, a simple gesture that now felt exhausting under the circumstances. Just as the figure drew near, he leveled the weapon with a silent threat.

‘’I didn’t go through all this trouble just for you to kill me,’’ admonished a soft female voice. ‘’Besides, I’ve just changed those bandages, and now I’ll have to do it all over again. Why are you still sitting? You need to lay down.’’

Bi-Han’s surprise was tinged with suspicion. Was this woman blind? How could she not have noticed the sharp kunai in his hand? Moreover, she appeared unarmed, leaving herself defenseless against him. His anger flared at the implication that he was underestimated. Even injured, he was still a lethal force to be reckoned with.

‘’Do you intend to worsen the bleeding?’’ she continued calmly, stepping closer but maintaining a cautious distance. ‘‘I am not a threat to you. My name is (y/n). I found you and brought you to my home for treatment. You’ve been here for three days. If I wanted to harm you, I wouldn’t have bothered bringing you back from the brink.’’

Bi-Han’s gaze softened slightly as he absorbed her words. Despite his initial hostility, there was something about her demeanor that suggested genuine concern. Yet, he remained wary, his mind racing with questions and suspicions.

‘’Why?” growled Bi-Han through clenched teeth, his gaze sharp as he eyed the young woman standing before him.

The woman blinked in surprise at the question. “I don’t understand.”

“Why did you save me?”

“Because you were dying,” she replied innocently, taking another step toward him. “Now, will you let go of what you have and let me help you?”

“I can take care of myself,” Bi-Han insisted, trying not to be swayed by the woman’s gentle aura as he moved to stand up, wary of her true intentions. The woman’s expression clouded with worry.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

“Don’t interfere—Fuck.” Despite his attempt to rise, sharp pain lanced through Bi-Han’s body, threatening to overwhelm him. Just as he felt himself faltering, a soft body caught him, careful to avoid his wound. A sweet scent enveloped him—cinnamon and vanilla—intoxicatingly sweet, like fresh-baked buns.

Relaxing involuntarily, Bi-Han allowed the woman to guide him back onto the bed, his resistance waning. She had a point—if she wanted him dead, she wouldn’t have gone to such lengths to keep him alive for three days, despite being a total stranger.

“I have to open the bandages and check your stitches. I’m afraid they may have burst.”

“I’ll take care of it myself,” Bi-Han retorted, refusing to show weakness or dependence.

“Why won’t you let me help you?” The woman’s voice softened, her gentle demeanor tugging at something within Bi-Han. Though he remained silent, she sighed deeply. “I have a light touch and am quite fast, you can trust me. If I happen to hurt you, you can also treat your wounds. I just want to assist and ease your suffering, especially since you’re badly wounded. Oh and besides that, I made some stew. I’m sure you’re hungry.”

Bi-Han scrutinized (y/n) for the first time since waking, assessing her body language and facial expressions. As an assassin, he rarely misjudged people. Despite his initial wariness, he sensed a purity and compassion within her that he couldn’t ignore. The subtle tilt of her head and the warmth in her eyes felt genuine. Even though he couldn’t fathom why she would go to such lengths to heal a dangerous person like him, knowing he could easily harm her without breaking a sweat, he found himself appreciating her compassion. Yet, alongside his gratitude, a twinge of annoyance gnawed at him, stemming from her apparent blindness to the danger he inherently posed.

With a resigned grunt, he relented, allowing her to tend to him as she saw fit, though a part of him remained on guard, ready to react at the slightest sign of threat.

▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃

A week had passed since his return from the brink of death, and four days since he had awakened in your home. In that time, while his wound had begun to heal rapidly, his movements remained slow and restricted. Returning to his clan without a full recovery would only be self-torment, risking undoing the healing process with his own hands. And also, you were stubborn about it, showing no inclination to let him go until he was fully restored to health.

As absurd as the situation seemed to Bi-Han, it also warmed him in a way he hadn’t anticipated. Despite his injuries, he was an assassin and the grandmaster of the Lin Kuei—capable of neutralizing any threat that crossed his path. But you posed no threat; instead, you cared for him with remarkable dedication, as if welcoming a normal person into your home rather than a man with lethal abilities. Day by day, Bi-Han found himself lowering his guard against you, a sensation he struggled to control.

During the first night, while you slept, he scrutinized every corner of your house, finding no weapons or defenses. There was nothing you could have done to protect yourself from him. Trained from an early age to turn disadvantage into advantage, Bi-Han realized that this was not the case here. You harbored no ulterior motives; your only intention was to help him.

With the house being small and his movement limited by his wound, Bi-Han had ample time to observe and learn about you. Spending time together, he discovered your extraordinary ability to heal and revive him using soul magic—a gift passed down from your father. Bi-Han refrained from prying into your past, respecting the boundaries you set. He knew only what you chose to share—that your father was a merchant who often left for months at a time with his caravan.

Staring at his reflection in the bathroom mirror, barely able to fit two people, Bi-Han assessed his unkempt appearance. His normally well-kept hair hung loose, difficult to manage due to his injury, cascading down his neck to his chest. A scruffy beard obscured his chin, his pale skin accentuated by dark circles under his eyes. Running a hand through his hair, he muttered to himself, ‘‘I need to shave… And I definitely need a damn shower.’’

‘’Did you say something?’’ Bi-Han looked at you inquisitively from the bathroom door, wondering how long you had been standing there watching him. Your cheeks flushed a sweet shade of red as you realized you had been caught. ‘’Well, the door was open, so—I thought, um… do you need something? I heard you talking to yourself,’’ you said, trying to regain your composure quickly.

‘‘I need to take a shower, and I also need to trim my beard. It itches.’’

‘’Oh, sure. The towels are right there.’’ you replied, entering the room and retrieving the towels from the wooden closet under the sink. As you spoke, you kept busy, avoiding his gaze. ‘‘It’s better if your wound doesn’t get wet for a while longer. I can give you a cloth to wipe your body, and I can help with your hair. If you want, of course.’’ Though you added the last part hastily, your avoidance of his gaze didn’t go unnoticed by Bi-Han, who couldn’t help but smirk slightly.

It was evident from your demeanor that you held an interest in him—your actions were transparent and sincere. What intrigued Bi-Han even more was that he also found himself drawn to you. For the first time in a long while, there was no need for him to be on guard, and your presence offered an unexpected reprieve from his usual responsibilities. You brought him more comfort than anyone had before, your dedication focused on helping rather than brute force, and you effortlessly dismantled the walls he had built around himself. It was a mystery to Bi-Han how you managed to achieve this in such a short time, but your presence had a calming effect on him.

‘’Do whatever you want.’’ Bi-Han said, beginning to undress. Your eyes widened in alarm at his actions.

‘’W-What are you doing?’’

‘’I will wipe my body as you said. Since you’re so helpful, maybe you’d like to assist me with that too?’’ Bi-Han lowered his voice, locking eyes with you as he took pleasure in the crimson blush that spread across your face. He didn’t fully understand this newfound calmness and playful demeanor within himself, but he felt compelled to act this way around you. You weren’t under his command or a threat to be eliminated; instead, you were the reason he was still alive. Though he was reluctant to admit it, he owed you his life.

Your response was stuttered and unclear as you hurriedly left the bathroom as if it were on fire. ‘’Just call out to me when you’re finished. And don’t forget to wrap a towel around yourself,’’ you called out from behind the door.

Bi-Han carefully placed his clothes in a corner to keep them dry, then settled onto the edge of the bathtub, ensuring not to disturb his bandages. Using the cloth you provided, he began to cleanse the dirt and grime from his body, avoiding the area of his wound. Minutes later, when the water ran clear, he wrapped one of the towels around his waist and called out to you.

Opening the door cautiously, you peeked inside to confirm that he was following your instructions. Seeing him with the towel wrapped around his waist, you entered the room and closed the door behind you. “Sit on the edge of the bathtub and lean your head back,” you instructed in a gentle tone. As Bi-Han complied, you adjusted the water temperature for a few seconds until it reached the desired level. Letting out a small murmur of approval, you turned your attention to him, holding a shower cap in your hand.

As your eyes met, your cheeks flushed once again, and you quickly averted your gaze to his hair. Clearing your throat with a small cough, you began to wet his hair, ensuring the water stayed away from his face. Bi-Han watched your every move with keen interest, finding pleasure in your innocence and sincerity.

“Does the water feel too hot?” you asked, breaking the silence.

A small grunt escaped Bi-Han’s lips. “I’m a cryomancer; water temperature doesn’t bother me.”

“Oh, right. I forgot. It’s not every day I meet someone like you. I thought cryomancers were just a myth,” your fingers hesitating slightly as you untangled his hair. Emboldened by his lack of reaction, you continued to work, carefully removing the knots with practiced hands. “Your hair is very beautiful.” you said in a low, soft voice that could be considered shy.

“It’s just black,” Bi-Han replied.

“It’s not just black; it’s like onyx, especially when it’s wet. I’ve never seen such dark black hair before. It suits you.” As you determined that his hair was sufficiently wet, you picked up a shampoo that smelled of sugary flowers and squeezed a generous amount into your hand. “I’m sorry, this is all I have. I hope it’s not a problem.” you said, your voice tinged with apology.

‘’It’s better than dirt,” Bi-Han remarked in a dry voice. Though he had no desire to smell like a flower garden, he also acknowledged that he didn’t have a better option. As your fingers began to massage his scalp, Bi-Han was taken aback by how pleasant it felt. Your deft fingers worked circles on his scalp, lathering the shampoo, and Bi-Han found himself relaxing in waves of relief, melting like ice rapidly thawing. The warmth in the bathroom, the gentle touch… it was almost overwhelming, especially given how skilled your fingers were at their task.

“You might want to close your eyes, I wouldn’t want the shampoo to run into them by accident.” You said, breaking him out of the trance he hadn’t even realized he had slipped into. Once again, Bi-Han was surprised at how low his guard was around you. He had stopped seeing you as a threat some time ago, but he couldn’t comprehend how easily he let down the automatic defenses he had cultivated over many years.

Closing his eyes, Bi-Han waited for you to rinse the shampoo from his hair. After washing for a while, you reached for the towel in the corner to help him dry off.

“Okay, you can stand up, we’re done.” you announced.

Bi-Han stood up quickly, stretching his neck, which had grown stiff from being in the same position for so long, before turning his gaze to you. With your cheeks flushed from the warmth of the bathroom, your clothes splattered with water drops, and your skin glowing from the moisture, you appeared vulnerable and innocent enough to make his chest ache.

Raised in a clan of ruthless assassins where survival and flawless execution of death were paramount, Bi-Han had always imagined the woman who would enter his life as strong, tough, with sharp eyes and an authoritarian nature to adapt to his lifestyle. Yet, looking at you, he began to question this assumption for the first time. You possessed a nurturing side that defied brute force, completely opposite to his expectations, and Bi-Han found himself unexpectedly drawn to this contrast. You were good to him.

“Bi-Han… You’ve been staring at me for a while. Is everything okay?” you asked.

“I want to kiss you.” Bi-Han blurted out suddenly. The words escaped his lips so spontaneously that he was as surprised as you were. Though he could have easily taken you in his arms and kissed you, he wanted your consent, to hear from your lips if you desired it as much as he did. You were the last person he wanted to intimidate or use force on.

As your eyes widened in astonishment, a loud “What?” escaped your lips.

‘’You heard me.” Bi-Han said sharply. Your cheeks flushed to the tips of your ears, the color he liked to see. Approving him in a soft, almost shy voice, your gaze drifted to the ground.

Finally hearing the answer he desired, Bi-Han growled and gently raised your head with his fingers grasping the tip of your chin. He connected his lips with yours, driven by a voracious appetite. This hunger was unlike anything he had ever experienced before, possessing a fiery intensity that shook him to his core. It wasn’t until he kissed you that he realized the depth of his feelings; he could have kissed your lips, as soft and tender as rose petals, for hours, sating an inner thirst he hadn’t known existed.

His hand traced the line of your jaw, capturing the back of your head and part of your neck. Placing his other hand on the curve of your waist, he gently squeezed the soft flesh, eliciting a small, breathless moan from your lips. Your voice, trembling like a whip of flame, ignited a dangerous fire within Bi-Han.

There was a unique taste to you, one that defined you completely. It was clean, like dewdrops forming on leaves in the morning spring, and wet as he slid his tongue between your parted lips. Another small moan escaped you as you placed your hands on his shoulders, your thumbs massaging the veins that began to appear on his neck. Bi-Han found himself hating the bathtub that stood as a barrier between them, longing to bridge the distance between you.

‘’Hold on tight.” He growled savagely, his lips pouring forth a mixture of desire and intensity. With your flushed cheeks, half-lidded eyes, and breathless look, you embodied a dangerous blend of innocence and allure, a presence that could emerge on the wettest of nights. As you tightened your grip on his shoulders in response to his command, Bi-Han effortlessly lifted you from the bathtub, as if you weighed nothing at all.

“Bi-Han! Your wound–” you began, concern lacing your voice.

“I’m fine.” Bi-Han cut you off, dismissing any objections as he instructed you to wrap your legs around his waist. He captured your lips again, this time with a fierce hunger that left little room for gentleness. Despite his intentions to proceed slowly and remain in control, you made it nearly impossible with your presence alone. Your scent, your soft skin, your delicate movements – they all acted as an irresistible spell, unraveling Bi-Han’s logic and common sense piece by piece.

Drops of water from his wet hair trailed down your cheek, then your neck, as Bi-Han followed their path with his tongue. He paused at the curve of your neck, grazing your skin with his teeth.

“You don’t even know how bad I want you. Now.” he declared in a voice thick with desire, his need palpable. Tilting his head slightly, he took your earlobe between his teeth, exerting just enough pressure to send a shiver down your spine. “Can I have you?”

You trembled in his arms, pressing your body against his, and buried your head in the curve of his neck, your voice barely above a whisper, the soft cadence of your affirmation barely audible against his skin.

“Yes. Ah, to—to bed… Let’s go to bed.” you murmured, your voice filled with anticipation.

Responding to your command, Bi-Han carried you swiftly into the bedroom, stealing kisses and caressing your soft flesh which filled perfectly in his palms along the way. As he carefully placed you on the bed, he ensured not to overwhelm you with his weight. With one knee positioned between your legs and applying small pressure to your aching core, he felt your breath quicken, your legs parting slightly, inviting him closer.

“Bi-Han, please… hurry,” you pleaded, your voice trembling with need. Despite not yet fully engaging in intimacy, you were already consumed by desire, your surrender evident in every trembling breath and pleading glance. Bi-Han found himself entranced by the unique blend of your naivety and charm, a combination both intoxicating and heady. It puzzled him how you could exude such innocence while also igniting a fire within him, a sensation he found both captivating and bewildering.

With every inhibition shattered, Bi-Han’s entire being was consumed by you. His mind echoed with a commanding voice, declaring possession. ‘Mine. You are mine.’ With each beat of his heart, the intensity of his desire deepened, enveloping him in a whirlwind of need. His arousal surged with a newfound fervor, driving him to seek you with an urgency he had never known before. He longed to lose himself in your warmth, to leave an indelible mark on you, claiming you as his own in a way that no other could satisfy you again.

‘‘Fuck. I wanted to take it slow,” Bi-Han cursed, his voice filled with frustration.

“Another time,” you replied swiftly. “I want you, Bi-Han. I need you… just… please.” As your attempts to form coherent sentences faltered, you resorted to expressing your desires through your eyes, tears clung to your lashes, your need laid bare for him to see. Despite the flush that colored your face, neck, your chest peeking through your clothes, your timidity had been replaced by a raw, unbridled desire.

“Another time.” Bi-Han echoed your words, his tone laced with determination. It was a promise, a vow to indulge in the intoxicating taste of you until every inch of your body bore his mark. The thought had transformed into a primal need, a longing to possess you completely.

With swift motions, Bi-Han stripped away your clothes, discarding them haphazardly. As predicted, your chest also completely flushed dark, your nipples hardening under his gaze, pleading for his touch.

“You are such a sight… so beautiful,” Bi-Han murmured, his words tinged with reverence. You squirmed under his attention, somewhat embrassed by his words and attempted to cover yourself clumsily. As he untied the towel from his waist, he fixed you with a stern gaze. “Don’t you dare hide anything from me. This is not a request.”

When his cold fingers made contact with the intimate area between your legs, you flinched at the sudden chill. Instead of recoiling, however, you parted your legs, wordlessly inviting him closer. Bi-Han found himself drawn to this decadent aspect of you, contrasting with your usual demeanor. You were slick with arousal, your warmth enveloping his cold touch until it reached a semblance of normalcy.

“Next time, I will explore you slowly, savoring every moment,” he declared, his voice brooking no argument.

And so he did.

▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃

Another two weeks slipped by, each day marked by the steady healing of his wound and the gradual return of his strength. Strangely, Bi-Han found himself not minding the passing of time, a stark contrast from his usual restlessness. Even though his days were now filled with the singular purpose of recuperation, he couldn’t bring himself to feel bored in your company.

You had established a routine of caring for him in the house. Every morning, after sharing breakfast together, you diligently tended to his wound, changing bandages with meticulous care. Despite his stature, Bi-Han appreciated the gentleness with which you handled him, as if afraid to cause him any discomfort.

Following this, Bi-Han would retreat outdoors to meditate or exercise, while you busied yourself with tending to the garden and other household chores. Occasionally, you would venture to the market, a task Bi-Han offered to take over multiple times, only to be politely declined by you each time. He sensed a trace of anxiety in your eyes whenever you left, as though fearing his departure in your absence.

The reality of his impending departure weighed heavily on Bi-Han. Though duty called him back to his clan and responsibilities, he couldn’t bear the thought of leaving you behind. The bond between you had grown deeper with each passing day, surpassing even the connections he shared with his own brothers. You had a remarkable ability to understand him without words, a skill few others possessed.

In your presence, Bi-Han found himself rediscovering aspects of himself long buried beneath the facade of his assassin persona. With you, he experienced a sense of comfort and peace he hadn’t known in years. Every touch, every embrace left him yearning for more, a relentless desire burning within him. He marveled at the intensity of his feelings for you, realizing that he wanted every part of you in a way he had never imagined possible.

His favorite time of the day was undoubtedly dinner. Sitting across from you, sharing simple conversations, witnessing your smile, hearing your laughter, and seeing your eyes light up brought him joy. It was a simplicity he hadn’t experienced since becoming the grandmaster. Once disciplined, strict, and focused solely on responsibilities, he now found value in these moments, offering him a new perspective on life.

As both of you sat facing each other at dinner, Bi-Han decided it was time to address the lingering topic that had hung in the air for some time.

“You mentioned you could remove my stitches in a few days, after that I’ll return to Earthrealm.” He stated firmly. Though he disliked seeing the smile on your face fade, you both knew he couldn’t remain cocooned in this sanctuary forever.

“Oh… So you’ve decided on the day.” You responded, averting your gaze as you spoke. When you reached for your wine, Bi-Han gently grasped your hand, halting your movement.

“I want you to come with me.” he declared.

Your eyes widened with surprise. “To your clan? Really?”

“Yes, I want you to see where I live.” Bi-Han lifted your wrist, his touch still gentle as he grazed his index finger against your skin, all while maintaining unbroken eye contact. “I wasn’t joking when I said you were mine.”

Your cheeks flushed slightly as a sweet laugh escaped your lips, a sound Bi-Han found irresistible. In that moment, he realized his attachment to you ran deeper than he had ever realized.

“You know, I’m not an item that you can take wherever you want.”

“I didn’t mean it in that sense.” His gaze shifted to the dozen bruises on your neck, a satisfied curl tugging at the corner of his lip. Each mark filled him with a sense of ownership, igniting a fire within him every time he saw them.

“Then it’s only fair that I should say that you are also mine.” you countered. Despite your brave demeanor, your face betrayed your true feelings once again. As you took a sip from your glass, attempting to hide your expression, Bi-Han watched you silently, a smile playing on his lips, hidden only by his hand resting on his chin.

As Bi-Han grappled with the conflicting desires pulling at his heartstrings — duty to his clan and the burgeoning attachment to you — a storm of emotions raged within him. The weight of responsibility tugged relentlessly, reminding him of the obligations he bore as the leader of the clan. However, a shadow began to loom over his resolve, stirring a longing for something more.

“I’d love to,’’ you finally said after a moment. ‘‘But I have to wait for my father’s return; I don’t know when he will come here.’’

“You can leave a note.”

“I’d rather talk it over with him face to face,” you insisted politely. “But I can come to visit from time to time. If it’s convenient for you, of course, I’d love to see where you grew up and spend time there.”

▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃

It had been five months since Bi-Han returned to his clan, and everything was just as he had left it. Kuai Liang had managed the clan well in his absence, with the assistance of Tomas and Sektor, although Bi-Han knew his brother was downplaying his own contributions. Despite the slight age difference between them, Kuai Liang was more than capable of assuming the role of grandmaster.

There was considerable curiosity among the clan members about his prolonged absence and the circumstances surrounding it. Tomas, in particular, had been concerned for his well-being the most. During a briefing with the council members, consisting solely of his inner circle, Bi-Han provided a summary of what happened, including mentioning you and your remarkable abilities. The news of your impending visit piqued the interest of everyone present, even if they attempted to conceal it.

Although you could only visit twice in five months, you effortlessly bonded with his brothers. Even with Sektor and Cyrax, you made it easy to connect, your kind soul evident in your demeanor and smile. It felt as though you had always been a member of the clan, your presence comforting and familiar to everyone. During conversations, you repeatedly expressed feeling comfortable and safe around them. This, coupled with the unique way you contributed to Bi-Han’s recovery, swiftly earned you the respect of the entire clan.

When you did visit, Bi-Han found solace and peace in holding you in his arms once more. In your absence, he had been on edge, constantly worrying about your well-being. Your presence felt like a breath of fresh air, infusing color and vibrancy into his otherwise monotonous existence. He couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment he fell in love with you, but your influence had been undeniable from the moment he first laid eyes on you. The desire to keep you close, to protect you at all costs, consumed him, even though he knew the realities of their lives would make it challenging. Being separated from you had taken a toll on his nerves, leaving him irritable and restless. Amidst the tumultuous whirlwind of his thoughts, Bi-Han grappled with the overwhelming desire to see you again.

The last time you visited, you stayed for a while. One night, in particular, is etched clearly in Bi-Han’s mind. A fierce wind howled outside, causing the windows to rattle, while snow fell rapidly, swirling in the storm and clinging to the glass surfaces. Except for the candles flickering in the room, there was no other light, casting a dim glow. The scent of both of you enveloped the room like a heavy blanket.

After bringing you to climax multiple times, your body glowed with vitality like a pearl, cheeks flushed dark with a serene smile adorning your face. Half of your body draped over him, your elegant fingers traced lazy circles on his bare chest, while Bi-Han’s hand caressed the smooth skin of your back. In that moment, he felt complete, as if a part of him that he didn’t even know was missing had been found. It was as if you were both separate individuals yet inexplicably intertwined—each completing the other.

When your fingers ceased their movement altogether, Bi-Han glanced down to see why, his heart swelling with warmth. You had drifted off to sleep, your face relaxed in slumber, lips slightly parted. You appeared so peaceful that Bi-Han couldn’t bring himself to disturb you. This wasn’t the first time you had fallen asleep beside him, and each time, he couldn’t help but feel a sense of pride and a burning desire to protect you. He knew you trusted him enough to reveal your vulnerability in these moments.

His mind was more at ease than ever before. Even though he was in his own home, with you beside him, he felt a sense of belonging that he had never experienced before. Especially during the times he awaited your arrival, he had never felt such intense longing to see someone again—your presence shaking his very core, pushing the limits of his endurance. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could bear being without you; your absence felt like torment, while your presence transformed him into a different man altogether.

Although the notion of someone having such power over him would typically be unsettling, he couldn’t view it negatively because it was you. What concerned him more was the possibility of others noticing—the fear that his enemies might discover you, exploiting his vulnerability by hurtin you.

Two and a half months had passed since he last laid eyes on you, adding to the weight of the task Lord Liu Kang had bestowed upon him and his brothers. He longed to complete this mission swiftly and reunite with you, yearning for the calming embrace of your presence. The strain of constant vigilance was taking its toll on him, both mentally and physically, culminating in his recent capture alongside Kuai Liang.

Navigating the stone corridors of Ying Fortress, Bi-Han found himself flanked by a dozen soldiers, with Kuai Liang by his side and Shang Tsung and General Shao ahead of them. Shang Tsung’s words fell on deaf ears as Bi-Han contemplated his next move, steadfast in his refusal to entertain any offers from these unfamiliar men. His focus remained fixed on devising an escape plan to extricate himself from this predicament. As they traversed the corridor into a vast area, Bi-Han was confronted by a multitude of stone sculptures lining the space. Hindered by the restraints on his wrists, he scanned the area for any potential means of escape, exchanging a knowing glance with Kuai Liang, who mirrored his uncertainty.

“Father?”

Bi-Han’s eyes widened at the sudden sound of a familiar, albeit unexpected, female voice behind them. Sensing Kuai Liang’s reaction, he knew it wasn’t a trick of his imagination. With a swift turn, his heart raced as he watched the soldiers before him part, revealing your approach. What the hell were you doing here?

“What’s going on here — Bi-Han?” Your wide-eyed astonishment mirrored his own. As Bi-Han scanned you for any signs of harm, he moved to approach you. But before he could reach, a soldier struck him in the stomach with the tip of his weapon, causing him to stagger backward.

‘’Stop! What do you think you’re doing?!” Your voice, tinged with worry as you shoved the soldier aside, your anxious eyes locking with his. “Bi-Han, are you all right?”

“What are you doing here?” Bi-Han growled out a whisper, tension taut in his voice.

“I’m asking you the same.”

“What is the meaning of this? Do you two know each other?” Shang Tsung’s voice sliced through the hushed talk, prompting Bi-Han to instinctively shield you, despite the restraints on his hands. Determined to protect you at all costs, Bi-Han urged you to take cover behind him, his voice laced with venom. “Get behind me.” he commanded, his grip tightening protectively around your arm.

“There is no need. He is my father.” You revealed, catching Bi-Han off guard with the unexpected revelation. Stunned by the revelation, Bi-Han chastised himself for not piecing together the clues sooner. Living in Outworld, soul magic, an enigmatic father figure—it all suddenly made sense. Yet, your stark differences in character from your father only deepened Bi-Han’s sense of disbelief.

“Why are they prisoners?” you questioned, your gaze flickering between your father and the imposing figure of General Shao and the eerie aura that seemed to surround them.

“They attacked us.” General Shao asserted, his voice gruff as he responded to your inquiry. “We were about to take care of business before you came, sorceress.” Despite Shao’s attempt to intimidate you with his imposing presence, Shang Tsung interjected before Bi-Han, shooting Shao a warning glance.

“They attacked?” Your gaze flickered momentarily, silently questioning the situation. ‘Why?’ The unspoken question hung in the air, directed at Bi-Han. “I’m sure there’s been a misunderstanding.”

“They were sent here by Liu Kang’s order. To catch us and maybe kill us.” Shao divulged, his voice dripping with hostility.

“Why so? Nobody has told me anything since I was brought here, and even now you still insist on not telling me. I want to know what’s going on. Tell me the truth.”

“Walk with me,” Shang Tsung interjected, gesturing towards a secluded area. With a final, anxious glance towards Bi-Han, you complied, flanked by Shao and Shang Tsung. Bi-Han’s instincts screamed to follow, but he was thwarted by the soldiers’ firm grip. Initially, Bi-Han braced himself for a sense of betrayal, believing that you had concealed Shang Tsung’s identity as your father. However, upon reflection, he realized that you had always been forthcoming with him, never hiding the truth about your father. Bi-Han had simply never asked. Your genuine reaction to the unfolding events affirmed your honesty. It became evident that Shang Tsung had dragged you into this situation without explanation. All that mattered now was escaping with you safely by his side.

‘’You seem quite invested in these men, (Y/n),’’ Shao remarked in a harsh tone, his words more of a probing question than a mere observation.

‘’It’s none of your concern, General Shao.’’ You retorted firmly.

‘‘But it is my concern,’’ interjected Shang Tsung, his tone authoritative. ‘‘As your father, I demand to know the nature of your association with the infamous grandmaster of the Lin Kuei.’’

‘’Before you question me, father, perhaps you should first explain your activities over the past months. Then, and only then, will I consider divulging any information.’’ you countered. ‘’You dragged me here without giving me an explanation, expecting blind trust. It’s not fair, and you know it. You’re exploiting my kindness, I deserve some answers.’’

‘’I was promised my true potential, and I’m going to get that right back. You’re my blood and flesh, I want nothing more than to secure you a good and wealthy future, I want what is best for you—for us.’’ Shang Tsung continued to talk as he walked towards a dark-colored box that looked like some kind of chest. ‘’Take a look around, do you remember what I told you about this place?’’

You watched him with hesitant eyes, then looked around you before answering his question.

‘‘Yes, you said that Emperor Ying’s Dragon Army was here.’’

‘‘Very true. What I told you was not just a fairy tale. These statues were constructed and enchanted by the great mages in the Emperor’s court.’’ Shang Tsung opened the lids of the box, took out a crown and a small green bottle, and emptied the contents of the bottle onto the crown. ‘‘They are animated by the fragments of souls. Once alive they fight tirelessly, unburdened by remorse or pity.’’

‘’What are you planning to do with these?’’ You said, your voice overflowing with obvious concern now.

‘’If they won’t be on our side,’’ Shang Tsung murmured with a half-smile, placing the crown on his head. ‘‘Then I will eliminate them. This is what I had to do, for our future.’’

The moment he finished his words, six of the soldiers standing a little further away stepped forward, and with mind control, moving nimbly despite being made of stone, they began to descend the steps towards them. Bi-Han’s muscles tensed involuntarily, his body as taut as a drawn bowstring as he observed the approaching stone soldiers. If only he could get rid of these damn handcuffs…

‘’No!” Your panicked scream echoed through the vast area as you summoned your magic, green energy crackling around your outstretched hand in an attempt to halt the advancing soldiers. When you realized your magic was ineffective against them, your attention swiftly shifted back to your father.

“Father, stop this!” Startled by your sudden movement and desperate cry, Shang turned his attention to you, momentarily caught off guard. Seizing the opportunity, you darted forward, delivering a powerful blow to his knee, causing him to buckle and kneel before you. With him immobilized for a moment, you snatched the crown from his head and placed it on your own. ‘‘I’m sorry, father, but I cannot allow this.’’

‘’Have you lost your mind?!’’ While Shang Tsung was looking at you with stunned and greatly betrayed eyes, despite the distance, Bi-Han could see tears welling in your eyes. ‘’I am your father! My blood runs through your veins; your loyalty should lie with me.’’

‘‘I know, and I am sorry,’’ you said, your voice trembling with emotion. ‘’But I love him.’’ Both Shang Tsung and Bi-Han froze with surprise at your unexpected reveal, their expressions a mix of shock and disbelief. Your breath came out quickly, the air heavy with tension as a few tears escaped from your eyes, glimmering in the light. ‘’That’s why I cannot stand by and watch you harm him.’’

“(Y/n), behind you!” Kuai Liang’s urgent shout jolted you into action, narrowly dodging Shao’s axe at the last moment. With Shao bearing down on you, Bi-Han could no longer stand idly by. Keeping you in his sight, he and his brother sprang into action, combating Shao’s soldiers amidst the chaos, using the handcuff chains to choke one of the soldiers.

Despite your efforts to evade Shao’s attacks and deflect them onto the stone statues, he effortlessly dispatched them with a few swings of his axe. You tried to keep up with him, but as a healer, your combat skills were lacking, evident in your reliance on the soldiers for protection as you dodged Shao’s attacks. Bi-Han had heard stories about Shao in the past, tales of his power and mercilessness in battle. But now, witnessing Shao’s sadistic enjoyment as he toyed with you, seeing the fear in your eyes, filled Bi-Han with fury and a desire to eliminate Shao.

‘‘Don’t harm her!’’ Shang Tsung intervened, hurling a fireball towards Shao, catching him off guard and forcing him back. “She is my daughter.”

Shao spat on the ground, unaffected by the smoke left behind by the fireball he countered with the tip of his huge axe. “And she betrayed us,” he growled. “You just proclaimed that we would eliminate those who oppose us, sorcerer. That’s precisely what I intend to do.”

As Shao swung his axe again, you pushed the last remaining statue in front of you for protection. However, under the force of Shao’s blow, the statue shattered, leaving a gaping wound from your shoulder to your rib cage. Crimson red blood splattered everywhere, your expression a mixture of pain and shock as you desperately tried to stay on your trembling legs. A pained groan escaped your lips as you stumbled backwards, Shao raising his axe for another strike, this time aiming for a fatal blow.

“No!” While Bi-Han was blowing off the soldier’s head he had knocked down with his foot, bloody brain pieces flew everywhere, his heart was in his mouth. He couldn’t bear to witness you lose your life before his eyes, with so little distance between you.

‘’I told you to stay away from my daughter.’’

In a stroke of luck, Shang Tsung once again caught Shao off guard with a barrage of fireballs, diverting his attention away from you at the last moment. Shao was thrown several meters away, gasping for breath, while Shang grasped you firmly, applying pressure to your wound. Your body tensed with pain, tears flowing freely from your eyes as you struggled to maintain a brave face.

‘’You will bandage this as soon as you get away from here. Do you understand?’’

‘‘Father-’’

‘’Do you understand?’’

‘’Yes.’’

‘‘Good, I’ll buy you time,’’ Shang Tsung urged, motioning for you to leave. ‘‘Take a few of the statues with you; they’ll provide protection until you’re out of here. I’ll find you once I’ve dealt with this.’’

With tears streaming down your cheeks, you managed to press a small, wet kiss to your father’s cheek, gratitude evident in your pale, tired face.

‘‘I’ll explain everything.’’

‘‘Later. Go now,’’ he insisted.

Bi-Han brutally incapacitated the last soldier before reaching you in a few wide strides. Shang’s gaze fixed on him for the first time since his arrival, promising death with its intensity.

“You’d better take care of my daughter, grandmaster. Otherwise, I’ll follow your soul to the Netherrealm,’’ warned Shang Tsung with a menacing tone.

‘‘I will protect her with my life.’’ Bi-Han asserted, though his agreement with his recent foe felt tenuous, the situation now imbued with personal stakes. Shang promptly removed the handcuffs from both him and his brother’s wrists, freeing them.

‘‘Go on quickly. The others will be here soon, so hurry up. My daughter will take you a shortcut.’’ directed sorcerer.

As Shao charged toward them, Bi-Han scooped you up into his arms, finding relief in having you close again. With urgency, he ran alongside Kuai Liang, ascending the steps and leaving the area behind. With your remaining strength, you compelled a dozen soldiers to follow, your hand still applying pressure to the wound. Upon reaching the corridor they had passed earlier, you weakly tugged at Bi-Han’s clothes to get his attention.

‘‘We can’t escape through the main exit, it’s too risky. There’s a passageway from behind the fortress leading towards the mountains; we can slip through unnoticed.’’ you suggested.

‘‘Tomas is out, we can’t leave him here.’’ His brother interjected.

‘‘Exactly where, I can use one of these statues to find and contact him.’’

‘‘He is where the Soul Stealers are.’’

With a deep breath, you closed your eyes and concentrated, sweat beading on your forehead as your skin paled. Despite the obvious pain, you maintained a resolute expression. As they reached a narrow area, your faint voice reached their ears.

‘‘I found Tomas. I’m getting him out through a different exit; it’s too risky for him to come this way.’’

‘‘Okay, we’re counting on you,’’ Bi-Han said, hoping to give you courage. You were so small and lifeless in his arms, though he couldn’t bring himself to say it, his heart ached with painful sorrow as he looked at you. If it weren’t for the faint rise and fall of your chest, he might have feared the worst; you were losing a lot of blood. The wound must have cut deeper than he thought. Bi-Han looked into his brother’s eyes, whatever expression there was on his face, Kuai Liang stopped walking for a moment and squeezed his shoulder, looking at him with understanding eyes.

‘‘We will save her, brother, don’t worry. She’ll be okay,’’ Kuai Liang reassured, and they proceeded to a small room at the end of the corridor. A statue opened the thick old door, revealing a landscape of snow-covered mountains.

▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃

It was already dark when they met Tomas a little beyond the fortress, at the bottom of a frozen river. After you spent the rest of your strength to bring Tomas to them, you fell unconscious, Bi-Han had to hastily bandaged you because he knew he had to keep a distance between them and the fortress in case of getting caught. And when they decided to spend the night in a place that he believed was safe, he didn’t let you leave his side for a moment, even though he was with his brothers and they were safe for now. Tomas had left a short while ago to hunt some mountain hares for food, while Kuai Liang went out to gather supplies to sustain the fire he had kindled.

Bi-Han carefully cleaned the wound with the materials he had and bandaged it tightly. Your bleeding was still going on, but it wasn’t intense compared to the beginning, as long as you weren’t moving, it could buy time until he could get you home. But you would definitely have needed stitches in your wound.

‘’I can heal myself.’’ you muttered softly. Bi-Han didn’t even realize he had said the last part aloud, too focused on gently stroking your pale cheek with one hand while carefully examining you.

‘’How do you feel?’’

‘’Not at my best, but I’ll be fine.’’ You weakly replied. Even if you wanted to reciprocate the gesture by lifting your hand, which was resting on your lap, it was quite difficult for you to do so. Bi-Han noticed this, grabbed your hand, and guided it to his cheek, allowing you to caress it. ‘’Thank to gods, you look well. The others-’’

‘‘We’re all fine except you, don’t worry. You almost died.’’ The last part poured from his lips with great hatred, it felt terrible even to say it. He hated the blood on his hands even more. Seeing you in such a state filled Bi-Han with a profound sense of helplessness. He feared the worst, and it was the most intense fear he had ever experienced. Even now, it lingered in his mouth like a bad taste, causing a churning sensation in his stomach. His entire body felt ice-cold with stress, his instincts had gone into hyperawareness.

‘’It just grazed, it doesn’t even hurt. I swear.’’

"If it had cut deeper, you could have lost your arm as well as your life. It does not suit you to lie, (y/n). I still don't understand how you could be Shang Tsung's daughter."

‘’Are you angry?’’ As your voice quivered with uncertainty, Bi-Han tenderly placed a kiss on the top of your head, offering silent reassurance before you found the courage to speak again. ‘’It’s just… My father is a difficult man and kind of has a bad reputation. People are ready to attack him given the chance. I didn’t mean to hide it from you; I was just afraid you’d leave me once you knew the truth. I couldn’t bear the thought of losing you.”

‘’You think a sorcerer can intimidate me?” A small smile appeared on his lips as he continued to caress your cheek. After hearing your confession, he wanted nothing more than to reassure you and dismiss your fear. “I’m just confused and angry with myself for not seeing the signs earlier,” he said honestly. “I almost lost you, and besides that, nothing else matters.” While he continued to stroke your cheek with one hand, he didn’t break eye contact with you for a moment. He needed you to know that he was sincere in what he was about to say. “Today has been an important day for me to realize some things.”

Thanks to the heat emitted by the camp flame, he could easily discern your facial features. Despite the weariness evident in your eyes, there was a twinkle that betrayed your curiosity about what he had to say. Leaning in a little more, he shifted his body closer to yours, positioning you between his legs as he sat leaning against a tree. With a gentle touch, he lowered his hand from your cheek to your chin, lifting it slightly to plant a small, tender kiss on your lips.

With his cold breath mingling with your warmth, he whispered softly, “I love you.”

Caught off guard, you gazed up at him with wide, teary eyes, a breath catching in your throat. As a tear traced a soft path down your cheek, Bi-Han gently caught it with the tip of his finger, his own eyes filled with concern. Then, with the warmest and most sincere smile he had ever seen, you planted a kiss on his cheek.

‘’I’ve dreamed of this a few times, but I never thought you would express it.’’

‘‘Is that why you’re crying? If you’re hiding the truth about your shoulder causing pain-’’

‘‘I’m crying with happiness, my love. Now give me one more kiss so that I can believe in you better.’’

Bi-Han couldn’t help the smile settling on his face.

‘’As you wish.’’

220 notes · View notes

petit-etoile · 5 months

Note

Astarion/Tav prompt (or Reformed Durge): "I would have you smile again. You will live to see these days renewed. No more despair." I know it's a Lord of the Rings quote but gosh if it doesn't remind me of them ;-;

this is the end of the world ( a time for something biblical )

pairing: astarion/tav wordcount: 5,219 content warnings: canonical mentions of death, spoilers for the dark urge storyline & astarion's act iii romance, graphic mentions of injuries, references to cann.ibalism as a metaphor for love, mental health issues & physical ramifications from the tadpole + rejecting bhaal, i highly recommend listening to the exogenesis symphony by muse other tags: canon compliant, canon-typical violence, character study, introspection, hurt/comfort, whump, canon temporary character death, the dark urge as player character, codependency, religious imagery & symbolism, p.orn with plot archiveofourown: here.

tag list: @azrielshadows1nger, @pandimoostuff, @faevi, @microskies, @foreverthemaraudersera, @queenofthespacesquids, @claryvoyantfray, @6doodlaang14, @anne-isnotokay, @itshimbotime, @yeeteth-the-raven, @sessils,@8-opossums, @worryknotdear, @abirdaboxandachippedcup, @ghosts-and-ink, @b4um3pfl4um3, @gunslingerorchid, @hypopxia, @m0ssytrees, @erysione, @odette-attackattack, @catching-fire-in-the-wind, @ashrio20, @wills-mental-illness, @queenofcarrotflowers-s, @kirahlene be added to the taglist here

summary: ‘Stay,’ Astarion says weakly. ‘I don’t want to be alone.’

‘Your life is mine,’ he says, cruel eyes gazing at you. ‘Accept your inheritance, or I will reclaim it.’

‘I would rather die,’ you say.

His hateful eyes narrow dangerously. It was never a good idea to betray a god, nonetheless one who had created you so lovingly. His voice is a low growl when he dismisses you — and suddenly, white-hot pain shoots through your veins and threatens to swallow you whole. Bhaal raises his hand and your blood obeys.

‘You were made to conquer,’ he snarls. ‘To devour!’

‘I don’t need any of this,’ you spit out. ‘I don’t need you. The only family — I know are those who fight by my side! I will not be what you made me!’

The sickness in your belly surges until you think it will overcome you. You stagger forward until your knees hit the stone floor. Bhaal is forcing you to submit, to become what he had made Orin. This thing won’t have you, Astarion whispers against the curve of your ear. It won’t win. You’ve got this, darling. And I’ve got you. You want to believe him, but your blood-kin has done damage beyond repair. What were children beyond the sins of their father?

‘You reject my blood?’ Bhaal asks.

‘Yes,’ you whisper.

‘Then I shall reclaim it,’ he says, his promise a growl in his throat.

You were your father’s seed cultivated to perfection by determination and bravery. Now, you were nothing more than a disappointment to be snuffed out root and stem. You choke on the warmth in your throat. Your veins seem to have exploded beneath your skin. You sneeze, red oozing from every orifice.

‘I will make another who is worthy,’ says Bhaal, lifting his hand.

As he raises his hand, you are forced to kneel. Every single one of your muscles contracts in agony. The others might be shouting but you can hardly hear them over the roaring in your ears. Your blood is rejecting you. Festering inside your flesh like a disease. Like the skeleton carved into the wall, you weep blood down your neck. No matter how hard you try to close your eyes to prevent it, your rich ichor abandons you.

No, you want to tell him. The rot of his blood will end with you as it had with Orin. The abomination of murder will never set forth and harm another. You reach for the dagger at your hip and raise it, but the Avatar of Bhaal dissipates before you can strike. The weight of your body collapses forward.

Like a wounded beast, you keen loudly, shaking your head as if that will free your ears from the blood inside of them. You were born from this blood. You were created by this blood to be who you are today. Rejecting it should be like a sin — but if sin is a seed, you have eaten it willingly from the hand of mortality. If Bhaal is to reject you, then you will reject his godhood.

You close your eyes as blood overtakes your sight. You press your forehead into the stone to fight your fever. You shiver and gasp. You gargle on the proof of vitriol and lean into the chilled floor, resigned to your fate. At least you wouldn’t become a mindflayer…

“No!” Astarion wails. Your heart shatters. ‘No, please — Not you!’

I’m sorry, you say. You close your eyes and remember the color of the sun in his hair. I didn’t mean for this to happen. This isn’t what I wanted. Your fingers curl against the stone, and then — There’s nothing. Astarion touches the sleepless bruises beneath your eyes with such tenderness you forget his strength. You lean your cheek into his palm and sigh sleepily, but even as exhaustion overtakes your body, you shudder. You’re afraid to sleep, to dream. You don’t want to hurt anyone else ever again.

‘You have to rest, my love,’ he murmurs. He allows you to lay on his hand as though it were a pillow. ‘When was the last time you slept through the night?’

‘I’m not sure,’ you confess.

‘I might be a sleepless creature of the night,’ Astarion says, ‘but you… You needn’t fear your dreams when I am here. I’ll protect you no matter the cost.’

‘And who will protect you if I sleep?’ you ask.

You must be frowning, because Astarion uses his other hand to soothe the crease between your eyebrows. He sounds so outrageously heartbroken that you want to cry. You don’t want him to think he isn’t a comfort… You haven’t slept beside someone in so long, and the warmth of his body has always lulled you to your dreams peacefully until recently.

Astarion swallows thickly. ‘I’m not afraid of you. I’m not afraid of this. I’m with you forever and always.’

But what if there isn’t an always?

‘There is always a future for you and I,’ Astarion vows. ‘Now sleep. He can’t control you as long as I’m around.’ When you open your eyes again, you’re greeted by the most beautiful man you’ve ever seen. His eyes are a soft cerise, and his cheeks are high and sleek, his lips plump and his hair soft and curled. An angel. You’re unable to control the way you reach your hand to touch his cheek, smearing a crystalline tear across his wan skin.

‘Who are you?’ you whisper, voice caught painfully in your throat.

‘Hush now, my love,’ he whispers. He presses a sweet kiss to your mouth, and when he pulls away, his lips are ruddy and wet. ‘Thank the gods… I thought I had lost you.’

Oh, you think. You remember now. This is the man from your dream… You try to recall the details of how you know him, but it’s hard to follow a train of thought. You turn from side to side. It’s so hard to move, to focus. Your limbs feel as though they are made of lead and marble. Everything aches. The tips of your fingers and your nails down to the little bones in your toes. Your head, though, is the only part of you free from intense pain. It’s as though a weight has been lifted from the veil of your memories. You rest your arm across your waist, too tired to keep it lifted.

‘Who…’ Your brows furrow in confusion. ‘Who am I?’

‘I know you were once a child full of life and love,’ the angel says to you, gently cradling your face in his hands. ‘I know one day you were afraid and unsure and half-mad. I know you stained the streets red with cruelty and devised a plan larger than all of Faerûn. But I know you are strong and that your heart is good. You saved the tieflings, and you saved the refugees, and now you will save the world that threatens to be plunged into darkness.’

You smile. ‘That doesn’t sound like me at all,’ you confess.

The angel shakes his hand, fingers pressing hard into your skin. His voice breaks. ‘But I know it to be true, so you must believe my every word. You are brave. You are kind. You are good. You are my love, and I know that I am loved by you in return. You are a protector,’ he tells you. ‘You have protected everyone, and now it is time to protect yourself. You have survived two gods and now you must survive a third.’

The knot in your throat grows larger with every word. You think you remember now. Yes, you can remember it all very clearly. You know the weight of his hands like baptism. You turn your cheek and kiss his palm, smudging his skin pink.

‘Astarion,’ you whisper.

Your love smiles down at you, your blood dribbling down his chin.

‘What happened?’

‘Let’s not worry about that,’ he shushes you, massaging the bruises beneath your eyes. ‘Come, let us get you cleaned up.’

‘I don’t think I can walk yet,’ you say. Admitting it makes you feel weak.

‘Don’t worry,’ Astarion says softly. ‘I can carry you.’

‘I will bloody your clothes,’ you say.

‘Bloody them,’ Astarion says. ‘I don’t care.’

Astarion does carry you. He carries you all the way back to the inn, to a private room just the two of you share. He orders a tub to bathe you in and then takes an hour to scrub your skin clean, carefully cleaning your gore from your hair and scalp.

You watch as Astarion passes a bar of soap against the skin of the top of your arm over and over again until it is red then pink then flesh. Then, he gently twists your wrist. He cleans the underside of your arm next, and your palm. He washes your fingers until they do nothing but shake in the cold air. You curl your fingers around his.

‘Was it hard?’ you ask him.

‘I will never forget the smell of your scent,’ Astarion replies.

He moves to wash the hollow between your collarbones, encouraging you to recline in the water. He washes your chest and your stomach until his grief washes over him in waves. His chin shakes until a sob escapes. He presses his face into your hair and wails softly into your crown. When he’s done weeping, Astarion returns to his cleansing. He speaks not of it again. There is so little of you left.

You often wonder how much of your brain is left between the parasite and the hole your father has left you. Sometimes Jaheira still looks at you as though the rot of your father isn’t entirely gone. You don’t blame her. You’re waiting for your control to snap. You were good once. You could be good again. You want to be good again.

Shadowheart smiles at you now. Lae’zel no longer frowns. Even Wyll has taken up eating beside you again when it’s nighttime and the adventure can go no more. Gale pours you an extra serving of wine. He says you need it. Karlach lets you hold Clive at night when Astarion goes hunting, and he goes hunting often now. It makes you wonder if your blood is vile.

Part of you wants to ask him if you’ve done something wrong. You’ve committed no crime, but you feel like you have. Your memories of before are slipping away. Your memories of now seem to do the same.

You wait in your tent that night for Astarion to return, your blanket pulled around your head and shoulders. You rehearse what you’re going to say. You want to reassure him you’re not angry. You just…feel loss. Empty. The loneliness nips at your bones like crows at carrion.

When Astarion slips inside, he looks guilty. It almost makes you want to change your mind, but you have to know. You feel as though you’re going mad. A flightless bird trapped in a cage. Like Dame Aylin trapped in Shadowfell. He refuses to meet your gaze.

‘Have I done something — ’

‘You,’ Astarion says through gritted teeth, ‘are perfect. Every time.’

You want to cry. ‘Then why do you avoid me?’

‘Avoid you?’ Astarion repeats incredulously. He looks at you now despairingly. ‘No, that isn’t what this is at all. I would never avoid you.’

‘You’re hunting more often,’ you say in a low tone, a whisper. Accusatory.

‘Can you blame me?’ he asks plainly.

It’s your turn to look away in shame. ‘If it’s too much, you should sleep somewhere else.’

‘I don’t want to be apart from you,’ Astarion says.

‘Then how do we fix this?’

‘You cannot fix what is not broken.’

‘Astarion,’ you plead. ‘Hold me or — I don’t know who I am anymore.’

Astarion wraps his arms around you before you can say another word. His lips are like a halo against your head. Each kiss he presses against your scalp is a prayer from a sinner. You turn your cheek, and he kisses you so passionately it makes your empty head spin.

You relearn who are you in his arms that night. And as he regales you with tales of your history, you think you can imagine them in your mind’s eye. He kisses your wrist. He tells you a happy memory when he kisses the curve of your belly, and when he kisses your ankle, he promises you that everything will be worth it.

It wasn’t you that was the problem. There wasn’t a problem, not really. Only an impiety he wanted to atone for. He struggles with telling you, but when he whispers it against your thigh, you understand.

‘Your blood,’ he says, voice strained. ‘I cannot escape the smell.’

‘I’m sorry,’ you say, but he shakes his head and his hair tickles your sensitive skin.

‘No, I — It is my shame,’ he confesses. ‘I’ll admit I’m a lech.’

Astarion struggles to put his words in a coherent structure. When you died, he was horrified and distraught. Only the gods know how hard he wept seeing you lifeless. Yet it was his vampiric nature that had betrayed him almost as much as your life’s blood had betrayed you. He felt hunger.

How could he be sad when he was so ravenous? Was he not an evil man, or is this what made him evil? That, in all of his beautiful tears and lamentation, the urge to devour you, bones and all, nearly consumed him? Your death was horrible, ugly, wretched. Your death was beautiful and coveted.

Astarion devours you again that night, mouthing and licking and sucking at your swollen core. He makes you a martyr in his grief. His tongue teases you over and over again. When you’ve climaxed once, Astarion seeks out to make you do it again until your legs are shaking violently and your voice has gone hoarse. He doesn’t take you that night, not in the traditional way, but he swallows you up regardless.

It isn’t until afterwards when he’s laying with his head on your chest that you understand his tragedy. It’s a misfortunate impossibility trying to grieve when you can’t stop salivating. Astarion thinks you’re horrified by the admission, but after knowing your past, it was hard to feel scandalized by anything.

You pet his curls away from his face, watching as he listens to the hum of your heartbeat. He might have it memorized by now, but each time it beats, Astarion’s eyelashes flutter with admiration. It is a hymn, a doxology, a liturgy that only he knows the words to. After all, he wrote them on your skin and immortalized them forevermore. He is so beautiful, you think, when there is no trouble to be seen.

You were once both trapped by your dark god’s design. You had set yourself free. You had sprouted the wings of a swan guided by the empathy you had planted in a garden as a child. It would be Astarion’s soon, and you would carry him in compassion until the thorn crown was placed upon his brow.

Astarion’s eyes are closed. In your perpetually confused state, you mistake him for having fallen asleep and resort to doing the same. The city becomes chilly at night and your skin is decorated with gooseflesh. He rises almost immediately and you try to chase after him, fingers piercing through a ghost.

‘I wasn’t going anywhere,’ Astarion says immediately. He drags his cape from the corner of the tent and lays it across your shins. ‘You were shivering.’

‘I’m not used to this — ’ Will my mind ever be the same? ‘ — chill.’

‘I will be here,’ he promises. ‘Here, let me hold you for the night.’

You clumsily trade places with him, and he tucks your blanket and his cape around your body as tightly as he can. He kisses you passionately and you taste your familiarity in his mouth. It’s so sweet that you sigh. ‘I know what you did,’ Orin says hatefully, spitefully, cruelly. Her voice is like honey.

‘What have I done?’

‘Did you think I wouldn’t know?’ she asks. ‘Filthy rotten blood-kin undeserving of our father’s gift!’

You repeat yourself. ‘What have I done?’

‘You,’ Orin spits, ‘think your grey matter deserves to be loved! I should carve it out! I should make it disgusting and sticky again! Split it’s skull open! You foul traitor!’

Slowly, you pull Orin into your chest. You hug her and smooth her hair down her back. Her arms wrap around you begrudgingly until the lovingkindness causes her to rupture. She sobs into your neck hideously, clinging to you. She wails and she wails until you are both children again staring up at your grandsire for approval.

‘It isn’t fair,’ Orin tells you, hiccuping. She wipes her nose with her fingers. ‘It isn’t fair.’

‘I love you, blood-kin,’ you say. You kiss the top of her head.

‘Slaughter kin,’ she says sadly. She holds your hand with her snotty palm.

‘Sister,’ you say. In the coming weeks, your mind hardly gets better. Memories are still missing. You catch yourself gazing at the mirror longer than you expect to. You used to be so beautiful. It’s hard to recognize the face staring back at you. You touch one cheek and then the other. You turn your head and watch your jawline.

No, it still isn’t you.

You take the knife in your belt to your hair and begin cutting away pieces you don’t remember. You lean forward and smudge your eyes before sitting up straight and trying again. You recognize a part of yourself. You chase that feeling. You press your hand against your heart. You smile faintly. Astarion sobs so hard you think you might lose yourself. You’re at a loss of what to do. He’s alive but he keens like a dying deer. It’s supposed to be healing, you think. Cazador is dead. His reign of terror should end. Astarion is saved and he saved himself. You couldn’t be prouder of him.

Slowly, you step forward one foot after another. You collapse to your knees at his side. It’s easy to pull Rhapsody from his fingers. You drop it by his side. Slowly, as if in a dream, you hold him like you held Orin. Astarion sobs harshly into your collarbone and clings to you so tightly you might break.

‘I thought — I thought — ’ he cries brokenly.

I thought it would make me feel better, he says without saying. You shush him and pet his hair. Cazador’s blood smears against your cheek when Astarion burrows his face into your neck. You let him linger. You aren’t sure how long you sit on the hard marbled floors, but when you stand up, your knees creak so loud you’re almost insecure about it.

This time, it’s your turn to carry Astarion. He won’t let you pick him up, but you hold him by his waist. You carry him past your allies, past the onlookers who once saw you in opposition. You order the maids to bring you a bath, and as Astarion hiccups in the water, you bathe him.

You wash the taint of Cazador from his body. The soap cleans the dirt and the blood and the memory. You wash his chest and his belly and Astarion thanks you hoarsely. He looks at you, and his eyes are so wide and beautiful that you cry too.

Dying isn’t easy. It isn’t beautiful or romantic or a sweeping gesture. Dying is painful and hideous and ugly, and you have saved Astarion from a lifetime of torment. Rather, he did it by himself with your help. You swipe the soap against his cheeks and use a rag to clear it away. Astarion’s hair is somehow curlier when it’s wet, and you part the curls so they’ll dry without tangling.

Astarion watches you miserably as you towel his hair. You wipe droplets of water off his skin and slowly slide him into his smallclothes. He accepts your blanket and wraps it around his shoulders, staring at the wooden floor, at his feet.

‘Stay,’ Astarion says weakly. ‘I don’t want to be alone.’

‘I would never let you be alone,’ you say.

It isn’t what you bought the room for. Really, you only wanted to wipe the blood from his face but now, you climb into the sheets next to Astarion and hold him tightly. He doesn’t seem to want to talk about the future. He doesn’t want to talk about his siblings either or the thousands of spawn waiting to hang on his every word.

And you can’t even blame him. The gods know how long it took for your tongue to become free from the weight that held it still after you betrayed your father. Karlach said you talked a lot before, but now it’s hard to say anything without wondering if your words are in the right order. Astarion cries softly as if to not awaken you from your slumber, but you can’t fall asleep. You can’t toss or turn either, but dreams evade you.

Dawn peeks through the window. Dawn-bringer, Jergal had called you. You slide out of bed carefully then and cross the room. You draw the curtains shut. Astarion watches you curiously from where he burrows in the sheets. His brow furrows adorably when you climb back into bed and plaster yourself to his spine.

‘Ah,’ you say monotonously. ‘The sun is gone. I suppose we'll stay in until it returns.’

After a day of lounging, Astarion still isn’t ready to talk about what’s on his mind but he watches you do your favorite mundane mortal things with explicit interest. He has you read the book you’re reading aloud, and if it takes you a few hours to struggle through one chapter, he says nothing about it.

Every once in a while, another one of your companions comes to sit in.

Lae’zel tries to commend Astarion for his warrior’s heart without sounding stilted, but eventually she gives up on complimenting him to sympathetically let him know she understands. They had all seen Vlaakith. Karlach brings Clive by and carefully arranges him in the bed next to Astarion. She tells him that he’s fucking awesome and asks permission to hug him.

The touch nearly sends him spiraling.

Gale approaches in his usual manner. He brings Astarion a bottle of wine spiked with blood and lets him know he’s available to chat whenever Astarion feels up to it. Wyll spends thirty minutes apologizing for the bad blood between them, which is funny considering their bickering was hardly vitriolic. Shadowheart visits and gifts him a perfume that makes his lip wobble dangerously.

Jaheira, Minsc, Boo and Halsin come together solemnly. They might be the least offensive of the bunch. Boo gives Astarion a thousand kisses on his cheeks, and Jaheira finally tells them a story of her youth. Halsin has Astarion drink a potion, not because he’s injured physically, but because it should help with his pain. Minsc tries teaching you a Rashemen dance, but Astarion laughs for the first time that day and you do too.

‘It is good,’ Jaheira says, ‘to see you both smile again.’

You touch your mouth shyly. Your cheeks are sore. Astarion’s smile fades slightly but returns in full, timid confidence lighting his features once more. Halsin crosses the room and opens the curtains you’ve closed. The light douses the room in holiness, and you turn your face to watch the sunset, unafraid of what the future will bring.

‘That which troubles you will soon be over,’ she promises. She pats Astarion’s hand, and although she doesn’t say it, you know he’s her son. ‘You will live to see these days renewed. There will be no more despair.’

You’re both left alone again together. Astarion beckons you to the bed instead of your chair and you join him, carefully sitting atop the covers, a respectable distance between your thighs. You inhale carefully.

‘You did the right thing,’ you say. ‘Not completing the Black Mass.’

‘Perhaps I had inspiration,’ Astarion replies. ‘You had a chance to become the Slayer, a being more powerful than you could have known. But you didn’t.’

‘I betrayed my father,’ you whisper, staring at your hands. ‘And he killed me for it.’

‘And if I had completed Cazador’s ritual,’ Astarion says, ‘I would have become Mephistopheles’s whore. I refuse to bow to the whims of others. Being an Ascendent…was blinding me to the truth.’

You look at him curiously then. He confesses to you his sins. He has thought of ascending, and thought of it often but it was never to protect himself. After a certain point, he wanted to protect you too. Your Urges had been mistaken for something else then. A possession, an invasion. Astarion sought to exorcise you of your demons.

But when you had died and the diseased lifeblood fled from your veins, Astarion realized the truth. The ascension would not have helped him protect you. It would have tainted him. It would have contorted him. Rising above all other vampires, Astarion would have become cruel like those before him. He does not want to be cruel to you. He wants to learn kindness as you have. He reaches for it like he chases the sun.

Astarion takes you by the hand, smoothing your skin with his thumb over and over. His skin is cold beneath yours. You curl your fingers into his. He did not want to make you a slave, not again. Not to him.

‘You are the dawn-bringer,’ Astarion says. ‘Even if I never see the sun again, I am free.’

‘I love you,’ you say, voice shaking. ‘I’ll be with you. In the darkness.’

‘You fool,’ Astarion laughs affectionately. He leans across the distance and kisses your temple. ‘There is no darkness. You are daylight incarnate.’

You look at him sharply.

‘I’ve been thinking about something,’ he says. ‘It’s…been on my mind all day, but I think it’s time. Say you’ll come away with me.’

You and Astarion dress slowly. You would follow him almost anywhere, but this is different. There’s something to be done. You don’t dress in armor, and for that you’re almost grateful. You’re tired of fighting. You’re tired of seeing blood.

But it isn’t blood or anything blood related that Astarion takes you to see. One minute, you are wandering Baldur’s Gate at night, and the next, you’ve come to the hollow of a tree where a gravestone is coated in vines.

‘This…is where my old life began,’ Astarion tells you softly. ‘Beneath there, I was turned into a monster. But Cazador is dead now and I get to decide my own fate.’

Astarion tells you in painful detail about his transformation. How his wounds fused themselves shut but the pain never went away. He tells you about breaking through the wood of his demise and the fear that flooded his veins and how, just when he thought he had found his savior, Cazador had laughed wickedly with his cruel glowing eyes.

‘I was his,’ Astarion murmurs, ‘but not anymore.’

He kneels before you on the dirt before his tombstone and bows his head. The prodigal son returned home. The sight of it causes your heart to squeeze. You want to step away but you can’t. You’re afraid.

‘There is nothing left of the person I was before,’ he tells you. ‘I am free to become who I want to be, free to start a new journey. I have all the time in the world to figure out who I am and what I want, but I think I know.’

‘I love you,’ you say again. ‘You’re what I want.’

‘You were by my side through all of this,’ Astarion says, eyes glimmering in the moonlight. ‘And now I want you to christen me. Inaugurate me here on the site of my rebirth.’

This is another dream. You hold your hands over Astarion’s head and sprinkle imaginary water over his head. His eyes close instinctively. Love washes over him, something golden. You kneel down and pluck a flower from the earth and it does not bleed. Relief floods your veins. For once, you touch something and it does not rot. Carefully, like a ghost, you slide the flower into Astarion’s hair and watch as his crimson eyes spill open with tears and devotion.

Astarion kisses you, and for the first time in a long time, he presses his body against yours. He takes you that night in the dirt. His leg is tucked under yours, his cock against your core, his lips never leaving yours. Astarion recites verses in your ears until you burst with ecstasy, tightening around him so much that he can hardly move. He cradles the back of your head to comfort you as he drinks your blood. He cradles your head tonight because he loves you.

‘I am yours,’ he whispers against your skin, ‘and you are mine.’ You aren’t sure when or how Astarion has the time, but he presents you with a gift the night before the world ends. He wears a matching flower from his grave pinned to his armor at all times now. And on his hand, a ring with a silver band. He slides one over your finger as well and kisses your palm as you slowly realize what it means.

The family you’ve chosen throws you a celebration. The next day, Dammon arrives and shows you your repaired armor now dyed white.

You cry for hours out of happiness. ‘This could be the last chance we have for this,’ you whisper to Astarion.

Everyone keeps telling you that a light has returned to your eye, but you don’t see it. It isn’t until you’re laying naked with Astarion again, his skin pressed against yours, that you think you can see it too.

Astarion fucks you tenderly until you’re sore, and you cry and plead sweet things against his shoulder while he holds you safe in his arms. When the pleasure becomes too much and your spine arches from the mattress, he pulls you into his lap and holds you safe against his chest. You kiss him until your lips are sore.

‘Your life is mine,’ Astarion murmurs. ‘You belong with me, my love.’

‘I’ve never been happier,’ you moan weakly.

He has taken you again and again this evening. He doesn’t say it, but Astarion is afraid of what tomorrow might bring. You have outsmarted gods and men. You have found goodness where there was nothing but darkness. You refuse to be afraid now.

‘We were made to conquer,’ Astarion says. His mouth is like a fire across your cheekbone. You shudder around his cock.

‘Take my love,’ Astarion commands you, so you do.

You kiss a ruby bruise into his neck, and Astarion fills you with a grunt. He doesn’t part from you. He guides you back down into the sheets and burrows against your body as if determined to climb between your ribs. You smile. Astarion has already made a home in your bones and flesh. He has eaten the rot from your core and recreated you anew. You were not his sin but his salvation. Perhaps he was yours too.

#astarion #astarion ancunin #astarion bg3 #astarion x tav #astarion x reader #astarion x you #astarion x oc #extremely #aeristarion #coded #from ，carcosa .#anonymous #my fic #this might be my favorite thing i've written in a really long time #i think it vaguely fits the prompt i tried my best #sometimes...................sometimes.

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theautisticfroglord · 9 months

Text

helpless

pairing - tiny Julius x reader (PLATONIC)

fic type - hurt-comfort

warnings - death (not major character), Julius in danger

notes - I have a lot of writing ambition lately!! enjoy :3

One fateful day, Julius was fighting the leader of the Eye of The Midnight Sun. Julius was the one that lost, after he saved the kingdom with his magic. Julius passed away after this fight. When you found out, you were heartbroken. Your mind was racing, your boyfriend had died in such a sudden and unexpected way.

Unbeknownst to you, an old magic item would save him. When it activated, it brought Julius’s body back with the 13 years of time he had stored in it. You were concerned, but overjoyed to see him back, though it would be a bit awkward to be romantic with him because of his appearance. You still loved him for who he is, not by his looks.

One day, the kingdom was attacked. The attack wasn't large-scale, but still serious. The castle was only lightly damaged, and the Magic Knights took care of it quickly. Though, something else happened.

“Who are you…?” Julius asks, scared of what will happen next. Julius is on the ground, his body bruised. He’s practically unable to use any magic in his small form.

“Well… You won't be alive to know that, will you?” The tall man in the dark cloak chuckles. His face is mostly covered by the robe. Julius trembles at how scared he is at the fact that he can't do anything to stop the man himself.

The man begins to get closer to Julius with his weapon. Then, he suddenly stops. The man falls to the ground, blood oozing out of his chest area. You run up to the small wizard king in a panic.

“Oh my goodness, sweetie, you're hurt! I'm so, so, sorry I couldn't make it quicker, thank goodness you're not hurt too badly,” you whisper, cradling him in your arms, petting his fluffy blond hair. You notice the noises outside have calmed down as your device starts to chime. You pick it up nervously.

“Y/N, are you alright?” your captain asks through the device.

“Y-yes, I'm fine, I believe I have stopped the leader. The Wizard King is safe,” you answer, looking down at Julius, noticing how upset he looks.

“That's good. We believe we have all the perpetrators detained. Bring the leader to us, if you can,” your captain answers before hanging up. You feel too nervous to leave Julius alone, even though it's safe.

“Come with me… I'm worried about you, we also need to heal you,” you whisper to Julius, and he nods in response as you help him up, making sure he can walk.

You use your magic to transport the leader, who is most likely close to death or even already gone. You still bring him, so they can investigate who the leader was. You hold Julius’s hand the whole way there. Once you reach the place where everyone is, they take the man away.

“Good job, Y/N, we'll take it from here. Take the wizard king to a safer place,” the knights insist. You go back to the castle, and take Julius to his room. His injuries are minor so he doesn't need to go to the infirmary. You get him into comfortable clothes.

“You've been quiet, sweetheart, are you okay?” you ask, innocently kissing his bruises.

“I'm fine, Y/N,” Julius mumbles, trying to hide his voice shaking from how upset he is. You notice, and look up at him with worry in your eyes. You sit next to him, wrapping your arms around his tiny body. Julius accepts the hug shyly, tearing up. You feel him start to cry in your arms.

“Tell me what's wrong, honey…” You whisper patiently. You slip your fingers into his soft blond hair to calm him. Once he stops crying, you wrap a blanket around him.

“I f-feel useless… I didn’t h-help anyone, I just g-got in the way… I even had to be saved because I c-couldn’t fight,” Julius murmurs, sniffling between words.

“Julius… you couldn’t help because of your body, it wasn’t your fault… you did the best you can, my little fawn…” you whisper assuringly, holding his tiny hand. He smiles softly at how protected he feels around you.

“Thank you, Y/N… I needed that,” Julius whispers. You remember how he used to cuddle you exactly like this when he was sad. You’re thankful he hasn’t changed apart from his appearance. You cup his cheeks in your hands.

“You’re so cute, so tiny… fluffy baby…” you tease, squishing his cheeks. He blushes and pouts at how you’re babying him. He’s thankful that you still love him, just in a different way than before.

“Remember that I’m an adult on the inside, Y/N,” Julius chuckles lightheartedly as you continue pinching his cheeks.

“You’re so little, though… cute little fawn,” you softly mumble to him as you hold his hands. You adore how small he is in your arms, how oversized his shirt is on him is the cutest thing to you.

“Are you comfortable, little one?” you ask, remembering how he got hurt.

“I’m ok, my body still hurts a little, though,” Julius sighs as you bury your face in his hair.

“I’m sorry to hear that, honeybun… do you want to take a nap? You need some rest,” you murmur to him. He nods in response and presses his little face in your neck. You feel him drift off to sleep in your arms.

“Sweet dreams, tiny…” you whisper softly to him, rocking him in your arms.

#black clover #anime #cute #julius novachrono #julius novachrono x reader #tiny julius #platonic #hurt/comfort #angst #fluff #fanfic #my writing #black clover fanfiction #black clover sotwk #kawaii #soft #tw death mention

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anam-mana · 1 year

Note

hello I love that your ts mc is named hero! are there any fun facts abt her that you’d care to share? how does she feel abt the other characters after the prologue?

Hero (she/they) is a character who is very quickly becoming close to my heart.

She is first a foremost, a mystic. With the Unnamed backstory, I have based her very heavily on the High Priestess Arcana, both to fit into the Hero and Leander theme of her name, but also to fit in with the second part of the fool’s journey right alongside Leander with the Magician.

She represents a sort of mystic duality (the masculine and feminine, dark and light, knowledge and secrets) and an acceptance of duality in general. Which I think makes her a very good pair for Leander as the man oozes duality and very human contradictions.

Aside from her traits which are associated with the major Arcana I based her around I think she grew up very sheltered among the cult that used her as an oracle. She has very little experience with people and thus bases her decisions and feelings more on her instincts, and also, more dangerously, based on how they compare to the stories she’s read her whole life as escapism.

I feel, though she has a good instinct for the best qualities of people, she also is about to get a very rude awakening that not all people can be sorted so neatly into the archetypes from her romantic poems.

As for her opinion of folks:

I think she is extremely attracted to Leander (kinda obv) and recognizes his good qualities, but I think she also sees in him a big old gaping need for attention and adoration, and a burning desire to feel “chosen.” She also may be a lil swept up in him by how similar he is to a romantic hero from her stories. Enamoured would be the best word to describe her current feelings on him.

I think she highly respects Kuras, his ability, and senses something deeper and more profound about him than he lets on, although she can’t place quite what it is. Over all, she would like very much to be closer to him, and understand him, but simultaneously she respects his boundaries and his secrets as he respects hers.

Vere scares her, as she has never come across a person so violent and forward as him. But even still, his chains make her want to cry, and she can see in him an honesty and sincerity that’s extremely rare in her view. If she could free him or soothe his pain she would, though she fears it may cost her a hand for getting close even to help.

Ais disturbs her in some ways, and intrigues her in others. She recognizes in him a connection to something greater, and feels that is a kindred trait of theirs. She appreciates how honest he is about the Seaspring, and is equal parts afraid and in awe of its power. After all, she was told once she could accomplish what the Seaspring has made reality. Perhaps, then, it was fate that they meet. She can tell Ais has wisdom earned through experience, and she deeply respects that about him and finds that, perhaps, aspirational as well. She would like very much to be close to him as well.

Mhin is interesting to her, and she can tell there is something inhuman about them. Regardless of that, though, I think she wants very badly to help Mhin, as she feels they are searching for something and that she would be a very capable guide if only they would open up and allow her to see them. Unfortunately, it seems Mhin is disinclined to do that.

#oc artwork #ts #touchstarved game #touchstarved #leander touchstarved #touchstarved oc #kuras touchstarved #vere touchstarved #ais touchstarved #mhin touchstarved #red spring studio #ask response

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brittlebutch · 3 days

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neo i clicked on ur link to With the Light and binge read like half the series for the past 4 hours. PLEASE tell me ur thoughts abt this series im in love with it !!! the framing of hikaru's issues as inherently blameless is amazing to see, and the focus on letting hikaru enjoy what he likes and letting him choose/listening to all the ways he communicates made me so happy. the way sachiko firmly refuses to let people be ableist or mistreat hikaru is so refreshing, and her patience and intentional care and observation ends up encouraging other people to stand up for themselves and build a lovely community of support and acceptance. i especially liked the incisive way they address people's condescending attempts at caring (the parents' talking down to sachiko, the teacher offering to make the races have no winners, etc). im so glad u posted abt this, i definitely never would have found it otherwise, and i would Love to hear ur thoughts ^_^

Dude!!!! I am so glad that you had read this series and enjoyed it, I'm SO thrilled that I finally was able to find a site where I could recommend it to people! I could spend hours talking about every single minute detail of this series that I love -- if I tried to talk about it here, I'd probably break the text box lmao. I keep trying to break it down to broad strokes and failing, I love the characters, I love the narrative, I love the educational aspects and the way it handles all these different topics and the fact that throughout the series, the thing that always comes through the loudest to me is a deep felt love of Autistic people and the Hope that one day the world as a whole will change to accept us as we are.

Hikaru isn't the POV character, but this series never falls into the mistake of forgetting that he is a character. There's no Symbolic Representation here (see Jessie Gender's video on this topic for more on that); Hikaru isn't just a walking DSM checklist of autistic traits -- he is a full person with likes, dislikes, interests, friendships, and even with his autistic traits, they're unique and specific to him instead of a broad attempt to make him carry the whole of the spectrum on his shoulders. (That's one of many aspects where I think the choice of narrative really works for the series -- having one family move through a variety of different schools, services, and organizations means that there's ample opportunity to introduce a wide range of characters that can highlight different traits, behaviors, and points on the spectrum without it being overly pointed or confusing).

And the series is always sympathetic to his perspective; we never really get into Hikaru's head, but the characters and the narrative still absolutely ooze an empathy for his experiences throughout the series. The characters often talk about not only the stress of having autistic children, but the stress of being an autistic child. They talk about sensory experiences as being overwhelming and painful, they identify the struggle to identify your surroundings as scary, discuss how frustrating it must feel to not be able to express yourself effectively. Sometimes it's speculative -- although they do also sometimes talk about having read things that actually autistic people have written about being autistic, but the core empathy is always present. Even when discussing something frustrating or dangerous (a mother talking about how her daughter sometimes tries to run into the street because she likes the white painted lines on the road), they still often take the time to consider and empathize with their children's point of view ("If the whole world was confusing and overwhelming, then it must be a relief to find something to look at that always stays the same").

and YEAH i love the way this series handles communication. Again, the narrative works in its favor on this topic, because Hikaru doesn't have to be someone who uses a shit tonne of different communication methods; they found what works for him and stick with it, but can also talk to other parents/educators about all the options that exist out there. The series goes into depth about a lot of different methods of communication, all of which are celebrated and accepted - deliberate use of direct speech, more abstract use of verbal speech, PECs cards, AAC technology, written directives and lists people can point to, type to talk, nonverbal gestures, body language, etc.

But to me, the most important conversation about communication is a moment when Hikaru's elementary school teacher Aoki is talking about another autistic student in his class. He is talking to the children's mothers, and pulls up his sleeve to reveal an injury on his arm from where Miyu bit him -- "Whenever I see this, I realize that I'm not communicating with Miyu-chan in a way she understands". Not only is Miyu "Allowed" to bite without being punished, but the biting itself is not dismissed as an aberrant "bad behavior" that needs correction, but is correctly identified as a method of communication that the allistic adults around her need to listen to. Miyu cannot talk and she's too little to read or write, she can only communicate her frustrations in the few, limited options available to her -- until she's able to learn how to express herself in more effective ways, it's important for the people around her to pay attention and actively listen to the ways through which she can express herself -- including in strange or "inconvenient" ways, such as biting.

And the very deliberate ways they teach Hikaru how to communicate is also Super fucking important. It's really significant to me that the first things Sachiko wants to work with Hikaru on are 1.) How to express needs/wants and 2.) How to tell her "No". For the series to correctly identify that the ability to tell someone "No" is not only a right, but an absolutely vital life skill is SO significant. Not only does Sachiko accept the idea that Hikaru will tell her no, she takes deliberate steps to teach him how to do so. The series goes into depth on how Sachiko (and Hikaru's other caregivers/educators) help teach him how to correct them when they screw up, how to ask for things he needs and reject things he doesn't, how to set his own boundaries and communicate his needs and dislikes -- no matter what that communication looks like.

I love that the series and the characters' main focus is never on getting Hikaru to "fit in" to society, but to figure out how to live a life that works for him, that allows him to be as independent as possible, no matter what other people think about how it looks for him. Another really important moment in the series for me is when Hikaru's grandmother is saying that the progress he's made since he was a small child isn't good enough, and when she asks "What happens to children like him?" Sachiko is absolutely stalwart when she says "He'll grow up, and become a young man with autism" and DUDE i love that so much. Not a single hint of the notion that he'll either be infantilized forever or somehow grow out of his autism, it fully embraces the fact that he'll be an autistic adult and remains adamant that that's a good thing!!!

Again, I could talk about this forever. I love that the series always empathizes with Hikaru's meltdowns and never just dismisses them as "tantrums", and when other characters talk about meltdown prevention, it's never in terms of "Well, we need to figure out how to force Hikaru to get used to X", it's always in terms of "I should have realized he was reaching a breaking point before things got that bad; we need to help Hikaru learn tools to calm down and make sure he knows how to establish boundaries and leave situations that aren't good for him". With the right adults, Hikaru is always able to leave an overwhelming situation and not return until he has decided he's calm enough to try again - no one pushes him to recover faster than he's ready to. I think there's one scene in the entire series when two adults who don't know what they're doing try to restrain Hikaru during a meltdown, and every other time Hikaru reaches that point, the other characters make sure to give him ample space to calm down without overwhelming him further.

I love the ways this series handles ableism in all of its forms. It addresses ableism that comes from ignorance, from malice, and from places that are "well-meant" in really educational and helpful ways. I love love love the way the series normalizes disability when explaining it to children -- there's a few moments throughout the series where other kids mock Hikaru, but the adults handle it so wonderfully. The "Hikaru struggles to talk the same way you struggle to run a marathon" explanations do so much to make disability just a normal thing, instead of some awful secret that you're never allowed to address directly. I think it's really wonderful.

I think this post is getting too long, tumblr is getting mad at me lol. There's still so much I'd love to talk about: I love how the author includes so many lovingly illustrated panels of Hikaru stimming, I love that his family is allowed to be frustrated without that frustration ever coming across in a way that demonizes Hikaru, I love the relationship that he has with his younger sister, I love all of the friendships that he's made and maintained since he was a toddler, I love the "It takes a village" approach that really highlights the significance of having a good support system, and I love all the different people that come together to help teach Hikaru and make sure that his dignity and independence are always prioritized. I love the little details of Hikaru's character like the way that he's really good at identifying/taking care of plants, and his love of dolphins, and the way he repeats the things his friends say to him to hold onto the thoughts after they go home/back to class. I even love how some of the teachers that Hikaru has in school aren't always great at their jobs (I actually think the Gunji-sensei arc is one of my favorites in the whole series), and I love all the side characters that the series introduces us to, and the care that the author has when educating readers about autism and all the different aids/accommodations that can make life easier and less frustrating/painful.

UGH I really do love this series so much, I'd happily keep talking about it and answering questions about it for forever! If my ramblings have encouraged anyone else to give the series a shot, I'll leave you with this: the first two chapters are the hardest to get through because Sachiko and Hikaru are extremely isolated and Sachiko does not understand what Autism is yet -- if you're hesitant about it, you can skip to chapter three where things start to look up a little more sharply and start there instead, and please continue to read through the rest of the series. It's truly one of my favorite autism medias of all time <3

#if the sheer length of this post (and this was me trying to keep it short btw lmfao) wasn't proof enough i will Happily #talk more about this series if you'd like to have more conversation about it :3 #it's been my favorite series since I was in high school and I like never get to talk about it because I couldn't find any place #online for it to be accessible enough for just anyone to read but now someone has posted it and i'm SO happy for it!!#with the light #<- once upon a time there was like One other user on this site who posted about this manga but they left :(#I will take up the mantle instead lmao

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airplanned · 2 years

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@linksthoughtbrambles

I wonder about this gif every time I see it! I have been too shy to ask about it. 😂

STAND BACK, EVERYONE! I’m about to talk about my favorite literary character of all time.

So.

There is a book called “Howl’s Moving Castle.” It is one of my favorite books, and I recommend it. Everyone should read it. Everyone should live tweet it and be sure to tag me when you do. Love this book. There is also a movie. You should watch it too, because the animation is excellent, but the story and everyone’s characterizations are very different.

The main character is a girl named Sophie, who is cursed towards the beginning of the book by the Witch of the Waste to be old. Sophie takes to this curse disturbingly well and spends the whole book giving very few shits and complaining about her back.

Anyway, she ends up wandering into the castle of the Wizard Howl. The castle moves. It’s Howl’s Moving Castle!

Howl is known around Sophie’s little village and (it turns out) the rest of the country, for being a powerful wizard who goes around eating girls’ hearts (figuratively? literally? No one knows or cares), but he’s also a complete disaster, very vain, and should not be trusted with anything important, because he will wander off instead and play the guitar or get drunk or something.

So, of course, Sophie decides she’s going to live in this moving castle and clean it. She is the cleaning lady now. She asks no one if they’re cool with this, and there’s no way to get rid of her. But Howl doesn’t really seem to give a shit who lives in his castle, because he’s too busy wandering about stealing hearts or whatever, so it’s all good!

Turns out Sophie is terrible at cleaning.

Just God awful.

So she moves a bunch of magic shit around, and Howl complains about it, and she’s like, “Whatever! I’m old!” and keeps doing a terrible job.

Then she gets to the bathroom.

Which is full of all of Howl’s hair and skin products.

Which Sophie rearranges and consolidates and pours out and whatever.

So Howl takes one of his overly-long baths. And then comes running out! Horrified! Scandalized! His life is fucking over, because LOOK AT HIS HAIR! It is ORANGE! WTF Sophie?! (bonus points because in the book, Sophie has red hair when she’s not old, so him being rude about being ginger is fucking typical.)

“Whatever,” Sophie says. “It’s fine.”

“NoooooOOOOOOoooooOOOOO,” Howl says. And he flops into a chair, thunks his head onto the side of the fireplace and starts oozing. He is catatonic and green ooze just...seeps out of him until the ground is so covered in slime that they have to wade through it.

Things are terrible.

He’s just gonna lie there and ooze.

So that’s the .gif: him oozing. The fire demon who lives in the fireplace is in danger of going out from the ooze. Sophie eventually has to drag him away so he can have an ooze-y pout somewhere else and she can do a bad job cleaning up the slime.

And I feel it is a very good metaphor for my writing in a tounge-in-cheek kind of way. Things are terrible! Woe is me! I shall lie on the floor and ooze!

(Other things I like about Howl:

he spends the whole climax drunk/hung over

He is completely full of shit at all times

He is from a “distant land,” which when you realize that makes a slew of other stuff really funny

Like the many fake names he’s given himself (because he is full of shit)

And like the “saucepan song” that he and the fire demon know and the fire demon teaches Sophie, so she’s just over here singing this song

Anyway, he’s great. He’s an asshole, and I love him.

#Howl's Moving Castle

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kalevalakryze · 11 months

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Jedi June 2023

going to bite the bullet on this one too! My baby deserves to be let out into the world after all the work I put into her, and the way she made me love Mace Windu again.

Characters: Mace Windu, Original Jedi Female Character, Mentioned Depa Billaba, Mentioned Quinlan Vos, Mentioned Master Yoda

Warnings: None!

Relationships: Mace Windu & Original Jedi Female Charcter

Chessaf’re’krudo was often nervous around her Master. It was reasonable, considering the Legacy of Jedi Master Mace Windu, creator of the Seventh lightsaber form and renowned member of the Jedi Council. It wasn’t even anything necessarily about his actions that had put all the younglings in her crèche on edge, but more of the legacy and the stoicism.

Mace Windu was a Korun man who’d trained Jedi Master Depa Bilaba, and how could she ever live up to the legacy that she must have left behind as his apprentice? Really, Chess could believe the only reason she was assigned to him was because she was purple like his jaded saber, and man, wouldn’t that suck?

Her fidgeting must have pulled the man from his meditations, because the young Keshiri could feel his eyes leveling on her, only daring to crack her eyelids open once she managed to put her breathing to an even tone. Red eyes met brown in a tentative glance, before she found a particular divot in his robes she liked enough to stare at over eye contact. “Are you nervous, young one?” HE finally broke the silence of hyperspace, and as his legs uncrossed, Chess’s did too, only to be tucked into her chest.

There was no point in lying to a man like Mace, not when he practically oozed the force from his very cosmic being. “Yes, master, We’re told many stories in the crèche about finding our crystal,” IT was easier, to blame her nerves on their trip to Ilum than on the weight she felt against her bony shoulders. Her chin rested on the top of her knee, and she picked at a piece of dirt that hitched a ride on the sole of her boot.

“Trust in the force, Chess, and it will show you the way.” Was his only answer, and the padawan’s cheeks puffed out, because that definitely wasn’t the assurance she wanted, even if it was all the answer a Jedi needed. “Tell me about the force,” He questioned not unkindly as he mimicked her position, one leg stretched out and the other bent, tucked against his own chest with one arm.

“it’s what makes up the-“ The padawan was cut off by a raised hand and a look she couldn’t place. “Is that wrong, Master?”

“What does the force feel like to you? If you don’t mind sharing, I find that understanding how we each interpret our sensitivity may give an insight to how we can follow its’ path.”

It took a moment, as Chess allowed her eyes to close, her legs extending against the durasteel floor of their small ship, resting against the tops of her thighs as a small tremor seemed to take over her hands. “The force feels… like my body is vibrating, like my bones want out but the force tethers them together, because it is the will of the force that I am whole. Like a constant tingling of my skin that doesn’t warn of danger, but like, like being reminded that it will be there to guide me home every night.” A small smile graced dark violet lips as her head turned upwards and the tremors in her hands paused. “like looking onto the path the force has put me on, and knowing that as long as I follow it’s light, there is nothing to fear, because the force guides me away from darkness.”

When she opened her eyes, her Master seemed to be watching her carefully, and her cheeks darkened in embarrassment. “I’m glad to hear that the force feels like that for you, my Padawan. It is always wise to maintain a strong connection to the force and the light it provides, but be mindful, the Dark Side can disguise itself as many ways, and try to twist your beliefs into thinking it is the best option. Trust in the force, and in those of us around you as well. Master Yoda has been there for me on several occasions when I needed help sorting out how I could best conduit the Force,” Chess’s jaw had dropped at that, because, Master Windu needed to seek advice on the force? It didn’t seem real.

“For me, the force is tricky,” His leg lowered from the bent position to extend outwards, until he was nearly mimicking Chess’s position again, though his palms stayed still where they rested on his knees. “I see the Force through Shatterpoints, moments that are vital to the world around us, where the Force shines a light on a person, place, or thing, where it shouts ‘hey, I’m over here, motherfucker!’ and I am to find a way to decipher what the best course of action is.”

Maker, if Chess wasn’t already intimidated by the sheer power and legend of the man, learning about his ability to detect vital events only increased the feelings of awe. “Some Jedi can detect the echoes of an objects path. Master Quinlan has this ability as well. Do not forget, my young Padawan, that it is not a power or gift we have that makes us strong, but the will of the Force,” He assured when he noticed his Padawan’s face falling. She certainly didn’t get any cool powers from the force, and how was she supposed to amount to his legend as a member of his lineage when she wasn’t born powerful, and she certainly didn’t know the Seventh form yet.

“And, Master Yoda’s only gift is his age,” Her Master pointed out, obviously allowing some humor into the conversation, causing the young Padawan to bubble with laughter. It was certainly true, Grandmaster Yoda had nine hundred years on them all, plenty of time to attune himself so strongly in the force.

“Thank you, Master. I think I needed that,” Chess finally pushed herself to her feet, offering her hand to the Korun, who’d accepted it gratefully, before tugging her down to send her off balance and pull himself to her feet gracefully. Again, the Padawan burst out laughing, even as he helped steady her, Ilum’s surface coming into view as they exited hyperspace and drifted in the atmosphere.

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fandxmslxt69 · 1 month

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Happy Birthday!!!!!!

Book recs:

I just finished Sarah J. Maas' A Court of Thorns & Rose's series. I also have The Witcher on my To Read list. I LOVE fantasy. Definitely getting on the fantasy romance train lately, but Lord of the Rings is still one of my all-time favorite books. I do enjoy mysteries too.

What are your recs? My birthday is next week. I intend to make eyes at my dad so he gets me more books.

BOOKS BOOKS BOOKS BOOKS !!!!!!!!

oooooh i hear so much abt SJM's books!!!!!

I spent the past week eyeing my parents to get me books and NO ONE HAS PICKED UP ON THE CUE. still waiting.

OKAY SO LET US SEE!!! Fantasy is SUCH a vibe and its hard to find the good ones BUT:

Once Upon A Broken Heart by Stephanie Garber. It's the second trilogy to her fantasy world, but trust me you don't need the first series; there's just some characters from the past who make a new appearance as side characters or leads! The story follows dear silly Evangeline as she navigates the world of heartbreak :( In her world, the Fates (magical beings that are known to be cruel, evil, and harsh and give very very heavy Tarot card energy!!!) have come back and are residing in their own magical kingdom of trouble and deception (TRUST ME AS CLICHE AS THIS BOOK SOUNDS ITS LITERALLY SO FREAKING GOOD.). Evangeline ends up praying to one of these Fates - Jacks, the Prince of Hearts - to help her save her lover from what she thinks is a curse. Of course Evangeline doesn't care for the consequences of asking a Fate for a favour, but Jacks is literally the biggest shithead ever (affectionate) so he puts that poor girl through SO MUCH FREAKING TROUBLE and Evangeline finds herself travelling to the magical land of fairytales to try and win over the heart of a prince. FAIRYTALE ENERGY EXCEPT ITS KIND OF TWISTED FAIRYTALES!!! AND ITS NOT LIKE YOUR USUAL FAIRYTALES NO NO THIS IS ITS WHOLE OWN LORE !!! BEAUTIFUL AESTHETIC AND THE PLOT IS LITRALLY THE BEST OF VIBES EVER !!!!!!!!!!!! Trust if you enjoyed SJM's work, you WILL enjoy Stephanie Garber; it's a given. (This IS fantasy romance btw, just not as heavy as some other ones!! The romance is def a smaller subplot and is very...will they won't they with some love triangles in the way)

We Hunt The Flame by Hafsa Faizal. This one is also one you'd enjoy if you enjoyed SJM's work!!! It follows the story of a girl named Zafira who hunts in this big cursed forest to try and save her village from famine. She's known as The Hunter, wanted by the sultan for multiple acts of treason, and one of the most feared "entities" of the area; anyone who goes into those wicked forests is insane and probably dangerous (SHE"S JUST A SILLY GIRL.) The kingdom is ruled by a horrible, corrupt sultan and the land has been drained of all it's magic and left as nothing but a dark, twisted land. On the flip side of the coin, you have the sultan's son, Nasir, who is overflowing with trauma, daddy issues, and OOZES dark mysterious morally questionable man !!!!!! He's the kingdom assassin and does all his father's bidding. Nasir's father hears word that the Hunter had been assigned a mission to go find the tombs of the old Witches (who had given the land its powers, and then taken them away to be buried with) from this dark evil island of sorts. He naturally orders Nasir to go find this Hunter, let him lead him to this tomb, and then kill the Hunter (naturally everyone thinks this Hunter is a big scary dude when it is nothing but a like 5'5 girl with fury that rivals that of the gods). Anyway, when Nasir and Zafira get there and realise what this is, things start....going downhill (uphill for ME) FOUND FAMILY AND ENEMIES TO LOVERS AND FANTASY LORE AND AND AND AND WOW WOWO WOW IM SO BAD AT SUMMARIZING THEM WITHOUT GIVING AWAY ALL THE PLOT BUT TRUST ME TRUST ME. Zafira & Nasir get the PERFECT enemies to lovers!!!! SO MUCH FOUND FAMILY (there's other people who ended up coming to this island to find this tomb and they all just get together in a team of misfits). PLOT TWISTS AND WOWO WOWOW WOW SO MUCH ARABIAN LORE !!!YEah. Trust me trust me. If you've read like, Six of Crows, you'd like this.

okay i swear there would usually be more but these are the ones I truly think you should give a shot too, i SWEAR TO GOD they are. SO. SO SO GOOD !!!!!!!!!!!!!!

You might also enjoy Fourth Wing, it's become very popular alongside SJM's books, but I hear the second book has gotten sooo bad and honestly, I personally only enjoyed the first book because it was very character based, full vibes/worldbuilding, very little plot. So if you're looking for plot heavy fantasy, I wouldn't go with Fourth Wing.

if you're also into historical fantasy with some sci-fi elements, or retellings, then def check out Chloe Gong...her Secret Shanghai series (Two duologies and 2 novellas) is SO SO GOOD!!! Shakespeare retellings, spies and betrayals and gangs and fake dating and enemies to lovers and lots of political and historical elements (the books take place in a big time of unease in Shanghai where foreign politics and goverments are trying to take over. The first duology is Romeo & Juliette retelling with the gov being the two rivalling gangs and a horrifying disease that is running wild through the land. The gangs eventually get taken down as Nationalists, Communists and Japanese forces start taking over Shanghai. The SECOND duology is centered around the power struggle between the Communist and Nationalists, with the Japanese invasion that is inevitable. The main leads are split into 2 couples; 1 works with the Nationalists (fake dating, undercover spies), the other works with the Communists (partners to lovers "I would ruin our mission to save you" energy). The second duology is very very traumatising. These series are fantasy but ALSO mystery based. I personally liked the second duology better (Foul Lady Fortune & Foul Heart Huntsman)

For full full mystery vibes, The Inheritance Games IS your jam. OH MY GOD I will never shut up about this series and this post is ALREADY too long so I won't go into details BUT basically. Avery Grambs gets told she just inherited something like 47 million dollars or whatever from some random old man from Texas whom she has NEVER EVEN heard of. Billion maybe. she got a LOT LOT of money okay. The only thing she has to do to secure that money? Live in Hawthorne House (his manor) for 1 year with his 4 grandchildren. No biggie right? Except said grandchildren happen to be some of the SMARTEST TRICKIEST and most TROUBLED KIDS to ever exist in the world. Grayson, Jameson, Xander & Nash. Nash is a cowboy who ditched the rich life and would die to protect Avery. Xander is just glad he has someone to have fun with because she enables all his crazy ideas. Jameson loves getting under her skin and is low key in love with her. Grayson wants to get her OUT of their lives because he refuses to believe his grandfather would give this RANDOM GIRL on the street their whole inheritance; the house the business the family name all that money!! Not when Grayson was promised all of it. Anyway, Avery becomes the world's richest teenager in less than 24 hours. But, the longer Avery stays in this house and living this lifestyle, the more she realises how much the late Hawthorne was hiding. Tobias Hawthorne (the dead grandpa) was infamously known for his puzzles and mysteries and games...it's how he raised his grandkids and why they are they are they are. Except...things are getting a LITTLE TOO REAL. SO SO SO SO SO GOOD THE MYSTERY I SLITERALLY CHEF"S KISS. i've only read the first 3 books but trust me. oh my god lirerally insane. you THINK you know whats happening but you don't.

NAYWAY.

I HOPE YOU GIVE MY BABIES A SHOT AND LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU THINK!!!! TRUST TRUST i have never disappointed anyone with my recs please....

#oh my god.#oh my god i need to shut up actually #sorry i love giving book recs its my favourite thing to do #so sorry everyone #put it under a read more because LONG POST .#enjoy <33333 #i hope these are up your alley #personally i've never properly read SJM's work but a lot of my friends have and this is the vibe they usually like and agree with #clem talks <3 #Clem's Birthday Hang Out

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torturedblue · 9 months

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In honor of 5 years of ROTTMNT, I present: Things I would love to see in Rise season 3+ *inserts Fairly Odd Parents 'If I had one' meme*

Part one of a list of ideas the previous shows have done that I’d love to see their version of if we get any more seasons 🤞🏽 (Part 2)

The Pulverizer. Dude was hilarious in 2012 and to take it even further, the idea of Rise Donnie also having to be the one to deal with the guy honestly seems so funny. Hopefully their version would have a happier ending tho...

TigerClaw. Do I even need to explain? He's my favorite 2012 villain and honestly the coolest one and clearly the Rise guys would think so too with all their tiger quips lol. And it would be nice to have a really serious villain that’s also not Shredder/Kraang level dangerous but still more of a challenge for the turtles. Since Draxum joined the light side Big Mama’s really the only one left

Bebop and Rocksteady of course. 2012 and 2016 Bop & Rock are so funny I think they'd be even funnier in Rise considering it’s the funniest TMNT show

Spike. Rise Raph deserves a pet.

Usagi. Genuinely wondering how Rise would portray him—and with this Leo being so different than the 2003 and 2012 characters, if and how they might still become close friends. I’m now too much of a leosagi shipper fr, probably mainly because I just love their friendship in 2003, also I think bc he's always an adult in the 03 and 12 versions, plus they barley got to know each other in 12, so overall it’s just an idea that doesn’t really click with me. Not to mention l'm so damn asexual I think I just love to see such a good friendship satay that way. But considering how serious Usagi's character always is I'd like to see if they'd change that in Rise to match their style or keep him the same way. If he is more serious it’d be an interesting contrast to Rise Leo’s constant joking and silliness

A musical episode bc honestly come on they would've killed it. And they're all just too musical theatre to not indulge in it at least once. Especially the Broadway baby disaster twins

Dropping the "Rise of the" in the title since after the season 2 finale and movie they have officially… arisen. Since the whole point starting off was these turtles aren't as trained or shaped etc, now that they are it would be cool for them to officially become the TMNT again. Not to mention they finally said the name in the movie so it would really top it off

A cure for the ooze. Draxum presumably could make his own 'retromutagen' like in 2012 and it'd be interesting to see a plot where all these mutants around New York could actually get back to their normal lives if they wanted to. Especially since Draxum had his reformation arc he really should be undoing his mess lol.

A Raph and Donnie episode

A Raph and Mikey episode

Huh despite being leader and the oldest Raph really got the least amount of solo/duo episodes

How they met April bc we need the story around that. Gd we're just missing so much background context from the show getting cut short

How they found the lair. 2012's Lone Rat and Cubs was such an amazing episode and it was awesome seeing what it was like for them before finding a home. In 2003's first episode we also see them find their new permanent home, and having the same backstory for Rise Splinter and the boys could be so touching. Especially being on the run from Big Mama and Draxum. We caught that glimpse of him still in a Liu Jitsu costume as a rat and living in a box. I’d love to see between that point and whenever they moved in to their home. I also think it would be a good reminder of how much Splinter was really struggling both during childhood, while he was starring in those movie yet Sho was still trying to get him back into Hamato business, and then his time in captivity after

An explanation behind why Yoshi is called Splinter, we never got our explanation in Rise… or 2012 either now that I think about it. Even 2003's reason kind of felt like a stretch, even though it was a cute story behind Splinter's owner Yoshi losing his girlfriend. I can’t remember if Bayverse explained it and I haven’t seen the original show, but I think each version has had a different reason they give

Fungus Humongous. One of my favorite 2012 episodes that would be awesome translated to the Rise boys. We know Donnie's hallucinated fear could be beach balls and Mikey's would prob be the Gumbus or some kind of ghost. Raph's could be Mrs. Cuddles, although he did conquer that fear. I wonder what Leo's would be… I always found it interesting he didn't have any special fears like his bros. But there is something about Leo strikes me as the kind of guy who doesn't have those irrational fears or gets scared easily, so seeing an episode where they could give him an advantage could be cool. Although, since this would be after the movie he could see Kraang, or him losing his family, and his insecurities with leadership would definitely be a realistic factor. It'd probably work well as another Halloween episode

Bishop; I think in the movie the fact that female Kraang stayed back was going to introduce him. I think a lot of people know him more famously from 2012 show ofc, but my favorite use of him was definitely 2003. Dude was unhinged and a whole ass machine and seeing the Rise boys face off against him would be so cool. Not to mention he gave us the 2003 Rat King episode, another one of my favorites

Spirit Quest type episode. They have such cool mystic powers and ninpo abilities and seeing them meditate and experimenting with them would be so cool. Not to mention the costumesssss I mean how bad ass would they look in some of the 2012 get ups

Turtles in space and the Triceratons. I've recently seen by other Rise fans that the triceratons might be been hinted to from a shot in the movie with a triceratops skull in the Kraang’s ship and apparently were being worked on by the creators. 2003 and 2012 each did these plots in different ways so I wonder if Rise would approach it as a season long thing or maybe just a fun arc. Either way these guys were made to go to space and seeing them freak out over actually getting to be like Jupiter Jim would be awesome. And again, getting to see their space outfits!

What kinda stuff do y’all wanna see from future seasons from rottmnt?

#save rottmnt #rottmnt #unpause rottmnt #5 years rottmnt #rise of the tmnt #tmnt 2018 #rottmnt season 3 #rise tmnt #rise TMNT thoughts

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yama-o-utsusu · 2 years

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What scenes do you think Anti-SasuSaku folks "misinterpret" (or just blatantly try to twist beyond all context) the most?

There's one motif that people misinterpret ALL the time. And it's not just anti ss or anti sakura mind you, but ss shipers as well. And it drives me mad, because general interpretation it's very ooc for Sasuke and Sakura, as well as it doesn't make sense when you take a look at their later interactions.

It's the "you're annoying" dialogue, the first one especially

Sasuke doesn't actually think Sakura is annoying. Someone reading manga for the first time could've thought so, sure, but we know their interaction when Sasuke leaves the village. If it was a mere state of his mind at that moment, he wouldn't have said it again. I firmly believe that Sasuke is just repeating Sakura's own words, ones she directed at Naruto. In that whole scene, Sas is carefully analyzing what Sakura says, the way he react indicates that it's the first time he heard that Naruto is an orphan. That immediately makes him sympathize.

Are Sakura's words annoying? Yes. But I always viewed it as Sasuke being put off by her attitude, her bad attempts at showing-off to him, by her childish mindset and not him genuinely disliking her. Repeating her own words here is crucial and Kishimoto makes immediate point of that. The whole scene is written especially to kick-start Sakura's character development and she doesn't take this "insult" personally in any way, because she actually realizes her own awful attitude.

The second time Sasuke uses "you're annoying" is a way to distance himself from Sakura, sure. But have you ever thought how both these interactions essentially boil down to Sasuke being touched by her words and not liking it? And while the first instance comes from the point of annoyance, the second is painful and hard, and we don't even see Sasuke's face because he's clearly hurting? People really think he's being cold and uncaring but these manga panels ooze with tragedy. Can you imagine being absolutely alone, traumatized, your only point in life is to end somebody's else, you don't believe anything good can happen to you or that you deserve it yet somebody just falls in love with you so deeply their heart shatters when you leave??? And the only think that comes to your mind is to thank them??? Sasuke thanks Sakura for loving him, caring about him, wanting him safe and near!!!! Because he is genuinely thankful!!!Sakura wants to go to Orochimaru with him, not because "hurr durr she's a desperate chaser" BRO do you really think she doesn't realize who Orochimaru is??? THe same guy who tortured them both in the Forest of Death??? Who KILLED the fucking HOKAGE??? Sakura know so well Orochmaru is terrifying, dangerous, that he will probably kill her and yet she still wants to go?? Purely out of love for another person??? And you know what Sasuke feels hearing that??? He puts her to sleep just so she doesn't follow him, because he wants her to be safe and Orochimaru is not safe!!! He's cutting the ties with people he loves because he loves them!!!!

Anon I'm sorry this got so deranged I hope you get my point klfjsdfsdj ss in general is soft and kinda woven into the manga so i feel like it just takes a very gentle approach to get all the little tidbits. And Kishi may be bad at writing romance but he sure is a master at writing emotional scenes.

#other pro sas scoff at me for shipping ss #i say theyre sleeping on this relationship #beating the shit out of each other for love?? thats so passe #try caring so deeply that words cannot describe it and their souls just dance in the air and somehow they know everything they need to #sasusaku #ANON IM SORRY

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gimblestank-the-goblin · 2 years

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Barbarian (2022) - This House Will Devour You Whole

Just saw Barbarian. An absolutely fantastic horror movie. Not going to spoil the plot of the movie, but I do want to talk extensively about a particular aspect of the movie that I really enjoyed and going into that will involve some spoilers. So, fair warning.

Haunted Hoses versus Houses that are Haunted. The haunted house is a pretty common trope in horror media. Someone dies in a location and so there spirit haunts that location forever more. Everyone is familiar with that story.

But sometimes houses aren’t haunted by something. Rather the house itself is malevolent. The house wants to hurt you. Usually, these two things are tied together. The Shining is a story about both a hotel which is haunted by ghosts, but it is also a location that is itself haunting the people there. The location is as much the villain of the story as the ghosts or Jack are.

And these are my favorite type of horror stories. I love a story where the location itself feels like it is out to harm the characters.

Barbarian does this perfectly. The house is as much a monster in this movie as the actual monsters are. While not technically alive in any sense of the word, it is an active presence throughout the story. This is done primarily in two ways (Major Spoilers from here on out):

1. The house draws people in. As the story goes on we are constantly being exposed to more of the house and more of its evil, and yet despite the MC’s attempts to get away the house keeps managing to draw her in. Step by step, inch by inch, it unfolds itself before her, revealing just enough to get her to move further, hiding its full extent so she can justify each next step with the hope that it will be her last. And the entire time, the house seems to be actively working to provide her with more reason to move forward, and to cut off any chance of going back.

I think this is best exemplified with Keith. When Tess first sees the murder dungeon room... she leaves. She fucks right out of there. The house has lured her in with morbid curiosity and its trapped her in the basement but that’s not enough to move her any further. And so when Keith comes down it reveals a little more of itself. Lures him down the steps. And then worry draws Tess in like curiosity wouldn’t. His cries for help force her down the steps and past the dog cages.

The house is actively luring our MC further into danger. And that is just great.

2. Framing. The house is always framed menacingly. When Tess wakes up in the middle of the night the door to the basement is lit up in the background, letting us know (as Tess doesn’t) that the danger is behind her. The entrance to the basement is framed like a monster. A lurking horror. Then, when we see the secret passage the dark hole of the doorway is framed the same way. The house oozes threat in every shot.

Its hard to go into depth with both of these without just... writing down the entire damn movie, but if you like Location As Horror, I would give it a watch.

#horror #barbarian #horror movie #thoughts #review #location as horror

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rcksmith · 3 years

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Distracted — Five Hargreeves

Requests: “shit, i forgot. I'm the one who asked for smut prompts #30, #31, #61 and #96. Could you write them for Five Hargreeves? Thank you! So sorry to spam you with the asks X-X”

Smut prompts :

30. “I’d hold on to something if I were you.”

31. “Pushing back against my fingers already? How pathetic.”

61. “what would people say if they knew you were such a slut for me?”

96. “I think you forgot to lock the door, that means anyone could walk right in and see you like this.”

Couple: Five Hargreeves /Fem! Reader.

Warnings: smut heavy, NSFW, dirty talk, swearing, degradation. (I was in a bad mood hkjskjs)

Word count: 4k

A/N: We not tolerate any pedophilia here !!

I write about Five with their 20s. I write the same about the characters of Harry Potter.

Let me know if you want to be added for a taglist for a specific fandom (Criminal Minds, The Umbrella Academy, Riverdale, Roman Godfrey, or all)

English is not my first language, so I so sorry if have a mistake.

Requests are open. Love you ❤️

— — — — —

Five Hargreeves had a bad temper. It was explicit, hanging from his chest on a giant sign that said: “ABANDONATE THE HOPES IF YOU ENTER HERE.” And he knew that.

Inside his body he housed a sarcastic, explosive and sulky soul, with no patience for half the world. Everything about him exuded a dangerous, authoritarian, arrogant energy, mixed with distilled look that have always been able to subdue anyone.

Five is the type of man who, while everyone dreams of easy solutions, he knows that if he wants something to be done he will have to do it himself. He likes a hunting, taking the lead in any situation, having no problem breaking rules to make things happen.

And he was perfectly comfortable with that. Taking control of his world. Until, of course, you show up. Taking the key to his Olympus as if it had always belonged to you.

You were the one thing that Five Hargreeves couldn't subdue. He was unable to impose to you his reputation as a man who should not be challenged. Because that was exactly how the world saw Five. Like a man you don't challenge. Even his siblings realized, after a certain point, that it was not advisable to play with him.

But, apparently against all common sense, none of this had an effect on you.

You were not afraid, or pondering your words. You rolled your eyes at the things he said, mocked his arrogance and always looked at him with a combination of a smile and a look that, holy mother of God, Five hated. It was the typical expression that said: “ I know a lot more than you do, but I will be quiet because you are not worth my time.”

Five Hargreeves had a bad temper. But you raised it to stratospheric proportions.

It was completely exasperating, outstanding, you were a brat who didn't hear the voice of an adult, so used to being daddy's little girl. Because that was how he saw you. You were only 24 age while he was 30. It was expected that you heard him! But no. You did not give a damn.

“If you listened to me and chose the Colombian, that wouldn't be so bad!” Five scolded again.

This was the twentieth time he had said that to you.

There was a routine with the Hargreeves siblings: you brought coffee on Mondays, since you passed a great coffee shop on the way. Diego was responsible for bringing Japanese food on Wednesdays, Luther for Indian food on Fridays and Klaus for pizzas on Saturdays. It was a banal thing, but it brought a comforting feeling of, no matter how not anyone would admit, tradition.

But it was obvious that you had to piss Five off on that too.

“And I already said that they don't do the Colombian before ten in the morning.” You passed the page of a magazine you were reading, ignoring his tantrum.

“And you can't wait ?!”

This time you looked up at Five, giving a mocking expression.

“Oh, forgive me, your majesty. I will delay my journey just because your eexcellency wants Colombian coffee.” You laughed, turning your attention to the magazine.

Five felt the tips of his ears heat up, the fingers of his hands go white from the force that he clenched his fists. You were so fucking annoying!

"You are unbearable." He said, because he saw no other way to express the hateful little monster you were.

You looked up at him again. “Serious? Me? You are the one who is complaining about not getting your blend coffee.” You turned your attention to the magazine “Like a child who didn't get chicken nuggets in the shape of dinosaurs.”

What?! Fucking what?!

Five opened his mouth in bewilderment, now anger rising up his neck. How dare you, fuck?! You were younger than him!

"What did you say?!" He repeated, his voice low but deep, his eyes bloodshot with rage.

You didn't take your attention away from the magazine by replying: “Like a child who didn't get chicken nuggets in the shape of dinosaurs.”

Oh, no. Oh fucking no.

Five slammed the coffee travel cup on the kitchen counter, walked over to you and closed your magazine brutally. You looked at him indignantly.

"What a fuck ..."

But Five didn't give you time to finish. He stuck both hands in your arms, forcing you to get up from the chair so quickly that the object fell to the floor. He pushed you back, lifting you up and making you sit at the wooden table, his eyes still on fire with your words.

"Child, isn't it ?!” He snarled, spreading your knees with his hands, settling his body still standing between your legs.

You were wide-eyed. Looking at him in amazement. Your heart was pounding in your chest so hard that you thought Five would be able to hear it, while your breath had been lost somewhere between the path from your lung to your nose.

Holy shit.

It was no secret that Five Hargreeves was gorgeous. This was not an opinion, it was a fact. With midnight hair, emerald green eyes and alabaster skin, it was not surprising that he was able to steal his breath wherever he went. And you were not immune to his charm. To be honest, you never thought it would be.

But the difference between you and the girls who fell at his feet was that ... well, you practically lived with the guy every day. You had been friends with Klaus for two years, and as a result you ended up becoming friends with the brothers and captivating them. It was almost atypical that you weren't with them. So, as a result, you ended up having time with Five too.

And, truth be told, it destroyed your will to want to impress him. As was common whenever see someone beautiful. Five Hargreeves was, in every way, arrogant. Irritating. Unbearable. Maybe it was your lust mixed with irritability, but you decreed that you didn't like him. That you would never want to fall into his bed.

Well…until now.

Until he accommodates his fucking tall, lean, firm body in the middle of your legs. Until his hands are glued to your arms in a touch of fire. Until your heart was racing like never before.

"You called me a child, didn't you?"

You wouldn't be able to answer anything in that second, even if your life depended on it. So you just nodded, a slow, cautious nod, like prey looking at hunter.

"I will show you my age!"

Five kissed you. In a way that no one had kissed you before. It was something hungry, angry, full of lust and with a desire that made you sigh softly. His hands were still on your legs, coming down to the back of your knees and pulling you firmly forward, sticking your whole body against his in a possessive way. His tongue invaded your mouth without waiting for an invitation, renouncing everything you had to offer as his.

That was a really kiss.

You put your hands on the back of his neck, running your fingers over the silky, black strands, letting your body be pressed against his as if you had been waiting for it a lifetime. Five pulled your legs closer, guiding you to close them around his hips and, once you did, his hands, determined and hungry, roam the sides of your body possessively.

"Five ..." a groan cut off your speech when his hands clung to your waist, pressing the hard and firm member to your core covered in the thin legging pants you wore.

"You already moaning and I haven't even touched you yet." His voice was overwhelmingly arrogant, full of amusement and convincing.

You were going to answer, because you weren't the kind of girl who kept quiet with a tease, but Five's hands made your waist roll around handily against his member, and a louder groan interrupted any line of reasoning you had.

“Oh, how adorable.” He scoffed, lowering his mouth to your neck and closing a hickey where pulse was “I wonder how the moaning will be when I do ...”

His right hand moved up to the inside of your thigh, rubbing his thumb in circles until he got to where you needed it most. “This.” Then he forced the movements where your clitoris was covered.

Your groan was louder than you would like to admit. The air became caustic, rarefied, the atmosphere became something breathtaking, claustrophobic, poignant. And, before you know it, it was already a wet clay in his hands.

Five Hargreeves had won. He had you exactly where him wanted.

Your moans grew louder when he tuned his thumb movements together with his pelvis movements against you. Your hands tightened on the back of his neck, your teeth closed on your lower lip in order to contain the volume, and your breathing was shaky. Your hips pushed against him, the thin leggings being smeared by the arousal that oozed from you, and as soon as his hand was only an inch away, you followed it with your hips.

“Pushing back against my fingers already? How pathetic.” Five played with the voice at the bottom of your ear.

You pulled the air against your teeth, whimpering, wanting anything he could give you.

“I bet ...” his lips slid under your skin without kissing, just making you wish, up to your lips and hovering there, a sigh away “If I asked you to take your clothes off and let me fuck you in this table like a good whore, you would gladly do. It is not?”

His free hand went to your face, taking a stir of your hair out of your eyes and placing it behind your ear. You were unable to contain the moan, closing your eyes tightly for a second, trying to contain how much your body screamed.

"Y-yes." You whined.

“Good." Five sprinkled a kiss on your lips before walking away.

You opened your eyes, your chest rising and falling with your heaving breath, your legs shaking. Your body screamed in protest at the separation, and you sent him a confused and inquiring look.

“You will learn who is in charge here." Five gave you a sly smile. "I'm only going to fuck you when you understand this."

Then he turned his back on you, took the coffee and disappeared in the blue flash.

This son of fucking bitch!

- - -

You were angry and frustrated. To say the least. Your body was on fire and mind replayed that day over and over in your head. It had been four days since Five's little exploits in the kitchen, and, to be honest, not only had he started the teasing.

Five gave you malicious and discreet smiles, gestured a lot more with his hands when he spoke just to remind you of what they could do. He hovered his body close to your whenever possible, brushing his shoulder against your, his hand gently on your back when he needed to pass beside you. His fingers even slid under your thigh under the table when you were having dinner. It was always like that.

And you were already crazy.

In the beginning, you sent him and their little game go to hell. He was not going to get what he wanted. But as the days went by, and Five started to touch you more often, the fire inside you burst, and it felt a lot less... torture if you just... gave in. The thought of sleeping with someone else just to appease that didn't bring you the same euphoria, you didn't just want sex, you wanted Five.

You knew he was playing with you. Just wanted you to give a sign that you were surrendering, so that he could give you what you wanted.

And after seven days, you gave in.

It was Monday, your mood was already an angry monster, but this time, you arrived a little later.

“Y/n, you are lateeeeee.” Klaus sang from the kitchen, biting off a large chunk of whatever it was before he sat down.

Vayna, Luther and Five were also at the table. Vayna and Luther talking about nothing important and Five reading a book under metaphysics.

"Traffic."

You lied, placing the tray of coffees in the middle of the table. Five and Luther were the first to get, Vayna still getting used to coffee addiction.

“Allison and I are going to watch something today. Why don't you come with us? ” You sat next to Klaus, throwing one leg over his.

"Is it going to be in the cinemove?”

He denied “In the living room, you can sleep here after."

You shrugged. “Okay.”

"Did you go to a different coffee shop?" Luther raised his eyebrows, having just swallowed his coffee.

“No, why?”

“It tastes different.” He drank some more.

“It is Colombian.” You put the cards on the table, in a game that only you and Five knew.

You didn't look at him, but you could feel his eyes on you and a sly, malicious smile brushing the right side of his mouth. That was the only interaction that you felt Five driving you that day. The hours had passed and it was already one in the morning when the movie in the mansion's ended. It was not atypical you slept in the mansion, the guest room was almost called “your room” at that time. But there was… there was something different this time.

As you unbuttoned your pants, with the night breeze coming in through the window, you thought that maybe it was because you never slept there having feelings for one of the siblings. So impure feelings. There was something about sleeping under the same roof as Five that made you ... nervous. But as soon as you removed the piece and placed it on the bed, the blue flash flashed behind you.

Your whole body went tense, the hairs on the back of your neck stood up, and your heart was racing as if, suddenly, you had just returned from a marathon. You swallowed, the heat of his body hitting your back, while his hand went up your arm gently.

"You are such a good girl." Five's voice made your legs tremble, the butterflies in your stomach roll.

In this moment, feeling things that you never thought you would be able to feel, you wished always were a good girl for him.

"Did you do that for me?" His mouth joined the pice of your shoulder and neck.

You knew he knew he did, but the bastard wanted to hear it from you. Five wanted you to confirm that he had won.

“Yes” You whispered, the moonlight allowing you to see when his hand went down to your belly, playing with the cos of your dark blue panties.

"I knew you would be a good girl for me."

Then, taking you by surprise, Five pushed your chest onto the bed, bending you over, pulling your hips towards his with the other hand. You sighed when you felt his already hard member hit your pussy just covered by thin panties, now wet with your mess. Your hands closed on the sheet, your heart almost screaming in relief at the contact of his body behind you.

God, you wanted him so fucking much...

“What am I supposed to do with you?” Hargreeves reflected on a rhetorical question, his hands sliding over your surrendered body, squeezing your flesh with a force that would leave marks.

You whimpered, rolling your hips over his member. "Please"

“What would people say if they knew you were such a slut for me?” Five slapped your left cheek.

You moaned softly, tightening the sheet, your body refusing to remain an inch away from him. Your hips needed more from Five's, your whimpers increasing as he took off your panties and ran his fingers through your wet folds.

"Five!" You moaned louder, biting your lip as he played with your entrance.

"Should I just fuck you with my fingers?" He caused your entry with two digits "Or with my dick?"

You were an incoherent mess, days of denial and desire that burned arthrosis in your body.

"Answer me!" Five slapped you again, this time louder, more grotesque, making you cry out.

"Y-your dick!" You tried to say, “P-please. Fuck me with your dick, please. ”

You were desperate, that was the truth. Desperate for contact, desperate for touch. Desperate for anything that Five Hargreeves could want from you. Anything he wanted to give you.

"Hard?" His voice was now dark, slightly wicked.

“Y-yes! Please!”

Then Five stuck his hand to the back of your neck, curling his fingers in your hair and pulling your face up, making you face the ceiling as he leaned over and snarled at your neck:

"How hard?"

"Give me all!" You begged “Please, Sir. Give me all."

That title seemed to drive him out of his mind. Because the only thing you had in response was the sound of his belt falling to the floor and the rustle of his pants and boxers down, his right hand never leaving your hair. You groaned in anticipation, tears pricking your eyes from the desire that had accumulated so long when you felt the tip of his dick press against your entrance.

Five lowered his mouth to your ear, holding his hand more in your hair as he said: "I’ d hold on to something if I were you. "

Then he entered you. Hard, rough, wild. Opening all your walls and spreading your abundant liquid all over his dick. You opened your mouth in a silent scream, your nails etched hard on the sheet, tears streaming from your eyes without warning. Five gave you just a few seconds to settle for his size, starting to beat inside you at a relentless pace.

This time you screamed. Your heart pounding in chest, your pussy pulsing around Five with so much desperation that you heard him moan and curse behind you. The pace was rough, heavy, wild and full of lust. He fucked you like a rabid animal, devouring everything you had to offer, filling every last inch of you. The sound was of pornographic moans and bodies clashing with arrogance, filling the entire mansion with sounds that would not be forgotten.

"S-sir!" You moaned loudly, pushing your ass to Five at the same rate, making he hit the deepest spot inside you.

“Fucking such good slut!” He dumped one more slap on your ass, freeing his hand from your hair and joining both of them at your waist, pulling you towards him in an heavy rhythm.

Each thrust was an electric current poured into your body, excitement running down your thighs and melting both of you. Five groaned louder, leaning over and biting your shoulder, clenching his fingers aggressively against the innocent skin on your waist.

“I think you forgot to lock the door, that means anyone could walk right in and see you like this.” Five blew in your ear, receiving a loud groan in return, as yours tears flowed.

Your pussy tightened around his dick, pulsing in such a tight way for he.

"Oh, would you like that?" He teased you, feeling your walls tighten again. “I bet you would love to everbody see the slut you are to me. ”

"Sir!" You screamed, throwing your head forward, pressing your forehead to the sheet as you sobbed.

"Answer!" One more slap.

"Y-yes! I-I like could show that I'm your slut! ” You sobbed.

Five came out of you, making you whimper loudly in frustration. He turned you over on the bed, placing you in the center as he climbed on top of you, settling in between your legs and entering without warning again. You screamed, sinking your face into his neck as your legs closed around his waist, pulling his deep into you.

"Such a good bitch."

Five felt your limit riding fast, leaving you more breathless, tearful and desperate. You no longer measured the volume of your moans, your hands clenching your nails on his back, your waist rolling around to make him inside deeper.

"S-sir!" Then, without being able to control yourself anymore, you exploded. Came in long streams of broken moans and shaky breathing.

Your head fell on the pillow, your chest arching while you were on top of the climax. Five groaned at the scene, his limit being your expression of pure ecstasy. He sank in you as anatomically as possible, filling you with the hot liquid that overflowed from inside you.

You were both panting, sweaty and tired. Five let himself relax on top of you, partially loosening his weight, still stirring a few strokes to ensure that you had welcomed all his cum.

"Good girl." He praised you, giving you a small kiss on the neck, stepping out of you and rolling to your side on the bed.

"That was ... wow." You laughed softly, trying to catch your breath.

Hargreeves laughed too, taking the time to get out of bed, looking for the boxers and pants. You bit the inside of your cheek, suddenly not knowing what to do or what to say. Your heart sank at the thought of him leaving, and your mouth was faster than your common sense in saying:

"Wait!"

Five turned to you, his brows furrowed in question as he buttoned his black pants.

"Can you ... could you ... stay?" You took a chance, your cheeks quivering under Five's intense gaze that never left you.

But, instead of the denial you were expecting, his eyebrows furrowed even more in doubt.

“But I am not leaving.” He said it as if it was obvious.

Did you blink a few times “No?”

“I was just going to get a towel to clean you up. There are certain things that I don’t like do naked.”

You opened your mouth to answer, a little shocked, but Five disappeared in the blue flash only to appear a second later, with a towel in hand. You sank into your own shame, muttering softly to yourself in incoherent sounds, you let Five clean you up.

“Did you think I was leaving?” He scoffed when he finished, looking at you with that smug look.

You rolled your eyes, turning to the side on the bed, your back to him.

"No." You mumbled.

Five laughed, settling better on the bed. "Come here." He said, patting his chest.

And, well, as much as you would like to consider yourself a rebellious girl, you did. Turning to him again, you snuggled into his body, laying your head on his chest while Five pulled the blanket up to cover the two of you.

Five Hargreeves had a bad temper. But at that moment, with you, you did not fail to notice the lazy and caring circles he made on your shoulder with his thumb.

Tagged: @bubblegumflamingos

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a-small-batch-of-dragons · 3 years

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Begone, Bitch

Prompts: Hi ! I just wanted to say that i love your stories and the way you write the characters ! If you want, could you write about Virgil being comforted by the other sides, or him getting hurt while protecting the others ? - anon

I am beyond grateful for every fic you write, you are so good at pushing all the right emotional buttons to just make my entire day. I don't want to be greedy since you already make so much good content, but in 'Lie to Me' there was that little one off scene in the kitchen where Virgil pushes Janus behind him to 'protect ' him from Roman and I *cannot* stop thinking about it. I would die for a whole fic of Virgil protecting Janus(and the others, but mostly Janus, I like when people are sweet to the snake boy) from danger by physically shielding him with his body. Overprotective Virgil is my favorite. So this is a prompt/request but only if you really really want to <3 And thank you for writing such wonderful fic. - awitchbravestheverge

Ah yes more opportunities to write in Virgil's narration style.

Read on Ao3

Warnings: none, not really. Some creepy shadow shit from the Subconcious and Virgil gets a little hurt but nothing graphic

Pairings: platonic found family babey

Word Count: 4504

The Subconscious is a nasty piece of work. It’s not quite powerful enough to overtake the Mindscape by itself, Roman and Remus do too good of a job holding the barriers in the Imagination, but that doesn’t mean little shits don’t worm their way through every now and then. Guess who gets the fantastic job of being alert to each and every single one of them?

No fucking prizes for guessing who.

For the most part, Virgil’s able to work undetected. Or, well, no, the others will see him doing shit but they don’t know that’s what he’s doing. He just has to stand between them and whatever gross slimy black thing has crawled its way up from the depths of the Subconscious and it’ll get absorbed. Part of Thomas’s background anxiety until he can banish back to the hellhole from whence it came.

That doesn’t always mean it’s…painless.

Some of them are fine. Some of them are like little misty bits that just putter around where they’re not fucking supposed to be and Virgil can just pluck them out of the air and stuff them into the pockets of his hoodie and wait. These ones really like to bother Patton, for some reason.

Patton’s baking today, cinnamon sugar muffins. He’s humming to himself as he bustles about the kitchen with that weird boundless energy of his that makes everyone want to think about nothing but sunshine. Ruins the hell out of Virgil’s gloomy emo image but hey, fresh muffins. Sacrifices must be made somewhere.

“Did you want to help, Virgil, or are you fine with just sitting there?”

Virgil blinks, having zoned out after the third time watching one of the containers almost fall over. “Nah, I’m good.”

Patton shrugs. “If you change your mind…”

“I won’t, Pat, I’m good. You’re doing great.”

“Aw, thanks!”

Virgil opens his mouth to say something else when he sees a little grey thing twisting in the air next to Patton’s head. He suppresses a sigh and reaches out, careful to make sure Patton’s back is turned as he snags the pesky little thing and whips it away. He stuffs his hand in his pocket as soon as Patton turns around.

“What was that?”

“What was what,” Virgil asks, blinking innocently as he squeezes the icy thing in his pocket, “what’re you talking about?”

Ah, it’s the hands-on-the-hips dad pose today. “I saw you reach for something, mister, now what did you do?”

“Don’t worry about it.” The misty little shit shrivels and disappears, leaving an ice-cold sting on his hand out of sight. “It’s fine.”

“Show me your hands.”

“What?”

“Show me your hands, Virgil.”

Virgil sighs and pulls the unstung hand out of his pocket. “See,” he says, waving it for good measure, “nothing to see here.”

Patton just raises an eyebrow. “And what about the other one?”

“C’mon, Pat—“ he sighs when both of Patton’s eyebrows go up— “fine, here.”

Patton’s eyes widen when he sees the mark on Virgil’s palm. He rushes forward instantly, cradling the injured hand and reaching for a towel. Conveniently, he gets one that was quite near where the misty thing had been floating.

“You could’ve told me you were hurt,” he says softly, tending to the sting with such tenderness that Virgil almost believes it’s something to worry about, “I would’ve helped.”

“But it’s fine, Pat,” Virgil sighs, “I could’ve dealt with it.”

“I know, I know.” Patton gives the hand one last dab with the towel before pronouncing it good enough. “But it’s never a crime to let us help you, kiddo.”

The corner of Virgil’s mouth tugs up. “Thanks, Pat.”

“Oh, of course, kiddo. Now you sit tight, the muffins won’t be another ten minutes.”

“Can’t wait.”

Sometimes the Subconscious decides it’s bored of letting just the little misty bastards out and lets out the fucking ooze.

Have you ever seen Venom? Know how the symbioses move and how weird it is to look at?

Yeah, it kinda looks like that, just without the gay domesticity and mutual pining.

Nah, this ooze is mindless, just wants to—well, it doesn’t want anything, it just gets fucking everywhere. Makes it real hard to think sometimes, messes everything up.

Really likes fucking with Logan. Which first off, is not allowed. Don’t fuck with Logan. Don’t fuck with any of them, Virgil can and will kick your ass, but especially don’t fuck with Logan. Remus will tear you apart and no one will stop him. Except for Logan. Maybe. ‘Cause he’s nice like that.

Anyway, Virgil gets a weird tingle between his shoulders when there’s an oozy bitch up and about. He’s sitting on the couch, minding his own damn business, but then there’s that itch between his shoulders and he perks his head up.

Logan sits in a chair, alternating between scrolling on his laptop and making notes in one of his many notebooks. Virgil frowns, looking around, seeing if there’s any goo to keep track of, only to come up with nothing. Huh.

“Virgil?”

“Yeah?”

Logan tilts his head, concerned. “Are you alright? You look worried.”

He shakes his head, still squinting around the room. “Weird feeling, that’s it.”

“Will you let me know if it gets unbearable?” Virgil nods. “Thank you. Well, I’m going to get some more coffee, would you like any?”

“Uh, yeah, sure, L, that’d be great.”

Logan nods and stands, going to the kitchen. Leaving his laptop unattended on the coffee table.

Virgil watches as a truly massive ooze slides out from between the couch cushions and toward the laptop.

Not today you slimy bastard.

Unfortunately, he’s just a second too slow as a tendril from the ooze touches the laptop and yanks, pulling the laptop off the coffee table and sending it hurtling toward the floor. Virgil bites back a curse and lunges. His hand grabs the ooze just as his arm catches the laptop.

“Get back here, you little shit,” he grunts, opening his hand and using his power to suck the frothing fucker into his arm where it can go the fuck back to the Subconscious.

“Virgil, you—“

Shit.

Virgil looks up, a little guilty, as Logan comes back around the corner holding two coffee mugs. He looks down and raises an eyebrow.

“You…saved my laptop?”

“It was falling,” Virgil mutters, setting the precious cargo back on the coffee table, “didn’t want it to.”

“Ah. Well, thank you. I appreciate it.” Logan sets one of the coffee mugs down and reaches out a hand to help him up. “Though I assure you it is not the first time that laptop has been dropped.”

“What do you do with your stuff, Lo, I swear you make more cryptic remarks about it than J.”

“It’s all part of the experiment.”

“See, there you go again!”

And then, then sometimes the Subconscious decides oh, it wants to get inventive and spawn this horrific little ooze-demons. Goat head, four legs, runs about like a creepy little horror game creature, they’re fucking awful. They don’t all look the same but they’re always running and climbing about like some gross as hellcat gremlins. Their nails are so sharp.

These fuckers really like messing with Janus. He’s got too many fun things to pull on, too many heavy clothes for them to pull and make him trip, and they like scurrying up his staff too much. They’re absolute fucking nightmares.

The good news is they’re by far the most obvious of the obnoxious little shits that manage to slip through the barriers of the Subconscious. Virgil hears a weird skittering in his ears and knows that one of the little monsters is loose again. Given how they all flock to Janus like he’s some fucking homing beacon, it’s easy to find them.

Janus is pacing back and forth, yanking angrily at the end of his clothes like they’re about to snag on something, his staff clutched in his hand. His head is down, muttering to himself as Virgil walks up.

“J?”

His head whips around. “Oh. Virgil. Certainly expected to see you here.”

“That’s me, always turning up where I’m not wanted.”

“I didn’t say that,” Janus mumbles, resuming his pacing, “though I didn’t mean to summon you. You can go.”

“You didn’t summon me, J,” Virgil says, leaning against the wall and looking around for wherever the bastards are, “I’m here of my own free will.”

“Free will,” Janus scoffs, turning around, “what the hell even is that?”

Out of the corner of his eye, Virgil spots movement.

“It’s not like there’s some master document of humans where free will is written into it.”

Slowly, Virgil raises his hand toward the spot, not tearing his eyes off it.

“And the belief that animals don’t have it! Ha, some of them exhibit characteristics of choice much more than we do.”

The little fucker snaps at his fingers as he makes a grab for it. He snags it by the scruff of the beck and yanks.

“And what is this about it being provable? Show me one scientific theory that has space in it for free will. Do it, I dare you.”

Virgil bites back a curse as he wrests the pesky shit around the middle, ignoring the way it chomps and snarls at him.

“Just because you have or don’t have free will doesn’t make you exempt from the constraints of society. Even if you aren’t making your own choices that doesn’t mean you’re the exception to the consequences.”

The teeth that sink into the sleeve of his hoodie are the last to vanish as Virgil breathes out, watching the last of it fade as Janus turns around.

“Sorry,” he mumbles, tugging his hat and gloves, “haven’t been…”

“S’okay, J,” Virgil waves with the hoodie sleeve that isn’t ripped, “you’re good. Come on, let’s go eat something.”

“…pasta?”

“Sure thing, danger noodle.”

“Ugh, I take it back.”

“Whatever you say, hazard macaroni.”

“I’m taller than you!”

It makes sense that the Subconscious decides to send the most insidious shit after the twins. They’re the reason the pieces of shit monsters can’t make it up to the rest of them. And for the most part, they know what to look for. They don’t have the same awareness of all the little idiosyncrasies that Virgil does, but they beat back a fair number of them on their own.

Which is why the ones they can’t are tricky.

Remus is Dark Creativity, he lives in the muck with the monsters. Thrives in it. Loves the way the gross and the unwanted and the sickening twist and turn about his realm, thrills in the horrified swoop in his stomach when something truly gruesome rears its ugly fuckin’ head.

What he can’t deal with is the fog.

The first time Virgil saw it, he honestly thought it was smoke. He thought Remus had set something on fire and panicked, reaching through to try and find the blaze, find Remus, find a goddamn fire extinguisher, but it was cold.

Like…really cold.

You know how when the air is really humid it feels like it has a weight to it? Like it hangs over you like a wet rag that you just can’t shake off?

Imagine that but cold.

Virgil shivers and reaches forward, trying to find Remus. He’s still never gotten used to it, even though he’s seen it so many times now. Remus doesn’t make it out of his room when the fog comes. He blames it on creative block but Janus always hisses gently when he says that.

“Remus? Remus,” Virgil calls using his tempest tongue, “where are you, buddy?”

He can’t see Remus yet, but the call did its work. The fog ripples in front of him, almost shying away from the sound waves as he moves. He keeps calling, keeps watching the fog almost flinch as it recedes from him. His voice grows louder, louder. The fog begins to retreat in earnest.

Finally, he sees Remus, curled up on his bed, staring at the wall. Virgil muffles a curse as he strides forward, crooning as softly as he can in tempest tongue while glaring furiously at the fog as it sheepishly retreats. As the last of it fizzles, Remus’s head comes to flop on Virgil’s shoulder.

“Hey, spider-ling,” he mumbles, “when’d you show up?”

“A few minutes ago.” Virgil brushes Remus’s hair off his forehead. “You looked upset, bud, wanted to come check on you.”

“Fucking fine,” comes the slur, signifying that Remus is anything but, “I’m fucking fine, babe.”

“You’re exhausted and cold.” Virgil scoops him up into his arms. “Come on. Let’s go find J. He’ll spoil you.”

Sure enough, as soon as Janus sees Remus lying in Virgil’s arms, he jumps up with a coo and takes the other side from him, lying him down on something warm and promising to get him something warm to drink. No, Remus, not engine fuel. Something safer, at least for right now.

Virgil stands at the door, waiting.

There’s an itch between his shoulders and another chill down his spine.

A cloud of fog emerges from down the hallway. From it, three shadow gremlins canter toward him.

He grits his teeth and braces.

The first one collides with his shoulder and he grabs it, squeezing until the shadow folds in on itself. The second hits his shin and he punts it into a wall, scooping the remnants and absorbing them. The third one vanishes in a quick shout of tempest tongue.

You’re not gonna get them, he thinks as he shouts the fog away, not on my goddamn watch.

The worst part of the Subconscious is the shadows.

Because they all have shadows. They all do. That’s just the nature of being an opaque thing and existing in proximity near light sources. Shadows are a natural by-product of blocking light, that’s it.

Wow, he’s been spending more time with Logan than he thought. Sweet.

But the Subconscious shadows are different. There’s no such thing as dark. Only an absence of light. There is no substance known as ‘dark,’ sure there’s dark energy or dark matter if you go the physics route, but there isn’t a thing ‘dark’ the way there’s a thing ‘light.’

If you looked at the Subconscious shadows, you’d believe otherwise.

They look normal. They look just like normal shadows. Something resting against the wall casts a shadow. Something moving in front of a window casts a shadow. Something sitting on the edge of the desk casts a shadow.

But these shadows move.

You have to pay such close attention to even catch them. You have to know precisely what on your desk is casting what part of the shadow when—hold on, what is that? Is it the water bottle? No, you pick up the water bottle and the cylinder two spaces across move. So you pick up the lamp and no, that’s not it either. You move your hand—your hand’s shadow is easy to track—and you move it to where it should be overlapping with whatever’s casting that shadow. You look closer. But there’s nothing blocking the light where your hand is, nothing between the light and the wall.

You stare at the shadow.

And then it moves.

See? They’re fucking terrifying. Like some Peter Pan gone wrong shit. Creepy, sinister, innocuous-looking, you’ve got to be constantly on guard to catch them. You have to be smart. These ones, out of all the Subconscious monsters, feel the most spiteful. Like they’re doing this on purpose, to terrorize the Mindscape.

That’s probably why they go for Roman.

Roman holds the barriers the most. Remus pushes them to reinforce them, but Roman draws the lines in the sand. Roman is responsible for keeping Thomas safe from the barriers breaking, is largely responsible for Thomas being able to see the Sides at all.

So of course the Subconscious hates him.

Roman is the only one who will summon Virgil when he thinks there’s something wrong. Sure, it’s never been quite as simple as Virgil showing up and Roman telling him he’s scared, he thinks something just moved. They used to just throw barbs at each other until Roman was distracted enough for Virgil to suck up the shadow, or fight until Virgil pointed out where it was and Roman said it was just a test, but they’re better now.

Virgil appears in Roman’s room and immediately looks around. Roman sits on the bed, his hands folded primly over the sword in his lap, polishing the pommel with forced calm.

“There are at least three,” he says, his voice perfectly even, “I can’t keep track of them anymore.”

“It’s okay, Princey,” Virgil says softly, turning and turning to try and catch them, “I’m here now. You did a good thing calling me. Are you alright?”

“I’m here,” Roman says, forcing a little false cheer into it, “not the biggest fan of what’s happening, but I’m here.”

Virgil smiles at him briefly before he sees the flicker.

There.

“Roman,” he says calmly, “I need you to go stand by the window.”

Roman gets up and walks to the window, sitting under the sill and closing his eyes. Virgil grits his teeth and makes his shadow overlap with the one on the wall.

It burns as he starts to absorb it, writhing in protest and screeching silently for the others to come help. Sweat begins to bead on Virgil’s forehead as two move shadows race to enlarge his silhouette. Goddamn, they’re vicious tonight. What the hell would they have done to Roman if he hadn’t called?

Not on my goddamn watch.

He’s panting by the time they’re gone, but he’s alright. He’s good. They’re gone. Roman is safe. He turns and opens his arms, letting Roman come and bury his face in the crook of his neck.

“Thank you,” Roman murmurs quietly, “sorry.”

“Don’t apologize, Princey, this is my job.” He claps Roman on the shoulder. “You did good too.”

Roman huffs. “I sat in the corner. That’s not much.”

“And you did great. Now come on, Pat’s making cookies.”

“Oh, right, is it Remus’s night to help?”

“Yeah.”

“Hmmm…maybe we should swing by and warn Logan first.”

“Good idea.”

+1.

Nothing’s happened in a while and Virgil is getting worried.

Normally the longest they go without an incident is a month, maybe, and then it’s normally back-to-back nonsense for like a week.

But it’s been three months. And nothing. No misty tendrils, no puddles of ooze, no snapping gremlins, no fog, no shadows. Virgil’s just about on the verge of running a round-the-clock patrol of the damn place just to make sure he doesn’t miss anything.

As it turns out, he needn’t have bothered.

Stupid, stupid. Idiot.

He fucking missed it. He fucking missed it.

All the other Sides had monsters that went after them specifically. Why should Virgil get left out?

The Subconscious hadn’t been stopping, or slowing down, no. It had been biding its fucking time.

And now…

Virgil scrambles backward, trying to keep himself between the door to the Imagination and the figure in front of him. They slash at him again and he dodges just in the nick of time. He winces, claps a hand to his chest, and literally feels his heart skip a beat as his hand passes right through.

He’s being absorbed.

The figure raises a dripping, shadowy arm and brings the weapon down again. Virgil can’t stop dodging long enough to get a good look at it. He only knows that it fucking hurts and that it’s draining him. Draining him back into the Subconscious.

If he can just keep it here, if he can just hold off long enough to figure out what to do—

Another slash comes down on his arm and he yells, tempest tongue dying in his throat. That one fucking hurt.

He throws a handful of dirt up just to see if maybe it will blind them or give them a moment’s pause but no. The dirt just sinks into it like some fucking nightmare vacuum. The next strike collides.

“Virgil? Virgil?”

“What the fuck is that thing?”

“It’s draining him, move!”

“Hang on, Virgil, we’re coming!”

“Don’t you fucking dare hit him again!”

The figure turns, only to jump out of the way when Remus’s Morningstar smashes into the ground where they had been standing. Remus growls, ripping it out of the soil and swinging again. The figure parries the blow only to let out an inhuman wail as Roman’s sword slices its arm.

“Get the fuck away from him,” Remus snarls.

“Back!” Roman swings again, driving them away from Virgil. “Back, foul beast!”

“Don’t insult them by comparing the beasts to whatever the fuck this is.”

Logan rushes up before Virgil can open his mouth to ask what the fuck is going on, dropping to his knees and pressing something warm to Virgil’s chest.

“Virge? Virge, stay with me,” he calls softly, “come on, it’s alright, we’re here now.”

“How—“ Virgil gasps as his chest starts to…resolidify? “How did you—what? How?”

“Oh, Virgil,” Logan murmurs, rubbing whatever the miracle thing on his chest is in small circles, “did you really think we never noticed that you were trying to fight them by yourself?”

Oh.

Oh, fuck.

“Shh,” he soothes, helping Virgil up into a seated position, “it’s okay. We’re not mad. Just worried. You’re hurt.”

“Fuck!”

“Just stab them, Ro.”

“I’m trying!”

Despite himself, Virgil huffs a laugh as he leans against Logan. “Are they—we should help.”

“You,” Logan says sternly, “will sit here and let me finish making sure you won’t be drained. The twins can handle themselves.”

Still, Virgil’s heart stays in his throat until he spies something else running up the hill. A shadow beast, a massive one.

“Logan, look out—”

Logan turns and—

Who the fuck gave Logan a gun?

The shadow beast has flopped over onto its side and dissipated, Logan already back to tending to Virgil’s wound but the time Virgil’s dizzy, half-drained brain figures out what just happened.

“You…you shot it.”

Logan quirks an eyebrow. “You sound surprised.”

“Remus!”

“Get back!”

“What the hell is it doing?”

“It’s growing, shit, Ro, we gotta fall back.”

“Guard Logan, check on Virgil, I’m right behind you!”

The twins rush up and form a guard around Logan and Virgil as the shadow figure swells. Virgil’s eyes widen as it growls, growing larger and larger and larger still until the shadows look strapped at the seams, fit to burst. It grows claws. It grows teeth. It grows more limbs than he can count.

It leers down at them and opens a gaping, black maw.

“Now!”

Roman crouches down to shield him as dirt flies up around them. Logan bends in too as something equally massive soars overhead. Virgil manages to peek between Roman and Remus to see a blur of green tackle the monster.

“Is that…is that Patton?”

“I believe it’s ‘Lily Pad-ton,’” Logan corrects wryly as the twins snicker, “but…yes.”

Judging by the roar of the monster, he’s doing something.

“Where’s Janus,” he hears Roman hiss, “he should’ve been here by now.”

“There!”

Remus points and Virgil spots a fucking enormous yellow snake unhinging its jaw. The monster howls as it starts to vanish down the snake’s gullet.

“Holy fuck.”

“I think Janny’s hungry.”

“Pissed off, more like.” Roman lays a hand protectively on Virgil’s shoulder, squeezing encouragingly as Virgil gasps at the contact. “Whatever that thing is hurt Virgil.”

Remus growls in assent.

The thing in Virgil’s chest starts to burn hotter. Logan shushes him gently as he whines in pain.

“It’s alright, Virgil, you’re almost done. We’re right here, just breathe.”

“You’re safe, sweetheart,” Roman murmurs as he starts to list side to side, “we’ve got you.”

“Nothing’s gonna fucking touch you,” he hears Remus snarl as he passes out, “promise.”

He comes to an indeterminate amount of time later, laid out on the couch, his head in Patton’s lap. He blinks.

“Hey, kiddo,” Patton murmurs, stroking his hair, “you feel any better?”

“Um, yeah,” he mumbles, turning a little and wincing at the pull in his chest, “what…what happened?”

“We won.” Roman pats his arm. “All safe now. You did great.”

“All I did was lie there.”

“Yeah, and you did great.” He winks.

Virgil’s gaze rolls around to catch Logan setting down a glass of water and crouching by his head.

“L?”

“You’re all better physically,” Logan says softly, “but it might take some time for you to feel like it. Just take it easy for a while.”

“And that means,” comes Remus’s voice from over the couch, “you gotta let us help defend you too.”

Virgil flushes. “But it’s not your job.”

“Are you insinuating that our job is not to take care of you?” Roman holds his hand to his chest in a mock gasp. “Because that is rude.”

Patton gives his hair a gentle tug. “We’re gonna look after you, kiddo, you deserve it.”

“I—um…” Virgil swallows heavily. “But if I dealt with it properly you wouldn’t have to.”

A soft hiss comes from the chair. Virgil looks and sees Janus sitting there, one leg crossed over the other. He smiles softly.

“You can let us help you, sweetie,” he murmurs, “rest for a little. Don’t try and take on the Subconscious by yourself.”

“…okay.” He squints. “Wait, why are you all the way over there?”

“Digesting,” Janus says, completely dignified.

Virgil snorts. “I’m just sad I missed it.”

“Oh, it was fucking epic.”

“Language, kiddo.”

“Oh, come on, you were great—“

Logan chuckles next to his head as Virgil drifts back off to sleep with a smile on his face.

…he is gonna ask who gave Logan a gun after he wakes up properly.

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lovesupernova25 · 3 years

Text

Broken Glass

a Quackity Oneshot

warnings: torture (non-explicit), blood, insanity, brief alcohol

i sat down at my computer, blacked out, looked up at 3 am and this was here. please enjoy. (idea from this one comment on this one tiktok that suggested that quackity uses the shape shifting powers some people hc him to have to torment dream. i’ll see if i can find the tiktok!)

~~~ *** ~~~

Quackity knew what broken glass felt like. He knew how it felt slicing up his hands, his face, being kissed into his skin. But this was the first time he knew what it felt like in his soul. Yeah- that's what this feeling was.

Broken glass.

Quackity didn’t turn around when he heard footsteps getting closer. He knew who it was already. No one else would be in this wasteland he’d built, anyways. No one was ever here.

“Q?” The rumble of Sam’s voice was concerned, almost hesitant. Quackity grabbed a bottle from the rack. “Quackity- you said it was urgent. What’s going on?” He turned, and the liquor slammed onto the counter. He might’ve relished the way Sam startled, on a better day. Quackity’s hands found the shot glasses, twisted the cap of the bottle. The neon blue that sloshed from the cup reflected the thunder in his gaze.

“Quackity, it’s still early-” But he tipped his head, knocked back the burning liquor. This time, Sam didn’t jump when the glass crashed down next to his hand. Quackity splayed his palms on the cool granite and leaned across to level his gaze with Sam’s.

“I need to visit the prison, Sam.”

Sam had the good sense to nod.

Maybe this was the wrong way to deal with things. Maybe strapping on armor and sharpening his knives wasn’t a healthy way to process his ex-fiances showing up trying to- what? Apologize? Make things ‘how they used to be’? If that was the case, they really were just mocking him. Nothing would ever be the way it used to.

It ended in a fight, of course. It ended in his already cracking heart fully giving out, splintering into a thousand shards like shattered fvcking glass. It ended in him envying Schlatt, because at least when his heart broke down he got to leave.

Quackity’s stuck here, with this void in his chest that keeps him floating oddly outside his body as Pandora swallows him whole.

They don’t even bother signing the waivers anymore. It would be ridiculous, at this point, especially since Quackity’s fully decked out in armor and tools. He guesses Sam’s just realized Quackity won’t be the reason Dream gets out of the hell they’ve so carefully crafted for him.

Levers, keys. The threshold to the heart of the prison is as claustrophobic as ever, but Quackity embraces the suffocating heat. There’s not much for his mind to wander on, here. There is the wall of lava, and there is the rasp of his boots on obsidian, and there is the rough leather pommel of his sword. There is, on the other side of the fire, a sacrificial lamb. Quackity grins and it hurts as the lava simmers down.

Sam says nothing.

“Dream…” He leans on the butt of his axe, looming, and his ears are still ringing with screams. “Wouldn’t it be so much easier to give me what I want?” He kneels next to the ragged lump of man on the ground and grabs his chin, forces it up. “C’mon… I would leave you alone then, right? I wouldn’t come, wouldn’t have to hurt you- you would get so much peace and quiet… you’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Quackity makes his voice honey, his hand gentle. Gods, he thinks he even sees Dream lean into the touch. It’s pitiful, what the admin has become. One of Dream’s acid-green eyes is bloodied and purple, swollen shut, and a cut on his face oozes crimson. His mouth is positively dripping with the stuff, courtesy of Quackity’s pliers and some molars that were just begging to be yanked. He can hear the ragged, wheezing breaths of the man in front of him and Quackity has never felt so sickeningly alive.

“Heh…” Dream flicks his working eye up to hold Quackity’s gaze. “No-” He coughs violently, wheezing and convulsing. The hacking subsides and he forces out; “No peace in death, Big Q. You’ll know that s-soon.��

Quackity’s lip curls. He stands abruptly, taking little satisfaction in the way Dream’s chin cracks against the obsidian.

“You’re pitiful.” This was supposed to help. He thought it did- when he funneled all the glass inside of him into the swing of his axe, the cut of his knife. When the voices in his head were drowned out by the screaming. But Dream was on the ground, bleeding and broken and still acting like he had the upper fvcking hand, and it turned out the glass had grown only sharper.

This isn’t working.

He paces to the back of the cell and yanks a tattered book off the lectern, flipping through it with a scowl. He’s about to chuck the thing in the lava--just to see if it’ll get a reaction out of its’ author--when a name catches his eye. Gingerly, he thumbs back to the page it was written on. Quackity feels so sick he grins when he finds it.

It’s not just one name. It’s hundreds. Some he doesn’t recognize, but most from this server. In fact- it looks like everyone who’s ever stepped foot in Dream’s land has been scrawled on the black-bleeding page. Quackity even thinks he sees his own name in there somewhere. They cover the page almost entirely in ink, written and rewritten and scribbled over each other.

George, Sapnap, Karl, Tommy. Tommy seems to be in there a lot.

Dream must have sat here for hours, scribbling the names of people he would never see again, alone in his personal hell. It’s sick. And something in the back of Quackity’s mind sparks.

“Dream,” He says, as the start of an idea appears. “How would you like to see your friends again?” He sees the confusion in the prisoner’s eyes and has to fight to keep from grinning. “Or… your old friends, I suppose. But I bet they still care about you, don’t you think?” He sets the book down, pacing towards the heap of blood-streaked orange jumpsuit with mock sincerity plastered over his face. His mouth twitches at the look in Dream’s eyes. There’s fear, suspicion, pain… but also, delightfully, hope. He can see Dream trying to crush it, but it’s there. Gods, Quackity could get drunk on that look. Maybe he already is.

“How do you think,” He leans over Dream, hands folded behind his back. “They would feel about you if they saw you now?”

Quackity really is grinning now. The axe wasn’t working, the knives weren’t working, the pliers only made Dream more determined. It was time for a new tactic. He feels that spark in the back of his mind and fans it, turning away from Dream as it grows. He hasn’t dipped into this ability for a long time--people don’t much like his kind--but the only person to see him now is barely human himself. Quackity closes his eyes as the fire washes over him.

When he turns around, he almost breaks character at the shock in Dream’s eyes.

“George?”

There’s so much raw hurt in his voice- gods, why didn’t he think of this sooner?

“Dream…” Quackity says in George’s voice. “Gods… what happened to you?”

“No… how- George-”

“I mean, everybody says you deserved it.” Quackity makes sure the revulsion is clear on his--George’s--face as he steps closer. “I guess you did… Still, though… this is a new low for you.” Dream is actually trying to push himself up now, trembling on wounded arms. “I mean, don’t you remember how things used to be? When we were all together? And now you’re… this. Not to be rude, Dream, but it’s kind of no wonder no one’s broken you out.”

“Stop, you’re… you’re not even real, I…” Dream screws his eyes shut, chest heaving. Aw. It looks like he’s starting to catch on.

“We were all happy, before.” He continues, letting the glass, the anger, slip back into his voice. “Like a family. And then you ruined it. All you’ve ever been is a parasite- it’s just amazing we didn’t notice sooner.” Quackity snarls with George’s face and he knows Dream can’t separate the illusion from reality. “You know what everyone says? They say good fvcking riddance.” Quackity--George--takes a step toward Dream with every word, until he’s sneering directly down at him. “I used to defend you. Down to the very end, I’d defend everything you did- all the wars, all the hurt, broken promises and broken hearts. I was loyal to you.” He shakes his head in disgust. “Not anymore. Now, I say good riddance with the rest of them.”

Quackity doesn’t know much about George and Dream’s history, but he knew they were close. And Dream, for all his boasting about cutting ties, has never truly let go. “I loved you, Dream. And look where it got us. You’re bleeding out in a cell, alone and powerless, and I…” Quackity turns. It’s a damn good thing he’s an amazing actor, or the look on Dream’s face might just make him lose it. It’s the same look he’s seen on just three people’s faces before; three people with worthless rings and broken promises to tie them together.

(“Didn’t you ever love us?”)

But Dream was right about one thing. Attachments are dangerous. And Quackity can wield them like a sword.

“I’m leaving. I don’t need you, Dream. And neither does anyone else.” His lip curls. “You’re worthless, Clay. I hope you rot.”

And the curtain falls.

Dream has pushed himself against a chest by now, heaving and trembling.

“Stop. Stop this, you’re not him, you’re not-” Another coughing fit seizes him and he hacks up blood.

“Wasn’t it a good performance, though? I think I was spot on, Clay.” Quackity leers, in his own voice now. Gods, that was exhilarating.

Dream rests his forehead against the chest, face contorted. “What do you want?” It sounds almost like a sob. Quackity’s smile drops.

“Oh, you know exactly what I want, Dream. You know exactly why I’m still here, and why you can barely stand.” He cocks his head, lip twitching up into a smile. There are a thousand names scrawled into that book, all of them knives sharpened to cut. Quackity’s just gotten started. “Let's see if someone else could encourage you more.”

Dream barely has time to look afraid before the fire has washed over Quackity again.

Lights, camera, action.

“...You always wanted to be remembered, huh.” Sapnap’s voice says. Dream closes his eyes, breath hitching. “You’d always play the hero, when we were kids. Make George and I be the villains every time.” His eyes have been on the ground, but he lifts them now, stares down the figure in the corner. “Look where that fvcking got us.” And this hurts both of them, Quackity knows- because he knows Sapnap’s voice, his mannerisms, the way he sounds when he’s devastated and the way he sounds when he wants to burn the world with rage. Slipping into his skin is as easy as breathing and feels like suffocating all at once.

“You promised me- you promised me this would be our world. That we’d stay together, that we’d finally be happy.” And it is too easy to let that heartbreak bleed into his voice, sprinkle it with the rage and hate of wasted memories.

(“You promised me we’d be happy together.”)

He paces towards Dream with a glare like wildfire. “Well guess what, Dream. I am happy now. This whole server is happier now.” Quackity yanks the man in the orange jumpsuit up by the collar and snarls at his whimper of pain. “Without you. Without your sick fvcking games, without your wars, without your broken promises!” He’s shouting now, and he can see the whites of Dream’s eyes, like a horse near a fire. Quackity drops him with Sapnap’s hands like a rat he’d been holding by the tail. “Do you remember the promises you’d make, Dream?”

And now Quackity feels himself shifting again, almost involuntarily. His voice pitches higher and demonic horns scrape the obsidian above them. “You promised me peace.” Quackity says in BBH’s voice. “You said we’d be safe, that we’d win the wars!” It’s almost sickening to take the form of someone whose mind he knows is long gone. Worth it, though, to watch Dream squirm. “Is this what peace looks like to you, Dream? I can’t even remember what your face looks like!” There’s desperation in his voice, though Quackity doesn’t even know if what he’s saying is true. For all he knows it could be. “I can’t remember,” He takes a step towards Dream, glowing eyes wide with horror “What my own face looks like.”

“Bad-” Dream’s voice is almost pleading. He doesn’t want to hear this.

Good.

"Every time I look in the mirror-” Quackity’s breath hitches, just for dramatic effect. “All I see is red. Crimson. I’m poisoned, Dream. Because that’s what this place does to people.” The fire is back, transforming him. Quackity doesn’t even try to control it this time.

“That’s what you do to people.” Ponk’s voice rings throughout the cell.

“You poison them.” Alyssa.

“You tear them down.” Fundy.

“You think you’re so powerful,” Punz.

“But in reality-” Skeppy.

“You’re. Just. A. Parasite.” Karl hisses at the god on the floor who bleeds red regret instead of ichor.

Quackity doesn’t know where the words are coming from, now.

(“This country- it’s like a parasite, Q!”)

His breaths come ragged. When the fire sweeps through him again, Quackity nearly burns away himself.

Sapnap’s voice is tired when he speaks with it.

“You were never the hero, Dream. Turns out, you were never even part of the story.”

And Dream is left a crumpled mess of grief and blood at his feet as the fire dies to ashes.

Quackity’s tired when he leaves the cell that evening. It’s the bone-deep exhaustion that comes from more than lack of sleep, and it drags at his limbs. Sam does not look at him, and Quackity wonders if he knows what horrors were used in that cell today. He somehow can’t bring himself to care.

It was cruel, he knows. He slipped into their skin and cut Dream to shreds with the broken glass at his fingertips, ripped open his soul instead of his flesh and took pleasure in just tearing something down. It was cruel, but so is (was) Dream, and so is the world he created. Everyone gets cut and everyone bleeds, and the only thing to do is hope that your weapon is sharper than theirs. He’s had that lesson seared into his mind and cut into his skin too many times. So today when Quackity leaves a trembling mess behind the wall of fire, he cannot see Sam’s eyes- but if he could, he thinks they would hold something like fear.

So he steps out into the night, and he smiles, sharp and painful as broken glass.

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