#source: city of lost souls

[amu-azu]

Azusa: If I were missing—

Kazami: He’d burn the whole world down till he could dig you out of the ashes.

#amuazu #azusa enomoto #rei furuya #amuro tooru #incorrect quote #source: City of Lost Souls by Cassandra Clare

[dcxdpdabbles]

Red Yummy

Based on the post by @spacedace. Basically it's a joke that Red Robin (the restaurant with the little jingle: Reeed Robin: Yummm.) Isn't a thing in the DC world but is one in the Phantom world.

The rip in the multiverse was an issue the Justice League was not at all prepared for. Sure they had incidents where visitors from an alternate universe have crossed over to their side or they have gone to one. There are times when they meet doubles of themselves, both as allies and as enemies.

They have been to different Earths, with different histories, different countries, and that one particular time, even different beings that ruled the planet.

It's always been an adventure where at the end of it, the doorway to both worlds is sealed shut, with little or no chance of it opening again. The friends they made. The sights they saw. All gone. Fine. Over.

That was, until a villain from a different world, attempted to attack Clockwork's Tower. The Justice League was not aware of Clockwork- Master of Time, Weaver of Realms, The Concept of Between- but they noticed that he had been attacked when other worlds started spilling into theirs.

People were falling through glowing green portals, stumbling into buildings that weren't there before. People who were just going out for walks would be zapped away and replaced with their confused counterparts.

Parts of the sky glitch into others, replacing the soft blue with brown or black, little patches scattering around the world. Cities vanish for a few hours, sometimes replaced by others sometimes not, and animals never before seen running amok.

It was a mess.

The League did everything it could to help, but it was hard to stretch their reach to the help then world when all reality was being thrown into a mixer and set on chaos.

A lot like busted pipes, the Leaugers would run to cover a leaking pipe only to have the water build up in another and burst there and then scramble to cover that one before the rising water drowned them all.

Thankfully the Justice League Dark was able to use magic and find the source of the leak. The Infinite Realms known as the web that linked all universes, are usually only accessible by the dead, or in Constantine's case having friends in high places.

"Ghost Writer owes me a favor," Constantine said while the rest of the Leauge watched a flouting green book descend from the sky. It flipped open, expanding into a gateway. The smoke of the book curled into little missy hearts.

"Ghost Writer?" Zatanna gawked "How did you get such a powerful, and notoriously recluse, being to owe you anything?"

"Let's just say, we both appreciate the finer things in life and that ghost has a rather fine ass" Constantine leered. No one had asked for any more detail, although Zatanna had the expression of someone who had bitten something sour the whole time.

Ghost Writer had given Constantine a warning that his power would only be able to protect five living souls. Any more would be at the mercy of the Infinite Realms'.

Humans that wandered into the Realms were more often than not driven into madness, became hopelessly lost, or had their souls swindled by beings that dwelled there. Not that it wasn't surprising.

After all, the living did not belong there, so of course they were a danger to the Realms' structure. Hell, there were rumors that a living being could produce fresh uncorrupted ectoplasm when killed or even kept like livestock.

Constantine did not want to find out if the rumors had any truth to them.

To be able to travel safely they had to fall under a powerful ghost's protection and Ghost Writers let them know to pick their five best.

It was decided that Constantine would go as their expert, Batman as their strategist, Wonder Woman as their diplomat and protection, Superman as second protection, and Zatanna as another magic user that could combat the dead.

The rest of the league remained, doing their best to hold their universe together as the team of five rushed off to put everything to right. It was agonizing not knowing what was happening or how the mission was going but they did what they could and placed their trust in the five.

Many of the Justice League didn't say it, but it was the remaining Bats that sort of kept everything afloat in their father's absence. Each one leads a group of young heroes, easily countering and controlling their self-appointed sectors of the world.

Nightwing and Titians.

Red Robin and Young Justice.

Red Hood and the Outlaws.

Oracle and the Birds of Prey

Robin and the Blades.

All five groups agree to use the Watch Tower as a central base to coordinate their defenses against the world falling apart. Trading information with each other quickly and efficiently, and using this new information to prepare for more ripples of universes, showcasing that Batman had taught them well.

Following their example, the rest of the Justice League did what they could to minimize the damage. It was on the second day of constant relief efforts that everything was snapped back to normal.

A giant wave of sound- the noise sounding a lot like a grandfather clock strick repeating over and over again- as things that were not meant to be in their world vanished and their own people and things returned.

The shy's patches were removed and the right color returned.

Even property damages that were caused by the incident were reversed as if reality falling apart was nothing but a dream. No wreckages to clean up, no people had gone missing, and best of all, no casualties had been taken.

The Leauge gathered around Ghost Writer's book watching it open as the five returned, cheering and screaming, giving them the proper hero's welcome. Then right behind their teammates, a second group followed through.

Three glowing figures, all dressed in the same black and white outfits, and a ship carrying four humans. Batman introduced them as the allies who helped defend Clockwork's Tower and keep the multi-universe from collapsing.

He did admit that just because it was no longer falling apart, it did not mean that the rip had been closed. In fact, it was the only thing left to do but it was proving to be difficult due to Clockwork himself not understanding why their world wasn't healing.

Clockwork couldn't leave the Realms for too long- if no one was there to keep Time running the same thing would happen all over again- but he did give them equipment that could in theory patch things up on their side.

They just needed someone who understood the equipment.

Team Phantom, led by Danny Phantom, one of the flowing figures was happy to volunteer. They would be staying for three years, to strengthen and rebuild their Universe structure.

Team Phantom consisted of Dan Phantom, Danielle Phantom, Jasmin Fenton, Tucker Foley, Samantha Manson, and Westley Weston. All young, kind, strong- Batman vouched for the non-powered members claiming they could go toe to toe with his kids- and all much to the joy of many young heroes- attractive. They played an essential role on the team, doing whatever their people and kind did to help Clockwork, staying out of the League's way.

They all seemed happy to live as close to civilians as possible and despite their strength and combat training, Team Phantom was more like a research party instead of a hero.

Since they would be there for three years- more depending on the Speed Force's effect on the timeline grumbles Tucker- the seven had chosen to set down some roots within their dimension.

The three Phantoms needed Ectoplasim to live- a rare substance in the Justice League's universe- so they chose Gotham as their new home. Batman was more than willing to allow them into his city, as long as they knew not to interfere with his work.

Things settled, The Justice League moved on to other missions and other issues while Team Phantom ran tests, gathered information, and worked on the timeline.

The only real issue Bruce had with Team Phantom, was that a majority of his kids were romanticly interested in them.

Dick's love-struck sigh, whenever Dan wandered by, would often lead to useless backflips in an ill-fated attempt to impress him.

Jason would conventionally be lifting weights shirtless whenever Jazz came by with an update report. Then he would mention some novel or other that had the girl's attention far better than his abs.

Steph had taken a very large interest in gardening and at the same time, started wearing shorter shorts and tighter tops because Sam seemed to adore flowers.

Cass meanwhile found every excuse there was to be dressed in the prettiest dresses she owned whenever Wes was anywhere near her. She even wore light makeup- a real sign of how much she was interested in the conspiracy theorist.

Duke seemed over the moon whenever Tucker asked for his personal help on anything technical-related. It did his son wonders that someone thought of him first when it came to tech- Duke has always been a bit self-conscious of his place among geniuses- would be all but speaking in poems to the bemused teenager.

Damian's crush on Ellie did melt Bruce's heart a little. It was his baby's first after all, but he wasn't sure if Damian's approach was doing anything. Put him on the battlefield and Damian could lead to victory. Put him next to a pretty young girl and all his son was capable of doing was stare and babble.

The only one that didn't seem to have a crush on Team Phantom was Tim. Which should have given him reassurance except for the small little detail.

"Red Robin" Danny sings upon Tim's arrival at the cave. Officially tonight they are all going over the results of the latest tests on the universe's structure. Unofficially Team Phantom had been invited over for dinner by Alfred and they were looking over the Batcave as their butler finished preparing the main course.

At once every member of Team Phantom raises their head, turning away from his love-struck children to his flustered son and singing "Yum" with wide smiles.

Tim's face goes bright red.

Apparently, Tim was their universe version of Adonis and Team Phantom had no issue with expressing how yummy they found Tim. Now Bruce isn't saying that he would be against Tim having more than one romantic partner- he has made sure to look up proper healthy poly relationships and given Tim a PowerPoint version of it.

It's just that he isn't sure how he's going to handle supporting one of his children while breaking the heart of another. Tim seems unsure how to handle so much romantic attention- he's had plenty of relationships before- but said attention is picking him before any of his siblings is a first.

Bruce knows that deep down Tim still struggles with thinking he's not as good as the others. That he really is just a placeholder in the long run.

Then there is the fact he isn't sure how their culture works. Is the singing like a mating call? Was there a chance they would earn the irk of Clockwork himself if Tim accidentally accepted their advances? Why was it always Red Robin and not just Tim himself that made Team Phantom go yummmm?

"Hi guys" Tim greets at least and Danny grins wider.

"Reeeeed Robbbbbin" " The ghost boy says throwing an arm over Tim's shoulders. Sam and Tucker surround them, making their voices sound strange as all three start singing, rocking Tim back and forth in a strange little dance.

"Yummmmm!"

From the corner of his eyes, Bruce makes out Dick's protective Older Brother's face, as his eldest starts marching towards the group with the intent of breaking them apart. He's been very vocal about putting an end to Team Phantom's flirtations if he saw so much as a hint of Tim's unease.

Except that Tim looked utterly bliss being pressed up against Danny. Maybe he should rethink Tim's disinterest in Team Phantom. The rest of his children looked murderous as more members of Team Phantom gathered around Tim also singing.

Bruce had to deal with this for three whole years. He can physically feel his hair turning greyer.

#dcxdpdabbles #dc x dp crossover #Red Yummy #In which Team Phantom is just singing a commercial #And the DC world think they all romantically like Tim #Tim is in fact into Danny #None of Team Phantom is aware of their admirers #None of them are exactlly socially popular back home they just think the Waynes are nice #Yes it was Vlad's fault #Bruce's pov #I JUST HAD TO WRITE IT #IT'S SO FUNNY

[milswrites]

The light which persists

~ Azriel X Fem!Reader

Summary: Azriel finds his source of happiness in the most unlikely of places.

Warnings: Smut 18+ Minors Dni (p in v)

It's strange how Azriel could identify the very moment in which his life had just changed forever.  All it took was one look, a second-long glance in your direction, and the shadowsinger was certain that his entire world had just shifted. Whether it be by the cauldrons design or his own, Azriel had no doubt that your fate was to be entwined with his.

It was unbeknownst to Azriel, how a flower as lovely as you could bloom in the toxic gardens of the Court of Nightmares. Yet here you were, sitting across from the male in this tedious meeting, a soft smile adorning your lips as Azriel admired you in all your beauty. A rose untouched by the thorns of her less than savoury counterparts.

The radiant aura you permeated acted like a beacon, a glowing light of warmth and comfort. Your bright signal subconsciously drawing Azriel into your safe harbour. He had yet to hear your voice and Azriel was already sure that whatever sweet nectar poured from your lips would coat his mind like honey, pulling him deeper still into the soothing waters of your tangible soul.

Azriel failed to register the dull words which Kier was speaking, his thoughts occupied by you and only you. In fact the shadowsinger found it impossible to tear his eyes from you. Afraid that if he were to do so for even a second, whatever hypnotic spell you had cast upon him would be severed and his world would be rudely shifted back to the mundaneness of its usual orbit.

Instead, his hazel eyes stayed locked on you, Azriel’s searching gaze committing your delicate features to memory. Noting the slight furrow of your brows knitting together and the growing pout of your plush lips as you listened to Kier’s absurd proposition, his chest tingling with satisfaction at the sight of the flames which flickered in your determined eyes. And when you finally spoke, each syllable which fell from your lips had Azriel clinging on for more, entranced by the power which laced every well-spoken word.

Azriel had only received but a taste of your presence and yet he was already addicted. The tantalizingly delicious way your light coursed through his veins was a feeling the male wished never to forget. He would bottle it if he could, squirrel away a piece of your light and take it back with him to Velaris so he could experience the high which had been gifted from you whenever the male wished.

And so, with your gravitational pull too mesmerizing to resist, the shadowsinger became a ghost in the ebony halls of Hewn City's palace. A shadowed phantom haunting the corridors, hoping to receive just a glimpse of your warming light with the goal of replenishing his well. Returning day after day to silently bask in the glory of your presence.

Even his shadows had fallen victim to your siren’s song, enraptured by the comfort your luminesce provided. The smoky tendrils slipping from Azriel’s control in order to seek you out and soak up the warmth of your prevailing light.

It was therefore no surprise when you noticed the new little followers who trailed after you like lost puppies as you walked through the winding halls of the palace of nightmares. Bringing you a warm satisfaction when you were able to return them to the blushing shadowsinger who always seemed to be hiding nearby.

It wasn’t long before the days where Azriel’s visits to the Court of Nightmares which were once filled with harrowing screams and cries for mercy were now few and far between. Instead, no longer needing to pine after you from a distance, his visits involved friendly walks through the gardens in Hewn. The twisted vines and dull flowers failing to hold a candle to the beauty which was you.

Azriel’s senses were right that day he had first met you, it was destined for both of your fates to be intertwined. Far behind were the days of being strangers, and soon, so were the days of being friends. The shadowsinger’s growing love for you was why it didn’t take long for the cruel city to become one of Azriel’s favourite places to be.

It was the highlight of Azriel’s day, wandering through the winding avenues of Hewn City as he made his way to your home under the cover of his obedient shadows. Following the faint glow which led him through the familiar streets, its presence holding the draining aura of the wretched city’s air at bay until he had safely passed through the threshold of your home.

And just like the day he first met you where you knocked his world off kilter with only one glance, a single look at your beaming face as he entered was all Azriel needed to feel the worries of his arduous day start to slowly ebb away.

A single look being enough to remind the male just how in love with you he had grown to be. Thankful that the prayers whispered from the dark cage of his childhood had finally been answered, because the gods have given him you.

Only you had the power to illuminate his life. Your presence a lighthouse which called him back from the festering darkness of where he once inhabited. Azriel could withstand anyone, any place, even the looming evil of the Court of Nightmares, if only it meant he was weathering them with you.

One look was all it took to muddle his senses and scramble his thoughts. Clearing Azriel’s mind of all the sweet things he had planned of saying to you as his lips came to meet yours instead.

Azriel kissed the same way he fought, rough and calculated. Each skilled brush of his tongue and sinful nip to your swollen lips done with the intention of drawing sounds of pleasure from you. But Azriel didn’t only kiss to please, every swirl of his warm tongue sought to absorb more and more of your comforting light. The two of you locked in a passionate kiss which was only growing wilder as he attempted to sate his never-ending hunger for you.

His scarred hands explored every inch of your body that they could possibly reach as his salacious lips moved to devour the soft skin of your neck, sucking and biting at your sensitive flesh until the purple marks of his labour began to appear in the wake of his reddening lips. Pleased with the desperate manner of which Azriel was attacking your neck you teasingly pulled away from the male, lips pulling into a smile as you goaded him, “What no hello? You’re not going to ask me how my day has been?”

Groaning at the distance you had created between you, Azriel closed the space once more, leaning forwards until his lips tantalizingly brushed against your ear. Using his teeth to gently tug on your lobe until his lips upturned into a cocky smirk, his hot breath sending shivers down your spine as he spoke lowly, “Why should I when we both already know that your day is about to get a whole lot better?”

“Confident in your skills are we?” you teased, not missing the twinkle which flashed in Azriel’s lustful gaze.

“Why don’t I show you?” Azriel asked, hovering his warm lips over your own, your sultry eyes glancing up at him through the shadow of your eyelashes, “And then you can tell me just how good my skills are.”

Azriel fucked well, there was no doubt about it.

Having done the act with him hundreds of times you were familiar with his unforgiving pace and the brutal force behind his thrusts. Azriel fucked like a man starved, seeking to steal every ounce of pleasure from you possible with each wild snap of his hips.

Yet tonight something was different, Azriel still drew the same cries of strangled pleasure from your lips, though his hips worked at a slower pace. The male taking his time to tear you apart, the leisurely pounding of his cock into your heat working to slowly bring you to your completion.

Tonight Azriel wasn't just fucking you, he was making love. His eyes, once blown black with lust, were now filled with an emotion you couldn't quite decipher and each languid thrust of his insatiable hips pulled soft moans and whimpers from your mouth. Your sounds matched by the shadowsinger's strangled groans escaping from his own lips at the newfound softness of the moment.

His stable hands entwined with your own, fingers laced together as he gently moved your hands to rest on either side of your head. Trapping you beneath him as he patiently drew you closer and closer to your high. Azriel was an expert of torture, never failing to stop the arduously slow rhythm of his thrusts no matter how much you cried for him to go faster.

The heat from his loving gaze becoming too difficult to withstand at the steady pace he was keeping and so you snapped your begging hips to meet his, allowing his cock to hit that sweet spot inside your core, urging the male to seek his high quicker.

A low rumbling laugh tore from his mouth, that cocky smirk once more returning to his lips as he continued his torturous pace. "So good for me princess," he crooned, his words stirring the butterflies in your stomach, aiding to pull you closer and closer to the high you were nearing, "You take me so well." The regular pulse of his hips unwavering, the repeated rhythm inching you closer and closer to satisfaction.

"Keep your eyes on me" he warned as the blissful wave of release began to wash over you, a scream of pleasure escaping from your lips as he finally began to speed his thrusts, "Don't stop looking at me my love."

It was Azriel's turn to reach his high, but it wasn't just satisfaction he was chasing, it was the glowing ball of light which stemmed from you that Azriel longed to absorb. Each mighty thrust working towards reaching that light, growling with the effort of reaching his completion.

Once he had found it, and that familiar golden glow had settled in his chest, Azriel's hunger was sated as his high washed over him and he spilled into your aching core. Panting in time with you as he carefully drew his cock from your heat and pulled your aching body into his soothing embrace, whispering sweet words of affirmation into your ringing ears. Aiding in bringing you down from your crushing high.

It was in the wake of his overwhelming pleasure, still inebriated by the intoxicating feel of your warming light, that the words slipped unceremoniously from his lips. "Come with me" he blurted, that unknown emotion from earlier still dancing in his begging eyes.

"What?" you asked breathlessly, unsure what it was that the male was asking for. Sensing their master's wavering nerves, his shadows had made their appearance. Slowly travelling across your heated skin, their soothing caress, acting to cool your burning flesh.

"To Velaris" he explained, the words leaving his mouth with a anxious gulp, "Come with me to Velaris."

Your eyes blow wide at his question. Thoughts becoming clear as the wave of your pleasure retreated. It was love you had seen in Azriel's stare, which you had felt in his passionate thrusts and searing kisses. Love which fueled his shaking nerves at the prospect that your answer would be anything other than yes.

"You deserve so much more than this cursed city" he continued, gentle hand coming to meet your cheek, his grounding touch drawing you from your tempestuous thoughts, “The world deserves to see so much more of you, you’re wasted here. This city, it just kills off everything good, everything pure. You deserve to live, to share your light with likeminded people."

"My light?" you questioned, not quite understanding what it was that Azriel was trying to convey.

Azriel moved the now shaking hand which was settled on your cheek to rest against the center of your chest, taking a few minutes to absorb the steady beat of your heart before continuing to speak.

"I don't know what it is, or why it's there. But I see it, the same light I only ever see on one day of the year, on Starfall. It calls to me, you call to me. . . I don’t know if we are mates, but I just get this feeling, the same one I felt on the day I met you, that this light was made for me. That it’s guiding me towards something. . . towards you.”

You looked down to where his hand was resting but was disappointed to see there was no light shining, yet the intensity of your lovers gaze already told you everything you needed to know.

“Is it there now?” You ask, noting the way Azriel’s hand had stopped trembling at the realisation that you believed him.

“Yes” he smiled softly, and whilst you couldn’t see the light yourself you could have sworn you saw the reflection of a warm glow in his hazel eyes, “it’s always with you, like my shadows.”

As if answering their masters call his shadows had begun to swirl around where his hand was placed, you could only assume they were dancing with the mysterious light that Azriel had likened them to.

“So Velaris huh?” You ask, looking deeply into Azriel’s hopeful eyes, “When do we go?”

And with those four words all of Azriel’s wishes had come true. The male no longer needing to bottle your calming light, sipping at his reserves until he was blessed with your wonderful presence once more. No, this time when he left he would be bringing his star to Velaris with him. To his home.

#acotar #fanfic #acotar imagine #sarah j maas #a court of thorns and roses #azriel x reader #azriel imagine #azriel #azriel oneshot #azriel smut #azriel shadowsinger #azriel acotar

[vln-vibes]

Heroes Hunted

(I need to finish my other fics before thinking of others Q^Q)

Basically we've seen quite a few Danny getting hunted down by the GIW and ending up in Gotham resulting in him warning certain Bats (mainly just Jason) that hes in danger as well--- but what if the GIW decided to target 'smaller fish' in order to train themselves against Phantom; their main target.

Unfortunately Team Phantom is too busy trying to keep the calm around Amity Park and don't realize it until they're too late.

The JL never see them coming.

The Bats are frantically looking for what should be their literal assassin trained Robin, Red Hood and Black Bat.

Supers are flying around the area looking for any trace of Supergirl and Superboy (I). Not even Tim's trackers on Conner show anything (just like the ones he had on his fellow Bats).

Arrows had sent Green Arrow and Arsenal to help with the search of the Bats, Roy leaving Lian behind with Dinah, only to drop off the face of the Earth.

The Flash, Blue Beetle and Hawkwoman are all reported as MIA.

An Emergency Meeting is announced and trying to get into contact with all the other fellow heroes. Some were known to be off planet but there were a few who'd failed to respond at all...

Batman is the first to realize a common factor to all those who've disappeared as most had concluded something or someone was targeting heroes.

They'd all died.

Diana was the one to bring forward worst news; the hunt wasn't done.

Impulse, Red Robin, Cyborg, Hawkman, Batman, Superman and Wonder Woman herself were possible targets as well.

Cyborg was able to recover and corrupted and dropped emergency call from Barry "Those weirdos in white from earlier are attacking downtown, could use some backup asap. Something about Anti-Ecto Acts or whate-- Hey! Ugh"

A shiver went down their spines as they collectively told stories about spotting men in white suits walk around their cities. Some had brushed them off whilst others had kept tabs but the guys seemed to have lost interest and left.

It was a terrible oversight.

"Looks like some assholes are digging their noses into my turf, gonna stake them out tonight" Jason had told Bruce the last night they'd seen each other, "My guys they were wearing white suits, terrible choice for Crime Alley or Gotham"

Red Hood had said he didn't need backup as he would just gather intel, still that was also the night Black Bat and Robin were paired for patrol and she'd indicated she'd check in on him before the end of the night. The three never got to call in for the night.

Oracle had informed him that Red Hood's helmet had detonated, fortunately without him in it, its location the last place his children had pinged in the scanners.

The only audio they managed to recover from the device was "---Control Act, Article 1, Subse---Under Arrest---Questioning... And experimenting lots---"

Oracle had finally found the 'Anti-Ecto Acts', formally known as the Federal Anti-Ecto Control Act hidden along laws against the privatization of new green energy sources; Anything that was made off of or produced this so called 'ectoplasm' was to be handed over to the federal government's Ghost Investigation Ward for imprisonment, experimentation and finally termination.

"What the hell even is ectoplasm?"

"Its the source of all ghosts" Zatanna spoke up, repulsion clear as she read and reread the acts words, "Their body and souls are made up of the energy much like atoms make up all things in the physical world. The energy of the dead"

"According to these documents" Red Robin pulled up a research paper around two decades old from some students of the University of Wisconsin, "Ectoentities or ghosts are unfeeling, nonsentient echoes of their formerly living selves. They'd even theorized a means to access their home dimension they call the Ghost Zone"

"Ghost are made of bloody emotions" Constantine rolled his eyes "What kind of idiot would think otherwise? And don't get me started on a 'home dimension'--unless?"

"John, you don't think?"

"I sure as bloody hell hope not"

"The Infinite Realms!?"

Which only proved the situation more dire; a potential for a dimension that glued the multiverse and their afterlives, whose beings all had potential of rivaling the strength of a Super when provoked, their noted territorial nature making that a given if a portal happened upon them.

They were on a ticking time bomb to rescue their fellow heroes but they didn't even know where to start. Luckily they weren't the Justice League for nothing---

Potential locations scouted, teams made and buddy systems enacted for those potentially targeted.

Batman and his team headed to Amity Park to check on the three researchers of those papers-- Madeline Walker, Jack Fenton and Vladimir Masters. Background search revealed that Madeline and Jack had gotten married and had two children Jasmine and Daniel.

It wasn't until they crossed the town border in the dead of the night that their systems pinged the Fenton children were reported as runaways-- and not just them. The local high school had shut down as children were reported missing or also runaways from their parents. Even the faculty and some parents had begun to disappear.

Those that remained were kept under strict curfew by marshal law-- the GIW had the town under their control.

Just what exactly had they stumbled upon? Could their comrades be hidden somewhere in this small midwestern town?

Their theories were proven right the following night when tapping into their communication line about the 'aggressive subject G-02' and how 'it' had managed to break some arms when it had been relocated to the Fenton's personal lab. The 'unfortunate' Agent H who'd tried to yank it by its black and white contaminated hair had gotten his nose broken for it. It was scheduled for biopsy tonight.

Batman couldn't help but taste the bile make his way up fearing/knowing who G-02 was.

His Team was right behind him in the change of plans as they made their way across town as covertly as they could; it seemed as though after finding out about G-02 (it couldn't be him, he couldn't put a name to him lest he let his fear override everything) Batman pinged on more and more of their ghost detectors.

Disabling was taking too long, loathe he admit, as they devolved to destroying as discreetly as they could.

Finally they could see the garish neon of the FentonWorks logo, the steps and door to the house were covered in ectoplasm and another familiar substance-- handmarks, clawmarks, clear signs of resistance could be made out.

And then Fentonworks went up in a flame and red and green.

Batman couldn't keep in his desperate cry. Not again! Please not again...

#dpxdc #dcxdp #dpxdc crossover #crossover fic #heroes hunted down for a change #or is it just heroes? #things just keep happening #not good things #things get better #eventually #dp x dc fic #disregard canon do phanfiction

[growingstories]

Truck driver

Once upon a time in the beautiful Midwestern city of Springfield, there lived a handsome young man named Jack. Jack was the epitome of Midwestern charm with his friendly smile and muscular physique. He was a star college athlete, playing as a quarterback for his university's football team.

One fateful day, after a heated argument with his coach over game strategy, Jack's anger got the best of him. In the heat of the moment, he threw a punch at his coach, an act that not only cost him his college career but also left him feeling lost and disheartened. With dreams shattered and a tarnished reputation, Jack was forced to forge a new path for himself.

With limited options, Jack found solace in the open road. He landed a job as a truck driver, which took him on a journey through every state. The long days of driving and the monotony of the road began to take a toll on him. To cope with the loneliness, Jack turned to food as a source of comfort.

As he feasted on trucker meals at rest stops and indulged in greasy fast food, his once defined six-pack abs slowly disappeared under layers of fat. The lack of time and opportunity for exercise meant his physique suffered.

One sunny afternoon, at a gas station in a small town in Nebraska, Jack's eyes met those of a petite, beautiful girl named Lily. She worked at the shop and had a radiant smile that captivated him instantly Jack and. Lily's encounters became frequent, and enough soon, a connection blossomed between them.

Lily noticed Jack's growing waistline and decided to join his journey. Whenever he made a stop at the gas station, she would lovingly pack him her homemade nutritious lunches, replacing the trucker's meals he had grown accustomed to. The hearty meals nourished Jack's body and soul, providing him with both sustenance and the love he craved.

As time passed, Jack's newfound love for Lily and her cooking combined with his old love for indulgent trucker meals led to a significant weight gain. His once-toned physique had transformed into a big, round gut that almost struggled to fit into his truck's seat. To Jack's surprise, Lily loved his bigger frame and encouraged him to embrace his new size.

Eventually, a career opportunity closer to home opened up for Jack. With the new position, he was able to spend more nights at his own bed, near Lily. The gas shop girl, now his girlfriend, continued to shower him with affection and meals. The convenience of being at home allowed Jack to truly embrace his newfound love for food, and he happily indulged in Lily's delicious cooking.

Days turned into months, and Jack's appetite continued to grow. The combination of Lily's tasty meals and his love for craft beers at motels led to him expanding further. His large gut now overtook his entire abdomen, making everyday activities a bit more challenging than before.

Despite the physical toll it took on him, Jack was content with his life. He cherished the love he shared with Lily and reveled in the joy of good food and good company. He had found happiness amidst the open road and the delicious meals that awaited him along the journey.

And so, Jack continued to drive his truck through the beautiful landscapes of the Midwest. His once fit and muscular physique may have faded away, but his spirits soared as he embraced his larger, fuller self alongside the woman who loved him for who he was. After, all his love for food and companionship were what truly filled his heart.

#fictionalweightgain #maleweightgain #maleweightgainstories #weightgain #weightgainstories #fictionalstories #wg fantasy #wg fiction #ai art #ai generated #ai image

[louebel]

— [ 𝐂𝐀𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐒𝐈𝐒. ]

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: trafalgar law × gn!reader 𝐢𝐧𝐟𝐨/𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬: 1,655 wc. mentions of the law novel and spoilers for his backstory, descriptions of his trauma, panic attacks, angst, hurt with comfort, law slowly tries to embrace his past, rushed + not proofread. divider by @ benkeibear. 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: law has a nightmare. he appreciates your comfort.

“Hnn..!”

It was one of those nights again.

Sweat tumbled down his temple. No source of light. The polar tang was deep in the abyss. Your soft snores. The blanket hooding you both.

His hands were shaky. His chest was pounding. His lips agape.

“U—uh…”

Just a dream. Just a dream. No.

Not a dream. Reality. The past. Their corpses. The ruins of his city. Bestowed upon him, the laments and dirges of Flevance. They chanted and howled, damned souls who shrieked and condemned the morose government, a newborn Canto VI; Dante’s most passionate inspiration. Mystical, a fantasy, but no dream it was. No, it was not.

If only it could be.

The repugnant fetor of sulfur and acrid smog, ingrained in his nostrils, the buzzing of the flies as he walked among the stench of methane. It was a remote remembrance, clear as a fragile vase of glass, one that would shatter over and over and make his sluggish heart weep, no matter how many times he fixed and carried it. A life torn piece by piece by what was, and is, the ruthless world.

Gone were the days he could live free from his mind, the faces of those he yearned to meet once more, nothing but an ignis fatuus, one that served heartache and warmth in unison. Acerbic, pungent, more than any fruit, acidic upon his tender skin, spilled upon his skull and dissolved it without an ounce of control.

His favorite comics brought dolor. What was formerly one of his dearest pages developed into the fuel of his insecurities, thoughts.

“Look, brother! Sora didn’t die! I told you he wouldn’t!”

His sister’s giggles, nebulous; muffled, lost in time.

“Is it clear, Law? If you’re uncertain, tell me, alright? I’ll explain it to you as many times as you need.”

His father’s lessons but a distant reminiscence.

“Like this, sweetie. You’re a fast learner! Look at you, my smart baby. Mommy’s always here.”

His mother’s delicate hands guiding him, now a phantom.

His childhood companions’ cheering whenever he scored the max on a test, quieter than the gale. The nun’s concerned gaze when he carried Lami and asked to bring her home when she got wounded, forever gone. Corazon’s clumsy scenes he wanted to see again. His smile.

“I love you, Law!”

All their unconditional love.

Love. Love.

He shut his eyes.

How much he craved it. Tore apart in a single night, shredded in another after so thoroughly rebuilding it. And now here he was, trying again. But oh, was it difficult. His breathing often faltered, one false move able to destabilize him. Reconstructing it with paper was an enterprise. A fragment given by each of the people he met — little ones by the citizens in Swallow Island, bigger ones by Wolf, Bepo, Penguin, Shachi, his crew, and what survived of his fractured history was utilized as a base. Yours was almost a blanket. It was a prodigious sheet.

They all supported themselves simultaneously. But it wobbled. A lot. Often he couldn’t manage it. Terrified, alone, as he watched all his efforts about to topple. But it never did.

“… Law?”

Oh no. He woke you up.

“Go to sleep.” It came almost like a snap — to not show he was suffering.

Just go to sleep. Don’t bother with him. Don’t.

“Well… now I won’t do that.” you groggily said, his fingers clenching as you propped yourself up with an elbow. “Nightmare?”

You couldn’t see him in the darkness, but he was still an open book. He couldn’t lie to you, nor did he want to. He tried his best to change his mannerisms and patterns.

You’re his partner. Not a stranger.

“Yeah.” he exhaled tremulously, thorns in his throat.

He heard the rustles, the heat of your frame radiating against his. He couldn’t see you, but he imagined you — feeling your massages and head upon his shoulder. It tickled his neck a little.

“Mh. Baby … it’s okay. It’s okay.”

Obscurity and death clutched him with crisp, meager bones and itching shadows. However, a minor light banished them all; tender, so generous. That sound, yours… Fleeting fingers and honeyed pampering.

His droopy and heavy eyelids fluttered open, those golden eyes that carried unspoken anguish all but courageous; what was a mask he got used to wearing now sunk in the void, crystal tears brimming and gushing down his visage, scrunched up and full of lineaments. Quakes wracked his body, hisses leaving his quivering lips.

“I—I…” Nothing came out. Yet your arms remained still around him.

“Sh … Slowly honey. Take your time. I’m here.”

Here. With him.

“I… I’m so sorry. So sorry. Please forgive me. Please.”

Oh, that poor, poor man … What did he do to deserve this? To experience a catastrophe?

“M—Mom… Dad…”

“Law, hey—”

“La—Lami, Cora… Cora-san..!” He couldn't stop. As one sob wrenched from his lungs, another came, and another, and another, and another. His spine twisted, facing down; curling against you, your lips on his brow.

"Law." You called him gingerly, smoothly, hugging him close. Don't let me go, was all he thought.

"It's not your fault. Never. It's okay. Shh… Honey, hey… It's okay baby, it's okay. You're okay. Shh… Look at me."

And he did. Your palms seemed so much more real. An opportunity, some place to run. A light.

"There we go. Good job sweetie. It's okay. You're okay. It's not your fault."

"… N—not …"

"Not your fault. Never your fault, sweetheart. Everything is okay."

"… Mh. Mmhm."

He responded, unable to form coherent sentences, and cradled you close like a lifeline — the only anchor in this storm. You held him just as tightly, grazing his tense, knotted back. He was shuddering so much.

"Good job. That's my Law. Shh…"

It hurt. It truly did. To catch him like this, to see him so bare. No child, person, should ever go through such horrible things — you remembered how you both cried when he opened up. That confidence he wore for all of his crew finally crumbling at the ounce of vulnerability the universe granted him.

Shachi and Penguin never mentioned it. They divulged tales about Swallow Island — but they kept quiet about Law's other past, respecting his privacy. Bepo was a bit more clumsy with his sayings, information slipping from his fangs before he could stop it. (He'd quickly cover his mouth, a little squeak escaping it.)

When Law revealed everything, it was chaotic. You both had an argument some hours before. You were shocked he didn't crumple in your arms.

Seldom you’ve seen him cry.

"They—they would've liked you," he mumbled between hiccups, the tinge of nostalgia palpable.

"Law…"

"I wish you could've met them. I- I really wish they were here." They’d be proud, wouldn’t they? He could’ve worked with his father. His mother. Lami would’ve been a wonderful nurse or a doctor. Corazon would have joined him.

In another life, perhaps. Now the Rose held them.

"I wish I could've met them, too. I know you miss them… But they're—" his skin molded under your pointing finger as you pressed right on his sweet, scarred heart, "—right here. Forever. They're proud of you. I know they are."

"… I … hope so." he believed so, too — but saying it felt too egoistic of him. If you knew, you’d knock his head. He could tell.

"No no, baby. They are. I'm proud of you, too. So proud. Okay?"

He breathed deeply, nodding slowly.

"Okay. Okay."

“Good. You’re getting better,” you assured him, and those words never felt more gratifying. He had to be kind to himself. Gentle. The mind is fragile. He hopes — no, he knows you’d forgive him for being harsh on himself before. He knows. He knows.

“I try. I do. It's so hard, though,” he sniffed, resting his forehead on yours, to feel your warmth, your breath, your vitality, his "Beatrice", “they went too soon, sometimes I wish I could’ve followed them.” he admits, and your eyes grow more compassionate.

“But … my friends. My crew. The people I’ve met. What my family would want, Corazon’s wish. You. I’m glad to be here,” he says, taking deep breaths between. He’s safe in your arms. He can go at his own pace.

“Are you glad to be alive?” Some might see your question as idiotic, but Law knows the difference.

“That … I cannot tell. Sometimes I still feel like I don’t deserve it.”

“Mh.”

It was rather quiet after that. Only your breathing and his. The stirring of your pajamas. The hushed buzzing of the submarine.

It was welcome, though.

“Change is complex,” he then spoke, looking at you with a glimpse of hope. “but … I’m willing to try. I have to. For the crew, for you, for—for me.”

Tranquility took him when you smiled, something unlocking in his spirit. It wasn’t onerous anymore.

“Good. Especially for you, honey. We appreciate you being so tough, truly, but…” you brushed your lips on his jaw and peppered soft, tiny kisses. “There's nothing wrong with being weak. We all are. If you fight it, it hurts. It’s just us. Our feeble little selves. Give yourself a break from time to time. You are doing well.”

Law deeply appreciated your snogs, his frantic heartbeat calming. You led him down onto the mattress again, covering both your forms with the blanket.

“Let go, honey. Cry. And don’t hold back. You’re safe now.”

Tender murmurs filled the night. Law's head rested in the crook of your neck. His frightened mourns eased, his restless limbs no longer a problem — caresses and soothing, calm words eased the poor child, who wanted nothing but to live in peace.

And so he reached Eden, your pious hand accompanying him to Paradiso.

#one piece x reader #one piece x you #one piece imagine #one piece scenario #trafalgar law x y/n #trafalgar law x reader #trafalgar d law x reader #law x reader

[lamuliz]

Hi, I'm an artist like you, but not yet.

I don't know what sources to trust. I want to know the names of those lost in Gaza. Do you know any reliable sites or news anchors that are spreading the truth and not misinformation about the severity of this genocide.

My city is convinced that this war isn't "that bad" but I don't believe them, most of the local news either never talks about it EVER or states that it "isn't that bad" once again! Maybe a sob story about a poor american person held hostage but never the people who's familes are being torn.

Thank you for reading this and any advice you have about spreading true awarness, I love your MCYT videos, they always make my day :)

During the first weeks of the aggression, Gaza's health ministry -upon being called "untrustworthy" by the U.S president Biden- released this list of the names of more than 6,000 souls killed by Israel

After this list was published, Israel raided the Al-Shifa hospital. Their following attacks on the remaining hospitals in Gaza has greatly damaged the health system. The current death toll is 25,000+ people, with more presumed dead under the rubble.

For someone that's just starting to learn about the Palestinian issue, (mainly about the ongoing aggression) I'd recommend journalists in Gaza. I will list a few instagram accounts:

CW: All of these accounts include sensitive content

Eye on Palestine

Motaz Azaiza

Hind Khoudary

Yosef Basam

Plestia

Martyrs of Gaza on twitter talks about those who have been killed in the current aggression, along with short stories and parts from their lives.

To learn about the historical context of everything, i strongly recommend you visit this website

The Middle East's suffering has unfortunately been normalized in an effort to stop the world from speaking up against injustice. But it seems like the Palestinian resilience is waking people up now. It's good to see people being eager to learn about all of it. Let's make activism a part of our lives so this stops being an uncomfortable conversation and starts being a learning experience and inspiration for us to change the world for the better.

#palestinian genocide #palestine #gaza #gaza genocide #free gaza #gaza strip #free palestine #from the river to the sea palestine will be free

[anemoi-i]

Venti’s Presence in Mondstadt and in Lore: A Comprehensive List

Barbatos is an Archon that does everything in secret and wants virtually no recognition for it. Desiring not to become like Decarabian, he "disappeared" so Mondstadt could be free and without a ruler, yet he has still done what he could to retain Mondstadt's peace. Here is a comprehensive list of everything of note that he has done.

Disclaimer: I may miss details. Some things such as character voice lines about Venti, save for Xiao’s are largely omitted. All sources are present.

I. Wind Gliders

“The ability of wind gliders to glide is reliant first and foremost on the Blessing of the Anemo Archon. Of course, it’s also been intertwined with human engineering.”

Wings of Companionship

II.  But I do not intend to make my readers think that we could do without archons. On the contrary, say, if Barbatos had not guided the warm monsoons to Mondstadt with his divine powers, would Mondstadt still be so bountiful as to produce the brews that it does?

The answer would be no. Mondstadt is an inland city and would have struggled to provide for itself if not for the grace of Barbatos. If we look back through history, we learn that Mondstadt is situated on a land that was once frozen, where the living conditions were harsh and brewing would be virtually impossible. It was the power of Barbatos that changed everything.

Along With Divinity: Prologue

III. The songs that had once flown joyfully in the wind were drowned by a venomous dragon [Durin]. In the wake of its earth-shaking footsteps, even the cries and the flames were ripped asunder. The Anemo Archon heard their agony, though he had refused to rule. But to protect his old friends' dream, and defend the wind-kissed fields of green,He woke from his long slumber anew, and with the sky dragon [Dvalin] in battle he flew...

Elegy For The End

IV. In ancient times, Barbatos softly strummed his lyre and summoned the pure thousand winds and songs. Charmed by the free-spirited winds and songs, Dvalin the high dragon descended and swore loyalty to him. Barbatos rejoiced in making a new friend, and entrusted the people of Mondstadt to Dvalin. And so, the wandering Anemo Archon and the Wind Dragon forged Mondstadt's dawn with their relationship.

Skyward Harp

V. On the cliff facing the eastern sea, the ancestors worshipped the masters of Time and Anemo together. The two are intimately related, as expressed in the saying, "Anemo brings stories while Time nurtures them." This bow tells the story of the pioneers and the hardships they went through.

Sacrificial Bow

VI. When Mondstadt was born anew, and the Church finally unshackled, the scriptures of the winds could bear no longer being confined to a shelf, and so the book took flight, left the Church's treasury and was gone. Like the winds of Mondstadt, and like the people of Mondstadt, it belonged to freedom and the winds. The elegant handwriting on the title page reads:

Children of the Anemo Archon, heed these words:

From the winds we have come, and with the winds we shall go.

Never, ever grieve for me.

'Tis but my flesh and bones which rest in the soil:

My soul has become one with the thousand winds.

When flowers bloom, when leaves sway,

That is me who sings the songs of freedom, of the winds.

Lost Prayer to the Sacred Winds: Scriptures of the ancient winds, passed from generation to generation among the observers of ritual in service of the Anemo Archon.

VII. The Skyward Atlas consists of 100,000 odes to a single cloud or wind and calling it by name. The cloud atlas gave form to the winds, and odes infused them with personality. The myriad formless winds are now friends and family in the eyes of Barbatos. Legends tell that in ancient times, Barbatos summoned the four winds with the original version. He thawed the snow, drove away vicious beasts, summoned rainfall, and created Mondstadt.He permitted the atlas to be shared and copied among the people, giving it the name of Cloud Atlas.

­Skyward Atlas

VIII. In the days of the ruling aristocracy, the Church that revered the Anemo Archon was once split in twain by a schism: On one side stood the clergy, who ate at the lords' table, and overturned the archon's statues with them even as they wrote songs and hymns of praise. On the other stood the saints, who held no clerical office, and who walked the streets, the wine cellars, and the world beyond the walls. These saints drank cheap moonshine, blessing the slave and the plebeian with the original holy manuscripts that circulated amongst the people and with words that the wind brought to them.

And while they did so, they penned forbidden songs and poetry.

When the gladiator from a foreign land [Vennessa] arose together with the re-awakened Anemo Archon and raised the banner of rebellion, the aged saint known as the Nameless Shepherd mobilized the true adherents of the Church of Favonius.

Song of Broken Pines

IX. When he opened his eyes, he was in the sky above a mountain swept by roaring snowstorms, the green, tranquil land had already been painted crimson by fire and blood,and the song of that sky-blue bard's lyre was almost drowned in the howling tumult,and that bejeweled, lovely dragon, like a tender lover, had now pierced his neck through with its sharp fangs.

"Farewell, Mother! My journey is ended. I shall sleep beneath this white, shining silver... and perhaps this, too, is good. Farewell, O lovely bard! And farewell, O lovely dragon! Would that we had met in a different time and place, to meet, to sing and dance together!"

So he thought most sincerely as he lay dying.

Durin (Dragonspine Spear)

X. They say that a region's character follows that of its archon, and that this holds true both for the people and the land itself, but was it the unfettered archon who bestowed a love of freedom and wine upon the land and people amidst conflict? Or was it the people who nurtured the Anemo Archon's love of freedom as they pined for it amid the howling wind and frost?

This is a question that can no longer be answered.

Freedom Sworn

XI. Twenty-six hundred years ago was the era of Mondstadt's most ancient inhabitants. They swore a solemn oath, after the new Anemo Archon descended and reformed the world:

"For Mondstadt, as always. For the verdant plains, for the hills, and for the forests of Mondstadt. May they continue to flourish, as always."

"For Mondstadt, as always. For the everlasting freedom of Mondstadt from the blizzard and the tyrant, whose coldness and oppression are one and the same."

­­Royal Longsword (Refers to Gunnhildr Clan & the oath to protect Mondstadt.)

XII. Ludi Harpastum

Ludi Harpastum was established in commemoration of how Barbatos, the Anemo Archon, taught his people to brew wine and live freely. It was a festival meant for all people to enjoy. However, by the time of Vennessa's rebellion a thousand years before Genshin Impact's main story, Barbatos had long departed to avoid becoming a tyrant like his predecessor, while the aristocracy that ruled Mondstadt grew corrupt and abused their power.

The event turned into a mockery of what it originally was. It became an event enjoyed only by the wealthy elites. The head of the Lawrence Clan, the foremost clan among the aristocracy, cared not for the enjoyment of the people and canceled all the games, leaving only the climax of the harpastum. However, only Lord Lawrence's son, Barca Lawrence, had the right to touch that harpastum. Anyone else who dared even approach the ball would immediately face torture. Furthermore, Barca was also given the rights to take the maiden who will throw the harpastum home.

Barbatos awakens during the climax of the Ludi Harpastum in the manga and seizes the Harpastum.

Genshin Impact Manga

XIII. The Letter in the Chasm

Not as if I were to be outfitted as that guardian of Khaenri’ah,

Not as if my destructive self were made to be the lyre of Barbatos,

Not as if I were meant to soar like a Pegasus,

Not if I were the swift, snow-white pair of Morphes,

Add these to the feather-footed and the winged,

And likewise, call for the swiftness of the winds,

And though you should harness these, friend, and offer them to me,

Yet I should be tired to the bone, and worn away by frequent faintness,

My friend, while I would search for you,

The heavens fall to pieces,

And falsehoods collapse.

Mysterious Letter obtainable after completing The Chasm related Archon Quest(s) & World Quests (Information gathered by CatWithBlueHat)

It is important to note that each player who finished these quests only received one line of this letter in Abyssal Language, indicating this is a bigger part of something and made to be very secretive and hard to decipher if not for the efforts of players to translate it.

XIV. The Hexenzirkel

“Once upon a time, it even challenged the Anemo Archon himself, but he replied: “Let us make music, not war, and resolve our conflicts through song.”

Alice, The Mage’s Tea Party (Windblume’s Breath)

XV. Waterborne Poetry

“A soft breeze beckoned me unto a spring. “Sleep, weary wanderer. Your journey is over. May the dancing petals sweeten your slumber.”

Callirhoe, who recalled her journey to Springvale (Waterborne Poetry event)

XVI. Presence as a significant figure to Xiao

He longs for a day to come when he will wear the mask and dance — not to conquer demons, but to the tune of that flute amid a sea of flowers.

Barbatos appears as a cameo in Yakshas: The Guardian Adepti, playing the Dihua Flute. It suggests his music is powerful enough to suppress Xiao’s Karmic Debt. He also has a line for Barbatos indicaing he knows who he is, but cuts himself off.

Yakshas: The Guardian Adepti & Xiao: Mask (Namecard)

Other things to note:

As of Version 4.3 Mondstadt is the only nation that does not suffer from any “filth” that needs to be purged either by a Sacred Tree or otherwise. The battle that took place 500 years ago with Durin did not affect the nation in any way, instead, Durin died on Dragonspine which was already affected by the Skyfrost Nail and is an inhabited land that only Adventurers see as an area to explore. No one lives there. Even with the presence of his “heart”/”core” still beating, it would forever lie in the frozen wasteland unless someone were to deliberately disrupt it.

There are no storms in Mondstadt. Vind, one of the Sisters/Storm Watchers, says that she hopes she never has to do her job.

A large amount of npc’s around Mondstadt, especially in the area of the Anemo Archon statue, revere Barbatos and speak highly of him

It is important to note that during the second rebellion, Barbatos also forged Rex Lapis’ signature to dismantle the Aristocracy, indicating he would go to such lengths to establish freedom for the nation.

Barbatos’ voiceline about Albedo suggests that he knows close to “everything” about him, especially about his fear of “destroying Mondstadt.”

In addition to the above, Barbatos contradicts himself: “Ah, never mind! What goes on within Mondstadt's walls is up to Mondstadt's people to deal with!” Except that twice when the people cried out for help, he awoke to help them and has actively been helping Mondstadt with no recognition. From liberating Mondstadt to helping an Oceanid, this line will not hold any weight in any argument that suggests that Barbatos does nothing for Mondstadt.

Barbatos was already attempting to purge the Abyssal corruption from Dvalin prior to the Traveler’s appearance.

There is irony in Diluc and Jean finding out Barbatos’ true identity considering both the Ragnvindr’s and the Gunnhildr’s were primary protectors of Mondstadt.

The Skyward Atlas suggests Barbatos was originally a catalyst user while Amos’ Bow suggests he changed his weapon to a bow to honor Amos’ memory. He uses Der Frühling (E Skill) in a way a catalyst user might.

His appearance as his dear friend, the Nameless Bard is to honor his memory for the skies, bright sun and birds he could never see. To honor the songs he could no longer play.

#genshin impact #genshin impact lore #venti #krisposting #txt

[mariacallous]

(JTA) — As we mark the grim second anniversary of the Ukraine conflict this Shabbat, I’m reminded of a haunting melody I heard in the city of Poltava last month.

I was standing before Sonia Bunina, a plucky 17-year-old, when she opened her mouth to sing when an air raid siren rang out.

I flinched. Not Sonia — she didn’t miss a beat.

“Kol haolam kulo gesher t’zar meod, veha’ikar lo lifached k’lal,” she belted out before seeking shelter. “The whole world is a very narrow bridge, and the most important thing is to have no fear at all.”

Sonia, like so many Jews I know in Ukraine, is many things — determined, grieving, focused — but she’s certainly not cowering.

As she sang those words by Rebbe Nachman of Breslov — the Ukrainian Jewish sage whose followers continue to come by the tens of thousands to his grave in Uman annually — she embodied the prayer’s indomitable spirit.

Sonia and I met outside Poltava’s Hesed, part of the network of Jewish humanitarian hubs founded by my organization — the American Jewish Joint Distribution Committee, or JDC — more than three decades ago. Today they’re a lifeline to tens of thousands of Jews facing loss and strife. Since she was a toddler, Sonia has been attending activities at Hesed — her mother coordinates cultural programs for the elderly, and she connects teen volunteers like herself with isolated seniors, a critical source of comfort these last two years.

These days, traveling to Ukraine feels like a pilgrimage — there’s a pull in my soul to visit family near Lviv, to bear witness to Ukrainian Jewish resilience, and to be inspired by the clarity of purpose that is so palpable there. Since my first trip in 2011, I’ve been eight times. Last year, I wrote about how a year of crisis had transformed the ordinary into the sacred in Ukraine. Now, visiting feels even more essential with the worsening humanitarian situation.

Ukrainian Jews aren’t blasé about these challenges — far from it. Just take the delicate ballet of emotions on their faces when checking their phones during an air alert — contacting loved ones, scrolling through photos of devastation, and analyzing Telegram chats speculating on a given rocket’s make and trajectory.

But life goes on — there’s work to do — and though they’ve lost so much, they refuse to give any more away.

Showing up for each other, whatever it takes, is now baked into their very essence as Jews, and in Ukraine, there are tens of thousands to serve — hungry old women and displaced young families, disabled Holocaust survivors and stunned middle-aged professionals, shocked to now need help when they were once donors and volunteers.

They act fearlessly to ensure their communities make it through this crisis, body and soul intact. Can we expect anything less than boundless creativity from the people who birthed Sholem Aleichem and the Baal Shem Tov?

“These bombings, all these things that are killing people, destroying houses, leaving children homeless … it’s very scary,” Galina Limarenko, an 82-year-old retired nurse, told me in her small bedroom in Berezivka, taking note of the warm blanket, firewood, and other winter supplies my colleagues provided. “Thank God for the Jewish community, which never gives up and always shares even their very last piece of bread.”

I saw that irrepressible spirit again at our Beit Dan JCC in battered Kharkiv — a shapeshifting wellspring of strength just a few dozen kilometers from the eastern border. Shortly after Feb. 24, 2022, the center became a staging ground for truckloads of emergency aid — part of the 800 tons of humanitarian assistance we’ve delivered so far.

A few blocks from missile strikes, it now hosts children’s camps and soulful Shabbat services and operates a “kids hub,” offering academic enrichment to children who haven’t had in-person school for years — robbed of normal childhood by the pandemic and now the ongoing crisis.

And amidst blizzards and blackouts, Beit Dan has also become a “warm hub,” a safe place for beleaguered Jewish Kharkivites to charge their devices and obtain a hot drink and warm meal.

“If you share in our pain, and provide support where it’s needed, I’m forever grateful,” said Nika Simonova, Beit Dan’s program director. “The ability to remain human is the main thing. Done right, I believe that can save the world.”

That’s why we at JDC, aided by a coalition of partners including the Jewish Federations, Claims Conference, and International Fellowship of Christians and Jews, deployed a historic response to this conflict and remain committed to the Jewish future here.

We’re focused on ongoing humanitarian support for more than 41,000 Ukrainian Jews, expanding trauma relief, closing children’s educational gaps, and getting unemployed Jewish community members, among millions of Ukrainians plunged into poverty, back to work.

There is no doubt that the Jewish world is now responding to crises on multiple fronts, including this one, but we have been here so many times before. We must draw strength from our history and from the sure knowledge that this is what we’re built for. Our compassion and commitment, when leveraged with that timeless sense of mutual Jewish responsibility, means we can tackle the challenges we face — and come out on the other side even stronger.

As I walked through Lviv on my last day in Ukraine, I asked my cousin Anna Saprun, a 25-year-old business analyst, how this period has changed her.

“I hate what’s brought me here, but I love who I’ve become,” she said with a fierce and feisty smile. “Nothing scares me anymore. I feel powerful.”

Two years after the conflict began, Ukraine’s Jews are inspired anew each day, resolute in the sure knowledge that they know exactly who they’re working for — each other.

[sgiandubh]

By Zeus, they are stupid!

Back to our favorite mythomaniac, now suddenly proclaimed an expert on all things Greek/Olympic.

I had to howl. I mean, it's mandatory, at this point:

Calling all stations: there is NO Mount Olympia in Greece, you lost soul who thinks she's clever.

You should never have touched a sacred topic on this page: the Peloponnese. And you have finally managed to anger me. Seriously so: pursue at your own risk.

Archaia (that is 'Ancient' for you, Sinister Stupid Savant) Olympia, the birthplace of the Olympic Games, is one of my favorite places on Earth. It is situated in the North-West of the Peloponnese Peninsula, in the region of Ilia, beyond Corinth. That is Southern Greece for you, self-appointed Derailed Encyclopedia.

Mount Olympus, the cradle of the entire Greek Pantheon (that's all the Greek Gods, for you, Pretentious Idiot) is situated near the town of Litochoro, in Eastern Macedonia (as that guy, Alexander, you might have heard of him), in the region of Pieria. That is Northern Greece, for you, Arrogant Liar.

Distance between the two is very clear on a map:

557 kilometers, which means 347 miles. It would take me more than six hours to drive Zorba the Car from point A to point B and it took people like the ancient Olympic (not Olympian, you Faceless Pretentious Nobody) athletes probably more than one week.

Doubling the religious dimension of the athletic events, Archaia Olympia always functioned as Ancient Greece's UNGA (United Nations General Assembly, you Parochial Twat), with envoys from all the Greek city-states and overseas congregating there for the Games, but also (more often than not) to negotiate trade and/or peace agreements (Olympic truce, anyone?). This is perhaps why, unlike Nemea's stadium light cheerfulness, there's still a palpable sense of solemnity, today, in Olympia.

This cat, photographed by me in July 2022, in front of the Archaeological Museum of Olympia (I have already written about it in here: https://www.tumblr.com/sgiandubh/724219876757176320/a-stupid-shippers-guide-to-the-peloponnese-part) doesn't seem to give a damn about all of this, though:

Your credibility was already subzero, madam. I will soon be done with you, finally debunking your uninformed lies about S's copyright EUIPO trial. Even when you do not spew your gratuitous hatred, your overinflated ego and your foolishness betray the Aggressive Fraud that you are.

God, you're brainless. And your denseness is absolutely insulting, at this point. And to think there are people actually believing all the crap that you send into this world!

PS: torch is lit ahead of EACH and EVERY Olympic Games (Summer AND Winter), you Unspeakable Imbecile:

[Source: USA Today https://eu.usatoday.com/story/sports/olympics/2013/09/29/olympic-flame-relay-sochi-games/2890815/]

#fandom #shitshow #Peloponnese #Greece

[ashensgrotto]

A Merfolk's Melody (Part 1)

Characters: Yan!Floyd x Reader, Yan!Jade x Reader, Yan!Azul x Reader

Word Count: 13.5k

Intro (You are Here)      Floyd Leech       Jade Leech     Azul Ashengrotto Epilogue

Synopsis: The sea always calls to those who feel lost and alone, wanting to fill the empty part of their soul until they are loved and full… and as such, it’s only fair that the strange creatures that live beneath it’s depths would want the same as well…

Author’s Note: Another 4-part fanfiction courtesy of @merakiui ‘s headcannnons of the reader being stuck in a room/wall (I’m sorry) -> https://www.tumblr.com/merakiui/722393818829373440/in-addition-to-being-stuck-in-a-locked-room?source=share & https://www.tumblr.com/merakiui/722677892623056896/about-the-stuck-in-a-wall-trope-in-the-oceani?source=share

Here’s how it’s going to work: each character is going to get their own part following the intro. It is going to focus on the Octrio again (bc it’s my current liking, sorry guys). If you want to read a certain character’s part, feel free to jump around and select the one you’re most interested in. 

Again, as stated before, this is a work of fiction; I disagree with any and all behaviors that are represented in this story.

***

The sound of the waves crashing against the rocky surface was a sound that you had familiarized yourself with when you were a child. It and the call of the seagulls and other sea birds that brought forth fond memories of your childhood; images of your loving parents as they strolled along the beachside near the rocky terrain with you and your siblings following behind like little ducklings as they pointed out smooth pebbles and speckled shells, the shouts when your siblings pulled each other into the water before the tide overcame them like a dowsing rain shower, the laughter that followed in the evening before a roaring fire in the pit that cooked fish and crab along with corn and potatoes and marshmallows for dessert.

Yes, this was a child's paradise once upon a time and the sea had been there for every stumble you took, every laugh that bubbled from your lips… every tear that stained your cheek.

The sea always calls to those who feel lost and alone, wanting to fill the empty part of their soul until they are loved and full - and you needed a hole that existed in your heart to be filled with memories of the sea, wanting the salty water and the cries of gulls to wash away the pain and heartache you felt inside you.

You had returned to your family's sea cabin after several long years of being away in the city, moving away at the end of your high school year to attend college. The city was vastly different from the coastal residence you had lived in for eighteen years; there was no comfort or beauty or peace - it was loud and haze-filled and distorted. The people that lived there were rude and constantly in a hurry, bustling from place to place like work ants moving to and from the nest. There were a few that you had made friends with - their smiles and conversations always bringing forth those fond memories of your childhood - and there was one that you had loved and had loved you in return.

Sadly though, he was no longer in the picture - and the reason behind your return to the coast.

The two of you had met during orientation of your freshman year of college and had become fast friends. He introduced you to a lot of people and places, taking you by the hand and pulling you along the busy streets of the city - pointing out landmarks and museums, parks and local hot spots. It was all so overwhelming, causing your head to spin - but you always laughed at his energetic nature and wild behavior, a true sea captain in your eyes. He would take you on tours through the local zoo and art galleries, treat you to ice cream or coffee at the local shops, and talk to you about life in general during lunch breaks and help you with your exams and vice versa. 

It was during your last year in school that you both started dating - the confession coming out over a school get together with a group of your friends at one of the local clubs, when the drinks were filled and music pounded through your body as you danced with your crush til the moon was high overhead. As you traveled together back toward the dorms, his hand clasped in yours with fingers entwined, he pressed his headon top of yours as you leaned into him to feel the warmth of his body as the chill of autumn surrounded you. He whispered that he liked you more than a friend and asked if you saw him as the same - he wouldn’t care if you did or didn’t, but he needed to know if there was anyone else that was important in your life.

 You couldn’t have been happier that he felt the same as you did at that moment.

But of course, as the sea covers the shoreline, it always drags the unsuspecting sea creature back into its depths.

The first and second year as a couple was perfectly blissful - you both continued to make time for each other and walked along your usual paths during college and moved into an apartment together after graduation. You still visited the museums and galleries, got coffee, and talked about work and a future together on walks through the parks after your day’s busy schedule. Shortly into the third year as a couple, nearly six since you met each other, the appearance of another shimied into your life. It was at a new year’s celebration with a group of college friends that you were introduced to this new girl. She was the sister of a friend that was visiting for a week while touring colleges in the area, brought along by the friend so you could talk to her about your experiences at the college you had once attended together. 

At first it seemed harmless, the eighteen-turning-nineteen was interested in what your field of study was, what the professors were like, how the dorms worked, what sort of clubs and sports were available to participate in - all questions a typical freshman-to-be would ask. However, what made you uncomfortable about the whole situation was the way she kept grabbing at your partner - leaning against him and whispering things in his ear, making him laugh with hers joining in as a chorus, her fingers slipping into his hand and squeezing his like they were a couple and you were the outsider. You attempted to sneak in and wrap your arm around him, but was swatted away like a pesky mosquito by her on more than one occasion; you shifted your eyes to look at your boyfriend, arching a brow to indicate he do something or at least say something that told her that he was taken already. 

Not once did he say anything, nor did he do anything.

At the end of the night, as the two of you walked back to the apartment, he attempted to wrap his arm around you. Too hurt, you shrugged him off, making him stop and ask what was wrong. You argued with him that night - a huge fight that caused you to seek shelter at a coworker’s apartment instead of wanting to deal with the situation - needing space to cool off and rethink about how to approach the subject. When you came back in the morning to make amends, you found him embracing another woman - the same girl that had clung to him the night before. Fury and pain ripped through your heart like a storm crashing against the waves of the rocky surface - the cry that echoed through your throat rivaled the call of gulls as tears sprung like raindrops on the corners of your eyes. 

It was enough noise to pull the sleeping couple from their dreamscape - your boyfriend springing upright, tugging on the sheets and distancing himself from the girl, who had sulked to the corner of the room, picking her clothing up off the ground and making her way hastily out of the room and the apartment. As much as your boyfriend tried to explain, you wanted to hear none of it - the roaring pain of your heart enough to drown out the noise of a thunderstorm as you gathered your things from the apartment, shaking your head with every plea and shrugging off every touch. You left your shared apartment, heading toward your coworkers’ apartment and explained what happened; she took pity on you, allowing you to stay so you could figure out what needed to happen next.

Your boss permitted you a week-long vacation.

“Get some rest, focus on yourself right now,” they said, pushing a box of tissues toward you, “You’re a good worker and a hard one at that. I’d hate to let you go over something so trivial.”

When you requested a bit more time, your boss agreed to two weeks - wanting you to get the proper care you so desperately needed, but wanting you to work all the same.

Which is how you found yourself back on the coast with the sea, gulls, and assorted creatures both of land and sea as your only companions. The cabin your family had once stayed in was smaller than you thought - enough room for only a set of adults and two children. Why did you think there were more that filled this room once upon a time? Were ther other children that lived in other cabins that lined the coast that often gathered here to spend time with you and you had once believed them to be siblings - even though you were an only child? Photos that still lived in corners of the rooms of the cabin indicated a happy family; a mother, a father, and a daughter - you. There were no other photos that indicated that there were other children, nor anyone that lived nearby with children your age to play with. 

Were they all just imaginary friends you had conjured in your head to allow your lonely broken heart to feel whole like how the sea filled your spirit? Even if that were the case, how come your parents never corrected it? Did they feel pity for their only daughter whom had no friends? That they couldn’t force anyone to play with you or spend time with you? Or was there another reason?

Regardless of what had passed, the cabin slowly became a part of you - just as it did to your family once upon a time.

Every morning, you woke to the sound of a local cat scratching at the door - a little grey beast that paced the floor of the cabin before you set a plate of leftover steamed or roasted fish before the little creature, petting his fur as he ate before he took a bath and perched on the window sill, watching as you tended to the house - cleaning it and ridding it of decay and clutter that had mounted over the years of neglect. Then you would walk down to the shoreline, your sandals in one hand as your feet dug into the sand, water coming up to kiss your skin with is cool lips and filling your prints with water as it made small homes for the little hermit crabs that lurked along the shore - the little grey kitten walking beside you, it’s little blue gaze peering up at you from time to time as he meowed as if holding a conversation with you. You would hum and talk to him, even though you couldn’t understand him nor he could you - but the way his long fluffy tail would wrap around the back of your leg felt comforting, like he was guiding you along. 

Then you would return to the cabin for a quick lunch before grabbing your fishing gear and heading back to the coast. The waves hit against your legs as you steadied yourself in the thrashing water as you casted line after line, reeling in food for supper and for your little companion who sat on a large rock and watched with interest. By the time the sun was setting, you would reel in your last catch and return to the shore, pulling your sandals on and hiking up the trail back to the cabin with the little grey kitten following close behind you. A fire was sparked into the pit, the flames flickering with life as you rested your catches in a wire basket that hung over the flames, turning each little piece over along with care as the flesh slowly became white and flaky - the corn and potatoes already prepared along with a small package of chocolate chip cookies that would become the end to a simple and meaningful meal.

Even though your days were filled with sorrow - your dreams were filled with a figure.

Each night, as sleep took you, you would often find yourself staring out at the sea as storm clouds brew overhead, threatening to split open and spew cool water from the heavens. You would reach around and wrap into yourself, your nails digging into your skin as a chilled breeze rattled your frame. You stood your ground, your eyes never leaving the horizon, even as the wind grew stronger and stronger, threatening to topple your figure. Eventually, the wind calmed as something appeared in the distance; a voice that sounded both familiar and unfamiliar calling out to you following the shape of what appeared to be a man. The figure would often extend their hand, their voice shifting to something soft and gentle, other times a giggle would erupt from their lips - but more often than not, singing in a language you had never heard before. You would start to take steps forward, one hand reaching out to theirs. But just before you could touch, your eyes would open to the sunlight streaming through the thin curtains of your small bedroom. 

You started to muddle over the dream at the beginning of the second week of your time away from the big city, stirring your coffee absent-mindedly as your thoughts delved into darker waters; who was that in your dream? Why did he sound familiar? Was he supposed to be the ex you had left behind? Was your dream telling you that you should go back and forgive him? Or were they a person from your past? A friend that you had when you were a child but had forgotten about? You looked out the window as the grey kitten hopped onto the table and laid before you on his side, his belly up as your hand absent-mindedly reached out and stroked the fur, rubbing him as he let out contented squeaks and merps of pleasure. 

The dream had been recurring ever since you arrived here - so much so there were times you thought that you saw something watching you behind the large rocks that jaunted out into the crashing sea waves.

Legends of merfolk, selkies, sirens, and assorted sea monsters had littered your childhood, many of the locals believing that these fantastical creatures of the waves lurked just beyond their borders. Some claimed to have seen merfolk with tails of shimmering gold lounging on the rocks that lined the surface and others claimed to have seen the heads of sea serpents and kelpies drifting out further beyond. Others swore up and down they heard the voices of sirens and seen the discarded pelt of a selkie - though none were ever proven to be true. However, there was one story that was told to you by your father years and years ago:

The cabin that you lived in once belonged to an old fisherman who disappeared several decades ago. He was a man of few words and was often seen walking along the coastal shore with his hound in tow, whistling a tune no one had heard before as he prepared to walk out into the open water. One day, his dog came running into the local village, barking and whining before pulling on people’s skirts and pant legs, tugging them in the direction of the old fisherman’s cabin. The villagers followed the dog to the sandbar, only to discover that the old fisherman had disappeared - all that remained was his gear and the straw hat he always wore. Some believed that a tide came in and swept him away, pulling his poor old body under the cruel cold waters and drowning him. Others believed he was taken as payment by the creatures of the deep per an unspoken agreement between the the creatures of the sea and the humans that existed on their shores. Regardless of what had happened, the cabin had been left abandoned and forgotten - until your family moved in as a separate living space for a summer retreat once upon a time.

You shook your head, blinking as you were snapped out of your thoughts. 

Beyond the walls of your house, you could’ve sworn you saw a figure climbing onto the rocks that lined the shore. You stood and moved a bit closer to the aged-old glass, peering out to see the shape of someone or something perched on the rocks. You couldn’t see them from your position, but you could’ve sworn you saw their head turn toward you.

Something compelled you to move then.

Forgetting your shoes, you thrusted the door open and raced down the pathway that led to the beach, the little grey kitten moving quickly to follow behind you as you disappeared around the corner. Your heart raced in your chest, your heart propelling you forward as a voice thought, ‘Wait! Wait! Please, wait!’

By the time you got to the shoreline, the figure was gone from the rocks - the only thing that greeted you was an empty beach, the call of gulls, and the crashing of the waves before you. You wrapped your arms around you as you sighed heavily, eyes focusing on the horizon as the sun lifted itself above the surface, kissing the sky with its rays and warming your chilled skin as a cold sea breeze rattled your core. You licked your lips and strained your ears, hearing nothing by the cry of sea birds and the occasional meow of the little grey kitten at your feet.

As you felt your heart drop, your one chance for company that was human and someone that you did not know, a voice so hauntingly sweet called out - a song in a language from your dream. You turned and you felt yourself compelled forward, your feet disappearing into the waves of the ocean that were followed by your knees, thighs, and waist.

The sea always calls to those who feel lost and alone, wanting to fill the empty part of their soul until they are loved and full… and as such, it’s only fair that the strange creatures that live beneath its depths would want the same as well…

#twisted wonderland #azul ashengrotto #floyd leech #jade leech #twst azul #twst floyd #twst jade #yandere jade leech #yandere floyd leech #yandere azul x reader #yandere jade x reader #yandere floyd x reader #yandere #yandere azul ashengrotto #twst wonderland

[pursuitseternal]

“Feeling:” angst, romance, flashbacks, comfort… update to “Our Blood is Thicker”

Astarion x Tav (Cordehlia) | E | 4.5K of angsty flashbacks and romantic comfort

Cover art by @marimosalad 💞

Summary: Baldur’s Gate looms before them, where so much awaits them: Cazador, the Absolute, and the source and secret of Cordehlia’s long-lasting hatred of him. Where her love turned to grief, and grief turned to rage.

CW: cuddling, flashbacks, angst angst and more angst, grief, tragic revelations, hurt comfort, two lovesick idiots finally getting closer… while they still can.

Previous Ch | ao3 link | Masterlist

Chapter 15: Feeling…

💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞

She could see the heat rising from it, the City. Baldur’s Gate, a sight she had sworn never to see. Not since she had last ventured this way, heavy with broken heart and the weight of lost souls in her heart.

But fates change, fortunes rise and fall. Now Cordehlia sat on this watchtower wall, the very reason for her anger and hatred and vow to never set foot here again had his arm wrapped snug around her waist. Astarion pulled her into his lap, face turned towards the sun as his crimson eyes watched it set over the sea.

Her heart rapt hard in her chest. There was so much ahead of them, so many battles to fight and enemies to slay. But for now, he just held her as the light faded into sparkles on the waves. His eyes were wide with wonder, and she realized in that moment, he hadn’t seen a sunset near the city for almost two-hundred years. Not since….

“Not since those days of Magistrate have I seen the sun, let alone allowed myself to watch it settle into the Sea…” he sighed, snuggling her closer into his chest, tucking her fiery red head under the dip of his chin. “This is what we always dreamed of, isn’t it… the allure of the city, the chance to be together at long last….”

His voice, usually purring in seduction or acerbic in sarcasm just flowed over her in warm tender words, just as he used to back… back home.

“We are a might bit different now than we would have been,” she replied, a bit sharper, a bit more bitter than he was.

He turned slowly, thick lips smirking as he caught her chin in his gentle hold. “We both have a little more bite now, don’t we, my love?”

Cordehlia ran her thumb over his lips, slipping inside to brush his fang gently. “There is so much ahead of us here. Challenges… danger… blood.” Her voice was distant, so many thoughts swirling behind the shining silver of her eyes.

Astarion smirked against her palm, trying for flirtatious, for a hint of playful seduction to soothe her. “But darling, we like blood,” he teased.

A half-hearted laugh, she pressed closer against his body. Wishing he was warm.

“Cazador will be seeking you back even harder now, my love…” she whispered, worried about even mentioning the monster’s name.

“Let him,” he shrugged, every muscle in his hardened body tightening. Ready to spring. “I am more than powerful enough to take him. With our tadpole, he can’t compel me, can’t force me to…” Astarion swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing against the top of her head, “to do anything.” He finished, so many things unsaid in that silence. “I’ll be free,” he purred, lifting her sweet face up for him to lose himself in. “We’ll be free, Cordehlia.”

She pressed her lips against his, a soft kiss, more affirming and loving that words could say.

He sighed, letting his fingers fall from under her chin. “You really are perfect, every time, my love.” That raking smile twisted his face, more of his taunting, jeering nature coming out to play. “And besides, I can’t wait to hear Cazador’s screams and smell his blood once we finally kill him. All we need to do now is find where this… Rite… is taking place, and,” he arched that left brow, cunning and mischievous, “if we can take a bit of that power and immortality for ourselves.”

“Astarion, always the ambitious,” she shook her head. “Magistrate, High Lord… no those titles are beneath you,” Cordehlia needled back, mocking and whining as if he were a child. “No, no… Lord Astarion, Vampire Ascendant…”

“You must admit,” he let out a heavily dramatic sigh, “it does sound so nice.”

“Hmm,” she patted him on the cheek, “one thing at a time, love. Devilish pacts and profane rites are not like bargaining for a better deal at the fish market.”

Astarion snickered, “That’s your elvish wisdom, is it? I’d prefer power over a nice cut of cod any day. Why don’t more people talk about the wisdom of the vampire?” He faked a pout, like the petulant child she sometimes still caught glimmers of beneath the man she loved.

“Because the extent of your wisdom, Astarion is ‘See a problem, stab the problem, get rewarded for solving the problem.’ That’s not wisdom,” Cordehlia placed a hand on his chest as he started to lean into her, his body winding tight as if he were about to throw her on her back and have his way. But she shoved hard enough to keep him at bay. “It’s the ambition of the vampire, my love. And you’ve always had an ambitious streak in you.”

She gazes at him a little pointedly, a little bitter, just a spark of that anger in her face that he remembered from first finding her once more. “I take it you worry about my ambitions, darling.”

“I have the right to worry.” She kept that hand on his chest. “You’ve hurt me before,” she quirked a brow, taunting, “remember?”

“A low blow, but a valid one,” he sighed, exasperated. “I do remember, and yet…” he forced his face into hers, looking closely. “Why do you look like you hate me… like that day you found me on the beach?”

A shaking, chest rattling breath made her quake in his arms. “Because I vowed never to come back to this city, to never step foot in Baldur’s Gate again after what I went through…. Over you.”

Dexterous, roguish fingers caressed the back of her neck. “Are you going to tell me? Or are you going to show me?”

She could feel the wriggling of his tadpole, calling to hers, begging to let him enter. She looked into his eyes, forcing them open before she allowed him in her memories. “Perhaps it’s better you know… but remember, I’ve since learned the truth, since learned about your own darkness and suffering. And now, you’ll see why I became all I did. Why I hated you….”

“So long as it’s past tense, your hatred, my love, then hide nothing from me….”

Minds crashed, faced whirred in his vision as he saw her memories from centuries before….

———————————————————————-

It hurt. Unbearable. His parents already gone… disappeared probably from their own griefs. Left and never came back. Swallowed by their loss or to the violence of the City—a cautionary tale for her people to keep to themselves, to quit the alliances and deals their High Lord and Lady had insisted on forging with the powerful Patriars and Council Members of Baldur’s Gate. And now they were gone too. Their line with them.

Of course Father was worried the same would befall her, a constant niggling dread inside her mind as she crossed into the gates of the Lower City.

She kept her eyes down the whole way here… ignoring every vendor along the Southspan, every prostitute and pleasure seeker that stumbled out of the Flophouses and brothels, and every Flaming Fist that didn’t ask for her papers as she made it through Wyrm’s Rock.

Her booted feet hurried all the more at those sultry voices that called to her from those pleasure houses. Every grunt or sigh or ‘darling’ was a slice across her heart.

The reminder she would never hear him again. Never see him again. Never hold him, or kiss him, or taste him, or…

Gods, it was too much to bear. She collapsed against the alley wall. Her world spun, the ground falling out from under her as she shuddered and sobbed.

“Astarion,” she whispered his name into the palm of her hand as she tried in vain to force it back inside. The Magistrates offices were ahead, just around the corner. So close, and yet so far. Their letter, perfunctory and businesslike, detailed the facts of his murder, requesting someone to finish the matters associated with Astarion Ancunín’s death. Someone needed to collect his things, to pay his fines and check his burial.

His grave.

A responsibility falling to her in the aftermath of his parents’ disappearance.

On her, his betrothed.

Well, not betrothed anymore.

It had already been months, nearly a year. Matters had to be closed, fines paid for services rendered.

She shuddered, the sun beginning to fade behind the tall structures of the City. Night would fall soon, and yet somehow it wouldn’t be as deep as her grief, as dark as heart grew now that she was here.

One hand steadied on the wall, willing her body to rise, her feet to walk. She needed silence, someplace quiet and… drawing up short, she realized where she stood, the open maw of the cemetery to her right. It was like her own heart stopped beating the second she stepped foot on the buried dead. It would have to be here… the letter had said.

She forced her stinging, tear-blinded eyes to scan every name.

A chill set in the air as the sun sank lower, as she turned down a row of headstones, her heart aching with each new name. Aching more and more. Until she found it in the back corner of the garden, the grass already grown over the dirt of his grave, little vines already creeping up that carved stone.

His beautiful name above where his beautiful body was laid to rest. She just… wanted to touch him again. To hear his inane giggle. To press her lips against his. To taste the salty tang of his cock one more time….

She didn’t know when she had laid on the ground, or when the sun had set. Didn’t know when the moon had risen or the grass beneath her body had grown cold.

Shivering, she needed to find a warm meal and a warm bed for the night. The Elfsong wasn’t far, she could stumble her way there before she passed out.

But that would mean leaving him.

Saying… goodbye.

She pressed her cold fingers to her lips, squeezing her eyes shut. Imagining they were his elegant fingers, one last time. Reaching for the stone, she pressed her kiss against his name carved for the ages and eternities. “Goodbye, my love,” she managed to say.

Rising to her feet, somehow she made it to the firelight and music of the Elfsong… packed to tightly with bodies, she struggled to make her way inside to the keeper behind the bar. “Saer, I require a room for the night.”

“Full up for another hour yet,” he huffed, wiping out the inside of a tankard. He gave her a salacious wink. “Rooms are in high demand this time of night. But one of my regulars will be done soon, he never stays long before draggin’em off back to his place…”

Her stomach flip flopped. She could have wretched up her guts right then and there.

“No,” she breathed deep and pulled her shoulders back as her father had taught her. “I’ll not sleep in someone else’s mess. I can find other accommodations.”

The barkeep shrugged. “Suit yerself. I doubt it. But I’ll save your place for next, once he’s done. One room in an hour for the pretty, red-head she-elf…” Cordehlia stamped away in a disgusted huff.

A fire in her belly, she bought herself a pie from a vendor, letting it settle uneasily in her stomach as she tried for another room.

Nothing. Not a single spare place to hire out for the night that wasn’t already bought and paid for or used for prostitution.

This miserable city… she cursed it in her heart. Hating every cobblestone, loathing every drunk stranger that scattered before her. This cesspit that took her love. The corruption that sank him into the earth itself.

She would be gone tomorrow, never to return. Take the cold comfort of his possessions and pay his fines and begin to bury the memory of him. As if she ever could.

But at least back with her people, with her Father, she could remember him as he was to her, not as one lost soul trying to find his way in this filth. That was the curse of the elves of course, their memory. That every night she could relive their youth, their love… all their firsts. As if he never left her. Turning back to the Elfsong, she resigned herself to that disgusting fate. At least she could demand clean bedclothes, losing herself in trance to the memories and to her love for Astarion. It was bittersweet relief.

Already she could feel the strength of her memory almost conjuring him. She could almost hear his voice in the streets, almost see his pale face and pretty eyes and wicked smile in the faces of strangers. By the time she had to face the Elfsong barkeep again, she merely passed him her coin.

“I knew you would return, what’s another Elf’s money after all…” he waved her to a stack of laundered sheets by the stairs. First door on the right… it was easy to find.

But then she froze the second she shut the door to the little bedroom.

Was her memory so strong… what her grief so fraught… her heart so broken?

The room smelled like him.

————————————————————————

She could sense his… disgust. His self-loathing and pain and confusion. As if he witnessed his own memories through another’s eyes.

She pulled him back deeper into her thoughts, a new, darker, more jaded feeling overwhelmed Astarion now. Grief piled upon grief.

————————————————————————

“I fucking hate it here,” Cordehlia growled under her breath. It was only to herself, but she liked the sound of vitriol in her voice all the same. She sat in a booth at the Elfsong as she had all day. Waiting. Watching. That human spy was supposed to be here… was supposed to come and give the information needed to fight off those Orcs on the southern border of her people’s lands. Where their camp was… how many their forces made… weapons, spells, war machines… that sort of thing.

All the things she had learned to take stock in, to measure before battle, just as her Father once had.

Once had, until he had fallen to Ketheric Thorm and his Dark Justiciars. But that pain was too fresh. Less than a year ago, now. Not that the Elfsong was filled with happy memories, not this City. Not the one that still made the scars on her heart sore from the last time she entered these sin-slick walls.

Astarion, she kept herself from saying his name out loud.

She would clear off his grave later tonight, once the matter was closed and the deed was done. Never again would she mention him. Her long, elven memory grew heavy under the weight of her sorrows. Orphan and widow.

Orphan—mother dead almost at birth, father, unburied on some cursed lands not far from here.

And widow, well almost a widow. No vows had been made other than the ones they forged wordlessly that night. Her body once touched, her virginity taken long ago. No one had even come close to that once more. Nor would they again.

It would have to be enough. Her heart would never love again.

Not when she was so needed by her people.

Her people had lost a High Lord and Lady, lost their promising young Lord to be next in line. With her Father’s death, they lost their steadfast, valiant hero of a General.

But Cordehlia was neither, neither Lady nor General; she was all that remained to lead in these matters.

No hero, but an assassin. No lady, a weapon. All her silken gowns had been long traded for armor at her Father’s side since Astarion’s death. And now… sharp, cold things were all that remained.

It was all she was now too.

Shaking her head, she scanned the room, piercing eyes peering into every table, looking for her contact. He would be here soon, and she needed to keep her head, slowing her sips of Ithbank. No matter how badly she wanted to drink into a stupor and pass out on his grave.

Maybe she would be with him again then…

“Fuck,” she cursed, slamming the glass down. And then she reached right for the green glass necked bottle of the vintage to take a swig.

It might be a long night of just waiting and watching. If she had to watch one more couple meander up those stairs, groping each other, to return moments later disheveled, she might throw her most precious dagger between their shoulder blades and be done with it.

What good was it, giving that to someone without meaning… closing her eyes, she swallowed again another bursting, dripping mouthful.

But it didn’t matter. Not even laying with him when it mattered most, not even that mattered any longer. These idiots would only live to regret their proclivities. Fools.

Better to have loved and lost than never…

Wait.

Her ears piqued in the din. A giggle. A man’s giggle.

It was familiar. Painful. She gazed across the dim tavern shaking her head to dismiss the thought. No, no. Just her bedraggled mind playing tricks on her. Just the wine resurrecting ghosts.

“Lady Corvus,” a voice whispered, the cloaked mortal sitting himself opposite her. Cordehlia nodded, careful not to smile too broadly at the use of her new title. “Here,” he whispered. Passing a scroll across the table. “Battle plans, maps, estimations of their forces, it’s all there, my lady.”

“You have been of great service,” she chimed in silken tones. Her hand set a small purse within the man’s reach.

“Thank you, my lady,” he nodded under his hood. “This place ain’t for the likes of you. You best be going, best be careful. There are rumors that the Pale Elf is around here tonight.”

She quirked a brow. “And?” She scoffed, “Is he some traitor? Some assassin come to kill me?”

“Not with blade, but he’s known for taking pretty things like you to play with… giving them a little death. Not the kind you deal, my lady.”

Cordehlia jolted at that, flinching as if smacked in the face.

“Don’t worry, my lady, I doubt he would be to your liking. You’re too fearsome, too intimidating to fall for his easy seduction.” The human’s mouth smiled under the hem of his hood before he stood, leaving as quickly as he came, one coin purse heavier than he arrived.

Cordehlia pocketed the scroll, taking a moment to first break open its seal and memorize it. Just in case.

It’s what her father would have done.

But as she prepared herself to leave, taking that wine bottle with her, she heard it again.

That fucking giggle.

And this time, it was no trick of the wine or memory. She paused, turning to search the opposite side of the tavern. Instantly, she froze. One shadowed booth, its occupants obviously intertwined. One man’s head being pressed lower and lower… the other, though he laid deeper in the shadows, was giggling at the nipping caresses.

His pale face was tilted away, but she knew that frame… that tousle of silver hair thrown back in ecstacy. His sharp chin, well cut jaw… his long, lithe fingers pushing that man’s head deep into his lap.

Glass shattered at her feet. Her wine bottle decimated as it slipped from her grip.

All she saw was red. Bloodied crimson at the sight of him.

Not dead.

Not alone. Not grieving and pining and lost adrift.

No. Being pleasured, Astarion the Pale Elf. “Fuck,” she growled, grinding the glass under her heel, pretending that the red wine at her feet was blood.

So blind, so lost to her sadness, she failed to see truth. So eager to give away her heart and soul and body. Little did she know all she gave him was a taste for more.

And not more of her. Not more to serve their… her people.

A fake death, an endless parade of lovers in her wake.

He might as well be as good as dead.

Her hand twitched on the hilt of her blade. Her head cocked to the side as she… considered. It would be quick to draw her knife out. To dampen these floorboards with more that ran red than wine.

But something stayed her fist, something kept that silver blade etched with her insignia of a crow buried inside its scabbard.

The ghost of her love for him couldn’t let that dagger sate its taste for blood. Not his.

“Fuck,” she growled again, striding away for the stables. She would not rest tonight. Ride until dawn. Push herself until that blade did taste blood.

Blood of Orcs and enemies. Flesh separated from bones until they were picked clean in the battlefield.

Enough blood until her body could finally go numb and her ears deafen to the sound of his giggle.

Of his pleasure. With many others.

Astarion’s mind swirled through more visions, half aware of his own feelings, own memories of that dark time.

She hated me… he hissed to himself, a bit in shock. Taken so far aback at the feelings that surfaced in her memories. He pushed harder, searching them, seeing how far that hatred went.

He saw… himself. The wreckage of the Nautiloid burning in the distance. Cocky, threatening on the beach, arms wrapped around that body he no longer knew.

A body he once knew carnally each and every night.

Her memories could have been tinted in red, the wave of anger, of shock and betrayal poured into his heart at the sight of… himself.

He was so cold, calculating. Aloof and mean. He felt it in her body, that longing to put herself out of misery by snatching his own dagger and slitting that beautiful pale throat she once nuzzled against.

How many lips had kissed him there… how many other faces pressed against that beat of his heart in his artery.

But no. Even when her hand did reach her own weapon, those fingers softened as she looked into his now crimson eyes.

“Fuck,” she had thought. Agreeing to let him be her companion. Unable to kill him or turn him away.

So she suffered.

Day. And night. Drawn like a moth to his flame to be so close again. Hating the fact that she couldn’t just be done with his presence. Hating the fact he couldn’t remember her…

But those little changes in him had softened the hatred, drawing question after question to her mind instead.

Why… why crimson eyes… why would an elf lose all his memory, the blessing and curse to his elven kindred… why those scars on his neck and his cold touch…?

She had pieced it out so early on. Vampire. But not so powerful… a spawn then. She had slept with a stake in her bed since that first night. Just in case.

Her love may have still been an ember, fighting for air to burn again in her heart, but her trust had long been extinguished.

He felt that hatred sink deeper again, watching how he had flirted with Shadowheart, playing on this confession of their past. Manipulating her, crafting the perfect tension to make her give him what he wanted.

He was so good at it. Save for the fact he underestimated that burning hate.

But Cordehlia had underestimated that ember of love. The moment he woke her in her bedroll, fangs at the ready, a stake pressed at his side, she had never hated him more. Not since that first night in the tavern when she saw him again… thinking him worse than a traitor.

She had been so close. So close to shoving that stake in his undead heart, putting herself out of that misery, misery she couldn’t endure much longer. It would have been the just thing after what he had done to her to take his life, undead or not.

But her heart won. That voice in her memory, his voice, made her recall his violet eyes and easy smile. His voice had stayed her hand again. It was a voice that long ago had hummed softly as her head rested in his lap, body warmed by the sun and the last throes of her pleasure at his fingers.

It was his voice that whispered to her that these weren’t his sins, that something here was more at fault than unbridled lust and a penchant for manipulation.

He wasn’t to blame.

But he would need to stay alive for her to learn why not.

So she let him disarm her, let him bite her flesh, let his body crush hers as it once had with bone-deep recognition.

And he felt that ember fan alive with love brighter in the memory of that night.

————————————————————————

A deep breath in his lungs, like one drowned breaking through the surface, he awoke. His eyes opened to the real world around them. She clung to him tighter than ever, as if she could knit her flesh to his, make her blood run as his own.

Her eyes stared back, every emotion racing behind her gaze, dripping wet with tears. Relief, anxiety, love and regret, they darkened her face as the sun sank below the waves of the Sea. Astarion kept one arm around her back, the other he moved, cradling her face so gently. His own eyes stung from unshed tears. “You know…” he whispers, voice shaking still from the intensity of those memories, “for all the ways Cazador tormented me, tortured me, stole everything from me… the worst thing he ever stole from me was my memory of you…”

“Cazador can rot in the hells for what he took from me, for what he forced you to do,” Cordehlia scowled. “I… I lost my love for you for so long, I buried it under grief and hatred and blood. And when I saw you on the beach…. When you had no idea who I was to you….” Her voice snagged in her throat the more she talked, until she couldn’t swallow.

He just held her, shushing her softly, still holding her face. His palm collected the warm tears as they silently began to fall. “My love, you never gave up on me. Even when you walked away, even then, you did what you had to, just as I did. I could feel it from then too, even when you found me in that wreckage of the Mindflayer ship, your heart never gave up on me…” he paused, making certain her wet, silver eyes looked right into his. “And I’m so very grateful you didn’t.”

Cordehlia sniffled, a feeble smile on her lips, embarrassed as he brought her very wet face against his own for a kiss.

“Besides, I’m rather looking forward to damning that bastard to the hells at your side. It’ll be so much more fun together,” he crooned. That playful tone made her give tear-streaked laughs as she wiped her nose on her sleeve.

“Together, he’s going to pay,” she added. “In blood…” she couldn’t help but grin again.

“And then we will find a way to be together forever,” Astarion smiled, just a bit more twistedly, a bit more darkly. “I can promise you that.”

💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞

Thank you for everyone who loves these two lovesick idiots. I love hearing your reactions and your predictions.

This really is almost an Alternate Universe for the Pale Elf Quest, and I’m just thankful there are readers along for the ride 💞

#astarion romance #remember how much she hated him? yeah this is why #astarion angst #astarion x tav #tav x astarion #astarion x female tav #flashback angst #astarion x f!tav #astarion x oc #astarion fic #astarion fanfic #astarion smut #bg3 fic #bg3 fanfiction #bg3 astarion #astarion bg3 #bg3 spoilers #bg3 #baldur’s gate 3 #baldur’s gate spoilers #baldur’s gate iii #baldur’s gate fanfiction

[chrollohearttags]

BEYOND FACT OR FICTION: DAY ONE • my husband came home?

welcome to the interactive drabble series where you decide if these creepy, strange stories are based off of reality or all made up.

how to play: each day, there will be a short story posted and at the end of each, you’ll vote in the poll on whether you believe it’s fact or fiction! Simple, right? Once the poll is finished, it’ll be reblogged with the correct answer + the source. Happy playing!

It had been nearly six months since the world of (Y/N) (L/N) had been flipped upside down and changed for the absolute worst..all your life, you had always heard that things could change in the blink of an eye. Something you only believed to be a catchy little phrase..that was until it became your very daunting reality. One day, you're moving into your dream home with the love of your life and partner of five years, making waves throughout your company, quickly climbing your way atop the food chain in your illustrious career and just living the best life possible…the next? distraught and crying into the arms of friends, family and helpful strangers as you all scoured the streets, searching for your lost soulmate..a man, who by all accounts should have been able to hold his own and then some. With plans of that day to come straight home once he left work so the two of you could have your regularly scheduled date night. However, they didn’t come to fruition, and instead..you found yourself traipsing down to the police station, spending long nights conducting searches and praying for his safe return. You lost sleep, you could barely find the strength to eat and bathe. An absolute wreck by all definitions. (Y/N) had planned everything around spending the rest of forever with him but now that he was gone..it all seemed futile and quite frankly, hopeless.

but how exactly had this tragedy come to be? Only God knew..

Suguru Geto was a man who had no known enemies. Or friends for that matter. He was considered to be very closed off and introverted. Despite that, he possessed a kind heart and gentle soul. He was sweet, loving, attentive..the type of person that any woman would be lucky to call her own. He first swept you off of your feet when the two of you met back in college. Where he was studying to become an art major and you, marketing. He worked at the coffee shop you often frequented during late night study sessions..where you’d catch the tall, handsome stranger ogling you behind the counter and even joining you when it became slow and desolate. He’d watch you twirl that pencil around your various hairstyles from the butterfly locs to the blonde ombre lace front that really made his heart flutter when you wore it. You guys grew extremely close and eventually began dating. You guys had a wonderful time together and fast forward a few years and some change, you were still going strong. Once you guys graduated, you started working at a top marketing firm and Suguru upstarted his very own architectural company, drawing layouts for different large infrastructure around the city. You purchased a gorgeous home; one he helped design himself to accommodate your needs. In between that time, he proposed to you underneath the moonlight at a candlelit dinner, serenaded by a pianist that played your favorite song. A wonderful night that would only be rivaled by the storybook wedding and dream honeymoon to Dubai that would follow. He had helped curate a life many women would give their last for. Pampered, spoiled and well kept..and just last year, you had given birth to your first child. A beautiful daughter named Sanaa..an angel on earth and a spitting image of Suguru. In both spirit and physical appearance. You both adored her so much. He was an amazing father and spoiled your little girl to no end. Which is what made this entire ordeal all the more sad! Your baby cried for nights on end; even if she couldn’t communicate it, you knew she longed for her daddy. But alas, he was nowhere to be found.

“Please, Suguru. Come home..she needs you. I need you..”

A plea you uttered with all the strength you could muster in an interview as you wiped your tear stained eyes with a tissue in front of the news cameras. You were distraught. However, your sorrow would soon come to end in the best scenario possible! In a fate practically unheard of or seen, your beloved husband came back to you..seven months after he vanished. You were astounded. There he was, in the flesh. Standing on your doorstep in a sweatshirt of your alma mater and a pair of Nike Techs..the EXACT same outfit he was wearing when he left that fateful day. As he was only stopping in to check on some projects. That long black hair, flowing down to his shoulders and styled into a top knot. And of course, that same infectious smile that had captivated your heart when you first met him.

“Suguru..”

“I’m home..”

That he was and you were overcome with a plethora of emotions. From excitement, anger, denial. But more importantly..confusion. Because although you could see, feel and touch him, this man parading around as your husband and the father of your child was NOT your beloved Suguru Geto. The furthest thing from. Despite acting, sounding and hell, even making love to you the same way he did, you knew better. You knew there was no way that he was here..alive at least.

So again..how exactly had this tragedy come to be? Only God…and you knew..

Because the truth of the matter was..he had met his horrible fate and untimely demise months ago. By your own hands when you discovered that he had been cheating on you with a coworker. You flew into a blind rage..bashing his skull in with a vase and then proceeding to slash him up with a knife until he resembled that of a patchwork doll. You spent all night cleaning his blood and the remnants of his entire existence from your kitchen floor..only after burying his body in your backyard. Where your garden and back patio now lie. Who was this stranger posing as your husband? Who was this man smiling in your face and kissing you before heading off to work each day? What happened to the strange scar you had left on his forehead?..

“Why? Why did you have to come back?”

@greenieweeniesworld @spaceforher @anubisisthebomb @crazychaoticizzy @makaylasierra789 @momobaby227 @certified-stargirl @thickbihhwitdagapp @kameko-ko @valentineluvu @mukurosbracup @prettypink-princesss @bleach-your-panties

#beyond fact or fiction #interactive fiction #interactive story #geto suguru #jujutsu kaisen suguru #suguru geto #JJK angst #jjk au #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen au #jujutsu geto #horror au #horror story #suguro geto #suguru x reader #suguru x black reader #geto x black reader #geto x reader #jjk geto #geto angst #getou suguru x reader #geto x y/n #geto jjk #jjk getou #getou x reader #jujutsu kaisen fic #jujutsu kaisen geto #mystery au #poll fic #cw death

[kindlingkeen]

Loyalty

A deleted scene from The People We Choose, part 1 my Choices ‘verse, a Jason-centric Lost Days AU. Warnings for references to temporary character death and canon typical violence.

Takes place circa chapter 1. I took this scene out fairly early on while drafting, so the characterization and continuity are a bit off. In other words, don’t take it as canon for TPWC. I may clean it up at some point and post it on ao3, but for now it’s going to live here.

“You’re just a pathetic gutter rat. Loyal to nothing and no one.”

One of the League’s pet assassins spits the words in Jason’s face, and they manage to hit with more than just saliva. Jason is holding the woman at knifepoint, so clearly the assassin is a biased source. But, still. 

Loyal to nothing and no one.

Is he? Is there no one he’s loyal to, nothing he believes in, Jason wonders. But, really, why should he be loyal to anyone in the first place when no one has ever been loyal to him.

It was the story of Jason’s miserable life (ugh, lives) - he’s never mattered enough. Not when it counted, not when it meant something. Willis chose an easy life of crime. Catherine chose the oblivion of drugs. Sheila chose her greed. 

And Bruce, Bruce chose the fucking mission. And he would keep choosing it.

And then there was Alfred. Jason had mattered to Alfred. Jason was sure of it. Alfred had loved him independently of the suit he wore, the criminals he did or did not hit, the person he was or the person he was trying to be.

For that, Jason thinks that he will probably always love Alfred. 

But, for Alfred, Bruce always came first.

Bruce chose to take Robin away. Bruce chose not to avenge Jason. Bruce chose to keep putting kids in the suit that Jason died in. 

And Alfred chose to stand by Bruce and allow it.

So, Jason thinks that he will probably always love Alfred. In a way. But it’s not enough.

Loyal to nothing and no one.

Jason remembers suddenly, something Talia said to him early on in his training at Tadrib Almawt as he lay nearly unconscious, bleeding heavily from a poisoned knife wound.

You made your own magic, Jason.

Jason used to think that being Robin gave him magic. What he could never really put a voice to, could barely admit to himself, was that it was that Bruce wanted him, that he thought Jason was special—that was where the magic came from.

When Robin was beaten and broken in a warehouse and Jason lay alone watching a timer count its way down to zero - he knew, he knew Bruce was coming. He wrapped that knowledge around himself like a fire blanket for his soul and held onto it with all his heart when the moment came - when he knew that no one was going to make it in time.

When Jason woke up in his coffin, he woke up crying out for Batman. When he dug his way out of his grave, he crawled out screaming for Bruce. Alone in a hospital, lost and confused, as his mind splintered apart, he pleaded for his dad. 

But when Jason woke up again, this time for good, drowning in green and pain and rage, he found himself in a world where his murderer was still bathing the city he called home with blood, while a black-haired, blue-eyed boy in Jason’s colors chased after him, a dark shadow following close behind. 

After that, when Jason woke up screaming from nightmares of dying, of choking to death as the world burned around him, he woke up with wordless shouts caught in his throat and cold, hard truth beating in his ears.

He never really had magic at all.

Delirious from blood loss and rambling with fever dreams, he’d blurted out the whole pathetic mess to Talia. He remembers with perfect clarity how she stood silently near the head of his cot watching one of Tadrib Almawt’s medics stitch him up, her face as hard as granite.

At first she’d said nothing at all, lips tight and grim, until the medic finished the bandages and bustled out of the room.

Then she sat abruptly on the side of his cot and looked him in the eye, her firm hand on his chin anchoring his head in place. 

“Jason, it’s unclear to me how exactly this could have escaped your notice,” she said, her tone drier than the desert around them, “but you were dead, and now you are not. You are magic.” 

Her hand reached down and wrapped briefly around his. When she spoke again, the Arabic words came out soft and liquid, like a dream. 

"لقد صنعت سحرك الخاص يا جيسون."

Talia was out the door and gone before he’d even realized she’d moved. Her words echoed around Jason as he shifted restlessly, trying to find sleep. 

You made your own magic, Jason.

Jason focuses again on the assassin dangling limply in his grip, the memory fading away.

I’m loyal to what matters, Jason thinks, his hand reaching out to wrap around the assassin’s sword. 

“I’m loyal to myself,” Jason whispers in the assassin’s ear, as he runs the sword through their gut.

#my fics #deleted scenes #tumblr drabbles #the people we choose #choices verse #jason todd #talia al ghul #bruce wayne #alfred pennyworth #batfam #lost days au

[wanderingnork]

Githyanki History Timeline

After MUCH research, I present: a timeline of the history of the gith! Starting from their earliest known appearances in history, spanning multiple planes, and ending at "the present day." Sources below the cut.

The subterranean empire of Zarum is founded on the Material Plane world of Oerth. The gith inhabitants, likely originally human, are highly religious, live deeply ritualistic lives, and claim complete control over many other peoples.

A patron deity of the gith dies and is buried somewhere under the material plane world of Pharagos. Presumably this, and possibly other deaths, are why the gods didn't intervene in what came next.

The illithids invade from a parallel, destroying the empire and enslaving the gith. The gith are forcibly dispersed across many planes of existence. Some are taken to the planet of Penumbra, where they'll remain and miss out on the rebellion, remaining in the long term as the "forerunners."

The great rebellion: Gith leads her people to shatter the entire illithid empire across every plane and leave it in ruins.

The githyanki relocate from the Material Plane to the Astral Sea.

The city of Tu'narath is founded on the body of a dead god and the gith begin forging their famous silver swords.

If Baldur's Gate 3 is treated as canon, somewhere in here Gith's son Orpheus is born.

Zerthimon objects to Gith's attempts to continue a war now that the gith are free. A civil war of the gith ensues and they split into the githyanki (children of Gith) and githzerai (those who spurn Gith). In some sources this is called "The Pronouncement of Two Skies." The githzerai depart for the plane of Limbo. A small splinter faction, the githvyrik, break off from both sides.

Gith and Vlaakith travel to the Hells to negotiate for aid from the archdevil Dispater. He denies them, but the dragon goddess Tiamat accepts a deal for the souls of githyanki rulers in return for the service of red dragons. Gith remains in the Hells as the first sacrifice. Vlaakith returns to the Astral Sea as regent in Gith's name, carrying the Scepter of Ephelomon as symbol of the pact.

If Baldur's Gate 3 is treated as canon, Orpheus tries to overthrow Vlaakith and is imprisoned, thought dead by the general public.

The extended regency of the line of Vlaakith begins and will last for 156 descendants. Vlaakith promises the githyanki the Material Plane as a "garden" for harvesting. At some point, Zerthimon disappears and it's unclear exactly where he went. Suggestions range from enlightened transcendence to death to lichdom.

The faction of the gul'othran, githyanki who seek total conquest and death of all aberrations rather than mere raiding and plunder, appears.

At some point after this, a significantly-sized githyanki ship breaks through into the planar-locked world of Athas. It's stranded there and all aboard are mutated permanently by psionic energies of that world, with no way to get back. The ship is considered lost.

The forge of Kamyn-Dhun, where the best silver swords were forged, is lost by sinking into the ocean. The githyanki remaining there undergo magical adjustments to allow them to survive underwater in their now-sunken city.

Approximately 1,000 years prior to the present day, Vlaakith CLVII (157) undergoes a transformation to become a lich. She will reign unchallenged until the present day, when either the events of The Lich-Queen's Beloved will take place or the events of Baldur's Gate 3 will take place, depending on the setting.

Baldur's Gate 3, Larian Studios, 2023 Chainmail Miniatures Game: Blood and Darkness - Set 2 Guidebook Dark Sun Campaign Setting, 2nd Edition Dark Sun Creature Catalog, 4th Edition Dawn of Night (Erevis Cale Trilogy, Book II, 2009) Dragon Magazine #294 - Underground Scenarios Dragon Magazine #298 - Vault of the Drow and Wizards' Workshop: Chainmail Dungeon #100 - The Lich-Queen's Beloved Dungeon #116 - The Death of Lashimire Dungeon #125 - Seeker of the Silver Forge Dungeon #168 - A Tyranny of Souls The Illithiad 3, Masters of Eternal Night The Illithiad 4, Dawn of the Overmind Mordenkainen's Tome of Foes, 5th Edition The Plane Above, 4th Edition The Plane Below, 4th Edition Planescape: Torment, Black Isle Studios, 1999 Polyhedron #159 - Chapter 5: The Invasion of Pharagos

#githyanki #baldur's gate 3 #d&d #this leaves out some of the later stuff #like what happens AFTER lich-queen's beloved #if you wanna know that #get into the scales of war adventure path #utterly bonkers stuff #and this is just the stuff that runs up to the current vlaakith #her reign has had some WILD things going on

[polarisbibliotheque]

Nemesis (Vergil x Reader) - Chapter 1, Prologue

Nemesis

Pairing: Vergil x Reader

Summary: The Abyss opening is a rare occurrence. In his youth, Vergil wanted to harness its power, but never thought he would meet his greatest adversary along the way. Years later, the Abyss is once again open and that might call for some rather unlikely alliances.

Age restriction: 18+ - there's a lot of blood, violence, cursing and all those things people want to forbid younger audiences of seeing. Also, cosmic horror is a thing here. Procceed with caution.

TRIGGER WARNINGS: Vergil has a LOT of internal turmoil, and both main characters struggle with self-worth, self-hatred, abandonment issues, etc. The reader also gets seriously injured and humiliated in this chapter, so, again, proceed with caution. It gets dark and it might be too much for some people.

Author's notes: And so, it begins! I HOPE I'll be able to update this one weekly, but I don't know if my creativity will be that nice to me xD This is something that has been brewing for a while, based on my initial hatred for Vergil. Expect the slow burn of the century, they'll be hopeless and so friggin' proud in this one :)

Also I'm so proud of this header :')

Chapter 1 - Prologue

The city was swarming with demons.

Vergil had rarely seen anything like it – chaos took over, the streets stained with blood, the sky red with fire. He marched with resolve towards his objective, ignoring the demons terrifying humans.

There was nothing he could do. He wasn’t there to be a savior – only the strong survived and Vergil had no time to spare. He searched for power, and, if he took too long, his opportunity would be lost until another Abyss was open – and that could take years.

Vergil could feel the tingle in his hands, the stench from the demons in the Abyss. The closer he got, the fouler the smell of blood and rotten flesh. He inherited that enhanced sense from his father – and Vergil constantly questioned how Sparda could have lived in Hell for so long with that horrid reek engulfing him. It had to be something he discovered only after locking Hell behind himself.

All of his senses indicated the source of all mayhem was inside the building he had just entered – if it had been a church of sorts, a castle, some headquarters… Vergil wouldn’t know. Everything was destroyed beyond recognition, and he walked upon the rests of what was once inhabited by the humans who used to live in that city.

The Abyss was close. Soon to be near the reach of his fingertips: a source of power not even the most notorious demons had access to. Something ancient, beyond creation itself – source of salvation to some, source of damnation to others.

If Vergil was about to condemn his soul, it didn’t really matter. He had already been damned; since the day he was reborn on that fateful night his home was torn apart.

Another strange smell assaulted his senses, though. Vergil couldn’t quite tell what it was – no demon; that, he was certain. It was a scent of something that certainly did not belong to all that destruction…

And it came from behind a door within his reach – only a few steps away from the entrance of the courtyard: the place where the Abyss had manifested after centuries asleep.

Along with his human heart, came human curiosity. That inherent human feeling, always distracting Vergil from his path and quest for power. That incessant itch in the farthest corner of his soul that couldn’t be ignored – and that made him divert his steps towards that door.

As his hands were about to touch the sturdy wood that resisted the chaos, Vergil’s steps came to a halt when he felt another presence behind him.

“Not a step further, demon.”

And that presence was human.

Slowly turning back, hands already gripping the Yamato and ready for battle, Vergil found a set of eyes filled with fire and resolve. They had something inside them that bothered his spirit, for he did not know logically what it was – his heart, though, seemed to identify something he couldn’t quite put into words.

As you pointed your sword towards him, Vergil furrowed his brows.

“Step aside, human.”

“I will not let the likes of you roam this place.” You tilted your head upwards, revealing in the faint light of that godforsaken place the wounds and bruises that covered your face and neck. Vergil slightly narrowed his eyes; you must have been battling since all of that started. You were probably the last line of resistance of whatever humans lasted in that pitiful city. “Leave before I have to make you leave.”

Vergil’s eyes narrowed even further – not because of analyzing more, but because of your words. How dare someone like you even entertain the possibility of making someone like him leave…?

His hands took their battle stance on the Yamato. You lowered your sword, reading his posture and correcting yours to get ready to fight him.

From all the demons you fought that day, he was the most… Different. They all looked like creatures from the darkest pits of Hell, blood thirsty, power hungry – either ready to kill and fulfill their bloodlust or trying to harness some of the power of the Abyss. But that one in a blue coat who stood before you… He looked human. Painfully human, even. If it wasn’t for the way he carried himself in that battlefield – the way he held his sword, the way his steps seemed so calm among the mayhem, the way his eyes carried only ice and rage – you would’ve deemed him human.

But you didn’t have to be a demon expert to know that blue coated young man was nothing but a demon like all the others you had fought earlier – or, maybe, unlike the others.

Nevertheless, in your experience, once a demon, always a demon.

“I do not have time for this.” Vergil hissed between his teeth, tilting his head upwards in hubris, leaving the Yamato sheathed. He turned his attention back to the wooden door – you were almost as good as dead; it would be extremely unwise to engage in battle with him.

But something Vergil still had to learn about humans was that the heart doesn’t always follow the wisest of decisions – sometimes, it acts by itself; and whether that is a good or a bad thing, it’s debatable upon the situation.

He heard as your steps lunged quickly towards him, giving Vergil only a few seconds to dash from your vicious attack, making you almost hit the door with your great silver sword. He kept looking at you with annoyance – not only because you attacked, but also because that fire in your eyes seemed to glisten even more than before.

“Leave.” You tried one more time – but Vergil was prouder than that.

He wouldn’t let himself be ordered around by a human.

“You chose your fate.” He growled between his teeth, attacking with the still sheathed Yamato.

It wasn’t his intention to kill you – with just a few blows from the sheath, you’d be on the floor, begging for your life or passed out. Vergil wouldn’t kill, but he would teach you a lesson: no human could think they could defeat him. He was much too powerful for such a weak, pitiful creature.

But you parried him – once, twice, three times. Your eyes still carried that fire, burning with rage and that something else. You didn’t fall, so he attacked again. And again. And you kept on resisting, refusing to give in.

You promised no demon would go beyond that point – only over your dead body. And you would keep that promise.

Vergil growled in disbelief, vexed by your resistance. He didn’t have time for this. Why weren’t you falling? Where were you getting your strength from? He was the son of Sparda. A meek, fragile, battle wounded human just like you should have fallen from the first blow of Yamato.

But your movements were as skillful as his. You held your sword with as much grace and strength as Vergil yielded his demonic heritage. With another blow, you parried masterfully in the right timing, both of you stepping back from each other to recover your stances.

You had your head slightly upwards; and you held his gaze. Vergil hardened his jaw, mimicking your demeanor – or was it you who were mimicking his? He couldn’t know; and you couldn’t either. The blood inside yours and his veins burned with the rage to be dealing with someone else as proud – and as arrogant – as the other.

It was the first time for Vergil, such a human thing to feel, but oh… Your eyes were crushing his pride. Your resistance mocked his power. And he couldn’t let that happen.

Charging towards you, Vergil didn’t hold back. You stood your ground, fighting him as best as you could – your body, though, begged for some rest. Even with the pain, you defended and counter-attacked with the might Vergil would expect of someone in a better shape… Of someone as powerful as him.

You, in the other hand, did not expect a demon so versed in martial arts. You thought he was going to use only his strength, like all demons did, but he had skill. As you parried another blow of his – the sheath of the Yamato threatening to break your stance, unbothered by your silver blade – your eyes met his and, there, you saw not only ice, but the sparkle of a fire that could only be human.

His eyes burned with the same fire yours did – the flame that kept telling him you wouldn’t give up: the human stubbornness.

Although you read it as arrogance.

Bothered by your eyes, Vergil pushed you back, with enough strength to make you stumble on your hurt feet and plant one of your hands on the ground so you wouldn’t fall. You let your head low for a while, taking a few deep breaths to control your spinning head. Vergil furrowed his brows as he noticed the smell of blood came from a wound in your flank – making the fact you were there, fighting him, even more absurd.

“Hmpf.” Even with that realization, he couldn’t recognize the strength in you. That would mean a mere human, battered and hurt even, could put up a decent fight with him. That you both were in the same level of power. Vergil would never accept that. “You’re not worthy as my opponent.”

You shot your head upwards, eyes stark in his blue silhouette as that demon turned his back at you in a nonchalant manner, going back to his business. He didn’t even want to kill you. That was mortifying. With those words, sharp as a sword, he cut through your heart and your pride: you weren’t even worthy of dying in a fight.

With the blood boiling in your veins, you used your silver sword to help you up. As he heard your movement, Vergil stopped; turning around slowly only to find you cleaning the blood running down your lips – those eyes setting his soul on fire.

“I am not done yet.” You spat the blood on the ground, almost hitting his boots. Vergil didn’t give you the joy of seeing how much his temper was affected by your attitude – even though his hardened jaw betrayed him. Lifting his head slightly to try to remain above his opponent, Vergil slowly walked towards you; and you mirrored his demeanor, even if you weren’t doing it in a conscious manner. “Demon.”

This time, Vergil didn’t allow you to attack first – he would set the pace of the fight; almost like leading a deathly waltz. You were his partner and you would follow his lead to your demise; as he always did with every opponent.

As soon as his domineering footwork tried to set the pace, yours refused to dance according to his lead. He tried his best to tame you – but that fire kept glistening in your eyes, and your footwork followed your own beat.

You tried to break his and make sure you were the one setting the pace, but that man in a blue coat had too much will to let himself be lead across the battlefield. His steps worked on his own – and he had the audacity to try to dominate you; the same way you were trying to do with him.

Your tiredness and his annoyance, though, made Vergil knock you down again – but still, you got up. And again. And one third time.

As you took your sword from the ground, barely able to stand up and wield the silver weapon with bruised hands, Vergil had a hard time hiding his shock – cloaked by the annoyance under his furrowed brows.

How were you doing that? You had no demonic blood like his to mend your broken body and burn in flames of survival. How could you get up, over and over and over again…?

“C’mon, demon.” You muttered one more time, raising your head as you could.

“Enough.” Vergil growled between his teeth, charging at you with a speed a human would never be able to counter.

You fell once more. With the sword away from your hands, you had to crawl on the floor to try to grab it again, as Vergil finally unsheathed the Yamato and walked towards you as a death omen. The blade glistened in the last cold rays of the day, as you ignored the blood dripping from your mouth and reached out for your silver sword. The demon approached, unrelenting, and if you couldn’t get back to your weapon, those would be your last breaths.

“Y/n! No! NO!”

The voice of a child made you and Vergil freeze where you were – eyes shooting up to the door he almost opened out of sheer human curiosity.

“Stay back!” You immediately screamed, pointing at three children looking at you both in horror. “Lock the door! Take the other children! Get out of here!”

“Y/n, no! We…!”

“GO! GET OUT! I’LL HOLD HIM BACK!” Your eyes were stinging with tears, knowing full well they wouldn’t have a chance against the demons – but you could at least give them a chance to run and save themselves.

Vergil’s fingers froze on the grip of the Yamato, his glaciers’ eyes stuck in that scene. His heart couldn’t let him move, couldn’t let him breathe. As you struggled more and screamed the last words that made the children finally close the doors and run – with a bunch of steps that could only be of a group of at least fifteen children – he watched as your bloodied fingers held the hilt of your sword once more, tears falling from your eyes as you struggled to get up.

You cannot kill your own mother.

Those words echoed through Vergil’s mind as he watched your struggle to protect the ones weaker than you. All that fight, all that will, all that power… It came from that. You weren’t just keeping people safe by forbidding demons to walk towards the Abyss – and forbidding anything to come out of it – you were there to help those kids find a safe path through the city to a safe haven. You came back to that hopeless building because of them.

Eva had died saving Dante from the hell their home became on that fateful day. She plunged in the fire for her child, she did it out of love and protection. Vergil had heard Eva tried to save him as well, throwing herself in the danger to keep him safe – but he couldn’t accept that. He couldn’t live with the knowledge that he had his mother killed, he didn’t want to believe that; and so Vergil decided to remain with the belief that she had abandoned him for Dante, even if his stupid human heart screamed otherwise.

As you tried to get up from the ground once more, Vergil saw his mother – crawling on the floor, blood dripping from her lips, tears staining her face while she muttered his name, doing her best to keep her children safe. He couldn’t kill her; Vergil couldn’t kill you.

He was brought back to reality as the floor rumbled violently. Snapping his head towards the courtyard, Vergil knew quite well what was happening: all the fighting had taken too long.

“We are done.” His words were muttered between his teeth as Vergil used the sheath of the Yamato the keep your hand pressed on the floor.

With a last glare from his silvery eyes, he left in a hurry before you let your head fall between a deep sigh.

The children were gone, they were safe. Your job was done.

**

There were many circles and places in Hell, accounted for throughout history in all sorts of arcane writings.

There was, however, one place unaccounted for – with little information, whispered around as a legend of a nightmare: the Abyss.

Some believed it was real, some said it was nothing but a tale to scare children at night. Vergil had read enough to believe in its existence – as well as to know it could take centuries for another gate to be opened once more. No one knew when they manifested or where, but one thing was certain: there was power to be harnessed on that place.

The kind of power was another mystery. The Codex Daemonica had no information on it or what kinds of demons it harbored – if it was inhabited by demons at all. Some believed Sparda had locked Mundus in shackles in that deepest part of Hell, while other said it was the home of something… More ancient.

Vergil approached the courtyard with his hand on the hilt of the Yamato, ready to unsheathe it. There was a fissure on the ground, in the middle of the dilapidated stone garden. There was no sound to be heard: no leaves, no wind, no walking. Only silence.

His steps were calm but firm, approaching with care but never leaving their regal pace behind. The closer he got, the warier his heart became. Something wasn’t right – but, at the same time his soul told him to leave, something inside him told him to walk towards the edge and peak inside.

Vergil had already decided he would be the first one to venture in the Abyss in search for power and, upon coming back, telling his findings in his arcane journal. If his father had trapped Mundus inside it, he saw no reason why he, the son of Sparda, wouldn’t be able to enter it and survive. In order to protect himself, to make sure nothing would happen to him again, Vergil needed that power – and he would go to the farthest depths of Hell and back to make sure no one would be able to threaten him anymore.

Stopping at the edge of the Abyss, Vergil looked down, trying to see something – he had already had many experiences with Hell and knew how some places looked like.

But all he found was darkness.

A darkness that came from the deep – that had no end and, still, seemed to go as far as the depths of his own soul. It was an all-consuming darkness, one that would pull Vergil willingly to its clutches – one he couldn’t understand.

He held the hilt of the Yamato with more strength, the sweat almost making it glide down. His heart pounded inside his chest and Vergil could hear the blood flowing through his head. The darkness consumed his eyes, searching for the deepest part of his soul… The part he smothered, hiding even from himself. The part covered in bruises, blood and self-hatred; the part Vergil couldn’t bear to see: his own mirror, naked and vulnerable, staring right back at him.

He had to get out of there.

Vergil’s heart rate increased and he had no air in his lungs. He didn’t want to look; he didn’t want to see. All those things, all those feelings, all those wounds… Himself. He didn’t want to see himself. He had broken all the mirrors, buried all the broken shards left from his heart, asphyxiated the light from his soul… But there, right in the back, covered in darkness, one mirror was left. One fragile heart made of glass. One ray of light cradled by his bony, bruised, pale white hands.

He had to go. He didn’t want to meet Vergil. He couldn’t look him into his eyes. Not those pitiful, helpless, bruised eyes begging for help… Begging for love. He had to go.

“Vergil…? Vergil…!”

Inside the Abyss, a familiar voice echoed, snatching Vergil away from that last mirror alone in the depths of himself. In that deep darkness, his eyes couldn’t see nothing more than the void, but a voice called him down in the depths.

“Are you there Vergil…? My son…!”

It was Eva.

Vergil hadn’t heard the voice of his mother since the day he discovered the extent of his demonic blood. Many times, he heard her voice inside his head – knowing it was all but a memory; the ghost of his mother coming back to try to comfort him in his desolation, at least a little bit.

But that voice in the Abyss… It wasn’t in his head. It wasn’t a memory. It was there… It was in there.

“Can you hear me…? Vergil…? I… I am scared.”

“I am coming to get you, mother.” Vergil’s voice was no higher than a murmur, but it was filled with resolve.

Ready to take another step and finally venture into the Abyss, another earthquake took the city. He lost his footing, tumbling backwards and falling far away from his mother’s voice as the courtyard came down and the Abyss slowly closed.

“Vergil…! Don’t leave me here alone…! Please…! My son…!”

“Mother… No!” Vergil did his best to run towards the very place his heart and soul screamed at him to stay away, ready to plunge into its depths not knowing what would happen next.

As Vergil finally reached the center of the courtyard, his hands and knees found only the stony floor as everything stood silently still.

The Abyss was closed.

**

Your empty eyes stared at the crumbling pieces of the city as its last pieces came down in destruction.

They promised. They should have waited for you. That was the deal: you went back for the children and your friends would wait for you all to come back – if you weren’t with the children, they should have waited fifteen minutes.

It had been ten minutes. You were on time. You were on time. There was no reason for leaving you behind.

They were the last way out of the city, the very last ride. The last hope of survival.

And they left you there, in the middle of those crumbling flames, filled with blood and death. You had dragged your feet until the meeting point, you wandered around, screaming their names in hopes they were just hiding to keep themselves safe. You searched; you did your best. You did your best.

No one was there. No one appeared. You were left behind. You were alone.

“Oh, child… Hush…” A snake-like voice dragged itself from the shadows, followed by cadenced steps. It was sweet, mesmerizing… Too comforting for all that desolation. “I know, I know… Your heart is broken. You don’t have to cry.”

“I am not crying, demon.” Your voice was hardened like stone, resonating between your teeth. Even if you wanted to cry, your pride wouldn’t let your tears fall for that kind of betrayal. Not for those people. They didn’t deserve your tears.

“Oh, but your heart, I can feel it…” The she-devil approached you, her hands resting seductively on your shoulders. You would have wiped them off, but you didn’t have the will to do so. “It is… Dead. Completely dead inside that little chest of yours. There’s no reason to lie to yourself… They forgot you, child. That is worse than being left behind, isn’t it? Your already hurt heart is in pieces, I can feel it.”

All your life, you learnt demons lied to get what they wanted. They listened closely to the winged words people let out of their mouths without thinking and later used those to their advantage. That demon, though… She wasn’t lying.

Your heart had already been hurt numerous times before, but that… That was the last blow to kill you. If you were left behind, people at least had thought of you – but they didn’t even remember you existed. You were forgotten, that’s how important you were. You meant nothing, you were worth nothing. Left to die because no one remembered you were dying.

Indeed, it was as if your heart had been torn out of your chest… And there was nothing. Not even tears.

You closed your eyes, taking a deep breath. Your chances of survival were close to none. You had been sentenced to death by those who couldn’t remember all they had to do was wait only five more minutes for you to come back.

“I know… There is no reason to fight anymore, no reason to remain in this pain…” That voice was now close to your ears, so sweet, so dangerous. “I can give you rest child…” It whispered in your ears, always so seducing. “Just give me your soul… Your blood. And I can make it all go away.”

“Hmpf.” You opened your eyes again, slowly turning to look into the blood red eyes of the voluptuous demon who stood behind you. Beautiful, but something in it made you wary. “You can have my blood, demon. But only over my dead body.”

“Hmmm. So be it.” The she-devil rolled her eyes, immediately nonchalant with your attitude. “You are as good as dead anyway. I could’ve made it painless, pitiful creature.”

Her words allowed a band of lurking demons nearby to approach and you finally noticed you weren’t being attacked before because she had claimed you as her prey. You were too weak even to fight her alone, but a whole bunch of demons… Your death was certain.

Taking a deep breath, you held your silver sword with pride. If it was for you to die that way, at least you would make it worthy of a hero. You wouldn’t fall easy and you would take as many demons as you could with you.

*

As he left the city, Vergil felt a commotion. With lost steps, still disoriented by the voice of his mother, he was naturally brought to the place – as if the demon inside himself wanted blood from the fight happening nearby.

He had never had an experience as the one with the Abyss. He was very aware of demons with psychic powers, able to instill confusion and hallucination in their victims… What he experienced with the Abyss was different.

Was his mother trapped in there? All this time, all alone, in the deepest, most dangerous part of Hell? Years and years in suffering, instead of spreading her beautiful wings as the angel she should’ve become upon giving her life to save Dante…?

Furrowing his eyebrows, Vergil let out an audible huff. He didn’t know what was worse: to believe his mother died trying to save him or that she had been trapped for endless years in the suffering and desolation of Hell.

It was definitely easier to believe she forgot him, saved only Dante and died, watching her beloved younger child from Heaven. Feeling anger was easier than mourning. It was easier than guilt.

Being forgotten was easier than being loved to death.

“Oh, child. Give up already!”

“I can keep going… Demon.”

Vergil immediately paid attention to what was happening in the distance – there he found that stupid little headstrong human who delayed him enough so he lost his chance to enter the Abyss to harness its power… And even to save his mother. He narrowed his eyes, ready to burn all his anger in you.

Until you were hit by a demon and fell on the floor, barely able to get up. They were all laughing, humiliating you. They kicked your sword away from your hands, making you crawl towards it, spitting blood, as they screamed and laughed, telling you to give up.

But, as you did with him, something made you get up and keep on fighting.

Vergil watched in awe as you finally pulled yourself again to your feet and looked at your foes, barely able to hold your silver sword.

It was pride.

The demons attacked you once more and, this time, your eyes couldn’t keep open. You put on your last defense, your last stand. You tried, but you were only human. There was nothing left inside of you and you could only do so much – you could keep your pride, but your physical strength had come to an end. You let go of your sword and allowed yourself the be engulfed by darkness.

Vergil’s hand stopped your bloody body from hitting the floor as the other yielded the Yamato.

“What a shameful thing…” He muttered, lifting his head above the eyes of the demons who stared at him. “Resorting to humiliating a half-dead weak human to feel powerful.” With those words, his hand gently left you on the floor, his feet walking in front of you to take a fighting stance. He couldn’t let you die – not like that. You deserved a better death. You deserved to die by his hands in a fair fight, not humiliated like that. “It’s time to teach you what real power looks like.”

The demons were decimated by the blade of the Yamato – in all that fight, Vergil didn’t touch your body a single time, not even accidentally. If those creatures wanted your blood, they would have to go through him, the son of Sparda. Your death was his, you were his nemesis. No one would touch you.

It took a human to kill a monster. Maybe, one day, his death would be yours as well.

**

A dark, cloaked figure of a tall man walked with resolute steps under the rain, cradling a frail body in his arms, keeping it from the water and wearing the dark veil of the deep night as protection.

Vergil carried you all the way to the next city – avoiding the looks of those concerned with and helping those who were able to flee and seek shelter nearby. He stayed in the shadows, keeping away from the big groups of volunteers who received injured and lost people – providing food, shelter, warmth and care.

You needed that. You were as good as dead in his arms. Vergil could hear as your breath was barely none, as your heart rate fought to keep you alive. Even in the brink of death, it was as if your body struggled for its own survival.

The hospital wasn’t big, although it was one of the biggest buildings in town. Seeming like an old mansion turned into a public building, Vergil crossed the entrance garden with his strong steps, not hearing much nearby. Most of the staff was probably working on receiving the refugees from your derelict city.

Going up the very few stone steps, he stopped by the door, finally protected from the rain. It was a great wooden door, heavy, adorned with iron, with a single candle keeping some kind of warmth and light in the darkness of that desolate night.

Vergil left you on the floor, ringing the bell on the wall. A woman peeked through the window, immediately initiating a fuss inside – it wouldn’t take long for them to pick you up and start your treatment.

His job was done. You would be alright.

As he was about to leave, Vergil noticed how your lips were already painted with a tinge of purple, your skin too cold for your own sake. Taking off his midnight blue scarf, he wrapped it around your body – it should be enough to keep you alive until the hospital staff took you in.

When the door opened, that strange man wasn’t there anymore. Gone like a shadow, the only one left was that poor person – beaten up, bloodied, bruised… Cozily wrapped around a deep blue scarf.

Respect was implied when one had found their greatest enemy.

**

To be continued...

#devil may cry #dmc #devil may cry fanfiction #dmc fanfic #devil may cry imagine #dmc imagine #vergil sparda #vergil x reader #vergil x you #long fic #dmc vergil x reader #well well here we are #my first attempt at a long fic :3 #these two are the proudest little things I've ever written in my life #I'M LOVING IT #also yes I thought of that dmc3 scene that Vergil goes 'WHY isn't it working?!' when writing his part xD #so much to unpack about these two <3 #hope to see you next week!