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gretahayes · 1 year

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Favourite tim drake recs? :0

Assuming you mean fanfic recs, I've got probably the most for him and this is long, so it's going under the cut;

This is genuinely one of my favorites, it's set post-Red Robin, and deals with Tim's vigilante stalking habits, his family finding out, Cass realizing there's no photos of Tim, them setting out to take/find some of him (a much harder feat than you'd think) and finally, Tim seeing the photos. It's amazing and sweet, and I can't recommend it enough. (I especially like the Bruce & Tim and Tim & Damian in this)

This is by the same author, also set post-Red Robin. This is Damian and Tim focused, Damian POV, in which Damian sees Bruce's contingency plans for him and the rest of the family, and with nobody else to turn to, runs for Tim. Canon divergent in the way Bruce doesn't have a contingency for his children, neither does Tim for his team, or them for him, but it kinda makes sense in this setting. Their interactions are amazing here, and seems so real.

In this, Tim gets a tonsillectomy. An elaboration in the form of a long fic. A must-read, I feel. It's funny and has so many feels and such good characterization.

!!! Can't believe I almost forgot about this one! Tim is Bruce's assistant, not son, and never became a vigilante. He's incredibly overworked, but no less dedicated to the Waynes. It's heartwrenching and sweet and funny and—words can't do it justice. It's a must read. The Al Ghuls make a cameo but Tim knows how to deal with them. Tim's deeply sad but next to nobody knows and those that do just accept it (including him). Kon is the MVP. Cass. Damian and Tim have an odd bond built of mutual respect and disdain for everyone around them. Luthor tries to recruit Tim every year and fails.

This is funny and amazing—Tim lands in a universe where he's technically considered a drug addict, since coffee is a drug and in the regular universe everyone drinks it.

The YJ fic Ever. I've recced this at least three times, and I will continue to. It's amazing characterization all around—both YJ and batfam—and genuinely is so fun. I love everyone in this. When an unknown enemy threatens Robin, Gotham's vigilantes come together to keep him safe. Unfortunately, they're protecting the wrong Robin. Or: Tim Drake plans his own rescue. Things get complicated.

This is Tim & Damian—Tim gets his overprotective big brother moment :) love love LOVE the way everyone is written here.

This is short and hilarious—Tim has amnesia after a head wound (can only remember back to his YJ days) and tries to bullshit his way out of anyone noticing. He might have succeeded if not for Cass.

This is a time loop fic, switching POVs. Tim's stuck in a time loop in which Jason always dies. The loop before the one this was set in, he accidentally kills Damian out of stress and too-fast reflexes. He breaks down when he sees Damian again, the whole thing unravels, and they resolve to help him out of it.

THIS SERIES MAKES ME FERAL. Jack, Tim and sometimes Dana, set when Jack made Tim quit from Robin. Horror-type elements and beautifully poetic, but centered around Jack's POV of the son he realizes he doesn't know, and him realizing he may be a shit dad. Dana's the best stepmom ever, and Tim's far nicer to her than he is Jack. This is the first work, in which Jack tries and fails to understand this Tim, and realizes that this Tim is Robin, not Tim. This is the second (and last) work in the series, in which Tim hasn't fully quit the lifestyle even though he's not going out as Robin, but Jack has no proof he hasn't. Just a hunch and a few odd occurrences that us, the readers, who are familiar with Tim's hero life will find obvious, but Jack does not. Dana makes Tim happier, more Tim than Tim-Robin, than Jack does, and Jack hates it. Near the end, he starts calling Tim Robin, not Tim. I LOVE it. Even if you hate Jack (like I do) you need to read this, for the Tim characterization if nothing else. Outsider POV, except he shouldn't be an outsider. But he is.

This is so fucking funny. Tim gets a matching tattoo with Kon, and hides it from Bruce. When Bruce—and the rest of his family—find out, all goes to hell.

Remember when I said the Jack and Tim series was only slightly horror? This is horror. Bruce's got a habit of picking up monsters, and this one is about Tim. If you're sensitive to horror, please read the tags and maybe avoid it, because this is delightful but not for everyone.

In this, Tim becomes an unintentional sugar daddy to the caped community. It's a bit iffy in some places, but hilarious.

This is Dick and Tim (surprised it took me this long to rec one with them as the main focus tbh) and it's Dick checking up on his little brother. Pure fluff, and genuinely amazing.

This is Tim & Bruce but also Tim & Tam in some places. Bruce forgets Tim is the majority shareholder for WE and is thus invited to shareholder meetings, Tim finds this very amusing and is generally a menace. You can FEEL the teenager in this Tim. Amazing.

Tim's de-aged to a kid in this, and re-meets his family. Fluff and feels ensue.

This is Bruce and Tim. Bruce isn't prepared for his newest Robin's neuroses.

This has Tim & Cassie meeting at an archaeologist event as kids and having to fight a monster thing :) it's cute

GODDD this fic? This fic ruined me. Beautiful Tim characterization, a gorgeous look at Bruce and how much he fucks up despite caring, and Dick being a stressed but amazing big brother with gorgeous writing. I love their brotherly affections here, and Tim's weird neuroses being shown here. Tim & Bruce is how it starts, and it's very much centered around their relationship, but it tapers off into Dick & Tim, which I'm not complaining about. Kon (and Bart!) makes a cameo and is an amazing friend. Can't rec this enough. If you read none of the other fics, please read this one.

This is Dick and Tim again. Dick forces Tim to go undercover with him to an Elvis convention in a thinly veiled attempt to spend time with the brother who he doesn't think knows how much he loves him. It's set in Tim's POV, though, so until Dick says this, Tim doesn't know. Hilarious and short.

This is Dick and Tim (who's surprised? Nobody) where Dick goes to Robin!Tim's science fair because Tim mentioned it and well, nobody else was going. Short and sweet.

This deals with the batfam finding out about the shitshow that was Tim's BruceQuest. If you're a stickler for canon I'd recommend you skip this one, but if not, it's a great read.

This is Dick and Tim again, and it's amazing. Tim's alone on Christmas Eve. Dick finds out, and does something about it. It's Robin!Tim, so this is Dick, Babs and Tim. This author is amazing at writing their interactions, plus inside Dick's head is a tricky place to write and they nail it perfectly. Mostly Dick & Tim, but since he invites Tim to Babs' holiday party, Babs makes a good number of cameos.

This is Tim talking a jumper off the ledge while Damian watches. Then they talk about it. Tim from Damian's POV is always interesting, but this especially is amazing.

This is a core four fic, Tim's POV! Pure humor. Tim finds a dildo in the dishwasher and he drags them for a team meeting so he can sus out whose it is.

I've recced this before, I think, but I'll do it again. Red Robin canon divergence fic in which Bruce is actually dead, and Tim calls Dick to tell him he thinks he may have been wrong. Dick's POV, short, but the emotion in this is outstanding.

In this fic, Damian has trouble with the transition from Dick's Batman to Bruce's Batman. Tim, who's also had both, is surprisingly helpful. This has so many Tim and Damian feels that I'm literally bursting at the seams. Melancholy, camaraderie, and all the good stuff. Damian's POV, and since he sucks at so much as guessing at what's going on in Tim's head, it's all the more great.

This is Dick and Tim, a soft Christmastime fic.

This is Bruce and Tim. Bruce and Tim have a sort-of game that started when Tim was thirteen. Initially, it was Tim stealing sips (or occasionally whole mugs) of Bruce’s coffee, back when he was too young for Alfred to allow him to drink it. Now, though, Bruce is getting his own back, and steals Tim’s coffee when he can. Sweet and fluffy.

Here, Tim gets a headwound and only remembers back to his Robin days, and forgets to be awkward around Dick and Damian. Tugs at the heartstrings. Dick's reminded of how much he misses this Tim.

This is really funny. Remember that time during the YJ days where the adult heroes were de-aged and the kid ones grew to be adults? Tim didn't reach six foot. In this, he's mocked ruthlessly for it.

Here, Tim goes to high school again after dropping out :) it's core four and hilarious

In this, Tim accidentally kills his dad in self defense—or rather, thinks he does, Jack's still alive but he doesn't know that until Dick shows up—and scrambles to call Dick. He calls Jason instead. Dick eventually gets called and shows up, and the brotherly feels in this are amazing. Tim's in shock for a good portion of it, and it's his POV, so you've got to piece some stuff together. Bad dad Jack, as in worse than canon bad dad Jack. Tugs on the heartstrings, and have I said I love Dick in this? Because I do. Bruce shows up near the end, and to everyone's surprise, doesn't absolutely fuck things up and/or fail as a parent.

Here, Tim is sick and alone. Dick, after not hearing from Tim at all for three days, goes to his apartment, finds him sick, and takes care of him. Eventually he gets dragged to the Manor for some actual r&r. It's sweet, and this writer has an amazing way with words and an intriguing flow.

In this, Bruce knows Tim. They have a routine, have habits, they know each other. This is so so touching, and I love it so much.

Here, Tim and Steph give Bruce a headache. It's amazing.

I..can't even begin to describe this. Bruce is fresh from the timeline, and this is a sort of introspection/character study type thing about him and Tim and how Tim's changed. Mostly, though? Mostly, Bruce just gives his son a hug.

Here, Kon is Tim's work husband. Bruce suffers. Pure fluff and humor, with a touch of feels.

Here, Bruce takes Tim to get his wisdom teeth out. They're both worried, but together, they're alright. Tim cries while doped up on the drugs. He cries a lot.

Here, 90's!Tim Drake wakes up in his Red Robin body. Exhausted from a YJ mission, he chooses to focus on getting through a normal day so as not to disrupt things for his future self. But, y'know, his way. Hilarious and so in-character, if exaggerated for comedy.

This is Tim and Damian—Damian gets hit with truth serum on patrol, and a pissed off Tim has to come and get him. Damian resolves to not tell Tim he's been hit with truth serum. They get closer as a result. Love their dynamic in this.

This is core four again, but just general teenager superhero chaos. Can't rec it enough

Here, Tim tries to build a LEGO Gotham, but his family just can't leave it—or him—alone. He calls a family meeting to tell them to knock it off, and they do not. Fluff and humor.

Here, Tim has appendicitis and gets his appendix removed. The best mix of fluff, feels, and good old complicated family dynamics ever

In this, Bruce tries to navigate giving affection to his odd son, Tim. Touching and funny.

This is Tim and Damian—Damian crashes on Tim's bed in the Watchtower when injured, Tim finds him. They talk, and maybe bond a bit, even though they'd never admit it.

Here, Bruce hugs Tim. Really nothing else to it.

Another fic where Tim wakes up with amnesia and pretends to know his family so he's not rude. He's found out when he correctly deduces Bruce is his dad, but makes the mistake of calling Bruce dad.

This is Dick and Tim again. Tim gets de-aged into a six-month-old, and Dick takes care of him. Soft and so so sweet.

In this, Tim's trying to work in his apartment when his siblings keep showing up to distract him and get him to take a break. It's sweet of them, if very annoying.

This is Bruce and Tim. Tim's injured and lying in bed, Bruce gets him takeout. Feels fuzzy and just...good. You've got to read it to know what I'm talking about, no summary does it justice.

Here, Damian tries to make amends with Tim. He does it very oddly though, so Tim thinks he has a crush on him, and avoids him all the more for it because ew-gross-ew-ew.

In this, Tim gets his teeth knocked out and grabs Dick as a mediator so he tells Bruce. Short and funny-sweet. You can tell this is in Tim's Robin run, due to all the little hints dropped.

This is Tim and Kon, funny and nonsensical. Tim calls Kon in the early hours of the morning, drunk. Kon thinks he deserves sainthood for this.

In this, Tim has road rage and most of his family find that out in the most hilarious way possible.

Bruce and Tim—a test sort of fic? Interesting, definitely.

This is timkon, Tim has memory loss and is amazed by Kon all over again.

Core four go to a gala :)

This is Dick and Tim, Tim breaks into Dick's house, accidentally interrupts his nap, tries to leave out of guilt, and gets wrangled into hugs. So so soft and so so sweet.

Another de-aged Tim fic, but this time with six year old Tim and Bruce taking care of him. This is so melancholy and...ugh. I love them.

Here, Tim and Dick are thrown into an alternate universe and have to try and get back with no other support system and no way out. They meet this world's version of Bruce and Alfred, though.

CEO Tim, and hates it. He makes that Luthor's problem.

Timkon, in which Tim plans all his dates VIA corkboard and Kon is so attracted to that.

CEO Tim (again), except he's still a teenager and people end up thinking he's a communist. This is short and hilarious all the way through. Also, Bruce is there.

This is The kid!Tim fic ever. Tim, having found a weird hole after a storm, decides to go exploring ignoring the fact that This Is Gotham and They Probably Have Cursed Stuff Down There.Luckily, it was just a cave system that spans the entire Gotham underground. Unluckily, Tim is a very curious child. Tim's a sorta eldritch being at the end?? Amazing, 100 would recommend.

In this, Tim finds out he isn't his parents' biological son. This changes everything. This changes nothing. Can't say anything else without spoiling, but I can't rec it enough.

In this fic, Bruce is back in time in Drake Manor, and meets baby Tim. It's like you're frozen in time, and all that matters is Bruce and his infant not-yet-son.

Here, Kon and Tim date. Tim's a cryptid stalker that refuses to be photographed, Dick is a big brother that loves his little brother, and it's cute.

Sorry it took me so long to compile this list anon, happy reading!

#asks #anon #tim drake #fic rec #god this is. a lot #took me a while to compile

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maochira · 1 year

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Noa, Chris and Lavinho becoming your father figure

Basically, you're part of a team of younger players for Bastard München/Manshine City/FC Barcha, your coach gets sick/injured so Noa/Chris/Lavinho become your coach for a while (separate headcanons for each character btw)

Tags: gn!reader, hurt/comfort(?), implied child neglect by reader's parents/father or them not having a father figure in their life, reader is a teenager

This was requested by this anon and lucky you I thought about a scenario like this for my Blue Lock OC and Noa a lot last week, so I already had stuff for this in my silly little brain. Also this is probably my favourite thing I've written for this blog so far!!

Requests are open!

Series masterlist

Noel Noa

-you were quite excited when you heard Noa would be your coach for a while

-and to your surprise, he was very impressed with your skill, so one day after training he asks you to stay longer to talk to you

-he didn't intend it to go like this, but your conversation ends up going a little deeper and you reveal stuff about your home life to him and let's just say Noa,,,, some sort of fatherly instinct kicks in very quickly

-he already acts a bit like a father figure to the entire team during training, but man, hearing about your home situation just makes him feel more fatherly about you

-after talking to you, he can't stop thinking about that conversation. He has a hard time falling asleep that night

-after that, he starts treating you as if you were his own child. He always asks if you ate enough that day, and in case you didn't, he's already prepared because guess what? He got some food for you

-during training, he treats you exactly like the rest of the team. But before practice, during breaks and after training? He's so fatherly towards you, some of your teammates started asking if you're related

-at first, it's a bit confusing for you, but you quickly start seeing him as more of a father figure as well

-when your usual coach recovers and returns, Noa stays in contact with you. He knows the times when you're at practice, so whenever he has the time, he will stop by to ask how you're doing

-if it rains, he will INSIST on driving you home. In no circumstance will he let you walk home/to the bus or train stop in the rain. He'd be way too worried about you getting sick

-also, he gave you his phone number and made it very clear that no matter for what, you can call him at any time

Chris Prince

-he's super excited when he gets to be your team's coach and wants to get to know every member, so during your first practice with him he lets the entire team play minigames and takes aside one player to talk to them a bit

-you're the last one to talk to him, and you actually talk so much, practice is already over but you stay because talking to him is so much fun and it's the most comfortable you've felt in a while

-but the lighthearted tone of the conversation changes immediately when you mention your home situation. You stay in your lighthearted tone because honestly, you're not that concerned about it. You're doing well, considering your circumstances. But Chris changes to a more serious tone, while you attempt to keep everything lighthearted

-and because of this, Chris gets so fatherly towards you. Like Noa, he doesn't treat you any differently from the rest of your team during training, but whenever he gets the chance to talk to you, you just notice he acts like a father would

-he's upset when he finds out your usual coach has recovered so he soon wouldn't be your coach anymore

-even when he's not your coach anymore, he comes to almost every single match of your team. And whenever you're not on the field, he will passive-aggressively ask your coach why he benched you. No matter what the answer is, he will insist that you should be playing because he genuinely thinks you're one of the best players in your team

-you have each other's phone numbers, so every now and then he texts you and asks how your day or week has been, if everything is okay at home and if you need his help with anything

Lavinho

-he's literally a huge bundle of joy when he's asked to temporarily be the coach of your team

-always joking and messing around with you and your teammates

-one day, when he walks past your team's locker room, he overhears you venting about something from your home life. He knows he shouldn't, but he stays to listen for a minute or two

-and then the realisation hits him. He notices how neither of your parents ever came to drive you to training, pick you up after it, or even watch your matches. No one ever came.

-he waits at the exit for you to leave the building, and when you do he asks to talk to you

-you're so nervous. You've never seen Lavinho as serious as this, so automatically you think you've done something wrong or you're gonna be benched for the next match

-but to your surprise, he admits he heard you venting to your teammates. He apologises for listening and explains he's concerned about you

-he tells you how it's okay if you don't want to tell him more than what he's heard already, but he really wants you to know that because he's your coach for the time being, he'll also be a safe person to talk to about anything

-you really appreciate his concern and offer, but you plan to keep your home life away from your soccer life as much as possible

-well, at first you do. As time passes on, you find yourself asking Lavinho to talk after practices more and more often

-he very soon becomes a father figure to you, and he treats you as if you were his child

-also stays in contact with you after your usual coach returns, he really tries to come to every match you play in and cheers for you the loudest

-he probably gets happy tears in his eyes every time you score a goal

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blossomwritesthings · 1 year

Text

𝐬𝐤𝐳 & 𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞

pairing: skz members (ot8) x fem!reader (afab)

genre: idol!skz. scenario. smut - MDNI, 18+ only. kinda fluffy. slightly funny. reader pov. established relationship.

content & warnings: explicit & strong language. very suggestive/explicit sexual scenes. smut warnings below cut!!

word count: 5.4k

summary: in which you wear lingerie around skz.

18+ warnings: unprotected sex (stay safe out there, guys!). possessiveness from some of the members. pet names (both sweet and hot ones). dirty talk. lingerie kink. dom (hard and soft)/sub undertones. spanking. slight dacryphilia kink. corruption kink. making out. humiliation. degradation. strength kink. manhandling. praise kink. nipple/breast play. overstimulation. exhibitionism. sub-space. oral sex (f receiving). fingering (f receiving). hair pulling. scratching.

a/n: yayyy these are the first skz scenarios i've ever written... they could be really good or very shitty, so lmk what you guys think!! lingerie is a real big kink for me haha, so i hope i did all 8 of the boys justice with these scenarios. 😈 also, YES- my skz bias is ot8, so i tried my absolute hardest to write the same amount for each one of the boys... enjoy! 🥵

🤎 - ̥۪͙۪˚┊❛ other cool stuff ❜┊˚ ̥۪͙۪◌

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. . . ⇢ ˗ˏˋcheck out my skz masterlist! ࿐ྂ

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. . . ⇢ ˗ˏˋ skz fic recs [sfw ver]! ࿐ྂ

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ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ʀᴇᴘᴏsᴛ ᴛᴏ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀ sɪᴛᴇs (ᴛʜɪs ɪɴᴄʟᴜᴅᴇs ᴛʀᴀɴsʟᴀᴛɪᴏɴs). © ʙʟᴏssᴏᴍᴡʀɪᴛᴇsᴛʜɪɴɢs ⤐ ᴀʟʟ ʀɪɢʜᴛs ʀᴇsᴇʀᴠᴇᴅ

*ੈ✩‧₊˚🌾 chan

You knew that it had been an extremely long week for Chan. What with all of the promotions that the boys were doing, and him always being holed up in the studio with every free second he had in the day.

All of this cumulated to the two of you rarely having seen each other within the past few weeks.

You'd just pass each other in the kitchen on your separate ways to work in the early morning - long before the sun had risen high in the sky - and quickly peck each other on the lips.

But, you wanted to change things. It had been far too long since the last time the two of you fucked. And you wanted to change that. Hence, why you had decided to buy the cute, dainty black set of lingerie at the department store when you had been shopping that past weekend.

The piece wasn't too frilly and suited your style perfectly while also adhering to your boyfriend's favourite colour- which was always pitch black.

The set slipped onto your frame easily, and in no time at all, you had positioned yourself atop the living room couch, completely bare save for the thin pieces of black fabric covering your most-sensitive parts.

With a glance at the nearby kitchen clock, you read that it was nearing midnight.

He'd be coming home any minute now- your thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the electronic keypad beeping just outside your shared apartment's front door.

Your boyfriend crossed the threshold of the apartment silently, head down as he typed away furiously at something on his phone. Probably song lyrics that had graced his mind as he was making his trek home.

Staying quiet and ever still, you watched in anticipation, heart leaping into your throat as he slipped his shoes off and threw his backpack down on the nearby kitchen counter.

And that's when his head turned upwards and his gaze immediately slid to your form. His eyes locked onto your black-lace-clad skin, pupils darkening instantly.

"Welcome home, baby..." You began, voice coming out soft and meek.

In an instant, he was upon you, a wide, sardonic kind of smirk spreading across his lips. "And what do we have here, hmm?" He asked, hands splaying across your knees and pulling your legs apart so that he could nestle between you on the couch.

A nervous, high-pitched giggle escaped out of you at the lust that danced in his eyes just then. "Oh, you know... just a little surprise I thought you'd enjoy."

His hands stopped their hike up your legs at your words, as he rose a dark eyebrow your way. "Surprise? And what have a done to earn such a thing, baby girl?" He leaned into you, pressing a heated kiss against your forehead.

Your fingers found their way into his hair, as his mouth traveled down until your lips collided in a passionate kiss. "You've just been working so damn hard these past few weeks. Thought you deserved something special." You smiled up at him when the two of you pulled apart. "D-Do you like it?"

"Like it?" Chan scoffed, nails digging into the flesh of your warm, uncovered hips. "Baby girl- I'm doing everything in my power to resist the urge to not rip this off of you right this instant and fuck you."

You stared at him with big eyes, the hot arousal pooling in the depths of your centre. "Please- Chan-" And you didn't need to say anything else at that moment. Your desperation for him was apparent just by the way your hands clutched onto his dark hair, the way your cheeks heated with a flush.

And he felt the same way, as his mouth slowly pulled away from yours, beginning to press slow, open-mouthed kisses against your chin, before moving down the column of your neck.

Yes, the black lingerie was a hell of a good idea.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚🌾 lee know

"You know why you're getting punished, kitten?" Minho ground out, just as he landed another cruel blow to your sore asscheek.

You all but whimpered into the pillow that your face was stuffed against. It was fucking humiliating - the tears that spilled down your cheeks, unbidden, the pants that fled from your lips, and especially- the liquid arousal that seeped out of you, wetting your legs in agonizing rivulets.

But your boyfriend wasn't one to give up easily. No, he loved the chase. He craved the fight. Especially the one you'd put up every time he edged you so close to the edge - make you feel so loved yet so alone at the same time.

He could be a cruel tease at times, and when that side came out of it, your body took the worst of the temperament change. All red and sore and raw the day after, from his crazed passions for you and you alone.

But, at that moment, it had been a grave mistake, not to answer him.

All at once, you felt his nimble fingers wind into your locks, yanking on your hair until your scalp burned in fiery protest. He was pulling your head back and away from the downy pillow. "What was that? Couldn't hear you... speak up for me, kitten." He said in a growl, slapping your skin for what felt like the hundredth time the night.

"I-I wore the lingerie without your permission." You whined in a desperate kind of tone. Your eyes were squeezed shut, holding back the cries that threatened to spill from your lips at the rough feeling of the calluses on his palms hitting your exposed flesh. Again, and again, and again.

"And why'd you do that, when you know the rules?"

"J-Just wanted to try it on... for fun!" You said, a strangled moan flooding out from deep inside of you at the feeling of his warm hand rubbing at your abused asscheeks.

One moment he was tender and caring, and the next, he was ruthless. It gave you total and complete whiplash - but in the best of ways.

"Hmm... and do you think a greedy slut like you deserves my cock?" He mused. But you knew he wasn't asking the question and expecting a response. Not a truthful one, anyway. It was clear from his voice, which was dripping with darkness and lust.

"N-No!" You lied. Because you did want it. You wanted it so bad. You had been wanting it since that morning- when you had discovered the red set of lingerie that you had seemingly forgotten about, buried deep inside your closet.

In a desperate moment, you pulled it out and tried it on, snapping a picture of you in the ensemble and sending it to your boyfriend Minho.

But that had been a terrible lapse of your judgment - sending the alluring photo, as it had only made him angry... to see what he couldn't have at that moment - since his day was jam-packed with schedules.

"Good kitten," he began, ripping you out of the blissful daze that you had fallen into from the slight reprieve he had gifted you by not spanking your ass, as his hand suddenly landed another cruel blow to your red cheeks.

You withered under his touch, reacting just the way he liked - moaning just the way he liked, shivering in both pain and delight, just the way he liked.

"Now, you're gonna count for me until you cum just by my slaps alone. You got that, kitten?"

You swallowed down a wail at his command. Because fuck, you didn't know how you were going to survive the night. You never should've sent that picture in the first place.

Nevertheless, your lips were moving and forming the words before you even understood what you were saying. "Y-Yes, sir."

*ੈ✩‧₊˚🌾 changbin

Your boyfriend Changbin all but turned into a muscly, red tomato whenever you wore lingerie around him. It was a common occurrence for you, to dress up for him and parade around the house until he couldn't take it anymore, finally giving into his urges and taking you wherever you were currently standing.

On this occasion, the two of you had been chilling at home on your shared day off.

At least, you had been chilling.

In your favourite dark-blue lingerie set.

While Changbin, on the other hand, had been a bumbling, tripping fool, practically following you around like a little lap dog everywhere you went.

You were wearing the set because 1.) it made you feel sexy and confident, and 2.) you fucking loved the way it made your boyfriend go crazy.

It was rare that you got a rise out of him when it came to the bedroom, so it felt good that your lingerie pieces were the sole thing that did it in for him. It was like his kryptonite. You liked feeling the little power that you held over him, even if it was just for a few hours.

The two of you were busy cooking lunch when the final straw broke the proverbial camel's back.

It started with you innocently bending down and into the fridge to retrieve a few eggs for the cookies that you were trying to make. And maybe you stuck your ass out a little more than what was called for. And maybe you arched your back just a tiny bit. But it was all in good fun, right?

Wrong.

"Fuck!" Your boyfriend suddenly yelled, his raised voice echoing across your apartment. Then, you heard something hard - like a knife - hit the cutting board that was positioned atop the kitchen counter nearby.

Confused as to what the big commotion was, you grabbed the eggs from their carton and shut the fridge door. "Changbin babe, what-" You began, but didn't even have time to finish your sentence, as your boyfriend rounded the corner of the kitchen.

In a single breath, he was upon you. Thick, muscular shoulders heaving up and down with his labored breathing. Jaw clenched tight. The heated anguish ran clear through his brown eyes.

"You know what the fuck is wrong, sweetheart," he pointed an accusatory finger at you, eyes raking down your scantily clad form. "All of this? Really?" He was glaring at you then, but it wasn't threatening in the least bit.

Instead, it just pushed you closer to the edge.

Heightened the arousal that had already been steadily pooling between your legs throughout the day - as you felt your boyfriend's focus linger on you one too many times.

"I don't know what you could possibly mean..." Your voice trailed off, as you chose to play dumb from it all. Leaning your hips against the kitchen counter at your back, you looked up at him with wide eyes, trying to put that innocent pout on your face that always drove him up the fucking walls. "I thought you liked this piece on me."

He said nothing more after that, instead choosing to express himself by smashing his lips against yours in a fervent kiss. It was so desperate that teeth clashed against teeth. And before you knew it, his thick hands were wrapping around your bare waist, hoisting you up onto the kitchen countertop, arms flexing from the weight of you.

"Yeah, I love it so much," he deadpanned when the two of you pulled apart to catch your breaths. His fingers were already tracing up your inner thighs, nearing your dripping core. "And now I'm gonna fuck you in it, too. To show you how much I fucking adore it- and you." He grunted, tilting back into you and capturing your mouth up into another desirous kiss.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚🌾 hyunjin

Originally, your boyfriend Hyunjin had made out the idea to be pretty straightforward.

He had proposed a painting session with you on one of the nights that he was free from his work duties, where he'd use your body as his model. The inspiration for him to do so had struck him earlier that week after he had watched a romantic movie and wanted to re-create one of the scenes that he loved so much.

However, he failed to mention the attire that he wanted you to wear.

Which was a light green lingerie set. The panties were so small, they didn't even cover one-third of your ass.

But, regardless, you had wanted to make him happy. Hyunjin had been gushing about the 'session' since he first thought up the idea, and you were never one to stand in the middle of him and his craft.

So you played it cool - real cool - and strutted into your shared apartment's spare bedroom - which he used as his art studio - on the night that the two of you had planned for. The lights inside were dimmed, with the tiny, twinkling faerie ones hung up and around the scene that your boyfriend had set out for the occasion; it was all light green and pink tulle, soft yellow roses, and pale purple throw pillows.

Hyunjin pulled his focus away from the easel that he was setting up at the sound of your presence.

And you watched, biting down hard on your lip, at the shiver that ran through his entire body upon the sight of you.

"I-I'm ready..." You said in a gentle voice, fingers clutching onto the hem of the thin fabric at your waist, trying to yank it down and cover yourself as best as you could.

"Yeah- okay, uhm, just sit over there." He pointed to the center of the room, right where the pillows and white fuzzy blankets were. You nodded at him, offering a tiny smile. And the way he couldn't drag his eyes away from your form did not go unnoticed by you.

Things went rather smoothly after that, as Hyunjin directed your movements, the silence lapsing between the two of you once more. Soft jazz music played in the background, and your gaze was locked on your boyfriend, as he concentrated on getting your pose down on his canvas.

He always looked so fucking hot when he was incredibly focused like that - whether it be from learning a new choreo or jotting down notes for a painting he was creating.

Either way, the sight of his furrowed brows, slightly pursed lips, and flexing jaw stirred something deep and swarthy inside of you.

"Can you like, not do that, darling?"

His question pulled you out of your daze of relaxation, as you frowned in confusion. You started to move, lifting your chin away from where it had been easily resting in your palm. "What- am I not sitting the right-"

He groaned then, running a frantic hand through his long pink locks, "No, I mean- look at me like that."

That left you even more uncertain. "I don't understand-"

"I'm already fucking having a hard time with all of this," his hand pulled away from his hair, motioning towards your general direction. "It's just- fuck-"

Immediately, the puzzle pieces locked together in your mind.

All of this.

Meaning, your sexy attire.

Ever so slowly, you sat up from your laying position. With your spine pressed firmly against the wall behind you, cushioned by a few pillows. Silently, your fingers clutched onto either side of your knees, opening up your legs to him in a hushed offering.

His gaze locked onto you then - pupils dilating at the sight of your barely-covered cunt. Just waiting and pulsing for him alone.

"Fuck it- we'll finish this later." That was the last thing he said before he threw his paintbrush down onto the stand that was just beside his easel, diving headfirst toward you.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚🌾 jisung

"Don't wear the panties!" You heard your boyfriend Jisung yell from just outside the bathroom door.

Rolling your eyes at his antics, you fit the bra piece onto your form. The two of you had just come back from a busy day of shopping out on the town. And for a 'special gift,' Jisung had decided to buy you a cute, dark-purple lingerie set.

You hadn't purchased new lingerie in a while, so it was exciting for the both of you to get home later that day so that you could play around with it.

As soon as you walked through your apartment door, Jisung dragged you to the bedroom to have you try it on.

'Just for fun,' he had said.

Yeah, right.

You both knew where trying it on would lead...

It would most-likely end up with you sprawled out across the bed, legs being pried open by your boyfriend as his tongue absolutely ravaged you. As he kept his head buried between your shaking legs for hours at a time, tongue drawing lazy patterns against your dripping cunt.

You in lingerie brought out a different side of Jisung, one that resulted in long nights and arduous amounts of oral.

And neither of you were complaining about it.

You pushed the bathroom door open, leaning against its frame, a tiny smirk stretching the corners of your mouth. "And why do I have to forgo the panties?" You asked, laughing at the way your boyfriend's mouth all but hung open at the sight of you. You were completely nude, save for the tiny purple fabric that stretched tightly around your chest.

Immediately, he was standing up from his perch on the edge of the bed, shucking off his black sweatpants in one practiced move. "Because- princess, it's easier that way."

"And what, pray tell, are you doing, mister?" You gave him a knowing look as he continued to strip himself down until he was only in his boxers.

"Progressing things, that's what." He threw you a wink before he was nearing you like a ghost in the night. Fingers already reaching out to try and brush over your breasts, which were barely covered from the flimsy fabric of the corset-like top.

"Ah- not so fast..." You said, shaking your head at his antics. He really was like a rabid dog in heat when it came to you. Your fingers traced the waistband of his boxers, slowly dragging it down his legs. "An eye for an eye- a pantie for a pantie, right?"

Upon reveal of his cock, you noticed how it was already swelled and curling up towards his stomach, the head a lush crimson and pearling with pre-cum.

Once the boxers were completely off of him, Jisung made haste of wrapping both arms around your waist, raising you up and off of the ground, and walking over to the bed where he all but threw you atop the mattress.

You squealed in delight at the sudden movement, marveling at the way his time in the gym had paid off - by the way that he was able to carry you around so effortlessly.

You pushed yourself up the bed until your head was resting comfortably against a soft pillow. Jisung stared down at you, the fire brightening in his eyes at the sight of you - all splayed out for him and waiting with gooseflesh and pink-tinged cheeks.

"And now, lemme get a good look at this pretty pussy of yours..." He mused, voice registering low inside of his chest.

Your heart fluttered at the way his hands pried your legs open, at the way his eyes glazed over upon seeing your glistening core.

"Fuck- you gonna be good for me, princess? Gonna let me fuck you nice and long?"

He was already swiping a few fingers across your moistened cunt, pulling a breathless moan from deep inside of you.

"Y-Yes, always..." You mewled, squirming underneath him as one of his practiced digits slid into you.

"Good girl." He whispered, just as his thumb pressed down hard against your clit, forcing a shiver to race up the length of your spine. It was definitely going to be a long night.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚🌾 felix

Your mouth fell open, but no sound came out of it.

You just lay there, completely silent - yet wanting to say something, do something. Your cheeks felt like they were on fire, your limbs soft as jelly, your core engorged and aching with so much want.

It felt like your heart was going to beat out of your fucking chest, the breath constricting inside your throat painfully.

Your boyfriend Felix was all but a grunting mess on top of you, rigid cock thrusting up into you so well that you kept seeing stars every time he hit that gooey spot deep within you.

"L-Lix," You finally managed to cry out, nails raking down his sweat-slick back as he set a furious pace, ramming against your walls in just the right way. Just how you liked it.

"What is it, angel?" He asked, voice low as death and gravelly from arousal. One of his hands clutched at your bare hip, while the other rested against your breath, fingers playing with one of your erect nipples... twisting, massaging, pulling, before doing everything all over again. "Cat got your tongue?"

The dim mirth was laden in his tone because he knew you like the back of his hand- knew how it was always so hard for you to articulate any kind of sentence, voice any kind of words, whenever you were so fucked out like this. Whenever his hands and tongue and cock had brought you over the edge, again and again, you lost count of your orgasms.

Cracking your eyes open, your focus landed on the lingerie set that was laying just off to the side, still on the bed. The one that he had carefully taken off of you earlier, after he had teased you endlessly while it was still on - fingers dancing over your hardened nipples, dipping into the front of the panties, before coming out and licking his fingers clean of you.

The set was baby pink and made of thin lace and satin.

Felix always loved dressing you up - loved seeing you in light colors, with all the frills and ruffles imaginable.

He said it made it all the more sweeter, when he buried himself balls-deep inside of you, fucking you senseless. When he made you scream his name so much, your tone growing so loud and scratchy, that you completely lost your voice the next day.

The corruption kink was real with this one.

"F-Feels so good," you said in a high-pitched whine, as his fingers pinched down on your stiffened bud just as he slotted himself into you, reaching that blissful spot once more.

You didn't know what orgasm you were on at that point, but all you knew was that it felt amazing.

The sex was always mind-blowing whenever you'd dress up for him; was always long, passionate, and yet rough, all at the same time.

What could you say... seeing you in light, innocent lingerie always made your boyfriend super fucking horny.

"Yeah?" He mused, nails digging into the flesh at your side, surely leaving marks for the next day. He bent down into you, lips attaching to your chest and sucking harshly on your exposed nipple. All the while, he continued to slam into you, the thrusts turning sloppy from the slick of your heat. "Like when I stretch you out so good- so well?"

You nodded your head frantically, hands moving up to clutch at his blonde roots as one of his hands moved your legs so that he was hitting a new spot inside of you. It all felt so fucking good and casted galaxy after galaxy across your vision. "Mhm- love your cock!" You suddenly wailed out, yanking at his locks as the tip of him hit into you so hard, you swore you broke underneath him. Just by his touch alone.

"Holy shit- you're so fucking tight," He groaned, and just with the tonal shift in him, you could tell that he was nearing his release. Finally, after he had held it back so many times just that night alone. "So damn perfect, angel... and all mine."

*ੈ✩‧₊˚🌾 seungmin

"Why the fuck are you wearing that out?" Your boyfriend Seungmin asked, voice gravely low in your ear. He was leaning into you, warm breath fanning against your cheek and sending a harsh shiver to shoot down your spine.

For the award show that night, you had decided to wear a satiny, bright yellow, flowered A-line sundress. It stood out from the crowd, as the rest of the women attending the show were dressed in full-length ballgowns. But you wanted to be different. Seungmin had coordinated with your outfit by wearing a yellow bowtie, but that's as far as his stylists would allow him to go. He was already pushing the boundaries by bringing you to one of the year's biggest award shows.

He had wanted to prove to everyone that he could do it - that he could make it work.

And apparently, the point had gotten across.

Since already, the two of you and the rest of the boys had celebrities come out of the woodwork to applaud Seungmin's blatant show of a romantic relationship.

But, besides the sundress, you had also decided to wear a cute lingerie set underneath. It was hot pink and yellow and matched your outward look perfectly.

However, during the long night, your dress had ridden up while you sat there at Stray Kid's designated table for hours at a time. And Seungmin had caught on to the garb that you had hidden just underneath the thin fabric of your dress.

Perhaps you had worn it to get a rise out of him- since you knew how much he hated others seeing you in sexy attire... even if it was just a slightly-revealing top.

Or, perhaps you had worn it to feel confident when stepping into a world that was unknown to you.

Either way, the dim look that Seungmin leveled your way just then, as you sat beside him at the table, forced an erratic throb to shoot through your heart.

"I don't know... I thought it was pretty." You said in a quiet voice, eyes trailing down to your lap, where your fingers played with the hem of your dress. It had ridden up so much that a side of the panties was peaking out beneath the yellow fabric of your dress. It wasn't noticeable to anyone else, save for the man sitting beside you.

"Oh, I'll show you pretty, love," He grumbled in that silken voice that he only used around you - typically when you guys were alone, in your apartment, and he was bending you over any nearby surface to have his way with you.

A zap of energy ran through your veins then, and you watched in bated silence as Seungmin leaned over to Chan to whisper something in his ear. The leader nodded once, before giving you a soft look. Then, your boyfriend was standing up. In no time at all, he had his fingers clasped around one of your wrists, yanking you out of your chair and leading your stumbling form behind him as he strutted out of the award show's main atrium.

Then, all at once, he was nearing one of the single-stalled bathrooms that were interspersed throughout the venue.

Eyes widening, you tried to pull your wrist out of his tight, vice-like grip. "Seung- I-" You already knew what would happen next, the mix of anticipation and arousal swirling in the pit of your stomach from just thinking about it.

Your boyfriend's eyes flashed with swarthy annoyance, "In." Is all he said, practically pushing you into the tight bathroom. Your legs wobbled, turning to jelly right then and there. Seungmin shut and locked the door behind him. "Now, bend over the counter so that I can asses what you've done."

And you knew there was no arguing with him when he was like this. Seungmin's jealousy could easily go unchecked when the two of you were out with the others - but especially if he felt like you had disrespected him in some way.

For him, you parading around one of the biggest award shows in the country scantily clad in lingerie was probably one of the most disrespectful things you could ever do to him.

So, biting down hard on your bottom lip, you heeded his command. Leaning your elbows against the cold granite of the bathroom skin's countertop, you held your breath as you waited for his next move.

Ever so slowly, like the touch of a phantom, you felt your boyfriend's fingers dance up your sides, lifting the fabric of your sundress. He stopped when your backside was exposed, tsking darkly at the way most of your ass was bared for all to see. "Such a naughty little thing... need to be taught a lesson, hmm?"

You screwed your eyes shut then, the moans already clawing at the edge of your throat when you distinctly felt his nimble fingers playing with the strap of your panties.

Hopefully, he'd have enough mercy to stop, before he completely ruined you and ultimately forced you to go back out there to the award show - waddling like a pathetic and helpless bitch because your boyfriend had been a little too ruthless with the fucking in the bathroom.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚🌾 jeongin

"Baby..." You wailed in exasperation, pulling at your boyfriend's arm. You had been trying to get his attention all night. But of course, he was too busy with his friends and his stupid game to pay you any mind.

"Hmm- just one second, pretty... I gotta clear this level and then-" Jeongin began, but you were already sighing in frustration before he could finish his words.

You sat down on the spacious couch, watching - and thinking - as he furiously smashed away at his keyboard, hunched over the desk that was positioned in your apartment's living room, his completely focused on the bright screen in front of him.

If he wasn't going to pay any attention to you, then fine. You'd have your fun without him.

A genius idea dawned across the forefront of your mind just then, and you hurriedly made your way into your closet to retrieve your secret weapon. You had used it before - but only a couple of times, to keep the appeal alive.

After shimmying your way into the snow-white, satin lingerie set, you flitted into the bathroom, carefully brushing out your hair and adding a soft pink lipstick to level up the look.

You padded out to Jeongin once more in silence, not saying a word as you propped yourself against his desk. His eyes were still locked on the computer screen in front of him, so you began to draw lazy circles in the grain of the wood at your side.

"What do you want for dinner?" You asked, because although he was wearing his headset - which was how he could communicate with his friends while playing - you knew that he could still hear you.

For a brief second, he pulled his gaze away from his game to look at you. And immediately, he froze in his chair, spine stiffening, shoulders shaking just a tiny bit in reaction to your new... garment.

His lips parted somewhat, a tinge of red dusting across the tops of his ears that were exposed against his messy black hair. "You." He breathed out, eyes dancing with a myriad of feelings all at once, but mostly, wild desire.

You laughed at that. "What?" You asked, slightly confused.

Then, he was moving again, pressing a button on his headset and speaking into it, "Sorry boys, boyfriend duties call. I'll catch up later, yeah?" He didn't even wait for a reply, as he shut off the game entirely. He swiveled his chair around so that he was facing you completely. "I fucking want you for dinner."

Now you were the one with red ears. "B-But, you've been ignoring me all night... like, you don't want me."

Jeongin groaned, running a frantic hand through his long locks. "Damn it-" He cursed under his breath, scrubbing at his face with a few long fingers. "I'm sorry, pretty, I got too carried away with the game. And no, you're wrong- I do want you. So bad. All of the time."

He found your eyes after that, and your gazes locked, a spark of lighting igniting between the two of you at the way your breath unexpectedly became labored under his gaze. His eyes always did that to you - made you go crazy, when he'd look at you with such intensity, it felt like he was fucking undressing you with just his stare alone.

You felt yourself heating up at the way he studied you, at the way his blown-out pupils traced down the length of you, taking in every inch of your exposed skin and the beautiful white lingerie set.

"So c'mere and lemme get a taste of you, pretty.” You couldn't even hide the satisfied smile that spread across your lips at his words.

Jeongin was reaching out to you, hands supple and earnest, as he carefully guided you onto his lap. You fit on top of him perfectly, like the two of you were meant to always be close - in the most intimate of ways.

Fin.

taglist: want to be added onto my taglist so that you always get notified when i post a new work? well then, comment below on this post/reblog it, and indicate your interest in my taglist and i'll add you... or, you can simply send me a msg and request to be added that way~

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tenthousandyearsx · 8 months

Text

Thanks so much for tagging me @wolfpants, I loved reading yours! I've pretty much only published lots of PWPs so far, and while I loved writing every single fic I've posted, self-recs always feel a bit weird. x_x Anyway, I'll give it a go!

Rules: Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you’ve written, then pass on to at least five other writers. Let’s spread the self-love 💙

‎ㅤ

Passably Wrecked (Drarry, E, 4.6k)

“Potter,” Malfoy says, sitting down next to him at breakfast. “I think we should have sex.”

Starting with this one because it's fairly recent and I don't think I've shared it here! Malfoy expresses scepticism about Harry's sexual prowess. Harry is having none of it.

‎‎ㅤ

Keep your hands on me (Drarry, E, 21k)

Malfoy binds himself with a sex curse. Harry cannot get enough (but would much prefer to keep Malfoy for himself).

Still the filthiest thing I've written imo – it's 21k of smut and I didn't self-censor at all, but I ~think~ I consider it porn with character development rather than pwp. I wrote the whole thing in a daze, which is my favourite way to write when the muses allow – and to my absolute astonishment (I was sure it was going to get hate), it tends to get my favourite comments too. ‎‎ㅤ

Just a trial run (Drarry, E, 9k)

Potter in his living room was a novelty and Draco could not take his eyes off him. He fixed both of them a drink, handed Potter his Firewhisky, then sat on the sofa. “From Saviour to Auror to whore,” he said. Potter choked on his drink. “Tell me, Potter, how does that happen?” In which Harry wants to get into sex work and Draco would prefer to keep him for himself.

I'm very fond of this fic and this Draco. I wrote it while I was working on KYHOM because I wanted to try a somewhat similar premise with the opposite dynamic, with top Draco and a more submissive Harry. It has both a paid sex kink and alcohol kink, which I have no idea where they came from, and while I've been postponing doing some proper edits on the second chapter, I absolutely loved writing it. ‎‎ㅤ

Trouble with your tie, Potter? (Drarry, E, 6.7k)

The last thing Harry expects when Slughorn partners him up with Zabini is Malfoy shooting them furious looks throughout the whole class and then unceremoniously snogging Harry in the corridor.

My Erised fic from last year! I was actually working on something else entirely, a much longer fic that fizzled and died on me halfway through. I have a self-imposed rule that the energy of a story has to be right and has to be such that the story drives itself – and, specifically for fic, that if I don't enjoy writing it, there's no point in doing it. So when writing a fic becomes a slog, I just go back and delete mercilessly. It still didn't help in this case though x_x, so I started writing "Trouble with your tie" instead, which was an absolute joy to work on and I'm so happy I did. There are some parts I still think I'll probably rewrite at some point, but I really loved writing H and D's dynamic here. Even though I don't agonise over my prose when I write fic, I am super careful about the energy I'm putting out and especially the feeling I'm leaving the reader with at the end, so I'm really happy they hit the mark in this case. ‎‎ㅤ

Not very gallant (initial Dronarry but endgame Dron, E, 3.3k)

“He likes it when I hurt him,” Harry tells Ron with a smirk. “And then you come in and soothe him.”

I wanted to include a non-drarry fic so here's a very recent one! I think I probably could have done more with it, but I loved writing Ron in this. Please mind the tags!!! Everything is super undernegotiated!!! It's endgame Dron, but Harry is perfectly fine with it. I should also probably mention that Harry is a bit of an asshole in this fic compared to the way I usually write him, but because I usually write Drarry and wanted this to be endgame Dron, I had to find a way for the dynamic to be in character, hot, and sexually charged, but not in a way that made me ship drarry too much. I'm also usually not good with threesomes or poly relationships because I always feel like someone is left out x_x, so I tried to put my own spin on it. This is what worked for me and I loved writing it! Do not expect considerate behaviour for like... most of it though.

Tagging @crazybutgood , @magpiefngrl , @orange-peony , @lumosatnight and anyone who'd like to join!

#tag game #mind the tags in each fic!!!#drarry #drarry fic #drarry fanfic #dmhp #hpdm #harry x draco #draco x harry #drarry smut #my fics #dron #dronarry

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g4l4xy-qu33n · 5 months

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Hello! So I'm new to your blog and I have to say that I LOVE it already, keep it up! :D

I don't rlly know if you're taking requests rn, but oh well, worth a shot. Can I request some platonic or romantic (it doesn't rlly matter) hcs with TADC Caine? I just can't get over this silly man and I'd like to read more about him!

Hi!! Yes, requests are open! (I should probably specify that - sorry!)

Also tysm!! It's so nice to hear that someone likes my blog <3

A/N: I've never written for the silly teeth man before, but his personality came really easily to me - for some reason. Of course, as usual, these are all my personal headcanons for him, so please please please don't get mad at me if I 'got something wrong'. And also, this is written with afab reader in mind, but it can apply for any gender reader you like, as no pronouns or specific descriptions are used!

Warnings: Mentions of smut, and smutty activities. Apart from that, nothing but pure fluff and showman-style romance!

Romantic Headcanons for Caine!

(I couldn't think of anything I could write for platonic, I'm a lot better at romantic-)

Starting off, I definitely think that Caine is a romantic type. (What showman wouldn't be?)

Caine would favour you over all the other circus members, and deny it if he gets called out.

He would exempt you from adventures that you don't want to do, and instead take you out for a fancy candlelit meal at the digital restaurant shown in the pilot.

Think fancy wines, lavish suits or dresses, romantic jazz music played by a digital band, and candles. Tons and tons of candles just floating while you two eat the best digital food of your life.

And dessert? Angle Food Cake of course, made specially by him or bubble.

You'd dance to the music, ballroom style, with a few dips and extra special moves included.

Every time you would go out with him, he'd give you a gift. Maybe a fancy brooch, or a piece of jewellery encrusted with jewels and plated by gold.

Fancy outfits are also to be expected.

You'd be given the luxury of a larger, more secluded bedroom as well!

The bed would be adorned with silk sheets and a bed canopy, most likely in red to remind you of him.

And I'm not sure if you want nsfw, but the nights you guys would spend in that bed would be fun, to say the least.

He'd happily indulge whatever you're into. Ai's are always wanting to learn new things, after all.

He'd spoil you rotten, both in bed and out.

When it comes to affection, he's a good mix of a lot of different types of affection.

As stated above, he's a gift giver, but also big on acts of service.

He's a big believer in words of affirmation, but not too often. Don't wanna give you an ego. (Although with the way he treats you, I feel like you would already have one depending on your personality)

He would love calling you pet names. Traditional ones are his favourite, like darling, honey, lovely, dove, doll, etc.

When it comes to physical affection, he'd probably draw the line at holding hands and cuddles. Heck, even cuddles would be a bit too far sometimes. Maybe just an arm swung over your shoulder when you're watching a movie? Sure... you can lean into him as well, just not too far, okay?

And kisses are... a challenge. Depending on how you look in the digital world, kisses may be manageable. He has no lips over his teeth though, so if you really want to kiss him... uh, try your best. (Maybe just kiss his teeth?)

He'd definitely get flustered if you initiate anything or give him a gift, though.

Like he'd be all confident one second, and the next he'd be flustered and stuttering at your kindness.

He would also display your gift with pride for the whole circus to see!

That's the only thing the circus members'll see, though.

Caine would be fine being affectionate with you in private (if not too much) but in front of the others the furthest he would go when it comes to affection is pet names, or maybe flashing you a wink.

Not that the others really care though. I feel like they'd all be pretty indifferent to it, no matter how much affection you guys show.

If you bug him about it, he'd probably give in. Eventually.

AAA I'm so sorry I took so long! Home life has been crazy, but I don't really see that as an excuse-

And I hope you see this and like it! (And I'm also sorry it's a bit short-)

-Galaxy

#Caine x reader tadc #caine x reader #tadc x reader #tadc caine #caine #the amazing digital circus caine #the amazing digital circus #caine x you

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pocketwei · 4 months

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hii do you perhaps have any dofuwani fics recommendation. I've checked out the the ao3 but I really don't seem to like anything there after scrolling thru the most kudos'd works... I feel like you (and a few other artists) get them and I wanted to read things in a similar tone as your art and so far I'm in the trenches bleeding out. like obviously no offense to any of the writers it's just that all the like modern highschool loving dad croc and etc aus are not for me... OTL I hope I'm not sounding rude and thank you for your time!

oh anon come rest your head upon my bosom.... I got you anon..... as a fellow slave to canon-compliance I, too, know the pain of sifting through pages upon pages of AUs, not that there's anything wrong with them but I just can't imagine these sickos working a 9 to 5 in a suit...... thank you for thinking my vision of dofuwani is trust-worthy, this is vain on my part but it genuinely means a lot <3 OK rant over here are the goods, in no particular order (always mind the tags but I figure if you asked me for dfwn sacred texts you're probably a fellow sicko):

that was now and this is then. by ghostwit (M): one of my favourite ever, perhaps even my favourite. About a long relationship, about twisting each other inside the skin, about being formative to each other in ways so deep and intertwined that they can't seem to tear one apart from the other. And despite it all* (*the murders and the hatred and the irreconciliable flaws and differences of their Ego (philosophical) and the unbearable, unacceptable vulnerability of understanding), they are, somehow, unforgivably and incomprehensibly, in love. *smashes head against pavement, it cracks open like an egg, spilling millions of dofuwani thoughts everywhere

no better irony by ghostwit (E): shichibukai meeting sidequest...... excellent characterisation like everything Haze writes (it's just The Best dofuwani there is..... read everything he wrote please). I'm so fond of them in that fic in a way that's like. watching stick bugs in a terrarium. You don't understand them and they don't understand you but you're just happy they're having fun. You wouldn't join in for anything in the world though.

like i need a gaping headwound by ghostwit (M): loguetown era dfwn, Haze back at it with formative years and the fresh sprouts of insanity in these two. So so so good.

nothing in this world that's quite prescribable by ghostwit (T): the opening of this fic is perhaps one of my favourite scenes ever. Vulnerability and odd transparence that only drunken disinhibition allows. Which is rare for these two. Absolutely adore this one.

honestly you can and should read everything Haze has written for these two they're just so AUGHHHHHH

black & bloody & rotten & perfect by revolvermonkcelot (M): perfect capture of the fine line between (????love, perhaps) and insanity they walk on. Absolutely fucking insane about this one, the reverence and sacrality of their whole thing, the Indulgence:tm: and permission that can be revoked (for Crocodile is mercurial in his vulnerability), but that is somehow maintained in a delicate and incomprehensible equilibrium. + absolutely incredible undertones of wani (trans)identity crisis, the imperceptible yet meaningful and constant change of the Form... Head in hands

Just a taste by marimoes (M): perfect perfect perfect characterisation, little gestures that betray familiarity. Perfect on all accounts

Swallow by revolvermonkcelot (M): my roman empire. Absolutely perfect Wani characterisation, it's The Wani for me. Exploits perfectly the essential dfwn dichotomy of "one entity tumbling down and the other rising up, meeting halfway through in the eye of the storm, in a singular moment". Classy cannibalism that ties to the no-less essential concept of consumption, to be/become whole again. The reason why they somehow stick together is because of this primordial longing for something, for understanding perhaps, for beauty sometimes, for belonging. Fcuking hell I love them so mucj

A Bird and His Cage by doctornemesis (E): read this one a long time ago but it's in my bookmarks so I trust past me's judgment and tell you it's amazing

From Dressrosa with Love by Sibilans (E, on-going): incredible atmosphere, perfectly depicts the post-golden age rotting glamour of Dressrosa. They are particularly unhinged in this one.

i wanna hurt you just to hear you screaming my name by stealth-black-leg (Kiir_Bee) (E): I'm running out of steam for long meaningful comments but this one has top tier characterisation.

That's it!! Don't forget to comment and leave kudos to give writers the love they deserve <3

#mei speaks #fics recs #these are so so good #pspsps dofuwani enjoyers come get ur food.....

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actual-changeling · 3 months

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I’m sorry if this is stirring things up as I really don’t mean it that way I’m just new into the fandom and getting a bit confused between posts.

I’ve seen a lot of people saying that people are switching Crowley and aziraphale’s personalities, perhaps to make aziraphale seem a bit more forgivable? Or just misunderstanding their characters entirely….im just finding it a bit hard to catch on to what people mean and what characteristics are being switched

It seems to me that aziraphales behaviour is quite inconsistent and confusing anyway 😅 (intentionally written that way)

I guess that’s what people are getting caught up in

You're not stirring up anything, don't worry!

I can definitely understand that for someone who didn't experience all the developments as they happened, it's hard to understand where we landed and why.

Everything that follows is my personal opinion and how I interpret the posts and discussions I am seeing. There are a few different kinds of topics:

some people "sided" with either Aziraphale or Crowley in the divorce and are treating anything that doesn't align with their side as wrong or outright offensive

a few of them are outright vilifying one or the other, going so far as claiming that they're abusive towards the other character

there are people excusing and justifying Aziraphale's behaviour in the final fifteen minutes, the final fifteen as they're commonly called, and are freeing him from any responsibility for his actions

then there are people who (imo for good reason) take issue with posts like that and that's how we get either respectful discussions or immature arguments, depends on who's doing the talking

if you happen to have some basic reading comprehension and have touched grass sometime this week you will probably find yourself with in the "we have nuanced opinions on complex issues and discuss them like adults" corner, which is my personal favourite

I want to add another, more... potentially inflammatory type of post, which is people 'defending' Aziraphale against accusations that people who 'hate Aziraphale and love Crowley' spread—but, and I am not lying or exaggerating, I have yet to come across ANY of those posts they claim exist.

Maybe it's my corner of the fandom, I don't know, but all I see is people vehemently defending Aziraphale and at times ruining both his and Crowley's character, but never any of the posts that supposedly sparked it. On top of that, the only hate I've gotten (which is a surprisingly large amount) is from people 'defending' Aziraphale against me because obviously I hate him and everything I do and say is against him. Go figure.

Aziraphale IS contradictory, it's what makes him hard to understand for some because he holds seemingly opposing views at the same time without settling on one or the other. Crowley can seem more forward or easily understood, but once you get down to it they're both complicated, layered characters you cannot break down to angel good and demon bad (which yes, is actually takes I see floating around more than I'd like).

#alex answers asks #alex talks good omens #good omens #crowley #aziraphale #good omens season 2 #go2 #aziracrow #crowley x aziraphale #ineffable husbands #ineffable wives #ineffable spouses #ineffable divorce #the final fifteen #good omens fandom

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tripleyeeet · 5 months

Text

ONLY FOOLS FALL

SUMMARY: Upon arriving in Baldur's Gate, Zayis decides to pay her old flame a visit... much to Astarion's dismay.

PAIRING: Astarion & Zayis (OFC)

WORD COUNT: 12,356

WARNINGS: 18+ sexual content, penetrative sex, teasing, blood sucking as a form of foreplay (therefore mentions of blood), feelings realized, first confessions, angst with a happy ending.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: It's been months of brainstorming this particular scene and the build up that goes along with it, but I think I finally got it. For context, Vesryn is Zay's sort of ex who she never properly breaks up with due to getting kidnapped.

I know this chapter is a bit of a doozy but please, if you at all like my writing I beg you to give this one a shot. It's probably one of my favourite things I've written and I'm very proud of it. :')

Also shout out to @novarunestone specifically for helping my brain push through. You're the best, dude. <3

CHAPTER LIST / MASTERLIST

She’s at his door before she can even think to leave, rapping her knuckles against the grain —trying her best to swallow down the knot that resides in her throat. Pushing against the walls of her esophagus, she can feel the obstruction blocking her airway.

Forcing a heavy sigh to escape as she reaches up to touch it, she can’t help but wonder if this is her body’s way of enacting guilt. Considering her mind’s already jumbled up enough as it is, she wouldn’t be surprised if it was. She did throw a knife at her partner’s head for Gods’ sake, so the least she could do is feel the events of her shitty behaviour. That and to properly apologize. Which is ultimately why she’s here, standing in front of her old home, running her fingers nervously along the length of her neck.

As it swells with anticipation she can feel her chest tighten and her hands begin to sweat. Each symptom growing the longer she stands there, waiting; wondering whether or not he’ll answer the door.

Deep down, there’s a part of her that hopes he doesn't. A part that screams for her to turn on her heel and dash back to camp without even looking back. A part that thinks the unspoken word between two separating parties is more than enough closure to get her through. It’d certainly be the easier option, right? The one with less baggage. Perhaps if she could just accept that she’s still that same asshole that left all those weeks ago rather than the better person she’s currently trying to be she could just pretend like she never knocked on the door in the first place. Up and leave and never speak of this again.

Biting her bottom lip in annoyance, she knows she can’t. Thanks to Wyll and his stupidly decent advice, she’s too far gone with this whole making amends thing. Having promised the warlock she’d at least try to apologize, the mere thought of failing makes her want to crawl all the way to Avernus and never let another soul see her face again. Either that or hole up in the woods somewhere. Whatever happens first, really.

However, considering the more likely option being Avernus, she continues to stand there, idly scratching the side of her neck, feeling the ends of her claws dig through her dirtied flesh.

Almost immediately, the feeling of it makes her cringe and drop her hand, realizing just how stupid she must look, covered head to toe in dirt. Reeking heavily of sweat and viscera —two scents you definitely don’t want to bring home when you’re about to beg for forgiveness for apparently running away with a vampire.

Which obviously isn’t the case. Or, at least wasn’t. Nowadays she’s not quite sure what to think about that whole situation. So most of the time she just blocks it out entirely. Ignoring the fact that the line that was once drawn between her and Astarion has begun to blur into something new.

Something she has to apologize for otherwise the guilt might eat her alive. So, she bangs on the door again, this time using the edge of her fist to repeatedly slam against the wood, gritting her teeth in frustration. All while praying to whatever God might be listening that for once, instead of fighting, Vesryn just accepts her apology.

Because truthfully, she’s not sure she can take the rejection right now. Not even when she hears him grumbling on the other side of the door, making her realize she’s still pounding against it. Her hand repeatedly colliding until it’s eventually torn from her grasp and the man she once called her partner is standing before her.

“Zay?”

He looks older somehow. Worn out. With eyes that were once large, round orbs of obsidian are now narrowed and soaked in age. A newfound darkness cradling each one with exhaustion.

Pressing her lips together she nods her head at the sound of his voice and continues to stare, taking in all his features. Picking apart the way his face twists from confusion to annoyance, ultimately falling on something unfamiliar that eventually disappears inside the crook of her neck.

“You’re alive.”

He says it as if it’s a question. Whispering it against the shell of her ear, she barely hears it at first. Too shocked to process the position that she’s currently in, all she can do is stand there and try to repeat the phrase in her head. Allowing the individual sounds to fully absorb before she’s nodding her head again. “Hi, uh, yeah.”

He pulls away, still resting his hands on her arms. “You escaped.”

Suddenly confused, she raises a brow, watching his expression change again —this time back to annoyance, prompting her to realize what he means. “Um, not exactly.”

“Not exactly? What do you mean not exactly?”

She opens her mouth to respond before closing it back up again, unsure how to explain the events she’s recently experienced without completely freaking him out.

“Can I maybe come inside? We should probably talk.”

At first, he doesn’t respond. Instead, he just stands there, staring. His mind most likely reeling from the fact that his ex is now standing at his doorstep in the middle of the night, covered in shit, most likely preparing to tell him that the man she left with is still very much in the picture.

None of which bodes well for her ever-growing fear of rejection. Especially considering that if the roles were reversed, she’d already be slamming the door in his face, telling him to piss off. So the fact that he hasn’t done that already feels like a bit of a miracle. One that continues to bless her once he eventually pulls away, motioning towards the inside of the house with a tired sigh.

Awkwardly, she smiles in response and enters, taking in the familiar scenery. Feeling its presence hit her like a ton of bricks as she forces herself further inside, ignoring that knot again. Pushing whatever anxieties that spread through her in order to move to the dining room table and pull up a chair.

“I’m sure you have a ton of questions…”

Trailing off, she lets out a nervous laugh and begins to play with the end of her tail. All the while Vesryn just stands at the other end of the table, looking down at her like with such empty eyes that she can’t help but clear her throat and pivot. Opting to just ramble instead of waiting for an answer, knowing deep down he might not give her one.

“First off, I need you to know I didn’t leave willingly.”

His brow quirks up at that. An air of interest coating his features, urging him to take a seat. “That’s an awfully vague way to start a story.”

“I mean, I’m not trying to be vague,” she replies, suppressing the desire to roll her eyes. “Honestly, I just —I don’t really know how to explain what’s happened.”

“You don’t know how or you just don’t want to?”

“Both, I suppose.”

All he does is snort and raise his hands to his face, dragging them down until they’re resting over his mouth, showcasing his never-ending lack of patience. “You’re aware of how late it is, right?”

This time she does roll her eyes. “My apologies sir, I didn’t realize I was being such a burden. Do you want me to go?”

Out of habit she then goes to stand, prompting Vesryn to angrily grip her wrist. “Oh for fuck’s sake —would you please just sit down and tell me where you’ve been?”

Equally as angry, she swears at him under her breath before crossing her arms over her chest. Using the pressure to subdue the need to panic as she tries to collect her thoughts before ultimately ending up with, “Astarion and I were kidnapped.”

Almost immediately she can see the lack of interest in his eyes begin to develop. How they quickly start to glaze over at the mention of Astarion’s name, reminding her just how unenthusiastic he is to hear about him alongside what he assumes is some sort of excuse.

“Obviously, the details are a bit complicated but the gist of it is that we were taken by mind flayers and now we’re trying to find a cure,” she tells him, but again, all he does is stare, his gaze set directly against her’s —devoid of anything other than disinterest and doubt.

Once again, it makes her want to leave. To repeat time and storm out like she did all those weeks ago. As terrible as it sounds, she knows it’d at least get his attention. Maybe even stir him enough to actually listen to what she has to say without immediately discrediting the truth.

“We met others on the ship. People infected like us. They’re in danger, Ves. I’m in danger.”

“Aren’t you always?”

“Not like this,” she tells him, swallowing hard. “Things are different. Bigger.”

He lets out a sigh. “Define big.”

“The whole city going up in flames big.”

Shifting in his chair, she can tell he’s trying his best not to say what he really wants to. An act that simultaneously fills her with rage and relief as she watches him mull over her words, allowing them to fully sink in before humming in response.

“Alright, I’ll bite. Explain to me how exactly you’re in danger?”

Before she can even stop herself, Zayis is telling him everything. Relaying each point of the plot through nervous thoughts and shaking hands. Trying her best to allow enough time in between the more convoluted sections to really process the severity.

And at first, it’s a struggle. Considering Vesryn’s almost as stubborn as she is, she can tell right off the bat it’s hard for him to accept. After having been convinced of this completely different narrative for so long, she can see it in his eyes he’s struggling to trust what she’s saying. To take all the outlandish things she’s relaying at face value after all the grief she’s put him through.

But then about halfway through she notices the switch. That subtle moment of realization taking over, forcing him to listen. To hear all the stressors of the last few weeks repeatedly piling on top of her. To understand that the night she left without a trace wasn’t just the result of a conscious choice she had made but rather a mistake in location at the worst possible time.

By the end of it, he’s got his arms across his chest, one of them angled up so that he can stroke his chin in bewilderment. “Gods, you’re actually serious, aren’t you?”

“Unfortunately.”

“Fuck.” He shakes his head.

In response, all Zayis does is shoot him a tight-lipped smile. One that feels so misplaced that it ends up falling almost immediately. “I just thought you should know, you know?”

“Know what?”

“That I didn’t walk out on you,” she admits, her throat aching from the explanation. “That I still care about you in some way.”

It’s at that point she can tell that Vesryn knows. Written plain as day across his face, she can feel it in her chest, too. Pounding against her already damaged frame. Echoing through the edges of her organs, causing them to twist in discomfort.

Considering he’s always been a pretty intuitive guy, it shouldn’t come as a surprise to her but still, the second he eventually lets out a huff and awkwardly grins to himself, she can’t help but feel the guilt double in size. Triple even, watching the way he looks around the room, avoiding her pleading eyes.

“Somehow I always knew,” he says, still smiling. Still shaking his head in protest, as if he can’t quite fully accept it.

“I know.”

“You just —you always talked about him, you know? Whether it was about his terrible personality or his disgusting behaviour, it was like his presence was constantly taunting me. Making me feel like the least interesting man in your life.”

“You weren’t—“

“I know,” he cuts her off with a raised hand. Something that would normally make her angry but right now just makes her confused. “It’s just… no matter how negatively you talked about him there was always this passion there. Like everything about him was actually worthy of conversation.”

Letting out a dry laugh, he pauses to rub his face again, this time groaning through the process. “I guess, I just wanted you to talk about me like that. Just once so that I knew you weren’t getting tired of me.”

It’s at that moment Zayis feels her chest begin to break, the cavity of her ribcage splintering out to stab through her flesh. All at once, it hits the tenderest parts of her, ripping away what little composure she once had —filling her up with that same wave of emotion she’s been avoiding all this time.

Leaning back in her chair, it immediately prompts her to blink back the threat of tears. As they begin to sting her eyes, she can’t help but focus on the pressure and how it weighs far more than it did when she first entered. How somehow, despite doing what she came here to do, this newfound information Vesryn provides just feels like another problem. Another issue added to the ongoing pile of things she needs to fix but doesn’t know how to.

Which makes the once subdued panic inside her chest practically explode. Taking the form of shaking hands and shifting eyes, she can feel her breath start to quicken. The sudden lack of air located inside her chest making it difficult for her to breathe.

Almost immediately Vesryn’s kneeling in front of her as it happens, taking her hands in his while looking up with concern. “It’s okay, Zay,” he tells her. “I’m okay.”

She doesn’t understand how it could be —how he could be after all that she’s done to him. Having fucked off without a single goodbye he should be the wreck who sits at the table, looking like a broken vessel with nothing else to give. The one who mourns for a life they could’ve possibly had if not for bad timing or poor communication or—

“I forgive you, yeah?”

His voice is soft. A caress of sound that only further fuels her tears, realizing it’s her who’s crumbling. The one who’s broken and tired, unsure whether or not to let this go in favour of pursuing something new.

“Why?”

“Because I do?” He shrugs. “I don’t know —does there have to be a reason?”

Before coming here she would’ve said no and called it a day. But now that she’s in front of him, debating whether or not she should fight for a second chance, she needs it. More than anything she’s ever needed in her life, she’s willing to demand it if she has to.

Sensing this, all Vesryn does is sigh. Offering her a subtle nod, he then moves to stand while holding her head, allowing his fingers to gently push against the crown of her skull to calm her down.

“Once you left I think I realized we were only together because it was familiar,” he says, and immediately she knows he’s right because, near the end, it was as if they were nothing more than two people sharing a space.

Allowing the convenience of their arrangement to take over, no longer was there that initial spark they once had as kids. The one that drove them to care and want and grow. And because of that, by the time the kidnapping happened, it was obvious that they were well on their way to this same ending.

“I'm sorry, Ves.”

Before she can even think she’s reaching for his torso, pressing her face against the side of his ribs as she wraps herself around. An act he responds to by hugging her shoulder with one arm, once again telling her it’s okay.

“I promise we’ll make it out the other side,” he tells her, and somehow despite the cloud of doubt that seems to always circle her head as of late, she believes him. Feeling the truth of his words remind her that even though they’re not the same as they once were, that doesn’t necessarily mean that they can’t still be there for one another.

“Gods, I hope you’re right because I really don’t think I have the mental capacity to become a mind flayer right now.”

Somehow that comment manages to break the ice, causing both of them to grin as Vesryn rolls his eyes. “What? Not a fan of tentacles?”

All she does is scrunch up her face.

“Oh c’mon! Might be fun!”

“Define fun.”

Peeling himself away, he wanders over to the kitchen and grabs a bottle off the shelf, placing it in front of Zayis before retreating back to his chair with a shrug. “I don’t know. Don’t they control people with their minds?”

Almost immediately she reaches for the vessel in front of her, pulling out the cork with a loud pop!

“Sure, but they also eat brains which I’m not necessarily fond of,” she explains, taking a sip of the undisclosed liquid, feeling it burn the second it hits her tongue.

“I mean, bit of brains never hurt anyone. Especially not you.”

As she finishes sipping, she shoots him an unimpressed look. One that eventually makes the both of them laugh, prompting her chest to tighten. Her body somehow reminding itself of how easy things used to be.

“I swear if I do turn into a mind flayer you’re the first on my list of brains to eat.”

“Really? Not the vampire?”

His voice is unnaturally smug as he says it. So much so that she’s almost a little surprised, watching the way he cocks his brow and reaches across the table to take a quick sip of his own.

“How is he doing anyways?”

“A bit forward, don’t you think?”

“Maybe. Last I heard though, you’re on borrowed time.”

Pressing her lips together, she realizes then that he’s right. Now that they’re back in Baldur’s Gate it’s only a matter of time before they have to face their problem head on. A detail she hadn’t quite grasped yet, having been focused on getting here first.

“He’s fine.”

Without warning Vesryn pushes the bottle across the table, smirking. “Just fine, huh?”

“Yup.”

“Not good? Great? Absolutely per—“

“He’s good,” she practically snaps, taking the few silent beats that pass to down a good portion of their drink.

“That’s good.” Nodding his head, he watches her take a few more sips, forcing back an obviously shit-eating grin. “Treating you well, I hope?”

He waves his hand through the air dramatically and immediately Zayis can’t help but groan and take another sip. Letting the liquid distract her from the roaming thoughts that keep entering her mind —forcing her to remember Astarion’s face and how unimpressed it looked when she left camp.

Somehow it makes her miss him. Despite knowing that she’ll return to his side amongst the others by the time the sun rises, there’s a brief moment where she’s staring at Vesryn that makes her panic. An almost anxious jolt of electricity firing through her nerve endings, causing her to twitch unfortunately in her chair.

“He’s alright, I guess,” she ends up saying. “Still annoying as ever.”

“I’d be surprised if he wasn’t.”

“I’m sure you’d be surprised now, too.”

“What do you mean?”

At first, she isn’t sure what she means. But then she narrows her eyes and thinks really hard for a second, uncovering the truth. “He’s actually, uh, kind of sweet sometimes.”

“Really?”

Almost immediately, the simple confession takes both of them back, prompting Zayis to clear her throat and continue to drink, feeling her head whirl from the volume of liquor she’s managed to consume over the last few minutes; honing in on the sudden interest in Vesryn’s eyes.

“Can you please stop looking at me like that?”

“Like what?”

“Like you’re fishing for something.”

Suddenly defensive, he scoffs and motions for her to hand over the bottle. “I’m not fishing for anything.”

“Oh please, don’t think I don’t remember how gossipy of a bitch you are.”

All he does is smile, causing her to pinch the bridge of her nose and breathe, trying her best to remain calm. Because foolishly, now that she’s opened the can of worms that is Astarion, it’s like the man’s completely taken over. Seamlessly appearing in every corner of her exhausted mind, she can’t help but wonder how he’d react to this conversation.

Already she can hear him chastising her for skimping out on the details. Having practically memorized the inflections of his voice after years of endurance, she can clearly envision that cheeky little laugh of his. And how the way his hand might feel pressed against her cheek, taking in the frustrated expression that now coats her face.

The same one Vesryn immediately comments on. Pointing in amusement, he ends up asking her why she looks like that, causing her to cross her arms over her chest and shake her head, too stubborn to reveal the truth.

“I see you're as emotionally distant as ever.”

As he speaks, Vesryn just shoots her a knowing glance and slides their shared drink back to her. Barely batting an eye when she takes a few more angry sips.

“Am not.”

“And childish.”

For a moment she thinks about repeating history and grabbing the knife from her holster. But then she takes a deep breath and closes her eyes, forcing herself to calm down just as Vesryn laughs.

“Shut up. You’re just saying that so you can get me to talk.”

“Is it working?”

Whether it’s the challenging way he approaches the topic or the familiarity of his presence, it unfortunately is. More so than she cares to admit as she rolls her eyes, opting to avoid the topic by asking him what he’s been up to. Forcing the conversation to pivot as she continues to drink, listening to all the mundane stories of their old life. All the jobs he’s taken and how he’s kept himself busy while she’s been saving the coast.

And for a while, it’s kind of nice focusing on something else. Something simple and disconnected from the reality that she now finds herself in. So much so that she doesn’t even register the empty bottle now in front of her after Vesryn changes the topic again. This time transitioning to her friends.

“You said that Ravengard kid was with you?”

Nodding her head, she then feels the entire room begin to spin around her. Echoing out in a series of waves, it’s as if everything’s begun to slow down. Her mind working to catch up with the rest of her surroundings. Somehow it makes her laugh despite how uncomfortable it is. The kind that Vesryn immediately clocks as an indication of her inebriation, making him sigh.

“Probably shouldn’t have let you drink all that, huh?”

She hums in response and closes her eyes, feeling the weight of everything slowly drift away as her body starts to melt further into the chair.

“How about I go make you a bed?”

“No.”

“No?”

She blinks and laughs, forcing her eyes to focus on her friend. “I want to go home.”

“You are home?”

She shakes her head almost violently. “No, home.”

He doesn’t know that home means camp. Or, more specifically, that home to her is where Astarion is. Nor does he understand the jumble of words that fall from her mouth immediately after. “Zayis, you are way too drunk to be arguing right now.”

“I’m not. I’m just saying!”

He can’t help but laugh as he stands up, moving towards her to help pull her to her feet. “Saying what?”

“I want to see Fangs,” she whines, and before she knows it she’s being guided towards the door by her old flame’s hands without another word. Tiredly leaning against his shoulder as they walk down the darkened street.

“Where am I taking you?”

Through slurred speech she directs him to her camp, explaining the quickest route with the kind of drunken hand gestures Vesryn can’t help but mock.

“Shut up, I’m drunk.”

“I can tell.”

“And I’m tired.”

“No kidding.”

“I think I might be in love, too.”

At that Vesryn stops walking, causing her to sort of bump into his arm and swear under her breath, grumbling about his lack of coordination before the words she’s uttered circle back to her. Forcing her eyes to widen as her stomach starts to twist, realizing what she’s done. Registering the fact that she just admitted out loud that her feelings are valid and not just ridiculous moments of lust clouding her vision.

“I’m sorry, what?”

Despite the context, Vesryn can’t help but laugh, watching as Zayis begins to breathe with her entire chest. The fabric of her tunic rising and falling in rapid succession as her eyes dart back and forth.

“I think I’m in love with Astarion,” she then says before slamming her lips shut, feeling her face grow hot and her hands begin to sweat. Every part of her body working against her as she suddenly bolts down the street, listening to Vesryn’s footsteps work to keep up.

“Wait a minute, how long has this been going on?”

Unsurprisingly, Zayis ignores him, swearing under her breath when she comes to a street she doesn’t notice, forcing Vesryn to grab her arm and redirect her.

“Do you think he loves you back?”

“I don’t know.”

“What do you mean you don’t know?”

She repeats the same answer in frustration, throwing her hands up to cover her eyes, knowing now she’s fucked. Completely and totally fucked because despite knowing how foolish it is to fall in love with someone like Astarion she’s managed to do just that.

“Okay, well do you want to know?”

He asks the question like it’s a simply gained answer. As if asking Astarion about his feelings is something Zayis can do without feeling humiliated.

Because truthfully, she knows if asked, not only would she be met with that teasing voice of Astarion telling her I told you so regardless of the answer, but she’d also be forced to live with the fact that Vesryn was right all along.

“Can we please talk about something else?”

Quickening her pace, she can feel her legs begin to ache from the events of the day. All of the hours of travelling and fighting piling onto her weakened knees as she pushes forward.

Watching her struggle, Vesryn follows behind almost cautiously, trying his best not to hover while remaining close. Well aware at any second she might just fall to the ground thanks to the alcohol.

“I think maybe we should just get you home, yeah? I’m sure your boyfriend is worried sick.”

Before he can even laugh at his poorly timed joke she’s turning to swing her fist at his head, causing him to grab her wrist in annoyance.

“C’mon Punchy, let’s not keep your leech waiting.”

Frowning in response she allows him then to guide her the rest of the way. Keeping his arm loosely wrapped around her shoulder for support, she dizzily latches onto his side, resting her head against his chest. Trying her best to ignore the sickness that resides at the base of her stomach as they continue forward, eventually making it to camp.

“You know, this isn’t as bad as I thought it’d be.”

While glaring at Vesryn she can feel her head begin to pound. The space behind her eyes where the tadpole resides ringing out in a painful rhythm of words. All of them loud and irate, saying something she can’t quite understand.

At which point she begins to descend without warning, causing Vesryn to swear and catch her arm, watching anxiously as she moves one hand to her temple.

“Zay?”

When she doesn’t immediately respond he maneuvers her to the ground, kneeling in front of her with nervous hands to hold her face, searching for further signs of distress until she’s completely still again.

“Sorry, that uh, happens sometimes.”

“What?”

“The tadpoles,” she mumbles, brushing his hands away to rub her eyes, feeling the pain still linger behind them but at a much smaller scale. “Sometimes when one of us gets a bit emotional or something they…”

As she trails off with a yawn she attempts to mime the word connection by pressing her index fingers together in front of her. A motion Vesryn thankfully understands, nodding his head in response.

“We don’t—“

The sound of a clearing throat pulls her away from the conversation. Her eyes shifting from Vesryn’s face towards a very pissed-off Astarion now standing in front of them with his hands on his hips.

“Am I interrupting something?”

Instantly, both she and Vesryn jump to speak, their voices fumbling over each other until Zayis eventually turns back and frowns, prompting Vesryn to innocently raise his hands and stand up.

“Ves was just bringing me home.”

“At this hour?” Astarion asks, his voice lower than normal. Angrier even. A rumble of sound emanating from his chest as he crouches down to face her —instantly smelling the drink on her breath. “Wait a minute, you’re drunk.”

“Am not,” she slurs, grinning. Expecting him to grin back or crack some sort of joke. Not shift his jaw and stand as he does, moving towards Vesryn faster than she can think to blink.

“I always knew you were an idiot,” she hears him say, watching him reach for Vesryn’s clothes. Gripping the collar of his shirt with such ferocity that the only sound that Zayis hears after that is the sudden groan her old partner lets out.

Which makes her panic, realizing then that Astarion isn’t just pissed —he’s livid. Red not only in the eyes but also in the face, prompting her to try and stand up only to fall back down thanks to the lightness that travels throughout her head.

“What’d you do to her, huh? Get her drunk and then take advantage of her?”

Trying but ultimately failing to speak over Astarion’s angered assumptions, Zayis eventually opts to reach for the fabric of his pants instead. Pulling at the base of his calf to gain his attention, muttering his name through the mess of sounds until she’s been ushered to her feet by a pair of arms.

“I see the apology’s going well,” Wyll says, and immediately she whips her head to face him in response, taking in the humoured expression across his face before turning back to see the two men being ripped away from each other by Karlach’s brute force. Both of them continuing their attempts at violence.

“This isn’t how we treat our guest, Fangs,” Karlach scolds, but Astarion’s already cursing Vesryn’s name. Using whatever insult he can think of to throw the poor man’s way. Ignoring Karlach’s plea for him to shut up even when she threatens to knock him out cold if he doesn’t behave.

Which only causes more issues when the rest of the camp begins to realize what’s going on. All of them piling out of their tents to watch this ridiculous display of angry men fighting over an issue neither of them really have much control over. Considering Zayis is drunk and now grumbling into the crook of Wyll’s neck trying her best not to cry at the sight of Karlach shoving Astarion towards Lae’zel, it’s obvious that the best thing to do is drop it.

Or at least, put a pin in it until morning. Which is exactly what Gale suggests when he wanders towards Lae’zel’s side, smirking at their not-so-friendly vampire before making some sort of backhanded compliment that has Astarion lunging towards him with a hiss.

“Alright, alright. No need to maim the wizard,” Gale mutters, darting back. “I’m just here for the show not to get roped into any audience participation.”

After that, Zayis hears Wyll sigh in defeat as he runs his palm along the length of his face, trying his best to comfort her as she continues to wrap herself around him, digging her claws into his clothes while her tail grips tightly onto his legs.

“I think we should probably get her some water,” he says, prompting Shadowheart to move towards Vesryn, placing a hand on his shoulder as she asks him if he needs any healing.

While shaking his head he ends up glancing over at Zayis who already looks like she’s dead to the world. Still grumbling incoherently under her breath, it’s as if her mind has been turned to sludge as Wyll drags her over to the fire, placing her gently on the ground. Practically forcing a stream’s worth of water down her throat by the time Shadowheart wanders over, casting whatever restoration magic she’s got left.

“That fool of yours is lucky Karlach showed up when she did,” she mutters, moving to place either hand on Zayis’s face. Allowing the magic to spread through her cheeks like an icy veil, wrapping around heated flesh. Providing the perfect amount of relief for the tadpole behind her eye to settle back into its dormant state.

“Is he okay?”

“He’s fine. Karlach’s taking him home.”

Letting out a sigh of relief, Zayis continues to drink through the process. Feeling the water soothe her aching throat as Shadowheart continues to speak, scolding her for being so stupid.

“Gods, I can’t believe you let him get you drunk.”

“I didn’t let him do anything,” Zayis snaps, her eyes narrowing in annoyance, watching as her two friends share an unimpressed look. “I got nervous.”

“And drank an entire bar?”

For some reason that makes Wyll snort, prompting Zayis to reach out and yank his horn, causing the warlock to groan and swat her away. “Hey! She’s right, you know!”

Regardless of whether or not they are, Zayis opts to go silent after. Sitting angrily between the two of them, she lets Shadowheart finish her spell before muttering out a quiet thanks. The kind that Shadowheart almost immediately reciprocates with an unenthusiastic no problem before retreating to her tent. Leaving just herself and Wyll to stew in the awkward silence of her actions as she continues to sip her water. Paying no mind to the curious eyes that dart between the camp and her face, picking apart the expressions that absentmindedly shift the longer she sits.

“So, uh, do you want to talk about what happened or would you rather wallow?”

Earning no response, Wyll sighs, prompting Zayis to look over with a frown. Both of them staring at each other, wishing that she’d just come out and say whatever needs to be said instead of rotting away, pretending like her actions are something other than self-inflicted wounds.

“I promise no judgement, you know.”

“I know. I’m just —I think I should probably talk to him first.”

“Not sure he’s interested in talking.”

Zayis snorts out of habit, moving a hand to rub her eyes, feeling her head swirl. “Fair. I probably wouldn’t want to talk to me either.”

“I’m sure if you give him time,” Wyll suggests, and even though she knows he’s right all she can feel is the lack of patience beginning to settle in. The undeniable urge to jump to her feet and run to his side almost doubling on impact. The temptation to confess all the thoughts that have plagued her mind over the last few weeks making their presence known.

It forces her to chug a few more glasses of water in silence. Trying her best to remain as rational as possible. Or at least, until she’s able to fully stabilize her thoughts in the form of a pros and cons list that Wyll almost immediately interrupts.

“I know you say you are, but are you truly alright?”

At first, she doesn’t have an answer. Too focused on trying to figure out whether it’s a pro or a con to storm into Astarion’s tent, she hardly registers the words. Instead finding herself at a mental crossroads, debating the level of sobriety needed to confess one’s love before it becomes insulting. But then her mind catches up. Slowly but surely taking in the words. Feeling the genuine curiosity in his voice sound almost paranormal. As if he’s already used the tadpole to burrow into her mind and find the answer for himself.

Not that he’d need to, to know that she’s the opposite of alright.

Even before arriving, she’d been on the absolute edge of sanity. Struggling to choose which battle to tackle first, since entering the walls of Baldur’s Gate it’s felt like she’s been pulled every which way. Slowly becoming stretched to the point of ripping.

Which she wants to admit. But thanks to the guardedness of her brain, all she’s able to say is that she’s tired. That the well within her soul has sufficiently dried up leaving nothing more than a hole in the ground, waiting for its fill once again.

With a sigh, Wyll slides a little closer and nudges her leg, offering support in whatever way he can as she glances at him, silently pleading for advice.

“You need to rest, Zay.”

Genuinely curious, she looks at him with half-lidded eyes. The glassy look of drunkenness still heavily visible. “How?”

“By allowing your problems to run their course rather than trying to direct them yourself.”

Leaning forward, she groans into her hands. The emptiness of her head making it hard for her to understand the riddles Wyll often speaks in. “What the fuck does that even mean?”

Letting out a soft laugh, his hand finds its way to one of her horns to reciprocate that same push from earlier, forcing her to grumble under her breath.

“It means you should go to bed.”

Groaning in response, she debates whether or not to argue, feeling her eyes shift towards Astarion’s tent —feeling that inevitable pull behind her eye, begging for her to curl up against his frame regardless of whatever fight might unfold.

“Okay. But not because you told me too,” she eventually says, and Wyll just smiles and ushers her to her feet, forcing one final glass of water into her hand.

“One more for the road, okay?”

All she does is nod her head and slowly make her way towards the tent. Staring intensely at the ground beneath her, she maneuvers around roots and rocks, trying her best not to let the remnants of leftover inebriation overtake her ability to function.

Which proves easy up until she makes it to the tent. Feeling her vision shift in and out of focus as she attempts to push open the flap, there’s a moment where she sways back and has to catch herself, causing her lips to part into an awkward squeal.

“What the hells are you doing?” Astarion says, and before she can even think to correct her footing she’s somehow pressed against his chest with her glass of water nowhere to be seen. Her body suddenly feeling warm thanks to the way his hands snake around her waist, tightly gripping the flesh beneath her shirt. Reminding her that despite the intimate position she finds herself in, he’s definitely still unimpressed.

“How come you’re mad?”

His eyes narrow, becoming two thin slits of rage that successfully scare her into submission, prompting her to swallow hard and sit up on her knees, feeling his hands tighten even more. “Are you seriously asking me that?”

Following her lead, he forces himself to release her waist in order to lean into her, practically pressing his forehead against hers. “I mean, honestly, do you have any sense of self-preservation or do you just choose to act like an idiot?”

Immediately she blinks, processing his words. Marinating in the meaning until she fully understands. “You know, Vesryn isn’t an enemy —he’s a friend.”

“I’d argue otherwise, but I suppose your choice in friends has always been questionable.”

Feeling the liquor rush through her system, she quickly reaches out to grab his shoulder, steadying herself against the sway that overtakes. Fully pressing her forehead against his despite wanting nothing more than to wrap her hand around his skinny little neck and—

“You didn’t tell me you were going to see him.”

Her mouth opens to respond —to tell him that it doesn’t matter— but then she stops, pulling away to explore the hurt expression across his face. Specifically the focused look within his eyes that fail to falter for even a second.

“I didn’t think I had to.”

“I suppose you don’t but—”

“But what then?”

“But a courtesy would’ve been nice,” he practically snaps. “Or a simple warning at the very least —I think I deserve at least that.”

She looks at him confused then. Unsure what exactly he means, her lips part to ask, watching as his expression slowly matches hers. Both of them staring in anticipation for an answer that never comes.

“You know I just went there to talk, right?” Her voice struggles through the fog that hits her head, causing her to frequently pause between words. “I didn’t go there to do whatever it is you’re…”

Trailing off, she wiggles her fingers, trying her best to insinuate that whatever assumptions he has are wrong. And that he’s being stupid, but she’s too drunk to incorporate that accordingly.

So instead, she just settles for the former, watching the way his nose scrunches up, pulling at his upper lip to reveal the tips of his fangs. An expression that makes her wonder if maybe her words aren’t matching up with her thoughts, prompting her to sigh and move her hands to her face.

“Fuck, I’m too drunk for this.”

“Yeah, that’s becoming apparent.”

For some reason that makes her laugh weakly. “I just… I don’t want to fight anymore. Not for this.”

“Then what do you want to fight for?”

Pushing her hands further into the sockets of her eyes, she feels her head pound in frustration. All of her thoughts piling to the forefront of her mind, screaming at her to settle this once and for all. To tell him that she doesn’t want to fight anymore. To say that, instead of pressing their knives to each other’s throats time and time again, all she wants to do is toss them aside and kiss the scars they’ve inflicted.

But because she’s drunk —because she can’t think without the whole process becoming far more difficult than it should be— all she does is move into him. Allowing her body to speak for itself in the form of a desperate hug, she wraps her arms around his shoulder before he guides her down into the bedroll.

“Alright, easy does it, darling,” Astarion grumbles, his angered tone failing to match the sweetness of his words, prompting Zayis to frown and turn her back to him.

“Don’t call me that. I’m mad at you.”

“Since when?”

“Since you decided to be mad at me for no reason,” she says, causing Astarion to huff as he begins to run his fingers through the roots of her hair —feeling the familiar presence of her tail slowly wrap around his thigh.

“Once again, I’d argue such a statement but clearly you’re too far gone to be able to defend yourself.”

“Fuck you, I can do anything.”

“Agree to disagree.”

“Agree to —shut up, Astarion.”

Releasing a heavy sigh, he reluctantly continues his ministrations despite the abuse. Pressing the pads of his fingers deeply into the base of her skull.

“Go to sleep, Zay. We can fight in the morning.”

In response, she grumbles out in protest. Ultimately failing to convey her disinterest as his fingers lower to the back of her head, following the line of her braid until he hits the end and begins to undo it. Then, with careful hands he works his way back up, feeling her slowly drift beneath his touch.

“Gods, sometimes I wonder if loving you is even worth the headache,” he tells her, unaware of the sliver of consciousness that manages to linger. Even when she nervously stirs at his words, wondering if she heard him correctly.

Because there’s no way he loves her, right? Too focused on what he gains from being around her rather than her herself, there’s not a single chance he cares. That’d be impossible. Unthinkable. An admittance so beyond logic that as she lays there, eyes shut tight, she has to force herself to ignore it. To chalk his strange confession up to the liquor poisoning her mind with outlandish thoughts.

Which thankfully isn’t hard given how drunk she still is. In fact, with very little effort, it only takes a few minutes of Astarion’s fingers moving through her hair to fully render her useless. Her body curling under the blanket, unaware of the restlessness Astarion experiences as the hours pass. Oblivious to the fact that, even before she wakes up, he’s already gone.

Becoming nothing more than a vacant space that leaves her confused when she eventually rolls over hours later, groaning at the pain that rips through her skull, remembering everything that happened. Specifically, the words he may have said to her last night —the ones so far from reality that she can’t help but wonder if it was merely just a figment of her imagination.

Hearing them echo in her mind, she palms the sockets of her eyes and sits up, feeling the aches and pains of the previous hours seep into her bones. Taking refuge in her muscles to the point that not even she can deny how much of a struggle it is to crawl around the sun-kissed tent, searching for the cup of water Wyll gave her last night before downing it in one huge gulp.

Unsurprisingly it feels like a gift from every God combined. A blessing of liquid that provides her with enough energy to shakily crawl through the opening of the tent, squinting at the newfound light that hits her face.

Somehow it’s already sunrise. Even though it felt like she was maybe asleep for a couple of minutes, it’s obvious now that she got at least a few hours in. Something she’s thankful for as she wanders over to the pile of supplies by the put-out fire, rooting through the various bags until she finds a canteen of water.

At which point she begins to drink and aimlessly walk, forcing her tired legs to move through the length of the camp and past the tree line, weaving through the obstacles of nature until she’s standing at the edge of a hill.

Looking up, there’s a moment or two where she debates turning back. But then her body starts to move without warning, pushing her further and further past the threshold of capability she should have after a night of heavy drinking and emotional warfare. Disregarding the burn that envelops practically every fibre of her being until she hits the top.

Then she’s doubling over in pain, on the verge of tears, feeling the desire to give up filter through her determination, making her second guess her actions until she hears someone huff.

“You look like a corpse,” Astarion says. “And not a fresh one either.”

Forcing out a laugh, she squints to see him sitting on a stump a few feet away with a mug of tea in his hand —another at his side like always. “Morning to you, too.”

“Morning.”

His voice is quiet as he turns to look at the rising sun. Ignoring her as she moves toward him, taking the cup that rests beside him into her hands before she sits in its place. “Thanks.”

Surprisingly, he doesn’t respond. Instead, he just sips the tea and continues to soak in the light as he often does. Paying no mind to Zayis as she takes a sip of her own, staring at the side of his face.

“Did you rest at all?”

All he does is shake his head.

“When did you leave?”

“Not long after you fell asleep.”

Humming in response, she turns away to look at the sky herself, allowing her mind to drift to last night. Hearing that single word uttered over and over again in her mind until it doesn’t sound like a word at all.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Depends.”

Releasing an annoyed breath, she takes another sip before she continues. “Always does, doesn’t it?”

“Mhm.”

After that, she sees him sort of smirk against the edge of his cup, prompting her to quietly groan and ditch the idea altogether. Feeling the walls of her heart begin to make their way up again —discarding whatever idea might’ve crossed her mind to even think about letting them down in the first place.

Something Astarion immediately notices. Having failed to ask her question, he quickly turns to face her, exploring her features —noticing the sudden lack of curiosity that immediately befalls her face. “That’s it then?”

“What?”

“No question? No pretty little morning argument?”

She looks at him confused, her jaw dropping slightly open.

“Not even a single threat relating to bodily harm?”

“I—“

“My, my, have you gone soft or something, darling?” he asks; his tone changing. Morphing to have this venomous quality, Zayis immediately scoffs at.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Oh, I don’t know.” He shrugs his shoulders and turns away, pretending like there’s no reasoning behind his words. Acting as if there's no fight to pick despite there very clearly being one.

“You know, if you have a problem with my behaviour you can just come out and say it instead of waiting for me to figure it out myself.”

In response, he lets out quite possibly the fakest laugh she’s ever heard. “I could. Though, we both know that even if you did figure it out, you wouldn’t talk about it anyway. You don’t do emotions.”

“Neither do you.”

“Actually I—“

Without warning she stands up to chuck the mug over the edge of the hill, groaning from the pain of her muscles —trying her best to ignore the way they pull in strange ways as she turns to glare in his direction. “No, you know what? You don’t get to act like an asshole just because you’re mad that I didn’t tell you I was seeing Vesryn!”

“Oh, please, I’m not mad about that!” Standing up, he discards his mug on the stump and takes a step forward. Inserting himself into her space, watching her follow his lead until they’re practically nose to nose. “What I’m mad at is your lack of attention —for your inability to look around and see what you so clearly deserve!”

“Deserve?” Pressing a rough hand to his chest, she forces him back only to step forward, watching his eyes narrow in annoyance —his hands darting out to grip her wrists once she’s close enough. “You think this mistreatment is what I deserve?”

As she struggles against his hold, both of them bare their teeth in frustration. Neither one of them willing to admit their respective thoughts until Astarion’s eventually the first to cave, growling under his breath.

“No, but sometimes I think you believe that,” he says, his voice lowering. The sound of it reverberating through his chest like an avalanche Zay can’t help but stand at the bottom of, wondering when she’ll inevitably perish beneath it.

Because that’s what it feels like sometimes, being around him. Oftentimes while attempting to navigate all the feelings that erupt each time he picks a fight, she has to hear things she doesn’t want to. To listen to the truth time and time again, despite wanting nothing more than to run from it. Almost every time it makes her breathless, hearing the way he picks her soul apart each time she gives him the chance. Feeling fine one moment and lost the next as he continues to speak.

“Is that why you won’t talk to me? Why, despite all the times I’ve confided in you, you refuse to offer the same in return? Because you’re punishing yourself?”

Taking it all in, her gaze flickers down to his hands, watching them slip up her wrists, slowly moving to turn her palms to the sky so that he can gently rest his own on top. Inhaling deeply, it’s as if the weight of them are suddenly all over her body. Pressing roughly against her chest and arms —grabbing hold of her feet so that they keep her in place despite wanting nothing more than to run. To swallow whatever pride she has left and disappear for good.

To pretend like he isn’t working up to some huge confession despite wanting nothing more.

“Zayis?”

“What?”

She doesn’t mean to snap. But regardless, the word comes out like a bite, latching onto his throat. The tips of them diving into his flesh before he can even think to recoil.

It makes him falter for a second. The entirety of his body twitching against the rise of her voice before he eventually puffs back up again, sighing so hard the only thing she feels afterward is the echo of his breath.

“Gods, for once will you just fucking talk to me?” he then pleads, gripping the base of her fingers so tightly she ends up wincing. “Please.”

“What do you want me to say, Astarion? That I’m punishing myself because I’m scared?”

“If that’s the reason, yes!”

“And what if I don’t know the reason?”

“Then—“

Suddenly, she rips her hands from his to move them to her face, pressing the pads of her fingers roughly against her temples. Shakily circling the flesh as she heavily exhales, trying to collect her thoughts as he takes another step forward, tugging her close by the waist. Forcing his fingers beneath the hem of her untucked shirt.

“Tell me then. Are you punishing yourself because you feel guilty for what you’ve done? Or are you punishing me because the mere thought of either of us deserving each other is too much to bear?”

It’s the kind of question that has her fearing for her life. Regardless of how many enemies she’s fought over the past few weeks. As she stares into Astarion’s eyes, watching the deep red rings nearly disappear behind narrowed lids, she has to force herself to stay. Knowing that if she doesn’t, she’ll just wind up back where she started: all alone, wishing just once she could have something real.

Because with Vesryn, it never was. Despite the adoration that still presents itself each time they’re together, that’s all it ever really grew to become. Two people admiring each other for reasons unrelated to love. Not people who fought tooth and nail just to earn the bare minimum. People who, despite everyone telling them to quit while they’re ahead, continued to choose each other above all else.

Which makes looking at Astarion that much harder. As he bears his soul in his own way, asking her for something in return, it makes her realize that the reason she fears so much isn’t because she feels guilty for abandoning Vesryn but because she fears the judgement of it. Always self-critical of her own actions thanks to the scrutiny of her upbringing, it’s hard to look at what’s in front of her and not assume the worst. Considering they already bring out the worst in each other pretty much constantly, it’s obvious there’s always been some reservations. Despite being fully aware of their similarities and the chemistry that presents itself when needed, at all times there always seems to be a voice at the back of her mind telling her she’s stupid for thinking things might work out.

Because honestly, it probably won’t. Not with the way Astarion’s looking at her with those eyes or the way he’s practically clawing at her hips, begging for her to stay. Coaxing her into this false world where the two of them fall in love and get the happy ending neither of them really deserves.

It isn’t realistic. Or truthful in any way, which is why when she speaks she doesn't lie or even coat the truth in honeyed words.

“I don’t feel guilty,” she starts, dropping her hands to gently hold the crook of his elbows —feeling her tail follow behind and absentmindedly slink around his waist. “Ves and I —we weren’t good together.”

“Why?”

She looks away, pursing her lips as he nudges her closer. Pulling her eyes back in almost immediately. Keeping her there with him no matter what. “We never had this.”

“And what is this?”

“Lust? Love? I don’t...”

Trailing off, she shakes her head and closes her eyes, hearing that voice inside her head telling her this is wrong. That he and her and everything shared over the last few weeks has been nothing but a ploy. A tactic used to get what he needs out of her before he—

He interrupts her thoughts by grabbing her chin. Running his thumb along the space just below her lip, he then cocks his head and sort of smiles. “This isn’t just lust, you know,” he tells her, and suddenly it’s like she’s back at the tiefling party again, catching his gaze between moments of mingling, unable to deny the mutual attraction as he inevitably flirts his way beneath her clothes.

“It isn’t?”

Softly, his finger rises to touch her lower lip. Pulling it down ever so slightly, she sees his lips part into a toothy grin that has her heavily breathing, wondering if this is it. The moment she completely falls apart into his arms with no escape plan. The one where he says those magic little words and she falls headfirst into the palm of his hand.

“Not anymore.”

“Then… what is it now?”

Whether it’s because he doesn’t know or he wasn’t expecting her to ask, Astarion’s rendered speechless. With his mouth partially open in surprise, not a sound comes out once the question is asked, prompting Zayis’s stomach to twist into knots so far beyond untangling that she honestly feels like she might pass out.

Because of the sheer anticipation alone, she’s already struggling to breathe. Feeling her lungs begin to cave under the pressure of his silence, she finds herself acting before thinking. Moving before speaking. Granting herself the chance to take matters into her own hands as they rise to cup his cheeks.

Beneath her fingertips, he feels colder than she remembers. Stinging her digits like slabs of carved-out ice, she lets her thumbs trail over the peaks and valleys of his face —exploring the highest points of his cheekbones down to the hollowness of his under-eyes. Memorizing every part with careful hands. Watching his expression change as she begins to lean in, bumping the tip of her nose against his before letting out the shakiest breath that’s probably ever existed.

“Well, whatever it is, I hope it’s worth the headache,” she then says, feeling his hand slip from her chin to wrap around the back of her head. Both of them moving in to cross the one boundary that’s never been crossed. Neither of them caring that in the process their fangs knock haphazardly together before quickly finding their rhythm.

Which surprises her if she’s honest. After always feeling like they’re on opposing sides, for a moment it doesn’t make much sense to her. As his lips gently shift to slot themselves against hers, it shouldn’t feel this perfect. It should be difficult like everything else. A battle of power and tension. Not easy. Not like she’s breathing or walking or driving a knife into someone’s chest.

No, it should be harder than this. More complicated. A process so painstakingly awful that her mind should be telling her it isn’t worth it and run.

Except she can’t, can she? Not when his hands feel like they’re moulded to her frame —how his palms seem to rest perfectly against her head and hip, still pulling her in. All while slowly devouring her mouth with careful nips and licks that have her practically clawing for more. Her hands exploring his neck and hair, unable to choose which spot to settle into.

It makes him grin against her, prompting her to frown in response, not sure why he finds the act so funny. Or why he ends up pulling away so quickly afterward, brushing away loose hairs that have fallen in front of her face.

“Bit rude of you to throw my own words back in my face like that.”

Almost angrily she reaches down to grip the collar of his shirt, attempting to shut him up with another kiss but failing when he grabs her wrist.

“Greedy little thing.”

“Shut up.”

In response, he hums in amusement and leans in to graze her ear with his lips. “One taste and you’re already begging for more, hm?”

“Gods, you’re insufferable.”

“And you’re just pathetic, aren’t you?”

His lips peel into a smirk that has her angrily maneuvering him back to her mouth, digging her fingers into the roots of his hair as well as his shirt —ignoring the way he laughs through another hum while giving in.

A laugh that has her heart foolishly swelling against her ribcage, threatening to burst as he begins to drag her down towards the ground, neither one of them caring how the dirt instantly clings to their clothes or how itchy the grass feels against their exposed skin, because right now, all they care about is this. These somewhat tender moments spent discarding shirts and pants —both of them awkwardly laughing through the mess of limbs that bump against each other in the process.

Somehow, all of it feels too good to be true. Having waited years to properly feel his hands trailing up the length of her spine and his teeth nipping at her flesh as she rests on top, it feels like a projection of her desires come to life. The way he palms the back of her head, guiding his mouth to a particularly supple part of her neck.

It immediately makes her eyes flutter shut, waiting for the moment he decides to strike. Becoming nothing more than teeth and hands working to take their fill. As she lies on top of him, breathing so hard she’s certain she's probably damaged her lung in the process, she can feel his tongue teasing the area. Poking out to coat her skin in saliva before he presses another opened-mouth kiss and pulls away.

“Can I?” he asks, and before she can even think she’s nodding mindlessly. Allowing whatever he wants to happen because the fight’s died out. Whatever need she once had to hold power over him lost the moment he smiles and kisses her lips, sucking away her air before he does the same with her blood.

At which point she’s almost certain she’s going to pass out. With the lack of oxygen and now that familiar pain plunging into the side of her neck, it’s a miracle that she’s still able to stabilize her body. As he begins to push in, she can’t help but jump from the contact, realizing how different it feels in comparison to something like her wrist.

Because despite having experienced the sharpness of his teeth followed by the languid lapping of his tongue against far less intimate places, this feels completely different. More euphoric and intense —something she has to push through as the pain begins to meld into pleasure as the seconds pass.

Which isn’t all that difficult. Not when they’re holding onto each other for dear life, every so often shifting to get a better angle. Moaning under their breaths for different reasons despite sharing the experience. No longer trying to suppress the feelings that stir when Astarion inevitably pulls away, dripping in blood that she immediately moves to wipe away.

“You eat like a starved boar,” she says, trying not to giggle at the way he chases her blood-stained fingers, somehow still desperate for more.

“And you moan like a banshee.”

“I do not!”

Without warning he begins to mock the sound of her voice, throwing his head back, causing her to press her palm fully over his mouth.

“Do you ever stop?”

His voice doesn’t carry through her hand so she reluctantly drops it, giving him a pointed look only to receive another grin. “Only if you want me to,” he then says, and almost immediately she feels her face begin to heat up, realizing that she doesn’t. That instead of stopping and taking a second to talk or even breathe all she wants is more.

So, she responds with another kiss. Not caring about the taste of her blood on his lips or the desperate way she falls slack against his chest, feeling him twitch against her. As she licks the seam of his mouth right open, hungrily pushing her tongue to meet his own, she doesn’t care that he’s adjusting her hips. Grabbing hold of her flesh to position her over the tip of his cock.

With nothing but the sensations of their bodies hurriedly working to become one, she hardly registers anything other than the head teasing her folds, failing to fully enter since she keeps squirming. Something she doesn’t register until he bites her lip a bit too hard, prompting her to pull away and narrow her eyes, watching him frown.

“Stop moving,” he says, but like always she ignores him, moving whatever way her body decides is right until he’s angrily groaning and turning them over, pinning her against the grass. “Brat.”

“Asshole.”

He leans in to steal another kiss while using his hands to hold down her hips, feeling her grind against him. “Thorn in my side,” he mutters.

His voice vibrates against her mouth in a way that has her absolutely reeling. Forcing her hands to dip down to his chest, tracing the carvings of his muscular structure as her tail wraps tightly around his thigh.

“You’re lucky you’re pretty.”

“Pretty?” Somehow he sounds surprised. “Is that a genuine compliment?”

“Maybe.”

He hums and releases one of her hips, moving to grip his cock, giving it a few tentative strokes before lining himself up again. “Care to grace me with another one?”

Once again teasing her entrance, she finds herself shifting upwards, chasing the high of him. Following his sex in absolute misery trying to get him to give in without the need for praise.

“Or perhaps I should give that mouth something else to do?”

Before she can even think of a clever response he’s moving in. Slowly dragging through her, making sure that the process of it all is almost painful due to its lack of speed. Stretching her out, there’s a brief moment where she has to reach for his arms. To tether herself to him in some other way as he moves just shy of the hilt, leaning down to grin.

“I’m not hearing any words coming out of that mouth of yours.”

At first, she breaths, adjusting to the feeling of him slipping inside. Trying her best not to focus on the way she instinctively clenches around as she grits her teeth.

“C’mon now,” he coos. Then ever so slightly he pulls back, dragging the pleasure out of her throat in the form of a moan.

“Fuck, I love you,” she says, and immediately they both freeze. Neither one of them able to fully register the words until she opens her mouth again, stuttering out an apology. Scrambling to sit up and backtrack only to find herself being pinned back down and taken over.

Before she can even think the wicked snap of his hips quickly becomes enough of a distraction to forget what she just said. Thanks to the way he abruptly pushes and pulls only to slow it all down, it’s as if the regret evaporates into thin air. The phrase itself turning nothing more than a memory as she lets her hands roam across his back.

Now pressed against her, she feels his palm circle around to the base of her spine to create an arch. Providing both of them with a more comfortable angle for him to rut inside her, hardly caring that his pace has fallen out of time. No longer thinking about the finer details.

Moving in tandem, their lips part so that she can finally breathe, showcasing the stains of blood that cover the lower half of her face, prompting Astarion to smile.

“You’re perfect,” he tells her. “Better than perfect.”

And in the moment, she’s tempted to ask what that means. Or to poke some sort of fun in return, but there’s too much happening. The overwhelming sensations of his cock and hands and the way her entire stomach jumps at the sound of his words becoming far more important than her habit of gaining the last word.

Which only helps build the tension between her thighs. As he continues to jut forward only to slip back, suddenly there’s an additive of movement against her clit. The presence of trailing knuckles brushing, moving much slower than his hips.

Almost lazily, they glide across her nerves in circles, steadily adding to the collection of pressure. Forcing the pulsing stack of pleasure she feels to become too much as she lets out a pathetic whine.

It’s the kind that has him falling apart. No longer able to keep any sort of pace at all, it’s as if he’s suddenly lost in the dark, struggling to maintain the path set out before him. Forgetting all about past instincts as drops to her chest, kissing her face and neck —licking away remnants of blood before continuing down.

“Don’t stop,” she says, and even though she wouldn’t put it past him for doing so out of spite, she’s thankful he doesn’t. Instead, discarding all semblance of sense to guide her over the edge.

Applying a rough bite to the top of one of her breasts, it’s at that moment that Zayis feels the scales tip in her favour. Manifesting in violent tremors that wreak havoc throughout her body, it’s as if she’s lying against the shore, letting the waves lap at her skin. Allowing their strength to pull her in without protest.

Still above her, she can feel Astarion continuing. Too wrapped up in the feeling of her walls contracting on instinct, he sometimes falters but refuses to quit. Unable to stop even when she’s trying to pull away, the sensation of her orgasm becoming too much.

Because the feeling of that combined with the way he’s touching her —the way he’s pressed against her, practically consuming her skin with his sharp teeth— is hedonistic. An act of pure indulgence that has her joining it, allowing her tail to tangle around his waist as he continues to fuck her through her climax. Forcing her fingers to find a home in his hair, coaxing sweet sounds of pleasure from his pretty little lips.

“Come for me,” she tells him then, pressing a kiss to his head, watching his neck crane upwards to capture her gaze as he heeds her call, quickly spilling out inside her cunt. No longer able to suppress the shakes that rattle against her thighs, she lets out a soft laugh.

Which prompts him to look up at her in confusion after he’s finally settled down. Noticing the warmth of her features just staring at him. “What?”

Almost immediately, she bites back a grin, trying her best not to make some obscene sound when he eventually slips out of her and falls to her side. “Nothing.”

Now on his back against the grass, he narrows his eyes at the sky above before glancing back over, shaking his head at her comment. Reaching out to playfully smack her face to the side before releasing a sigh.

“You’re lucky I love you too,” he says, staring at her face —watching it quickly dart his way with widened eyes and parted lips. An obvious lack of thought gracing her mind until everything comes flooding back.

Then all at once, every reservation disappears. Every hesitation or doubt ceasing to exist the moment she sees the subtle smirk that spreads. How it renders her beyond uselessness, unable to reply let alone breathe.

“Rendered speechless?” he then teases, using what little energy he has left to prop himself up and lean over her, brushing his nose against hers. Letting the skin-on-skin contact further fluster her system. “That’s new.”

Greedily, she raises her head to kiss him. “So is telling me you love me.”

“So is…”

He trails off, unable to come up with a viable answer, prompting her to smirk back.

“Gotcha.”

In response he reaches down to pinch her hip, making her squeal. “Careful now or I might put that mouth to better use.”

“Mm, maybe you should,” she teases, but before he can respond there’s a rustle in the bushes, prompting them both to stop in their tracks as they look down the path, noticing a familiar elf stepping towards them.

Which makes Zayis swear under her breath. Pushing Astarion away, she hears him make a sound of disappointment as she scrambles for her clothes, tossing her tunic over her head before moving to stand —stopping at her knees when she sees Halsin look their way.

“Ah, I see you two have decided to patch things up the old fashioned way,” he comments, smiling between the two of them. Failing to care about the state of their dress before he continues to walk past them with the gentle wave of his hand, causing Astarion to snort.

“You know Halsin doesn’t—“

She tosses her pants at his head before he can finish, grumbling in embarrassment as he throws the fabric aside, once again pinning her against the grass with a rough kiss.

@poohxlove @gaiasmight @sassy-stupid @novarex @v-gremlin @sapphiccloud @lipstickghoulie @kuroitsukyo @jjfchk @idiotsatan @bluestuesday @bloopthebat @art-by-greenie @heneralmoon @sukunababe @dreamingaboutyousworld @ranfithegood @haniscrying @liadamerondjarin @the-lake-is-calling @marina-and-the-memes @rookieoftheyear @zraloci-cpr @kaetmo @snickerdoodle-daydream @wowowwild @d1anna @raswiet @conniesbbymama @venus-wrts @demonicthorns @kihten @sanscas @spammypasta @leighsartworks216 @rose-gold-blue @p1ssmagg0t @hellish-writes @ghostinvenus @otayz @sexysquatch @sleepyeclair @colorful-anxieties @alina-exe @lillifer @girlwiththepapatattoo @acelin-ginsberg @pinkuranium @catrad0rable @scarletrosesposts @qwnamidala @itsrosebabe @bunnyperi @queenofcarrotflowers-s @tatumadams20 @spkyxszn @chlort @f3v3rs @awkwardwookie @joy-the-reader @warm-milk-with-honey-blog @vertigocrime @iyis @wildpiper @pebblethestone @tillywasneverhere @bex-03 @revemiya @staticspouse @itzagothamcitysiren

(tags continued in reblogs)

#only fools fall #astarion x tav #astarion x original female characer #astarion x fem oc #zaystarion #knife fight #summer writes

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depressedraisin · 11 months

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okay so i don't really have a point to make over here but i've been thinking about this a lot lately so here we go: ever notice how alex tends to use a lot of dance-related words as metaphors for sex but almost always undercuts the image of elegance/beauty that might evoke using interesting juxtapositions and wordplay??

in piledriver waltz (submarine ep, 2010; also reprised for suck it and see, 2011) he writes "i heard the piledriver waltz// it woke me up this morning". now 'piledriver waltz' here refers to someone having sex (atleast the contributors at genius think so and so do i). turner uses the word waltz- an intimate ballroom dance between two partners- but adds piledriver- which is, as wikipedia tells me, "a professional wrestling driver move in which the wrestler grabs their opponent, turns them upside-down, and drops into a sitting or kneeling position, driving the opponent head-first into the mat". so you see, the refined, elegant, romantic connotations of waltz is contrasted with the image of rough ruthlessness that piledriver brings.

(ALSO also did you notice? a wrestling reference? all the way back in 2010 👀 now idk if it's a regular vocab words or specific to wrestling-lingo only back in uk, but my studied-english-as-first-language-in-school-but-not-native speaker ass did have to google what the hell that means)

another such oxymoron-esque treatment of metaphors for sex we see in everything you've come to expect (everything you've come to expect, 2016). the line, one of my absolute favourite things turner and kane have ever written, goes "dirtbag ballet by the bins down the alley // as i walk through the chalet of the shadow of death". 'dirtbag ballet' again refers to sex here, this time the illicit kind, the kind that takes place in shadowy corners and dingy alleys. 'ballet' is another term that we will immediately associate with elegance and graceful moves but the use of 'dirt bag' by it's side brings a sense of crassness, almost vulgar quality to it. that term immediately paints a very stark picture of wild clandestine passion that illicit affairs carries probably. the song talks about that a lot.

(PS: an applause for the impeccable internal rhyme in those lines tho. *chef's kiss*)

the last example that stands out to me is from four stars out of five (tranquility base hotel and casino, 2018) where the line goes "hokey cokey with the opposite sex." (someone mentioned it around here today and that's what sparked this post. EDIT: it's @homoirrealis https://www.tumblr.com/lalaballa1977/717488374837084160?source=share) now there's no clever oxymoron-metaphor situation here, but the choice of that specific dance to talk about sex (straight sex, as the songwriter so kindly points out) is very interesting to me. hokey cokey as we know is a campfire dance that originated with brit folk dances and tunes. it's so funny because whenever i hear that line it immediately takes me back to kindergarten and a bunch of us kids standing in a circle, singing the rhyme and learning the dance. therefore in my mind atleast, hokey cokey evokes images of practiced, monotonous movements of hand and feet, no fluidity, no elegance. also the communal aspect of it. what if we read it as something you are made to participate in because you are a part in a group, because a number of pairs of eyes are on you. a question worth pondering perhaps.

and all this referring to sex?

also the song goes on to entice you to escape to this swanky hotel-casino-taqueria up on the moon and get far, far away from shit that you have done and regret and want to forget. then why is this hokey cokey with the opposite sex also one of those things the narrator might want to forget?

Hmmmmm questions worth pondering, innit?

#im overthinking YET AGAIN #lyric theory.#suck it and see #submarine ep #everything you've come to expect #tranquility base hotel and casino #arctic monkeys #the last shadow puppets #alex turner

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a-little-bit-of-ravioli · 4 months

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20 questions for fic writers

Tagged by @the-real-azalea-scroggs! Had to wait until I was of my phone because doing these is a nightmare on mobile lmao

1. How many works do you have on A03?

18 as of a few days ago!

2. What's your total A03 word count?

157,937! Which is. Only a fraction of the word count in my Docs folder. Be prepared.

3. What fandoms do you write for?

I mainly write for The Legend of Zelda; specifically Linked Universe! In fact, that's all that's posted on my Ao3 currently, since my fall into that fandom began with me uploading there! Pre-Ao3 I wrote for Black Cat (Anime/Manga), Megaman NT Warrior, various Pokémon things, Assassin's Creed, Yugioh, Final Fantasy XIV and Octopath Traveler! Some of these I still write privately, but I haven't gotten around to re-posting any.

4. What are your top five fics by kudos?

Whistling on Deaf Ears - My longest fic on Ao3, focusing on Wild and Twilight's friendship and how good intentions can lead to disaster.

Iconoclasm - Warriors deals with the room full of portraits in Cia's palace. The Chain also deals with it, but with a bit more fire.

Deserving - Twilight finally tells Rusl that he was the wolf in the village during TP, but that also means dealing with some heavier topics. Colin half overhears them and forms his own conclusions.

Something Greater - The start of the "Hyrule can see magical auras" series! In this one we deal with Legend and his many rings.

Ocean Magic - Mermaid Legend and Zora Time have a race and then fight one of the Big Octos from WW! Fun times.

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

Every single one!! I love comments, they give me an excuse to ramble about my fic more!! I am always down to ramble about every single insignificant detail of any line and/or section. If you ever want more background info about one of my fics, look to the comments!

So please, I adore comments, I treat them like treasures, not responding to them would be a CRIME.

6. What's the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

There's no contest; Inevitable, my (so far) only MCD fic.

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Hmmm, that's hard to quantify. I usually try to end fics on a hopeful note regardless. I'd say possibly either Deserving, where Twilight reconnects with his family, or Shimmering Blue, Striking White, where Time meets the Fierce Deity settled down on Satori Mountain and they both get closure.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

Thankfully, no! I've been blessed with mostly amazing and patient readers, even when my upload schedule isn't the best.

9. Do you write smut?

No, not really. I've attempted it, but I'm too asexual for it lol

10. Do you write crossovers?

Very, very rarely. Mostly privately, and only very specific ones. Only a single one has had an actual plot, so far (more on that one in question 15!).

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Nope!

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Also a nope! I tend to write for smaller fandoms, where these things don't tend to happen a lot!

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

I have! But it's been a while. Over a decade, in fact! I tried to find the fic to link it here, but it was on the German fanfic website fanfiktion.de, and my friend who posted it back then must have deactivated her account, because it's nowhere to be seen (I still have the Word file though!). It was a Multi-Crossover that started as an RP in a forum, and we took turns turning the RP into prose one chapter each. "If a Hero Turns to Dark" was its title. We were edgy teenagers.

14. What's your all-time favourite ship?

Hissssss. Bad question. Shoo. They are all equally important!!

But it's probably TenRose from Doctor Who.

15. What's the WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

One of the very few crossovers I've ever worked on; a crossover fic between Assassin's Creed and Doctor Who, that I have mapped out in both chronological and timeline order, and yes, those are different. I only ever wrote about a quarter of it, since my primary audience of it disappeared when we graduated. I doubt I'll ever pick it back up properly, and if I do it'll probably go through heavy rewrites first since it's so old. Finishing it is a nice thought, but realistically, after 9 years it'll never be high priority enough for it to actually happen.

16. What are your writing strengths?

Dialogue, especially arguments, and emotional impact. I've been told I do really well making characters feel alive and believable! Also I like to believe I'm decent at setting a scene and giving it the vibe I want it to have!

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

I struggle with dialogue tags when nothing much is happening besides the talking. I always feel it's too bland, and fall back on the same phrases. My scene transitions could use some work too.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

I've done this with Japanese phrases, because I was a massive weeb. Usually I followed them up with their own translations, though; I'm not the biggest fan of footnote translations, unless they are properly linked to. Simple dialogue tags are my favourite way of indicating a language switch.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Black Cat the Manga/Anime! It's a series about an assassin turned bounty hunter trying to live a life separate from his murdery past, but getting dragged back into things by still wanting to avenge his best friend's death. The series has a special place in my heart and my bookshelf, it left an imprint on 13-year-old me that will never leave.

20. Favourite fic you've ever written?

Probably Jailbreak, uncharacteristically enough! It's one of the only fics I never got stuck in once. Writing it was a great feeling from start to finish. I love writing all of my fics, but that was a special few days.

Tagging @ahrva @nowhere-to-go-but-down @silvercaptain24 and @aeghina! And anyone who wants to do it, really, go wild

#rav rambles #rav writes #ask game #linked universe #thank you Aza I rambled a lot lmao #rambling is cathartic sometimes #I had a good time!

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bonzos-number-1-fan · 2 months

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TMAGP 9 Thoughts: Name Dropping

This one was a big one. I was hoping some of this would happen later if only for my own amusement. Of all the episodes thus far I think there might be have the most foundational elements to the wider narrative in it.

Spoilers for episode 9 below the cut.

We'll start at the start although I don't have much to say about this pre-incident banter. It's mostly stuff that I think is for humour rather than narrative relevance. Such as the questions have a classic 7 point scale, but instead of neutral in the middle neutral is an extreme and trauma is the other one. Dead creatures, blood transfusions, and why? are all similar there. It's fun dialogue but I don't think there is much to say beyond that.

The case itself is a really great one. Might be my favourite so far. It's a Magnus Institute statement, opens with some interesting titbits, is TTRPG related, has a fun hook, and a satisfying conclusion. Hard to fault it anywhere.

So lets get to the fun stuff. The Magnus Institute framing isn't really of interest to me right now. This isn't anything particularly unexpected and doesn't give us any new information about the Institute itself but does hint at some of their methodology. The statement is part of artefact's assessment, and preceding the statement itself the artefact is given some viability ratings. No viability as subject, low as agent, and medium as catalyst. I've seen some people interpreting this as being about the statement giver but as this is the "Statement and Research assessment for artefact CD137" I think that's a misinterpretation. Especially since this post-statement and the statement giver dies. Those terms aren't explained here but if I had to take a stab at it I think subject is probably about further research, agent is it's utility as a weapon, and catalyst is likely related to rituals or avatars. The recommendation is a referral to "referral to Catalytics for Enrichment applicability assessment. "Enrichment" here could be a euphemism for turning someone into an avatar of sorts, or be a little more literal as an actual catalyst for some sort of experiment or ritual. I think the ritual idea is maybe more on the right lines as alchemy is a large motif of this series.

There isn't much to say about the statement itself. The dice could be the same ones mentioned in Episode 4: Taking Notes. That episode wasn't written by Jonny or Alex, while this one was, but I feel that sort of detail is something they'd feel comfortable adding in. Although I think it's more likely that the old man himself was part of the direction.

"Externals Liaison" being "gofer" so far is pretty great, and Nigel Dickerson is a pretty spot on name for that sort of British TV personality. Can't wait to hear about how they eat children.

Alice still being into Sam and jelly of Celia is cute, and it's great to see more of Teddy. I'm pretty sure he's going to play a larger role in all of this than it seems so far. Going to dig through the ruins of the Magnus Institute might also mean that episode 10 will be a no-incident episode too. Those things usually happened at the start and end of seasons for TMA but it seems pretty appropriate for TMP right now.

Overall, great episode.

Bonzo!Bonzo!!Bonzo!!!

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Starting with this post I'm going to include a link to my Google sheet containing all the current cases, their CAT#'s, R#'s, DPHW's, etc. It contains about as much information on each as I think is reasonable, including who narrates it, a link to its episode, and any other relevant notes, as well as headers for incidents we didn't hear. Additionally it also contains the Klaus sheet (German and English) and links to it when a incident matches. It will be updated each episode after the episode is publicly available.

Incident/CAT#R#DPHW Master Sheet

DPHW Theory: 3354 is fairly standard for this sort of thing, I think. I expected H to be a little higher in general but not by a lot. The only very high score we've seen for H involved a lot of compulsion, and the higher scores are harder to escape from than this one seems to be.

Splitting CAT# and R# theories into two separate things now. As you may or may not have seen I wrote a fairly extensive theory on what I think R# means so it makes no real sense to group them.

CAT# Theory: CAT3 is a nice new data point. Not many CAT3's so hopefully this will help elucidate that. But as of yet I don't have a solid theory about how that could work. The other CAT3's were Transformation (Eyes) -/- Trespass, and Transformation (Full) -/- Dysmorphic which have the obvious overlap of transformation but that doesn't have a lot of overlap with Dice (Bone) -/- Fate particularly. There is the subsection of bone here which you could say is linked to the more physical manifestations of those two incidents but the Tria Prima idea I talked about here isn't something I think holds up well. So if CAT3 is something along the lines of the physical I don't think it'll be quite like that.

R# Theory: RB isn't particularly interesting in a general sense. It supports my theory reasonably well and so isn't too surprising. Which means there is little to talk about there. However, I do think it's a really good nail in the coffin for some of my other ideas. Which is encouraging now that I'm thinking about it in very different terms.

Header talk: Dice (Bone) -/- Fate is somewhat interesting. Dice (Bone) is incredibly specific in a way that bothers me. So far sections have been reasonably broad. A violin ends up in Collection, other objects in Agglomeration, Architecture deals with seemingly all buildings, but this section is just for dice? I can't be the only one that thinks that's far more specific than what we've seen before. It's also another very strange crosslink. I'm still not entirely sure what to make of those. I may have mentioned briefly that my current framework for crosslinks is viewing them as vectors. i.e. they're the way in which the supernatural is able to manifest. That holds up with Fate but it's still a bit strange in general terms.

#the magnus protocol #tmagp speculation #tmagp theory #tmagp #klaus = kl4-u5

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20forty9 · 1 month

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I Didn't Mean To Haunt You

Chapter IV - Candles On Fire

Summary : The spirit spars with Maheas and doesn't realize the mistake it has made will lead to terrible consequences. You go on your first mission with other people, but it doesn't go all according to plan. You have to learn that it's okay to be vulnerable with people you are starting to trust.

Word Count : 9.4k

Contains : Violence. Very vague mention of top scars. I think that's it, please let me know if I'm missing anything!

Pairings : Gojo Satoru/Reader, Geto Suguru/Reader, Everyone/Reader (Reverse Harem)

Cross-posted on Ao3

A/N : So I know I said I wouldn't update in two weeks, but I lied. I lie for fun, apparently. I pumped this chapter out like my LIFE depended on it (confirmed Gege was holding the gun to my head... especially with those latest leaks brah I can't believe it). LOTS of Satoru and Gojo in this chapter! And just a short flashback to Suliman, probably the shortest one I've written so far... Some small fluff too, for once! I must really be feeling sick... I'm also curious, are there any characters you'd like to see more of? OR, actually, who are YOUR favourite characters from JJK that you'd like to see involved in the story? Remember, it's Multi x Reader, so it can be anyone! And is there anything you're not vibing with in this story so far? Feedback means the world to me and keeps me logging back in every day to check if I have any new comments. Trust me, your support goes a long way and keeps me motivated, so thank you to my regular commenters!

Curiosity is the wick in the candle of learning. ~William Arthur Ward

Suliman is utterly obsessed with the spirit’s powers, to put it simply – though even that word couldn’t put enough emphasis on it. Every day, she would create training dummies of different sizes made out of her strange purple tendrils for it to use as target practice, showing off its destructive fire capabilities.

Though it was glad to be able to use an element without any drawbacks, the way Suliman observed, refusing to tear her eyes away for even one second, disturbed it deeply. Knowing her, she already had a few plans in mind on how to use it for her benefit.

After absolutely eviscerating another training dummy, Suliman approaches the spirit, stepping over the leftover ashes, slowly clapping her hands.

“Good,” she simply says. “I think I’ve had enough of you training on something like this. I have a better idea.”

With a click of her fingers, her entourage of men walk over, followed by the kid the spirit had an encounter with a little over a month ago – Maheas is his name , if it recalls correctly. The dirty-blonde boy holds a sword in his hand, donned in clothes appropriate for exercise. He looks up at the spirit anxiously, a small frown on his face, probably remembering their first meeting.

“Maheas, from this day forward, this spirit will train you,” Suliman explains to the boy, gently placing a hand on his shoulder. “You are my most promising acolyte, I want to shape you to be the best, and this will surely help you achieve your goal.”

His gaze drifts to the woman, apprehensive. But when she gives him a soft smile, it seems to weaken his resolve.

“I won’t let you down, Madame. I’ll work as hard as possible, and become even stronger than that thing!” Maheas points an accusatory finger in the spirit's direction. “I can probably beat it right now!”

“Oh, is that so?” She tilts her head to the side, the smile never wavering. “Well, why don’t you show me? Make me proud.”

“I would be honoured.”

Suliman takes a step back, followed by the men, giving both the spirit and the young boy enough space to spar.

Unimpressed, the spirit stands firmly in place, not moving a single muscle. It doesn’t want to fight a kid, but it looks like it has no other choice. It remembers their first encounter, when Maheas punched it in the gut and managed to summon enough cursed energy to do some damage in its weakened state. As long as it doesn’t let him hit it directly, it could end this fight in mere seconds.

“Prepare yourself, spirit!” Maheas says, pointing the tip of his sword in its direction. “I won’t go easy on you.”

It has to fight the urge to roll its eyes, raising its fists in front of its face and bringing its left leg forward a bit, bending at the knees. With a raise of a thick red eyebrow, it provokes the young boy enough to charge forward, swinging his sword back. The spirit side-steps his attack quickly just as he brings the weapon down right where it was standing, getting it stuck in the ground.

The sword must be slightly too heavy for Maheas, as he struggles to pull it out, giving the spirit just enough time to move a hand underneath the young boy’s arm, bringing him closer to it before it knees him in the stomach, just strong enough to knock him back and leave him breathless on the ground, but not enough to actually injure him.

Just like that, their fight is over – if you could even call that.

After taking a deep breath, Maheas sits back up, staring daggers at the spirit. If looks could kill…

“I want a rematch!” He declares, but when he tries to stand back up, his legs wobble and he immediately sits back down. After getting knocked down like that, the spirit knows he’ll need a few minutes before he can use his legs properly again. It motions with a hand for him to keep sitting, imitating deep breaths.

“I don’t listen to you,” Maheas says, though he does it anyway, crossing his legs and harrumphing.

“You did well,” Suliman says as a butler approaches the young boy with a glass of water. “You’ll only continue to improve as you train. I don’t want either of you to hold back on each other, do you understand me?”

That seems to be a dangerous request, the spirit thinks to itself. It looks over at the boy’s discarded sword laying on the ground, deciding to pick it up and weigh it in its hands. It is definitely too heavy for a boy of his height and weight, and also too restrictive. He’d do well with a polearm.

There’s a light smack to its side, bringing its attention to the red-faced boy who is – surprisingly enough – already standing on both legs, yelling at it.

“Put that down, it’s not yours!” He continues weakly punching it with his small fists.

It decides to look over the sword once more, completely ignoring Maheas, shaking its head in disappointment.

“What seems to be the problem?” It reads upon Suliman’s lips when it looks over at her.

She waves the butler over, who brings a piece of parchment paper and quill dipped in ink at the ready. The spirit looks at the objects, confused.

“You barely talk, so write what’s on your mind instead,” she says.

It hesitates as it grasps the quill, the tip of it pressing against the paper, still unsure. It doesn’t know how to write .

“My, you really are pathetic, aren’t you?” Suliman’s lips are still quirked up in a small smile as she gently berates it. “Fine, just speak instead.”

It swallows nervously, suddenly becoming increasingly more uncomfortable. It doesn’t know what vowels to emphasize or vocalize. It shakes its head no instead, pointing at the sword and making an ‘x’ with its fingers before gesturing at Maheas.

“Are you saying the sword isn’t a good weapon for him?” She asks, crossing her arms. Thankful she understood it, it nods. The young boy standing next to them looks mildly offended, stomping a foot on the ground.

“You calling me weak?!”

The spirit shakes its head back and forth again.

“I think it’s saying that another weapon would suit you better,” Suliman patiently explains it to him, and it nods at that. “If that’s the case, why don’t you show us what will work better?”

Each of the men that were standing on guard brandish their weapons, each of them being different. They stand tall, backs straight and situated in a line, and hold their weapon in the palm of their hands.

“Go on,” she encourages the spirit.

Its eyes scrutinize over each of them before they land on a man holding a polearm. It walks over to him, pointing at it then looking back at Suliman.

“Well, go on then,” she urges Maheas with a gentle push to his back. He reluctantly makes his way over to stand next to the spirit, taking the polearm from the man standing in front of the both of them.

The spirit notes that it’s definitely too long for someone of his height, but with a few adjustments, he’ll be able to move more swiftly and have more versatile attacks. It will significantly extend his range and striking power, too. Compared to the sword, this is a much better option for the young boy.

“How does it feel?” Suliman asks Maheas, observing him.

“It’s okay, I think,” he replies, weighing the weapon in both hands. He still seems unsure, but with time he’ll become more used to it.

“Wonderful. We’ll make you one that suits you better so you can properly train with the spirit by tomorrow,” she says, motioning at the man to take his polearm back.

The young boy smiles widely at the prospect of a new weapon, thanking her over and over again. Suliman pats him on the head in a motherly way, giving him a smile of her own, but the spirit notices that there is no genuine warmth behind it. She adjusts her dress slightly before leading Maheas away, leaving a request to the men to bring the spirit back to its room. She waves goodbye to it as she walks with the young boy through the gardens and back to the greenhouse.

The spirit can’t help but think it has made a grave mistake.

The following day after the big thunderstorm, you wake up with a sudden start, feeling your alarm clock vibrate underneath the pillow. You click it off, setting it on the nightstand, and immediately sit up, wiping the sleep away from your eyes. It feels like your blood is already pumping – today is a big day, after all. It’s your first official mission, no less a mission with other people. Today is a day where you can prove his worth and show your loyalty to the higher-ups.

You already have some clothes set aside for today – your usual sleeveless compression shirt and dark brown cargo pants and converse. After taking a shower and changing, you open the blinds to let in the morning sun shine into the room through the leaves of the trees outside. After the terrible weather from yesterday, it seems that today is a beautifully bright day.

You smile to yourself, grabbing your notebook and pen. Closing and locking the door behind you, you exit the dormitories, heading to Yaga’s classroom so your team can be debriefed. As usual, you’re the first one there, so you take a seat at the desk you claimed during your first time there, putting your legs up on the table.

“How are you feeling today?” Yaga asks as he looks up from his laptop, a pen in his right hand, papers in his left. It looks like he was doing paperwork for a mission the others must’ve been sent on recently.

You reply with a thumbs up and a bright smile, which makes the older man relax, leaning back in his chair. “I’m glad to hear that.”

While you both wait for the others to show up, you doodle silly drawings in the notebook to fight the boredom. You’re not an artist by any means, but it still helps to pass time. You drew the fish that were in the sign language book from yesterday, but this time, the koi fish is swimming happily with the two other betta fish in a small pond.

You get pulled out of your intense focus when a manicured finger taps down on the top of the notebook, bringing your gaze up to meet Shoko’s.

“Cute drawing,” she says, leaning over to see it better.

You sign thanks a little bit flustered, flipping the notebook to a blank page.

- How are you doing? :)

“I’m good, thanks,” she replies, hopping onto the desk next to your own. She turns to look at her teacher. “Am I on time, sensei?”

“Take a look at the clock yourself,” he seems to grumble.

Five minutes past their agreed meeting time. “Ehh, close enough.”

It takes another ten minutes for Gojo and Geto to show up together, fashionably late as always. Instead of wearing the hoodie he used to wear with the hood up to protect his eyes, Gojo has now switched into the full normal school uniform, along with the glasses you gifted him.

“Yo!” The white-haired man casually greets Yaga, a wide smile spread across his face.

“Fifteen minutes,” the man replies.

“Huh?”

“ Fifteen minutes late!” You can nearly feel the ground shake from how loudly Yaga yells. “Are you two morons ??!”

“Sorry sensei, it’ll never happen again, we promise,” Geto says, bowing at the waist in respect. When he notices Gojo doesn’t bow either, he shoves a hand at the back of his head to force him to follow.

You share a deadpan look with Shoko. You seem to be having the exact same thought — it’ll happen next week, guaranteed.

“...Well, now that you’re all here, we’ll debrief and you’ll leave as soon as I’m done explaining,” Yaga says, closing his laptop and setting his papers in a neat pile. “This curse has been reported near an abandoned concert venue, just on the outskirts of Hachioji. It’s a bit of a drive, but bear with me. It shouldn’t be too difficult–” he levels a deadly look in Gojo’s direction, “–it’s a simple Grade 2. Just remember to put a veil up, and don’t get injured. Shoko is staying behind today.”

“No complaints from me,” she says before rolling her head side to side, trying to loosen up a kink in her neck.

“Behave, you two,” he tells both Gojo and Geto before turning to you. “And you… just– I don’t know, do what you usually do, but don’t be a pain in the ass.”

You salute him with a goofy smile spread across your face, making the teacher glare at you halfheartedly. Unbeknownst to you, the two young men in the room snicker behind you at your behaviour.

With the meeting adjourned, the three of you walk through the Jujutsu school’s campus to make your way to the transport car, where the driver waits for you patiently. You all clamber into the car, Gojo sitting in the passenger seat because of his ridiculously long limbs. He seems that he doesn’t know what to do with them either, awkwardly shifting the seat back to make enough room to be comfortable. You sit directly behind him with Geto to your right.

The car immediately speeds off, the view of trees and houses quickly blurring together. You wistfully look out of your window. The sun shines brightly through the leaves of the trees, making you squint a little and turn your head to the right, facing Geto instead, who is already looking at you.

“Are you looking forward to exorcising your first curse?” He asks, resting his cheek on his fist.

Thankful you didn’t forget your notebook today, you quickly write on the paper.

- Yes, I hope we’ll make a good team. I’m aware you two are capable, but we should learn to work as a team properly. And I’m NOT(!!!!) just saying that because I’m scared of what Yaga might say if we end up causing a mess, I genuinely want to help with making Tokyo more safe.

You doodle a small smiley face at the end of your paragraph, hopefully to drive your point home. You’re more than aware that the two of them are adept at this, but they can’t be the only two to do so. They should be able to rely on others, especially someone that doesn’t need as much rest, food or water like most humans do.

“It’ll be a learning experience, for sure,” the raven-haired man humbly replies, before his eyes seem to sharpen, sending a teasing look in your direction as he reads the rest. “You’re sure you’re not afraid of Yaga?”

You shake your head back and forth vigorously, your arms forming an ‘x’ in protest. Absolutely, but I won’t tell these two that.

Gojo abruptly turns around in his seat, leaning over the center armrest (and apparently pissing off the driver while doing it) and shoves his phone in Geto’s face.

“Look, look!” He says, waving the phone around wildly in front of his friend’s eyes.

“Dude, calm down,” Geto scoffs, yanking it from Gojo’s hands to take a look. “Seriously, Digimon?”

“X-Evolution is finally out on DVD, we gotta watch it!!!”

“Didn’t you see that movie, like, six times since its release?” He raises an eyebrow, shooting him a judgemental look.

“Actually, it’s more like seven. Or eight,” he pauses, pushing his sunglasses up along the bridge of his nose. “Wait, actually, no, it was ten.”

“You look like a total nerd,” Geto looks down at the screen again. “And somehow you want to watch it again ?”

“Absolutely.”

The white-haired man says it with the most serious expression you have ever seen that you can’t help but snort lightly, covering your mouth with your hand when you realize it grabbed both of the men’s attention. For some reason, it makes you feel incredibly uncomfortable. So you settle back in your seat, leaning your head back and only turning your eyes back onto their lips to read the conversation once you’re absolutely sure Gojo’s piercing gaze is fixated back onto his friend.

“Let’s pick up the DVD after the mission,” he says, grabbing his phone back from Geto’s hands, still continuing to lean over the armrest.

“You mean you’ll pick it up,” he points at him. “I am not paying for that. You are literally rich.”

“But it’s more special and meaningful and romantic when we pay for something together!” He whines, wrapping his long arms around the headrest and hugging it in faux-comfort. This man truly loves bringing out the theatrics , you think to yourself.

“Allow me to disagree with you on that,” Geto says, a deadpan look on his face, before turning his head to the window.

He seems to be saying something else, you can tell by the way his jaw moves, but you can’t see his lips from this angle. Whatever it is, it makes Gojo laugh and point at him, but by this point you don't bother following the conversation anymore, too confused. What the hell is Digimon, anyways? What’s a DVD? Sighing to yourself, you look outside, watching the scenery pass by.

A little over half an hour passes by when the car makes it out to the outskirts, driving along a slim road. There are farmhouses and fields, buildings placed further apart from each other as it becomes more remote. Tokyo city has nothing compared to the lush greenery on Hachioji’s outskirts, and you can tell that it’s much more quiet here compared to the city. There’s no familiar rumbling of trucks that you have become accustomed to when walking along the pavement, instead it’s peaceful. You wonder if the birds chirp more loudly here.

The driver drives up a steep hill, and the distant sight of a mountain covered in thick, healthy green trees greets your group. The car goes up, up, up and around the streets that bend along the hill before you come across a split in the road. The driver turns to the left onto an unpaved road, gravel bouncing against metal, and suddenly the sun seems to disappear underneath the canopy of leaves.

The deeper you go onto this unpaved road, the less you come across houses, until there are none left. Instead, old, empty, rusty steel drums spray painted with arrows and different symbols replace them. There’s nothing around except for ‘ No Trespassing! ' signs.

The vehicle comes to a sudden halt, and you feel the door underneath your palm shake slightly, meaning that the car is unlocked. You open the door with your notebook in hand, happy to stretch your legs out after spending nearly an hour travelling. You feel the dry twigs snap underneath your feet, dead leaves brushing against your ankles. The smell of fresh air fills your lungs, and you take a deep breath in. This is as close to heaven as it gets . You reach back into the car to grab your polearm that was laying on the floor in its holder, putting the strap around your chest so the weapon can rest against your back, leaving your hands free.

There’s a quick tap on your shoulder, and you turn around to be face-to-face with Gojo, who looks at you over the rim of his sunglasses. Bright blue eyes stare at you, and you realize that it’s something that you’ll have to get used to, unless you want that smug bastard to tease you every time you get nervous from looking at him in the eyes.

“Let’s go,” he says, thumbing behind him. “We have to walk a bit, and the driver is gonna stay with the car. Hope you like to hike.”

You have to leg over the horizontal chain attached to two poles to block any cars from passing, and Gojo nearly trips over it, his hand immediately reaching out to your arm to steady himself before he can fall face first and accidentally eat a pile of dirt.

“ Nice one, ” you sign with an eyebrow raised, the white-haired man standing back at full height, rubbing his hands against his uniform as if trying to wipe your cursed energy off of his skin.

“I don’t know what you just said to me, but I don’t like your attitude, kiddo,” Gojo replies, taking a ‘ parent-disappointed-in-you ’ pose, arms crossed, hips jutting out. He’s about to retort with something else before he closes his mouth instead, jogging ahead to catch up to Geto, who was waving the two of you over impatiently.

“Let’s just get this over with instead of messing around, alright?” The raven-haired man sighs, an exasperated look on his face.

“You just wanna show off,” Gojo says, tucking his hands into his pockets before sauntering off.

None of you speak a word amongst each other until you make it to a big, rundown building. It’s not as big as a stadium, but the concerts held here back in the day must’ve been fun with such an open area.

“I wonder why they had a venue out in the middle of nowhere,” Geto says to you as he walks alongside you. “Seems a bit strange.”

- More space? Beats me.

You turn the page to face him after you finish writing, giving him a shrug of your shoulders.

You’re just about to ask where Gojo went until a flash of bright white hair makes itself known in the corner of your eye. You see him waving at you both, motioning you to come closer to the building.

“Slowpokes, over here!”

Geto rolls his eyes, but follows him inside, and you follow suit.

You’re greeted with a dark lobby, burst pipes leaking water and forming deep puddles on the ground. You can immediately feel the water seeping into your canvas shoes and socks, making your face scrunch up in distaste. At another glance, there are multiple stands labeled ‘Food’, ‘Alcohol’, ‘Merchandise’, and more. This must’ve definitely been a popular place. The paint is peeling off of the walls, and there’s graffiti sprayed against any space that isn’t occupied by mold or dirty, dripping water. You walk over to a concession stand, inspecting it and turning your back to the front doors where your group first walked in from.

“Do you think Nirvana played here?” Gojo asks Geto, pointing at the large closed doors, presumably leading to the concert hall itself.

“Are you fucking stupid?”

Gojo pouts, kicking a fallen piece of pipe on the ground. “Jeez, you only had to say no.”

Just as he’s about to open the big doors, he pauses, his whole body freezing up. Geto, upon noticing this, feels a wave of guilt wash over him, assuming his words actually insulted his friend.

“Hey, you know I was just kidding, right?”

“Get down!” Gojo whips around suddenly, calling out your name. Luckily, you had been looking at the two of them just as he spoke up, and the instant you read his lips, you duck, not even thinking twice. You feel a violent crack of air whip the top of your head – if you hadn’t moved in time, your head would’ve been sliced clean off.

Twisting your body around, you look up, coming face-to-face with a group of low-levelled curses, one of them having long, razor-sharp cleavers for arms. They’re all mangled and twisted, ribs protruding out of their sides and wearing paper masks with strange symbols trying to imitate facial features. Their skin is almost human-like, but the fact that every inch of them is somehow warped together quickly puts that thought to rest. You reach for your back, about to pull out your polearm from its sheath, but you’re beaten to the punch as Geto runs up behind you, launching himself in the air and kicking Razor-arms in the face, sending it stumbling backwards.

The other curses quickly retaliate, one of them trying to gain the upper hand while Geto is still in the air and grabbing his leg, slamming him down onto the hard floor. They’re about to bring down a finishing blow, but get interrupted by you finally taking out your polearm and slashing at their masks, making the group stumble back. Gojo immediately rushes over, splaying out his arms before bringing them together again and making rushed, complicated hand movements. The reaction is instantaneous – a large blue orb starts forming and the entire group of curses get sucked into it like a magnet, crashing together before turning into nothing.

You and Geto get back on their feet. You’re shocked at what you just saw, mismatched eyes wide in surprise. Gojo just completely evaporated those curses as if it was nothing to him, not even a single drop of sweat wasted on them. This must be why he’s on such a constant high horse .

The white-haired man looks at you in disdain. “You’re a cursed spirit and you didn’t even feel your own kind?” He rolls his eyes. Well, there’s that classic Gojo that you first met – so much for his unexpected kindness from yesterday.

You look around for your notebook, hoping to explain your lack of reaction better. Unfortunately, you find it where you nearly got decapitated, in a muddied puddle of water, completely ruined. Wonderful, you think to yourself. You can’t even be angry at the fact you were so careless just to toss it away at the first breath of danger, just annoyed.

“Maybe you didn’t want to kill them,” he continues, making your eyebrows raise. It was hard not to be genuinely offended by that comment. “After all, they’re you.”

“ They aren’t me at all, ” you try to be patient as you sign, but you can’t help the feeling of anxiety that pangs in your chest, eyebrows furrowed and lips downturned. This is not how you wanted your first mission with others to go.

“Satoru, that’s enough. If you want to nag them about this, do it later,” Geto interrupts the two of you, motioning vaguely to the big doors you had yet to go through. “Let’s get this done first.”

Gojo decides to heed to his friend’s demands, mercifully giving you some space. You trail behind the white-haired man, looking down at your water-logged shoes, feeling a heavy weight on your shoulders. That is, until Gojo grabs you by the bicep to tug you forward to walk beside him. Surprised at the sudden action, you look up at him.

“You’re too quiet, I won’t be able to hear if you get snatched up by a curse,” he explains through gritted teeth, looking up at the graffitied ceiling through his sunglasses. Refusing to actually acknowledge you, as if you’re more of an annoyance than teammate.

You look forward, not bothering to dignify him with a reply. A tight feeling in your chest makes itself known, unpleasant and uncomfortable.

“Seems weird to me that we haven’t run into the Grade 2 curse yet. Yaga didn’t tell us there would be any others besides it,” Geto turns around to face the two of you when you approach the door, an unsure look in his eyes.

Gojo shrugs nonchalantly, walking up to the doors and tugging on the handles to pry them open. As soon as they swing ajar, a thick cloud of dust permeates through the air, making all of you cough violently as you breathe it in. Carefully, Geto takes the first step in, taking a flashlight out of the deep pocket of his pants, turning it on to illuminate the concert hall.

The ceilings are high, and the venue has a main floor, balcony, and gallery. The seats are old and wrecked, a layer of dust, dirt and mold covering them all. Some are knocked over by miscreants, others are completely missing, and some are left untouched. The stage itself is decorated with even more graffiti, not a single inch left blank.

Geto and Gojo are conversing about something, standing closer to each other than before, and it frustrates you to no end that you can’t tell what they’re discussing because of how dark the room is. If only the windows weren’t blacked out, then the room would have just enough light for you to lip-read.

You’re about to wander off on your own to find the curse until there’s a powerful rumble underneath your feet, nearly making you lose your footing. Suddenly, a gigantic monstrosity crashes through the stage, sending wood and debris flying everywhere. The creature has multiple limbs, the most prominent features being its two front arms covering its ears, an unhinged jaw with far too many rows of teeth, with snot, sweat and tears running down every single orifice on its body. Its complexion is stark white, and there are strange neon tattoos along its other limbs.

This must be the curse Yaga was talking about.

This is definitely more powerful than a Grade 2 curse.

Even with your lack of awareness of cursed energy, you can certainly tell that this is far beyond whatever was reported.

There’s another powerful shake in the ground as the beast opens up its mouth, sending spittle flying everywhere. You ready your polearm, prepared to exorcise the curse, but you notice the lack of attack from your teammates. Gojo should be jumping at the opportunity to show off and waste another creature. Concerned, you take a quick glance behind your shoulder and notice that both Gojo and Geto are hunched over, covering their ears and clenching their jaws so hard that you can notice a prominent vein in the raven-haired man’s forehead popping out.

You run over to them, hesitantly placing a comforting hand on Geto’s back. Eyes that were once screwed shut crack open to look up at your worried gaze, and he weakly points to the huge curse on the stage.

It suddenly dawns on you – the rumbling wasn’t from the pure size of this curse breaking through the wall, it was from its mouth. It’s screeching so loud to the point where everything is shaking.

The curse stops screaming for a moment, turning its deformed body to look around, its singular huge eye locking straight onto you . A dense string of drool pools from the corner of its mouth onto the ground, creating a disgusting, thick puddle of mucus below it.

Taking the short distraction to his advantage, Gojo starts to make those complicated hand signs again, but unfortunately the curse notices too quickly – it opens its mouth to continue shrieking at your group, making glass shatter all around you. It completely incapacitates Gojo and Geto, whose hands immediately go to cover their ears again. Upon closer inspection, you notice drops of blood running down both of their jaws; the curse is so loud it makes their ears bleed.

And you can’t hear a thing.

The resolution comes to you much more easily than you expected. You grip your polearm tightly in your left hand, running forward to give yourself enough momentum to throw yourself upwards, twisting your body in the air to bring the blade of your weapon forward. Just as it’s about to pierce the skin of the curse, it opens its mouth and makes such a powerful blast of noise that it sends you flying back in the air, roughly landing on your back against some seats on the top floor, in the gallery.

You cough violently as the breath is knocked out of your lungs, but quickly gets back up onto your feet. The curse is already aiming one of its gangly legs in your direction, and you level it with a glare, unmoving until it brings its hand down. The second the large limb gets close enough for impact, you push your foot against the ground, sending you sideways and putting just the right amount of distance to avoid getting hit.

Its arm gets jammed between the seats and concrete of the third floor, and you take the opportunity to hop onto the forelimb, running along it and bringing your polearm forward to take yet another swing at the curse. Just as expected, the curse tries to screech at you again, so you jump up, going above its head and somersaulting in the air to bring your weapon down. Just as you feel the blade make impact with solid skin, a mouth appears right where the blade is and swallows it whole. You don't have enough time to register the shock, but still have half a mind to use the rest of your momentum to fall back down onto the ground floor, where your teammates are still hunched over, clutching at their heads in agony. You can’t even begin to imagine the pain that must be rattling throughout their brain.

You huff, wiping the sweat from your brow. With no more weapons in hand, you decide to take this curse seriously and be more cautious. This isn’t just a Grade 2 anymore, this is something definitely dangerous. But…

You don't want to use your powers in front of others. Knowing that you are capable of this destruction will only make others more fearful of you, and it’s the last thing you want. You don't want to be isolated again, or working and living with people who don’t trust you. You just want to help.

You’re considering his options, glancing back at Gojo and Geto for a moment, a wave of concern washing over you. If you don't get rid of this curse soon, they’ll probably lose their hearing completely, if they haven’t already. Fuck, if only things weren’t so damn complicated–

You see the shock written across Gojo’s face before you feel the impact against your side. His blacked-out sunglasses dropped down to the tip of his bloody nose, the sides of his face covered in blood, but he still had enough consciousness left in him to register the curse creeping behind you, eyes widening as it pulls back a large hand and whips you across the room.

You break through multiple layers of wood, feeling splinter after splinter embedding in your skin and ripping it open as they get caught onto other debris. Finally, you slam against the furthest wall, concrete cracking against your back from the sudden shock. Blood spurts from your mouth - definitely a few broken ribs - and you feel dizzy, but you can’t pass out just yet. You force yourself onto shaky legs, looking at the creature that seems to be preparing to release another bloodcurdling scream.

Fuck it.

There’s a sharp spike of pain that courses throughout your body as you raise your right arm, aiming at the curse. With a snap of your fingers, an enormous explosion of cyan fire mixed with purple flames ignites the entire stage, crawling across the curse’s skin and making it wail out in pain – or at least, that’s what you think it's doing. You can feel the heat against your skin, sparks igniting and scorching the exposed part of your arms, sweat beading your forehead. Tears and mucus fly everywhere as the curse’s limbs reach out for release, anything, from the burning that is spreading all along its body. Multiple hands crunch concrete and wood underneath it, bringing half of the ceiling down on top of it, but the flames burn brightly until the violent rumbling underneath your feet becomes a simple vibration, then turns to nothing .

You bring your right hand up again, palm facing the violent flames, then bring it back down to your side, making the fire dissipate completely, leaving behind a mountain of ashes and thick clouds of smoke in its wake.

And just like that, it’s over.

You breathe in and out deeply, ribs painfully screaming out in protest at the action, and you clutch at your side to try and alleviate the pain. That curse had quite the punch to it , you think to yourself. Looking up, you walk through the smoke to return to your teammates and check on them. The uncomfortable warmth from using your fire lingers in the building, making you feel like you’re in a sauna. Your nose scrunches as you wipe the sweat from your forehead with the back of your hand, only to feel the moisture gather again.

You know they’ll be horrified and disgusted. You feel a pang of sadness and guilt – they’ll never want to face you again. Gojo was right, you are a cursed spirit. You’ll only bring destruction and death to the people around you. You’re a monster.

You do not expect the sight in front of you. Geto smiles at you in relief when he sees you appear through the thick clouds of smoke, though his eyebrows are knitted in concern when he sees you clutch your side. Gojo, however, beams at you, bright white teeth on display. His hands are covered in blood, but he doesn’t seem to mind it in the least.

“Holy shit, why didn’t you tell us you could do that?!” Gojo exclaims, walking up to you and wiping the blood on the pants of his uniform. “You’re not as weak as I thought you were.”

You stare at them, confused. Shouldn’t they be worried that you’d use this power against them? Isn’t this exactly what Gojo and the council of elders were afraid of? Eyes unblinking and unfocused, you give him a half-hearted shrug, feeling like you can barely move a muscle all of a sudden.

This feels wrong. Bile rises at the back of your throat as uneasiness creeps along your spine – shouldn’t you be punished for unleashing your power like that? Gojo and Geto are obviously putting up a front. As soon as you all return to the school grounds, you’ll be thrown into confinement again, you’re sure of it. There’s no way this can end well for you.

“Damn, my head is killing me,” Gojo says, bringing you out of your inner turmoil. “Let’s head back, I need to fix my poor eardrums.”

Geto wordlessly follows, your eyes glued to the ground below you as your eyes go back to feeling clouded, mind feeling foggy as your body moves on autopilot. The tips of your fingers are tingling, hands and arms feeling numb as you feel like you’ve detached from yourself, a third-person view to your own life. You feel nothing until you collide into Geto’s muscular back, feeling your ribs throbbing in pain.

Wondering why the raven-haired man came to a sudden stop, you focus back on the moment at hand, looking up at him. Geto looks concerned, eyebrows furrowed as he clasps his chin in between his fingers. He eventually closes his eyes in frustration, lips downturned.

“Did any of us put up a veil?” He asks.

Gojo turns his head around slowly, the smile on his face frozen. You feel cold sweat gathering at the back of your neck.

“Oh, fuck.”

It’s pitch black by the time the car returns to campus, all staff and students already tucked in for the night besides Gojo, Geto, and yourself. It’s nearing one in the morning, as Gojo forced the driver escorting you to stop by a DVD store to pick up the latest Digimon movie, then dinner, then snacks too. Thankfully, he paid for everything.

The best part about the situation is that Yaga is an early sleeper, so none of you have to face his wrath about messing up the veil until tomorrow morning when you have to debrief. You’re all too tired to deal with being slapped over the head by a ruler. It’s the small mercies that make all the difference.

The streetlamps and the moon are the only things illuminating the pathway to the dormitory building, all three of you lugging your own plastic bags filled with goodies back to Gojo’s room. You place it down next to the door as the white-haired man goes to unlock it, and turn to leave to go back to your own room until you feel a large, warm hand grasp your right wrist. Your head snaps back, turning to face Gojo.

“Where’re you going?” He asks, frowning and tilting his head to the side. “We’re all watching a movie together, c’mon. You don’t have a choice.”

Your mouth drops open slightly, confused. “ Okay, ” you sign with your free hand, letting it awkwardly hang in the air. As subtle as possible, you yank your wrist free from Gojo’s hold, feeling the warmth spread along your arm through the bandages.

Gojo’s room is tidy, for the most part. There’s a pile of dirty clothes in the corner of his room, right next to the laundry basket, and his bed is left unmade, blankets strewn everywhere. However, the desk is set up in a precise way, the chair is tucked in, and all the pens are lined up straight. The posters in his room are mostly all of Digimon and some other movies that you don't know. The TV is parallel to his bed that is pressed up against the wall, exactly like yours is, and there are a few bean bag chairs on the ground in front of it.

Geto immediately launches himself on top of one, letting his body sink into it and letting himself relax. Gojo sets up the large array of snacks on his desk after putting his pens away, putting his favourite ones on the right. You continue awkwardly standing in the middle of the room, observing him as he puts chips in a large bowl. His head twists to the door suddenly and he opens it up, revealing Shoko.

Her brown hair is a bit of a mess, and she looks exhausted, but she manages to muster a small grin when her eyes land on you, waving at you.

Wordlessly, Gojo pulls out the chair underneath his desk and sits in it, Shoko immediately walking behind him and puts her hands over his ears. A small glow of cursed energy emits from her hands soon after, and you can see the way the white-haired man visibly deflates in the chair. A few minutes pass, and she strolls over to Geto, leaning over to do the same thing to him.

She goes to you last, hands hovering in the air.

“I’m still not sure if I can even heal you, considering last time,” she says, looking at you with a hesitant look in her eye. “But your ribs need to be looked at, at the very least.”

“What do you mean, you can’t heal them?” Geto asks, lifting his head up from the bean bag.

“I tried to heal their nose, but I couldn’t,” she replies rather simply. “Sorry, this might hurt a bit.”

Her hands press against your ribcage, and you inhale sharply, trying to stay still as Shoko’s cursed energy resonates against you.

“See, it’s not letting me,” she says, looking at you then at the other two men. “I can feel their injuries – just bruised ribs – but I can’t properly heal them. I can feel that they’re hurt, but it’s like every single part of them is, and my technique can’t pinpoint the source of where they’re actually injured at the moment.”

Geto looks over at you thoughtfully, his gaze raking up the entire length of your body. His eyes land on the bandages carefully wrapped around your arms, still securely in place even after the encounter with the curse. His eyes narrow – maybe Shoko’s cursed energy is focusing on whatever is hidden beneath the bandages. You notice his stare and nervously shuffle in place, which makes Shoko grab you by the biceps to keep you still.

“Don’t move,” she tells you, frowning. “Do you have any more clean bandages?”

You nod your head, holding a finger up. Be right back, you mouth, then walk out of Gojo’s dorm to go to your own room. You unlock the door, being greeted with a pitch-black room. Quickly flicking the lights on, you rummage through one of the drawers of your dresser for the bandage wraps. You feel the familiar scratchy fabric brush against your fingers, and grab a roll out. As you go to close the door and make your way back to the group, you take a final look at your room.

It feels more empty and desolate than usual. You’ve never associated this feeling with your own dorm room before, and it’s not something you like. There’s a tug at your chest, something at the back of your mind telling you to return to the others, and you decide to listen.

Shoko smiles when she sees the bandages in your hand, taking the roll from you and motioning you to take your compression shirt off, tugging at the edge of it.

You press your lips together awkwardly, feeling incredibly uncomfortable. Maybe you should’ve just stayed in your room, after all . However, the look she gives you says enough – you don't have much of a choice. You exhale deeply out through your nose, acquiescing. The shirt is covered in the curse’s mucus and sticks to your skin, nearly making you gag as you take it off, feeling the slime stick to you.

“Jesus, what the hell were you guys fighting?” Shoko’s gaze is fixed on the two other men who look equally grossed out, thinking at the bodily fluids from earlier. When she turns her head to look back at you, her eyes immediately land on your exposed chest, eyebrows raising slightly. “Ohh… I kinda guessed.”

The scars on your chest aren’t something you’re ashamed of, but it’s still something that you consider private. You understand that you’re taking his shirt off purely for medical reasons, but it still feels like you’re exposing a side of yourself that only one other person knows. And now, other people know, people whose opinions you care about.

“I appreciate you feeling comfortable enough to do that,” Shoko says your name, looking directly into your mismatched eyes. “It means a lot.”

That makes you smile for the first time in hours. You nod, looking down bashfully as the eye contact is a bit too much for you right now. Your eyes eventually flicker to both Gojo then Geto, the latter giving you an encouraging thumbs up. You notice that both of them have changed into different clothes, out of their dirtied uniforms and into t-shirts and sweatpants. You look over to the white-haired man, who has shoveled a bunch of sweets into his mouth. He’s saying something, but it’s too hard for you to lipread when half his face is covered by food. Gojo seems to realize this, swallowing everything down in one large gulp and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

“We don’t care about that stuff, dude,” he tells you. “You don’t have to worry about us judging you.”

You sign your earnest thanks, warmth spreading across your cheeks.

“Yeah, seriously, I’m more worried about the bruises,” Shoko says, pointing to the darkened skin.

She then raises your arms, unfurling the bandage roll and starting to wrap it around your torso. The pressure is uncomfortable and makes your body ache, and you can’t help your eyes from scrunching closed – it’s been a while since you’ve gotten injured like this, and it doesn’t seem to get any easier.

As soon as she’s done bandaging you up, you reach for your discarded shirt before Gojo’s hand stops you, grasping your wrist. He seems to have a knack for touching you.

“Nuh-uh, no way are you putting that back on when it’s covered in that shit,” he yanks the shirt out of your clutches. “And get out of those pants too, they reek. You aren’t allowed in my room if you keep wearing those.”

“You know, if you want to see them naked that bad, you could’ve been more subtle,” Shoko teases Gojo, a wide grin spread across her face, provoking him to try and trip her with his long legs.

“Fuck off,” he says, though the tips of his ears are turning red. “That isn’t what I meant, go smoke outside or something…” He proceeds to shove a white t-shirt and some grey sweatpants into your arms before addressing you. “Just go change in the bathroom.”

You nod, a smile playing upon your lips. Though Gojo’s attitude towards you has been fluctuating like crazy today, you’re grateful that the man still has enough decency left in him to give you clean clothes.

You close the door to the bathroom, turning the light on and being greeted by the sight of yourself in the mirror. Your face immediately drops. The reminder of Suliman’s permanent mark on you stares back at you, the magenta eye seemingly haunting every corner of your mind. You look down to your left arm, thankfully still covered. There’s no trace of the curse mark peeking through.

You quickly tug the oversized t-shirt on, the fabric soft and delicate against your skin – it must’ve cost Gojo a pretty penny for it. Next, you take your ruined cargo pants off, tugging the sweats up. The ankles of the pants are way too long and cover your feet, but you’ll have to work with it. After tightening the drawstring of the pants to make sure they don’t slip down your hips, you give yourself one last look in the mirror.

You only see the version of yourself that you were with Suliman. A mess of a monster, clinging to any humanity blessed upon it. A glutton for a life worth living, but the hunger for curiosity was its ultimate punishment. At any moment, Geto and Gojo will most likely realize what a terrible creature you are and become disgusted with you.

You can’t look at yourself any longer, opening the door of the bathroom and joining the others again. You force yourself to ignore the thoughts gnawing at the back of your mind, determined to enjoy the most of your night.

Gojo has the TV turned on now, delicately placing a metal disc in the strange contraption underneath the television. He has a notebook and pen in his other hand, and the second his eyes land on you, he stands up straight, walking over and grabbing your hand to place the notebook and pen in your hold.

“There you go,” it’s hard to tell what he says because his mouth barely moves, as if he’s trying to keep the conversation just between yourselves, but you make out just enough to understand. Gojo then steps back, flopping onto the other free beanbag chair, a black brick with buttons in his hand – you have never seen anything like that before.

- What’s that thing that Gojo has? And what’s the round shiny thing? And the thing under the TV?

You nearly shove the notebook in Geto’s face, making his shoulders shake lightly with laughter.

“You’ve got lots of questions about things, don’t you?” He tilts his head to the side, a small smile on his face. “That’s a remote, he’s putting the DVD in the player so we can watch a movie.”

“...You do know what a movie is, right?” Shoko asks as she walks over with a bowl of snacks in hand. She puts a big pillow on the ground, plopping herself right in between the bean bags.

You nod your head, deciding to sit down on the edge of Gojo’s bed, legs dangling right behind Shoko.

“Which one’s your favourite?” Gojo turns around to watch the conversation unfold, finger hovering over the ‘play’ button.

You shrug. Yaga has talked about his favourite movies in the past, but you never ended up watching any together.

- I don’t know, I’ve never watched any before.

As soon as you turn the notebook around for the others to read, Gojo’s face drops, and he looks horrified.

“You are the most boring person I know,” he says, instantly getting a slap on the back of his head from Geto. “Ouch!”

“Do you have any self awareness?” Geto glares at him.

“But their life sounds so dull! No boba or movies? What the hell was sensei doing, was he keeping you locked up in a dungeon or what?!” He raises his arms to gesture at you.

Well, it wasn’t a dungeon. Though you decide to keep your hands by your side instead of saying anything. It would probably make Gojo more aggravating. You just aggressively point at the remote instead, then at the TV.

“Gladly,” he replies, pressing play. “Prepare to be amazed .”

Shoko turns to look up at you from the ground, a conspiratorial look on her face. “I think this is a good time to tell you that Satoru is the biggest Digimon nerd on the entire planet. Don’t be fooled, he could ramble about the entire lore for hours.”

You quietly laugh as Gojo gives her an offended look. “I am proud to know every single detail about Digimon, thank you very much.”

“That is not the flex you think it is,” Geto says with a deadpan look on his face, before he takes a handful of chips into his mouth. Noticing your eyes on him, he offers the bag to you. “They’re barbecue flavoured.”

You happily munch away on the snacks as the movie rolls, the colours completely enrapturing you. The closed captioning was the cherry on top, too; you’re able to understand everything so easily, a wide grin on your face as you follow along with the story. If only you could have that in person whenever someone talked to you, then you may not feel so isolated from everyone else. Absent-mindedly, you grab one of the pillows on the bed and hug it in your arms, hunching over as your head rests on top of it and crossing your legs.

All of your friends seem engaged, cheering and laughing. The characters look incredibly strange, but their designs are enticing to you, and Gojo seems to love this movie, so you keep your entire attention on the screen.

However, the weight of everything that has happened today seems to finally be catching up to your body, and you feel your eyelids droop, a muted yawn slipping past your lips. Gojo’s bed is so comfortable, the mattress soft and malleable underneath you, so you can’t help but lay your body down, half-opened eyes still trained on the screen. The colours seem to mix together eventually, and you can’t keep your eyes open, letting the comforting embrace of sleep lull you.

You don't even feel it when you fully fall asleep.

There’s someone shuffling the covers, trying to be as delicate as possible as to not wake you up. You’re so tired that you let them move you around, feeling your head sink into the softest pillow you’ve ever felt. Then something warm envelops your body, and you fall unconscious again.

Halfway through the night, you wake up again, fully opening your eyes. It’s completely dark in the room, save for the blinds drawn back, the moonlight illuminating some parts of it. You’re covered by a fluffy blanket, still laying over the duvet – someone must’ve placed it over you. You see Geto and Shoko both sleeping soundly on the floor on futon mattresses, the beanbags discarded to another corner of the room.

But, where is…

You feel movement from behind, and cautiously turn around, seeing the back of Gojo’s head, his white hair now a blue hue from the moonlight. He seems to be asleep too, shoulders slowly moving as he breathes slowly in rhythmic patterns, shoulders relaxed, and you smile. After the long day you’ve all had, you deserve a good night’s rest.

You go back-to-back once more with Gojo, prepared to fall back asleep. You tuck your chin into the fluffy blanket, ready to close your eyes, but your gaze lands on the nightstand next to the bed.

The notebook and pen that you were given earlier lay on the nightstand, with Gojo’s sunglasses neatly placed on top of the open notebook.

Three different handwritings are scribbled on the paper. One is messy, almost ridiculously so, the other is neat, and the last is incredibly precise. All three read the same thing.

- Goodnight.

You smile.

And you finally let yourself fall back asleep.

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