#literal blood sweat and tears. so.......... there's that.... for what it's worth

[starflungwaddledee]

Would your Morpho Knight enjoy mud?

can't spell murder without murd!

[candycandy00]

I was literally salivating when I saw your 2k follower event (congratulations btw!!!) and had to send this. Your writing is fucking amazing and I can't wait to read more of your stuff!

Character: Dabi

AU Setting: Monster Forest

Spice Level: NSFW

Mood: Light

Kinks: Breeding and size difference

Blood Moon Rising - A Dabi x Reader Fanfic

Smut. 18+. AU. Dabi as a werewolf. Fem Reader. Breeding. Size difference. Werewolf related biting/blood. 

Part of CandyCandy’s 2k Followers Event! Any feedback/comments/reblogs would be loved! Dividers by @benkeibear!

You run through the forest at top speed, branches and twigs scraping your legs, tearing your dress. The night air is crisp and cool against your face, though the rest of your body is sweating beneath the layers of satin and lace. Above you, the full moon glows an eerie red. Blood moon, they call it. 

On nights like this, he hunts. 

You hear leaves crunching behind you, sticks snapping in the distance, an otherworldly howl among the trees to your right. A creature like him could attack from any direction. That’s how fast he is. 

You should’ve known better than to try outrunning him. Your weak human legs can only carry you so far, so fast, before they lose strength. Your fatigued feet catch on an unearthed tree root, and your body tumbles to the cold, damp ground. You’re lying on your stomach, panting, trying to get to your knees at least, when you hear him directly behind you.

Turning your head slowly, you look back. Even in the dim, red tinted moonlight shining through the trees, you can see him clearly. He’s taller than a normal human, his body toned but lithe beneath the thin layer of solid white fur. His face is mostly human, but with a slightly elongated nose and mouth, rows of razor sharp teeth visible in his grin. His eyes are a bright glowing blue, like two burning sapphires. His long fingers are tipped with terrifying claws that look like they could shred steel. 

You roll over so that you can face him, still lying on the ground. 

He stands over you, a low rumbling growl emanating from his throat. “I agreed to stop hunting the villagers since you volunteered to be my prey,” he says in a ragged voice, “but you’ve gotta make it worth my while, doll.”

You look up at him with a pouty expression. Touya is your childhood friend, one you fell in love with in your teenage years and have wanted to marry since you both hit adulthood. But you’ve never had the courage to confess your feelings. You might flirt with him, but so far he’s either oblivious to your intentions or is purposely ignoring them. 

When he admitted to you that he’d been bitten by a werewolf and now turns into one on every full moon night, you were of course very worried. He has dubious control over himself when transformed, and a powerful urge to hunt and feed. He killed several of the people in your village, though he targeted specific individuals. A man who was known for beating his wife. A woman who made phony medicine and sold it at exorbitant prices to sick, desperate people. A man who raped a young girl and received no punishment because he was the richest man in the village. 

But Touya was running out of bad people to hunt, and twice he was shot at by terrified villagers. So you approached him with an idea. He could hunt you, chase you through the woods and get it out of his system, and you would count on your long friendship to keep him from killing you. 

The first time, he clawed your leg, and the sight of your blood spilling brought him back to his senses. He clearly felt terrible about it. The second time, he almost bit you, but was able to hold himself back. The third time he tore your dress, almost ripping it off you before he got himself under control. You’re not sure what he intended to do, but you suspect his urge to mate is stronger in wolf form too. A part of you wished he would have kept going. 

For the past few times, his control has generally been better. Not always, but usually he just chases you down, catches you, and then the hunt is over. 

Tonight, he caught you faster than ever. There’s a strange gleam in his eyes that’s usually not there, and from his voice you can tell that he’s struggling to maintain control. Could it be the blood moon? Is it making his wolf instincts stronger? 

“Sorry,” you say, still on the ground, leaning back on your elbows. “You were too fast tonight. Are you okay?”

His eyes are moving over you, and it sounds like he’s breathing a little harder. “I’m fine. It’s just… the urges are really strong tonight. Maybe you should get back to the village.”

“But you’re not satisfied, are you? I can run again. Just tell me what to do to help.”

His shining blue eyes widen slightly. “Doll, you don’t wanna know what would help me right now. Just go home while I’m still in control.”

You stare at him, at the muscles flexing beneath the soft white fur. He’s wearing nothing but ripped black pants. God, you want him. You can’t satisfy his urge to kill, but maybe you can satisfy a different urge. 

While looking him in the eyes, you reach down and slowly slide your dress up your legs, revealing your thighs. 

He seems to stiffen, his eyes wide. “What are you doing?”

“I want to help you. If using my body will calm the urges and keep you from attacking the village, I’m okay with it,” you tell him. You don’t say it out loud, but you’re afraid he’ll be shot at again. 

He scoffs. “You don’t know what you’re offering. I’ve never done anything like that in this form. What if I lose control? I could hurt you.”

“I don’t mind,” you say, pulling your dress higher, bunching the fabric at your waist and showing him your lace panties. 

The pupils of his lovely eyes seem to shift, looking more like long slits than circles. His clawed hands flex and clench at nothing. “We shouldn’t do this,” he mutters, sounding extremely unconvinced of his own argument. 

“Let me satisfy your urges,” you tell him, opening your legs. 

He’s breathing hard and fast, his eyes looking completely inhuman now. “Fuck… I’m gonna rip you apart and devour the pieces!”

With that alarming statement, he lunges forward, his larger than normal werewolf body suddenly upon you. His claws make short work of your dress, reducing it to useless strips of shredded satin that cover nothing. Only your thin panties remain, a pitifully flimsy barrier against his animalistic strength. He tears them off before you can even blink. 

You’re equal parts thrilled to finally have the man you love on top of you, and terrified that you’ve made a mistake and he’ll literally eat you. But when his hands begin exploring your exposed flesh, you notice he’s being careful to avoid injuring you with his claws. Even though he’s in his most beastly state, looking crazed and out of control, he’s trying his best not to hurt you. 

His mouth is on your neck, licking and sucking the rapidly bruising skin before moving down. He makes a wet, hot trail down your body, tasting various parts of you, until he pauses between your thighs. His eyes flick up to your face, and you look back at him with flushed cheeks and parted lips. You buck your hips from the ground just slightly, an encouraging gesture. 

He grins, showing off entirely too sharp teeth, and then his head dips down to taste your sweet nectar. You moan, your back arching reflexively as his warm tongue massages your clit. You feel the edge of a tooth, not biting, probably accidentally scraping over you. The thought of this being that hungers for your flesh having his teeth so close to your most tender place excites you. 

“So fucking delicious,” he murmurs against your skin. 

Your hand moves down to sink into his soft white hair, and you can feel the silky fur of his body brushing over your bare thighs. “Ahh… Touya!”

He pulls away, leaving you breathless as he tears open his already frayed pants. You try to get a good look at his cock, but in the darkness of the forest you can only see a vague but massive shape as he pushes your knees up toward your chest. And when he pushes it all the way inside your tight, dripping pussy, you can feel the velvety fur around the base of it. 

It’s a painful stretch, but his movements are careful, surprisingly controlled, even as he pants above you. His hands are on the ground beside you, his claws digging into the dirt, his eyes gleaming with predatory lust as he looks down at you. His thrusts begin slowly, but gradually become faster when your arms wrap around his neck. He’s reaching the deepest parts of you, all the while growling softly. 

Suddenly, the growls grow louder, and you realize he’s almost snarling. You look up to find him baring his teeth. His mouth opens, lunges down toward your shoulder, but stops before biting. He pulls back to look at you guiltily, but doesn’t stop thrusting. 

“This is dangerous,” he says. “You should be afraid of me, so why do you look so…”

He doesn’t finish the question, his eyes staring into yours. 

“I’m not afraid of you,” you tell him, hands on his face. “I’m in love with you. I have been for years.”

You hear his breath hitch, see a light pink blush cover his face as his eyes look away from yours. “D-don’t tell me shit like that when I’m buried in your pussy! Gonna make me lose what little control I have!” But then his eyes shift back to you, and in a voice so low you barely hear him, he says, “I feel the same way. Always have.”

His cock pulses inside you, and you clench around him in response, making him growl again. “Touya,” you moan, “bite me!”

“What? I can’t do that! If I bite you, you’ll be like me!”

You look up into his glowing eyes. “I want to be like you! We’ll be werewolves together! We’ll hunt each other and mate under every full moon!” You feel your own pleasure building as you speak, like you’re on the edge of a cliff, about to fall over. “Oh god, I’m close, Touya!”

He growls again, his instincts battling with his emotions. Then he yells, “Fuck! This is gonna hurt like hell, so don’t blame me!”

In the same instant you cum around his cock, spasming beneath him, he sinks his teeth into your shoulder, tearing the flushed skin. You feel warm blood pouring from the wound as you tremble through your orgasm. Touya’s tongue laps at the ripped open flesh, his teeth still bearing down. You scream, from the pleasure and the pain, your arms clutching him. 

You hear him moan as he tastes you, and he thrusts in so incredibly deep as he cums inside you, filling you to the brim.

His teeth finally release their hold on your shoulder and he pulls his face away but remains inside you. He stares at the wound, and a mixture of guilt and arousal flash through his eyes. 

“Are you okay?” he asks. 

You move your arm slowly, and feel a stab of agony in your shoulder. “Ahh, how long does it hurt?!”

“For me it was a few hours. Then it healed like magic.” He leans forward and gently licks the wound. Strangely, it actually seems to help. “We should bandage it though.”

At this point he pulls out of you and climbs off, looking slightly awkward. “I hope you’re sure about this. There’s no going back now.”

You raise up on your elbows. “I’ve never been more sure about anything.”

His eyes rake over your nude body, then he holds out his hand to you and grins. “That’s good, because you’re stuck with me from now on.”

You laugh as you take his hand and let him pull you up by your uninjured arm, eager to begin your lives as two werewolves in love. 

Tags:

@doumadono 

[waltzingwithspirit]

PICK A CARD: HOW WILL YOU MEET YOUR FUTURE SPOUSE?

Top Left: 111 ; Top Right: 222; Bottom: 333

Disclaimer:

Take what resonates and leave the rest.

The disclaimer in pinned post applies here too.

No one is allowed to copy my work under any circumstances.

DM for personal readings.

🥀111🥀

You could meet your partner through a woman, (be it a mother, friend) an expressive and creative woman. She could be a  neighbour, married women or someone who has light within them and the ability to spread light, a woman in love with life, could paint or do arts and crafts, could like sewing too. You guys could meet in some class/workshop you both are taking. One of you may not want to be here. You could meet at an art exhibition, museums, while shopping etc. Another possible location is at the park, where you run or jog. Either or both of you are into fitness, if not you will be at the time you meet them and will be taking care of yourself. Definitely at a public place, could be party where they are your friend’s friends, there is dancing, food and things fun, people will be taking among themselves. Happy positive energy, one of you likes to talk. Yes, I am seeing you’ll meet them when you are satisfied and fulfilled with how your life is going, could be 9 months from now. You could also meet them in march or May next year. You are confident, vibing, and they will show up suddenly when you least expect it. First meeting, they’ll notice you for a while before approaching you, they come across flirty, graceful, and put their best foot forward. Definitely a pleasant meeting. The meeting could end up being open-ended, like you may not have set a time to meet again, no one’s asked anyone out on a date, simply exchanged numbers/social media’s. You two might also end up going at the same bakery and meet again. They do have an offer for you but it will take some time before things become official. Don’t be disheartened, this is your future spouse so you guys definitely do end up together. 

Comment ‘111’ to claim.

🌸222🌸

In class, a learning institution, could have meet in school, colleges, coaching centres, any hobby classes you take etc, but you are definitely here to learn and practice. These could be online workshops/certificate classes as well. It took you blood sweat and tears to pay for this course, it is something you have wanted to do for a long time, you know you are good, naturally talented. I am getting Annabeth from Percy Jackson, those vibes. You could meet at a martial arts academy, or even the gym. He is the new guy. Again, someone struggled to get where they are today(at the point you meet them). I am getting the same messages again, learning centre, through teachers too. You might be in the same group/team for projects, paired up together every time. You both will learn together, grow together. You will learn giving people benefit of the doubt, and becoming soft, not always having your guard up. You will be passionate about what you are doing, love is not even on your mind and you’d rather just focus on something else but it will creep up on you slowly, like the sea touches the shore take a step back before merging again, during the course of time the lines will get blurry, from I had dinner with them because practice ran late to ‘Hey, you want to get dinner together?’ With no compulsion of any situation. Slowly you will reach out to them, it will morph into a friendship with a small crush to your partner for life, it’s a slow burn but it’s worth it. 

Comment ‘222’ to claim.

🌻333🌻

It will take a way for your union. Right now you need to develop into your authentic self, become more of yourself and express that. You feel unfulfilled and incomplete, you think finding a partner will solve all things, some of you are up and down the curve, on one day you literally can’t live without your soulmate and are dying for them to magically appear in your life to who cares? I just want to focus on me, my career, and money. There is  loneliness in your heart. I hear that your future spouse is not currently decided which is a good thing, the more you evolve, the more evolved person you will attract as your future spouse. You could meet them during grocery shopping, buy plants, getting your salary, when you are living the life you want to life like in an apartment with many plants, some art, mainly white with pops of color all around. I am seeing Europe for some of you. You could meet them after a life changing decision you took, it could be pack up your bags and move across the world. You will not be staying where you are right now that’s for sure. You are taking a chance on life and loving it. After this everything will start to get better, feel better. You are buying flowers for no reason and getting your chai/coffee, dressing up everyday. Everything is so colourful suddenly, that’s when you meet them. This is a new person, no toxic exes here. You literally are living your best life, laughing, hanging out with friends, genuine happiness, good bed time, someone who can’t wait to wake up to their new life, that is when you’ll know your future spouse is ready to come into your life and they ARE MATCHING YOUR ENERGY.  

Comment ‘333’ to claim.

-

EL TAROT

[yellowharrington]

jaded - chapter 4, carmy berzatto x reader

pairing + fandom: carmen “carmy” berzatto x fem!reader (she/her pronouns used), the bear fx

warnings: smoking mention, minors dni with this story please.

word count: 2k

a/n: ok literally i am the worst ever and i totally didn't finish this fic even tho i started it so im finally posting the last part literally MONTHS later!!! sorry besties but i couldn't have an unfinished fic out there in the world so... if u fuck w this story at all thank u for reading it and all the encouraging and nice things people have said, it literally made me want to complete this fic so thank u <3

summary: tying up loose ends.

and it's a fuckin' shame that it ended like that you broke your own heart, but you'd never say that we went to hell, but we never came back

masterlist | chapter 3

It all just feels numb.

Sun coming up over the horizon and a light snowfall onto the street below. Your home is quiet, no pans in the kitchen making French omelettes, no TV playing outside the bedroom door as you sleep. No toothbrushing in the bathroom or running shower water, warm and steamy, inviting you in.

It’s not that you weren’t expecting his answer. Or, lack thereof. It’s that he couldn’t make up his fucking mind. First, he’s cooking you an omelette in your favourite pan with a cup of coffee made exactly the way you like it. He’s spending every evening on the couch with you, your hands splayed out against his stomach, comfortable beneath the waistband of his sweats. You’re in his sweater, baking fresh warm cookies so he can have one before bed, smudges of chocolate against your lips as he pushes you up against the counter, hot skin on cold tile.

Next, he has that look on his face, where he’s somewhere else. Thinking of her, in a dreamland where he can make it right again, and it all feels like it comes crashing down. The sweet nothings don’t exist in this realm, there’s no happiness here.

And when you do have to face him on Monday, it’s back to cold shoulder, nothing different. Yes chef, no chef, thank you chef. 

Sydney tries to make conversation, and you feel bad because you won’t bitch about Carmy like you usually would. Richie’s having secret meetings with Natalie, probably more about Claire, but you don’t even think to join in. It hurts, it hurts so fucking much, and it’s hard enough to go outside and take a fucking break from it all, let alone be in the same cramped kitchen with him. There’s no solitude, just aching, just disappointment.

“Did you order me a new cake pan, chef?” It’s directed at Tina, who looks up at you with the same wistful softness as she always does, smiling before nodding in your direction. You don’t hear her slide over to you, but when she suddenly appears at your station, you can tell she just knows something’s wrong.

“What’s up with you?” she asks, clipboard finding it’s way to the counter beside you, where a piping bag lays. “You’re not yourself. Something… wrong. Don’t tell me a boy did this to you.” The tears prick at your eyes and you swallow it all before you can get out a word, because yeah, it all fucking aches and the hurt feels like it’s sitting right behind your eyes, in your throat, ready to come out.

“It’s nothing. It is a boy but, boys are stupid and I’m not gonna cry over one,” you sniffle, before untying your apron and letting it hang loose on your body. “Not worth it.”

“It’s him, isn’t it?”

Your blood runs cold when she gestures just outside to the bright light of the door, where Carmy sits, phone in one hand, cigarette in the other.

Luckily the kitchen is empty when you reply, only so she can hear, “how did you know?”

“I saw the way you looked at him this morning.”

“Does anyone else know?”

“Fuck no. Between you and me, chef.”

You sighed relief, letting your front hit the counter as the stress left your body. “Thank fuck. Yeah, I don’t know, we were-“

“Fuckin’?” Tina’s got a sly smile on her face that makes it impossible not to laugh with her.

“Yeah, I guess. It felt like more than that. But apparently he’s still hung up on Claire so, I guess that ends it.”

She exhales slowly, joining you in a lean against the counter. “Jeff makes mistakes, everyone knows that. He’s moody and sad and he’s got fuckin’ problems, that kid, I tell ya.” She pauses for a second, eyes meeting yours, sincere. “But he’s good. I just don’t think he can handle himself, is all.” She takes a beat, letting her soft hand lay over yours, “He doesn’t let himself have the good shit because it always gets ruined. But you’re good. He’s scared of you.”

“He should be scared of me. I’m gonna fucking kill him,” you mutter, letting your floured hand meet your forehead in annoyance. “I’m not responsible for fixing his shit.”

She nods, agreeing with you, a hand cupping yours on the counter. “No, you’re not. I’m just saying he could use someone like you to bring him back to Earth, is all.”

-

When Carmy does make it back inside, he’s thumbing through paperwork at the desk, hand through his hair stressfully pulling at the strands. He’s trying so hard not to stare at you from where he’s sitting, noticing your cold gaze, somewhere far away. He takes out his phone to scroll through it mindlessly, procrastinating, when he meanders his way to the text icon and opens up your thread. A few texts here and there, mostly just asking about plans to come over, the occasional sexy photo or recipe idea.

[sunday, 10:26] they don't have fresh sourdough. should we just make some this aft?

[saturday, 4:35] i hate when you go in on saturdays

[saturday, 4:36] Photo Recieved

[saturday 4:36] don't you wish you were home with me?

[tuesday, 12:22] is balsamic glaze overdone? lmk. miss u.

It feels a little too domestic, seeing the way he so effortlessly became comfortable with you, a warmth and excitement that was just never there with Claire. It’s raw and it’s guilty and he’ll beat himself up over it forever, but it was never going to be perfect with her, no matter how hard he tried.

“Boss?”

Richie appears in the office, leaning against the door frame before noticing Carmy’s disheveled look. “Yeah?”

“You look worse than usual.”

“Thanks. What do you need?”

“Well, I was gonna ask if you ordered more eggs.”

“I, uh, yeah. Yeah, I think Sydney did.”

“What’s wrong with you?”

It’s like Richie could see right through him.

“Nothin’. Stupid shit.”

Richie steps into the office, leaving the door only slightly ajar.

“Cousin.”

Richie can be sweet when he wants to be, and when he’s got a hand on Carmy’s shoulder and a somber look in his eyes it’s like he already knows how Carmy feels.

“Why do I suck so bad at being a fuckin’ normal person?”

Richie sits next to him, a look of surprise. “Is this about Claire bear?”

“Yes, well - yeah, and also no. Kinda. I don’t know.”

“Is it about Miss Buttercream out there?”

He gestures to you outside the door, zesting some orange on top of the cake you were finishing up. Carmy stifles a laugh.

“We all know you’re porkin’ her.”

“Don’t say that,” Carmy laughs, hand coming up to his face to rub his eyes. “It’s more than that. We’ve been kinda, dating, I guess? I still don’t know what counts as having a girlfriend.”

“So what did you do?”

He gnaws at the skin of his thumb and lets his eyes flicker up to Richie’s. “Fucked it. Last night, I, uh,-“ his hand finds his warm forehead. “I really like her, like a lot. But she asked about Claire and I said the wrong thing, like I always do and uh, she didn’t like it.”

“She’s good,” Richie starts, letting his hands find his aproned thighs as he sits at the corner of the desk. “Claire was good for you too. But she didn’t… get it. Not like she does,” he gestured vaguely to your station outside the door. “Claire was never gonna get the restaurant and the kitchen and the fuck of it all.”

Richie's hand extends to cup Carmy's shoulder.

“Look, do whatever you want, but there isn’t really someone who matches you like she does. Claire’s history now, drunk phone calls don’t mean she’s still in love with you. If that’s what you were thinking.”

Carmy sits back in the creaky chair. “Nah, not that. I just don’t know how to do it right.”

“It’s not about doing it right,” Richie’s got sincerity in his eyes. “It’s about fuckin’… trying shit. Just go and make a move and see.” Carmy watches you hang up your apron on the hook and grab a hoodie before fucking outside. “Yeah, yeah. Thanks Richie.”

“Good luck.”

- 

“I’m sorry.”

Carmy’s voice takes you out of your trance as you stare into the back alley of the restaurant. “Hi.”

“Can we talk?”

“You can talk, I’ll listen.”

The crackle of his lighter, orange flame against white snow. You can see his breath slipping from between his lips as he exhales out of the corner of your eye.

“I feel like a fuckin’ asshole,” he starts, plunging his other hand in his pocket. “I don’t know what to say.” A beat. “Can you look at me?” It’s gentle, a question, not a demand.

You turn to look at him. Cold blue eyes, darkened by the brightness around you. “You’re not second best to me. You’re it, this is it. I like this, I, I fuckin’,” he takes a breath, “I love… this. I want this.”

“You hurt my feelings, Carmen,” tears brimming your eyes and coating your lashes. “If you’re not done with Claire, I don’t… I don’t care. If I am your second choice, fine.” 

“You’re not.”

“Even if I was. But don’t fuck me around if you don’t want me.”

“I do.”

“Are you sure? You weren’t sure last night.”

“I get it if you don’t trust me. I get it. I haven’t given you a reason to.” He searches for the right words, but chooses to take a tentative step towards you. “I’ll beg for you,” he’s quiet, unlike Carmy. “Anything.”

Your eyes meet his briefly, a soft smile pulling at your lip. “I’m not saying yes, okay?” He nods. “But I am saying I would appreciate a ride home tonight. If you’re serious.”

“I’m serious.”

“Good.”

-

The walk up to your apartment is easy. His heavy steps behind your light ones, hands sliding up the bannister as you unlock your door. He’s on your heels, a little behind. When he steps in your apartment, it’s familiar. Browned butter, vanilla, laundry. 

“Do you want dinner?” He’s tentative, letting his shoes sit next to yours on the mat. His jacket goes up on the hooks by the door, together. 

“Are you offering?”

“Yes.”

Carmy shows love through food, that’s how he always is. You can tell he’s feeling particularly sorry about it all because he’s bringing out a big pasta pot and a saucepan, pulling the only fresh ingredients left in your place and putting them next to the stove top. Your t-shirt finds its way into the laundry basket, an old sweater thrown over your bare skin.

You hate how normal it all feels, because it’s scary. To think of a domestic life with him, where there’s another girl lingering in the background of his thoughts that he has unfinished business with. Insecurities of who is better, prettier, happier, warmer… if he had the chance, would he leave? Would he jump ship?

He sits next to you while you eat, thighs against thighs, and comfortable silence blanketing your small apartment. He hasn’t gotten into one of the many pairs of pyjamas he’s left at your place, or taken his usual after-work shower, or taken out the frozen cookie dough to thaw. You can tell he’s not sure if he’s welcome here for good, yet.

When your food is done, he pushes the plates away and takes a calloused hand to wrap around yours. There’s sharpie marks small knife cuts on his fingers. 

“Are you gonna stay the night?” You ask, still not meeting his gaze. 

“Am I welcome to?” He doesn’t sound like himself, and you can feel his warm breath near the top of your head as you turn towards him. Your body collapses a little then, folding slightly at the middle to have your head fall right into the centre of his chest.

“Yes, Carmen,” you nod, letting your eyes flicker up to meet his. “You can stay for as long as you want.”

His hand slipped from yours then, sliding around your side and up your back. He pulled you into his embrace, lips wrapped around yours in a soft capture. Your hands found their way under his t-shirt, only slightly, his warm skin against the palms of your hands, pulling him impossibly closer. 

And when you lay in bed with him that night, your face burrowed into the softness of his chest, you know the days of waking up alone are over. 

[gotafewtricks]

there are two main things that i love in this life: genji and plushies… what if reader makes genji plush and shows him..? would he like it? would he be like erm what the scallop? maybe this request is a little too silly… but… genji plush

★ "Don't turn me into a marketable plush!"

i am going FERAL over this ask. i literally was just thinking of that, too, today. HAPPY BIRTHDAY GENJI <33 It's okay, nothing is ever "too silly" here :3 reminds me, I think on Etsy you can commission someone to make this kitty Genji plush? Or, I'm tripping.

You figured that you'd want to go get Genji a special gift. He doesn't really mention liking much, other than musing about his early fascination with arcades and his troublemaking antics. Over the course of years and years, he's calmed down, but you do love seeing his more playful sidee shine every once in a while.

You knew that in his line of work, he doesn't expect anything for himself. The most that he could ask is just for someone's happiness and appreciation, that that's it for him to be reminded that��yes, he's doing a good job, and he's doing his best.

When he first acquired his new body, he'd be disappointed in himself; in his newfound form. Blinded by his strong, persuading emotions—there would still be times where he felt as if he didn't deserve someone's kindness. If he were to see someone who mirrored how he was back then, he could not've felt empathy—rather, a digust in seeing a spitting image of himself.

He now understands his worth and value in a greater extent now, with the help of his closest companions, mentor, and everyone... Ah, it still gives him chills whenever he thinks about that whole process again.

You were first interested in his initial reaction towards getting a plush. Would he think of it as merely childish, or would he understand the amount of hours you absolutely slaved over in trying to find the right techniques for it? Only time'll tell.

The idea was cute and simple; as it was merely just a plush. You wondered if he even cared much for plushes, figurines, or anything that he could really display. You knew that with his work as an agent, he is more-than-likely constantly out. It's be cool if he were to be able to at least settle the gift in a place he'd be able to see it every so often, as a gentle lil' reminder of you, but you didn't even know of he even... had a consistent residence.

You persevered, albeit.

After tutorial video after tutorial video on trying to work on a humanoid base for your plush, it became taxing on your hands. Either if you're working with knitting needles, sewing by hand, or machine—it was annoying how you'd prick your finger, trying to aim for the felt to stitch it up; or, the amount of hours that pass by whenever you try out your crocheting skills. It was a simple idea, so why weren't there any simpler methods?

Nights where you'd slump over your desk, fingers all red from the exertion, and your brain tired from all of it. You wanted to do your best for Genji, but it was difficult trying to even find a baseline on where to start with him. How'd you even make his helmet? Nonetheless, the inteicate details to his outfit and weapons?

You didn't want to commission the plush, as you were determined to make it from your own very hands. Through sweat, blood, and tears—you WILL make this thing.

Ultimately, you knew better than to just work and work and work on such a hard project. As much as you wanted to show Genji your utmost appreciation, also in a medium that you'd equally love, you knew that gifting Genji a bundle of stuffing all patched together by mishappen thread wasn't something you should be thinking of.

At the end of the day, you just wanted this idea to get out of your head. You didn't promise a gift to him, rather, you promised one to yourself. You'll get this done, even if it's eating away and nagging at your thoughts. You didn't buy all of those supplies for nothing, after all! Better make that money worth it.

Thinking on the topic of him possibly not being able to display the gift in a convenient position, you did consider making the plush smaller. However, the only issue was was because of the loss of quality that is also brought by with it—since you have to downscale the details, and simplify a few things so that it doesn't look all-too overwhelming.

You decided on making him a little charm. You'd imagine he'd be able to put it on a bracelet or a necklace, or just on whatever—as a little bit of added personalization. There were still the downsides listed prior, but you feel as if you tackled too big of a project for yourself; as it did require both patience in waiting lots, and having a lots of time.

At first, you were lost on really doing this, but ovee time with what you've learnt, you made a little plush charm that could fit into someone's palm! You were awfully proud of the little guy, since as soon as you were done making him and hooking the little chain, you gave it a tiny headpat with your index finger. Well done.

When Genji felt you tap his shoulder, you could tell that there was a smile behind his voice, as he asked what you wanted. He sensed you before then, but wanted to see what you'd do anyways.

You hid the item behind your back, snickering to yourself about what'll ever possibly happen. You guessed it was just from Genji, but gosh, does he make you eager. Even if he's not doing remotely anything in specific.

"What is it? Normally, people do not just laugh at something with their hands like that." He'd point out—thanks Captain Obvious—whilst with that teasing edge to his voice. He'd take a sidestep, a gander at what you may have, and then you try to cover it up.

"Be patient! Isn't that your whole thing?"

You then would sigh, as he made a mocking motion with his hands; mimicking how a sock puppet would speak. Upon making the comment on how he must not want his gift after all, he then shakes his head affectionately with a gentle tsk.

Once you then clasped your hands over the charm, you brought it out in front of you. When you released them, and showing him the little plush, he couldn't help but laugh at how adorable the thought was. He'd look up and down, judging by how he moved his head—since you cannot really see his eyes—nonverbally asking you if he could pick it up. You allowed him, and he then held the little guy in between his thumb and index.

"It's a pocket you." You explained, sounding dumb but you didn't care. Genji was busy squishing it, and playing with the keychain. "You're a father now."

He hated how he was just so giggly today. With an eye roll, you knew him enough to tell that, he then pockets the object in his hoodie. You were glad he liked it so much. "I'll take great care of my new son, don't worry."

The next day, whenever you went out to get a breath of fresh air—you saw Genji, sparring his sword against some practice dummies set up around the site. You wished you would've said more previously to him, that you made the gift out of appreciation for the ninja—but seeing how he had the accessory pinned on his hand, a place where he'd always have it... It spoke volumes.

[kakiastro]

The Numerology and Astrology of 1997

Numerology is my 2nd favorite thing to study besides Astrology. They go hand in hand in my mind. They’re interconnected with each other. You’ll see when I break it down for y’all in this post.

I specifically chose this year because well, I realized 1997 and 2024 are both 8 years. Let me break it down…

Add up the numbers

1 + 9 + 9 + 7 = 26

2 + 6 = 8

2 + 0 + 2 + 4 = 8

So if you were born in 1997, then you was born during an 8 year. 2024 is an 8 year as well. So this year is like a rebirth of some sorts or a karmic cleansing.

Keep in mind. This is different from life path numbers because you add your birth month, day and year. It’s a lot lol but we’re only focusing on your birth year only

8

-ruled by Saturn and Capricorn in numerology. These born natives may have had a tough or not easy upbringing. They may have had to grow up or learn some harsher lessons early in life than most. They were born during a karmic year so if you’re the type who believes in reincarnation, then you can say these native “have been here before” could be an ancestor that’s come back, I think a lot of kids born this year are “old souls” as well.

-these natives life lesson needs to learn how to balance the spiritual world with the material world. They have a strong belief in a higher power(s) and believe that no matter what challenges they go through, they will succeed and flourish. These natives are the hard knocks kids. These are the first group of Gen-Z but they relate more to their older Millennials siblings. They remember what the world was like right before we entered into today’s digital world. They remember blockbuster and flip phones, hell, most of them probably had one themselves as preteens before smart phones took off😅

-another lesson these natives need to learn is to help out when they can. It doesn’t always have to be financially either, helping someone with bags of groceries, complimenting someone (helps their self worth), donating old clothes or money to a charity, giving out advice or encouraging words to people are also good. Do this out of the kindness of your soul and heart, not because you expect a reward. I will tell you this, 8 is a loop so what you put out will come back around one way or another. I know that cliche but that’s the energy 8 has. 8 is connected to the spirit realm and earthly remember that.

-ambitious and powerful individuals. They enter a room and you notice them immediately. If these natives do succeed materially, just know, it was through hard work, sweat, blood and tears literally and figuratively lol

- August is the 8th month of the year. This is one of the Summer months. August is late Leo and Early Virgo seasons. These natives exhibit warm energy which means theyre kind, and have a welcoming personality. They may be popular in their friend group or just well liked by people. They may constantly go through health issues in their life but these people are warriors, they can get through some tough situations. August is a late summer month, these people are considered late bloomers (not a bad thing!) and since they’re a Capricorn group, their life can become more lighter and easy going as they get older. They work hard in their early years to relax in there older years. Usually after their First Saturn Return and around 35 is when life can start to improve.

Astrology

-since this is a Saturn ruled year group, we need to look at what sign Saturn was in, in 1997.

-Saturn was in Aries during this year. Which means this group has Martian energy. They are warriors like I said earlier. Harsh upbringings but they push through. I wonder how many people born this year had to have surgery or suffered any burns growing up. Scars may be heavily present in these individuals during this year.

-identity and finding who they are outside off what they were taught to be will be a theme for them. They may struggle with self confidence during younger years but they find it as they age. I know I talk about age a lot but it is significant for this group since Saturn rules Age and time.

-since Saturn is in Aries, these folks 1h and Mars are the most important.

In 1997, Mars was in Libra, Scorpio, Sagittarius and Capricorn.

-Mars Libra natives will learn the lesson how to balance the most. Working with others and being diplomatic will be lessons on what to learn. Marriage and partnerships. Family such as their grandmothers will important to these natives. They need to learn the balance when to pick up their sword and when they need to lay it down to negotiate. Aries oppose Libra. There’s always going to be a push-pull with these natives. I can’t stress enough, find that balance.

-Mars Scorpio natives will learn the lesson of vulnerability and intimacy. Aries is an independent and solo sign but Scorpio is how we connect on a deeper level with each other. Sex may be something they struggle with and will need to learn understand beyond societal conditions on it. Financials and paying off debt.

-Mars Sagittarius natives will learn the lesson of philosophy and beliefs. You may be the type to fight for them and don’t like to be challenged on them. Now you will need to learn others beliefs and this doesn’t mean you have to agree with them but it’s best to get well rounded on different viewpoints for your spiritual benefit.

-Mars Capricorn natives will be the main ones learning about hard work and ambition. I feel like this group may have it the hardest because you got that double Saturn energy in you that you have to learn. People may not respect you or you don’t get the recognition you feel you deserve. I promise once you learn theses old cycles, it will get better. Aries Sq Capricorn as well so this is not an easy but necessary lesson. Y’all got this!

8 is also ruled by Pluto. So this group will always be going through extreme transformation, this doesn’t always have to be a bad thing either. Their Pluto is in Sagittarius so their beliefs and world view will go through different phases. They have deep thirst for knowledge and truth. 8 is also co ruled by Mars so there’s that warrior energy again lol

These Natives are turning 27 this year!

2 + 7 = 9

9 represents endings and cycles. 9 is also ruled by Mars and in astrology is ruled by Jupiter.

Saturn is currently in Pisces. Pisces also rules over endings since it’s the last sign of the zodiac. They are also going through their pre-Saturn Return shadow period.

The Current NN Aries is conj their Saturn and numerology planet ruler. A small few is going through their Reverse Nodal return as well

This is also their 4h profection year. The 4h isn’t just about family, it’s connected to your soul and soul family.

-these natives are going to feel like they’re going through Deja vu while also going through new experiences. There’s a level of uncertainty thats filled with hope. My advice is to just go with the flow and take each day at a time. You guys are wrapping up 8 year another cycle. They are discovering who they are under in depth. They are exploring there faith and ideals and what feels right to them.

-This current cycle lasted from 2016-2024. Think back on those years, while still learning this one.

-This cycle will be from 2024-2033. 2033 is the next 8 year

Fun facts

When you all were born, Titanic, Jurassic Park, Men in Black were the biggest movies of that year!

The first Harry Potter was also released that year. It’s funny that there’s a tv show in the making during its return😅

[the-kr8tor]

I don’t know if you’re still taking asks for fluffy Friday but could you do a fic of the Hobie x reader twin AU, where the reader goes into labor and has the twins and their reactions during and after the twins are born!! Your recent one of them seeing the ultrasound was so cute!! But now I kinda wanna see the chaos and the cute that follows lol!! I feel like the doctors would low key be intimidated by Hobie cause he’d taking care of reader but also be staring them down 😂 to the point they’re ask him to leave but he doesn’t of course!! Sorry for the long ask!! Your last fic was just to AMAZING 🤩 !!

Ahhh another twin au request! Thank you for sending this one ❤️

Pairing: Hobie Brown x fem! Reader/ Spider-Punk x fem! Reader

Tags: no use of Y/N, no specific physical description of the reader, TW blood mention, Billie and Ramona AU, twin AU.

ʕ⁠·⁠ᴥ⁠·⁠ʔ

You were in an unimaginable pain, the kind you would never wish on anyone, your voice is hoarse from all the screaming and cussing out whoever was unfortunate enough to slightly annoy you. Too bad for Hobie, your annoyance and anger were mostly thrown at him. You had him in an iron grip, he's sure his hand would be aching for days to come. He's been a great help in alleviating the pain, patting your sweaty face dry, feeding you ice chips, whispering words of encouragement and the occasional glare at the doctor who arrived fashionably late to the party.

The epidural was your best friend that you've never thought you'd even befriend. You were sure that you wouldn't need it but after what must've been the umpteenth contraction, you were more than happy to accept its friendship.

After twenty hours of labor, all the literal blood, sweat and tears were all worth it. From the first cry of the older twin came a sudden elation, then the younger came only after five minutes apart from her sister with a loud energetic cry. You were in pain, now everything you're currently feeling is extreme happiness, and also fatigue you've never experienced before.

Following all the ‘good jobs’ from the hospital staff and numerous tearful kisses from Hobie, it's safe to say you're officially a parent to the most beautiful pair of twins. Your girls, the light of your life.

With both babies cleaned and you wiped from all the fluids, they're properly swaddled and checked by the doctor and nurses, you lay almost half asleep with your babies on your bare chest. Hands securing them atop their tiny torsos. They gurgle, making the cutest sound you've ever heard whilst Hobie takes hundreds of pictures with his digital camera. He still can't believe his eyes at the little family he now has.

“Hobie,” you say hoarsely, eyes watery from all the happy sobbing and tiredness. “I think you've got all their angles covered.”

He lifts the camera off his eye, greeting you with a genuine grin. “Alright, let me have a turn at them so you can sleep”

You scoot over, giving him space to sit right next to your hip. Hobie takes the oldest first in his arm with slight trepidation and oh so careful like he's handling the finest china.

“Hi, dad's got you” Hobie looks down at his daughter staring up at him with curious eyes, he doesn't miss the fact that she mirrors your own, almost a copy of yours. With a quick peck on top of her forehead, he moves to take the youngest and smallest from your arms. You help him by cradling the back of her head. “And I've got you too”

She answers with her lips wobbling, looking like she's about to cry her little heart out. Hobie bounces her lightly, making cooing sounds that he would always make when the twins were particularly rowdy in your belly. It works, she still frowns up at her dad but the tears don't fall.

“My brave girl, huh? Just like mum” he leans down slightly, juggling his girls whilst he lifts up the blanket to cover your bare chest. “You did amazingly, love” Hobie tells you for the tenth time just in case you forgot.

You hum in reply, heart tender at the sight in front of you. Hands cupping both his elbows, your way of helping him carry the bundles of joy.

“Did you at least make me look good in the photos?” You gesture to the digital camera on the side table. “I must look horrible in all of them after all that”

Hobie shakes his head, “you're as beautiful as the day I met you, and it's impossible for you to look horrible in pictures”

“Even after almost pooping while I was pushing them out?”

“Especially then” you laugh softly, winching at the soreness.

“You alright?” Hobie scooches closer to you, sharing his warmth, taking a quick glimpse at his girls already sleeping. He's not jealous at all.

“I'm okay, promise” you drop your hands from his elbows down to his thighs, too tired to lift them for a second more. “How are they?”

“Sleeping, you should be too” he observes you closely, your eyebrows slightly knitted, hands limp over his thighs.

“We haven't even decided names for them yet” you whisper.

“We've got plenty of time for that. Sleep, they'll be here when you wake up, yeah?”

“I don't think I want to, I just wanna stare at them forever” you fight an oncoming yawn.

“Sleep or I'll name them B one and B two” he jokes.

“You wouldn't” you do your best glare despite the sleep slowly enveloping you.

“You wanna bet? On second thought Bert and Ernie sounds better”

You surrender, “alright, alright, I'll sleep” your eyes threaten to close. “I really like the first one you suggested, it's Ramona, right?”

“Love” he says sternly with hints of fondness.

You giggle, “okay, love you. All three of you” giving them one last look over, you finally succumb to sleep.

“We love you too”

[1shirt2shirtredshirtdeadshirt]

I woke up this morning and saw I had a message in my inbox on AO3, presumably about by new fic, and was excited to see the feedback.

When I read what they wrote it was a small comment that said "stop using sudowrite".

Had no idea what that even means, so I had to look it up and found out it's some form of a writing AI.

Absolutely fuming.

I want to make something abundantly clear right now:

I have not been hand writing and editing all of my own stories, hundreds of pages worth of personally hand written or hand typed content for the past 16 years, only to get accused of using any form of lazy ass writing AI now.

This is what I love to do. For fun.

I put in a lot of unpaid time, creativity and energy into my writing and editing. The only thing I ask for in return is participation from the fandoms I love, be it via thoughtful feedback or valid criticisms.

But this is neither of those things. This is just an outright, baseless lie against the art that I have worked so hard to make myself, and I won't be undermined or discredited.

There's anger, and then there's whatever space I am occupying well past it right now.

It's infuriating to pour hours of my love, thought and creativity into original content only to have someone come out of nowhere and try to tell me I've been having an AI do it, especially 16 years deep.

Bitch please.

I also found out that app came out in 2020 . . . As I mentioned, I published my first K/S story in 2008 as Ruby JW on the K/S archives, and my first fanfic on fanfic.net was published in 2007 as luigi_is_stellar.

I invite anyone to peruse my decades-long collection of independent content that I have single-handedly accomplished well before such an app even existed, then come back to me and try to tell me that what I do here isn't authentic.

I don't usually get spicy, but when it comes to the art I spend hours writing and drawing independently with my own blood sweat and tears, yeah. I'm going to get spicy.

I do far too much unpaid work out of passion and love for this fandom to have such a serious accusation flung my way out of nowhere.

It's the first time in my 16 years of writing for this fandom that I've ever been accused of plagiarism, and you best trust and believe that I don't take that accusation lightly. I work too damn hard to let someone discredit the work I do personally in such a baseless manner.

Anyway, that was discouraging AF. I am boggled to learn that AI writing is even a thing, no less someone coming out of the woodwork to try to accuse me of using it 16 years into story publishing when I literally teach academic honesty and writing ethics in my line of paid work as an English professional.

Genuinely: Do you know who you're talking to?

A bit of background on me:

I come from a not-so-wealthy family who could not afford to pay to put me through school -- I paid for that all on my own. I had to earn my University English degree, one of four University degrees I hold on my own work and pay alone, without so much as a tutoring session or handout from home.

Not once would I have jeopardized everything I worked so hard and paid for out of my own pocket as a poor ass uni student working two jobs and doing night classes just to phone it in plagiarizing, not on one ounce of my work.

That was all me.

I've handwritten 3 MLA essays in under three hour exams BACK TO BACK, immediately followed by back-to-back Biology exams & a final lab where I ALSO had to write multiple essays and switch from MLA to APA mode within the span of 6 hours.

Those were all bound in handwritten yellow booklets well before we ever had Google Docs, Grammarly, formatting suggestions, or even regularly brought/had access to laptops in UNI. I did my work by hand.

I earned my degrees in English and Biology AT THE SAME TIME before I even turned 24. I earned a double major handwriting my own work papers like my life depended on it, and you actually think I'm about to phone it in now?

Step to me like that again, young blood. I ain't the one.😂

Anyway, I digress.

Ya girl ain't here to fight BC y'all know I tend to be very easygoing, full of humour, and I love to joke around in the fandom. I'm pretty wide open to opposing opinions or even criticisms. But this is unfounded slander, and I won't be taking that on the chin.

When it comes to my work, I take that very seriously, and I don't play around. My late father once told me that "The work you do and the degrees you earn are yours and yours alone, they can never take that education from you." I live by that sentiment, and have done so by putting forth honest work.

Be it paid or unpaid work, it's my work. Periodt.

It is an unfathomably disheartening and insulting message to receive as someone who writes all their own stuff themselves, draws all their own fanart themselves, does their own photo edits themselves, edits their writing themselves, and has never even used so much as a single outside beta reader/editor for my work. Not once. The art, the writing, the editing -- It's all me.

Bottom line:

Say you do or don't like my work, that's cash money and we good, whether it's your cup of tea or not.

Butt know that it is my work.

I will not put all of this free time, effort and love into my work only to be accused of lazily ripping the content that I have spent hours writing and personally editing from somewhere else.

And on that note, consider my PSA rant ended.

[aurae-rori]

hi friend, i am literally so glad i've found another dr. ratio enjoyer! you're literally such a great writer and I love your character analyses.

anyways, my curiosity is peaked, how is children of the city dr. ratio core?

First of all, thank you so much - haha, I'm glad that you enjoy my analyses and writings. I'm so sorry that it took me this long to get back to you - I had a few things to take care of, but I'm going to do a full analysis in your honour!

Analysis under the cut, because it gets really long. :)

"Sleep for a total of 800 hours per day And then drink a liter of milk Warm-up before you go play Only eat, or write Or pull the trigger with your right hand Only thing that's left Is to work on following commands"

I'm totally not projecting my gifted child trauma here, nuh uh... Anyway, my personal HC for Ratio is that his child might have felt monotonous being in classes that he was already too "intelligent" for. Learning things at a quicker pace than other children, absorbing knowledge up like a sponge - sure, the praise is nice, but after awhile, especially when you get to higher levels, intelligence isn't enough to carry you. You have to put diligence, effort, blood sweat and tears into what you're studying for, especially if you want to make a change, like how Dr. Ratio wanted to. It. must have gotten lonely, getting up only to do more researcher, eating only to go back to work. Following a schedule is wonderful, and he would have enjoyed the routine, but after being isolated from other people along with that, it might have made him feel subhuman or less than human for only being there for the studying of more knowledge. Eat, study, work, repeat. This is more of a personal HC rather than something canon, though. :)

"By the time you realize You'll be restrained to a desk And with your dreams on the floor, you comply Eyes chained to the test In 30 minutes, find a groom or bride Bonus if brunette In 90 hours, spill their insides Paint your room picturesque"

I feel like the prospect of romance is pushed onto children at a very young age - and that can be applied to Dr. Ratio. Who knows what romantic beliefs that he grew with? However, I believe this is less of him observing himself, but more of him seeing what the education system does to others, and how society molds others into the person that they "should" be, rather than what they want to be. Also, it could be a reference to academic trauma and placing all your self worth in your grades.

"Now it's time for another vendetta Going through the shelves Picking out my pre-written persona (ha-ah-ah) Children of the city sees only the neon stars Reflected upon the murky gutter sky Don't ask me why I desperately wish to be included in the city's night"

This is how I see Dr. Ratio holding a grudge against the Aeons and other figures of authority. We are all expected to be "good" and "well-behaved", and yet, we all look to the "city's night" - the approval of those who are in a higher position of us. We want to gain the approval and the praise of our parents, of our teachers - it's natural, after. We want to be included in the "city's night" - in Dr. Ratio's case, the gaze of Nous. He wants to be acknowledged by Nous and let into the Genius Society because his beliefs that were instilled into him as a child dictate that since he is hailed as a genius, he should be seen as one by the Aeons, right? However, I'd like to point out the usage of the words "neon stars" - stars are not neon. This implies that the stars are fake - I can also see this as a pointer to the idea of there system itself being fake, or societal "norms" being fake, as we are all unique.

"In four hundred thousand meters, turn right

Pick up a knife and stab a familiar warm body Learned to fight before I knew love or bitterness of coffee Snippy scissors cut down the strings I set myself free Only to figure out everything I chose was by proxy"

Dr. Ratio following orders until he doesn't. Fitting in until he gives up on it. Setting himself free from the chains of what is expected from him of other people, but not by the Aeons - no, that's something that still stays with him. However, I like to interpret the idea of a "familiar warm body" being his own childhood - killing the child that you used to be in favour of facing the future. Coffee is also something commonly regarded as students or workers using it to keep awake during long periods of work and study - it talks about how he has known to fight for himself, or fight for what he wants, before he was told to suck it up and just work for the sake of others, for the sake of the authority. However, this might feel scripted to him as well, with the mention of a "proxy" - it was a decision someone else made for him, maybe? Who knows? Maybe his selflessness was originally chosen by someone else, and drilled into him?

"As we suckled upon the nine millimeter pacifier Swallowing the fact that other than to expand We had no purpose As my ever-burning will to stay afloat backfires I now know I must be comfortable being Who I considered worthless"

This is definitely expanding on the idea of being raised to just be used by the authorities. Also, this can also be a representation of the way that he calls himself "mundane" - he was called a genius and raised as one, and now that Nous has not seen him, he must be "mundane" and he must come to terms that he is exactly what he wasn't called growing up. None of their words of praise have any meaning any more, because in the all seeing gaze of an Aeon, he is nothing.

"Follow the city's ribbon To a heart nobody seems to listen It takes my heart being broken and broken again (broken and broken again) To know that I am the reason why (the reason why) The sufferings never end"

As Dr. Ratio uncovers the truth of his childhood and the truth of why he was raised this way, the empathy that he has suppressed comes back up. And this is it - because he feels for others, because he is so incredibly human, that is the reason why his suffering does not end. He cannot detach himself like other people, like other geniuses, and treat life with little to no care. He cannot, because he loves, and that is his fatal flaw. He listens to his heart, as well as his mind, and that does not make him a genius in the eyes of an Aeon.

"Do not go home until you finish reading the value of E. 2.71 8281 8284 5904 5235 3602 8747 1352 6624 9775 7247 0936 9995 9574 9669 6762"

"E" is a mathematical constant, and therefore is logical. It's called the base of a natural logarithm, and while my knowledge in that area is limited, the fact that it is called a "constant" means that it cannot change, just like all numbers cannot. It might be a representation of the idea of Dr. Ratio trying again to fit in with others, only to fail once more, even though he knows all the rules. He was simply born in a different way, doomed from the start. It wasn't his fault.

He was just human.

You can also see this as Dr. Ratio observing the world as he grows up in an "apathetic" and "detached" way - as he pushes down his own emotions in favour of staring at his own success to help others, knowing that his empathy will not get him anywhere in terms of a cruel world. However, he cannot help it.

Ultimately, "Children of the City" is about how we are raised in a society that forces the idea of work on us ever since we are young. We do not get to cherish our childhoods nor our youth, and are immediately turned to the prospect of how we can provide value to society. We are raised in a never ending cycle like machines, to be puppets to corporations, to be slaves by the desire of the majority, to never have free will of our own.

Summoning @ironunderstands @pepper-demon @misty-lilies @sleepyburito :)

[deripmaver]

What’s The Point Of Elaine?

There are three eras of Casca in Berserk so far: Golden Age, Elaine, and Revived Casca. I find that within the fandom, Elaine is written off as not particularly worth analysis, that she just represents a transition state between the real Cascas, pre-eclipse and now revived. 

I do in some ways understand this feeling - Miura has said that in developing the story of Berserk, he ultimately decided in keeping Casca alive only because he needed a way to keep Guts’ rage intact, and not let the sands of time dull his need for revenge. This comes from an interview with Miura from 2017, that he spared Casca because she makes sure Guts never forgets the Eclipse. If I may editorialize, though, I think there are narrative reasons to keep a character alive, but that doesn’t mean said character isn’t being independently developed and doesn’t have their own inner world, especially when Miura has said repeatedly he’s trying to write real people and not archetypes. If I may also be snarky for a moment, considering one of my first interactions on Berserk tumblr had someone arguing that Casca stans read too much into Miura’s quote on her recovery to the point where you can’t even really assume he intended to have her recover - perhaps it’s reading too much into this quote to extrapolate that “Casca remained alive to fuel Guts’ anger = Casca as a character is only a plot device for Guts and Miura had no intention of developing her outside of that.”

Another reason to overlook her as a character that I do understand: Elaine is completely voiceless. She literally does not speak except for baby-ish noises from the time after eclipse until chapter 355, practically 275 chapters. For all of that time, we are given no indicating of how Casca is processing the eclipse (or not processing) - and so in some ways Elaine is just a narrative place holder as Kentaro Miura found his footing with her recovery. 

My intention with this post is to show that it is possible to gain a bit of insight into Casca’s feelings and emotions as Elaine from some key moments, even though she is never given a voice. Much like (in my opinion lol but also I’m right) Beast of Darkness is just a facet of Guts’ mind and not a separate being, ditto Femto for Griffith, Elaine is Casca, and she’s being written as Casca, just a shallow and surface level version of her. 

Elaine has these few shining moments where Casca comes through, showing that deep inside her mind, Casca is there, a terrified little sprite shielded by this childish outer shell, hiding from the world. First, when she jumps down the cliff during Conviction Arc:

Next, when she kills the men who attempt to rape her during the Winter’s Journey. 

I won’t post any more panels from that chapter lol. It would be better if there was just... A look into her mind during those moments, just for an instant. What made the actual Casca come through in those moments? How did she feel, suddenly being back in her body, in a world infinitely more terrifying than the one before she regressed? What happened to make her go back in, in her safe little cocoon of Elaine? 

Another moment where Casca comes through just for a moment is, in my opinion, one of the most powerful in the series: 

Casca has run to Griffith on the Hill of Swords. It’s not clear why - perhaps she remembers their closeness before the eclipse, or perhaps she’s being drawn to the moonlight boy, her son, in his body. All of a sudden, the unstable rock wall cracks, sending boulders tumbling towards her, and Guts isn’t close enough to get to her in time...

But Griffith is.

He protects her from the falling rocks, and we get the page posted above. This is the first time Casca has seen Griffith since he raped her during the eclipse. She starts to shake and sweat with him holding her still, her noises becoming terrified. She reaches out to him with a trembling hand, her eyes filling with tears. Her brand lets out a burst of blood, and her trauma and terror overwhelms her, while Griffith stares down at her impassively. Casca is still in there, and being confronted by her rapist again, she is absolutely terrified. This, to me, says so much about Casca in this state. Again, if we only could have gotten a glimpse into her mind at the moment, even if it was through the jumbled confusion of Elaine. I think it would have added so much.

I kept waiting for this scene to happen again with Casca revived, but at this point it hasn’t happened. Even with Casca in Falconia it hasn’t happened. MAYBE ONE DAYYYYYY.

There’s a particular look Casca gets when she’s terrified and dissociated, and that remains constant from the Golden Age, to Elaine, to post-revival. 

I also especially like that second panel, when she first wakes up as Elaine because her first instinct when terrified is to attack and bite Guts. It feels like a very Casca thing to do, and in fact that’s more or less what happens on their first meeting in the Golden Age, just a tragic perversion of it. Also, her expression is so similar to the one she made when she was begging Judeau not to die.

I think it’s worth noting that the impacts of Elaine on Casca are ongoing, and unlike some of the discussion I’ve seen, I don’t think anything that’s happened to her as Elaine will be brushed aside. As Elaine, we’re first introduced to her because she is absolutely terrified of all men, even her companions. 

This is reflected in the corridor of dreams, in my view, with the very unsubtle penis monsters (which I won’t post an image of LOL) - the association of men with sexual violence and sexual assault. Her close companions as Elaine were majority women, and this remained true after her revival. By the time Guts and Casca were reunited in Conviction arc, she seemed to have lost some of her mistrust of men, and him in particular - but of course that didn’t last long.

There’s also this imagery of her in a coffin, which is again reflected in the corridor of dreams.

Finally, and most interestingly, in chapter 372 it was pointed out to me that it seems Casca remembers her ordeal at the Tower of Conviction, and being surrounded by Falconia’s soldiers reminds her of the mob trying to burn her at the stake. 

There’s a lot to say also about Casca and Guts’ relationship and how his assault of her as Elaine impacted it, but I think that’s been discussed elsewhere and better than what I could. My point in writing this is to show that Miura was writing Elaine as Casca, and that there are moments where Casca seems to come to the surface and break through the protective façade. I think it could have only helped to give us just a brief glimpse into her mind in those moments, and it’s a detriment that there was nothing. In looking at the panels of Elaine, I think we can get a sense of where Casca’s recovery might go.

Interestingly, most of the moments I’ve shown here happen from before Farnese and co. join the group, and as the later arcs drag on I feel like Elaine gets goofier and less serious of a character, kind of like chestnut puck. Still, I still hold out hope that with Casca revived, even if she is in Falconia, we’ll start to see her process what happened to her as Elaine - especially if she comes across Luca and the girls, as I’m sure she will. 

Must protecc

[skymoral]

🧡KIDNAPPED🧡

Liu Kang x B!F Reader

Summary: Shang Tsung and Quan chi had found out that Liu Kang had a secret lover. So they kidnapped you while you were out on a stroll. They used you against him, in exchange of the hour glass and your life… Which Liu Kang didn’t take to kindly.

Tags: romance, love, rescue, almost near death experience, sexual harassment, anger/gore, brutality.

A/N: They knew better than to provoke a god 😬

╔══ஓ๑♡๑ஓ══╗╔══ஓ๑♡๑ஓ══╗

Y/N was out with her dog, going on a nice stroll down lakeshore dr in Chicago.

You enjoyed daily walks like these in the city, especially with your special companion Husky dog “Oscar”.

Liu Kang gifted you him, so you wouldn’t feel alone he’s handling business as earthrealm protector. You’re not going to lie, you did miss your lover.

Sometimes he’s either gone for days, weeks… Even months, but when does come to spend time with you. He definitely make those days count and worth it, and makes up lost time when he was gone.

You tied your hair in a messy bun, plugging in your AirPods. Listening to “Level Up” by Ciara. You continued walking with Oscar.

As you were strolling further down, you felt a strong wind. Not just you but everyone else. You looked up with wide eyes, noticing a big portal opened, taking out your headphones. Revealing Shang Tsung and Quan Chi.

“There’s Liu Kang pet.” He looked dead at you, and you began sprinting with your dog.

Although you didn’t get far as Quan chi used his magic stopping you in place. Pulling you towards them, holding on to your dog. But both of you still got pulled in the portal as you screamed.

Shang Tsung and Quan chi following after. Closing the portal behind them.

╔══ஓ๑♡๑ஓ══╗╔══ஓ๑♡๑ஓ══╗

Liu Kang was with Queen Mileena and the other protectors, discussing a plan concerning Shang Tsung.

As they were talking a portal opened up revealing Quan Chi. Everyone noticed him and went straight into a fight stance. Kitana had her fan near his throat.

“I would not do that if I were you.” Quan chi advised unfazed.

“You dare trespass in our kingdom, expecting us to let you live.” Kitana growled at him.

“That’s if you wish for this young woman to go unharmed.”

He revealed a mirror through a portal, showing a bruised and stripped down Y/N. You were technically almost naked, as your clothes were torn.

Your dog was chained up barking at Shang Tsung. Quan closed the mirror portal, smirking at a now furious Liu Kang. Who stepped forward in front of everyone, Kitana stepped back dropping her fan.

She has never seen him so angry, but she was just as upset has they had just taking Y/N there dearest friend. Shang Tsung was literally a serpant.

“She was a feisty one alright, she definitely put up a good fight. What delicious sounds she make, as she whined and be-“ Quan Chi was cut off, as his throat was in a a death grip by Liu Kang. Cutting off the circulation.

“You both will regret laying a finger on Y/N! If it’s a fight with a god he wants, then a fight he will get.” Liu Kangs eyes glowed harder from anger.

╔══ஓ๑♡๑ஓ══╗╔══ஓ๑♡๑ஓ══╗

You sat up groaning in pain, you looked up at Shang Tsung who was standing next to you.

“I can’t wait… to see… Liu Kang tear that ass up!” You cracked up with a bloody mouth. Your hair was mess, the humidity and sweat made it frizz up. Sitting on your face.

Shang Tsung only smirked at you, before gripping her face. “We shall see.”

You spit blood in his face, he looked at you with disgust. Wiping his face, before back handing you.

“Disgusting mortal. You know nothing of etiquette.”

You hated this nigga with a passion, so you might have a little fun with it, “You the dirty motherfucker… creepy ugly ass nigga…” you spoke in breaths, spitting blood trying to stay awake.

“You and your tired out ballerina shoes. Why don’t you slip into something more comfortable like a Coma. You and yo cracked ass side kick…Voldemort looking ass.”

You began cackling, through coughs. Shang Tsung was clearly getting agitated with you. “I suggest you be quiet, if you wish to live.”

“I suggest you stop being a pussy… and stop acting like a bitch!”

“SHUT UP!” Shang Tsung, faced you. Then he felt a carcass at his feet. It was a charred Quan Chi. Liu Kang stepped up, with a dead bloody person in his hand. Gripped by the neck, he turned to you. Seeing you put on a brave face for him.

He gave you a warm smile, then turned his attention to your kidnapper. An expression you ain’t never seen before.

“Ooh you in trouble.” You laughed in pain before falling into darkness. Now that your lover was there, the last thing you saw, was Shang Tsung getting shit beat out of him.

Liu Kang beating his face in, making him almost unrecognizable. Grabbing him by the throat, picking him up.

“You should’ve never brought me back.” Shang Tsung.

“I will never regret showing mercy.” Liu Kang formed a portal in space bringing him out there with him.

“But you’ll regret not taking it!” Liu Kang snapped his fingers creating a black hole. Holding Shang Tsung tight, as it sucked his flesh, blood, and bones in the hole.

Liu Kang came back to tend to you, already seeing Kitana and Johnny next to you. Liu Kang put his hands under your legs and arms, carrying you bridal style.

“We must bring her home and attend to her at once.” Liu Kang told them.

╔══ஓ๑♡๑ஓ══╗╔══ஓ๑♡๑ஓ══╗

You were slowly regaining consciousness, you looked around and realized you were back in your apartment, in your room.

You slowly sat up grunting in pain, leaning against the headboard. Oscar rose up from the side of the bed hearing you. He started licking your face.

“Hahaha, down boy. I’m alright.”

“I’m glad you are feeling alright.” Liu Kang stepped from the balcony, sitting on the edge of the bed.

You teared up, happy. Going in hugging his waist, despite your pain as you were bandaged up. Liu Kang returned the hug, holding you close as if you would disappear.

“If I’m being honest I was sorta scared… worried that you wouldn’t come or if they might hurt you and everyone because of me… I’m sorry.” Your tears started falling.

You would hate to have been the reason someone died because of you. Liu Kang expression was soft, he caressed your face kissing it, then your teary eye.

“You do not have to apologize, I would have came to you no matter what was happening. I would have still made it to you… And no outworlder or earthrealmer could stop me… You are my world Y/N.”

Both of your foreheads touched, eyes closed. Happy that both are safe in each others arms. He then captured your lips, with desperation. Despite him being the god of fire, he was terrified what they did and if he would lose his only star in the galaxy.

You broke the kiss to catch your breath, “What happened to Shang Tsung?” You looked in his eyes.

“He beat that fucker out of existence.”

You both turned to see Johnny leaning against your door. “You should’ve heard his killer one liner, literal chills man.”

Liu Kang smirked shaking his head, you blushed giggling

“I bet.” You said before kissing your lover again, pulling him down in the bed with you. Which was Johnny’s cue to leave.

You’re thankful to the gods for blessing you with Liu Kang

A/N: Seeing a calm and collected person losing their shit and becoming badass, is a literal turn on for me.

Also I don’t care what anyone says, that black hole shit is not a fatality. That is literally a brutality, that shit nasty as hell

I hope you ladies enjoyed this story!💅🏾

[pjoxreader]

PJO Characters Favorite Place For a Date

Leo Valdez

-Anywhere, literally take him anywhere other than the forges and he’s happy. He’d get too distracted if you did go to the forges.

-But if he had to pick somewhere it’d be the Argo ll, he spent so much blood, sweat and tears on it that it’s his pride and joy.

-It’d be just the two of you looking up at the stars enjoying the night sky, talking about how your days went.

-He’ll try to be smooth and put an arm around you but you end up flustering him by contently cuddling right up into him.

-You can’t really help it, he’s like a warm heater and seeing him go bright red was also very cute.

-He may have to pat out a few flames with an embarrassed apology. 

Frank Zhang

-New Rome, it’s somewhere he’s familiar with and knows that it’s safe so he doesn’t have to worry.

-It’d just be the two of you enjoying a walk, seeing the different sights and enjoying the moment.

-Once the sun starts to set you’ll both get a hot coco to keep warm. He wishes this moment could last a lifetime. Even with you teasing him about his lactose intolerance.

-Maybe one day you’ll both be able to grow old here and enjoy a peaceful life.

-The thought makes him blush bright red, trying to hide it in his hot coco heat.

-You of course notice and can’t help but tease the big guy. 

Percy Jackson

-Being home with his mother, he’s always been big on family and it’s very important to him that the two of you get along.

-Which you do, swimmingly of course. You don’t mind going to visit Sally, in fact you look forward to it.

-Don’t let the food coloring throw you off, her cooking is amazing and she’s always so kind to you.

-It’s like she’s your mom as well, of course you don’t know if Percy was ready to take that step yet, but you felt at home already.

-Sally would even give the two of you some space, letting you both cuddle up together and watch a movie after dinner.

-Sure this may be the thirtieth time you’ve seen the little mermaid, but you wouldn’t change it for the world. 

Annabeth Chase

-Camp Jupiter, she loves to take in all the architecture work. 

-She could easily talk for hours on end about all the different structures, honestly you have no idea what she’s talking about most of the time but you’re just happy to be there with her.

-You do have to admit some of the buildings are impressive to even you though.

-You love to listen to her ramble excitedly seeing her get so focused on her passion was amazing.

-You’d both get some hot coco when the sun starts to set and much to Annabeth's disappointment have to head home. 

-She promises you’ll be able to pick the next date but you couldn’t imagine a better date.

Hazel Levesque

-She loves to visit the Camp Half-Blood stables, she hardly ever gets to see Reyna’s pegasus at Camp Jupiter so coming to care for them here is relaxing.

-Sure it might not be a normal date, willingly offering the two of your’s time to well, caring for pegasi but seeing Hazel so content and relaxed while she worked was worth it.

-Sometimes you wish you could talk to horses to help with your skill, because you really weren’t the best.

-You had tried to show Hazel how you got a saddle attached all by yourself but as you made your way onto it the pegasi the horse darted and off came the saddle and you.

-Thankfully, you had landed in the mud and just cleaned the stable but you couldn’t help the groan of embarrassment.

-She did give you a little kiss on the cheek, after laughing at you of course but you considered it a win in your book.

Jason Grace

-The climbing wall in Camp Half-Blood

-He found it a good challenge and not only that he got to keep up his training while being with you.

-You two would have plenty of competitions to see who could scale it the fastest. 

-You would never admit it to Jason but you did plenty of training in your down time to try and beat him.

-You were competitive ok? Plus seeing his proud grin seeing you scale that wall like a monkey was like a drug.

-You found your inspiration for training that’s for sure. 

Piper Mclean

-The two of you would just enjoy a nice summer evening, picking strawberries in the field of Camp Half-Blood.

-The sun setting leaves you both in a perfect glow, you both enjoying the warm air.

-You know Piper was a daughter of Aphrodite but she had a natural beauty to her that made your heart throb.

-She catches you staring and laughs seeing how you get all flustered. 

-She’ll take your hand gently to reassure you, as you glance back you can see her lean in.

-Stealing your courage you lean in as well, enjoying your kiss as the sun sets.

~Masterlist & Rules~

Like my writing? Please consider sending me a Ko-fi! ☕

[didishawn]

More Ferran Torres smut pls🥺 one where you are trying to be quiet bc his teammates are in the next room he asks u to be louder you don’t listen so he makes u moan louder by having you really rough and his teammates hear and tease both of you when y’all come out - sorry it’s a long request love u btw💙

On the other side of the wall (Ferran x Reader) smut

Warnings: smut, some Spanish

Masterlist

"¿No deberíamos ir a decirles que podemos escucharlos?" Gavi asks Pedri, the older midfielder just shakes his head. (shouldn't we go tell them we can hear them?)

"Que va, déjalos, ni que eso fuera a detener al hijo de puta" (no, let them be, it's not as if it would stop that son of a bitch)

The bed frame hits hard against the wall, and does matter how much you beg your boyfriend to go slower, not as hard as to not be found out, he can't listen to your pleads, mundo to gone off because of the pleasure being inside you gives him.

His hips are hard and fast, bitting unto your neck but not even that can quitten his groans as he is balls deep inside you, it all feels so good, the sound of your moans music to his ears even if you try to keep them in, nails digging into his back, tearing the skin as he moves you however he likes it.

"Come on, love, you can be as loud as you want, I bet those assholes couldn't care less, getting to listen to your sounds as I fuck you so well must be a blessing for them"

You shake your head, biting into your lower lip so hard blood might come out, the sound of skin slapping so loud, you fear the bed breaking honestly, he is so big, do strong, makes you so full of him, finger delicate playing with your clit, the other hand grasping your ass, marking the flesh, he wants to make sure you are in heaven, like he is whenever he is inside you.

His tongue licks your neck, a moan coming out of you, whimpering when he bites, neck already fill of marks, he wants to make sure everyone knows who you belong to.

His cock makes you feel so full, he is in so deep, tip against that special spot that has you trebling around him, his own hips stuttering, you know he is close, so are you, his balls tightening, his shoulders tense.

"Let them hear your noises as you cum for me"

He might be so sensitive, your walls literally milking him out from everything he is worth, but that doesn't stop him, he doesn't dare to cum ultil you tighten around him, a magnific moan being taken out from you -the thoughts of his teammates next for being forgotten for a minute-small whimpers with his last thrusts, painting your walls white from deep inside you.

You are both left as panting messes, he rests on top of you, sweating skins sticking together until his hips once again picking up that sweet, devilish rhythm he knows you live so much.

The show goes on ultil eargky hours of the night, both so exhausted as your meet the others downstairs for breakfast.

Gavi doesn't meet your eye, Pedri has a naughty look on his eye, you raise an eyebrow at both of them, your boyfriend already knows.

"Larga noche, ¿no?" the Canarian asks, you pretend innocence. (long night, right?)

You hum "No entiendo que quieres decir con eso" (I don't understand what you mean by that)

He too hums, looking down to his food, yet you can feel his amusement as he speaks "Solo que tú y tu noviecito nos han hecho quedarnos despiertos toda la noche con el sonido de su sesión de follar. Sabes, Estoy seguro de que conmigo sería todo incluso más ruidoso" (just that you and your little boyfriend have kept us awake the whole night with the sounds of your fucking session. You know, with me everything would have been so much louder)

You face is as red as Gavi's when he speaks this words, your boyfriend letting out a dry laugh.

"Lo que tú digas, Pepi" (whatever you say, Pepi)

"No me creas sino quieres, pero ella sabe que digo la verdad" (don't believe me if you want, but she knows I speak the truth)

There is tension on the air, and you somehow are sure, this topic doesn't end up here.

You bet the two of them -three if Gavi is up to the task- could get down to the noisiest, nastiest sex to ever be.

But that is something for another day, as of now, you can't feel your legs and you swear Ferran's cum is going down your legs.

He must notice, because he winks at you.

That fucker.

[lxinesux]

when i sink my teeth, (your skins not so tough)

Relationship: Peter Parker x Green Goblin!Super Solider!Reader

Summary: Peter reacts poorly to your attempted sacrifice. He seeks to let you know just how much you mean to him.

Warnings: Panic Attack, guns, PTSD, gore, violence, blood, and implied torture. Slight dubcon kissing that becomes very con lol Frottage, love confessions.

A/N: *screech* this has been rotting in my google docs for WEEKS and i’ve been editing it ova and ova and it’s still not up to par, to me. So I give lol. I really love this reader so- you may see her again. ONWARD!!

Peter very gently sets you on your shaky feet, trying to keep hold of your waist while he maneuvers out of the window.

You're already bleeding through the layers of webbing he used instead of a bandage and it’s soaking through the spandex of your costume. The wound itself doesn’t hurt, the adrenaline making sure of that, but you’re hot and cold and shaking and are pretty sure you're gonna vomit-

You tear the mask off your face, grunting as a few stray hairs are ripped from your scalp. You’re coated in sweat and grime but you’re freezing.

“I can’t believe you did that,” Peter says from some faraway place.

You press against the wound just under your ribs, shuffling to the cluttered couch in the far corner of the living room. You fall onto it and shut your eyes.

There’s that pain from earlier. It’s hot, white lightning in your stomach. It makes you mean. “Fuck off-“

“Let me see it!”

“No, fuck off Pete!”

“You just want me to let you bleed out on the couch!?”

“Yes!”

Talking is too much right now. You can hear Peter’s mask drop onto the cluttered living room floor. Hear the soft thack thack thack that means he’s crawling on the ceiling.

Away from you, thank fuck.

You press your cheek against the jersey couch cover and try to ground yourself while your wound gains a heartbeat.

You really should’ve just let him get hit. Asshole. Truthfully, you’d rather die right here than have to explain why exactly you took a literal bullet for him.

It was all so embarrassing.

His back was turned, his reflexes delayed while he dealt with the rest of the villains of the week’s goons. You were too far away to get the gun away, and you could just tell, from the aim-

It might’ve killed him. Gotten into his spine. Paralyzed him in a way his dumb healing factor couldn’t fix.

Yes, he’d been shot before. Yes, he’d gone through worse. But what if this was the one time he wouldn’t heal? This split second, the moment the bullet left the chamber and burrowed under his skin-his life over, forever.

You couldn’t risk that.

So you jumped in the way.

His life was more important than yours, anyway. Everything Spiderman represented: hope, justice, protection, was worth more than anything you could do. That wasn’t the entire reason.

You couldn’t risk losing Peter. He was the only thing you had left, the only good thing. He was the only person in your life who didn’t think you were a freak or a monster.

He taught you how to be good. And if he were gone, your source of goodness would be gone with him.

At least if you died, it’d be martyrdom.

You can hear the thack, thack, thack return. It reverberates in your wound and between your ears. Pain, heat, pain.

He drops down in front of you, you can feel it through the cool air his descent leaves. He’s on his knees.

“Please,” he says.

“Can’t-”

He sighs, “Okay. This might hurt though. I’m gonna cut off this webbing, okay? It might peel off some skin so just-”

“Get on with it.”

Peter oh so gently peels your tacky, bloodied hands away from the wound. You’re locked in a fetal position from the pain, your knees up to your chest. You can feel the blood clotting though, a sign your much slower healing process is beginning.

Thank you, Goblin Formula.

It’s less painful and more irritating. The skin around the wound is tender and angry. Peter lets out a tense intake of air. It must look awful but you’re not gonna peek. You can handle blood and gore, just not your own.

“I’m cleaning the area now. It might sting,” You hate how his voice sounds so soft, so sweet, “You’ve stopped bleeding, but you’re gonna need stitches.”

You let out a pathetic whimper the moment the anti-septic touches your skin. You nearly arch up in pain. Fresh tears prick at your eyes.

“That hurts!” You squirm, trying to get away from the source of the agony.

“I told you it would! Hold still!”

“Stop!”

You try to jerk away, but he holds your wrist. You open your eyes then, to glare at him. But he’s looking up at you, his brows furrowed and those hazel eyes are shimmering with unshed tears.

The tenseness of his jaw says he’s angry. You’re familiar with his anger. But not the sadness. Not the fear that his eyes are showing you. You want to shut your eyes again, to get away from the onslaught of overwhelming emotions directed toward you.

His eyes move swiftly back to his work, “Just…just hold still okay? Stop squirming…”

And you do hold still. You make eye contact with the streetlight through the window. Because it’s easier than looking at him.

“I’m gonna sew you up now. You might want to hold onto a pillow or something. I promise…I’m not trying to hurt you. I’ll put on some numbing cream but you might still feel it…”

You nod stiffly. His hands are gentle on the flesh around the gash. You’ve thought about his hands a lot. How shapely they are. Beautifully made. And strong. You’ve felt them on your body before, but never in the way you envision. It almost hurts; this is how he touches you, only when you’re wounded.

The numbing cream doesn’t stop the feeling of your skin getting pulled. He’s pulling your skin together as if he made you. Like you’re a stuffed toy or his suit after it rips. At this you whimper, you squirm at the unnatural feeling. He waits for you to stop moving before he starts again.

This feels too intimate. Your blood is on him, the blood you lost trying to protect him. He’s putting you back together, taking care of you. His breath is on your skin, his warmth near you.

Life is unfair.

If you weren’t so broken, if you were softer, if you were more like the girls at the Bugle-maybe he would touch you when you weren’t bleeding out. Maybe he would look at you with something that wasn’t fear and anger.

You both sit in silence as he bandages the fresh stitches. He swallows.

“Do you…do you want me to wipe you down?”

“…Just bring me a washcloth.”

“…Y/N..”

“Please, just…don’t. Not right now.”

He brings the washcloth, a bowl of warm water, as well as your favorite pajama pants and one of his shirts. He’s brought you a pillow too, and some clean sheets.

He knows you. He knows you and it sickens you to your core.

Ultimately, it means nothing. Of course, he’s seen your behavior. He’s lived with you for months now.

But it still makes your heart stutter in your chest that he knows which pair to fish out of the pile on the bathroom floor. Understands without saying, you need to be alone.

“Yell if you need anything,” He says.

You nod stiffly. God, would he just leave you to suffer this embarrassment alone? You needed to stew in your bitter juices.

He looks at you one last time. And you know him just as he knows you. You can see on his face, the tenseness of his jaw, he wants to refuse.

You want him to stay.

He goes to the bedroom. Your gunshot wound isn’t the only thing aching.

-

You dream of him.

Those dark eyes on your body, his hands on your skin.

His pretty, soft lips on the ugly scarred parts of you. He makes them beautiful, makes them almost worth the pain that put them there if he just keeps lavishing them with kisses.

You can only imagine what his kisses feel like. What his hands feel like in your hair.

You love him. Fuck, you love him. You can admit that here, in the comfort of your brain. Here, you can press your fingertips into his shoulder blades. Feel the warmth of him pressed against your naked body.

You’ve thought about his cock often. You’ve felt it against you more than once. In the mornings, you felt it press aggressively, almost pleadingly, against your ass in that tiny twin bed you share. In the evenings, you imagined it in the grey sweats he wore around the house.

He thrusts in and out of you, slow and deep. His tongue swipes up your jaw and swirls around your ear.

“I love you,” He pants, “I love you so fucking much.”

He would never love you if he knew all that you’d done. You couldn’t even remember how many lives you took, how much blood you spilled.

You were a weapon. You were never taught lust or love. You never felt them, or their lack.

You’d never even thought about sex until you moved into his apartment and started sharing his bed. All you craved was skin, heat, and the soft intimacy of just holding each other. Then those urges gained an edge. A hunger grew in you that frightened you. It would gnaw its way through you if you’d let it.

You can’t say it back, but you don’t need to. He knows. In this reality, he knows. He knows and you know and all that matters is that you’re together. It’s safe and warm here.

Here is a bloodless place. A woundless place.

There’s no pull of stitches as he contorts your body into the position he needs you in. You’re so close. He has you on your knees, back arched. He reaches between your legs, rubbing at your clit in slow circles.

You make noises that you’d never make in real life. Your body betrays itself, and surrenders to the blinding pleasure.

You're gone, your knees locking, your head thrown back, and then-

-

It hurts. Dear fucking god, it hurts.

How the fuck did you manage to roll off the couch? During your sex dream, no less. And landed perfectly on your fresh wound.

“Ow.”

Your pride is what hurts the most. But the new irritation on your stitching sends waves of nausea through you. You lay on your back, staring up at the ceiling for a few moments. Allow yourself a few deep breaths.

You force yourself upwards and immediately regret it. It’s dizzying and fills your mouth with the runny vile you swallow.

So sexy. Very en vogue of you.

You move Peter’s shirt out of the way. Your flesh is irritated, and bright red from your unexpected trip to the floor. But the stitches held. Peter had stellar handiwork.

The morning sun peaks its head across the Brooklyn skyline. The only nice thing about this shit-hole apartment was the bay windows. It allowed for perfect post-patrol viewing, right on the floor.

You feel gross, despite your bird bath last night. You wonder where Peter is. You take a moment, more breathing, to rest against the couch leg.

You need a proper shower. Your hair is heavy with sweat and smells like soot.

At Oscorp, they would’ve laughed at your complaint. Correction, you would’ve never complained. You and your filthy hair were simply meant to serve a greater purpose. They’d give you a public shower with a sad, pale, foamy bar of generic soap and no hot water.

Figure it out yourself, Asset.

You weren’t an Asset anymore. You very gently touch your stitches again. Wince at the tenderness of the wound. You never felt anything before Peter. No pain, discomfort, hunger, or thirst.

After him, you are Human. Unfortunately, repugnantly, aggressively human. With limitations, with discomforts.

You miss the days of numbness. Peter brought out feelings you never wanted and were better off without.

You would give this man anything he wanted. You would do whatever he asked, no matter the price. It terrified you, this deep loyalty. It was as though your programming flipped, from the Osbournes and your handlers to Peter Parker and Spiderman.

You stand up on shaky legs. Finally, it seemed like the pain was abetting. Your stomach gurgling stabilized. Your feet pad across the hardwood, using autopilot.

You turn your head briefly. The bathroom was attached to the tiny bedroom you shared. The only small blessing that brought was confirming Peter was home, he was still bunched up under the covers. Judging by how early it was, he’d probably be asleep for another few hours.

You shut the door, careful to move it along its fickle framework. You slide your shirt off, gently place a waterproof bandage over your gash, and start the water.

-

Of course, you’d decide to make as much noise as possible right when he was getting to sleep.

He groaned, half-heartedly throwing his arm over his eyes.

You were okay though. You were alive. 

Holy fuck. 

Holy fuck, you almost died last night. 

It all comes back to him, the memories stabbing into his brain like a million knives. God, you were being stupid, and reckless, like you didn’t care if you lived or died-

But you were okay now. You were alive, alive, alive. He could go into the bathroom right now, and you would be there. 

It’s too late.

His body trembles. He bites down on his lower lip, trying not to cry out. He squeezes his eyes shut, but hot tears still burn down his cheeks. Shit, shit, shit. Waking up in a panic attack was common but not something he would ever get used to. 

He digs the palms of his into his eyelids. His flesh was going against him, muscles tensing, chest tightening. His burning, screaming lungs weren’t getting any air. He just kept seeing your blood. On his hands, on the concrete, on your costume. 

You could’ve died. You could’ve wound up in the ground. Just like his parents. Uncle Ben. 

Gwen. 

“Hey.” 

His ears are filled with cotton. His hands are pried away from his eyes. Under the sheen of tears, he can see your blurry outline.  

“Hey.” You repeat, pulling him toward you. Your skin is wet, your hair dripping onto his bare shoulder. “I’m here. I’m here, Pete. I got you.”

His hand finds its way into your wet hair, the other gripping your waist hard enough to bruise. His heart beats painfully against his ribs. If you weren’t a mutant, he would’ve crushed you instantly. He had forgotten his strength. 

“Don’t do that again,” he pants into your hair, “I swear to God. I’m not worth that. I’m not-I can’t handle more blood on my hands, more sacrifices-” 

“Peter, I’m not-” 

“You’re all I have, it’s my job to protect you.” 

You want to say that it’s the opposite, that it’s the least you can do, protect him. 

You rub his back, trying to help soothe him through the episode. You did this. You started this. You gave him this episode because of your stupidity. 

What feels like hours pass before calms fully. His body goes limp in your arms. He trusts you so much. He’s so vulnerable. It makes your stomach flip. It’s more than you deserve. 

“Does it hurt?” 

“Hm?” 

“Your gunshot wound?” 

“Oh. I fell on it this morning,” God, how embarrassing to admit that, “But it’s fine now. It’s starting to heal. Might need to take the stitches out early.” 

His face stays pressed against your neck, his warm breath against your jugular.

You feel something press against your neck. Soft, unsure. Then again, a little more urgent, harder. Then again, moving up toward your ear. Leaving small, but not unpleasant tingles in their wake. 

It takes your brain a moment to realize what’s happening. You freeze, every molecule in your body standing at attention. 

When you’d heard the telltale whimpering coming from the doorway, you’d thrown on his bathrobe. It hadn’t occurred to you until this moment that you were very, very naked underneath. 

He moves away from you when your body tenses. 

“Christ, I’m sorry. I don’t know what I’m doing…”

“Adrenaline.” You say. Do you want to believe that? No. You want to believe that Peter was kissing your neck because he desired you. But that wasn’t rational. “You were having an adrenaline rush, your mind was seeking comfort and I’m the closest warm body-“

“Do you think I see you that way? A warm body?”

His eyes are boring holes into yours. He knows you won’t answer truthfully, so you don’t waste your time answering. 

It was how you were programmed to think. It was useless to fully go against your programming. 

“If I lost you last night, I would’ve never forgiven myself.”

“That’s because it goes against your code of ethics. You want to protect humanity-“

He looks as though you’ve slapped him in the face, “Do you know why I wouldn’t let you go into SHIELD custody?”

You don’t. 

“I could make up a lie and tell you it’s because you wouldn’t have been safe. I don’t trust SHIELD nor the Avengers but they would’ve kept you safe. I could say that I think you may be able to secure more information about my parents, but I don’t think I’ll ever really know all the answers. I’m not even sure if I want them anymore.” 

“Stop, stop, don’t go any further-“

You don’t want to give yourself hope of what he might say. Of what he might do. Of any sort of future that would be dashed before your eyes once he knew what you were. 

He grabs your wrists, “You are all I have. You’re all I want-“

“You don’t know what you’re asking for!” 

He pins you down with your gathered wrists, his legs on either side of yours to keep you there. You’re belly up, your brain screaming to right yourself-your heart beats hard against your chest. He’s stronger than you, but only just barely. The bones in your wrist pop as you squirm. 

“Get off me.” 

“I love you.”

“No,” You hiss, “I won’t let you. I won’t allow it-“ 

His teeth hit your bottom lip, then scrape against your enamel, before his tongue unceremoniously slides into your mouth. 

And you bite him.

Not hard enough to draw blood, but a warning nonetheless. It’s enough to startle him, enough for you to subdue him. For you to get him on his back, both of you panting hard. 

Your robe is open far too much, your wound is stinging from exertion, but your mind is still in combat mode. Watching him watching you. 

His eye lock on yours. The skin underneath them purple and still puffy. You can see the tackiness of dried tears on his cheek. The faint hint of a bruise on his hairline from the night before. His beard tentatively trying to grow back before he shaves it again.

That hunger is trying to stir again. You want to kill it. But it’s already made its way down. You’re pressed tightly against him. 

You know he can feel you getting wet. 

Your lip twitches. This was supposed to remain in your head. He wasn’t supposed to know anything. You were trying to protect him again. And again you were failing. 

His cock gets semi hard underneath you and it really doesn’t help. A moan claws its way up your throat before you can cut it off. 

“Fuck,” Peter says. 

You don’t know how to initiate anything further. The soldier in you is confused. This goes against programming. Your body gets hot like the after effects of your wet dreams. Functionally, you know how this works. You know it feels good. But this is reality, not a dream. 

It feels so much better than a dream.

You want to move. Not away, but toward. So you put your hands on Peter’s chest and move your hips, slightly, minutely. 

“Oh m’god,” He breathes. His hands, his perfect hands, move to your hips. He’s so careful not to touch your wound that it hurts a little anyway. Like it’s trying to remind you who you are. 

He guides you against his sweats, a little faster than your pace. Your clit is throbbing against this soft fabric and the hardness underneath it. 

You want to tell him about the mess going on your head right now. Your horny confused brain, the hunger it feels. How this is fucked up and you should just get off. Not get off but get off of him. Fuck.

But all that came out were tiny desperate, embarrassing noises. You weren’t being seductive. To yourself, you sounded like a squeaky toy.

His hands move from your hips in the rob to your back, to your ass. He presses you down even harder. The jolt of wetness makes your face burn. 

“Feels good, doesn’t it?”

“Y…yes…”

Peter keeps you rooted there. You try to move again but he tsks, holds your sides again. 

“Pete…”

You squeeze your eyes shut. Your mind feels mushy. Your one singular goal moving out of reach. Your limbs suddenly feel too long, too shaky. Your cunt is throbbing, hole closing around nothing. There’s an ache, an emptiness so intense you think you might fall into it and die. 

“Peter, please…” You don’t sound like yourself. You can’t even hear yourself. Your head is too full of blood. 

You feel that firm pressure against your neck again. You lean into it instead. His arms wrap around you then and you feel so dizzy. 

Chest to chest now, the robe somehow made its way down to your waist. Your nipples brush against his skin and how are you meant to keep calm? It’s too much, it’s all too much. 

Your hips move without him telling you, without his help. Faster, sloppy, erratic. Your stomach hurts. There’s a tightness in your chest that needs release. 

“There you go, baby. Look at me. Look at me.”

He’s in your ear. Tears prick up behind your eyelids. If you look at him, you’ll lose your nerve. If you don’t, he might stop you again. 

You do look. His hand cups your face. His eyes are shimmering with the same hunger you feel. Only, his isn’t shameful. On him, it looks terrifying, but erotic. 

“Let me kiss you,” He groans, “Properly…let me. Please.” 

You nod frantically. You’d agree to anything, the depth of your desperation was so great. His tongue swipes against your lips. You’re mouth opens quickly. You don’t know how to kiss. You’ve only ever seen it in movies. You don’t think it’s supposed to feel like electricity is running frantic under your skin like your lungs are shriveling up. 

It’s not supposed to melt your brain, not supposed to turn your organs into liquid. Liquid that’s quickly running toward your pelvis. Fast, so fast. That ball in your chest unwinding with breakneck speed. 

You cling to Peter’s sweating back, your fingers marking pretty purple-red spots along his shoulders. Your head jerks away from his. 

Oh, God. Oh fucking, God. Too much. Too much. I can’t-

Peter presses back up against you. Your whole body quakes. You think you scream, you must scream. The force of your orgasm tears through you fast and without end. 

Your body is still trembling when you come back down. You slump against Peter. His hands move over your body, petting your hair, rubbing your back. 

“So good, baby. You did so good.” 

“‘m sticky…” 

He rumbles out a laugh, moving to lay you both on your sides. His sweats were a mess. 

“You came in your pants,” you observe. 

Another snort, “You were very hot. It would’ve been impossible not to.” He kisses you again, tongueless and sweet. 

Something warm and sweet settles into your bones. Love. The physical feelings of love, belonging. Peter's fingers are gentle as he moves hair out of your face. He’s smiling and it feels like sunlight pouring on your face. 

Maybe you do deserve this. Maybe it all doesn’t have to be rational. 

“You wanna finish showering with me?”

You nod. His fingers intertwine with yours as he helps you up.

Maybe this could be good.

[meet-me-backstage]

🜸

𝐁𝐀𝐓𝐓𝐋𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐒

𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐎𝐧𝐞

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 🎸 Virgin!Eddie Munson x Fem!reader

𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 🎸 You play at the Hideout with your band, Stake For My Valentine, every night - you're considered the metal queen of the bar and your band are the rulers of the roost, famously loved by the Hideout's local drunks. However, when a band named Corroded Coffin land their first gig there, the sparse crowd warm quickly to the unique and awkward charm of the leading metal head, Eddie Munson.

However, you don't warm to him so easily - in fact, you don't warm to him at all. Eddie, on the other hand, worships the ground you walk on and doesn't hesitate to make it known, leading to a cold rejection from you.

Band rivalry occurs - you vs. Eddie, Stake For My Valentine vs Corroded Coffin.

You hate each other... but one night everything changes when a plan is created and executed by yours and Eddie's bandmates with the intention of bringing you two together and harmony between the bands.

𝑻𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒊𝒔 𝒂𝒏 𝒆𝒏𝒆𝒎𝒊𝒆𝒔 𝒕𝒐 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒔 𝒎𝒊𝒏𝒊-𝒔𝒆𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒔 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒍𝒐𝒕𝒔 𝒐𝒇 𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒔𝒕, 𝒔𝒎𝒖𝒕 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒂 𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒑𝒚 𝒆𝒏𝒅𝒊𝒏𝒈!

𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 🎸 bad language, angst, mention and consumption of drugs, mention and consumption of alcohol, sexual innuendos, mention of blood, Eddie wearing eyeliner bcuz damn😍, some typical bar fight drunkard violence and SMUT so you must be 18+ to read‼️

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐎𝐧𝐞 🎸 6.2K words (grab a drink and a snack, it’s a helluva ride)

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐎𝐧𝐞 🎸 bad language, a sexual innuendo oop, mention of smut, alcohol and mention of it, mention of drugs.

𝐃𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐛𝐞 𝐚 𝐬𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 - 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞, 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠!

𝐓𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐯𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐞𝐧𝐣𝐨𝐲 <𝟑

𝐅𝐫𝐢𝐝𝐚𝐲 ⎈ 𝟐𝟎𝐭𝐡 𝐎𝐜𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫 ⎈ 𝟏𝟗𝟖𝟓

‘I’ve got it on my mind to change my ways-’

Sweat dripped in several trails from your forehead down to your chin, it fell in droplets onto the black cracked wooden planks that formed a raised platform - a stage.

A stage you felt at home on, like it belonged to you. Years worth of your blood, sweat and tears had seeped into it - literally, you’d claimed it as yours the moment the first drop of your sweat collided with it, like a scent that would deter others of the thought of taking it from you.

You'd claimed it, The Hideout, two years ago, nearing the beginning of your senior year at Hawkins High. The run-down, isolated bar was like the Rainbow In The Dark to your Dio, the Spiral Architect to your Black Sabbath, the bats head to your Ozzy - it was a place that very quickly became home to you, Elektra, Cherie and Alyssa… the girls that played alongside you every night.

You met them at school - Elektra and Cherie first in Mrs Click's class, they both sat in front of you, next to each other. It was fate, the three of you sitting so close - or maybe it was just the fact that you were all left out. Alyssa was in the year below, Elektra’s little sister, who would sit join you in the cafeteria on your assigned table. A table that everyone else steered clear from.

All through middle and almost four years of high school you hadn’t found your people - the ones who could just catch a glimpse of you and know what you were thinking, feeling, whether you were down in the dumps or on cloud nine. You’d had a pretty shitty and tough experience throughout your time at school, you’d spent a lot of time being picked on by the likes of the popular crowd. You gradually learnt to enjoy your own company at school and developed a ‘fuck them all, they’re all the same anyway’ mindset… until you met the future members of your band.

You just knew that Elektra, Cherie and Alyssa were your people, and it wasn’t just because they had a similar style to yours, wore their hair messy, their dark clothes often crinkled, ripped or untucked, exuding an ‘I don’t give a fuck’ attitude towards school. It was from the moment that the grade A asshole of the class, Derek Hagan, told them to ‘shut up’ upon hearing them whisper about the new Iron Maiden album, ‘Live After Death’. Elektra and Cherie turned around, synchronised, and shot a cold stare and a flip of the bird his way before Cherie uttered with attitude, ‘why don’t you shut the fuck up, Hagan?’ - you were sold.

And after countless heated conversations full of passion for your deep love for music, specifically metal music, and how playing it felt like an escape from the dull town full of people who misunderstood you and treated you like crap for it… the band was formed.

⎈ 🎸⎈

‘We’ll make them worship us - they’ll be down on their knees begging more and more for our kinda music,’ you state confidently, enthusiastically with your hands balled into fists and slamming them down onto the cafeteria table, alerting everyone casually eating their lunch.

While they all glared, your three dear metal heads sat with you are mesmerised, they have a gleam in their eye and are entirely inspired by you, ‘We’re in!’ They squeal in unison before reaching their hands out for you to shake.

⎈ 🎸⎈

The sweat that hadn’t soaked into the stage fell onto the microphone you held with a tight grip, making your hand even more clammy.

You soaked the feeling of being on your stage up, the final moments - when everybody is on autopilot, limbs numb from moving wildly to the music, mouths tired from screaming.

‘But I don’t think I can be anything other than me.’

Your eyes scan the crowd of about twenty people as you sang your final line in a low drawl.

Here tonight were the usual locals that came for the Hideout itself rather than your show and hung around the bar. About fifteen were stood directly in front of you and your undivided attention was focused on them.

You slowly bent over to be level with the eyes of your small, but devoted audience that you’d built through hard graft, gigs that you put your all into every night without fail. Bending your knees, focusing for a moment on controlling them and not letting them shake from tiredness or adrenaline, your eyelids fluttered open to be met with an unfamiliar pair of brown eyes.

Usually you recognised everybody here. Keith, the Hideout’s owner, Rodrick, Keith’s son who had been obsessed with the idea of getting into your pants since the very first time you walked into the bar - Troy, Lisa, Joan, Paul, Victoria… that one drunkard who tends to throw dollar bills at the stage, the few creeps who would eye you down from the bar.

You’d had at least one interaction, good or bad, with everyone here.

So a new-comer easily stood out to you, instantly making you intrigued as to who this person was.

As far as you can tell under the dim, flickering light of the bar, it’s a man with a sort of… boyish look, a brunette with long curly hair. Even with the weak light shining over him, he had a twinkle in his doe-like eyes that only seemed to gleam brighter when he noticed you were looking at him too - in fact, his jaw practically dropped down to the floor.

You continued to stare at him with half-lidded eyes through the few people who stood in front of him, like you were a missile and he was your assigned target.

He was frozen while everyone else threw their arms and heads around frantically to the rhythm of Alyssa on the drums, the groove of Cherie on the bass and the melody of Elektra on rhythm guitar being played in unison behind you.

You shot the gazing newbie a side-smirk.

He’s probably creaming his pants right now, you think. Arrogant, you know, but you were perfectly aware of the power you beheld as the lead singer and guitarist of Stake For My Valentine. That fact alone acted as a gravitational pull in a place like the Hideout - because nowhere else were you so carefree and wild… a free spirit - just… yourself.

You stood out like you did at school, out and about in Hawkins. But here, at this dingy bar - it was so different, everyone stared in awe rather than in judgement. The people in here wanted you, your presence, your music… having that knowledge, it made you feel like an iconic figure in this little bar - like the metal queen of the Hideout, and you loved it.

The thought alone suddenly sent a final boost of adrenaline through every vein in your exhausted body, your aching neck because of the strain of your personalised guitar strap with a lightning bolt patch sewed onto it, digging into it. You swiftly and messily twirl, banging your head wildly and stomping your boot-clad feet as your hand flies to the neck of your beloved beauty of an electric guitar. You took a deep breath, about to shred an epic, improvised guitar solo as if you hadn’t been teasing a stranger with your eyes mere seconds ago.

You thrust your hips against the guitar you’d dedicated years of your life too. You’d been a little metal star with a guitar by your side ever since your fourth birthday.

Your fingers learnt to move faster and faster to the point where they now moved as speedily as the speed of lightning. You played full of passion with your bottom lip tucked behind your teeth, face scrunched up and hips pushed forward while the guitar unleashed angelic and harmonious screeches that, if it were possible, would pierce a hole through the Hideout’s roof, reaching the sky.

The notes flew out of you in a rapid flow - it was a feeling that you couldn’t get enough of and didn’t ever want to end, but you guessed that you had to round the gig off in a matter of a few minutes as you could see Keith beside the stage through your peripheral vision. He usually tapped on his watch with a finger, gesturing for us to round up for the night. Tonight you were entirely too lost in the music, it was as if you were a puppet controlled by strings, the master being your guitar.

Keith was shaking his head, becoming frustrated with you - you could just feel it, but the feeling of euphoria from your solo was so much stronger.

You smile with closed eyes, appearing to be under a powerful spell difficult to be pulled out of.

“Time to round up - Vampire Slayer! Time is up!” Keith shouts over the amp plugged to your guitar, but his voice is still muffled - only you could hear it and decide if you were going to listen to him or not.

You could also feel Elektra, Alyssa and Cherie’s eyes bore into the back of your head, frustrated, but trying to keep cool in front of the small crowd watching your fingers in a hypnotised gaze.

“Vampire Slayer!” Keith shouts again.

I suppose I should round this up. Finally, a more responsible thought manages to creep into your brain in the mix of thoughts of all things metal music and guitars and - holy shit, this is the best solo I’ve played in ages!

You didn’t want to get on Keith’s bad side, especially when Stake For My Valentine’s nightly gig slot was entirely in his hands and he could take it away from you whenever he wished. You swallowed a sudden unsettled feeling towards the ‘backstage’ discussion you usually had with him every night and rounded off your solo on a gentle and drawn out high note that faded into the electrical sound of the metal strings vibrating and the amp, to complete silence.

There were some blank faces, mouths formed in an ‘O’ shape - I guess I’ve never played that hard before in front of them. You clear you throat, easing your aching lungs before stepping towards the mic and speaking in a breathy voice, “Stake - For My Valentine - see you tomorrow, lovers.” You then swing your guitar by its strap over your shoulder to rest against your back, a trick you learnt at home after many failed attempts and breakdowns after almost damaging your baby.

Then you, Elektra, Alyssa and Cherie all share fleeting glances before starting to walk your way towards the three steps at the side of the stage. You are stopped in your tracks, your head quickly turns to face the audience again at sudden sounds of messy thudding and continuous squeaks of sneakers colliding against the floor.

You squint your eyes, focusing on some movement towards the back of the sparse crowd. You notice the curly-haired, twinkly doe-eyed brunette from before jumping up and down with three other newbies - friends of his, you assume.

“Most - metal - ever!” They chant with uncontrolled excitement, an outburst, completely making up for how silent they’d been during the gig.

Was this their first gig ever? The question crossed your mind as you stared, still entirely focused on them while the rest of the crowd’s cheers were muffled to you.

The twinkly doe-eyed newbie, once him and his friend’s spurt of enthusiasm had died down, turned his head, catching eyes with you again before seemingly panicking at your returned gaze and erratically turning back to the other newbies, who you now noticed, were all wearing the exact same shirt as him with a devil and horns on it - you were too far away to read the writing on them.

When you noticed that his friends were pointing at you with over-exaggerated looks on their faces you broke your gaze away from that area and shot a charming smile at the familiar faces before resuming your way off of the platform, down the steps.

“What was that?” You hear in a weak whisper behind you, it was Elektra, she’d caught up with you, her front brushing your back every few moments as you both walked.

You shrug your shoulders, a trace of a smug smile starting to form on your lips, “Just some new-comers - I’m pretty sure they’ve never been to a gig before, judging by their starstruck faces - how lame is-.”

“What are you talking about?” She asks, tired and frustrated, her whole body probably aching from playing guitar too.

You look over your shoulder at her as you walk, “What are you talking about?”

Elektra shrugs casually for a moment before moving even closer, her lips by your ear, “Oh - I don’t know, maybe the part where you and your guitar should’ve gotten a room?”

“What can I say? Pink Special and I have more than a decades’ worth of chemistry - the tension got pretty intense - don’t know what came over me,” you joke, giggling breathlessly.

Cherie overhears yours and Elektra’s back and forth… being not only the bassist of the group, but also the excitable ‘loose cannon’ who just about defended you in every band discussion, about lyrics, keys, solos - everything. She planted her hands abruptly on yours and Elektra’s shoulders, startling you both, “Rock on, Vamp - you really did slay the audience tonight!”

You glance Elektra’s way, giving her a smug smile with a tilt of your head as if to say ‘I told you so’.

Elektra playfully glared at you in response before turning her attention to Cherie, “While it was metal, I admit - it could also jeopardise our deal with - Keith.”

Keith's features were strained, serious, making his wrinkles more prominent than usual. His demeanour was unlike his usual easy-going one.

You shrug it off and smile, “Hi Keith.”

He doesn’t mirror the smile the you’d given him, choosing to remain cold - a side of him you’d never seen before, and you’d crossed a line or two in the years that you’d been playing at the Hideout.

“Backstage - now. I want to have a word with you,” he states before looking over your shoulder between Elektra, Cherie and Alyssa with a raised brow, “All of you.”

His stare lingers on you before turning his back on you, walking towards the bar, probably to grab a drink to psyche himself up for whatever he had to say.

“Told you,” Elektra mumbles under her breath.

“Way to go Vamp - you really did it this time,” Alissa pipes up, rolling her eyes.

With a now clear path to the private room dedicated to Stake For My Valentine, you walk, hearing them continue to grumble about your epic guitar solo’s potential consequences.

‘What if we get kicked off? No other venues would ever book us - we’re so screwed.’

You turn smoothly on your heel right in front of the door labelled ‘S.F.M.V’ with red tape, ignoring the ache of every bone in your body. You moved so quickly that the girls behind you almost collided with your chest, creating an almost fallen domino effect.

They back themselves up slightly, gathering their balance and blinking at you.

“Hang on a second - we haven’t even heard what Keith has to say yet so please, will you just - chill out a little bit - jeez,” you state coolly while their blank stares turn more into disbelief at how calm you were in the given situation, “C’mon, let’s sit down, have a drink - maybe smoke a joint… we played a great goddamn gig, we deserve it,” you add with a cheeky grin before grunting as you push yourself against the old door, giving it a nudge to get it open.

The room was messy, mainly because most of the time that you spent in here was when you were exhausted from playing a show, drunk or hungover after having shot after shot with Rodrick or high and sleeping. There were empty beer cans, clothes, paper, more cans and guitar plectrums scattered on the floor - stains from constant spillage of drink on the bohemian-style rug in the centre of the room, there was even a burn mark on it from a previous after-show shindig.

Despite its messiness and complete lack of organisation, it felt like your forever home. It was a safe space for you and your friends, a place you could go to escape from things when it would all get too much outside of the Hideout, at home mainly because your parents gave you a lot of slack for dropping out of senior year just months before graduation and dedicating your life to music, they also didn’t exactly approve of your choice to play there every night but hey-ho - it was your life, not theirs.

You threw yourself onto the scratched and torn brown leather couch once you’d set your shell pink and crimson Fender Stratocaster electric guitar with a beautiful maple wood wood neck against the wall. The guitar’s pastel pink part of it’s body had been personalised by you with a few doodles of broken hearts in red pen, you also wrote ‘GIRLS BITE BACK’ in the same red ink by the hearts. You named your guitar the Pink Special when you were only ten and the name just stuck.

You immediately feel the effect of wildly throwing yourself around on stage for an hour and thirty minutes, and melt into the couch.

The others join you, but sit closer to each other than to you.

You blew quiet raspberries and picked up a few unopened cans of beer, passing them along to Elektra, who passed on to Alyssa, to Cherie - the cycle continued until you had your own beer, casually taking a sip of it every so often.

“I guess this isn’t as bad as the times Keith caught you fucking Rodrick in here,” Elektra says with a snort.

You gasp, reaching for a pillow, threatening to chuck it at her, “Hey - that was a one time-!”

All of them raise their brows at you at the word ‘one’ leaving your mouth, knowing it was a blatant lie.

“Two time - thing. ‘S never gonna happen again”

You could tell that they still didn’t believe you. The truth was, you and Rodrick got extremely drunk one night last month. All you can remember was gazing him down during a gig like you did the doe-eyed newbie tonight - Rodrick also melted under your stare. You’d always innocently flirted, ever since your very first gig at the Hideout, the night you met. It was playful, a joke - and yeah, he was kinda cute, a goofy metal head with floppy brown hair and dark brown eyes often outlined with black eyeliner who could also play the drums, but that wasn’t the point - you’d had one too many tequila shots.

You remember making out with him and then boom - after that, your mind was completely blank. You woke up half-naked in the arms of a totally naked Rodrick - together you picked up the missing pieces of the night before and came to the conclusion that you had gotten off on his fingers and thigh. The conversation had got him going and you ended up on your knees, sucking him off - the first time you’d ever done that to anyone and Keith walked in on you doing it to his son… to say it was awkward would be the biggest understatement and Keith told you that if he ever saw you and Rodrick doing anything like that again, Stake For My Valentine would never play at the Hideout again.

You ended up having sex with Rodrick a week later - it was your first time… ever. You couldn’t ignore the excitement that rushed through you whenever he was around after that morning, how Keith had forbidden you from doing anything further. It was a temptation you couldn’t ignore and neither could he, you both gave in and it just - happened, in this room. For something you spent so much time excited to experience, it was pretty underwhelming - nor terrible, nor mind blowing, more a learning experience.

Keith hadn’t walked in on you two but he found out about it when overhearing a hysterical conversation between you and Cherie about the room being like yours and Rodrick’s ‘not-so-secret sex dungeon’. He then swore that he’d ban you from even taking one step into the Hideout.

So far you hadn’t broken his rule of not sleeping with Rodrick again, you hadn’t even had the urge to and it happened three weeks ago.

I don’t think I can even want anyone, let alone love anyone like I love my Pink Special, you think, ignoring the playful glances of the girls sat on the couch with you, staring at your guitar instead.

The click and twist of the door knob alerted you - now you were panicking, maybe you had messed up your deal with Keith one too many times, maybe tonight was the straw that broke the camel’s back.

Keith peeked his head through the door wearily, he was probably scarred, always cautious to take a look into this room. He examined the room for a few seconds before letting himself in and standing opposite you.

Seconds passed and you, along with your band-mates, stared up at him with pleading eyes, making him sigh.

“Listen - y’know how much I adore you four,” he starts, his voice trailing off at the end - this doesn’t sound promising, your heart starts to feel heavy, “I feel like we’ve gotten to know each other pretty well over the last few years. Hell, the moment I took you in you became - the nieces or - god-daughters I never had.” Where is this going? “One of my favorite - attributes o’ yours is your attitude, I love your attitude,” his eyes land directly on you, “But not when it’s aimed at my bar - you disrespect my bar, you’re disrespecting me, the very person who provided you with a place to share your music - showed you nothing but respect and gave ya very few rules to go by,” his voice picks up, his slight southern drawl becoming clearer as he struggles to contain his frustration. He visibly deflates with drawn out exhale, “I’m so close to chucking you all out permanently.”

You fiddle with your fingers, twirl your hair around your fingers as a coping mechanism to try and soothe your rapid heartbeat, but all you can muster up the courage to say is, “N-no - you’ve gotta give us another chance - please.”

Keith breathily chuckles in disbelief before gesturing to Elektra, Alyssa and Cherie, “These girls? No, they don’t need me to give them another chance, they’re just as disappointed as I am with ya,” his arm falls to his side with a slap, “You’ve crossed every goddamn line - acting like ya own the place, gettin’ it on with my boy on public property - in my family business’ property that’s been kept alive for generations… I’d been keepin’ it goin’ by the skin of my damn teeth for years until you came along and brought the spark back with music, more customers - and now? All you bring is trouble.”

The air became more thick as each word spat from Keith’s lips while you sat in a wallow of guilt, tears threatening to spill from your eyes as you realised how much you’d taken his kindness and leniency for granted. You sniffle quietly, “I’m - s-sorry, Keith - girls - for being a… self righteous asshole, I’ll do anything and I swear I’ll listen, just please don’t make us walk, K - I - we need this place - and you, most importantly, acting as our - loopy, but responsible mentor - did I already say please?”

You didn’t care how desperate you sounded right now, all that mattered was any positive sign from Keith that you could stay. Instead he just stared at the floor, scratching his bald head as he contemplated with himself. Your legs restless, bouncing up and down quickly, watching his every move for just about anything from him.

“You four have got me wrapped around your little fingers,” he sighs, after what felt like an eternity.

“Yes!” You all say in unison, raising your fists in the air.

“Hang on a minute - hang on - a - damn minute,” Keith speaks over your celebrating, your arms immediately fall onto your lap, “I mean it when I say that you’re treadin’ on real thin ice now, Vamp.”

You nod with a gulp.

“So - we’re still booked to play every night?” Elektra asks, hopefully staring up at Keith, holding her own hands.

Keith sheepishly glanced at the floor, making you furrow your brows at him, “what?” You blurt.

“Alright - I’m just gonna say it, I think ya need to calm down a little - and that maybe a gig every night is gettin’ too much for ya,” he confesses, bringing his hand to his chin - you could tell that he was still itching to say something, but you were finding it difficult to withhold your frustration.

Patience was never your strong point. You were on the edge of the couch, “Spit it out, Keith - please, for the love of Ozzy Osbourne.”

He tilts his head with a deadpan expression, “I’m thinking of letting another band have a chance.”

Your mouth drops and a strained, sarcastic laugh comes out, “Nice one, Keith - you really had us fooled.”

“I’m being deadly serious, Vamp - and I’m not saying that our deal is off, you’re gonna have gigs to play, just - not every night.”

“Nope - no wa-,” you begin to argue, but feel Elektra nudge your side harshly with her shoulder, “Ow what the hell was that for?!”

“I’ll do anything, I swear - I’ll listen,” she mimics your voice, reminding you of the words you uttered just minutes ago.

You visibly deflate, hunching your back and leaning forward before inhaling slowly, lifting yourself again.

Upon your very brief self reflection, you bite your lips together to soothe the hit to your chest, “Fine,” you rub your temples with your fingers, “Have you - got a band in mind, since you’re already so, y’know, insistent?”

Keith purses his lips, “Actually, there is - Rodrick scoped ‘em out tonight and introduced me,” So that’s why it took him so long after sending you here ‘to have a word’. “They seem aight - very eager for a gig - reminded me of you four when you first stumbled in ‘ere like a bunch o’ strays lookin’ for a home. I hope you can be friends, after all - if they do well, I’ll probably book ‘em again, meanin’ you’ll be sharin’ this very room with ‘em.”

You kept your mouth shut while the others are visibly intrigued - you are intrigued, but do your best to hide it.

“What are they called?” Elektra asks, she often spoke for the band in a more… responsible kind of way, like the mom of the band.

Keith hums, gravelly and low as he tries to recall it, “It’s an - interesting name. Ah - Corrosive - no - Corroded Coffin.”

Lame. Our name has a better ring to it, you think, unable to stop your competitive brain. It was something you gained from trying to win over your parents while your sister was so perfect that she didn’t even need to beg for their praise.

“Anyway - I’ve got some late errands to run. I’m pretty sure Rodrick is still chattin’ to ‘em, why don’t you go say hi?” Keith takes a glance at his watch before nodding at you with a stern eyes, “Remember - thin ice, break it? You’re out.”

You begrudgingly nod before bringing your hand up and saluting him, “Yes captain.”

Keith left you four alone with a chuckle.

You, Elektra, Alyssa and Cherie all turned to stare at each other with wide eyes - hearts still pounding, but overall you felt relief. For a moment you really thought that you were outta there for life.

After a minute of silence, Cherie jumped onto her feet and reached her hands out towards the three of you that remained on the couch, “C’mon - let’s meet Corroded Coffin!”

You blinked at her, your lips pressed together in a thin line before shaking your head, “Fuck no.”

“Oh - don’t be like that Vamp, don’t act like you’re not at least a little intrigued,” Cherie lights up, grabbing for your hands and giggling like a school girl as she pulls you up onto your jelly legs, “Treat it like - scoping out the competition!”

It was like a lightbulb had been switched on in your head. She’s right! You smiled cheekily at your scheming mind and nodded, “I guess it’s our duty to welcome them - huh.”

Cherie smirks, reading your mind. She links arms with you and pulls you towards the door - you could hear loud muffled voices behind it, people who had, had one too many tonight.

You take a deep breath and link your arm tight with Cherie’s, making her side move to be flush with yours. Then you look over your shoulder to see Elektra and Alyssa behind you, “Let’s do this,” you say as you exhale and all three of your bandmates nod.

As you nudged the creaky door open, silent thanking the metal gods that it didn’t attract any attention due to the blare of music coming from a stereo as old as the bar itself, everyone seemed to be distracted by their drinks or friends anyway.

You, Elektra, Alyssa and Cherie all slowly peeked past the door in a vertical line, you at the top. You examine the room with squinted eyes, you figured to look for Rodrick first, that seemed like a pretty good place to start to find this new band - Corroded Coffin.

You spotted Rodrick eventually, he was in a booth looking hot as ever with his spiky brown hair… he had a pint of beer in hand and was not alone. He was in the midst of a conversation with three boys, but the bar was too smokey to catch a clear glimpse of them, you could just about make out their figures.

“Psst - is that them?” Cherie whispers up at you, making you look down at her.

“There’s only one way to find out,” you state, raising your brows with a mischievous grin before pushing the door open forcefully, making it knock into the wall and bounce back.

You walk ahead while your band walk in toe, forming a diamond from a bird’s eye view. You could feel everyone’s eyes on you, a couple waving and calling out for your attention, but it’s already occupied as you’d set your target on that booth.

As you got closer, the smoke began to vanish and you could see that the boys sitting with Rodrick were the same ones you’d seen before, the newbies wearing the matching shirts - minus one… the one you’d given the eye during your gig, the twinkly doe-eyed brunette.

For a fraction of a second, you wondered where he was, but shook off the thought once you reached the end of the table, immediately catching the attention of the three young boys. Their eyes were wide with fear at the sight of you alone, but as Elektra, Cherie and Alyssa caught up and stood with you, they were practically shaking, “Well well well, what do we have here? Isn’t it bed time for you kiddos?” You cockily laugh, leaning over the table.

Their mouths part and their eyes flicker, hypnotised by the skull and crossbones necklace dangling from your neck. One of them attempts to answer but a bunch of stuttered letters and half words come out instead.

“I’m kidding - aren’t you going to introduce me, Roddie?” A smirk tugs at your lips and your gaze moves to Rodrick, who is staring back at you, mesmerised, but also a little agitated at your use of the nickname he despised. The boys seemed to be desperately seeking an escape plan from Rodrick, they all turned to him too.

Rodrick set his beer down onto the table, making some of it spill out from how lazily he’d placed it, “Gareth, Jeff and er - sorry, what’s your name again?” Rodrick gestures to each boy until reaching the final one sat at the table, he points at the final boy with a puzzled look.

The boy looked at his friends, taking a deep breath, “T-Travis.”

Rodrick hits the table excitedly, making all of the boys straighten their backs suddenly, “Travis - I knew it,” he sighs, rubbing his chin with the same hand he used to hit the table with. You became distracted by his fingers, tanned arms and then up to his brown eyes that were outlined by eyeliner, a skill you taught him. He seemed to smile more when he noticed the way you were staring, “And er - this is Vamp,” Rodrick shoots you a wink, which makes you smile flirtatiously and playfully twirl a finger in your hair. He blinks at you, distracted until Elektra clears her throat, knocking him out of his trace, “Um - and this is Elektra - Cherie - Alyssa.”

“Vamp?” Gareth asks suddenly, he furrows his brows and you nod in response, “Is that - your real name?”

“It is.” You abandoned your real name the moment you dropped out of high school, but they didn’t need to know that.

Rodrick chuckles, an unusual laugh that was pretty funny in itself, it sorta sounds like a drunk Donkey, “Vamp the fair, but metal Queen of the Hideout.”

Gareth, Travis and Jeff all stare up at you like you are an illusion, like they couldn’t believe you were stood in front of them. You almost felt like you were actually royalty. Gareth gestured to his friends, all of their cheeks are tinted pink, “We t-thought yo-u w-ere badass tonight, Vam-.”

“Hey, buttheads - I just had the most - profound whizz of my life - I’ve got it all figured out. We’ll start with Victorious Spear to rev the crowd up, y’know, head-banging - the lot-,” it was him, twinkly doe eyes. He walked towards the table you were stood at with a skip in his step, so excited that he’d paid no attention to his surroundings, including you and your band - you were watching him with an amused look as he stood next to you, rambling while expressing himself with dramatic hand gestures. Gareth, who seemed to speak for the other two a whole lot, raised his brows at the rambler and tilted his head, subtly hinting at your presence, “and - we’ll end - on - um,” the long curly-haired brunette’s voice began to slow down and trail off into silence as soon as he realised that you were stood next to him.

His head whips in your direction, his breath hitching immediately at the sight of you. His pink lips quivered and suddenly his expressive mannerisms disappeared, he was as stiff as a plank of wood.

You stared into his eyes, they are twinkly and round, just like you’d spotted from the stage earlier. Then your eyes quickly examine the rest of his features, his big nose, lips, the spots on his chin - he seemed familiar, but you couldn’t pin point exactly why. You shake it off, straightening your back, the platforms of your boots making you as tall as him, “You’re Corroded Coffin?” You ask with an amused smile.

Has he ever even spoken to a girl before? They’re practically babies - what kind of charm are they gonna have on stage?

He seemed to be at boiling point alone at being stood next to you, practically melting in response to being acknowledged by you - he couldn’t believe his eyes and he was not being subtle about it. It did wonders for your ego. “Y-yeah - er - I’m Corr-oded Coffin,” He stutters in a high pitched tone, you squint your eyes at him, your smile growing as you glance at Cherie and the other girls, who are trying to hold in a laugh. His cheeks turn so pink that you can still see it in the darkness of the room, “I mean - I’m Eddie - Munson and my band is Corroded Coffin,” he nods at his friends, “Gareth - Jeff and Tra-.”

“I know, I’ve already had the pleasure of being introduced to ‘em,” You maintain eye contact with him for a moment, the same flirtatious look you gave him while you were on stage, “Vamp,” you smoothly drawl before gesturing to your friends, “Elektra, Alyssa and Cherie - Stake For My Valentine.”

Eddie nods quickly, “Y-yeah, I know,” his fingers delve into the mane that was his hair and scratched the back of his neck, scrunching his face up at the same time, an excuse not to make eye contact with you, “I - er - don’t know whether to bow or - roll out a carpet.”

You nibble at your bottom lip still staring at him intensely, playfully smirking too, “A bow would suffice.”

“As you wish, m’lady - didn’t have a carpet on me to roll out anyway so-,” He brings a hand to his stomach and bows, his hair falling over his face and shoulders. He chuckles breathlessly, his chest heaving as he stands up straight again - you could see it because his t-shirt wasn’t exactly… loose.

Hellfire Club. That name seemed familiar too.

“We’ve got a er - a gig, here - Tuesday,” Eddie states, still scratching his neck, unable to make eye contact with you. He’s kinda patheti-. “You should come,” he blurts, lifting his gaze from the floor to you, and then to your friends, “Y-you all should come, I mean.”

He’d surprised you with his sudden charm. You blinked at the brunette with a blank face as he stared back at you again with hopeful eyes while your band giggled behind you.

You heard a cough coming from the table - it was Rodrick, he was staring between you and Eddie with an irritated look, tightly holding onto his beer. When he noticed he’d caught your attention, his eyes bore into yours and he wavers slightly in his seat, shaking his head.

You knew what you were doing, a mischievous grin pulled at your lips as you looked at Rodrick, it only grew wider as you focused your attention back on Eddie, who was sheepishly looking between you and Rodrick.

Everyone else excluding you, Eddie and Rodrick, were staring between you all, invested in the entire interaction. The other boys from Corroded Coffin and girls from Stake For My Valentine were watching with open mouths, giving you three knowing looks.

“We’ll be there,” you blurt with the same cheeky grin. You could feel everyone’s eyes only on you now. Rodrick even slammed his drink down onto the table.

Eddie, on the other hand, was writhing with excitement, he jumped on the spot, his hair bouncing off of his shoulders until he stumbled, realising just how much he’d overreacted to your acceptance of his invitation. He fiddled with the sleeves of his leather jacket awkwardly, then swooped his hair away from his eyes, grinning widely at you for a while, “Metal.”

“Eddie,” Jeff interrupts, raising his brows at the man stood in front of you, who was still staring, “Eddie!”

“Jesus H. Christy - what?” Eddie asked, startled by his friend’s outburst.

You bit both your lips together, snorting a little laugh.

“You’ve got to drive us back? We’ve got our campaign, remember?” Jeff asks, ending his questions sarcastically. You put two and two together - campaign meaning ‘Hellfire Club’. You watch them closely, entertained by their subtle bickering.

Eddie’s nose twitched, glaring at Jeff, “Oh - right, yeah - we’d better er - get going then,” he now scratched his nose, clearly disappointed that he had to go. His eyes flickering over your outfit before looking into your eyes timidly, “See you.”

You nod, flashing him your most charming grin before nodding at his friends, who had slid themselves out of the booth and were practically dragging Eddie with them to the entrance and exit door of the Hideout.

The boys left one by one and when it was Eddie’s turn to leave he hesitated, looking your way once more. He blinked, his bottom lip parting from his top one when he noticed that you were still watching him.

You lifted your hand to wave, wiggling your fingers at the same time, making him smile toothily and blush for what felt like the hundredth time tonight.

Your heartbeat seemed to pick up and once he disappeared through the door you were left with nothing but adrenaline pumping through your veins - your entire body was a furnace and all the ache you felt before from performing vanished entirely. You were pumped up enough to play a thousand times more - you couldn’t wait until Tuesday.

A little competition never hurt anybody.

You smirk. You’re going down, Eddie Munson.

⇝ 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐓𝐰𝐨

𝐓𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐤 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐨 𝐦𝐮𝐜𝐡 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠! 𝐏𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞, 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐑𝐄𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐆!!!!! 𝐈𝐭'𝐝 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐦𝐲 𝐝𝐚𝐲 <𝟑

𝐇𝐨𝐩𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐟𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐏𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐲 𝐑𝐞𝐜𝐤𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐬𝐨𝐧𝐠, 𝐌𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐌���� 𝐖𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐚 𝐃𝐢𝐞 ;)

𝐈𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮'𝐝 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 ’𝐁𝐀𝐓𝐓𝐋𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐒’ 𝐨𝐫 ’𝐄𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐌𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐨𝐧’ 𝐭𝐚𝐠-𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐥𝐞𝐭 𝐦𝐞 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰!

𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒 ↯

𝑩𝑨𝑻𝑻𝑳𝑬 𝑶𝑭 𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑩𝑨𝑵𝑫𝑺

@pexsistolss @big-ope-vibes @majesticjellyfishzombie @lexi--a @b-ritney @joyfulcandyrunaway @sidthedollface2

𝑬𝒅𝒅𝒊𝒆 𝑴𝒖𝒏𝒔𝒐𝒏

@introvertedmouse @munsonology @fastnights @eddiesluvt @kathieycarrerarosshley @marjoriea13 @lolalanaie

🜸

[ladyduellist]

Epistles of Saints & Sinners

Chapter Summary:

The companions deal with a hag and Tav makes a hard decision.

⸺⋘✤⋙⸺

Story Summary:

When Astarion meets the humble bard, Tav, he soon finds out he's the only one between them that knows they are bound as soulmates through their marks. Deciding it's more trouble than its worth, he refuses to tell her along the course of their journey across Faerûn.

But, unbeknownst to him and their companions, Tav is harboring a gruesome secret that she only thought was nothing more than a traumatized period in her life.

As they both come to face to face with their pasts and presents, will they choose to move forward or let it consume them?

Healing isn’t linear—after all.

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Chapter 13: End

Ao3

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Word Count: 5.1k

Pairing: Astarion x female bard Tav

CW: Language, Blood & Violence, Trauma, Act 1 Spoilers

Hag song was HEAVILY influenced by 'Hey Girl' sung by Lady Gaga and Florence Welch

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They say that the heart is a heavy burden. Undead, an infernal engine, a mortal organ. They can all carry the same weight. And when you have had nothing to care for it for so long, It’s like a fucking chokehold the moment even a single jab of sweet honey infects it.

— Karlach, scrawled thoughts on a torn page from one of Gale’s books

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A devil’s servant was near: looming by her side, whispering a litany of canticles, bidding for her to wake.

The swordswoman awoke in a foreign room with paint peeling off the walls, like the droves of oppressed women by the men that promised to be their caretakers forevermore.

As Tav’s view unblurred, she noticed a priest passively swinging a thurible, releasing an unnatural pitch black colored smoke. The incense smelled of corrupted boils made to summon eldritch visitors.

And then pain. Her body felt like it had been tossed around in a rocky undertow. Each nerve ending aflame. Bruised. Defiled.

Her dried tongue attempted to coat itself in saliva as she tried to speak. “Wh—”

“Saer, she is awake,” the priest clad in a plain gold and black robe spoke aloud.

A figure was at the foot of the bed she laid in, clasping his hands together. “Fantastic!”

Algos.

She tried to move, pushing her weight on her elbows, but the soreness that shot through her was unbearable. Tav cried out roughly, falling back onto the pillow beneath her head.

“Careful my love, you’ve undergone a change—quite literally—overnight,” the rasp of his lilted tone seemed to slice through the curls of smoke filling the room. “Priest, grant me a moment with her.”

The pious stranger nodded, leaving the room as Algos approached her bedside, his boots clinking heavily across the wood floor.

Tav hysterically searched her surroundings for any indication of where they may be. She studied a singular dusty window with beams of sunlight straining to shine through. Then, the rotted floor, clearly missing a few boards. But, when she finally looked at the sheets and comforter thrown haphazardly onto her body—sullied in possible blood stains—she froze.

Placing a hand on her forehead while she was distracted, he smiled down at her. She flinched, breaking out into a cold sweat.

“Please…where…”

“Shush now. You’ll need all the rest you can get, that is, if you can even survive through the day.”

She peered up at him in horror, tears stinging in her widened ducts. Panic and the sensation to writhe under his touch set in. “What’s going—?”

His dark eyes bore into her, slowly narrowing into something cruel and unknown. “Isn’t love grand, Birdie?” The strength of his grip found her chin and he held it firmly, lowering himself to place a cold peck on her lips. “10 years I have loved you and finally you granted me the purest gift of your devotion to me.”

Tav gasped, pacifying any movements in her aching pulsating muscles. “Gift? I don’t…understand.”

Algos released her, taking a step backwards. He gestured dramatically towards her covers. “Now, unfortunately, I have already had to part with it; but know that it provided me with exactly what I needed. Anyways, I shan’t babble on about such negotiations, but maybe you should have a look for yourself?”

She grazed the stitched hem of the blankets covering her and steadily lifted them from her bare figure. Her tempest eyes traveled down the mounds of her breasts then to her torso and legs. She violently trembled in fear. “Algos, what have…have…you done…?”

He snapped his fingers in thought. “Ah, there is one more thing I must attend to.” He turned to leave, waving a quick goodbye. “If you’re still alive by the time I return, I believe that will have earned you a proper explanation, don’t you?”

Tav dropped her coverings and reached out towards him, screaming hoarsely over and over again in torment. “WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?! ALGOS! WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?!”

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Why did she kill for him?

Gale had warned her about Astarion. About the webs he would tangle her in. Spread out ornately on patterns of silken fibers as the tightrope artist approached her from each strand that represented his life. Even should the bough upholding his intricate designs begin to shake, she would remain: a votive offering for every shade of his light, his dark, his gray.

Guilt. The self-condemnation for her turning him away whilst the skeletons he housed took his hand to dance with them. His cross to bear: inscribed on their left over bones. The beasts within that fed on him as his soul still cowered in fear. An unyoked expression—the disconnect—on his face as he pushed his sex into her over and over again was a familiar reflection she had seen of herself before. That she still saw during the erosion of her body clashing against her past.

Had she made the right decision bidding him to leave?

Then, there was a moment between the aftermath of the confrontation with the hunter and these troubling thoughts, that both Tav and Astarion regarded one another in uncomfortable silence. Briefly, a bout of regret flickered behind those mesmeric garnets when his gaze traveled down to the area he bit the previous evening, hidden behind the stays of her corset.

”Why?” The spawn mouthed, anchoring his jaw tautly.

“Because you—”

Tav furrowed her brow concentrating on his question. He wasn’t asking why she had decided to run to his—their—aid, no, he wanted to know why she decided to come after what he did to her. How she could still bear to look upon this rabid self that stood before her after his teeth enacted a sacrilegious communion in the name of Cazador Szarr.

The answer vacillated through Tav while the crimson from Gandrel’s death wept from her gloved hands into a trinket of a puddle. She had run to her crew half-dressed, hearing their desperate crows during her midday training. And the moment she saw the vampire entangled in the vine spell, she knew her impulsive arrow would whistle through the breeze to pierce the hunter’s flesh to shield him.

Her stomach churned as she watched the waves of Astarion’s coif falling forward, while he bent over to search the man’s corpse. “Are you certain he was one of Cazador’s?”

“Well, he was, “ he smirked outturning the deceased’s pockets, discovering little more than a bag of gold and lint. “I have history with them; the Gur were responsible for nearly murdering me the night I was turned into a spawn. Only Cazador would know to send one now to capture me. I’m sure he found it quite humorous.”

“Whew-weeee! You sure know how to make an entrance!” Karlach flung the rest of the vines she cut in half off to the side, beaming at Tav. “Either way, the problem is taken care of, yea? Comrades have to take care of each other, but hopefully this won’t come back to bite us in the arse later on.” She pointed towards Astarion with a long fingernail. “Don’t get any ideas.”

He shrugged at her, tying the coin bag to his belt. The dagger in his hand slid across Gandrel’s shirt, wiping it clean of blood and debris as he continued squatting near his lifeless body.

Tav ignored Karlach, conflicted over her own earlier actions. “Astarion, are you absolutely sure?” She peered down at him, pondering which collusions were quietly branching off inside his mind for him to answer her with.

Her thoughts were suddenly addled with the urge to seek forgiveness from the gods for the unimaginable deadly sin she committed that staggered on the lines of her ward for Astarion and wrath itself. She wanted to believe him. Believe that the possibility was charitable enough that Gandrel worked for Cazador and would have trafficked him back to the city. She wanted to place her faith in him that somewhere inside his tortured existence that his intentions were, at the very least, mottled enough with the concept of “good.”

He stood upwards, readjusting his armor. “You don’t trust my word? He was a Gur. Why should it matter?”

Tav shook her head. “This isn’t only about trusting your word: it’s about trusting your decisions. This, “ she motioned around at the tiny ponds of blood and viscera decorating the ground. ”impacts more than just your impulses now. The volition of your path, Karlach, Wyll, our acquaintances, me—it impacts it all.”

Astarion murdered for her once; Priestess Gut at the goblin camp. The debt of her life owed was just repaid in kind. The Madonna with her slender rapier, piercing through the qualms of her own heart for a man who’s humanity was dangling from rafters above layers of stained glass.

Why did it matter? She wasn’t keeping score. Helping those in need came without questions. Tav had ended lives for others without another thought. To save. To defend. But the difference—the bloody difference—was that it never involved a personal attachment for someone like Astarion. If she cut down an innocent man for him on his false instinct, then she…

Astarion crossed his arms haughtily. Even with ichor splattered on his fair features, he was still lethally gorgeous. “My dear, mayhaps you need to be reminded that it was not I that asked for anyone’s help with tearful pleas. By your own resolve, you are here now.”

Hey,” Wyll spoke up softly, failing to grasp their attention.

“But, Astarion, you knew we wouldn’t let you face Gandrel alone,” the bard unwaveringly replied. She pulled at the lengths of her dark ashen brown locks, winding them up into a messy hair bun. “Look,” she started with a hairpin in her mouth. “I’m only trying try to point out that not every Gur you meet is a horrible person to blame for what happened to you before you were turned. And that if we’re to get involved, it’s something to consider in the future.”

“Oh, please! Why defend those vagrant cutthroats? I think it’s only understandable that I do, in fact, get to blame them.” He hesitantly inched towards her as if she would crumble the very second he was within reach of her.

Tav rested her hand on the hilt of her blade sheathed at her side. She concentrated on his shallow breathing, watching his features alter several times. He was patently unnerved.

The pallored elf’s hands landed onto his hips. He leaned in towards her with barbs on his tongue. “Sending that hunter was a blatant message to show the power Cazador still has over me. Have you any real clue as to how strong he really is, Tav? The abilities he possesses? He could turn into mist, sneak into our camp in the dead of night, and strangle us all before we even opened our eyes.”

With a sudden jerk in her voice, she ground her boots into the mud to tower her posture. “Astarion, please—”

Astarion stepped further in, halting only feet away. Vexation and anguish masking his vision. He roughly pulled down the collar of his shirt, revealing his two jagged fang scars on the right side of his neck. Faded in color, but not in memory. “And if death isn’t enough—not to fret! You could be chosen to serve as his newest slave and live eternally as a meaningless vessel in the body you once knew,” he spat.

This was not the first time the womanly elf had laid her eyes on these scars—she saw them nearly everyday—but it was the first time watching him directly acknowledge them. Two petite bursts of whitish fireworks healed over. His master’s hallmark for legacy.

The intensity of his emotions viciously hid themselves in her heartstrings, like stubborn grit underneath fingernails. She placed a flat hand over her left breast. “Be-inway, Astarion. Be-inway, I hear you,” she quietly sing-songed.

He leaned back away from her, viewing her in one of his usual repertoire of reactions. “Would you reevaluate having that look broadcasted on your face when we disagree for once?! Those wretched huthammur. Gods below,” he blurted in frustration, glaring away from her eyes.

“Enough! Quell this before I kick both of you into the Chionthar river!” Wyll shouted abruptly. Fixing his stony eye on Tav, he moved in between them to act as a volunteer mediator. “You two quarrel more than bloody Shadowheart and Lae’zel.”

“What’s done is done,” he continued, the balm of his voice sweeping into the air. “If we are to believe Cazador hired this man, as Astarion said, then we need to believe that he knows our location. Our fanged friend is right: anything related to the vampire lord—short of himself—could strike at any moment. If the Gur’s death was indeed a mistake, then we’ll atone at the pyre during our final rites.”

“I always knew I could count on Wyll’s sensibility whilst you fiddle around with your own concerns,” the vampire fluffed out his hair, chiding Tav with a prissy titter.

Instead of her typical reactions caked in silence or offering challenges for him to consider, she simply spread out her arms to bow, catching his smug guise flipping into incredulity. “As you wish—your highness.”

“‘ey! Maybe we could save the melodrama for later?” Karlach horned in, breaking the subtle silence. She scratched the side of her cheek looking back and forth between all three of her companions suspended in pose. “Ethel’s teahouse isn’t far from here. She heard all the commotion and came to check it out. Said we are invited into her home as a reward for taking care of that monster hunter once you two were done bickering.”

Tav and Astarion sheepishly stared at each other past the warlock. Past the barbarian. Past their surroundings. Unmoving. Unblinking. Unorthodox beliefs in opposition gliding across paralleled strings.

He broke their quietude first. “I swear, if this demented crone only offers us tea and biscuits, I’m going to throw myself into the…urm, well, not the sun anymore. Anyways, shall we?” Astarion offered, extending his arm out in front of him, ushering Tav and Wyll along.

Tavelle, Tavelle, with her burnished battle symphonies surrounded by Astarion’s flags of scarlet, had taken another risk allowing herself to further interlock their lives together by having the stench of this stranger’s death on her hands. But, she knew it was for a reason she resonated with. A kindredness in once belonging to those that subjugated them with relational bonds affixing themselves as an addiction to the love and misery they provided.

So, why did she kill for Astarion?

Because she knew this would be the only chance he’d ever get to possibly escape for good.

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“Tav, keep singing! It’s working,” Wyll yelled at her, preparing an ‘Arms of Hadar’ conjugation. “Almost ready!”

The group had fought off the hag’s illusions until they were able to single out her monstrous corporeal form. As Mayrina bawled from a cage suspended over a fathomless pit, Tav combined a hasty doggerel alongside her ‘Vicious Mockery’ cantrip—adequately causing serious damage to the witch's ears.

It was the first time Astarion heard Tav’s voice since they entered Ethel’s residence. Clipped and off-kilter to her usual songs, he could sense she had dipped her thoughts into a place she would not allow any to follow by the unusual strum of her pulse.

♫Hey hag, what will you do? After we scorch that litter in your hair. Hey hag, have you any clue? Your illusions do not scare.

Hey hag, the bargains made, Around that brew you stir. Curses, scry, changing weather, Your end is on the way.

Hey hag, hey hag. Where’s your coven to save you? Hey hag, hey hag. It’s time to perish away.

Hey hag, hey hag. Hey hag, hey hag. It’s your end today. But, know that we gut you. Please know that, Please know that, we gut you.♫

Near the end of the last verse, Tav faltered; disrupted by the locusts of her ruminations, swarming to devour the fields of her concentration. The perfect momentum for the hag to take.

Auntie Ethel managed to steel her resolve long enough through the misstep to cast a bladed gust of wind, slicing open Tav’s forearm. She wheezily wailed at the bard, “You..rude…little…cunt!”

Thrown off balance, she fell to one knee, clutching her lute tightly.

Astarion ran to the ledge of the pit. He watched as Ethel started dragging her wart covered body in Tav’s direction. “Get up, damn you! Wyll, we’re going to need that spell!”

Karlach roared, charging forward. “YOU FUCKING BITCH! YOU’RE GOING TO BURN!”

“Karlach, no! You and Astarion need to save Mayrina and the baby,” Tav commanded, lifting her head at them to heavily take in gulps of breath.

Hells, not this drab self-sacrificing shit again, he reprimanded inside his mind.

“You idiot! Have you noticed that you have acquired a rather nasty gash? One more distraction and the hag will have sliced bard for breakfast! That woman made her choice,” Astarion grumbled loudly over the wide chasm, pointing towards the cage. “She was going to trade her own—“

Tav willed herself to stand. He could see her blood surfacing on the wound causing a desperate pang in his stomach he fought back.

“I KNOW,” she hollered back, seemingly conflicted by her next choice of words. “Trust me—I know.” Her tone became a diffused strain, showcasing that compassion she carried on her sleeve. “We don’t have time to argue, but life can be fucked up Astarion and sometimes we make ignorant choices when we are suffering. She may not deserve it, but let her have a second chance to choose to do right.”

A second chance.

Second chances were not allowed where he once resided. Second chances were unforgivable acts considered an intentional rebellion against Cazador’s commandments. Second chances meant having a spawn’s mouth gagged with foul-tasting fruit until their cries for mercy ceased. Second chances were for the weak and imperfect.

Second chances didn’t exist for Astarion because first chances lacked possibilities and dreams.

And those ideals were more dangerous to his master than allowing his children to ever turn into full-fledged vampires.

But, he was not at the Crimson Palace. He was not under Cazador’s command. And he very much did not want to deal with the repercussions that impossible elven bard would administer should he refuse.

He deeply exhaled, turning his head to view the barbarian over his shoulder. “Fire girl?”

“Yea, fangs?”

“How much weight do you think you can lift with your axe?”

She knowingly smirked, “Enough to give a boost to a handsome vampire.”

“Flattery will get you everywhere with me,” he grinned coquettishly. A red gaze briskly found its way back in Tav’s direction as he removed a dagger from his hip. “Songbird, if you slump over, please remember: I told you so.”

Astarion heard her chuckling echoing off the cave's walls as he walked towards the tiefling. She angled her axe towards the ground, allowing him to secure his footing on the weapon’s steel.

“Any ideas on how you’ll get back down?”

He unbuckled the side of his chest armor and fumbled around inside a concealed pocket. “Ah, there we are! I was going to make trade with it—seeing as it looked fairly rare—but I can always borrow another one from Gale when the time comes.”

Karlach eyed the ‘Scroll of Dimension Door’ dangling betwixt his fingertips like a horse’s carrot. “You stole that from Gale? He’s going to be quite unhappy when he finds out.”

Astarion pursed his lips, shoving the scroll back into its cubby space. “Well, the only way he’ll find out is if you decide to tell him.” Crouching down slightly in preparation to jump, he fisted the hilt of his dagger with both hands. “Besides, it’s not as if Gale was going to use it anytime soon. The man seems to have taken up the hobby of hoarding all means of magical properties since he joined us. I can assure you, it won’t be missed.”

She rolled her eyes at him. “Whatever you say, fangs. Ready?”

He nodded. “Do it.”

And up he flew as Karlach hurled him towards the cage with her oversized weapon, forcing the airflow upwards. Astarion shot through the moving air and shoved his blade into a thick branch fastened around the gargantuan bones making up the small prison. With a strong grip, he pulled himself up enough for his foot to gain traction on a piece of wooden board that served as a floor base in the cage.

He swung his body into the cage, bowing quickly at his waist. “Darling, your hero has arrived! Forgive me, but let’s not tarry, eh?”

Mayrina backed away from him in a fright. “Ah! Who are you? Go away!”

Astarion tutted in disbelief, wagging a finger at her. “Oh, no no no! I did not sign up this. We have to go—now!”

The woman held out the length of her arms while he steadily paced himself further into the cage. “Get back! Or I’ll…I’ll…”

“Or you’ll scream? You’ve already been gracing us with your screeching vocal chords in that regard,” the vampire sneered. “Now if you’ll pardon my ungentlemanly conduct, I am going to have to use force in this annoying rescue or else that bard down there will have my pretty head on her rapier.”

Sidestepping her, he deftly situated himself to cuff her wrists in one hand and artfully plucked the teleporting scroll from behind his armor. He recited the script written in a mystical hand while imagining a safe location close by. A bright hazy mist enveloped both him and Mayrina, as the scroll disintegrated into sparkling particles.

The flash and crackles of energy following their reappearance behind Karlach, was enough to distract the hag from her continued pursuit of Tav.

The songstress cried out, rapier postured to thrust forward, “Wyll, now!”

Black tentacles slithered around the warlock’s body, writhing to satisfy a dark and ancient hunger. Arcane circles surfaced around him in shades of seafoam green, matching the bright glow of the castor’s eyes. “Morē!”

The arms shot out, capturing Ethel in their grasp. Limb after limb: disjointed, pulled apart, and infected with necrosis. Until, her putrid body had been thoroughly feasted upon and fell with a vibrating rumble to the ground.

Wyll staggered back, resting against his quarterstaff. “It worked. She’s dead.”

Mayrina scurried around the edge of the bottomless hole, holding the heaviness of her stomach in tears. She fisted her golden coils when she reached Ethel’s deceased form. “What have you done?! You’ve ruined everything!”

Tav approached her cautiously, an unreadable gaze transfixed on the woman’s rotund stomach. Her sleeve had been torn during her incurred injury, tattered shreds hanging loosely off her arm. “No more bargains,” she flatly imparted.

“All I wanted was my husband—my Connor—back! I can’t bear to live without him,” she sobbed loudly, wet droplets streaming down her dirty face. “Ethel promised to raise my baby properly, but you’ve gone and—“

Astarion quietly trailed after Mayrina upon stealthy heels. When Tav’s frame came into view, he noticed chunks of her hair had fallen out of place, cemented to the sweat soaked nape of her neck. The sight of the clean cut on her arm, now bathed in her own blood, caused his mouth to ache.

But, what caught him off guard was her heart. If not for the faint swell of her chest when she inhaled a breath, he would have thought she were as dead as him: it was virtually muted in its beats.

The bard shook her head. “This was not your final option. You simply choose to ignore all the others out of desperation before settling on this one.”

Mayrina fell into Tav’s arms, clamoring for hope through a squeaky raw throat. “Help me! You must know someone. I’ll do anything! Please bring him back. Bring Connor back! His coffin is outside. We could leave now; it isn’t too late—“

She remained stone-faced as she allowed the pitiful human to twist her shirt. “Listen to me carefully because I will not repeat myself: this is the last time you can play so frivolously with life and death. Another miracle will not mysteriously save you from your decisions. We can help bury your husband, but that’s all.”

Tav untied a satchel filled with coin and held it out to her. “Take this. It’ll help get you back on your feet for a while. There’s shelters in Baldur’s Gate that help young mothers out—it may be worth it to consider seeking them out.”

Mayrina shoved herself away from the bard. “Didn’t you listen to a single word I said?! I want my husband back! You don’t know anything about what I’m going through right now or how much it hurts. I don’t need your damned money! If you can’t help me, then I’ll find someone that can.”

Swiftly drifting forward like a waterfowl skirting above the water to land, Tav roughly hooked the crook of her inner elbow. “You cannot forsake yourself or this babe. You must protect what is yours at all costs. Do you understand?” She assertively snarled. “Do not squander this opportunity, for you will not get another. Take the money and leave Mayrina. I will NOT say it again.”

Astarion had never witnessed such unconstrained passion in her eyes before. A swirling hurricane that pushed and pushed and pushed, until it was created out of her warm and calm reservoir. There were numerous personality quirks he had prescribed to the bard, but this withdrawn frigidity in her actions were ones he did not foresee.

Mayrina was in shock. Wide-eyed. Petrified. She made eye contact with Astarion, pleading with him out of swollen sockets to convince his partner to remove her grip.

“Darling, you’re bleeding,” the vampire mentioned gently, endeavoring to gain her notice towards the dripping deluge of blood from her forearm.

She did not respond, continuing to stare at Mayrina and the growth filling out her womb.

Protected by the lady of her heart lochs, her secrets were thrown far into the depths of her wading marrow. “You shall not know them,” she exclaimed, “Because they are wrought with uncontested sorrow.”

Until, a rush of trembling drums flooded behind her ribs and Astarion could hear each rhythmic clench of her valves opening and closing. Emotions refusing to still.

He squeezed her shoulder, articulating her full name in a low pitch. “Tavelle?”

Tav released Mayrina from her hold, looking at the pale elf from the side of her peripherals, not giving him her full attention. “Hmm? Yes, sorry. Astarion do you want to—?”

He nodded at her, lifting her forearm to his mouth to greedily review her cut. Heavenly puffs of air exited onto her skin as he sweetly plunged his tongue in between the broken flesh, tasting every drop of lush fluid. He languidly swiped his tongue in long strides up to her wrist, pressing chaste cool pecks in gratitude along the way.

But, Tav was completely despondent to him: never once wincing or flitting her view back in his direction. Never once blushing or rousing his name from her rosy lips. Never once politely asking him to stop the mania of his hunger for her blood.

Still, Astarion persistently licked, and licked, and licked at the wound that never did seem to close.

⸺⋘✤⋙⸺

The day ended with burying Mayrina’s husband in a shallow grave.

Tav’s nails caught the inside of Astarion’s wrist, lightly scratching translucent skin, as their two companions strode ahead to the camp nearby. He could hear the resounding ravines inside the bard’s arteries filling with a festering apprehension.

He turned to face her, drooping curls attacked by the humidity, following suit.

Her expression had returned to its usual state of demurred humbleness. The whites of her eyes were more luminous than the surface of the moon. Shiny and waning beneath gibbous lids. “Speak with me?”

It was almost difficult to believe that this was the same woman from earlier that held an unholy union between her indignation and goodwill. With her tongue as her sword and her weathervane perception, she professed her creeds uncovering a sliver of her inner self.

Yet, he could not outpace the pictured sight of her inanimate body pressed into his side as he succumbed to the metallic taste on her arm.

Where had she gone at that moment?

What had she been thinking about?

Who had she been thinking of?

The spawn arched a refined eyebrow, clearing his throat with uncertainty. “Yes?”

She crossed her damaged arm against her chest, casually holding onto the bicep of her other one, inspecting him under softened brown lashes. “What you did for Mayrina and her unborn baby today…I realize it may not have been something you’d typically do, but please know, I appreciate the kindness you demonstrated.”

“Kindness? No, no, my sweet. What I did was purely to avoid having to deal with another tiff between us—as we are so prone to do,” he commented with slight rebuff. “You know we may have condemned that child to unhappiness in relation to his mother’s catastrophic life, don’t you?”

Tav hummed, avoiding the garnets of his blistering gaze. He noticed her fingers digging into the upper portion of her arm uncomfortably.

“You didn't ask to speak with me privately to thank me, did you?” Astarion questioned, feeling a dip in his stomach.

“A part of me did,” she murmured delicately through guarded partially opened lips.

The rest of the words would not escape her mouth. Trapped in the netting of her lyrical throat. She blinked up at him, heartbeat soaring away. Finger pads now skimming to touch the forbidden area he had bitten, as if to remind her of what she needed to do.

He shook his head firmly. “No, Tav. Say it.”

The door to her was closing. Her melodies that beckoned dormant blooms to bend towards the moonlight, the source of his aegis and crimson nourishment, would soon be gone. And he was still miles away from her doorway, slashing through the abstracts of their pasts.

He felt ill.

Tenderly, she laced the ends of her finger joints with his without accord. Her ardor blanketing his undead chill: a solace and a curse.

Astarion refused to suffer for her sympathies or careful considerations. For her fucking tears now veiling her eyes. For the pity she would shower him with, again and again and again.

“Say it.”

The sun setting from the west, wove together golds and purples to cast upon their silhouettes as a final goodbye. A dying day for their last sighs.

And then, her fingers slipped back out of his hand.

“Astarion, I don’t think we should be distracted anymore. Whatever this was between us—I want it to end.”

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Notes:

Elvish Words

Tav: Be-inway = wake

Astarion: Huthammur = storm clouds