#where every day ISN'T a fight for survival?

[kelpiemomma]

haven't drawn in a hot minute due to work. i've done a couple cat sketches but i've missed my bastard man most of all <3 wip of him post pleiades recapture once he returns to the future.

[callsign-datura]

quit talking.

frustrated simon "ghost" riley x fem!reader warnings: smut, obviously. mentions of putting a muzzle on you, not dealing with feelings, unprotected sex, bro is def a tits man (he sucks on em), oral sex (f recieving), light choking, creampieee a/n: 1k? how the hell?? thank you! :)

If there's one thing you know how to do, it's piss Ghost off. It's not really fun to you, it's more of a competitive thing. He's been in this line of work for much longer than you have, but you've been in it for long enough that you should be treated like a valuable ally than an untrained soldier, or a rookie. But for Ghost, that nickname has stuck. "C'mon, rookie, get your head straight."

"Eyes up here, rookie."

"Are you listenin', rookie?"

Your blood boils every time the word slips from his mouth. Every time he does it, you keep yourself from snapping at him. You put a smile on and follow his directions.

But sometimes it isn't so easy.

He orders you around, and tells you what to do; like a lieutenant should. Yet for some reason, you feel your chest tighten when he gives you an order. You know damn well it's a personal issue. Probably some feelings you haven't dealt with yet that you aren't ready to deal with. But you butt heads. You can tell that your defiance pisses him off and the flicker in his eyes makes something in your heart surge; something you tell yourself is satisfaction. Recently, it's been worse... maybe it was the mission last month where you were stuck in a closet together and he couldn't keep his hands to himself, or the fact he acted like it didn't even happen after. Probably both.

---------------------- "Rookie."

That damn nickname again. You snap quickly, against your better judgment; but he can't blame you. It's been a hard day of biting your tongue. "How long have I been on this team, sir?" "Not long enough to be givin' me so much attitude." He snaps back just as quickly, and usually it'd be enough to extinguish that fire, but today, it's not.

"It's been two years." "Two years of you talking' like you've known us for ten. Sorry to burst your bubble," he barks, turning his body to you as you recognize that look in his eye that you shouldn't be messing with him today. "You haven't. I'll keep callin' you 'rookie' until you get that in your head." His arms hang at his sides, his fists idly clenching and releasing as he steps towards you. "You got a problem with that?" Your eyebrows knit together and you tilted your head back as he gets close, his upper body curling to lean over yours and stare you down. Cold, brown eyes staring into yours; something that would normally give you chills. But not today. "Yes, actually, I do. I'm not a rookie anymore, I've been working with you long enough to the point I should have earned the respect I deserve." The words are slipping out. You realize how stupid it sounds and how you should have just been quiet and stopped fighting, but it feels good to get it off your chest. So you keep talking. "I'm a valuable asset to the team. I'm a good medic, a good ground unit, I'm damn good with a knife and I have good survival skills. I think those are grounds for respect from my lieutenant. Everyone else treats me well, but you." He rolls his eyes so strongly that you think it probably hurts. "You wanna know why they treat you well, rookie?" He retorts, his voice low and husky and raspy. His face is inches from yours and your senses are flooded with him; it's almost enough to get you to forget about why you were fighting in the first place. "It's 'cause everyone else knows that bein' nice to you and lettin' you act like a proper twat is better than tryin' to discipline you. You act like a child and they let you because you're too damn stubborn to get through to." The words piss you off again, and you open your mouth to respond, yet nothing comes out. "Don't." He warns. "This is ridiculous."

"Ridiculous? I just want to be respected." "Nobody gives you shit anymore, rookie, but me. It sounds like you're mad that I'm the only person who gives you shit and doesn't let you get off easy."

"Because it's bullshit-" "I only give you shit when you're actin' like this." The glimmer in his eyes changes, and it becomes something you can't entirely put your finger on. "I only give you shit when you're yowlin' about 'not being respected' when you know damn well you are, you're just angry that I'm mean to you." "'Cause you are!"

"I am because I know that's the only way you listen." He says, his voice returning to something stable. "It's like you hate me."

Oh. His eyes flare again, this time with recognition. "That's what this is about? You think I hate you?"

"Well, sometimes..." Your voice lowers and you avoid eye contact with him, trying to focus on anything but the monster of a man in your proximity. "Sometimes it feels like it."

"Really? And that's why you're constantly puttin' up such a fight with me? 'Cause you think I hate you?" His voice turns... amused. Jesus Christ, he's enjoying this. "Yes, and--" You try to retort, but you can't think of anything. Your mind blanks. "And..." Embarrassment burns hot on your cheeks and you shut your eyes. He chuckles quietly. "That's fucked, sweetheart. You're not gonna believe me, even if I talk till I'm blue,"

"As if I could see." You snap, looking away. "...N' even if I talk, you'll interrupt me." He chuckles again. His voice tenses a little as if he's irritated. He grabs your hand and starts leading you somewhere and you start talking again. "I don't know where you get off on being rude like that." He laughs, in disbelief. "I could ask you the same thing." "You haven't said anything to me about that mission," you begin. Your voice is shaky. These are untrod waters, but you want an answer. "Not a damn thing. Not a text, hell, you barely look me in the eyes." "Mm." He responds, his voice higher-pitched, once again with recognition. "So it's that, too." He glances back at you, and you barely even realize where he's leading you until he pushes open the door to his quarters and pushes you inside, stepping in too, and shutting the door behind him. "You're mad about that? That we haven't talked about that?" You open your mouth, but the surprise doesn't let you say anything. So you nod, looking around the room. It's bland. Very... Ghost. "I haven't said anythin' to you about it 'cause even thinkin' about it makes it difficult for me to see you in a professional light." He pauses. "It shouldn't have happened. If anyone finds out, it'd be me taking advantage of you,"

"That wasn't what happened, though. I was asking you--" "Quit." He snaps, his hand coming up to cup your chin and hold your jaw, urging you to stay quiet. "Quit interruptin' me, fuck. You talk a lot, you know that?" His other hand goes to the zipper of your jacket, pulling at it and unzipping it. Your eyes flicker down to watch his hand, and you stay quiet.

He chuckles again and shakes his head, his eyes wide with disbelief and amusement... some mix of the two. "Now you're quiet. When you're gettin' what you want. Dunno what I expected." He lets go of your jaw and pulls your jacket off, tossing it to the side and turning both of you, backing you up against the door.

"I don't hate you... Quite the opposite." He murmurs, his voice softening. You watch as his thumb hooks into the bottom of his mask, pulling it over his nose as he leans in and puts his other hand on your waist. He goes for your neck, and you tilt your head instinctively. More than happy to obey. "It's jus' the fact that this is entirely unethical. No matter how we put it... it's unethical." He kisses the flesh of your neck, lips dancing along the softness there, testing for any sweet spots. He nips when he feels you tremble. "...Now that isn't to say I didn't enjoy it... 'cause I did. I dream about it, pet," his voice shakes and his grip on you tightens. "Fuckin' dream about it."

The vulnerability at this moment makes your body heat up. Warmth is building in your lower stomach, and a soft noise leaves your lips as you tilt your head back against the door. Your back arches as his breath ghosts your neck.

"Dream about you... n' this body, n' your voice, and your whimpers. I look at you, and I remember." He starts kissing your neck again. They're rough, and his breath is hot. You tremble again as his lips travel down, stopping at your collar as he reaches and slips the strap of your undershirt off your shoulder, and kisses the span of flesh that's been uncovered. Tongue darting out, following the contour of your collarbone, teasingly; leaving tingles in its wake that send heat straight to your cunt. "Makes it so goddamn hard to treat you like you're my teammate and not a person who haunts my dreams."

Another noise leaves your lips, and his hands slide up your sides, bringing the fabric of your undershirt with it. You lift your arms to let him, and you lock eyes for a moment. His are sparkling with lust, and he chuckles before his hands travel up your back to unclasp your bra. He pulls it from your body and drops it to the side, and his lips are on your flesh again. He nips at certain spots, nibbling gently and sucking deep marks into the flesh. His kisses go from your collarbone to your breast, and his lips close around your nipple. Your body tenses and goosebumps prickle over the flesh of your chest, and you tilt your head back again, legs pressing together as his hands rub up and down your sides soothingly. His tongue laves over it, sending tingles of pleasure through you as your eyes flutter shut and he grunts against you. His teeth nip at it gently before he releases it, switching sides. His hands slip down your sides and move to your pants, undoing the button of your jeans and tugging them and your panties down around your legs, detaching from your nipple to do so.

His gaze is immediately dragged to your cunt, and he hums low in his throat before he looks up at you. "C'mon, dove. Give me a taste, mm?" He asks, teasingly; but meaning the question entirely. Your expression twists in embarrassment, but your desire for him overrides any hesitation. And you nod. One of his hands cups the underside of your leg, lifting it up and to the side as he litters kisses along the inside of it. Having him so close to you makes your entire body shudder and a moan leaves your lips, your hand coming down to cup his head as you watch him. It's a lewd sight, but the view makes you tingle. He bites down lightly and a whine leaves your lips as you lightly swat his head. He chuckles in response and looks up at you, pulling away from your thigh to litter kisses over your cunt. You're wet enough to the point he can fucking see it; and your face flushes a bit more in embarrassment and you tilt your head back. You shudder, tilting your hips forward and chasing a bit more friction... and he delivers. His tongue darts out, dragging up between your labia to catch your clit. Your body shudders and you give a sharp whine. The feeling is electric, and you already feel something building in your stomach, yet you try to suppress it in turn for just feeling the sensation. His other hand comes up and his thumb pulls at the flesh, lightly spreading you out for his convenience, his lips closing around your clit as he grunts and the vibration of it turns into straight heat and makes you twitch. He sucks gently and you mewl, your hips shifting away from the unfamiliar sensation, forcing him to detach before he pulls you back in and clicks his tongue.

"Come on now, pet. You wanted this, didn't you? Stay still." You whine in affirmation, looking down once again and gasping as he buries his face into you once more. He dips his tongue into you, and his eyes roll briefly as he grunts at the taste of you; something that he'd get addicted to easily. Hell, he's already addicted to you; why not? He pushes his tongue into you for a moment, groaning again. His grip on the underside of your thigh tightens and he brings it upward a bit more, resting it over his shoulder as his hand slips up your tummy, giving the pudge there a little squeeze before he switches his attention to your clit, lapping his tongue over it slowly and gently. Each swipe sends heat into you, your walls clamping around on nothing, moans leaving your lips as he keeps his head buried into you. The sensations are mounting and he laps his tongue a bit faster to elicit more reactions from you.

Your hips buck into the sensation and a squeal leaves your lips. His hand slips back to cup your hip, pulling you further into him as he laps at your clit again and again. The hand keeping your labia spread shifts downward, and you jolt as he presses his middle and pointer finger against your hole, circling the flesh to gather your slick. The movement of his tongue stalls for a moment until he pushes his fingers into you, and he laps again, but much faster this time, grunting out in satisfaction at the way your walls flutter around his fingers and suck them in more. Moans leave your lips and your body tenses up, a cry leaving the moan before you shift down a little to push into his fingers. He curls them, feeling along your inner walls slowly and gently to find that spot that'll make you quiver, and he does; your hips buck again and you cry once more, the pleasure overloading your senses and rendering you to a whimpering mess. He laps away at your clit again, eating like a man starved; curling those two fingers on your g-spot and rubbing his fingertips against it slowly, gently.

The sensation causes the cord in your tummy to tighten. It doesn't take more of his assault to throw you over the edge; he continues, with an increased fervor upon feeling you tense around his fingers and hearing your noises take on a desperate edge. He pulls you closer, grunting into your pussy as you cry out and ball your hands into fists, grinding a little into the friction as your vision goes white and you sob his name. You continue, riding out your orgasm and whimpering his name quietly. His movements stop after your noises quiet, and he withdraws his fingers and pulls back to look up at you, making sure you're looking at him before he pulls his fingers apart; showing you the string of your fluid that connects them between breaking. He chuckles a bit and stands up as he looks you over. Your eyes flutter shut and you whimper softly, tilting your head back. Your body relaxes, but not for long as you hear a zipper being undone. Your eyes open just as he turns you around and pins you against the wall. One hand against the wall between your waist and your arm, his lips on the back of your shoulder as his other hand comes to your waist, pulling back you back against him. You give a surprised noise and he chuckles. "What? D'you think we were done?" You don't respond, and he hums. "Good. 'Cause we aren't." He pushes against you as you arch your back, your eyes widening as you feel his cock pressing against your cunt; a whine leaving your lips before he pulls his hand from your hip to wrap around the base of him, adjusting himself to rest the tip of his cock against your hole, watching as you flutter around him. He chuckles softly at the sight, and puts his hand on your lower stomach, slowly guiding his hips forward. His cock slips into you with ease, and you feel a faint stinging pain from the stretch, but the full feeling his cock gives you distracts you from the pain. It's familiar, almost; like your body remembers how he fit inside you. Your slick coats his cock, making the fit a bit more easy. He groans softly into your ear, the feeling of you around him more than heavenly. "Fuck. S'fuckin tight. Mm... like you were made for me, hm?"

He grunts quietly as he feels you pulse around him, and he tilts his hips slightly, cupping your lower tummy as he grinds into you testingly. A whine leaves your lips, but you don't stop him. The pleasure is overwhelming, and you feel some sort of sense of relief at finally being filled; by him. His breath fans over your shoulder as he grinds into you slowly, rolling his hips into yours; pulling out a bit before pushing forward and rubbing his hips into yours. He continues like this, one hand sliding up your front and wrapping around your throat, a gentle hold that keeps your head still. Your eyes keep shut, eager moans leaving your lips as you push back into him. For a few moments he continues this movement, just reveling in the feeling of your cunt around him before he begins thrusting. Slowly, at the same pace, raking his cock in and out of you, sending shocks of pleasure through you as you tighten a bit around him, eliciting groans from him. His movements speed up and the hand on your lower stomach slips downward, his middle and ring finger rubbing circles over your clit. You lurch a little and give a little cry, still feeling a bit overstimulated from the previous activities.

That sensation leaves almost immediately as he thrusts into you quickly, the sounds of your bodies together filling the room amongst his groans and your squeals. You lift one of your legs, tilting your head against the wall and his grip on your throat tightens as he starts rutting into you; the feeling of you is getting to him as much as the feeling of him is getting to you. Your moans increase in pitch, and your mind is scrambled by the pleasure. Your walls quiver as he continues, bullying into your cunt. He's chasing his high, and the circles he draws on your clit also increase in pace. The cord in your stomach draws taut, signalling your incoming orgasm; you can tell by his pace that he's close too. "Fuck-- Gonna cum." He warns into your shoulder, yet his pace doesn't falter.

You whimper and your chest tightens at the thought of him pulling out; wasting his cum like that. "Inside," you babble out quickly, hands balling into fists against the wall. "Please, inside." You stutter over your words as he continues thrusting into you, but he understands you immediately.

You don't have to say it twice. After a moment, he bucks into you up to the hilt, and a shaky groan leaves his throat as he cums; hot, thick ropes that flood your cunt with his spend. The sensation, mixed with the feeling of him rolling his fingers over your clit is enough to make you cum as well, and you cry out, walls quivering on his cock before tensing, milking him. Your body trembles and he pulls his hands away, holding you close to him, hums of affection leaving his throat as he thrusts into you a few more times before his movements stall. There's a bit of content silence before his voice breaks it. "Still think I hate you?" You pause, then you murmur in response shakily, "Mnh-mnh. Thank you..." "You're welcome, pet. But next time you need my cock, say it instead of being a brat." "Then the next time you dream about me, tell me." "...deal."

[howtofightwrite]

Every movie makes it look so easy to snap someone's neck by twisting their head really fast and hard, and it's used all the time, but it can't possibly be that easy or effective can it? It's not like every Joe Schmoe on the street can start going around snapping necks can they? They also love to have people snap necks between their thighs, I imagine that's even harder and less likely to work.

So, breaking someone's neck with your bare hands basicallyisn't a thing. Actually breaking your neck doesn't take a lot of force, but the whole neck snap thing takes an absolutely comical amount of force to work, and even if it did, it wouldn't necessarily be lethal. The idea is that it severs the spinal column or the brain stem, but in practice, all you'd be able to do is abuse some dense muscles and ligatures.

This is a real risk in auto accidents, particularly if the victim isn't properly belted, but the version you see in films is pure fiction.

Choking someone out is a lot more viable. This can either come from asphyxiation, or from obstructing blood flow to the brain. The former is slow, and is likely to cause the victim to panic while they slowly lose consciousness. The latter (sometimes called a blood choke, or triangle choke) can quickly lead to death, as you starve the brain of oxygen by cutting it off after it's been absorbed by the body. You do sometimes see these in film, though the amount of time needed to subdue someone is hilariously abbreviated. If you're just choking someone, that will take minutes before they'll lose consciousness, and they're going to seriously start to freak out once they realize they can't breath. Blood chokes, as mentioned earlier, are faster, but you're still looking at a long time in a fight.

Neck snapping with the thighs is about as plausible as the neck twist. Choking someone out with the thighs is slightly more credible. Legs can be used in submission holds while grappling. But, if we're being honest, I think we all know that this isn't used because it's realistic, it's the sex appeal. Without speaking from personal experience, I suspect thigh chokes are harder to get out of, simply because your legs are significantly stronger than your arms, but I'm speculating.

Also, importantly, suffering a broken neck isn't (usually) going to be immediately lethal. As mentioned earlier, unless the spinal chord is severed or the brain stem is damaged, they'll survive. This may result in a life altering injury, but it's not going to be an, “oh, they're instantly, and quietly, dead.”

I remember running across a news report, when we last covered this, where a couple of teens had decided to kill someone by snapping their neck. The victim ended up with some soreness in their neck, and the teens went away for attempted murder. Moral of the story, this doesn't work.

-Starke

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[lumineary-arts]

A lot of people are asking how Cabin Fever would go down, so like for the Promening I wrote down a lil summary. Its basically the same beats, so don't expect huge differences to the original.

Also, I never clarify which camper swaps with who, I'll probably give that some thought sometime later.

Since this is happening after the events of the Promening, N made a plan with Uzi and Thad to investigate the camp in order to find more clues about where his little sister Cyn disappeared off to, as well as what the meaning of the collars were.

And, like in the original, Uzi and Thad become the new camp counsellors! Thad's pretty intimidating, so Uzi's the one who tries to lead the class forward. V and J, beloved and popular among their peers, are the only ones who actually convince the class to trust them. N's... pretty much ignored. He's usually the type to be able to brush off this kinda thing with a nervous laugh, but something about the way they shower Uzi with so much flirty attention makes him feel uneasy...

The knowledge that his classmates and his only friends were having tons of fun because he wasn't there just overwhelms and overheats his senses, causing his solver to break a few windows while he investigates the abandoned cabins and looks for Cyn. It doesn't help that Thad later comes in to rub salt in the wound, hinting that Uzi would ditch him at the drop of a hat if given the chance. This ultimately ends up spiralling into N's solver slowly showing its horrific side when he later comes back to tell Uzi about what he's discovered in the cabins.

And suddenly, Thad isn't laughing anymore. He remembers Doll from the mansion, he knows exactly what that solver is, and he needs N dead as soon as possible. This causes Thad and Uzi to start fighting for the first time, with her defending N's actions to her core, even running off to find him. Poor Thad :(

We all know what happens in this episode. N's always been a sweetheart and the friendliest person imaginable, even in this AU. But from the grief that was losing his little sister, the dejection he felt every day from his own class, and the fear that Uzi would leave him at any point solidified his transformation. What's horrifying about this form is that, while he's not in total control of his actions, it's not like it doesn't stem from his feelings at least a little. He's friendly and forgiving, but he still feels resentment and hurt towards the classmates that constantly belittle and mock him every day. Especially J, who luckily survives just because Thad protects her. And Thad, the one who most mocked N for being scrawny and weak, suddenly can't win in a fight against the little dude, only being saved once Uzi swoops in and throws N up into the sky.

N's naturally a pacifist, but this is his first time actually harming and murdering other people, so he's even more visibly ashamed than Uzi is in the original episode. He struggles to even open up to Uzi while they have their sky therapy talk, instantly feeling the horror and guilt once he snapped out of it. They talk things out, each confessing that they felt scared without each other and that they needed each other to feel safe and complete. While he never ends up forgiving himself completely, Uzi stops him from spiralling at the revelation of his own actions.

Thad, of course, ends up covering for N in the final bus scene, pinning the blame on himself by "bragging" about the drones he killed at camp. In reality though, he's scared for AND of N, but he shows, in a way, that he cares.

[cantdothis-nomore]

how would the upper moons react if they found out that muzan wants to eat their partner since they suddenly gained the ability to survive in the sun

Upper Moons finding out that Muzan wants to eat their s/o!

Just a side note i now write for metal family :)

Kokushibo

• Would be horribly alarmed

• wouldn't know what to do because of his loyalty to Muzan but also his loyalty to you as your boyfriend

• he'd be stunned knowing you could walk in the sun amd understand muzans interest in you but after a while of thought he'd hide you somewhere safe

• well he thought was safe

• He'd have to repeatedly find different places for you to hide as Muzan kept finding you so you'd be in a different place every day.

• he'd be suffering aswell at Muzans wrath but also his own inner conflict about where his loyalty actually lies

• Muzan would use threat after threat after threat and even physical things to get Kokushibo to tell him where you were but he wouldn't no matter what

• because his loyaltys lay with you.

Douma

Would make the people of his cult help hide you

He'd straight go to hide you because you are the only person who has shown him proper affection and he doesn't want that to go away

He would admire you and beg you to tell him how you managed to walk in the sun but would remind himself there were bigger matters to handle

No matter the torture he underwent by muzan and the others in the 12 kizuki he wasn't letting go of you

Would always make sure nobody was following him on his way to see you

After finding out that Muzan wants to eat you he would try and be his normal self whilst mentally shitting himself thst someone would find you

He would always have someone to protect you whether it was him or one of his followers

He'd give false locations of where he had 'seen' you last but always in the day knowing that Muzan can't go in daylight just like thr rest of them

He isn't giving up on you anytime soon

Akaza

He would refuse to harm you or let anyone else harm you so his first instinct was to go into hiding and not inform anyone at any point of where you two were

Avoiding Muzan like the plague

He'd be wary about going out and only going when you two got really hungry to get a human

He already lost Koyuki, he refuses to lose you to especially to Lord Muzan

You guys would go from one hiding spot to another every week to make sure there was no risk of him or any of the others finding you

PROTECT YOU WITH HIS LIFEEEE

This man loves you too much to let you go

Would absolutely fight anyone who tried to get to you at any point

Enmu

Literally got nothing to say for him I'm sorry lol

Would turn you in to Muzan no hesitation

His love for you may be strong but his dedication to Muzan and his weird little blood fetish is stronger

Bye bye to you

Daki

She'd be torn between giving you in to Muzan or hiding you

Her dedication to Muzan, like Enmu, is strong but she has to decide whether her love for you is stronger

Her internal debate drives Gyutaro CRAZY

Would be desperate for Muzans praise but also doesn't want to lose the feeling you give her and the affection you show her

She would half hide you half leave you alone whilst she made her decision

If she chose to hide you, she would have to flee the Entertainment district and not tell anyone where she was going

If she chose to turn you in she would probably have that on her conscience for the rest of her days until eventually slain

Gyutaro

First reaction would be to flat down refuse and not turn you in to Muzan

You were the first one apart from Daki who showed him the love he actually deserved, who made him feel worth it when he didn't himself.

Would probably force Daki to hide you for him against her wishes as she is loyal to Muzan

After separated from her, he would constantly be at your side and in the day Daki would force one of the girls from her house to be with you instead

He would make you go into different spots regularly to throw any other demons off of your trail in fear of someone finding you

Would be constantly paranoid about everyone and everything around you

10/10 would make you trail after Daki if for his sanity more than yours

[thegnomelord]

CH 1: With a Spark It Starts Just Like It Ended

CW: NSFW Blood, gore, cannon typical violence, M reader but can be read as GN, Mage reader, Monster 141 AU, reader is described as having thick fucked up arms.

AO3 3.7k words, more of an intro to what's to come lol.

Old man Abdul had lived a good life. A harsh one. But a good one.

He was amongst the first to grab a gun and raise the fight against the Russians, risking life and limb for the freedom of Urzikstan even as members of his pack bled and died to artillery fire and noxious gas. And he alone had survived to see his country set free of tyranny and chose to stay in the military long after his hair had greyed.

And how was he rewarded for his service?

With a 'promotion' to guard the basement of a conference hall. They even called it the 'Peace House' as if that made his position grander, though in his humble opinion the only peaceful thing happening within the halls above was the lack of physical violence.

"Hey, did you fall asleep on me old man?" Taim, a bright eyed and gap-toothed human private so young he could've been one of his grandsons, asks as he throws down five playing cards on the floor between them. Royal flush, again.

Old man Abdul's eyes are soft with a glare and he throws down his own cards, already knowing he'd lost. "Go fish." He huffs, leaning back into the chair they'd been able to squirrel away.

It was embarrassing to think that boredom could torture him more than the Russians did, but they were only a few hours into their shift and he was already thinking of biting a bullet. Chances were they'd stay down here long after the diplomats up top finished bickering about who knows what...

"Hey," Taim perks up, and from the few weeks he's known him, Abdul knows the glint in his brown eyes heralds something stupid. "How about whoever loses this round takes a shot from your leg?"

He is proven correct.

"How about I throw you into a minefield so we can match?" Old man Abdul responds, his tail wagging from side to side. His tail looks more at home on a rat than any werewolf, the fur there an accidental casualty of a Russian fire mage's spell that had taken his leg off. The prosthetic leg only fitting on his human body isn't nearly as insulting as the warding totem they'd given him to protect against lethal magic after his leg had gone flying.

Taim gulps and holds his hands up. "There's no need for that sir." He quickly adds, clearing his throat and reaching to the floor to pick up their cards and shuffle them.

Taim's warding totem slips out from beneath his jacket, but it's different from old man Abdul's. Not in appearance, with the same materials every mage will make theirs differently, but in feel. It feels different...wrong.

Eyes narrowing he reaches out and holds the piece of faintly glowing rock between his claws. Heat radiates into his fingers, the magic inside pulsing in a steady even thrum like a machine instead of beating like a heartbeat; like something not quite alive.

Abdul had been in combat long enough to know how good a warding totem is with how his body reacts to it.

The shit one he'd been given barely gets the remaining fur on his tail to bristle.

Taim's makes his skin want to melt off.

"Where did you get this?" Abdul asks, tail curling up as he lets go of the totem with disgust clear on his face. "That rock could probably protect you from L3 mage without cracking, maybe even L4." Call him paranoid, but a private getting a totem to protect him from mages rarer than unicorns doesn't make any sense.

"Oh, that-" The young man clears his throat, the totem laying flat against his chest like an insult to life. "Came from up top a few days ago, guess all those terror attacks spooked command and they want to keep us normal people safe." He realizes his words and quickly adds. "-not that I'm calling you not normal or anything sir, it's just that-"

"-You're squishier than me, yes, I know." Old man Abdul rolls his eyes, leaning back into his chair with a huff.

Taim gives a nervous little giggle, scratching at his curly dark hair. "No offence sir. It's just...you know."

"We all look out for our kinfolk first." Old man Abdul sighs, going to wave him off.

His pointy ear twitches and immediately he's jumping to his feet when his sensitive hearing picks up the sound of the elevator mechanism running. No one is supposed to come down at this time, and Abdul already has his rifle raised to point at the elevator doors by the time Taim is able to get to his own feet. The old werewolf doesn't even need to say anything for the young man to stand on opposite side of him, they work together well, both guns aimed at the person revealed by the opening elevator doors.

It's just the janitor.

Taim lets out a small breath and lowers his gun, relaxing as the janitor gives them a small greeting both of them have to strain their ears to hear as a face mask muffles their words.

"That was a bit embarrassing." Taim chuckles weakly, nodding his own greeting and taking a step back so the janitor can push the heavy cart past them. Abdul notes the janitor's hands are thick and large, the veins poking out beneath latex gloves. Murky water sloshes inside the mop bucket, the trash bag filled to the brim and budging.

It's just a janitor.

But like an annoying tick on his ass, something doesn't let old man Abdul relax.

There's a buzz in the back of his mind like the one he'd get when he was being watched, and when he catches sight of the janitor's eyes beneath the wide-brimmed cap that buzzing stops; Instead replaced with a flash sense of wrongness in his bones and the feeling of tar inside his heart and an indescribable scent — like stale beer and burnt grass and deep dark rot — it has his fingers moving to the trigger before the sight of magic melting through latex can make the short trip from his eyes to his brain—

Glowing lines spring into thin air to form magic circles before their eyes.

The warding totems shatter.

'Pop' goes a head.

Both bodies drop to the ground.

"Could have told me there was a dog." Your words scrape against your throat like shards of glass from the disuse, melted latex stretching into long strands as you take off the cleaner gloves and throw them away, your fingers steaming and glowing hot with mana before you hide them away in tactical gloves.

"I-" Taim tries to say but his voice fails him, eyes and mind still blinded by the harsh glare of magical fire.

"Save it." You cut him off, pulling open the lip of the trash bag to dig out your facemask helmet. It's both a full face helmet and a gasmask, scratched up from years of use but still able to protect your head while keeping you anonymous. A shame it can't filter out the stench of burnt flesh, but you've gotten used to it.

Taim's vision clears and the moment his eyes settle on the charred remains of Abdul's head— the hollowed out skull where concentrated flame had burned a hole straight through everything in it's path, the flesh and bone charred black —he's scrambling away as fast as his feet can push him, the shattered remains of your warding totem crumbling beneath his fingers. Bile rises in his throat and he coughs when he breaths in, but his stomach is thankfully empty so he ends up dry heaving.

"On your feet." Your words are hard to understand under your gasmask, but you don't need to raise your voice. The tone you use has him scrambling to his feet in seconds.

"I- I- yes sir!" Taim manages to stutter out, doesn't even have to fake his fear as he stands at attention. He watches you reach into the dirty water to pull out a Handheld Personal Computer and shake off the residual droplets to ensure it still works before putting it in your pocket.

"When is the next check in?" You ask, reaching further into the trash bag to grasp the handhold on the heavy gas canister hidden beneath office trash. You pull it out without much effort, setting it carefully on the ground so you can recheck that the release valve is intact.

"20 minutes sir." Taim responds and he doesn't need to know Arabic to know what's inside the canister when a grinning skull is printed on the metal.

You let out a low sound, and Taim tries not to peer too closely at you. Sometimes he wonders what face a person who burns people alive without a single second of hesitation could have, but then you look at him and he sees that unnatural glow of mana in your eyes behind the darkened lenses of the helmet and he's glad he's met with the emotionless visage of the mask rather than the one beneath it.

"You have 10 to get out before Hell opens up." You say, standing back up and picking up the canister without complaint. "Use the emergency tunnels, don't spook the VIPs."

Taim is human, not sensitive to magic like the monsters are, but even he can feel the latent mana in your veins that strengthens your body. Like maggots at the back of his skull. It makes a second round of bile rise to his throat. "Yes sir."

You pay close attention to him until he disappears down the corridor before going the opposite way. Alone, it is easier to calm the lingering heat in your veins until the eternal engine of mana in your chest fizzles down to embers like a sleeping beast. Can't have your mana mess with sensitive electronics, even if that does leave you exposed on the cams (as if there's anyone alive to watch them)

"Ifrit, status?" The small radio in your ear crackles.

"Moving to the target, encountered and neutralized a wolf." You answer, taking sharp turns as you follow a path you'd memorized beforehand. "No other monsters to report."

You were lucky to run into one down in the bowels of the conference hall instead of at the front gate. Otherwise your espionage mission would have turned into a frontal assault. Not that Khaled would have minded, you were getting paid to send a loud statement after all.

"Good." You don't need to see his face to know he's smirking, your employer wasn't a huge fan of subhumans. "Continue to the objective."

You respond in affirmative, coming to a heavy metal door, locked with a passcode and even a palm scanner; It's all a valiant effort to keep sensitive data safe, but it may as well be cardboard to you. You summon another circle, this time right on the door, biting your tongue. You're not good with 'subtle' but you haven't forgotten what Taurus or Sierra had taught you; first pushing a bit of loose ash magic between the large atoms making up the metal to disrupt the bonds, then a single pulse of fire ignites the volatile ash and has the entire bottom half crumbling into red hot shards.

Molten slag drips down to the floor when you duck down under the remaining half of the door to find yourself in the server room. Steam rises when the cold air meets your hot skin, but you hardly notice as you first head to the ventilation system at the back of the room. It's dark, but you don't bother turning on the lights, the subtle mana in your eyes enough to give you primitive night vision.

"Ifrit to Alpha-Actual, connecting the payload right now." You say, setting the canister down. The ventilation collects the air from the server room to push it through the entire building and then outside, so all you have to do is melt a hole through the exit pipe until it's big enough for the hose on the canister to fit snugly inside.

"And the files?" Khaled's voice sounds in your ear once you're finished.

"Going now." Standing back up you head to the central server. Taking out the HPC you hook it up to the mainframe, watching the screen until it shows 'connection secure'. "I'm connected."

"Copy that." Your eyes scan the cracked screen (which you broke less than a week after getting it), seeing the file transfer start before Khaled even finishes speaking and trying to read and memorize the names of dozens the files but they change too quickly. "File transfer ETA 5 minutes. Sit tight."

Giving confirmation you keep an eye on the doorway. Though you are positioned in such a way that you'd see the shadow of someone coming in before they see you, years of being behind enemy lines and acting as a friendly to your foes has taught you to be careful. Especially when you can't use more than a smidgeon of mana without frying the entire server system.

You are lucky that no-one comes, the remaining guards too busy guarding the diplomats above you to check what's beneath their noses. While waiting you access the public stream to watch the peace talks, setting the sound to the lowest possible setting so you can keep an eye on the diplomats in case you need a change of plan.

"Got the files, you're clear to finish." You're moving before Khaled can finish speaking, leaving the HPC to hang by the cord from the server. "Oh, and remember: Loud."

"You get what you pay for sir." Kneeling down next to the gas canister you check to ensure your gas mask is firmly on and breathing in deeply; It restricts your breathing and makes muscles work harder, but your body is so used to it that it feels like coming back home.

"Letting the gas out now." Even with the gas mask you still hold your breath when you open the valve, the gas hissing as it escapes the canister, the fan right next to you helping push it through the system. You know there's not enough gas to reach the diplomats on the top floor, it's part of the plan, so when the gas pitters out you cast another circle inside the pipe.

The servers around you flicker meekly and crackle with electricity when you use your mana fully; Something intense and suffocating burns behind your sternum for just a second before liquid mana is rushing down your veins into your hands and coming out through the magic circle as copious amounts of ash.

The rotating fan right next to you spews some of your ash right back at you, flooding the server room in magic that has long since accepted your body enough not to hurt you. But even your seasoned stomach feels tight when you breathe in the mixture of ash and toxic gas, the chemicals turning your magic a nasty shade of green, and you make a mental note to change the filter when you're done with the op otherwise the toxified sediment collecting in there will poison you for months.

You can hear the diplomats begin to cough over the livestream in the HPC, but it all feels so distant when you shift and feel cold dog tags press against your burning chest. They're light like a noose around your neck, yet the absence of weight mocks you in a way their owners no longer can.

There's a familiar sting in your bones when your mana reservoir begins dwindling, but it's easy to push through it until the engine in your chest goes into overdrive from the stress the magic puts on your body. You only stop when the burning mana in your veins starts burning small holes in the sleeves of the janitor jacket, revealing bits of your mage marked skin.

Stopping the flow of ash your hands find themselves in your pocket, taking out a lighter. It's one of those old zippo lighters, the exterior is rusted from years of action and numerous initials are scratched into the metal, but somehow it still functions; It's the strange thing about it— the more you use it, the longer it lasts. Stop, and it dies.

"It's a bit like you, firebug."

Absentmindedly you trace the scratched initials in the metal, trying to ignore the hollowness in your chest when the screams beyond the smokescreen of ash start sounding familiar.

"Going dark." You say to them, flicking it open.

One spark is all it takes.

. . .

With Makarov having gone underground like a wanker after his escape from the gulag, Price and Laswell had been stuck with their heads in mountains of paperwork searching for the bastard. Price had known he'd be in for a headache the moment he agreed to let the boys watch a live football game between England and Scotland, but he reasoned they'd all been working hard enough to earn even a small break.

At the very least it gave them all a moment of reprieve from the stress of a possible world war.

It didn't stop Soap from being a bloody muppet.

"Oh fockin' 'ell!" Soap roars and jumps to his feet, growling at the teli where a ref held a red card above her head. "That should've been a yellow! Fock, one more eye and the ref's a right cyclops." He waves obscenities at the teli as if the ref can see them, his tail hitting Gaz every time it wagged.

"Soap!" Gaz groans and stretches one black wing to smack the werewolf over the head with his long flight feathers to stop him blocking the screen.

Though Gaz's wings are hollow, the smack still hurts. "Ow, what's that for?" Soap groans, rubbing the back of his head.

"At least take your defeat with a wee bit of dignity." Gaz smirks, folding his wings.

"Bold assumption he has any." Ghost mutters next to Price, making him chuckle.

“Oh ho! I’ll get me dignity when the bloody ref gets off 'er knees an’ stops blowing the entire game.” Soap turns to playfully snap his teeth at Gaz. "And what's tha-"

The football match cuts out, replaced with a news segment.

"-Oh, what the fock?" Soap grows quiet when the newscaster begins speaking.

"We interrupt your regularly scheduled programming to bring you breaking news. As we speak, the conference hall in Al Mazra, where diplomats from over 40 countries had come to discuss peace and trade agreements with the newly reinstated Urzikstan government, burns in the flames of another terrorist attack."

The footage shifts to a drone filming a bird's eye view shot of violent flames spewing from every hole and window to engulf the entire three story building in consuming fire, heavy plumes of smoke rising into the sky like a maw of a hungering beast to spew a storm of ash and cinders down to the ground. The clouds of ash have a sick green undertone to them.

"Shit." Gaz sucks in a breath.

"Mokarov's done hiding." Ghost notes, leaning in to look closely at the screen with narrowed eyes.

"How the fock did we miss this?" Soap asks the question in their minds, turning to look at Price. "This popped up like bloody whack-a-mole."

At that same time Price's phone rings. The dragon quickly fishes it out of his pocket, seeing Laswell's name as the caller ID before he picks it up while the reporter drawls on.

"Price, are you-"

"Yeah, I'm watching the teli." He cuts her off, knowing what she's going to say. Distantly he can hear the same news report sounding on her end.

"Authorities warn citizens to vacate the immediate area as toxic gas has been detected in the air. Military forces are already enroute, but the prospects for the diplomats survival are nonexistent."

Price's draconic eyes focus on the screen when the footage shifts to that inside the conference hall. Two diplomats argue about something Price can't begin to try and untangle, his focus on one man near the back who begins coughing. More follow suit, and even over the screen Price can tell the signs of toxic gas inhalation by the way more diplomats begin wheezing and coughing wetly.

"This isn't the Russians." Kate says after Price has put her on speaker.

"How come? Looks like some terrorist shite Makarov would pull." Johnny says, his tail curled up and the tip wagging occasionally as he pays attention to the screen.

Seconds later plumes of blackish-green smog erupt from the vents above the diplomats, spewing out with such force it knocks the the camera and the man behind it down to the ground. Ash Magic, Price realizes when he sees smoldering cinders drift almost peacefully in the all consuming fog. Seconds later something causes a spark and the volatile ash magic explodes.

"Ash mage." Ghost grunts, "Just great."

"Makarov doesn't use mages." Price says, scratching his beard.

"No, but Al-Asad does." Kate's voice drifts through the silent room as they watch several APC's arrive on the scene, armored soldiers exiting. But without any monsters who can stomach the heat like Price and with the fog of ash so thick it could be cut with a knife, the best they can do is secure the perimeter. "The CIA intercepted his broadcast before it went public, this is just the start."

Gaz hops off the couch, crossing the small distance to tap one claw at the screen. "What is that?" He asks. Seemingly hearing him, the drone camera focuses on where the main entrance of the building had been.

A dark silhouette of a person can be seen in the flames, growing darker and more refined until finally a featureless helmet emerges from the flames, a deep glow emanating from behind the lenses. It's followed by a body, clothes burnt away in some parts but the flesh beneath unharmed. Price can tell immediately it's a mage by the state of the arms — even from far away it's easy to tell the mage marks, the skin turned rough and dark like cooled magma, veins brimming with volatile mana.

Before the soldiers can fire a single bullet you lift one hand up, the dark mage marks turning to bright like fresh lava when mana flows from your chest to your fingers. A magic circle etches itself into the ground in an instant, so large the surrounding buildings fall into it's perimeter.

And with a second motion of your hand everything erupts into an all consuming cloud of ash.

Laswell's voice rings out. "That's Khaled's new attack dog."

Price and Ghost share a look, both know what will happen long before some nervous soldier caught in the ash cloud pulls the trigger. The cloud of ash explodes the second a spark is created in a weapon's chamber, plunging everything into chaos.

Great, a new wanker to worry about.

Price sighs, brows furrowing. "That's trouble all right."

Tag list: @resident-cryptid @diejager @lovingtyrantkitten @lieutnt

Masterlist <- Chapter 1 (you are here) -> Chapter 2

You can imagine the helmet however you want, but it's in the style of the Devtac Ronin helmet.

[alicelufenia]

I pretty much think about this post whenever people try to argue that Minthara is, like, a low-tier Baenre or nepobaby who didn't amount to anything. It comes across as a fundamental misunderstanding of how status works in Drow society, especially for nobles.

I chalk it up to people working from an assumption that being a Paladin of Lolth somehow isn't a big deal compared to being a priestess. But like, what makes you think priestesshood isn't a PREREQUISITE to Paladinhood? Heck she even used to BE a cleric in EA, and even in final release still fights using cleric weapons (ie. maces) but with the full weapon training of a graduate of Melee-Magthere on top of that.

And while this is admittedly some conjecture, holding enough favor to swear an oath to carry out Lolth's will reflects a level of confidence in where you stand with your god that very few can likely boast. Meanwhile even HIGH priestesses need to beg from a yochlol to determine whether this or that matron has fallen out of favor.

The OTHER reason I often see given to saying she isn't important points to the lack of Drow politics or antagonists coming after her when she fell under the Absolute's control, presumably a traitor. But like, she already SAYS the consequences of that; she can never go home, or she will be tortured, turned into a dryder, sacrificed, or just straight up killed on sight. When all it takes is one member of a house to jeopardize the Matron's standing with Lolth, it's no surprise they'd take the "cut ties, brand an outcast, and call it a day" path.

Meanwhile I look to her ability to command a sizeable army of House Baenre soldiers as a big deal in and of itself, that gets equally ignored. People have to understand that armies in Menzoberranzan don't work like standing armies or police forces in real world societies. They're not beholden to Menzoberranzan as a nation-state, but to the house they serve.

Not just any Baenre could march a bunch of soldiers out of the Underdark (travel that's already heavily restricted) basically on a whim. If you think so I'd love to see examples, but at the very least this puts her in a high position of authority over military forces, a general basically, who may answer to some High Priestesses and certainly the Matron, yes, but that applies to every other noble so I don't see the point in diminishing her for that.

There's also the fact that she's 250+ years old, which is impressive for a female Baenre who must have SO MUCH competition for every step of station she achieves coming from below, and pressure from above not to overreach, yet still she not only survived, but thrived. She MISSES noble life, someone with her degree of ambition doesn't yearn for that unless they are confident they have what it takes to play the game. If she was foolish or overestimated her position, or didn't make herself an asset in all of that time, she would not be around, simple as that.

[asliceofzosan]

sanji has always known he loved zoro.

subconsciously.

it's hidden in the steps he takes to maneuver around the sleeping marimo on the deck. it's written in the recipes he creates to account for the amount of nutrients he needs for his frankly ridiculous workout routine. it's embedded so deeply in the way he fights, back to back, one leg swinging in perfect synergy with zoro's blade. how he stands on his blind side more often on the field. but stands on his good side when they have a conversation.

so the words "i love you" come naturally to him. it's like he was always meant to say it to zoro. his presence was an appetizer. his words, the entreé. his actions, a delectable dessert that even his sweets-hating boyfriend craves for after a long day.

but sanji has never heard those three little words from zoro. not even once.

and sure, it's not like he goes around saying i love you to every beautiful lady he meets. he knows the gravity of such words. he knows how someone saying it can affect you in ways that can barely be comprehended by the human mind. it stirs something within ourselves that awakens the age old yearning to be cherished. to be held.

to be worth something to someone.

sanji can remember the rare times someone said i love you to him. once held in his mother's arms in a tender embrace that weakens with each passing second, it was whispered against his temple, frail fingers combing through his hair, and he cries without knowing that it would be the last time he hears those words for a very long time. once shaking in zeff's arms as the nightmares roar louder in his head than the storm that rattled the windows of the newly opened baratie, the older man choosing to be gentle with the child he willingly gave everything to in order to survive.

he's never heard it from someone who loved him like a partner. loved him like an equal. loved him in ways lovers are supposed to love each other.

maybe it's because he never had one of those until zoro. for the longest time, he survived on fairy tales and myths and legends. oral tradition passed down through generations of every family he encounters on their adventures out at sea. and though his life as a prince was nothing like the pictures painted in children's books, he always longed for a princess of his own. someone he could save from the proverbial tower guarded by a fearsome dragon.

he wanted someone to love him like a hero. their hero. someone who admires him for all the things he desperately projects for others to see him as worth keeping around.

zoro isn't a princess by any means. he's honestly so much more like the dragon. but also not. fearsome as he is fearful. immensely strong as he is soft hearted. a steady pillar as he is the first to crumble at sanji's touch.

and zoro never admired him like a hero. never cared about the best foot forward sanji took care to show others. in fact, he saw right through him from the very moment they met. it irritated sanji to no end how someone like that stupid marimo could read him like an open book. he took care to make sure the pages of his story that he deems undesirable were sealed away under lock and key. no one needed to know the plot points that brought him where he is. he needs to be the hero. he needs to be seen as the hero in his story.

but who exactly was he trying to save?

what kind of hero has no one to save?

it took several years for him to realize that the person he needed to save was himself. and zoro knew that.

of course he fucking did.

he never mollycoddled him. never softened the blow. always blunt and direct with him. it drove sanji up the wall once with how little tact he had. eventually, he actually started to appreciate how zoro never once sugarcoated anything with him. if he was upset, he'd show it. if he was happy, it would shine in his gaze clear as day.

and if he was in love?

well.

sanji can admit it took him much longer to realize that the love he felt for zoro was not only reciprocated but was so much deeper than what three little words could possibly convey.

there's a permanent space for zoro next to sanji, right in front of the sink, when dinner is over and the soapy water goes up to his elbows. the windows are always open in the crow's nest when sanji's watch comes right after zoro's, just enough for the smoke to escape but the smell to linger. the wordless nod zoro gives him when sanji is combing through marketplaces and dragged him along to be his pack mule. the strategically placed shoulder for him to jump off of when sanji needs to launch himself at an oncoming enemy.

the 2am fights that devolve into holding each other and apologizing without saying any words at all.

the way zoro carries him back to his bunk when he's fallen asleep in the galley writing recipes down. the kiss to his forehead. the hand that runs through his hair.

and here sanji thought his actions were the sweet dessert. for in the dead of night, when no one is watching, zoro's devotion is blinding. zoro's love shines like a beacon in a dark, stormy night.

the dragon perched on the roof of the tower, breathing fire for the lost prince to find his way home.

so sanji lets zoro comb through the pages of his story that he doesn't tell anyone else. he lets zoro guide his hand to flip to the blank pages, allows him to convince him that the parts of his story that mattered are the ones written by his own hand. and if the pages are soon filled with endless adventures of the prince and his swordsman, no one else will really understand it.

no one except zoro.

so yes. sanji always knew he loved zoro and that zoro loved him back just as fiercely or maybe even more.

even if he never heard those three little words.

what sanji doesn't know, is that when zoro is sure he is fast asleep, zoro whispers those words against sanji's ear. like a revenant prayer to a god. zoro doesn't believe in god.

but he believes in sanji. he always did.

[spacebarbarianweird]

The Skin I Hate

Astarion wakes up from yet another nightmare but this one brings even more disgusting memories that he is used to.

TW: Mentions of SA, mild self-harm Tags: angst, hurt/comfort, f!tav, established relationship, post-game Read on AO3

Masterlist

Headcanons

The weird perk of being an elf is being conscious when dreaming.

Non-elves are blissed with sleep, letting the dark void consume them for a night. Meanwhile, adult elves have to see their own past and re-live the memories in these few hours of meditation.

When it's good memories, it is a dream. When it's bad, it's a nightmare. And unfortunately for Astarion, his memories only fuel the despair.

"Here you are, boy," he hears his master's disgusting voice. "Such a handsome young elf you are."

Cazador is dead. It's not real. It's yet another nightmare that has come to haunt him. The old vampire was so pathetic he didn't even bother to hunt himself, fearing the only thing he could truly enjoy as an undead. There is nothing to be afraid of. Astarion stabbed him twenty-eight times, slaughtered him like a pig he was.

But nightmares keep coming, and there is nothing Astarion can do to stop them.

"You don't want to do this, but you are still doing it."

Astarion remembers everything. He doesn't remember his past when he could see his reflection or the sun, but his mind has preserved all the memories he wishes to forget.

The desire to peel his skin off. The dirty touches. The never-ending tortures and hunger. Sometimes, Astarion thinks this is the reality and the last two years are just a hallucination, an evil trick. Freedom, safety, a woman to hold. It’s all unreal.

Astarion is still locked in the tomb, isn't he? He is still in the kennel, flayed and beaten. He is still in his master's full power, doing every disgusting thing he orders.

… Astarion opens his eyes. He sees the wooden ceiling above him. He hears birds chirring in the distance - it's late afternoon, warm and sunny. Astarion can't understand where he is; the nightmare still holds a grip on his mind. The undead heart feels like a tombstone in the chest.

There is an urge to hide, run, and return to his master because the longer Astarion is absent, the more painful the tortures will be.

Then, he sees a set of armor, too small for him to wear. A travel sack with food he doesn't need, and a sword he doesn't know how to fight with.

Tav.

The realization resembles a lover's embrace, gentle and strong. It was indeed a nightmare. And this is the reality for Astarion. Freedom. A journey under the starry night sky. Days spent in shelters like this abandoned hut in the middle of nowhere.

And Tav's love.

Her trust, her caress. Her loud laughter at his jokes, her concentrated face when she takes care of her weapon and armor.

Their innocent mockery of each other. "Astarion, what does it say?" she asks, pointing at the board at the tavern. "Tav, I still can't apprehend how you lived up to being an adult without getting reading skills." "Oh, I am sorry I was too busy surviving! Not everyone is born in cities!"

His little brave Tav, whose heart is big enough for them both. His fierce companion who believes in him a hundred times more than he believes in himself. Her imminent faith in good, in people. In the chance, there is a cure for vampirism, in the idea that evil forces will always be defeated.

There was time when he thought Tav was just stupid. It took him a while to realize her faith comes from dark places. She knows the sorrows of this world no less than him, but she chooses to always see the light.

And Astarion chooses to be with her.

“Look what you have done to her”, something dark whispers in his ear. "She has to hide in shadows with you. If it wasn't for you, she could stay in the nearest village and sleep comfortably, but because of you, she has to stay here, in this wretched hole of a place. You are tainted with blood and pain, and you taint her as well."

Astarion tries to shut this voice up. But he can't. His own skin feels disgusting as if covered in acid sweat. His body is dirty. His touches are cursed. After everything he did, after everything done to him, after all these people he slept with, after everything happened to him in Cazador's mansion - he has no right to ruin Tav.

Astarion stands up, trying to shut the voice up. The hut is so small it suffocates him, but he can't go outside; the sun still shines.

"Damn! Gods damn you!" he screams, but the voice sounds hoarse as if he broke it in his sleep.

Maybe he did.

Nails dig into the skin, causing dull pain. Astarion makes a sharp movement, leaving deep pink strains on his left arm. Pain is pleasant and familiar. He keeps scratching the skin as if trying to peel it off.

Blood starts dripping to the floor.

The pain brings temporal bliss, and the sight of his bloodstained hand somehow comforts Astarion. Tears stream down the face - tears of desperation. Of darkness.

"Astarion," he hears a quiet voice. "Please, stop."

He turns his head and sees Tav. She wears her camp clothes, a pair of trousers and a shirt. Her hair is wet. She probably has bathed in the nearest river. Feet are bare and covered in soil. Astarion notices a blade of grass stuck between her toes.

Tav approaches him and makes him sit on the floor. He tries to drop the sleeve to cover the injuries as if it could trick her.

Tav gently touches his neck, avoiding the bite mark. Her touch is thoughtful, kind, and warm. She smells like sunlight. Astarion freezes, staring at the wall, not knowing how to look at her, not knowing what to do.

"What happened?" she finally asks. "I got used to your nightmares, but this is the first time you harm yourself."

"Nothing"

Tav sighs and stands up. For a moment, Astarion thinks she will leave him, but she just kneels at her travel bag and gets a healing ointment. He usually applies it to her after fights with monsters while she jokes, "You should see the other guy!".

The ointment prickles the skin and accelerates vampiric regeneration.

"Tell me," Tav asks.

He shrugs. "There is nothing to tell. Nothing you already don't know, just another nightmare. Tell me how the world looks under the sun."

"Astarion, you are my love and my life. But if you keep pretending everything is good when it's not, I will hit you with something heavy."

"You are so adorable when you try to threaten. Like a hissing kitten."

She laughs, and he can't take his eyes off her smile.

Then, Tav takes his injured hand in hers and caresses the knuckles. She waits for him to answer.

"If you woke to me trying to peel my skin off, would you want to know why?" she seriously asks.

He gulps. Of course, he doesn't need to tell now. Tav won't force him. He can tell her later when he feels more like it. Or never tell. It's his right for privacy. But it means Tav will be more preoccupied than usual, that the next sunrise she won't leave his side, that she will offer him her blood more than usual, more than she can give without complications.

Astarion can't do this to her even though he has a right to do so.

"I feel disgusting," he finally admits.

"What?" she is shocked. "Why?"

"I feel my skin is dirty, and no matter how strong I scrub it, I can't escape this feeling. I have done terrible, loathsome things, and the same things were done to me. Any time I touch you, I feel like I taint you, burden you with my own nightmares."

Tav is silent. Her eyes study his face. Is this remorse in her eyes? Sadness? Anger?

"Astarion. I am going to ask you a question", she finally says, "And you will answer it. You will not try to lie. You will not try to banter. You will tell me the truth. Did he force himself onto you?"

Astarion stares at Tav in disbelief. How can she know? How did she guess?

She touches his cheek, and it causes tears to flow again.

"Yes," he answers shortly and bites his lower lip. "Many times. Before he grew tired of me and sent me to the streets."

Tav doesn't say anything. Instead, she opens her arms and hugs Astarion, pressing his head against her collarbone. He can't see her face, but he knows there are tears on her face as well.

"How did you know?" he finally asks. "Tav … did anything… like that…"

"No, I was never assaulted. But every girl, whether she is an elf or dwarf or a human, a peasant, or a noble - knows such things. We are warned about it from a very young age. Even when it doesn't happen to us, we know someone it happened to. I think I guessed the moment you told me about your past."

"You disgust me," he remembers a cruel voice as if its owner wasn't the one who made Astarion disgusting.

She pulls away and kisses his forehead. "You are more than this. More than your trauma, more than your past. You are brave, smart, kind, even if you don’t want to admit it. I know what you are, what happened to you. It's a part of the deal. But please don't hurt yourself. If you do this, you continue Cazador's work. Because he would have mutilated you. The only thing he could not take away from you was your appearance, your face, your beauty. It was the only thing left from the past self. You can't see the reflection, but at least you know you look the same as 200 years ago. And your master needed it to lure victims. He couldn't take it from you without consequences for himself."

Tav puts her hands on his shoulders and looks at his eyes.

"Sooner or later, he would have found someone new, someone innocent to do your job, and he would have mutilated you. He would have taken the only thing you were left with. Every time you try to harm yourself, every time you hate yourself, you continue his job. I don't fucking want this. You don't fucking need this. The bastard is dead. You killed him. We can't change what happened to you. But it means he can't return either."

Astarion puts his hand on his knees and smiles. "I don't deserve you."

"You do deserve me, and I deserve you. There is no part of your body I find disgusting."

Astarion instinctively covers his bite mark. Tav notices it and gently removes his hand. She looks at the bite mark closely as if studying.

Long ago, they agreed he didn't want his bite mark to be touched, and Tav carefully avoided it. He couldn't know what this scar looked like but was sure it was repulsive.

And then Tav kisses the bite mark.

A shiver goes down Astarion’s spine, there is a forgotten memory of being bitten by a hungry monster who didn't know any better than to attack a weak, dying person.

There was a time when Astarion prayed to the gods to save him. Every divine creature he remembered – Lathander, Loviatar, Selune, Tyr, Savras – and a hundred more. No one answered. But what if someone did? He just needs to figure out which one is responsible for making sure Tav is born and survives through childhood, and who put her right in front of the Nauthiloid. When he does, he will become a man of this god.

Then Tav pulls away and looks at the entrance to the hut. "It's still hours till sunset. Is there something I can do to make you feel better?"

You don't need to do anything – the sole presence is enough.

"Сould you give me the book from my bag?"

Tav smiles and opens his travel bag. "There are two books"

"The green one"

"They are both green!" she pointed at the volumes, the cover of the first one was the color of wet leaves, and the other resembled a malachite.

"The one you like more."

Tav hesitates, looking at the covers, and then chooses the second one. When she sits beside him, Astarion wraps his hand around her waist.

"What does it say?" she asks.

"The History of the Western Heartlands," he opens the first page. "But you are going to read it yourself. I don't want you to be dependent on my reading skills."

"Oh", she pouts. "I knew you don't like reading to me!"

"I like reading to you," he says, "And I want to teach you to do the same. Come on, it's not difficult. I need to concentrate on something anyway, and teaching an adult person to read will definitely be a complicated task. I will read, and you will follow the text with your eyes, then I will ask you to repeat what I said. Deal?"

Astarion presses his finger at the first line. "The history of the Western Heartlands is a history of endless battles and destroyed empires.-"

Tav repeats after him. It takes them a few hours just to make it through the first page. He sees her anger when she can't remember a specific letter and almost childish delight when she manages to read the word without his help.

When the sun finally sets, they pack their bags. Astairon helps Tav to put her armor on, tightening the belts, and they leave together into the night.

"You do feel better, don't you?" she asks, walking a few steps ahead of him.

Astarion concentrates on his feelings. The disgust and fear feel like a distant nightmare, something he can easily brush off. Even the bite mark Tav touched so gently stopped causing so much mental pain.

"Yes. I feel great, my love."

[kanene-yaaay]

The Benefits of a Restful Sleep (and other things that a friend can help you with)

Kanene's notes: In my defense, Dogday is way too cute and kind. That was his mistake. Now I just HAD to make an entire story where he is alive and the Player is both the most stubborn bean ever and the biggest softie to set a foot in the factory. That is it. That is the entire story. Warnings: Mentioned death as a form of reset, angst and mention of injury and blood. It's discussed but not too deeply and isn't the main plot of the story. Raspberries, nibbles, lots of teasing, hurt/comfort and roothing fluff. Reader is adressed with they/them. Around 9.500 words. Heavily inspired by @fluffymary 's wonderful, incredible stories. Take a look at them too :D

[~*~]

You were exhausted.

That was a problem.

Sure, tiredness wasn’t really a new feeling in your life when you looked at the big scheme of things. Even before you went back to your old workplace, it used to cling on your bones, to fill your mind with memories and to pull your spirits down at any time of the day when a kid’s laughter or flowers would remind you of everything you tried so hard to leave behind.

(And look where you are now.)

The constant ‘fighting for your life’ thing also hasn't been helping a lot lately. Adrenaline and the will to keep on living were perfect for the battles but could only get you so far when the feeling of danger and fear scrutinized all of your steps, stalking in any and every corner, waiting for the right moment to strike. Days and hours became a total mess and the longer you spent on exploring and surviving, the more and more things that were once important started to fade to a background thought in your head.

Food was one of them. Water. Sleep. The debris and destruction brought a lot of memories and enemies but hardly a safezone where you could actually sit down, breathe and rest for a bit. It was fine, though. The solution was simple and quick. 

Dying.

Sounded harsh when you thought about it in that way, to be honest. 

Resetting. 

Or something like that.

Not during a fight, of course. After the first couple of times, it quickly became annoying and no fun at all to have to experience all the chase and… other things more than once. However, on other occasions, missteps into an abyss happen and sometimes a bad calculation using the grabpack could be fatal (and more frequent than you should admit.) 

You couldn’t deny its convenience. In a blink you would wake up, not hungry, thirsty or exhausted, a few meters behind your previous location and then you would be ready to go until the pain of hunger or the feeling of being in a brick of passing out appeared once again.

It was not the best, you knew, but it was a good enough solution. 

It was fine.

(It was fine.) 

Especially now, when you have someone else depending on you to survive. Saving Dogday had been tricky and much, much harder than the alternative. Keeping him alive after that, during the smiling critters chase and the aftermath, even more so. None of this didn’t really matter, though. It was worth it. 

The beginning had been tougher. With all the emotions, the changes, pain (and how to keep going after all of that), going back to Home Sweet Home and getting into more trouble trying to turn on all the generators. The fact that, not very longer after getting into the Daycare, you found a new, clean fabric and a set of tools to take care of Dogday’s injuries was the perfect help, even if the coincidence of that encounter had bordered on a miracle that made your skin prickle in discomfort as you had stared at the sewing kit localized (placed) just a few meters away from you two. There was no way that this could have been accidental. 

(Ever since you set a foot in this factory not a single encounter, voice, tape or battle seemed a coincidence and the fear of the image that this puzzle was creating haunted your every choice.)

Nevertheless, beggars couldn’t be choosers. Even though Dogday stayed unusually quiet for a really long time after his injuries were taken care of, he still insisted on using it despite both of your strong suspicions, not wanting to be a ‘burden’, anymore.

You disagreed strongly with that word, of course. Not only because his knowledge of the place and the little shortcuts or hidden spaces had been essential both to escape from the hungry toys and to make your path confusing enough to mislead any pursuers you had was essential to your survival, but also because… 

Damn. 

You just really missed this.

Chatting. Having someone truly by your side. No second intentions or guesses or working around to earn a couple of moments of dialogue. Just a companionship and a fighter if needed, someone bright who could, just with their presence and company, help to keep your focus and your objectives in mind. 

Dogday’s voice was raspy and rough but his words were light and kind. He would insist on calling you ‘angel’ and gesture excitedly around when he was talking, pulling your attention back when you began losing yourself in your thoughts. He would help solving the complicated puzzles spread through the factory and hold your hand tight to hide the tremble of his own paws when you both went through somewhere too dark. He would joke and hold and help and you wished you could put in words how no trouble in the world could make his presence here not worth it. 

That is why you couldn’t afford passing out right now. That is why you kept pulling one foot after the other and continued your path to the end of this hell.

Unfortunately, the very reason that kept you moving forward was the same one blocking you from actually managing to reset your body and get over that tiredness.

The fact that Dogday cared.

He was smart and quite smooth too. That was clear after all the times he would ‘accidentally’ get in front of you when you managed to step a bit too close from a deepless hole or how he would suddenly remember a shortcut that would have you to deviate from the giant abyss you had been eyeing for a few moments ago or when he distracted you as he followed another direction, a light pull on your wrist and a inviting conversation on the tip of his tongue, the pit getting farther and farther away.

It was a bit endearing, you couldn’t lie.

However, when a badly placed hand of your grabpack successfully made you slip from a fatal high and you only had time to listen to a surprised yelp (or more like a ‘yap’?) before a giant orange arm held you close to a fluffy chest you were actually torn between hitting something in frustration and melting in the warmth.

Dogday smiled, looking down. 

“Ops, you almost fell in there, angel.” His eyebrow was crooked and his expression filled with tension and confusion. Yep. He definitely realized what was going on. That kind of sucks.

He started heading the other direction, taking a different path to where you were going. “You‘re really tired, aren’t you? Saving everyone must cost a lot of energy.” His eyes softened. You struggled to keep yours open, body inevitably relaxing with his voice and kind touch. “And, well, I don’t think you had a lot of opportunities to rest since you got here too, right? Ehehe. That is… a bit worrisome. Humans need plenty of sleep and we have been walking for a long time already!”

You have survived longer without it. It was fine. There were more generators that had to be turned on before anything else. Those were your priorities.

Dogday acknowledged the end of your sentence before shaking his head vehemently, his ears flopping around in an endearing way. 

“The generators have been turned off for a long time now, a few more hours won’t hurt. You are our priority, angel.” Dogday tried to not let his tail wag in adorableness when he pulled you closer to his chest and you let your head and eyelids fall with a really tiny, quiet sound for a moment too long before opening them and watching him in a stubborn manner. “And I think I know somewhere where we can hide for long enough before continuing.” 

He watched as you deviated your gaze, thoughtful. Almost there.

“Besides, my kind angel” he let his posture go, just a little. The exhaustion from… everything showing from the light of his eyes to the darkness of his mouth. Trusting had been what got him stuck but also what freed him. He could offer this human a bit more of it. “I-I really think I need time to recover. Sometimes it just… hurts.”

He looked down and you didn’t need to follow his gaze to get what he was saying.

Oh.

Oh.

That was what settled it. You nodded. But he had to put you on the ground. 

You kept your expression firm and ignored his playful chuckle and the way he only pulled you closer with your words, because if he kept holding you, there was no way you would not fall asleep instantly and you both couldn’t afford that until he got to that safe place.

With a huff and a beginning of a pout he acquiesced and put you on the cracked floor, getting your point. He had to hide his snickers with his paw when you wobbled on the same spot for a second before eventually gathering your strength back, feeling a million times more tired. 

Urg. Relaxing was a mistake.

“Don’t worry, it’s not too far from here. We will get there in no time!” 

(...)

Took longer than he expected for you to finally lay down, but it was worth it. The place was one of the old dorms so there were a lot of pillows and mattresses thrown around, a few somewhat still holding a good condition for use. With the help of some furniture and moving around, you managed to barricade the door and build a sort of nest hidden in a farther corner so that it would be really difficult to notice through any window. 

The human seemed ready to pass out at any moment, yawning and giving the door a last look, watching every creek and tear on the walls for anything that could be dangerous, even after all their previous care to make this place as safe as possible. Silly dear.

Dogday has always prided himself in being perceptive. Both because of the kids he once needed to watch and take care of and also because it’s important to notice and understand the details around your teammates so he would know when to help them.

(Old habits die hard, as it seems.)

And, yeah, maybe it had something to do with how long he spent without seeing a human or how he missed having someone (anyone-) who cared so much around. But he couldn’t really help to watch, prod and pick every little detail and gesture of yours around as if he was collecting flowers in a garden. Humans were so… expressive, and this one wasn’t different at all. 

Angel was fierce and determined, going silently and non stop through the facility and all their objectives with a focused mind and precise movements. Their senses and general environmental awareness were good, too, catching hints and dangers just a second or two after Dogday himself caught them, which, considering their small ears and eyes, was an incredible feat. 

Still, like a true angel, strength and kindness walked side by side with them. Dogday didn’t say that only because that person was the literal reason he was alive today, but simply because it was clear as water how much of a true softie you were inside. It was in the way they fired only around the small smile critters, avoiding to actually burn and kill them (even though he didn’t really know how he should feel about it), on how they carried and treated his wounds and how all their features - tensed, anxious and angry - softened everytime they looked at him. 

It was on the way that they walked slower to accompany him, amusing his rambles with pokes of fun and interesting additions and in how each touch or word was filled with tenderness and respect. He didn’t feel like a toy with them like some old employers had made him feel before or a failure as… others made him believe.

So, his companionship was extremely captivating and maybe that was why it hadn’t been really hard to notice how the little tiny hints and actions came together to form a quite worrisome image of how disregarding about their own safety they were. Jumping into fights, crawling into dangerous, small spaces without thinking twice (he couldn’t get them there, if he needed he couldn’t get them there-), following strangers’ orders and running over cliffs as if their life wasn’t the thing that mattered the most and Dogday would always be there to catch them when they fell.

(What did they use to do when he wasn’t?)

Even now, he huffed as the human slowly took off the grabpack while still not even lowering themselves on the mattress or trying to get comfortable even though they seemed ready to slip into unconsciousness at any time now. Alert to the very last second.

It felt a bit nostalgic, if he was being honest. At least helping someone to go to sleep was a kind of problem that he knew how to solve. 

With no further ado, he let himself fall on the soft pile with a ‘oof’, slowly rolling around the cleanest pillows they found and hugging the mattress as a loud, relaxed sighing fled from his mouth. His entire body seemed to untense with the unexpected comfortable feeling. How long had it been since he could just enjoy being surrounded by softness and safety like this?

His tail began contently thumping on the pile, another sigh leaving his mouth and making him forget for a moment his objective as he rolled more and more on the spot, the pure feeling of bliss taking over his senses until the sound of amused chuckles brought him back to reality.

He opened his eyes only to find an incredibly fond gaze looking right back at him. The absurd weight that haunted his friend’s shoulders seemed to have disappeared for a moment and, if he really concentrated enough on those kind eyes, it was like the rest of the world became unfocused. That is right! Dogday shook his head, as if cleaning it from his distracting thoughts. He had a mission to accomplish! Get the human to rest! No more fooling around!

“Hmmmm, It’s so, so, sooo comfy here!” Dogday controlled his voice so his playful tune wouldn’t show too much and give away his plan. He got a pillow and shoved his face on it just to highlight his words. “Like a kingdom made of clouds, where all the citizens get to lay down and rest all day, everyday and their favorite hobby is to cuddle and snuggle. Sounds like a nice place, don’t you think?” 

You agreed, snorting when two expectanting lights turned around and Dogday patted the spot right beside him, only smiling bigger when you pretended to roll your eyes and finally, finally, laid down, barely touching the pile before your body crumbled the rest of the way.

It was… really soft. Even more than you expected from such old furniture but that could be the exhaustion talking. A relieved groan filled the place and before you could process that it came from your lips two arms came and carefully pulled you to a bunch of even softer fluff, which automatically made you snuggle closer, hugging the pillow (friend?) and relaxing, body aching with how much tension flew away from it so quickly.

A sweet voice said something in the background, but all of your senses melted together with your muscles when a hand began rubbing your back, drawing light circles on your spine and following it to your neck, briefly massaging it before going back to the back rubs.

That nice voice kept talking and you could briefly distinguish the words ‘deserve’, ‘rest’ and ‘good’ before the hand got a bit too close to your side and you giggled. The hand stilled but it was okay, it just tickled, that is all. No need to stop. 

This was really nice, you kind of missed it. 

You snuggled more.

All of it. It’s been a while.

As the darkness of the unconsciousness started taking you away, an amused, fond ‘aww’ was the last thing you heard.

(...)

You woke up with a scare.

Nothing necessarily happened, but your body immediately tensed, in alert. Blurry eyes traveled with speed around the room in search for any kind of movement, the silence helping to amplify the sound of any enemy that could be closer. 

One second, two seconds…all you could pick up was the paused, calm snoring of Dogday still being deeply asleep.

Right. Safe. You were both safe.

You let go of a breath you didn’t even realize you were holding, blinking rapidly to scare the sleep out of your sight as you looked up, mind finally getting time to grasp the memories from last… (night? hours? day? irrelevant). The quick beating of your heart started to slow down to a normal pace and you laid down again on the mattress, now wide awake.

Dogday was still sleeping. That was good. He deserved all the peaceful rest he could get after everything that happened.

And, to be honest, it was quite amusing to watch him sleep. Each time he snored his big ears flopped just the slightest bit around and from time to time those little muffled barks would appear on the back of his throat and his tail would wag a bit, not so different from a real dog.

(He truly was a marvel of science.)

At one time you could almost swear he said a name, but it was so low that you couldn’t quite catch it.

Beyond all of that, you couldn’t deny how right Dogday had been, resting really did wonders to your body and mood. You could feel your mind clearer and your muscles less stiff, even if still quite sore. Also, it was made in a rush, that is true, but the soft pillow pile really was comforting enough that it didn’t make it any easier to get up and go on about your day.

Still, as always, there was work to do. It really wouldn’t hurt to get up in the vents and walk around a bit to see if there was any murder toy wandering close so you could attract them away before they could interrupt Dog’s sleep. 

It wasn’t anything really that urgent, however,… It felt weird not doing anything in this place, to deliberately choose to stay instead of to move. Letting your guard down last night had been literally the only thing you could do with how exhausted you were and having a trustful friend close by your side, but now? When you were more rested and nowhere close to the exit? The jittery feeling was already catching up to you. 

You tried to get up, only to be stopped by an arm closing on your midriff, a nose being pressed on the top of of head and nuzzling it with care before a raspy voice - you really needed to find some kind of oil or toolbox to help with his voicebox, sometimes it felt like he was always with a sore throat - glitched for a half second before coming to life in a quiet, slurred “Angel?”

Good morning, sleepy beauty.

Dogday huffed in amusement. Silence washed over you both once again.

A while passed and no more words were exchanged. Uh, probably went back to sleep already. You tried to carefully extract yourself from his hold. 

“Mm? What happened?” Dogday yawned, sounding a bit more awake this time. “Do we have to go?” He propped himself in one elbow, using his enormous height to peak over the hiding place and watch the door and windows, ears perking up in a search of any strange sound. “I’m not listening to any danger. This is a good spot.”

You agreed, feeling a tad bad that you woke up your companionship unnecessarily with your unrelenting thoughts. Nothing really happened, you assured, he could go back to sleep if he wanted. You could stay with the guarding shift.

Rubbing his eyes and yawning more, the sentient toy then changed his focus to you, noticing the slight drop in your tune, mind becoming clearer as he added to that detail the stiffness that went back in your shoulders. His brain tried to connect the dots.

“Did you have a nightmare, sunshine?”

No, not really. 

“What happened?”

It’s all just… too much thoughts. You wouldn’t be able to go back to sleep like this, not without a distraction. It would be the best if you got something to do, so he could go back to his nap. It was fine, you would stay awake in guard.

“I see.”

He laid back down, however, instead of letting you go and immediately go back to sleep, as you expected, he began massaging your shoulders, mouth turning into a pout when that didn’t make you melt completely in blissful slumber like last night, but at least got some of the tension out. 

Even if it felt like the human continued to hold onto every last drop of stress for some reason, refusing to close their eyes or fully relax. Knowing their current situation, Dogday could understand. But still, his friend should be able to enjoy this little chance of a rest that they’ve got. They were both so tired and finally had a good place to spend some good old lazy time without being worried about running for their lives or seeing nightmares at each blink of eyelids. It was not the best spot that the factory could once offer, of course, yet nowadays it was like a piece of heaven.

He wished he could help his angel to enjoy it. Yesterday they seemed so happy. But unless he could think in a good distraction…

A sudden thought then popped in his head, a memory from what happened the previous night. An idea.

Hm.

“Sunshine, do you like games?”

Games? Like… hide and seek or catch? 

Dogday nodded, looking eager. 

Yeah, you did. Even so, you don’t think that making up some ruckus will be good to keep up their hidden spot, well, hidden.

“No, no! This one doesn’t involve running or anything that could give up our location. Actually, you won’t even need to move from where you are to play it.”

Really? Well, it was worth a shot, then. 

“Alright. Do you remember what happened when we found those old rags in one of the corridors a few days ago?”

Yes, you did.

You watched as Dogday chuckled, like he knew something you didn’t and, with a crooked eyebrow, you stared at him, trying to remember the mentioned moment better. 

Nowadays his fur was no longer the bright orange that it once was like the old cardboards and tv episodes showed, but at least it got a resemblance of a cleaned state after using some good-enough rags you found on the way to one of the generators. You both did the best to take out the debris, dust and blood from him. It took longer than it should because the taller toy kept squirming and wiggling around in an adorable inescapable fit of giggles, not really being a big help as, in between his laughter, he kept claiming that it really, really tickled. 

As a good friend, of course, you just grabbed the rag he let fall after a bit of lil cleaning on his poor ticklish tummy and racked both hands up and down his sides, scribbling away while he hid his smile behind hands, muffling his loud crackles. The cleaning didn’t stop there and hunted each tiny spot and slight hint of dust off him with plenty of scratches, prodding and drumming everywhere your hands could reach, catching all the titters, snickers and snorts that danced in the rhythm of your fingers. Your own giggles did not take much longer to follow them. 

Dogday’s paw continued to run in a light touch on your back and suddenly a bolt of electricity jolted you up when your mind connected the memory of his playful demisse to what he just said.

Your eyes widened and his expression opened into a smirk, sensing the very same moment you got to the conclusion that you were about to get absolutely and utterly destroyed with tickles.

You tried pushing him away, one hand twisting behind to catch his wrist as the other hand fought to snatch his free one, which kept flying away from yours in a game of mouse and cat. 

“Wait, angel!” He couldn’t help but laugh, especially as your movements got more and more uncoordinated the longer they kept this little game, even before he truly attempted to do anything. A wobbly smile was already taking over your face, only growing bigger when every swipe he did in your direction - only to be deflected by your hands - made your entire skin tingle and prickle in anticipation. Each adorable reaction only assisting in making Dogday more determined that he choose the right distraction. “Don’t you want to know about the game? I bet that you will love it! I used to play and win all the time so I can teach you every special trick of mine.”

No, no, no, no! You knew exactly what he was doing! There was no such thing as a game!

“Gasp!” You were sure that Dogday would be dramatically putting a hand on his chest if it wasn’t for the rough housing, but sudden noise was successful to break your concentration. He used his trapped hand to sneak a quick jab on your side, ripping out a delightful screech before you slammed your back again on the mattress, both hands now in front of you, no longer moving, yet still ready to defend and attack. “I would never lie to you, my beautiful, beautiful beacon of light, the only and one sunshine, my angel.”

He was not going to succeed in distracting you again with those sugary sweet nicknames! You knew exactly what he was doing and you wouldn’t let him get you.

“No, no, you got me wrong, angel.” Dogday booped your nose, seeming like he couldn’t control himself with excitement and a smug kind of joy that only grew the longer you both stared at each other, waiting for the moment to strike. His tail wagged and he pretended to lounge at your stomach, stopping inches before touching it and drinking the way that a squeal escaped from your mouth, body stuck into a position between laying down and curling on itself, giggles quickly filling the room. Actually, you could feel yourself getting giddier at each second, completely aware that there was no way for you to get out of this and no other option besides wait for the next attack.

The way that this thought only made butterflies go crazy on your belly should be illegal.

Dogday continued as if nothing happened. “This isn’t the game. The game only starts when I start to tickle you, silly! And it is called ‘Try To Not Laugh’.” He managed to waltz through your defenses, his index finger and thumb catching your side in a grip way too light to even be considered a pinch. It made you try to squirm with a snort to the other direction, as if he just had unleashed a ruthless attack of squeezes on the spot. 

His grin glimmered and he let you go, chuckling. You could feel the phantom touch still. 

(Why did his paws have to be so fuzzy!?) 

“It means that you can’t giggle, squeal, snicker, chuckle, snort, chortle, shriek or laugh! No matter how much it tickles, itches or ‘feels funny’.” Dogday counted each reaction pulling up a finger and you tried to not let your face melt as he just kept talking, looking more and more delighted with how each word seemed to make you twitch on the spot, his paws clawing in your direction when he was done. 

Before you could think, he went for your neck, fingertips barely, just the slightest bit, grazing the skin before you catched his wrists and pushed them away, scrunching your neck as tiny tickly sparks spread like fire across your nerves. A sound akin to a keysmash left your lips and Dogday looked like you had just given him the best news of his entire existence.

He tilted his head and watched his own captured paws for a piece of moment before shrugging. He continued on with his explanation.

“In turn I will try my true best to make you laugh. And that can mean anything! I can fill your entire cute neck with aaaaall the raspberries that it could ever want, wiggle my claws on your ticklish armpits, play your ribs like a very lovely piano, squeeze your sides non stop until you’re dancing around like a wiggly worm, maybe even give your tummy a few scratches and scribbles, or, or even better! I can play ‘This little piggy’ with your toes over and over again until your sweet laughter fills this entire room like the sweetest melody. And then we can do it all over but with you giggling and snickering ringing free the entire time! Doesn’t it sound like a fun idea, my angel?”

Oh, you were going to die. Whether he decided to tickle you right away or keep the teases for who knows how long, you don’t think that your face would survive being under so much heat for so long.

Besides, this is not fair at all! He will win it anyway, you couldn’t hold on your laughter forever while he t-, while he attacks you.

“Aww, but, sunshine, tickling is hardly an attack!” His face got closer and suddenly you realized that he did not need any free hand to accomplish his first promise of tickles. 

With wide eyes you tried to roll away, but to do so, you would have to let his paws go, and you knew very well that the moment this happened, it would be a game over for you. For the way that Dogday grinned in your direction, he reached the same conclusion as well. “Also, I can’t even touch you, right now! I think you can win this.” Dogday wiggled his paws in your hold, as if proving his point. 

With (an eager) trepidation, you watched as his face continued to get closer, prying a couple of titters when his floppy, fuzzy ears brushed your own ears. He chuckled at your reaction, a mix of fondness and playful, fake frustration painting his words. “Sunshine, you’re already giggling? I will have to take my last words back, then, I don’t think this game will last too long, anymore.” 

Oh ho ho, he should just wait, because when you get him back you then he was going to see who was-

Dogday shoved his face on the crook of your neck and immediately began nuzzling the spot without a worry in the world, successfully cutting your threat short.

Wait! Wait!

“Don’t mind me, angel, please continue.” He huffed and puffed on the spot, shivers running in a hilarious cacophony across your every sense, almost ripping a squeal from your lips. Actually, just like his words hitting the skin, you could feel the way that snickers began pooling in your throat, waiting for any tiny chance to escape. You clamped your mouth shut, a muffled snort taking over. You were going to at least try to hold them in and try your chances at winning this childish game, for your own pride, if nothing else. 

He didn’t have his paws to tickle, right? I mean, how bad could it really be?

Dogday hummed, each word vibrating on the skin in an almost unbearable manner, making you want to jump away and at the same time let yourself get lost in the sensations. “What were you saying, angel? Please, don’t stop because of me! You know I always love to hear what you have to say.”

You shook your head, partially in an attempt to somehow escape from the tickling and partially to dissipate the energy that was building up on your system. Anything to not focus on the snickers bouncing freely in your chest.

“No? Not a word? Aw.” You could feel the fake pout the sentient toy did right before letting his features go back to that dangerous, mischievous grin. “I have a question for you, then! Do you know what is the tickle puppy favorite’s fruit?”

You knew a trap when you saw one, so you kicked your legs, trying and failing to let out any protest because you were sure that if you stopped pressing your lips in a tight line for even half of a second, there would be no stopping from the waterfall of laughter.

“Raspberries!”

A shriek almost made you lose when he unleashed the first raspberry, more and more of them being quick to follow right after. On the base of your neck, your collarbone, under your chin and in every inch on the unprotected spot. There was nowhere safe from the awfully buzzing that made every other feeling disappear, seeing to tickle every nerve and making tingles to run crazy in absolutely everywhere. He even grazed the back of your ears with a couple of raspberries, cooing when you tried to shrink and hide the spot by pressing them on your shoulder, only succeeding to leave the other side of your neck completely free for more nuzzles and tickles, an opportunity that Dogday was fast to take, taking turns in bashing every side of your neck in a tickly attention. 

Another quiet, muffled squeak painted the air.

Dogday lifted his head again, entire demeanor completely melting for a piece of time when he saw you (oh my stars, look at this amazing smile!) before that joyful light was back in his eyes. Once more, he tried wiggling his paws out of your hold, but your grip continued to be as firm as ever, your wobbly smile shining in a challenge.

Oh, you’re just so fun!

“Gasp! It seems like I am stuck! Oh no, angel, what will I do now?” His gaze then traveled to your stomach, and all the hints that softness had ever been present in his features instantly evaporated as his face became something more playful, even a tad devilish, with a hint of hunger. 

“My, my,” you didn’t exactly know why, but his voicebox glitched, jumping between a light taunting tune and his usual lower one. “Is that a delicious tummy that I see? Poor thing, it must be so cold to be shaking like this. Well, and what kind of friend would I be if I didn’t offer any help, huh?”

Your friend was quite tall and kind of clumsy when he walked around, too. Now, how that clumsy toy was able to, in a span of less than a blink, take a gigantic breath and immediately attack your stomach with it was a true mystery that you didn’t had a lot of time to think about when your entire body took a screenshot for a long, long second, ticklish sensations exploding in a frenzy, before your entire torso instinctively beginning to trash, loud peals of laughter jumping freely on the tip of your tongue, begging to be free. They cheered in excitement and only grew stronger when other smaller raspberries took their turn to explore every spot, every sensitive creek or place of your stomach, breaking more and more of your barriers, little by little. It took every single ounce of strength to not lose the game right here and there.

Dogday didn’t even pretend to be holding back, anymore. Right as you survived another tiny raspberry that got way too close to your side to be an accident, a nibble appeared, catching you so out of guard that it made your arch your back, legs kicking with adrenaline. But the tickly, light nibbles weren’t diverted, intertwining with tiny raspberries in a mischievous dance that increased your internal laughing into a tenfold.

That was when one of them hit the spot closer to your bellybutton and you couldn’t take it anymore. Your hands let go of his wrists to push his stupid smiling - so proud and so bright - face away, body squirming and eyes crinkling on the corners with mirth.

“I am free!” He laughed, pretending to not hear the tiny low titters flying from your mouth as you regained your strength, taking the breather as what it was. His ears twitched with every cute little giggle and he kind of wanted to immediately go back to bash every sweet, soft spot in tickles you until that beautiful laughter was ringing loud and free across the entire room and that soft, relaxed state you were in became so much common that he wouldn’t see you stressed ever again.

But he was going to wait for you to rest a tadbit first, that was the main objective of their game, afterall.

Feeling calmer, you looked at your friend, who jolted in the same place, seeing to get out of a trance. He recovered quickly and lifted his paws, easily slipping into the tickle monster persona as he slowly clawed in your direction.

“Now that my hands are free, I wonder where I should attack next…” He looked thoughtful, slowly bringing his paws closer and closer to your torso, wiggly fingers softly scrapping the ticklish skin, but not really drumming on it, not yet. “Maybe I should try your armpits first? Aw, but you were so jumpy when I squeezed your side that one time! And you seemed really excited when I mentioned tickling your ribs… Ah! So many options, so many options… We will have to try every single one of them, of course. What do you think, my giggly angel? Which one do I tickle first?”   

None! Absolutely none of them!

“None?” He tilted his head, knowing very well how cute he looked like when he did that. “But then … Oh! I see!” Dogday snapped his fingers and you were pretty sure that if this was a cartoon a lamp would appear shining right above that absolute, silly, mean, goofball. “You want me to tickle your legs!” 

What!

At your wide stare and sputtering pretenses of protests his smirk turned sharp, which didn’t quite help the anticipatory bolts of electricity that suddenly left you feeling even more ticklish than usual, trying to curl and hide your legs but feeling him dig more on your torso every time you did so. He continued. “That is why you didn’t stop kicking and squirming the entire time I was tickling your neck and tummy, right? Aww, sunshine, if you wanted my attention so much, you could’ve just asked!”

That was literally not the reason at all! Dogday!!

He hummed in an answer, turning around and easily pinning your legs by holding your ankles down, his touch so gentle that you were pretty sure that if you really wanted and struggled you could escape from it.

(And if that didn’t make everything even more endearing, you honestly didn’t know what would.)

Without wasting any more time, Dogday started squeezing the sensitive spot right above your kneecap, skillfully jumping from one leg to another unexpectedly, digging on the skin and following your leg around with no problem as a new round of kicks started once again, keeping up with the tickling. The ticklish sensations made your head spin, tingles spreading across your muscles and teasing all the nearest tickle spots, leaving them prickling in anticipation and a funny kind of energy that made every nerve of your knees crazy as more and more squeezes and pinches continued unmercifully assaulting the spot non stop. 

A sudden move and you yelped when your legs were lifted, his curious hand worming its way under your knee to lightly scratch the sensitive skin there. The touch was so incredibly fuzzy, so adoringly soft that the sudden change from the rough to light technique almost ripped a series of snickers from your throat without permission, the hilarity and urge to laugh taking over your every thought. 

Dogday continued scribbling and drawing shapes, leaving a couple of pokes here and there just so he could listen to those delightful muffled snorts.

(He would really love to listen to them more clearly, though.) 

“You really love this, don’t you, angel?” 

You barely sputtered out an answer before being obligated to clamp your mouth shut, uncontrollable laughter making your shoulders bounce as he took the chance to crawl his fingers upwards to your thigh, skittering them there for a couple of seconds before spidering them right back to under your knees, repeating the cycle for a couple of times before mirroring them on the other leg. 

“When I tickle you.” He scratched under your knee. 

“When I tease you.” He squeezed your calf.

“When I fluster you.” He swiped at the space right under your toes.

“It’s really adorable!” His paw stopped right on your sole and he pressed it, firmly enough that it didn’t tickle, still, for some reason you couldn’t stop your smile from becoming even more wobblier, the giddiness growing stronger and spreading in your every cell just like the heat that seemed to take over your face. 

“Especially because I can’t wait to hear aaaaall those cute giggles and beautiful laughter that you have trapped right there.” Suddenly, he raked his fingers up, from your heel to under the toes. A squeal filled the air. Dogday’s eyes shone, like an arrow findings the target. His fingertips curled, kneading on the skin. “That is why I have to apologize, angel, because I lied to you. That is a game that I just have to win.”

He then attacked.

It was less than a half of a piece of time, but suddenly your soles were being overcomed with scribbles, scratches and wiggling everywhere they could reach. There were digging fingers under your toes and a spidering that followed them to the pads, tweaking and scritching them all while curious pokes payed attention to the entire path of your arches, even if shouldn’t be possible for him to be tickling both places at the same time. Nevertheless, Dogday’s paw was so big that he was able to torment both of your feet at once while still holding them through all the resulting kicks those created.

And the teasing… Of course there was also the teasing.

“There we go! Oh my, oh my, look at you! You just can’t help being so adorable, now, can you? Awww, angel, you always get this… sweet expression when you are happy, so I like to call it your happy face! It’s delightful. The corner of your eyes gets all crinkly and your face gets all soft and your smile… your smile is the best part, it’s so bright! No matter the size or the time, it really feels like we have our own special rays of sun down here.”

He found a rather sensitive spot right above your heel and immediately concentrated on it with all his might, drumming and prodding there as if the salvation of this entire factory depended on making you laugh.

“That is why it was so easy to see how much you love tickles, sunshine. First when you were tickling me a few days ago and now. Since we started that game… you didn’t even ask me to stop and all while you simply never ceased looking so adorably full of joy like this! I could really spend the entire day just here, you know? Tickling you silly over and over again.”

That did it. The barrier broke. Loud peals of laughter were fished from your lips. Every sound and reaction filled the air in a frantic, unrestrained melody of mirth. 

Now, with them flying freely in the room, there were uncontrollable, hysterical giggles when Dogday decided to knead your calves up and down, those only being taken down by an unstoppable crackling, painted with one or two snorts, as his paws wiggled away to squeeze right above your kneecaps, taking his sweet, sweet time to give the ticklish skin under it a few swipes before moving away.

Finally, he let your ankles go, both paws resting on your sides, unbothered by all the squirming and protests that this simple act created, drinking in every reaction with a so fond, so tender gaze that it bordered on dotingly as you got another break.

You tried to take big gulps of air, but everytime your gazes found each other, titters grew anew, distracting you and leaving you in a constant state of a silly, giggly kind of joy.

M-Maybe he should reconsider! You laughed already, he won the game! That should be the end of this, right!

Dogday chuckled, fingers tuttering in their spot, curling and uncurling slowly, content to feel the trembling on the skin under them. 

“The end? But we just started! And you still got so much beautiful laughter trapped right here to show.” With his index finger, he highlighted his word by tapping on your belly, right in your bellybutton, ears perking at the screech this brought. “So many cute snorts and melodious shrieks that I would love to meet. What kind of friend would I be if I didn’t help to let them out, huh?”

A flow of words, more unintelligible than anything, fell off your lips. A mix of pleas,  threats, high pitched giggles and some indistinguishable sounds that could only be considered a true keysmash rather than a sentence. Dogday hummed in agreement and nodded his head as if it was all a well constructed and understandable sentence.

“I knew you would eventually see my point, angel. You’re such a delight, you know, that?”

He smiled, so kindly and caring, and then he digged.

His paws, big enough to cover your entire midriff drummed non stop, squeezing the lower part of your stomach while scratching everywhere they could reach. He stayed there for a while before his wiggling fingers crawled up, scribbling and pinching your sides unmercifully. They looked for any weak spot, any lovely place that would make you snort and squirm away and latched there with pinches and kneading until your back arched, only then moving back to tickle your stomach until you went back to try to curl yourself in a ball, starting the cycle over and over again. 

You felt almost high with laughter, the thought that it tickled, it tickled so so much and more than anything ever taking over your brain in sync with the loud, high pitched squeals and belly laughter (ha- Dogday would love that pun if you could say it to him) that chased after each other. After so much teasing, every tickle seemed to be accompanied by the brush of thousand of tiny phantom feathers that still tormented your stomach even when he moved away to your ribs, carefully pressing down on the bones and quickly scribbling with so much skill that it should be illegal the actual, loud crackle such a simple action created.

Your hands flied to hold his wrists, caught between pushing them away and pulling them close and, at seeing that, the sentient toy couldn’t help but feel himself melt and snicker fondly, barely controlling the urge to shove his face back on your neck and nuzzle and nibble the daylights out of it in a pure attack of cuteness. His tail was wagging so much that it dislodged a few pillows from where they were.

“Such a good friend. Such a cute, nice friend for me. For us.” The praises fell from his mouth naturally, your companionship too focused on keeping those happy reactions to really think too much about them. “You do so much to all of us, to me, and keep going above and beyond just to accomplish what you set your mind in. You’re brave and one of the strongest humans I’ve ever known. And there is so much kindness in you that I could talk the entire day about it! You saved me, you cared and tried and sometimes down here it feels like a nightmare but you… you make everything so much better, like a true angel. That is why I love this nickname so much. It really fits you.” 

You tried to answer, to say how much especial, strong and essential Dogday was for you as well, but every time a single coherent word slipped from your lips he immediately reinforced his attack, fully aware that if you said anything sweet he would inevitably let his guard down and you would be able to turn the tables, and he really needed to say all of that to you before that. 

His tickles were now focusing on keeping up the flow of starry laughter, watching them grow up to chortles and tune down into snickers as he scribbled in between each bone, keeping track of every special spot that pried a shriek from your lungs only to randomly attack it with prodding and poking, slowly fishing all kinds of joyful sounds that you could make.

He then buried his paws in your armpits, swirling the fingertips there for a few moments before digging energetically, fingers dancing and prodding every inch they could reach, which immediately made your arms come down with a loud chortle, head shaking and legs kicking at the sensation.

How was he so good at this?

Dogday gasped dramatically (not again-) and lightly pulled his paws in faux alarm, not really stopping his attack. “Oh no! Once more, you have trapped me!” Such a goofball. Such a silly, mean goofball and you could not wait to put your wiggly hands on and see how flustered you could make him be. “Dang, I really didn’t want to resort to this but I guess that I have no other option but to keep tickling and tickling and tickling on your poor ticklish pits forever and ever until the end of our days.” He then winked when he found your shining eyes. “But you would actually love that, wouldn’t you, my giggly sunshine?”

That was it. You were going to die. Right here and there. The playful tickles, the unrelenting teasing, the fond stares and gentle words… you could actually feel your entire body about to melt.

With a strength you didn’t even realize you had, you pulled your arms up to hide your flaming face, a pitched ‘eee’ sound mixing with the hysterical, absolutely uncontrollable laughter, your body rolling to the side and curling, shoulders bouncing with the force of each of your giggles.

Dogday let go of you, giggling together with your reactions, resting his hands on the ground and just observing, amusement and care clear as water in every trace of his features.

After a while, you felt a paw lay on your back, retracting for a bit when just that made you wiggle away, a new round of chuckles spilling, before it came back to rub your shoulders, touch kind and too firm to tickle. “Okay, okay, sunshine. I’m done. You can calm down for now.”

Laying down on the floor giggling yourself silly didn’t feel so embarrassing when Dogday’s own quiet snorts and snickers were quick to accompany you, especially since the rubbing really felt relaxing, making you melt on the touch bit by bit. 

After a few minutes, when a comfortable silence had fallen on you both, you rolled on your back, finally being able to stare at your companionship without feeling like you would explode. Dogday smiled bigger at your direction. He lifted a paw to gently wipe a tear from your cheek, not thinking too much about it.

“That was so fun! I didn’t know you were so ticklish, angel. You are almost as bad as m-” He stopped right in his tracks when a gasp and a new string of titters fell like a waterfall from your mouth and you pushed his paw away, fastly rubbing your cheek so the feeling of fuzzy tickles would go away. It was like the softest makeup brush had just touched your skin, and you had no idea that just this could tickle so much.

Dohohogday! You sahaid you werehe done! 

But your companionship didn’t answer. Astonished, he stared at his paw before looking at you again, gaze jumping from one to the other like he was watching a tennis match.

Suddenly his entire face brightened like the sun and he looked at you as if you had just said the funniest, most brilliant pun he had ever heard in his entire life.

“Aaaangel!” Every letter was bathed in pure, disbelieved delight.

No! You knew very well what that tune meant! No way! Nononono! Don’t you dare!

“Are your cheeks…”

Dohohogday! Don’t you come closer!

“Ticklish?”

Before you could push yourself from the mattress and jump away, there were two thumbs softly scratching on your cheeks, scribbling so lightly that it immediately made a giant smile take over your expression. Titters started to fill the air once more.

“Oh my… angel! This is adorable!” Dogday looked like he was about to bounce around the room with how much excited he was, his voice getting higher and glitching in excitement. “I can’t believe how fun and cute… You just… Ah, sunshine, I can’t help but!”

And before you could even blink, he shoved his smiley, stupidly fuzzy face right on your neck again, nuzzling there without a single worry in the world. His fingers kept  tickling your cheeks, sometimes even slipping to tease the back of your ears with a few scratches as he giggled in joy since he could literally feel the rumbling of your snickers. They twirled and spun in the air for much minutes more until his tickly attack from cuteness overload was finally finished and you both just kept layed down on the comfy pile, cuddling in between content sighs.

Dogday listened to your calm breath, saw how relaxed your entire body was and, according to the few sneaky peaks he had, saw that happy, full of mirth, smile was still in your face, leaving him melting in contentment, entire body relaxing as well. 

Perfect. His plan had worked.

Not that it was that big of a deal, but it had been such a long time since he had the opportunity to…

He was just glad that it worked. That he still got it in him. 

(Being playful. Happy. Helping the others. Being there when they needed him. Matter when it was necessary. Being silly and fun)

He was so lost in his thoughts that he didn’t sense the hand coming until it laid on his head, playing with the fur there and scratching on that place right behind his left ear that never failed to make him embarrassingly become a mush of pleased hums and wagging tail. A low, sleepy voice crossed the air.

You said you would take him out of here. It’s a promise, Dogday.

How his angel knew exactly what to say was a mystery to him. And, it didn’t quite hurt, but his entire being ached at those words. His smile was sad and he was glad that the human couldn’t see as he blinked quickly, eyes suddenly moisty. “Alright.”

There would still be some revenge when you woke up, though. Be ready.

And that reminded him so much of others playful, sleepy conversations he had before everything happened that it ripped a surprised laugh from him. He tried to look up to see the very much likely mischievous glint in his friend’s eyes, but a few more purposeful scratches turned him right back to a content puddle. He nuzzled the human a bit more. “Sleep well, angel.”

You too, Dogday.

(And sleep well they did. Lost in a peaceful rest as the entire world outside left them be.)

[~*~]

Random fun facts!

-There is a parallel I made by mistake between CatNap and DogDay and the whole 'trusting and following the being that saved your life'. It's not too deep and Dogday isn't as bad as Catnap but that was an interesting thing I noticed :D

-Different from the reader, Dogday is more used to the time down there so he has a good grasp when day and nights happens in general.

-I am actively ignoring the plotholes here about food and water here. Ya know when you have to poke holes in a lid so the bugs in the container can breathe that is what I doing kjhgfdfghyhgfd

-Nothing to do with the fanfic but I kept listening to this song when I was writing it and I think it's cute.

[itsonlybaby]

𐙚ᣟ݂﹒𝐟𝐚𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧 - 𝐛. 𝐛𝐥𝐚𝐤𝐞﹒

◜♡﹒﹒𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭﹒𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭﹒𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

playlist !

Bellamy Blake - Drop ship

꒰ ୨୧ ꒱ ⸝⸝ You're an Azgeda assassin sent to kill Bellamy after the mass genocides to Trikru. Azgeda assassins are supposed to be stone-cold, and feel nothing, but what happens when a certain boy tries to gain your trust ﹒ 　 ⊹ 　⤷ cw: smut, nsfw, oral, a little violence

Day two

Sitting atop my horse, Swan, I was studying the boy beyond the trees. He knew I was here, he was also studying me as well. He goes by the name 'Bellamy Blake', an oddly long name, but a name you don't see every day.

I was here to kill him.

To deliver his head to my buyers, Titus, the fleimkepa, and King Roan.

I had been following this Bellamy for two days, he's known I was following him for a few hours, and my horse had given it away.

I like to study my targets, see what they are like, study their mannerisms, and how they survive. It isn't standard, most assassins would've had it done within the hour. I've had the chance to kill him plenty of times. He is always so vulnerable to attacks, or maybe he knows that and is testing me.

Bellamy carries himself well for the most part, he's a good shot but very loud, as most Skaikru are. It was fairly easy to track him. The first day I was sent he was at their initial landing spot, what they call a 'dropship'. I wasn't sure why he wasn't behind the walls of Arkadia, could they have banished him?

My thoughts were cut short when I realized I had lost sight of him, I couldn't believe I got so caught up in my own thoughts to realize he was gone.

I hitched Swan and treaded lightly to his last position by the river.

Under a rock was a note and a piece of fish, the note would've been nice if I could read it.

The ignorance of Skaikru.

It wasn't that I couldn't speak English, in fact, I was fluent, as all warriors and assassins are. Only the warriors are taught English along with Trigdasleng, it was so we could understand the Mountain Men, well when they were a threat.

Thank you, Clarke.

I had tossed the piece of fish back into the river as I didn't trust Bellamy, I mean I was here to kill him after all.

Looking into the dirt I saw a heavy set of footprints, foolish boy. They were leading back to the dropship, were he was spending most of his days. His schedule was very plain, wake up, walk to the river, eat, walk back. Very boring for a sky person.

I walked back to Swan to hitch her somewhere safe and headed towards the dropship carefully.

Clearly not careful enough as I ended up in a trap, a bear trap of some sorts. It didn't have jagged edges like a normal trap, it was flat and only applied enough pressure to injure my foot and land me on the ground.

"Who are you?"

I heard a voice call from the bushes, it was very easy to spot him as he was a fairly tall man. How stupid could I have been? I wasn't even watching where I was looking? The trap wasn't even hidden that well and I walked right into it. I got weak. Clumsy. I let my guard down. I could never call myself an Azgeda assassin after this.

Moments passed without an answer from me and he was growing impatient.

"I said who are you? I am not afraid to kill you, grounder." Bellamy yelled, now emerging from the bushes with a pistol in hand. I may have let my guard down but I wouldn't let this man intimidate me.

"Azgeda," I say flatly, not revealing anything else.

Bellamy pondered for a moment, his gaze on me remained strong, not daring to look away, it was clear I intimidated him.

"Ice Nation? I said who are you."

No response.

"Tell me or I swear I will pull this trigger!" He shouted, stepping closer until the barrel of the gun was against my forehead.

I had already accepted death.

"Ai gonplei ste odon." My fight is over.

Bellamy had pistol-whipped me, and before I knew it I was knocked out.

Day three

I had awoken tied to the ladder in the dropship. Looking around I saw that most things were covered in tar from the fire, the only clean things being Bellamy's makeshift bed and his other belongings, as well as all my armor and layers, leaving me in a simple t-shirt; which I could only assume was his, and my jeans.

I was tied down with leftover seatbelts, very sturdy, I had struggled before finally giving in after a headache caught up with me.

I groaned in pain, death would've been kinder than a pistolwhip. Where even was he? Had he just left me here to rot?

A few moments after Bellamy had appeared from behind the red tarp acting as a door, he was wearing what he always wears. A gray shirt paired with his usual black jacket, with certain patches gone missing. His hair and face had been littered with dirt and blood, though I was sure the blood wasn't his.

"Good, you're awake. Makes this a lot easier." Bellamy spoke, swiftly walking to his pack next to his bed. My worry grew when he pulled something out, was he going to kill me now?

He pulled out a water flask and walked over to me, I'd never drink from an enemy's flask.

Bellamy put the flask to my mouth, when I pulled my face away he sighed and took a sip himself to show me it was safe. I still didn't trust it.

I took a big sip, and once he pulled it away I spit the water back into his face. He pursed his lips, seemingly trying to keep his anger down. I'd never be this man's peace.

"A bath would do you good, ripa." Murderer. Even without a bath, his scent was.. likable.

He scoffed amusingly, "That's funny coming from you, grounder."

Bellamy stood up, wiping away the water with his hand and turning his back towards me.

"What do you want from me?" He continued, grabbing a chair and sitting it close in front of me.

I refused to answer, I only stared at him with anger.

"I have all day, princess." He spoke, leaning back in the chair and pulling out a wrapped ration from his pocket. He was going to eat in front of me, what kind of torture method was this? And princess? Who does Bellamy think he is?

A few hours had passed since then and I really had to go. I'd been holding it in for hours but I was at my limit. Bellamy was still staring at me through it all, he could tell I was starting to get uneasy.

"I need to go..." I let out in a barely audible whisper, quickly regaining his attention.

"What was that?"

"I need to go."

The dots seemed to connect in his mind and he nodded, getting up ready to let my wrists free.

"Tell me your name first," Bellamy demanded.

Are you serious? Of course, he would stoop this low.

"y/n," I spoke with a sigh, I had no other choice but to give in. And with a nod, he freed me- well, for the most part, one of my hands was still attached to a seatbelt, which he was holding.

Bellamy led me out of the dropship and to the side, god, this was so embarrassing.

"Can you at least turn around?" I questioned, my voice wavering for the first time since I met him. So much for not being intimidated.

With a silent nod he turned to the side and I did my business, a real gentleman, pistol-whipping me, and tying me up.

Though I had no room to speak.

Day four

I was back on the ladder, and Bellamy was in his now usual spot. Right in front of me. I hadn't eaten in two days, he knew this. And he used it against me.

"Now, princess, why were you following me?" Bellamy questioned, waving a piece of fish in his hand, like I was some dog he was rewarding for good behavior.

Was he trying to train me?

I had come to the conclusion I either answer the question or die of starvation. I already failed the mission, I could never return to Azgeda or Polis. I couldn't face what was waiting for me.

"I was hired to kill you." I flatly state, eyeing the fish and practically drooling over it.

Bellamy seemed satisfied with this answer and handed me the piece with a small nod, which I quickly scarfed down. I watched him pull another from the little silver bag.

He really was training me.

"Why didn't you? You've been following me for a few days, and had plenty of chances."

I thought about my answer for a few seconds, "You were intriguing. You didn't act like how they described."

He only smiled at this, for reasons I couldn't comprehend. But I got another piece of fish so I didn't really care.

"Well, until you pistolwhipped me," I added in between bites. His smile slowly faded.

"Sorry about that, I didn't wanna kill you."

"Cause you needed answers?"

He hesitated.

"Yeah."

Day five - smut

The isolation had started to get to me, Bellamy being the only person I could see, and I started to notice more things about him. The way his back muscles would flex when he changed clothes. How defined his arms were and how defined his entire body was.

I cursed myself for having these thoughts about Bellamy, I was his prisoner, and I should be scared for my life.

It was particularly hot this morning, so Bellamy decided the best option was to be shirtless. All. Day.

His chest was well shaven surprisingly, and his pants sagged low, low enough to see his V line. That only brought worse thoughts. Thoughts I couldn't suppress.

He hadn't asked me any questions since I've awoken, I assume he's given up and doesn't need me anymore.

"Like the view?" He asks, snapping me out of my trance, how long had he known I was staring?

His gaze on me was intense. He knew I wouldn't answer his question so he only stepped closer and closer, leaning down when he got close enough to me.

"Keep looking pretty for me, yeah princess?" He spoke, his voice becoming husky.

A bright red tint lined my face at his words. Nobody had ever spoken to me in that way. I couldn't reply, too filled with nerves to form a comprehensible sentence, all I could do was stare at the handsome man before me and hope he didn't notice how vulnerable he made me.

Bellamy seemed to get an idea, with a smirk he stood up and sat back in the chair.

Leaning back he began unbuckling his belt, pushing his pants just below his bulge. I was more turned on than I'd ever been. Was he really going to do what I think he's gonna do? Now this is torture. Not being able to touch him.

Bellamy started palming himself through his boxers, letting little grunts slip past his mouth, meanwhile maintaining full eye contact with me- though my eyes were focused on his hands. I wanted so desperately for that to be my hands touching him, my hands making him feel good.

A few seconds passed before he pulled his boxers down just enough to reveal his entire cock, causing me to clench my thighs together tightly; craving any friction I could get. I now only realized the shirt I was wearing still had his scent on it, it was intoxicating.

He started stroking himself slowly, leaning his head back in pleasure. I needed him.

"Bellamy," I spoke, my voice laced with lust and need, my entire body feeling warm. His name sounded so good coming from my mouth. Bellamy's eyes locked back with mine as his pace quickened.

"Princess," His voice sounded breathy. The nickname did no help in calming me down. I wasn't sure what to say next.

Bellamy stood up and walked closer to me.

"On your knees." He demanded, to which I quickly obliged, finally getting what I wanted. I got to my knees and looked up at him, his cock resting on my rose-tinted cheek while his hand caressed my other cheek, moving down to my mouth and running his thumb along my lower lip; asking for entrance.

Opening my mouth I felt his thumb explore it, pressing softly against my tongue, all the while maintaining eye contact with me.

"So good for me." Bellamy praised before tapping his tip against my tongue, the taste being surprisingly good given the limited resources. He slowly inserted his cock into my mouth, releasing a loud groan of pleasure once he hit the back of my throat, the warmth feeling amazing against his dick.

His hand instinctively grabbed ahold of my hair, holding my head in place as he started throat fucking me. I began breathing through my nose and using my tongue to feel against his shaft. Bellamy's moans only grew louder and his breathing became erratic.

My mouth was doing this to him, I was making him feel so good.

"Just like that." He whispered between moans, noticing the tears that began to coat my cheeks.

His free hand gripped the ladder steps above my head. The hand on my hair gripped tighter than before, I could tell he was close.

His tip hit the back of my throat relentlessly, I was sure I'd have trouble speaking after this, but its be so worth it. I could feel his cock twitch in my mouth, his thrust slowly becoming sloppy.

"Doing so good, princess, so good, so fucking good."

My throat began to hurt from the abuse of his dick, and with one final deep thrust, I felt his warm cum fill my throat, forcing me to swallow every drop of the salty substance. Once he was sure he was done Bellamy pulled out, leaving my mouth feeling empty, missing the feeling of his cock. He was covered in sweat and I was covered in tears, but in this moment he never looked sexier.

I felt my hands drop to my sides, was he letting me free?

"Let's get cleaned up." He spoke, dropping the seat belt completely and helping me up. I stumbled a bit but used him as support. I was free but I didn't want to run.

In this moment nothing else mattered but him.

◜♡﹒﹒𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭﹒𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭﹒𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

[onestepbackwards]

Love That Bites Pt. 11

Hi! Here's part 11 to my Dracula x Reader series! I apologize for the huge delay, I've had a lot going on IRL, so I haven't has as much time/energy to write as I would have liked. Still, I hope you enjoy! I hope to have more happen in the next chapter as well, hopefully some action! Summary: Dracula finally manages to get things running somewhat smoothly, only to run into a snag when it comes to the potions he's had made for you. Thankfully, it isn't as big of a setback as it could be, so long as he can see you beginning to heal. During all of it, he begins to recognize some old feelings...

CW: Injury mention, death mention, brief description of injury, thoughts of murder,

Word Count: 6244 Words!

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Tag List: @pumpkinvampie, @bethleeham, @mshope16, @sixsixtwenty, @haleypearce, @rvautomatic, @tinystarfishgalaxy, @marshmelloe, @maorizon, @ursamajor17, @sapphicsfordracula, @dame-sunflowers, @sleepyendymion, @starrlo0ver, @onewiththebeanbag First: Here! Last: Here! Next: Here! - - -

Dracula was beginning to wonder just how you had managed to survive so long on your own.

He wasn’t doubting your skills. In fact, Dracula could tell from a glance you were a powerful fighter, much like your ancestors had been. He wouldn’t be surprised if you were one of the strongest Belmonts yet.

No, he was concerned over how you seemed lacking when it came to taking care of yourself.

Sure, you had bandaged yourself on the way to his castle, and he was thankful you seemed to have some sort of survival instinct.

But he noticed you didn’t put in too much effort though in your own health overall.

It wasn’t just from how you came to his castle recently, but something he had noticed long before he had been freed.

After the first few times he saw you, it was clear to him. You would briefly mention your headaches, and your homelife, how you just ‘dealt’ with it.

You had mentioned to him in a joke how even though you had been sick at one point, you just pushed through it while sleeping in your car for a week.

He couldn’t ask you at the time why you did such things, being trapped in stone. Now, he felt it would be counterproductive to ask you. Not until you were comfortable around him.

But it was a horrifying thing you mentioned offhandedly while eating a sandwich, and you refused to elaborate. Why would you put yourself through that?

Add that to his mental list of reasons why he had to investigate your home life. If anything, that was blatantly unhealthy. How the hell was your immune system putting up such a fight on its own if that was how you handled being sick at your home?

How did you handle most injuries before you met him? A part of him really did not wish to find out, but he couldn’t help but feel the desire to know.

Dracula was at least thankful you mentioned a small cabin once. After you had mentioned it while he was stone, you realized what you had said, and were quick to try and change the subject. You had not meant to tell him about it, it seemed.

But he was thankful at least that you had a small place nearby to rest.

At one point throughout the day as he checked in on you, he briefly considered going to see this cabin, or sending a scout to see where it was. However, he dismissed this idea almost as soon as he had thought it.

You’d no doubt be upset if you found out he had done so, and he would be willing to bet you had traps all over the land leading up to your small sanctuary away from your home.

It was only logical to assume so. You had found his castle nearby your own property.

Something he didn’t fail to see irony in. Of course his castle would choose a place nearby a Belmont’s property.

Still, if it had been him in your situation, he would have placed traps on top of traps once finding out such a thing. Sending an underling was just asking for it to either be captured, destroyed, or injured. Or for such information to spread to less enthusiastic minions who were disgruntled about your stay here.

No doubt when you inevitably left, you would check the traps, or at least notice one out of place, if not finding a dead monster's remains on your land. Dracula couldn’t afford to have you lose trust in him just because he was curious.

Yes… Dracula would wait, and put his patience to the test. He’d try to get you to open up to him, and show him yourself.

You already were showing you didn’t detest him, something that was bringing an old warmth to his cold heart.

He’d even wager you opened up to him just a little earlier, when you had mentioned your injuries had been from something personal.

Sure, it wasn’t a large amount of information, but it was progress.

Now, he just had to keep this progress going forward, something Dracula knew was not going to be smooth sailing as he had hoped. There was already unrest in the castle, he could just feel it.

No one had said anything to him, but Dracula was more in tune with his castle and its magic than people gave him credit for. Every being here had energy that was woven with the castle’s in some way shape or form.

And people were anxious.

Some were restless, some were afraid. Many were irritated.

A Belmont being treated as a guest? He knew it would only be a matter of time before someone or something acted out.

Dracula just hoped it wouldn’t be at your expense. He could clean any other mess as need be, but he wouldn’t stand you being injured further.

Alas, he couldn’t act unless someone else acted out first, or he could see they were planning something that involved you. Dracula, loathe as he may to admit it, would only cause more unrest by acting too hastily.

That was fine though, he could bide his time.

The only thing that had him on edge was your current injuries. Or rather, he didn’t want you fighting with your injuries and making them worse, especially after your healing has been progressing nicely.

Speaking of which, You were healing incredibly quickly. If it wasn’t for your lineage, he would have guessed you had some sort of distant supernatural blood in your veins, such as vampirism.

Still, even though you were healing at an impressive rate, it still wasn’t enough. Your injuries by all means could have killed you, and they were still deep and fresh.

His fingers tapped on the wood of his desk in his study, concern no doubt etched clear on his features.

Those potions should be finished today, or at least the first batch of them. The stronger type usually required a longer amount of time to simmer for better healing effects. Time though, was not something he could afford, so a batch of the regular sort would have to do.

Of course, he’d have to thoroughly check them himself after his alchemists were finished. He had not explained who the potions were for when he had ordered it to be done, but now, there was no doubt in his mind the ones creating the potions knew it was for a hunter.

Unfortunately, he couldn’t even trust most of his underlings with this. Even his more trusted ones, he was going to be forced to keep an eye on.

The chances of his alchemists messing with your potions were low, but not impossible. Thankfully, he knew potions very well after studying them centuries ago. Dracula was confident he could catch any ‘unneeded’ ingredients that might slip in the finished batch.

However, he hated that he would have to check.

“How bothersome…” he mumbled as he pressed his face into the palm of one of his hands.

Looking for poison itself wasn’t the issue, it’s something he’ll gladly do. It was the fact this would mean it would take longer to get the potions to you that irritated him.

If the potions were tampered with, like he worried they might be, he’d probably have to make them himself. Something he would also do without pause, but again, he didn’t wish for you to stay injured any longer than necessary.

Dracula rubbed his eyes for a moment, wondering how he had grown so protective of you like a mother hen.

The last time he could remember fretting over someone, was whenever his late wife had gotten sick, or when his son fell ill once or twice.

Back before everything fell apart.

He sighed, feeling another migraine coming on. It wouldn’t do well to think of that now. The less distractions, the better.

At least one good thing came from this. You were receptive to him checking in on you. Dracula doubted you would trust any of his underlings to do it, or at least any of them bringing you meals.

Not without him there to supervise, it seemed.

It was small, but that amount of trust you had in him was a lot for the circumstances.

Dracula felt another sigh escape his lips, and he ignored the temptation to lay his head on his desk like a daydreaming school boy.

What were you doing to him? Had the Great Dracula really fallen for a Belmont?

His eyes widened slightly at his own thoughts.

Fallen? No. Though he detested the idea of admitting he had a schoolboy crush.

He could at least admit he felt fonder for you than some human teenager just figuring themselves out, thank you very much.

Deep down however, thinking about this unsettled him.

Dracula cared for you. He could admit that in his head whole heartedly. Somehow, the Little Belmont had wormed their way into his cold, dead heart without even trying.

But he feared to think about what that meant for him. His life. His future. Your future.

The trust between you two was rocky, but it was there. Could he really push to have you trust him more? Was that really a future he could hope for? Try for? To even care about?

Was it even worth it?

Dracula ran a hand through his hair, and debated summoning another glass of blood to sooth the migraine he could already feel forming in his temples.

Himself and your family had been doomed to fight for centuries. Would even trying to open up the possibilities of at least a friendship be very wise?

Looking from the outside, it seemed like something doomed to fail.

So why did he want to try?

His fingers began to thrum idly on the desk again.

The answer was still the same as before. It was you.

You were different. Different from most Belmonts.

Was wanting to bet on that difference really worth the possible pain? Heartbreak? Potential agony?

Vlad’s eyes drifted over to a portrait that hung in his private study. One depicting his precious Lisa.

Lisa had been worth it, even if his time with her had been so cruelly cut short. He knew her time with her would have been limited, as she had wanted to stay human. It was one of the things that had made her so precious.

One of the few things he regretted was not being there for her when she needed him most. Probably one of his biggest regrets, alongside not being next to Elisabetha when she passed back when he had been human.

So perhaps… This too, would be worth it.

He could not deny that this was a golden opportunity. If, by small chance, he could change fate…

Perhaps he would not have to suffer being killed once more, and this damned cycle between him and your family could finally break.

Dracula was no fool. He was sure this cycle affected your family just as much as it did him. Ever since Leon, almost every Belmont has had to learn to fight creatures of the night. Either to be a hunter, or to avoid simply being the prey.

No doubt not every Belmont liked this, and judging from the small glimpses of your home life he has seen, the Belmont clan seems to have fallen into disrepair.

There was a darkness in your eyes when you spoke about your home, one that had him worrying all over again.

That was something else he was going to have to focus on. Your life at home.

Given that your clan was full of vampire hunters, even if he did by chance get your home’s location, he doubted himself or any of his underlings would be able to get too close. Surveillance wouldn’t be an easy option, or most likely would not be an option at all.

Unless, of course, your family’s home and protections have also deteriorated. Perhaps getting close to the home wouldn’t be as big of an issue.

But alas, he wouldn’t risk most of his underlings finding your home like that. He has a few he trusts, sure, but he couldn’t in good faith let most of them know where you lived.

All it would take is one slip up, and your home would no doubt be swarmed. Even if it wasn’t monsters from his circles, it wouldn’t take much from other groups to learn and decide to exterminate you en masse.

Even if no one could penetrate your home’s defenses, it wouldn’t be hard to stage an ambush to have you assassinated the moment you left your property. Or anyone else that lived with you.

Dracula’s eyes narrowed at that thought. Oh, how that was tempting, just to see those who may have hurt you torn to shreds.

But he had to wait. He’d have vengeance for you one way or another.

Before he could contemplate who he had to murder, he heard a brisk knock at his door. Crimson eyes narrowed, and with his mask slipping back into place, he sat back in his chair.

“Enter.”

Large doors to his study creaked open, and one of the alchemists he had working on your potions stepped into the room. A young man who had answered the Castle’s magical call for power and safety.

The young man before him tried not to tremble under his gaze, barely making eye contact before looking at a different part of the room. Dracula had to hold back an annoyed sigh.

A shame those who could create potions were few and far between, leaving him with such a sniveling fool. At least he could get the job done, along with the few others he had working under him.

“Is the task I set for you and the others finished?” he asked, thrumming his fingers against the desk once again, a bored look on his face.

Swallowing nervously, the alchemist nodded, before remembering he needed to speak.

“Y-Yes, milord. The first batch of potions has finished, but…”

Dracula raised an eyebrow. He was already nearing the end of his patience.

“But?”

The young man flinched, and the vampire tried not to roll his eyes.

“I’m afraid, ah… this batch won’t be that potent, due t-to us having to rush…”

As if Dracula didn’t already anticipate that.

No matter though. What was important was getting you something to fend back the majority of your injuries. Even if it is just enough to help you fight infection and mend a few patches of skin, it was better than nothing.

“I’m aware of the effect of making potions on such short notice. Is that everything?”

For a split second, the alchemist’s heartbeat spiked, and he avoided looking at the Vampire Lord. Dracula forced his face to remain neutral.

How curious.

“That’s everything, sir.”

Almost immediately, the shadows in the room crawled forward, and the temperature dropped a noticeable amount.

Dracula stood up from his chair to his full height, and leaned over his desk. His claws dug into the wood, and his eyes grew black and red.

“Tell me, Alchemist, why are you lying to me?”

A squeak left the young man’s lips, and he physically shrunk in on himself. No one wanted to be on Dracula’s bad side.

“I don’t tolerate liars in my court.”

The Alchemist fell backwards onto the floor in a scramble, and shuffled backwards a few feet. The door magically shut behind him, and he looked as if he were to faint.

Dracula felt the air grow heavy around him, and the pathetic man in front of him began to pant and shake.

“Now, what is it you are hiding from me?”

The threat was clear as day. Should the young man in front of him lie, or do something foolish, he would not live to see tomorrow.

Swallowing thickly, the Alchemist shakily stood to his feet.

“I… As I was finishing up my batch of potions, I overheard a few of the witches talking.”

Dracula had the tension in the air lesson to a degree. The boy in front of him was willing to speak, so he may as well not make it too difficult, lest the coward faint.

Though he made sure his displeasure was apparent.

“Go on.” Eyes darted between him and other parts of the room, the Alchemist shrunk in on himself further before speaking.

“I… I overheard them talking about how they think the hunter has bewitched you. That the hunter is going to kill you, and everyone involved.”

Dracula wanted to scoff. Just mild gossip. He wasn’t surprised it was already making the rounds, though he’d have to keep an eye on it lest it fester into something unmanageable without conflict.

Rumors and resentment building would only cause unrest, and the less he had to deal with, the better.

“And just who were the witches who were discussing this?” The man swallowed. “I don’t know.” “So you didn’t think to get a look on who it might be?” He shook his head, fingers twitching idly.

“No sir. But…”

Dracula could feel the throbbing in his temples. Perhaps he should summon some wine…

“...The witches talked about wanting to do something before it was too late.”

Now that caught Dracula’s attention.

“They what?!”

The Alchemist winced, though straightened up a little now that Dracula’s ire wasn’t entirely directed at him.

“I-I have no evidence, nor was I able to follow them, but- I think some of them might be planning something, sir.”

The room’s temperature dropped further, and at the moment, the Alchemist felt like his soul left his body.

Dracula was well known for his fury.

How his anger was icy, yet his fury ran hot.

“Planning something?”

His voice was low, in a way that was like a growl. Like a predator readying to bite down on the neck of its prey. It was inviting, yet it had the survival instincts of anything around him screaming to run.

The wind picked up around the castle, and lightning began to strike across the clouded sky. The flashes of light only seemed to emphasize the anger on his face.

Briefly, The King of the Night hoped you weren’t bothered by the pick up of the storm. Surely you’d notice the change in atmosphere…

But that was something he could check in with you later.

“And do you happen to know just what they might be planning? Or which ones it even was?”

Dracula’s mind was beginning to work overtime. Which witches lingered near the Alchemy lab? He's going to have to do a sweep it seemed, and soon. At least Castlevania would give him some insight should he ask for it.

If some of his underlings were already conspiring against him…

The boy in front of him was eerily silent, and Dracula held back from snapping. Killing the fool wouldn’t solve any of his issues, especially as he needed him for now.

Then, a thought suddenly hit Dracula, and he sat back into his seat, his claws growing sharper.

“Boy, where is the finished batch of potions?”

The Alchemist froze for a moment, taken aback by the sudden question.

“Um… In the labs?”

Dracula’s eyes sharpened, almost glowing red.

“And is there anyone or anything protecting the finished batch of potions in the labs?”

“Ah…”

Running a hand across his face, Dracula fought the urge to kill something.

He was going to need that drink before visiting you.

—

Much to Dracula’s disappointment (and hidden fury), it was just as he had expected.

He had decided to check on the batch of the potion himself after that conversation, just to be sure it hadn’t been tampered with.

It was something he was already going to do, but now it was incredibly important to do so after hearing what the Alchemist had to say.

Just as he had feared, the main batch that had been left out had indeed been soiled.

The potion itself was a darker blue than it should have been, a first tell that something wasn’t quite right. Then there was the smell.

Potions already smelled a bit bland, with a hint of bitterness to them. However, he was able to catch the scent of something almost sour.

The texture itself was also a bit… thick. Closer to a cream rather than the liquid form it was supposed to have.

Dracula felt his brow twitch with thinly veiled disdain.

With a sigh, and barely hidden rage, he ended up banishing the whole batch. No point in taste testing when he could already smell the signs of tampering. The only thing he would be able to get out of a test would be what ingredients specifically had been added, but there was no point. Not when he already knew the results.

It seems he would have to keep a closer eye on things than he thought.

Even if the alchemists and potioneers he had working on this were as trustworthy as they could get, it seemed that there was only so much he could do before the rats began to poke their noses where they didn't belong.

As much as he hated to section off parts of the lab, it seems he would have to until you were healed, or he found all the idiots involved who dared try and pull a fast one on him.

Thankfully however, not everything was lost.

Dracula was thankful that moment for employing several alchemists to the lab for different batches of potions. He could just take from those, since they would have a similar effect.

The other alchemists were to keep working on different batches of potions, so he could have stronger ones brewing while the first batch was finished. This meant there would be less powerful ones, sure, but he would simply have more made.

What mattered was getting this first batch to you.

You may be healing relatively quickly and well, but he was quickly growing to dislike seeing you injured.

The shadows under your eyes, and how sunken in your face looked, added to your winces of pain… He hoped that he could help with that by taking care of your wounds.

It would be a long journey, he was sure. No doubt it would take more than just healing your injuries to actually have you looked… alive.

That was what had his cold, undead heart beating worriedly in his chest.

You didn’t look like you were living.

Sure, your blood pumped, your heart still beats, but you didn’t have a happy light in your eyes. Dracula could mistake you for one of his minions with how those eyes alone looked.

He was thankful though, seeing a spark in them. It was subtle, and only showed up on occasion.

However, he found himself yearning to protect it.

Ha. Him. Lord of the Night. King of all Vampires, wanting to protect his own supposed enemy. Even more so, with such… feelings developing.

Dracula still wasn’t sure whether to find it amusing, or pitiful.

The beast in his mind that he had embraced so long ago surprisingly didn’t fight him on it. At first, it had called him pathetic the first time he found himself wanting to help you.

But that same beast had quickly done a 180, quickly growing to respect you much like his logical side had.

And oh, how it had quickly grown protective.

Dracula felt his lips almost twitch upward at the thought, feeling the very same protectiveness stir in his soul as he approached your door.

He gave a brisk knock at the door, casting a brief glance to the living armors he had stationed near your room. Stone still as always.

After a brief moment, he heard your voice, telling him to come in.

Carefully he opened the door, and it was as if a weight was lifted off his chest just seeing you. The way you subtly perked up when seeing him, sitting up in your bed…

He tried not to let his pride get to him, how it was him that you were sitting up for.

‘One step at a time, Vlad.’

The scent of your blood though soon quickly caught his nose, and he felt himself stand straighter as he walked quickly to your side.

“Your injuries… did one re-open?” He was quick to ask, internally scolding himself when he felt the urge to have a taste.

For a Belmont, your blood was still such an intoxicating scent…

Sheepishly, you looked away from him after he arrived at your side.

“Ah… I fell on the way to the restroom. I accidentally pulled some stitches open, but I got the wound under control.”

If he had been a human, he would have sworn you were trying to give him a heart attack at this rate. How was it you were such a trouble magnet?

Gently, he leaned over you, his hands hovering over where your shirt was. Underneath, he could already smell the irritated wound and fresh blood.

His eyes met your own.

“May I?” He asked, desiring to see how bad it had gotten. His voice was soft and tender, not wishing to push you or make you uncomfortable.

You froze for a moment, and a glimmer of emotion passed in your eyes. However, it left as quick as it came, and you carefully pulled your arms up to give him access.

Even now, Dracula was still incredibly impressed with the trust you were giving him. If this had been any of your ancestors, or any hunter, really, he would no doubt be in a fight.

Gently, his cool hands brushed against your warm skin as he lifted your shirt upwards to see the bandaged wound. He pointedly ignored the shiver you have, no doubt his cold hands most likely the cause.

At least, that’s what he told himself, also ignoring how you tensed slightly. Or how he heard your pulse pick up as he got closer.

It was not the time to let his mind wander and theorize.

Dracula would give you credit, though. Your pain tolerance wasn’t anything to scoff at, and you were taking everything in stride, even now.

He removed the bandages with a gentle ease, and immediately internally stomped down the sudden hunger he felt.

The fresh scent of your blood still somehow managed to drive him crazy, even when he wasn’t starving.

To think he’d find a Belmont’s blood so appealing?

It took a bit of his will power to calm himself, before continuing to look at the wound. Pursing his lips, he let out a hum.

His hands held your midsection still as he observed the new damage, ignoring your sharp intake of air.

“Apologies…” He mumbled, knowing full and well his hands were most likely even colder the closer they were to your feverish flesh.

“No worries…” You breathed, your voice small. His eyes flickered up to your face, and your own were wide as you watched him. Still vigilant, even now. Cute.

Eyes back on your wound, he felt a bit of relief. Thankfully you hadn’t torn open as many stitches as he had feared, and you had cleaned the wound up well.

It seems getting rest and meals was helping you both physically, and mentally. You weren’t hanging on a thread, wrapping wounds with little regard to your life now.

Really, he shouldn’t be surprised. Even if he was worried about how you thought of yourself and your health in general, you of all people would know how to properly wrap a wound when in good conditions to do so.

After a moment, he pressed the bandages back onto your injury, and stepped back.

“Despite several stitches being pulled, it could have been worse.”

You pull your shirt down, and smile sheepishly.

“That’s good. It didn’t look too bad, but I’m glad you agree.” You spoke, rubbing the back of your neck a bit nervously.

It seemed you were still on edge, though he didn’t mind too much.

He looked you over for a moment as you fixed your shirt. You really were looking better than when you first arrived. Even from when he saw you this morning, you seemed to be improving.

At least, he was definitely thankful you no longer looked like you were dead on your feet.

Clearing his throat for a moment, he nearly smirked at how you almost jumped. Most would have missed how your muscles tensed, though he decided to count the fact he wasn’t outright scaring you a plus.

“I have something for you.”

Immediately your interest was piqued.

How you subtly leaned towards him and tilted your head, you were curious.

“You do?”

He stepped back for a moment, before holding out his hand. In a flash of smoke and light, a bottle appeared in his hand.

As he held it out to you, your eyes widened as you gently took it from his grip.

“A potion? You really made some?”

Dracula crossed his arms a bit in pride as you looked over the bottle.

“Of course. You’ll find I am not fond of breaking promises, or going back on my word.”

You took a moment to look over the bottle you now held in your hands, almost disbelieving. Dracula felt a pang of something in his heart. Pity? Worry? He wasn’t sure, but he didn’t like how astounded you looked over the fact he would get you some basic potions.

“I do apologize in advance. Due to the fact your injuries were severe, I had this made as fast as possible. It won’t heal you completely, but it should heal the worst of your wounds.”

For a moment, you were silent, clearly thinking.

“If you are worried about it being poisoned-” he began, but you raised a hand to cut him off.

“No! No, it’s fine. Sorry. I trust it isn’t poisoned.” You spoke. After another moment, you pulled the cork off the bottle, and debated if you should take a sip.

“However, I do wish to warn you about something.” Dracula said, speaking before you could drink it. He may as well tell you now, before you take a drink. No doubt you’d be upset if he told you after.

You froze, looking at him expectantly.

“Yes…?”

Dracula let out a frustrated sigh, a hand coming up to his forehead just thinking about it.

“Someone has tried to tamper with one of the batches of potions I have commissioned to be made.”

Your eyes widened, flickering to the potion, but he held up a hand to try and calm you before you could panic.

“I tossed that batch out after testing it myself. I can assure you the potion you hold in your hand has been deemed clean by myself personally. That one you hold in your hand was not supposed to go to you today. It was a batch that was supposed to simmer for a few more days.”

“To become a stronger batch…” You murmured, and Dracula felt a small twinge of pride. He supposes it shouldn’t be a surprise you would know such things, given how often you probably used potions in general.

“So… Someone wanted me dead…?” You asked, still eyeing the bottle critically. Dracula’s face turned a bit more sour.

“Unfortunately so. I will not lie to you, having you as my guest has… ruffled some feathers. I’m currently investigating those I believe tried to lace the potion with poison.”

Bright eyes flickered to him, and he caught that look, one of near disbelief.

“Why? I don’t particularly blame them, I’m a hunter, after all…” You murmured once again, eyes glancing back to the bottle.

“Because you are my guest. I will not tolerate those who wish to go against my orders, and attempt to kill the company I deemed worthy to keep.”

Dracula wondered if you weren’t used to such thoughts, with the way he saw emotions flicker across your face, gone as quick as they came.

Summoning a chair from the side of the room, he sat down, placing his elbows on his knees as he rested his chin over his clasped hands.

“If you don’t wish to drink that potion, I will not force you. It will just take a longer period for you to fully recover. I will not blame you for doing so.”

After all, he just admitted someone tried to use a different batch to kill you. He wouldn’t blame you for being careful.

You seemed to think for a moment, and Dracula decided to keep speaking as you thought about it.

“I also wish to officially inform you that unrest is beginning to stir in the castle. However,” Dracula began, taking in your expression of slight alarm, “I once again wish to reiterate something. You are allowed to protect yourself. I will not vilify you if you defend yourself from an attack.”

It was the truth. He had means to see if it was self defense, or a planned attack. He doubted you would attack unprompted.

You look at him a bit confused.

“But… How would you know it was self defense? The monsters who want me dead could just lie as a group, right?”

Dracula felt the corners of his lips twitch upwards. You had clearly been thinking about this, though he could tell it was something that must have weighed on your mind.

Not so much you thinking you could get away with attacking his subordinate, rather, you were worried about being attacked and thinking ahead.

He felt his lips curl into a small, amused smirk.

“I have my ways of figuring out what happens throughout my castle without being present.”

It was through his close connection with Castlevania, really.

Thanks to his connection, he was able to loosely figure out just who had tampered with your potions. Needless to say, it wasn’t hard to get the two witches to admit it, with how weak willed they were.

His castle was now a few witches less. Not that it mattered.

It wasn’t all of them, he was sure. Dracula still had a bit of investigating to do. The two he disposed of were just the ones who admitted to it, and Dracula could tell more were involved. No doubt he would be busy later looking further into the matter.

Some certainly weren’t happy with him, but alas, that was what happened when you attempted to hurt those he was protecting.

You seemed a bit skeptical, or perhaps curious?

“Um… Is it through the power of Chaos you can?”

As soon as you asked it, a worried look appeared on your face.

“Uh, if that isn’t too personal of a question, I mean…?”

He almost wanted to laugh. You were trying to be respectful, unsure if that was too much information to ask for.

“Trying to figure out a way to one up your enemy, hm?” He asked, though his lips ticked upwards in a full grin, clearly teasing you. Dracula could tell that wasn’t what you meant.

“No! That’s not what I-! I didn’t- fuck, I mean-”

It was adorable how you sputtered, and tried to catch your words to apologize.

“Relax, I’m only teasing you. Yes, it’s partially through the power of Chaos. Though Castlevania itself is bound to my very soul. Not much gets past me, should the castle alert me about it.”

You instantly relaxed at his words, and seemed to perk up in interest.

Once again, your eyes flickered to the bottle in your hand.

“Is that how you found out the last potion was poisoned?”

Dracula hummed, leaning back in the chair.

“No. One of my Alchemists alerted me to the fact several witches were discussing how they were… unhappy about your presence. I decided to check on the potion early, even if it was finished. I simply had my castle assist me in finding out who had done it.”

Silence filled the room once more. It seemed you were unsure what you wanted to say next.

After a beat passed, you looked back at him.

“Thank you, then. For checking. And for giving this to me.”

Your voice was soft, as was your smile.

If Dracula still breathed, he just knows his breath would have caught in his throat.

That was a smile that was worth protecting.

After you thanked him, you brought the bottle to your lips, and began to drink down the potion.

The effect was almost immediate. Even if he couldn’t see most of your wounds, he could see how you changed.

You no longer favored one side, leaning oddly to the left. Nor did you hold your arm as close as before. In fact, your body seemed to relax even further, now that the worst of the injuries were finally repairing from the magic treatment.

When you finished the drink, you pulled the bottle away from your lips, a disgusted look on your face presumably due to the taste. You coughed for a moment, and shook your head a bit.

After gathering your bearings, you then looked back up to Dracula, and truly smiled.

For once, you looked happy. You looked alive.

Yes, Dracula thought. Pursuing a future where you two don’t have to fight, would be one worth aiming for, just to see you smile once more.

[cassiopeiasdaughter]

Hi darling,

I hope you’re good. Honestly, I’m astounded by the loveliness of your work. Your writing is so seamless and beautiful, and your ideas are alluring.

I hope you’re okay if I flood your inbox with requests soon.

I’d love to see what you can concoct for a Draco fic in my head. It’s such a shame we never got to deeply explore this character and his potential. So, here’s a hypothetical scenario: the reader is a muggleborn Gryffindor and a member of Golden Trio (or in this case, quartet). When she’s captured by the Snatchers and tortured by Bellatrix at Malfoy Manor, will Draco step up against his family to protect her?

I would love to see your take on this🤍

all too well

Draco Malfoy x fem!reader

warnings: mentions of torture and dissociation, swearing !not proofread! (Obvi), English isn't my first language so excuse the mistakes 🤍

thank you for this idea, I tried my best ❤️

"What else did you take?", the woman shouts.

She has been screaming like this for minutes, hours, days. You don't remember how long you have been laying on the marble floor, how many times the cruciatus curse has hit you.

You don't remember where you are or who the woman is.

She has black curly hair and an angry face that resembles Andromedas if you look close enough.

She points her knife at you, plays with it in front of you to scare you; when she gets bored or annoyed she hits you, with curses that make your whole body tremble and burn.

The room is spinning, the tall walls seem to keep growing taller and you constantly have to fight to keep your eyes open and search for the light.

The floor hurts your head as the woman throws you around; "How did you get it" she keeps asking," what else" , she shouts.

Your brain can't form the answer she demands, and your eyes can't help but let tears fall.

As you look away you make out more faces.

Three people, two of them looking at you with a strict face, you deserve this, the say without having to speak, it is written all over their eyes.

One of them however looks at you with a scared face, his eyes tremble as they scan your body, not entirely sure what he is looking for. He knows you are hurt, he knows he can't help you, but he keeps looking, doesn't let you go, he stays with you.

You stare into his eyes, cold and silver, burning you with one look. His hands hold his wand with a tight grip, turning his knuckles white.

Who are you, you wonder. You must be important, you think to yourself; you feel important.

Please remember him, you beg yourself. The woman keeps screaming, keeps hurting you but you can only focus on him.

"Draco", the other woman whispers.

Draco.

And with that you remember everything.

Many years ago, when you didn't have to run for your life and survive in the woods;

When home was the red and golden common room, and your three best friends;

When the only things that bothered you were Ron stealing food from your plate and History of Magic class lasting way too long;

you had fallen in love

It was doomed from the start, you knew that of course. You were a muggleborn witch and he was a Malfoy, a pureblooded purist Slytherin; how could it ever work out between the two of you?

You remember the first few years, how his constant insults at you and your friends left you fuming and screaming.

You relive quidditch matches, how sure of himself he was before every match and how he would look at you with a sneer after losing to you.

You can still hear his annoying comments during class or before duels. Shut up Malfoy, you used to shout at him

"Shut up.", you mumble as you remember your past and the woman hits you with another curse.

Then your thoughts take you back to last year.

Draco Malfoy had gotten taller over the summer, his hair had also grown he had dropped his usual sleeked-back look that you mocked. You always knew he was handsome, like you also knew he was a shallow asshole. He was more quiet though, didn't seem to pay attention to his friends or to his teachers.

You would often find him alone; walking in the corridors with a skeptical look on his face.

One particular night you caught yourself tossing and turning in your bed. You were afraid; afraid that you wouldn't be able to save your parents or your friends from Death Eaters. You felt sorry for Harry, you wanted to help him carry the burden that was forced on him all those years ago.

School was also stressing you out, and all these thoughts formed a heavy burden that sat on your chest every night. So you decided to give up hopes of sleep and dreaming and let your feet carry you down the dark and quiet corridors.

That same night you spotted Draco Malfoy rushing somewhere on his own.

You don't remember why but you decided to follow him; maybe it wasn't exactly a decision that you made, but more of a pull that you felt.

You recall walking and turning, going up stairs and getting lost in the hallways.

As you turned one more time, you were met with two angry gray eyes looking at you intensely.

"Why are you following me?", he said.

"Where are you going?", you replied as you raised your wand.

Quickly accuses started flying out of your mouth, "Harry was right, you are with them.", you remember screaming at him and then flying backwards from a spell he cast on you.

“Shut up.” He shouts “You have no idea what is happening.”

"Are you helping them? Do you have any idea what you are doing?" you continued screaming as you stood up.

You remember then how he dropped to the floor and caged his face with his hands.

"I don't know what to do. I don't have another choice." he kept repeating more to himself than to you.

Up to that point Draco Malfoy was to you a spoiled rich wizard, who couldn't see past his privilege and his family's name.

He was cruel to your friends and a blood purist. He was a Death Eater.

But the way he looked now; like a helpless boy made you realize how little say he had in his life.

You knelt down next to him and said softly "Why don't you tell Dumbledore, maybe he can help?".

He laughed mockingly at that and replied "Dumbledore can't save anyone, let alone me."

You stayed in silence kneeling next to him for minutes, trying to think of a way out.

"Malfoy" you broke the silence "Whatever you are doing for them, delay it."

He raised his head and looked at you.

"Delay it, until we find a way to fix this.", you finished

"Why would you even bother and help me? They want to kill people like you; they-", he said but didn't finish

they are killing people like me you finished in your head for him.

For a few moments you couldn't say anything; he was right. You should just go to Dumbledore and tell him everything; let him deal with that, but you couldn't leave him alone.

You couldn't refuse help to the person who needed it the most. Even if he would never ask for it; perhaps that was precisely why.

"It's the right thing, isn't it? Someone has to do it.", you exclaimed

"How very Gryffindor of you." he said with a roll of his eyes and then out of nowhere "Thank you."

"You have to work with me, trust me; in order for this work.", you said and he agreed.

With that began secret meetups and words of comfort.

You weren't enemies or friends. You were a team.

You were the person that helped him through everything, the one who listened when he cried and offered him a shoulder to lean on when everything broke down.

It was strange at first; but it was the right thing to do, and you were brought up to do just that.

You quickly learned that his company was nice; he was nice.

He could be funny when he wanted to and you found out that you had a lot in common.

“Why do you act so different in front of everyone?”, you asked him once.

“Different how?”, he asked back

“Like an emotionless selfish dick” you replied easily “When in reality, you care and protect those you love.”

“Sod off” he said and then “Even if that were true, I suck miserably at it.”

“The protecting or the caring part?”, you asked with a calm voice

He looked at you then with a curious look before turning away and sighing “Both.”

"Both." you whisper now and he can barely hear it.

"What?" the woman shouts, thinking you have an answer to her questions.

"What?", you remember shouting at him when he revealed his plan to you; their plan to kill Dumbledore and attack the school.

"Be quiet!.", he insisted, you could tell by his eyes he was distraught too; he didn't want this- didn't want any of it.

"I did everything I could to slow it down, I shouldn't even be telling you this; they will kill us both.", he muttered as every flicker of hope inside him was dying out.

"I am telling you this to protect you, win you some time, go.", his eyes were ice cold, piercing through you and his hands were griping your arms tightly; almost shaking you.

You couldn't say anything; you remember feeling as if everything he had just told you was fake. Dumbledore couldn't die, Draco wouldn't kill him, he couldn't.

And Hogwarts, your home for all those years, couldn't be attacked by them. It was the safest place on Earth.

Until it wasn't.

That was the last conversation you had with him. After that you weren't sure you would ever see him again.

You followed Harry; of course you did, you couldn't leave him alone, not after everything he'd been through and everything you witnessed together.

You thought about Draco often; mostly at night when everyone was asleep and nature kept you company; you stared into the night sky and tried to find his constellation.

You thought you could talk to him that way; "I am alright" you would say "Are you?" you always asked.

But no answer came.

You would replay every interaction, every conversation. You tried to remember his features; the exact grey of his eyes and his blonde hair. His look when he smiled (which wasn't often) and the way he played with his wand when he wanted to avoid your eyes.

Nothing ever happened between the two of you; nothing physical at least. Because the safe haven you two built had to have meant something.

Everything fell apart when you were caught.

You were alone and hurting; your friends were at best locked up somewhere and you couldn't think of a way out.

You couldn't think.

All you could feel was pain; everywhere

And then you saw Draco and every interaction; every feeling started playing again inside your head. You began living every moment from when you met him up to your last conversation.

"Go!" that is what he said to you then.

It was unbearable; you kept losing him over and over again, the story kept replaying and you couldn't pause it.

You couldn't stop and marvel at the good moments.

The way he held your hand when he needed comfort but didn't know how to ask for it;

Or his laugh when you both remembered your early years; how you both knew nothing, weren't prepared for the nightmare that would follow.

"Make it stop.", you heard his voice say and it took you back to third year and his constant complaining during Care of Magical Creatures.

"Stop.", his voice said again, closer now. “She clearly doesn’t know anything, we are wasting our time.” He kept repeating.

It is real, you realized, it isn't your memories or your fantasy, it is him.

As you move your head to get a closer look at him you hear footsteps getting close.

You hear your friends and then realize they aren’t alone, they’ve got help. We might survive this, a voice inside tells you.

All that hope crumbles down as the woman, Bellatrix you remember, grabs you and points her wand at you.

“No one moves.” She says slowly; her eyes wide open scanning the faces of everyone.

She doesn’t see Draco though, who shoots a Bombarda at her and quickly runs to your side.

His parents stand still and shocked, his fathers eyes darkening as time passes.

“What have you done?” He asks him and then Bellatrix gets up to start running towards you.

It’s chaos; what happens next. Spells shooting everywhere, wands flying out of hands. You can’t keep your eyes open for a long time, can't keep yourself up, you feel hands; his hands holding you tightly, never letting you fall.

And then you all land somewhere before the world darkens.

You can hear waves crashing into the shore and the smell of salt air fills your lungs.

You open your eyes slowly and let out a hiss as you feel pain everywhere.

Sprawled out and asleep on a chair in the corner of the room you see Draco and then your eyes land on Harry sleeping next to you.

You wake him up with a gentle nudge on his head and he smiles.

“What happened?” You ask.

He needs a few minutes to fully wake up and grasp the fact that you really are awake and alright.

“It was a bloody nightmare, but you’re awake now. I’ll go get Ron and Hermione. We have been taking turns watching you.” He says in a rush and gets up

“Wait, what is he doing here?” You asked

“He helped, hasn’t left your side since, didn’t bother with his injury without healing you first.”, Harry said not amused at first but then a sincere look painted his face.

“You have a lot of explaining to do” he warned “but later”

You just watched him exit the room and tried to process what he had just said to you.

“Potter is always loud then”, said Draco sarcastically and his voice made you jump a little. “Sorry.”

You couldn’t say anything back to him, you couldn’t even believe he was there.

He stood up and made slow strides to get close to you, until he reached your bed and sat at the spot near your feet.

You saw then the injury Harry was talking about, he had bandages starting from his shoulder tightly wrapped around it and ending down to his chest.

“What happened?” You say softly and point at the white bandages.

He let out a laugh at that “Unbelievable.” He exclaimed.

“What” you said annoyed, your eyebrows raised in a funny way that reminds him of arguments in classes and loud corridors.

“It’s” he stammered “You” and as he stared at your face with a look filled with adoration he said “Nothing.”

He swallowed loudly and explained with an amused look on his face “Got stabbed with a knife, by lovely aunty Bella.”, he pointed at the spot under his shoulder, close to his heart.

And then you remember the Manor, his aunt; Bellatrix and the questions.

Your face darkened at that and your body started shaking lightly- you hadn’t realized until you felt Draco’s hand on your shoulder rubbing lightly “You are okay, we are safe here.”

“We?” You asked and felt tears running down your cheeks “How- why are you here? What have you done?”

He smiled at you and replied “You said so yourself. I protect the ones I love.”

“I just wish I was better at it. Fix my timing and all.” He joked at the end

You really started crying then and felt him getting closer “I am sorry I didn’t do anything sooner, I should have stopped her. I am sorry.”

You felt yourself staining his shirt with your tears but couldn’t bring yourself to stop or talk; couldn’t say anything to comfort him. So you only shook your head it’s fine now, you are here.

You felt his tears falling on your head and held him closer.

The past didn't matter right now; your friends reaction could wait and the War would be won, you were sure of it.

Now, you would figure it out together; just like before.

bonus:

-So, how much longer do we have to stand here and watch- that?

-As long as we have to Ronald, be quiet now!

fin

So, um as usual I am deeply sorry for any mistakes!

Also, this was very out of my comfort zone and I am not mad about it at all, I just hope it lives up to your expectations a tiny bit and I also hope you enjoyed it.

Till next time

xx

[derangedhyena-delphinidae]

URGENT! DO YOU WANT TO HELP THE SOUTHERN RESIDENTS? PLEASE HELP US WRITE, CALL AND TEXT!

A lawsuit, National Wildlife Federation vs National Marine Fisheries Service, may finally determine the fate of the 4 Lower Snake River Dams, the salmon who spawn there and the remaining 75 Southern Resident Orca who desperately need salmon to survive. Biden needs to know that we want those dams breached. He's broken enough of his climate promises - let him know that, and the extinction of these amazing animals, isn't an option!

Public comment is also being sought on the matter. Please visit our page, BidenBreachNow, for talking points, social media shareables, and extensive information about why the dams need to go. This is a critical time. Please call, text, write or email, every day if you can, until August 31st. Even if you already have acted and/or shared, please do it again. Please keep sharing because every voice counts! The Snake River was once one of the top salmon rivers in the world. That is sadly no longer the case. Four deadbeat dams on the Lower Snake River have cost an estimated 8 to 9 billion dollars in failed salmon recovery attempts - taxpayer money! - and they lose millions more every year generating unstorable surplus energy. What they do sell is often sold at a loss. The dams continue to get older and costlier to maintain, while solar and wind energy have replaced their power output; energy efficiency alone has done the same seven times over.

These dams aren't even clean energy! Their reservoirs emit huge amounts of methane, which contributes to the climate crisis. Please help spread this if you can, and join in. We have a real chance here to get this done - so let's do it.

As the late and great Ken Balcomb said: "We're at a point in history where we need to wake up to what we have to consider: do we want whales, or not?"

He never stopped fighting for the Southern Residents, and neither should we.

[autistichalsin]

I know a lot of people find it boring how much Halsin talks about nature, and I do get it- it is repetitive. However, I also find that if you break some of his statements down into what he's implying, you end up with something a lot more interesting. (ESPECIALLY because a lot of these support the "Halsin is autistic" interpretation.)

Take, for example, Halsin talking about his place in the world, specifically relating to relationships:

Halsin: I still have hot blood in my veins. Nature gifted us our desires, and the means to act on them. But we muddied its beautiful simplicity with rules, social strictures... clothes. So, I am not bound to nature. I am unbound in nature.

Halsin: Relationship? Such terms belong to civilisation - a little unfamiliar to my lips. You know what we share is more fluid, more founded in the principles of nature.

Implications: Halsin finds society too complicated. He enjoys nature because its rules are simpler and more sensical; rather than social rules and structures that are beyond him (especially when you take into account the autistic Halsin interpretation), he feels comforted by nature, which is complex in a way that he understands.

There's also Halsin's friendship with Thaniel.

Halsin: I had a friend when I was young, long ago. He played with me in the forests where I grew up... but eventually, I realised no one else had heard of him. It was Thaniel, of course. Nature was my very first friend. I get older, but he hasn't changed a day. I knew then that I had to be more than a companion to him. I had to be a protector.

Implications: Nature, by being Halsin's first friend, has always been what Halsin is comforted by. It has been a steady and comforting presence for him, something he can rely in, in contrast to other people who are unpredictable. Nature is consistent and comforting for him.

Halsin, infamously, is not happy in the city of Baldur's Gate.

Halsin: Too much noise, too many lanterns kept burning... nature's rhythm is ignored here.

Implications: Halsin is overstimulated easily by excessive noise and other sensory inputs. Nature provides him somewhere quiet.

Halsin: I wish... I wish there was a better way. I wish everyone could see the sun, have a full belly, and know nature as a friend. There is a balance that is yet to be found.

Implications: Again, Halsin sees nature- not just Thaniel, but all of nature- as a friend. A source of comfort and companionship.

Halsin: I think on [politics and high art] also. But nothing matches the splendour of an ancient tree.

Implications: Halsin loves the beauty of the natural world as much as anything else. Rather than art or music (which he can appreciate), what he prefers is something that grew rather than being made.

Halsin: I am... less anxious to find myself in a city. So removed from nature's power - I do not know how I will fare.

Implications: Not only does Halsin prefer not to be in the city, but he is actually, to some extent, frightened of it (likely due to how overstimulating it is for him), in contrast with his feeling of being right at home in nature.

There's other things to note as well. If a Dark Urge player embraces Bhaal and then tells Halsin to bow, Halsin has this to say:

Halsin: Nature bows to none. It will fight on and survive, no matter what madness your god has inspired you to undertake.

Implications: Halsin views nature as strength, and admires that very much. He draws a lot of his tougher qualities from this aspect of the natural world.

Or a line where Wyll gently points out that he talks about nature a lot:

Halsin: When you care about something deeply enough, it consumes every thought and word.

Implications: Halsin isn't thinking of little else besides nature because he's "boring"; it's because it's important to him. (A special interest, one might say.) And when something is deeply important to a person, they think of everything else in relation to that thing; think of a sports fan who constantly uses sports metaphors to understand the world around them.

There's another party banter with Wyll that is telling when combined with what he has to say about the city, too.

Halsin: It is most unfair to pour such scorn on rats - they have their place in nature, same as you or I. 

Halsin: I thought cities were supposed to welcome folk of all walks of life. Clearly I was mistaken.

Implications: Halsin feels everyone has a place in the natural world, yet that the city shuns those it deems different. As someone who has struggled greatly with fitting in/finding a place he "belongs", Halsin feels more sympathetic to nature, where all living things belong, than anywhere else.

I think that when you break up Halsin's love of nature into all the little things it implies, it paints a much more interesting picture of him, personally. It also supports the "Halsin is autistic" interpretation, which makes him even MORE interesting.

[corpupine]

I've been doing a lot of thinking...and I feel like I need to scream this out somehow even though I'm sure it's been talked about before (and I'm putting it under a readmore because it gets long).

No matter what, in any playthrough you do and any timeline you create.

UNDERTALE is a game about guilt.

You have Toriel, so guiltridden she couldn't protect her own children that she devotes herself to never letting another child leave again. And then they do!! over and over again, that guilt compounds until it's the center of her life and every choice she makes!!

And obviously Asgore, so guiltridden that he couldn't protect his own children from humans that he spends the rest of his days trying to get out and get revenge on them--as if that will stop the voices in his head saying, if you had been out there with them you could have stopped it, you could have stopped those humans from killing your children, and maybe he could have!! Or maybe not!! He'll never know and it eats him from the inside out!

Alphys, oh my sweet summer child this fandom does not deserve you!! Alphys, so guiltridden from her own perceived failures as a scientist that she began to try anything, anything to make the King happy, and it seemed to be working at first, and then it was so everlastingly worse, how can you cause something worse than death?? without even trying??

And it shows up in little ways, silly ways, too! Ways you wouldn't even think about as guilt! Undyne! She feels guilty that she won't let Papyrus join the Royal Guard so she gives him cooking lessons instead! Papyrus feels guilty that he's not in love with you after one date so he'll "keep being your cool friend and act like this never happened!"

SANS MY BOI don't even get me started. His guilt isn't as physically obvious but he made a promise to toriel, he promised her he would keep the human safe, and in timelines where you save everyone he follows you pretty much all throughout the Underground (even if he doesn't do anything to help smh) because he'd feel guilty not doing it, and in timelines where you kill everyone he feels guilty for not stopping you, AND in those SAME timelines he feels guilty for stopping you because it means he's breaking his promise to Toriel to keep you safe I!!! This boy can fit so much cosmic guilt in him!!!!

Asriel! FLOWEY!! Do you ever wonder if he feels guilty about being the one to wake up again? The one to survive, when Chara had to die twice?? He sits at their grave and he will do anything, anything to drown out those thoughts so he befriends and kills and torments and it's all the same and it's all useless!!

And their guilt compounds each others'! Toriel makes Sans make that promise because of her own guilt, which increases his! Asgore's guilt is what pushes Alphys so far past the limits of ethical science, because he increases hers!

And all of this, all of this, ALL OF THIS pales in comparison to you!!!

You!! The player! You return to the Underground after maybe accidentally killing Toriel or a few others because you didn't know, you never wanted to hurt them!! You listen to Flowey and you come back and you save them all!

You! The player!!! You cry at the ending and you'd feel guilty, so guilty about letting them all go, wouldn't you? So you ignore Flowey's pleas to let it alone, and you come back again, you say hello to your dear friends but this time it isn't the same, this time you kill them all because you want to see everything this game has to offer, might as well get your money's worth, the fights are cool, right?? And then you get hit with the most unsatisfying atomic bomb of an ending and the only thing left is your own reflection staring back at you from the black screen of your computer as the horror dawns, what have you done???

YOU!!! The player! You go back again even though there is no Flowey left to tell you to, and you save them all again because I'm sorry, I'm so so sorry, nobody deserves what I did to all of you, and it's all good, nobody remembers, and then you get to the end. The game knows what you did!!! It never forgot, and it'll make certain you never forget either!! Guilt!! Guilt, guilt!!! It's baked into the code of this game!!

Anyways tl;dr, maybe it actually did make sense to give this game to the pope