A Whole Lot of Nonsense

After a good bath and some protein-rich food, Nova, their new Shepherd, falls fast asleep at the foot of the bed. Orlando begs and pleads to keep her.

“Are we really equipped to care for a dog?” Astarion questions, eyeing the dog’s ear twitching in her sleep.

Orlando smiles softly at him, pressing a gentle kiss to his temple.

“I think we’ll be great dog parents,” she returns before settling into bed.

Astarion is skeptical at first. He quickly finds himself irritated by the puppy’s seemingly boundless energy and uncanny ability to destroy every pair of slippers in the house. Nova gnaws on table legs, pilfers underwear from the hamper, and inexplicably manages to clamp down on a nerve in Astarion’s foot with her tiny needle teeth every time he takes his eyes off her. When she’s not torturing her father, she’s figuring out how to climb various obstacles to retrieve forbidden food items from the kitchen counter or stalking pests in the yard (the latter activity actually being of some help to Astarion and Orlando’s burgeoning garden). The vampire spawn swears to the gods that Nova can understand Common, Elvish, Infernal, and any other coded tongue he tries to use to speak of her in her presence. Not even spelling out “W-A-L-K” or “T-R-E-A-T” seems to work anymore. Her ears perk up at the slightest hint that he and Orlando are talking about the little menace.

Astarion is at his wits end one afternoon when he discovers the pup helping herself to his favorite pair of shoes.

“MY LOAFERS!” Orlando hears Astarion screech from across the house and wonders if all of Baldur’s Gate can hear his outburst, “YOU WRETCHED CREATURE!”

She dashes into the living room where the outburst had emanated from. There Astarion is, hands in his pale hair, the expression on his face far beyond vexed. He is livid, a vein in his neck twitching with irritation. And little Nova looks anything but sorry, her pink tongue lolling out of one side of her mouth, panting happily away while the slaughtered loafers sit unraveled in between her front paws. Orlando is quick to scold her, yanking the shoes away from the dog and waving them in her face while giving her a good lecture. Nova’s ears fall, but her melancholy is short lived. Soon after, Nova is back to playing, this time with a toy pre-approved by her mother and father (who is still fuming).

“You’ve got to be stricter with her,” Orlando reasons, watching as Nova shakes the stuffed bunny rabbit in her mouth with great pride.

“I am!” Astarion retorts, irritation growing as he jabs himself with the needle he is using to mend his ripped-up shoes.

“I think she thinks your reactions are funny,” Orlando posits, stifling a laugh. Astarion casts her a withering gaze.

“And what makes you think that?” he questions, pulling his sewing needle taut. Orlando shrugs, unable to hide her growing smile.

“Well, when you have your outbursts,” she starts, trailing off and passing her beloved a knowing look, “Listen, the more you react, the more she’ll think it’s a game. You’ve got to be swift and even-tempered. She doesn’t get up on the counter anymore because we’ve been quick to correct her. And she doesn’t steal my shoes anymore because my reactions aren’t nearly as entertaining as yours. She gets bored when I scold her. Plus-”

Orlando and Astarion both glance back at Nova, who has fallen fast asleep with her toy still in her mouth. Despite his annoyance with the creature, Astarion can’t help but think she looks rather precious, her soft snores a quiet comfort and her tail occasionally twitching in her sleep.

“She’ll grow out of it soon enough,” the Tiefling finishes, lifting herself from her chair and gliding towards Astarion. She leans down, pressing a quick kiss to his lips.

“Until then, I will buy you as many new loafers as you need,” she teases, giving Nova a kiss on the forehead as well before sauntering back to her office. Astarion pouts to himself for a while, until Nova sidles up to him, done with her nap. She watches him with curiosity as he stitches his loafers back together, her tail wagging enthusiastically. He eyes her with suspicion, garnet eyes locking with her honey-brown ones.

“These are not for you,” he murmurs to her, returning to his activity, “You have your own little bunny rabbit to play with.”

He feels her cold, wet nose nudge his elbow. Astarion once again glances down, meeting Nova’s soulful brown eyes. He is suddenly reminded of Scratch- who Shadowheart now travels with- and feels a pang of heartache. He misses that damn dog, even if he doesn’t want to admit it aloud. He misses playing fetch with him and snuggling up with the snowy fluffball when the nights grew cold. He misses the affection and love Scratch provided; unquestioning and wholehearted. Not that he doesn’t have that with Orlando, but it’s always nice to have more. And here little Nova is; ready to give that to him, even if she is a bit of a terror.

Nova shifts her feet, sitting up straight, her eyes filled with longing. As vexing as this puppy is, she is terribly cute and wickedly intelligent- both things Astarion finds himself admiring in the creature.

Furtively glancing about to make sure Orlando is not in eyesight, Astarion gives Nova a couple of scratches behind her ear.

“If you promise never to touch my slippers ever again,” and he says this last part very seriously, “I will buy you as many bunny toys, bears, and the like as you want.”

Nova paws gently at his leg, and Astarion swears she can understand him. He takes this as her attempt to shake on it. With a tiny smile, the vampire spawn grasps the puppy’s paw in his hand and gives it one light shake.

“Deal,” he confirms, to which Nova gives a small, jovial yip.

***

As the weeks go by, Orlando and Astarion put in a lot of time training Nova, both to ensure she is well-behaved and she is getting the proper mental stimulation for a puppy of her caliber. She learns tricks quickly and strives to make her parents proud by showing off how well she does on her leash or how very good she is at staying when asked to stay.

“She’ll be a good guard dog, the bigger she gets,” Orlando comments one evening after watching Nova growl at the sound of a branch scratching one of the windows. Astarion had never thought of that as a possibility, but it’s a prospect he is looking forward to. Even though he knows Cazador is gone, there will forever remain a paranoid part of him always looking over his shoulder. Having Nova around will alleviate some of that feeling, he thinks.

Nova never loses her cheeky side, delighting in pilfering random objects around the house- though she’s moved on from destroying them and simply enjoys waiting for her parents to discover what it is she’s pilfered. Astarion grows to love her very much, and often, he finds himself talking to Nova while they garden together (she wants to be very involved in all activities, despite not really being able to participate properly, given she has no thumbs). Nova likes to participate in his and Orlando’s nightly bedtime routine, Orlando pretending to put her creams and serums on Nova’s little face while Astarion mimics brushing her hair with his comb. At night, the three of them settle in for sleep, with Nova keeping watch at the foot of the bed. And the larger she grows, the safer Astarion feels.

***

The next addition to their family is a stray kitten, black as the sky on a moonless night and just as beautiful, who had wandered into the garden. One night, Astarion hears a tiny mew from the rosebushes he is tending. When he looks down into the flowerbed, he spots a pair of glowing, green eyes peering at him through the moonlit darkness. There’s a flash of pink from a tiny, sandpaper tongue as the creature lets out another precious mew. Flabbergasted, Astarion merely stares at the little being, who has started to nuzzle against the vampire spawn’s knee. Hesitantly, Astarion reaches a finger out to the kitten, letting its cold, wet nose sniff carefully at him. When it does not move away, Astarion gently strokes its fluffy back and listens to its muted purrs. He feels a smile tug at the corners of his lips.

“Making friends?” Orlando’s voice sounds from above. She is leaning out of the window, a proud beam on her round face.

“It’s rude to eavesdrop,” Astarion snarks back. He hears Orlando chuckle as she withdraws back inside, calling out, “Bring your friend in when you’re ready!”

Astarion abandons his gardening, bringing the little kitten inside, fending off Nova from sniffing the poor thing to death. The tiny creature is swiftly fed, bathed, and falls fast asleep on Astarion’s chest in under an hour. He hasn’t the heart to put her down in the basket he and Orlando had carefully crafted for her, so she remains sleeping in the bed beside them all night long. Nova is endlessly curious about the little cat, but Orlando won’t let the dog get too close.

“Not until we’re sure Nova won’t, you know- bite her, I guess,” Orlando reasons. However, this fear is swiftly assuaged when Astarion and Orlando wake the next morning to find the kitten has made her way towards Nova at the foot of the bed. They are curled up together, the kitten almost hidden in Nova’s fluffy, tan and black fur. This precious sight seals the deal. Astarion coins the little creature, “Bellatrix,” and she becomes a permanent resident in the Ancunin-Moonwater household.

“A new playmate for Nova,” Orlando coos, beaming over the two of them play-wrestling in the living room. Nova is ten times Bellatrix’s size right now but makes sure to play extra gentle. They grow to be fast friends and go practically everywhere with each other.

Astarion smiles, putting his arm around Orlando and drawing her closer. He lays a soft, lingering kiss to her lips.

“What was that for?” the Tiefling replies, a coy twinkle in her eyes.

“Oh, don’t read too much into it,” Astarion teases, turning back to the sweet creatures playing on the rug before him. His eyes flood with affection and Orlando knows precisely what he is thinking without even having to enter his mind. This is home, and with each passing day, more life is breathed into it. Astarion is happy.

A/N: A short, sweet little fluffy chapter to get back into writing this fic :) Just something fluffy and chill! And I couldn't resist giving Astarion and Orlando a puppy and a kitty <3

Satoru hardly sleeps. So, in the rare moments he does, I try not to disturb him. Even if I am suffering from insomnia, I lay motionless by his side, listening to his soft exhales and watching the subtle motion of his eyes behind their closed lids as he dreams. His slumber is always short lived: a few hours here and there, dozing for a couple of minutes before he jolts awake. But there are nights where he sleeps deeply; when his eyes and his mind are so tired from the constant bombardment of information entering his brain. His weariness pulls him into a heavy slumber, whether he wants it to or not. For a moment, Satoru Gojo can find tranquility in rest.

Sometimes, his peace makes me drowsy again, my eyelids growing heavy and my mind settled now that Satoru’s is. If he can rest, then so can I. Other times, I feel an overwhelming surge of protectiveness come over me. He is at his most vulnerable in slumber, especially if he is tired enough to let his Infinity completely drop (which is very, very rare). I keep watch, eyeing the shadows with suspicion; alert to every sound beyond our sheltered walls. I vow to protect him, and hope that I’m able to from any threat that might present itself.

Tonight, I’m feeling restless, various anxieties jumbling my thoughts, souring my sleep entirely. Satoru lightly dozes beside me, the silver light of the moon threading itself into the snowy strands of his hair, making them almost glow. Visits with the Higher Ups always exhaust him, a feeling I understand all too well. How many times have I been called in to be reprimanded by them? And each time, I want to spend the rest of my day in the comfort of my bed. He hasn’t had a chance to tell me what they said to him, but it is never anything good.

The sorcerer emits a small whimper, twitching in what I imagine to be one of the many nightmares that plague his already troubled sleep. I inch closer, and somehow, he senses my presence, his Infinity slipping long enough for me to begin feathering kisses against his cheekbones while quietly hushing reassurances that he’s safe. Softly, I card my fingers through his hair, nails grazing his scalp. His distress gradually dissipates, quick breaths slowing and heart rate calming to an even thrum again. After a moment, Satoru stirs, cracking an eyelid open, blazing azure beneath pale lashes. I hope he’s had enough of a chance to give his Six Eyes somewhat of a rest; though even in sleep, they remain ever watching.

“You were dreaming,” I whisper to a groggy Satoru, who looks around slightly confused. Weary still, he presses closer to me, draping an arm over my chest and drawing me in.

“Did it sound like a good dream?” he questions. I smile ruefully, keeping silent and answering his question by ghosting my lips against the corner of his mouth. Satoru turns his head slightly, deepening our kiss. His mouth is warm, and his hands search for purchase on my hips before he pulls me into him. My fingers tangle in his hair, feathery strands soft as silk. The world falls away, leaving Satoru and I in the shelter of my living quarters, sequestered at the back of the school, with only the moon and the stars to witness us. I ache for quiet moments like this; moments that are increasingly becoming few and far between. It’s through no fault of our own. There’s just too much happening in the jujutsu world. If Satoru isn’t busy with our students, he’s traveling for work. And if I’m not teaching, I’m out in the field. Hence, our cherished, clandestine rendezvous like this.

We lay in silence for a while, and it feels like a secret I get to share: Satoru’s contemplative silence. Suguru is one of the few others in the world to experience this quiet; but- that was a long time ago now.

Sometimes, I’m afraid to speak; like the Higher Ups might hear us and learn of our relationship. They know we are close, and I’m sure they’ve suspected just how close Satoru and I are. But I don’t need anything or anyone confirming it to them. It will no doubt spell trouble. So, in the stillness, Satoru and I gaze at one another, tracing constellations of freckles on each other’s skin or making love with hands covering mouths or teeth clenching pillows. Tonight, we observe silently, faces centimeters from one another’s, memorizing each other’s features in fear of one day forgetting them.

“They still want to execute Yuta,” Satoru blurts, his voice barely above a whisper. My fingers freeze where they’ve been caressing the nape of Satoru’s neck and I lean back to fully gaze at him. I am met with a grave expression, white brows furrowed and blue eyes filled with sorrow. Sorrow and unmistakable anger. It is an expression I find myself matching. I know all too well the threat of execution by the Higher Ups.

“Why?” I breathe, my tone incredulous.

“Rika at the elementary school,” is all Satoru has to say for me to understand.

“What did you say to them?” I venture after a moment. Satoru’s tongue is sharp, so I know he is likely to have angered the Higher Ups. Not that I can blame him for talking back to the elderly prudes.

“That I was on Yuta’s side,” Satoru responds, proving my suspicions correct. It makes me happy to hear him so open about protecting Yuta, as well. Satoru has always been a champion for the underdogs, but as a teenager, he never admitted it. Now, though, he’s not afraid to show his softer side. It’s hard to believe he was even more blustery back then than he is now.

“You have to wonder why the Higher Ups are so keen on issuing execution orders,” I put forth with a sardonic chuckle, recalling my own life being on the line in my teenage years.

“They’re old fuddy-duddies looking for a good show,” Satoru returns with a yawn, stretching his limbs and looking longer than ever, “They don’t get much action in their geriatric, sequestered lives.”

He snickers to himself, rolling back over and resting his head in the valley between my breasts.

“Well, if it wasn’t already obvious, I’m on Yuta’s side as well,” I confirm. Satoru’s response is muffled against my chest.

“Softie.”

“What does that make you, then?” I tease, glancing down and breathing in the scent of sandalwood trapped in Satoru’s hair. I receive a soft snore in response. It won’t be long before Satoru wakes again, but for now, I allow myself to drift off, comforted by his presence and happy to see he is comforted by mine.

***

“Mangeshkar,” the gruff voice sounds from behind one of the many doors set in a circle around me. I am suddenly fourteen again, trying desperately to hold my tears in and failing miserably. They roll down my cheeks in hot, fat drops, dripping onto my skirt and my clenched hands in my lap. I cannot bring myself to look up from the floor, shame and fear keeping me catatonic where I sit.

“Your threat to society and to the world as a whole has not gone unnoticed,” the voice continues, “Your- incident in America has brought you before us today. Yaga seems to think you have promise in the jujutsu world. We, however, do not see your situation as such.”

I squeeze my eyes shut, gritting my teeth, terrified of what will come next. Surely, this is my end. Fourteen years of not understanding myself; not understanding my own destructive power; of trying desperately to contain it. I hadn’t meant for anyone to get hurt. But the older I’ve gotten, the more difficult it’s become to control her; the other part of me that emerges when the rage takes over.

They were hurting my friends. What was I supposed to do? Stand back idly? No, I wanted to protect them. But I didn’t mean for it to go that far. I didn’t mean for anyone else to get hurt. I-

“Because Yaga is so convinced you are an asset, we will stay our order of execution,” another voice, just as menacing, speaks from a behind a door to my left, “But you are on a very tight leash, Mangeshkar-San.”

“Do not disappoint us.”

***

I wake with a start, painful recollection still lingering on the edges of my mind. It’s one that hasn’t visited my dreams in a long while. Yuta’s acceptance into Jujutsu High has started dragging up a number of memories I have tried hard to bury, perhaps foolishly. These memories will no doubt serve to help me be a better teacher for young Okkotsu. I shake off the discomfort left behind by my dream and resolve to use these recollections to my advantage. Yuta is not alone in his experience, and I should make sure he knows that.

Stretching, I lift myself from the bed. Satoru has long since gotten up, though he made sure to leave his usual note by my bedside. On a scrap of paper, he’s written, “Scoping out some training grounds for the students. See you when I see you. Don’t sleep too late, sleepyhead,” along with a tiny heart and a scribbled drawing of himself winking. I hold the note close to my heart before slipping it into the pocket of my uniform, which is hanging near my closet in preparation for my day. Satoru must have set that out, too, before he left.

It’s still early, sun barely creeping over the horizon, the pale blue light of dawn filtering through the open window behind my bed. Rain patters softly against my roof, sweet-smelling and cool. I had always thought of myself as an early riser, until I met Satoru. Although does it really count if you never sleep? Regardless, he almost invariably beats me to the start of the day. I wish, though, we could have one morning of lazing around; one morning where we can whittle the day away in bed, tangled in each other, lost in the hazy summer sun. Maybe someday, although that’s a dangerous thing to hope for. Inevitably, any wish you make as a sorcerer is stolen away from you- one way or another.

Begrudgingly and yearning for the warmth of both my bed and Satoru’s arms, I dress. I plan to spend the day going over drills with Maki, Panda, Inumaki, and Okkotsu while we await Satoru’s return. When we finish up with our training, I’ll likely meditate for a while. I think that is an activity Yuta would enjoy and something that may help him calm Rika. Or at least calm himself. I resolve to present that idea to him this afternoon.

As I go about my day, my earlier discomfort returns, likely from the memories being dredged up. But there is something else stirring in my heart: an uncertainty; a foreboding feeling. I can’t seem to shake the feeling that Yuta’s arrival marks the start of a larger change. Though what, I do not know nor can I even begin to speculate. All throughout sparring and drill work, I find myself trying to shake off the anxiety. I wish I could pinpoint it beyond a sinking feeling in my stomach or a vague sense of uneasiness.  

I catch Yuta’s eye and smile as he lands a strike on Panda.

“Good job!” I call out, receiving a proud beam in return. He’s improving every day, slowly but surely. Yuta’s confidence is growing, but I can still see his hesitance in the swing of his weapons and his nervous gait. His fear of what he houses inside him is all too familiar. But that fear will get him nowhere, or it will doom him to execution. If he can’t get control of Rika, if he allows his fear to rule him, the Higher Ups will have no problem removing Yuta. They see him as Rika, and Rika only. A threat.

I will not allow that to happen. And I know Satoru won’t either. Satoru never gave up on me, nor did Suguru or Shoko. I feel a swell of confidence, determined to help Yuta reach his full potential. It is both my duty and an honor. We are kindred spirits, after all.