Archive of Our Own ^beta

Heroes were always there at the darkest hour. Ready to protect and defend innocents no matter what; even if it cost them their own life. That was the way of a true fixer, following the rules of chivalry. Regardless of it all, a hero should always be there to purge evil and defeat all of the monsters for all.

But, what if the hero was the monster?

That was the dilemma that had struck Don Quixote this very night.

The usually happy-go-lucky wannabe fixer sighed, those damned fangs poking out from the rest of her teeth. She tosses a rough hand through her messy, bright blonde hair; hazel eyes fixed towards her ceiling and walls. Sometimes her gaze wandered to the many posters of her idols, fellow fixers she so desperately wanted to please and be among their ranks. 

The Red Mist, The Purple Tear, The Red Gaze… Would they ever welcome her with open arms? A beast like her? A bloodfiend. A creature that everyone had a right to fear and hate. 

Slowly, her gaze was then directed to the mirror she had in the corner. Don Quixote had a hobby of cosplaying, often practicing her poses and chivalrous speeches in the mirror. Yet, when she saw the vague, dimly lit reflection staring back at her… All she could see was that damned, sanguine  look that almost threatened to rear its villainous head if she even thought of separating herself from Rocinante. Suddenly, she felt it; the urge to feed. That crushing, horrific yearn for blood. 

Don Quixote had been skipping her daily drink of the fake blood she had been gifted back during the Check Up. She had for a while, brushing it off since she thought she’d be fine. The blonde had even been deliberately avoiding even mentioning them, just to save face. She was fine, she had to be fine! A hero cannot fumble now, not when innocents had to be saved! However, she couldn’t suppress it any longer; she needed to drink it now. Before this urge consumes her and somebody is put in harm's way.

Who knows what would happen if she didn’t drink her fill now? The thought alone terrified her, being so driven with literal bloodlust that she’d cut down and slaughter every one of her beloved family. Her fairest maiden might enjoy the show but Don Quixote couldn’t bear the mere idea of harming even a single hair on her head. Even if she would consider it art. 

Getting up from her bed, Don Quixote hopped onto the floor; crouching down to drag out the box that held the bags of mock blood she had accumulated. She was disgusted with herself. How could she be so dependent yet so negligent? Needing sustenance but refusing to even consume it… What kind of fixer is she? One that’s no good.

She reached into the box and unpacked a single blood bag, her fingers gripping it with a squeeze that gradually grew tighter and tighter as her intrusive thoughts spun around in her head. 

You wish to save innocents so badly? Look at what happened to Father when he chased this hopeless dream that plagues the both of you?

You wish so badly to leave this disease behind like it’s nothing?

A bloodfiend is all you’ll ever be.

The bloodbag bursts, Don Quixote’s pajamas stained crimson along with her face. It looked as if she had just gotten out of a rough battle and barely made it out alive. Her expression now shocked, horrified that she had lost her grip this badly. Maybe now her comrades should give her a good beating so she truly doesn’t lose her mind and spiral further.

She stayed in the pitiful puddle, unable to resist lapping up the blood that trickled to her lips; it’s plasticky taste stabbing her tastebuds. She recalled what Hohenheim had told her, how it’d mimic blood perfectly. Yet, she knew better, she could tell the difference between fake slop and the true liquid she craved to linger on her tongue. The chivalrous sinner was now back lost in her own thoughts, only being interrupted suddenly to the door squeakily unlocking from the other side.

Panicking, she picked up her persona right where she left off.

“Fie! W-Who goes there at such late hours into the night!” She calls out, her voice bellowing within her room. Silence filled the room until swiftly ending to a quiet, blunt response.

“D.Q.?”

Ryoshu, her maiden, her one true love! Oh, how treacherous it was for her lover to see her like this… Pathetic, trembling, a mess. Don Quixote glances back down at the floor, bloodied hands on her knees. Her expression mirrored a puppy that had been caught chewing up the couch as she struggled to explain herself.

“I… You- I mean!- My lady…” She stammers over and over, tears stinging her usual twinkling eyes; her hands balling into fists as she fights against her emotions. Ryoshu didn’t speak just yet, only stepping closer and kneeling down to Don Quixote’s level. A cigarette hanging out from her lips, smoke billowing upwards like ashy, silvery serpents. Smoke that reminded Don Quixote of the very situation that led to her becoming a Bloodfiend.

“Why the L.F.?” She replies simply, Ryoshu was not one to really go out of her way to comfort somebody; but this was a different situation. This was her girlfriend after all, she had to do something. She couldn’t help but sneak a couple looks at the blood that seeped its way into Don Quixote’s clothes. How it stained her skin and the floor beneath her body. The art felt fake, maybe because the blood wasn’t real. Ryoshu had slaughtered enough people to tell the difference between the real deal and some phony goop some lab brat made. 

Don Quixote hesitated responding to the question, remaining uncharacteristically quiet for a few moments. But, with Ryoshu’s gaze on her like this; she had to answer. 

“…Ryoshu, mi amor.” She speaks up, her bravado fading away with each word that left her stained lips. 

“Am I truly a hero? Look at me… I’m a beast, it’s pitiful…” A halfhearted grin forced its way onto her expression as she looked back up at her lover, knelt right by her side. 

“What kind of hero depends on their steed this much? Or has to depend on fake blood supplements…”

“Or has hideous fangs…” 

Ryoshu paused, Don Quixote’s words registering in her mind. Did she loathe her bloodfiend characteristics that much? Every little detail that  she thought was the most gorgeous art piece to ever grace her senses… She was repulsed by what she was, unable to see the beauty that the chainsmoker basked in everyday when she laid her eyes on her. 

With a puff of her cigarette, Ryoshu sat down next to her on the bloodied floor. Her arm roughly draping itself over her shoulders, pulling her body close to hers. Don Quixote froze momentarily, not having expected a rather open display of affection from Ryoshu. She was usually not very fond of being this open with her affection, at least she’d be subtle. But, her initiating cuddling felt lovely; practically divine.

Ryoshu didn’t dare speak, sometimes silence did all the talking. She pulled Don Quixote’s head close to her chest, her flushed cheek using her breast as a pillow. The chivalrous blonde felt all too aware of her lover’s body, the warmth, her heart’s beating that pumped blood throughout her body. Her divine, perfect body that made her feel euphoric. 

Ryoshu’s freehand then laid upon the small of Don Quixote’s back, very softly rubbing and kneading. Her chin resting atop her messy hair as she held her close, her body shifting once Don Quixote snaked her arms around her waist. She nuzzled against the chainsmoker, as her body shielded her from the world that would forever demonize and fear her.

Eventually, Ryoshu spoke up, her tone blunt and almost harsh. Yet, Don Quixote could immediately pick up on the affection that lingered between each word. “You’re a hero, act like one.” She muttered, exhaling out some more smoke before continuing to speak.

“What happened to the woman who A.C.T.S.?”

“That’s not the hero I know, is it?” She poses this question, her hand that was previously rubbing her back now reaching out to grab her chin. Her fingers tilting Don Quixote’s face to meet hers, her other arm staying tightly around her torso to keep her from wiggling out of her grip.

“Answer me.” She demands, scratching underneath Don Quixote’s chin to coax an answer. The sensation is rough but clearly out of love. 

Don Quixote mustered a reply, her cheeks now a brighter red as she stammered through her words. “Ah… I suppose not” She utters hesitantly, her usual Middle English making its way back into her speech. She cursed in the back of her mind due to her hesitance, having been too busy enjoying being  held down close to Ryoshu’s body. 

“I do not deserve to speak my usual words of chivalry…” Don Quixote whispers under her breath out of shame, burying her face in the side of Ryoshu’s neck. A tear trickling down her cheek fell onto Ryoshu’s shoulder, causing her grip to tighten further.

“I am no knight…” 

“…Shut up.” 

The harsh reply snapped Don Quixote out of it, she jumped a tad in Ryoshu’s embrace; her expression now shocked. She pulled away, completely blown away. Her fairest maiden usually never told her to shut up, she’d tolerate her nonsensical rambles about fixers. She would sit through her dramatic proclamations of love every single time. What was so different about this? “…Pardon?” She murmurs her response, tone slightly miffed. 

“I’m not going to sit here and listen to bullshit.” Ryoshu bluntly stated, unwrapping her arms from around her girlfriend’s body. Her hands then landed on her shoulders, squeezing them tight as she continued to speak. 

“S.A.D.”

“I thought a true fixer would defend their honor. B.A.H.” 

Those were the words that ignited the spark back in Don Quixote’s heart. Ryoshu was right, a true fixer would defend their honor! Regardless of what they were, they would prove the fact they were a righteous hero! She couldn’t just sit here and mope, doubting herself. Not anymore.

“What art thou speaking of?!-“ Exclaims Don Quixote in outrage, wriggling out of her maiden’s grip. Her lips were now turned up into a wolfish grin despite the fake blood staining everything. This time, she grabbed Ryoshu by the arms; practically jostling her as she began her rambling.

“Dost thee not see a true hero in front of thine very face? Perhaps thou art blind! Tis quite a shame if you are, Lady Ryoshu…” She strikes a dramatic pose with one arm, keeping Ryoshu in her grasp with the other.

“For thee wouldst miss out on the handsome fixer that sits right in front of thee!”

Ah, there she was. The Don Quixote that Ryoshu knew and loved. The Hero that would always come around during the darkest of hours, the chivalrous  sinner she called her lover. The chainsmoker couldn’t help but smile a bit herself, pinching her cheek between her rough fingers. “There you are.” She mutters, the scent of cigarettes faintly staining  her breath. 

Don Quixote couldn’t help but lean into Ryoshu’s touch, her palm laying against her cheek; not even flinching away from the fake blood splattered onto her. Her fingers softly caressing her skin as if she were some prized masterpiece that was crafted by the finest artist. She drank in her lover’s gaze, the twinkle returning to her eyes. “…I doth apologize profusely” She says, forcing herself to suppress her naturally loud voice so as to not bother Ryoshu’s sensitive hearing. 

“Tis pathetic to see me like this, is it not?” 

The chainsmoker shakes her head, standing up momentarily to go find something to wash her off with and a new change of clothes. The mess on the floor could wait, it wasn’t unusual for Mephistopheles to have bloodstains anyway. 

“The only pathetic thing here is the B.S. you're spewing.” Ryoshu bluntly replies, searching through Don Quixote’s esteemed collection of fixer themed washcloths. She grabbed the nearest one, turning back to Don Quixote to see the prideful look on her face as she immediately began her usual spiel.

“Ah! I see thee hath picked out the Shi Association one! I think it suits thee quite nicely given how their fixers are known to assassinate- Gah!-“ 

Ryoshu didn’t reply, she just began attempting to scrub up whatever blood was on her face. Don Quixote needed her sleep and she sure as hell needed her own as well. She scrubbed roughly, not caring to be too gentle since it was late; but it was clear that her touch was loving in its own way. 

“I beseech thee, doth not scrub mine own skin off…” The blonde whines, leaning into her hand this time as Ryoshu worked on getting the rest of the faux blood off her face and neck. Ryoshu clicked her tongue and gave her a stare, a silent order to stop whining before she considered turning the room into an actual bloody, gory masterpiece. After she was done with her scrubbing, the cloth was pretty much ruined. Don Quixote wasn’t too upset however, she buys three of everything after all!

The chainsmoker dug into the drawers to grab another pair of pajamas since the ones Don Quixote had on currently were obviously bloodied. As much as Ryoshu wanted to see a mockup of what would happen if her bloodfiend lover had a midnight snack in her own bed. She knew it wouldn’t be suitable for tonight, perhaps one day… 

With a grumble, Ryoshu helped Don Quixote change her clothes. Her fingers gripping the sullied cloth of her shirt and pulling it off of her, sneaking a couple glances to her slightly toned torso. The body of a bloodfiend was almost like no other, Don Quixote was already pretty strong. But, she had the strength suppressed within her to do some truly catastrophic damage. Silently, Ryoshu pulled the clean top over Don Quixote’s head; letting her put the pants on herself. Wings’ forbid Ryoshu did it the wrong way and ‘suffocated’ her steed.

“There. Better?” Ryoshu mutters with a raised brow, exhausted herself from having woken up from hearing the commotion. She was about to walk off to her own room until Don Quixote suddenly grasped her wrist; tugging on it out of desperation for company. That certainly answered her question. 

“…I beseech thee once more, mi amor. My fairest maiden, do not leave my side tonight.” The chivalrous woman’s voice quivered, wavering with emotion and terror. She didn’t know what she’d do to herself if left alone, what she could do to others. All she knew was that she didn’t want to be alone, she did not even want to think about being by herself. Ryoshu nodded, obliging Don Quixote’s request. With one final puff of her cigarette she had been savoring throughout the night, she climbed into bed with her.

Reorganizing her many fixer themed plushies and pillows, Don Quixote made room for Ryoshu to cuddle up beside her. Immediately beelining to bury her face into her chest once more, nuzzling and nestling as close as she could. The scent of blood and smoke that often lingered Ryoshu now comforting, she didn’t have to think about the blood she must drink. She didn’t have to remember the smoke that surrounded her on that final day of her human life.

She could ground herself, reminding herself that the love of her life was right here. With Ryoshu as her liege and Don Quixote as her knight to defend her until the end of time.

“Thou art warm, mine dear… Tis one of my favorite things about you! I could write poems and tales about thee for days and still have more I could say!” 

“How thine hair shimmers, how thee hold yourself… Or how thine eyes light up whenever we bring villains to justice!- Or-“

Ryoshu kissed her roughly for a split moment, just to shut her up. Once their lips separated from their brief meeting, she huffed a bit, scratching at Don Quixote’s scalp. “Go to sleep, D.Q”

“But I hath only just scratched the surface on the beauty of thine character and appearance?!”

“Sleep.” 

“Hmph! Fine?!- Only for thee, my sweet maiden…”

Don Quixote quieted down finally, her eyes slowly fluttering close as she remained curled up against Ryoshu’s body. The chainsmoker’s fingers still scratching at her scalp, causing her to kick her leg every now and again from the pleasure. 

“…Just for thee.”