#Dropping this here and fleeing back into the void | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

novaursa · 8 months ago

Text

The Last Oath

- Summary: His last breath carried your name.

- Pairing: targ!reader/Criston Cole

- Note: The reader is Rhaenyra's younger sister.

- Rating: Explicit 18+ (because of the death scenes)

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround

Ser Criston Cole knew Rook's Rest would be a trap. The King’s whispers had drifted through the Red Keep's dark corridors, words carried by shadows that spoke of luring Rhaenys into a brutal ambush. He’d anticipated her fierce defiance and braced himself for the collision of dragons. But as his gaze lifted to the clear morning sky, his heart froze, and a searing dread settled within him. It was not the scarlet scales of Meleys that darkened the horizon but the pale, ghostly hide of Grey Ghost, and upon his back…you.

A tremor shot through him, grounding him in horror and disbelief. What are you doing here, Y/N? He couldn’t fathom why you were here instead of Rhaenys. Perhaps Rhaenyra had convinced you to fly in her stead, or perhaps you, in your quiet determination, had taken this burden upon yourself, unaware of the danger lying in wait. It was so like you—to act with soft, unassuming bravery, never truly aware of how brightly you shone.

Beside him, Gwayne Hightower watched with grim satisfaction, unaware of the torrent ripping through Criston’s heart. Criston swallowed, feeling an unbearable weight settle in his chest as he turned to Gwayne. “We must signal them to call off the ambush,” he urged, his voice tight with barely concealed panic.

Gwayne arched a brow, his face impassive. “And why should we, Ser Criston? Isn’t this what we’ve waited for?”

“You don’t understand,” Criston replied, his voice dropping to a rough whisper. He couldn’t explain the depth of it, the years he had spent in silence, cherishing each fleeting glance, every gentle word you’d spared him. In the wake of his ruinous affair with Rhaenyra, it was you who had given him solace, unknowingly filling the void left by the bitter memory of his downfall. He had loved you quietly, resolutely, even knowing the folly of it. Now, as he watched you flying into the jaws of death, he felt his world slipping through his fingers.

But Gwayne’s face remained cold. “It’s war, Ser Criston. Sentiment has no place here.”

In that moment, Criston realized that any appeal he made would be in vain. With a final, burning glance toward Gwayne, he rushed toward the battlements, his eyes fixed on the heavens where Grey Ghost circled in the distance, his pale wings shimmering in the sunlight. He could just make out your form, your silver hair streaming behind you like a banner as you soared over the battlefield, so innocent of the shadows gathering around you.

“Aemond! Aegon! Stop!” Criston shouted, his voice drowned out by the echoing war cries and the toll of metal on metal. He watched in mounting terror as Aegon’s Sunfyre and Aemond’s Vhagar closed in, a deadly gleam in their eyes.

Above, you seemed to notice the trap too late. Your head turned, a flicker of realization crossing your face as Aegon’s triumphant shout echoed across the air.

“Y/N!” Criston’s voice was raw, a broken plea that dissolved into the roar of the dragons. He saw Grey Ghost’s great form twist and turn as you tried to evade them, your movements desperate and wild. Yet, against the might of Sunfyre and Vhagar, it was a hopeless struggle.

In that instant, as Grey Ghost rose to meet the onslaught, Criston remembered every stolen glance, every moment he had held his feelings tight, bound and buried in the depth of his heart. He had always kept his love in silence, hoping that his loyalty, his presence, would be enough. But now he was powerless to protect you, to save you from the fate bearing down upon you.

Sunfyre struck first, a flash of golden fire and claws, tearing into Grey Ghost’s wing. Criston’s heart clenched as he saw you struggling to regain control, your face a mask of shock and fear as you clung to the saddle. He willed you to turn back, to flee, but Grey Ghost was already locked in battle, his wounded wing struggling to keep you both aloft.

Aemond’s Vhagar descended next, a merciless shadow as her jaws snapped around Grey Ghost’s throat, crushing scales and sinew. Criston’s breath hitched as he watched you, a small, fragile figure against the fury of two dragons. The once graceful, pale beast beneath you writhed in agony, the ghostly sheen of his scales marred by blood and fire.

“Please, no…” Criston whispered, his voice thick with despair.

Beside him, Gwayne scoffed. “Seems the Targaryen bravery is finally meeting its match.”

Criston didn’t respond. His eyes were fixed on the sky, on you, as the horror unfolded. He wanted to tear Gwayne away, to scream, to beg the heavens for mercy. But all he could do was watch as Grey Ghost’s wings faltered, his body a shattered specter falling from grace.

Time slowed as you and Grey Ghost plummeted, a spiral of silver and gray tumbling toward the earth. In that agonizing moment, Criston caught a glimpse of your face, eyes wide with terror and acceptance, your gaze meeting his across the chasm between life and death.

He stretched a hand out, as if somehow his touch could bridge the impossible distance. “Y/N!” he called again, the name a broken prayer.

The ground rushed up to meet you, and Criston felt his soul shatter as Grey Ghost and your body crashed into the earth below. Dust and debris billowed around the impact, the final mark of a life too pure, too gentle for the brutality of this war.

Criston remained there, frozen in his anguish, the echoes of the crash ringing in his ears. Gwayne said something beside him, some empty remark that he couldn’t bear to hear. All he knew was that he had loved you, loved you so deeply and for so long, and now you were gone, a memory scattered like ash across the battlefield.

And there he stood, with only his silence left, his heart as broken as the earth below.

Criston’s legs felt leaden as he stumbled toward the shattered remains of Grey Ghost and your lifeless body sprawled in the wreckage. The earth was scorched and smoldering, fragments of dragon scale glinting dully among the splinters of broken bone and torn flesh. He barely felt the jagged stones beneath his knees as he knelt beside you, his trembling hand reaching out to touch the blood-stained fabric of your riding cloak.

Your face, pale as the moon, was twisted in the last throes of pain, but even in death, there was a serene beauty that clung to you, haunting and fragile. Criston’s hand brushed over your cold cheek, his thumb lingering over the bruises and blood that marred your skin. His throat tightened painfully, choking the words he could never say aloud.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered, voice breaking as he leaned over you. He couldn’t stop the tears that slipped down his face, splashing onto the remnants of your cloak. “I should have done more.” His fingers traced the outline of your hand, limp and lifeless, and he was filled with an overwhelming despair that hollowed him from the inside.

Behind him, Gwayne Hightower stood in uncharacteristic silence, his face a cold mask as he watched Criston grieve. The reality of war had never felt as brutal as it did now, with your delicate form lying broken and still, and Criston’s silent suffering a testament to what he’d tried to hide for so long.

Criston barely heard the heavy footfalls approaching, but he didn’t need to look up to know it was Aemond. The young prince’s steps were purposeful, lacking any hint of remorse as he regarded the scene with a detached gaze, arms crossed over his chest.

“Ser Criston,” Aemond’s voice cut through the somber air, as cold and unfeeling as iron. “We can’t linger here. We must leave.”

Criston’s jaw clenched as he rose slowly to his feet, keeping his body between you and Aemond, as if he could shield you even now. “We can’t leave her here,” he said, his voice raw. “Not like this. She deserves better than to lie in the dirt, broken and forgotten.”

Aemond raised an eyebrow, his expression one of impatience rather than compassion. “Better? She chose her fate when she took to the skies. She knew what awaited her. This is war, Ser Criston, not some song of knights and maids.”

Criston’s fists clenched at his sides, his heart pounding with a mixture of fury and grief. “She was your kin, Aemond. Your own blood. Are you so blind to what she meant? To what we’ve done?” He gestured to the ruin around them, to your broken body and the crumpled form of Grey Ghost beside you. “This…this was a slaughter, not a battle. She was innocent.”

Aemond’s gaze hardened, his eye glinting with a cold, unyielding fire. “She was Rhaenyra’s sister,” he replied, voice laced with bitterness. “She chose her loyalties, and she paid the price. I won’t weep for someone who defied us.”

Criston took a step forward, his expression taut with barely suppressed rage. “She didn’t defy you. She fought because she believed it was right, because she had courage. More than you or I could ever claim.” He drew a shuddering breath, fighting to keep his composure. “She deserves a proper farewell, not to be left as carrion for the crows.”

Aemond scoffed, turning his gaze to the horizon as if he were bored by Criston’s grief. “A proper farewell? You think I’ll bring her to King’s Landing, parade her body before our enemies, make a martyr of her?” He sneered. “No. Her death will be a lesson. Let them remember what defiance brings.”

Criston’s hand twitched toward the hilt of his sword, his entire body trembling with the urge to strike the coldness from Aemond’s face. “If you had any decency left, you would at least allow her dignity in death. She was not your enemy, Aemond.”

Aemond’s face softened slightly, just enough to reveal the faintest hint of emotion, though it was quickly swallowed by his usual icy mask. He held Criston’s gaze, a hint of reluctance in his eye. “Fine,” he muttered. “If you are so determined to honor her, we’ll do it here.”

Without another word, he turned toward Vhagar, who loomed like a dark mountain behind him. Criston’s stomach twisted as he realized what Aemond intended. He opened his mouth to protest, but his voice faltered as he looked down at you, knowing he had no other choice.

Aemond raised his hand, commanding Vhagar with a wordless gesture. The ancient dragon’s head lowered, her molten eyes fixed upon you and Grey Ghost’s remains. Criston knelt back down beside you, his hand resting gently over yours as he bowed his head, offering a final, silent farewell.

He felt the heat of Vhagar’s breath, the fire building within her throat as her maw opened, casting a golden glow over your still face. He forced himself to stay there, to remain beside you even as the wave of fire swept forward. His heart shattered with every beat as he felt the flames draw near, consuming everything, leaving only ash and memories behind.

The fire raged, filling the air with a blinding light and unbearable heat. Criston could hear Gwayne’s quiet, almost reverent murmur of respect behind him, but he couldn’t bring himself to look away. All he saw was the fire, and in it, the last remnants of the only light he’d ever loved.

As the flames died down, Aemond’s voice rang out, cold and final. “Let this be a warning to all who would defy the true king.”

Criston rose slowly, the smoldering remnants of his heart heavy within him. He cast one last glance at the ashes scattered before him, his love and his pain mingling in the smoke that drifted toward the heavens.

The day was bleak, the sky overcast with clouds that drifted like shrouds over the land as Ser Criston Cole led the remnants of his weary host from the Gods Eye to the Blackwater Rush. The echoes of battle and bloodshed haunted their march, yet it was the silence that weighed the heaviest upon him now. His men, faces hollowed and spirits worn, followed him with the quiet resignation of soldiers who knew they were walking to their deaths. Criston’s once-bright armor was dulled, his cloak muddied and torn, yet he held his head high, clinging to the last vestiges of his pride.

As they reached a ridge, Criston’s heart sank. Before them, an army stretched across the hillside, thousands strong, clad in black and steely resolve. At their head were Ser Garibald Grey, Ser Pate of Longleaf, and Roderick Dustin, Lord of Barrowton, each man exuding a grim determination. The banners of Rhaenyra’s cause fluttered in the wind, a stark reminder of the vengeance the Blacks sought.

Criston halted his men with a raised hand, studying the enemy lines as he steeled himself. His eyes traced the ranks, noting the archers positioned along the flanks, their arrows ready, like shadows waiting to strike. He took a slow, steadying breath and spurred his horse forward a few paces, raising his voice to be heard across the field.

“Ser Garibald! Ser Pate! Lord Dustin!” he called, his voice carrying with the weight of authority, though his spirit was fractured. “I am Criston Cole, Hand of the King. My men have no quarrel with you, only I bear that burden. If you’ll spare their lives, I’ll yield to you now, without bloodshed.”

There was a moment of silence, a pause that hung thick in the air, broken only by the soft murmur of the men on both sides. Criston watched as Ser Garibald and Lord Dustin exchanged a glance, their faces hard as stone. Ser Pate of Longleaf, however, answered, his voice as cold and unyielding as iron.

“Spare them? As you spared so many in King’s Landing and beyond, Criston? As you spared the innocent lives burned in Rhaenyra’s wrath?” Ser Pate’s lips curled in a sneer. “No, your men knew the cost of their loyalty, as did you.”

Criston’s jaw tightened, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. “If it’s vengeance you seek, then take it from me alone,” he urged. “I’ll face you here and now, all three of you, if you’ll grant my men their lives. Is there no honor left in Westeros?”

Lord Dustin scoffed, shaking his head as he turned to Ser Pate. “Honor? Coming from the man they call the Kingmaker? You lost the right to speak of honor the moment you betrayed the true queen and the blood you swore to protect.”

Criston’s face tightened, pain flickering in his eyes. His betrayal of Rhaenyra haunted him still, but it was the memory of another, far dearer, that cut the deepest. Her face—your face—flashed before him, as vivid as the day you had fallen from the sky. He clutched the memory like a lifeline, a reminder of everything he had loved and lost in silence.

Ser Pate glanced toward Robb Rivers, who stood amongst his archers, poised and ready. “Let’s end this folly, Criston. There will be no duel, no noble death on your terms.”

Criston’s heart sank as he saw Robb Rivers nod, the archers raising their bows, their arrows trained on him with deadly precision. He felt the finality of it, the cold acceptance settling within him. He had seen this end coming, yet now, faced with it, all he could think of was you—your gentle laughter, your shy smile, the quiet strength you had carried within you until the end. He had held your memory close, a solitary warmth in his heart amid the shadows, and now, it was all he had left.

“Do you have any final words, Ser Criston?” Lord Dustin’s voice cut through the silence, edged with both disdain and curiosity.

Criston’s eyes drifted over the horizon, his gaze softening as he whispered, as if speaking only to himself, “Y/N…” The name slipped from his lips, carrying with it every unspoken vow, every memory that had sustained him through the years. He had whispered it so often in the silence of his mind, yet now, with his final breath, it was a declaration, a confession he could no longer hide.

A murmur of confusion rippled through the men before him, but Criston heard none of it. His mind was far away, with you, lost in the warmth of a memory he had clung to for so long. He closed his eyes, bracing himself for the inevitable.

Robb Rivers released his grip, and the arrows flew, cutting through the air in a deadly arc. Criston felt the sharp, searing pain as they struck his chest, the force of each one driving him to his knees. His vision blurred, his heartbeat slowing, each beat fainter than the last.

He looked down, watching his blood seep into the earth, staining it as red as the fire that had consumed you. He found solace in the knowledge that soon, he would be free of the pain, of the memories that haunted him. Soon, he would be with you, and he could finally tell you all the words he’d held back, all the love he had kept hidden away.

As his body slumped forward, his last breath slipped away, and the battlefield fell silent. Later, the story would spread through the ranks of both Black and Green soldiers alike—that Criston Cole, the Kingmaker, had fallen not with cries of defiance or curses upon his enemies but with a whisper, a single name that carried more weight than a thousand battles.

And that name was yours.

#house of the dragon #hotd #hotd x reader #hotd x you #hotd x y/n #asoiaf #a song of ice and fire #fire and blood #game of thrones #hotd criston #ser criston cole #criston cole #criston x reader #criston x you #crsiton x y/n #house targaryen #grey ghost

185 notes · View notes

paperaddictionss · 23 days ago

Text

Bakugou Katsuki~

Crossed paths.

You and Bakugou had a history, you fell in love in high school but broke up as you left so he could focus on himself and his career. It hadn’t been easy, in fact it felt like a whole piece of you was torn from your chest, torn from your heart, torn from your soul.

He missed you so much, he purposely went routes he knew that you used to go just to try and bump into you again. The heartache and headache was a constant reminder of his stupid mistake, he never should’ve left you. He never should’ve broken up with you. Maybe if he didn’t he wouldn’t feel such a void within him, such a dark empty hole where a part of his soul has been took away.

It’s not like you were dead, you were very much alive. He saw you on news channels all the time, forever admiring your excellence, your strength and your courage to be the pro hero you were. It was admirable as hard as that was for him to admit, he found himself often looking up to you on how to be a better person. How to be a better hero.

He knew he could’ve just gone to your apartment or messaged you, but he couldn’t allow himself to swallow his pride. He couldn’t face you, he couldn’t admit he was in the wrong.

You were walking the streets, off-shift looking down at your shoes it was weird not being in your hero costume since you practically lived in it, your own clothes felt almost foreign on your body even though they belonged to you.

Not looking where you were going you bumped into a hard chest, stumbling backwards before gaining your stability. You rubbed your head groaning, “watch where you’re going asshat.”

He heard the voice, the soft melody of your voice. His heart dropped and his eyes snapped up meeting yours. His heart thudded against his chest, the beats echoing throughout his whole body. Was it really you?

He swallowed the lump in his throat but it didn’t cover the fact it felt like all the air in his lungs had been squeezed out. Was he dreaming? Was this reality?

“Katsuki..” You trail off your voice almost a whisper as all the emotions, all the memories spent together rush back whirling around you. It was harder to breathe, but was it the air or was it him?

“Y/N…” He croaked out his voice wobbling due to the intensity of his emotions. He didn’t know where to start, what to say, what to do. Should he flee? Should he stay?

“Where have you been?” You finally break the silence that loomed around you two, anger seeping in between each of your words.

He left you. He didn’t visit. He didn’t call. He didn’t even message to get his stuff back and now he was just here speechless gawking at you.

Bakugou looked to you, seeing the slight furrow in your brows and the harsh annoyed glimmer in your eyes. You had every right to hate him. He wouldn’t blame you. He hated himself. But he had to say something back, it was the least he could do for you.

“Work,” his reply was more blunt than he intended it to be, the words aching his chest as they came out.

“Right. Work.” You scoff shaking your head, did he really not care? “I wasn’t on about it like that,” you mumble the words coming out quiet and vulnerable.

It ached his chest more seeing how much he had truly hurt you, “I’m sorry Y/N i really am,” was all he managed to croak out as he fought back the tears that yearned to be let from his eyes.

You bit your bottom lip, stuck in a war with your mind, part of you was telling you to walk off to move on with your life like he had. While the other half was screaming at you to jump into his arms like old times.

You swallowed the harsh bitter lump in your throat, wincing at the reminder of your pain. Your chin wobbled as you miserably failed to suppress how you were feeling.

Bakugou’s eyes immediately went to your wobbling chest, it cut him deeper, like rubbing salt in his already open wounds. Why was this so hard? He chose this. So why did seeing your face, seeing those big beautiful eyes for the first time in forever punch a hole through his stomach?

“I- i can’t do this,” you whispered as a solemn tear slipped down your cheek, cascading down the curves of your face. You went to turn away but the sound of his broken, beaten voice echoed through your ears.

“Wait…please,” He begged, watching your turn he took it as his cue to continue, “i never should have left you Y/N, i thought that leaving you would be for the better, would help me focus more on my career. But…but without you it’s been hell, i think of you 24/7, i watch you on the news. Everything is a reminder of you, a reminder of what im missing out on. That beautiful smile, that infectious laugh..”

That’s all it took for the control over your emotions to snap. The tears now flowed freely, as you stared at him the whole world around you fading, like it was just you two. He did care.

You were overwhelmed with emotions, confusion, annoyance, love, sadness and pain. It was almost unbearable, you stood there tears streaming down your cheeks unable to muster up words to him.

His heart tore more and more as he watched you unfold, revealing your shattered self piece by piece. He clenched his jaw, swallowing his pride before bringing you into his chest, holding onto your body like it was the last thing he could ever touch in this world.

Like it was natural, your body reacted immediately wrapping around him your hands bawling his shirt into your fists as you weeped into his chest. The smell of his aftershave drowning part of your senses, it was comforting and a play button, rolling all your memories into your head. You missed this and so did he.

“Please don’t ever leave again,” you sobbed into his shoulder, clinging to him for dear life, scared of him abandoning you again.

“I won’t, i promise,” he whispered into your hair as he, himself silently cried.

#anime #bakugou katsuki #mha #fanfic #bakugou x reader #fiction #katsuki bakugo mha #katsuki bakugo x reader #romance

89 notes · View notes

iidgm · 1 year ago

Text

a little something i wrote at 1 am

word count: 1065

—

You sighed heavily, your limbs giving out under you without prior warning.

These chases are exhausting you, and you have no idea for how much longer you’ll be able to keep up with these toys without dying in the process.

Not like you stayed dead, anyways.

Strange voices in your mind ordering you to get up, and somehow waking up moments before your death… You’ve learned to not question it. At least not for now.

You check your surroundings carefully, trying your best to keep your heavy breathing as silent as possible as to not attract any more toys.

Dried pool, giant rubber ducks…

Ominous looking cell doors.

Ah shit, those are the only way forward, aren’t they?

You groan as you lift yourself up with your fists, your GrabPack feeling more like a hindrance than a helping tool at the moment. Damn designers.

You drag your heavy legs towards the cell doors, dread creeping up your spine.

Why are there CELLS on the POOL?!

You enter a dimly candle-lit corridor with a huge hole in a corner. You decide to not approach it, instead you keep going forward.

The putrid, rotting flesh and gore assaults your senses. The smell being unbearable, the sounds it made against your shoes as you walked disgusted you and the dried remains visible made your stomach churn.

But the only way is forward.

You look into the each cell individually, searching for something to help you open the doors at the end of the corridor—

“You… You’re Poppy’s Angel. Come to save us!”

You jump at the sudden deep voice behind you, turning around in panic with flare gun ready to shoot. Then you see it.

See him.

Dogday.

“Nothing left to save, not here…” He continues. “You’re in Catnap’s home, Angel. Their home.”

You try to swallow back the lump in your throat.

Or what’s left of Dogday.

His bottom half is ripped off, only a tight belt acting as a tourniquet preventing his insides to spill out completely. You want to throw up.

“A million pairs of eyes are on you now. Watching, waiting, hungry.” He sounds so defeated. “They want nothing more than to crawl beneath your skin– And eat away at you bit by little bit, fill what feels empty inside themselves.”

Your body moves without your input towards the canine, slowly as to not startle or scare him. Not like anything would achieve that at this point, you think.

“That... thing... CatNap. The Prototype is his God, and this is what he does to heretics.” He moves his arms, secured by shackles to emphasize this. “These little toys follow CatNap to avoid that very fate– and in return, they are fed.”

Your hands slowly move towards Dogday’s face. He doesn’t react.

“We tried to fight it, The Prototype's control.” He takes a deep breath. “I'm... the last of the Smiling Critters.” His voice shakes a little, looking away from you. Your heart breaks further for him.

“I–” You try to start, but he interrupts you.

“Listen to me, you need to get out of this place. You need to live!” He looks at you, his dark voids for eyes locking on your face. His voice cracks again, but he sounds determined. You make up your mind in that second.

“I’m not leaving without you.” You say firmly, before working your way through his shackles as fast as you can. He makes a sound of shock as his arm drops, followed by the other. He falls into your arms, limp and dirty.

“Wh– Angel, I’m a lost cause! You must flee!” He pleads, his hand closing around your forearm with the little strength he has.

“I’m sick and tired of people telling me who I can and cannot save. So strap in, Doggy boy, I’m getting you out of here.” You say with finality, shifting him on your back in a way he can hold himself up somewhat comfortably.

He doesn’t protest any further.

You look around, trying to find a way out of the cellar. The doors you came through somehow closed, so that option is discarded.

“Oh no... OH NO!” You hear Dogday cry out, and you turn your head to see what he’s on about.

Oh shit.

A mass of ruined critters start to crawl their way out of the walls towards you. Before you can react, the floor gives in beneath you, falling through a hole in front of the closed gates.

“Hold on tight!” You warn before running your way through the narrow foam tunnels. Your flare gun manages to scare the little toys that come across your away and gives you a dim light source in the abyssal darkness the Playground was.

You slide down one of the three slides you are offered, and keep running as you can.

And then you see it.

A platform to the surface.

You only have to make a purple hand jump to get there.

The GrabPack was made for only one person, though. Would you be able to make it?

Only one way to find out.

“Be ready!” You shout as you run at full speed, gaining momentum.

'Wait— nononO ANGEL WAIT—' You hear him yell in a panicked tone, but you don't slow down.

With a leap of faith, you press the pressure plate with the purple hand and the world slows down.

For a second, you’re suspended in the air with Dogday’s arms around you firmly, and on the next, you and your companion crash on the platform so hard it knocks the air out of both of you.

You quickly press the button for it to go up before collapsing. Seems like Dogday had let go of you once he saw you’d make it.

You pant in exhaustion, the adrenaline washing off now that you’re somewhat safe. The back of your hand rests on your forehead, your eyes closed to prevent the artificial light from entering your retinas.

You did it.

You hear a deep, husky laugh not far away from you, and you laugh along with him.

You did it!

You managed to save someone!

You two laugh together in a manic manner as the platform lifts you two to the surface level of Playcare.

You’d think what to tell the others once you’re there. For now, you’ll enjoy this short moment of bliss with your new friend.

#.eiden writes.#dogday #smiling critters dogday #dogday x reader #dogday x y/n #poppy playtime dogday #poppy playtime #smiling critters #poppy playtime x reader #x reader #smth smth no proof we die like canon dd

280 notes · View notes

igotatasteforoldermendelrey · 2 months ago

Text

Hi guys, I’m sad so here is my first oneshot. I never shared anything before and English is not my first language so please be kind in your feedback. Anyway I don’t know why I’m writing all that since I’m sure nobody is going to read it. Cheers !

(Btw I have no idea how Tumblr works from this side so maybe it won’t work lmaoooo)

Ship : Joel x reader

Summary : Joel, you and Ellie moved to Jackson a little while ago. While Ellie is rather integrated in the community you, however, are struggling to befriend the women working with you. Having an age gap with the man you’re leaving with (aka Joel) gets you some side-eyeing from the people living in your street and one faithful afternoon you heard your colleagues criticising your and Joel relationship. Avoiding Joel leads you two to have a rather awkward conversation.

No spoiler of season 2 (just a mention of Dina).

Warnings : angst (not long), talk about feelings, grumpy Joel x sunshine reader (?), age gap (r is in her mid thirties, Joel in his fifties), outbreak, insults (slut, and pervert, used once), bad colleagues.

I do not consent to any of my work to be translated or posted anywhere else without my permission.

(Banner made from Pinterest)

Slamming the door behind you, you enter your beloved, yet old, house. You sigh and take off your shoes, tears stinging in your eyes. You didn’t want to let those women see you crying. Not for something so fucking dumb as people talking in your back about the older man you lived with.

When You, Ellie and Joel arrived in Jackson three months ago, you were struck by the technology of the town. Yes it wasn’t like before the outbreak yet it was a rare sight in a post apocalyptic world.

Maria and Tommy gave you the possibility to have your own house, just on the other side of the street, but one look at your two partners made the choice clear.

You have been alone since you were fourteen, when the outbreak occurred you find yourself alone, no family or friends to protect you. Surviving wasn’t easy, your town being infested by clickers all around you didn’t have the choice but to flee. The old cabin deep inside a forest you found six months on the road saved your life. It was your safe haven until a grumpy old man and know-it-all kid busted through your door with guns pointing at your head.

And here you were, living with them like a family without never uttering those words. You couldn’t lie and say that Joel never had an effect on you. He was grumpy, yes, but when he got attached to you this man could burn down the world for you.

Your relationship was weird, lingering touches, too long staring contests and hands on backs after nightmares. Yet none of you could bring the topic on the table, too scared to scare him away or to ruin the comfort you gain with them.

So here you were, avoiding Joel all night so he couldn’t ask questions about the permanent frown on your face or the lack of music from the radio you always turned on after work. You just have to maintain your composure until going to bed, knowing Joel won’t bring it up the next morning.

Joel heard you came in, I mean he heard the door slamming shut and you stomping out of your shoes. From this moment he knew something was off. You always came home shouting “I’m back !”, shutting the door and coming to great him first thing. And there you were, quietly standing in the entrance, staring in the void.

He didn’t call your name when you went upstairs to take a shower or say anything when you came down quietly, your hair wet and start cooking dinner.

He was a man of few words, and even less when it came to feelings. It made him uncomfortable. But when he saw you on the couch, on the far end, curled up on your side, he knew he had to say something.

“ Y/n? He tried.

Yes?

Is something wrong? Did something happen today?

No I’m fine. Just tired that’s all. You muttered without looking at him.

Y/n…

Just drop it Joel. Please. You added when you raised your voice too much.

Did I do something wrong? Joel asked with worry.

No it’s not you. Just had a bad day. It happens, it’s no big deal. You heard your voice crack on that last sentence.

Hearing that Joel came immediately closer, not touching you since he didn’t know if you wanted to be touched but still close enough you could feel his body heat.

Honey, what happened?

See, that’s exactly that nickname that made you break down. The tears that were safely locked in your eyes start to pour out, full sobs coming out of you.

I’m sorry, God I don’t know why I’m like this. It’s really nothing and it’s just… fucking dumb! You answer with frustration, whipping away the tears.

What is it? How can I make it feel better? Joel answered, furrowing his eyebrows like he was trying to solve a complex puzzle.

The truth is, Joel being the grumpy guy he is, was not a talk about your feelings kinda man. However, those tears on your face could make him go find the person that hurt you and make them regret. But, he stayed close to you, putting his right arm on the back of the couch to look at you.

Some people in town where criticising you.

While I do appreciate you putting yourself in this state for me, that’s nothing, they’re not the first one and won’t be the last. I don’t care and you shouldn’t either. He said calmly.

It’s not… it’s not only that Joel.

Then what else?

They- You couldn’t bring yourself to say it, terrified of what other meaning it could hold. Nothing… I-I’m just really tired, I’m gonna go to bed. Good night Joel.

Wait! Joel said, grabbing gently your wrist. Please tell me. What could they have said else that puts you in this state?

You groan in frustration before letting it all out. They said that I was a fucking slut to stay here while I could have a house to myself, that this, she pointed to the both of them, was so fucking weird because you could be my father and that you must be a fucking pervert to accept all that. Oh and they said once you’re done with your mild life crisis you will just throw me out.

Joel was going to answer but you interrupted him before he could start.

And I’m fucking angry because sometimes I wish they were right. That this, she points at them again, was something more than me feeling out of place because I’m not sure that you’re not letting me stay here because you would have felt bad if you asked me to leave! And I am fucking getting tired of acting like I don’t like you Joel! There. You got everything. Happy?

Joel was at loss of words. He didn’t think you felt that way. I mean sure, he noticed the lingering hands and stares, but he just thought that he was only imagining things. He didn’t give a fuck about what those people could say about him. However, he did give a fuck about people hurting you.

You know what, Joel? I’m sorry for crashing out like that on you. It wasn’t fair because you’re not responsible for any of this. I’m just going to go to bed.

Wait. I’m sorry I… I was really not expecting any of that.

I’m sorry I made you uncomfortable.

No it’s not that! It’s just… well first of all what these people said is not true. None of it. They don’t know our story, how we got each other backs, they know nothing about you or me or us. You shouldn’t care about what they say about you because by doing that, you’re giving them power. They’re just jealous of you.

He took a long breath before continuing.

And for the other thing I-

No, you don’t have anything to say about that. Really.

I. Joel insisted. Am not uncomfortable. I mean yes I am because I’m not accustomed to that… like speaking about how I feel. But what l know is that I want to find those people back and make them regret what they said about you. That I cannot bear to see tears on your face because it means that I failed at protecting you. That every day, from the first ray of sunshine to the last, I feel so fucking grateful to have you around. That you make things feel easier. And that the idea of loosing you one day makes me feel like in the apocalypse again.

Silence. There was just silence in the room. Joel was breathing hard, you were just stuck, looking at him with wide eyes. You were the first one to break the silence.

Well… for someone that doesn’t talk about his feelings you’re really good at this.

Joel snorted before pulling you closer by your arm before holding your face between his big hands.

What would I do without you? He grunted before closing the gap between you.

The kiss was gentle, full of all those suppressed emotions. When you parted, Joel pulled you to his chest, a soothing hand on your back.

Now here what we’re going to do. You’re going to go up there, take the book I see you read every night that you still didn’t get a chance to finish. And I am going to make a cup of tea that I will bring upstairs so that you don’t have anything else to do.

What about Ellie?

She’s staying with Dina. Won’t be home tonight. Now come on, move soldier.

Yes, boss. You answered with a smile before going upstairs and entering your bedroom. After a while Joel brought a cup of tea, putting on your bedside table.

I will be back. He simply said before leaving you alone.

The older man came back in a worn out shirt and a jogging and smiled at you when he realised you were watching him.

How are you feeling? He asked.

Better. Thank you Joel.

Don’t thank me it’s normal. If you need anything just call me.

Joel? Your voice made him stop in his track. Can you stay?

Of course. He answered before climbing besides you and letting you put your head on his chest.

~~~

The next morning.

Joel woke up first to the sight of your sleeping form in his arms. You looked so peaceful that it took him several minutes to gently lay you down on the mattress before exiting the room and closing the door behind him.

Did you just come out of her room? Ellie asked, startling him.

No? He answered, guilt written all over his face.

Fuck I owe Dina now. Not cool! She simply said before going back to her room.

Joel shook his head telling himself what lucky bastard he was.

#dbf!joel #tlou #joel miller #joel tlou #sunshine x grumpy #joel miller x reader #tlou hbo #joel the last of us #oneshot

31 notes · View notes

fruitiesss · 1 month ago

Note

Just got the idea for Frank x Super soldier! Fem reader, possibly related to Bucky somehow. Maybe what they both see in the void

Little angsty and fluffy ending please?

yesyes sorry this took a few days ^^ and it's kinda short woops, I tried my best! The angst is slightly short lived, I made their shame rooms conjoined bc that's kinda cute. enjoy <3 w/c: 800

Black.

That was what Frank had seen before he was plunged into his own personal hell. He always saw stuff like this when he closed his eyes, when he slept, but those were lucid and fuzzy. This was real.

He could hear the carousel behind them, standing completely still as he watched that day play over and over and over, again and again and again. His fists clenched at his sides, his eyes trained on the barrel of the gun that took everything from him.

Frank had tried to intervene a few times, to rewrite the agonising memory enacting before him to no avail. After the first dozen gun shots he couldn't take it. He started to run, fleeing from his family once again, the very thing that got them killed, until he reached a wall. Some kind of set, a hard surface depicting the background of the park, trees and concession stands painted on. He cocked an eyebrow at this, raising his hand and banging on the wall a few times. His head spun around, the gunshots ringing again in the distance. And then he body slammed the wall, once, twice, three times, until he was sent barrelling through it and onto a hard floor. "Shit," He grumbled, kneeling and brushing himself off.

You never saw the void coming. One moment you'd sat down to have lunch with your boyfriend and the next, you were pulled back into the depths of your memory. Something you had buried deep down.

The stench of damp and rot clouded your senses, freezing metal pressed against your face and restraining your limbs to a chair. Only able to look around, you noticed professional-looking equipment surrounding you, harsh lights somehow barely illuminating the abundance of medical trays and tools. You couldn't scream, the harsh sound dying in your throat.

After a few agonisingly slow moments, the wall to your left splintered, Frank rolling through it and landing on his side. With a hiss, he stood and brushed the dust and wood from his clothes. The sound finally ripped from your throat, a loud and broken sob catching Frank's attention as his head snapped to yours. His eyes nearly bulged out of his head, his feet moving before his mind could even process the situation to pry the metal from your limbs.

"Shit, shit, what the fuck," He growled as he tried to warp the thick metal. Giving up, he surveyed the chair you were restrained to, desperately searching for some kind of button or release valve. "C'mon, baby, I got ya. I'll get you outta here, jus' hold on." Your gaze met his briefly while the muscles in your arms strained against your restraints, the material creaking under the pressure. Frank sees this, fitting his calloused fingers beneath the gap you'd made and pulling with all his might — finally freeing the cuff from it's latch.

You gasped, pulling your wrist from the groove and ripping the cuff from your other one, crying with effort. Frank helped free your ankles, pulling you onto your feet and holding your hand gently in his, pulling you close to him. "Now where the fuck are we." He huffed, looking around. Your eyes darkened, gaze dropping to the floor as Frank furiously looked around, squeezing your hand.

"Don't worry," You sighed, running a hand through your sweat-slicked hair.

Frank gave you a stern look, his grip tightening. "You can talk to me, doll."

You shook your head, and Frank took it as a sign to stop pushing. He pulled you towards the other edge of the room, away from the hole he'd made in the wall. "C'mon."

You blinked, and suddenly you were freed from the confines of the black, of the dark. No longer in that damned room but in the exact spot across from Frank in the diner you'd sat down to have lunch in. Frank blinked a few times, eyes adjusting to the sudden light of day through the window. He looked around, hands braced against the table. "What the fuck." He cursed, lifting himself up to look around at the other customers, how they seemed to be coming out of a similar nightmare.

His hand then found yours, dropping himself into the plush leather seat of the booth. "Whatever that was, doll, I don't trust it. Fuckin' supernatural shit happens too much in this god damn city."

You laughed, shaking your head and glancing to the counter. "Could you get me a milkshake to make me feel better, Frankie?"

His smile returned at your laugh, gaze trained on your face. "Of course, of course, gotta make sure my girl stays happy, huh."

#marvel #mcu #frank castle x reader #frank castle #the punisher #x reader

36 notes · View notes

room217prayer · 2 months ago

Text

Tamlin’s week - Day 4 (Powers / Hair)

Day four of @tamlinweek, sorry for day 3, maybe later on I will be able to finish and post it!

But here’s my entry for day four and... EH. I had to. I hope you’ll enjoy it too. ♥

Important Info/Tags: Tamsand is the main ship. There is angst and mention of blood and violence. Both prompts are used for this fic, even if the Hair one is subtler.

Dividers provided as always by @olenvasynyt, I love them dearly.

Enjoy! ♥

As You Shine, I Darken

The screams were still echoing in his mind – the same ones he made happen as he melted and teared apart the minds of the two heirs of Spring.

Had been the ones of his mother and sister just as chilling? Have the two brothers felt the same shiver of glee in killing them?

Perhaps, the difference was that his was born in revenge – he was different.

He wouldn’t kill the defenseless. He wouldn’t kill his mother... he wouldn’t kill him.

Except his father thought differently and so he had marched to do just so.

Rhysand wouldn’t kill them – he wouldn’t – and he did try to stop his father from doing so. Against the High Lord of Night, what powers did he have to stop him?

Nothing.

He had nothing, so he begged and observed as he killed the Lady of Spring.

The chills he felt were completely different this time and he... he had watched.

Saw as her eyes turned empty looking into his and everything froze – ice in his heart – at the image of them being his green ones. The fresh newborn leaves, the most beautiful emerald broke in death.

No. Not him. Not his Tamlin.

He wouldn’t... His anger wasn’t blinding him so much to let him watch as the joyous laughter would turn into ash and poison with his howls and cries.

No. No, he won’t let that happen.

He didn’t need to do anything.

Tamlin himself didn’t let it happen.

With one hit of power, his Father – a High Lord – was killed.

Their eyes met in the destruction.

As violet happen on green the powers of their Courts flowed inside their very souls.

Changing them forever – melting them in an unbroken chain while the blood of their families dripped on the pavement, into the earth.

Rhysand felt the shadows of the Night around him but he could only see the Golden Halo of him.

And while Tamlin cried he –wanted to flee, too unstable, his mind a whirling of signals about the danger in front of him – instead crashed into him.

Wings spread open in a second, before curling around the trembling shoulders of the young – new – High Lord of Spring.

Rhysand hugged his Tamlin face with his bloodied hands, kissing him as the last drops of the Cauldron magic marked them. Light and dark in one deep red string.

Their only salvation or their doom.

Rhysand made it happen as blood rested on his tongue.

He drank it, just as his powers and cries.

He made a home for them in the deeps of his starless void.

Tamlin fought back, his teeth crashed against his before sinking in his lips, but Rhysand took hold of his hairs, his nape in a choke. Both of them drunk on their new powers as blood now flood every one of their senses.

Taste, smell and even sight and touch as violet crashed against teary and furious green. His stained hands, fingers, leaving trails of red in his golden hair.

The High Lord of night couldn’t stop from looking at his bloodied lips – the mark of his lineage staining them – thinking about how beautiful he looked marked by him. How it seemed he had lipstick on.

Drunken, the Night powers making him feel lightheaded, his mind tried to connect with Tamlin’s, searching, trying to bind deeper his hold –

The slither of a blade – and Illyrian blade – rested against the skin of Rhysand’s neck, right where his heart was pumping so much blood as the High Lord of Spring pushed him until he was on the floor with Tamlin sitting on his lap.

He let it happen, he didn’t do anything to stop him, all he did was... stare.

He could only do that, his breath stolen by the sight above him, by the young fae who once was so clear in his innocence that he still kept no matter what.

No matter what was done to him.

What was he made to do.

Now he was so bright in his golden aura and so... impure.

Stained by blood, by rage, by a hurt so deep that its roots were made of steel – a bleeding wound that would not heal.

Rhysand looked at his blonde hair – so bright as the Spring powers where irradiating from every strands – where the blood of his brothers encrusted in them. Could he smell it? Was there a sparkle of joy in his sorrow, knowing they would no more hurt him?

It didn’t matter, as the blade drew a drop of his life essence, as all he could think about was how he wanted to wash away the stains he himself left behind.

Only to cover those golden strands with his own, making so that his smell could never leave him. No matter of many time he cleaned himself.

No matter if he cut everything to the roots, having bled it into his mind where he would haunt him to the end and beyond.

In the feverish of his crumbling sanity – in the retro of it he could hear the wings of his brothers nearby – he pushed against the edge of the dagger, sitting up.

His hands an anchor on his hips, as he felt him – as he wanted to feel him more, needing to go deeper, molding himself inside Tamlin’s body and soul.

“Do it” he whispered, as it cut more of his skin as he watched how his pupils dilated in wonder and shock by his action.

As he tried to grapple his fury to sanity, as both their powers were devouring everything he was.

“Do it Tamlin. End this now”

He was letting him decide, as their family rested dead – as their blood was still warm and their bodies cold.

He was giving him his only way out, as he was back into enclosing him in his shadows, in his darkest night – his fingers touching again his hair, dancing powers meeting in the middle.

Tamlin stared, the blade stilled, ready to slit –

His mouth crashed back into his in a cry, the growl of defeat as Rhysand smiled – as insanity took hold of both of them.

As their powers exploded, the windows cracked and glass rained down.

The walls shook and crumbled.

His mind flew to the starlight pool.

The first sign of his conquest in Spring, now made whole.

And here it is my third fic, for the fourth day! ♥

I like it, but at the same time... I wanted to do more. For it to be more, because I love the concept (will forever scream about them gaining their High Lord powers at the same time) but I fear I didn't do a good job with it.

Let me know if you still liked this short fic! ♥ I will for sure come back to this, because gngngngn I need to explore eveything - and have them hatefuck (spoile: I was going to let this happen here, but, again, time and creativity were not on my side)

Happy fourth day of Tamlin's week, everyone! I hope you have been having just as much fun as I'm having! ♥

See you (hopefully again) for another Tamlin’s week day! ♥

#tamlin #tamlinweek #tamlin week 2025 #tamlin week #my writing? Yes!#tamsand #I love them your honor and they make me go feral #Rhysand and Tamlin gaining their HL powers at the same time while locking eyes? H O T #I still don't like like this fic but I hope you enjoyed it #I'm a little... unsure and not happy with my own writing but I hope to improve and feel more at ease with it #If I can I will come back with the story of the third day! ♥#Thank you all for liking and interacting with me! ♥

21 notes · View notes

rhymeswithchronic · 3 months ago

Note

Oke so I have little idea that take place in the mftl universe. Basically, I headcanon that Evbo never left fully alone the civilization, at least not the kids and the elderly. Imagine a kid falling into the void but getting saved by Evbo and after that they became a devoted follower of the Parkour God. Or he could lead the elders into the afterlife after they died.

I'm planning to make this into a gift fic, but I need the timeline:

How much time has passed between Boey and Emf/Seawatt dead? And how much time has passed between Emf/Seawatt dead and the time the people first tried to offer sacrifices to Evbo?

OPPORTUNITY TO DROP TIMELINE STUFF HELL YES. The answer to specifically this ask is at the end :3

I was gonna answer this normally but I'm not normal at all so let's have some fun

Sorry in advance - enjoy the ride ;) Spoiler Warning for Parkour Civilization and the entirety of the Mercy for the Lamb Series currently written! I also apologize for any inconsistencies and if you notice any, don't be afraid to complain and I'll try to fix it lol. Sometimes it's hard to keep everything perfectly in line, especially in such a rapidly growing series

Using Evbo's Ascension as Year 0, gonna call before this BA (before Ascension) and after AA (After Ascension)

30 BA: Seawatt is born

The flashback introduction of "We Build the Foundation" takes place sometime between then and-

14 BA: The Fighter Layer Falls, EMF spawns in (physically about 17) as a Noob around the same time and ranks up to Master soon after. Seawatt is 16

13 BA: The Evil Champion takes power. Seawatt begins working under the Evil Champion early in the year. Later the same year, Evbo spawns in and is assigned a Noob, he is about 12 physically. Seawatt is 17, EMF is 18

Evbo is a Noob and Seawatt works for the Evil Champion for 12 years, seen at the beginning of "The Art of Loving and Letting Go"

1 BA: Events of Parkour Civ 1 occur. Evbo becomes Champion, Seawatt flees to the fighter layer. Evbo is 24, Seawatt is 29, EMF is 30

0: Events of Parkour Civ 2 occur. Evbo ascends to godhood, Seawatt is killed. EMF confesses to Evbo and they become partners, marked by Evbo's golden stud earrings and EMF's dangling emerald earrings. Evbo is 25 (permanently), Seawatt is 30, EMF is 31

About 3 months later, Seawatt is brought back to life. His relationship with the other two improve over the course of the year and he finally starts to come to terms with his own complicated feelings. "Glad You Came" takes place over the course of now and the next time period

1 AA: About halfway through the year is when Seawatt officially becomes the partner of Evbo and EMF, his lack of official title gives him the unofficial title of 'consort'. "I Just Adore You" takes place

2 AA: In attempting to figure out how to reset the world spawn, EMF uses Evbo's username as a placeholder. Given Evbo's immortality, he lacks necessary data that would denote a spawn point, so what EMF ends up setting is an Evbo that *has* a spawn point. Traumatized PvPbo is given the nickname Boey. "Mercy for the Lamb" and "You're Gonna Feel Found" take place at the same time, "Sacrificial Lambs" a few weeks later, "Vengeance for the Lamb" a couple of months after that. "Worship" happens soon after the end of Vengeance. Boey is 16, Seawatt is 32, EMF is 33

3 AA: The Fighter Layer is fully restored. "Isotonic" takes place, "Here We Are" the day after, "Sunset" a couple of days after that. "Love Me Like You" takes place starting soon after the end of "Sunset". The majority of "We Build the Foundation" takes place around this time, too, specifically the section with Boey and the section of Seawatt requesting the Fighters to be brought back. Newn, the first Fighter born since the Fighter Layer fell, is born towards the end of this year. Boey is officially adopted by the Polykour trio. Boey is 17, Seawatt 33, EMF 34

4 AA: The final section of "Love Me Like You" happens. "Take a Bite and Feed" happens, followed immediately by "Family Means No One Gets Left Behind". The player Jax is murdered and eaten by Evbo, something seen by several players and earning him the nickname "The Cannibal God". Jax is revived, but never the same. Boey is 18, Seawatt 34, EMF 35

6 AA: "Thanatophobia" takes place towards the end of the year, someone tries to assassinate Seawatt and the players are immediately vaporized. Boey is 20, Seawatt 36, EMF 37

7 AA: "Regicide" happens, with "The Last Thing You See" happening a couple of weeks later, immediately followed by "Isolophobia". Jax's friends, Red and Ghosty, kidnap Boey with the intention to use him to punish his parents. Ace, Jax's brother, nearly murders Boey and they both fall into the void. Ace dies, Boey discovers he is immune to the void and that he cannot respawn should he die. Evbo hunts down Red and Ghosty and puts them back in their place. It becomes well known that The Cannibal God is violently protective over his people. Boey is 21, Seawatt 37, EMF 38 58 AA: Boey dies of natural causes around the age of 72. It is per his request that he is not brought back to life, leaving this to be his first and only death.

At some point between then and the next entry, Seawatt and EMF began to be worshipped within their own right, though as they personally fade from the spotlight their names are stripped into the titles Champion and Luna, the names also given to the constellations said to represent them. Boey's story and existence slowly become completely lost to time by all but those who knew him, who still remember him very loyally and still celebrate his birthday.

Together, EMF and Seawatt are revived 22 times in the span of a bit less than 2000 years. For ease, I'm going to just round it to exactly 2000, but that's definitely give or take a few tens. That would mark their final deaths around

2000 AA, give or take a handful of years: EMF and Seawatt experience their final deaths, leaving Evbo alone. Almost immediately, he sheds the last of his mortality and takes on the full visage of a black and green fire phoenix. He is considered 'absent', vanishing into seemingly nothing. All that exists are rumors of him for the next 500 years, with devotees becoming fewer and fewer and normally being the few claimed to have been saved by him. Many rumors claim to see glimpses of feathers or fire in dire times or dangerous situations that they make it out of with just a hair. It's only a few years, about 50, after Evbo's disappearance when players begin to sacrifice players in his name. This means if EMF and Seawatt were to die in exactly 2000 AA, 2050 AA is when people begin offering human sacrifices.

It begins with players offering themselves, and around 2100 AA is when people start offering others.

Players like Bast in "The Circle Maker" become the norm around 2300 AA, born to high-ranking families exclusively to act as high profile sacrifices. The hope is that one day, the Parkour God will come back to his people, so everything they do is in hopes of pleasing him.

Bast herself is born around 2500AA

It should be noted that Jax was the *only* player that Evbo ever ate as a God, something that happened thousands of years ago at this point. Unfortunately, it is one of his most well-known mythos, to the point he is still often called The Cannibal God. Unfortunately, I can't quite reveal what happens with these sacrifices after Evbo collects them without spoiling The Circle Maker, but rest assured he very much does not eat them, and in fact doesn't even hurt them ;)

I hope this is more fun than annoying to read through lmao ^^'

#mercy for the lamb #mercy for the lamb series #parkour civilization headcanon #parkour civilization #parkour civ #parkciv #pvp civ #pvp civilization #fanfiction #archive of our own #ao3 #timeline #fanfiction timeline #rambling

20 notes · View notes

branches-of-time · 11 months ago

Text

The House That Built Me

“Figured you’d either still be at the tavern, or were already home wondering where I was.”

He smiles at you, soft, before looking away. “I was at the tavern most of the day, like I planned this morning. But… something didn’t feel right. I wasn’t really… giving it my all, and I think the patrons could tell.”

You frown. “What didn’t feel right? Are you okay?”

“Oh, I’m fine, Windblume. I’m just fine.”

You aren’t convinced. “Then, uh… do you feel like sharing what isn’t fine?”

His gaze drops to the dark sea below. “I think you know what it is, actually.”

Cryptic as ever, you take a moment to ponder what he might mean. He takes the silence as an opportunity to elaborate. “I never really wonder where you are, you know?"

~~~~~~~

Inazuma, all raging storms and war-torn, is calling your name. Shamefully, you find yourself running north instead, searching for something, anything to fill this home-shaped void in your heart.

Maybe, just maybe, you’ll come to find that home is a person, more than a place.

Pairing: Venti x Reader - Established Relationship, GN!Reader

Word Count: 11,033

Contains: [angst (with a happy ending)] [crying] [cuddling] [emotional hurt/comfort] [lack of communication] [loneliness] [memories] [not canon compliant] [pet death] [Reader & Venti are both adults] [Reader is not Traveler but they essentially take their place in the game's plot] [self-deprecating reader] [separation anxiety] [set prior to Version 2.0] [songfic]

A/Ns: This is a songfic! Title and verses written throughout the fic are from the song- "The House That Built Me" by Miranda Lambert.

Lastly, some context- Reader is a Riftwolf-Human hybrid, can manipulate all seven elements but has an affinity for Geo.

I know they say you can't go home again.

Sand, warmed by the afternoon sun, swells between your spread fingers as you press your hands down into the ground at your sides. Summoning a modicum of Geo elemental energy, your hands meet no resistance as they sink into the compacted grains like a hot knife through butter. You drop your raised shoulders and let your hands bury several inches into the beach until the sand surrounding them is cool, untouched by the heat of the day.

Dismissing the energy you’d been using to repel it, you allow the ground to resist you again. You note the weight of the sand as it presses down on the backs of your hands, and the firm bed of grains packed beneath your palms. You shut your eyes and flex your fingers slightly, focusing on the soft grit of Falcon Coast as it surrounds your hands in its weighted embrace.

Breathing a heavy sigh, you reopen your eyes, dropping your head and cursing the earth beneath you. This attempt at grounding yourself is doing little to ease the knot in your stomach, nor the tightness in your chest. Looking up and out across the expanse of ocean before you, the sight of Musk Reef looming in the distance doesn’t help either. You refuse to allow your gaze to drift any further south.

You begin to ask yourself what you’re even doing here, and why you thought this was a good idea. You’re no stranger to fleeing to Mondstadt whenever the world overwhelms you, but this specific beach perhaps wasn’t the wisest choice. Certainly not when the very thing you’re running from is the sea.

You hadn’t put much thought into where to go, you just knew you wanted to go home. Materializing at the waypoint east of Windrise was simply instinctual. Though, when you arrived, you didn’t turn and head north like you had so many times before. No, you took a running jump off the cliff below, gliding south and landing on the coast.

Sitting here now though, hands buried in the same sand you first washed up on after clawing your way out of the abyss… it’s not as comforting of a spot as you thought it might be. You don’t feel grounded at all, caught up between memories of the past and fears of the future.

Tugging your hands out of the sand with a frustrated huff, you turn your head to glance behind you at the cliff to the north.

…Maybe you should’ve gone that way instead. Maybe you should go home.

I just had to come back one last time.

Materializing at the earlier waypoint once again, you pause to collect yourself for a moment. Making frequent use of the waypoints, especially in your current state, isn’t very wise. Then again, you aren’t in a very wise state. Taking a deep breath to dispel the dizziness, you let the warm breeze caress your cheeks. Looking around from your current vantage point, you find yourself grateful for the lack of people in the area. Even Chloris is currently nowhere to be found.

Well, at least you can think in peace. Jumping down from the crumbling ruin, you steady yourself against an archway, narrowly avoiding crushing a small patch of lamp grass. …Perhaps you should’ve taken another moment to collect yourself. Perhaps you shouldn’t be wandering through the wilds all on your own, in such a state.

You scoff at the latter thought. This is Mondstadt, and you’re… you. What’s the worst that could happen?

Pushing aside the thought that more alone time may not be what you need right now, you think yourself through your predicament once again as you set off on a walk.

You’d been reluctant to leave Mondstadt and set out for Liyue, despite knowing that you’d get no further answers to your myriad of questions here. Not to mention the nagging, relentless tug of fate, pulling you away from the nation you’d come to call home. You knew full and well that you’d have to leave. You’d find no peace in an attempt to ignore the call, and settle here indefinitely.

Still, that didn’t stop you from milking your time here as much as possible. You’d gotten to a first name basis with nearly every soul in the city by the time you ran out of tasks to busy yourself with. Gained quite the notable reputation for yourself in the process too, although that hadn’t been your goal. You truly just didn’t want to leave.

You’d trekked over every hill, passed through every valley, climbed to every peak and turned over every stone and leaf along your way. You explored the nation’s ruins, deciphered inscriptions half faded into their stone, and felled every field till- …ruin guard that stood in your way. You’d braved the frozen peaks of Dragonspine, and gained a newfound appreciation for the Pyro element in the process.

You stood atop the celestial nail, looking out through the blizzard and over the expanse of land to the southwest.

The vast, foreign land that laid before you scared you more than the journey to the top of the nail had.

After all, you didn’t fear falling. The wind at your back would surely catch you, you had no doubt.

Flecks of Cryo stung, colliding with the flushed, exposed skin of your face. You closed your eyes, balance wavering slightly as a result. A small arm was quick to wrap itself around your waist.

No, you didn’t fear falling. You feared leaving.

You leaned into the safety of your Archon’s hold, their concerned voice perfectly audible in spite of the blizzard winds surrounding you. “Are you alright? Do you need to get down?”

You feared leaving him.

Leaves from the end of a tree branch brush against your perked ears, pulling you back into the present. Shaking your head and drawing your ears down on instinct, you look around and realize your muscle memory has carried you the rest of the way home. Tucked away against a small cliff south of the Thousand Winds Temple, stands an even smaller cottage, forgotten to time. An Anemo Samachurl paces in circles in the yard, and its Geo counterpart sits on the old stone stairs leading into the home.

Ma'am, I know you don't know me from Adam.

The Geo Samachurl turns to look at you, and you give it a small wave in acknowledgement. Its attention lingers on you for only a moment longer, before turning back to continue watching its Anemo companion instead. A smile plays on your lips, tight and bittersweet.

You make no move to continue approaching, instead opting to back up a few paces and lean against a nearby tree, observing.

They can sense enough of your shared origins, or- maybe it’s the lingering abyssal energy on you… regardless, they can sense something on you that they recognize. Nothing specific, but something familiar enough that they feel no need to take up arms upon the mere sight of you. In all honesty, you feel the same. Their presence here doesn’t pose any genuine threat, so you’re content to leave them be.

In the many months that have passed since Venti and you moved out of this place, it’s become a haven for others. Whether it be traveling adventurers seeking shelter for a night, wildlife seeking refuge from a passing storm beneath the awning, or even your old Khaenri’ahn kin seeking a place to camp, the cottage has served many.

The both of you have kept a distant eye on the place since your departure. Though, Venti has found himself remaining more distant than you since these Samachurls have set up camp. While your presence doesn’t ring any alarm bells for them, the same cannot be said for Venti. While he holds no ill intent toward them either, something about the aura he emits sets them instinctively on edge.

You can hardly blame them. You’d raised your hackles and bared your teeth at the bard, defensive upon your first encounter as well. Looking back, he was hardly posing any threat then either, but at the time, you viewed everyone and everything as a potential enemy. After all, you’d just escaped the abyss and been tossed to the shore of Falcon Coast by the waves, your weaker control over Cryo failing you halfway across your attempt at an ice bridge. Waking up on hot sand to find a humanoid being with an unsettling gaze emanating a suspiciously divine aura above you was more than enough to kick your fight or flight into gear.

You attempted both, in that order. You immediately dug your hands into the sand and threw fistfuls of it at the stranger, successfully disorienting them and giving you an opening to flee. With nothing but ocean to the east, you bolted west, and then north, headed for higher ground intent on gaining an advantage.

Looking back now, you know nothing could’ve stopped Venti if he’d truly wanted to catch you. At the time, though, you felt pretty confident in having outrun him. By the time you felt like you’d lost him, you found yourself also lost amidst trees, the uneven terrain obscuring your sense of direction. So- tired, thirsty, hungry, scared, and confused- you dropped from a run to a walk. Pressing forward in the direction you’d run in, you kept your ears at attention to catch any threat before it could catch you.

The Anemo Samachurl breaks from its quiet chanting and pacing, its sudden cry pulling your focus from the past. From the way it points and takes off in a run, and the way its Geo counterpart rises to follow behind, you assume it must have seen something in the woods that caught its attention. You see nor sense nothing of note, and dismiss the likely false alarm. Probably just wildlife, or perhaps a Dendro slime looking to play. As the two little shamans run off into the trees, you take advantage of the vacancy they leave behind.

But these handprints on the front steps are mine.

You figure you’ve got enough time for a quick visit before they return. Besides, the worst that’ll happen if they do catch you in their “camp” will be a few disgruntled spells cast toward you as you hightail it out of there. It’ll be fine.

Approaching the trio of old stone steps that lead to the front door, your gaze catches on two handprints engraved into the highest stair. Memories begin to surface.

Sitting on the stairs with your back pressed to the door, you found yourself growing frustrated with the green-clad individual in your yard. Well, perched in one of the trees in your yard, to be precise.

You’d taken up residence in this old run-down cottage once it seemed that no one else had been occupying it. The first few days had been blessedly peaceful, it seemed the area was rather devoid of other life. Well, threatening life, at least. There were plenty of plants and animals, plus a little pond close by, providing far more sustenance than you’d grown used to surviving on. You figured it was as good of a place as any to try and sort out your next move. You hadn’t put much thought into what you’d do once you escaped, after all. You found yourself feeling… lost. After charging ahead with your focus locked on a single goal for so damn long… you didn’t know what to do with yourself now that you’d achieved it.

You weren’t lost for long though. The nosy stranger that found you on the beach proved to be the next target of your focus. Your peaceful existence in this cottage overlooking the sea didn’t last long before you found yourself in their unwanted company once again. They might’ve thought they were subtle, hiding amongst the treetops and watching you quietly.

They weren't. You could sense them. Hell, even if it weren’t for the strange aura they emanated, you could smell them. They carried a strong scent of fermentation with them, and you could easily pick up on the pungent smell in the wind.

On the third day of your silent standoff, you grew fed up with this stranger’s odd behavior. You only knew one way of settling things, and that was face-to-face, not through some weird game of observation. You cleared your throat, preparing your underused voice and searching for your words. Tilting your head back to look at the trespasser, you snarl at their relaxed stance, laid back across a branch like they’re asleep.

“Come down.” You bark the command up into the trees.

The stranger doesn’t comply, but they do acknowledge you, opening their eyes and turning their head to look down at you. “So you can speak!”

You’re in no mood to entertain their conversation, certainly not before making sense of their intentions. “Come. Down.” You repeat, voice flat and serious.

“Are you gonna throw sand in my eyes again?” Light and playful, they question you.

You huff. “No.” Not without good reason, at least, you think to yourself but fail to vocalize.

They hum in thought for a moment before going quiet again. You let the seconds pass, growing more irritable with each one. Just as you’re about to call them down once again, they roll to the side, willingly falling from the branch they’d been laying on. Your muscles twitch and lock for a moment as you stop yourself from… from… from what? What were you going to do, run and try to catch them? Why would you do that? They’ve done nothing for you.

Your lack of action proves itself inconsequential as the stranger falls at a remarkably slow speed. It’s less of a fall and more of a… decent, you suppose, seeming to effortlessly defy gravity. Righting themself midair to land on their feet, they pull their cape forward on their shoulders, beginning to approach you.

You plant your hands firmly on the stone at your sides, readying yourself for anything.

“While that wasn’t the most convincing answer, I suppose I can extend a bit of trust to you. I sure hope you don’t make me regret it though!” They come far closer to you than anyone with a sense of self-preservation ought to. They hold a hand out between you, and you stare at it, waiting for something to happen. “I’m Venti, a bard from the city.”

Finally getting your first proper look at them up close, you’re struck with the strangest sense of recognition. You couldn’t pinpoint it to save your life, but… something about this person feels… familiar. Distant, hazy, and inexplicable, but it’s there nonetheless.

You don’t like it.

When you make no move to do… whatever they seem to want you to do with their hand, they drop it, and you flinch at the sudden motion. Frowning, they question you. “Might I ask for your name in exchange, my dear trespasser? We can hardly get to know one another without exchanging some basic information.”

Your brows pinch in frustration at the stranger's many words. They say a lot, and they say it fast. It’s been… you can’t recall how long it’s been since you last held such conversation. One word stands out to you, though. “Trespasser? Me?”

He nods. “Well, technically, yes! I don’t know much about you yet but I do know that this isn’t your house.”

“How?” You question, eyes narrowing, watching as they stupidly step even closer.

“How do I know that this isn’t yours?” They question you in return.

You nod, claws sharpening, palms itching with pent-up Geo energy crackling beneath your skin.

“Because it’s mine, silly!” They laugh, reaching out toward you.

Your instincts take over as the stranger moves to grab you, and you force your hands into the stone beneath you. Releasing the Geo energy you’d been holding onto, you use the repelling force to launch yourself up off the stairs and at the fool standing before you.

You don’t make contact with them though, stumbling forward into what suddenly becomes thin air and tripping over nothing, sending yourself straight to the ground. Righting yourself before you can even register the impact, your claws tear through the dirt and grass as you turn back to face your opponent on all fours.

You freeze at the sight of them, casually propped against the railing of the stairs, clearly not poised to fight. With no weapon in their hands, and refusing to take on any sort of combative stance, you find yourself locked in a one-sided stand-off.

Not taking their eyes off you, the stranger pats the banister they’re leaning against. “I wasn’t reaching out for you, friend.” As you process their words and the seconds turn into a minute, they make no move to attack you, so you slowly let your guard down. Just slightly. Bending at the knees, you settle in a deep squat on the ground.

When the stranger seems confident enough that you aren’t about to throw yourself at them again, they allow their attention to leave you and fall to the step where you’d just sat. Following their gaze, you notice two handprints now carved into the stone, the very edge of the stair chipped away in places where your claws had caught on it.

You ready yourself for an attack, as this stranger surely won’t take kindly to destruction of, apparently, their property. But they make no move to do any such thing. They simply look back up at you with a knowing smile.

“You take after Morax, I see.”

Up those stairs in that little back bedroom, is where I did my homework and I learned to play guitar.

Smiling and shaking your head at the memory, you make your way into the small home. It’s rather bare, even more so than it had been when you first found the place. The two of you had taken all of your personal possessions with you into the teapot, leaving nothing but the basic furniture behind. After all, you had far better options awaiting you through Tubby’s sub-space creation.

Seeing the cottage in its original state, it once again becomes clear to you just how little Venti had customized the place prior to you moving in. He didn’t, and still doesn’t have much to his name, truly living the life of the wandering bard he identifies as. Most of what he does have he keeps on his person, whether that be in the physical sense, or dematerialized and stored away.

The cottage turned into a bit less of a shelter and more of a home over the many months you spent there with him. You stocked the little kitchen with far more than just his assortment of fruits, and an array of objects you collected from your outings lined the shelves. Looking back now, with a bit more insight on your own mental and emotional states, you venture a guess as to your behavior. You were likely hoarding whatever you found as a means of making up for how long you spent having nothing.

Venti never shamed you for it, even though he likely understood the behavior from the beginning. He was incredibly empathetic, and kinder than you felt you deserved, even once parts of your past became known to him. It took some time, given your struggle to keep up with his words, and the bigger struggle of finding your own. You managed to get it across to him eventually though, and he’d been benevolent enough to take you in.

You come to a stop in the bedroom doorway, surveying the place through the lens of the past.

You remember countless hours spent at the small desk in the corner, hunched over paper with text on it that you couldn’t decipher. Venti stood beside you, one hand on your shoulder, patiently teaching you how to make sense of the symbols you saw.

You remember less stressful hours spent sitting on the floor, curiously plucking at the strings of the bard’s various instruments with your claws. He’d sit on the bed watching you, naming the notes and teaching you how to turn your discordant noise into beautiful music. You were never as good as he was though, and you really didn’t mind. You preferred to listen to him playing, anyway. The bard possessed a beautiful voice, and the soft songs he’d sing to you in the dark of night never failed to put your tormented mind at ease.

Staring at your designated spot on the floor, you laugh at the memory of countless nights spent refusing his invitations. He’d offered his bed to you from the beginning, insisting that you deserved it more than he did. Besides, he said, he was used to sleeping in trees and fields, on barstools and street corners. He claimed he wouldn’t miss the bed at all.

You wouldn’t hear of it. Vehemently denying any offers, you stubbornly slept- atop as many blankets and pillows as you’d allow him to give you- on the floor by his bed like the dog you were. He wasn’t the only one used to sleeping in uncomfortable places, and you weren’t about to lose your edge by getting too comfortable too soon.

You think of the way you woke up this morning, wrapped in soft, warm blankets on a wide, plush mattress, face nuzzled into his neck, arms around his waist.

You’ve both come a long way.

You hear the familiar sound of distant hilichurlian chanting, and make your move to leave, bidding your old bedroom a quiet farewell once again.

Slipping out of the cottage and rounding the side of the building in a few long strides, you narrowly manage to evade their notice. Peeking around the corner, you watch them return to their prior posts. The Anemo Samachurl diligently paces between the trees, its Geo companion keeping watch from the stairs.

You smile, and turn to make your silent departure.

Checking in on your old home had been a successful distraction from the thoughts you’re trying to avoid, but you couldn’t linger there forever. Still, feeling unprepared to return to the teapot and try to put on a brave face for Venti, you find yourself wandering. With no particular destination in mind, you let your feet take you where they may.

You try to think of nothing at all for a while, failing over and over again as your mind searches for something to latch onto. Apparently counting your steps wasn’t entertaining enough for it.

After a while of failing to meditate on your walk, you find yourself leaving grass and stepping onto a dirt path. Looking up and around, you realize you’ve made your way to the road leading to the Thousand Winds Temple.

Turning and looking south, you can see the massive tree at Windrise, off in the distance. Far, far, beyond that, bringing your eyes to the horizon, you can see the snowy peaks of Dragonspine beyond the tall cliff of Galesong Hill. You sigh.

And I bet you didn't know, under that live oak, my favorite dog is buried in the yard.

A few months after arriving in Mondstadt and settling in with Venti, you found yourself exploring the icy riverbank that borders Dragonspine. The stubborn bard, wrapped in the thickest cloak he owned, trudged along behind you.

You’d told him he didn’t have to join you that day, but the thought of you exploring unfamiliar territory without him apparently just didn’t sit right. So, in spite of his occasional grumbles over the increasing cold, he never left your side.

The area was predictably desolate, save for a few Cryo Hilichurl archers lounging on the icy banks like they were on summer vacation. You weren’t looking for a fight that day though, just to explore, so you avoided drawing their attention given the divine company you were in.

Later on, as you were focusing hard on what Pyro energy you could summon in an attempt to melt the ice encasing a chest, you found something far more valuable. Venti saw it first, having been eyeing the surroundings while you were focused on the task at hand. Calling your name, he summoned your attention with ease.

Turning to look at him, your gaze followed his pointed finger and landed on a dog, slowly making its way toward you.

The animal was fairly large, but certainly far from threatening given the state it was in. As it drew closer, Venti lowered himself to his knees in the cold wet grass, suddenly forgoing his prior reluctance to endure the elements. You smiled. It seemed like he’d learned a thing or two from you about dealing with fearful dogs.

You followed suit, crouching down beside him and getting on the dog's level. The shivering animal hesitated, coming to a stop about fifteen feet away. Materializing some fresh meat you’d caught on the journey there, you quietly held it out toward the dog.

It sniffed the air, but refused to move.

Tearing a chunk off, you gently tossed it in the dog’s direction, and it landed a few feet in front of it. Sniffing harder, the animal carefully approached the offering, sticking its head out as far as it could to reach the food and avoid coming closer.

The two of you spent the better part of an hour luring the dog toward you, slowly but surely winning it over with continued offerings of fresh meat.

Upon closer inspection, you were honestly shocked that it was still standing. Skin stretched tight across its ribcage, hip bones two sharp peaks, spine a long mountain range down its back… the thing was clearly starving. You weren’t sure if it was the stress of a difficult life, a sign of old age, or both, but what you assumed had once been black fur was almost white from graying, particularly in its face. It trembled incessantly, and as soon as it came close enough and didn’t seem apt to bolt, Venti untied his cape and wrapped it around the dog, who shockingly didn’t fight it.

Maybe Venti had been serious when he claimed he could talk to animals.

You fed it more bites of meat as the two of you quietly discussed the best way to get it home. Blessedly, once the dog realized that neither of you held malicious intentions, it switched gears surprisingly fast. More than just tolerating your presence, the dog actually began to cling to you, frantically whining when you both stood up, fearful that you’d be leaving it behind.

Abandoning your half-melted treasure, you knew it was time to leave. You were quite a ways from home and you weren’t about to try teleporting the dog in its current state. So instead, you carefully picked her up, frowning at how little she weighed. Venti took the remaining meat and distracted the nervous dog with more offerings of food as you began your long, slow journey home.

“Don’t- don’t feed her too fast. I know she’s hungry but I don’t want to make her sick.”

Venti nodded, tearing off smaller bites. “I remember.” He cryptically confirmed.

You adjusted the dog in your hold, pulling Venti’s cape up around her neck. “…Remember what?”

He suppressed a shiver, but you still noticed. “You ate yourself sick on fruit and raw meat the first night you spent here.”

Your head turned quickly, staring down at him. “You were watching? Even then?”

He nodded, expression solemn. “I followed you home, you know? It just took a few days for you to notice that I was there.”

You walked in thoughtful silence for a while after that, wondering if your scattered senses had failed you, or if he was actually better at hiding his aura than you thought.

The dog lived with the both of you in your little cottage for a few good months. She gradually put on weight, and some life returned to her alongside it. She still moved slowly, though, and you feared she was in pain.

By that point, you’d befriended a timid alchemist with mint-green hair, and sought her assistance. She’d kindly offered you a medicine of her own creation, advising that the dog seemed rather old, and likely suffered from joint pain. You offered her payment in Mora, which she politely refused. You eventually got her to accept a small assortment of bones you’d gathered in exchange, correctly surmising that the offer would be too tempting for her to refuse.

Sucrose’s medicine seemed to help, because the dog moved with noticeably more ease once you began giving it to her. She was far from spry, but she seemed comfortable, so you were content. She was also content, in the precious, innocent way that only a dog can be. Just happy to be alive, happy to be fed, happy to be safe. Happy to be near someone that loves them, and happy to be near someone they love.

“Adagio.” Venti had once said, gently raking his nails through her fur on a warm, sleepy afternoon.

“What’s that?’ It was far from the first time he’d said a word you didn’t know.

“In musical terms, it means played slowly… I think it would be a nice name for her.”

You considered it for a moment, and found it rather fitting, nodding in agreement with a smile. “I like that.”

Adagio spent her days laying in the shade near the cliff’s edge, watching the waves lap at the small shore below. Looking back, you can thank her for teaching Venti that you can survive a half a day on your own. She could hardly chase you all over Mondstadt, or weave her way after Venti through the busy city streets, so when one of you needed to go out for something, the other would stay home with her. One of the two of you were always there, and she never knew the pain of being alone again.

She spent her nights curled between the two of you. She couldn’t make the jump up onto the bed, and you were still stubbornly sleeping on the floor, so Venti made the executive decision to heave the mattress onto the floor as well. As silly of a sight as it may have been to an outsider, the three of you were comfortable, curled together amidst blankets and pillows on the too-small mattress, bed frame abandoned on the other side of the room.

Nothing lasts forever though, and it seemed to you that the best of things were always the quickest to go.

As months passed, her movements went from slow to slower, and she started struggling with more things. She could no longer steady herself to make it up and down the three stairs to your home, so one of you carried her every time. She slept more and moved less, and her love of food began to wane.

This wasn’t your first experience with something like this. Though it had been an awfully long time since you lived through it last, you still knew what was coming.

That didn’t make it hurt any less, though. Not at all.

Both of you sat awake with her through the final night, keeping her comfortable and telling her how much you loved her. You’d never hoped harder that Venti’s communicative abilities held true.

You kept it together until she released her final breath, and when you knew she was gone, you allowed yourself to fall apart.

Up until then, your walls had been an impenetrable fortress. No emotion escaped unless you allowed it. Venti had never seen you cry.

So when your pain escaped you this time, falling in heavy golden tears and landing in her gray fur, he could only stare. He knew this wasn’t his moment to intrude on, so he didn’t. He didn’t rush to wrap you in an embrace, nor did he try to offer any hollow words of comfort. This was pain. This was loss. He was intimately familiar with it, and he knew it had to be felt.

There isn’t a single detail of that night that you don’t recall, and the teal tears that fell next to your golden ones are no exception.

That was the first time you saw him cry, too.

The evening breeze cools the hot golden tracks running down your cheeks. You watch tears fall onto the dirt path beneath you, and then you close your eyes.

You both sat there with what remained of her until the morning sun slipped in through the window. You were surprised when Venti broke the silence, offering to bury Adagio beneath the Windrise tree.

You spoke through a voice thick and strained from your cries. “That’s… that’s a really special place.”

He nodded. “She was a really special dog.”

You wiped the fresh tears from your eyes before they could fall, turning to face him.

“Are you sure?”

“Absolutely.” He put his hand out, laying it next to Adagio on the mattress. “Unless you’d prefer elsewhere?”

You knew what to do this time. Reaching out and laying your hand in his, you shook your head slowly. “No. I think Windrise would be perfect.”

Opening your eyes, you raise your head to glance once more at the massive tree across the sprawling field. Bidding Adagio another quiet goodbye, you pull in a shaky breath, and turn, heading north.

Walking in silence for a while, you try to let your emotions settle. The tears you just shed seemed to help a little, but the knot in your stomach won’t leave you.

You follow the road a little while longer, but when you find yourself nearing the temple, you take a detour and head west, off the beaten path. You aren’t keen on running into whatever random explorers might be camping there this evening. Besides, the scent of cecilias is on the breeze, and you’d rather follow that instead.

Making your way up the uneven terrain that comprises the base of Starsnatch Cliff, your mind returns to its ruminations over what brought you here today in the first place.

You leave home, you move on, and you do the best you can.

The reason for your reluctance to leave Mondstadt became abundantly clear on the day you finally set out for the neighboring nation. As you left Dawn Winery behind and crossed the border, headed for Stone Gate, it sank in quickly.

Venti wasn’t beside you.

Up until that point, he’d been the literal wind at your back every step of the way. Every commission you completed, every request you fulfilled, every inch of land you explored, he was right behind you. Or beside you, or above you, or in front of you…

Regardless, he was there. Answering your questions, telling you stories, helping you make sense of the unfamiliar. Whether it be words you couldn’t yet read, customs you didn’t yet understand, or emotions you couldn’t yet identify, he was your guide through it all. The Stormterror crisis came and went, as did the… incident with Signora, and the two of you grew ever closer as a result of it all. You could fill a book with the stories of what you two went through in the mere year you spent in this nation. But, as you sat together beneath the Windrise tree one evening discussing it all, it slowly grew clear that it was coming time to move on. As if the notion alone wasn’t stressful enough already, there seemed to be an unspoken understanding that it was a journey you must undertake alone.

So, you did. You’d packed your things, said your temporary goodbyes, and set off on your own without so much as once giving in to the urge to ask him to come along. The goodbyes were, after all, only temporary. You hoped. If you made it through whatever awaited you in Liyue alive, you always planned on returning home.

And you did. Many times.

You, scared as you’d been, made it through the lively adventure that was your initial trip to Liyue, and you’d come out much stronger for it. You found a confidence that you’d forgotten you possessed, forced to show itself once there was no travel companion for you to rely on.

Quite early in your journey, you gathered that you weren’t completely alone anyhow. Sure, in your day-to-day there was no talkative bard trailing behind you, and the nights proved themselves awfully lonely indeed. But Venti’s parting words, “may the wind protect you”, proved themselves surprisingly literal as you took note of one particular Yaksha. After a few nights at Wangshu Inn, and a few bowls of almond tofu shared in relative silence, the man had made himself into your shadow shockingly fast. He never seemed to be around when your gaze searched for him in a crowd, but was always conveniently there the moment you ran into trouble.

Still, in spite of his protection, not to mention your growing, innate connection with the God of your favored element, you longed for home. You longed for your home. You longed for your God.

I got lost in this whole world, and forgot who I am.

So, once the dust, or, well, waves had settled and Rex Lapis had been “officially” laid to rest, you found yourself headed northeast.

In spite of how proud you’d been for making it on your own, all of that crumbled the evening you first crossed back into Mondstadt. You could've used any of the waypoints you’d resonated with, could’ve gone right back home to the cliff overlooking Falcon Coast. But something about that just didn’t feel right. Not for your first return.

Walking the path back toward Dawn Winery, you tried to keep your composure. You tried to not get irrationally emotional over the familiar sight of Anemo crystalflies fluttering over the grape vines. You ignored the warmth in your chest at the sight of soft yellow candlelight illuminating the cottage windows along your path.

Your weakening grip on your emotions completely failed though when you caught sight of a small, green-clad bard, legs dangling from the edge of a rooftop, plucking at his lyre.

You burst into tears on the spot, folding in on yourself and crumpling to the dirt beneath you.

He dropped the nonchalant act instantly, dematerializing from his perch on the rooftop and reappearing beside you in a small, warm burst of Anemo energy that you didn’t see through your tears, but definitely felt. He’d questioned you frantically, worried you were hurt, not understanding what was wrong. Eventually, largely thanks to his embrace, the sobs wracking your form eased enough to assure him that you were fine.

You’d just missed him, was all.

The array of conflicting emotions that flashed in his eyes at the admission would've intrigued you, had you not been so absorbed in your own at the time.

In spite of how badly you craved his company, you’d already proved to yourself that you could travel on your own. So, you continued to. After an extended stay in Mondstadt to recover from your first eventful excursion, you began traveling between the two nations more regularly. Having resonated with most of the waypoints and Statues of the Seven in Liyue as well, it was easy to hop over for the day and still come home to Venti at night.

I thought if I could touch this place or feel it, this brokenness inside me might start healing.

Such was your routine until Madam Ping had introduced you to her Teapots. Adeptal magic was quite the wonder, capable of impressive feats, and the new home offered to you was no exception. When you learned that not only could you live in it, but you could invite others in as well, you were over the moon. You were, of course, reluctant to bid a more permanent farewell to the little house overlooking the sea that you’d grown so familiar with. But when faced with something as convenient and extravagant as the teapot, you could hardly turn it down.

Venti had been more than interested in your offer when you brought the thing home and showed it to him. After bestowing a permanent invitation upon him, he took a liking to the space quite quickly, happy to help make yourselves a new home. Having already been informed of your penchant for Mondstadt, Tubby had crafted a world for you that resembled the land of freedom’s sprawling hills, cliffs, and beaches to an impressive degree. Your new home was far grander than your old one, but with a little time and personalization with what you both brought from the cottage, it really did start to feel like home.

It was… nice, having a safe place to return to every night, regardless of where you were or what you may be caught up in. It was even nicer that Venti seemed to quite enjoy spending time there as well. There’d scarcely been an evening where both of you hadn’t wound up in the teapot together, sharing stories of your respective days over dinner.

Things carried on like that for the remainder of your time in Liyue. You spent more and more time in the land of contracts, and less and less in Mondstadt as a result. Sometimes you’d have reason to return, and somehow you’d almost always run into Venti while you were there. Time spent with him in the teapot was no less real, but it always felt… special, when the two of you were together in Mondstadt again.

Out here, it's like I'm someone else, I thought that maybe I could find myself.

Still, just as it had been with Mondstadt, you couldn’t linger in Liyue forever. You’d built a reputation for yourself there to match your standing in Mondstadt, making a slew of new connections, exploring, finding answers and more questions alike. It was time to move on. Inazuma loomed far, far off on the southern horizon, and it was up to you to make the first step to reach it.

You didn’t want to.

You stood on the docks, looking out at Guyun Stone Forest, and at Beidou’s ship anchored nearby.

You found yourself feeling something you hadn’t felt in a long while. You felt the same as you had when standing atop the celestial nail, only this time it was somehow worse. It scared you. Yes, the prospect of setting off effectively alone to yet another unfamiliar nation, but more than that. It scared you because you thought you’d grown past this. You thought you could handle this. You thought… you thought you’d outgrown this immature sense of homesickness.

You were wrong.

If I could walk around, I swear I'll leave.

That’s how you found yourself here, ambling through the wilds of Mondstadt. You really, really don’t want to leave. But you know that you have to.

You think of the stories you’ve heard in Liyue, of the terrible war raging in the island nation to the south.

You release a shaky breath into the cooling air.

You pray that you’ll make it back alive.

Won't take nothin' but a memory, from the house that built me.

Following the cecilias as their trail grows thicker, you weave your way up to the peak of the massive cliff.

You’re only slightly surprised to see a small figure, dressed in a very familiar shade of green, sitting with their back to you at the very edge.

Tension you didn’t notice you were holding melts from your shoulders at the sight of him.

You do your best to push aside the emotional storm you’ve been caught up in, and you call out to him, playful. “Fancy seeing you here!”

He twists at the waist to face you, following your movement as you approach. “I could say the same, love. What brings you here?”

You laugh softly as you come to a halt beside him. “Well, I could ask the same of you.” You carefully lower yourself to the ground, letting your legs dangle off the cliff beside his. “Figured you’d either still be at the tavern, or were already home wondering where I was.”

You frown. “What didn’t feel right? Are you okay?”

“Oh, I’m fine, Windblume. I’m just fine.”

You aren’t convinced. “Then, uh… do you feel like sharing what isn’t fine?”

His gaze drops to the dark sea below. “I think you know what it is, actually.”

Cryptic as ever, you take a moment to ponder what he might mean. He takes the silence as an opportunity to elaborate. “I never really wonder where you are, you know?”

You glance at him, bemused for a moment before growing serious. “Oh, what, were you- like- watching me today? How… Wait, how long have you been up here, actually?”

He doesn’t look at you, but he shakes his head. “I don’t have to be watching you to know where you are, dear.” The wind tousles your hair. “I’m already everywhere. All the time. If the wind can reach you, I’m there.”

“...Oh. Right.” You let your own gaze fall to the sea. “Maybe I let myself forget sometimes, just how… literal that is.”

You remember the warm sea breeze from this afternoon, the brief gust that cooled your tear-stained cheeks early this evening, and the wind that brought the scent of cecilias down toward you.

“...So you could tell that I was here today.”

“Yeah.” He confirms quietly. “There was something… discordant, blowing in from Falcon Coast this afternoon. It didn’t take long for me to identify you.”

Guilt blooms within you. “Is that when you left the tavern?”

“No, I didn’t head out immediately. I mean- I can hardly turn off my omniscience, but I do still try to give you privacy in spite of it. I figured if you needed me, or… wanted me, you would call out.”

The way he says “wanted” makes your frown deepen.

“But, when the tone of the air only continued to sour as time passed, I did eventually give in to my concern.”

You pluck at the grass beneath you to busy your hands. “I’m sorry for distracting you. I really didn’t mean to, I just…”

He turns to you, cutting you off. “Please don’t say that. I couldn’t care less about losing out on a few mora at the tavern. I care about the fact that you’re out here, crying to yourself, all alone.”

A familiar tension makes itself at home again in your throat. “I…”

You trail off, lost for words. Venti makes up for it though, seeming to suddenly have quite a bit to get off of his own chest. “I can sense the difference between someone who wants to cry on their own, and someone who’s crying because they’re on their own.” His pained voice nearly cracks. “I never thought I’d feel the latter coming from you. But I’ve felt it more than once now, and… I don’t know what to do.”

At his confession, honesty slips out of you, and you can’t hold back the tears that come with it. “I miss you.” You turn to face him, and then look past, gesturing weakly out to the sprawling land of freedom behind you. “I miss this! I miss home! I miss you!” Voice breaking, you choke on your tears and lean into him, crumpling pathetically down onto his lap and curling yourself around him like the needy animal that you are.

His hands settle on you, one on your back and another reaching for your legs, pulling you against him so you don’t slip off the edge. His winds would cradle you if you fell, but he’d rather prevent the problem before it can happen. His own voice is tight with emotion when he speaks. “You have me, love. You- you hold me every night, I bid you goodbye every morning, you can visit Mondstadt whenever you please!”

You shake your head vehemently in his lap, crying harder.

“I’m sorry, love- I- I really don’t understand. In what way do you not have me?”

You practically shout your answer into the fabric of your sleeves, turning your head just enough to pointlessly attempt to wipe your face. “When I leave! I have to leave! I have to leave, and leave you behind, and you aren’t with me, and I’m alone again every time I go!”

One of his hands comes up to carefully comb the damp hair from your face, the black tips now wet with shimmering gold. “When you leave Mondstadt? Like… like when you go to Liyue?”

You nod, almost hyperventilating as your fears spill from you. “I should've never gone there alone! I wanted to ask you, I wanted you to come with me so badly but something told me that I shouldn't ask, that I should go alone, and so I went and I was so fucking scared but- but- but I was fine- I was fine- I made it back alive and so what if I cried every night because I missed you? I had a fucking nation to save it’s not like I could come home crying to you about it! And- and I mean Xiao was there but I- I- I can fight I can hold my own I don’t need protection I need a friend! I need company! I need you! I- I knew I’d be fine but fuck I felt so alone and I missed you, I missed you, I missed Venti, I missed Barbatos, I missed you SO MUCH-” You suddenly heave for air in the middle of your spiel, breathing in too hard and choking on your own spit. Feeling about as vulnerable and pathetic as you’ve ever been, you give in to the misery, grasping for purchase at any part of him you can reach. Your claws dig into the thin fabric of his tights in a way you know you’ll be frantically apologizing for later, but in this moment you can’t bring yourself to stop. You can't bring yourself to do anything but cry, and cry, and cry.

He doesn’t say anything for a few minutes, the only sound he makes instead being a quiet, gentle hush, over and over, focused on calming you down. The cool hand that finds its way beneath your hair and settles on the back of your hot neck feels like heaven, and for a moment you cry harder at the relief. His other hand pets across the broad expanse of your back in slow, rhythmic, sweeping motions.

When your cries have quieted enough for you to focus on his words, he says something that surprises you.

“I’d have gone, if you’d have asked me.”

You hiccup a question. “Wh-what?”

“To Liyue. I would have been more than happy to go with you, if you’d have only asked.” His lithe fingers gently massage at the tension in your neck.

You twist in his hold just enough to look up at him. “Seriously?”

He gives you a weak smile, but it’s more sad than anything. “Of course. The only reason I didn’t invite myself along was because I wanted you to have the freedom to choose. I figured… if I offered to go with you, you might feel obligated to bring me with you.”

You laugh, but there's no humor in it. “This whole time… this whole time I really thought that you didn’t want to go.”

He’s visibly pained by the thought. “Why in the world wouldn’t I?”

You shake your head. “I don’t know… I just figured you had your reasons. It is another nation after all, and I’m still… not too sure how Archons feel about crossing into one another’s territory.” You clear your throat and scrub at your eyes and cheeks with a fist. “Figured maybe you didn’t want to run into Morax or something…”

He laughs, and there’s a bit of life in it this time. “Even the prospect of running into that old block-head wouldn’t be enough to stop me from accompanying you.” He takes your hand in his, stopping your aggressive assault on your messy face. “And while certain Archons might be… less than enthralled to see me again, just because I’m with you doesn’t mean I have to be recognized.”

Your brow furrows. “Venti and Barbatos don’t look all that different…”

He smiles down at you good-naturedly. “True. But I could take another form if it came down to it. Something unrecognizable to even them. If there’s anything I know how to do, it’s how to hide in plain sight and not be found.”

In spite of the tears still staining your cheeks, you give a small smile to your absentee God. “You’d really go to such lengths? For me?”

He gives you a confident nod. “For you and you only, love.”

His hand continues its gentle ministrations across your back, and your muscles gradually relax. You run a hand along the fabric of his tights, waiting for your breaths to come steady. As your senses slowly return to you, your fingertips brush across a few small tears in the material, and you cringe. Venti notices as much, and reassures you. “Hey- It’s alright. Don’t worry about that.”

His words are too late to stop you from raising your head enough to observe the damage, your hand gently cupping his thigh. “I didn’t scratch you… did I?”

“Nope! Just caught the fabric is all.” You aren’t inclined to believe him, given that with his abilities he could’ve healed any minor wounds before you even knew they were there.

You huff, dropping your head to his lap once more. “I’m still very sorry. I’ll buy you-”

“That won’t be necessary-” He tries to cut you off, but your insistence overpowers his own.

“I am buying you a new pair.”

He sighs in reluctant acceptance, knowing better than to challenge you. “Alright, alright. If you insist.”

You lay there for a moment, idly kneading at his thigh and letting the soft sounds of the evening wildlife fill the silence. Still, you struggle to wrap your head around the recent revelation. “You’d really be willing to leave this place?”

He laughs beneath his breath at your disbelief. “I mean, not permanently. If you’ve hatched some plan to move to Snezhnaya that I don’t know about, then I might have to disappoint you…”

You relax further at the familiar, playful edge that returns to his voice. “Nah, nah, nothing like that… just- on my journey away and back. Not- not even every time! Just… sometimes. It… really would’ve been nice to have you by my side the first time, actually, but I know it’s too late for that now. I just… wouldn't have felt so lost.”

His smile fades a bit at the confirmation of a long-held suspicion. You had been missing him as badly as he’d missed you.

You catch the shift in his demeanor, no matter how slight. “...I’m making you sad…”

One of his hands finds yours. “Only at the realization of how oblivious I’ve been.” He laughs, humorless. “All those nights I couldn’t sense you in the wind, all the time I spent wondering if you were okay… you weren’t. You were holed up somewhere, crying, alone, afraid…”

His eyes pinch closed and you squeeze his hand. “It’s not on you. I should’ve been more honest with you before I left.”

He huffs, and then he’s quiet for a moment, thinking. It’s times like these in which you wish you could read him as well as he can read you. “...I could say the same.”

You stare up at him for a moment in confusion. “What do you mean?”

He holds your gaze for a moment and opens his mouth to speak, but seems to think better of whatever he had to say. His focus shifts from you and out to the sea. “...Like I said, I would’ve been happy to follow you. I never should’ve let you grow to believe otherwise.”

You pout just slightly at the less-than-complete sounding answer, but another question overrides your focus. “Is Liyue… the limit?”

The hesitation in your voice gives him pause. “What do you mean?”

“Is Liyue, like, as far as you’re willing to go.”

His eyes brighten in understanding, and you’d collapse from relief at the shake of his head if you weren’t already on the ground.

“Oh! No, not at all. I really meant it when I said I’d risk running into the other Archons for you.”

You release his hand and reach up to pinch the fat of your cheeks between your claws. He pouts, reaching down to stop you. “What’s that for?”

“I’m afraid I’m dreaming or something…”

He laughs properly, a beautiful sound. You crane your neck up to glance southward. The wall of storms barricading Inazuma are still there, an awful sight. You drop your head back to his lap with a heavy sigh.

He pats you gently on the cheek. “You’re wide awake, I assure you.”

Reaching up, you gently bat at the braids that hang at the sides of his face, chewing on your lower lip. He reads you like a book. “I think we’ve learned something this evening, dear.”

“What’s that?”

He catches your hand mid-air, splaying his fingers out and lacing them between yours. “It’s that when we have something to ask of one another, we should do it.”

The corner of your mouth turns up, and you meet his gaze. “Is that your fancy way of telling me to spit it out?”

He giggles. “Maybe.”

You sigh, letting your gaze drift away from him and up to the stars far, far above. “Would you be so kind… as to accompany this scared old dog all the way to Inazuma?”

You close your eyes, waiting for a “no.”

It never comes. Instead, he squeezes your hand in his, and you’re shocked to hear relief in his tone when he answers you. “I thought you’d never ask.”

Your eyes flicker open, unsure. “Is… is that a yes?”

He nods vehemently. “It is.”

The tears that spring to your eyes catch you by surprise. He wipes them away with his thumb as they fall. Sniffling, you question him again. “There’s- There’s a whole war going on over there right now, you know?”

The blue in his braids brightens, and in the dark of the early night, you notice the same turquoise light begin to shine from his chest, beneath the thin fabric of his white shirt. “I’m no stranger to war.”

You reach up, tracing a gentle finger across where you know one of his Archon marks to be. “...That you aren’t.”

His thumb swipes across the black star at the base of your neck, half hidden by your collar. “...Guess that makes two of us, huh.”

It’s a rhetorical question, but you hum in confirmation nonetheless. Rising from your spot on his lap, you wiggle your way around until you’re seated beside him properly again. Reaching an arm out, you wrap it around his shoulders, and he leans into you. Both of you stare out across the sea, watching the lightning flash in the storm to the south.

“I don’t even know what I’m gonna be able to do to help.” You sigh. “But I know I have to go.”

One of his hands finds yours again. “Whatever may come, I consider it an honor to fight alongside you.”

You bark a laugh, shaking your head at the notion. “Hey now, I just asked you to come with me, I never said anything about putting you in the line of fire.”

He smiles. “I know, I know, but still… if it comes down to it-”

“If it comes down to that, I’m hauling you over my shoulder and taking us both home.” You cut him off in a no-nonsense tone.

Your seriousness doesn’t cause his mirth to falter. “I fear I’m gonna be the one dragging you home if we run into Signora while we’re there.”

A low growl reverberates from your chest at the mere mention of her. “We’ve still got a score to settle.”

He pats you on the thigh placatingly, humor in his words. “Darling, how many times must I reassure you? I let her take it from me.”

“Still, she didn’t have to be so fucking rough about it. I’m not after the gnosis. She made this personal.” You snarl.

His soft laughter subsides as he shakes his head, but he doesn’t argue.

The two of you watch the lightning show for a short while, before you grow tired of the dreadful sight and opt to focus on something better. Unwrapping your arm from the God at your side, you stifle a laugh as he voices his sudden startled displeasure. You apologize as you reposition yourselves, moving away from the edge a bit and turning the both of you around. “Sorry about that, didn’t realize you’d almost fallen asleep on me.”

He pouts. “Can you blame me? You’re warm, and it’s been a stressful day… and speaking of-”

You nod. “I know. We should be getting home soon. But- look.” You point at the beautiful sight of Mondstadt City, lit up for the night, a beacon of hope and freedom standing strong in the distance. “Isn’t that a sight worth sticking around a little longer for?”

He sighs in content as you pull him against you once more. You can’t feel the swell of pride in his chest at the sight, but you can hear it in his voice. “It sure is.”

Lifting his hat from his head and placing it in his lap, you comb your fingers through his hair, finding your own satisfaction in the way he melts against you. The two of you admire the city for a long few minutes, and a thought occurs. “As much as I want you beside me… I feel bad taking you from your people.”

He shakes his head and the motion tickles as his hair brushes against your chin. “They don’t need me, love. At least, not in the day-to-day sense.” He huffs. “Honestly, I think the most prominent place that my presence will be missed is the tavern, and that’s of little consequence in the grand scheme.”

You know he’s right, but the guilt still nags at you. “I guess…”

He leans away just enough to turn and look you in the eye. “You are one of my people too, you know?”

You hold his gaze, considering it. Have you really been here long enough, or made a big enough impact on the region to be bestowed with such an honorary title? “...I suppose I do.”

He reaches up and cups your cheek, eyes pleading. “Then let me be there for you.”

You breathe a sigh of acceptance. “...Okay.” You turn your head and plant a quick kiss against his palm before he can pull away.

He lets his hand drop, but doesn’t turn away. “I’m really sorry that you’ve been carrying all of this pain with you for so long. I should have questioned you on it sooner.”

You pick his hand up from his lap, taking it in yours. “It’s not your fault. At least, certainly not anymore than it is mine. I should've just asked you to come, the worst thing you could’ve said was no.”

“I still hate that you even thought I might’ve said no. I… should have made my willingness clearer.”

“Nah, I mean, after a year of following me around Mondstadt I think you were quite clear. I’m just… dense.” You summon a few tiny Geo shards in your palm before allowing them to crumble into a shimmering pile of dust. “Comes with the territory, I suppose.”

Venti scoffs. “Well if you’re dense, then I’m diffuse.” A tiny gust of Anemo swoops in and lifts the dust from your outstretched palm, scattering it to the wind.

You watch your two energies mix and dissolve into the night air. “I guess they do say that opposites attract.”

He hums. “That they do, love.”

You expect him to turn back toward the city, and he almost does, but then he hesitates, and calls you by name. “I want you to remember something.”

Your interest piques, brows raising above tired, lidded eyes. “And what’s that?”

His tone is serious. “You are not alone. Ever. Not if you don’t want to be. I don’t want you hesitating to call on me ever again. If you need me, if you want me, I��m there. No exceptions.” Maybe it’s the day’s exhaustion catching up with you, but the light in his eyes feels like a beacon, guiding you home. “You don’t ever have to be alone again. Remember this, please.”

Something warm blooms in your chest, and it’s in this moment that you realize the knot in your stomach has loosened. It isn’t gone, but it’s hardly noticeable anymore, and you finally breathe easy. You hold his gaze for a moment before nodding, serious. “I will.”

He brings his hand up, holding his pinky out toward you. “Promise?”

You smile, reaching out and wrapping yours around his. “Promise.”

He exhales, satisfied. “You wanna stay out here a bit longer?”

You open your arms in invitation. “I’d love to.”

Shuffling around once more, you help situate him between your legs, pulling him back against your chest.

“Alright, but don’t hold it against me if I fall asleep out here. You make for quite the comfortable bed, you know.”

You smile, nuzzling into his hair and breathing him in. The heavy scent of fermentation he once carried is now nothing but a faint whisper. “I won’t mind.” Lifting your gaze from the distant city lights, you quietly admire the stars above. “Not at all.”

A/N: Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed! You can find my commentary on this fic in the notes right here on Ao3. For more info on my OC Saoirse (aka this fic's "Reader"), along with links to various relevant playlists and moodboards, you can find it all here, in the notes of my fic series "This Is Unconditional." This is fic 4 of 16 that I'm doing based on combining prompts from this list! [Day 6 (Singing) & Day 21 (Memory)] Header Image Source: Me, for once! It's an in-game screenshot that I took myself.

#venti #venti x reader #genshin impact #genshin #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact venti #genshin venti #barbatos #genshin fanfic #attempt number 2 at posting this.. now with fewer tags incase that was the problem last time #i did Not spend the last 6 nights editing it and meticulously preparing the drafts on here and Ao3 for it to not be seen #i have no clue what made it not show up in the tags but i'm gonna try this and if it wasn't that (or just a random incident)#then i'll split it in half and post in in two parts. maybe 11k is overwhelming for Tumblr's system or smthn idk man #i feel like the 'Venti is an adult' mention is unnecessary but i slapped it up there anyways for all of you Short = Minor buffoons 🙄#i. actually can’t think of much else to ramble abt in the tags bc like. i already did that on Ao3 😭 and linked all the playlists and stuff #i’m not just trying to push my Ao3 acct on ppl when i always link to it in the end notes it’s just that i draft my fics up over there first #so by the time i’m drafting them here on Tumblr i’ve simply run out of yap

56 notes · View notes

fangsandfracturedhearts · 1 year ago

Text

Fangs and Fractured Hearts

Chapter 17: Unearthed

Summary: After embracing eternity as a vampire spawn under Astarion's wing, the Crimson Palace becomes a haunting symbol of the man he once was. As his personality unravels into a dark abyss, you flee. A year of hardship unveils the harsh reality of existence as a vampire spawn.

Just as all hope seems lost, a twist of fate reunites you with Astarion, revealing a glimmer of hope amidst the shadows. As you navigate the complexities of your relationship, you must confront the unsettling truth behind the Rite of Profane Ascension and the devilish secrets it holds.

In a race against time, you embark on a daring quest to save Astarion from his descent into darkness. With each choice you make, the stakes grow higher, testing the limits of your courage and determination.

Will Astarion find redemption, or is he destined to succumb to his own inner turmoil?

Word Count: 6k

Pairing: Ascended Astarion x female!Tav Spawn

Warnings: [Will try to continue to add more, but in general expect explicit content for mature audiences]

Possible spoilers. Eventual Explicit Content. Slow Burn. Thoughts of Suicide. Violence. Blood. Injury. Mature Content. Self-Harm. Mentions of in-game content. Completely fabricated camp events. Mentions of Astarion's Trauma.

If you notice a very critical tag missing, please don't hesitate to let me know

Rating: Explicit 18+ - [Meant For Mature Audience]

The air is stagnant, damp, and smells heavily of earthy soil. Your eyes creep open, only to find a darkness so impenetrable that you blink to make sure your eyes are indeed open. Your body is gripped by a sharp agony. Every muscle enflames with icy blistering that somehow feels like you’re on fire and freezing simultaneously.

You contort and twist in abject anguish as you jerk and writhe unnaturally. Your frame tries to collapse in on itself. Your knees, shoulders, and forehead thunk off of an unseen barrier with every concurrent wave of your ligaments and tendons contracting so vehemently, it's a wonder they don’t snap like overwrought twine.

This torture blanks out your ability to think. Everlasting pain and darkness are all you have ever known and will ever know forevermore.

When you’re sure your body is going to rip itself apart, and you can take no more, the throes subside. You’re gasping like a fish out of water, trying desperately to fill your lungs with precious air, but there is no reprieve. It doesn’t matter how much breath you draw; you cannot fill the void in your chest cavity.

You sag forward, your nose and forehead bouncing off the rigid blackness. A new feeling emerges — panic — and you toss your body around only for your shoulders, back, feet, and knees to smack against the invisible obstruction lurking in the gloom.

You are walled off on all sides. You can’t move. You’re trapped.

Where are you? How did you get here? Who the fuck are you?

You cry out, your voice rough and weak, like it hasn’t been used in some time, and you struggle to whimper out high-pitched screams. You flail, banging your fists against the obstacle. Something rains down on your face and into your open, shrieking mouth. You try to spit out the coarse and grainy material.

It tastes like rust and rot and necroses.

Dirt.

Your stomach drops, churns, and you dry heave between sobs, banging and clawing at the wood above your chest. Splinters spear under your fingernails, causing sharp, skewering pain, until your nails are ripped from their beds.

Balling your hands into fists, you batter at the slats of wood above you, flecks of dirt falling into your wild eyes, until your knuckles split and bleed.

“Let me out!” You yelp, in a voice that does not seem right to your ears, but is somehow so familiar. Tears roll down your cheeks, soil sticking and smudging to the wet trails, and you wail, a broken, distraught, cursed sound. “Please! Help me! Anyone!”

“I’m not dead!” You howl, but somehow, you know you are. Maybe it’s the inability to satisfy your need for air or the fact that your heart isn’t pounding against your ribs like a wild animal trying to break free from a too-small cage, but something tells you that you’re dead. “I’m not dead! I’m not dead… I’m not….”

You batter your fists against the wood again, harder, frantic, and desperate. The slats begin to give, moaning under the ferocity of your strikes. One splits, cracks, and with one more punch, it breaks apart.

Loose soil avalanches into your casket, amassing on you so quickly that, for a moment, you’re frozen. Your dead body still fights for the air it thinks it requires, and you inhale the earth, clogging your windpipe.

You weep as your fingers clamber, reaching for the planks above you, and you pull and push them with all your might until pounds of slurry dirt eclipse you completely.

Your arms swim through the loose, freshly moved terrain, but it is like swimming through a gelatinous marsh. The weight of it restricts your movement, making your ascent slow.

Foot after foot, you claw your way up to the surface, and when your hand bursts through the final layer, you bawl, a gush of relief and despair braided into the rasp of your voice. Your feet plant on what remains of your coffin, thrusting and kicking furiously, and you pull half of your body out.

Your hands plant, braced on your palms, stomach upending, and you regurgitate earth, blood, and death. Bile and acid burn your already raw throat. You purge every last drop of the clumpy clots of coagulated blood, strings of slimy mucous stretching and drooling from your mouth.

Head hanging limply, you gawk at your grimy hands. The skin is torn, bloodied, and ragged across your knuckles. The brisk air stings the sensitive, flame-red beds where your fingernails should be. Something in your brain twitches and tells you that these hands do not belong to you. You flex them, digging them into the vomit-saturated earth.

Something slams into your ribs, robbing you of the fresh air you’re gulping down and flinging you to your back. You bark out a wheeze of surprise, hacking, and choking.

“Open your eyes, my child.” Another recognizable voice, although less so than your own. “You shall bestow thy Master due respect when in my presence.”

Your eyes snap open completely out of your control, and you gaze upon a ghostly white figure looming over you like a dark cloud. He adorns a cloak of blood red and gold. His pointed face holds an air of rather bland curiosity, but more so, there’s a bitter contempt knitted in the impatient pinch of his brow.

You seethe with loathing, a hatred so intense that your lips peel back. “What have you done to me!?” You squawk through your threadbare larynx.

“Me?” The figure laughs nasally and arrogant. He smiles snake-like. “I’ve given you the greatest gift a degenerate like you could ever hope to receive. I’ve snatched you away from the mandibles of death. You will serve me until I have no use for you anymore, and then your vile soul will serve me still for eternity.”

“I will kill you for this!” You scream indignantly, scrambling to push yourself upright, but your muscles are exhausted.

“You died screaming, boy.” The man with raven, slicked-back hair sneers, slamming his cane across your forehead and ribs, making a squall erupt from your tight lips. “Your screams are succulent. Rest assured. I shall procure that sweet harmony when it suits me, but it does not suit me now. Dig.”

Dig?

You do not understand the instruction and frown, but the order lacerates through your psyche, skin, and bones, and you obey. Turning toward your grave, you crawl on your hands and knees and excavate the earth.

You growl and sob out of hate uncontrollably. Your fingers itch to gouge out the man’s vermillion glowing eyes, and your teeth long to rip his throat out, but your muscles are not your own any longer.

Your body, mind, and soul are his possessions now.

The staff clouts across your lower back, “Faster. We do not have all night.”

Even though your arms ache, your fingers and hands work faster, and handful by handful, you move earth until the wooden shackles of your coffin are staring back at you from the hole.

“Take something quickly.” The voice barks at you, but it is not the same voice as the man with black hair.

Your vision vibrates, tremors, and the hands knotted into the ground before you reform into your own as they reach into the abyss you dragged yourself from and wrap around a navy shroud, embroidered with silver, pointed stars, and delicate lace fringing.

You’ve seen this before, and it makes the strings of your heart snap, shattering under the strain of despair. You pull it from the wreckage, and when you sit back on your heels, the twisted metallic spindle of a cane butts under your chin, making your teeth clatter together.

When you look up, it is not Cazador that sneers at you spitefully; it is Astarion.

Another memory, you realize, as you look around at the iridescent environment that flickers and fluxes unsteadily. Your hands flex in the sullied fabric, and you bring it close to your chest, squeezing your eyes shut and whimpering at the realization of just how much suffering lingers camouflaged underneath his skin and beguiling grins.

“Stand, boy!” Astarion shouts harshly, thumping the staff on the ground. “I grow tired of watching thou rollick in the dirt.”

“Astarion,” you stammer. “Astarion, wake us up.”

He laughs, bitter as nightshade, a hollow sound that chills your bones as Woe slams across your shoulders, lurching you forward, and scraping your face on the cold earth. His eyes glow with infernal heat. “I said stand!”

Your body begins to obey, but you grit your teeth, and anger, wild and raw, riots in your obsolete heart. You find your voice, and a rattling roar arises from your throat.

Beads of sweat glisten in the sunlight on your forehead; rainbow dewdrops refract the light that’s bouncing off your pearlescent scales. Your lungs are too constricted to even scream as the remanent feeling of the weight of the earth continues to press in on you, and you thrash against the confines of your limbs.

“Illyria!” A warm hand cradles your cheek, but the name barely registers as your own, and you snarl, baring your teeth. “Open your eyes, sweetheart.”

Your eyes surge open, casting off the weight of sleep like a projectile. You are draped with black, rumpled silken sheets that smell like brandy, rosemary, and lovemaking. Astarion is propped up on an elbow, as close as he can get to you without making you feel more claustrophobic. His eyes shine richly red, almost glowing in the glare of the sun streaming through the open double doors leading to the terrace.

Blinking rapidly, you try to dispel the mirage of him standing over you in that graveyard, gripping Woe, but the images of the memory still dance at the edge of your vision. Your chest heaves as if you had been running miles, and you stumble out of bed with all the grace of a newborn Gnoll trying to find its footing on a slippery bed of ice.

Astarion jumps out of bed but keeps his distance, giving you room to breathe. The kinship remains open and strong, and you can feel his heart galloping in your chest, the pricking in his palms and fingertips to hold you, and the guilt-ridden rumination harrowing him.

You stare at your hands, remembering the way splinters pried your nails from your fingertips, how your knuckles cracked and popped, the skin splitting and bleeding. You grit your teeth, grasp the Weave, and summon flames that climb up your forearms like snakes. It’s tactile — the authority you wield over the element. It begs to serve you, and there is asylum in that power.

You take a deep breath, but unlike when you were alive, it does nothing to mollify your unease.

“Take deep breaths, Astarion,” you whisper, glancing at him.

With the connection open, he does not need any explanations. You can feel the shift in your psyche as he touches your mind with a little more intensity, though not uncomfortable, and imbues you with the sensations of his own body while he fills his lungs, deep and steady.

You close your eyes and let yourself settle into the rhythmic respirations. You don’t hear Astarion approach, except for the increasing thrum of his heartbeat, but if you focus, you can almost see yourself out of his eyes.

Holding your hand out, he takes it and pulls you into him, pressing your head and ear up against his chest to the regular beats of his heart. Your hands glide up his back and press firmly into him.

“I’m sorry.” It floats through your head as his fingers lace through your hair. He rocks you ever so subtly from side to side. “I forgot to withdraw the connection.”

“It’s okay. I’d rather you didn’t rescind it anyway.”

This gives him pause, but he just nods, neither agreeing nor disagreeing. Next time he speaks, he uses his voice in a plush and gentle timbre. “Will you come back to bed? You must have questions.”

You nod, following him to the bed. Astarion leans against the velvet headboard and slips an arm behind your back, pulling you up against his chest. He smooths your hair behind your ear and leans his cheek on you.

“Well?” He asks expectantly.

“We don’t have to talk about it.” You glance up, meeting his eyes. “I know you don’t like discussing your past.”

He chuckles, cocking a brow at you. “I think we are a little past simply discussing it. No? I’m not entirely sure how much you saw, but...”

“Lived,” you gulp. “I relived it.”

“What?” He starts, an icy shock running through both of you. “What do you mean? Surely, you were not in there with me.”

“Thank you for not burying me.” You wince, recalling waking up to the smell of decomposition and musky earth. The taste of it grating against your tongue, sprinkling on your face. “Thank you.”

Astarion scans your memories and emotions, and you don’t bother trying to barricade them from him.

“Shit.” Astarion tears his fingers over his face and through his handsomely dishevelled hair. “Are you okay?”

Bringing your hand to his cheek, your eyes are drawn to the ring on your fingers. You smile, looking deeply into his eyes. “Are you?”

“Me?”

Astarion swallows hard. His eyes scramble side to side, as if he needs time to consider the question. Finally, he looks at you with a quivering gaze and speaks through your connection as if his throat is too tight to utter words, or perhaps - perhaps he just doesn’t want to admit it aloud.

“No.”

Pushing yourself up to lean on the headboard, you open your arm to him and pat your chest. Astarion’s stunned expression makes you sad. How often has he needed to be held but never said anything? When was the last time someone offered to comfort him?

He contemplates the offer, sliding down the bed slowly, and places his head on your chest, draping his arm across your waist.

Folding your arms around him, you kiss his forehead and lean your cheek against his head. He heaves a contented sigh as you brush your fingertips up and down his arm. You stay like this with him for some time, closing your eyes, and submerge yourself in the enchantment of the love permeating the harmony of the bond.

“If you tell anyone that you cuddled me, I will have to kill you,” he laughs relaxedly.

You roll your eyes as he glances up at you. “Oh, I doubt anyone would believe that I was bestowed the great honour of cuddling the fearsome Vampire Ascendant.”

“Fearsome, am I?” He giggles, trailing a hand up your thigh, making your breath hitch, stomach tightening in anticipation.

You shudder as Astarion ghosts his lips over your nipple, giving it just enough attention to stiffen and goosebumps to erupt over your skin. “A very formidable meal.”

“Ever the brat,” he chuckles, propping himself up on his elbow and tracing his fingers between your breasts. “Hungry, love?”

“In so many ways.”

“Shall we quench that thirst of yours?” Astarion kisses you. Your tongue demands entrance, and he gives it, tangling his fingers in your hair. He finds you fang, running his tongue over the tip, and you whimper as soon as the ferric honey greets your tastebuds.

Astarion’s fingers slip between your thighs, and you gasp as he spreads your lips and strokes through the silkiness there.

You whine when he breaks the kiss, stealing away the succulent snack of blood. “We will have to be cautious today. As much as I would adore staying sequestered away, keeping you naked and wet for an eternity, we must return home, and it would simply not do to have both of us stumbling like drunk fools through the streets.”

“It could be fun,” you muse. “We used to shamble drunk through the streets before.”

“Yes,” he smirks, toying with your sensitive flesh, making you arc your spine. “You were a terribly bad influence on me.”

You scoff, but it comes out as more of a moan as he rains slow, lingering kisses down your neck. “That’s a far-reaching supposition. I believe we were both already equipped with a broken moral compass.”

Astarion jerks back, feigning bewilderment theatrically. “Darling! You wound me. I was a virtual paragon of virtue until you came along and corrupted me with,” he motions toward your body with a crooked, beguiling grin, “all of this.”

You giggle, “Oh yes. I forgot how you prevented my wicked ways from harming all the unicorns, puppies, and bunnies."

“Mhm,” he groans darkly, sucking your nipple between his lips and swirling his tongue around the hard rosebud.

Your hands curl into the silken sheets. Astarion’s fingers tease your entrance and plunge deep into your channel. He peppers kisses down your stomach, driving your legs apart with his free hand. You cannot help but watch him — the way his muscles rise to the surface of his skin, flexing as he crawls down your body, the perfect curve of his lips. He is impossibly stunning, unimaginably powerful, and he belongs to you.

Astarion’s fangs drag down your inner thigh. “May I?” He growls, all gravel and saturated in carnal longing.

“Gods, yes.” You pant. “Take me how you want me, Astarion. I want you to take your pleasure from me.”

He twerks his fingers up, paying homage to the pad of flesh that sends you spiralling into toe-curling pleasure as his fangs snap into your skin. His thumb circles your clit, fingers pumping, and he draws from you greedily with a moan.

When you’re close to your climax, Astarion lips wrap around your clit, tongue fluttering and tracing the aching border. Astarion watches you melt into bliss through thick lashes, and you reach your hand out to him. He doesn’t hesitate to take it, interlocking your fingers, and you squeeze as the pleasure builds.

“Come, my wife.”

You’re pushed over the edge, thighs wrapping around his head in the profound rush of rapture. Astarion wraps one arm around you, pulling you snug to his chest, and you fold your arms around his neck. He takes you out to the terrace in the midday sun.

“What are we doing out here?” You murmur as he sets you on your feet, directs you to turn around, and places your hands on the railing.

“You said take you how I want you,” he purrs. His cock slides between your slick thighs, your arousal dripping. “I want to take you while we are bathed in the sun, where you agreed to marry me.”

He catches the shot of fear that runs through you and halts all movement. Astarion brushes your hair back from your shoulder and places a gentle kiss on it. “Tell me why you’re afraid, love. Is it too… public? If you are uncomfortable, we can go back inside.”

Honestly, the fact that you could be seen had not crossed your mind. You glance around quickly. The terrace is well hidden from the view of the streets, and if you’re being truthful, you don’t really care if anyone sees you.

“Your control won’t lapse, right?”

“Hm?” He quirks a brow at you, and you nod toward the fiery sphere of death aloft in the sky. Astarion kisses your cheek. “Ah, no. Extending you that gift is nearly an unconscious feat now."

You lean back into him, pressing your ass into him and arching your back. Astarion trails his fingers lightly down the delicate skin of your arm. Grabbing your hips, he positions you, fists his cock, and steers the blunt head through your seam to your entrance. He buries himself to the hilt, sliding in with no resistance. His breath hisses, and he nips your ear as he begins to fuck you. You push against his thrusts, his hips poisoning at a punishing pace.

“Take my cock, Illyria,” he groans. “Gods. Take all of me. Tell me how it feels when I make you mine, when I claim you.”

You whimper, grasping the railing to keep your knees from giving out. “Fucking perfect.”

Astarion’s hand snakes down your stomach. He hooks one of your legs on his forearm, allowing him to bury himself deeper with every snap of his hips. His fingertips delve between your lips and glide rapidly over your throbbing clit while he ruts into you, taking his pleasure however he wants it, and Gods, does it feel so fucking good to be stuffed full and stretched. You stop trying to stifle your moans and cry out lewdly, falling so deeply in your passion that nothing exists beyond his skin on yours.

Astarion’s wrist butts up against your lips. “Feed. Taste my bliss, my love.”

Opening your mouth, you sink your fangs into the branching veins and draw. His blood tastes different, spiced with desire, buttery, smooth, and Hells below, hot. Your eyes close against the overwhelming ecstasy as nerves blaze, and the spasms of your orgasm clench around Astarion.

His hips jitter in erratic thrusts, and he loses control as he chases his own climax. Astarion moans, guttural and ragged, as he comes, unravelling completely for you, emptying himself into you with each pulse.

Astarion chuckles, giving his wrist a jiggle in a request for you to unlatch. It’s easier this time to surrender the meal. He lets your leg down slowly, wrapping his arms around you in a tight embrace, his cock still nestled inside you. He uses a finger to guide your head to turn and kisses you passionately.

“Such a good girl,” he groans, nuzzling your cheek. You roll your hips teasingly.

“…Hmph.” Astarion grunts as his oversensitive head shifts inside you, and he grabs your hips to still you. He grins, fangs peeking out from his lips and glinting in the sun. “So needy.” He tuts.

You smile back, displaying your own fangs proudly.

“Those are utterly adorable, like a kitten," he taunts. You scoff and stick your tongue out at him. He chuckles with his nose in your hair. “I love you.”

There’s a twinge of pain in your head, sharp and stringent, forcing itself to be felt. Astarion winces nearly imperceptibly and covers it by kissing up the back of your neck.

He pushes along before you have time to question what the pain was. “I suppose we should return home and speak, hm?”

Illyria sits on the ottoman in front of him with her head hung low, shoulders slumped, fidgeting and picking at her fingers. Astarion notes her every glance and the way her eyes dart around. She’s assessing their surroundings, taking inventory of exits, and searching for places to hide from him. She was always good at taking appraisals of the battlefields they were about to shed blood upon, making sure everyone had an exit strategy should death come knocking.

Her guilt and fear radiate over the bond like a dark stain spreading through silk fabric. She is keeping her thoughts well-hidden from him, and he’s a little vexed about the barrier. Maybe he should never have taught her that was possible. He should have kept that secret guarded so he could read her like an open book.

He is the Ascendant, after all, and she is his, so why should he not have unfettered access to her most intimate thoughts? Why should he be left here, staring at her like an idiot, waiting for her to open her fucking mouth and tell him what she’s been keeping from him?

He owns her. He made her. She is his bride, his consort, his wife — his, his, his! She belongs to him, and thus, all her thoughts and feelings are his to sup on as he sees fit. Astarion feels the chill of Cania sweep through him like a polar gust with every whisper of the shade within him.

She’s made you soft and weak, dragging you down into the dirt you emerged from as a pathetic spawn, and she’s going to bury you once again. How long has she known? How long has she managed to make a godsdamned fool out of you?

He could force all her deceit from her lungs with a simple thought. He wants to compel her to tell him so eminently that it takes him substantial effort to govern himself.

No. No. No.

He should not be doing that to her. He should not yearn for it so feverishly. Is it truly him who wants to force her submission, or whatever ails him? Sometimes, he cannot tell what his inclination is or that of his sick mind.

Gods. It aches in every bone, as if ice crystals are forming within them and splintering them as his blood thickens in his veins. Astarion starts to feel himself fade as the monster in him begins to run free. Every muscle smoulders under his restraint. He wants to grab her, hurt her, and make her suffer as he is suffering.

If he must languish in the dark, he will plunge the world into darkness with him.

“Astarion. Look at me.”

Her touch is frosty against his sweaty skin, and he snarls at the unexpected contact, lashing out like a cornered animal. He grips her shoulders, feeling the bones grind together under his fingers and relishing in his strength.

“Open your eyes, my love.” She whines through gritted teeth.

Time seems tacky, the seconds and minutes sticking to his skin. It slips away with the same tangibility that he can feel himself departing from his body. Gods, what will he do to her? He cannot allow himself to be swallowed.

Astarion. Astarion. Astarion. He chants to himself.

This is why she’s kept this from him, why she fears him. He is a wretched, ugly thing now. Isn’t he? The Rite may have given him safety and power, but it alienated him from everyone and everything he ever cared about.

But if he gives in to whatever is inside of him, he will disappear, along with all his inadequacies.

She needs me, he reminds himself. She needs him, Astarion.

The pungent bouquet of her blood hits his nose first, then he feels her wrist push against his lips. His eyes snap open as his tongue laps at the elixir of her essence. His heart beats fast in his chest as he watches her eyes flicker just as his do. They fade, but she is fire, and her flame burns brighter, rebelling against that which threatens to choke her.

Astarion jerks back, relinquishing his hold on her, and scrambles to close the connection. It cannot have her. It can have him, but he will not allow it to infect her as well. Had he known, Gods, had he known that was possible, he would never have let their minds meld.

She hugs him… She hugs him?

Though she is cold as death, she is warm like the sun, melting the ice solidifying in his veins and heating the arctic whirlwind threatening to propel him away.

“Did I hurt you?” He murmurs, but what he really wants to ask is, did I fail you again?

“You did not fail me,” she answers his innermost thoughts.

Shit. He did not realize he had let his control slip, and his thoughts rove freely across their connection.

“Are you okay now?” She looks up at him with those eyes — those cracked, piebald eyes that never cease to wrest the air from his lungs. They are like an antidote to the chaos, and he is calm.

“I’m me,” he nods.

She moves away from him, taking her seat back on the ottoman. “I kept it from you.”

“Yes,” he nods. Sitting beside her, he lets his finger graze over the engagement ring her eyes are anchored to. “I’ve gathered that much. You had a good reason to hide it from me. Why tell me now, then?”

She rotates the ring on her finger. “Do you actually want to marry me?”

“More than anything,” he whispers softly. Astarion brings her eyes to his and lets his feelings flow as freely as he can through the union they share. Her eyes widen, and tears well. Not exactly the reaction he was looking for, but she is not crying due to him.

Astarion sits back on the settee. She is quiet again, lost in the thoughts she’s hiding from him.

“Come here, my treasure.” Astarion extends his arms, wrapping them around her when she settles in his lap with her head against his chest. His thumb wipes away the teardrop creeping out of the corner of her eye. “You had your reasons for keeping it from me, but I would rather like to know why I am, shall we call it, unstable?”

She sighs, easing herself back to look into his eyes. “Mephistopheles created the Vampire Ascendant contract so that he could imbue a willing vessel with part of his violent nature to rid himself of it. The vessel was never supposed to have a soul, and thus, yours has been damaged — fragmented.” She takes a moment to consider him, watch his eyes, and feel her way through the bond, but in truth, he just feels empty.

Numb.

Illyria continues, “That entity, for lack of a better word, is infecting you like a virus. It will eventually... Hells, Astarion,” a sob erupts from her lips. “It will consume you eventually.”

“HA! Ha-ha-ha.” She flinches. Astarion rolls his eyes. Gods. When will his decisions not turn out to be a disaster? He sighs. “How long do I have to live as me?”

“We’re going to save you, Astarion,” she concludes. Her eyes are alight with glittering determination. “You’re just really not going to like what we have to do.”

“Oh Hells. I am going to regret asking this, but whatever would that be?”

“We need to steal your contract back from Mephistopheles.” Her voice does not even waver.

Now he understands why she didn’t want to tell him. She knew he would never allow her to do something so fucking stupid. The anger is creeping back up, tingling from his toes to the tips of his ears.

“Absolutely not.” Astarion shakes his head and takes on a brusque, commanding tone. “There is no way in the Hells I am letting you go on that little suicide mission. I have lived a long life. If it’s coming to an end, let me spend what time I have remaining with you.”

“I’m going!” She shouts at him, jumping off his lap and baring her adorable little fangs. “You are welcome to lay here and let yourself die, but I will not. I am going to find a way into the Hells, to Cania, and I’m getting that contract back.”

“The Hells you are!” He flies out of his seat, pacing. The psychosis in his mind is wide awake now. Wide awake and raging. He must regain control of himself. He must not let his emotions blow him over. Astarion takes a deep breath and says, “No. It’s too dangerous. I will not have my wife gallivanting around the Hells. It’s not happening, Illyria.”

“What are you going to do, Astarion?” She challenges, all the sharpness of her draconic ancestry ablaze in her timbre. “Compel me?”

He wracks his hand over his face, resting it on the back of his neck with narrowed eyes. “If I must. I told you; I will always do what is necessary to protect you.”

“Is that really how you want to start our engagement, our marriage?”

“No,” he growls. He’s losing control of himself. He can feel the authority he has being slowly funnelled away again. “I do not wish to compel you, but if you force my hand...”

It feels like thorny vines of icicles are crawling up his spine, humming the haunting song of Cania through his bloodstream. The serenade of frozen wastelands, glaciers, and abyssal crags swoons through him.

It’s enchanting.

Kill her before she destroys you. You are nothing without me and your power. I warned you the enchantress seeks to undo and lay waste to all that you’ve become. She is your greatest weakness, your only weakness, the last reminder of the pathetic spawn you were that keeps you attached to this soul. She must be vanquished.

His heart twists at the thought, corkscrewing in his chest. Are these his soulless thoughts? Mephistopheles thoughts? A combination of both? How does one tell the difference? His power surges, and the furniture all begins to tremor, thunking on the floors and fluttering in the air, staggering this way and that.

Astarion tries to shut it out, tries to regain control, but it hurts.

Pain is something he is well accustomed to. He would not have survived under Cazador without building a tolerance for pain, but this is somehow different. It is not merely pain; it is temptation, alluring in its seraphic oath of asylum, salvation, and shelter.

You do not have to feel; it hums. You do not have to suffer so.

His lips pull back, baring his fangs. He yearns to allow himself to be washed away in the black quintessence of nonexistence, where he can lay weightless, carefree, and safe.

Safe from the world that broke him and laughed as he suffered. Safe from the eyes that view him as nothing more than a monster. Safe from the fear, judgement, and revulsion he saw in his friend’s faces. It promises endless safety for all the parts of him that are still soft, vulnerable, and weak.

He craves it.

Her voice breaks him from his spiral. “Like you are trying to force my hand to live eternity without you?”

This catches him off guard, and he pivots. “What?”

Rivulets of tears roll down her cheeks. His heart palpates in his chest; a steak molded from sorrow drives through their combined heartbeat. She is terrified that he really will force her to watch him perish slowly, eaten away by the cancerous malignancy nested in his soul. Yet, her determination soars on the steel wings of a dragon, and her eyes are a flaring pyre of obstinacy.

There will be no talking her out of this; no amount of reasoning with her will suffice. She stares at him with an inflexibility that makes the parts of his remaining soul gasp. She had been so weak and small when she returned, her fire all but snuffed out by death, but now here she is blazing like a phoenix rising from the ashes.

Stupid, stubborn woman.

“You’re not just asking me to sit back and watch you be emptied until there’s nothing left of you but a shell with your face. You’re asking me to watch you cease to exist and then go on living without you for eternity. I cannot do it, Astarion. I cannot fathom a world without you in it, and if I have a chance to save you, I’m going to take it, no matter how slim the odds are.”

“You wish to rob me of this power?” He howls indignantly. He cannot go back to being enfeebled by the sun and insatiable hunger. He cannot go back to having to prostrate himself to get anywhere. “You wish to undo the Ascension and turn me back into that spineless swine of a spawn I once was?”

He will not go back — even for her.

He can feel his eyes flashing manically. The winds of Cania howl in his ears, wild glaciers flow through his veins, and icebergs accumulate in the crevasses of his mind. Melanoid gloom froths around the edges of his sight, always creeping closer, closer, closer.

He is being frozen and buried alive in his own body, and he cannot dig himself out quickly enough.

He is going to lose.

“Run.” He growls at her.

“What?”

“I cannot hold it,” he grunts, doubling over. By the Gods, it hurts worse than any pain that's ever split his skin or cracked his bones. It avalanches over him, dragging him back down into the dark, dank coffin, and he does not know if he has the strength to crawl out of his grave again. “Run!”

Big thank you for everyone who takes the time to read/reblog/comment, and all the other magnificent things. Your support gives me the motivation to keep this fic going, and I appreciate each of you! ❤️

AO3 [Crossposted]

Master List of Chapters: Fangs and Fractured Hearts

If you're interested I write another fic with Spawn Astarion x Tav called - Shadows of the Past

Small Notes:

Should she run or hold her ground and have a showdown with the soulless part of him that wants nothing more than to destroy her?

Will Astarion be able to pry himself out?

#ascended astarion #astarion fanfic #bg3 #bg3 fanfiction #bg3 astarion #astarion x you #astarion x tav #astarion x reader #astarion #astarion smut #fangs and fractured hearts #astarion baldurs gate #astarion ancunin #soft ascended astarion

74 notes · View notes

ghostlyfanparadise · 11 months ago

Text

Danny walks into HQ Grover is standing at the computer desk and Danny groans. “What now?” Grover asks, Danny has been in an even worse mood ever since Steve Mcgarrett, that jerk he’s secretly in love with but will never admit, left a year ago now.

“Charlie, wants to hang out with friends this Halloween then go trick o treating with me.” He complains. Grover raises an eyebrow.

“Are you sure that’s it, and not the fact that this is your first Halloween without Mcgarrett?” That earns him a glare from Danny. Grover just sighs, then says what’s been on his mind since Mcgarrett had left with Cathrine on that plane to god knows where. “You could have left this town. You hated it enough I honestly thought you’d be on the plane with Mcgarrett.”

Danny shakes his head. “And leave Grace and charlie? Never.”

Grover rolls his eyes. “You want to know what I think?”

Danny crosses his arms. “No, not really but I’m sure you’ll tell me anyway.”

And to Danny’s snarky answer he got a replie. “I think you stayed here just in case he ever did come back he’d know where to find you.” Danny doesn’t respond to Grover’s words. He doesn’t know how.

When kono and chin left there was a void yes. He missed the cousins working with them day in and day out, and when Jerry left he’ll admit he missed working with him as well. He even miss Max slightly and his nerdy Halloween costume antics each year. But when Steve left it broke him. He didn’t realize how much he loved the suicidal idiot until he got on that plane and left this town. A town that he knows deep down that Steve will never return to, at least not really.

It was a pretty slow day at the office and by the time he got home he just wanted to sleep and maybe eat something other than TV dinners. He finds himself turning on that damn Chucky movie that Steve insisted to watch every year on Halloween. He never got the point of the damn movie and watching it just made him miss Steve even more. He gets up and goes to his fridge and opens it only to find there isn’t any more beer he sighs and considers calling Adam to bring him some, but he doesn’t feel like bothering him and everyone else on the team already had premade plans.

He plops back down on the couch again watching as the red headed doll runs through the house with a butcher knife chasing someone-Danny wasn’t really sure who- he’d stopped paying attention to the movie awhile ago. He hears a knock on the door and groans knowing it’s tricker treaters. He gets up and grabs the bowl not even bothering to pause the movie. He then opens the door and the sight suprises him. Steve is standing there a soft smile on his face when his eyes meet Danny’s. “I thought you were still with Cathrine.” Danny chokes out.

“It didn’t work out. Besides there’s someone I needed more than her.” Danny swallows hard at the taller man’s words. His head dropping to his stomach. He should have known better then to think that he’d come back to this island just to visit him right? Right?

“Oh, I’m sorry come in.” Danny says, fighting back the fleeing feeling in his gut as he steps aside to let Steve in. Steve walks in to see the Chucky movie playing.

“I thought you hated this movie.” Steve says, a confused look on his handsome features.

Danny crosses his arms. “Maybe I just wanted to watch a hated movie.” He bites back, and then decides to ask the million dollar question. “So who did you come to see?”

“You.”

“Well yeah, you’re in my house man.”

Steve shakes his head and Danny is certain that the only reason his heart didn’t escape his chest is because of his rib cage. “No, dumbass I came back to this island to see you.”

“You did?”

Steve nods. “Truth is Danno I thought I was looking for something, but what I didn’t realize is I found what I was looking for. It was right in front of me the whole time and it was in you.” Danny practically jumped into Steve’s ridiculously sculpted arms. Steve responds by wrapping his arms around Danny. Danny looks up at him.

“I’m going to make you pay for leaving me.” Danny says to him.

Steve just smiles. “I’m sure you will danno. Now why don’t we finish this movie?” Steve says, planting a soft kiss on Danny’s head and both men knew that they wouldn’t be watching the rest of the movie.

#mine #fanfic #hawaii five 0 #hawaii five 0 fanfic #you gave me that fanfic idea and so o wrote it #I know they’re not in character but what ever #lou grover #danny williams #steve mcgarrett #text

30 notes · View notes

oskea93 · 1 year ago

Text

Tis the Way the Wind Blows, Hummingbird (One)

Caleb Sykes x OC Horizon universe

⚠️ Warning ⚠️ Story will contain moments of physical, sexual, emotional, and verbal abuse, cursing, murder, suicidal ideations, childbirth, scalping, death, etc. Please do not read if you are triggered by any of these warnings. If you've seen the film or just read about it online, you already know that Caleb is a bad guy. He will remain a bad guy throughout this story as well. He will not be liked and will be vile in every way. Just a heads up if you were looking for a happy Jamie story.

A/N: Oh my goodness guys, thank you so much for the love for this story! I am so glad you all are enjoying it so far! It's only gonna get more extreme and downright dirty from here. Also, if you have any questions about the story, just wanna talk, or whatever, just drop me a message!

● If you would like to be tagged, please comment below ●

Taglist: @austinswhitewolf, @carriewritesblog, @isla-bell-blog, @jcbbby, @eve18ahs

His touch would burn like a batch of fire ants each time he laid hands on me.

The searing pain as his grip would tighten – his cold blue eyes staring into mine as I would beg and plead not to hurt me in front of our children. I would like to say it hadn’t always been this way with Caleb but that would be a lie straight from the devil’s mouth. I would love to tell you that he was once a gentleman who was corrupt by the bottle – that his hands were once full of love and joy but for some ungodly reason I actually held feelings for the man.

I remember the first time I saw Caleb, standing in the dimly lit corner of the saloon, a shadow of a man with haunted eyes that seemed to mirror my own loneliness. His smile was a twisted reflection of charm, drawing me in like a moth to a flame. Despite the warnings that whispered in the back of my mind, I found myself captivated by his words, his presence filling a void I hadn't even known existed. In his arms, I felt a fleeting sense of belonging, as if for a moment, the world made sense and all the broken pieces of my heart were whole again. But as the days turned into weeks and the weeks into months, the cracks in his facade began to show, revealing a darkness that chilled me to the core.

He was the youngest child of the vile woman who birthed him all those years ago – his father a philanderer who only arrived home when necessary. Rumor had it he had spawn all over the territory – the short woman he married long ago idly standing by as she knew there was nothing that could be done. The Sykes family were notorious among the Montana Territory – the fear they placed upon those wanting to settle was enough to make settlers treck along elsewhere. Some would say even the Indians feared the Sykes men – I would argue that on a heavy bible.

Caleb’s anger more than likely rising from the hits of his mother and brother – always on the receiving end of a hand, foot, or even the butt of a gun at one point. I remember watching in the shadows as Junior almost beat him senseless for some measly reason – no reason good enough to knock your kin unconscious for hours on end. I was the one that had to drag him out of the snow that night – into the little shack that his mother had “gifted” us to make house in. The winter’s wind whistling through the loose logs, the fire barely staying lit as the snow floated through the home. When he awoke, he knew that there was no use in going after Junior, his hatred and fury landing upon my skin throughout the night.

I guess you may be asking how I even came to be with the blue-eyed devil – having enough dimwits about me to stay with a man like that. Well for one, it was an act of rebellion. I thought I could change him, hell, maybe even overpower him. I took the blows that he gave me each night, going to bed with tear-stained cheeks as he stepped out to go drinkin with his brothers. The other reason I stayed was because it was a sense of security. I had a leaking roof over my head, but it was covered none the less. I wasn’t wondering the land like the others out there, subjected to the harshness that the land was giving forth. The Sykes fortress was clear of any Indians – the dangers of being ambushed by them pushed at the wayside – unlike those that were travelling to their new homes.

I had married Caleb on the 24th day of January in the year eighteen hundred and fifty-two. The justice of the peace in the town below reading from the holy book as he weaved back and forth from the whiskey coursing through his blood. No kiss was shared – no joyous voices from our closest relatives. Just an empty room. I had run off from Grady’s house – my only bag packed – his best horse trotting underneath me. I had only known Caleb for a number of days before his hands slipped under my dress – the piece of me that I was savin for future husband taken away in a matter of seconds. I guess all’s forgiven in the eyes of God since I ended up marrying the bastard…

I watched as the snow swirled around the open air like paper scraps sent from the heavens above. The fire had long gone out several hours ago – my breath seen clearly as I exhaled in exhaustion. I hadn’t seen sight or sound of him in nearly four days – nothing uncommon nowadays. The wood burning smoke from the big house filtered through the cracks in the wood, the scent causing me to long for a warm room just for a moment of two.

Soft coos broke me out of my thoughts as I turned my attention to the little bundle in the center of the room. I had every blanket and article of clothing I could scrounge up piled atop her, trying to keep the cold off her small body.

“What’s wrong my sweet?” My feet carrying my body towards her.

She had her daddy’s eyes – bright blue and able to look right into your soul. Sprouts of red hair could be seen beneath the bonnet she wore, her little cheeks red with the touch of the cold. Emily was the daughter I longed for – a true gift from the Lord above. She was the second child – one that no one but me cared to have. She was the light of my life – the reason that I never gave up on myself against her father or his family.

I had given birth to Rory – our son – the first-born Sykes grandson seven years ago. Mama Sykes was at the head of the bed as he was born, quickly whisking him off before I could hold him. Caleb was celebrated for once in his life – having the workings to produce a strong male offspring – a male that would carry on the Sykes name and lineage. The Sykes women kept Rory at an arm’s reach from me during his infancy – only pushing him in my arms when it came time for him to eat. They would bring me into the big house as he fed and pushed me right back into the small shake once he was through. This was Mama Sykes dream to have another son she could mold and make her own. It was obvious that she wanted another son like Junior – Caleb being the lowest branch that she so badly wanted cut.

I watched as the years passed as my son shaped into a typical Sykes male. James and Junior would make sure to take him out, teaching him how to trap and hunt, something that a little boy at his age didn’t need to worry about yet. Caleb would just sit back and watch, the fatherly instinct never truly kicking in. He was seen more as Rory’s uncle rather than the his father. I’m almost positive that’s what Mama Sykes even taught Rory to call Caleb.

I would try my best to push my way into his life, only to get shoved back by the Sykes women. They didn’t trust me to be his mother – I was simply the woman that gave birth – not his mother. Hannah, Junior’s wife claimed that spot. Her evil glares cutting right through each time I would look at my son. Mama Sykes and Hannah would mutter awful words about me to Rory, finally breaking through to him. I watched as the baby boy I carried for nine months, suffering 10 hours in agony as I labored, just kicked me away like a speck of dirt on the floorboard.

I slowly picked my daughter up, bouncing her around in the quilt my mother had made before she passed. “Flee as a bird to your mountain – thou who art weary of sin – go to the clear flowing fountain – where you may wash and be clean.”

The sudden sound of a shotgun going off cutting off the lyrics as my grip tightened on the baby. Stepping towards the window, the site in front of me causing my heart to thump against my chest. Gently placing Emily back into her bassinette, I tore open the wooden door, racing over to where my son laid.

“What the hell is happening?” My knees digging into the hardened dirt as I brought his limp body into my arms. His face bloodied and bruised as Robert and Junior stood above – Mama Sykes and Hannah watching from the porch steps.

Junior let out an annoyed sigh, “This doesn’t concern you, Elizabeth.”

“Like hell it doesn’t, Junior.” My tone biting back, fire raging through my eyes as I looked down at my little boy. My hand softly trailing down his cheek, his chest slowly rising and falling.

“He started the whole thing.” Robert, Junior and Hannah’s youngest son scoffed. “Ain’t my fault that he don’t got no fightin skills.”

My eyes cutting up to the younger Sykes, “That’s enough, Robert.” Junior sounded. “Go get cleaned up for supper.”

The boy followed his father’s direction, Hannah smiling at him once he reached the steps. Her last glance finding mine as she walked into the home. Mama Sykes stood stoic on the porch, her eyes dull and full of spite. “Junior, get Rory and bring him in the house.”

“No!” My arms wrapping tighter around my son’s unconscious body. “You will not touch another hair on this child’s head –“ My eyes piercing towards Mrs. Sykes. “None of you are touching my child again.”

“Ain’t your child, Elizabeth.” Mama spoke clearly. “Hasn’t been your child since the day he was born.”

I could feel tears of anger spiking in my eyes, “Oh yeah –“ A sarcastic chuckle slipping, “And who’s idea was that, huh?” Junior stepped closer. “You bunch of monsters took him away from me – turned him against his own mother for what? You see how well his father turned out – think I could’ve done a hell of a lot better than you, Mama Sykes.”

Junior’s large hands pried my arms apart, Rory slipping back onto the ground as he dragged me feet away. His grip like that of Caleb’s but only stronger. My words of pain going by the wayside as his foot kicked into my ribs, a guttural cry releasing deep from my body.

“Get that boy in the house before he catches a death of cold.” Mama’s raspy voice sounded.

Junior looked up to the matriarch, “What about her?” My body still curled into the cold ground. “Whatcha want me to do with her?”

The only sound could be heard was that of the winter birds around as the wind blew – Mrs. Sykes body staying silent for a moment. “She can find her way back.” Her eyes connecting with mine briefly as she turned to enter the home.

I stayed silent, face still pressed against the snowy ground as Junior lifted Rory into his arms, stomping his way up the stairs to the main house. The door slamming behind him once he crossed the threshold.

I waited a few moments before moving – the sharp pain of where his foot had landed making it hard to breathe as I slowly walked back to the building. The echo of Emily's cry reverberated in my ears, piercing through the chaos that had engulfed us. Each step felt heavy, burdened not just by the weight of my own injuries but by the fear and uncertainty that loomed ahead.

With a shaky hand, I pushed the door open, the hinges creaking in protest. Emily's tear-streaked face turned towards me, her eyes wide with a mix of confusion and fear. My heart ached at the sight of her, so small and innocent in the midst of such turmoil.

"Shh, it's okay," I whispered hoarsely, my voice barely above a broken murmur. I knelt beside her, wrapping my arms around her trembling form. The warmth of her tiny body pressed against mine offered a brief respite from the cold reality that threatened to consume us both.

"It's okay, baby," I repeated, the words a mantra to soothe not just her but myself as well. Tears welled up in my eyes, blurring the world around me. In that moment, I felt the weight of responsibility crushing down on my shoulders, the knowledge that I must be strong for her, no matter how broken I felt inside.

I thanked God silently that Emily was so young, her innocence a shield against the harshness of the truth…

“How dare you disrespect my mother and brother like you did, Elizabeth!”

I sat in the corner of the room, the metallic taste of blood lingering on my tongue as I dabbed away the fresh crimson droplets that fell from my split lip. The throbbing ache in my jaw served as a painful reminder of the altercation that had just taken place, but my focus remained unwavering on the man standing before me.

"I was protecting my child – our child," I asserted, my voice steady despite the underlying currents of anger and frustration that simmered beneath the surface.

He rolled his eyes in exasperation, his movements agitated as he paced the confines of the cramped room. "That boy was two steps away from killing Rory, he wa-"

"Robert was teaching him how to act like a man – not some pansy whipped little girl," Caleb interjected, his voice tinged with defiance. The words hung heavily in the air, a stark reminder of the deep-seated differences in our beliefs and values. "Junior and I did the same thing growing up – plus it’s not your word that matters anymore, Lizabeth."

I shook my head, a bitter taste of resentment flooding my senses. "Yeah," I muttered, my voice tinged with sorrow and anger. "You and your goddamn family took that right away." His eyes darkened as he advanced towards me, each step a menacing echo of the power dynamics that had long defined our relationship.

"I was just used as a cow to make sure he was fed and then put back in the pen like some kind of barnyard anim-" My words were cut short by the sharp crack that resonated through the home, the impact of the blow sending a searing wave of pain from my jaw to my temple.

“Always running that damn mouth of yours,” Caleb's voice was heavy with frustration as he hastily unclipped the holster from his waist. My body already knew what was about to happen as I scrambled to get off the floor, the urgency pulsing through my veins. Unfortunately, I wasn't quick enough. Caleb's strong grip closed around my ankles, his fingers digging into my skin as he yanked me across the dirty wood.

His dirt-stained hands pushing up the material of my skirt as his body straddled mine – my arms pinned to my side as my cries mixed with those of Emily’s in the corner of the room…

#fanfiction #jamie campbell bower imagine #jamie campbell bower #jamie campbell bower smut #jamie campbell bower x reader #caleb sykes #horizon an american saga #jamie campbell bower oneshot #jamie campbell bower fanfic #caleb sykes imagine #jamie bower x oc #jamie bower imagine #jamie bower x reader #Spotify

53 notes · View notes