#and the next ch of sonnet is done

[brain-rot-central]

ya'll ever get so lost writing that you forget you're making food

[unwisegirls]

Episode 184: Pokemon Go to the Gas Leak

The Dark Prophecy, ch. 38 to 42

We've done it! After what felt like years (despite being, like, basically the amount of time we spend on any book) we've completed The Dark Prophecy! How'd we like it? Let's see! This week on Unwise Girls we discuss the power of seething hatred, writing to the formula, one of the sicker uses so far of Apollo's temporary god magic, sonnets embodied and historical, Python pondering, and the surprise book we're expecting Rick to be drawing from for The Burning Maze.

Come back next week for The Burning Maze, ch. 1 to 7!

[quantumlocked310]

Summon Up Remembrance

@deans-ch-ch-cherrypie​. Cherrypie. My friend. My OG. My Vikings Mom. My shared braincell about everything Hvitty. You encouraged me to put myself out there and talk to people. You’ve given me some of my best ideas. You’re an amazing human who works so hard both in fandom and irl. I’m so happy I took the plunge and wrote you Bjornekram so we could start up this wonderful friendship. Congratulations on your 500 followers! Every single one is well-deserved.

So! In order to celebrate our love, I’ve tortured myself and Hvitty with this story inspired by The Little Match Girl. I’d say “Enjoy!,” but I have a feeling that’s not the right word...

Summary: What if Ivar hadn’t found Hvitserk in that cold forest in time?

Warnings: not a happy time, depression, graphic descriptions of violence, major character death, loss, despair, drug use, oral sex female receiving

Note: Title from Shakespeare’s Sonnet 30

Don’t forget to tap the moodboard to see it in its highest quality!

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He’d used his last coin to buy the matches. Everything else had already been spent on the sweet release the mushrooms and drink provided him. His greatest triumph bled into his deepest failure when Bjorn sentenced him to live in the frozen forest. He knew it would not be long. His half-brother had given him painful and terrible mercy. Already he could no longer feel his toes, and his hair was stiff with ice.

His first match is useless. Scraped against the frozen rocks he huddles behind for some semblance of shelter. He knows he’s going to die, but he’d like to have a last taste of heat before he goes. Even the memory of the bright burning flames of his execution can no longer keep the shivering at bay. The cold and wet sticks he’d gathered couldn’t catch, even with the pine needles he’d found to shove under the bundle.

He is resigned to no fire and no hope. Only four matches to keep him company. The last vestiges of drink and drugs are leaving his body aching and freezing; his hands have barely enough movement to strike the next match. He watches this one burn. Its tiny flame dancing merrily along the wood. In its flickering he sees a better time; his favorite feast.

He’d been younger then, and happier. Not yet burdened with a legacy and revenge. The feast fires had kept him warm inside the packed great hall, and his belly had been full of food and satisfied with drink. It was the night he learned a woman might prefer his mouth over his other parts, and he’d been fascinated. The thrall he’d danced with had taken him aside and shared in his body, and shown him things other women hadn’t yet taught him. Their copulation was in a side room; their sounds of pleasure hidden by the noise in the hall. He remembers the delicious wet heat of her body against his tongue, and the way she whimpered and begged so sweetly for him.

The match goes out and Hvitserk is thrust out of the memory. He grows melancholy as he remembers the thrall was killed by horse hoof to the head when she was cleaning the stables one day. A horrible accident.

He scrambles for the next match. Wanting to leave this new remembrance aside and see something joyful once more. The next match strike flares bright in front of his eyes and he hears the clang of axes on swords. His best battle. He’d felt invincible that day. Bobbing and weaving in between English soldiers. Feeling the thunk of his axe as he buries it in the flesh of his enemies. The sweet and terrible smell of blood and guts and fresh mud. Hearing screams and battle cries around him as the Vikings cut a swath through the English forces. Getting to fight alongside his brothers, and seeing the prideful look in Ubbe’s face when he swoops in at the last moment to save his older brother from danger. Ubbe.

The match goes out, and the cold rushes into Hvitserk’s head. His despair is palpable. Ubbe could not let him die as he’d wished for on that fiery spit. But Ubbe let him walk into this cold and certain death demanded by Bjorn.

His saddened breath rattles his chest, and he feels the exhaustion in his bones; the wet snow seeping further and further into his clothing to numb his skin. The stinging tears falling from his red-rimmed eyes freeze to his cheeks, and he is barely able to lift a hand to strike the match. The tears fall faster as he stares into the flickering orange and gold to find a moment of peace.

They’re all there. Ivar, Ubbe, Sigurd, and Hvitserk. The four of them that beautiful spring day, together in the forest trading blows of the sword and the axe. Even their verbal sparring brings a smile to his disheveled face. He remembers going toe to toe with Sigurd, and being equally matched with Ivar. The rush of adrenaline in the fight is a distant comfort, and he dwells again upon youth; how young they all were. Naive and furious; untouched by the horrors that awaited them.

The match goes out and shivers wrack Hvitserk’s body. He sobs and shakes as he memorializes the family he will never see again.

Desire floods his system. The desire he’s always had to escape, to be someone he is not, to chase the dreams he had but could never fulfill. He weeps for his brothers, his mother, and his father. The most torturous thoughts follow, and he mourns and cries for himself. For the person he will never be. For the women he loved, and the children he never gave them.

This is his last one. The last chance to see his loved ones again. To see his brothers happy and together and alive again. Perhaps he will catch a glimpse of Thora or Margrette in this last memory. He draws strength from this small hope.

His breaths rattle and he lights the match. In the tiny flame it is his mother. How tall she felt when he was a child. She is loving peering down at his small frame as he plays with a wooden horse from Floki. Her smile is radiant as she talks to him. Asking him about the horse and the world inside his mind. Her tone is warm and loving, and it floods his body with a final burst of heat.

The match goes out and Hvitserk’s hand falls. In front of him his mother hasn’t left. Standing there like she was in his memory, with a gentle, proud smile on her regal face. She raises her hand, palm up, open and beckoning him. He rises and falls deeply into his mother’s embrace, clutching at her silken robes that catch the salty tears still falling down his face.

“Come, my son. You have done well. We must go to meet your father and brother.” Aslaug wraps her arms around her beautiful boy and holds him close. She feels his sorrow and his perfect joy as their souls connect and ascend.

Some hours later the stomping of boots and the rattle of wheels can be heard in the forest. Ivar looks to his side, observing the landscape around him, and his eyes are drawn to a cluster of rocks. They’re not at all interesting he thinks, but a strong winter wind whips past his face, and the rocks flutter in the wind. No, not the rocks. The hood of the person hunched behind them.

Ivar calls for a halt and carefully climbs down from his rig. He doesn’t know why, but he knows he has to see who it is for himself. His heart is pounding, and his instincts are screaming, and when he rounds the cluster he sees why.

The body is Hvitserk.

White hot rage floods his body, and Ivar lets out a primal scream. His sorrow and pain released in one powerful sound. Tears flood his eyes and freeze on his cheeks. He gestures to the closest soldiers to help carry his brother. They can barely lift him; Hvitserk has frozen in place, but Ivar is determined to give his brother the Viking funeral he deserves.

Ivar cries and mourns, and swears that he will seek revenge on his brothers in Kattegat who shoved one of their own into the wild to die. They did not even allow his fearsome brother the warrior’s death he deserved. What Ivar misses in his incandescent rage is the sweet smile on Hvitserk’s frozen face. Ivar should be celebrating, because as he was not in life Hvitserk is euphoric in his death; together with those he loved and lost once again. The image of rapturous bliss frozen forever in time on the face of his mortal body.

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If you want to read other stuff I write here’s my masterlist!

Taglist: @deans-ch-ch-cherrypie @punkrocknpearls @solinarimoon @alexhandersen-marcoilsoe-fandom @southernbe @vikingstrash​

Photos are not mine they are from Pinterest.

[weirdochick56]

i love the series mr evans + cant wait for the next update! and how exactly did reader leave when she saw cassidy at chris' house at the end of ch 8? did she just silently leave or somethin? i havent read that ch in ages but sometimes i think of mr evans(bc i mean the series is just that great+ i cant not think of it lol) and i realised that i dont think you explained how reader left after cassidy came to the door- and is that when cassidy knew something may have been going on with them? thx :D

Omg lol I just realized I completely glossed over that part because I had it all planned out in my head and hadn’t translated it onto paper. (I get too damn excited sometimes I swear.) Okay, so basically she just made up some lame excuse before quietly slipping away. 

It would’ve gone something like this:

Cassidy looks between you two, leaning up to peck Chris’s cheek softly. You flinch.

“Babe? What’s going on?”

You and Chris flusteredly jump to explain at the same time. 

“Well you see I came to-”

“She’s here to pick up something-”

You clumsily stare at each other for a split-second before you look away awkwardly. “Uh yeah...Kennedy needed something.” You turn to him, trying to ignore the dull ache in your chest. His gaze softens. 

“I think she told you what it was?”

He swallows thickly, nodding without taking his eyes off of you. “Yeah...” he whispers, turning to Cassidy reluctantly. “I’ll be right back.” Then he silently spins on his heels and disappears into the house. 

You look at the ground, trying your hardest to hold back tears and not fall apart entirely until Cassidy suddenly speaks up. 

“Does he seem weird to you?”

Your head snaps up. “Huh?”

She smiles apologetically at you. “Sorry, I just...he seems a bit off no?” She frowns lightly, staring after Chris. 

You instantly shake your head, hoping she can’t hear the gentle tremor in your voice. “N-no. Not really.”

She hums thoughtfully, rubbing her thumb over her chin. ”Really? Because-” 

Just then, Chris returns with a book in hand and hold it out for you. “Here you go,” he murmurs, his gaze capturing yours. 

You want to look away because the pain is so great, but damn it, you can’t. He looks so guilty, so desperate...it makes your heart drop. 

You reach out to take it and as you do, his fingers brush against yours. You press your lips tightly together, wondering if he’d done it on purpose, and look down at the book. 

A gasp almost flies out of your lips, but you push it down with every ounce of power within you. 

It was a book full of Shakespeare’s sonnets. There was a marked page and you opened up to it, heart racing because somewhere, deep down, you knew exactly which one it’d be...

Your heart constricts painfully and tears prickle the backs of your eyes when you read the title. 

“Sonnet 18,” you whisper shakily to yourself. 

It’s all too painful so you snap the book shut and spin on your heel, careful not to make eye contact. 

“Thank you,” you throw over your shoulder and hastily walk off into the night. 

Read Chapter Eight Here!

**

Bonus points if you can remember that reference from Mr. Evans I!! ; )

[likethetailofacomet]

ship questions and stuff - 11, 13, 27, 46, 51

hi friend!! thanks for the asks! :) 

11. Who is your current OTP?

I am all about Drake x MC, specifically my MC Claire Berkley. They are just a match made in fanfic heaven in my eyes. I love those two more than some actual people I’ve met in the world. I know I’ve done (and will continue to do) some really messed up things to these babes, but the truth is I love them and I could never do anything to ruin their love. I really don’t see another pairing ever replacing them to be perfectly honest. Jake and Kara come SUPER close, but I identify so so much with Claire, and see quite a lot of similarities between Mr. Broodypants and the real love of my life J. Total softie under his scruffy exterior. 

13. Any NoTPs?

Anything to do with Anton, Tariq, Rashad or Neville, or as I like to call them, the vom squad. Just bleck. No. Bye. 

27. What do you hate more: Coming up with titles or writing summaries?

COMING UP WITH TITLES. It is impossible. I sit there staring at a finished piece for like 2 hours trying to figure out what to call the pile of garbage on the page and ALWAYS come up short. If it’s not a song title I struggle. And most of the time I hate my titles. It took me two weeks to title the ES Zombie AU Series, and I still hate it. I should just be like an old timey poet and call them “Fic 27″ like “Sonnet 139″. Would probably make more sense. 

Not that summaries are easy for me either. I am wordy. I eat words for breakfast lunch dinner and all the snacks. So paring it down isn’t my strong suit but I could do it a hell of a lot easier than come up with a title. 

46. If someone was to read one of your fanfics, which fic would you recommend to them and why?

That would depend on a few things. 

Wanna be sad? Read Brave for You: a 3 part series where I do the thing that breaks the hearts. 

Wanna feel better about the fact that our ES MC vanished into the fabric of the universe leaving their LI and their friends all sad and missing them? Read Cross Space and Time 

Wanna see what could happen if Liam and Drake didn’t compete for the same girl? Read (the hot mess express, next stop- dysfunction junction) Learning to Love Again

(all links are to the first ch. in each series) 

51. Rant or Gush about one thing you love or hate in the world of fanfiction! Go!

EASY. Its the friends I’ve made. I have met some of the most AH-MA-ZING people here. Like some real ducking gems, ya’ll. Every one of them is extremely genuine, kind, funny, intelligent and INCREDIBLY TALENTED. Seriously, the artists and authors and everyone in this fandom are just chock full of talent and its wonderful. 

[peppusae]

[kth] lavender honey ch. 3

note: this fanfic has more than one part, so pls look forward for more!

lavender honey: kim taehyung x reader

genre: fluff, crack, college au, smut(?)

word count: 3k

💫

lavender honey

ch 3: in which taehyung despises knowing the sexual orientation of dead ‘literists’

"Hey, Taehyung, do you think Shakespeare is gay?" You ask, slipping into the seat beside him at the counter the next week.

Honestly, you're ready to change your dissertation topic from 'Kim Taehyung's various facial features' to 'William Shakespeare's sexuality' now, and you feel a surge of pride as you lean against the swivel chair and exhale in content at your new discovery.

It's a warm Tuesday evening, and the library is lined with dozens of students, most of them having their laptops turned on and typing like crazy. Perhaps they were those students who had an assignment due midnight, and you smile, glad that you had actually handed your work in a little earlier this time. Good job, you're actually patting yourself for a job well done as you take your seat.

Taehyung, however, does not smile.

In fact, his face scrunches up a bit as he stares at you with a questioning look.

"What sort of black magic are you doing again to twist my otherwise perfectly normal life, [Name]?"

Black magic. Apparently, Taehyung watches way too many movies.

"No, I'm serious. Am I the only one who thinks this way?" You wonder out loud, reaching for the thick paperback inside your backpack. "Look at this."

Taehyung moves a little closer to you in his chair, the rolling of the wheels making a few heads look up from their laptops and stare at him. The male hurries to give a sheepish smile, waving it off before he turns back to look at the book on your lap.

Look, this is what double standards are like. If you'd done the same, you swear the girls who are seated at the desks would have glared daggers at your fragile being, but it's Taehyung, and Taehyung's a hot dude.

Hot dudes always have it easy aka girls giggling like they've just discovered the kind of boxer briefs Jungkook wears.

Not that you've ever considered this before.

Anyways, back to the issue in hand-

"'Shakespeare's sonnets'? What's a sonnet, and what about it?" Taehyung wants to know, taking it in his hands and flipping through a couple of pages.

You kinda wanna punch him for being uncultured enough to not know what a sonnet is, but the fact that he asked what it is makes you forgive him (it's not his confused expression that looks so cute that forgives him, nope).

"A sonnet is a form of poetry which has fourteen lines," you explain, "It usually has like ten syllables per line, but I don't think that matters to you-"

"I'm surprised that you're actually using that brain of yours, for once." Taehyung muses, and you poke him in the waist, which in turn makes him chuckle and turn back to the whitish-yellow pages of the poem book. "Because you're right, it doesn't matter to me."

"Rude." You hiss. "So you see. Good ol' Shakeypakey here wrote 154 sonnets, okay? So, it was split into two parts based on-"

"Wait, did you just call a dead literist 'Shakeypakey'?" He asks, horrified.

"There is no word in the dictionary called literist. You can, instead, use-"

"That is beyond the point here, [Name]!"

"Listen," you hiss, snatching the book back from his clutches, "He has written 126 sonnets about a young man - a very fucking attractive man - and the other 28 sonnets are about a woman. Literally, he wrote at least 5 times more sonnets about the pretty dude."

"...So?"

Oh my god, there's a limit to beings freaking clueless but Taehyung likes climbing higher pedestals. Even The Himalayas would be ashamed. You shake your head in frustration.

"So! Why else would he be so obsessed with writing like 82 percent of his sonnet book about the man if he's not gay?"

Taehyung blinks at you in shock for a long moment, not moving a single muscle. You wonder if he was actually contemplating your reasoning, but then again... Taehyung was Taehyung, after all.

"Did you... do that math... just to..."

"Yes I did the math, so what? It makes so much sense. Maybe he's not gay, maybe he's like bisexual? Because even the sonnets about the Dark Lady was kinda kinky too so I think he has a lot of heterosexual shades too. Who knows."

"This is information I could live without, [Name]." Taehyung finally sighs, moving away from you and sighing. You watch as he begins to clear up his desk space, appalled that he wouldn't understand your very detailed reasoning.

If this is his reaction to your newfound discovery of Shakespeare's sexuality, then you sincerely hope Taehyung will never see your browser history with multiple search tabs of 'kinky Shakespeare'.

Plus that one meme you found of the poet's face cropped out and stuck to the ass of-

"I'm going to go put the books away." Taehyung announces, interrupting your fraying thoughts by picking up the handful of books that have been returned earlier.

Oh no you don't-

"Shakespeare was probably from a Victorian-ish era, you know? Those times when ladies wore metal frills on their skirts to make them more poofy and shit." You hurry to say. "His mama might have stabbed one of the metal frill shit into his ear if he said he was gay. Maybe he was in a polyamorous relationship, maybe he was the one who invented the idea-"

"Oh my fuck, shut the hell up." Taehyung hisses, standing up and stomping away. You blink at him as he takes the trolley of books, quickly making his way to the shelves and starting to put the books away.

Talk about being narrow-minded.

>

"So, your brother is Namjoon, right?" Taehyung asks the next day, slipping by your seat during lunch.

The cafeteria is excessively crowded, the jet line filled with students seeking a second helping of the ice-cream sandwiches they're handing out for free. According to Jimin, it's on occasion of Ice-cream Day, which you think is the stupidest invention that ever exists.

"Yes, but," you warn between gritted teeth, "Stop talking about it. I'd rather most people don't know. I'm not gonna be that one sister that the girls suck up to so that I'd help them get brownie points with Joon, like back in high school."

"You have a good point... It must have been hard for you, right?"

This makes you soften up a little, nodding back at the male who frowns sadly at you. So, even if Taehyung enjoys annoying you, he can be nice if he wants to.

"Oh, there's Jungkookie! Yah, Kook-ah, come here and sit with your Noona!" Taehyung yells from beside you, and the said brown-haired male's eyes widen as he pauses in his tracks, blinking at you two in surprise and his face going very pink.

You can't blame him, you must be at least two shades redder than he is.

You take it back, Taehyung is not nice at all.

"Over here, Kookie!" Jimin greets, patting the seat beside him. Yoongi lets out a small grunt beside you, and you sigh, giving your best smile to the freshman and motioning for him to join you lot.

Jungkook looks hesitant, quietly nodding and taking a seat right in front of you. Taehyung is paying for this later. Wait till you hide his library card. He's gonna suffer. And you're gonna be the one ugly giggling inside.

"So, Kookie, we were talking about how we can help Joon-hyung and Jin-hyung get together. Do you have any ideas?"

"Ah, so they do like each other. I always thought that too." Jungkook blinks in surprise.

"Even the kid knows. Why is it that those two little shits are the only ones who don't know how they feel about each other?" Yoongi lets out an exasperated sigh. "If they got together, Namjoon might stop writing depressing songs and start working on more brighter songs."

"Maybe they can go to a carnival. Seokjin-hyung has a thing for alpacas, right?" Jimin asks.

"That's a weird animal to have a kink for, but I'm not judging-"

"Shut up." You hiss, elbowing Taehyung, and the male doubles over, laughing and being proud enough to have elicited out a reaction from you. Jungkook watches the exchange in silence, and when you meet eyes with him, he looks away, turning to Jimin instantly and saying 'So? What about alpacas?'

Weird.

"Well, they can go to a carnival, Namjoon-hyung can play one of those dart games, or those ball-throwing games. He wins an alpaca plushie, and he gives it to Seokjin-hyung and tells him how he feels."

"That's like an unarmed battle with a bunch of sirens. Joon can't win no matter what he tries, he's not the most athletic nut in the world." You state.

"Si... Sirens?" Taehyung chokes, an eyebrow raises in confusion.

"Yeah? You know, those pretty fucked-looking female sea creatures that try to seduce idiots like you to get you into the sea and st-"

"I know what a siren is, you dolt," Taehyung sighs, "I took five weeks of Greek Mythology in my freshman year. I remember writing 'Sirens' in Google search and having nightmares."

"Then, why are you looking at me with that face?"

"... What face?"

"It looks like a fuck face minus the innuendo-inducing expression that you use. It's that face you make when you're confused to the level where you don't even know what speaking is, and you look like you accidentally ate ruined kimchi from a ripoff Korean-wannabe shop."

"I do not. And that's really specific, has that ever happened to you?"

"Down at Lindsay's Korean Meals stand a few blocks from the library. I had food poisoning for days."

"That's kinda sad. Was it recent?"

"Nah. I missed like four classes of Advanced Psychology classes near the start of the semester, remember?"

"Oh, then?"

"Yeah. Food poisoning is sad."

"Yeah. Please take care when you eat out, okay, [Name]?" Taehyung smiles at you, and the gesture is so soft that it makes you smile back like an idiot until you hear the sound of throat clearing.

And that's when you remember that Jungkook is staring at you two, and his expression is hard to read, eyebrows furrowed and lips pursed a little as if... as if...

Wow, you really shouldn't be a language major after all, if you can't describe something as basic as an expression.

Another, more defensive side of you pipes in, claiming that it's fine, reading expressions are the tasks of psychology majors, which you clearly aren't.

It's while you have this debate, that Taehyung - who seems to have noticed the way Jungkook is playing around with the bowl of grapes in his tray - coos 'Kookieeeee, what's wrong?' in a sing-song voice.

Jungkook does not respond, eyes hard and now looking at you, and both the angel and devil on your shoulder that's having the language vs psychology war together stops, making you gulp.

"The heck is this tension here? Let me do some mood-making here with my funny humour that no one can get enough of." A loud voice has to say, and all three of you look up and see Seokjin holding his tray proudly, a smiling Namjoon beside him.

"No thanks, Hyung." Yoongi speaks, picking up his almost-empty tray of food and standing up. Jimin, seeing this action, scarfs down the rest of his kimchi and rice, following the older male a couple steps behind after saying a hard-to-decipher 'bye guys!'

"Well, it's okay. Jimin might get offended if he was here to witness this amazing question that I have for all you earthlings."

"But Hyung, you're an earthling too. Or, are you an alien?" Taehyung has to butt in, and you hush him, glancing at Seokjin so that he would say whatever he has to say and get it over with. Namjoon takes the now-free seat beside you, and all eyes are on Seokjin who plops his tray beside Jungkook's, hands on his hips and puffs his chest out with a big smile.

"If Jiminie eats a mochi, does that count as cannibalism?"

"Oh my god, please stop, Hyung." Taehyung mumbles, while, beside you, Namjoon is cracking up like the loser that he is.

You think you hear Hani and Hyojin giggling, while Jungkook just stares at Seokjin as if he couldn't believe what the male had said.

"This story won't be fun without my jokes-"

"YOU CAN'T JUST SAY THAT OUT LOUD."

>

You're in charge of putting away the books for today, and the trolly is lugged to the side while you look up barcode numbers and do your job in peace.

But there's a being that taps your shoulder, and no one should really blame you for being scared and starting to scream. The light above the philosophy aisle is dimmer than the other isles, so it makes you wary of beings other than human.

But there's a hand that covers your mouth, muffling your scream. God. What a sucky way to die. It's kinda kinky if you think about it, but why is a stranger making you die at the philosophy aisle, at least let you move over to the language aisle, it's literally only three rows away for crying out loud-

"Noona, it's only me." The voice says, and you turn around, seeing Jungkook smiling at you with a fond expression, looking highly amused when you hide your face in embarrassment.

"Kookie, what are you doing?!" You hiss, punching his arm and taking a couple steps back - the kid was standing way too close for comfort.

"I wanted to say hello." He shrugs, watching as you pick up a book and place it back on the shelf. "Extra-credit, right?"

You give him a nod, waving the cardholder you have around your neck. The picture of yours had come out good, you had every right to show it off to the hot freshman, okay?

Jungkook takes hold of the card, smiling down at your beaming picture, and - wait a second, his finger just touched your left boob, rip virginity - he comes so close to you that it makes you slightly intimidated as you nervously look up at the male.

And wow, this must be what interactions with angels feel like; you can see the scar on his left cheek, his pretty doe eyes, and the slightly chapped lips of his from this close, and he-

"Noona, do you want to go out with me sometime?"

"Sure, I- Wait..."

"To see a movie and eat and stuff. You're majoring in language, right? I'm sure we can have a lot of discussions about the movie after it's over."

Wait wait wait pause rewind-

Hey, now that you think about it, dissecting a movie and over-analysing it sounds like fun...

"I mean, well, of course I wouldn't mind going with you, Kookie, but do you mean..."

A platonic going out, or-

"Definitely not a platonic going out."

Shit, did you say that out loud?

"Yes you did, Noona."

"Oh."

"This is probably selfish of me to ask, but, remember that really boxy white shirt you wore once with that blue skinny jeans? Do you think you can wear it for our first date? I really liked it, but for some reason, you didn't wear it after that one day."

Yes, because Namjoon accidentally splashed ketchup all over it when you both had gone to KFC for chicken and fries later that day.

But you aren't going to tell Jungkook that, of course.

"Um. Sure, okay, I'm good to go." You tell him, and you can feel your cheeks flushing in embarrassment while you aggressively take a stack of books and stuff them back on the shelf.

"I'll message you, then?"

You give him a thumbs up, too flustered to look at his face, and Jungkook responds with a small laugh, hands clutching on the hanging straps of his backpack before he quickly runs away. And only after he does so, are you able to let out a huge breath you weren't aware you were holding.

Dragging the now empty trolly, you make your way to the reception desk. Taehyung's laptop's lid is closed now, and he has his chin rested on his hand as he watches you make your way back to the desk and take a seat.

Wordlessly, he reaches a hand out and presses his hand on your cheek. You are about to protest, when he moves his hand back and raises an eyebrow at you.

"You're quite obvious, Ms. Kim."

"Shut up. I just accidentally bumped into Kookie when I was putting the books away, that's all."

"I know."

You expect him to tease you, but he doesn't. Even when you finish up work and Namjoon is waiting to pick you both up and drive you home, he says nothing to your brother.

"Hey, Joonie?"

"Yes, my dearest little sister to whom I will share half my food, half my world, half my milky way, and half of everything I have to offer?"

"You're buying me the same exact white shirt you poured ketchup over. I have a date and I need it."

"Oooh, did the freshman kid finally make a move on you?"

"Shut up. We're driving to the mall and spending half of your allowance. You'll do that for your dearest little sister for whom you said you would give half of everything to offer, right?"

Namjoon has nothing to say while he digs in to see how much cash he has on himself.

Serves him right.

And you find it oddly uncharacteristic, the way Taehyung wordlessly waves goodbye to the two of you and leaves, when Namjoon stops by the younger male's apartment.

read next: ch 4

[corrahdarling]

Summer - Ch. 7 - Apologies

             The rest of the day seemed to creep by for Summer. The thought of running to the University and falling at Tom’s feet to beg for forgiveness, crossed her mind more times than she could count. She knew that was a bad idea, and to be perfectly honest, she didn’t even know if he’d want to see her.         She tried to keep her mind off of the situation with Jake, because every time he crossed her mind, she wanted to be sick. The anxiety was eating away at her… what if he told the Dean that he had caught his teacher in bed with a student? Tom would be out of a job… probably ruined for life, and she would be expelled from College at the most important time in her career. It was her dumb luck, that the only person she wanted to run to was miles away, teaching a class on Shakespearean Language�� and it would be too risky to run to him anyway. She was mad at herself for getting into this situation. If her jealousy hadn’t gotten the best of her, she wouldn’t have dragged Jake to Azzurro’s, and he would have never found out about their relationship. Good job, Summer.

              She figured that keeping her Tuesday night meeting with Tom was a bad idea… plus, barricading herself in her room for the rest of the day sounded better. She had homework to get done for his class, anyway, which took her the better part of her afternoon. It was something that should have only taken her thirty minutes, only her mind kept wandering to the night before. She sighed, closed her eyes, and laid her forehead on the cool wooden desk. She would have been convinced that she had been dreaming when Tom let the ‘l-word’ slip, if he hadn’t reminded her this morning. Love. This brilliant, amazing, handsome man had told her he loved her, but she couldn’t repeat it. There was no way she was ready for that.

            Chloe poked her head through the door. “Hey, are you gonna stay in here all day?”

            “I thought about it.”

            “Come on, Juliet, forget about Romeo for a while. Let’s watch a movie… I just ordered a pizza. Come o-on, I’ve already got Magic Mike loaded in the blu-ray player. We’re gonna stuff our faces and stare at Channing Tatum’s ass.”

           Summer laughed as Chloe grabbed her wrist and started pulling. “Okay, okay, I’m coming.”

           “Good… Mike and Big Dick Richie aren’t going to wait around forever…” 

           After the pizza was gone, and the movie was over, the girls sat on the couch, cuddled underneath a fleece blanket. 

           “Chloe, what am I going to do if I get kicked out of school? I have no back up plan, this is the only thing I want to do.”

           Chloe grabbed her friends hand and squeezed. “You are not getting kicked out of school… You know Jake would never tell on you two.”

           “I don’t know… I’ve never seen him that angry.”

           “Well, Summer… Jake loves you. He has for a while. I’m sure it hurt him to see what he saw this morning. Give him time to cool down, and talk to him. You’ve told him before that you just don’t like him like that, right?”

          “Yes… more than once.”

          Chloe nodded. “Maybe you can talk to him after class in the morning…”

          “That’s a bad idea… not with Tom there. I’ve got to smooth things over with him too, and the last thing I need is for him to see Jake and I talking.” She let out a frustrated groan. “I can’t believe I hurt two men in less than five minutes.”

           “You are pretty hot, Summer. That’s what happens.”

           “Sure, Chloe. I’ve got to get to bed. Got class bright and early… can’t wait!”

          “Ooh, I detect sarcasm in your voice…”

           “Ya think? Goodnight…”

           “Night! Love you!”

          “You too.” Summer smiled and traipsed into her bedroom, collapsing on her bed. She was beyond mentally exhausted, and was ready to get the next day over with. She turned to her stomach and huffed, before turning to her side… and finally her back. Every way she turned, all she could smell was Tom on her rose-colored sheets… almost like tobacco and oak moss… seductive, charming and masculine. Just like him. She tossed and turned for what seemed like hours, just imagining that he was there beside her, only realizing after opening her eyes that he wasn’t. Her eyes closed one last time that night, before drifting into a fitful, nervous sleep. 

          Four hours later, Summer awoke and immediately there was a pit in her stomach. She knew what that day could possibly hold… losing a friend in Jake… and a lover in Tom. Slowly, she rolled over and looked at her alarm clock.

           “Shit!” It was 8:15, and she had class at 9. She could hear rain splattering on her window, which made her morning even better. Being from the South, she wasn’t used to much rain, so all of the precipitation here in Seattle was something that still threw her for a loop. She jumped into the shower, giving herself a quick scrub, before wrapping her towel haphazardly around her. She threw her trusty red stain on her lips and cheeks, and a layer of mascara on her lashes. Her hair went up into a topknot, still smelling of Tom and sex… she didn’t have a choice, there was no time to wash it. 

           Sliding into a pair of cropped, dark denim pants, and a fitted, light plum t-shirt, she decided to throw on an oatmeal colored, three-quarter sleeve wool cardigan… since it looked chilly outside. She slipped her handy navy Converses on her feet before grabbing her bags and darting out the door. She couldn’t be late, giving Tom one more reason to be mad at her.

            Luckily, traffic was moving pretty quickly that morning, so she made it to the University in record time, nearly skidding into a parking spot near the door. She still had five minutes. Clutching her bags tightly, she wiped her feet on the doormat and made her way down the hall. Her stomach was absolutely turning, and as she passed Tom’s office, she noticed his door was closed and the lights were off. He must already be in class. So much for talking to him now…  

       She ducked into the lecture hall, and as she caught sight of Tom, her breath hitched in her throat. He was dressed a little more casually today in lovely, tight, dark denim trousers, a white dress shirt, and a baby blue lightweight sweater on top. His hair styled haphazardly, but perfectly, and the slight stubble on his face made her mind wander to a place it shouldn’t be… like back to her bed… with him.

       Sweet Baby Jesus, take me now.

      She cleared her throat, and passed him, ultimately drawing his attention to her.  

      “Summer.” He greeted her.

      “Morning, Dr. Hiddleston.”

      “Running late, are we?”

      “A little. Sorry…” 

      She slid into her desk, and took her notebook and textbook out of her bag, as he began to speak. 

       “Good morning, students. Please pass up your homework from Monday.” Summer’s hand went into her bag, retrieving the paper, and peeked over at Jake from the corner of her eye. She handed her homework to the girl in front of her as she finally looked over at him. She might as well breach the subject now.

      “Morning, Jake.”

      “Hey, Summer… I was beginning to think you weren’t coming to class.”

      “Yeah, I overslept… Didn’t get much sleep last night.”

      “Have company?” He asked sarcastically.

      “No, Jake. I was up all night thinking. I need to apologize to you. I’m very sorry about everything, and the way it all happened. I shouldn’t have used you the way I did, and I’m sorry you walked in on…” Suddenly she remembered where she was. “…my company and me.”

      He nodded slowly. “You aren’t going to see him anymore, then? Right?”

      “Jake… I…” 

      “Summer, you can’t see him anymore. You know it’s not right. I know you don’t want to be with me… I understand that now… But you can’t be with him. He’s not right for you.”

       She had hoped he would have found some compassion in the last day, and would tell her that he understood that she wanted to be with Tom… and all would be good. Apparently, that hadn’t happened.  

       “Please… Jake, I really think that is my personal business.”

      He shook his head. “Let me tell you something. I care about you, but if you don’t stop seeing him, I will go to the Dean.”

      “Summer, would you and Jake like to share your conversation with the rest of the class?”

      She gasped, as she felt hot tears began to sting her eyes. “No, Dr. Hiddleston, I’m sorry.”

     He gave her a curt nod, as he went on with his lecture. 

     She turned away from Jake, even though he was still watching her. She couldn’t believe he had given her that ultimatum. She didn’t want to give Tom up, and she didn’t want to give up her career… but, it seemed like Jake was going to make her decide. One or the other... She couldn't have both. She silently wiped a couple of tears from her eyes, as she trained them on Tom. He could see that she was upset, and so could several other people in the class. She wasn’t normally emotional, especially in public, but this was an altogether different emotion. It was like she almost knew that her relationship with Tom was over, and now it was time to mourn.

       “Many different scholars have used public records from Shakespeare’s hometown Stratford-upon-Avon, to understand the sexual behavior of Shakespeare and his contemporaries. It was a much different time then, guys. Sexual misconduct was not blatant under the eye of Queen Elizabeth, who was often referred to as the Virgin Queen, and the church or the state did not tolerate adultery, incontinence or pre-marital sex. In other words, if you cheated on your spouse, couldn’t maintain an erection, or had sex before marriage, you’d be punished under the Queen’s rule. In fact, Stratford records give record of prosecution for fornication, and in spite of the danger of punishment, evidence shows that Shakespeare himself engaged in pre-marital sex, as his wife Anne Hathaway was already pregnant at the time of their marriage. It seems as though he escaped prosecution for this and escaped “scot-free.” Shakespeare’s personal sexual experiences are reflected in his writing. In Shakespeare’s “As You Like It,” Rosalind discusses pre-marital sex, and in his Sonnet 151, Shakespeare gives an “extraordinary description of an erection, detailing the rising and the falling of the penis.” The class giggled as Tom returned back to the lectern. “Next time, come prepared for me to lecture for a complete hour about how scandalous Elizabethan theatre was.”

        The class mumbled. 

        “Oh, come now. It won't be that bad.” He grinned. “Now, turn to page 24 in your textbook, answer the four essay questions listed about A Midsummer Night’s Dream, and turn it in. After that you may go for the day.”

        Everyone groaned and reached into their bags for paper, and flipped to the page in their textbooks. Maybe if Summer took a while to do this, she would be able to talk to Tom before leaving. The more people that got up, the better she felt. Only, there was one person that didn’t get up even though he was finished… Jake. He was going to sit there until she got up… He was going to watch her like a hawk from here on out.

         She huffed as she added her name to the top of her paper, and underneath it, in tiny letters, she wrote the words. “I’m sorry.” She stood and began to walk to the front of the room, and heard Jake’s boots on the wooden floor behind her, matching her step for step. Approaching the lectern, she slipped her paper onto the wooden surface. 

         “Thank you, Summer.” Tom said as he looked into her eyes. She wished she knew what he was thinking at that moment as he looked at her… she couldn’t tell if his mind was filled with love… or hate… forgiveness… or contempt… and that broke her heart.

         Jake cleared his throat and stepped beside her, sliding his paper on top of hers.  

        “Thank you, Jake.” 

        Jake didn’t reply, prompting Summer to look up at him,  but he just stared at Tom, narrowing his eyes at the Professor. Tom didn’t back down, reciprocating the hateful glare, and Summer saw his jaw clench and release beneath the skin of his beautiful face.

       “Let’s go, Summer.” Jake ordered as he finally looked down to her, nodding his head toward the door.

       She gave Tom one last pleading look, before turning and exiting the room, feeling Jake so close behind her that she could hear his deep breaths. 

       “Summer.” He tried to stop her as she sped up and bustled toward her car. His long legs quickly caught up with her as he reached out and wrapped his hand around her arm. “Summer!”

       “Let go of me, Jake.” She spoke quietly, not wanting to draw attention to them. Squirming, she tried to wrench herself out of his grip, but it was impossible… he was much too strong.  

      “You know, I care about you, and I’m just trying to protect you.”

      She looked from his hand squeezing her arm to his eyes. “By hurting me?”

      “Stay away from him, Summer. That’s the last warning I am going to give you.”  

      Her mouth dropped open at his words and forcefulness. Jake had never been aggressive toward her until now, and it should have scared her… but, really, it just pissed her off.

       “How dare you? We’ve been through so much... you are one of my best friends… and you treat me like this?”

       “What’s going on out here?” Tom trotted over to the pair, rage filling his eyes. “Jake, let go of Summer, now.”  

       “This is none of your business, Dr. Hiddleston.”

       Tom stepped closer and whispered. “Summer is my fucking business. If you have a problem, you can take it up with me. Now, let her go home.”  

       Jake released her arm, but not before giving her a tiny shove. Both men looked at her expectantly as she turned and bustled to her car. Her trusty Toyota couldn’t get her out of there fast enough as she watched Tom and Jake standing there watching her. Was every day going to be like this from now on? She wouldn’t be able to handle it if they were. By the time she arrived back at her apartment, she was in hysterics. Chloe met her at the door and wrapped her arms around her friend. “Come on, sweetie. Let’s sit on the couch. Tell me what happened.”

___________________________         Summer laid on her bed later that day. It had actually turned into a lovely afternoon, so she raised her window, and let the cool breeze flow into her room. She tried to think of a way out of her situation, but every scenario was a dead end. None of them ended with a happy Summer… she either had her career, or the man she wanted. None of the possibilities left her with both. Suddenly, her phone buzzed beside her. Before swiping her finger across the screen, she saw it was a text from a number she didn’t know.

               3:46 P.M.           Are you okay?

              3:47 P.M.             Who is this?                   -S

                       3:49 P.M. You know who this is, my darling.

             3:51 P.M.  No, I’m not fine. I miss you.                -S

             3:53 P.M. I miss you too, darling. I promise that I will let nothing get in our way… or no one. Do you believe that? Will you tough this out with me?

             3:55 P.M.                 Yes.                  -S

             3:57 P.M.  That’s what I wanted to hear.          I’ll see you soon.

         She read back over the texts more times than she could count, and each time it made her feel a little better. Now, they would just have to be extra secretive. Not only keeping their relationship hidden from the world… but an over protective Jake, as well. That might prove to be a challenge… but she was up for it. She loved Tom. She could finally admit it to herself… now, admitting it to him might be a little harder. To learn to love, she would need a really good teacher…                                     … and she knew just the man for the job.

[brain-rot-central]

Sonnet of the Lone Cardinal, Ch. 8

A/N: *Dead Dove: Do Not Eat* I probably should have added that tag a while ago. I apologize for not having done so up until this point. Major tw: depictions/references of alcoholism, trauma, abuse, PTSD, panic attacks. This chapter is a mess. I'm so sorry. It's like I bet myself how much darker can I get with each chapter, lmao. Proceed with caution.

Rating: Explicit (due to the themes, really. No smut this chapter.) Word count: 6k Pairing: Ascended Astarion x Female Tav (DU, named) Warnings: 18+, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, implied alcohol abuse, trauma, past abuse, PTSD, depictions of physical abuse, unhealthy relationship Summary: Astarion readies himself for the ball, then heads to retrieve Tav. A tumultuous heart-to-heart ensues.

♥ Previous Chapter ♥ Next Chapter ♥ Link to Ao3

‘She’s voicing doubts, my lord. How shall I proceed?’

He impatiently taps his nails against the wood of the dresser. With his other hand, Astarion brings a glass of wine to his lips. He’s chosen a mellow red for this evening; smooth going down with just the slightest bite at the back of the tongue.

‘Push forward and ignore them,’ he responds through the telepathic bond. ‘Continue getting her ready.’

There’s a brief pause before Magdalena’s response comes through.

‘As you wish, Lord Ancunín.’

Astarion severs the connection abruptly.

Taking a quick sip of wine, he places the glass on top of the dresser and sighs. Warmth blooms within his chest as crimson liquid travels down his esophagus. It's almost reminiscent of blood he's supped upon:

Her blood. The sweetest substance to have ever graced his poisoned tongue.

Astarion lifts the sleeves of his shirt and picks up a bottle of cologne on the dresser, uncorking its stopper. He tilts the bottle and dabs it gently on his left wrist. Placing the bottle back down on the bureau, Astarion rubs his wrists one over the other, spreading the scent evenly. It's his signature blend for over two centuries, the recipe little changed. He taps the mouth of the bottle lightly with the pads of his fingers, then brings them to the delicate skin behind his ears.

There's one thing that’s undeniable, even to him. He's nervous. Terribly, terribly nervous. He hasn't felt this out of control in months. Tav’s proximity is impacting him in ways he hadn't anticipated. It's intoxicating, suffocating. She's all he can think about.

How to keep her happy, wanting. To stay within her good graces.

She’s seen too much far too soon. Perhaps Astarion would have revealed everything to her in time, but certainly not at this point. Not when everything is still so fresh between them. And now that she's voicing doubts, he wants nothing more than to perform as much damage control as possible.

Her departure is simply not an option. Unless it's on agreeable terms.

Astarion is a horrid planner. It's a miracle he's stuck to this current one, though having to adjust his plan so early is distressing. It feels as though he's grasping at straws. Barely keeping his head above water. That isn't a place he enjoys being.

Tav will speak with Wyll tonight, and he's nervous. So terribly nervous of how Wyll will try souring his name. Slip a slow, creeping venom into Tav's mind, poisoning her thoughts. Astarion is nervous that all he's put into repairing the frayed bond he and Tav share will be undone by this single conversation.

He pulls down his sleeves and shrugs his shoulders, giving himself a look in the mirror. He's chosen a loose maroon dress shirt for the evening, a few buttons undone at the top and the hem tucked in. A pair of black dress slacks held fast by a black belt with a silver buckle, and brown leather shoes complete his ensemble. He draws a deep breath in, exhaling with a slight shake of his head.

It dawns on him that he isn't exactly sure what his end goal is. To charm Tav back into his arms, yes. But what else? Does he wish for more, or to keep this casual?

No.

The nonchalance of this affair stopped after the third night. 

When she held his face to hers–their foreheads pressed together as they shared the same air–Astarion knew. The shopkeeper below Tav's loft banged viciously on the ceiling, shouting muffled expletives through the floor. But Astarion was beyond caring. He sang as loud as Tav did, greedily drinking her moans as though the centuries-long hunger still consumed him.

This is very much a thing. A very real thing.

Feelings he'd hoped to have lost are involved, left over from before the ascension. He’s not happy to admit it, but it would be foolish to deny their existence.

The remnants of him. 

The sad, pitiful spawn. Groveling in the dirt, forced onto his back by the whim of another. How truly misguided his trust had been at the hour of his death. Astarion shakes his head free of the thought before it can warp further.

Yet, a sinking reality sets in.

That's who she wants, though… isn't it? 

The man he was? There's little chance Tav feels for him now. She may never again, not after all she's seen. 

This provokes another thought to come forward.

Did she ever want him beyond what his body could offer? He's almost sure of it, but most importantly…

Why does he care now?

There are times when he looks into her eyes that Astarion almost sees it. The classic look she gives only to him. The one that makes his knees falter and his heart race. The longing laced within her gaze. It makes him wish he could sequester her back to his chamber and have her sing his name, his praises, until the sun comes up.

Astarion would willingly be her protector. The fulfiller of all her wishes. He would make it abundantly clear how none of what he has could have been possible without her. How he wishes to share all of this with her. He will do anything, everything, to prove that to her.

Everything, aside from admitting one small thing. And as he gazes into the mirror, Astarion rolls his eyes and scoffs.

Love.

What a foolish concept.

He picks up a silver chain necklace from the bureau and fastens it around his neck. Rubies adorn the solid silver pendant of the necklace and Astarion adjusts it to hang between the open lapels of his shirt, against his bare chest. The metal is cool as it lays against his skin. It's only then that he realizes how flushed he is. 

How his heart jumps in his throat.

Astarion reaches for the glass of wine once more, stealing another sip. The sting on the back of his tongue soothes the ache. For now.

His dagger, Rhapsody, is the last item to prepare. Originally owned by a corrupt master, but taken as a spoil of war. It's dull now and essentially for show, but he cares not. Astarion stows a separate sharpened blade on his outer ankle at all times, hidden by the length of his trousers; a habit left over from his past life. He secures the dagger's holster around his left thigh, attaching it to his belt, then slips the blade within.

Tav will be on his right arm when they make their entrance. That's at least what he has planned.

Brushing a few stray hairs into place, Astarion gives himself a final look in the mirror. Satisfied, he chokes back the remainder of the wine he's been nursing all evening, slamming the glass down hard onto the dresser. 

A glimmer of light jumps in his periphery as his fist connects with the wood and Astarion looks. A golden ring with a turquoise gemstone sits within a clear case, nestled within a bed of velvet.

True Love’s Caress. 

The ring Tav gave to him, so long ago.

Astarion quickly opens the case, slipping the ring onto the fourth finger of his left hand, and heads out into the hall. As he walks down the long corridor toward Tav’s room, he nods absently at those he sees along the way.

His chest begins to burn, his mind growing clouded.

Why does he care if she stays? Does he really need her? Ultimately, no. But…

Astarion has unlimited wealth and resources. A plethora of lords and ladies would all but collapse at his feet for an opportunity to become his betrothed. Throw in the chance of eternal life, and that list is bound to grow exponentially.

He doesn't notice the speed in which he's barreling down the hall until he almost walks face first into a silver tray holding freshly cut fruit, carried by an unsuspecting servant. “M-my apologies, my lord!” the young woman gasps, clamoring for control over the tray as it sways in her hands.

Astarion doesn't recall ever seeing this one before. Magdalena is responsible for the staffing of the palace. Regardless, he raises a hand and gives the young woman a short bow in apology, continuing on his way.

His vision sways as the wine finally takes hold.

No, he doesn't necessarily need Tavaria. He’d go about his time just fine without her. But… would he enjoy it? Would he be satisfied?

Astarion stops dead in his tracks, clenching his fists hard enough for his nails to bite into the skin of his palms.

…Does he want for this?

No, he couldn't possibly. He's the vampire ascendant! The most powerful vampire lord to have ever lived. The waking dream of all his kind. He wants for nothing. Has no need of groveling in the dirt. The world is his playground, and he will take whatever it is he desires. It's what he's owed after two hundred years of shit.

Pure shit.

The gods turned their backs on him during his most desperate hour of need. They'll have little choice but to acknowledge him now.

No, Tav should be thanking him for being so generous as to give her a second chance. Another opportunity of having every decadence life has to offer handed to her. Wealth, power, pleasure. So much pleasure that she needn’t ask for it ever again. Astarion would see to that personally.

If she chooses wisely.

He straightens his posture and gives his head a quick shake, strengthening his resolve.

She will. One way or another, she will fall back into his arms.

Astarion knows she's afflicted with the same sickness he has. Tav’s heart gallops when he draws near. Her blood sings, her breath halts. He can almost hear the way her skin calls for the icy pierce of his fangs. Smell the desire that burns deep within her to be well and truly his.

She will succumb to his song. 

She will be his consort. 

They will spend eternity in each other's arms.

Though his resolve fades quickly as his feet finally bring him before Tav’s door. Nervous energy surges through him again. It fights for dominance against the sedating alcohol coursing through his body. And for a passing moment, he feels faint. 

Astarion clears his throat and rolls his shoulders, giving a quick surveillance of his surroundings. 

No one else is within this end of the manor. It’s only them.

With some trepidation, Astarion lifts a hand, placing three soft raps against the wooden door with the back of his knuckle, the ring around his finger catching his eye. 

And he waits.

His elven ears then pick up the faint sound of shuffling from behind the door. “Is that you, Magdalena?” comes Tav’s muffled voice.

“No, it's only me, darling,” Astarion replies with as much composure as he can muster. When he hears rustling within the bedroom, he quickly adds, “Take your time. There's no rush.” 

As he awaits for her to open the door, thoughts from earlier begin to resurface. 

Should she refuse his offer still, despite all he's done… What, then? What more is there to do? Not much, he feels. 

And at that point, when all other options have been exhausted…

Well… she’d be forcing his hand, then.

Wouldn't she?

The door suddenly opens, and the sight of her makes his breath grow cold within his chest. Tav is wearing the emerald dress he'd commissioned for her and the pair of golden shoes he'd sent. Her long, auburn hair cascades down her sun-freckled shoulders in loose, wavy ringlets. But what makes Astarion’s breath cease lay across her forehead.

Her soft, sweeping bangs have transported him back to the crash site of the Nautiloid, to when they first met. And every night thereafter, when she'd inevitably slink her way over to his tent to steal a word. Or several. 

How she'd style them differently day after day. Play with them if they were to broach an uncomfortable subject. The way she'd dip her head to hide behind them in an effort to play coy.

Astarion remembers how they'd cling to her sweat-soaked brow as she called his name over and over again from below him, rendering him completely and utterly helpless to resist her. How he'd brush them to the side to rest his head directly against hers. Placed gentle kisses to the top of her brow after they finished.

“Rather bold to cut your hair the night of an event, eh?” he remarks with a chuckle.

Tav shrugs in response. “Just felt like something I needed to do.” Her expression is flat as she steps out of the doorway, ushering him in.

As he steps into the bedroom, Astarion gives her a small smile, nervous energy peaking once more. He notices the tennis necklace he sent her clutched in her hand, and he winces. “Have you found everything to your liking?” he asks, curiously.

Tav shuts the bedroom door behind them, then walks to the vanity. Her back is to him as she says, “Oh, yes, everything is absolutely beautiful.” There's a small crack in her voice. 

Something is troubling her.

Astarion sighs, anticipating the turn the conversation is taking. “I get the feeling there's a ‘but’ coming, here,” he states exasperatedly.

Tav shakes her head, now turning toward him. “No, it's not that.” She looks at her hands, running the necklace between her fingers. “I… I wanted to talk candidly about what happened in the crypts.”

“I don't understand what more of a discussion could be had,” Astarion spits, defensively. He did what she asked. What more is there to say?

Her bottom lip trembles as she pulls it between her teeth. Tav places the bracelet down on the counter and draws in a deep breath. She then lifts her head to face him.

Astarion does not like where this is going.

“When I encouraged you to show those men mercy…” her voice trails off. She's seemingly lost in thought for moment before she continues, “...you killed them.” Tav shakes her head in disbelief, eyes blinking rapidly. “You killed them, Astarion.”

He furrows his brow in question. “Were you hoping for a different outcome?”

“No,” Tav says with another shake of her head. “No, I knew that's what you'd do.” Tav meets his eyes again with an intense gaze. “But I didn't quite understand why until after.”

…Oh. 

She caught that, did she? 

He shouldn't be so surprised. Tav always pieces together everything he doesn't wish to say. It's maddening, how he can never hide from her. Though, in a way… It's comforting. To have someone see him. 

The real him.

“Do you…” her voice fades again, but she takes a deep breath and pushes forward. “Do you still feel that way?” Tav asks, voice small. “About yourself?”

Astarion draws a large breath through his nose and crosses his arms over his chest. For a moment, he doesn't speak. His mind scrambles for the appropriate words, alongside a fitting delivery. 

Once he finds it, Astarion says, “Not anymore, no. That feeling died when Cazador did.” The name feels like a shard of ice through his chest as it tumbles forward, but it's a momentary pain that fades as quickly as it comes.

An awkward silence hangs like thick fog about the air. They're still looking at one another, and Astarion notices a glossy sheen to Tav’s eyes.

“...What replaced it?” Tav asks in a voice still barely above a whisper.

He knows what replaced that feeling, but it's not something she needs to know right now.

Bitterness.

Bitterness is what replaced the feeling of hopelessness Astarion carried for two centuries. All of his anger. Spite. Unrest, for the poor card life had given him for so many years. How he screamed, and screamed, and screamed for someone, anyone to hear him. To pull him from his waking nightmare.

No one ever did.

Until her.

Tavaria was the only one who extended a hand to him. The only one who found him worth saving. Who listened to him. Gave even a sliver of a shit to see him.

And it dawns on him then that she truly did care for him. Found more worth to him beyond what his body could give her.

But it terrifies him to know that she sees everything. Astarion will never be able to hide for long, if they're together. She knows him too well–understands things about him that he doesn't quite get himself. He will never have full control of their dynamic. She will always be a step ahead of him, and he'll be dashing behind her to catch up. 

It will be a nightmare for him.

But, gods… How his heart still aches for her. Longs for her to hold him within her embrace.

“I'm not quite sure, my dear,” is Astarion's crafted reply. He speaks with ease, shifting his weight to the opposite hip. “I tend not to dwell on it much, these days.”

It's a lie, but one small enough to hopefully get her off his back. And it seems to work, at least for now. Tav grows quiet, dropping her eyes to the floor. Her hands work quickly again, fingers rubbing over one another.

Gesturing to the necklace on the vanity with a wave of his hand, Astarion says, “May I help you with that?” He outstretches a hand in her direction–an invitation for her to place the tennis necklace within his palm.

Tav blinks up at him. With a nod, she picks up the necklace and hands it to Astarion. She turns around to face the mirror, clasping her hands together over her abdomen.

He unhooks the necklace and steps behind her swiftly. Astarion gently sweeps her hair free off her shoulder, Tav reaching up to hold it out of the way for him. As her hair lifts, the smell of lavender and pine wafts about the air: two of the scents he had crafted just for her. Reminiscent of their first night together in the clearing within the forest.

Astarion's arms come up above her head, falling feather-light to lay the jewelry across her chest. He steals a glance of them both in the mirror. Light from a candle reflects off the diamond studded earrings he's given her.

And then, it suddenly hits him.

He does want this. Yearns for more. There's a twist deep within his chest as he fastens the jewelry around the column of her throat, reaching up to move her hair back in place. The backs of his hands glide smoothly against her shoulders as he drops his hands. Astarion moves his face to the softness of her hair and plants a kiss, sucking in a sharp breath through his nose. The scent of her overwhelms his senses. His head spins as he closes his eyes, finding solace in the quiet intimacy of the moment.

“...Astarion...”

He opens his eyes and finds Tav’s face again within the mirror, full with worry. With one hand she plays with the necklace, twisting it between her fingertips. “...Did you ever love me?” she asks, voice quivering.

The sound of her heart pounds in his ears. The rush of her blood is a quartet cascading toward a triumphant crescendo. It's so quick it can almost be mistaken for two distinct heartbeats as he beats against his eardrums. Astarion's heart then pounds in tandem with hers, head growing light. Heat creeps under his skin and his vision narrows.

Love.

He positively loathes the word. The feeling. The sentiment.

It makes his skin crawl. Hands claw at his neck. A knife carving deep into his back. The room grows silent and then he's slipping, far back into the recesses of his mind.

‘I write this poem of love for you, my son. For all my children.’

A high pitched scream rings loudly against the stone walls of the kennels. Godey stands watch, bones rattling as he comes forward to reinforce the shackles around Astarion's arms and legs.

Rhapsody drags across his back, slicing into delicate porcelain skin. Astarion feels rivulets of cool liquid running down his back, and when the scent of iron reaches his nose, he realizes it's his blood pouring onto the mattress below.

Cazador raises the blood-soaked blade to his face, swiping his tongue against the flat edge. He groans in satisfaction as the crimson essence fills his mouth, then sets the dagger to work once more.

Astarion screams as his flesh parts again, a new rune being carved.

‘With this, we will forever be connected,’ Cazador explains. ‘You will always be mine.’

Astarion steps back, dragging a hand across his face. He feels the ever-present demon that sleeps within threatening to surface. An overwhelming sense of dread grips him tight. “...You know how I feel about that word,” he insists, hoping desperately that she'll drop this conversation before it's too late.

Tav meets his gaze through the mirror. Astarion watches the movement of her throat as she swallows. “But did you?” She then turns her whole body to meet him directly. “Did he?”

He. Him. The man he used to be. Not the man who stands before her, now.

Astarion's lips curl into a dangerous smile, a snicker rumbling through his chest. “There it is,” he remarks with sarcasm. He raises a hand and points a single finger into the air, wagging it back and forth. “I was wondering how long it would take for you to bring him up again.” He's beginning to feel more like himself again; further from tipping over the edge.

Tav’s expression sours and she shrugs her shoulders. “Can you blame me, Astarion? At least I knew where I stood with him.” She shakes her head in disbelief. “You feel akin to a stranger, now.”

Pain grips him as her words split wide through his chest, plunging him back down the path of what seems to be an inevitable crash. “I certainly am not, my dear, ” Astarion says. His voice is even despite the storm raging within. “I haven't been for quite some time.”

Then, he sees them: the tears welling up at the corners of her eyes. 

Shit, he curses to himself. This is not what he wants–not what he needs. Don't cry, don't cry, don't cry, please don't cry–

“Then why do you seem so different?” Tav squeaks, trying to stave off her sobs. “Why can I no longer feel the warmth of your heart?”

Then, they fall. Hard. And the walls he's fought so hard to keep up collapse inward.

…Fuck.

Astarion can hardly stomach the thought of having hurt her, let alone see physical proof. Her makeup is ruined. Mascara runs down her cheeks. Tears cut streaks through her foundation. Tav covers her face with her hands and briskly turns away, choosing to stand near the door leading out onto the balcony.

Each choked sob from Tav sends a jolt of electric shooting across his chest. “Tavaria…” Astarion whispers. He approaches gently from behind, maintaining distance. “Come now, darling; you know that's not true. I’m right here, as I've always been.”

Control. He must regain control of this situation.

She plants her palms flat against the glass door and she sucks in a gasp. Her head hangs down between her shoulders. “You're not,” Tav argues. “This is not the man I know.” Astarion observes as she shakes her head. Turning to him, she dabs her eyes with the back of her hand. “This is not the man I fell in love with. Who loved me.”

“Tav–”

“This is a man who fears love. Operates off of obsession. Who is jealous,” she remarks angrily, voice rising. “You give me the illusion of freedom, Astarion, but this is hardly freedom.” Tav raises a hand and sweeps it across the room. “You've given me nothing but a gilded cage to fly about in!”

The sharp edge of her tongue cuts deep once more. But this time, a sudden flare of rage rises within and he rushes forward. “Do you think I would do this for anyone else?” Astarion stands face to face with her, nostrils flaring with heavy breath. “Share all of this with a common fool off the street?!”

“Then say it!” Tav roars back, entire body shaking. Tears still fall from her eyes, but Astarion can tell they're more from frustration than pain. “Fucking hells, Astarion. Just fucking say it already!”

Drawing in a breath, Astarion blinks, stepping back slightly. He's suddenly warm. Very, very warm. But a chil thenl shoots up his spine.

He… does love her. Loves this. 

Wants to hold her forever in this room, suspended in this moment for the rest of eternity. She's beautiful–so godsdamned beautiful–as she stares at him, bewildered. 

But he can't touch her. Not more than he already has. Anything more is sacrilege, tainted. He'll ruin it. Ruin her. Ruin everything.

Though… this is what she's asking of him…

Right?

And truth be told, Astarion wants to delve deeper. He longs to dig through her chest and curl alongside her heart, forever. Tav made her home so long ago within his. 

He wants her to come home–come back to him.

Astarion swallows thickly as he asks, “...What do you think we are?” He's doing his best to keep his voice even, despite feeling like his heart is in his mouth. If this is his chance to win her back, he'll take it. He'll finally show her his heart.

“Gods, Astarion; I don't know,” Tav answers, flustered. She throws her hands up. “Lovers, perhaps?”

A sharp pain grips his chest accompanied by a head rush. Astarion becomes acutely aware of just how fast his heart is beating. “And what do you want us to be?” he asks in a hushed tone.

Tav holds his gaze for a moment, then drops her focus to the floor. “Astarion…” She rests a hand over the emerald fabric of the dress, rubbing circular patterns into her stomach. “I… Gods, this is pointless,” Tav states abruptly, dashing toward the washroom door.

But as Tav passes, Astarion reaches swiftly to clasp a hand around her upper arm. The grip isn't tight enough to leave an impression, though it prevents her from continuing forward. 

“What do you want us to be, Tavaria?” Astarion reiterates, sternly. “I'm not letting go without an answer.” 

The adrenaline is setting in and his vision begins to narrow. Sound slowly fades from his ears, replaced by thunderous clashes of his heart against his ribcage. Tav lifts her face to address him. Astarion meets her gaze and his breath runs cold.

“...I want him,” Tav confesses. Her green eyes are glossy with tears threatening to spill over again, and there's a flush to her entire face. “Gods, I miss us, Astarion.”

Finally, the dam gives way again, alongside the last shreds of his resolve.

Astarion laughs haughtily, throwing his head back with a howl. She sheds tears for the sniveling coward he once was, and none for the man who stands beside her.

How silly of him to think he could bare anything to her.

“Tch,” Astarion scoffs, releasing his hold on her arm, “Of course you'd prefer the version of me that had no choice but to lay on his back should his master command it.”

Tav narrows her gaze and takes a few steps away from Astarion, wiping her tears once more with the back of a hand. “I don’t want to control you, Astarion,” she sniffles. “What have I done that proves I mean you harm?”

He then laughs again.

Enraged, Astarion surges forward. “Oh, my dear, you're guilty of the ultimate betrayal!” he chides. “You left me,” The words are gruff as they fall from his mouth, spoken through clenched teeth. He watches as Tav recoils further from him. 

“You wanted to kill me,” argues Tav with a tilt of her head. “We’ve already had his discussion, Astarion.”

Astarion scowls. “No, darling. I told you I only wished to deliver you unto undeath.” The storm begins to quell and he reaches out, holding her hands within his own. “And as I've stated before, I was only trying to give you what you wanted,” he says, voice dropping an octave.

‘Isn’t that what you want?’ Astarion recalls telling her. ‘To be mine? Forever?’

Turning her is the only way he can guarantee that they’ll be together forever. Make good on his promise to protect her. That he’ll never have to suffer the crushing loss of her.

Astarion's breath comes in quick, short pants as they exchange heated glances between the silence stretched before them.

Tav shakes her head, pulling her hands free from his grasp. “He would have never asked me to do that,” she infers. 

A heavy weight sits on Astarion’s chest and he sighs in disappointment. “You're wrong.”

He would have.

Then, and now still, he would. The moment he realized his skin smelled of her soaps more often than not is when this hunger took root. But he was too weak. Too fearful of what his attachment meant for her. 

She became all Astarion thought about: how his proximity to her made her a target, should Cazador come for him. How useless he would be without the tadpole if attacked in broad daylight. Her smile, her hair, the feeling of her pulse thrumming under his tongue while seated in his lap. He remembers how his chest ached when considering a path without her, as if his heart still beat.

Keeping her close to him, forever, is all he's ever longed for…

“He just lacked the ability to do so,” Astarion explains. “Lucky for us, he's no longer here.”

“He loved me,” Tav blurts out. “And that's more than I can say of you now.”

…but she still doesn't see it.

“Are you even capable of that now?” she asks in a contemptuous tone. “Or is this all I’ll ever get?”

“You are worth so much,” sneers Astarion. His face hovers above hers as he searches her eyes. “You’ve no idea.”

“Then tell me, Astarion.” Tav moves forward; Astarion instinctively backs away. “Tell me how much I mean to you.” His back hits the bedroom door and she pauses, leaving barely an inch of space between them. “Tell me how much you love me, Astarion. Please,” she pleads, voice breaking.

Astarion's chest heaves, and the demon creeps forward. The word is tainted, so heavily defiled. It's a strong poison that Astarion will never be able to suck out. It will leech into every part of what they have and slowly, surely, kill everything.

“I… I–” he stammers. Astarion wants to say it. It's right on the tip of his tongue, but it catches in his throat. His mind is loud, thoughts racing so quickly he can barely keep up with what they're saying. She's staring at him expectantly, and he has nothing to deliver.

He feels lost, as though his body is no longer his own. The scars on his back sting like they're freshly carved. There are shackles around his ankles and a hand around his neck. 

He's back in the kennels, oh gods he's back in the kennels, Godey maniacal laughter rings in his ears, he's trapped, he's trapped, he's trapped–

‘I do this out of love…’

Astarion can't breathe. 

He's being flayed, he's being impaled. He feels his control slipping as his thoughts become louder, shouting at him full-forced. The demon creeps forward and he can see its face. Astarion feels himself beginning to slip away. 

He can't say it. She can never know. But he has to fix this. He can fix this. How can he fix this?

…Oh.

Then suddenly, it comes to him: the urge to fuck it into her instead. 

Pick her up and whisk her onto the bed, because that's the language he knows. A language he trusts. He can thrust, and thrust and thrust until she cries his name, his praises into the night. 

Yes, everything would be better if he did just that.

He can show her how he feels. He won't have to say it. He can still stay safe, she'll never have to know. She doesn't need to know. He could just fuck her, over and over, as long as she wants. Forever, and ever, and ever–

But not right now. 

Later. 

Later he'll give himself to her, after he's had more to drink. That always makes this easier.

“The party is about to begin,” he manages to say. Astarion reaches behind himself to find the handle of the door. He clears his throat, then says, “We really should get going.”

Tav blinks, her expression falling flat. “Alright,” she says, soberly. She gazes a moment too long at him before eventually moving away to the mirror, taking a quick glance at herself. She wipes a finger under each eye, ridding herself of the smeared mascara. “Give me a few moments and I'll be right out.”

There's a soft tremor in her voice and Astarion knows she's unhappy with him, but at this moment, all he cares about is avoiding this topic. They will eventually have this discussion again–he knows it’s inevitable. Yet for now, he can breathe again.

Astarion nods, giving a quick dip of his head in acknowledgement toward Tav. He twists the handle of the bedroom door just as she enters the washroom and steps outside, the door closing behind him with a soft ‘click.’ 

A muffled sob can then be heard from the opposite end of the door, and a pang of guilt grips his chest. 

Tavaria is crying. Again. All because he couldn't say three bloody words to her.

Astarion raises a hand to pinch the bridge of his nose. He's said them before in jest–way before she meant anything significant to him. It isn't like he's incapable… nor would he be lying, should he say them again. 

His head throbs behind his eyes–the drink from before beginning to fade–and he digs his fingers harder into his skin.

Even if he is upset over it, Astarion knows why she left him. He doesn't even truly disagree with it, because had he been told the reality of what being a vampire spawn was like, he may have just chosen actual death itself. But he would never subject her to even a fraction of what he endured. He would make the experience so pleasant for her, so very enjoyable.

And she's here now, isn't she? She hasn't run yet, despite all she's seen. Has invited him into her bed countless times over these last few months. She's never told him to leave.

Right now, Astarion hates himself. Hates the chokehold just thinking about love has over him. She deserves to be told how he feels. To hear him say it. She isn't Cazador. No, she's quite the opposite of him, actually.

The opening of the bedroom door pulls Astarion from his thoughts, and he steps away from the doorway. Tav appears as the door swings fully open, her makeup redone and her eyes somewhat puffy, but she puts on her best smile and she steps through the threshold.

Astarion's chest aches as he looks at her face. It's all for show, and he knows it. Returning her smile, Astarion then holds a folded arm out toward Tav. She graciously accepts his offering by slipping her arm within his, and they head toward the ballroom.

They look every bit like the perfect couple as they walk through the hall, but his chest feels hollow. They reach the top of the stairs and Astarion steps down first, offering his hand to Tav. He sees the trepidation in her eyes, but eventually she smiles and accepts his offer.

And when her hand slots perfectly into his, light gleaming off the turquoise gemstone of True Love’s Caress, the knife twists so deeply within his chest that it knocks the air clean from his lungs.

He truly is a godsdamned fool.

[brain-rot-central]

I’m scared on what you have in store with the chapter 9.

Ohhh it's not that bad. *sips coffee in nonchalance*

I did sit with ch 9 for a bit yesterday and I'm about three-quarters of the way done editing it. I'm finally feeling more like myself lately so I'm back on the horse!

I was planning on having Gale make an appearance but due to pacing I may take that part and make it into the next chapter, as I could expand on Tavaria and Gale's interaction a bit more.

It wouldn't be a long chapter; basically something to kind of plug in some holes as to how Gale left off at the end of the game. How Astarion views him, etc. Basically how Gale played into the party dynamics, and then it would transition into the following chapter. I plan to have most of the companions play roles in the story (aside from Karlach and Lae'zel; in the game's ending for Sonnet, Karlach went back to the Hells and Lae'zel returned to the Githyanki to fight what is essentially the new civil war -- Minthara ceased to exist back at the goblin camp).

Again ch 9 is done. I'm just going over it with a very fine-toothed comb for continuity purposes and also because my brain is a different entity entirely day to day lmao. I will structure sentences one day, go back the next to look at them and go "girl the fuck are you trying to say, here," and totally redo them. I thankfully have a visual mind so I can see what these characters are doing rather clearly, as well as where they are. The challenge for me is describing that vision with words well enough that it translates into my writing, that way the reader can also see it.

Anyhow ch 9 is still in the oven. I didn't plan for this to be a big response but I guess I had a lot to say on the matter, lol.

Thanks for sticking around, I know it's been a while since I updated. I appreciate all the support I get from y'all. 🫂❤️