cappydoodle

[banesberry-anomoly]

Protocol doodles

Plus bonus reaction image we made as a joke to use on a friend

[morgana-ren]

i love angst, and i love your writing, but please, PLEASE, i beg you, could you write some hope of tav ever returning now that the imbecile, has realised the error of his ways 🥺😭 (either way, thank you so much, for all your astarion writtings, it has made me feel things, the angst is real and my masochistic heart loves it🥲)

First part of the story HERE

Common complaint I got on that one! So I fixed it just for y'all. This ending is much less sad and much more sappy, so here is the comfort you need after all that angst!

"Darling, will you smile for me? Just once more. Please--"

He feels her cheeks in his palms, the soft skin against his battle-hardened callouses. Desperation cradles his unbeating heart, and for a moment, the emotion is far too much. A searing flame after centuries of frost. A bonfire in a blizzard. It hurts-- it burns--

"My love, I just need you to--"

"Anything my lord, anything at all for you. Simply command me and I will do anything you ask."

"No, I can't-- I-- I won't do it. I won't. I won't!"

"My lord?"

Her head cocks, turning slowly to look upon him, but her eyes-- they are empty; beetle-black and hollow. Her smile is uncanny as a painted doll, her movements disjointed and inhuman. Her teeth are stained crimson with blood, dripping, dripping, ever dripping down, never swallowed, only pooling.

She is light as a feather as she slips away from him, her skin marbling into a sickly gray before ash spreads across her body as a disease, smearing her form into nothingness. Only her face is left untouched, pretty as porcelain, unflinching and unfalling save a small crack that splinters down from her forehead down to her eyes, revealing inky black abyss beneath.

"My lord-- Oh, my tender, vicious lord. I can feel your anguish-- your hunger. Devour me to be whole once more--"

Her blood smells of rot and she--

She is too far gone to save. Too far gone to ever be saved.

"I won't!"

Whirlwind. Pain. Confusion and dread and seeping anguish. A maelstrom of rage and all-consuming despair swelling from within his soul—

���his soul?

The world around him falls away, a wicked tornado thrashing him about, his mind howling in the eternal winds--

And suddenly he is in a chair.

Not a throne. A chair— and a rather uncomfortable one at that.

"What in the hells—"

His vision spins, nausea curling his gut into a wicked tide of sickness barely restrained by his teeth. He tastes stale blood crawling up his throat, threatening to overturn onto the faded rug beneath him.

"Did you see what you wished for, little spawn?"

The voice takes him by surprise. It is not hers, but another, less familiar voice. The wailing animal in his head retreats to a dull roar as his memory creeps back. A brightly colored tent assaults his vision, piecemeal rugs and odd, foreign trinkets abound on makeshift shelves, and before him sits a strange old woman, hood pulled heavy over her straggling gray hair.

"I-- What was that?"

He sees her cracked, aging lips upturn, gnarled hands placed protectively over a strange orb on the table touching his knees. "I have shown you your future, vampling. Was it to your liking?" Panic rises within his stomach again, and though he does not breathe, he clutches his chest. The smell of incense clogs his nostrils and again, the wave of sick threatens to spill forth. Wretched taste of metallic, aged blood sits heavy on his tongue, all sensation too much-- all of it too much.

"No-- No, that cannot be it!"

"This is your path, Pale Elf. The road you walk. The power you seek is well within your grasp, but as I told you before, it will cost you everything."

He vehemently shakes his head, denying it. Denying it before her and all the Gods.

"You told me upon entry that no price was too great for your reward. Do you still agree with this sentiment?"

"No! Not-- not her. Not her. Not that! I couldn't--"

"You can and you shall, sure as the moon follows the sun. You will have everything you ever wanted, but cost of this ritual is plain before you. You cared not for the many souls left to your mercy that are crushed beneath your tyrannical fist in your ascension, but what of the sole one that resides in your heart?"

Her. The light of his life. The air he breathes. The sun on his frigid flesh, the warmth that melts his icy heart.

"No," He hisses, trying to stand, but ultimately unable to muster the strength. "I won't! There-- There must be another way. Show me!"

"There is no other way," She says, solemnly. "It is inevitable."

He swallows down the information like a boulder lodged in his gullet. Her words echo endlessly in his mind, bouncing off the walls and lodging shards of ice directly in his soul.

"What if I-- What if I don't ascend? Tell me, what if I don't?"

She smiles again, teeth flashing through her thin lips. "That is another path, little elf." "I need to know. I-- I need certainty. I won't do this to her, but I--" He pauses, grappling with everything in his mind, desperately flitting about to absorb it all. "If I am going to forgo this, I need to be certain. I need to know that I can protect her, that she will be safe--"

But the woman simply shakes her head.

"Everyone must choose. For some, the path is dark, but for you, you see more than most will ever have the comfort of knowing. I can offer you nothing more. Should you initiate the Rite, you know this will come to pass. I can tell you nothing more if you choose to not. The future is yet unwritten, and the quill resides in your hands." "Then why can I not have both!" He slams a fist on the table, clawing at the soft wood. For the first time in ages, tears prick at his pale lashes and frustration wells a knot in his throat. "Why--" "Because one path is wholly your own, while the other is a tangled web, such is the nature of deals with the Hells. You will get everything you ever wanted and lose everything that made it worth having."

His head slumps, defeated and miserable. Silvery tears slide down the curves of his cheeks, even as he attempts to bite them back. He thought he would find comfort in knowing the future, but all it has given him is utter horror.

"Despair not," She continues. "Yes, you will wither under the sun, an eternally cursed dweller of the night, but all is not lost, is it? The one you love, will she stray from your side?" "I wanted her to have better than that," He sniffles, needling his lip with a fang. "I cannot brave the sun, but her-- She deserves better than that-- better than me."

"And what of what she feels?"

His brows furrow, and he peers up at the woman from tear-beaded lashes.

"You are a night walker; it is in your nature to be selfish. But love is not selfish, little vampling. You must fight your nature, your inherent self-loathing, or your love will always find the fire. What of what she desires?"

"She loves me," He says with absolute certainty. "And I--" "Do you love her?"

"Yes," He hisses, almost insulted that she would ask. "More than anything. I'm here, aren't I?"

"Then the rest matters naught. If you love her, you will allow her the agency to choose-- something you deny her as an ascendent. You must grow past your own follies. To love is to be vulnerable, and you must allow both yourself and her this freedom."

They are hard words to swallow, and yet, he feels the truth resound in them. She would not leave his side, even as he tried to force her to understand. Even as an instrument of his manipulation and schemes came to light, she stood steadfast with him, hand entwined in his, ready to face the fire together.

"I-- I need to know she will be safe."

Again, the woman shakes her head. "You cannot. You must fight fate if you wish to overturn it. You face dire odds, though throwing the dice in your favor now will doom you later should this outcome be the confirmation of your fears."

He sighs, face crinkling as he sniffs once more, summoning the willpower to swallow down the agony of his choice. He finds the strength in his legs to push himself upward from the chair, weak and shaking as a newborn fawn as he does so. "I will do whatever I need to. Anything."

"Then you may yet see this through."

He can hear the fanfare of the circus outside, the bawdy bards strumming away on their lutes and banging on drums, the elated screams of the children and their parents. Facing the light now seems impossible, but he must find his way home to her-- he has to be with her now now now--

"The coin first, boy."

He snaps out of his delirium only long enough to fish his hands into one of his pockets, bringing out a coin. Aged and neglected, the sinister engraving of a skull peers up at him from his palm, ruby eyes gleaming in the light as he tosses it into the woman's knobbily-jointed hands.

"Best of luck to you, night-child," She tucks it away. "We may yet meet again." "No offense, but I hope not."

"Me too, Little Star."

He pays little mind to the bustling streets and bursting taverns of Baldur's Gate, his feet carrying him back to camp as swiftly as his body will allow. It takes him until sundown even as he damn near jobs, ripping through the tree line and into the ruins with the intensity of a man starved.

"Astarion!" Karlach greets him, trying to wave him over. "I've got a bet with Gale about--" "Where is she?" Astarion immediately cuts her off, looking around frantically.

"Who?" Karlach raises a brow.

"Who else?" Wyll crosses his arms, looking intrigued at Astarion's intensity.

"Oh! In her tent, I think. Why? Gotcha a special something' in town for her, eh?" Karlach tries to rib at him, but he pushes past her without a second glance.

"Bet it's a fancy new dress he needs to tear off of her immediately," Karlach rolls her eyes before returning to her business.

He bursts into her tent to find her hunched over a book, tongue poking from between her teeth, as she scans over the page. This only lasts a few seconds before he scrambles onto the bed, squeezing her as tightly as he can manage, burying his nose into her hair, tears brimming in his eyes once more.

"Woah, hey!" She laughs, carefully setting her book aside, trying to discern what in the hells he is mumbling endlessly into her neck.

Need you-- need you-- love you-- can't lose you-- don't ever--

She hushes him, realizing something has gone terribly, terribly wrong, kissing his head and tugging him close. "Hey, what's wrong?"

She tries to cup his cheeks and bring his face up but he adamantly refuses, hard-swallowing the urge to bawl into her shoulder with every ounce of willpower he has. All he can manage is to cling to her, half sobbing, visions of that terrible future swimming in his head. He cannot let it come to pass, he will not--

And she holds him, cradling him in her arms, hushing him gently. Her face creases with worry, running her hands through his silvery hair as he pulls him into her lap.

"Little Star, what's wrong? You seem so upset. What can I do to make you happy, my love?"

"Is it done?" Ulma leans down as she enters the tent, carefully dodging the intricate tassels of the blanket strewn over the entryway.

"It is," The strange old woman replies, still rubbing the coin with her worn thumb.

"And?"

"I showed him nothing but truth," She says quietly. "I did not manipulate his vision. Only channeled it."

"That tells me nothing. I need to know if our children are safe."

"I cannot tell you this, Ulma. You know of the ways of our tribe; our relationship with these magics." Ulma's lips purse, her exasperation evident in her humorless expression. "I need to know--"

"His reaction was genuine. That was not my doing. He knows the price of power. I cannot tell you if he will pay it regardless," The old woman's head lifts, a slight mischievous smile playing on her lips. "But I can tell you what I think."

"And what do you think?"

"I have seen his soul-- the heart of it. I believe you will see our children yet. He will spare our heart to spare his own in kind. It beats in that woman," Her eyes twinkle in the low candlelight, a genuine smile widening across her cheeks. "I believe he can find redemption yet."

[saradika]

— beneath the mask

din djarin x f!reader

rated t - 1.3k

tags: medieval!au, light angst, anxiety, arranged marriage, soulmate au, reader has a mother & father

prompt: "I wanted it to be you, I wanted it to be you so badly” from the writing challenge hosted by the amazing and lovely @moonlight-prose 💖

when a mysterious stranger wins your hand at the tournament, you can't help but wonder about his intentions

With each step down the aisle, your legs threaten to give out.

A clicking of your teeth as you tremble, before you're gritting your jaw, biting your anxiety back. You have a reputation to uphold, even if you're only the daughter of a lord from a lesser house.

You're still a lady.

And this marriage would ensure a home for you. Protection. More than, if this man is what he says he is.

But a part of you desperately wishes that it was someone else at the end of the aisle.

You'd searched for a long time. For the glimpses that flash in your dreams at night. Knowing that he was out there - the one you had begun to think of as yours.

Your soulmate.

Never managing to meet the same eyes that reflect back at you in the darkness, just before you wake. Not once in the hundreds, thousands of people you��ve looked at, throughout your years.

And when none were found, you slowly gave up. Knowing the world was too large and you were too small, too poor, to seek them out.

Eventually agreeing to the match that your mother and father arranged.

If you could not have him, then you did not want anyone.

And now - the figure that waits for you stands tall.

Encased in gleaming armor, showing none of the nerves that wrack you. Making you wonder if you should have protested. Taken the path of the unwed, even if there was hardship in your future.

The stranger had won your favor, in the tournament. That is how the story will be told, passed on by your father.

Looking back, you remember very little from it. Knowing deep down that the winner would be the one to have your hand, whether you liked it or not. So much of it had turned to haze, as you had sat frozen there.

All but too nervous to watch, as weapons clashed, shields splintering.

Men you had known and grown up with falling beneath the sword of the mysterious man, clad in silver armor.

A Mandalorian, it was rumored.

Something from stories, you didn't know they still existed. An ancient clan of knights and warriors, honoring weapons and myths over sworn deities. Never revealing their faces to outsiders, and sometimes even to their own.

He had never killed any of them, and there was some comfort in that.

But that didn't mean he did not wound.

That he wasn't vicious, ferocious on the battlefield. Driven by an unseen force. Unrelenting, even when blood was drawn - splattering a bright crimson against his armor.

Showing just how he came to earn his station. The leader of his tribe, from the whispers you heard. Traveling far - slipping into the last few open brackets in the tournament, just as the first morning was starting.

Ripping through them all, in the days that followed.

You were given as the prize, in the end.

Even before the day ends, you would belong to him - ferried off to a new life tomorrow.

And this is what also slows your feet.

Wondering why such a man would come for you.

At the end of the aisle, you halt. The clergymany is speaking, but it's all white noise. Your own eyes wide and face solemn as you stare at your betrothed - your features reflected back at you in the tinted glass of his visor.

Acutely aware that you haven't seen his face. Not knowing what your husband was to look like.

Was he younger than you? Or older... older than your father?

Was his face kind, or was it as sharp as his movements? Was it all snarling teeth, beneath?

Were his eyes blue, or green, or just maybe... brown? Like his?

You don't know. You think not. Leaving you to wonder how you will bear it - to spend each day staring into their eyes while dreaming of anothers.

It's only when a voice raises that you're snapped from your thoughts. Realizing that the ceremony is waiting for you.

Managing, with a stammer, to repeat the words. To pledge yourself - your life and love - to this stranger.

The words repeated after, a low voice layering with metal. The shaking of your hands is still visible when they reach out to meet his, the tips of yours resting against wide, steady palms.

Covered in gloves but solid, like the rest of him.

Only the peek of tanned skin visible when he peels the glove from his hand. A small comfort coming in the warmth of his hand, as you slip the ring on his finger, settling it just above a scarred knuckle.

The careful brush of his fingers - a calming stroke against your skin, when he slips a matching one on yours.

Gentle, after everything.

Not him.

But perhaps, not a monster.

The celebrations swirl past you. There's music you don't remember. A meal that sits heavy in your stomach, from the meager amounts you managed to swallow.

A smile plastered on - assuring your excitement to family and friends - all while you worry about the hours to come.

Will he be as gentle as he was during the ceremony?

Or will it be more like the battlefield?

These thoughts linger, as the hours pass. Until the sun dips below the horizon, until the stars blanket the sky.

And then, you're alone.

Waiting in the finest room prepared for him in the guest wing. The pretty, ivory gown stripped from you, replaced with something thin and fine and silver - hand-sewn and intended to please him.

Pacing, until you hear the heavy steps approaching - as he returns from a meeting with your father, your dowry and your life handed over.

Leaving you frozen in place, as the door opens. Where he lingers, filling the space.

A different man than before, you think.

There had not been a slope to his shoulders, the way he moves as if afraid to frighten you.

His voice is different too - soft now, coaxing.

"I wish our meeting had been under more pleasant circumstances." Your husband tells you, as the door slowly shuts behind him.

Trapping you, now. The iron latch heavy, as it locks into place.

"But I could not bear to stand by." He continues, that hard edge creeping into his voice again, "You must understand."

"I don't." You manage - your brow pinched, shifting the smallest step backwards as he moves forward.

He goes still, at your retreat.

"Do you not, ner kar’ta?" His head tilts, "Do you not know why I have come?"

The shake of your head is small. Not understanding the name he calls you, his intentions.

He hesitates then, for a second. Before his hands are reaching - grasping the edge of his helmet. Slipping it from his head, as his head dips.

His hair is dark, beneath. Messy and curling, greying at the temples, down to the scruff that lines his jaw beneath plush lips and the curve of his nose.

And his eyes. That pretty shade of brown, the dark fan of his eyelashes.

You know them. Though you've never seen them, yourself.

For a moment, you can't breathe. Frozen for an entirely new reason - starting back at the eyes that you've seen so often.

"It's you," You manage. The words are no more than a soft gasp.

He lets you touch him, then. Fingertips tracing his jaw, those eyes slipping shut when your fingers brush the nape of his neck. Somehow knowing how the curls would feel against your fingers, already knowing each detail of his face.

Hidden deep down, revealed bit by bit in your sleep.

Only now, do you see all of him.

And only now, do you lean in. Your head tipping towards him, just as his forehead presses against yours. And it's now that you understand the warmth of his touch - the way it seems to soak into your skin. A lost piece of you, now becoming complete.

You hadn’t been able to find him - so he had found you, instead.

Unable to help the smile, as the dark pit in your stomach blooms into spring.

I wanted it to be you, you think - as your heart finally starts to beat again. I wanted it to be you so badly.

There's a hitch in his breath, with your touch. Fingers that stretch out and then curl, until you're taking them yourself, slipping yours between them.

"Now do you know?" Your husband murmurs, in the voice that you know as well as his eyes.

And you do - the answer coming easily, as you nod, "Because you're mine."

"Yes," He smiles.

"Yours."

i cant stop writing soft!soulmate din 💖 thank you for reading!!

ner kar’ta - my heart

[bits-and-babs]

can u do a konig with kink in primal play ? we need him being a big wolf !

𝐑𝐎𝐓𝐊𝐀𝐏𝐏𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐍 – 𝐊𝐎𝐍𝐈𝐆

synopsis : a big bad wolf chases you down in the woods, desperate for a taste of you.

pairing: könig x redridinghood!reader

warnings : 18+ mdni. pre-agreed scenario, meaning consensual non-consent. hunter x prey, roleplay, degradation, oral (f receiving), p in v sex.

könig masterlist ୨୧ main masterlist ୨୧ join taglist ୨୧ ask

Each thundering footstep of your shoes snaps twigs beneath the weight of your body, the splintering bark sounding off like canon fire as you sprint down the forest path. Distressed heaves of your chest ignored your desperate attempts to quieten your heavy breathing, palm clamped over your mouth doing little to smother the shuddering exhales.

Your wicker basket lays discarded on the path behind you, freshly picked berries oozing blood-red juice onto the pebbled trail. The petrifying viridescent eyes you'd noticed in the tree-line burn into your back as you flee. The cottage is just up ahead– you could reach it.

He's behind you. It's silent amongst the Austrian treeline, birds halting their song as he stealthily moves through the blanket of bushes and tree canopy. 

Stumbling over the nettles that prickled the skin of your ankles, you desperately attempt to conceal yourself from the incoming threat. You hurl your back against a tree trunk, hearing the pathetic whimper that slipped past your lips when the splintering bark sank into your shoulders. Sharp pain stings at your flesh as you crouch low to the ground. 

Muzzling your lips with both palms, you all but suffocate yourself while trying to conceal the small, fearful noises you made. Each beat of a crow's wing and falling leaf caused a jolt of fear to fragment through your nervous system, eyes scanning the treeline uneasily. 

"You must have a good hiding spot, Rotkäppchen," a lilting accent cut through the quiet forest, causing you to squeeze your eyes tight in terror. Every muscle in your body pulls taut, and your skin goose-pimples as though he'd doused you in ice-cold water. 

Blindly grasping at the fabric that dangled from your shoulders, you wrap the crimson material of your cape around your body in a final, wretched attempt to hide from the predatory gaze of his bottle-green eyes. 

"I will find you. When I do..." his playful tone dissipates in a moment's silence, hesitating before delivering his threat. "I'll swallow you whole."

Your knuckles blanch with how tightly you grasped the hem of your little red cape, muscles straining under the immense pressure you applied to the soft, malleable fabric. 

"They say that fear makes you taste sweeter," the lurking danger continues his twisted lecture as you breathe carefully through your terror. In for five, out for five— "All the pumping blood in your veins- makes you taste like honey, so I hear." 

The twisted comments flip your stomach, bile threatening to launch up your oesophagus. 

"Never have I craved something as badly as you," the pitchiness in his voice makes your hair stand on end, undeniably earnest in his admission. "And I feel that I have—…."

A soft, tracing touch circles your ankles like ivy before quickly locking around the bone in a vice-like grip. Dread chills the lining of your stomach, and blood pools beneath your skin. You stand no chance. 

"Got you."

You let out a shriek, kicking your feet out at your attacker as you try to escape his impossibly tight grasp. Dark, gleeful chuckles raise goosebumps across your skin and prickle the hair at the base of your neck as König drags you towards him. The bottomless black pits of his pupils swallow his verdant irises as they sweep the length of your body beneath the hood he wore.

"Meine Rotkäppchen," König coos, his mammoth palm resting over your lips to stifle the sobs of fear wracking your chest. The wolfish grin that spreads across his lips when he hears your trembling breaths causes your pulse to surge, adrenaline kicking your basic bodily functions into overdrive. "Hush, sweet thing. Just a taste, that's all I ask." 

Manipulating your body at will, König forces you into place by pushing his knee into your hip. It hurts, the crushing weight against the bone causing further bruising to your soft flesh as the brute leers down at you.

Squeezing your eyes shut quickly, you try to suck oxygen into your burning lungs. You can feel König paw at your bare thighs, bunching your skirt as he greedily grasped the supple flesh in his palms. 

"You smell divine," he whispers, refusing to acknowledge your feeble, pathetic attempts to shake his hold, "Mhmm..."

One of König's hands grasps at the hem of his hood, lifting the fabric ever so slightly. He leans down, slick tongue tracking your jugular to taste the sweat clinging to your flesh. A soft groan rumbles in his chest, delighted by the appetiser. 

It's disgusting, mortifying, but warmth pools at the base of your spine as König's teeth nip at your flesh, sucking dark hickeys into your skin. It's as though he's claiming his 'kill', celebrating his successful hunt. 

"Hng-" A quiet noise slips from your open mouth, eyelids fluttering as König slips his hand between your thighs. Ashamedly, you do little to fight his touch as he traces his fingertips towards your core. 

A pause, bated and thick. König's eyes snap to your face pointedly, green irises reduced to a slither of jade circling the circumference of his inky pupils. 

"Rotkäppchen," he addresses you steadily, regaining his composure almost as quickly as he'd lost it. König's index finger presses between the soaked lips of your cunt, slowly tracing up the seam of your sex. "It's dangerous in the woods. You know this, yes?"

Quivering beneath his delicate touch, you whimper as you jerk your chin down in a nod. König's fingerprint steadily rises, pausing its ascent just before the arch of your swollen clit. 

"Then... You would understand the carelessness of abstaining from wearing panties," he muses, smugness dripping from his tone like drool from a beast's jowls. It equally disgusts and delights you. You can hear the slickness between your shaking thighs and feel the chill against the wetness smeared across your bare skin. 

Pulsing ardently, your clit betrays your fear as it begs for König's touch. Pressure builds in your abdomen, coiling tight as your attacker's touch skirts just beyond its reach. 

"Why would you take such a risk?" He asks rhetorically, watching the pinch of your brow and the drop of your jaw as you arc your hips upwards, chasing his touch. "Unless you wished to be ravished?"

It's sudden, without warning, but König's fingers sink deep into your weeping cunt. You gasp in surprise, your back aching from the damp soil when you dig your fingers into the earth. He groans, ravenous for a taste of you, as he buries his fingers deep inside your fluttering cunt. 

He gathers the wetness of your cunt onto his fingers, pushing the length of his digits down to the knuckle before withdrawing entirely. Sobbing, you shake your head pitifully as you watch that same hand disappear beneath the fabric of his hood. 

Those blackened eyes are easy to read, his thick, dark lashes fluttering when he places his soaked fingers against his tongue. Again, his self-control slips beyond his grasp momentarily, a devastated groan reverberating in König's chest as he relishes your taste. He barely allows himself a moment of satisfaction, already removing his knuckles from his mouth to devour more of you.

"Taste so sweet, Rotkäppchen," he marvels, enormous hands grasping at your shins and ignoring your protests as he pushes your knees against your chest, "And you're all mine."

Wailing as König's head dips between the pillowy flesh of your thighs, you find yourself unable to oppose the drag of his tongue as it traces over your swollen clit. It circles the flesh there delicately, savouring the sensation of it on his tongue. 

"Ko-ohhh-" you choke on his name, toes curling helplessly as every muscle in your body locks up at the delectable sensation. He switches the direction of his circles now, twisting back the opposite way. You must be soaking his face, the sparks of pleasure building in the pit of your stomach wetting your thighs with your slick. 

The branches and stones beneath you dig uncomfortably into your back, but you barely notice, thanks to König's velvety tongue sweeping through your drenched pussy lips. An earth-shuddering rumble vibrates through his chest, the sensation arching up your spine. 

Spreading your knees further apart, you present yourself to him, will him to use you however he likes. König doesn't need to grapple with your hips. You're rocking them up into his face to meet the sensation of your building orgasm. If your unhinged movements frustrate him, König doesn't complain; he simply enjoys the feeling of you smearing your pussy across the tip of his nose and his mouth. 

Something about the eroticism, the filthiness, of this makes your orgasm arc painfully up your spine. 

"Ko-König-" you heave frantically, fingers grasping at the dark fabric draped over his skull, "König, I'm g-gonna-"

König's hands push your hips down, forcing them still in the overgrowth beneath you. His lips seal around your abused clit, sucking at it gently while flicking his tongue against it over and over and over again. You can't stop it- can't brace against the sensation as it detonates through you without warning. 

Everything surges upwards, hot and slick. You arch against the burst of bliss, sobbing out König's name repeatedly. Each utterance sounds more broken than the last, breathier, whimpering and whining. 

He doesn't even give your waves of ecstasy a chance to ebb. You only just hear the sound of him spitting into his palm over the heaving of your chest, the subsequent slick glide of him smearing it over the length of his obscenely large cock causing your arousal to flare up again. 

"Kon-"

He eases his way into you without resistance, his thick, mushroomed head dragging against your walls just right. König breaks you open achingly slowly, and it's fucking exhilarating. You take every inch of him, squeezing the length and delighting in how König's cock jerks at your cunt gripping him. He bottoms out easily, his hips pushing against the curve of your ass and his pubic bone grinding into your clit. 

You see stars amongst the forest canopy. 

"Oh fuck– Oh– Please König, p-lease–" your whines are pathetic, pitchy and raw, but König's cock lurches again. The head bumps something utterly debilitating inside you, and your eyes roll back into your skull. 

"Hush," König urges you, his cock slipping out of you. God, you can hear the sickeningly wet sounds your cunt makes when it loses him– only for him to glide right back in. He sets a slow, firm rhythm that blinds you, white static prickling across your vision. 

You're not sure how much you were moving, but König's huge paw lays flat against the valley of your breasts, pinning you down with his body weight as he forces you to take the languid, greedy roll of his hips as they sink deeper and deeper into you. 

"König!" you sob mindlessly, tears welling in your eyes and threatening to spill down the apples of your searing-hot cheeks. 

"Shhh," he urges you again, rocking into you a little harder at the sound of your desperate pleas, "I can't- Need you to stay quiet–"

Wailing, agonised, you claw at his forearms. They're still clothed with a camo jacket, preventing your nails from biting at his skin. "Please!" 

"Scheisse," König wheezes, "You– You need it faster? Is that what you want?" He doesn't give you an opportunity to answer, amping up the pace of his rocking hips before you can even form a response in your mind. You sob loudly, grasping at foliage that crunches beneath your solid grip. 

"Please don't stop!" You beg him, voice frantic as he bludgeons that spot inside of you that blasts splintering shards of euphoria. "Please don't st– pleasedon'tstoppleasepleaseplease–" 

König curses, bracing his knees into the forest floor before slamming his hips into you as hard as he can manage. His palm on your chest skirts to the right, grasping your breast and squeezing at it until it bulges between his fingers. You're lifting your hips to meet his now, jaw falling slack as he prods that spot inside you while grinding his pubic bone against your throbbing clit. It's merciless. 

"Fuck, I will ruin you," König's voice sounds disembodied to your ears, his pitch desperate as though the words are slipping out against his will. He pulls you forward onto him, rocking impossibly deeper into you until you're sinking your fingers into the earth to hold yourself in place against his savage thrusts. "You— You won't be able t-to walk when I'm do-done with you, Rotkäppchen—"

It's coming. Fuck, it's coming, and it's devastating. You whimper, almost trying to escape the onslaught of pleasure that threatens to crash over you. König grasps your wrists, pinning you to the floor and fucking you over the edge. 

It eviscerates you. You choke out a wordless cry as the white-hot sparks of your orgasm rip through your nervous system. Your thighs are trembling, your back arching, and you feel fat tears smear down your cheeks. 

"Mei— Meine Perle," you hear König groan, forgetting the dynamic he was playing as he chases bliss, "I… Scheisse— I love you, I f-fucking— love—"

He gasps, loud and sharp, as his hips stutter. It's sloppy, his pace thrown as he grinds as deep as he can into your wet heat. König stutters to a halt, leaning down to bury his face in your neck when he cums. His cock throbs, spurting warm ropes of cum inside of you. 

When the heaving of your chests finally settle, you can hear the birds twittering. You're both spent, catching your breath as you lay amongst the fallen, browning foliage and cling to one another. 

"Mhm-" König lifts his head slowly, the fabric of his mask brushing at the skin of your cheek, your chin. "I forgot to continue acting." 

His voice is shy, accent heavy as he presses apologetic kisses to your cheek. You can't help but giggle. 

"It's okay," you whisper, stroking your palm down the ginormous, rippling expanse of his back. You feel him inhale slowly, taking in your scent as he clutches you closer to him. 

"You do look good in red, Perle," he murmurs, pulling teasingly as the ridiculous cape he'd pinned to you hours before. You can hear the smile on his lips. 

"Thank you. I like it when you're mean," you admit, and you feel König's body shake with a chuckle. He lifts himself from you slowly, those viridescent irises returning to their typical expanse as he gazes at you lovingly. He's high on dopamine, but you'd never doubt his love and affection for you. 

Even when he grasped at you, attacked you, you knew you were safe. 

"There's a bed to climb into," he reminded you of the cottage he'd booked. Naturally, you'd scoffed at the ridiculousness of his insistence in order to make it as believable as possible. Now, though? You were just glad there wasn't a three-hour drive home. 

"What's in it for me?" you sigh. Other than the cosy mattress, instead of the rough leaves and sharp twigs you lay awkwardly on now? 

"I can find it in myself for seconds," König mused, his hands gently grasping your thighs again. 

"You big, bad wolf," you tease, and you swear you see the corners of König's eyes crinkle as he smiles beneath the hood. 

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[ashessonfire]

Hi, I just gotta say I really love your stories and how detailed and eloquent your writing is.How about a Kaz Brekker x reader angst where a heist gone wrong results to Kaz (temporarily) losing his memory and reverting back to old Kaz, who is not in a relationship with reader, and he keeps pushing the reader away 'til reader gives up 'cause of something Kaz said or a scenario where they think Kaz is better without them♡♡♡thank you for listening HAHAHAHA

'Forgotten' - Kaz Brekker x Reader

Prompt - Kaz Brekker's plans rarely fail, but what happens when a heist goes incredibly wrong, and the Bastard of the Barrel forgets you completely? - Pairing: Kaz Brekker x Reader (established relationship) - Warnings: Depictions of violence, gunshots, Kaz's trauma / memories, Kaz being an asshole but not really his fault??? ANGST ANGST ANGST Part two found here! A/N: Thank you all so much for the amount of support and love i am getting for my first few posts! I will definitely write a part two if you want it, its a massive cliffhanger but would be WAY too long to do it in one go. JUST PURE ANGST IM SORRY T-T

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Kaz’s plans often fell victim to unseen circumstances, however, small hinderances to his meticulously planned out schemes rarely affected the outcome. Yet even Kaz himself had to admit, that this plan had gone spectacularly wrong.

From incorrect blueprints for the building, to four times the number of armed guards than initially expected, all the group could do was try and escape relatively unharmed. The crows were splintered into six breathless individuals, winding their way through narrow streets to try and loosen their attackers’ grips. Sprays of bullets and the glints of knives rushed past each one of them, only narrowly missing their targets.

That was until Kaz felt a searing pain in his leg, a sudden slash just under the back of his knee, sending fire trailing throughout his body. He groaned deeply, internally damning the attacker for not only striking his target, but also managing to hit Kaz on his already bad leg. The pain from the wound caused it to buckle, giving him a clear path straight towards the glistening cobblestone of Ketterdam’s streets.

Before he could fully feel the impact, a hand tightly gripped the roots of his hair, pulling his face parallel to the grinning pursuer, evidently pleased with his achievement of apprehending the Bastard of the Barrel.

Before Kaz could use his cane to fight back, it was violently ripped from his grasp, another set of hands clutching his own behind his back, rendering him completely immobile. Suddenly, the knife was yanked out of his leg, earning a surprised growl from Kaz, his leg leaking onto the stone beneath him a deep ruby shade.

“Well, that wasn’t so hard, was it? I’m afraid to say I am more than a little underwhelmed, Dirtyhands,” The leader of the group sneered, earning a howl of laughter from his gang, who seemed to be forming from the shadows of the abandoned street, emerging in staggering numbers.

Despite his predicament, a thought flashed through his mind, calming his increasingly alarmed state. “Perhaps they abandoned the others in favour of catching me,” Kaz silently contemplated, feeling a light sense of relief at the possibility his crew would make it back to the slat alive.

Especially you.

However, the relief was knocked out of him as swiftly as it came, along with all the air in his chest.  A brutal kick sent him reeling backwards into the chest of the man behind, followed by a series of punches which Kaz was defenceless against. The assault continued, blood pouring into his eyes from an open wound on his forehead, blinding him to the onslaught of attacks that followed, as he rapidly tried blinking to wash away the crimson from his vision.

The ambush subsided, giving him enough time to throw his head back and remove some of the steadily flowing substance from his sight. Murmurs sounded around him, but Kaz couldn’t decipher what was being stated, the ringing from the punches obscuring the sound around him, leaving him underwater, drowning in his own blood.

Despite Kaz’s senses becoming increasingly obstructed, a flare of panic welled up within him, as he spotted something brassy glinting through the sheet of red, catching the light from the street lanterns surrounding them. The unknown object began its descent towards him, the glint becoming a beam which shone through the curtain of crimson, until it was just close enough for Kaz to make out the flash of a crow’s eye, and the curve of a beak.

“How ironic,” Kaz thought to himself, “Being killed by my own cane.”

The scarlet curtain closed on Kaz, the blow ending the performance the gang was putting on, leaving their victim in a world full of darkness, the feeling of the waves washing over him and pulling him deeper into the abyss.

The last thing he heard was the sound of a voice.

 Jordie’s?

The concern that radiated from the sound brought him back to memories of the farm, where Kaz would climb too far up a willow’s branches, and his brother would have to call him down. Or perhaps when they had arrived in Ketterdam and Kaz had thought it comedic to hide in a dimly lit street, blissfully unaware of the dangers that lurked in its gloom.

However, as Kaz slipped deeper into the ocean, the voice getting further away with each of his slowing heartbeats, a tinge of warmth hit his chest, signalling that this wasn’t Jordie.

 It was you.

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Your adrenaline had served you well, since shortly after you were separated from the crows, familiar edges of buildings and glints of neighboring signs entered your vision. Using this to your advantage, you utilized your familiarity of the area to hide, slipping into the shadows, melting into the gloom of Ketterdam's alleys. Soon, all five of your pursuers had bullets lodged in their throats unable to pinpoint where they were being shot from. Each fatal blow perfectly central just as Jesper had taught you.

Whilst your mind began to settle at the lack of immediate threat, something burred within your core pulled on your heartstrings, pointing your unsettling fear towards Kaz.

You had taken great care to note which routes the other crows had disappeared down, for insurance if they did not return to the slat within the agreed time. However, as you fled, your heart had plummeted at the sight of at least ten men chasing down your boyfriend.

Before your mind could register your actions, you were sprinting back in the direction you had come, weaving through the bodies littering your path. You quickly reached the alley Kaz had fled down, and you bolted through the streets you estimated Kaz would take.

As he was your boyfriend, you had become accustomed to imagining what he would do, or how he would act in certain situations, helping you decode his behaviour when he barricaded himself from you on troublesome days.

The sound of bone cracking and pained grunts pulled you away from your thoughts, turning a sharp corner just in time to see the head of Kaz’s precious cane colliding with his temple, the light visibly fading from his eyes due to the blow.

Rage swept through you, controlling your actions as your mind failed to synchronise with your body. Rushing forward, you shot wildly, achieving at least three separate screams from the men before you. Before the others were made fully aware of your presence, you had a serrated knife plunging into a further two, leaving fatal wounds which would slowly bring about their demise. Once every one of group were flooding the streets with their blood, your gaze shifted to Kaz.

Lying in a growing pool of blood, your boyfriend’s face was swollen, covered in deep gashes that littered his sharp features. The dim light from the lanterns overhead cast murky shadows over the wounds, highlighting the gruesome fate Kaz had endured. From somewhere far in the distance, you heard your voice screaming his name, begging for him to wake up, at some point you had even rushed over to him and began caressing his fractured face to wake him.

Allowing a deep inhale of Ketterdam’s air, you collected yourself, imagining that Kaz were conscious and scolding you for your slow reactions and the ‘weakness’ you were portraying. Laying your head against his frigid chest, you held your own breath, only releasing the growing tension when a faint heartbeat pounded against your ear.

Silently apologising for your next actions, you hooked both of Kaz’s arms underneath your own and used all your force to haul him back to the Slat.

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For several days following the attack, the group had come to a collective conclusion that their boss was severely concussed, so much so that he was barely conscious for more than a few minutes at a time.

Throughout the harrowing days, you never left his side, constantly aiding his body in a frail attempt to bring him back to the conscious realm, and to you.

The crows stopped by often to assist you, compelled to keep at least one half of the pair in a decent condition, Nina bringing hot food, Inej wiping down your face with a warm cloth, and Jesper or Wylan keeping you company for an hour or so, brightening the mood wit =h jokes or stories.

Time seemed almost to cease its movements, with even the smallest of things, like the rain rolling down the frosted glass in Kaz’s room, or the flickering of the candles illuminating the slat, appearing sluggish to you.

That was, only until Kaz woke up.

A bout of coughs awoke you from a light sleep, sending alarm bells ringing through your head, echoing off the walls and overwhelming you. Upon seeing the straining eyes blinking against the intensity of the candlelight, the roar swiftly subsided.

“Kaz,” you breathed out, barely audible to both you and him.

You gently reached out to feel the heat from his forehead, an action not dissimilar to the gentle brushes of his locks you would often settle on when he was too engrossed in scheming to provide you attention. However, your movements were stopped dead in their tracks when a voice sliced through the air.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Kaz seethed.

Although his voice was hoarse from his absence over the last few days, a clear threat laid deeply within his sentence, piercing your chest with a thousand knives. “Kaz, I’m just checking your temperature, my love,” you offered gently, praying to the Saints that whatever malice behind your partners eyes was due to his condition, and not a genuine fury.

Instead of removing the knives from your heart, he twisted them painfully, glaring directly at you as he warned lowly, “I am not sure how long I have been out for, but I severely doubt it would be enough time for a word like ‘love’ to be directed towards me. Especially by the likes of you. Go and get Nina, you are of no use to me.”

Your breath hitched painfully in your throat, blocking the air trying to travel both in and out, glittering eyes locked directly with his as your mind struggled to process the disgust that laced his voice. Your body battled as it tried to force another ‘Kaz’ out into the world, but he intruded before the sound escaped.

“Leave now, or I will dismiss you for insubordination. Go,” Kaz stated, bitterness being the only discernible emotion portraying through his words, his chest filling with an emotion so strong he couldn’t name it, deciding to settle on disgust. Your eyes welled up, clouding your vision as you cautiously left the room, shock coursing through your body and stiffening your every movement, causing shivers to wrack your body as your blood froze to ice.

Your mind seemed to leave your body, taking little note of going to Nina and sending her up to Kaz, or the other crows fawning over your broken state, clearly panicking further when your only form of response was a stiff silence. It seemed safer to hide behind glossy eyes and blank looks, than to decipher what had caused Kaz’s reaction.

It was only an hour later when Nina came downstairs, shaking you out of your daze with words that did a far more agonizing job than Kaz’s knives would.

She downright shot you point blank in the heart.

“Y/N, I’m so sorry, it seems like the blow has affected his memory. I can’t tell the severity yet, but it seems that he has no recollection of you two as, well you know. ‘You two,’” Nina bit out, voice cracking as her heart shattered for you, who now stood shaking before the group, the slightest breeze threatening to barrel you over.

You dismissed them with a fractured smile, barring yourself within the confines of your room, knives drawing blood within your heart, twisting excruciatingly each time a shuffle or a creak would sound from the room above yours.

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Your perseverance impressed not only the rest of the crows, but yourself too. You didn’t allow yourself to wallow in your self-pity for long, determined to regain Kaz’s memory despite his protests and frustration with you. You had already molded a loving relationship with the deadliest man in Ketterdam, you figured that you would be able to withstand doing it once more.

Enduring the blade-like words was the simplest part, however it was the emotion behind them that faltered you each time you were faced with him. He always his behind a face of insults or harsh syllables, but you had decoded their meanings long ago, the sentiment behind each radiating through in a way in which only you could detect.

As he recovered, you remained vigilant to his every need, bringing him herbal tea infused with medicine or offering fresh bandages to change when the blood seeped through the last.

Each encounter ended with tears streaming drearily down your face, matching the raindrops that hit against the pains of the slat, each impact slamming against your heart. As you persisted, the feeling Kaz felt towards you grew, the emotion intensifying with each glimpse at you.

He couldn't stand it.

Rage bubbled within him at your attempts at kindness, the insults increasing in harshness and malice each time you dared to provoke him.

Yet you bounced back, offering him delicate smiles, compassionate gestures, and kind words. However Kaz couldn't bear it any longer, the weight in his chest obscuring his breathing and brooding for too long, consuming him from the inside out.

Despite his unbroken hatred that radiated towards you, he seemed to gradually be regaining his memories, allowing Jesper's jokes or Nina's teasing to go as far as they would before the accident. It caused you great anguish, and shamefully jealousy, at his return to every one of his crows.

But you.

The door to his office was given a light few taps, before Kaz permitted you entry, knowing from the weight of the knocks it had to be you. Although the others seemed far more wary of him than usual, there was something almost gentle about how you acted towards him, making it easier for Kaz to single you out from the rest.

You entered with a stack of papers, a vast collection of work that had accumulated whilst he regained his health. Biting back his usual snarky insults and remarks dripping in poison, Kaz watched you intently, deadly intentions practically radiating from his gaze.

Setting down the pile, you stepped back silently, too exhausted to bear the weight of another one of his lashings, each word cutting you and leaving you bleed out, not dissimilarly to how you found him that night.

The silence in his office was impenetrable, the air becoming impossible to breath through the tension that radiated between you, with only one of you being able to decipher what it truly was. Your mind was so focused on the intake of air, you almost missed the hand that extended towards you, the closest he had allowed you since his memory had stolen you from him.

Clutched in his grasp was a simple white letter, signatures coating the outside of the envelope, and something folded, protruding from within the packet itself.

The silence became deafening, the pounding of your heart like a bird trapped in a cage infinitely too small for its prisoner, crashing into the walls in an attempt to escape. As your hand made contact with the offering, Kaz spoke in a tone you had never heard before.

He simply stated, "From tomorrow, at four bells, you will be gone. A job in Ravka requires someone of your skillset, so you will go. If you fail to comply then you will no longer be welcomed here. I have tolerated your incessant troubling for long enough, you have no true place here until you finally realize how burdensome you truly are."

Your heart stopped.

The air around you liquified, slowly filling your lungs with fluid and choking you, drowning you silently as Kaz looked on with an indifferent scowl, an eyebrow raised in question at your astonishment.

The tears streamed, your body screaming for air, for comfort, for him. But it couldn't seem to attain any one of them, instead pushing all its strength into forming the the right words to pierce Kaz Brekker's impenetrable façade.

"You still don't remember?" you coughed out, "After the incident who was it who rushed back to you, dragged your half-dead body across the Barrel and into the slat. Who stayed by your side until they were forced to leave each night? Do you not have any recollection, not of the memories, but of how you felt for me? Surely I didn't mean that little to you," your voice wavered heavily whilst you gasped out the final line.

The tears formed rugged streams across your cheeks, glinting in the dim candlelight from Kaz's desk, highlighting the pain you had hidden from him for weeks. It was now his turn to be stunned, the words echoing around his mind but not seeming to form into coherent meanings.

Despite Kaz's astonishment at your outburst, it wasn't enough.

Wasn't enough for him to stop you from walking away, or enough to whisper your name louder in confusion and uncertainty as your form dissolved into the hallway .

Surely this was what he was supposed to do?

Yet deep inside his plagued heart your words resounded, filling Kaz with a sense of dread, the waves that usually consumed him began to swell, drowning him in his seat just as he had done to you earlier.

He was certain on one thing, that the gaping pain in his chest which he had presumed was disgust, or perhaps even hatred, had not disappeared. Had not lightened as he had prayed it would if you just vanished.

No. Instead it had intensified into something that swallowed him whole, dragging him further into the bitter ocean than ever before, waves crashing fiercely above his head.

The emotion consumed him as his breathing deepened, heart both simultaneously stopping and racing into oblivion, as it finally dawned on him. Somewhere within that feeling a small spark remained glowing, something that felt warm and familiar which he had repressed.

Something that resembled care, or affection, or...

Love.

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Tag list: @animalistic00 @whos6claire

Click here for part two <3

[soshirohoshinasimp]

"Are ya alright...!?"

Synopsis: Savior!Hoshina x Civilian!Reader

Author's note: Thanks @hoshinaideas4all for the list of ideas, and for curing my writer's block. 

This was really fun to write, mainly because I was trying to patch up on writing falling in love scenes,  describing things and poetry. (Mainly destruction, sadness, depression and just describing things in general.) So this was very fun writing. I hope you all really enjoyed this one, and especially enjoy the poetry at the top! ------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Wc: 1500 (whoopsie doo) 

To love something means you feel an endless wave of excitement. It’s like when you’re glued to a romance movie and can’t wait for the main couple to finally be together. Every scene has your heart racing and your emotions bubbling over.

To love someone feels like you’re living in that movie. It’s like you’re the main character, and everything around them feels magical and special. Even the smallest gestures become epic moments.

But these two kinds of feelings, while both thrilling, are different from each other.

One day, you were managing your new restaurant. It was a busy, exciting time for you, as you were sending out orders, crafting drinks, and handing out menus to customers. You had just opened the place a few weeks ago, so it was still just you working there. There were no employees yet, just you, living your dream of owning a restaurant. You’d worked hard to get this far, and it felt amazing to finally call it your own.

But then, Once a dream turned into a nightmare.

It was a regular afternoon when the chaos began. You were in the middle of preparing an order when you heard a loud crash. Your heart skipped a beat as you looked up to see a group of yojus —huge, monstrous creatures— not a lot though, around five to ten -- bursting through the restaurant’s front window. The once-glass window shattered into a million pieces, sending glass flying everywhere.

The kaiju were terrifying. They were massive, shaped like mushrooms with crimson red spots on their heads, They thrashed around, causing destruction with every movement. The walls of your restaurant, which you had carefully decorated and maintained, started to crack and splinter. You could hear the ominous creaking of wood and the groaning of metal as the restaurant’s structure began to give way, as more yojus came rushing through. 

You ran to the back, trying to stay out of their path, but the kaiju were cornering you. Some were even coming in and out into the ceiling, and a huge chunk of the ceiling fell right where you had been standing just moments before. Your heart pounded in your chest, and your breathing became shallow and erratic. You could feel the panic rising, squeezing the air out of your lungs.

In the midst of the destruction, you tried to call for help, but the noise of the kaiju and the crumbling building drowned out your voice. You stumbled, almost falling as the floor shook beneath you. The restaurant, which had been a symbol of your hard work and dreams, was now a chaotic, dangerous mess. The walls were closing in, and pieces of the roof were falling in different spots, creating a maze of debris.

Fear gripped you tightly, making it hard to think clearly. You saw more parts of the ceiling start to buckle, and you knew you had to get out, but your legs felt like you had weights in your pockets. Every time you tried to move, the ground shook violently, making you lose your balance. The sense of impending doom was overwhelming. It felt like everything you had worked for was crumbling in front of you, and you couldn’t do anything to stop it.

The last straw came when a massive piece of debris fell dangerously close to you, and you saw the entire section of the roof beginning to collapse. It was like a scene from a disaster movie, and you were trapped in the middle of it. Despair and resignation took over, and you felt as if your whole world was falling apart. With your heart racing and tears streaming down your face, you just sank to the floor. You sat down on your bum, closing your eyes tightly and bracing for the worst.

In that moment of absolute terror, you felt completely helpless. You could hear the kaiju’s roars and the sound of the building breaking apart. It felt like time was stretching out, and every second was a mix of fear and anticipation. You were sure you were going to die, and you prepared yourself for the end. But what you weren’t expecting, silence. No more sounds of the kaiju. Or was your mind playing tricks on you?

Then, through the chaos, a heavy accent pierced through the din.

“Are ya alright..!?” 

Loud and Commanding

You opened your eyes to see a man with striking crimson eyes and a bowl cut of midnight purple. He was wearing a JAKDF suit, and  held a sword in each hand. He moved with incredible speed and precision, slicing through the kaiju with expert skill, cutting through the monstrous creatures effortlessly into bits. 

His eyes werefilled with concern as he looked at you. The contrast between his calm demeanor and the chaos around him was striking. His presence was like a beacon of hope in the midst of the disaster.

You watched in awe as he fought off the remaining kaiju, his movements fluid and graceful. It was like he was dancing through the chaos, and you felt a strange sense of calm as you saw him taking control of the situation. His confidence and strength were reassuring, and you couldn’t believe someone like him was there to help you.

With the last kaiju defeated, he sheathed his swords and extended a hand towards you. You took his hand hesitantly, and he helped you to your feet with surprising gentleness. His touch was firm but careful, as if you would break on any sort of impact, and it grounded you in a way you hadn’t felt since the attack started.

“Yer not injured are ya..?” he asked, his voice gentle but full of curiosity.

You nodded, still feeling a bit dazed and flustered. You could hardly believe what had just happened.

“Thank…thank you,” you managed to say softly, your voice trembling with relief.

“Anytime, ma’am! Comes with the job,” he said with a smile that made you feel all warm inside. His smile was like a ray of sunshine breaking through the clouds. Even though the conversation lasted less than a minute, it felt like it was in slow motion. Your heart skipped a beat, and you felt a wave of emotions washing over you. It was like the world had paused just for that brief moment. 

It felt like roses were blooming when he spoke. 

As quickly as he had come, he was gone. He walked out of the restaurant, leaving you standing there with your heart racing and your mind spinning. You gathered all your remaining courage and called out to him, “Uh! When you stop by, your first few orders are free of charge!!”

He turned back and looked at you with a playful grin. “Aren’t ya sweet? Guess I’ll be expectin’ to see ya real soon.”

With that, he left, and you watched him go, feeling a deep sense of gratitude and something else—something you couldn’t quite put into words. His departure left a significant mark on your heart and mind. 

In less than a bit, the ambulance arrived and was taking some of your customers into the vehicles, and just like that the “eventful” day was finished. When you arrived home to your little apartment. You couldn’t stop thinking about him, and his voice seemed to echo in your ears every day. With the restaurant being repaired, you spent the rest of the night in your tiny apartment researching who this hero was. You pulled out your computer and began searching for information about him.

You figured he was part of the defense force, but you weren’t sure which division. After two hours of digging through profiles, you finally found him. In a group photo with the division’s captain and the entire division, there he was.

Soshiro Hoshina — Vice Captain of the JAKDF Third Division.

You dove into his social media pages, learning everything you could about him. You replayed the scene where he saved you over and over in your mind. You found yourself doodling pictures of him and daydreaming about him with a smile on your face.

Was this just a crush?

Probably not. You fell for Soshiro Hoshina so quickly and so deeply that it felt like you deserved a medal for the fastest in record time to fall deeply in love.  You eagerly awaited the day when the cleaning and remodeling would be finished so you could see him again and hear his voice.

Man, getting over him is going to be really tough.

[fangsandfracturedhearts]

Fangs and Fractured Hearts

Chapter 23: Way Down We Go

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]

Gale’s words shower over you like acidic rain. Could he really be speaking the truth? Could Astarion’s compulsion have been driving you down this path all this time? Even though you don’t need to breathe, it feels like the air has been sucked from your lungs, and you clutch at your chest as if it might help you feel a little less off-kilter.

You glance at your husband, who has stumbled away from the altercation and is pressing his forearm against the wall, taking deep breaths to try and keep himself present.

That icy chill of the sensuous song howls through the bond and regresses into your bones, making them feel like your skeleton is splintering. The ambrosial chords of the melody beseech you to sink into it, let yourself be overtaken, and it swears an oath that it will provide you with unlimited serenity.

You know it lies—that it parades false hopes and delusions—but the promises are tempting nonetheless. There is a part of you that begs to give in, if only so you can be swept away from this dream turned nightmare.

There is a choice you have to make quickly, and you glance between Gale and Astarion. Who do you believe? Who do you put your faith in?

Do you pick Gale, who has never directly lied or tried to manipulate you and who still harbours some sincere feelings for you? Gale, who has been trying to save you from the consequences of your foolish decisions since he and Shadowheart took you in knowing the danger you posed. Gale, who has been working tirelessly to find ways to pluck you from the suspension of this deathless death and restore you to life once more?

Or do you pick your newlywed husband, who you know has manipulated you, compelled you, and could easily be doing so again without your knowledge? Your husband, who played your love like a lyre to secure himself a spot in your good graces. Your husband, who kept you locked away when you did not turn out to be as obedient as he hoped. Your husband, who carved into your flesh without a hint of remorse.

You’ve spent months connected to Astarion’s mind. You’ve felt his feelings, heard his unfiltered thoughts, and haven’t detected any indications of deceit, but that does not mean Astarion could not force your mind to forget or bypass anything that was there.

He made you forget your name, after all.

You try to reach out to Astarion’s mind, but he cannot hear you over the bellow of Cania clamouring in his skulls.

Do you love him? Or is that another trick of the Ascendant? Has his compulsion rooted him into your mind and grown from a sapling to a mighty tree? Shadowheart’s warning twists in the storm of your chaotic thoughts — He will always do what it takes to survive.

The fates have not bestowed the time to deliberate. The choice must be made. You must pick one or the other, and the consequences of choosing wrong are dire.

A dangerous game, indeed.

“No, Gale,” you condemn resolutely. “Whatever proof you think you have, I have no need to hear it. I know in my heart that what I feel is real and not a compulsion.”

A small voice, deep within you, whispers. Is it?

There is no need to hear the objections forming on Gale’s lips. Your choice has been made, and you choose your husband, for better or worse. You turn away, ruck up your dress, and hurry over to Astarion. When you place your hand on his shoulder, he jerks away and snarls at you like a cornered animal. Your hand wavers for a moment, but you place it back on him defiantly.

“Astarion.” You try to get a look at his eyes, but they are squeezed shut with a terribly pained grimace that contorts his face. “I can be your light. Let me in.”

His eyes crack open, and you’re barely able to make out the scarlet that peeks through the narrow slits. You grasp onto him, and he fumbles to try and push you away with rigid, ungainly movement that is so unlike his usual easy grace.

“You don’t understand!” Gale shouts. “You will always choose him. It’s exactly what he’s compelled you to do. If you will only give me a moment, I can show you.”

“No!” You scream at the top of your lungs, the shrillness of your voice ripping your vocal chords. “I don’t care what you think you know, Gale. Leave. GET. OUT.”

Shadowheart grabs Gale’s robes, desperately trying to tug him away, but Gale shakes her off. “I’m sorry, my friend. You leave me no choice.”

Your brow quirks for only a moment before Gale shoots Dancing Lights high into the darkening sky, and you recognize the signal for aid from your adventures.

The high-pitched whistle of loosed arrows and the rush of marching boots are soon to follow. You quickly cast Wall of Stone and grab Astarion to drag him down behind the barrier. Numerous arrows hit the wall with a thunk. When the barrage finally ends, you peek around the wall to get a view of Gale’s apparent backup.

You’re stunned to see Gur filing into the space, bursting through all the doors, breaking windows, and lumbering over the fence of the terrace. Has it been Gale feeding the Gur information all this time? Did he nearly get Astarion killed?

Shadowheart stands in the midst of the chaos, mouth agape and completely unprepared, but you can see the golden light of her radiant magic illuminated on her fingertips. Whose side will she take? Gales or yours?

Astarion still pants beside you, his body practically vacillating the air with every one of his muscles quivering as he tries to fight the urge to sink into the song and languish in the abyssal prison of his own mind. You toe off your heels and unholster the spare dagger you know Astarion always keeps concealed under the leg of his pants. The sharp blade smoothly splits through the fine silk of your gown, and you tear away the bottom half of the skirt hastily.

The Weave fills you at your behest, and it coruscates around you in a roseate corona. You crouch, ready to pounce as the hoard of shuffling feet inch closer.

“Run, my love.” You hear Astarion’s strangled gasp as you take the first step out from behind the wall. “Run, and never look back.”

Though you understand the warning, you refuse to leave Astarion behind to be absorbed by the deceit of a devil. You once pledged to spill no more innocent blood, but it seems you cannot escape death. Rage burbles inside you, boiling over the edges. How many times have you tried to be good, do good, and where has it gotten you?

Perhaps it’s time to rise up like a lightning-ignited wildfire and fucking burn.

The first hunter rounds the corner of the stone shield with their crossbow aimed. You lash out, casting Fear, and the hunter cowers. Lunging forward, you grab their face, digging your fingers into their fleshy cheeks, and fire detonates from your palms. Flames liquify skin and burst from every orifice as they let out a strident shriek.

You hate that it feels good.

A battle axe swings in your peripheral vision. You duck, cast Magic Missile, pelleting the man with spiny bolts like a fleshly pincushion until he drops. Your grabbed from behind by a rough pair of hands and dragged backward away from Astarion. You growl, struggling against the constraint on your body. To your surprise, the hunters run straight past you, only meaning to subdue you.

You are not their target.

Sweat begins to drip down your forehead as you watch hunters barrel toward the wall protecting Astarion. You throw your head back, smashing your skull into the Gur’s nose, causing his grip to weaken, and wriggle out of his arms. You reel forward, fingers dancing, and a cloud of daggers bursts into existence, catching some of the hunters in their approach and cutting the rest off.

It’s all you can do before you’re thrust down and slammed into the boards of the terrace. Despite your attempts to fight it, the hunter manages to pin your arms with your palms flat against the rough wood. A knee digs into your back to cement you in place, and you’re helpless to watch as the hunters begin to descend on Astarion.

“Morere!”

You barely catch the flash of sickly green magic, feel the sudden jerk and shudder of the hands holding you down, and you’re released as the body slumps to the side. Shadowheart helps you to your feet, hauling you up with a surprising amount of strength.

There is no time to talk, and you nod in thanks as you sprint forward and rain Fireball down on the group nearing Astarion. Shadowheart tries to stick close to you, but in the chaos, you’re both bounced between bodies and separated once more.

The whiz of a blade slicing through the air makes your ears twitch, and you pivot just in time to catch the blade in your palm before it splits your skull in half. The sharp edge slices deeply into your hand as you strain against the sheer strength of a Fighter, and you must use both arms to block the attack.

Blood oozes down your forearms, coating your ashen skin in vivid red as you grapple, feeling yourself slowly fold under the brute force. Your eyes dart around for Shadowheart, but she’s locked in her own struggle across the terrace. Fire spits from your palms, heating the blade until it burns red-hot, and you can hear the sizzle of your skin and your opponents, but he does not let up or even falter.

“Not her!” You hear Gale shouting from somewhere in the disorder. “We had a deal!”

Your knees eventually begin to fold in on themselves under the pressure, and your arms shake as the tension mounts. The rigid boards creak as your knees are ground into them. You squeeze your eyes closed and let out a strangled cry as your arms begin to giveaway.

The stress is released suddenly. Your eyes jerk up, and your stomach sinks when you realize it’s not your husband’s brilliantly red eyes staring back at you, but the blunted maroon of his shadow.

He smiles hauntingly. “Shall we put our differences aside for a moment and deal with the more pressing matter at hand, or would you prefer I kill you now?”

You nod your grim acceptance of the offered temporary truce. He flourishes his dagger, grabbing your arm and yanking you forward into his chest. For a moment, you think the truce was another ruse, and he’s about to sink his blade into you, but it lodges deep into the temple of a hunter who is holding a stake that was meant for your back.

Thrusting yourself away from him, you turn and press your back against his in a reflexive habit formed during your adventure. It is a tactic you and Astarion used on many occasions when you were fighting hoards of enemies. He seems to remember it and holds his position while you cast Thunderwave to throw the incoming attackers backward.

“Can you slow them down?” He asks.

“Do you really need me to, Ascendant?”

Astarion chuckles darkly. “Hardly. I was thinking of you, darling. It would be such a pity if one of these dogs had the pleasure of putting you down before I do.”

“Then I guess you’re going to have to keep me alive.” You cast Web to slow the Gur down. It will allow you to cast at range, and Astarion should have the dexterity to negate the effects. “Right or left?”

“Left.”

Astarion bursts into mist, reappears behind one of the Gur, and his blade runs across their throat, slicing through skin and sinews like softened butter while he laughs maniacally. You go right, keeping yourself skirting around the borders where you are most proficient at casting at range. Spells skip across your lips, and the Weave flows between your fingers in a kaleidoscope of colours. Chain Lightening ropes between enemies in close proximity, turning them to little more than steaming husks. Scorching Rays buffets the chest of a hunter to your left, and Magic Missile skewers another.

You cast carefully, trying to keep track of Astarion from one minute to the next, but his speed makes his movements nearly incalculable. He blinks in and out of existence, often appearing out of thin air, running his blade from belly to neck like gutting a fish, and phasing out once more.

It would be impressive if it were not so incredibly daunting.

The click of a crossbow surprises you, and you hear the bolt whistling through the air as you turn toward the sound. It streaks toward you, only visible by the faint chromatic flash of the metallic arrow point, and your stomach sinks as you brace for the impact. Astarion appears in a flurry of red mist. He snatches the arrow out of the air, whirling to keep the momentum, and launches it back. The bolt imbeds itself into the eye of the woman with so much force that her head snaps back, and she’s reeled off her feet.

He smirks smugly with a wink and disperses again. You continue your death march, your eyes skipping through the crowd until you spot Shadowheart grappling with a hunter. If you don’t get her out of here, Astarion will target her when he’s done massacring the remaining Gur.

You run up behind the hunter, cast Disintegrate, and grab her arm, dragging her toward the door. “You need to leave. Now.”

“I didn’t do this, Illyria!” She shouts, pulling back. “I swear.”

“I know.” You cast Telekinesis and launch a hunter blocking your path to the door off the terrace. “Astarion’s gone. You must go.”

“I won’t leave you!” She growls obstinately.

A hand wraps around your arm. You snarl and turn with your teeth bared, ready to rip out the throat of whoever dares try and stop you, and see Gale’s rounded, solemn eyes. There is a part of you that wants to make him pay for this, but you know that his intentions are pure. In his eyes, he’s trying to protect you, and you cannot damn him for that.

You grab his sleeve roughly and shove them both into the foyer with all the force you can muster. “Leave. Both of you. Now.”

“Illyria.” Gale pleads, trying to grab your shoulder, and you smack his hand away. “Don’t you understand? It’s all been a compulsion. All of this, everything you think you feel, is a lie. If you would only give me a moment—”

“No!” You trample over him, and the truth sneaks out of your mouth. You look at him sombrely, tears pricking your eyes. “Don’t you understand?! I don’t care. I don’t want to know.”

“What?” He stares at you slack-jawed. “My friend, you cannot be serious.”

“I am.”

And that’s the crux of it, isn’t it? The unfiltered truth is that you would rather sink into this fantasy than sink into despair. If it has all been a compulsion, a beautifully polished lie, you don’t want to know.

“Leave.” You thrust Shadowheart’s bag into her hands. “Both of you before Astarion—“

“Before Astarion, what?” Astarion appears, blocking the doorway, blood-drenched, and looking beyond crazed. “Going somewhere?” He pouts. “And here I thought we were all such good friends.”

You’re launched backward, sliding across the floor, and back out onto the terrace until you hit a mushy mass of flesh. You scramble to your feet, stumbling, and Shadowheart and Gale are likewise pitched out of the villa, their bodies thumping into the boards and skipping across them.

Your brain works to try and formulate a plan—any plan—but falls flat. Astarion is too quick to try and run from and too strong to try and fight head-on. Even if you could fight him, would you? Could you? Is this the poisoned loyalty that Gale is talking about or love?

Astarion glances around the ruined villa with a furrowed brow. “This is lovely. What party did I crash?”

“Our wedding,” you answer honestly.

“Gods,” he spits in limitless contempt. “He married his spawn? Idiot.”

Spawn…

It dawns on you that this version of Astarion has no idea that you’re not merely a spawn but a bride, which means he does not know you share a mental connection. There must be a way to use his ignorance to your advantage, but you don’t have very much time to figure it out.

“Well, all the more reason to rid myself of you,” he shrugs irritatedly as if his counterpart has left him a chore to do. “The wizard might make a fun spawn though, no? I wager he would be splendidly obedient. Unlike you, pet.”

Shadowheart gasps, bringing his attention to her, tucked away behind your legs. “The Cleric, too. She knows how to faithfully worship a God. Don’t you, flower? You wouldn’t even need much training. You already know how to get on your knees.”

You growl low and shout. “You won’t touch her or Gale for that matter, boy!”

Boy. What Cazador used to call him, and you know he despises. If you can enrage him, you might be able to get his attention completely on you. It’s a bad plan, a terrible one, but it’s the best you have right now.

“Pardon?” He hisses. “You best rethink that, pet, or I will make you suffer!”

You hate what you’re doing, but you try your best to reuse things you heard Cazador taunt him with. “I’ve known you for years. Have I not suffered enough?”

“Silence!” He orders, a tic working in his jaw, and his eye twitching.

“You are weak,” you snarl, pressing on even though it makes your stomach twist in upset. “You’re a small, pathetic little boy who never amounted to anything. Even with all this power, you are still nothing.”

You see the quick flash of Astarion’s hand going for his dagger; see him lunge toward you as if in slow motion. The Weave glows in your eyes. You will fight to your last. If you’re lucky, it might give Shadowheart enough time to get herself and Gale out of here.

Astarion flashes across the terrace, disappearing into mist and reappearing only a step ahead of you. A flash of fire suddenly brightens the area, blinding you temporarily. The smell of brimstone and sulphur fills your nostrils, and your eyes snap open to see Astarion’s dagger millimetres away from your chest, but he’s held fast in a spell you recognize well.

Hold Monster.

You look to Shadowheart and Gale, but it’s clear neither of them are behind this because they look as bewildered as you.

“Quite the show this has been. A pity I had to step in and ruin the grand finale.” Mizora’s voice comes from behind you. She waves her hand, and a swirling, fiery portal opens up just behind you. “I can only get you to Avernus. You will have to find your way to Cania from there.”

When you don’t move, she rolls her eyes. “It’s now or never, pet. I cannot hold him forever.”

You can’t leave Astarion here, not like this. There is no telling what horrors this version of him will reap on Baldur's Gate. More importantly, he will no doubt target your friends. What good would saving him do if he cannot live with the guilt of his actions?

“He needs to come with me,” you murmur.

“That’s a very stupid thing to do.” Mizora snaps. “He will kill you as soon as you set foot in Avernus.”

“Maybe, but maybe not. It doesn’t matter. He cannot be left here.”

Her eyes narrow, and her brow creases with tension as the spell shimmers, wavering slightly. “You’re running out of time.”

“Let him go when I give the signal, Mizora.”

She huffs but nods. “Tick-Tock.”

“Illyria! Don’t do this!” Shadowheart grabs your ankle, but there is no time to debate.

“I have to.”

You position yourself several feet behind him and get ready. Before you can nod, Shadowheart scrambles to her feet, takes Gale’s quarterstaff from his hands, and tosses it and her bag to you. You catch them, secure it across your body, and grip the quarterstaff in both hands. Whatever the bag holds, it will be your only supplies. There is no time to fetch clothes or weapons. Even you can see that Mizora is struggling to hold him, and the cage has started to fissure and crack like stressed glass.

Nodding to give the signal, Mizora instantly lifts the spell, and Astarion reels forward. You sprint with all the speed you possess, slam into him, and use the momentum to propel you both through the swirling, burning maw of the portal.

Jagged, obsidian crystals slice gashes into your arms and legs when you crash into the treacherous terrain. The air is sweltering, acrid, and tastes heavily of ash. You push yourself up onto your wobbly legs. Before you have time to recover, Astarion’s hand wraps around your neck, lifting you into the air with no visible effort.

“What have you done!?”

Your words are cut off, and only strangled noises are able to escape your throat, but you cannot help the faint smile that quirks your lips up. Those dull eyes are filled with an unease and the slightest hint of fear.

He seems to notice and quickly steels his countenance back to that of a confident arrogance. His hand tightens a fraction, fingernails cutting into your bruising skin. His dagger flashes in his hand, twirling into his grip, and he presses the tip of the blade firmly into your abdomen. You’re surprised when the progression halts before it can do so much as cut you. He falters, the dagger wavering almost imperceptibly, and he scoffs, dropping you unceremoniously.

He glares at his hand with a puzzled twist to his lips and stows his blade. “I have half a mind to decorate the ground with your innards.”

His threats sound empty, or you have abandoned your fear of this version of him. He once told you that he would never kill you, and so far, that has proved true despite the ample opportunities he’s had.

“Why didn’t you then? Performance issues?”

“No!” He huffs in indignation. “I have a better idea.”

Astarion’s eyes glow, and the tendrils of compulsion take your muscles hostage. “Follow me, pet.”

You obey, getting to your feet, and hate that it feels glorious to assent. Astarion looks around, apparently settling on a direction, although you think it’s simply a random choice. There is nothing but hills and low, rocky mountains as far as the eye can see. He starts walking, and you quickly fall into place at his heels.

The land is covered in rubble and sharp stones of quartz and other crystalline-looking structures that gnaw at your bare feet, but you’re helpless to stop even as the pain mounts. Each step leaves a bloody footprint, dotting the charred wasteland. The side effects of the blood war can be seen spreading across the environment. Skulls and bones of creatures big and small litter your path, and it’s not long before you begin to see the crumbling remains of buildings, their walls blackened and caved in, stone strewn about, and large craters in the terrain from the impacts of the fireballs.

Clouds of red and black roil in the reddened sky, flickering with orange flames and fireballs that frequently race across the darkened heights. You stay quiet, staring at the back of Astarion’s head while you try to figure out how exactly you’re going to get your husband back. His ignorance of your mental connection could prove useful, but he will know if you attempt to go digging around in his head. That will have to remain a last resort.

Astarion only gave the order to follow, but he did not specify how closely, and you begin to fall behind. At first, it’s merely a small length, but the distance increases as your feet are chewed up by the ground.

“You’re quiet.” You hear him utter from ahead of you. “There was a time when I couldn’t get you to shut up.”

“I have nothing to say to you.”

Astarion glances over his shoulder, alerted to the fact that you’re lagging behind him by the quietness of your voice. “Quit dawdling.”

It’s not a command, and you don’t bother to quicken your pace but only roll your eyes at him with an exasperated scoff.

“You’re bleeding.” He states simply, scenting the air.

“Wow.” You transform your expression into one of mock awe. “Your powers of observation are truly a marvel to behold. Seven thousand souls have given you the great power of stating the obvious.”

“Cheeky. Be careful with that smart mouth, darling, or I’ll cut your tongue out. Now, hurry the Hells up.”

“I have no fucking shoes, Astarion!” You gesture toward your feet. “It’s like walking across hot shards of glass.”

He arches a high brow at you, looking rather amused or astonished at the insolence in your tone. “And whose fault is that exactly?”

“Yours.”

“I do not believe I was the one who pushed us into the fucking hells!” He snorts, crossing his arms. “Come on, pup. Walk faster. We haven’t got all day.”

“We’re immortal, Astarion. We literally have eternity.”

But you do, in fact, hurry up because you cannot fight his compulsion. The sharp rocks and stones rend the flesh of your feet, often jutting from the ground and piercing so deep you’re sure they glance off your bone. It doesn’t matter how carefully you try to place your steps; the ground is uneven and cluttered, and every step serves as another painful reminder of where you are and who you are with. The only reprieve afforded to you is when he stops to look around, where he once again appears to choose a direction at random. He leads you deeper into what appears to be a ruined fortress of some kind. Skeletons, big, small, and gargantuan alike hang limply, strewn everywhere the eye can see. Others look so old they’ve petrified, and you have to crawl between teeth that are twice your size.

It is beyond still in this fiendish graveyard, and the silence is so deep that you wonder if you might be able to suffocate in it. Whenever you trip over a rock or fall, it gives you the distinct impression that you’re disturbing the peaceful rest of the dead simply by existing.

When you once again finally step out into the ruined street, you can vaguely see the river Styx, slithering over the landscape like a scarlet snake with glinting scales. You don’t make it far when you notice a slowly moving shadow that seems to be increasing in size as if a dark cloud were drifting over you.

Your eyes flick upward and spot a mammoth fire-spewing boulder careening with the speed of a meteor. It takes you a moment to recall what you read when you were doing research about the layers of the Hells.

“The fireballs that race across the darkened sky of Avernus appear random at first glance, but be warned, they actively target motion.”

Shit.

Instinct kicks in, and you bolt toward Astarion, who is just beginning to notice the increasing darkness. For a moment, you’re blessedly free of the pain in your feet with the spike of adrenaline. Your arms encircle his waist, and you launch your body weight into him. He tries to catch himself before falling, but his heel catches on a rock, and he falls backward.

“You little shit!” He shouts.

The fireball hits with enough force that you can feel it vibrate the ground as red silt is blown outward like a wave. You close your eyes, feeling as it settles on your skin. When you’re able to open them again, dust falls off your lashes, and the earth is charred and smoking around the crater that lays just a little ways off where Astarion’s feet are.

You don’t realize that you’ve fallen on top of him until you glance back and see his wide eyes looking at the hole where he had been standing and back to you. For a moment, you think you see affection in those cold eyes, perhaps gratitude, but he chucks you off of him roughly.

“You did that!” He hisses.

The stones feel like needles against your palms as you push yourself up and give him an incredulous look. “Why the fuck would I do that and then save you?”

“You’re trying to toy with me, with my emotions, but it won’t work!” He growls, gesturing wildly. “I have been manipulating people for longer than you have been alive. Your games will not work on me, you wretched bit—”

His shouting is cut off when another shadow descends, the boulder whistling through the air, and Astarion has to phase into mist and back to avoid the strike. Both of you look to the sky, and your brows downturn, mouth slack-jawed, when you notice the swarm of them catapulting toward you.

“Shelter! We have to find shelter!” You scream.

You barely get the words out before they start thundering into the earth, each seemingly having a mind of their own. They force you to throw yourself to the side, back, forward, repeatedly to avoid being squished.

“The cave!” Astarion bellows, pointing toward a rocky cliff face.

Between the smoke and dust in the air, you can’t see a cave, but you attempt to start flinging your body in that direction. You can’t see where Astarion went, but you do feel the tug of his compulsion forcing your feet to move in a certain direction, which is interfering with your ability to evade the oncoming onslaught. That, coupled with the current state of your feet, your movement is dreadfully hindered.

A fireball slams into the ground behind you. The heat radiating off it sears your flesh before it explodes on impact, and you get caught by the shrapnel and thrown from your feet. Black dots march in your vision. You try to blink them away and get up, but the hellscape around you swells and dips like rough waves.

You can barely make out of vague darkening of the area surrounding you, and you try to drag yourself out of its path. Will it hurt, or will you be brought peace long before your brain can receive the signals for pain? You laugh softly at the prospect of being killed by a fireball after you’ve cast them countless times to do the same to your enemies.

Your stomach lurches as if you’ve fallen suddenly, and your world becomes a shapeless blur. A comfortable pressure encircles your waist, and before you know it, you’re enveloped in a deep dimness. When your eyes finally clear, you’re looking out the mouth of a cave, watching fireballs fall like hail from the sky.

Astarion stands with his back pressed hard against the stone, his eyes closed, and his chest heaving with heavy breaths. He’s covered in soot and rusty-coloured dust. He saved you? Hope blooms in your chest that when he opens his eyes, they will be the fiery sunset warmth of your husbands.

“Astarion?” Your voice is rough and hoarse from having inhaled the dirt in the air.

“Master to you, pet,” he purrs, his eyes opening slowly to reveal the lifeless maroon like a ruby covered by layers of dust.

Astarion watches you almost curiously for several minutes while you observe the chaos happening just outside the opening of the cave before he takes a seat. His forearms rest on his knees, and he twirls his dagger between his fingers, feeling the edge of it to judge the sharpness.

It’s nostalgic watching the way he assesses the blade and checks the weight and balance of it. How many times did you watch him perform the same inspections of his weapons in camp? You shouldn’t be surprised, you guess. This Astarion is still Astarion, but this Astarion is composed of two centuries of darkness and Cazador’s tortures.

Opening Shadowheart’s bag, you dig through the contents. There are a couple of random scrolls, a potion of healing, and the sharp, glass scraps of whatever potion didn’t make it through. There is a small pouch of coin, though you think it will do little good here. Your heart swells when you see her trousers and shirt, apparently stashed after she changed into your dress. The masterpiece that was your wedding dress is ruined beyond recognition, and you slip out of it.

“That’s some positively scandalous negligee,” Astarion taunts. “I assume that was for him?”

You glance down at the strappy, lace nightwear you had meant to surprise your husband with. “Well, it certainly wasn’t meant for you,” you retort.

“And yet, here I am enjoying the view and not him,” he says sinisterly.

Astarion turns, grabbing your ankle and giving it a quick tug toward him. He crawls up your body with that sensual smile you know too well and dips his head to kiss your hipbone, below your belly button, and continuing upwards. Though your brain knows the difference between your husband and this imposter, your body does not, and a shiver runs down your spine.

You push hard on his shoulders, trying to push him away, and he brings his eyes up with a lazy, crooked smile. He rests his chin on your stomach, his hot breath fans your cold skin.

“I know you want me,” he purrs, his fingers playing with the straps of your nightwear. “You cannot hide it from me, little lamb, and it seems we have some time to spare.”

“I want him,” you correct. “I have no interest in you. Get off me.”

“Him. Me. What’s the difference?” He shrugs and places another lingering kiss in the soft spot between your ribs. “We are one and the same. I’ll even be generous. I’ll whisper the sweet little lies I’m positive he feeds you, and you can pretend I am him.”

“I said no,” you growl, letting your palms heat against his shoulders in a warning.

Astarion sighs, rolls his eyes, and pushes himself to his knees. “Gods above. Why are you such a drip? Honestly, it’s like you hate having a good time.”

Pulling on Shadowheart’s shirt and tugging on the trousers without acknowledging his goading, you grab your raw feet and cringe. The blood is starting to dry, your healing abilities kicking in, but there are still crystal slivers and shards sticking out of your toes and heels, nestled deeply in your skin and muscle. You grasp at them, managing to pull some out, but your fingers aren’t quite nimble enough or adroit enough at getting purchase on the smaller, thinner pieces.

Astarion watches you again, with an odd intensity that you find puzzling. He reaches for you, but you recoil and pull away.

“Let me help.” It borders between an order and an offer, as if he couldn’t decide which and never made a choice either way.

It’s either this or walking with crystal shards impaling your feet, so you reluctantly slide your foot toward him. Astarion’s hand wraps around your ankle, and he lifts your leg and places it on his thigh. His eyes scrutinize the wounds carefully, and though his face remains cold and impassive, when they flick to you briefly, you swear you see concern in them.

Astarion plucks out the remaining pieces one by one, easing them from your flesh with more care than you would have thought this version of him possessed. When he’s done, he scoops up the remains of your dress and cuts long pieces from the silk, wrapping them around each foot in some sort of makeshift shoe. It’s unlikely to do much in the way of protection from the elements and will likely get chewed to shreds as quickly as your skin did, but the gesture still leaves you dumbstruck.

You cannot help yourself. “Why are you doing this?”

“I need you to be able to walk.” He states simply.

“Where are you taking me?”

He smiles ominously, predator-like, and it makes you such in a sharp breath. “We are going to bargain with Mephistopheles, of course. What do you think he will bestow upon me when I hand deliver the little snake who aims to reverse his arrangement?”

Big thank you for everyone who takes the time to read/reblog/comment, and all the other magnificent things.

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:

We've finally made it to the Hells!

[shoot-the-oneshot]

Crimson Cage 3

thank you guys for being so patient

Rafe Cameron x Reader Outer Banks Masterlist

Closing your eyes, breathing in the sea air, waves crashing was the only noise surrounding you, if you tried hard enough you could imagine you were at the chateau, home.

The crisp blue waters and white sand beaches of the Caribbean are only a stones throw away. Almost any time of day you could be found here, on the balcony, hot tea in hand the breeze blowing through your hair, you were used to the feeling but the surrounding luxuries that accompanied it were new. Lush white furniture, the flawless railing you could run your hand across a thousand times and never get a splinter.

You weren’t used to these luxuries but you also weren’t used to being a Cameron.

“Marry me” Rafe spoke, the softness In his tone making the question almost sound like a real proposal, stealing a glance at the shiny band on your left hand, you suppose it was.

“Do you think I’ll get a ring like that one day?” Wheezie asked from her spot next to you when she saw you looking at it, "If you want one" You nodded your head.

“If Rafe doesn’t scare everyone off.” She mumbled, her lips pushing out in a pout when you laughed agreeing with her, thinking back to all the times he scared tourons and pouges away from you in your teen years. “He is really good at that.”

“Well if it isn’t my two favorite girls.” You both turned to see Rafe leaning against the open door, the easy smile he's had on his face since you got here still on his face as he walked closer, pulling you both under his arms. Ruffling her hair making her squirm. You liked this version of him, softer less murdery. While Wheezie struggled to get out of her brothers' playful grasp, you leaned further in.

“And how's the beautiful Mrs Cameron doing?” He asked pulling your left hand to his lips. After the wedding, he called you that for a week straight, it was the first time you saw him happy in a long time.

“Oh, you know soaking in the rays like every day.” It was true despite your cage getting an upgrade and having more freedom than you did, it still wasn't home.

Rafe perused his lips, pressing a kiss to your forehead staying there as he spoke. “I have to leave for a bit.” You jerked back eyes wide at the sudden news.

“you’re what!”

“That French guy found a buyer for the cross, I'm taking the boat down there and once I'm back we can do whatever we want.” His voice lowered “Think about what we could do with all that money.” You could finally get away from Ward, you thought to yourself. Rafe hands continued on their paths up and down your arms, hoping you wouldn’t fight too much.

"Can I go with you?" You knew it was a long shot but in your mind, anything was better than staying here with Rose and a bedridden Ward, unsurprisingly he shook his head, dipping his chin to meet your eyes.

"Baby I got this, trust me. You just stay here with Whez and I'll take care of everything, okay?"

“Excuse me?” Rafe turned hearing a new voice, rolling his eyes at the newcomer.

“What are you doing here?” Kiara demanded. “What am I doing here? Why are you here!”

“I was wondering if the reunion would cause sparks you know.” The man's voice cut off the two bickering. “Who are you?” Rafe asked. “My name is Carlos Singh Mr Cameron,” he turned to Kiara. “Miss Carrera.”

“So you know our names is this about the cross or not?” Rafe deflected his intimidation tactic. “This is about the cross Mr Cameron and something much more than that,” Singh spoke of some diary his words going in one ear and out the other until he got fed up.

“Alright I'm done with this, tell her all about your little book.” He exclaimed walking out of the room facing an armed guard. Rafe huffed out turning back to Singe.

“Do you think I’m a fool, Mr Cameron? You have the cross, she and her friends had it at one point. If you truly don't know where the diary is it’s in your best interest to convince Miss Carrera to change her mind. You have one day to decide.”

After he finished they were escorted to a bedroom upstairs that was locked by one of the armed men. "Look out the window if you would like a demonstration of just how serious I am," Singh said before they were taken away. creeping to the window keeping clear of each other they watched a man that Rafe had never seen dragged away before a single gunshot.

"What, Who was that?" Rafe asked, seeing Kiara back away from the window.

"Jimmy Portus, he tried to help me." her voice cracked. Rafes mind ran overtime, rubbing his hands over his buzzed head. "Okay, this diary do you know where it is?"

"Have you forgotten what you did!"

"Which part?" Rafe being the smartass he was replied.

"Killing Peterkin, shooting your sister, stealing the gold and the cross from us beating up Pope!" Kiara shouted. Rafe groaned pacing the length of the room before turning back with his eyes glossy.

"I know you all think of me as some kind of monster I get it and I feel bad about what I did to Sarah, but I'm a victim too. Don't look at me like that, I am, okay!" Rafe paced in front of the window as Kiarra watched silently, waiting for him to explode again

“Listen listen I know you don't trust me or like me honestly I don't care.” He spoke raising his hands to point at his chest. “But you care about Y/N.”

The girls brows furrowed. “You mean my friend that you kidnapped."

Rafe rolled his eyes "She was my girlfriend I saved her from a suicide mission, but that's not the point."

His tone dropped stepping forward, Kiara matching with one of her own backwards until she hit the bed frame.

"She married me." raising his left hand showcasing the gold band on his finger. At the sight, she took a deep breath no doubt about to start yelling.

"Everyone thinks my dad is dead, which means the business the money the gold, it went to me and now Y/n." his voice dropped to a whisper as he leaned closer.

"Rose can't touch her when I'm there but if I die she gets everything. what do you think Rose would do with all the power and money right there for the taking?"

"You might not want to help me get out of here fine, but do you really want whatever happens to her on your head?" Rafe cocked his head watching her resolve crumble and her teeth grind.

"Fine, I have an idea."

Rafe crept through the house, it had to be around midnight with how dark it was keeping his footsteps as quiet as possible he pushed the bedroom door open, seeing the silhouette on the bed. who sensing his presence flipped over and gasped.

"Rafe!" quickly moving he knelt on the bed his hand going to her neck.

"shh baby you're okay, it's me I'm back" his thumb rubbed back and forth soothing her back to laying down now on his chest. god how he missed this, the feeling of her pressed against him, her breath fanning across his neck as every inhale filled with the smell of her shampoo.

"Did you sell the cross," you whispered. feeling his arms tighten around you.

"Don't worry about that, but I did some thinking while I was gone." he sighed into your hair. "I think it's time we go home." you shot up a hand pressing against his chest not giving him a chance to escape, not that he would go anywhere with you looking at him like that.

"We're going back to the Outer Banks?" grabbing your hand and pressing soft kisses long it as he sat up, his face illuminated by the moonlight allowing you to see his smile through the darkness. "We can leave in the morning."

Seeing the happiness glowing from the love of his life he's glad he withheld the finer details of the pouges and Singh, all that mattered was getting home.

Meanwhile, across the world, your sibling was floating back to the same island with their now alive father. who after steering the boat for a few hours joined John B down below.

“Where’s my butterfly is she still in OBX with that Cameron boy?” His father spoke sitting across from him at the table. it was still surreal to see him alive and well in front of him

“Uh, I don't know?” John B tucked his head. “What do you mean? She wasn’t with you"

“No, after Ward framed me for Peterkin, Sarah, Y/N and I were going to run on JJs dads boat, but she never showed up.” He watched as the information sunk into his dad as he slowly sunk into the chair his full attention on his oldest child.

"Sarah was with you on the run?"

"uh yeah." John B rubbed the back of his neck. "We're married, Dad." his foot tapped nervously waiting for his father's response.

"You married Sarah Cameron? Ward's daughter Sarah?"

"Are you mad?" he asked, trying the read the look on his father's face, who cracked into a smile.

"That you went after the big catch? not at all son, just sorry I missed the wedding" John B released a breath of air he was holding when the room went serious.

“So where is Y/N John B?”

“Sarah told me on the island that Rafe took her thinking she was on a suicide mission following me, she was on the ship with the cross when I last saw her. She stayed behind.”

The older man was silent in thought, “So Ward tried to kill me. Rafe shot Peterkin, you got framed and went on the run while Rafe kidnapped your sister. You found her but left her and got stranded on a island and married his sister, is that right?” John B nodded mumbling “There were a few things in between but yes”

"You know his sister so tell me bird, would he hurt her?" John B has never seen his father so serious about something other than treasure.

"No, Rafe would kill just about anyone, but he wouldn't hurt her, if anything he'd do it for her in his own twisted way."

"Alright then, we get to the OBX, find the map then get your sister." the older man slapped his thigh going to stand up ready to get them home as soon as possible.

This is the life you missed, it was like nothing changed. the second you landed back in the OBX you demanded Rafe take the roof off his jeep and take you driving wanting to see everything immediately. And who was he to say no?

Left hand free played full blast through the speakers as you drove downtown. your smile widens seeing Haywards, then the beach where you and Kiara saved baby turtles that one summer.

Unable to hold in your excitement you unbuckled your seatbelt and before Rafe could stop you, you stood up holding onto the bar. "I'm home!" you yelled at the top of your lungs against the wind. you could barely hear Rafes laugh at your antics.

His hand landed on your thigh the second you sat back down against the leather. you turned to look at him, you realized how young he looked in that moment no stress on his shoulders, he looked like when you first fell in love and would drive around town just to talk all day. except now there was a shiny ring on his left hand steering the car.

"I love you." the second the words left your lips the car's brakes slammed to a stop, the only reason you didn't hit the dash from the sudden jolt was the arm holding you back.

"What did you say?" Rafe shouted, before composing himself and asking again in a quieter tone. you haven't said it since before the tarmac but also haven't felt this since then.

He watched you intently as you smiled, you grabbed the collar of his shirt and pulled him closer. "I love you Rafe." you felt his breath shudder against your lips. his hand tangled itself in your hair. "I love you so much Y/n, always have always will." his lips crashed against yours with the passion of two lovers separated for years, which in a way you were.

You could feel Rafes smile against your lips. "Take me home Rafe."

once again he did as you asked, you don't think you've ever gotten to Tannyhill so fast before. the car was barely stopped before Rafe jumped out and ran to your side.

"Rafe!" you yelped when he picked you up, "Just carrying my bride across the threshold."

The weeks you've had in the OBX have been a dream, it was back to how it was. One morning while cooking breakfast Rafe to your shock, even dropped the keys to his jeep in front of you with a kiss on the head telling you to drive safe, before leaving on his bike to wherever he went during the day.

The first place you went was the chateau, softly shutting the car door all the memories you've made here hit you. The bedtime stories your dad would tell you and John B of pirates and gold, sleepovers with the pouges, even sneaking out to meet Rafe. You thought things would be the same when you came back, but nothing was. Now you had to push away cobwebs just to get inside.

With a sigh you looked around the chateau, kicking aside one of John B.'s shoes he threw everywhere, the floors creaked as you made your way around the house the layers of dust only confirming what you thought. No one was here, you didn't know where your brother was but figured he was as far as he could get from here.

Wiping your hands of dust you decided to go back home. you never thought you would call Tannyhill home but the feeling you had in that large white house felt better than you did minutes ago. Rafe was still gone when you got home so you went to your favorite spot in the house, the master balcony. the water looked nothing like in Guadalupe but you loved it.

Rafe who snuck in behind you, silently wrapped his arms around your waist pulling your back to his chest, his breath fanning your neck as he spoke. "I missed you wifey." you jumped in shock then relaxed back into his hold recognizing his voice, returning the sentiment he turned you around thumbs rubbing your waist from where he snuck his hands under your shirt.

"I had something made for you," Rafe smirked giving one last squeeze before moving his hands one going to the back of your neck the other reaching for something in his back pocket. pulling out a necklace covered in diamonds. before you could protest he clasped it around your neck his fingertips brushing along your collarbones as he fixed it.

"Rafe," "Just say thank you, and let me treat my wife like a husband should." he sushed you still admiring the hardware. reaching up on your tiptoes you pressed your lips together. wrapping your arms around his neck pulling away you showered his face in kisses, his jaw, cheek, nose everywhere. He practically preened loving the attention you were giving.

"There's one more thing," Rafe spoke suddenly looking uncharecterlisticly sheepish, like he was afraid of your reaction. curious as to what would pull that reaction out of him you wordlessly nodded your head. "Close your eyes." doing as he said you felt him pull away and heard shuffling. "Open"

You opened your eyes finding him on one knee eyes hopeful and ring in hand. "I know we are married already but I always wanted to give you the ring you deserve and what better place than your favorite." he choked up a bit on his words his eyes glossy. "So Y/n love of my life, will you stay married to me?"

Honestly, you wanted to laugh he was right the papers were signed but with how he looked right now you couldn't dare make fun when he took it so seriously. "Yes Rafe, I'll stay married to you." you smiled as he released a heavy sigh of relief. This is how you originally imagined him proposing, here not on some boat. the second he got to his feet his hands caged your face pulling in, kissing you like it was the altar. you watched as he slid the biggest oval diamond you have ever seen on your finger. "Oh my god where did you get this its massive!"

If you were paying attention you would've seen his shoulders tense momentarily. "We are Cameron's baby." was the only answer he gave as he watched you admire the ring and the view of the ocean in the same scene. he took his spot back behind you with you held tight in his arms nuzzeling your neck.

“You know this is all ours right? Just how it was always meant to be.” He whispered looking over the backyard of Tannyhill with you.

“We’re here to sell it Rafe it's not ours.” you sighed.

“Isn’t it? My dad can’t come back here, it's all in my name. I always told you this would be ours one day.” He paused using his grip on your hips to spin you to face him.

“Today is that day.” He nuzzled his nose in your hair taking a breath as you felt excitement fill you at the possibility of being home again. Your hands went to his face pulling his eyes to yours. That easy-going smile he got when he knew he did something you'd like on his face.

“We can really stay?” You whispered hopefully as if a louder tone would ruin everything. Rafe smiled loving that happy look in your eyes once again. He nodded his nose rubbing against yours with the movement. “We’re home baby.” He spoke against your lips before before pressing more fully.

Excitedly smiling into the kiss, you wrapped your arms around his neck laughing as he spun you. maybe Rafe was right and everything that happened was for the best because this felt like where you were supposed to be.

a few days later you watched Rafe walk in, instead of joining you in the kitchen he leaned against the enteryway watching you, "Let's go for a drive there's something you need to see. his somber tone rattled you. He led you out to the jeep looking like he was fighting himself with every step. the ride was quiet your leg bounced with nerves, normally Rafe was your rock if he was calm you didn't need to worry but his hands kept flexing and shifting on the wheel.

You looked to Rafe in confusion as he pulled the truck to a stop at the chateau. He pulled your hand to his face making you caress his cheek, turning his head he kissed your palm before letting you go and turning to face the house.

“Go, I’ll be here.”

You shook your head. "There is nothing there i already looked." Rafe sighed nodding to the house again.

Not understanding but still trusting him, you pulled open your door and stepped out, looking at Rafe one more time who gave you a forced smile confusing you even more. Shaking it off you made your way to the backyard surprised to hear voices. Turning the corner you froze seeing the pouges all standing around smiling at someone who was spinning with JJ on their back it wasn’t until they turned around you saw who it was.

“Dad?”

The group froze hearing the new voice. Their eyes widened seeing you, who for all they knew was somewhere in the Bahamas under lock and key. now stood right in front of them. JJ slid off your dad's back as he straightened to full height staring right back at you, or you think he was, your vision was blurry welling up with tears.

"There's my butterfly." he choked out, opening his arms. for you to fall into, you were hit with the familiar smell of your father as you wrapped your arms around him. "We thought you were dead." you sobbed against his chest. you felt it rumble with his chuckle. "Seems like there was a lot of that around here."

He pulled back, hands cradling your face and wiping your tears like when you were little. "I missed you, kid."

"I missed you too Dad."

"I missed you too you know!" your attention turned to John B, who was quick to wrap you up in a hug. "I'm sorry I never should left you on that ship, I should've made you jump first-" you laughed cutting him off mid-rant. "It's okay, we're back now, all of us." Big John who was watching turned to the pouges.

"Well, kids I think we need some family time." Sarah hesitates leaving with the others when John B. walks back to her side and grabs her hand. "She's family to dad." Big John sighed, nodding his head. "Come on then." holding the door open you stood still as your brother and Sarah walked into the chatue.

"You guys go ahead I'll be right there." you waited until your dad shot the door behind him before jogging back to the driveway. Rafe who saw you quickly jumped out of the truck to meet you. "Are you okay?" his hands went to your jaw making you look up at him, his thumbs gently swiping under your eyes. you didn't bother telling him about your dad, figuring that's why he brought you here.

"My dad called for family time, you should be there too." Rafe smiled at your words pulling you closer to press his lips against your forehead before taking your hand, letting you lead him inside.

Everyone was sitting at the small table when you both walked in, John B. and Sarah's Eyes widened while your father looked like he almost expected it. You both sat down rafes arm slung over the back of your chair fingers brushing your upper arm. "So fill me in." Big john spoke.

We all took turns explaining our sides it was well after nightfall until everyone was done, Dad sat back in his chair with a glass of bourbon held in his hands. "never thought I'd miss both of my kids weddings." he said before emptying the glass in one go.

"I'd just like to point out we're the only ones that are legally married here, not just some sea law." Rafe pointed out pointing between you and your bother, his ring caught the light. "And we could always have another wedding here like it was supposed to be." He spoke nonchalantly, making you perk up. the Guadalupe wedding was beautiful but it was always a dream to get married here, at home.

Rafe turns back with his smug smile on his face shooting you a wink. John B disgusted by the scene in front of him speaks up. "Maybe a double wedding then huh Rafey." he mocks using your nickname for the man who doesn't even glare back just smiles. "No." your dad laughs at the two as the night comes to a close. You had everything you wanted, Rafe, your dad, and your brother back everything was perfect, until a few days later.

You had just gotten back to Tannyhill from the chateau walking up the wide white steps nothing seemed amiss. "Hello Y/N." you spun around, breath catching in your throat.

"Ward."

wooo that took forever this is truly my favorite series I have written i hope you guys liked it as much as i do leave a comment if you did (they make me smile) check out the other parts here if you'd like to be added to my OBX tag list please let me know!

taglist: @itssoweirdyoureher @scenesofobx @dopedaegus @marauderswhore

[highlordofkrypton]

the bridges we mend, a tamlin x beron x elain fanfiction

You can read on AO3 or below the cut.

@praetorqueenreyna, this is your fault. Now, I'm committed.

SUMMARY: An alternate universe fic that takes place after Tamlin's family is murdered by another High Lord. Beron Vanserra has always kept an eye out for Tamlin; he has always been useful and entertaining. While he helps to rebuild the Spring Court, they welcome an unwelcome refugee from the human realm: Elain Archeron.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: There will be multiple chapters. There will be multiple variations of smut. It is a bit #yolo compared to my usual works. ENJOY!!

The rain hisses against his skin, wafts of smoke drifting into the air as it evaporates. Each step sears into the mud, fuels his rage, and it brings him closer to the culprit.

Idiot princeling. Stubborn beast, he thinks to himself.

His aura of anger grows until he is nothing than a storm of fire and steam.

No sentry bars his way. No magic repels him.

Beron whisps past the disfigured golden gates of the grand manor. It seems to droop under the weight of the rain—or is it under the weight of expectation? Of agony? With wave of his hand, he repairs it. His fire reshapes the metal and teaches it to burn bright, even in this darkness.

The front door is splintered; he finds problem after problem, but what he is looking for is not a problem. What is he looking for is—

A bottle clatter into the hall, its glass alerting him with its sharp sound. Behind it, a small creature pauses its efforts of rolling it away. It gives Beron a wide and slow blink before putting its hand-like paws on the bottle and going about its merry way.

"You," he orders the animal, as if he could communicate with a lesser creature. That was never his gift. "Halt."

The creature looks back over its shoulder and redoubles its efforts to escape.

It cannot—will not—get away with thievery in his presence. He has told the Spring son time and time againt that he is too soft to run this court. Even the wild things have free reign in his home.

Unacceptable.

Beron winnows towards the damned thing, cutting off its path into another room down the hall. It chirps, clutching onto the bottle and vanishes in a puff of pink smoke only to reappear further away. It gives the High Lord of the Autumn Court chase, all the way to its destination.

Blood stains the floor, and the bodies have been covered by a crimson-soaked bedsheet and half of the curtains. The new High Lord sits in the centre of the room, cradling a cold body to his chest. The tiny furry criminal hops over to Tamlin and offers him the bottle of water, but he does not take it.

Beron's heart catches in his chest. Mother, he loathes the discomfort of caring. He feels the bile of emotion roil in the pit of his belly, something more that allyship and a quick fuck. There is no time to address it. Another problem for another day.

"Fuck," Beron sighs, scrubbing his face and his auburn beard. "I told you to come to me."

He moves calmly across the room, kneeling before Tamlin and his lost ones. His touch is gentle, a rare offering, as he caresses Tamlin's cheek. This is what happens when power is thrust into the hands of someone too young and who does not want it.

I could have protected you, he yearns to say.

I have protected you, he nearly reprimands.

"I'll fix this. All of it."

***

The night keeps her secrets.

The rain hollows out her betrayal and masks the sounds of her feet pitter-pattering out the gates of her prison. A home where she is kept guarded, isolated and protected for her own good. Elain the kind. Elain the pure.

She is so unlike her sisters, they say.

So unlike Feyre, the adventurer who weaves fairytales out of nothing. So unlike Nesta, whose grace is as sharp as her mind. If one sister is brave, and the other is elegantly bold, then where does she fit? Where does she belong, the sister who is cursed to live in the middle?

Elain has been what her father needed, and what her sisters needed, never jostling any of them. Her part was to help where she could, and bottle her feelings deep inside where it was convenient. Her part was to marry into a household that would have her do nothing and be nothing for her safety.

The world is dangerous out there, they swore.

Stay within our eyesight, or you'll get hurt, they promised.

She doesn't know what to believe anymore, but one thing she knows is that she must see the world for herself. She dreams of a great odyssey, and even if there is pain along the way, she hopes that she will return—if she returns at all—with her heart full of wonder.

Elain clutches her dark cloak tightly and disappears into the forest. Broken branches and upturned rocks bite at her feet; her slippers are too thin, not made for a wanderer, but she pushes on. The ache is freeing and it reminds her that she has felt pain—

She has lost her mother, her father, her comfort, her peace—

She has lost enough, and yet she is here.

Once she gets far enough from the village that never quite felt like home, Elain pulls her hood back. The rain slips through the dark canopy of trees, dripping onto the curls of her hair and she laughs. It is a terrible idea to wander through the wilderness at night, but there is nothing more Elain wants than to do something terrible.

There is only one way to go: forward.

***

Beron leans against the side of the manor, huddled under one of the balconies to hide from the rain.

He has discarded his death-touched coat for one of Tamlin's. The shoulders droop; the younger Faerie had always been that much larger than him, much to his pleasure. The weight of his clothes, and its scent, is comforting no matter how much he loathes to admit it.

A cigarette burns between his fingers, also stolen from the Spring Lord. Its smoke fills his lungs with an easy focus; it helps him manage the anger until he can find a better way to expel the fury from his veins. He raises it to his lips, inhaling deeply, then releasing dark green wisps through his nose. It should burn, probably, but he is made of fire and there is not much that hurts him.

Lightning fractures the sky. No. Magic fractures the sky, its jagged slither diving towards where the Wall—the Wall separates the human and Faerie realms.

"Fuck," he laments, tossing the butt to the ground for it to return whence it came. He extinguishes it with a flick of his wrist.

Problem after problem. This is his own damned fault for caring.

[banesberry-anomoly]

Taking a break from doing the Clefbear ref sheet cause shading is kicking my ass

Have a Protocol: Ukulele drawing

Xeyr the security program that runs at night in Clefbear. Hates adults in the building, including the nightguard, and will actively gun for your ass if xey spot you

The dude is literally a program, but this is what xey look like when xey appear on any sort of screen. Protocol: Ukulele has a speach bubble head that can show all sorts of things on it. Words, pictures, xeyr face, etc etc.

[aloneinthehellfire]

Chapter Eight: Never Be Distracted

Gates Of Hell Masterlist

Word Count: 6138

Warnings: swearing, horror, blood, mentions of death, descriptions of gore?

[A/N: this is by far the creepiest thing I have ever written. I did not sleep after writing this. So yay hope you all enjoy! xoxo]

Never Be Distracted

You’re stood in a bare room, a bright white bulb flickering above you.

The room stretches into a hallway, the lights illuminating a path for you to take. But you daren’t move.

A shattering blast of noise drives you forward. You don’t even bother to look back at it. All you know is that you have to run, and keep running.

Double doors burst wide open before your hands can even touch them, leading you into a dark corner. You try to leave, suddenly feeling intimidated by the darkness, but the doors slam shut behind you, and you’re alone.

A blinking light strays you away from insanity. Creeping closer, you feel it calling, pain alighting your fingertips the longer you strayed from contact. It felt consuming. It felt… powerful.

But, as you brush against the small force, it disappears.

“Never be distracted.”

“Don’t look away.”

“Run.”

Screams and yells echo around you, floating like wind whistling past your ears. You can’t focus, spinning around in this dark and empty room. You can make out the voices. Some felt familiar. Others were terrifying.

Your eyelids squeeze shut as a sudden light is shone down on you, illuminating where you stood. It takes a moment to adjust, hand raised above your head to shield your only reliable senses.

It all came in a blur.

The doors fly back open and you stumble back. Blood soaked the walls and floors you ran down, dripping in the cold silence. Crimson lights beamed like sirens, distant screams and crashes causing your hands to twitch with every noise.

You stared down that red hallway until your eyes felt dry, gaze never unwavering from the door at the end. It kept thumping like a heartbeat, getting louder and louder. It looked like something was trying to escape.

The first splinter shattered from the door, and you just stared. You stared and stared and stared. You couldn’t blink. You couldn’t speak.

The pop of a metal hinge barely made you flinch. Whatever was crashing against the door was succeeding, the noises around you getting louder and louder, choir to an incomprehensible buzzing sound.

It finally breaks free, the wooden barrier slamming against the ground. Tears filled your eyes, staring back at a black space drawn into the blood splattered wall. But you could sense it there. Waiting.

Something shifted behind you. Head whipping back, you no longer felt entranced. An object lay on the ground beside you and you frown. Some kind of bracelet, woven by strings. It had something attached, maybe a charm. It glinted in the light.

The hairs on your arm raise. A panicked fear strikes your chest.

Never be distracted. Don’t look away.

Your eyes flicker back to the hallway, heart jumping into your throat.

It was running straight at you.

Run.

Claws rip into your skin as you scream, kicking and pushing at the body. It was digging into your arms, touching your face. The noises around you were blaring against your eardrums, something wet dripping from your mouth.

“Y/n!”

You scream louder, trying to get away, your eyes screwed shut.

“Y/N!”

Then the noise stopped. Everything stopped. All that was left was your aching breath.

Your eyes flutter open and you feel yourself falling back. Anticipating the pain, you gasp. But you never hit the ground.

“Hey, hey, you okay? Y/n?”

You focus on the face in front of you, chest rising heavily. “Steve?”

“So you literally have no other personality other than basketball?” Robin teases, bringing up her leg to rest her foot atop the seat.

“Hey.” Steve frowns, shooting her a glance. “You don’t even know me.”

“Correction. I know that you were captain of our Tigers- go, Tigers- and dated like every girl you could until around Junior year when you unexpectedly started dating Nancy Wheeler. I mean, no one saw that coming, but good for you, I guess.” Robin spewed off facts like it was nothing as Steve widens his eyes. “You throw so many parties that the school practically lives at your house, you’re always ranting about getting a basketball scholarship, and weirdly enough I am fully aware of the crush you had in middle school that you completely ruined but it’s so mind-blowing I can’t even repeat it.”

“I even know that the jump from middle school to high school turned you into a high-class douchebag except, for the life of me, I can’t figure out why.” She finished, flopping her head back to hit the headrest. “So, yeah, I know stuff about you. Most of that information came from the fact that I sat behind you in Miss Click’s class for, like, three years now. I know all of that and you couldn’t even remember my name.”

Steve fell silent for a while, focused on the dark roads ahead. Light was falling much quicker than it used to due to the dark cloud looming over Hawkins. It spread further each day. And it should have been his main concern in this moment. But right now, he hated the thought that he was driving with yet another person that hated him. And the sad part was that she had every right to.

“You’re right.” He eventually says, voice quieter than he intended. “I… I don’t know what happened to me either.”

Robin turns towards him in surprise, clearly expecting a snarky response, trying to assess if he was being serious. But what he said was the truth. He had no idea how he became someone he hated.

Maybe it was the pressure of fitting in. Could possibly be the lack of any parental figure since he was 13. But he couldn’t blame his actions on how other people treated him. He made that choice all by himself.

“You’ve changed.” She adds, breaking the silence. Her voice was softer now, still observing him with her sharp eyes. “What happened to King Steve?”

She asked with a light hearted tone, but it felt like a sucker punch to his gut.

“He died.” Steve replies simply, flicking on his headlights when the sun started to fade, before immediately switching them back off.

“Why’d you do that?” Robin asks, frowning into the black of night.

“Uh, trying not to let every monster freak know where we are?” He raises his brows and she raises her arms in surrender, settling back. Steve frowns at himself. Never before did he think he’d be catching himself repeating the same words that left your mouth.

“So…” Robin starts and Steve awaits the next wave of offensive remarks. “This friend of yours. Where exactly do we think she’ll be?”

“I… have no idea.” He admits and she thins her lips, nodding.

“Yep, yep, love a great plan.” She mumbles, her leg bouncing restlessly.

Steve had nothing else to say. No words of comfort. Just that driving force he felt to find you. It still twisted his gut that he had to drag someone else into this mess, but Robin didn’t really have a choice at the end of it. At least this way, he can try and make up those past years to her.

“Wait.” Robin leans forward, both feet planted on the floor of the car as she points, “What is that?”

He turns to her pointed direction and squints, locating the object of her worry and gulping. It looked like smoke, flames dancing at the source. Something was on fire. Maybe even exploded.

He wasn’t entirely sure why, but he headed towards it, trusting his gut and following its orders. Steve was glad he still had hope left after all of this.

As they roll past, Robin couldn’t stop the gasp escaping her lips. It was a bus, a school bus to be precise. And the entirety of it was covered in fire. They couldn’t see if anyone had been inside it, nor did they want a closer look to find out.

The most concerning part of all, was the three giant gashes running along the side of it. Something strong enough to rip through metal. Something big enough to take out an entire bus with just one swipe.

They drive around the streets, hoping to catch a glimpse of a person before the sun disappeared. Once it hit night, Steve knew he would have to get himself and Robin somewhere safe until morning. He was on borrowed time to find you before it was too late.

He was scared he’d have to give up. He hated the idea of leaving you out here during night, not knowing what state you were in. It was almost funny, having feelings of worry instead of hatred. Not that he didn’t find you any less annoying, but Steve felt like he owed this to you. After all, you were willing to push aside your feelings and take him with you to the cabin. It’s just a shame your journey didn’t end there.

“Steve. Steve!” Robin patted his arm. Correction: she whacked his arm with enough force to bruise until he batted her away. He would have snapped at her if it weren’t for her outstretched finger lighting his way to unknown victory.

There, stood in the middle of the road, was a girl. She was facing away from the approaching car, staring at the rubble of a building in the distance. She bore a hoodie, the back printed with lettering.

Harrington [4] Hawkins Tigers

His heart jumps as he brakes the car into a stop, quickly glancing around him before calling out.

“Y/n!” He says and Robin turns to him with furrowed brows. He barely notices, opening his door when you didn’t respond. He’s ready to run towards you until that fear pangs in his chest.

Was it really you?

“Pass me the shotgun.” He says, reaching his hand through the car.

Robin stares at him in disbelief. “What? No!”

“It’s just in case!” Steve pleads, waving his hand around. “What if it’s not her?”

“You won’t shoot until we know for sure?” She asks with little faith in him. He shouldn’t be surprised that Robin didn’t instantly trust someone that only ever showed his worst side through high school.

“I promise.” He says and the metal is placed into his hands.

Steve creeps forward, quickly glancing down at the hands dangling by your sides. They were human, for sure. But that didn’t make his heart beat any slower.

The sound of a car door opening stopped him in his tracks and he turns to hiss at Robin, signalling for her to get back into the car.

“Get back in the-”

“You can’t tell-”

“Just go back in the damn-”

“What if-”

“Go!” He finally puts his foot down and she grits her teeth, glaring at him.

She sends him the middle finger before climbing back into the car, gently closing the door. Steve sighs, turning back.

He circles around, still calling your name, quieter this time.

When he finally sees your face, he almost drops the shotgun. You were stood deathly still, a blank expression, staring at nothing. And what he sees, he’s not even sure is real. Your eyes were completely black, the space fluttering below your eyelids like… like dust. Maybe the dark was playing tricks on him.

“Y/n.” He swings the shotgun over his shoulder and closes the space, waving his hand in front of you. “Can you hear me?”

You don’t respond, and his stomach lurches.

“Y/n, hey. Y/n?” He tries again and again, but you’re not moving. He has to do something.

“Y/n!” He raises his voice and moves forward to grab your shoulders.

And then you scream.

Steve almost jumps as you start to thrash about, trying to push away from him. He keeps yelling out your name, reminding you it’s him. But he soon realises that you have no idea he’s there, and your eyes suddenly screw shut, trying to get away from something he couldn’t see.

“Y/N!” He yells at you one final time before you finally stop, rendering you dead silent.

Then your eyes flutter once more until they return to a familiar hue. You gasp, falling back, and Steve is quick to wrap his arms around you just in time to stop the impact of the ground shattering you completely.

“Hey, hey, you okay? Y/n?” He panics, the whole situation making his stomach sick. You’re not talking, tears streaming down your face.

And then you finally notice him, glistening eyes focused on his.

“Steve?” Your voice is hoarse and quiet. You looked at him in relief before suddenly wrapping your own arms around his neck and sobbing. It was a surprise to have you willingly pull him closer, but he doesn’t let go.

Steve gently lowers you both to the ground and holds onto you. You two had never been this close before. In fact, a few days ago you would have rather died than ever let Steve Harrington touch you. But right now, that pettiness was put aside. Right now, you just needed someone to hold.

“Is everything okay?”

A small voice echoes out and you halt your cries, sniffling as you try and turn around. Steve releases his grip on you, still touching your arms with a worried frown. You try not to think anything of it and search through the dark.

“Oh my god.” Robin steps closer with wide eyes. “Y/n?”

“Robin?” You frown, trying to stand up but feeling like your legs were going to break beneath you. You instinctively grab onto Steve’s arm and his breath hitches, but he doesn’t say anything. Instead, he helps you stand before clearing his throat.

“You two know eachother?” He asks, glancing between both of the girls smiling at one another.

“Yeah, she’s-” You begin but Robin interrupts as she leaps forward.

“Only her best friend!” She almost yells, managing to catch you in a hug and Steve stumbles away, wincing as he holds his arms out in fear you might topple over again. “Where the hell have you been?”

“A little busy fighting monsters.” You chuckle, feeling dizzy.

She holds you tighter and you can feel her shaking against you. She always tried to hide just how nervous she got in certain situations, usually talking your ear off in attempt to calm herself down. But this time she shook like she was terrified.

“Robs…” You start, the dizziness creating spots in your vision.

“I never apologised.” She blurted, stepping to hold you at arm’s length. She opened her mouth to spew out an apology but instead her face twists in concern. “I- Hey, are you okay?”

Steve raises his head and moves closer. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m fine.” You bat them away. Or, at least, that what you thought you did. But you were batting in the wrong direction. You blink. “Woah, okay, I think I need to sit down.”

Something chittered in the street, echoing from the far side of the darkened alleyways.

“No objections here.” Robin’s eyes were wide and she loops her arm around you, leading you back to the car.

Steve cocks the shotgun and follows, trying to anticipate danger before the danger attacks. He’s pulling the back door open for you as you crawl in, trying to stop your hands from trembling. You felt sick, and your head was throbbing.

“Come on, let’s get out of here.” He nods to Robin, making sure she’s safely inside the car before he slips back behind the wheel, slotting the shotgun down the side of Robin’s legs.

As he reversed, he couldn’t help his eyes anxiously flickering to his rear-view mirror. It was too dark to really see you, but your eyes glinted with terror every now and then, and he has to bite back his questions. Steve was so close to the lab now, there was no point to inevitably start another argument with you.

He hated that he was worried about someone that mutually detested him. But he hated that haunted look on your face more.

The car was silent for a few minutes, a tension in the air no one addressed. Tonight had been too spooky for everyone, and now you needed to just calm down and collect your thoughts.

It wasn’t until Robin’s voice cuts through the air that you even zone back into reality, the feel of the car soothing you into your own world.

“Woah.” Robin leans forward with squinted eyes. “Is it just me or did everything just get really dark?”

You raise your head to peer out of the window by your feet. It was pitch black and, as you glance to the windscreen, you realised Steve was driving blind.

“We need to stop.” You try to stay, but it was merely a whisper. You were feeling more nauseas by the minute, blinking back tears you couldn’t find the source for.

“What was that?” Robin turns in her seat to face you, craning her neck around the headrest. Something bubbled in your stomach.

“Stop.” You mumble, sure she wouldn’t hear you. But her eyes widen and she whips her head to Steve.

“She’s right.” She nods and Steve frowns.

“What?”

“We have to stop.” She repeats and he cocks a brow. “Seriously, Steve, you can’t even see where you’re driving!”

“No, I know what I’m doing, okay? We’re close.” He says, grip tightening on the steering wheel. As they argue, you feel your throat tightening and an unsavoury amount of saliva collecting below your tongue.

“You can’t-”

“God, do you have to object to everything-”

“When you’re being a dingus, yes!”

“A dingus? What, are you twelve-”

“Oh, shut up-”

“STOP THE CAR!” You suddenly yell out and Steve instinctively slams on the brakes, halting the car to a complete and final stop.

Before they can react any more, you’re fumbling with the handle and stumbling out onto the road. Steve’s brows shoot up and he practically bursts out of his seat and runs over to you, all while Robin sits in shock.

“Hey!” Steve calls after you as you run to what you assume is the edge of the woods, and then you kneel to the ground, planting your hands in front of you.

His footsteps skid to a stop when he hears you vomiting, coughing up what sounded like your entire stomach. Steve would know how you were feeling; he hosted too many parties to never suffer the consequences. But Steve was very sure you weren’t experiencing a hangover.

“Hey, what’s going on?” He moves closer and you hold out a shaking hand.

“Don’t.” You say softly and he bites his tongue.

“We have to keep moving-”

“Oh my god, just stop.” You suddenly snap, turning back to face him. He could just make out your features in the night, his eyes adjusting to the dark circles under your eyes. “I don’t take orders from you.”

You’re suddenly standing, glaring at him. There wasn’t an ounce of certainty in your actions, but you felt angry, and he was right there.

“You can pretend like you’re the hero, Harrington, but we both know you haven’t got a fucking clue what you’re doing.” You say and he clenches his jaw.

“We need to get to the lab, you said it yourself-” Your noise of irritation cuts him off.

“What is it with you and that lab?!” You yell out, hearing Robin’s door open.

“Everyone that loves us is there!” He steps forward, flinging his arm out in a general direction.

“No, everyone that loves youis there!” You retort, shaking your head. “You’re doing this for your own selfish reasons and you’re gonna get us all killed!”

His features were starting to blur so you rub your eyes, turning away. You knew he hadn’t done anything wrong. But god, did you need to let out your frustrations.

“Woah, settle down, lovers.” Robin interrupts, earning glares. “We can all agree that this has been a horrible day. And Y/n… we can’t imagine what you went through before we found you and I can only assume that’s why you’re acting out right now.”

You don’t respond. Instead, you lower your head and gnaw at your bottom lip, refusing to comment.

Robin sighs. “But I agree with her.”

“What-” Steve starts but she shushes him loudly.

“We’re not gonna make it there if we can’t even see it.” She points out and he shuts his mouth, placing his hands on his hips. “But we also can’t stay out here so we need to come up with something, and fast.”

“I have a tent in my trunk.” Steve offers and you both look at him weirdly. He blinks before feeling the heat rush to his cheeks. “Hey, woah, no, I didn’t mean it like that. I mean I have an actual tent- in my car. A plastic sheet in my car.”

“Pervert.” You grumble and he looks like he’s about to explode.

“Did you say something?” He challenges, narrowing his eyes.

“Did you say something?” You mock, the steam practically pouring out of his ears. “My head hurts, I feel gross, I just want to rest without someone almost crashing.”

“I didn’t almost crash!” Steve folds his arms and you raise your eyebrows.

“You would have!”

“You would have.” He mimics now and you make a sound of disgust.

“You’re such a child.”

“I’m the child?!”

“Oh my god, both of you, shut the fuck up!” Robin groans, dragging her hands down her face. “You’re both children! And I am not your god damn babysitter so pull it together before I beat your heads together!”

“Woah, that’s child abuse, Buckley.” Steve raises his hands, shaking his head.

“Yeah, that’s a criminal offence.” You chime in and Robin drops her shoulders, rolling her head back to look up.

“I give up.” She whispers out harshly before turning around. “If you two wanna be babies, then fine, be babies. I personally wanna survive the night but no, let’s not listen to Robin and instead bicker about our small-scale rivalry in the middle of the apocalypse.”

“Okay then, if you’re so smart, please tell us what your plan is.” Steve interrupts her and she turns back, frowning.

“Uh, what now?”

“Something would be better than nothing.” You say softly, fiddling with the sleeves of the hoodie.

“Okay.” Robin nods, expressing herself with her hands. “We- we stay in the car, right? And we’ll place the tent over the car and just... try to blend in. Is that… good enough?”

“We can’t just be in the middle of the road.” Steve frowns, peering around. “Maybe I can try and park it between some trees or something.”

“Believe me, we don’t wanna be by any trees right now.” You say, wrapping your arms around yourself. You could still see your imposter now, staring at you, mocking you.

“That still leaves us out in the open.” Steve exasperates, feeling like he was getting nowhere.

“We can always camp out there.”

They both turn to where you’re pointing in the dark, eyes widening. A clash of lightning struck in the sky, illuminating the eerie shadow long enough for Robin to make sounds of protest.

“Nuh-uh.” She shakes her head, pouting. “Nope. No.”

“It’s not a bad idea.” Steve squinted, your small action of resting your hand on the back of your head not going unnoticed.

“Not a-” Robin gasps, staring at you both like you were mad. “That’s the murder house. A house doesn’t get a name like that ‘cause it’s all cute and cuddly!”

“Okay, yeah, I agree.” Steve points to Robin and you roll your eyes.

“Fine, whatever.” You sigh, not feeling nearly strong enough to be standing for much longer right now. “We’re just gonna have to risk it. We’ll put the tent over like Robin said, maybe use a flashlight and dim it with clothes or something so it’s not too bright.”

“Sounds like a plan.” Robin smiles unsteadily, already bounding over to the car and waiting on shifted feet.

“I guess it’s our only option.” Steve offers, turning away, but your stomach churns out in guilt.

“Sorry for calling you a pervert.” You mumble and he raises his brow, stopping.

“Uh… thank you?” He narrows his eyes in confusion. When have you ever apologised to him?

“Yeah, don’t mention it.” You say, more of a demand than a social courtesy.

Then you’re walking away, your steps a little more forced and wobbly than before. Steve can’t help but question every little thing you do. Not because he was frightened you might be a shapeshifter, he had left that worry behind a long time ago.

Maybe he was over-reacting, trying to find something to occupy his mind and Jesus Christ, did he not want it to be you. It was bad enough you were both arguing again. And he always did this. He found someone else to worry over so he didn’t have to worry about himself.

When you had all finally clambered into the car after successfully flipping the tent sheet over the vehicle, Steve drops the tarp behind him as he closes the door, locking it.

The sleeping arrangements had been made silently. You and Robin were in the back, happy to be facing eachother in slumped sitting positions against the car doors, while Steve stayed in the front, able to recline his seat just enough that Robin had enough space behind him to be comfortable. He also wanted to make sure he was ready to drive at a moment’s notice.

“I can’t see where I should put my legs.” Robin squirms, her worn converse bumping into your shins with every movement. “Stupid long legs.”

“Hold on.” Steve sighs, rooting around the backpack currently resting on the passenger seat. He grabs the flashlight and a spare t-shirt, wrapping the front of it like you had suggested. “Here.”

Passing it backwards over his head, Robin takes it from his hand and locates the switch, smiling.

“That’s better.” She points it at your legs and you both come up with your own solution; you bend your knees to rest against the back to allow your friend enough room to spread herself out. She sighs happily, smiling up at you. “Thank-”

Her smile drops and she leans forward. “Uh, I don’t wanna freak you out, but you look…”

As she tries to search for the word, Steve twists around in curiosity and his face falls.

It had been dark when they found you, only really making out features that were undeniably you. Now that there was light, they could see exactly what the missed.

One side of your head was covered entirely in dark red, running down to your jawline. Dirt was smudged across your cheeks, your eyes reddened like you had been crying. Steve could even see the small cuts and scratches on the back of your hands when you tried to cover your face.

“What happened?” Robin asks quietly, reaching to take one of your hands in hers. She wasn’t really a touchy kind of person; physical contact usually made her feel uncomfortable, especially when someone didn’t understand her boundaries. But she’s always had a soft spot for people that accept her. People like you.

You gnaw at your bottom lip, trying to avoid the eyes staring at you.

“Did you hit your head again?” Steve frowns and you take a breath.

“Yep.” You sound and his eyes widen. “Look, I know it’s bad and I probably have a serious concussion right now-”

“Y/n, we’re way past concussion, you’ve hit your head twice in like two days!” He sits up straight and your brows furrow at his worry.

“Okay, calm down.” You pinch the bridge of your nose. “You’re gonna give me a headache. On top of this headache.”

“Jesus, you should have said something!” He continued, not lowering his volume as you implied. He was suddenly reaching forward, leaning towards you and you physically sink back into the seat.

“Woah, what do you think you’re doing there, buddy?” You grimace, but he pays no attention, reaching straight past you and grabbing onto something hidden at the back.

Your eyes widen slightly. “My backpack?”

You hadn’t even thought to look for it when you woke up. It had serious supplies in it as well; food, water, first aid. Basically everything you need to survive.

“Technically mine.” He shoots a look while rifling through its contents. “But yeah. It was left on the side of the road with your shotgun.”

“Huh?” Robin looks up, snapped out of her own reality. “I feel like I’ve missed a huge chunk of Y/n and Steve’s happy-time adventures.”

“Not even a single happy-time, Robs.” You sigh. “I don’t wanna talk about it right now.”

“Here.”

You turn to see Steve’s hand offering you white pills, a little paracetamol to help ease the pain. In his other, he held a water bottle. Without arguing, you silently took them from him and gulped the painkillers down, trying to reserve as much water as you could through the littlest sips.

“I don’t suppose you have an ice pack?” Robin asks and Steve frowns.

“Yes. Yeah, I’ve been carrying around ice in my backpack for almost three days now.” He deadpanned. Robin knotted her brows.

“Sorry.” She said with a huff, sitting back. “Just don’t want my best friend to die on me, I apologise if my panicking leads me to ask stupid questions.”

“I’m not gonna die, Robs.” You say just as you wince, looking up at her. “Well, not right now, at least?”

“If you die, I’m personally gonna climb up to heaven and drag your ass back down.”

“Yeah, like she’s going to heaven.” Steve snorts and you roll your eyes.

“Ooh, burn.” You mock and he clicks his jaw, looking away.

“Don’t die.” He says, getting comfortable. “And if you do, die silently.”

“If any of us were to die tonight, it’s gonna be out of murder.” You grit your teeth and turn to find Robin’s wide eyes glancing between you.

“You guys are terrifying. And on that note, I’m going to sleep.” She shakes her head, snuggling back into the door. “Y/n, don’t kill Steve. And Steve, don’t let Y/n die. I wish everyone a happy nightmare.”

“Story of my life.” Steve mutters before he’s silent again, shutting his eyes.

You don’t fall asleep for a little while, at least not until the meds kick in. You were never good at switching off your thoughts in the silence, especially when there are so many things lurking in the dark around you.

There was that little voice that wondered around your head, exploring the caverns on your memories, pulling out ancient artefacts you had buried as soon as you found them. That little voice right now was leading you through the tumbling series of unfortunate events you recently faced. The monsters, the blood, the shadow. That cold nightmare of the blinking hallway.

It circulated over and over until you tired yourself out from the anxiety. Once you heard Robin’s heavy breaths, you quietly reach over and switch off the flashlight. It was going to take some more time, but your eyelids were already drooping from exhaustion, sleep calling you to unconsciousness. And, eventually, you let yourself drift.

Steve assumed he was the only one awake until the light suddenly disappeared. He had blinked against the plunged darkness before hearing movement behind him. Out the corner of his eye, he could just make out your shape, your head resting gently against the back seat.

He had so many questions. So many he knew you would refuse to answer. And he knows you were never close, even when you weren’t ripping eachother’s throats out. But he couldn’t ignore how much he needed to know to satisfy his mind.

And he was getting really bad at ignoring that pit in his stomach whenever he sees you’re hurt.

You’re stood in a bare room, a bright white bulb flickering above you. It all feels too familiar.

The room stretches into a hallway, the lights illuminating a path for you to take. It takes you a second before you realise you’ve seen this before.

A shattering blast of noise drives you forward. You’ve already done this before and yet, you keep running. You don’t have a choice.

Double doors burst wide open before your hands can even touch them, leading you into a dark corner. You try to leave, suddenly feeling intimidated by the darkness, but the doors slam shut behind you, and you’re alone…

Except you’re not alone this time.

Someone stands further into the room, turned away from you. You should feel scared. But you move closer, somehow feeling safer.

You notice they have longer hair, reaching their shoulder blades. It’s the only feature your mind can decipher, like something was blocking you from the full truth. You reach out, hoping they can help.

But, as you brush against their shoulder, they disappears.

“Never be distracted.” A voice whispers out, distinctively female.

“Don’t look away.” It’s an older man this time, gruff and hoarse.

Then comes a softer voice, male, all too familiar. “Run.”

Screams and yells echo around you, floating like wind whistling past your ears. You knew they were coming and you try to search the dark for anything new. But the noise was just too overwhelming to focus.

Instinctively, you squeeze your eyes shut just as a sudden light is shone down on you, illuminating where you stood. It didn’t blind you this time, and it gave you an opportunity to view a piece to this nightmare you hadn’t seen before.

You opened your eyes to watch a silhouette passing through you, like a ghost. It ran to the front doors and pulled them apart, then it disappeared. You couldn’t make out its features either. You weren’t even sure it had any.

It all happened again. The blood soaked walls and floors, beaming sirens, distant screams.

Your eyes flicker to the door that kept thumping like a heartbeat, growing louder and louder. It would only be seconds before something broke through. And maybe this time, you’d know what it is. And not get distracted-

The bracelet.

Knowing you had time, you turn around quick enough to see that you weren’t alone again. It was the same person as before, still quiet, still faceless. Except this time they were facing you, hair clinging to their face like sweat. They were on the ground, swiping their arms in front of them like they were swatting something away. Or protecting himself.

There was a sudden shift, their shadow bleeding red. Their wrist flicked to the side as they fall back down completely, fading into the floor like they were never there. All that was left, was what had broken from their wrist.

It was the same as the last nightmare; some kind of bracelet, woven by strings. It had something attached, maybe a charm. It glinted in the light. And this time, it had snapped in half, frayed edges of the circling rope. You look a little closer, noticing a figure eight etched into the shiny metal dangling from it. Infinity?

The hairs on your arm raise. A panicked fear strikes your chest. Everything was quiet. You had looked away for too long.

Never be distracted. Don’t look away.

Part of you didn’t want to turn around, already knowing the outcome. But this nightmare had to end.

You slowly turn around.

And it was staring at you, barely a breath away.

Dark green eyes.

“Run.”

You wake up, jolting. There wasn’t a sound that left your lips, no movement from the other sleeping bodies to indicate you had been loud. You were sat silently, back soaked in your own sweat, gulping against your racing heartbeat.

Sighing, you notice the colours of morning peeking through the thin gaps of the tent hiding you, decorating the car with various slices of burning hue.

Your eyes drift to the driver’s seat, soft snores from the head lolled against the window, fogging the glass.

Then you settle on the girl in front of you, her arms wrapped around herself while her legs had been flailed across the back seats, one even over yours. She always fidgeted in her sleep, evidence from the many painful sleepovers you had enjoyed.

Something on her wrist glints in the light, catching your eye. You don’t fully acknowledge it at first, caught in the haze of your waking nightmare. Then it shines again.

A chill ran down your spine, an unhealthy thumping in your chest. How could you have forgotten?

You were the one that gifted her that charm, and you had watched her weave that bracelet onto her wrist, a satisfied smile on her face when she had tied the final strings.

Chapter Nine: An Alliance Or A Mistake? ->

taglist: @manyfandomsfanvergent . @sheisjoeschateau . @kthomps914 . @curled-hair-red-lips . @nix-rose . @palmtreesx3 . @kryztalglear . @sattlersquarry . @hey-barnes-stole-a-jeep . @sadslasher13 . @80saestheticismyfav .

[tgrailwar-zero]

As KUKULKAN worked on breaking down the loose bricks, CONSTANTINE and PRETENDER kept an eye out.

PRETENDER: "Sure, nothing wrong with a bit of caution."

You watched as several twinkling faeries disappeared into the darkness.

Following suit, the walls crumbled, resulting in another path.

The three Servants stepped into a wide room, looking around.

KUKULKAN: "Look! A sword."

She pointed at a weapon, stabbed into the rock- cracks splintering around the point of impact. It was a blade of deep crimson with black trimming.

The blade was dull, the red-hot sheen mottled by dust and cobwebs forming on the odd curses and indentations on the blade, but seemed to have a certain heat radiating off of it. Reaching a hand towards it, CONSTANTINE drew it back with a wince, as if burned.

CONSTANTINE: "It's like there's some sort of magecraft preventing me from using it. My hand gets too close, and it feels like my fingers are are about to burn off."

He squinted, looking closer at the strange blade, finding some engraving on it.

Regnum caelorum et gehenna.

CONSTANTINE: "...'The kingdom of heaven and hell'..."

KUKULKAN: "That said 'Blade's Tomb', right? Perhaps this is the 'blade' that they were speaking of?"

CONSTANTINE: "Perhaps. Though I wonder who this belonged to. Perhaps someone who fought in the 'Origin War'?"

Reviewing the facts, it seemed like there were three wars, at least. A 'Lunar Grail War' that went wrong, the 'Origin War' where you first arrived, and this current 'Solar Grail War' that you were a part of.

PRETENDER: "Not sure, I suppose the only answers lay deeper. You know, I never thought of myself as the type who did well in dark spaces like this, but being part of a group makes it a bit more manageable."

With a spectacular success, you note something close to the sword- off to the side, hidden a bit. KUKULKAN seemed to spot it as well, stepping over and picking it up. It seemed to be a small, circular object- and luckily perfectly in-tact, undamaged by any sort of reckless rummaging.

When it was picked up, a holographic image flickered to life- a recording. The woman on the recording seemed... familiar. She looked like CASTER- though her gaze was a bit less derisive. More tired. Stressed. And unlike how CASTER seemed unflappable, this 'CASTER' seemed to be just as aware of the pains of the world as anyone else. She seemed... scared.

CASTER(?): [ Saber, I assume that if you've found this blade, you've recovered your memories. I don't know how- maybe though that 'Imperial Cheat' that you call a 'skill'. And I can also assume that you're very, very angry with me. But listen… ]

CASTER(?): [ We were never going to agree on how to handle the situation we're in, so I'm taking things into my own hands. I barely managed to convince that Nameless Servant. So I played dirty. Perhaps, if you pick up this blade again, your first instinct will be to go for my neck and put me to task. Or whatever 'me' is left, I suppose. But… ugh, well… ]

CASTER(?): [ …I'm desperate, okay? You weren't there when it first arrived. Didn't see what it did to the world. I did. If you were left to your own devices, you'd grab your sword and keep fighting and breaking yourself over and over again to no avail, all while my Darling could do nothing but sit and watch. You'd lose. You'd die. You'd fail. There's no winning this as Heroic Spirits. Not as we are. Not as I am. ]

CASTER(?): [ I can get this to work. I swear I can. Even if all of my will is corroded in the process, if I can just keep that 'intent'- I can do it. So please, Saber- and you know I don't say 'please' a lot. If you're back- find me. Give me a chance. You two gave me a chance before- saving the life of one less-than-perfect girl like myself. I just need one more, and I won't let anyone down. ]

CASTER(?): [ …I'll make his wish come true, okay? ]

With that, the image flickered out.

[thesightstoshowyou]

I love your work so much! Would you consider writing number 28 for the man from Hush? I was so excited to see you talking about him haha, it's such an underrated movie! xxx

Thank you so much!!! Heck yes I will write for him! I’m also working on week 4 of bloodfest and it features this asshole 😁

I have a few other The Man stories on my Masterlist if you haven’t read those! ❤️

~~

28. "This is not what I expected."

Warnings: Predator/prey, blood, wrist trauma, heavy gore. Dead dove do not eat.

Blood drips into your eye and you hiss, thick crimson stinging and clouding your vision. You close it on instinct, your vision now halved as you sprint through gloomy forest. You don’t think to wipe it away; flight is the only thing on your panicky animal brain.

A loud twang echoes around the darkness, followed almost immediately by a startling crack as the bolt collides with a tree trunk inches from your head. Wood splinters, chunks scraping your cheek and clinging to your hair.

You shriek and duck, staggering to your left, your burning leg muscles barely managing to make the turn. Grunting, huffing, panting like a dog, you will yourself to keep moving, keep running!

Gripping a nearby oak, you use it as leverage and push, hurtling yourself forward into the brush. Twigs crack underfoot, foliage rustles, lungs gasp, blood leaks. You don’t risk a look behind you, but you must be putting some distance between you and your pursuer, how could you not be—

Your foot, your god damned foot catches on a root protruding from the earth. A shocked cry catches in your throat as you crash to the ground. Palms and knees split open and bleed when you attempt to catch yourself, your wrist crunching horribly under your weight. You roll once, twice, three times before you skid to a stop in a flurry of dead leaves and pine needles.

You fell! How could you fall? You need to get up, get away, this man is trying to kill you! Anger at your own stupidity forces you off the ground. Nauseating pain shoots up your arm and you whimper, cradling your wrist to your chest, reaching for a branch with your working hand. Get up, get—

TWANG

THUNK

All the air is knocked from your lungs. You’re tossed sideways when the crossbow bolt hits you in the waist, tunnels through your guts, and explodes out the other side just below your rib cage. It comes to a stop in the trunk of an alder, your viscera pinned to the tree by the dripping projectile. The end wobbles a few times before falling still.

Shock.

You feel nothing at first. The bolt went through you at such great speed your body has yet to realize the trauma it has sustained. All you can do is stare, wide eyed, mouth hanging open, lungs frozen and refusing to draw in air.

You may not be able to feel just yet, but you can hear. Boots crunch on undergrowth as your assailant approaches, plain white mask the only thing visible in the darkness.

“Oh no, this is not what I expected.” His words drip with sarcasm, his hands exaggerating his mocking body language. “All you animals fucking trip. Every single one.”

Air returns to your lungs and with it comes agony. Stabbing, wretched pain envelops your torso, but all you can do is gurgle, wet iron bubbling in your throat. Your shaking hands clutch uselessly at your abdomen, entry and exit wounds gushing blood until the dirt beneath you turns to mud

Crouching next to your twitching form, the man studies your injuries, then traces the path of the bolt until his gaze falls on the tree.

“Damn, what a shot, huh?” he exclaims. He makes a whooshing noise and a swooping motion with his arm. “Just straight through!” Pointing to the alder, he adds, “I think that’s your liver.”

Your vision blurs, the woods around you getting darker by the second. You’re thankful for it as the man pulls his knife from its sheath. Though, instead of using it on you, he lays the crossbow across his knees and begins carving something into the foregrip.

He shrugs, “Might be a bit premature, but I’m pretty sure you’re not gonna last much longer. Agreed?”

[the-one-who-lambs]

Ouroboros

Shamura weaves a silk tougher than the steel blade that splinters through their heart eons before their ichor spills, a strength only outmatched by the war-forged diamond. A crystalline illusion, scratched by only itself. A chitinous lie clicks their fangs together. They feel nothing and this reawakens every multitude within them. Sometimes it’s an echo of the paths they left untread, all converging. They return to the beginning and repeat. Others, the violet deceit carved into the floor. They seldom recall his face. Constellations of Could Have Should Have Would Have crown the brows of five four three two but no one every one can see how they’re lost in the labyrinth of their own creation, waiting to be discovered. It would be easier to have someone else to blame, a tombstone to curse, dancing an endless waltz with their own fear. They fletch the arrow and pull the string back and curse the bow when the point strikes, feeling the most alive when their death knell sounds as a vengeful bleat. It repeats and repeats. Beneath the veil it’s him, a fleeting spark of change. They quench it, it explodes. That’s not right. They fan it, it blinks out. War is also their domain. Oh, baby brother, it’s my fault your fault stars wrote our story before I was handed the pen, it’s the moonlight illuminating ouryourmy blood upon your claws. And all that passes is the history of every god you’ve slain, whose prayer on your lips, a mesmerizing mantra to bind you bind me below. Whose chains who waits. Who comes who goes who remembers who knows why you tell of them or me as the master manipulator who sang the praise of your ascent and the requiem of the name you left. They tie him (it’s me. It was always me.) to the fate they sealed for him change is yours to seek. Death cannot flow backwards. Death cannot flow backwards. Death cannot flow backwards, and weep. They wonder who is crying. They find the source of the tears. They carve the binding spell into the floor of their temple. He had a name, what was it? They cannot recall and turn to trace the circle and they repeat and repeat and repeat and the sighs that they are crying. Why are they crying? They retreat into themself, an endless circle. They wonder who is crying. Change is his to seek. They feel themself growing smaller and smaller, gargantuan for a transient moment in time. The Lamb bleats, their his crimson eye unblinking and their breaths whisper louder than ever. This bloodshed is of their own making, a saccharine goodbye spoken as an apology to the wrong person. They do not, in fact, weep. They’ve forgotten what he looks like but they’ll see him soon. The cracks on the walls of their consciousness scream that they’re devouring themself. It doesn’t matter. They will see him again they will see him but only when they

Bite

Down.

[thequeenofthewinter]

By the Break of Dawn

Hello Tumblrfriends! It gives me great pleasure to be able to share this next work with you. The lovely and VERY talented @mareenavee and I have been working on this collaboration to bring you a lich Neloth along with Lydia as our dear heroine. Behold the horror of undead arrogance and unburdened sacrifice!

Link to AO3 (mind the tags and warnings)

A snippet...

Then, as now, the sky was dark as blood; the moons remained hidden behind ominous clouds as ash spewed from Red Mountain. In the distance, everything glowed a sinister crimson, as if something ancient had itself been tapped into—or worse, disturbed. Awakened.

Cool fingers scraped at the borders of Lydia’s mind until they plunged themselves in with talons sharp enough to grip her consciousness like a vice. She shivered, trying to make sense of the sudden intrusion and fight off whatever presence chose made itself known to her.

I know you’re out there. I can feel you and that damnable sword of yours from a mile away. You can try to make your way here…but you’ll never leave. Best to turn around now and save yourself the embarrassment of defeat.

Lydia held her head in her hands for a moment, trying to rid herself of the sensation of screeching. She both could and couldn’t hear it—further evidence of how cursed the island had become. Another chill, and Lydia decided she would have little choice but to move forward into the gnarled husk that Tel Mithryn had become, regardless of her fear. The mushroom, shriveled in places, stank worse of rot than the ash-dried corpses of Reavers strewn on either side of the path out this way. She hadn’t been able to spend much time examining them—their hearts were torn from their chests, ribs cracked and splintered and sternums crushed as if by some great force. The same had been true of Talvas, though his seemed replaced by a heart stone—though one whose light had since flickered out.

Even with the way the wind was howling, she could still have sworn something else was calling out above the cacophony. Something within the tower. The noise of it was unlike anything she’d ever heard before—a grating, dusty shriek that seemed to echo in dissonance. She pressed her palms against her ears, over the scarf Ralis had lent her, and for a moment that stretched until it snapped, the wailing felt as if it would not stop. When it finally did, it left the world feeling raw, like salt scrubbed in a wound. As if the sound itself had taken what was left of this place.

Who would be so bold and so foolish to come here of all places? It’s suicide, really, and an utter waste at that. No life, no light, and no hope shall penetrate this darkness.

[herald-divine-hell]

Work in Progress

Where is the Herald?

Such questions flitted through the ragged corpse that remained of Haven. Where is the Herald? Had anyone seen her flee? Maker’s breath, where are we? No matter where Leliana turned, the questions rose, stalking, chained in fear. As they delved further and further into the mountains, through narrow passes where men and women both struggled side-ways behind one after the other, across stony slopes splintered and treacherous with ice, so glossy and black it seemed to swallow the night’s shade, the questions stirred, burning through one and all like the string of red flames scurrying along upon carried torches. Yet other questions remained, uttered by none but thought by all.

Where will we go? And worse of all, is Andraste’s Chosen dead? 

Leliana had recalled Haven as they fled through the hidden path, so obscured that not even Leliana would have been able to take notice, burning like a ruby in the frozen heart of the Frostbacks, drenching the rocky shadow-cloaked sides of the mountains in blood. Dark smoky banners unfurled from the crimson-golden spears of the flames, smoldering in the blackening graves of wooden homes and taverns and palisades. Those sweeping banners swallowed starlight and moonlight, and at the edge of the precipice in which Leliana stood, all but darkness seemed to sweep in, though the moon was high and silver-gleaming. An insatiable darkness, swallowing even the angry red flames striking at the mote of life that had been Haven. For a moment, not even Leliana knew what to do, except to watch, helpless. 

Helpless. The word was a knife that pierced clean through chainmail and woolen tunic, deep into flesh and spirit. Once before she had been helpless, at the mercy of a false love’s cruelty. She swore herself, when she saw the blood ebbing like lazy rivulets from Marjolaine’s body, that she would never be helpless again. 

And yet, no arrow could take down that beast, no raven could claw through the heavens and come spiraling down, wings pierced at its side, black beak aiming at the scaly corpse of that breathing archdemon. No. The veteran of the Fifth Blight could do nothing, just as she could do nothing for Justinia on the day the sky was torn asunder. 

And yet we abandoned her. All of them—Cassandra, Solas, Sera, the ones who fought at her side to bring down the white snowy hammer of the mountains upon those dark armies—had left her there, at her orders no less, if Cassandra was truthful. 

And when is she ever not? A little voice questioned, mockingly amused. And with that whisper filling her mind, Leliana could not help but grimace. Yes. Cassandra wouldn’t lie. And Lady Trevelyan would be that mule-headed to face this Elder One alone. Blessed by Andraste or blessed by idiocy or blessed with arrogance, Leliana was not quite sure. Easily, it could have been all three, knowing that woman. 

And yet you left her there. Left her to die, too.