#but then he EMBODIES those when he ascends

[bhaalsdeepbat]

sometimes when people describe astarion as pathetic, they'll list all his more feminine characteristics rather than like

it's fucking pathetic of him to be mad if you save the gnomes, even if you understand why he disapproves it. It's still fucking pathetic. he's also extremely pathetic when he ascends and starts becoming more like Caz, but it's bc it's pathetic that the power goes to his head like that simply bc he would rather insulate himself with power than allow himself to face his past and overcome it.

not because he deserves nice things and finery.

[dcxdpdabbles]

Hey, I have DpxDc God Au prompt for you: Dani is the goddess of untraditional families, traveling, clones, and lost (emotionally and locationwise, not deathwise) children. She becomes a patron to many people (mostly kids and teenagers) struggling in the hero community and otherwise and comes to help them in times of emotional turmoil. Kon is one of her followers/friends, the speedsters pray to her for multiple reasons, and Billy and her sometimes hang out. Danny is the god of protection, space, revival, and neglected and lost children (emotionally and those who died before they reached adulthood). He also ends up becoming a patron for many heroes and abused kids. He helps Jason out when he dies young and gets revived. (Bruce prays to Danny for Jason when he dies to beg Danny to help Jason find peace in the afterlife if there is one). Danny also befriends Tim when he’s all alone in Drake Manor and keeps him company when he can and helps him survive. Dan on the other hand is the god of apocalyptic futures (and alternate and future evil selves), repentance and redemption, aggression, and devastation (emotional and deathwise). He doesn’t want most of his domains to be so dark, but it’s weird how much overlap there is between the same people praying to him along with Danny and Danielle. (SO many heroes have apocalyptic future/evil selves and have done terrible things. Example: Tim: Evil future gun batman and Jason: Aggression and Repentance/Redemption. They would definitely pray to Dan just in case). They’re all pretty respected gods who have been known for ages, worshiped, who actually help not just their followers but those who need their help that fall in their domains. The mythology got a bit weird throughout history, but the Dan(y/i)s were generally thought to be benevolent sibling/triplet gods. Jazz didn’t have enough power to ascend to goddesshood, but she was a patron spirit of psychology and mental health, and low-key a patron of people with eldest daughter syndrome (Looking at you, Dick). Then of course there’s Vlad. Mostly creeps want to pray to Vlad. He’s thought of as more of a predatory demon than a god, he has never been known as benevolent. He embodies most if not all of the seven deadly sins and his domains and immorality reflect that. He is the god of theft, power, greed, lust, cheating, obsession, ego, twisted family, immorality, corruption, envy, and vengeance. He has more domains than the Dan(i/y)s either because he was depicted so negatively from all of his schemes that people just gave him all the dark domains, or because he stole several artifacts and found some loopholes to get more power for himself. The Dan(ny/i)s stand together as one to protect the world from Vlad’s immorality, however there are some moments where Vlad helps starving children steal food or things they need to live, helps people to steal medicine they can’t afford to bring to a sick loved one. He gives self esteem and confidence to those who pray for it that struggle with self worth or mental illness. So yes, he is a more morally bankrupt god, but he has his good moments. Anyways, please write more of this prompt in whatever way you see fit. It could be stuff from the batfamily’s and/or halfas perspective as the years go by and they interact with the gods or something like that as vigilantes and as civilians, or you can write scenes out with the hero community or batfam discussing the little pantheon or whatever, or go into further detail with my examples, have conflict between the Dan(i/y)s and Vlad, change things up, or anything you want. Thank you!

Wonder Woman watches as Nightwing very claps his hands, bows his head, and mutters under his breath. The language is one she is not fluent with but has started to learn over the years in her time of man.

Esperanto.

She can pick out a few words. Enough to know that Nightwing is sending a prayer and hopes of a "Older Sibling" patron saint. He wants her to keep a eye over his younger siblings and to offer him "inner- peace".

Diana is aware that all of Bruce's children, minus Dick, are out on extremely dangerous missions. Dick had been benched due to an injury he sustained in the last confrontation. He was sent to the watch tower were a team of trusted surgeons had operated on his leg.

He would be fine in time but it would be a long wait before he would be ready to go out to the feild.

Understanding that he needed guidance from his gods, she waited paintently for him to finish, taking a few steps away from the doorway of his recovery room so as not to overhear any further prayers. A conversation between gods and man should remain private.

As she leaned on the wall outside, she wondered—not for the first time—who the Bats prayed to. Athena and Aphrodite would always have her loyalty, but she acknowledged that there were gods outside of her own.

She met some of them.

And while she had never seen the Bats or anyone else from Gotham's gods, she knew they were worshiped and believed as much as her sisters loved on Themyscira. It would be rude to ask about them, when she would never offer the gods of Gotham any offerings, so she refraimed but she wondered.

Oh she wondered.

She had witnessed Bruce pray to one of them, usually after a complex case involving children. He never mentions the god by name, but much like Nightwing, he clasps his hands, bows his head, and mutters that rhythmic language. Once, he even saw him place a star carved from one of the stones of his historical home by the window of the watch tower.

He had engraved all his children's hero names into it and allowed the moon to power it with protection.

Jason prayed as well, but not as profoundly as his family. He was Catholic growing up, and his mother often refused to have him pray to another god despite everyone else in Gotham doing so. He only did so as Red Hood because, according to Jason, that was the only time he needed Dan or Vlad.

Diana wondered if those were gods or people in his gang. Jason did not say their names with the same reverence as she did her gods.

Tim, on the other hand, took his Gotham-based region very seriously and had an entire timesheet of proper prayers. He did not pray every day nor did he stop what he was doing in order to do so, but he made it very clear that he would not be availbe three times a week for religious purposes.

Short of an emergency, those three hours every week were dedicated to his rituals for all of Gotham's gods. Diana knows that Steph, Barbara, Cass and Bruce would join only one of those three hours for their own god prefernce.

Despite that however, they were not very religious and often she wondered if the Bats were more atheists. Maybe meeting the gods and fighting some of them had the people of Gotham numb to the faith.

Or Gotham had the practices for such a long time that it became a background, much like tax season. Diana had noticed that despite the prayers and the dedication, the Bats treated their gods much like suppursitations to do before a big game.

It was a odd system to her, but once again, the "Gotham's Stars and Shadows" were not her gods. She did not have enough information to make any sort of statement about them.

Maybe they preferred to be treated as superstitions? Or maybe they liked to be close to their followers to the point they saw them the same way they did decorating their bedrooms? - A form of self-expression but not true faith.

A cold breeze blew by her, shocking Diana into a combat formation. There shouldn't be any wind up here. They are in space.

A whispered laugh echos down the hall, and for a brief moment she senses a god. Falling to her knee just in case, she stares towards the laughter watching a quick outling of a woman with flaming hair and a young girl in a black pony tale laugh and skip.

In their hands are carved stares, glowing green.

They vanish just as quickly as they appeared, but she knows who they were without having to call out to them.

"Diana?" Dick says from the doorway, pushing his wheelchair. "Are you alright?"

"Yes. I am." She smoothly slide up to her feet smiling at him in what she hopes is comforting. "Have you finished speaking to yoyr gods."

"Yeah I hope they protect my siblings and help find Kon."

She thinks of the laughing ladies "I assume they will."

An hour later, Kon is recovered, and Tim miraculously escapes death due to strong wind and a conveniently thrown traveling map into his attacker's face. Diana witness the superman clone add a stone form Kent Farm to the one by Batman's in the watchtower.

It has the words Red Robin carved within a heart. She smiles.

[peachdues]

Tell Me to Stop: Part 2 (NSFW Kyojuro Rengoku x F!Ice Pillar)

A/N: oh man, it’s here. This took a lot out of me, so I hope that you all like it.

Part One can be found here: post-Mugen AU where Kyojuro lives; events take place post-Entertainment District.

Multiple POVs (Y/N, Shinobu, and Kyojuro). There are several flashbacks, which are in all italics and separated from the main text.

Massive TW: trauma/PTSD, anger, nightmares, descriptions of corpses, violence and violence between characters (shoving, grabbing/shaking). One character triggers another and it’s dubious whether it’s intentional or not.

CW: 16.7k words; explicit sexual content. Unprotected sex/oral (F!receiving), creampies, cursing, light scar worship, intimacy, angst.

For the song that inspired this, listen here.

Without further ado!

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

(Y/N’s POV)

Y/N began her rehabilitation training within one week of awakening from her coma.

For those seven days of rest, Y/N had fielded all sorts of visitors — the Master, escorted by his two daughters; the Love Pillar, who had wasted no time throwing her arms around Y/N’s shoulders and sobbing in relief; and three of the Mansion’s youngest girls, all of whom crawled up on her bed and cried while hugging her.

Uzui had sent her a note by crow telling her he would be by to see her as soon as his wives finished making her favorite treat — red bean mochi — and said they could compare battle wounds in celebration of their feat.

Y/N had neither seen nor heard as much of a whisper from the Flame Pillar.

The Ice Pillar resolved to distract herself from the glaring absence of the man who embodied fire, though every day that passed without word from him only seemed to make that absence more pronounced.

Y/N had thrown herself into her rehabilitation training, as supervised by Shinobu. Because she was a Hashira, her recovery was vastly different from that of lower-ranked slayers, and she worked with the Insect Pillar directly, rather than with the haughty Aoi and other younger Mansion girls.

That particular morning, the Love Pillar had joined them in an effort to recuperate Y/N’s loss of flexibility as the result of the nearly two months she’d spent sedentary. Y/N cherished the one-on-one time she had with the other two women Hashira; the three of them had formed a tight bond with one another since ascending as Pillars, united amidst the predominance of male demon slayers.  

“Good! Now just bend this way-“ Mitsuri Kanroji kept a steady hand at the small of Y/N’s back as Y/N arched over backward, teeth grinding as her stiff spine resisted her movement.

“Almost there! Just touch your other hand to the floor and hold it!” The Love Hashira said encouragingly.

Y/N stretched her left arm over her head as hard as she could. Her fingers had just graced the wooden grain of the training room floor when her body seized, and her legs gave out from under her.

“Oh!” Mitsuri caught Y/N effortlessly before she could crumple to the floor, gently helping her to sit while blushing at the stream of colorful curses that poured from the Ice Pillar’s mouth.  

“This damn wound,” Y/N moaned, her hand pressing against the angry red mark that curved from below her belly button to her right hip. “You would think it would have healed by now.”

Shinobu frowned as she crouched next to the Ice Pillar, fingers lightly prodding at the scar left behind by Upper Moon Six. “It has healed; if it hadn’t, it wouldn’t have scarred already.” Shinobu pursed her lips. “Though, I suppose it could just be a residual effect of the Upper Rank’s blood demon art – after all, it was no ordinary blade that he pierced you with, was it?”

Y/N shook her head, though she tried to suppress the memory of the demon’s cursed flesh blade ramming through her back and into her stomach. “The blade was his conduit for his blood demon art – but I think it was made from him.”

“How often does it hurt, Y/N?” Mitsuri asked, rubbing soothing circles on her friend’s upper back. Mitsuri was one of the few people Y/N knew who preferred to give physical comfort, and Y/N was grateful for it.

Y/N furrowed her brows in thought. “In a way, there’s always just this dull ache I feel, though it becomes sharper whenever I move a particular way.” Y/N pulled at the band of her uniform bottoms in discomfort. “And, it doesn’t help that these damn pants chafe and rub against it. I’ve even foregone the belt, and it still feels like they’re cutting into me.”

Mitsuri hummed in thought. “Have you considered one of the uniform skirts? They sit a little higher on the waist, so they’re less likely to aggravate it.”

Y/N scowled. “I would rather be stabbed by Upper Six again than request a skirt from that pervert tailor,” she said severely, “Sorry,” she added when she saw the Love Pillar flush with embarrassment.

“Lecherous Corps tailors aside, you may have a good point, Mitsuri.” Shinobu said, eyeing Y/N’s uniform pants in thought. “Y/N, do you mind if I brainstorm some designs for you? I can’t promise whatever I come up with will be suitable for public appearances or assignments, but I might be able to come up with something that will at least keep you comfortable while you heal and build back your strength.”

Y/N smiled as she stretched her legs out, bringing herself into a pose meant to flex her hips. “I’d be grateful for anything you could do, Shinobu.”

The Insect Pillar nodded. “Mitsuri, you know how to sew quite well, do you not? I’m afraid my proficiency with the needle is limited to sewing up wounds.”

The pinkette glowed with enthusiasm. “Yes! I have an entire room dedicated to sewing at my Estate – if you bring by your designs, I’m sure I could put something together!”

Shinobu smiled. “Then it’s settled. I’ll see what I can come up with tonight, and I’ll bring it by in the morning.”

Y/N’s heart swelled at the dedication her two friends showed towards her comfort and recovery. “Thank you both, from the bottom of my heart.”

Shinobu’s smile turned wicked. “Don’t thank us yet, Y/N. You have agility training next.”

Y/N groaned and pulled on her uniform top, buttoning it over her bindings. As a Hashira, agility training meant that she was to meet the Wind Pillar outside of Kocho’s estate where she would endure two hours of having to dodge his relentless attacks. Y/N got along just fine with Shinazugawa – he’d even welcomed her back, and gruffly complimented her work in the Entertainment District – but that did not mean he eased up in his ruthless training.  

By the time the Wind Pillar had dismissed her with a satisfied nod, Y/N had all but limped back to her room, wondering whether she could even summon the strength to bathe after such an arduous day. She almost decided against it, but when her newest scar began to pulse and throb once more, she knew nothing else would soothe it better than the hot water in Kocho’s private hot spring.

Y/N greeted the bowing Kakushi who guarded the entrance to the northernmost wing of the Butterfly Mansion’s hospital as she passed by, and she hoped that Aoi had remembered to restock her room with fresh towels so she could go straight to her bath from her room.

She drew short at the sight of a familiar figure which stood outside of Kocho’s office, leaning against the wall of the small hallway.

“Rengoku!” Y/N was startled, taking a step back in surprise at the sight of the Flame Pillar.

“Y/L/N.” The man who reminded her of the sun nodded in greeting, but his familiar, sunny disposition was noticeably absent, his face impassive and his voice detached.

“I am happy to see you in good health.” Rengoku spoke with unnatural formality; he’d never used that cold, detached manner of speaking to her, not once since she’d caught him staring at her right before the commencement of Final Selection all those years ago.

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“Ice Pillar Y/L/N!” His sunny voice boomed, and Y/N groaned. She’d just gotten her migraine to calm down.

“Rengoku,” she nodded politely, as her comrade came to stand beside her, all smiles and warmth. 

“It’s been a while, Y/L/N! I was beginning to forget what you look like when you roll your eyes at me.” He laughed, and Y/N scowled.

“Perhaps I’ll pay to have my photograph taken, Rengoku. That way, you can carry it with you wherever you go.”

Rengoku turned to her, an eyebrow raised in surprise at her willingness to engage with his banter so quickly. “If that’s the case, Y/N, I’d prefer to have one of you smiling. It would do well to keep me warm on those cold nights away from home.”

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“I heard you were called away on another mission— some train?” Y/N asked him as they strolled through the Master’s garden following their meeting.

“Yes, we’ve unfortunately lost a number of slayers. Perhaps it’s an upper rank!” The Flame Pillar responded jovially, but he stopped in front of Y/N when he saw her frown.

“What is it?” His voice was gentle, and Y/N shook her head, focusing her eyes on the blooming wisteria saplings that had been planted.

A warm finger curled under her chin and tilted her face up until her eyes clashed with pools of golden ore. “My dear Ice Pillar, are you worried for me?” He was smirking, and his thumb lightly caressed the underside of her jaw.

Y/N gingerly took his hand and removed it from her face, though she did not let it go right away. “You are the Flame Hashira, Rengoku. If anyone is capable of defeating an Upper Rank, it most certainly is you.” 

Rengoku smiled broadly at her, his hand nearly grazing her own. “For someone whose prowess lies in ice breathing, Y/L/N, you sure know how to start fires.”

Under any other circumstance, she would have changed the subject, or not said anything at all. But Y/N couldn’t help her sudden desire to flirt back, just to see if she could knock him off his feet as he so often tried to do to her.

“Yours is the only one I’m interested in stoking, Rengoku.” She said sweetly.

She’d laughed at the Flame Pillar’s beet-red face for the rest of the day.

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“And I, you.” Y/N responded, her eyes still wide with surprise as she came to a stop before him, maintaining a cautious distance between them.

A pregnant pause followed, and Y/N made to speak once more, but she was cut off by another deep throb from the wound on her lower abdomen, her hand unconsciously flying to press against it as she swallowed the gasp that threatened to leave her.   

“You’re in pain.” It wasn’t a question.

Y/N shrugged in a feeble attempt at nonchalance. “I suppose it’s to be expected for a while yet. At least until I recover.”

Rengoku said nothing, and the silence felt suffocating.

“Would you-“ Y/N hesitated, and inwardly she’d never felt more embarrassed, or more uncertain than she did then as she stood before the uncharacteristically stoic Flame Pillar. “Would you like to sit down?”

Rengoku’s face remained impassive, and he turned away from her, dismissively.

“I cannot. I came only to retrieve a salve from Kocho.” His voice was just as cold, just as unfamiliar as the rest of him had been.

“Rengoku, is everything all right?” She stretched out a hand to touch his shoulder but was alarmed at how quickly he flinched away from her as if her touch could burn him.

“Everything is fine, Y/L/N. I need to be on my way.” Rengoku’s voice was flat, monotone, and wholly foreign to her.

“I’m sorry for not thanking you sooner — for everything you did to help me that night.” Y/N blurted, and to her relief, Rengoku froze mid-step, though he did not turn towards her. “I owe you my life.”

She did not miss the way Rengoku’s fists clenched at his side. “You owe me nothing. I would have done the same for any other comrade.” He replied, voice tight. “I must get going now. Farewell, Y/L/N.

She was so stunned that she’d not bidden him farewell back. Rather, she’d stood helplessly in her doorway, even long after the edge of his haori had disappeared around the corner of the Butterfly Mansion’s hall.

He had not looked at her once.

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(Kyojuro’s POV)

Kyojuro’s fists remained clenched the entire journey back to his estate.

He felt disgusted with himself. He felt like a coward.

It had nearly knocked him to his knees to see Y/L/N up and standing and talking because for so long, he had feared he would never again see the way she crinkled her nose when she laughed, or how she tucked that one loose strand of hair behind her ear whenever she was concentrating — the one that never stayed put in her braid.

But he had not been able to meet her eyes; couldn’t bear to bring himself to try, because he had been terrified of what he would see.

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Every night for the last two months, he has dreamed of her.

They were not pretty dreams, not like those he had before when he’d wrap her in his arms and kiss her until she laughed, the two of them living in a monster-free world and at peace.

Now, he dreamt of vacant eyes-tinged blue, unseeing and unblinking and frozen, just like the rest of her. He dreams of iced skin and blood and poison pouring from her mouth and her nose until she chokes, her chest rising once with a final rattle before it falls still.

He dreams of Upper Three, smiling deviously as he aims his fist to deal his final blow, and Kyojuro wrenches his blade down, desperate to finally win.

Only, his blade decapitates Y/N, not the Upper Rank demon and he is helpless to watch her head bounce pathetically to the ground. His hands are covered in her blood, and instead of disintegrating, her body falls uselessly to the side. Human.

As quickly as he kills her, the dream changes. He is in a lively street, filled to the brim with street vendors and women and men offering their services. It is night but the lights of the shops and gambling dens and pleasure houses are so bright that it looks like daytime.

He recognizes her by the back of her haori, and his feet move towards her, relieved to see her amidst the hustle and bustle of the city. He reaches out to touch her shoulder, her name whispering on his lips. But she turns before he can make contact, and though she looks healthy, her eyes — her eyes are white and unseeing.

I don’t understand, she pleads with him, it doesn’t make sense.

Kyojuro looks around in alarm and they are no longer standing amongst eager entertainment seekers, but among flame and wreckage, the once-ornately decorated stalls now smashed to splinters as fire slowly consumes the skeletal remains of the entertainment district.

He turns back to her right as a blade pierces through her gut, lifting her from the ground before letting her drop.

His hands shake as he reaches for her, desperate to check her wounds, but when she looks up at him, he stumbles back.

She is all wrong. Her skin is mottled and rotting from her face, and her hair is gray and matted. In place of her eyes are black holes, empty and cold.

Why can’t I come with you? Why can’t I go home, Kyojuro?

Please take me home.

Every night for the last two months, he awoke screaming.

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Y/L/N was alive; he knew that. He knew that if he looked at her, he would not see a corpse; but terrifying visuals aside, Kyojuro had not been able to look at her because he knew what his nightmares were telling him.

He’d been responsible for her near death.

If the Kakushi had returned with a box rather than a Pillar, it would have been his fault.

The thought that Y/L/N — his Y/L/N -- had almost obtained her own headstone in the Master’s graveyard had rocked him to his very core, for that had almost become a reality. She had actually died – for the briefest moment – in his arms; and it had been his fault.

Why can't I go home, Kyojuro?

And though Y/N had awoken from her slumber, her corpse still haunted Kyojuro’s dreams.

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(Y/N’s POV)

Y/N was sprawled on her infirmary floor, preparing her limbs for another day of rigorous recuperation training at the hands of her fellow Hashira.

She stood to stretch her arms and lower back, wincing slightly at the pull of her scar. “Don’t you start,” she warned her body, willing total concentration breathing to dull the persistent ache that threatened to derail her entire day.

Y/N sensed movement near her doorway and knew, without looking, who watched her as she warmed up her aching muscles.

“Uzui retired. It’s time for you to do the same.”

Y/N who had been in mid-stretch, righted herself and blinked at the Flame Pillar. “Pardon?” Both the news of Uzui’s retirement and Rengoku’s words were a shock to her.

“Retire, Y/LN.” Rengoku repeated in that detached manner of his that she hardly recognized. “You helped take down an Upper Rank. You’ve done enough. Let someone else shoulder the burden, now.”

“I see no reason to retire, Rengoku.” Y/N retorted, voice hardening. “And unless and until the Master requests it or I perish, I see no reason to do so.”

Rengoku exhaled harshly through his nose. “You were injured — seriously so.”

“As were you, and yet you seem to have no intention of slowing down.” Y/N said, coolly.

Rengoku’s attention stayed fixed on the garden outside her window. “And I was only unconscious for three weeks. You were out for nearly two months, Y/L/N. That is unheard of and frankly, unacceptable for a Hashira.”

“What is your problem?” Y/N was growing more irritated the longer this inane conversation dragged on, and it wasn’t helping that Rengoku still refused to so much as look her direction, let alone meet her eyes. “Is this about what happened after you brought me here? Kocho told me everything — I’m not mad.”

Rengoku’s shoulders tensed. “It was necessary. Again, I would have done it for any one of my comrades.”

Y/N felt like she’d been slapped.

“You keep saying that, yet you won’t look at me— why?” Her confusion and hurt were beginning to melt into anger. “If I am just another comrade, then you should be able to meet my eyes.”

Rengoku said nothing.

“What Uzui did for me— that was what comrades do,” Y/N continued, her voice growing stronger as her blood grew hotter. “But you? You and I both know you were under no obligation to bring me back from the brink of death the way you did.”

“I’m not sure what you want me to say, Y/L/N,” Rengoku answered after a long moment.

Y/N took a step towards him. “I want to know why.”

“It was necessary.”

Y/N felt like throttling him.

How long had they danced around each other? How many times had they caught themselves staring at the other for a breath longer than normal, had allowed an otherwise friendly touch during a spar linger?

How could he have held her, half nude for hours, putting himself on the brink of death all for the sake of keeping her alive — and then tell her she was the same as any other comrade?

“What are we doing Rengoku -- is this to be our destiny?” Y/N demanded, exasperatedly, her voice hard. “We continue to pretend like we don’t care about one another until one of us dies?”

Rengoku remained silent, back still turned away from her.

“We’ve each had a near-death experience in a matter of months,” Y/N continued, throat working hard to keep her voice steady despite the telling burn of angry tears in her eyes. “By all accounts, one if not both of us should be dead.”

“And yet, somehow, you expect me to act as though the fact you carried me back here— that you put yourself on death’s door to keep my heart beating — doesn’t mean anything?”

It didn’t make sense. It didn’t make sense for him to fight so hard for her, to make her believe that someone valued her life that much, only to cast her aside.

She hadn’t wanted to wake up, initially; she’d felt relief for the hair’s breadth she’d thought she’d finally met her end. He was the one who dragged her back, and now he wouldn’t even look at her.

It didn’t make sense.

Y/N’s fists shook beside her, and she felt the venomous words fly from her mouth before she could stop them.

“You should’ve let me die.”

No sooner had she let the poison drip from her mouth had she felt herself flying backward, back slamming against the nearest wall of her temporary room.

“Never,” Rengoku snarled at her, his arm pressing firmly against her shoulders to hold her in place against the wood. “Never say those words to me again.”

Y/N’s chest was heaving, and she trembled beneath him, her fury threatening to explode out of her.

“There is no place on this earth where you could be in peril and I would not find you,” he said quietly, his eyes a simmering, fiery orange. “Where I wouldn’t find a way to bring you back home.”

“That doesn’t make sense,” Y/N said softly, breath still coming hard from her nose but no longer from her anger.

“Doesn’t it?” Rengoku was close, dangerously close.

Y/N wanted nothing more than to lean in, to close the distance that barely existed between Rengoku’s face and hers and finally be done with all the nonsense. But he had spent so much time avoiding her gaze until that moment, and Y/N felt more lost than ever, set adrift by the look of heat and longing that was mixed with the burning rage in his eyes.

Something tugged incessantly at her gut and it would not allow her to move from her place against her recovery room’s wall.

Instead, her arms came up to rest against Rengoku’s chest before gently, but firmly, pushing him away.

“No, it doesn’t.” She repeated. “And I am tired, Rengoku.”

The Flame Pillar allowed himself to be pushed away, but he looked at her with a small, cruel smile.

“Then you’re right; it doesn’t mean anything at all.”

She flinched against the ugly slap of his words. Y/N had expected him to hit back, but she hadn’t anticipated his venom to sting as much as it did.

She felt all of the fight within her gutter out, leaving her with nothing but a heavy weight in her chest that she wished she couldn’t feel.

“Y/L/N, I-“ the Flame Pillar almost sounded remorseful.

“Thank you, for your clarification, Lord Rengoku,” she said numbly, formally, parroting his earlier tone with her. “And thank you for your assistance that night. Please, next time — don’t trouble yourself.”

Rengoku hesitated for a moment, his hand twitching as though he wanted to reach for her. He swallowed hard, and turned away, shutting the door to Y/N’s infirmary.

The moment the door at clicked shut, Y/N exhaled harshly, stumbling back against her bed as she hugged her arms around herself, and she tried to keep herself from falling apart.

It shouldn’t have hurt this bad. They were both in the Demon Slayer Corps; they saved strangers all the time without it ever meaning anything other than good will and a desire to exterminate all demons.

So why did his insistence that she was no different hurt so badly?

Because she wasn’t a stranger.

Because, while she’d always known she wasn’t his, she’d still thought she’d been something.

As Y/N curled against her blanket, an unsettling numbness began to spread from her heart, quieting even the dull ache from the scar across her belly, Y/N realized that she’d meant nothing to the Flame Pillar all along.

-------------------------------------------------------

(Kyojuro’s POV)

He hated himself.

He utterly and truly despised himself.

He’d been hurt by her insistence that she did not know his feelings even though he was the one who’d opened the door, yet somehow, it still felt like a rejection.

So he’d hit back, only for her to visibly recoil at the sharp blow of his words.

He would not forgive himself, for as long as he lived, for the way the light in her eyes had winked out.

He did not know what bothered him more: the fact that she’d assumed that he regretted keeping her alive, or that she’d said “next time” he needn’t bother. As though she were counting on there being a next time.

He knew he should turn around; knew that he should barge back into her hospital room, drop to his knees, and beg her to forgive his cruelty.

He knew that he should explain to her why he found it so difficult to admit his feelings for her — that he had watched his father turn into a shell of a man and abandon his children in the wake of their mother’s death, leaving them to raise themselves. That he had vowed, as he’d watched his father drink his days away, that he would never be like him, would never abandon those who relied on him most.

He’d promised that he would never be a coward, even if, in all honesty, the idea that he, Kyojuro, could ever love someone that fiercely only to have them ripped from his grasp terrified him to no end.

As he forced his legs to carry him to back to his estate, Kyojuro wondered if perhaps, in his desperation not to turn into his father, he’d become the old man after all.

--------------------------------------------------------

(Shinobu’s POV)

Shinobu felt the Flame Pillar’s presence in her office before she saw him, though she was in no rush to give him his salve, especially not after what she’d overheard him spit at her friend.

“If you do not mind, I would like to send my crow to collect this from here on,” Rengoku said tightly, and Shinobu could sense his failing attempt to keep his fury in check.

“Very well then,” the Insect Pillar responded just as tersely, turning away from the papers and books on her desk to pull out the small tin containing the salve the Flame Pillar used to soothe the ache of the scar he now bore across his pectoral and shoulder. Rather than handing it to him, she tossed it through the air, the Flame Hashira catching it swiftly in his hand.

Rengoku nodded his thanks and turned to leave.

“I didn’t realize it was against Corps’ rules to care about our comrades,” Shinobu said icily, if not to signal to him that there had been spectators to his ugly outburst.

He couldn’t resist taking her bait. “Maybe it should be. It would be easier that way — for everyone.”

“Is that so?” Kocho sneered, no hint of familiarity or kindness in her features; nothing but that poisonous, deadly smile. “Well, if that was the case, then you would’ve preferred Uzui to leave Y/L/N for dead among the rubble in Yoshiwara, correct?

“You would rather us be searching to fill the newest Hashira vacancy, with her corpse barely cold in the ground-“

“Do not say another word, Kocho.” Rengoku warned, quietly.

But for Shinobu, anger was her vice, and so his warning only spurred her on.

“Tell me, Rengoku, if the new Pillar had been a woman, would you have held her the way you held Y/N?”

Shinobu’s smile was chilling as she relished the way the Flame Pillar began to tremble. “Or perhaps, would you finally confess to her, having learned your lesson from the missed opportunity with Y/N? Would you live out your days with her, while Y/N rotted below the earth, having never known someone loved her?”

“ENOUGH.” Rengoku roared, and for a moment, Shinobu thought the Flame Pillar might put his clenched fist through her wall. The silence that followed was tense and long as Rengoku struggled to calm his breathing.

“What do you want from me, Kocho?” Rengoku finally snapped, wheeling around to glower at the Insect Pillar, eyes half-crazed in his frustration.

------------------------------------------------------

(Two months earlier)

Dawn was still far off, but the hall of her estate was a mess.

Shinobu knew that at any moment, another group of Kakushi would be coming through the hole Rengoku had left in her wall bearing the unconscious body of the Sound Pillar, and if they did so, they’d be stumbling upon the chaotic scene that had unfolded before.

Rengoku was still on the floor, legs on either side of Y/N, who was slumped against his chest and fully exposed from the waist up.

With some satisfaction, Shinobu noted that the dark purple bruising around Y/N’s chest was clearing, a sure sign that she had chosen the correct antidote for the Flame Hashira to slam into her heart.

But her hypothermia persisted.

Rengoku, on the other hand, was beginning to breathe rather loudly, no doubt as he continued to maintain his high fever for the sake of the unmoving woman braced between his thighs.

“Rengoku,” Shinobu crouched down next to the Flame Pillar, her hand coming to a rest on his shoulder, which burned beneath her palm. “Rengoku, we need to move.”

The man lifted his head up to meet her eyes, his own glassy and unfocused. Shinobu clamped down on the swear building on her tongue — he had fever fog.

Rengoku grunted at her before his head slumped back down, chin nearly touching his chest.

Shinobu tried again. “Rengoku, we are in the open hallway of the Butterfly Mansion. Others will be arriving soon. Y/N is completed exposed.”

That seemed to get his attention. Rengoku’s head lifted, his eyes narrowed slits, but nonetheless open. He grunted in some sort of acknowledgement and began to shift Y/N in his lap.

He turned the unconscious Ice Pillar so that her back rested against one arm that curled around her bare waist. His free arm slid to grip beneath her knees, shifting her into a bridal-style position to carry her.

Two of the Butterfly Mansion’s staff moved to help him stand, but Rengoku shrugged them off, surprising Shinobu as he managed to rise steadily to his feet, Y/N secured against his chest.

He looked at Shinobu expectantly and she began ushering him towards a secluded wing of the Manor, towards her private hall. Across from her personal office was a special infirmary room, walled off from the rest of the recovery ward.

Shinobu withdrew a ring of keys from her pocket and unlocked the heavy, wooden door.

“You two can stay in here until her body temperature returns to normal,” She said, as Rengoku made his way towards the recovery bed.

Shinobu watched as Rengoku, still wearing his zori and uniform pants, ever so gently lowered himself and Y/N down on the bed, repeating his earlier positioning of her between his thighs. He propped up one leg slightly to keep the Ice Pillar from slumping over, her back pressed to his bare chest. Rengoku leaned against the headboard so that Y/N’s head could rest against his clavicle, though it slumped instead towards her left shoulder.

Shinobu made to grab a blanket to throw over the two topless Hashira but stopped short as Rengoku made to move again.

He seemed to realize that Y/N, while also still in her torn uniform pants and zori, was still bare from the waist up, her body positioned towards the door. He frowned, his hand coming up to graze the side of her arm. He flinched slightly, no doubt at the persistent chill that lingered on her skin, and he moved both of his large hands down over the back of hers as they lay limply on either side of her thighs, intertwining their fingers.

Awestruck, Shinobu watched as Rengoku brought Y/N’s arms up to cross them over her chest, locking them in place by covering her arms with his own, as though wrapping her in a sweet embrace. Shinobu knew that he’d done so to avoid touching her bare breasts himself, or at least to do so as minimally as possible, while still providing her cover. And, due to the breadth of Rengoku’s muscled forearms, Y/N’s sensitive area was almost entirely obscured from view.

Rengoku had barely been clinging to consciousness himself, and once she was sufficiently hidden in his arms, his head dropped forward until his forehead came to a rest on Y/N’s shoulder, opposite of where she’d rolled her head.

To the unassuming eye, it would have appeared as though the pair of Hashira were simply engaged in an intimate moment, rather than one desperately trying to anchor the other to life.

Shinobu moved to place the blanket over the Pillars’ laps, before quietly exiting the private room.

“Seal this wing off entirely,” she murmured to Aoi, who had been waiting dutifully outside. “No one comes down here without my explicit permission.”

Aoi bowed to her before she ushered the other Kakushi out. Faintly, Shinobu heard the arriving shouts of the group bearing the Sound Pillar. She took a single deep breath, steeling herself once more, before moving to check on her incoming patient.

-------------------------------------------------------

Shinobu raised her chin, looking down her nose at him in disgust. “I’m waiting for the man who would have set the world ablaze to save Y/N to reappear.”

She cocked her head, narrowing her eyes at him. “I’m waiting for the man who used his own body as her lifeline, and who tried to smash open the infirmary door when he was delirious with fever because he thought that she had died while he was asleep.”

The Insect Pillar’s masked smile finally slipped from her face and her true rage towards the Flame Pillar shone through. “It is cruel to make her feel as though she’s done something wrong,” Shinobu’s arms folded across her chest. “And it is cruel to you both for you to pretend as though she does not mean anything to you. Haven’t you both been through enough? Are you not exhausted as well?”

A tortured look passed over Rengoku’s face. “It is better this way, Kocho. I do not want to be the cause of her pain, and I cannot survive going through what happened to her again.

“For all your talk about either of you dying, I’ve yet to hear you mention the equal alternative,” Shinobu sighed, gathering her papers and books. “The one where we win and you both live. What do you suppose happens then?”

Rengoku said nothing and so, Shinobu continued. “Suppose we emerge victorious – would you truly prefer for you and Y/N to go your separate ways – to never see one another again, or never acknowledge the bond the two of you share?”

“There is no guarantee that either of us survives, Kocho,” Rengoku said quietly, his eyes falling to his feet.

Shinobu smiled but it was no longer cruel or bitter; it was wistful. “And there is no guarantee that either of you die. That’s the fickle nature of humanity, is it not? The very reason we fight?”

The Insect Pillar gathered her papers and stacked them neatly on her shelf. “For the possibilities of it all.”

--------------------------------------------------------

The sun was high in the sky by the time Shinobu had a moment to check on the two unconscious pillars in the back room.

Uzui had required quite a bit of attention in order to stop the poison from becoming deadly, though the fact that her combination of the wisteria antidote with the amphetamine had been so effective on Y/N meant that Shinobu was able to administer the same to the Sound Pillar in half the time.

She was exhausted; the strain of the night’s events weighed heavily on her, but she had to check on Y/N’s temperature — if the Ice Pillar still had not recovered, she feared that hope was lost.

She pushed the door to the private infirmary room open and saw the two Hashira, still in the same position she’d left them in. Rengoku was deeply asleep, no doubt from the exhaustion wrought by his high fever.

Enclosed within his arms, Y/N remained unconscious but pink.

Shinobu felt the relief course through her, but she did not allow herself to relax until she reached out a hand to lightly pinch the Ice Pillar’s cheek.

It bloomed red beneath her fingers, and it was warm to the touch.

He’d done it. The Flame Pillar had staved off her hypothermia. Their only obstacle now lay in getting her to reawaken.

Shinobu laid her hand across Rengoku’s forehead, frowning at the scorching heat of his brow; his fever had worsened more than she’d anticipated, and he would need intervention soon. She turned to nod at the Kakushi who waited by the door to the recovery room, and the three of them moved to separate the Flame and Ice Pillars.

“Put him in one of the other single-recovery rooms. Tell Aoi to administer the fever medication I keep in my cabinet – it should dispel his fever within a few hours.” Shinobu ordered, as the Kakushi, with great effort, lifted the Flame Pillar from his position behind Y/N. Shinobu gently eased her friend down against the bed and pulled a blanket over her exposed torso. “I will also need a fresh hospital gown for Lady Y/L/N.”

The Kakushi nodded their assent and got to work, heaving the unconscious Flame Pillar towards the door when he awoke. At first, his eyes were dazed, and confused as they darted around him, but as he took in his surroundings, he began to struggle against the grip of the Kakushi.

“Please, Lord Rengoku, your fever is dangerously high! Allow us to help!” One of them cried, though his efforts to tug the Pillar away were futile. Shinobu supposed the only reason he had not yet succeeded in completely throwing them off was the fact that his fever had severely weakened him.

“Rengoku,” Shinobu said sternly, coming around from her position by Y/N to meet his eyes, though he only thrashed harder against the Kakushi as he began to mutter incoherently under his breath. “Rengoku, that’s enough. You’re safe. You’re in the Butterfly Mansion, and you have a high fever. Please, let the Kakushi do their job.”

But the Insect Pillar’s words fell on deaf ears as Rengoku began to hyperventilate, his muscles straining as he tried desperately to break free from the Kakushi’s hold. Shinobu was at a loss; her comrade did not merely look frantic – he looked terrified, desperate, and utterly beyond reproach or reason. His heart rate had spiked considerably, and his breath was jerky and uneven, as though he could not fully understand where he was or that he was amongst friends.

As she strained to make out what the Flame Pillar repeated, over and over, under his breath, Shinobu realized that his eyes were not unfocused at all; they were locked on the unconscious Ice Pillar in the bed behind her.

“I can still save her!” he roared.

It all made sense then.

Shinobu realized that he thought they were moving him not because he’d successfully thwarted her hypothermia, but because he had failed — and that she was now dead.

“Rengoku,” Shinobu said sharply, trying to force the irate and delirious Flame Pillar to meet her eyes. “Rengoku, Y/N is alive. Her body temperature has returned to normal. She is safe.”

But the Flame Pillar seemed not to hear her, as he only struggled harder against the Kakushi desperately trying to usher him out of Y/N’s room.

Rengoku was becoming more violent, even as the Kakushi finally managed to shove him through the doorway of Y/N’s room. Just before they’d managed to slam the door shut, Shinobu caught Aoi’s eye and nodded, the younger girl quickly disappeared into the Pillar’s office.

Shinobu watched in stunned silence as the Flame Pillar broke free from the Kakushi and began hurtling his body against the door, Y/N’s name falling from his lips in an anguished chant.

Rengoku was so delirious in his fevered panic that he did not notice Aoi slip behind him and plunge a syringe into his neck, depositing a thick stream of the clear liquid that Shinobu knew would have a near-instantaneous effect on his consciousness.

The Insect Pillar felt a strange sense of pity and remorse as she watched her friend slump to the floor outside of the infirmary room, a final cry out for the Ice Pillar falling from his lips before the sedative lulled him back to sleep.

-------------------------------------------------------

(Kyojuro’s POV – three days later)

He didn’t know why he’d returned to the Butterfly Mansion.

Kyojuro tried to convince himself that it was because he didn’t want to wait for his crow to return with Kocho’s salve, but he knew it was a pathetic excuse. He’d sworn to himself that he would leave Y/L/N alone after their last argument. He’d vowed that the door between them had been closed for good, and they would only ever be colleagues. Nothing more.

But he couldn’t stay away. Perhaps it was because he’d spent the last few days stewing over their last argument, and somewhere, amidst his endless supply of self-hatred, he’d also grown angry with the Ice Pillar.

Angry, because she had put herself in harm’s way when he’d specifically told her not to.

Angry because she’d nearly died, and she’d threatened to take the last vestiges of his sanity with her to the afterlife.

Angry that she insisted on remaining in the Demon Slayer Corps despite having given more than enough of herself to their cause; angry that she didn’t understand why he couldn’t yet do the same.

Angry because she didn’t seem to understand his feelings at all.

Perhaps in another life, they could have had each other. Had they both been born into a world without demons, then maybe they would have still found each other and maybe, just maybe, he would have been able to love her the way she deserved.

But for Kyojuro, their relationship would always be defined by a series of maybes, and nothing more.

--------------------------------------------------------

It would have been a lie for Kyojuro to say he’d not been struck dumb by her.

She was stretched out on the steps of Kocho’s engawa, legs dangling off the edge of the porch as she leaned back on her elbows, eyes closed dreamily as she kept her face tilted up towards the cooling night air.

Long, lean, bare legs, he realized, an uncomfortable heat creeping up his collar. He couldn’t help running his eyes up their length, fixating hard on the supple curves of her thighs.

Why were her legs bare?

She looked…so unguarded this way. Her haori was draped around her shoulders, one of its sleeves hanging loosely to the side and exposing her bare shoulder – how exposed was she, the idiot – and her hair was completely unbound, falling in a silken river to her waist.

It was a stark contrast to the braided crown she wore at the base of her neck. It hit him that, not counting the night she’d nearly died, he had not otherwise seen her with her hair down.

He liked it. A lot.

“I finally rid myself of one migraine only for another to appear,” Y/N’s lofty voice snapped him out of his reverence, as the Ice Pillar opened her eyes to glare at him. 

“If you’ve come for Shinobu, she is not here. She’s on an errand and will not be back until early morning.” Y/N turned her attention away from him and back towards the garden, her voice stony.

At that moment, there were a million things Kyojuro could have said to the Ice Pillar.  

How are you?

I missed the way you glare at me.

I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.

Any of those options would have been far better than what came tumbling out of his mouth.

“I hadn’t realized you were indecent. My apologies.”

Y/N’s head snapped back to him, her eyes chips of ice. “Indecent?” She rose from her seat on the engawa and faced him fully, and Rengoku nearly groaned.

Indecent, indeed.

Y/N was showing more skin than Kanroji did on a regular day. As she stood, Rengoku saw that she was hardly wearing any clothing at all, save for the haori draped loosely around her frame.

The Ice Pillar wore no top but the bindings around her chest, leaving a sizeable swath of her midriff exposed to the summer air. Whatever she wore as bottoms could hardly be labeled as “pants,” given that their hem ended just short of the middle of her thigh, leaving the vast majority of her legs exposed to anyone who would happen to walk by.  

The Flame Pillar felt as though he were overheating, and he tugged uselessly at the collar of his uniform shirt. As he looked over the scowling Ice Pillar, Rengoku found himself unable to remember why he had come to the Mansion at all.  

------------------------------------------------------

(Y/N’s POV)

(Earlier that day)

“Ta-da!” Mitsuri sang as she pulled the small bundle from behind her, a grin wide on her face. “A gift from Shinobu and myself!”

Y/N peered down quizzically at the small, folded bunch of cloth in the Love Pillar’s hands. “What is it?”

“A new take on the Corps’ uniform,” Shinobu replied crisply, sitting down on the tatami floor of her office. “I designed it myself, and Mitsuri sewed it.”

“But what is it?” Y/N pressed.

Mitsuri joined Shinobu on the floor. “Your new training pants. Altered, so that you have more flexibility and less irritation against your wound.”

Y/N held up the tiny scrap of fabric between her index finger and thumb. “Are you telling me these are pants?”

Mitsuri and Shinobu nodded, smiling.

Y/N looked incredulously at the two women. “But where are the pants?”

Mitsuri laughed. “Think of it as a cross between the uniform skirt and pants, but more modified.”

Shinobu nodded. “I used the same material that our uniform is made out of but designed it in a way to be more flexible – it will mold to your body rather than require you to use a belt to keep it up.” Y/N unfurled the cloth and gaped down at it. “They likely aren’t suitable for public, but around here and during your training, they should be perfectly adequate.”

“Perfectly adequate?” Y/N repeated, turning the garment over in her hands. “Shinobu, these are underclothes! Not pants!” The Ice Pillar could not stop herself from giggling. “My legs will be entirely exposed!”

“Try them on!” Mitsuri urged. “Shinobu and I estimated they would hit around mid-thigh, so you’ll still have some coverage.” Mitsuri looked down at her own skirt in consideration. “Slightly more so than I do.”

Y/N groaned but removed her uniform pants and slid into her friends’ gift. She was surprised at how comfortable they felt; they had a similar feel to the chest bindings most of the women in the Corps wore, in terms of fit. The black bottoms had no true waistband, but fit snuggly at the dip of her waist, before hugging her hips and thighs until the hem cut right above the middle of her thigh.

“How do they feel?” Shinobu asked as Y/N inspected the new garment.

Y/N turned from side to side, testing their flexibility. “Good. They don’t seem to rub against the scar at all.” Y/N smiled devilishly at her friends. “Even if they do leave little to the imagination.”

MItsuri giggled. “I hadn’t noticed Y/N, but you have – oh, what did Uzui call it?” She scrunched her eyebrows in thought. “Oh! An ‘easy and deliverable type of butt!’” The three girls laughed, carefree as Y/N wiggled her hips suggestively in front of her friends, her heart warm at the care and consideration they had put into their gift.

------------------------------------------------------

Y/N mused that Mitsuri’s assessment of how she looked in the undershorts had been correct as Rengoku’s eyes raked over her as she stood tall before him, an unmistakable glint of hunger glowing in his amber pools.

Until they snagged on the thick, curved gash that extended from the band of her bottoms to just over her belly button.

In an instant, simmering fire of the Flame Pillar’s gaze had been snuffed out, something harder and colder taking over as he glared at where Upper Moon Six had buried his poisoned sickle within her.

Under any other circumstance, Y/N might have felt self-conscious at the mixture of frigid contempt that pulled on Rengoku’s face as he ran his eyes over her scar, but at that moment, it only made her blood boil.

“You should return to your room. You shouldn’t be out here exposed like this.” Rengoku said after a moment, his eyes moving away from her to stare over her shoulder, resolutely avoiding her gaze.

Y/N wondered briefly if it were possible to make someone combust with the fire of their stare. She was so tired and so angry at the way in which he demanded she stay at arm’s length yet felt utterly entitled to boss her around.

She decided then that she would not comply. Instead, Y/N took one step and then another, and again until she pushed past him, marching intently up the path she knew led away from the Butterfly Estate and to a secluded, grassy, hilled clifftop.

“Stop — Y/L/N” Rengoku growled, lunging after her, but Y/N, despite her injured state, was still faster than he, and she twisted out of his grasp before he could grab her and haul her back to the Mansion.

She probably looked insane, and maybe she was -- barely dressed, hair unbound, and striding towards that grassy hill up the winding path from Shinobu’s estate like she had any idea what she was doing.

The Flame Pillar followed.

—————————————————————--------

Apart from her close friendship with the Insect Pillar, there was another reason Y/N spent so much time in and around the Butterfly Mansion — its view.

Though she supposed this secret area she’d discovered couldn’t really be counted as part of Shinobu’s Estate — it was, after all, up a rather steep and twisting climb from the western-most point of her friend’s manor, and one could scarcely see the lights of the house once they ascended the small cliff.

Her thighs ached after nearly two months of disuse as she stormed up the steep incline, narrowly avoiding the sharp, twisting branches of the ancient trees that had concaved over the beaten path, forming a tunnel of gnarled wood that forced her to duck her head to navigate.

Y/N’s chest tightened as she neared the end of the path, the steady beat of the Flame Pillar’s footsteps trailing closely behind her.

When she finally emerged from the thicket of branches, she felt as though she could breathe again.

The path had given way to a cliff-top clearing. Soft, emerald grass covered the earthen floor, peppered with various wildflowers in vibrant hues of periwinkle, white, and pink. Towards the center was a thick, ancient oak tree, with a trunk as wide as a small hut, Its leaves ruffled lazily in the slight summer breeze. Fat hotaru floated idly above the grass while the crickets hummed.

The clearing extended to a point before dropping into a rocky cliff. Had it been a night of a new moon, Y/N would never risk coming out here for fear of stumbling too close to the cliff’s edge. But that night, the moon was full and its silver light was so bright that Y/N could see all the way to the opposite of the clearing, down to the summer irises swaying in the warm night air.

It was a pity that instead of feeling the warm serenity she normally had when she came out to her little hideaway, she felt nothing but boiling anger and a growing headache.

“You need to go back inside,” Rengoku said from behind her. Y/N ground her teeth, turning sharply on her heel to face him.

“Why do you care — I thought you only did that when I’m unconscious.” She bit back, and it felt good to see him be the one who flinched for once. “Or maybe it’s when you think I’m dying?”

She laughed, derisively. “You’ll have to forgive me, I’ve long since forgotten the rules of your game. You change them so often, you see.”

“Go back to the Butterfly Mansion, Y/L/N. You shouldn’t be out here. Not in your current state.” He said, voice as hard and unforgiving as stone.

“I’ve told you already that you are not in a position to order me around!” Y/N snapped, her words and her eyes chips of ice as she glared at him.

He was so infuriating — he had told her, in so many ways, that she meant nothing to him, and yet here he was, glowering at her as though her very existence incensed him.

“You’ve been nothing but unkind to me since I awoke, and you’ve given me no explanation!” She took a step towards him.

“Stop,” the Flame Pillar bit out, barely concealing the way he trembled with rage. “Do not take another step. Turn around and go back inside.”

If Y/N had looked pissed before, she looked downright furious now.

“Why did you come to see me while I was unconscious?” Y/N demanded, shaking. “You came every day, yet the second I wake up, you stop?”

His refusal to answer her, to even look at her, only made her seethe.

“You’re a coward, Rengoku.”

Rengoku’s teeth gnashed together, his fists balling tightly by his sides as he drew upon every ounce last shred of sanity, of restraint, left within him.

“Go. In. Side.” He ground out dangerously, his voice dropping into a growl on the last syllable.

But the Ice Pillar took another step towards him, her eyes blazing with a fire that could outburn his own.

“No.”

Rengoku’s jaw flexed. “Y/L/N-“

“I said no, Rengoku.” She was now within arm’s reach of the rigid Flame Pillar.

His eyes met hers, cold and hard, but she did not balk. She went in for the kill. “You have no say over my choices when my life is meaningless to you.”

Y/N watched the blow land, and land hard.

“Meaningless?” Rengoku looked at her and there was a new fire in his gaze, a hot, angry fire that threatened to burn the grassy overlook around them to cinders. “You believe I think your life is meaningless?”

This time, it was Rengoku who advanced towards her, bringing her within an arm’s length, and forcing her to tilt her head up to hold his raging stare.

“Do you have any idea — any at all — what it was like to see you, half dead in Uzui’s arms?” Rengoku’s voice dark, and harsh as he narrowed his eyes at her. “Or what it was like to have to carry you to Kocho, not knowing whether your heart would give out before I could get you there?”

Y/N refused to cower beneath the intensity of his gaze, her chin lifting defiantly. “Do I know what it was like?” She hissed; hackles raised.

“Thank you Rengoku, truly — thank you.” Y/N laughed, but it was devoid of any humor. “I am so glad that you’ve finally given me something to work with — so those are your rules, are they?”  She was toe to toe with the Flame Hashira, glowering down at her.

“Well since we’re keeping score, Rengoku, do you know what it was like to see you broken and bleeding out on Kocho’s table after the incident on the train?”

“That’s not the same thing,” Rengoku shot back bitterly.

“How the fuck is it not-?”

“Because it wasn’t your mission to take!” Rengoku finally broke, his voice rising to a shout. He could not stop himself as his hands shot out and gripped Y/N’s shoulders, shaking her lightly in his torment.

“You have no idea how it felt to know that you had died — no matter how briefly — because you went on a mission in my place!”

“To know that — that you could still die because I had been too weak on that fucking train. Your death would have been my fault, Y/N!”

----------------------------------------------------

(Kyojuro’s POV)

And there it was: the truth that he had tried so hard to suppress, laid flat out in the open.

Everything that had happened to Y/N, the whole entire mess — had been entirely his fault.

His fault because he had been too weak to finish off Upper Moon Three, too weak to do anything but let the demon’s punch a hole through his chest like it was nothing.

Y/L/N and Uzui had saved themselves in the end; they’d completed their mission, defeating not just one, but two upper ranks. They hadn’t succumbed to their injuries until after they’d fulfilled their duties.

But him? He’d only been saved by the grace of the sun and the tireless efforts of the Kakushi.

He’d nearly lost his life and he had nothing to show for it. Rather than do anything to further the Corp’s ultimate goals, he’d only set them back, and nearly cost them something priceless in return — their Ice Pillar.

The woman he loved.

He had no right to love her, of course — not when his reprehensible weakness had forced her to be offered up to two upper moon demons on a silver platter.

She’d been there, the morning he awoke from his three-week-long coma. She’d been right by his bedside, a sob choking from her throat as she’d called for Kocho to come quick!

At first, he’d been confused, because he hadn’t understood why she was crying. He’d tried to reach for her, to wipe the tears spilling down her cheeks when the pain had slammed into him, causing him to seize, arm suspended in mid-air.

Never before had he not been in control of his body; it had sent him into a panic.

“No, Kyojuro, please don’t move!” Y/N had cried, calling him, for the first time, by his given name. a warm hand wrapping around the one he’d stretched out towards her, lowering it gently down to the bed. “Your injuries are too grave!”

He didn’t remember much after that, only what Kocho had filled him in on later — namely, that he’d begun to panic, his breathing flaring out of control as he’d tried to fight off Y/L/N, a Kakushi, and the Insect Pillar.

His recovery had been long and slow. His wounds from the Upper Three demon had resulted in significant muscle damage that had required weeks of intensive care and training in order to build it back up again.

Those long days spent at the Butterfly Mansion had given him time to stew; to rage against himself. He’d been frustrated, so unbelievably frustrated over his inability to swing his own sword for more than five minutes that he almost considered giving in and retiring.

And then Uzui arrived, and he’d mentioned an upcoming mission to the Entertainment District, that they had discussed prior to Kyojuro leaving for the damned train, and the Sound Pillar revealed that his intel suggested the possible presence of an Upper Rank.

Kyojuro had promised to accompany him, and then he’d woken up in Kocho’s hospital, and that mission had been taken off the table and given to her.

The panic he had felt had been indescribable; he had narrowly survived an encounter with an Upper Rank, but then he was forced to watch the woman he loved walk straight into the wolf's den, and he had been incapable of convincing her to stay behind.

While she had been gone, he had railed against and prayed to and cursed at the gods, begging them to bring her home, to let her come back to him alive and whole.

Instead, they’d sent her back as a near-corpse and had laughed at his pitiful attempts to save her.

And then, she had straddled that narrow divide between life and death for nearly two months, and he had been as helpless as a cat chasing a string — his desire forever in sight yet somehow always just beyond his reach.

After his brush with death, he’d made a commitment to himself not to think of his battle with the Upper Three demon, to not waste his skill and energy on the past, but rather focus his fury on ensuring that when they did meet again, he would emerge victorious. He’d certainly not given any thought to the demon’s slime-tongued words.

He’d been disgusted when the demon had propositioned turning him into its like — and outright offended that those creatures could ever compare to the beautiful transience of humanity.

But then he’d cradled Y/N, broken and dying in his arms, and for the first time, Kyojuro had understood the appeal of the Upper Three’s offer.

Because he would rather have lived in a world in which Y/N had been turned into his enemy than in one in which she did not exist at all.

The very thought had shaken him to his core; because it meant he was not fully dedicated to their cause. He had no right to call himself a Hashira; nor did he have any right to claim to love Y/L/N. Not when he’d so easily damn her out of his own selfishness. So he had run.

A coward, after all.

--------------------------------------------------------

(Y/N’s POV)

Y/N was panting, her fury rippling off her in near-tangible waves.

“So, this whole thing,” she seethed, her voice shaking. “Your whole fucking attitude — has been because you’ve had your head so far up your ass, that you thought my injuries were your fault?”

It was unbelievable. It was ridiculous. And yet it was so Rengoku that it made her ears ring, made her see red as she tried to keep herself from imploding.

Rengoku said nothing, but she could see the way his eyes shuttered closed, his walls flying back up as he remained intent on keeping her out. He turned and began walking back towards the path back to the Estates.

“I was right — you ARE a coward!” She shrieked after him.

He froze. She stood there, heaving, daring him to turn around, to face her.

“Do not call me a coward again,” he said quietly, his back still to her, but his shoulders tensed, his fists balling once more at his sides.

Y/N smiled ruefully. “Then exactly what would you call what you’re doing now?.” Her lip curled into a sneer. “Run away, Rengoku. It’s what you do best.”

A flash of orange and white clouded her vision as Rengoku turned on his heel and closed the distance between them before she could draw another breath.

Y/N did not have time to react before his hands gripped either side of her jaw as he slammed his mouth down against hers, furious and heated.

It was not gentle; it was an angry clash of lips and teeth, but it also stoked a fire so hot in Y/N’s belly that she did not care, and she fully gave herself over to the bruising press of his lips against hers. She gladly opened up to him so that his tongue could slide into her mouth as one of his hands snaked behind her head to press her harder to him, demanding that she let him take and take until he was sated.

As quickly as it had begun, it was over. They broke apart with a gasp, leaping back from one another as though burned. Their chests heaved as they stared at one another.

There was a line drawn in the sand between them. If either of them crossed it, there would be no going back.

He was a coward, but she wasn’t. And she’d grown tired of this tedious dance of theirs.

Yet it surprised her all the same that he reached for her at the same time she moved for him, the two of them colliding like magnets as their mouths clashed together once more.

Rengoku kissed her like he was drowning, and she was his lifeline.

Y/N threw her arms around his neck and tugged him down closer to her, determined to take from him as much as he wanted to take from her.

The pair of them stumbled back against the ancient oak tree that sat back from the grassy cliff, Y/N caged against its bark by the Flame Pillar.

His hands gripped fistfuls of her haori as though he couldn’t decide whether to pull her closer or tug her away. His lips devoured each breathy moan he pulled from her as one hand tangled in her hair and pulled, allowing him to deepen the kiss.

She ran her hands through the fiery strands of his hair, gripping and tugging it as he explored her mouth was his demanding tongue. Y/N, emboldened by the way his fingers dug into her haori, let her hands roam from his hair and to his neck, and then to the rocky planes of his broad chest before settling on his hips as she tugged him flush against her. 

His control was slipping, and fast. “Y/L/N, I can’t- I won’t be able to hold back.” Rengoku moaned into her mouth, his hands scrunching the fabric of her haori, his fingers desperately seeking to hold her closer to him. “Tell me to stop, Y/L/N.”

Y/N’s hands only buried deeper into his hair, tugging him harder against her as she slid her tongue into his waiting mouth.

“Don’t stop,” she whispered against his mouth between breaks for oxygen. “Never stop, Rengoku.”

Y/N pulled back from him, just enough to unlatch his hands from where they were buried in the back of her haori, and moved them inside its folds, right on her bare waist.

The burning weight of his hands felt exquisite.

Rengoku shuddered as he felt the smooth, soft dips of Y/N’s waist, his fingers digging into her flesh as he sought to touch more of her, his hands running across every inch that was not covered by her bindings or those glorious undershorts.

Lips still moving furiously against hers, Rengoku bent slightly to run his hands down the silken expanse of her thighs, gripping under her knees before hoisting her up to carry her away from the tree and lay her down in the velvety grass below.

Y/N felt as though she were on fire. The ache between her legs was almost maddening, and she was desperate to have the Flame Pillar sheathe himself inside her, to make her forget even her own name.

If she could not have his love, she could at least have this.

Her hands dragged down Rengoku’s front, coming to a rest at his belt before she began fumbling with the clasp. Y/N had just managed to undo it when Rengoku’s hands — large, warm, and much stronger than her own, wrapped around her wrists, stilling her.

“Not yet, you impatient woman,” he smirked against her mouth. He moved one wrist to join the other in his left hand before bringing her arms up over her head, pinning her to the ground.

Y/N whimpered and rolled her hips against his, impatient and demanding, wanting desperately to feel some relief as her core clenched wildly around nothing.

Rengoku chuckled darkly, the rich timbre of his voice causing her blood to nearly boil with her want, as he made his way down her body with his lips.

He first came to her chest bindings, growling in impatience as he nipped at one breast over the tightly wound fabric.

His fingers brushed against her sternum as he ripped her bindings straight down the middle, Y/N shuddering as the warm summer night’s air caressed her sensitive skin, her nipples pebbling at the change in temperature.

She waited for him to lavish her soft mounds, but the Flame Pillar paused, eyes narrowed on the valley between her breasts, right on the pale, lilac mark where he’d plunged Shinobu’s antidote into her heart.

Y/N felt a lump form in her throat. He’d reacted poorly to the ribboned scar on her lower belly already, and now her once chance to finally have Rengoku in the way she’d so desperately longed to have him was about to be ruined.

But instead of pulling away from her in disgust, he leaned forward and pressed his lips softly against it the healed wound.

“I hadn’t realized I wounded you,” he murmured softly, reverently as he kissed it again. Y/N watched in bewilderment as he pressed his ear against her chest, letting his head rest there for a moment.

Listening to her heart hammer against her sternum.

“The sweetest music,” he whispered, pulling away to look at her not with lust but with unbounded tenderness.

Don’t look at me like that, she silently begged, don’t give me hope.

But as quickly as the moment had come, it passed and the esurient flame in Rengoku’s eyes flickered back to life. His lips continued down her abdomen, hot and needy until he reached the source of her near-fatal injury.

His mouth paused at the scar left by Upper Moon Six, the one he’d so callously glared at not even an hour before. This time, he ran his tongue along it, from the top to its base near her hipbone, pressing a fierce kiss against its end before continuing his descent.

“I will either have to thank my old Tsugoku the next time I see her,” Rengoku whispered darkly as he pulled at the soft waistband of Y/N’s undershorts with his teeth. “Or I shall have to burn her sewing room to cinders.” Rengoku’s fingers slid beneath the short hem of her bottoms, pulling them down inch by inch to expose her sensitive flesh.

Rengoku groaned when he saw Y/N was not wearing anything else beneath her scandalous bottoms. “Definitely burning.” His hands, so large and warm ran up the outer curve of her thighs, marveling at the silky smoothness of her skin. “Because you are far too tempting when wearing them.”

The Flame Pillar looked wild as he leaned forward, pressing his lips against the lower indent between Y/N’s hipbones as he kissed his way down to where she ached the most.

He ducked around the center of her desire in favor of sucking softly on her inner thigh. Y/N’s chest heaved as her hands flailed next to her, desperately seeking purchase, until the Flame Hashira caught them in his hands, his thumbs rubbing soothing circles on her palms as their fingers interlaced.

“Rengoku - just fuck me already,” Y/N groaned as the Flame Pillar’s face settled between her thighs, his hot breath against her bare cunt causing her legs to attempt to clench shut.

“Well now, that won’t do,” Rengoku tutted, his hands withdrawing from hers as he wound his arms underneath both of her thighs, spreading them as wide as he could to expose her core to his heady gaze.

Rengoku leaned forward and lightly traced up her damp slit with the tip of his tongue. His amber irises which had been locked on hers, rolled back into his head as he groaned at her taste.

“I’m going to take my time with you. I’ve been dreaming of this for a long time, Y/N.” He warned, hands tightening around her thighs as he pressed a light kiss against her slit, teasing her.

In the back of her mind, Y/N registered that he’d used her first name. But the graze of his lips against her most sensitive flesh had her crying out his name, high-pitched and breathy, and she watched helplessly as the sound made Rengoku’s eyes turn black.

In an instant, he was upon her, and he was ravenous.

His mouth latched to her center as though she was an oasis in the middle of a blazing desert, and he was a man dying of thirst.

The way Rengoku’s teeth grazed her sensitive nub made her abdomen clench, and she fought against his ironclad grip on her thighs as they spasmed, desperate to clench around his head.

Y/N moaned, head thrown back into the soft summer grass as she felt herself grow wetter and wetter beneath the Flame Pillar, her hands desperately tugging and pinching at her breasts in an effort to feel more pleasure.

Y/N felt as though she was hurtling towards a cliff that she could not stop herself from tumbling over as Rengoku increased the intensity of his ministrations against her needy cunt.

“You taste,” he ground out through harsh drags of his tongue up her drenched folds, “like fucking paradise.”

His mouth latched around her clit, giving it a sharp suck that had Y/N seeing stars. She barely had time to recover, to acknowledge that she was at her tipping point when Rengoku thrust his tongue into her core and began to fuck her.

Y/N came apart the moment she felt his tongue enter her, a rush of her juices spilling over his relentless maw, but he held her hips down and continued his feast. His teeth grazed her clit over and over while his tongue pumped steadily in and out of her, and Y/N was close to sobbing at the overstimulation.

The Flame Pillar kept his eyes locked on hers the entire time, the amber orbs glowing almost ominously in the indigo night.

“I- fuck.” Y/N breathed, grinding unrestrainedly against the blonde’s greedy mouth. “Rengoku!”

The Ice Pillar tried to sit up, tried to grab her comrade’s hair to tell him that she couldn’t take it anymore, that she needed him, but Rengoku was faster. Unfurling a steely arm from where it had been locked around her thigh to hold her open to him, he reached up her torso, his large hand splaying across her upper abdomen to restrain her.

“Sit down,” he growled between thrusts of his tongue into her aching cunt, nipping harshly at her inner thigh. “I am not finished.”

Y/N whimpered beneath the weight of his hand holding her down against the earth and the nearly painful ecstasy that Rengoku bestowed upon her between her legs.

Whether it was in praise for her obedience or a further act of torture, Rengoku then pressed his face flush against her core and rocked it harshly from side to side, his nose and the burgeoning stubble along his jaw scraping against her overstimulated and sensitive flesh.

Y/N slapped her hand against her mouth to stifle the howl that tore from her throat. Rengoku repeated the movement; it felt wonderful. It felt obscene. It made Y/N’s thighs contract around his head as her stomach dipped inward and a gush of her juices spilled out of her, more powerful than before, dampening the collar of the Flame Pillar’s haori.

For a breath, Y/N thought she would die of embarrassment until she felt Rengoku’s mouth vibrate against her from his groan of satisfaction. His tongue thrust once, twice more into her aching core before he withdrew completely, satisfaction tugging at the corners of his smirking lips.

But Rengoku looked nowhere near sated as he gazed down hungrily at her, wantonly spread out against the grass, the shredded pieces of her training attire strewn about, save for her haori.

“I will give you one last chance to end this now,” Rengoku whispered, kneeling above her but no longer touching her. “Tell me to stop, and I will. I will walk away, and no one will know.”

Though her body already ached from the intensity of Rengoku’s mouth upon her, she could not fathom stopping here, not when she’d barely begun to taste him herself. The thought of rolling aside to pull on the tattered remains of her clothing, to return to her estate and awake tomorrow as though he had not melted every icy reservation she’d held with his touch, was enough to make her want to cry.

Though her limbs felt boneless, she summoned all her strength to reach toward the Flame Hashira, to beckon him to return to her.

“I want you, Rengoku,” Y/N said, her voice a breathy whisper as tears clung to her eyelashes. “Please.”

Rengoku’s pupils exploded, his eyes darkening as he covered her nude body with his own. Y/N nearly sobbed in relief as his lips roughly caught hers, one hand coming up to cradle her face while the other snaked beneath her head, tilting it to the side so he could deepen his claim over her mouth.

Y/N’s hands rose, shakily, to pull at the buttons of his uniform top, desperate to feel his skin burn against hers.

“On one condition,” Rengoku said, moving his lips from hers to press against her ear, Y/N shivering. “You must call me by my name,”

“Rengoku?” Y/N questioned her mind too fogged by her own desire.

He nipped lightly under her jaw before pulling his face back from hers, smirking slightly at the way she whined when avoided her attempt to kiss him again.

“My true name.”

With clarity, Y/N realized what he desired. But he had teased her far too much already, and she yearned to return the favor.

So she looked up at him through her eyelashes, teeth sinking into her lower lip in such a way that made the Flame Hashira’s eyes darken.

“Please, please, Kyojuro,” she whispered, lancing a hand up his bicep. “Take me.”

The growl that clawed its way out of the heaving chest of the Flame Pillar made Y//N’s thighs clamp together. Rengoku — Kyojuro — pounced on her, and Y/N summoned all her residual strength to rip his uniform shirt open.

Kyojuro moaned into her neck as his shirt gave way and Y/N’s hands came to rest against his bare skin, her nails raking down his taut pectorals to the rigid planes of his chiseled abdomen.

Her lips began descending the path carved by her nails when she drew short at the dark, thick starburst-shaped scar that covered his shoulder and left pectoral. Kyojuro’s breath seized as she pressed her lips ever so softly against it, turning so she could look up at him from beneath her lashes.

Kyojuro was panting as she nuzzled against his scar, kissing it once more before gently gliding her hand over his heart and resting it there, letting herself savor the strong, sturdy beat from within his chest.

Just as he did before, she resumed her trail down his body, her lips coming to the edge of his pants when his hands wound themselves in her hair, every nerve in his body alight as she licked her way up the small happy trail that stopped just below his belly button.

As much as he wanted to feel her mouth around him, Kyojuro had been driven to the brink of insanity by Y/N’s touch, and his resolve was quickly dwindling.

“Y/N — my flame — I can’t wait,” Kyojuro said by way of apology, as he covered her hands with his own to still them on his belt. He slipped his hands down to grip her wrists, bringing them together in one hand and moving her arms up over her head, pinning them against the grasp. With his free hand, Kyojuro loosened his belt and his pants, and shimmied them down, kicking them off behind him. Y/N’s eyes widened at the sight of his proud length as it bounced against his belly button.

Y/N’s breath caught in her throat. She was no stranger to the male body, but this – she’d never had anyone compare to Kyojuro’s size or girth.

Kyojuro noticed her hesitation. “Is this – have you ever --?” Kyojuro breathed, hovering above her. It did not matter to him whether she had or had not, but he wanted to ensure that he did not hurt her.

Y/N shook her head. “No, it’s not my first time – but you are the first one to be so…well endowed.” Y/N flushed as Kyojuro laughed softly above her, and she felt his lips graze hers.

He pulled back slightly, reaching to grip the base of his aching cock tapping it against her soaked cunt in a warning and in permission.

Y/N seized beneath him at the spark of hot pleasure that was sent crackling up her spine as he rubbed his velvety head against the most sensitive part of her core. “Kyojuro,” she hissed through clenched teeth, rolling her hips impatiently towards him.

The mushroomed tip of his cock pushed into her entrance and Y/N felt herself go cross-eyed. It was heaven; pure, unadulterated, blissful heaven.

He was insistent on easing his thick length into her, but the throbbing between Y/N’s legs had grown nearly unbearable. He still wasn’t close enough, not nearly as much as she needed him to be.

Boldly, Y/N locked her ankles against Kyojuro’s backside, and with all her might, hauled him into her in a single stroke.

“Fuck!” he yelled, unable to restrain his volume as Y/N forced him to become fully seated within her. Her core was impossibly tight and so fucking warm and wet that it had been a true exercise of self-restraint not to spill himself inside her right then.

Y/N nearly screamed in pleasured relief at the way her body burned and stretched around Kyojuro’s considerable length, his base pressed flush against her sensitive clit as she began to grind furiously against him, desperate to relieve the friction that made her ache.

Kyojuro was still panting from the way Y/N had slammed him into her, nearly trembling with restraint as he willed himself not to finish before they’d truly begun.

Once certain that he would not climax like some green boy, he laughed quietly under his breath. The dark sound caused Y/N’s eyes to fly open, and her stomach flipped at the wicked glint in his eyes as he stared at her like a hunter stalking its prey.

Kyojuro leaned forward and took one of her breasts, harshly into his mouth, grazing his teeth over her nipple hard enough to make Y/N cry out in slight pain before he lapped at it soothingly with his tongue.

“You want me to fuck you, is that it?” He murmured between his ministrations, leaving fresh marks all over aching mounds.

Y/N could hardly make a sound as Kyojuro withdrew almost completely from her heat before slamming into her once, the Ice Pillar nearly choking on the breath that flew from her chest with his force.

Desperately — pathetically — Y/N nodded, whimpering.

“If that’s how you want it,” Kyojuro growled against her breast, giving her nipple one harsh nip with his teeth before pulling himself off her.

He sat on his knees, back straight as he began to pound relentlessly into her, his hands gripping her backside and holding her flush against his strong thighs. Y/N’s head remained thrown back against the earth, her fingers tearing at the soft grass beneath her.

Rengoku’s movements were just like those he wielded in battle — powerful; all-consuming; relentless; and unforgiving.

Y/N had never considered herself to be a particularly vocal person when engaged in carnal activities, but the way that Rengoku’s cock hammered into her spasming core over and over had reduced her to a moaning and whimpering mess. The only intelligible thing that fell from her lips was his name — Kyojuro.

“You look so fucking beautiful like this,” Kyojuro grunted out between forceful snaps of his hips against hers, the night air alive with the lewd squelching of Y/N’s dripping cunt as he pistoned into her.

Y/N looked to see the Flame Pillar’s eyes locked on her breasts as they bounced with the force of his thrusts. Between the moans and whimpers he pulled from her with every punishing thrust of his hips against hers, she lightly dragged her fingers from their place in the grass to her hipbone, and then up to trace teasingly around her peaked breast.

Kyojuro’s eyes followed every move, his thrusts hardening as she pinched her nipple and let out a breathy little scream, her walls pulsing around his aching length.

“Fuck,” Kyojuro grit, feeling himself twitch within her as he watched Y/N play with herself, spurring him to go faster, deeper within her.

He moved his hand under one of her knees and lifted her leg over his shoulder, allowing him to plunge deeper into her silken heat, and he teasingly drew his fingers up and down her outer thigh.

At that moment, as Kyojuro was poised against the silhouette of the moon, his amber eyes glowing as he watched where he appeared and disappeared inside her, the realization hit Y/N like a storm, and it knocked her entirely off her axis.

She was in love with Kyojuro.

Who else could make her feel so sacred and yet so angry? Who else had been capable of slipping past every wall she’d built within herself, capable of getting her to let her guard down before consuming her so furiously she had not realized she’d ever been in danger?

He was fire, she was ice. One of them had to give to the other. She’d just always thought it would be him giving into her.

Yet there, beneath the moonlight, her climax rising above her like a tidal wave, Y/N realized that she was powerless against the waves that rose to pull her under, to never again let her up for air.

Distantly, Y/N felt the Flame Pillar’s callused thumb find her clit and her climax slammed into her, and she succumbed to the endless sea called Kyojuro.

--------------------------------------------------------

As Y/N broke apart around him, Kyojuro swore he’d never seen anything as beautiful in his entire life.

She shattered over him with the prettiest scream he’d ever heard, and he could barely make out the drawn-out syllables of his name as her hips jerked up against his while her inner walls threatened to squeeze the life from him.

Y/N finally collapsed back against the ground, her body limp from the exhaustion of her pleasure. Kyojuro then moved in chase of his own release, his hips pressed solidly against hers as he rutted his cock deep within her.

“Fuck,” he groaned, his hands tightening around Y/N’s waist. The familiar electricity of impending release tingled at the base of Kyojuro’s spine, and his stomach began to clench as he began his ascent to his climax.  “Y/N — I am going to finish soon,” his head was thrown back, and his groans were loud enough to alert anyone nearby of exactly what was transpiring between the two Hashira. “Please — tell me where--”

“Inside,” Y/N gasped, her legs tightening around Kyojuro’s hips in a feeble attempt to keep him within her, to ensure that he wouldn’t yet leave her. “Please, Kyojuro, stay.”

Kyojuro was a rational man, and he knew of one major reason not to allow his seed to spill inside Y/N’s heavenly body. But all those rationalities flew out the window at the sound of her wanton and needy whimpers and the way her heat fluttered around him and Kyojuro did not think he could pull out of her if he wanted to.

Kyojuro’s thrusts became more and more frenzied and bruising, with the Flame Hashira hardly dragging his twitching length out of her as he neared his own climax.

“Hold onto me,” he panted, falling forward so that his chest was pressed flush against Y/N’s, one arm going to wrap around her waist while the other snaked over to where her arm lay in the grass, gripping her wrist to pin it up over her head as his fingers interlocked tightly with hers.

Y/N hiked her legs higher up his waist, crossing them at her shins so that he was buried deep within her. Her free arm looped under the one he had braced above her head to wrap around his back, her fingers digging into the rippling muscle and scarred skin that littered his shoulders.

“Make me yours, Kyojuro,” she whispered against his neck, squeezing his hips with her thighs.

Y/N felt his entire body tense at her words and Kyojuro’s moans turned into shouts as he gave one final, deep thrust within her before he exploded. His hand tightened fiercely around hers with the force of his climax,

The pleasure that surged up his spine had been white hot as he pushed himself as deeply as he could possibly go within Y/N’s vice-like core. Kyojuro was not a novice to pleasure, but he had never finished as hard or as much as he did buried within her.

Kyojuro canted his hips, prolonging his release as he continued to empty himself into her, coming down from his earth-shattering high. Y/N mewled against his throat, her lips brushing against his sensitive pulse point as her legs spasmed. once more around his hips.

He finally stilled within her, arms shaking as he braced himself above her, to keep from crushing the exhausted woman beneath him.

He lowered his head down to her level. “Are you all right, my flame?” He panted, pressing a kiss between her brows before he rested his forehead heavily against hers.

She looked up at him from under her eyelashes and nodded shakily.

He no longer could keep himself from collapsing against Y/N, but as he fell forward, he gripped her and rolled, pulling her to his chest with his leaking cock still nestled deeply between her legs.  

“I don’t want to push you away,” Kyojuro murmured softly after a moment, his chest finally easing as his breathing slowed.

Y/N made a show of looking down to where they were still joined, the Flame Pillar’s pearly seed slowly leaking out of her and onto the grass below them. “I think I’m about as close to you as physically possible, Rengoku.”

Kyojuro rolled his eyes and ground his hips slightly into her, causing Y/N to squeak against him.

“Quiet, woman, I’m trying to apologize to you.” He trailed his fingers up and down her spine as she nestled back against his chest, chin perched on his pectoral as she waited for him to continue.

“I was just so angry. After the incident on the train, when I woke up in Kocho’s hospital — I was furious. With myself.” Amber eyes met hers and softened to pools of melted honey. “It was never you I was angry with.”

Y/N held his gaze evenly, her voice firm. “But you took it out on me all the same.” It wasn’t an angry accusation — it was the truth; ugly and sharp. But it was real, and so was the tentative, knowing hope in her eyes.

“Yes,” Kyojuro breathed. “Yes, I did. And I am so sorry for it, Y/N.” His hand reached up to gently cup the side of her face, thumb smoothing over the soft expanse of her cheek. “May I ask for your forgiveness?”

Y/N leaned her head into his warm palm, and smiled, softly.

“You may ask, Kyojuro.”

He brushed his thumb along her lower lip. “Can you forgive me, Y/N?”

Y/N threw a leg out over his other hip, straddling him beneath her, though moving so fluidly that they remained connected at their base.

She rolled her hips against his, and he felt himself begin to harden within her once more. Kyojuro moaned softly, head falling back against the earth as he brought his hands up to steady her, fingers digging gently into her hips as she repeated the movement, again and again, until he’d fully stiffened within her.

“Yes Kyojuro,” she sighed, hands coming to brace themselves against his abdomen as she began to ride him. “I forgive you.”

Kyojuro groaned, his head thrown back as he began to gently grind up into her, goosebumps erupting over his flesh as she lightly raked her nails over his pectorals and the hard ridges of his abdomen.

He wanted so very badly to lose himself within his pleasure, to allow Y/N to consume him whole and never let him go again, but his atonement was not complete.

Because Y/N had given him every opportunity to confess to her before, and he had been careless with them; she would not open that door herself again.

So he would.

“And may I give you my heart, Y/N?” He asked, his hands gliding sensually up from her hips to brace themselves on either side of her sensitive waist, squeezing her firmly.

Her pace had stuttered slightly once his words registered, eyes widening as she looked down at him, and Kyojuro hated that he was the reason the shadow of doubt lingered in her eyes.

“Is it truly mine?” She breathed, resuming the intoxicating rise and fall and push and grind of her hips, breasts beginning to bounce as she picked up her pace.

Kyojuro’s mouth watered, but he restrained himself, holding her gaze. “It was only ever yours, Y/N.”

Y/N cried out then, her hips beginning to drop and roll into his with urgency. By the way her damp heat began to pulse and constrict around him, Kyojuro knew that she was barreling towards her release once more.

One hand left its searing position at her waist to drift down to where they were connected, his rough thumb toying with the sensitive nub that had her heavenly cunt squeezing him for dear life.

“My beautiful flame,” he moaned, “how lucky I am to have such a darling god be the keeper of my heart.”

Kyojuro rolled into her from below again, the hand still braced on her waist guiding himself to push deeper into her, as his thumb began to press harder into the apex of her thighs.

“Sweet tempest, please,” Kyojuro panted, the relentless squeeze of Y/N’s walls around his aching length beginning to drive him to the point of madness. “Please, may I have your love?”

Y/N’s moans were piercing as she half-sobbed above him, head thrown back into the night sky, the hoary glow of the moon making her look like a celestial deity given human form as she writhed above him.

“Yes!” Y/N cried, “Yes Kyojuro, you have always had my love!”

The moment the words fell from her lips, Kyojuro jolted upright, coming into a sitting position as Y/N’s legs instantly wrapped around him. He wound one arm around her waist to bounce her in his lap, the other moving to circle his fingers around her nub.

Kyojuro nuzzled her nose with his own, his lips mere centimeters from hers as he pressed his forehead against her and held her eyes. “Then come for me, Y/N,” he murmured, his breath tickling her lips as he nuzzled her again. “Come for me, my love.”

Y/N seized around him like a vice, her head falling back as she unleashed a euphoric cry.

The force of her climax had caused her to arch backward in Kyojuro’s lap, thrusting her breasts up and forward, and Kyojuro bent to suck one into his greedy mouth, his own release imminent. The warm sticky rush of her pleasure combined with the way her velvety, molten walls constricted around him had Kyojuro seeing stars as his seed shot into her, hot and fast, his strangled groan muffled only by the soft plush of Y/N’s breast as he filled her to her brim for the second time that night.

For a long moment, neither Pillar said anything as they came down from their mutual highs, Y/N’s head pressed against Kyojuro’s shoulder while the Flame Pillar kept his arms firmly around her waist, his fingers trailing up and down her spine.

“Y/N, are you all right?” He murmured into her ear, still buried deep within her heat.

Y/N nodded sleepily against his skin, savoring how full and complete she felt perched in his lap.

“I love you, Kyojuro.” She said so softly that the Flame Pillar thought his heart might break. Kyojuro pulled away slightly to bring his fingers beneath her chin where she lay against his shoulder. Gently, he tilted her face towards his and captured her lips with his own.  

“My darling flame,” He murmured against her lips as they broke apart, his eyes sweeping over her face, committing every detail of her beauty to memory. “Thank you.”

Y/N gave him a lazy smile. “I cannot be your flame, Kyojuro,” she teased, “Not when I am made of ice.”

Kyojuro flipped her back beneath him and danced his lips teasingly across the bridge of her nose. “Don’t you know, my beautiful foil, that ice can burn just as well as flame?” He pressed a feather-light kiss against her lips. “And I have been consumed by your silvery fire since I first laid eyes on you at Final Selection.”

Y/N looked up at him in wonder, her hand coming to rest against his face as she adoringly caressed his cheek.

“I love you, Y/N. I am so sorry it took me until now to say it.”

-------------------------------------------------—

Epilogue

Y/N made back it into her room, sight unseen, just as dawn had crept over the horizon.

Feet bare, she padded softly over to her waiting bed, shrugging out of Kyojuro’s uniform shirt and falling into her blankets, not caring at the growing discomfort she felt as the Flame Pillar’s seed dried in her undershorts.

She just wanted to sleep.

Y/N and Kyojuro had come together twice more before the pair realized that morning was imminent, and they needed to return to their respective dwellings before anyone noticed they were gone.

Y/N had lamented that Kyojuro had shredded her chest bindings beyond salvation and had worried she’d be forced to sneak back into the Butterfly Mansion with nothing but her haori to cover her bare chest when Kyojuro slid his uniform shirt over her shoulders.

“No one will think twice if they see me bare,” he’d said by way of explanation, gaze dropping momentarily to appreciate the marks he had left dotted across her breasts before rising back to her face. “I would like to keep you hidden, however.”

Kyojuro then fastened each button one by one, beginning from the bottom as he kissed his way up Y/N’s torso until his lips found the sensitive spot beneath her jaw, which he’d nipped.

It had taken everything in her not to throw him down and have him for the fifth time.

Kyojuro had walked with her as far as the edge of the path back to Shinobu’s before parting her with a sweet kiss and a promise to return to her later in the morning. He had also mentioned, somewhat mischievously, that he would be inquiring into when Y/N could expect to be discharged from the Butterfly Mansion and return to her own Estate.

Her empty, person-free estate.

Y/N collapsed into her bed, ready to sleep for a precious few hours before her training would begin anew.

“So, do you mind sharing where you’ve been all night?” A dangerously sweet voice chirped from over by the door.

Y/N shot up out of her bed, stomach falling out of her ass, as she faced the smiling, enraged Insect Pillar seated primly atop her wooden stool opposite of her.

“I was quite worried, you know,” Shinobu tutted, the honey of her smile poisoned by the violence in her eyes.

Y/N had never been one to be at a loss for words, a quick comment, or a snappy retort always on hand when the situation called for it.

But to her horror, her mind had gone dreadfully blank, and her tongue was swollen stupid in her mouth.

Shinobu smiled like she knew, eyes slowly looking her over, and Y/N was left with the uncomfortable feeling that her friend could see every way she’d allowed Kyojuro to utterly defile her.

“Will you be in need of a contraceptive?” Shinobu asked lightly, and Y/N felt like she would drop dead right then and there.

“…Yes, please.” She managed to squeak, and the Insect Pillar turned to leave.

“I will bring it with your breakfast.” Her hand closed around the doorknob but stilled.

“And Y/N?”

The Ice Pillar whimpered as her friend turned to look back at her, all smiles and throbbing forehead veins.

“If you ever keep the younger girls awake from the sounds of your activities with the Flame Pillar again, I will poison you both.”

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

[bones4thecats]

Handling Their God! S/O

Type of Writing: Poll Result Characters: Jack the Ripper, Leonidas, Raiden Tameemon, and Soji Okita Name: Handling Life with their God! S/O Original Poll Link: Here

A/N: This poll was released about a couple months ago, so, sorry that this is quite a bit late to those who voted and wanted it written! Instead of being really handing their S/O, it's more like how they meet and whatnot. Enjoy, lil bubbles🫧!

✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅

✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅

🩸 You were the Hindu God of Sacrifices and Bloodshed, and due to your title, many presumed you were very sadistic and diabolical, basically the Hindu version of Loki

🩸 The only real person to see behind your name was your fellow pantheon members, the Greek Demi-God of Justice, Heracles, and Humanity's fourth representative, Jack the Ripper

🩸 While Ragnarok's fourth round ensued, you watched your friend, Heracles, erupt from the Gods' side and smiled lightly as he gave you a hearty thumbs up, and you just stared as the human's representative, being Jack, emerged, nodding to the God

🩸 You watched the battle with a blank expression, while your fellow pantheon members raged as Jack hit Heracles, but only your could tell what was happening

🩸 Being the embodiment of sacrifices and bloodshed meant you knew when someone was being very bloodthirsty, but you couldn't sense so much in Jack as you did in other Gods, such as Poseidon

🩸 It surprised you, and watching him smile lightly as Heracles faded away, claiming he'd always love Humanity, a tear escaped your eyes, and you watched in hidden rage as Humanity began to throw things such as rocks at one of the men who had saved them and their descendants from utter doom

🩸 So, despite the yells of your leader, Shiva, you jumped down and shielded Jack from the items with a shield of blood, nodding as he looked at you with hidden gratitude

🩸 Jack would smile at you as you sat beside him in a hammock you made of blood, sharpening the knives of his that the nurses took away, you really were a beauty despite the rumors behind you

🩸 Much like Hlökk, you knew that after what Heracles said to him before he died, Jack began to try changing from his old self in order to find someone that truly loved him and didn't use him like his mother once did

🩸 What you didn't know is that his eyes were on you, and you alone

✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅

✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅

🚬 You met Leonidas because of his death, mainly how he saved many of his men from sending them away once realizing their efforts were fruitless

🚬 As the Greek Goddess of Honor, Selflessness, and Defending, you would watch over the many men and women who would fight in the wars that plagued the world, though, you mainly focused on your homeland

🚬 Leonidas met you when he ascended with his 299 our of the 300 men who perished, and he was very wary of you at first, due to how he disliked anyone in relation of Apollo, blaming him for the deaths of his men and himself

🚬 Understanding where he was coming from, you proved your worth to him by giving him and his men the best treatment your role as a God could offer, and it warmed his cold heart watching you play around with the men's children with tiny swords and telling them stories of battles long since past

🚬 The King of Sparta also loved watching you sit down alongside the wild animals that spread throughout the battlefields that surrounded their homes

🚬 While it took a while, Leonidas and you began to court before your eventual marriage a few hundred years after his initial death

🚬 When Brunhilde came by to ask Leonidas of his part in Ragnarok, you offered yourself up to be a possible Völundr for him when he partook in his battle, in which Brunhilde tried turning you down, before Leonidas agreed in you helping

🚬 You stood alongside Geirölul as you both preformed the ritual with your husband, she smiled at you as you transformed into his xiphos blade, the same one that he wielded for years, showing your significance to him

🚬 Leonidas listened as you spoke through his mind, chanting the same words as him while your battle commenced, chanting as one person with your now three voices laced together

" From the day you died... " " And the day we met... " " We promised to stay together, no matter what! " " Now... " " Let's kill this fucker! "

✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅

✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅

🥊 He was a man with a very specific choice in his S/Os, and when he met you after he died? Woah, did you fit the bill!

🥊 Strong? Check. Not ashamed of yourself to the point of harming? Check. And let's not forget, face-burying chest.

🥊 Raiden only saw you as the Norse God of Strength, Fairness, and Battles, standing alongside your fellow deities, you were one of the strongest ever seen

🥊 He would smile whenever he saw you watching his fights from a small area with one of your fellow Gods nearby, bored out of their mind as you just admired the men's devotion to fighting and winning

🥊 You and him began to bond when, after one of his matches, you approached and introduced yourself to him without an inch of arrogance or superiority, making him smile and shake your hand

🥊 Raiden loved practicing with you, and feeling you pick him up and slam him down made him laugh at your action, since nobody could ever pin him down like you did

🥊 Much like with Leonidas, you sacrificed yourself to be Raiden's Völundr, alongside Thrud, who welcomed you with the biggest hug you both had ever experienced

🥊 Thrud, Raiden, and you all laced yourselves together and fought against your ex-ally, Shiva, and hugged as you all faded away, saying how much it was an honor to be together in your last moments

🥊 This all was what you wanted when you eventually died, to be surrounded by those you loved, and you were surrounded by your husband and new sister-figure, what else could you ever had asked for?

✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅

✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅

🏮 Soji Okita was a very interesting man, despite his smaller stature, he was a remarkable fighter and an excellent fighter, which you had witnessed head-on

🏮 You were the Shinto God of the Good and Bold, holding a significant hold over many different kinds of things, such as festivals and, as many said you valued, flamboyancy

🏮 Soji met you when you came looking for the Seven Lucky Gods, whom were being called out for battle soon and needed to practice their skills, just in case, you would remind them

🏮 What you did not expect was to find Odin's aura erupting as humans and Gods cowered away in fear, commenting on how strong or an aura he had, and how it must have been only a portion of it

🏮 You sighed from behind, making everyone look at you as you strode to grab Ebisu's hand, which had Buddha's lollipop stick still in it, and you began to scold to goatee-wearing God for being so dumb as to let something happen

🏮 While you strode away with Ebisu's ear in between your fingers, Soji couldn't help but wonder who you were and what you were to those Gods, those filthy and evil Gods...

🏮 Hearing about your story from Isami Kendo, listening intently as he spoke of how you basically raised the one God they once were, and when he split, you raised all of the Seven Lucky Gods until adulthood

🏮 He needed to speak to you here soon, you could answer the questions Kendo could not... and maybe he could train with you afterwards! Oh, how smart was he!

[bardic-inspo]

Blood in the Mortar

Pairing: Ascended Astarion x Vampire Bride Tav

Rating: Explicit (Smut!!)

Key Tags: Vampire/Blood Bride Lore, Service Dom Astarion, Sexy Use of Telepathic Bond, Evil Power Couple, Torturing a Captive, Choking, Biting/Blood, Masquerade, PIV, Cunnilingus

Summary:

“I wanted to see you right where you belong,” Astarion whispers, the sound as sheer as the lace he wrecked. “So beautiful on your throne.” It started on Naomi’s knees, this new life of passion and pleasure unbridled. Astarion didn’t know he’d be hers, just as much as she’d be his, when he bit her thrice, bled her dry, and gave her just one drop of his ascended blood.

Cross-posting from my AO3 account. This is my first BG3 smut fic. If you like it, I'd love to know! Click here if you'd prefer to read on AO3.

“To whom can a vampire bare its soul and admit its fears? From whom can it receive consolation for the past, comfort for the present, and hope for the future?...The vampire is drawn emotionally to a mortal and decides, because of the strength of this emotion, to make her his bride…The happiness of the vampire becomes tied up with the prospective bride, and its well-being depends on hers.”

-Van Richten’s Monster Hunter’s Compendium, Vol 1

Astarion twists the stem of his wine glass, idly tilting the contents within. His assorted guests warp in the bulb of it, swaying between rosy red and clear crystal.

A gravelly voice interrupts his game. “Quite the menagerie you’ve gathered here, Lord Ancunín.”

Astarion doesn’t bother to stifle his sigh. There’s no mistaking him as the lord of the house, even masked as he is. Astarion’s ensemble this evening is pitch dark velvet swirled in crimson thread and snaking silver. His mask glimmers in the same shade of scaled metal, set to complement the curve of his cheekbones, with only miniscule, twinkling rubies encrusting the edges. Nothing meant to outshine the searing color of his eyes. The mask might be silver, but it’s a red dragon Astarion embodies for this particular masquerade.

This party’s for more monstrous company, after all.

No expense was spared for the ‘menagerie’. A grand piano, polished to an opalescent white, plays under spectral hands at the heart of the ballroom alongside a string quartet. A starlit Baldur’s Gate glistens outside the windowed east wall, framed in gold drapery to match the shimmering flecks in the white marble floor. Lavish wine and better blood pour freely; his guests have only to lift their empty glasses to have them brimming again.

Even with all the ornate masks, in the shapes of creatures exotic or fierce, none of the fangs in the room are fake. All the titles are, save for his and his consort’s. Astarion’s lip curls with distaste.

This masquerade was meant for nobility of a supernatural stature. Vampires, warlocks, lycanthropes. Those who lead them. But what his doors received were lowly spawn. Servants sent in their masters’ stead to get just a glimpse of the one and only vampire ascendant, and then to scurry back and tell tale of him. Cowards.

There’s only one human here who’s just human.

Astarion offers him a well-practiced shrug of a laugh. “I do hope you don’t feel out of place among us more…colorful sorts. Lord…? Forgive me, what was it again?”

“Isn’t the point of a masquerade not to bother with such trivialities?” The stranger chuckles hastily. “In any case, I am not lord. Only a humble apprentice to the most renowned wizard Waterdeep has to offer.”

Ah, yes. The invitation was sent for the newly named archmage, filling the god-shaped hole Gale left behind in the wake of his own ascension. Astarion’s eyes flit over the lanky, unkempt apprentice who addresses him instead.

His hair hangs in honey blonde waves past his shoulders, like the mane of the beast he seeks to imitate. It’s a lion’s mask the apprentice wears. Perhaps a poor attempt at humor. The effort would’ve been better paid towards penance, and a sheep’s head would’ve suited him far better than the guise of a predator. Anything would’ve been more fitting than the baggy business he calls a shirt.

Astarion clicks his tongue. “That still doesn’t give me a thing to call you.”

“I am Enrik, if it pleases you.”

“No surname?” Astarion asks with an arched brow.

“None of consequence, my lord,” he replies with the uneasy edge Astarion’s entitled to.

“Well, Enrik, I hope you find our masquerade pleasing.”

“It has certainly been enlightening thus far.”

“And how’s that?” Astarion asks brusquely. He never did like wizards.

He doesn’t like the look on this one’s face, either. The lion that should be a sheep surveys the room with a pitying expression, like he’s watching some petty amusement. A zoo. Gods, or a circus. And what would that make him, Astarion the Ascended, if not a clown? Astarion’s fingers tighten on the stem of his glass, an imperceptible change to any eyes not keen enough to catch it.

“Why, it’s been only a year since your ascension,” Enrik says. “You’ve accomplished much in short order. It’s quite remarkable.”

Astarion’s nose twitches. Praise. From cattle. How quaint, and ill-fitting.

His expression abruptly eases. A refined, familiar scent carries to him from across the crowd. A note of lavender, twined with his favored bergamot.

“And you’ve already enthralled some truly magnificent specimens,” Enrik carries on, oblivious. “Take this fine creature, for example. What a pretty thing to have strung along on your leash.”

Astarion feels her before he sees her. She wipes a palm down the sheath of her skirt, smoothing out some infinitesimal wrinkle. The music smooths, too. With that one simple motion, it bends and blends into something deeper, fuller. All of the lesser spawn of Astarion’s making straighten their slouched shoulders.

He feels the tug of her in his head, and then the cool stroke of her hand to his back, the soothing feel of her fingers combing through his hair, and the gentle scrape of her nails against his scalp. It takes a concerted effort to suppress the pleased groan that bubbles in the back of his throat. All this from across the room, without so much as a glance, let alone a touch.

Hello, darling, he thinks, and she hears it just as if he’d spoken aloud. Aren’t you ravishing?

Her skirt is snow-white crepe that clings taut to her shapely hips before fanning out at her feet. It’s the same lovely shade of ivory as her hair, twisted in a braid like a crown around her head, with the rest falling sleek down her back. A black lace bodice sets just off her lilac shoulders, with gloves to match. Floral stitching vees down from her waistline. The same embellishments decorate the skirt’s edges.

His dark consort, his Naomi once-Tavriel-now-Ancunín, weaves leisurely through the partygoers. The thorny prickle of Astarion’s irritation inspires a little lift at the corner of her mouth.

I’ve been called so much worse, she thinks. It sounds suspiciously like a laugh. I think you called me ‘creature’ just yesterday. Should I not have taken it as a compliment?

Astarion’s scowls. He should be grateful to have your name in his mouth. To even set foot in our home. Let alone speak to me like that. Or at all.

But think of how much fun he’s started, she answers, chipper. You were so bored before.

She’s not wrong.

If they’re not the guests you wanted, Naomi continues, cool and calm, then they’re intruders, aren’t they? Whatever should we do with them?

A slow smile steals its way onto his lips. Just when I thought I couldn’t love you more. Miracles never cease.

“Do you know what they call her?” Astarion says aloud, to worse company. “Other than mine, of course.”

“She was the hero of Baldur’s Gate.”

Astarion waves a manicured hand irritably, as if swatting away a stray fly. “One of them, true, but isn’t there another name that comes to mind?”

The man swallows thickly. “The Siren of the Sword Coast.”

"And yet here you are," Astarion sneers, "ready to dash yourself upon the rocks like a little ship blown astray. I can hardly blame you."

His eyes soften, just past the shoulder of Enrik’s gaudy doublet. In the low flutter of candlelight, he spies the sheen of amethysts set among delicate feathers wrought from silver. He'd had the mask made for Naomi with the likeness of a swan in mind.

Still, as pretty as it is, his favorite gleam is those eyes. She still kept the kiss of violet in them, even in death. It mingles with the red in her irises, like a rich, dark wine.

"She is captivating, isn’t she?" Astarion sighs, a faint smile grazing his lips. "My beautiful bride."

“Forgive me my lord, I meant no offense,” Enrik says, eyes down with deference. “I’m merely an admirer of fine things. And a messenger for my fine master.”

“Do your duty, then,” Astarion says tersely, his smile evaporating.

“My master understands that power is the only currency that holds any weight for men of your making. He has much of it to share, if you're likewise inclined.”

Astarion laughs coldly. “And what does your master wish for me to share with him, exactly? I don’t bite just anyone, after all.”

A swallow bobs in Enrik’s throat. “He only means to make mutual use of your shared arsenal. Like you mean to make of his, my lord. He could work wonders with even just one scream. He could bottle it--”

Astarion clenches the wine glass in a chokehold. He could kill this wretched cretin here, now, bare-handed. Or have him drawn and quartered. Or--

No one knows their manners these days, Naomi sighs inside his head. But if you want to play along and see what this archmage would pay, I’ll--

Astarion’s jaw clenches. You won’t be screaming for him, little love.

It earns him an eyeroll. It wouldn’t be like that--

It won’t be at all. Astarions sends his answer with the weight of a stone.

He sips his wine, boring into Enrik with a hard stare. “Don’t you know swans make the most achingly beautiful music?”

Enrik’s eyes dart anxiously over Astarion’s burning ones. “Only just before they die, so the stories go.”

“Before someone does,” Astarion drawls, as the vintage seeps sweetly down his throat. “You see, my beloved, oh, she’s a monster, too. She so does love the taste of blood in her mouth, now that she’s supped of mine.”

Enrik edges back, shoulders hunched small like the prey he is. “I-I’m just a messenger my lord. Killing me after you’ve so graciously offered your hospitality would be the same as breaking a mirror. It would only cast ill luck on you and your house.”

A gloved hand wraps Enrik’s shoulder. He shirks from that delicate grip like it's scalding. At long last, he finds the decency to shut up.

Naomi’s fangs gleam like the bottle in her hand. “More wine?”

The white marble of the ballroom shimmers like freshly fallen snow. All the curtains are drawn back, cinched aside for good measure. Shadow and sunlight slice the floor in slanted strips. Gritty ash piles where the light lies, coils of rope strewn among the gray dust of guests gone for good.

Only one remains.

Sprawled motionless across the floor, Enrik lies nose-to-nose with the knife edge of day and darkness. It’s only a silhouette that keeps him from being swallowed by the glow. Only Astarion’s grace shades him.

The vampire ascendant cuts a sharp shadow before the arched windowpane. Brightness clings, soft as clouds, to his curls, his lean edges, and his jaw. His velvet coat crumples at his heels as if it were nothing more precious than the ash heaped around him. He’s blessedly bare from the waist-up, resplendent in the sunlight while he surveys his domain awash with it.

It calls to mind the man who took Naomi out into the woods all those months and nights ago. What he looked like when she woke and found his back arched, chin tilted skyward. What she’d do, and what little she wouldn’t, to see Astarion slip into bliss every day as easily as slipping out of a coat.

It’s Naomi’s grace that finally rouses their disheveled company. A rolling melody, played on piano, pours from her fingertips and crests with the morning birdsong drifting in. Enrik groans against the grain of it.

At once, the music cuts to quiet. Naomi’s hands hover over the keys, knuckles twitching in faint longing. Then, she turns on the bench and turns her attention towards her restless audience.

“Good morning,” she says brightly.

Enrik squints up at her. His brown eyes leak with the light, even though he’s sheltered from it. They dart across the room, skimming like stones over water, before they sear into Naomi.

“You.”

“Who else were you expecting? You’re in my home.”

Rope binds Enrik’s hands and heels. He tugs at the ties, or tries to. He hasn’t yet figured out it’s all for not.

Naomi stands, her heels clicking staccato to the tile. As she goes, she paints a palm over the piano keys, stroking each octave from root to rise. Music flows freely again all on its own, even when her hand falls away.

She comes to loom over her captive, lips pursed. “I hear you said some very rude things to my husband.”

Enrik folds against the floor, panting for breath.

“You should be so grateful for our hospitality,” she says. “Should have been. That’s all behind us now, isn’t it?”

Feral noise rips from his throat. Like a dog, he lunges, snapping for her ankles. She side-steps into the light, not bothering to flee any farther than an inch. He freezes, ogling the shiny toe of her shoe now parallel to his nose.

“You don’t fear the sun?” he gasps, quivering.

“I need not fear anything.”

Naomi lifts her head, meeting a scarlet stare brimming in equal measures affection and amusement. Sunlights melts over the bare of Astarion’s chest, spurring her tongue to wet her lips. He leans against the glass, head angled back, eyes slitted in satisfaction. A slow smile unfurls on his face.

“You should be grateful, too,” Naomi says with a sneer, “to lay here and not just a little to the left.”

“W-What do you mean? What did you do to me?!” Enrik’s eyes bulge. He squirms in a sudden panic, to no avail.

Naomi tilts her neck to the side and taps at the scar Astarion’s teeth marked her with. Her fingers fan down on her own throat, savoring the shape of that succulent memory. Of the last bite he gave her in life. Of his lips swirling comfort into her skin before sucking her down to the last drop. Of the look on his face, the awe he had, when she next woke.

The faintest leak of breath, soft as down, passes from Astarion’s mouth.

“You--you--! You turned me!” Her hostage sputters. Naomi frowns darkly.

“Oh not me,” Naomi snaps, incredulous. “I’m only a weak little spawn puppet, according to you. According to you, the only good thing I can do is scream. How could I manage to turn you without choking on my own leash?”

She gags for good measure. He doesn’t get the joke. He hasn’t caught on to the other joke yet. Which means she’s safe as can be, even this close. So long as she stands on the other edge of Astarion’s shadow.

Astarion turns. His silhouette twists with his movement. Enrik shrieks like a swine.

“Oh, that wasn’t good at all. You can do better.” Naomi presses out a strained sigh, crouching down to fist a hand in his hair and yank his head upright.

Enrik bares his teeth as if they aren’t dull and flat. “Filthy bitch!”

The insult doesn’t so much as chip Naomi’s serene composure, but it puts a twang in her head, along the invisible string that links her and Astarion. His anger lashes in her mind like a restless tail.

“What a vile little ingrate,” Astarion snarls.

She lets her hostage’s head roll from her palm, cheek smacking the tile. Enrik writhes against his restraints. Naomi clicks her tongue in reproach. I’ve barely even touched you yet.

Green magic threads between her gloved fingers, glittering. She snaps them and says, “Scream.”

And he does. Loud enough to drown out the crescendo coursing from the grand piano. Inside of Enrik’s skull, the song isn’t nearly so sweet. His back jerks up and away from the floor, head bent back, eyes torn wide in terror.

His cries pitch with the slink of Astarion’s shadow stretching nearer. Sunlight clings close behind his heels. Naomi’s fingers flex and the spell recedes.

Her magic leaves Enrik sniveling, inching like a worm away from the slice of light between Astarion’s legs. Astarion huffs softly. With a wave of his hand, a ghostly one apparates behind him and snags the curtains closed.

Astarion’s scent sweeps with his sleeve -- the sweetness of brandy, mingled with the woodsy smell of rosemary. His knuckles gently brush the side of Naomi’s cheek. Instinctively, she leans towards the touch.

“Precious thing,” Astarion chides with a pout. “You’re being far too sweet to him. Here I thought you only had room in your heart for me.”

Naomi inclines her head, eyes narrowing by a hair. “My sire would see me be crueler?”

Astarion’s thumb grazes her lips. At once, she parts for him, teasing the pad of it with her tongue while he toys with the tip of a fang. He presses in, watching his skin bend to near-breaking, as if to test her sharpness. Before any blood’s drawn, he draws his hand down to cradle her chin. His voice is smooth as satin, though his stare is a hardened one.

“Your sire would see you spoken to with the respect you’re owed. And he needs you to kneel, dear one.”

The words are a weight to her shoulder, easing her down. But the heft is a comfort, not a compulsion. He could compel her, if he wanted to.

He hasn’t yet.

One day, she thinks, he will. And he’ll feel the weight of whatever chains he’d wrap her in through the bond that binds them tighter than the tadpole did. He won’t do it without good reason. Naomi doesn’t need a reason to kneel for her lover. That he wishes it is enough.

When her knees meet the ground, she feels the shape of Astarion’s smile pressed against their bond like it’s pressed, wet and wanting, against her mouth. She feels the dainty tug of his teeth coax her lips apart. Tastes the coppery tang of her own blood and the velvet undercurrent of his within her veins. The heat of him, still such a novel thing in his ascended body, bleeds from his skin to hers, fanning the newfound ache between her thighs.

In her mind, and his, his lips pour down her bare shoulders. His fingers fist in the fine fabric of her dress, ripping it to ruin. He leaves none of her untouched. To anyone else’s eye, they’re not even touching.

Naomi’s eyelids flutter. She downs a hard swallow. Good girl, he says, just for her.

To their captive audience, he spares no such kindness. Astarion raises his foot above Enrik’s ankles, letting it dangle for a moment. It drops like a hammer to an anvil. Enrik bucks with a fresh scream and a sickening crack.

“I’d never give a miserable little wretch like you the gift of immortality,” Astarion spits. “You wouldn’t know how to appreciate it.”

Confusion flits between the pain and panic in Enrik’s eyes.

“That’s right,” Astarion seethes. “You’re not a vampire. You aren’t worth my consort’s teeth. Or mine.”

Crunch. Another ankle shatters. Another shriek claws the air. Astarion strolls, leisurely, to Enrik's hands next. He grounds his heel into the pop of fingers breaking beneath his boots. Their hostage heaves a broken sob.

“Sh, sh, sh, oh, it’s all right,” Astarion croons. “I happen to have just the knife for you.”

Astarion crosses back to his coat piled near the window and draws a dagger from its folds. Rhapsody. Cazador’s blade. Naomi hasn’t seen it since they claimed the Crimson Palace for themselves.

Brightness glints off the twined edge, a match for the harsh and singular focus gleaming in Astarion’s gaze.

So that’s what Astarion was smiling about, as he basked by the window. What had him so peacefully quiet and content. Murder was on his mind, even then.

Not the only thing on my mind, little love. She feels the slant of his smirk in her head, as if it ghosted past the hinge of her jaw. There’s no trace of it on Astarion’s stony exterior.

He plucks the crystal wine glass from the sill while he’s there, rotating the stem as he saunters back over. Blood flecks the fine leather of Astarion’s shoes. He plants them on either side of Enrik’s torso. He seizes Enrik’s collar, yanking harshly until he’s kneeling, too.

“Fuck you,” Enrik spits. “Fuck you both! My master will--”

“Darling,” Astarion trills, grip unwavering, “Would you..?”

Magic swirls sticky across Naomi’s tongue. “Ad Lapidē.”

Violet runes blaze to life beneath their captive’s knees, capturing him in perfect stillness. His mouth hangs agape with unspent vitriol. Astarion’s hands recoil, twisting the dagger in one, and the glass in the other.

“Your master,” Astarion sneers with a dark laugh. “Too much of a coward to show his face, so he sends you. His sacrificial lamb, sent to speak to me about sharing my dearest treasure, like he isn’t the scum beneath her shoes. He had to know I wouldn’t hear of it. But he didn’t care enough about you to even taint your blood. That’s right. My lesser spawn sampled you just like they would any cattle. But my beautiful bride hasn’t had one bite, not yet. Not until I was sure you were sweet enough for her palate.”

Astarion strokes Rhapsody down the man’s outstretched neck. The barest streak of blood leaks from the scrape. Astarion’s eyes skate over the ash piles around the room, wistful.

“All it took was a sleeping potion,” he muses. “Just a few drops. Now all of the spawnlings sent by all of my lessers are dust. You’ll wish to join them, before this is done. And you will. When I decide we’re done.”

Naomi’s eyes fasten to the blood beading down Enrik’s pallid throat. Astarion digs in ever-so-gently with Rhapsody’s tip, just enough to start a stream running. He presses the cup beneath it. Slowly, the crystal fills red to the brim. Her mouth waters.

Astarion looks up abruptly, eyes wide and soft as his malice dissolves to fondness. “Darling, you do look famished. Open up for me, dear.”

Naomi’s chin lifts, lips parted. Astarion tilts the glass to meet her with the utmost care.

“I won’t have your grime and sweat on her lips,” Astarion hisses in Enrik’s ear. “Only your blood. You don’t deserve that…” He sucks a sharp breath in. Naomi watches with rapt attention as it stutters through his chest. “...pretty little mouth.”

Blood, rich and smooth as cream, slips across her tongue. Her eyes slip shut with it. With each swallow, syrupy warmth spreads slowly through her chest, down her legs, through arms, to her every inch. Too soon, it’s taken from her. Naomi’s eyes flutter open. She’s taken all of it, already.

“More, my love?” Astarion hums happily. “You only have to ask.”

“More,” she says at once, lips still wet.

Astarion carves. The insolent apprentice bleeds without a sound. Again and again, the cup fills. He tips it to her lips, and Naomi drinks until her eyelids grow heavy.

Her body thrums like it remembers the pulse that used to play through her veins. She’s warmer than a dead woman should be. Even the air itself feels like the kiss of steam tingling against her skin.

It’s then that Naomi feels Astarion’s lips in her head again, sucking little marks down her throat that match the rosy flush heating her cheeks. She pants out of habit, out of instinct, and not of need. Out of want for him to watch what he does to her. As if he doesn’t already know.

One twist of Astarion’s wrist turns the little leak of blood from Enrik’s throat into a fountain. Naomi’s spell dissipates in violet sparks. His body slumps over, lifeless. Blood runs from him in little rivers, rushing to fill the grout lines between the tiles.

Astarion cradles one last glassful in a delicate grip. His face clears of any clouded rage as he gives the glass an experimental swirl. Wordlessly, he tilts the cup to her mouth once more.

Naomi gasps. Wetness paints her chin. It streams down her neck, drips down her sternum and between her breasts, still bound in lace. Astarion drips with it, down to his knees in fluid motion. Somewhere behind him, the wine glass shatters. In her periphery, she sees the shards glitter like frost.

“Oops,” he says, low and shameless.

Barely any blood made it to Naomi’s mouth this time, but she doesn’t mind one bit. Astarion crawls to her, catlike. She’s only spared a moment to admire the lithe muscle flexing through his naked chest before he leans into the hollow of her throat. Silver curls brush soft beneath her chin. And then, she feels the tip of that devilish tongue take a tentative lick of the mess he’s made.

And gods, what a mess she must be. Blood smears from her neck to her navel, near-black on her blue-gray skin. Dark like Astarion’s eyes, with pupils blown wide and hungry. A flare of heat twists low in Naomi’s stomach. Her thighs shift, wet with it.

Thread rips in her ears. Rhapsody drags delicately down her side, scratching faint like a quill. The lace of her gown splits without resistance. There's none to be had against that mouth of his, just as busy as his nimble hands.

Astarion laps, dainty, down the path of her swallow. His coy smile curves with a petal-soft laugh against her collar bone. Naomi laughs, too, breathless as his tongue chases lazily after the spill. Breathless as the day he took the last breath she needed.

Ever since, Astarion’s given her everything she could want, without leaving her wanting for more than a moment. Now, her knees will never grow numb, no matter how long they bend against the marble. The chill of it can’t phase her, either. Even if it could, Astarion’s drawn the curtains wide. When she kneels for him, it’s only ever on sun-soaked stone.

Astarion treasures her. Cherishes her. Lavishes her with love and pleasure and wealth and power. Preserves her like prized silver, polished with such devotion so she’ll never know the tarnish of time. She’s his spawn. His wife.

But above all else, she’s his pride. The very thing that rules him. The only thing that still does.

Naomi wants to be in ruins with him. To be the last pillars of a broken world already so far beyond repair before they were dragged through it. Aeterna amantes. Until the fall of everything.

Until then, this, the low groan he gives her while her fingers stroke red through the plush white of his hair, the heady hum in her blood, the bloom of someone else’s waking color in her cheeks, the way Astarion looks at her like there’s nothing else at all, the way he tears into a dress he paid a fortune for, the hand he knots through her braids to wreck them -- this is everything.

Astarion tosses Rhapsody over his shoulder to join the broken wine glass, just like any other worthless trinket. His deft hands curl into the tears in her bodice and tug. At once, it gives way to his grip. She would, too, were it not so binding. Naomi grounds out a gasp. Her skirt pools at her knees, leaving her bare but for the warmth of Astarion’s roaming hands and the daylight pouring over them both.

“Do you know why I wanted you down here, pet?” He asks softly.

Astarion’s eyes latch to hers while his teeth toy at the curve of her breast. His tongue slicks over to soothe where his fangs grazed her, and then it melts against a pert nipple, taking it in with a lewd suck.

Naomi paws for a coherent thought, but all she finds is a pleading hum. He nips her again, just enough to see her tit tremble from the pull when he draws away. He leaves her nipple glistening and the underside of her breast peppered in pink before moving on to the other.

“To torture me, clearly,” Naomi pants. Her hands still tangle in his hair. Amusement glimmers in his gaze as he plants a chaste kiss to the inside of one of her wrists and sets them both back at her sides.

“Oh no, my sweet. I would never,” he says, chin resting flat against her navel. He looks up at her with wide, doey eyes, full of faux innocence.

He slinks lower, laying a line with his tongue that ends in a kiss just above where her skirts still shield her. He shifts them aside, ripping where he needs, until it’s only one little piece of black lace covering her cunt. Astarion growls against it, nosing at its edges, his back bowed, stomach brushing the floor. His teeth find the waistband and tear that, too.

Hot breath fans across the other mess he made. Naomi wavers on her knees. From that minute motion alone, she can hear how he’s soaked her.

But Astarion doesn’t disprove her theory; he leans back abruptly, straightening up to his knees again. An arm loops slack around her waist as he circles around to her bare back. Naomi’s lips twitch. If this is the game he wants, it’s too soon to beg. The thought inspires another needy flex through her cunt. His other hand slides to cup the heat of it, and Naomi whines. Reflexively, her back arches. Astarion pulls her still.

He catches the side of her jaw, angling her back into a biting kiss. It’s over before she wants it to be, his lips red and glistening with what he stole from her. Without him, her mouth burns from the cut.

“I wanted to see you right where you belong,” he whispers, the sound as sheer as the lace he wrecked. “So beautiful on your throne.”

For a brief moment, he draws away entirely, leaving her with nothing but a lonely chill. And then, his back comes flush to the floor beneath her. His body splays behind her. The heat of his mouth crests against the heat of her cunt, his face fitted between her thighs, his lips hovering so close, but not close enough. His breath alone snags the one halfway through her throat.

“Oh,” her realization comes out quivering.

The tip of his nose nudges, just barely, against her clit, spurring her hips to roll. But all she gets from that mouth is mischief and a quiet snicker. He shifts his cheek, laving a long stroke of his tongue to the tender crux of her inner thigh before sealing it over with a tight suck. When he bites down, he draws out her blood with a rough moan.

Astarion pulls back, his smirk glazed in her, his eyes aflame. “Oh, darling, I’ve barely even touched you yet. And you’re so very wet for me.”

“Touch me, then,” she hisses between her teeth, raking her hands through his perfect curls and fisting them there.

His eyes spear into hers, hard like the way he clenches her ass and pulls her hips down. Even as it sets her on fire, his mouth gives her mercy. Astarion’s tongue melts hot across her cunt, swiping slow and dexterous. Not for the first time, Naomi thinks she might like to die like this.

It’s not so different from how she died. It started on her knees, this new life of passion and pleasure unbridled. Even then, Astarion already knew the shape of her body like he knew his own hands. Every curve, every intimate bend, how to make her speak in noise instead of words. The hidden language behind every whimper she makes, every shiver.

So he knows exactly what he’s doing while his tongue teases gentle circles around her clit. He knows, by the time his timid little laps blend into a needy suck, that she’s so, so sensitive. Astarion’s hungry groan seeps into her slickness. She feels him like a current and clenches again, just as hungry.

Every feeling he gives her gives him an echo back just as strong. Every thought in her head is in his head, too. He eats her cunt and feels fed by her pleasure curling in the tips of his toes. He didn’t know he’d be hers, just as much as she’d be his, when he bit her thrice, bled her dry, and gave her just one drop of blood back.

But Astarion knew her body before she was his bride. Now, he knows her mind. A part of him lives there, as she does in his. As he drags his pale, elegant fingers between her folds, he drags her head through a dozen depravities. Filling her with nothing but thoughts of how he’ll fill her properly.

He could have her against the arched windows lining the east wall, body pressed so pretty to the glass so he can see the imprint of it even after she peels away. She could feel the heat brimming off the sun outside, washing over their empire. He could taste her sunbathed shoulder while he fucks her senseless. His little love, dipped in honey. So what if someone else sees. Later, he’ll see to them not seeing anything ever again.

He could take her here, on the ballroom floor. Pull her down just as she surfaces from the pleasure he’s paid her, and roll her beneath him to bury her in it all over again. Make love on the marble streaked with the blood of their enemies, where hundreds of dignitaries have danced and dined on countless evenings before. But none of them were ever blessed with such a fine feast as he. The stone would be hard and unyielding against her back, and he would be just the same, driving into her, relentless. At least it’s far prettier than the dirt they used to fuck in.

Or--

A new picture snaps from Naomi’s mind to his, with the dip of his tongue to her entrance, a staggering spike of pleasure, and an unbidden whimper.

The piano. Pearly white with jet black keys, so pristine, so gorgeous with blood spilt red down the sides. Naomi poured over the side, ivory hair tinged with crimson, cascading over her bare, bent back. Astarion’s fingers buried in her hips, planting the promise of bruises, his body bucking wildly into her as he finally--

Naomi’s moan hits the high pitch of the ceiling. She grinds, needy, against the pair of fingers he crooks inside of her. His thumb spreads her slickness back and presses to the pucker of her ass.

So eager for me to fill you up. His voice in her head is a caress. Her hips roll with the sound. His thumb dips inside her ass with the motion, and Naomi gasps as she eases into that delicious stretch.

But darling, I haven’t fed all night, Astarion pouts, mouth moving with agonizing slowness as his eyes flutter shut beneath long black lashes. Naomi’s eyelids grow heavy, too, as she’s lost to that lovely, slick click of his lips. A meal like you is meant to be savored.

He fucks her holes leisurely, with the air of someone who knows he’ll be back for more before long. It brings to mind those long, lithe fingers, folded between the pages of a book to mark his place. All it takes is an effortless flex of them to keep her coaxed open like this. Her body draws taut as he leans her over the precipice of her own pleasure.

If you need more, my dear, by all means. Take it.

He growls into their bond like he’s the one devoured. Like he can plead ignorance to how he’s taking her apart with his hands, his mouth. Naomi catches a whine between her teeth. Astarion’s free hand cups her ass, urging her into the thrust her body bends towards. She parts a hand from his hair to brace flat to the floor beside his face, the other knotting anew in his silver curls.

Desperately, she rides against the flat of his tongue, against that long, refined nose, fucking herself back into the curve of his fingers. Every pull of them pulls her under, deeper into her own ecstasy. Her body grips him back like she means to drown him, too. The tip of his tongue flicks her clit in relentless rhythm, starting off a shudder she can’t stop.

“Don’t stop,” she begs within and without, the jerk of her hips growing frantic.

His mouth is mercy. When she comes for him, she’s wreathed in heat, slick with sweat, every nerve in her body alight with the most blissful burn. A strangled cry breaks in her chest. It buries the song now trembling from the piano. Naomi shivers out a sigh, and the keys shiver with her.

Astarion wraps his arms tight to her thighs, anchoring her through the aftershocks. When she stills again, her body throbs with a heady rush of blood, pleasure, want. Every part of her is limp with it, save the pulsing, rigid press in her mind and in his trousers. She’s putty in his hands even as his fingers leave her. Naomi twitches back towards the touch he takes away, body aching with his absence.

Naomi’s knuckles unfurl, stroking soft through the tangles she wrought. What a sight he is, his hair in utter disarray, his mouth a mess of blood and lust and her. An ease settles into his graceful features, not so different from that quiet contentment he wore while leaning into the light by the window. His eyes simmer with it, lips drawn in a soft smile.

Without warning, his grip tightens. Naomi stifles a huff of surprise as she’s taken down, marble kissing smooth to her spine. A pale hand cradles her head, cushioning her fall. In a blink, he’s hovering over her bare body and dipping down to catch her in a fever of a kiss. It’s a needy, sweltering latch of lips, tangy with her own sweetness as much as his.

“Here?” She purrs to the seal of his mouth.

She lets him feel the way the word alone makes her body tense. Waiting. Wanting. Their bond curls with it, crooked and beckoning in his head. The way his fingers bent a few moments before, buried in the heat of her.

A long breath passes out through his nose, his eyes sliding half shut. A smirk tugs at the corner of her mouth. But his cheek turns by just the barest hair, and Naomi’s attention follows after his.

Music flutters, breathy, off the black and white keys. The piano stays a pretty picture of perfection, among the deaths little and large they’ve littered throughout the ballroom.

His teeth trace the angled edge of her ear. Naomi keens with the sting of it as she’s swept from the floor.

“There.”

She’s caught in his kiss again as he carries her. One swipe of his tongue to where he bit her lip before has her quivering. Has her a world away from the one still around them. Vaguely, she’s aware he’s somehow rid her of her gloves and shoes. She hears a dull, wooden clatter, and then a resounding thud. The piano plays on, but it's muted.

Astarion doesn’t bend her over the way she mused. Instead, he seats her on the polished wood of the piano’s closed lid. His hands leave her back to push her knees apart, scoop beneath them, and pull her spread legs to the strain trapped in his trousers.

Naomi grins, her fangs snagging his lower lip as he tries to part from her. Astarion’s answering groan is rough like a scrape of sandpaper. It leaves her mouth raw, tingling, alive with a pulse that plays to the tune of his pleasure. She wants more of that noise. More of the happy purr it pours into her head from his. One drink of that sloppy, slap happy look on his face sates her more than blood ever could.

You’ve given me everything, he told her, once. But now, all she can think is more. Take more. Take everything.

Astarion grinds his hard length against her in answer. The sweet friction makes sweeter music in their mouths as Naomi moans with the motion, too. Still, there’s far too much fabric for her liking.

Astarion’s fingers make fast work of it. He unlaces his pants only enough to free his cock, parts from her only enough to push her back and clamber up after her. Then, he’s on her again like a second skin. Her cunt throbs with the press of his cock, the tip of it wet and seeping against her thigh. She tries to fit a hand between them, to wrap her palm around his girth and feel with her hands, not just her head, how badly he has to have her. Astarion doesn’t leave her space for it.

It’s not his hands that put her flat on her back, against the body of the piano. It’s the sudden swell of his adoration ballooning from his brain to hers. The weight of his affection pins her there beneath him, utterly paralyzed, as the music flows on under both of them. He’s brimming with it, and it washes over her in a wave, a cup overflowing.

His curls hang down in his eyes, wild with the look of a man starved. “You’re going to scream for me, little love,” he says with the slightest slur. The thought smears from him to her, burning in the back of her mind like a pull of liquor. He brushes her snarled hair back until it tumbles over the piano’s edge, white over white. “I’m going to make you. And I want to see that beautiful face when I do.”

“Please,” she starts to say.

But barely any of it makes it past her lips. Astarion never leaves her wanting for more than a moment.

“O-Oh,” she stammers instead, as her soaked cunt splays to his cock sliding home. Astarion pushes out a moan as he pushes into her. He hooks her legs with his arms, folding them up and back.

“That’s my girl,” he pants, forehead heavy against her own. His thumb circles her cheek, a feather-light counterweight to the thickness he seats inside her. He watches her intently, fixated. Hypnotized. “My good, good girl.”

Kisses and praise tumble from between his teeth, down her cheek, to her throat. Naomi’s head rolls back while she relishes the wet, smacking mantra that’s the mess of them. He’s not tender with his tempo. He doesn’t have to be. You could ruin me. I’d let you ruin me, she thinks again.

And how beautiful he is, in ruins with her. No more composure. No more restraint. Sweat streaks his brow as it bends beneath his focus. All there is is the blend of them, the slow rock of the piano underneath them, and the scattered, stranded pieces of a melody left in their wake.

It could break. The thought cracks through her, through them, with the wooden whine of the piano legs taking the shift of their weight. Astarion crushes her worry beneath the thrust of his hips, any notion of it lost to the head of his cock pressing just where it needs to make her see stars.

Naomi bites down on her own lip, grounding herself in fleeting pain and the tang of blood. He’s not even touching her clit; he doesn’t have to. He floods her with how it felt when he did, when his tongue rolled against the swell of it, just the tip of it teasing that sensitive little bud. How she felt to him, so silky and slick in his mouth. How amazing it feels to finally fuck her, to take what’s his and have her take him so, so tightly.

He could ruin her. Snap her like the creaking legs of this instrument, not long for this world. It would be almost as effortless as the way she spreads for him. But instead, Astarion fills her. Every shift prods the crown of his cock against the sweetest spot inside her cunt.

Naomi’s fingers claw into Astarion’s back as he bucks wildly. Tears sear in her eyes. The tell-tale pressure in her pelvis builds near-blinding.

“Scream for me, darling,” he growls against her neck, out loud this time.

Her cunt throbs with his command. But she doesn’t heed it. Astarion lets out a low, steaming hiss.

“I said scream, dear,” Astarion says, his velvet voice edged in warning. The sparks of his indignation spit flinty in her head alongside a flicker of excitement at her defiance.

He wants to feel the rush of her own power with the spasm of her cunt as she comes undone. He wants her magic to spill into him as he spills his seed inside of her. Wants to taste it with the rest of her. If Naomi was nothing to him, she’d still be the siren; it’s not a power Astarion gifted to her. It was hers without him. It is her. And she’s his.

“I might break the glass,” she whispers, wary of anything louder.

“Oh, my love,” Astarion says tenderly, a husk in his throat as his hand wraps loose around her neck. “You can break everything.”

Astarion kills her hesitation. She’s never felt more whole. She feels holy, feeling her own perfect squeeze around his cock, feeling herself fucked in his body and her own. Feeling what she does to the man who already has everything, but will never have enough of her.

When Naomi screams Astarion's name, it’s everything else in the room that shatters.

Glass crashes from the windows. They burst one after another in quick-fire succession. Astarion buckles against her body with the sudden, decisive snap beneath them. His hips jerk, rutting erratically. Warmth spurts into her with every shudder down his spine, every pulse of his cock.

He cuts her cry with his teeth buried in the crook of her neck. Naomi clings to him as her cunt convulses. It’s the bite that takes her apart, knowing he tastes his own name in her throat and thinks--

Mine, mine, mine.

Naomi’s head drops limp. Astarion’s grip on her neck gives way to soft circles stroked against her cheek again. Mine, she thinks, as his ruby eyes watch her keenly, awash in the soft glow only she knows.

Even after Astarion stills, the room spins dizzy from her upside-down view. She blinks it all back into place, but some pieces won’t fit together again so easily. They’re far closer to the floor than when he slipped inside of her. The piano legs splay at odd, splintered angles. The floor glitters with glass like crystalline teeth, ready to bite the heels of any who dare tread their hall.

Astarion slides out, and she shivers with the fade of his warmth. He sits up, his gaze sweeping the shattered windows, his smirk smug and wet with her. “Perhaps all of the Gate heard you. The gardener did for certain.”

Naomi sits up, too, leaning forward and letting his shoulder take her weight. Her forehead comes to rest against his collarbone. She finds an easy smile while relishing the way his heart still hammers his chest. She did that, in multiple senses. Absently, he tucks the hair sticking to her cheeks back behind her ears.

“I guess I’ll have to kill her,” he adds, chipper. “I suppose, for now, we can spare all the others.”

“She’s already dead enough, dear,” Naomi sighs.

A tiny, discordant note of sadness plucks in her chest, among the pleasant haze settling over her. Astarion stiffens against it, as if she reached out and pinched him. She doubts he’d be so eager to slay one of his spawn for the same crime of hearing her come for him.

The gardener is hers, of a sort. Not a vampire -- Naomi can’t make those. Before Naomi sang her awake again, the gardener was just a sad stack of bones collecting dust in a closet. Now, she rattles along to Naomi’s tune, keeping the flowers trimmed to her liking.

“I suppose you’re right,” Astarion murmurs. His expression softens with fondness, the sort that’s rare to surface unless they’re alone, but never fails to make her chest light and fluttery. “Are you tired now, pet?”

“We stayed up all night,” Naomi laughs faintly.

“Hm,” he nods with a pitying frown. “Let me see to you, my treasure. Don’t you move.” His lips curve, coy, as his eyes flicker back to the wrecked windows. “I wouldn’t want you to strain yourself.”

He saunters back to where his coat lays, now tattered. He returns to settle it around her shoulders, pressing a quick kiss to her forehead.

“You’re such a staunch defender of my honor,” Naomi says dryly, even as the leftovers of their lovemaking start to seep down her thigh.

“Ha,” Astarion shakes with a rolling laugh. “I rather think I’m the thief of it. You were quite the heist. It wouldn’t do to have some debaucherous upstart happen by and think they can make off with what’s mine.”

“I wouldn’t let them live through it.”

“Aw,” he clicks his tongue, “you’re such a romantic.”

Astarion leaves her with her legs strewn over the broken piano, relacing his trousers as he goes. Glass crunches beneath his heels. He stops to ring the bell near the door. A few seconds later, it creaks open a hair. She catches his curt commands to the servant she can’t see on the other side.

“...yes, here, in the ballroom. My consort and I wish to take in the view, and see none of you.”

His lesser spawn are quick to make good on their orders. The door swings open once more a short time later, and in floats a claw-foot tub without another soul to be seen. Magic clings, cloudy, beneath the porcelain belly of it. A pleasant, floral scent curls with the steam from the water within. The tub drifts to the heart of the ballroom and settles with a soft thud before the yawning window panes.

Astarion returns to her as her toes touch the ground again. He frowns tightly, eyes narrowing.

“There’s debris scattered everywhere, my sweet,” he says, saccharine even in reproach. “I wouldn’t want to see you hurt.”

Naomi sniffs a laugh, picking her path carefully. “If I can’t handle a little sharpness here and there, it’s a wonder how I’ve managed to handle you.”

“Oh, it’s simple,” Astarion says, catching her wrist with an effortless flourish. “We were made for each other. By each other, really.”

And Astarion’s made up his stubborn mind that she’s not to take another step, it seems. With a soft huff, he sweeps her off her feet all over again, strides to the tub with her legs dangling over his arm, and delicately deposits her there.

Water laps at the tub’s edges, splashing as she situates herself. She shrugs from Astarion’s coat, shucking it away to join all the other debris they don’t have use for. Heat tingles across her skin, like little, loving nips of Astarion’s teeth. Naomi eases back into the burn of it as the sting settles sweetly.

Astarion rids himself of his shoes and trousers. He dips a foot into the tub, bidding her to make way for him with a gentle nudge. The water ripples as he settles in behind her. With a satisfied sigh, she sinks back against his chest and deeper into the furling warmth.

The ballroom overlooks the well-kept gardens behind the estate. The hedges are high enough, only a spyglass might have hope of spotting them both bare. Under Cazador’s reign, the garden was little more than a sprawl of weeds and webbed ivy. Now, fountains babble between the blooms of pink and blue and violet. If she strains, she can catch the weave of music in the trickling flow, like tinkling wind chimes.

A soft breeze tickles her ears, sending gritty glass and ash scattering over their floor. Astarion clenches a soft sponge in his grip, wrings it out, and starts to scrub her skin in slow, deliberate strokes. Naomi’s head tilts back beneath his tender care, every rub taking the tension from shoulders.

She turns after a time, and he starts to wash blood from her front, while she wets her hands and works the redness from the white of his hair. Her fingers linger along the slants of his ears, rubbing delicately, until she catches that satisfied hum in his throat that leaves her lifted, floating on the buoy of his happiness.

The water never cools or clouds; magic still swirls in the steam, even long after they’re free of blood and grime. Astarion rakes hand through her hair, his fingernails digging pleasantly against her scalp.

“You are divine as ever,” he rumbles. “Rest now, pet.”

And she does, slipping soundly into a trance, soaked in sunlight and lavender oil with her lover wrapped around her. Only Astarion sends her to the sort of rest that reaches her soul. His presence is sanctuary.

It’s his disquiet that wakes her suddenly. He still strokes her hair just as gently, but he levels a hard-cut stare out over the garden, his lips set with the same stoniness.

“No one will ever take you from me,” he murmurs, as if to himself.

“As if they ever could,” Naomi whispers back, reaching up to graze the edge of his jaw.

Heavens help the fool who tries. Any who dare to hatch such plots, to harbor such ill will in their Crimson Palace, will find themselves laid to rest with all the others. Their enemies’ gravestones are just bricks in their empire, every one of them laid with blood in the mortar.

Astarion dips his head down, the hint of a smile curling at the corner of his mouth. “I suppose it might be fun to see them try. In the meantime, my love, I’m of a mind to keep you spread for me for the next tenday.”

Naomi laughs. The sound echoes around the otherwise vacant room.

Astarion’s grin only grows, the tips of his fangs sharpening his smile. “Did I say something funny, dear?”

His lips crush down against hers in a kiss consuming.

[squiddy-god]

jjk men as dads

Re uploaded from terminated blog squid-god-supreme, this is something that I wrote a while ago that I'm re uploading, so I can't promise how good the characterization, and this is gonna be its probably very Ooc, but I don't give a fuck.

CW : implied fem reader, implied previous pregnancy, tooth rotting fluff, probably ooc, happy magical no gege Au lmao. Gojo, geto, nanami, choso

Gojo: 

Chaotic dad 101

Gojo is the embodiment of dad joke energy, he physically cannot stop himself from making those jokes 

Gojo is a fun dad! He likes to teach his kid things 

I can 100% see him teaching his kid to ride a bike 

So imagine this lanky beanpole running after/jogging behind your child as they wobbly ride a bike for the first time

🥺 adorable

Will do your kids hair and will be shockingly good at it

Don't be surprised if you come home and gojo is having a bubble bath and making a mess with your kid

Probably- no I know for a fact this man would have those fun bath paints you put on tile walls 

I don't take criticism

Your child will always have cute outfits that are a matching set (tell me I'm wrong) 

Gojo puts in considerable effort in making your baby/child the cutest

LOVES LOVES LOVES to play peek-a-boo and here those cute tiny baby giggles

Nanami:

HEAD EMPTY JUST NANAMI WAKING UP TO GENTLY ROCK THE BABY BACK TO SLEEP IN HIS ARMS 

Please I cannot function with this thought-

Hhhhhhnnngggggg just imagine walking into the room and there's nanami, baby in his arms, gently swaying with them akanskwsb

He's very extra gentle with the baby 

I have a very specific image of nanami sitting in a chair, baby in his lap while he reads the morning paper 

Gets mushy when he sees you hold the baby and thinks it's just a perfect sight

a protective dad but not overbearing

Let gojo (reluctantly) baby sit one time and it was the last- 😀 the mess smh

I want to see nanami with a little todler teaching them how to dance

Like imagine them standing on his feet while he dances with them i-

I am ascending

Geto: 

When I say if gladly have this man's kids- alwbeiebwiwbeiwbe 🤡

Carries your kid around a lot, like it's a common sight to see him walking around with his kid in his arms

Lots of piggybacks

Cooks cute breakfasts and the child has a matching apron 

Would sing to them but like in a baby voice  and it's really cute 

Dose the thing where you toss your kid a little and catch them 

So happy when they take their first steps (100% got it on video) 

Would always let them win at hide and seek and loves to see them get excited that they found him 

Isn't above pranking you with silly things

Has a picture of them and you on him at all times 

"That's my kid 😊" proud dad™ energy

Choso:

Vvvv protective and loving 

They're just so small and fragile 🥺

Will read them story's even before they can understand because he loves any and all time spent with them 

Really likes to read them picture books while they sit on his lap 

When they are a baby he will hold his hand against theirs and melt because they tiny 

Wholesome boy

Low key (read high key) a big softie 

You, him, and your child in one big ✨snuggle ✨ is his ideal time

Intimidating dad- has a tendency to loom if he senses a threat 

Very sweet and knows the names of all your kids stuffed animals

Choso is a good dad and loves his small family so very much

[moonselune]

hiii it's revivify anon again (can I be 🐶anon?)

ahhhh your takes for the male companions reactions are so real!!

as a galemancer myself, I absolutely see him going the god route to bring them back. he's probably spin it as something like, "it was my ambition to bring you back. Therefore, i am allowed" (honestly, I could see him becoming so much darker if he brings back his fallen love. He'd probably keep them in a gilded cage of sorts. Always saying that he has their best interests at heart, that he's better and more reliable than all other gods. That no one, god or mortal, could love you better than him, so you should worship him just as much as he worships you... man... the potential.)

Thinking about astarion losing his love just hurts because like... they came and healed his heart only to shatter it all over again? If it was BEFORE the cazador fight, I think he'd definitely ascend himself. Why worry about losing your soul when you've already lost your heart? If it was after the cazador fight, I think he'd just kick himself for letting you convince him not to do it, and eventually circle back to the idea that he should've ascended. Maybe then, he could've saved you....

Oh, Wyll.... I get what you mean about not wanting to immediately go down that route of trading his soul to another Patron. I think if Mizora caught wind, she'd absolutely taunt him with it. Always hanging around like a bad smell, dangling the chance to bring his love back as long as he signs away his soul in a Pact eternal with her. I think as long as he had his friends around, he would be able to stand firm and remember that his lover would've shattered at the idea of him sacrificing himself. I'm not sure if I'm misreading his character or not, but I'm pretty sure he wouldn't take another lover. He'd probably 1) blame himself for the loss of their life, and 2) think he isn't worthy of love again, and 3) probably love them until he dies tbh. He wouldn't want another lover, because they wouldn't be his lost love :'(

DARK HALSIN!!! Girl... your mind.... you are so onto something. I could totally see him going shadow druid tbh. He'd probably stop and be like, "you know what? Maybe they were right. Maybe I should've embraced the shadows. Maybe I still should..." or like, if people venture far enough into the woods, they might come across a corpse perfectly preserved as if theyre just sleeping, reeking of druidic magic. There's tons of plants surrounding the body. Some consider it a holy site, some consider it cursed. But all agree not to linger too long, lest the beast that guards it finds you...

CW: Dark Content

Of course 🐶 nonnie !

Oh my god yes yes yes yes, I have done a galemancy run and it was one of my favourites. The way this man would be like "I am doing nothing wrong" and there's just a pile of bodies behind him because he keeps messing up this necromancy spell that requires a sacrifice. Oh my lord and when it finally works and you are alive, back and well. He is overjoyed and is like my love! You have returned! Don't look at all the blood and bodies, just come this way my love! No the outside world will harm you, my love, just follow me! Look at this room it has all your favourites! Those windows have never opened my love, here's your favourite tea!

And he is NEVER going to let it go that he brought you back- ever. You are his masterpiece, the fruits of all his labor, the perfect embodiment of his ambition. He is your creator, you, the perfect creation. You belong to him. You will watch him ascend and you will take your place below beside him.

Resisting is pointless, you wouldn't want to go back to that cruel afterlife. Maybe if you are being particularly ungrateful, you would like a taste of what he rescued you from? Sending you into a spiral of nightmares until all you can do is cling to him in fear. He strokes your hair as you cry and murmurs how all he did was save you from this and you want to defy him? Hurt him by saying all those cruel words?

Well shit this is gonna end up as a fic isn't it?

YES, pre cazador, definitely would ascend and I can go see him going after people who look like you but as soon as they do/say something that is out of character for you, he just murders them. Justifying it by saying if you don't get to live, then neither do the poor imitations of you.

If he didn't ascend I reckon he would make a deal for him to get some sort of power, as you said, his heart died with you, what does he need a soul for? And then that takes us back to his ascended behaviour.

Oh baby boy Wyll, I agree, I do not think he would take another lover, but he would move on, I can see him becoming Grand Duke and shaping Baldur's Gate into a City that you would have survived in. He would name so many things after you, you liked books? He would build a library in your name? You always said you wanted kids or a big family, he builds an orphanage for you, telling the children stories of you. I think eventually as Wyll gets older and Mizora still tries to tempt him, he eventually enjoys her presence - as every time she tries to lure him into darkness, he can hear his beloved guiding him back to the light, and that he would never give up. Mizora is like wtaf, fine, you will never see me again, and then she's bored and shows up.

Dark Halsin !!! We love you !! He would have such a guilt complex about the shadow druids, how they were right etc. AND YES OMG you read my mind, parents warn their kids not to play too deep into the forest and for those wayward ones they come back, trembling with fear as they say how the beast roared and swiped its sharp paw at them. (Halsin would scare them away, I can never imagine him being violent with kids). But for those trying to prove their strength and valour by rescuing the beautiful maiden - they are never seen again.

Oooooo I cannot wait to sink my teeth into this!

[lexsssu]

Divine (Arjuna Alter | Berserker)

TAGS: Arjuna Alter/Dragoness!reader, pining, heats/ruts, pheromones, knotting, smut, oneshot Ao3 ver. | Ko-fi | Commissions (OPEN)

From the moment he is summoned in Chaldea to assist humanity’s last master, Arjuna ( Alter ), the culmination of the Indian pantheon and former opponent of said master knew what his purpose was.

He is a weapon against evil, nothing more and nothing less.

But…

“I know it’s not the same as back in your country, but I like to think my Japanese-style curry tastes pretty good. I made sure to make it extra spicy for you too!”

The god blinked at the tall pile of steaming curry rice placed in front of him, smelling the various aromatic spices and feeling the heat it gave off thanks to sheer amount of spice. Though he had no need to eat thanks to his divinity and also because he was a servant, the tantalizing aroma of the meal didn’t fail to tease his senses especially as you gazed up at him expectantly with those molten gold orbs of yours that shone and glittered like the finest of jewels. It also didn’t help that you unknowingly bat your lashes up at him as you pleaded with him through your gaze alone, the dark lush crescents emphasizing how even just a pair of eyes could hold unimaginable beauty.

You are breathtaking.

And that honestly scared him.

He, who had shed his mortal shell to embody almost every god in his respective pantheon, who had dedicated his existence to purging the world of evil, and now who’d found himself a servant to a master much more powerful than he or any servant was.

Though servants being attracted to their masters and relationships before formed between the two wasn’t anything new, Arjuna ( Alter ) of all servants felt that he himself would never be so imbecilic as to fall for his master…

And yet here he is.

Leaning forward as you’d taken it upon yourself to scoop up a spoonful of curry rice and feed it to him since he’d frozen up like a deer in headlights the moment you’d placed the treat in front of him.

“So...how does it taste? Is it spicy enough for you? Or maybe it needs more flavor? Or…?”

Normally you always wore a look of complete serenity, as if everything that has happened, is happening, and will happen was simply all part of your grand plan that no one is privy to aside from yourself...At least that’s how it looked to Arjuna and everyone else within Chaldea considering the inconceivable feats you so easily make into reality.

But now you’re gazing up at him, seemingly as harmless as a little lamb despite your ability to destroy entire worlds according to one of the other servants, Tathamet, who’d apparently been a blessed witness to all your feats before arriving in Chaldea. The primordial revered you as much as he feared you despite apparently being ‘ The Prime Evil, ’ further proof of your power.   

Despite his understanding of mortal behavior having been eradicated when he decided to ascend, there is no denying the heat that seems to engulf his whole body as you sit so close to him, serving him as if he weren’t the servant within this relationship.

“...Good. It’s...perfect…” Though an invisible lump seems to have formed in his throat, the former Lost-Belt King manages to utter the words you’ve been waiting for so patiently.

He swallows when his eyes take notice of how visibly you perk up, the ear to ear grin and the slight wagging of the glittering silver tail behind you making his own deep blue tail move ever so slowly in response to your reactions.

“Great! I was afraid that you wouldn’t like it since it’s not really the same as what you’re used to but I tried my best…” 

The bashful grin you grace him with only worsens the Berserker’s condition, his dark chocolate complexion seemingly gaining a reddish hue as he did his best to understand these confusing feelings you elicited from him.

Was this another facet of your limitless power? Or perhaps...was his body simply too weak to handle your sheer might even by just being in close proximity to you?

With the both of you off in your own world, most of the servants seem to have their gazes glued to the pair you made. Not that it was surprising, considering you were their venerated master and pretty much every servant and everyone else within Chaldea was sure you were some sort of eldritch being that came into existence and power long before any of the known gods and primordial entities did.

At this moment however, Arjuna’s thoughts have moved on from your undeniable strength and towards uncharted territory.

Namely...the reactions his physical body seems to be making in response to you.

Perhaps he should consult with someone more...adept with human emotions? Maybe it was about time he paid a visit to his brother, Karna...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“ KNOT ME! KNOT ME! KNOT ME! KNOT ME! KNOT ME! KNOT ME! KNOT ME! KNOT ME! KNOT ME! KNOT ME! KNOT ME! KNOT ME! KNOT ME! KNOT ME! KNOT ME! ”

 This...was the last scenario he’d expected after consulting with Karna about the emotions you made him feel.

“ PLEASE! PLEASE! PLEASE! PLEASE! PLEASE! PLEASE! ” 

He simply knocked at your door some days later after he’d digested his brother’s words, understanding for himself what his feelings meant before he made a move. So caught up in his own affairs, he didn’t notice how your natural scent seemed to become...spicier and almost cloyingly sweet until he’d fully entered your room only to be hit with your raw pheromones.

It all becomes a blur at that point, because the next thing Arjuna knows is that he’s pinning you down upon your bed in a full mating press, the entire length of his cock forcing your lower lips open as he sought to pour every drop of his potent seed into your fertile womb.

Though in human form, you were both very much in tune with your baser instincts and like any animal, there were certain times where your bodies went against your minds. 

The combined scent of your sweat and other bodily fluids made the former god purr from his chest, especially as your body secreted pheromones that told him how happy you were for him to be the one mating you. How you looked forward to the brood you’ll bear for him once his seed takes root within your belly.

“Good mate…” He rasps, ragged breaths hitting the shell of your ear when he shoved every last inch of his cock inside, the heavy knot at the base slipping easily inside your velvety depths as he began painting your hungry cunt with rivulets of white.

[bludazey]

Goodnight Socialite

(Ascendant Astarion x Tav) AU

Summary:

His head tilts down, his lips barely brushing the shell of her ear. “You know, if half the men in our court knew even a fraction of what you do, they would run the other way.”

“They would run hoping you wouldn’t catch them. We are not the same, my lord.”

Chapter 1: Chase Me

She holds on to her father’s arm as she is escorted briskly down the main hall of Ancunin manor, glittering blue skirts brushing the exquisite crimson carpets.

“Year after year, and he still hasn’t gotten rid of these tasteless canvases,” her father mutters beneath his breath. “Lord Cazador was a grim man, and it seems so is his usurper.” 

The paintings that fly past them are vague renditions of desolate homes, with skeleton trees, and dim skies. They embody the kind of art that drags you to consequential depths if you stare for long enough.

“Lord Ancunin has always had a taste for the macabre,” she murmurs.

“You speak like you know the man.” 

“I only know what I hear, father.”

“And what do you hear, Anastasia?” He turns his face sharply to her as she is dragged down the hall, closer, and closer to the ballroom. “Is he as kind, and understanding as he makes himself out to be in court? Is there nothing wicked beneath those eyes that gleam so uncannily crimson?”

Even the thought of those red eyes inching down her skin sends a shiver up her spine. “I hear nothing damning from the ladies.”

“The ladies.” A harsh, singular laugh. “Since when do you keep up with Baldur’s Gate gossip?”

“I must, father,” she insists, partially running to catch up with his long strides. “You drag me from city to city, and I mustn’t be left without conversation to hold.” 

At last, they arrive before two guards flanking the large entry doors. Armed with golden greatswords, they bow their heads in unison.

Her father smiles at both of them, and apologetically, says, “We are late, I am afraid.”

In practiced synchrony, the guards simply reach to the ornate door handles and pull. Already, Anastasia can hear the sweeping of music, unmuted, flowing openly down the hall.

Her father tugs her forward, nodding to the guards as they enter that famed ballroom.

As always, there is too much happening at once. Tucked away in the far corner, the orchestra plays a gentle tune, coaxing the many guests to sway to an uppity rhythm. There are servants snaking around large skirts, and drunken gentlemen engaged in endless loud conversation. There are silver platters being waved around constantly, the servants doling out wine, and hors d’oeuvres to whoever will look them in the eye.

Her father immediately recognizes a few men ahead, and words are exchanged—quick assurances of wellbeing, and promises to chat. But Anastasia insistently pulls him away, for everyone must pay their respects to the host before indulging in the festivities.

It is custom, after all.

And so, Anastasia leads her father through the crowd of people, and finally, they reach the dais towards the back of the ballroom. Atop it is a singular, cushioned throne upon which the man of the manor gazes down to the rest of the party. 

Astarion Ancunin looks regal, donned in a fitted dark jacket with glimpses of silver thread. His silver hair is tousled back, and as he lifts a welcome hand towards them, that is when Anastasia catches the glittering of a dozen rings on those dexterous fingers. She approaches, tightly clasping her father’s forearm. 

The moment she feels her father dip for a bow, she lowers into a slow curtsy. She is perfectly practiced, and poised, and knows with utter delight that her cleavage spills daringly over her corset.

And if he’s looking at her, she wouldn’t know. Her eyes are lowered, and trained appropriately a few paces ahead. 

“Please, rise,” comes that voice—so familiar and intimate. “Welcome back, Lord and little Lady Curtis.”

“A pleasure, as always, my lord,” Anastasia breathes, and straightens, letting her lashes flutter up, only to find that their host is more interested in her father.

Lord Ancunin continues, “I have heard your travels have been arduous as of late. The road from Waterdeep to the Gate has been swarming with raiders.”

“Arduous, indeed,” her father says, clasping his hands behind him. “There must be an agreement between the two cities to cleanse the raiders, if only to ease the trading routes.” 

Lord Ancunin shifts, considering. “You are staying for the Council meeting in two days. It is something to discuss further.” His attention briefly shifts to Anastasia. “But this is not an appropriate discussion for tonight. I hope you enjoy the Gala, and leave the business for the court.”

Her father smiles tightly beside her. “Galas are nothing but court business, Astarion. Come, Ana.” 

Anastasia is pulled to the side, but she catches that distinct flicker within Lord Ancunin’s eyes as they sweep down her neck, her chest, and then lower, to the curve of her waist. And then, as quickly as they fell, they snap back up to her face. 

Momentarily, those crimson eyes gleam with mischief. It warms her more than she would ever admit. 

“Don’t let me bore you with work. Go. Enjoy the gathering.” Her father gestures an uncaring hand towards the long table pushed to the side with refreshments. “We won’t be here for too long.”

She pauses. “Not too long, father?”

“We have made our appearance, and that is all that matters.” He glances briefly back at Lord Ancunin, who is engaged with another greeting. “I do not wish to be associated too long with a man who is known to keep secrets from the court.” 

Ana masks her surprise well. “Secrets?” 

A yank on her arm, and she’s pulled closer to him. His breath is sharp against her ear as he hisses, “There is something undoubtedly dark about Lord Ancunin, and I do not wish to parade you around him any longer.” 

It is then that Lord Ancunin’s gaze unassumingly flits over to her from the dais. Anastasia feels the way his attention burns on her when she looks away. “What have you heard, father?”

“Suspicions.” He grabs a drink from a tray as a servant scurries by. “Speculations.”

“Enough to warrant a trial, or an accusation?”

Her father’s eyes narrow on her, and she can sense the belittlement from his expression alone. “You always want to know too much about matters that do not concern you.” He places a hand on her shoulder and turns her to face the many dancing couples at the center of the ballroom. “But what does concern you is Lord Atticus, and Lord Beckett. Both quite interested in a courtship that I daresay would finally settle you down.”

Her eyes roll in spite, but he does not see it. He has already turned to another gentleman, shaking his hand in greeting. 

Smoothing a hand over her skirts, she makes her way to the other end of the ballroom, where she had indeed caught sight of Lord Atticus—a longtime friend of her father’s. But before she can take another step towards him, she feels a presence behind her. 

It is instinctual, at this point, to lean into that feeling that warns her of imminent danger. It is a feeling she has learned to chase.

To admire.

To desire.

“Your father tires of my Galas.” 

She smiles softly before turning around towards the voice that chills her very bones. With the practice of many years, she instinctively clasps her hands before her waist, and bows her head. “My lord.” 

Lord Ancunin watches her for a quick moment before taking a step closer. “You ladies of the court are bred to be so… submissive, aren’t you?”

Her answer is quick. “I am bred to be married off to the highest bidder.” She doesn’t lift her gaze. “And most that bid are men of the dominant nature.”

“Opposites attract.” 

That is when she looks up. “Precisely.” 

He extends an arm, and upturns his hand in offering. “Anastasia Curtis. Shall I anger your father, and ask you for a dance?”

She does not give her hand. “I did not know you danced, my lord.”

He steps closer, and it is perhaps the closest he has ever gotten to her in public. “I host these damned things every year, my dear. I might as well participate.” 

Ana still does not give her hand. 

And the lord merely smiles. “You would refuse your host, Lady Curtis?”

She does not dare glance behind him, where she knows her two future suitors could very well be watching. “You will scare away my prospects.”

He still refuses to withdraw his offering, hand upturned before her. “Since when have you cared about that?”

Aware of every single movement, she at last places a gloved hand inside of his, and lets him twirl her into an embrace. Slowly, he begins to move in a gentle rhythm, gliding past couple after couple. 

Close enough to his ear, she whispers quickly, “This is not part of our game.”

“No?”

She does not look at him, and instead fixes her flustered gaze over his shoulder. “You must not interfere with my life outside of this place.”

“What is your concern?” He regards her with his head bent low. “Chatter? Gossip?”

“Yes,” she says indignantly. “Every glance, every dance—it is all observed, and relayed to the correct circles at the earliest convenience.”

“How terribly tedious, to be a lady of the court.” 

She makes a sound in assent, relaxing just a touch in his embrace. “And you aren’t helping, my lord.”

He hums, and twirls her once, only to draw her closer. “I simply do not wish to see you play with others when you have come here to play with me.” 

Her mouth dries at the intensity of his intonation, and surely, he can feel her heart fluttering like a trapped bird. “I don’t have a choice in the matter.”

“Well, you choose to be here, don’t you?” His eyes dart from her face, to the entry. “And in less than an hour, you will choose to leave through those doors in favor of my halls. And you will choose to be prey on his wondrous night.”

She swallows, following his gaze. “I do not think one chooses to be prey.”

Something unrecognizable flashes in those striking eyes. “You are afraid.” 

“With you, I am always afraid.” Her smile is gentle on her lips. “But it is also why I choose to be here.”

His head tilts down, his lips barely brushing the shell of her ear. “You know, half the men in our court would run the other way if they knew even a fraction of what you do.”

“They would run hoping you wouldn’t catch them. We are not the same, my lord.”

He examines her face, and those wicked eyes do not leave hers when he asks, “Do you wish to please me, Anastasia?”

The smile on her face drops briefly at the sensuality of his tone. 

He stares at her lips. “Do you wish to play a game with me?”

She looks away, hoping desperately that no one is watching too closely. “Must you ask me every year?” 

“Yes.”

She lets her eyes roam the room. “You already know my answer.”

The gentle tune fades to a standstill as a round of applause takes over the room, indicating the very end of the dance. Lord Ancunin’s hand slips from her waist as he takes a small step back. He bends forward, and grabs her hand, placing a simple kiss upon its back.

And even through her glove, she can feel the brush of his mouth. “Leave this ballroom at once.”

When he straightens, her eyes flash to the doors, heart hammering in her chest. “My lord?”

“If your answer is yes, then I ask you to run, Anastasia.” With a pull, she is tugged close until his breath plumes over her cheek. “Run, and by the gods, do not let me catch you.”

Masterlist

AO3

[utilitycaster]

to elaborate on Indri and cross over a bit into Critical Role's current plot (spoilers for both WBN and CR):

Indri, Witch of the Wind and Stars, embodies a domain of the self, independence, and self-sufficiency. She lives at the north pole in a beautiful castle surrounded by an immensely hostile environment.

In the current arc, and specifically in the current episode, she has engineered a plot to dismiss the domain of the World's Heart, the seat on the Coven of Elders pertaining to community, humanity, and connection, held by Ame (Erika's PC). Such a dissolution of the domain would mean the death of Ame, its recently ascended witch.

Ame is able to save herself and her seat thanks to the help of her friends, particularly Suvi's (Aabria's PC) knowledge and intelligence gathering and Eursulon's (Lou's PC) fluency in the language of spirits. Through this group effort, as well as other adventures that put the coven's founder, Hakea, Witch of the Wandering Green, on their side, they learn that the coven cannot end their gathering with only four remaining witches lest the covenant that created it be dissolved.

It comes out in the final meeting that one of the other witches, Mirara, didn't know that destroying Ame would destroy the coven, and Hakea realizes that the plan was actually to also get rid of Mirara, leaving a coven of 3. Ame smooths this all over before it turns into actual violence by pointing out that perhaps Indri's intention was to inaugurate new witches (which they can do); but a crucial nat 20 insight reveals to her that Indri, in pursuing the power of unanimity within the coven (and perhaps leaning in too hard to her role) had intended to whittle the coven down to one: herself. She was possibly behind the more recent dissolving of two other seats. But Ame keeps that insight to herself, and Indri does recover as best she can and at least outwardly behave with all the generosity and kindness of a host and equal towards Ame from there on out, acknowledging the kindness Ame showed her and the debt she owes.

Brennan outright says it on the fireside: this confrontation ends because Ame has a bunch of friends and companions and is good with people and gains the support they provide. It also ends with the ancient, powerful, experienced witch of self-sufficiency needing to be rescued by the nascent, level 3 witch of community.

I think this is really helpful too in understanding why Ludinus Da'leth is such an unsympathetic figure. Matt said he found connection "beneath him". King Imathan Talviel of Uthodurn said he seemed stuck in the past and would not share his gifts nor engage in the community of Molaesmyr other than to heckle the priests. Ludinus himself doesn't say he was abused or pressured by those around him in his youth to follow the gods, only "told"; while this could be understatement, at least as told it seems as though he took other people's choice to find meaning in something he despised as a personal attack. The Cerberus Assembly is famously a nest of backstabbing strivers and its members don't care for him. The Vanguard is similar; Otohan thought little of him (and he of her), as does Zathuda, and while Liliana says he trusts her, she has her own doubts and Ludinus has said little of her other than to dangle her before Imogen. Essek, 7 years ago, told him to try making friends and he does not appear to have listened, and then, when he approaches Bells Hells (already a group hostile to him, due to him trying to feeblemind, attack, kill, and otherwise thwart them repeatedly) he acts as if he's doing them a favor and refuses to answer their questions, take responsibility for any of his actions, or give credit where due.

I suspect Indri will continue to be an antagonist and that some of her behavior is a front, but she is, at least, able to admit that she faltered and Ame did her an undeserved kindness, and in doing so she appears at least a little sympathetic. Ludinus's refusal to make any sort of connection to others seems to have left him utterly miserable within inches of a near-millennium-long goal. He's asking Bells Hells, people he's wronged in horrible and life-changing ways, to grant him a gift he seems to have scorned and rejected for his entire life; at least Indri recognized a freely offered one she did not particularly deserve for what it was. At some point, you do run out of chances.

[sagephilosophie]

ROYAL REQUEST

┆RINDOU H. &. HARUCHIYO S.

Chapter IV : Shibuya's Princess 「Masterlist」

꩜ Chapter Summary ▸ Will they live with peace, or in this empire will they set it in stone, the bells of war that shall soon adorn.

꩜ Chapter Tags ▸ DARK CONTENT AHEAD! Politics, Morally grey characters, Cheating, Angst, strong language, hinted sex, mentioned burning, EXPLICIT TORTURE, bloody imagery, injuries, VIOLENCE TOWARDS A PREGNANT WOMAN, difficult marriage, very slight suggestive paragraph (not that explicit)

꩜ Word Count ▸ 10507

The debate from the parliament can be heard across the furthest villages from the castle, Kantou's nobles were on the verge of losing their voices, their crown prince worried about his hearing going numb, "SILENCE!!!"

The room stilled, glancing closely at Sanzu finding the birds humming sounds becoming more audible, the old king struggled off his seat, looking down at the foggy faces of his poeple, "We hold this meeting... to discuss the matter- about the concubine... claiming to be... with our prince's..."

His son caught on to the stress weighing down on his breathing, his stillness pushed him to save their faces from the bitter noblemen, "What his majesty wants to say... We know all of you here today are concerned that the matter of the concubine may be a threat to the royal succession and the... ahem, peace treaty, with Shibuya kingdom. I assure you all, there is no need to worry, the issue is under control and everything is in order."

One of the invitees stood up, "Your royal highness, how are we supposed not to worry ?! Forgive me for interrupting so rudely, but how can you tell us to not fear when... a commoner might be our potential ruler!"

Another member answered on his behalf, "That's nothing but foolish! The law does not allow a bastard on the thrown."

"Excuse me, lord Tano, The rules clearly state an illegitimate child from a monarch may not ascend to the thrown, but one from a prince may. Everyone is aware of that."

"Then... if Prince Takeomi's bloodline is to be following the line of succession, what use do we have of that princess ?"

"Yeah!! Let us send her back to her kingdom, the Shibuyans have nothing on us!!!"

"What nonsense, Lord Shig!!! Are you even thinking right ??? We may have a war on our door steps!!!"

"I agree with duke Izanagi, the princess must stay, the only line worthy of wearing the crown is prince Haruchiyo's!!!"

"MAY GOD SAVE OUR PRINCE!!!!"

"GOD SAVE OUR PRINCE!!!", the chants echoed through the man's heavy head, his teeth gritting competed with the loudness of his supporters,

"SILENCE!!!!!!!!!!

HAVE YOU ALL FORGOTTEN YOUR PLACES ????!!!!! "

The wrinkled man raised a hand to his heir, whose face turned red, veines popping out of it, still zipping his rage inside of him at his father's commands, the latter sighing deeply, having heard about this topic more than his health could take, "That's enough for today, this meeting will be delayed until further notice. You can excuse yourselves now."

The king looked around him in the noise of the maddening class amongst his poeple, and noticed the first to leave as soon as he closed this brief and impractical discussion, happened to be his son, catching sight of him storming out with three of his knights.

The prince couldn't look past the flames in his eye, burning in them were the faces of those imbeciles daring to disrespect his wife whom he left a dear spot for in his heart, ready to fill if she ever started to share the same feelings for him, even if she couldn't feel the same.

He had took pride in being the embodiment of loyalty, no doubt the princess' affair torn his heart into uneven shredded pieces, yet he vowed to have and to hold her in sickness and in health, for better, or for worse, to love and cherish her till death do them part, and that is what he will do, if it was just the two of them, or if Rindou got in the way.

His fist met the stone wall at the duke's name crossing his mind, if his knuckles haven't bled out yet, his lips certainly were from how tightly he's been pressing them together.

"...please... please leave Rindou alone... do not hurt him... i beg of you..."

"FUUUUUCK!!!!!"

He wasn't sure how many more punches to the wall it took him to crack it, and the new wound of many he caused since he married her was not the worst outcome of his one sided love.

The knights surrounding him looked at one another, contemplating who would be the brave soul of them to interfere, their duty was to protect their prince, but were they allowed to protect him from himself ? The closest one to his right tried to find out, "Your Ro-", "Fuck off."

The chevaliers held their tounges and walked away as told, leaving the man to get digested by his resentment, but as the thoughts in his brain got too crowded that they began interrupting each other, a single optimistic message helped him cover them and cope with his sorrows, 'He may have had her heart, but he can only dream of what's holding it. That's right... i forbade him from touching her again!'

The wide smile on his face replaced the last strand of sanity that he had left, recalling his own conditions, who was he even kidding ? Of course they were for his own benefits! That Haitani rat's feelings are one of many belonging to admirers of his pretty princess; as long as he won't have all of her, they meant nothing! - Or so spoke Sanzu's insanity to him.

The smile turned into sinister laughter from the refreshing boost of ego he just gained, "WHY OF COURSE!!!! HE HAD ALREADY LOST AHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!! THEY WOULDN'T DARE-

...

they wouldn't... dare ?"

'Would they ?'

-

Rindou stretched to his bedside table and picked a pear from the fruit bowl, shoving it hungrily into his mouth that its juices dripped onto his bare chest, "ugh..."

"it's just juice, Rinny."

"That is easy for you to say... you didn't mind sticky liquid on your chest, love, did you ?"

The princess chuckled, letting her face sink deeper into the pillow she's resting on, holding the covers closer above her cold skin, "Oh Rinnny~ i love you dearly ♡"

"I love you most...", the male laid back down to leave a kiss on her nose and tuck her messy hair behind her ears, "...do you doubt that ?"

"Never!", denied (name), wasting no time, her lover scanned her expression throughly and argued back, "Then why were you thinking a lot ?"

Her hesitation spoke volumes before she could explain herself, "It's not that, Rin... i was, well, worried about my in-laws, things are getting chaotic in Kantou palace... and all i have done so far..."

"But we aren't doing anything wrong."

"I know but-"

"Is it wrong to love ?"

"No-"

"Then why are you feeling guilty ?"

"I just-", the younger Haitani left her side, grabbed a close-by towel and wrapped it around his waist, roaming around his chamber in frustration, "These fuckers- see, this is what i mean, princess! We can NOT love freely when you're living with them, thinking of them, even when you're with me!!! I... I love you... I do... but this is unbearable!!! how long are they gonna get in our way for ?! Stressing you out, always in your head, and you don't even belong to them!!!! you belong to me, supposed to think of just us..."

The dispirited lady got up to a seating position, shielding her chest with the covers, the glassy stare already forced past its limits many tear storms ago, betrayed by the assumption that Rindou's company will soothe away all the despair, "What can you suggest then, Rindou ?! Ha ?! Should i go tell them about us ???!!! Tell them to please stop existing because it's bothering my lover ???!!!!! Don't envolve me in your family issues because i'm cheating on your son ????!!!!! Do i look like a fucking mage to all of you ?????!!!!!!! I CAN'T SOLVE ALL OF YOUR PROBLEMS- I'M DONE !!!!!!!!!!! WHAT SHOULD I DO ??????!!!!!!!!! SHOULD I JUST BURN MYSELF AND END THIS ???????!!!!!!!!!!"

Rindou ran towards the bed, and held her fists close to each other, kissing them, "No- Do not even joke about that... i can not take it... what if- no. I do not want to imagine. Don't do anything to yourself, (name)... i promise to find us a solution."

The princess pressed their foreheads against each other, her eyes still glistening with tears, "...But how ?"

The man looked at the roof for a mere second, "I got it... Remember how you told me about the concubine pregnant with Takeomi's child ?"

"Yeah..."

"And the peace treaty claims your marriage to Sanzu is merely to conceive an heir for Kantou kingdom, am i right ?"

"Um... yeah ?"

"Well here is what we can do, if we can ensure Takeomi gets up safely from his coma, and agree to make his child a legitimate heir - by marrying that woman; the peace treaty won't be able to hold you down anymore, and you will have the right to divorce Sanzu."

"Divorce... Haru ?", Whatever she thought she wanted all her life, fell into questioning, the tornado in her head sucked in any answers about her existence.

Good lord did she love Rindou, but she wasn't slightly ignorant, rather well informed about her husband's feelings, and she did share a portion of them, as a friend, one that wouldn't want him to experience a broken heart - perhaps she was ignorant after all of that matter.

"Yes! Then no one will get on our way once i marry you!!! they will stay in the past, my love!!!", Rindou held them firmly in their position, purple eyes sparkiling with excitement until it dropped, "That's what we want!... right ?"

The air in the room became heavier, harder to breathe in, her forehead still glued to her other half's, waiting impatiently for an answer, how she loathed seeing his brows furrow that her head nodded on its own command, she couldn't see what is it she did wrong when her muscles relaxed and that geniune smile adorned his handsome features.

The lovestruck man hugged her tightly swinging them both back and forth, she looked at the ceiling with empty pupils, 'Divorce Haru ?'

-

The princess lifted the curtains mid way, enough to watch the crowded city from the carriage window, her free hand intertwining with the man she gave her heart, body, and soul to.

"We are almost there, princess, any questions before we stop ?", Rindou had prepared a plan before their departure, and oathed to execute it at his earliest convenience, she didn't happen to guess he meant in a couple of hours; according to his guides - they are to solve Kantou's heir attack mystery, convince him to make his own child legitimate through owing them, make a deal with the Tokyo empire court, and get the divorce done forcefully. Despite how harsh she felt his planning was, she couldn't figure another option that will free her.

The more she analyzes his idea, the more complicated the matter gets; While he kept her in the dark for a large fragment of the plan, the unspoken truths remained a mutual agreement between them they didn't have to waste time on, like the real culprits behind the attack, the public may think they were executed right in front of their eyes, and that's what Shibuya kingdom want them to think, grabbing innocent civilians with debts and creating a propaganda to advertise their instant act on justice and in the name of peace, while in Kantou they have been going on haunts for traitors who may know about the truth which everyone knew but played tone deaf to avoid conflict, needless to say, no child of royalty fell for that including both of them.

"Umm... yes, i am slightly puzzled, how would finding the culprits help Takeomi recover again ?"

"Ever heard of the saying, 'diagnosing the problem is the first step towards finding the cure' ?"

"I... doubt i came across it ?"

"You will just have to trust me, dear, this man is a great friend of mine, and he has eyes all over the empire, he can find the puppets and their puppeteer in a snap of fingers", reassured the duke, illustrating the snap on his own hand, she still had a lot to ask but chose to trust the process at the end, "And this... friend of yours, does he know of our...?"

"Oh yeah, he is trustworthy, i just slide him a little treat and he will mind his own business... quite the smart fellow!", the princess unspokingly judged his friend's morals, but no sooner had she spoke than the carriage stopping followed by the handsome putting the hood from the cloak over his head, "Looks like we reached our destination, follow me."

Before they could move on forward, the lady grabbed a dark veil from under her seat and wore it around her head to her face, leaving only the eyes peeking, guaranteed to keep her identity from unwanted gaze. She took Rindou's hand, extended for her to come out and followed him through the crowd, past the stares of doubtful merchants, into a cornered alley that has barely enough space to breath in, whatever air could flow in the area collided with the awful smell - seeping through the veil - of what she can only make out as trash and sewage, polar opposite of her luxury life in the palace she was born in, somewhere she never thought she had to be, the most modest place she can picture being in is a cottage in the mountains, and that's her limits.

Rin opened a matching colored door with the side wall it was in and pulled her inside, shutting it carefully behind him, she was so glad to be put of that place and breath fresh air in a... hidden grand office ?

The woman looked around at the sudden change of environment, notable characteristics explained to her the nature of the room; as everything that could be painted in gold was, from high shelves on both walls on the side, organized books stood by size, and what can only be crazy expensive furniture and statues around it, across the door was a giant wooken desk with piles and piles of document sheets and papers stocked in it and under it, and behind it is an entrance covered with a cloth.

"Who is it ?", A white-haired young man came out of it, dressed like an aristocrat and looking at them like criminals until the duke removed his cloak, "Oh it's just you, Haitani..."

"Koko! I haven't seen you in so long, best buddy!", The one beside her approached his friend with open arms and hugging him tightly, the latter rolled his eyes and patted him in the back, "Yeah, yeah..."

She smiled under the veil then loosened it enough to show her face to curtsy, Koko broke their prolonged hug forcefully and spoke to the lady, "You must be-" "My lovely princess. (Name). Isn't she breath-taking ?", Rindou leaned on his the annoyed aristocrat's shoulders, earning a glare from interrupting him, then facing his lady, "And this is the man, the legend, the sir Hajime Kokonoi himself, the greatest inside man in all of Tokyo empire!!! A former knight until he retired and decided to share his genius with the world, and me!!!! What brains! What chivalry! What style! What-"

"What a pain. Shut. Up."

It's clear to her that it's not the first time the younger Haitani tested his patience, as his beloved, she thought Rindou's excited side was adorable, the third party couldn't agree less, and would have wasted no time to kick him out if it wasn't a business deal so he sighed and rubbed his forehead, forced to endure the annoying guest.

"Anyways, my men sent me the report you asked for... it should be around here somewhere- just a moment...", Hajime went behind his desk searching through the messy table, the princess' neck swinged to the other, muttering 'already ?!' to him, he winked in response.

If she had to guess; he probably sent him a request as soon as it accured to him, then had a carrier pigeon or a trusted one send it to Koko as quickly as possible, and by the time they arrived to the central city, the job would have already been done, which is logical but still impressive from the inside man's part to do a thorough investigation in such a short time. It was just a theory, if that is what happened or not, it's up to Rindou if he will share, but he did that to show off, so, very, obvious - that she shook her head.

"Here it is, now... the report states there were four men witnessed at the time of the incident, two of them were armed, their weapons are a quarterstaff and a mace...", the woman flinched at imagining the scene while Koko continued reading, "...Under some pressure, they confessed to their identity, their motive, and who sent them. None of the subjects appear to be shibuyan, all four are confirmed to be from Roppongi..."

(Name) threw a hand over her mouth, shakingly searching for Rindou's face, finding his smile dropped - something like that slipping out of his sight ?! How ?! - in no world did he not take his duties seriously, had he been notified of dirty orders being passed on his ancestors' land at that second, their heads would have been used as scarecrows and the sacred soil watered with their blood, draining every last drop of use out of their rotten bodies, but the question remains, how did they get away with that on his territory ?

"I know this is confusing but i suggest being patient with me here... according to my reporters, the group is consistent of a thief, a former slave, a peasant, and a former guard fired from Roppongi palace. Their common motive to follow with the quest is poverty. None of the subjects would confess who sent them at first until one answered and the other three agreed, all four showed visible signs of fear so it's safe to confirm they are telling the truth, they got orders from... oh... oh dear..."

"Everything alright, Sir Hajime ?"

"Who is it ?"

Both guests looked at Kokonoi in anticipation, said man paused at the line and cleared his throat, worrying them even more, "I would take a seat if i were you-"

"Say it.", the purple haired man's attitude changed, beginning from the veines popping out of his forehead, making the other sigh in defeat, "As you wish, they got orders from

Crown prince Ran Haitani of Roppongi."

...

'What is going on anymore ?'

'How did it come to this ?'

'And why would...'

'No...'

'What will he gain from doing that ?'

'This didn't go how it was supposed to...'

'This was supposed to be a quick mystery to solve and untie the knot my life is tangled in...'

'But...'

'This is so nervewrecking...'

'What am i supposed to do ?'

'And Rindou...'

'How is he taking this...?'

*BANG*

No faster did she turn than his shadow sneaking behind the door, flinging it shut with an echo so loud that it made her ears ring - but no louder than her racing heartbeats, whispering to her legs to do the same and run after him... yeah... that is what she should do...

"Wait please...", Stopping her tracks, she looked back at the kind man, a new friend, "Send my regards to prince Sanzu."

The veiled woman gave him a puzzled look, really doubtful that Rindou would reveal her husband identity - a risky move even to a trusted fellow , catching her confusion he went on, "Perhaps you haven't noticed, i... actually attended your wedding... Sanzu invited me, we go way back and well... If you need anything, i'm at your service."

Oh... how lovely!, "...it was an honor meeting you as well."

She may or may not consider chating with the newest friend on another day, but at the moment, a helpless lover like herself wasted enough time instead of going after the duke, he needs her now more than anything, and what would she be if she can not be there when her other half is struggling ? She held the end of the veil up till her nose with her balm and went out, ahead of her vision, there was not even a hint of his signature iris scent around, 'he would never leave me behind...'

Ironically enough, only the muffled sounds of curses cleared her worries, and she made a full turn to see the same cloak he walked in with covering what can be identified of his face, all stinging sensation of doubts she had melted down, but her smile can't complete joy when his head hanged low and he's doing the familiar silent bewailing he does to deal with his sorrows, truly a partner's worst display.

Full of hesitation, she tried to lift her forearm, before she could succeed, he grabbed her upper arm and walked away, trailing her behind as she had to drag her feet to match his steps.

Passing by the same crowded streets with different passers by, under the same sky with a different color, much like the man she walked in with, holding the same qualities, with a different mood. If his princess could see his face, miraculously, nightmares wouldn't leave her side, neither wanted that, so he pushed her further behind and avoided looking her way.

The younger Haitani noticed the horse from the corner of his vision and sped up towards it, only his trust could assure the princess was still behind him. The coachman got up and bowed, opening the door for him, getting ignored in return when the royal watched his woman run towards them - beaming through her eyes so bright at seeing him offering his hand for her.

(Name) took his soft palm and pressed on it as she got in the carriage, letting go of it momentarily, thinking she'll get to feel the warmth of his skin once the closed area covers them, but Rindou remained outside, she could read in his purple pupils the word 'brother' painting Ran's face and brought her eyes down in understanding of how Koko's news taunted him, "You go back home, i will find out more from Kokonoi."

"No wait-", his lover extended her arm to him before he slammed the door and she was no longer visible nor audible, approaching the coachman next, "Send her directly to Kantou Kingdom, then go back to Roppongi castle, if the king or the crown prince asks do not tell them i ever were here, got it ?"

The man bowed before commanding the horse to move, while the duke stood in his place to make sure the ride was out of sight, his cloak floating in the wind as he turned around and disappeared into the crowd.

He so desperately want to believe everything he found out was a lie, that Ran was innocent from those claims, and that this is some stupid propaganda, if it is, some lowlifes are asking for their heads to get smashed into a brick wall, which he would do for his brother with his head held up high, however, if what Koko said is true, this shall be a final sign for the duke to man up and put a stop to his older brother's corruption.

Rindou stood before the dark alley, with all remaining power he has left, he walked back in with a tight feeling in his chest warning him to turn around and leave.

He only realised the wrong decision he made when it was too late.

No quicker had he considered following his guts than the bag forced over his head. Rindou struggled and struggled with no use, the person suffocating him had a firm hold on the bag that the air was running out inside of it, the duke's panicked movements only made the breathing process harder, with the dark surrounding his vision, he didn't realise he was on the verge of passing out until he had no more energy to fight and everything has gone quiet.

-

A fragment of light seeped through Rindou's closed eyelids as his consciousness fought the fog circling around him, distorted voices hanged out in his ringing ears, with god's might did he make up several human figures standing in a distance from him, one of them moved closer until it was visible enough he was holding something in his hands, a bucket.

Water slapped his face, shocking his survival instinct into jumping from his sleeping position, flinching into awaking with a throaty gasp, the sudden alertness traveled through all of his nervous system making him cough on the air he's breathing rapidly and sent panic alarms to the loud heartbeats hammering against his ribcage, his eyeballs stuck wide open and looked for the stinging feeling, came down to be the hemp ropes tying him down to suffocation into a chair, his trembling arm moved back and forth, all he got out of that were more unbearable rope burns... 'what is this- what is... what is happening...'

His pupils shot up to his surroundings from behind the wet bangs covering his face, goosebumps run all over his body, the dark atmosphere, the countable lit torches on the wall, the dripping echo from the long routes around; he was held in what seemed to be an old dungeon, and he wasn't alone.

The closest human being to him in the whole room was the one who woke him up, holding a steel bucket, Rindou's eyes scanned him, judging his knight armor with three diagonal yellow stripes on the breastplate - a detail only royal military captains wore - and it was of help that he didn't wear his helmet revealing his black hair and stoic expression.

The tied up man, frozen in his place, freezing from the cold dungeon air blowing on his dripping wet state, the only muscle he could move was in his eye socket, pumping the fire keeping him from freezing to death in his orbs, glaring behind the captain at identical purples.

He wished so so desperately it was nothing but his reflection in a mirror, but in no aspect did they look as pathetic as his current state, the fumes from his blood streams rushing like an engine melted the tightness in his throat, "RAAAAAAAAAAAANNNN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

A second splash of ice cold water thrown on his face caused him to groan painfully and move around instinctively, getting burned by the ropes again in return, his head fell down in agony and with all the strength in his body he used, he still barely endured the aching. The armored hand pulled his head up from his hair, forcing Rindou to look at the faces of the poeple sitting down - previously missing the layout he was in, a circle, with multiple designed chairs surrounding him, and they put his wooden one in the middle, like a circus, like the serious jester he was.

His vision cleared enough to draw the faces under the torch light in his memory; from either side of his older brother's, were their old friends, Count Kanji Mochizuki and Viscount Shion Madarame from Shibuya Kingdom - they have been the closest friends to the Haitanis for as long as any of them could remember, united by King Haitani's shady deals with untrusted nobel families from other kingdoms and separated by adulthood's responsibilities - why would they want to watch him suffer ?

From both corners of his eyes, the relations were different, nonexistent even, between two men, one was an unfamiliar tall figure with dual colored hair and an eerie twist to his yellow eyes laughing at him, while the other one can be guessed from everything his princess complained about, from the sinister glare to the clear hatered for the human race painted all over his expressions, the now obvious traitor of Shibuya, Lord Kisaki Tetta, he has never liked him since he always bothered (Name) and now he is certain he never will. Everyone in the room is a monster in his eyes, including the ones not in his vision, for whatever they want from him, in whatever this place is.

'Where am i ?' "...Where... where... am i... where... WHERE AM I ???????!!!!!!!!!"

"Silence.", opening his mouth again earned him a serious kick from the iron boots across his stomach that made the chair fall on the hard ground with terrible force that made him cough blood, "ARRRRRRGHHHHHHHH"

"You are in Tenjiku."

A calm tone spoke to the duke, his neck searching for it behind him from his difficult position, the knight stepped on his stomach again that he screamed in agony, his nose beginning to bleed too, hearing the voice speak again, "Muto."

"Yes, your highness.", just like that, Muto grabbed him by the collar and sat him back up, now facing the other way, looking at the final duo in the room whom he never had to meet to know them very well; Prince Izana Kurokawa of Tokyo empire, brother to the current emperor Shinichiro sano, watching them with empty orbs and a half smile, and to his side is his loyal right arm, Kakucho Hitto, holding a wooden mug.

The image still had a lot of blanks to fill for Rindou, all of these power figures, in a place like this, watching him in pain, that was all there was to understand for him, "...what... do you... want... from... me..."

"I heard great things about you, Rindou."

The pale man had no more energy to keep his head held high, watching the blood fall from his nose and mouth to his clothes in a dangerous quantity, for the first time since a long time, he was scared for himself, he worried he might die, that it was closer than he assumed, he underestimated time and now this is the moment where he thinks of death, on the bright side, he might join his mother, he did miss her an awful lot, that maybe she'll give him the warmth he's lacking in that dungeon, but on the other, for a noble life he tried to live this is an ugly way to go, he does not even know what will kill him, either from excessive bleeding, suffocation, freezing to death, beaten to death, or heartbreak from getting betrayed by his mother's son.

In a moment of need, his survival instinct let him down and sent a memory instead that showed him a scene from long ago, when he was a child, crying on top of his mother's grave, everyone left and was ready to move on, from the queen's passing, and from his father slapping him, only one person stayed until it got dark and Rindou was dirtied by mud from the soil and his tears, the only one who didn't complain about his crying as he carried him on his back to take them both home - the only one he could rely on, "...br...broth...er... br...other..."

"Yes, absolutely, from Ran. He told me a lot about you. But truth to be told, i was not so happy about your grace's latest quests, duke Rindou Haitani. You see... you are here in Tenjiku hideout because of it. Do you understand what i am saying ?"

"...br...other..."

The bucket in Muto's hands hit his head with a loud echo, spitting more blood on the ground, shivering from head to toe, "...bro...ther..."

"..."

"Are you not going to answer me ?"

"..."

The captain swung the steel over his head with harder pressure, going twice, going thrice, red painted Rindou's face and the ground beneath him, he was losing his balance but the only words that came out of his lips, "...broth...er... sav...e...m...me..."

"..."

"Izana... You said you would not kill him."

"Mhm ? Correct. I said that. Muto, enough.", at the instruction, the hits stopped and the beaten man tried to catch what he can of air, "Actually, since he respects you so much, i say you do the honor of talking, Ran."

Ran stood up with no further questions and made his way to his little brother, his steps felt heavied with stones, putting an arm at Muto to move away - the moment he sat on his knee and saw the younger's face the world around him crumbled down, and he knew, the sooner they finish the deal with Izana, the quicker he can find a physician to treat him, so both his hands held his brother's head into looking at him, "Listen to me. Say you will join Tenjiku."

The blood loss shaped Rindou's eyes half dead, reading his brother's lips and connecting it with the undertoned noises that came with the ringing - it didn't matter to him how severe his current physical condition was when his brain could still function some sense into it, all the muscles still working in his body pulled his mouth up in a reddened teeth smile, it's logic that brought him the question not his hearing, so it is logic that will answer, "...trait...or..."

The punch he received could have to made him spit out all his front teeth that one would think Ran was being careful with him, but the crushing grab on his jaw denied those allegations, "I was not asking, you piece of shit. Say you will submit to Tenjiku. Say it. Say you will submit. YOU ARE LOSING TOO MUCH BLOOD IDIOT HURRY UP-"

"Ran. That is enough now."

The pressure on Rindou's jaw diminished and he was left groaning from the numbness all over his skull, looking through his bangs at Izana rising from his chair and reaching for the wooden mug in Kakucho's hand, and moved towards the main interest of the room in steady echoing steps, even the Roppongi crown prince stood aside to make way, "He still doesn't know what Tenjiku is or why he is here, he won't agree like that right away. I can clear your confusion, and i trust you will make the right judgement afterwards... Rindou."

The empire prince brought the mug close to the duke's bloodied lips, his torment forgotten in bliss at the water running down his dry throat, he could see the light at this god-sent mercy, the liquid pouring down on his dehydrated system and washing down any internal dysfunction, making him turn away to cough up more blood that was stuck in his fauces, relieving him more than ever, Izana held the mug back for him to swallow every last drop of the water until he was coughing another time and his thirst was quenched.

"Now that i have your concentration...", the once water vessel in his hand thrown aimlessly for its recent uselessness, and he wandered around to out of the tied man's sight, where he can only hear his footwear against the flat surface until he spoke, "Let me put it simply. You see, in every empire, as we all know, there are the monarchs, then there are the heirs, and finally, there are the spares..."

Rindou's chest still heaving in a changing pattern, and he still put in the effort into listening to where prince Kurokawa is going with this, "That is the line of succession. That is what we grew up with. It is common knowledge, right ?

But the hierarchy is more complicated than that, every royal to be born is destined to live as a part of a tangled mess... there are the brothers, uncles, cousins, nephews, and the long list of distant relatives and strangers claiming the throne is their birth right, and they are not alone, there are also the ineligible for the crown, like... bastards, and women, and... offsprings who took different religious paths, and so many more...

...All these groups of poeple came together to agree on one request... to get a chance at being on the top...

...Every royal request is this system is to get the chance, to be the one and only, and to own what everyone would live to own..."

The tied man, midst his position, did not assume he would listen to Izana's speech with an attentive ear like he ended up doing, flinching uncontrollably when a hand was put on his shoulder, patting him briefly before moving along again, "...And you might think, with all these voices, yelling the same thing, since the beginning of civilization, that they would sound... loud, and, threatening...

...Except they're not, they're nothing but echoes in history's ears, and they will always be remembered as several hardships in the sovereign's heroic story, and not as the majority who was promised to fall for not being born nearly enough in that perfect placement so they had to fight against fate, there is an easy explanation to the problems they cause, their eyes are blurred with envy and unfairness, something that could have been avoidable if our society had better rules that didn't make everyone unequal...

...That is when Tenjiku was born."

The youngest Haitani closed his burning eyelids, 'i should have guessed...', the signs were clear from a while, the rumours he heard are true; there was an underground alliance between corrupted royal figures after all, and their main objective... to dethrone the now emperor, Shinichiro Sano.

Izana may have excluded a small but important detail from his talk, but he did not need to, it was already known across the empire - his illegitimacy was turning into his identity amongst the poeple of Tokyo - no living being ever left him breath out of his reality as the second empress's illegitimate son.

As much of a confusing mess as it is, so was Izana's childhood, piling the load of degradation coming from adults blaming him for his existence on his shoulder, always bringing back the history of the imperial royal family since the first empress, lady Sakurako, tragically passed away from illness, leaving behind crown prince Shinichiro and a child prince Manjiro - her sole reasons to stay strong even in her final moments - and in an attempt to replace the missing spot of a mother in his sons' lives, the late emperor, Makoto Sano, wed in the following day before her funeral to Karen Kurokawa, his mistress and already mother to his third child, Princess Emma, but if the empire found that disrespectful enough, it was no surprise how they lost their sanity when she brought home another child older than prince manjiro the day they came to live in the palace under her name, and would posses the title of a prince.

According to to every tokyo citizen, his very being is shameful to the history of their empire, despite so many years going by, despite him being legally adopted before emperor Makoto's death, despite the current emperor making a speech in his coronation dedicated to their brotherhood, despite the second empress getting banished and despite all his siblings protecting him, he could never be accepted among his poeple for his background.

It's sad.

Really.

but not to Rindou.

Making a corrupted alliance to get back at the world for calling you illegitimate, and especially by stealing the throne from the brother who treated you with nothing but respect... it did not sit right with the duke's morals, and with god as his witness, he do not mess with those, even tied up and beaten.

"We run this with a noble cause, Rindou. See all these men ? They sacrificed an awful lot to help make a difference, and they would be thanked later, like over here...", Muto turned his chair to the other side again, puppeteering with his weak state to do everything Izana, who was pointing at the dual-hair man, wants, "Shuji Hanma, a brave soul, born and raised as a citizen of Shibuya, but came to Kantou to awaken the rebels from their sleep, without him, the rebellions of Moebius and Valhalla wouldn't have been possible to carry out..."

The purple eyed man shot disgusted glares at the smirking one, 'so this is the source of all Kantou troubles', except he was proved wrong listening to Kurokawa continue his explanation, "...We work as a team, though, he couldn't have done it alone either... You met Yasuhiro Muto, former royal military captain of Kantou Kingdom's forces, the most capable one, and was the one who tought prince Haruchiyo himself everything he knows about battles. He threw it all away for the sake of making a path for the rebels to destroy everything they can without resistance, then got rid of all evidence from Hanma's origins to mislead the higher ups before fleeing the scene..."

Everyone's vision traveled to Yasuhiro, standing behind Rindou as a warning if he were to misbehave again, all the latter could do is be quiet and get to the end of this, "...All of that however are just part of, well, the final touches... despite the other side panicking over the tiny details we took care of, the larger plans were already outlined thanks to these two, Kanji Mochizuki and Shion Madarame, i was told you knew each other since long ago, then i assume you will be proud to hear they provide us with the confidential documents we need from Tokyo empire and use it with our allies on my behalf, to draw any suspicions away, our true heroes..."

Izana gave him his back, and in a way, the younger Haitani could still see behind his white hair the same calm menacing expression he had since the beginning, "...The true initiative of our plans... was Kisaki Tetta's part, it was on ensuring Shibuya council's finalised approval of princess (name)'s courtship to prince Haruchiyo, i call this step, the heart of our goals... but why, you might ask. I have the answer to all of your questions...

...Kantou would be at our mercy. Look around you, our biggest devotees are Shibuyans, and there are larger numbers of them ready to serve us, meanwhile, the other side's most loyal followers are the Kantou royal family and their poeple... and little by little, they are getting weaker... and weaker... and that is just the beginning... the peace treaty is nothing but our strings to pull them under Shibuya's mercy... greater yet.. if Sanzu's heir would be of shibuyan blood... then they have already lost... and Tokyo empire would have no choice but to stop relying on their most faithful ally... oh yes..."

Underneath Rindou's cold flesh, the rage flowed inside his body like an erupted volcano, the lava reddening not only the pale face but also his view ahead of him surrounding Izana and his sinister smile patting the oldest Haitani on the back - the hatered he felt towards him became personal, his princess was no puppet for their treason schemes, she is an angel, his angel.

"...And of course, you already figured out your brother's task. Ran. i can not show my gratitude enough for everything he has done. There is no need to go over it since Hajime Kokonoi already told you, and trust me, we will deal with him later, but for now, i hope you learned your lesson to not have anyone sent to our men and expect us to not know... honestly... look at you now... that is how you got caught... and when we already wanted you here too... but do you know why ? did you figure out how you messed up yet, your grace ?"

From what the interrogee is seeing, the mastermind's lips were moving to create riddles for him that were interpreted as impossible to solve by logic, what has he done to end up in tenjiku ? Perhaps it was his head that was beaten too hard but it felt like an answerless question.

"If you haven't, i will answer for you. Prince Takeomi's condition... Your brother ordered for it in the first place to usher in Kisaki's involvement and commence the heart of our goals... to wed the two lovely couple, and crush our opponents with their own pieces!!. However... to your very very terrible luck... your love for (name) got on the way of our plans. We still need her as Shibuya's princess. She can not get that divorce. Especially not for you. Normally, you would have been dealt with like any other who gets in our way, if it weren't for your brother, and just out of respect for him we spared your life...

...but i wasn't lying when i said i heard great things about you, Rindou. I am truly impressed with your reputation in your kingdom, and with everything Ran told me about your chivalrous attributes, it would be a shame if it goes to waste in a rotten system, after all, we are similar in a way... as a spare, you're not so far away from understanding us, from being one of us, so we can come to an agreement if you join Tenjiku, what do you say ?"

Every pair of eyes in that dark dungeon stared at Rindou with false anticipation - as Rindou was far from an idiot - there was a sole response that will gurantee his well-being, yet the other... it will gurantee more than a cause, and immortal ones; his dignity, his morals, and his love.

"..."

"...ne...ver... ... ... ...tr...ait...or..."

"..."

"So that is how it's going to be... fine then. Muto."

Maybe Yasuhiro was waiting for the slip up from the beginning, nonetheless, he moved faster than thunder to slam the steel from upwards to his head, crimson red poured down from his forehead, but Rindou took it with cold blood, now knowing it's either dying for his principles or betraying the legacy his ancestors and their companions left him.

Ran was another story.

His world spun around him in a never ending loop, as his stomach churned, he tormented himself that if he knew beforehand how consumed he would get by guilt he would've sewed his mouth shut before telling on his closest family, the self-blame grew into a monstrous size when catching sight of the bucket lifting again, how and when his fist landed on Muto's face is something out of his knowledge.

"IZANA!!!!- Izana- please- look, Izana- he is a little stubborn but give him some time- let me talk to him!!! i can convince him!!! Just please-"

"Hm... alright. I will give you another chance to make the right choice, Rindou."

"..."

"...hah... h-hah...

...

... lo... lon... hah... LONG...

...

...LI... LIVE....

...EMP... hah...

...EMPE... EMPER...OR...

...

...SHIN... SHINICHI...RO."

Silence fell.

So did prince Kurokawa's smile that he kept all this time, the emptiness in his purples invaded the rest of his features, not moving an inch from the locked stare he kept on Rindou's proud bloodied grin, "...you left me no other choice."

Ran lived another stage of horror watching Izana step away towards the light on the wall, all the men  walked away from their seats and out of his way as he brought a torch with him, dead expressions fixated on the tied man.

Both the Haitani brothers observed the fire glaze from contrasting angles and contrasting views, the younger lived the thought with ease and embraced the empathy of a warm and bright ending over an inhuman life.

"You will not even get the luxury of escaping me. Don't give yourself false hope.", '...huh ?', "Here is the thing, you will submit to Tenjiku, or i will burn the princess of Shibuya alive with this fire, myself. Your choice."

Funny how easy it is to change anyone's perspective with a small twist of phrasing, mere miliseconds ago, Rindou was welcoming death with open arms, calling it a merciful alternative to joining hands with corrupted forces, but it is unbelievably hilarious how that works to the point that he can not even laugh, what a fitting world for a serious jester.

"Nod your head and i will consider you one of us.", he couldn't look anywhere but the ground while he obliged, would he ever be able to look at his reflection again ?, "Good. I knew you will make the right judgement. Muto, untie him."

His dull lavender orbs maintained down, his pain inked inside his memories that he did not notice the captain finished untying him, not that it made a difference since he just lost his freedom at the cost of his lover's safety.

"You can stay with the princess. I'm not heartless, really. Besides, manipulating her closely can come in handy at certain circumstances."

-

"Your royal highness, duke Rindou of Roppongi is here and asking to see you."

(Name) looked at the maid from her mirror reflection, jumping out of her seat, barely hiding her wide smile, "Really ?! Here ?! t-tell him to wait, i will be there!!"

Curtsying to the noblewoman, she closed the door behind her to comply, after the shutting sound, the one left in the chamber looked up to the ceiling and thanked the greater force above, 'I prayed he would come back to me, and now may he never be lost.'

Checking in her appearance in the glass, a phantom of Rindou's charming laugh showed up in a moving second, and she giggled with all her facial muscles like a tear never dropped from it.

Her door swung open, and the clicking of heels alarmed the servants on the floor from how rapid it sounded, yet from her part, it didn't feel like she was running quite fast enough to see him, her face lit up with grand glee recognizing the mauve hair from down stairs.

Before he could react, the princess ran into his arms, bringing him back a few steps, "Ohh Rinny... i missed you... why did you disappear like that ?"

The duke held her shoulder to part their bodies and drowned in sadness at the pout he received, "...Don't do that. We are in your in-laws' palace."

"I apologize... i-... i was worried about you... i have not heard of you since you went back to Koko... it has been days, Rin.", She went on to put a hand in his abdoman and jerking it back when he groaned in pain, "...is everything... alright ?"

"I'm okay- i'm great... just an unfortunate accident, don't think about it.", it may have sounded convincing to him, enough to change the subject, but to her, it was like the world collapsing, coming closer to him and cups his cheeks, "Never say that again... do you have the slightest idea what happens to me when you're hurt ?... when i came back home that night i felt stinging pain... and burns all over my skin... and... suddenly it was hard to breath... i knew something terrible had happened to you then... please don't say that i shouldn't think about it, your pain is my pain... i know something happened, Rindou, you can tell me..."

Heavy hands stroked her own and removed them from their place, "Nothing did happen, and i did not come to talk about this."

Her cheerfulness died down, she took the path of respecting his wishes and staying in her place, giving him the trained princess posture only meant for outsiders, that he understood the tension he caused and cleared his throat, "I came to inform you the evidence we received are false."

She instinctively sucked in some air from surprise, searching for more details in his droopy eyes, he was faster in action, and left her no room for doubt, "Ran is innocent. But i will find the real culprit and end this nightmare, i know you trust me, and i trust you to help too, try to find out everything you can from the concubine, okay ?"

A stolen kiss was all that helped distract her momentarily that he was walking off after it, opening her eyelids to catch sight of his back nearing the entrance, "WAIT! The- the divorce ?"

Rindou froze, replying with a sigh, "I will find a way to make it happen. It's a promise."

The sunlight grew faint on her face until it was gone, and she was - once again - left to accompany her loneliness, standing tall in an empty spacious hall, no different than a flower in the dessert.

With what is whispered in her ears at the silence, she moved forth and headed to the first indication she might find of where the concubine is being kept; the palace may keep their secrets all they want because they can't keep it from the children they raise within it and the princess ? She didn't need a messanger to tell her the royals would keep a potential mother of a prince in their clear sight to drain every confession out of her, the same confessions she had to get to first.

On her way, the first signal sent to her was a servant who gasped and attempted to change routes when their eyes met, "you! Over there! Come here."

The woman did so with visible sweat running down her face and the princess had no doubt that sge may be informed of something important, "You know the concubine who started quite the debate days ago ? I know she is somewhere in here. Tell me where."

"Y-y-your highness... i couldn't have possibly-" "Quit the nonsense. Do you know the consequences of lying to the royal princess ? Or do you want to find out ?"

Using the name of authority, the maid submitted easier than (name) have assumed, "THE DUNGEON!! SHE IS IN THE DUNGEON!!! PLEASE DON'T TELL THEM I TOLD YOU!!!!"

"WHAT ???!!!!", previously, she may have assumed the royal family had some decency to not throw a pregnant woman in a place associated with torture, she may have overestimated their empathy but surely they would not go as far as torturing her, right ?

The sight she witnessed contradicted with eveything she took for granted, with the minor fragment of light seeping through a miniture window, it showed more horrors than she imagined; a young woman - wearing a ragged dress - fallen on top of a pile of hair, sheared from her own head, protecting a visible pregnancy bump with her arm showing purple and red scars matching with her face and busted lips.

"My goodness...", the noble woman wished she kept that to herself when the imprisoned one lurched backwards, twitching and pleading in a hysterical manner.

"No no i won't hurt you-", the princess extended a hand to get closer making the other's bawling more violent and intense, jerking away from any contact with her, an alarmed and shaking (name) stepped back and turned for the guards near the door, "what is this... WHAT IS THIS WHO ALLOWED THIS ?????????????!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

"My apologies, your royal highness.", it would have been best for him to keep silent in front of the cracked up royal who paced to his spot to push him into the wall with a force that caused his gear to echo, "WHAT APOLOGIES IS OF USE NOW ?????????!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! RELEASE HER RIGHT THIS INSTANT. THAT'S AN ORDER."

"I can't do that, your royal highness, it's the king's orders-"

"SCREW THE KING'S ORDERS!!!!!!!!!!!!!! SHE IS WITH CHILD YOU MONSTERS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! WITH CHILD!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

The lady looked to her back, the woman, awfully beaten, crawling to hide in the nearest corner, a sight so brutal for her eyes, she couldn't hold back the tears coming in with harsh sobbing and hiccups.

As if he was living his wife's pain, in an instant, Sanzu barged through the door and his blue orbs fell on his bride before hurrying into holding her, "(Nickname)?! What is it ?!"

(Name) clutched on both sides of his shoulders, "no- what is this, Haru ?! They're torturing a pregnant woman... did you know about this ??!!"

The prince furrowed his brows, hesitating to lift his head, only gazing at the corner in bafflement for as much as his heart could take then turning to the guards for an explanation, "Your royal highness, we told the princess it's the king's orders."

Her fingers brought his jaw back to her way, lovingly running her hand on his face, "that does not matter, Haru- please... you can make the right choice... let her go- i'm begging you... if not for her or for me, for the baby, please..."

Haruchiyo fell victim to the touches and complied with no further imploring, "Very well.", When he left her side, the guards were aware of the retribution awaiting them, "get her a pleasant room, decent clothes, and a full meal, then call for a physician to check on her child, and when you're done, i will deal with you."

Both men swallowed their own saliva as the noble walked out the door, the princess wiped the tear droplets off the corner of her eyes and followed him out.

"Haru...", the woman marched steadily behind him, all he did was throw an attentive ear, "what will happen to her ?"

"...", the prince moved in the alleyway in an average speed, but to his princess he had to have been slow-moving otherwise it would be the way out that was too lengthy to make it out of there, which she didn't even want to consider.

"Were you informed about this ?"

"...", her blood was starting to boil at the skeletal conversation, her footsteps dulled at the end of the alleyway and influences his own, "Do you even care at all ?"

An eerie wind passed by their bodies, and a shiver ran down her spine, all while the middle prince stood straight, clinched his fist tight from an angle she can see clearly and left, this time on his own.

(Name) couldn't comprehend a single thought forming on top of the mountain of problems in her brain, built in just ten days and taking up all the space she has to live peacefully, if there was one thing she needed currently, was to ease her mind and forget this empire and its heads.

"Sister-in-law ?"

The grandduchess of Kantou gave a worried tone, her eyebrows drawn up in the inner corners, a sight the consort wished not to see on such a cheerful girl, "i'm sorry, i was just passing by..."

"No no- it is always a delight to see you.", a smile was forced into the older woman's features, in a failed effort to overlook the tension in their marriage she assuredoy witnessed.

"Well... i... umm...", Senju struggled to speek, wringing her fingers together, "i want to ask for forgiveness instead of my brother... he is a good person i swear... i'm sorry if he acts indifferently... he does that instead of expressing his distress... but please don't hate him..."

The younger stepped forward to intertwine her sister-in-law's hands together, when they came back to her, an emerald ring was landed in there, "Senju, this-"

"Is our mother's ring, she left it behind... Haru promised us that it will be yours after your marriage ceremony, i... have no clue why he didn't hand it... in spite of that, please accept it... our mother's possessions means the world for us, and we want you to share it with us, not just Haru... will you ?"

From the emerald stone, her miserable visage judged her and threw insults at her entire lineage prior to the the waterdrop magnifying the self-loathing till she couldn't handle it anymore, "e-excuse me..."

If disgrace were to chant, it would praise her name.

-

The night sang a lullaby to the human kind, in the softest playful tone, bidding them goodnight one by one, with the exception of prince Haruchiyo, sending him brighter moonlight through his window to aid him in reading his book.

He has been exploring the world of 'Whispers Of The Wind' for quite a while that evening, and it bandaged the old injuries in his heart that he had long forgotten;

following the story of a delicate girl born in poverty, so timid and docile that they gave her the name Coy, she lived as a bright child that remained as quiet as a mouse in her household then bloomed into a marvelous young lady all the gentlemen fought over, nonetheless her blossoming opportunities came to a halt when her father announced her wedding preparations to a wealthy old widower for the sake of her younger siblings' future, and Coy began a life of misery, with a marriage based on infidelity, negligence, estrangement, and soon turning into abuse, enduring the torment that lasted for a decade up to her husband's departure - to hell, that is. - And with no regards to her renowned freedom, her eldest stepson stepped forth to demand her hand in marriage if she still wajted a roof over her head, and she did what she should have done ages ago, by running away into the far away unknown.

Where she lived and how she managed, that part he didn't reach yet.

Running his hand at the book's hardcover, the man realised quite some time ago who it belonged to, the note he found on the first page cleared all his suspicion, reading with a fine handwriting "Forgive me, my family, for i have been too coy to keep going".

It was soothing alone to possess another thing she left behind her, he could not even care for no topic, only the trails of his mother's existence.

So when the princess walked in the door with his ungifted present in her ring finger, no doubt his eyes twinkled with the world coming full circle, he put the book down and maintained a thorough stare as she walked towards their bed side.

"The ring...", inquired her husband, pointing to his own paralleling finger, she displayed her hand to herself, touching the gem, "Senju handed it to me, is the reason behind the delay... my relationship with Rindou ? Did you lose respect for me... because i'm no longer... chaste ?"

The pink haired man opened his mouth slightly then shut it and looked away, the disappointment in his wife's expression didn't even need to be seen as she blow out the candles and laid down with her back facing him.

(Name) barely closed her eyes when the bed beneath her sinked further with Sanzu also preparing to go to sleep, as she assumed, but as arm wrapping her waist from behind, threw her eyelids wide, and she sat still for a few minutes to know his intentions, when the worst she could assume happened, and her hair was removed slightly from her neck where his lips landed and left feather kisses - her nerves couldn't take it anymore, "GET OFF!!!!"

He jumped away from her and they shared looks of an everlasting rift in their relationship, be it as a couple or friends, an unbearable atmosphere that Haru took his book and left off to another room.

The princess fell onto her pillow and cried a river for what felt like the number before infinity, was it her fault that they can never again be the childhood friends they once were ? Or was it doomed since their courtship announcement ?

Either way, there was no hope for such marriage to continue, with the start of a new day, she will end this madness and prepare to be with the one she truly loved.

A/N : This was a long chapter and it has a ton of lore, the next chapter would be shorter though, but dw, it will update sooner than this one, promise. Thank you so much for reading, this chapter took me ages and a whole lot of work, let me know what you think, your feedbacks bring me joy <3

-

@sagephilosophie

[wianes]

Unveiling Griffith's Motivations

A considerable time had passed before I decided to embark on this series, though I must admit that I was undeniably eager for this moment. With this post, I begin the series in which I will delve into my understanding of my favorite character. I will primarily follow a chronological progression with the manga, though minor deviations may occur. I hope that my interpretation will resonate with someone and that others might appreciate this kind of perspective.

Let's go!

A Short Introduction

Griffith and Guts, the central figures in Berserk, are both defined by their intense obsessions—Griffith with realizing his dreams and Guts with mastering his sword. Even so, Griffith’s motivations remain enigmatic, inviting varied interpretations. Visual narratives showcase the castle image as a vivid embodiment of aspirations. This metaphor, beyond its architectural significance, can represent various goals—from personal elevation to creating a world of harmony and collective well-being. Nonetheless, precisely defining Griffith’s vision is challenging. Is he aiming to establish a sovereign nation, rule a kingdom, or create a metaphorical fortress in the clouds? Furthermore, it is unclear where Griffith might choose to say "stop." Be that as it may, reducing his vision to just a stone edifice on a hill seems to oversimplify it. This interpretation fails to capture the full depth of his character. The elusive nature of Griffith’s dream, its origins, and, more importantly, its ultimate scope, add layers of complexity. His vision likely retains its enigmatic quality from the past and remains unclear even today. Its full nature might only become apparent when it ultimately reaches its culmination. This encourages a deeper exploration of the symbolism and meaning of castles within the narrative, highlighting the intricate relationship between Griffith's dreams and their greater ramifications.

Speculations about Griffith’s background add depth to his journey, highlighting its narrative significance.

Griffith vol. 10

The statement lucidly juxtaposes the shadow and the light. The darkness symbolizes a decrepit alley filled with brothels, inns, and taverns—a place where safety is questionable, particularly at night, when the joy of carefree indulgence wanes. In sharp contrast, a castle resplendent with light stands atop a mountain amidst the clouds, where the sun shines perpetually. This vivid distinction between shadow and light symbolizes the clash between harsh reality and an idealized, euphoric realm. "It was the brightest thing I had ever seen"—the pinnacle of his aspirations, the highest summit he could hope to ascend.

Next to the castle lies a realm where sunlight scarcely reaches, offering only fleeting respite. The character remains caught between hope and despair. Castles, with their impressive and resplendent presence, epitomize achievement—distant, majestic, and shrouded in mystery. For someone of a lower social class, they may seem unattainable—as if an aspiration is forever out of reach. In metaphysical terms, such castles embody the ultimate achievement of spiritual perfection or greatness. Yet, for those born into humble circumstances, viewing such aspirations as unattainable might be an erroneous notion. Perceived distance should not overshadow true greatness, should it?

In a 2000 interview, Miura confessed that, as a child, he grew up in an environment of domestic violence inflicted by his parent. In this context, Miura's reflection on Griffith’s character suggests that he may have similarly endured a tumultuous and abusive environment. According to another interview, Miura noted that Griffith’s inspiration came from friends who had suffered through a loveless infancy.

With this in mind, it is worth emphasizing that young Griffith bears a resemblance to another character in Berserk, Rosine. Both were peculiar children who amassed treasures or junk and spent their days roaming the streets. Despite their youthful appearance, they skillfully concealed their troubled minds behind smiles, dreaming of a better world through fantasies. Similar to many unfortunate children in Berserk, both Griffith and Rosine left their family homes early in life. Remarkably, both characters acquired a Behelit; Griffith possessed the rare and unique red one. It seems clear that Miura deliberately employs a psychological model here.

The author also examined the characters as trauma survivors, exploring their efforts to either gain control over or eliminate abusive factors. This suggests that these individuals might seek stability, authority, or mastery to overcome the powerlessness and instability they experienced. They may also attempt to dismantle or destroy the sources of their past suffering. This analysis reveals various responses to trauma, including efforts to control their environment or to eradicate the symbolic sources of their mental devastation.

In my personal interpretation, the castle draws a parallel with Guts' relentless obsession with swinging the sword.

This comparison convinces me that the boy grappled with profound internal struggles, and his dream signifies an indescribable desire to shield himself from both external threats and internal fears. Symbolically, the castle stands as a bastion; "it was the brightest thing I had ever seen"—this reflects how the psyche defends against anxiety and suppressed emotions, showcasing a method of adaptation. Though not tainted or spoiled, it represents one of the unconscious tools employed to cope.

The central issue lies not in Griffith's perceived deprivation, but rather in his background as a slum-dweller in a strict feudal society. In this context, he lacks the resources and opportunities to rise to a leadership or top warrior status. Despite his ambitions, Griffith faces significant barriers due to his socioeconomic status, which limits his access to essential resources, education, and influential connections.

"Only those who work deserve the bread." It is somewhat ironic that this proverb does not entirely fit the world from which it originates. In the external realm, imperfection predominates, and it is often the case that even those who do not labor for their bread—or those who slumber—possess more than those who toil. In the material world, everything belongs to the possessor; they labor under the indifferent gaze of the law, whether they possess a magic ring like Nureddin or Aladdin, or wield the world’s treasures, irrespective of how they were acquired.

The situation, however, differs considerably in the spiritual realm. Here, a divine order prevails, which does not treat the deserving and the undeserving equally. The sun does not shine impartially on the good and the bad. The principle asserts that only those who work receive sustenance, only those who face fear attain peace, and only those who enter this realm gain true understanding. Throughout the series, the narrative unfolds against a backdrop of degeneration, abominations, and atrocities, fostering a sense of foreboding. For a child, growing up in such a harsh reality is excruciating. There are only "small victories" and "small battles we fought," "sparkling spoils that turn into mere junk when playtime is over," and "the back alleys of brothels and taverns where the sun never shines." His metaphorical visions are undoubtedly esoteric, intricate, and perplexing. They resemble a labyrinth without an exit, where every path is a dead end, making it easy to lose one's way.

The boy runs with his arms extended, almost as if preparing to take flight.

Miura portrays Griffith uniquely compared to other characters, imbuing him with a sense of mystery, symbolism, and elusive qualities. He envelops himself in an aura of extrasensory mystique, surrounding himself with symbols, images, and cryptic elements. Griffith's story resonates like a legendary saga, similar to figures like Christ. Their origins, early lives, and remarkable gifts shrouded in mystery heighten their historical importance—almost as if these gifts were granted by God.

In Casca's memories, we see glimpses of Griffith's early years, during which he leads adults and exhibits outstanding warrior skills. Yet, these glimpses raise more questions than they answer. The portrayal remains intriguing and enigmatic, complicating our understanding, respect, and sympathy due to the absence of concrete details. Griffith’s enigmatic nature persists, with his objectives revolving around a castle. Observing his engagement in "playing war," one infers a deeper motive. This conduct does not mean he perceives life as a mere game, nor does it imply that Griffith is only a puppeteer controlling others. Instead, I believe this form of wordplay serves to illustrate that his actions are a facade—an artificial portrayal of his true self that lacks authenticity. His involvement is not trivial; rather, it appears somewhat superficial, marked by elaborate attire, political maneuvering, manipulations, grandiose rhetoric, and social roles, all contributing to a veneer.

Symbolic contrasts convey subtle hints of Griffith’s darker side, though it is never explicitly depicted. His character remains shrouded in mystery and ambiguity, leaving us to ponder the true essence of his dreams and ambitions.

The Selfish and Selfless Essence of Griffith’s Vision

Griffith consistently maintained a clarity about his idealistic goals and pursued them methodically and rationally. His visionary dream has been revolutionary over time. His profound disdain for the social hierarchies and his curiosity about his own potential drive his intense desire to reshape the world. From a young age, he fostered inclusivity among his followers, transcending barriers of race, gender, age, previous lifestyle, social class, and origin. Griffith welcomed individuals based on their unique skills, nurturing and rewarding their contributions. He aimed to create a realm where the weak would not be exploited by the higher, wealthier classes. Despite his humble beginnings in the alleys, he actively challenges entrenched feudal hierarchies. His leadership style instills appreciation, safety, and solidarity among his supporters, setting a progressive precedent. Wherever he goes, he leaves a sense of connection and meaning through his dream.

While Griffith’s fantasy includes elements of egoism, it also embodies selflessness through its commitment to serving others. The manga unmistakably portrays Griffith’s sense of responsibility and genuine suffering—attributes that I will explore further. What defines him as a leader is a consistent pattern evident from the outset: people join his cause voluntarily, he refrains from initiating aggression, and he resorts to harm or killing only when absolutely necessary.

Griffith does not make decisions solely based on his own ambitions; he also considers the collective unconscious desires of his followers. This symbiotic relationship between a leader and his followers shapes his vision, aligning it with broader societal aspirations of leadership, ambition, and the attainment of greatness. Griffith stands out not only as an exceptional leader but also as a figure who, in an almost supernatural manner, influences those around him.

Conversely, Griffith’s willingness to risk his life for this dream stems not only from selflessness but also from seeing his followers as integral to his vision—he views them as essential to his kingdom, akin to loyal subjects. Thus, Griffith personifies the collective will of his followers, embodying their shared hopes and dreams. His ascent to power and the pursuit of his vision mirror broader societal struggles and ideals, resonating with themes of ambition and leadership.

Griffith’s dream of establishing a kingdom was not solely his own; his soldiers also believed in its promise. Thus, his kingdom encompasses not only his vision but also the aspirations of those who support and benefit from it. The parallel between Griffith’s personal dream and the collective desire of his followers reflects his role in representing humanity’s aspirations and fulfilling them as if they were his own.

The Symbolic-Psychological Layer of Griffith’s Vision

Castles and fortifications universally symbolize an inner refuge—the heart's sanctum, where the soul connects with God or the Absolute. Psalm 59:16 depicts God as a fortress, providing protection and sanctuary in times of distress. Psalm 60:9 questions, "Who will bring me into the strong city?" Theoleptus of Philadelphia urges individuals to strive toward entering the innermost castle of the soul, the dwelling of Christ. Meister Eckhart’s sermons describe this inner castle as so pure and singular that even the Triune God cannot penetrate it.

The Bhagavad Gita (5:13) employs the metaphor of "castle with nine gates" to describe the yogi's body. This imagery illustrates how the body is closed off from worldly distractions to safeguard inner spiritual focus. Similarly, the Taoist treatise The Secret of the Golden Flower advises fortifying and defending the Primeval Castle, where the spirit (hsing) resides.

These castles often appear in tales and dreams, either towering on hills or hidden within forest clearings, renowned for their formidable and elusive nature. They symbolize a sense of security and protection far superior to ordinary dwellings. Such castles represent isolation and seclusion, making their contents both coveted and elusive. Artistic representations depict Heavenly Jerusalem as a castle atop a mountain peak, symbolizing spiritual elevation. The Pharaohs’ funerary temples, known as "castles of millions of years," were constructed next to their tombs to endure forever. These temples symbolize the connection between human splendor and divine destiny.

Historically, these fortifications are believed to house mystical and intangible forces. They often appear in enchanted forests and sacred mountains, only to vanish like mirages before valiant knights. These castles may shelter sleeping maidens awaiting a lover's arrival or heroic figures welcoming noble adventurers. The dark castle symbolizes failure and unfulfilled desires, akin to Hell—a structure devoid of life except for the solitary soul wandering its shadowy corridors. Conversely, the white castle symbolizes accomplishment and the fulfillment of destiny. Mystics describe other spiritual castles as resting places along the path of sanctification, culminating in the castle of illumination atop a mountaintop merging with the sky, where the soul unites eternally with God, basking in His unblemished presence.

Griffith’s tendency to emotionally withdraw to manage his guilt and seek transcendence is par for the course, aligning well with his complex and ambitious nature depicted throughout the manga. Ironically, these very deficiencies contribute to his prowess in realizing his otherworldly ambitions. On a deeper level, the castle also symbolizes heroic quests and inner challenges where Griffith confronts and integrates his inner conflicts, facilitating psychological growth and integration. Castles, blending strength with vulnerability and security with isolation, embody the Jungian concept of integrating opposing elements within the psyche.

They also represent the inner architecture of spiritual growth, symbolizing the pursuit of higher consciousness and self-realization. Ultimately, the series suggests the existence of another realm where the coexistence of good and evil, light and darkness, resonates deeply throughout Griffith’s journey.

The Existential-Philosophical Foundation of His Dream

Griffith's motivations are undeniably multifaceted. Driven both by fear and internal conflict on the one hand, and a quest for personal fulfillment on the other, his ambitions extend to benefiting those around him. This dual nature showcases a character of significant complexity, reflecting the profound intricacies of his desires. In essence, more layers need exploration and unveiling.

“Martyrdom for a merciless God. What a waste. On the battlefield, the life of a common soldier isn’t even worth a single piece of silver. In today’s world, most people’s lives are subject to the whims of a handful of nobility and royalty. Of course, even a king himself can’t live exactly as he pleases. We are all at the mercy of a great tide, fate, or whatever you wish to call it… And we all disappear in the end. Our lives are spent… Never knowing who we were. In life, unrelated to one's social standing or class as determined by man, there are some people who, by nature, are keys that set the world in motion. They are the true elite, as dictated by the golden rule of the universe.”

The boy articulated the pointlessness of life and the world, yet displayed remarkable determination. He aims to create a universal meaning amidst the encroaching reality. Griffith embodies a strong existential mindset, grappling with deep questions: Where is the world headed? Why does everything appear meaningless? What forces dictate the current state of existence rather than an alternative? Similarly, he delves deeply into introspective inquiries about his own identity, nature, and purpose.

His character reveals another dimension of his motivations: his quest centers on profound questions he seeks to resolve. This aspect is essential to Griffith’s character. He articulates that, once he has secured his own kingdom, he aims to unravel the arcane mysteries of existence, understand the nature of gods, discern the laws governing the universe, grasp the essence of reality, and explore their relevance to his identity. Griffith is determined to comprehend his place, his role, and the scope of his potential within this vast and intricate framework.

Understanding the nature of the world is vital for discovering the truth. It is senseless to seek your inner self without first understanding the nature of the world around you and the broader context in which those truths exist.

This scene illustrates Griffith's perpetual state of uncertainty and spiritual exploration. His doubt is profound and genuine, free from superficiality or intellectual pretense. The opening statement clearly expresses his values and motivations: a disdain for established social structures and a fundamental belief in his ability to overcome them. There is a deep disillusionment with God and skepticism regarding human agency, including that of kings. This sense of human effort and struggle reflects a profound empathy for the downtrodden. This theme recurs for Griffith, particularly when he shares his thoughts with Guts, suggesting that he is articulating these reflections for the first time. It is apparent that Griffith regularly ponders these issues and has previously entertained comparable thoughts.

To conquer the castle, Griffith employs arguments of an existential, philosophical, social, and theoretical nature, alongside those driven by egoistic motives. This becomes particularly clear in future revelations, where it will be evident that feelings of shame, responsibility, and guilt (the ethical layer) drive Griffith forward, intertwining aspects of self-interest and selflessness even more.

In essence: “Castle in the sky” + ruling his own kingdom/establishing a new era/new way of organizing the world (his and collective human desire) + answers to fundamental questions before his own death, such as: What is my place in the world? Who am I? What am I capable of? What am I destined for? = His motivations, his dream.

Contemplating the enduring mystery and ambiguity surrounding Griffith provides profound understanding.

Even someone born into modest beginnings shouldn't uphold their self-worth and view greatness as distant and unattainable. They should avoid misconceptions that undermine the true essence of greatness. Ultimately, I see him as resembling a grand historical figure or an ancient hero—one who gazed at the stellar spheres, sensing an unseen force (the destiny) guiding him toward realms beyond understanding. Yet, simultaneously, a peculiar blend of coincidences, unusual circumstances, and unforeseen collisions shapes his path. Alternatively, he finds himself ensnared in a situation he did not anticipate, leading to an unexpected outcome.

As meticulous planning defines Griffith's path to achieving his goals. Solid arguments from various fields support and justify each step, thereby creating a cohesive and logical entirety. This approach not only solidifies his sense of destiny but also guides his character toward a specific point, laying the groundwork for future progress. The narrative demonstrates that these events unfold as though predetermined, veritably, even before his birth. His path unfolds from particular circumstances that have persistently molded his life, creating an unavoidable trajectory, as if the circumstances were inherently meant to guide him along this destined course, offering no alternatives.

I contend that this interpretation appropriately validates my comprehension of Griffith's character motivations. By integrating various arguments and clues provided by the author, we gain a more nuanced perspective on Griffith's complex nature. The "castle" represents more than just a destination; it signifies a transformative journey toward self-discovery and understanding the world and its laws. This journey represents a higher purpose, elevating him beyond mundane desires to connect with something greater—the collective and its inhabitants. Undoubtedly, it bears a dark undercurrent, rooted in his ambition to reach the pinnacle, a calling to rule and command as though it were celestial law, and a quest for querencia, a form of "all-healing" security.

Within the grand tapestry of his orphic odyssey, the pursuit of enlightenment goes beyond merely attaining an ultimate destination. It demands navigating the intricate labyrinth of moral and spiritual trials that define the journey toward fulfillment. In the narrative of Berserk, Griffith's pursuit of his dream is not only central but also indispensable. It serves as the cornerstone of the plot, propelling the storyline forward with relentless force. Moreover, it raises profound and perennial questions that resonate throughout the series—challenging our assumptions about the interplay between determinism and free will while exploring themes of polarity, consciousness, morality, and the broader view of the world and its utilitarian solutions.

[vraieame]

Astrology Observations (Cardinal Rising Sign Edition)

Below are my observations based on personal encounters with people who are a/an xyz rising.

1. I have only met 2 Aries risings in my life and boy were they bold. When I first met them, I felt as if I had to keep up with what they have and who they were. I’ve had on and off vibes with them just because of how impulsive they were. When they get to decide really well, where things are put through and their minds are at a ‘calm before the storm’ phase, they really get what they deserve but when it’s the total opposite, they can be such a mess and suddenly the world turns black and white for them. It’s so up and down. They’ve got a pretty rbf too and when you get to know them, they’re so spontaneous and loving by nature. I noticed that they get gossiped a lot too and some of those things I heard are literally far from being true too like there was this one time, one aries rising friend of mine had been gossiped around, saying she was bullying one of her friends in her own circle and it came out to be a lie after a year and the truth was actually the opposite 😭 it was such a messy thing back then. She was so furious about till now but she has forgiven everyone involved in it already. Her damn big heart.

2. I don’t think I have ever met a Cancer rising before but there was this guy who gave off so much of that energy or character—appearance wise. He was so selfless, friendly, and fun to be with. At first, I thought he was genuinely just gonna be a quiet person but nope. We’ve gotten close and he’s now laughing and crying a lot lol. He’s also the type to sleep during the day too and stays awake at night for who knows how long. It’s like he’s the total embodiment of a moon who just stays up at night instead of sleeping. I also noticed how he’s only extra goofy when it’s night time but only when he feels like it. He loves to stay at home so much his friends just comes over a bunch of times to hang out. His home is extra cozy too so it’s really cool. Are any cancer risings like this too? I just don’t really know lol.

3. Next, Libra rising babies! I only know one who has this as their ascendant and they’re my favorite person ever. They’re just so easy going, smart, and charismatic! They’ve help me with my confidence too. They just radiate soft and ‘I have your back’ energy. They love taking pictures of every moment too and I find it really cute about them because they just wanna store memory and have it as a reminder of how everything are well spent. I swear, they have so much grace in them. And yes looks can be deceiving, some of them are really cunning to the core too. But that’s only when they’re sensitive spots are provoked. They’ll give you the taste of your own medicine for sure.

4. There’s only one Capricorn rising I know and it’s one of the people I’ve been friends with for so long. They’re so low maintenance as a friend and I love how they just know what they’re talking about every time. Most of the time they get misunderstood and mistreated for no reason but I think it’s just out of others’ insecurities or issues projected onto them most of the time. Not that this is generalized for every capricorn risings but this does happen to this person a lot. The only thing they can do about it as a response is to not give a fuck actually. They stay on their grounds and remain poised no matter what. They absolutely know their worth despite how life has been a dread to them at such an early age. High on privacy. “What you see is what I allow” energy. They’re also obsessed with the idea of finding stability and living life to the fullest too. That’s why money is heavily associated with capricorns in general bc of that and it’s a lot of pressure.

[epicfroggz]

I’m curious if you have any ideas on what the Abyssal Serpent is/represents? I’ve been trying to puzzle it out to make more sense of Messmer’s deal but I’ve come up with a whole lotta nothing.

Yes, thank you for the ask!

In short, I believe the Abyssal or Base Serpent is the traitor to the Erdtree that is prophesied to commit the “cardinal sin”, aka burn it. Marika was so afraid of the serpent’s power that she sealed it away behind Messmer’s eye and left him in the Land of Shadow for good measure, where it grew and festered alongside his hatred.

In real world mythology, it is most similar to Nidhogg of Norse myth: a serpent or dragon that chews upon the roots of the World Tree. Nidhogg is said to preside over a part of the underworld where it punishes sinners. If ever to be released from the roots, Nidhogg would be one of the driving forces behind chaos, helping to bring about Ragnarok.

(Long post, so more under cut!)

This all sounds familiar. Messmer presides over the Land of Shadow—the underworld—where he punishes those stripped of the grace of Gold—the sinners, including those that harmed his mother’s people. When Messmer breaks the seal of grace his mother gave him, he unleashes the Abyssal Serpent, and his kill dialogue changes—“Embrace thine oblivion, as shall I.” This, his Remembrance’s text—“They have accepted his fate as much as he”—and the fact that serpents have eternal lives a la Rykard, makes it sound like Messmer has condemned himself to a fate worse than death. He states the Abyssal Serpent is “shorn of light”: that he has cut out what grace or light he had by removing the seal, and that the nature of the serpent is inherently lightless. I believe the serpent is akin to the concept of Shadow itself: “born of dark notions that bear no sense of Order” (Remembrance of the Shadow Sunflower). A concept that was born alongside Gold, when Marika ascended to godhood (from the story trailer). The serpent represents the opposite of her Order, the ushering in of chaos, the destruction of the Erdtree—and for that, it had to be sealed away.

But, the Abyssal Serpent IS Messmer. This we know from how it retains his hair and how they share their wounds between his humanoid and serpent form. With the seal, Marika separated her son from what was violent and malevolent and left only the part of him that was compassionate and loved her. Even so, she imagined that his devotion was fallible, and hid him away in the Land of Shadow. Her fear won over her heart, and she abandoned him there, creating “a hatred that would not be confined” (Remembrance of the Impaler)—really creating problems where there were none. It’s no wonder he curses her upon defeat! And, it can be said, the curse specifically is himself: “the [red snake] embroidery on the apron is itself is a curse upon the Erdtree” (Depraved Perfumer Robe).

So, we know that snakes are curses to the Erdtree, and that “the snake is viewed as a traitor to the Erdtree” (Duelist Helm). Now for why/how. While Nidhogg chews upon the roots of the World Tree, the Abyssal Serpent chews on Messmer’s kindling, of which I will post the full text:

“The kindling that burned inside Messmer the Impaler. A dark thing, eaten away at by a wicked serpent. Burns the sealing tree said to be found at the old Rauh ruins. Messmer, much like his younger sister, bore a vision of fire.”

The kindling is stated to be “a dark thing” in itself, reinforcing how Messmer is the serpent which embodies the concept of Shadow. “Bore of a vision of fire” must be in reference to the cardinal sin—it is interesting how the prophets that foresaw this sin were exiled, much like Messmer himself, and yet they were ones most devoted to their faith. Mentioning Melina (the “kindling maiden” (Blade of Calling)) here invokes this as well, as it is with her we commit the actual cardinal sin. The only other mention of “kindling” we get is a description of the prophecy: “The prophet despaired, looking up at the Erdtree, for soon the kindling would burst into flame, bringing ruin. ‘The burning of the Erdtree is the first cardinal sin. That is not the domain of mere men’” (Fire’s Deadly Sin). Of course, for it is the domain of the demigods, Melina and Messmer. The difference between them is that Messmer’s kindling was a curse to his mother’s new Order, while Melina’s kindling is a blessing that will allow a new Lord and age to be ushered in via the burning of the thorns.

So, the Abyssal Serpent will bring ruin to the Erdtree, a fate so assured that Marika sealed her very own son (which she seemed to care about) away in the underworld and abandoned him. And we helped set the serpent free. Good job, Tarnished! Though, honestly, Messmer was just looking for a reason to rip out the seal: the “eternity of suffering” thing wasn’t good for his health at all, as we can see from his and the serpent’s wounds and clear signs of neglect. Another case where separating a complete being results in great suffering for the both of them, as it does for Miquella and St. Trina. Although his purpose is to destroy, at least Messmer has become whole again. </3

I hope that answered your question! (?!?)

- Froggo

[ddarker-dreams]

Lock, your thoughts on penacony in hsr? Or just the last 1.6 with dr ratio and Ruan Mei (the love of my life)

2.0 SPOILERS BELOW !!! BEWARE BE CAREFUL BE SAFE!!! ⚠⚠⚠

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i went in thinking penacony was a far superior former IPC prison planet to live on than eris (from nexus) and left going hm. perhaps the eternal night is preferable to biblically accurate flying killer worms. LOTUS-EATER > the reverie hotel

this update might be my favorite yet. i've always loved dazzling, noire veneers with seedy undercurrents. i'm not sure if i've mentioned it on this blog (i probably have bc i never shut up) but the game la noire is one of my all-time favorites. jazzy music, glamorous starlets, corrupt organizations; those set pieces just do something for me. the environments are gorgeous. the reverie hotel has this larger than life feel to it and its layout reminds me of a panopticon, then there's the dreamscape itself. a city that never sleeps which you can only access by falling unconscious. there's so much creativity in the puzzles and charm in the little interactions littered throughout. i especially loved playing matchmaker with a bunch of bottles.

alright, onto the story itself: the start and end were strong with the middle being a hit-or-miss. i am far more forgiving with this in star rail than i am in genshin, since in the former, i'm subjected to the cruel and unusual punishment of hearing paimon's banshee shrieks. i think they did a good job crafting a compelling mystery. anything involving the unconscious is a writer's treasure trove, there's so much you can explore with it. i'm curious to see the angle they take.

as for the moments that stood out to me the most:

the initial dream sequence ft acheron with her being weird. the seemingly eternal hallways, contorting in physic-defying ways were a personal favorite. it reminds me how in dreams, there isn't always an outright threat, yet uneasiness persists. what's familiar warps into something indifferent and unknowable. very neat. then the shot of her crying blood after cutting down the trailblazer... very iconic of her.

mr aventurine. what was he about to do to the trailblazer?? why must they have stopped him?? let him cook. i was game for anything. zero fear, zero hesitation. he's an interesting player. neoliberal girlboss topaz had some workable parameters, aventurine is a total wildcard. his ambitions are murky at best. i kinda wonder if he might stick it to the IPC by purposefully flunking his assignment, it'd make for great revenge.

sparkle is unapologetically awful which makes her fun. her cosplaying as sunday's recently deceased sister was so appalling that i actually stopped for a moment when i pieced together what was going on. i've always found aha and their absurdist philosophy one of the most interesting among the aeons. it seems like there's a real emphasis on characters that embody their aeon's ideals (black swan + fuli, sparkle + aha, sunday/robin + xipe, etc). i hope they lean into it more.

SAM.................................................. his encounter betrayed my expectations in the best way possible. i have so many questions about his involvement and motivations. the music for his fight had my heartrate ascending. i play with japanese voices so i'm not sure if it's limited to the JP dub, but i was surprised by how polite he speaks?? even as he's about to immolate the trailblazer + her two accompanying girlfriends. it wasn't the cadence i envisioned for him. the stellaron hunters never fail to capture my interest, wtf are they Doing........

[thelordofgifs]

Obscure Tolkien Blorbo: Semifinal

Eldacar of Gondor vs One (1) Rivendell elf who sings tra-la-la-lally

Eldacar of Gondor:

The twenty-first King of Gondor, also known as Vinitharya. During his reign the conflict known as the Kin-strife occurred and he was forced from his throne for ten years.

The blorbo of all time actually. He’s the protagonist of one of the most interesting stories in the LoTR appendices, the Kin-strife, and everything about his life story is so fascinating! His father was the crown prince of Gondor and his mother was the princess of Rhovanion so not a Númenorean. As a result all the racist nobles of Gondor made noises about how Eldacar was of “lesser race” and wouldn’t live as long as a “true Dúnadan”. One of the most fascinating examples of fantasy racism in Tolkien’s works imo – the bigotry is awful but the bigots have a shield to hide behind! Obviously their concerns are actually valid because they just don’t want their king to die young! (Their concerns aren’t valid. But I think the worldbuilding here is great.) Anyway Eldacar was born in Rhovanion and given the birth-name Vinitharya, but when he returned to Gondor aged five he was obliged to take up the Quenya name Eldacar, presumably to pacify all the racists in Gondor. He’s the EMBODIMENT of mixed-race/immigrant child trauma my beloved. Eventually his father died and he ascended to the throne of Gondor, but then his shitty second cousin Castamir (all my homies hate Castamir he’s the worst) started the civil war known as the Kin-strife and usurped Eldacar’s throne. Eldacar was forced to flee north to Rhovanion but Castamir captured his eldest son Ornendil and had him cruelly put to death which is SO SAD. But Eldacar, being brave and resourceful and clever and extremely cool, put together an alliance with his mother’s kinsfolk in Rhovanion and after ten years reclaimed his throne, which turned out to be slightly easier than expected because Castamir was The Worst and all his subjects hated him. And Eldacar PERSONALLY fought and killed Castamir HIMSELF and AVENGED HIS SON which is extremely important when you consider all the cringefail elves in the legendarium whose quests for revenge didn’t really go anywhere at all. Then he lived to be 235 proving that all the idiot racists who were worried about his lifespan didn’t have any idea what they were talking about, as is par for the course with racists. Also the Kin-strife itself has such far-reaching consequences for the history of Gondor! The Corsairs of Umbar, Gondor’s long-standing enemies, are actually followers of the descendants of Castamir. And during the Usurpation of Castamir Osgiliath was sacked and burned, leading to the beginning of its decline as Gondor’s greatest city. Even though Eldacar’s story is, to me, ultimately hopeful, it’s also such a fascinating turning point in the history of Gondor. Also ALSO he’s explicitly surrounded by textual ghosts which is really fascinating. His father Valacar has “children” plural – so Eldacar had siblings!! What were they like? How did they react to it all? And his son Aldamir is described as Eldacar’s second son and third child, meaning that he had a daughter too. Who was she?? What happened to her? He’s such a blorbo and there’s so much interesting stuff to dig into around him and he has to win this entire tournament please please please❤️

One (1) Rivendell elf who sings tra-la-la-lally:

One of the Elves of Rivendell who sing tra-la-la-lally in The Hobbit.

This one specific elf sings tra la la lally with the rest but he is slightly off key and the other elves bully him for it

they’re SILLY!!! We need NEED more silly elves!! Like who are these weirdos just hanging out in the trees of Rivendell? Did they know the dwarves were coming and gather their friends to specifically climb those trees to sing nonsense at them? Do they just normally sit there and sing about every little thing they see? Is this a traditional Rivendell thing or are those elves just really strange? I’m obsessed with them they’re everything to me. Elves are oft portrayed as being Too Serious in this fandom and silly elves need rights too! Silly elf rights!!!!

Semifinals masterpost