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bleedingichorhearts · 5 months

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𝕾𝖊𝖙 𝖁𝖆𝖑𝖎𝖉𝖎𝖙𝖞

𝕬𝖚𝖙𝖍𝖔𝖗: What if I combined them all into one, for maximum efficiency? I blame this one, @kit-williams and this one, @barn-anon for this.

𝕿𝖆𝖌𝖌𝖊𝖉: @egrets-not-regrets, @bispecsual, @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan, @sleepyfan-blog.

TW // SMUT/NSFW, NonCon and Dubcon, Baby Trapping, Drug, Yandere Themes, Death, Body Horror, Cannibalism.

|°ᴛᴀɢ ʟɪꜱᴛ ᴀᴘᴘʟɪᴄᴀᴛɪᴏɴ°| |°ɪᴄʜᴏʀ’ꜱ ᴀᴏ3°| |°𝕄𝕒𝕤𝕥𝕖𝕣𝕃𝕚𝕤𝕥°| • {Chapter II}

Blasius slowly turns his head to the side from his crouched position. His mouth opening for a better scent thread as he sniffs the air heavily and chuffs.

So soon? He shakes his head, rising from his crouched position. Casting a shadow over the broken body below him. Such an eager little mate.

Glancing back down at the mauled body. Blasius brings forth an main appendage between his armor plates and licks the warm crimson staining his gauntlet. Savoring how rotten it tasted. Something he had almost forgotten about. How atrocious some could be, hopeless and decaying.

Something his little mate was not. Unlike this waste of flesh below him, unable to bring his little mate what she wanted. What she craved for. He can see it in her eyes, in her scent. How could this one not?

He was ignorant of course, too witless to acknowledge her effort. Too endorsed in his time running away from the nest and coming back smelling like another. His little mate was distressed when she figured out what he was doing. Yet, she still believed that he had some “good” left in him. Putting more of her dedication to prove that she was the worthy mate, when it was the other way around.

This false male was the unworthy one of breathing in the same air as his little mate. Undeserving of her attention, her love, her gifts and lingering touches of her commission of fidelity. It drove him crazy that she wasn’t paying attention to him as she poured her devotion into this male who uses her as a side trophy.

He wanted to give his little mate all that he had to offer. He wanted to return that love and attention she put on that failure of a human. He wanted to gift her all the things she found an interest in, but never acted upon it. Craving for that male to gift it to her, to acknowledge her. He wanted to provide what the male would not, could not.

It was no secret this man was a disappointment to any female that he encounters. He can hear the difference between the real and the fake moan’s his little mate does when they are coupled together or how his little mate has to take care of herself afterwards. Having yet to climax herself, but the male was also a disappointment by being infertile. Not that his little mate knows of that.

It is one of the reasons she has gotten a toy however, to sedate her ever growing desires. To finally have something to finish her off and at first, he wanted to rip the toy to shreds. Watch it decay beneath his fingertips, but he stops mid-way of finding the silicone c*ck in her closet. Realizing this singular tool has had a lot more to it than just for making his little mate climax on it.

So, he puts it back in its place where he found it. Leaving it to his little mates next use.

Blasius hums deeply as the appendix of the open body below him bursts, a quiet wheeze coming out of the mouth of the body as it splatters against his greaves. A mix of puss and blood inching down his armor to his sabatons. Another appendage coming out between his plating near his knee to clean up the mess the weak, organic body had made.

He uses another main appendage to reach inside the cut opening in the males body, pushing underneath his sternum and ribs, providing wet sounds and a squelch each time the appendage slips underneath another rib. Reaching the top of the body’s rib cage, he digs the appendage downwards between the lungs and wraps around the windpipe and tugs. A sickening squelch-like pop sounding out.

Pulling his appendage back to him. He wraps the rest of his appendage around the organ and lifts it up to his face, observing it. Sniffing it before he rumbles lowly in refusal. Whipping the rotten lung away with his appendage. Hearing it splat somewhere else.

That was not something he would preferably eat. Healthy organs are the better route of eating, they taste better. Saccharine even. They envelop the tongue like thick wine. Not that he found eating humans was a satisfactory, just a tasteful treat. He found far better sweets in this world to sedate his hunger than he would in his own world, but that rotted lung wouldn't give him the treat he was looking for.

Perhaps, his liver would work better? They were always far cleaner than the rest of the body’s he’s taken a snack on before. Maybe a little bitter with their alcohol consumption, but that doesn't deter him, he’s had worse before. If anything, that marinates more flavor into the organ.

Sliding his appendage between the body’s ribs and organs again. Wet sounds followed while he wraps his appendage around the liver twice. Pushing the other organs aside and over the opening of his torso and stomach. Feeling how the male's organs still pulsed with life. His dull eyes still staring up at his figure. A mule this one was.

With a particularly harsh tug, the body’s liver popped out with a sickening crack of his rips flying apart. His sternum breaking in half as bone shards littered inside and outside of the blood spewing body. The dirt drinking up the body’s lifeline like desert sands would do to water.

Blasius purrs quietly, approving of this body’s liver as he sniffs it. His mouth opening to wrap his tongue around the organ and lay it in his mouth before squeezing it with his tongue. Feeling it pop in his mouth and splatter before he chews, savoring the taste and the memory’s it came with it.

At least, the memories with his little mate in them. Ranging from how sweet his little mate was and how remarkable she was. Offering her food, her home to this male. Never blowing up on him when she clearly wanted to. Some of the many things that he hates the male for, but that was not a matter anymore.

Nurgle, and the intercourses with her. He knows he could have done way better than this male, but to envision her nude and submissive before him? His appendages began to salivate, including his mouth.

The things he would love to do to her.

Her scent wafts over him as he swallows hard. Shivering as his appendages become eager, desiring, and aching. Pushing up against his armor almost painfully. Telling him he wasn’t actually envisioning her scent of her arousal at all. This was real.

He takes a step away from the mutated body, not looking back as his appendages inside of him twitch in anticipation. Those wild packs of wolves that roam around here should eat the rest of the body up like nothing by tomorrow's dusk. Leaving absolutely no trace of him to be found.

Blasius uses his appendages to clean the rest of his armor off to temporarily relieve their eagerness to come out while he slowly follows his little mates arousal back to her nest. He knows has some time to get there before she climaxes and he must be presentable to his little mate after all. He knows how… unnerving he could look.

He hears her soft moans before he even enters into the nest. His senses heightened to seek her out through her strong arousal that begged him to fill his little mate as he inhales deeply, leaning down through the front door.

Nurgle, he is here little mate. He is here to provide. Let him provide for you.

He hears her cry out in ecstasy and that makes him move a bit faster through the house. Holding his breath as he moves swiftly between furniture. Quickly, opening the door and lean down through it to his little mates nesting spot.

The first thing he sees is her riding the false c*ck up and down into her core at a fast pace. Her skin glistening with sweat at all the effort to make herself climax. Her heated breaths staining her own skin as she moans out again, closing her eyes and throwing her head back.

He rumbles quietly and takes side steps into the grounds of his little mates nest. Watching as she chased that high. Kneeling down to the ground in front of her bed. Observing how her folds fluttered around the c*ck. Her muscles constricting around it as she cried out. Her juices leaking down the c*ck.

Yet, she doesn’t turn on the toy? Isn’t that what it was for? To fill her up her womb? Isn’t that what she wanted?

So, he turns on the toy instead, a gasp escaping his little mate as the toy pumps his c*m into her. Selection by selection, until there was nothing left in the toy.

Unfortunate, no worries. He has more to provide.

She makes a move to get up from the false c*ck, but he growls. His appendages coming out, spooking his little mate as he takes her by the hip and pushes her back down on the fake c*ck. Watching as she squirms on it, his c*m leaking around the edges from her hole and down the false c*ck.

He didn’t get drug from that questionable Ultramarine for no reason.

She whines at him, and as much as he would love to hear her cry out to him. He sticks an enthusiastic appendage down her throat. Silencing her cry’s as he shoves moves her shifting hips back down onto the false c*ck again.

Shhh, little mate. Let me take care of you. Your… partner won’t be around anytime soon to please your needs like I will. To caress your skin like I will. To protect you like I will. To provide to you like I will.

To have yours and mine procreation.

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kitthepurplepotato · 5 months

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Side note: I’m not back from my hiatus, I’m just giving you guys a treat to make the long waits a little bit better!

Chapter 7 - Something’s wrong with the puppy.

Summary: Eijirou comes into the coffee shop looking like the ghost of himself. Needless to say, you make sure he feels better as soon as possible.

Warnings: Swear words, reader has a few, tiny bit inappropriate thoughts here and there, sharing a bath (in underwear! Nothing cheeky!) a little bit angsty on Kirishima’s side, bless his broken little soul.

First Chapter Master List

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

“Who made you frown like that, puppy dog?”

Eijirou is here for his usual morning beverage but he looks absolutely… done. He also looks like he just finished a shift instead of starting one but you decide not to comment on that for now; his mental health is much more important than the fact that he has soot all over his face and probably scares the customers with his disheveled look. His bright red hair is muted into a weird, dark grayish-crimson color and there are cracks in the metal parts of his costume.

It has been two weeks since your first kiss but Eijirou haven’t kissed you since. His work was hectic, your date on that Friday got canceled and you’ve only seen each other here, in the coffee shop and even that was only for a few minutes instead the usual half an hour. You miss him so much. “Why are so dirty, hun’?”

“I don’t want to go back. Too much. Tired. Don’t wanna talk to anyone.”

Yet here he is, in a busy coffee shop, just so he can see you. Fucking hell, you love him so much.

“Come.” You point towards the staff room at the back. Thankfully, the boss is here to support you today and she’s nice enough to not comment on the fact that you are supposed to serve customers and not to give mental support to your broken boyfriend. You make eye contact with her and she only rolls her eyes.

“Go home.” She mouths silently and you don’t need to be asked twice.

“Actually, change of plans, follow me.”

Eijirou doesn’t say a word through the whole journey home. You call a taxi and tell the guy your address; you don’t want anyone to see him like that and you are quite sure he wouldn’t want that either if he would be in the right state of mind.

You open your door but Ei doesn’t move so you pull him in with you and make your way towards the bathroom with him. He still haven’t said a single word since you’ve left the coffee shop but that’s okay. You start the water in the bath and pour your favorite lavender scented bubble bath into it; the water becomes purple with silver glitters swirling around happily, the scent calming you right away and you can only hope it does the same for your mopey companion.

“I’ll take your… this thing off. Is that okay?” You point at the two metal accessories on his torso and he only nods at that. You hate seeing him like this. Eijirou should always smile. He’s beautiful when he’s happy.

It takes you a few seconds to understand how those things work but after a while you find two clips on the back; you catch the gauntlets when they are about to fall down and you almost pull a muscle; they are so heavy you can’t believe he’s working in these every day. You wouldn’t be able to lift them if you wouldn’t have gone through your uncle’s training when you were a teen.

“Let’s clean you up a little bit before you sit in, okay?” You take a cloth from the cupboard and wet it, slowly stroking the hero’s upper body to rid him of the black soot. He doesn’t say anything but his frown deepens, like he’s ashamed of being in this state, which honestly, it’s quite understandable. As the soot disappears you find quite a lot of scars, they aren’t bleeding anymore but they definitely sting but he doesn’t even flinch when you touch them with the wet towel. You decide to leave then untreated for now and do that after the bath when hopefully, Eijirou will have more mental energy to actually communicate. They are really small compared to the usual hero injuries but for a normal person, these would be enough to end up in a hospital for at least a day. This is one of the things that makes you mad about the hero world… how they are treated differently even though they are just humans, like everyone else. All these old scars on his body wouldn’t be there if they would have been treated properly, but they weren’t; because it’s just a “scratch”, too small for the medic team to care about in the chaos but injuries like that still leave a scar afterwards but apparently that doesn’t matter because heroes aren’t supposed to be pretty, they are nothing but a living-breathing weapon, even in this day and age. It got a little bit better since pro hero Deku and his gang took over the top charts but there’s still a long way to go before the heroes can get the right treatment.

Eijirou’s muscles bounce under your hands, the skin alternating between soft and rough, depending on the area; for instance, the area where his gauntlets is full of callouses, angry and red, probably from the constant friction. You drop the wet towel into the sink to trace them with your fingers, but Eijirou catches your wrist after a few tentative strokes.

“Hurts.” He mumbles. “Ugly.”

It breaks your heart how he can’t even make a full sentence properly right now. He’s a shadow of himself, a dark blob in the well-lit bathroom.

“It’s not.” Is all you say and decide to approach the situation in a different way; you move into Eijirou’s space and start leaving tiny kisses around the area, slowly moving closer to the calluses and leaving feather light pecks all over the reddish area. “It’s beautiful because it’s you.”

Eijirou doesn’t even try to hide the tears in his eyes. He starts to sob loudly, pulling you closer by your waist as he hides his face in the crook of your neck, body flush against yours. Your heart thrashes in your chest and you are quite sure he can feel the heavy bangs against his chest but instead of feeling ashamed you just feel… happy. Happy to be able to show him how much he means to you in ways he knows you can’t fake. “I really like you, Eijirou.”

“I love you. So much.” His hand grips your hair at your nape and you almost moan from the sudden pleasure. Your scalp was always really sensitive so you hated when people ruffled your hair in a friendly gesture but this… this is perfect. It’s more than perfect when it’s Eijirou who’s doing it.

“Let me take care of you, Ei.” He doesn’t say anything to that just lets you pull him towards the bath full of bubbles. “Can I get rid of your trousers? Underwear can stay.” He nods again and you get to work, trying not to think about about how suggestive this whole situation is. It’s not the right time for that. You already made the situation weird by enjoying the hair pulling a bit too much so it’s time for you take a deep breath and take your mind out of the gutter. He needs you.

Eijirou plops into the bath like a good boy after that but doesn’t do anything else; he just sits there with an empty gaze, staring at the shower gel bottle in the corner as though he’s having a silent conversation with it. And maybe he does. Who knows.

He doesn’t let your hand go, he holds it tight even as his body slowly relaxes; by the look of it, he won’t do anything for the next few minutes so you try to reach the shampoo bottle on the other end but Eijirou suddenly pulls your hand and you end up falling into the bath tub, your head thankfully landing on his chest and not somewhere dangerous. You look at your wet clothing and sigh, a tiny hint of a smile hiding in the corner of your mouth.

“Ei. If you wanted me to join you you should’ve just said so.” You giggle as you try to rid yourself from the disgustingly wet shirt and your trousers, probably hitting the poor guy with your elbows quite a few times but he doesn’t comment on it. You end up in your panties and your bra which is basically the same as wearing a swimsuit even though the padded bra feels really uncomfortable on your skin but there is no fucking way you’ll take that off right now for obvious reasons.

You really need to tell yourself AGAIN that this is NOT a romantic situation. Don’t think about what are you sitting on right now. Do not.

You wait a few seconds to give him time to answer but it doesn’t seem like he will so you finally take the shampoo in your hand and and give it to the redhead while you take the the shower head in your hand and start spraying his hair, straddling the guy’s hips while you do so. As the red gets brighter you can’t help but notice his roots; there is a tiny bit of black peeking out from his scalp, so tiny you wouldn’t even see it if you are not up close.

You are not surprised about it per se, you had a hunch his hair isn’t natural but it still baffles you a little bit.

“I can’t imagine you with black hair.” You mumble and the hero tenses under you. “Hey, it’s just hair. Don’t act like I just realized you are an alien.” You leave a tiny kiss on the top of his head to calm him down and thankfully, it works wonders; his body relaxes again, soft and pliant under your touch. “Mine is dyed too. I know, shocker.”

Eijirou looks up at you like he’s seeing you for the first time.

“And Uncle Riot?”

You can’t help but laugh loudly at that.

“Of course that’s your first question.” You mumble as you lather the shampoo into his hair. “His hair color is natural. He’s the only one in the family with that shade. Don’t ask, why, because we have no idea. My dad used to tease him about being adopted, they were terrible to each other. Typical brothers, really.”

“I don’t have any siblings.” Eijirou admits with a shy look on his pretty flushed face.

“Me neither. Thank god for that, I’m enough of a menace alone, we don’t need another one of me in the family.” You slowly wash the soap away, ready to put the conditioner on. He lets you do it in silence, he just closes his eyes and enjoys how your fingers scratch his scalp in the process. “You like this, Ei? Feeling better?” You scratch behind his ear like he’s a dog but by the look of it, Ei likes it so it doesn’t end up being as weird as you thought it would be.

“Uhum. I’m… I’m back. Kinda.” He admits sheepishly.

“Still okay with me being here with you? Do you want me to get out?” You ask, just in case; you don’t want him to be uncomfortable and you absolutely understand if he feels like it’s too much now.

“Can I wash your back?” Is the answer you get and your cheeks flush heavily from the words.

You leave the conditioner on his head to do its thing and sit between his legs, ready to be washed. Now it’s really starting to sink in how… close you two are right now. It’s extremely intimate, way too intimate for two people who’s been dating for less than a month but somehow, it just feels… right. Perfect. Like it’s how it’s supposed to be.

Eijirou moves towards the shower gel, pumps the liquid into his hands and starts washing your back; his hands are so careful yet so deliberate, it almost feels like a massage and you can feel the goosebumps appearing on your skin from the pleasure. You sigh contentedly, feeling the urge to lay back on his chest and instead of pushing you back to your original position he lets you lean on him, his hands snaking around your waist to pull you close. His chin ends up on your shoulder then he takes a deep breath and finally, he starts talking.

“Katsuki and his fiancé are on a holiday. They went to see her family abroad so they’re not in town. Stupid fuckers realized the number two hero is away and started to do all kind of shit in our patrol area, hoping they can get away with it but needless to say, it’s all in vain but they don’t give up. It’s constant. They are easy jobs but… I’m tired. I haven’t slept for a week. Izuku and Shouto tries to help as much as they can but they have their own agency to run as well as helping ours and we are missing the two strongest heroes in our agency so… yeah.”

“You know it’s not your fault, right? You know you are strong enough, this is just way too much for a person fueled by coffee and energy drinks? You are just a human, Eijirou. Give yourself a break. I’m quite sure your friends can keep an eye on your agency for one day.” You interlace your fingers with his, squeezing the hand resting on your belly affectionately. “Stay with me today, Eijirou. Have a nap, then we can watch a movie in the afternoon and go to sleep early.”

“Is it a date?” Eijirou teases as he leaves a tiny kiss on the top of your head.

“It’s better than that. It’s our first day living together. It’s the practice round.”

“Stop teasing me.” Eijirou pouts and you can’t help but leave a tiny kiss in the corner of his mouth.

“I’m not. I promise.” You murmur as you turn back to him to continue cleaning him.

You could get used to this, it’s actually terrifying how normal it feels like to share a bath with this man you’ve only known for a few months. There’s no awkwardness the air and you don’t even feel shy for being almost naked, skin touching skin as you shimmy into him after the both of you are fresh and clean. It’s so easy to forget how young your relationship is as you cuddle in the hot bath tub, cheeks ruddy from the heat. He’s so beautiful with his wet hair framing his face, the locks soft and shiny for the conditioner.

You already see a future routine in front of you; sharing a coffee in the coffee shop in the morning then in the afternoon, cooking lunch, sharing a meal, enjoying each other’s company while lounging on the couch, cuddled close while a silly super hero movie with an unnecessary romantic plot plays in the background, having a bath together then sharing the bed and making love until it’s time to sleep. Maybe you two could train on your free days, spar until you both end up tangled on the mat, kissing the living shit out of the other. You could have dinners at your uncle’s house and just stare at your perfect fiancé fanboying over everything in the house like he’s not about to be a part of this family himself in a few months. Fuck, it would be perfect. So fucking perfect.

“Thank you, Y/N. For everything.” Eijirou mutters into your ear, pulling you close.

“There’s nothing to thank me for. You need to rest and I just want you all to myself for a day. It’s a win-win.”

“… Always teasing me…” he says and you leave it to him; maybe it’s the best if he thinks it’s all just a joke for now. Your true feelings might suffocate him. It’s too much too soon, but it’s the truth. You already have your whole life planned out with him as weird as it sounds.

You can’t wait for all your dreams to become reality one day; but today, you need to take a deep breath - so you just do exactly that.

You can wait forever for him if that’s what he needs. It doesn’t matter because he’s worth it.

~•🪨•~

“What do I need to say for you to stay with me?” Eijirou mutters with a red face, staring out from your bedroom window, tucked in into your sheets like a little kid at bedtime. You are definitely going overboard with your actions right now, but you can’t help but worry about this silly little sensitive man in front of you.

He really reminds you of your uncle sometimes. You were way too young to understand his constant battle with mental health when he was still a hero but once you were eighteen your uncle started to open up about his old struggles and he had the same look on his face when he told you his stories as the one on Eijirou’s face right now and it breaks your heart. You don’t want to see him like this but it’s the part of the job as cruel as it sounds and you need to respect that; just because you were able to be selfish and leave all that behind, that doesn’t mean it was the right choice and you know that. Of course, it’s amazing to live carefree but the amount of people you couldn’t save because you’ve left the field haunts you to this day and sometimes it makes you wonder if all the pain is actually worth it for the lives you could save.

You thought that love is something unachievable when you are in this line of work and seeing Eijirou’s mopey little face clearly tells you that it’s not an easy task to be successful in love and at your job at the same time, and not everyone would have the patience to take care of you in time of need but… maybe, it’s all about surrounding yourself with the right people. You also have a feeling that you would’ve met Eijirou anyway, even if you’d never work in your uncle’s coffee shop because you two are connected by fate and no one can change your mind about that.

“This is my flat, silly, I’m not going anywhere.” You give the redhead a fond smile, but apparently, that’s not what the said redhead wanted to hear because he shakes his head vigorously, his face even more red than before. He takes your hand in his tentatively, stroking your knuckles with his thumb as he mumbles something inaudible. He pulls your hand closer and that’s when it clicks; he wants you to stay with him… in the bed. While he naps. Your heart almost jumps out of your chest from the sudden happiness that washes over you.

“You just need to say please. But before you do, I must warn you I might kiss you for real. I’m at my limits, puppy dog.”

You are quite sure you are as red as him by now but you try to keep your cheeky smile on, hoping it’s dark enough in the room for him to not see how flustered you are. It’s just not on brand, you know. You are the one teasing, not the other way around! Damn, the tables have turned.

“I… I can take that risk any day.” He mutters back; you make a silly noise in your throat, a high pitched little yelp you hope he can’t hear as you slowly let him pull you into the bed, cuddling you right away as you lay down next to him.

Okay, the tables DEFINITELY have turned. “Is this too much? I feel like your heart is yelling at me to go away.” He sighs with his face hidden in your chest. “So aggressive.”

“Can I tell you a secret?” You whisper into his ear while your arm snakes around his middle to initiate an actual cuddle. “It beats like that every time you come through the coffee shop door. It has been doing that for a while.”

“Am I scary?”

… This guy is an actual idiot. Do you really need to spell it out?

“Ei, look at me.” Slowly, Eijirou moves his head from your chest and he looks so terrified, you can’t stop yourself anymore; you stroke his chin while you look into his eyes fondly, moving closer and closer, giving him enough time to move away, but he… doesn’t. Finally, your lips collide in a warm, chaste kiss, one that’s barely there but it’s just enough to make a point. “Do I look scared of you, silly?”

Suddenly, Eijirou pushes himself up to his elbows and stares into your eyes. He’s still close, much closer than you’ve even been to him, his breath fans your lips and you feel goosebumps going down your spine from the thrill of it.

“If I say you do, will you do that again?” For the first time today, he almost looks like himself again; his eyes are full of wonder, he bites his bottom lip to stop it from wobbling, he’s so fucking precious you want to put him in your pocket and keep him there for the hard days and for the good ones, just have him with you every day because fuck, you really do love this fucking himbo.

“Just shut up and kiss me.”

And he does.

But…

This is not what you were expecting.

Eijirou pecks your lips once, twice, then a third time, but then he moves to your cheeks and leaves tiny little kisses all over until he gets bored of the area and goes back to your lips, pecks them again, but even as you try to give him a proper kiss, he moves away and keeps peppering you with these small, almost friendly kisses and you are so fucking confused but also kinda excited for finally not being the one doing all the work.

You have no idea how to tell him you want… well.. more. You feel selfish for not appreciating this properly and you feel like this is not the time for you to speak up about if; maybe, this is what he needs now, just… love and affection but not in a suggestive way. You take a deep breath and try to do the same, just peppering kisses on his cheeks and lips, counting fucking sheep to calm yourself down before you devour the man on top of you. Small kisses. You can do this.

You gently change your positions to let Eijirou lay on the bed and rest. He makes a tiny yelp from the sudden change but he let’s you be in charge; you straddle his hips but you make sure you don’t touch in inappropriate places because while you would absolutely love to take this further, he’s clearly not in the mood for that yet. Maybe he’s the “no heavy making out” before marriage kinda guy. It would make a lot of sense to be fair, with the whole “proposal on the first date” thing he’d pulled.

You really need to sit down and talk, this is getting ridiculous. You haven’t even talked about being a couple properly. Obviously, you are not stupid, you know you are… well… something, maybe even more than just a couple at this point but it all happened so quickly it would be nice to know you two are on the same page about this.

You sweep this thought under the rug for a few more days; now you have a mission to finish, which is to make Eijirou happy enough to be able to take a proper nap. You leave tiny kisses on his cheeks, then one cheeky peck on his mouth, your thumb caressing his cheekbone soothingly as you keep kissing him, slow and careful until Eijirou looks like he’s ready to doze off; when the time is right, you lay down next to him, your fingers drawing circles into his naked chest until finally, his breathing evens out and he’s out like a light, a tiny smile ghosting his face as he sleeps peacefully, unconsciously cuddling into your side.

Needless to say, you can’t fall asleep. Your heart is thrashing in your chest, begging for attention, begging for that deep kiss you’ve been dreaming about for eternity.

“You’ll be the death of me, himbo.” You mumble silently as you close your eyes and pretend to sleep for the next couple of hours.

It’s fine. You have your whole life to take those steps forward. There is no need to rush this. Maybe, if you tell that to yourself a couple more times you’ll actually believe it.

… to be continued!

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

Potato ramble:

- Thank you very much for your kind words under my last personal update. I’m sorry for not replying. I read them all and they made me really happy I’m just… well… having troubles communicating with anyone right now. Thank you very much for being so kind and patient with me, I hope this surprise chapter makes your day a bit better 💜

- Tell me what you think of this chapter! Tell me what you think will happen in the next! I might not respond but I’ll definitely enjoy reading your conspiracies! 💜

TL: @porusuniverse @sixxze @unofficialmuilover @cheesenmax @readingfan @sammmm29 @pwinglez1 @happydragonfrog @magicalhandsherringclam @lovingnightharmony @theequeenofcurses @kirishima-eijirock @nerinefy @selfindulgenthoe @fierysplash213 @woofwoofwolf @touyasprettydoll @confused-smol-fan @themultifandomgirl @dark-witch-bitch @lotusstarr

#bnha x reader #mha x reader #kirishima eijirou x y/n #kirishima x y/n #Kirishima x reader #kirishima eijirou x reader #kirishima eijirou x you #red riot x reader #red riot x you #red riot #eijirou x reader

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abilouwrites · 2 months

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THE BEFORE, AND THE AFTER

series Masterlist

(Og draft got deleted I’m sorry pookies)

It takes Bakugo three months before he winds up in my ER once again. This time less injured, with a large gash on his abdomen. I’ve just worked a twelve hour shift and am dying to get home. But alas I get called in to the trauma room where he’s just sitting, “called for you” He smiles weakly but lifts his shirt to show a semi-deep cut just at his ribcage, “hoped you weren’t off”

I groan a little as I slip my sterile gown and gloves on, grabbing a suture kit and bringing it near where I’m sitting, “uh-huh, can I take a listen to your lungs?” I ask taking my stethoscope from my pockets.

“Yeah. Can I get more of the pain killers?” He asks, crimson eyes flick over my figure and how I’m hunched listening to his lungs. Which sound fine.

“No, I’m just gonna numb you a little bit and then stitch you up” I clarify, gentling numbing the area and slowly pulling the sutures tight.

I hear him wince and inhale sharply, “you do not have gentle hands”

“Uh huh” I nod, “I just wanna get home. I’ve promised my roommate that I’d be there for dinner. And I’ve broken my promises more than enough” I murmur; dumping my gloves and gown into the trash.

“You have a roommate?” He asks; sitting up and pulling his mask off- allowing stray blonde hair to fall into his eyes. Which he quickly brushes out of his face.

“Yeah.. not all of us make almost two mil every year. But shes great I love her” I murmur, “uh yeah you’re good”

“Why don’t I take you out to dinner” he asks and now I know the morphine is talking.

“Ha-ha” I joke a dry laugh, “I’ll see you around. Just take it easy for a while”

I’m tired and burnt out when I slink through the door, listening to some jazz pop as I unlock the door. I’m not surprised to see Suki asleep on the couch. Stove off and food in the oven. I don’t bother waking her. She has a job interview with this tech company in the morning.

I open my door, clothes on the ground. A messy room, with makeup on my desk and medical books holding up the uneven legs. The little trinkets on my windowsill.

I’ve been working the past 48 hours, non stop— doctors are working less hours, which means the nurses have to step up. I’m working harder than I ever have. For the same pay.

I have the feeble energy to put the remaining clean laundry I have away before I stuff my laundry basket full of dirty clothes.

I flop into bed and am grateful I won’t have to work until tomorrow night.

Halfway through my shift I go for coffee. Mostly because this is my favorite coffee spot but also because hospital coffee sucks. There’s a shorter line than usual, people know this place but not very well. The nurses know it best, but I’m still a little astonished to see him there. Hair a little damp and eyes red with irritation. In the bareness of his hero costume, no gauntlets. Still those dumb boots.

I pick up my iced coffee, relishing in that first sip. The sip doesn’t cure my exhaustion; or the fact I’m walking a little under a mile back to the hospital.

But Bakugo never misses, eyes keen he spots me. Murmuring my name against the crowd, sliding next to me as I walk out. Light green scrubs and black clogs. The ugliest shoes but also the comfiest, “dynamight I haven’t seen you in a while” I tease gently as he smiles. Not even bothering to get his coffee.

“I’m almost due for my next visit then? Aren’t I?” He asks. A faint smile of that softened jaw-line. He’s not much taller than I am, 6’2 to my 5’7.

“God no, we’re so understaffed.. I’m working 80 hours a week and I’m still struggling on grocery and car and just everything.” I murmur a little, looking over at him.

“I’ve heard about the strikes, everyone says hero’s are the foundation of society but it’s carried by medicine” he speaks, a soft voice against the few cars that pass the streets.

“I know.. I’m just exhausted.. y’know?” I’m still quiet, “how has the stitches been healing?”

“All healed. Just a little sore.”

“And the wrist?”

“Because we’re out of your work place.. what’s it gonna take for me to take you out to dinner?”

I shrug back a laugh, but smile at him, “a lot more than that”

#louiseabilenewrites #my hero acedamia #bakugo katuski #bakugou katsuki #bakugou x reader #bnha bakugo katsuki #bnha bakugou #katsuki bakugo mha #katsuki bakugo x reader #katsuki bakugou #my hero academia #mha bakugou #bakugo #katsuki bakugo imagine #my hero fanfic #my hero x reader #my hero academy fanfiction #my hero acadamy #my hero is over and i’m not ok

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the-kr8tor · 4 days

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I'm sorry about the last one I just got way too excited to express my admiration for your works, I forgot to check!! But I've checked now and I saw The "Imagine if Hobie was prowler" that actually sounds really cool!! I was thinking if you could write something about that, maybe Reader is someone who he cares a lot for but it turns out they're also fighting against each other, (I haven't actually tackled the whole Universe of spiderman so I was genuinely just thinking of Reader as someone with powers TvT) but yeah I got a bit curious about that, I'm not sure if you wrote about that yet since I haven't went in all the master list and hopefully I don't finish it yet cause I'd be left with the deep emptiness (I love all the series so finishing it while it's ongoing would devastate medhdhx) but if you did you can discard my message or if this is too much, that's alright!!

Oh and I'm really happy I didn't make you Uncomfortable it's my first time writing something to a writer and I got anxious TvT I hope you have a great day!!

No worries! You're good! I put my own spin on it, I hope you like it! ❤️

Pairing: Hobie Brown x gn! Reader/ Prowler! Hobie Brown x gn! Reader

Word count: 1k

Tags: No use of Y/N, no specific physical description of the reader, cw blood, cw violence, cw injury, tw death, Prowler! Hobie, Venom! Reader, ANGST.

ʕ⁠·⁠ᴥ⁠·⁠ʔ

The air runs cold, and your breath staggers in your throat. The fighting around you hasn't stopped, nor all the screaming, and bleeding flesh. But everything seems to cease when you see him. The noises deafen, debris and blood stilling in the air— Hobie in all his glory, covered in metal and crimson iron. Hobie, whose face is obscured by steel plates over his familiar face, purple smoke ebbing out of his suit. And yet, despite his rough and intimidating exterior, despite his sharp claws and sharper gaze, your heart still longs for him. He still feels like home.

Home, you haven't thought of it in years, the trees that dance in the wind, soft lavender wandering through the air. And your little house in the middle of the fields you once shared with him. A house that now ceased to exist, burned to ashes, nothing left but dark soot and blackened smoke that seemed endless. Ever burning, flames still snaking along the lavender fields, forever burying your memories with him under the red hungry flames. Those memories still live with you, deep down. You hope it still lives with him. If not, you'd rip it from your heart and hand it to him in your waiting ruby drenched palms.

“H-Hobie?” You ask in a broken tone, even though your soul knows him from where you stand. In between gore soaked bodies, bodies you've ripped and chewed yourself— he stands there motionless. You wonder if he still bears the warmth you used to hold in your arms.

The metal bridge creaks and squeaks, hinges about to give up from the stress of the fighting in its steel embrace. Tethering close to devouring every soul standing on its last life. You've felt the earth collapse years ago. If the ground fell from under you, would you notice?

Hobie doesn't answer, you see his chest rise and fall, gauntlets leaking blood. You don't know if it's his or someone else's, you just know it's not yours. Not yet. Would he hurt you?

You stand there, all worn out, arms bleeding and throbbing, legs trembling from the sheer pain. And yet, your eyes never leave his own mechanical mask, as if you can see the worry behind the steel curtains.

He stands there, heart ripped out, still beating atop the bodies laid out in front of him. He stands there, but he should walk towards you, run towards you and hold you. Hold you like he once had in that lavender field he once called home, hold you as if he didn't lose you all those years ago.

To live in his delusion, to never leave from the haze of the past. He longs for it, to stay where he once held you.

But the blackened tendrils coming out of your wounds is the one that he's fighting against. It curls around you, wrapping you in its mass. White eyes in place of your own that he sees in his dreams, sharp claws and lolling tongue— he doesn't see you anymore. Can't see you underneath the obsidian flesh of his enemy. He wonders if it's still you under it.

With a gutteral screech from the large mouth of the alien mass inhabiting your body, he takes his guitar from his back to pluck its strings. The noise could kill you, or it could liberate you. So he decides, and he plays.

The sound reverberates around the bridge, the creaking pauses for a moment, replaced by the ear piercing shrieks from the venoms. Hobie sees you crumble to your knees, tentacles of black slime ripped apart at the seams.

Your face is revealed under the mass, contorted into pain, the light in your eyes slowly fading as the creature feeds on your very being. Your nails dig into the slimy flesh, desperately trying to rip it out from your body. Eyes meeting with Hobie's, you nod for him to continue despite the blood spilling from your ears.

With bated breath, he strums again. More shrieking, more screaming, flesh torn apart, teeth chattering above the sound. His eyes never leave from your suffering as tears prick from his eyes. Grief snakes along his stomach up to his chest, pressing hard on his heart.

“Again!” You yell, ripping and gnawing at the agony filled venom. He follows, another strum, and another, one by one, venoms leave their hosts, and one by one, the bridge's wires collapse. But your own demon doesn't yield, it clings to you like a babe, holding onto you like a lifeline.

“C’mon!” Hobie stalks closer, plucking his strings over and over again despite your screams that would haunt his dreams. The venom wraps around you in its cold embrace, your own screams stifled with its arm over your mouth, choking you. “No!”

The bridge crumbles, someone tries to yank him away and take him to safety. But he shrugs them off, even if it means his own death.

“Hobie!” You manage to yell, “run!” It has you in a chokehold, dark veins ebbing from its touch towards your skin. It's killing you with it. Swallowing you in darkness, drowning you.

He abandons his guitar to dig you out of the mass. He rips out a chunk but it's immediately replaced and healed. Your muffled breaths can still be heard from under, he doesn't leave you. He won't leave you to die in the arms of the thing that took you from him.

Claws cutting and tearing, he heaves, breath stuck in his lungs. Yanking his helmet off, you see his face from the last pinprick of light. You wish there was a smile on his face instead of the desperation and fear. Still, you wished for home and you got it.

He pleads, and he calls for you, and his face is the last thing you saw before you fell into the suffocating depths.

The bridge collapses from under his feet, and he falls with you, holding onto you, plunging into the icy tides below. In the water, venom dissolves into nothingness, and he could finally hold you again as he joins you on the other side.

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persicipen · 20 days

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ꕤ ₊ ˙ ⊹ . acheron . gn reader — 0.3k ノ just a quick spurt of words, trying to get a hold of her personality ノ a sprinkle of apathetic angst ノ implied lovers from previous life turned enemies

A crimson knot of approaching death ties around your neck, an ancient nightmare follows in the steps of a woman looking at you through the lens of a broken in half emptiness of the universe. She dares not to raise her voice above a whisper when a clawed gauntlet comes near your ear, a sting of a sharp brush following across the flared skin.

“Do you remember me?” she asks, and a flash of deja vu freezes your body. Yet you cannot pinpoint a memory these words have brought, and you don’t know if you’d want to.

An odd presence in the air warns you not to answer. She doesn’t even look at you as her hand trails lower, pressing on your pulse point.

“I don’t mind,” she adds with a smile that does not reach her eyes, a veil of tears ghosting across the black pool of irises. “It doesn’t matter anymore,” she declares and lifts her head to the sky. She doesn’t even blink.

There are too many stars to count, and not enough lights in her gaze. But she holds onto something intangible and does not let go. A lone emotion escapes through a crimson drop, staining the corner of her lashes. You cannot tell what it is, this shard of a broken heart. Something in her that you wish to chase after, but the night is too deep and dark to break through, too tainted by the passage of time.

You know she doesn’t remember you either.

“I thought in previous lives we could be lovers. Who knows…”

A strange thing to say while holding a blade, its handle poking at your spine, an icicle of nihility. Hoping the heavens may reveal her secrets behind their shroud, you wonder who she is — but it is too late to dive into the murk of her mind; you have to state your ground. Fight or die, welcome the rain with a face either burning from exertion or just as cold, forgotten by life.

“Not anymore,” you reply.

For the first time, her sight settles on you, like an ocean wave hitting a shore and causing a chaos in the sand. Crashing, drowning, becoming one for a second before parting to draw weapons.

“Not, indeed.”

#—writing.#honkai star rail x reader #honkai star rail x you #hsr x reader #hsr x you #acheron x reader #acheron x you

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capriciousnarrator · 8 months

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Favorite Flavor of Apocalypse?

Which books have kicked the world in the shins in a most entertaining fashion?

Starvation Island will be the concluding installment of the End-User Jack series, and I get to explore the cataclysm which has afflicted Jack’s real-world home known as the Tower. It got me thinking about how my favorite post-apocalyptic novels handled their end-of-the-world scenarios, and which ones did it best. In my books, I’ve brought the world to the brink with genetic engineering…

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fracturcdfire · 2 years

Text

@caelestiacorpora ♥ for a starter

OVER A HUNDRED YEARS HAD PASSED. Over a hundred years since their last meeting, nearly a hundred more since their first. So much time had passed, almost without notice. A happy, cherished memory, and with the blink of an eye, she was experiencing one of the most traumatic moments of her long, long life.

Golden eyes would fall on the d’Apchier vampire. Pale grey hair and pale blue eyes. She was exactly as she remembered her, all those years ago, before her seemingly endless sleep.

Removing her arm from Carpe Diem, Jeanne would slowly turn towards the girl, hesitantly stepping forward. In the past, she had believed that there was no other way. That she had no choice but to kill her. That it was her responsibility as a Bourreau. That she couldn’t fail again. That Chloé d’Apchier was a curse-bearer, and thus, had to die.

Yet here she was, here before her very eyes. Not only alive, but cured. He had done it. He had kept his promise. He had saved her.

An overwhelming sensation of joy would swell within her chest, alongside another feeling. One that was a distant memory, one she’d nearly forgotten.

Her eyes would quiver at the surge of emotions she had suppressed for so long. Letting out a breath she didn’t realize she had been holding, her lips parted. “ Chloé... ” she spoke up softly as her right hand carefully extended towards the vampire.

“ Come on... Come on... Come on...! ”

The memory of their last encounter resurfaced in Jeanne’s mind. The feel of bitter cold winds lashing against her cheeks as tears welled up in her eyes. The desperate lunge forward in a futile attempt to grab the d’Apchier’s hand as she let herself fall from that cliff. And most of all her own empty hand, trembling from much more than just the cold.

Her face flickered with regret, ashamed of her past self’s inability to grasp what was dear to her and save the only person left she could consider family. She lacked the strength to follow her heart. She had to do what she was told. She had to, or else...

Was it okay? For her to reach out to the other, over a century too late? Her hand would pause as that uncertainty gripped at her mind and her worries clutched her heart. Hesitance holding her still, the will to take back what she thought she had lost was stolen from her, as her outstretched hand would slowly begin to retreat.

#｢ She who wields the crimson gauntlet ｣ IC #｢ I didn't know she could smile like that ｣ HOPE RESTORED #caelestiacorpora

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sculptorofcrimson · 5 months

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Snowfields

Synopsis: A cold walk atop the mountain with Valdor.

Relations: Valdor x female Emperor shard

Warnings: Suicide attempt

This is relatively tame for what I write, and I wrote it in one sitting when I had roughly 20 minutes to spare. Ty for your time!

“Do you remember Ararat, my liege?”

No. No, she didn’t remember Ararat. She has never heard the name before. But she will. By the gods, she will.

The air was cold. It rattled through her lungs when she tried to breathe. The white seemed to stretch forever, like malignant bones, the wind laid bare and rattling its screams. It would rise like a frosty howl around the two of them, wailing like a soldier who had lost a limb, weeping its cries for eternity. The cold bit at her, tore at her, the snow would have frozen mortal blood solid in mortal veins. Thunder grumbles in the distance. A crack of lightning splits the sky in half, purplish white against the ghoulish grey.

His cloak was warm when he wrapped it around her. But his touch, without doubt, without even question, was unfathomably cold. Without even thinking of it, she had shrunk away.

Valdor’s grip had only tightened then. He fastened the clasp of the too-large cloak, the stench of incense and parchment wafting from the silk. A small smile, the emotionless movement perfected by a mind that could not actually smile, flashed briefly across his visage as he took her wrist, trapped it so effortlessly between his fingers and kissed the soft skin there.

“There was a Primarch once. A magnificent man. One that even I respected, in some regards.” Valdor led her, slowly and patiently, holding her up when she stumbled through the knee-high snow. The mountaintop seemed to rage against her. Well, too damn bad. She hated mountains, and she hated snow, and she was about to teach him a lesson out of spite. It was pure pettiness, but it was hers, it was one last plan she held to herself, one last wish she was certain was hers and not his, and if she was going to die, drowned limb by limb into the unseeing gold, she wished to at least pain him with it.

How had it gone so wrong? How had angels of such glorious aurite turned into nightmares wrapped in gold and crimson?

She yanked her arm away. Valdor let her go without struggle, simply rising back with a singular, elegant motion, as if he were a dancer performing a long-awaited waltz. When she stumbles over another snow-covered rock mere moments later, he was there, as if he had never left, one arm gently wrapped around her waist as he hauls her upright. This time, when she tries to pull away, his grip only tightens, as if he was defying the very storm itself.

“The snow reminds me of him. The Cataegis Primarch of the IVth legion. You watched us duel atop a mountain not so unlike this one, my liege, when the storm ended. It felt like the top of the world. We were in a deadlock when you appeared, your attention straying just for a moment to our fight. I snapped his wrist with a twisting motion, and slammed him into the ground hard enough to snap part of his spine. Your attention had departed by then, but it was enough. You still remember the frost, do you not?”

No. No. She didn’t. She couldn’t. Valdor’s hand, so gentle, so damnably gentle, placed itself under her chin. It stroked her hair, his gauntlets’ touch heavy yet tender, the jewels flashing dully through strands of hair that were quickly becoming darker, swallowed first by brown and then by black. He had not forbidden her to cut it. Out of spite, she had ordered him to cut it for her.

It didn’t matter.

The strands had grown back, with an unrelenting zeal, glossy and luxurious and flowing like ink over water. She was innocent once, she was mortal, she lived among men and walked amongst mortals, and she will never be again. She will never live again, and that truth was simply so jagged, so broken, so horrifyingly caught between her chest and her throat that it was as if something broke a little further every time she took a breath. Valdor had only quietly polished, brushed and glossed over her hair, his movements methodical and calculated, even when silent tears rolled their way down her cheeks, her vision blurred by the salt and the water but just visible enough to see the flakes of gold swirling in her pupils. Still clear enough to see herself die.

She had felt Valdor’s fingers through her hair then, braiding it carefully in an intricate style she had never seen before, but one that tugged at familiar roots she had never felt before.

Her hair. Some mewling, broken part of her(was it her dream or His? Was there a difference anymore?) instinctively felt like it should be darker. Longer. Wreathed with gold, and weighed down by a crown. But it was her hair. It was her hair, once upon a time, and she had lost it strand by strand, inch by inch, as the gold swam up through her vision and blocked out her eyes.

A rock clattered over the side of the mountain, followed by dull, distant thunder. It jolted her back to her mind, to her body, to the world that she did not rule over and should have never ruled.

Numbly, she felt herself shake her head. Valdor only raised an eyebrow, and adjusted the clasp.

“I remember the rock, my master.” Valdor was saying. His voice rose and fell like a litany, carefully retracing steps the Emperor had once guided him through, when He was a king and gods walked the earth. She felt so small against him, so tired, so far from the invincible god-warrior he had once served, but that was alright, He had returned to him, and he would shepherd Him, guide Him, protect Him, through this life and through this death till the last. “Even the rocks felt cold. It was black, and it glistened like oil whenever the sun shone. There were storms every day of that campaign, as if the heavens themselves were against us, as if the gods had conspired to strike you down, but yet you gave us the order to march. And the wind. You told me that you heard it screaming. Malcador jokingly asked that if you should live again, you would choose to enact Ararat during the summer instead, if only out of sheer annoyance from the wind.” Valdor’s smile was nothing more than a reflex. There was no humor in it, nor human emotion. “Do you remember it then, my master?”

The wind. Had it screamed then, as it screams now? Had it screamed, beneath the weight of the betrayal, wailing with the sheer horror of what it had taken? Did it scream, singing a threnody with the thunder, as the skies growl and hail shudders from overcast clouds ahead? She shivers underneath her layers. The finest climate suits had been prepared, coupled with the Custodian cloak over her shoulders, but she felt cold, so unspeakably cold that it was nearly painful.

Oh Throne. She was cold, so cold.

“Constantin?” she rasps. Her voice was not her own. It was rusty from disuse, and cracked, and weak, but yet some part of it resonated, it echoed like the tongue of a god, speaking through the plaintive shell of a mortal, just enough to hiss like a shadowy undertone. It should have been more sonorous, it should have been softer, it should have been the voice of a conqueror, it should have been the voice of a girl snatched away from her home by an angel and transformed into a god. It should have been hers, but it was His instead. She licks her lips and tries again. “Constantin.”

“Yes, my lord?” he was at her side(was he always so close?), the memory jarringly left unfinished. The hand once gently guiding her and became more insistent as he knelt down until they were eye to eye.

“I don’t remember the mountain.” she replied flatly. Her voice was weaker than a whisper. She didn’t care. She knew he’d hear it anyway. And if he didn’t, she no longer cared enough to ensure he did. She no longer believed she had the strength to stomach that voice any longer.

The cliff looked dizzyingly as she peered over the edge. She wondered if even a Custodian could survive a fall at such a height.

“I don’t remember the snow, Constantin.”

“That is alright, my liege.” He was so sweet, so sickeningly sweet, so unerringly gentle. It made her want to claw at him, to crack him, to see what could finally burrow under that invincible flesh and make him howl. It made her wonder how the Emperor broke him to make him the man he had become, how deeply He must have laid His tongs in the forge of flesh and fire.

She wondered what his screams would sound like, if he could scream at all.

“Do not trouble yourself, my liege. Your form is still young.” Of course, he could afford to wait. He had waited for ten thousand years, and he would gladly wait for ten thousand more. In that broken, delusional mind of his, it was only just, after all. He’d speak litanies of loyalty, roaring them over the screams of her brethren, he’d speak praises so numerous that they’d drown out the sobs of her family. “Your memories will return, when given due time. I can tell you about them. The preliminaries, the campaigns, the plans you undertook.”

Of course. They’d have to return. They must return. They will return, and He will live again, born out of this mortal shell under Valdor’s guidance. Valdor simply could not be, must not be, could not accept, could not live in a world where his liege has fallen forever.

The snow was no longer biting her. It seemed to have been cowed, laid low beneath the vengeful eye of its rightful master. Even the storm seems to have settled, briefly, at least for now. For the eye of the King, the Emperor, the god-sorceror.

It was so cruel, the revelation, the realization that welled up in her when she gazed dully back at him with listless eyes. The revelation that came for her, and not for him, for he would be nothing if not for his delusion. How quickly she understood the truth beneath why she had called him here, why she had suddenly finally accepted his offer to visit the mountain, when she had been delaying it, dreading it, putting it off for weeks upon months.

The edge.

The end. (And not the death).

She wondered if even a Custodes could survive a fall from this height. She wondered if it mattered anymore.

The plan had been formulating itself for weeks now, brewing like boiled flesh in a cyst, nursing itself, grieving its wounds, growing stronger, gaining weight. First she had refused to eat, then to bathe, then to move at all, all the dreary, listless days crushed into the same monotony as brass as she had sat still upon a throne she did not want and stared off into oblivion, as he occasionally knelt by her and asked for her commands while she numbly stared off in the distance, her eyes a thousand yards away. Her gaze had been lost in a time beyond time, beyond memory itself, and not even dreams could steal her away.

First it had only been how she stopped even trying to hide from him. She simply let him follow her, on her aimless, little walks aboard the massive ship that had become her only location. Then it had been how her tongue had stalled and she no longer even greeted the serfs that occasionally came by to deliver her food she did not eat, water she did not want, utensils she did not use, how she simply stared ahead, as reactive as a corpse, about as conscious to the world as the dead. Valdor had cared after her then, when even her memory had failed her, when she lay still and sullen like ash, the weight of the world upon broken shoulders, silent, painful tears trickling a cheerless trail from her eyes to her duvet. How he had lifted her up and cradled her to him, asking which stories she wished to hear, which glories she wished him to recount. Which memories that were not hers but soon will be, tales he regaled her of His conquests, of His victories and His lessons, His mantras drilled into her bones as they have been drilled into his.

She had left the world, bit by bit, husk by husk, until she felt as if she weighed no more than one of His eagles’ feathers did, frailly clinging onto the world with a whisper and a dream. It was as if she was sinking into some calm, clear, colorless water and feeling the waves close in above her, but there was no sensation of drowning, no voiceless cry in the deep. Simply the noiseless struggle in her own dreams, as she prepared herself for the final breath before oblivion.

(Did she have the strength? Did it matter any longer, when he could overpower her no matter the answer?)

It was so beautiful, up here, at the edge of the sky. She could hear the storm breathing in the clouds. It was close enough that she could close her eyes, and dream of Ararat, listening to Valdor’s words. An end. An end, just like the Thunder Warriors He(and she?) slaughtered so long ago. The final unraveling. She didn’t want to die, but was she truly living? An immortality without life, without passion, without even joy itself, was that truly living when she was little more than a corpse, kept alive through obsession?

If the Emperor had loved them, He would have never created them at all. What merciful god would create such grotesque angels?

If the Four were merciful, they would have sought Valdor, as they sought the Primarchs. They would have whisked him away, upon winds of change, tainted him with their mark, made sure He would never accept him as a servant again. They would have saved him, corrupted him, broken him, taught him what it felt like to dream, before the golden light shone again, and His dream took over his.

But he was a servant, not a master. He was not a leader. He knelt, instead of ruling, and the Emperor had sunk in His claws so deep even the Four could not pry it out. And so he was His, forevermore.

He died ten thousand years ago. And somewhere, inside that twisted, broken Palace that was a mind, His dog was still waiting loyally at the door, waiting for Him to return.

He was kneeling beside her now. She had never even heard him move. With infinite reverence, he cups her features, admiring the black strands falling over his gauntlets, the golden eyes - so broken, so gorgeous, so His - staring back at him.

“It was the end of the Unification Wars, my liege. And the start of your rule. The Imperium was born that day, your coronation happened atop that bloodstained snowfield, when Malcador held up that laurel, and crowned you King. How could you forget how I, the first of your Custodes, knelt first and rose last, when the ceremony ended?”

So careful. So gentle as not to hurt her.

“Tell me about them.” a small, cruel smile had found its way onto her face. She was no longer looking at him, instead smiling serenely, blankly staring out upon the sky. The mountain truly was beautiful. It was such a shame this was where she would die. She should have felt something then. A sense of guilt, perhaps. A moment of horror for what she had become, for taking advantage of something so deeply broken into him that it was written into his very bones. Obedience was carved into his blood, seared into his marrow. He would know no other way but to obey.

“The Unification Wars?” Valdor asks, the question poised so effortlessly, head tilted like a loyal dog, perfectly prepared to obey his master’s every word.

It would be almost easier, she thought, if he had been a crueller man. Easier to break him, easier to hate him, easier to gaze upon that perfect, immaculate features and wonder what if he had lost those duels. If he had been taught to be mortal, what his screams would’ve sounded like, what sounds of pain he might wheeze out when his perfect, immaculate dancer’s grace falters and he learns, he learns the price for immortality.

He was never meant to love.

Not for the first time, she wonders if he can feel pain. If she’ll even care, if it’ll even matter. For a creature who loved no one but his master, would it even be a sin?A sin, to teach him what it meant to fear? To taste the copper tang of terror, to twist the knife in him as he had twisted the knife in her. And to die, exalted, knowing she would have hurt him, knowing she brought down a demigod.

You can’t reason with a mad dog. You can’t plead with someone who knows they’re right. You can’t gaze into the eyes of Constantin Valdor and expect to see reason back, when his master was right in front of him and alive, so sickeningly alive he would rather kill than forget Him again.

Would he even mourn this time? Did he even know what mourning felt like? She had an inkling that he did, however twisted it may be. Because, for him, the tale isn't over yet, the tale must not be over. His Emperor is not dead, it cannot be, he cannot be, in a world without the Emperor, it simply is not possible. Without Valdor, the Emperor could not lead His Custodes, but without Him, the Custodes could not live.

“No.” she replies. “The mountain. Tell me of them.” The smile that stretched across her face felt nothing like her. It did not belong to this life. It was too old, too heavy, too sad and too cruel for a face that was once joyous and wide with mischief. She had an inkling of the words Valdor was about to say, the bitter, treacherous words she would weep to hear, and regret ever having forced him to speak.

“The Thunder Warriors.” she murmured. She had closed her eyes again by then. The plan was formulating, inking itself together with the same mindlessness of crawling, squirming things beneath the earth. And she didn’t want to see what the ground would look like when she fell. She didn’t want to see what it felt like to die a second time. This was only a distraction, a charade, a pitiful illusion built by a mind almost broken. There was no one here but a madman, a broken girl, and the ghosts of the storm calling out its mournful rage overhead.

“Tell me what became of them. Of that Primarch you spoke so highly of. And no lies.” she sighs, and the voice that whistles out of her is too old, too broken. She brushes his hand away. This time, he doesn’t even insist on remaining. “Tell me what happened on Ararat. I want to hear the truth from your lips.”

If there had been anything left of her heart, she might have mourned for him. For what he had become, living not for himself but for another. Living His life for Him. And when He died, what could become of him? What could become of him except to endure? When he had slaughtered brothers, lovers, children upon the snowfields, betrayed loyalists and watched life fade from their eyes, all in the name of Him, what could be left of him if not to serve?

He served, and loyalty was its own reward. Loyalty, unyielding, unbreaking, even in death his duty would not end.

Valdor tilts his head like a confused dog. “What good will it do now?”

She utters a dry, raspy laugh. It had no inflection within it, no actual human emotion.

“I command you, Valdor.” she spoke. There was nothing behind it, nothing even when the command hurt him. It stirred nothing but a deep, dull ache and the brief knife of guilt, which was quickly surpassed by the lasting numbness that did not seem to leave her bones. “I command you to speak of them. On Ararat. What happened on Ararat?”

She turns from him, walking slowly, and without care. She needed to be on a ledge. Distantly, thunder shrieks, and the storm crashes down. Lightning briefly illuminates her features, skin half-tanned, black hair flowing and golden eyes peering through the brume, and in that radiant flare of lightning she looked positively divine, a half-god caught on earth, if not for the weary, haunted gaze of a hunted animal. Her shoulders were hunched, her movements withered, as if her bones could no longer support her weight. She walked without a singular care in the world, and Valdor trailed immediately afterwards. She knew to jump was no longer an option. Even the stormclouds seemed to mock her. It was foolish, so foolish, she knew. He could not let her die. He would move faster than she could even think, he could catch her, snatch her around her waist and carry her to a safe distance before she could even advance an inch towards the edge.

She could not die here. He would not allow her to die.

And they both knew that.

Voicelessly, soundlessly, she gazes up upon the stormladen sky. Its grey dances across her golden irises, the stormwind playing with her hair. Thunder crashes, and she feels herself scream back, wordlessly, soundlessly, without even conscious thought. Dully, she knew she was raging, screaming, that her mind was seizing at the clouds and tearing at them, begging them to save her, but physically she made not even a single move. Her body was frozen, the snow pelting her shoulders, Valdor’s cloak swirling from the wind. She felt frozen, too. Her mind was no longer wreathed with such self-pity it once had, it was churning, clawing, raging like a caught rabbit in a trap, desperately wishing the ground would open up and swallow it whole, not as a kind of freedom, but as a final form of spite to the hunter.

Thunder crashes around the two of them. Neither of them move. The edge was close, so dizzyingly close that she could feel the wind gusting around her. Valdor was watching her closely, the same way a starved wolf may watch a weakened deer.

When Valdor finally speaks, unable to resist the bluntness of her command, his eyes were still distantly focused on the memories of Ararat. And his voice was passionlessly dull, carefully kept neutral and utterly without pity.

“I slit his throat.” he confesses dully, flatly, without even a hint of inflection. “The Primarch. I slit his throat on Ararat, from ear to ear, then from ear to clavicle. I only stopped when I felt bone scraping against the edge of my knife.”

Surprisingly she laughed, and the sound was garbled, as grim and as dry as bones. “I suppose you killed him then?” she asked. One more step. One more step and she would be at the edge. He would not let her. He would move faster than the earth could drag her down anyways. But it did not matter. Slowly, incredulously, she could feel herself smiling. It was going to be alright. She could feel it in her bones, the static, the storm. Even the snow seemed to be on her side. For a moment, she felt like a god, standing at the top of the world, the conquered earth groveling beneath Him, knowing that even the elements would fall beneath His gaze.

She could taste the ichor then, sweet and lifeless and pouring from the sky along with the snow, the charge in the sky and the thunder. The vengeance it held. The sheer rage, an echo of her own. She would rule them. She did not want to rule. She would rule, for one singular moment in her wretched life, she would rule, and she would hurt him, as he had hurt her. For the serfs he terrorized, for the Sisters he slaughtered, for the martyrs he first betrayed and then hung out to die. All in her name. All for her wishes. She no longer wished to wish. She no longer wished to reign.

Let her abdicate the throne of skulls. Just once. Just once, she prayed.

“No.” Valdor shook his head. He was already moving, one hand reaching out to grasp her arm and drag her back before she could approach the edge. “It would have been a kinder fate if he had died then. It would have been a kinder fate if-”

“-if you had granted him an honorable death.” she finished for him. She spoke softly, plaintively, as if this was a comfort. She had turned her face a little, just enough to see him, just enough to see his elegant features illuminated by the storm. To gaze upon him, one last time. The way he held himself, like a dancer, his lean features accentuated by the lightning as the thunderbolt carved the sky open and struck the ledge beside her. The way his auramite had shuddered from the lightning as he had, for the first time in her memory, stumbled, his gait not utterly perfect before the divine rage. The first word she had heard him say that was not perfectly calculated.

The lightning snaps the ledge like bone.

The surprised intake of breath she had uttered, a squeal that was nearly a gasp as the rock beneath her feet had caved in, and then crumbled as she had desperately hoped, the weathered stone no longer capable of supporting its own weight bending and breaking and shattering as the lightning arced through it, the smite separating the ledge like the same way Valdor had carved through that serf. That poor, poor serf who had slipped her a kiss upon her request. It was little more than a peck, that poor thing. And he hadn’t even been able to scream when Valdor separated his bones like paper.

In a silent vow to him, in a wordless vow to them all, the corpses he laid so she could climb atop her throne, she promised she wouldn’t scream as she fell.

Grimly, lips drawn in a tight line, she only felt the distant thunder as she descended like a one-winged eagle, her face utterly expressionless, lightning briefly dancing sparks against her hair as if in reverence.

Valdor’s cloak, still wrapped around her, its silk as crimson as spilled blood, unfurled around her as she fell.

Distantly, from somewhere beyond the mountaintop, thunder roared.

~~~~

It was warm, when she finally awoke. She muttered something, tried to turn, and decided to burrow deeper against the warmth instead. There was a rumble, a purr-like sound, and the slow, drifting scent of incense as one titanic hand came up to rest against her hair.

With careful reverence, it adjusted the master’s laurel.

“Welcome back, by lord.” the voice purred. “You expressed quite the interest in the Cataegis Primarch.”

She groaned. Golden irises flickered back and forth, as if in distress, beneath her lids. Valdor’s other hand reached up to stroke through her hair, careful not to upset the laurel.

“I had thought you would have recognized him, my lord. It was, after all, his grave that I showed you that night upon the mountain.”

He makes a long, slow chuckle, almost like amusement, if he had been capable of it. “I had expected you’ve greeted him already, my master. You were standing atop his bones.”

Somewhere, distantly, thunder growled. And without even being conscious of it, she shivered, and tried to burrow closer to his warmth.

Pinglist(checks notes, holy fuck!): @nonus-secundus @badbobdooley @bleedingichorhearts @starfrost740 @katie-faye1 @sigtamds @troylovesdoomguy @the-pure-angel @metronix36-blog @krynnmeridia @distantmoonbeam @futuristicchaospoetry @liar-anubiass-blog @subtle-like-a-brick-to-the-face @squishyowl @slaanesh @absent-still @sharenadraculea @idonotknowhowtochoosenames

#Yandere Constantin Valdor #constantin valdor #warhammer 40k #wh40k #warhammer #adeptus custodes #yandere custodes #constantin valdor x reader #unhealthy relationships #ushotan #he gets mentioned but it doesn’t matter #thunder warriors #emperor of mankind #valdor x emperor #or at least in valdor’s delusional mind #male yandere #sculptor of crimson #warhammer writing prompts

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xxladyballadxx · 6 months

Text

The Moon That Shines

𓆩♡𓆪 Vincent Valentine x (Fem) Reader 𓆩♡𓆪

Warning: N/A

𓆩♡𓆪 Note : I couldn’t be arsed writing a summary for this.. :// 𓆩♡𓆪

☾ dividers by : @saradika-graphics ☾

You were wandering off deep in the forest, chasing the deers that you captured with your eyes. As they leapt over a log and disappeared into the thin air, a roaring howl alarmed the place. Scaring the birds and other creatures, scurrying off into their hiding places. You heard another roar, a howl chilling you to the bone. Sounded like a wolf but it was more ‘beastly’ in some way.

As the fog swooped through the forest, you ran off scared and bumped into a tall, monstrous figure standing in your way. You held your head up, examining the figure that you crashed into. It was a beast who appeared out of nowhere, a very big one. His claws were sharp and long, his fangs were like werewolves, gigantic curled horns of a devil and his face…looked very demonic. You tried to use your magic to blast the beast away but you were too shaken by fear. It leaned in close to you, staring deeply into your soul as it growled. Instead of screaming for her, you fainted after seeing so monstrous and dropped to the floor…

After that unexpected event, you woke up in a strange place that looked like an abandoned house. You were lying down on a bed comfortably with a blanket over you. You gasped, getting up from the bed. You couldn’t recall what happened for some reason as it became hazy to you. Your eyes wandered the place, glancing around as you spotted a glass of water and a piece of bread on a plate left out for you on the table at the side of the bed. As you drink the water and stomach a piece of bread , you take another glance around the room, seeing how messy it looks. A bit empty except there were papers and books scattered around the floor. Even strange marks on the wall….

“You’re awake..” His voice sounded deep and somewhat hollow, like there was no sense of emotion in it. There appeared a man entering the room, wearing a red cloak with black leather attire. He was even wearing a golden gauntlet on his left arm and golden sabatons. Crimson fiery eyes and black hair like charcoal. You nearly choked on your last piece of bread when he entered the room out of the blue, crawling back in fright. “W-who are you?”

“I’m not here to hurt you...”

You calmed down a bit, putting your legs out of bed wanting to stand up, “A-alright. Tell me, do you know how I got here? I really can’t remember anything that happened, it’s all a blur to me..”

“I found you passed out on the ground and decided to take you here so you can be safe…” He simply put, walking up to you. You gave a slight nod, believing his words without saying anything in return. Although you couldn’t stop wrapping it around your finger as you were still trying to figure out why you passed out. “Why were you out in the woods at this late hour?” He asked with such firmness coming from his tone. “I was just taking a stroll, that’s all.” You responded. He cocked an eyebrow and tilted his head, “What if some monster attacked you?”

“I can protect myself.”

“Really?”

You lit a fire on the palm of your hand with a bitter smirk, “Yes.”

Vincent lifted his head back in a normal position, you honestly can’t tell if he was concerned for your safety. His expression looked so…emotionless.

“What’s your name if you don’t mind me asking?”

“Vincent Valentine. And you are?”

“(Y/n) (L/n)..”

After the introductions, Vincent escorted you outside his home and only walked with you halfway to your village, “Will you be alright heading straight home on your own?”

“Yes, thank you for um…before.”

“Take care.” He turned around and started walking back to his place.

“Wait!”

Vincent turned his face back on you once again, “What is it?”

“I was thinking if we could see each other again..”

“Why?”

“To get to know each other better. Besides you don’t seem to have a lot of friends by the looks of it and honestly…you look lonely.”

Vincent didn’t look very offended when you said that about him, “I’m used to it.”

You pointed your finger at the lake, “Let’s meet over there tomorrow by noon.” lowering your hand and flashing a smile towards Vincent. He gave a slight chuckle and turned his back around, walking off without saying in return.

You weren’t seen to be pissed by his response for some reason, you tittered and waved him goodbye as you began to walk home to your village, “I hope to see you again, Vincent!”

As the mysterious man continued to walk down the path to his home, he wondered why you were so interested in him. Vincent didn’t wish to upset you so he actually turned up and headed up to meet you by the lake at noon the very next day. You brought a picnic along with you, hoping to share some with Vincent. He appreciated you offering him food but he wasn’t very hungry which clearly made you visibly sad but you don’t seem to be very upset about it. So you sat down with him and just talked. You realized that Vincent wasn’t much of a talker, he listened to you chatting about your life. Just slight nods and a few head tilts. All these little responses from him. You weren’t expecting him to speak a lot because you’re not really bothered by it. The day goes on when the fiery sun lowered down as the pearl white moon rose in the deep dark sky.

You set your eyes on the moon, watching how it beautifully shines, “Quite pretty, isn’t it?”

“It really is..” Vincent responded simply, agreeing with you.

“I dreamt that one day, I could go there…. to the moon..” You added, lifting your hand to the gleaming light of the white pearl, “I know it’s quite cold there but I want to experience it and just sit down on the solid ground, looking at the whole galaxy..”

Vincent’s expression changed completely when you began to talk about your dream, your dream about heading to the moon. This led him to believing that you truly love the moon very much. His face softened as you continued to dream and talk about the moon. This is when you realize you were getting ahead of yourself. An innocent laughter slipped out from your mouth, “I’m sorry, it’s quite silly, isn’t it?”

The man in red shook his head, his expression becoming more soft, “No…no, I don’t believe it’s silly at all.” Although Vincent tried his best not to show it but he actually likes the dream you have, if that’s the way of putting it. You light a smile across your lips, “You know, we should see each other more often.”

“We..should?”

“Yes! I know you don’t like talking much but I was hoping we could spend some time together and get to know each other. We can sit here all day watching the moon if you would prefer that. We don’t have to talk, we can just watch the moon together.”

Vincent stood up with a little surprising smile and gestured his hand to pull you up as you smiled in return, “You know, (Y/n)...I think I might like you.

a/n - this felt so rushed omfg, I was struggling so much and couldn't think straight since I haven't been writing for a while. I also struggled with writing Vincent so he was actually quite difficult to capture but I think I did okay with him I guess?

Sequel to The Moon That Shines ⤵

No More Secrets ↩

#final fantasy vii x reader #ffvii vincent x reader #vincent valentine x reader #vincent valentine #final fantasy vii #ffvii

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the-lights-are-loud · 1 month

Text

It's Okay

Batman’s clean arc through the air was cut short by a sharp jerk. Robin watched as his partner was ripped from the grapple line and barely collided with the rough gravel of the nearest skyscraper roof. He quickly shot another line to correct his course and landed next to the gasping hero.

“Batman!” Robin shouted, quickly pulling the man towards cover. Blind chatter filled the comms as the boy scrambled to discern what was wrong.

Blood covered his hands in horrible gushes with each stuttering beat of Batman’s heart. The bullet was embedded in his neck. The body armor had slowed it down enough to prevent it from proving immediately fatal.

The shouting in his ears was too much and Robin slammed the comm down in the ferrous, crimson gravel. Mouthfuls of air couldn’t fill his lungs as he gasped away the shaky panic that filled each muscle. His too small hand pressed against the torn flesh under the shredded cowl.

“R-robin-” The words were choked and rusty in Batman’s mouth. Thick, padded gloves weakly tried to pry the darkness away from the man’s face.

The trembling hand that wasn’t applying direct pressure to his neck helped Batman pull the cowl off. Robin could feel his own domino mask’s glue become unstuck from the hot blur that covered his world.

“Dick, please,” he gasped out.

He wanted to smack that stupid smirk off of his face. He can’t leave him too. Father was dead. He can’t die. He won’t allow it.

“Lemme see your face, Dami.” The heavy gloved hand tried to reach for the mask on Damian’s face, but couldn’t quite reach. Brashly, he ripped off his mask, feeling painful tears and cold blood smearing on his face.

Damian sniffed, “You can’t die, you’re not allowed to.”

“It’s okay, Dami.”

“No, it’s not! Who-who’ll take care of me?”

The smile on Dick’s face made Damian want to scream and shake him. “So you admit that you need someone-” He coughed, a sickly gurgle.

“Of course I need someone, I need you!” He sobbed. “I should have saved you…”

“Damian. It’s. Okay.” Dick murmured with finality, his gauntleted hand settling like a stone on Damian’s. The blood flow slowed, and a sick hope filled the young boy.

“It’s okay.”

The screaming cries from the discarded comm were the only sounds that Robin could hear as he cradled Batman’s cold body.

Heavy boots and light pirouettes settled around him like a fog. Two sets of warm arms tried to soothe him away from His Batman. An angry roar and sprint of helmeted red flashed past him. Another slim, frozen presence hovered nearby, standing like a sentinel over the mourning.

“It’s gonna be okay. It’s okay.” Steph whispered in his ear as Cass’ black-clad arms smoothed over his back.

No. It’s not.

#genuinely sobbed when i wrote this #had to listen to lego batman music to be happy again #batman #dick grayson #damian wayne #robin #dick grayson batman #jason todd #tim drake #stephanie brown #cassandra cain #barbara gordon #batfamily #fanfic #dc #fanficton #Light's Fics

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pursuitseternal · 3 months

Text

“Our Blood: Into the Fire” 🔥 The Battle for Avernus🔥

Astarion x Cordehlia (Tav) | E | 5K

Summary: Arriving in Avernus, Cordehlia and Astarion reunite with old friends to stand with them along side Raphael. Facing Zariel, Mizora, and her legions is no small task, but they are an indomitable force, side by side (by side)

CW: canon typical battle gore, minor character deaths, decapitations, Wyll/Karlach flirty tension, Astarion and Cordy are that make out couple in every group, Raphael’s Ascended Fiend Form, Kill Your Abuser x 2

Prev Ch | Ao3 link | Orig. fic | List

🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥

The air was thick with blood and rife with soot. Cordehlia breathed it in and cringed. Too many times had she inhaled the same stink and been coated with the crimson droplets and smeared with black ash before. This wasn’t some skirmish against Cultists, not some half-brained attempt to save the realms with her closest companions. This was war. These were enemy lines soaked in gore and graves. A familiar scene for the Bone Picker, she shrugged off those memories quickly once she felt his gauntleted hand in her own.

Astarion cocked one hip, surveying the lands where they arrived from the portal. “Well,” he crooned, tone rippling with judgment, “you’d think the stink of sulphuric gas would cover the general rot of corpses. Guess I was wrong…”

Cordehlia’s lips pressed in a smile, her brows arching in pure sarcastic delight. “It's quite a sight,” she hummed in mock approval as she heard the devil’s footsteps draw along the other side of her. “Perhaps it is the most impressive battlefield I’ve ever surveyed.”

“A high compliment to come from my beloved, Bone Picker,” Raphael’s rumbling tones sounded right in her ear.

Astarion drew up beside her, rigid in stance. His armor gleamed in the infernal glow—the silver elven set they had found on their journeys. It was the armor he most trusted to protect his life, to guard him as he guarded her.

Raphael’s rumbling chuckle nearly caught him off-guard as the devil rounded behind them both. “Easy, Lord Astarion,” he drawled out that title. “Your consort needs only to draw on her peerless skills in combat, and then you two can go back on your merry way,” his thick brow arched, watching as his words only made the Vampire Lord hold himself all the more tensely. More fiercely. And he laughed louder still. “Just think, a few dead devils and cambions, and you can go right back to bed.”

The meaning was not lost on either of them. And Cordehlia only grew all the more determined. “Enough,” she snapped. “Battlefields are for silencing breath, not wasting it.”

Two sets of brows raised in surprise, one dark set and one silver. “Yes, my Lady,” and “Yes, my darling,” were both crooned out in response.

“I need battle plans and details on your enemy, how many imps, where have you last spotted them, how great is the strength of our foe.” She began her list of demands, making for the grand sprawling battle tents of Raphael’s camp.

That was when an old scream of joy sounded, the only warning Cordehlia got before two strong, red arms clutched for her and braced her against a warm armored chest. “For fucks sake, Cordy!” Karlach burst into cackling laughter. “I’d ask ‘what in the hells are you doing here?’ but I fear your hubby would bite me at that humor.”

Asrarion scoffed, even as he grinned from ear to ear, fangs on full display. “You’ve somehow managed to get worse at humor, Karlach,” he teased with a smirk.

“Most likely my fault,” a warm voice chimed in as Wyll approached, horns and all. “I am not known for the sharpness of my wit, only my blade.”

“Ha, ha,” Astarion pretended to chortle, a good show, despite the actual crinkling lines at his eyes that Cordehlia noticed, a true tell that he was happy to see their old friends. “You’re always such a good influence on people, Wyll.”

“Not on you, Lord Astarion,” Wyll smiles wide. “But regardless, we will see those Ascendant powers put to use once more in battle, and for that I’m glad. Zariel won’t be an easy foe to take down.”

“Zareil?” both vampires scoff, nearly identical in disbelief.

“That’s right, bitches,” Karlach’s chest flamed searingly bright, punching one fist into her own palm, a grin on her red face that was truly diabolical with joy. “It’s payback time, and there is no one else I’d rather have here for it than you two.”

Cordehlia’s vision went red, her body brimming with blinding rage. Rage at Raphael for hiding the identity of their foe, even more rage at him for bringing Karlach and Wyll under his thumb and service without informing her. Her jaw locked, her hands fisted, Cordehlia marched off on her long legs towards the grandest tent of the encampment. Astarion called after her, his own body leaning forward as he hurried after her with all his vampiric speed.

But her rage was too great to wait for him.

Arm flinging open the flap to the largest vermillion tent she had ever seen, she burst into its flame-lit shadow. “Fuck you, Raphael,” she snarled, unnanounced and uninvited.

The devil rounded, his own golden helldusk armor glinting in the flickering torch light. His swarthy face drew into a leering smirk. “Well, if you insist my beloved Bone Picker,” he crooned as he looked down his nose.

Cordehlia let the insinuation slide, too furious for such games. Before she could stop herself, that shining dagger steadied her palm, pressing against the little skin of his neck still visible. “Zariel?” she hissed, enraged and feral. “You brought us here for the Archduchess herself, not some mild-mannered gang of imps.”

Raphael’s rumbling laughter vibrated down the steel of her blade. “And isn’t she a foe worthy of your illustrious reputation, my lady?”

She pressed the blade just a little harder, enough to draw blood to the surface without breaking his skin. “I want to know your game, Raphael, not more deals or tricks or secrets between us.”

“For you, my favorite harbinger of death, I’ll give it to you, and I’ll give it to you straight,” the devil smirked, his lips drawn to reveal his flawlessly white teeth.

“Well,” that silken voice purred from the entryway behind her, “seems you’ve earned yourself a knife to the throat, devil.” Astarion drew up right beside his love. “Not many men earn that right, let alone survive it. In fact, I almost say I’m jealous…” He ran his gloved hand down Cordehlia’s pale, smirking cheek, and she shivered. “You never threaten me at knifepoint anymore, darling.”

“You’ve earned more than a knife against your body as incentive, my love,” Cordehlia purred right back, melting under that single brush of his finger as she resheathed her blade. Then she nipped at his chin with her own glittering fangs, just ostentatiously enough to make Raphael’s breath quicken. “Now tell me the truth of why we are here,” she honed her own scarlet gaze at the devil, “and you tell the exact details of your contracts with my other companions, or so help me, I’ll feed your balls to the next Orthon I find.”

Astarion chuckled, marveling at her brutality.

And so did Raphael. He eased his stance, fidgeting with the clasps of his armor. “There are no contracts for your dear Hellion and her beloved Blade,” his replied, his tone sweet like honey in its confidence. “They work for me for pay, a nice little livelihood and budding romance between them, if I’m not mistaken.”

“Don’t lie,” Cordehlia hissed.

The devil merely glanced at her as he wriggled his breastplate over the expanse of his chest. “And why would I ever offend you by lying, my bloodthirsty lady? I might be guilty of omitting details, or downplaying certain aspects of our relations, but I have never once lied.”

Those feminine eyes narrowed at him, assessing him. “Fine,” she replied. “Then no omissions or diminutions. What is your plan, what is your endgame for my lord and me?”

“It’s simple,” Raphael drew back to face them both, the Ascendant and his Consort. “It’s a small matter of balance. I helped you, Astarion, gain the power for which you longed, power to free you from your old master and to make your long-lost betrothed your eternal bride. I merely ask for your help in returning the favor ever so slightly. I want your blades in the final fight against Zariel, aiding me on my way to ruling Avernus for my own.”

His voice rang with greater ambition, and Cordehlia sensed so much more to those plans that laid beyond merely ruling Avernus. It made her fiery hair stand on end.

But it was Astarion’s silken purr that grounded her back in the present. “This is it, devil, our final act to free us from our debt to your favors.”

Raphael gave that deep, rolling chuckle. “Oh, I’m aware just how important freedom, true freedom is to you, Lord Astarion,” he taunted back. “You aid me against the Archduchess and I swear, all further deals will start anew, and they will be entirely mutually… satisfactory.”

“And our friends?” Astarion casually rolled his shoulders, letting his elegant elven armor clank. “We merely want to ensure even their roles in your court and employ are mutually… satisfactory,” he drolled out the same words in a mimicking tone.

The meaning was clear, the warning given that they were under his protection. And hers. Raphael’s eyes darted between the two undead warriors, that same old confident mask on his face. “I promise you, hand to your undead, beating, Ascendant heart that they are free to leave my employ when they wish, and that until such time, they enjoy my protection and my patronage.” He scoffed a laugh. “Do I really fall so short from your favor in your crimson eyes?”

Neither replied, but that tension between them snapped into place, that way their eyes flickered at one another a sign of their mental bond sending all sorts of silent commentary and secrets.

“Very well,” Cordehlia replied, a cold smile on her lips and a hardness at the corner of her eyes, “show us your battle plans, and we will help you conquer Avernus for your own.”

Pleased, his smile broadened, and Raphael gave that bass-toned chuckle. “It’s so refreshing to hear it put so bluntly, my lady. Thank you.”

“If there is one thing I am familiar with, devil, it’s recognizing the power of ambition,” Cordehlia appraised him, a brow arched, a hip cocked. “Whether it is an ambition to serve us or be check, that remains to be seen…”

“Oh, but don’t you know by now I live to serve you… Bone Picker,” he crooned. “You have nothing to fear in Avernus from me, my lady. But I can’t say the same of our enemies.” He gestured to the war table behind him, a massive circular table heaven-laden with maps and massive. “Shall we?”

Fire and blood in the air, a smile on her face, Cordehlia sliced through another imp as it flew straight for her face. Karlach’s hyena-laugh at her side as she took down five in one swing of her greataxe made Cordehlia’s heart soar. The hot air kept her battle braids off her face, letting the warrior-elf turn her head easily to see her companions.

“Never a dull moment,” she smiled, all fangs and teeth as she watched Wyll darting just beyond the Tiefling.

“Gods… I thought I was done hearing your little quips at every turn of our adventures,” Astarion’s voice panted at her right hand. His pale skin spattered already beyond recognition, blood blooming over his white curls. Making Cordehlia truly hunger for blood.

She just licked her blade clean in the brief breath of respite they had now between waves of foes. “My love, I thought you loved to… ‘go turn someone inside out…’” she taunted, another lick along the other side of her dagger.

His wry, humored look made her chuckle. “Seems someone is feeling vicious and nostalgic, hmm?” He laughed breathlessly, quickly spinning to dispatch another small imp as it curved toward them. One arrow through the infernal air from his bow, and it landed with a thud. Astarion gave a dark-humored grin. “And yes, my dear, before you can make the comment, yes, that… is… blood.”

Oh, the playful yet withering glare she gave him was delicious, so much so, he couldn’t resist pulling her into an armor-clacking kiss right there on the battlefield. Her mouth tasted of the burning brine of imp blood, but gods, it felt good. “I missed this…” he whispered against her fangs and tongue.

“Hey-o!” Karlach’s boisterous voice and presence drew near. “I forgot how much they locked lips on the battlefield. How ‘bout you Wyll?”

“I didn’t forget,” Wyll replied, panting and drawing closer to their Tiefling friend. His voice was strangely sweet like honey, given the rivers of blood under their feet and the stink of sulphur around them. “Makes you almost think they’re on to something…”

Cordehlia shoved herself away, nearly certain she was about to watch them kiss for themselves…

“Get your hands off each other and back on your blades, imbeciles,” that heated voice crooned from above. The beating of leather wings a portent of Raphael’s arrival again; he landed in the middle of them with a thud. He glared around, an icy stare in those fiery black and yellow cambion eyes. “If you are quite finished fraternizing with one another, we do have an Archduchess to overthrow.”

His wings folded in aggressively, sending a blast of stinging hot air in their faces.

“Well, if you haven’t noticed, we’ve broken through their flanks, just as you suggested, my dear…” Astarion raised Cordehlia’s bloodied and gauntleted hand to his lips. “So where, devil, do we find your foe to overthrow and the stinking, volcanic ledge from which to throw her over?”

Raphael leered, unamused at the jest. “Your humor is not as razor sharp as it once was, Ascendant. Let’s hope your blades still are.”

Cordehlia had to turn her head and ignore the pointed look Karlach was throwing her, if only to preserve her love’s pride.

Suddenly, fire swirled, the black, molten form of a devil started to form. Big navy wings, a lithe and curvaceous figure, bright orange hair… “Well, if it isn’t the pests Zariel has sent me to exterminate…”

“Mizora,” Wyll snapped, as close to enraged and feral as he could be.

The cambion looked fearsome, decked in her silver chain link mail, spikes of black, dripping blood lining her armor in rows. “Oh, Wyll, pet, it’s good to see you. But, for as much as I’ve missed you since your pact ended, I’m here to put you down for good, you and your pesky little friends…” She eyed Raphael, his own winged form bristling in her presence. “You too, hungry little cat, trying to take what isn’t yours with your greedy little claws…”

“This cat will devour all nine layers of the hells once I’m through,” Raphael snarled, his tail twitching. “Until then, I’ll have to sate myself on the blood of you and your mistress.” He flapped his great wings to rush in attack, but Mizora only cackled as she flew just as fast.

“Raphael!” Cordehlia screamed after him, making the devil draw up suddenly short in the air. “You can’t let her lead us off our quarry.” She drew out her blade. “We need you to face Zariel, not her minion.”

“I’ll take Mizora,” Wyll panted, his grip tight on his rapier. “It’s about time I made her pay for all her abuse. But I’ll need another at my side…” his mismatched eyes looked towards Karlach.

“Not me, Blade, I’ve got my own asshole to slay. If Zariel’s going to bleed, I’m going to be the one to see what color her blood runs.”

“I’ll go, Wyll,” Astarion clapped a hand on the Blade of Avernus’ shoulder. “Besides, Mizora tried to sleep with my Bride back in our adventuring days.” He raised his brow in wicked delight at the slightest taste of revenge. “And I’m not one to forget…”

“Who would dare?” Raphael leered again.

“Well, a better question is, who would dare to seek that without me, honestly. What an idiot.” Astarion pulled Cordehlia close. Nuzzling her neck, he took a shallow little bite, licking the small trickle of blood that flowed. “See you once it’s through my love,” he whispered.

She bit his neck and did the same, a small taste of him before they parted. “Yes, you will, my love.”

One more glance at one another, and the Blade and the Ascendant bolted off across the hellscape.

“Well, my Hellion and my Bone Picker, let’s go get us an archdevil,” Raphael grinned his pointy-toothed smile.

Scorching, volcanic air rushed around them as the Wyll and Astarion raced after Zariel’s right hand. Mizora dove and weaved around the field, making for the stinking waters of the Styx. At last, Wyll spotted an outcrop of black rock, running for it to leap off its sharp edge, reaching his blade just as she swooped in reach. “This ends now, for my father and for me,” Wyll shouted, his blade cutting down Mizora, steel slicing through the pink membrane of her wing. Three arrows struck into her with heavy thwacks, Astarion grinned savagely, delighting in his dexterous accuracy. Each arrow grouped right where a devil’s heart should be. The cambion tumbled awkwardly from the red skies, her wings thrashing with loud gusts of wind before her body crash landed on the ground.

“You maggots, think you can beat me?” Mizora flailed as she clambered to her feet. “You think your efforts in Raphael’s name won’t go unpunished by the rest of the hells? Zariel will wear your fangs as earrings, little Ascendant.”

“Oh, not if my Bride finds her first,” Astarion hissed, quicker than the eye could catch, he launched another arrow into the base of her blue-columned neck. Enough to maim, but not to keep her from talking. “But that’s why you tried to claim her for your own, isn’t it? Couldn’t resist my own little hellcat, my darling spitfire.” Two strong, pale hands held up her head by her horns. “No one takes what’s mine from me,” he hissed through fangs, “and no one entraps my dearest companions without facing retribution. Isn’t that right, Wyll?”

Astarion’s crimson eyes scanned his friend, the fearless Blade, only to notice his hand shaking on the hilt of his faithful weapon. Heart aching, he knew that look, had felt it before as he clung to Rhapsody’s hilt to carve the marching ruins in his own abuser’s back. “Do it now, Wyll,” he said, steady and sure, as if he could give Wyll the resolve for which he was searching. “End this, do it for those years you lost to her torment.”

Wyll’s mismatched eyes just glared wider, flickering between Astarion’s blood-spattered face and Mizora as each breath she drew grew weaker.

“Make her suffer your sting, once and for all,” Astarion smirked, yanking those horns harder, the stink of her blood’s acid making his stomach curl.

Fingers regripped around Wyll’s hilt, one swing of his rapier, and it was done. One cambion head hung in the vampire’s hands, one body fell at their feet with a heavy thud. And Wyll laughed— a deep, inane, rolling belly laugh, the kind Astarion had never heard before. His bloodied glove clapped on top of Astarion’s shoulder. “Vampire Ascendant, I, for one, am grateful to have not been a good influence on you. That felt….”

Astarion smiled, catching his own breath, “Really fucking good, right?”

“Yeah,” Wyll laughed again, more of his usual breathy chuckle as he took Mizora’s head by the horn in his own hand. “Really… fucking… good.”

Black stone walls echoed with the drag of his claws, their boney points scraping as he sauntered down the halls towards Zariel’s throne room. His throne room now. Raphael laughed from his distorted; deformed maw, his Ascended fiendish laugh like boulders crushed together. The only sound louder was the metallic dragging of his quarry behind him, Zariel’s armor torn asunder by his claws and his magic. He gave another bone-grinding laugh as he crouched his form low enough to enter the doors. Blood ran beneath his feet, red and hot and stinking, as his own chosen warriors decimated the remainders of her private guard. Their death cries were music to his fiendish ears.

He smiled, shaking his enormous, skin-tight abomination of a head, feeling inspired… words of glory coming to his tongue. He tossed Zariel’s half-mangled body to the foot of her dais, her human form crunching some more frail bones as she landed with a thud.

“To hells allegiance! Vows, to the blackest devil!

I dare damnation. To this point I stand

That both the worlds I give to negligence.

Let come what comes…”

A wall of fire consumed him as he shrunk back in size but never in power, that swarthy face of man gloating unscathed down at his nemesis.

“…only I’ll be revenged.”

His arm extended, magic coursed through the air, hot and consuming, pulling the Archduchess taut by her appendages. Stretching her on the rack of his mighty power.

Barely more now than a bald head and pure hate, Zariel writhed in the tendrils of Raphael’s magic. “Mephistopheles’ outcast halfbreed, you won’t live to enjoy your victory. I can guarantee it; that’s the way of the hells.”

Raphael merely closed his fist tighter, stretching the Archduchess’ limbs taut as his warriors sliced their way through the last of her fiends. Every step they took splashed in blood, more steaming as it flowed with every swipe of greataxe and dagger blades. Breathless and grinning with glee, Karlach and Cordehlia flanked their devil commander, both their faces now reddened afresh with blood-spatter and gore.

“You’re lucky, Archduchess, as the first to bear witness to my own ascension to power. With Avernus as mine to rule, it will be a matter of time before all the others fall to the same fate as you, Zariel. How fortunate you get to serve as the example. Your bald head will sit nicely on the gates of this palace.” Raphael turned his wry, delighted grin towards the Tiefling, her infernal engine thumping and grinning faster with her magnificent bloodlust and rage. “Wouldn’t you agree, Karlach?”

“Yeah, but only after I get to piss on it a few times,” she scowled, her vocal chords frayed and strained from her battle cries.

Raphael gestured with pure gallantry to the Hellion. “She’s yours, my dear. Unleash that heat of rage once and for all…”

Kalach’s fire flared, sparks dancing from her hair and skin as she shifted her axe over her shoulder. With a twirl of his fingers, Zariel’s body bent to kneel in the pools of blood, her arms behind her back, her head bent low…

…As it should be before him, Raphael gloated.

“My delightful Bone Picker, do make certain our friend doesn’t struggle so,” Raphael crooned at the vampiress, the blood coating her armor and skin matching the bloodlust glinting in her blood red eyes. A look of delight on her face, she sheathed her sword and dagger, entering into the tendrils of infernal magic. The sole of her boot kicked square in the middle of her back, a laugh rippling from her fanged smile. With all her vampiric might, she kept their foe pinned beneath her heel, and a single nod to Karlach was permission enough.

Flames burst, a flare of vengeance and heat, and Karlach gripped her weapon. Chest heaving, eyes wide, it took only one barbaric scream and one fell swing of her axe to end it all—her life of torture, her source of horror, and the day’s battle. Her axe slung back over her shoulder, Karlach reached for her trophy and tossed it at Raphael. “Hope you’re a better Archdevil,” she commented casually.

“I have every intent on being far superior,” Raphael crowed in reply, taking his trophy in hand. He gave his most pleasant smile, and relished the way his Tiefling commander with an engine for a heart seemed to bristle less than usual as he gave it.

A figure of almost pure red approached, her fangs were the only part of her face left free from blood, most likely because she had already licked them clean. Cordehlia glided over, coated in a fresh spray of archduchess blood. “Well, Raphael, congratulations are in order. Crownless, and yet Avernus is yours,” she refused to bow her head, but her eyes flickered with approval.

Raphael grinned despite the potential slight in decorum. In fact, he’d be disappointed if she had bowed to him or bent a knee. “No small thanks to my favorite, bloodied warrior of this and every age, my lady,” he replied, those velvet tones unable to convey just how much he meant them.

Cordehlia tipped her head back, surveying the damage wrought around them. “Well, the day is ours, and a rest and a feast are well overdue.”

“Say no more, my lady,” Raphael chuckled, snapping his fingers to swirl them in smoke. The throne room faded, instantly replaced with the heart of Raphael’s war camp.

Two feet back under her, and Cordehlia couldn’t wait to rest, her body ached in places it hadn’t for almost a year, not since those final battles against the armies of the Absolute. The stick of congealed blood grew thick, and while she wanted to rest and bathe, she first wanted… no, needed her feast.

She needed to taste him.

She could hear his heart beating across the crowd, its familiar thumbing making her hunger flame higher. Molten need, to touch him, to make sure he was unharmed and victorious, it drove her to race past cambions and other infernal beings as she shoved them out of her way.

“My love,” she purred the second they locked eyes. He was just as covered in gore-filth as she, the red spattered elegantly over his silver waves of hair still, even if he had washed his face. He grinned at her hungrily the second he saw her at last. Crashing and clanging, their armor slammed together as they embraced, their kiss all tongue and fangs and breaths to be reunited again. His fingers clutched around her chin, bringing her cheek against his mouth, his warm tongue swiping a lick up her pale skin.

“Darling, you are as messy a murderer as I am an eater. Just look at the state of you, tch.” He ran his thumb along her bottom lip, gathering the blood from her chin before he sucked that digit clean.

Cordehlia’s face twisted into a mocking grin, grabbing him by the collar and pulling his taunting lips to hers. “We deserve a feast, my love,” she murmured against his lips, “and you’re the one who’s going to join me in it.”

“Mmm,” he purred, “I do rather like that, you know.” A playful growl in his throat, and he nipped that bottom lip of hers.

“Gods, you two have only gotten worse, haven’t you,” Karlach boomed her teasing laugh.

“You have no idea,” Astarion replied, his eyes still locked on that beloved bloodspattered countenance as he caressed her.

Giving Karlach a bump from his shoulder to hers, Wyll chortled. “Oh, we have some ideas. It’s not like we didn’t spend weeks having to share camp and common rooms at the Elfsong with you.” He shook his great horned head. “Not like we didn't have to stop in streets and battlefields so you two could kiss.”

Mischief flashed in Cordehlia’s scarlet eyes as she impishly snapped her fangs in the air in front of Astarion’s face.

“Ah, how sweet to see that your bonds of friendship haven’t withered over time,” that velvet baritone broke the camaraderie, making the easy company they kept with one another stiffen back to formality as Raphael approached. He swaggered in slowly into their midst, his helldusk armor still spattered from combat as well. A cambion servant followed in tow with a silver tray to wine chalices ready for consumption.

“A toast to the victors?” he crooned, handing a cup to Wyll first. “First, to the Blade of Avernus, a powerful weapon I’m glad to have in my magnanimous employ.”

Wyll tipped his horned head. “It’s been… refreshing to find a devil who did not demand soul nor contract.”

“I do what I can for those who eliminated the Illithid threat from your realm and mine,” Raphael smirked, raising his cup.

“Bullshit,” Karlach barked a laugh as she grabbed her own chalice from the tray. “You’re just soft on us because we conveniently freed the crown of Karsus from the Dead Three,” she barely stopped talking to down the wine to its dregs in one go. “That and you want to keep your Bone Picker on your good side, eh?”

Raphael arched a single thick, dark brow. “What kind of devil would I be if I didn’t ensure the faithfulness of allies of renown, so bloodsoaked and deadly. You all had your hands in a feat of great and mighty valor. I’d be a fool to let our longstanding connection slip from my claws.” His gaze settled square on the Tiefling. “That reminds me, Advocatus Diaboli. You’ll be Advocatus no longer, Karlach. Legatus Legionis, the title and position are yours. My commander in the field, my arm in matters of politics beyond the hells.” Raphael nodded in Wyll’s direction as Karlach’s face beamed with joy. “Perhaps a return to Baldur’s Gate to escort the next Duke Ravenguard to his proper place, now that Avernus is mine. You’ll need to be as effective in the politics of the material plane as you are in battle, my Hellion, so…”

“YOU’RE GONNA FIX MY HEART?” Karlach screamed at full volume, giddy and bouncing like a child.

Raphael’s rolling, rumbling chuckle sounded almost genuine to see her gratitude and mirth. “You’ll need it if you’re going to be my conduit of influence to our Duke of Baldur’s Gate, the Vampire Ascendant and his mighty Bone Picker…”. He turned to find the allies in question, two cups of a different sort of red liquid as its contents awaiting them on the tray. “To our victory, again,” the new Archdevil proclaimed, dulcet tone befitting his new status. Allies and an army and a circle of hell at his command…. Not much was missing, he grinned as they all downed their drinks.

“You know, that was fun,” Karlach added, a wide incorrigible grin on her face. Her heavy hand came squarely down on the devil's shoulder. “Thanks for a good time, Claws.”

Raphael’s brown arched, his swarthy face drawing into a grin that showed amusement and warning. “Claws?”

Karlach gaped at him, almost sloshing her wine as she huffed with her whole body. “Oh, come on! You know, like when we first met you… down came the…. Is your memory that bad?”

A sardonic sneer on his face, Raphael started to walk away, snapping his fingers to refill their chalices to near bursting.

“Am I still your Legal Whatever-it-was?” she called after him.

That easy camaraderie returned, laughter and claps on the back all around. “Don’t worry, I think he likes it,” Astairon grinned, nodding his head in twisted delight.

🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥

A/N: Raphael has a… soft spot… for Cordehlia, one that maybe clouds his usually twisted manipulative plans with wanting to earn her good will. His generosity towards Karlach and Wyll is maybe more a means of ensuring Cordhelia’s favor than any form of kindness.

And… just maybe… he’s going to cash in that favor in our next update. 🦇 x 🐦‍⬛ x 😈

2nd A/N: I stole from The Bard for my evil devil Bard. Raphael’s poem of victory is from Laertes in “Hamlet” 💀

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