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cocogum · 7 months

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Armand’s treatment and how it impacted his life.

(‼️ Spoilers for Wakfu Season 4 and its first four episodes ‼️)

One thing that saddened me a lot when I was watching episode 4 was how Armand revealed to Amalia that he had wished he could go on adventures with her and the brotherhood sometimes.

This surprised me at first but I soon realized that it made perfect sense.

Armand was always jealous of her but I initially thought that it was only because she had the most attention from people, even their father. But Armand is the type to keep his thoughts to himself which would explain why despite how we see him looking at Amalia with a disapproving look, we never really got to hear him express his thoughts to her. His reason for wanting to go on adventures with her is also made clear: not only does he want to explore the world because it seems like fun since his sister always felt happy because of it, but the major reason is that he wants his father to look at him just like how he looked at Amalia.

When he finally tells her all of his thoughts and what he wants, we can’t help but feel like what he wishes to have can no longer be granted. Their father died not long ago, it is now too late to do anything.

Armand could’ve spoken up during all those years Amalia went to go on adventures. He had all the time in the world because he was always beside his father at all times.

But no matter how close he was to him, Armand never had the strength to speak his thoughts just like how Amalia dared to do so. It’s ironic really, Armand had the time and the moment to tell his father everything and yet, he didn’t because he didn’t think it was in his right to speak about himself and what he wanted to try.

The years of constantly seeing how his sister was getting loved by the people, how she was being viewed and called a hero by the very same people he was working hard to protect in his own way, how their father kept praising her constantly for whatever she did, how she kept getting adoration for adventuring and risking her life to save her people, while he was instead cooped up in the kingdom learning and practicing how to become king, left him in a position where he believed Amalia always had the upper hand on anything even when he wanted to express himself.

He had learned that every time he proposed an idea or even said some of his thoughts out loud during a particular situation, he would always get shut down by either his sister or his father, sometimes even both (the time when he decided to use a barrier of vines to block Ogrest’s tears but his father told him that his attempts were just “alright” when they were actually very effective for some time, the time where he told Amalia that she can’t leave while his father is terribly sick but his father supports Amalia and encourages her to go with Yugo, the time when Armand stated that none of the rulers had come to support them but his father cuts him off by saying that the queen of Bonta at least brought Joris to them which made Armand’s words sound minuscule and not as serious as the prince intended, etc.)

Granted, sometimes he deserved it (like the time when he got slapped by Eva when he was disrespectful to Dally in the OVAs or the time he did not listen to Amalia’s warnings when she told him Nox was coming and when she tried explaining who Yugo and Adamaï were back in Season 1 but not being listened to despite having Eva to back her up) but the majority of the time, he was trying his best to please his father and barely got a good comment for it.

So it wouldn’t be far-fetched to think that Armand never spoke about what he wanted to his father because he had a strong feeling that the answer wouldn’t be a good one.

As if things couldn’t get any worse for him, when his father takes his last breath and Armand was the only one there for him, who has been by his side all this time, who has devoted his entire life to training, learn and work hard to be like his father, he had only words for Amalia.

To hear his father only speak about his youngest sister and not mention him at all, must’ve terribly broke him on the inside. Even when his father was on his deathbed, he did not address everything that Armand did for him.

And it’s sad to see this happening.

Even though his relationship with his father and sister was mostly shown in the background, it was pretty obvious that their family had some issues that no one wanted to address in the room.

I feel like, in a way, we can somehow relate to Armand.

To feel like we can’t speak our minds properly because of a sibling or a figure in our lives who has shown to be better than us, even when we do work very hard to get noticed we barely get any comments or praises of the same size as theirs, to feel like we don’t matter as much as them so we should just stop talking and let them have their spotlight at all times.

And when we finally get the chance to gain our confidence or get into a position where we don’t feel as self-conscious as we used to before, we come to find out that it’s already too late to express ourselves to the people we’ve been waiting to truly be honest to, because they’re already gone or have moved on from you.

Armand’s case is a bittersweet and albeit depressing one.

What could have been a story of adventure, even if just for one day, was never realized. What could have been an experience that could have felt like a lifetime never happened. What could have been an adventure where he finally has his fun and gains a unique brotherly sisterly duo bond in combat would never become a reality. And what could have been a special moment in his life where he gets to personally know his sister’s friends would always stay a dream.

If only he knew that even a brotherhood member, Evangelyne, has a sister, Cleophee, who had her fun in the group. And even if it was just for a few days, a few moments, Eva’s sister had cemented her place in the Brotherhood and became an official member. To think that even if he had stayed a bit in the group, he would have not just become a part of their lives, but also become a part of their brotherhood.

But despite it all, Armand kept his chin up and looked forward to the future. He did not wallow in his sadness or blame Amalia for his silence during all these years. Instead, he pulls her up and tells her to not be saddened by their father’s departure, especially in front of his tomb tree, and consoles her as they hug.

Unlike anyone else, I believe Armand was able to push his selfish thoughts away (which involved blaming his sister for everything) and instead behaved like a king, someone who, despite not gaining everything he wanted in life, kept going and faced forward for what was to come.

Even though he has not been abandoned by his family, he did feel like he might've been behind everyone else at some point in his life.

He may have not been a part of the brotherhood but he’ll always have a place in his sister’s heart after what he did for her.

And I believe that his competence and his will to protect his kingdom without leaving for adventure would make him get along greatly with a certain white dragon.

#this ‘what if’ can’t stop pulling on my heartstrings 😭😭#i never thought i’d make an armand analysis #and yet here i am #he’s so freaking relatable that it hurts #this makes me wanna read a fic where armand actually goes on an adventure with the group because of an emergency where he had to join them #i just feel like armand would join the group for a specific mission cuz i feel like if he’ll never say he wants to go out out loud #then a mission should be able to make him go out as a ‘duty’#wakfu sadida #sadida #wakfu sadidas #wakfu #sadidas #wakfu armand #wakfu amalia #wakfu amalia sheran sharm #amalia sheran sharm #ankama #krosmoz #wakfu season 4 #wakfu s4 #wakfu season 4 spoilers #wakfu s4 spoilers #wakfu s4 ep4 spoilers #wakfu season 4 episode 4 spoilers #wakfu s4 ep4 #wakfu season 4 episode 4 #wakfu analysis #wakfu analyses #wakfu armand sheran sharm

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bladesandbhaalspawn · 2 months

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Silver Marks and Heartstrings

Chapter 4 - Doubts and Desires

Pairing: Astarion x Tav (he/him)

Words: 5.7k (chapter 4)

Rating: M

Available on Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/56871064

Chapter Summary: In the heart of the Underdark, Astarion comforts Tav, confronting his insecurities - and Astarion interacts with the rest of the party.

Story Summary: Astarion, a centuries-old vampire spawn, discovers unexpected love with Tav, a young half-elf. Drawn together after escaping a mind flayer’s grasp, they journey through perilous lands, where Astarion grapples with his feelings and the revelation of his true soulmate. Amidst adventure and uncertainty, they must confront their desires and fears in their quest for love and acceptance. Silver Marks and Heartstrings is a tale of love transcending time and destiny, where two souls, marked by fate yet bound by choice, navigate the complexities of trust, desire, and the enduring power of love against all odds.

Ever since that night, Astarion couldn’t look away.

The bard had become a focal point in the vampire’s world, a light that drew his gaze and refused to let go. Days had turned into weeks, and the pale elf found himself increasingly captivated by Tav, watching the blond’s every move with a newfound fascination. It was as if, since they’d lain together, Astarion saw Tav differently – more clearly. He was enthralled by the way Tav carried himself with an easy strength, a confidence that drew others in and convinced them to trust a stranger.

It was maddening, mesmerizing, terrifying to watch the bard charm both friend and foe, persuading all to trust him fully. His ability to connect with others, to bring out the best in those around him or to ruin his enemies, left the rogue in awe – in all senses of the term. Even his Master – Cazador, who had controlled every movement of his spawn with mind control and vampire magic – paled in comparison. Cazador’s power had been absolute, yes, forcing his spawn to obey his every command, but Astarion had always felt the control take over. He’d always known when his own will was overridden, when Cazador used his powers.

Tav, however, didn’t need magic. His charisma and personality and words were enough to have others follow him with ease, to have them willingly doing what he wanted. Astarion shivered in awe and dread. He had never encountered someone who could wield such influence so effortlessly, and the thought of losing the half-elf’s favour was a fear that gnawed at him constantly.

Even then, fear intertwining with his admiration… Astarion couldn’t look away.

From the way he bargained with every shopkeep they met, his charm effortlessly lowering prices, to the way he absentmindedly played with the tattoo of the broken dagger on his throat when lost in thought… Every aspect of Tav captivated him.

Astarion’s gaze often lingered on that mark, the only one he had found on the bard’s body, aside from the constellation of freckles that decorated his skin. Combined with the movement of Tav’s fingers against his own neck, the vampire’s mind often raced with unbidden thoughts, the memory of their intimacy a whisper that never left him. He found himself yearning for the bard’s hands in his hair again, petting or pulling, yearning for the feel of the blond’s lips against his own. His hands ached to hold the man close, to slip hands beneath undershirts and waistbands and feel the warmth of tan skin against his own. The ghost of Tav’s kisses lingered on his skin, a sensation that both confused and intrigued him. He was unaccustomed to such longing, especially without the bitter aftertaste of repulsion thick on his tongue.

On one unusually quiet night, their first in the heart of the Underdark, Astarion was again watching Tav with an intensity that bordered on obsession. The blond sat far from the campfire he had hastily thrown together, away from the rest of the party. It was unusual for the bard to isolate himself; Tav typically encouraged everyone to interact, to talk, to bond.

A glistening tear slipped down Tav’s cheek as he cradled his flute, emitting a haunting melody that echoed against the rocky walls and through the fungi like a whisper of the past. The sight tugged at Astarion’s heartstrings, pulling him to his feet before he even realized he was moving. His heart pounded in his chest, his entire being begging to be by Tav’s side, even though his mind didn’t know what to do.

Awkwardly, he stood rooted to the spot, uncertain. Glancing over his shoulder at the three companions preparing the evening meal, he startled slightly as he noticed that they were all looking at him expectantly. Gale and Wyll’s eyes were filled with worry, whilst Shadowheart’s were brimming with encouragement.

“Go!” she mouthed, shooing him away.

Astarion squawked in indignation as she shoved at his legs. Finding no words to adequately brush off his initial reaction, he sighed, shoulders slumping slightly. Deep down, he knew she was right to send him; he was the one closest to Tav – and by his own hand, at that! – but still…

He glanced over at Tav, heart clenching as he saw another tear slide down the man’s scarred cheek. Could he really be of any help?

“Astarion,” Shadowheart hissed.

“Yes yes, I’m going,” he insisted, but still, he didn’t move. There was no way he could do this, he couldn’t help anyone, all he ever did was hurt people, he…

Cold hands pushed between his shoulder blades and Astarion stumbled forward, squawking again. He turned, ready to tear into the raven-haired cleric. Instead, he found himself face to face with two glittering mage hands and companions struggling to keep a straight face. Gale’s eyes weren’t even focused on the vampire, instead looking over at the other summoner, winking as Lae’zel caught his eye. The githyanki had the nerve to smirk, attention returned once more to grinding her weapons to the sharpest points.

For a moment more, Astarion stood there, mouth agape. No one was looking at him, all returning to their previous duties, and he knew no one would take pity on him and replace him. Flustered, he turned on his heel and marched towards the bard, cursing all his companions under his breath as he did.

But as he approached, as the familiar tug on his heart made itself known, the rogue couldn’t help but soften. He always did when Tav was nearby.

Curse these soulmarks, Astarion thought to himself, disquieted. This softness, this vulnerability would be the death of him if the bard ever tired of him.

It was instinctive for Astarion to move more quietly now, almost as if he were stalking prey, lost in his thoughts. What if Tav ever turned on him? Would he stand a chance? Despite the softening effect Tav had on him, Astarion knew that Tav, too, seemed to let his guard down around him. The bard trusted his party so completely that he didn’t notice the rogue’s approach.

From afar, Astarion continued to observe, assessing vulnerabilities and strengths. He cataloged Tav’s body, strong and toned from a life of adventure. Astarion knew it would be dangerous to fight him without weapons; Tav’s physical strength was evident even in the way he moved, with grace and purpose. The bard’s shoulders were broad, his arms well-defined beneath the fabric of his shirt, a testament to the physical demands of their journey. Despite the danger Tav could pose in battle, Astarion couldn’t help but appreciate the beauty of his form – the sculpted muscles he’d held under his hands spoke of years of training.

His thoughts turned to Tav’s injuries, the scars that marked battles fought and survived. The scar across the half-elf’s eye, once a wound but now a part of his rugged allure, somehow enhancing rather than detracting from his beauty. The bite marks on his neck from Astarion’s daily feedings, feedings that strengthened the vampire and weakened the bard. Astarion dragged his fingers across his lips, savouring the memory of Tav’s lifeblood pouring freely into his mouth, and his eyes moved back up to linger on the blond’s lips, full and expressive, remembering how they felt against his own.

His gaze shifted again, this time focusing on the freckles that dotted Tav’s cheeks and nose, like constellations against his tan skin. Each freckle told a story of days spent under the sun, a contrast to the pallor of Astarion’s own complexion. His gaze drifted lower, taking in the bard’s earrings – silver hoops and dangling blue jewels that glinted softly in the dim light, their cool glint contrasting the half-elf’s warm, tan skin.

Tav’s hair caught the soft glow of the glowing bulb above, a cascade of blond against the darkness of the Underdark, framing his face like a halo. His eyes, closed now, Astarion knew to be bright and expressive, knew to reflect a depth of emotion that he found himself drawn to like a moth to a flame. They were eyes that had seen both sorrow and joy, and they held a wisdom that belied the man’s youthful appearance. They were blue like…

Astarion froze, fingers stopping in their tracing of his soulmark. Reality reasserted itself with a jolt. If he was this distracted without the bard even turning those eyes on him…

Shit.

If Tav ever turned on him, if their fragile trust shattered like glass… Astarion would be utterly defenseless.

Forcing himself to breathe evenly, Astarion steeled himself against the tumult of emotions raging within. He had come here for a reason, to offer comfort and solace to the bard who had become both his weakness and his strength. Realizing just how out of his depths he was made it even more important for the vampire to make himself indispensable to Tav – to make sure the bard wouldn’t ever betray him.

And if part of him did care – deeply, irrevocably – for the bard’s wellbeing… If every fiber of his soul was screaming for him to be by the man’s side, to be his companion, to be his support – even if he knew not how, even if emotions other than greed and lust and wrath made him uncomfortable…

Well. No one needed to know that, did they?

“Tav, darling?” he called out, his voice carrying softly through the quiet of the Underdark as he stepped out of the shadows at last, his heart pounding in his chest.

Startled, Tav quickly wiped his eyes free of more tears. He ran a hand through his hair and cleared his throat once, twice, before finding the strength to respond.

It was sweet, really, Astarion found, watching Tav trying to look his best for him. It helped with the nerves, at least, to see that he wasn’t the only one putting on a show.

“Darling… I didn’t see you there.” Tav moved over on the rocky ledge, making room for the rogue to sit beside him.

Astarion hesitated, his discomfort with emotional situations palpable. He wanted to help, he did, but… “That song is... poignant,” he managed, choosing his words carefully. “Did you compose it?”

Tav’s eyes, usually bright with hope, momentarily dimmed as he glanced down at the flute in his hands. “It’s the last song my mother wrote before she died,” he replied softly. “A melody for my father, taken by the drow. It’s my way of keeping them close, even in this darkness.”

Guilt pricked at Astarion’s conscience for delving into Tav’s private grief when moments ago he’d been thinking of how best to take him down. He longed to offer comfort but felt ill-equipped, his own insecurities holding him back. Instead, he took the offered seat and settled beside Tav, their shoulders brushing in a gesture of silent solidarity. He hoped it conveyed more than words could.

“Are you alright?” Astarion asked, his voice tentative. Comforting people had never been his forte.

Tav sighed, his shoulders sagging. “I will be, in time. It’s just... memories. This place, this melody... it brings back things I thought I’d left behind.”

Astarion nodded, understanding the weight of past burdens all too well. “I understand,” he said softly. “Some memories are harder to escape than others.”

The glowing bulb above them flickered, casting dancing shadows across their faces. For a moment, the weight of their shared histories hung between them, unspoken yet deeply felt. Astarion glanced at Tav, silently hoping that their burgeoning connection offered even a fraction of the comfort and support the half-elf had given him in his darkest moments.

“Sometimes, no matter how far we run, our pasts have a way of catching up with us,” he added, his fingers flexing nervously, the lines between self-preservation and genuine concern began to blur. A part of him yearned to reach out, to offer tactile reassurance, yet fear of overstepping restrained him.

Tav looked at him, a small, sad smile playing on his lips. “Like that Gur hunter?” he asked.

Astarion scoffed, playfully shoving the bard’s shoulder with his own. “Like that Gur hunter,” he conceded. “I’m still mad you let him get away, you know.”

“Oh, I know,” Tav chuckled. “I don’t regret it, though, and I appreciate your understanding. I know it wasn’t easy for you.”

Blue eyes locked with red, and Tav extended a tentative hand, resting it gently on the vampire’s knee. Surprised yet comforted by the gesture, Astarion allowed Tav’s thumb to brush soothing circles against the rough material. He felt a faint warmth spread across his cheeks, a blush of embarrassment at his own emotional vulnerability. By the hells, Tav had been the one crying! But he couldn’t deny the profound relief he felt, knowing that the blond understood how agonizing it had been to watch him spare the Gur hunter.

All Astarion had wanted at that moment was to drive his dagger into the hunter’s neck, ensuring he couldn’t return to Cazador with information on his whereabouts. Yet, now removed from the heat of the moment, with emotions less raw and with time to reflect, he had to concede that the man at his side may have been right. The hunter might not have been sent by Cazador.

Though he couldn’t bring himself to voice it, he was grateful that Tav had prevented more innocent blood from staining his conscience.

Their eyes held for a moment longer, communicating unspoken gratitude and understanding. Astarion’s hand paused in mid-air for a fleeting moment, uncertainty flickering in his eyes. But then, summoning his resolve, he gently placed his hand on top of the bard’s. He felt Tav’s fingers twitch slightly beneath his touch, a subtle response that spoke volumes. Tav’s eyes dropped, his head tilting slightly to hide his face from Astarion, a faint blush colouring his cheeks. The pale elf’s heart tugged at the sight, tenderness flooding in.

With each passing second, Astarion's fears of betrayal dissipated, replaced by a genuine desire to see Tav happy, to see him safe. No matter what he tried to tell himself at night, Astarion knew he was no longer just trying to ensure his own survival; he was invested in Tav's well-being. The more he allowed himself to hope, the more he realized he wanted a true connection with his soulmate – not just a manipulated alliance.

As their hands rested gently together, Astarion again felt the pull on his heart, a surge of warmth that coursed through his veins. It was more than just physical contact, this holding of hands; it was a tether to hope and possibility. It reminded him of those visions he’d glimpsed when they rested together under the canopy of trees and moonlit skies, where fleeting images of a shared future danced at the edge of his consciousness. In those dreams, he had seen laughter and quiet moments shared; he had dared to imagine a life where Tav was more than just a companion in their perilous journey, but a partner bound to him by a deeper, unbreakable thread.

The memory of those visions stirred hope within him, igniting a longing he struggled to contain. Yet even as their fingers moved in harmony, intertwined, laced themselves together, doubts crept in once more. In all their weeks together, the elf had never glimpsed Tav’s soulmark. And while Tav sought his company, shared stories, and offered solace, Astarion had never sensed the same inexplicable pull from Tav. It gnawed at him, this uncertainty – did Tav feel the same deep, magnetic draw that Astarion did? Or was he merely a companion, albeit a cherished one, in Tav’s journey?

He wouldn’t put it past the gods to play one more trick on him. To allow him to finally find his soulmate, only for his soulmate to not lo-…

The rogue shuddered, not allowing himself to finish that thought.

Astarion’s mind raced with questions he longed to ask, fears he hesitated to voice. The glowing bulb sputtered, seeming to echo his turmoil, its unpredictable dance reflecting the turbulent emotions swirling within him. He wanted to ask the half-elf about his soulmark, to breach the subject that weighed heavily on his heart, but fear held him back. What if Tav didn’t feel the same pull, the same undeniable connection that Astarion felt deep in his bones? What then?

Shadowheart’s words echoed in his mind, her certainty that Tav was the one meant for him. But what if she was mistaken? What if his own desires had clouded his judgment, weaving fantasies where there were none?

He bit his lip, torn between the desire to know and the fear of shattering the fragile peace they had found. The rogue focused on the warmth of Tav’s hand in his, on the comfort the bard so freely gave – and he allowed himself to hope.

“Tav…” Astarion began, his voice trembling slightly. For once, he didn’t try to hide it. “Do you ever feel a pull towards someone? A sense of peace that you can’t quite explain?”

Tav turned to him, his gaze steady and thoughtful. “Yes,” he answered after a moment, his voice carrying the weight of introspection. “I’ve felt it forever,” he explained. “It’s like a part of me is always searching, always yearning for someone I haven’t met yet. But when I’m around certain people… It feels like I’m home.”

Astarion’s heart fluttered at the affirmation, hope growing with every word the bard spoke. “And... do you ever wonder who that person might be? If they’re out there, feeling the same way?”

Tav smiled softly, his eyes reflecting the flickering light. “I believe they’re out there somewhere,” he replied, his hand tightening gently around Astarion’s. The half-elf’s touch was reassuring, grounding.

A rush of emotions surged within the vampire – relief, longing, and the underlying fear beneath it all. He wrestled with the urge to reveal all his secrets, to lay bare all his marks, from his soulmark to the scars of his past and the darkness that haunted him still. But fear gripped him tight – fear of rejection, of losing this fragile connection that had become his lifeline in the depths of Faerûn.

He looked down at their entwined hands, at the pale skin against tan, the contrast stark yet strangely beautiful in the Underdark’s glow. Astarion’s fingers traced the intricate lines of Tav’s hand, a silent plea for understanding and acceptance. He wanted to believe that Tav could see beyond his past, beyond the bloodshed and the horrors he had endured.

But doubts lingered still, like the shadows that danced on the cavern walls around them. Would Tav turn away if he knew the truth? Would he recoil from the darkness that stained Astarion’s soul? The weight of his secrets pressed down upon him, threatening to suffocate the fragile hope that had begun to bloom in his heart.

He glanced down at his hands, at the blood he knew was on them, a constant reminder of Cazador’s cruelty. Would Tav be repulsed if he knew the truth? It was one thing to see the physical evidence of Astarion’s past, the marks that marred his body – he had been so kind when he’d seen them – but the marks that marred his soul…

Astarion’s mind spiraled further. Could he ever confide in Tav about the horrors he endured under Cazador’s rule? The unspeakable acts he was forced to commit, the lives he offered to his master? He feared that revealing these dark secrets would shatter whatever delicate bond they were building. He was terrified that Tav would look at him with disgust, that he would turn away and leave Astarion more alone than ever.

The thought of the blond’s rejection was almost too much to bear. Astarion clenched his jaw, trying to steady himself, but fear lingered, a constant, gnawing presence in the back of his mind. He had to know if Tav felt the same pull, the same inexplicable connection, but… He had to find the courage to seek the truth, even if it meant facing his deepest fears.

Silence continued to stretch out between them, but soon, Tav was reaching out, hands gently cradling Astarion’s own, his precious flute forgotten somewhere on the ground.

“Astarion,” Tav’s voice broke through his thoughts, gentle yet searching. “There’s something you’re carrying, something you haven’t shared. I can feel it.”

The vampire’s breath caught in his throat. How could Tav sense his turmoil, his hidden fears? Was he that transparent, even to someone who had become so dear to him?

“I...” Astarion hesitated, his voice wavering. “There are things... things I haven’t spoken of, secrets that...” He faltered, unable to find the words to convey the depth of his anguish.

Tav’s grip tightened, a silent gesture of encouragement. “You don’t have to tell me now,” he murmured, his voice a soothing balm against Astarion’s uncertainty. “But know that whatever it is, whatever burden you carry, you don’t have to bear it alone.”

Tears pricked at the corners of Astarion’s eyes, unshed and raw. In Tav’s presence, he could believe that perhaps, just perhaps, he could be accepted and understood, scars and all.

Their moment was interrupted by a soft cough, Wyll apologetically clearing his throat.

“Sorry to interrupt,” Wyll began, “but we need to gather some herbs for Gale. It’s best not to go alone.” He glanced around, explaining, “Karlach’s hands have a tendency to burn everything she touches, and Lae’zel doesn’t know mergrass from swarming toadstools…”

The rogue jumped slightly, his ears burning red at being caught in such a vulnerable state. He cursed himself inwardly for not hearing the warlock approach sooner, his usual sharp senses momentarily dulled by the intensity of his conversation with Tav. He shifted uncomfortably, feeling exposed under Wyll’s observant gaze.

Tav, ever quick-witted and understanding, chuckled softly at Astarion’s reaction and gave his hands a reassuring squeeze before turning his attention to Wyll. “No worries, Wyll. I understand,” Tav replied with a lopsided smile, gently withdrawing his hand from Astarion’s. “I’ll be right there.”

Wyll nodded gratefully, offering a bow of thanks before he turned and headed off towards the outskirts of the camp. Tav retrieved his flute from where it lay forgotten on the ground, giving the rogue a playful wink as he placed his hat askew on the vampire’s head. “Keep it safe for me, yeah?” he teased before jogging off to catch up with Wyll, leaving Astarion flustered and alone.

His blush deepened and spread across his cheeks. “Of course,” he muttered awkwardly, though Tav was already out of earshot.

Feeling exposed and uncomfortable, Astarion hesitated momentarily, wavering. He longed for the comforting embrace of the shadows, where he could shield his vulnerabilities behind a facade of nonchalance – but his companions had all pushed him to go talk to Tav, and they wouldn’t let him retreat to his tent without sharing something. Gathering his resolve with a deep breath, he strode purposefully toward Gale and Shadowheart. Nearby, Karlach practiced her combat maneuvers with focused intensity in front of her tent.

“Looks good on you, soldier,” the tiefling quipped, an amused expression on her face as she eyed the hat.

Astarion’s blush deepened, and he quickly removed the hat, stuffing it forcefully under his arm. “I was just keeping it safe for him,” he muttered, feeling even more self-conscious under their scrutiny.

Shadowheart and Gale exchanged knowing glances. The cleric wiped her hands on a cloth before stepping closer to Astarion, creating a semblance of privacy away from the other two, while Gale encouraged Karlach to go spar with Lae’zel.

The party’s other half-elf tilted her head slightly, her expression softening. “How did the talk go?” she asked quietly, her voice filled with genuine interest.

He hesitated, glancing around to ensure they weren’t overheard. “We... had a moment,” he admitted quietly, fingers unconsciously tracing his soulmark.

Shadowheart’s expression softened, and she nodded encouragingly while gently pulling his hand away from his elbow. “And?”

“I’m closer to telling him about, well… The mark,” Astarion continued in a conspiratorial whisper. “But not yet. I’m not ready.”

Shadowheart smiled. “You’ll know when the time is right.”

Before Astarion could respond, Gale interjected with a raised eyebrow and a playful smirk. “What are you two plotting over there?”

Astarion and Shadowheart exchanged glances, both responding in unison, “Nothing!”

Gale raised an eyebrow, a playful smirk on his lips. “I understand the need for secrets, but please do share with the class if it has to do with us, hmm?”

Astarion chuckled nervously, glancing between the cleric and the wizard, relieved by the distraction from his own inner turmoil. He straightened up, trying to regain his composure as he replied, “It’s nothing serious, Gale. Just discussing... future plans.”

Shadowheart shot him a sidelong glance, clearly amused by his evasive answer, but she played along smoothly. “Yes, just strategizing,” she added, her tone betraying nothing of their earlier conversation’s intensity.

Gale raised his eyebrow higher, not fooled in the slightest. “Strategizing, huh? Well, count me in if it involves more of Tav’s intriguing tales or perhaps a new approach to dealing with Lae’zel’s unyielding stubbornness.”

Karlach strolled over with Lae’zel in tow, the githyanki warrior looking unamused as usual. “What’s this about strategies?” she inquired, her tone tinged with curiosity.

“Apparently, we’re planning the next great adventure,” Gale quipped, casting a knowing glance at Astarion and Shadowheart.

The vampire couldn’t help but smile at Gale’s attempt to diffuse the tension, grateful for his ability to lighten the mood. “Indeed, planning is essential,” he added, going along with the jest, “especially when facing the unknown dangers of this wretched realm.”

Karlach grinned, her tail flicking playfully behind her. “Well, count me in. Just make sure we have enough supplies and plenty of sharp weapons, and I’m good to go.”

Lae’zel grunted in agreement, crossing her arms over her chest. “As long as we don’t waste time with pointless chatter.”

Gale rolled his eyes good-naturedly. “Fear not, Lae’zel. We shall proceed with the utmost efficiency and purpose.”

Astarion felt a weight lift from his shoulders as the banter flowed around him. Among this eclectic group, he found moments of solace and camaraderie that he hadn’t experienced in centuries. Even with his fears and doubts gnawing at him, he knew he wasn’t alone.

Feeling lucky indeed to have friends who could lighten his spirits and dispel his vulnerabilities, he resolved to show his support in return. With a determined stride, he approached Gale, who was deeply engrossed in preparing the evening’s meal.

As he neared, Astarion couldn’t help but notice the meticulous attention Gale paid to each ingredient. The wizard’s eyes twinkled with a subtle excitement, reflecting the dance of the firelight as he stirred the pot. Surprised by his own intensity of observation, Astarion found himself unable to look away. There was something mesmerizing about Gale’s focused demeanour, a dedication that spoke volumes about his commitment to their group’s well-being.

Astarion’s gaze wandered, drawn to Gale’s long locks which were tucked away into a practical bun, keeping them expertly secured away from the food. His gaze wandered again, and soon enough, brown eyes met his. Caught in the act, he felt a flush rise in his cheeks, but to his relief, Gale pretended not to notice, his attention focused once more on the stew bubbling over the fire.

Feeling a tad awkward, but appreciative of Gale’s discretion, Astarion cleared his throat lightly. “How’s that meal coming along?” he asked. He moved to lounge nearby, hoping his usual smirk was playing on his lips.

Gale looked up from his stirring, a faint blush – mirroring Astarion’s own – colouring his cheeks. He smiled warmly, choosing not to comment on Astarion’s momentary lapse, returning instead to his culinary masterpiece. “It’s almost ready, my friend. I think you’ll be pleasantly surprised.”

“Tell me, Gale,” Astarion drawled, steering the conversation back to safer waters, “do you always put so much effort into making gruel, or is this a special occasion?”

Gale glanced up, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “This, my dear Astarion, is not gruel. It’s an exquisite stew, carefully crafted to appease even the most discerning of palates. And if you’re lucky, you might get to taste some.”

Astarion chuckled, his fangs glinting in the firelight. “If it tastes as good as it smells, I might be inclined to agree.”

Gale stirred the pot, a satisfied smile on his face. “Coming from you, I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Astarion felt a peculiar pull in his chest as his eyes locked with the wizard’s again, an odd sensation that made him pause. His teasing retort faltered on his lips as he tried to understand the feeling. It was as if an invisible thread was tugging at his very being, drawing him towards...

“Look what we found,” Tav announced, both him and Wyll stepping into the firelight with a bundle of fresh herbs in hand. “These should add some flavour to our meal.”

Astarion’s eyes flicked to Tav, the strange pull now making sense. Immediately, he calmed. “Ah, our heroes return,” Astarion said, regaining his composure. “Perhaps now this stew will be somewhat palatable.”

Wyll laughed, the sound warm and comforting. “I have faith in Gale’s culinary skills. And these herbs Tav found will only make it better.”

Gale took the herbs with a nod of gratitude, adding them to the pot. “Thank you, both. This will indeed elevate the dish.”

“I must say, Gale, your culinary skills are truly impressive. This stew promises to be a delight,” Wyll praised sincerely.

He glanced at Tav, his tone carrying a touch of curiosity as he continued. “And Tav, those herbs you found are remarkable. Quite a find in the depths of the Underdark. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’ve spent some time here before.”

Tav’s reaction was swift but controlled, a brief tensing of his shoulders before he forced himself to relax, an almost imperceptible shift that Astarion, ever observant of his companions’ demeanours, caught. His mind flashed back to their conversation earlier that, where Tav had hinted at lingering memories from his past – memories he seemed keen to leave buried deep within the shadows of the Underdark.

Tav had spoken with a vulnerability that resonated with Astarion, reminding him of his own struggles with memories long suppressed. The urge to reach out, to offer comfort, tugged at Astarion’s heart. Yet, uncertainty gripped him. He didn’t know how to approach Tav, how to breach the walls the bard had carefully erected around his past. Caught between empathy and his own hesitations, Astarion hesitated, his gaze softening as he observed Tav. The bard’s eyes flicked towards him briefly, as if sensing Astarion’s concern, but then Tav’s attention returned to the stew, his expression guarded once more.

Astarion shifted uneasily, his fingers tracing absent-mindedly over the familiar lines of his soulmark. He wanted to say something, to offer reassurance, but the words eluded him. Amid their banter and camaraderie, Astarion felt a pang of helplessness – a reminder that even among friends, some wounds remained unseen and untouchable.

Luckily, Gale smoothly defused any potential tension, ever the diplomatic host. “Indeed,” he chimed in, his tone light and agreeable as he stirred the stew. “Tav has a knack for finding hidden treasures, whether it’s in a melody or in the flora of the Underdark.”

The bard relaxed visibly at Gale’s words, a grateful smile touching his lips. “Just lucky, I suppose,” he replied humbly, his gaze flickering briefly back up to Astarion before focusing back on the task of helping Gale prepare the meal.

Gale continued to stir the stew, the aroma growing richer with each swirl of his spoon. “With these herbs,” he mused aloud, “I believe our meal is ready to be sampled.”

Astarion forced a smile, masking his inner turmoil as he accepted the bowl of stew from Gale. “After you, Gale,” he ended up saying, gesturing playfully towards the pot. “Let’s see if your culinary masterpiece lives up to its promise.”

Gale chuckled warmly, a twinkle in his eyes as he ladled out portions of the stew into bowls. “Only one way to find out.”

As the group settled around the crackling fire, each cradling a steaming bowl of Gale’s stew, a comfortable silence descended. The aroma of herbs and savoury spices filled the air, mingling with the warmth of camaraderie that surrounded them. Astarion took a tentative sip, the rich flavors bursting on his tongue, confirming Gale’s culinary prowess once again.

Wyll was the first to break the quietude, his voice soft and reflective. “It’s moments like these,” he began, his gaze drifting into the dancing flames, “that remind me why we’re here. Not just to survive, but to find moments of joy amidst all the chaos.”

Karlach nodded in agreement, her usual expression softened by the flickering firelight. “Damn right. Life’s too short to waste on bland shit.”

Lae’zel grunted, a rare hint of approval in her tone. “I agree, this stew is more than tolerable. Gale,” she added gruffly, “you may keep using your wizarding skills for future meals.”

Gale chuckled, clearly pleased by the compliment, however backhanded. “I’ll take that as high praise from you, Lae’zel.”

Astarion watched the interplay between his companions with a sense of belonging he hadn’t felt in centuries. Their banter, their shared moments of laughter and concern, anchored him in a reality far removed from the haunting memories of his past.

He glanced at Tav again, catching the bard’s eye briefly. Tav returned Astarion’s gaze with a grateful nod, his eyes briefly betraying the weight of unspoken burdens. There was a silent understanding between them, a recognition of shared vulnerabilities that didn’t need words to affirm. It was enough for Astarion to know that Tav knew he wasn’t alone in his struggles.

The fire crackled and danced, casting shadows that flickered like memories across the cavern walls. Above them, the distant echoes of the Underdark whispered ancient secrets, but tonight, beneath their makeshift canopy, Astarion found solace in the present moment.

“We should rest soon,” Shadowheart remarked quietly, breaking the companionable silence. “Tomorrow will bring its own trials.”

Astarion nodded, acknowledging the truth in her words. “Indeed. But for now, let’s enjoy this.”

And so, they lingered by the fire, their voices blending with the night’s chorus of distant echoes and the soft rustling of hook horrors. At that moment, amid the glow of camaraderie and the promise of tomorrow, Astarion felt peace settle within him again. Despite the perils of the Underdark and the uncertainties that awaited them, he knew that together, they would face whatever challenges came their way.

[start | previous | next chapter posted on sunday, august 25, 2024]

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sparemintss · 9 months

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YOU KNOW WHAT'S CRAZY TO ME????? BEN -FUCKING- WILLBOND WROTE A TRAGIC LITTLE WWII CO WHO JUST SO HAPPENED TO BE GAY AS FUCK AND WE ALL COLLECTIVELY CRIED ABOUT HIM. MAN FUCK U /aff

AND HE JUST SO HAPPENS TO BE ONBOARD WITH THE FANDOM TOO WITH PSC LIKE.... I HATE YALL /pos

HOW DARE YOU WRITE A WWII CAPTAIN WHO IS IN LOVE WITH HIS LIEUTENANT TURNED MAJOR. HOW DARE Y O U .

HOW DARE THE LIEUTENANT TURNED MAJOR TECHNICALLY RECIPROCATED THAT LOVE WITH GLANCES AND SECRECY IN FIRST NAME CALLING.

#making me read all those gut wrenching fanfics on ao3 #it became literally my past time and because of that i hadnt had the time to draw 💀#mint thoughts #bbc ghosts #capvers #caphavers #Ffor king and country by realismreadings will never leave my mind #kindred spirits by a clever username will never leave my mind #i could name so much more fics but im blanking right now #GOD GHOSTS UK WRITERS ARE SO GOOD AT TUGGING AT MY HEARTSTRINGS I SWEAR I WILL DRAW SCENES FROM THOSE FICS #I should specify fanfic writers but the six idiots do make me fucking BAWL

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txemptress · 7 months

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𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐋𝐔𝐌 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐈𝐒 𝐕𝐈𝐃𝐈 | 𝐋. 𝐀𝐠𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐡𝐞

You are the fifth wife of the infamous Lant Agriche. Yes, fifth. This man had four more wives that were unknown to you due to him excluding you out of his estate.

He claims that you were the most special amongst them therefore it'd be best to keep you away. Going on about how his wives could be in jealousy and murder you even.

Though you pretended to believe his word for it. You knew better. If a husband pushes you to the side away from his life, that means dark matters were at hand.

In truth the way you two hit off wasn't the most effective way of doing so. Just to make it simple, he had just decided to come ‘visit’ your father and murdered him and a dozen others in your household whilst keeping you as a trophy of his feat.

A trophy that was later found more useful than others. He had threatened to kill you at first until a night when you unleashed a demon inside of you, quite literally. The demon had swarmed and nearly killed your now husband. All for the sake of protecting you from harm.

That incident caused the entire discussion that was later referred to as a marriage contract. In which he'd provide you everything you wish for and all you have to do was sit, look pretty and bear his children.

To this you agreed. Why bother ruining an opportunity of living a life of near luxury and most likely die in the hands of some human trafficker? Plus he wouldn't be paying attention to you anyway. After all he's got all those wives pent up in his home.

You now stood in the presence of your husband who seemed quite intent in knowing what you or your children had become after the two months he left you alone in. His eyes landed on the children next to you who seemed ever so cold towards their father.

"Good work." A praise that was so hollow anyone could tell so. "Can they do what you can yet?" As expected a question towards their way of things.

"Not yet." A whispered answer came from you as your eyes came to contact with his.

"‘Not yet’?" Lant growled with annoyance. "I thought we agreed to keep working until they manage. It's only a few days left until our sons come to contact and fight against the other children."

‘Our sons’ you almost scoffed at that. He didn't even care about them at all. The audacity of calling them his sons was infuriating. Last thing they'd, so did you, was to call him father or husband and him to call you all sons and wife.

"Steady progression is better than rushing." You responded plainly. "If we rush, the demons may not gain strength and will most likely not hesitate to make the host feel immense pain." It was no lie coming from your mouth. Steady progression was best for taming demons. If the demon is rushed it will not do your bidding. Indeed it'd rather be a menace than other.

A strike at your cheek caused you to stumble as your hand touched the now red side. It burned like hell. Touching it made it worse. You were sure it'd leave a bruise later on.

"I don't care if they feel ‘immense pain’, they are Agriches." Lant was infuriated. "If you don't make them as good by then, the next day you will receive their heads at your doorstep."

Your lips gave a quiver as you realize the danger your children could be in for. "Very well." A hushed response from you made him satisfied.

Days loomed by and your sons were now perfectly using their demons in fighting. The demons were more than one which was shocking for you, for it took you too long to understand or tame such demons. Perhaps that's where Lant's genes went to. It didn't matter. Now it was the day of the special test.

Your husband's blind arse told you not to worry one bit because they'll be alright. Tell that to the others who died years past! You could almost scoff at his excuses.

When your door swung open, your heart pounded with nervousness. In front of you was a masked man. His eyes gleaming at you, he stepped aside to reveal your children practically unscathed. You rushed to them, tears falling as you hugged them.

"Great work." Your eyes lift to see Lant standing there as well. Your fury was triggered upon just hearing his disgusting voice as your body screamed ‘kill him’, you would. If only there was no guard with him much to your annoyance there were loads. "Don't you think they did well, dear?" He brought your children to a situation as the such and expected you to say that they did well? Sure they did do well in finishing the test with flying colors but it was still infuriating when he expected you to enjoy the thought of bringing your children to a dangerous place.

"...yes. i do believe so." You're practically trying your hardest to resist the temptations of releasing a demon to slowly and rather painfully kill the son of a bitch in front of you. But revenge will need to wait. First you must prepare that day and when it happens, you will bathe in the sweet indulgence of vengeance while watching him suffer.

Your children grow amongst the Agriche children to be the greatest. Even surpassing the ugly half-sibling, Fontaine who was undeniably disgusting and troublesome in terms of activities that he keeps up. But that didn't matter since your children advanced him, ranking top in the chain.

Pleased with their wonderful achievements, you made sure to ensure that everyone knew that if they were to lay one single finger on your children with wrong intentions in mind, you'd kill them and enjoy it.

“How are you faring, sweetling?” Your husband inquires while pouring himself and you some wine to celebrate yet another victory of the children you bore; they had fought against Lant's other children whom you'd just recently met as well as his other supposed wives.

You couldn't help but nearly scoff when you saw the women he had wed, all were pathetic in their own ways. But one of them made you wish to protect her in a way. That one unique wife was none other than Sierra. The woman seemed traumatized, unable to form a complete sentence and always seemed closed off.

You admit that you were curious so the only thing you could have done was spoken to the woman. And speak you did, she ie surprisingly cheerful to be with and she is such a sweetheart. It warmed your heart but you were also reminded that you still had a duty as a wife of Lant, that duty being someone who shows no weakness.

"I've been alright." You respond calmly, sipping your tea. Your eyes do not know where to rest, but you knew it would be better if they don't rest on him.

"Are you truly alright?" Lant seems rather suspicious this evening and it's evident. You nod, remaining calm and unbothered by his suspicion. You will not show him anything that could have him questioning everything.

"Very well." Lant returns to drinking his tea which you knew was mixed with some sort of alcoholic drink. You wanted to pour your own tea at him, but you knew that'd make him fly into a terrifying rage. You excuse yourself and head to your chambers for the night.

That was close, your demons grow restless. All are eager to savour him, but you must wait. You're reminded by your conscience. Patience. But why wait when he's right there? Your demons were countering your own thoughts. You take a deep breath, clenching your hands to regain the power between the battle of your mind and the demons that are becoming insufferable by the second.

You enter your chambers and wave aside the maids, asking them to leave. Alone, you massage your head as you continuously hear from them who live inside you. No. You said firmly to the desires of those who were trying to take the reins.

They are angry, but you did not care. You will wait. Until the time has come, they will remain abstain whether they like it or not.

Slowly, the time came at last. Your husband is before you, you had summoned him here. His suggestive remarks were implying that he thinks you've summoned him for other matters.

He wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you to him, your bodies pressing close. You close your eyes and count to five then everything went dark, at least, for you.

When you regain control of the vessel known as your body, you're greeted with the sight of Lant on the floor bleeding out. A cruel laugh escapes you. "Did you truly think thay they'd accept you as my husband? That I'd accept you as my husband?" Your smirk towards him earns a strangled noise from him.

"Oh how silly of me, I forget you can't speak when you're choked! But of course you knew that right?" She referenced a time in their life when he had choked her to shut her up and she'd passed out.

She snapped her fingers and the strangling is put to a halt. "Please...Name, don't." Your husband's weak and frail voice was music to your ears. Despite it being a plead to let him live, it only fueled your thirst for his death if anything else.

"Let me think, hmm." You pretend to think and then you gave an all-knowing smile and shake your head. "I'm afraid, no." She says softly as you step away from him. The demons around him stare with hunger in their eyes.

You turn swiftly and leave the room, leaving them to enjoy their snack. There are screams, violent but oh so melodious screams. Then there's an eerie silence afterwards, he is dead. The whole house knows so.

There's a summoning, everyone must come. The crowds of the Agriche family enter in silence. The demons loom in the sides of the room, they leave the children and wives glancing with fear-stricken expressions. The wives were especially horrified at the prospect of you sitting on the dead head's supposed throne.

You sit on what was once his seat, your children coming forth. "Is he dead?" Your eldest son Alexander asks with a soft voice.

You nod. "He's gone now. No one will hurt you anymore." You kiss his brow and then turn to the rest of the wives, a smile tugging on your lips. She meets to Sierra's horror for only a moment's time. "The head of the Black Agriche is dead, I am the one you have to deal with now."

#manhwa #self insert #manhwa x reader #lant agriche #lant agriche x reader #the way to protect the female lead's older brother #the way to protect the female lead's older brother x reader #twtptflob x reader #twtpflob #twtptflob #{ ♡ heartstrings — fics }

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starlitangels · 1 year

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If It’s a Lie (I Don’t Care)

So. If y’all haven’t read my Bastard Warrior high-school-English-style essay (<- link), you’re probably not going to be aware of what musings of mine inspired this... maybe go give it a read? (The TL;DR is that Albus’ subconscious put him in a fantasy instead of his happiest memory, like Devlin was in, because Albus doesn’t have happy memories. I was confused why Faithful didn’t feature in the fantasy considering he’s so in love with her and knew exactly how to make the fantasy even happier for him) 5.8k words (holy sh!+ this one got away from me. I was expecting 2.2k)

—

“Alright, I know you don’t really need to hear this from me, but… please, be careful,” Devlin said, eyes flicking between me and his younger brother lying on the medical bay gurney. “I’ll keep an eye on everything out here.”

I nodded and set the Key against Albus’ forehead, feeling the sinkhole of psychic power drag me into unconsciousness.

—

Quiet grunts and a gentle sigh were the first thing I heard as I emerged into Albus’ mind. My eyes were closed and I was pleasantly warm. Everything around me was soft and I was lying down.

“Good morning, princess,” a familiar voice said quietly.

My eyes flew open.

“Albus!” I whisper-shouted, scrambling to get over to him, realizing I was under sheets and blankets, before throwing my arms around him as best I could.

“Oof,” he muttered as I impacted against him, holding tight. “Is… everything alright, darling?” He held onto me in the hug, but slowly released me, leaning back to look me in the eye, and I started to take stock of where we were.

Albus was lying beside me, shirtless, in a bed of white sheets and fuzzy blankets. His hair and beard were tidier than I’d ever seen them before—and the scars on his face were gone. Instead he sported a new one on his left temple that wasn’t even half the length of his real facial scars. His warm, dark eyes held concern in them, but none of the anger I’d come to recognize every time I looked at him. They were more open and honest than I’d ever seen them. There were no walls. No guards he had in place between him and the rest of the world.

His bare chest and arms had a peppering of small scars too, but not the ones I’d patched up from the demon when we first met, or every injury I’d bandaged since.

I realized I wasn’t wearing anything either. Not even a nightdress or a slip. The sheets covered my modesty but I could feel them against every inch of bare skin that I usually kept covered by clothing. My heart started pounding.

“Everything’s… everything’s fine. I’m just happy to see you,” I said.

He scrunched his eyebrows. “You saw me last night when we went to bed,” he said in a tone that sounded like he was trying to politely point out something obvious. He lifted a hand and pressed the back of it to my forehead. “Are you feeling alright?”

I shoved his hand off my head. “I’m fine,” I retorted. Then my eyes caught sight of a flash of light.

There was a bright gold ring on his ring finger.

His left ring finger.

He smiled at me when I shoved his hand away. “There she is,” he said. “There’s the woman I love.” He removed his wrist from my hands and trailed the backs of his fingers down the side of my face before moving them to trace idle patterns over my shoulder. “You had me worried for a moment there.”

I looked around, taking in our surroundings.

What… what was this? Where were we? I was in his head, sure, but this place looked and felt real. When I’d delved into Devlin’s mind, I’d seen… glitches. Wavering in the scenery. Tricks to reveal the workshop was just a memory.

But this place looked nothing like anywhere in our world. The architecture was wrong—I’d never seen wood the shade of the planks used to make the walls. This wasn’t a reflection of our home-world.

This wasn’t his happiest memory, as Devlin’s had been.

“Where… where are we?” I asked tentatively.

His eyebrows knitted together again. “Our… bedroom?”

Our?!

I didn’t say that out loud, but I couldn’t stop my eyebrows from arching in surprise and confusion.

“Are you sure you’re alright? Why are you acting like this is new?” Albus sat up just enough to perch on his elbow and look down at me. I’d seen him shirtless before when I’d patched him up a few times, but this time with him actually conscious I tried much harder than usual to not stare. The conspicuous lack of the Bastard’s Mark over his heart was throwing me off just as much as everything else. “Darling? Are you having nightmares again?”

My first instinct was to snap at him to cut it out with the pet names—but the words died on my tongue. The concern on his face—the way his eyes looked at me…

Visceral memories of Knight-Captain Bran threatening me at the Wall of Dawn and the terror on Albus’ face shot through my head.

I swallowed and hid myself under the white sheet. “Kind of,” I said quietly, still trying to figure out what was happening.

With some shuffling, Albus climbed under the sheet himself.

“There’s no ‘kind of’ with nightmares. Either you are, or you aren’t,” he said sharply. And for a moment, the softness and tenderness vanished, leaving behind the rough, sarcastic tone I was used to. Then his eyebrows twitched and the rest came back. “I… I don’t know why I said that. Forgive me.”

Before I could say anything, heavy pounding resounded off the door. “Do you two plan on getting up while it’s still morning?”

At this point, I’d know Devlin’s voice anywhere—and that was definitely him.

Albus rolled his eyes. That much, at least, was familiar. He rolled over to face the door. “We’re already awake, brother!”

“Well then how about you consider getting out of bed and—”

“Dev, are you really going to interrupt a husband and wife who finally get a lazy morning to themselves?” Albus snapped.

A who and a who?!

I looked down at my hand. Albus was wearing a ring, I’d seen that. I wasn’t though.

I didn’t know how to describe the noise Devlin made. It was almost akin to a squeak. “O-oh. Well. Then. I’ll… leave you to it. Come downstairs when you’re ready.”

Footsteps thudded down some stairs nearby.

Albus sighed and glanced at me, both of us still under the bedsheet like children playing in a blanket fort. “I know it was my idea to live at the inn and help my brother run it but if I’d known he was going to be this nosy, I probably wouldn’t have ever suggested it. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” I said automatically. But also because Albus apologizing felt weird.

“Still. Feel like I should.” He inhaled and then slowly breathed out. “So… kiss and then get ready to head downstairs for the day?”

Kiss? Kiss?! First the husband and wife thing and now—

“Yeah.”

Maybe it was better to play along for the moment? I didn’t know how long Albus’ body had back in the real world and whether time moved slower here—the way it did in dreams. How long could I put off the reality check?

Albus shuffled over the mattress to be closer to me. I tried to relax into the kiss, but couldn’t.

The second he pulled away, I rolled over so I was facing away and peeked out from under the sheet at the floor beside the bed.

Oh, thank the gods, I thought.

My usual clothing—that I did recognize from home—sat in a pile on the floor.

I slipped out of the bed and started pulling on my underthings first. Keeping my back to Albus and trying to keep my modesty as covered as possible.

I heard the blankets and sheets get thrown off and then Albus’ chuckle. “Trying to hide, princess?”

I scowled.

“C’mon. We’ve been married for a year. There’s no need to be modest,” Albus said. There was no sarcasm in his words. Just gentle encouragement.

I scooped up my shirt and temple tunic, pulling them on one after the other. Under them sat the necklace chain with the shiny ring Albus usually wore but I’d put on after the heartripper attack. I slung it over my head and tucked it down the front of my tunic. It brushed against my shirt’s lace ring with a metallic shing!

“Did you say something?” Albus asked.

I shook my head. “No.”

“Mm. Strange. Thought you did.”

More shuffling of fabric behind me and I heard feet hit the wooden floor. I widened my eyes at the ground and made a point of not looking behind me as I shimmed my socks up my legs. Once they were in place, I was fully clothed. So I went to the small vanity in the corner of the bedroom and fixed up the rest of my appearance with the tarnishing mirror, taming my bedhead and then making sure my hair was taken care of the way I usually had it.

Albus wrapped his arms around me from behind, burying his nose in my neck and inhaling deeply. “You forgot your ring,” he said. One of his hands twisted so his palm faced upward and revealed a gold ring with a small, vibrant blue sapphire set on it.

I took it from his hand and slid it onto my finger. It was a perfect fit. I stared at it for a moment, ignoring his bare skin in the reflection of the mirror. “Thanks,” I said softly. I slipped out of his embrace and headed for the door. “I’ll see you downstairs?”

“Yeah. See you downstairs.” He sounded a bit confused but I dodged out of the room before he could ask any more questions.

I stopped halfway down the stairs, hand on the railing, and blinked hard several times.

There was no way I’d be able to keep up any charade—and Albus needed to come back. He was dying and I had to save him. This little fantasy was just that—a fantasy. And Devlin and I needed him back in the real world.

I sucked in a deep breath and sighed before finishing my path down the stairs.

Where I spilled out into a tavern. Mostly empty, apart from Devlin behind the bar.

“Oh. Good morning. I thought you two were going to be another hour, at least,” he greeted when he saw me.

I bit my tongue for a moment. “Nope,” I said.

He hummed, looking a little red around the ears, wiping out glass steins with a towel in his hand. His… his hand.

“Your hand,” I said quietly.

“What about it?” He looked down at it.

“It’s flesh and blood.”

“Of course it is… why wouldn’t it be? Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” I insisted. “I’m getting a little sick of being asked that this morning.”

Devlin arched his eyebrows. “I’m sorry. You’re just acting a little strange.”

“Compared to what?” I asked snappishly.

“Well, you and Albus have been living here for nearly a year. I think I have a fairly solid idea of your usual behavior.”

I’m sure you would if you were real, I thought. Instead I just rolled my eyes. “Whatever,” I muttered. I went to the bar of the tavern and leaned against it, watching Devlin’s normal hand—not his forgemaster prosthetic—wipe down the glass. He had the sleeves of his shirt rolled above his elbows. There were a few scars on his knuckles and freckles all the way down his arm.

Heavy footsteps thundered down the stairs. Albus emerged, stretching his arms and back. “Morning Dev,” he greeted.

“Good morning,” Devlin replied blithely. “Sorry for interrupting your morning… activities.”

I dropped my head to look down at the bar with wide eyes, pursed lips, and the fire of embarrassment burning everywhere at the implication—while Albus burst out laughing. I heard his boots click against the wooden floor and he draped himself over my back. Wrapping his arms around me and planting his chin on my shoulder. “You weren’t interrupting anything like that, promise,” Albus said. “We were just talking. Enjoying the peace and quiet for a while. Right, princess?” He tilted his head and planted a kiss in the spot where my cheekbone met my temple.

“Mmhmm,” I muttered.

“Aw, Dev. You’ve embarrassed her,” Albus chided playfully.

“Apologies. I was trying to be delicate,” Devlin said.

“It’s fine,” I mumbled.

Albus chuckled again and gave me a squeeze. “So, darling. Day off for the two of us. What do you want to do with it?”

I spun around in his arms to face him—completely unable to break his grip if I tried—and paused before I could cut to the chase. I’d never seen him in any colors other than blacks and greys. The creamy off-white linen shirt and brown trousers made his dark hair stand in much starker contrast than usual.

It was actually quite the fetching look on him.

I stared for a few solid seconds, eyes roaming the way the shirt clung to his shoulders and arms but the laces up the front were open halfway down his chest.

A slow, smug smile crept its way up Albus’ face. “Mm. Should we go back to our room after all?”

Devlin, to his credit, turned his bark of laughter into a cough.

There was that fire of embarrassment again. No time to think about that now, I thought sharply to myself. Shoving all the mortifying thoughts down.

“Actually, Albus,” I started, “I was hoping to talk to you about something.”

Albus sighed. “Okay. I’m all yours,” he said.

“Let’s go sit down.” I wrapped his forearm in both my hands and tugged him over to a corner booth in the otherwise-empty tavern. He followed me without resisting. But instead of sitting opposite me like I indicated, he sat next to me. “Albus… this is going to… to be hard to hear. But there’s no point in me pretending.”

“Darling, what are you talking about?”

“Just let me explain, alright?” I asked entreatingly, trying to curb my attitude. I set my hand on top of his on the table and threaded my fingers between his. The calluses weren’t as thick or hard here as they were in the real world. “This… this is a dream. None of this is real. We’re from a place called New Tennessee. You and I haven’t been married for a year. I met you about a month ago in a region called the Far Eastern Faithlands.”

Albus’ eyes widened as I spoke and he shook his head. “Don’t… no. Don’t do this to me. Please,” he breathed. His hand tensed under mine.

“I’m sorry, Albus. I have to.” I blinked and felt a pair of warm trails slide down my face as tears fell. “Where we’re really from, we’re both paladins. You’re a warrior, I’m a temple attendant. And… and in the real world, you’re a bastard…”

I kept explaining, watching denial stitch itself into the lines of Albus’ face.

“You’re lying,” he said when I was done. “I just can’t figure out why.”

“Then what’s the truth?”

“I’ll tell you. I was born in Trents. My father taught me to fight when I was a kid and my mother taught me to keep my nose clean. When I was old enough, I joined my brother’s platoon and journeyed across Queria until he decided to take up work outside of combat. I was his right-hand at the time so I was given the position of knight-captain. We settled here, and that’s when I met you. I courted you for just under a year and then just under a year ago we got married and we’ve been living here helping Devlin run this place when I’m not out on patrol.”

I took a deep breath and closed my eyes with a sigh. That sounded like a nice life. The kind he deserved after all the pain he’d been through. The pain I’d put him through, and whatever he’d experienced before we met that he was so reticent to talk about. But it wasn’t his life. Not his real one.

“I… I’m sorry, Albus. But I’m not lying to you. I wouldn’t lie to you about something like this. I… I have lied to you before. I didn’t tell you that my brother had kidnapped a child at first. But I would never lie about something like this. Please, Albus.” I squeezed his hand gently.

“No. No—stop it!” He ripped his hand away from mine and shoved out of the booth, stumbling across the tavern floor and nearly crashing into a table. The motion of him pulling away jerked me after him. I hissed in pain—and when I looked up, Albus was staring at me. Wide-eyed. His gaze was on… my chest?

I looked down. No. Not my chest.

His ring had fallen out from under my tunic with getting yanked forward.

“What is that?” His voice went hard and sharp. “Where did you get that ring?”

Promising. “Have you seen it before?”

“Yes. But I… I don’t know where.” He kept staring at it.

Devlin was watching us from the bar, but was no longer pretending to wipe out steins.

I swallowed to try and steady myself. “Do you want to hold it?” I asked gently.

Albus blinked finally, but there was a glaze on his eyes. Almost like he was entranced. “Y… yeah.”

I slung the thick, heavy chain off over my head and held it out. Albus took the chain first, and carefully lowered the ring onto his hand.

The lights in the tavern all darkened to near-blackness before flaring back full force as a pulse of energy rippled out from the point where Albus’ hand touched the ring’s bright metal.

Albus lurched backward, letting go of the chain. My hand lashed out and snatched it from the air before it could fall. A reflex I hadn’t actually expected to work. But was pleasantly surprised when it did.

“Albus? Albus, what’s wrong?” Devlin’s voice demanded—but over Albus’ shoulder, his body faded and vanished as his voice got softer and further away.

Albus whirled to see the last vestiges of Devlin disappearing. “Devlin—Devlin, where did you go?” His looked around wildly, as if Devlin would just pop up elsewhere. The tavern shifted—losing some of its luster, almost going grey. The light dimmed a bit. “What—what’s going on?!” He shot a look at me. “It’s you, isn’t it? This is your doing!”

I slid out of the booth. “Albus,” I said placatingly, holding my hands out, palms toward him, in a gesture meant to show I meant no harm. The chain of his necklace was caught between my thumb and around my forefinger. “Albus, please.”

He jerked and recoiled farther away. “No—get away from me!” He shoved away from the table he’d stumbled into and ran for the front door of the tavern, nearly ripping it off its hinges in his haste to open it.

Despite the sun still streaming through the windows, there was a solid wall of stone blocking the door.

Albus stared. “A wall,” he said. Bitter amusement in the scoff that followed. I didn’t move from where I’d stood from the booth. He didn’t bother shutting the tavern door. Just looked at me. Pain echoed in those dark eyes. “Don’t do this to me, darling. We—we’re happy here, aren’t we?” His gaze flicked between my eyes and the ring on his hand.

I closed my eyes. “Albus, please just listen to me,” I said.

“Listen, I don’t know what it is you want from me, but I want nothing to do with it!” His voice got louder until he was shouting. “Do you understand? I’m no one’s slave!” Shock and confusion creased his eyebrows. “Gods above. I don’t even know what I’m saying! S-slave? Is that what I am? Or—or what I was—to you?!”

Before I could tell him no, never, he shook his head hard and shoved his hands into his thick, dark hair.

“No. That’s not it—that’s not it, right? I… I… I’m in love with you, aren’t I?” He swallowed. “That… that hasn’t changed. I love you. I do.” He met my eyes. “Darling, please. Make it stop. All of this—please.”

“I wish I could. This is such a beautiful life. It’s the one you deserve. Even without me in it.”

“No—no, I… I want you here. I’m happy with you, here. We have a good life together. We’re happy. We’re in love. I don’t—stay back!”

I froze where I’d taken an entreating step forward, but kept my hands low with my palms out.

“Don’t you know who you’re talking to? I’m Albus York! I’ll kill you just for looking at me funny!” He squeezed his eyes shut and clenched his fists in his hair, pulling at the roots but not ripping them out. “Wait. That’s not who I am. I—” He looked around the tavern before his dark, heavy gaze landed on me again. “Stop, please. Whatever joke you’re playing on me, my princess, stop it. Oh gods—I can’t remember!”

He stomped around the tavern in a tight circle before marching over to me and cradling my face in both hands.

“Sweetheart. Please. Whatever’s happening—just stop it. We can stay here. We can be happy. Together. Just you and me being—” He laughed, but it was sorrowful. “—being annoyed by Devlin on a lazy morning. I love you. I don’t—I don’t want—I can’t lose this.” He stared pleadingly into my eyes.

I reached up as though to take his hand in mine and he pulled away again. “Don’t come near me with that ring! It’s evil! I want nothing to do with it!”

“Do you remember where it came from?” I asked.

“No. No I don’t! Don’t even try to—” He bent double, eyes slamming shut, muttering under his breath, “Yeah, I found this ring back in my training stash… no idea where it came from… not sure what but… it felt special to me… so I kept it…” He shook his head like he was trying to dislodge his brain out his ears. Grabbing at his head and recoiling. “Stop it, stop it, stop!” He panted and I wished I could help him, but didn’t want to aggravate him further. “You can’t do this to me. Please, darling. Don’t make me lose this. Don’t… don’t make me lose you.”

“Albus…” I whispered, moving to reach for him and faltering as I caught sight of the ring still dangling from my hand. Albus stared at it.

“It’s like it doesn’t belong anywhere… it doesn’t fit in…” he whispered. I remembered the words from when we were at his mentor’s grave. “Why—darling why? Why are you doing this? Why do you want to hurt me?” He kept holding his head, digging his fingertips into his scalp.

“I don’t want to hurt you. But I need you to come home! This place, this life. It’s not real.”

“Not… not real? What are you talking about? This place is very real! The air, the atmosphere, these tables and chairs—the bar! I can touch them. They’re all real!”

“I wish they were. I wish this was the life you had. But it’s like how dreams feel real while we’re in them. And then we wake up and see everything not right about them.”

He made a face of utter contempt. “Sticking to your story, are you? Fine. Maybe I believe you, huh? Maybe—maybe none of this is real. But I don’t care!” There was a gleam in his eyes of terror and sorrow and anger. He was breathing hard. “The world we come from—from what little I remember from it—it… it… it runs on lies. And blood!”

His hands balled into fists and snapped downward, smashing against a table.

“But this right here. This… this lie you found me in. There’s no blood here. There’s nothing here—there’s none of that! There’s just you and me and my brother—and all of us are happy.” He unclenched his fists and cradled my face again. “Darling, I don’t want to go. I beg you, on my knees—” He dropped to his knees as hot tears ran down my face. “—please. Just let me live this lie. Let me be happy here, with you. Let me fall asleep and wake up beside you, even if it’s only a dream. Let me laugh with my brother. Let me stare at you while we both hide from the morning sunlight under the bedsheet.”

He sniffed hard and blinked a pair of tears from his own eyes.

“For the first time in my life I… I finally… felt… I finally felt like… like I wasn’t a monster! Like people wanted me around! Like they weren’t ashamed of me! Tell me, in that other world, who’s got my back, huh?” My mouth hung agape, unsure how to answer. “No one! Not even you! And even if somehow you did, I’d push you away. That’s who I am in that world, isn’t it? The kind of man who has to distance himself from everyone because… because I’ve been hurt! So many times!” His head fell forward, almost giving him the appearance of a knight kneeling in prayer before going off to battle. But far more desolate and hopeless. “What kind of life is that?” His voice had gone soft. I doubted he’d shouted himself out yet, he was just losing the energy to care.

“Albus…” I knelt opposite him, tucking the ring into the pocket of my clothes so it wouldn’t be visible anymore. I held his face in both my hands, rubbing my thumb over his cheekbone.

He met my eyes. “Please, please, darling. Please don’t take me away from this. Let me live this. Here. With you. Even if it’s not really you. Please.” His body started to shake with sobs. I wiped a tear with my thumb on another pass over his cheekbone. He leaned forward and pressed his forehead to mine. I tilted my head so our noses could touch.

“Would that I could,” I whispered, sniffling against my own falling tears.

The electricity in the lights crackled and the sun through the windows faded. The whole tavern grew dim as Albus flinched in surprise, retreating away from the contact of our heads to look around. “What was that? Why are the lights dimmer? What’s going on?”

“Albus, you’re…” I didn’t know how to say it. I closed my eyes, pressing out more warm tears.

“I’m dying. Aren’t I?” he asked. I nodded. He huffed. “That’s why you’re here.” It was a statement, not a question. “You came here to… to save me.” He lifted a hand and cupped my cheek for just a moment before his eyes looked at where his ring had disappeared from his finger and his hand fell back to his lap. He slumped to the side so he was sitting rather than kneeling. I copied the motion. “Forgive me if I’m not exactly grateful. It seems I have to choose. Between living in Hell, or dying. What kind of choice is that?” He swallowed. His breath shook in and out of his lungs. “Maybe I should just die. I wouldn’t have to deal with this pain anymore.”

I gasped quietly.

“No… no I…” He swore sharply under his breath. “I can’t bring myself to do that. I can’t die. Why? Why—what’s holding me back?”

I shook my head. “I don’t know,” I said honestly.

He met my eyes again. “Tell me, in that other world… is there anything—anything—that keeps me going? Is there anything I’m fighting for?”

I stared into his eyes. My shoulders lifted slightly in a shrug. “I don’t know,” I repeated, barely a breath.

He scoffed, and then laughed bitterly. “My gods. That’s it, isn’t it? All this time—fighting for a reason to live and that’s it.” He huffed. “It’s cute. You don’t know what I’m talking about, do you? Me neither, to be honest.”

“Please come home,” I whispered. “I don’t know how much longer we have.” I looked around at the dimly-lit tavern. “I don’t know how much longer you have.”

He sighed. “I get it. You can stop trying. I’ll come back. But… before I do…” He met my eyes. I was waiting for him to say something about having a drink from this fancy bar, but he just stared.

“Before you do… what?” I prompted.

He lifted his hands to cradle my face again. His calluses were softer than they were in the real world. He swallowed thickly, holding my gaze with those deep, dark eyes.

“Tell me you love me—I don’t care if it’s a lie.”

The smile on his face was heartbroken and sorrowful and his eyes were still shining with tears.

“Albus…”

“No one will ever have to know. Hell, I don’t know if I’ll even remember any of this if-slash-when I wake up—”

I cut him off by lurching forward and planting my lips on his.

He made a noise of surprise before I leaned back to meet his gaze again. His lips were parted and his eyes widened. We were both breathing heavily, staring. I was a bit shocked that I’d done that, and I was even more shocked that he’d let me.

Our eyes flicked to each other’s lips at the same time—

And we were crashing back together. Grabbing at fistfuls of one another’s clothing in a desperate attempt to pull each other closer. One of his arms held me around the shoulders, the other my waist. Mine wrapped around his neck and my hands slid into his hair. Softer than I would have expected.

We kissed on the floor of the tavern until our heads started to spin and I withdrew.

“I love you, Albus,” I breathed. “I don’t know if that’s a lie or not, to be honest.”

“I don’t care.” He pulled me close for one more kiss. This one soft and tender. Gentler than I had ever seen him. I sighed into it. He pulled back and rested his forehead against mine. “It’s not just me. He does too. The other me. He won’t tell you that, so… I’m gonna do it for him.”

I remembered the manic look on his face when he told me that after he shot himself out of a broadsword cannon. “He’d be so angry if he found out you told me,” I said softly.

He smirked. “So what if he gets mad at me? What’s he gonna do, give me a stern talking-to?” He snickered. Then his face went serious. “But, uh… yeah. He loves you. A lot as well.”

“How much?” I could have asked something else, but couldn’t think of anything else.

He smiled. “Well, I’ll tell you.” He cupped the side of my face and brushed his thumb gently over my cheek. “He looks at you… and he sees an angel. And he won’t make a move. Because… he’s unworthy of you.”

I closed my eyes. “That’s not true. You’re worthy of so much more than you think. You’re worth so much more than you think. I care about you. I can’t lose you.”

“You’re a lot stronger than he or me—whatever I am.”

“That’s not true either. I can’t… I can’t even fight.”

“You don’t have to fight to be strong, darling. Being strong is sticking to your beliefs no matter what. Which makes you stronger than Albus. Bastard can’t even die right.” He sighed and pressed his forehead to mine. “Maybe this fantasy is no way to live after all,” he whispered. He lifted the ring out of my pocket by where its chain had been dangling out of it and slung it on over his head.

A sob shook his body. “I don’t want to go back. I know I said I would but I—I don’t—” His breathing shuddered. “I don’t want to—” He stumbled over an apology.

“Hey. Hold my hand?” I asked.

Without protesting, he slid his fingers between mine and brought my knuckles up to his lips, pressing a kiss to them. A tear fell on our intertwined fingers. “Oh gods above—I’m such a baby,” he hissed.

“There’s nothing wrong with sorrow, Albus. It was given to us by the gods so that we’d also know joy.”

He shook his head with a sharp inhale and glanced around at the tavern. “This place. It’s nice. Lot of good memories here. Though I suppose none of them are real.” He sighed. “This life with you. This dream. A… a fantasy of the both of us being in love and married… could you, uh… could you do me a favor? Remember it for me, please? I don’t know if I will.”

“I don’t know either. But of course I’ll remember it for you. This is a beautiful life. Maybe you’ll find something similar to it, one day.”

“Just maybe not with you?” There was a hint of his sarcastic teasing in that tone.

I blinked a few times. “You never know. But I’ll remember this for you.”

“Thank you. In that case, let me give you something to remember me by.”

He pulled me close and we shared another kiss. Tender but desperate. I threaded my fingers of my free hand into his hair and held him close to me.

Albus pulled away first. “I love you, my darling.”

“I love you too, Albus.” Still wasn’t sure if I was lying, but knowing he needed to hear it.

A touch of mirth danced in his eyes. His lopsided smirk tugged on the corner of his mouth.

“I’ll see you soon, faithful.”

A tear fell out of my eye at the nickname I never thought I’d miss.

—

I woke up with a gasp, sitting up from the chair next to the gurney Albus was in. The heartrate monitor was still beeping.

“Sister? Are you okay?” Devlin asked. I nodded, a bit breathless. Devlin sighed with relief. “I was worried. It looks like his vitals are stabilizing. You did it, sister!” I tried to smile, but my mind was still back in that dream. “So… I… hesitate to ask but… how was it? Were you safe?”

I thought about the tavern. The soft bedsheets and the morning sunlight. A pair of gold rings glinting. The kisses. “Better than I thought,” I said wistfully.

“Well, that’s good at least. I really am glad you’re safe, sister. Having you around… it really makes me feel a lot stronger. Just something I noticed when you weren’t around. I wanted to say something sooner but… well. You know. I, uh… I was wondering… if we—no, when we—get out of this place, maybe we can—”

“Ugh. If you’re gonna start making out, can you do it somewhere else?” a familiar, gruff, grumpy voice grumbled.

“Albus!” Devlin and I exclaimed at the same time, whirling to see him trying to sit up.

—

Tagging the GB peeps who I think would enjoy: @palilious @gwenifred @zozo-01 @halscafe @ryn-halo26 @staplesmainbitch @miloeveryday38

#Good Boy Audios #fic #female reader #goodboyaudios #GBA BW #GBA Bastard Warrior #GBA Albus #GBA Faithful #GBA Devlin #Starlit Fic #GB's version is better for the story #mine is worse on the heartstrings i hope #Good Boy Audios Fanfic #Good Boy Audios Fanfiction #Albus York #Devlin York

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