#hope you all enjoy this chapter!!!!

[candyheartedchy]

When a sea monster gets hired to work at the Chum Bucket, she starts to cause panic at the Krusty Krab while a certain absorbent fry cook tries to befriend her.

First chapter of the CoralBob fic is finally up!

[utterlyazriel]

whom the shadows sing for— (and the thief's echoing hymn)

a/n: it's time for some more ✨trauma✨ time to learn ur own backstory tehe <3 feel free to let me know what you think or any future... predictions... you think might be coming...

word count: 3.3k

synopsis: Azriel leaves for Velaris. You reflect on old choices and everything that you lead you to where you are now— and realise it's been awhile since you had anyone to miss. fem!reader, mulan-esque au

—CHAPTER THREE :: COMPANIONS

There's a girl screaming in the middle of camp.

Anguish, a pure guttural agony, litters her voice. She's shrieking, screaming herself hoarse, tortured cries piercing the air as a piece of her identity is ripped from her forcibly. The scream that you know only follows a wing clipping.

Fear rolls through your body, seizing every nerve til your limbs lock up. Your stomach lurches, nausea swimming and threatening to choke up your throat. The screams dive beneath your very skin and make a home there, unbidden.

The screaming isn't stopping and you acutely notice that you're crying because of it, big fat tears rolling down your face as though you're the one in pain, unable to quieten her suffering, because... because...

Because the girl is you.

The girl is you and they had found out somehow and they had come, they had held you down and taken the knife between your wings and starting slicing through muscle and sinew and it fucking hurts, it hurts so much—

A ragged gasp rips from your throat at the slice down your back.

You wake you with a violent twitch.

Your dagger is in your hand in an instant, stored beneath your pillow, always within reach. The cool leather beneath it is a comfort as your senses search blindly for any threat. The rabbiting sound of your heart looms in your ears and you keenly strain your ears to try listen over it.

A threat? An intruder? You're looking for anything hidden in the darkness, while your senses are still swamped by your nightmare. The effects of it are melting away too slowly. Your breath comes too fast.

Shadows loom. You're not sure what is fear is still lingering from the dream and what is real instinct, kicking in to protect yourself.

Worse is, your suspicions are not at all unwarranted.

Around you, the space is still. Dead air trapped within your shelter.

Outside, the howl of the Mother's Kiss sounds again, the rattling wind against the windows somehow grounding you into your home. You're in your home. You're not out in the middle of camp, not held onto that horrid stained piece of earth where all the clippings take place.

You're tucked away in your space, hidden beneath your secret still.

Your chest heaves rapidly, dregs of panic still running through your system. You force yourself to inhale slowly, blinking slowly and letting your eyes adjust to the night. It's still dark.

It's nighttime and you've had a night terror and you're still safe, still just like any other male in the camp.

Behind you, you give your wings a little shiver, just to check.

Still there, still working in every capacity. The relief that pours through you soothes like a balm, heady and overwhelming. You release a shaky breath and curl your knees up to your chest, wings cocooning around yourself.

The nightmares, this nightmare, has been unrelenting for as many years as you can remember. Well, since...

Since twenty six years ago, when you had made a very difficult choice.

Perhaps the only time you'll ever be thankful for being a bastard in this camps is when it had granted you the privacy to make such a choice. Nobody cares if a bastard child dies, male or otherwise.

It had made you dispensable and therefore, unnoticeable.

Nobody noticed when one more begging child, one more hungry face, went missing. And certainly nobody paid any mind when one more turned up again — hair cut down to the scalp, bleeding in places from the shoddy cut, and a gritty determination in their eyes.

No, in fact, the only time people started noticing you was when you started tasting the mixture of blood and dirt, knocked down in a fight you knew you had no chance of winning.

You had started it. Pushed your way into the group of boys and shoved one, hard. Fought back as best you could with half formed fists that quickly got pushed into the mud and held there as the boy you shoved wailed on you, hit after hit after hit.

By the time he had been pulled off you, your mouth was a river of blood and your face ached in a way you had never felt before.

The very bone of your skull felt bruised. Your nose was definitely broken. You wanted to cry but even scrunching your face up hurt too much. It was impossible to think anything beyond pure pain.

The group of boys were sneering as they left you in a crumpled heap on the ground, kicking mud in your direction and hissing the word bastard.

But not one mention of you being anything other than that.

Just a bastard. No slighted comment at being a female, at not being worthy of a fight for that reason.

In the Illyrian Mountains, being a bastard gave you very little in the manner of food, things, and choices. If you managed to survive past childhood, that is.

If you could scrape around for food to fill a belly that never seemed to stop growling and manage not succumb to icy embrace of the winter in the mountains, there was very little waiting for you. Even less so, if you weren't a male.

Males, at the very least, could fight for a sliver of something better.

And wasn't that just the Illyrian way? If you can fight, if you can beat and claw your way to the top, it's worth something. It's the only way to gain respect. To earn it, even when you came from nothing.

For you? Living past childhood would mean getting your greatest love torn from you.

You had seen half a dozen clippings before the age of eight. It was said that other camps littered throughout Illyria tended to be more gracious. Did it in private. Healers on hand. No excessive force.

But you'd believe that when you saw it — clippings were brutal.

Females having experienced their first blood were dragged out into the middle of camp, some kicking and screaming, others a ghostly quiet. Everybody watched and nobody stepped in, no matter the pleas.

You, no older than eight years old, had stared at the bloody patch left on the ground til your vision had blurred. It was crimson, mixing with the dirt of the earth. Beneath it was this horrid scorched brown colour.

Old blood.

The final straw for you had been Adesi— Lord Mylind's own daughter. You're not sure when or why some part of your had become convinced that she might be spared. That because her father held rank and could bend certain rules, that she might escape the fate you so feared for yourself.

She hadn't. Lord Mylind had done the clipping himself.

And she hadn't cried or fussed. There hadn't been a struggle, just this soft weeping as she kept her eyes on the ground, every pained sound that passed her lips lined with a bitter resignation of knowing this was always coming.

It had stoked a simmering ember within you — a furiously upset flame that burned hotter and hotter, til you were trembling with the force of it. Forced to watch yet another girl stripped of her freedom. Polished up for breeding stock.

If Adesi wouldn't be spared, neither would you. The future, you could see, was growing impossibly bleaker and would continue down that path if nothing radical appeared to change its course.

You had cut your hair that same very night.

It was a shit job. Trying to get it as short as you could manage without a mirror or proper tools to do so proved incredibly difficult. The lack of proper shelter didn't help either.

Bandages you were stock-piling for Mother knows what were used to bind your chest. Then you spent the rest of the night time scouring the mountain-side for those bitter herbs on the mere hope that the rumour that they would keep you from bleeding held an inkling of truth.

The next day had been the day you got into your very first fight.

The first of many. Lord Mylind didn't take kindly to bastards, especially when you paled in comparison to the size of the other novices. You had been refused to be allowed to join training the first time you had tried, his cold eyes narrowed with a cruel curl of his upper lip.

But you had, perhaps, what no one else did.

No other way forward. No other choice.

Every part of you that yearned to keep your beautiful wings, to keep your freedom, your autonomy, was channeled into your intense drive. You would not be so easily dissuaded.

You trained day and night, working up weak muscles til they hardened beneath your skin. Without proper training, it was nowhere near as efficient as it could've been. There was no-one there to soothe the aches of your growing pains, nor the sores that came with hitting the ground time and time again as you honed the balance and fluidity of your body.

A season passed. Your drive did not falter— not when half a dozen more females got clipped in that same period. A wedge drove itself between your ribs, attempting to crack open your chest; a heavy guilt at what they experienced... what you could not yet prevent.

It pushed you to train harder than before.

It took seven whole months of solitary training before Lord Mylind reluctantly allowed you to join the ranks— forced to when you disarmed and wiped the floor with Brudam in the ring to prove yourself.

By that time, the list of clipped females had climbed to nearly fifty. You kept track of every single one, forty-eight notches carved into your soul for every person you failed to protect from a terrible fate.

It killed you having to bide your time.

To train alongside the males of the camp who detested you as they did any such bastard. To hear their uncaring jeers of the clippings as they flaunted their own wings proudly. There was no shortage of things to stoke the fire within you, fury burning through every cell in your body. There was no distraction from the ultimate goal.

But between Lord Mylind's abysmal training, geared specifically at you, the purposeful way other warriors wouldn't hesitate to kick you while you were down, and having nobody else in your corner, you had no other choice.

Routines formed. Train. Eat. Train. Scrounge for ingredients, for knowledge, anything on healing tonics. Fail miserably at making anything. Chew the bitter herbs. Train. Sleep. Wake. Train.

Loneliness became a familiar companion.

Every creak in the dark was a potential threat that came looking to see if they could knock the unwelcome bastard out of the ranks. You learned to not just how to duel, but how to brawl and win. To fight dirty. To come out as unscathed as possible.

Your first bleed did eventually come, bitter leaves be damned.

They had done a decent job. They had given you a few crucial years to establish yourself as a worthy fighter, not to be messed with, and enough time to build the shelter you now called home.

It had been a saving grace. If you had been out and exposed, if any of the males in town came sniffing for a fight and felt entitled enough to challenge you, the lie that kept you safe would've come tumbling down like a house of cards.

All those years turned to ash. Wasted. For nothing.

And the only thing that terrified you more than that was... what you were certain they would inflict upon you if they ever found out.

In some of your worst nightmares, they do much worse than just clip you. They take them from you— saw them from your back, splintering bone and tearing muscle, not caring if you cry or scream — not caring if you die.

Around you, your wings give a shiver as if they could feel the ghost of pain that still lurked from your nightmare. You curl them up tighter around you. A blanket of softness, of warmth, finally breaks the chill on your skin.

Routine was easy. Your terror was manageable based on the familiarity of your life. The fact that you had nobody to lean on meant everything, every pillar of comfort, of tough love, of the extra push when you needed it, came from within.

Slipping away from training to deal with the excruciating agony of your cycle was a necessity, even if it pained you to do so. Avoidance of the Blood Rite was born from that too. It was too great a risk— too much time spent that you couldn't ever be sure wouldn't overlap with your cycle.

Besides, you already had the biggest target on your back — the label of bastard giving you more than your fair share of enemies.

They would hunt you down on the first night. That you had no doubt about. The killing would be slow and merciless. To you, the Blood Rite was just another brand of nightmares.

All this dread had become second-nature, stitched into the fabric of your angry and miserable life which seemed to exist against all odds. You were cursed with an ambition that would not let you rest. A compassion that drove you to keep training, to help others more than just yourself.

You were singular. A lone ranger who relied on nothing but your own instincts to keep getting you through the day.

You were solitary. You were lonely.

And yet, within the last month, something else had barrelling into your life and altered its course.

A Shadowsinger.

A Shadowsinger with hazel eyes that dance with mirth and a rueful smile that comes out far too easily for the battle-hardened soldier you know him to be. He's a conundrum. A mentor and a damn hard-ass when it came to training but also someone you could trust.

Calling him a friend felt too close.

A tenative ally, perhaps. A companion, even.

And the fact you can trust him — the fact that you do trust him — is perhaps the biggest change of them all.

All of your routines have been suddenly altered.

Because now, unlike ever before, there's someone there in the morning. Someone to notice your absences. To come looking when it takes longer to drag yourself out of fitful sleep. To comment on the circles under your eyes and roll back the punches accordingly.

He brings the things you need, a sudden plentiful stash of ingredients you wouldn't have dreamed of affording. The good stuff that makes a difference in the potency of a healing tonic. In turn, your feeble attempts at concocting have begun to produce far more useful results.

He brings food too.

No point in all this training if you look like your bones will snap. He had said, almost dismissively as he summoned the abundance of food from within that pocket in the shadow realm. You had been too startled by that alone to question how much he had brought with him.

A fucking feast. Enough food to last you at least half the year, if you stretched it.

Some withered, bitter part of you had shriveled up when you saw it. Your mouth watered and your stomach ached and yet still, you couldn't help how you snapped at him.

I don't want your pity.

Azriel had leveled you with a stare, his shadows roaming about his shoulders like wisps of smoke. He tilted his head to the side an inch, as if trying to pick apart the reasoning for you being so standoffish.

It's not a handout. It's part of our deal. Like I said, there's no point training you if you're starving all the while.

You bristled as his tone, even if there wasn't a hint of condescension to it. It was strong and sure.

When you still hadn't moved, Azriel had spoken once more. It's okay. To eat. I understand that generosity is not something you are familiar with but not eating will not help any of them. Getting stronger will.

He had spoken as if he knew that exact reservation on your mind — the sheer unfairness of having a platter served up to gorge yourself sick on, when so many others... So many others had nothing.

Eat. Azriel had murmured, turning for the door. He had paused just like he had on that first ever night, one scarred hand on the door. Please.

A particularly loud whirl of the Mother's Kiss outside shakes you from the memory.

You blink hard. Your wings twitch and curl in even closer as you realise you've been looking at the door. Looking at where he had stood all those nights ago.

That conversation had been in the first week of knowing Azriel. Back when you were still so wary it was impossible to not raise your hackles when he came knocking at your door, no matter how friendly he had seemed. Friendly, but not harmless you knew.

It took time to stop being constantly on guard around him. But if your lack of trust and general frostiness bothered Azriel, he never let you know.

And now... now you've known him for nearly a month.

A month of routine with him in it. With sparring in the morning, tiring yet rewarding drills beneath the winter sun, and quiet conversations in the evenings, his hazel eyes competing with the crackling fire with how they set your heart ablaze. A month of companionship.

A month, the first month in years, not spent entirely alone.

In the cool night air, knees pulled to your chest, something tugs at your throat at the knowledge he won't be back in the morning.

Last night, after an evening spent in comfortable company where you finally heard him laugh for the first time ever and nearly melted at the sound, he had told you he would be returning to Velaris.

Temporarily, he added on hastily at the flash of surprise in your eyes.

Business with the High Lord. Reports and assessments to deliver. I's to dot and t's to cross.

He assured you he would be back in a day or two, certainly no more than three. He had left ample food and generous tonic ingredients, with all the assurances to continue practicing during the evening.

With no Azriel, you had no reason to avoid training with the rest of camp.

Maybe that was why this particular nightmare had plagued you tonight. Something curdled up in your gut at the thought of returning to your old routine— another part relishes in how you will get to stand your ground as a better, hardier warrior now. To prove yourself worthy of the specialty training you were receiving.

You huff out a small sigh in the dark.

There's no telling what time it is. You force yourself to sit back, easing back into your bed gently til you're lying back under the makeshift duvet you have. It's moth-eaten and seen better days. You snuggle beneath it anyway.

It's been a long time since you've missed anyone, you think forlornly.

The thought surprises you. Staring at the ceiling, your brows furrow and you close your eyes but the truth of it rings clear throughout your very being. Undeniable.

The Shadowsinger has somehow wiggled into your life, burrowed into your routine and has begun to mean something to you. And when he's gone, you... miss him.

Your eyes flash back open, glaring up at the ceiling, and you huff as if that will change that fact.

Rolling over, you pull the duvet in closer, your arms tucking into your chest snugly. Your bed is a bit too small for someone with wings and they ache because of it. Sleep trickles back into your system, dragging your lids down.

As you fall into sleep, some part of you realises, faintly, that you haven't had anyone to miss in a long, long, time.

This time when you dream, it’s of hazel eyes.

[NEXT PART: FRIENDS]

—

tags below!

@strangerstilinski @janebirkln @itsswritten @mischiefmanagers @hnyclover @waytoomanyteenagefeels @idkitsem @illyrianbitch @jeweline16 @fightmedraco @iamjimintrash @maeandering @spideytingley @aneekapaneeka @cassianswh0reeee @viciane @astarlitsoul @mybestfriendmademe @archiveofcravings @reputaytionn-13 @bionic-donut @chessebookgirl @itseightbeats @littleblackcatinwonderland @twsssmlmaa

[cherryxsapphic]

Wait hear me out please!!

But imagine being the teachers favorite and having all eight of them surround you like a protective barrier during the hour of Joy. So you don't get hurt and even though their Perpetual grins on their faces slightly (okay well alot) scare the shit out of you, their super sweet and even one of them is kind enough to distract you from the Horrors outside by giving you cute little fun facts about Anatomy and how many blood vessels are in your body!! 😁

Totally didn't get inspired by the one clip where there's like all eight of them chasing that dude lmao

[uhbasicallyjustmilex]

🌸 !!CHAPTER ELEVEN POSTED!! 🌸

Title: Four Walls

Tags: slow burn, domesticity, friends to lovers, smut, pining post sias/pre am era

Summary: Disillusioned with LA and on the heels of a breakup, Alex goes to stay with Miles in London.

[edsbacktattoo]

The Tolling Bells - Rated E

"I've always known you."

Here is the beginning, and this is where we are now.

In any life. 🌸🧁

[jrwibang]

Come on, (Dance With Me) by @tigers1o1

Because Gillion Tidestrider was attractive, and an incredible dancer, and Chip had been attending Jack&Jill dances like these for years, and not once had they been paired together. He’d dreamed of it, maybe. Not that it was something he’d ever admit aloud. He’d seen the way Gillion glides across the floor and twirls his partners. There's a sort of effortless energy about him, and it's electric. Chip had simply wanted to dance with the man for months now. Maybe even years, he wasn’t sure.

OR

Chip and Gillion get paired at a dance event, and over the course of a year, Chip learns how fond he is for the domestic sort of life he finds himself settling into with Gillion and his daughter, Pretzel.

Art by @s0up1ta

Beta'd by @justa-moth

Morale: @here-there-be-drag0ns

[steveseddie]

(steddie | chapter 1/3 | rating: t | wc: 11k)

summary:

“So, about prom-” Buckley starts.

Eddie instantly cuts her off. “Still not going,” he says, fiddling with the candy display on the counter.

“I know, I know,” she says with a dismissive wave. “Steve told me to stop pestering you about it and to leave you alone.”

Eddie bites down on a smile. It’s easy to picture Steve with his hands on his hips and his best Stern Mom Look as he tells Robin to leave Eddie alone. He’s witnessed it multiple times. With the kids, and a few times with Eddie himself.

“You don’t have to come to prom with us,” Robin says. Eddie doesn’t even get the chance to do a celebratory dance before she continues. “But how do you feel about us having our very own prom?”

“Us?” Eddie asks, raising his eyebrow at her.

“You know, you, me, Steve, Nancy. We can throw our own prom at Steve’s house, just us. Probably the kids too, after they find a way to convince Steve to let them come.”

“Isn’t that just like, throwing a normal party?” Eddie asks. Not that the idea of him getting invited to any kind of party at Steve Harrington’s house is any less weird.

“No! I mean, kind of. But we can decorate the house and do prom stuff so it won’t be just a party,” Robin tells him. “I can volunteer to clean up at prom and steal some decorations and we can all wear our same clothes, except you, you’d probably have to find a suit or maybe just wear a shirt and a tie, we don’t need to have a strict dress code-”

“Why?”

Robin blinks at him. “I guess you can wear the suit if you want.”

or Eddie refuses to go to prom so Robin suggests a fake prom at Steve’s house. There’s dancing, misunderstandings, feelings realizations, a Prom King and Queen election, and Steve acting like Eddie’s prom date the entire night.

read chapter one on ao3

[verbenaa]

to eden | chapter 8

𝓈𝓊𝓂𝓂𝒶𝓇𝓎: “You spoil me darling, really. But I am simple man—” Rin stops him off with a look of admonishment, cutting off his sentence to start her own.

“A simple show for a simple man, then.”She hopes her emphasis on the words will speak loudly enough for him to understand the meaning of them as she mockingly bows towards him.

“I take offense to that assessment, you know.” Astarion huffs with a frown, casting his head aside to instead take a sip of his errant goblet of wine, already forgotten beside him.

𝓅𝒶𝒾𝓇𝒾𝓃𝑔: Astarion/F!Tav

𝓇𝒶𝓉𝒾𝓃𝑔: E, 18+

𝓌𝑜𝓇𝒹 𝒸𝑜𝓊𝓃𝓉: 14.8k 😮‍💨

𝓌𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔𝓈: mentions of torture/abuse, mild descriptions of blood/gore, striptease (?), fingering, cunnilingus, vampire bites (duh), handjobs, piv sex, multiple orgasms, Soft Dom Astarion returns 😌

𝒶/𝓃: hellooooo, sorry it's taken so long for me to get this written and posted! but it's here now and I very much hope you enjoy! let me know your thoughts about the chapter, too!

ao3

masterlist

MDNI, 18+ CONTENT

The air is quiet, the ever-present darkness lingering around them like a stagnant weight. Rin finds that she quite hates it, no matter how lovely the promise the warmth of Last Light Inn and its alcohol is to be. 

Her fingers are poised on one of the delicate strings of her lyre as she strums it lightly, a low hum reverberating out from the instrument that fills the air with what she hopes will be something that sounds effortless, beautiful, ethereal.

She frowns at the sound of it from where she leans against a conveniently placed rock near the fire, the note falling flat as it dies in the silence of the dark night.

“You’re off.” A familiar voice echoes out from above, the sound of it supercilious and downright annoying, as she huffs out a breath in minute agitation.

With a turn of her head, Rin sends Astarion a withering look from where he lounges, imperious, on the rock right above her; a book held in his hand as he reads by the light of the roaring fire. 

“And so is your stitching, but you don’t hear me calling you out on it, now do you?”

His stitching wasn’t, of course. It was always practiced, perfect, and near precise—Astarion as good with a needle as he was with a knife or an arrow. 

But, as always, he didn’t have to know that. He has enough of an ego as it is and Rin has no intentions of adding to it unnecessarily.

Astarion flips the page with unnecessary force, his obvious agitation dragging a secret smile to her lips that she hides into the strings of her lyre. 

He really made it far too easy to tease him, sometimes.

Astarion hmphs into the nighttime air, looking astutely back down at the book in his lap in an attempt to ignore her as she bites back a laugh that threatens to break free.

Rin turns her attention back to the instrument in her hands, fingers running down the carved edge of it as her mind wanders aimlessly in the silence and she stares out at the utterly boring landscape. 

It was pretty, she supposes, if one cared for a setting devoid of most kinds of life. Ultimately, there was just not terribly much for her to look at, leaving her with nothing but the amusement of her own thoughts, much to her frustration. 

There wasn’t much left for her to do but think, it seemed.

Rin had already eaten dinner while conversing with Gale; engaged in some gossip over a glass of wine with Shadowheart; discussed the merits of carnivorous fauna with Halsin; indulged Lae’zel in a practice sparring session (which she lost quite terribly, much to Astarion’s joy and Lae’zel’s disappointment at Rin’s apparent lack of skill); shared a nice pint from the inn with Karlach; and then watched on as Astarion drained poor Wyll dry of some gold in a game of cards (she’ll have to try to figure out how to get him his money back, one way or another).

She would probably have to beg Astarion to do it—something she was not eager to do, but would for the sake of Wyll and all his noble, princely goodness. 

Perhaps she should try to steal it off of him, instead. It certainly would make for a good challenge, at the very least, provided she didn’t get caught doing it. Rin has no doubt the cost for that particular crime would be steep, one that she doesn’t know if she can afford to pay for.

Astarion already spent enough time in her thoughts as it was, the price nothing more than that of her precious yet dwindling sanity. She already feels as though she is slowly losing her mind every time she replays the events of the other night over in her head, no longer than a mere week ago.

She and Astarion had both quite politely ignored the events of that night, the memory of the closeness of their lips and the things she had said settling into the recesses of her mind as if they were nothing more than a dream, one that haunts her when she lays down her head onto her sad excuse for a pillow. 

It was a lapse in judgment, at the very least. The klauthgrass had clearly addled her mind more than she thought when she looks back on it. It’s the only logical reason she would ever had said the things she did—whether spoken from her lips or written down in a letter never to be sent. 

She also still needed to burn the damn letter, but that was neither here nor there.

What mattered was that they had settled back into their usual camaraderie, trading cutting words and sly smiles back and forth with one another as they had always done despite a brand new, gently simmering tension that now lay just underneath the surface.

But it was fine. 

Rin was nothing if not an expert at ignoring the things that were bothering her, was she not? Their little…situation was simply that. 

A situation. 

One that was easily forgettable once she set her mind to actually forgetting about it.

Rin trades that particular line of thinking out with a deep exhale, shoving it back into a conveniently placed box in a corner of her mind and instead sets to retuning the instrument in her hands, worn pine both familiar and comforting as its weight rests against her.

Her wonderful, familiar lyre that had been with her for years now, through both thick and thin. It hadn’t helped her make terribly much gold, but it had been a better friend to her than any person had over the years.

She turns the pegs on the back of it little by little, tiny twists of her fingers adjusting the strings in a way she hopes will make her next attempt at song better and not worse. 

The night flows by as she sits in the warmth of the fire, the soft crackles of the logs soothing as Rin retunes the instrument until she’s finally happy with what she hopes will be a drastic improvement to the earlier noise it had made.

With a satisfied sigh, Rin moves to strum at her lyre, fingers just about to touch the strings when a biting voice interrupts her.

“I do hope you didn’t make it worse. My poor ears can’t take much more abuse.”

Rin ignores the jab with a serene blink before deigning not to answer as her raised hand closes into a fist, nails biting into her palm as she prays to anyone listening for an ounce of patience.

In lieu of violence—despite him deserving it—she sees a perfect opportunity to turn the conversation from another of her apparent failures onto one of his instead.  

She turns to look at him with a sly look, fixing him with clever eyes alight with mischief. 

“You know, Astarion, I happened to read something quite interesting in one of the books I found at The Waning Moon.”

Astarion turns another page in his book as he feigns disinterest, but his eyes don’t scan the rows of elvish decorating the page in neatly printed rows. “Oh? Do tell, then. Was it something violent? Gory? Scandalous?” 

“Scandalous, certainly. I seem to have come across a small little volume that contained a list,” Rin’s brows waggle conspiratorially. “A list of banned patrons.”

Astarion’s interest is firmly piqued as soon as she says the words, finally looking up from the tome in his lap to focus on her, indifference giving way to a fiendish gleam in his eye.

“You should have said so from the start. Tell me more, darling, what are the offenses? Give me all the sordid details.” 

He leans in closer from his seat above her, Astarion and his flair for the dramatic never failing to amuse her and she can’t help the equally wicked smile that spreads across her lips in response.

“Most of them were ordinary—you know, the standard. Bar fights, skipping the bill, unnecessary wanton activity with a pickle. But there was one that really stuck out to me, quite a striking description frankly. I think it said something along the lines of ‘a pale elf with a snide mouth’ that apparently insulted someone of particular importance. Sound familiar?”

“Well, whoever they are sounds like they had a fantastic time to me.” His smile is devious as he smirks. “In fact, I’d say that whoever it was deserved such words.” 

“Oh, I have no doubt. I’m sure the insults thrown were of the highest calibre, as well.” 

Astarion grin is a roguish one that looks terribly handsome on his features but something heavy intercedes over the amusement in his eyes as the deeper meaning behind that seemingly small and unimportant notation sinks in.

The smirk falls slowly from Astarion’s lips, a slight darkness settling across the features of his face as the corners of his mouth turn down ever so slightly.

Ah. Of course.��

“You have no memory of ever coming here, do you?” She softens her voice, only slightly, but she has no doubt Astarion notices the change regardless.

“No. I’ve already told you I don’t have many memories from my life before Cazador,” He snaps. “But clearly I’ve here before. Obviously.”

Rin had given some thought to the presumed Astarion of before in the rare moments of peace that were few and far in between, when her mind was free to wander before sleep overtook her. 

The Astarion that existed before the tadpole, before Cazador. Back when his heart still beat and his skin was flushed with life. Astarion, with not-red eyes, wearing finely tailored silks and wools, drinking the richest of wines; for he was sure to have been wealthy. 

She had spent many years watching the upper echelons of Baldur’s Gate from her place on the streets, staring up into their windows at twilight to watch them swoon and twirl in their finery, and Astarion moved like the best of them—graceful and elegant, proud and arrogant.

He had been a magistrate, or so he had said. 

She could only trust so many of the words that come from his lips, but somehow the image of Astarion in ostentatious robes handing down whatever judgement he deemed worthy is far too easy for her to envision for her to entirely disbelieve the notion.

But he must have had a family, surely. 

Parents, siblings, friends—perhaps even a lover or two. Or three, knowing him. 

Gods forbid he had sired any children.

But the implication remains all the same. So many questions, almost all of which he may never know the answers to. 

“You should be proud, Astarion.” Rin attempts a tiny bit of levity, though it doesn’t seem to help. “An annoyance both alive and undead. Not many could ever hope to achieve such a thing.”

“Well,” he sniffs with an air of put-on pride, smile weak. “It’s nice to know I’m consistent, at least.”

“You did get thrown out of a tavern last time you were here. Perhaps this trip to sweet, little Reithwin is faring much better than the one prior. Your last visit didn’t have me present, after all.”

“My last visit was probably still more peaceful, I’d wager. I doubt I was busy being vexed by a senseless blonde bard all the while having a worm buried in my head.” His voice raises a few octaves as he narrows his eyes at her. 

She would rather have his ire than his sorrow, it’s a much better sight than the mournful look beginning to creep over his features.

“Presumably weren’t being vexed by a senseless blonde bard.” Rin shoots Astarion a small smile. “Maybe you have a type.”

He only gives a mirthless laugh in response. 

“I am sorry, Astarion. I wish you were able to remember more.”

Astarion sighs, uncharacteristically defeated and the sound of it has her chest tightening. 

“Yet another thing I can add to the unending list of things that Cazador took from me. From us.”

“Us?” Rin muses over the word, the answer to a question she had long considered but never managed to ask, not amongst the seemingly never-ending amount of things that popped up on their list to be taken care of. “So, you aren’t the only one, then? Of Cazador’s spawn, I mean.”

She briefly worries she’s overstepped an invisible boundary, that Astarion will shut her down and storm away without another word, leaving her with no answer to the question.

Her curiosity about him grows with every passing day and she simply wants to know more about him. 

Not the charming, surface level vanity he would normally put forward for her, but the real Astarion. 

The one who tells her and only her small stories about himself and his life, the one who responds to her silly little letters, the one who had thanked her, with actual gratitude, drawing of his scars in hand.

The Astarion who—for some unfathomable reason—no matter how much he may complain or insult her, still chooses her above all others to spend his time with.

Rin turns to look up at him, the straightening of his spine obvious even in the darkness of the camp. Astarion, for his part, takes her question in stride, though there’s a telltale tightness around his mouth that signals his ever-present bitterness at Cazador’s mention.

He nods, the motion stiff as Rin’s brows draw together into a frown.

“There were seven of us, in all. Brothers and sisters, as he liked to call us. Quite the family.” Astarion lets out a derisive laugh, words acrimonious as he spits them out.

Ruby red eyes look ahead, his gaze catching on nothing in particular as he stares at the barren world on the other side of the water, the landscape as bleak as his expression.

“But I was one of his first. He was a monster to us all. Tortured us. Carved the same thing into my back as he did into all of theirs. But Cazador took a special pleasure in my pain. In my screams. He said my screams sounded sweetest.”

And oh, how her heart twists to hear the fragile timbre of his voice as his breath hitches, an undercurrent of agony flowing so readily and truthful from him. 

Rin averts her eyes as his voice breaks on the last few words, settling her vision on one of the red ferns flowing in the ever-present breeze in an attempt to let him keep some of his suffering to himself, to leave some of his dignity in tact.

It’s the least she can do. 

“And now that I’m gone…I don’t know. I pity the other six.” Astarion takes a deep, bracing breath, his sorrow palpable, and Rin’s chest aches again.

She doesn’t have anything to say, and how could she?

Oh, terribly sorry you spent two centuries being tortured unendingly. That must have been awful. You didn’t deserve it, Astarion.

No, any words of consolation she has only seem to fall flat in the face of his misery. He doesn’t need her to tell him about how horrible it is, how neither he nor his siblings deserved the pain, the anguish, the endless torture that Cazador dished out on a whim to bend and break them all to his will.

The only thing Rin can think to give him is her own paltry attempt at comfort as she leans in towards him slowly until her head rests just against the side of his leg in silent consolation. 

He doesn’t like to be touched at the best of times, but somehow she knows he would hate the inevitable pity he would choose to find in her words much worse. 

Astarion freezes, muscles tensing as if in wait for something, sending a sharp look down at the messily braided head now resting against his knee. But when nothing other than the presence of her subtle weight leaning against him ever comes, the only movement she makes the easy in and out of her breathing, he relaxes slightly.

Rin doesn’t dare to look up at him, instead returning her attention back to the lyre still in her arms. With a careful hand, her fingers come up to strum at a string, followed by another and another and another; music flowing out from the instrument in a slow, soft melody.

It’s nothing in particular that the plays; no well-known song or tune, only a series of notes and chords she pieces together with minimal thought that somehow manages to sound more lovely than anything she’s had luck playing the past week.

Eventually, she hears the soft rustle of a page being flipped once more as Astarion returns to his book, no words spoken to break the silence between them as Rin keeps her head resting just against him, playing her song just for him.

✧· · ─── ·✧· ─── · ·✧ 

She should know better, by now, than to ever be surprised by the horrors they come across—and yet, as she had walked into the operating theatre of the so-called House of Healing, her footsteps quiet over the dark, ornate, and rotting woodwork, she still managed to be shocked by what she beheld as she had peeked over the railing.

She had noticed the man first. It was impossible to not have when his blood, a bright red incarnadine, was splattered across the walls and dripping onto the floors in sickly streams. She followed the trail of it to the source, taking in the carnage of his body; eyes no more than bloodied pits and mouth opened in silent scream as he writhes on the table, somehow still alive despite the butchering of his body. 

A moment later, her eyes drifted over to Doctor Malus Thorm in all his horror; elbow deep in his victim’s innards with hands that were no longer quite hands, digits turned instead into some sort of mechanical claws as he lectures aloud to the sightless nurses who stood uselessly around the body.

She had stepped into that theatre expecting a battle, her own blood to be added to all that had already been spilled and soaked into the grooves in the wood over the many years. 

Instead, she managed something quite different. Something possibly worse.

She hadn’t assumed that she would be able to kill him with only her words, not when the menace of him spelled violence and promised pain, a Shar devotee to the bitter end. 

And yet, it was with words that she had convinced him to sacrifice himself to his nurses, a dark turn of events that somehow seemed to fit the narrative of this terrible place all too well. 

She blames the power she feels when his body finally gives its last, miserable breath on the shadow curse, on the innate darkness of this place, on the tadpole. 

Any excuse works, so long as it covers up the fact that she had liked it.

It was the very same power she had felt when the other two Thorms fell; silvered words falling off her tongue to bend them to her will and end them both without her having to lift a single, gloved finger.

It had only been a small inconvenience to finish off the remaining Sisters of Mercy after they had done Rin’s dirty work for her, their trepans and bonesaws no match for her rapier, Karlach’s axe, Shadowheart’s spells, and Astarion’s blood thirst.

Her heart still beats too quick, the sound of it loud in her ears as she stands stock still on a bated breath—in fear, in anxiety, in a strange and twisted excitement.

It’s both thrilling and terrifying in equal measure. 

Rin wants nothing to do with it.

“Remind me not to get on your bad side.” Shadowheart remarks quietly with a laugh from beside her, breaking the silence of the aftermath. There’s a new awe present in the cleric’s voice that Rin hates the sound of.

Rin looks at her friend with a small smile. “So long as you don’t get in the way of me and a good time, we’ll be dandy.”

“I wouldn’t dare after that performance.” Shadowheart laughs, a twinkling little sound, and it breaks up a bit of the nerves that had settled in her chest.

“Well. That was positively sickening. Who knew there would be so much fun to be found here?” Astarion sheathes his dagger with a twist of his wrist, the added flourish elegant as blood flicks off the blade and splatters onto the ground. “Though I do wish for a more satisfying kill. I’m in desperate need of a snack.”

Karlach claps a hand on Astarion’s shoulder with enough force that he only just manages to keep his footing. “Don’t worry, I’m sure we can find something else alive for you to sink your fangs into.”

“Does all that blood not quite do it for you, Astarion?” Shadowheart gestures with a raised brow to the drops of blood still dripping off of the surgical table, a nauseating mixture of both the man's and Thorm’s blending together.

“Hardly.” Astarion crinkles his nose at the thick, dark ichor. “I’ve had worse, but it smells terrible and I can’t imagine it tastes much better.”

Rin glances up at Astarion beside her, taking in his somehow paler than normal complexion and a thought hits her, her brow furrowing in consideration.

When was the last time he had fed? 

And what on? 

He had been subsisting on a diet of—well, mostly her, honestly; along with the occasional forest creature.

Astarion certainly hadn’t tasted her since their last night on the Mountain Pass, longer than he’s ever gone without her blood since his first feed from her all those moons ago.

Rin had become so used to his little visits, popping into her tent during the evening to have his fill of her—blood and more. The absence of them since has felt surprisingly stark, a loss she didn’t realize she would mourn in the wake of the palpable tension that had settled between them no matter how hard they each attempted to ignore it.

For just as surely as he hadn’t drank from her neck, he had not come to taste the rest of her either; their nights spent instead trading remarks back and forth by the fire.

Not that she was complaining. 

Quite the contrary. 

She had found herself growing quite fond of this new aspect of their relationship that they had eased into; trading stories and anecdotes with each other over a bottle of wine or a game of cards, he reading his books while she plays her music, Astarion working on his stitching as she looks on and inevitably bothers him with her presence. 

It was…nice. Normal, almost. 

Or whatever their version of nice and normal was.

Rin snaps herself out of her thoughts with a blink and turns to her companions with a nod, hoping the daze she was in doesn’t show on her face. “Right then. Let’s loot, shall we?”

They meander their way about the rest of the room, navigating their way around the bodies and books scattered about the floor, some of the thin pages now soaked with the blood of the fallen. They don’t find terribly much, some gold here or an interesting text there. 

But mostly, it’s all useless.

Rin thinks that at one time, the quatrefoil tiles lining the floors of this place must have been beautiful—crisp, clean white contrasting against vibrant blue. 

Now, though, they are covered in long streaks of dark, sticky blood, the ichor long staining tile and grout alike; the corners of them chipping as they step over them on their way out of the long hallway at the entry of the building. 

Rin falls back beside Astarion as they make their way onto the uneven cobblestones of Reithwin, gnarled roots threatening to trip her as they grow up in between the grooves. With a small smile and nod, she gestures for Shadowheart to take the lead, the cleric walking ahead as her long braid bounces behind her.

She falls into step with him easily, matching his pace as she keeps her eyes ahead, always on the lookout for what the next danger to jump out at them will be.

“Have you been hunting recently?” It’s a casual question, no accusation in her tone as she stretches her arms behind her back.   

Astarion casts a surreptitious glance her way, eyes wandering across her profile as she stays looking ahead. “There’s precious little living here, my dear.”

“Then why haven’t you come to me? You’ve never cared about bothering me before when you would pop into my tent unannounced.” 

“I-” Astarion looks away from her for a moment before returning his gaze to her. “I assumed you needed a break to…replenish your sources."

His non-answer has one of Rin’s brows drawing up in skepticism, which he readily ignores. However, the thought of him perhaps not coming to her for her own health is almost sweet, if believable.

If. 

She’s not so sure that it’s the truth, but she will take it at face value, for now.

“Astarion,” she leans towards him to give him a slight nudge with her elbow, the touch light. “I think my ‘sources’ have been thoroughly replenished. You can feed on me tonight, if you’d like.” 

It would be careless of her, as a leader, to let him continue to starve himself. She’s only doing the most responsible thing by offering herself up to him again. It’s for the better of their entire party and Faerûn at large, wasn’t it? The Absolute wasn’t going to just disappear into thin air, after all. 

And if it happened to mean she got to spend a little extra time with him—well, that would be nothing more than luck on her part. 

“Well, if you’re offering, sweet thing,” His lips curl up in a smirk, eyes alight with a predator’s gleam at the promise of her blood. “Come find me in my tent tonight, darling, and we shall feast.”

“Feast? Shall there be something there for me then, as well?” Rin releases a breath she didn’t realize she was holding and glances up at him with a small, secret smile that has a corner of his mouth turning up in a smirk.

“Only the best for my favorite little treat.”

“Careful, you’ll spoil me.” If only, she thinks, and the thought is terribly traitorous as she bites down on a corner of her lip in hopes of stopping the pink that threatens to rise to her cheeks. 

But from the answering smirk on Astarion’s face as they venture further into the into the crushing darkness of Reithwin’s destroyed streets she thinks he must able to glean the thought on his own. 

“We can’t have that, now can we?”

✧· · ─── ·✧· ─── · ·✧

Rin steels herself outside the flap of Astarion’s tent, readying herself for whatever waits for her inside. She isn’t sure why she’s so nervous. It wasn’t like he hadn’t fed from her before.

Or slept with her, for that matter.

There’s no flickering flame to be seen from the outside of his tent, nothing to give her any sort of hint of what possibly awaits her inside aside from him, his silhouette undecipherable in the darkness.

With a deep breath, she pulls the flap to the side and steps forward, a familiar scent—rich brandy curling together with earthy rosemary and fresh bergamot—swirling in the air as her eyes land on the vampire in question.

“Well,” Astarion lounges casually against his bedroll as his eyes find her own, leaning back on his elbows with enviable ease as a silver goblet rests beside him. “Hello there, darling.”

Her eyes are drawn to the exposed skin of his chest, the sight of him waiting for her shirtless so reminiscent to that first night together that she pulls up short.

It felt like eons ago, now; her traipsing through the forest outside of the Emerald Grove to find him waiting in a picturesque clearing for her and her alone. While there was no soft grass with charming little flowers to decorate the ground and no glittering moonlight to beam down upon them and highlight their skin as they moved together—she feels just as out of her depth now as she did then, when she had discovered him with his shirt already off and honeyed words just waiting to fall from his lips.

“Hope I didn’t keep you waiting too long again.” Rin snatches her eyes up from his chest to meet his own, a smirk already decorating his lips at her momentary distraction.

“Oh, I’ll always wait for you, beautiful.” Her eyes roll despite herself as she lets out a huff at such trite words.

“Did you need a nibble or should I see myself out?” She points behind herself to the exit of his tent for emphasis, brow arched.

“Let’s not be hasty, shall we?” Astarion answers a touch too quickly as he sits up a little higher, body tensing as if ready to jump up in the event she were to actually leave. “I would so hate to see you go.”

He must be hungry, then, if he’s so desperate for her presence.

Rin smiles at him as she looks around the tent expectantly, crossing her arms in front of her chest as she spies not a single treat aside from an empty goblet she presumes to be for her. “You know, I recall you promising me a feast.”

Astarion has the audacity to not look even the tiniest bit sheepish as her eyes narrow and her bottom lip juts out into a pout, a noise of frustration escaping from her lips. She should have known better than to trust a vampire when it came to procuring treats.

“I’m short on baked goods, pet, but I can promise you something else delicious instead.” His intent is obvious as he sends her a decidedly suggestive look. “Won’t you give me a show first, though?”

“I didn’t realize you were in need of entertainment, Astarion. I could always bring Volo in to recite some poetry while you dine, if you’d like.” 

“A charming idea, to be sure.” Astarion rolls his eyes. “But I was thinking of something a little more…intimate.”

Astarion eyes her form tip to toe as she stands in front of him, but it lacks the casual closeness she’s come to expect from him, something in the forced insincerity of the gesture grating.

“Make yourself comfortable. Stay awhile,” He gestures passively with a wave of his hand through the air towards where she stands as he continues. “Get yourself out of those wretched clothes, for example. You look much prettier without them on, anyways.”

Irritation sparks along the line of her mouth, emerald eyes sharpening as she stares at him. Weeks ago, the words would have had her blushing and the beginnings of desire kindling in her belly; but now they fall lifeless upon her ears, none of the ease and familiarity she has come to enjoy during their little interludes present in them. 

The words are merely mechanic—as calculated and practiced as they were on that very first night.

Worse, it doesn’t even seem like he enjoys saying the words, the sound of them hollow as they leave his mouth and the smirk pasted on his lips halfhearted.

It feels utterly obvious once she realizes what he’s trying to do and she can see through his ill-prepared idea with ease, this little power play of his nothing more than a paltry attempt to control their situation, some sort of damage control after the other night. 

They’ve both given too much of themselves now to return to the shallow, impersonal relationship they once had whether he likes it or not, and Rin will be damned if she lets him call the shots and force them back to the beginning.

But, if Astarion wants to play a game—well, she’s never been one to turn down an opportunity to win.

Rin looks down at her clothes with a pointed look and while they were perhaps nothing fancy—the oversized linen and worn leather may be simple but they were far from wretched. 

“Well. I’d hate to offend your delicate sensibilities.” Her smile is an inch too wide to be believable, betraying her irritation. “Shall I do a twirl for you as well? Or perhaps you would like a little trick?”

Rin holds up her hand, ready to ignis the damned tent if necessary to illustrate her point. Nothing that a few gold and a trip to dear Withers couldn’t fix if she accidentally managed to char him in the process.

“You spoil me darling, really. But I am simple man—” Rin stops him off with a look of admonishment, cutting off his sentence to start her own.

“A simple show for a simple man, then.” She hopes her emphasis on the words will speak loudly enough for him to understand the meaning of them as she mockingly bows towards him. 

“I take offense to that assessment, you know.” Astarion huffs with a frown, casting his head aside to instead take a sip of his errant goblet of wine, already forgotten beside him. 

His eyes are drawn quickly back to the center of his tent when he hears the soft rustle of fabric, returning to Rin just in time to catch a glimpse of her hands running down the front of her blouse. “It’s a perfectly reasonable one, if you ask me.”

Astarion frowns, opening his mouth to protest before quickly shutting it as her hands reach the waistband of her pants, fingers dipping just beneath the worn leather. Rin raises her brow, a teasing smile forming on her lips now that she has his attention.

Any irritation she feels is tempered by the thrill of Astarion’s gaze so set on her, his complete focus hers and hers alone as honest interest finally sparks to life in those red eyes of his.

With little flourish she begins to pull her leggings down her legs, peeling the pants away from her skin with less grace than she would prefer, but it would have to do. She kicks them to the side once she frees herself from them, uncaring where they land as she adjusts to the cool air of the night against newly bared skin that Astarion’s eyes rove.

“Do you think I should take this off next?” She thumbs at the hem of her shirt, examining the fraying stitching at the hem in desperate need of a mend. She’d have to ask Astarion to do it for her, damn it. “Since you find it so offensive and all that.”

“Be my guest, darling.” He gestures with a hand towards the garment, a corner of his mouth lifting. “I’ll even do you a favor and burn it for you for later.”

“How kind of you to go through all the trouble.” 

Rin’s smile is wry as she grabs the hem of her plain tunic and deftly lifts it over her head before dropping it. 

It drifts to the ground, fluttering down softly to fall in a graceless heap beside her bare legs, Astarion’s eyes darkening ever so slightly at the sight of her in nothing more than an unadorned corset and plain underwear, upping her confidence tenfold as she lets a corner of her mouth lift. 

“I suppose you’ll want to burn this too?” She runs her fingers teasingly across the top edge of the corset, her touch light as she brushes against the cotton and the plush of her breasts where they spill out above the garment.  

She hadn’t worn it with the intent of being admired, but when Astarion’s eyes follow every brush of her fingers against her breasts she’s suddenly quite grateful that she had chosen to wear it tonight instead of opting to go without as she normally would have, if only for it to act as a different kind of armor—one last layer to bolster her defenses in a battle she will surely lose. 

Astarion swallows, legs shifting slightly as his eyes caress over her curves. “We can negotiate the corset.”

“Your kindness truly knows no bounds.” Her fingers hover over the looped bow that sits at her breasts, tied in a hurry earlier after she had changed out of her armor.

The corset itself was nothing more than a plain ivory cotton—no expensive satin or fine boning—but when she pulls at the laces keeping the pretty little bow tied at the center of her cleavage, the tiniest bit of her full breasts exposed with the motion, the look in Astarion’s eyes could fool her into thinking it was the finest thing he had ever seen. 

Little by little, she pulls every cross of the laces, freeing more and more of herself with every delicate yank of her fingers as Astarion’s eyes obediently follow every inch of skin exposed until she reaches the last one, tugging it gently to loosen the final cross. 

It hangs loose around her form, the curve of her breasts just visible with the line of skin exposed down her chest. Rin wills her hands to steady under Astarion’s study as she brings them up to the straps on her shoulders, pushing each one off so she can shrug out of the garment. 

With one last push, the corset falls to the ground at her feet and she steps out of the circle of it before sending it aside with a soft kick.

Rin’s breasts pebble in the cool air, heat beginning to curl deep in her stomach under Astarion’s watchful gaze. She keeps her limbs loose, relaxed; her face at ease as she meets his eyes.

“You aren’t quite finished yet, my sweet.” Astarion’s voice is tight as he gestures with a brief nod towards her nearly naked form, gaze moving from her bare breasts and down lower to linger on her still-clothed center.

“You know, I think I’ve grown tired of being your entertainment,” She cocks her head to the side, unbound waves of darkened wheat—the color barely discernible in the darkness of his tent—cascading with the movement. “If you want them off so badly, do it yourself.” 

He raises a brow in question but obliges her nonetheless, moving from where he had been so indolently reclined against his bedroll as he watches her with keen eyes. 

With slow, careful steps Astarion makes his way towards where she stands before him and she is helpless but to admire the way his muscles shift on his lithe form, the grace with which he moves as he stalks closer to her that of a predator on the hunt for his prey.

And what was she, she supposes, if not his prey? It was why she had come here tonight, after all—to let him drink his fill of her blood with his lips at her neck, sucking down her life’s essence to his heart’s content.

She certainly feels like his prey, at least. How could she feel anything but when he moves around her in a slow circle, eyes brushing over her bared skin like a lover’s caress, knowing and intimate.

Astarion moves around her in another perfect circle before he finishes his perusal, stopping to stand behind her close enough to touch, his bare chest almost brushing against her spine. Familiar hands come to her waist as his head lowers to rest upon her shoulder, thumbs rubbing light circles into the skin. 

His lips press a featherlight kiss to her jaw that has her catching a breath. “Who said you were in charge here, my dear?”

His touch is electric against her skin, and Rin resists the urge to lean back into him, to press against the coolness of his chest and relish the feeling of his skin on hers. His mouth is terribly distracting where he adorns her with little kisses across the curve of her jaw and down the line of her neck, and she briefly wonders if he means to bite her just like this, held tight in the circle of his arms.

“Whoever said that you were?” Rin counters back with a glance out of the corner of her eye to where his cheek rests against her shoulder, ignoring the wetness that has begun to pool between her thighs. 

She has no intention of giving into his every want and demand, or at least not yet.

The hands bracketing her waist begin to move despite his protests, sliding down over her hips with frustrating slowness until he reaches the hem of her embarrassingly simple underwear. 

“You really can’t help yourself, can you?” Astarion sighs dramatically against the column of her throat. “Must you be so difficult?"

There’s an unexpected fondness in his voice, an affection that she can’t remember if she’s ever heard so openly from him before that has the air around them changing; shifting from something practiced and performative to familiar and lovely and absolutely perfect.

The sound of it has a shred of something warm blossoming in Rin’s chest—unknown but not entirely unwelcome, she decides. 

He plays at the edge of her panties, fingers toying with the thin cotton where it rests against her skin on either hip, his touch sending another wave of heat straight to her core as she bites back a sigh at the sensation. 

“You should be aware by now that listening has never been one of my strong suits.”

“Yes, well,” Astarion’s fingers hook into both sides of her underwear before beginning to pull, the garment sliding down over her hips and bottom as Astarion sinks down with it. “You seem to remember how to follow my instructions when it counts, dearest.”

He drops silently to his knees behind Rin, dragging her underwear down her legs as he goes, each slide of the fabric against her skin only serving to heighten the heat kindling inside her. She gingerly steps out of each leg, desperately wishing she could see what he must look like lowered behind her in such a manner—the sight of him on his knees surely one that she has seen in her dreams of him. 

But before she can make up her mind to steal a glance or even just turn, Astarion is gliding back up her body, hands glancing against her skin as he goes, leaving a trail of goosebumps in his wake. 

“You know, I thought I came here for you to feed on.” It’s an effort to keep her voice steady as his arms wrap back around her waist, touch cool against her skin.

His head lowers back to her ear, lips brushing against the shell as a shiver of anticipation runs down her spine. “Oh, you did. But I don’t see why we can’t have a little fun as well. It’s been awhile, darling, and I’ve missed you.” 

A hand traces down her stomach in a teasing touch; long, sweeping lines of his fingertips back and forth across her skin brushing down until he reaches the apex of her thighs. 

Astarion moves at a glacial pace as his fingers dip lower and lower until they find their way to her center, swiping through her folds to spread her essence on the tips of them as Rin’s head falls back onto his shoulder, a sigh escaping her lips as he explores. 

“Miss my blood or miss me?” Rin’s lashes flutter shut as he runs his fingers up and down her, careful to avoid the two places she wants him to touch most as she flushes at the evidence of her arousal he finds.

“Can’t it be both?” His fingers finally find her entrance, tracing around the edge in slow circles as she sharply inhales. 

She’s not ready to admit how much she wants to believe him that he had missed her, had missed this—the easy intimacy they had been building together bit by bit. It’s a dizzying thought, one that has her heart skipping a beat that he surely can hear this close. 

“With you? Unlikely.”

“Why, you think so little of me, darling.” Astarion punctuates his words with the press of a finger slowly in; and were it any other time, the mock outrage coloring his voice would draw a laugh from her. 

This time, however, he draws a moan from her instead as he pushes deeper, seating his finger inside her before slowly withdrawing.

“Give me more to think about, then.” Rin sighs, lips opened as she tries to still her hips.

“Only if you ask nicely.” He smiles into her skin, lips brushing against the column of her throat as he pushes back in, sliding home to the knuckle.

Her mind ceases to a halt on whatever clever words she had been preparing when a hand draws up to her breast and cups it, Astarion’s touch a balm against her over-warm skin as he runs his thumb over the hardened peak.

Astarion’s finger moves only barely inside her, but it’s enough for Rin to feel it, friction building in her core with the simple motion. She should be embarrassed by how quickly he has worked her up, her ire so easily forgotten when wrapped in his arms and at the mercy of his skilled hands.

He’s lucky that she likes him, for she would never allow anyone else such lenience. Though, she would never allow anyone else the opportunity to get quite so close to her, either—a thought that borders on terrifying if she thinks too long about it.

A second finger joins the first, and she welcomes the slight stretch as he finally begins to pump them while he mouths at her neck, moving in a steady rhythm that has a fire burning deep in her core as she moans in relief.

Astarion’s pace is easy and unconcerned as he thrusts in and out lazily, slowly building her up higher and higher with every press forward. Her curls pillow against his pale skin as she sighs at the pleasure coursing through her, that welcome heat billowing deep inside her. His thumb finds her clit and rolls against it in soft circles as her lips open in a low moan, limbs tightening at the added touch. 

The hand cupping her breast runs back down to her waist to wrap around the circle of it, fingertips stroking her skin as he secures her closer to him and the outline of his cock presses hard against her ass.

Rin can feel the grin he hides in her neck as he breathes in the scent of her and his fingers curl, searching for the place to make her fall apart under his hands. He moves them just right, finding that one spot, and she cries out as her hips buck into his palm. 

“Ah, Astarion!” 

“Yes, darling?” He curls his fingers again and she practically melts in his hold, the arm he has wrapped around her waist squeezing tighter to keep her upright. “Did you have something you wanted to say?”

He could finish her off so easily, the bastard; only a few more presses of his fingers and she would be done for, but Rin doubts that Astarion has plans to let her off so easily. 

Astarion has never outright denied her the release she craves, but he certainly likes to make her work for it.

“Only that I don’t want you to stop.” The words come out sounding more wanting than she would prefer, but she’s beyond the point of summoning up a care.

Astarion tsks, and as if on cue his fingers slow to a stop before pulling them from her body. Rin whines in protest as she lifts her head to glare at him, narrowed eyes meeting amused ones as he simply smirks back at her.

“Sorry, dear, I didn’t catch that.”

Astarion spins her around in his hold, her breasts pressing against his own bare chest as his hands run up and down her waist. A quick glance down and she can see the evidence of his own arousal, his cock pushing urgently against her stomach, still hidden by pants that she needs to rid him of preferably sooner rather than later.

“Liar. You heard me just fine.” Rin’s arms wrap around his shoulders as she leans in closer to him.

“It’s neither here nor there.” Astarion begins to walk her back, the two of them stepping together as he leads her towards his bedroll. “There’s no need to rush. Now, lay down.”

Rin arches her brow at his bossiness, but doesn’t argue as she lowers herself to the ground and spreads herself out on his bedroll. She frowns when she sits, the surface not nearly as soft as it should be, an unfamiliar hardness beneath her.

“Astarion, what in the hells is it that I am sitting on?” She shifts to peek underneath the blankets, spying some sort of wooden thing underneath her.

“Are you really going to ruin the mood to ask me about something so stupid? You are truly impossible.” Astarion looks down on her with a pointed scowl as he moves to kneel down before her, his lithe muscles shifting as he crawls over to her in smooth movements. 

“I’m not the one sleeping on a plank of wood every night. Have you no standards for good night’s trance? No wonder you’re so touchy all the time.”

He’s upon her in mere moments, an elegant hand finding the space just below her collar bone as he only answers her with a stern look. This thumb runs along the line of it, brushing against the skin as his eyes follow the motion. 

Rin looks down at the hand poised on her chest, so pale against the sun-warmed gold of her own, and brings her own up to run fingertips down the back of his. She swears she can see him shiver at the touch, a barely noticeable intake of his breath as her hand rests on top of his.

Astarion’s eyes cut up to hers, and with a raise of his brow, he pushes her backwards.

Rin lets him do it, lowering herself back with the help of his little push until her head hits his pillow, a rush of his scent surrounding her as she lays. His hand still rests on the skin of her chest, the weight of it like a scorching brand as she stares up at Astarion as he cages himself above her.

She doesn’t know what he sees when he looks down upon her, hair most likely curling in an unruly halo around her head and cheeks undoubtedly colored an unbecoming shade of pink, but his eyes run over what feels like every inch of her face before his hand begins to move, tracing a featherlight line down her skin. 

Her stomach jumps underneath the drag of his fingertips as his touch stops low, their eyes meeting together in a heated glance as Rin waits with bated breath.

Astarion’s head lowers towards her, and her heart beats a little faster at the thought of his lips meeting hers, the want she has been blatantly ignoring the past week begging to break free from its confines safe in the corner of her mind.

But instead, Astarion’s lips find her neck, placing a kiss on the two pinprick scars that decorate the column of it before running them across her skin—kissing over her collar, upon the peak of her breast, down her ribs one by one.

She gasps at the feeling as he drags his lips down her body, her skin flushed with desire.

He’s kissing the sensitive skin just below her stomach with teasing presses of his lips when she speaks, breathless and wanting. “Astarion, don’t you want to feed?”

Cool hands travel down the curve of her waist and over her hips before reaching her soft skin of her thighs, palms running over the tops of them as he settles himself in between her legs.

“Oh, I do.” Astarion makes to spread her thighs further, pushing them wide. “Don’t you worry, my dear, I’ll get my fill.”

Rin’s cheeks fill with heat as he moves his gaze to her bare center, running claret eyes over her as she sucks in a breath. With little ceremony, his head moves forward and his tongue glides along her center, lapping at her wetness. 

Her hips buck up into Astarion’s face as she reaches down to grab at his soft, downy curls as he circles the pearl at the top of her sex, the tip of his tongue light as he traces shapes along it.

He laps at her clit as she tries to quiet her mouth, holding back her moans and cries as best she can as he works her up ever higher. With a last circle, Astarion’s tongue ventures further down, abandoning her clit to instead run through her folds, groaning at the taste of her before exploring the wetness that has collected at her entrance. 

“Asta—” Rin gasps sharply as his tongue traces around the edge of her, so like he had with his finger earlier—ever teasing. He dips in her entrance, the tip of it whorling against her before pushing deeper. 

Her hands scrabble for purchase in his hair as he licks inside her, eating her out in earnest as her thighs tremble around his head. She swears that she can feel him chuckle against her as he tastes, tongue curling inside her as she grasps his soft curls harder between her fingers.

He thrusts his tongue deep and she keens, back arching off the bedroll as her hips roll against his mouth, chasing the heat coiling deep inside her with every press of his tongue. It’s a different sensation than that of his fingers, but no less welcome or wonderful as the feeling in her belly tightens more and more. 

She’s terribly close when his mouth leaves her, and she mourns the loss of his tongue for mere seconds before he fills her with fingers that press urgently, curling just right as his lips kiss their way to her thigh.

“Do it.” She spreads wider for him, and she can hear his satisfied hum against her skin before he opens his mouth and sinks his teeth in the tender flesh of her inner thigh.

The familiar ice of his bite hurts far too good, the frosty pain warring against the heat surging through her limbs as he drinks from her, blood running in scarlet rivulets down her thigh to stain the worn blanket beneath her.

Astarion’s messy as he drinks, her hips writhing in time with the fingers still artfully working inside her. Her back arches as she tries to quiet her cry, a fist curling into the threadbare blanket below her.

The metallic scent of iron tinges the air of the tent as he drinks and Rin can’t help the moan that falls from her open mouth at the feeling of his lips on her skin, sucking and licking and—gods, kissing. 

“There, please.” His fingers hit perfectly, over and over again, and her thighs tremble. “Please don’t stop.”

Astarion sucks hard at the bite as she begs, fingers keeping pace with the movement of her hips as he drinks down another surge of her blood. With only a few more presses of his fingers, curving just right to hit exactly where she needs him, Rin comes.

A hand unclenches from the blanket to cover her mouth as she muffles her moan into her palm, back arching as precious heat courses through her limbs and her hips writhe. 

Pleasure whites out her thoughts as Astarion fucks her through her orgasm with his fingers; lips and mouth still pullings sips of her blood from her thigh all the while.

She comes back to herself as his fingers slow and he peppers kisses to her leg, lapping up any stray drops as they fall from the wound. Astarion pulls his fingers from her gently, another hum of satisfaction breaking free as he brings them to his mouth and sucks, tongue licking her come clean from the digits.  

She’s still floating in a euphoric haze when Astarion finally rises from between her thighs, appetite sated and pale skin flushed with the slightest hint of pink from the blood that once belonged to her now flowing through his veins.

His mouth is glistening with her—her blood, her arousal, her scent. She’s entranced by the sight of it as Astarion licks his rouged lips, tongue swiping at a small drop of blood at the corner of his mouth that threatens to roll down his chin.

“Did I taste as good as you had hoped?” Rin’s chest heaves as she tries to catch her breath in the aftermath, the words no more than a whisper.

A corner of Astarion’s mouth lifts upward as he runs his eyes over her; from his mark on her thigh, over her sex, and up her flushed form beneath him until he meets her eyes. “Better.”

Rin’s breath hitches as he kisses his way back up her body with warmed lips, leaving a trail of red upon her skin with every touch of his lips, small blooms of her crimson blood like stains of watercolor.

He kisses up the valley between her breasts before turning his head, lips running over the plump curve of one before capturing her nipple, sucking at it before flicking his tongue against the bud. Rin’s back arches at the unexpected touch, more heat already kindling as he gives it a hard suck.

Astarion pops off her breast to kiss towards its twin, her hands burying back in his hair as he sucks at her other nipple, laving it with his tongue as a whine breaks free from her lips before she urges him higher, fingertips running through his curls. 

He obliges, placing one last kiss upon the tip of her breast before moving to bury his head in her neck, licking a line up the column of her throat, the very tip of his tongue tracing a thrumming vein.

Rin wraps her arms around his shoulders, hands running over the corded muscle as he slots himself between her legs, his still-clothed erection brushing against the too-sensitive skin of her thighs.

It simply wouldn’t do, she decides. 

“Let me touch you. Please,” she runs her hands down his chest to dance over his skin until she reaches the waistband of his pants, his cock painfully hard as it strains against the fabric. “I want to touch you, Astarion.”

She’s taking a chance by asking, but it’s one she’s willing to try her luck for.

Despite how many times she’s enjoyed the feeling of him inside her or how well he’s come to learn her body, he’s never quite allowed her the same opportunity to touch or taste him.

She knows enough of his past—he’s told her plenty of the many different people he had taken for Cazador against his will and under duress, his body used without the ability and choice to say no.  

“I want to make you feel good too, Astarion.” Rin peers up into his eyes, fingers no longer trailing along him as she pauses, waiting patiently for a real answer. “Do you trust me?”

His gaze is intense as it meets her own, the heated desire in his eyes tempering for a moment to give way to a tentative vulnerability that crosses over them as he considers her words. 

“I-” Astarion speaks softer than she had expected as he breaks off, gaze intent on hers as the weight of the implication that he has a choice—one that is his and his only to make—bears down on him. “—I do.”

“Only if you want me to. You have to promise me that you want it.” She urges, hands flattening on his abdomen as excitement stirs in her chest.

“Fine. I promise that I want it.” Astarion snaps, but his words lack any real bite as a corner of his lips quirk up into a crooked smile. “Show me what you’ve got, then, if you’re so eager.”

Rin moves slow as her hand slides back down his pants and over the curve of his hardened length, caressing him over the fabric as she feels him, cupping his length softly before flitting back up to join the other still at the waist of his pants.

Astarion’s breath catches at her touch before on his own hands comes down to help as she pushes the barrier down, freeing his length from the confines of his clothes. In a smooth motion, his pants and underwear are down his legs and off, baring his erection.

Precome shines at the tip of his cock as she runs her fingers down him in a barely there caress from top to bottom, his length twitching with the motion as Astarion draws in a harsh breath.

Her eyes stay on his as she grazes the soft skin again, watching for any sign she should stop as she runs her fingers along a prominent vein that runs along the side of him. 

He’s velvet soft under her palm as she wraps her fingers around his shaft, giving him an experimental pump of her hand, touch gentle as she revels in the feel of him.

“Is this alright?” Rin looks up at him from under lowered lashes.

Her hand glides up, brushing over the head of him as she collects the precome leaking from his slit, running her fingers over it before caressing down to the base once more. 

“By all means, please continue.” Rin knows he means for the words to be casual and unaffected, but there’s already a telling breathiness to Astarion’s words that has her smirking.

The weight of him in her hand is nothing short of perfect as she gently wraps her fist around him, stroking him. Astarion moans and it’s the easily one of the most beautiful things Rin’s ever heard, the sound of it sending a spike of heat to her core.

She brings her other hand to her mouth, running her tongue over her palm before it joins the other around his cock and the added bit of glide has Astarion gasping as his hips jump. 

His head falls heavy onto her shoulder as she works him, careful pumps of his length bringing him closer to the edge far faster than she ever thought possible with only her touch. 

His cock weeps as Rin glides her fingers over the crown of him again, collecting more of the precome that glistens at the tip. Her hands move together, one carefully massaging the head of his cock while the other strokes at the base, the breathy moans leaving Astarion’s lips only serving to spur her on further as she works him closer to the edge. 

“Does this feel good, Astarion?”

“Gods, yes.” He shudders in response, lips open against her skin as he presses a messy kiss into her shoulder.

Her palms move faster, intent on his undoing, his pleasure at her hands nothing short of exhilarating. 

Gods, she would let him come wherever he wanted. Onto her stomach, across her breasts, down her throat—the thought is enough to send another spark of electricity to her empty core.

“Ah, darling,” Astarion’s voice is tight as he buries his face deeper into her neck, hips bucking into her hand as she works him from the crown of his cock to the base, his breathing getting harder with every stroke. “Much more and you’ll spoil the main event.”

“I’ll stop, if that’s what you want.” Rin slows her motions as he catches his breath against the column of her throat, so close to his own completion she can practically feel it in the way his body shakes above her own, muscles quivering with the want of release. “But would it be so awful if you were to come like this? On my hands, all over my skin?”

Astarion raises his head from her neck, pupils blown wide and hair thoroughly disheveled as he pants. “Decidedly not, but I think I want to fill that sweet cunt of yours tonight instead.”

“If you say so.” She brings one of the hands that had been stroking him to her mouth, the tip of her tongue peeking out between her lips to lap at a shining string of precome still sticking to her skin, savoring the flavor of him for the very first time.

Astarion swallows hard, eyes fixated on the pink of her tongue as she wraps her mouth around the tip, sucking lightly. She smiles sweetly around it, lips pink and plush, as she sends him a wink.

With a soft pop, she pulls her finger out of her mouth before moving to twine her arms around his neck, running through the soft curls at his nape. “I wouldn’t mind getting to taste more of you, either, if you’d let me.”

“Salacious girl. Whatever am I supposed to do with you?” That same fondness from earlier sneaks back into his words as she gazes up at him with as much innocence as she can muster.

“Hmm,” Rin muses, pretending to think through her answer as her fingers toy with his hair. “Whatever you want, I suppose.” 

“Whatever I want?” Astarion’s brows raise in mock surprise. “You might come to regret those words, darling.”

“I find that sometimes I don’t mind being at your mercy.”

“Your self-preservation instincts need some reevaluating, my dear.”

“Is that what you think?” She laughs as her fingertips abandon his wild curls to dance absentmindedly across the lines of his shoulders.

“What I think is that these wandering hands of yours are trouble.” Astarion leans down to whisper into her ear, a smirk decorating his lips as they brush against the point of them. “It’s a pity I don’t have any pretty ribbon at my disposal to tie them up with.”

Nimble fingers move to find and circle her wrists with surprising delicacy as he removes them from around his neck to instead guide her arms up to rest around her head. 

Desire pools deep in her belly at the mere mention and she doesn’t even try to fight against Astarion’s hold, not when there’s nothing she wants more than to be at the mercy of his hands. 

“So, you’ll just have to be a good girl and keep these up here for me.” His hands encircle her wrists so very easily as he applies the slightest bit of pressure on them to illustrate his point. “Can you do that? I know you have a very hard time following directions.” 

“I’ll try my hardest, but I make no promises.”

His hands slide down from her own where he left them resting above her head as he rises back to his knees, running over her breasts to anchor at her waist before he takes in the sight of her—warm skin and eyes bright and utterly alive. 

He fits perfectly between her thighs as he moves his hips to slide his length through her folds, her slick coating him with every pass.

“No touching,” Astarion tuts. “Don’t forget.”

“Like I said, no promises. But I’ll give it a fair shot.” Rin grinds her hips against his erection, still gliding up and down her slit.

Astarion’s only response is a raise of his brow as he positions himself at her entrance, the head of his cock barely pressing against her as he smirks, moving his hips away every time she tries to move hers forward.

Teasing. Always, always teasing.

Rin rolls her hips against his own as Astarion finally pushes forward, hilting himself inside her warmth in a smooth thrust, twin moans escaping from their lips at the feeling as he fills her completely.

His hands caress down to her thighs where they open for him, thumbs running up and down soft skin marred only by the red of his own bite, the marks smeared with still drying blood.

Astarion’s hips finally move, pulling away from hers only to push forward again until he bottoms out, burying himself deep. Rin relishes the feel of him moving inside her with a soft moan as she throws her head back against his pillow, back arching as he settles his hands on her hips to pull her deeper onto his cock.

His thumbs grip into her skin as he thrusts into her, hips meeting her own with long, deep strokes that have her trying and failing to hold back the little noises of pleasure that loose from her lips.

She yearns to move her hands from where they still rest above her head—yearns to drag her fingers across his skin or wrap her arms around his neck to draw him closer to her—but she resists the temptation, settling on moving her hips instead.

Rin grinds against his cock buried deep inside her as she moves her hips to match his own, thrust for thrust, the slide of him achingly flawless as they move together.  

“Gods, you’re absolutely perfect.” The words slip out of Astarion’s lips, murmured low on a hard thrust. She tightens around him as the praise washes over her, lips opened on a barely restrained whimper as her lashes lower.

He’s more than beautiful in the darkness as he throws his head back on a moan, the drag of his cock smooth as he hits deep and she craves more—more closeness, more of his touch, more of his lips. 

“Kiss me,” she gasps and instantly regrets the words and the desperation of them as her hands still lay obediently above her head, her back arching with every thrust.

Astarion’s hips stutter, losing their rhythm as he looks down at her, fixating on the petal pink of her lips, and Rin’s heart practically stops at what she sees when he looks at her.

A hand traces its way up from her hip to grab hold of her chin, touch firm as Astarion’s eyes move away from her lips to stare into her own, searching for something in the verdant depths of them. His gaze is alight with a precious heat that threatens to burn every inch of her—the fire she’s secretly dreamed of seeing there in his eyes when he looks at her.

His lips crash into hers with no words or preamble, meeting her half way as she surges her head up and their lips press together. Her arms lift, leaving their resting place above her head to wrap around his neck as Astarion’s tongue runs against the seam of her lips in askance, her own parting eagerly for him.

She can taste the remnants of herself on his lips, both the richness of her cunt and the metallic tang of her blood; and it’s heady, it’s divine as his lips chase after her own as they kiss and kiss and kiss, his hips still joined with hers all the while.

The hand that had been poised on her chin strokes upward, running over the plane of her cheek in a barely there touch that has her heart stuttering as their lips move.

Gods, she’d been wishing for the feeling of his lips on hers, and if the only way she can get it is when he fucks her, then so be it. 

It’s not the only kind of kiss she wants from him but it’s the kiss she will take, desperate despite her every wish otherwise.

She’s gasping when Astarion finally breaks the kiss, taking in precious breaths of air as his lips lift only just away from hers. His hips slow and Rin looks questioningly up at Astarion, arms still twined tightly around his neck.

A small burst of panic bubbles up in her chest as she feels him slide out her, hips pulling away from hers to leave her empty; and worry that she had perhaps done something wrong or said something she shouldn’t have fills her mind. 

“Astarion? Is everything alright? Did I—” she cuts herself off as the hand at her cheek brushes a stray lock of hair behind her ear while its twin travels up her thigh to curve around her waist, urging her body upwards with a gentle pull.

“Let’s try something a little different, hm? Now, up.”

His hold is tight—secure—as they both shift to sitting, Astarion helping her along the way until she is upright in his lap, knees on either side of his thighs as she hovers.

“Now, tell me, sweet thing. Have you ever been fucked like this before?” His eyes pierce into her own as a hand curls around the back of her head, fingers tangling in her curls.

“No.” Rin shakes her head from side to side, biting her lip as his length finds her entrance once more, pushing with the barest hint of pressure against her.

“Good.” 

With a swift thrust, Astarion sheathes himself inside of her as his lips capture hers, swallowing her answering moan as Rin arches against his chest. The hand wrapped around her waist travels down, fingertips squeezing into the flesh of her ass to help guide her hips up and down his cock.

They’re on equal footing like this, noses brushing against each other’s as their bodies work, Rin’s hips meeting Astarion’s own in a smooth cadence. The closeness—the intimacy of it—is intoxicating as their lips meet again and again, arms wrapped around each other as their fingertips dig into each other’s skin.

It’s not as fast or as hard as she’s used to, but somehow it’s better—the lack of quick thrusts is made up for instead by hard rolls of their hips, Astarion reaching the deepest part of her core as they hold each other close, not an bit of space between them.

His length brushes against what feels like every inch of her walls, sending sparks through her body as the heat coiling in her stomach rises higher with every move they make.

Rin is only mildly aware of the marks he left on her thigh breaking open once more, tiny drops of her blood leaving ruby red smears against both her and Astarion’s flesh as her hands map the planes of his face and their lips press.

Any other time, she would be blushing at the noise of their bodies moving together, the wet glide of his length driving in and out of her and the sound of skin on skin audible in the confines of Astarion’s tent; but instead she’s unabashed as she moves up and down his cock and he thrusts up to meet her, moans falling freely from both of their mouths as their kiss breaks.

She’s getting closer and she can tell he is too, the intensity of his thrusts only getting harder and deeper as every roll of his hips has his length brushing against her sweet spot as she loses her rhythm against him as her body begins to quake.

“Eyes on me.” Astarion’s forehead presses into hers as her lashes flutter, the height of her pleasure curling around her, ephemeral and just out of reach.

The heat burning inside her reaches a crescendo, his name whispered from her lips on a broken gasp as her hold on him tightens, fingertips digging into his skin.

She’s tremulous as she tightens around him and he kisses her moans from her, quieting the sound of them as her hands grasp for purchase around his shoulders and he pumps his cock, hitting the very same spot that never fails to have her falling apart in his arms. 

Rin sees stars behind her eyes as she tumbles over the edge of the crest, constricting hard on him as she comes on a near silent cry. Her hips writhe as Astarion holds her steady despite the ragged moan that falls from his lips as he watches her fall apart with half-lidded eyes.

She’s clinging to him as she rides out the rest of her orgasm on the hardened length still thrusting inside her, Astarion working her through the waves of pleasure that suffuse through her limbs.

A dreamy, hazy euphoria descends over her like a fog as she finally comes back to herself, her first thought to press another kiss to the pair of lips that still brush against hers. 

Rin takes a lungful of air on a deep breath, beginning to move her hips against his once more despite the contented exhaustion blanketing her as she speaks with a soft, teasing lilt. “I thought you were going to come in my sweet cunt, Astarion.”

“Still the plan, darling.” Astarion’s lost in his own pleasure as he speaks, eyes fixated on her own as his hips snap hard into hers.

The hand on her ass tightens, fingertips near bruising as Astarion’s thrusts begin lose their rhythm in the wake her orgasm, the feeling of her cunt spasming around his length as she had come only serving to drive him closer to his own completion.

Her fingertips run down his cheek as he looks at her, his control breaking on every push of his hips that she meets readily.

“Then do it,” She whispers. “Please come for me, Astarion.” 

Rin presses her mouth to his in a hard kiss, gasping as he changes the angle of his thrusts to hit the very end of her cunt.

At her words, Astarion follows her over the edge, moaning his ecstasy into her lips as he comes. His hips rut frantically against hers, spilling himself inside her with unrestrained thrusts. 

Rin grasps him tighter as his orgasm rushes through him, taking each and every sound that falls from him as he works through the waves of pleasure coursing through his limbs. 

Finally, Astarion’s hips slow to a halt as their chests heave, still locked in their embrace, the haze of the aftermath floating around them. His lips press against hers one last time before he ducks his head to fit against her neck, breathing in the scent of her.  

Rin’s not sure how long they stay like that, both catching their breath as her arms hang loose around him, Astarion’s face still buried in her neck as his fingers grip around waist. 

Eventually, it’s Astarion who moves first, gently pulling his softened cock from her as he lifts his head and leans back towards his bedroll, taking her down with him. 

They lay next to each other on the ruined blanket, a light sheen of sweat sticking to their skin.

“That was—” Astarion starts, running a hand through his hair in an attempt to push it out of his face.

Rin finishes the sentence for him, her heart still beating in a staccato rhythm. “Amazing? Fantastic? The best sex you’ve ever had?”

“Well, you think quite highly of yourself, don’t you?” Astarion turns his head to face her, brow raised.

Rin leans in, bumping their foreheads together in a light touch before whispering her reply on a smile. “That wasn’t a no.”

Astarion rolls her eyes and she laughs, and she swears she can see the slightest hint of pink coloring his cheeks, no doubt from the help of her blood still running through him.

He sits up, stretching his arms above his head, the muscles in his back shifting and Rin lets out an appreciative hum at the sight. 

“Oh, and Astarion.” Rin smiles as she rolls her shoulders, settling further into the blanket. “If you burn my shirt, I will be forced to take action. Possibly with a knife. Just so we’re clear.”

His head whips back to glance at her, a wicked look in his eye. “Flirting again already? Give me a moment to recover, dearest.” 

Astarion’s eyes skate down her naked form, still lying in a boneless heap upon his bedroll. 

“Gods, look at you. You’re an absolute mess.” She can feel the blood drying on her thighs and on the spots where he had left bloodied kisses up her body, his come threatening to spill out of her with even the slightest movement. “Get ahold of yourself, darling.”

“An absolute mess that you made.” Rin peeks down to look at herself, skin still flushed and dotted with red marks in the vague shape of his lips.

“I’d gladly make it again, too.” Astarion turns back to the side, reaching for a spare decanter of presumably water and grabbing a piece of soft cloth.

“I’m sure we can come to some sort of agreement.” 

She takes in the bloodied blanket beneath her as she hazards a stretch, reaching her arms above her head as her feet point, back arching as she comes up to her elbows. 

“Has anyone ever told you that your bedroll is absolutely awful? How you manage to sleep on something so hard is beyond my ability to imagine. We should steal you a new one.”

Even with the awful plank beneath her, it would be so easy to stay on a night like tonight. Too easy to imagine settling into his side, the now familiar contours of his body beside her own as they rested together, limbs tangling. She’s never slept in anyone’s arms before that she can remember, and she wonders how it must feel to spend hours simply wrapped in Astarion’s embrace and then to wake up next to him at first light.

Please ask me to stay. 

The words come from a deep, dark part of her mind unbidden; but the wanting they bring with them threatens to ruin her as her heart beats harder.

“Or you could always come share mine, I guess. I promise I’ll keep you nice and warm.” It’s a risk speaking those kind of words, Rin crossing a line they’ve never dared to before.

Astarion’s body tenses slightly, the line of his shoulders stiffening.

He dips the mouth of the decanter over onto a spare cloth to wet it before turning back to her, expression strangely blank. The sight of it puts her ill at ease, as if the warm intimacy they had shared had been snuffed out like a candle’s flame. 

Astarion runs the cloth over her form, erasing any evidence of him from her skin. His spend, the blood on her thighs, the messy kisses up her chest—all of it gone with a simple brush of water on cloth.

She nods her thanks, her heart sinking as regret burns in her throat. 

“Well, it’s been lovely. You’re always such a treat.” Astarion summons a veil across his eyes, an empty smirk on his lips as he sets the cloth to the side. “You should go get some sleep, darling. Who knows who else you’ll need to convince to kill themselves tomorrow.”

It’s like a slap to the cheek—cold water to wake her from the warm embrace of a dream. It wasn’t the first time he had said such words to her, but this is the first time she realizes that she hates them with every fibre of her being.

“Oh.” She bites her lip, hoping she hides her disappointment well enough; but from the way Astarion averts his gaze to focus on an invisible point on other side of the tent, she doesn’t need to worry much. “I suppose you do need your beauty sleep, don’t you? Far be it from me to get in the way.”

Rin doesn’t want to hear what he has to say, she decides, as she pulls herself up to sitting beside him. She’s not certain she can look at him either, not at the cool and aloof expression that seems to have taken residence across his features. 

He hadn’t looked like that when he kissed her. 

No, he had looked the exact opposite, his expression mirroring the longing she knows had been etched onto her own as their lips had met.

Without a word, Rin stands and walks over the blankets heaped along the floor to where her clothes lay discarded in a heap, her footsteps soft against the ground. 

Silently, she redresses, not bothering with the corset as she leaves it unlaced at her feet and pulls the rest of her clothes back on with perfunctory ease. Her tunic is partially over her head when she dares a look back at Astarion, the collar floating down to rest against her skin as she turns her head.

His face is imperceptible as he watches her, sitting still as stone. She forces a small smile, hoping that the dejection she feels doesn’t come across as she speaks to him one last time for the evening.

“Sleep well, Astarion.”

Astarion nods his head, a clear dismissal if she’s ever seen one. “Until the morning, darling.”

Until the morning, indeed. 

Until the morning, where they’ll pretend everything is fine and nothing has changed as they play around each other in some sort of tiring, endless game.

And maybe Astarion can. Maybe, for him, nothing ever did change.

Rin doesn’t know quite what it is that they are building towards; but between the little bits of their lives shared with one another, the tiny little secrets that bare ragged pieces of their souls, the long evenings spent by the side of the fire laughing and talking and playing games, between the kisses and caresses and the meeting of their eyes—it feels like something.

Something more than simply being bedmates.

With a single, deep breath she reaches down to grab her corset, collecting it in hand as she turns and walks out the front flap of his tent without another look back, unable to promise she can keep her expression even in the face of his seemingly cold indifference. 

Rin keeps her eyes ahead as she walks by the campfire, Gale politely looking the other way, not commenting on how she must look or what he must have heard—her hair is undoubtedly a mess, corset rumpled in hand, lips still too swollen to be confused with being anything other than readily kissed.

She withholds the sigh that threatens to break free as she makes her way towards her tent, and she’s grateful that at least there is no one else by the fire to witness the utterly pathetic sight of her as she keeps her eyes straight forward. 

“I hope you know what you are doing.” Gale’s voice stops her before she can step into her tent, and she freezes, shifting the corset in hand in hopes of hiding it better, though she knows it’s useless. “I say this with the utmost respect, you understand. As your friend.”

Rin can hear the slightest bit of judgment in the words despite the kindness of them but she shakes it off. She probably deserves his judgment, in the end.

She pastes a weak smile on her face, squeezing the corset tighter in her hand as she turns to look at the wizard where he sits by the fire, a familiar spell book in hand. 

“It’s all good Gale, nothing to worry about. I promise.”

“I trust your judgement, then. Sleep well, my friend.” Gale gives her a polite nod, but the look on his face says that he’s thoroughly unconvinced by her words.

Such aspiring confidence her companions have in her, it seems.

Rin certainly doesn’t blame him for it.

She can barely convince herself of the fact, after all.

With one last sigh she walks through the flap of her tent, letting it flutter shut behind her as she steps inside the familiar surroundings she now calls home.

It smells like it always does, jasmine and honey hanging in the air, and not a one of her possessions is out of place—however few of them she has. 

But as she drops the corset on the ground, she can’t help but feel that something is missing.

Hands come up to cover her eyes as she presses the heel of her palms into them, hoping to rid her mind of such thoughts, however there’s no comfort to be found as shapes swirl on the back of her eyelids.

If she had any sense at all, she would quit while she was still ahead and could leave somewhat unscathed from whatever this thing growing between them is.

But she knows herself better than that.

She knows that, instead of stopping this and sparing herself the almost inevitable promise of pain that their little affair will bring, she will pull herself back together just in time to face the darkness of the morning and pretend that everything is just fine—all the while knowing deep down that she will keep making the same mistake over and over again and relish it every single time.

[skyward-floored]

Swapped (Part 4)

Finally an update haha. Back to the first group again! And we finally see what’s up with Legend :)

Mild body horror warning, but it’s very brief and not too intense.

First | Previous | Next (coming soon)

————————————————————

Everything was so loud.

Warriors adjusted his grip on Legend as he walked, wincing as his nephew breathed in his ear. He resisted the urge to curl up on the ground again with his hands to his head, but it was a close thing.

He didn’t know how Twilight handled it. He could hear every step he and Wind took, every rustle of their clothes, every distant footstep. He could even hear Legend’s heart beating, and Wind’s too if he focused really hard.

And that wasn’t even getting into how he could smell twice as many things now either.

Warriors breathed in, and out again, trying to let the noise fade to the background. Things weren’t as bad as they were when he’d first woken up, but he still felt raw, every sense overly sensitive, and achy from the whole turning into a wolf thing as well.

...he was still trying to wrap his head around that.

Warriors hiked Legend up on his back a little further when he slipped a bit, his nephew’s head flopping against his shoulder. Wind was jogging beside him, face pinched with poorly-hidden anxiety, and when he saw Warriors adjust his brother, the worry only grew on his face.

“Why do you think he’s still asleep?” he asked in a low voice. Warriors appreciated that.

“I don’t know.” Warriors sighed as he ran a hand over Legend’s head yet again, feeling for an injury that wasn’t there.

Legend had been entirely unresponsive ever since the explosion, though his breathing was steady and he bore no injuries that Warriors could find. He was just pale, and wouldn’t wake up, no matter what they did. Warriors wouldn’t have expected Legend of all people would be so sensitive to an energy pulse like they’d experienced, but he supposed it made sense it would hit some of them harder than others.

Sort of like how the smell of every single sweaty guard we sneak past is hitting harder than other smells. Ugh.

Wind and Warriors reached a stairwell, and paused to make sure nobody was coming through the door before slipping through. The elevator technically would’ve been faster, but it didn’t afford them as much maneuverability in regards to sneaking around.

Plus while Wind had managed to get Time’s powers under control for the moment, Warriors wasn’t too keen on being in a small, easily-destroyable space with him right now.

“I hope he’s okay,” Wind said quietly, gently touching Legend’s head as they slipped into the stairwell. “You don’t think this is... permanent, do you Warriors?”

“No. I bet he’ll wake up soon,” Warriors said with well-practiced confidence. “It just must have hit him harder than us for some reason.”

He had some theories about that actually, but wouldn’t know for sure unless Legend woke up.

When he wakes up. When.

Wind nodded, then hesitated, his expression looking as worried as it had when Warriors had first woken up. “...do you think our powers got swapped permanently?”

Ice slipped into Warriors’s stomach, but he shook his head as they began to climb. “No way. if they can get swapped like this, then they can get swapped back.”

They have to.

Wind didn’t say anything further, and they climbed in silence up the stairs. The building didn’t have too many floors, and Warriors did keep in shape, but carrying a teenager up several flights would leave anyone a bit breathless. Especially someone who was still trying to shake off the effects of having his powers stolen and replaced.

No, not replaced, just switched, he firmly reminded himself. We’ll get them back.

Something beside their own footsteps suddenly caught his attention, and Warriors motioned for Wind to stop, listening intently.

His nephew froze, and Warriors pricked his ears.

...Footsteps.

Headed their way.

Warriors hissed under his breath and resumed climbing, Wind hurrying after him. He had no measure for how far off the steps were, but they were getting louder.

He heard a voice above them say something about intruders, and Warriors grabbed Wind, pulling him through a door that led to the floor below the one they were aiming for. The same voice shouted behind them, and he and Wind ran down the sleek hallway they’d found themselves in, picking a random door and trying to run inside.

It was locked though, and Wind gave Warriors a panicked look.

“Use the powers, see if you can pull it open,” Warriors said, and Wind moved in front of him, scrunching his face up as he concentrated. It took him much longer then it would have taken Time, but eventually his eyes began to glow, and markings stretched across his face as he grew in height, and Wind grabbed the handle of the door, giving it a sharp yank.

It broke off in his hand, but the door cracked open, and Wind jammed the handle back in the hole before he and Warriors bolted inside.

Wind carefully shut it, and the two held their breath as footsteps pounded past mere moments later. But apparently the guards didn’t think to check a room they’d thought was locked, and soon enough even Warriors couldn’t hear them anymore.

“I think they’re gone,” Warriors said softly, and Wind exhaled, leaning against the wall as he dropped Time’s powers.

“Good. I didn’t really want to fight them.”

He slid to the floor, looking tired, and Warriors remembered suddenly that Time’s powers were rather wearing on the user. His brother was used to them, so he didn’t often think about it, but Wind had had them for less than an hour.

Warriors sighed and sat beside him, gently pulling Legend off his back and holding him in his arms instead. Legend didn’t react, and Wind looked down at him, worried and tired.

“C’mere,” Warriors said at the look on his face, and Wind scooted closer to him, resting his head on his shoulder. “Chin up, kiddo. We’ll give those guys out there a few minutes to leave, then make our way to the jerky scientist who did this. And make him fix it.”

Wind nodded, a determined look on his face, and they rested in silence for a few minutes, Wind and Warriors catching their breath, Legend still unmoving.

“You really think he’ll be okay?” Wind said quietly.

“I do. A hundred percent.”

Footsteps rang out again, and suddenly there was a pounding on the door, shouting coming from the other side.

Warriors flinched at the noise, and quickly pulled Legend back up onto his back as he stood. Wind jumped to his feet, looking anxiously at the door, and Warriors scanned the room they were in, hoping for something useful.

It looked like they’d just landed in some kind of conference room though, unused at that, and there wasn’t so much as a potted plant they could use to their advantage.

“Warriors?” Wind said in a voice he was obviously fighting to keep level.

“We can take them,” Warriors reassured, ignoring the way each noise from outside made him want to tear his ears off. “We handled those other guys, we’ll be fine.”

A loud bang came from the door, and Warriors flinched, unable to resist covering his ears.

“What’s the plan?” Wind asked, a determined look settling on his face, and Warriors looked around, mind going into overdrive.

That was an excellent question.

The room had no other exits, apart from the giant window behind them, but that wouldn’t end well since they were several stories up. The vent in the ceiling would only work for Wind— Warriors was too big, and Legend would be nearly impossible to pull through. The door was their only way out.

“...Looks like we’ll have to fight our way through.”

Another loud bang came from the door, and Warriors flinched and stood next to Wind, getting into a ready position. He glanced back at Legend, wondering if he should set him somewhere safe, but then Legend moved.

Warriors and Wind both froze.

“Legend?!”

Legend’s eyes shot open with a gasp, and Warriors nearly dropped him, the abrupt noise making his ears ring.

“Legend!” Wind gasped, but neither he nor Warriors had the time to try and talk to him, since the door finally got beaten down.

Guards began to pour in, but before anyone could do anything, Legend made a strange noise, almost choked-sounding. Warriors jerked his head around to look at him, but then Legend let out a loud cry, and a blinding light flashed in the room.

Warriors was sent reeling from both the noise and light, and the guards were stunned by it as well, startled by the brightness. Spots flickered in Warriors’s vision, and he blinked rapidly as they faded, trying to clear it. He gripped tightly to Legend so he wouldn’t fall off of his back, and looked around as his vision finally began to clear.

Then he stared at the other Legend sitting and blinking in front of him, outfit a bright blue.

“Oh my gosh. He got Four’s,” Wind breathed beside him.

Warriors gave a quick look around the room, spotting two more Legends lying prone on the ground, purple and reddish-pink. There was one more on his back still, but Warriors didn’t have time to check the color since the guards had recovered.

They went back to charging at them, and Wind jumped in front, already using Time’s powers to keep them away.

“Keep him safe!” Wind cried, voice echoing, and Warriors nodded, then harshly shook his head, trying to focus past the cacophony of sounds ringing in his ears.

“Don’t need to!” the blue Legend shouted back, then stumbled to his feet, glaring at the guards. “I’m fine!”

His statement was proved wrong seconds later when he immediately toppled back to the ground, and Warriors jogged over to him, offering him a hand up.

The blue Legend took one look and slapped it away. “I don’t need your help freezer-burn!”

“You can’t walk and we’re trying to get out of here, take my hand,” Warriors snapped. He didn’t want to be short with Legend, especially with the state he must be in at the moment, but his head was pounding more by the minute and the sooner they all got out of here the better.

Blue Legend glared, but finally took his hand, allowing Warriors to help him up and support him. They quickly moved over to the purple Legend, who was struggling to sit up, flexing his fingers with a confused look on his face.

“I have a lot of questions,” he mumbled, and Warriors nodded.

“I’m sure you do, but right now we need to get—”

The pounding in Warriors’s head grew to an impossible degree, and he stumbled to a knee, hissing through his teeth as he felt the rest of his powers trying to activate. Oh come on not now, please not—

Warriors’s vision went dark, and his body twisted and cracked itself into a different configuration. His face elongated as his body shifted, fur sprouting up and spreading over him as he held back a cry. It was only a few seconds, but Warriors still had to catch his breath as it finished, his bones aching.

He raised his head, panting, and saw the purple and blue Legends staring at him.

“...I now have even more questions,” the purple Legend said in bewilderment.

Warriors growled, hoping it would be taken as an it’ll have to wait, and gestured for him and the blue Legend to get on his back.

Either they didn’t want to argue with a wolf, or finally realized just how messy the situation was, because neither of them argued as they climbed up onto Warriors’s back. The other Legend was still up there as well, and Warriors made sure all three weren’t going to fall off before he trotted over to the reddish-pink Legend.

This one was shivering as he stared at his hands, chest heaving with frantic breaths, and at Warriors’s soft bark, he jumped, eyes teary.

“Twi? I don’t kn-know what’s going on,” he whimpered, and the blue Legend snorted.

“Join the club! Anyone want to explain why are there four of me? Or why you’re a wolf? And why are you pink?” he yelled, and Warriors couldn’t help his whine, pinning his ears back at the noise.

“I don’t know!” the pinkish one wailed, and Warriors woofed, trying to get him to calm down. Oh, what is it that Twilight always does...

Warriors moved forward and nuzzled him, and the pinkish Legend stilled, sniffling a little as he looked at him.

“Why’s Twilight blueish?” he asked as he gently stroked his fur, and the blue Legend grumbled.

“It’s not Twilight, it’s Warriors, and no I don’t know what’s going on. Get up here.”

The pinkish Legend petted Warriors for a moment longer, then wobbled to his feet, using Warriors to support himself. With all of the Legends accounted for and relatively safe, Warriors turned his attention back to Wind.

Who seemed to be having absolutely no trouble beating up the guards.

One went flying past them, crashing into the table and landing in a motionless heap, and Warriors stared. Wind was fighting with an unusual ferocity, teeth bared and eyes glowing.

He took out three guards at once with a swing of his fist, and snarled when another tried to charge him. Knocking the weapons out of two others hands, he then smacked their heads together, sending them crumpling to the floor.

The single man who was still left standing slowly backed away, then bolted out of the room.

“...Whoa,” one of the Legends whispered.

Warriors cautiously trotted his way over, the room almost weirdly silent now, and Wind turned around and looked at them all, his eyes blazing with light.

“That’s not Dad, is it,” the purple Legend said quietly, and Warriors nodded.

He was silent for a moment, Wind still standing motionlessly in front of them, and Warriors was running wildly through different plans in his mind, wondering what he could do to snap Wind out of the power rush he was doubtlessly experiencing. Why couldn’t he talk as a wolf?!

“Link,” the purple Legend spoke up, and Wind panted as his gaze shifted to him. “Relax, they’re done.”

Wind swallowed, and abruptly dropped Time’s powers, wobbling a little but staying upright. Warriors quickly moved to support him as well, and they all just stood there for a moment, catching their breath and processing what exactly had happened.

“Thanks,” Wind whispered, and Warriors chuffed softly in reply.

“So. Wind is Dad, Warriors is Twilight, and this just keeps getting weirder!” the blue Legend yelled. “Not to mention whatever is up with me!”

“You mean us,” the purple one corrected.

“Ugh whatever!”

“Our powers got swapped,” Wind said, still gulping in air. He looked a little dizzy, and Warriors gently nuzzled him. Wind petted him in return. “The scientist screwed things up with that explosion, if you remember that.”

“Ah... yeah that would explain some things,” the purple one said, and the pinkish one moaned, slipping off of Warriors and burying his head in his knees.

“I don’t want to be four people,” he whimpered.

“Well I don’t either, suck it up,” the blue one snapped. “How is this even possible?!”

“Quiet down, Warriors’s hearing is extra-sensitive,” Wind said with a glare, and though the blue Legend glared back, he did lower his voice when he spoke again.

“How do we fix it?”

“We were working on that,” Wind huffed, toeing a guard’s arm away from him. “We were going to head to the top floor and hope we ran into the others on the way. And make the scientist give our powers back.”

“We got separated, huh?” the purple one asked, and Wind nodded, and explained about the radios being out as well. “Hm. That makes things difficult.”

“You’re telling me,” Wind sighed.

Warriors barked then, catching everyone’s attention. Once he was sure they were all looking, he jerked his head in the direction of the door, giving his nephews a pointed look.

“You want us to get going?” Wind asked, and Warriors nodded. They shouldn’t stick around in one place longer than necessary.

“Good idea. That straggler was probably going for reinforcements,” the purple Legend said with a grimace, and Warriors heard a groan from his back. “Oh, the green one’s waking up.”

“Took him long enough,” the blue Legend grumbled.

Wind moved over to Warriors’ back, and Warriors heard another groan from behind him. “Legend? Er, green Legend? You with us?”

“Y... yeah...” a voice mumbled, sounding pained. “Wait, why... green Legend..?”

“Because I’m blue and he’s purple and that one is pinkish,” the blue Legend said with a smirk.

Warriors couldn’t see the green one’s face, but he knew Legend well enough to guess at the expression he was making.

“And there’s... four of me now... why?” he asked slowly.

“Our powers got swapped. You got Four’s, I have Dad’s, Warriors has Twi’s, and we’re on our way to stop the jerky scientist who did it,” Wind summarized.

“...oh.”

Warriors let out another pointed woof, and Wind nodded. “Right. We need to get going. Are you guys all... okay?”

“I’m fine,” blue Legend said, and slipped off Warriors’s back. Warriors didn’t miss the way he stumbled though, and he frowned. All the colors of Legend that he could see were still pale, and even the purple one, who seemed the most steady of the group, looked rather shaken. Maybe they should leave Legend hidden here while he and Wind went and faced the scientist...

“I know what you’re thinking, you’re not leaving us here,” the purple Legend said, giving Warriors a look.

Warriors huffed, wishing he could argue his point. Unfortunately his head was pounding so much he knew he wouldn’t be able to focus enough to turn back so he could speak, and his skill in that area was still a little shaky anyway. So he settled with giving the purple Legend a small growl in return.

“We’ll need their help, Warriors,” Wind pointed out. “And leaving them here wouldn’t be very safe either. It’s better they come with us.”

Warriors couldn’t help the soft whine he let out at the thought of taking a splintered and weakened Legend into a dangerous fight, but he knew Wind was right. They couldn’t leave him here alone and vulnerable.

Though, would it even technically be leaving him alone since there are four of him?

“He’s right... you’ll need us,” the green Legend said, voice a little stronger, but still weak.

“Darn right. And I want a chance to wail on this jerk,” blue Legend snarled, pounding a fist into his palm. “He can’t just swap our powers around and expect us not to fight back.”

“I want to help too,” the pinkish one chimed in. “And I... don’t want to stay here alone.”

Warriors sighed, and gave them all a nod. All right, all right. I guess we’re all going.

But I don’t like it.

He tilted his head towards the door, and Wind helped the pinkish Legend stand up, the blue and purple ones joining him as they headed towards the door. Warriors felt a hand gripping tight to his fur, and he looked back at the green Legend, his face pale but determined.

Warriors swallowed, and followed the rest of the group back out into the hallway.

Please let this not be a mistake.

[alectoperdita]

Uplifting Spirits by Alecto

Written for the #2024 Kaijou Summer Event

Chapters: 1/2 Fandom: Yu-Gi-Oh! Duel Monsters (Anime & Manga) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Jounouchi Katsuya | Joey Wheeler/Kaiba Seto Characters: Jounouchi Katsuya | Joey Wheeler, Kaiba Seto Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Romance, Light Angst, Japanese Mythology & Folklore, Gods, Kitsune, Foxes, Summer, Summer Romance, Slice of Life

Summary:

The sleepy countryside town was worlds removed from Domino's hustle and bustle, but Katsuya didn't mind it. In fact, he was grateful for the change of pace. House sitting for his grandparents guaranteed a roof over his head for a few months, and after that—well, he'd cross that bridge when he came to it. No reason to push his luck any further, even if he could really use more. He expected a quiet summer, reminiscent of the ones he spent here as a child, before his parents split. But his life changes forever when he meets the local fox god, Seto.

---

Don't miss other fabulous entries for the event in the #2024 kaijou summer tag!

[mitchmotch]

i was commissioned by @achinga to draw vash and milly! they're so silly :)

[bulbabutt]

 Neptune gives them a grin and pulls out his katana. "It seems you have let one enemy slip, Captain Jupiter Jim." Blue lit up excitedly, eyes practically sparkling and his grin nearly splitting his face. He shakes himself and gave the turtle a grin. "Blasted! It's Sir Neptune!" Blue points a finger at him. "The betrayer!"

i really liked this flashback in B.E.A.S.T. by @skylerskyhigh

the idea of rise and 87 turtles acting out a jupiter jim movie together got stuck in my head cuz its so delightful

[lucienarcheron]

Spirit Meets the Bones XXIII

Genre: Angst/Romance/Drama Warnings: Mentions of physical abuse. Please note: There will be heavy subjects discussed that may be triggering.

*This chapter was previously part of chapter 21 (which again, was 30 pages?? insane) and as I have been editing and reuploading the chapters, I have since decided to split chapter 21 into two. //

shoutout to @abruisedmuse for always letting me rant about my babies ♥️

Tagging: @climb-the-mountian / @vanserrass / @zenkindoflove / @animezinglife / @readthelastpaage / @teddyhoneybear / @positivewitch / @krem-does-stuff / @clockwork-ashes / @carolynmezzosoprano / @carnythian / @runningwiththeoceans / @secret-third-thing / @readychilledwine / @goldenmagnolias / @thedarkinmansfield / @mali22 / @maidr-00 / @electromagnetic-waves / @eastofatlanta / @moobell55 / @bibliophiliaxvignette / @devilsfoodcake22 / @moonfawnx / @weesablackbeak / @ladywhilemia / @alohaangels / @eachies / @feysandfeels / @thelovelymadone / @corcracrow / @dawneternal / @sinnerrsworld / @gracie-rosee / @stormycleric / @queenoftheworld1998 / @wolvesnravens / @theeternalstruggle / @the-midnightwriter / @illyrianvalkyrie / @that-golden-lyre / @ladystarrynight

Find it all here.

Eris didn’t let himself overthink it as he finally released her hand from his and only hesitated for a moment before he pulled his shirt over his head, tossing it to the ground. He knew Iris hadn’t meant to make a noise but the sharp intake of breath that had slipped from her mouth had him digging his hands into his thighs, tensing even further. He would not overthink it. His shirt was already off and she’d seen his scars before…even if his back had never looked this bad.

“Quite a masterpiece my father made, didn't he?” he mused quietly then dared to glance over his shoulder to find Iris’s face flushed in anger, her eyes locked on his back.

The High Lord had avoided his face, of course. He only left marks where others couldn’t see and had certainly not held back tonight. Eris knew the scars would line his back, his upper arms, and his neck. He didn’t want to think about his hair and how his father had deliberately kept it down so it would stick in his wounds and make the sting worse.

“Do you think, if I didn’t want your wife here, she wouldn’t be?” his father had whispered to him after the first crack of the whip. “Do you think I couldn’t have her in your position right now if I didn’t want to?”

Eris’s blood had boiled at the mere thought of Iris being subjected to any of this but he kept his mouth shut. He had endured. 

“You’ve gotten too bold, son. You’ve forgotten yourself.”

He had indeed. Eris had forgotten how his father liked to play. But Beron had reminded him over and over again exactly what happens to those who cross the High Lord. Eris had forced his body to shut down and closed off his mind until his father was finished. The only thoughts he allowed himself were of Iris waiting for him.

“I look forward to the day his blood fills these halls.” she muttered. “He deserves nothing but a brutal and painful death.”

The corner of Eris’s mouth curled up. “Bloodthirsty, are you?”

“I am your wife.” she said with a pointed look and a small chuckle escaped him despite how wretched he felt. 

Yes, she was. His lovely little wife.

“Tell me, how pretty do you think your lovely little Iris would look bleeding all over the throne room floor?” his father had whispered. 

His magic had recoiled violently at his father’s threats. Eris had nearly choked on the taste of ash in his mouth.

“I could make you watch. Or…have you be the one to make her bleed. What do you think, son?”

“Eris?”

He blinked himself back into reality to find that his fists had burst into flame again and Iris was watching him patiently. Eris hadn’t even seen or heard her bring a small bowl with a towel and salves, resting them on the nightstand beside them. He cleared his throat and flexed his hands to calm down. “Hm?”

“I need to start cleaning the wounds and wanted to make sure it’s still alright for me to touch you.” she asked and Eris felt himself nearly break at the question.

He forced himself to take a steadying breath and hoped she didn’t see the slight tremble in his hands when he rubbed his forehead. “Yes.” he said. “It’s always alright for you to touch me.” 

She gently squeezed his arm at the words and he tried to hold back the shudder. He wasn’t used to anyone taking care of him. He could heal himself just fine but his wife wanted to help him. His mate wanting to touch him made a world of a difference and Eris knew the thread that he was holding on to was on its last legs. He had to get everything off his chest, all the burdens he carried.

Iris guided him to sit at the corner of the bed and turn his back to her. She worked in silence at first and Eris forced himself to relax as she gently dipped his head forward and began cleaning with a soft cloth. He forced himself to take silent breaths as she touched him. To remind himself that this was not his father putting his hands on him, it was his Iris. Her lovely, lovely hands soothing the broken pieces of him. She touched him with featherlike movements and the way his body was reacting to the softness of her hands alarmed him.

This was pathetic. He was pathetic. 

“Does this…has this happened often?” Iris asked into the silence of their room. “I know you have older scars.”

The cloth slid against the nape of his neck and Eris breathed in deeply through his nose, digging his fingers into his thighs, trying desperately not to throw up. He knew without looking at his wife, that Iris had picked up on it and her touch had gotten even gentler. “You remember when I told you earlier about the High Lord and his ways?” He began tightly and Iris hummed in response. “He leads with fear and a very heavy hand. And I use the term ‘leads’ very loosely.” 

Eris forced himself to swallow as Iris began to pat his back dry and continued.

“He changed Under the Mountain. He was always rough around the edges but…that time awakened a side of my father that he has not returned from. We all did what we had to do to survive those fifty years but he…he became more vicious.” he said quietly. “Before that, he lashed out often and his fists spoke before his mouth ever did but it wasn’t consistent. You weren’t sure what would trigger him. The flogging was saved for special occasions — when we really pissed him off.” Eris couldn’t look at her as he added, “The first time he used it was on my mother. He made my brothers and I all watch.”

Iris froze behind him, hand in midair as revulsion coursed through her.

“It was after Lucien was born,” Eris said, his voice carefully void of emotion. “We were all locked in place by his magic and had to watch her bleed. We had to listen to her scream and could do nothing. None of us were really the same after that, especially my mother.”

“Why?” Iris managed to choke out and Eris looked over his shoulder at his wife.

“Monsters don’t need reasons but…” he turned away again and with his voice barely above a whisper said, “My mother had an affair and my father found out. Lucien…is not my father’s son.”

Iris blinked rapidly. “W-what?”

“My mother met a male that she fell in love with before she met my father. Her family decided power was more important than their daughter’s happiness and married her off to my father anyway,” he said, his voice dull as he glanced at his wife again before his gaze dropped to his hands. “Their relationship was…a checkbox that was fulfilled. And things were fine. Until they weren’t.”

Iris forced herself to move, to place the cloth down on the nightstand and pick up the salves instead. “What happened?” she asked as she sat behind him once more. 

Eris tensed as she began to apply the ointment, forcing himself to breathe through his nose again and calm his thoughts. “The male she loved saved her during the first war and they reconnected.” he continued. “Then the affair began on and off for years. Until my father found out after Lucien was born and nothing about her was the same afterward.”

Iris bit her lip, trying to hold back the nausea she was feeling as tension lined Eris’s back again, his shoulders stiff. “My mother was so full of light and love. A firecracker with magic that almost rivaled my father’s. She was…happy. Until that day.” Eris said and dread filled Iris’s chest when Eris pulled away to meet her gaze. “After he was done spilling her blood in the throne room that day, he took her away and they were gone for days. We did not know where they went or what he did to her then but when they came back, no fire was left in the Lady of Autumn. Nothing of who my mother had been was left.”

Iris’s heart was nearly beating out of her chest as the room heated once more. She watched Eris’s knuckles turn white from how hard he was clenching them. “Later on, after my mother remembered how to speak and to look at me without flinching,” he growled softly and Iris’s heart shattered further. “She told me everything. About her affair. About what happened. That he had used her fire against her. That he had beat her, hurt her, and burned her so badly, that he made her fear the fire that made her who she was. She is terrified of it because of how badly he made it hurt.” He let out a breath full of rage. “Since then he has never stopped belittling her and breaking her down. Hasn’t stopped doing everything he can to make her small and weak and prey.”

“And I hate him.” he snarled darkly and Iris felt the bed heat below her as she looked over at Eris, his eyes ablaze. “I hate him with every atom in my body. I loathe him and loathe the life he has forced us to live. I cannot stand the sight of him or the sound of his voice or feeling his eyes on me. I hate that he even breathes the same air as my mother. I hate that he uses my mother against my brothers and me.” Iris watched his shoulders rise and fall as he took shallow breaths. “But most of all, I hate that he’s still alive when his final breaths are a symphony I have been waiting to hear for years.”

Iris blinked and in the next moment, their whole chamber was in flames.

She gasped, her hands dropping to her lap as fire covered every inch of their room. She looked to Eris who had his eyes closed, his head tilted as frustration dripped from every inch of him. Her eyes turned to scan the room, feeling the heat and smelling the smoke. Though none of the flames touched her body, Eris was completely aflame.

“We survived fifty years of darkness beneath that fucken mountain for the nightmare to continue within this forest. He is a plague and the dream of his death is the only thing that keeps me going.”

Silence fell between them as Iris watched his fire burn throughout the room. She wondered what would happen if he did let it melt everything away. What would happen when he eventually unleashed?

“Does he know?” Iris finally asked. “That you have all this inside you?”

“He knows. Everyone knows. I will be the next High Lord.” Eris said quietly. “My power has been brewing for years and everyone can sense it. I have all this rage and all this fire but I’ve had to hold back.” He ran his tongue over his teeth. “His death has always been marked for my mother and until she is ready to get out, we cannot make a move. We endure and play my father’s games…but every now and then, I need to let it out.”

And with those words, the flames flickered out in the room. Iris’s eyes surveyed everything and found...nothing was damaged. Nothing was ruined — only a lingering smell of smoke.

Turning back to him, Iris found him staring at her, smoke coming off him in waves at what remained of his rage. He blinked at her, his expression blank as his exhaustion stared back at her. 

“Did I frighten you?” he asked quietly as she watched him. “I’ve shown you quite a bit of my dark side lately.” 

But Iris was not frightened. Not in the least. She felt — she felt seen.

She shook her head and stood carefully, returning the healing ointments to the small table beside them. How did she explain to him that there was nothing frightening about what he said? That all she felt was understood? 

Finding her way back next to him, Iris sat with little space between them and color bloomed on her face when Eris’s eyes dipped to the inch between their bodies. She let her hand slide up and gently, with a tenderness she knew they both needed, let her finger delicately trace his face.

“I’m not afraid,” she said and then let her hand continue to slide up, gently musing the hair she knew he would later mourn. “I am only enraged for you.”

A heartbeat passed then Eris shuddered beneath her touch, a sigh of relief fluttering through the whole room and Iris couldn’t help the urge to lean in and kiss him. She did so tenderly, a caress of a kiss that Eris sighed into.

He couldn’t bring himself to touch her yet, to wrap his arms around her when he was still so furious. He allowed himself to trace the material of her robe beneath his fingers instead. 

“I told you there was so much to tell you.” Eris said quietly and Iris pulled her hand away to rest in his empty one, the corner of her mouth curling up.

“And I told you I want to know.” she replied. “So tell me. Get it off your chest.”

Though exhaustion had melted his bones, Eris knew he needed to keep talking. He needed to get this all off his chest. And then he hoped he’d get to spend the rest of the night kissing her. 

Eris forced himself to breathe deeply and slowly rolled his shoulders back, the tightness of his skin as it healed fueling his anger. “My brothers and I excel in pretending to hate and want to kill each other.” He glanced at Iris. “We each control a territory and let my father believe what he sees about where our loyalty lies but do what we can to keep our lives moving. The two brothers who tried to kill Lucien after Jesminda were the two who were most like my father. The rest of us were not sorry to see them go.” 

Iris watched him curiously. “Your brothers…they are not as terrible as I’m supposed to believe, are they?”

“I personally think they’re all piles of shit but no, they’re not,” Eris said and the corner of his mouth ticked up at Iris’s amused expression. “We’re not technically close but we have an understanding. They’re…trying to survive.”

Iris nodded slowly, her eyes falling to her hands in his and the way his thumb was still caressing her palms. “Do your brothers know about Lucien?”

Eris pursed his lips before answering. “My mother…preferred for everyone’s sake, that they stay in the dark about it for as long as possible but they needed to know. We had to be on the same page for her sake. So with her permission, I told them. But the only people in this court who know Lucien is not a Vanserra aside from my parents are my three brothers.” he said and met her gaze. “And now you.”

Iris nodded slowly, a strange sense of pride filling her chest that Eris was sharing this with her. That he trusted her when he trusted very few. She felt that strange tug in her ribcage once more.

“Things are never truly what they seem with you Vanserras, are they?” she said with a small huff of laughter and Eris couldn’t help but scoff.

“Nothing is ever what it seems,” he said. “Except my father. He’s always been a piece of shit.”

Iris chuckled and she couldn’t quite place the emotions she felt as she watched him. She saw the exhaustion, the heavy weight suffocating him. She hadn’t forgotten how he’d told her how often he mediated between his parents. How many times had he done it for others as well? How often had he been the one to catch the brunt of his father’s wrath? 

Eris shifted next to her and it made her focus on him once more, his expression tight and she braced herself for whatever he would say next. 

“Lucien’s father is also why he and Elain live in the Day Court.” Eris said slowly. “Courtesy of the High Lord.”

Iris blinked rapidly. “Oh.”

Eris nodded and waited for a heartbeat as it clicked for Iris. 

“Helion?” Iris’s shocked whisper had the corner of Eris’s mouth curl up before it fell once more.

“The High Lord of the Day Court is my brother’s father, yes.” Eris began then swallowed hard before continuing, “He is also…my mother’s mate.”

Iris’s shocked silence filled the room. “Oh gods.”

Everything suddenly made so much sense to Iris. The High Lord’s contempt towards Lady Enya. His reaction whenever Lucien was brought up. 

“Oh gods.” she said again and Eris’s mouth went into a thin line. “How did your father find out?”

“When Lucien was born…no one thought anything of it. He looked like any other baby.” Eris said quietly. “Until one day…he started to glow whenever he laughed. Or whenever he was fussy. It didn’t take my father long to figure it out after that. Everything went downhill from there.” He looked down at their hands. “My mother…she has only ever stayed for her sons. So we wouldn’t be left completely at his mercy growing up. And my father knew this. He spared no chance in breaking us all down for her choice.”

“That’s why your father did what he did to Lucien.” Iris said and Eris nodded solemnly.

“Once he knew Lucien wasn’t his, it wasn’t hard for him to differentiate his treatment. He hated looking at him. Hated speaking to him. My father couldn’t outright disown him because it would bring questions and it wasn't like the High Lord would ever admit his wife had an affair. And birthed a son from another High Lord? He would never.” Eris said, scowling. “He knew he could treat my mother the way he does because she broke it off with Helion. For us. For Helion. So there wouldn’t be some kind of crisis between the two courts. She’s been suffering so others won’t.”

Eris swallowed and then looked at Iris. “They’re mates.” he whispered. “And he let her go because she chose us. She chose her children. But she has always wanted him and he has always wanted her.” Eris’s eyes fell down to their joined hands, his shoulders dropping. “He has never stopped loving her. Helion may pretend he hasn’t been waiting for her all these years with his dalliances and carefree attitude but he will always wait for her. Even when he doesn't want to.”

Iris’s heart broke for Lady Enya and for the High Lord she didn’t know. It broke for the son who knew everything and had to watch his mother fade away and his father become a monster.

“That must’ve been so hard for your mother.” she said quietly. “After all these years…” Iris shook her head. “When did Lucien find out? And Helion?”

“A few years ago.” Eris continued with a sigh. “After the war, something…something in my mother changed. Maybe it was the war or maybe her capacity to deal with my father had finally reached its limits or maybe she realized her sons had only suffered watching her suffer and she was done waiting but…” He shook his head. “I saw a small spark of who she was return and she decided she wanted Lucien to know.”

Iris scrunched up her nose and then shook her head.“I’m sure that went well.” 

“Considering I had to be the one to tell him because he wouldn’t set foot here? It went great.” Eris said with a snort so like his usual self that Iris couldn't help the small smile. “My mother wrote him a letter. And I had to watch Lucien have a fucken meltdown once he read it.”

Iris shook her head again. “You can’t blame him, Eris. He endured all that he did with a piece of shit that wasn’t even his father,” she said and squeezed Eris’s hand. “Who knows what kind of life he would’ve had if he had known about Helion sooner? I’m sure it was hard for you both.”

“It wasn’t as hard as the time I had to be the one to tell Helion.” 

Iris’s brows went up but she held off on saying a word as Eris’s shoulder tensed again. He had been sharing with her so easily, so openly, she didn’t want to say anything to have him shut down. 

“What happened?” she asked quietly and Eris sighed.

“I told you how my mother started to…come back to us,” Eris said and Iris nodded. “Well. Lucien wasn’t the only one she wrote a letter to.”

Eris shifted, running a hand through his hair while his other hand stayed wrapped in hers. “I didn’t read it, of course, but I know she told him. And I know she told Lucien that she’d let Helion know but it was up to the two of them to connect if they wanted to,” he said quietly. “She hoped they would but didn’t want to push it. She felt awful enough to have hidden it all these years and then to not be able to tell them herself…” Eris fell silent with a grimace. His mother’s face had rarely been dry from how often she cried those days.  

“How did Helion take it?” Iris asked softly.

“I have never seen someone break down the way the High Lord of Day did that day.” Eris shook his head again with a frown. “I think he was already at a breaking point and had suspected something but having that confirmation was the final straw. It was messy. For Lucien. For Helion. For my mother.” he said. “There was a lot of resentment. A lot of anger. A lot of hurt. Especially because my mother can’t speak to either of them in person…she dropped this tragic surprise on them and essentially put them in a position to deal with it without her.” Eris waved a hand. “Even if it’s not by choice, it…was hard for everyone.”

“Including you, I’m sure,” she said and squeezed his hand again. “Being the in-between.”

“I was more worried my father would find out again. What would he do to her this time if he found out she’d reached out to the one male she never stopped loving?” he said quietly then shrugged with a deep sigh. “But they have a code. She writes him letters and he replies.” 

Iris felt emotion swell in her at the Lady of Autumn and the love she never stopped holding on to. “The letters she writes to Lucien include a letter for Helion, don’t they?”

Eris let out a harsh laugh. “It’s reckless after all these years but...I see her face every time she hands me a letter and whenever he sends one back. I’ve watched her wait and suffer for all these years so she could find her way back to herself. And Helion…” His expression was tight as he continued. “He would worship the ground she walks on. He would give her everything that she’s ever wanted and a life that she deserves but we have had to watch her stay here because of us. We had to watch her die little by little each year and could do nothing.” His voice broke at the final word and Eris forced himself to swallow before continuing. “He is a better male than I could ever be. Because if my mate was suffering the way my mother has, I wouldn’t have left a person alive. I would’ve razed the whole fucken continent. I don’t know how he did it. How he still does it after they’ve reconnected.”

It took a moment for Eris to be able to continue. He sighed. “Helion has always been respectful of her choice. Even when he resented it. Even when he hated it.” he said. “Their bond…I don’t think it was ever really rejected because deep down, neither of them wanted that. I think it’s only been strained all these years.”

“And now here they are…” Iris mused quietly, her mind drifting to the conversation about mates she had with Elain earlier. “A mating bond so strong even years apart couldn’t diminish how right it is. It’s a beautiful thing for those lucky enough to find it.”

Eris tensed at her words, his heart skipping a beat. Would she still feel this way about him when he told her? Would she consider herself lucky knowing the kind of shit he had to deal with? He rubbed a trembling hand over his face and continued. 

“My mother is ready to leave. I’m just waiting on when,” he murmured. “I’ve been helping her reconnect with her magic and it’s making her stronger, but it’s been hard when she’s so fucken terrified of it.” Iris squeezed his hand and he offered her a thin smile. “She’s always been scared to leave us but my brothers and I can handle the fallout now. We couldn’t before but we will now. We want her to get the fuck out of here. We’ve had enough and she’s most definitely had enough.”

“And you’re all…fine with her going to the Day Court?” Iris asked quietly.

“Yes. A part of me will always resent Helion the way I sometimes resent my mother for all these years of having to deal with this. Even if the fault ultimately always lies with my father.” Eris said tightly. “This could end very badly but once Helion claims her publicly as his mate, my father will have to let her go.”

“Will he, though?” Iris asked, unease creeping into her chest. “What if he invokes the Blood Duel?”

Iris felt the shift in his mood at her question and watched him carefully as he slid his hand from hers and stood. His shoulders tensed even further and Iris felt the room heat up once more. Her stomach dropped as he ran both hands through his hair, his breathing turning shallow again.

“He won’t have a fucken choice. A mating bond trumps everything else.” he growled softly. “But if Beron invokes the blood duel, I can promise that it will only end in agony for him. I will do everything I can to ensure it, even if it means handing Helion the spear to plant in his chest myself. I will do anything. Anything to have him gone and be rid of this misery. I just need him gone without trying to take my mother with him.”

“You said your mother wants the killing blow.” Iris said carefully and she saw his fists clench. “Will that…be possible?”

“She will be ready for it regardless, but we will have to see how the events unfold.” he said in a strained voice. “Helion has enough pent-up rage in him towards my father that I wouldn’t be surprised if he killed him with one well-aimed blow.”

Iris opened her mouth but Eris resumed pacing with another shake of his head and continued.

“Elain’s visions keep telling me that pieces are moving and all we can do is be prepared for whatever is coming next,” he said. “The problem is there are too many things out of my control. There are too many pieces on the fucken chess board and I am — I am going to lose my fucken mind if things keep piling up.” 

Iris watched as he took another breath and fisted then flexed his hands. “You don’t have to handle all this alone.” she said and stood, watching the grimace he made at her words. “You can’t stay like this when you have people willing to help you.”

“The more people that help me, the more people get hurt.” Eris snapped and Iris frowned at his tone as he kept pacing. “I can’t — I can’t keep letting that happen.”

“Eris,” she chided gently. “You can’t stop —”

But Eris let out a snarl and Iris blinked to find him aflame once more.

“Don’t.” he said. “I can’t stop because the next person that he’ll hurt if I let one thing slip is you and that will bring hell upon us all.” His snarl shook the room and Iris felt herself tense. “Because if my father touches you. If he so much as looks at you wrong, I will kill him and probably get killed in the process, and then everything we’ve been enduring for years will go up in flames from my stupidity.”

Iris’s face flushed. The anger and shame she had felt earlier had found its way again and the feeling seeped down her body as he stood across from her. “I’m not asking you to kill your father for me, Eris. I’m asking you to ease some of the things you’re carrying so you don’t keep doing this to yourself.” she snapped. “You’re lashing out at me right now while all I’m trying to do is understand what happened with you and find a way to help.” 

Eris was breathing hard once more and she braced herself as he walked over to her, his body burning. His hand curled around the nape of her neck and he pulled her flush against him. “I know you’re trying to understand and I’m trying to help you understand how fucked up this all is and how much I have hated every single thing about myself and my life for the longest time. That I have always been a thing my father uses to punish everyone for everything because I can’t stomach him doing it to anyone else.” He took a breath as Iris placed a hand gently on his chest, blinking rapidly. “The only reason my father isn’t dead yet is because I need to make sure it’s a fight I can win. Because if I die, then everyone else is left dealing with him. My mother. My brothers. You.”

His grip tightened on her as he continued, his tone almost frantic. “I’m telling you all these things so you understand that I am fucken terrified of what comes next because things have changed for me and the stakes are even higher and now I am a thing that has someone to leave behind. Someone who will be brutally hurt just because you’re linked to me in a way no one else will ever be.” he said as his wild eyes locked on her wide ones. “I have laid down everything at your feet. All of my armor. Everything that I am and you want to know why? You asked me what had changed earlier. What happened to me.”

“Eris, you need to breathe,” she said even as her heart rate went wild, a hand clenching his arm. “I am listening but I need you to breathe.”

But Eris shook his head and before Iris could open her mouth to say anything else, his expression fell and the grip on the back of her neck tightened once more. “You.” his whisper broken and his eyes watched her wildly, wrapping her in his arm as his flame licked every inch of her. He held her to him tightly, as if afraid she would disappear and slip through his trembling fingers. “You. You. Tell me you see it. Tell me you fucken feel it.”

Iris stared at him. She stared and stared and stared and that feeling, that tug she had felt in her ribcage earlier, seemed to intensify. What he was saying — what he was insinuating. It had crossed her mind only briefly, for one hopeful moment earlier, and yet — here he was, saying — he was saying —

Something had been different since that kiss. Something had been different about him since the moment she met him. 

“I — I felt you.” Iris found herself saying then swallowed. “When you were gone and took long. I don’t know how else to describe it but…I felt you.”

“You did?” he asked, nodding. “And what did it feel like?”

“A tug.” she said slowly. “Right in my ribcage. I feel it right now.”

Eris laughed a hollow laugh as he watched her beautiful face, her expression shifting as her mind processed what he was saying. 

And Iris blinked. “I kissed you.”

“You did.”

“And everything — it felt so right.”

“You said things were always intense between us.” he said quickly. “That we couldn’t fight the pull we felt towards each other despite the way our relationship started.”

“Yes.”

“You kissed me.” he said almost desperately. “And every single thing in my life suddenly made sense. Every part of me made of stone suddenly became covered in you. Like ivy, wrapping its way around me whether I liked it or not. It was something I had never thought would be mine or something I deserved and yet somehow, this is happening. This is real.” 

Iris felt her body start to tremble at his words, the feeling inside her chest unfurling as every moment they had shared together flashed through her mind. Nothing about their relationship had made sense and yet, the two of them seemed to have been destined to find each other. Everything about them, Eris and Iris, fit together like puzzle pieces they hadn’t known were missing. She hadn’t been able to stop him from planting roots within every part of her mind and body, long before she realized what was happening — even when she had wanted nothing to do with him. 

He had always been hers and she, his.

Iris stared into his eyes, watching the hope mingle with the desperation he felt, and her hands slacked at her sides. She had spent her life adrift. Alone. She had spent her life barely mattering to anyone at all. Forgotten. And now, in a twist of fate, Iris had found something she hadn’t realized she was even worthy of.

Eris Vanserra had appeared in her life and what she had assumed would be a walk to the gallows, a nightmare like the one he had just returned from, was anything but. He was anything but.

He was her beginning, her middle, and would be her forever. 

They had both been lost only to be found within one another, the red string of fate guiding their path. 

“This is real.” she finally said and Eris nodded, his gaze never leaving hers.

“This is fucken real.” he said hoarsely. “This is very fucken real.”

Every glance. Every touch. Every moment that had angered her and made her laugh. Every moment that had made her feel. It had all been leading her here. 

It had been leading her home. 

Iris took a sharp breath and finally whispered the words, “You’re — you’re my mate.”

[moonshine-nightlight]

Nothing's Wrong with Dale - Part Thirty

It’s been a week, but you’re fairly certain your fiancé accidentally got himself replaced by an eldritch being from the Depths. Deciding  that he’s certainly not worse than your original fiancé, you endeavor to keep the engagement and his new non-human state to yourself.

However, this might prove harder than you originally thought.

Fantasy, arranged marriage, malemonsterxfemalereader, M/F

AO3: Nothing’s Wrong with Dale Chapter 30

[Part One][Part Two] [Part Three] [Part Four] [Part Five] [Part Six] [Part Seven] [Part Seven.5][Part Eight] [Part Nine] [Part Ten]  [Part Eleven] [Part Twelve]  [Part Thirteen] [Part Fourteen] [Part Fifteen] [Part Sixteen] [Part Seventeen] [Part Eighteen] [Part Nineteen] [Part Twenty] [Part Twenty-One] [Part Twenty-Two][Part Twenty-Three] [Part Twenty-Four][Part Twenty-Five] [Part Twenty-Six] [Part Twenty-Seven] [Part Twenty-Eight] [Part Twenty-Nine] Part Thirty [Part Thirty-One] [Part Thirty-Two] [Part Thirty-Three] [Part Thirty-Four]

You blink at the woman for a few long seconds, trying to comprehend her words. “Excuse me? Did you just say Lord Dale has called off the wedding? Our wedding?”

“I…” The maid is at a loss for words in the face of your incredulity. She swallows. “Yes, my lady.”

There’s a rushing sound in your ears, like wind roaring. You stay perfectly still, your face blank as you try to think. That is not possible. It’s not. How could he do something like that? Why would he? You’d dealt with so many surprises, jumped over every obstacle, and handled every challenge. Why instead did you feel as though you had survived a trip at sea only to find your ship crashing into the pier while within sight of home? You feel numb.

Perhaps you are making some sort of expression because the woman grows paler. “I’m sure it is simply pre-wedding jitters, my lady,” she hurries to reassure you. “Lord Archibald will have him seeing sense before you can blink.”

“Best to continue getting you ready,” Ms Dearden says as she lays out your corded underskirts. You appreciate her practiced dismissal even if you fear there’s more at play here than she’s aware of. “Young men these days always get cold feet. He’ll be over it soon enough.”

“Yes, of course.” Your own voice seems distant to your ears, but your words are enough for Callalily’s maid to resume work on your hair. At some point she finishes and you’re helped into your underskirts. Your mind stays blank as you try to conceive of reasons for him to do such a thing beyond tiring of you and this whole facade. Distant imaginings of what your life would be like without the wedding crumble to fog. 

You’ve been so committed and focused on today that the news feels nonsensical more than alarming. How could the wedding not be happening? Did you just speak with your sisters? Has every moment of the last few weeks been in service of it? Are you not now suddenly dressed in your lovely yellow wedding gown? The person in the hand mirror looks as though they are marrying today.

The door flings open and Steward Bilmont hurries in despite the reproach from the women in the room at both his presence and the dramatics of his entrance. 

You only need to look at his face to understand that the situation with Dale has not improved since the first maid broke it to you. He opens his mouth to speak, but something about your countenance, or perhaps your lack of reaction, must inform him that you know something of the situation.

“I don’t know what’s gotten into him, my lady,” Bilmont says, wringing his hands. “He’s not been this unreasonable in weeks. Lord Archibald has refused to put a stop to anything, but Lord Dale refuses to see reason. He’s barred the door to his chambers after Lord Archibald wouldn’t accept his words.”

“I see.” With careful fingers you put down the small hand mirror and begin to stand, adjusting your skirts as you do so.

It’s Miss Adir who asks, her voice filled with trepidation, “My lady?” 

“Excuse me,” you say, an undeniable calm spreading through your veins, as you cross the room towards the door. 

“Where are you going?” Steward Bilmont asks as you brush by him.

You realize your decision as you reply, “To speak with my betrothed. Please continue preparations without me.”

The maid who brought the news is the one who speaks up, as your hand closes around the door knob. “My lady, I don’t think—”

“Continue without me,” you cut her off, eyes snapping, because finally some emotion has made itself known to you and it is anger. You’ve worked so hard and been through so much. Dale thinks he can just put an end to it all mere hours before you’re to be wed? No.

“My lady…” Bilmont tries, his hand settling gently on your arm. He’s almost wincing, the look in his eyes resigned. As though he thought everything had been going too well and this was the inevitable shoe that dropped. 

You shake his hand off. “If Lord Dale wishes to call off our wedding,” some of that anger finally bleeds into your voice and you see the surprise in Bilmont’s eyes, “he shall tell me so to my face. Get out of my way.”

He obligingly steps back, hands hanging back at his sides. You don’t bother to observe the others' reactions, opening the door quickly, and letting it shut heavily behind you.

You walk briskly down the hall and towards the Northridge family bedrooms. No one else, servant or noble alike, crosses your path as you head that way. Not until you’re closer. You hear shouting and decide to peek around the corner, wanting to get the scope of the situation you’re walking into. 

“—utter foolishness!” Grandfather is shouting at Dale’s closed door with two guards flanking him. He bangs his fist on the door for good measure. “Do you wish for me to find your Grandmother? I’ve kindly not informed her of your idiocy, but I shall have to if you persist!”

There’s no reply from the other side of the door, not even a sound. Grandfather rattles the door knob to no avail, but doesn’t try anything further with the solid wood door.

He groans in frustration and turns to the guards. “I want to know the instant he leaves this room and if he does not within the hour, I shall have to inform Lady Deidre as promised.”

“Yes, my lord,” the guards chorus looked properly cowed by the threat, even if it isn't aimed at them.

Grandfather turns dramatically enough you see more of the original Dale in him than you thought possible and storms off. The guards take up posts on either side of the door, not baring it, but still present enough that you stay where you are. You’ve no desire to speak to them or to shout at Dale with them nearby.

You frown, unsure why but something doesn’t sit right with you the longer you look down the silent corridor. It seems…empty, or perhaps still, in a manner that makes you feel as if you are not where you should be. Not that your presence is unwanted, but as if you are lost. 

You study the scene more closely and find your eyes drifting towards the bright sunlight streaming through the windows and the faint light coming from under Dale’s bedroom door. After a second, you realize what is wrong with the light and shadow—both are completely still. Before, the maid had said both of them were shouting and you’ve never heard this Dale raise his voice except in a physical fight. If he were truly upset, or at least strongly emotional, there should be some evidence in the shadows, some unnatural movement.

You chance another glance down the corridor, but it looks utterly ordinary. As your gaze sweeps from further down where Grandfather disappears around a corner and then back closer to yourself they snag on the stairway down towards the studies and other meeting rooms. There’s no movement, but the shadows are deep and dark. There are no windows there, that stairway is more utilitarian than for show like the grand staircases in other places throughout the house, so that’s plenty of reason for the darkness, but…

You move as quietly and fluidly as you can towards that staircase, hoping not to attract the guards notice. You don’t want to talk to anyone except Dale. You don’t know what Grandfather would try to say to you given he is clearly trying to keep this news contained. He stopped attempting to prove anything with you since the attack, but you’re still not completely sure of what he thinks of you. Keeping your skirts just high enough off the floor and grateful your house slippers are soft and quiet, you make it to the stairs without the guards' notice.

Your footsteps are nearly silent as you hastily make your way down the flight of stairs. You’ve never given much thought to the amount of light that fills it, but surely it wasn’t this dark in previous mornings. Or is that simply your imagination? Is it just your hope that it means you can find Dale and talk some sense into him?

You peek out at the bottom, looking for anyone in this area of the house who might question one of the couple getting married wandering about alone. No one is present. An eerie silence permeates the corridor and like the staircase, it seems darker than it should be. You step out, eyes on the window that lets light in, but seems outnumbered by shadows.

Dale’s personal study is off a smaller side corridor from this hallway, in its own small tower. You think the upper floor might connect to his bedroom. Then there is the underground room, the real reason you believe the original Dale had requested his current quarters and this study.

There’s an oppressive aura that thickens the air as soon as you turn the corner and it builds the closer you get to his study’s door. You imagine that's partially responsible for the lack of others in this area, which in some ways you’re grateful for. You also manage to draw on its presence as fuel for your anger at such obvious overflow from his nature. The shadows under the door ripple, as if it were night and a lighted candle was guttering in the breeze, unremarkable except for the fact that it's closer to noon.

Cautiously, you reach out for the door knob. Grasping it firmly in your hand, you find that it's not locked as you had feared. The knob turns without effort and the door swings inside to reveal Dale’s study. The flickering shadows solidify as you step inside, eyes searching for Dale. 

You find him quickly enough, a trunk half packed of books next to him. Somehow you don’t think they are being gathered for your wedding trip. He’s by the window, back to you, but you can see tension in every line of his body. All the breath desserts you at the sight of him. All the words you could say dry up in your mouth. The door shuts with an audible click behind you.

“WOULD—” Dale whirls, his frustrated voice cuts off the second his eyes land on you. Abruptly all the anger in his face leaves him. Instead he practically deflates, merely gaping at you. To your surprise, he spins away from you. “What are you doing here?” he asks, voice pitched higher than usual. “I thought we were not to see each other until—” He doesn’t finish his sentence, his shoulders slumping.

You take another few steps into the room and clear your throat. “Yes, well, I’m fairly certain that the betrotheds laying eyes on one the morning of the wedding is of no consequence if there isn’t to be a wedding, hm?” You’re grateful that you’ve rediscovered some of your anger and your frustration to draw on for the strength to weather this conversation.

“I…” Dale can’t seem to think of an adequate response even as he refuses to turn around. 

Your heart constricts in your chest at this confirmation. “So it’s true?” You hadn’t realized how much you were hoping despite all the evidence to the contrary that once you found Dale he’d explain how it was all one big misunderstanding. “You’ve called off our wedding.”

He leans his head against the wall and says nothing.

“Dammit, Dale!” The words jump out of you, louder than you’ve ever spoken to Dale. “Look at me,” you say, your voice breaking. “If you’re going to do this, you’re going to look at me as you do so.”

Slowly, like a man condemned, he turns. Dale swallows, looking profoundly guilty. He murmurs your name, but you refuse to let his soft voice sway you and merely stare straight back at him. “Why? Why are you doing this?”

“My reasons are complex, but unchangeable.” His words are rote and his voice wooden. You imagine he said something like this to Grandfather. “I apologize.”

“I don’t understand,” you say as plainly as you can, tired of talking around topics and pretending to be sure when you aren’t. “Complex? How complex can they be that you won’t even enumerate them for me now. Please explain, justify, anything.” Dale just stands there and that anger surges through your blood. You take another step forward, your voice as stern as you can make it, “You owe it to me. Tell me why you are calling off our future.”

“I…” Dale starts before his blue eyes meet yours squarely for the first time since you arrived and he appears to shrink in on himself. He sighs a deep sigh, looking weary. “I could say any number of reasons, but you’re correct. They’re just excuses.” He pulls himself back up and braces himself. “In truth, I simply cannot bear to deceive you any longer.”

“Deceive me? About what? What can you not have told me that would cause our wedding to be canceled?” Panicked, wild scenarios begin to fly through your mind. “Did you marry someone else on your travels and they’ve arrived today? Have you been caught smuggling? Are you a wanted man? Did something happen this morning?”

Dale looks taken aback. He blinks at you. “Wha-? No, no—none of that.”

You feel some exasperation mixing with your frustration as he continues to talk around whatever he’s worried about. You’ve done this dance every day for weeks now and you are so, so tired of it. “Then what? I thought,” you swallow, hating how small your voice has gotten. You clear your throat and try again. “I thought you wanted this—wanted our marriage.”

“I do!” The words burst out of him, surprising you. How can he say so when he’s the one who is ruining it. He continues more quietly, as if the volume was what shocked you, “I do, but you don’t know…” He trails off again, looking away.

“Then tell me,” you plead, taking another step closer. Only another step or two and you could touch him. You could try in vain to keep him from leaving you. 

“I,” he starts, looking at you and away again. “A few weeks ago, there was a… I mean to say that I,” he begins again, obviously having difficulty getting the words out. At least you can see he’s truly making the attempt this time. “Well, not me, but he…” Is this something the original Dale had done that was coming back to ruin everything? That was what you hoped for, in a strange way, because at least it would mean that this Dale still might want you. That whatever prompted this was out of his control. That maybe you could fix whatever it was. “I care about you,” he finally says, his eyes bright, bright blue as they meet yours squarely once more and your breath catches at the genuine sentiment in his voice, “more than I ever thought I would, but I’m not who you think I am.” He takes another deep breath and says bluntly, “Dale of Northridge died weeks ago and then I possessed his body.”

Everything seems to screech to a halt as he stares at you, his eyes pleading with you to understand. Aside from the relief at finally hearing him say it out loud, you don’t. Understand, that is. “Yes…” you say slowly, nodding. “And…?” You’re still waiting for him to complete the thought. To tell you what he’s been building to. Prompting him seemed to help before. “Did you eat someone a few weeks ago and have just now been discovered? Did something you forgot come back to cause problems now?”

“What?” Now Dale looks nearly as confused as you feel. It makes you want to scream in frustration because he’s the one doing this—he has to be the one that knows what is going on. “No, I don’t think you understand.” He talks more slowly, like you’re not hearing his words right. “I’m not human, I’m a demon.” He once again appears to brace himself for your reaction, but you still don’t get it.

Maybe you aren’t hearing him right, but that’s never happened before. Is this some new demonic power or collateral influence? “Yes, I know,” you reply just as deliberately. You enunciate as you ask, “But what did you do that means we can not be wed?”

“You must not be comprehending my words.” He seems to be aware of the issue, getting frustrated himself. He runs his fingers through his long dark hair before he takes on a consoling tone, “I know it is a great shock to find out your fiance is now a demon—”

“What?” You stare at him because is that what he thinks you are getting caught on? You put your hands on your hips and can’t say anything except, “Of course, I know you’re a demon.”

“What?” He leans back, eyes wide. “No.” Dale shakes his head. “How could you know that?”

“Did you think you’ve been doing an exemplary job of hiding it?” The response bursts out of you before you can help it. Because no, this cannot be the conversation you’re having. It can’t be. “How about we begin with how the human Dale was obviously interested in demonology and black market dealing. How excited he was the night before this,” you gesture to Dale’s entire body, “happened. How sick you were after and your memory issues. The fact that you occasionally have more eyes than is proper and your influence on shadows and the claws. You’ve had a tail at times, for stars’ sake!”

“Oh.” Dale’s voice is small and his eyes big as he stares down at you, clearly at a loss for words.

You’ve seemingly found a well of words with which to rebuke him. “Do you know how many times I’ve had to conceal your nature?” You take a step forward, unable to contain your ire and incredulity. He takes one back. “It is not as easy as you must believe to distract people from wriggling shadows and additional eyes and all the strange things you say. Did you really believe I didn’t know? That you were hiding it that well?”

“Well, I don’t know.” Dale sounds more flustered than you’ve ever heard him. “Humans are so oblivious most of the time!”

“Not that oblivious!”

Dale throws his hands up. “Well, no one’s instigated a purge, have they? And Grandfather and Grandmother don’t know, do they?”

Your heart rate is slowly returning to normal and you grudgingly admit, “No. Although Grandfather did think I’d cursed you for a couple weeks.”

“He thought you cursed me?” 

“Yes!” you reply, exasperated that he didn’t even know. “After the hunt, where you did light knows what with the boar, he became convinced that I had cursed you or ensnared you with my ‘potions’. Perhaps while you were still recovering from your supposed illness. As a supposed practitioner of dark ritual or maybe even a summoner, he kept trying to exorcise me, which I had to make sure didn’t accidentally affect you.” When Dale just looks at you, obviously hearing this or putting the pieces together for the first time you can’t help, but feel as if you might be the one who has lost their mind. “You must remember when he practically threw a glass of holy water on us?”

Dale’s brow furrows. “…I did think that was a bit odd.”

You snort. “Yes, I would wager so.” Slowly, you realize you're laughing. You put a hand to your mouth but all it does is muffle the sound. Dale looks newly worried but you can’t stop. “I can’t believe you didn’t know that I knew.” Collapsing into a chair, you cover your face in your hands as you try to regain your composure. 

How is this happening? How had you managed to get so far along without realizing he didn’t know that you knew? Who does that say more about him or you?

After a moment or two, you sense him near you and he asks, “Are you alright?” He sounds so concerned, like he’s still worried the knowledge of what he is, even if it isn’t new to you, might be capable of breaking your mind or whatever he feared would happen.

“Yes, yes,” you finally sit back up, blinking in the light as you attempt to reassure him. “I will be. I simply need a moment.” Dale hesitates from where he’s leaning over you before turning to fetch a cup of water. Haltingly, he holds out to you. “Thank you,” you say as you wipe away the tears that had gathered in the corners of your eyes while laughing.

You sip it carefully as you pull the tattered remains of your composure around yourself once more. Dale watches you take the first couple of sips before he begins to pace in obvious agitation. He’s clearly waiting for you to finish the glass before saying whatever is so clearly on his mind. You’re content to take your time and make him wait after everything he’s put you through, seemingly without even realizing what you were doing.

After a minute, you set the glass down deliberately and Dale comes to a stop in front of you. “I don’t…” he starts to say before changing his mind. “If you know, then why are you doing this?”

“Doing what?” you ask. He’s the one constantly doing incomprehensible things.

“Marrying me!” he says, rather emphatically, as though it should be obvious. He runs his hands through his hair. “Going through with this wedding! I don’t understand.” He sounds desperate to understand.

You feel of heat gather high on your cheeks, not having expected to have a light shown on your own actions so directly. “What do you mean? We’re betrothed. Getting married is the expected course of action.”

He gives you a flat look that says you’re not fooling him. “Try once more. I admit there were certain times where I did think you…” He looks at you, a distant look in his eyes as he remembers whatever particular instance. “Where I did think that you knew. Half a dozen times, I was sure you knew,” he continues, eyes intent once more, “but you didn’t do anything about it! You never revealed me or tried to exorcise me or even demand any sort of recompense for keeping it secret. You merely continued on as we had. You were still there, at my side.” He sighs and he looks so tired again. “And so I thought I must be wrong, that you couldn’t know.”

You're not sure what to say in the face of his conviction that you knowing what he is and you continuing to associate with him were so unlikely he’d discounted it out of hand. He made it sound like tolerating or using him was the most he’d expected. “I…”

“And you’re afraid of demons!” The words burst out of him. “So why would—?”

“I’m not afraid of you,” you reply because that’s certainly true. If the manner in which the shadows behind Dale are writhing in distress are any indication, the reassurance can’t hurt. You’re worried about how his nature makes life more complicated and what other people might do, but you’re long past the point of fearing he’d physically injure you on purpose.

“I heard you and Grandfather talking about Two,” Dale replies, as if that proves something. “How you feared them because of what they were. That night, when I remembered what I’d heard, I changed my mind again about what you knew.”

You stare at him before saying slowly, “Dale, I was afraid of Two because they were trying to kidnap and murder us. Their being a demon made them more dangerous, so yes, that made me fear them more than the others. You were who knows where fighting them on your own and I was worried about you.” If you thought Dale looked confused before, he looks downright confounded now. You keep talking, relishing in the opportunity to finally speak honestly about the attack, “However, you being a demon makes you stronger, which reassured me. I couldn’t say anything else because of Grandfather’s attitude, but I did not grow up in Northridge. I may not have met a demon before, but I didn’t live anywhere with the rigorous, studied suspicion and fear that Northridge cultivates.”

“The rest of the world is not Northridge,” Dale acknowledges having composed himself, “but it is not charitable in its view either. And it is not wrong in that opinion. I’ve been on the Surface before. No one has ever treated me in the manner you have after learning what I am. It was impossible to reconcile the person I got to know with someone who would want what humans understand demons to be.”

It’s not as though you can’t follow where he’s coming from. You haven’t told anyone else about what he is for a reason beyond just what Grandfather and Grandmother. You’d never even seriously considered telling any of your siblings because you know they wouldn’t understand. You want to ask further about the personal experience he’s alluding to but that isn’t what matters at this moment. “I…” You take a breath and finally say the obvious truth that you’ve never been able to say directly, even if you alluded to the sentiment right after the attack. “I do want to marry you.” Dale looks thunder-stuck. “Far more than I ever wanted to marry Dale before you took his place.”

“You do?” You’ve never seen Dale look so completely bewildered. “Why?”

“Because he was a selfish, mean, entitled prick.” The plain, honest words slip out without thought and Dale’s eyes widen. “Because you’re not. I like you.” You swallow and continue, “I think we get along well. I would have tolerated marrying him. You make me look forward to marriage.” 

It's a weight lifted to finally say those words, but they inevitably bring up your own confusion, your own lack of understanding of this Dale’s motivations and you can’t pass up the opportunity to ask. “But this is not just about why I have stuck to this facade. Why have you?” You still have no notion of what a demon might want. You’d only barely convinced yourself that Dale wanted this partnership since he was going along with it. He isn’t now. So perhaps you don’t know anything at all. “You could have stolen all you could from Dale and then disappeared to live your own life about a week after being here. You don’t have to be, to be,” you search for the words to define what’s he’s been doing, especially knowing he’s not been working toward the same end goal as you, “taking part in all these events, and playing dutiful grandson with Grandfather, Grandmother, or all the others.” You take a deep breath and add, with only a small shake to your voice, “Or being with me. Why are you still here?”

Dale opens his mouth, but no sound comes out as he stares at you.

Your shoulders slump in the face of his inability to give any reason, let alone a compelling one. “Although, I suppose there is no more wedding, is there? You’ve called it off, for all you haven’t left or told me why.” The prospect of the fall-out to come leaves you exhausted and hurt already. “I assume that leaving will be your next move.”

“No, no,” Dale starts to protest, “I…” Something changes in his expression as he searches for the words to say and this time, they come out steady, “Originally, I stayed because it was easy. I thought the best stroke of luck I’d had in my existence was when that imbecile broke himself opening an unguarded portal and I’d won the fight for his body.”

“Oh.” It had never even occurred to you that there might have been such an event. No matter what he does next, you’re grateful this demon is the one who won too.

“It’d been so long since I’d been up on the Surface,” Dale says wistfully. “I didn’t have a plan beyond getting here. I suppose, at first, I had considered taking what I could and leaving to make my own life. Except…” Your breath, your future hangs on that “except.” “I enjoy it here. Northridge, I mean, not just being out of the Depths. It’s somewhat impossible to know how much is experience and how much is borrowed memory, but I care for Grandfather and Grandmother. And for you. What is here in Northridge is more than I’d hoped for. A safe den, a loyal clan, a bountiful territory, an exemplary mate. Why would I go searching for better when it seemed I’d already found all I could want?”

“Truly?”

“Yes.”

Dale seems so sincere but that only brings your mind back to what prompted this conversation. “Then why are you trying to stop the wedding?”

“Because I thought you didn’t know!” he protests. “I told myself that since I’d never out-right lied to you, that was good enough.” He sighs. “But I realized if my only reason for not telling you who you were even marrying was because you might make a choice I didn’t want, that it was rather despicable.”

You can’t help, but ask the obvious. “Then why didn’t you simply tell me instead of calling the wedding off?”

“Because I’m selfish too,” Dale says, “and I couldn’t bear for you to know the truth and look at me like—.” He breaks off, shaking his head.

He’s returned to not meeting your eyes. Tension has crawled back up his spine to settle in his shoulders. His arms are crossed and he still seems one wrong word away from running. As if Dale’s still waiting for you to reject him. Perhaps you need to make up for all the times you didn’t speak up before. It seems like a fair concession if the hope blooming in your chest is proven true. 

You stand up from your chair, crossing the remaining distance between you and Dale. You place gentle hands on his forearms and they loosen under your touch. Carefully you push those crossed arms down until they hang by his sides where you can entwine your fingers with his. You take advantage of the height he has on you to look up into his eyes, not even surprised to find more than just two. “Well, I do know.” Those glowing blue eyes stare back down at you with the same hope reflected in them. “And I still want to marry you. If you do.”

Dale’s answer is immediate and earnest, “I do. I want that. I want the life we spoke of building more than anything else I’ve ever thought to want.”

You nod, a smile breaking out across your face. “Good. Go-” He cuts you off with a kiss, which starts out light but grows in pressure when you kiss him back. He tries to lift a hand to your face, but instead the back of your own hand still held in his touches your cheek instead. You pull back to see the pout he makes as he stares at his hand, obviously unsure of whether to let yours go or to keep holding on. 

The sound of a door opening above you followed by disgruntled voices pops the bubble of privacy you’d been enclosed in. You sigh. “While we still need to have a full conversation, I think it can wait for tonight at the least, yes?” Dale nods eagerly. “Then I must return to getting ready.”

“And I must assure Grandfather my ‘bout of childish insanity’ is indeed over. I’ve never seen him so furious.” At the look of surprise on your face, Dale smiles. “Regardless of what he thought before, Grandfather certainly thinks well of you now. He repeatedly told me that this would be the worst decision I ever made if I went through with it. He’s refused to even tell Grandmother, more out of fear for me than for her.”

High on emotion and relief, you giggle, too pleased that Grandfather spoke so strongly in your favor. “Did he?”

“Yes,” Dales says as he leads you to the study door. “And it's not as though I could provide a solid defense when I knew he was right.” He pulls you into a solid embrace before letting you go with a final kiss pressed to your forehead. 

You pull the door open without looking away from him, not able to resist asking for one last reassurance, “Your word that you will be there at the other end of the aisle?”

Dale smiles. “Yes, sana, I give you my word that I will let nothing stand in the way of our wedding, not even myself.”

[Part Thirty-One]

[argetcross]

wasting beats of this heart of mine by ArgetCross

Chapter 33: The Chariot Race

Zagreus woke up the morning of the race in high spirits. He had danced with Thanatos well into the night, until his feet were sore and his head light. A part of him had wished that the evening would never end, that they could stay together on those cobblestone streets forever, suspended in a warm bubble of human festivity. Such thoughts were pure fantasy though. A peasant dance couldn’t keep Death from his job forever. And yet, when they had walked back to Zagreus’ inn, Thanatos had seemed reluctant to bid him farewell. “See you later?” Zagreus had asked.  The corner of the god’s lips had lifted. “See you later.”

Read the full chapter here!

[diaryofanidiot]

The Neverland Curse

Summary: MC is on the receiving end of a strong curse. They've been reverted back to a child until they can earn a meaningful memory from each of those they care about. It's up to the Demon Brothers & co. to care for them until then.

Cw: de-aging, demon bros being demons, MC being a Chaotic child lol

Chapter List: Prologue 1 <2> 3 4 5

Taglist: @avatarofstars @letsblazewolf @your-next-daydream

Not proofread, feel free to lmk of any mistakes

Diavolo was, in fact, not scary. Just... reeaally loud. I covered my ears as his laugh boomed for the 100th time since he arrived. Lucifer was trying to explain everything despite Diavolo's intrigue at my "current state"... whatever that was.

After a few more minutes of this going on, his face finally got serious.

"As amusing as this is, cursed books are meant to be in a separate room in the library. Very few have a key. I'll have to figure out who's negligence caused this..." He patted Lucifer's shoulder and smiled. "I'll trust they will remain safe in your care?"

"My Lord," Barbatos, who I was introduced to earlier, cut in. "Is it wise to let them continue attending RAD in this state? A grown human is one thing, but a child is another. Not even mentioning the subject matter is well above their mental capacity right now."

Diavolo stopped in thought. The brothers seemed to wait anxiously for his verdict. I looked around in confusion, hoping anyone would would give an explanation. It quickly became clear this conversation was 𝘈𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘮𝘦 rather than 𝘍𝘰𝘳 𝘮𝘦.

I played with the tassels on my clothes while Diavolo motioned Levi over. Quietly listening but not fully interested in the adult conversation.

"Leviathan, there are days you take online classes rather than attend, correct? Is there anyway we could set that up with the elementary level classes as well?"

Levi nodded and glanced over to me. "I mean, that's simple. Will their grades still affect them though? I mean, with the curse in effect we won't know how they'll do."

Diavolo pondered this. "Slack will definitely be alloted for their mental age right now but I read that structure is essential in human children. More so than Demon Younglings."

With that, Lucifer began assigning tasks to each of his brothers. I felt myself lifted into the air and looked behind me to see who it was.

"Bee!" I grinned and hugged him tight, kicking my feet lightly. His twin moved behind him and tapped my nose.

"Looks like we got babysitting duty, Beel." Beelzebub nodded at his brother's words.

I heard Asmo shriek for them to wait as the duo carried me up the stairs.

"I need their measurements. Lucifer's sending me shopping for clothes. You can't possibly expect them to stay in that uniform the whole time. " he scoffed, holding my arm out next to some measuring tape.

"Already? I mean, we'll likely break the curse soon. Is a shopping spree really necessary?" Belphie rolled an eye, receiving a glare from the queen of fashion himself.

Besides the dirty look, Asmo ignored him and began fussing over me. Beel stubbornly refused to put me down, making the whole process ten times harder. It was all too much.

Asmo finally finished his task after a few agonizing moments of being measured and quizzed on my favorite colors. I squirmed in Beel's hold to be let down.

"Bee, down please..." I asked, finally being released. Once we got to the top of the stairs, I took off as fast as my legs can carry me. Finally I could explore!

"No ya don't." Belphie grabbed my arm, keeping me next to the two.

"No faiiiir," I whined. He flicked the back of my head playfully, causing me to give him the biggest meanie look I could muster.

"This place is big. You could get lost."

Beel nodded in agreement and knelt down to my level. "We can give you a tour, but you gotta at least stay in the same room as us. No running off until you get a feel for this place."

I grinned and wiggled my way out of Belphie's grasp. "I won't! I promise!"

The tour was fun, but the twins had a way of hovering over me that soured my mood. My every step was directed as if I'd get hurt if their eyes were off of me for a single second.

"There's a lot of stairs here? Think you can make it?" Beel asked, offering to carry me. I leaned over and looked up the winding staircase before pointing up.

"Where we going?"

"Up there's the attic. It's where we... er, Beel and I usually hang out." Belphie chimed in. "Last stop on the tour, then we'll show you your room."

I nodded and reached up to be carried by Beel. Stairs are hard.

The attic looked like the coziest room ever. My eyes flicked around the room before landing on the massive-

"PILLOW FORT!" I shrieked, kicking my legs til Bee put me down. I sprinted towards it and flopped down onto the pillow fort bed. I feel a weight on the mattress and look up, grinning at the twins.

"You like it?"

"Mhm!" I nodded eagerly. Belphie rested his hand on top of my head, holding the other behind his back.

I peered around him curiously before leaning back due to a soft object placed over my face. My expression made the two laugh as it took me a moment to realize what happened.

In Belphie's hand was a fluffy stuffed bear, with purple fur and galaxy ears.

"You wanna borrow this?"

I nodded eagerly and reached out for it. Belphie gave a shit eating grin and held it above my head.

"Hmmm..." He contemplated in mock thought. "Still not sure if you should."

Frustrated at the object of my desire being held up too high, my eyes began to well up, and I gave the biggest pleading look I could muster. While Belphie wasn't as easily swayed from his teasing attitude, Beel certainly was.

He reached up and took it from his twin. "Just let them have it. No need to taunt them."

Belphie rolled his eyes and flopped back onto a pile of pillows with a yawn. "Alright, Beel. Ya softie."

I hugged the plush tightly, happy with the first toy I've seen in this big house. Beel smiled at me after looking away from his brother.

"You know, I got that for Belphie but I don't think he ever gave it a name..."

Belphie, with his eyes closed, let out a "nope" popping the "p".

"So do you want do name it?"

I looked at the bear in deep thought. This was a very important job of the highest honor.

Taking a deep breath, I made my proclamation. "His name is Bloo!"

I heard a snort from Belphie but couldn't tell if it was an asleep or awake noise. Beel seemed to approve, though, much to my happiness.

"It's fitting." He leaned over to shake Belphie, who was now letting out quiet snores. "We should probably go show them their room."

Belphie huffed and turned over in a stubborn manner. I scooted closer and poked his cheek.

"Wake uuuppp! It's not bedtime!" I said before glancing at the window. Just then, did I realize how dark it was outside. "Wait, is it?"

Beel took a moment to sort through why I was confused. He seemed to have realized as he took my hand and guided me to the window. "Nope. It's not night yet. It's just always dark here."

I blinked in confusion. Always dark? Sounds scary.

"It gets darker, though later on."

"Darker? But it's already nighttime!" I struggled to wrap my head around what he was saying. How is there a place with no daytime? It sounded silly.

He cracked a smile and scratched his head, seemingly wondering about something.

"Don't laugh!" I huffed. Now he was just being a meanie by teasing me.

"...He's not lying." A new voice sounded behind me. I turned around to see Lucifer in the doorway. "I figured you two would bring them here."

"Don't make fun of me toooo" I whined, upset he was joining in on the joke.

"I'm not." he assured, kneeling next to me. "I guess it'll be harder to walk you through it this way."

He pinched the bridge of his nose in concentration. "The place we live in doesn't have a sun. I guess only remembering the human wor-"

He stopped himself short and scanned my face with his eyes. "I mean, where you come from has a sun and moon cycle. This place doesn't."

Instead of trying to understand, I focused on his fumble. "Human world?" I giggled. "You mean earth, silly. I thought grown-ups were smart."

Lucifer looked up at Beel before sighing. "I'll explain later. Have they shown you to your room?"

I shook my head. "Bee said we can go there last."

Beel reached under my arms and lifted me to his hip. He always seemed to want to carry me. Not that I minded... until he took forever to let me down again.

Lucifer looked at the sleeping Belphie in the pile of pillows and rolled his eyes. "Figured that might happen."

He sounded irritated, but his expression betrayed him, showing he wasn't really all that bothered. We started down the stairs and down a long hallway. This place seemed like a maze to me. It's no wonder the twins didn't want me running off alone yet.

"This room is yours. If you forget, you can ask anyone here, " He said, opening the door. "Hell knows it's become the new common room since your arrival"

He muttered the second part under his breath and I didn't catch much of it, not that I cared once I saw my room.

I took a deep breath and shrieked. "THERE'S A TREE IN MY ROOM!"

Beel winced at my volume, considering I was right next to his ear. I wiggled out of his grasp for the umpteenth time and ran up to it, touching it to see if it was real. My jaw dropped once I realized it was. I bet nobody else in the whole world got to have a real tree in the middle of their room.

I heard Lucifer huff a tiny laugh at my reaction while Beel smiled and sat on the plush bed.

"It was actually put in here specifically for you. You're used to more oxygen." Lucifer explained, "We weren't sure how you would adapt to here. Plus, it's native where you're from, so we figured it'd be a reminder of home."

His big words only confused me more, so I tuned them out and cradled Bloo to my chest with one arm while the other picked a leaf off the tree. This was the coolest room ever.

"Hungry." Beel mumbled, glancing up at Lucifer. The latter dismissed him.

"Asmodeus should be home soon. Do you have any more questions?" Lucifer asked, walking up behind me and placing a hand on my shoulder.

I racked my brain. I had a lot of questions, but there were too many to choose from. Where was my family? How did I get lost in the library? And why did I now have a room here?

Lucifer's gaze was too analytical of my expression for me to feel okay with asking all of them. My thumb prodded at my mouth while I shook my head.

"Nu uh."

The door swung open once the words left my mouth.

"Oh (MC)!" Asmo flitted into the room, multiple bags on his arms. He placed the bags down on the floor and reached in, holding up a shirt my size. "Ready for your fashion show?"

Uh oh...

I'm officially in for it.