#let me know if i should tag anything else!!

[kazuhaiku]

ᡣ𐭩 unpredicted date

-> synopsis: in which mualani sets up an unpredicted date between you and kinich which leads to silly moments between the two of you.

-> warnings: mildly inspired by that one kimi ni todoke episode, fluff, gender neutral reader, silly kinich, modern!au + tags @ryescapades @lunaritex

You swear you’re going to kill (not literally) Mualani when you see her again.

When she asked you to go out on a girl's night out today, you didn’t expect to see Kinich be the one waiting in front of the aquarium instead of Kachina and Mualani.

Mualani… You sigh, then your phone beeps, signaling a message.

Speak of the devil, Mualani is the one who messaged you, simply sending you a 

mualani have fun with kinich today! you’ll thank me later, promise :3

“Y/N,” Kinich calls out your name, snapping you out of your daze. You manage to give him a small smile as you walk towards him. “Mualani told me that you guys were hanging out today and she invited me to come along but it has been fifteen minutes and she hasn’t arrived yet.”

“I wonder why…” you grit your teeth, and before you can say anything else, Kinich’s phone rings. “Is that her?” you ask, but you already know the answer anyway.

Kinich nods. “Should I put it on speaker mode?” you agree and he clicks the speaker button. “Hello?”

“KInich! I am terribly sorry but I can’t make it to today’s hangout,” Mualani fakes a cough (which sounds too fake, mind you). “Me and Kachina caught a sudden cold-” you can hear Kachina protest in the background before her voice muffles, probably Mualani covering her mouth. “Have fun with Y/N today, yeah? And take lots of pictures.” Mualani ends the call before Kinich can get another word in. He stares at his phone before putting it back into his pocket.

“Well…” Kinich reaches into his other pocket and fishes out two tickets. “Guess that’s why she asked me to hold on to these yesterday.”

“Yesterday?!” you choke on your spit. “Well she’s prepared for the worse…”

“That’s Mualani for you,” Kinich replies. “Let’s go then. We might be lucky and grab the limited edition items in the story.”

You gasp. “How’d you know they are available today?! That’s why I suggested to Mualani that we go early yesterday!”

“I searched them up,” Kinich says. “I thought you would have liked it and I was right.”

You freeze in your tracks. He was thinking about me? The limited items remind him of me? Holy shit-

“Y/N?” Kinich waves a hand in front of your face. “You okay?”

“Yeah, yeah!” you shake your head. “Let’s go inside.” 

The aquarium itself is beautiful, filled with different kinds of fish some of which you recognize and some you don’t. You and Kinich don’t talk to each other up until you find a small fish that piques your interest.

“Kinich!” you grab his arm and pull him in the direction of where the fishes are located. You gasp in awe, seeing their beautiful colors. “Look! Look how pretty they are.”

Kinich sees the sign next to the aquarium. “Betta fish.”

“Oh, is that what it’s called?” you ask, eyes still trained on the fishes swimming around. “They’re beautiful…”

Your eyes sparkle as you stare at the fish. Unbeknownst to you, Kinich wasn’t even looking at the fish. He is looking at you. You, who is completely fascinated by the small fish swimming around the small aquarium. You, who has the brightest smile he has ever seen. A smile appears on Kinich’s face before he clears his throat and looks away, a tint of red appearing on his cheeks.

“Sorry, Kinich!” you apologize, though he doesn’t know what you’re apologizing for. “Are there any other things you want to look at?” you turn to look at him only to see him staring at an empty corner. “Kinich..? You okay?”

“Yeah,” Kinich murmurs. “Wanna go get the limited items?”

“You’re right!” you exclaim and once again take his hand in yours. “Come on! We have to hurry!”

The merchandise store is empty when you arrive, which means that the limited items aren’t sold out yet.

“Excuse me! We’re here for the limited items you guys sell!” you exclaim, almost out of breath.

“You’re just in time! This is the first time we’re releasing a limited item for couples!” the employee responds, bringing up two small octopus plushies. “Here we are. Two octopus plushies for the lovely couple.”

You choke on your spit. “W-Wait we’re not-”

“Thank you.” Kinich takes the plushies from the employee without denying their words. “Here.” Kinich hands you the cuter-looking one, and you accept it almost hesitantly. The employee bows as you leave the store.

You keep quiet as soon as you reach the exit and Kinich notices. “You okay? Why are you being so quiet?”

“Um… You heard what the employee said before, right?” you ask and Kinich nods. “Weren’t you going to deny her words..?”

“Was it uncomfortable for you?” Kinich asks.

“No, no! It was just unexpected. I thought you were going to deny it immediately.” you hold the octopus closer to you. “It just shocked me a bit. But on a serious note, thank you for hanging out with me today, Kinich.”

“It’s my pleasure. I like going out with you and um,” Kinich looks away. “We can do this again if you want to… Just the two of us.”

Your eyes brightened. “Really?” he nods. “Okay! I promise I’ll come ask you to go out with me some other time.”

“Okay,” Kinich replies. “Let me walk you home?”

Knowing Kinich’s slightly stubborn attitude, you accept his proposal. The walk back home is filled with silence, but you can’t ask for anything better.

(Mualani later sent a picture she took of you and Kinich in the aquarium. Kinich was looking at you with the cutest smile on his face as you are focused on the Betta fishes).

[andcars]

# 𝗙𝗖𝟰𝟯 ─── MAKE IT UP OFF-TRACK MASTERLIST . . . REQUEST ME . . . TAGLIST . . . AO3

YOU'VE RACED WITH HIM AND you've been under him. still, it hurts you when he outqualifies you. it almost hurts as much when you both still think you're just fuck buddies. ────── original prompt req.

PROMPTED DIALOGUE . . . # “You’ve been staring for a while” PROMPTED TAGS . . . # praise kink, rivalry, friends with benefits, jealousy ADD. TAGS . . . # quickie vibes, sex in the hospitality, author has a language kink, but also deepl translations WORD COUNT. . . # 1.6k

────── AO3 VERSION

P11. Fucking P11.

Everyone else is in the garage as you come in, all angry and disappointed. You were tenth of a second behind P10 and you weren't able to push it on the last lap because you went off track limits.

What’s done is done. You can’t work with a car that clearly doesn't wanna work with you. The better part of you wants to let this go and simply rest for tomorrow. Call it a day. Think of how to dominate tomorrow. Sleep it off.

But Franco walks to the garage at P7 and proceeding into Q3. The plan gets thrown away immediately.

You don’t hate the guy, of course not. You’ve met him times before when he was still in F2. If, of course, meeting him included hotel rooms and secluded bathrooms. You met him a lot, if so.

It’s not his fault that he’s better than you, as of now. You should be happy, really. But fuck, it should hurt how some rookie is better than you in a car you’ve driven for a year.

Despite all of this anger bubbling in you, you can’t stay mad at him. You could never stay mad at him, you think. Yet it hurts all the same.

You look away as your eyes meet. Not giving him a chance to even confront you or attempt to comfort you, you leave.

It’s pivotal now to talk with your strategist. He’s expecting you, unfortunately. Knowing damn well that your next duty was to come to him to see how to improve your performance, he already had your data pulled up.

Your, and their, wrongs are being talked into your ear and out the other. The farthest screen turns black, and you see Franco in the reflection. His blurred figure is towards you, his panting from the race still evident on him.

It’s difficult to pretend to care about racing right now. It’s not like they say anything different anyway. The rear wings are fucked, the tyres are fucked, the wheel can’t turn, and your head is just in the wrong direction. All the same things said before.

To the driver’s room you go. Q3 starts and you don’t do anything. The TV screen shows the delayed race as the crowd cheers from the opposite sides of the wall. Franco is in danger, with Mercedes finally coming out from the pit—you don’t expect anything more.

After the stretched minutes alone in your room, a knock comes on your door.

You say, “I’ll be out soon, tell James to get some patience,” with your head in your phone. No fucking way you’re going to be dealing with them while you’re still pissed.

The door opened and you grunt. Looking up, Franco was grinning at you.

“I’m also hiding from Jego,” he says, the grin on his face annoying, “can I come in?”

“And we both get caught?” It doesn’t matter what you think, he puts his feet in anyway.

The couch is uncomfortable. If they aren’t spending money on the car, they might as well spend it on the seats. With you laying across the couch, he kneels between your legs. You raise an eyebrow at him as he undresses his fireproof suit.

You ask, “You seriously wanna fuck?” and he laughs.

“¿Me dirás que no? (Will you tell me no?)” he murmurs, getting on top of you with his hips pressing against your ass. “Did you know I placed 6th today?”

“Mhm.”

“No?” He places a kiss on your cheek. “Didn’t watch me? What were you doing in here?”

His lips ghost over your neck, the warmth of his breath sending a small shiver down your fine. You know he felt it when he chuckles in your skin.

“Getting fucked my brains out,” your voice is flat. “What were you doing out there?”

“Ah, amor (love), you won’t get me like that,” he whines and kisses you once in one side. Then twice the other. He says, “You are so mean though, telling me things like this. Do you wish you were with someone else? Hm? ¿No me querés más? (You don’t want me any more?)”

Franco comes up to part your lips open with his tongue. You gasp a little, your arm limp over his back. His mouth wide open, chest pressed against yours, tongue just brushing against your lips, he says—

“Quiero coger. Te quiero comer a besos. Quiero que me hagas tuyo, mi amor. Don’t go making me jealous because you are.” (I want to fuck you. I want to lavish you with kisses. I want you to make me yours, my love)

His hand is gentle on yours, playing on the hem of your pants as his kisses turn wet. Desperate. Loving. It hurts you how careful he is with you when you spent the past hour hating him in your head.

And he’s always so gentle. He always used to ask you if you liked it, his words almost always in Spanish. As if he’s lost in you, he doesn’t know what words to use.

He no longer needs your permission now. A finger rubs between your clothed cunt as his hand pushes your shirt up to hold your tits. He moans more than you, in love with your body.

“So good,” he murmurs, “don’t ever look for anyone else. For me, please?” You moan against his cheek as he focuses on rubbing your clit through your pants. “I can make you feel so good. Amor, I can be yours.”

In moments like this, he’s too drunk on sex to know the words he’s spewing. He reaches for the lube and condom hidden in your desk. His movements are sloppy. You swear he struggles a little in opening the cap up.

He asks you something in Spanish. It’s out of your vocabulary, so you tilt your head.

“I don’t need to prepare you, right? You’re still loose?” You can see his hips grinding against the palm of his hand. His cheeks are flushed, and you see drool coming down his chin. It’s pitiful.

You nod. “Yeah, just give me a bit to adjust if you wanna—fucking hell.” It’s out of your control when you laugh. Franco eagerly shoves his pants down alongside yours.

“What has gotten you so eager?” you ask.

“I got P6,” he smirks. That little fucker.

His cock is rubbered and wet when it enters you. He moans loud as your hand comes to his cheek. It’s catlike, the way he goes soft against your hold.

Shifting slowly, he grinds inside of you. The soft rubbing inside your walls almost has you mewling. But you keep your eyes on him, ignoring the pooling pleasure between your legs.

Telling him, “You’ve been looking at me,” has his lips pouting. “If I didn’t know better, I would say you were in love with me.”

“I am in love with you,” your cheeks flush, and you’re not sure if it’s the sudden thrust of his cock or his words. “I’m in love with the way you race, how you over-perform a dying car, how you move.”

His eyes drop to where you two meet, jittering his hips a little. With the quick thrusts, you’re caught off guard and moaning out his name. He looks very satisfied with it.

“Oh, amor—” his words turn gibberish to you as he starts to move. His pace is uneven, driven by the thought to take you carefully and the urge to bring the both of you to climax. Not a single word is getting into your head.

But his voice is so loving. He’s panting between every other word, lips pouted and eyebrows furrowed. His voice is getting louder, and you put your hand against his mouth.

“Shut - oh, God… Shut up,” you whine, feeling the cockhead rub against your g-spot. “You’re so fucking… good. Just like that, fuck me.”

He shuts up when he goes down to kiss you. Both his arms wrap around you, embracing you as he finds the right angle to make sure you’re still getting stimulated. His hair is rubbing against your clit, the little tickle in them getting you to moan a little louder.

You feel dizzy. It’s not the lack of air during the kiss, you know it. He’s just holding you close to him while he takes you like you’re his lover. Your heart curls in itself, punishing itself for its own stupidity.

But fuck, you want to focus on the now. The way his hands are going up and down your back, soothing you as you get lost in the pace of his thrusts. The way his body towers over you, completely enveloping you in his hold. 

“I’m gonna—” he gasps, his pace barely slowing as you assume he cums inside of you. You whine when he bottoms inside.

Franco knows you. He knows you too well. He grinds inside of you before pulling out. Still, he doesn’t let you think another thought before he’s flicking your clit.

“Shit, fuck, Franco!” he smiles under your silent praise as his other fingers tease at your hole. “I’m gonna cum too. Just like that. Don’t fucking stop.”

He only leans down to spit on your pussy, easing the rub as you’re moving your hips along him. You cum with your back arched and your hips off the couch. His hand stills on your clit as his eyes are fixated on the way cum leaves your pussy.

You drop back down when he places your hips on his lap. “Don’t get it dirty,” he reminds you, tying the condom and throwing it in the bin. “It’s embarrassing to explain to the cleaners.”

His humour comes in at the worst moments. You grunt and he only laughs. “It’s not even funny. You’re just telling the truth.”

“It’s funnier in Spanish,” he promises.

You think about how it probably sounds just about the same.

🗒 𝗣𝗔𝗣𝗘𝗥 𝗧𝗥𝗔𝗜𝗟 . . . first time writing for bro ! i'm so open to writing more of him so i added him in my taglist options, so if you wanna be tagged for future fics of him 👀 you know what to do . if you already sent me a form before , you can resend another with him included ! anyways , fixing up the next few fics soon . ˎˊ˗ ᝰ. ──── 📨 @delululeclerc @hiireadstuff

you support me best on tumblr with reblogs and comments ! ── by andcars ⟡

[bbyangyl]

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚— EASE YOUR MIND- DEKU | IZUKU MIDORIYA

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚— description: after inviting you to an event, izuku has a difficult time deciding if "a date" would be the right term to use.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚— w.c: 2.1k

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚— tags: sfw (however, my blog isn't!), fluff, very soft, deku is basically in love with you but overthinks like CRAZY

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚— a/n: here's something that has been sitting in my drafts for a while now. I actually have a lot written so you'll be seeing a lot from me soon :) I just need time to edit a few things. please stay tuned!

deku was sweating

he was sweating so much that his palms felt drenched, struggling to discreetly wipe them against his pants, hoping you wouldn’t notice. you walked beside him, wearing a smile that outshined the sun.

he doesn’t know how he got here, with you. the only thing he could recall from the events of his spiraling and panicking brain when he asked if you wanted to go with him to a “history of heroes” event, where he scored two tickets for, were your bright, excited eyes and lovely smile when you agreed to go with him.

and then, he was sure he messed it all up when, for some reason, his mouth moved faster than his brain and said “I’m so glad! It’s a date then”

he didn’t mean for the words to be heard aloud. and through his stammering voice and flushed cheeks, he tried so hard to make an excuse; to distract you from the fact that he just called it a date. which meant he asked you out on a date.

but instead of gazing at him in confusion or uncertainty, (or worse, disgust), you simply giggled, nodding as you gathered your belongings before heading out to the dorms.

“it’s a date” you said, walking away from his frozen figure that decided to stay in place on its own accord, processing the three words you repeated back to him.

you said yes, despite him calling it a date, but did you really consider it a date? or did you know he accidentally called it that and you just went along with it, even though he truly did want to go on a date with you. but he never thought you’d ever go on a date with him. and even if he intentionally asked you out, he wasn’t sure a first date with you to a hero event was good enough. You seemed excited for it, should he plan something else?

as he looked up at your retreating figure, he noticed the way you look back at him, with soft eyes and a pretty smile before turning around, continuing to walk away.

he felt his brain short circuit, as you leave him with nothing but blooming red cheeks, shaky legs, and thoughts of you.

as the day of the event arrives, after thirty minutes spent rehearing how to approach you and what words to say, a soft knock unexpectedly echoes on his own door, before being opened slightly.

and he begins to sweat.

there you were, in a cute sundress, looking at him with such a sweet expression on your face. he felt his hands slightly trembling, his heart practically soaring through the air in a fluttering mess. he felt like a fish, mouth opening and closing as he tried to think of what to say. anything at all! at least a hello.

he didn’t trust himself, however. deku had a tendency to ramble and mumble, and he had an small feeling that a simple ‘hello’ would turn into ‘you’re the most beautiful girl in the world’, or something more than he was ready to admit

it was difficult to form words anyways, when just the sight of you is enough to leave him breathless, unable to think about anything else but the fact that you were here, ready to go out with him…

to an event that he had called a date, and you seemed happy to agree...

he felt his face burn, and one part of him believed that the temperature could’ve rivaled todoroki’s quirk.

“hey! I’m sorry if I interrupted you, I just wanted to let you know that I’m ready! If you’d like I can wait in the common area while you’re done.” you say, playing with the straps of your backpack.

he laughs nervously. “o-okay, yeah. I just need to grab a few things and we can head out” he feels his voice get shaky towards the end, and quickly he turns around, flustered, as he pretends to try and find something on top of his bed.

he hears a small laugh from you, before announcing you’ll be waiting for him over there. as your footsteps indicate you walking away, deku immediately lets out the tremulous breath he didn’t realize he was holding in.

the thought of being around you, without the confirmation of what this “outing” was considered to be, caused his nerves to skyrocket. he hated second-guessing, and couldn’t bear the embarrassment he would feel if he treated today as a date, only to find out you thought he was joking, or vise versa.

despite the inner conflicts in his overworking mind, he, at least, was certain of one thing. he invited you and you said yes, and you were now waiting for him in the common area.

with a small, unsteady sigh, he starts to relax a bit. everything will be fine. he’ll take you to the event, and you’ll both have an amazing time, free from his overthinking.

at least, that was the plan.

it’s a bit easier said than done, especially in this circumstance, where his mind is on endless overdrive, hanging out with a girl who practically hung the stars in his eyes.

he felt awkward, realizing that not a single word had been exchanged between the two of you since leaving the dorms. he tried to think of something to say, but the probability of stumbling over his words as he tried to start conversation was unfortunately high.

each step he took felt unnatural, as if every movement was a forced effort, desperately trying to match the light, effortless way you walked beside him toward the museum.

it only made things more complicated when deku realized he couldn’t even bring himself to look at you; it was too overwhelming. but the brief glances he stole, seeing you smile softly as you took in your surroundings, only made the fluttering in his heart grow stronger.

he was sweating

but luckily for him, you were the one to break the ice.

“y’know, I’m actually a bit shocked you invited me out, midoriya” you say softly, glancing at the ground with a small smile on your face. deku turns to you, feeling his hands trembling against his side, wondering if you’ll bring up his embarrassing ‘it’s a date’ declaration.

“what…uhm…what do you mean?” he asks, feeling his voice crack. immediately he feels his face grow hot, watching as you glance at him with a small laugh, no trace of teasing, just amusement.

“it’s just, we’re friends, obviously-“ you begin to clarify, and he can’t help but feel his heart drop slightly, despite that being the facts. “but…I don’t know, you were always so close with ochako, iida, todoroki and our other classmates. we don’t interact as much.”

it was the truth. deku never had much trouble talking or hanging out with his classmates. he was extremely close with a few and, at the very least, felt comfortable around all of them, even with bakugo. deku was proud of how far he had come from his middle school days, now able to talk freely and be himself. he felt lucky. but with you, things were slightly different.

he always caught himself rehearsing what to say before starting a conversation. he’d stumble over his words, his face flushing red during any interaction. just a glance in your direction was enough to turn him to mush. in some ways, you made him feel like his middle school self again; timid and nervous. but the reasonings couldn’t be more different.

“I actually wanted to get closer to you, but funny enough I was always kinda shy around you.” suddenly, he halts any movement. did that come from him? that wasn’t his voice. his eyes widen as he realizes that came from you. shy? around him? really?

“what?!” It was difficult to wrap his head around the fact. all this time he was so focused on how to interact normally with you, never once did he take the time to analyze any interaction you had with him and deem it as shy. you were always so happy and kind, and anyone with eyes could see how much he fumbled through the smallest of conversations with you. the thought that maybe you were also shy around him too, made his heart skip a beat.

he watched as you turn to him, cheeks blooming a pretty pink, like the petals of a cherry blossom fluttering through the air. “yeah…i mean…we talked every now and then. not as often, but you were always so kind despite our limited conversations. I never really reached out to you because I was always a little nervous around you, unable to get a clear picture of how you felt about me.”

you take a small step forward, and he immediately notices the slight hesitation in your movement, as if there was more you wanted to say but weren’t sure if you should. he catches the way you try to meet his gaze but become a little flustered, and how your fingers fidget with the straps of your book bag.

deku had always been so perceptive; picking up on body language and mannerisms with ease. but he never realized how similar the two of you were in your interactions. he was always focused on not looking like a fool in front of you; a blushing mess. Yet now, seeing the flustered look in your eyes instead, he felt himself melt on the spot, fighting the urge to kiss your cheeks.

“when you invited me to the hero event, I couldn’t help but feel happy! and…I felt over the moon when you called it a date. even if you didn’t mean to call it that l-“ you pause, before giving him a gentle smile “-it still made me very happy.”

he gazes at you, momentarily questioning if his mind is deceiving him, conjuring up a hopeful illusion. but as he watches you nervously bite your lip, awaiting his response, the reality of the moment sinks in. he feels his heart flutter in his chest, and the weight of your words sends a shiver through his entire body. “you wanted it to be a date?”

“Is it weird if I said more than anything?” you confess, shyly looking at the ground with uncertainty and anxiousness. he feels himself physically vibrate with excitement, hearts practically forming in his eyes as he steps closer, unable to hold back the confession on the tip of his tongue.

“I-I want that too! I want this to be considered an actual date!” he exclaims with happiness pouring out of his soul, feeling his cheeks become slightly sore from his smile. you look up at him, a shocked expression on your face as you slowly process his words. he watches in time the way your features soften, beautiful eyes widening slightly as you let out a gentle gasp.

“really?” you ask, as he feels the joy practically radiating off of you. deku nods in confirmation, hands trembling from overwhelming delight. he meets your gently gaze, as you both stare at each other with bashful grins before a small laugh escapes your lips, followed by a domino effect of uncontainable giggles between you and him.

he feels lighter, almost euphoric; his entire body buzzing with warmth that radiates from his flushed cheeks, offering a new kind of comfort he’d never known before. he was always used to feel shy around you, his heart brimming with so much love and admiration that he could barely meet your gaze. but now, that love has multiplied, and all he wants is to lose himself in your eyes for as long as you’ll let him.

you step to the side, offering him one last smile before the two of you begin to walk in sync. it no longer feels out of place. just right.

“can I hold your hand?” he asks, a hint of the familiar shyness still laced in his words. but this time, there’s a newfound confidence beneath it. he’s certain you feel it too as you beam at him, gently intertwining your soft fingers with his calloused, scarred hand.

“you know…I…all this time, I was kinda freaking out! I didn’t know if this was actually a date or not, and I was extremely nervous this whole time. I’m sorry if things were a little awkward when we left the dorms” you look at him with reassurance; an amused giggle leaving your lips as you shake your head.

“please don’t apologize. I couldn’t even tell!”

[stormz369]

☕💖 Can I Get Your Number? ☕💖 Ch 3

Jason Todd x Chubby! Reader (fem)

written with a female reader in mind, first person pov, no use of Y/N, fluffy, mild angst, will probably get NSFW later, let me know if there's anything else I should tag this with!

warnings: reader character dealing with anxiety from previous chapter (non-descriptive),hinted at trauma from fatphobia, hints of Jason's self esteem and body image issues, otherwise it's fluff central

word count: 2.2k (oops? 😅)

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3

Ding!

I looked over at my phone, briefly considering not picking it up. When I got through my front door I had ripped my jeans off, suddenly hating everything touching me. I showered, scrubbing the night off until my skin was raw and tingling, and now I was curled up on my bed sheets, having a good cry. I didn't really want to talk to anyone right now…

Ding! Ding! … Ding!

God, whoever it was was insistent though … I sighed softly and picked it up, checking the messages:

Jason: Good morning! I am so sorry for the sudden disappearance - my phone broke on my way to visit my brother!  3:15am Jason: Just got back into town, so I've finally got the sim card in an old one for now. 3:17am Jason: I feel bad, I owe you a week of good mornings! 😭 3:17am Jason: And sorry for spamming you - I just didn't want you to think the worst for a second longer than necessary… 3:18am

I stared at the screen for a long while. Jason was back … just like Red Hood said. Huh… 

Me: Don't worry about it, shit happens! 3:40am Jason: … What are you still doing up?  3:41am

I briefly considered telling him everything. Maybe it would feel good to tell someone … or maybe it would feel even worse. We didn't really know each other yet, who knew how he would react? Nausea gripped my stomach and I shook my head, taking a few deep breaths before replying.

Me: Just got home is all. Picked up a late shift tonight. 3:50am Jason: That's a hell of a late shift, that must have sucked! 3:52am Me: … Yeah, honestly it wasn't great… 😔 3:53am Jason: What are you doing tomorrow? 3:54am Me: Nothing in particular, y? 3:56am Jason: That settles it then! No more excuses, come hell or high water I will see you tomorrow! 3:56am

I stared at the screen, not sure how to feel about that idea. I did want to see him again, but I also really just wanted to sleep for 48 hours straight…

Jason: Seriously, name a time and place. We'll do anything you want! 😁 3:59am Me: You don't have to do that, Jason - you just got back! Don't you need to work? 4:00am Jason: Nope! We came back a day early, so I am all yours! 4:02am Me: … All mine, huh? 😏 4:05am Jason: 100%! Anything you want, name it! 4:06am Me: … Gotham City Mall, meet in front of the bookstore at … say 4? 4:08am Jason: Perfect, see you in 12 hours! Good night 4:08am Me: Good night Jason 4:09am

I was exhausted, but couldn't seem to sleep. I was still coming down from the anxiety and adrenaline from being attacked, and now I was also nervous and tentatively excited about seeing Jason. This was the step that usually proved someone was playing games with me. I sighed softly, sliding a hand down my soft tummy. I didn't mind the way I was shaped, but other people sure had a way of making it seem like the end of the world… I silently begged the universe; let this one be good. No more games, let it be real this time…

When I finally did sleep, my dreams were filled with red. Blood all over the pavement, staining everything. Red chrome staring me down as I cried. Large hands, so gentle against my cheeks, pulling me against a warm, broad chest…

I woke with a start and peered over at my discarded clothes in a heap from the night before. Red Hood's flannel peaked out from under my ruined pants, taunting me; I was about to go on a date and I was dreaming about another man? A man I was surely never going to see again no less? That's real healthy, well done Brain.

I stepped over the clothes on the floor, not wanting to deal with the mess left over from last night, and selected a cute but comfortable outfit. I ate a quick breakfast, spent longer than I'd care to admit on my hair and makeup, and headed downstairs to catch the bus to the mall.

My anxiety grew as I approached the front doors. It’s a trick, it must be a trick. The cold air conditioning hit me in the face, a welcome respite from the summer heat, and I made my way toward the bookstore. He's a hottie, and really sweet. Or at least knows how to play sweet. He's definitely not actually interested. I could see the sign for the bookstore on the other side of the mall. And he's a Wayne too! What could a Wayne want with me?? … Oh god, I threatened them, didn't I? I told the little one I'd stab them if they came back to the table. Why did I say that???

I blinked a bit, pausing. That was him, leaned against the wall right next to the bookstore. He had actually shown up. I watched him scroll on his phone for a minute before looking up and scanning the crowd. When his eyes landed on me I continued walking toward him. He pocketed his phone, kicked off the wall, and walked over to meet me, a little grin lighting up his face.

“You're actually here…” the words left my mouth before I could reconsider, my disbelief apparent in my tone. Jason looked a bit confused at that, awkwardly rubbing the back of his head.

“Well, yeah? … You said 4, right?”

“Sorry! Yes, I said 4. I just … I honestly wasn't sure this was … real…”

“Why wouldn't it be real?”

I blushed a bit, clearing my throat slightly; “n- never mind! Sorry, I had a weird week; my brain hasn't fully caught up.”

He nodded a little, smiling gently. “Well, I hope it's getting better at least.”

I nodded. “Yeah, it is. Thanks. … So, what should we do?”

“Like I said last night; anything you want.”

“Well, … we're right here, do you want to start at the bookstore?”

He nodded and fell into step beside me, smiling gently. I could feel his eyes on me as I walked into the store, browsing the aisles. It was odd how comfortable this was; he was a good half foot taller than me, and at least 200 pounds of pure muscle. If his arms and cheek were any gauge he was absolutely covered in old scars, and he had a bandage on one forearm so whatever gave him the scars probably wasn't confined to the past.

I should be terrified - everything about my upbringing told me this was a dangerous situation to be in. But when I saw the look in his eyes, like I was the most interesting thing in the world, all of my self-defense training fell out of my head. The voices urging me to get to safety quieted, all my instincts stilled, and there was peace. His eyes were so beautiful… 

“... Is there something on my face?” He blushed a bit, chuckling awkwardly.

I blinked, looking away. “Sorry! I wasn't staring, I just …”

“... Did you want to ask about this?” he pointed to the scar on his cheek.

“Huh? No! I have a policy of not asking people about stuff like that; you'll tell me or not on your own time. No, I just … I like your eyes is all …’’ I blushed brightly, staring at but not reading the back cover of a book.

“... My eyes?” I nodded, still pretending to read the back cover. “... You're really not going to ask about my scars?”

“Unless you want to talk about them, it's not any of my business.”

“... You're a very unusual girl.”

“Because I'm not going to pry about something you may or may not want to talk about, particularly on a first date?”

“Well, they're usually the first thing anyone wants to talk to me about. If they don't avoid me in the first place…”

I frowned a bit at that. If we met under any other circumstances, I would have taken one look at him and ducked my head to avoid an interaction. “... People suck…”

“It's not their fault; I'm intimidating…” I cautiously looked over at him. He was also staring at a book cover, a pensive little frown on his face.

“... I don't think you're intimidating.”

His eyes darted over and back to the book, and the corner of his mouth curled up ever so slightly. “... Thanks.”

I nodded, setting the book down. “.... So …”

“So? …”

“... Play a game?”

He chuckled, looking over at me. “A game?”

I nodded. “You tell me some of your favorite things in books, I'll tell you some of mine. We separate, select a few of our favorites that the other might like, and reconvene.”

“Alright. Is there a way to win this game?”

“Well I assume we'll each pick at least one book the other hasn't read, so we'll get to make each other read at least one of our favorites. That sounds like a win to me.”

He chuckled. “Alright. Meet back up at those comfy chairs in the back?”

I nodded, telling him some of my favorite tropes, genres, and settings. He did the same, and we darted in opposite directions. He beat me back there, but I eventually approached with a small stack, falling into the seat next to him.

He gestured toward my books; “ladies first.”

I tucked my feet under me, passing him each book in turn and making a case for it. He took each one, read the back cover, and listened intently. He had read one of them, and I figured he'd pick one of the others, if that, but he insisted he was going to get them all. When it was his turn, I wasn't entirely sure what to expect, but Pride and Prejudice wasn't the first thing that came to mind. 

“I've seen a few movie adaptations, but I haven't gotten around to reading it.” I smiled softly, taking the book. It was a beautiful blue cover with swirling calligraphy font in gold.

“An unparalleled tragedy - I insist this is the one you're taking home!” I giggled at his determined tone and nodded.

“Yes, sir!” I made a little mock salute, trying not to smirk at the sudden wave of pink overtaking his face. “... Well, what else do you have for me?”

He cleared his throat awkwardly, looking at the books in his hands. “Ah, um …”

One by one he passed me, Hamlet, the Three Musketeers, a book of Greek myths, and … a trashy romance?

“... Not gonna lie, this is an unexpected choice.” I read the back. It looked like your typical bodice ripper.

He chuckled, blushing a bit. “Look, it was the only book I had access to one day and I was losing my mind with boredom. But if you give it a chance, it's actually really well written, and the love interest isn't one of those creepy possessive guys the genre is known for, so …”

I nodded, taking a picture of the book covers. “I will give it a chance then!”

“... Why are you taking a picture of them?”

“... To get later? I'll start with this one, since you were so determined that I read it.” I held up Pride and Prejudice. Jason gathered up the others, putting them on his stack, then gently took Pride and Prejudice from me as well.

“Or I could just get them for you.” 

“What? Jason, no. I mean, that’s really sweet of you, but that's way too much!” Between the books he'd picked out for me and the ones I'd selected for him, he was holding at least $200 in his hands. And he'd picked the pretty hardcovers too! 

He shook his head. “I've had to cancel on you at least 5 times, and then I disappeared with no warning. You have been incredibly patient and understanding, and I will make today worth it.”

I blushed brightly, a bit surprised. “Jason, … you're worth waiting for. I enjoy talking to you, you don't have to spend money on me for today to be worth my time.”

He looked away uncomfortably, bright red, holding the stack of books to his chest. “... I … I like talking to you too … just let me do this, yeah? Call it a first date splurge.”

“... Alright, if you're sure. But I don't want you making a habit of this.”

He nodded, smiling softly. “Don't worry; I know you're a strong, independent woman.”

I nodded once, chuckling. “Damn right.”

Jason grinned, god he had an infectious grin, and led me to stand in line together. He held the stack of books in one hand, and we chatted a bit more while we waited for our turn. I was looking at a selection of little plushies in the impulse items when I felt something brush ever so slightly against my finger. I looked down; his trembling hand was next to mine, his pinky slightly extended toward me. I chuckled softly, extending mine toward him, and gently linked our fingers together. He stiffened ever so slightly before relaxing into it, gently squeezing back.

Divider by @saradika (and my thanks for making them free to use!)

Taglist (let me know in the comments if you want to be added or dropped!)

@jawdropforkpop @krys0210 @snowy-violet @superthoughts @wordsfromshona

[mizithejellyfish]

🪼 Hiii !!! 🪼

I'm Mizi ! You probably heard of me from Alien Stage. I'm going to be one of the newest contestants in Season 50 ! I'm super excited to compete. Guardian Shine let me make this account so I can meet you all ! Plus it'll help up my popularity a bit before the season kicks off . Plus, you guys get to ask me whatever you want!

But anyway, I think I should set some ground rules before you ask me stuff;

☆ No weird or NSFW asks, please ! Those make me really uncomfortable...

☆ One ask per asker at a time, please !! I know it sounds weird, but it makes things a LOT easier to keep track of !

☆ I know you there's always a lot of idol rumors going around about romance between my friends and stuff, but please don't harass me about it... you can do some playful shoving and nudges towards stuff, that's perfectly fine and fun! But don't yell at me about it. Unless it's jokingly, of course.

☆ My pronouns are she/her ( ＾ω＾ ) !! Someone else helps me run this blog ((OOC: That's me, the Mod!)) , and their pronouns are anything; they don't mind what they're called.

🪼TAGS !🪼

#MiziAnswers (my answers to most asks!)

#MiziFaves (Reblogs of cool stuff!)

#MiziPosts (My original stuff!)

#MiziOffline ((OOC: Mod posts. Not Mizi.))

🪼A Few Special People (Claimed Anons!) 🪼

None so far! We just got started.

🪼 Okay! That's all I gotta say! Hope to meet you guys soon ~ (*＾▽＾*) 🪼

((MOD DISCLAIMER! I am in no way affiliated with Vivinos or QMENG or anything official to do with Alien Stage. This blog is just for fun and I do not claim Mizi or any of the Alien Stage characters as my own! ))

[shepscapades]

[Pt 1] [Pt 2] [Pt 3] [Pt 4] [Pt 5] [Pt 6] [PART 7] [Don’t Let it Reach the Heart]

Nobody Anymore Nobody Anymore

[This comic is part of my dbhc au, following the chaos and panic that ensues after Doc and Xisuma try to get Etho back online at the start of s9 after a very rough s8 finale that leaves him a little. broken. It's set to the vibes of Joywave's Destruction. This part concludes this comic, but this moment doesn't end here: Don't Let it Reach the Heart will be the title of the fic that will follow the end of Destruction!]

[thatsleepymermaid]

Quick post on what's happening in Atlanta right now

So there's this beautiful trail in Atlanta called the South River Forest Trail. As we all know, Atlanta Georgia is renowned for their tree cover and historic forests. 

The City of Atlanta and corporations like Delta, AT&T and Amazon are funding a massive police training center that will destroy the forest.

Dubbed ‘cop city’ by many protesters, this will cost about $90 million  to build. This will be used to further militarize Atlanta’s police leading to more incidents of police brutality in the city. 

On January 18th indigenous activist Manuel “Tortuguita” Teran was shot and killed by the police for defending this historic forest from destruction. Their reason? “He did not comply” (Tort went by They/them/it but report said “he”). Many protests have been going on in Atlanta to defend this forest.

Since Tortuguita's death, the situation has quickly deteriorated

This forest is very dear to me but I am unable to physically protest at the moment, so I am handing this off to Tumblr to spread awareness. Rebloging this may help this tragedy become part of national news instead of just an Atlanta problem.

Donation and petition links to stop cop city

https://www.gofundme.com/f/stoptheswap2020

https://act.colorofchange.org/sign/no-cop-city-atl/

https://defendtheatlantaforest.org/solidarity

[flygefisk]

happy mother's day oolong is your mom now

[decideroffacts]

hey nice heart stardust can i have that

[solarmorrigan]

Requested by @westifer-dead (I think?? I hope that was directed at me)

This probably wasn't what you had in mind, but in my defense, it absolutely was not what I planned on writing. It sorta snuck up on me. I hope this is okay, though <3

🖤 kissing while crying / goodbye kiss / desperation

Prompt from this post

Tags/CW: transmasc Steve, fairly explicit depiction of menstruation, resulting mentions of blood, mentions of dysphoria, Steve's internal dialogue is rather unkind to himself in this one (soft ending, though??)

-

Steve’s first, horrified thought when he wakes feeling an uncomfortable amount of damp sticking his boxers to his skin is that he’s somehow managed to piss the bed.

The immediate wakefulness caused by that thought, however, is enough to give him a second one – particularly when he feels the ache low in his gut and spreading down his hips as he rolls over to toss the covers back and reveal the red stain on both his underwear and the sheets.

Fuck.

He’s early.

His period shouldn’t have been along for another couple of days, at least, and Steve hadn’t even thought about putting on a pad before getting into bed—he glances at the clock—two hours ago.

“Motherfucker,” Steve hisses.

He’d gotten home from the world’s most frustrating late shift sometime after midnight and had actually managed to get to sleep by one, and now his body is pulling this shit on him – waking him with pain and mess at three in the goddamn morning, days before it had any right to. And now his boxers are probably toast, and the sheets might be salvageable but he’s going to have to get up and change them right now, and he’s so fucking tired, and it’s three in the morning, and when he shifts to sit up, he’s caught for a moment by the sticky-slick feeling of blood drying against his skin.

He does his best to swallow back the feeling of nausea that creeps up on him at the sensation,  but it’s something he hasn’t had the stomach for since being covered in Eddie’s blood after hauling him out of the Upside Down, and the cramps really aren’t helping.

It’s for all these reasons that he’s probably less gentle than he could be when he reaches over to shake Eddie awake.

“Eddie, wake up.”

Eddie groans and rolls over, curling up with his back to Steve.

Steve huffs and gives him a shove. “Eddie.”

“S’early,” Eddie grumbles. “G’way.”

Normally, Steve doesn’t mind Eddie’s steadfast refusal to wake up for anything less than three alarms and the promise of coffee. Sometimes he even has fun with it, seeing how quickly he can rouse Eddie with other sorts of promises. Right now, though, he has less than no patience, and he grabs his pillow and whacks Eddie in the side with it.

“Wake up!”

“Whatthefuck,” Eddie gasps, bolting upright and glancing around the room for his assailant.

Later, Steve might feel bad; for now, he only drawls, “You awake now?”

“Did you hit me with a pillow?” Eddie demands, eyeing the weapon in Steve’s hands.

“You wouldn’t wake up,” Steve says. “I need you to get up for a minute.”

“What? Why, what’s– oh.” Eddie much catch sight of the mess as Steve twists to shove the pillow back behind himself. “Shit.”

Steve’s face heats with embarrassment. “Shut up,” he snaps. “Just get out of the bed.”

Clumsily, Eddie moves to obey. “I didn’t mean–”

“It’s– never mind, I shouldn’t have snapped, sorry, just–” Steve sighs. “Just let me change the sheets.

He strips the comforter from the bed and rolls it up to toss it into the chair in the corner of the room to be put back on when he’s done, but he doesn’t make it much farther before his body betrays him with another wave of squeezing cramps and a dribble of blood sliding down the inside of his thigh from under the loose leg of his boxers.

He swears and lunges for the tissue box on his bedside table to catch the drip before it can hit the floor, and he can hear Eddie hiss a breath in through his teeth – it’s probably in sympathy, Steve recognizes distantly, but in the moment he still feels like he might die of shame.

“Let me– let me get cleaned up. Just a minute,” Steve mutters, balling the tissue up in his fist and making for the dresser. “Then I’ll finish with the sheets.”

“Why don’t you go take a quick shower?” Eddie suggests quietly. “I can finish the sheets.”

Yanking a pair of briefs out of the dresser, Steve slams the drawer shut. “I can clean up my own damn mess, Eddie.”

“I know you can, but you don’t have to,” Eddie says, much more patiently than Steve probably deserves. “I’m betting you’ll feel ten times better if you get the chance to rinse off, so go ahead. You know how much I love wrestling with the fitted sheet.”

Steve should probably say no. It’s stupid to make Eddie clean up after him when he’s perfectly capable of doing it himself.

He should say no, but he doesn’t want to.

He glances back at Eddie, who looks nothing but sincere in his offer, and nods. “Thanks,” he mumbles, and Eddie gives him a little smile and a nod in return.

In the bathroom, Steve makes the water as hot as he can stand it and pops two Advil before stripping and shoving his boxers straight into the trash. If he tried hard enough, he might be able to get the stain out, but he doesn’t have the mental fortitude to contemplate doing that right now. His t-shirt has been spared any blood, but he puts it in the hamper to be washed, anyway. It just feels dirty now.

There are some months where Steve’s period comes and goes without any fuss; it’s an inconvenience and a bit of a drain, but hardly worth comment. Then there are some months that shove Steve headfirst into ten different stages of dysphoria and various neuroses for no apparent reason.

This one feels like it’s going to be the latter.

Even once he’s standing under the shower spray, the blood already sluiced down the drain, Steve doesn’t feel like he’s ever going to be clean again. He knows it’s his shitty brain lying to him, he knows that the feeling will go away in a few days—a week, at most—but that doesn’t help him now.

He wastes an extra ten minutes in the shower, trying to convince himself he’s only staying in because the hot water is helping his cramps (only partially true; he’s so tense that they haven’t really abated, and in fact have crawled up his sides now, seizing on the scar tissue from his bat bites and yanking his whole abdomen in tight, but he’s hoping it will help with his cramps), but he does eventually manage to force himself out and dry off.

With the fuck-off-biggest pad he owns shoved into his underwear, Steve heads back to the bedroom and stops short inside the door.

The lights are still dim, and Eddie is waiting up for him, sitting against the pillows with his book. He’s not only changed the sheets and fixed the comforter, but he’s laid out a pair of pajamas for Steve – the exact pair he prefers when he’s having a particularly bad day. And for some reason, that’s it for Steve.

The tears hit before he can even try to choke them off, and Eddie must not be very immersed in his book, because the first ragged breath is enough to alert him to the fact that something is wrong.

He looks almost wounded when he catches sight of Steve standing in the doorway like a weepy idiot, and Steve would feel bad, but Eddie’s already up and out of the bed and coming towards Steve with his arms open in offering.

And with anyone else, Steve would shy away; this isn’t a part of him that anyone needs to see, this weakness and inability to cope. But from Eddie– even as stupid as Steve feels right now, he knows he doesn’t have much that he needs to hide from a man who will help him clean up his own blood and then offer to hold him while he cries about it.

He accepts the hug, allows himself to be led back over to the bed and sat down, and then lets himself be held.

Eddie presses his lips to Steve’s forehead and then swipes his thumbs over Steve’s cheeks, wiping away whatever tears fall and kissing him there, too, like he can replace the evidence of his distress with love.

And hell, maybe he can.

In a while, Steve will want to get dressed and they’ll both need some actual rest, but for now, Steve thinks he’s more than willing to sit and let Eddie try.

[ghastlyaffairs]

for something as trivial and simple those feelings sure are hard to get rid of

also made a gif a version for fun + alt version with no tears under the cut

the gif is in very low resolution...this is a feature (i could make it bigger but that would require saving each frame individually and than glueing it all together. also i feel like low resolution suits it better. aesthetically and fits the mood)

[cometshift]

can nothing help me to regain control?

[falloutcoys]

can you imagine if mike walters had a tumblr account

5 notes

🔌woebegone-official Follow

something special might be going out to certain players later today ;) only the best of the best will get this opportunity!

🧠 donthatetheplayer Follow

wtf guys you said i was #1 and i didn't get anything? @cannonball do you know what's going on???

💎 proudwbgdropout

bro really believed them 💀💀💀

187 notes

🧸 ryanapologist69 Follow

please tag your spoilers!! the game runners put so much work into the build up for these challenges. if you know what the pig means when you get it, there's no suspense!

#challenge 3 spoilers #woe.begone spoilers #it's like people don't even care about the game experience. don't play if your hearts not in it!

12 notes

🐻 imthebear reblogged

🐻 imthebear

don't tell him but i have a special surprise for edgar back at base! i'm so excited

🏎️ marissanotmelissa Follow

ohhhh my god could you two shut up about each other for even a moment? like, we get it guys! you're in love!

🐻 imthebear

you know you can just block me

🏎️ marissanotmelissa Follow

yeah but then i wouldn't know what to make fun of you for in meetings

#cmon mikey you know i love you #<- that doesnt mean you get to be mean to me! :( #i'm not bringing you biscuits and gravy tomorrow

9 notes

🌲 over-polls Follow

please reblog for larger sample size! <3

🌲 over-polls Follow

i should have expected this

113,821 notes

felixfiles-deactivated20230924

oops i think my boss found my account. i might have to go back and unmake it, sorry friends

👨🏼‍🔬 green87 Follow

A little late for that, I'm afraid!

🏢 compound-heritage-posts

certified heritage post

7,209 notes

🔦 troyfromthefrontgate Follow

wait how does this work. what does reblog mean?

[sharpbutsoft]

he was sweet like honey, but all I can taste is the blood in my mouth

[beastwhimsy]

back at it again with wizard yuri !!

[brain-rot-central]

Sonnet of the Lone Cardinal, Ch. 5

A/N: Holy hell, this chapter got hands. I sincerely apologize for it taking me almost two months to update. Buckle up -- we got some unsettling bullshit brewing within this one. As always, thank you all for your continued support, and please mind the tags. Happy reading!

Rating: Explicit Word count: ~8.2k (I'm rounding up) Pairing: Ascended Astarion x Female Tav (DU, named) Warnings: 18+, minor character deaths, depictions of murder, dark romance, pregnancy mention (of course), manipulative behaviors, toxic relationship, jealousy, abuse mention, minor references to suicidal ideation and overall mental health struggles Summary: Tav awakes after the events of the prior evening alone, confused. Having overheard a discussion between the servants, she makes her way down into the depths of the manor and uncovers a shocking secret.

♥ Previous Chapter ♥ Next Chapter ♥ Link to Ao3

She awakens; startled.

Her eyes snap open and Tav springs up from the plush cocoon of linens she's wrapped in – white sheets and a cream colored duvet envelop her. She looks around, frantically searching a room that is unfamiliar. There’s a crick in her neck as she turns her head too fast. She winces then raises a hand to rub over the spot. Raised scabs cover the two signature pinpoints in her neck as she continues to soothe the aching muscle.

There's a heaviness to her head as the events of the prior night swim to the surface of her mind, panic starting anew. 

‘He bit me,’ Tav remembers, urgently. She extends both arms in front of herself for inspection, flipping them over again and again. At this moment, Tav cannot recall what her usual skin tone is – her chest heaves with labored breath as she looks hurriedly around the room for a mirror. In the corner, alongside the wall, sits a vanity. She bolts from the bed, rushing urgently to the mirror.

Grasping the edges of the vanity, Tav snaps her head up to meet the glass.

Her reflection…stares back at her.

Astarion had kept his word – he did not turn her.

She sighs, collapsing into the seat stationed at the vanity. Autonomic tremors wrack her body, adrenaline beginning to take effect. Closing her eyes, Tav focuses on her breathing. She takes a deep breath in through her nose, blowing it out through her mouth. Again. And again. As she rides the choppy waves of her anxiety, a sharp twist in her stomach has her laying a hand over her lower abdomen. With the palm of her hand, Tav rubs soothing circles over the plush softness of her growing belly.

“Glad to see you're okay,” she says affectionately to her stomach, lips curling up into a smile.

How did she end up here? Where is here? Peeling open her eyes, Tav gives the room an honest gander. It's not large, but not necessarily small, either. The room hosts hunter green walls with natural pine wood flooring. There’s a glass door to the front of the room, adjacent to the bed, with two smaller windows on either side; Tav can only assume it leads to a balcony. Beige drapes hang over the windows, parted gently down the middle and tied to the wall by golden holdbacks. There are plants – so many plants – throughout the room. Marbled pothos in hanging pots, a small belladonna on a stand; various other flora and fauna act as decor for the quaint bedroom.

She rises and walks back to the bed, noting that her belongings have been placed neatly along the bottom edge. Tav pokes through them, revealing each layer; her satchel, scarf, and hat are all present. Personal items are all accounted for as she rummages through her bag. It isn't until she notices her dress folded under her bag that she’s aware of her current attire. Somehow, she's now wearing a beige silk slip gown, the hem stopping just above her knees. The top and bottom of the dress are embroidered with white lace; a small bow is positioned right between the beginning of her cleavage.

Tav scans the room again and finds a matching bathrobe hanging on a hook behind the bedroom door. She quickly gathers the robe and throws it over herself, catching from the corner of her eye, what appears to be a note on the nightstand adjacent to the bed as she turns around. A vase of freshly cut red roses also resides atop the table.

Tav picks up the note and inspects it. The handwriting is Astarion's – of that, she's certain. The note is addressed to her. It reads,

‘Tavaria,

My apologies that you will wake alone with only this letter  – I'm in rather high demand, today. I am hopeful this note will provide much needed clarification.

It seems as though we’ve had a repeat of our first encounter, yester eve. For that, I owe you an apology. I was overzealous. Truly, I'd forgotten how much I savor your blood, and just how easy it is to lose myself to it.

Rest assured, as soon as I'd realized you'd lost consciousness, I stopped. Everything. Nothing further occurred during your incapacitation. I gathered us both and brought you here, to your bedroom, to rest. I hope you don't mind my giving you a change of clothing; not sure how you'd feel about falling asleep in your day clothes. You did always make it a point to change before retiring for the evening.’

Tav smiles as she reads over the letter. He was right; she never fell asleep without dressing down for the evening. When he had asked her why, she'd told him that it would invite horrid dreams, were she not comfortable during sleep. 

She continues reading,

‘I've tasked Magdalena with helping you around the manor. You need only ask that of which you desire, and she will assist. I suggest taking your morning tea out on the balcony overlooking the courtyard garden. The roses I've left were cut fresh from one of our many bushes this morning.

Tav looks to the glass door leading out to the patio. She catches a glimpse of the small courtyard beyond the ledge of the balcony. Various shades of pink and red roses line the courtyard walls; they're no doubt the source of his gift.

Although the urge to sequester you all to myself is an incredibly formidable one, our time is sadly not yet. You are free to leave whenever you desire. Simply inform Magdalena of your wish to leave, and she will escort you.

I do hope you make a habit of coming to visit. It would be lovely to have you at future events.

I ever so miss having you near, my dearest spitfire.

A. A.

Spitfire – his old moniker for her.

The first time he saw her charge headfirst into a group of Gnolls, he bestowed that name upon her. She'd yelled orders from her frontal position to the back line, the pack dropping quickly from their combined onslaught. All piss and raw vinegar as she cut them down, screaming with each swing of her great sword. For Astarion, it was exhilarating to watch the woman he was newly involved with take the initiative. He would later tell her it was a deciding factor in how he inevitably fell for her.

Tav places the note back on the table, raising her head toward the windows. She approaches the door to the balcony, placing a hand upon the handle. It turns with relative ease and Tav pushes open the door, stepping out onto the patio. The sun bathes her skin in a comforting warmth and she takes a moment to enjoy the sensation. Despite it being morning, she can already tell the weather will be unbearably warm by midday. Yet, for now, this is fine. This will do nicely to help soothe her worrisome heart. At least, for a short while.

Looking out beyond the balcony, Tav is greeted with a full view of the courtyard garden. She sees the rose bushes from before clearer, now. Various colored tulips outline the brick path cut down its middle, along with lavender and catmint, creating a dazzling display of color. Tav closes her eyes, drawing in a deep breath. A sweet floral scent meets her nose and she instantly relaxes, shoulders falling into a more comfortable position.

She recalls Astarion's surprise when they reached Baldur's Gate. “You forget just how much color there is in the world,” he told her. Seeing first hand how much vibrancy the garden possesses, it's no wonder he speaks so highly of it.

As she looks down at the grounds below, Tav sees gardeners trimming hedges. A couple look up and wave, having caught her in their periphery. She waves back as a kind gesture, and returns back to the bedroom. There's knocking on the bedroom door – three short taps with the back of a knuckle, just as she closes the door to the balcony.

“Lady Tavaria? Are you awake?” comes a light voice from the other side of the door.

‘Magdalena.’

“Y-yes! I'm up,” Tav answers. She walks to the bedroom door but doesn't open it. Instead, she chooses to stand in front, awaiting a response from the servant.

“Ah, wonderful!” Magdalena exclaims jovially. May I come in, my lady?”

Tav worries the inside of her cheek, hesitantly raising a hand to the doorknob. The woman is harmless, she knows, yet her heart still wavers. With a brief shuttering of her eyes, Tav draws in a deep breath again and opens the door.

Magdalena stands just outside the door, a tray of tea and finger sandwiches in her hands. “Brightest of mornings, Lady Tavaria,” she greets with a short curtsey. Her signature smile is widely on display. “I've brought tea and some breakfast, at the behest of Lord Ancunín.”

Tav nods and steps out of the way, welcoming Magdalena into the bedroom. The older woman places the tray on top of a wooden dresser along the wall. “Thank you,” Tav says, walking over to the tray. 

Her stomach growls as she looks over the sandwiches. It dawns on her that she hasn't eaten since lunch the day before. As she reaches for a piece of sandwich, Tav notices a small scroll rolled up on the tray next to the tea pot. Choosing to forego food at the moment, she picks up the scroll and starts cautiously untying the binding. “What is this?” Tav asks, glancing up toward Magdalena.

“A scroll of Lesser Restoration,” Magdalena explains. “The young Master insisted you’d have need of it.”

Tav opens the scroll and reads over the incantation. During their travels, it wasn't uncommon for Tav to ask this of Shadowheart, especially after nights with Astarion. Shadowheart would scold her for taking things too far yet again with their vampiric companion, but would heal her, nonetheless.

“That's very thoughtful of him,” Tav answers, flatly. She recites the spell laid out within the scroll, a faint blue aura enveloping her. The scroll disintegrates within her hands as the aura clears. Her head suddenly feels clearer, her body stronger. Tav never quite understood how the spell works, but she chooses never to question it further. For now, she'll enjoy her breakfast, pouring herself a cup of tea before choosing a piece of sandwich.

Magdalena smiles again as Tav begins eating. “May I run you a bath?” she offers. “It will be done by the time you finish.”

“Ah, no,” Tav answers while chewing, raising a hand to cover her mouth, “that's quite alright. I think I'll just slowly get myself together.”

Their eyes meet as Tav lifts her head toward the older woman once more. For a moment, the servant's eyes glow. Tav furrows her brow as she studies Magdalena’s face. She's seen this look before, but not since Cazador was still master of the palace. 

Suddenly, it clicks.

She's actively conferring with Astarion.

Magdalena's eyes return to their usual hue almost as quickly as they changed. Tav resumes her breakfast, feigning innocence of her discovery. 

“Of course, Lady Tavaria. That would be no problem at all,” says Magdalena. The servant makes toward the bedroom door, but turns around before exiting. “Please feel free to call for me, if you have need.”

Tav nods again while taking a sip of tea. “Of course, Magdalena. Thank you, though there's one question I have.” She motions toward the note lying on the nightstand next to the bed, seeking to prove her prior theory correct. “Astarion said in his note that I may leave whenever I please.” She places her tea back down on the tray, locking eyes once more with Magdalena. “Is that true?”

A brief moment passes without a response. Faint glowing rings appear around Magdalena’s irises once again, then fade within seconds. “Absolutely!” the woman exclaims, positively. “You’re free to come and go as you please. Master Astarion would never keep you here against your will.” The smirk on her face is not her own but that of Astarion’s, a blatant display of his compulsion over the older woman.

Tav draws in a shallow breath, deeply unsettled. “Thank you, Magdalena,” Tav says quietly, placing her cup of tea down. Magdalena bows before taking her leave of the bedroom, the door shutting with a soft ‘click’ behind her. Tav stares at the back of the door, mind beginning to race. 

Why spy on her if she's free to leave? Why offer her accommodations if Astarion has zero intent to keep her here? She winces as a sharp throb shoots through her neck. The scroll may have cleared her mind, though his mark is still very much present.

“He's hiding something,” Tav says aloud, raising a hand to rub the side of her neck. The scabs brush along her palm as she smoothes over the skin. She begins to ponder the night prior. The look on his face… His liar's smile. Tav knows the look well. He's used it on her and countless others across the duration of their journey together.

But why? It's her, after all. He can trust her, can't he? He can confide in her.

“You left me, remember?”

The words echo in her mind. She hates to admit it, but Tav broke his trust just as much as he broke hers. The exact moment of Astarion’s triumph is when she pulled away. When he finally achieved all he lusted after, she left. Rejected entirely the man he became, truly, for her. Sold the very essence of his conscience in a diabolical contract to achieve the confidence, power, and strength to protect her, to protect them, for the rest of eternity.

She drops her hand to her stomach, rubbing over the small bump of her lower belly. That same circumstance is the exact reason she's in her current position. It surprises her, though Tav believes Astarion is still somehow unaware of her condition. If he were, he would have half the manor waiting on her hand and foot. The best clerics and healers would be brought in from all around Faerûn. But above all, he would demand that she stay here. Tav has little doubt he would be an attentive and caring partner. Yet, it would mark the end of her freedom. There is no doubt in her mind about that.

Tav inevitably makes her way to the bath, stripping herself of the silken nightgown. She cleanses her skin thoroughly with care, looking delightfully at the array of soaps and oils provided to her. When she steps back out, she assembles her outfit from the day before. 

With one more small bite of a sandwich and a sip of tea, Tav heads out of the bedroom and into the large hallway. She's unfamiliar with this wing of the palace – not somewhere that was accessible to during their initial visit. It's entirely possible Astarion had this built during the renovations, though the marble carvings within the walls state otherwise. Plush red carpeting lines the hallway, leading to a grand wooden staircase.

Looking around, Tav notes that there is barely a presence on this floor. She begins making her way toward the staircase, noting that even the floor below looks just as deserted. The gears in her head begin turning; where could everyone be? It's barely mid-morning – certainly the servants have chores?

Upon reaching the bottom of the steps, Tav hears soft echoes of voices coming from around the corner. She believes this to be the main floor of the manor. Is he having a meeting in the foyer? The ballroom? She travels down the hall and hugs the corner wall. Slowly she peaks her head over the corner. No one is present in the manor foyer, yet when she turns her head toward the ballroom, Tav quickly pulls herself close to the wall in an effort to avoid being spotted.

Cautiously, Tav again looks around the corner, staying as flush with the wall as possible. There's a gathering of sorts within the ballroom. Maids and servants are arranging table sets, ornaments are being strung from the walls. One servant is up on a ladder hand-wiping each crystal of the delicate chandelier that hangs from the ceiling. 

Ah, this explains why the manor is so deserted. They're all here, seemingly preparing for an event. Tav looks around and quickly notes Astarion’s absence, yet catches Magdalena fussing with another servant.

“Why’s it we who have to do all this?” complains the young man. He's tall, thin, with shortly cropped ears. A half-elf, perhaps? Maybe even less. “Why's the Master get to sit all pretty while we're here working?” He's holding a silver teapot, polishing it with a soft, white cloth.

“Oh, Thaddeus,” Tav overhears Magdalena sigh, “Lord Ancunín trusts that everything will be up to his expectations, so long as it is us who do this.” The basket she holds comes to rest on a nearby table top as she turns to her companion. “You can hire just about anyone to do anything. But those finer details that have people talking for weeks?” She raises a hand, wagging a finger toward the young man. “Those can only be found by knowing your clientele. And we do.” She nods her head. “He knows that.”

Tav begins to pull back along the wall but stops once she hears the young man speak again, “You know him a long time, don't you?”

“I do,” Magdalena answers confidently.

“Was he always this arrogant?”

The pensive look in the woman's eyes gives Tav pause once again. “He wasn't always in a position to be otherwise,” Magdalena replies quietly.

Tav finally pulls herself back along the wall, looking down to the floor. It's how he survived Cazador. The slavery. The whoring. The hunger. All of it. “Spite made me who I am!” She remembers the venom laced within those words, having pushed him too far. Her heart skips in her chest as it floods with unsettling heat.

“Do I really have to go down there?” the boy from earlier says from around the corner. “It's cold down there. And smells awful.”

Tav listens closely as Magdalena responds, “Oh fine, you don't have to go right now. But someone must go down before tomorrow night’s banquet.”

‘Down?’ Tav ponders. The only thing she remembers being under the manor is the crypts. Those were left empty after the ritual, having sacrificed all those lives in the Rite. Nothing remained but the stench of death and stale air. What could possibly be down there that they need to check on?

In a split decision, Tav peers quickly over the edge of the wall again. The path is clear; every servant is occupied with their tasks at hand. She then dashes to the opposite wall, hugging it close as she listens to the activity within the ballroom.

Nothing. Just the same chatter as before.

If she has any hope of making it to the crypts, Tav remembers she needs the ring. That accursed fucking ring, engraved with the Szarr family sigil. She doubts Astarion has changed the enchantment, as evidenced by the heavy metal doors of the ballroom. ‘But where to find the ring?’ she ponders. Tav recalls a matching set – one within Cazador's possession, and the other…

Godey. 

Astarion returned the duplicate back to fucking Godey. Or, really, what was left of him. Once obtaining Cazador's ring, he returned the prior to the skeleton before departing the palace. 

“I very much deserve the real thing. Not some cheap imitation,” he says. As Tav watches him kneel before the corpse of his tormentor, he gives pause. They’re the only two occupants of the room, the others choosing to stay above in the foyer. The room smells horrid; fetid. Nothing but the stench of death and decay permeates the air. Astarion sits with his head bowed low, hands balled into tight fists on his thighs. Tav refrains from speaking, letting Astarion have his moment. Eventually, the newly ascended vampire lord reaches into his pocket and produces the duplicate ring, dropping it within the pile of bones that was once animated. As he rises, Astarion turns to Tav and says, “I’m done here.”

She quirks her brow. “Are you sure?” Tav asks in concern. “We should really talk–”

“I’m done here,” Astarion repeats again, more sternly. He walks past Tav without making eye contact and heads for the stairs. Tav looks back at the room briefly before exiting, then follows Astarion up the stairs.

Looking around, Tav realizes the layout of the manor has changed. “But has he changed the structure underneath?” she whispers to herself. Out of the corner of her eye, she finds it – a small stairway at the end of the hall leading down and–

‘Aha; there it is.’

Tav quickly scans the hall and upon realizing the way is clear, dashes toward the staircase. She hurries down the stairs, halting momentarily at the bottom to perform another quick surveillance of her surroundings. 

Having Astarion as a teacher certainly helped improve her stealth. His two-hundred years of experience shined brightest as he glided about the night, lifting coin purses and trinkets with finesse so smooth they'd all be right out of earshot when the shrills of the victims finally rang out. Tav would stand in awe as he'd then pawn the hot items, using every smooth edge of his perfectly sculpted face to its full advantage. It was often that he'd come away with more gold in hand than the others during these exchanges, leading to the group agreeing unanimously that Astarion barter with all merchants.

The way looks clear once more and Tav ventures into the hall. This floor looks little changed; the…entertainment…quarters are off to the left, which means the kennels are still to the right. Tav turns her head as she approaches the threshold of the kennels. The blood-stained mattresses from months prior are still strewn about the floor of the room, coupled with the shackles welded into the stone. What makes her breath catch is Godey’s skeleton, lifeless on the ground. It's laying in the exact same position it was left in when he was slain. 

Astarion hasn't touched it. 

No one has touched anything in this room, let alone on this floor, from the looks of it.

With a heavy sigh, Tav steps through the doorway and enters the torture chamber. The air still carries the horrid scent of decay, but not nearly as strongly as the months’ prior. She kneels before the pile of bones on the floor that once was Godey, and without much hesitation, begins rummaging around for the ring. She finds it under his ribcage, nestled between his pelvis, and quickly stashes it in her satchel. Tav tries rearranging Godey’s remains as respectfully as she can, then rises from the floor.

She's quick to leave the room, not affording herself a glance back, and slinks back up the stairs. A servant passes as she reaches the top of the stairs and Tav halts, watching them intently. Thankfully, they fail to notice her presence, and she continues up into the hallway. Her next challenge is to somehow sneak into the ballroom, to the doorway off to the left that houses the elevator shaft. Astarion taught her an invisibility spell during their lessons, though her grasp on the spell is crude at best, only being able to hold the veil for half its usual time. 

She'll have to be quick, is all.

Tav hugs the wall once more as she makes her way back to the ballroom. Silently she prays no changes have been made to that wing of the manor. She whispers the incantation for the invisibility spell to herself; her form blinks out of view and she dashes into the room. Holding her concentration as best she can, Tav nearly collides with a maid as she turns the corner. The spell flickers for a soft moment, threatening to collapse entirely, before she inevitably regains focus. She looks around briefly – no one within the ballroom seems to have noticed her mishap, and she quickly slips behind the door leading to the elevator, closing it promptly behind her.

Exhaling in relief, Tav releases the spell, retrieving the ring from her satchel as she walks toward the elevator. The gate opens as she approaches and she steps in. As she raises the ring to the corresponding sigil etched within the metal wall, Tav winces, hoping that the activation of the elevator doesn’t trigger an alarm. Ancient gears begin to wind, feeling the vibrations under her feet, and the gate closes. The elevator begins to draw down, and Tav sighs in relief.

The air shifts as she further descends down the shaft. An uneasiness takes root deep within her chest as the temperature shifts; she shivers, and suddenly, the elevator stops with a jump. The gate swings open and Tav steps off. She's assaulted by the scent of rotting organic matter and stale blood. Her stomach churns, half in nausea but also hunger. Curse the child growing within – already having such a twisted moral compass. Most befitting of the union between a vampire and a Bhaalspawn.

Her footsteps reverberate loudly against the tall stone walls of the dungeon. As she looks around, Tav realizes that this, too, has been left untouched during the renovations. Making her way to the main hall, she ponders where Astarion would keep his secret hidden, were there one. She turns off to the left and heads to where the remains of Vellioth lay; where most accounts from all prior lords of the manor reside.

Entering the stone room, Tav immediately notices the two sarcophaguses off to the right. They, too, are made of stone, their lids decorated with intricate carvings. She quirks her brow, drawing closer to the structures. These look new; a fine dust has settled on the ground surrounding each, most likely shaken off the while being placed.

A quick memory flits across her mind, of the two men mentioned within the Gazette. Evidence of fangs marks marring their necks, vanishing from the crime scene without a trace. Again Tav's stomach churns, queasily this time. 

Perhaps these are Astarion's new sleeping chambers? Her brain is trying to form a positive explanation. Maybe he's grown tired of satin and feathered beds, craving the comforts of solitude. 

She winces, seemingly staring out into nothing, and pulls her head to one side. ‘No,’ Tav thinks, ‘not after that particular event…’

She approaches the first of the tombs, cautiously extending her hands to the lid. With a breath, she pushes, the bellowing sound of stone grinding against stone cutting through the heavy silence of the crypt. Finally, the cover drops to the floor with a loud ‘thud’, the ground shaking briefly beneath her feet.

Closing her eyes, Tav leans forward over the lip of the stone coffin. She wills her eyes to then open observing the contents inside.

Her mouth drops open, breath arresting in her chest by what she finds.

Within the stone coffin lay a man in hooded black garb. Of elven lineage, most likely – not much older than a hundred. As she scans his form, Tav notes a discolored bruise on one side of the man’s neck. A trail of blood leads down his chest, obscured by the collar of his garb. Reaching into the coffin, she gently pushes the hood to the side, allowing her a better view of his neck.

Her pupils grow wide.

Within the blossomed bruise, two pin marks decorate the man’s skin. Tav raises a hand to her neck and traces the distance between each of her scars. She extends her hand over the man's neck, keeping her fingers aligned. 

She gasps – the marks line up near perfectly with her fingers. 

‘No…’

A surge of heat crawls throughout her body, her heart drumming loudly within her ears. Tav darts her eyes to the second stone coffin and sets to work on shoving off the lid. With one final groan from Tav, the lid hits the floor, ground shaking again from the impact. Quickly, Tav peers over the ledge.

Another young man in hooded black garb – a dragonborn. Tav reaches down to push the hood over, revealing the man's neck to her eyes. He, too, possesses the same pin marks as the first.

“Somehow I knew I'd find you here,” comes a smooth voice from beyond the corridor. 

Tav halts, a shiver running down her spine. She knows that baritone voice, all too well.

Him.

Footsteps echo off stone flooring, the sound increasing in intensity as he walks down the hall. He emerges from the shadows and into full view; he's chosen his red and black doublet today, with a simple pair of black slacks. His loafers are the same as the day's prior. Not a single strand of hair atop his head is out of place. Perfectly poised, per usual.

“Shouldn't’ve taught me your entire repertoire, then,” Tav retorts with slight annoyance, swiveling her head to address him over her shoulder.

He smirks as he closes the distance. “Half, little love,” Astarion chides with a wag of a finger. “I taught you half of what I know.” He stands just within the doorway’s arch, crossing his arms over his chest. Astarion then tilts his head to one side, pulling his face into a questioning scowl. “Why exactly are you here?”

Silence hangs heavy in the air while Tav conjures a response. She narrows her eyes, shooting Astarion a searing glance.

“You lied to me, Astarion,” she accuses, raising a finger at him. “And I knew you did.” Looking to the twin coffins lining the walls of the room, Tav shakes her head. “I overheard the servants talking about something here within the crypts, and I–”

Astarion drops his brow. “Who did you overhear?” comes his stern response, laced within a deep growl.

Tav shrugs her shoulders. “Does it matter?” she suggests. “The damage is already done, Astarion. I know the truth.”

He's quiet as she walks toward him; stoic. He stops breathing, having no true need of it, and he’s a living statue before her eyes. Ivory skin with just the faintest hint of life. Piercing red eyes. A strong, sharp nose. Hardened jaw clenched tight… 

Tav is quick to rid her mind of the creeping lust that threatens to bloom within.

“But what I don't understand is why lie to me, Astarion?” She continues to argue her point, pounding a fist over her chest. “What do you gain? What do you preserve?”

Astarion doesn't answer immediately, likely trying to piece together a sound reply. He shifts his weight onto one hip and sighs. “Has our dearest friend Wyllyam not told you of our arrangement?”

Tav shifts back a step, turning her face toward the side only minimally, eyes still fixated upon him. “What are you implying?”

Astarion’s resulting smile oozes malice. “Oh dear, you really don't know.” He drops his arms from his chest and closes the distance. Tav flinches as he leans toward her, dropping his voice to a purr, “And here I thought you were just playing the part.”

“Know what, Astarion? Speak plainly,” demands Tav.

Again, a momentary lapse in response. He stares blankly, expressionless as he says, “Awfully surprised this hasn't come up during pillow talk.”

Tav blinks in genuine shock. ‘Pillow talk? What in the hells–’

Suddenly, her brain mulls over the thought and she scowls. “Astarion, are you asking if I've ever slept with Wyll?”

He leans back, shifting his head again to one side. “I'm not quite sure, love,” he says, feigning innocence. “Perhaps you could tell me?”

Flabbergasted, Tav shouts, “He's the Duke, Astarion! I report directly to him!” She shakes her head in disagreement. “No, our interactions are strictly professional.”

“Of course, but old habits die hard, my dear. Surely you know that,” Astarion retorts.

The sentence churns within her brain. Tav recalls the events of their journey against the Absolute. Every dinner, every laugh, every intimate moment shared.

‘He can't possibly be referring to…’ 

Her attention snaps back to Astarion, who waits patiently as she unravels his meaning.

“We shared a kiss, Astarion,” Tav explains, mildly annoyed. “You and I pledged ourselves to one another soon after. You know this.”

“You both shared a rather intimate dance, as well.” He begins to circle her; Tav keeps her head on a swivel as she tracks his movement. “What else, I wonder, did you share in our time away from one another?”

“I already told you, our relationship is strictly professional. I harbor no additional feelings for Wyll.”

Astarion's raises his hands in defeat, bowing slightly at the waist. “I'll accept what you say as truth.”

Somberly, Tav looks toward the two stone coffins holding the unfortunate victims. “How does Wyll have anything to do with this?” she questions. “I doubt he'd take murder lightly.”

Astarion huffs a laugh. “Oh, my darling, how wrong you are. They aren’t dead.” Astarion moves toward the first sarcophagus, stopping just next to it. “And they're not innocent. I can assure you of that.”

She whips her head toward Astarion, bewilderment painted clear up on her face. “Not dead?” reiterates Tav. “Astarion, I'm sure of what I saw. Those two men are dead; gone of this world.”

“Did you touch them?” he inquires, lifting a brow.

“No,” she admits, shaking her head, “why would I?”

Astarion lifts his chin, nodding toward the coffins. “Touch them,” he dares. “Go on.”

Tav holds his challenging gaze for a moment before bowing her head. Cautiously, she walks toward the coffins again, choosing the one that holds the elven man. Quickly she looks to Astarion, who nods his head again in encouragement. Tav raises a shaky hand over the lip of the coffin, reaching for the young man inside.

The hand connects and her eyes grow wide.

‘His skin…it's…’

“Cool, but not chilled, yes?” Astarion comments smugly, crossing his arms over his chest.

Tav quickly retracts her hand, shooting a heated glance at Astarion. “What the hells is this, Astarion?” she yells. “What kind of enchantment is this?!”

Knitting his brow, Astarion says, “Tell me, darling – does this satisfy your desire to paint me as some type of devil?” Slowly he stalks toward her, like a predator encircling their prey. Instinctively, Tav backs away, desperate to create more distance. “Does this prove your preconceived notions correct?”

“Astarion…” Tav says in a small voice, but she halts her retreat – a wave of rebellion overtaking her. She stands steady, watching his every movement.

He stops before her, heavy breaths rippling through his nostrils. “Will you fly from me again?” he asks, jaw tight. He leans forward, adding in a growl, “Do you fear me, now?”

He’s spiraling.

Backed into a corner, he's poised to strike. As she studies his face, Tav notes the tension set deep within his features. “...Not unless I have reason to,” she challenges. Tav narrows her eyes in question. “Do I?”

The tension eases somewhat, Astarion's face softening. He straightens his posture, placing a hand on the lip of the coffin for support. “Of course not,” he admits, looking off to the side. Astarion worries at his bottom lip. “I would see this entire city burn, if you willed.”

A cold shutter runs down the length of her spine. “I would never ask that of you, Astarion,” Tav states, cocking her head to one side.

“I know,” he smiles, lips pulling into a smirk, “but my offer still stands.”

Despite offering to raze an entire city in her stead, Tav realizes he still cannot call this what it truly is. 

Love.

How much he loves her. Loves the idea of them. His worst fear realized, Tav comes to understand, is her turning her back on him again. Walking out the door, never to return. Astarion still cannot admit to himself that he longs, desperately, for nothing more than them being together, for as long as the accursed Gods above allow.

But, she knows. She sees it – sees him.

Her eyes wander back to the elven man in the stone coffin. Tav turns to face the coffin and dips her hand once more, placing the flat of her hand against the man’s cheek. “How is it possible that they still live?” she asks, curious. “You bit them, didn't you? Drained them?”

“I did,” agrees Astarion with a slight nod of his head, “however, that's only the first part. They haven't yet reached the final act.” His chest rises as he draws in a breath, exhaling with audible force. He meets her eye as he says, “Currently, they lay between.”

Tav's jaw drops in silent question. “How do you mean between, Astarion?” she asks, mortified. “Are you implying they're in a sort of stasis?”

“Somewhat, yes,” confirms Astarion. “To create a vampire spawn, the victim must be buried under six feet of dirt. After which,” he continues, gesturing with a light twirl of his wrist, “they awaken the following night. Beckoned, by their new master.” A hollow look sets on his face, eyes dropping to the floor. “Bound to them. Forever.”

“This happened weeks ago,” Tav is quick to argue, the soft burn of panic igniting within her chest. “You've kept them here this entire time? In this state?”

Astarion shrugs his shoulders in nonchalance, adopting a sort of apathy as he says, “Not much else to do, unfortunately. Not until I decide otherwise.”

A heavy sense of dread looms overhead. Tav can hardly believe how seemingly detached he is from the severity of the situation – willfully keeping these men in limbo, until he, essentially, gets around to settling the matter. 

Completely at his mercy.

“This is hardly fair, Astarion,” says Tav, voice quivering.

“And what makes you think they're deserving of such a gesture?” he asks with a quirk of his brow.

“Everyone is,” she states in an urgent breath, “especially in death.”

“You’ve no idea who your heart bleeds for,” Astarion counters in a low growl, teeth clenched.

In a display of confidence, albeit foolishly, Tav approaches the vampire. “Did these men give themselves to you willingly?” she asks, pushing forward. Taken aback, Astarion steps away. “Did they pledge fealty to you? Or did you take it?”

Still stepping back, Astarion says quietly, “That hardly matters.”

“No, that's precisely what matters,” Tav insists, forcefully. She halts her frontal assault, choosing to meet his gaze. “Answer me, Astarion – did these men give you permission to turn them?”

They stand, eyes locked in a heated silent exchange, before Astarion finally admits, “No.” it's a one word response, yet it holds the weight of an entire mountain within its meaning.

The fire within her chest threatens to burst into an inferno, and Tav can tell Astarion is feeling the pressure, as well. There's a sheen to his eyes that only appears before the fall. Before a breakthrough.

“Is that the sort of master you want to be?” she pushes. The consequences of such an accusation can leave her in the same position as the men in the coffins, though this is another test of their bond. “One who takes without consideration?” Tav continues. 

Can he withstand moral objectivity? Criticism? ‘Comparison,’ she thinks to herself, ‘to Cazador?’

“I would not wish to create spawn of those unaware of this life,” Astarion states mournfully.

“But if you complete the process, they become your spawn, correct?” infers Tav, continuing to lay on the pressure. “You would have the ability to compel them.”

Astarion shoots her a side glance. “I would never do that to them,” he snarls defensively, his limit quickly approaching.

“No, but you would still have the option. Just as he did. And they would know that.” Astarion's nostrils begin to flare as Tav encircles him, his face screwing up into a tightly disapproving scowl. “Just as you did.”

“Tav,” Astarion growls out in warning, fists clenching with fevor. He follows her path around him, eyes glued to her form.

“That at any moment,” she continues, “you could bend them to your will. Just as he did.” Astarion's chest is heaving by this point. Strong, ragged breaths tear through his chest.

Yet, Tav goes on. “How long do you think you'll have before they rebel? Before they seek to reclaim the life you unjustly stole from them?” Tav stops just before him, craning her neck to one side as she says, “Does that sound like a familiar story to you?”

“I am not him!” Astarion shouts, hunching over. His fangs are bared, his palms splayed wide. His eyes flicker a bright gold for all but a second, but it's a second too long for Tav to not take notice. Astarion drops to his knees and Tav backs away, startled by the display before her.

Astarion's nails dig deeply at the stone floor below. He's snarling – saliva now drips from his mouth as his body gives over to a fit. Panic settles within Tav’s chest, though her feet refuse to carry her any further away. Astarion whips back his head – pupils blown wide – and their eyes meet; a thin ring of ruby red encircles them. 

“Astarion…” Tav sighs. She eases herself to the floor, but doesn't reach for him. Instead, she sits attentively – an unspoken display of trust that he will not take advantage of her vulnerability. Hoping that somewhere, deep within, he's still the man she came to love.

A low rumble rises from Astarion's chest as he studies her face. His eyes roll into his skull and he sits back, blinking rapidly. Raising a hand, he swipes it down the front of his face, then shakes his head.

“...Are you back?” Tav asks, timidly.

Astarion gives a knowing glance, nodding his head in silent agreement.

“What was that?” she asks.

Settling his gaze on the floor, hanging his head, Astarion confesses, “I…I don't know,” His chest rises and falls with labored breaths. “Forgive me; I meant you no harm.”

Somehow, she knows. Trusts in the one impenetrable fact that he will always protect her. That no harm will ever come to her, either by his own doing or by others. Tav doesn't fear him, nor what he is capable of.

“I know,” Tav says, confidently. She holds out her hands, palms turned upward, in offer to Astarion. They don't have to talk about what happened just yet. For right now, they must move forward.

He gives pause at her gesture, but then readily accepts, enclosing his hands over hers. They aid one another in rising off the floor and stand, keeping their hands interlocked just a moment too long.

Tav speaks first, saying, “You have to do something with them, Astarion. You can't just leave them here and pray they'll go away.”

His hand finds one of hers again, entwining their fingers once more. “...What would you suggest I do?” he asks, unsure. Astarion looks to her from under his lashes, brow knit tightly in a concerned scowl.

Tav squeezes his hand encouragingly. “Show them the mercy you wish was afforded to you.”

Astarion lifts his head, eyes widening as he looks to her. “...You would allow such a thing?” he asks with a hint of desperation in his voice.

Tav brings their interlocked hands to her lips, placing a gentle kiss to the top of his. “I support you doing what's right, Astarion.”

His eyes flutter momentarily, somewhat surprised by the intimate gesture, before he dips his head in a short nod. “Fine,” he says, “I'll do it.” 

Releasing his grip on her hand, Astarion moves to the coffin holding the young elven man. He reaches for his side, under his doublet, and Tav hears him unsheath his dagger from its hilt. Seconds later, Astarion pulls it free from his hip with a skilled jerk.

With a shaky breath, Astarion takes the opposite hand and begins tracing down along the breast bone of the unconscious man beneath. He feels, under the pads of his fingers, for each intercostal space, stopping once he reaches the fourth. Now moving his hand slightly to the left of the sternum, he dips his fingers again to confirm proper placement. The man's heart beats slowly under his touch; Astarion releases his breath, and looks again to Tav.

Tav sees the trepidation in his eyes. He's asking silently, again, for her permission to continue. If what he’s about to do is tolerable. Will she turn and run if he goes through with this? Would it be too much for her to witness him at his worst? 

She nods almost instinctively, taking notice of her own heightened state. There once was a time when the call of blood and sinew thrilled her; though now, the adrenaline coursing through her veins exists for a different reason entirely. Her heart beats strong against its cage, flooding her ears. 

Astarion means to kill these men. Mercifully, yes, but kill them, all the same. And she's allowing it. Encouraging it. Guiding his hand toward a path of resolution. A chance at redemption for his soured soul, all but forgotten by every God.

It's no matter to her, really – she longs to be his sanctuary. The savior of his damned existence. She wasn't strong enough then, during the ritual, but by the Gods she will never make that mistake again. Stop at nothing now to save him. To give him a new chance at life.

One where they all can exist together. Him, her, and the blossoming love that grows within.

Receiving the answer he sought, Astarion turns his attention again to the man’s chest. He raises the dagger, replacing his fingers with the tip of the blade. He pauses for a second, then begins pushing the knife forward.

A deep, agonal groan rings loudly against the crypt walls the moment Astarion's blade pierces heart. A shiver passes over Tav as she traces the movements of Astarion's arm. He twists the dagger within the elf’s chest, another garbled sound slipping past the young man's pale lips as Astarion carves through myocardium.

Astarion stands, near perfectly still, in the same position until the sound dies down. Only then does he pull the dagger free. He wipes the flat of the blade against his thigh, moving toward the dragonborn in a seamless transition.

A final groan spills from the older man. It reverberates within the crypt, drifting off into a dull dum. Astarion carefully removes the blade from the man’s chest, dropping it unceremoniously onto the floor with a loud ‘clang’. Astarion drags a hand down the length of his face and begins stalking backwards. “It's done,” he comments, turning on his heels and heading toward the exit. His head hangs low as he passes Tav.

She hardly acknowledges his passing – she’s too transfixed on the scene before her. 

Finally, the two men lay dead. Her nose picks up the faint scent of their blood as it slowly trickles from their wounds, though the smell is not as fragrant as that of a fresh kill. The scent envelops her once more and her stomach lurches in disgust.

‘It's rancid!’ she cries to herself. Tav places a hand over her abdomen, rubbing soothing circles over her belly, hoping to calm this sudden wave of nausea.

The crushing reality of the situation begins to set in. Tav had encouraged Astarion to show these men mercy. Mercy that wasn’t shown to him. She knew he'd likely choose this option, but the why escaped her. 

Until now.

“Astarion,” she calls out in a shaky breath, beginning to understand, “does this mean you…?”

Astarion halts just before stepping beyond the room's threshold. He turns slowly, looking at Tav as he says, “I'm holding a charity ball tomorrow evening. In Wyll's honor.” His voice is flat – devoid of its usual flair. “You should come. Speak with him. He can explain this better than I could ever hope to try.”

He's already rebuilding his walls.

Tav shifts to meet his gaze. A single tear tracks down Astarion's face and he quickly wipes it away, but she sees. Sees the bob of his neck as he swallows. Finds the hollow look in his eyes as he meets hers. “You did the right thing, Astarion,” she states, trying to provide reassurance. Give him an encouraging hand.

Yet, he's quick to refuse it.

“Then why doesn't it feel that way?” Astarion confesses, sternly. He promptly turns again and heads once more to the doorway, disappearing beyond the threshold.

Tav stands alone within the crypt. Her knees suddenly grow weak as the evening's events finally catch up to her. She guides herself softly to the floor, supporting her weight on a single arm as she leans to one side. Tav brings her other hand to rest over her chest and feels the crazed beating of her heart. The crushing weight of the evening settles deep in her bones.

Part of Astarion…wishes that were him.