#melody gates author

[lockandkeynovel]

Welcome to the Lock & Key Novel Blog masterlist!

Hi Everyone! My name is Melody Gates, but you can call me Mel or Melly!

This blog was created for the purpose of sharing insights and details about my original fiction novel - Lock & Key.

As the novel is in development, I'll be sharing non-spoiler details as I write it!

Below is the masterlist for all of those things so I can keep it all organized! Looking forward to working through this process with you all!

Love, Melly <3

About the Author

About the Novel

Novel Summary Character Biographies/Details Mood Boards Locations and Maps World Building and Extras Excerpts Author's Music Playlist

Reader Participation

Fan Art Polls

Melody's Fanfiction Blog - Melody's Art Blog

[melodygatesauthor]

Lock & Key - Moodboard

This moodboard tells a story...

But what does it say?

[whattheheckmidoriya]

A Million Tomorrows

Description: Change was inevitable. Levi couldn't deny he felt it coming, nor could he deny the dread pooling his stomach at the thought of tomorrow. You seem to have a way of easing those fears off his shoulders.

Word Count: 2.7k

Pairing: Post-war Levi x Reader

Genre: Hurt/Comfort

Warnings: AOT s4 spoilers, survivor's guilt. Let me know if I've missed something!♡

Author's Note: Hi, my loves!! It's been so long since I've had something to share with y'all, and I'd been working on this piece for a while, so I hope you all enjoy it!

Masterlist

Join the taglist here!

°•°•°•°•°•°•°

Something in the air told him change was coming.

It unsettled him, the idea of not knowing what was to come in this new chapter of his life. How could the tides shift and the seasons change so effortlessly while his tortured mind remained in the past? How could he be expected to turn the page when there was still so much he didn't understand?

Levi Ackerman didn't fear many things in life, but change terrified him. He wasn't ready for it, at least he didn't think so. The world's orbit seemed to speed up just enough to leave him behind, alone and abandoned. He couldn't keep up, couldn't keep a steady enough pace to remain one with the times.

He was falling behind and didn't know how to cope with the fact. Humanity's Strongest had withered away the second war was no more and Levi Ackerman didn't know how to pick up the pieces, didn't know how to move on now that he no longer bore a soldier's purpose over his shoulders.

He was nothing but a hopeless man, aimlessly stumbling through this life, yet something bloomed within him now that his nights were spent by your side. Indeed, he was hopeless— hopelessly in love and devastated by the fact. How terrifying, to get lost in the warmth of your touch and seek refuge under your sweet embrace— to slink away from the world to satisfy his greedy desires of basking in your love.

You'd created something in him, something so beautiful it chilled his blood in fear. How exciting; how terrifying.

Thunder rumbled in the distance, the warm painting of an afternoon sky slowly being consumed by the rolling of darkened clouds. Levi sighed, nursing a cup of tea in one hand while the other absent-mindedly traced patterns over the arm of his chair. His healing leg bounced over the wooden porch floors, almost impatiently.

Sitting idly always made him anxious. Though he always appreciated being able to savor his alone time, he often found himself seeking comfort in your presence. He'd picked up little habits that reassured him everything was okay— that you were okay. Holding your hand would subtly turn into his fingers sliding over your wrist, searching for your steady pulse. Caressing your cheeks allowed him to be close enough to feel your breath fanning over his skin, easing his nerves. He shyly started offering to bathe together, taking the opportunity to look over you, easing his mind with the knowledge that the scars on your skin were slowly fading with the passage of time.

The war hadn't taken you from him, yet he feared you'd vanish if he dared look away.

Music streamed from within the house, a melody you had claimed to be your favorite the moment you heard it on the radio. He had to admit, he liked it too, the familiarity of it enough to distract his racing mind. If he listened closely enough, he could make out the sound of your voice softly following the words to the song. The corners of his lips quirked into a tiny smile.

Love had made him soft.

Levi waited for you to join him on the porch, the tea in his hand now lukewarm. He cringed. He never liked the taste of cold tea.

A puff of air rushed past his lips as the sky opened up its gates, allowing for the land to be cleansed with a fresh wave of rain. He hummed nonchalantly. He never cared much for the rain, always despising how his shoes would sink into thick puddles of mud in the aftermath.

What a bother, he thought as a chilling breeze nipped at his skin and tousled his hair.

The former captain perked up at the sound of footsteps, relief pooling his chest. You'd finally decided to join him. As the door swung open, he turned in his chair to greet you but wouldn't get the chance to as you sped past him, leaping off the steps of the porch and into the rain.

A breathy laugh spilled out of your mouth, something beautiful and free."This is so nice!" You beamed, spreading your arms wide as the rain soaked your clothes. Wonder twinkled brilliantly in your eyes, your grin a wild thing that made your lover's chest ache.

He wondered, had your smile always been this big? No, he doesn't think so. Something was different— it felt new. A quick tug to his heartstrings had his mismatched eyes following you attentively. He could feel it in his bones, dripping down his stomach, pooling around his toes. Today's different.

Levi gaped at you, shaking his head. "Get out of the rain," he urged, wheeling his chair close to the porch railing. "You'll get sick."

He remembered having this conversation with you years before, both of you clad in torn uniforms, brandishing green cloaks, and worn-out boots. The scene was all too familiar, but your laughter was now wild, void of shame. Too many were the times he had to usher you back into the barracks, scolding you for being so careless. He could no longer count how many times he'd had to rush out of his office to drag you away from the ruthless downpour of a storm, nearly having to toss you over his shoulder to get you somewhere dry. You always said there was something about the rain that made you feel brand new. He always said you were crazy. But he couldn't say no to you now, not when something devilish and daring lingered in your gaze.

You merely turned to him, sticking out your tongue in retaliation. He scoffed.

Thunder roared a little closer now, and your smile only widened. You hollered in response, and your arms stretched up to the heavens. Oh, how sweet the taste of freedom, so fierce and lively.

"C'mon," Levi called after you, setting down his cup of tea. "It'll only get colder." He could already feel a chill crawling up his spine. Perhaps he should be seeking some towels to wrap you in— some warm blankets, too.

Instead of heeding his wishes, you ran further into the growing storm, your boots splashing into every puddle your feet stumbled upon. Mud splattered onto your ankles, tainting the dress that fell just past your knees. You jumped and twirled, laughter spilling past your lips with a joy so raw it seeped into your lover's ears like a sacred melody.

"Wait," He shouted as lightning struck, his heart pounding in his chest. Flashes of white and blue cut through the sky, their impact booming through the air. "Don't go too far!"

But you couldn't hear him anymore. You danced with the wildflowers, bending to the wind, each stomp and clap in rhythm with the crack of thunder. The drumming of rain kept the pace of your beating heart, so full of life and renewal. The heavens were the musicians and you, their valiant performer.

And Levi couldn't just sit by. No, because as lightning sparked through the heavens and the wind bit his nose with a chill, his heart only ached for you. Mismatched hues followed your every move, a pang of longing knocking on his chest.

Wherever you were, he was never too far behind.

"Damn it," he cursed. There was no time to go searching for his cane, the forsaken thing collecting dust in the back of his closet. With whatever strength he had within him, he latched onto the wooden railing before him and began pulling himself off his chair, his limbs protesting at the effort.

The former captain stumbled down the steps, his footing unsure, uneven. The aches in his leg scurried away as he stood a bit taller. Renewed confidence filled each stride once his feet landed on soppy mud. A new chill settled in his bones, something foreign and exciting.

"Come back!" He shouted, yet found himself going after you before he could think twice, his limp carrying him as best as it could. He felt like a madman chasing after falling stars. "Damn it, wait up!"

As if the wind had carried his voice to you like a sweet melody, you turned, a new giddy feeling tickling your heart as he slowly stumbled towards you. Something electric coursed through your veins, sweet and addicting. You laughed and cheered, kicking up more mud with every hop of excitement. Pride swelled in your chest at the sight of him, your heart threatening to chase after your lover.

A clap of thunder broke through the steady drumming of rain, almost as if urging Levi to keep going— he needed to reach you. His legs moved clumsily, the gap between you growing smaller. His hair stuck to his face in a sloppy mess, his clothes clinging to his healing body. Tints of pink dusted his scarred cheeks, nearly stinging his skin as the wind whispered sweet nothings into his ear. And though his bones whined and protested, the wages of war clear on his skin, he felt stronger than he had in a while.

"I'm coming!" Your voice rang through the air, almost as loudly as the chorus of booming thunder that followed.

And you ran to him.

A tug in his heart propelled him forward until he couldn't anymore. He tripped over his footing, his knee giving out and letting him meet the ground. And for once, he didn't care about the dirt under his nails or the horrendous state his clothing was in. Levi let himself get pulled to the dirt by the wind, his back to the ground. Facing up at the sky, he reveled in how the rain kissed his skin.

He's never felt more free.

How unusual, the feeling bubbling in his chest, a crazed little thing that pulled his lips into a smile. As a kid, he always dreamed of the sun, of feeling its warmth sink into his bones and fill his belly. He nearly laughed. How strange to find comfort in a raging storm.

You came like a dream. The dress hugging your body spread around your legs like a flower in bloom as you plopped down in the mud. Cold hands cupped the sides of his face tenderly, and he instinctively leaned into your touch. Cradling his head, setting it over your lap, you brushed his hair out of the way. Was he aware of how beautiful he was? A smile graced your lips, amusement clear in your eyes as he gaped at you, like a man drunk on stardust and hope.

The storm felt so far away now, though Levi was sure it had grown exponentially. But he couldn't focus on that. No, he was too enraptured by the sight of you to worry about such a thing. You, who kissed his scars each night, mapping them out like uncharted constellations. You, who thought his eyes were the most lovely combination of jewels. You, who now laughed so freely it made his heart stutter. He couldn't be any more in love.

"I love you," he breathed, unsure if you'd heard him. A trembling hand, gentle and cautious, reached up to you, wiping away the mud sprinkled on your cheek. His words came in a choked breath, scarred lips quivering under the weight of such sweet emotion, "I love you so damn much."

Something sweet bloomed in his chest, foreign yet familiar in a way he couldn't quite understand.

Even under the rain, Levi could see the tears swelling in the corners of your eyes, your smile so bright and warm. Butterflies fluttered in his stomach. How had he managed to find such love? By no means did the odds ever feel to be in his favor, but perhaps the moon and the stars had conspired on his behalf, shifting the tides so that, at the end of it all, it would be you and him.

It didn't make any sense; there was no way for him to understand it. The mystery of this love was too big, but he stopped questioning things long ago. He stopped believing in coincidences. Some things, no matter how impossible they seemed, were meant to be. Like the way your hand perfectly fits in his or how his name resembles the songs of angels when spoken by your lips.

He never thought this life would ever be kind to him. Levi had only known hardship for so long; he'd learned to wear his grief and anger like a second skin. But the way you smiled at him, the way you held him as if he would shatter under your touch— it all made him think that maybe life had some hidden jewels waiting for him to uncover.

"You make this life a whole lot less shitty," His voice came in a hush, raw and flooding with emotion. Stormy eyes fluttered as you caressed his cheeks so tenderly, so gently he felt his chest tighten in an achingly beautiful way. "Thank you."

You smiled, choking on a tearful laugh. Levi seemed lighter. The sharpness of his eyes had softened with time, his infamous scowl slowly replaced by a small smile. His shoulders sagged, no longer tight under a soldier's promise of bloodshed. His knuckles no longer strained around the hilt of a sword but caressed the apples of your cheeks with sweet reverence.

He wore freedom beautifully.

"My sweet love," you mused, your voice like honey to his wounds, balming over the ghosts of battles past. "Thank you for staying."

A breath, sharp and unsteady, rushed past his lips, his chest caving in under the weight of raw emotion. His eyes widened, something new glossing over them. The man cradled in your touch crumbled, his lips quivering as he surrendered himself to the vastness of your love. A broken cry tore through his chest, his breaths uneven as he hiccuped.

He didn't think himself worthy— never believed it should’ve been him who rose with the sun each morning, basking in the warmth of a life others never had a chance to experience. A man forged by the wages of war had no right to savor the sweetness of this life, to have his wounds cleansed by the downpour of the heavens. Sometimes, his mind would drift off, and he'd wonder what this newfound freedom would've been for you had you not been held back by the prospect of nurturing him back to health. Would you have left? If things were different, would you have parted ways? His stomach overflowed with dread at such thoughts. He sometimes wished he'd been pulled into the cold clutches of eternal slumber, to have been whisked away into an abyss he could never escape from. Maybe then you wouldn't be burdened with the cards he'd been dealt with. Yet through his doubt, through his fears, your voice echoed in his heart, offering tender reassurance.

Thank you for staying. His heart ached, overwhelming him with tears he couldn’t seem to restrain. His scarred hand clung to yours tightly, almost as if your touch alone tethered him to this life. What had you done to him? How could you devastate his heart with such sweet love?

Your eyes softened as he cried. Softly, your free hand worked to brush strands of ink away from his face. The man before you was no longer the deadly soldier many feared; he'd retired his blades long ago. The man before you had been in hiding for far too long, holding himself together for longer than should've been asked of him.

Your lover was gentle and kind, and he feared what the future held. He hated not knowing what the sun would bring with its rising and falling— hated feeling uncertain of what his days would look like. But it all seemed a bit clearer now, a bit less fearsome. Something new glimmered in his eyes as his cries boomed louder than the crack of thunder.

Hope.

Change was in the air. He could feel it in his lungs, feel it in the soft breath that carried your words straight to his heart. It crackled all around him, loud, wild, and full of anticipation. It sent shivers down his spine.

Indeed, change was in the air, and, for once, Levi would beg the heavens for a million tomorrows if it meant he could live them all with you.

°•°•°•°•°•

🏷 Levi Ackerman taglist

@leviackermanmyhero245 @violet-19999 @celestair @ms-sin-city @ghostly-haunted @andrastesbeard @ikisstoga @izukus-gf @Bluetima @lemonboi69 @aconstructofamind @imjustasimpxd @notgoodforlife @bubsonnobx @a10vely-yutazen   @Just-sana @Loca-raccoon @Hjnhuh @geese-goose18 @figlia-della-luna

[lesbianpepsi]

is this love?

pairing: Vada Cavell x fem!reader

summary: reader goes on Vada's laptop and finds something very interesting on it

words: 2.204k

warnings: mentions of sex, light swearing, bad writing, let me know if there's anything else

authors note: this is my first time writing for Vada so if she seems OOC i'm sorry💀

vada (1:31am) wher r u? 

me (1:33am): at home...? 

vada (1:33am): cum over 2 watch a movie 🙃🙃

vada (1:33am): come* lol

vada (1:33am): cum 👉👌

me (1:34am): hilarious. why do you want me over vads?

vada (1:36am): bord and snakish 

me (1:36am): it's half one in the morning

vada (1:36am): pls:( not evn for ur wife???💔

me (1:38am): what snacks do you want me to bring?

vada (1:38am): :D

vada (1:38am): takis, that choalet u like, waterlemon siur patch kid 

me (1:39am): okay, i'll be over in a few 

vada (1:39am): tyty

me (1:39am): 🙄🖤

vada (1:40am): 🤭🤭

You shook your head in amusement as you shoved your foot into your vans, soon after shoving your phone into the baggy hoodie you owned. 

Of course only for Vada -your girlfriend- you'd sneak out in the middle of the night to bring snacks and to watch movies.

The chokehold that girl had on you was beyond tight.

Grabbing your headphones, backpack, wallet and phone you silently sneaked your way down the stairs, you took painfully slow steps to make sure you wouldn't make a sound.

After what felt like an eternity you had made it outside with the key to the garage, you quickly went to unlock it and retrieved your broken blue bike. It was barley rideable, but still good enough for you.

You locked the garage, keeping the keys in your pocket before you began biking away towards the closest 7/11. 

The headphones placed on your ears filled the silence of the night with the sweet melody of Lana Del Rey.

After a handful of songs and halfway through White Mustang you arrived at the small store, it being the only twenty four hour store that was closest to yours and Vada's house.

You hopped off your bike before you entered, you had already memorised what Vada wanted. It didn't take you long before you were at the counters paying for the snacks, trying not to laugh at the clearly high worker who tried to act sober.

"Thanks." The worker gave a lazy thumbs up as he cracked an even lazier smile, you chuckled as you shoved your purchases into your backpack.

You sat back down on your bike as you checked on your phone to see three unread messages by Vada.

vada (1:43am): pls ride save 🚲🚲🚲🥽🥽🛟

vada (1:57am): jez what's takis so long?

vada (1:57am): 🪚

me (1:59am): 1) i will, don't worry❤️ 2) i have to ride to the store then to yours, plus my bike is shit. 3) no we're not watching saw, last time you watched it you got nightmares

vada (1:59am): ur alive!!!🧟‍♀️🚫

vada (2:00am): hury up 

You laughed to yourself as you kept your phone back into its original position, peddling away before you took your hand out of your pocket.

Lana Del Rey's mystical voice sung a few more songs in your ears before you arrived outside of the Cavell residence. 

You swiftly got off of the bike before you walked it up the pathway to keep leaning it against the wall. 

Opening the gate you silently walked over to the back door to where Vada was already waiting for you, smiling brightly when she noticed your presence. 

"Y/n! Hi!" She whispered yelled as she grabbed your wrist, pulling you into a hug. You smiled down at her as you wrapped your arms around her.

"Hey, Vads." You replied with a warm smile as butterflies flew around in your stomach at the contact.

The two of you stayed like that for a moment before Vada gazed up at you and stole a kiss from you before she headed towards the cabinets.

You took the moment for freedom to take off your shoes, placing them neatly in the corner of the room. 

 Vada went on her tippy toes as she reached two glasses from a cabinet, dropping them a bit too carelessly making you wince.

"Wanna do me a favour?" Vada asked as she grinned at you, hopping over to the alcohol cabinet as she took out a bottle of vodka.

You raised your eyebrows as you leaned against the counter. "Depends what that is." 

"Go on my laptop and choose a movie for us to watch while I make us our drinks." She said as she shook the bottle of vodka daringly in her hands.

You laughed as you nodded your head, pushing yourself off the counter. "You already know what I'm going to put on." 

"We are not watching Spider-Man again. I beg you." 

"Fine." You decided with a roll of your eyes, somewhat not surprised Vada didn't want to watch Spider-Man for probably the fifth time this week. 

Without a noise you made your way up the stairs and towards Vada's dimly lit bedroom. You shrugged off your backpack as you dropped down on Vada's snuggliest bed.

Her laptop was already on her bed so you thankfully didn't have to get back up, stretching until you reached it and swiftly pulled the laptop onto your lap.

You opened the laptop and immediately winced at the brightness, of fucking course Vada would put her laptop at full brightness at night. 

You hurriedly lowered the brightness until you could actually look at it.

That's when you noticed the laptop was making a noise.

The Sims theme played lowly, an audio that was instantly recognisable. You smiled as you noticed Vada was still in her world.

Deciding there was no harm in it, you began looking around the beautifully decorated house Vada had built. 

It was a perfect house for the family Tara had made.

The first sim you noticed was a toddler, a boy with y/h/c coloured hair and a freckled face. 

You smiled at how cute the sim was as your eyes flickered down to the corner of the screen where a small row of sims' faces was at.

Finding the toddler's face you hover the mouse over it to get the name of the sim.

Tod Y/l/n-Cavell

You blinked, then blinked again at the name.

Y/l/n-Cavell

No fucking way. 

Without hesitation you swiftly moved the mouse to hover over the next sim, a teenage girl who had dark brown hair.

Delilah Y/l/n-Cavell

A smug smile had appeared on your lips as your eyes gazed over to the two final remain sims. Promptly you clicked onto the next sim this time, which teleported you  over to where the sim was.

Your eyes widened as you noticed the name and what the sim was doing.

Y/n L/n-Cavell was the name given to the sim that you couldn't see since it was woohooing the last sim.

You purse your lips as you stifle a laugh, much slower than before you moved to hover the mouse over the final sim which heavily resembled Vada's face.

Not to your surprise, the name 'Vada Yl/n-Cavell' appeared as the mouse hovered over the sim. 

Just as you read the name a frantic Vada flung the door open as she practically dived in your direction, slamming the laptop closed on your lap.

With Vada half on you, half not, your eyes travelled down to her face, where you couldn't see her beauty since she was hiding it on the mattress next to your thigh. 

"Please tell me you didn't see a thing." She begged through a muffled voice, you closed your eyes for a few seconds as you tried to not let out a laugh.

Swallowing any hint of laughter you said: "I didn't see anything," A small snort of laughter escaped as you muttered. "Mrs Y/l/n-Cavell." 

Vada groaned loudly as she hid her face further into the bed, throwing her hands over her head as she tried to hide herself even further.

"I think it's adorable!" You said as you managed to stifle most of the laughter, Vada violently shook her head. "You're just saying that."

"No I'm not." Vada lifted her head as she gave you an unamused expression. "You're laughing."

"I'm not." You told her with a serious expression, the corners of your lift kept lifting as you fought a smile. "I just didn't expect to see a sim version of myself fucking a sim version of you." You managed to get halfway through the sentence before you let out a deep laugh, instantly covering your mouth with your hand to try to hide it. 

Vada groaned as she slammed her head back down to hide in the duvet. "I'm never showing you my face ever again." Vada declared to you, you smiled as you positioned your hand on top of Vada's hand.

"And how exactly are you planning to never show your face to me again?" You taunted her with a grin. 

"I'll just wear a mask everywhere like that weird Minecraft streamer." Vada exaggerated through a muffled voice as you tried hiding your laughter.

You shook your head mostly to yourself to try to stop laughing as you looked down at Vada. 

"And deprive me of that pretty face of yours?" Vada nodded her head, her head still hid in the sheets. "Yes. You better start getting ready to bang me with a mask on for the rest of your life."

"Is it at least a ghostface mask?" 

Vada stayed silent for a few moments, as if the words you said had actually gotten to her, before she shook her head.

"No! Making me horny won't make me forget about this." 

You mentally reminded yourself to carry on that conversation another time with Vada.  

"Vada, I promise you, it's not that bad. It's actually cute as shit." You insisted with no laughter that time, Vada slowly picked up her head to look up at you.

Her eyes narrowed on yours as she leaned against your thigh. "You're not bullshitting me?"

You smiled as you nodded your head enthusiastically at your girlfriend. "I'd never lie to you."

"It's still embarrassing." Vada whined as she snuggled further into your clothed thigh. You laughed lowly as you removed the laptop off of your lap, placing it onto the empty space next to you.

"The most embarrassing thing about it is that you actually think I'd let you name our child Tod." You jested with a humorous grin. 

Honestly, you didn't know what was going through Vada's choosing the name Tod. You'd rather name your child Howard, a name you more than less hate.

Vada gave you a hurt look as she perched up on your thigh to be able to get a better look of you.

"Tod is a magnificent name. You'd probably name our child something nerdy like Peter." Your smile shifted to give Vada a dirty look at her words. Just because I love Spider-Man, you thought to yourself with a groan.

"There's nothing wrong with the name Peter, meanwhile there's everything wrong with the name Tod." You argued light-heartedly, the corners of Vada's lips twitched upwards, she was trying to fight her smile.

Pride withered in you at that, Vada was starting to feel less embarrassed at the whole situation.

Raising her eyebrows she gazed into your eyes. "Fine. We'll just have to name our child something absolutely ridiculous then." 

You smiled amusedly as you nodded your head as if heavily interested in the conversation. "Oh yeah? Like what?" 

Vada pursed her lips for a few moments as she glanced away from your eyes, deep in thought. As if she had figured out a top secret code, Vada returned her eyes to lock with yours, joy swirling around in her eyes.

"Donut." Vada assured with a nod of her head. You stifled a laugh as you cocked your head to the side like a husky. "Donut?" You repeated in a teasing tone.

She nodded her head confidently. "Donut; the second love of my life." Vada confirmed with a goofy grin on her face. 

You smirked, your free hand moving to rest on Vada's scalp as you played with her soft hair. "Who's your first love then?" 

"C'mon you already know the answer to that. It's obviously Bela Dimitrescu." Without hesitation you shoved Vada's head down with the hand that was on her head.

Vada laughed as she dodged your hand as she moved it so the side, landing her head back down on the top of your thigh. "Don't worry, baby. You'll always be my number one girl."

You narrowed your eyes. "Even over Bela?"

She nodded curtly against your thigh. "Even over Bela Dimitrescu."

"What about Lady Dimitrescu?" 

Vada hissed as she closed her eyes momentarily before reopening them. "That's a tough one." 

You sighed as you nodded your head in agreement. "Alright I'll give you that since she is so fine."

"So fucking fine." Vada whispered in agreement.

You smiled at Vada who beamed back at you with joy, a true sight for the sore eyes.

"How about instead of watching a movie we play sims?" Vada grinned as she sat up, grabbing the laptop as she sat by your side. 

"I'm pretty sure my sim just impregnated yours so we can name our third child donut." Vada giggled as she opened the laptop back up.

You gave her a  puzzled look. Vada's sim impregnated yours?

Why the fuck aren't you the one who had a dick? 

"Why do I have to be the pregnant one?" You questioned as Vada began replaying the game. "I give off bigger dick energy than you."

You scoffed loudly at that, rolling your eyes. "Yeah right."

[dovithedarklord]

Stucked - Part 6

You're trapped in a game and a new threat is lurking.

..............................................

Pairing: John "Soap" MacTavish x reader, Simon "Ghost" Riley x reader, König x reader

Tags: Mentions of death, Mentions of blood and gore, Blood and Violence, Sexual Scenes, Alternate Universe, No use of Y/N, Not Beta Read, AFAB Reader

Trigger Warning: Contains blood and gore, violence, injury, some body horror, description of grotesque creatures, some monster smut (light), and some dubcon (lightly). Please, keep that in mind!

⚠️MDNI⚠️

......................................................

Author's Note

This part unveils a new evil!

There's a new threat, but your old friends are close by. Who knows what happens after...

Have fun! :D

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5

.................................

Like a faded picture that has been imprisoned in the depths of a drawer for decades, the vision is projected as faintly on the canvases of your eyelids. As if it were just a vision born on the plastic soil of a dream, nothing else, the memory that takes shape in your head seems so unbelievable. This horrible place has been holding you in its embrace hot with the stench of death for so long, that the images left from the real world seem to your brain like the remnants of a life that never existed. However, you're sure that the melodious children's laughter ringing in your ears is real, and you know that it belongs to someone who was once important to you. In this friendly fantasy world, there is no decay and no blood, only the inviting rays of the sun, which guide you to the surface with warm fingers, as you frolic under the cool foams, mimicking a mermaid. You paddle nimbly with your little hands as the princess of the secret underwater realm, and each tiny shell and grain of sand greets you as a subject of your kingdom as you swim above them. And when someone pulls you out of your adventure and lifts you back into the air, warm from the summer heat, you sulk and argue, trying to get free, but whoever the stranger is, they only respond with amused laughter. And your heart almost sinks at the fact that only blurred spots dance in front of your eyes when you look up at the figure who kisses the top of your little head and hugs you so tenderly. Because you know you should know her, but nothing breaks through the darkness in your skull apart from the feeling of loss that gnaws at your insides.

Although for a moment you don't understand why your own mind is turning against you, but even your frozen shock is penetrated by a faint recognition, that there is a reason why this is exactly the memory that arose in you after the many horrors you experienced. And it seems a very cruel trick from your subconscious that now, when an unknown force drags you deeper and deeper toward the bottomless pits of the icy water, it calls up this exact one out of the many mementos slowly fading to nothingness. Because you know that now the sun-tanned hand won't rush to your aid to save you from the frosty, otherworldly empire that is drawing you closer and closer to its gate made of torn bodies with each passing second.

And as if you just woke up from an unwanted slumber, you realize that no matter how much you want to linger on the soft lap of soothing reminders of the past, and no matter how much all your instincts protest against letting the false security of the images dancing on your eyelids slip away, you have other things to do. Oh, how easy it would be to let it end like this, rocking in the heavy arms of the cool water, finally die without rough hands trying to bask in the warmth of your still living organs. But you have work to do. And this ultimately breaks your body out of the shock injected into you by the unknown attacker, which pulled you under the surface, heavy with rot and death.

As soon as your resolve finally pushes you back from the temptation of the soft, shapeless drifting of unconsciousness, the shortness of breath tightening your chest reaches your senses, and your mouth opens in a desperate gasp before you can stop the reflexive movement. And as the cold water breaks through your lips and you feel the musty taste of mud on your tongue, your jaw snaps shut with such alarmed speed that you swear that you feel your teeth cracking. However, a stray sip of water that has gone astray still finds its way into your trachea, and as it pushes along the soft tissues like a thousand tiny blades, you would instinctively start to cough, but you're only able to ease the pressure of a force squeezing your ribs for a few pathetic seconds.

Your eyes open in fear, and you can see the taunting invitation of the moon's pale light even through the sting of the water blurring your vision, and you can almost feel how mockingly the silvery beams laugh at your torment. And as you become aware of with what frightening certainty the last faintly twinkling trace of the starry sky starts to disappear, your brain catches up with the facts, and even through the lack of oxygen, you understand painfully fast that the fragile thread of your life will soon come to a pitiful end and break under the cruel weight of the waves gathering above you. And because of this, your body, for the umpteenth time during the night, surges you towards action, and as the cocktail of stress hormones in your veins revives, you try to propel yourself upwards with almost instinctive movements. But no matter how you paddle with your hands, just as your legs would also join in the frantic work, the alien creature wrapped around your ankle tightens its grip even more, and the suppressed scream that is born in your lungs only echoes in your skull, when you feel how cruelly its spikes drill into your bruised flesh. You can sense, quite horrified, how the poison, similar to liquid fire, creeps through the boundary of the skin and muscles pulsing with agony. And you know that whatever this formless beast tries to inject into your body, soon it will help tip you back into oblivion so that you allow yourself to be driven into the predator's waiting claws with a willing daze.

Your hands rush towards the wretched monster holding your feet captive, and even you're surprised when you grab hold of the sleek extensions of a seaweed-like plant. And even though the army of thorns rising from the slippery tissue cut into your palm, you don't care about how the suffering radiates through your arm like a lightning strike, instead, gritting your teeth, you try to loosen your shackles, because it's only a matter of time before your luck runs out and you're back in that goddamn car again. Crimson drops of blood emerge like snakes from under the wounded skin, and the more fiercely you fight with the cursed seaweed, the cerise fluid surrounds you like a vague mist, casting your figure, wild from the fury of the struggle, into the midst of blood-red clouds.

All your nerves are occupied by the heat of your battle, because you feel it all too well how the merciless iron fist around your chest is closing, as if someone had thrown you into a press, and the metal plates weighing on you were trying to slowly drive your ribs into the living flesh. And you would swear that even through the gurgle of liquid against your eardrums, you can hear the horrible, almost insidious snapping of the hair-thin cracks running down your bones, as if a heavy boot were treading on freshly fallen branches.

But even through your despair, it occurs to you how strange it is that the crackles travel into your ears through the roar of the water so clearly, even though you know that nothing but the sound of bubbles could penetrate the chaos created by your panic. And when you catch a pale spot moving from the corner of your eye, like an uncertain vision dancing on the edge of your consciousness, you stop chasing your release for a minute. First, through the hazy clouds cast by your blood, you see a broken form unfolding, looking more like the dried remains of a wind-twisted and battered tree than anything else. However, when the tormented figure seems to be approaching, and the scarlet veil finally fades due to your immobility, then the shock cuts through even the tension of air that is stuck in your throat. Because your brain, fighting with hypoxia, understands that the creature is swimming closer to you with measured laziness, which may have previously feasted on the disintegrating corpses washed to the surface.

A pair of milky white eyes take shape from the dark, endless void with an almost otherworldly light, and the hunger looming in them paints the mouth so dreadful, which stretches into an impossibly wide snarl with cruel joy when it discovers in you its prey frozen in fear. As if the corners of its mouth were trying to get around the elongated head, splitting the dry, ashy skin on its skull like grotesque cuts. Yet, your eyes are immediately drawn to the pale gums and the sharp teeth protruding from them, stained a dirty brown by the rotting pieces of meat sitting on them. And as the twisted, thin body floats closer, a series of dim, tormented blots appear behind it, like an army of faithful shadows, which absorb the rays of moonlight piercing the water, bringing an ominous night to the desolate realm of the lake.

And it doesn't take much time, just a mere fleeting second, and you become sure that you have to flee, because these horrible devilish beings will clean the pliant network of muscles and tendons from your bones before suffocation has a chance to push you into the saving ignorance of unconsciousness. That's why the fierceness of survival awakens in you anew, and even you yourself can't believe the power that terror stirs in you, when you almost tear the tentacles of the stubborn seaweed from you, and the adrenaline that settles on your nerves doesn't allow the pain caused by the attack of the thorns stabbing into your palm to reach you. And if you'd have time, you would burst into tears of joy when the damned plant finally releases your ankle, but you have no time to be relieved, because you see the cautious advance of the distorted beasts squirming in the corner of your eyes, and you can feel the small waves on your skin that their excitedly grinding teeth create.

You're almost desperately try to swim towards the surface, and although the force of the pressure gnawing at your insides increases with each hasty movement, and small black spots slowly crawl into your field of vision, you don't care about the agony that crushes the soft tissues of your internal organs. When your hand finally breaks through the mirror-smooth border of the lake's surface for the first time, and your fingers are caressed by the prickle of the cold night air, then all the suffering that has tried to push you into the silky lap of another death disappears. And perhaps you've never been so happy to see the moon sprawled out like a divine being in the middle of this imaginary world, and you're not at all bothered by the sardonic glee with which its sparkling, silvery gaze follows how you begin to swallow the life-giving oxygen like a pitiful fish on dry land. Although you forcefully cough out the remnants of the water that have strayed into your airways, as soon as the first sip of air fills your chest aching with burning stinging, and the specks squirming in front of your eyes vanish, you have the strength to focus on the way out. And you know that you don't have time to hesitate any longer, because you can see the moving outline of the unknown monsters gathering below you.

You run your gaze along the landscape shrouded in dreadful stillness, and you feel your stomach flutter with gratitude when you discover how seductively close the line of the shallow shore stretches behind you. You only wildly hope that you're able to outrun these horrible creatures, as you put each of your tired limbs to work and start swimming without any delay, because it only takes one of these awful beings to catch you, and your remains will be reduced to tiny crumbs of bones and viscera. And despite the fact that you've met your end countless times, you know that each of your deaths would pale in comparison to being torn to pieces alive by these infernal abominations. Perhaps this is the motivation that breaks through the last barrier in your consciousness and helps to get your body to move with an unprecedented urgency, and this is what dulls the ear-splitting scream-like noise of the frenzy unfolding behind you.

The few minutes seem like millennia until you finally reach the swampy ground, and you stumble to your feet, yanking your shoes from the mud's stubborn grip with an angry cry as you clumsily drag yourself ashore. And as you finally make it to the edge of the wet sand, you drop to your knees, panting, allowing yourself a few meager seconds to rest before you're forced to run again from the evils that stalk you. Because you’re sure that whatever the tentacled creature was, it's still lurking in the depths of the abyss, and the two murderers can also be breathing down your neck thanks to the terrible sidequest you've fallen into. Almost instinctively, your hand sinks into the pocket of the soaked pants, and when you find the disconcertingly untouched map, you feel a heavy weight lift off your heart. All you have to do is to lie low a bit, and then calmly set off to look for the next clue, which can finally get you out of this ever-deepening madness.

But when that bone-shaking scream blasts into the silence of the night once again, you wince reflexively, like a startled animal that has finally realized that the predator will soon wrap its foul-smelling jaws around its neck. And although by now you should have gotten used to the fact that this goddamn place always lulls you into a mirage-like illusion of tranquility with the promise of a moment of ease, only to avenge its mercy all the more cruelly, yet now fear claws into your insides with the same force as if you were experiencing the terrors of this nightmare for the first time. Because when you glance back, you see the cloudy eyes break through from under the velvety, rippling veil of the water, like faintly looming ghosts that were vomited out by the mouth of the lake opening to the other world, to drag you with them into the pits of insatiable hell. One of the gruesome figures emerges from the waves rocking like liquid obsidian, and its sickly thin body straightens amid gut-wrenching crackles, as if every single bone would slide into place on top of another, crumbling under the withered tissue. But even though the beast looks ungainly, when its mouth full of sharp teeth opens and that high-pitched, whistle-like screech rushes out of it, you clamp your hands to your ears to try to dull the pain of the head-splitting sound, and with the pain piercing your eardrums, you realize that if you don't get away now, then those teeth will be painted ruby by your intestines next time.

However, before you can even move, the howling stops, and it takes a few moments for your mind to register what is happening. And when you discover that pair of glowing red eyes appear behind the enraged army of monsters, you wish these bastards would rip you apart alive, because maybe that would be a more pleasant death than what those smoldering irises have in store for you. Because there is such a hungry temper dancing in them that settles into the aggressive movement with which the stranger takes hold of the head of the menacing water creature about to attack, lifting it up into the air. His huge palm swallows its face green from algae, and the way his strong hand clenches around the abomination's skull seems almost pitifully simple, as if the wretch would be nothing more than a worm to be trampled upon. And you feel how your insides convulse with nausea when the stomach-turning crunch, with which the bones shatter into pieces, reaches your ear canals, and you desperately try to swallow back the bitter bile pooling in your mouth, as, after a wet splash, you see the soft, pink flesh spilling out between the hooded monster's long fingers.

It seems that this makes the other grotesque entities understand that something more terrifying than them has arrived, and they swim back to the protective shelter of the lake with such ready submission, as if they were trying to hide from the sight of their angry king, before he would erupt into a frightening rage. Through the dread slowly bubbling under your skin, you realize that maybe this man really is their ruler, since the horde of malformed forces living in the water turned against you after he first surfaced behind the sea of mutilated bodies. And perhaps there is some woefully obvious logic in this, since the game wouldn't have allowed this new location to appear if there hadn't been an even more horrible surprise waiting for you in it. When the last of his terrified subjects finally disappears, the giant starts towards you with lazy steps, and with each passing meter it becomes more and more noticeable, how the hard muscles weave through every terrible corner of his tall figure, and suddenly it becomes painfully clear to you that even the bloodthirsty shadows skulking in the forest would offer greater safety if you threw yourself into the arms of formless darkness now.

You try to get up shaking, because you understand that you're just hanging another death flag on your forehead with your hesitation, but as soon as you put weight on your wounded leg, a bitter pain shoots into your ankle, as if someone were trying to twist your foot around its axis with their bare hands, and from the stars dancing before your eyes, you helplessly let your knees buckle and help you fall back into the mud with a dull thud. And even though you try to relieve the persistent throbbing of the white-hot pain with the air inhaled through your nose, by the time your head clears enough to be able to get yourself to move, your body, trembling with agony, is already swallowed up by the all-consuming shadow of the man towering over you, and you know that you’re done for. You don't have to turn around to know that the hooded monster has finally stalked you down, because you can see the black blanket with which his large figure covers the ground decorated with small stones and plants washed up on the shore.

You don't even dare to move for a little bit, and you feel ridiculously stupid for offering yourself on a silver platter with your person immobilized by terror. As if you were willingly present your chest to him so that he can tear out your scared, beating heart, but you can't even twitch, because, with the pounding of your pulse in your ears, the fear spreads through every inch of your body, pushing every muscle fiber into paralyzed helplessness. And you feel how the blood freezes in your veins, when a terribly sweet scent snakes its way into your nose, like the smell of the juices of rotten fruit left under the rays of the summer sun, which at the same time enters your head and covers the frightened upheaval in your skull under some inexplicable hazy fog, and tightens your stomach in a death-tight grip. Although this strange smell brings you closer to dizziness, even in the confused daze that descends upon you, you can perfectly detect when an unknown creature glides onto your shoulder with a damp springiness, then slowly slithers its way up the graceful line of your neck like a curious leech. You're unable to restrain the reflexive movement that makes you cringe in alarm under the curious touch of the uninvited guest, and even though every fiber of your body turns to stone, you raise your eyes to the intruder despite the anxiety gathering in the pit of your stomach. And when you discover the pitch-black tentacle shining with a velvety light, and the purple suckers lined up on them, which breathe unsolicited kisses to the valley of your cleavage, you yelp and charge forward to try to crawl away from the monster with such panicked clumsiness, like a wounded wild animal trying to escape from the wolf with its last breath.

However, no matter how hard you try to break free, the fear raging in your body only leads to an uncoordinated shuffling, and you fall to your stomach on the fish-smelling ground, hissing from the ache that rips through your ankle. Your mouth fills with tiny grains of wet sand, but you don't mind the sour taste on your tongue, because it penetrates your terror much more clearly when you feel the searing heat of another body behind you, seeping through the thin material of your soaked t-shirt like a contagious disease. And you know that the end of the night has arrived, because when you see a giant hand sinking into the mud next to your head, you recognize, along with the horrible delusions flooding into your mind, that you already lost your chance of survival when you waded into that damn lake.

And the newcomer doesn't leave you a moment to recover from your shock, because you just got rid of the intrusion of the sticky organ, you feel the tentacle breaking under the battered fabric of your top, and you can't stop the terrified tremor that moves into your limbs in time, when the probing caress of the feelers passes through the tense arch of your spine. The tenderness with which he traces the small valley between your shoulder blades is almost stomach-churning, because you're aware that with one careless movement, he could unfurl the row of vertebrae from under your skin like fresh peas from their shell. And you know that he only wants to lull your vigilance with the fleeting gentleness with which the appendage moves towards the line of your ribs to try to migrate to your chest, like a lover who wants to explore the lush curves of his beloved's body. And your brain, stuck in the fear of death, is relieved a little when the sleek arm finds an obstacle in the moldy ground, but the small joy that takes hold in you is pitifully short-lived, because your attacker only grabs your hips with a frustrated grunt and pulls you up with such light carelessness, which you wouldn't be able to fight even if the horrors of the night didn't weigh on your every cell like a leaden blanket. And as his fingers sink into the soft flesh, you feel that following the touch of restrained power, the mark of his hand will soon be ingrained into you with a purple color.

Still, you’re much more horrified, and goosebumps run over every defenseless inch of your body, as the clammy limb reaches your bra on its path, and a startled squeak gets stuck behind your quivering lips that is elicited from you by the attack of the slimy organ burrowing under the soft material. You don't dare tear your eyes away from the pebble shining with a dull light, which rises orphaned from a small sand dune in front of you, because you're terrified that if you follow how the monster takes what your vulnerable body offers to him unwillingly, you will sink even deeper in the muddy swamp of terror. Yet every nerve ending in you is sharpened when you feel the cold, slick flesh sliding against the soft mound of your breast. And there is something repulsively intimate about how one of the suckers latches onto your nipple with an almost insatiable hunger, as if this monster wasn't holding you in the trap of his strong body for the first time. As if he's got his hand on a delicacy, the nectar of which he has tasted at some point, and now the longing for the tantalizing aroma on his tongue would drive him forward. But your brain cannot understand why this absurd thought awakens in you, because it's unable to focus on anything other than the involuntary shiver that runs along your spine when it sucks the sensitive skin that has become its prey with an almost playful lewdness. And this small act is enough for the miserable moan, that has been crawling up your throat on foul feet until now, to finally break through your mouth.

And as if this one sound would feed the horrible man's unquenchable greed, for you shudder in horror, as another tentacle wanders over the nervously heaving line of your belly with slow laziness, and for a terrible moment it just flirtatiously skims along the waistline of your pants. But his patience doesn't last long, because he pushes under your jeans with an almost violent want, and you don't even have time to react, the limb sinks under the damp material of your panties with such insidious speed. Your consciousness can't keep up with the siege on your body, but it still fills you with agony as the lush flame of desire flares up in your stomach, as one of the suckers closes around your clit. And the muddled whine that creeps up your trachea is unfamiliar even to your own ears, when the wet pressure increases around the sensitive bundle of nerves, because you would rather bite your own tongue in shame, but the shock that rolls over you is too strong to resist the pull of the sensation.

But when you feel the feeler gliding between the silky petals and almost curiously circling the entrance of your pussy throbbing with scorching heat, then the fire of protest rekindles in you, and you set your hands on the damp ground to brace yourself against the beast. But even though your unexpected opposition gives you momentum, it feels like you hit a concrete wall, the man's chest swelling with hard muscles press against your back with such unshakable confidence, and you become aware painfully soon what kind of fun you've made him have, when the hardness that bulges in his crotch pushes against your bottom. And he, perhaps mistakenly, perhaps on purpose, sees your pathetic attempt as an invitation, and the deep, throaty groan rings in your ears, with which he thrusts his cock against you with impatient fervor, like a damned animal ready to mate. And as his huge hand clamp down on your hips with an almost vise-like force, even the stray idea of escape suddenly seems like a ridiculously far-fetched dream, because his fingers will crush all your fragile bones to dust before letting you get lost into the night. But even though the icy poison of dread sneaks into your every brain cell, you know you have to take flight, since the goal hasn't changed. You have to survive. And if you stay here, you voluntarily count down the minutes until the moment of your death, which, no matter what sweet torment the game promises, you know it's coming.

And as if he would sense that he cannot drive away the stillborn idea of resistance from you with his insidious tactics, that hurtful, syrupy smell appears again, which fills your nose with such a vicious intrusion that you have no chance to understand what is happening, because as soon as the dark fog spreads over your brain, the burning tingle that sends liquid flames into your core saturates every inch of you. An almost drunken intoxication settles on you, and it's only a dull fear in the back of your mind that he might be using some kind of pheromones to deter you from running away, but even though you recognize the diabolical method with which he traps you, you're no longer able to pull yourself together. The desperate demand of lust stirs up in you too strongly, and suddenly it doesn't seem alarming at all, as the tip of the tentacle that ventured into your underwear teasingly slips into your wet heat just for a moment. And you don't even have enough common sense to understand how terribly pitiful it is that you willingly squeeze your trembling body against the stranger like a bitch in heat.

And if the hooded man didn't suddenly freeze over you, you wouldn't even notice what was happening around you, because his presence settles on every single one of your senses, as if someone would drip hot wax on you, slowly closing you in an impenetrable shell, condemning you to eternal lustful suffering. But as vehemently as he started, your attacker ends his torturous game as abruptly, and as the impenetrable veil of the treacly essence in your head is inexplicably replaced by the metallic smell of blood, then your consciousness is able to clear. And although it takes a few excruciating moments before your brain is finally capable of receiving the stimuli from the outside world, then you can hear quite well the pain-filled, enraged groan that breaks out of the monster's mouth, as a large knife lands in the sand with a dull thud a few short seconds later.

And there is nothing tender about the way the long appendages terrorizing you disappear and one hand smoothes on your back to pin you down to the ground, almost ramming you into the cold embrace of the wet soil, and for a moment the air is forced from your lungs, as his huge palm spreads between your shoulder blades with warning roughness. And you understand the silent instruction even without words, and the revived stabbing of fear escaping into your limbs helps to force you into corpse-like immobility. And that's when you hear the soft crunch of the autumn leaves, as something treads through them to sneak cautiously closer to you in the distance. Your frightened gaze is immediately fixed on the trees rising beyond the shore, but for a tense second, you see nothing but darkness shrouded in eerie silence. However, the man notices what you don't, and his robust figure towers over you so possessively, like a rabid animal protecting its prey, and you don't even feel like more than a piece of meat, which the cruel world of the game has turned into such an irresistible reward.

"Get the fuck back into the lake, König!" A deep voice breaks through the heavy quietness of the forest, and you would recognize Johnny's hoarse baritone out of a thousand, because you have been lucky enough to taste the danger of its deceptive bloodlust too many times. But now, as the outline of his body unfolds from under the black veil of shadows among the vegetation, you recognize the murderous anger, the icy tension of which sits in the line of his broad shoulders. And although you only see a distant figure moving out of the corner of your eye, the anxiety in the pit of your stomach immediately tells you that Simon is the one who stalks through the tangle of wild bushes like a big cat about to pounce. "She's ours."

And you can feel on your back how that angry voice resonates through the chest of the beast holding you down, with which he finally responds to the appearance of the uninvited visitors. And for a minute that seems like an eternity, nothing happens, and being stuck in this horrible anticipation, the panic awakens in you, which makes your brain finally able to form meaningful thoughts, and you can spot that tiny little detail that has been resting in front of your nose until now so happily. Because the man's hand is still resting in front of you, digging into the mud, and when you see the row of red beads adorning the thick wrist, the spark of recognition lights up in your head. After all, this terrible place doesn't place anything unnecessarily, and the crimson glimmer that brings the bracelet to life under the silvery rays of the moonlight cannot be a mere coincidence. This is a clue, and perhaps this whole horrible torture has prepared this moment. And you feel in your gut that you have to get it.

Therefore, taking advantage of the fact that the hooded creature is centering all its attention on the enemy hiding in the thick of the trees, one of your hands moves with cautious slowness to crawl toward the jewel, and every single one of your senses is keenly focusing to see when will the creature above you, who is becoming more and more furious, notice what you’re preparing in such great secrecy. And as your fingers get caught in the thin cord of the precious object, you look up in terror at the behemoth above you, and the pounding of your heart in your ears quiets down slightly when you see how unceasingly it scans the emptiness behind the thick trunks. And you only see it in your periphery, as something with a metallic glint shoots out from the infinity of the forest, and that's enough for the tentacles lurking above you to act on their own, wild with rage, certainly working to save their owner from an attack intended to be fatal. However, this one act unleashes all hell, because the monster suddenly loses its patience and launches forward with an aggressive roar like a demonic beast thirsty for blood, and he doesn't even notice how the bracelet is torn off him as he pushes forward toward his opponents who are hiding behind the vegetation.

And you know that you have no time to waste, because it's only a matter of time before the bloodshed unfolds and you become an unwilling participant, from which there will be no way out, only certain death and another miserable awakening in the back seat of the car. So, forcing the will into your limbs, you push yourself up onto your knees, and a series of dark spots swim into your vision, as a knife-like pain shoots into your ankle even from this harmless movement. But you swallow the scream that is about to escape your lips, because if you draw the attention of these scumbags to you now, all your chances of escape will be gone. That's why, overcoming the throbbing ache, you reach towards the pearls scattered in the sand, and as you collect the ruby spheres in your palm, they glow up in red, leaving behind a cool tingling sensation. The smoldering light travels along your arm, and as if guided by an invisible force, reaches your tortured leg, and you watch in amazement as the bruises drawn by the violence disappear from the skin in the wake of the faint glow. It takes a second for you to realize what has happened, and when you notice the sounds of the fight unfolding in the forest, you hastily put your treasure in the safety of your pocket. You'll have time to wonder what the hell is going on when you finally manage to disappear from your pursuers again.

That's why you just spring up nimbly and head towards the multitude of trees, hoping that the battle, drowned in increasingly violent shouts, will drag on long enough for them to lose track of you. Because the night is still long, and you're quite sure that no matter where your path leads, more horrors will be waiting for you, because this damned place will do everything to lock you in the glass cage of its fictional world. But with the map and the pearls in your pocket, the hope, that you might live to see the dawn and you get out of here, finally rekindles in you.

[blkgirl-writing]

Conversations with the Moon

Gale Dekarios x Fem!Reader

Summary: Gale finds himself at the lake with a drink in his hand again, talking with the moon.

Authors note: This one is actually really good and easily my favorite i've made for bg3 Inspired by the absolutely amazing song, conversations with the moon by grantperez, this combines a few requests into one fic.

It was a blue mooned night, wonder happened on blue moons, simple as that. This blue moon no different than any other, but special, as Gale found himself on his seventh drink, leaned against a very cold rock, talking to the moon. Enticing his truths out of his lips like a sweet sweet melody. Words only alcohol and a friend could get him to mutter.

“I wish I could just tell her how incredible she is-“ his words slurred slightly, “she’s enchanting. Every word she speaks is like a charm” 

“A charm, hm?” The moon replied “you sound like a man deeply in love.”

“I can’t-“ Gale stuttered. “We haven’t even made it to baldurs gate, I don’t…I don’t even know how many days, weeks? It’s been.” 

The moon sighed, followed by an unmistakable “tsk”, peculiar considering it was the moon, but as he recalled it he was sure it happened. 

“Night after night, when I shine brightest, you talk to me, and always about her. Love is all I hear, just not in those words. Everything but those four words.” 

Gale huffed, grabbing his goblet from the ground, drunkenly swishing the red liquid around, some sloshing out of the rim. The moon only spoke truths, but he kept denying it. Over and over again.

“Do you try to scare me?” Gale but his lower lip softly, his small attempt to stop the words from leaving his lips. “To dangle the promise of love in front of me?“ 

“Do you try to punish me? I don’t know if this heart can take another crack..it’s destined to shatter, eventually. Soon enough…”

“You let the possibility of hurt ruin a lifetime of love and happiness with the woman who you will call soulmate?”

“soulmate…? Moon, you can’t mean“ Gale fumbled standing up, wobbling left before gaining his balance again. accusingly pointing at the blue moon itself like he had discovered a secret never meant for his ears.  “You said soulmate.”

“I did indeed. Very observant.” The moon said, the sassy tone ever so present. “I can tell you a million times if you’d like, but it is your decision to accept it and proceed” 

���You confuse me for a fool. She couldn’t ever…why would she..could…” Gales voice trailed off, his finger that was pointed up falling to his side. “She could never love me.”

“You bring your insecurities into your otherwise rational mind. That does not make a fool, just a deeply scarred man.” The blue moon continued, “but soon I will disappear. Do you want to spend another night talking to me, or the woman you care for.”

“I care for her.” Gale repeated, brushing his fingers through his hair, he cared. He cared if you got hurt, if you smiled at his stupid jokes. He cared if you walked next to him instead of the others, he cared so deeply and truly. 

He loved. He loved hard and true. He wanted to never be alone again, he wanted to show you his whole world, share his heart and learn yours through and through. 

“I do..I do love her.” He let out a sigh, relieved? Perhaps. “I can’t let my happiness….our happiness slip by.”

“Thank you, moon.” He smiled up at the sky, the sun moments away from peaking its head above, turning night to day in a flourish of colors. “I’ll tell her everything.”

Gale finally dared open his eyes, which were closed tightly as he recounted his night to you. His eyes still tilted downward, however, as, honestly? He was terrified of what his story made you feel. Joy? Happy to hear his confession? Guilt, perhaps? For having to let him down gently? 

“What do you think?”

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I have no future plans to make this a two parter.

Tag list, tell me if you want to be added!

@shyminnie07 @makers-breath @claryvoyantfray @black-sapphic

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[greetingfromthedead]

Shepherd Story 3 (God!Knives x GN!Reader)

Plot: In a world where fallen gods live among you, there is the god of winter and death who is also eternally bound to you with body and soul. A sense of routine has arrived as you fulfill your duties and wait for his return.

Series: Shepherd. Check out Story 1 and Story 2 (smut)!

Pairing: God!Knives x GN!Reader

Raiting: Teen and up

Tags: fantasy!AU, god!AU, no use of "y/n", established relationship, gods, feathery plant, fated love, romance, legends, nature magic, reunion, intimacy, possessive behavior, tenderness, some fluff, angst, death, reincarnation

Word count: 4.6k

Author's Note: We had a blizzard here after a day of sunshine and 17 degrees so it made me think of this story again. Wrote this mostly while listening to Rachmaninoff, I highly recommend their dramatic pieces to accompany this little story. This AU is inspired by @triplesilverstar's god!AU.

His sister's presence has retreated again, opening the gates for the northern winds to howl across the lands beyond the god's domain. Tesla had brought summer and filled the hearts of all with joy and love. All but the god of winter and death, for his heart beats for only one person and one person alone. He has waited patiently for another cycle of this world and to be released from the confines of his demon infested home and reunite with his beloved. He makes it out of his shadow realm, passing the first human settlements. He is followed by a dark cloud of despair and winter's chill. His steps freeze the earth beneath, and his presence seizes the sway of grass as the moisture in them turns to ice. The drinking water for the horses forms jagged crystals on its surface as the god passes by a farm. The animals are whining restlessly, his presence unsettling them. The forests are silent, the ancient trees muffled by a blanket of snow, as the heartless man continues on his path, leaving destruction in his wake.

It is so cold. His fingertips have gone beyond pain, and he can barely feel them anymore. His body wants to seize up, but he pushes on. He will never give up; he will never stop moving. The darkness radiates from his chest; it is so heavy and empty, the vacuum left in his center yearns to be filled with your love. It is the only thing that will save him. The only thing that gives him meaning. It is the only thing that gives him hope. The thought of your warm touch lingers in his mind. Oh, to see your smile again. It would make everything else fade away. The color of your eyes would relieve his pain and bring him back to life. In every iteration, you are gorgeous to him. No matter what body you inhabit, he will always be captivated by your beauty. But still, he can look past the external appearance and see the true splendor within you. The breathtaking and captivating presence of your soul has tied him to you for eternity. The strings of faith will never be severed, no matter how many curses are placed upon you. He will always remain by your side, unwavering in his devotion.

He moves south, with blizzards and frost as his faithful followers, spelling death for those unprepared. Nature has gone so very quiet as he walks through the meadows and fields. The air grows colder and darker with every step he takes, and the little lifeforms hold their steaming breath as he passes by in fear that they will be reaped by the god of death himself. But he is not here for them. As he slowly approaches the southern lands, where he knows he will find you, a melody strokes his ear, soothing the despair that has been building up inside him. He stops for a moment, the brilliant light of the moon reflecting on the glimmering snow. He recognizes the siren song, which draws him closer. Two hearts singing as one in the stillness of the night. It is very far, a quiet melody to daunt his soul. But he knows you can feel it too; your soul is drawn to him to close the distance between you.

The souls of the dead sound like little bells to you, beckoning you closer. Their crystal clear chimes ring out, guiding you towards them. Tonight, as you fulfill your duties, you hear one calling out from the village over the pasture. Being met by the souls of the dead is never pleasant; knowing they lived a life and had hopes and dreams beyond what they had achieved fills you with sadness. They were people who leave behind mourners and heartbreak. But to hear a ghost call from so close to home stings you more sharply than any other encounter. Your body is asleep in your little cottage as your spirit crosses the green, grassy field as a fox. Your presence doesn't disturb the grass or the cattle. You drift to the house where an old woman has lived for all your life. You know her well; you gave her your dried herbs when she got ill, and you played catch with her grandson when you were both little. She moves through her yard with a slow shuffle, checking that the door of her chicken coop is closed before going to count the goats in the barn. She looks concerned while she performs her nightly routine. You take your human form to use your voice.

"Mrs. Claire," you say calmly and quietly as you watch her. She looks up, her eyes filled with worry.

"It's you," the old woman blurts with a shaking voice. "I knew the rumors were true!"

She backs away, expecting to be met by the little gate separating her little yard from the rest of the world, but instead just passes through it.

"Oh!" she exclaims with a shrill voice, befitting an old crone. She looks at her surroundings and herself.

"Yes, Mrs. Claire, I am afraid you have passed on." You answer her unspoken question, and she looks at you without responding. You make no attempt to go closer to her as you look at her beautifully maintained garden and the memories it must hold.

"What are you doing here, you witch?" She nearly spits out the last word.

"I am here to send you to the other realm so you can be born again with the flowers of spring," you say almost absentmindedly before turning a sharper gaze onto her. "Or I could leave you to roam the grounds for a while longer as a ghost."

"I do not trust you! You practice witchcraft!" she exclaims, her voice trembling with fear. "You even lured the god of death here to advance your own power! We saw it! You let him bring destruction to our land!"

"What will it be, Mrs. Claire? Will you come with me, or do you need more time to say goodbye?" You reach out your hand to her, ignoring her accusations. "The outcome will be the same."

"I shall not go with a creature of darkness! You are trying to lure me into a trap! You shall not capture me!" She clutches the scarf around her neck and backs away from you.

"Very well. I shall come back later." You give her a little nod with your head as a slight smile dances on your lips before turning and walking away.

"Your wickedness shall be punished!" The old woman calls after you, but you don't dignify her with a response as you follow the chime of a different soul, much further away. The black wings of a raven carry you to a little town further in the north. You perch on top of the church tower and look over the streets to see some spirits wandering the empty sidewalks below. The snow has covered everything in a thick layer of cold, shimmering white. The coughing echoing from the windows tells you your beloved god has been here before you. He must be close; you have felt his call for weeks now, urging you to find him. You look over the souls—some of them going about their business like they haven't realized their mortal coil is over, and others sounding out their prayers to whatever god they have devoted themselves to. The wind howls through the narrow alleyways, carrying with it the whispers of lost souls seeking redemption. Your purpose settles heavily on your shoulders, and you take flight again. You soar between the high building walls, letting the gust rip through your wings and scatter dark feathers into the abyss below.

Some of the dead watch in awe as you pass, their eyes filled with hope and longing for the freedom you possess. They reach out to touch your feathers and grasp the key you have provided. With tears streaming down their faces, they whisper their gratitude and prayers for your safe journey. With a glimmer of stardust, they disappear to return to the circle of reincarnation. You move on, knowing that their souls will now be reborn with a newfound sense of hope and purpose.

You spend the night shepherding the souls of the reaped into the afterlife, knowing that they are in good hands and will be born again soon. You followed the pull of your being as a roe deer through the forest, feeling the ancient magic guiding you towards the man you love most in all of your lives. You walk alongside him, but only the dead can see you, so you just blend in as one of his many shadows. Spirits, both neutral and malicious, follow him everywhere he goes, but you are there only to steal a glimpse. He moves so silently, his eyes trained on the path ahead. His face doesn't let on any emotion; he looks cold and calm. Almost dutiful. You know you will see him soon, but as dawn creeps over the horizon, you hurry back home to your sleeping body as a white rabbit, running across the fields and pastures.

He arrives again with frosted flowers covering your windows and gracing the surface of the puddles outside. The leaves of a creeping vine by your house collect jagged crystals on their edges. The air is still and the world is blanketed in a serene silence, the quiet crackle of the fire in the hearth providing the only sound. A wide smile graces your lips as you look at the approach of the god from your open door. Your heart is so full of joy and anticipation that it feels like it might burst. You have your arm outstretched as he gets closer, and he wordlessly takes your fingers into his cold hand. The chill of his touch sends a shiver down your spine. His lips press against the back of your hand, his freezing breath tingling your flesh. He cherishes the warmth of your skin and the way your free hand cups his cheek and lifts his chin. It makes life creep into him again to soothe the pain of frost in his chest. Your gorgeous eyes look at him so tenderly, no words need to be spoken to understand the mutual longing for each other. From the thousands of meetings you have had in the past, all the meaningful words have already been spoken in a hundred different languages, but none have ever felt as powerful as the silent exchange between your eyes in this moment. He lifts his head to step closer, your soft breath exiting as a white cloud from your lips. He moves the hand he still softly holds to his chest, his fingers wrapping around it as he presses it to where his heart used to be. He closes his eyes and whispers, "I miss you more than words can express, sweet Shepherd."

He feels the shadow of his heart start to beat again; it fills him with warmth and chases out the cold longing that births the northern winds. His whole body is enveloped in a sense of love and warmth. The blue marks grace his skin and leave you in awe, like they always do. You straighten up and reach to kiss his jaw line. This makes him open his steely eyes again and turn them on you. You can see the love and adoration in his gaze. The god of winter and death is gorgeous, with or without the marks, and you are overjoyed to call him yours. You can't help but smile as he pulls you into a warm embrace, melting away the coldness that usually surrounds him.

His lips find yours, capturing them in a tender dance, speaking of his longing and spilling the devotion he holds for you. Your hearts sing as one, and your souls are entangled for a single night before he must leave your side. Words don't need to be spoken at this moment. His skin feels warm again, and his embrace could be mistaken for human, just like all those thousands of years ago. He holds you tight, knowing that this fleeting moment is all you have.

You guide your lover inside your formerly warm house, but his presence grows the shadows and brings a chill no fire can warm. Yet you feel no cold . You are consumed by the passion of his touch, lost in the intensity of his gaze, and you realize that you would endure any darkness for just another fleeting moment with him. You would follow him into the depths of despair, knowing that his love is worth any sacrifice.

You stop as you reach the shaft of light that streams through the window, the remnants of daylight creeping into the shadow infested room. You turn towards him, your fingertips grazing the palm of his hand, teasing the promise of being entangled with his digits. You slowly trail them up along the veins of his arms, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath your touch. Your fingers linger on the soft feathers growing from his collarbones, feeling the gentle rise and fall of his chest with each breath he takes. You pause as you caress his features, admiring the peaceful expression on his face. You touch his birthmark and nose, your thumb tracing the curve of his lips. He leans into your touch, a hand covering yours as it rests on his cheek. His lips part, and a hum of enjoyment escapes his throat.

You look at his eyes, and they are all you can think about; his face is etched into your soul like it's your mirror. He is there in your heart and mind, forever present in whatever body you are born in. As you speak his name, it is the softest word you know, it leaves a sweet taste on your tongue. It's a name you'll never forget, no matter how cursed you are. Life after life after life, you will speak it again and see these beautiful eyes gazing back at you.

His other hand goes to your lower back to pull you closer until you are pressed against his chest, feeling his heartbeat against your own. His lips kiss your eyes and trace along your nose before they meet yours. His love is a force of nature—unyielding and unwavering. It's a love that transcends time and space, binding your souls together in an eternal dance of passion and devotion.

He holds your face tenderly in his hands, his thumb trailing over the curve of your lips before he leans down to kiss you softly. His warm hands are so tender against your skin, and you melt into his touch. Your heart races as you hold on to him, wishing with all your heart that he didn't have to go. The moment feels fleeting, but you know that the memory of his touch will stay with you.

"This unearthly love is yours alone. It is merciless and suffocating. But for you, my sweetling, I would die a thousand times over." His lips brush over your cheek, leaving behind a trail of tingling warmth as he speaks.

He pulls away, revealing a smile on his lips that makes your heart ache with longing. The feelings in your chest swell, and you struggle to find the words to express the depth of your emotions. As he walks away, you are left standing there, feeling both grateful for the time you shared and devastated by his departure.

"Wait!" you call out and follow him along the path leading away from your house. You know the rays of sunshine creep over the roof of your house, starting to paint your frosted yard in a golden shimmer. You catch up to him, and he looks down gently as you grab his hand and squeeze it tightly.

"I love you. With everything I have. I love you. I always will. And this isn't fair. What they did to you… to us. It is cruel and unjust. And yet, here we are, standing together. I wish you could stay, but this is already proof that even though we fell, they lost." You look into his icy eyes and see the determination and resilience that will carry you both through the challenges until you see each other again. You caress his cheek and gently pull him closer to place another kiss on his lips. The warmth of his embrace envelops you, and you feel grateful for every moment spent with him.

"There they are! So it is true!" A murmur of different voices skips across the grass, and you look to see some men coming around the corner of your cottage. Your eyes glance over them to see that they carry weapons, mostly hand axes and spears, but a few have their swords drawn.

"So they are a witch! Conspiring with gods and demons!" An outroar ripples through the group of men, and you can assume there are more of them behind the corner.

"You have lured winter to our doors! You brought hunger and death to our land! Prepare to face the consequences of your treachery!" A different voice speaks up; it belongs to a man with crude leather armor and a sword.

You look wide eyed at the people you have known for your entire life. Among them are youngsters you used to play with, men who would greet you on the streets, and neighbors you have brought back from death's door. And now they all stand before you, ready to seek justice for the suffering brought to this land. The god shifts to stand in front of you, hiding you behind his mass of feathers reaching from his back. He doesn't speak a word as he glares at the mob, who has come with a thirst for blood.

This feels familiar. Glimpses of ancient times flash before your eyes. The way you prepared for battle against the gods of war. The way you wielded your gleaming sword with fierce determination and a heart full of rage. Your trusty extension is no longer with you; it has been replaced by a weak and mortal body not fit for fighting. You now stand among other mortals, stripped of your former strength and power.

You reach out your hand to touch your lover's back as a sign to stand down, but as your fingertips touch the feathers of his wings, you feel a surge of pain run through your body. You realize he has lingered by your side for too long; you are out of time. You pull back before he can rip at the threads holding your body and soul together.

"Go. Hide in the forest." His cold voice speaks without turning his head toward you. "I will take care of them."

You look around the broad back to see the mob move closer; it looks like every man from the nearby villages has gathered together to hunt you down. You back away from your lover to head to the dark wall of trees beyond your yard, hoping to find safety and escape the angry mob. It gets colder as you distance yourself from the god. The flimsy shawl doesn't offer you much protection against the biting wind that seems to be raising around you, picking up the light dusting of snow.

You hear more shouts and yells behind you, but the blood rushing in your head drowns out the rest. Where will you go now? Where can you run to and survive? The answers are not clear, but you know one thing for sure: You must keep moving. You need to get away from it all. As you can nearly duck into the shadows of the forest, you barely manage to pull away from the swing of an axe. You fall backwards into the crunching moss covering the forest floor. The frost underneath your fingers feels painful as it creeps beneath your nails. You see a few men coming towards you, including the one with the axe, and you scramble to your feet again.

The usually comforting forest is now filled with a sense of impending danger. It is filled with more than just shadows and your lover's demons. It reeks of hatred and blood lust. You run as fast as you can back towards your little yard and see your beloved look back at you with fear in his eyes. As the people close in on him, their weapons leave no marks on his skin. The god knows you are being cornered, and while he is immortal, you can be snatched away with ease. The candle of your life is flickering due to his presence alone as you run towards him. He needs to act fast. His fingers grab the neck of the man closest to him, and while usually the cold grasp of winter would be enough to snuff out a life like his, this time the puny mortal keeps fighting for his last breath in a desperate attempt to survive.

The god of winter and death realizes the warmth in his chest. It is you. Your presence has ignited spring within him as it should, his heart beating within his chest, robbing his shadowy powers. His presence alone isn't enough to protect you from these savages this time. Your love hinders him from laying waste to what threatens you.

He breaks the neck of the man he is holding and moves on with a speed unmatched by any human. The god tears through the immediate danger surrounding him before charging at the attackers on your heels. His wrath grows with every life he takes. He is determined to protect you at all costs. His feathers brush your cheek as he passes you, and you fall to your knees. You feel the fragile bond between yourself and this form fraying. He loves you to death. The god knows he is killing you. But he cannot stop, for your safety is his top priority. He has to secure you before he can leave your side. He must protect you from the hands of these fiends. He has failed you once before; he cannot allow it to happen again. He has to get away from you. Destiny and fate tease him with the dilemma of death as he rips through the mortal flesh of a man with a raised spear. His chest and feathers are covered in splatters of blood as he moves on to the next one. The symphony of violence plays in his ears, drowning out any thoughts of mercy or remorse. The only thing driving him forward is the primal instinct to keep you safe, no matter the cost.

The world is shut out as you hear a pair of footsteps approach. You raise your eyes to see a young man with his sword drawn. You want to run away; you need to scream or escape, but your strength has been torn from your weak body by the god of death. You kneel in front of him, your eyes begging for mercy, hoping that he will spare your life. In his gaze, you see fear and hatred. The curse you bear has been long forgotten by any mortal being. You cannot blame him for the dread he feels. The god of winter and death came for you; his presence introduces a bone-chilling cold that ruins crops and brings darkness to the southern land. The man before you demands your soul as payment for what he believes you have done to this world. You will find no mercy in his heart. He raises his sword and plunges it down into your chest.

Your hand grabs the blade as pain sears through your body. The man disappears from your sight, replaced by a display of beautiful feathers. You fall backwards, the tip of the weapon digging into the frozen ground below as blood paints the grass in vivid crimson. As your vision blurs, an arm wraps around your back, pulling you into a warm embrace. Your eyes look up towards the heavens, and a fleeting thought of cursing the other gods crosses your mind before the blue sky is replaced by eyes of the same color. Your hand, that's not bleeding around the blade, reaches up to gently touch his face.

The god grabs the hilt of the sword with his free hand as he watches the life quickly drain out of you. Is it the blade or the touch of his skin that does it? He does not know. Your being is unraveled as he leans closer, your vision fading to black. You wish to leave some words to him, but the breath escaping your lungs carries nothing but silence.

You are gone before his lips reach yours, so he hovers above them. He will not steal a last kiss from this body; you aren't there anymore. It is little more than a prison for the soul. He leans his forehead against yours, still clutching the sword and pressing you into his embrace. You are gone, leaving just a shell behind. You took his heart with him, and all the warmth you had filled him with seeps out of him with the tears he sheds, leaving only cold emptiness. The outstretched mess of wings that served to protect you start to grow blades of ice in-between the long feathers. Shadows gather around the god as hatred fills his mind. The down on his collarbones and neck grows into larger feathers, forming more wings as he lifts his enraged gaze up towards the few remaining people brave enough to face down the god of death. The people cower in fear, knowing that their fate now lies in the hands of a vengeful deity. His face turns monstrous, the eyes dark as the night, and feathers start to cover his face. He bares his elongating fangs at them. Shadows start to bubble up from between the wings, forming faces and clawed hands. The creatures of darkness escape the god and slither to the ground. They slink along the frosted ground, leaving a trail of ice in their wake. The sky darkens as the shadows grow longer until they reach the mortals. They freeze in terror as the creatures surround them, reaching out their hands to grab at them. Their souls are ripped from their meek bodies and consumed by the icy demons.

With a roar that shakes the earth, the god unleashes his full power, engulfing the land in darkness and merciless blizzards. The beastly deity bellows a deafening cry of grief that echoes through the meadows and forests. It skips over rivers and lakes. It shakes the mountains and leaves a sense of dread in the hearts of everyone across the lands. A chilling reminder of his immense power and wrath. The storm rages around him, spreading snow and demons in its wake. In the middle of the deathly horror is your latest body, frozen in time forevermore.

The beast stands up from the cold cradle he has created and chooses to move on, leaving destruction and chaos in his path. The grief robbing him of his human form, transforming him into a monster of pure rage and darkness. His empty chest bleeds with the longing of a heart that will never beat without you, consumed by the grasp of vengeance and hatred. Every step leaves frost and shadows behind; anything touched by the feathers gets ripped to shreds by the hidden blades of ice. He is searching again. Waiting for you to be reborn, to hear the siren song of your soul. It is so cold again.

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[imagine-knb]

I just need a scenario of Akashi head over heels for a reader who is afraid of him and avoids him lmao

I lovelovelove your blog 🥰

Thank you for the love! Admin Neon

The day you had met him was a core memory burned into your brain. It had been at a party, hosted by his family, where your own had been invited. The first time you ever laid eyes on him, he had been sitting at a piano, a calm smile on his face as he played a melody requested by his father. The notes that flowed from the keys had been calming, lulling you into a sense of ease that had you stepping closer to the sound. Right into his line of sight. You had stood there listening the entire time, posture poised as you soaked in sweet song. When he had finished, his father came by to land a heavy hand on Akashi’s shoulder, singing his praises with a tone that screamed superficial.

That’s when you saw it.

Akashi’s expression dropped for a second as the attention was turned away from him and back onto his father. The kind light that had been in his eyes was gone, replaced with something darker. His calm demeanor had been a mask.

When, for the briefest of moments, Akashi’s eyes met yours when he noticed you staring, that calm demeanor came back up – a kind shine had returned to his gaze. But you already knew it was fake and the speed at which he pulled the mask back on had you reeling.

From that point forward, you were intimidated by Akashi.

But it had been near impossible to avoid him. Such was the nature of being classmates with the redheaded prodigy. Whether it be during class, passing through in the hallways during lunch, or afterschool at the front gates, you always felt the intense stare of ruby eyes on your back. It had your skin prickling with fear, thoughts that what you’d witnessed at that party was for nobody to view. But now that you had, you must have been on some kind of shit list.

You did your best to avoid him, not wanting to be on the receiving end of his ire. But days turned into weeks which turned into months and still, you found yourself more often than not scurrying away in the opposite direction you’d intended when that familiar set of ruby eyes inevitably crossed your path. Your heart always pounded when he’d catch your gaze, adrenaline coursing through your veins as you ached to hide away for some sense of normalcy.

But a mouse could only run for so long before it was eventually caught by the cat.

“____.”

You felt your heart drop into your stomach as you heard the low voice behind you. You didn’t have to turn around to know who it was; the familiar tingle of ruby retinas burning into your back was clue enough. Silently, you turned to face Akashi. It wasn’t lost on you that the rest of class – including the teacher – had left already, thoughts of the upcoming winter break having them hurrying out of campus toward freedom. Akashi had you cornered and alone.

He looked expressionless, almost bored, as his gaze fixated on you. It made your chest feel tight, adrenaline pumping and blocking out all sounds from your ears save for the steady rhythmic beat of your heart. When he started walking toward you, movements slow and methodical, your feet remained glued to the ground. This was it. Surely, you were about to die.

With him standing directly in front of you for the first time in months, you were suddenly hyper aware of the aura that surrounded Akashi. It was one of confidence – of absolute authority – and it had you quaking. How could someone your age, so young and still learning, have such an effect?

“____,” he repeated your name, voice soft with an undertone that you assumed was faux care.

He lifted his hands and your breath caught in your throat as he gingerly grasped at the two tail ends of the scarf haphazardly thrown around your shoulders. He began wrapping it around you, curling the soft fabric into loops around your neck before he tucked the stray ends into a loose-fitting knot. The entire time, your eyes stayed fixed on the lapel of his school uniform, never daring to glance up at his expression; you were afraid of what you would find. When his fingers stayed gripped to the ends of your scarf for a moment too long, you wondered if he’d try to strangle you with it.

“You should put this on properly. It’s rather cold out today,” he said after a while, his hands finally falling back to his sides once he was satisfied with how your scarf now coiled around your neck. “You don’t want to fall ill over the break.”

The soft tone of his voice had caught you off guard and you exhaled a shaky breath you hadn’t known you’d been holding. Your mind was still struggling to catch up with what had just happened, replaying the past few seconds. A flush of color prickled against your neck, threatening to crawl up onto your cheeks. You dared to glance up, catching his gaze with your own.

The softness in his eyes was deceiving. The mask of caring almost had you believing that he’d done the action out of the kindness of his heart and not because he was trying to frighten you.

“Thanks,” you murmured out slowly, pulling the edge of your scarf up to cover more of your face. You couldn’t let him see the effect he was having; it might only spur him on further. “I have to go now. Have a nice break, Akashi.”

You left after your polite parting words in a hurry, wanting to increase the distance between you and the Rakuzan captain. As you left, you could feel his laser focused stare burning a hole through your back.

You begged your heart to stop beating so wildly.

Akashi watched with an amused smile as you scurried away from him. He was feeling some sense of accomplishment, months of tailing you around finally resulting in these few moments of closeness. As you quickly left his line of sight, he turned his attention down toward the hands that had helped secure your scarf around your neck. He could still feel the warmth of your stuttering breath against his skin and it made his smile widen by just a fraction. Your unwillingness to give him the time of day had been irking at first, but it was the small moments like these that had a deeper part of him craving more. He was enjoying this game of cat and mouse.

And he was determined to win.

[hyperfixationsporfavor]

True Form Sukuna/Reader: A Moment in Time (Part 7- The Decision)

Author's Note: Hey cuties. New chapter of A Moment in Time for anyone who cares. This chapter is super short but I hope you enjoy it. Any feedback or weblogs is super appreciated.

Warnings: Blood, gore, dead body, Minors DNI

You stood at the gates of the temple, adorned with beautiful silks in the most vibrant colors. 

Sniffing the air, you noticed the smell of something burning. In the distance a cloud of smoke rose. So you wandered from the temple gates and stood on the edge of the cliff to see what had caught fire. But when you got closer you came face to face with the hideous beast from the woods. You attempted to turn around and run but it reached out and took your hand. You turned around to find the rotting face of an old man staring back at you.

“It’s done my lady.”

You looked over the creature to see the village below the temple engulfed in flames. A melody of screams was distant, growing louder and louder until they overcame you.

“Maid,” a faint voice called.

~

“Maid!” Uraume barked.

Your eyes shot open and you sat up with a start, the screams still ringing in your ears.

You found yourself on a thin mattress in a small room, not much different than your old one at the estate. The same worn wooden floors and barren walls. 

Uraume scowled at you. “I have instructions to bring you to Lord Sukuna’s throne room.”

You rubbed your temples and tried to collect yourself. 

Yes. Your attempt to run away had been thwarted by those bandits, and that creature. 

You shuddered just thinking about it. 

But surely it had all been in vain as Sukuna would surely punish you for your transgressions. The original fear of being eaten alive crept back into you. 

“Come,” Uraume ordered.

You dutifully followed behind them as they led you down a familiar hallway.

You were reminded of a familiar occurrence, when you were carried before the residents of the estate to be killed by Sukuna’s hand. 

~

Uraume opened the door to the throne room and practically hauled you in. To your displeasure the room remained dark without the aid of the candles that had been lit upon your previous visit to this room. They shut the door behind you, leaving you in the empty void. How vile, to die in the dark. Lay in wait like prey blindly stumbling before a carnivorous beast. 

Suddenly, your captor’s voice cut through the suspense.

“You’ve awoken,” he murmured. “Excellent, there is something I’d like you to see.”

Without warning the candles exuded fire once more, allowing you to see what lay before you.

At first the shock consumed you, paralyzing your entire body. It was only when you regained feeling in your mouth that you let out a horrified shriek. 

Hanging above you was the corpse of the leader of bandits, or whatever was left of it. His eyes had been gouged out, dry blood streaked down from the empty sockets and gathered towards the remains of his mouth, devoid of a tongue and all his teeth. His limbs had been ripped clean off of him, and his innards had been removed.

You let out another yelp and turned away only to bump into Sukuna’s hard chest. 

“No! Please!” you cried, attempting to pull away from him, only to be stopped by a pair of arms ensnaring your waist and pulling you back. Sukuna used one of his spare hands to tilt your head upward. 

“Look at it,” he ordered. 

“Please,” you begged.

“Do as I say.”

You felt sick. The sight of the body combined with the stench left you feeling ill. But you knew how easily you could replace the former bandit so you obeyed, taking in the corpse.

“Take a good look at it,” Sukuna instructed. “And heed my words maid.”

“In the capitol, you are protected from the sight of curses and the results of their rage. Do you know why?”

“The presence of the jujutsu sorcerers,” you whispered, still afraid to properly speak.

“Correct,” he confirmed. 

Yes, it had become even more clear to you as to why your former lord had kept Yorozu in his estate. Her improper antics paled in comparison to a curse damning them all. 

“Outside the capital walls,” Sukuna continued. “There is no such mercy.”

He released you, moving beside you to gaze up at the mutilated corpse. 

“If you truly wish to leave this place, you may do so. But know that curses and man pillage and ravage freely beyond the walls of this temple.”

“So I’ve realized,” you distantly replied. 

“Then you’ve come to discover the crossroads at which you stand.”

Yes, and for the first time since you had left the capitol the direness of this entire affair crashed down on you. 

“You can leave this temple and spend your remaining days as a fugitive, or remain in my charge.”

He didn’t need to specify how long you’d stay at the temple. You knew. You also knew after what you witnessed today you’d be a fool to leave your captor’s protection.

So you shakily made your way to the throne and knelt before it. Sukuna smirked, making his way around you and taking a seat. 

“Welcome home Maid.” 

~

The End. 

[mikonawa]

Chasing the Sun ☄️

Baldur's Gate 3 Fanfiction Series

Pairing: Astarion x Tiefling!Reader Tav

THERE WILL BE SPOILERS!! YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED.

Important Notes: YOU the READER will be referred to as TAV for ease of reading (and writing). Tav was the Dark Urge until they rejected Bhaal. Astarion and Tav are already an established couple. This will be set after the events of Baldur's Gate 3.

Warnings: There will be mentions/discussions of sexual abuse, trauma, violence, blood, lots of blood and gore. There will be nudity but no sexual content. Will update as needed.

Author's Notes! &lt;3: This is a fanfic about Astarion and Tav healing together while on an adventure to chase their dreams - to live under the sun without worries. Both are just traumatized babies that lean on each other for love and support. I'm also using this fiction to practice writing so please bear with me for any errors. I'm a lil nervous posting this.

Word Count: 3,690

CHAPTER ONE

Kneeling before the unmoved body, Tav’s fingers tangoed through the sliced open stomach of her victim. As she pulled her fingers out, blood oozed down. Punching her nails back into the victim, she continued her work. The squishy sounds of her gore-y work was a melody to her ears. The blood slithered between her fingers as she tore her victim’s intestines to shreds.  Pulling her hands out again, a rather cruel smile formed on her face. The blood was thick like a glove on her hands. With her bloody hand, she wiped away the beads of sweat on her forehead. The blood on her skin felt refreshing, cleansing - more welcoming than a soapy bath. 

Messy, Orin would tell her, with each of her victims. Never elegant.

This was more fun for Tav. It felt like art, as she tore their warm insides apart and rearranged them into a bloody, shredded mess. Each of her victims were just a blank canvas that needed to be painted with beautiful, crimson paint. 

Her eyes looked over to the face of her victim, but there was none. There was less guilt involved if she couldn’t see the face of the person she was killing in the name of her father. The face was always the first to go. Clawed off with her unruly nails. The cries as they lost their identity always felt like a beautiful song to Tav. Soon after, they would fall silent as she continued her work, her art. 

In the name of Bhaal.

Tav stood up, her senses slowly coming back to her. A rumbling hunger was sated. It was as if she was chained to Bhaal and those chains snapped, freeing her of His will. Tav’s bloody hands felt lighter. Her heart raced as she noticed the victim below her. Beating faster, and faster by the second as her eyes took in the art- no, the goresome mess. What has she done? What will Astarion think? There was so much blood. On her clothes, on her hands. Red was the only color she could see in the cold darkness. 

“Oh, no no no.” Tav cried out. Through her sorrows, she let out a pitiful scream. 

Quickly, she turned away from her victim and ran, carrying herself through the darkness of her surroundings. Where was she? There were no buildings, no trees, nothing but  the bitter cold darkness.  If she looked back, what would she find? Tav didn’t want to find out the answer to that, keeping her head forward.

Astarion? Where was he?

As she ran through the darkness, her vision began to blur with tears. When she wiped them away, she painted her skin with the blood of her victim. A burning sensation ran through her legs, begging her to stop, to rest. Tav refused, she needed to keep running. To find Astarion and beg for forgiveness for letting the Urge take over.  

The Urge was supposed to be gone, her head hers and free of Bhaal’s call. 

“You’ll never be free, my child,” A familiar, dark voice echoed around her.

Collapsing onto her knees, Tav inhaled before screaming, “Let me go!” Sobs broke through each of her words. A sorry breath caught itself in her throat, leading her to hoarsely cough.  Her fists slammed the dark ground before her. In reaction, it eloped around her wrists, like binds, holding her to her place. 

In front of her, a worn, leather book appeared. Carefully, it opened itself, presenting itself as a book of all her victims. The pages moved on their own, names written in red flashing by. Grabbing a quick glimpse of each page, the only thing Tav could see was the fact the ink was wet in red ink. Another thing she had noticed was how the letters were large, written boldly like 

A crown of blood formed over her head. Red began to pour around her, slowly filling her surroundings. It dripped, and dripped, until it was all she could see. A strong iron taste slipped into her mouth. Warm blood touched her smooth skin, layering on top of the blood of her victim. Forced to bathe in the unknown blood, a feeling most would find disgusting but Tav found comforting. The fact she found this comforting disgusted the tiefling. 

“You disowned me, left me for dead. What do you want?” Tav screamed out. As she screamed, more blood filled her mouth before she turned her head away, spitting out the blood then coughing. Tears rolled down her face, mixing with the blood on her face. 

Her cry was met with silence. 

But Bhaal would never let her forget.

Darting up on her bed, Tav took several quick and heavy breaths.  Shaky hands clasped onto her blanket, her nails nearly tearing through the worn fabric. Tav’s body felt warm with sweat, leaving her top sticky to her back. Her eyes caught sight of the familiar things on the walls - the colorful paintings that brought life to their dull home in the Underdark. It reminded Astarion of the world with sunlight. Astarion was the one who wanted to have them here. He had his reasons, one being Cazador’s home was boring with all the dark, mysterious paintings, and the other was to remind him of what they were fighting to see again one day. 

“I’m okay,” Tav whispered. 

 It was all just a dream. A terrible dream. Even if she was Faithless, she still thanked the Gods. Although her time as Bhaal’s chosen, his spawn, was over, he still haunted her.  For years, she carried out his will, killing people and even finding pleasure in it. Before the twist of the knife and the cry her victims would let out would bring a warm rush through her body. Nowadays Tav couldn’t even hurt a rat, unless it was in the case of self defense.  Withers had promised to one day tell her the names of all her victims, an offer Tav would one day take up. However, it was difficult when nearly each night she dealt with nightmares and reminders of her old work. A time when she found murder to be a work of art. 

Instead of creating art with the dead bodies of her victims, Tav turned to drawing in a sketchbook, one she picked up before leaving the city. It was a way for her to work out her nightmares and traumas. To hopefully one day understand and forgive herself. Guilt still wrecked her body, even after many told her saving the city was enough. Grabbing her sketchbook on her nightstand, she took the pencil and began to draw out her newest nightmare: a crown of blood that hovered over her  head as the red dripped over her body. Her hand was shaky as she drew. Some lines were soft, and others dug deep into the page. When she erased it, the page held onto the burdens of the darker lines. 

Then the tip of her pencil broke. The graphite splintered into multiple pieces across the paper. Little specks of dust of the graphite  settled around. 

Great.

Tav took this as a sign to stop. This was the worst nightmare she had in a while. Yesterday she had dreamed of a picnic under the sun with Astarion. When it felt like her nightmares were finally gone, they crept up again. Sneakier than a rogue itself. 

Tav turned her attention to the opposite side of the bed, the cold body of Astarion absent. His blanket left messy at the end of the bed and his pillow left in the same position as when he would sleep. An indent of where his head would rest pressed into the feather pillow.  Before she panicked, Tav took a deep breath with her eyes pressed closed. She had to remind herself that often Astarion would abruptly leave, needing to go hunt. Sometimes his hunger would take over, and similar to her former Urge, he would have to leave immediately to sate it.  Although she always welcomed Astarion to feed off of her, Astarion needed more than just her from time to time. Her blood, when it filled his maw, was his favorite. Warm and full of delicious flavor. It reminded him that with her, he was safe. She was his home. But the last thing he wanted to do was risk draining her body and killing her. 

Grabbing Astarion’s pillow, she noted the strands of curly, white hair plucked in the silk case.  Hugging it close to her body, she could smell a mix of his perfume - the aged brandy rather stronger than usual - and subtle decay he tries to mask. With him gone, the pillow was the closest thing she could get to holding him close to her body. Even if the subtle hint of decay made her want to turn her nose. 

The front door soon swung open, then clicked close with a gentle nudge with Astarion’s foot. Tossing the pillow to the side, Tav eagerly crawled out of the bed. Astarion was home. Holding the real thing was ten times better than a pillow. To say he was her safety would be wrong, but not untrue. The right way to put it would be that they were each other’s safety. Not one or the other, but rather they completed each other.  

"There's my darling! I brought home a Hook Horror egg-" Astarion was prepared to tell a story to Tav before fully recognizing the state she was in. The egg was placed on the top of the counter. Biting the bottom of his lip, Astarion then said, "You look rather… hmm, how do I put it?"

"Disgusting?" Tav stated.  

"I wasn't gonna say it." Astarion shrugged.

Wordlessly, Tav swung her arms around Astarion, hugging him close to her body. A feat years ago she wouldn't have been able to do. Astarion froze for a second before relaxing, his arms keeping her close to his body. 

"Oh sweetheart, what's wrong? Who do I have to kill? Is it Lysander? Bastard doesn't know how to keep his fangs to himself," Astarion rolled his red eyes. Some of the vampires he saved from Cazador's ritual still had a lot of learning to do. Sure, Astarion was supposed to be one of their leaders that guided them, but there were undoubtedly times he wanted to just get rid of the unruly ones. The amount of times he had to tell him that Tav was his, and his alone, to feed on - he had lost count at this point.

"Haven't seen any of the vampires today, no. Just had a really awful nightmare about Bhaal." Tav told him. 

Her face buried itself in his white top. The coldness of his body on her warm cheeks comforted her. Her tail swayed, like a dog's would, with content. This was all she needed. Astarion patted the top of her head then allowed his fingers to brush through her hair, working through the knots. 

After the two began to live with each other, Tav slowly started to show a more vulnerable side to Astarion. Memories of her time as one of the Bhaalspawn, prior to the Illithid kidnapping, were coming back to her piece by piece. He was so used to Tav putting on a face and staying strong that the first time she cried with her head in his lap, he was left speechless. Afraid of making the wrong move, all he could think of doing was run his fingers through her hair. For once, he could be the one there for her, after all the times she was there for him. 

They were both just two broken souls that needed healing. And together they would heal. 

"Sit down, darling," Astarion instructed. "I’ve brought home this Hook Horror egg just for you Plucked it right out of their nest after draining the mother of her blood! How does breakfast sound?" As he spoke, he made a plucking motion with his hand. 

"Breakfast sounds good." Tav pulled out one of the wooden chairs. 

"Good. Now let's hope I don't fuck this up," Astarion laughed. Cracking open the egg on the edge of the pan, a rather large yolk spilled into it. A tiny piece of the egg shell snuck through into the pan, mixing in with the egg whites. With a bit of fire magic, he was able to start cooking.

It was not often where Astarion would cook. However during their few trips to the libraries, he had picked up multiple cookbooks. It wasn't like he needed to eat actual food. Blood was more than enough for him.  Everytime he ate actual mortal food, his stomach would turn and the remainder of the day would be miserable. However Tav still needed actual food for her body. And how else to show his appreciation for her? Food seemed like the right way. There may have been a time or two he served her something raw. Or burnt. Or whatever it may be that left it inedible. Tav still loved his every attempt. 

While the fire churned the eggs, Astarion shared his morning adventures. His hunt for the Hook Horror. Although it wasn't his ideal meal in the Underdark, it was the first thing he had found. Prowling through the dark, the Hook Horror failed to pick up the vampire stalking it all the way to its nest. Cuddled deep within laid only a single egg, leaving the Hook Horror protective. It could not afford to lose its only young that season.  He had to make quick work of the Hook Horror, knowing that if it made its piercing cry, others would come to its aid. As Astarion told his story, Tav felt better. Hearing his voice lulled her back to reality. 

And worry. Lots of worry from his story. 

Even though he was here in front of her in one piece, she couldn't help the worry that washed over her body when he spoke of his fight. 

Once breakfast was served, silence filled the room besides the sound of pages being turned in the book Astarion read and the silverware that clicked against the ceramic plate. While Tav ate, her eyes were locked on Astarion. There was always some sort of joy in just watching him do mundane things. A smile curled onto her face as she took another spoonful of eggs into her mouth. They were cooked almost perfectly. Not too dry, just enough moisture in them to make them melt in her mouth. One bite may have had a weird crunch, but she shrugged it off. Perhaps a touch too much pepper was mixed in but Tav continued to clean her plate. . 

The shared silence was soon interrupted by the sound of a familiar whimper and claws dragging down the front of the wooden door. The spoon that played between Tav's fingers between bites clattered against the plate. There were only a few bites left but whoever was at the door was deemed more important. Wood scratched across the stone floor of the kitchen as Tav pushed the chair away from the table. 

"Scratch, buddy! Is that you?" Tav swung open the door with excitement. Greeting her with a wagging tail, Scratch dropped a letter at Tav's feet. 

Lifting the letter off the floor, she turned around and placed it on the table. Her attention focused back on Scratch. First, by performing a bit of magic and casting Speak with Animals on herself. Astarion had placed shut his book, his eyes peering over to watch the two. It wasn't often Scratch came by - most of the time to deliver letters from their old friends within the city. Karlach loved sending Tav letters, speaking of all the things she now gets to experience. Jaheira would send one on the occasion, to check up on the two. And an old friend, the Emperor, would often have a correspondence sent out as well. As much as Tav would have loved to keep Scratch, it was determined he would have done best to stay with Jaheira. With the druid, he had a chance to have a comfortable home within the city but also play with children who undoubtedly spoiled him. Still, he was able to visit with his delivery duties. 

"Hey buddy, how are you doing?" Tav kneeled down, immediately scratching behind the white canine's ear. His favorite spot, she remembered.

With a lifted paw and a fast wagging tail, Scratch leaned into the scratches. "I'm doing wonderful now that I get to see you again, Miss Tav! Oh, yes that's the perfect spot. Jaheira wanted me to bring you that letter! She said it was important."  

Pulling away from Scratch, she turned her attention to the letter. Scratch wandered into the house, finding a comfortable place by the empty fireplace. While used to long adventures, his paws still felt sore. His body had adjusted to a more relaxed lifestyle instead. Coldness from the stone floorings washed over his warm body; a welcomed sensation. “Mmm, wake me up whenever it’s time to leave,” Scratch yawned. 

"Well, what do we have here?" Astarion's interest piqued by the letter on the table.

Tearing it open, Tav unfolded the letter within. Her eyes scanned each sentence as she took in the information. Her eyes grew wide with hope as she got closer to the end. Biting the bottom of her lip, she fought against the smile that grew before letting out a little laugh. 

"Well darling? What is it? Clearly it's good news." Astarion probed, reaching out to the letter.

Folding the letter closed, she held it out to Astarion, "Jaheira has a lead, Astarion, for you." 

Taking the letter, Astarion raised an eyebrow and asked, "A lead?"

Then it hit him. Years ago after saving the city, together they searched and explored every library they could. Well, the ones that still stood after the Illithid invasion. None held the information he wanted within. He even took the risk of going through Cazador's old estate, searching through all the books there.  After failing to find any information for a way to let Astarion be out in the sun again, the couple soon retired in the Underdark where they agreed to assist Astarion's siblings with the other vampire spawn. The house they now lived in, the two of them built together in a cozy part of the Underdark, not too far from where the vampire spawn set up their settlement. 

“A lead,” he hummed, “That’s… That’s marvelous!” He threw his hands up in the air. Laughing, he pulled Tav into a tight hug. Tav pressed her nose against his with a giggle, before looking deep into his red eyes. She read something else within them - fear.

Fear of being led to another dead end. That his hopes were being brought up for nothing and this would be another adventure with no results. 

“You don’t need to come along,” Tav whispered to Astarion, “I know you don’t want to get your hopes up.”

“Huh? Oh- oh darling, don’t you worry! I’m looking forward to this adventure of ours,” Astarion said, rather fast. “It’s been a while since we both left the Underdark. It’ll be fun! On the road together again. Of course, we’d only be able to travel at night for my safety.”

“Astarion.” Tav said, her voice firm. Her fingers laced between his, bringing the back of his hand to her lips. 

“Can’t I ever hide anything from you?” Astarion swiftly pulled away, pacing back and forth in their small kitchen. Giving up, he sat down on the wooden chair. Throwing his head back, he let out a groan. “No, I can’t. You read me too well, darling. Sometimes I can’t tell if I love that about you or hate that. Ugh.”  His words spat out as he moved his hands in dramatic motions. 

Silence lingered between them. It wasn’t that there was any tension between them, but both were left unsure of what to say next. Swallowing a breath, Tav was about to speak up first however, Astarion beat her to it.

“I greatly appreciate the concern you have for me. Perhaps this may only lead to more heartbreak in knowing I’ll never see the sun again but,” His eyes focused on hers, his lips curling into a smile, “But maybe there will be a way, and I want to be there with you when you discover the greatest gift you could ever give me.”

“Okay,” Tav said. “Okay. Then we go together. With Scratch too, we gotta bring the good boy home.”

Astarion almost forgot the canine was here. In front of the quiet fireplace, Scratch was snoring away with happy dreams of running through green fields and munching on delicious meat. Well, at least he won’t bother them too much, but Astarion truthfully was looking forward to their duo adventure to Baldur’s Gate. If they’re lucky, they would have a duo adventure back home, basking underneath the color brought in by the warm sun. 

There was much to do before they could leave, having to prepare supplies for the journey ahead. Outside the walls of their home, Astarion would also have to inform his siblings of their departure. If they are lucky, they could depart by tomorrow’s night. Tav was already preparing their backpacks- stocking it with the essentials for any adventure - a bedroll for each, ropes, Astarion’s lock picking set and rations. She poked through the drawers in their house to find anything else that may shine as a necessary item to take. Some of them held old, unused magical scrolls - they may be useful. In one of them she found a pouch stocked with gold pieces. Another item added to the backpack. 

“Hey Tav?” Astarion interrupted her. 

“Yes, love?” Tav turned her head to Astarion, her head tilted. Her fingers were grasping the door to their closet, where their old adventuring gear stayed dormant. 

“I love you.”

[lockandkeynovel]

Steven's Name Vote

So fun fact, I'm sure this will be shocking (sarcastic) Steven and Marc are going to be in this novel (it was originally meant to be a fanfic and I'm making it a novel now, shut it). I'm changing their names though.

So let's start with Steven. I picked my 5 favorite names for you to choose from!

Keep in mind that while your votes DO help with the decision-making process, that doesn't necessarily mean that I'll go with the winning vote. I probably will, but I might not. This is just to get you guys' thoughts and opinions!

Ok, here we go:

[xalygatorx]

Unbound | Chapter 11, "Old Scars"

Áine Ts'sambra—a wayward half-drow bard with a painful past—has her world upended when she's snatched up by a Nautiloid ship and furnished with a tadpole to the brain. In her journey to remove the infestation before it can turn her and her newfound companions illithid, she not only finds that their solution has more layers to parse through than she can count, but that a particular vampire in her party does as well.

Unbound is an ongoing generally SFW medium-burn romance based in the world of Baldur's Gate 3 between Astarion and a female OC. Any NSFW content will be marked in the Warnings section. Contains angst, fluff, explorations of trauma, spice, graphic fantasy violence, and a guaranteed happy ending.

For anything additional on what to expect (and not expect), check the preface post.

Summary: Astarion tries to make sense of his feelings following his tryst with Áine. When Áine wakes, she sees an alarming scar pattern on Astarion’s back, bringing up questions about his past. The group recovers from the party over breakfast and receives their next steps from Halsin, which unearth something buried for Áine. A monster hunter passes by the camp and alerts them to a rogue vampire spawn in the area.

Pairing: Astarion x Fem!OC

Warnings: Suggestive content & dialogue; trauma; angst; description of a panic attack; lightly proofread; struggled through the last half of this one a little bit; author note at the end

Word Count: 8.3k

Listening to: Dead Man - David Kushner, I’ve also had White Winter Hymnal on a literal loop for like three days bc vibes (and also I have a cute little recurring vision of Áine dancing to the melody at the tiefling party with Alfira)

Astarion found no rest that night, his mind far too full and his stomach far too twisted. What he did do was ensure that Áine was too exhausted by the end of their tryst to stay awake, lest she be coherent and, ever observant, start asking the right questions. He was unsettled by the idea of entering a reverie of any depth while knowing someone else was this close by. It was a vulnerable state for him to enter and he’d had enough of vulnerability despite seeming unable to avoid it when it came to being with her.

Instead, he’d eased her spent, supple body down to the grass and waited with something akin to apprehension until she’d fallen asleep. Astarion had run his hands over his face, exhaled against his hands, and risen to retrieve his clothes. Everything save his shirt went back on and he could admit that he felt a little less anxious now that he was no longer naked below the waist. He was a mix of residual feelings that had nothing whatsoever to do with that night in isolation and new inclinations that had everything to do with that night. 

He sat back down in the grass near where Áine was curled on her side, maintaining his distance yet still close enough to feel her gentle heat radiating from her skin. Even he couldn’t believe his excuses anymore. Astarion bridged his fingers, resting his chin against them while his elbows found purchase on his crisscrossed legs. He closed his eyes, venturing into a territory that frightened him by delving into his memory to search for answers to a question he needn’t even ask. 

Astarion thought back through the last couple of hours, but particularly to the first “round,” so to speak, and he forced himself to start admitting some things internally if only to make sense of what their situation had become. The first thing he needed to admit was that his physical reactions to her were based on how he felt about her. He could hem them in with effort, but when their night of passion first escalated, he hadn’t been ready in the slightest for how hard it would hit him to finally be with her. 

Taking her blood while they were fucking had also been utterly intoxicating and something he, of course, had never experienced before her. His troubled thoughts tried to latch onto that to serve as sufficient reasoning for everything he was contending with, but he swatted that compulsion away. He didn’t have to explain himself to anyone, but for his own peace of mind, he had to get to the bottom of this. 

Astarion rolled his shoulders, his jaw setting at the tension he felt in them. He supposed it shouldn’t have surprised him that he’d react this way to realizing he was growing attached to someone. The last time he’d been too sentimental to bring a target back to Cazador, he’d spent a year entombed, starving, and alone, as punishment. He’d raked his nails raw against the underside of the casket, desperate to carve his way out, until it became clear that he’d stay there as long as his sire desired. Then it was all a waiting game. Waiting to give up. Waiting to be released from the crypt and put back into service, free-roaming but never free. Waiting to die. Knowing all the while that he’d never have such an easy escape from this life as to die before his master wished it.      

Somber crimson eyes opened slowly, prematurely cast downward toward the sleeping beauty in front of him. She was, of course, not that sweet boy from all those years ago. Astarion had always wondered what had happened to him in the end. If because of his sacrifice, that man went on to live a full, wonderful life or if in the end one of his siblings had done what he’d not had it in him to do. Despite how hardened he’d become to everyone but himself in this wretched world since then, he still hoped the former. Then perhaps the pieces chipped from his sanity during that horrible, horrible year would amount to something.

That at least accounted for why he felt so afraid. He wasn’t afraid of her. In fact, she might have been the only person in this world he didn’t fear in any capacity. Astarion’s mind wandered back to when he’d taken her hands off his waistband and moved them to his shoulders, how she’d kept them there without question despite not knowing in full what he’d been through. And he’d trusted her to, also without question. That may have been the most unnerving part of all.

Astarion went rigid when Áine stirred, but she simply stretched a little and rolled over to her other side, curling back up but facing him this time. It suddenly crossed his mind that she might be cold, but as far as his icy body could tell, it was a balmy summer night. He supposed he had found her in this position when he’d trespassed on her tent the night she’d first let him drink from her, so perhaps this was just how she slept. He’d yet to truly get used to sleeping on the ground, but she seemed comfortable enough.

In her sleep, Áine set a hand on the grass beside her as if searching for him. He recanted the thought, considering that perhaps that was wishful thinking on his part. Astarion contemplated her hand—he knew its touch well after their coupling. How her fingers felt in his hair—a touch he’d nearly ducked from until he realized what she was doing wasn’t to inflict pain and, Hells, instead it had felt delicious—and how just one of his hands could hold both of her slender wrists (and pin them above her head). He knew where on her fingers playing her lute was giving her callouses and how the pad of her thumb felt when it brushed against his hand, against his jawline while the pinpoints of her fingertips dotted his cheek like the smallest constellation.

Should he let her find him? He was tempted. However something akin to panic lashed through him again and he looked away from her outstretched hand, his eyes instead finding the slowly lightening sky. Astarion rose when the sun finally poured down into their clearing, drawn like a moth to a flame. Under normal vampiric circumstances, that would’ve been an accurate analogy, but at least for the time being, he had a free pass to feel the sunshine on his skin again. He stepped into its rays, not without some habitual trepidation still, but sighed contently when it warmed him, his eyes fluttering closed. 

There was so much warmth, so much color, in this world he’d never noticed before being deprived of it for so long. He craved power, he craved vengeance, but he craved these small things, too. These simple, quiet moments when it was as if only he existed. And now, he supposed, that extended to Áine too.

Behind him, awakened by the same morning light, Áine drew a deep breath and opened her eyes. She was initially disoriented to find grass around and under her instead of the nest of pillows that she’d accumulated in her tent. And then, after remembering why she was out there in the first place and noting the empty clutch of green grass her hand rested on, Áine found herself confused about where her lover had gone. She only had a few seconds to wonder if he’d just left her out there when she raised her head and followed a familiar elongated shadow toward its equally familiar source.

Áine couldn’t help but smile. Sometimes she couldn’t look at him and not see a cat curling up in the afternoon sunshine. That was the sort of life he deserved. That was the sort of life they all deserved after everything they’d been through. 

“You’re staring again, darling.”

Discovered, Áine startled but felt unabashed. He was standing there practically glistening, what was she supposed to do but respectfully gawk? She ignored his statement and asked instead, “Not staying for a cuddle, I take it?”

Astarion didn’t turn to look at her but remained with his face and palms skyward as if he could absorb the sun’s fire. “In truth, I thought you’d be exhausted after last night,” he said.

Áine blushed, a sleepy smile touching her lips as their post-party activities resurfaced in her mind. Also swift to cross her mind were the moments she could’ve sworn, even in the darkness, that she’d seen sadness cross his features. At times, even something akin to distress. Every instance had been gone in a flash but stuck firmly in her memory all the same. 

Pursing her lips, she felt as if she simply had to ask, even if she was wrong. “You…seemed a little distant at times. Like you weren’t fully there,” she said hesitantly, a tilt to her head as she studied his profile. “Are you alright?”    

Astarion was glad he was facing away from her—he felt the mask over his true emotions fissure at the question. “Of course. Who wouldn’t be after a night like that?” he purred, turning his head just enough to offer her a debonair and yet still fiendish smile. “I will admit I was holding back a little… I didn’t want to lose control.” It wasn’t entirely a lie. “Delicious as you were, I didn’t want to go too far.”

She wasn’t sure she believed him, but she had no reason not to, she supposed. Absently, Áine touched her neck, her fingertips finding the small indents his fangs had left behind. “Mm, well I guess I should thank you for leaving me some blood then.”

Astarion chuckled darkly. “I discovered several new delicious spots on your body last night, my sweet,” he said, “but I do admit your neck is still one of my favorites. Second only to your—”

“Okay, okay,” Áine interrupted quickly, her hands finding her flaming face but doing nothing to hide the way her blushing darkened the tips of her ears.

Astarion crumbled a little internally, finding her shyness as endearing as ever, especially now knowing how devilish she could be between the proverbial sheets. He smirked and asked, “Shall we get on? I want to go before anyone else thanks me for saving their tails.”

“Gods forbid a show of gratitude,” Áine commented with feigned scandal. “What would that do to your reputation?”

“Exactly, my dear! So glad you understand.”

Áine smiled to herself and shook her head as she got to her feet, brushing herself off. The change in perspective also shifted the way her eyes caught the light and they adjusted accordingly just as she returned her eyes to Astarion’s back…

…By the gods, what had happened to him?

Her lips parted in shock and her eyes narrowed as she tried to discern what the markings she could now see were. She’d thought for just a second that perhaps they were a sort of tattoo or even a brand, but they were very much scars. Purposeful, deeply rooted scars.

“Once again, she stares,” Astarion commented and Áine flushed with chagrin this time, immediately turning her eyes to the grass. She knew better than anyone with her own old injuries that sometimes the worst ghost pains were people asking questions about them that they shouldn’t. There was a beat of pause before Astarion seemed to realize her dilemma. He sighed and said, “You can ask, you know. I’m not exactly hiding them at the moment.”

Áine swallowed thickly and chanced a glance up at him as she gathered her clothes from the ground. “You needn’t tell me anything you don’t want to, but… What exactly are they?” she asked, donning her smallclothes and then pulling her trousers on after. 

Astarion sighed, deciding that speaking on this now couldn’t hurt. There was never a “correct” time to surface this sort of thing. “It’s a poem,” he told her honestly. “A gift from Cazador. He considered himself quite the artist and used his slaves as a canvas.” He paused heavily, listening to the rustle of Áine’s clothes as she got dressed to help him ground his thoughts and evade the memories that threatened to sweep him back into those moldering kennels. “He…composed and carved that one over the course of a night… He made a lot of revisions as he went.”

The pain in his voice alone broke her heart in two. She wondered if his expression was as honest in this moment, if that was why he hadn’t turned around to look at her. “I’m sorry.”

Astarion’s brow pinched and he did turn to look at her then, finding her at arm’s length and as tempting as ever, standing there with her shirt on but still untied and her hair a glimmering tousled mess atop her lovely skull. His hands flexed against his sides as he resisted snatching her back up. It was a maddening feeling, to want her so much and be fearful of wanting her at all. “What for? You really must stop apologizing for things you had no hand in,” he said.

“I understand,” she said, beginning to try and work the tangles from her hair while they stood there conversing. When Áine’s eyes met his again, they shone with sunlight and her sincerity. “And I understand that it fixes nothing. But I… I hate what you’ve endured.” Áine pursed her lips. “And I wish I could do something better than tell you that I’m sorry for it.”

And you don’t know the half of it, Astarion thought, his brows knitting as he tried to decide how her sympathy made him feel. It was a complicated mess of irritation and appreciation that felt more knotted than her tresses. “Yes, well,” he said uncomfortably. “You’re right. It fixes nothing.” Áine internalized her embarrassment and the hurt that lanced through her, instead just nodding acknowledgment. This wasn’t about her, after all. Far be it from her to get upset that her words didn’t magically repair everything. “Anything else?”

Áine shrugged and gave up on her tangles, instead pulling her hair over one shoulder to make a manageable side ponytail to deal with the mess later. “Why is the poem in Infernal?”  

That, Astarion hadn’t been ready for. “Infernal? I… Who knows? The bastard was insane,” he said, quickly dismissing the question. “Anyway, enough pillow talk. Let’s go before the tieflings drag us into another mess.”

Áine watched him fetch his shirt before returning her attention to containing her pearly locks, feeling as though she’d thoroughly killed the morning mood. It wasn’t something she wasn’t used to doing, usually unintentionally, but as with everything so far her feelings around things to do with him proved more intense. That included the disappointment in herself at likely guaranteeing he wouldn’t be pursuing something like this with her again. 

Oh well, she sighed inwardly, but the casual nature of her thought didn’t mirror how she actually felt. Familiar and dismal, she wondered again why she was the way that she was. It really did seem to cause her nothing but grief when it came to these sorts of things. She supposed she just hoped he’d had a nice time up until their chat, that he’d gotten the bit of “fun” he’d been pining for out of it.

Áine finished knotting the leather tie around her hair and moved to the ties of her shirt next, only to find that Astarion had, at some point, moved to stand in front of her. Her hands paused against the strings and she looked up at him with a question in her eyes. He gave her a long, unreadable look, and she half-expected him to tell her they were better off keeping this as a one-night thing or scold her again for unhelpfully offering apologies or something to that effect. There was something beneath the surface of his expression that she just couldn’t quite see. 

Instead of any of those things, Astarion held eye contact with her as he replaced her hands at her shirt ties, lacing her back up. Áine stared back, feeling her face grow a little warm again. Would she ever get used to things like this from him? She had to imagine so, but every little touch from him felt like a gift. Especially given how touch-averse he seemed to be at times, each gesture felt intentional. 

With deft fingers, he finished tying her laces, polishing off his work with a small bow. Áine smirked and started to thank him, but he hooked a finger beneath the knot he’d made and tugged her into a kiss that smothered her words of gratitude before they left her mouth. Her hands reflexively rose from her sides to hold him, even just to rest against his arms, but he gracefully dodged her touch, looking smug when their eyes met again. At least she figured this meant he wasn’t too upset with what he saw as her excess sentimentality.

Offhand as he led the way back to camp, he innocently mused, “I wonder if anyone managed to get a wink of sleep last night despite your mewling…”

“You’re pushing your luck for this sort of thing ever happening a second time,” Áine informed him as she walked alongside him through the woods, toying with her hands to stifle her urge to try holding one of his or putting her arm around his waist despite his teasing. 

She was discovering that she was quite tactile in the way of affection once she had an emotional stake in a person and it was difficult to contend with that discovery while not being able to dote on her person of interest. Respecting him and his space was easy. Resisting the inclination to show him he was cared for with little touches here and there was proving trickier.    

“Am I?” Astarion wondered with clear doubt. “Pity. It’s swiftly becoming my favorite way to pass the dark hours. And you needn’t tell me so for me to know it’s just as appealing to you.” He’d leaned in toward her ear to whisper those last words and his cool breath against her sensitive skin sent a shiver through her that proved his point.

Áine glowered at him as he leaned away, looking mighty pleased with himself. “You know, that feels a little unfair,” she finally decided to point out, ever the one to be bold enough to bring up a hard topic. Even in an area she was very unfamiliar with it seemed.

Astarion glanced down at her. “Hm? What does?”

“That you’re able to enter my personal space on a whim, but I’m not—to my knowledge—allowed to do anything categorically similar,” she explained. “To be clear, I’m fine with you doing what you’ve been doing. And I’m also fine with whatever you’re comfortable or uncomfortable with for yourself. But some ground rules would be nice, I think.”

“You want ‘ground rules’?” Astarion repeated, bewildered as he tried to follow what she was saying. Was she asking his permission for something? To touch him? New things left, right, and center, he mused.

“Well…yes,” she said, becoming self-conscious but holding her ground. “I have inclinations but I’m too anxious to do anything because I’m worried about upsetting you.”

He looked at her consideringly, his lips becoming a thin line. “And what are your ‘inclinations’, my dear?” he asked in a measured tone. 

A not-distant-enough memory began nagging at the back of his mind. Of being grabbed and squeezed and fondled in all the ways and at all the times he didn’t want to be. Which, in fairness, he’d never wanted to be. It was a process, a means to an end. But the thought of her touch wasn’t an unpleasant prospect nor a necessary evil. He was no less apprehensive though—what if she surprised him in a bad way? What if she regarded him as some sort of plaything? 

Well, he could run what-ifs all day, but his mind had one consistent answer to all of those questions—he didn’t think she would.  

Áine met his thoughtful gaze with one of her own before she offered him one of her hands, palm facing up. He looked at it and then at her, not sure what she wanted him to do. When she recognized his hesitation as confusion, she instead reached out and gently took his hand, locking their fingers together after minimal fumbling. 

Astarion stared at their hands and waited for her to do something more—pin his arm back and use his defenseless position to grope him or use her grip to cause him enough pain to put him on his knees and there begin to make her threats and demands, all things that had happened to him before just without this much exposition. 

When she didn’t do anything else, he gave her a funny look that she took to mean he wasn’t a hand-holder by nature. Áine gave him an embarrassed smile and started to unthread her hand from his. “Silly things, I suppose, it’s fine if you—”

Áine quieted as Astarion followed the hand she’d attempted to extract, recapturing it and keeping it firmly in his. He craved her warm touch, her closeness as much as ever and she was simply allowing him some of that now with no strings attached. It was something he was aware of—he’d of course seen plenty of lovers in the city holding hands or linking arms and the like—but that had never been something meant for him. 

With as much hesitation as she’d yet seen him speak, Astarion studied their hands, unable to meet her eyes, and said, “...If you’re the one touching me, I don’t… I don’t think I’ll mind as much.”

A faint crease formed between her brows at hearing the vulnerable nature of this confession. Was he a master seducer who had never been shown affection? Or was something worse the cause of his anxiety? 

Slowly, Áine nodded and smoothed the pad of her thumb against his, something he’d remembered her doing the night before that he’d enjoyed in the moment. And she was just giving this to him again for free? He waited for the catch, but nothing came. Instead, she just said, “If it’s ever wrong or too much, you can tell me. In fact, I insist you do. And I’ll do the same. Fair enough?”

Astarion wasn’t entirely sure he believed that she wouldn’t be upset at all if he spurned her affections, but he was at least able to look at her this time as he nodded. “Alright,” he said.

Áine offered him a smile. “Thank you,” she said, and they kept walking like that, hand-in-hand. 

It was a strange sensation to Astarion—to Áine too but for vastly different reasons—and he kept occasionally tensing for the situation to flip. And it just didn’t. He just got to hold a little piece of her while they walked the rest of the way to camp, the little rhythm of her pulse occasionally tip-tapping against his silent wrist. They would occasionally readjust their fingers or he’d find Áine gently toying with his hand while her skin warmed his, but that was as far as the gesture went. And it felt…nice. Like they were part of something that was just them while still being allowed their own identities, their own freedoms. He could—with a surprising measure of confidence that she wouldn’t lash out at him or even bat an eye—let go right now if he wanted to.

And, by every single god he no longer believed in, he didn’t want to.

While everyone had still been passed out from the party the night before when Astarion and Áine finally made it back to the campsite and snuck back into their tents for a little extra rest before it was time to move out. It wasn’t near enough rest though before Áine was awakened by the sound of the refugees packing back up to make their way to Baldur’s Gate and she started to hear her own travel companions beginning to rouse and sort breakfast. 

The promise of food was what convinced her to leave her tent and join the others near the extinguished campfire, which she set to relighting while Gale sorted through their foodstuffs for anything worthy of a hangover. He greeted her when she sat down and took up the flint rock, and Áine didn’t notice the way his eyes fell to her neck and then darted away. 

“Did you enjoy the rest of your night?” he asked pleasantly enough, any poison in his words slow-acting in their sting.

“I did,” Áine said, managing not to blush and feeling invincible for it. “Did you?”

“Ended up tucked in for the night by the wine, but I’m no stranger to that, I suppose,” he chuckled. “We spent many a night back in Waterdeep with a dusty tome and a good vintage.”

“You and Mystra?” she asked in surprise. She wouldn’t have pegged a goddess for the “spending a night in” sort.

“Oh, no,” Gale chuckled. “Me and Tara. My assistant and my best friend. She’s a tressym.”

Áine’s eyes lit up. She’d never seen a tressym before in person but she’d seen illustrations of their likeness before. Astarion stepped out of his tent then and spotted the look on her face, nearly turning around and going back inside when he saw it was being gifted to Gale. “Is she back in Waterdeep then?” Áine asked, oblivious to her vampire’s plight.

“Yes, and better for it, I’d reckon,” Gale said emphatically as he started cooking some eggs and sausage. “I could never ask her to make this journey. She’s safer there.”

Áine nodded, feeling a wet nose bonk her arm and turning to see Scratch presenting her with his ball and a wagging tail. She wrestled the toy away from him and threw it across the camp, turning her attention back to Gale when the pup gave chase. “Then I’m glad she’s safe. You sound like you care a great deal for her,” she said.

“Very much,” Gale agreed. “She was the only one who stood by me after my condition began and worsened. Once we sorted out that magical artifacts seemed to help ease its intensity somewhat and I’d worked through the majority of powerful objects I’d collected in my tower over the years, she immediately went in search of whatever she could find.” His eyes softened in reflection. “I owe her a great deal and she’d scold me for saying so. You actually remind me of her, you know.”

Áine smirked, throwing Scratch’s ball again when he brought it back to her, wiping a bit of drool onto her pants. “Well, I’m flattered. She sounds brilliant.”

“You should come visit us in Waterdeep once this is all over,” he suggested. “Plenty of room. She’d likely adore the chance to play hostess as well.”

“Sounds delightful,” Astarion commented as he sat down next to Áine. “We’ll be there.”

“Great!” Gale said, thrilled at the prospect of company, it seemed. It wasn’t the reaction Astarion had expected to get and he almost felt bad for interrupting now. Almost. 

He looked over at Áine, knowing already what he’d find—eyes alight with amusement and a silent accusation of being jealous. Astarion found precisely that and sniffed dismissively in her direction while she stifled a laugh.  

“How are you faring this morning, Astarion?” Gale asked suddenly, plating some breakfast and handing it to Áine. “I thought I spotted you partaking in the wine at some point, unless that was blood I mistook for a red blend.”

“Technically both are red blends,” Astarion commented. “It was wine though—blood would’ve been preferable.”

“Can you taste wine properly then?” Gale asked as he sat down and started to eat as well. Their friends were slowly following the smell of cooked sausage out to the fire, each looking worse for wear than the last. “We’ve discussed food, so I figured wine may be a similar issue.”

Astarion sighed dismally. “Wine is a lost cause, too, I’m afraid. I’ve just yet to find it in myself to admit it for good. And I just have to try because what if this blend is different than that one or whathaveyou…,” he said.

“It’s too bad the tadpole couldn’t have lent you that back as well,” Áine mused. She cast a glance around the group now gathered around the fire and taking the breakfast Gale had made like medicine, but far more delicious. “Where’s Wyll? And Halsin?”

“Wyll ended up drinking with the best of them late last night,” Shadowheart said, looking a bit disheveled but smug at the prospect of someone ending up worse for wear than she had. “Even without the extra vintage,” she added quietly to Áine, who elbowed her arm. “I haven’t seen Halsin though.”

“He was packing up last I saw,” Karlach supplied through a mouthful of scrambled eggs. 

“Well, shit,” Áine muttered as she set her plate down and stood up. He owed her some answers before he managed to get away again. Thankfully she didn’t have too far to go—he was just walking across the camp and she was able to head him off not too far from the rest of the party. “Halsin! Were you just going to leave?”

“Only temporarily,” Halsin said. “I must square a few things away at the Grove before I join you on your journey.”

“Can you at least tell us where we need to go next?” Shadowheart asked from where she was seated nearby and Áine silently thanked her for being another voice asking for the information he’d promised them. She was starting to feel like she was badgering him, but she certainly wasn’t above doing so if it meant helping herself and her friends.

Halsin looked a little sheepish as he said, “Of course… But the journey will not be an easy one regardless of the path we take—there are routes leading through the mountain pass near here or alternatively via the Underdark. There were whispers of an entryway down into its depths under the Selunite temple where the goblins were taking up residence.”

“Was that why you went with Aradin and his crew?” Áine asked. “To try and find the Underdark route?”

“Precisely,” Halsin said. “Of the two routes, the Underdark will likely be the less treacherous to take, but it is ultimately up to you to choose your path.”

“The teeth…tiefling Zorru spoke of my people in proximity to the mountain pass,” Lae’zel interjected, giving Áine a meaningful look. “It is imperative that we seek their crèche. That we seek purification.”

“Where are these paths meant to converge exactly?” Áine asked, absently fiddling with the little bow at her shirt laces Astarion had left. “Maybe that can help us decide where we go from here. Or at least in what order maybe.” She’d added the last bit to appease Lae’zel, not wanting her to feel as though she wasn’t being heard.

And then Halsin said two words that Áine had hoped never to hear again.

“Moonrise Towers,” the druid answered. 

He’d singlehandedly turned her blood to ice and hadn’t the slightest clue. She wasn’t going to let him see it. Her face remained stoic, her arms still crossed over her chest while her fingertips toyed with one loop of the bow at her collar. The string was becoming akin to a worry stone, a touchpoint for grounding. 

Inside she was screaming. And not one person noticed the change apart from the vampire who could hear the way her heart skipped a beat and then began to thunder against her ribs.

Astarion heard the disturbance in her chest from where he still sat near the fire and he tried to read her expression from what little of her profile he could see, but she was as good as he was when it came to internalizing her feelings, it seemed. So much so that he started to second-guess himself, wondering if maybe she’d been startled by something he hadn’t seen or something to that effect. Astarion listened to her breathing, even and normal until he heard the faintest shudder on an inhale that he placed instantly. It was the same as when an intrusive thought or a familiar sight triggered memories for him and sent him spiraling, but he had to hold his composure.

Meanwhile, the blood roaring in Áine’s ears nearly prevented her from hearing what Halsin was saying, but she caught the gist of it all. The cultists were gathering at Moonrise and if anywhere held the secrets of their parasites’ origin, it would be there. “Then when can we expect you back from the Grove?” Áine asked. “Should we wait, would you rather catch up with us…?”

Astarion listened to her voice, not a tremble in her tone. It was like when he’d seen her pause her pitch-perfect singing the other night and turn around with tears still streaking down her face. It was no wonder she seemed so finely tuned to call him out on his masking—she did it, too.

“It will only take a half-day to do what I must do there,” Halsin reassured her. “Tying up loose ends and all that. I can return this very night.”

Áine nodded. “Great, we’ll wait for you here then,” she declared. “Thank you.”

“I can only hope that this gets you the answers you need, my friend,” Halsin said and, despite Áine’s momentary suspicions of his reasons for withholding information, she could see the genuine affection and concern in his eyes. That was more than enough for her in these far too-interesting times.

“Only one way to find out,” she said, waving as he headed out of the camp to consult with the druids back at the grove. The tieflings had gone before they’d even had breakfast prepared, so it was just their usual crew left in the camp now. 

Áine’s heart still hammered in her chest and she felt her hands begin to shake where she’d stuffed them under her arms. A high-pitched yelp from near her feet startled her, but she looked down and found only Scratch standing there, his ball placed before her on the dirt. She managed a weak smile and snatched up his ball, winging it across the clearing before she realized she needed to make herself scarce lest she have a panic attack out of seemingly nowhere in front of the very people who expected her to lead them.

It was an opportune time for her that a very hungover Wyll chose that moment to stumble out of his tent into the glaring sunlight and a loud “wahey!” of jeering applause from their friends. Áine was able to slip away, back into her tent, and she nearly collapsed inside the moment she did. 

Her knees hit one of the throw pillows when she went down, her face buried in her hands while her nails bit into her tender temples. Áine bit down the violent urge to scream, clamping her palms against her mouth when she started to lose that battle and managing to contain it to a low whine instead. Godsforsaken fucking Moonrise, she repeated in her mind, screwing her eyes shut and feeling them burn as hot as her chest. Would she never escape that horrible place and the sickly shadows surrounding it? The onset of ceremorphosis felt like a better option.

Áine drew in breath after shuddering breath, each more deeply and slowly than the last as she tried to calm herself down before someone came looking for her. Speak of the devil, she heard footsteps approaching and then someone cleared their throat just outside. 

Just go away, she prayed desperately, biting her trembling lower lip.

“Áine?” Astarion inquired, sounding the faintest bit hesitant. Gods, why did it have to be him? And why did her name have to sound so good from his lips? It just made her want to curl up in his lap until she felt better and she couldn’t think of anything worse to put him through than for her to ask for his emotional support.

She swallowed hard and asked in response, “Yes?”

He paused at length. “May I come in?” he asked at last. 

Please. 

Áine could tell he sensed something was wrong, which unnerved her, so she tried to reply in a way that felt like normal banter. “I thought you didn’t need permission to enter homes anymore,” she said.

Astarion wasn’t buying it, it seemed. “I don’t, darling. Still, may I?”

The bard sat stone-still for a long moment until she finally said, “...I think I need a few minutes to myself. Can we talk after?” He couldn’t see her like this. She didn’t want anyone to, but especially not him. 

There was a beat of silence from the other side of the canvas before she heard him say, “Of course,” punctuated by his receding footsteps. When those steps faded into the background sounds she heard from the others still near the fire, Áine’s shoulders slackened and she smoothed her ponytail with nervous hands. 

Moonrise Towers. Could she return and not lose everything she’d scrapped and pieced together of herself since the dawn she left? Did he still live? Did they all still live? 

Would she live through it a second time?

For reasons he still fruitlessly tried to deny, it had hurt him when she’d turned him away. He even understood quite well, he thought, what she was experiencing. Would he have been in her place, he would have turned her away too, and likely with less grace. And it still ate at him that he hadn’t been permitted to check on her.

For what? He knew she was safe, uninjured, and simply taking a rest in her tent. The mood of the camp was calm and unbothered. He, by all accounts, should have taken the free time just to settle in at his tent and parse through one of the books he’d snatched up from the temple ruins between rounds with the goblin cultists. Yet there he was, wearing a rut in the dirt near his tent while he waited to see or hear any signs of Áine stepping back outside.

Astarion wasn’t entirely sure how long she’d been sequestered in her tent, but it had been longer than a few minutes. He’d seen Shadowheart wander over to her tent door as well only to be turned away as he had. When the cleric had looked his way, first suspiciously and then imploringly, Astarion had simply shrugged in reply. He hated not knowing.

It had to have something to do with Moonrise Towers. He’d heard her pulse quicken and her breath hitch not seconds after he’d uttered the name. But Astarion had never heard of the place before and had no context for what it could mean to her. Or did he?

That vision of Áine in gleaming armor crossed through his mind’s eye again, a vision hand-delivered by her tadpole to his the night he’d first bitten her. Had she served there, before he’d met her, before the tadpole? Her hair had been cropped short in the vision, so it couldn’t have been that recent. A few years ago, however, was a possibility. 

What he could only approximate to be a half-hour or so later, Áine emerged from her tent, looking tired but no worse for wear. Astarion watched her cast a wary glance around the camp, seeming relieved at what she found before her eyes found him. She smiled when they locked gazes and the kind expression touched her eyes, which brought him more relief than he felt was due. Something was clearly still bothering her, but she at least seemed in better spirits.

Taking the smile as an invitation, Astarion approached her and parted his lips to speak when an acrid smell passed through his nose. He scowled in disgust, not realizing the scent hadn’t reached Áine’s less sensitive senses yet until she asked, a bit amused, “A fine greeting—do I offend?”

“No more than usual, my dear,” he ribbed her, earning her signature glare. “You can’t smell that?”

Áine inhaled deeply, this time catching the same odor he had. Her features contorted but she inhaled again, trying to understand what she was smelling. “What in the gods—”

“Well met, stranger,” said a strange voice. Áine and Astarion both turned to see an approaching man holding what appeared to be some sort of thurible with thin tendrils of smoke winding from its grating. It appeared to be the source of the horrific, sickly-sweet scent. “Ah, forgive the aroma. Powdered iron-vine—old hunter’s trick. Most monsters will think twice before making a meal of me while this holds up.”

“Most anything may avoid that,” Áine remarked, coughing against the back of her hand. “Sorry, who are you?”

“A Gur, it would seem,” Astarion interjected, an edge to his voice. “Funny to imagine one of your ilk as a monster hunter… I thought you were all vagrant cutthroats.”

Áine gave Astarion a look. “Must we?” she chastised him.

“No, no, your friend is right,” the man said tiredly. “We also steal chickens, curse your crops, seduce your daughters… The list goes on. Would that I had half the power settled folk think my people possess. Alas, I am a simple wanderer. And monster hunter, of course. My name is Gandrel.”

“Well met,” Áine said. “What exactly are you hunting out this way?”

“I seek a vampire spawn, so nothing that may charge us in this daylight hour,” Gandrel said. Áine’s stomach twisted, wondering what the odds were just before the monster hunter answered her question outright. “His name is Astarion, but I fear he’s gone to ground… There is a hag nested in these lands that I am hoping can help me flush him out. If I can afford her blood price, that is.”

Áine could feel Astarion tense beside her. As she’d just spent the past combined hour metering her expressions and concealing her true feelings, she was nicely warmed up for this by her estimation. “Bold to go toe-to-toe with a hag,” Áine commented warily. “What are you meant to do if you find this ‘Astarion’? Kill him?”

“Desperate times and all that,” Gandrel admitted before answering her question. “Not this time though. My orders are to capture him.”

“And bring him where exactly?” Astarion asked.

“Baldur’s Gate,” Gandrel said. “My people wait for me there. I don’t suppose you’ve seen any trace of such a creature in your travels ‘round these parts?”

“I couldn’t say,” Áine said. With a faint smugness that likely came off to Gandrel as overconfidence only, she asked, “Should we be worried? With him only being a spawn after all?”

Astarion took the bait immediately. “I don’t know… I’m sure a vampire spawn could still rip out your throat if he felt like it,” he mused, his words as pointed as the fangs he was being careful to keep obscured. Áine bit the inside of her cheek to keep from smirking at him.

“Your friend is right, unfortunately,” Gandrel said, oblivious to their wordless exchange. “They are only weak when compared to their masters. During the day, we have the advantage, but at night, when they hunt… Well, you will not find a more deadly quarry.” He frowned toward Áine. “If you’ve not already made it practice, it would be wise to post guards at night until you leave the area. The threat is very real.”

“Indeed, it is,” Astarion said gravely. “We should do something about this…threat.”

Áine scoffed at him before smiling pleasantly at Gandrel. “We will be careful. Thank you for the warning,” she said.

“That’s it?!” Astarion demanded of her, causing Gandrel to look his way in confusion. Godsdammit, Áine swore silently. “We’re just done here then?”

“Of course,” Áine said. To Astarion to cover his tempestuous outburst, she added, “No need to fret, we’ll be careful. I can take the first watch tonight if that will make you feel better.”

“That’s the spirit,” Gandrel said with a nod of approval. “Go in peace, my friends. I hope our paths cross again.”

“They’d better bloody not,” Astarion muttered so only Áine could hear.

“You, too,” Áine said, watching the monster hunter as he retreated. When Astarion’s hackles went up and he turned on her, she raised a hand, still watching Gandrel’s retreat. After he was out of sight, she looked at Astarion and groaned. “Alright, go.”

“If this comes back to bite us, it’s on your head,” he gritted.

“He’s no threat to us unless he figures out who you are,” Áine said. “Which is unlikely since he’s seen you in the daytime now.” She looked at him speculatively. “Any idea who sent him?”

“Cazador,” Astarion spat. “It has to be him. Only he would know to send a Gur after me.”

“Why would that be poignant?” Áine asked.

Astarion blew out an angry sigh. “Because it was the Gur who left me to bleed out in the streets the night that bastard offered me an escape from death…,” he muttered.

“So he did it to taunt you, you think?” she asked.

“I do,” he murmured. Astarion growled low in his throat as he glanced back the way Gandrel had left. “I cannot believe you would let him walk!”

Áine frowned. “Like I said, he hasn’t a clue who you are. And besides that, would it not help Cazador to pinpoint where you are should one of his lackeys suddenly perish in the area? Surely this one can’t be the only one out looking.” Astarion grimaced down at her. “Look, if he comes back, you can kill him, alright?”

“Oh, thank you for your consideration,” he sneered, dripping in sarcasm.

Áine was baffled by his kicking and screaming. “You do know you don’t need my permission to do a damn thing, don’t you?” she asked, her tone incredulous. “Go kill him if you want to.”

Astarion gave her a long angry and considerate look before he snarled out a sigh and shook his head, stalking off to his tent. Áine watched him go and exhaled the breath she’d been holding, pinching the bridge of her nose.

“Who was that?” Shadowheart asked as she sidled up to stand beside Áine, her hands resting on her hips. She cast her gaze back toward Astarion disappearing into his tent. “And why is he in a mood?”

“Some monster hunter that’s looking for our vampire,” Áine sighed, rubbing her temples which still throbbed a little from where her nails had dug in. “He’s mad because I didn’t outright stab him in the eye, I suppose. But we had the conversation in broad daylight, so I assumed we wouldn’t have to cover our tracks. Yet, anyway.” Shadowheart gave a noncommittal hmph. Áine looked at her. “Do you think I should’ve?”

“I don’t know,” she said simply. “Your logic tracks though. Who sent him?”

Áine wasn’t sure how much of what he’d told her about Cazador was meant to be between them, so she said, “His old master. To capture though, not kill.”

“Odd,” Shadowheart murmured. “I wonder why. I’ve never heard of a vampire going to so much trouble over a spawn.”

“Worries me more than a kill order would have,” Áine said, running her hand over the back of her neck and realizing how lucky it was that she’d had her ponytail on the side of her neck he’d bitten the night before, effectively covering the marks. Properly anxious now, she decided she’d stay up for guard duty that night.

“I think it’s good that you didn’t kill him yet, for what it’s worth,” Shadowheart said. “We won’t be in the area for much longer anyway if all goes to plan. Let them wander in circles. And if they come back—”

“Let them bleed,” Áine finished for her. 

“I’d meant to ask how your night went, you know,” Shadowheart pointed out. Her eyes gleamed with curiosity. “So?”

Áine sighed and glanced toward Astarion’s tent. “Moot at this point, it seems,” she murmured. Her gaze returned to Shadowheart. “But it was nice.” 

“That’s what you want, isn’t it? To lose yourself in me?”

The sadness in his eyes as he’d said those words resurfaced in her memory. There was much more she didn’t yet know, she was sure. Whether or not he decided to talk about it at some point remained in his hands.

“He’ll come around,” the cleric reassured her, mistaking the sadness in Áine’s face for fretting about the state of her new dynamic with Astarion. “I expect details when you’re more in the mood to share.”

Áine smirked and shook her head as Shadowheart retreated, looking down as Scratch trotted up to her. “Hi, buddy,” she sighed, kneeling to pet him when she saw he was holding something in his mouth. “What do you have there?”

Scratch’s tail swished as he carefully placed his prize on the ground, whimpering toward her hands as if asking her to take it. Áine’s brow creased when she saw what it was. “Did you swipe my mint pouch?” she chuckled, picking up the familiar knit bag. “Why did you—” 

She looked into Scratch’s large brown eyes, finding something akin to worry there, and her words trailed off. Áine looked back down at the bag, pursing her lips. She always did grab a little sprig when she needed to clear her head. So much so that apparently even their canine companion had noticed. 

She smiled faintly and looked at Scratch again, giving him a loving pat on the head. “Thanks, boy.”

Next chapter: Chapter 12, "Bergamot & Rosemary"

A/N: Two things. Number one, I'm very excited to write this next chapter as scenes from it were what finally gave me the inspo kick to write this whole thing. 🥰 Hopefully I do them justice in the end.

Secondly, Act 1's canon will round out at about Chapter 18 and I'll be taking a break to do some outlining for Act 2 after that point. So I'm not gone-gone! Just might take a bit before another chapter crops up. Thank you so much for reading! x

[twisted-turtels]

Crossed Paths (Pt. 6)

Author's note: okay, this chapter wore me out. like my fingers hurt after writing this. also i lied again, i thought i wasn't going to write this but i did, but NOW I'm on hiatus. i do have a brief outline for chp 7 though.

3042 words

Crossed Paths

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

As Jordan lays her head against the car window, the upbeat melody of Nelly Furtado’s ‘Maneater’ fills her ears, providing a comforting backdrop to the passing scenery of grass fields. She felt a tap on her shoulder taking off her headphones to see Venetia smiling at her. “You excited, love?”

“Yeah. Kind of nervous, though,” she says while taking out her earbuds, “How much longer do we have?” 

Venetia points out the front window to a large estate, “We’re already here.”

Jordan’s mouth drops in disbelief as the car approaches a large, enchanting gate. 

She turns to Farleigh, her shock evident in her expression and her questions, “What the hell,” 

Farleigh chuckles in amusement, “Welcome to Saltburn, Jordan.”

Jordan’s eyes widened in astonishment as she took in the grandeur of the estate before her. “Yall live here,” she asked the group.

“Just for the summer,” Felix answers.

“This is incredible,” she breathes, feeling a mixture of excitement and nervousness flowing through her. 

Farleigh reaches out and squeezes her hand, “Dont worry. You’re gonna love it here,” he says, his voice filled with warmth and encouragement. Felix and Venetia nod in agreement. 

As the gates open, revealing the sprawling grounds of Saltburn, Jordan can’t help but feel a sense of anticipation wash over.

The car comes to a halt in front of a dramatic brown door. The girls eagerly step out while the boys take out the luggage. Venetia grabs Jordan’s hand and rushes towards the door, her excitement palpable in her voice, “Come on. I’m so excited that you’re here. We’re actually sharing a bathroom together,” Venetia rants as they approach the door. 

She knocks on the door, and it swings open to reveal a butler standing on the other side, “Hello, Venetia,” says the butler with a slight upturn of his lips, “And you are Ms. Jordan?” he asks with a more serious tone. 

“Uh. Yes,” Jordan says uneasily.

“Duncan, stop scaring her,” Venetia playfully scolds the butler as she brings Jordan inside the estate. The boys finally bring the bags to the door, out of breath. The girls look at them with amused smiles as the boys catch their breath, their expressions a mix of amusement and exhaustion.

“Did you sprint here with our luggage,” Jordan teases lightly.

Still trying to catch his breath, Felix manages to chuckle, “Just giving Duncan a head start,” he replies, earning a laugh from the group. 

Farleigh enters the estate and nods at Duncan, “Hello, Duncan,” Farleigh says.

“Farleigh,” Duncan answers stoically. 

Jordan looks at the exchange in confusion before Felix claps his hands, “Well, Jordan deserves a tour, doesn’t she?”

Farleigh nods, “We’ll show you around,” he grabs her shoulders, “The place is pretty big, so it’s gonna be a bit,” he chuckles lightly, his voice tinged with anticipation. Jordan returns his smile, her excitement palpable as she eagerly awaits the tour. Felix steps forward, taking the lead with confident strides. His familiarity with the estate is evident as he navigates the halls with ease. 

“And this is where I accidentally fingered my cousin,” Felix points to a corner before he continues guiding them through the halls. 

Felix’s unexpected remark catches Jordan off guard, her eyes widening in disbelief, “He did what,” she mouths to Farleigh; how do you accidentally finger your cousin?

Farleigh shakes his head and rolls his eyes, “He says this every time. Let’s just pretend we didn’t hear that,” he murmurs. Farleigh walks beside Jordan, occasionally offering tidbits of information or sharing anecdotes about his time at the estate. Jordan couldn’t help but feel a sense of awe as she heard about their time there. Felix stops before a door, “This is your room, Jordan. You and Venetia will be sharing a bathroom. Farleigh is right down the hallway as well, so dont worry,” Felix says teasingly, with a knowing glance. 

“And I will be on the other side of the house,” Felix pauses before continuing, “With Oliver.”

Farleigh and Jordan quickly look at Felix in shock, “Oliver,” they question simultaneously. 

“Yes, and he will be here tomorrow,” he continues.

Jordan and Farleigh double down, “Tomorrow,” they yell. Jordan and Farleigh exchange a quick glance, their surprise evident in their wide eyes and raised eyebrows.

“Tomorrow?” Jordan repeats, her voice tinged with disbelief. 

Felix nods, his expression serious, “Yes, tomorrow. He’ll be joining us for the remainder of our stay.”

Farleigh’s jaw tightens slightly, “How fun,” he says sarcastically. 

“He’s a friend, guys. He’s welcome here,” Felix says firmly.

“You’re right,” Jordan says with forced cheerfulness, “Everyone should experience this place. Right, Farleigh?”

He reluctantly nods his head. 

“Good. Anyway, my parents will be here later. They like formal attire at dinner. Annoying, right?” Felix begins to walk away, “You can borrow something from Venetia if you want, Jordy, she won’t mind,” Felix yells before he disappears. 

“Annoying indeed,” Farleigh mutters under his breath, his tone tinged with irritation. Jordan nods in agreement, her mind still preoccupied with Oliver’s impending arrival.

“We’ll be fine,” Jordan says, trying to sound more confident than she feels. “Let’s just focus on enjoying the time we have here.”

Farleigh nods in agreement, “Yeah, you’re right. I’ll see you at dinner, yeah?”

Jordan nods, “I’ll see you,” she waves as she enters her room. 

xxxxxxxxxxxxx

Jordan and Venetia walk down the halls into the dining room. Oh, this is nice. Jordan takes note of Farleigh on the opposite side of the room, chatting with Felix in the corner. Before she can walk up to him, she is interrupted by a woman. 

“Oh, is this her, Farleigh?” the woman asked excitedly before walking up to Jordan. “Hello, lovely. I’m Elspeth, Farleigh’s aunt. Felix and Venetia’s Mum,” she goes in for a hug, and Jordan hugs back. Elspeth pulls back from the hug and looks at Jordan, “You are so beautiful,” she exclaims as she runs her fingers through Jordan’s braids, “And I love your hair.”

I’m gonna let this slide. Jordan nods her head thankfully, “Thank you, ma���am. Thank you for letting me stay with y’all this summer.”

Elspeth claps excitedly, “It is not a problem. We have more than enough bedrooms to spare,” she guides Jordan to an older man, “This is my husband, James.” 

The man walks over as Jordan shakes her hand, “Thank you for allowing me to stay in your home. It’s beautiful,” she says gratefully. “Of course, Jordan,” he smiles, “Let’s sit down and eat, shall we,” he gestures to the long dining table. 

Farleigh sits next to Jordan before leaning over to whisper, “Good job,” he chuckles. Jordan looks at him, “You could’ve come over and helped me,” she jokingly complains. 

Fareligh chuckles softly, “I wanted to see how you’d handle my aunt’s enthusiasm on your own. You did great,” he whispers.

“Thanks for the moral support,” she teases, nudging him slightly. Elspeth stands with a glass of champagne, “Everyone, let’s welcome Ms. Jordan to Saltburn.” The room erupts into cheers, mainly from Farleigh, Felix, and Venetia. She feels her cheeks warming at the attention, but she can’t help but smile, “Thank you all,” she laughs shyly. 

“Of course, dear. Let’s eat,” Elspeth jokingly commands.

As the group starts eating, Elspeth says, “So Jordan, tell us how you made your way to Oxford all the way from Houston, Texas?”

Jordan swallows her food before answering, “Well, I am here for a year-long exchange program. My mom was reluctant for me to come, but-” Her explanation is cut short by a woman with bright red hair, “Are you here on scholarship,” she asks, almost condescendingly. Jordan’s eyebrow twitches, recognizing the implication behind the question, “No,” she responds firmly, her voice unwavering, “My mother pays for me to attend here.” She meets the woman’s gaze with a steady look, refusing to be belittled, “I don’t think we were introduced. You are?”

The woman clears her throat, “Pamela,” she answers.

“Pamela,” Jordan nods her head before continuing, “Well, my mother is actually one of the top lawyers in Texas, even in the country,” Jordan meets Pamela’s gaze with a firm yet polite expression, “What do you do?”

Pamela’s expression shifts slightly, caught off guard, “I, uh, dont work at the moment,” she replies, her tone less condescending now. 

Jordan nods, acknowledging Pamela’s response before returning to her meal, not noticing the look of astonishment on the rest of the family’s faces. 

Sir James clears his throat, “So your mother is a lawyer, Jordan.”

Jordan nods, her gaze still fixed on her plate as she replies, “Yes, she is. She’s always been very dedicated to her work, being a single mother and all,” she places her fork down before addressing the table, “I can always give you her card,” she jokes. The table erupts into laughter, the tension from earlier dissipating. Sir James chuckles heartily, “I might take you up on that offer one day, Jordan.”

The conversation flows more smoothly as they continue their meal, and Jordan starts to find herself at ease in the presence of the family. 

xxxxxxxxxxxxx

Farleigh walks with Jordan towards her room. 

“Apparently, Pamela’s husband is some Russian mobster, and she’s here trying to hide away from him,” Fareligh gossips.

“Well, she needs to mind her own business,” Jordan states as they approach her door, “You wanna come in,” she gestures towards her room. Farleigh nods his head before entering and plopping down on the bed. Jordan sits next to him and takes off her heels. She notices Farleigh staring up at her, “What?”

Farleigh’s gaze lingers on Jordan before he shrugs nonchalantly, “Just admiring how beautiful you are,” he replies with a playful grin, causing Jordan to roll her eyes playfully before walking towards the bathroom. Farleigh follows and rests on the sink as Jordan starts taking off her jewelry. As she reaches for her necklace, Farleigh gets behind her, placing his hands over hers. Jordan freezes for a moment, feeling Farleigh’s warmth against her back. She glances at their intertwined hands in the mirror, her heart pounding. 

“Let me help,” Farleigh whispers softly, his breath warm against her ear. Jordan’s cheeks flush as she nods silently, allowing Farleigh to easily unclasp her necklace. As he removes the necklace, his fingers brush against the nape of her neck, sending chills down her spine. Jordan meets his eyes in the mirror, “Thanks,” Jordan murmurs, her voice barely above a whisper. 

Farleigh meets her gaze in the mirror, a tender smile on his lips. Without a word, he leans in closer, his lips hovering just inches from hers. Jordan’s breath catches in her throat as she feels the warmth of his breath against her skin. 

Before she can process what is happening, there’s a knock on the door, “Jordy! Are you using the restroom,” Venetia yells. “Farleigh gazes at Jordan, lips still close to hers. “Go on,” he whispers in his deep voice, not moving.

Jordan clears her throat before answering, “Uh, yeah. Give me one second, Vee!”

“Hurry! I really have to piss,” Venetia whines.

Farleigh whispers, “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

Jordan nods her head, not breaking her gaze. Farleigh steps back before exiting her room. Jordan hurriedly rushes towards Venetia’s door and opens it. Venetia hurriedly pushes past her, “Sorry, Jordan. I really had to go,” she says as she plops down on the toilet.

Jordan stands in silence. 

“Are you okay,” Venetia asks.

“Yeah, I’m fine. I’m gonna go to bed,” Jordan replies, forcing a smile. She retreats to her room, her mind swirling with a mix of emotions. As she lies in bed, staring blankly at the ceiling, she touches her lips, unable to shake the lingering sensation of Farleigh’s lips so close to hers. The moment continues to replay in her mind, each detail etched into her memory. 

xxxxxxxxxxxxx

Jordan awakens to a knock on her door, “Breakfast is ready, Ms. Jordan,” Duncan yells softly. Jordan rolls over and stretches obnoxiously groggily, answering, “Thank you, Duncan.”

Jordan hurriedly changes clothes before joining the others for breakfast. As she enters the dining room, the aroma of freshly brewed coffee and sizzling bacon fills the air. Farleigh is already seated at the table, conversing with Felix and Venetia. Jordan takes a seat next to Farleigh, offering him a warm smile.

“Good morning,” she greets them as she pours herself a cup of coffee.

“Oh, Jordan darling,” Elspeth exclaims, “Help yourself to breakfast,” she gestures to the buffet table on the edge of the room.

“Yes. We asked the chefs to make an American-style breakfast to welcome you,” Sir James explains, “We even have coffee.”

Jordan chuckles, a thankful smile on her face, “Thank you.”

She goes to the buffet table, filling her plate with pancakes, bacon, and eggs. Impressive.

As they eat, conversation flows effortlessly, with Farleigh occasionally shooting Jordan a playful grin or sharing a private joke between them. He casually places his hand on Jordan’s thigh as they converse. 

One of the butlers walks over and whispers to Felix before he hurriedly jumps up and rushes out the door. 

Jordan mumbles as she eats her food, “Must be Oliver,” she glances at Farleigh.

“Yeah, probably,” Farleigh replies nonchalantly as he follows Felix’s departure with his gaze. 

She shifts the subject, “So about last night-” she begins. 

“What about last night,” Farleigh asks innocently. 

“Oh, so this is what we’re doing,” Jordan chuckles.

Farleigh grins mischievously, “I dunno what you’re talking about,” he says, feigning innocence as he sips his coffee.

Jordan raises an eyebrow, unconvinced by his act, “You know exactly what I’m talking about,” she retorts with a playful smirk. 

He chuckles, setting down his cup, “Okay, maybe I do,” he admits, his expression softening as he meets her gaze, “But let’s just say it was a moment. 

“A moment,” Jordan repeats teasingly, leaning closer and putting her hand on his thigh, “Is that what we’re calling it now?”

Farleigh shrugs, a light blush coloring his cheeks as he looks down at her hand, “Well, it was certainly more than just a moment,” he admits, voice barely above a whisper.

Jordan’s fingers gently squeeze his thigh before withdrawing her hand. She goes back to eating her breakfast. 

xxxxxxxxxxxxx

Jordan sits on a chair next to Farleigh while the family in front of her converses. She’s not paying attention to the conversation as she focuses more on the book in her hand, ‘The Color Purple.’

“...Dirt poor, not attractive, and his parents are drug addicts. I can’t actually-” Pamela begins until interrupted. 

“Oh, here he is now! We were just talking about you,” exclaims Farleigh. Jordan looks up to see Oliver entering the library nervously. She can sense his nervous energy but feigns disinterest, not wanting to engage with him any more than necessary. As he approaches, she spares him a brief glance before returning her focus to the pages of her book. She hears Elspeth’s delicate voice in the background but only focuses on the words before her. 

“Pamela, darling, can you go and find Annie and ask about tea. And ask for a cup of coffee for Jordan,” Elspeth commands.

Jordan looks up from her book, hearing her name. She notices the red looking around in confusion, “Wher’s um…which one is that,” Pamela asks in confusion. 

“You’ll work it out, darling,” Elspeth says dismissively.

Pamela leaves the library uncertainly. 

Jordan places her book down, looking at Farleigh in confusion. He shakes his head and chuckles. 

“Poor dear Pamela. She’s been staying with us while she gets back on her feet. She’s had an awful time this year. Hideous. But oh! Oliver, so have you,” Elspeth rants.

Jordan rolls her eyes, whispering to Farleigh, “What could have possibly been so wrong in his life,” she questions. Farleigh looks at Jordan in disbelief, “Have you heard anything we were talking about?”

“No. I’m really good at blocking out voices when I’m focused,” she states bluntly. 

He rolls his eyes, “To keep it short. His dad is dead, and mom is a druggie.”

Jordan’s eyes slightly widen in surprise, “Oh shit.” That explains a lot. 

“Anyway, let’s not talk about that. Tell me about your mother. How is she bearing up…Still drinking,” Elspect states with ease. 

Felix looks at his mother in shock, “Stop!”

Elspeth waves Felix off, “Ignore him. Nothing shocks me, Oliver, absolutely nothing! Tell me everything.”

xxxxxxxxxxxxx

As the day goes by, Jordan stays mainly to herself. She talks to her mom, catches up with some American friends, and smokes a blunt out the window. She didn’t attend dinner, seeing as she wasn’t feeling good. Sometimes, I forget I’m lactose intolerant. She continues to smoke the blunt but hurriedly puts it out as she hears a knock on her door. 

“Coming,” she yells. She opened the door to be greeted by Fareligh, grinning. She rolls her eyes, “If I knew it was you, I wouldn’t have put out my blunt,” she complains. Farleigh chuckles, leaning against the doorframe, “Lucky for you, I’m not here to scold you about that,” he replies with a grin. 

Jordan arches an eyebrow, “Oh? Then why are you here,” she asks, crossing her arms. 

Surprised, Farleigh puts his hands to his chest, “I can’t come to check on my favorite American,” he asks mockingly. Jordan laughs, “Whatever,” she notices Farleigh in his Pajamas.

“What are you doing right now,” Jordan asks.

“Uh, nothing,” Farleigh answers in confusion. Jordan nods before she grabs his hand and brings him into the room. Farleigh starts to sit on the bed until Jordan pushes him to sit on the floor instead, “Wait here,” she says as she walks into the bathroom. Farleigh sits with his knees up to his chest in confusion.

Farleigh turns his head when he hears Jordan’s voice, “I brought all of my hair products with me,” Jordan walks out with a box full of combs, brushes, and hair creams. Farleigh watches as Jordan sits on the bed. He sees her legs on both sides of his body. 

“I said I was gonna braid your hair, didn’t I,” Jordan asks.

Farleigh grins, settling into a comfortable position as Jordan begins to work, the two of them sharing laughter and conversation that ends with them falling asleep together. 

[fandomscompilation]

Life over death (The Darkling x Reader) Part Three

Fandom: Grishaverse

Pairing: Alexander Morozova x Reader

Warnings: implied being kidnapped and tortured, mentions of injuries, drüskelle, intimidation tactics

A/N: Another part is here! General meeting Reader. From the next parts the fic will be written in first person, because I feel more comfortable and it turns out better. Let me know what you think or if you have any tips for the continuation. Remember requests are open!

Gif is not mine!

"General." A panting Inferni ran up to the General and his Oprichnik. "There's a group of Grisha outside." The man frowned confused.

"And?" He prompted the young boy who blinked quickly. He was one of the younger Grisha and as any other he was intimidated by his General.

"They.. um, it seems they run from the drüskelle. But they don't seem to trust us, said they'll wait for someone else." He informed looking from the man to the other one.

"Did they say who?" The General asked already moving to head outside.

"No. They only said they would not move inside without her. Whoever she is." His words made him even more confused. His Grisha came back to The Little Palace and didn't trust their own. And yet they waited for some woman?

He walked out to the courtyard and immediately noticed the group. They were huddled in the center, staying close to each other. He knew some of their faces, saw them around the Palace, they were gone for weeks now. One of the young men seemed to stand in front of the others. He was the only one not to glance to the gates.

"General." He nodded when the man finally reached them. His eyes scanned them once again. From up close he noticed the injuries. He clenched his jaw before looking back to the boy.

"Why are you not heading in?" He asked with curiousity and authority.

"We refuse to walk in without one of ours." He said confidently making the General raise a brow. "She was the one to save us, we'll wait here."

"She? Just one woman saved you from captivity?" His question was met with silence from the man in front of him.

"She took on eight of them." A girl from behind said with a small smile. "She's a Saint." Her voice was full of amazement towards the unknown saviour.

"Don't be ridiculous." Another boy snapped with irritation. "Just because she's quick to kill doesn't mean we should worship her."

"Believe what you want, Pavel. But we all saw what she can do." She snapped back with a huff.

Before the General could ask further about the mysterious woman a horse could be heard. They all turned to watch a woman clad in grey ride in. She stopped just a step behind the group before dismounting the grey horse. She walked up to stand beside the young man and facing the General. His eyes were focused on her already. He took note of each detail. The jewelry she wore, only golden rings. The silver lining on her cloak. The weird feeling he got when she neared him.

"Who are you?" He asked in his commanding voice. He was showing authority, the General everyone feared and respected. But she only smiled lightly.

"You do not know me." Her voice carried over the courtyard like a melody. "I am not one of yours."

"Show me your face." The General hissed loosing his patience with each minute. He did not like the open show she was putting on. An unknown Grisha entering his grounds and already having his people dote on her.

"As you wish." She nodded reaching up to her hood. Her hair flowed over her back, even after the long journey they looked flawless. Her eyes sparkled with amusement. Her lips stretched in a light smile. "The name's Y/N."

"You saved them?" He nodded to the group beside her. Her eyes fell to the Grisha and she send them a comforting smile, one a mother would to a child.

"I simply led them home." Her soft spoken words made something stirr inside him. He didn't like the unknown feeling.

"Lead them to the Healers. Feed them and let them rest." The General said to his Oprichnik who stood behind him. "And you, follow me. We'll have a talk."

He turned walking back into the Palace. She waved at the group and followed his steps. Her feet were silent, but he could hear her cloak swish behind her.

Her eyes wandered around the walls, taking note of each door and window. She was smart enough to count all the escape routes if it came to using one. His doors were guarded by Squallers and she spared them a glance to size her situation.

"How did you avoid my testers?" Was the first question he asked when the doors closed behind them. She hummed lightly looking around his office.

"I didn't. My powers weren't there when I was of age." Her words caused a slight panic to raise within him. No one became Grisha overnight.

"What do you mean?" His voice was still cold, even though she sensed the hint of confusion.

"I mean exactly what you fear, General." Her eyes finally met his gaze. He could see the darkness inside. She was not the innocent woman she seemed to be. There was knowledge to her gaze and he started to wonder if she was like him. If she could turn out to be his most loyal ally, or if she would be his greatest enemy. Slowly he walked to stand close to her, it did not intimidate her.

"Give me your arm." His words brought a sweet chuckle from her. But before he could reach out she grabbed his hand.

He felt it. The burning in his veins, like that day. Yet it did not irritate him like before. This time around he felt power, pure and unbreakable power flowing from her hand into his very own soul. He knew that feeling, he felt it before.

"You're no ordinary amplifier, are you?" He asked while she stepped back from him. Her eyes sparkled in the dim light of his office.

"Do you think I'd willingly come to you if I was?" He eyed her carefully while all she did was stand there like he could not hurt her, no matter how much he tried. "I'm much more than your Grisha. I'm more than you and your creation. I'm all you fear and dream of. I can be your salvation or death. For I'm everything here and in between."

"How is this possible?" The General asked frowning. For the first time in centuries his stomach twisted in fear.

"The world demands balance. You ruined it ages ago, Black Heretic." He straightened his back ready to threaten her for even suggesting it. "I should thank you actually. If not your doings I would not be reborn with the chance for revenge."

They stood facing each other. Him, a man that was feared by others. Someone with the power to cut the world apart. Her, a woman that came from nowhere. Someone that was ready to burn the world down, only for a moment of peace.

"Welcome to The Little Palace, Y/N." He said after few seconds and the smile she gave made him want to say it over and over again. The General felt even closer to achieving his dream with this mysterious woman filled by power.

[ostricx]

New series: Die for Me

It's a translation of a fic of mine in portuguese, since it was really praised, I decided that would be my first work in English.

Since it's not ordinary x readers fics on my language, I feel more comfortable starting with an OC.

Summary: A goddes among man, above everyone and everything, Isanami Zaoldyeck will fulfill her role, making everything change.

Warnings: incest, +18, cannon HxH violence, extreme violence, love triangle, reverse harem, god delusion, smut. Really mean OC, powerful woman. AFAB OC.

Pairs: Illumi x OC, Chrollo x OC, Hisoka x OC.

Prologue

Dominance can't be taught, it's born with you. Illumi always knew how inferior he was, his sister was something else, something he couldn't understand and decifre. A being so above his humanly form that makes him doubt his own need for existence.

Izanami Zaoldyeck always saw herself as a goddess, above all man, above all laws, above every and anything, she created they all. Everything belongs to her, everything owns her. Illumi, even though he tried to deny, to pretend, he knew he was her shadow, but how could he protest front such a being? Everyone has a place in this universe, he has he's own.

Didn't bother to knock, her doors would always be open to him, her dearest brother. Cautiously, walked inside, passing what looked like the gates of hell. What awaited him was something close to it, no one could deny.

Izanami has always been eccentric, but the years made her almost inhumane. He saw his other half hanging on a curtain, fragile and old, visibly corrupted by moths, as always. But her majesty never trumbled, even with the head down its hairstyle remained impeccable, its black strands remained so static that it would be possible to doubt its gravity. Shimmered as if a supernatural glow envelope her aura. Dressed as a variation of the ancient geisha, her dress left part of her thigh exposed. A light emanated from her body. She would seem irresistible to anyone, however Illumi looked at her disgusted.

The goddes felt when he arrived, but never glared behind her book, kept reading as if she was alone. Would not give the pleasure of her voice. The only thing that mattered was finishing her matinal equilibrium exercise.

Maybe the orange light made her even more gorgeous, so much that Izanami lost herself through the beauty of her reflection on the mirror below. She knew what her brother wanted, but would never make it easier for him. He would defy her authority, so he would need to do it all by himself.

Izanami, can you get down? - The question sounded more like an inquisition, but she's a goddes, she must do nothing. Only to provoke, she turned her head into his direction, with a sadistic smile adorning her face. The scarlet shimmered in her eyes.

- Shitei-san, to what do I owe the honor of your visit, as rare as it is eccentric? - Sweet and melodious, that was her voice. Like a mermaid who gives a sailor his last night of love.

She remained static, not for a second was she unbalanced. Even though she was hanging by her foot.

- You know what. - Illumi blamed his twin's arrogance on the pampering she received from her family, mainly from Maha. Maybe if she was treated like he was, she would be less arrogant. Less eccentric. All he saw in her was rotness. - You will refuse the mission.

With hatred in his veins, he jumped to the ground, landing deftly on his right foot. She calmly adjusted her beautiful tartar blue dress. Firm and resounding steps took her to Illumi; without even touching the back of her head, her locks came loose, causing her hair to fall gracefully to the floor, outlining her body. While her expression was pure disgust. - You know, Illumi, I'm not afraid of threats, but you, my dear brother, should be scared for trying to threat Izanami.

Illumi brought his face closer to his sister's, with an unfocused gaze and a trembling voice, he gave his final word.

- Touch Killua and that will be the last thing you touch. Shitei-chan. - Hatred was clear at every syllable. He would never let Killua get away from him.

- All I can do is wish you good luck, brother, because it's for sure you will need.

[bunnidarling]

gorgeous art by @poofroom of my baby boy Averyll and @thatcerealkiller"s son Angelus

An excerpt from - Chapter 1: Lucky Day

A whinny drew Averyll’s attention away from his story. He looked over his shoulder in Laurën’s direction and gasped softly seeing a figure approaching. A lot of thoughts happened at once: he was naked and vulnerable on a secluded beach, and that man looked much larger and stronger than him and would easily be able to overpower him in a physical fight. His heart started pounding as he decided if the man meant any ill will Averyll would send a wave of dissonant whisper and wildshape into a swallow. That should give him enough time to escape harm. He regarded the approaching figure with wide, meadow-green eyes. 

“Nice horse,” the man said, earning an indignant snort from Laurën. 

“Thank…you…” Averyll replied, his tone unsure, though his voice was smooth and melodious- almost feminine.

Confident strides brought the man forward even closer, his tongue licking at the edges of his teeth as he adjusted the visible bulge in his dark skin-tight leathers. He wore a black lightweight traveling cloak with the hood pulled down over a sleeveless dark cotton shirt that opened down the chest, and simple leather bracers and boots. He unfastened his cloak and let it fall revealing large, strong arms and medium-length blonde hair, swept back and out of his face. Gods, he was handsome- his pretty face and smaller pointed ears hinted at half-elf heritage, like Averyll himself. Though this man was much broader. And where Averyll’s body was fair and covered in freckles, his was a rich tan and covered in vicious-looking scars.

His hands moved to his belt, which he unbuckled with deft fingers. A pair of golden, fox-like eyes smoldered down to Averyll’s as he removed the belt and its attached twin shortswords and let them fall as well. His voice was deep, a rumbling purr that oozed power and authority even though he spoke softly.

“What are you doing out here like that?” 

Averyll was practically holding his breath, though his cheeks and tips of his ears flushed pink as the man continued his approach. He removed his weapons, why? Fuck. He was gorgeous. He nipped his bottom lip and tented his book on the blanket, but didn’t break their heated gaze. 

“I… went for a swim and was drying some before getting dressed… It’s a lovely day.” 

The man’s eyes narrowed and his lips curved into a rakish smirk as he tugged his shirt off over the back of his head. His body could have been chiseled by Sune herself, and Averyll’s eye contact broke to rove over with appreciation, licking his lips as he noted how the cut of his hips angled right down to his cock, which was already hard and pressing urgently against his tight leather pants. 

He lowered down to his knees and straddled Averyll’s ass, sweeping damp auburn curls away from his neck. A low growl rumbled at the back of his throat as he noticed the blooming rose and buds tattooed on the side of Averyll’s neck. Ducking down he laid a wet open mouth kiss over that tattoo, tracing the lines with the point of his tongue, tasting the sea salt that had dried on the other man’s silky skin. Was it art or something more sentimental that he committed to permanence on his body? Was he cool and calm when the needle pierced his skin to fill it with ink? Angelus’ mouth tightened to suck on his flowers, hungry.

A kittenish little moan left Averyll’s lips, mind going blank as his mouth went dry. 

“Heh,” the other man chuffed, his tongue tracing the line of Averyll’s jaw to his short pointed ear, earning a louder moan. He took a deep inhale, the warm summer scent of Averyll’s skin filling his head like a hit of dragon’s dust.

“I can smell it all over you. You’ll let anyone in as long as you get fucked.”

Averyll arched his back, pressing his ass against the man’s bulge. This was foolish, reckless, and the type of thing that one read in trashy beach novels. He opened his mouth to respond but only a gasp rose in his throat. After a moment he found his voice and it was soft and soaked in desire, “Yes…” Averyll agreed, shame burning in his cheeks, and his ears, and the tip of his stone-hard dick. 

“Well then,” Angelus purred, curling his tongue lasciviously in Averyll’s ear, “It’s your lucky day.”

Read the whole chapter here: