#not sure if i captured them perfectly yet BUT i will. i will eventually. i will keep writing them until i do

[slu7formen]

disarmed by desire. | luke castellan x f.r

₊˚⊹♡ luke can’t seem to get out of his head a certain someone, things become even harder when that certain someone, is an aphrodite’s daughter.

warnings: seduction, sexual tension, luke is obsessed over reader, reader’s an aphrodite’s daughter, reader has long hair (not really a warning but whatever).

reminder: english’s not my first language so I apologize for any spelling mistakes

pt2 here

Luke Castellan was obsessed with you.

No, not obsessed. He worshipped you.

He didn’t even know when it started. It was not one thing or situation that started it all, but little small things he witnessed that eventually lead to his confusing and strong feelings he wanted to desperately hide.

Being an Aphrodite’s daughter was no joke, nor was it falling for one of them. All of your brothers and sisters shared an unbeatable beauty. Each one of you is so different, but yet so similar. But the more you grew since your arrival to the camp when you were fifteen, the more you stood out to Luke’s eyes. The Aphrodite cabin girls were known for their charm, but you seemed different, less concerned with vanity and more with genuine connection.

The first flicker appeared during Capture the Flag. Luke wasn't actively participating, a rare occurrence for the camp's best swordsman. Instead, he leaned against a tree, nursing a minor but piercing shoulder wound himself, when she appeared. She wasn’t running across the battlefield like a fiery warrior, but holding a kid’s hand as he was a whimpering mess walking behind her, he sat down on a rock and she instantly attended his bloody knee.

“It’s okay, it’s okay. Don’t worry” her voice had said, and the little kid almost immediately stopped sobbing. “Other kids can be mean sometimes. What’s your name?”

Luke watched, spellbound, as your nimble fingers, surprisingly calloused for a daughter of Aphrodite, expertly cleaned and bandaged the wound. Sunlight kissed your hair, turning the braids into strands of melted gold. Laughter danced in your voice, calming the kid down and blending with the clash of swords.

It wasn't just your beauty, though that was undeniable. It was the tenderness in your touch, the quiet confidence radiating from you, a stark contrast to the usual flirtatiousness Luke associated with your cabin. He quickly realized you were also one of the few Aphrodite’s daughter who had the ability of influencing others with your voice; charmspeaking.

Even when your voice didn’t resonate for him, but for the little kid you were attending, he felt undeniably attracted to your sweet melody, maybe that’s why he stared so long at you too.

Then, your eyes met his. A smile bloomed on your lips. "Need some patching up yourself, brave knight?"

His breath hitched as your eyes pierced his, a blush creeping up his neck. He stammered, "No, I'm good." But the lie tasted bitter on his tongue. He wasn't just injured physically; a new wound had opened in his chest, one caused by a flirty smile and a concern genuine enough to pierce through his thick built-up walls.

Luke's attraction to you wasn't solely physical, but he'd be lying if he didn't find himself momentarily stunned by the way you carried yourself.

He couldn't help but steal glances when you wore shorter skirts or crop tops that hinted at the toned physique earned through years of training, or when the older campers organized a secret night out at the lake in which you made sure to wear the best bikini you could find. He'd catch himself mesmerized by the way sunlight would dance on the curves of your body, sending a flicker of heat through him and his own veins. There was an undeniable beauty in your perfectly applied makeup, but it only served to highlight the mischief sparkling in your eyes and the warmth etched on your smile.

It wasn't just the jealousy your beauty ignited in other girls, or the admiration you garnered from younger campers. It was the way you moved, how confidence flowed through you like liquid gold, making even the simplest actions seem captivating. One afternoon, he saw you braiding wildflowers into your hair, your fingers moving with practiced ease, and he found himself staring with parted lips, hypnotized by the delicate beauty you created.

He started finding himself drawn to her laughter, its rich melody echoing through the camp. He'd catch glimpses of her practicing archery, her form uncannily elegant even as she sent arrow after arrow into the bullseye.

She was perfect.

His mind would try to rationalize, tell him it was the warrior in you that drew him in, the way you handled a sword with both grace and ferocity. But deep down, he knew it was more than that. It was the way your beauty existed in perfect harmony with your strength, a potent combination that left him both breathless and curious.

He wouldn't admit it out loud, not even to himself, but the truth was, Luke found himself daydreaming about brushing a stray strand of hair from your face, feeling the warmth of your skin against his fingertips as he leaned it for a kiss of your sugar lips. Something as simple as that had him zoning out of every conversation and forgetting about activities in the camp. He imagined the playful glint in your eyes when you caught him staring, the teasing lilt in your voice as you challenged him to a duel.

Until, well… a true duel emerged. Summer was just starting after all, and practice needed to be done.

Steel sang beneath the afternoon sun as their practice began. The sky was painted with orange and bright yellow colors, as your darkened figures danced around the field. Luke, known throughout camp as the prodigy at sword fighting, moved with a controlled ferocity, his blade a blur of deadly grace. But his opponent today wasn't your average camper. You wielded your sword with the effortless elegance of a former ballerina, impressive to be someone who’s main skill is not fighting, he had to admit. Each parry was a pirouette, each attack a leap defying gravity.

Sparks flew as your blades clashed, but where Luke relied on brute force, you danced around him, using your agility and unexpected angles to deflect his blows. He felt a frustrated flush creep up his neck and loudly beat inside his chest, every missed strike fueling the unspoken tension swirling between you.

Sweat already glistened on your sun-kissed skin, adding a raw allure to your perfectly applied makeup. It dripped down your collarbone and hid underneath your shirt.

Luke fought with intensity, fuelled not just by the thrill of the duel, but by the desire to impress the captivating enigma before him. You, in turn, met his ferocity with playful taunts and flirtatious dodges, your laughter tinkling in his ears.

Some campers have forgotten about their own practices, drawn to the captivating spectacle between you two. Whispers swirled about Luke's unmatched skill, your surprising prowess, and the undeniable spark crackling between you.

“Look at that” Grover shook Annabeth’s arm, eyes pierced in two shadows swiftly moving around the grass, clashing their blades with resonating grunts and heavy breaths.

“Who’s that?” Percy suddenly asked, eyes wide and parted lips hypnotized by the slender figure whose hair flew around like it had its own life.

“yn, an Aphrodite’s daughter” his friend explained. “Not bad at swords at all, though. But she’s got Luke on his nerves”

Percy nodded. “Yeah, I can tell”

But Annabeth laughed. “Not that kind of nerves. Let’s just say she’s enjoying the attention Luke gives her”

The fight went on, each passing moment stretching the boundaries of skill and endurance. Your movements were a whirlwind of elegance and precision, forcing Luke to constantly adapt, his breaths coming in ragged gasps.

“Tired, hero?" you purred, a mischievous glint in your eyes as you walked around him and twirled your sword, the sunlight reflecting off its polished surface. "Perhaps a touch of Aphrodite's charm is what you need?"

Luke gritted his teeth, channeling his growing attraction into focused strikes. But despite the heat of the battle, your image kept blurring his vision - your smile, the way your hair fell around your face, how your cheeks flushed red and your glossy lips parted as you blocked his movement against you one more time. He felt his defenses crumbling, his usual stoicism replaced by a raw need to prove himself, not just as a swordsman, but as a man worthy of your attention.

“Careful, princess. Playing with fire might just burn you” he countered as he parried a particularly fierce blow, the impact sending a tremor up his arm. His voice was low enough for only you to hear.

"Oh, Luke" you laughed. “Thanks for worrying so much about me but, I know how to handle a little heat" You lunged, your blade aimed for his shoulder. He barely deflected it, the tip grazing his bicep, sending a jolt of adrenaline through him.

In a swift, mesmerizing blur, your blade danced around his, finding an opening. The clang of steel resonated as your sword disarmed him, sending his clattering to the ground. Silence descended, broken only by the ragged rasp of his breath.

He lets his knees fall to the ground, thinking you would have enough mercy for him to give him a break. But he found himself with the tip of your blade resting gently under his chin. You tapped it twice.

“Up, Castellan” you demanded. He looked up at you.

Your eyes, sparkling with both victory and amusement, held him captive. Sweat and dust smudged your face, adding a primal beauty to your already breathtaking features.

A slow smile tugged at his lips, not of defeat, but of something deeper. He lifted up his hands. "Seems I underestimated the true power of Aphrodite's daughters" he rasped, his voice husky with exertion and something else – an undeniable desire.

“Hell yes you did!” one of your sisters replied, earning a few laughs from the rest of the campers.

The small crowd erupted in cheers once the battle was determined as won by you. Luke eventually got up, sword still under his chin. He was much taller than you, to which you had to lift your own head up to fully see his face.

The roar of the crowd faded into a distant hum as Luke only focused on the heavy pounding on his chest, sword dangerously still close. A bead of sweat trickled down his temple, tracing a path past the flush blooming on his cheeks.

"And it seems that our little hero falls not just to skill, but also to some… irresistible charm" you purred, amusement tugging at your lips.

Luke grinned, a touch cocky, a touch breathless. "Perhaps," he conceded, voice husky with exertion. "But I wouldn't call it defeat” he cooed as you slowly put your sword down, placing it next to you. His gaze dropped, tracing a slow path down the curve of your sweat-kissed neck, lingering on the way your shirt clung to your form. Your exposed legs shined underneath the weak sun. The air crackled with unspoken desire, the playful banter now infused with something hotter, more primal.

"Besides," he murmured, voice low and dangerous, "victors deserve their spoils, don't they?"

His words hung heavy, loaded with hidden meaning, a meaning only the two of you seemed to understand now. You felt a blush creep up your neck, surprised by the sudden shift in his usual way of being towards you. You knew he knew you flirted, that you did it with ease. But this was different. This was Luke Castellan, the stoic, the untouchable, and suddenly, he was playing your game.

"And what kind of spoils are you thinking of, big boy?" you countered, your voice barely a whisper.

Luke looked around, campers long gone, already going back to their own activities as soon as your tense situation ended.

He stepped in closer, the space between you shrinking to a charged silence. "Maybe,-" he rasped head down and still heavy breathing, "a dance with the warrior who disarmed me not just with her blade, but with her breathtaking distraction."

His eyes flickered down to your lips, the unspoken desire sparking a flame within you.

“Or maybe something a little more private, as you wish” he continued.

The world seemed to shrink to the heat emanating from your body, the intoxicating scent of wildflower and victory mingled with sweat. Your pulse quickened, a blush blooming on your cheeks.

You laughed in disbelief, smoothly placing your long hair on one side of your head, bright mane elegantly falling like a cascade without you even trying. "Bold proposition, handsome" you replied, voice barely a breath, still trying to catch it. The nickname twisted Luke’s guts, in a good way, might as well have woken up something else. "But maybe you should focus on winning a proper duel before demanding rewards"

He chuckled, a low rumble that vibrated through you. "Challenge accepted, my lady” he whispered, stepping back and raising an eyebrow. "But know this; our next battle won't be fought with steel, but with wit, charm, and a touch of something… different"

You tilted your head to the side as he took his sword from the grass. "And this time, I won't underestimate an Aphrodite's daughter, or the power of warrior who knows how to play just as dirty as she fights"

This wasn't the playful banter you were used to, but you sure liked it. This was Luke Castellan, awakened, and the thrill of it was both terrifying and exhilarating.

"We shall see, Luke" you countered, your voice husky with a newfound nervousness as you pronounced his name. "We shall see."

As you turned to address a new opponent on the field, the memory of his voice, hot and suggestive against your ear, lingered on your skin. This wasn’t what you started, this was a dance of unspoken desires fueled by sweat, steel, and the awakening of a forbidden hunger in the heart of Luke Castellan. And you, the daughter of Aphrodite, were ready to play.

He couldn't help but watch you go, his heart brimming with a newfound determination. He admired your skill, your wit, your beauty, and most of all, the way you made him feel – breathless, excited, and utterly captivated. Your golden figure disappeared into a new crowd of campers looking for someone else to fight.

This was about to be one of the best summers ever.

pt2 here <3

I’m so delulu over this man istg

Currently reading PJ 3rd book :) Had to retake my lecture after I watched the show

ALWAYS OPEN FOR REQUESTS! <3

[7s3ven]

ALL I WANTED WAS YOU. luke (pjo)

( master list ) - soulmate au

IN WHICH… Two opposites fall in love and where one sees an anchor, the other sees jail bars. And eventually, the pair must ask themselves, is this really worth destroying ourselves over?

“All I wanted was you.”

Warnings : Implied sex, spoilers, angst, a bit of gore

A/N : this fic is my Roman Empire

—

Ever since Luke had discovered the concept of soulmates, he had hated it. Why not let people decide who they wanted to love? Most people didn’t follow the laws of fated partners anymore, but those who did always ended up hurt.

Luke still had yet to meet his. He often stared into the mirror, his gaze trailing over his soulmate mark below his ear that looked more like a tattoo in his opinion. He was never interested in it before, even going as far as to try and harshly scrub it off. But ever since he arrived at Camp Half-Blood, he had been staring at it nonstop.

It stung and burned sometimes, probably a good sign to most but a bad one to Luke. It meant that your soulmate was close.

Stumbling into them was inevitable but Luke did all he could to avoid them, whoever they were. And then finally, the day Luke dreaded arrived. It was a new Aphrodite girl who shared Luke’s tattoo. His heart sank as soon as he spotted it adorning her neck.

Was it the commitment that scared him? Probably. Luke had never witnessed a healthy relationship, something that was impossible when you were a demigod surrounded by unfaithful deities.

And yet, Luke continued to hide from both her and from the soulmate connection. The more he ducked under heavy vegetation for cover, the more he noticed about her. How she loved to dive into the lake to collect perfect pearls. And how she always wore the same necklace her younger sibling had given to her the day of her arrival.

Luke found himself admiring her and while his brain tried to say no, his heart gravitated towards her. In a short span of time, Y/N had successfully captured him within her charming spell. It’s not like she was trying to anyway.

Weeks later, Luke finally had the courage to approach her. He started off with small talk and if Y/N felt the same stinging sensation in her mark as Luke, she didn’t comment on it. It felt like months until they finally acknowledged they were soulmates and while Y/N was overjoyed, Luke had to take a step back.

He resorted to standing in front of the lake, skipping smooth stones along the surface of the water.

“Luke?” A voice called out. He didn’t have to turn around to know who it was. He could instantly tell when his heart skipped a beat.

“Y/N. Hey.” He quietly greeted her, skipping another pebble into the water.

“Are you okay?” She questioned, stepping closer to Luke who wanted nothing more than to be away from her. She was a sweet girl but Luke felt suffocated in her affectionate presence.

“I’m okay.” He skilfully lied through his teeth, causing Y/N to smile.

“I was just making sure. You were in a rush to get away from sword training, which is usually your favourite.”

Luke could smell her soft floral perfume now. It engulfed him, making it hard to breathe. Or was it his imagination? Nevertheless, Y/N noticed his furrowed brows.

“Are you sure everything’s alright, Luke?” She gently questioned, hesitantly wrapping her arms around his torso. Luke went stiff for a second before he forced himself to relax. Y/N’s perfectly manicured nails dipped under his shirt and trailed across his back. It should have felt calming but instead it felt like sharp claws dragging across his skin, slitting his flesh open and letting blood ooze out.

Luke didn’t know he was holding his breath until Y/N pulled away. If she acknowledged his strange behaviour, she still said nothing. That was what she always did. No matter how Luke acted, she remained silent, not wanting to ruin the fragile relationship they had. If it was even considered that.

It was clear in that moment that Luke struggled with abandonment while Y/N suffered from getting attached too easily. Luke swallowed his protest as Y/N drew out the already long hug, not wanting to upset her.

When Y/N finally pulled away, Luke held her hands in his. They were soft with lotion and yet Luke could feel rust beginning to set into the cold handcuffs that bound him to her.

“People say I feel like sandpaper.” Y/N uttered as Luke enjoyed the feeling of her warm hands against his, even if it was for a minute before his dread kicked in as it always did. “So I make my hands gentle with lotion.”

Luke silently nodded before he let go of Y/N’s fingers.

“I’ll see you at dinner.” He put on a fake smile just for her and Y/N slipped away, giggling under her breath. It gave Luke a moment to catch his breath. And then the thoughts came. The dark, impulsive ideas that swirled around in his mind until he could only focus on them.

She’ll be happy if I leave.

She’ll find someone else.

She won’t agree to come with me… will she?

Even if Y/N was willing to follow him into hell, Luke wouldn’t let her. He didn’t want her to throw away her life as well simply to please him.

Luke had always been told he had to learn not to run away so he stayed put, knowing it would only increase the risk of Y/N becoming more attached to him. Thus making his acts of betrayal harder to swallow.

Evening came and the sun dipped below the bright green hills. Luke arrived late to dinner, already finding a plate of steaming food sitting next to Chris. There was the small outline of a heart next to his food and Luke already knew what that meant. Y/N had taken the liberty of her time to care for a boy who couldn’t care for her back.

Nevertheless, Luke sat next to his friend and ate in silence. Occasionally, his gaze would flicker to Y/N, who was already staring at him like a hawk.

Luke should have blushed. Anyone else would have if a gorgeous girl was looking at them like that. But he saw another thing behind those loving eyes, something monstrous and obsessive. Something no other camper noticed except for him.

Y/N’s pretty tinted lips curved into a happy smile and while outsiders to their complicated relationship saw a joyful girl, Luke saw the one person keeping him chained to camp. He would have left Annabeth without hesitation if he had to but something about Y/N kept him grounded and held him back.

It would only be a few more days until Luke’s master plan created chaos between the gods and their children, giving Luke the perfect opportunity to slip away. At least, it should have been the perfect chance if it weren’t for Y/N. No matter what Luke did, his mind couldn’t fathom the thought of leaving her behind.

He suspected it was the soulmate connect.

Luke had barely finished his dinner before he suddenly stood up and walked over to Y/N, who was chatting with her siblings. He tapped her shoulder, immediately gaining her full attention. She stared up at him with doe eyes and slightly pouted lips, causing Luke’s heart to jolt.

“Follow me.” Luke quietly uttered, not wanting to freak Y/N out with the infamous words we need to talk.

Y/N trailed after him like a lost puppy as he led her to his empty cabin. He shut the door behind him, locking it for good measures. He wanted to give Y/N something warm to remember him by instead of only recalling his cold and distant nature.

So he kissed her. And she, to nobody’s surprise, swiftly kissed back. Y/N took careful steps towards Luke’s bed, her lips still locked with his. The back of her legs hit his mattress and she fell onto it, bouncing slightly as the springs loudly squeaked.

“Are you sure?” She murmured. She wasn’t stupid. Y/N could see Luke adjusting his pants and unzipping them when he thought she wasn’t looking. Luke nodded his bed as he cupped her face in his large hands, trying to memorise her beautiful features before he left.

Luke pressed his lips to Y/N’s once more. Unlike her usually warm body, her lips were cold and unwelcoming like the jail bars that enclosed Luke. But he pushed on, relentless as he tried to chase every teenage thing he had missed in one night.

His first kiss.

His first time.

His first love whom he was starting to grow feelings for, and that scared him.

Every sound and whisper Y/N made drove Luke mad. This time, as her hands touched his back, he could feel her nails dig into his skin, scratching neat lines down.

Y/N fell asleep before him. The other kids had yet to return from dinner, as there was a campfire happening now, so Luke quickly washed himself off in the shower reserved for camp counsellors. He dampened a cloth, running it over Y/N’s body as she peacefully tossed and turned, mistaking a pillow for Luke and snuggling into it.

Luke watched with a sort of fondness before he snapped himself back to reality. He grabbed a glass of water that he had already prepared and, with a quick gesture, dropped a few sleeping pills into the cooled liquid.

He sat Y/N up and carefully tipped the cup against her mouth, watching as she swallowed every last drop while she was still unconscious. Her body drooped in his arms, the pills taking effect immediately.

Luke held her for a few seconds, enjoying the peaceful silence that now fell upon the cabin.

“Sorry, Y/N.” He muttered as he brought her back to the Aphrodite cabin and tucked her into bed, hoping she would still be asleep by the time he left.

As Luke predicted, the camp fell into chaos. The cabins took sides as Annabeth, Percy, and Grover had yet to return. It was like a battlefield, every person for themselves. Luke watched the discord unfold, knowing he was at the sole heart of it.

Y/N was still asleep by the time Percy arrived back at camp, which concerned most of her siblings. She had been moved to the infirmary and the Apollo kids brushed her case off as a small overdose that she’d recover from eventually.

“You knew Clarisse didn't steal the bolt… You did.” Percy’s eyes widened. This was the moment Luke had been working towards. For Percy to finally realize who as a friend and who was an enemy. His reaction to all this would determine what Percy was to Luke. “You worked with Ares to plant it on me so when the shoes you gave me pulled me down into Tartarus, the bolt would be delivered right to Kronos.

“I didn’t think you’d give ‘em to Grover to wear.” Luke sighed, “I am your friend. Percy, none of this was meant to betray you. The Gods are my enemies.”

“You…” Percy couldn’t choke out another word as he stumbled back, unable to belief his first friend at camp had been the mastermind behind all this.

“I’m here to recruit.” Luke grinned in a way that unsettled Percy.

“I don't wanna fight.” Luke muttered, “This is what I wanted to show you. This... is our way out. Way out of what? Camp. And their control.” Behind Luke, a portal appeared. “Backbiter can open secret doors. We can stay on the run as long as it takes.”

“Stop saying we.” Percy snapped. He wanted no part in Luke’s little game with Kronos.

“It's the word Zeus fears the most. The gods want us to fight for them, worship them, fear them. And they couldn't care less what we want. They're bad parents, Percy. And they've gotten away with it for far too long.”

Luke had a point there but Percy still wildly shook his head. “No. This isn't you. This is Kronos. He got to you.”

“No, he opened my eyes to the truth. A golden age. That's what they called it when he ruled. We're gonna help Kronos bring the Golden Age back. Stealing the bolt and the helm was easy. For what comes next... we're gonna need all the help we can get.”

Their swords clashed against one another, sparks flying everywhere.

Percy panted as he spoke, “Our parents aren't perfect, but they're trying their best. I met your dad. But he...“

At the mentioning of Hermes, there was a new type of anger flashing in Luke’s eyes. He grunted as he swung his weapon at Percy. “You did get better.” He heaved.

The portal thrummed again, reminding Luke that he didn’t have much time left. “Last chance.” He warned Percy.

The blond boy didn’t respond. He blocked one of Luke’s blows, accidentally cutting the brunette’s cheek. “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to!” Percy was quick to apologise as if it were a simple sparring session.

Luke was ready to swing back at Percy harder until he heard the sound of twigs snapping. Annabeth revealed herself as she took off her invisible cap.

“Annabeth?” Luke whispered, furrowing his eyebrows. The anger in his gaze was suddenly replaced with remorse and sadness.

Annabeth hesitatingly lifted up her dagger. “I heard everything.”

Luke was about to step into the portal before he heard the sound of Y/N’s voice in the distance. In a desperate, and probably stupid, attempt at making the most of his few moments left, Luke opened another portal and jumped into it.

He immediately crashed into Y/N who held him up by his shoulders.

“Is it true?” She wailed.

Luke could only stare at the ground as his soulmate mark burnt with such intensity that it made him want to shout. “I’m sorry.” Was all he could muster up. Y/N’s emotional sobs racked her body until she let out a small gasp and wiped away her tears.

“I’ll come with you.” She uttered, “You don’t have to be alone. We can leave now!” Y/N grasped Luke’s wrist, tugging him forward. He remained still and unmoving.

“I can’t let you do that for me.” He said. “I won’t let you leave everything you’ve ever known behind for me.”

“But…” Y/N’s bottom lip trembled, “I want to… you have no idea what I would do for you.” Y/N almost pleaded, wanting to prove her complete devotion to Luke.

“I know. You would have walked to the ends of the earth. You would have walked off a cliff. You would have jumped into a pool of fire all for me.”

The tears running down Y/N’s cheeks made Luke feel pity for her. His sympathy towards her soon rotted into apathy as he spoke again. “That’s the problem. You’re willing to loose yourself to find me when I didn’t even know how to find myself. Let alone find another.”

Y/N quietly sniffed.

“The issue isn’t that I don’t know how much you love me… it’s that you love me too much.” Luke told Y/N the words he hadn’t been brave enough to say before.

But Y/N was not willing to back down. “Maybe if you knew how to love me, I wouldn’t have to make up for it with an abundance of myself.” She snapped.

“Maybe you‘re right.” Luke mumbled, unable to look her in the eyes as his ego deflated and he felt weak, like he was a new camper all over again. “Maybe I don’t know how to let you love me and maybe you love me too much and I love you too less.”

Luke slowly stepped away from Y/N. She reached out for him, hoping to grasp him before he slipped away. And she ran after him until he disappeared, his once calming presence slipping away and becoming one with the air.

Y/N kneeled to the ground as she cried. Her heart practically shattered in her chest, feeling like a million needles stabbing into her skin. Her tears felt like poison, stinging the flushed apples of her cheeks until her skin ran raw.

The rejection of a soulmate always hurt the most, both physically and mentally. As Luke said, the people who followed the rules of soulmates always ended up wounded.

Y/N walked away with a newfound awareness about her identity. That her hugs were more suffocating than comforting and no matter how pretty they are, her hands will always resemble cruel talons when grabbing things. Her ‘I love you’s are always said with her finger on the trigger of a gun and her careful kisses leave sore bruises instead of delicate lipstick stains.

Luke emerged from the portal, away from camp and his friends and family, with a newfound sense. His desire for intimacy is more like a repulsion and with every new door he opens, his hands will always tremble on the handle. No matter how pretty the walls are inside, he would always find himself standing next to the fire exit, ready to flee the first chance he gets.

To love a ghost without pouring some of your own essence into their empty and weary bones is an impossible request.

Y/N eventually came to the upsetting conclusion that she should have stayed away from Luke while Luke wished he had found more reasons to stay.

PJO TAG LIST (FULL) : @lostinhisworld @julielightwood @jennapancake @evrybodydies1 @kkrenae @s0ulsniper @justanotherkpopstanlol @simpforeveyone @papichulo120627 @corpsebridenightamare @lilacspider @urmomsbananabread @ur-lacol-dsylexic @hottiewifeyyyy @kamiliora @be-bap @finnickodaddy @th0tblckgrl @shoyofroyoyoyo @syraxesrevenge @ahh-chickens @dracoslovergirl @midnightstar-90 @liv1104 @krkiiz @arialikestea @maryclx01 @lukecastellandefender @yuminako @coryoskywalker @crybabysbakery @jsbabyyy @liviessun @p3pperm1nttea @angie-esc @purplerose291 @prettylilsimp @10ava01 @happy-jj @czennieszn @gisellesprettylies @loveyava @jamesmackreideswife @2hiigh2cry @xx-all-purpose-nerd-xx @randomgurl2326 @niktwazny303 @luvvfromme @y0urm0m12 @mochi-lover26 @annispamz

[coloursflyaway]

Won’t Fear Love (2/6)

Pairing: Edwin Payne/Charles Rowland

Rating: T

Word Count: 1.500

Read on AO3

„We should go a date“, Charles says on a perfectly bland Tuesday, looking up at Edwin from whatever he is doing at the moment. If Edwin wasn’t dead already, he would suspect that Charles is trying to kill him. or: Five times Charles takes Edwin on a date to figure out if he could fall in love with him, and one time when he has an answer.

tagging all the lovely people who wanted to give this fic a read: @itsablueberrycow @piristephes @assignedpeanutallergyatbirth @mylu @oneweirdbean @lifeinvirtualreality

“A movie?”, Edwin asks, and Charles nods, almost a little too enthusiastic. He is aware that Charles enjoys movies quite a lot, and Edwin has to admit that there have been those that also captured Edwin’s imagination, but…

“Is that not quite antithetical to the idea of a date?”, he asks, slightly puzzled. Granted, he doesn’t have much experience, but it seems like a pastime that decidedly doesn’t invite conversation. “I was under the impression that dating was mainly about getting to know someone, not sitting next to them in silence while being entertained by something external from both of you.”

His confusion is obviously highly entertaining to Charles, who starts laughing even before Edwin has finished speaking. “Edwin, mate. That’s the most you thing you could have possibly said”, he explains while still chuckling, and Edwin would be miffed, if Charles didn’t sound so fond while saying it. “I’m pretty sure the point of it is to talk about the movie afterwards. And, you know. Maybe hold hands in the dark or something.”

“But I will know what you will think about the movie”, Edwin answers, still befuddled, and resolutely ignores the implication of holding hands, because even if it is, of course, impossible, he feels like he is blushing just thinking about it. On cases, they have held hands before, for spells or as not to lose each other in the dark, but that was before. Now, it would mean something, and now, he cannot even consider it without wanting it with an intensity that is almost frightening.

“Oh, I know”, Charles replies and he’s still smiling, still sounds fond. “That’s exactly why I want to take you to see one.”

Charles, of course, takes him to see a movie. He is excited about it, too, to the point where Edwin cannot even pretend to mind it, because his eyes are glowing with joy when Edwin eventually agrees to it, because he talks Crystal into getting them physical tickets (“So we can keep them, of course! I think that would be nice, having something to remember our second date by, don’t you, Edwin?”), because he dresses up nice again, as if his state of dress could ever matter to Edwin. And, of course, because of one very simple reason: he genuinely seems to want to take Edwin out on a date.

Although he tries his best not to take it too seriously, since Charles just gets like this sometimes, excited and almost overwhelming in his happiness, it’s difficult not to when it’s this. Because the thought that maybe, just maybe, Charles thought the first time he took Edwin out was a success (he cannot bring himself to call it a date, not now, maybe not ever), is almost too much to bear.

The thing is, Edwin never expected Charles to reciprocate his feeling.

Looking back, he isn’t even sure if it was part of his thought process, if he considered the possibility before he was standing on the steps to Hell, looking at Charles and thinking, I’m so glad he knows he’s loved.

So, the thought that Charles is considering it, giving it a chance, giving Edwin a chance, is almost unfathomable.

And yet, Charles is standing in front of him, the biggest smile on his face, because he gets to take Edwin out again. It’s very difficult not to hope at least a little.

“You alright there, mate?”, Charles asks, brows furrowed, and Edwin realises he must have spaced out for a few moments. He should say no, be honest, but instead he nods so he can watch the smile bloom again on Charles’ face. “Aces”, Charles says and he is right, it is aces, it’s magnificent, it’s brills, it’s every other positive adjective Edwin can think of, because they are on a date together and Charles is looking at him like he really wants to be here.

In the end, Edwin can’t even remember the title of the movie, nor the contents of it (there were explosions in it, he’s fairly certain, one or two scenes that made Charles chuckle), and not for not trying, either. It’s not his fault at all, in fact, that he hardly paid attention to any of it, but Charles’.

For not even five minutes into the film, Charles had taken his hand. Not to show Edwin something, not to drag him somewhere, but just sitting there, Charles had taken his hand and woven their fingers together like he didn’t mean to let go and then he just… hadn’t. Instead, he had held Edwin’s hand for the entirety of it, sometimes squeezing it, presumably if something exciting was happening on screen.

Which Edwin wouldn’t, couldn’t have noticed, because, well. Because Charles had been holding his hand. It had been the strangest thing, because it had felt so natural, like something they had been doing for decades; because it had felt like the single most thrilling thing to happen to Edwin in the entirety of his existence.

Of course, he couldn’t really feel Charles’ fingers in his, but he knew them to be there anyway, like he could feel Charles’ energy brushing up against his, and it had been… glorious. It had been warm and familiar and electrifying, and more than enough to make focussing on anything else impossible, lest he miss a second of it.

Which poses one unfortunate problem: Charles asks him about the film when they are leaving the theatre amidst the crowd, a stranger’s arm phasing through the graceful arch of his shoulder.

“Well”, Edwin starts, certain that if he had the appropriate anatomy still, he would be blushing. “I am not entirely certain, I’m afraid. It seems I was a little… compromised during it.”

He cannot say it out-loud, so instead, he just raises their hands, because their fingers are still intertwined, and Charles stops moving in the middle of the hallway to look at him. Edwin stops, too, can’t really do anything but that, unless he lets go of Charles’ hand.

“You don’t know if you liked the movie because we were holding hands during it?”, Charles asks to clarify, sounding amazed and slightly disbelieving still. And Edwin has to nod, and although it should be humiliating, it isn’t, because Charles’ fingers tighten around his reflexively, almost like he doesn’t want to let go, either. His lips part as if he wanted to say something, but then Charles just ducks his head, smiling, before he looks up at Edwin a few seconds later.

“That’s pretty cute, actually”, he states like it’s a confession of some sort, and Edwin’s very soul seizes up, curls around that word. Cute. “And, like. I enjoyed it, too. It’s nice, feeling that you’re next to me.”

And when Edwin doesn’t answer, because how could he, when he wouldn’t be able to remember how to breathe if he still had to do so, he squeezes Edwin’s hand again, deliberately this time. “But don’t worry, mate. You would have hated it anyway.”

“You know, I was thinking, maybe we should make this a more regular thing”, Charles says when they are walking home, because Charles is still insisting on this, and if Edwin is honest to himself, he finds that he doesn’t mind. It’s a nice thought that Charles might not want to let the evening end, because Edwin feels the same, and not only because they are still holding hands. “What do you mean?”

Charles grins and Edwin is so weak around him, it’s preposterous. But then again, maybe it’s not his fault, maybe it’s just Charles, maybe everyone around them feels like their knees might give out under them when Charles smiles at them like this. He’ll have to ask Crystal about that in a quiet moment.

“You know, give it some regularity. We could do every second Wednesday of the month”, Charles replies easily, “Gives me a bit of time to plan and you won’t have to look like a very frightened deer every time I bring it up.” Again, that smile, so bright it almost lets Edwin forget to be offended.

“I absolutely do not look like a deer in any way whatsoever”, he still shoots back, even if a moment too late. He has a reputation to uphold after all. “You kind of do, though”, Charles tells him, his nose scrunching up a little. “It’s cute. But I would rather have you not scared, so what do you say? Monthly date nights?”

There it is again, that word. Cute. Edwin tries his best not to think too much of it, lest he stop thinking about anything else.

“That would be agreeable”, he replies. Cute. “Is there a reason for it to be the second Wednesday?” And Charles reacts like he has been shot, putting one hand across his unbeating heart and pulling a face, eyebrows drawn together like Edwin has wounded him deeply.

“Edwin”, he all but whines, looking at him with wide brown eyes, glittering with mirth in the glow of the street lights. “Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten our first date already! That was on the second Wednesday. As is this one, actually.”

And he’s right; it’s the most thoughtful thing anyone has ever done for him, and Edwin grips Charles’ hand as tightly as he can, and tries his best to think anything but please, let me have this. I’ll never ask for anything else. Just this.

[dairy-farmer]

Did you know~? Dreams are how the mind subconsciously processes information and our emotions ABOUT the information for us while we are asleep?

:Dc

Gotham Sure Does Have Cults! Don't it? Bet some of them get the bright idea to Capture God(tm). Which ALWAYS ends well, and TOTALLY doesn't lend to them fighting back! Getting the attention of Local Bats!

What with the Lethal, Diving People Too Insanity Nightmares going around.

They're gonna go out on a limb and guess Dream God. Sleep Deity, perhaps. The track the Cult down. Burst in and kick ass. As a Family~

And? The God can admit... they were kinda losing. Humans cheat and these fuckers were VERY prepared. They were gonna Curse this city to unending torment with their dying breathe... BUT! They don't need to do that now! Good for you!

They should probably...reward you or something.

Protocol, you know.

Uuuuuuh, hold on. *look around* Got it! Here. Take these handfull of shiny rocks. Yes, I'm stealing them from the Cultists. They were decorating anyway. Anyway! HERE. I give you A Blessing(tm).

THESE will give you Good Sleep.

One for each of you.

To make up for, you know, tormenting you into intense sleep deprivation, when that is the opposite of my Job. And then you saved me and all. Thanks~☆ *poof!*

It's? A fuckin weird day in Gotham. So basically, just Tuesday. They each take a rock and split, dispite Bruce's paranoid "wait, no! We should lock these up and stare at them suspiciously! Unknown magic! I have anxiety!" Twitching. They're gonna go pass out know. Someone call the commissioner and tell him it's safe now.

They get home, crawl out of their uniforms, into their various beds (even Bruce, as bullied and enforced by Alfred) and give no real thought to their new, divinely gifted, Dream Rock. Probably should have. The magic users would have Lost Their SHIT over those rocks. But, Bats? Telling people things? Voluntarily???

LOL.

And? Of too the first genuinely peaceful, guilt free, nightmare free, night of sleep they've had in A WHILE. As the Rocks get a feel for them. What they WANT out of a Good Sleep experience. Is it walking on the beach? Beating up bad guys and saving the day? A night at home? The Dream Stones shuffling through Pleasant Memories and Happy Thoughts looking for material to work off of.

And... huh. They wake up feeling FANTASTIC.

Turns out? When you actually DO get a good night's rest? No tossing or turning, no night terrors or full body clenching of muscles? Your body heals up. You feel better.

Wild.

These rocks are fantastic.

The give it now more thought. Oh sure, they discuss it. Trial period etc. But? It's all just peaceful meadows and seeing loved ones happy. The classics. Expected, really. So they move on. All while the stones are still finishing their Refining.

Eventually? Ding! They're done! They've gotten a full read of their owner! Know EXACTLY what they want. What would make them happy. So, when the Bat's finally hit the hay? They run their REFINED Dream sequence. Dreaming PLUS, if you will.

It's a school night. So Damian, unfairly in his mind, must go to bed first. Though sleep is not the unpleasant thing it once was. Usually filled with fluffy animals. This time? It's different.

He dreams of entering the Batcave. Taller, stronger. The height and frame he is destined to inherit from his father, finally his. The black armor of The Bat adorning him. Timothy is there. Captured, arms bound behind his back, gagged and on his knees, face pressed to the floor. His armor almost artfully destroyed by battle.

He has cat ears and a tail.

Yet this, like every other jarring detail, seems so perfectly natural. Of course he does. Of course Damian is. Nothing is strange to Damian, as he observes the ears pressed back. The whipping, furious defiance of that tail. The low growl that goes with it. Timothy's eyes catching the light. Beautiful and unbreakable.

Damian strides forward.

They back and forth. Word play sharp and cutting. But Damian has WON and they both know it. Timothy fights now only to save face. Enough is enough. Timothy is haughty. Every bit, beautiful and feline.

Damian has his mouth and DARES him to bite him.

Tear apart the ruins of his armor and claims him on the floor. Is he little NOW, Timothy? Can you ignore him still? The game is over. Admit you've lost! Admit it! The pleasure is too much. His Rival thrashing, biting his lip. Trying to hold back. Unable too in the end. Damian wins. Timothy begs. More, more. Please, it is good. More!

Damian...was NOT aware of the root of his need to fight with Tim. Will not know how to face him come morning.

In his Apartment, Dick drags his aching body into bed. It was a shit day. At least his dreams will be nice. He falls asleep. Blinks "awake" with an OOF! As Tim lands on him with a laugh. Is confused but pleased to see him.

Tim clings. Dotes on him. Bringing breakfast, activities just for them, initiating more casual touch then he has in YEARS. Then? When they get back from what feels like the perfect day out? Dick finds himself doing something he would never DARE. Coming up behind that trusting, warm, cute little body. As Tim chatters and puts things away. And slipping his arms around him. Holding him.

Kissing his neck. Slipping his hand down the front of those cute shorts, to start rubbing him through his panties. Get him wet.

Picking him up and bending him over the back of a couch, so he can tug those bottoms down. Eat him out. Make filthy promises to treat his virgin hole just right. Keep him forever. Listen to him whine and feel him squirm, having never been touched like this before.

Dick wouldn't... wouldn't...

But the dream feels so good. Carrying his Timmy to his room, like a lover. Promising to take such good care of him. Fucking him open on his fingers, then his cock. Kissing his face and neck and perfect little tits. Grinding his clit with his thumb as he finds that perfect angle and pounds til Tim has nothing left to give.

Just the two of them against the world. As pretty little family.

Which will make things awkward with Babs, if she wasn't having her own dreams.

Sitting at her computer. Watching Tim writhing and coming apart at the touch of her keystrokes. Making him wear remote controlled toys. Matching them on herself. Lazy days at the Clockwork, with Tim beneath her desk, a fucking machine in him, his desperate mouth on her.

Flashes and scenarios of what she and Dick could DO to him. Watching Dick fuck her boy sloppy. Not letting EITHER of her boys stop until she was satisfied.

Jason getting a classic. Boyfriend shirt and pizza. Railed on his shitty couch as the movie plays. Like lovers. Newlyweds. Coming home and trying to put a baby in Timmers on his fancy ass mattress in a cheap ass frame. Full on mating press, legs basicly to his ears. Timbers begging for it, needy. Taking it like a champion.

And Bruce? Oh he gets silks and his mothers pearls. The suits he wishes he could get Tim to wear, with stockings hidden underneath. Dinner and dancing. Gotham at peace. Tim looking at him with adoration.

Like a Classy Romance from the movies of his youth. Everything rose petals and candle light. Tim TAKING it, dispite how difficult it is for partners to handle him. Everything being tight and slick and hot. Bruce being ruinous in how good he is. No one will ever be able to compare. Tim is his. Just his.

Waking up and nearly yeeting the Dram Stone through the nearest wall.

Tim of course... dream fucks several teammates, a couple Hot Celebrities, and that one GORGEOUS Alien Prince from that one mission when he was like 14. *siiiiiips morning coffee* was an interesting night. Given everyone's thousand yard stare, good to see it wasn't just him who Learned Some Stuff About Themselves last night.

He'll agree not to ask if they don't?

DEAL.

-🐼🐼🐼

everyone but tim grappling with their own existence, morality, and guilt at the breakfast table 😭😭😭

[johnslittlespoon]

i have been dealing with the brainrot of twink college student john and biker gale but then the other half of the post jumped me in a dark alley and all i can think about is john's friend who is used to their friends having crushes on their dad but it's whatever. weird, but whatever, as long as they don't get vocal about it they can just use it as something to tease them about at the worse. john looking up at gale with big doe eyes isn't the first time they've seen a friend do that, they've seen other people who are considered more age appropriate do worse when faced with the gale cleven effect. only it never occurs to them gale feels like he can't breathe right and like is organs are too big for chest whenever he looks at john and feels like he's something too soft than he should allow himself to be but around john it doesn't feel bad, maybe it's a good thing he can unapologetically be soft for someone.

cue the ladies who thought they might be able to win over the quiet, intimating and rugged dilf biker seeing that his heart was stolen by none other than john clarence egan, the son of mr and mrs egan who everyone is sure are moments away from a heart attack.

the au post | GOD same it has notttt left my mind. and you GET ITTT you captured the vibe i was picturing for that version perfectly ugh.

literally 1k+ words of brainrot below the cut... deeply sorry. any excuse to talk about them and i'm spinning in my chair apparently LOL <3

like john takes one look at gale and knows he's not the only one who swoons over him, spends an ungodly amount of time pining from day one. but any fantasies are only fantasies, because he knows (thinks he knows) he doesn't stand a chance, both for the fact that he's his son's friend, and that gale probably thinks he's too immature, and that he's, y'know, not a girl.

but gale is gone too from their first meeting, he's just a lot better at hiding it (and finds it so endearing how bad john is at hiding it despite how well john thinks he's doing lol.) once he and john start tentatively feeling things out, and even before that really, the way he feels when he looks at the doe–eyed boy scares him– a vulnerable softness and urge to protect that he's been just fine with not feeling.

of course there's the conflict when he tries to shove down these feelings at first, because he knows how mad his son (who i headcanon as ken because he and leaving!john would be precious dorky besties) would be if he were to ever indulge in them, regardless of how much john wants it. and there's the guilt of feeling like john would be happier with someone his age, but john is the most persistent, stubborn person he's ever met, and the way he folds so quickly for him is terrifying.

and yet he falls for the attentive softhearted absolute puppy dog of a boy that john is, finds himself as fond of his moments of angsty bite and bristle as he is when he's docile at his side, melting under gale's gaze. there's no proper confirmation ever made to others about their status, no reason to need one, because they're attached at the hip and people learn quickly not to so much as look at john the wrong way, because gale's never far behind him.

and the angsttt of john's parent's disapproval– yeah, he's an adult and he's independent and is off doing college and all, but his parents aren't chill with "that gay shit" and he gets the classic "so long as you're living under our roof, you're not to see that man" talk, and what's an angsty rebellious lovesick john to do but get better at sneaking out of his window and jogging down the street to meet gale at his motorcycle so his parents don't hear it pull up?

i'm sure eventually it would come to a head because they'd find out he's been going behind their back when they catch him sneaking back inside late one night, and he's given the good old "stop seeing him or pack your bags" ultimatum. it takes gale a wild amount of self control to not storm into the house and chew out john's parents when he picks up the phone to a sniffling terrified john at two in the morning less than an hour after he'd dropped him off down the street.

it takes even more self control when he sees the angry red of a handprint on john's cheek when he pulls up and finds him sat on the curb with a hastily stuffed backpack, and his heart shatters when john starts apologizing, as if he'd ever be upset with him. but then, cue domesticity (and a different kind of sneaking around) as john temporarily moves in with him and ken. all ken is told is that john's parents kicked him out and he knows how badly they treat him so he doesn't ask many questions, so shitty circumstances aside, he's over the moon at getting to have his best friend stay with him.

john promises to find someplace to rent a room in as soon as he can because he feels awful for intruding, but gale finds that he really likes having john around, insists he stays with the two of them at least till he's done with his semester so he doesn't have to worry about paying rent. lots of nuance to sort out there but you get the gist. <3

also. john wearing gale's leather jacket sighhh. finding any excuse he can to steal it, face going all pink when gale drapes it over his shoulders when they're out on dates, beaming when gale lets him wear it home with the promise that he'll return it the next day, falling asleep with his face pressed to it, drowning in the smell of gale's aftershave and cigarettes and diesel.

+ slight tangent but the things that could come about from the sneaking around?? minor spoilers for anyone who hasn't seen callum's show 'leaving' that his character in this au is loosely based off of, but there's a scene where he and his milf not–gf are fooling around in his room and his parents get home early.

i have this scene in my head where john thinks he's meant to have the house to himself for the night, invites gale over, they end up in the shower and they hear the front door slam mid–fuck. there's a moment of panic, both of them freezing, john whispers that "dad's probably forgot his wallet or something," assumes gale will stay unmoving until they hear the door slam again.

only gale suddenly rolls his hips forward, and john chokes on a moan, gale's hand coming up to quickly cover his mouth, his other hand squeezing john's hip as he kisses his shoulder and murmurs "you can be quiet, can't you, sweetheart?"

anyway. yeah, this au has me in a chokehold so hard still, i'm 100% still planning on writing it post–dog fic <3 i do love this whole cliche best friend's dad route of this au, but i'm also not sure i feel like tackling the conflict of john having his friend find out about the two of them, and i feel like that would be kinda inevitable to have to write about if i took that route for the fic lol </3 so i think that version of the au will be limited to brainrot like this and when i write the actual fic it'll just be the college student x bikerider vibe, but honestly there's so much overlap with the two concepts anyway that it won't make too much of a difference!

thx for unintentionally encouraging my yapping i love this version of these two so much and i am apologizing in advance for the person i will become when i see the bikeriders in theatres xoxo

[toournextadventure]

Okay I have many headcanon thoughts and one of them is that reader is usually quite calm and level headed but is high key piiiisssedd when they find out about all the amount of drawings Xavier has of Wednesday. Ensue Enid and Wednesday walking in on chaos going on between them in the quad and breaking it up 😂

Oh my god YES

Calm under pressure. That's how nearly everyone would describe you, and it was a trait you rather enjoyed. Definitely looked good for college applications, and Wednesday always seemed to enjoy it

But there were exceptions to everything. Yours just happened to come in the form of Xavier Thorpe's near-obsessive amount of paintings and drawings of YOUR girlfriend

They were stunning portraits, you couldn't deny. Each and every one of them captured her essence perfectly, the beauty that she tried so hard to hide from the world

But why did Xavier paint them? That was the real question, and you were going to get to the bottom of it even if it meant bashing his stupid head in

(Wednesday would've been so proud of you for your threats of violence)

It didn't take long for Ajax to burst into Wednesday's room talking about you picking a fight with Xavier. Outwardly she was annoyed - why would you even bother? Internally she was a little worried you were getting your ass beat

She, Enid, and Ajax all headed to the lake where you were instigating the fight. You hadn't started swinging yet (which was upsetting, in Wednesday's opinion) but you were close

"We need to stop them" Enid insisted

"They can work it out themselves"

Eventually Enid won, though, because Wednesday stopped you right before you squared up. It just took one look before you threatened Xavier's life if he didn't cut it out with the drawings

Wednesday approved of your colourful language and word usage

"You should come up with more creative threats" Wednesday told you once she was practically dragging you back to the room

You just grumbled and held her hand, making sure Xavier saw as you flipped him off while walking away

Everyone missed Wednesdays smile at your overt displays of possessiveness

[its-jaytothemee]

Until I Met You - Chapter 4

Chapter 4: Healing Words

Pairings: Halsin x Tav

Word count: 4,295

Rating: Currently M, will be Explicit in later chapters.

Read on AO3

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Summary: Tav continues to heal from her injuries as the group sets out to do more exploring. Halsin of course stays behind to look over her recovery. Part 4 of the slow burn fic. Tav and Halsin POVs.

Tags: Slow burn, hurt/comfort, fluff, love confessions, eventual smut, light angst, implied past rape/non-con, graphic description of injuries.

A/N: Here comes lots of Tav and Halsin dialogue, getting to know each other over some healing.

Tav’ahria’s surroundings swirled around her like fog on a cool spring morning. The familiar, ornate walls of her home came into focus. A huge, woven rug spread across the large floor in front of her dampening the sound of her footsteps.

“Come here, little flower.” Her father’s icy voice called out to her from a nearby room.

She walked into the plush sitting room to see her father lounging in his favorite chair, glass of wine in hand.

Really? It’s not even midday yet.

“You called me, Father?” She called out to him as she perched on the edge of a chair across from him.

“Yes, my child. Come closer.” He gestured to the chair directly to his right. Odd, he never wants us near him. As she sat down, he placed his wine glass on the table in front of them.

“I want to tell you that I am pleased with your work. House Mendelre is stronger than ever, thanks to your incredible efforts, Tav’ahria.” He smiled at her; the expression was unsettling.

‘Incredible efforts,’ it took everything in her not to laugh in his face. As if she had a choice to partake in the first place. She had a hard time determining just when her father started to become so power hungry. When her and Tev were children, he was quite happy. It was only in the last few years that they noticed the harshest change in his demeanor.

“Thank you, Father.” She said quietly, giving a small nod.

“I have a gift for you, my little flower.” He produced a small jewelry box from a pocket in his coat, holding it out to her. The ornate box was covered in gold engravings, tiny twisting vines with rounded leaves adorning them.

She carefully took the box from his hands, unsure of whether this was a trick.

“Open it, I had it made especially for you.” He was still smiling at her.

When she opened the box, the gasp escaped her lips before she could control it. Resting in a small bed of silky, red fabric was a stunning brooch in the shape of an orchid. Not just any orchid, the thorned, bleeding orchid that was the symbol of their house. Intricate gold strands made up the stem of the flower, tiny studs lined them to create the thorns. The petals were carved amethyst, the inside of the gems sparkled as if they captured one of the stars from the night sky inside. Three small rubies were delicately suspended from the petals, cut to look like drops of blood. She carefully removed the small treasure and held it in her palm.

“Do you like it?” He asked.

“It’s incredible…I…I love it.” And she did, it was a lovely piece of jewelry, easily the finest of anything she owned. “Thank you.” She looked back up at him, surprised.

“I thought you could wear it to our gala in a few days. It is sure to be a lovely topic of conversation.” He sat back in his chair.

“Of course, I know just the dress to compliment it perfectly.” She forced a smile onto her face, the smile she had been practicing every day for the last decade or so.

“That is most excellent to hear. This will potentially be the most vital one yet. One particularly important family will be attending. Tell me, what do you know of the Sylvyre family?”

For some reason, the mention of that name caused a white-hot burning sensation to pulse down her right thigh, she wanted to scream but couldn’t seem to make a sound. She closed her eyes, trying to will the pain away.

When she opened them, she was back in the grand hall of their estate, the stunning black gown she wore was trailing lightly behind her. With every step, the small jewels embedded in the sheer fabric danced in the light. The beautiful brooch given to her by her father was fastened securely on the left side of her chest. She opted to leave her hair down this evening, only pinning back a small section in the front to keep it out of her eyes. Every other step exposed her left leg through the high slit in the skirt of her dress. Looking around the room, everything was decorated lavishly, more so than usual. Tables covered with food and drink were spread all throughout the estate.

Gods forbid someone has to walk more than 10 paces to get something to eat.

While she was absentmindedly rearranging a small vase of flowers, her father walked up beside her and grabbed her by the arm. He pulled her close so only she could hear him talking.

“Remember, little flower, our priority is Noravi Sylvyre. Split your attention with others if you must, but he comes first. That means no distractions with Tev’aron. Your brother has his own responsibilities to manage. Do you understand?” His voice was low and threatening.

“Yes, father. I understand.” She held his gaze, trying to appear confident. He nodded as he released her arm and strode off towards his study.

Shaken by their encounter, she made her way to a small chair in front of one of the large windows near the entrance. From here, she could see most of the vast garden that comprised the front of their home.

“Father seems especially nervous tonight.” Tev’s voice made her jump.

“Apparently one particular family this evening is of great interest to him.” She replied once her heart rate had returned to normal. Tev lowered his voice as he spoke again, kneeling down next to her chair.

“Then he’s probably more distracted than normal too. This is our chance, Ria. We can leave them behind. You and I can go out into the world together.” He whispered, desperation apparent in his voice.

“Tev I…I can’t. Not tonight. I fear what father will do if we fail, especially if I ruin this gathering.” Her voice was shaking along with her hands. “He’s already said I can’t be distracted by you tonight.”

“Ria, you’re not a little girl. For fucks’ sake you’re just over a century old! I’ve begged and pleaded with you to consider this and now I need an answer. I can’t stay here anymore, Ria, I just can’t.” His voice had started rising, but he quickly brought it back down. “Not even for you, my sister.”

“He won’t let me go, Tev’aron. I’ve been too useful to him. If I leave with you, he will hunt me down and drag me back here.” Her words caused Tev’s face to fall.

“Right. Well, seeing as I’m not so useful, I will be leaving this life behind me. Tonight. I hope you’ll join me Tav’ahria, otherwise I’m afraid this is goodbye.” When he stood up, he leaned over to kiss the top of her head softly. He stormed off out of the room, his hands balled up into fists at his side.

“Tev? Tev…come back…” Her voice was quiet, trying not to draw attention to herself. She stood up to follow him, but another wave of searing pain ripped down her left leg. Looking down at her leg, it was a shredded, bloody sight. She cried out, squeezing her eyes shut at the involuntary tears coming to her eyes.

This time when she opened them, she was lying in the Selûnite temple. She bolted upright, startled by the sudden change in surroundings. Halsin was kneeling next to her, one hand on her shoulder.

“It’s okay, Tav. You’re alright.” His low, soothing voice helped calm her down as she wiped at her very sweaty forehead.

“What…what’s wrong?” She was completely disoriented, her head was spinning, and she felt as if she was going to collapse back on to the ground again. Halsin caught her and helped prop her up against the wall behind her.

“Yesterday, you were injured very badly. Do you remember?”

She took a couple of deep breaths and concentrated. Hazy memories of their fights started to clear up in her mind.

“Yes…yes there were minotaurs. Or was it the bulette?” The fog in her brain continued to dissipate. “You were right about this place being dangerous.” She let her head rest against the wall behind her.

Halsin chuckled softly. After he made sure she was able to sit up on her own, he moved back down to sit by her legs. Seeing the state of her leg was a shock. Her shin had long, ragged tears down the length. She could still see the bone in a couple of spots even as Halsin was still working to heal her. If this is what it looked like now, she couldn’t imagine how bad it was when she was brought back yesterday.

“How long was I out?” She asked, sucking in a sharp breath as her skin slowly worked its way closed.

“It’s hard to tell down here, but you were at least out all last night and I would guess it’s about midday right now.” One of his hands rested on her knee while the other slowly hovered back and forth over the rest of her leg. She would be lying if she said she didn’t enjoy the feel of him touching her skin. It was like…wait a minute. Where are my clothes?

She suddenly realized she was not wearing pants under the blanket that was covering her lap, and the shirt she had on was not her own.

“Uh, Halsin?” She asked, starting to blush.

“Hm?” He was concentrating hard on the massive wound.

“Where are my clothes?” Instinctively, she tried to pull her legs up close to her causing her to bump her injured leg on Halsin’s hand. She let out a small yelp from the pain.

“Easy, it’s okay.” Smiling reassuringly, he helped guide her leg back down in front of her. “I’m sorry. We had to cut some of your armor off so we could get to your injuries. Wyll had a spare shirt that we put you in so we could still get to the puncture on your stomach easily. That one should at least be healed now.”

She placed her hand over the spot where she now remembered being gored by one of the minotaur horns. A phantom pain pierced her while remembering. After recalling the injuries received, she concentrated on trying to ignore the fact that she was half naked being rehabilitated by a man who she was increasingly attracted to. The blush on her face was spreading across her neck and chest as well. She tried to pull the flowy shirt up over her face a bit, but that just exposed her stomach more.

“There’s nothing to be embarrassed about, my friend.” He assured her, his smile distracting as ever, pausing briefly to turn and face her.

“I am a healer, first and foremost. There is very little I have not seen. I’ve delivered the babies of close friends, Tav. Know that your comfort and recovery are far more important to me than any amount of perceived immodesty.”

She peeked further out from the collar of the shirt to look at him, noticing that one hand was still resting gently on her knee.

“Well, if I ever have a baby at least I know who to send for.” She grumbled. The sound of her voice was muffled by the fabric.

Halsin looked at her for a moment, and then let out a loud laugh, it was deep and happy, and it made her entire body feel warm. He turned back to continue his spell. Suddenly he stopped again, a puzzled look on his face.

“Huh.” He sighed.

“Is everything okay?” She asked, finally removing her face from the shirt.

“Yes, I just…” He trailed off. “I don’t remember the last time I actually laughed. Not a real laugh like that at least.”

Her heart broke for him a little. She thought back to the other evening with Karlach, how they laughed all night. Even before that, most of their traveling group had all joked around the campfire and teased each other on their long walks throughout the day – and they all barely knew one another. Halsin seemed well-liked at the grove, she wouldn’t have guessed that he didn’t have someone to laugh with there.

“Really?”

“My time as Archdruid left little time for jokes or kind-spirited teasing. There were no breaks, I was never off-duty. Nettie and Rath were the ones I was closest to, I mentored them just as I did Kagha. Yet I would argue I had more of a paternal relationship with them than a true friendship.”

“That…sounds lonely.” Tav said.

“It could be at times. I love the druids in the grove, they’re the only family I’ve known for some time. But I was still their leader, not necessarily their friend.” His voice was quiet and sad, breaking her heart further. “Although, there was a particularly entertaining raven that frequented the grove. I did share some laughs with her.” The thought seemed to cheer him up a bit.

“Well…you have a nice laugh. I hope I get to hear more of it.” She placed one of her hands on his shoulder. He leaned into her touch slightly and sighed, his eyes closed. When she went to take her hand back, his hand shot up to hold it in place. She had to bite down on her lips to keep from smiling like a fool.

They sat like that for a few minutes in silence. Eventually Halsin let go of her hand and resumed tending to her leg. She leaned back against the wall and watched him quietly work, the pain slowly fading away with each pass of his hands.

***

Halsin was able to finish Tav’s leg with a couple more passes of healing spells. He watched as she bent her leg and straightened it again, wiggling her toes as well.

“Good as new.” She smiled at him again. “Thank you.”

“Anytime.” He stood up with a grunt and walked over to sit next to her against the wall.

Lunari suddenly came bounding in, flopping onto Tav’s lap.

“Oh, there’s my girl!” She buried her face in the thick fur.

“She has seldom left your side since you were dragged back.” He reached over to scratch the wolf’s ears.

Lunari reached next to Tav and grabbed something.

“What’s that? Let me see.” She wrestled something out of her mouth.

“Hey, what’s Clive doing here?”

“Who?” Halsin was suddenly flustered, thinking he had missed a member of their traveling party. Tav held up the small stuffed bear that Karlach had left here the night before.

“Clive. According to Karlach, he wards off evil.” She said, pointing at the bear.

“She left him with you last night.” He couldn’t help but smile as Tav hugged the bear to her chest.

“So…where is everyone else?”

“They all decided to head back up to the surface and scout out some other areas. We were hoping that maybe we could find another nearby Underdark pass since this area seems so dangerous already.”

“Everyone?” She asked, skeptical.

“Yes, Karlach insisted that they all go together.” He was fighting a smirk as he said the words.

“Karlach…” Tav muttered under her breath, her face reddening again. The blush was almost enough to hide the smattering of freckles that dusted her nose and cheeks.

“Could I ask you a question, Tav?”

“Sure.” She set Clive back on the ground next to her.

“I noticed two small scars on your neck. Where did you get them?”

Her eyes suddenly went wide, and he heard her breath catch.

“Right…well…” She paused for a moment before sighing heavily. “No use sugar-coating it I suppose. They’re bite marks. From a vampire.”

“A vampire?” Halsin felt a small spike of panic. Then, the realization came to him. He was shocked with himself that he hadn’t pieced it together before this.

“…Astarion?” He asked.

“Yes, he is a vampire.” Tav grimaced a bit, waiting for his reaction.

“And he bit you?” Halsin had been trying to gather information about everyone in their party, but a vampire wasn’t something he had expected.

“Well…yes. I mean he asked. Kind of. He tried to sneak up on me at first, but I caught him. But after that he did ask nicely.” She stumbled over her words trying to explain.

“But…but he can walk in the sun.” He was racking his brain for any knowledge of vampires who could walk about freely.

“It’s the tadpole. At least Astarion seems to think so. Until a little over a week ago, he couldn’t be in sunlight at all.”

“Interesting…”

“Don’t worry, he won’t cause any problems. Gods know he gets his fill of blood now with all the fighting we do.” She assured him. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before, to be honest it’s just not something that’s at the front of my mind at the moment.”

“It’s quite alright. I think it is rather admirable that you accepted him regardless.” He couldn’t help but be impressed. Most people he knew would stake a vampire through the chest before they had a chance to explain themselves.

“Well, we all have our problems. Who am I to dole out judgment and punishment? Especially in our predicament. It’s like you said to me, I’d rather judge people by their actions than by things outside of their control. I know what it’s like to have to pretend to be something you’re not...” Her voice had become quieter. “I don’t wish that feeling on anyone. If that means adding a vampire to our team, so be it.”

Halsin nodded along silently. The wisdom in her words surprised him for some reason. Karlach was right though, he felt remarkably comfortable talking with her.

A shiver ran across his body, he had forgotten how cold it could be in the Underdark without the sun to help warm his skin. Perhaps he would have to find a bedroll to use during their time down here. Tav nudged him in the side, holding out part of the blanket. She unfolded it all the way so it could easily fit over both of their laps, earning a whining protest from Lunari at the movement.

“Is there anything else I should know? Outside of the tadpole problem that is.” He was genuinely curious about the strange troupe he had joined.

“Well…” Her voice had gone up an octave or two. “How much have you talked with Gale?”

Halsin settled against the wall behind him as Tav launched into a summary of the eccentric lives their companions led. She started with Gale, telling him how he was once Mystra’s chosen until he absorbed a dark sliver of the Weave. Now, he had to consume magical items to prevent it from exploding, potentially taking countless other lives alongside him. A truly bizarre affliction that was well beyond his healing abilities. Next, she explained Karlach’s unfortunate story, how her heart was replaced with an infernal engine after she was sold into Zariel’s servitude. A story that broke his own, especially seeing how incredibly happy and kind she was. They were on a quest of sorts to find materials to fix it.

Wyll’s tale lined up with Karlach’s, she told him how he was tasked with killing her after being deceived into thinking she was a devil. Upon meeting her, he realized he had been lied to and refused to finish the job. A truly commendable choice that unfortunately had a heavy price. Halsin was not incredibly familiar with warlock pacts, but he was surprised to find someone with a heart like Wyll’s tangled in one. Lae’zel seemed to still be a bit of a mystery to her. The intense githyanki was hellbent on finding a Creche to rid them of their tadpoles, but from what he gathered the others weren’t fully convinced. He knew little of Vlaakith, but from what he remembered she was an unforgiving ruler, not likely to hand out help and forgiveness lightly.

Finally, they landed on Shadowheart, who was apparently a devoted follower of Shar. The bitterness in Tav’s tone was impossible to miss as it reflected his own. Shar’s wrath is what brought the shadow curse into existence, after all. Shadowheart was apparently the one who had found the alien artefact they carried, the one that protected them from the voice of the Absolute and from subsequently evolving into mind flayers. Out of all the companions, this alliance puzzled him the most. They weren’t aware of her worship when they first joined up, and Tav wasn’t willing to dismiss her once they found out. She said regardless of their religious differences, they needed each other.

“That my friend…is quite a collection of tales. How is that the tadpole manages to not even be the most pressing matter here?” He couldn’t help but laugh a little at the words.

“Yes, we’re quite the group of unlikely heroes.” She laughed as well; the sound was as light as windchimes on a breezy summer day. The pull in his chest returned, and he pushed it down.

They sat together in silence for a while, listening to the sounds of Lunari’s breathing, eventually joined by Scratch as well. The friendly dog came over to lay on Halsin, tail wagging slightly as he rested in his lap.

“Oh! I almost forgot again. I have something for you.” Tav finally broke the silence. She gestured to her pack on the other side of him. He handed it over and watched as she dug through the large bag and produced a pipe. His pipe.

“That’s…that’s my pipe! I was looking all over for this before I left.” He took it gently in his hands, fingers running over the familiar grooves in the wood.

“Sorry about that. I had taken it from the grove hoping Lunari could use it to help track you.” She smiled sheepishly.

“No harm done. Thank you for returning it, it’s very special to me.” He clutched the pipe to his chest.

“How so?”

“An old friend made this for me, one who I lost a long time ago, before my time at Moonrise.” The memory brought tears to his eyes as he took in the familiar tobacco scent.

“Okay, it’s my turn to ask a question.” She said, setting her pack to the side.

“By all means.”

“It seems to me like you feel responsible for the shadow curse. Why is that?” Her eyes were studying him closely, looking for any trace of understanding.

“Well, there are precious few people left to share that responsibility. I was there when it was unleashed all those years ago. I helped fight off Ketheric Thorm and his Dark Justiciars. He may have been defeated, but not before he could unleash that terrible darkness across the land.” He was careful not to go too deep into his memories, lest he drown in their sorrow.

“If I can be honest with you Halsin, I am absolutely terrified of going back.” Tav’s voice was small, her hands still tangled in wolf fur.

“As long as we’re being completely honest…” He sighed deeply. “So am I.” She looked over at him, her eyes shining with tears.

“But…we have a responsibility to those we lost – don’t you think?” His own eyes were starting to sting as well. He placed his hand over hers, causing his heart rate to quicken.

“You didn’t just come to help us find the source of the tadpoles, did you?” She saw straight through him. He longed to tell her of his time seeking favor from Silvanus, to tell her of his plan that had taken over one hundred years to come to fruition.

“I…” Their conversation was cut short by the return of their other companions.

“Hey! Did I hear Tav?” Karlach came sprinting through the doorway, letting out a yell when she saw her awake. “Oh, I’d hug you if it wouldn’t scorch your skin off.”

The others came running in after her to check as well. Tav assured everyone that she was fine, sticking her previously injured leg out from under the blanket to show them.

“Well, when you’re ready we have some updates to our tragic adventure. But on the bright side, I found lots of wine in the Zhentarim hideout.” Shadowheart had popped her head in to share.

“Z…Zhentarim?!” Tav yelled after her. “The fuck are the Zhent doing out here? Ugh someone help me up, my legs are going numb.”

Halsin stood up and offered his hand, pulling her to her feet. Karlach and Astarion immediately started giggling and ran from the room.

“Right…I’m still not wearing pants.” Tav’s blush returned.

His own face began to redden as well, realizing how it must have looked to see them sharing a blanket – Tav only in her underwear and an oversized shirt. He quickly grabbed the blanket from the floor and handed it to her to wrap around her waist.

“I’ll uh…I’ll take my leave so you can get dressed.” He ran his hand over his hair as he walked through the doorway.

“Halsin…” She called after him. He turned around and snickered a bit at the sight of her clutching the blanket around her torso.

“I’m really glad you joined us.” Her cheeks were still a little flushed, her uncombed hair was a mess with silver strands flying everywhere, her pink eyes had light bags underneath them, a big smile stretched across her face. He couldn’t recall the last time he saw something so beautiful.

To think you want her to add more clothes…

“As am I.” He gave a small nod before running after the rest of their companions.

[tommyarashikage]

WIP it's still Wednesday somewhere in the world

hello everyone today I am sharing some writing from my wips and music as I was tagged by the beloveds @socially-awkward-skeleton @kyber-infinitygems @inafieldofdaisies @cloudofbutterflies92 @cassietrn @voidika @corvosattano and @nightbloodbix for music monday and wip wednesday, thank you all so much 💜🧡

tagging (opt in/out): @risingsh0t @carlosoliveiraa @onehornedbeast @finding-comfort-in-rain @josephslittledeputy @aceghosts @thedeadthree @shadowglens @purplehairsecretlair @fourlittleseedlings @strangefable @leviiackrman @roofgeese @captastra @gwynbleidd @ri-a-rose

only have original stuff yet again. BUT also for the last time, me thinks. I came to the conclusion that I really can't write out of order because I need to know what happened before the scene I'm writing for it all to make sense

the first is for Snowfall! if there was a stripped version of this song it'd be even more perfect. this is chapter??? i don't even know but it's called the wolf and the pup 🤠

“Don’t be afraid. The bad men are gone now.”

“Did you send them away?”, the boy asks, his voice is very weak.

Sean looks around him. The corpses are far from the vehicle, out of eyesight. The darkness and fog created by the rain form an extra layer of cover up. He answers with a soft “Yes.”

The boy is hesitant but eventually gets up and starts moving in Sean’s direction. His steps are careful but also strangely heavy. Only now does Sean think about everything Sól’s son must’ve gone through these past few days. Hunted by the police, criminals… and him.

No one told him. If he knew… If only he knew. Why didn’t she tell him?

The boy must be tired by now. Scared too. Who can blame him.

Sean kneels down to be face to face with the boy. “Toby, is it?”, he asks in a calm tone.

“I want my mommy.” He most likely tried to sound demanding, but his voice is shaking. From the cold the rain brings? Or out of fear? Both thoughts sting into Sean’s heart, making it ache for a short moment. He remembers all too well how the boy is feeling now. He was just a child.

“I’ll take you to her”, Sean says and offers his hand to him. Said boy did not jump out of the vehicle yet.

Toby doesn’t acknowledge the gesture. “I wait for her.”

The man sighs and lowers his view. The rain washed most of the dirt and blood off his hand, but a stain remains. Sól’s words haven’t left his mind. What if she’s right? The one thing he swore to never become. And yet.

To make sure that doesn’t happen he clenches his hand into a fist. And he keeps the distance to the boy. The last thing Sean wants is to pressure him. A helping hand can seem a lot scarier to a frightened mind.

“You’re a Guevara, kid. Do you know what that means?”

Toby keeps silent.

“It means you’re not safe out here on your own.” His own words drive him to uneasiness. As he scans the area for any new threats, he notices just how heavy the rainfall has become. The white noise was completely drowned out during their conversation. “Those men that took you away from your mother did so on purpose. And they’ll come back for you.”

Toby doesn’t ask why. Instead, his view drifts off, focusing on something in the distance. Then, he crouches, ready to jump out of the vehicle.

Carefully, Sean gets back up and out of the way to give the boy some space.

With a loud splat Toby’s feet meet the ground. And within a heartbeat he starts running.

It comes unexpected. Sól was never one to run from her problems; the most important rule in her life. No, this is more like…

He sighs while his view follows the boy. It leaves him feeling a certain way he hasn’t felt in a very long time; empty.

So this is what it’s like.

the second one is for Outer Rim. the song captures the girls whole nature and vibe perfectly. also I'm on my hands and knees, this one is even longer, I'm so sorry

She turns the corner while looking behind her and immediately bumps into something. The sudden impact makes her stumble a few steps back and leaves her in surprise rather than any pain. As she spots the gear, she realizes who she just walked into. Her heart starts racing, almost bursting out of her chest. She doesn’t know what feeling is overtaking her right now — fear or embarrassment.

Jaye quickly averts her gaze, staring at the floor, slightly bent forward and swallows hard. It stings due to her mouth going dry in no time. Still, she apologizes. At least that’s what she wants to do but her thoughts aren’t calming down. Only the first syllable escapes her mouth, the rest is missing. As if her knowledge of the Japanese language was just erased from her mind.

“It’s alright”, he says. This is the first time Jaye has heard one of them speak something else besides Japanese. “No harm done.” His voice doesn’t sound muffled, either. Which leads her to believe he isn’t wearing his mask right now. Something she also hasn’t ever witnessed from either of them.

Despite the heartbeat in her ears, Jaye feels a tingling sensation running down her back. Which one is it? She has made the mistake of looking both of them in the eyes before. Hold the gaze for too long and it will aggravate them like the guard dogs they are.

Jaye closes her eyes shut in embarrassment. To not waste more of his time, she forces her legs to start moving again, past the guard, leaving him behind her.

“Wait.”

She stops in her tracks, as does her heart. And here she thought Jack was exaggerating when he said they can smell fear.

She quickly goes over every possible offence she could have caused and every possible way this could end. The overdose of terrible thoughts in this short amount of time isn’t helping in calming her down but only making it worse, resulting in every breath she takes shaking more than the last.

The woman fumbles with her hands, which have become sweaty by now. Before she grows the courage to turn around, Jaye swallows the lump in her throat. This will hopefully make it easier to actually speak if needed.

When she finally faces the man again, she looks right into his eyes. Ryōichi. A longer face and eyes slightly narrower than those of the other guard. In this lighting, his brown irises seem a lot bigger, soft almost.

Like a slap to the face, she realizes that she’s just standing there, staring at the man. All while he’s holding something out to her. The recording device Jack gave her. She dropped it. At this point her heart should’ve sent her into cardiac arrest. As if she wasn’t already visibly nervous enough, her hand shakes heavily when she reaches for the device.

She pulls it close, looking it over quickly as she does. To regain at least some of her courage, Jaye breathes in deeply. Then she looks at the guard again and whispers out a ‘thank you’.

Ryōichi smiles at her — for the first time — as if she is some odd little creature. “どういたしまして” You’re welcome.

A sudden noise startles both of them. The mechanical sound creates an illusion of a threatening growl as it reverberates through the dimly lit hallway.

Thud after heavy thud slowly approaches them until a big red light appears. The optic of one of Eden’s security robots. Jaye doesn’t need to look twice to recognize him. Unit C — Crossbones.

His head slightly moves to look down at Ryōichi. And the way the bot holds his gaze, he’s obviously expecting some kind of action taken by the human guard. However, said human never interacts with the bots and probably can’t interpret the gesture as such.

Another mechanic threat emits from Crossbones, immediately followed by him drawing his gun and pointing it at the guard.

As if struck by lightning, Jaye jumps between the bot and the human, trying to push his gun away.

“Bones, no! What are you doing?”

The bot doesn’t give in, his red eye still focused on Ryōichi.

Eden’s mechanical security only acts up like this whenever a drunken customer gets lost on the girl’s floor. Perhaps he thinks Jaye was in danger. Though their perception usually isn’t this… lousy.

Jaye closes her eyes for a second, like she could calm the bot down alongside herself. “He was just helping me. I’m fine.”

Silence. Followed by clicking noises. He’s processing. Thinking? His optic moves to look Jaye over. Scanning for her vitals or any injuries, most likely.

Another second of silence before his gun reconstructs itself back into his left arm and hand. “No imminent danger detected.”

Ryōichi curses under his breath. In her periphery Jaye spots his hands slowly move from his weapons that remained holstered.

“For now”, Crossbones adds.

The human guard scoffs.

“Bones, what’s come over you?”, the girl asks.

The bot takes a moment before answering. “Our sensors have registered a violation. We had to intervene.”

“Of what?”, Ryōichi asks with slight worry in his tone.

“Confidential.”

Jaye sighs in annoyance.

It’s enough to put the guard on edge. He immediately gets in contact with his colleague, asking what happened and where he and Miyako are. His voice dies out after he leaves Jaye’s sight. Now it’s just her and Crossbones left.

The bots must follow their programming of course. Jaye isn’t too familiar with it. Not at all, actually. It’s not like Jack would allow her to have a look at it. But the general basics she knows of. Their task is obvious, though she wonders why it had to be bots and not more guards like Ryōichi and Shōji. Two is an odd number for a huge place like Eden.

[sagau-my-beloved]

Almost my birthday so can I please have Venti on your birthday hc?

☁️ anon

Venti and readers birthday headcanons:

Of course! And happy birthday!!!

-

General sagau:

• Well of course he's gonna make it all a surprise

• You probably won't even know that he knows the day of your birthday, letting it slip in some conversation months prior and forgetting all about it

• But obviously he immediately committed it to memory, spending those months occasionally picking things out and making stuff in his free time or whenever he was struck with a particularly interesting idea

• As much as he wouldn't want to let anybody else know in order to have all of your attention, he also really wants to make it the biggest deal in the entire universe and for everyone in Teyvat to celebrated across every region, because that's what you deserve

• So he will eventually break down and start spreading the word about a week prior with the very clear instruction that no one is allowed to say a single word to you about it

• If it does get back to you he will know, and he will be very upset, and no one wants to see an upset archon cause that's just asking for some natural disaster

• When the actual day comes he's going to be the first person to see you, absolutely no exceptions

• Venti will sneak into your room at 12 in the morning, through the window if he has to and just stay there until you wake up, practically vibrating in excitement

• The first thing you see when you open your eyes will be a gift shoved into your face along with a slice of Apple pie (he tried apple cake three different times and not once did it turn out decent)

• He will be watching your reaction like a hawk as well, literally any minor expression is going to be captured and deeply ingrained in his memory

• And now it's time for "how long can he keep you in your bed alone before your other followers physically break down the door" and the answer of not very long

• Then begins your long day of being whisked away to various different nations throwing parties, celebrating, and of course offering you things

• Everything is going to be completely decked out decorated with your statue as the centerpiece, covered completely in flowers and other nice things, piles of gifts accumulating at the feet

• Venti is planning on being with you no matter where you go as well, and he's absolutely gonna pull you away for moments of alone time every now and then whenever he sees an opportunity arise, giggling with you while other Archons and high members of society seek you out as you two hide together

• But obviously he's fully engrossed in the festivities himself, dancing and drinking and laughing along with everyone else, playing songs dedicated to you in front of large audiences yet never taking notice of anyone else because your smile is just that encapsulating

• Prepare to be the center of many toasts because that's gonna happen a bunch, also prepare to not eat a single spoonful of the same thing twice, as the amount of specially prepared food is quite literally overflowing

• Of course whatever nation you're not currently in has a religious ceremony going in full effect, praying for your good health in the upcoming year and thanking you for your blessing of allowing them to celebrate something so special with you

• When you do finally get back to wherever you're currently staying be prepared for a three-hour long gift opening session

• If you aren't particularly fond of an audience for such an event then everyone is perfectly fine leaving you to do so alone in your room, allowing you to effectively take a break from all the people

• Except Venti of course, he's going to be right there watching, helping, making snide comments about how 'uncreative' some people coughZhonglicough can be

• He makes sure to save whatever other gifts he has for last so that both your first and last gift came from him

• You best believe people are going to continue partying late into the night and possibly early into the morning, especially Mondstadt, no one wanting to waste an opportunity to have a good time

• And as much as he would love nothing more than to join them, Venti is more than happy simply laying in bed with you, whispering words of thanks that you're here with him, that you still consider Teyvat worthy of your presence, and silently begging that it will stay that way so you can repeat this all again next year

-

Reverse isekai:

• He is stressed

• Since Venti is the only one with you, it falls solely on his shoulders for you to have a pleasant and unforgettable day, which is quite a burden to carry with absolutely no money to back him up, or so you would assume

• What you didn't know was that he had been playing night shows for cash after you've gone to sleep for the past few months a few times a week, mostly as a way to have money to give you things but also because he really missed performing for an audience, so this makes it a no lose situation (other than all the sleep)

• Your actual birthday morning would be quite the same, him waking up ungodly early in your shared bedroom in order to get everything ready

• You will wake up to a very decorated apartment and the smell of pie, along with breakfast of course, and Venti immediately giving you a good morning kiss, which may or may not turn into something more, depending on how you want to take it

• He has a very heavily planned day, which involves you cuddling in bed for an hour after breakfast and then opening a few gifts to start

• His plan also works around any other obligations you might have, be that a family get together or a dinner with friends, and even less pleasant stuff like at home work (he's not letting you go in to work, that's an uncrossable line and he'll tell your boss himself if you won't)

• If the weather is particularly nice then he has a picnic planned for lunch, and if it happens to be too unreasonably hot or cold or even rainy then he's taking you out to lunch (his treat) wherever you possibly could desire

• For dinner he plans on making whatever you've told him you specifically like that he can cook, or maybe even branching out and trying a family recipe that you've missed, taking great care to ensure every step is perfect and even calling up some of your family members if something seems to be going awry

• Then for dessert there's always the apple pie he made, along with a few other cakes and pies if you aren't particularly fond of apple

• He tried his absolute hardest to get you anything you could have possibly wanted, taking very careful notes through the months on whatever you looked longingly at that was just a little out of your current budget

• He relies very heavily on what you want all day really, though that's not particularly unusual, but this is the one time of year where you could ask anything in the world of him and he'd comply without a second thought

• A part of him is incredibly upset and that the rest of Teyvat is so ignorant to such a special day, that you won't be receiving all the luxuries you so obviously deserve

• But there's always that part of him that's unbelievably happy he is the only one that gets to indulge in something so special, the most important holiday of the year and one dedicated solely to his most prized beloved

[honey-minded-hivemind]

Since I did the X-Men Evolution ABO Parent AU Wolverine/Logan Edition first, that means I have to/get to do Sabretooth/Victor next! And these two aus are set apart from each other, they aren't part of the same au. I've explained previously what ABO is like in any of my ABO aus, so it doesn't change for any of the aus I make with ABO dynamics. With all of that said, let's begin:

• I headcanon that for X-Men Evo, Victor is either demisexual or aromantic, the non-sex-repulsed variants. Reasons he'd ever do the deed include liking his current partner and wanting to care for their more private wants or not being interested in romance but wanting to deal with his more private wants. He wouldn't be in it at first for a baby, but, well, he ends up pregnant anyway (he's an Omega, check previous ABO Parent posts for extra backstory).

• Being pregnant was unexpected for him, but he accepted it for what it was. The baby was his as far as he was concerned, and he wanted it, so he's keeping it. At first it's less about love and more about possible plans for the future... but as the months go along, it turns to love. During that time, he finds himself enjoying having a baby, rubbing back when he feels them kick, eating whatever he needs to make sure neither of them goes hungry, staying hidden with an old friend so he has help for when the baby comes...

• Yet when the time comes to have the baby... everything goes to H*ll. He finds himself captured, in the middle of nowhere, and on his own. His old partner was behind it all, and tells him they plan to make their child into a soldier, a perfect weapon, perfectly loyal and obedient to them... And how they plan to make more... The ordeal is messy, painful, and exhausting. By the end, when it's over, Victor only gets a moment to look at his bby... And then they're whisked away, out of sight and out of reach, no matter how much he struggles or screams...

• It's awhile later when he's finally rescued. It seems his old friend called in a few favors, bringing some of the Brotherhood and X-Men, even his brother... But it's too late. By the time he's free, there's not a sign of his bby anywhere, and anyone he can get his hands on who did this to him finds themself torn to pieces. When he eventually finds his old partner, hidden in a lab and sorting through files, all he sees is red... He can sense his brother not far behind, and a sense of fear hits him. If this person hurt him, had killed their child and used him for their twisted schemes... did they plan to do the same to his brother? With a roar, he pounces, claws shredding through them until all that's left is the messy, bloody remains...

• He searches for months for any trace, any signs, but comes up short. Any possible threads are dead ends, swiftly dealt with and disposed of. And when the rage gives out, all that's left is despair... The Brotherhood offer protection, a place with them and resources... even his brother, amnesiac as he is, offers consolation... But it does nothing to rid him of the overwhelming pain crushing him. For a month he ends up keeping his brother tucked away in an old safehouse he had, trying to soothe whatever instincts he could, until those are eventually satisfied. And then he receives word that his old friends had been dealt a heavy hand as well, so he goes to them, to repay what he can of the help they have him...

• Over the years, the Brotherhood ends up with their own kids, some of them being the children of his comrades. They aren't replacements for any of them, but he and the group takes care of them, trying to keep them alive and safe in the ways they failed to do in the past. And soon, the kids are teens, and there's more added in, and soon it feels like a pack again, full...

• And the Brotherhood teens, and even a few X-Men ones, find out about the loss that happened. It's hard to imagine one of the most feared mutants they know actually having a child, let alone losing it... And it seems to answer why he, and the other adults, act so protective. It's a bit hard to sympathize with him, but in this case they do... At least now they know what will happen to anyone who hurts them...

• And the reader is alive this entire time. When the schemes of their other parent went south, and everyone involved tried to escape, they were left with an intern, who took them with them far from that area, hoping to escape the bloodbath that would surely follow. They leave the reader at a hospital, where the reader ends up adopted by an older person...

• The reader grows up, unaware of any of these things, trying to help their guardian as they grow older. They eventually have to be put in the hospital, where they stay for some time before passing away... The reader ends up being put in the care of someone else, back where everyone else is...

• It's hard, adjusting to their life without the one person they loved, but the reader doesn't discuss their emotions with anyone. Their new guardian is busy, leaving them on their own and sending money every month for necessities. Their life has been tough, being on the short end of the stck in school for most of their life, until they finally got back at their bullies... They also knew they had, for lack of a better term, a gift... One they kept hidden and unexplored...

• They end up in the Bayville highschool, and quickly earn a reputation as someone who's intimidating. Their watch everything, as though studying the world under a microscope, hardly saying a word to anyone and sticking to themself... The one time someone tried to start something, they were met with a hand tightening around their arm, and the reader hissing out a warning of what would happen if they tried something like that again. After that, they're seen as the social pariah of the school, always on their own if anyone does happen to see them...

• The teens knew of the reader, had even been in class with them a few times, but when they're told they're the newest mutant, they're all rather... tense. The one kid in school who can actually scare Duncan and his goons, the one person who everyone avoids, is their newest option for a team member... No one's excited about that. But it's not like they have much choice in the matter... Both teams hold a draw, letting whomever got the shorter straw be the one to approach the reader and try to talk to them...

• The two who end up having to talk to the reader are apprehensive and annoyed. Why did they have to end up with this job? They aren't even sure if they can find them, let alone if they can speak. But they find them, on their own, and decide that is the best time to try. And they're met with someone who's quiet, polite, who acts kinder than what what everyone's made them out to be... And find themselves shocked. If the reader is so nice, why is everyone so scared of them? From everything they've said, they sound just as normal as any of them... When it comes to revealing they're mutants, and know the reader is too, they mention their abilities, and ask to see their's in return... It takes a promise not to tell the other students of the school, but then they're shown what the reader can do...

• And they freeze. Because how... They don't have something they've never seen before. They have a very familiar pair of claws, similar to one of the adults they know, and it should be impossible for the reader to have that ability... Except... except if they happened to be the child that was thought to have been killed years ago... They make a quick excuse, and immediately go to head back to tell their friends and the adults, because whatever they just saw, they need to know if it's real, and if so, they're going to need more help than anyone realized...

• When the news is finally received, everyone seems to freeze up. And they ask for exactly what they saw, and who had the ability they described. They investigate what they can about the reader, and finds that the adoption papers, as well as a file describing a baby left at a hospital who seemed to be a newborn around the time Victor's child had been born... And everything seems to add up. Hearing the news, finding out that the bby they thought dead was alive and going to the same school as the other teens... It's the best news they've heard in a long time. It's... it could be counted as a miracle, as fate. Why wouldn't it be? Stranger things happened to them everyday, who says one their dad's/dad's rival's child/nibbling couldn't be living in Bayville and attending school with them?

• While they want to rush in, to get the reader before the other team can... both sides decide to be as careful as possible... At least for then... Chances are they'd seem crazy to them if they start talking about being related to someone they know, and scaring them off before they can actually talk about it isn't going to help either. It takes awhile, a couple of months, to become friends with the reader, but it's worth it. They're kind, if not a bit intimidating at times, and are caring towards them after only talking to them for a awhile...

• The reader tries to keep up with the different teens and dynamics, finding themself overwhelmed more times than not. While they're pleasantly surprised how they're being treated so well, they also feel like there's more to it... Something they're not being told. Trying to stave off any instincts or urges they feel takes a lot out of them, keeping everything locked away and hidden from anyone watching them. They can't risk feeding it, because they know it will only fuel it all the more. They stay polite, but as the days and weeks go by, their anxiety grows... And the other teens have to deal with their own instincts, doing their best not to give away what they know or trying to hug their new friend/sibling/obsession...

• Finally the time comes when they think they can tell the reader what they know, and the teens decide to do so. Over the time they've known them, they've only met some of the adults, but this time, they want to fully introduce them. Getting the reader to agree to meeting them is a bit hard, yet they eventually do so. The reader ends up meeting the teens, seeing they brought along some of their guardians, and asks what they wanted to talk about... And they're met with an uneasy look, and asked to meet their guardians/parents, who wanted to meet them for awhile. The reader figures there's more going on, but goes along with it, not wanting to make things awkward. They weren't aware the teens had this many adults watching out for them. It seemed nice enough. And then they say they know they may sound crazy, but they think they should know how they ended up with their previous guardian, and all the reader can do is feel that sense of dread creep into them. Obviously this situation is about to take a turn, and they're about to be dragged into something they've been trying to avoid. When the truth comes out, the reader is stunned... All they say is to give them some time let it sink in, and leave...

• The reader spends the next week trying not to freak out or lose it. They knew they were adopted, but they're related to the other teens dads is a bit much to handle, especially when they're much bigger than them and even more intimidating. And the thing is, they all knew. Probably knew the moment they revealed their power, and have been planning for them to join them for only heavens knew how long. They don't want to panic, but... they decide to leave for a bit. They need to clear their head and figure their emotions out before things get heated... They knew things felt off with the teens and their groups from time to time, but this... This sort of feeling is greater, more unnerving, and they need to leave while they still can...

• They decide to leave around dusk, when the time should be quieting down and most people would be asleep. As they leave their home, they notice someone's there, and turn to find Victor. The reader can see the Brotherhood teens' jeep nearby, and prays this is just a small check-up. They're asked what they're doing, why they're leaving... And realize these been found out. They don't waste time trying to talk themself out of it and dodge past the man, running as quick as they can into the woods...

• And Victor pursues... He just met his own kid, only just found out they were alive, and he wasn't about to lose them a second time. Hunting them down doesn't take much time, stalking through the shadows to cut them off before they get much farther. He isn't going to hurt them, but they clearly aren't thinking straight, and need help. If they can't accept it freely, they'll have to take it forcefully...

• When the figure steps out of the shadows, planting themself in front them, the reader knows they aren't getting out of there. They keep back, even as the tall man approaches slowly, stepping closer to them as though approaching a wounded animal. He speaks, voice firm, as he asks why they're so scared, why they ran... When they don't answer, he takes another step, telling them they aren't alone, they don't have to run... With a quiet rumble, a hand falls onto their shoulder, tugging them into a careful hug... And it feels so warm...

• The reader trembles, trying not let a scared whine escape them. The hold around them is warm, firm and strong, completely unbreaking. But... something isn't right. A purr comes from the one hugging them, deep and soothing, as a hand pats their back. And if only for a minute... the reader accepts it, the care they've wanted for so long, right there with them... But they can't take it. They can't be betrayed again, can't go through the pain of being used and hurt by the people who were supposed to be trusted... With a sigh, they try to pull back... Only for the arms hugging them to constrict tighter... The purring becomes louder, desperate, as something rubs against the top of their head, adding a soothing pressure against them... Then something pricks them, a sharp jab, and they realize they felt a needle...

• A desperate whine slips past them as the reader tugs back as fiercely as they can, scrabbling to rip themself free. All that does is cause them to be pulled against their captor, the grip on them tightening. Deep chuffs come from the man holding them as a small cry escapes them, almost like a tiger soothing its cub. They can feel the drug in their system seeping in, making them cry further. The world seems to slow... Hot warmth is against them, pressed into them, as a numbness tinges their mind. Rumbling is around them, soft and steady like thunder. Their limbs feel weak, and they collapse against the warmth... Everything feels so... so fuzzy... Something is touching their head, nuzzling against them... The warmth around them stays firm, pressing them closer with a deep rumble... With a small noise, they drift off, completely relaxed in the hold around them...

• When his child is finally asleep, he releases a proud chuff. His bby is finally going home with him, and took their medicine so well. He has a safehouse set up, where he can help them nurture their instincts and grow into their bond, all while staying tucked safely away until they're well enough to be with the rest of the pack, and back in school with the others. In a gentle heave, Victor picks them up, making sure they're pressed against him, and goes to head back to where the team is waiting. He knows his bby had a lot to take in, that they ran in fear and panic, not hate. But they have him, and the others to keep them safe, to rely on, and they won't ever have to be on their own again. All he has to do now is find his little brother and bring him with them... It seems they need to do some family bonding...

( And that is what I have for this ABO Parent AU so far. Expect lots of purring, hugging and nesting).

Bonus:

Reader, presenting the teens with their own gift-wrappes boxes: Happy Holidays!😁🎁

Platonic Yandere Teens: Um, thanks?🤨

Reader, happy to have completed their task: Enjoy! See you all after the holidays! leaves, humming to themself

Platonic Yan Teens: Huh, I wonder what we got opens their gift, to find a hand-made piece of jewelry with their color/theme... 😳💖

Platonic Yandere Teens: This... this is perfect slips on the item, notices Reader is already leaving Wait- hey, Reader, wait up! runs after them, hoping to invite them over for the holidays

[punkclownfreak]

one piece characters that i desperately need more of

buckle up. this is a long post because i’m gonna pick one from almost every arc i’ve seen so far. i’m an absolute fiend for characters with little to no screen time, so this is my way of showing love to some of the minor characters from one piece !!

koby

i know he shows up from time to time, but i would really like more of him. he’s so sweet and cute and i’m a kobylu truther and i need him to give up being a tool of the state so he can sail the seas with his boyfriend and his boyfriend and his boyfriend and-

vivi

i know she eventually shows up again, but i so badly wish she joined the straw hats. this list is kinda becoming “characters i wish were straw hats/that i ship with straw hats,” but i promise a lot of the characters are here for other reasons besides those two !! but yes, namivivi is so real it hurts. i remember virtually mourning the loss of vivi when she didn’t join the strawhats, even though i knew it was coming. i will rep namivivi til the day i die.

wyper

wyper is the reason i made this list. he means everything to me. he is the best native rep i have seen in anime and it hurts me how under loved he is in the fandom. people call him annoying or too violent but he perfectly captures the rage that builds when people have had to live under colonization for generations. he is so close to my heart and i’m slowly starting a collection for him so i can make a wyper ita bag !! i just want to see more of him, whether he show up to say hi to the strawhats every hundred eps or so, or if they cut back to skypeia to show how they’re doing, i just miss him so much. anyone who says to skip skypiea is at best stupid and at worst a racist freak that hates native people.

kiwi & mozu

these literal queens are the other reason i made this list. i love them so much and they’re just so funny. they’re amazing sisters and i wish we could see more of them !!

cindry

she is adorable and so so tragic. i don’t necessarily wish she continued showing up in the series, i just wish we had more of her in thriller bark. they don’t really explain the whole “her body remembers who she was even though her soul is gone” thing and i wish they explored that more. she’s also absolutely hilarious and i wish she was more loved in the fandom, despite how small a character she is (though i know she does have a few die hards).

shakky

she’s just literally so cool. she’s gorgeous and her relationship with rayleigh is amazing. they love each other so much but they both give each other enough space to do pretty much whatever they want !! their relationship seems to be somewhat canonically open since she flirts with brooke and i just think she’s a really cool character. also she used to be queen of amazon lily ?!?? how fucking cool is that !!

queen iva

i know her legal name, but most of her friends call her iva so i will too. she is a star, and i absolutely love her. i want more of her so bad, i want her to be a reoccurring character and I WANT IT NOW. not much else to say, she just slays so hard.

madam shyarley

why was she such a minor character ? she had such a cool character design, is the sister (i’m not sure if by blood or by adoption/found family) of arlong, and has fortune telling powers, for what ?!?? three episodes ?!?? a tragedy. she deserved better.

aaaand now we’re all caught up !! i haven’t finished punk hazard yet so i’m going to finish here !! i’ll try to remember to do another one of these once i’m caught up !!

[lovelylusts]

i love alex too, i sometimes think he'd be into making sextapes...

i got this a few weeks ago but was inspired to finally finish it after seeing him over the weekend, i miss him </3

so this starts off by him going through a bunch of old junk while you two are visiting his parents

he shows you his old room and he remembers he has a camcorder from still works

first, he’ll just record random shit - home videos if you will - bc he’s obsessed w you

but eventually he’s like 🤔🤔🤔 there’s something i haven’t recorded yet

the idea makes him way hornier than he thought it would… the idea of going back later to watch and rewatch and see you fall apart around him through the mildly grainy footage… yeah he needed to do this immediately

obviously you’re down bc making a sex tape w alex turner dmdmfmekdmf

he makes sure all the settings are good so he can perfectly capture you <3

he starts by fingering you, checking the view finder once to make sure everything looked good but yk with you he gets carried away and doesn’t focus much on it bc he likes to live in the moment yk

he already has a way with words but he’s basically an actor so he turns it up a bit for the camera, especially bc he likes getting your reactions on tape

he loves a good blowjob pov, but he feels a bit juvenile admitting that so he prefers recording when you’re the one receiving things

backshot videos are another favorite of his <3

he just loves it all! he loves filming your intimate moments - just to have them for whenever he wants to watch them with you… which always leads to more camera-worthy moments between the two of you

i need him

[discar]

HZD Terraforming Base-001 Text Communications Network

Chapter 11 | Prev chapter | Next chapter Chapter Index

FlameHairSavior: Hey Erend, do you know Petra?

ForgeLordAleMaster: UH... MAYBE.

ForgeLordAleMaster: YOU MEAN PETRA FORGEWOMAN?

ForgeLordAleMaster: OR PETRA FORGEDAUGHTER?

ForgeLordAleMaster: OR PETRA BROKENFORGE?

ForgeLordAleMaster: I GUESS IF YOU MET BROKENFORGE ONE OF YOU WOULD HAVE KILLED THE OTHER AND I WOULD HAVE HEARD ABOUT IT.

FlameHairSavior: ...the first one. Is it really that common a name?

ForgeLordAleMaster: THOSE ARE JUST THE ONES WHO LEFT THE CLAIM!

FlameHairSavior: Anyway, I was asking because she took over Chainscrape recently.

ForgeLordAleMaster: YEAH, I HEARD ABOUT THAT. SHE MANAGED TO GIVE THAT PRICK ULVUND THE BOOT SOMEHOW. HE DESERVED WORSE.

ForgeLordAleMaster: WHY?

FlameHairSavior: Eventually, we'll need to start expanding our network. After we've solved the current crisis, I mean. Hopefully we'll get APOLLO back...

HIMBO: Do we have any plant for that?

FlameHairSavior: Not yet.

FlameHairSavior: Either way, we'll need to start giving more Focuses to people. I was just wondering if Petra should be put on that list.

ForgeLordAleMaster: WHO ELSE IS ON THE LIST?

Zo: I would like to request that the Chorus be taken OFF that list.

FlameHairSavior: They're not on it, don't worry.

Zo: Good.

β: how many spares do you even have you might need to ration them

FlameHairSavior: There's a Cradle facility in Nora lands. I grabbed a few hundred last time I was there, and there should be thousands more.

FlameHairSavior: Anyway, Erend, Avad is obviously on the list. Maybe Hekarro too, I'm not sure how he'd react.

Marshall Kotallo: He will accept a new weapon without complaint. And if it improves diplomacy with the Carja, he will do so gladly.

ForgeLordAleMaster: WOULD THEY EVEN BE ABLE TO COMMUNICATE? WHAT'S THE RANGE ON THESE THINGS?

FlameHairSavior: I'm... not sure. Sylens had to use a captured Tallneck to set up a broadcast network just for the Sundom. But we seem to have no problem keeping in touch out here.

β: do you seriously not pay attention

FlameHairSavior: Why don't we skip to the part where you explain.

β: gaia is using minerva to maintain the network with a variety of signal bioosters and radio towers

β: boosters

β: this base alone extends the range significantly

β: she has also tapped into many towers and relay stations across the region

β: how do you not know any of this you can just ask dont you care

FlameHairSavior: Well, last time I thought about this was when I was fighting a Tideripper. I decided it wasn't important right that second.

HIMBO: So... Avad and Hekarro. Anyone else?

FlameHairSavior: I've got others I'm not sure about. None of this is an emergency. Even if everything goes perfectly, it will be another few months.

ForgeLordAleMaster: WAIT.

ForgeLordAleMaster: IF WE SET THIS UP, THAT MEANS THAT AVAD WILL BE ABLE TO TALK TO US.

FlameHairSavior: Yeah.

ForgeLordAleMaster: HE'LL BE ABLE TO TALK TO ME.

FlameHairSavior: ...yes?

HIMBO: Erend you... you did get permission to head out into the Forbidden West for a few months, right?

ForgeLordAleMaster: WELL, I MEAN. HIS ORDERS WERE OPEN-ENDED. HELPING ALOY WAS IMPLIED.

Marshall Kotallo: You abandoned your post?

Marshall Kotallo: [ZeroDawnDisappointment.png]

FlameHairSavior: Is that an old propaganda poster for Zero Dawn?

Marshall Kotallo: For Operation Enduring Victory, to be specific, but yes. It seems that using guilt to encourage your sense of duty is not something my tribe invented.

ForgeLordAleMaster: LOOK, AVAD WOULD HAVE ORDERED ME TO HELP ALOY IF I COULD HAVE ASKED.

ForgeLordAleMaster: BY THE FORGE, HE WOULD HAVE RUN OUT HERE HIMSELF IF SHE HAD ASKED!

FlameHairSavior: We're not talking about me.

β: wait if he wouldnt be mad about you helping aloy then why are you scared

ForgeLordAleMaster: BECAUSE HE WOULD HAVE WANTED TO BE HERE HIMSELF!

ForgeLordAleMaster: ALSO, I BASICALLY LEFT MY MEN TO FEND FOR THEMSELVES.

ForgeLordAleMaster: ...AND I MIGHT HAVE RUN UP A SMALL TAB IN CHAINSCRAPE THAT I BILLED TO HIM.

Zo: That doesn't sound so bad.

HIMBO: You haven't seen him drink.

Zo: What? I watch him drink every day!

HIMBO: Not like when he has access to a bar.

ForgeLordAleMaster: AND AND, I MIGHT HAVE TOLD THE BARTENDER TO LET MY MEN USE MY TAB. WHILE STILL BILLING IT TO AVAD.

FlameHairSavior: So... I guess you're just hiding here for the rest of your life?

ForgeLordAleMaster: THAT'S MY PLAN!

Chapter 11 | Prev chapter | Next chapter Chapter Index

[astarionfreak]

carve it in red 🩸

// Ascended Astarion x Serin (Female!Durge)

Don't read this if you're looking to avoid endgame spoilers.

With his newfound powers, Astarion brought Baldur's Gate to its knees. He was the man who had everything. But he lost her.

Serin. His mad love. Consumed by her urge. Mind stolen by her cruel father. And yet, her soul remains intact. Can he save her? Is there hope for them yet?

---

Status: In progress (1/?) | Read on AO3

Wouldn't it be so much fun if I made you better and then we made each other worse? 🥰

Title is a lyric from "switchblade" by aeseaes.

Tags: Eventual Smut, Violence, Murder, Blood, Blood Drinking, Vampire Bites, Trauma, more tba . . .

Astarion stood in the garden, a solitary figure, silhouetted by a low-hanging blood moon. He often found himself here when he needed a moment of quiet reflection.

With his newfound powers, the Vampire Ascendant brought Baldur’s Gate to its knees. He ruled a kingdom of blood, which he had built on the ashes of his enemies. Quite literally. The Szarr name had all but been eradicated in Astarion’s efforts to reclaim the palace as his own.

He surrounded himself with beautiful people and held extravagant events, ensuring that the palace halls were rarely empty. He cemented his position among the city’s elite — many of whom now bowed to his every whim.

Everything he needed, anything he wanted, was his for the taking. Servants were at his every beck and call. He adorned himself with only the finest of fabrics. All of his grandest desires were true.

But it wasn’t enough.

And Astarion knew why.

Six months.

It had been six months since his one true love turned against her cruel father and ordered the destruction of the Netherbrain.

He remembered everything about that day. Down to the way her long, dark hair poured over her shoulders, untamed. The way the sun warmed his skin as the sky parted.

The lustful look she wore so perfectly, one he’d seen after many bloody battles. He could name each fleck of gold in her green eyes. Those wild eyes of hers.

Until they weren’t hers anymore.

“They’re calling us heroes, you know?” Serin said.

“Hm. A waste. They could be calling us gods,” Astarion said. “All in good time, I suppose.”

Serin smiled and reached up to cup his face. “I did this for you, my love.”

“And will it be worth it? Turning against your father. Surely there will be repercussions?” Astarion found himself leaning into her touch.

“Had I taken control of the Netherbrain in his name, you would have been lost to me. This was the only way.”

Serin pulled his face down to hers and captured his lips in a gentle kiss. She rarely kissed him with such tenderness.

He was the first one to pull away. “Little love, why does this feel like goodbye?”

“Because it is,” she said.

Serin. His mad love.

Bhaal broke her mind to make an example of her. She had been lost to him from that day forward. But he had not stopped searching.

Heavy footsteps on gravel brought Astarion back to the present moment. Emyr, a Flaming Fist, approached carrying a torch in one hand and a letter in the other.

“You know better than to interrupt me when I’m out here, Emyr,” Astarion snapped.

Emyr wouldn’t meet Astarion’s eyes. Good. He preferred it when they cowered in fear.

“I bring word from Waterdeep, my Lord,” Emyr said.

Waterdeep? That could only mean one thing. Gale. What could the wizard possibly want? And why was he sending messages by courier?

“Very well. Bring it here,” Astarion said.

Emyr kept their head bowed as they approached, holding the letter in an outstretched hand. Astarion snatched the letter from them and dismissed Emyr with a wave.

Emyr knew better than to say another word.

Astarion ripped the letter open and let the envelope fall to the ground. Someone would pick it up in the morning. He paced back and forth along the gravel path, eye scanning the text for anything of importance.

Gale had a rather annoying habit of speaking too much. That same habit was reflected in his letters as well, apparently. Something about Bhaal cultists. Something about danger. Astarion froze when he reached the end of the letter.

If he had a heartbeat, it may have stopped beating when he read those last six words.

I found her. She is alive.

Continue reading on AO3

[dragonnarrative-writes]

Your slasher handler story is just… 😩💕 I can’t believe this good food tbh. It’s perfection. I literally am on the edge of my seat. The predator/prey dynamic is perfectly executed, the way you describe his true nature shining through the façade every now and then, and despite the fact she catches some of those moments herself she still tries to be rational, to befriend him to keep herself safe😭 I’m like babyyyyy, you’re a lamb walking into the jaws of a wolf thinking you’ll be going for a kiss??? But this last chapter (and the ones before) I was really thinking he was going soft on her because they had their tender moments and it seems like the stockholm syndrome is really settling, but the ending had me grasping my pearls!

(ps: is it okay to send in an idea/request if you vibe w it based on this story? I just had a very angsty imagine in mind, where somewhere along the way he finally has almost all ties with your life cut. You quit your job, you are basically not allowed to leave and you don’t have any contact with anyone unless it’s supervised which is very rare. But you try to bargain to visit your apartment or a friend one last time, you promise it’s just to say “goodbye” and after that you’re going to do whatever he wants (which he finds adorable, a pet he owns trying to bargain with him. But he humours you nonetheless, because this could get very interesting and he already has some ideas for his reward). For you, it’s partially a last desperate attempt to raise alarms, but also you’re just so homesick for your life as you knew it. Sure, it wasn’t perfect but it was yours. And you were in control of it in freedom. You get to have your moment, but he makes you say your goodbyes and takes you back home with him eventually (a twisted part of me sees him make you /or have you watch him set fire to the building for some reason😭). And on the way back home you just break down, as it finally settles that it’s really game over for you now and that you’ve lost. You’re his now. And the realisation for him that he hasn’t broken you in as well as he thought he had, so now he has to fix that of course.

Idk there’s just something about thinking that bargaining with your captor is a good idea and not realising you’re always always gonna up w the short end of the stick that I just eat up)

okay this has gotten really long!!! I’m out, thank you once again for sharing this amazing series w us and have a good one!!!✌🏻😽

Thank you so much! I'm so glad that you've enjoyed the dynamic.(thank you to EVERYONE who comments, reblogs and replys, I see them all and spend too much time smooching every single one of them) I've really tried to capture that Reader is aware that she's playing at domesticating a Big Predator, but she's way out of her depth.

Please do send me thoughts and requests! I'm not really an angst writer (yet! I wasn't a dark fic writer either, but the turns do table) but I love love love the ideas.

Act-tu-a-ly! You would probably love @charliemwrites's Keeper/Kept series. I think there's a few different parts that touch specifically on that exact dynamic. There's a lot to explore in that particular sandbox, so I don't remember exactly where those specific sections are, but it's all a fantastic read.

You might also like @groguspicklejar's Mafia!AU, it's gotten deliciously angsty as of late! Not so much mourning the old life, but there's plenty of "oh shit I'm a pet and this is real and Not Great."

[separatist-apologist]

The Great War

I vowed I would always be yours

Summary: Feyre Archeron's kingdom has been warring with King Rhysand for longer than she can recall. When, on an unlucky stroke, he stumbles upon her and her sisters locked in a tower, Feyre will do whatever it takes to keep him from finding them.

Even marrying him.

Happy @unofficialfeysandmonth2022 (but really LB appreciation month!) My only multi-chaptered offering.

Read more on AO3

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3

If you don't like blood or torture, skip Rhys's POV

Feyre, like most women in the north, had given a lot of thought to her eventual wedding. Her whole life revolved around an eventual husband, and though she’d come to resent it, she’d also spent years of her life thinking about the day, the man, and the aftermath. She’d always assumed she’d end up with some seventh son, a minor noble hardly worth anything at all. Shipped off to the countryside where, if she was lucky, she was left to her own devices. 

Never, in her wildest dreams, would she have thought she’d be marrying a king. Kings were for Nesta, princes for Elain. Yet there she was, standing atop a platform in an icy blue gown waiting for the moment when she was called. Married, without a friend to witness her. No sisters. Just her, smoothing the immaculate, beaded fabric snug against her abdomen nervously. It had been a month since she’d been forcibly taken and Feyre was always surprised by what a month could do, in terms of her appearance. She almost believed Rhys when he called her pretty now, given the color in her cheeks and the way her body had begun to fill out again. Her hair had been set into pretty waves, left to cascade down one shoulder with the rest pinned with a pretty, pearl clip against her temple. 

The dress, she begrudgingly admitted, was beautiful too. As icy as the overhead sky, with glittering gems that somehow managed to capture the sparkle of starlight. Whatever magic was infused in the off-shoulder, long-sleeved fabric gave the illusion of curves through her waist before flaring out around her feet. 

She felt pretty.

Beautiful, even. 

Resentment bloomed in her gut, warring with the guilt she felt over her own behavior. He was a monster and she’d put his penis in her mouth. She was going to marry him. She wasn’t even trying to fight anymore. Feyre had sat perfectly still while her eyes were lined and her mouth painted, all to give the illusion of wide-eyed innocence he would later wreck with his lips and tongue and teeth. 

Feyre had even let them put on the lacy underthings before she stood on that little platform in her room and waited to be called down where he’d be waiting for her. Feyre took one last look towards the window and wondered if she wasn’t betraying her sisters by doing this. Were they fighting, wherever they were? Feyre was sure Nesta was…though she was equally sure that Nesta’s fight would always lay with their father, and if she were the one missing, Nesta might consider her collateral damage if it meant reaching her end goal.

And Elain…Elain would put up no resistance at all. She’d be charming the southern court, pulling them all under her spell though to what purpose, Feyre couldn't say. And perhaps it was her desire to wallow in her own self-pity that convinced her of her sister's abandonment. That they would not do the same for her—unasked, without question—but Feyre couldn’t stop herself from feeling very sorry for herself. 

She could only admit it to herself, right then. But Feyre didn’t want him. Handsome or not. Kind or not, interested in pleasing her or not, she didn’t want to marry him. Even if she figured out how to reunite all of them or put Nesta on the throne, this would be Feyre’s home until she died. He wouldn’t let her leave.

She knew that like she knew her own name. 

“Princess,” a servant murmured from the door. Feyre felt the blood leave her face. Her spine was made of static and utterly cold as she stepped from the platform to the floor. She didn’t spare herself a second look, certain she did not want to see what was looking back. Herself, pressed against her eyes like frosted hands against a window pane.

Begging for help.

Every step of her heeled shoe against the marble rang like a death knell. Feyre’s heart hammered, legs trembling so badly that more than once she paused under the guise of fixing her dress in an effort to keep herself from falling to pieces. If the servants leading her knew or felt any sympathy, they didn’t say. 

Feyre stopped once last time outside the arching silver doors of Rhys’s throne room. She could do this. She was brave, she had agreed in exchange for her sister's continued safety. For the promise that when they were found, they would be brought to her instead. They would slip from their father’s sticky fingers. No temples, no terrible marriages.

Only hers.

Feyre willed herself not to let anyone see how scared she was before she walked in. Straight-backed, every inch the princess she did not feel. His court stood on either side, a sea of faces she didn’t recognize. Blurred in contrast with the man standing just at the foot of his throne. Feyre’s fear waned at the look blazing in his violet-blue eyes. In his hands, he held a silver crown made of stars so similar to the one set neatly atop his immaculate hair. 

It was enough, his little concession. This show of what she wanted to believe was equality, though was more likely another of his little games for his court. She halted just before him, drinking in the rich, masculine scent rolling off his powerful body. Rhys was in black, just like he always was. He looked in good, trimmed in silver…a matching band already resting against his ring finger. She saw, as he placed that crown against her temples, a more delicate ring with the softest blue stone framed with diamonds that glittered like starlight. 

“Darling,” he murmured, adjusting the band against her hair gently, so as not to disturb any of the carefully pinned waves. “You look…”

Feyre wetted her lips with her tongue. “Thank you.”

He clenched his jaw, satisfied with her appearance. Feyre expected his general to marry them–that's how it was done at home. A priestess, instead, had come to the front with a little white book tucked against the blue of her robes. Rhys inclined in his head as a show of respect and Feyre, unsure of the customs, did the same.

Pretty words for a marriage she felt was being conducted at knifepoint. Her thoughts drifted in and out, catching promises to honor and cherish. She very much doubted he would be capable of such a thing. Her father never had been. Obsessed with work to the point he’d let her mother waste away and die of sickness. Was that to be her fate, too? When the veneer of newness rubbed off, when he tired of having her in his bed, would Rhys leave her to succumb to illness? Ignore his children, always working? 

He put that ring on her finger. A shackle, she decided. A beautiful, unmovable shackle. He certainly seemed sincere—she didn’t trust him. She repeated the words automatically, with none of the emotion his own had, before their hands were tied in a dark black ribbon and Rhys was allowed to lower his mouth for a kiss, all but sealing the union.

The priestess, with a glimmering tear in her teal eyes, declared the union blessed by the gods. Feyre thought the gods had a terrible sense of humor if that was the case. Rhys brought her fingers to his lips, kissing again and again as he led her out. She assumed he’d take her straight to the bedroom. It seemed like the sort of thing he might prioritize. Why bother wasting time when she could be pregnant by the end of the month, after all? 

“You look hungry,” Rhys murmured the moment they were in the hall. “And tired.”

No innuendo. He wasn’t offering her himself as a meal, but his concern. Did he truly not understand what was bothering her?  Feyre opened her mouth, intending to remind him that she utterly hated him, and hated him even more for making her go through with this when he’d already gotten her in his bed…when the wary look in his eyes halted her.

She exhaled a breath. “I am hungry,” she admitted instead. She’d fight him later that night, and in the morning, and every day for the rest of their shared lives. She would not be her mother.

He would not win.

“There’s a banquet,” he said, dropping her hand to guide her towards a dining hall she’d never once stepped foot in. They always ate somewhere private, just the two of them. “We’ll stay until you hate it.”

“Is that what you do?” she asked just a shade too snidely. He glanced down at her.

“Yes.”

Oh. 

They were sequestered at their own table at the very end of the large hall, raised up so they were looking down on everyone else. Rhys pulled out her chair, sitting only when she’d settled herself on the purple cushion. Wine was poured before anyone ever stepped into the room and Feyre swallowed it gratefully, desperate for any distraction. Rhys watched, goblet hanging in his bored fingers, while the rest of his court filed in.

“No Azriel?” she asked, her body warming as the sweet, tart liquid began to spread through her veins. Not eating had been a mistake, though also not entirely her choice. She’d been offered watery fruit while everyone stared, irritated they couldn't start until she was done.

But now she was married, and she’d never wear this gown again. She could drip soup all over it if she liked. 

Rhys brought his goblet to his lips without taking a drink. The corners of his eyes crinkled at whatever he saw. She wasn’t looking at the flood of people at all. Feyre took another long drink, wishing she had water, too. The wine was doing little to satisfy her. Whatever it was made of, she thought it was inferior to what they had at home. A strange bitterness had coated her throat, forcing her to clear it in order to take an unobstructed breath. 

“I thought he’d be back, too. I’m starting to think he’s enjoying himself,” Rhys grumbled. 

Feyre turned to look at him, her body practically made of air. She needed to eat something. “With my sister?”

“And my general. I’m sure they’re having a grand old time,” he continued, beckoning for a servant carrying a heavy, silver platter of food. “Feed my wife, please.”

Meat, dressed in gravy with vegetables and anything else she might imagine, was put on her plate. Feyre’s hands shook, cold like before, as she forked that first bite. Rhys was still rubbing his jaw, still narrow-eyed and lost in thought. 

“Does this mean Nesta is okay?” she asked, hiding her mouthful of food behind the back of her hand. 

“One must assume so.”

“And Elain?” she pressed, forcing more food into her stomach. She was suddenly too full, despite only one bite. That was just nerves, she assured herself. If she didn’t push through, she’d be a writhing mess by the time he wanted to drag her off to bed. Too weak to offer him any sass, let alone press her fingers against his windpipe.

Rhys’s expression settled. “Almost certainly hiding among Helion’s court. He’s been really fucking cagey. Wants to know what happened with you, so we’re talking in circles.”

“You didn’t tell him you married me?” Feyre asked, struggling to chew what was in her mouth. Rhys didn’t notice or didn’t care.

“So he could run and tell your father—”

“You didn’t tell my father?”

“Ask forgiveness, Feyre. Not permission.”

It was on the tip of her tongue to ask him something else. Feyre opened her mouth, having just swallowed her second bite. Rhys turned his head, glancing at her as he’d done before. Whatever he saw gave him pause.

“Feyre?” he asked. His voice was strange—echoing around her head like she was listening underwater. Feyre blinked, clearing her throat against the burning scratch from the wine but all she manages to do is vomit all over the floor between them.

Rhys jerked backward, nearly toppling from his chair. The hand he’d been resting against the back slipped at the same time Feyre did, her body avoiding her own vomit, but only just. She was shivering, somehow both freezing cold and burning hot. 

“Feyre?” 

Rhysand, again, his voice even stranger still. Far away from her as she began to fall through the very floor. Her spine arched—maybe through her very body. The pain was short-lived, though she thought she might have cried out. Feyre saw violet, twinkling stars.

And nothing else.

RHYSAND:

He’d never been more nervous in his life, watching Feyre Archeron make her way down that aisle. She hid her fear well, but he saw it behind those defiant, blue-gray eyes. For his part, he’d been a breathless, stuttering fool and anyone who’d spent more than a few hours with him could see it. He’d trembled, putting that crown atop her head. His fingers had shook when he’d put the ring on her finger. His voice warbled when he swore he’d love her through the end of the very world itself.

All he had to do, he’d told himself, was put some dinner in her, and get her into bed. Rhys didn’t care if she fucked him or she fought him so long as she came with him. He’d, of course, been hoping for the former given the way the dress conformed around her body. He still had the taste of her cunt in his mouth, could still feel her silken heat tight around his fingers. He wanted to feel her screaming pleasure on his cock so bad he’d been distracted.

Hadn’t thought about the wine sitting before them. In another world, Azriel would have snatched it out of her hands and taken a deep inhale. Fuck, even Rhys should have thought to do that. His marriage was unpopular among a subset of his courtiers, pissed he’d spurned their own daughters and sisters for a foreign-born princess. The enemy's daughter, no less, who couldn’t even smile. Feyre refused to even pretend she was pleased with the arrangement and everyone had noticed.

Maybe they thought they were doing him a favor.

Or maybe they’d noticed the way he looked at her—had found the entire thing treasonous.  

Unforgivable. 

“Lock the fucking doors!” Rhys roared, kneeling over his brand new, convulsing wife. She was going to die right here in his arms, eyes rolled back in her head as blood and spit foamed against her perfect mouth. Rhys couldn’t contain his fear, could practically see it writhing around his body like shadows. The doors in every direction snapped shut, locking every member of his court inside. 

“No one leaves this room until I have answers,” he said to the oppressive, terrible silence. All eyes were on the woman in his arms, their faces just as pale as Feyre’s. Good. He wanted them scared. 

“Get me a fucking healer,” he ordered a terrified servant. He trusted them only as far as he could throw them. Heavy, silver doors opened only for him before locking the rest of the room inside. Their fear would have to be enough for now—Rhys was certain the executors of this little plot would begin to turn on him before he ever came to interrogate. 

He wouldn’t have to. Coming down the hall, casual and pink-cheeked from the cold, was Azriel. Still in his armor, a sword strapped against his back. Rhys might have cried had Feyre not whimpered, trying so hard to roll her head upwards where she might choke on her own vomit. Rhys adjusted her inconsequential body weight as familiar anger roared through him.

No one was kind to this woman and it showed. She looked at everyone like a cornered animal prepared to fight her way out. Too skinny, too scared. He wanted to go back on his promise of peace and burn it all down. Wanted to bring her the heads of every person responsible for those shadows in her eyes.

“What the fuck happened?” Azriel hissed, hazel eyes wide. “Nesta is going to have my fucking balls.”

“Bring me everyone responsible for this,” was all Rhys had time to say. Each wasted second rang loudly in his head, ticking like death’s own personal watch. Feyre was slipping, the color leaching from her face until he could see the faint blue of the veins just beneath her freckled skin. 

The healer, Majda, was a woman Rhys was too acquainted with. She had the distinction of having brought him into the world, and if he’d had it his way, she’d have brought his son, too. It would have been how he introduced her to his new wife, swollen and glowing and happy. Not clinging to life by her very claws, a fighter until there was nothing and no one left to oppose her.

“Lift her head,” Majda, a small woman made even smaller with age, was quickly unpacking a wicker basket she’d brought with her. Rhys made to set Feyre on the bed and instead, put her between his own legs, her head resting against the crook of his neck.

“You can’t escape me that easily,” he threatened, hoping she could hear him. How many times did she intend to make him watch her nearly die? 

Fight me. 

Don’t leave me—not yet. 

He barely knew her, and yet he was certain he loved her. And if he was honest—which he was only willing to do right then, his fingers pressed against the sluggish pulse point in his new wife's wrist—he’d been fascinated by her the very first moment he’d laid his eyes on her.

She’d fought him like ten fully grown soldiers. No fear, so recklessly brave in the face of what had begun as certain death. He’d gone to slaughter the Ellesmerian General and instead put Feyre on a horse while Azriel wisely kept his mouth shut. 

Every moment after was merely a delay of the inevitable. She was here. She’d married him. He’d had a whole plan to soften her just enough to trust him, hoping she might one day love him back. 

“Is she going to die?” he asked, his fear coating his throat.

“Open her mouth,” Majda ordered, unperturbed. Rhys did as he was told, his own thudding heart mocking him. Majda poured a viscous brown liquid into Feyre’s throat, unconcerned when

Feyre bucked, sputtering against the taste.

“She needs to swallow all of it,” Majda warned Rhys, who wrapped a leg around Feyre’s waist and pinned her arms against her chest with his own hand while keeping the other on her jaw.

“You’re doing so well,” he praised, his mouth pressed to her cheek. Feyre whimpered as another round of that shit-scented liquid was poured into her throat.

“A lazy method of poisoning,” Majda grumbled, tapping the little vial gently against Feyre’s teeth in order to ensure all of it went into her body. “Saproot has about a hundred antidotes.”

“Is she…” His throat couldn’t get the words out.

“She’s going to wake up with a splitting headache. Give her some crushed salerum and keep her in bed.”

Her gaze sharpened as if to warn him to keep his cock far away from her. Rhys wasn’t a total bastard.

“She’ll live?”

Majda was already packing her things, as if this were all one large inconvenience. “She’ll live.”

Rhys pressed his lips to Feyre’s temple, holding her for just a moment longer. He waited until he heard the soft click of the door to bury his face in her hair, his relief coming in waves.

“This wasn’t what I imagined,” he admitted to her unconscious form. “I just assumed it would be me half-dead while you held my body. I think you would have enjoyed it more.”

He kissed her again. Feyre didn’t move, though her breathing had steadied and when he pressed his fingers to her pulse, he swore it felt stronger. Her immediate response to the antidote was enough to convince Rhys to lay her against the pillows undisturbed. 

Rhys felt as though a year had passed. It had been maybe ten minutes. Maybe less. Long enough to age him five hundred years, if the ache in his muscle was any indication. Rhys flexed his fingers, unable to look at Feyre for a moment longer. He’d fall to pieces if he did—and Rhys had business to conduct. His court had operated outside of his control and nothing made him angrier than knowing a group of his own courtiers had decided they knew best.

That they could do better. 

It was his home, his court, his crown. He’d decide who ruled and how, and if someone disagreed with his choices, they could say it to the tip of his blade. Rhys felt steadied, picking up his sword. Almost calm when he locked Feyre in their shared bedroom. He’d have a servant pack up her things later. 

Azriel was coming down the hall again, a cruel, cold smile on his familiar face. “All good?” his friend asked. Rhys noted the spray of blood against his scarred hands and wondered if his friend hadn’t been able to resist starting without him. 

“Saproot,” Rhys said, catching the surprise on Azriel’s face. If anyone was going to know the lethality of every plant in Illyria, it was going to be Azriel. 

“Lazy,” Azriel murmured, eyes flashing. “I wonder if they thought you’d be pleased.”

“I’m not,” Rhys replied, his voice more growl than anything. 

“Her sister is going to kill you,” Azriel added with amusement.

“I’m glad this is funny to you,” Rhys snapped, turning for the hall where his miserable court was held. What would happen if he just slaughtered them all and started over? Handed out their wealth and land to anyone that swore fealty to him? How long before they began conspiring, too? 

“It’s funny watching you fall in love, brother. You’re no better than Cass—”

Rhys whipped around, eyes wide. “Cassian?”

“Ready to lay his sword at Nesta’s feet. Fighting night and day…defiling the common eating space like an utter prick—”

“Well, at least that hasn’t changed,” Rhys agreed, trying to imagine it. Perhaps, if Nesta had any of Feyre’s fight, it made sense they’d fall like dominoes. “Maybe you ought to go collect the missing sister.”

Azriel’s features tightened but didn’t argue. He’d go if Rhys offered, and likely be turned right back around at the gate when Helion got wind. The four kings of the realm were a secretive bunch. If Helion had one of Archeron’s daughters, he wasn’t likely to trade her to Rhysand.

Not when giving her back to her own father might enrich him. Helion had been pushing his border against Archeron for decades, trying to regain miles of territory stolen in the middle of the night. 

And there was the matter of Eris to the West, who was likely watching them all carefully. Waiting to see where they all laid their armies before making a decision himself. Rhys had long thought Eris would be smart to let them all fight to the death and then swoop in and take whatever he liked. He’d certainly refused aid often enough, choosing instead to remain neutral. What did he make of three errant daughters suddenly becoming players rather than pawns? 

Rhys wanted all three for himself. He wanted his wife and her sisters. And when he killed their miserly father and put the crown atop whichever head he thought would obey him better, he wanted to know he had their undying gratitude.

And maybe he wanted Feyre to remind them that, should they think of stepping out of line, that she lived among them. A bridge between their two kingdoms, if nothing else.

Desperately, stupid in love if he had his way.

Rhys could have it all, he decided as he followed Azriel down the interconnecting corridors. Not to his dining hall, but down, down, down to the damp cold of his dungeons. Rhysand, having been denied satisfaction in the form of his wife, nearly groaned at the sight of Keir hanging from a set of irons. 

“There are others,” Azriel told him, taking that last step into the gloom. Fire-lit sconces lit up the dripping stone, mixing the smell of waste and mold with ash. 

“I could guess,” Rhys murmured. Keir, though… “What a prize.”

“Have your mocking fun,” Keir spat, the tips of his boots skimming over the stone. Azriel had forced him to hand, stressing his wrists and shoulders until eventually, they’d pop right out of their sockets. “We both know this is as far as you’re allowed.”

Rhys chuckled while Azriel circled like a predator. This was all fun and games, now. The only thing missing was Cassian, leaning against the wall as he made his little jokes. They’d catch him up later. 

Cassian had always wanted to see Keir drained of his blood. 

“Says who?”

Keir didn’t flinch, but Rhys was tired of this argument. Of the song, the dance. All of it. “The Darkbringers will never submit to your bastard General.”

“Then I’ll kill them too,” Rhys replied with a shrug. “As if there aren’t a thousand other soldiers just as talented that are willing to obey orders.”

“Not like mine.”

“Tell me, uncle. Did you think I’d thank you for your stunt tonight?” Rhys asked, halting Azriel just behind him. Keir tried to glance over his shoulder, his fear suddenly palpable. Azriel had drawn his blade from his thigh casually, admiring the steel in the flickering firelight.

“You should,” Keir hissed. “Your father is rolling in his grave knowing you’d put a baby in a northern whore—” Rhys hit Keir with a deafening crack, his ring splitting open Keir’s lip neatly. 

“I don’t recall giving you permission to speak,” Rhys replied, wiping the spluttering blood from Keir’s face with the back of his sleeve. “I don’t come to you for counsel.” 

“Maybe you should,” Keir managed, spitting blood to the floor. 

“Yeah? Do you think she’d still be here if I had?”

Keir’s face paled, as if all at once he realized the danger he was in. Behind him, Azriel dragged the tip of his blade over the exposed column of Keir’s neck. It would not be an easy death they offered him. 

“That was unfortunate—”

“It sure was,” Rhys agreed, nodding once to Azriel just behind. Azriel dragged the teeth of his blade over Keir’s jaw, circling behind his ear while the man writhed, unable to escape the onslaught. Rhys grinned savagely when the appendage fell wetly to the floor. 

“Your only job in my court is to obey,” Rhys reminded Keir, still fingering his sword sheathed in his hand. “To inform me of the comings and goings.”

“Stop,” Keir pleaded as Azriel’s blade cut a line against the back of his neck. “Stop this, please.”

But Rhys couldn’t. He’d hated Keir his entire life and had always believed he couldn’t rule without his uncle's legitimacy backing him up. Centuries of an unbroken line through Keir had been sullied—supposedly—when his father, much like Rhys was doing now, married a woman his court deemed inappropriate. His mother had been merely common, and Illyrian from the mountains his father had taken one look at and fallen madly in love with.

Rhys, who had hated his father, supposed they shared that trait in common. He wouldn’t treat his own wife with so little regard…and he would punish everyone who disrespected her. His mother had been forced to endure.

Feyre would not. 

Keir's begging was pure music. Rhys reveled in his pleas, trading Azriel for his knife to cut off a finger, to gouge out an eye. They took turns pushing the knife carefully into Keir’s body—avoiding any major arteries to prolong Keir’s pain.

He apologized—and it wasn’t enough. For Rhys, a little boy who’d watched the powerful men at court abuse every woman he’d ever cared about, it would never be enough. Keir wasn’t satisfied with the deaths of his mother, his sister—his cousin, though he was desperate to think otherwise—but tried to take his wife, too. 

He was the one who finally drove his sword through Keir’s throat, arms still suspended as Rhys pinned him to the back wall. He could hear Keir’s bones snapping in his arm, his gurgled screaming as he tried desperately to draw breath.

Rhys watched all of it, well aware the hours he’d spent in the dungeon echoed. Every courtier who had participated in the plot had been forced to listen. The two were coated in blood by the time Keir fell silent. Azriel inclined his head, a silent question in his eyes.

Are you done?

Rhys offered his friend a shake of his head.

They’d keep going.

FEYRE:

Feyre woke to a pounding head and a throat coated in what felt like sand. Reaching across the pillow blindly, she expected to find Rhys waiting. She didn’t know why she thought he would be—only that it seemed logical his body would be stretched beside her own. He wasn’t, and she was alone in the dark with only the dying embers of the fireplace for company.

Well, that and headache powder. Feyre pushed herself upwards, pouring a shaky glass of water and eyeballing the mixture. She drank quickly, grateful the throbbing beat in her head began to ebb almost instantly. 

Feyre drank another glass of cool water just for good measure before she stretched out her limbs. How embarrassing, to collapse on her wedding night. She sat on the edge of the bed, still in the wedding gown Rhys had been meant to take off. She wondered if he was out celebrating somewhere.

If he’d chosen different company. The thought made her stomach twist, a dangerous prospect given Feyre was pretty sure she’d vomited at some point. She stood, legs trembling as if she’d run a marathon, and managed to unclasp the buttons that ran the length of her spine. Feyre discarded the dress and the lace underthings with a small amount of regret.

It might have been nice to see if he liked them. 

She went to his bathing chamber, perching on the heavy lip of the square, marble tub while she waited for scalding water to fill the interior. Feyre took the opportunity to pour in his nice, jasmine-scented bubbles and oils before she unclipped her hair and tied it up off her face.

She slid into the water with a hiss. Whatever pleasure her wedding night might have offered was nothing compared to the steam warming her face and the heat loosening her aching muscles. 

Feyre stretched, luxuriating like she was a cat. She wanted to forget about Rhys, but his rejection stung a little. 

A lot.

Feyre slid further into the large tub until only her nose and eyes were visible in the water. Tendrils of her carefully styled hair flopped into the water around her, floating among the iridescent bubbles. She decided if her new husband had already taken another woman to bed, she would truly remove his cock from his body.

Pleased at the notion, she started to slide further, to submerge herself so she was at one with the water around her. Feyre was certain the bath might fix whatever was wrong with her, and when she emerged she’d be back in fighting shape.

“Feyre!”

A rough, panicked voice pulled her out of the water. She didn’t move, unsure if she’d imagined it. 

“Feyre!” Rhys called again, fear coating the world. She let her arm slosh through the water, the only response she could muster. A moment later, Rhys was in the doorway, panting as if he’d run the whole way. Feyre’s lips parted, all rational thought eddying from her mind at the sight of him drenched in blood. 

For one horrible moment, she thought it must be his own. She forgot herself, rising upwards with shaking hands.

Rhys groaned, eyes sliding down her dripping body. He hit his knees with a rattling thud of the chandelier overhead.

“Come here, darling,” he said, his gaze bouncing from her soapy breasts to her cunt.

“Are you hurt?” she asked him. Should she call for a healer? 

Rhys, still kneeling, dropped his hands to his sides, fingers clenching to fists. “They tried to poison you.”

“Oh,” she whispered. Suddenly, the sight of him, his panicked voice, all that blood? It all made sense. Feyre stepped carefully over the edge, water pooling on the marble beneath her feet. She raked her own eyes over his form, admiring the way the maroon complimented the brown of his skin. It streaked through hair so black it seemed to be gilded blue in the overhead light. 

His clothes were ruined, but at that moment, Feyre thought he looked like a terrible, avenging God. 

And she wanted him. Gods, but how she wanted him. He held himself still, that wary look etched across his features as he waited for her to come to him. Feyre was careful, urging him to stand with the wet pads of her fingers beneath his elbows.

A blood-soaked strand of hair flopped into his violet eyes. Feyre slid her hands over his tunic—the one he’d married her in some time that morning—and began deftly undoing the buttons. He was trembling by the time she finished, still as a statue while Feyre pushed his off his broad shoulders. There was such a contrast between his smooth, unblemished chest and the messy violence of his angelic face. 

She went for the laces on his pants, hands steady for the first time since she’d met him. Rhys’s cock sprang out to greet her, inexplicably hard in spite of everything. She might have laughed had he not seemed so nervous.  

Feyre pushed his pants over his hips and finally Rhys came back to life, kicking off his boots to get the trousers over his ankles. He stood before her, just as naked and aroused as she was, a good head and shoulders taller.

“Did you kill them?” It was a terrifying question. 

Did you kill them because of me?

“I did,” he whispered, swallowing hard. “And I took a long time doing it.”

Feyre pressed her hand to his taut stomach, fingers tangling in the trail of dark hair just beneath his navel.

“Are you sorry?”

He laughed. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here when you woke. I’m not sorry they’re dead.”

The words were so casually cruel. So callous in their thoughtlessness. “Is this what I should expect?”

A ghost of his usual sultry smile slid over his features. “If someone tries to hurt you? Yes, Feyre. You should expect far, far worse if another person crosses me when it comes to my wife.”He said those last two words like a prayer. 

My wife.

The possession and the heat were enough to convince her she was done talking. Feyre raised up on her tiptoes, reaching for his bloodstained shoulders. Rhys groaned against her mouth, their teeth clacking when their need superseded any grace they might have had. The familiar sweetness of his mouth was cut by the copper on his lips, a fact that should have disgusted her. 

But this was violence done on her behalf. And for the first time in Feyre’s life, someone had gone to war for her and won. Had picked her. 

Rhys hauled her up in his arms, one large hand spanning against her ass to hold her while the other tangled in her mouth. She could feel his cock pressed against her stomach, the tip of him teasing just beneath her breasts. 

Feyre raked her nails over his scalp, trying to touch every little part of him as quickly as she could. A fire was burning in her gut, urging her to take as much as she could without a care as to how she got it. Rhys stepped backward, until she was flush between the wall and his body.

“Feyre,” he moaned, tongue tangling against her own before he could say anything else. She didn’t want to hear him speak—she only wanted to hear the escaping sounds of his pleasure, each ripped from behind his teeth as though he couldn’t control himself.

Because of her.

He was wild, undone, feral.

And it was all her fault. 

The hand in her hair came to her breast, palming and teasing the aching, tender flesh until Feyre was rubbing herself against him. Arching her neck, Rhys pressed a sucking kiss against her pulse point before licking at the little hurt.

Feyre slid her hand between them, gripping his cock so she could stroke him. She needed to feel his want, proof of his arousal, just to know it was real. A moan slipped from his mouth, captured by her eager, greedy lips as he bucked into her hand. It wasn’t enough. Feyre arched into him.

“Rhys,” she whispered against his open mouth. “Please, I need—” “What do you need?” he interrupted, as if he couldn’t help himself. He was still pumping himself into her hand, making a mockery of her lust. 

“You,” she panted, trying so hard to angle her hips so he’d drive himself into her. “I need you.”

His eyes blazed. “You don’t have to beg,” he told her, pulling from her grasp. She could feel the silken head of his cock teasing her entrance, pushing just enough to make her whole body tight before pulling away. 

“My pretty wife wants to be filled,” he breathed, teeth grazing over her neck. “Needs to be stretched around my cock.”

“I do,” she whispered, writhing when he teased a circle over her clit but still kept himself from pushing inside her. Rhys was getting off on prolonging their shared release, forgetting he’d married her. Surely he was entitled to a full day of nothing but having her in his bed? 

Feyre dug her nails into his skin, biting at his shoulder when once again, Rhys worked her up. She could see his own tenuous control shredding before her very eyes while he gulped down air. Feyre gripped his face, forcing him to look at her. His eyes snapped to her face just in time for a punishing, bloody kiss. Neither looked away, watching the other while they rubbed against each other. 

“I like the taste of you,” she whispered when they pulled apart. Rhys’s bruised lips formed a soft oh, the violet of his eyes a bright shock against the red.

He drove into her without another word, leaving Feyre breathless with surprise. Stretched was an understatement. She wasn’t accustomed to the size, to the thickness of his cock now twitching inside her. There was no room for anything else, including her own lungs. She panted shallow, gasping breaths while he groaned into her hair. 

That first thrust pushed every remaining thought from Feyre’s head. Brutal pleasure wrapped itself around her neck, turning her into a creature of instinct and nothing more. She worked to accommodate him, the slickness of her arousal softening each new push until there was no pain at all.

Only pleasure. Only them, their mouths bruising at the other. She couldn’t get enough of his taste, of the feel of his tongue finding hers in the space between their lips. One hand beneath her ass, kneading desperately at her flesh while his other continued groping her breasts with the fevered devotion of an acolyte. 

The only sounds were the slap of their bodies, coming together with a frantic hunger neither of them could slake. Feyre was building, could tell he was too. They were going to come apart together or not at all, and when she felt her gathered release pushing against her cunt, Feyre didn’t try and hold it back. She arched, letting him swallow that needy moan. Her whole body went tight around him, gripping him desperately—like her only lifeline.

Rhys came too, his hips frantic, his pace bruising. She felt him come, felt the way he spent himself against her until it dripped down his own stomach to splatter to the floor.

Rhys panted, forehead to forehead. She stroked his face gently, her own heart trying to escape her ribcage. 

“This wasn’t how I imagined this night,” he confessed, kissing just beneath her jaw. They were still connected, and part of her hoped they might remain that way. She didn’t think she was capable of standing. 

“Really? Because this is exactly how I imagined it,” she replied. A genuine smile cracked over his features, just enough to make Feyre think that maybe they’d be okay. It was her turn to offer up a kiss, one she placed just at the side of his neck. “You should let me wash you.”

“Because of all the blood?” he guessed, regretfully sliding himself out of her.

“It seems wrong to stain the sheets,” she agreed, grateful the wall behind her kept her steady. 

“But you’ll bathe me?” he asked, a note of vulnerability staining his words. Feyre recognized that melody, the question. Had heard it too many times in her own voice not to. She nodded, her chest tight. 

“I’ll stay.”

That was what he wanted to hear.

And Feyre was afraid that maybe it was what she wanted, too.