#two handing the moonlight only gives you poise

[sacerdotalist]

Gave up fighting Demon Prince with pure dark sorceries, and used the moonlight instead. Self care people🫶

[bloatedandalone04]

Love Like Ours

➪the one where you and jj sneak off during a keg party for some alone time.

Warnings: fluff, swearing, making out, alcohol consumption, groping, pda, indications of smut, hi i finished season one in a single day and couldn’t help myself, mwah

Word Count: 1.5k

Do not repost this anywhere, reblogs are fine ♡ THANK YOU FOR 4.5k FOLLOWERS

Agreeing to have a kegger at the beach was not something you wanted to do, especially after you found out that JJ had taken the gun from that dingy, sketchy motel room. But now that darkness had taken over and left the beach drowning in shadows and the moonlight, and now that you had consumed a fair amount of beer and booze, you were very happy you ended up going instead of staying at home by yourself.

JJ, your oh so poise boyfriend of two years, was by your side, a red cup in his hand and his arm thrown over your shoulders. The beer in the cup was spilling onto you, but you were far too gone to care at this point, and you only laughed as the amber liquid rolled down your arm and got absorbed by your shirt.  

His signature red hat was placed on your head instead of his own in a not so subtle claim of territory over you, because in JJ’s eyes you were far too good for him and completely out of his league, but you’d never catch him admitting to that out loud. 

It was dark, but you were still able to see the pink blush that formed on JJ’s neck and face at the amount of beer he’s consumed since the party started. “We should have a fire,” you suggest in a dreary tone and JJ’s eyes widened as if it was the best idea he’s heard all night. 

“We should totally have a fire,” he agreed and finished off the drink before tossing the cup aside. “How do we make a fire?” He couldn’t finish the question without laughing, and you join in as you cling onto his muscle tee to steady yourself.

“I don’t know,” you answer and look around the sand. “Sticks. We need sticks.”

You step away from JJ in order to begin your quest of finding something to start a fire with, and he watched with hooded eyes as you stumbled along the sand, a small and content smile on his lips. “Hey, JJ,” John B greeted as he slung his arm around his best friend’s shoulders. “What is our girl doing, man?”

“Our girl?” JJ scoffed just as you made your way back to him and threw your body against his, draping your arms around his neck as you connected your lips in a kiss. He kissed you back, stepping away from John B until his arm fell back to his side. “Think you mean my girl.” He mumbled once he pulled away and you grinned up at him, pressing multiple kisses to his cheek. 

“Glad the two of you don’t give a shit about the no Pogue on Pogue macking rule, huh?” John B laughed and drank from his own red cup. 

“Nah,” JJ confirmed, wrapping his arm around your middle. “Think we stopped caring about that rule a long time ago, right, baby?”

You nod and tug him away from your friend. “So long ago,” you agree and turn away from him but keep your hand firmly bunched up in his shirt. “Sticks, JJ, we need to go find sticks.”

John B furrowed his brows and laughed as he watched you and JJ drunkenly stumble towards the darkest part of the beach. “Yes, sticks,” JJ replied and wrapped his arms around you from behind. Before you could wander off again, he pulled you back against his chest, making you release a surprised laugh. “I don’t want to have a fire right now, babe, I want to get you alone.”

You blush and lean back against him. “We kinda already are alone,” you point out, but you still had to raise your voice over the music and loud chatter around you. 

“More alone,” he reiterated and leaned down to press a kiss to the side of your neck. He pulls away and grabs your hand, guiding you towards the path that leads up to the docks. “Come on. Come with me.”

You laugh and allow him to tug you along with him back up the dirt path you came down a few hours ago. “Where are we going?” 

“Away from all the noise,” he answered and threw his head back with a loud groan. “God, is there usually all this noise?”

You laugh again and stop, pulling your hand from his just to grab hold of both sides of his face and press a deep kiss to his mouth. Any other complaints die on his tongue as he kisses you back, his hands reaching up to tangle in your hair that was messy from the late night breeze off the water. 

The noise was fainter now, but you could still somewhat hear the conversations of both the Pogues and Kooks, informing you that you weren’t quite isolated from the party yet. 

You run the tip of your tongue along JJ’s bottom lip when he tries to deepen the kiss, then pull away with a teasing smirk. “I thought you wanted to get me alone,”  

JJ matches your smirk and leans down to kiss the skin below your ear, and the quiet moan you let out had him laughing to himself. “Sorry, I got distracted,” he says and tangles his fingers with yours again. “Let’s get out of here.”

You follow him back up the path and along the boat docks until you reach one that very clearly belongs to one of the Kooks. It was massive and put all the boats you’ve been on to shame, so when JJ dared to step onto it with a questioning look in his eyes, you were powerless to stop yourself from going after him. 

He holds his hand out to you and you jump from the dock and onto the boat with a small squeal, and then you are back in your boyfriend’s arms as he connects your lips again in another deep kiss. 

You laugh into the kiss and run your hands up his sides under his shirt. “Whose boat is this?” You ask in between rushed kisses, and JJ pulls away to glance around the abandoned and dark boat. 

“I have no idea,” he replied and kissed you again, making you grin against his lips. His hands slid up from their place on your hips and began squeezing at your chest, and the air was quickly getting hotter and hotter. Your own hands move to grip at his biceps, and his sleeveless shirt gave you perfect access to them. They flex under your touch and you moan at the feeling as JJ backs you up against the wall of the boat. “I want you.”

You break away and tilt your head back against the wall as he begins placing open mouth kisses to your neck. “Here?” You breathlessly ask and softly dig your nails into his skin. 

“Why not?” He questioned, reaching behind you to slip his hands in the back pockets of your shorts. “How hot would it be to fuck on some random persons boat? Only we’d know what happened on it whenever we pass by this thing in the water.”

The invitation was definitely tempting, and you’d be a liar if you said you didn’t want him, too. The idea of fucking against the wall of a Kook’s fancy yacht had you growing more and more needy for him, and you could feel him pressing against you in his shorts as he also grew needy for you.

You turn your head and can faintly see the outlines of the party goers further down the beach, and the semi public setting of this little makeout session had you moaning rather loudly. 

Turning back to him, you kiss him and brush your tongue against his, tangling your hands in his blond hair and tugging on it. “Think John B was feeling a little left out back there,” you change the topic as JJ unzipped your shorts. “Almost made me feel bad that he’s alone now.”

“Don’t,” JJ practically begged, giving up on his mission of ridding you of your shorts in order to pick you up and hold you against the wall. “Please, do not make us go back there. John B’s fine, I promise. He just wishes he has what we have, but this is just for us.”

You bite down on your lip and tightly wrap your legs around his waist. His words were sweet, and this was a side of JJ that only you got to see, and on the rare occasion. “We’re pretty good together, huh?” 

JJ groans and pulls away from your collar bone to look you in the eye. “We’re amazing together,” he corrected and you grip his shoulders to hike yourself up a bit higher, his hat falling off your head in the process. 

“He’ll be fine,” you state and pull at JJ’s hair. 

He closes his eyes at the tug and confirms your words, “He’ll be fine,” 

You smile and kiss him for the hundredth time today. “Now, what were you saying before? Something about only us knowing what happened on this Kook’s boat?”

[fefern]

Halloooo, i noticed that ur requests r still open so can i request hcs on how wuwa Calcharo react if he has an s/o (gender neutral) who looks soft and delicate but they can actually defend themselves and get rid off enemies easily? Like maybe he found out they can fight, when they were just strolling around, and a tacet discord almost harms him but his s/o saves him in time? lol tysm and pls don’t rush 💗

✧˖° his reaction to a soft but strong lover. | calcharo headcanons + drabble.

⋆ ˚☁️ ⁀➴ synopsis: calcharo simply thinks you are an absolute doll, fragile and in need of protection always. but how will he react when he realizes just how strong you are?

⋆ ˚☁️ ⁀➴ characters involved: calcharo and gender neutral reader.

⋆ ˚☁️ ⁀➴ warnings: none!

⋆ ˚☁️ ⁀➴ notes: hi anon!! thank you very much for the wonderful ask, this was so fun to write and super sweet to think about too! calcharo is such a sweetheart in my head your honor *ଘ(੭*ˊᵕˋ)੭* ੈ✩‧₊˚ please enjoy!

ᡣ𐭩 •｡ꪆৎ ˚⋅ calcharo ᡣ𐭩 •｡ꪆৎ ˚⋅

calcharo genuinely thinks there is no one as pretty as you in the entire universe. 

the way you carry yourself, the way your features look, your poise, he simply thinks of you as a porcelain doll come to life.

calcharo is always on the defensive and stoic side due to his nature, but he becomes a bit softer when he’s with you, treating you as if you’re fine china and doing his best to ensure no harm comes your way at all.

it would be like this for a few months, you two together, and with him always being the first to make a move if any harm were to come your way. 

however, letting his guard down a bit did seem to have a pitfall, and one time, when you two were taking your usual stroll in comfortable silence, he catches himself staring at you.

you glow in the moonlight, your features gentle as ever, and he feels lucky that you love someone like him. 

however, something seems to change in your features, and you turn to him.

your eyes are suddenly sharp and focused as you give a small gasp and utter his name in shock, “calcharo!” 

before he can react, he hears the sound of a tacet discord grumbling, and all of the sudden, your figure is behind his and he hears a sharp slash in the air. 

your hair breezes past his own silver locks, and his eyes widen a bit as he realizes the trouble that the two of you may be in. calcharo shuffles forward a bit before turning around, grabbing his broadblade in hand. however, before he even has a chance to fight, he gets to see you in action. 

your movements are quick and precise, having a sort of elegance to them as you move and fight against the tacet discord. within a few seconds, the creature collapses and dies, leaving you softly heaving as you wipe your brow and stand up straight. calcharo can only stare at you in confusion, blinking slowly as he realizes what happened. he quickly comes to your side, holding his weapon in hand and glancing around for a moment. the area is once again clear, and the man let’s out a soft sigh before he relaxes and tilts his head at you. 

“my pretty songbird, you did not tell me you were so adept with fighting.” calcharo murmurs, scanning your features and making sure you didn’t get hurt in the process of protecting him. though you may insist that you’re alright, he still dotes on you for a moment before giving you a small smile. “i am impressed. how lucky i am to be blessed with a beautiful yet deadly lover.” he tells you, his eyes softening a bit as he gently pats your head. “rest assured, i will not let my guard down again.” calcharo huffs, shaking his head at himself for being as foolish as to let his guard down in the open and almost get injured.

“but if the day comes where we must fight an enemy grander than anything mankind has ever seen before,” he gently places a hand on your shoulder and kisses your forehead. “i hope you will be by my side as we defeat the enemy together.”

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

We come to a close.

I had to get this out several days after his actual birthday 😅 It was hard since I also had to account for Cater’s birthday on the 4th and got busy irl… I also had to skip responding to some interactions or else we’d have like an extra week of 3-4 Rollos per day.

So sorry for that!! 💦 I hope you at least enjoy this brief closing piece before we go back to our regularly scheduled TWST brain rot and ramblings.

At last.

He had endured.

Barely.

Now the sun was setting, and soon the stars would come out to play. The guests had departed one by one, Noble Bell College students retreating to their own lodging, Night Raven College students returning to their own campus. The student council's chambers were bereft of the souls that had filled and warmed it mere moments ago.

What remained of the celebration were the fun bits and bobs, confetti scattered on the floor and decorations still hung up. There was leftover cake and wrapping yet to be discarded, a pile of opened presents to organize.

An entire mess.

Rollo reflexively reached for a broom and dustpan only for another hand to come down upon his. He looked up into the gentle face of his vice president.

"Let me get that for you."

Rollo frowned. "I am perfectly capable of assisting with cleaning."

His vice gave him a sympathetic smile as he eased the broom and dustpan out of Rollo's grasp. "I've never doubted that for one second, Mister President—but the clock hasn't quite struck midnight yet."

"That's right," the aide chimed in from atop a stepladder. He was busy unpinning a banner that ran across the doorway. "You should head home early for once. We've got this covered."

"I can see that you two remain stubborn about this matter up until the last second," Rollo said tightly. How irksome.

He had hit a brick wall—and his patience was worn down to its last leg. Swallowing his pride, he relented. "... Very well, I will retire for the evening then. However, I expect to see this room spic and span tomorrow morning for our regular activities.”

"You got it, Mister President!"

He briskly made his exit, leaving the student council members to their duties.

His steps were neat and fleet, leaving not a sound nor a scuff in his path. Quiet as a mouse—or rat—skittering under the cover of night.

At this hour, the halls were dark and desolate, save for the pale moonlight through stained glass. When he passed the windows, their colors flickered, sliced by shadow. The corridor spilled into an atrium, empty like the rest of the school—

Rollo’s footsteps came to a halt. He caught himself on a pillar, his breath hitching.

Flowers.

White ones.

They flooded the atrium, covering the floors and snaking up columns, stairways, and bannisters. Curled petals up to his ankles, the color of them pure as fresh snow, untainted by outside forces. They were shaped like trumpets, filaments sticking out in fanfare.

Lilies, white lilies.

And the light trace of magic in the air, the feeling akin to soap bubbles popping on the skin. A tingle, a sampling of something rich and dark and wrong.

Rollo scowled at the field of flowers. He had no doubt in his mind where the flowers had come from.

A voice called out to him.

"What do you think of my parting gift, Flamme?"

"... Malleus Draconia."

At the name, a pair of luminous green eyes appeared in the darkness. The fairy prince, wearing a bemused grin, emerged from his hiding place. He was across the way from Rollo, poised like a marble statue under a silver spotlight.

“Come to get one last jab in before you crawl home?” Rollo demanded with a scowl. His polite pretenses were cast aside—his true face showing. He approached his archnemesis, not caring that he trampled flora underneath his heel. “The white flowers are a touch dramatic.”

“I thought you would like them.”

“What would give you that impression?”

Malleus laughed, clear and resonant in the large room. He casually stroked a lily climbing up to the ceiling. “I mulled over what your gift should be for the longest time. I finally came to the conclusion that the color white suits you best.”

“I prefer red,” Rollo snapped back, “and no flowers at all if they are to come from you.”

“Ah, but is white not the color of a saint? That is what you are in their eyes.” Malleus showed his teeth. His incisors were like knives. “A savior, a blessing... hence the white. Red is for sinners.”

A chill raced down Rollo’s spine.

Sins crawling on his back.

Discomfort and confusion twisted in his gut. The color crimson, a hot imprint in his heart. Rights and wrongs looked so similar viewed under the same red-colored lenses.

He clenched his fists.

“… You are not welcome here. Get out,” Rollo spat. “Get out now. I do not have the time to take heed of your inane ramblings and attempts at deception…!”

He was getting frantic, his volume growing louder and louder. At the height of the crescendo, it suddenly dropped to a sputter.

Blink, and Malleus was gone. Blink, and the space where he once stood was nothing more than twinkling green lights.

Blink…

… and Rollo was alone among the flowers.

[twistedwonderlandimaginesblog]

Malleus+Chrysanthemums?

Malleus Draconia: 

Chrysanthemums - a vow or promise.

It was another solitary day.

Malleus found that he still favored lone walks, even after being married. You would occasionally join him on his excursions, but you respected the time he wanted to spend alone, always waiting in the same spot for when he finally arrived home. You seemed to have a sixth sense for when your husband would finally appear home, waiting with an amused expression that told him ‘I can read you like a book’.

He never minded it, never minded being known, at least to you.

“Fae like dramatic things, right? Like rituals and whatnot?” He had raised an eyebrow at the random question you posed, nodding his head slowly; there were many things in his culture that were probably baffling to humans like you. “We should do like a special thing at our wedding. Like a promise?”

“Is marriage not already a promise?” He tilted his head with an amused smile as you pouted at him, rolling your eyes.

“Of course it is but it’s the same thing every person who’s married makes! We should have something special, just for us.” You had approached him at that point, looking up at him with loving eyes as he held your hands. “You’re a very special person to me, Malleus. I won’t have any trouble coming up with something special to say.”

“And you believe I would?” There were countless things he could say, countless vows he could make and promises he could, would, fulfill for you. He would burn the world down for you if that was what you wanted, but thankfully he’d chosen a lover who was not inclined toward violence or world domination.

“Mmm, well, we’ll see, won’t we?”

The wedding was wonderful. Elegant decorations, delicious food, you served up to him on a silver platter adorned in the finest clothing in the world. He could hardly tear his eyes from you, and luckily he didn’t have to; he didn’t think he was powerful enough to give anyone else his attention that day. The two of you poised at a long table with all those closest to you, Malleus stuck to your side (though others might say it was you who was stuck to Malleus’), it was a memory he cherished dearly.

He thought about you even now, on his walk where he was supposed to be alone with his thoughts. This path was one he treaded often, his own path created just by how often he’d stroll through the woods to this exact spot. It lead to an open field with only one point of interest, something special to him.

Malleus’ hands gently glided over the smooth stone, his finger tracing along the etched out curves that formed your name. The mausoleum was well taken care of by his own hands, his dedicated alone time often being devoted to this. There were numbers right below your name that had gotten a bit dusty, and while Malleus always felt a burning sensation in his chest when he saw it, he dutifully wiped the dirt away as he couldn’t let such a pristine show of love for you be muddled in any way.

It had already been some hundred years, he thought it would hurt less after all that time.

Until death do we part was one promise in marriage, but he had pulled you aside that night, holding you beneath the glow of the pale moonlight when there was finally a real chance to be alone.

“I make a promise to never forget you, no matter how many years pass.”

[trulycertain]

Favours

Act 2 Tav/Astarion. In which the Shadow-Cursed Lands don't leave much to hunt, Astarion is not having a great time, and Lora proposes a solution. And neither of them have Feelings. No sir. 3.1k.

Read on Ao3

"You're not well,” Lora says, when she finds Astarion at the edge of camp, sitting on a dead log and considering the shadow-rotted corpse of a bird. 

That battle was like something out of a tragedy about curses and overconfidence. She ended up flat on her arse in the mud three times, and her clawed-up arm’s been hastily bandaged rather than healed because she and Shadowheart both ended up so drained. Still, that doesn’t explain this malaise of his. Though prying a straight answer out of him was as impossible as ever, best she can tell, he wasn’t injured. Sometimes he goes somewhere else when he’s lost in memory, or working out how to phrase something deeply unpleasant, or scheming - it’s often scheming - and you just have to wait for him to return. This isn’t that. It didn’t just look like distraction on his face when they headed back to camp; it was more resigned misery, like he’d been hoping for something and not found it.

"I'm fine," he says, staring fixedly at where old flesh is starting to pull away from the cursed raven's bones. It looks like despair. That’s the word she’s been searching for: despair.

"You're pale, even for you." She sits next to him, uncorking her healing potion. "And you're -"

"Don't," he says, a hand raised, and hops up from the log like she's burned him, putting space between them. He still won't look at her.

"Have I done something, or are you just going to be evasive and then snap at me?" Not that it would be any different from usual. They’ve come to understand each other a lot more, these days, but still sometimes end up squinting at each other sometimes. He’s a two-steps-forwards, one-step-back sort of friend. She glares at where the bandages on her forearm are starting to stain, and unpeels them. Not a gash anymore, but the last of it is still -

"Don't be cruel." His voice is quiet, the way it only gets when something is very, very wrong; his shoulders are tense as a lutestring about to break.

At first she thinks it's her words, and then... then she looks at the blood staining her arm, and thinks like a vampire. "...Ah."

"Don't - sound like that." He sighs.

Frowning at him, she pokes, "I just want to know you're all right."

"I'm fine, just trying not to tear your throat out," he snaps - and his fangs are a sharp, intentional gleam of ferality in the moonlight. The briefest hint of regret crosses his face, and he exhales, sagging. "Just... I'll find something tonight, all right?"

If she told him how open he leaves his vulnerabilities sometimes, he’d recoil and snap at her. No, he’d snarl like a cornered warg and then flee camp. She knows he's trying to scare her off; he only does that when he's terrified. "What have you been feeding from?"

If it’s possible, he sags even further, all the indignant stuffing taken out of him. "I had a few supplies. Blood banks, bits and pieces. Then I doubled back, at first - back to around the monastery. Then, when we got too far for that, the land around the inn was... helpful. Squirrel has always been, and continues to be, foul. I did just about leave that ox alive, though honestly, it was on its last legs, it's not as if anyone would have missed it -"

"Since we came out here?" she asks, gently.

Now he looks at her, eyes wild and scarlet. He waves a desperate hand at the land around them. "Look at it. Everything here is dead. Decayed. There's nothing to -" He puts a hand to his face, and grits out, "I've got two miles to cover if I want to hunt, and it doesn't - it shouldn't matter. But I am very, very tired." 

"And starving." She thinks of his oldest doublet, gold thread fraying just a little at the edges; she watches all those carefully chosen words, that spine-upright, darling, I don’t give a damn toff’s poise, do the same.

"Yes,” he says, through gritted teeth, “thank you for reminding me."

"You could always…" She gestures to her neck.

He stares at her, follows the gesture; he seems to have trouble dragging his eyes away from her pulse, even as his words are carefully level. "You did me a favour, and believe me, it was appreciated, but... I always assumed that was a one-off." His voice is getting vaguer by the second. More hopeful.

She shrugs. "You're my friend."

Lathander knows how. It’s also one of the worst decisions she’s ever stumbled into. But things happen, and then you have a vampire unerringly watching your back and politely taking your “don’t you dare kill them” for an answer, and snorting at your jokes before carefully rearranging his face because he thinks you catching him will make you smug. Hm. Run-on sentences. She’ll have to watch those if she ever writes any of this down. At which point everyone will decry the protagonist for being an idiot, because He’s a vampire. Oh, and an insufferable bastard of a toff who toys with the little people like you for amusement. Also for breakfast.  

His eyes snap to her face, as if horror at her naiveté is strong enough to knock him away from the hunger. "It's that simple, is it?"

All right, so he might agree with her readers.

She says, easily, "It can be."

"How are you still alive?" he demands, but he's already stalking back to the log and sitting next to her.

"Some rogue with really good aim keeps watching my back."

He snorts. "Look at that, idle flattery. You really have been around me for too long. Now, not to be gauche, but would you prefer me from behind, or -?"

She's damn lucky she's not one to blush, and that it’s hard to see on her. She offers up her arm, and the two bleeding lines from a shadow’s handiwork.

He swallows audibly, visibly; she watches it in the graceful line of his throat. "That has to heal. If you can't play your lyre because of me, then, well..." He's hiding it, but hunger has put the hint of a glaze in his eyes. "The same reason I'm not asking for your wrist. And the back of your neck would be easier to hide, if you're not in the mood for awkward questions." His eyes skate over her face, her jaw, her neck. For a moment he seems to lose his train of thought again. "You really are unfathomably tall," he manages, with some effort.

Six foot two is far from unfathomable. Still, it doesn’t stop his not infrequent comments on it, or her retorting, every time, "No, you're just short."

Another snort. "On the ground with you, then. If you sit in front of me, I could manage this." Uncertainty blooms in his face. "If you're willing, that is."

That decides it. She downs the healing potion, puts it aside while the warmth of it starting to work spreads through her, and slides off the log. She catches the hint of surprise and something deeper in his eyes as she goes, and does him the favour of looking away.

He never makes as much noise as he should. Maybe it’s the lack of breathing from exertion; maybe it’s a vampire thing; maybe it’s just that preternatural grace, combined with his years of working in the shadows. More and more, as they camp together, she’s growing certain that sometimes he’ll let slip a creak of leather or a sigh just so he doesn’t startle her - or it might just be habit, from back when he was alive.

One moment she could almost be alone in a moonlit clearing save for the feel of a wiry, dense leg against her back - then there’s a whisper of fabric, and leather-clad knees are either side of her. "Just pretend we're swapping secrets and braiding each other's hair," he says, his breath soft on her neck. He brushes said hair away from her skin carefully, in the way of a man who spends far too much time on his own and knows that some things are sacred. "Not that it needs the help; it's rather lovely. High praise, coming from me."

She can’t eye him from here, but she tries anyway. "You're only saying that because I'm doing you a favour."

"Maybe. Or maybe I'm just feeling truthful." He inhales deeply, and she's certain he didn't mean to say it when he murmurs, "You smell amazing."

Hells, they've had sex more than once - he's given her so many easy, florid lines - but that, rough and unpractised in a way she's almost never heard him, threatens to bring heat to her cheeks.

And then he bites down, and it's a little difficult to think of anything at all. Sharp pain, not the worst she's had but not pleasant, either. She makes the smallest undignified noise before she can stop herself - a squeak of pain - and at that, feels the softest pressure against her upper arm.

His hand. She looks down and sees elegant fingers almost white against the dark purple of her shirt, his thumb stroking over her arm soothingly, gently. More gently than she would have thought him capable of.

Pain makes her stupid. She's reaching up, closing her hand over his, before she quite knows what's happening. The air between them tightens a moment with his silent surprise, enough for her to think she's made an utter mistake, that he's about to laugh at her - but he doesn't pull away. His fingers relax against hers.

Because she's doing him a favour, that's all, and because he doesn't want to tear a hole in her throat. She sits there, chest somehow aching because of him even as the pain in her neck has subsided to numbness.

That's the problem: without pain, it's all terribly intimate, in a way she tried very hard to forget last time. She sits here, encircled by him - one of his hands at her waist and the other against hers; his chest a line of wiry, deceptive strength at her back, curved close; that coiffed hair like a feather where it brushes her. His face is warming against her neck with her blood -

Hells. He didn't ask for this intimacy. This is a thing of necessity, not like when they've, well. She's not going to make something of this that it's definitely not. Everyone has to eat. He'll never ask again if she comes over like some sort of pervert.

Right. Lyrics to Over the Mountaintop. The first and second verses she has down by heart, the third needs a little work.

Twixt lands they came upon the sea...

It doesn't feel so bad, is all. It should, and yet. And yet. It has to be a vampire thing, some way to lure their victims into complacency - she doesn't even think he knows he's doing it. He's not used to feeding on people, judging from what he said and the dazed way he looked at her afterwards. Dazed and delighted - really delighted rather than the sneering defensive half-smile she's seen so often, eyes soft and startled... ("I feel... happy.") No, that's not helpful either.

By Helm's balls. Over the well-trod path they roam, with rising mists and seas of -

She almost doesn't catch the softest vibration against her throat - a pleased, approving little sound. A moan. And if she thought she was mistaken, they're so close that she can feel the exact way he tenses the tiniest fraction afterwards, as if he didn't mean to do that...

He might actually kill her. She feels her ears burn.

He carefully takes his teeth from her neck, panting a little - for show or just from habit, surely, but his chest is heaving against her back. "They should bottle you. Especially when you blush. Forgive me, I..." The gentlest, swiftest slip of wetness against her skin; she realises a moment late that it was his tongue, and her few remaining thoughts that were trying to cling on are blown clean away. "You must know, surely. I barely remember not wanting blood, but even you have to have an idea of how you taste."

"I, er... It's never come up?" She should have words. Words. Yes. Bards have those. "Except for the time you tried to bite me."

"That was once. Well, twice now." He still sounds a little uneven. The tickle of his eyelashes, the rapidly warming heat of his breath; she feels him duck his head and take another swift drink from her. And then it becomes something lingering, his lips pursing against her skin. He rests there a moment and says, very quietly, “Thank you.”

She's still realising that was a kiss when he's on his knees in front of her, squinting at her. Damn stupidly fast rogues. He says cheerfully, "Feeling all right? Not about to faint on me, are you?"

"I'm fine."

He raises a finger. Unimpressed, she follows it, side to side, and then gives him a Look. A glare is easier than seeing the new colour in his skin, or the way his eyes have darkened to the colour of, well, blood.

Still, there’s a line between his brows, his mouth a little tight, and there’s something in his eyes that wasn’t there the first time, when he was busy being relieved after two hundred years of starvation: she’s pretty sure that what she sees now is… concern, though he’s hiding it behind a raised brow and a flat look. She tries not to be surprised. Instead, she sighs, and hums a set of notes, the Weave resonating around her - she blinks, and then the hint of lightheadedness is gone. She’s sharp as a dagger. It’s subtle, but she sees him breathe out, just slightly. Feeling at her neck, she finds nothing, not even a mark.

She says, "And you? Feeling better?"

"Oh, much." He runs a thumb over the corner of his mouth, catching a little excess, seeming too distracted to be embarrassed. He gives it a lick, and she contemplates the trees and the dirt and anything else. All that contemplation does is make her realise that maybe it's not him being distracted, but that he's comfortable with her. That's just as frightening in its own way, if gratifying.

He says, "You know, it's oddly... freeing." Catching her curious look, he explains, "I told you, didn't I? Cazador never allowed us to have thinking creatures. I've never... Someone has never willingly..." He waves a hand. "Offered. You know." He blinks, and looks away from her. "I appreciate the reminder I'm not back in his damned palace."

She nods, because she thinks he needs to say this.

"Thank you. For that, and for a rather enjoyable midnight snack." He's already looking away from her, carefully reassembling his mask.

"Astarion?"

"Hm?" He says it with the kind of airiness that means he cares far too much.

"You only have to ask."

"I know. And that's why I don't want to."

She frowns down at him, and he sits back on his haunches with a huff. "The first day I met you, you forgave me for putting a blade to your throat and then gave me blankets. I tried to steal your blood and you offered it to me instead. You... stop and give your time, your money, potentially your damned life to any wretched fool you come across! I refuse to be yet another poor sap you have to rescue."

She stares at him. "That's not - you're not - did I make you feel like that?"

"No, I did. And see, this is exactly what I mean! You're already trying to fix this."

"You're my friend. I don't want to hurt you."

"That - You're just making it worse. This world will eat you alive and instead you're offering it your - your..."

"My neck?" she asks, quietly.

He just looks at her, all frustrated resignation and embarrassment. "Yes, let's just pretend I didn't stumble right into that."

"The second day we met, a goblin caught me unawares. Gale and Lae'zel were at the other side of the field. The person who found it before it could reach me, who saved my life? That was you. You stay up on watches with me, pretending not to be helpful. You've unlocked doors that helped me avoid a head-on fight. You got me the antidote when I was poisoned and stayed to make sure it worked. You stopped me dropping off cliffs in the Underdark. You've helped bandage me up, even though it must have been... difficult, sometimes. I gave you my neck and you didn't kill me."

He squints like he's just smelled something awful. "You're saying I'm rewarding all your naive do-gooding?"

"I'm saying you rescue me constantly. And that you're an idiot."

"Now that -" He waves a finger. "The insults are what I'm used to. That's much better. Now just call me an 'arrogant self-serving toff,' and we can almost be out of this awkwardly complimentary phase of the proceedings."

"That was once," she mutters. "Usually I'm more creative."

"It was a memorable once," he says, casting a look of fond reminiscence to the sky. "I think it might have been your idea of a seduction technique." His eyes settle on her, dark and shrewd. "Well, it worked." He spreads his hands. "Here I am."

She wants to kiss that smug, grinning mouth. She wants to do many deeply stupid things. But... "Astarion, you need to eat."

With a sigh, he says, "You really do like to spoil a mood, don't you? Fine." He climbs easily, swiftly to his feet. "I'll just brave the undead wilds. I'll bring you back the rest?"

"Please. I can only survive on jerky for so long."

"Hmph. One bloodless deer, coming right up. For my bloodless dear." He grins at her, all fangs and twinkling eyes.

"And you say mine are bad," she groans, instead of kissing him, and fucking him, and falling asleep with that soft hair and that pale, half-warmed skin against hers. He's always gone by morning, but those drowsy moments... It's oddly comfortable. Not a bad way to spend a night.

He winks at her and then sidles back off to camp to get his bow; she watches him longer than she should, an elegant moonlit-white shape in the trees until it's swallowed by the darkness.

This story had a shape, a good simple shape; since she met him, she's had to rewrite so much. She wonders what in the hells she's gotten herself into.

[tieflingfingers]

Unwoven and Triple Knotted

What and who: Conflict resolution of mirror scene between Astarion and Thomasin, 18+ soft dom moment. Humor and fluff mixed with inner turmoil. Summary: Thomasin finds Astarion isolated, stargazing, and attempts to confront him about their argument. When her positive comments over his appearance don't land well, she takes another approach and teaches him about the ribbon she ties around her neck. The two find themselves connecting but intimacy at this point of their lives has become muddied and difficult to navigate. Warning/Content: More in the realm of character study, so a lot about two elves that are bad at feelings. OC lore on home in Baldur's Gate, her performative careers, and the ways her and Astarion relate. Part of series. Word Count: 4,775 Ao3 Link

Thomasin was hesitant, but pushed herself up onto each rocky step until she noticed Astarion. Legs stretched out and bathing in the moonlight as she often found him doing in the sun’s shining glow. He looked over at her, emotions difficult to read. The elf’s nonchalant nature quarreled with nervous habits. Shame only shone by his nails digging at the weave of his pants. A nightshirt that cascaded over on his frame, each button immaculate in its stitching, aside from the last, whose threads had been picked and pulled at. His fingers curled inward once caught.

“A night owl come to catch the night’s prey, I presume,” he joked in a quick rebuttal to anything she may have had to say. Any stoicism left on his face waned as he watched his tone. He assumed no sympathy, so the stakes weren’t to worry over.

“Couldn’t sleep,” she said quietly, smoothing her long shirt down to sit beside him. 

The elf let her ruminate in silence, until he noticed something in her peripheral. He had assumed she was entranced by the window of sky just as he was, but the faint constant beat of her vitals inclined. She was looking at him.

“What? What are you looking at?” he asked, unsure whether to be concerned. 

Thomasin sighed, sleep heavy on her eyes. Her palm laid flat against his cheek and rested along the angle of his jawline, taking in the details of his face. The measured inches, curves, and planes of where each feature met. The heat from her skin burned hotter than usual, a signifier when anxieties were being snuffed. 

“I can tell you what I see,” she said as she tilted his face side to side, handling his visage with a particular tenderness.

Astarion’s eye refocused once realizing she was nervous. He had to remind himself, safety had its own sacrifices and her reign wasn't awful. Although tender hands always reminded him of nights where he sat with shy folks, pretending all was normal and the opportunity of sweet delusion. The tiniest crumble of respite. Sweet nothings, bashful glances, and those poor souls that gave him the key to their chest cavity.

The heart was a raw, greedy thing, but it also housed their deepest secrets. Their unfiltered adoration. Impossible to not be utterly captivated by such naivety. Those beautiful natural gems he cradled before they were sent off and cut down into shards and sharp edges.

He dislodged the rhetoric in his mind. Earlier that day, her body had stiffened. He observed how she walked with mechanical grace their entire venture through the Zhent hideout. Heel to toe, grammar, etiquette, and poise. She, too, was prone to discomfort of the past, but inner turmoil often left him blind to such a fact. At least she smiled back at him once more, expression worn and forgiving. These moments always left him slightly puzzled.

Thomasin’s eyes wandered, knitting together compliments and observation alike. 

“Piercing red eyes, but still kind. Strong bone structure cast in a pale light. Shall I keep going?”

Astarion’s face contorted, although careful to not give away his search for ulterior motives. It was easier to ascribe her attempts at creating this mythology to lack of practice. It’d take her at least another century to get to his refined status. “If you wanted to give me obvious little compliments, you could’ve said so.”

Thomasin threw her head back in annoyance, returning back to give him a gentle slap on the cheek.

“After storming off on me, take my advice just this once and choose silence. Let me have my fun. Forbid I not speak of my favored treasures like thy curls and how they intertwine with a caress between my fingers. Thou must be witness to my confession, how besotted I become at the thought of thy strong arched nose. One that can make a bluebird sing even in those most damned of tempests.”

Astarion laughed a bit. Longer than usual, in fact. Something he rehearsed often to figure out how to let it be more natural. At least the prose tickled him. Easier done when he admitted to himself that he enjoyed her habit of brushing away his stray curls hanging down his temple. It had taken him getting used to others seeing his fussed up appearance after bathing in the woods. A scrappier aspect he wasn’t proud of.

 “When did you come up with those?”

“In my spare time, when I find you charming.” She tilted her head. “ As rare as that may be these days. You’ve yet to find the journal I’ve filled with every reason I adore the creases on your cheeks when you laugh.”

Astarion frowned, now all too conscious of the lines embedded with imperfection, and straightened his face. No need to exacerbate the problem. Only now was he thankful she held onto his cheeks so often, preventing his skin from its aging collapse. 

“I think you look lovely. Is that a crime to speak upon?” Thomasin reassured him. 

Astarion rolled his eyes.

“My skin is as pristine as it was when I was a magistrate. How foolish of you to assume anything about this vessel is working by mortal rules. People were sentenced to city square executions for less offensive behavior. ”

She let her jaw go ajar at his lack of tact, pushing his face away from her. “Dearest Magistrate, dare I utter the words? That I’ve enjoyed a freckle or two on your face?”

“Death. First orders to the guillotine, expedited. Rescheduled, then re-expedited.”

Astarion let out a half-hearted chuckle, leaning back against the cold rock wall. This was not behavior he was going to foster. The elf’s fingers ran along his face where her hand last was, as if the teasing had physically stung. 

“But you’ve never complained about mine before, have you?” she protested, resting her back against the rock wall beside him. Her knees clutched in tight to her chest, thin woolen tights insulating her from the cool cave air. Her leg knocked into his playfully. “I caught you counting the freckles on my thighs at the grove once. Heathen. Wait until you’ve counted the ones on my ankles before you go that far.”

He chuckled, but before he could respond, he felt her clutch onto his arm with both hands. As much as the affection caught him off guard, it was accompanied by a much needed exhale from him. Thomasin’s body rested against his, forehead pressed onto his shoulder. The mixture of emotions was confusing. Frightening, even. But this was no abnormal way of being since she was dropped onto the coast to fend for herself and her tadpole. 

City life was comfortable in its monotony, but now it felt like every protective layer she had built was being peeled off constantly. So haphazard, constant peril and danger revealing the gentle genuine inner shell that could be startling at first. Like a stranger, but this was no unknown entity. These were the remnants of young adulthood exposing their wounds in its regression. 

“I hope I didn’t upset you too much earlier” the half-elf uttered, her expression dropping a bit as it lowered. Her voice bent curled at its edges, frayed like parchment dried after a rainy morning

“I’m not upset at you. My past self and his tepid lust for life is just of no importance now.”

He pecked a kiss atop her head, scooping up her cheek to witness her vulnerability. The warmth of her skin. The bare natural state of her face and how fatigue roosted itself into her languid body. He considered how his composure cracked before and the contemptuous untruths he spit at her. Elven hierarchies and their bloodlines were of little priority now. Arguing over the exact definitions of elven maturity even moreso, the elf finding the societal concept of years unreliable. Long after a century, many elves he knew were feeble, sheepish, and unhinged. But, he couldn’t help shelter under the cloak of superiority bred by insecurity.

Astarion funneled the ambivalence towards her in actions he knew best. The elf was not to dwell on what felt uncomfortable. What atrocities he could commit, knowing he was incapable of true intimacy. He could, however, atone for past mistakes in the way he knew best. What all wanted from the dexterity of quick hands and jaded charisma. An apology not from the heart. That was long dead to have any significance.

He was to make it up to her by satiating what was insatiable. Eroticism where once was pain. The elf caressed Thomasin’s face in a manner that seemed practiced, recognizing the beats where he could probe his tongue against hers. Affection he was certainly not unfamiliar with, but not one he was frequent to consider in his arsenal. Feeling her reciprocate, the two still had occasions of awkward fumbles. The overcompensation of those muddied in their early experiences of sensuality. The silent identification of whether to perform carnality or stay alert for threats.

Thomasin could feel herself giving too much, burning down the wick to nothing and watching candle wax drip far faster than she could stop it. A sharp inhale flooded her nose as she pulled back, chuckling between them. “Lust is a fickle thing if we don’t know how to treat her. Or how to treat ourselves, honestly,” she said before swinging a leg over to straddle his lap. 

The half-elf’s violet nightshirt was long enough to hit at her hip, leather strings lacing down its side to personalize one’s shape. Although the garment hung loose along her frame and she began to unlace the string from its eyelets. It slithered from each hole with ease, reliving the fabric of its tension and allowing it to split and settle at the natural indentation of her waist. She, then, gingerly wound it twice around his neck. A little bow now dangled at his adam’s apple, loops pinched at the ends until tied symmetrical. 

“You know how I always wear a ribbon? I picked the habit up again after the crash. Throughout the years, when I’d sleep with, y’know, paying lovers, I kept one tied around my neck. I always said it was for better tips in the end, and part of it was. I think men found it enticing, but I think I liked it because it was the only thing they weren’t allowed to take off. So I could feel in control of at least that.”

Thomsin leaned forward to press her lips along his jawline and neck. Careful, gradual, in the same way she placated previous clients and lovers with anxieties. Signs she caught fast after the sudden urgency of their last sexual encounter. Now, she was to ease into his pace, whatever that may be. To figure out if he was just there for her body and what could be stemmed from its blood and loins. 

“Makes you look darling,” she said, letting her breath brace the crook of his neck, where his bite scars resided. The miniscule twitch of her cheek when she felt him laugh from a blend of amusement and fluster, she hoped. Her next words came out in such a low volume, they could only be understood by the parting of her lips and flicks of her tongue. As if it was only to be heard from his keen ears and not a soul more. “Does it make you feel safe too?”

Astarion’s ears drooped as he endured the rising pang of obligation lighting up within him. He wanted to through the motions set forth. What was planned. He couldn’t process why she would want to derail the inevitable. His fingers hooked onto the waistband of her woolen tights and began to tug downward. A subtle shift in his weight as he tried to take a dominant approach.

She placed both of her hands on his wrists to stop him.

“Please, let me do something for you,” she remonstrated. 

Thomasin was immediate to catch her insistence and recoiled. Not out of bashful regret, but knowing of how cloudy and unclear sexual communication could accidentally become. How, even if he consented, she didn’t want to lose her own agency from a lack of thought. “Unless, I’m overstepping this.”  

Astarion processed the type of intimacy that was happening. His eyes locked onto her, pushing down any malaise until he could sheath it under a practiced grin. Responding in a now humored tone, he pulled his hands back, open palms at her mercy. Playful dramatics in his surrender.

“All is alright. I know the connection we share and how much you want me. How could I say no to such flattery? This is you treating your lust as it deserves to be treated. Should I pretend to be a client? The Anonymous Rivington Special?”

She scrunched her nose at the thought, hiding her disapproval beneath an unimpressed smile as if it was absurd to offer. It wasn’t that her career in Baldur’s Gate was tortuous or even unpleasant. Life there had unconventional quirks and repetition. The same roads, daily newspapers, ignoring bickering on the streets like it was wallpaper. The guards she’d walk around as they penned down the details of a knife fight. A woman and child rejoicing over the same ten magic tricks performed on corners every evening. 

The half-elf survived off barkeeps giving coin for her music and the bar patrons that nearly fell from their seats. Surrounding brothels were always somewhat regulated and the vital gossip was plentiful, giving insight into those requesting private home visits. Both a safety precaution and ample reason to bond with co-workers over bottles of wine.

None of those, however, would lay in her bed at night. Wouldn’t cradle her after her thighs ached and eyes were sore. She was never one to complain, but it didn’t mean there wasn’t a hollowness in the confines of her small home. Even the nicest clients and most loyal bar-goers could show their appreciation only so much.

Thomasin shook her head. “Be here, please,” she whispered and went back to the peppering affection upon him. Mild kisses and nipping that caught the edge of his ear lobes and jaw. Underneath her, she could feel his chest rise and fall with a sigh and his demeanor relax muscle by muscle. His cold embrace resting atop her hips and guiding their rocking motion. A lazy rhythm that needed no allusive interludes or coy lyricism to keep up with. 

Murmurs and muffled giggles skulked from her throat until she noticed his arm move in her peripheral vision. As she leaned back to meet his gaze, she noticed him pointing upward. Not at the moon, but at the particular aura of nothingness around them. He tilted his head, as if to catch noise in its stillness. 

Their campmates weren’t terribly close, it did remind her how the cave’s systems latched onto loud noises and echoed when shouted in. Something Karlach was very fond of entertaining herself with when they first arrived. Astarion lowered his voice, keeping a finger up to punctuate the lack of vibration about. 

“This place will blare your lecherous thoughts,” he warned her.

Thomasin nodded at him, understanding how overwhelming it was for the two, but never to be said aloud. How she had to keep control of herself, as if to preserve some sanctity she couldn’t quite define. Perhaps it was the lingering aftermath of feeling she wasn’t much more than a vessel. The thought was all too consuming. Neither had remembered what intimacy was like within passion and leisure.

Astarion was quick to pull her back in to solidify their agreement. To prevent her from asking questions or voicing more thoughts. His internal motor was powered by pure curiosity and the prospects of sex outside of rigid oppression. He’d been submissive, dominant, and every version of versatile.

Now there was a newfound feeling, leaking like an old ceramic carafe whose baked clay flaked off in fragile chips. No way to keep the water from spilling out, streaming from between his fingers. It was as if emotions were both primary and secondary, fighting to claim the forefront.

All of the battling to and fro muddled the longer her touch explored his bounds. The light tickle of her fingertips and bands of rings grazed over a prominent bulge in his lap. Deepening their contact until it was a massage, kneading at the woven lacing of his pants, awaiting for his sobriety to stutter. How she idly fussed with the baggy pair keeping him clothed, brown linen tied at the waist and tapering into his boots. 

Thomasin could see him fidget under her like a yearning ache he was trying to suppress. A man that remained as collected as he physically could until immediate gratification was stripped. She was now fiddling with the lower half of his shirt. Her touch had retreated up his pelvis and attempted to finesse a button or two open, only to be dissuaded by his hands.

They were pushed back down to take care of the lacing she left behind. An urgency that reassured her he was enjoying himself. The half-elf laughed at his unabashed persuasion, letting her delight buzz between their kissing, while lacquered nails loosened the knot securing his pants tight. 

As the fabric gave way and access, she moved to gain better leverage. Thomasin inched over and straddled atop his thigh. One hand propped against the wall while the other cupped his cheek. Silent but studying his eyes and their curved inner corners. How his eyelids lowered in a manner she had only seen stunted and interrupted. 

The warmth in her fingers dragged downward, leaving an imprint of its presence down his shoulder, clavicle, ribs and then the unfolded flaps of his waistband. The half-elf tittered as a light gasp hit her ears. She continued until she held onto the bare flesh beneath a pair of embroidered underwear, careful consideration being lent as his breathing and muttering devolved. Heavy petting, lingering, laborious. Thorough in her strokes.

Astarion shuddered, feeling the head rush of pleasure elbowing its way in, fogging his thoughts faster than usual. A high he had only felt when savoring the bloodletting between them. The only time he had pushed past this threshold at abrupt speeds. 

Maybe it was the grounding of her weight atop him. It made him want to make up for any time he practiced restraint. Make an apologetic announcement over how foolish he was over the tiniest missteps. Even if he was in the right, logic and context had flown out of his orbit. Scenarios his brain couldn't formulate visuals of, yet alone articulate.

“Enjoying yourself, my sweet?” she whispered, listening to him devolve into panting.

He liked the way that sounded from her lips. 

She was sweet. More delectable than the untouched perfection of a devil’s dinner table spread. Fresh baked pies and grapes in every form. Ripe, crushed, fermented, enticing across polished silver platters. Buttered breads and grilled game signaling harvests and carnivorous tendencies. Garnished by the herbs of a garden manufactured in the hells. The eternal bloom of moonflowers frozen by a beautiful pact.

Astarion let his head roll back, feeling his haggard breath, the jutting air rolling off his tongue. Time felt slow. Silken. Like every sensation was boiling down to feeling her hips sway back and forth upon his leg. His eyes settled on the small crater at the roof of the cave, observing the night sky. The same glowing vastness above him every night, clustered from the lack of light pollution. It was the smattering of stars against the darkness. The speckles reminded him of the freckles on Thomasin’s shoulder and it sent the signal to tilt his head  forward and look at her. 

“Fucking hells, I’d rise from the grave every night for this,” his voice hushed through self-restraint. However, the worry of social decency was getting crushed by eye contact that met back at him. How she looked with bare skin and the evenings he caught himself staring after she washed up in a stream. Her face’s details greyed and softened. Eyes honest in their fatigue and unwavering search for comforts. It triggered his subservience, attempting to offer what compensation she was entitled to. The demands felt like loosened floorboards creaking in his skull, too unstable to commit jumping on.

Astarion figured his face must’ve shone his struggles as she smiled back at him and pressed her lips to his. The elf felt her tongue swirl along his, allowing her to take the lead due to every other muscle occupying his faculties. They all twitched and strained, desperate to betray the last grip of composure left. He wondered if this was what it felt like when others opened their chests, but then noted he hadn’t given a key. His felt like the forced butt of a shovel, cracking ribs and applying steady stents to heal where clumsy hands left. He wondered if it would halve his heart. The organ wouldn’t know what counted as a stake until already split.

Thomasin’s touch gave too much grace for that. She wasn’t just giving him time to run, waiting until he was far enough to no longer anticipate the arrow puncturing between his shoulder blades. The primal urge toward preservation never bubbled to the surface.

The longer he let himself enjoy it all, the more he could accept she paid attention to him. His ears occasionally drooped down and back up, melting, the spontaneous revival, until melting once more. His thoughts became blurred, an ever-confusing mass of connections. Attempts to compare the feeling and identify it. Maybe the high of moonflower sable burning to ash in pipes in seedy bars. It was hard to recall. 

Astarion’s own hands followed her movements and the folds of her stomach until the texture of wool met his fingertips. He yanked at the thin fabric of her tights, elvish pouring out of him from a dictionary long unused. “Orar, descenthallon, tham salen irinal irador. Saren rivvim–” A pause, somehow remembering to consider her partial fluency, and simplifying the elven prose to be understood. “I wish to touch all of you.” 

The half-elf was more than ready to lean aside to let him get rid of the barrier between them. Her fingers untied the other half of her nightshirt so the slits on each side opened for his use. With a covetous hoist, he positioned her back onto his lap and let his fingers glide along her inner thighs. The momentum pulled a giggle from her that only encouraged his rapacious behavior.

Once Thomasin made herself comfortable and widened her stand, she lowered herself down to the hilt, lifting her shirt to view it from her angle. Her shoulders rose in tandem with her heartbeat, acclimating her body to his and the closing space between them. Groans rumbled off his teeth and into the still air as she graduated into a gentle rise and fall. A trance that let Thomasin drag into the mental haze that plagued him. Her own half-lidded eyes met his, their minds blurring into the slow incline of speed.

For the first time, he was able to properly study the details of her body. With her head buried in his shoulder, he collected data like he’d done with countless others. Consuming the ridges and trails of her body. Fingers digging in until indentations were deep within the plush of her thighs. Each bump, bruise, scar. A tactile history on his clammy hands.

It wouldn’t occur to either of them that this outlet came naturally from arrested development. Two folks forced out of their young adulthood and the frivolous mistakes that being young allowed. The privilege of aimless learning they were supposed to share as anecdotes years later. Daring friends to jump off docks, pocketing fireworks to take to city limits, sloppy trysts. Their stories were now told through dismissive jest and omitted details. The opportunity to simply enjoy a night was organic.

Astarion watched as she fell victim to her own greedy hedonism, awaiting for her clenching muscles to seize. Muffled moans hid in the crook of his neck and he pulled her hair back to keep her posture upright and taut. Now facing him, she looked startled and couldn’t help but laugh. 

“Wha- Too loud?”

“I-Lift your arms up for me, ” he whispered, demanding yet wearing a giddy smile that betrayed any dominant persona. 

Astarion unveiled Thomasin in one fluid motion and balled up her nightshirt in his fist, pressing it to the back of her head. Cushioning the impact now, he shoved her back onto the cold rock beneath them. The yelp and subsequent mirth from her lips was dampened with her own clasping hand. But, before she could remove it, he placed his atop hers to further muffle the sounds. Her heavy breathing flowed loudly through her nose as he pressed uncoordinated kisses on her chest.

“You’re doing so well. My veluthe talibund.” 

The elf proceeded to drown out any ounce of negative feelings by focusing on the vibrational feedback ringing through both of their palms. Returning to a thrust, he rutted with no grace, shameless and unable to be inauthentic in any way possible. Selfishness that had mutual benefit and left her grasping onto the nape of his neck. A quick succession that felt a lifetime until his back hunched and his own moans disregarded the cave’s echo. With no shame left to their names, the two shared those long seconds, collecting themselves after a clash of endorphins.

The rock walls bounced their laughter about and awoke creatures scurrying within its confines. Dazed and silly, like ill-mannered young elves, now finding secret moments to be irresponsible for once. Astarion eventually rolled beside her in defeat, lifting his pants around his waist and securing them tight. She clung to his arm as she had the tendency to, but now he allowed himself to be clung onto. 

The silence blanketed them in the afterglow. Bathed them in unspoken intimacy. Like a feeling of warmth that wasn’t attributed to the temperature of her skin. A sensation too good to be true as reality seeped into the elf’s brain once more. The clarity of it all and the gravity of their situation rearing its head. His eyes flicked back open, the twinkle in his eye dampening a bit.

 “When I’m with you, I feel practically alive, yet I crave only to die again, with you,” he whispered.

His words floated above them, heavy in their juxtaposition to what occurred minutes before. Not what was whispered in her ear, but the verbal clanking of faux beads and counterfeit jewels. Shallow poetics only pleasing on the surface. One of many off a mental list of validation. 

“Hm?” she hummed, turning her head to look up at him.

“It’s just that every part of your perfect body whispers temptation. Like the gods made you to simply ruin me.” His limp hand lifted before them, flicking in a gesture to punctuate his powerless victimhood to her pull.

“I-You don’t have to say all that.”

“I’m wonderful at flattery though, darling. What about everyone’s favorite little words?” He let go of any inhibition as he always had before speaking sweet nothings. “I love you.”

Thomasin was instantaneous in her response, loosening her grip so she could sit up and rest upon her palms. The half-elf looked at him perplexed by his sudden shift, voice sedated yet stern. “You shouldn’t say things you don’t mean. Lying won’t appease me.”

He snickered, ensuring he didn’t take the action as rejection, but rather part of the natural tug and pull. “A rather beautiful lie though, isn’t it?”

Thomasin sighed, looking over at the cave’s mouth and then back at him. Even though she was reluctant to, she gathered the scattered clothing around them and bundled them against her chest. “Whatever you say, Astarion. I’m going to clean off in the stream. Goodnight,” she said upon departure, positioning herself to slide down each leveled stone step. 

Astarion smiled watching her go, letting his head rest back down to watch the starry projection in the sky. It wasn’t long until his amusement simmered back into mild worry, however. The space beside him felt empty. Absence now more threatening and enveloping than expected. The elf pinched at the bow around his neck, tugging a long strand until the knot popped free. He could only sneer at himself in self-pity.

[theitcharchives]

Looking for test readers

I'm splitting Taste of Copper in two bc agents and publishers don't like lengthy debuts, and I'm not going to try self publishing again unless I have to. Means both parts need to stand on their own, and that means revision.

I'm candidly looking for beta readers willing to read through 88k words and tell me what they think in this context, and general feedback, there's no fixed deadline but please don't just ghost me, only contact me if you're sure you can finish. I need comps too, can't think of anything besides GOTxBRIDGERTON.

I can't afford paid services or swaps at this moment.

Eye-catching details:

low-key fantasy, soft magic systems (aka The Magic Causes The Problems) in medievalesque setting;

queernorm setting (=queerness is normal in the setting);

sun and moon imagery with Sunshine Cheeky Love Interest falls first and Overthinking Yet Oblivious Moonlight Protagonist falls harder;

protagonist is asexual demiromantic, love interest is bisexual and very romantic (and very respectful of boundaries because it's sexy);

sociopolitical intrigue mostly based on the protagonist trying to Bedazzle Bespoke Bewilder his way through reforming society and gathering a pack of troublemakers to help him do so with investigations and trials (it causes more trouble);

festivals, balls, parties, teamaking, card games over tea, strategizing over tea, turning rivals into friends over tea, the usual;

opinionated horses;

equal focus on the pairing and on enacting large scale projects (writer is aroace and a plotter).

I'm especially looking for aspec readers <3

Let me know you're interested with a message on here. I can give you a google docs or a file in an email, just fill out the questionnaire I'll also link/send you.

Current pitch and first chapter (380 words) below cut. Here's a moodboard

Taste of Copper - Pitch

Ambrose Adenhart grew up walking the line between the noble mundanity and the wild mystical woods, ever restless, ever poised. He’d thought his duty in life was to inherit the Northern Doyen title and rule the Clifflands under the guidance of the Golden and Silver Crowns, healing his home after war and plague swept over it thirteen years before, killing his mother and poisoning the waters.

But when King Edric arrives at Orchard Haven telling him he is the one to wear silver, the gentler hand of ruling, Ambrose understands his life will be yet more complicated–even though a treasure of opportunities has been laid at his bare feet, the chance to expand his ideas from the North to the whole Realm of Rysde, and the perfect excuse to explore his own feelings and wants against the steadfast interest of the charming King.

Stepping into the heart of a Realm still pulling itself together, with his heritage casting shadows and secrets over him, Ambrose has to learn to rule the viper’s nest before the attempts to crush him, his ideas and all he holds dear succeed–the number of vipers biting at his heels isn’t what matters, but Ambrose’s own relationship to the poison.

------

1 - The Apricot

Year 321 RU (Rysde United)

Second week of Late Spring

It was a warm late afternoon when Ambrose decided he fancied an apricot and changed the fate of a Realm.

To be fair, the handsome man with long curly hair wasn't supposed to be there, just napping in the Havenswood under Ambrose's favourite apricot tree. Nobody but him, his father and the gardener with her assistants were allowed in the heart of Orchard Haven.

He paused under the arched threshold, leaning against the smooth white stone. The man–certainly younger than his father, though also older than Ambrose, dark skinned and stubbled and entirely too relaxed under his tree–hadn't heard him arrive.

He fidgeted with his hands, pursing his lips and considering going back to the sunny library painted gold in the early sunset. 

He could have an apricot later. 

Yet, this was his orchard and the man wasn't supposed to be there. 

Dark eyes narrowed, he lifted a pale hand to tug at his coppery curls.

He really wanted that apricot. 

Ambrose adjusted the collar and hem of his light blue tunic so that it reached his knees, wished he'd put on shoes and breeches that morning, straightened his shoulders and marched up to the stranger dozing under his tree.

"Good afternoon, sir,” he greeted with practised courtesy. “You shouldn't be here."

The man's eyes twitched, and he opened one, revealing a hazel iris. 

"I can go wherever I want in my Realm, boy," he gruffed, low and gravelly, with an amused lilt. He puffed out a breath to move a long dark strand of curly hair from his brow.

Ambrose’s face heated in a furious blush as soon as the man's words sunk in. 

"Oh," he whispered, stunned. There was golden embroidery on the man’s red and black tunic, muted by the shadow of the tree. Nobody could wear gold on their clothes but the Monarch of Rysde.

He cleared his throat. "Your Majesty... you are a long way from the capital." 

When had he even arrived? The castle perched on the Foxridge would have noticed something like the royal party of King Edric proceeding through the cultivated Clifflands.

"Aye, I've come for you, little lord." The King squinted up at him and grinned. "You’re to be crowned."

[the-diabolist]

I saw the red list so Lawrence in the balcony with poison? I just dont like Sano :P

Kinktober 2022, day 24

c.w: gn reader, somnophilia, semi-public, fingering. 800w

He'd categorically declined the invitation to attend the party with you (which you'd expected), so you'd gone alone with no hard feelings. To assuage his anxiety, you check in with him every so often - after two hours go by without a text from you, however, it had gotten the better of him. He'd ended up outside your friend's house, hidden, watching.

He can see you through the living room window, playing some kind of game with people he maybe recognizes from your stories and your social media feeds. You've got a cup in hand, which you down pretty quickly, followed by another, and another, as the game progresses.

You're not the only one, either - everyone else seems to be keeping pace, and things gradually become more rowdy. You start laughing hard at something, doubled over with it, leaning a little on the guy next to you. He throws an arm around you to keep you steady, and... Lawrence clenches his fists, agitated. He's not sure what he'll do if he has to keep looking at that.

Luckily, your group chooses that moment to make their way outside into the large backyard, making a beeline for the in-ground pool. That does mean, however, that he needs to move in a hurry to avoid being seen; he all but dives behind some hedges, and inches down the row until he catches sight of you again.

You're reclining on a patio chaise, watching through drooping eyelids as a couple of the others light sparklers and goof around. The rest of the house has quieted down; the other guests seem to have left or fallen asleep. He feels well-hidden, so he focuses entirely on you.

You look so warm, and sleepy, and blissfully intoxicated. He watches you chuckle occasionally at your friends, and then gradually start to drift off. By the time you're fast asleep, the others have settled in across the pool from you, well on their collective way to falling asleep as well.

He waits another hour, watching the even, slow rise and fall of your chest, just to be sure... and then he creeps out of his cover like a nervous rabbit, finding his way to your side without incident in the bright moonlight.

He spares an anxious glance for your friends, behind him. They seem to be out - one of them is even snoring noisily. It gives him enough confidence to reach out and touch your face, softly, tracing your cheekbone, your jaw, your lower lip.

You don't stir, and neither does anyone else. His fingers trail down your neck, over your clavicle - he moves closer, leaning over you on the chair, and tugs down your collar, planting wet kisses over your exposed skin.

His face flushes as he starts breathing harder. He parts your thighs and moves between them, hands sliding under your shirt for a better feel of you, but he wants more; he unbuttons your pants and slips his hand beneath your waistband, moving lower and lower until the tip of his finger prods at your entrance.

The snoring stops suddenly, and he whips around with his heart in his throat - one of your friends is shifting around, and his hands freeze as he watches with baited breath, ready to bolt at a moment's notice. Finally, though, the other person settles back in and begins snoring again.

He slowly pushes a digit inside you, sinking steadily into your warmth, and he watches the way your eyebrows knit together slightly. His breath shudders at the sight; he gets impatient and slides in another finger before he starts pumping them back and forth.

A soft gasp falls from your mouth as you shift, hips rocking minutely with the motions of his wrist. His lips find yours in a gentle kiss, perfectly poised to breathe in the tiny moan that slips out from between them as his pace gets rougher.

By the time his hand retreats slightly, moving back upward to stroke you where you're the most sensitive, he's started to coax louder sounds from your throat - loud enough that your friends would be able to hear you if they were awake, he thinks.

He would've expected that thought to be frightening, that he'd be terrified you might wake them, and he'd be caught - but as you sound one particularly rough cry, he only feels excitement. He half wishes that overly-physical friend of yours would wake up and see him touching you, watch him make you come...

...which you do, in short order, and without quite waking up, though you do get close, he thinks. Your moan is alarmingly loud in the still night air, but no one rouses as a result. He supposes he'll have to be content with the idea of the sound sinking into the other man's dreams.

When your friends wake up the next morning, you're gone. When you wake up, you're warm and cozy in bed, and Lawrence is waiting with a glass of water, a couple of tylenol, and a fond kiss.

[glasswinggames]

OHO???? Writing prompts? Then I send one in for my most beloved Jedrek, perhaps the mc is enraptured with how he appears in photos(they.....have some form of camera right? I assumed so with the magitech and what its capable of in this game), even outside of the little reporting work they do, so more often than not they end up staring at him like hes a piece of art- maybe this happens so often the mc spaces out- a vague prompt but I figure u can work more with this since im giving a specific interest for this prompt

Omg I love writing Jed!! 👀 And this prompt!!

Also they do have matech! The exact design of the camera is still being workshopped but I'm kinda imagining it having steampunk type vibes!

Writing below expand more line! Thank you for the prompt! 😘

For extra fun tidbits I was listening to In the Middle of the Night by Elley Duhé when writing this! (That's my go to song for Jed!)

CW: References to blood and m0rder

At first, you'd only kept the photograph to remember his face. So that even when your mind forcefully forgot his name, his gravelly voice, or the feeling of his hands brushing against your throat every time he wanted to remind you what he was capable of, you'd always remember what he looked like. It was never meant to be anything more than that, a preventative measure to protect yourself from the monster of a man who you'd come to… collaborate with. 

Yet, as you stare at the Polaroid like picture, tentatively perched between two fingers, you can't explain the feeling that curses you. For what should horrify you to your core, what in fact already horrifies the nation every time they see one of your articles, instead you find it hauntingly beautiful. The way he postures, ready to pounce on his victim, how the moonlight catches his hair to reflect an opalescent glow, how his pointed teeth bare in his cruel smile… it's artistic in a way.

Though, whether it's your own talent or the subject of your lens that you admire, is not something you find easy to answer. 

Your eyes flit between the photo and the almost perfect recreation of the scene that unfolds before you until the photo is no longer sufficient, your gaze completely entranced by the killer. You barely even notice the prey, their screams just a background noise at this point. You wonder, what scene must Jedrek be showing the helpless victim for his ruby eyes to gleam so brightly, to render him so full of delight that his pale cheeks flush in satisfaction, as his teeth bare, poised and ready to take his prize at the perfect moment.

You know you should take be taking pictures right now, but you can't bring yourself to trigger the camera; you're too lost in the terrifying beauty of it all. 

“Am I boring you, Kitten?” The gravelly breath against your ear breaks you from your daydream, and your senses are overwhelmed by the metallic smell as your space is completely invaded by the subject of your thoughts. Though his crimson stained lips curve into a smile, you can tell, for having been the one to capture his every expression, that he isn't happy.

“I was just distracted, trying to decide the right shot to take for tomorrow's edition.” You know he can hear that slight jump in the pace of your heartbeat when you lie, you know that he is almost breathing in the signs of your attempt at deceit, as is his nature, but you still try regardless. 

“I'm sure I gave you plenty, yet I didn't see you use that device of yours once.” Fingers against your jaw force you to look at him, and your breath can't help but hitch the same way it did when you first met. Every fibre of your being tells you to run, that he's dangerous, yet it's exactly that same part of you that thinks he's dazzling. A long, sharp finger trails down the artery in your throat. “Now, what exactly were you thinking? Oh, and I wouldn't lie to me again. Your heart always gives you away.”

“You're like a piece of art–” your words bubble out before you could even attempt to stop them, and you can't help but curse yourself for it. 

Unexpectedly, instead of teeth ripping through your throat like you'd braced for, it's laughter that tears through the air. 

“Jed?” Your voice ripe with disbelief, you daringly question the man who cackles with pure joy at your answer. 

Before you can react, his arms enclose you against the wall, the stone scratching at any exposed skin on your back, and he gives no opening for escape. His whole body casts yours in shadow, as if he suddenly grows several feet, and the only light that highlights you both is the ravenous glow of hellfire in his eyes. 

“You are such a strange one, I'm starting to think you're not half as afraid of me as you should be. Maybe I should rectify that.” 

“No!” Your voice comes out embarrassingly strangled. You've seen what he's capable of, and you had no desire to be on the receiving end, even if you did seem to have a tendency to enjoy watching the show. “I know exactly how scared I should be.”

“Ah that's the key word, should. You should be scared of me, but instead, I don't think you'd complain if I was to make you scream.” 

“No… that…” Your mind scrambles over the innuendo, trying to figure out whether he actually meant his implication or whether he was teasing you… again.

“Hm, turns out there's more ways other than fear I can use to make your heart race Kitten. How fun.” He seems delighted at the fact; he did always love something new and entertaining. “What else could I do to make it jump for me?” Fingers whisper against your shoulders, down your arms, interlocking with your own… and pinning your hands above your head. His grip is inhumanely strong, and no matter how much or little you struggle, it does nothing but appear to amuse him. “What if I was to do this?” His low voice somehow drops further as he leans in to brush just against the lobe of your ear. “You wouldn't know if I was going to make you relive every nightmare you've ever had,” whilst one hand remains to restrain your own, the other thumb runs against your lower lip. You can taste the iron stain left in his wake. “Or if I was going to kiss you.” He laughs, deep and low, “though who says I can't do both. Pleasure and pain both sound fun, don't they?” 

“Yet you do neither.” You gulp with whatever stupid bravado you decide to muster. Why are you so reckless? Did your sense of self-preservation just decide to go off on a holiday? Or are you just an idiot–

“I don't think you could handle it, and I'd hate for you to break too quickly.” His hand finds purchase over your throat, applying a warning amount of pressure.

“I'm not scared of you, Jedrek.” 

“You should be.” 

[absensia-archived]

she’s heard this sound before in her dreams,  in her nightmares.  the loud and pained moan of metal splitting apart at the seams, bending against the will of its molecules,  shrieks,  whimpers hidden beneath the crescendo of its eventual roar as the whole thing came crashing, crumpling down.   charlotte knew what this sound meant and although the scream of it shook her to her bones each time,  she was glad for it;   IT WAS A WARNING.   this,  what she’d learned from the darkest depths of her unconscious world,  saved her life now.  the goblin wouldn’t have known to escape.  the goblin couldn’t even hear the warning shriek of metal collapsing over the sound of her own shrieking laughter.   she was still laughing when her footing suddenly dislodged from the holds of the glider,  leg muscles bunching to push herself backwards out of the way of the wall of steel falling like a mountainous shadow over their little form,  swallowing her in the dark.

there was no way to completely escape the crush of water that poured out the tipping reserve,  but at least without the glider pulsating ‘neath her feet,  holding her high above the ground,  she no longer had far to fall.  she hit the ground and rolled off the impact a split second before the water crashed over her,  knocking her down,   the air out of her lungs,  and silenced the manic cackling left over at the cavern of her throat and mouth.   the force was enough to push her to the other side of the rooftop before spilling over the ledge,  raining down on the streets below where a few red and blue lights still flashed helplessly,  uselessly.   charlotte gasped as she came up on one knee,  extending the other leg to find enough balance to straighten her back.  her hair had come half - undone and a few wet tendrils now hung about that grinning mask,  covering the dark lens of the eyes,  further disorientating her to which flash of red and blue she needed to hone in on.  with one hand still under water and her forearm pressed to the ground,  the cold water coming up to the middle of her bicep,  charlotte gave a shout half in frustration,  half with the need to shut up the twittering of that wretched creature that’d left her to deal with this mess alone.  she did not, and could not, miss that there was just enough water pooled now for her to drown face - down in.   

     ＳＩＬＬＹ  ＣＨＡＲＬＩＥ！     ⁱᶠ   ʸᵒᵘ  ᵃʳᵉ  ᵍᵒⁱⁿᵍ  ᵗᵒ  ᵈʳᵒʷⁿ,   ⁱᵗ  ʷᵒⁿ'ᵗ  ᵇᵉ  ⁱⁿ  ʷᵃᵗᵉʳ  ᵗʰⁱˢ  ᵗⁱᵐᵉ.

                                                           𝐈𝐓'𝐋𝐋 𝐁𝐄 𝐈𝐍 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐎𝐖𝐍 𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐃.

with a sharp toss of her head,  charlotte whipped her soaked hair out of her face,  and in the same moment,  reached her right hand behind her,  tucking it under the tail of her black coat where she had two items hidden and clipped to a harness,  resting her hand there,  poised and ready to choose,  and only stilled when she heard that irritating voice call out her name.  EASY,  OLESEN.   she followed the sound of his voice and landed on the empty spot on the distant corner of the roof top a second before he landed there,  crouched and coiled,  those large bug eyes peering at her through the darkness.   I KNOW IT’S YOU UNDER THAT MASK.    WHY DON’T WE TALK THIS OUT,  SPIDER TO GOBLIN?           /            @arachbit   .

she breathed hard and against all instinct,  against the cries of the goblin,  hung her head for just a moment,  looking away from the spider.   “  OH,  PETEY. . .  ”   his name came with a sigh and a cruel half - chuckle,  though it was not completely clear at whom she was still laughing at. she canted her head,  the grotesque mask tilting to regard spider - man, appearing odd beneath the moonlight as shadows moved over it.  it was her underneath the mask,  that much was true.  but it wasn’t only her and it would never be only her.  charlotte’s strained breathing clashed with the wide grin that stayed stuck on the mask, giving the look an air of madness. beneath the mask, charlotte sucked and blew breath out through gritted teeth and the goblin tapped her foot impatiently,  the sound like the ringing of bullets inside the echo chamber of her mind.   keeping still,  charlotte made an effort to slow her breathing while she steadied her gaze on spider - man.    the next time she spoke,  her voice rang clear and calm.

“   WHAT IS THERE TO TALK ABOUT,  HM?  WHAT IS THERE TO SAY?   ”   surely,  he couldn’t believe that he was the only with obligations,  with responsibilities.  in this game,  we all had our role to play.  she had never meant to become this sort of villain;  the kind with an inevitable ending because in this world, in this absurd world where mere insects survived floods and fires,  she would have to lose.   how was that fair?  CHAOS SHOULD NOT DISCRIMINATE.  slowly,  she straightened out of her resting position,  holding the tension at her core and squaring her shoulders as she lifted her hand out of the water,  a bright orange dot glowing in the dark out of the top of her curled fist.  her thumb dug into the edge of a flip switch of the detonator.  it’d be a lie to say that charlotte didn’t know that it would’ve been simpler to have toggled the switch while her hand had been underwater;  that showing her hand would give way to failure.  it was common sense and it was history repeating itself.  now she would have to give spider - man the satisfaction of stopping the black goblin  -  at least,  for tonight.  but there were other plans in place and so,  she lifted her hand higher,  hoisting that orange dot up into the air.  who ever said being a villain was easy?  charlotte tensed her thumb on the switch and drew a breath to say,

                     “    NOT EVERYBODY HAS A CHOICE,  PARKER.  NOT LIKE YOU.     ”   

[parkerlyn]

touching / 37 / oisein 👀

cannot wait for more chaos & softness 🥰

(remember kids, don't fall for peer pressure and terrible friends like Oisein adfsakljl) Thank you for the asks! ❤️

putting their head on the other's chest | holding hands while jumping down from somewhere together

You try to remember how the conversation went, considering where you've ended up. How did you finally agree? Did you actually finally agree? Did you get marionetted? Were you going to have to find a way to quietly murder Oisein?

They had come to you, all teeth in a terrible grin and splotchy, glowing markings flickering with excitement.

"Absolutely not."

"Please please please please-"

"Oisein, I'm not jumping down the Saor waterfall!"

They bring their hands inward like a prayer and give their best attempt at a pout and pitiful eyes. The whole charade looks much less innocent as their long, sharp nails clack together, though. "But the pool is fuller from the recent rains and Heleen won't go without Mav and Mav won't go unless I do and I need moral support. And by moral support I mean you jumping with me."

"The base is right at the edge of the hydro pillars - what if someone from Saor is out there?!"

"We'll wear our glamours!! I was already planning on it, not trying to snap one of these," they say with a nonchalant wave to an antler. "Any mortalis will just think we're a bunch of reckless assholes."

"You ARE being a reckless asshole!"

"Oh it's not even that high, and Heleen and Mav are both elementalists-"

The rest of the conversation blurs out among the dark branches above the Sanctum, and the odd image of Oisein happily skipping away.

Which would explain your current predicament.

The raucous water tumbling over the cliff's edge sprays onto your bare legs and crossed arms, icy pinpricks kissing at your elbow and shins. Thunderous sounds echo back up to the top of the cavern and into the canyon beyond where the stone rings of Saor glint like silver bracelets, delicately detailed with the reflection of thousands of windows.

More whooping and yelling comes from below - far, far below - as what looks to be a pale mortalis woman with coiling ginger hair laughs on the bank. She leans forward, lifting herself from a grassy patch, to throw a scoop of darkened water at a thin person lounging waist deep at the water's edge, the wet sheen of their deep brown skin reflecting moonlight into your eyes. Without their sheevra forms, an unconscious part of you wants to stay out of their sight. But you will yourself to remember the prickly desert flowers of Heleen's markings as she lays back down again, and the winding orchids that normally curl over Mav's shoulders as they blow raspberries in the woman's direction.

Oisein says something next to you, but when you don't respond over the rushing water, they raise their voice.

"If you kill me now, they'll know it was you! So-"

"What?"

Oisein smiles widely next to you as you turn, their disguise more familiar. Their honeyed waves of hair, currently pulled back into a tight bun, provide some comfort alongside the earthy freckles speckling their tanned skin.

Or well, it would, if they weren't the reason you were in this mess in the first place.

Remembering that, you snap your head forward again with a huff.

They laugh - nervously, you notice - and step forward towards the edge of the stone precipice, peering down below. Their bare toes curl into the rock, shoulders rising as they hold a breath. "Okay!" they almost shout over the echoing noise. "It's a little further up than I thought it was. But that's why we're doing this together, right?" The smile turns apologetic while their eyes stay fixated on the drop, but any sympathy you have has already been washed away with the falls, plummeting into the pool below.

You glare at them again, though their edges are blurred and softened by the mist surrounding them, a faint glow diffusing from the stars in the background and the weak light of their markings.

Despite your harshly set face, they turn back to you and pause, before slowly hold out their hand. Curled fingers hesitate for a moment and then unfurl, showing you their empty palm.

You press your lips into as thin of a line as you can possibly muster, determined to glare them off the edge of the waterfall without taking you down with them.

"Can't do this without you," you read from their lips more than hear, their chin lowering but eyes still held your face. The outstretched hand still waits, though you notice a fearful shiver run from their wrist and up towards their collar.

What feels like an eternity passes before you finally give a heavy sigh and uncross your arms, stepping towards Oisein. You slap your hand into theirs, the base of your thumb fitting squarely into their palm, and they wrap their fingers tightly around your hand as you both turn outward to the open air.

The moments begin to blur like the conversation that led you here. A swallow and a flare of their nostrils. Your fingers gripping tensely against their knuckles. One more furtive look to each other and an anxious song kindling in the magic leaking out from the tense leanhaun.

And suddenly, you're flying.

A burst of air pushes you clear of the cliff as you jump, a bright chord that lifts you safely away. The wind whips and streams over your arms as your stomach lurches up into your ribs, your legs cycling through the air. Sound boils and bursts through your throat in tandem with an ecstatic screech from Oisein, muted by the roar of wind and water.

Even as you hurtle nearer to the waterfall's base, the blackened pool quickly approaching, your hands still remain tightly clasped together.

And then, you're floating. Stomach rolling downward against a pillow of swirling wind, water lapping up towards your ankles, twisting upward in lazy tendrils from the surface of the pool. You look down the last dozen feet to see Mav's hands glowing in the water, Heleen's poised expertly in the air above her face. They grin just as you look to Oisein, who laughs, loud and exuberant, water droplets floating near the loose strands of hair that glide gently around their ears.

You catch a sneaky smirk exchanged between the other two sheevra before they release their magic, dropping you the last few feet to plunge into the water.

Chilled bubbles race over your body as you break the surface, taking a quick breath and slamming your eyes shut. The water rushes in around you, weaving over your neck and surrounding you in a bracing cocoon. Muffled murmuring sounds somewhere in the distance (where the waterfall ends?) and you take a chance to open your eyes against the current. Above you the water glitters darkly, scattering the image of the night sky and and reflecting a murky outline of your body back to you.

The heat in your hand finally registers again, the only source of warmth bursting over your fingers as Oisein pulls upward, more bubbles flowing over their windmilling arm and where their feet kick below. It only takes a few seconds more to feel the tug at your shoulder, before you emerge together in a tangle of limbs and gulp in a desperate breath.

While they move backwards and help pull you from the water, Oisein is already berating Mav and Heleen, who snort and giggle together a few feet away. But despite the chiding, there’s a wide grin on their face as they fall back onto their elbows and pull you up towards them, repeating quiet questions of "You okay? You alright?" You nod, cough once, and laugh despite yourself, arms wobbly from the adrenaline and knees digging into the dirt between Oisein’s legs. As more of your senses return, you notice an unwelcome lack of warmth in your palm, but immediately brush that thought away.

The blonde sheevra goes silent eventually, breathing deeply as the wet, ivory cloth of their shirt clings tightly to their chest. They lay their head back against the grass and blink their eyes, splaying their arms out wide.

Without thinking, you collapse where your arms have taken you, thumping your soaked head face first against their chest and elbows framing their hips. There’s a small 'oof' and a laugh that shakes your head when you make contact, before your head bobs with their even breathing.

A chill comes near your body, but the worst of it is held at bay as Oisein’s hands move down to your shoulders, giving them a reassuring squeeze. When you pry your head back up there’s a smile - gentler than usual - alighting their lips. Their hands stay, rubbing warmth into your muscles and eventually resting along your upper arms.

You'd thought their breathing had settled, but you can’t help but notice the quickening pace of their heart and the way they still themself, trying to restrict the rise and fall of their lungs. They swallow, much like they did before you leaped, and you feel their legs tense against yours. Infinite seconds pass while Oisein's lips barely part, neither of you wanting to break the moment.

Which Mav happily does, whistling shrilly at your side.

Oisein scoffs and removes one of their hands to flip them off while carefully putting a little more space between your bodies, shifting awkwardly up the grassy hill. Disappointment drops rudely in your gut while they shiver noticeably again, the sudden absence of your body against theirs bringing back the full effects of the autumn night.

But in the next instant, their head turns to the side, bangs flopping unceremoniously over one of their vibrant eyes before a mischievous look twists their face.

“Wanna go again?”

[angelguk]

so much happens in this it’s such a huge mess omg. the return of the angst plot line of jock!jk (aka pretty boy universe please check ml for the other parts). this time featuring: Angst (with a capital A), miscommunication that makes you want to scream, chayoung’s true nature, namjoon catching stray bullets (figuratively), and lucas being a gem. also jungkook is somewhat semi-violent in this one (in terms of thoughts and some actions but no one gets hurt) so please don’t read this if that makes you uncomfortable. in general just an angry heartbroken boy. also oc is finally doing something good. listen to mess it up by gracie abrams + if we were made of water by banks + i will by mitksi + save room for us by tinashe. roughly 4.2k

titled — old friends, new foes

The spring scavenger hunt is an enormous success, all thanks to your careful planning and Bina’s much needed support. While you excelled at organising, you heavily lacked in the social aspect, something Bina fulfilled with smart marketing and a bright personality that drew in a larger crowd than you thought would appear. It's partially expected–she was head of the Events Committee for a reason–but it felt a little strange to lean onto her instead of Jeongguk. He was the one who usually spearheaded that side of your event plans, more than anyone else, and while planning this one you felt his absence tenfold. Like a gigantic gaping hole excavating through your chest and leaving behind a lonely hollow.

That hollowness surges when you spot him meandering towards the third location at the university courtyard, his fingers tangled with Hyeri’s. You slowly turn away from them, heart aching with each thud against your ribs, hoping they haven’t seen you. Maybe Bina sees the fall on your features because she’s gently tapping your arm, leaning in with a graceful brush of her amber locks over her shoulder.  

“Are you okay?” Her voice is soft, feathering through the late afternoon breeze to reach your ear. 

You’re about to say it, the pained ‘I’m fine' that had become a part of your routine. But then you hear him, loud effervescent laugh hitting the air, the sound striking your false demeanour down. Your vision blurs before you could choke the word out and suddenly Bina’s arm is firmly around you, guiding your heavy feet far away from the presence evoking your pain. 

“I’m fine,” you finally manage to choke up, folding into yourself in the middle of a bench. She stares at you for a moment, before taking a deep breath and sharply clicking her tongue.

“You’re not.” Her eyes are gentle despite the harshness of her words. “I know this isn’t my place, but I do know why you stopped coming to committee meetings.” 

The scoff you let out is instinctive. The jarring sound is a stark contrast to the action of your hand hurriedly wiping away the stray tears staining your cheeks. Of course, you’d avoided committee meetings – why the hell would you go when the president was your ex?

“And,” Bina continues, pointedly ignoring your reaction. Her hand reaches out moving to intertwine your fingers. You focus on the image of her sharp stiletto shaped nails that glitter under the glow of the sun settling on your lap instead of the thumping of your heart as she speaks. “Judging from what I’ve seen, it hasn’t been easy for him either. I know you’re probably thinking that you were the only one who cared about him–about your relationship, but I’m pretty sure he did too. So it’s perfectly okay for you to feel like this, no matter how long it’s been.”

Two months and three weeks, you mentally add. A lifetime and a single blink simultaneously. 

“I didn’t need to know that,” you say, hoping to kill the hope fluttering in your heart. Bina squeezes your hand instead and gives it wings.

“You did. Also, Jeongguk’s kind of an asshole. Sorry if it’s too soon.”

It’s not, and you can’t help the tiny laugh that escapes from your throat. You glance up at her then, suddenly glad for the dazzling glossed coated smile that greets you.

“But,” she continues. “You’re doing the wrong thing too. I know you’re dating Lucas and it’s not fair to him when you’re still hung up on Jeongguk.”

“I know,” you admit. “And I’m going to fix that.”

She beams. “I hope you do. Don’t let him make you pick the wrong choices. You deserve better than that.”

Perhaps it was her words of reassurance that aided in getting you out of the house tonight. (Or it was Bina gingerly whacking your arm and insisting you needed to reward yourself for working hard). But a minuscule part of you is glad you heeded her advice. The music is louder than the words bouncing around your head, sound shoving your sorrow down as Chayoung hands you another drink. Everything is fast, bodies shifting wildly around you and the faint sound of a beer pong game capturing everyone’s attention. For a moment, you begin to forget. But then Lucas’s looming head materializes before you and guilt swarms your heart.

“Hey,” he offers, deep timbre sinking into your bones. You might just throw up.

You haven’t told him about Namjoon. You can’t bear to. But there’s something else more urgent that you need to say to him first.

Chayoung watches through narrow eyes when he leans forward to brush a light kiss on your cheek. He’s so sweet it makes your mouth turn sour. 

“Haven’t seen you around,” Lucas continues, slipping beside you. A steady hand settles at the base of your back. You almost jolt away. 

Chayoung’s face is hard, expression carved out of marble as she stares you down. You know she’s mad at you, rightfully so. Even Sieun hadn’t said anything for a few days after you’d told them about Namjoon. You were mad at yourself too. For what you did–for what you need to do to fix it.

“Been busy. Planning the scavenger hunt and all,” you say, gaze glued to a random lamp at the opposite side of the room. It’s easier than staring at Lucas, who’s still so warm and bright. Practically glowing like he’s got the Sun living in his chest. 

You hope you don’t leave him cloudy.

He weaves his hand into yours, a pleasant noise escaping past his lips. “I know. Great job, by the way. You should be proud.”

Chayoung slinks away at that, the glower on her features burning your blood. You haven’t told anybody yet because you don’t want their advice on this. But you do need to end things with Lucas. It wasn’t fair to him. Yet, it feels nearly impossible when you tear your eyes off the fading figure of your friend and glance up to find him staring at you with the softest smile.

All you do is hurt good people. 

It’s a terrible realisation but it forces you to croak out the words, a rip forming inside of you when that soft smile slips off his face at the sound of them.

“We need to talk.”

But the second they are out you feel something in the world click into place like you’re finally making the right steps toward the correct path even though you need to step on the hearts of others to get there. 

Lucas lets you lead him in silence, the weight of it sinking onto your shoulders when he closes the door behind him, the music giving way to the noise in your head. When he turns to face you, watching apprehensively as you perch yourself at the edge of the bed in the room, it all begins to feel like deja vu. Except you’re on the other side.

“So,” you start, eyes on the wall. The feeling of the mattress dipping as Lucas descends beside you pulls your gaze back to him, heartstrings thrumming when the moonlight leaking through the opened curtains pools into his eyes.

How could Jeongguk have done this?

“We need to end this,” you say, realising as the air leaves your lungs that he did it like this. Like he needed to breath. It feels like cutting an anchor off your ankle, head breaking through furious waters to finally find air.

Lucas pauses, blinking slow. You don’t fill the emptiness with more words, afraid you’ll pour salt into an open wound. He lets what you said ruminate, eyes shifting to the scene around you. A random room, bathed by the glow of the room, and two hearts opposing each other–one already poised to leave. One that was never really there.

“Why?” It’s said lowly. You know why. You owe him this admission, after dragging him around on a sinking ship. But the words refuse to part from your throat. 

“I’m not right for you,” you say instead, hoping he understands. By the flicker across his eyes, he doesn’t. “Like,” you try, your eyes dropping to where his heart lies. “You’ve got a lot of good in you and I don’t. We don’t match.”

Lucas cocks his head, staring at the ceiling. And this his gaze careens to you.

“You don’t think you’re a good person?”

“Well–” you splutter. But Lucas isn’t having it.

“You’re a lovely person, Y/N. With a lot of good in you too. You are kind of shitty for this though but every good person does shitty things.” It’s said factually like he needs you to understand this.

“I know that–”

“You don’t. You put yourself down too much. Why do you think Jeongguk loved you?”

Oh. That seizes that air from your chest, Lucas’s gaze slamming into your own with a surety that stings. 

“Why do you think I like you?” He adds. You don’t know what to do, nervous system spazzing at this information assault. “And I know why you want to end this. You could have said it. I understand, though. The two of you did fight together so well.” He gets up then, towering like a God dictating judgment. “I didn’t expect you to stop loving him immediately, you know.” He’s near the door now, not fleeing but parting a new path. There’s a weird smile on his lips, like the forging of his steps hurts as much yours does. It’s like it’s been hung there, not pulled from his heart like you’d grown used to seeing. 

“What did you expect?” You can’t help but ask.

He pauses, the door half-open. You could tell him to shut it, you could tell him to stay. 

You don’t want to.

“That maybe one day you would love me more than you loved him,” Lucas whispers. He sees the fall on your features, knows the answer on your lips instantly. “But it’s okay that you never could.”

And then he’s gone, honey blonde hair swallowed by the crowd even with his impossible height. He leaves the door ajar, the music seeping into the room. But this time your head is louder, surer. Because Lucas just let you know something you weren’t even aware of yourself. There was no room for anybody else except Jeongguk. And it truly wasn’t fair to offer him your heart when it was half a world away.

—

Half a world away is apparently glaring at the shrubs flanking the back garden. Jeongguk doesn’t know who’s house this is. He doesn’t care either because at the moment he’s considering burning it down. He’d just seen you amble into a room, Lucas trailing behind like a stupid dog and his heart clenching hard in his chest. It took two seconds after the door shut for him to shove Hyeri off his lap and mumble something about needing air.

(What he needed was you).

The coolness of the night ebbed at his boiling blood, but nothing could ease the ache. 

“You look like you need a drink,” Chayoung’s voice feels alien, creeping up his back. He turns to look at her, a polite comment on how he’d like to be left alone hanging on his lips. She interrupts it by handing him a cup, a tender smile gracing her lips. Jeongguk accepts it with a shrug, hoping the burn in his throat will be a distraction. It isn’t. But he forces another sip down as Chayoung slithers outside too, the room behind her glowing as if the building was on fire.

What store sells matches and lighter fluid in the middle of the night? And won’t ask incriminating questions? 

“Why the long face?” She asks, peering at him from the corner of her eye.

Jeongguk shrugs, the words in his head refusing to form into understandable sounds.

“Hyeri not cutting it?” Chayoung murmurs. His eyes snap to her, but she’s not staring at him, her gaze fixed on the dark sky. 

“What do you mean?” Jeongguk is baffled say the least. He thought his act with Hyeri was a little bit more solid proof. He liked her–somewhat. 

Chayoung turns slow, almost sinisterly, a glint in her brown eyes that unsettles him. “I just don’t think she’s in your league.”

The scoff that leaves Jeongguk’s throat burns. He hated that stupid idea of leagues. You should like a person for who they are, not where they stand in foolish social hierarchies. But Chayoung reads his response wrong, suddenly impossibly close, a stray finger trailing along his shoulder. Her nails are talons. He shudders, trying to hide it by leaning away. Chayoung just leans closer, alcohol tainted breath grazing his own. For a moment, Jeongguk considers fleeing back inside to come ask you to collect your drunk friend (a perfect excuse to finally say something to you after months of radio silence) but then he remembers that might potentially end with him walking into the room and finding you with Lucas’s tongue down your throat.

And that would suck. A lot.

But before he can think of another solution Chayoung’s fingernails are scrapping his neck, leaving his skin prickled.

“But then again, do you seem to always pick the wrong ones.” That bristles him and his eyes are suddenly hard and narrow.

“What do you mean by that?” He spits it out, a spark igniting in his chest when Chayoung shrugs. The smile on her face disgusts him.

“You know what I mean.” Her finger is sliding down his shirt and Jeongguk feels branded even through the material. “When you look like this, running around girls like that is honestly a little sad.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” He’s hoping he’s hearing this all wrong. That she’s just drunk and acting stupid. But when her eyes lift to him he knows she means it. Every word of it.

“You could do better, Jeongguk. So much better.”

“Chayoung you need to shut the fuc–”

Her lips taste like vodka and cherry lip balm, which is sickening because that’s what you taste like–sans the vodka. Cherry lip balm was your brand. It always was, you’ve got like five of them scattered around your room and a couple more hidden in Jeongguk’s. He recoils instantly, acid climbing up his throat as his hands find something–anything to push away. What he finds are Chayoung’s shoulders and when he pushes he pushes hard. They break apart and the floor beneath Jeongguk cracks wide open, his head spinning violently.

“What the fuck is your problem?” He doesn’t know what else to say, the circuits in his brain frying. Chayoung’s tongue skips over her lips, now wet and a little plush from the force she used to slam her mouth into his. 

“Showing you that you can do better.”

He blinks, taken a large step back when Chayoung moves forward, a little sway in her feet. 

“You’re drunk and acting crazy. I think I should call Y/N to com–”

“Oh fuck Y/N. Such a whiny bitch. Do you really think she deserves you? After all the shit she’s put you through?” Chayoung’s eyes feel like knives, sharp and striking deep with every word. 

“Aren't you her friend? What the hell is wrong with you?” Jeongguk needs this to de-escalate. Chayoung wants to throw gasoline on an open flame instead.

“No–what’s wrong with you, Jeongguk? Moping around for a girl who never realised what she had when it was right in front of her? C’mon now.”

“You seriously need to shut the fuck up. You’re not gonna talk about her like that in front of me.”

“Why not? Cause you still love her? Even when she’s fucking Lucas?”

That stings, his heart bursting in his chest because Jeongguk didn’t know you were sleeping with him. He thought it would just be kisses or something. Not that–not Lucas touching you like he used to. But then Hyeri’s face flashes in before his eyes and he wilts. He can’t blame you for anything, not when he’s been doing the same horrible shit to you. And that makes him pause, the sudden realisation that he’s been hurting you smashing into his head. He didn’t want to hurt you–never. Not even if you were hurting him. He just needed a distraction, something to ease you off his mind. And maybe you did too, but all left you both with was gaping wounds that would never heal. And with other people hurt too.

God, this was a mess. And it dawns on Jeongguk that’s he’s made the worst mistake he’s ever made in his life. 

“You should hate her,” Chayoung continues, venomous. 

“I don’t,” Jeongguk returns, voice levelled. All he hates right now is himself. And Lucas (which is fair). Chayoung blanches, shaken by his firmness. “I really don’t, in fact, I need to talk to her. Right now.”

He moves fast, foot already past the threshold when Chayoung speaks again, her words aimed with intent to kill.

“She kissed Namjoon.”

He feels the nerves in his legs still instantly, before they nearly give way entirely, his grip on the door frame the only thing holding him up as his heart tears out of his chest. 

“I thought you should know,” Chayoung adds. And he hears it then, that vile smugness in her voice. She’s lying. She has to be. You wouldn’t do that to him. And he says that, storming back to Chayoung with his chest ripped open, his body thrumming with barely concealed rage. And fear. Jeongguk feels so scared right now because if you did that means everything he felt–everything he feared–could be true.

“She did.” Chayoung is immovable, standing tall and staring him down. “I’m not lying to you. Go ask Namjoon if you don’t believe me.”

Which, Jeongguk realises as his eyes fall shut that is going to absolutely do. And possibly break a nose in the process. He turns, trying to blink away the blurriness in his eyes, before Chayoung stops him with a single sentence again, this one said a little softer.

“Jeongguk,” she starts, eyeing him down, her brown eyes aflame under the moonlight. “I mean it when I say she doesn’t deserve you.”

—

Someone is attempting to break down Namjoon’s door. Which is bizarre considering it’s almost three in the morning. He has to drag himself out of the comfort of his warm sheets to figure out which maniac is attempting to smash through solid wood with only their fists because it seems like they’re almost succeeding. 

The maniac in question is Jeon Jeongguk, standing rigid when Namjoon swings the door open, moonlight bleeding over his features. He’s mad, staring at Namjoon like he wished his head was rolling on the ground instead of stationed square on his shoulders. But there’s something else there, doe eyes glossy.

“Jeongguk? What the hell are–”

“You kissed her.”

Everything stills, the two men fixated on each other. Jeongguk is so still he could have been mistaken for a statue. Almost as if he was waiting for the words that would break this moment, ease the tension seizing his muscles, tell him what he wants to hear. Namjoon can’t do any of that. Instead, he sighs, a muted, “Oh”, floating from his lips.

Jeongguk snaps the second he realises it’s true.

“Oh? You kissed her and all you have to say is oh?” Hands are digging into the soft cotton of his nightshirt and Namjoon’s feet are no longer on the ground. He’s apparently levitating, lifted solely by this hurt angry boy invading his apartment. His back hits the nearest wall with a thud that vibrates through his bones. When the hell did Jeongguk get this strong?”

“Whoa–relax,” Namjoon wheezes, his strong fingers guiding Jeongguk off him. But heartbreak tends to be enough fuel because Jeongguk pushes back with an ease that unnerves him. “Jeongguk, you seriously need to relax. Let go of me and we can talk about this.”

“Why did you do it?” That is what he gets in return. Jeongguk’s voice wavers, coloured a violent red in the velvet of the night.

“I didn’t do anything,” Namjoon returns, the words delivered gingerly.

“No–no you did. You kissed her. You–”

“She kissed me, Jeongguk. And I can seriously explain all of it if you just relaxed and we talked about it–”

“No, she didn’t. She wouldn’t do that to me–she wouldn’t.” And Oh God No, Namjoon thinks he just heard the sound of a heart breaking. It sounds like a weird mangled bird collapsing from the sky and its wing hitting the ground with a funny wet smash, fragile bones snapping like twigs. 

Jeongguk’s fingers peel from his shirt and bury themselves in his hair, yanking at the cropped strands as his face twists. 

This is far too much emotion for a single person to deal with in the middle of the bloody night.

“Hey–hey, calm down. It was a mistake, I promise you. She was just feeling a little all over the place and made a bad choice–”

“No–that’s the fucking point! She made a choice. She chose you.” Jeongguk’s staring at him in a way that hurts, like he’s attempting to transfer all the pain that’s writhing through his body into Namjoon’s from sight alone.

“What? What are you talking about?” 

Jeongguk is frantic, almost like he’s trying to stop himself from pouring out onto the floor. A flood barely contained. “She chose you first. I was there–I was always there. But then you waltzed in and she saw something in you that she didn’t find in me and she chose you.”

Namjoon cocks his head, staring hard at Jeongguk’s round wide eyes, slowly coming to realisations that he was surrounded by idiotic people.

“I still have no idea what you are talking about, but I have to ask, don’t you remember a single thing I told you the last time we spoke about Y/N? You’re the reason we broke up.” That halts him and Namjoon takes that as a moment to press onward, somewhat tired of being dragged into this awkward mess. “And I’ll say this in the nicest way possible but you’re an idiot if you think Y/N wouldn’t pick you over me any day–over anyone really. I could be drowning and you could have a scrapped knee and she’d check on you first. We broke up because I realised I was just a placeholder until she felt brave enough to tell you she liked you. You were rather intimidating for her to approach. Or have you forgotten your track record of girls? It wasn’t easy for her–especially when she was risking losing her best friend.”

The silence that follows aches, Jeongguk’s eyes flashing like he never considered that in the first place. 

“But why the other guys then? Why not just tell me after you?” 

Namjoon’s going to bang his head into the wall. “You’re her best friend–what about that are you not getting? What if you didn’t like her back and it ruined the most important relationship in her life?”

“But I did–I always liked her.”

“No,” Namjoon nearly groans out loud. “You didn’t. If you liked her you wouldn’t have fucked Chaerin in the back of your car and then gone to report it to Y/N with a grin on your face.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah,” Namjoon returns. “Oh. That’s the exact day we broke up too. Such a stupid fight because she was crying and that’s when I put two and two together and realised I was never going to take precedence over you.” 

“I didn’t know I was hurting her,” Jeongguk murmurs, almost distraught. 

A strangled noise erupts from Namjoon’s throat. “You’ve hurt her a lot more than you’ll realise.” But the second he says that and Jeongguk’s face twists into something unrecognisable he wants to take them back.

“She’s too good for me. Maybe we are better off apart.”

“No, no. You’re so wrong actually. This break-up thing has been miserable to watch and I’m not even in the centre of it. I’ve just caught a bunch of stray bullets.”

“You’re not getting me,” Jeongguk’s eyes swing to him. “She came to you at the end of it all. Maybe we are better with other people. Maybe you’re better for her.”

“She came to me because she missed you. She just needed someone to lean on during your absence. I wouldn’t have to do that if you were there. You know, you should just talk about this with Y/N.”

“I can’t, she’s happy with Lucas. I think.”

Namjoon wants to bang both your heads together so bad. Maybe finally the fact that you love each other would get through your thick skulls then. 

“She doesn’t,” he says, instead. “And I know that for a fact. You should really go talk to her. Figure this whole mess out. And also finally get out of my apartment.” Jeongguk’s gaze withers. Namjoon shrugs in return. “It’s the middle of the night and I have a meeting in the morning. I really need to sleep.”

“Oh, fuck, I’m sorry.” He’s so meek like this, nursing a shattered heart and a confused head. It’s slightly jarring to the image he usually presents, so self-assured and unfazed by whatever gets thrown at him. Never exposed like this, every emotion he holds inside displayed across his face. 

“It’s alright. Just think about what I said and talk to her. Honestly. Not skirting over shit like the two of you tend to do. Okay?”

“Yeah,” he says, trailing towards the open door. Namjoon had registered a breeze billowing in, but he’d completely missed the fact that the door of his apartment was swung wide open. Jeongguk abruptly stops just as Namjoon’s sense of bearing returns, turning to face him with his face pulled down by shame. “I’m really sorry. For this whole thing. I shouldn’t have grabbed you like that I was just–”

“I get it. You love her and it feels like she’s slipping from your fingers. Just don’t do that shit again and stop trying to push her away. I’ll say it again–you were always her first choice.” He sees it then, a slight flutter through Jeongguk’s chest. A broken bird mending. 

“Yeah,” Jeongguk breathes. “Thanks.”

Namjoon sighs, offering a tight smile and shutting the door firmly when Jeongguk finally drifts out. He needs a drink before he hits the sheets again. A strong one.

[plush-rabbit]

Asmodeus Dating Headcanons

Request: Relationship headcanons for Asmodeus having a chubby bf?

A/N: I hope you like this. I didn’t want to assume that you’re insecure about your weight so I tried to not add that

-

Asmodeus makes a wonderful partner- attentive, caring, always making sure that you are in the spotlight with him and if needed, will provide you a new wardrobe to match with his. While the outfits won’t scream “the typical couple outfits”, it’ll be clear that you two are together with each matching shades or patterns. A relationship with him is something that he treasures for however long it is maintained because at that moment, you are part of his world and how could he ever let you down.

Devildom is home to demons and others alike, beings that come in all sorts of styles. The Avatar of Lust is not picky when it comes to what size or shape his partners should be, preferring for a connection rather than trying to fit into some sort of profile for others. When the two of you begin your relationship, he’s extremely loving towards you- always affectionate and letting his hands sink in your plump arms and thighs, while his nose brushes against the side of your chin. He calls you all sorts of sweet things, love on the tip of his tongue and intertwined with his words. You’re so soft compared to him, your body warm as with soft hands you hold his and he just loves how rounded your fingers are, how he can kiss each tip of the finger and then some.

While he may not want you to change for him- the demon is fond of your own personality and tastes- he would like to occasionally match with you and find outfits that can help accentuate your features- you’re shoulders, waist, the way that you stand tall, the soft curves of your body and whatnot. As long as you’re with him, you’re going to find a style that fits you and makes you feel more you. He’s your everything- your hype man, your stylist, and partner. No matter what you wear, he’ll give his honest opinion, or touch up on the clothing by adding an accessory or removing something.

If you two are going to shop together, it becomes a bit more than just matching outfits. He’d also like for the two of you to have matching nails and will either do them himself or take you to a salon and get a manicure done with you. While he is no professional by any means, he does often prefer for himself to do your nails. Just a simple buffing and applying a nice coat of nail polish. He isn’t sure if he wants your hands to exactly match his or if he’s like a bit of an inverse compared to his. If you rather have a different color, there isn’t much he can do about it. he will playfully whine about it, but it’s all in good fun, nodding along as he applies a different color.

As mentioned previously, Devildom is home to demons and alike with different shapes and sizes so it is easy to find things suited for you. There are all sorts of patterns and outfits to try on- colors that pop against your skin and fabric that doesn’t rise or feel too scratchy. There are patterns that make you feel like a confident partner, walking around in statement shirts and if you find yourself comfortable in something then the outfit is already being rung up at the register. He wants you to feel good about yourself and he understands that a wardrobe holds so much power over that and having an expensive article of clothing and feeling comfortable in it is the way to expand and grow on your confidence.

More often than not, there are times where Asmodeus will completely zone out of whatever is going on in front of him. To the dismay of his eldest brother, it’s usually during meetings. He can’t find himself lingering with attention too long, and subconsciously his hand will reach beside him, his hand clasping around yours as he doodles little drawings over his notebook. His hand will hold yours, and he’ll memorize each small wrinkle of your hand, your nail beds, and the way that your fingers slightly curve. He loves the pillowy feel of it, how he can simply sink his fingers into your palm when he holds your hand. Because of this, he grows brazen, leaning into your touch, letting his hands brush against yours, or his biceps pressed against yours. He’ll hold your hand and ease you to lay on his lap, his attention on the television as his hand knits through your hair. He finds himself unable to pull away, completely enamored with how you feel against him.

The three realms all view body and size differently. Each is loved and cared for, something soft and beautiful but as the years continue and the human realm ticks onward, views do change. The demon is more than understanding when it comes to the human trends and fashions, so he knows that anything edging towards plus size is something rather watched with unblinking eyes. It takes a bit of time for him to find comforting words that actually meet something and he’s patient if you would rather work your way up to more tight fitting clothing or something alike. Emotional and lovely, is what he does best and he wants you to know that he has your back.

Due to the different views in the three realms, there are times where you will hear the demon reminiscence of how the Celestial Realm treated bodies. There’s a bittersweet smile that graces his features as he speaks how each body is meant for love, that the bread is warm to feast on and not to deny. Devildom is no different, bodies of demons and others coming in various sizes that the only difference something makes in attraction would be the class of a demon. He’ll turn to you and he’s excited to hear your views, to nod along and roll his eyes when something distasteful comes up.

Feeding each other is something that the egotistical brother craves. He enjoys the intimacy of it, the way that you trust a demon to be so close to your hand, fangs glistening under the pale moonlight as he bites off a piece of macaroon. He likes the sweet kisses that erupt from it, honey still on his tongue and something fruity and slightly bitter on yours as you press your lips against his. It’s no surprise that he would also take photos for Devilgram of either him feeding you or arms linked with one another, desert on the end of each hand poised at the lips, a moment captured and uploaded for all to be envious of.

It’s no surprise that the Avatar of Lust loves to kiss, but rather than having ones that are passionate and make you lose your breath, he prefers the quick, peppered types. The short kisses that press all over your face and slightly ruffle each other’s hair; the type where you giggle under his feathery touch and call his name in a lovely song. Asmodeus wants nothing more than to just touch you and nuzzle into the soft curve of your neck, to close his eyes and feel your pulse beat against him. He loves to let his kisses press against you in a quick flurry, one where you don’t have time to react and can only laugh as he ends each kiss and begins a new one with the same breath.

[doubledgesword-2]

Soulmate Au Part 4

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3 are here!!

Final formal installment from this series! Due to some personal reasons I will only do Hc's or small Drabbles and scenarios nothing explicit like these ones, just implied. I apologize if it's not what everyone wanted. Also thanks to everyone who has submitted a request, they will be answered. Enjoy!

WARNING SOMNOPHILIA

Illumi stared down at your sleeping body, two dark voids swirling with anticipation. Today he had worked you up, purposely making you train and fight all day with him. Deep inside, he wanted you to be strong and willing to fight and kill just like they all were. But not enough for you to overcome them. That would mean your escape, and he couldn't allow that, not when they just found you.

It wasn't until you dodged him and stumbled to the ground that he noticed you were exhausted.

"We can stop for now." Illumi's monotone voice called out

He saw relief washed over you as your body unceremoniously melted into the grass, not caring the look he was giving you or that you were probably getting dirtier.

After that, you sloppily walked inside the house, dragging your tired legs straight to the bathroom. You took a quick shower, falling on the bed with the intention of resting your eyes, and then make dinner for the two fo you.

But Illumi waited for you, and he waited, and you didn't come out.

For a quick second, his heart skipped a beat, yet he walked calmly to the room. He knew whatever you do, wherever you go, they would find you.

They had already proved that.

What he saw melted his worry away. You were in your robe, wet hair splayed beneath you as you were sleeping without a care. Your mouth was slightly open, quiet snores coming out, and you hadn't even lighted the fireplace.

The corners of his lips twitched upwards, almost smiling at the picture. Neither Hisoka nor Chrollo were in the house, having left to do their own things for the trope. They had started to give you some more leniency and liberty after Chrollo saw you couldn't truly leave.

That headache could've certainly killed you, and you wouldn't try it again.

But now Illumi shook off his clothes, folding them and putting the bunch on the vanity. He loomed over your sleeping body, watching your chest rise and fall as you slept soundly. His face didn't emote any visible expression, but lust and excitement brew within him.

Illumi walked closer to you. He unfurled the knot and opened the robe exposing your naked body to the room. You were so perfectly positioned that the moonlight coming from the window in the dark room illuminated your breasts, making your skin glow. His mouth watered, looking at your perked tips, and he came to straddle your form. Dark eyes looked up to yours, watching to see if you woke up.

An excitement rose inside him, the thrill of making love to you while trying not to wake you.

And he couldn't wait any longer.

All that fighting from before, having you underneath him every time you lost, feeling how squirmed and struggled, it all made him very frustrated. He knew the others had already tasted you, delved deep within your depths. But now it was his turn, he had given you space, coddling you instead.

Illumi took one of your cherries into his mouth, excitement bubbling inside him, swirling his tongue around the bud while his other hand squeezed your other mound. His long hair over you tickled your side, and you sighed in your sleep, trying to move, but he didn't let you, of course, mouth still attaches to you nub, sucking and nipping it gently.

He started kissing down your stomach, leaving a wet trail of open-mouthed kisses, his long hair tickling you as he went.

Unaware of what was happening, your hips bucked into him, making him bite his lips to stifle the moan that wanted to escape. Illumi's face was poised in front of your core, his cool breath ghosted over the soft curls above your entrance. Your pink slit looked inviting, and he couldn't hold back anymore. He licked a stripe up your slit, making you sigh, body quivering as his hands held your thighs apart. His eyes looked up to see if you had awoken but found you still dreaming. Illumi then latched unto your hooded pearl sucking on it while two fingers already moving in and out, curled on that sweet spot that made your thighs twitch, almost closing around his head.

If only you could hear the obscene squelching of your wetness around his fingers, he was sure you would've been flustered and embarrassed.

You whined, squirming to escape his grasp, and he felt his length hardened at the fact that he alone was making you feel good. Possessiveness flooded his body, filling his mind with new possibilities.

The flood gates had opened, and he smiled up at you.

Your walls clamped down on his fingers, convulsing around them, your honey dripping down for him to lick up like a thirsty man on a hot day. Illumi held your waist down as he licked up your release, your body wriggling underneath his splayed palm on your stomach, wanting to escape the oversensitivity.

Eyes opened slightly groggily, staring up at the ceiling, your high washing over you and mixing with the exhaustion. You barely saw straight looking down to meet Illumi's dark eyes swirling with desire.

Illumi was straddling you, giving himself two shameless strokes and slowly plunging into your core. He sheathed himself inside you, grunting lowly at the warmth pulling him deeper.

"Illumi, what's go-" your soft voice slurred as his hips rocked against you, starting a furious speed.

You moaned, still sleepy but feeling how his fingers dug into your thighs, bringing you closer to him. The heat rising around you and the pleasure coming up your legs left you more sleepy. You could faintly feel his length speared you, hear his low grunts as your eyes closed once more. His hands went over your stomach, thinking, and imagining how your belly would swell. Imagining your body filled with his brood, drinking from one of your heavy breasts as they fed on the other. How proud he would be that you’re carrying his children, bred and marked to forever be his.

"Mmm, now this is a lovely sight~" Illumi felt Hisoka come up behind him, hugging his waist.

Hisoka laid his head on Illumi's shoulder, watching you sleepily writhe beneath his lover. He licked his lips, kissing Illumis neck softly.

"H-Hisoka," Illumi grunted, feeling your walls momentarily flutter around him.

"Mmm, don't mind me, my love." Hisoka continued to leave a trail of open-mouthed kisses on Illumi's neck, making the assassin close his eyes.

His hips didn't falter as he still rocked faster against you. He heard the soft scuffle behind him but didn't mind it lost in the sensations your body gave him.

Before his hand could grab one of your breasts, he felt Hisoka enter him from behind. He stuttered, clenching around the clown's length, causing him to moan loudly. Illumi leaned forwards down, supporting his body with his arms against the bed besides your head. His long dark hair fell down like curtains covering your face and his, encasing the two of you in a rather intimate display. One of his hands came down to caress your cheek, feeling the softness of your skin under his fingers.

"Now, where were we last time we were so rudely interrupted?~" Hisoka purred behind him, raking his nails softly down the assassin's back.

Illumi shuddered slightly, gripping the bed sheets with force, making them rip under his hand.

"A-Almost getting caught," Hisoka loved whenever Illumi couldn't talk or stuttered in his words. It filled his chest with pride.

"Mmm, I believe it's going to happen again" Hisoka moved his hips slightly, pushing harder Illumi inside you and closer over your body.

The bed creaked as he shifted, kissing Illumi's back and making him shudder in delight.

"How does she feel?~"

Hisoka kept leaving open-mouthed kisses on Illumi back everywhere his lips touched, his breath fanning over them, littering the assassin's pale skin with goosebumps.

"T-Tight," Illumi panted, feeling you clench around him.

You moaned in delight, your body littered a light sheen of sweat.

"What else, Llumi?~"

"She's w-warm and wet."

"So good," he muttered under his breath, but Hisoka caught it, and he chuckled, gripping Illumis hips harshly and giving him a rather hard thrust that pushed him deeper into your depths. You moaned in tandem with them.

"Ram into her, Llumi, make her yours too~," Hisoka whispered lowly, his own body preening in excitement.

"Breed her, and let’s keep her here forever" Hisoka's voice was deep and seductive as he pursued his release.

Illumi's face contorted into slight pain as he felt the pleasure rise in him. Hisoka went faster, feeling himself getting closer. He bit Illumi's shoulder, letting out a loud moan making Illumi feel it vibrate through him. Hisoka spilled inside Illumi but didn't move away.

He was still a bit hard to leave the fun.

"I know you want to...she wants it too~" Hisoka groaned against Illumis neck, and Illumi was consumed by his desire, frantically thrusting into you with passion.

The assassin groaned as your walls grew tighter, and you cried in out in your sleep.

Hisoka's hand went over the side to rub your bundle of nerves. Your body jerked, and Illumi grunted; he bit his lips trying to stay quiet, knowing if he let himself go, the clown would never stop teasing him. Then your walls convulsed around his length, your body arched, showing him your beautiful mounds. His eyes widened and then closed tightly, feeling you massage him, pulling him in. He panted, breathing out and feeling somber as your core pulled everything from him.

Illumi leaned back, his body coming close to Hisoka's chest. The clown smirked behind the assassin, and even if Illumi didn't see him, he could feel the smugness coming from him.

Hisoka wiggled his hips, pulling a soft moan from under Illumi's breath.

"I'll give you what you want as soon as I'm done here."

Hisoka chuckled, "or I can take it."

He rocked his hips gently against Illumi and then made him bend over, fully covering your body. His hand laid in the middle of Illumi's back as he pulled out and then went inside your already stuffed core. You gasped, opening your eyes wide, feeling the sudden push that left you breathless. You groaned at the fullness, clenching incredibly hard around the two of them. They moaned and groaned together. Your body squirmed underneath Illumi, and he kissed you to distract you as Hisoka started to move.

"Ah, ah-ha!" you moaned and whined out loud, feeling as Hisoka wildly dragged his length in and out.

Illumi breathed hard through his nose, grunting as he felt each and every of his lover's veins against his length. You panted and exhaled through your nose, looking flustered as Hisoka grabbed your hips and dug his fingers into them.

"T-Too much!" You whined, trying to arch your back, pushing your chest against Illumi.

He bit his lips, feeling your breasts flushed against him as you rubbed against the hardness of his abs. Your cheeks, like Illumi's, were tinted in red as he kissed you deeply, swirling his tongue against yours.

"I'm so close~" Hisoka moaned behind him.

Hisoka's tongue coming down to lick up Illumi's spine as his hips stuttered while you clamped down on them. You cried out against Illumi's kiss, and he pulls away to grunt at the fantastic feeling of your walls spasming around them and milking them both.

Hisoka pulled out, and Illumi let out a low gasp at the cold feeling of emptiness. He pulled Illumi against his chest, dragging the assassin with him as he laid down on the bed. The two of them panted harshly, eyes closed as the bliss washed over their bodies. Illumi lightly opened his eyes, looking at you, already passed out again.

He felt a twinge of disappointment inside his chest, but he pulled you closer to him, smothering you and trapping your body in his arms. You can’t leave them, you needed them. He took pride and relished in the fact that out of all of the three, he was the one who spent the most time with you.

Hisoka brushed Illumis dark long hair out of the way and leaned his head in the crook of his shoulder. He smiled at your passed out form and then kissed Illumi's neck as the assassin too was falling asleep. He hugged the two of you closer to him, Intertwining his legs with the both of you as he draped the sheets over all your bodies. He wondered what the next training session would be like and if he could join in the fun. Who knew his Llumi was this thirsty.

Morning came, and you weren't feeling exactly well-rested, you pinned it all to that weird wet dream fantasy you had during the night. But then you felt a heavy arm wrapped over your waist, holding you flushed against a hard chest. Everything was tender, especially in between your legs. The surrounding warmth felt nice, and your still exhausted body was being lulled back to sleep.

Maybe you were still dreaming even during the morning.

"Mmm, I'm ready for round two~."

THANKS FOR ENJOYING THIS EVERYONE!

This is my last spicy Rose Tea of this caliber (explicitly detailed and character x character), due to some personal reasons I will not be doing extra mega super ultra explicitly detailed smut. Smut will happen but it will be more implied than anything and there will be no more character x character fics. I will focus more on x readers. I apologize if these teas are not everyone’s cup, I understand, but I’m doing it for me and I will still deliver amazing teas no matter what flavor they are!

[glitter-garbage]

12. — thread

Shadowgast, ~1600 words, gen, red thread of destiny, soulmate au (spoilers for the eiselcross arc)

Sent by @quinn-of-aebradore 💜 ...ps: this is not edited at all (one word writing prompts: send me one and a pairing if you like. I might fill them some day!) ---

When Bren learned he had magic, he also learned that he could see things that not everyone did. It wasn’t natural, he had to focus, and later on, he even found out there was an actual spell for it. Still, on more than one occasion growing up, Bren would see the delicate red threads that connected people around him.

“Those mean whoever is connected to you is your soulmate,” his mother explained, “Can you see mine?”

And, sure enough, his mother had a little thread connecting her ankle to Leofric’s. He longed for his own thread to appear, though his mother explained that not everyone had one.

Bren didn’t have to worry, though. He was only fifteen when not one, but two threads connected his ankle to his best friends of all people. By that time, he had already been whisked away to the Academy along with them and the experiences they shared, the successes, the pain, the power, all of that just cemented their connection in his mind.

Until he broke, that is.

After the fire came the Sanatorium, and for eleven years Bren, now Caleb, did not think about that again. Only when he got out did he notice that his ankle was free. Nothing connected him to anyone anymore. It was okay, he was a garbage person. He didn’t deserve love like that anyway.

---

Nott had a red thread. It vanished out to the horizon, and Caleb never saw the thread move in a way that indicated that her soulmate was closer. He wondered if she knew, for a while. Then, he learned the truth. Veth’s soulmate, her husband, kidnapped, imprisoned. He was happy she had met him though, and confident they'd free him. She deserved happiness, he would help her in any way he could.

Two couples in his little group had threads connecting them to each other from the start. Fate worked in mysterious ways, Caleb thought. Beau and Yasha did not seem that close, though Beau’s attraction was obvious, and cringe-worthy at times, but Caleb was sure things would go well for them in the future. Jester and Fjord’s thread almost made his heart break- he had allowed himself to get way too attached to the two, but neither of them were for him, obviously. Destiny had other plans.

Molly did not have any threads, like him. After learning about his past, Caleb wondered if he had gone through something similar to Caleb, the snapping of a thread after a traumatic event. He allowed himself to grow closer to the tiefling tentatively, allowed feelings to bloom slowly. Molly was warm to him, and he thought perhaps it was another form of destiny that would tie them together.

That had been a mistake.

The last one to join their family was Caduceus. He had no thread too, and Caleb had no curiosity about it anymore. His interest in destiny had all but faded.

He loved his friends. He had friends. That was enough, for someone like him.

---

“The Luxon is the basis of how we've been able to free ourselves from the binds of the lineage the Betrayer Gods left for us and to carve our own fates, choose our own paths and sidestep these destinies placed upon us nonchalantly by gods that use us as playthings.”

The Shadowhand was interesting. Dangerous, powerful, enticing. Caleb considered what he said about freedom from destiny, the ability to find your own way. He had certainly strayed from his path, but perhaps that was not the worst thing.

Essek Thelyss, too, had no thread attached to him.

Perhaps because Caleb was no longer obsessing over what destiny had in store for him, perhaps because he was beginning to accept that his own imperfect path was better than the one that had been set for him, Caleb felt empathy towards the drow even after he had betrayed them.

They were so much alike, and Caleb kept his heart more closely guarded now. He did not feel his heart breaking when they learned of Essek's schemes, and that too helped. In any case, he did not see Essek again for a long time. Did not think much about him. There was too much on his plate for that.

---

Astrid smiled at him from across a dinner table and his stomach dropped. Caleb felt the wheels of time turning, felt again like Bren, determined and ambitious and blind to the truth. Eadwulf looked at him with a raised chin, a smirk on his face. He too remained handsome, impossibly so.

When they walked out of Ikithon’s tower, Caleb could make out the thin red thread that still connected their ankles. He thought he was stronger, that perhaps he was ready for this.

“Race you to the top,” said Astrid with a childish smile, before turning back to the tower.

It hurt. He could feel the emptiness of what could have been, what would never be again in a way he hadn’t felt in a long time.

---

Imagine his surprise when arriving at the Vurmas outpost in Eiselcross, the powerful figure of the Shadowhand could not meet his eyes. Imagine his surprise, when he saw his eyes lighting up when they chose him instead of his old teacher to go down into the ruins. Imagine his surprise when he saw Essek battling, using gravity itself as a weapon, and felt only fondness and admiration for the man. When he showed off his tower and saw the same in the drow’s eyes. And attraction, of course. That went without saying.

It all came to a head when, together, they worked to cast a spell that would shorten time itself and give the Nein their much-needed rest.

Thought it might have felt like seconds to their friends, Caleb watched for long moments, holding magic in his palms to assist, as Essek opened a gash through the fabric of space and time. Real fabric, made of threads of all colors that together seemed to make up what he saw as the world around him. Time seemed to stop around them as Essek carefully worked around the fibers.

“This… Have you been able to see this the whole time?” he asked.

Essek’s jaw was clenched and there was sweat running down his forehead, but he nodded, “Not really. It takes a lot of effort to see this. A lot of energy.”

Caleb hesitated but gave in once Essek’s questioning gaze found his for a moment, “I have always seen the red threads. I- I had my own, for a while.”

“Annoying little things,” muttered the drow, focusing again at the slow-going task of weaving time with his bare hands, “There was a time when I hated them more than anything.”

“You used to have yours, too?”

“Hm? No,” said the drow distractedly, “I hated them because I had none, and I thought I should. The Dynasty looks like a tangled web if you watch for them since so many entanglements are made complicated by consecution. But I never had one, and even though I looked for… someone that could perhaps make it appear, it never did.”

He moved his wrist to the side, and the universe seemed to shift with it. Caleb felt a little dizzy.

“But I had never heard of someone who lost theirs. I thought they were supposed to be, ah, perfect,” Essek smirked, “Unless you did what we are doing right now to yours. That is, changing it fundamentally. Somehow, I do not think that is what happened.”

“Nein,” Caleb chuckled wryly and then held himself straighter, keeping the spell steady as Essek continued his labor. “I… strayed from the path, I think. I did something that was not meant to be.”

Essek looked at him like he was the most fascinating thing he had ever seen, even though the elf himself had the building blocks of reality in his hands at the moment. Caleb flushed.

“I think Caduceus would say that you did exactly what you had to do.”

“Maybe so. But isn’t it hard to know that others will have this… this gift, this sure thing while we will not?”

Essek looped a bright white strand against a colorful, prismatic one while he hummed, thinking.

“I felt the same way for decades. But whatever we will have or not, in that sense, will be of our own making. And isn’t that a gift on its own?”

---

The moonlight shone down on the beach, turning the sea a glittering mass of waves. Other than the full moon, magical globes and luminescent beetles illuminated the space around them. Their friends gathered around smiling tearfully in perfect dissonance. Caleb himself felt his heart beating so fast he thought it might leave his ribcage and seek quietude somewhere far away from his anxiety-ridden body. He stood beside Caduceus, who hummed a sweet song under his breath as they waited.

Finally, the glittering door at the end of the path opened, and Essek slipped out, bare feet delicately touching the sand. Jester came from behind him, and once their arms were locked, they walked on slowly, passing their friends and family on the way to Caleb and Caduceus.

He looked stunning in delicate iridescent robes, and Caleb tried to swallow down his anxiety. Violet eyes framed by silver lines, mouth poised in a gentle smile, cheeks flushed, Essek walked slowly until he was face to face with his intended.

Essek reached for his hand, and they stood silently, gazes locked while Caduceus conducted the ceremony. When it was time, Caleb drew a small spool of red thread from his pocket. Gently, he took Essek’s hand in his and tied a knot around his little finger. He offered the spool, and Essek repeated the gesture, biting his lips nervously. Caduceus cut the remaining thread, leaving their hands connected.

“You are now joined together, not by destiny, but by your own choice. I think that’s very nice,” Caduceus smiled placidly until Veth cleared her throat, “Oh yeah. You guys can kiss now.”

Caleb smiled at the phrasing. He lifted his hand, pulling Essek’s forward until the drow was close enough for him to count his freckles. Their hands tingled as he came impossibly closer. Essek’s mouth was warm against his.

For the first time in Caleb's life, he felt destiny favored him.

---