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animelovelover123 · 5 months

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V's Yandere Alphabet v2.0

Synopsis: An updated and improved version of my original with more content. For those who have read the original, the big changes can be seen in entries L, P, Q, V, X, and Y.

Author's Note: I wrote the original during a troubling time and it resulted in the project taking 6 months and me hatting it by the end. However, after being encouraged by someone asking me if I would write for the other guys and my completionist side being bugged by how the original alphabet was not complete, I went back in and felt more motivated. I actually kind of want to write for the other guys now! Still no promises though.

The yandere alphabet I am using is an edited version of one made by no gender bee on tumblr. I added missing letters, changed some of the letters/descriptions, and altered some of the grammar (like using Canadian spelling).

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction for personal entertainment. If you are reading this, please understand that drawing/writing/reading/imagining things of this nature does NOT equate to desiring or supporting real-world assault.

Abuse = Could they ever hurt you physically or mentally? What would be the reason?

Physically? No. Mentally, kind of. He would not do it with the intent of causing harm, but some of V’s mental manipulation can hurt. He’ll pull at your heartstrings, saddle you with guilt, and talk in circles to get you to comply with his wishes all while using flowery language to mask the manipulative web he is weaving.

A big one, and the most common form of mental strain he gives you, is when he is desperate for attention and at the end of his rope. He will plead for it, reminding you that neither of you knows how long he has left to live and that he only wants to spend it with you. He does this to show you how much you mean to him, but he is also aware that he is inciting guilt in you. He does not realize how deeply and long it can affect you though until you tell/show him.

Both = You are a Yandere too, what’s their reaction?

V is intrigued and finds it amusing at first. His obsessive tendencies take longer to form, and he also does not believe he will live long so he sees your invasive and manipulative actions as entertaining with no fear of long-term repercussions. Even if you think you are being sneaky, he sees everything you are doing and he enjoys watching your reactions as he either plays along with your schemes or effortlessly evades them.

But once he finds himself falling for you in return, he gets rather depressed. He sees how desperately you want him, yet he knows, no matter how much he wants you as well, that all of your attempts to show your love will be in vain. He’ll try to pull away from you, but the more you chase, the more he wants you.

Then he finds out a way to live longer and his restraints are finally broken. You and he revel in your shared obsession, happily lavishing each other with love and attention. He sees your quirks and views them as romantic gestures. He finds out you have been stealing his things? How it warms his heart to know you want him close at all times even when home alone. Why don’t we move in together darling to save you the trouble? You’ve cancelled his plans with others behind his back? Well, why didn’t you tell him you wanted a night alone? He would love nothing more. You’ve killed a supposed love rival? Snuffing out another's life just because they threatened to take his love, though not necessary as you already have his heart, is such a beautiful display of adoration that he just has to give you a reward~

Crazy = How easy do they enter crazy mode? How do they act when they are in it?

It takes a lot for this man to snap. He is the essence of calm and collected, able to keep his composure in circumstances where most would panic and/or become angry. You could rage at him before walking out the door claiming you will never return, and though he will put up a bit of a fight, he knows deep down that you are just lashing out. After you have time to calm down you will be back in his arms soon enough. Whether by your own means or his, that was yet to be seen. This man could be in the middle of getting arrested and he would comply because he knows that this is not the end. He could easily escape prison and find his way back to you. The only true end is death, and that is what will cause him to snap.

Not his own death per se as that mental break will be directed and contained to himself. If his plan for extended life starts failing, he will fight tooth and nail to survive while rushing through the stages of grief. The most this will affect you is that he will disappear for a while as he tries to find a solution before returning when he realizes there is no hope for him and begs you to stay with him until his last breath.

The true snapping point would be a result of your life almost being lost, particularly if you try to take your own. Knowing or, worse, catching you trying to end your life flips a switch in him. He already had a lot of stress from trying to preserve his own life, but when he realizes that he could lose the primary reason he fought so hard to live all of that effort, panic, and stress gets funneled into caring for you. Now that he perceives a proverbial ticking clock for both of your lives, he will no longer allow a single second to go by without you. He will lock you up in his home and become your caretaker, tying you up so you can’t hurt yourself and taking care of all of your needs himself like feeding you and bathing you. You are his everything, and he will not let a second of both of your possibly short lives not be spent together. (see Kidnapped)

Difference = When can you notice a difference in behaviour in them? What are the first signs that their love for you is unhealthy?

At first V’s yandere tendencies were subdued and easily hidden. For the first couple months of knowing you he was under the belief that he was not long for this world. His body was actively deteriorating and soon he would have to return to Vergil.

But then he found a way that he could continue living as his own person. Maybe through killing and absorbing Urizen’s life force rather than merging with it or by somehow stealing it from others. Either way, there was a chance for him to survive and pursue a relationship with you. That is when he changed and that is when you start noticing his obsession with you.

He won't totally indulge in his attraction to you until he has proof that this lead is viable, but he will suddenly become more affectionate. Where he once kept any compliments and flirtatious remarks shrouded in flowery language so that you could not quite tell if he meant it that way became more direct and regular. The few feet he always put between you two was shorted as much as you would allow.

When he does gain evidence that his plan for a longer life is working, all restraints are off. He immediately goes to you and confesses his love. He may even tell you right then his true origins, why they resulted in him being distant at first, and how now that he has a long life ahead of him he is excited to spend it with you.

Enjoy = Do they enjoy what they’re doing to you, your life and the people around you? Do they show it?

V does worry about how some of his actions affect you. He is a bit of a philosopher type, often getting lost in thoughts or conversations about the deeper meanings and effects things have on people and the world as a whole. He is also introspective so he will occasionally worry himself over what he is doing. This line of thought doesn’t only trigger when you show hints of discomfort or hesitation. You could be perfectly happy, but he is privy to the manipulation and trickery of his that you are falling for. He considers and speculates on how his actions could warp your mind in the long run. And when he pictures the worst-case scenario, he might just guilt himself into admitting to, and apologizing for, a recent misconception he gave you.

He did not say those things with malicious intent, he just wanted to protect you from the cruel world and keep you loving him.

Force = What, if any, kinds of things will they force on you? Isolating from friends and family? Going on dates? Physical affection and/or sexual acts?

If you are a demon, to any extent, V will force you into a contract with him, assuming he is unsuccessful in his initial attempt at convincing you to join willingly. Depending on your battle prowess he will even call you to (relatively easy) fights along with his other familiars. Seeing you in battle is just as beautiful as seeing you dance to him so he will gladly do it as long as the risk of permanent harm is practically nonexistent. No matter how skilled you are in combat though, your primary duty as one of his demons is as a companion. With you being bound to him he can call you to him whenever he wishes to be with you, which is most of the time. He’ll try to offer you space and as much free will as he can, but the more obsessed he becomes the more he will abuse this power over you. One thing to note though is that he will not force you into romantic or sexual acts, even if he technically could through your contract. No matter how much he desired you, he would never hurt you in that way.

Alternatively, say you were a human. He would force you, again assuming you don’t fall for his flowery words, to take on a demon familiar. Not just any demon though. Specifically, he wants you to bond with one of his familiars. If you want more than that that is your prerogative, the more safety you have and empowerment you feel is only a boon, but being partially bonded to one of his familiars is his requirement. He tells you that he wants to keep you safe by giving you access to one, or more, of his demons for protection, and this is true. Though V is their primary master, V will willingly put himself at a disadvantage in battle by allowing you to call one of his familiars for protection. And if you don’t call them V will send them to you. He also advertises the practical benefits of having creatures at your beck and call. One aspect that he does not fully disclose though is how being bonded to a demon under his command also acts as a tracking device for when you try to run. (See Hide)

Gross = What is something they think is really romantic/sweet but is actually horrifying?

He writes letters and notes to you using his blood as ink. Sometimes it is just his signature coloured burgundy, and other times you find whole notes or poems scrawled in thin, inconsistently faded cursive which he delivers to your home or work with a bandaged arm.

He already puts his heart and soul into these letters. To him, offering part of his body with them shows you his complete devotion.

Hide = How easy is it to hide from them?

Depends on if he has bound you to one of his familiars yet.

First, let's assume he hasn't. Then, honestly, it’s pretty easy as he is but one man with not a lot of connections. He can send out his familiars to scan the area for you, but they can not go too far from V. That is only if he works alone though because the few connections he does have are with people who hunt down living creatures as their profession. Sure, hunting a demon is not quite the same as hunting a person down and his friends will initially question why you would run off, but V just has to string together a tail of how you are being influenced by a denizen of hell and that they must find you before it is too late. Sure enough, he will convince the morally just crew of demon hunters to find his love and now half a dozen people are calling in favours and travelling the country looking for you. And when they do find you, even if you try to tell them that you ran away from V willingly, V’s story has already cemented itself in their brains so they will drag you back anyway. A caveat to this plan is that the crew will get more and more suspicious if you run away multiple times and V keeps asking them for their help.

One of the benefits of binding you to one of his demons is that he won't have to risk growing doubt within his friends. With you bound to one of his demons (see Force), no matter where in the world you run V can track your location by getting his familiar to appear around you, scan the area to gather information, and relay it to him. And when he is close enough, the familiar can just pin you down and call out like a siren so V can easily find you.

Improve = Will they be willing to recover from this psychotic state for their lover?

Working off of E for Enjoy, V can find the conviction to be better for you. The problem is that he does not really know how to be better. He has only existed as his own entity for a relatively short time and has no experience with having a healthy relationship. He has only ever had you and the, sometimes maddening, urges to be with you. But because of his overwhelming love for you and the fear that his actions risk harming you, he will work towards being better.

He has to look to healthier relationships, like Nero and Kyrie’s and what little memories of Sparda and Eva’s he retains from Vergil, to understand what they look like and how he himself is failing. And if he can’t make the headway he wishes, being unable to stop himself from telling you subtle lies and trying to monopolize your attention, he will talk to someone about his feelings and urges. He understands that he does not yet really understand how to be human and is not above asking for aid in learning, for his own well-being yes, but mostly for yours.

Justification = Why are they acting like this? When and how did it start?

Upon being created, V knew that he did not have long to live. Soon he would join with Urizen and become Vergil once more. When he first started to fall for you, he knew it would not last due to his minuscule lifespan so would not pursue a romantic relationship. He could not, however, stay away from you. You were like a work of art, so utterly perfect that it was a miracle you even existed in such a cold and cruel world. He tried to accept the brief moments of connection you shared as enough to have him return to Vergil without regrets, but it wasn't enough. It would never be enough.

His body was failing though, crumbling away. Perhaps when he becomes whole again Vergil will be able to be with you. But that would not be the same for you or V, and he knew that.

And then, he found a way to continue living as his own person (See Difference). Now he had a chance to have a life with you. But always lurking in the back of his mind is the fear that this means of sustaining his body and life will fail. He does not know when he will disappear or how quickly it could take him. This is why he needs to always be with you. He doesn’t know how much time he has left and he wants to spend as much of it with you as he can. You understand, don’t you darling?

Kidnap = Are they willing to kidnap you? If so, how will they do it? For how long will they keep you and where?

He will kidnap you if you make the drastic decision to try to end your own life (see Crazy). He has given you the freedom to do what you want, far more than most yanderes would, despite the dangers in the world because he trusted you and himself to keep you safe. But now that even you are a danger to yourself, that shattered any trust V had.

When he finds out what you were trying to do, whether it be through catching you in the act or finding out in the aftermath of a failed attempt, he will bring you to his home. He will tell you, and anyone else privy to your attempt, that he wanted to give you a safe place where you can be monitored, rest, and offer an ear to which you can discuss your feelings and thoughts without judgment. And with him being your partner, if other people knew of your attempt, they would trust him to watch over you and stop you from trying this again. And that was exactly what he would do.

So you spend the night with V in his home where he refuses to leave your side for more than a minute at a time. It was understandable though, right? He was just shaken from what you tried to do. But when you woke up you found your wrists belted together, as were your ankles, and were chained to the bed’s headboard and one of the bed’s end legs respectively.

“My love, you are awake.” V greets as he enters the room, a bowl of oatmeal in his hand. “How wonderful it is to see your beautiful eyes finally open.” You can ask him what is going on, but no matter if you question him in fear, anger, or confusion, he will smile sympathetically as he helps you sit up. “I know this may be a bit frightening my dear, but this is all for your safety. You have somehow come to the heartbreaking and erroneous belief that you should not live and have become a danger to yourself because of it. But worry not, for I love you unconditionally and will care for you in your stead. Now, open up~” He coos as he holds out a spoonful of oatmeal.

V keeps you bound for as long as it takes for him to trust you not to attack him. Still, whenever he leaves the house he chains you to the bed to make sure you don’t try anything. Soon enough he stops going out, instead spending every waking moment coddling you. He feeds you by hand, dresses you, bathes you, and loves you through any bout of emotions, be they positive or negative. You don’t get to step foot outside until after you are knocked out by drugs and discreetly transferred to a new home out in some forest. Once there he will be willing to take you on walks, if you can prove you can behave. Even if you do try to escape though, the forest is enchanted so any human without a demon guide will be lost to endlessly loop through the same areas.

After years of living like this and proving that you don’t intend to leave him or harm yourself, you may just be lucky enough to find out how V was able to keep you locked up and disappear without anyone coming to look for you. You see, your friends and family were devastated when they heard from V that you had killed yourself by running off into a demon nest and letting yourself be eaten. And then it was unfortunate but unsurprising when V, now without the love of his life, spiraled into depression, became a recluse, moved away from the city where he and his love spent their time together, and soon after joined you in the afterlife.

“What a tragic tale, isn’t it dear?” He asks you with a proud smile on his face as he feeds you your lunch.

Lonely = They are feeling lonely but you are busy with something else, what will they do?

V is a patient man. If you are busy with an activity or responsibility, he will wait patiently for you to finish. He has his limits though (See Non-Stop). Also, depending on how urgently the task must be done or the rules regarding it, V would like to get involved.

“What are you doing my songbird? Watching something? May I join you?” “What is that craft you are making? How fascinating… Would you do me the honour of teaching me how to do it?” “What are you so furiously researching love? I would so dearly like to hear all about it, and perhaps I can help you search.”

V wants to learn everything he can about you and be involved with your interests and hobbies. And even if you are doing something that he can not assist in, such as writing a paper for school or work, then he will still insert himself by delivering to you snacks, drinks, messages, or simply his silky voice reading out his poetry to calm you and act as white noise while you focus. As long as it does not harm you or put you in danger, then V wants to support you and uplift you in any way he can.

Moving On = If you die or escape, will they be able to move on? How easy will it be for them?

You are his light, his world, and the number one reason that he fought to stay alive. If you were to leave him, he would be devastated. With you gone so is his will to live, and so he will follow you into the beyond. However, one deciding factor for how he will come to his end is how you met yours. If it was some unforeseen tragedy then he would chase after you into the next world immediately. But if your death was in any way his doing, he would drag out his death. Whether it be through starvation or letting his body deteriorate, whichever was more painful and a fitter punishment for the sins he has committed.

Alternatively, if you were to escape and he could not find you, his will would slowly drain. He would spend more time and energy looking for you and despairing over not being able to find you, he would neglect what he needs to do to stay alive. Slowly his failing body would wither away or, if the option is still available, he may just make a last-ditch effort to become whole again. He knows that death would be an easier option than reforming, but his lingering feelings may unconsciously drive Vergil to keep looking for you and you wouldn’t hide from Vergil, right? Knowing you were at least alive would give V’s broken heart and soul some levity while it rotted away somewhere inside Vergil.

Non-Stop = How clingy will they be when you’re in a relationship? How possessive are they? And how much free space do they give you?

V will give you a great deal more space than most yandere’s. He is fine with you spending time with others, whether he is present or not. He will even allow you to go on multiple-day-long trips, like road trips or vacations, with others. Seeing you happy and hearing you excitedly recount your outings was a joy in it of itself for him. Hearing you talk with exuberance and seeing your radiant smile as you describe the event you attended, the activity you did, and the conversations you had was just enough to make missing you worth it. It also helps that he is an introvert so is more than okay with spending some time for himself.

There is a limit to this though. If you have a job or attend school then he can get by with having you in the morning and evening. He will encourage you and praise you for your hard work before and after each day while enjoying having you all to himself. But if, on top of this, you are going out with friends two or three days a week then he’ll get antsy. He won’t get in the way, but he will get a bit needy and clingy, doing things like wanting to walk you to and from places just to spend more time with you and inviting you on more dates and activities to offset how much you go out with others.

But if others try to take up more of your time than that, V will become a lot more proactive. Suddenly you start ‘forgetting’ your phone in the other room all the time, meaning you miss calls and texts. Your calendar and alarms start messing up more, giving you incorrect times and dates causing you to miss events. V seemingly becomes more worried about your well-being. Do you have a bit of a cough? Feeling warmer than usual? A bit of a headache? Well, then it is best if you stay home. Even if it seems small now, exserting yourself by going out could just make things worse. Besides, the weather report said it might rain. So just rest at home today, V will be there to care for you.

Other = Someone else speaks to or flirts with you, how will they react?

V is usually very confident and trusting of you to not betray him so does not mind when others speak to you. He doesn’t blame the person either because you are a truly fascinating person that V can’t get enough of, so others wanting to get to know you is only logical. Other’s flirting with you is usually a similar story, as he trusted you implicitly. But that does not mean he is always complicit. If you or the person give him a reason to worry, such as you seemingly reciprocating that flirtation or the person overstepping boundaries, then V will act.

It won’t be a full-on assault, physically or verbally, it will be a subtle, insidious poison that he seeps into the bothersome person. Through his words he will gracefully belittle and insult the person while showcasing his superior knowledge and sharp wit. Most of his comments don’t even immodestly register as insults, instead, they will weigh the person down bit by bit until their confidence is but dust in the wind and they realize that they have no chance in besting V in his control over your heart.

Persistent = You have rejected/ignored their first attempts at gaining your attention. How many more times will they try and how quickly will their actions ramp up in intensity?

Before discovering a means of sustaining himself, he will see your rejection or obliviousness to his signs of affection as signs and reminders to not pursue you as it will only end in heartbreak. However, if, after proving to himself that he can indeed survive his once-set expiration date and he confesses to you (See Difference), you somehow misunderstand his confession, perhaps as some kind of bout of manic joy from being able to extend his life, then he will take time to calm down so you know he is being serious and tell you honestly and blatantly. He has already waited for so long, suppressing the calling of his heart and soul, and he will not waste another moment of his life not cherishing and worshiping you as you so deserve.

Questioned = How do they react if someone catches on to their odd behaviour and questions them?

V is calm, composed, levelheaded, and a master at manipulation and the ways of the English language. If someone starts questioning his actions then he can easily lead, twist, loop, and end the conversation like a conductor to an orchestra with the other speaker left satisfied and a bit confused on the topic and point of the conversation.

Risk = How risky will they be with getting rid of rivals?

V has no intention of killing anyone. He loves you and, though you may not see it now, he knows you love him too. But if he really feels the need to dispose of someone, he has to be careful. Not so much because he fears the police or the friends and family of the victim. They could easily be tricked and manipulated into cooperating. It was his own family and friends that posed a problem. Dante, Nero, Kyrie, they would never understand. They don’t understand how deep his love is for you. If they found out he killed someone to protect his relationship with you, they would try to intervene or, worst of all, try to get you away from him. V can’t risk that.

So he carefully plans out his assassination. He can’t use his familiars because there is a chance that as soon as the police/family realize the murder was done by a demon they may call Lady or Dante’s businesses for help and they can spot Griffon, Shadow, and Nightmare’s work easily. And a physical altercation, even with the aid of weapons, would cause too much of a scene. So instead, V will kill with discreet methods, such as poison, or a disposable method, such as forming a contract with a demon, sending them out on their elimination mission, and then killing the new demon familiar so it could not be traced back to V.

Sweet = Even when they’re Yandere they can be sweet. What’s their sweet Yandere side?

You are his world, his everything, and he will tell you that often. Every day he tells you and shows you how much he appreciates you and all you do, for him and others. Being able to wake up beside you, spend time with you, and hold you at night is a blessing that he will always cherish, no matter how long you are together.

Type = What type of Yandere are they?

Going off of the Yandere Fandom Wiki’s list, V would mostly be a Manipulative Yandere (Focuses on working a series of situations to prevent losing their love.) with a bit of a Submissive Yandere (Only in love with one specific person and will carry out any task asked of them.).

V has a way with words and with his ability to stay calm and collected no matter the intricate lies he is weaving, he will subtly manipulate you into things like spending more time with him and fending off anyone who seriously threatens your relationship (See Other). He won’t just have you wrapped around his finger, as he will also make others question themselves or change their mind through his poetic, complex, cryptic wording. This can range from telling your family and friends that they should not make you go to some even, claiming things like how tired and stressed you are when in reality he just wants more time alone with you, to even beneficial things like convincing your teachers or boss to treat you better because you are such an amazing student/worker.

There is also little he wouldn’t do for you. He will of course do small things if you ask like taking you to and from appointments no matter the ungodly hour it is happening and taking you on dates to all the places you are interested in. But he will do so much more if only you ask it of him. For example, if you come to him for help, telling him about some person or group that is hurting you somehow, either directly or through association, and ask him to get rid of them, he will.

Unsure = How much trust do they have in you? What happens if you break it?

V trusts you a great deal, more than most yandere. Even when you make small mistakes he will quickly forgive you and assure you that he understands that you are doing your best and don’t truly mean any harm. If you do something drastic though, that is different. There is what will happen if you try to hurt yourself (See Kidnapping), but if you do something like cheat on him he will be devastated. He will blame himself for the most part, assuming he has failed to provide you with the love and affection you desire and is determined to be better. He will follow you without being too pushy, not quite a stalker but he will reappear in your life every couple of weeks to try to win your heart back. And between each meeting, he would work on improving himself in any way he thinks he is failing you, from physical to social to financial. At times he may even consider leaving you be, letting you go free, but he can’t help but be drawn to you. In the end, he would rather give up on life rather than give up on you.

Vexation = What is the one thing that you could do to piss them off or worry them the most?

V does not really get angry, being levelheaded enough to stay calm and give you and himself some space if he is getting frustrated. As for worrying him, the thing that will unsettle and worry him the most is if you suddenly, without plausible reason, start claiming that you love him and saying overly sweet things. If you were to say ‘I love you’ without complete sincerity he would see it as the complete opposite. You must be upset and/or unhappy in some way. Though he does not want to pry, if you keep forcing words of affection out it will eat away at him until he pleads for you to stop and instead tell him what it is that is driving you to hurt him like this.

Welcome = Let’s say they’re Yandere for you but you’ve not had your first meeting. How do they initiate it?

If you two have not officially met but you have caught V’s eye, he will avoid approaching you due to the belief that he will return to Vergil soon. He does not wish to hurt you by charming you and then disappearing, though that does have a romantic air to it. So perhaps he will allow himself to be seen once or twice if the situation requires. For example, if you are attacked by demons he will jump in to save you, maybe take a moment to let his mysterious and alluring aura seep in before disappearing like a masked hero, never truly known but leaving a sense of mysticism. At least this way, when the being known as V does disappear from this world, he will live on in you to a small extent.

If/when he knows that he can prolong his life, he will search for you right away. He’ll want to keep up his dark, mysterious, romantic aura as much as possible to make a good impression. This includes not giving you all the answers right away, slipping into the shadows and reappearing for the first few meets, and not letting you meet the blabbermouth Griffon or the horrific Nightmare, at least not at first. Shadow you may meet because he trusts her to not ruin the moment and may even add to his allure as he has a powerful jungle cat at his whim.

He has read countless poems and stories of romance, and he will use that to his advantage to make your introduction to him as perfect as possible.

Xeric = What is an innocuous thing you do that hits a nerve in their twisted mind and really turns them on?

Whether it is done casually during a time when you are relaxing and holding each other or if he is in the middle of something and your wandering mind leads you to do it, having you lightly trace the patterns of his tattoos sets his body and heart on fire faster then he is able to ask you why you are doing it. Having your fingers delicately glide along his skin has him twisting, arching, and bending into your touch, trembling slightly as soft gasps that sometimes sound more like moans, slip from his lips.

Yearning = They want you but you are already with someone else. How will they win you over/steal you from your current partner?

V will not even try. He is already hesitant to get close to you with his mission of becoming Vergil again. You being in a happy relationship with another offers him a melancholy peace as he knows that once he is gone you will be taken care of. In this circumstance, he will not even bother looking for a way to extend his life and simply complete the task he was created to do.

Zealot = If everything fails, will they be able to kill their partner? For the most part, no. Even if you fight, run, reject, and abandon him over and over he will never be pushed to kill you. The only circumstance in which he would take your life is if you have been irreparably damaged, physically or mentally. If, because of a demon attack, the cruelty of the world infecting you with an incurable disease, or you have lost your mind, if your life is nothing but suffering, he will mercy kill you. And he would follow you soon after, to be able to hold you in the afterlife and watch you be free of this pain.

#devil may cry imagine #devil may cry x reader #v x reader #devil may cry #yandere v #v dmc #v devil may cry #yandere v dmc #yandere #yandere male #soft yandere #male yandere #yandere devil may cry #dmc v x reader

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cosmerelists · 1 year

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Favorite Boardgames of Each Order of the Knights Radiant

It’s Radiant Boardgame Night on Roshar! What would be the favorite boardgame of each Order of the Knights Radiant?

1. Bondsmiths: Connect Four

It’s a game about forging connections!

Stormfather: Yes, Dalinar, allow the red pieces to fall into place! Complete the line! Forge the bond!

Sibling: Use your wily human ways to be victorious, Navani!! Go diagonal or something!

Dalinar: They certainly are...invested in this game.

Navani: Just so long as the Stormfather doesn’t blow over the board when I win.

Navani: ...Again.

Stormfather: I’m very invested in connecting!!

2. Dustbringers: Jenga

With their surges of Division and Abrasian, the Dustbringers have powers that could be called...destructive. I think they’d enjoy Jenga.

Malata: Ha, ha! I have made the tower CRUMBLE

Ral-na: You are aware, of course, that per the rules, this means you have lost the game.

Malata: Wait, we’re playing by the rules?

3. Truthwatchers: Clue

The Truthwatchers believe in finding and sharing the truth. Like...the truth of who murdered Mr. Body this time!

Renarin: It was Mr. Green in the Library with the Wrench!

Rlain: You won AGAIN?!

Stump: You’re not using your future sight or something, are you kid?

Rlain: You know Renarin wouldn’t do that.

Stump (muttering): Just think it’s weird that I never win.

Renarin: That might be because you always accuse Colonel Mustard.

Stump: That mustache is DEFINITELY hiding something!

4. Skybreakers: Monopoly

The Skybreakers believe in obeying the law, no matter what. And if there’s a game that people don’t normally follow the actual rules for, it’s this one. The Skybreakers? They’d play it “right.”

Szeth: The other knights speak of something called “House Rules” for this game.

Nale: “House rules” are not rules at all, but merely inventions of unreliable human actors who wish the game to be “shorter” or “more fun.”

Nale: We will NOT continue the game until SOMEBODY buys this property at auction.

Joret: Personally, I LOVE not having fun!

Cali (muttering): Kiss-ass.

5. Lightweavers: Pictionary

With their artistic skills, Pictionary would surely be a delight for the Lightweavers.

Beryl: It’s an apple!

Shallan: Shhh...hang on...I’m not done...

Vathah: Come on, come on, that’s already the best drawn apple we’ve ever seen, etc.

Shallan: Aaand done!

Gaz: Time’s up.

Ishnah: It’s still tied.

Ishnah: Mostly because we’re all drawing only one picture per round.

Shallan: Maybe timed games aren’t really for us...

6. Willshapers: Mousetrap

The Willshapers love two things: building and freeing those who have been unjustly imprisoned.

Eshonai: Wait, you said this game was about freedom, but it seems that I will be trying to trap you in a mouse jail?

Venli: Shhh...I’m putting the final touches on my mousetrap! Ha! It looks AMAZING

Eshonai: Are we trying to keep ourselves free by imprisoning others? Is that..okay?

Venli: Don’t think too hard about it.

7. Elsecallers: Scrabble

The Elsecallers are thoughtful, scholarly, and logical. I think they’d enjoy transforming a bunch of disparate letters into words!

Jasnah: Ah, I seem to have another 7-letter word. Amusingly, it is “radiant.”

Jasnah: And over here I can make “crab,” which is not bad with the “b” counting twice on the triple letter score.

Jasnah: Looks like Side A is currently winning.

Jasnah: ...

Jasnah: Sometimes I wish there were other Elsecallers.

8. Stonewards: Risk

The Stonewards tend to be soldiers and to enjoy warfare, weaponry, and challenges. They can make do in difficult circumstances. It seems like they’d enjoy a good game of Risk!

Zu: I shall reinforce Greenland! That is where my troops are most needed!

Badali: Wow, another game heading into its third hour!

Badali: Take two people who are both stubborn and good at strategy...

Zu: And you have great fun all afternoon?

Badali: That’s what I was going to say!

9. Edgedancers: Pandemic

The Edgedancers are healers and helpers, those who listen to people who may otherwise be ignored and remember those who may be forgotten. I think a lovely cooperative game, and one in which you work together to heal the world, would be great for them.

Lift: I did it! I discovered one of the cures!

Godeke: Great job, kid!

Lorain: It’s no nice to play this game without a worldwide pandemic actually going on, huh?

Godeke: What, uh, made you say that?

Lorain: You know, I have no idea!

10. Windrunners: Chess

I know chess may sound like an Elsecaller game, but hear me out. The Windrunners are all about military ranks, and in chess all the pieces represent a rank. The Windrunners believe in protecting the weak--like the king piece. Sometimes they have to accept that they can’t protect everyone, like when they must sacrifice pawns. They’re good at working in tandem, and chess is about getting disparate pieces to work together. So Chess seems like something they’d enjoy...with maybe a few exceptions.

Kaladin: Well, this game gets one thing right.

Teft: That it takes a squad to protect a man?

Skar: That the ardents go their own way?

Sigzil: Bishops.

Skar: Whatever.

Moash: That everyone is forced to protect the king, even though he is demonstrably the weakest and most useless piece?

Lyn: That any pawn can attain ultimate power?

Kaladin: No.

Kaladin: It gets horses right.

Kaladin: Why are they the only piece that consists of a giant, creepy head?

Kaladin: Why are they big as the castle?

Kaladin: Why the hell do they move like that?!

Kaladin: This is a game about how terrifying and creepy horses are.

Teft: Maaaaybe that’s enough chess for today.

Kaladin (whispering): No one gets me like chess does.

217 notes · View notes

followerex · 29 days

Text

Fool's Fate Riddles

from @petra-creat0r's project.

1. What's always in charge, but never in debt, found in cars but never buses, found in cats but never dogs, and is known as the first amongst all their kind?

Answer: A

2. Remove a letter and I become one, yet add a letter and I can become an insect, a wager, or a place to rest. What am I?

Answer: Be

3. My name sounds like the ocean, yet how I sound depends on those around me. What am I?

Answer: C.

4. What is not a holiday, yet only found in the last month of the year?

Answer: D.

5. I am the beginning of the end, and the end of time and space. I am essential to creation, and I surround every place. What am I?

Answer: E.

6. I always start with T, but can be spelled with two letters, three letters, or a number. Every spelling changes my meaning. What am I?

Answer: Too/two/to.

7. What number is odd but can be made even by removing one letter?

Answer: Seven. (funny, answer to question Seven is seven.)

8. I never come once; I always repeat. Try as you might, you will always try me. What am I?

Answer: Again

9. When parties argue, I am gone, yet when there's peace, they both are me. What am I?

Answer: Agree

10. Add a B and I am round, and a C and I am sound, and an F and I am downed, yet add a G I am not ground. My name means everything. What am I?

Answer: All.

11. I never face my issues, I always ignore or hide, if handed degree or contract, I will nullify. Doing me will solve nothing but give little peace of mind. What am I?

Answer: Avoid

12. What is always behind you and can never leave, but a friend can have yours?

Answer: Back.

13. What can be seen in the sky, in the ocean and sea, can be felt but not touched by you or by me?

Answer: Blue

14. At the beginning of your life, you are me, yet change my first letter and others only do me once you’re gone. What am I?

Answer: Born.

15. What is in a deck but not on a ship, can have a heart but no other organs, and can be put on a table and cut, but never eaten?

Answer: Cards.

16. I am the sound of a tongue, I am the sound of a mouse. Remove my last letter and my sound stays the same but remove my first and now I sound wet.

Answer: Click.

17. What can you do to someone when spelled with four letters but usually can't do on them when spelled with three?

Answer: Care?

18. I breed unity and trust, yet can be used to manipulate. All humans crave me but I can be difficult to maintain. What am I?

Answer: Connection

19. What can be good or bad, big or not, crummy or fair, can be done with cards, commodities, or blows, and can be sealed with hand, pen, or card?

Answer: Deal

20. What closes out every book, story, or tale and which every life must eventually come to?

Answer: End

21. I can be a place of fun or a measure of justice, add four letters and I can be viewed as equality yet remove one and you won't see me at all. What am I?

Answer: Fair.

22. You can not escape me, yet you have the chance to change me. What am I?

Answer: Fate.

23. No matter what you add to the end, I always come last. Yet replace three of my letters and I am first. What am I?

Answer: Final.

24. What's value is 0 yet journey's through the deck? Is seen as stupid yet can be used as a trick?

Answer: Fool.

25. The imprisoned wish to be me, yet those that are me rarely think they are truly. My domain holds no rulers, yet my land is open to all. Many find me valuable, yet I cost nothing. What am I?

Answer: Free

26. I'm always a question but never a person, place, or thing. I am the odd one out among my family. What am I?

Answer: How

27. Two on a side, four on a field. A steed without jockey, yet still I don't yield. What am I?

Answer: Knight.

28. To be me you must learn yet the more you have me the less you have me. Put me before a ledge and I am power. What am I?

Answer: Know.

29. What can take many forms, from canine friend to valiant knight, and can be always seen through support or sacrifice?

Answer: Loyal

30. I trick people yet I am praised, make people disappear yet they give me a stage, can slip a man’s wallet from out his pack, yet when the shows over I’ll always give it back. What am I?

Answer: Magician

31. What crawls on four legs in the morning, two legs at noon, and three legs in the evening?

Answer: Man.

32. What does greed always make you want, no matter how much you have?

Answer: More.

33. You mistake want for me, yet it is not. If someone is me, you find them annoying though they require you. What am I?

Answer: Need.

34. I'm not from the future and not from the past. Once the moment is gone, I no longer last. What am I?

Answer: Now

35. Add a T and I am not, backwards I turn to on, E and N you have none and you’ll often find me paired with E, S, and Y. What am I?

Answer: No.

36. Poor people have it. Rich people need it. If you eat it you die. What is it?

Answer: Nothing.

37. How many times can you subtract the number 5 from 25?

Answer: Once

38. Played both in battle and out, I may be small yet I always protect someone bigger. What am I?

Answer: Pawn.

39. What can you do freely as a child, but are for judged for as an adult?

Answer: Play

40. I’m done by the sheep near the end of the day, yet change only my vowel and I am what the sheep is to the wolf. What am I?

Answer: Pray

#deltarune #fool's fate #riddles

19 notes · View notes

tired-teacher-blog · 9 months

Text

Characters : Tattoo artist Aizawa/ Florist fem reader

Featuring : Eri/ Hizashi Yamada/ Nemuri Kayama/ Oboro Shirakumo/ Emi Fukukado

Warnings and Genre : Fluff/ Romance/ Smut and Angst in future chapters/ Multi Chaptered Story

Summary : In a desperate attempt to get closer to the tattoo artist dominating every speck of your brain, you decide to pay him a visit one evening as a client seeking his service. This encounter will prove to be the beginning of something much bigger between you two, but will this new found passion be enough to stand against the difficulties your future holds?

Notes : Loosely inspired by this/ Art below is by the wonderful @/ael-draw who gifted me this gorgeous piece.

Masterlist|Second Masterlist|Third Masterlist

Chapter Count : Part 1 • Part 2 • Part 3 • Part 4 • Part 5 • Part 6 • Part 7 • Part 8 • Part 9 • Part 10 • Part 11

Mature content ahead so please be warned : 18+

How long has it been precisely? Can you truly tell?

Two months one week and six days..

Of course you can, how can you not? Those days have been your dearest and most treasured after all, and even now, you still cannot truly believe that he has welcomed you into his life and Eri's.

Your feelings for the both are growing each minute that passes, and you can no longer picture your life without either one of them.

You beam cheerfully as you look at your tattoo again, it's fully healed and looks stunning, you love it, even more so because he was the one inking it.

"Hello beautiful, I'm taking Eri over to Kayama's house now, she's excited but says she misses you. I'll see you in a bit."

Your smile widens as you read his message again, it's Saturday and you have agreed to spend the night at his place, and it is to be the first time ever that you do so.

You weren't exactly sure what it meant when he suggested it— and you still aren't, does he perhaps have something special in mind? He even insisted on sending Eri to Ms Kayama's house so you can be alone for the night.

You have never spoken about being intimate before, sure, you have kissed, held hands, hugged, cuddled, and that's about it, but something feels different this time.

Secretly, you wish your expectations are correct, you are ready to move forward in your relationship but never really had the courage to initiate anything beyond the usual, so maybe tonight.. who knows..

_ "Hi." he greets you with a grin as soon as you open the door, and you immediately jump in his arms with a cheerful squeal.

You miss him a lot, and even though you see him every evening when he comes to work, it's still not enough because you don't get to hold and kiss him like you wish you could.

_ "Hi." you sneak your arms around his neck and drag him closer for a kiss, your fingers are threading into his hair while his are resting on your hips.

His kisses are always soft and slow, melting you away and fogging up your brain, they are sweet and addictive, just like he is.

_ "So, ready to go?" his whispered words are ghosting over your neck while he nuzzles you there, and you breathe out a "yes" as a shiver runs through your whole body..

You have had dates in his house and yours before, and they've always been casual and fun, sometimes even Eri joins you when you and her insist on it, but tonight is not going to be like any other -you're sure of it- because not only are you going to be home alone with him, but you're also going to spend the night.

Your excitement and anticipation are surprisingly overpowering your nerves, you have a lot of expectations for what to come but what if you're just reading too much into it?

_ "I tried following the recipe to the letter so I hope it came out well," he chuckles nervously while pulling out a chair for you on the dinner table before joining you on the other side of it, "you should've seen Eri trying her hardest to help out, she wanted it to be tasty for you."

_ "She's so sweet," your heart swells up with joy while picturing them together in the kitchen, "it looks appetizing so I'm sure it tastes delicious."

You spend dinner time catching up on each other's news since you haven't been on a date for almost a week, messages and video calls don't count at all because they do nothing to quench your longing for him.

He's as gentle as ever, his voice, his gaze, his smile, his hand cradling yours from across the table, and just everything about this man.

However, you still wish for more of him but the longer time that passes, the further you feel from achieving that, so maybe he truly just invited you over to spend the night and that's that..

_ "Wanna watch a movie or something? I have a few options." he browses through the selection and hums while his eyes study the titles, but all you can focus on is his slender form in a simple white tank top and grey sweatpants, bringing to light the ink covering his buff arms and chest that you cannot repress the urge to run your fingers along them, and so you do.

He flinches at the sudden contact and you instantly retrieve your hand in shame, what were you thinking?

_ "I'm sorry I was just, admiring your tattoos." you try lightening the mood with a shy giggle, but his face remains stoic and your heart drops to your stomach with regret.

How long is he going to stare at you without saying a word?

_ "Aizawa, what's.." but your words are cut short as he pulls you flush against his chest, crashing your lips together without a warning and sneaking his hands under your shirt to squeeze your flesh between his fingers.

_ "It's Shouta." he sounds huskier than usual as he comments between hungry kisses, and you moan a response because that's the only thing you're capable of voicing.

Shouta.. as much as you wished to, you have never called him that before -not aloud anyway- because in your dreams, in your head, in your private time with yourself, he's always been just Shouta to you, and now he's asking you straightforwardly to use the name.

You want to say it out loud, to scream it, to whimper it, but his mouth is devouring yours still.

His body heat is flowing to yours and your eager hands are roaming his protruding pecs, digging your nails into his skin because you need the reassurance that what's happening right now is real.

_ "Shou.." you struggle against his lips and it's like a switch has been turned on in his brain, the growl he lets out afterwards weakens your legs, but he's there to pick you up in his arms and stumble to his bedroom hurriedly.

You have never been to his chamber before, never thought the day would come when you'll actually be, but your once unreachable wish is now a reality as he sinks you both on his plush mattress.

_ "Is this okay?" he whispers breathlessly against your abused lips, hovering over you while his eyes search your face for a permission to carry on.

_ "Yes, it's fine." your hands are on his chest, feeling his heartbeat quickening under your touch, but you still want more.

You're longing for his bare skin against yours, for his lips all over your body, for his fingers reaching your deepest depths, "Shouta, are we..?" you're still unused to using his name casually, but the thrill coming with it is euphoric.

_ "Only if you're comfortable with it." and he truly wishes you are, his lust for you is too obvious to miss.

You say nothing after that, but your hands answer him instead as they slowly start unbuttoning your cute lace blouse while your eyes are fixed on his eager expression.

It's a little flustering to be exposed to him, what would he think of you? Do you look pretty enough for him? What if he doesn't like what he sees? What if..

_ "You're beautiful." and his response to your unvoiced questions comes to pull you back to reality.

You smile sheepishly and welcome him back in your arms, tracing his neck and shoulders as he peppers kisses on your lips, cheeks, jawline, neck, until you start giggling uncontrollably.

He leans back to gaze at you, a gleam in his eyes as he rids you of the blouse still clinging to your body, grazing your sides and belly and licking his lips seductively before diving in to kiss you there.

_ "Sho.. Shouta." you arch off the bed seeking more of the mouth doing wonders to you, closing your eyes and biting down on your lip as his stubble scrapes against your skin.

_ "Yes, I'm right here." his voice is low and tantalizing, messing with your head and sending waves of warmth deep to your guts.

Your fingers move along his slender neck until they reach his hair, tugging it gently everytime he decides to nibble on your flesh. He's tormenting you, and your patience is running low already.

His lips travel upward, covering the expanse of your smooth skin and leaving a trail of saliva and goosebumps behind, to stop right at your breasts.

He looks up, dark irises searching yours for a sign of hesitation, but he finds none, only lidded eyes silently begging him to carry on, and so he does.

He quickly unhooks your bra and slides it off of you before tossing it away where your blouse is discarded.

He's staring, intently, and it's making you cautious about laying bare underneath him, "st.. stop looking at me like that." you whine frustratedly while shifting your gaze and bringing your arms up to hide yourself behind them, but he's faster than you are, grabbing your wrists and pinning them over your head.

_ "I'm sorry but, I can't help it." he leans in again, capturing your lips in a heated kiss, his hands leave yours to caress down your body, exploring you slowly and thoroughly until finally cupping your breasts.

You shudder in suprise and let out a moan that he thirstily swallows, his hands are big, warm and gentle, fondling your mounds and circling his thumbs around your perked up nipples.

Your breath hitches at once when you feel his growing bulge nudging your thigh, and suddenly everything becomes real.

This is happening, it's no longer just in your head..

You buck your hips against his own unintentionally, and he lets out a muffled hiss as his lips leave yours.

_ "Wait, don't do that." he groans against your neck while squeezing his eyes shut.

What's happening? Did you do something wrong?

_ "I'm sorry Shouta, I'm.."

Good job ruining the mood.

_ "No, no that's not it," he interjects with a worried smile, "you're just so enticing that I don't think I'm able to handle anymore teasing."

You heave a sigh of relief hearing his words, here you thought he might've hated your impulsive advance when in reality he has enjoyed it a bit too much, and you find yourself tempted to do it again, just so you could relish his flustered expression once more.

_ "This makes me so happy.." you whisper a response as your nails rake his arms teasingly, peering at him through your lashes with an inviting gaze.

His lips ghost over your neck and collarbone, placing the softest kisses in their path until they reach your luscious plumpness, "you look delicious." and his brazen words travel through every vein in your body.

His tongue darts out to lick your sensitive nipples one at a time, humming pleasurably as he does, and the wild sensation he's casually providing you, clouds up your brain and messes with your sanity.

He nibbles on your flesh, relishing your cute trembles and sweet sounds of his name moving past your lips as he engulfs your swollen teats into his mouth and devours you hungrily. Growls of pleasure vibrate against your skin as they leave his throat, and greedy hands move lower and lower until they reach your pants to hastily unbutton and lower them to your knees.

_ "Take them off of me, Shouta.." you request breathlessly while writhing underneath him, you're strangely comfortable with every move he's making and wish to dive deeper into this sensation.

_ "You got it beautiful." he mumbles with a mouthful of your flesh, wasting no time to yank off the garment and leave you only in a pair of silk lavender panties that's elegantly wrapped around your most delicate parts.

A gush of cold air hits your skin as he releases your bud with a shameless pop to sit up and observe you, his dark eyes blaze with passion while taking in every single detail of your luscious curves and you suddenly miss the feeling of his mouth on you, arching your back in hopes of making it clear.

He chuckles heartily and places his warm hands on your sides, hooking his fingers in the hem of your undergarment teasingly before running a digit along your covered pussy.

You twitch under his touch and he groans at your reaction before diving in to peck you there, "relax, this is fine right?"

_ "Yeah, yeah it is." you squeeze your eyes shut and spread out your legs further for him to bury his face there, biting hard on your lip and grabbing onto the bedsheets as he grazes his teeth along your panties.

His tongue is hot and tantalizing, tormanting you through the thin fabric with slow wet licks and trails on your concealed crevice.

Your fingers leave the bedding and thread through his hair as he laps you up faster, soaking the frail garment and stimulating you more.

_ "Shouta, please.."

Has it ever crossed your mind that you might possibly be this intimate with the man? Well, perhaps, but only in your mind when you'd spend hours upon hours daydreaming about him, and even then, it has always felt embarrassing and awkward to have such indecent fantasies about him, but this, this isn't embarrassing nor is it awkward and you fail to understand why, but you love it, and that's all you know.

_ "Uhum, what is it? Tell me." he whispers gruffly.

What you want is more of him, what you need is his mouth directly against your folds, but you cannot possibly voice your desire.

He smirks with a feral look in his eyes, "I got it," swiftly sliding off your panties and throwing them away, "this is what you want right?" and he doesn't even wait for you to reply before planting soft kisses on your trembling thighs and placing them carefully on his shoulders, moving in slowly to lick the outlines of the puffy lips and finally push his way to your glistening slit.

The foreign sensation is driving you mad, being devoured by him has certainly been beyond your wildest dreams, yet here you are, his lips are pressed against your lower ones and his warm tongue is slowly moving between your fluttering hole and reddening clit, twisting and rolling deliciously along your slick folds.

_ " Shouta.. right there." the knot in your belly is tightening as he draws your puffy clit into his mouth, sucking it hungrily while his satisfied humms vibrate deep within you.

His grip on your thighs tenses as you start writhing and moaning beneath him, "I can't, I'm cumming, Shouta!" you cry out a warning and grab onto his hands while a wild shudder shakes you to the core, and he doesn't pull away, not yet, not until your pulsating cunt finally slows, and your tense body falls limp.

He gently lowers your legs and arises from between them, slick coated lips glistening and heavy eyes gleaming with animalistic desire while roaming your sprawled frame.

_ "How are you feeling?" his voice is low and gentle, and his thumbs are caressing your sides as he asks.

_ "I'm.. good.. so good." and your breathing is labored as you strive to keep your gaze on him through blurry eyes, the tingling sensation running throughout your body is unbearable and your thirst for him is yet to be quenched.

You want him out of his clothes already, to touch his bare skin and feel his warmth, and the little chuckle he lets out tells you he understands what's on your mind.

He swiftly lifts his shirt over his head and drops it to the ground, his raven hair falls around his face and the look in his eyes sends a shiver down your spine.

Your heart is hammering in your chest as you reach out a shaky hand to run along his inked skin, and for a moment there you get lost in the beautiful details of the art adorning him, you see it all now, every last bit of it as nothing is concealing it away.

He grabs your wrist gently and kisses you there, right where he etched your red rose a few weeks ago, "I love this, it has brought you to my life."

_ "Shouta.." warmth is spreading throughout you whole, as the sincerity of his statement is filling your heart with joy, "me too, it's like a part of you is always with me."

You welcome him in your arms as he lays on top you, bare chests pressed together and eager lips devouring each other in a passionate liplock. You can feel his bulge, hard as a rock against your thigh, and your eagerness to have it buried deep within you is too great to contain.

You roll your hips faintly against him and swallow the surprised gasp he lets out, you can tell he's barely holding on to his sanity when he starts thrusting shallowly against you, but that's hardly enough..

He breaks the kiss to sit up again, parading the huge stiffness formed underneath the confinement of his pants, and running his fingers through his hair while observing your reaction.

This is torture that only he can end, and you actually beg him to, "please hurry Shouta, I can't wait any longer."

That's the only thing he needed to hear you utter before carefully lowering his sweatpants and boxers and freeing his raging cock, "me neither beautiful."

Your eyes widen and your breath gets caught in your throat as his veiny shaft bounces against his abdomen, he looks away as a faint blush dusts his cheeks and you find him almost.. cute, if not for the twitching length pointing to you.

You want to touch it, to guide it to your expectant pussy, but you do not possess the audacity to do so, settling for spreading your legs a bit wider instead.

He leans over to open his nightstand's drawer and rummage through it a bit before pulling out a pack of condoms, hastily taking one out and tossing the rest back.

Has he always had those or did he prepare them especially for tonight?

_ "I got these a couple of weeks ago for a night like this, but I was never going to pressure you into anything I promise." he smiles sweetly while answering your unvoiced question.

You know that though, you trust him wholeheartedly and are certain he would never force you to do anything you're uncomfortable with, "I'm glad you did Shouta, because I'm ready."

You observe fervently as he rolls on the rubber and gives himself a few pumps before aligning his length with your pulsating cunt, "brace yourself babe," he groans through clenched teeth before easing himself into you with a strangled "fuck" leaving his throat.

Your body tenses and eyes widen because of the inevitable twinge of the first intrusion, he's big, stretching you out and filling you to the brim, but he's also there for you, leaning in to kiss your forehead and guide your breathing while rubbing soothing circles on your sides, "I won't move yet, so don't worry."

You follow his instructions and take deep breaths, digging your nails in his shoulders to keep from whimpering. It's obviously hard for him to stay still but he's patiently waiting for you to give him permission to move, and the realization warms up your heart.

_ "I'm fine Shouta, you can move now." to be frank, it is a bit painful still, but your lust for him is even more aching.

He slowly pulls back to the tip and pushes in again just as slowly, his heavy breaths are tickling your face and his hands are squeezing your flesh to keep himself in check.

You cradle his cheeks and look deeply into his eyes with a dazed smile brightening your features, and the little chuckle he lets out swells your heart.

_ "What is it? Why are you smiling at me?" he teases playfully.

_ "I just, I want to ensure this is reality."

His eyes widen hearing your response, but soon, his expression softens once more and he captures your lips in a breathtaking kiss that messes with your brain.

He starts moving again, steadily and carefully, pushing in and out of your warmth as your kiss deepens, it's fiery and sensual, bringing shockwaves of pleasure to the tip of your belly.

His lips part from yours to lay hasty pecks on your cheeks and jawline before moving lower to latch onto your neck while his thrusts gradually quicken.

_ "Shouta, keep going please, just like that." the initial discomfort is finally gone and replaced with an arousing sensation, you shakily wrap your arms around him and whimper his name repeatedly as he bites on your collarbone and pushes faster and deeper.

Remnants of your first orgasm are already coaxing a second one to come, and his skillful plunges and tormenting kisses are driving you mad as your pussy squeezes around him.

_ "Ah fuck.. you feel so good inside that I won't be able to hold out much longer." he growls against your flesh as his thrusts become erratic and his fingers dig deeper into the soft flesh of your buttocks.

_ "Me too! Shouta please! I'm cumming again!" you cry out through strangled whimpers and wrap your strained legs around his waist to bring him even closer.

It doesn't take much longer after that for you to wail his name over and over again until a splintering bliss ripples through your whole being, and you're left shuddering with mind blowing ecstacy.

He sits up at once, hips snapping against yours and pounding mercilessly into your pulsating walls as you ride out your orgasm, his eyes shine across the dimly lit room as he fills up his senses with the sight of you; spent body shimmering in a sheen of sweat and a deep flush, puffy lips mouthing his name repeatedly, disheveled hair strewn over the pillow, trembling fists grasping onto the bedsheets beneath you, and he loses his mind at that instance, low groans escaping his mouth as he thrusts one last time before his hips finally still, buried deep into your warmth as his pearly seeds fill up the condom.

You welcome him between your arms as he collapses on top of you, and you can feel his heart pounding against your chest while his hot breath tickles your cheek.

You're too exhausted to move a muscle, but cannot fight the smile appearing on your face, tonight was perfect, he is perfect.

He shifts a little to slip out of you with a groan leaving his throat and a gasp leaving yours, your walls are left empty, clenching around nothing as he peels off the rubber and tosses it in the trashcan nearby.

_ "Are you okay?" he coos softly, lips brushing against your ear.

_ "Yes, you were very gentle with me." your eyes are heavy and already closing as you reply.

_ "Well, you're my lady."

You yelp in surprise when he picks you up in his arms and gets out of bed, walking straight to the bathroom with you clutching on to his shoulders, "and now all I need you to do is relax and allow me to take care of everything." he requests with a smile while putting the toilet lid down and placing you gently atop it before turning on warm water to fill the tub.

_ "I'm all yours, Shouta."

To be continued..

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klarolinexluv · 3 months

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right where you left me

Time is a delicate thing. It has a certain balance and when it is thrown off course things usually break down, erupting in madness. He can feel himself drift within its current without actually moving anywhere at all. Time seems to speed by him in a rush of feelings and moments without laying its dexterous fingers on him.

Life around him moves together, breaks apart, moves on without his notice. He has wedding invitations piling up on his kitchen counter. Friends wishing to celebrate their love, to share it with him. His brother among them, though they haven't spoken for years.

The one that devasts him most is the one that he cannot bring himself to open. The boy who stole his heart, the boy who broke it. A wedding invitation stares up at him from his kitchen counter. A wedding invitation addressed to him from the man he loves. A wedding invitation that is not his own.

Time stands still. Time flies by. 6 years of his life wasted. He can't bring himself to fix it. 6 years and the hole in his chest is as vast as the day his beating heart was torn from it. 6 years of longing and hatred and heartbreak. 6 years of nothing. 6 years of everything. Time doesn’t mean a thing.

Regulus never really left that day. Stuck in time, lost to the string of senselessness. It hits him always, the look on his face as he breaks the news. The sadness in his eyes as he destroys everything he has ever known. “Lily and I,” he had said, “well, we’ve been talking.” He should have seen it coming, he was prepared to be hurt. He was wrong, he was so wrong. “This has been fun but I think we should call it off.” He should have been more careful, should have seen the signs but there were none.

“She asked me out and I said yes,” he was all but certain he could hear the physical breaks cracking through his heart. The silence was so loud after that. He could hear nothing else but the words repeating over and over in his head like a spokenmens mantra. Just a fling, inconsequential. Whatever it was they had meant nothing more to James than a casual thing between friends.

He could have sworn that James loved him, he vaguely recalls times when he uttered those three indescribable words. He knows it happened, he knows it, but in his head he cannot help but think he made it all up. That he imagined his love. Maybe it never existed at all.

Time is an insignificant thing. The world around him continues to spin. Life moves forward. Regulus does not. Staring at the sealed envelope, all he can see is glimpses of the past. Lifting his eyes, he watches as a past version of James walks out his apartment door, turning to look over his shoulder with a sad smile that Regulus knows is supposed to be reassuring but isn’t. It isn’t. It hurts more in the end to see it, to remember it.

Sometimes, on the worst of days, days like these, he isn’t sure who he is looking at. The version of James that left him when he was 23 or the version of Sirius that left him when he was 15. They flicker in and out, fading and merging into one. James looking back with that sad smile. Sirius looking back with that sad smile. One with reassurance, the other with acceptance. Neither makes him feel better.

“This is it then,” he had said, “the end.” He wishes he knew what that meant. Why did it have to be the end? After everything, this moment was always meant to come. Sirius was always going to make that choice. “Goodbye Reg,” he remains frozen.

All he does is ache. Ache and watch the two most important people in his life walk out the door, over and over.

Time is irrelevant. Regulus stares at the unopened letter. Stuck in memories of the past. Stuck right where they left him.

#marauders #regulus black #james potter #jegulus #starchaser #sirius black #sunseeker #black brothers #jegulus microfic

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karl-raccoon-in-a-teacup · 4 months

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mango + 7, atsulucy + 9, lemon futon + 4 and 14, ada kunichuu + 6, bramcraft + 2, fukumori + 15

Bestie if I knew you were gonna send me so many I would have sent you more in return. Damn.

Anyways

Mushiango: 7. Which one is the worse driver

It's Mushitaro. I'm not saying he can't drive, but I would like to point out that between him and Ango, one of them has the ability to erase their traffic violations, and the other we have canonically see driving with no problems, therefor I'll let you do the math on this one.

Atsulucy: 9. Which one swears more

See you think I'd say Lucy no questions asked, but honestly I think it's a tie. Lucy tries to avoid cussing in her work environment, meanwhile Atsushi's probably encouraged in his work environment, so in the end I think it balances out.

Lemon Futon: 4.What they do on date night

Hm... I think they either switch it up so each person gets a turn deciding for each date night (Kajii usually drags Katai out places like dinner or the opera, Katai usually decides on movies they can watch or food to order in) and/or date night becomes cuddle nights.

14. What nicknames they call each other

Bean Bag immediately came to mind as something Kajii calls Katai so I'm absorbing that into my personal canon. Kajii probably has sooo many nicknames for Katai, honestly, the most I get from Katai is a sweet petname or two. Darling, love, etc etc. Kajii swoons over-dramatically every time and Katai regrets it every time (but, well, not really).

Kunichuu: 6. How they decorated their bedroom

Kunikida was insistent their room be practical and efficient and neutral, they could always change things up later in life when they were more certain of what they wanted and not just two 19 year olds getting their first space. And while the organization and well-keptness of the room remains...

Well. Chuuya found a cheap pack of those glow-in-the-dark star stickers, and while they started as a joke to see how long it'd take Kunikida to find each one (not just on the ceiling, hidden in corners or just behind furniture) they've both grown fond of them, now.

Bramcraft: 2. What their love letters look like

Not sue about canon/post-canon (especially with. Y'know) but pre-canon? Bram writes The most dramatic, flower, purple prose cursive you've seen in your Life. His letters are essentially poetry, endless and going on and on and calling Lovecraft all sorts of wonderful and beautiful things, never less than two or three pages.

Lovecraft's are cryptic, short, and written in ink. They are always mildly damp, smell like either saltwater or fish, and to most sound more like indecipherable scrawlings than notes of love. But Bram understands them, and treasures each and every one.

Fukumori: 15. What they would change about each other

Oh boy. Okay, so

The thing about Fukumori is they both love this city, both believe in a greater good for this city, and both know this about the other. They just wish the other would agree with their way of going about it.

Fukuzawa thinks Mori's actions are too cruel, too bloody, and in the end that the Port Mafia is not what this city needs. Mori believes the Armed Detective Agency is too ineffective to save the city from true threats, in the end, believes them too soft and that, in the end, Fukuzawa will go with his heart and not his mind.

It's a shame, really, both of them think. Their mutual love for this city, their recognition of one another's dark pasts and bloody hands, are part of what draw them to each other. Yet their different way of handling these are what will inevitably drive them apart.

#mushiango #atsulucy #kunichuu #fukumori #lemon futon #bramcraft #bsd #bungou stray dogs #ask game #thank you so much!!#these were so much fun :D

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llondonfog · 1 year

Text

twst (horror) tober — day 6 (time)

➤ Day 6: Time | “How long has it been?”

Silver once told him that ever since stepping into the role of caring for Lilia, the concept of time turned meaningless to him.

Silver told him that he can only categorize the days now on a continuum of good and bad.

There were days when his father would wake up with the hint of recognition in his eyes and an agreeable slant to his lips, and Silver needn't coax him out of bed to amuse him with the trinkets and gifts bestowed upon him by well-meaning classmates and a grieving liege. There were even better days when a glimmer of memory not yet lost would surface in the dark and mired deadlands of his father's deteriorating mind, when he'd pat the cushion beside him on the couch and regal Silver with a tale he'd heard at least several times before— each time, he listens just as patiently as if it were the first.

And then there were bad days when the fae that awaited him on the other side of the bedroom door screeched and howled in a long-lost tongue, days when Silver was forced to use the iron bolts that Malleus-sama had pleaded with him to install on the wooden frame if he wouldn't listen to reason and use manacles fixed to the bed instead ("My father isn't a monster, Malleus-sama, I won't humiliate him and strip his dignity away!") to stop those wild, ragged claws from tearing through the wood like paper to scratch out his eyes. Days when it is hard to separate the loving, smiling father from the feral creature caught in a losing battle as it succumbs to a fate inevitable to its kind.

Sebek listens to his friend, remains silent for once— it is unlike Silver to share his burdens, to even talk about the difficulties of caring for a fae so advanced in the decay as Lilia lest he fears that anyone find him complaining. They had all tried to talk him out of it when they had learned that Silver had already rescinded his studies at Night Raven College with the intent to care for his father to the bitter end. Malleus had nearly been beside himself, for safety could not be guaranteed, even for a human as strong and determined as Silver— "He'll overwhelm you," Sebek had watched his prince all but beg the boy to reconsider. "You know naught of what you are consigning yourself to, you have never seen our kind at our most frightful display. He would not wish this upon you, he would want his memory to remain pristine in your mind!"

But Silver had remained steadfast, loyal and devoted to his father beyond all rational persuasion. "I will not allow his last moments to be in suffering and all alone, Malleus-sama. He has sacrificed his life for the country, for you, and for me— I find it hardly equal what meager weeks I can give to him so that he may go in peace."

And so they had left to that cottage in the forest, the only home that both of them had ever known. Sebek had visited only once, the nature of being Malleus-sama's sole guard until Silver's return dictating that he shoulder a more hefty responsibility. They had both appeared rather worn and weary, bags deeper under Silver's eyes than he had ever known them to exist before, but together at least with wan smiles on their faces, as Silver had so desperately wished for them to be.

All the same, Sebek's gaze had keenly noted the presence of thin, crimson lines along Silver's forearms and neck— he found himself too much of a coward to glance at Lilia's hands.

Today, however, he's visiting for a much different reason than merely personal concern. Malleus-sama had bid him to venture out into those isolated, lonely woods, a frown deep and haggard on his perfect face; Sebek knows that if he were to look in a mirror, the same expression would be reflected back at him. For two weeks now, not a single letter delivered to the cottage had returned with correspondence, courtesy of Silver's little feathered friends usually so delighted to concede to his requests. Normally, a week's worth of silence would have jolted the both of them into worry, but with the whirlwind of a recent goodwill trip to the neighboring human countries, Sebek had merely assumed there would be a small pile of daily updates from Silver for them to look forward to reading upon their return. Imagine then, the foreboding that had settled in like an ominous pressure at the lack of any such notes.

That pressure only mounts and builds with a wicked weight upon his shoulders as he approaches the darkened cottage, silent among the stilled trees. A pressure that twists in his stomach like a corkscrew, and grips his throat in a vice, thinning the air he breathes as he stares with dread at the front door swinging off its hinges, and a faint, nauseating smell choking the scent of violets from beneath his feet.

Today, it seems, is not simply a good or bad day— it is an awful one.

#lettie writes #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland silver #twst silver #lilia vanrouge #twst lilia #sebek zigvolt #twst sebek #malleus draconia #twst malleus #diasomnia #the concept of fae going feral in their twilight years being the reason why lilia wishes to age alone #to spare his son the monstrous sight; to protect him from harm should lilia lash out on base instinct alone #idk my writing has been a hot mess as of late

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polivias · 3 months

Text

A few years ago (*cough* at least a decade ago at this point), I made a proper "tags" page for this blog so people could look for specific Peter x Olivia things to their heart's content. But that was back when people mainly used their computers to go on tumblr, so I'm aware no one has seen the actual look/structure of this blog in a long time. So I created this pinned post with the tags to help you navigate this page :)

Peter x Olivia Tags

Touch and Comfort

Hugs

Kisses

Hands

Looks

With Etta

♥ (love)

Pain (literally, only painful stuff in this tag)

Past P/O events organized by this page

25 days of P/O

One Year Anniversary - The Little Show That Could

Wish Me Luck - A Story About Love

Back to the Start

Tags for each episode under the read-more!

SEASON 1

1.01 - Pilot

1.02 - The Same Old Story

1.03 - The Ghost Network

1.04 - The Arrival

1.05 - Power Hungry

1.06 - The Cure

1.07 - In Which We Meet Mr. Jones

1.08 - The Equation

1.09 - The Dreamscape

1.10 - Safe

1.11 - Bound

1.12 - The No-Brainer

1.13 - The Transformation

1.14 - Ability

1.15 - Inner Child

1.16 - Unleashed

1.17 - Bad Dreams

1.18 - Midnight

1.19 - The Road Not Taken

1.20 - There’s More Than One of Everything

BONUS EPISODE - Unearthed

SEASON 2

2.01 - A New Day in the Old Town

2.02 - Night of Desirable Objects

2.03 - Fracture

2.04 - Momentum Deferred

2.05 - Dream Logic

2.06 - Earthling

2.07 - Of Human Action

2.08 - August

2.09 - Snakehead

2.10 - Grey Matters

2.11 - Johari Window

2.12 - What Lies Below

2.13 - The Bishop Revival

2.14 - Jacksonville

2.15 - Peter

2.16 - Olivia. In the Lab. With the Revolver

2.17 - White Tulip

2.18 - The Man from the Other Side

2.19 - Brown Betty

2.20 - Northwest Passage

2.21 - Over There (Part 1)

2.22 - Over There (Part 2)

SEASON 3

3.01 - Olivia

3.02 - The Box

3.03 - The Plateau

3.04 - Do Shapeshifters Dream of Electric Sheep?

3.05 - Amber 31422

3.06 - 6955 kHz

3.07 - The Abducted

3.08 - Entrada

3.09 - Marionette

3.10 - The Firefly

3.11 - Reciprocity

3.12 - Concentrate and Ask Again

3.13 - Immortality

3.14 - 6B

3.15 - Subject 13

3.16 - Os

3.17 - Stowaway

3.18 - Bloodline

3.19 - Lysergic Acid Diethylamide

3.20 - 6:02 AM EST

3.21 - The Last Sam Weiss

3.22 - The Day We Died

SEASON 4

4.01 - Neither Here Nor There

4.02 - One Night in October

4.03 - Alone in the World

4.04 - Subject 9

4.05 - Novation

4.06 - And Those We’ve Left Behind

4.07 - Wallflower

4.08 - Back to Where You’ve Never Been

4.09 - Enemy of My Enemy

4.10 - Forced Perspective

4.11 - Making Angels

4.12 - Welcome to Westfield

4.13 - A Better Human Being

4.14 - The End of All Things

4.15 - A Short Story About Love

4.16 - Nothing As It Seems

4.17 - Everything in It’s Right Place

4.18 - The Consultant

4.19 - Letters of Transit

4.20 - Worlds Apart

4.21 - Brave New World (Part 1)

4.22 - Brave New World (Part 2)

SEASON 5

5.01 - Transilience Thought Unifier Model-11

5.02 - In Absentia

5.03 - The Recordist

5.04 - The Bullet That Saved The World

5.05 - An Origin Story

5.06 - Through the Looking Glass and What Walter Found There

5.07 - Five-Twenty-Ten

5.08 - The Human Kind

5.09 - Black Blotter

5.10 - Anomaly XB-6783746

5.11 - The Boy Must Live

5.12 - Liberty

5.13 - An Enemy of Fate

#Peter x Olivia #polivia #Olivia Dunham #Peter Bishop #fringe #pinned post #tags

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thefirstknife · 1 year

Note

the fact that Xivu can so easily possess Sloane even if only temporarily is interesting and im curious will ever be brought up and used either in lore or direct plot

also was it just me or was that whole speech she gave to Sloane kinda sound like a weirs love letter.in a Hivey sorta way? 👀

It was so good. It's actually been showed directly before, with what happened to Osiris in Immolant so Sloane's experience was them bringing it up again, in a way! He got compelled by Xivu as well, with a very similar vibe of her speaking to him and driving him to violence. With Sloane it was more direct at the end, so maybe we have yet to see more of that power being used, though it may have something to do with Sloane being half-Taken. Osiris just heard Xivu's voice and got pushed into a sort of a trance of violence.

Osiris peers into the Hive protrusion. Metallic flecks shimmer, and he sees a long and empty road. Meandering. He wishes to plant a great banner over it, so that all may see. A beacon, alight with Phoenix flame. Looming in the nascent flamelight hangs the terrace of blades. The terrace dominates the road; its precipice at his throat. He raises the Dawnblade to meet them. Rupturing cacophony ravages his senses.

I AM THE WAR YOU CRAVE. PURPOSE ETERNAL. A LEGACY IN BLOOD.

"It's full of soulfire veins." Sagira's voice is wind to Osiris. She nudges him.

WHEN YOU DRAW BLADES, YOU DRAW ME.

"Do you hear the whispers?" Osiris's words slur.

YOU CANNOT RESIST WITHOUT INVOKING MY BANNER.

"You're hearing something?" Sagira floats near him.

EMBRACE ME, LIGHTBEARER, AND BE A GOD OF DEATH.

"Whispers." His mind clouds.

Note how he had visions, including a vision of a terrace of blades, the earliest reference to the Black Terrace of Xivu Arath. He was completely taken over by her and her beaming voice in his head. After, he slaughters every legionary that was entranced by the cryptolith.

The Cabal trundles forward. Osiris billows incineration. The blaze cooks the interior of the pod. Kneeling Cabal break free of their trance and stand in the scalding air. Of the remaining seven, two fall immediately to a hail of celestial firebolts. Osiris grounds himself and unleashes a cascade of Arc across the mass of lumbering Legionaries. Lightning bends inward against the pod's magnetic shielding. He holds the storm on them until pressure gel hisses and spits from their suits.

Osiris exhales. Their smoldering bodies invade his nostrils. The scene clarifies. Horror, scorch, and char.

This is a lot more clear now that we've also seen what Sloane had to deal with. It's chilling. Osiris was the first to get caught by this, before he knew it was Xivu. His investigation into this incident is what led him to the Moon. It was an intense experience that he couldn't even properly remember:

"You ready to tell me what that was all about?" Sagira asks. She hovers just above the jumpship's control deck, piloting.

"I wish I could. I remember tracking Caiatl's emissary. Finding the Cabal. The night sky. Then… flame and rage. It took everything in me to push those thoughts from my mind." Osiris slumps in his seat. "There is one clear memory. I felt the Dark whisper that we've been chasing. Like a needle in my spine. It must be at the root of all this."

In-game it's definitely more of a horrifying experience and meant to be that way, by Xivu who seeks to warp minds and push them into war, to tithe her and bind them to her and not so much a weird love letter, even by Hive standards.

I really love how Sloane had 6 weeks worth of people surrounding her and grounding her and helping her cope with trauma and being the shield between her and Xivu. Osiris ran into this out of nowhere, just him and Sagira, before anyone knew of the danger. He never stood a chance. With Sloane, we could prepare and help her. I imagine that Saint's insisting on helping her was motivated by what happened to Osiris. He couldn't save him, but he will do everything to save someone else.

Though personally, outside of the context of the game, I wouldn't object. Xivu, you can beam your thoughts to me, for free.

#destiny 2 #destiny 2 spoilers #season of the deep #season of the deep spoilers #xivu arath #sloane #osiris #ask #love how immolant is still relevant. the sacred texts

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ladycatofwinterfell · 8 months

Text

Black does not become you

Summary: Some time after Ned’s arrival at Castle Black a raven comes with a letter for him. With a heavy heart he’s allowed to read what might be the last he ever hears from the woman who was once his wife.

Day 6 of @nedcatweek : Ned lives (but takes the black)

Barely did Ned have his feet on the ground again before someone called for him and he could not help but sigh. He had stood watch atop the Wall from sunrise to sunset, he wished for nothing but to eat a warm meal and then fall asleep. Rest was too much to ask for, that he had not done since… he could not even say. He could not remember a morning when he had not woken up still tired and sore. Still the bad dreams were better than the contemplation he subjected himself to when he was awake.

“Stark!” the voice called again.

He had learned to know the voice of his lord commander well. It had not been hard, The Old Bear would have been able to make himself heard anywhere.

“Lord Commander Mormont” Ned replied, dreading what would come next.

“I have a letter for you.”

A letter? No one had written to him since he had arrived at Castle Black. Who had decided to do so then?

Slowly, leaning heavily on his cane, Ned managed to make his way to Jeor. The cold was not kind to his leg, made it ache terribly. An ache from deep within the bone. He was not good for anything when he was not riding out beyond the Wall, merely limped around.

When he had finally reached his lord commander he noted that the seal of the letter in Jeor’s gloved hand was broken. Though that did not change that the wax was grey. Ned’s heart skipped a beat when he realised it had to be from Winterfell. The seal had been adorned by the grey direwolf of House Stark before it had been broken.

“A letter for me and yet you have broken the seal” he said.

Jeor Mormont gave a grunt that could have been both a laugh and a disapproving noise.

“I give it to you only as a courtesy. In truth I don’t know if you should have it, it’s enough to make the most loyal brother desert.”

A letter from Winterfell that it was better for him not to have. It was from his family. What had been his family. Catelyn or one of the children. What else could have been enough to make him desert? Perhaps it was news of another war, a letter that said the peace had been too brittle to last. Though why would Mormont not have simply said that instead of giving him the letter?

“A courtesy to the former Lord Stark” Ned said.

Had he been anyone but who he was then perhaps he would have never seen that letter. It was said names and titles did not matter in the Night’s Watch, that being stripped of all that made the black brothers equal. It was not quite the truth. He had noticed he was received with more respect than his new brothers from most everyone. Not because he was more deserving of it, but because he was Eddard Stark.

“A thank you for what you have done for The Watch.”

When Ned reached for the letter he noticed that his hand was trembling and it was not because of the cold. The mere prospect at reading something written from Winterfell made him feel somewhat lightheaded. He was not supposed to want it that much, he was supposed to have put all of it behind him.

“I advise you to read it in private” Jeor told him.

“Thank you, Lord Commander.”

He dared not look at the letter as he walked towards the Flint Barracks. Most men would be eating or seeing to their duties at that time, most likely the barracks would be largely empty.

His heart was beating hard in his chest, as if trying to free itself from his ribcage. Words from Winterfell. Words from one of those he had been forced to leave behind. Words from far away.

When Ned sat on the edge of his bed he removed his gloves before opening the letter. He could not damage it in any way, it had to remain the way it was. The way it had left Winterfell.

He could not keep breathing when he saw that a lock of auburn hair had been fastened with wax at the bottom of the letter. It was from Catelyn.

My love,

I write to you against my better judgment.

There was so much Catelyn in it that he should have felt it before he opened it. The words were written in slightly crooked letters, he wondered if they would ever return to being as neat as they had been before she had grabbed a dagger for their son.

He could not keep reading, wanted to savour every word. Perhaps it was the last thing he would ever hear from her. She still called him his love. His chest had began aching so much that he forgot about his leg.

Once again he found that he was trembling as he touched the auburn lock. The familiar feeling of Catelyn’s soft hair under his fingers made it hard to breathe. Last time he had felt that was in King’s Landing. It felt like a lifetime had passed since then. His life had crumbled around him.

Though then and there he could feel Catelyn’s hair again and read words written by her. He would have liked to hear them spoken from her lips. Said gently in the darkness of her bedchamber after they had made love.

I cannot know if you will ever read this letter, though I hope you will. I expect no answer, you need not concern yourself with that.

Perhaps if he asked the maester he could send her a short answer. Not a long letter, not a page of words. Merely a few words to let her know he had read it. Immediately there was a sense of guilt at that thought. He could not answer her. She was not his wife anymore.

You also need not concern yourself with me. I knew you for a long time and I expect you have not changed all too much, therefore something tells me you worry for me. That is not necessary. I live, I have my health.

He worried for her and he worried for the children. It seemed that was all he did. After what had happened in King’s Landing he knew they were on thin ice with the new king and his men. In taking the black he had avoided war, that did not change that Catelyn had become a traitor’s wife and that his children had been sired by a traitor.

The children, all five of them, mourn your presence in their lives. They miss their father. They are lost without you to lead them, and I cannot be what you were even as I try. I am only one person. Robb became Lord Stark before he was ready for it, before you had taught him all that you meant to. As I write to you he has yet to find his footing. I am certain he will one day, though he was not ready to be without your guidance. Still you would have been so proud of him. He is truly his father’s son.

His eldest boy. His son and heir. Lord Stark even as he was barely a man grown. Ned had not seen him since he left Winterfell for King’s Landing. He had still looked a boy then, with snowflakes melting in his auburn hair. Catelyn had sometimes insisted there would be more Stark in his appearance as he grew, Ned wondered if that was true. If there were traces of him in Robb that he would never see.

Benjen had been allowed south and therefore been able to visit Winterfell from time to time, he was not certain he would have that privilege. He had not chosen freely to take the black, he had been sentenced to it. It was his punishment for doing what he had done. He was chained to Castle Black to keep him from further schemes. Not that he had been scheming.

I fear Rickon will not remember you once he grows older. That the time when you were his father and not a black brother will be no more than a story to him. For now he still weeps for you. It does not seem to matter how many times I explain to him why you cannot return to us, he keeps asking.

Ned had to blink to clear his vision. The words had grown blurry. He did not know when he had last wept. Apparently it was not cold enough for the tears to freeze in his chest.

His youngest child would not remember him one day. He suspected that day would come quite soon. Little Rickon. Ned would never see him grow up. Rickon would become a man grown and Ned would never know him as anything but the small boy who always tried to run after his brothers, furious at that his short legs did not allow him to run as fast as they did.

Arya speaks treason even as I try to keep her from it. She does not see the danger, all she wants is her father. I wish she would stop, I try to berate her for it. I want her safe. Sansa is quieter. She has barely been speaking ever since she was released from the boy king’s court. I notice she weeps often even as she tries to hide it.

His girls. He wanted nothing but to take them into his arms. Comfort them, say that all would be well. All would be well for them. Arya’s anger would lessen with time, Sansa would return to what she had been before their time in the south. With time his absence would not mean so much, they would adjust. They had each other. Ned was alone. Jon was there, but with Benjen lost beyond the Wall he felt so lonely.

Bran has had strange dreams, dreams of ravens with too many eyes that tell him he can fly. I believe he mourns his legs and his ability to walk, though I cannot say. He rarely wants to speak with me and it pains me.

At least Bran was alive. Ned could not push away the vision of him in his bed, eyes closed and his little broken body limp. He had seemed so small, even younger than his years. Catelyn, so grief stricken that she seemed half a ghost, had not helped.

At times I feel anger at what you did, my love. Anger at that you could not for once turn a blind eye and return home instead of doing the just thing. That way my children would still have a father and I would still have a husband. I know you are not at fault, though you had a say in it and I did not. You acted alone and yet the children and I have to pay.

He had not known how it would end. He had believed he would return home to them. Still he did not know if he felt regret. It had been right, it had been just. He had told the world of Joffrey’s parentage, tried to protect Robert’s legacy. Then he had been forced to take back his words. He had done it for the sake of his children, for their safety. That was what was most important.

In my heart you will always be my husband. I wake every morning and look to my side, expecting to see you. The pain of seeing that my bed is empty except for myself never seems to lessen. I know you to be alive, still my entire being aches as if you were dead. My bedchamber has grown colder without you and Winterfell is less home.

Perhaps it would have been easier if he had been dead. His family would not have needed to mourn a living man, there would have been a definite end. Bones and a statue in a crypt. Something to weep over. Instead he was gone. Separated from what he had built with Catelyn. Dead to the world and still alive, they could long for him and he could long for them.

I know I have most likely caused you further pain through this letter. That perhaps you had built a happy vision of us in your mind and I have now shattered it. I apologise for that, though I had to write. I could not stand to think our last interaction after so many years of marriage would take place in a brothel in King’s Landing, and that I would never be allowed to say a proper farewell. I say farewell now. I thank you for the years we had together. I thank you for the children you gave me, the lives we made together. I thank you for every smile, for every laugh. I thank you for the sleepless nights. I never thought myself to be the kind of woman to say these things, though in the end it seems I am.

“I hear you received a letter, what news from Winterfell?”

Ned flinched and looked up from the letter, noticing that his son had entered. What little news arrived at Castle Black traveled so quickly.

Jon frowned when he met his eyes.

“Are you weeping, Father?” he asked. “Has something happened?”

Ned raised a hand to his face, found that the tears had fallen from his eyes. He took a shaky breath and attempted to dry the tears with the back of his hand. Had he ever wept in front of one of his children? He did not believe so.

“The letter is from my wif– from Lady Catelyn” Ned croaked.

His voice was barely enough to carry the words. It all hurt. He had pushed the pain so far away that he had been unable to feel it, though when faced with a letter written by Catelyn he could not do so anymore. It was like drowning.

“Oh” Jon said, and the disappointment in his voice was obvious. “Does she say anything of Robb and the others? Are they well?”

“They’re still somewhat… shaken after what happened in King’s Landing. Though well, in the end. They all have their health.”

He did not know what else to say. Could not bear to tell Jon of what Catelyn described in the letter. Perhaps one day he would, though not that day.

“I understand.”

Jon had to miss his brothers and sisters even as he did not say it. He refused to show any weakness in front of Ned, he had become so grown. Still all Ned saw when he looked at him was the little boy he had brought with him back to Winterfell.

“Are you coming to eat?” Jon then asked. “The others are waiting for you.”

Ned looked down at the letter before turning his eyes back to Jon. He had not yet finished reading the letter, and he wanted to do so in peace. He wanted no one to see the hurt the raven had brought with it to Castle Black. That letter, those words, belonged to him and him alone. He wished for solitude.

“I am not hungry” he answered.

He should have been, he had stood watch all through the day, though he could not feel hunger. The last thing he wanted was to eat.

“Alright. You know where I’ll be, should you change your mind.”

Ned looked after the boy as he left. Jon. A bastard, just as Joffrey. Hidden away because of whom had sired him.

It was hard to keep reading once he had been interrupted. He did not want the letter to end, he did not want Catelyn’s words for him to be over. He sat there and looked at the auburn lock, at the page it had been attached to. Catelyn’s hand had moved over that page, she had touched it. She had written every word and then she had cut a lock of her hair so that he could have a small something of her. How he loved her hair.

Much time must have passed before he could find it in himself to keep reading. It was hard, he struggled with every word. And the tears did not seem to want to stop. Though in the end he managed to finish the letter.

He read it again. And again. And again. He read it until he would have been able to recite parts of it from memory. He wanted more. He wanted to speak with her, he wanted to answer her. He wanted to hold her hands and look into her eyes as he did it.

By the time he folded the letter and put it under his pillow so that it would be safe he had lost count of how many times he had read it. Many. And he would read it again and again, even as it pained him, because it was Catelyn that had written to him. The woman who had loved him. The woman he had loved.

The cage creaked as he once again ascended the Wall. The stairs that led to the top of the Wall would have been a pain even for the strongest of men, with his bad leg he could barely climb up short flights of stairs. So he stood in the large cage, he felt the air grow colder and the winds become stronger as he came higher up.

Much of his day had been spent looking beyond the Wall, that time he did not. He looked towards the Seven Kingdoms. Towards the North. Somewhere in the darkness, leagues away, was Winterfell. Winterfell and Catelyn and their children. He wondered what Catelyn was doing. If she was with the children. Perhaps they were taking their supper together. To imagine them was painful.

I desperately wish you had acted differently so that it had not ended this way. I was not yet prepared, not in the least. You can be a fool at times. Perhaps one day you will wander south with your new brothers and I will be allowed to look upon your face once more. If not, then I hope to reunite with you in the life that comes after this. I will wait for however long it takes, as I have always done.

Life was not a precious thing to him, he had learned to die long ago. Though in doing so it was certain that he would never see the faces of his children again. That he would never see Catelyn again. She said she would wait for him. It seemed terribly unfair to ask that of her.

There are a thousand more things I would like to say and should we ever see each other again I will tell you as many as time allows. Though for now I will end this by urging Lord Commander Mormont, or whoever gets hold of this letter first, to let you read it. Eddard Stark will not desert even as I write him all this, he is too bound by duty and honour. He does not waver. I have both loved and despised him for it.

He would not desert. Deserting would give him nothing. All he wanted was to return to them and if he did so it would most certainly mean his death. If he reached Winterfell he would be executed, the same as any other man. And Robb would be forced to be the one to swing the sword. It would be a cruel fate for his son.

Now, Ned, should Benjen return I want you to tell him I send my warmest regards. Dream of me and the children instead of all the terrible things in the world. Avoid drowning in the darkness, I know you have close to that. Stay alive, defend the realm from what lies beyond, and I will manage Winterfell. I will be Lady Stark even as I am without my Lord Stark.

The wind howled around him. It pulled at his clothes, wanted to lift him from where he stood. If only he had had wings, if only he had been able to sail on those winds. Back to Winterfell. To the warmth of Catelyn’s embrace. Ned closed his eyes and imagined it, longed for something that could never be again.

Yours forever, Catelyn

#this was so fun to write. i love pain #nedcatweek2024 #ned stark #catelyn stark #catelyn tully #ned x cat #my fic

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envysnest · 5 months

Text

Pity the Mayfly (ch. 6/?) - an Astarion/Tav fic

AO3 Link Here

Chapters: 1 // 2 // 3 // 4 // 5 // 6

You had come to the Gate to forget your past, discard your elven name, and pursue alchemy against your family's wishes. On a visit to your old keep, you're found by the Nautiloid, and everything tilts sideways.

TW's for this chapter: Gore (mentions of corpses), Raphael ™, mentions of infertility, brief body horror.

————

Crumpled at the bottom of your pack is a small letter:

To one Tavvendish Carver of Horst’s Apothecary, We, the Baldur’s Gate Alchemical Society, are delighted to inform you that you have been selected for the Baldur’s Gate Alchemical Prize for this year 1484 DR. This decision has been made based on your submission, “Greater Vipers of the Sword Coast and Their Bites.” We would especially like to compliment you on your use of patient interviews and live tests on necrotic subjects. As you have already been made aware, the prize encompasses ten years of funding for further research on selected topics—

“Look at that!” Gale says. “Congratulations are in order.”

You press the letter to your chest. “Oh, it’s a few years old, now. Forgot it was in this bag, really.”

“Still a reason to celebrate, eh?” Gale looks up from the dirt path with a smile. The two of you are climbing a steep hill, where a copse of trees huddles close and blocks the sunlight. Even in the shade, both of you sweat. Your spit tastes faintly of blood. “Nearly got the Waterdeep Mage-a-thon a few years back.” Gale lifts his robes out of the way of a puddle. “That year happened to be when the returning champion came back from Candlekeep for a victory round—”

Not for the first time, you wish the other party members hadn’t left you two to scout. You rub your neck as Gale talks, but your fingers bump into Shadowheart’s careful bandaging. You smooth it down absentmindedly, focusing on the greenery around you. Certainly plenty of balsam and Rogue’s Morsel, but your ragtag little party had no need of those just yet. Heavens knew you had plenty of Dragon Egg. You count the species as you go: mugwort…

“—towards a quick shift into Hold Person, which, as you know, requires a ninety-degree twist of the right hand—”

…more Dragon Egg…

“—and I’m not, perhaps, as skilled as you are at all things necromantic, I try to keep it more traditional—”

…Acorn Truffle…

“Ha!” shouts Lae’zel ahead of you.

Gale startles. You shout back: “What is it, Lae’zel?”

She’s stopped at the top of the hill. She beckons to you and Gale. “See for yourselves.”

You press ahead of Gale. The smell of woodsmoke hangs heavy in the air. As you crest the hill, the trees part, and you finally see it: a ruined village, razed nearly to the ground. A trail of blood leads from the path to several downed goblins and gnolls, leading past a crumbled stone archway into a deserted town square. Something inside of it is on fire: gray smoke curls daintily against the sky.

Gale reaches the top of the hill behind you, and he mutters an, “Oh!”

“Such carnage!” Lae’zel shakes a fist with excitement. “Never before have I seen the like.” She descends the hill, armor clanking away.

You take your hat off and fan yourself with it. “Someone’s taken their revenge,” you say to Gale.

“Indeed.” Gale strokes his beard. “It looks as if this was a makeshift goblin outpost." He points at something. "Though I can’t for the life of me tell what symbol that is supposed to be.”

Draped over the village wall are ugly brown banners; if you had to guess, they were likely made of rotting potato sacks that had been hastily stitched together. A skull— or what you think is a skull— stares out in blood-red ink. Actually, now that you considered it, it could be blood, and you didn’t know what was worse.

Your boots catch a little on the dusty path as you follow Lae’zel; the wooden heel slides, and you hold your hands out to either side of you for balance. The smoke just covers the metallic, rotten smell of corpses, but just barely. Gale steps right into a pool of gnoll’s blood. “Gods,” he spits with disgust, shaking entrails off of his boot. “Messy.”

You put your hat back on as you study the moldering brown banners. “Can’t place this symbol either,” you murmur. While you think, you press your tongue to the inside of your cheek and tap your boot.

“Well,” says Gale as he passes you, “if I can’t, I’m not sure you’d be able to.” It’s matter-of-fact. You stiffen.

“Come off it, Gale,” you snap.

Gale freezes. “I beg your pardon?” he asks, all sweet and wide-eyed, and you despise how meek it is.

“You’re not the only wizard in this group.” You step over a gnoll to join him. “Some of us couldn’t afford university, so come off it.”

Gale stutters behind you. “I’m terribly sorry, Tav—”

“You should be,” you say over your shoulder, but in the town square, you stop short.

The square is surrounded by ruins. Thatched roofs have been blown in, wooden doors ripped off their hinges. Even some low stone walls have been bashed in; by what, you absolutely didn’t want to know. The smell of gore and wood smoke is overpowering, and you press your nose to your sleeve. “By Silvanus,” you swear into the cloth.

Lae’zel kneels next to a human warrior, lifting his hand to the sun to examine his rings. A few doors away, Shadowheart weaves between houses. Bodies pile haphazardly over each other, races and species of all kinds, but most impressive of all, just behind Lae’zel, is a circle of—

Goblins. Bugbears, too. All of them are very, very much dead. In the center of the circle stands Astarion, soaked in blood from head-to-shoe, idly picking something out of his teeth.

You stop in the path. Astarion is humming an off-key tune to himself, so quietly you have to strain to hear. He stands like a man waiting in line for bread: vaguely bored, arms crossed, a sideways slope to his shoulders, weight leaned against one leg. In the sunlight, Astarion’s white hair glints vaguely silver.

“A veritable bloodbath,” says Gale behind you. “Fitting for a vampire.”

You touch the bandaging at your neck.

“Any gith’yanki would be proud.” Lae’zel stands with a grunt. She rests her hands on her hips and scans the village. “Revenge for the civilians slain here, certainly.”

“A-hem.” Astarion examines his nails.

Lae’zel glares up at him. “Is something the matter?”

“Oh no, my deadly beauty.” Astarion leans down, dangerously in Lae’zel’s face. “I was just wondering where my ‘thank you’ was.”

“Chk.” Lae’zel tosses her hair, but there’s a sly quirk to her mouth. Butterflies erupt in your stomach. “You can thank me after I’ve taken your precious fangs from your mouth.”

You can’t help it: you make a pained noise. Both of them look to you. Lae’zel raises an eyebrow. “Perhaps Tavvendish would like the privilege.”

Astarion draws up to his full height, hands planted firmly on his hips. “A privilege now, is it?” He sniffs indignantly and turns away from you two.

You hold up both hands in defeat, laughing nervously. “No one is defanging anyone here.”

“What a relief,” Astarion sneers at a gnoll corpse.

“A shame,” Lae’zel says to his back. “I didn’t think Astarion would cower so easily.”

That gets Astarion to turn on his heel. “Who’s cowering? How about you get your sharp little gith teeth pulled, hmm? Who’d be a coward then?”

“You would submit to a defanging without any protest?” Lae’zel’s eyes travel up and down Astarion’s form. “Are all istik so fragile?”

“Lae’zel,” you say.

Lae’zel tosses her hair over her shoulder again. “I speak plain. I know no other way.”

Astarion snorts. “Some people are into that sort of defanging thing, I’ll have you know.” He ajusts his cuffs and stares down his nose at Lae’zel. “Tavvendish, for example.”

You choke. “I’m not—”

Lae’zel huffs and turns from you, but not before you see her smile. Astarion, meanwhile, waves a hand. “Go on, woodling. This is a safe space.”

You look, defeated, to Gale. The other wizard holds up his hands and turns away. “I don’t want to know,” he mutters.

You give Lae’zel your best pleading look. “Can we get off of this topic, please?”

“Peace, Tavvendish.” She holds up a hand. “We’ll shelve the offer,” and here she glances sidelong at Astarion, “if only for the pale one’s pride.”

“You’ll have to fight me off with a bloody broom.” Astarion bares his fangs and hisses at Lae’zel, only for Lae’zel to bare her teeth and snarl back. That begets more complaining from Astarion, and in the ensuing argument, you back slowly away.

You feel roaring heat at your back. “Hey-ho.” It’s Karlach, with her sword slung over her shoulder. “What’re you kids up to?”

“Children’s games,” you sigh, watching Astarion and Lae’zel bicker. “Have you found anything interesting?”

“You’ll never believe this, Tav.” Karlach swipes at you, as if she’s slapping your arm midair. “We found a gnome tied to a windmill. You’d never fucking believe! Shadowheart and Wyll start running over to stop it, and the poor guy’s screaming his head off, like—” Karlach cups a hand around her mouth: “‘AaaaAAAAAGH, lemme out of here!’ And I’m like, trying to catch the windmill, you know, but it’s hitting me hard, and I don’t want to burn the poor little guy, but Wyll finds the Slow lever by pure accident. Nearly trips over it, the madman! And so we get him down,” Karlach mimes pulling down a rope from the sky, “and it turns out the poor fucker’s a deep gnome. Long way, innit? And Wyll’s being nice and all, helping him up, and get. This.” Karlach leans in, her eyes wide. “Baldurian.”

Another lost soul from your city. Was there even a Baldur’s Gate left to return home to? “Hells.” You shake your head at the ground. “Another one.”

Lae’zel lets out a chk and leaves, shoving Astarion aside with one shoulder. Astarion yells out something after her. Lae’zel shouts something back. You’re not sure if they’re flirting or fighting.

You watch Lae'zel go; she glances at you as she passes, and you pretend to be very fascinated by a nearby human corpse.

Karlach counts on one hand. “So between us, it’s you, Fangs, Shadowheart, Zevlor, a bunch of others at the camp…”

“What did you call me?” Astarion asks from behind you, and you nearly jump out of your skin. Karlach smiles at Astarion over your shoulder.

“Fangs! Everyone gets a nickname.” Karlach points at you. “Tav’s Tavvy, you’re Fangs, I’m Mama K…” After a small pause, the tiefling shrugs. “That’s all I’ve got so far.”

You look over your shoulder at Astarion with raised brows. “Fangs, eh? Not bad.”

Astarion’s lip curls with disdain as he looks down his nose at you. “Don’t you get in the habit, darling.”

Karlach laughs. “Ah, lighten up, Fangs.” She sheathes her sword. “Could be worse.”

Shadowheart approaches your group with her pack open. “Tavvendish, is any of this of use to you? Have a look.”

You support the pack on your thigh and peer inside. Shadowheart points out various pouches and jars: “This one’s all copper shavings, but there’s some mugwort in there. A couple of cloud giant fingers as well…”

“A suspension of…” You open a bottle and smell. “An orchid of some kind, but I can’t place which.” You pass the bottle to Shadowheart. “Weavemoss bloody everywhere as well. Looks like some Pixie’s Hair mixed in…” Pale fingers reach from over your shoulder and begin rustling through the bottles alongside you. You bat Astarion’s hand away. “Stop that,” you snap at him. “If there’s anything interesting, I’ll tell you.”

Astarion whines. “And then you’d hog it all to yourself.” You feel his chin rest on your shoulder as you begin separating Weavemoss from Pixie’s Hair. “Oh go on, Tavvendish,” and he’s all dead weight on your back. “Share.”

Shadowheart tilts her head as she examines one of the bottles. “Did you hear something, Tavvendish?”

“Not a sound,” you reply, without looking up from the Weavemoss.

Karlach gasps and cups a hand to her ear. “Ah, wait— nope.” She shakes her head, frowning. “Nothing. Must’ve been the wind.”

Astarion wails from beside you. He straightens up. “Oh, however will I live without all of your approval? It’s like I’m Gale or something.”

“Ha-ha,” says Gale flatly. He glares at Astarion from over his spellbook. “That’s the second ‘pick-on-Gale’ joke I’ve heard today.”

“Hey, Astarion,” says Karlach, jerking her thumb towards Gale. “What nickname do you reckon for Gale?”

“Mm.” Astarion leans sideways, towards Karlach, and touches a finger to his lips. “Let’s see…”

The two stare at Gale in silence; this seems to unnerve Gale further. He shakes his finger at him. “Some have called me ‘The Wizard of Waterdeep,' I’ll have you know!”

You suppress the urge to roll your eyes. Instead, you stuff the Pixie’s Hair into one of the many pouches at your belt. “That’s all of it,” you say to Shadowheart.

“Good, then.” Shadowheart pulls her pack back to her and sets to fastening its leather buckles. “We’ll sell the rest.”

“Bookworm,” says Karlach.

Astarion rubs his chin. “I don’t think so. Too obvious.”

Gale hides his face behind his spellbook. “I’ll allow it!”

Wyll enters the square, Lae’zel close beside him. There’s a stern look on his face. He stops beside Shadowheart and addresses the group in a low voice: “There’s a Gur ahead looking for a vampire spawn. We’d best be cautious.”

You look up at Astarion. He’s now very, very still, and very much not smiling. Shadowheart coughs; Gale lowers his spellbook.

Karlach takes a step towards Wyll. Her voice is soft. “You didn’t—”

“Gods, no,” Wyll says, holding up both hands in supplication. “We bade him luck and sent him off.”

“Fool,” snaps Astarion. Everyone in the group turns to him. “You should’ve killed the Gur where he stood and saved me the trouble.”

“Astarion.” Wyll’s voice is a warning. He touches his chest. “On my honor, I will not see you hurt.”

“A fat load of good your honor will do, darling." Astarion crosses his arms tightly across his chest. "Any other tired little lines you’d like to feed me?”

Lae’zel steps forward, staring hard at Astarion. “I’ll not have a Gur best me,” she says.

“Me either,” Karlach says. “We’re with you.”

Gale shuts his spellbook with a snap. “We’re a team.” He looks hard at Astarion, gesturing with the spine of his book. “We stay together, no one has to get hurt.”

Astarion eyes the group. Briefly, his gaze shifts to yours. For a moment, he looks unsure of himself, unsure of the people around him. You’re unsure why he’s looking to you, until you realize everyone is. You touch your neck again. Astarion’s fingers twitch. His foot shifts in the dirt, prepared to run—

“Teammates,” you say to Astarion. “No Gur or monster hunter will have you.”

Astarion’s expression sours. He glares at Wyll again. “Such rousing sentiment,” he drawls, but he sounds less afraid, less unsure, than he did a moment before.

Wyll, however, is unfazed. He lifts his chin and stares Astarion down. “On my life, then.”

The two men eye each other. Karlach frowns deeply; something about this unsettles her. She looks to Shadowheart, then you.

Lae’zel, however, seems unfazed. She speaks up beside Wyll. “There is good news yet. The Gur spoke of a hag in the bog below.”

Wyll glances at you. “A hag by the name of Ethel.”

Everything slides into place at once: the gifts, the promise to rid you of your impossible pain, your bag closing by itself, that damned smile. You groan in aggravation and press the heels of your hands to your eyes. Hells, but you were stupid. You should know better than to fall for a hag.

“You’re joking?” Karlach squeaks. "Tavvy?"

“I wish I was.” Wyll sounds a little ill himself, wincing at your defeated expression. “How rare, exactly, is this Yellow Gnoll’s Ear?”

You fiddle with your earrings as you think. “Hardly,” you say, after a long pause. “But it’s amenable to bogs and other wetlands. At the very least, we can sweep the area to check.”

“Could be helpful,” Shadowheart says.

Karlach turns to Wyll. “Isn’t slaying fiends your whole thing, Wyll?” She draws a circle around your group. “We can handle it.”

“Making deals with a hag, are we?” says a voice. “That desperate already?”

The world around you goes intensely, preternaturally still. No birds sing, no insects chirr; even the peepers by the brook have gone completely silent. It was as if Faerun held its breath. You can hear your own heartbeat, and you stay as still as possible, feeling the magic-heavy air sink onto your shoulders. Shadowheart shoulders past you, looking at the path as if something large and repulsive had died there.

Lae’zel, briefly, catches your eye. She looks at you with a question in her face. Seeing such brief gentleness on her is unbearable. Lae’zel must seem to think the same, because her eyes suddenly flick towards the voice. Her expression hardens. When you turn to follow her focus, you notice that the rest of your party is already bristling, on high alert for whatever is on the path.

Who they are on high alert for, however, briefly throws you. Yes, you had expected something horrible: a spare bugbear or two, the Gurs come to take Astarion. Hells, at least you knew what to do with a wildcat or a boar or a Gur. Less obvious was what you did with a man: human, shorter than you, and dressed for an Upper City gala. The group must think the same, because you hear a few swords unsheath.

“Hail,” says Wyll beside you, but he’s toying with that leather braid he keeps on his belt. He hasn’t drawn his weapon, not yet— but his fingers twitch around the keepsake, just inches from his rapier.

The man raises an eyebrow. He’s amused. “Hail, good saer. Always nice to see a friendly face.”

Odd response. Wyll’s head turns the slightest fraction in the corner of your eye. The entire group has become a tight little clump. Karlach’s body heat makes sweat bead under your hat, though Wyll stands between you two. From this angle, you can’t quite see Lae’zel anymore, dwarfed as she is by Karlach. Shadowheart, directly in front of you, stands ramrod-straight. Astarion shivers, once, and then he gulps. The stranger’s eyes snap to his and— as you watch— he leers slightly at Astarion, almost knowingly.

Wyll steps just forward, placing himself at Astarion’s left. “To whom might we be speaking?”

“Oh?” The man presses his hand to his chest. “Me?”

With every step the stranger takes towards your party, the grass wilts and singes. Flowers droop in his path, almost bowing to this man, who— for all intents and purposes— looks like another misplaced Baldurian. In the corner of your eye, Astarion takes a step back, closer to you. The flies seethe around the bodies, buzzing so loudly it’s hard to focus on much else. Gods, but that heat is unbearable.

“I’m no one in particular,” says the stranger. He stops a short distance away from your group, and he bows slightly, though his eyes don’t leave Wyll’s. “You might call me an admirer.”

Someone’s sleeve brushes yours: Gale, smelling like clean cotton and grass, his spellbook held against his chest. His middle finger hooks between pages. Your right hand goes to an Alchemist’s Fire tucked into your belt. Beyond the smoking village, beyond the blood under your shoes, there’s another unfamiliar smell: Burnt. Rotten.

Shadowheart tucks one hand behind her back: it’s already in the beginning position for an incantation. “We’re flattered,” she says primly. “But we don’t mean any harm. We’d like to continue on our way without any bloodshed.”

You look to Wyll’s hands, then Astarion’s. Maybe, if you can just slip this Alchemist’s Fire to someone…

The man laughs. The sound makes the hair on your arms prickle up. His voice is a purr. “I wouldn’t dream of harming you. In fact…” The magic in the air tilts drunkenly, and then it’s pressing down on your shoulders even harder than before. “One might say I’ve sought you out.”

He looks at you over Shadowheart’s shoulder. Directly at you.

A deep breath, an offered hand, and then the man recites:

“Snakes and beetles and low crawling things, Wonder and terror and death they may bring, But the viper, with her powerful bite, Must always keep the falcon in sight—“

The stranger snaps his fingers. “A moment's lapse; the bird strikes true!” His expression becomes morose. “Alas,” he drawls, “the viper is off to her doom.”

An admirer? You narrow your eyes. Had this man ever entered the shop? Is this just another lost Baldurian? “Okay,” you reply.

The stranger tilts his head back and laughs again: charming, musical. “My, but Miss Carver! You truly wound me. I wrote that one just for you.”

You try to back away, but your heels sink directly into an open skull. Bone and viscerae squelch under your boot. You can’t breathe. The rotting smell grows worse.

“What is this,” you ask the stranger, your voice like glass. “How do you know my name?”

“Oh, fuck no,” Karlach says suddenly. “I don’t like this.” She thunks her sword on her shield: a metallic clang of metal-on-wood that feels deafening in that unnatural stillness, and you wince. She’s deceptively quiet when she speaks again: “Just tell us why you’re here.”

The stranger’s mouth twists. He looks at Karlach, almost bored, though the flames have leapt up from her face to surround her head. “Afraid, are we?” He scans your party. His eyes, you think: there’s nothing there. He may as well be looking at objects on a shelf. “I don’t blame you: these are hardly idyllic conditions for a friendly chat."

Karlach growls. “Tell. Us.”

“Speak now,” Lae’zel snaps from her side. “We have no time for idle games and children’s rhymes.”

“Now, now.” The stranger holds up both hands. “There’s no need for hostility, remember? I’m here,” he says, teeth all white and gleaming, “to offer a solution to your…collective problem.”

It’s when Gale says Mystra protect us under his breath that you know he’s come to the same conclusion you have. No wonder Wyll is nervous; no wonder Karlach is upset.

You remove your hand from the Alchemist’s Fire. It wouldn't do you good-- not here.

The stranger leans back on his heels. “Ah— lest I forget our bucolic environment. Let’s discuss somewhere more comfortable.”

He snaps his fingers. Suddenly, the ground underneath you disappears.

You gasp, struggling to pull in the icy air that now surrounds you. It feels as if your lungs are collapsing. Everything goes blurry and blinding-white. You can’t make out your companions— you can't make out anything— that strange magic is all around you, pushing you, squeezing your body, pulling, yanking, and you begin to scream—

Your boots touch marble. Something sets you down gently on your feet, as if you were a doll. Soft taps resound all around you, and you turn to look: your companions have landed near you. A heavy banquet table separates you from the rest of the group. You hear a whump, followed by Astarion’s muttered, “Ugh!” Unlike everyone else, he has landed chest-first, splayed ass-end-over on the elaborate floor. That heat is everywhere now, stifling and unbearable, as heavy as the magic that now drones and pops in the air around you. You remove your hat and swipe your sleeve over your forehead.

“What the fuck?” Karlach mutters. Her breathing becomes shallow. She wrings her hands. “No,” she murmurs in horror, “no—”

“Welcome,” booms the stranger, with outstretched arms, “to the House of Hope!”

The Hells? You were in the Hells? And was this man— taller? Was that just you?

Gale braces himself on a wooden chair behind you and says, “Mystra protect us,” again, much louder. Karlach has her hands over her face, muttering no no no no in a small voice as she rocks on her feet; Wyll hovers helplessly nearby, hands outstretched over her shoulders. Lae’zel steps between Karlach and the interloper with her sword brandished. Shadowheart makes up the difference, now reaching for her staff with her free hand. You realize you should do the same, but you are at the front of the group: nothing between you and the stranger, who looks perfectly content standing before a roaring fireplace. Despite the heat, there isn’t a bead of sweat to be found on his perfect face. You look, desperately, to Astarion, who— oh, no, he isn’t beside you anymore. He’s slunk away around the table, closer to Gale now. Your stomach sinks.

The stranger looks directly at you, smiling wide, looking like a sated cat. “We haven’t been properly acquainted, have we?” He bows, this time enthusiastically, and far deeper than he bowed to Wyll. “I am Raphael. A pleasure to make acquaintance with you and your party, Miss Carver.”

“Me?” you bleat, pointing to your chest with your hat. “Why me?”

Raphael straightens and claps his hands together. “Why, indeed!” He gestures to the space around you. “We shan’t rush into things. Please, make yourselves comfortable. My home is a refuge, you see—”

Now, for the first time, you can properly see your surroundings. The dining hall you’re in is huge and expensive-looking, far finer than anything you would’ve encountered in Fox’s Keep or the Lower City. The lighting is dim: only a few candelabras decorate the crimson walls. Several portraits, each one larger than two men standing end-to-end, decorate the empty space. As you examine them, you realize that one portrait shows the same person as the other— and that portrait shows the same person again— and you spin on your heel, looking up at them one-by-one. All of the paintings are of the same cambion: here he is driving a sword through a screaming knight. Here he is toasting a victory. The tadpole coos; you feel a driving pain behind your left eye, exactly where the parasite squirms, and the room spins. You look down instead.

On the banquet table behind you is food. So much food: jellies and caviar and stews and pig’s heads and filleted rabbit and fruit and cheese, enough to send your stomach growling after camp meals for days on end. There’s a wild urge within you— perhaps an illithid one— to shovel all of it into your pack and smuggle it home. Some of it is still steaming. Astarion is very still across the table from you; one hand rests against the wood. His middle finger taps that same uneven, rapid staccato from last night; his eyes are locked on Raphael. You’re scheming, you muse, watching his jaw tick ever-so-slightly. But what about?

Raphael is still talking and gesticulating in front of the fireplace. “…would give you the grand tour, but this shouldn’t take long. Perhaps there will be time afterwards, should you heed my offer.”

And underneath the smell of the food is that damned smell.

“Tav,” warns Gale somewhere behind you. The two of you meet eyes across a suckling pig on a silver platter. Gale still has one finger notched in his spellbook, ready to open it at a moment’s notice. “Proceed with caution,” he whispers to you. “I implore you.”

“Don’t need to tell me twice,” you mutter back.

“Something the matter?” Raphael asks.

“Nothing, saer,” you say, turning back to him. You held your hat to your chest, worrying your fingers along the brim. You use the politest tone of voice you can muster: “I’m only wondering which of my problems you think needs solving.”

Raphael’s eyes flash, but his smile remains calm and composed. “Right to business, is it? Very well.”

His body does a funny shake, then, as if he’s trying to get something off of his back. The magic in the air squeaks; you think of learning violin as a little girl, the screechy little rasp your bow made when it hit the string all wrong. Between one of your breaths and the next, Raphael changes form.

Your breath catches.

“Gods,” mutters Astarion somewhere behind you. “Fuck,” mutters Karlach. “Tsk’va,” mutters Lae’zel, followed by more Tir phrases. Shadowheart mutters a prayer. So does Gale. Wyll simply turns away and exhales.

“Such a dour crowd,” sighs Raphael, folding his wings behind him. “I addressed Miss Carver for convenience, but this deal is for all seven of you. It’s not as if you’re missing out.”

You’re loathe to admit it, but there’s something terrifyingly beautiful about seeing a devil in-person for the first time. The swooping sensation is something like when you first held a Spitting Moccasin at your workbench. You had seen your own reflection in the snake’s eyes. You knew it could stop your heart instantly, and yet, you felt hypnotized by it. Reality must do strange things in the Hells, because Raphael is definitely taller than you now, the fire definitely roars higher, and the portraits loom above you. Perhaps you had shrunk.

Raphael’s eyes— now that dark, deep color you’ve seen in Wyll’s good eye— slide to you. “I appreciate an efficient woman,” he says, “so I won’t keep you waiting. I understand you have an unexpected visitor,” and here he taps his forehead, “in that lovely skull of yours.”

You shake your head. “I’m not interested,” you say automatically.

Raphael raises a brow. “Oh? You’d rather have an illithid worm feasting on your brain matter for the rest of your short life?” He addresses the room now: “It’s to be mind-flayers for all, then?”

Lae’zel snarls. “Hold your tongue, devil, lest I cut it out for you.”

Raphael tucks his hands behind his back, expression plaintive. “For the good of Vlaakith and Creche K’liir, my sweetling? I’m sure your people would have much to say about a gith’yanki turned illithid traitor.”

Lae’zel’s face falls— for the slightest of moments, she looks truly afraid—

Wyll puts a hand on Lae’zel’s shoulder and steps forward. He lifts his chin, gazes down his nose at Raphael. “We are under existing contracts, devil. I would have to consult with my sponsor.” He’s smiling; you can’t imagine how or why. “Or you may consult with my blade.”

Raphael snorts. “Oh, please. I’m not interested in fighting any of Mizora’s or Zariel’s brats.”

Wyll audibly chokes on his next words.

Raphael occupies himself with a loose button on his cuff. “Not for fear of them, you see— it’s just that answering to your master is…” He sneers at Karlach and Wyll, who now looks as lost as Lae’zel. “More trouble than you’re worth.”

“Fucking bastard,” Karlach roars from between her fingers, and Wyll draws his rapier—

“Ah-ah.” Raphael shakes a finger. “No weapons in the house.”

He snaps his fingers; the rapier vanishes. Wyll rocks forward, flailing for something that isn’t there. His boots make a loud scuffing noise against the marble as he catches himself. The Blade presses his lips together and wrings his sword hand in pain, as if he’s pricked it on something particularly sharp. Lae’zel bares her teeth again and lifts her sword, but Raphael waves his hand, and that is gone, too. You look down at your hat: your hands are shaking.

“Anyone else?” Raphael asks.

Karlach, evidently, knows better, because she doesn’t bother reaching for her weapon. Her shield arm hangs limply at her side. She won’t look up from the floor. Shadowheart’s hands are locked around her staff, as if clinging to it will keep Raphael from spiriting it away. She’s mumbling to herself: more prayers, maybe?

Gale clears his throat behind you. “What exactly are your terms?”

“Gale,” snaps Lae’zel, but whatever’s in his face makes her pause. She scowls and exchanges glances with Wyll.

“I’m glad you asked, Mister Dekarios!” Raphael rustles his wings as he presses his fingertips together. “I can rid you of the parasite upon signing. That’s more than anyone else can say thus far.”

“No deal,” you grit out.

Raphael chuckles. Cold sweat pools on the back of your neck.

“Not yet, at least.” He waves a hand dismissively and turns to the fire. “I’m sure you’ll come begging soon enough. Have yourselves a little adventure looking for alternatives. Why—” He turns on his heel, eyebrows raised. “Perhaps you’ll turn mindflayer the moment you leave! Who’s to say?” He shrugs. “If you’re comfortable with that risk, who am I to stop you?”

You…aren't comfortable with that risk. But you had been told stories about devils and fae, back in Fox’s Keep; you had told the same stories to your siblings as they grew. Never accept a bargain, went the old wives’s tale, lest you grow horns for all to see.

But the worm…

You swallow. You are horribly thirsty. No one says anything.

Raphael makes a small noise. “I suppose not, then?”

Karlach says something small: something like we can’t.

Shadowheart steps forward. “No deal.”

Gale speaks behind you: “No deal.”

Wyll is next: “No deal.”

“Never,” says Lae’zel.

Astarion says nothing.

Raphael sighs and looks to the ceiling, tapping a finger on his chin. “Oh dear. Life is full of disappointments, is it not? Very well.” He stretches his wings. You can see the firelight dancing away through the diaphonous skin between the bones. “I’ll be here when you’ve had your fill of them. Off you go.”

“Wait—” says Wyll, but Raphael snaps his fingers anyway. There’s a pull in the fabric of reality, like you’re being yanked somewhere cold and airless, and you hold your breath in anticipation, squeeze your eyes shut—

And when you open them, you are…

Right back in Raphael’s home. You haven’t moved. Everyone else is gone; you frantically scan the room, but there aren’t any familiar faces to turn to.

“Not you, Miss Carver,” drawls Raphael behind you. “Stay with me a moment, won’t you?”

The portraits seem to leer down at you. Suddenly, the food in front of you, the sheer excess of it, makes your stomach turn. The fruit is too sweet; the meat glistens in the candelight. A fly meanders over the feast on the table, lingers over a loaf of bread, and, as you watch, lands on its crust. The fly rubs its legs together, preens itself. Raphael’s wings beat with a leathery whisper, and the insect rolls off helplessly into the caviar.

“Not terribly hungry, are we?" he asks. "Please, eat! You look like you’ve had a row with something that bites.”

You wince, hand flying up to shield your neck from his view. “What do you want from me?” you say to the table.

“I have a little bargain I’ve saved just for you.” When you don’t respond, he scoffs. “Don’t you want to hear what it is?”

The fly writhes, legs kicking helplessly in the air as it drowns. You turn to Raphael and brace yourself against the table. The cambion is thoughtful, almost contemplative, as he considers you. He taps his claws against his chin. You’ve sensed something dark and powerful more than once— it’s impossible not to when studying necromancy— but not like this. Never like this.

“I don’t need help from a devil.” Your voice shakes.

“Most do not. But you,” Raphael said, and his eyes travel down your torso, “may want help,” he points at your lower belly, “with that.”

He might as well have reached out and struck you across the face. You try to inhale, find you can’t. Your vision blurs; you push off the table and walk across the room, trying to put distance between you and him. (You are not sure why: there’s nowhere you can go.) Raphael doesn’t follow; when you turn back, he’s merely watching you closely, as one watches an interesting, exotic animal. The fire turns his wings a translucent, glowing orange.

“Am I right?” Raphael asks, infuriatingly sympathetic. “The pain radiates from you.”

“I don’t—” You try swallowing again, but your throat is too dry. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Raphel tsks. “No need to play tough, little witch. It’s just us here.”

You can’t move. You want to run away. Humiliation burns brightly in your face. Raphael watches you, smile wide and indulgent.

When he speaks again, his voice is gentle, soothing: “It hurts, doesn’t it?”

You say nothing.

“I imagine it’s agonizing,” he coos. “Feeling your flesh sew itself together. And it gets worse all the time.” He walks a slow circle around you as he talks, gesturing at you. “Sometimes you can’t walk, or speak, or eat, or make love. And you know how wood elves like to do that.”

“I don’t want—” Hot tears brim at the edges of your eyes. You try to step away from him, away from the table and its too-perfect food. “I don’t want a deal.”

In your periphery, you see Raphael give you a once-over. “Is that all your life is destined to be?” he sighs. A few more steps, and he moves out of your view. “A short life of pain before bleeding from the inside-out? No children?”

You jump as you feel warm hands on your shoulder. “No lover?”

You wrench yourself out of his grip, stumbling forward. “The answer’s no.”

“You don’t even want to hear my bargain.” When you turn to face him, he crosses his arms, looking unbearably smug. You move to draw your staff, but your fist only meets empty air behind you.

“I don’t care what the bargain is,” you say, and you hate how your voice shakes. You drop your hand. “You’re going to do something awful to me.”

He twirls a wrist in the air and rolls his eyes to the ceiling. “Why, Tavvendish,” and here he presses a hand to his chest and looks at you with wide eyes, “I’m once more hurt by your words. Aren’t you at least a little curious?”

You had to admit: you were. Your heart races in your chest.

“Not even a little,” you say.

Raphael rests his index finger on his cheek and stares at you thoughtfully. “What if I told you it’s a price you’d be willing to pay?” He leans towards you, all the way forward, on his toes. “That fulfilling this contract would be a joy for you?”

You look away, and Raphael adds, “That it would use your skillset in the most satisfying way possible?”

When you look up again, Raphael puts his hands behind his back, waiting patiently.

Damn.

“Let me hear it,” you sigh.

“I want you…” Raphael trails off, staring at you intently.

You raise your eyebrows.

“…to make me…” Raphael trails off again.

You gesture for him to hurry up. “To make you…?”

He claps his hands together in front of him. “A custom perfume!"

You stare.

And stare.

Raphael’s smile widens, as if he’s told you the secret to making gold from lead.

“Raphael,” you say. “What.”

“Not just any perfume, mind.” He holds up a finger. “This perfume— and you may choose your medium, so long as it’s to be applied topically— must contain no less than five milligrams of Golden Asp venom.”

The golden asp; the very first snake you had milked successfully. They were native to the woods east of Fox’s Keep. One snake would yield more than enough.

“There’s a catch,” you say softly.

He chuckles. “Smart girl. Here it is.” His smile disappears; his voice pitches low. “Your challenge is to make this scent both harmless,” he counts on his fingers, “and long-lasting. It must be enough to cover the smell of both sulfur and Infernal magic.”

Ah, you think, that’s what that rotting smell is.

Raphael continues: “If it doesn’t satisfy my requirements, I’m afraid the deal is off.” He clasps his hands in front of him, smirking. “But aside from hard feelings, there will be no punishment for failure. I'm a fair one.”

You stare at the fire, feeling like a trapped rabbit. You were no perfumier; you balk at the idea that Raphael thought otherwise, that Raphael thought your work could be reduced to a frivolous hobby. Golden Asp venom smelled strongly of alcohol; it would be challenging to neutralize its toxicity, let alone make it smell appetizing on the skin.

But if you used it as a solvent…

You shake your head. “No.”

When you look up at Raphael, he’s grinning, like you already took the deal. His teeth look extremely sharp.

“No need to make any rash decisions,” he purrs. “Take your time. Mull it over.”

“It’s impossible,” you lie. “I don’t even know how to mask sulfur.”

Raphael’s eyes go wide. He puts a hand to his heart with mock innocence. “Oh, neither do I. But,” he adds, “wouldn’t it be delightfully fun to find out?”

And the promise of your pain taken away…

You sink into a nearby chair. It’s soft and smells of dust. “My soul is part of the deal, I assume?”

“Not necessarily.” Raphael crosses his arms. “We can save that for another arrangement.”

You snarl up at him. “There will be no other arrangement.”

“Just the one, then?”

You open your mouth. Shut it.

With a wave of his hand, Raphael conjures a magic scroll in the air beside you. Its text, all Infernal, burns red-hot; you shield your eyes against the glare. A phoenix-feather quill burns next to it.

You squint at the Infernal contract. “That wasn’t a yes.”

“Oh, Miss Carver, but it could be.” Raphael takes the quill. With uncharacteristic gentleness, he unfurls your fist, sets the quill in your palm. His skin is blazing hot. This close, you can smell his current cologne: enticing, even seductive, but still not enough to cover the stink of magic.

“A lifetime free of pain,” he murmurs, and he closes your fist around the quill. “Pleasure, fertility, children, a family; all that you want, given as just compensation for your time.”

Your hands tremble in his. Raphael leans forward, just so, and you can feel his hot breath against your ear: “Sign whichever name you prefer.”

You can’t stop staring at the contract; something about it pulls you in, and you lurch towards it, as if something beckons you from within it—

You blink away tears. You shake your head. “No,” you say. You look up at Raphael, whose face is now so terrifyingly near to yours. “I can’t.”

“Not ready yet?” he asks.

You could go home. You could be normal again. You could settle into a boring life inside your keep: raising children, cooking, hanging the laundry in the front yard.

The thought makes you sick with want.

“I…I just. I can’t.” You proffer the quill. “I won’t.”

To your surprise, Raphael smiles as he takes the quill from you. “It’s no trouble, woodling.” With a boom, the contract bursts into flames in front of you; you jump. “Take your time,” he says. “Think on it. Mull it over.”

Within minutes, the contract is cinders, spread all over the feast like a fine, grey powder.

“But,” Raphael says, and the hair on the back of your neck stands up as he leans ever-closer, breath reeking of sulfur and decay, “you’ll come begging soon enough.”

He snaps his fingers— there, again, that sickly lurch, the icy vacuum—

You stand in the middle of the ruined village, your hat still in one hand. Gravel crunches under your boots. The familiar smell of rot and burning wood fills your nose, but all you can smell is how dead everything was on that horrible, yawning table.

“She’s back!” someone says, and then, all at once, there are people around you, grabbing, touching—

“No,” you mumble. Someone tugs on your sleeve; you jerk your arm away. “No,” you say again: clearer this time.

“Tav!” someone shouts, then, “Tav,” then, “Tavvendish!” and everyone’s voices become a loud, droning sameness: Tav Tavvendish Tav are you alright Tavvendish Tavvendish say something Tav. You close your eyes against the blinding sun. You swallow and speak around your slightly-raised hands. “Not— please—”

“What did you see?” Wyll asks over Gale’s shoulder, “What did he do to you?” Shadowheart asks, “Are you well?” and she’s barely gotten the words out before Lae’zel says, “Tsk’va, look how she shakes,” and Gale says, “Tav, breathe—” and Karlach shouts, “Give her some air!” and—

“LET ME GO!”

Your exclamation was met with wide, confused, open stares. One by one, at least, people back away from you. Somewhere around Shadowheart and Karlach, you realize Astarion is not there at all. Your eyes flick over Lae’zel’s head, and, some ways away, there he stands. Astarion meets your eyes; his face is blank. It makes you so angry.

“How long was I gone?” you snap at him. Astarion doesn’t move. His eyes drift away from yours.

“Several minutes,” says Wyll, “Around ten,” says Gale, “Give her room,” snaps Lae’zel, and most of the group, save Shadowheart, backs away even further. The half-elf merely stares at you thoughtfully, eyes narrowed, as if she’s trying to place something.

Someone takes your hand: Wyll. You stare at him. He says, very slowly (as if you’re very stupid, does everyone think you’re stupid), “Tav, you’ve got to tell us what happened.”

“Do not touch me.” Your voice is icy; you don’t recognize it. Wyll winces and lets go immediately. Hurt wells in you like fresh blood, and you shove it down in favor of glaring at him. “None of you touch me.” When no one has anything to say, you stomp your heel into the dirt. Your hat flutters with the motion of your arm. “Why does everyone keep touching me? I don’t like being touched!"

Wyll holds up both hands in defeat. “Alright, Tav.” You hate his slow, measured tone, the wariness in his gaze. “No one will touch you.”

“Tavvy.” It’s Karlach. “We didn’t—” She exchanges glances with Wyll, looking defeated. “You didn’t— agree to the deal, did you?”

“Of course not!” you snap. “I know wood elves are— are a novelty to some of you, but I do know better!”

The tadpole whispers: unlike Wyll unlike Karlach unlike them you are special you are—

“Then what was it, love?” Karlach clenches her fists to her chest emphatically. “What did he do to you?”

“It was—” You’re tearing up, much to your mortification. You turn away from the group and blink the tears away. “He offered me a bargain. I refused.” You turn back to them. “That’s all.”

Everyone exchanges glances with one another.

“Stop acting like I’m not here,” you say. “Just—” You dig one trembling hand into your scalp.“Please. Let’s forget it ever happened and continue on.”

There’s a long, awful silence. You can’t bring yourself to look up at them; you know they’re judging you, looking between each other with silent pity. This always happens, wherever you go, no matter how hard you try. You hunch in on yourself and whine. They won't stop looking at you.

Something pushes curiously against your brain. The tadpole chirrs, pleased, as if greeting the new visitor to your consciousness, and you wrap your arms around your head and shout, “NO.”

The intrusion withdraws.

“I think you’re done for today, Tav,” Wyll says quietly. “You’d better rest.”

Your boots swim and blur, and you watch numbly as a tear plops onto the dirt.

“I’ll help you break camp, my friend.” Wyll’s boots stop in front of yours. “Tomorrow, we renew our search for Ethel.”

“I concur,” Gale says. “I’ll cover for you, Tav.”

“No.” You shy away from Wyll’s comforting hand; pain creases his face. “Please, Wyll. Let’s just move along.”

“Tavvendish,” Shadowheart says, and you hold both your hands up in front of your face, as if to shield yourself from her.

“Let’s just move along,” you say to your hands, a little too loudly, and you feel everyone’s eyes on you. Don’t look at me, you think desperately, and you’re not sure if it’s the tadpole or you thinking, don’t look at me don’t look at me don’t you DARE, and it takes another moment to realize you’re whispering it aloud: “Don’t you dare, stop looking at me, please, stop looking, don’t,” words tumbling from your lips like a clown’s handkerchief, and you can taste silver on your tongue, everyone is watching you—

“How about we all take a break?” someone chirps, uncharacteristically cheery. “Infernal magic always makes me a bit queasy. Let’s give Tavvendish her space and regroup in a half-hour.”

“Please don’t fuck around, Astarion,” Karlach pleads. “Not now.”

“I agree with the spawn,” says Lae’zel. “A break will allow Tavvendish to compose herself. A distracted mage is a weakened mage.”

Don’t talk about me like I’m not there, you try to say, but all that comes out is a gentle whine.

“Tavvendish.” It’s Shadowheart again, and her hands clasp both your shoulders. “Come with me.” She forces you to walk to a ruined building, and you stumble helplessly along. The group’s chatter grows distant, and then quiet, before sputtering out entirely with the sound of a slammed door. This house still has its roof, but Shadowheart steers you into a room that's been blown open to the elements on one side. There’s cold, stale tea sitting in a porcelain cup next to the fireplace.

Shadowheart releases you. “I need you to answer me a few questions, Tavvendish, and then I will leave you well alone." She moves to stand in front of you. "But if you’re injured, I must know.”

You stare at the abandoned tea. Shadowheart continues anyway:

“Are you in any pain?”

“No,” you say.

“Have you been injured? Was there a fight of any kind?”

“No,” you say.

“Was there…?” Shadowheart trails off. “Were you violated?”

Not this time. You shake your head. “No.”

“My lady preserve us,” sighs Shadowheart under her breath. She sounds relieved. “Would you consent to a physical examination, Tavvendish?”

You grab at your forearms and squeeze tightly. “No.”

“Alright. May I at least look at your face for bruises or lacerations?”

Shadowheart is hardly phased by your refusal. She stands there, arms crossed, staring at you calmly. You wince at her even expression.

Eventually, you look back to the tea and sigh. “If you must.”

“Very good.” You feel Shadowheart’s cold fingers on your chin, and then she’s tilting your face towards hers. You stare, blankly, at the scar across her nose: so like your Witch Bolt. Where could she have gotten it from?

Shadowheart makes a low noise as she scans your face. “Pretty eyes,” she muses. “Makeup only a little smudged.” She pinches her fingers together to indicate little.

“Glad I still look presentable.” It’s a reedy little joke, barely audible even to yourself, but the corner of Shadowheart’s mouth quirks upwards anyways. She fishes around in her belt pouch and produces a small white handkerchief, which she offers to you. It smells of orchids: reminiscent of your Nana’s perfume, if you’re honest with yourself. You turn away from her and dab at your cheeks.

“Do you have a sedative?” she asks behind you. “I would avoid the pipeweed. I need you calm.”

You think back on all the items Ethel shoved into your bag. Damn it all, but she was a hag; could you trust her? Your thoughts swim; you visualize her smile, how her eyes were that dead and blank like Raphael’s were— and then you think of the Golden Asp venom and the perfume and something sweet like cherries, and you feel your lungs collapsing again—

Small hands steady your shoulders. “Tavvendish, think,” Shadowheart says. “A sedative. You have one, don't you?”

You squeeze your eyes shut. In your mind’s eye, you visualize your beaten leather pack. Your fingers twitch at your sides, as if you’re carding through the bag yourself: antivenom, healing potions, Malice…

With every item, your mind grows calmer. Dragon’s Egg, basalm, Pixie's Hair, Alchemist’s Fire— Raphael’s smile washes up again, and you yank your thoughts forcefully away from it— pipeweed, Faesblood—

That was right: Ethel had handed you a Faesblood Poppy tea before you asked her for the Yellow Knoll’s Ear. It was looking at the tea that prompted you to ask for the mushroom in the first place.

You look to Shadowheart. “Faesblood. I have Faesblood.”

She nods. “Only a little. And strict rest in your tent until your nerves are well again."

“Wait,” you blurt, holding a hand to your forehead, “It was from the hag.” You sigh. “I’ll have to check if it’s—”

“I’ll do that for you, Tavvendish.” Shadowheart’s curt, businesslike tone is not soothing, but that fact soothes you all the same. “Have someone help you with your tent.”

“I don’t—” You bite it down. Plenty of customers had said the same to you in the shop: I’m not sick. I don’t need help. Their symptoms seemed obvious to you at first sight. They’d be insane not to take what you were recommending.

You swallow the response and clear your throat. “I’ll do so. Thank you, sister.”

Shadowheart lifts her chin and harrumphs. “Once again,” she says, “do not use your wood elf customs on me. I was not raised with them.”

————

You stare blankly at the inside of your tent for the rest of the day. The Faesblood makes your head feel as if it’s stuffed with cotton. All of your thoughts come one-at-a-time and from far away: Shadowheart’s tone going warm for the briefest of moments; the fear in Lae’zel’s eyes at Raphael’s insinuation; the hurt in Wyll’s face when you yelled at him. You want to wince; you want to feel guilt. The tea holds your body very still instead. You lie in your bedroll, staring at your copy of Ten Easy Charms.

You reach under the furs and find your left hip. Slowly, you press your fingers into the softness of your belly. Pain lances through your side in answer.

You groan and pull the furs tighter to your chin.

Taking Raphael’s deal would be insanity; you know that. The stakes for his cure are deceptively easy. You wrack your brain for possible loopholes, but either the Faesblood tea is confounding you, or you truly can’t see how Raphael would use the deal to his advantage. Surely a devil had greater ambitions than smelling pleasant.

There are voices outside of the tent: your party must have returned. Karlach and Wyll are laughing about something. You envy how easily they release their pain, when yours seems to live, permanently, inside of you.

But not for long, if you could only figure out how—

The tent flap lifts, and the campfire illuminates a silhouette through your blanket. “Bugger off!” you shout at it.

“Oh, my.” Astarion. “Such big feelings.”

You press your forehead to your knees. “I’m not in the mood. Go away.”

“For all you knew, darling, I could have a large sum of gold for you! Or jewels.” He ties off the flap, leaving your tent open. “Or rare spiders.”

“I said go away, Astarion,” you mumble. It’s half-hearted.

He settles at the foot of your bedroll. “Maybe not the spiders, then.” He hums thoughtfully. “Mm…I really thought the spiders would work. Let’s see, now. Are we a fan of priceless and ancient artifacts, by chance?”

You yank the blankets off of your head. Astarion jumps when you glare at him.

“Oh, aren’t you a fright? Hold on.” He reaches towards you, and you recoil with instinctive disgust, snarling like an animal.

Astarion merely sighs. “You’ve got—” He brushes at his own forehead in demonstration. “—fluff in your hair. It’s bothering me.”

You reach up and comb at your own bangs, mirroring his movements. Your hand comes away with a white down feather. Embarrassment crawls over your skin as you look down at it.

“Much better!” Astarion chirps.

Hot tears fill your eyes again, but you are still. You just let them roll down your face, helpless as emotion finally shoves its way into your too-tight throat and lodges there. Your stomach roils, threatening a night of pain. You pull your blankets over yourself and flop back against your bedroll; the action turns you away from him.

“Leave me alone, Astarion,” you rasp into the pillow.

“If that’s what you want,” he says. You stare at the tent walls for a long, long time, but Astarion doesn’t move. He merely sits there quietly, near the entrance to your tent, like he’s halfway to leaving.

You watch the sun slide down over the canvas wall. He shifts and coughs, once. You ignore him. The sun moves further still. The birdsong outside wanes, giving way to a lone mourning dove, cooing in the early twilight. You smell Gale and Wyll cooking dinner: rabbit again.

When the light in your tent turns from gold to a soft purple, you clear your throat. “You want blood, don’t you?” you ask the tent wall. “That’s why you’re still here.”

“Not at the moment, darling, though bless you for remembering.”

“It was this morning. How exactly could I forget?”

Astarion scoffs. “I don’t know what your memory’s like.”

“Better than that, certainly.”

“Is that so?” He shifts again. “Name every poisonous spider from here to the Sea of Fallen Stars.”

You close your eyes tightly. “Zero, because no one eats spiders. I told you that yesterday.” You sit up again. “Or don’t you remember?”

But Astarion isn’t looking at you. He’s looking out of your tent, out into the rest of the camp as it comes alive for the evening. Karlach laughs at something, as does Wyll. Magic lilts and chimes in the air; Gale speaks, and Lae’zel replies in turn.

“Whatever he has to offer you,” Astarion says, “It isn’t worth it.”

Oh, but it was. All you owed in return was one measly bottle of perfume, made from the species you knew best: your favorite one, in fact. For that small bottle, Raphael would trade you your life back. You look down at your lap. You can almost see that Infernal script glowing on the backs of your hands. Surely you could—

“Tavvendish,” says Astarion, and you jolt from your stupor. With the sun now set, you can’t read his expression. There is something low and wary in his tone. “People like that never truly give you what you want. You’re only there for a bit of fun before they take everything you have.” He inclines his head. His voice drops impossibly lower. “Don’t ask how I know.”

You lie back down. “I never said he offered me anything.”

“You didn’t have to.” Astarion pushes himself up with a grunt and finally takes the tent flap back in hand. “Enjoy your sulk.”

With a whisper of canvas, he’s gone and out of your tent. The flap whispers behind him. Your nails dig little crescent moons into your thigh under the blanket.

You run your tongue over your teeth, and it’s then that you realize: something salty is in your mouth. Something foul.

Rotten.

You snatch up your handkerchief and spit into it. The small, fuzzy object in the center of your palm is hard to make out, suspended as it is in saliva and some dark, maroon fluid. You narrow your eyes and lean closer. It’s the fly from the caviar: dead now, and tangled in clotted blood.

#tavstarion #astarion x tav #tav x astarion #bg3 tav #astarion #astarion ancunin #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #momofics #pity the mayfly

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