#' hi this is important to you and i'm sure as i die burning i can taste a little bit '

[running-with-kn1ves]

Could you do Orc Tribal Leader X Reader on your wedding night?

A/N: I SWEAR I'm literally just writing the same stuff over again b/c I had a story just like this, but you know what I never get tired of it because its like a top fantasy bro. Hope this one was better than that version at least

Content warnings: Forced Marriage, kidnapping, attempted escapes, nonconsensual touching, infantilization of reader  

Synopsis: Your village, destroyed and burned. Your life picks up somewhere you would never have imagined. Maybe, death is a better option than being an orc’s spouse. 

Word Count: Approx. 2600 

The autumn solstice was a bountiful, beholden time of year. From the greeneries of cabbage and the fowls hatched in summer now fully grown, there was much to be harvested and ripened for the taking. Your town was boisterous, full of life with a variety of competitors and businesses attempting to lurch at any tourist’s or local’s wallet to get them to buy countless crops, meat, and woven goods.  

Your tiny tea shop, suffering from last July’s drought, was finally starting to perk up with re-growth. Black tea, jasmine, bergamot, even hybrid blends like crushed raspberry and chamomile-- you could assemble enough to raise prices, label the small reaping as an imported foreign good luck charm that when drunken, blessed women with marriage prospects and men with wealth.  

That was, before however, you became bound and gagged to a chair, pleasantries being exchanged around you in a language harsh in your ears. The fires... You remember them well, the putrid stench of charred meat from the butcher next door, his body even more ablaze. Your jade boxes of fine silk bags meant for holding gifts of tea, becoming laden with ash and dust. Every scrap of money you saved up under the floorboards disappearing into floating particles and melted coins.  

“Brutes,” Your uncle called them, “deranged beasts with only two things in mind: bloodlust and greed.” 

Orcs were not well-received in a conservative, fearful town of humans. Even the elves, seen as symbols of beauty in mortal standards, were causes of paranoia and irritation whenever they made their rounds nearby.  

It was no wonder that the lines of tusked, olive-fleshed creatures in animal skin were spotted, the guards of your small city went on a rampage. Bows and arrows were no match for iron bones and teeth of steel.  

You, were no match for anything wider than a tree trunk. So when fire caught to your village, your home now rampaged for its finest ‘offerings’ to the orcs, you were left to be eaten by the licking flames. And yet, was it a blessing or a curse that one of the warriors decided to haul you on his back, doting on how “nicely you’ll do” as a wedding gift. You didn’t realize that the gift was to be part of the ceremony yourself.  

With smoke in your lungs and your eyes blurred by dirt and ash, you watched the ceiling cave in on your tiny tea-filled shack, bright orange and red dancing from behind the window panes as you drifted away.  

Daraktan is spoken all around you, harshly and with flicking tongues. You can hear snippets of English, wondering what’s going on behind the black veil covering your head. You don’t dare remove it, recalling what the orc woman, supposedly your now husband’s ‘mother’ telling you in your native tongue.  

“Touch this, and you will surely die. My alfhild will remove it, when it is time.”  

And so, you wait. Digging your fingernails into your palms, crying quietly in heavy furs and leather, the occasional hand coming to pull your shaky one to their mouths, kissing the tip of your index finger.  

“Aka’magosh..” They mumble to you, seemingly more at the body to your right. 

The calloused hand of someone much larger than you, whom you have assumed is your husband from his constant appearance nearby, occasionally comes to grace your back, to rest a hand on the top of your head, to smoothen your veil or the soft fur shawl on your legs.  

His hearty laugh hurts your ears, the jingles of the metal jewelry he adorns constantly making noise as he shifts.  

“Please..” You whisper, praying, to whoever may be listening. Why you? Why, out of all the fair, eligible humans of your town, were you picked out from the rubble to be “saved”? To be married to a faceless orcish man, who would surely break you in half before morning? 

The bitter cold of coming winter brushes against your legs. You can feel that you’re not inside wooden walls, and yet unnatural lighting seems to shine through your veil at times.  

“Omulork, I think I will take my… wedding gift, to be with in solitude.” 

Loud, deep laughs fill the room, the guttural voices of female orcs being swallowed up by uncountable numbers of warriors surrounding you. Your body shivered as a gust of wind blew in, the autumn breeze barely being kept at bay from where you sat.  

“Enjoy the festivities, shedzvagas!”  

His unique husk leaves everyone in the room to cheer in their orcish language, tough and painful pats coming to your back, the festive shakes to your shoulder nearly making you topple. 

That same heated, abrasive hand comes to grab your roped wrists, lurching you firmly, yet gently from your place on the ground. Panic started to fill your stomach as it rose to your chest, the warm aura of an orc next to you radiating to heat you from the chilly weather outside.  

Now. It was now or never. You didn’t want to think anymore what he would do to you when you were alone, when you had no one to cry to for help.  

Your feet moved before the thought finished crossing your mind. Your hands shook as you stumbled in a sprint forward. You passed thick bodies as you ran blindly, making it a mere five steps before a pair of meaty hands grabbed you by the hips. 

“A feisty one, Gar’mak!” The sounds of the orc woman who forced you into your wedding attire spoke up, a drunken laugh leaving her plump lips. “Alfhild, better not leave it out of your sight.” 

You hated how clear the English they used was to your ears, how human they all sounded, how when they spoke in your native tongue-- it was meant for your ears. She wanted you to know, to let the fear soak into your chattering teeth.  

The orc keeping you captive merely laughed, tossing your weightless body to his shoulder just like he had done when pulling you from the cobble of what was left of your tea shop. 

You screamed, biting down on what you could reach from under your veil. But the salty, thick flesh from beneath you was aloof, offering no reaction as a double pat was brought to your buttocks.  

“Now now, Djenifor, don’t fuss.” Gar’mak mused, each step he took forward making your body thump against his. He held a tight grip on you, not caring for the scratches you layered his back with. “I won’t try to hurt you… I will keep you safe, try my best to keep your fragile body in one piece.”  

The coldening night air was a drastic change to the room of heavy body heat and weighty movement where the wedding ritual and festivities were held. Now, it was quiet. You could hear the loud chattering begin to drift, songs and chants rising again as they once had when you were unceremoniously married to your new ‘husband.’  

Gar’mak patted your butt again, moving down to rub at the back of your thigh with a gentle, firm rhythm. He seemed to hum to himself, satisfied with the nights events. Scored himself a spouse and the treasured belongings of a human town.  

He must be pretty proud of himself, you seethed.  

The tears were beginning to sting the corners of your eyes, frantically scratching at the orcs back when you felt the warmth of an enclosed area meet your skin.  

“No, no--” You began to kick, trying to shove off the arm holding you steady on the orcs’ shoulder.  

“Settle down now--” Gar’mak ordered softly, putting you down on the fuzzy ground. You managed to hit his face, the hard scrape of tusks scratching your hand as a firm nose nearly cracked your knuckles.  

The orc went silent. Quiet in rage, he rips your veil away with a grip hard enough to tear hair out if he so desired.  

Your eyes take a moment to adjust to the dimly lit tent, lanterns glowing at the corners as the mass of a creature leers over you. You forgot just how… big, orcs were. From afar they looked small, bigger than a human, but no threat due to distance. But now… he was above you, twice your height, twice your size, twice if not thrice everything. His palm the size of your skull, his eyes gleaming and looking over your body, weak with exhaustion and fright.  

Small, intentional scars were placed under his auburn eyes, some kind of tribe symbol you were sure. Thick eyebrows furrowed at the way tears decorated your cheeks, the exhales from his flat nose blowing hot breath on your chest.  

“Please, I, I can’t, I don’t belong--” You fumble over yourself, trying to slide back on the floor of soft wolf and caribou furs.  

“Shh, shh now,” The orc puts a hand to your ankle, an action that jerks you to a stop. “I won’t hurt you, lebam…” 

You sincerely doubt that, but the sentiment sounds genuine from his broken, baritone voice. 

“What’s your name?” He asks, pulling slowly with immeasurable strength at your leg. You slide towards him with little strain, even with your muscles going rigid for you to stand your place, your fingernails digging into the ground beneath you.  

You shake out your name, reluctant to give it.  

“Ah. What a human name; a scared wee human, aren’t you?” 

You don’t dare to respond, waiting for the sound of your snapping ankle. 

“They call me Gar’mak, though that may be too difficult for simple human brains. Mak is fine, little Djenifor…” 

You don’t want to call him anything, to refer to him at all-- yet, he looks keen to hear you say it. There’s an expectation in his eyes, a flick of his giant tongue against his lips.  

“Mak..” You mumble, trying not to gag.  

“Yes…” The orc’s hand frees your leg, caressing up to your cheek as he wipes away a forgotten wet stream of tears.  

“Please, just let me go--” You beg under your breath, scared of the way he seems to be eyeing your knees, your frail neck, your round ears.  

“You know that’s not going to happen,” He doesn’t seem angry at you for asking, just… Sorry. “We are bound forever now; even the gods couldn’t tear us apart. Wherever you go, I will find you. Whenever I leave, you will feel me gone. By sunrise tomorrow your scars will be given, and you will become one of us.”  

The panic begins to settle once again in your stomach. Maybe, tonight, yes-- tonight, if you could escape. You could-- just maybe you could find a way, past their all-seeing eyes, their all-hearing ears, escape to the mountains they took to get you here. 

 “But can’t you change it back?” Your voice cracks, expression twisting into an ugly cry as you feel thick fingers dig into your hair. “Just, we can go back-- just let me be…”  

You sob for what feels like too long, hours maybe, Gar’mak’s eyes never leaving you as he pulls you to his thigh. He brings a cotton blanket to your legs as he shushes you, the tenderness of his eyes a foreign sight compared to the façade he forced you to endure during the night's festivities.  

When your cries had turned to miserable, quiet sniffles, a muscled knuckle finds its way under your chin. He turns your head to look at him, eyes red and droopy as you try to think of any method of escape.  

“You’ll learn to like it here, human.” Gar’mak thinks for a moment, caressing your leg with a single finger.  

 “We are far more civilized than your kind-- far more… Fair. You’ll be treated well. The spouses of warriors do not go unfed, unbathed. Unloved, most of all. You will be cherished; I will cherish you, as long as you let me.”  

The orc grips your jaw in his hand, firm enough to where his fingers made dimples in your cheeks, but softly to where you felt like a mouse in someone’s closing palm. A kiss was planted to your temple, your body pushed deep against your husband’s as he holds you close enough to suffocate. You wait for him to choke life from you, and yet it never comes. He is harsh with his touches, but not harsh enough to hurt.  

“Please, let's finish tonight how it was meant to go, hm? Let me hold you…” He murmurs, all soft and lamblike into your ear. It sends shivers down to your soles, hot breath layering your neck as he looks at your lips with such intensity.  

You fear saying no, but the word rises up to your throat.  

It doesn’t make it out in time. Lips engulf yours, the stiff coldness of bone-colored tusks brushing against your face as Gar’mak holds you tight. Just one kiss is enough to make his demeanor act up.  

Your unassuming, comfort-driven spot on his lap is altered swiftly. You find yourself straddling the orcs’ waist, a hand pressed against the back of your head as your tied hands remain useless against his chest.  

You don’t know whether to speak, to scream, to bite at his lips-- but you remain flexile, afraid of the rough hand holding your skull so tenderly, the other gripping your thigh to wrap around his flank. You’re like a resistant doll, licked lips becoming tender as the orc pushes against you with such tenacity.  

You see his eyes open, staring into your wide, unblinking ones. They seem to communicate more than just lust-- its desire, desire for your reciprocation.  

Gar’mak waits… he kisses you, eyes narrowed on standby for your submission. They’re hazy and make you wonder if this is enough to make him release his brutish side, the part that showed no mercy for your neighbors or your home. What would happen, if you broke away or dared to claw at him?  

That thought doesn’t stay for long, not when the tough hand on the back of your head moves to your neck, squeezing just enough to bruise.  

You wince, lips pursing in reaction just in time for his next tongued assault.  

That slight opening of your mouth, the press of your lips against his, is all he needed. You find yourself twisted beneath his body as you’re brought to lay on the furry floor, the orc lying above you.  

“That’s right, I’ll be soft Djenifor… just do as I command, keep smelling so sweetly for me.” 

Scars litter his shoulders and collarbone, metal necklaces and piercings dangling on his olive-green, lightly haired chest as you fear how much it would take for him to crush you.  

He’s so quiet, letting go of your mouth as the orc’s curled tongue licks a slow, wet stripe down your jaw. His hands grab your thighs to wrap your legs around him, intent on keeping you steady and so close you practically breathe the same air.  

Before he leans to kiss you feverishly again, the orc brushes your cheek with his knuckles, petting down the amalgamated fabrics you wear to commemorate your wedding.  

 “You’re so lucky I found you first, that I had saved you from that rubble without layering an extra scratch; my brethren would not be so kind.”  

He kisses your cheek, a soft, hungry grin playing on his plumped and tusked lips. “So stay pliant like this for me, wee human, and you won’t feel any pain.” 

You lay rigidly, squeezing your eyes shut as a tender, all-consuming kiss eats you up, preparing you for the night’s affairs.  

[frantic-fiction]

Secluded Evening 18+

(GIF: leopardmuffinxo)

Astarion x F!Reader, Astarion x Tav

Warnings: 18+ MDNI pretty much pure smut, fluff, nipple piercings, nipple play. Skinning dipping, unprotected sex, Late Act 1 Astarion

Summary: Astarion catches reader during a midnight swim. Playful flirting becomes physical. Basically, my take on reader and Astarion's first time in act 1. There is way more implication of Astarion's real attraction for reader, not just a manipulation tactic.

Word Count: 2.8k

The shadow curse land is just a few days west, and a sickly feeling has crept through the camp. The party is on edge, fighting a constant headache as you attempt to mediate the tension in a group of solid personalities during highly stressful events. Shadowheart and Lae’zel are at each other’s throats, bickering and pulling daggers when either sends a quip in the other's direction. Karlach is still burning hot despite her upgrade, and with Dammon already far along the path, all you can do is promise to get her to Baldur’s Gate as quickly as you can. Wyll is fine, but he’s Wyll, so that’s not surprising.

Gale, however, might be the one pushing your buttons the most, or at least he is testing your patience past your limit now. “Tav, I don’t believe I have to express again how important it is to acquire a magical artifact soon.” He pinches the bridge of his nose, and you get the sudden urge to whack him over the head with the book you held unread in your hands. “I will be glad not to have to feel my chest be ripped in two, but I will repeat: if I do not consume an artifact, I will die and level the general vicinity with me.”

You push off the log, slamming the novel down. Level-headedness has been one of your strong suits. It’s the main reason you found yourself leading these misfits across the kingdom. You can keep your cool under the most extreme sources of stress, but everyone is just annoying you today.

“Look, I get it. You need a shoe to chew on, or you’ll go boom. But guess what? I have given you every spare artifact I have to give. Our coins are down to silver and copper. So unless you are willing to chomp down on the stupid circlet you just ‘had to get,’ then you can suck it up and wait until we reach another town.” By the end, you’re yelling, and Gale looks like a kicked puppy. The rest of the camp has turned to look at your outburst. You burn with regret for everything immediately.

You reach out a tentative hand, “Gale, I didn’t—”

“No, you are absolutely right. Apologies for my inconvenience. I hope you enjoy the rest of the night, Tav.” He quickly returns to his tent and pins the flaps close.

Sighing, you rub your hands down your face. You feel terrible; Gale’s condition is excruciating, and you hate to be unable to get him something to alleviate the pain, but your supplies are down to the bone. “Fuck,” you breathe, picking the book back up and storing it away.

“I must say, my sweet, I could get used to this more dominating personality of yours. It certainly gets me excited.” Astarion practically purrs in your ear. You turn face to face and stumble back slightly at his proximity.

Brushing your hair behind your ears, you avoid his eye contact. A warmth spreads across your face. “Oh, I'm sure,” you smirked, clearing your throat and recovering quickly.

It was a game between you two, ignited on the beach with a knife to your throat. Harmless flirts, playful banter with no attention to go further. Attraction is thick, but neither dares to press in this dance.

He crowds into your space. His nose practically tickles yours. He plays with your hair, fingers tangling in the locks. His face dawns an emotion of concern. “Darling, I’ve noticed you’ve been very stressed these last few days.”

His breath fans your face. You grab the edge of his shirt. “I think it would be a good idea to release some tension. Some alone time, maybe?” His pointer finger traced the bone of your jaw.

You smirk and pull away, trailing your hand up the contours of his chest. “You're right.” His wicked grin widens like a cat playing with prey. “I think I'll call in early and have a night to myself. I hope you will be okay hunting tonight.”

When you were scouting the perimeter, you stumbled across a small alcove. It was breathtaking. Several willows enclosed a small lake, water beautifully sparkling in the sun. You love swimming and have been thinking about the lake ever since. You occupy yourself with finishing your book until the sun sets. Once the camp settles for the night, you grab your pack and sneak your way out to the forest line.

Astarion’s grin drops, and his arms go limp. You slip away, lifting the edge of your tent. “Thank you again. Do you mind telling the others as well?”

He glares knowingly, and with a wink, you drop the flap and sit on the floor. You gather your supplies: a change of clothes, your only towel, and your washing bag.

The lake isn't too far, and before you know it, you're there. It's different in the moonlight. Fireflies buzz around the cattails, the willow branches sway softly above the water, and frogs croak on lily pads. You set a blanket to place the rest of your stuff around, quickly tossing your clothes off and wading into the water.

It's not as cold as expected, but you still gasp at the initial sting. You adapt quickly and soon dive fully, submerging into the fresh water. You stay underwater; ears plugged, giving a warped vibration through your head. Once your lungs begin to burn, you surface and gulp air.

“Well, isn't this just a coincidence?” Astarion chuckles, standing at the shore with pale forearms crossed over his chest. “I was just out on my hunt when I came across such a delectable treat.”

You bite your bottom lip, pulling your hands back and forth, sucking water in and out around your form. “Well, now that you've found me, what do you plan to do with me?”

You move onto your back and float, exposing your entire front half to his eyes. The water on your skin chills in the air. Your nipples pebble, and you hear a groan.

Floating in the water, you close your eyes. It's quiet momentarily before a large splash startles you and you're pulled under. You kick instinctually, and Astarion grabs your foot and drags you closer.

His strong arms circle your waist, and you resurface. You smack his chest. “You asshole.”

He laughs, and before you know it, you're laughing too. You sway in Astarion's arms as he carries you deeper into the lake. Grabbing a flower floating in the water, you begin to pick some of the limp petals. You look up and slide the flower into his hair. It's adorable.

Astarion pinches your chin and pulls your face close, staring deep into his eye. There are no words; you feel the line shatter when the reality of what's happening sinks in. There is no performance in his eyes. No formulaic flirtatious lines or sexy words. What is happening? You don't know, but when he crashes his lips to yours, you really fucking want to find out.

It's like a rubber band. The kisses open the damn, and soon your legs are wrapped around his hips. One hand threads through his pale curls, the other encircling his neck.

Astarion breaks from your lips and trails sloppy kisses down to your neck. "I have waited long enough to ravish you, my dear,"

And then you are moving; he's quickly wading through the water, not once removing his lips from your throat. You know it will bruise, and the idea of another mark of his sends heat lower down your body.

You sigh when Astarion nips your neck, pressing you down on the blanket. Wet skin slides against damp skin. Grabbing his hair, you pull him back up, capturing his lips. It is messy, sloppy, and all too much to handle.

You arch up, pressing your breast against his chest. He pauses, and you whine when he pulls away.

"What are these?" Astarion practically growls, pinching your hard nipple. You gasp his name as he twists the small metal bar through the nub. He grinds his hips against your leg. He's hard, his cock presses against his stomach.

"Jewelry," you moan, clutching his shoulder. "They make me more sensitive."

"Oh, my naughty girl," he lowers to take your neglected breast into his mouth. His skillful tongue sucks your breast, his hand paying equal attention to your other. Feeling a scrap of his fangs, you let out a cry of ecstasy, rolling your hips, seeking any source of friction.

Astarion pins your hips down and pulls away from your breast with a wet pop. "No, no, my sweet. I think you have not been fair keeping least lovely tits from me. I can't remember ever seeing such unique body modifications." He gives a sharp bite to your breast, just deep enough to pierce the skin.

Droplets of blood beaded to the surface; it was quickly lapped up with his tongue, a groan crawling its way up his chest. He slips one of his legs under yours, and his hips slide his stiff cock between sopping wet folds. You choke out his name, and his mouth moves to the other breast. "I think I'm owed a bit longer exploring such a beautiful chest."

"My, my, you're so responsive. I could spend hours pleasing you with my tongue." Astarion trails his tongue up between your breasts, eyes boring up into your flushed face. "Just imagine the delightful words I could pull from your beautiful lips as I lay between your thighs, playing your exquisite body like a bard's violin."

Your breath is uneven, panting while Astarion takes his time lavishing your breasts. Soon, your nipples are on fire, swollen from the ruthless attention Astarion has provided. Tears sting your eyes. You are desperate for anything, nothing; you are not sure, but you are moaning and pleading up into the night air. All available skin was victim to your desperate fingers.

"Starion, ugh-please, they're too sensitive." You tug at the small hairs at the nape of his neck. His lips tug the metal bar just enough to pull another cry from your lips. He releases your breast with a wet pop.

You bite his neck (almost the same spot he uses to feed from you) and all semblance of his control dissolves—you're back on the blanket in a show of Astarion's speed. Air was knocked from your lungs. "Fuck, my dear," Astarion grinds against you coating his cock in more of your juices. "I believe we've waited enough time to enjoy each other. So, I think I fuck you, deep and slow, until you can only scream my name. And if you're lucky, spend the rest of the night pulling lovely whimpers from your over-sensitive cunt."

His husky voice purred in your ears. Your thighs clench, arousal dripping onto the blanket. "Star," you breathe out, grabbing his face and crashing your lips together. Teeth clashed, and tongues fought for dominance. Wrapping your legs fully around Astarion's slim hips, you roll up. Using his distraction as leverage, you twist your hips and maneuver the two of you.

Astarion is now on his back, curls silver in the dark, and his eyes are wide with shock. You comfortably sat on his hips, hands pressing on each of his pecs. "You have my full permission to do that, but if you don't fuck me right now, I will be taking care of myself in my tent." Lips are back on his before you chuckle in his ears. "We have teased each other for months. I think it's about time you do something about this pretty boy."

Astarion doesn't leave a moment to respond before he impales you with one deep thrust. Your nails dig into his shoulders. Astarion grabs your calf, raises your leg, and sets a brutally slow pace.

You were matching each of his thrusts with a roll of your hips. Your mouth at his chest and throat, sloppily leaving kisses and spit on his pale torso. "Ug-fucking Gods, you so tight," The sounds of skin slapping against skin and collective cries of pleasure break up the quietness of the lake.

Astarion presses his forehead to yours, breathing in your whimpers of ecstasy. The force of his thrusts is jostling your breasts; your nipples rub against his cold skin.

The moans roll off your tongue; you put a hand into his hair. "A-astarion fast…faster," you choke, snaking a hand between your conjoined bodies to rub small circles over your clit. The warm tightening coils in your lower abdomen. "P-please, Star."

"Beautiful." Astarion's pace picks up, his balls slapping against your pussy. He quickly pushes your hand away and replaces your fingers with his own.

He doesn't need to be asked twice, and the cold pierce of his fangs digs into your throat. You choke on gasp, hips stuttering. Astarion is dragging, mouthfuls of your blood down his throat, his fingers picking up pace, rubbing tight circles on your clit.

The coil is tightening, and soon, you cannot form words outside of Astarion's name between pleases. "Oh, my sweet girl, so lost on my cock. I...fuck...I know it feels good."

He pinches your left nipple again and you whimper. "Your body is exquisite. I won't be able to last much longer, my love." His voice is hoarse, and he rambles between frantic ruts. He presses his face into the crook of your neck, inhaling your scent deeply.

Astarion presses kisses and licks to the hollow of your throat. He is asking for permission, and you quickly press him closer. "Yes, please," you groan. All the sensations Astarion was giving you were becoming too much. You were quickly approaching the edge.

The pain mixes with pleasure, and it's too much. Tears prick at your eyes. You ticken around hos cock and a rumble ruptures through his chest. He takes a few more gulps before pulling away. Astarion's tongue licks, ensuring no waste of your blood.

As soon as he pulls away from your neck, he's pushing his tongue into your mouth with a quick thrust—the metallic tang of your blood mixes between your mouths. "I'm close," you breathe, running your nose against his. Your panting, feeling like no breath can satisfy your burning lungs.

His thrusts are becoming sloppy, devolving into more grinds of hips. His fingers drag over your clit in tight, fast circles. "Me too," he's just as breathless, hips stuttering with pleasure. "Come for me, darling, let me hear you."

It's like your body was waiting for his honey-slick words to give you permission. Because the moment those words leave his devilish lips, you snap. You scream his name, legs pulling him close.

You didn't expect post-sex cuddles from Astarion, but gods, you could fall in love with this man if you weren't careful. But would that be too bad? To fall in love? You kiss his collarbone and pull your towel over the majority of your body.

With one, two, three more deep thrusts. Astarion comes with a breathy moan spilling deep into your core. You two lay there, tangled in each other's body. Hearts are pounding as you breathe each other's air.

Astarion pulls out and rolls to his back. You curl onto his chest, laying your ear over his silent heart. He plays with your hands and peppers kisses over your hairline.

You wish to stay the night in his arms right here, just having him hold you. But Astarion stiffens slightly when a shiver rolls through your body. It's like the bubble of serenity pops. Astarion is quick to remove himself from you.

"I don't believe cuddling wet and naked with a vampire is good for one's health." He's pulling his clothes on. And reluctantly and with shaky legs, you follow his lead. Astarion is quiet on the walk back, lost in thought. He plays with a coin mindlessly.

You don't push, knowing Astarion better than to pry. So you let him walk you to your tent. And just as you move to duck into your bed for sleep, Astarion grabs your wrist.

You turn and look up into his scarlet eyes. His expression is hard to read; his confusion, hesitancy, affection, and anger are fluidly behind his eyes. They could all fit, but nothing seemed to reflect Astarion's eyes. "I…" He pauses, thumb rubbing the back of your hand. He opens his mouth again but clicks it back close. Astarion searches your eyes as if they held the answer to his unspoken question.

Astarion doesn't seem to find what he's looking for because he shakes his hand—pressing a light kiss to the apple of your cheek. He drops your hand reluctantly. "Have a good night, my dear,"

Then he's gone, leaving you alone, the tingle of his lips still lingering on your skin. Your fingers trail across your cheek, and a small smile stretches your lips. Yeah, you could very easily fall in love with that man. Maybe you already have.

Okay let me know what you thought? I haven't written smut in forever and have never been super confident in it.

If you liked this how about checking out my other two Astarion pieces.

Happy Birthday **** Reoccurring Nightmares

[star-reaper]

Arcane Silco x Reader One-shot - I Trust You

Synopsis: After the incident with Vander, you find what remains of the Silco you left at The Last Drop the night before. Now heart shattered, terrified, and close to death, he grips on tight to the only thing he has left as you try your best to comfort him and aid his wounds.

Young!Silco, Pre S1, Implied Fem!Reader but could be read GN, mentions of injury, blood, typical canon violence, knife mentioned, Hurt/Comfort, angst, established relationship, Medic!Reader

I've been inspired after wasting DAYS reading Silco fics, thank you fellow Arcane fanfic writers ❤️ Maybe I'll write more for the fandom?????

The cracked cobblestone paths of the cramped Undercity clack loudly under the worn soles of your boots. Your medic bag hangs loosely over your shoulder, the parched leather splitting at the seams as you toy with the fraying material between your nails.

You don't need to be told that tonight's highly-anticipated Uprising was a failure. You can judge its success based solely on the amount of rioters you saw in your office today; chipped teeth, brutal burn wounds, broken limbs, concussions. The unrest between Zaun and the ever-oppressive Piltover thickens with each passing minute, Enforcers becoming more violent and Zaunites only more angry.

Tonight's rally was meant to be the turning point, Zaun would fight back and push past the bridge, securing their futures with an iron grip and hearts full of hope. Vander spoke of it just yesterday evening, eyes gleaming with ambition saccharine sweet as he raised his glass of ale high in cheer. Silco, your Silco, with a smile so sure, so wide, you were certain you'd never seen him so excited.

"You're sure you can't make it?" He's asking you, shoulder jostling your own as he slides into the seat beside you at the bar. The cacophony of cheer around the bar following Vander's inspiring speech seems to die down and reduce to a droning chatter of voices and clinking dish ware.

Your eyes peel away from Vander — who is serving patrons left and right with an energy so radiant you can't help but shake your head at him, a small smile gracing your features — to meet Silco's sea-foamy green ones, peering down at you from the slant of his nose.

"You know riots mean people tend to get hurt. I'll be more needed at the med center, that's where I can do my part." You say, and it's true. The Undercity lacks in abundance, especially lacking in individuals with medical knowledge, much less an affordable one, or even a doctor you can trust. You've become an important addition to The Children of Zaun, and even more important to the citizens you look out for.

Silco nods, understanding, albeit disappointed that you won't be by his side. He wraps an arm loosely around your shoulders, pulling you in so he can press a chaste kiss to your temple.

"I know. This will be a big one, an important one. We'll be needing you down here."

You smiled softly, "You'll be careful, won't you?"

"As careful as I always am." Silco smirked.

"Great, so I'll be seeing you tomorrow night in my office is what I'm hearing?"

"Well, when you make it sound so scandalous I couldn't possibly miss out, my dear."

You're rolling your eyes at him, nudging him back with your adjacent shoulder as he chuckles. A peaceful silence overcomes the two of you as you soak in your surroundings at the bustling bar. Felicia is bickering with Vander at the counter, her vibrant purple braid flicked over her shoulder and Vander is laughing at her playful scowl.

"What will you do, if you succeed?" You ask suddenly.

Silco doesn't hesitate a second, "Not if. We will. We must succeed." His brows furrow for a moment, "I don't know what I will do. I'll come back for you, and then I suppose we will figure it out together like we always do. You trust me, don't you?"

You can't help but grin at that, "Of course I trust you."

Trust has always been one of the most important values holding you and Silco together. No matter what, you would always trust each other, to the ends of the earth. And you'd never stop reminding the other.

Your next thought is interrupted by Benzo, at least six ales down.

"There will be celebrations all through Zaun tomorrow night just you wait! In just another twenty four hours we will be commemorating our victories with each and every Zaunite throughout the city!"

But, as you make your way home it becomes blatantly apparent that there are no celebrations raging through Zaun tonight, there was no victory, and instead just an evening full of shattered hearts and broken bones.

Needless to say, Silco never did make it to your office tonight, and now as you walk back home on tired feet in the early hours of the dawn you find yourself wondering what state he could be in.

Silco may not be the strongest, but he's quick, and he's so painfully smart you can bet he hadn't been caught by Enforcers — but then if not carted away to Stillwater, why hadn't you seen him at the med center as you usually do after a riot? The nerves bite at your system, and you can only hope he is safe and sound at The Last Drop where you left him yesterday night, waiting for you to find in a few hours. First, you know you need to sleep off the fatigue of tending to the injured all night long.

You turn right into the alleyway that cuts through the block of stacked houses and cross the street to your home. As the door comes into view it is then that you feel a prickling sensation of unease creeping into your very being. You remove your hood from your head, peering at your surroundings cautiously in an effort to calm yourself. There's no one around. Nothing to explain the worry woven into your deepest instincts as you quicken your steps to the entrance of your abode.

The single key fished from the pocket of your med bag rattles in the rickety doorknob before the lock unlatches. The wood swings open with a creak.

There's water everywhere. Puddles of the polluted brown liquid spreads from the front entrance. It trails through the house where cabinets and drawers are left ajar and furniture lies knocked over on the uneven floor. You freeze in horror at the state of your belongings before spotting the streaks of blood on the floor and the counters of your kitchen. Whoever had trespassed had done it in a panicked struggle, things haphazardly left out all around the property. You huff a swear before dropping your bag as silently as you can at the front door, your tiredness suddenly swept away and replaced with unfiltered adrenaline. Survival-mode kicks in, and you're creeping with predator-like stealth to the kitchen. A peek into the open drawer confirms your suspicions, and whoever had broken in had stolen the large kitchen knife you stored and was likely wielding the weapon somewhere in your home.

You go for the next best thing, a rusted but still sharp pair of cooking scissors which you grasp tight in your palm, blade poised.

Following the trail of blood and water, your head swiveling vigilantly in every which direction, you make your way up the short flight of stairs to the second floor. Your bedroom door is wide open, a handprint of blood smeared across the edge of it in a rush. You take a deep, shuddering breath before slipping through the threshold.

The bed is left tidied and made, moth eaten sheets folded over the top of the frayed duvet and curtains billowing softly from the cold breeze which spills through the crack in the window. It's all in the state that you left it in. Your brows furrow in confusion before spotting the faint light which emanates from the crack under the adjoining bathroom door.

Your hands tremble as you creep towards the door, wondering if what lies behind it is the means to your fateful end. Teeth wearing into the flesh of your bottom lip, you stop and lean against the wall beside the bathroom. You listen, ears straining hard to hear through the barrier before you catch it.

It's the faint sound of someone crying, notable only by the quiet, shuddering breaths and wet sniffling that periodically breaks the whimpering noise.

It's then that you hear the low whisper interrupting the soft sobbing, the voice tinged with abysmal pain and fear, "Fuck—,"

Silco.

You're not even thinking as the scissors fall from your grasp, hitting the floor with a metallic clang before you wrench open the door and burst inside, heart thrumming viscously in the cage of your chest as you recognize your lover's voice.

Your breath catches hard in your throat at the sight before you; Silco, curled tightly in the basin of your bathtub, head to toe in soaking wet clothes stained with blood which drips from his face. His wet black hair hangs disheveled over half of his features, cloaking him in the raven locks. Your missing kitchen knife is clasped rigidly in between both hands, blade sticking straight out and bobbing with his labored breaths. His one visible eye widens in what you think is fear and his whole body freezes up at the sight of you, his legs scramble against the edge of the tub like he's trying to get away from you but all you can think is, he's hurt. You have to fix him.

"Silco," you rasp, reaching for him frantically with tears brimming in your eyes but before you know it he's yelling, pointing the blade of the knife at you and waving it around haphazardly.

"Stop—" He's crying, but the syllable comes out guttural and hoarse, "Don't touch me!"

You freeze, hands up to show you mean no harm and falling back on your knees to be eye level with him.

You swallow before you try to say anything, but the lump in your throat only grows ten-fold.

"Silco," you try, tentatively. "What happened?"

"Felicia's dead." Is what he manages to gasp, teeth gritting hard and eyes squeezing shut, another stray tear falling down his face.

You don't realize you're treating him like a patient until you're halfway done examining him with just a glance. His nails are bent and broken like he had scratched desperately at an unrelenting force, the torn collar of his jacket reveals blooms of a deep purple encompassing the surface of his throat and neck, blood pours from what you could see of his cheek, down his jaw and off the point of his chin. His eyes are swollen and bloodshot and his nose is definitely crooked— likely broken and the bruising is beginning to swell beneath his eyes. It doesn't take a genius to tell he had been asphyxiated, and beaten, hard.

Felicia. Felicia is dead. You're trying to hold onto your resolve, face relaxed as to not alarm him any further but your heart wants to cry out in agony. Another good soul, lost to a helpless cause. Another loved one, gone. You want to ask where Vander is, where Benzo is. Whatever it is that happened at the Uprising has clearly shaken Silco to the core, nearly unrecognizable with fear and shame and you worry that if you break down now nothing will be left to hold the rest of him together.

"I don't know where to go. I don't have anyone else." Silco is rambling now, voice sore and body shaking. "I can't go back. I can't go back, he'll finish me off."

"Silco, who? What's happened to you? I don't understand—" You can feel the tears spilling over and you choke on a sob, terrified for the man you love.

Silco shakes his head rapidly, he opens his mouth like he'll try to explain but is cut off by a cry so anguished you feel your own soul shattering. His shoulders tremble and you realize he must be freezing, his clothes saturated and the chill of the night air permeating his figure.

"I'll be right back. I'm going to get you a blanket and I'll come right back." you say gently.

He nods and hangs his head low, avoiding eye contact.

You retreat to the bedroom and pull your duvet right off the bed, also grabbing the forgotten glass of water left on the nightstand from the night before. You stand at the threshold of the bathroom peering in as non threatening as you can before taking a deep breath.

"I need you to put the knife down." you whisper.

Silco glances at the object in his hand and stares at it in shock for a split second, like he had not even realized he'd armed himself with your household items.

"I would never hurt you, Silco."

He takes a deep breath, and flips the blade before handing it over to you, handle out.

"Thanks," you whisper, placing the knife on the bathroom counter across from you. You trade it for the glass of water. "Here. Can I touch you?"

Silco takes a deep breath, eyes shut before nodding and wiping crudely at his cheek with the back of his hand, the skin pulling away wet with his tears.

You sit at the edge of the tub and pull the thick duvet into the basin, pausing over Silco's soaked figure.

"Do you want to take your clothes off? We can get you dry and warm."

He shakes his head no, but does pull off the bulky jacket, the wet fabric slapping against the surface of the porcelain bathtub. You drape the blanket over his shoulders, wrapping it around to his front and tucking it around him the best you can manage. He takes a long sip of the water, grimacing as he swallows and you try to catch a glimpse of the bruising on his neck.

"It's okay, I got you." You whisper. "It's okay if you don't want to talk about it, but I need to know what's wrong so I can fix it. You can even just point." You say, hand massaging tenderly over his blanketed shoulder.

"I-I can't see out of my left eye," He says, voice low and gravelly, "it hurts."

"Can I look?"

Silco lifts a hand and runs it through his long hair, pushing most of it back out of his face but a few unruly tresses fall back over his forehead. You can't help the gasp that falls from your lips as you survey the gashes running across his eye and mutilating the whole expanse of the area. Blood oozes from the wounds and the flesh swells bright red and pink and you know it's already infected. You can't save the eye, that much is evident.

"I need to clean it before the infection spreads any further, I'm sorry." You cringe, "It's going to hurt but you could die if I don't treat it now."

He nods. Silco seems to be of sounder mind now. Not relaxed by any means, but his breathing is controlled, his good eye is focused and he's understanding you.

You turn around to retrieve your personal medical supplies in the linen closet and find the bottle of antiseptic and gauze, when you turn around you meet Silco's gaze, his brows pressed together with worry and mouth pressed into a deep frown. The blood from his eye drips on the fabric of your blanket and stains it the color of rust.

"It was Vander." he says.

You freeze up, nearly dropping the bottle, "Vander did this to you?" you ask incredulously.

Silco nods. "I didn't mean to get her killed. I didn't mean it, none of this was supposed to happen, I—" he breaks off into silent tears again and you gently hush him.

You've never seen him cry in the many years you've spent together, now to witness it so many times in one night you have no idea how to handle it.

"It's okay, you can explain later. I trust you." You assure.

You tilt his chin to look at you and wipe the tears from his face.

"I trust you." You say again.

"Okay." Silco appeases, "I trust you, too."

It takes nearly an hour to clean out his wounds, by then the sun is beginning to rise, a blue haze filtering in through the windows and casting a glow on everything the light touches. Silco has stripped from his wet clothes and showered, but had asked sweetly if you would wait for him in the bathroom to which you comply.

He changes into dry clothes he had left here ages ago and now lies in your bed, curled up on his side. The blankets are tucked over him and he lays silently beside you while you card your fingers through his hair. His sighs against the skin of your shoulder.

You know he wants to sleep but fears the playback behind his eyes of the events of the failed Uprising, but his body can't physically stand to move anymore. His injured eye is packed under gauze and medical tape and you can only hope you did all that you could.

His eyes flicker up to yours, "I'm sorry," he whispers. "I owe you a proper explanation. Thank you, for caring for me."

"I'll always care for you, Silco. You don't owe me anything, this is what I'm here for. You can tell me when you're ready."

"Okay." He replies, stroking your cheek with the backs of his split knuckles before tangling gently in the hair at the nape of your neck. You lay like that together for a while, you drifting in and out of consciousness as the adrenaline wears off and the chaos of the day becomes a memory. You trace the sharp angular features of Silco's face lovingly, pressing a sleepy kiss to the corner of his mouth. Your mind wanders to Vander, to Felicia, to Felicia's two beautiful children and Benzo and The Last Drop.

You wonder if things will ever be the same again and your heart aches at the silent answer. You know you'll never be able to forgive the man who hurt Silco like this; destroyed him at his very core and you know he will never be the same again.

"We can't trust anyone now. Only each other." Silco says, voice thick with pain.

"I'll always trust you." You reply softly, "Sleep, Silco. You need to rest. We will figure it out in a few hours."

Your eyes drift closed after that, the last of your sentence trailing off as you succumb to your exhaustion. The last thing you see is the pretty green-blue eye of your lover, half lidded and glistening in the light of the sunrise.

"I love you."

[we-stan-cale]

Since I've talked about almost all the other important parts during my reread, I didn't want to forget the sealed god's test.

It's just... So good I'm not even sure where to start. Like, this is a moment where Cale really shines.

Cale. Rok Soo, which we're told means 'to always grow green, even in winter'.

And we see that in this test.

The sealed god throws him into one of the worst moments of his life, expressly to make him despair.

Instead, Cale takes that moment and uses it to rewrite the past, and erase all his regrets.

This is where we really get to see what post-apocalyptic Korea was like. And over and over again we learn how badly things went then, even as Cale makes sure it doesn't happen like that again.

We also see some of his years of experience, and maturity. Especially with how he handles Park Jin Tae, who was a bully and a tyrant - and also died in Cale's first life, fighting to save everyone in the shelter.

You can see what we've seen all along. Cale doesn't judge leaders by the petty stuff. He judges them on how well they take care of their people.

This is also where Cale, Choi Han, and Alberu really become an amazing trio.

Choi Han, who bargains a large chunk of his life away (just the time he'd be alone, as he ties the length of his life to Raons) in order to join Cale in his test.

And Alberu, who the Sun God helps possess a monster called the Dark Tiger when his real body is sleeping.

Those three are so tight knit now, it's beautiful. Real ride or die friends.

Especially when you remember where they all started.

It's also, as always, a time where you have to pay attention to the subtleties. This is Cale's past, and he's focused on making sure everyone survives... But Choi Han and especially Alberu can see the desperation, the struggle, and the near starvation of all the survivors. Alberu has a couple of moments when he's out of the test and giving updates to their friends, and you see him struggling. Because Cale asked him not to overly stress them (the kids especially) and basically say it's fine... And Alberu's like 'how can I tell them that?!?'

And then, naturally, there's Choi Jung Soo and Lee Soo Hyuk.

Younger versions, and not the ones Cale knew. But still, we get to learn more about his earlier found family.

We also see things going on back at home. Since his physical body is still there, his friends have to rescue him.

And we see how they're able to perform, even without Cale to call the shots.

We especially see how well Raon has grown, as he makes important decisions on how to find the monster statues.

Even more importantly, we have this at the end.

– Do you really think that this moment is the end of despair? Cale looked down at the rose gold lights burning in his hands. He opened his mouth to speak. ‘Is this moment the end of despair? No. Absolutely not.’ “This is just the beginning of the despair in this world.” It was just the beginning. Despair would reveal itself in many different forms in this world from now on. “But people have hope now.” After about a year since the world had turned into a mess… The people who had always lost, struggled, and barely managed to survive will be victorious for the first time. They would destroy this despair known as an unranked monster. The sealed god who had been silent for a moment asked as if he was sneering at Cale. – Do you have hope as well? It seemed to be implying that Cale was someone who could not have hope. That was how it sounded to Cale. Cale slowly shook his head. “No.” He did not have hope. However… “I have certainty.” Cale needed something more certain than hope. Finally, he had gotten it. “This place will draw a different future than my past. I’m certain of it.” He was certain that more people would survive than in his past. He was certain that they would have better lives. That was not speculation. Although it was a future that was yet to come, Cale believed it to be the truth. In fact, Cale wanted to be the one to finish the first step toward that certainty. The burning rose gold thunderbolts moved away from Cale’s hands. He started to speak again. “This is the first time I’m saying this to a god.” Toward the silent sealed god… To the god who had tried to give him despair… Cale said the following. “Thanks.” He really meant it. “My memories didn’t end in despair thanks to you.”

It's not that he defeated despair. That despair will no longer exist.

But there's hope, and he is certain that the future will be better.

And even more so - he is grateful that he had this chance to change his memories.

He took this thing that was supposed to break him, and used it to fix himself instead.

[threepandas]

Bad End: Soldier A

I'm pretty sure you know the story. Everybody does. Chosen Hero, Demon King, they fight, save the day, yada yada. Everybody supposedly lives happily ever after. Everything sunshine and roses. Puppies and farting rainbows. But... but it's NOT.

It's really fucking NOT.

I used to love reading stories like that. They were escapism. Grand adventures in a terrible, grey, slowly crushing hellscape of a world. But... but, FUCK. At least there weren't drauger! No demon wolves or skeleton soldiers! Or the FUCKING little flying bastards. God. I HATE those ones the most.

They have sharp, needle-y little claws and teeth like a SHARK fucked a TREE THRESHER. And they scream. Just... yowl and yowl in this ear splitting high pitch like they're trying to DEAFEN you ON TOP of trying to rip you apart.

That life was peaceful.

I was a fool to wish for anything else.

I am not the Chosen One. I'm not even a supporting character. I remember this bullshit little yarn, and I? Am NO WHERE fucking in it. I am just... just some rando, in this struggle of demons and Gods. The child of Some Dude. We... we had chickens. Fat, happy, lil hens.

I remember being ENTRANCED. I had lived all my life, before, in suburban sprawl. So chickens? Strutting around and chasing bugs? Tiny me was hypnotized.

It saved my life.

I half wish it didn't, some days.

That I died, sudden and without the chance to truely comprehend, along side my family. That my neighbors eldest hadn't seen me by the coop. Grabbed me desperately as he ran for his life. Our entire FUCKING village...

There were six survivors.

I was one of them.

And it's... it's all just? FLAVOR TEXT for the Chosen One's tale of Glory. A reason for why she's so NEEDED. So BELOVED. Look how AWESOME she is! Saintess, because when are they NOT? Hero, because it's all about HER. A god damned LOVE STORY thrown in, because THAT'S important, while people are suffering! Dying!

Are? You? KIDDING ME!?

Legends speak of a "Hero's Party". I know damn well it's true. That it WILL succeed. But FUCK that. FUCK waiting for her to "be ready"! To gather allies and turn from some sheltered little rose, into the warrior we ACTUALLY NEED. It's my world too. I was the one who had to help dig out survivors! Tend to the wounded! Fight off swarms! Hold back the dead!

I...! I was the one who had to LOOK PEOPLE IN THE EYE and... AND-!

B-Because sometimes? SOMETIMES?! Those bites DON'T HEAL. Can't heal! They are filled with so much demonic power, that the only thing they CAN do is corrupt. Fester. Poison. Sometimes you're already DEAD and nothing short of the oh so precious SAINTESS could possibly save you.

But she's not HERE... is she?

So you have a choice.

If you're lucky? It's JUST a limb. A chunk of flesh. But more often then not... well... The lucky ones have time to say goodbye. The unlucky ones get to be twisted and used against their friends. Their family's. And if you care. If you CARE AT ALL? You put them down before that happens.

Because they wouldn't want that.

It... it feeds a HATE in me. An ANGER.

No, that's not right... it's more like? It feeds...

A RAGE.

An ugly, burning thing. That's hollowed out my chest. Wrapped around my bones. Fueled by the memories of every innocent I failed to save. By the fear and the suffering, that just keeps dragging on and on and ON. An endless slog that seems designed to break men down. Destroy us.

I feel like it's killing the humanity in me. The kindness I once had. Like I am burning away everything but purpose. And will have nothing left when I am done. IF I am ever done. It... it used to scare me.

Now I am to angry, too tired, to be afraid.

Let me die. I do not CARE. So long as I TAKE THEM WITH ME. Burn them ALL. My brothers in arms, my sisters of war, those that fight and fight and FIGHT? They feel the same. We didn't fucking WAIT. Refused to watch the slaughter. Gaining ground only to lose it, losing ground only to claw it back.

Holding the line.

We can't actually KILL him. We know that. Only the Saintess can actually fucking END this nightmare. But his monsters? Those still fall too steel. And if we are to die regardless, why NOT in defense of our homes?

We've managed to push a path, deep into the Demonic lands. A spear point to stab the heart of HIS damned empire. We... we can hold it. MUST hold it. At all costs. For that flimsy, weak willed, half trained NITWIT of a child. So when she FINALLY gets off her ass and stops making goo-goo eyes at her trainers? She can come and finish the job.

Then get crowned queen of forever or something.

I don't know, I don't CARE. I'm going to buy some damn chickens. Fill a yard with them. Honor my parents and be the best damn farmer this world has ever SEEN.

Another crash against our shields. Screams as someone's arm breaks. As someone else is savaged through a crack in our barrier, as something probably gives. I slam my spear forward. Vital point. Vital point. Ignore the strain. The way your arm feels like a giant is stepping on it. Like some is trying to rip the shield from your grip. Hold... HOOOOLD!

Go for the eyes. Aim for the throat. Kidneys. Arteries, arteries, heart! The spear is wretched from my grip. I shout for another. Reach blindly, trusting my countrymen. I feel the grip of another one pressed into my hand. I slam my spear forward.

The fight goes on.

For hours.

It was some sort of ape-bear chimera things this time. But bigger and with spikes. No ones quite sure if they're in the "fucked up monstrosities" book yet. I'M certainly too dead on my feet to check. I sit an eat some fucking soup. Mmmmm, rations soup. Technically edible! My favorite flavor.

In the distance, sits the Demon King's fancy ass doom castle.

Any closer? And HE might be inspired to actually "deal" with us. I can't wait for the day it-An explosion of noise from the command tent. Everyone's heads whip around to stare, alarmed. But... but that didn't sound... BAD shouting. It takes us a long, long moment. It had honestly been YEARS since some of us had HEARD such a noise. But...?

W...was that?

Excitement?

I passed off my soup to a newbie. He honestly needed it more anyway. Told him to eat. Then got up and headed for command. Something was happening. As I got close, the flap was all but ripped open. A commander, actually? Smiling!? What the fresh hell?

A commander looking for someone. Spots me. Waves me over and in. I jog over. The tent is practically HUMMING with excitement. And there, on the tabke with the war map? Is an old, OLD dagger. Very... magical girl, in design. Flourishes, sparkling, and lovely dispite being what must be... what, centuries old? Worn to hell and back? What IS that?

It's the weapon of a previous Chosen One.

A Holy Blade.

Holy Shit. HOW. Where?! Where AND HOW!? I thought the royal family snapped all those fuckers up too show off! If not them, the Temple! I'm met with seni-hysterical laughs of disbelief.

A PRIEST stole it.

Nearly DIED doing so. Temple's probably FURIOUS. Gonna come to get it BACK, most likely. We're gonna have to move FAST. We're gonna only get ONE chance at this. I nod. Ready for whatever command needs me to do. Hold off some holy knights? Punch a priest? I'll get... SUPER excommunicated, but? Fuck it. If it saves lives.

No.

No they need me to wield the blade. I'm sorry?? WHAT.

It's apparently Maiden Locked. Fucking... Maidens Only! Got lucky? No holy weapon for you! Married but a virgin? Weaponless! Oh, fffffuck yooooou, creepy perv deities. There are LIVES ON THE LINE, in this, a GOD DAMNED WAR, and you LOCK the import weapons behind "mint condition pu-"!!!

The commander cuts of my, frankly, VERY understandable rant.

Hands on my shoulders. Looks me in the eyes. Will I Do This? I would have to take the knife and sneak behind enemy lines. Into the demon kings castle. And try to get the jump on him. NO ONE would be able to go after me. Help WOULD NOT be coming. If I fail... that's it. Game over. The demons would have me.

I laugh.

It is... not a cheerful sound. Not like it once was.

Is it even a choice? Of course I am. Frankly? I hope it hurts. I hope it's slow. Hurts every second and feels like eons. That he BURNS from the inside out. I'm gonna make him EAT IT.

Waiting until night would be suicide. They get stronger at night. Can blend in to the shadows. But they're cocky. They won't expect an attack just before that. So twilight is when I'll strike. Afternoon, when I head out. I... I leave my gear behind. Say my goodbyes.

I'm not the Chosen One.

Just some farmer's daughter with a grudge.

It don't think I'll be making it back. Don't really expect to even succeed. But by the gods... I plan to HURT him. Every piece we chip away, is one the soul behind us doesn't have to fight. I do this not for me. But for the child who will never know the FEAR that I did.

I will die so they don't have too.

The castle is dark. Humming with power I can FEEL but can not understand. Grand and sweeping architecture. Great windows that should let in far more light then they do. A blood red carpet upon bone white floors. The walls are black. It... some how merely stepping inside, seems to suck all color but red from the world. All heat.

I see no one here.

But I hear whispers.

I tighten my grip around the weapon. The only thing that feels WARM. These hallways are designed to make you feel small, I can tell at a glance. I refuse to give in. I am a farmer. A soldier. I do not CARE about your damn castle! I dig deep into my memories, keeping to the walls, and try to remember where the hero found her foe.

I trace the path in my head. Cut out the lost wandering as best I can. Right slightly, then forward, I think. If I am wrong, I can double back. Follow the book's path exactly. I move slow. As quite as I can.

Still... I find no one.

No servants, no gaurds, no resistance of any kind. Something like fear sighs like a specter down my spine, cold and vague. Something is not right. I do not let down my gaurd... but the longer it persists? The worse my paranoia grows.

Finally. The throne room. Magnificent beyond measure, in blood red and monochrome. Rare touches of gold glint and catch the eye. Stained glass giving it all a surreal scene from high above. The runner at my feet plush enough to render my foot steps silent. It is red... so very, very red.

The Demon King leans against one fist, resting on his throne, magnificent and beautiful like a statue brought to life. Carved of pale ivory and obsidian. Just as feeling as stone. A monster. Living testament that what's inside counts most of all. For inside him? Is nothing but a void. A malicious PIT.

I will see him dead.

On silent feet, I sneak forward. Only to freeze at the foot of the stairs to his dais, my eyes locked on his face. Horror seeps through me.

An amused smirk.

"Oh don't stop NOW, you're so close." Breaks the silence. Golden eyes open, lazy and entertained. "By all means. Try."

My grip on the dagger felt almost painful, for how hard I was gripping it. He... he wasn't even bothering to move. Didn't even see me as a threat. F..Fine. Fine then! If it was a mistake on his part or NOT, I would TAKE IT. Any chance. Any chance at ALL.

The pressure of that gaze felt immense. But I tilted my head up, put my shoulders back, and moved. One step. Then another. Up the stairs. Onto the dais. Forward, slowly. I paused, just beyond his immediate reach. Not that it was anything like real safety. I stared. Shaking. Knowing I was shaking and unable to stop.

He sat splayed. Reclined and leaning against his fist, robes rich and arranged just so. The very picture of indolent decadence. It was deceptive. I KNEW it was. A trap. But to get too him... I had to step closer. My eyes moved from the splay of his legs back up to his face. His smirk had grown teeth. I... I refused to run. I would finish this.

I stepped forward. Between his long legs, feeling distinctly like I was balanced over a bear trap, and lifted the dagger. I refused to hesitate. Wait to see if he changed his mind. I slammed it forward. Right through his heart. Glaring, as I looked him right in the eyes. The blade HISSED. Like acid meeting stone.

He laughed.

Grin full of unhinged glee, a vice in the shape of a hand clamped around my wrist, and the world SPUN. I slammed against the floor, the Demon King straddling me, at the foot of his thrown. He loomed. Behind him, above me, shown a magnificent window the lit him from behind. Like a halo.

"You didn't even HESITATE. You'd rip my heart out, if you could. Wouldn't you?" He says. Almost an whisper, nearly a groan, filthy with something that terrifies me and shouldn't BE there. "I KNEW I sensed something. KNEW you were out there."

I desperately try to push the knife deeper. Use everything I can to... to just-!

All I want... All I NEED? Is to see it come out the fucking OTHER SIDE. Please. Gods, PLEASE! End this! I'm gritting my teeth. Snarling. This BASTARD. I HATE him! I HATE HIM!

"Ah~ That's it, little one." He groans. Not even bothering to hide that he's apparently getting off on this. I'll kill him. I'll FUCKING KILL HIM! "Good~, that's right. Just like that. Give IN~♡ I'll take SUCH good care of you. I've always wanted a little pet. Focus it all on me. Give it ALL to me~"

My brain feels like it's on fire. My lungs filled with ash and flame. I hate. I hate and hate and HATE! I can't think. Something is... wrong? Wrong! The blade hurts to hold. Like it's rejecting me. No. NO! I HAVE TO KILL HIM! I may not be the Chosen One but-!

It finally becomes too much. The pain of holding the blade out weighing my hate. It's like ACID. My hand spasming away like I was trying to touch a hot stove. My palm is an ugly red. Wounded.

In one fluid movement, my wrist is released, the blade pulled free, tossed aside, and my wrist recaptured, before I can claw his fucking eyes out. I grit my teeth. Fangs grinding togeth-... wait.... what?

I stare at my hand.

At the black talon like nails where normal nails were, just this morning. And feel... horror. My... my teeth feel weird. My eyes hurt. Sides of my head too.

"Got you~"

He throws his head back in a triumphant laugh. The sound echoing like a nightmare. Even as I watch, the pigment of my skin is changing. Draining away to something even. Something almost too pale. Unnatural.

"I'm so glad you've decided to join me, darling." My hands are slammed down on either side of my head. His face inches from my. Eyes burning with something terrible. "I haven't had a bride in SO long~ following your progress has been FASCINATING. And now! Oh little thing, I get to KEEP you all to myself. Make you GOOD for me. Learn every inch of you. You should be excited, darling~"

"I'm going to make you a Queen."

[buddierecs]

jealous!eddie diaz buddie fics

all of these are general audience, teen and up or not rated (no smut) make sure to kudos/comment on these amazing works :)

hold the line (to my heart) by: erotes "eddie diaz is not jealous. it is entirely normal to be annoyed that his best friend is busy flirting in the middle of a crisis. obviously." word count: 7k important tags: 911 lone star characters, oblivous!eddie diaz, getting together counting pulses by: tinyydancerr "eddie diaz’s life is going great. he’s in therapy, he’s got a great girlfriend, a great kid, his friend is getting married to the woman of his dreams, and his best friend just came out to him. now his best friend is dating their new friend. things are going great. he promises." word count: 63k important tags: buck/tommy, eddie diaz has ocd, catholic guilt, pining, buckley-diaz family, co-parenting, slow burn hey now, hey now by: fallingthorns "after returning to the 118, eddie becomes a full-time paramedic and ravi becomes buck's partner. eddie absolutely doesn't feel anything about that, not at all." word count: 10k important tags: 5+1 things, fluff, pining, humour, getting together, love confessions i used to call you my best friend (way back before you were my everything) by: snowyroads "in which eddie is so in love with his best friend but that’s totally normal. oh, and hen’s tired of his shit." word count: 5.3k important tags: sexuality crisis, pining, fluff, getting together, sexual tension my heart aches with love for you by: farfromthstars "eddie and marisol run into buck and tommy on a date. eddie is not jealous." word count: 1.7k important tags: feelings realisation, pre-relationship, pining advice wanted by: cairparavels "eddie diaz takes to reddit to figure out why he hates his best friend’s new boyfriend so much." word count: 8k important tags: social media, reddit, misunderstandings, tommy kinard bashing, idiots in love, fluff, angst, humour, mutual pining, getting together good luck, babe by: hattalove "sometimes, when you've had a bad week, all you want is a romantic evening out with your wife over terrible pizza, and what you get instead is some kind of intricate gay ritual happening two tables away from you." word count: 2.1k important tags: outsider pov, social media, twitter you're the one by: smilingbuckley "chimney pretends to be buck’s boyfriend to get a guy to back off. eddie doesn't like it." word count: 2.5k important tags: crack, fake dating, platonic kissing, pre-relationship, first kiss, love confessions, fluff, angst tryna find my way back to you (cause i'm needing a little bit of love) by: mumucow_xD "when buck joins the 126 team for a whole month and eddie didn't expect it to awake something in him" word count: 45k important tags: whump, minor angst, feelings realisation, drunken confessions pining from the passenger seat by: orphan_account "eddie pines from the passenger seat" word count: 5.4k important tags: pining, soft!buddie, getting together, first kiss baby i can ease the ache (let me give your heart a break) by: youdrewstarsaroundmyscars118 "buck wants to date natalia, eddie wants to die, chimney and maddie are very good at motivational speeches and buck is not as oblivious as people make him out to be." word count: 4.6k important tags: possessive!eddie diaz, first kiss, love confessions, getting together plus or minus by: elvensorceress "taylor is offered a job across the country and asks buck to go with her. buck has to figure out if he wants to start over or if he has a reason to stay right where he is." word count: 10k important tags: idiots in love, oblivious, getting together, soft!buddie, love confessions, mutual pining waiting on a distant feeling by: justhockey "five times eddie thought he was homophobic, and the one time he realised he was just jealous." word count: 5.9k important tags: 5+1 things, idiots in love, getting together, oblivious!eddie diaz, mutual pining, fluff, angst

[osakhee]

10th floor, ceo!sungchan x reader

! blowjob, sir kink?

you arrange your shirt nervously, your leg bouncing on the wooden floor. you really need that job. you already went through two interviews, but the company you applied is quite luxurious, and after meeting managers and the head of the human ressources, you were urged to meet the ceo. you heard he was the one actually making decisions for the workers, and he's the last wall between you and that very important job.

even though you know the famous company by name, you never heard of jung sungchan. the young owner inherited everything from his father after his passing, making a huge difference in the harsh business environment due to his age. the company never flourished this well since sungchan's new ceo position. all you could recall from the words of the managers is that he's great at making people fall for him and his traps to make his wealth grow bigger.

your appointment with sungchan is planned in less than 10 minutes. you're early, and now the time seems like it's ticking slowly enough for you to die at least twice on the chair. the corridor that's connected to sungchan's office is quiet and you could only hear your -almost- steady breathing and the faint voice of a man on the other side of the door.

your eyes travel the papers in your hands, the review letters from your past interviews, you read the positive sentences over and over again. you believe in yourself for this job. you almost jump from the chair when you hear the doorknob then the door open. your eyes meet jung sungchan's, and you immediately get what the workers you met meant when they told you the ceo makes all the heads spin.

he's much taller than you expected, an annoyingly pretty face with serious yet soft eyes, a faint smile making him look even sweeter. sungchan steps out of his office and stands in front of you. you immediately get up from the chair.

"i think we have a little interview together, right?"

"yes... sir... i'm here for the job."

"i heard about you, the managers gave me great feedbacks. you're quite a pretty thing."

the words get stuck in your throat, your eyes flutter and sungchan chuckles at your reaction. he opens the door and invites you inside, closing it safely behind you. you stand up awkwardly in the office as sungchan sits down on his luxurious chair and sighs. he shifts himself on the soft material of the chair, and point the seat in front of his desk with his head.

"sit down."

sungchan doesn't need to ask you twice. you sit down and put in front of him the review letters from the different staffs. the silence feels awkward to you, your eyes travel around the room everywhere but in front of you to avoid the ceo's gaze. sungchan is focused on you, massaging his large hands. finally the silence is broken by his voice, and you dare to look at him again. sungchan had opened his tight shirt a little and loosened his tie, and is now looking right at you with a much more serious stare.

"tell me pretty, how much do you need that job?"

you take a moment to think about what to answer. the switch of behavior of the tall man makes you grow more nervous and your face feels hot. you should tell him the truth but won't you sound too desperate?

"answer me when i ask a question."

"i really.... really need that job sir... i have been wanting to work there for so long, i really want it."

"much better when you reply like that. come stand here, pretty."

you take a deep breath and stand up. sungchan's gaze is almost burning you, you can feel it from the tip of your fingers to your chest and face, down your thighs... the ceo sits back in his chair, his legs comfortably parted.

"i think we can help each other out, hm? your pretty face helps me with my problem and i'm sure i can find a nice place for you in the company."

"...excuse me..?"

"don't do that pretty... show some interest in what your boss is asking you..."

sungchan's tone drips like honey into your ears. one of his hand rubs his thigh slowly while he rests his chin on the other one with his gaze so heavy on you. each step you take closer to him make the bulge straining his pants grow larger. sungchan scoffs at your slow moves, his hand rubbing himself over his clothes.

"you know... being such an important person is so much stress... i'm sure you can help out, right? you must do everything i say if you want to work for me, hm."

you slowly drop on your knees in front of him, your hands on his thighs and your face so close to the throbbing bulge. sungchan's smirk grow wider, his hands unbuckling his belt but not opening his pants. he trails his finger down your jaw and hold your chin with the tip of it.

"tell me pretty... want to help the boss out?"

"...yes."

sungchan's smile drops and his voice gets lower.

"yes who?"

"yes sir."

"good."

you nervously let your hands travel sungchan's thighs, earning a low sigh from him. you unbutton his pants, opening it enough to show his strained underwear, the hot bulge twitching under your fingers. you press your palm between sungchan's legs and he groans at your touch, one of his hand finding its place in your hair.

you lick your lips and finally tug on sungchan's underwear slowly, you free his hard cock that stands proudly in front of your face. you caress the veiny length experimentally, and sungchan put his hand around yours to make you hold his dick, making you pump him a little.

he holds the base of his cock with both yours and his hand, he pushes the leaking and red tip on your lips eagerly. you give a lick on the slit as more precum drips on your tongue, and sungchan finally lets go of your hand. he rests himself on his chair, fingers tangled into your hair. when you finally take him into your mouth, a low moan escapes from his throat.

"j-just like that pretty..."

encouraged by his words, you take him deeper, your tongue swirling around his length and tracing the veins. sungchan gets more noisy, breathy groans coming out of his parted lips. his closed eyes open to look at you when you bob your head and take your time on the head of his cock. more praises fall from his tongue and his fingers tug on your hair to bring you closer.

you cough around his dick. you take him away from your mouth and jerk him off, putting all your attention on his throbbing tip that seems ready to explode any minute. you push your thumb on the slit and coat the head of his cock with the sticky fluid. more impatient to find his place back into your hot mouth, sungchan push on your head until his cock hits your face. you open your lips and let him inside, his tip hitting far into your throat as sungchan tug on your hair a little more harshly.

"fuck... keep going..."

the ceo's hips buck into your mouth pushing him deeper inside. you almost gag around him and hold the base of his dick in your hand, rubbing it quickly while you drag your tongue up and down. the way sungchan's groans grow louder and heavier make you speed up, you look up to meet his half opened eyes. his chest heaves to a fast yet steady rhythm, his unbuttoned shirt showing his glistening chest.

you suck on his tip and you feel sungchan's grip on your hair tighten, his two hands holding your head in place while he pushes his hips into you face. you can feel drool dripping from your chin mixed with his cum that erupts into your throat. you move your head slowly to make sure you don't miss a single drop of his bitter fluid before letting go of his now softening dick.

you lick your lips and you feel sungchan's thumb rub on your chin gently, wiping away the spit that coats your skin. sungchan grabs your cheeks and drag you up until you're close of his face. he meets your lips in a sweet kiss, mixed with the taste of his cum. the ceo releases you from his grip and puts back his clothes, buttoning his pants and tucking his shirt back inside.

"so good to me... you did so well pretty."

you sit back on the other side of the desk and sungchan takes the papers that you dropped in front of him. he quickly go through the praises and good reviews from his workers with a smile, looking at you from behind the letters.

"i guess i have a new coworker. you did such a good job. but i expect much more from you starting from today, understood?"

"yes sir."

sungchan work that gets released before eunseok work sorry.... got inspired by the riize court and someone's request, please enjoy :3 eunseok is next, then wonbin!

[tiredfox64]

Okay I have a prompt that’s been stuck in my head for WEEKS and I can never get it right (probably because I’m the one who wrote it) but it’s a Liu Kang prompt, the reader is fem and is VERY OF AGE like late 20’s or something so nothing gross. But it’s “sweetheart, my tattoos are older than you.” RAHHHH RAHHH RAHHH FIRE GOD LIU KANG RUIN ME TO THE DAWN OF TIMEEEEEEEEE

You’re Not That Old

Yip notes: no entienda ʅ（◞‿◟）ʃ

Pairing: Liu Kang (MK1) x Afab reader

Warnings‼️: It's short I'm sorry

Ah late 20s. Time to slow things down and take a step back. You’re not a party animal anymore. You’re not a young adult anymore for some odd reason even though your late 20s are not at all old. Really, you got a long way before death comes and takes you naturally. Death’s eyes are not on you so why are you still complaining?

“Ugh! I’m so freaking old.” You whined.

Your boyfriend looked at you with this somewhat disappointed look. Or he might have been judging you. It’s hard to tell with those godly light eyes. His arms folded before he began speaking.

“Old? I would hardly call you old. I do not see a single wrinkle on your face that would indicate your age.”

“Yes there is, look.” You pointed to a smile line. Those are natural and could appear at any age. It’s not even that noticeable!

Like the sassy god that Liu Kang is he rolled his eyes at your display of sorrow. It’s unnecessary. You’re still as young as a blooming flower yet here you are acting like you’re sixty. Shoot, even Liu Kang would consider sixty young since not many naturally die at that age.

Could he really judge fairly though? He is a god who has lived for eons. He has seen life created and life succumb to death. He has seen it in all eras at all ages. But this isn’t the 1800s when it was impressive to reach thirty without being close to death due to pneumonia. You’re young and full of energy still. You don’t even feel any strain in your joints or have any complaints of back pain. He wouldn’t even say your age is an age of concern when it comes to wanting kids. You’re not on thin ice, the ice is thick and sturdy.

“I believe you are seeing things that are not there.” He reassured you.

“Oh sure, it’s easy for you to say that when you’ve stayed the same age for years,” Eons actually, “There is nothing about you that indicates that you are older than me.”

That’s when Liu Kang got closer to you. You were still looking at yourself in your vanity mirror before you saw his hand come closer to you. He gently placed his hand below your chin before guiding your face to look at him. He tilted your head up and you saw how he looked down at you. You could already tell by that smug grin of his that he was about to prove you wrong.

“Sweetheart, my tattoos are older than you.” He said in a low, husky voice.

…

He’s…not wrong. You were proven wrong.

Liu Kang has had those tattoos ever since he became a god back in his original timeline. It just seemed to be an aspect of being a god. Those tattoos may be younger than him, but they are older than you.

If you haven’t already noticed those glorious dragon tattoos even though you have been with Liu Kang for a long time he will help you notice. They began glowing like they usually would when he uses his fire powers except he was holding back. He can’t burn that pretty face of yours. The light blue light radiated and caught your eye. Then your attention was brought right back to Liu Kang’s face once you felt his thumb lightly caress your face.

“See? I told you that you are not old.” He said before he leaned down and gave you a kiss.

He let go of your face before walking off to do some important duties. Probably to train the others or have a word with the Lin Kuei’s grandmaster about an upcoming mission. I don’t know, you don’t care. You’re just stunned by what he said.

1: God just called you sweetheart.

2: That was so smooth and you don’t understand why.

It might have been the face grab. It might have been his voice. It might be because he made his tattoos glow in that moment so you could get the point.

Whatever it was, thank goodness it worked. It made you forget about how old—I mean young you are!

Yap notes: I'm genuinely sorry if this is not what you wanted, I read the prompt so many times and I just think I wasn't the right woman for the job. I think this is more on me and something not going correctly in my brain. Once again I'm sorry if this is not what you wanted I hope someone else will be able to get it right for you.

[brawlqueen]

[ please tell me you're going to decline his offer. ]

[ n-no! i can't. i mean - he offered so . . . ! ]

[ that is not what i mean mizuki ! to you this is a challenge. ]

[ h-hey don't put it like that ! he's being nice, aiba! ]

mizuki could handle a lot of things, from falling from the stratosphere and landing unharmed; to dodging bullets like they were slow motion wrapped up pieces of paper. hell, while the opportunity hadn't arisen, lifting a car wouldn't even be a half a trouble. her courage and endurance for both pain in every aspect and the throes of terror had made her age far, far beyond her means. strengthened her not just in the downright supernatural of physical combat and endurance, but as a person most importantly, in the end, it was her heart that made her strong, she was only human . . .

and here she was, months after helping a global threat be quelled and blinking down at something her nostrils found both painful and tantalizing. it didn't help ignacio was smiling. she didn't even know his name really, but it wasn't a lie, that she wanted to try out something that clearly put such a smile on his face. she didn't even know exactly where he came from, but could hazard fairly accurate guesses.

" thanks... to be honest in japan, sure we try hot sauces and spicy things, but it isn't the norm, you know? more mild foods. that's why i came over. i like other cultures and wanna not be ignorant to stuff people like. so i wanna know. " my nostrils already feel like they're tickled by some hot air fan or something. . .

[ i told you! ]

" but that's...not the weird question. this probably won't make any sense and i can't really explain why, but do you mind if.....i remove my artificial eye? i'm blind in my left eye save for appearances. i just uh, like yellow. i don't - " what, want aiba to somehow feel all my neurons and nervous system go into overshock if i can't stomach his food? damn, i really can't back down from this. but i wanna know what it tastes like!

" i understand that's...a bit graphic. not that i know what kind of things you've seen. but i can uh, turn my face? i don't wanna weird you out. just...trust me that it's best i take it out. " if it's as hot as my gut is screaming at me to not find out, then even aiba's gonna be feeling what i feel.

"They're chiles rellenos. I like them, the chile I'm using is a little bit spicy, but I absolutely love their spiciness."

This is a warning.

This man is saying this dish is a bit spicy. That even he would call it spicy should be a sign not to take it, to politely refuse and save your stomach. Proceed with caution.

[luimagines]

hey hey! it’s been awhile

could i please ask for a continuation to the wars soulmate au?

-🫓

Sure thing buddy! :)

Masterlist

Part 1

Content under the cut!

Now- you pitch yourself off a cliff. That's what.

You stand up abruptly- breaking the tension before it can fully form and run out of the room.

This is mortifying.

This is not what you wanted to learn today even if it still makes sense given what Sky had told you about how the soulmate stones worked. Of course Warrior was your soulmate. Had to be. It's not like it would have been one in a bajillion chance at ever meeting him.

And what does it say for when all of this is over?

You do abandon your friends and family for the sake of following him? You can't ask him to follow you. He's too important. Too many people are depending on him for him to simply go with you and live whatever simple life you had to offer.

Is this the end then? Are you still doomed? You doubt you would be able to move on from this even if you were never going to be together.

"Hold it!" Someone grabs your arm.

You scream and jump, trying to tear your arm away but it's Warrior.

Of course it's Warrior.

"What?" You ask with you heart in your throat. "Don't make this harder than it has to be. Please!"

He stills and instantly lets you go. Whatever words he had on his tongue die in an instant and you have the ever subtle feeling that perhaps you shouldn't have said that. Could this get any worse?

Warrior takes a deep breath, bravely meeting your eyes. "I'm sorry."

Why must you tempt the universe? How much more must you pay for your hubris?

Your jaw drops and your stand there stunned. "Wait-"

"I just..." Warrior starts again, cutting you off. "I'm sorry. I'm probably not your first choice." -Oh my god- "I know that my past has more baggage than it's worth." -What have you done?- "But I thought... The stones were honest though, right?"

He looks so hopeful. Had he actually wanted something from you? With you? You sudden get cotton mouth. You can't speak. Your brain flat lines there are no thoughts for you to grab onto.

"Right?" He echoes his previous question, wanting confirmation. "Even... if that was incredibly embarrassing, it was true, wasn't it?"

Somehow you nod.

Warrior lets out a shuddering breath. "Oh... Oh, ok... good. Uh- I mean. I'm... I'm glad that you.. um... Look, I really like you." He says, biting the bullet. "Like... really really like you. I wasn't- I didn't want to seem like I was coming on too strong and the guys give me a hard time enough as it is. But if this is true... If you like me too, do you think...?"

You feel like you need to sit down again. you're only saving grace is that you're outside where no one seemed to have followed you. "...You... like me?"

"Is that so hard to believe?" He flushes, the tips of his ears burning a bright red. "I had thought you believed I was just a joke."

"Funny." You choke on the word. "That couldn't have been further from the truth."

"What is the truth?" Warrior stress, boldly closing the distance between you again. His blushing features don't help him stay stoic and cool like he would have hoped.

You gulp. You don't have the words. This is both agonizingly slow and much too fast for you to handle. Why couldn't he just read your mind and- Wait. The stones.

Double wait.

You're close to each other. The stone would be silent. Cursed be the need to communication!

You take his hand instead and hold it tight. "I think... we both already know the truth."

You kiss his knuckles before you can second guess yourself. His hands are smoother and softer than you would have thought. He wasn't wearing his hand guards yet, still in his casual wear.

The effect of your kiss on Warrior was another delightfully bright blush all over his face, down to his neck and beyond. "I.... I see."

"Do you?" You whisper, feeling like a fish out of water. Everything about this feels raw and sensitive. One wrong move and everything would blow up.

"I think so." Warrior leans in, kissing your cheek. "Better?"

You suddenly feel like you can breathe again. "Much better."

[wutheringcaterpillar]

Back to December

Summary: When you arrive home, you're confronted with what you feared to be true. Tommy reassured you it couldn't be, it'd never be again but how can he deny you of what you witnessed with your own eyes. What could he do, when his wife won't come to an understanding that he would never put his family at risk like that and it was all a misunderstanding.

Warnings: mentions of infidelity, a lot of shitting on Grace, happy ending

Loosely based off "Back to December" by Taylor Swift

I'm so glad you made time to see me How's life? Tell me, how's your family? I haven't seen them in a while

The snow was coming down in heavy spurts outside, as the wind blustered throughout the air. You were sat at your kitchen table at your new temporary apartment watching the storm through the window as you sipped on your tea awaiting for Thomas to arrive to sign the papers.

December had passed, and now it was a new year, lonesome for you to say the least as you were trying to adjust to your new life on your own. The children were on rotating weekends with the both of you so it would be even, but you were sure they were having a hard time understanding why their mom and dad were no longer in the same house together. This weekend was Thomas’s and he had arranged for Polly to watch the children until this meeting was over which you were hoping would be sooner rather than later.

Seeing Thomas pull into your driveway, you poured another cup of hot tea and placed it on the opposite end of the table. Hearing him knock at the door you didn’t bother to get up and waste your energy for him so you shouted for him that it was open.

When he walked in, he was wearing a navy blue suit, a black trench coat draped over his shoulders. He had bags and dark circles under his baby blue eyes, he looked like he hadn’t slept in days.

When he entered the kitchen to where you were, with the papers sitting out with a pen he looked defeated. He couldn’t help but take in your beauty as your hair flowed freely and the sweater you were wearing fit your body snuggly while your feet were covered in fuzzy socks.

“You look lovely.” You nodded to yourself without thanking him and extended your hand for him to take his seat across from you.

“How’s your family been? I sent them a gift for the holidays, did you get my card?” Crossing your arms insecurely, you felt yourself begin to curl in on yourself as you brought your knees closer to your chest. Tommy believed this could be fixed, but you wanted him out of your life for good and it agitated you that he was still going at all lengths to win you back, and to make things worse every one in your family was telling you to go back, and didn’t understand why you would leave a man who cares for you very deeply and treated you well. You felt alone, no one was on your side. Your mother continuously told you to forgive him, your sister would make comments about how stupid you were for wanting to leave such a handsome, charming man that had money.

“Yes, Thomas I got it.” He winced to himself quietly. Ever since everything happened, you wouldn’t call him Tommy, you wouldn't call him the sweet nicknames you usually did. It made him feel like a stranger to you now, not of importance.

Your guard is up and I know why

Because the last time you saw me Is still burned in the back of your mind You gave me roses and I left them there to die

Tommy watched you painfully, your guard was up and he understood why, he was the reason. If he had just not let her into the house, everything would be okay, you marriage would still be in tact. It’d be wrong of him to not take the blame for this, his words meant nothing to you, and he wished they had. All of Birmingham knew of his relationship with Grace, she had always been a heavy weight on your shoulders, more-so because she had appeared in town again and Tommy told you there was nothing to worry about, and you had believed him. He took a sip of his tea, trying to find words to make you understand his point of view.

“I know what I’m here for, but I’m not signing our love away until you hear me out, please.” You scoffed in response and pushed the papers closer to him. He still didn’t pick up the pen.

Tommy didn’t understand, he’d never understand. From what you’ve heard around town and from fellow acquaintances of his, he was always the heartbreaker. You had just thought that you would have been the one that mattered to him, you thought that he was different than the rest and he just wasn’t given love, or affection as he should have been. The five years you had been married you never would’ve expected you’d be sitting across from Thomas in this situation.

“I’m going to turn the heat up, and start another pot of tea if you’d fancy more.” Tommy nodded as you walked off.

Entering the family room, you glanced at the roses he had, had delivered to you after that dreadful day. You didn’t want to start over, you didn’t want to move past Thomas but the image of that day still burned in the back of your mind.

~ Your pov ~

Pulling into the driveway, I had just finished an outing with Ada and I was exhausted, the girl could shop fo days. It was very generous of her to offer to watch the kids for the night, after all they had been missing their auntie. I was hoping Frances already had dinner made because it was an understatement to say I was starving.

Opening the door, I froze in my tracks. I was blinded by what I thought was impossible, by what he promised me was not going to happen.

I stood there watching as my husband’s lips intertwined with Grace’s, her arms wrapped around his masculine body that I thought was mine.

Who was I kidding? Grace was beautiful, and she was everything I could never be for Thomas. I lacked natural beauty, elegancy, and just simple etiquette at times. I could never compete.

He looked at me with panicked eyes when he pushed her off of him. I now knew where I stood, second place as usual. I didn’t need to say anything to make up my mind as I dropped my possessions to the ground and exited the house, I once called home.

Stupidity, and shame flooded over me, and I refuse to give Thomas the power to try to con me into staying but I couldn’t stop myself from turning and screaming at him.

There he stood having the audacity to look at me doe eyed, acting like he was scared to lose me. I should’ve listened to everyone who told me he would never be over her. He didn’t chase after me when I backed out of the driveway in tears while my body was trying to decide if it felt more sad or angry.

~

So this is me swallowin' my pride Standin' in front of you, sayin' I'm sorry for that night And I go back to December all the time

Returning to the kitchen, you opened your book and impatiently waited for him to sign and get out. Thomas took that as a sign you would not be hearing him out, so he decided to take matters into his own hands per usual. Grabbing the book from your soft hands, he slammed it closed, and tossed it to the side. “Y/N. I am telling you. I did not fucking kiss her. She kissed me and-“

“So that makes it okay that she was in our fucking home, does it? What difference does it make? Why was she in my fucking house Thomas! Why did-“ Thomas stood up out of frustration, pointing at your front door.

“She let herself in! I was upstairs, gathering laundry from the childrens rooms for Frances! When I heard the door fucking open, I grabbed my fucking gun and went downstairs and was blindsided with her in our fucking house! I tried kicking her out, and when you pulled in, she fucking kissed me when she heard your fucking car door close!” When he noticed, you were beginning to cry, he patted his suit down and took his seat once more, now feeling bad for yelling at you. He let you have a moment, he would’ve tried to soothe you, but he didn’t as he thought that would make things worse. When you were calm, he spoke once more.

“I’m truly sorry Y/N for that evening. I wish you had been there before she was, so you’d believe in me that I’m not lying to you.” You scoffed, in disbelief that he still would not confess.

“Thomas just sign the papers, please.” He hesitated before moving, contemplating in all the ways he could have handled this better. Slowly, he picked up the pen and begrudgingly signed on the dotted line. He slid the papers over to you slowly, and gently and you couldn’t help but notice his fingers shaking. “Thank you.” He nodded unwilling full. He removed himself from your house, when he tried to hug you goodbye you stayed in your tracks, looking away from him. He understood and excused himself.

~

Tommy’s pov

~

“What the fuck do you want Grace.” Slowly she approached him with lustful eyes. “You know what I want Thomas. I want to pick up where we left off my love.” She placed her hand on my cheek, and I felt nothing.

Grace was a chapter in my life, that had now closed, and I didn’t intend on extending it. I grabbed her wrist, throwing it to the side and pointed directly at her.

“No, no. You don’t get to fucking do that, what gives you the fucking right, eh? You were the one who lied to me, spied on me. That wasn’t love Grace. I’m happily married and I’m beyond grateful it’s not to you.” The sound of a car door closing outside caught both of our attention.

My wife was home.

My love.

Panic set in as my jaw clenched, I felt stupid for not kicking her out, but what was I supposed to do? Aim a gun at her.

I knew how Y/N felt about Grace, and I had told her everything about our relationship in the past. Now here I am, standing in my own god damn living room in my own bloody god damn mess. I was hoping to have her out by the time she had arrived back home.

“Grace, you need to-“ Before I could finish my sentence, Grace’s hands were on both my arms, pulling me closer as her lips clashed into mine.

“Honey I’m-" At that moment, I heard the door to our house close and pushed the conniving whore off of me, but I watched as the smile on Y/N’s face dropped in an instant.

Now here I was standing in a living room, looking like a complete ass. “Y/N, honey. It’s not what it looks like I-“ She hadn’t let me finish.

She shook her head in disbelief and dropped everything in her hands onto the floor, before exiting the house. I ran outside after her, and I didn’t look back to see if Grace had followed.

“Y/N! I-“ She had turned around quickly and strikes me across my face. That’s when I knew, I was going to lose the love of my life.

“5 years! 5 years and none of it mattered! Our beautiful children! The house we bought together! All over what! Huh!? Some irish whore who didn’t give a fuck about you until she had your money, and then moved onto the next!” I stayed quiet and I could feel my eyes begin to swell with water, as my body trembled. I followed her eyes that were staring a deathly hole into Grace and looked back to my heartbroken wife.

I would never put my marriage or my kids in the jeopardy of driving them away. If it weren’t for Y/N and our kids, I’m not sure my life would have any meaning. Whatever I said, no matter the truth or a lie I knew it would mean nothing to my sweet Y/N and I watched as she got into her car, driving away from me and our fortress we built together.

~

The drive home, Thomas cried. He had lost everything, once again Grace wins. He had his brothers take care of getting her out of town and they had threatened her if they see her again they will not hesitate to put a bullet through her head for ruining Thomas’s happiness after it took him so long to move on from her.

When Polly dropped the children off it was late which Thomas was partially grateful for because he was mentally drained. He thanked Polly and tucked the three of them into bed, kissing them on the forehead endearingly.

Walking into his room, he looked at the clothes you left behind that were scattered throughout the room. It had become routine for Tommy to sleep with what he had left of you, a different article of clothing every night. He took his place in bed and layed down, clutching his pillow and the sweater he had bought you in his arms, breathing in what was left of your scent.

When he went to sleep that night, he had slept in a bed of tears, once again. The only thing that brought him comfort was that you allowed him to take care of your children and to see them still. He just wished he handled the situation in a better manner, and he wouldn't have lost you.

Maybe this is wishful thinkin' Probably mindless dreamin' But if we loved again, I swear I'd love you right I'd go back in time and change it, but I can't

-

The next morning, you were dressed and ready to go turn in the papers. The brisk air of winter sent shivers down your spine as you were approaching the door to the courts clerk office. You were stopped in your tracks once Junie, yours and Thomas’s neighbor saw you. She was a sweet old lady, that you had been bringing meals to for quite some time so that she didn’t have to cook.

“Y/N! How are you? I heard about Thomas, such a shame Grace came back, no one really cared for her around here.” You nodded, shifting your lip awkwardly. This wasn’t exactly something you wanted to be chatting about. “I’ve been better.”

“She was always very importuning and demanding of Thomas, can’t believe she thought she could try again with him and succeed.” You thought to yourself what she could mean. “I’m sorry?”

“Oh, you know an old woman like me not having much to do, I eavesdrop sometimes. I saw that little twat make her move on your husband through the window. Speaking of, I haven’t seen you there recently Y/N, is everything alright.” The truth came crashing down on you like a wrecking ball. Your mouth subtly dropped as your eyebrows etched together in disbelief. Thomas was telling the truth. He didn’t lie to you. “Ugh- Miss Junie I think I need to be going. I- I will stop by later this week alright?” Without hearing her response you were rushing back to your car.

-

Tommy awoke to the kids bouncing up and down on the bed and he turned to look at you only to forget you aren’t there anymore. “Daddy! Daddy! Ada’s here! Can we go over to her house!” Thomas brushed at his drooping eyelids, still squinting from the morning light. “I- yeah of course you guys can.” Ada appeared in the door frame, and the kids rushed passed her to go get changed. “I figured i’d give you the morning. Take a shower brother. You can’t be in this slump forever. If not for yourself for them. They need their father. They love you y’know.” Tommy nodded and thanked her before sliding the blanket back over his head.

You glanced at the odometer as you were approaching 70 mph, swiftly avoiding the potholes or any bad ice patches. You felt like a terrible wife, shameful and guilty for not believing him your dear Tommy. You just hoped it wasn't too late.

-

Freshly showered and clothed. He headed downstairs and noticed Ada had left a note informing him of what time she would have them back by. He was grateful for Ada and Pol, always willing to help him out. He took a seat in the kitchen where Frances had cooked him a warm, hearty breakfast. He thanked her and placed his glasses on before opening the paper.

Before he could take a bite of his food Tommy heard a car sprint into his driveway, and he removed his glasses, and was standing up running to the window within seconds, gun ready at the side.

All movement in him stopped, time froze when he saw you in the drivers seat, quickly opening the door before running to the front of the house and hearing you bang on the door aggressively.

When he opened the door, he was worried something was wrong, you couldn’t have changed your mind. He took in your out of breath state, and your tear stained, red cheeks. The first thing that came to his mind was you were in trouble and he settled his hand near his gun. “Y/N, what’s wrong are you alright?”

“Junie she-she told me- she saw everything.” Without hesitating Tommy pulled you into his warm embrace once again as a wave of undeniable relief washed through him. Maybe Tommy should be thanking the old bat for eavesdropping all the time.

“I missed your sweet, beautiful smile. I haven’t slept in weeks with an empty half of our bed love. I thought I lost you forever. If I could go back in time and change it and just shoot her I would. She’s never, ever coming back here I made sure of it. It’s taken care of.” You didn’t want to know what that meant all you cared about right now was making up with your husband. “I’m- I’m sorry for not believing you.” Tommy combed his fingers gently through your hair, while tears of happiness began to stream down his now red cheeks.

“Darling I don’t blame you with who I was as a man before I met you. Just know Grace is history, in the past. She could never compete with such a gentle, beautiful soul like yours. I would never do that to you my love.” You looked up at him, your glossy eyes connecting with his.

You couldn’t stop yourself from jumping up into his arms and smashing your lips against his in an electrifying kiss that sent shocks through your body. You missed him momentously. Not wanting to break away, he took note that the door being open was sending snow in. He kissed you on your chilled temple before escorting you inside. “Frances just prepared breakfast and Ada took the children, they’ll be back this evening. Please join me.” You smiled in hopes that things could go back to normal, how they were before Grace attempted to split you a apart.

Before you made it to the kitchen you stopped him in front of the fireplace, papers in your hands. You threw them into the flames and watched them turn to dust. You needed Thomas to know that they weren’t submitted and were not going to be. He smiled at you gracefully, placing his arm around your shoulders.

The two of you stood there in silence, taking in that you were once again still a force no one could reckon with.

[beifong-brainrot]

The Gaang being 'bad parents' didn't ruin their characters.

I've seen this argument tossed around a couple times and it's honestly one of my least favourite criticisms of lok.

Katara (and Sokka but we have no confirmed kids for him, which seems unrealistic with how much game he had) lost their mother as children and their father was forced to abandon them when they were barely starting their teens. They were raised by their grandmother with little to no peers of their own age.

Aang did not know his parents and a huge chunk of his childhood was him being groomed into taking up the mantle of the avatar and mastering airbending. He also was isolated from other kids his age. His closest parental figure was Gyatso who was more of a teacher than a father. Also the Air Nomads were literally wiped out so that adds to the trauma pile.

I really don't think i have to talk about Zuko's family life here, but at least he had relatively positive parental figures in the form of Ursa (though i do have a burning personal dislike of ursa) and Iroh. Despite this his struggle around the subject of his family and his trauma relating to his upbringing was a focal point of his character arc.

Toph was raised in isolation by her asshole abelist parents who did not listen to her, sent people to capture and bring her back and then disowned her. (If my cursory understanding of 'the rift' is correct, I need to actually read it because i am unreasonably obsessed with the Beifong family.)

Where, pray tell, were they supposed to learn proper parenting skills? On their brief stint as child soldiers? While fighting a war as literal children?

There is the argument that they must've matured later in their lives, of course. But you can only recover so much from copious amounts of childhood trauma.

Being a bad parent doesn't necessarily make you a bad person. Sure it makes you a failure in an incredibly delicate and important aspect of human life but it doesn't make you a bad person. And saying that it does takes a lot of nuance out of the conversation.

Like, do you know how easy it is to fuck up a child?

Especially that the ways the members of the Gaang 'fucked up' as parents feel mostly in character.

Bumi was going to face some struggles with self worth due to being the firstborn child of the Avatar and arguably one of the most powerful waterbenders in history, while being a nonbender himself. That much was unavoidable, no matter how his parents approached the issue.

And Aang was obviously going to be over the moon when Tenzin was born. Think about it. He's literally the last of his people. He has no one else 'like him'. No one else to pass down the traditions, the teachings that Gyatso and everyone else he cared about and who were horrifically murdered to. Aang is getting older and he feels like his culture and history and his entire life before he got trapped in that damned iceberg will die along with him. And then Tenzin is born and Tenzin can take up the mantle that had been thrust upon Aang.

I'm going to withhold my judgement on Izumi and Zuko, since we barely know anything about them. She seems well adjusted but that's all i can say right now. But Zuko has also been shown to be extremely, painfully aware of how fucked up his family is and has clearly been putting in a lot of work to unscrew what his ancestors have screwed up.

Toph situation feels very tragic to me,because it's obvious that she thought she thought she was doing better than her parents. She gave her daughters the freedom to do what they want, to not feel opressed and trapped like she had. How was she supposed to know that she was making her girls feel like she didn't love them? (Here's another post of mine about the Beifong family and how they just feel like they're cursed or something at this point.)

TLDR; I get annoyed by people saying that the Gaang being 'bad parents' ruined their characters, because to me it felt like it actually enhanced them.

Neither Aang nor Toph acted out of malice or a lack of love. On the contrary, Toph was trying not to repeat her parents mistakes, accidentally committing a bunch of her own. While Aang probably didn't even realise that he was neglecting Kya and Bumi.

But just loving your children doesn't always make you a good parent.

I think these flaws only add to them as characters. It makes them feel more real.

It's unrealistic and, frankly, just plain boring to go 'oh the Gaang were all good people so they would be good parents too.'

The Gaang were a gaggle of traumatised children forced into saving the world, because the adults around them failed them, that then grew into traumatised adults who have no idea how to be good parents.

[garycxjk]

Why most people don't get Europapa

So, Joost Klein's Europapa apparently is taking the world by storm. With its happy hardcore or gabber house tunes and beats and the silly music video, there's no denying that this song has a certain charm, though it also has its detractors.

The thing is, though, most people on both sides don't fully get the song.

To summarize the song, it's essentially about an orphan who travels around Europe to find himself. Those were in Joost's own words.

Europapa is about an orphan who travels throughout Europe (and beyond) to find himself and tell his story. At first, people don’t recognise him, but he goes on seizing any opportunity he gets to let himself be seen. Europapa is a tribute to my father. When bringing me up, he passed on to me an expansive view of the world.

Okay, but why does the song sound so silly? Well, that's something deliberate. I don't really know much about Joost Klein's music, but what I do know is that this is basically what most of his songs are. Silly, yet deep.

Okay, brief detour to give context to the rest of what I'm writing, but it's important to remember that Joost Klein basically became an orphan at a young age. He lost his father to cancer when he was 12, and a year later, his mother died as well. This essentially shaped his music. From what I can gather from the many YouTube comments, he always watched Eurovision with his parents, and told them that one day he'd be there on stage.

So, let's just talk about the elephant in the room. Some people call this European propaganda. However, just the first few lines clue you in that it isn't just some pro-EU propaganda.

Welcome to Europe Stay here until I die

In fact, there are several lines used that wouldn't sit right if it were pro-EU propaganda. Let's look at the second verse.

Ich bin in Deutschland Aber ich bin so allein

Which roughly translates to

I'm in Germany But I'm so lonely

The next lines, "Io sono in Italia / Maar toch doet het pijn" (first line Italian, second line Dutch), which translates to "I'm in Italy / But I still feel pain".

Essentially, the entire song is him trying to let go of his past, to let go of his grief. That's essentially what the burning house and the windmill represent at the end, finally moving on from the past.

And that's essentially what the entire song is about. The entire song sounds like it's stuck in the '90s and early noughties. Naturally the most glaring part is the music style. Back in the '90s, happy hardcore and gabber house was really big, especially in the Netherlands. The way people dance back then and dressed when they did can be seen in the scene with Paul Elstak. Then there's the Gameboy Advance, which came out in the early 2000s.

Another cool thing is a reference to New Kids, a Dutch comedy show from 2007, when someone says "Welkom in Europa jongen!" ("Welcome in Europe boy!"). On the television screen, you can see Gerrie van Boven, played by Tim Haars, a character from New Kids.

But it isn't just a throwback. It's all being done deliberate. Something that gets lost in translation is the text. The rhymes work, however, to a Dutch person, it sounds a bit... childish. Very simple, at the very least. But I think that even that is done deliberately. It sounds like a child has been writing these lines, but I think that's the point of the song. It's supposed to sound like a child has been writing these lines.

The entire song is about the protagonist being stuck in the past, being stuck in his grief. It's why there's a disconnect between the text and the melody. Sure, it's a celebration of Europe, of Eurovision. Joost Klein genuinely loves Eurovision. However, it's also essentially him saying, this is me closing another chapter in my life.

Let's take a look at the outro of the song.

Op kruistocht in m'n spijkerbroek, lopend door de velden M'n papa en m'n mama zijn voor altijd mijn helden Aan het einde van de dag zijn we allemaal mensen M'n vader zei me ooit: "Het is een wereld zonder grenzen" Regen op het raam en ik stond huilend bij het venster Veel te vroeg duister, het is winter in de lente "Ik mis je elke dag", is wat ik stiekempjes fluister Zie je nou wel, pa? Ik heb naar je geluisterd

This... seems quite long, doesn't it? Well, that's because that's the full outro. What most hear during the video clip is this:

Aan het einde van de dag zijn we allemaal mensen M'n vader zei me ooit: "Het is een wereld zonder grenzen" "Ik mis je elke dag", is wat ik stiekempjes fluister Zie je nou wel, pa? Ik heb naar je geluisterd

Let's translate the full lyrics. I'll put the translations of the lyrics in the music video in bold and italic.

On my crusade in jeans, walking through the fields My dad and mom are forever my heroes At the end of the day we are all human beings My father once told me: "It's a world without borders" Rain on the window and I stood at the window crying Darkness far too soon, it's Winter in Spring "I miss you every day", is what I secretly whisper You see dad, I listened to you

So, basically, the gist is, this song has many layers. It's a heartfelt tribute to Eurovision, while also telling a personal story about grief and letting go of said grief.

Though I think this interview with Joost Klein on De Avondshow met Arjen Lubach may say more than I could.

Well, sometimes you must say goodbye to whatever is most dear to you. And when one door closes thousands of others open, apparently. But what I've learned is that you tend to hold on to your own pain sometimes. So this letter provides some sort of closure, dare I say. Saying: "Hey, Mum and Dad... You will always be there for me, but I can't carry this pain forever."

[stsgluver]

I'M HERE – gojo satoru

synopsis. reluctantly, you agree to a new life with two children and your ex. PART TWO OF FOUR.

wc. 3.4k

tags. angst, swearing, happy ending-ish, spoilers for s2

“get out.”

satoru flinches at the coldness in your tone, and you want to scoff. as if though he gets to be the one who’s hurt right now. your hands ache and your head feels like it’s imploding as you struggle to take in everything he says. it’s too much, too important, too soon.

a year has passed but you’ve barely had the chance to accept how cruel he’d been when he pushed you away, like you had meant nothing. like you hadn’t spent almost three years side-by-side, majority of that as his girl. 

gojo satoru is someone who always got what he wants – and he got you. he had all of you: mind, body, and soul… but that wasn’t enough for him. you weren’t enough for him. 

“yn–” again, he tries reaching for you and, again, you reject the advancement, standing up abruptly to ensure you can keep the space between the two of you. you swallow thickly and point towards your half open door. gojo’s eyes don’t follow the direction of your hand, instead staying intently on your face as he indulges himself in his favourite picture, even if that picture is stained with damp streaks.

“get out,” you repeat slowly. he needs to leave you in peace again – or whatever peace you’d come to accept after his sudden departure from your orbit. as much as you hate him, your body and mind is still intuitive with his. it feels wrong to watch him cry and not try and comfort him, and from his actions and the way his hands remain stiff at his sides, fidgeting with the material of his pants, you know he feels the same.

after all he just confessed his love for you, you’re aware of how he feels. but you don’t know what he’s thinking and that terrifies you.

“please.” he is begging, the strongest sorcerer alive is pleading for you, but you’re not sure what he expects you to say. i love you? let’s get back together? yes, i’ll totally take care of that monster’s children with you? i’m totally fine even though my best friend decided to murder a tonne of people and then you broke up with me and then i spent 12 months trying not to die on insane missions that i was sent on because the higher ups hate me and i don’t have you as a buffer anymore?

you scoff, arms crossing in front of as you roll your eyes at his ignorance to your suffering, “gojo satoru, i swear to go–”

“woah, woah, what’s going on in here?” 

your eyes dart to the door and you have never been so happy to hear the voice of your dear friend, shoko ieiri. in one hand is her usual unlit cigarette (she swears she’s quitting for real this time, she just needs the comfort of one in her hand), and in the other is her phone. you assume she must’ve been distracted by a call and that’s why he was able to come into the room and not her.

since satoru had put up this wall between the two of you, shoko had been your shoulder to lean on and you know she wouldn’t have just let him waltz in without her support. you thought he was your person, and shoko had watched as you fell apart alone and without him.

you don’t want to know what you look like if it’s anywhere close to how horrible you feel right now. your heart aches and every stitch you had made to patch back together your heart are slowly coming loose. there’s probably mascara running down your cheeks by this point and you’re thirty more seconds of being in satoru’s presence from breaking down into full on sobs as you relive the loss of him and geto.

shoko, your saviour and rock for the past twelve months, comes to your rescue. “what are you going here?” she asks in an accusatory tone towards satoru, head tilted with a raised brow. it hadn’t just been you that satoru had pushed away twelve months ago – it had been everyone. but you know that shoko has still managed to maintain some relationship with him, and from the way his shoulder deflates, he’s smart enough to not burn that bridge too.

“leaving,” satoru responds curtly, brushing past shoko as he makes his swift exit. well, his infinity brushes past shoko and she flips his back the middle finger as she’s gently pushed aside by the invisible force.

you drop down onto your back on your empty bed, both hands covering your face as you try to relax your heartbeat again that runs high wire. you’d be lying if you said you don’t miss satoru; miss seeing him in your room after a long mission or long day of lessons; miss waking up to his raspy voice as he pokes you in the side to wake you up for class; miss being loved by him.

“i thought he was still giving you the silent treatment.”

peeking between your fingers, you glance over to shoko who’s flicking through your open boxes full of your life of the last four years. “i wish he still was,” you admit, voice a little more stable now that you’re not in the middle of crying. the tears have stopped but your cheeks are still flushed red. “has he really taken in fushiguro’s kids?” 

“one’s his, the other is his step daughter,” shoko responds, as though that is common knowledge.

you frown, sitting back up, hands in your lap. “you knew then?” shoko pauses her snooping but doesn’t look back at you. if there’s one thing you and satoru still have in common, is lashing out when you’re upset. ironic given how much you hate him for it. 

“he has… changed. y’know, since geto,” shoko clarifies. the name itself makes you bite down on your tongue and the never ending ache you’re enduring reminds you why you need to leave this place.

“no shit,” you bite back and shoko gives you a blank look. “i’m sorry.” she’d been with you every night for the first month following the break up, she is the reason you are still alive following your sudden increase in mission difficulty. she had been the first to talk shit about satoru or throw random objects at him and just hope his infinity just so happened not to be active (it always was).

“don’t apologise, say whatever you want to me,” shoko shrugs, offering you a sad smile, “i’ll never leave.” three simple words that hold more meaning than you could’ve ever comprehended twelve months ago.

“thank you, love you always.” the two of you share a brief hug (shoko’s never been one for overtly physical affection). 

“good,” shoko pulls back first, checking her phone before waving it in your face. there’s a message but you can’t make it out as she shakes the screen, “now more importantly, are you ready to go? nanami said that he wants to take the next train into the city.”

“can you just give me a minute?” you gesture to the last boxes that you needed to close up – the school had been kind enough to sort out the removal of your belongings (shocker) so all you need to do is just get to the airport and make your plane. 

“of course,” shoko nods understandingly. the split in your class had only led to the two of you coming closer. blood aside, she is and would always be your sister. you know she isn’t happy that you’re quitting sorcery but she knows she can’t keep you happy here, so she’s kept her complaints to herself. 

there’s a soft click as your door closes and you breathe out a sigh of relief. satoru’s words still sit at the back of your mind (‘i love you, i’ve got two kids’ – like what?!), and then you flinch as you remember the wounds that have only just healed on your arm – one of which being a large gash that would’ve killed you had you not been so close to the school when you’d been caught off guard by the curse. this world isn’t for you. 

maybe in another life, one where geto never left the school and satoru never left you, but that is not this life.

grabbing your tape, you go to close the box that shoko had been flicking through when the flash of a familiar photo catches your eye. you hesitate but ultimately that feeling of home consumes you and you can’t stop yourself from lifting the frame from the box. 

it’s you and satoru and geto and shoko and nanami and even haibara.

you remember when the photo was taken: the middle of summer in your second year. satoru and geto had forgone their uniform jackets, the former having one arm around the latter and the other around you. shoko is next to geto and the two second years follow after them. she’s wearing satoru’s glasses as she often did steal them. you’re all smiling – even nanami – and you can’t stop yourself from mirroring the same expression.

those were better times, one where the responsibility and stress of being a sorcerer was only a whispered warning. within a short period that would all fall apart. your teenage years cut short and your innocences stolen following fushiguro toji’s attack.

fushiguro…

you think of his children, the life they will never be able to have because of the thing they are associated with, and the power they've inherited. the children that your ex boyfriend has oh so generously taken in. 

it’s still ingrained in your mind; the sound of geto’s voice over the phone as he struggled to breathe, let alone speak. riko is dead, satoru is dead. that’s all he could repeat over, and over, and over, again. it had been shoko he’d called put you’d been there as she put it on speaker. if it weren’t for nanami being beside you you would’ve collapsed to your knees as you refused to accept what he was saying.

the next few hours were a blur, shoko saving geto, geto going to retrieve satoru, satoru being alive… 

he changed after that. it wasn’t overly apparent, not just to anyone, but you were his girlfriend. he’d reached a state of ‘enlightenment’, as he called it, his cursed technique now far superior to any other sorcerer alive (not that it wasn’t already).

the seven of you never deserved what happened to you – haibara especially never deserved to have his life cut short and the more you remember, the more you decide these children don’t deserve that either.

you bite down on your lip as you realise the conclusion that you’re beginning to come to. one that you’re not 100% sure you won’t regret in the coming months. 

to nanami: i’m sorry i’m not going to make it on the train

from nanami: don’t worry, shoko already let me know you’d probably changed your mind

from nanami: stay safe x

you smile down at your phone. nanami is the closest you’ll ever get to a little brother and even if you’re about to make the biggest mistake of your life, you’re glad he’s escaping this hell.

to unknown: meet me at the old park.

from unknown: what about your plane?

to unknown: 2pm

it’s for those kids, you remind yourself, not for him.

despite being the one to choose the meeting location and time, you’re late and you’re already almost in tears yet again. the park was a regular for you, satoru, geto and shoko as teens. shoko and geto would climb up onto the roof of the public bathrooms to smoke whilst satoru made you push his lanky frame on the big swings. those nights practically always ended at dawn, and no matter how sneaky the four of you thought you were, yaga always caught you sneaking back onto the school campus.

things were so much simpler and you were so happy. a stark contrast to the whirlwind of emotions your experiencing now.

you’d chosen the park to give yourself an advantage, to remind satoru of the memories he could only remember and never relive. it was his fault he’d lost that…

…though even as you think that you know that you’re putting him at too much fault. everything was lost the second geto chose to make the first kill. none of you could’ve stopped that.

shaking your head and brushing your hands down the front of your clothes to brush off the invisible dust and compose yourself, your eyes scan the park for a white haired beanpole and two children. 

it’s not difficult to find the children as the boy – megumi, you think shoko said (she’d given you a quick debrief of what satoru had told her about the children over the phone on your walk there) – is a mini version of his dad. a shudder ran down your spine involuntarily the instant your eye caught sight of the spiky-haired boy. you try to push away the unease; it’s likely megumi barely even knows or remembers his dad, or at least you hope for his sake he doesn’t. either way it’s not far for you to cast judgement yet. the sister is close behind him, running circles around a slide four times their heights.

satoru is sitting on a bench, his gaze focused on the two small children. well, you assume so since that's the way his head is turned. he’s wearing his usual black glasses and tokyo uniform. to any outsider, he looks bored, like an older brother forced to take care of his siblings as his long limbs lounge on the bench. but you know better – his knee is bouncing and he keeps running one hand through his white hair, revealing an undercut beneath it. he’s just as stressed as you are. 

good, as he should be.

he knows you're there. he’s a special grade sorcerer after all, probably the most powerful of them all, he must’ve sensed your cursed energy the second you came within a mile of this place. still, he doesn’t turn his head, even as you walk down the path to him. 

though somewhere deep down you still long for him and what you had, every step closer you feel the same anger and resentment towards him bubbling up and threatening to spill over the surface. meeting him in a public area with impressionable children’s ears around is definitely not your finest idea. you’re within several yards from him now and you’re really starting to think this is a bad idea. 

satoru is a bad idea.

sitting gingerly on the edge of the bench next to him, you pick quietly at the skin around your nails. neither of you speak for several minutes. satoru still seems too afraid to even acknowledge that you’re there. he’s woken up too many times from a dream with you in his arms to an empty bed that he lay in alone, no trace of your perfume on the other side of the bed anymore.

the tension between you two is thick and palpable. 

“they’re cute kids.” you’re the one to break the silence as the two of them begin climbing a spider web apparatus. satoru hums in agreement and his knee slowly halts its bouncing. 

there’s two beats before you let your frustration spill over the edge. “you’re a dick you know that?” so much for your concern about doing this in this locatiom.

satoru’s mouth slacks a little, and he begins to utter something but you shake your head at him to cut him off.

“that was rhetorical. there’s no defending or denying that. it’s fact,” you laugh dryly, crossing your arms in front of yourself as you watch on at the park. in the corner of your eyes, you can see satoru slip off his glasses revealing his own cerulean eyes to you. you avoid them though, if you are going to stay and make this work you need to get all of this off your chest. and preferably without balling your eyes out again. 

“i cried a lot at first,” you continue, “blamed myself for suguru turning away,” he winces and does so again when you cement that point, “blamed myself for taking your best friend from you. i started having those nightmares of haibara calling me a murderer again.” he knows every word you say is true – he caused the former and he would be the one you’d come to when the latter had first started. it breaks his heart to be reminded of the agony he caused you – how he wasn’t there to pick up the pieces from the damage he caused.

following haibara’s death, there were some nights neither of you would get any sleep. you were afraid of what you’d see when you closed your eyes and satoru was afraid of losing you. so he would stay up with you, more often than not sitting against the backboard of the bed, your body curled up tightly against his as you watched funny compilations on his phone (he thought they were hilarious, you just wanted to hear his laugh). for satoru to throw that back in your face after geto’s defection tarnished any comfort you’d ever associated with him. 

it didn’t matter that he’d carved a permanent spot in your heart, the idea of letting him in that close again sends shudders down your spine. he had you in the palm of his hands and he destroyed you.

you take a deep breath and dare to glance over at satoru. his expression is blank but his eyes scream how he feels, the swirls of blue glassy as you relay all that he put you through. 

he had been aware of the hurt he’d caused you – of course he had, he felt it too – seen it on your face when you’d pass him in the hallways. you lacked enthusiasm in class and often went on missions alone without complaint (something you never previously did because how dare the higher-ups send you on a job hours away without anyone to talk to).

“and then i nearly died.” satoru’s brows furrow at this, he’d still kept tabs on you to a certain extent. so how had this slipped through the cracks? “two grade one curses among other nuisances,” you hum, “i shouldn’t have been there alone… but i wasn’t surprised the higher ups had sent me.” there’s something else missing there, how you would’ve never been sent on such a mission of satoru was still with you. the higher ups hated the power you held over their special grade, but they weren’t stupid enough to put you in significant harm’s way when you were together. 

“i’m sor–”

“gojo! can we get some ice cream?” tsumiki runs up to the two of you, cutting off his futile attempt at an apology. her little cheeks are flushed red from the exercise and megumi pokes his head out from behind her, eyes zeroed in on you. 

“who are you?” 

you flicker your gaze between satoru and the children who are awaiting your answer. for once, the white-haired sorcerer is at a loss for words. you want to scoff. 

standing up, you offer a small smile, “just a friend.” you point to the ice cream parlour on the opposite side of the park and nudge satoru’s shoulder gently, “go treat them to ice cream. we can talk about the logistics of this later.”

“this?” he repeats, sitting up straight, and a flash of hope dashes across his features. “so you’re staying?” 

tsumiki’s eyes are bright and full of excitement at the prospect of a treat and it reminds you of haibara. you blink harshly and quickly as you try not to let a tear slip past.

“they deserve better than what we had.” what you had.

series masterlist

a/n. next part will defo be the longest part!! expect fluff, angst, some spice, the whole SHEBANG. I have mocks coming up soon but I'm hoping the next instalment will be up in the next 3-4 weeks. thank you all for being so patient and I hope this meets expectations <3

also a massive thank you to @bontensh0e because they massively helped with the inspo for the rest of the series. ly loads <333

taglist. @sanokiss. @dummyf. @erenssin. @makiuchiha97. @sosoa. @cole-silas. @fenrysashryver. @istanuwow. @dovahkiinsbitch. @mor-pheus. @creolequeen11210. @thefictionalcharacterssimp. @mariapierce789. @cynopcis.

[ayatakami]

its yours

Pairing: Touya Todoroki/Dabi x Y/N fic: one-shot CW: angst, based on the loathe song, slight amnesia Synopsis: Y/N and Touya were childhood friends. After his quirk got out of control, he 'died'. When he turned away from All For One, AFO decided to make him pay. By removing Y/N's memories of Touya. Taglist: @jenos-eye-smiles, @greenmanshoe, @porusuniverse

𝕋𝕙𝕒𝕥 𝕗𝕖𝕖𝕝𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕀'𝕧𝕖 𝕗𝕖𝕝𝕥 𝕓𝕖𝕗𝕠𝕣𝕖 𝕀 𝕨𝕒𝕟𝕥 𝕞𝕠𝕣𝕖, 𝕀 𝕨𝕒𝕟𝕥 𝕞𝕠𝕣𝕖

𝔻𝕠 𝕪𝕠𝕦 𝕣𝕖𝕞𝕖𝕞𝕓𝕖𝕣 𝕞𝕖? 𝕎𝕚𝕝𝕝 𝕪𝕠𝕦 𝕖𝕧𝕖𝕣 𝕤𝕖𝕖

𝕎𝕙𝕒𝕥 𝕪𝕠𝕦'𝕝𝕝 𝕕𝕠 𝕥𝕠 𝕥𝕙𝕖𝕞? 𝕎𝕙𝕒𝕥 𝕪𝕠𝕦'𝕧𝕖 𝕕𝕠𝕟𝕖 𝕥𝕠 𝕞𝕖?

Cobalt flames danced around the streets, Touya looked up at the night sky, seeing the stars. Deep inside there was a melancholy he couldn't put his finger on. It wasn't until he turned his head, watching his flames burn everything. Through the flicker of fire, he saw your face.

He felt tension at his core as a nostalgic feeling filled his veins. It was like a drug coursing through him to see you again. It has been years. He parted his flames, just enough to see you more. Another loose end he had to tie up from his wretched past.

He recognized you as his childhood friend, the one person besides Natsu that he spilled all of his secrets to. And you also healed him on several occasions. Maybe you would remember him. He turned to you, as he studied you. However, you just looked at him with terrified. He let his flames die down a little, as he slowly approached you.

"Y/N...?" He spoke out in a soft voice. "I'm surprised to see you here at this time at night..." He spoke softly as he walked by, stopping beside you. You froze for a minute, looking up at him. A bit off-put by his patchwork appearance. "Um...who are you...? H-How do you know my name?"

His voice held a bit of disappointment in it with sadness. "You really don't remember me, huh?" He searched your eyes for some sort of recognition for him. "We were best friends when we were kids..." "We...were...?" You tried to scramble your brain for the memory, but nothing came up.

He felt a small pang in his chest, knowing that you couldn't remember. It hurts a bit that you couldn't. But he shook it off as he leveled to your height, his hand moved to your cheek. Your eyes widened at the gesture as you tensed up, not sure why some random scary-looking stranger was caressing your face at the park.

His thumb stroked your cheek gently, the feeling reminded him of when you two were kids, as he always held your cheek like this to look at you. You were the only one he ever really felt close to. "I never thought you'd forget me..." Your expression softened, and the gesture felt familiar to you. His presence felt familiar but the memory was hazy.

His heart ached as you continued to stare at him with a muddled expression in your eyes. He was tempted to pull you into a hug but he refrained from doing so, not wanting to scare you off more. He took a deep breath as he stood up again, letting his hand drop from your cheek. He was trying to seem nonchalant, not wanting to show you just how affected he was that you didn't remember him. He ran his fingers through his hair. "What are you doing at this park anyways...?"

"I...sometimes...come here....to breathe I guess." You weren't sure why you were being so open with me. It just...felt right. He hummed slightly, surprised that you came here to all places considering the two of you used to hang out at this spot. He crossed his arms over his chest, watching you sit on one of the swings. The blue fire somehow did not bother you around as it encircled the park.

"Why this one?" He asked looking around at the back then back at you. You being here at his park, the way you found comfort here, the way he can almost imagine this same scene if you two were kids. "Why come here so often?"

"It just feels important." That sentence made his heart ache a bit more as he sighed. He knew all too well why this park was important to you, but you wouldn't know. He looked at you, as an idea came into his head. He walked over to you, his hands resting on the chain attached to the swing, just above yours. "Close your eyes."

You weren't sure why, but you listened to him, closing your eyes as your grip on the cold metal tightened. He reached up, brushing a hair behind your ears. It was a weird idea, but maybe it will make you remember. "You trust me, right?" Your common sense told you no, but something else told you that you trusted him for some reason. "I guess."

You waited nervously, not sure what was going to happen. Unbeknownst to you, he leaned closer to you, the distance between your faces was a few millimeters away. The silence between you two was deafening as you kept waiting to see what would happen.

His heart was pounding in his ears as he took a deep breath. Your lips were so tantalizing close to him that he could almost taste the lingering sweetness of your lip balm. He couldn't hold back anymore, he knew it was stupid and reckless but he wanted to know how you would react. He leaned forward and began to press his lips against yours.

At first, you wanted to shove him away, pull away from shock. But you didn't. For some reason, you melted into the kiss. It felt...right. He felt you lean into the kiss, making his heart flutter. He was not expecting your reaction at all, but it was welcomed by him. It was like a part of himself had come back to him, something he never realized was missing. He couldn't help but deepen the kiss as he gently pulled you up from the swing, and closer to him.

"What are you doing..?" You muttered as he pulled away from the kiss. He rested his forehead against yours as he caught his breath. The feeling was overwhelming and it took all his willpower to pull away. "I...don't really know." He mumbled in response, his voice was shakier than usual. Being this close to you was as intoxicating as a drug, he couldn't get enough.

"What's your name..?" He paused, the question breaking him out of his daze. "Touya...my name is Touya." You nodded, the name made your heart race but the memory was still foggy associated with the name. Your eyebrows furrowed together trying to recall. He gently ran his fingers through your hair in an attempt to soothe you.

"Were....we in love...?"

"Yes...we were..."

[ser3nityst4r]

Leona’s Backstory

Leona was born with a rock in his heart, a heavy burden stemming not from birth defects or physical limitations, but from the simple fact that he was not the firstborn. Born second, he was destined for the role of the shadow, eternally eclipsed by his brother, Farena, the First Prince. 

The whispers of the palace servants followed him like a shroud: "The First Prince Farena is so cheerful...," they would sigh, "It's a pity his younger brother Prince Leona is so difficult..."

Leona wasn't difficult; he simply couldn't understand the world's obsession with firsts. Why was it that Farena, a prince who spent his days napping and lazing about, was showered with love and adoration while Leona, who toiled endlessly at his studies and honed his magic, was met with indifference?

The servants would continue, "And he uses magic that turns everything he touches into sand... How frightening!"

Leona would hear these whispers, and his heart would clench. He knew his magic was powerful, perhaps even more potent than Farena's, but his control over it was still fragile, prone to bursts of uncontrolled energy that manifested as sand. He hated the fear in their words, the judgment that clung to him like a shadow.

"If I were the First Prince," he would mutter to himself, "I'm sure they would say things like, 'The First Prince Leona is so prudent and can use such strong magic. He's completely different from his carefree younger brother.'"

But the reality was stark. He was the Second Prince, and the whispers followed him: "Everything the second prince does is sloppy, and the First Prince is left to clean up after him."

The chasm between them widened with each passing day. Leona witnessed the adoration Farena received during his formal introduction to the kingdom, a ceremony of pomp and celebration. He wasn't even invited. He watched from the shadows, his heart a burning ember.

"Leona, why did you skip the ceremony?" Farena asked, his voice laced with concern.

"Ceremony?" Leona retorted, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Oh, the doting parent party you hosted so you could show your son off? How rude of me. I ended up going back to sleep."

"Today's an important day for our people to see their future king," Farena said, his tone turning serious.

"It's a day to celebrate indeed," Leona sneered, his voice heavy with bitterness. "It's the day that their loathed second prince lost his right to the throne."

"Stop talking like that!" Farena snapped.

"People who were born first sure are special, huh?" Leona continued, his voice rising. "You can become king even though all you do is lie around and sleep all day."

"Leona... Even though you can't become king, you are very smart," Farena said, trying to soothe his brother's wounded pride. "There are so many things you can still do for this kingdom."

"I would have done what I could if this kingdom really needed someone smart," Leona said, his voice hollow.

"Leona, stop right there!" Farena protested, his voice rising. "Leona!"

The rock in Leona's heart grew heavier. He couldn't understand why he was born second, why he was destined to live in Farena's shadow. He had strived to be better, to perfect his magic, to prove his worth, but no matter what he did, his efforts seemed futile.

"Why did I have to go through all of that just because I was born a few years younger?" he cried out, his voice echoing in the empty corridors of the palace. "No matter how hard I studied, no matter how much I perfected my magic... From the day I was born until the day I die, my brother will always be looked up to, and I can never be king. Why was I born second? Why can I never become number one...? Why? Why? Why?!"

His voice cracked, his heart shattered. He slumped to the floor, tears streaming down his face.

"Life is unfair," he whispered, his voice lost in the vast emptiness of the palace, a testament to the unspoken pain of a second-born son, a shadow forever condemned to walk in the light of his brother.