#''he smiles looking into the redeeming sunlight

[ccwpidsblog]

SAINTS AND SINNERS — iwtv

SUMMARY : Edmée Heart, the dutiful daughter of a pastor, lives a sheltered life bound by rules and expectations. But her quiet world begins to unravel when she catches the attention of Louis de Pointe du Lac and Lestat de Lioncourt, two enigmatic men with dark secrets. Drawn to Edmée’s innocence, Louis and Lestat vie for her affection, each offering her a taste of freedom and danger.

RATING : 18+

CONTENT WARNING: season one spoilers, not entirely accurate to the show but we’re all grown here it shouldn’t matter much, eventual polyamory, heavy religious themes, daddy issues, more to be added

CWPID NOTES 🏹: this is a great way to come back and show how much my writing has improved. redeeming myself from the trash fiction i was writing before. ON A03 N WILL ONLY BE UPDATED ON AO3 (if im not being lazy)

Edmée remembered the Sundays before Louis de Pointe du Lac avoided the sun, somehow, he’d managed to arrive at church after a long night of sin. He was always late, slipping through the heavy wooden doors just as her father’s booming voice began the first prayer. From her family’s high pew, she could see him moving down the aisle, the faint scent of booze and perfume lingering on his clothes—a sinful whisper of the previous night’s indulgences.

He’d take his usual seat beside his brother, his strong frame settling heavily into the creaking wood. His head would bow, his eyes would close, and for the rest of the service, he remained still. Unmoving, like a statue carved from marble. At first, Edmée thought he might be sleeping, but there was something too deliberate about the way he held himself, his hands clasped loosely on his lap, his expression unreadable.

She couldn’t stop watching him. From her elevated view, she memorized the way the sunlight filtered through the stained glass windows, casting fractured colors across his dark skin. He looked ethereal, caught between shadows and light, the kind of beauty that left her breathless and guilty all at once. She tried to focus on her father’s sermon, but her gaze always drifted back to Louis.

At the end of every service, as her father stood by the doors shaking hands and offering blessings, Louis would rise with a graceful ease. He’d move through the small crowd, a charming smile on his lips, and when he reached her father, he always made a point to praise the sermon. “Your words speak straight to the soul, Pastor Heart,” he’d say, his voice like velvet dipped in honey.

Then he’d turn to her mother, taking her hand and pressing a gentlemanly kiss to her knuckles. “A vision of grace, as always, Mrs. Heart,” he’d say, his words smooth and effortless.

But when his gaze finally reached Edmée, it changed. He wouldn’t kiss her hand, wouldn’t offer a compliment. Instead, he’d nod at her, a playful, knowing smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. That smile—the one that made her feel like the only girl in the world and completely invisible at the same time. If her skin had been any lighter, she knew she would’ve turned as red as the pew cushions beneath her.

In passing, he treated her the same. A quick nod, a flash of white teeth. But she noticed how he greeted the other women—the kisses, the murmured words that made them laugh and fan themselves, the lingering glances. With her, there was none of that.

Only a nod. A smile.

And it made her stomach twist with jealousy. The last time Edmée saw Louis was at Grace’s wedding. The church was packed, and the air was thick with the scent of lilies and the murmur of joyous chatter. Louis was everywhere that day—his laugh echoing above the music, his face alight with a rare kind of happiness that made him seem untouchable. He was glowing, his usual quiet intensity replaced by something brighter, freer. Edmée stood by the punch table, nervously clutching a glass, when he approached her. She didn’t see him coming; one moment she was alone, and the next he was there, his presence commanding and electric.

“You’re beautiful,” he said, his voice low enough that no one else could hear. “Maybe even more beautiful than the bride.”

Her breath caught, her cheeks burning.

“Don’t tell Grace,” he added with a wink, leaning in just enough that she caught a whiff of his cologne—a mix of cedar and something darker, richer. Edmée could only nod, her voice stolen by his closeness, her heart pounding so loudly she was certain he could hear it.

Months.

Many months without seeing him.

The pew Louis shared with Paul and his family remained empty every Sunday, a silent memorial to all that had unraveled. No one dared to sit there now, not after everything. Not after Paul’s tragic passing, not after the whispers.

The whispers.

They followed Louis like a shadow, stretching long and dark through the town. The women at her mother’s so-called “Bible studies” spoke of him in hushed tones, their voices dripping with scandal and sanctimony. “Dancing with the devil,” they’d say, the words lingering in the air like smoke. Edmée would sit in the corner, quietly stitching or polishing silver, her ears pricking at every mention of his name. Her brothers were no better. On Thursday nights, they’d gather in the attic for their card games, their voices low and conspiratorial. Edmée wasn’t allowed to join, of course, but she’d found her own way around that rule. If she sat at the top of the stairs, just out of sight, her father wouldn’t scold her.

There, she could catch snippets of their conversations, each word painting a more vivid picture of the man she hadn’t seen in what felt like forever.

“...seen him with him again...” “...spends his nights where no decent man would...” “...more dead than alive, if you ask me.”

The words made her chest tighten, her heart ache. She couldn’t bring herself to believe them. Louis de Pointe du Lac, the man who nodded at her with that secret smile, who complimented her at Grace’s wedding, couldn’t be what they said he was. Could he?

But her father’s rules were ironclad. She couldn’t ask, couldn’t go looking for answers. The world outside their home was a forbidden one, especially now. Edmée’s days were measured in prayers and chores, her nights spent reading scripture or mending clothes by candlelight. Her father had made it clear: the streets were no place for a proper young lady, especially after dark. The world out there was dangerous, filled with temptation and sin. But tonight, as she stood by the forbidden window, the temptation was unbearable.

The house was quiet, her family long asleep. The window, a heavy thing with rusted hinges, had always been forbidden. “Nothing good comes from looking where you shouldn’t,” her father had said countless times. But tonight, Edmée couldn’t help herself. She pressed her fingers to the cool glass, peering into the moonlit street below. At first, there was nothing. Just the empty streetlamps and the soft rustle of the wind through the trees. But then, she saw him.

Louis

He was walking slowly down the cobblestone street, his hands tucked into the pockets of his coat, his head slightly bowed. The gaslight caught his face, illuminating its sharp angles, the deep shadows beneath his eyes. He looked different—thinner, wearier, as though the weight of the world had settled on his shoulders.

Her breath hitched in her throat. She pressed closer to the glass, watching him with the kind of hunger she didn’t dare name.

“Not tonight,” Louis said, his voice low but sharp. Another figure emerged from the shadows. He appeared with a startling grace, stepping into the lamplight as if conjured from the darkness itself. His hair gleamed like spun gold, his sharp, angular features both striking and unnerving.

There was a wildness about him, a dangerous energy that made Edmée’s heart race in an entirely different way.

“Louis,” Lestat’s voice purred, low and teasing, the sound carrying up to her window. “Out for another pensive stroll, are we? Tell me, do you plan to sulk your way through eternity, or is this just for tonight’s entertainment?”

“I’m not in the mood for your games, Lestat,” he said, his voice soft but heavy with frustration. “Oh, but you never are,” Lestat replied, stepping closer. “And yet, here I am, devoted as ever. You should be flattered, mon cher.”

From her perch, Edmée couldn’t look away. The two men stood in stark contrast—Louis, somber and grounded, and Lestat, all sharp smiles and restless energy. Their connection was undeniable, charged with something she didn’t quite understand but found utterly captivating.

Lestat reached out, brushing an invisible speck from Louis’s shoulder with a flourish. “And speaking of devotions,” he said, his tone turning sly, “you’ve been spending an awful lot of time on this street. Seems that you miss the little church mouse lately? What’s her name again? Edmée?”

She could see the shift in Louis as he seemingly snapped, finally turning to face Lestat. “Leave her out of this,”

Lestat’s grin widened. “Oh, mon ami, you wound me. I only meant to say she’s... enchanting, in her own way. So innocent, so untouched by the world.” He tilted his head, his gaze flickering upward as though he might sense her watching.

Panicking, Edmée ducked away from the window, her heart pounding in her chest. She pressed her back against the wall, trying to steady her breath.

Had he seen her?

Had they seen her?

Who was he?

What was he to Louis?

As she sat there in the dark, the questions swirled in her mind, each one more troubling than the last. And though she couldn’t explain why, she felt as though she had glimpsed something forbidden, something that would change everything if she let it.

[saryasy]

I love you, Erin Greene. I’ve loved you my whole life. One way or another. I love you, too. I did my best. I did my best.

MIDNIGHT MASS (2021) | Book V: Gospel

[rafayelsss]

THIRD TIME'S A CHARM! ˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚ content: caleb x gn!reader, no y/n, can be read as romantic or platonic In which he tries to get you a plushie from the claw machines.

“Why can’t you just get it yourself?”

Caleb questioned, holding back a chuckle at your little antics as you lead— no, shoved him towards the machine. The glass reflected just enough sunlight for your insistent pout to create an image of itself within it.

“What’s the fun in that? I wanna see how hard you’ll mess this up.” You replied cheekily, guiding his hands hurriedly to the buttons in front of him, watching as his fingers wrapped around the joystick and hovered over the buttons.

Caleb shook his head and pouted back at you. Its almost impressive how good he’s been at imitating your expressions throughout all these years, but ultimately, you knew it was all for the goal of teasing you better as time went on.

And you also knew he wasn’t one to back down from such a challenge. No matter how obvious that it was just your attempt to rile him up, he wouldn’t decline an offer to watch your face contort into defeat. Even if, by some miracle, you get the better of him (he swears its just your luck) the fun’s still there.

“Just you watch, pip-squeak,” He cracks his knuckles, a playful glint in his eye as he felt around his pockets, grabbing a coin and inserting it inside. “I’ll prove I’m still the best at these games. Which one do you want?”

You think it over for a moment, as Caleb looked at you expectantly.

“Pssst. There’s a timer, you know.” He whispered.

“Maybe you should have waited until you started then!” You’re met with an unapologetic, half-hearted shrug as you make up your mind and point.

You point randomly, the counting down on the little screen not quite helping your decision-making. His gaze follows your hand and he raises a brow. “The fox? Don’t you have one of those already?”

You give him a look to just hurry the hell up already. He knows he’s pushed his luck now, so he nods and pushes the claw forward and presses it to come down 10 seconds before the time could run out.

“Aaaaand…” Caleb leaned down slightly to watch the crane closely as it caught on the plushie’s round, chubby head. You both held your breaths as it neared the exit, only to slip out of its grasp, making a less than graceful thump as it fell.

A faint laugh escaped your lips as you turned back to him. “What did I just say?”

“Nope, I’m not taking it. I still have more to try again!” With newfound determination, he slipped in another coin before you could even react, hastily grasping the controls. He took his time to position the crane above the plushie carefully before letting it come down.

...And it just misses entirely.

Caleb was dumbfounded. He had that shot, like, perfectly calculated in his mind! The claw somehow overshot it!

You, on the other hand, were having the time of your life, giggling about on his failures as if he wasn’t just right beside you.

Caleb put his hands on his hips, narrowing his eyes at you. “Shush! It malfunctioned… Third times the charm!”

“Is it really though?” You replied, still a bit giggly from earlier.

“Don’t jinx it, pip-squeak…” With that, he tried once more, biting his bottom lip in anticipation as the claw came down for the third time. He’s surprisingly pretty serious on getting it this time. His focused expression is fixed on the plushie, its body successfully grabbed up, and slowly it moved, and moved and moved…

And slipped an inch away from the slot.

Caleb slowly blinked, until then stepping back and sighing in defeat. “This thing’s rigged.”

You smile and pat his back comfortingly, and he allowed himself to be dragged away from the claw machines with you to play something else. “Shh… Just admit you suck, Caleb.”

“I’ll redeem myself next time I visit, I swear!”

[hades-in-bloom]

The Bigger Person

Spawn!Astarion Ancunin x Redeemed Dark Urge!Reader

summary: after saving Baldur’s Gate, Astarion and his partner descend into the Underdark to take care of Cazador’s misdeeds. All seven thousands of them. Was it something the elf truly wanted to do with his freedom?

spoilers for Act 3/Pale Elf and Epilogue

warnings & contents: teethy fluff; established relationship; comfort, sass, and class; hints of existential crisis; the reader could be any gender; mentions of trauma; some hugs; assumed drow or half-drow background of the reader but could be any race

a/n: I am kinda terrified of writing for Astarion as I respect Larian’s work SO MUCH (so Larian, please forgive me, if I ever do this goofy dagger-happy love wrong). This blurb came out of nowhere as I was bored during my long ass flight. As always, proceed at your own risk. Minors DNI! Masterlist xoxo

soundtrack: miley cyrus — used to be young

***

You watched Astarion from afar as elf was basking in the azure light of a Sussur tree. His pale skin glowing, eyes half-lidded—one of, if not the most beautiful sight you’ve seen in your entire life. Radiance of a Sussur flower might have been the closest thing to the sunlight the vampire spawn had now, after the ever-protecting tadpole was gone.

It was barely a couple of weeks since the Netherbrain crushed into the Chionthar. The exhausting journey was finally over. Your thoughts for a moment went to Gale—how was he fairing now, taking into account his condition? And what any of you was supposed to do with your lives now, after saving the world?

You shook off your guessings by and by—only to notice that it was Astarion’s turn to stare at you. His smooth lips curved into a mischievous grin.

“My once murderous little love, what were you daydreaming of?” The man wondered as he stepped towards you, stretching out a hand for you to touch, inviting you to feel the soothing coldness of his forever-young skin. The elf tilted his head a bit, curiously; studying you.

“You seemed… far from here.” Although his tone was lighthearted, you could see concern in the wandering gaze of garnet eyes. After all these weeks traveling—and now living— together, you could read him quite well.

“It’s nothing,” you mumbled before coming to your senses; a gentle, slightly teasing smile appearing on your face. “I was stalking you, actually. You fit quite well with the Underdark, you know.”

Astarion didn’t seem to object your observations.

Obviously.

“Well,” he gestured abstractly, pretending not to care, although he cared quite a bit. “You don’t say, my sweet. Although I'd assume that my features should look aesthetically pleasing in most of the attention worthy places.”

You couldn’t keep a straight face as you laughed, enjoying his lazy attempts to hide a proud smile.

“Behave, Astarion. There are kids in the close vicinity, after all.”

The man changed in the face and let out a soft groan. “Seven thousand of them,” he muttered with slight annoyance in his voice.

Despite grimaces Astarion made regularly, you could see him enjoying it—taking care of the murderous horde of vampire spawns to whom the elf showed mercy in the palace. He was their mentor, their leader now—a counterpart to what Cazador was, the monster that created them all. Now so much better than him.

“I blame you,” Astarion continued in the meantime, playfully pointing a finger in your direction. “That’s all your nasty influence. Be the bigger person, dear!..” he passionately—and painfully accurately—mimicked your tone of voice while saying the last piece. You, though, weren’t offended in the slightest. You liked him even more when he dared to show the silly side of his complex, wounded personality.

You felt his hand crawling around your waist as he huffed next to your ear shortly after. “Why should I be a bigger person, darling, when I can be happy and petty?”

You snorted. “I don’t think you’re holding back on pettiness, love.”

His smile stretched across the skin of your neck in a silent, although eloquent enough reply. None of you said a thing for quite a while, staying motionless close to each other with heads buried deep into your own thoughts.

“Thank you.” You blurted out eventually.

Astarion shifted, looking into your face with his eyebrow raised. He was visibly confused.

“Thank you for choosing this. Choosing them.” you continued as you met his gaze with yours. “Instead of your… freedom.” You struggled to find a better word for that.

Astarion didn’t seem to be convinced; didn’t seem to follow at first. “I’m free,” he replied gravely. “The bastard is dead.”

You shook your head slightly. “You could’ve been anywhere. Doing anything,” you retorted with care. “But you’re here instead.”

His facial features softened as he understood why you were saying what you were saying. There was a pinch of truth in your words—he spent some time thinking about it, too, after you’ve both descended into the Underdark and began building this fort; the safe harbor for Cazador’s cursed—as although perpetually hungry vampire spawns now, these people deserved to have a place to call home, no matter how dangerous or uncivilised per human standards it was.

You heard Astarion letting out a reluctant sigh as he came to terms with his own decision once more.

“This was the right thing to do.” The elf concluded at once.

Mild aversion to his own heroism that manifested itself in his whole appearance in that particular moment made you giggle suddenly.

“My, my. Who thought you'd be up for doing The Right Thing the first time we met.”

The elf gave you a friendly, tad fiendish stare as he rolled his eyes, and you scoffed as he spoke. “Not that you were a paragon of virtuousness back then either, being your daddy’s scion.” You made an unamused face that made him smile.

Astarion reassured you then with playful seriousness, letting his lips and teeth slide affectionately to your neck. “Don’t keep your hopes up, darling. Now my quota of the rightful deeds is fulfilled for the upcoming century.”

You smirked as you locked him into a hug, not believing a single word of what that man just said as you felt him hugging you back.

[moonstruckme]

Camping

summary: the wilderness favors James over you, but it does have some redeeming qualities

cw: mentions of blood, minor injury

James Potter x fem!reader ♡ 1.6k words

Camping hadn’t sounded like such a bad idea last weekend, when James had suggested it. You aren’t a naturally outdoorsy person, but you loved the idea of getting him all to yourself for a couple of days, and what could be more romantic than frolicking through the forest together, the soft light of a campfire, and sleeping under the stars? 

Frolicking, you think sardonically, slapping your cheek in yet another attempt to nail the mosquito that has been trailing you for the past hour, slowly sucking you dry. You could not possibly have been more naive in your imaginings of what camping would entail. Your legs hurt, your supposedly practical shoes are starting to chafe on your ankles, and you’re unsure if the back of your neck is itching from bug bites (completely undeterred by the bug spray you’d applied at the car, by the way) or your ceaseless sweating. You feel tired, and sticky, and sore. 

“Oh, look!” James calls from a few paces ahead of you. “There’s a river up here.” 

You try not to resent him in times like this, but there’s something seriously unjust about how easily your boyfriend has taken to the wilderness. You suppose it simply boils down to one fact: James loves the world, and it loves him right back. A light sheen of sweat has him glistening in the sunlight, his muscled legs effortlessly navigating the landscape, and the breeze has tousled his curls just so as to make hair stylists worldwide mad with envy. He even seems to be getting a tan, whereas you’re strapped into what he calls your “sexy hat”—a beige, floppy thing with vents and a chin fastening—to avoid a sunburn. 

You push ahead on shaky legs until you’re beside James, looking at what appears to you to be more of a creek, or a stream maybe, than a river. 

“Nice,” you say, smiling with all the enthusiasm you can muster. “Wanna go for a swim?”

“Uh, absolutely,” James says, and you suspect he was only waiting for you to ask so it’d be your idea. He sets off for the water, discarding his backpack a few feet away and all but diving in. You follow more warily, not loving the idea of a fish or some other mysterious river dweller brushing up against you, but the prospect of cool, flowing water washing the dirt and sweat from your legs has you stepping out of your shoes and wading in. 

James grasps your hands to keep you from stumbling as you approach him in the middle of the stream. The water here comes up almost to the hems of your shorts, and you’re considering tossing your clothes to the shore if it means you can experience this icy relief all over your body. 

“This is fun, yeah?” James grins, and your heart contracts guiltily as you realize you may not have been as covert with your dissatisfaction as you’d thought. It’s not James’ fault the outdoors doesn’t treat you as kindly as it seems to treat him, and you have no intention of ruining what should be a perfect trip for him. 

“Yeah, it is.” You return his smile, bracing your hands on his shoulders and standing on tiptoe to kiss him. 

He returns your efforts with gusto, pressing his mouth to yours so ardently you have to take a tiny step back to keep your balance, and a sharp pain goes through your heel. 

You gasp, almost biting James’ lip as you rear back. 

“What?” he asks, instantly concerned, and you grip his shoulders tightly, hopping around awkwardly on one foot. 

“I don’t know.” Your foot stings, the water ripping at it even as you do your best to keep it motionless. “I think I stepped on something.”

James curses. “You aren’t wearing water shoes?”

“I don’t own water shoes,” you cry. 

“Okay, sorry,” he says, both of you speaking more sharply than you’d prefer. “Alright, let’s get out.” He picks you up with strong arms under your knees and shoulders, and you can easily blame it on the pain if you swoon a bit as he carries you to the rocky shore, setting you down gingerly. 

You curl your wounded foot close to you, a puddle of watery red already forming on the rock beneath you. There’s a piece of glass stuck in the skin of your heel, soft and already slightly wrinkled from the water, and it’s panic more than hurt that has invisible fingers closing in a suffocating grip around your throat. 

“You’re okay,” James says, watching you with his own barely-leashed panic swimming in his eyes. “Can I have a look?”

You nod, letting him take your ankle cautiously and bring your tender foot onto his lap. You make a small sound of protest at the blood you’re getting on his shorts, but he shushes you, gripping the protruding piece of glass between his fingernails. 

“I’m gonna take it out, okay? Then we can clean it.” He looks at you for approval, and all you can do is nod again before he’s removed the intruder from your heel and your blood is flowing even faster. You hiss at the pain and in mourning for the stain that will certainly never come out of James’ poor shorts. “Aw, I’m sorry, angel,” James coos, grabbing antiseptic spray you had no idea he’d brought from his backpack. He makes short work of cleaning and covering your wound, and even kisses your gross, river-scented foot when he’s done, though the comically small band-aid covering the cut really puts things into perspective for you. 

You’re doing your best to rally the gung-ho attitude you’ll need to get through the rest of this trip when James says, “I know it’s early, but you probably won’t be able to walk much on that for a little while. Want to go ahead and set up camp at that clearing we passed earlier?” and frankly, the idea of this ordeal being over with for the night is too good to pass up. 

“Sure,” you say, trying to feign some reluctance, and he kisses you on the forehead before hauling you up. 

You’re grateful for James’ selfless character (and his sturdy frame) as he lets you lean some of your weight on him, in addition to the not-insignificant weight of his backpack, while you limp the fifteen minutes to the clearing. He takes the tent from his pack as soon as he’s set everything down, unrolling it and placing the first stake at a corner. 

“Here,” you crawl over, taking the mallet from him. “I can do that.” 

James gives you a look like you’ve sprouted a second head. “No,” he says, taking the mallet back from you and starting to hammer in the stake himself, “you’re hurt.”

You can’t help it; you laugh. “Jamie, a cut in my foot hardly keeps me from using my arms.”

He only shakes his head at you. “You just rest, sweetheart. I’ve got it.” 

You consider protesting further, but he seems serious, and eventually you simply shrug, scooting into a patch of shade to watch him work. If your boyfriend wants to do all the hard work, far be it for you to prevent him.

And as the evening goes on, James actually does insist on doing everything for you. He sets up the tent, builds the fire, heats your dinner, and even fashions a little cushion for you to sit on out of a spare blanket. You argue that you’re not all of a sudden made of glass when he won’t let you roast your own marshmallow, but James won’t hear it, and soon you’re lying on the cool ground, using your blanket cushion to pillow your head and looking at the stars. 

“We can start back to the car as soon as we wake up tomorrow,” James says over the chirping of crickets and croaking of frogs, his head just a few inches from yours. “I’m sure you want to be in your own bed.”

“What?” You push up onto your elbow, looking down at him in disbelief. “No, I’ll be okay to walk tomorrow.” You’re fairly sure you were okay to walk today. “Don’t cut the trip short on my account.” 

James only looks at you glumly. “Sweetheart, you weren’t having any fun today. You were miserable, and then you got hurt.” His brows scrunch like even the memory is agonizing for him. “I don’t want to make it worse by having you walk on it all day tomorrow.”

You’re officially the worst girlfriend in the world. James had been looking forward to this all week, and as soon as you’d gotten here, you’d made no secret of how little you were enjoying yourself. “James, I’ll be fine,” you promise. “I was being a wimp today, and now I know what to do to make it easier for myself.” More bug spray, to start with. You sigh, laying your head on his shoulder. “I didn’t mean to spoil your good time. Let me try again tomorrow, okay?” 

“You’re sure?” You can’t see James’ face, but there’s no mistaking the hope in his voice. 

“Positive. You’re so sweet for offering to go home, though.” You tilt your head up until your lips find his, the kiss short and sweet. “Thank you.” 

“Don’t want my girl to have a bad time,” James says, sitting up and pulling you with him so he can kiss you more fully. He casts a forlorn look at your foot. “My poor, injured girl.” 

You grin, bringing your unscathed leg around to straddle his lap. “Not so injured I can’t do anything,” you remind him.

James’ eyebrows rise, his lips slowly curving upward. “Oh, yeah?” he croons, pulling you closer by your waist. “I mean, if you’re sure, sweetheart. But the sexy hat is going to have to stay on."

[fourraccoonsinacoat]

Faint of Heart | One Shot

Pairing: Astarion x The Dark Urge

Chapter Count: One Shot | Read on AO3

Word Count: 7,816

Summary: Takes place during the events of Baldur's Gate 3 during Act 2. Explores the romance between Astarion and the Dark Urge as Astarion struggles with a confession. Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Fluff, Humor, Idiots in Love, Confession of Feelings, Mentions of Violence, Soft Astarion, Spoilers for the Dark Urge and BG3 in general, Dark Urge as Original Female Character Rating: Mature

Author's Note: Back on my bullshit with these two. This is a one-shot based on the same Durge MC, Eli, as my other fics. I took some liberties with Astarion's confession scene, taking into account the background of the Dark Urge. It's all somewhat self-indulgent, and I wanted an excuse to write sassy Jaheira and practice writing from Astarion's POV. It's angsty, it's fluffy, it's soft and Karlach is the greatest wingman of them all! Thank you for reading my nonsense.

She stood, looking to everyone else in the Inn like a conquering hero ready to head out once more and face the darkness. She smiled with Rolan, laughed with Cal, chatted with Lia, and no one was the wiser.

Except him.

In their time together, Astarion had picked up on some of Eli’s tells. Behaviors that slipped past her mask of composure and enthusiasm, exposing the truth beneath her carefully constructed veneer.

She was exhausted. He could see it in the slight sag of her shoulders, in the way she kept having to blink and refocus on whoever she was conversing with, in her tired yet reassuring smile…the one she always had at the ready for anyone who came to her with yet another ordeal to hang around her shoulders.

A sudden and fierce burn of irrational anger flared in his chest as he continued to watch people flit around her. It brought to his mind an image of bees sucking the nectar dry from a gorgeous wildflower. They would use her until there was nothing left because that was their nature. They were desperate, all of them. The tieflings, Jaheira, Barcus, Counsellor Florrick…they were all starving for a savior, and Eli was that succor. They’d use her up until nothing was left. They’d watch her kill herself in the name of their ambitions, then hail her as a hero rather than the kind fool she was, always taking on other people’s burdens in some mad, desperate attempt to redeem whatever darkness lay coiled in her past.

Nevermind the fact that Eli’s kindness was exactly what he’d set out to manipulate from the start.

He was just as bad as the rest of them, looking to use Eli for her protection and capabilities. He was just as guilty. He’d seen her compassion as weakness and immediately dug his claws in, hooking into her like a parasite. Seducing her into his bed, stoking affection and twisting feelings – both hers and his – until he couldn’t tell truth from fiction.

And that was the problem.

Somewhere along the way, more and more truth began to slip into the words he used to charm her. He wasn’t sure when it started, but sometime between their passionate nights and hard fought days, genuine feelings began to stir every time he thought of her.

And, gods, he’d hated it.

On that first day after the nautiloid, when he’d discovered he could walk in sunlight and was out of reach of Cazador, he’d swore to never allow anyone control over him again. He’d rather drive a stake through his own heart than be a puppet tethered to someone else’s strings. And yet…here he was, allowing the very first person he’d met after making that oath to have sway over him. And he was utterly terrified he wouldn’t be able to do anything about it.

And so he sat at a far table in the bustling lounge of Last Light Inn, watching Eli and growing more and more perturbed as people buzzed around her.

Couldn’t they see how tired she was? She’d done enough for them today, breaking Wulbren and his compatriots out of Moonrise alongside the tieflings…well, those tieflings who’d survived the assault in the Shadowlands. Eli had been battered, bloodied and in desperate need of a healer, and yet the moment they’d come upon the prison, nothing else had mattered except freeing those being held captive.

She hadn’t said as much, but Astarion knew her well enough by now to recognize the shadow of devastation that drifted across her expression when Dammon described the attack that had scattered the refugees while on the road. She’d grown close to many of them, back at the Grove, often allowing conversations to drag on far past their welcome as some poor sod carried on about their insignificant struggles. It had frustrated Astarion to no end. They didn’t need to hear all about Bex’s absurd dream of owning a little orange cat with a bell on its neck! That knowledge did nothing to aid the process of driving steel through goblin guts.

It had all come to a head when she’d given Mol gold in exchange for absolutely nothing, spouting off some bullshit about wanting to back the next great thieves guild of Baldur’s Gate. Astarion had pulled Eli aside then, hissing about futile charity and asking her if she intended to bankroll every guttersnipe with a sob story.

She hadn’t missed a beat with her retort.

“Don’t worry, you’re still my favorite of all the guttersnipes I’ve come across. Thank the gods you only ask for blood and not gold. Otherwise, we’d be deadass broke.”

She’d leveled a stare at him that spoke volumes. He’d rolled his eyes and tried to hide the smirk threatening at the corners of his lips. Of course he was her favorite.

Still, it was mind-numbingly infuriating, how far Eli would go to help someone she cared for. What was worse was that Astarion knew, beyond any shadow of a doubt, that she’d do the same for him. That she’d throw herself thoughtlessly into pain, torment and suffering for his sake. At one point, he could not have cared less whether she destroyed herself for his gain.

But those days were gone, and he was now forced to reckon with the fact that he’d grown attached…that he cared. That he’d slit the throat of anyone in this room who tried to take advantage of her. That he’d once been the person trying to take advantage...

The thought now stirred something uneasy and almost nauseous within his stomach. He hated thinking about how he’d treated her, and yet it seemed to be something he was incapable of forgetting. Whatever was between them now, it was founded on something rotten. It had grown out of a lie, and regardless of how he felt now, a part of him knew that in order for anything to continue he would need to confess the vile intentions that had started all of this.

He owed her that, and she deserved it. She’d likely hate him, and all of this would come crashing to a disastrous end…but she deserved the truth, Astarion’s feelings be damned. She deserved to be with someone who would treat her with the same honesty and respect that she showed to everyone else. She deserved to be with someone who would protect her, not lie and manipulate her. She had so many burdens of her own, and yet she kept piling the burdens of others atop them. She deserved someone who would help steady her, not someone who would only get in her way and cause her to stumble.

She was going to hate him. He knew it as surely as he knew the sun would not cut through the gloom over the Shadowlands tomorrow morning. But he couldn’t keep living this farce. He couldn’t keep bedding her and enduring all those feelings of guilt and self-hatred as they mixed with the longing and ecstasy of bringing her to the brink and watching her come undone. It was too overwhelming. He wanted to be with her honestly and openly and not have their time together tainted by his wretched memories.

He wanted something real with her, built on the foundation of what he felt now rather than the putrid intentions that had started all of this.

It wouldn’t happen, he knew. Astarion wouldn’t want himself, either, all things considered. And that was okay. She deserved the opportunity to hate him for how he’d treated her. Gods knew he hated himself for it, it was only fair she hate him, too.

The fact that she didn’t already was astounding. He was a wretched thing, ugly in all ways except for appearance and so useless that he had to manipulate others into fighting his battles. He had ruined so many lives over the past two centuries. He’d been used up until there was nothing left of him to offer. And yet she was always near, never shying away and never overbearing…just always there, always at his back. She didn’t flinch away from him, didn’t pity him, and she made him feel things he’d forgotten how to feel.

The first night they’d spent together had been unexpectedly enthralling and pleasurable, something he had not experienced in he didn’t know how long. And he’d wanted more, despite his confusion and the messiness of his feelings, he wanted more of that connection. And so they’d spent more nights finding comfort and pleasure in each other. Those nights were little moments of solace in a world gone mad.

Those nights had been about more than sex; they were nights where she told him beautiful words that weren’t made for people like him.

“Seldom do I find so little fault with someone. I hope it lasts.” A cool voice caught Astarion by surprise as he sat lost in his darkening thoughts.

His head snapped around, hand instinctively twitching towards a hidden blade at his hip.

Jaheira stood beside him, arms crossed and face unreadable and she pinned him in her stare. Her eyes flitted momentarily to the hand at his waist, and Astarion brought it back to rest on the table he sat at, dagger still fastened to his belt.

The ghost of a self-satisfied smirk flashed across her face as Jaheira glanced away from him and back towards the subject of her comment. He followed her gaze towards Eli and hummed thoughtfully, settling into a more relaxed posture that he hoped did not betray the swirling mess that currently haunted his mind.

“You should tell her as much,” he mused, watching Eli as she pushed a strand of her silver-white hair behind an ear.

The sight caused his mind to pull a memory forth, unbidden. It was tactile and soft, the feel of his fingers tangling in that hair…of his lips caressing the shell of her ear as he whispered ravishing praise for only her to hear.

He took a grounding breath and dashed those thoughts from his mind.

“She thrives on pretty words and compliments,” he quipped.

Astarion wouldn’t elaborate that the reason for it was because Eli had a desperate desire to escape whatever monster dogged her broken memories. She thought of herself as something tainted and corrupt. Something unworthy. He’d got a glimpse of that darkness on the night she’d woken him, panicked and breathlessly ranting about how she feared she would harm him.

At first, he’d thought she was still in the throes of one of her many night terrors, perhaps sleepwalking. The truth had been far more grim, and Astarion was still haunted by images from that night. Images of Eli struggling against the bindings Astarion had put her in, for the protection of them both. Eyes feral as her nails dug into the flesh of her palms, mouth snarling as she spat all manner of vile insults at him. She had lost herself to whatever thing she was keeping at bay inside herself, and Astarion had come to realize that the fear which hounded Eli on both sleepless nights and in nightmares was well founded.

That fear had spread to him, too. Fear of losing her, of watching her be overtaken by this madness. He understood the depravity he saw in her eyes, the mania that was a loss of self when hunger took hold and choked all other sensibility from your mind. He hadn’t felt empathy for another soul in nearly two hundred years, and suddenly there it was, raw and wounding and utterly terrifying. His thoughts screamed back to that year of starvation and darkness, locked in a tomb as he slowly went mad with hunger. Those recollections were an undertow, threatening to pull him down and drown him.

But she’d needed him, and so he’d wrenched himself free of his clawing subconscious and watched over her until morning when she returned to herself. A lot of things changed that night. They’d been changing already, but the lies he’d been telling himself about how he felt simply could not survive the blistering reality of the situation at hand.

There was still some life left in his cold dead heart, and he had no idea how to reconcile with that knowledge.

The sound of Jaheira clearing her throat brought him out of his brooding and he turned his head to find the druid eyeing him curiously, a hand outstretched towards him. A key was held between her fingers and Astarion glanced at it before meeting her gaze, perplexed. Jaheira sighed and took a seat opposite to Astarion at the table, setting the key down on the worn wooden surface of the hightop and pushing it over to him.

“Seems Karlach was speaking truth when she said the two of you were a pair of emotionally-stunted lovesick fools,” Jaheira said, leaning back in her chair and pointing from Eli to Astarion. “You completely tuned me out, staring at her like a wolfhound salivating over a piece of raw steak.”

Astarion tensed at the remark, frowning before he slipped back into his casual and roguish demeanor.

“Yes, yes, make your jokes about the monstrous vampire. How dare he pursue the charming and morally upstanding hero.” Astarion snorted, eyeing Eli ruefully. “I’ve heard it before. Wyll likes to especially harp on the subject.”

He made a mental note to tell Karlach not to be such a gossip.

Jaheira huffed, a noise that could possibly be construed as a laugh, except Astarion wasn’t sure he could picture the stern woman laughing.

“Please,” she said, almost dismissively. “I am not familiar enough with your little band of hedonists to form an opinion on your social dramas. And even if I were, I doubt I’d care.”

The druid turned her head to gaze back towards the bar.

Bex and Danis had joined the group situated around Eli, and Astarion noted that another bottle of wine had recently been opened. Eli was turning down offers to refill her glass and Astarion felt a sudden urge to grab her and whisk her away to the quiet sanctuary of his tent back at camp. And not even to do anything sexual, though if that’s where the night took them, he’d happily oblige.

He just wanted to give her a space of reprieve, somewhere she could rest and escape all this chaos.

“What I do care about,” Jaheira continued, drawing Astarion’s attention back to her. “Is that one’s wellbeing.” She tilted her chin towards Eli. “She is our way into the cult. Our way to get close to Ketheric. She is our key to putting an end to this blight of the Absolute.”

Astarion didn’t reply. He wasn’t sure he trusted himself to open his mouth in that moment. Jaheira was loading more burdens onto Eli’s shoulders, and his desire to hide her away – to protect her – was only growing.

He knew the druid spoke truth. Eli had a connection to all of this that none of them, including her, understood. What they did know was that Ketheric Thorm recognized her when they showed up at Moonrise. He’d addressed her as a comrade, and it deeply unsettled her. What secrets were lying locked away behind Eli’s fractured psyche? A part of him honestly didn’t care…he just wanted her safe…

“So,” Jaheira said after the silence between them lingered for a moment. She tapped the key still lying on the tabletop in front of Astarion. “That is a key to a room upstairs. As well-meaning as the rabble down here is, what Eli needs is rest. The days and weeks ahead will not be easy, and opportunities for respite will be few. Make her take this one.”

Astarion opened his mouth, intending to ask why the hell Jaheira didn’t just go over there and say these things to Eli. But she was well ahead of him and held her hand up in a motion to silence him.

“I have no sway over her. I will only come off as overbearing and fussy, even if I do speak truth.” Her tone took on a hint of amusement, that of an elder and learned lioness affectionately chiding a cub. “I have been informed by Karlach that the two of you are together, yes?”

Astarion stiffened, his mind swirling around all the complications involved with his and Eli’s relationship. Guilt rose up in his throat and he swallowed it down uneasily as Jaheira eyed him curiously. She bullied past the question, not waiting for his affirmation.

“Take Eli upstairs and away from all of this,” Jaheira said, rising from her chair in a motion to leave, her piece said.

She then paused, considering something, before turning back to Astarion.

“It is not my place to say this, but I will, anyway. You seem conflicted about something concerning her. And I don’t want details,” she added hastily, noting Astarion’s discomfort at being called out. “However, I know all too painfully the grief of leaving things unsaid. This life you currently lead, it is one lived day-to-day, and those days will run out. Sometimes, much sooner than expected. Don’t wait until you have nothing left but regret.”

Once again not waiting for a response, Jaheira turned and made her way towards a group of Harpers who were chatting near the Inn’s central firepit. Astarion was left alone with the echo of her words and the key she had provided.

Something squirmed uncomfortably in Astarion’s chest as he rolled what she said over and over in his mind.

Shit.

Shit. Shit. Shit!

She was right, of course. He needed to talk to Eli about them. About whatever this was. About how he’d manipulated her.

Used her.

Astarion groaned softly and ran a hand through his hair absentmindedly - a nervous habit.

Enough! Enough thinking, you wretched pathetic cowardly moron!

Rising from his chair, Astarion grabbed the key and made his way towards the bar, stepping up behind Eli who was currently providing Rolan with a play-by-play of their Moonrise prison break. Gently, he wrapped an arm around her waist and brought his other hand up to rest on her shoulder, pressing a light kiss to the side of her neck as he did so.

Astarion felt Eli’s pulse quicken beneath his lips and smiled as she leaned back into him. He felt a smug sense of satisfaction as he caught Rolan frowning at him, indignant as Eli’s attention shifted away from him and to the vampire.

“Hello, my dear,” he whispered softly into her ear, ignoring the tiefling wizard who looked as if he wanted to set Astarion on fire. “I’m sorry to interrupt you and your adoring fans, but I have some adoring of my own that I need you for.”

It was so easy for Astarion to slip back into his charmingly seductive mannerisms, so much so that he felt a pang of guilt twist in his stomach.

Truth be told, Astarion wasn’t exactly sure how to approach the type of conversation he wanted to have. He’d never done this before, asking to talk about a relationship, so he was winging it and using what tactics he knew to get her away from the crowd and to a more private location.

Eli turned her head to meet his gaze and grinned, placing a hand on the one Astarion had at her waist and intertwining her fingers with his.

“Really, now?” she said playfully. “And what does this adoring entail? Because if a hot bath and a massage are not included, I’m not going.”

Eli’s eyes shined with mischief as her expression settled into a teasing smirk. She kissed him lightly near the underside of his jaw – a reassuring gesture. Eli would go with him, regardless, but she always did enjoy a bit of banter.

“Arrangements can be made,” Astarion quipped as he turned her in his arms and began leading her towards the staircase to the upper floor.

Apprehension was beginning to roil in his gut, but he forced the alluring façade to stay in place.

Eli allowed him to direct her towards the stairs, tossing a wave to Rolan and calling over her shoulder.

“Sorry, Rolan! We’ll chat more later, as I’m currently being commandeered.”

Astarion couldn’t help the smug expression that crossed his face when he heard the tiefling’s miffed response.

“Mmhm, you seem like a very unwilling captive,” Rolan grunted.

Eli laughed.

“What can I say? I’ve got a weakness for pretty words, great sex and a man I don’t have to share snacks with,” she said.

Astarion tried to hold back the surprised bark of a laugh that bubbled up from his throat and failed miserably. He felt eyes on them, some scandalized and others amused - and heard Rolan’s agitated groan - as he led Eli up the stairs.

They reached the second-floor landing and he pressed a hand to the small of Eli’s back, guiding her towards the room.

“Where are we going, anyway?” she asked, trying to stifle a yawn as she spoke.

Safe from the greedy, peering eyes of the mob below, the shift in Eli’s demeanor was almost instinctual. She sagged a bit, weary and leaning into his touch. Hey eyelids fluttered closed for a moment and she drew in a deep, steadying breath.

She truly was exhausted and Astarion began to second guess himself. Maybe this wasn’t a good time to broach such a sensitive topic. She needed rest, not more burdens. Was he being selfish? Trying to offload his guilt just so he could feel better?

But the way she pressed into him, slightly leaning on him in her fatigue and suddenly so disarmed and at ease the moment they were away from the crowd…it caused a gnawing self-hatred to burn deep in his bones.

She trusted him. She felt safe with him. She shouldn’t…he didn’t deserve her affection.

“Jaheira, like the meddlesome elder she is, secured us a room away from all the nagging unwashed masses so you can finally get some peace and quiet,” Astarion said, stopping in front of a door which had the same designation as the key he had been given.

“Astarion, we are the unwashed masses,” Eli chuckled, glancing down at the battered scale mail she wore which was currently spattered with grime, blood and who knows what other less-than-savory substances.

Astarion expression pinched into one of mild disgust as he considered his own leathers which were equally smeared and foul.

“Yes, well, perhaps whatever contemptuous god is overseeing our day-to-day lives has seen fit to grace us with a private washroom? You know, as a way to apologize for all the horror and trauma that surrounds us every second of every day,” he bemoaned in that haughty, vain manner that only Astarion could pull off.

Unlocking the door, Astarion held it open and motioned with a gentlemanly flourish for Eli to enter. She did so, and the pale elf had to suppress a snort of laughter when she called out to him not five seconds later.

“Holy shit! I’ve never had such an emotional reaction to seeing a bar soap before!”

“I would hope we have not become such heathens that soap merits this much enthusiasm.”

“It smells like eucalyptus, Astarion! Eucalyptus!”

-------------------------------------------

There was, indeed, a private washroom.

Eli and Astarion took turns getting cleaned up. Soaking in a tub of warm, soapy water was a scarce luxury. Most days, their motley group was resigned to bathing in cold river water with minnows nipping at their toes as they tried to cleanse themselves with whatever natural herbs and ointments Halsin was able to scrounge up into a paste.

In truth, Astarion couldn’t recall the last time he’d been afforded the opportunity to simply enjoy a bath. Cazador certainly didn’t allow his spawn such niceties, and while he’d visited his fair share of taverns and hotels with rentable rooms while prowling for victims to bring back to his master, he was never able to just…be. To relish in the comfort of it all.

The warm water was soothing, banishing the endless chill of death sunk deep in his bones that was his constant state of being since the night he turned. Eli had washed before him and was now situated on the large plush bed across the room from the tub. A privacy screen blocked their view of one another, but they’d been chatting idly throughout the evening about nothing in particular.

Now, in a lull of silence between them, Astarion’s mind was wandering as he rested with his arms and head propped against the sides of the tub, eyes closed in a moment of calm that was all too fleeting these days. He lazily imagined having Eli in the water with him, her warm body pressed up against his which, for once, wouldn’t be cold and pallid to her touch…wouldn’t be greedily stealing the heat of her skin to warm his corpse.

But, he’d still be stealing her trust to warm his dead heart…

He sighed, feeling the ease of the moment slip away like the tendrils of steam coming off his bath water. He needed to own up to his manipulative intentions. Now. He couldn’t stomach the thought of holding Eli in his arms that night while she slept, peaceful and trusting. Holding onto him like he were something to be cared for, to be cherished. Unsuspecting of the truth…that he was deceitful and lowly.

That they never would have been here, in this room, had he not set out to use her for his selfish gain.

If he didn’t approach the subject now, he may not get another chance for some time. Their days were so overwrought with hardships and schemes that finding a moment of quiet was nearly as difficult as figuring out how to subdue the shadow curse.

Resigned to what he needed to do, and with an icy weight of dread sinking into his gut, Astarion rose from the tub and towled dry. He dressed in his typical casual outfit, a black ruffled shirt and dark trousers, and rounded the privacy screen to see Eli sitting on the bed, legs crisscrossed as she drew in a small leatherbound journal. She’d picked it up in the Emerald Grove, exchanging a dagger with Mattis for it that she’d picked up off some decrepit corpse or another.

Eli had taken to writing rather extensive notes in it about anything and everything; from information about the cult to descriptions of acquaintances and even hand drawn maps of the various areas they trekked through. She’d confided in Astarion that she feared what memories she’d made since the nataloid could one day be lost to her, just as her past was lost. And so she wanted to ensure, should that happen, she had a record she could refer to in order to hopefully reclaim some of what was gone.

Eli had even showed him several pages full of details about him. She’d written down all manner of notes, from little preferences he had – such as the style of embroidery needle he liked to use – to reminders such as: “You’ll figure out he’s a vampire pretty damn quick, Astarion is absurdly terrible at keeping secrets. Don’t be weird about it, he’s cool. He can get a bit whiny and obnoxious when he’s hungry, so make sure to keep him fed, especially if there isn’t much wildlife around. The wrist is for everyday use and the neck is for sexy times. Don’t believe him when he tells you that the inner thigh provides the best tasting blood. This is a kink and he is a liar! RATION ACCESS!”

That had made him smirk.

She’d also shown him two pages of detailed notes describing his appearance, from hair to foot. Eli wasn’t much for artistic talent, but she had a flair for the written word despite the copious amounts of vulgarity that shot from her mouth like dragon fire. The attention with which she’d described him and the complimentary nature of it all had caused his breath to catch at the back of his throat. He’d read the words over and over, actually able to picture his face in his mind’s eye as described. A strange sort of familiarity settled over him as he pictured the details on the page, and when he finally found his voice he’d stuttered a bewildered thank you, unused to the kindness she’d shown.

Now, as he sat on the edge of the bed, he felt a desperate fear burn to life inside himself. What if he never got to experience something like that again? What if their time together over the past weeks was all he ever got? Just a few brief flashes of respite among centuries of misery…

“Feeling better?” Eli asked, jolting Astarion out of his thoughts.

He blinked at her for a moment before clearing his throat and running a hand habitually through his hair.

“Yes…yes, I always feel better when I’m not covered in other people’s bodily fluids,” he said with a halfhearted chuckle that caused Eli to frown curiously and set down her journal.

She could sense something was off. And so with one last internal curse to himself, Astarion launched into one of the most anxiety-inducing things he’d ever done.

“I’ve…been meaning to talk to you. About us,” he said, tone soft and hesitant.

Eli shifted her weight on the bed, turning her body to face him. Her brows had furrowed only slightly, unsure whether she should be concerned about Astarion’s sudden shift in demeanor, yet fully open to listening attentively. Trusting. It made his gut twist.

“Is everything okay?”

“Yes, of course!” Astarion responded reflexively, instinctively jumping to make light of any tension. He bit back anymore reassurances before he could spit them out and cleared his throat, voice taking on a more serious tone.

“Except…not really,” he backpedaled.

Eli’s expression grew more worried and Astarion could see her already beginning to play through scenarios in her mind, trying to sort through what she may have done. What wrongs her broken mind may have committed. He sped forward, wanting to absolve her of any notion that she was at cause for anything.

“Look, I had a plan,” he began, turning towards her on the bed. “A nice simple plan. Seduce you, sleep with you, manipulate your feelings so you’d never turn on me,” he chuckled nervously, swallowing down the bile threatening to rise in his throat.

“It was easy…instinctive. Habits from two hundred years of charming people kicked in. All you had to do was fall for it…” His eyes dropped, unable to hold Eli’s stare as her own eyes searched his face, taken aback and confused by the sudden confession.

“And all I had to do was not fall for you,” he continued, glancing back up to her. Desperate for her to hear this next part. “Which is where my nice, simple plan…fell apart.”

Astarion paused, gazing at Eli with a mixture of trepidation and guilt as she watched him silently, stunned and not without a little hurt bleeding into her eyes as his words caught up with her brain.

“You’re…” he started, unsure how to put a voice to the storm wheeling inside of him. He wasn’t as eloquent as Eli, and never had he felt so incapable and inadequate at translating what he felt into words than he did right now. So he said what had been tearing him up from the inside out for days, and braced for the inevitable fallout.

“You’re incredible.” He couldn’t help the touch of a sad smile that came to his lips, or the nearly awed tone of his voice as he said the word like it could encase inside of it everything Eli had come to mean to him.

It wasn’t enough, he knew. No word would be enough. Nor would a thousand words. Because he didn’t understand how to express the way his heart seemed to flutter when she looked at him, despite it being cold and useless in his chest. He didn’t know how to explain the way her smile made him feel like someone worthwhile. Or how when he held her in his arms he thought that maybe…maybe some god somewhere had finally heard his desperate pleas.

“You deserve something real,” he admitted, with no small amount of shame, before adding, “I want us to be something real.”

Confessing to something he wanted, out loud and to someone else, was an experience he was woefully unfamiliar with. It was an experience he fully expected he’d come to regret, but he said it anyway and waited for the pain that was sure to follow.

Eli was quiet for a long moment, peering at Astarion with an expression he couldn’t quite read. He saw confusion and sadness, but there was something else, too. A flicker of something not unlike…understanding?

No, he was surely mistaken…

“So…” Eli said softly, working through her words before she spoke them out loud. Trying to parse through the influx of information coming at her.

“So, this hasn’t been real? Us? Everything we’ve been through. Our nights together…they didn’t mean anything to you…” she trailed off, almost as if she were talking to herself rather than asking it of him.

“Of course they did!” Astarion was quick to correct the assumption.

Gods, he didn’t want her to think that. Of course they had meant something to him, more than he’d thought they could. He’d chosen to be with her, even if it had initially been out of less than innocent desires, he’d chosen it. He hadn’t been forced to seek her out and lure her somewhere. She wasn’t a mark or some wretched experience he wanted to forget. He’d acted of his own free will, and even if the reasons hadn’t been as genuine as he’d made them out to be at the start, it was still the first decision he had made in nearly two centuries that wasn’t directed or forced.

That meant something to him. Those nights meant something to him. And, gods, so did she. That was part of the problem…

And so he explained as much, describing how he was used to twisting intimacy into something to be used rather than felt. How his past experiences with sex were bleeding over into the nights spent with her and that he didn’t have the faintest idea how to fix it. How he had trained himself to be numb, to wall himself off. And how, when Eli had finally, gently dismantled those walls he didn’t know what to do next…

“I don’t know how else to be with someone. No matter how much I’d like to…” Astarion concluded, feeling about as small and insignificant as he’d ever felt.

The silence that followed his confession made his skin crawl with ill ease. He stared at the bedding, terrified to look up and see the fury Eli surely felt. This was it; this was when she’d tell him to leave. And he would, quietly and without fuss. It was the last kindness he was capable of giving her.

“Astarion.” The calm softness of Eli’s voice nearly made the elf flinch. “Please look at me.”

Not a demand, but a request, spoken with care.

Confused, Astarion looked to her and instead of anger or hate or rage, he only found…her. Just Eli, looking back at him with thoughtful consideration. She should have been furious, but instead she simply took a steadying breath, scooting a bit closer on the bed so she could place a hand lightly on his knee.

He didn’t move, didn’t breathe as Eli looked at him and carefully began to speak.

“I care about you, Astarion.” She said it as if she were trying to convince him of the truth of her words, and he was stunned.

“Really?” he asked, breathless and unsure. But hopeful, too. Hopeful that maybe, just once, something in his miserable life might not end in disaster and pain.

“Yes, you beautiful fool!” she nearly laughed, squeezing at his knee.

Eli smiled at him and…gods above, it was the most dazzling and gorgeous thing he’d ever seen.

“Neither of us was looking for anything more than a night of comfort, and maybe some fun, when all of this started. We both had our own self-serving reasons,” she explained, before chuckling lightly. “Hells, I barely had more than a few weeks' worth of memories in my head at that point. Trying to rope anyone into a meaningful relationship was so low on my list of priorities I would have burst into flames on the spot had anyone mentioned the idea to me.”

Astarion couldn’t help the smile that grew on his face as Eli looked at him with an adoration that made him dizzy.

“But, things change. We changed. And, I’m glad that we did. I came to care about you in a way I don’t remember caring about anyone ever. And while that may not be saying much, considering…” Eli laughed and Astarion’s dead heart soared. “You’re special to me, right now. Regardless of how this started.”

This was certainly not how Astarion had expected this conversation to go, and he had never been so overjoyed to have his expectations usurped. He was entirely out of his depth, and so far outside his comfort zone that he was reeling. Words kept building up in the back of his throat and yet when he opened his mouth, he was struck dumb. He was overwhelmed, in the best way possible, but he hadn’t the slightest notion of what he was supposed to say or do next. And so he defaulted to what he knew.

“Well, I mean, of course I am, darling,” Astarion’s voice slipped into a silky tone. Anxiety was roiling inside of him and he tried to claw his way out, using the tools he knew best.

“The unyielding praise I am able to coax from your lips during our nights of passion has made it more than apparent,” he leaned in towards Eli, the tone of his words easing back into sultry familiarity.

Eli just shook her head with a breathy chuckle, meeting his gaze with a genuine affection in her eyes that made Astarion feel known in a way that was comforting.

“That’s not what I meant,” Eli chided with a tenderness that caught Astarion off-guard. “I mean you, Astarion. The person that you are. The person who cares about me enough to watch over me all night while I go mad. The person who is forgiving enough to not hate me the next morning. The person who makes me laugh after a long and painful day.”

Carefully, Eli raises a hand and gently presses it against Astarion’s cheek. He leans into the touch, expression softening and relaxing as his red eyes stay locked in to her own.

“The person who is being honest with me, right now. Who I appreciate more than I can say.”

Astarion was quite certain his brain had seized. He sat frozen, frantically searching her face for any hint of a lie and finding none, to his utter astonishment.

“That’s…” he started, then faltered. He knew he should say something, but his chest currently felt as if it was being wrenched open and no words would suffice to express his amazement.

“I don’t know what to say,” Astarion admitted after his stunned silence wore off. “Which is quite the accomplishment on your part, my dear.”

Eli smiled, warm and without expectations. It was beautiful.

“Thank you,” he breathed, closing the small gap between them and resting his forehead against her own. “For trusting me, and listening. For everything.”

His words were woefully inadequate, and he feared they always would be. But, Eli didn’t seem to mind and that brought him immeasurable relief.

“I’ll always listen,” Eli reassured him as she stroked the side of his face with her thumb. “Considering who you are, it’s kind of hard not to,” she teased.

His expression took on a somewhat sheepish hint as he took her hand from his cheek and held it reverently between both of his. He sat up a bit straighter as Eli pulled away, silently watching him run his fingers across her palm with a light touch.

“What do we do now?” he asked, hesitant and unsure.

Astarion looked to Eli for some sort of direction. He hadn’t thought this far ahead and honestly figured the conversation would have ended in tears or bloodshed or both by now. He didn’t know what a way forward with Eli looked like, but he knew he wanted her with him. Maybe he could ignore the confused and unsavory feelings that intruded upon their nights together? He wanted to enjoy her, to satisfy her without the shadows of past hurts creeping in. Perhaps he could figure out how…

“What do you want to do?” Eli responded, turning the question back onto him and taking him by surprise.

Astarion looked back to Eli, brows raised at the unexpected question. He considered her for a moment, thinking through how to answer. What did he want?

“I’m not sure…” he said honestly. “No one’s ever asked me that before. About anything, really.”

Eli waited, smiling reassuringly, though with a hint of sadness at Astarion’s words. It was freeing, somewhat, to be given the space to think about what he wanted and a chance to put a voice to it. But, it was also a little overwhelming, and truth be told he wasn’t quite sure how to figure it out.

“I know I don’t want to lose you,” he affirmed, squeezing her hand in his.

He did want something real with Eli. The problem was, he didn’t know what real looked like. This was unfamiliar territory for him, and he didn’t even know how in the hells he was supposed to get his bearings.

“I don’t want that, either. You know, we could be together without sex. For however long we need,” Eli suggested, a small smirk playing at the corner of her mouth. “I don’t think I have the best associations with it, either, considering the…things that sometimes pop into my head. Maybe we both could use time to work through those things.”

Astarion considered the idea, a cool rush of relief overcoming him as it truly began to sink in that Eli wasn’t only interested in him for his body and the way it roused it her own. They were good together, really fucking good. But it was becoming more and more difficult to reconcile what he had done in his past, under the subjugation of Cazador, with what he did with Eli now. He didn’t want to treat her like a mark or just another one of his conquests. She deserved better than that from him – to be cherished and worshiped, even ravished, fully and completely and without the haunting presence of ghosts that lurked in the corners of his mind.

“Why that almost sounds like a challenge,” Astarion said, trying to slip back into his sultry mannerisms yet failing to hide the appreciation he felt.

His tone then shifted into something quieter and more tentative as Astarion asked, “Can we…still share a bed? I think I’d miss sleeping in your arms.”

He cleared his throat, eyes darting to the side. The vulnerability behind his question was uncomfortable for him, but he thought maybe he could manage if it kept them from spending their nights apart. He’d grown fond of drifting off to sleep with her near, lulled by the low beat of her heart and the soft sighs of her breathing. It was a comfort he had never imagined himself longing for, and yet with Eli he’d quickly come to miss her warmth on the nights they slept in their own tents. Her absence at his side becoming a chill he’d rather not endure.

“I’d like that,” Eli agreed, giving his own hand a soft and appreciative squeeze.

“Well,” Astarion sighed, tension easing out of him as he leaned forward suddenly and wrapped Eli in an embrace that quickly had them tumbling back onto the bed. “No time like the present!”

Eli laughed and Astarion pulled her close, reveling in the easy solace of having everything between them out in the open rather than eating away at his insides. He rolled onto his back, tugging her up onto him so that her head was resting on his chest, just below his chin. His fingers idly stroked through her hair, eyelids drooping as the stress of the day finally caught up to him.

“This is nice,” he mumbled a bit more sleepily than intended.

A contented hum was the only response he heard from Eli before sleep took him completely.

___________________________________

In the morning Karlach gave them a knowing smirk as they descended the stairs and Eli began rummaging through the Inn’s cabinets for something that could pass as breakfast.

“You two look happy,” she remarked as Astarion took a seat across from her at one of the low tables near the central firepit. “Seems a night on your own did the both of you some good.”

The tiefling eyed Astarion pointedly as she raised a mug of coffee and sipped, eyes twinkling with more than a bit of self-satisfied mischief.

Astarion clicked his tongue and leaned back in his chair, feigning disinterest as he began to study his nails.

“You know, Karlach,” he began, flicking a speck of dirt from the tip of a finger. “For someone without a heart, you sure do seem to get invested in the romantic affairs of others.��

Karlach nearly spit coffee across the table as a boisterous laugh leapt up from her chest. She managed to contain herself, half choking and half coughing into her mug before she set it aside.

“That’s rich, fangs, coming from the likes of you,” Karlach giggled with good nature. “Honestly, I was just getting tired of the constant pining and lovesick angst between the both of you. For a pair of bloodthirsty murderhobos, you two are adorably dense when it comes to interactions that don’t involve stabbing something.”

“And for a professional killing machine from the hells, you are a hopeless gossip,” Astarion replied, shooting Karlach a sidelong glare before he glanced across the room to where Jaheira was consulting with a pair of Harpers as they studied a map.

He cleared his throat and pointedly did not look at the tiefling, speaking low for only the two of them to hear.

“Anyway…thank you. For meddling,” he said somewhat stiffly, though there was a timid genuineness to his words that made Karlach beam.

“Always happy to meddle, fangs.”

[violetmuses]

Forsaken - A. Aretas 🖤 ❤️‍🩹

Title: Forsaken - A. Aretas 🖤❤️‍🩹

Fandom: “Bad Boys” Film Universe

Character: Armando Aretas

Pairing: Armando Aretas + Female Reader

Main Storyline: When death haunts South Beach, Armando Aretas isn't the only target lined up for known Detectives Mike Lowrey and Marcus Burnett.

Tag List: @nelo0wesker @yassbishimvintage @nobodygetsza @peaxhygirl @superstar-t20 @adoresmiles @klssngss @probablyintensemuses @hyper-trash-panda 🏷

======

2020

Early sunlight greeted the Miami Harbor while you joined this roof with Armando Aretas. Brackish yet putrid air then reached your nostrils once more.

“You didn't wake me up.” You turned Armando away from his mounted laptop.

“We gotta go. Keep following the list.” His lips meet your touch this morning, and calloused palms gently smooth your knuckles.

Law enforcement officials pulling from the Miami Police Department had locked down Benito Aretas, Armando's late father.

In return, vengeance flamed through Isabel Aretas, Armando's mother.

An absolute storm would pull justice right back down.

______

Once Captain Howard perished, names dwindled even further.

Detective Mike Lowrey would spark with the crossfire last.

Mike Lowrey and his best friend, partner Marcus Burnett, ran down the neon streets as their own bet, laughing past moments while joyful together.

Cornered between shadows, you watch the scheme play in slow motion when Armando lurks that motorcycle and reveals his gun, shooting twice.

Detective Mike Lowrey stumbled, yet immediately fell back against sidewalk pavement.

When chaos erupts, you nearly smile as Armando revs out of sight.

The boogeyman is gone.

______

Several months later, an unexpected truth nearly struck down freedom.

Detective Mike Lowrey somehow pulled through recovery and survived Armando's wrath, almost bulletproof!

Given no other option, you pull the calvary with Armando and plan to take down Lowrey for good.

If unsuccessful this time around, Isabel would plot so much more than danger.

_______

This large-scale standoff pulled back and forth regarding Isabel Aretas. Extra members of the Miami Police Department interfered this evening.

“Don't shoot!” Armando shouts with slightly accented English. Heated fire and rubble engulfed the Aretas compound in all directions.

Veiling your presence despite bloodshed, Armando refuses to watch you die.

"La mataré!” Isabel vows to kill you while yelling in Spanish.

“No, I love her, mama!” Armando revealed this truth out of nowhere as flames pushed on.

You then freeze, shocked by Armando's confession as your steps nearly buckled. Yet, Mike Lowrey and Marcus Burnett still avoid your opportunity to faint.

Before everything collapsed, final gunshots pierced when Rita Secada armed herself and defeated Isabel.

At long last, each score landed Aretas directly into the burning flames.

“We gotta go!” Rita called out the AMMO squad over and over again.

“Don't leave her!” Armando shouts back, still terribly injured from this overdue battle.

“We're not leaving her behind, I promise. Let's go!” Mike interjected as fire raged all around and officers sprinted with Armando to escape death.

Miracles saved everyone that night.

******

Fluorescent lighting of the cold building captured various shadows this evening. Detective Mike Lowrey would visit Armando, his biological son.

“How you doing?” Mike fought one instance to smile.

“I've paid my debt. It's a big one.” Aretas sighed while marking the reality of his own dangerous choices.

“An opportunity might help cut down some of that debt. Are you interested?” Mike offered this important chance for Armando to redeem himself.

“Yeah, man.” Aretas nodded with confirmation and mentally counted down his upcoming future.

“One question, though.” Mike noted Armando's relationship with you. “Still looking for her?”

“Where is she?” Armando realizes the moment while his heart beats faster.

“In Miami. She'll join AMMO.” Mike promised your safety as he updated Armando.

Before Aretas could respond, visiting hours ended and Mike stepped out, leaving behind more questions than answers.

Sooner than later, Armando couldn't help worrying in silence.

Would I ever see you again?

[salllzy]

Holiday in Hell #2

Sarah DeCoux was a petty, vindictive, workaholic although granted she never used to be a workaholic. She was also difficult to work with. She was wild and untamable, many had tried and many had failed. She prided herself on the level of standards that she had and she made sure that everyone who worked for her? Worked to the same standard. She was just as harsh on herself as she was on them, she was aware that mistakes could and would happen and she didn't punish people for making honest mistakes. She never would. Honest mistakes? Everyone made them. It was when it was malicious that she had a problem. So when her papa dragged her off on holiday and her network did nothing to stop him? She had decided to be a Petty Bitch, complete with capital letters. She had taken to sending photos, she had only been on holiday for a few days. She knew that it was petty, sending photos of herself on holiday with colourful drinks that had tiny umbrellas in them and wearing a wide-brimmed hat with sunglasses. Her papa was in the background as a static blur, her papa's shadow would hold up a drink in a mocking fashion. Was it petty? Immesnly. Did she care? No. Every hour, she posted a new photo. New positions, new drinks, but each time she would be with her papa as they posed. Not that she would be able to capture him in a photo, not unless he wanted her to. That didn't mean that she hadn't captured him on camera, she had, there was a full photo album dedicated to the pair of them.

But when she was doing something like this? Then he wouldn't allow himself to be captured. Not that she blamed him. She could only interfere with it on a small scale but in this case? She wasn't. She smiled as she sent off yet another photo, she sipped her drink and relaxed on the lounger. She glanced over at her papa and noticed that he was reading a book, not that she blamed him, the red of his hooves glinted in the sunlight. There was a glass of rye next to him and for the first time in months? He looked at peace. He looked unbothered. She wished that he could look like this more often, but the stress of running the hotel was not something that she could lift from his shoulders. But she could help to ease his burdens. She disliked those who lived at the hotel, they enjoyed his protection and yet? They spat on everything that he did. He was not a good man or demon, she knew that, she knew he had killed, he had tortured and he was a cannibal, people assumed that because he had manners that he was good. He wasn't and he never would be. She knew that, she accepted that. That didn't mean that he was completely evil. He wasn't. Her papa had always been a murky shade of grey that others didn't like, they would never like. But that was on them and he shouldn't need to try and fit into their stupid rules and standards. You can't force a triangle into a circle hole. But they were determined to do it, regardless of whether or not it was right to do so. They all thought that he wanted to be redeemed, that he wanted to go to Heaven. He didn't and he never would. She had no intention of looking for redemption and leaving Hell, she knew that she would never fit in with the angels, that neither of them would. So why should they bother? There was no point in trying of they were going to get shunned. Her papa had practised voodoo when he had been alive and he had taught her what he could. It wasn't something that he had picked up from any family member, the only family that they had? Was each other, so why did they think that he would abandon her?

It was entirely possible that they didn't know about her, she wouldn't be that shocked if it was the truth. Overprotective, worry-wort just a few words to describe her papa. Although not everyone would agree with her and truthfully? That was fine, she didn't need them to agree with her, she knew that truth and that was all that mattered.

[emira-addams]

Hazbin Hotel - Welcome to Heaven

Chapter 01

"Welcome to Heaven!" Emily shouted, arms spread wide. With a beaming smile on her lips and full of excitement, she fluttered in front of the three sinners and her sister, up and down along the gold-paved path. "My name is Emily, but you can call me whatever you like! I'm so happy to see you here. I can barely believe that Charlie's idea really worked. You three are the first here and we're gonna-"

"Emily!" Sera interrupted her sternly. She could feel the worried looks of the heavenly residents resting on the strange figures of the three new arrivals as she led the small group into Heaven through the back door instead of the gleaming pearly white main gate. With a quick wave of her hand, she instructed her sister to be quiet. "Please calm down..." Sera sighed sourly as she skeptically studied the three sinners from head to toe, who followed her with slow steps and wide-eyed astonishment. Under all circumstances, their arrival had to go unnoticed. "I'm sure there's been a misunderstanding," Sera claimed. "These three sinners don't belong in Heaven with us."

"No, definitely not a misunderstanding!" interjected St. Peter. Frightened, he ducked his head as the head seraphim gave him an angry look. "Uhm... T-They… They're all on the list..."

"The list is wrong," Sera declared. She shooed the three sinners through the entrance of a gigantic skyscraper, which looked very much like a modern office complex on Earth, only much more luxurious with reflective marble floors and endless gold ornaments. A fountain with crystal-clear water splashed in the entrance hall. A receptionist jumped up quickly when she spotted the two seraphim, but Sera waved her off and headed for the nearest meeting room.

"The list is never wrong," Emily protested indignantly as Sera let the door slam shut behind them and turned the key.

"Outside these four walls, not a single word will be spoken by any of you about the arrival of these three sinners in heaven, do we have an understanding?" The head seraphim quickly pulled the heavy cloaks closed in front of the windows. She blocked out the strong sunlight and motioned to the three sinners to sit down at the table.

The three obeyed without a word or objection. Huddled close together, they dropped onto three chairs. Sera and St. Peter sat down opposite them with folded hands.

"Why?" Confused, Emily tried to understand her sister's decision. Three sinners had been redeemed from Hell and ascended to Heaven, which was great news. Emily had the living, foolproof evidence that Charlie's hotel worked. So why didn't Sera share her enthusiasm?

"Emily...," Sera warned her little sister, her tone ominous. "Do we have an understanding?" Sera repeated her question, looking sternly at her sister and St. Peter.

St. Peter nodded mutely, but Emily shook her head.

"What about Charlie?" Emily wanted to know with desperation. "I want to speak to Charlie straight away and tell her about the success of her hotel. Together we could-"

"No! I forbid you to have any kind of contact with Lucifer's delusional daughter!"

Shocked, Emily winced. Her shoulders slumped, her sister's harsh tone silencing her. She quickly wiped her eyes with her sleeve to get rid of her tears. She stifled a sob of sheer irritation and dropped quietly onto a chair.

"St. Peter..." Sera sighed. She massaged her aching temples, she could already feel the headache looming. "Could you keep watch outside the door, please? This... delicate matter is not meant for untrusted ears..."

"Of course, Sera." St. Peter bowed to the head seraphim before hurriedly leaving the meeting room and standing guard on the other side of the closed door.

All the while, the three sinners had remained silent, too intimidated by the gold and the glitter and the presence of the arguing angels. Alastor had lost his smile, while Pentious looked around in bewilderment and Carmilla stared at her hands, her eyes downcast and lost in her thoughts.

"Uhm... what? What's going on here?" Carmilla asked, confused. She finally mustered up the courage to open her mouth and speak up. "Excuse me, Head Seraphim..." The sentence died on the tip of her tongue before she could get her question over her lips. She cleared her throat to regain her voice and perhaps her courage. Her brow was furrowed with deep worry. "Uhm... W-Why are we here? What list?"

"Yes? Why are we here?" Pentious repeated Carmilla's question.

"Because you're on the list!" Emily announced happily. She seemed to have regained her enthusiasm. "Every soul on the list gets to go to Heaven!"

With her arms crossed behind her back, Sera stood in front of the table, her expression grim. "I never thought it was a possibility that this silly hotel of Lucifer's delusional daughter would work and-"

"Hey!" Alastor interrupted the head seraphim. "Be careful what words you choose for Charlie!"

"And..." Sera gave the former radio demon an utterly dismissive look. "None of us were prepared for three redeemed souls of sinners to suddenly arrive at our heavenly gates... What is the last moment you can remember of your life in Hell?" Desperately, the head seraphim tried to keep the upper hand. She brushed the strands of hair from her face, a pathetic effort to hide her insecurity and ignorance.

Alastor huffed angrily, crossing his arms in front of his chest and turning his back to the head seraphim.

"That exorcist..." Carmilla whispered. Horror flashed in her eyes.

"Lute?"

"Yes... I think her name was Lute. I remember that Lute came crashing through the glass into my office, screaming loudly in anger... She spoke of revenge, then only blackness followed..."

"Yes!" Pentious confirmed. He had jumped up from his seat in agitation, his fingers clawing at the tabletop. "My last memories are hazy scraps of the battle for the hotel, then infinite blackness and the next moment I regain consciousness in front of the gates of Heaven."

“No…” Sera shook her head in total disbelief. "Why would Lute want revenge on a sinner? I will not have you lying to me..."

Carmilla lowered her head in disgrace. "At the last Extermination, I was forced to kill one of her sisters. I killed an exorcist to save my daughters' lives."

"That's it! I know why you're here!" Emily gasped in shock as three sinners and her sister looked at her with much bewilderment. She could no longer sit still at the table and started fluttering up and down in great excitement. "I am convinced that your deeds and your death were honest and absolutely selfless, so you have succeeded in redeeming yourselves and now you are here!"

"Uhm... I'm terribly sorry..." Carmilla interrupted Emily's enthusiastic rambling. Her face took on an unreadable expression. "I-I don't want to disappoint you, but... but I can't stay in Heaven, I have to go back to Hell..."

"Excuse me?" asked Sera. Did this sinner just dare to contradict her own redemption?

"I can't stay in Heaven, I have to go back to Hell," Carmilla repeated her words. "I have unfinished business there."

"What in Hell would be so important that you would wish to leave Heaven?"

"I have to get back to my daughters!" Carmilla growled in rage as her jaw clenched and her fingernails dug deep into the tabletop. Her hands tightened into fists.

Sera shook her head. "For now, your redeemed souls will not leave Heaven again. I can’t allow that…"

Before Carmilla could pick a fistfight with the head seraphim, Emily quickly intervened. "I suggest we postpone this discussion until tomorrow. We'll look for a solution to this problem together in the morning. In the meantime, how about we show you to your quarters to calm some of the heated tempers?" Accompanied by her sister, the seraphim led the three sinners out of the meeting room and to an elevator.

*

"Tada!" Smiling with pride, Emily spread her arms and spun in a circle as she showed the three sinners their quarters.

"What's this supposed to be?" Carmilla had her arms crossed in front of her chest, a sour grimace on her face and looked at Emily very suspiciously. She pointed to the high ceiling above their heads, the glassy windows, the bright sunshine that was blinding her and already annoying her, the shiny surfaces and the smooth marble floor as well as all the gold decorations.

Pentious marveled open-mouthed and wide-eyed.

"For better or worse, the term 'quarters' is a vast understatement..." Alastor remarked. "I find the description 'royal' and the designation 'palace' much more fitting in the face of reality." He strode over to the window front and took a look out. "I should point out that we are housed on the top floor of this skyscraper. Alone and close to the Seraphims and away from the gaze of the rest of the residents of Heaven, aren't we?" he asked brashly.

"As rather special new arrivals, you will have to follow some specific rules..." The head seraphim ignored Alastor's provocation. She cleared her throat and began to list the rules. "Be prepared for these quarters to be under our surveillance the entire time. You will not leave these four walls without my orders and never alone. Under no circumstances will you speak a single word about your life on earth or in hell and I will not tolerate any swearing or violence towards the residents of Heaven. As long as you three sinners follow these simple rules, we will not get in any trouble with each other. I hope I've made myself very clear and you've understood me!"

"Uhm..." Pentious raised his hand cautiously. "How long are we not allowed to leave the quarters?"

"I emphasize again that the arrival of you sinners will remain under strict secrecy until we know if there is a misunderstanding. This situation is very special, no sinners have ever been redeemed from Hell before and to protect the souls of Heaven we must act with the utmost caution. For the time being, you will not leave these four walls or Heaven again... Either you comply willingly or I will personally ensure that you do..." With this threat, the head seraphim bid goodnight to the three sinners.

"Please let me know if you need something or just anything..." Emily gave the three sinners an encouraging smile before quickly following her sister out the door.

"Ay, dios mio..." groaned Carmilla as she closed the door behind the seraphims and leaned her back against the heavy wood. Exhausted, she sank to the floor. Her gaze fled to the window, to the white cotton clouds that shone in the burning colors of the rainbow in the light of the setting sun. She had last seen a sunset in her lifetime on earth, together with Odette and Clara. The sight made Carmilla wistful and the thought of her daughters brought tears to her eyes. "I don't want to stay in Heaven! I have to go back to my daughters... They're all alone in Hell!"

"I don't want to live without my precious eggbois!" Sobbing heavily, Pentious dropped to the ground next to Carmilla. He rested his head on Carmilla's shoulder, she allowed the crying snake to do so and patted his back comfortingly.

"If we want to find a way out of Heaven, then we have to stick together..." Alastor stood with his arms folded behind his back in front of the windows and was lost in the view of the sunset, letting his gaze wander over the endless sea of clouds.

"Is there even such a way out of Heaven for us?" Pentious wanted to know doubtfully.

"There must be a way!" Carmilla argued. She quickly pulled herself to her feet and held out her hand to Pentious. "Under no circumstances can we simply give up and leave our fate in the hands of Heaven, this seraphim! We must try to find our own way out of here and back! I want to try for my daughters!"

"I'm in," Alastor decided. He turned away from the window, his shadow growing longer in the fading light. "We all have unfinished business in Hell and want to leave Heaven again... I suggest we work together and form a rather atypical alliance for demons between the three of us." His two fellow prisoners concurred.

"Where do we start?" asked Pentious.

Carmilla thought for a moment. "I think our chances of an escape from Heaven will increase if we ask the younger Seraphim, Emily, for help..."

[the-chosen-fanfiction]

Jesus | Blinded To The Truth | Platonic

Dialogue prompt: “You really like making things difficult.”

Requested: Yes

After inviting you to listen to His meditation at Synagogue, your childhood Friend Jesus makes the boldest of claims.

“Hey, you’re cheating!”

“I am doing no such thing!” you quip, throwing the small ball towards Rafi in the hopes he will not catch it– 

–He catches it with his left hand and you huff, preparing yourself to get it hurled back at you in return. However, Rafi tosses it with a firm movement of his arm towards Jesus, Who misses it by a hair. The ball falls to the grass and Rafi cheers, causing you to roll your eyes. Aaron lets out a sigh of defeat.

“I win!” Rafi exclaims. 

You place a hand on your hip. “Fine, you win. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I am going to get myself some snacks to comfort myself at this incredible loss.”

“Nah, (Y/n), you are just being sarcastic now even though I know quite certainly that you are upset.”

“I’m not! It’s Rosh Hashanah, I will not allow myself to sulk over something like a game.”

Jesus chuckles at your response and runs a hand through His hair, sighing deeply. “You did better at this game than I did, (Y/n),” He reassures you. You smile at your childhood Friend, Who heads over to you. “I will join you for that comfort snack, okay?”

You nod in agreement and both of you head for the nearest platter of sweet treats. You scoop a whole load of honey onto a slice of apple and give it to Jesus. He thanks you with a word of gratitude and waits for you to get one for yourself as well. 

“Hey,” Jesus begins as the pair of you bask in the sunlight, enjoying the fruit. “I am going to give a Torah reading tonight at the synagogue. Would you like to attend as well? You’re a good friend of Mine, so I would appreciate it if you were to–”

“Of course!” you say without hesitation, “I knew that You were a Rabbi now. Your mother told me about Your ministry.”

Jesus hums. “I don’t think she told you all of it.”

You frown in puzzlement. “What do You mean?”

The Nazarene gives you a look. “You’ll see.”

Trusting Him enough to not ask, you decide to not press any further. 

“Time for a rematch?” you suggest, nodding at Lazarus and Rafi, who are still gloating in their victory. 

Jesus nods in agreement, polishing off the honied apple. “Let’s go.”

_

In spite of the heat outside, the synagogue is cool and dark, apart from some light drifting in through the small windows above. The village of Nazareth has gathered and you’ve taken a seat with two women who introduced themselves to you as Martha and Mary, whom you’ve started to mingle with in anticipation of Jesus’ reading. You’re curious to see what He will choose to read. 

The crowd’s chatter falls silent when Rabbi Benjamin walks up to the pulpit and stretches his arms in a way to lead everyone into prayer. You bow your head and close your eyes.

“Blessed are You Lord our God, King of the universe. Who has kept us alive and sustained us for another year. Who bestows kindness, restores and redeems. Praise to You, Adonai our God, sovereign over creation. Who has chosen us from all the peoples. May Your blessings be all who seek You earnestly. Bring joy to Your land and gladness to Your city. In Your mercy, bestow on us a prosperous year, a bountiful harvest, and the promised arrival of Meshiach. Your anointed One, the Son of David.”

The congregation replies with an agreeing ‘amen’ as the sound of the shofar fills the room in a few quick puffs of noise. Goosebumps litter your skin at the sound like it does to you every time, and you smile, watching Jesus across the room. 

“Thank you for the call to repentance and rest.” Rabbi Benjamin comments. “And now, for the reading and interpretation we have with us Jesus bar Joseph. He was one of my students in Torah class and we’ve heard reports–” he turns to Jesus, “Some of them very positive, of His rabbinic journeys.” Jesus and Lazarus chuckle a bit, “Jesus.”

Jesus heads for the pulpit and smiles. “Thank you, Rabbi Benjamin. Ah, please.” He gestures for the person carrying the scroll to lay it out for Him.

“You know, it’s not easy to share in front of Nazareth’s most pre-eminent Rabbi, but I will do My best. And I’m certain that if I miss a word or two, one of you at least will speak up, huh?” 

A few of the men make sounds of agreement, Lazarus leaning against a pillar with his arms crossed. “Oh, don’t worry.”

“I wonder who it will be,” Jesus murmurs in amusement before turning to the scroll.

“A reading from the scroll of the prophet Isaiah.” Jesus announces, then lifts His eyes upwards for a few silent seconds. He unfurls the scroll and takes the yad to point at the text He is reading to follow along.

“The Spirit of the Lord God is upon Me. Because the Lord has anointed Me to bring good news to the poor. He has sent Me to heal the brokenhearted; to proclaim liberty to the captives and recovery of sight of the blind. To the opening of the prison for those who are bound; to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favour.”

With bated breath, you watch as He steps away from the scroll and rolls it up, handing it back to the assistant before taking a seat in the chair placed in the middle of the room. For a moment, He locks eyes with Lazarus, then with you, until He opens His mouth to speak.

“The fulfilment of this Scripture as you have heard it is today. This is the year of the Lord’s favour. This is a year of jubilee. A year the poor, the brokenhearted, the captive and the blind are offered redemption.” 

Your heart stutters inside your chest. Are you hearing this correctly? 

Rabbi Benjamin’s posture stiffens. 

“Here. Now.”

Jesus pauses for a few moments, and Lazarus speaks up. “We are here with You,” he remarks, “Keep going.” He seems just as interested in Jesus’ words as you are. “Not bad for a carpenter’s son, yes?”

You cannot fight the small laugh that escapes you, and Rabbi Benjamin gives you a sharp look. 

“I mean, especially Joseph…” Lazarus continues, “May he rest in peace…”

Rabbi Benjamin has a stern look on his face when he speaks up.

“Jesus, please explain why You stopped the reading before Isaiah spoke of the day of vengeance of our God? Especially during a time of such oppression.”

A few silent moments as you keep your gaze focused on Jesus, anxious what He will say. You have never heard this interpretation before, and you’re only hoping that Jesus will not say anything that could get Him in trouble. 

“The day of vengeance is in the future. I’m not here for vengeance. I’m here for salvation.”

Rafi and Aaron’s brows furrow, as does Rabbi Benjamin’s. “You’re here for salvation?” the Rabbi mutters, “What are You saying?”

Over her shoulder, Mary looks at you with a delighted look on her face. Your expression resembles confusion as your heart hammers inside your chest. “It’s Him…” Mary whispers, “He is trying to say that He is… You know…”

You swallow thickly. Thinking of the rumours that have been going around about Jesus, and now… Could He be…

“You know what I am saying.”

Your heart skips a beat. 

“And this year of jubilee, this year of the Lord’s favour, is not about release from financial debts. I’m here to provide release from spiritual debt.”

“We are the chosen seed of Abraham.” Benjamin darkly sounds, “We don’t have spiritual debt!”

Jesus purses His lips and looks away. 

“Jesus,” Aaron starts. “We’ve been hearing about the signs and wonders, and now this? Are You claiming to be more than a Rabbi? More than even the Baptiser?” Aaron has the exact same question as you.

The room is tense and you lean closer towards Him, not wanting to miss a single word.

“No doubt one of you will quote me the Proverb; ‘Physician, heal yourself’. The things we heard You did in Capernaum and in Syria, do here in Your hometown, yes?”

“Why not?” 

“I get it.” Jesus counters. “It’s always easier to accept hard truths and even greatness from strangers than from those you know well, especially those you knew as awkward teenagers or even as adults as some of you saw earlier today. Laz here would make a more believable prophet.”

You grin as the two chuckle, until Jesus’ smile falls. 

“But this brings up an important truth. No prophet is acceptable in his hometown.”

Around you, people start to mutter amongst themselves.

“Be careful with what You call Yourself.” Benjamin growls.

“This should be easy to prove!” Aaron says, “Dinah and Rafi, you say you saw it, yes?”

Rafi nods. “Yes! Yes, we saw it, but… He did not claim this…”

“A true prophet from Adonai would not deny His own people signs and wonders.”

Jesus takes a sharp breath. “Listen carefully. When a great famine hit Israel during the days of Elijah. Three years and six months. There were many widows, yes? And we know how the Father cares for His chosen people, especially widows. But Elijah was sent to none of them… Not one.”

You drink in every single word He says, your mind spinning with questions and clarity at the same time. 

“Instead he was sent to a widow in Sidon, in Zeropath. A Gentile woman. Martha, what happened?”

Jesus turns to her and for a moment, He locks eyes with you. It is as if He can read your mind - your soul - and He nods. He nods to answer the question bouncing around in your skull, and you have to prevent yourself from gasping.

“She gave up her last flour and oil for one more cake and gave it to Elijah.”

“Why would she do that?”

“Elijah told her the Lord said to do so.”

Jesus turns back, “Yes. The Lord said that He would make it so that her flour and oil would never run out. And she believed. A pagan Gentile in a pagan land. And she was hungry enough to know that she needed God and to obey Him. And so, God sent Elijah to multiply our food forever.”

He shortly pauses to let the words sink in. 

“What about Elisha, and Naaman? There were many lepers in Israel during this time, but none of them were cleansed except Naaman. Only a Gentile, a Syrian soldier and enemy of the Lord’s people. But he was so desperate, he trusted Elisha, and his leprosy was cleansed.”

The tension in the synagogue rises with every word that falls from His lips, and your throat runs dry at the expression many hold on their faces; deep, unadulterated offence.

“You may be the chosen seed of Abraham, you may be the people of the covenants, but that will not bring you My salvation.” Jesus’ eyes are shimmering with both sadness and persistence, “If you cannot accept that you are spiritually poor and captive, in the same way that a Gentile woman and a Syrian leper recognised their need–”

He pauses, the words getting stuck in His throat as He pinches together his fingers to emphasise the message. Across the room, you see Aaron shake his head slowly, and Rafi’s expression is conflicted. 

“If you do not realise that you need a year of the Lord’s favour… Then I cannot save you.”

You can hear a pin drop as the hostility in the room advances, your heart almost leaping out of your chest in fear as Aaron slowly stands, his brow knit together in rage.

“Who do You think You are?!” His voice drips with malice. 

“This is what Hannah talked about.” Martha says in front of you, making your chest tight with anxiety for His safety. “That He even called Himself the Messiah!”

Rabbi Benjamin takes a step in Jesus’ direction. “Are You claiming to be the Messiah, or are You merely claiming to speak for the Lord as a prophet?”

Jesus, turned away from the Rabbi at first, slowly pivots in His seat. 

When He opens his mouth to answer, your face pales. 

“Yes.”

For a moment, you lock eyes with Lazarus, who looks from you to his sister Mary, who has a certain sparkle in her eye that makes you convinced that she believes, too. 

And so do you.

Something within your spirit puts you on edge in a way you have never experienced before. It reels inside your gut in a strange way, as if everything in your soul is teetering on the edge of interfering, but that same spirit holds you back from doing so, convinced that He knows how to handle this all.

“You are a false prophet!” Benjamin accuses. 

Mother Mary gasps in shock and you put a hand on her shoulder to comfort her immediately. Lazarus reaches over to put a hand on the elderly Rabbi’s shoulder. “Woah, that is quite a thing to say! Jesus, maybe we should leave.”

Aaron interrupts: “Lazarus, you’re His friend, you cannot be involved! You know what the law of Moses says–”

“We are all His friends, Aaron,” Lazarus counters. “We cannot say things like this!”

“Jesus, stand up at once!” Benjamin orders, but Lazarus tries to fan the flames. 

“Rabbi, please. Rafi, come with Jesus and me, we will leave, and you can all continue the service.”

Slowly, Jesus rises from the chair. 

Rafi clearly draws his own conclusions. “Rabbi Benjamin has asserted false prophecy and I cannot argue it.”

Lazarus will not have any of it. “You said you saw the miracle!”

“He’s saying only He can save us!” Rafi bites.

“He did not use those words–”

“–It’s what I meant.” Jesus quips, earning Him a glare from Lazarus.

“Jesus, you’re not helping!” Lazarus pleads.

Deciding to intervene between your bickering childhood friends, you stand and make your way down to them. “Rafi, are you deaf? And blind? Have you not heard the stories of the miracles? Have you not tasted the wine?”

Aaron scoffs. “Those are just rumours! You’ve got no evidence, and people can say whatever they want. As long as enough people tell the same story, you’d believe anything, wouldn’t you, (Y/n)? Always so gullible…” He shakes his head almost pitifully.

You let out a noise. “And you, not even considering the words of a Man you know to be trustworthy, even though He makes things so clear right now! You really like making things difficult!”

Jesus puts a hand on your shoulder and you turn to Him. He smiles at you softly, His gaze containing a certain kind of warmth that fills you with rest. It is the briefest of moments, but intense nevertheless.

Rafi points a finger at Jesus, breaking the moment of eye-contact. “He’s saying we are not the Holy One’s chosen!” 

“Now, He did not say that!” 

Rabbi Benjamin’s voice is like ice, full of fury, unlike anything you've ever heard before. It makes the hairs of your neck stand on end. “In words, the book of Moses; ‘But the prophet who presumes to speak a word in My Name that I have not commanded him to speak, that same prophet shall die.’...”

As Lazarus leans closer, he lowers the volume of his voice. Jesus’ mother seems distraught and anxious. “Rabbi Benjamin, I beg of you… Not this…”

“Lazarus,” Jesus calmly hums, “It’s fine…” 

“Jesus they’re going to–” Jesus leans closer to His friend and whispers something in his ear for a few moments. As soon as He pulls back, Lazarus stares at Him rather nervously. 

“Yes?” Jesus acknowledges, and Lazarus reassures Him. 

Before you can speculate, Lazarus locks eyes with you, and nods towards Jesus’ mother Mary, whose eyebrows are furrowed in fear of her Son’s safety. You immediately understand the hint, rushing over to her and crouching down to take her hand in yours. She gives you a grateful glance, but it soon focuses back to her Son, Whose safety she so desperately fears.

“Jesus…” Benjamin utters, “If you do not renounce Your words, we will have no choice but to follow the Law of Moses…” 

You can hear your own blood rush inside your ears as the strain within the synagogue reaches its breaking point. The Messiah steps closer to the Rabbi, His eyes filled with heartache. 

When Jesus speaks, it is the straw that breaks the camel’s back: 

“I AM the Law of Moses.” 

Benjamin staggers back, gasping in indignation. Before you can truly process what is going on, Jesus is grabbed into His tunic by Rafi and Aaron, who shove Him towards the exit. They yank off the tallit that is still draped over His shoulders and Mary reaches out. You can barely hold her back to keep her from harm, but Lazarus soon assists you. 

Before He is pushed outside, Jesus has a moment of intense eye-contact with His mother, but then, He is forced out.

As Jesus is led out of the synagogue by the angry mob, Mary starts to sob. You can barely look at what is happening, your entire being frightened and shaking, but you cannot follow the crowd to see if there is a way to save Him. All you can do is comfort His mother, who accepts your embrace as you pull her into your arms. Her form trembles in agony. 

“Jesus promised that He’d be alright,” Lazarus reassures both His mother and you as everyone pours out of the synagogue, “We will meet Him after sundown on the outskirts of Nazareth, where His father is buried. Mary, you know the place, right?”

Slightly calmed by the words, Mary nods meekly, but her demeanour remains distraught. And who could blame her? Although she trusts that her Son’s word is true, and that He will be alright, a mother’s instinct is ever so strong.

“It will be fine, Mary,” you whisper, yet still filled with questions. “Is this all true? Is He truly the Messiah?”

Mary nods, her lips trembling as fresh tears brim on her eyes. 

“He is.”

Your mind spins with everything you feel in this very moment - confusion, happiness, relief, fear. “Then why do they not accept Him? I don’t… I don’t understand. The signs and wonders…”

Mary slowly shakes her head, sniffling a bit, seemingly calming down. “I do not know,” she whispers, “But what I do know is to trust Him on His word.”

“Always, Mary,” you reassure her, “Always.”

You remain in the synagogue until the sun has fully set.

[pipravisstan]

Anyone Who Knows What Love Is (Will Understand), a fluffy pipravi fanfic by me :]

rating: g

ship: pipravi

fanfic under the cut ⬇️⬇️⬇️

~

The lake was a deep muddled blue that day, which was rare. Pip guessed it was probably because the sun was out today, making its monthly appearance only to most likely disappear the next day. It dappled through the forest roof above them, casting splotches of afternoon sunlight onto the two of them, at their spot.

Pip’s car was parked not too far behind them in a clearing, it also having its own designated spot at the lake, tire marks permanently etched into into the earth beneath it.

She stood on the ledge above the water, slowly pacing beside Ravi as he sat facing the lake, legs dangling dangerously close to the water.

“So, i’m gonna retake the exams, pray on a passing grade, and then hopefully I can land an apprenticeship,” Ravi spoke, fingers drawing shapes in the dirt path.

“I for one think it’s a great plan. I mean, you helped solve a murder, who’s to say you won’t be a great lawyer?” Pip joked, kicking up a rock into the water.

“Gonna add that to my résume. ‘Helped solve murder-suicide case. May or may not have used illegal methods,’” He said, mimicking writing it down in the air with his finger.

“Oh, god, don’t remind me.” She shuddered.

Pip kicked another rock and he continued drawing in the dirt idly. “So, you decided on if you’re going to Cambridge?” He looked up at her, and then tore his eyes away. “Sorry, I realise that may be a stressful decision.”

She chuckled. In truth, she did want to go, she had just been overwhelmed at the time, everything had seemed so unsure. Her relationships with Ravi, with her mum, what made a good person a good person. She still hasn’t figured that one out.

“No, it’s fine. I’ve actually already received invitations to a couple of Universities, you know, considering I was headlining the papers as the ‘Prodigy student who solved a five year murder case.’” She sighed. “But yeah, i’ve zeroed in on Kings College, that’s a Cambridge one. Not too far, only about an hour and a half from Little Kilton.”

There was a silence, a comfortable one. He stood up, a small pile of stones in his hands. He smiled down at her. “Best to three?”

She stepped toward him and took one from his hands, smoothed down and flat, a good rock for skimming if she’d ever seen one. “This again? Remember how much of a devastating loss you suffered last time?” She said, tossing the stone up and down. Catching it in the palm of her hand. Up and down again.

They stepped down from the ledge to the lower step, water ebbing at the concrete in front of them.

Ravi just snorted in amusement. “I’ve had practise this time, don’t get all cocky with me.”

“I’d like to see this practise first hand, if you don’t mind.” She swiped the her hair out of her face from the wind and readjusted the collar of her jacket.

His eyes flicked toward hers, warm with a competitive edge. He nodded, she nodded, and they whispered a countdown in unison.

“Three,”

“Two,”

“One.”

They both threw the stones forward, one bounce, two bounces against the water. A gust of wind. And then there was one, her’s disappeared somewhere in the murky water of the lake.

“Devastating loss, right Sarge?” Ravi laughed. His stone didn’t last much longer, but that had been forgotten as she turned towards him with mock offense over her face.

“Oh, come on, you saw that, it was the wind!”

He raised an eyebrow at her, smirking. “Really? The wind? That is the lamest excuse you have ever given.”

Pip crossed her arms over her chest and narrowed her eyes. “It wasn’t an excuse, it was a valid point that you choose to ignore as it worked in your favour.”

“Right.” He chucked, shuffling the spare stones around in his hands. “Well, you’ve got two more rounds to redeem yourself. Or are you gonna make more excuses when you loose again?”

She shoved an elbow into his side playfully and took a stone from his hand in silent determination.

“Three,” He said, and she held her hand back, grip loose around the stone.

“Two,”

“One!” They both threw the stones forward, watching as they flicked across the dull blue surface of the water, leaving behind ripples.

~

Being near Ravi was the best thing in the world, Pip decided at that moment. Siting beside him, backs against an ancient spruce tree in the cool autumn air. In the dappled sunlight beside the lake, their lake, she wished she could live in this moment forever.

He’d won the stone skimming tournament, but not without a fight from Pip. 2-1, and another complaint about how the ‘uncontrolled environment’ was making it unfair. Now they sat here, soaking up the last of the sunlight together.

“Sun’s nice today,” Ravi said, and it was true, and she knew it didn’t really mean anything. Just something idle to fill the comfortable silence that surrounded them.

She hummed in a agreement, resting her head on his shoulder and not bothering to fight the smile on her face.

It was pure bliss, being in his presence. She knew it sounded corny, but being with him felt safe. His eyes were bright and his smile was warm. Every word out of his mouth put her at ease.

A moment passed, a rattle through the woods of a cool breeze. Ravi’s hand found its way to hers and his fingers began tracing circles in her palm.

“You ought to stop doing that,” Pip mumbled, squeezing her hand against his.

He hummed, fingers sliding between hers and interlocking their fingers. “Why’s that?” He shifted slightly to look at her as she rested her head on his shoulder, a half smile drawn across his face.

“Your hands are much too warm, I’m afraid.” She yawned and buried her head at the back on his neck. She closed her eyes and smirked. “If you hold on any longer, my hand will melt into yours and I might never be able to let go.”

He chucked at that, looking back out toward the lake again with his head resting on the bark of the tree. “Wouldn’t that be nice, Sarge.”

She hadn’t said it yet, and she didn’t know when she would, but she loved him. He was the Watson to her Sherlock, or as he had argued, the Sherlock to her Watson. He was her constant, the good in the grey area of her mind. He was everything that everything wasn’t, and yet simultaneously, he was her everything.

It didn’t make much sense, didn’t make sense to Pip. But maybe she didn’t need sense.

She squeezed his hand again, and he squeezed her hand back. It wasn’t an I love you, but it felt like one.

[veronicaphoenix]

IKIGAI (or A REASON FOR BEING) — CHAPTER TWELVE

“Did you get a new tattoo?” She asked. Noah, with a playful grin, stopped to show her. Lia leaned over the kitchen island with her elbows set on the counter, narrowing her eyes at the ink under one of the green leaves on his neck. After a moment, she managed to read what the black ink said, and her eyes went wide open. “No way.”

Chapter tags: best friends living together, fluff/comfort, platonic love?, sexual innuendos, early bad omens. | Word count: 1.738 | Cross posted on AO3. | Series masterpost. ✧.*

CHAPTER 12

Lia is 19. Noah is 20.

The late morning sunlight streamed through the windows, casting a warm glow over Lia's makeshift art studio in the living room. On the carpeted floor, surrounded by sketches, paint palettes, and fabric swatches, Lia was deep into her creative zone and lost in her imaginary. The boys' band was gearing up to launch some merchandise, and Lia had been working day and night to get some designs worthy of being printed on t-shirts and hoodies.

As she chew on the cap of a black pen and zoomed out with two fingers in one of the drawings that she had transferred to her iPad, the main door of the house opened, and Noah burst through carrying a few grocery bags in his long arms.

The sight of him instantly lifted Lia's spirits, and she returned his smile from her seated position on the floor.

Noah set the bags down on the kitchen isle, and the first thing out of his mouth was a complaint about the rising cost of Lia's favorite Thai noodles. However, he quickly redeemed himself by announcing that he had bought a bunch of instant noodles for her. Lia's eyes lit up with delight, and she abandoned her artistic endeavors to help him sort out the groceries in the kitchen.

In her socks and black leggings, Lia sported one of the early printed Bad Omens t-shirts featuring her own artwork; it was white and a bit oversized, the colors of the art still not holding the tone desired, it was a work-in-progress, really, but it was comfy enough for her to wear around the house.

As soon as she reached the isle, she stood on her tiptoes and eagerly peeked into the bags, searching for any guilty pleasures. Her eyes widened with glee when she discovered a box of frosted cookies and cream pop-tarts. She muttered a triumphant “yes!” and unable to resist, she opened the box, took one out of its wrapping and settled on one of the stools to indulge in it while Noah unloaded the bags.

As she savored the sweet treat, Lia's eyes wandered, and she caught a glimpse of a reddish mark on Noah's neckthat hadn’t been there in the morning, when he had come down from his bedroom into the kitchen, putting a t-shirt over his bare chest, eyes still sleepy. It piqued her curiosity, and she couldn't quite make out what it was from her vantage pointas he kept on moving and turning.

“Did you get a new tattoo?” She asked.

Noah, with a playful grin, stopped to show her. Lia leaned over the kitchen island with her elbows set on the counter, narrowing her eyes at the ink under one of the green leaves on his neck. After a moment, she managed to read what the black ink said, and her eyes went wide open.

“No way.” Looking at Noah for confirmation, she found it in the proud glint in his eyes.

He had tattooed her name on his neck. It was a small tattoo, barely visible, but it was there. Forever.

“You didn’t,” she muttered.

Noah, unfazed, replied, "Yeah, I did."

Lia, torn between amusement and concern, shook her head and took another bite of the Pop Tart.

"You're never gonna get a girlfriend like this."

“What do you mean?” He asked, keeping his gaze on her as he opened one of the higher cupboards to keep new tea boxes next to the coffee.

"How do you think they will feel when they see another woman’s name tattooed on your body?"

He moved his shoulders up and down.

“They’ll have to deal with it. This is my best friend and the most important person in my life,” Noah retorted.

“That will change when you fall in love,” she told him, but she couldn’t hide her smile and the slight blush that tinted her cheeks.

“We’ll see about that,” Noah replied, determined to defend his position. He pretended to be uninterested as he continued emptying the grocery bags and putting each thing on its right place.

They didn’t have a scheduled shopping routine. Whenever someone went out to get something, if anything was missing in the house, they would take the list that hung in the fridge door and get it.

“Well, this might sound selfish,” Lia continued with her mouth full. She licked her lips. “But I hope nobody falls in love with you, that way I can keep my best friend forever.”

He circled the kitchen island with a few things gathered in his hands, and in response to her comment, Noah leaned in and kissed her on the cheek, playfully taking a bite from her pop tart as he moved away to place a jar of pickles and canned corn in the low cupboard behind her.

“You can keep me anyway.”

He finished setting the groceries, engaging in a quick work with Lia that consisted on her emptying the bags from the remaining items inside and handing them to him as he moved from left to right in the space in the kitchen. It wasn’t long before he noticed Lia’s raised cheeks and the cheeky glint in her eyes and smile. He frowned as he finished folding the carboard bags and kept them in one of the drawers underneath the space where they had the microwave. He could sense she was holding something.

He quirked an eyebrow and set his elbows on the counter as he fixed his eyes on her.

"Okay, I know that look. What have you done?"

Lia hesitated for a moment, biting her lip before finally confessing.

"I got my left nipple pierced.”

Noah froze.

"You what?" The surprise in his voice was evident as his eyes widened.

Lia nonchalantly tugged at her t-shirt, flattening the thin white fabric against her chest, revealing the subtle glint of the tiny beads at each end of the metal bar of the piercing. The fact that she wasn’t wearing a bra was not a shocking reveal to Noah. Despite living in a house full of boys, Lia felt entirely at ease shedding the confines of that conventional piece of underwear when there were no outing plans for the day, and the domesticity and normalcy of it was something that they were all accustomed too. She was also used to finding Jolly or Mike walking around the house in just a towel wrapped around their hips and droplets of water falling from their hair. Nobody paid attention to each other’s skin. At least not when it came to showcasing or hinting at those areas of skin. However, Noah felt a lump in his throat as his eyes fixated not solely on the small but noticeable accessory, but on the little bud that held the piercing and the mount that was Lia’s left breast.

"When?" he managed to ask, the words almost automatic.

"A couple of days ago. It still pains," Lia admitted, releasing her shirt and breaking Noah's trance. “But I love it.”

"Who did it?"

Lia furrowed her brows, catching onto the unspoken question in his eyes.

"Are you gonna ask me if it was a guy who did it?"

"No, I just..." Noah began, struggling to articulate his thoughts.

Yes, he wanted to know.

"Amanda did it. From the tattoo shop downtown, next to the Vietnamese restaurant where we celebrated Bryan’s birthday last year,” she told him with a smirk.

Noah let out a breath he didn't realize he was holding, the tension releasing from his shoulders. Lia, chin raised, stood up and walked past him, and he couldn't help but watch her with a striking adoration.

"It's a shame you're not gonna be able to see it," she remarked with a sly grin.

"Very funny," Noah replied, trying to regain his composure while secretly grateful for the distraction. “Anyway, want some coffee? Tea?”

“Green tea, please.”

Five minutes later and with two cups in hand, he placed hers on the coffee table in front of the tv, where Lia had her iPad, her MacBook, and a handful of white papers with unfinished drawings on them. She was back on the floor, seated with her legs crossed, and Noah took a seat behind her, on the couch. His eyes scanned the myriad of sketches spread before them.

“How’s that going?”

Lia leaned back so that her head touched the side of Noah’s right knee, and perched on it comfortably as she lifted her iPad to show him her new ideas.

“I’m pretty happy with this one. What do you think?”

Noah took the iPad from her hands.

Soon enough, they found themselves deeply engaged in one of the so often discussions related to their art, exchanging ideas and tweaking designs. Noah’s suggestions always found a way to complement Lia’s artistic visions, and together they managed to craft concepts that felt uniquely representative of the band. As they solidified their choices for the upcoming drop, Lia’s fingers danced across her iPad while Noah’s danced on her hair, straightening the long strands, soft as silk and vanilla scented.

Five minutes turned into an hour, and come afternoon, the house was filled with the sounds coming from different voices, tuned instruments, and mixed sounds coming from the speakers in the room that the boys had neatly turned into the closest it could be to a real studio.

On days like this, the house transformed into a temple of art. The walls reverberated with melodies coming from the strumming of guitars, the beat of drums, and Noah’s melodic voice.

That space was the place where dreams were shared, and the tangible magic that enveloped the house was exactly what Lia had dreamed as a child, when she could only hear her mother’s screams and the rough voice of random men coming from the main bedroom in the house at late hours of the night.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, Noah went to bed with Lia’s silent and ever-lasting appreciation in his skin. She had touched his cheek before disappearing into her bedroom, reminding him with that soft, gentle, and nearly ethereal touch that she never forgot  hat he took her out of the shadows and gave her a place where she could explore herself and her abilities and skills as an artist. He had given her a chance to make magic, and for that, she would forever be grateful.

[sunlightandsuffering]

It’s the summer of Eren’s evolution from his normie to his manbun era, and the gang goes on a trip to the beach. Impromptu, Eren takes off his shirt and asks Mikasa’s help to apply sunscreen on his back, revealing his growing muscles and six-pack to her for the first time. Mikasa flushes down to her neck as she spreads sunscreen over his broad back, dragging out the process but wanting it to be over as soon as possible before she faints. She asks for a minute before joining them, girl needs to recollect herself

AWW I LOVE IT! but also after like u know she's so thorough, she's kicking herself!

Damn it Mikasa! She gives herself a little slap, trying to startle herself back to attention. What was she thinking?? How could she waste such an opportunity?

In a beach full of beautiful bikini-clad women Eren had asked HER to apply his sunscreen. Him, in all his shirtless glory had sweetly asked her to lather him up and she'd squandered her chance. It was by no means a shoddy job but it wasn't her best, she's sure she grazed over a few spots because she was worried she was going to faint, could have spent MUCH more time going over his pecs, making sure she got every divot of his abs.

She smacks herself again and Armin gives her a weird look but otherwise says nothing, how could she do this!? She'd allowed her embarrassment and shyness to get in the way of feeling up the love of her life who has suddenly become muscular! He looks like he came out of a GQ magazine, he's stunning, every muscle glistening in the sunlight, his bronzed skin shining. It's unfair, really! And girls are eyeing him up from all over, she can't even be sure about her own friend group, Hitch had kind of given her a look while she'd been lathering him up, a look of jealousy. She can't allow it! She needs another chance, she can't allow him to get burnt. And most of all, she needs to redeem herself, needs to shoot her shot, make Eren think about her exactly the way she's been thinking about him. He'd barely been phased by her sunscreen job, smiling and chattering away with her while she lotioned him up.

Meanwhile, she knows if it had been anyone else, especially Hitch, the girl would have been all over him, would have been working towards a goal that wasn't just sun protection, but rather a tent in his pants.

Damn it Mikasa! She must be more bold !

Her mother didn't raise her like this, would be disappointed at Mikasa's lack of initiative, she was raised better!

If she wanted something, she had to work for it, and that's precisely what she would do. "Eren!" Mikasa calls, gaining his attention easily from Hitch and Marco where he'd been discussing the possibility of a beach volleyball game.

"Yeah Miks?" He calls back, peaking over his sunglasses, the sun highlighting the caramel of his hair mixed in with deep chestnut all tucked into his bun. He's so beautiful her heart skips a beat, but she can see Hitch's hand on his arm and this is no time to be admiring him! "I think I should reapply before you start your game I don't want you to get burnt." He looks like he's about to protest for a moment, and she knows it's ridiculous, she's known Eren since they were five and he does not burn, especially not after one application of sunscreen that had occurred barely forty minutes ago. She needs to take her other weapons out, and before she can really think about it too much she drops the towel that she'd been using to cover herself up, allowing Eren to see her in her full glory. Her cheeks are hot as she feels his gaze slide over her form, lingering on her chest where her breasts are pushed together enticingly by her pink bikini. "I think I can see your back burning," she tries and Eren is already jogging over, leaving Marco and Hitch without further discussion.

"That would be great Mikasa," He tells her breathlessly, his eyes never straying from her chest where they are decidedly locked on her tits and she feels smug as Hitch glares from behind him.

She grabs the sunscreen, pouring a generous amount over her hands, "Maybe you could do me next?" "Oh Ackerman," he breathes out, his eyes finally moving to her own, and there's a very different look in them than there was earlier, "I'll do you all you want, you only have to ask." She giggles at the obvious innuendo as Eren sits down in front of her , and she takes her chance to straddle him from behind, pressing her chest against his back, her face peaking over his neck as she starts with the pecs she's been dreaming about.

Her hands lather over his chest, her face right next to his, feeling every beat of his heart, every breath, and this is not an at all appropriate position for her to be putting sunscreen on him but she can't find it in herself to care. Especially not when Eren's hands find her thighs behind him, massaging them as he leans back into her. "This is nice Miki, how about we do this more often?" She squeaks a little as her hands slip over his nipples and he grunts in her ear, she didn't realize men could be so sensitive there too and her heart rate picks up. "How about every forty minutes until we leave, wouldn't want you to get burnt would we?" He hums, "How about we switch next time and while everyone is playing beach volleyball we sneak off to my car and I'll apply your sunscreen there." She drops her head to his neck, unable to continue as his hands massage her slowly, slinking up higher on her thighs, closer to her ass, "How about we just go right now?" "Deal." And then without even bothering to hide Eren grabs her and she finds herself in his arms as he books it to the car.

Mama Ackerman raised her well after all, it pays to take initiative sometimes.

[shieldbcund]

Coerthas gradually, over time, became more and more like home to him. He'll never forget the warm sunlight filtering through the great boughs of the Black Shroud, nor the bustling of adventurers filtering through the Caroline Canopy's open arms. He doesn't forget the warmth the Shroud manifests in the lush greenery, trickling streams, and his mother's bubbling laughter in the summer nights.

He'll never forget the warmth from the Shroud, but Coerthas has started to take him in. Perhaps not the same as his homeland, but its lamplights, crackling fireplaces, and forged friendships wrought in deep conversations and tender embraces were a start.

If not influenced by his mother's welcoming and amicable nature, then it's Romilda's friendliness and patience that forged the warmth in his heart. Acceptance, too, for what is and isn't known. He can recount many afternoons sitting in the Canopy, watching the airships do their rounds and exchange adventurers like marketplace gil. Whenever he sees the highlander's silver armor and red hair, it's like Starlight all over again.

Those Starlights have come and gone; he can't remember how long it's been since seeing his knight in shining armor.

Coerthan snow crunches underfoot, slowly giving way to the Falon Nest's cobblestone. Elouan strolls up the ramp and his side aches in remembrance, but he doesn't give it a soothing touch. Instead, he walks on with Soleil as his shadow in the growing sea of people. Elou finds himself passing House Knights and adventures, a mix of greys and coppers and golds of armor, until the glint of silver catches his eyes again.

Silver shining under the Coerthan sun, not unlike the blades and spears Ishgard's knights hold at Her gates. Instead of protecting a nation, this protects a memory. Memories, many times over, that have since been drowned and lost in sand, blood, and tears.

Elouan's breath catches in his throat and his heart skips multiple beats. Is--she's still--?

She's here?

"Romilda?"

The name escapes his lips before he can close them, voice soft and easily lost to the wind. Part of him hopes it's forgotten, mistake left in the past like his memories, but emerald eyes flit from a Durendaire knight to him. Elouan swallows. He freezes.

"...Elou? Mister Elouan, is that really you?" Her voice braves the cold, bringing warmth to the highlands that the Calamity eradicated. If the scar on his side is one he wants to forget, her voice redeems the area in its stead.

He doesn't feel any braver in this moment, but feet propel him forward on the innate need to know, to understand and hopefully realize what isn't a dream and what might very well be fantasy. It starts as a tepid walk and turns into a heartfelt, anxious jog over to his childhood hero. When he finally stops a fulm before her, he's no longer looking up to him. Rather, Elouan's looking down to meet her eyes. "I--I didn't know if I'd see you again. I, and--"

Romilda reaches, grabbing his hand in hers and brings him in for a hug. The paladin gives his hand a squeeze and he's wordless, swallowing whatever stammering thoughts that surface in his head.

"You did it."

"I'm proud of you, Elouan. Or should I say Ser Elouan."

She looks up to him, smile lifting her cheeks, and wraps an arm around his side for a solid, firm hug. Elouan's muscles initially tense, but those words take all the worry out of him. He melts into her hug and holds that hand like a lifeline; if he lets go, he'd not be standing. The elezen wraps an arm around her shoulders and hides his face into her hair, holding back tears as much as he can. He fails, ever the emotional thing, as they run down his cheeks.

You did it.

He did, didn't he? After all these years, he's become a paladin. All it took was one highlander and many, many afternoons at the Caroline Canopy. Elouan tries again for words, but his lower lip quivers and his breath comes out in shaky, soft draws. She just hugs him tighter, a soft chuckle leaving her lips, as she speaks once more.

"You've gotten so tall, but you're still a soft thing. I'm so proud of you, but you need to tell me your own stories, you hear?"

"It's time I listen for a change."

[like-rain-or-confetti]

Ghosts and Guilt (Draco Malfoy x Reader)

Wow, i FINALLY posted this after it being finished for MONTHS. smh.

Many thought it odd for Draco to keep the Manor. His parents had passed away and he had no intention of moving back in. It seemed more logical to sell it. Yet he kept that Manor in a tight grip.

A big empty house with no occupants. Only the memories of those who once crossed the threshold. Those from the outside would believe the Manor to be empty but that was wrong. Malfoy Manor was occupied. Old houses have many stories within their walls and Malfoy Manor was no different.

At first, Draco thought it was his mind playing tricks on him. His eyes creating what he wanted to see. You alive and well. Whilst that become something of a wish for Draco. He learned it wasn't his mind playing tricks. Some souls were stuck within the Manor. Entering against their will and never coming back out. Never heard of again.

The ghosts in the Manor were not like those of Hogwarts. In the Manor, they hid and mostly stayed quiet. Specifically hiding behind him- trying not to disturb Draco. However, he saw each and every one many times. A glimpse of a reflection in the mirror. Standing in the shadows, still as a statue, a soft creak of a floorboard every now and then. Sure, it was haunting, but the presence of ghosts was not what haunted him. What haunted Draco was the guilt attached with it. The ghosts being a reminder of what he and his family were ultimately responsible for. Those who were dragged into his home and never left.

All but one hid from him. You smiled at him, something you'd rather be struck dead than doing when you were alive. Maybe death was more freeing in such regards. Although Draco had suspicions as you never mentioned what had happened within these walls.

You led him on a walk, trying to avoid the sunlight. Even that couldn't be helped and your already opaque figure lost its detail and went completely transparent until out of the sun once more. You likely did it for his comfort. Something he didn't deserve. "The last you were here, you told me you had a baby on the way...?" "A boy. We called him Scorpius. He's thirteen now." Draco replied, finally turning to look you in the eye. It seemed a small gesture. Furthermore, it seemed the very least that you deserved. However, Draco couldn't. Even as much as he tried to redeem himself, he still wasn't good enough to even give you that. It sickened him, whilst it didn't seem to bother you. Although he had the memories of what he and his family had done and their actions cost you your life. That life was long gone and you didn't seem to remember any of it. He struggled to comprehend it yet it pained him nonetheless.

At first he thought it a gift that you had no memory of who you were or your life making the loss easier on you and therefore him. He was wrong. So very wrong. It could have killed him to see you so detached. "You've got that look again." You startled him from his thoughts. "What are you thinking about?" There was a moment of silence. He wanted to lie, tell you it was nothing but even that would add to his guilt. "I was thinking about how I got to move on, get married, have a child after everything I have done. Yet the only thing that you have is that knowledge." "It's hard to miss something you don't remember." You shrugged. "I don't remember much, only snippets of who I used to be." You said, unsure but choosing to believe in it. "If there ever was a me at all." "You existed." Draco replied firmly with clenched jaw. You stared at him for a while. "Is it time, Draco?" You asked gently. You went still, making him stop too. Silence filled the room. "Yes. It's about time I came back here and faced it all." Draco reasoned with himself aloud. "Some of us won't be out till early hours of the morning." You stated. "As for the others..." Draco shook his head. "Leave them to their peace. They deserve that much."

You continued to walk and Draco followed by your side. Draco looked up at the ceiling. This is the best thing he could offer them. Draco wanted to think of it like a little piece of refuge for those who were lost. An apology though he didn't know what could make up for the pain and suffering. A piece of the world tucked away where souls, like you, could rest.

"You know, it's not all bad." You began, looking around the rooms. "Your family left remnants behind. Everything is touched by darkness but when you look long enough, there are some happy memories within these walls." You explained. "You know that?" Draco asked. "We can feel it. It's impressions, get past the cold and it was once a home." You nodded slowly. "That was a long time ago." Draco said quietly. "It isn't anymore. Not for me anyway. This house hasn't been home for a very long time." "Do you remember when that changed?" You asked with a head tilt. "The very second Voldemort stepped into my house." Draco replied. "My parents were just as frightened as I was and look what came of it." "You were in too deep." You tried to console him, recalling Draco's story long ago. "A child. How could you have been expected to do anything?" Draco nodded before he spoke up. "I never realised how much my mother looked out for me, not until I became a parent myself." Draco smiled slightly. "It's funny how even if you aren't an affectionate person, you still find your ways of showing love to your children." "You've changed a lot Draco- I'm certain of it, you can't go through that and not have changed. You're better for it and your son is undoubtedly wonderful. I'm sure you've raised him well." You said. "I had a lot to learn." Draco replied. "But you did. There are people out there who don't have the bravery to do that." You retorted. "Like my parents?" There was a light silence upon the two of you. "Their views didn't change when it came to bloodlines and all that. However, they were much more timid and isolated." He said quietly, recalling his parents behaviour after the war.

Draco shifted uncomfortably at every wall, painting, furniture, anything that caught his eye- all under a thick layer of dust. "If this place bothers you so much then why keep it?" You asked flatly. "Because it is mine. Because I grew up here and my discomfort will never change what happened here." Draco said smoothly. "My family and I allowed all of this to happen. We don't get to be free of it because we aren't comfortable. A lot of lives were lost here, not one of them were comfortable for even a second." You nodded before taking a glance around the room. "When I think of this place...I feel nothing. I know I didn't want to be here. I know something bad happened but now there is nothing and I think...sometimes...so am I. Just a whisper of the past. A memory that's faded and will continue to fade with time." He wanted to perish the thought the very second you said it. Ironically, he couldn't imagine a world without you. There hadn't been since he was eleven. He reckoned if the world needed anyone to exist between the two of you- it would be you. He only wished that you weren't stuck in this dreary house. Yet you were and Draco was determined to keep it safe for you and everyone else who passed on here.

That was his promise. Those who walked the grounds had nothing to fear. There was no more pain and no banishment. Those who stayed behind. This was their home. Their permanent residence and it always would be. He'd pass it down to his son and he would pass it on to his own children, so on and so forth. If his bloodline dies, he made arrangements that the house would be left alone. If not possible, only then could the spirits of the house be moved. He had shared this knowledge with you long ago. A deal he made when he found out he had a child on the way. The house being passed down was an extension to the original plan.

"Does your son know? About us?" You asked. Draco shook his head. You stopped walking with him, digging your hands into your pockets. "You aren't honest about us to Scorpius. Why?" You asked. Draco looked at you momentarily. "It isn't his burden to bare. I don't want him to think badly of his grandparents or his name." Draco leaned forward. "These things can be told but the question is if it was worthwhile. I don't see any benefit to my son knowing what happened here. One day, this place will be his, the promise passed down to him and to any other future Malfoys. His job simply to leave the place be. Just let it gather dust and do what he wants in life." After a moment of silence, Draco continued. "My family were very good at passing down old traditions. Why should this be any different? Replace it with something better." You smiled slightly. "You're a good man, Draco." "I should have been better." He countered. "Anyone could say that they should have been different in hindsight. The real challenge is seeing how you are and making the changes you want to make. Lots of people never change, even when it hurts their own family. You're different for you...and for your son." You replied. "My wife helped with that...before she died." Draco murmured. "Married." You sighed almost fondly. "It must have been long ago. I see it in the way you look at me. Although I think you burden yourself with me...with everything." Draco turned his head, not quite facing you. "The Malfoy's are responsible for a lot of pain. No one was safe. You certainly weren't." Draco said. "If this is your final resting place. Then who am I to deny you even that when I denied you life?" You looked at him sadly, and your jaw tightened. "You were only a child." You said softly. "So were you." He shot back.

He moved to the door of the small study place. You passed through the wall with ease. Draco spoke. "I grew up an only child," Draco said. "I was the only one left to carry the prestigious Malfoy name. As my father before me had been." You took small steps, emerging from the shadows and sitting in an armchair that was in direct sunlight from the window. It made your transparent nature a little more visible. Some of your face being completely hidden by the light. Yet of what he could see, was an expression of calm. "I thought the name would die with me. I was okay with that. It seemed fitting." Draco nodded to himself. "Astoria wanted a child. She..." Draco swallowed hard. "She knew our time together would be shorter than we would have wanted and she didn't want me to be alone. I agreed to her wishes and after Scorpius...she was gone." Draco gestured to his surroundings. "I remembered hoping that she'd be here. Then just hated it because she'd have to face all of my wrongs and the consequences. Now I can only hope she's at peace." Draco finished. "She already knows, Draco. If she isn't here then it means she was able to move on and be where she was needed next." You replied. "I wish I could believe that." He murmured. "If that were true, why are you here?" He asked. You blinked a couple of times. "I don't have anywhere to move on to. It's strange. Before is gone- a foggy impression at best. The after isn't much better, Draco. How do you move forward when you don't even know which way was backwards?" "I'm sorry." Draco finally spoke after a pause of silence.

It had become a phrase that Draco had to become more acquainted with in his later years. At first it was merely an unsaid feeling. Then he finally said the words. Now, he had found the strength to apologise not just for his past but to his past. For no one did he mean it more. When you were alive, he refused to consider you a friend- you were beneath him. However, the second you were dragged into his home- you were most definitely his friend and that was only more so after your death. He learned to hold you in his heart, cherish you as he should have then when you were alive. A frightfully common scenario for the living. Never having the mind to cherish what we take for granted until it is gone. His life. His family. His home. His friends. His childhood. His status. Enemies that he learned weren't enemies at all. Nothing was set in stone and was ripped apart from the seams- no spell could ever repair his life. It was only a memory and one he couldn't always miss knowing those very circumstances got him this mess to begin with.

He apologised as the walk around the house was approaching the end- a full circle. You spoke up. "I forgive you, Draco. You've had my forgiveness this whole time." "You can't forgive me." Draco shook his head. "You don't remember what it was like before. If you could- you wouldn't forgive me. Not even if it meant it could reverse all of this." "Maybe." You said lightly, his response cracking your resolve. "Yet I forgive you nonetheless. If it's what you need. If it'll help you carry on. Then I give it to you. It is mine to give, no?" Draco smiled slightly. You were no different to what he remembered. Although he was certain you'd have a few hexes and a couple of unforgivable curses to offer him if you knew back then what would come next. He'd laugh with relief if you called him an insufferable prat one last time.

Finally the two of you were back in the hallway, facing the front door. Draco sighed quietly. "I hope you don't mind but...this place smothers me." Draco nodded to the front door and you smiled from the shadows, avoiding the sunlight. "Until next time, Draco Malfoy." Draco held his tongue before he could reply that he had no intention of being back here and if it were anyone- it would be Scorpius. Yet when he looked at you and saw your knowing smile, he reckoned you were thinking much further down the road of time. That even in death, people always find their way back to each other- should they be important enough. Draco smiled before he looked back to the door and turned the handle.

[lrialthewriter]

Prologue: Oversleeping on the Big Day

Word count: 1,029

Links: Part Intro || Chapter 1 (tbc)

Additional links: Protagonist Introductions!

Sun shined through the window as a beeping alarm started to ring throughout the room. A groan can be heard through the thick sheets of blankets messily covering a young man. He slowly reached out for the alarm at his bedside cabinet and slapped its button, almost throwing it and a nearby pair of glasses off its places. His arm still rested on the bedside for a few seconds before he quickly sat up, his messy ginger hair and brown eyes shined as the sunlight hit him in the face.

"Ah my eyes!" He said quickly, stumbling out of his bed and walking up on his windows to cover it. He sighed in relief as he finally stood up properly and took his glasses from the bedside cabinet.

He looked at the clock, '8:00', while normally he would wake up two hours earlier, but he stayed up a bit too late for his liking. The fact that they would finally start attending university excited him. Still, he didn't like the fact that he let himself wake up this late.

"The only redeeming factor is the fact it's just orientation week right now," he sighed as he went to start making his bed, it's a habit he developed during his times at the orphanage.

After finishing up, he finally decided to undo his curtains and look at the view from his room, a sliding door leading to a decently-sized balcony. He is still taking in the fact that at one point he has nowhere to go, but now he's somewhere he might as well call a dream home. He smiled as he went to quickly go to the bathroom and get himself ready, excited for the events that may happen today. After a short while he came out of the bathroom, dressed in a plain yellow collared shirt, his signature brown cargo pants. Contemplating between style and comfort, he had chosen the former and wore a pair of simple brown loafers.

After he tried (and failed) to style his hair, he took his messenger bag on his study table that he had prepared last night. He checked the contents one last time, chucked his phone, charger and earphones in before walking out of his room. As soon as he opened his door a whiff of garlic scent could be smelled as he entered the living room.

"You stayed up too late last night?" Perlad turned to the open kitchen to see a taller male figure facing against him, cooking fried rice. "Got too excited I assume?" He added.

Perlad scratched his head and laughed a bit as he walked towards the kitchen counter to prepare the plates. "Yeah, sorry about that Said. I had told I was gonna have breakfast for today" Perlad answered as he went to start preparing hot water and putting loose tea in a pot. "Do you want lavender or just some green tea?"

"Green tea would do, you probably need the caffeine anyways."

"I'm not that tired, Saimin."

"Well you aren't fully awake either." Saimin shook his head as he finished cooking and plated up the rice as well as finally put the side dishes on the table. Shaking his head did end up loosening the hair tie he's using, this made him sigh as he went to take it out fully revealing his shoulder-length bluish light gray hair and retying his hair.

Perlad just noticed how his roommate had been fully dressed, as he wore his signature dark blue turtleneck with grey pants. He had also found himself staring at his amethyst pendulum dangling on his neck as he finished everything up. He had probably noticed him stare and snapped his fingers in front of his face.

"Per, the tea." Saimin said calmly, gesturing at the teapot that had finished steeping.

"R-right! Sorry!" Perlad immediately stood up and went to get the tea, making sure not to burn himself as he went to pour the tea for both of them.

The two went on to eat in silence, just enjoying the meal they had on-hand. That is until Perlad spoke up, smiling as he finished his tea, "So? Are you excited to actually see R.U.I?"

Saimin shrugged, unlike his friend he didn't give much energy, "Somewhat, we toured it but there's no students during that day, so it would be interesting to see how the school works." He noted as he remembered the tour two weeks ago, it was a vacation time for the students so there weren't any activities during the time.

Perlad gasped as he finished up his meal and picked up his plate as he went to clean himself up. "I still can't believe I ended up being a scholar for that school!" He exclaimed as he also recalled the tour, "It's so huge! It lives up to the stuff we heard about it a year ago!" He continued as he started to clean up the sink.

His friend chuckled a bit as he stood up and had put the remaining plates at the sink. "Well you did end up staying up late because of it, I'll go prepare my remaining stuff. Tell me when you are done" Saimin softly said, it seems like his friend's enthusiasm was somewhat infecting him, which is rare.

Saimin went back to his room as Perlad finished the dishes. They take turns on collective chores, which was something they have done a lot and have gotten a hand of just syncing each other with regards to tasks. After a while Perlad finished and Saimin walked out, now wearing his grey trench coat alongside his casual black backpack.

"Are you ready?" Saimin asked as he looked around as he did some last minute checks.

Perlad nodded, "Yeah! Let's go! We might be late for the orientation ceremony!" He said as he started to walk towards the door and wear his shoes.

Saimin shook his head, slightly amused by his impatient friend, "You are the one who woke up late" he mumbled as he also walked towards the door, by this point Perlad was almost out of the door.

"I heard that!"

"I know."

Links: Part Intro || Chapter 1 (tbc)

Additional links: Protagonist Introductions!