#Blazing Fist of Courage

[libramuva]

Blazing Fist of Courage

In this electrifying drawing, a young warrior with a shock of wild, spiky hair stands defiantly, channeling the raw intensity of a fiery tempest. His fist, engulfed in roaring flames, hurtles forward, aimed at an unseen foe with unyielding precision. The warrior's eyes, aglow with fierce, unwavering resolve, pierce through the chaos, burning with the promise of victory. Ashes and embers dance frantically around him, caught in the whirlwind of his sheer force, painting the scene with a symphony of orange and red. This is not just a battle—it's a vivid testament to the unstoppable spirit of courage.

[unpopularwriter25]

A Gentle Wind

Summary: After the battle, the group arrives at the Butterfly Mansion for much-needed rest and recovery. When Sanemi's abrasive nature sparks a confrontation, the reader steps in to defend her friends. Her fiery spirit leaves the Wind Hashira stunned and unexpectedly smitten.

Warnings: None

The soft rustling of leaves in the Butterfly Mansion garden was a gentle contrast to the tension that crackled in the air. Tanjiro, Zenitsu, and Inosuke had just arrived, weary and battered, seeking solace and healing. However, the atmosphere shifted as Sanemi Shinazugawa, the Wind Hashira, made his presence known with his usual bluntness.

"You three idiots better not mess things up here," Sanemi barked, his tone as sharp as his blade. "You're lucky to even be alive."

Inosuke bristled, fists clenching, but before he could respond, you stepped forward, your eyes blazing with determination. "That’s enough, Sanemi," you snapped, standing protectively in front of your friends. "They’ve been through enough without you berating them."

Sanemi's eyes narrowed, a storm brewing within them. "And who are you to lecture me? Do you know who you're talking to?"

"Yes, I do," you replied firmly. "I’m talking to someone who should know better than to kick people when they’re down. They’ve fought hard and deserve respect, not ridicule."

Sanemi's lip curled in a sneer. "Respect? From me? They're a bunch of reckless brats who need to learn their place."

"Reckless?" you shot back, stepping closer, undeterred by his intimidating presence. "They’re brave. They’ve risked their lives to protect others. If that’s what you call reckless, then maybe you need to rethink what it means to be a Demon Slayer."

Tanjiro placed a gentle hand on your shoulder, trying to calm you. "It's okay, [Y/N], we don’t want to cause any trouble."

You shrugged his hand off, not breaking eye contact with Sanemi. "No, Tanjiro. Someone needs to stand up to him. You’ve all done nothing but give your best, and you deserve better than this."

Sanemi's eyes flickered with surprise and something else—was it admiration? "You’ve got a lot of nerve talking to me like that," he muttered, his voice low.

"And you’ve got a lot of nerve treating people like they’re beneath you," you retorted. "Being a Hashira doesn’t give you the right to be a bully."

Zenitsu, hiding behind Inosuke, peeked out and added nervously, "She’s right, you know. We’re all on the same side."

Inosuke, ever the blunt one, huffed. "Yeah, what she said! Back off, Wind Guy!"

Sanemi's gaze softened just a fraction, but his voice remained gruff. "You think you’re something special, don’t you? Protecting them like this?"

"Yes, I do," you said, lifting your chin defiantly. "Because they are special. And if you can’t see that, then maybe you’re not as strong as you think you are."

A tense silence settled over the garden. The colorful butterflies fluttered around, oblivious to the conflict, while the sweet scent of blooming flowers filled the air. Your friends watched with wide eyes, clearly impressed by your courage.

"You've got guts," Sanemi muttered, a flicker of something softer passing through his harsh demeanor.

"I’m just protecting my friends," you said, turning on your heel with a huff. "Maybe you should try it sometime." With that, you marched back into the mansion, leaving a stunned Sanemi in your wake.

Sanemi stood rooted to the spot, the words replaying in his mind. The fire in your eyes, the unwavering strength in your voice—it was unlike anything he’d ever encountered. He watched as you disappeared into the mansion, his heart pounding in a way it never had before.

For the first time, the fierce Wind Hashira felt something other than anger and duty. He felt admiration, respect, and something he could hardly name. But as he stood there, surrounded by the serene beauty of the Butterfly Mansion, Sanemi was sure of one thing.

He was in love.

[infamous-light]

You Belong to Me Ch. 4

Alcina Dimitrescu x F! Reader

Ch. 1 Ch. 2 Ch. 3

AO3: You Belong to Me

Summary: Lady Dimitrescu's obsession knows no bounds as she becomes increasingly possessive over you. Will you succumb to her dark embrace, or find a way to break free before it's too late?

Word Count: 2.3K

Warnings: Yandere, possessive/obsessive behavior, drugged

The air was thick with tension as you found yourself seated in the same chair positioned before Lady Dimitrescu's desk. Her figure loomed beside you, towering and imposing, her eyes blazing with barely restrained fury. The weight of her displeasure made your heart pound erratically inside of your chest.

“I've been told you were wandering the halls instead of having lunch as I instructed.” Lady Dimitrescu said, her voice low and dangerous.

You shifted uncomfortably under her gaze, trying to muster the courage to speak. “I-I was just talking to the staff. I didn't think it would be a problem.”

Her eyes flashed with anger, and she took a deliberate step closer, the sharp click of her heels echoing against the wooden floor. She stopped just in front of you, planting her hands firmly on her hips, adding an intimidating edge to her stance. Instinctively, you pressed yourself against the back of the chair, desperate to put some distance between you and her as much as possible.

“You didn't think it would be a problem?” Lady Dimitrescu repeated, her tone unsettlingly calm. “Bela informed me that you were meddling in areas that you had no business being in, ignoring my explicit instruction.”

As her words sank in, your palms grew clammy with sweat.

“I-I didn’t mean to." You stammered.

"You didn't mean to," she repeated, her tone laced with icy mockery. "That's hardly an excuse. I told you to have lunch, not wander off wherever you felt like."

You went silent, the weight of her disapproval heavy in the air. But the nagging thought of why she was so insistent on preventing you from speaking to the staff gnawed at you, refusing to be ignored.

"Why am I not allowed to talk to anyone?” You finally asked, hesitant. “I was only trying to-"

“It was a recent decision I made,” Lady Dimitrescu interrupted, her voice slicing through the air like a blade, sharp and unyielding. “My daughters simply carried out my orders and I expect you to obey without question.”

To your surprise, a surge of anger flared within you. You weren’t being given a proper answer.

Her reprimand felt like an unjustified attack, each word stinging like a lash against your skin. The venom in her voice caused a small knot to tighten in your stomach, and you found yourself clenching and unclenching your fists in a desperate attempt to release some of the mounting tension that stiffened your muscles. Yet, despite your efforts, the frustration within you continued to grow, threatening to boil over at any moment. Consequences be damned. The only thing that mattered now was standing your ground, even if it meant facing the repercussions later.

“But why,” you finally managed to grit out through clenched teeth, fixing her with a steely glare. “I don't understand why I can't-”

“Because you are mine!” Lady Dimitrescu snapped.

Her hands came crashing down on the arms of the chair, effectively boxing you in with such force that the wood creaked under the pressure. The sudden invasion of your personal space made you instinctively flinch back.

“You are my pet!” She declared, her grip tightening on the chair's arms, her nails digging into the polished wood. “You belong to me and no one else can have you! Is that clear!?”

At that moment, you were paralyzed by shock, rendered speechless as the gravity of her words took hold. Lady Dimitrescu’s claim over you was beyond possessive; it was deranged. Her gaze pierced into yours, unrelenting and fierce, and in her eyes, you saw a madness that threatened to consume you entirely. Then, a chilling smile spread across Lady Dimitrescu's lips, clearly amused by the look of disbelief on your face. With a calculated slowness, she leaned in, closing the distance between you two until her mouth hovered a mere inch from yours, her breath lukewarm against your lips.

“You belong to me now,” she purred, her words dripping with sinister satisfaction. “Every breath you take, every beat of your heart, is mine to command.”

With a gentle yet unnerving touch, she extended her right hand, running the back of her fingers down the side of your face. The delicate caress left a trail of dread in its wake.

“You are mine, now and forever,” her voice softened, almost tender, but the menace in her tone was still unmistakable. “And don't even think of escaping either, for I will find you. Always.”

You could only stare up at her in horror.

Lady Dimitrescu's gaze hardened once more, her expression shifting from predatory satisfaction to stern authority.

“Now, regarding your insolence,” she began, her words sharp but controlled. “I will grant some leniency this time. You were not previously made aware of the rule prohibiting interaction with anyone besides myself and my daughters until now,” she paused, allowing her words to hang in the air. “However, this will be your only warning. Disobey me again and the consequences will be far less forgiving. Do I make myself clear?”

The threat lingered in the air, thick and suffocating, like a dense fog enveloping the room.

“Yes, my Lady.” You responded, low and deferential, feeling defeated.

There was a long, tense silence. You could feel her eyes boring into you, evaluating, considering.

Finally, she spoke. “Good. Remember your place.”

Your teeth ground together, the muscles in your jaw tightening with suppressed anger. You forced yourself to breathe slowly, even as your thoughts raged against her.

***

For the rest of the afternoon, you remained quiet. Lady Dimitrescu didn’t say much either.

Every now and then, her eyes would flicker toward you, a cold, calculating look that made the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end. To distract yourself, you studied the intricate patterns on the walls, but the oppressive atmosphere made it nearly impossible to concentrate on anything other than the formidable presence of the Lady.

The clock on the wall ticked away the minutes, each second stretching into what felt like an eternity. You dared not to speak, sensing that any interruption would be met with a fierce glare and harsh words. Instead, you observed her with cautious glances, noting the way her long, gloved fingers moved the fountain pen gracefully, yet purposefully, over the documents. Occasionally, she would let out a soft, almost inaudible sigh, her brow furrowing in thought.

As the afternoon light began to wane, casting long shadows across the room, Lady Dimitrescu set down the pen she had been using and leaned back in her chair. Her eyes narrowed as she stared down at you.

“I grow weary of sifting through these endless papers,” she sighed, her fatigue evident. “I’d say it’s time we had dinner.”

At the mention of food, your stomach couldn't help but betray you with a low, rumbling growl.

Lady Dimitrescu's lips quirked upward into an amused smile. “Hungry, are we?”

Your face flushed in embarrassment as you reluctantly admitted, “Yes, my Lady.”

“Now, we can’t have that,” she continued, her tone dripping with faux concern. “It would reflect poorly on me if I allowed my pet to starve.”

The word pet cuts through you like a knife, stirring a deep-seated loathing.

Lady Dimitrescu’s eyes twinkled in amusement. It was as if she could read your thoughts. “Let’s not waste any more time. Come.”

***

Lady Dimitrescu strode ahead with an air of effortless grace.

Her heels clicked softly against the carpet, each step measured and purposeful. You found yourself struggling to match her brisk pace, your shorter strides turning your attempt to keep up into a near jog. She glanced back at you, her eyes gleaming with that familiar, infuriating amusement.

“Keep up, pet.” She purred, the endearment laced with mockery.

You bit back a retort, knowing it would only amuse her further and perhaps invite more of her playful cruelty. A smile tugged at the corners of her lips as she turned away, continuing to lead you further down the dimly lit hallway.

Finally, you reached the entrance of the dining room.

The moment you stepped inside, the Lady's daughters all turned their gazes toward you. They exchanged knowing glances with each other, their lips curling into slight, conspiratorial smiles. The sight made your skin prickle, an unsettling sensation creeping over you. Lady Dimitrescu swept past you, taking her place at the head of the table. She cast a glance in your direction, a faint smile playing on her lips, her eyes glinting with an unreadable expression.

You couldn't understand why everyone was behaving so oddly. It was as if everyone but you were in on some elaborate joke. Despite the strangeness, you took your place at the table, the empty seat between Bela and Daniela waiting for you like a reserved spot. The table was already set with a lavish spread of delicacies that seemed almost too extravagant to consume. Silver platters overflowed with an assortment of roasted meats, vibrant fruits, and freshly baked pastries still warm from the oven. The sight of such a feast started to make your mouth water.

Daniela giggled and inched closer into your space, her breath lukewarm against your cheek. “Looks like someone is hungry.”

Heat rose up your neck and you leaned back, putting a bit of space between yourself and Daniela. In your sudden movement, your left shoulder grazed against Bela's own, drawing her attention. She turned to you, her eyebrow arched in amusement, a small smirk appearing on her lips. You averted your gaze quickly, heat spreading across your face even more.

Lady Dimitrescu observed the scene with a wide smile, then addressed everyone at the dining table, declaring, “You may eat.”

You picked up your fork and knife, cutting into the succulent roast in front of you. Each bite was a burst of flavor, the tender meat practically melting in your mouth. You reached for your glass next, your fingertips brushing against the smooth surface of the cool crystal. Unlike the dark red liquid swirling in their glasses, yours held only clear, pure water. As you raised the glass to your lips, you paused, noticing the way everyone was staring at you. Four sets of golden eyes, radiant and unblinking, seemed to scrutinize your every move.

You frowned, a hint of unease threading into your thoughts as you wondered why they were all watching you. Swallowing thickly, you took a sip. The water was cool and refreshing, soothing your parched throat, yet there was an odd undertone to its taste, a faint hint of something unfamiliar. It wasn't unpleasant, but it was enough to make you stop drinking. You set the glass back down, the soft clink sounding louder than it should in the heavy silence.

Lady Dimitrescu watched you intently over the rim of her wine glass, taking a slow, deliberate sip.

For a moment, you felt fine, but suddenly, a cold sweat began to bead across your forehead. You tried to focus, to clear your head, but a sudden wave of dizziness hit you. The room began to spin slightly, and you had to grip the edge of the table to steady yourself. Your vision blurred momentarily, forcing you to blink rapidly to clear it. Through the haze, you could see her smile widening ever so slightly.

“Is something the matter, dear?” Lady Dimitrescu asked mockingly, her sweet tone clashing with the sadistic gleam in her eyes.

You took a deep breath, desperately trying to calm yourself, but it was no use. The dizziness worsened, making it difficult to focus on anything. Their figures began to transform into indistinct, hazy silhouettes, their features lost in the dim light. You attempted to speak, to ask what was happening, but your voice came out weak and slurred.

“W-What-” You managed to croak out, your throat tight and painfully dry.

Panic surged through you, and you shot out of your seat, the force knocking over your chair with a loud clatter. The sound echoed through the room, yet no one moved to help you. Your heart pounded fiercely in your chest, each beat sending a fresh wave of nausea through you.

“What-” you stammered, grappling with the words before you finally managed to force them out. “What the hell did you do to me!?” You demanded, your voice cracking with fear and anger.

She leisurely raised her glass of wine, taking another sip with an air of detached amusement. After swallowing, she turned her attention back, her eyes glinting with a cold, mocking light.

“Calm down, pet. You'll only tire yourself out.” Lady Dimitrescu drawled, her tone dripping with condescension.

Her daughters snickered, their cruel laughter ringing in your ears. You stumbled back from the table, attempting to get far away from them. However, your vision almost went black, and your legs buckled beneath you, sending you crashing to the floor.

A pair of arms suddenly wrapped around your waist, firm yet surprisingly gentle, preventing you from falling to the floor. With a controlled, almost tender motion, you were slowly lowered until you lay on the ground.

“Oh my.” An airy voice giggled. Daniela had caught you, her features alight with mirth as she beamed down at you.

“G-Get off me.” You mumbled, your words barely coherent as you weakly attempted to push her away from you. Daniela's grip tightened, her laughter tinkling like a delicate bell.

You heard the others chuckle as they closed in around you, forming a tight circle of predatory grins and glittering eyes. Their amusement only grew with each whimper and groan of frustration that left your lips.

Cassandra knelt beside you; her gaze fixed on your face with an over-exaggerated pout. “Oh, don't be like that.” She cooed. Her hand reached out, gently brushing the sweat-drenched hair away from your forehead. You hated her touch, but you were too weak to bat her hand away as your limbs were heavy and unresponsive.

As you looked up at Lady Dimitrescu, a mixture of fear and confusion clouded your eyes, your helplessness evident. She maintained her serene smile as she gazed down at you.

“Take her upstairs, Bela.” Lady Dimitrescu instructed softly, turning toward her eldest daughter.

“Yes, mother.” She responded.

Bela stepped forward and knelt beside you. The world around you blurred violently as she hoisted you up, the dim light of the room fading into obscurity. With the last of your strength ebbing away, your vision darkened around the edges and the overwhelming exhaustion dragged you into unconsciousness.

[yaut-jaknowit]

Suspect

Pairing: We'ar-ow (Female Yautja) x GN!Yautja (Platonic)

Word Count: 2979

Summary: After the attack that left you a mess and marred you skin, We'ar-ow has increased her protectiveness of you. She's constantly has you either in her lap for scent marking or somehow less than five feet from her. You no longer sleep in your own room. Just hers.

Author Note: I think we all know who the suspect is. Said suspect will surely pay for the pain they caused. We'ar-ow will make sure of it. Also, side note, I'm hyperfixating on Marble Hornets and Toby Rogers... again so if I'm slow to post, blame them

Masterlist

Ao3

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15 | Part 16 | Part 17 | Part 18

The tension in the air could be cut with a blade. It latched onto every other form that sat at the council table before her. It was a dreaded, cold feeling that leeched away the heat from the room. We’ar-ow easily produced it all with the intense expression on her face. She stood at the end, palms flat on the table. The last of her words leaving her mouth. Her eyes filled with the fire that burned her soul and created her personality.

No one spoke or dared to move a muscle. Their terror of their monarch palpated through the air. All of their eyes were trained on her. We’ar-ow scanned along the room and waited for someone, anyone to speak up. For a single being to have any sort of clue to what happened and why her ooman was attacked.

A huff surpassed her mandibles. We’ar-ow stood straight up and looked down upon her councilmembers. “Does no one have anything to say? At all? Was no one aware that that sector had gone down, including life support? How could this happen? If any of you have an issue with my pet, grow some courage and come after me,” she snarled then slammed a fist down onto the table.

“I said, does no one have anything to say or report?!” We’ar-ow spat at her group, ready to tear into the closest councilmember until someone speaks up.

Out of everyone, Xilomere was the only one lax yet on high alert. There was a reason We’ar-ow was crowned as Monarch for this clan. A tilted earned, not bestowed. He was ready at only a beck to back up We’ar-ow. There must be order in the clan unless it falls to ruin.

Off to the right, a throat is cleared. Dunkot stands up and nods his head at We’ar-ow. “Monarch, as commander of security, I have no reports to speak of. There hasn’t been anything to be alerted of. I will personally look at the footage we have of the area and report to you of my findings immediately,” Dunkot rasped and met her blazing eyes for a fleeting moment.

One of We’ar-ow’s upper mandibles flinched. “Go now. I want a report within the hour.” Dunkot took his leave swiftly and left a trail of fear out the door. Not that anyone noticed as the room reeked of it.

She looked around the table again, but no one dared looked her in the eye. “Anyone else?” More once, complete silence. We’ar-ow stiffy rolled her eyes. “Everyone out! Be useful or I’ll find someone else to do the job.”

Everyone rapidly filed out of the room besides Xilomere. He stayed and leaned back in his chair, feet thrown up onto the table. “We’ar-ow, this is the most intense I’ve seen you. I’ve got to be honest with you: what is truly bothering you?” he asked the Monarch.

We’ar-ow plopped down in the chair and placed her forehead in her palm, elbow resting on the table. “This isn’t the first attack on the ooman. This time, it was planned. It had to be,” she conferred with him and looked at him with what could be considered pleading eyes. “I will not stand by and let my pet get injured because someone had a problem.”

Xilomere twitched his mandibles and nodded. “Alright. And you know I will stand by your side even if this ship implodes. Now, we have to ask the hard questions. Why would someone attack the little thing? No respectful Yautja would even think of such a thing. And why now? No one had a problem the week after the ooman arrived. No one dared attacked.”

The questions made the Monarch think. An idea struck her. “I know who it is: Dwainet. That little snob of mucus!” We’ar-ow stood up abruptly, ready to mow down anyone to get to the thorn in her side.

The male got to his feet as well and put his hands out. “Whoa, whoa there missy. You can’t do a thing him without evidence.”

C’jit. He was right. Her mandibles were wildly fretting and clicked against one another. She slowly turned towards Xilomere. “I will get the evidence and flay him alive. I will have his head mounted on my wall… no, no. Above my pet’s door, daring anyone to hurt them again,” We’ar-ow stated firmly. It had become fact and not even Paya could challenge her words.

“And I’ll ensure the door is locked so the little gnat cannot escape for even a second,” Xilomere proclaimed and stood by his Monarch’s side. Through thick and thin.

A pink hand rested on his shoulder and gave a firm shake. “I thank you, my dearest hunt brother for your words and backup. I could not and would not ask for a different soul in all my years.” Xilomere smiled at her words and bowed his head.

“My monarch, are something different.” A pregnant pause for their words to settle in fell upon them. Xilomere brushed off We’ar-ow’s hand. “Now, you must return to your pet and ensure their safety. I will investigate myself. I will look into every dark corner and turn over every rock to find the evidence we need.”

Through the haze of her rage, We’ar-ow nearly forgotten about her little ooman pet curled up in her bed once more. A second attack in two days was not a coincidence. Neither was the first one. Dwainet had tried to kill you from the marks of your neck, that was evident. It had failed. An accident she was thankful for. Sorrow would fill her veins as she would mourn over your loss.

.

In a state of exhaustion yet wakefulness, you jolted when the door hissed and groaned when the movement pulled at your fresh wounds. Sleep had not found you. It felt like it was keeping a twenty foot pole between the two of you. You wanted nothing more than to simply sleep away the pain, to pass out and forget about the day’s event for just a moment. The world hated you.

The brighter light from the main room filtered into the dimly lit bedroom. It was harsh on your eyes, forcing you to bury your face back into the blankets as a shield.

Seconds ticked by before it suddenly hits you. You scrambled to sit up on your knees and reached for the knife that perched on your hip. It’s spot empty. Your eyes snapped wide open. The realization dawning over you that whoever entered could’ve killed you without even struggling.

Everything returned to the low light situation from before you. A sight you were most thankful for. Through the pain that throbbed behind your eyes, you peered up and sagged in relief.

We’ar-ow stood just shy of the closed door, face neutral. Her bright eyes nearly shined through the creeping darkness and scanned over your form. Whatever she found pleased her, the Yautja moved towards you and sat down on the low bed. Her hand reached out, carrying a weight of timidness, and cupped your cheek.

You didn’t have it in you to speak and felt like if one wrong thing was said could set her off. You didn’t need to know the alien long to see the tension that wormed its way into her muscles. Worse of all, you couldn’t tell if you were relieved to see this seething anger about the fact you had been injured or dreadful. Did she care about you or was this just because this posed a threat to her status? You attempted to bow your head but her hand stopped you.

The two of you stared into the other’s eyes, searching. For what? You mentally shrugged.

Whatever held this trance of We’ar-ow vanished and her hand fell away. “How do you feel?” she questioned and stood up. You followed her with your eyes while she moved towards the bathroom but didn’t turn the light fully on. The same dimness filled the space.

Through the lump gathering in your throat, you swallowed it harshly down. “Hurts. Couldn’t sleep.” You rubbed at your crispy eyes and licked at your dry lips. “I probably have a concussion from how hard I was slammed into the ground,” you rasped in a monotone voice.

A short hum came from the bathroom. We’ar-ow exited the connected room with a glass in one hand and a box in the other. Her lethal form stalked across the room swiftly and sat back down on the edge of the mattress. The glass was offered to you. Which, you took her up on it and sipped away at the clear liquid.

Silence engulfed the room to the point you heard your own heartbeat. A ringing began in your ears. We’ar-ow set down the box at your side and opened it up. Medical items were revealed to you. “Turn around.” Her voice gruff with the order.

In the haze and cotton that still filled your brain, you wiggled your body to have your back to face the alien. Warm, coarse hands touched at your shoulder. You couldn’t help the jerk or the gasp. “Calm, little ooman.” Ashamed, you bowed your head and muttered a short apology to her. You hated this feeling of weakness in front of her. Yet, there was nothing you could do in the moment besides cowering in her room.

The thick, sticky bandage that covered the claw marks on your back was pulled off to reveal a nasty, angry sight. You shuttered at the fresh air touching the damp skin.

“Did… did you find out, out who…?” you trailed off, unable to finish the sentence. Her fingertips ran a path down between two of the claw marks. Another shutter raked your sore frame.

“Not yet.” Despite the headache pounding inside of your rattled brain, you picked up on her choice of words. ‘Yet’. She was actively searching for the perpetrator.

In this dark moment of your pathetic life, you needed the light she sparked in your chest. Anything not to wallow in your sorrow and mourn over the day. “Okay,” you whispered, lips barely even opening to let loose the word.

A new silence overcame your voices. Neither of you finding the energy or focus to talk. We’ar-ow worked away though on clearing the fresh wound again and covering it once more. A heavy hand rested on your shoulder after she finished and tugged you towards her.

The Yautja easily turned you around and sat you in her lap, arms mindfully wrapped around your torso. In your vulnerable state, you leaned into her chest. This wasn’t the first nor, you believed, the last time you would sit in her lap. She held you close, like a protective shield against the monsters on this ship hunting you.

“I will protect you, little ooman.” Your heart swelled, needing reassuring words. “You are my pet and no one shall hurt you again.” Then harsh reality crashed down on you. Nothing more but a pet. Your facial expression soured, not that We’ar-ow could see it anyhow. You just stayed, limp against her chest and trying to find sleep in the moment of semi peace.

.

Over what felt like a week, We’ar-ow rarely left her quarters. Not that she was at your every beck and call. But, the Yautja was mindful of what you needed.

Water for every time your glass goes empty. Three meals throughout the day and snacks as well. The wounds on your back cared for every day. Your tablet had been replaced. All the data lost and forcing you to start from scratch. But, from the depths of your mind, you knew the foundations of your plan and the backup ones as well. You had engraved it. You wanted to go back home, leave this wretched place.

Time passed swiftly over that week. She kept you close, never letting you leave her sight. This included bedtime. Instead of letting you sleep in the room she has given you, We’ar-ow has you constantly nestled into her massive mattress and many pelts. Deep down, a thought you wouldn’t admit, you didn’t mind sleeping in the same bed as her. It was a comfort you had missed, feeling touched starved. Dwainet would cuddle with you every night. With him gone, it was hard to recover.

Today was no different. You had woken up to a gentle shake on your shoulder and the face of We’ar-ow. Said Yautja motioned her head towards the open bedroom door. “Food is prepared. Come and eat.” Then, she stood to her full height and exited.

The door stayed open. An open invitation to follow her out. You stretched out with a big yawn but winced when it pulled at the claw marks. A groan sounded from your lips. You pulled yourself out of bed and meandered into the main area of her quarters.

We’ar-ow had made her way into the kitchen and dished herself a plate. It was set down next to your spot at the counter. You continued your way over to the dish and sat down with a huff. All this sleep made you feel tired and ready to simply pass out again. But with the way your stomach snarled and grumbled for food forced you to follow the scent of food.

It took little time to finish off the plate. A quick thanks was sent to the Yautja. You didn’t move though and stayed perched on the stool. The skin of your bottom lip was gnawed on while deep in thought.

Questions whirling around before you grew enough courage to speak up. “We’ar-ow… are there any updates?” Your voice was meek and quiet in already calm room.

During this entire time, she’s not once mentioned the attacks or who was responsible for them. You couldn’t tell if that increased your anxiety or somehow put it to ease knowing she was handling the situation. Yet, if they hadn’t gotten the attacker, meant they were still at large and could… attack again. They could fulfill their mission.

She set down the clean plate on a drying rack and peered at you. “I am dealing with the situation,” she answered shortly. You knew that had to mean she hadn’t found out. Your whole body sagged, nearly curling into itself as if that could be your shield.

Breakfast was over. We’ar-ow moved over to a couch in the main living area of her quarters and pulled out a tablet device like yours. Your eyes darted between her and the familiar entrance to her bedroom. Her bed practically calling your name.

One the last look at the salmon pink Yautja, you paused and admired her lethal form. Not necessarily bulky or lean. A mix of both. Her tresses hung from her strangely shaped head. A cascade of what looked to rubbery dreads that were all a light black with a hint of undertone brown. Two of her tresses were painted a pink similar to color of her skin.

The middle of her torso was colored a creamy white that started from her neck and down the insides of her thighs and touched the arch of her feet. Purple splashes marked her scales in random spots.

A creature born and bred for danger and death. Yet, here you stood, as her pet, alive and soon-to-be well in her care. You caved into the thoughts that sat in the back of your mind.

Within a few steps over to her, you timidly lowered yourself next to her. It was a strange feeling to crave the touch of an alien that surely didn’t want anything to do with you. But you needed it, like a drug to keep your heart beating.

The weeks have come crashing down on your fragile form in a dangerous world. You craved comfort, touch, anything to let you know it was going to be okay. Because after a near death experience that you endured a week ago, you were ready to collapse and bawl your eyes out. Again.

Her heavier weight caused the couch to dip further than your own. When she shifted, it caught you and dragged over to her side and forced you to be pressed into her torso. The Yautja barely even reacted besides another simple shift of her hips. She continued on with the tablet and let you stay. And stay you did.

The warmth engulfed you. A feeling welled up inside of you, making you feel gross. You should be disgusted or terrified even to be this close to her. The fact you’re not furthered that growing feeling. You were used to be touched by her when she held you in her lap and scent marked you every week or so. This was different than that though.

In a floating haze of being awake and asleep at the same time, you feel the Yautja at your side vibrate with a growl and tense up. Irritation grew in your veins at the fact you were forced to be in a more awakened state. You groaned and nuzzled more into her side, delirious in the moment.

The action caused you to slip down into her lap. Mentally, you shrugged it off. You shifted around to lay down properly on her lap, head resting on one of massive thighs. They were muscle as much as of her body was corded with it but they were still comfortable to lay on.

All of the tension in We’ar-ow’s body washed off of her form. She placed a palm on your head and softly scratched her claws mindlessly over your scalp. An action that had you dazed and on the verge of passing out on the second stroke alone. You hummed and became lax, body completely malleable if need be.

The sounds of the room faded out as you embraced the peacefulness.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15 | Part 16 | Part 17 | Part 18

[fangsandfracturedhearts]

Fangs and Fractured Hearts

Chapter 16: Riddles

Summary: After embracing eternity as a vampire spawn under Astarion's wing, the Crimson Palace becomes a haunting symbol of the man he once was. As his personality unravels into a dark abyss, you flee. A year of hardship unveils the harsh reality of existence as a vampire spawn.

Just as all hope seems lost, a twist of fate reunites you with Astarion, revealing a glimmer of hope amidst the shadows. As you navigate the complexities of your relationship, you must confront the unsettling truth behind the Rite of Profane Ascension and the devilish secrets it holds.

In a race against time, you embark on a daring quest to save Astarion from his descent into darkness. With each choice you make, the stakes grow higher, testing the limits of your courage and determination.

Will Astarion find redemption, or is he destined to succumb to his own inner turmoil?

Word Count: 6.8k

Pairing: Ascended Astarion x female!Tav Spawn

Warnings: [Will try to continue to add more, but in general expect explicit content for mature audiences]

Possible spoilers. Eventual Explicit Content. Slow Burn. Thoughts of Suicide. Violence. Blood. Injury. Mature Content. Self-Harm. Mentions of in-game content. Completely fabricated camp events. Mentions of Astarion's Trauma.

If you notice a very critical tag missing, please don't hesitate to let me know

Rating: Explicit 18+ - [Meant For Mature Audience]

The manor is mute except for the scratch of paper as you flip the page of Astarion’s sketchbook and contemplate the detailed drawing of yourself. You frown as you try to brush the name over the woman, painting her with the letters and hues of every syllable. It doesn’t matter what portrait you look at; the name still feels foreign and unrecognizable.

Whoever the woman in these drawings is, she is lost to you. She took her name to the grave, and some things cannot be exhumed. You close the book, your eyes sailing up the wall toward the ceiling.

Should you miss her? Grieve her? Forget her?

Climbing onto the bed, you hold your palm out, summoning the flames from the candles. You close your fist to extinguish them and let the black wings of darkness envelop the room. You have a strange feeling that you’re not entirely that woman any longer, which you can’t put into words. You were disassembled somewhere between life, death, and this everlasting afterlife, and your pieces weren’t arranged in quite the same pattern.

You have lost and gained so much in so little time. Would you recognize yourself even if you had a reflection?

There’s an ache in the vacant chamber where your dead heart hangs, frozen in the static state of death. The pang of discomfort doesn’t belong to you, though. Astarion has been leaving the link open more and more, and you’re learning what he meant when he said the world around him seems to move in slow motion.  

You once made the mistake of thinking Astarion could no longer feel, but you couldn’t have been more wrong. The reality is that he feels everything with an intensity you cannot begin to fathom. His emotions are like shooting stars. They streak through him, blazing bright and winking out in the blink of an eye.

His beating heart gives away Astarion's return. He doesn’t bother lighting a candle when he enters the room, hanging his formal suit coat.

You light a candle with a twitch of your finger. “You must forgive yourself, Astarion.”

Astarion sighs, rubbing his face. “What gave me away this time?”

“The same thing.” You splay your hand across your chest. This is not the first time you’ve mentioned the ache, as if your heart is in a perpetual state of being torn. “When you hurt, I hurt.”

You feel his intention to cut the coupling, to give you a break from the pain, and you fight against it.

“Don’t,” you rebuke, narrowing your eyes at the increasing pressure in your head. “Please. Stop trying to shut me out.”  

Astarion’s eyes fall to the sketchbook you left on the bedside table. “Do you not recognize your name still?”

“No,” you say, shaking your head and fidgeting with your fingers. This is the whole reason for the pain he’s been wallowing in—a bog of guilt and shame. He’s more upset over it than you are. You smile, making your voice a gentle hug. “Give me some time, and I will get used to it.”

“You should not have to get used to your own fucking name,” he hisses, squeezing his eyes closed, and the pain in your chest increases. It feels like your heart is warping itself into knots. “Not even Cazador went as far as to remove my name from my memory.”

“You are not Cazador,” you snap back sternly. “Stop comparing yourself to him. The situation is entirely different.”

“No,” Astarion growls, raising his voice, overtaken by repulsion. “I’m something much worse. At least there were limits to his power. No restrictions hinder me.”

“Good Gods! Just stop!” You yell, jumping off the bed. You’re unsure if your anger is partly due to what Astarion is feeling or your irritation at his self-loathing. At least he cannot remember taking you to the kennels. You don’t think he will ever recover. “You’re not him, and you’re not the darkness inside. You must separate the two.”

Astarion scoffs, turning away and waving dismissively, “I think it best if you rest in your room tonight.”

You deflate, anger being replaced by his disregard and the sharp sting of rejection. Astarion has been making you sleep in your room for days. At first, you thought he needed space, but he’s only become increasingly distant and withdrawn.

“Why are you doing this?” You step toward him, but he tenses and shies away, making you halt. You try to decipher his retreat through the bond, but Astarion is carefully guarding his emotions.

“Doing what?” He asks casually, keeping his blank stare on the wall.

“You show me an open door, then slam it on me and pull the rug out from under my feet!” You look up, hating that tears have begun crawling down your cheeks. “You think keeping your distance from me is keeping me safe, but you’re tearing me apart. Do you even want me here anymore, Astarion? Should I go?”

“Don’t go,” he whispers, brittle and weak. If your hearing were not so sharp, thanks to your vampirism, you wouldn’t have heard him. There’s another stab in your chest that feels like it rips the muscles right off your bones, and you whimper, clutching at your skin. “Please.”

“I can’t take this anymore,” you plead, taking another step, only to watch him tense. Your arms drop to your sides. Your heartbreak is affecting him. You can see it in the way his jaw clenches, and he winces almost imperceptibly at every sob you stifle. “Why are you pushing me away?”

Astarion finally turns, wracking his fingers through his hair. “I don’t know if I can be what you need me to be—what you deserve.”

“I know you don’t love me,” you sigh, shrugging. It always comes back to this. “You need to listen to me; let my words sink into your skin and fade into your soul. I missed you with such intensity that it felt like I died every day we were apart. You are my forever, even if I am not yours, and that’s okay.” You shake your head dismially, unsure how to get through to him. “I love you. Goodnight.”

You’re near your room when Astarion appears in front of you out of thin air, and you bump into him. He vaults you off your feet and into his arms before you can register his movement, making you yelp at the surprise of having your feet swept out.

“Shit,” He holds you firmly against him, his lips pressed to your forehead in a lingering kiss. “I’m sorry. I don’t want you to leave. Stay with me, little love. I need you.”

“Stop pushing me away.” You tangle your fingers into his hair, with your face nestled into the crook of his neck.

“I will.” His hand comes to the back of your head as he walks back to his room and places you gently on the bed with adoration in his eyes. “You are my forever, Illyria. Aeterna Amantes.”

“Lovers forever,” you finish, sidling up close to him and laying your head on his chest.

The teeth of guilt gnawing inside your chest cavity have finally relinquished your heart as their chew toy, and all that remains is the steady thrum of Astarion’s borrowed heartbeat.

“Until the world falls down, my love,” he purrs, placing a finger under your chin and his lips embracing yours.

The slow rocking rise and fall of his chest is like the sway of gentle waves; the beat of his heart is a lullaby whispering serenity into your soul, and you slip peacefully into your trance.

Upon waking, your hand meanders across the silken surf of the sheets, only to find Astarion’s side of the bed cold and void. Rolling onto your back, your eyes drag open, and you listen for the telltale susurrus of a heartbeat. A frown creases your forehead when you’re met with nothing but the anonymous creaks and groans of the manor.

Astarion doesn’t usually leave without mentioning his absence as a warning to stay indoors and away from the windows. A florid scent catches your attention, prompting you to turn your head.

On Astarion’s pillow, a red rose rests and a folded note with your name penned in his delicate, flowing hand.

“Good morning, beautiful.

I apologize for my absence, but I am not far. I’ve left blood for you in the kitchen.

Eternally yours,

Astarion.”

The promise of awaiting blood stirs you to your feet hastily. Your belly coils with anticipation, and you barely have enough restraint to dress and run a comb through your hair before you’re bounding down the stairs.

A golden goblet, elaborately etched with prismatic dragon scales that mirror yours, sits on the counter. You snatch it greedily and bring it to your lips. The blood is cool, so you allow your palms to heat slowly, warming it as it inspires your taste buds to recite their devotion to the ambrosial elixir. It’s unmistakably Astarion’s blood. It knocks you over in a wave of delirium that makes your knees weak, and you lean into the counter to keep yourself from melting into the floor.

You’re not sure if it’s your imagination or reality, but you veritably hear Astarion chuckling in your head.

The meal is finished too soon, and you groan as you clean the last traces from your lips. When you open your dreamily heavy eyes, another folded note, previously hidden by the flared base of the goblet, catches your attention. You blink rapidly to clear the insensibility glazed across your sight before you can make any sense of the words before you.

“Find me using the clues I have scattered for you, my clever Illyria.

We have much to discuss.

“Reminisce beneath the faded tapestries, where laughter once echoed; seek the embers of our stolen kiss."

Clues? What in the Hells is Astarion up to, and what the fuck do you have to discuss? An icy shock runs from your dead heart into your feet. Is it possible he found out about Mizora and knows you’ve been keeping something from him? Would he play a game of cat and mouse with you?

You would not put it past him.

He’s left the link between you open, and you cannot feel any malice vibrating in the orchestra of emotions. If he’s figured out your secret, he’s hidden it well.

You stare at the hint with a furrowed brow. Embers of your stolen kiss? Faded tapestries? The pad of your finger rubs over the fringe of scales scored into the goblet’s surface while you think, and then you realize the damn chalice itself is another tip.

This does not belong to Astarion, or it didn’t before you and he stole it after breaking into a shop one night during your adventure. Astarion caught you eyeing it while you were buying supplies. You deemed it an impractical purchase. There was a far more dire need for healing potions and other necessities than to waste coin on frivolous trinkets.

He woke you up that night, dressed entirely in black, and dragged you back to the shop for a thrilling night of thievery and resulting debauchery. Where did you two go after to celebrate?

The Blushing Mermaid.

You dress quickly in a red dress with lace sleeves and a glimmering, golden dragon that snakes up your side. The skirt hugs your hips, flares slightly, and flutters around your knees. The golden bands of the matching hairpiece and circlet wreathe your forehead and long hair.

Throwing on your sandals, you stop dead at the door. The sun still shines outside, as evidenced by the tawny luminance glowing between the cracks in the drapery.

Astarion’s voice frisks across the bond: “You needn’t fear, love. You are safe.”

“What are you up to, Ascendant?” You query back, opening the door slowly and sticking your hand in the small ray to validate his claims.

He giggles, “Solve the riddles, and all will be revealed in time.”

The sky sings of sunset in hues of fire hearths gilded with golden inlays. Despite Astarion’s assurance, your skin still flinches over your muscles as if trying to pull itself away from your figure. Your eyes keep steadily on the majesty of the horizon as you trot through the streets to the Blushing Mermaid.

With the recent meal sloshing around in your stomach, your bloodlust is easier to manage. Still, when citizens brush by with their dainty necks on display, you’re tempted to give them a nibble.

The tavern is as busy as it typically is for late afternoon, but most patrons take no notice of you, engrossed in their revelry.

“Ah, the leaking blood bag.” Captain Grisly’s voice drifts from her quarters. “Nice to see you again. I hardly recognized you without your quarterstaff and haggard, blood-soaked robe.”

When you turn and her eyes catch the cracked crimson of yours, she gasps but holds her tongue with a clenched jaw.

You smile reassuringly and taunt, “Don’t worry. I won’t bite unless you ask very nicely.” There is something about people being afraid of you that’s thrilling. You cannot explain why. Perhaps you’re learning to accept this new you instead of feeling ashamed. It’s freeing. “Was my pale companion here earlier?”

The woman eyes you skeptically and nods, “Yes, Lord Ancunin was in earlier, but he warned me not to assist you.”

“Of course he did.” You roll your eyes as Astarion chuckles in your head. “It was nice to see you.”

“Please try not to make a meal out of my patrons,” Captain Grisly smirks. “The cleaning bills are already enough of a menace.”

You chuckle while your eyes dart around, trying to remember what you and Astarion got up to that night. The memory is garbled under the lagoon of ale you must have drunk.

You drank a lot. You danced. Oh Gods. You danced on the stage.

Your eyes swing to the faded tapestries hanging above a small alcove. Astarion had dragged you off the stage when your provocative swaying earned the attention of too many ogling eyes for his comfort.

“You are a godsdamned delinquent, Illyria,” he’d purred in your ear while he ironed his body to you possessively, shielding you from the onlookers with a forearm pressed above your head. “I have half a mind to take you right here, enchantress, to show these fools you belong to me.”

A small table sits in the alcove with a single candle lit. A white rose rests on it, with a dainty silver chain wrapped around the verdant stem. Unwrapping it, you hold a locket in your hand. The edges are adorned with two exquisitely detailed dragons, one light silver and one dark, forming a heart. In the middle, a black diamond is held by the silver dragon, and a normal diamond is held by the dark one, creating a magnificent contrast.

Opening the clasp, your eyes anchor to a sketch you haven’t seen before. It’s not of the mortal woman you don’t remember. It’s of you, as you must appear now. Your eyes are the only thing in vivid colour, and your fangs peek out of your smiling lips. Even though the picture is small, it holds an impossible amount of detail.

The smooth metal of the back is engraved with Astarion’s nickname for you, Amarillis. It’s Elven, your mother tongue, for Flame-Flower.

Putting the locket on, you find another note nestled between the petals of the rose.

“Where the forgotten lay to rest under the celestial canopy, find the crimson-kissed stone where a single star shines alone.”  

If you know Astarion, he’s left another hint somewhere in plain sight, like the goblet. You scan your surroundings for anything that looks out of place, and you find an image hanging on the wall behind the stage that you don’t recall being there.

You recognize the statue, Balduran Looks Out to Sea, located in the Tumbledown district of the outer city. It’s not an area you’ve spent much time in. Astarion and you went to sit on the cliff and watch the sunrise the day before you went to kill or be killed by Cazador.

Now, you just need to get there without eating anyone.

Twilight is a tangible whisper, bruising the stretch of sky in purple and navy when you return to the streets. Alleys and paths are easiest for you to traverse, and sometimes you Misty Step and skate over the roofs when you feel bloodlust evaporating from your control.

At least Tumbledown is far less busy than the Lower City, thanks to the misty veil that never seems to disentangle from the town. The soft percussion of waves from the River Chionthar pulsing upon the cliffside is rhythmic as you walk up the quiet path leading to the statue.

You reread the note, “Where the forgotten lay.”

Cliffside Cemetery.

The large graveyard spreads before you, composed of a bafflingly complex network of headstones, tombs, and old mausoleums. You keep your eye out for anything red, which will appear brazenly against the drab background of the assorted greys and greens of the mossy tombstones.

The moonlight casts eerie shadows that stretch and disfigure the terrain. The stars ignite the velvet wreath of night as you finally come upon a headstone with a red rose draped over it.

The weather over the centuries has worn, stained, and cracked the stone. Crouching, you carefully wipe off the grime that dulls the worn epitaph.

“Astarion Ancunin,” it reads.

Rest Peacefully Beneath a Canopy of Stars.

Your fingers trace the jagged lines unconsciously as tears brim in your eyes, sinking to your knees.

“I have not returned since I punched a hole in my coffin and dug through six feet of dirt nearly 200 years ago.” Astarion’s voice floats from behind you.

Leaping to your feet, you whirl with more agility than you’ve ever possessed and thrust yourself into his arms. Astarion is dressed in clothing reminiscent of his camp clothes, leaving the typical opulence of the Vampire Ascendant behind.

“You are not forgotten, Astarion,” you whisper against his chest.

Astarion’s arms wrap around you. His timbre is angelic and deep, vibrating through your skin and massaging your spirit. “I was. For 200 years, I was a ghost stalking the streets while whoever I was, whoever I could have been, lay dead and buried."

Taking your hand, he walks toward his grave, letting his fingers coast over the roughened stone. “Cazador was waiting for me when I surfaced, hacking up dirt and congealed blood. I was his from that day forward. Even this grave is located on lands once owned by the Szarr family. Yet another nod to his ownership of me, I suppose.”

His finger taps the headstone, but he’s smiling when he turns to look at you—a real, genuine smile that fills your heart with warmth. “Then you fell like an angel from the heavens, quite literally, and waged war on everything I thought I knew about the world. You gave me something I had been without for centuries—hope.”

“I’m no angel,” you whisper.

“You’re my angel, Illyria,” he asserts. With Astarion’s attire and the way he’s speaking, which is so entirely familiar, there’s a shot of recognition that stirs your psyche. For the first time since you relearned it, your name is not an abstract word in your head. Astarion must feel it because he smiles broadly and continues, “No one cared, no one gave me a second look, and no Gods answered my prayers. No one is like you; you’re you. You stood with me through bloodlust, pain, and misery. You trusted me. You were patient. You cared. You were the only one who never gave up on me. You still haven’t given up on me, even though it’s an objectively stupid thing to do.”

“You were being very sweet until you called me stupid.” You giggle as he wipes the tears from your cheeks.

“Sweet and savoury, my dear,” he chuckles. “I’ve been free for over a year. Yet, I am just beginning to figure out who I am and what I truly want out of this newfound life.”

“What do you want, Astarion?” You lean into him. “The world is yours for the taking.”

“Not what,” he says, shaking his head, sliding an arm around your waist, and his fingers grazing over the locket on your neck. He smiles, “But you will have to finish this little quest to find the answers you seek.” He hands you another note and winks, “I’ll see you soon.”

Astarion gives you a small, playful shove and strides away with a smirk. He bows and shifts into an unnaturally large, white bat with crimson eyes you would recognize in a sea of them, soaring around you while you laugh.

“You’re adorable, but are you soft?” You ask.

He answers in your head with a lilting laugh, “Shall we find out?”

He lands, folding his wings and resting on his headstone, and cocks his head. Your fingers tremble, unfoundedly afraid you might hurt him, as they stroke down the alabaster fur.

“Soft and cute.”

“I aim to please,” he snickers, taking off to kiss the stars. “You are wasting time, my treasure.”

You giggle at his jeering and watch him streak through the sky, so beautifully free, before reading the note.

"Seek the shore’s embrace, where stars align, and ascend the steps, bathed in candlelight’s shine. There, seek the terrace above the riverside; a question to decide.” 

Shore’s embrace. Now, this you know well. When Astarion turned you he insisted on renting a villa with this name near the river in the Lower City.

The trek back to the Lower City somehow feels lengthier as nervousness hits you, ticking away in your chest, every beat of Astarion’s heart amplifying your anxiety as if the seconds were grains of sand slipping away, impossible to grasp.

You can’t entirely tell if it’s yours or his. With the bond open and uninhibited, you are entangled, a tapestry of threads entwined so seamlessly that it’s difficult to distinguish where one of you begins and the other ends.

If Astarion has figured out you’re hiding something, he’s given you no indication, but some part of you still wonders if you’re walking into a trap. It’s hard to control your thoughts so they do not transfer to him, which he’s been trying to teach you so that you can keep the bond open, but your private thoughts can remain your own.

It makes you wonder what thoughts he keeps from you.

You smell the aromatic perfume of roses before you round the corner. The villa hangs onto the wall and overlooks the River Chionthar. The silver waves sway and reflect the impending dawn’s early light, cradling the morning’s first blush. Candles light the steps covered in white and red rose petals. It almost feels wrong to step on something so wonderful.

The beat in your chest thrums with anticipation, like your extinct heartbeat has woken and risen from the grave as you ascend the staircase to the grand entrance. Your breath catches in your throat as you enter the foyer. The sparkling crystal chandelier is lit, casting scintillating rainbows across the room. Rosemary incense burns, filling the air with an aroma that reminds you of home—of Astarion.

You follow the scattered rose petals leading to the terrace as the golden crown of the sun crests the horizon. Fear typically follows such a sight, but you’re revelling in grandeur.

The heartbeat behind you is the only thing that alerts you to Astarion’s presence. The man seemingly appears out of thin air, but if you had that ability, you would take advantage of it too, you suppose.

“This is beautiful,” you say, and your words are abruptly cut off.

As your eyes fall on Astarion in his resplendent tailored suit, he descends to one knee. His crimson eyes meet yours, sparkling with a celestial constellation mirroring the infinity of his love. The newborn sun lights up the adoration in his features.

“Illyria, my love,” he begins in a soft whisper before your brain can catch up to what is happening. “You are the fire that lights up my darkness, a melody that soothes my troubled soul. After being with you, there is no doubt that I have touched the heavens.” He hesitates momentarily, and the bond surges with warmth, longing, devotion, and good Gods, love, “I love you, and I fall more in love with you every day. I do not know what tomorrow brings, but right now, with you, the world feels right.”

His hand reaches into his pocket and produces a small, velvet box. Lifting the lid, the quick breaths you didn’t realize you'd been taking catch in your throat as your eyes fall on an exquisite ring, nestled on a bed of crimson silk, intricately crafted with a dragon claw, clutching a heart-shaped diamond to match the locket.

Astarion’s warm caramel baritone holds the sweet promise of eternity: “Will you marry me?”

Your hand shoots to your mouth to stifle the sound that erupts from your throat, somewhere between a whimper and a squeak. Your knees fold, unable to hold your weight any longer, and you drop, folding your arms around his neck and draping yourself over him.

His hand comes to your back, and he kisses your cheek. “Is this happy crying, or have I made a grave miscalculation?”

“Happy crying,” you stutter through shaky breaths.

He chuckles, nuzzling you. “Is this a yes?”

“Yes!” You pull back, nodding in case he cannot understand you through your weeping. “But I need one thing from you."

"Ask, and I shall make it yours,” he purrs.

You cradle his cheek, sweeping your thumb across it. “Say it again.”

He smirks, wiping the tears from your cheeks. “I love you.”

“One more time,” you choke out.

“Gods above,” he giggles. “Is this all you will have me say now?”

You smile, the tips of your fangs peeking from your lips. “It sounds very good in your mouth.”

“You know I do not repeat myself for anyone,” he taunts. “Anyone but you, my love.” Astarion takes your hand, slipping the ring onto your finger, looking deeply into your eyes. “I love you, Illyria, my wife, my everything.”

“I love you, too, Astarion, my husband, my shining star.”

He beams, “I do rather like that, you know,” he muses. “When you call me husband.”

His arm wraps around your waist, easing you to your feet. You clutch onto him to keep yourself upright as your knees wobble like a newborn fawn and try to watch the sunrise with your head on his chest, but your eyes keep drifting to the ring adorning your finger, reminding yourself that this did, in fact, just happen.

“Do you like it?” He murmurs, catching your eyes moored to it.

“I love it,” you whisper. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“I should hope not,” he chuckles. “I designed it. No one will ever have anything similar.”

“How do you know?”

“Oh, you know me,” he shrugs. “I killed the jeweller to make sure he could never replicate it.”

Your head snaps up, wide-eyed, to look at him. He glances at you and bursts into laughter. “A jest, sweetheart.”

“I hope you at least compelled him to forget it,” you snicker. “Or I may have to drain anyone I see with anything similar.”

“Oh,” he giggles. “I do so adore it when you’re murderous. Speaking of draining someone, I’ve had you running around the city all night. You must be positively famished.”

“You fed me,” you say, arching a brow at him. “Lucky for the citizens of the Lower City. Some of them smell very tasty.”

Astarion’s hands find the back of your thighs, and you wrap your arms around his neck as he lifts you. “Not as tasty as me, I hope.”

“No one could ever be as tasty as you,” you purr. “Your blood is nearly as charming as you are.”

He chuckles, taking you into the villa and setting you on the lofty mattress. “Well, who am I to deny your hunger? I would not be a very good husband if I did not keep my lovely wife satisfied. Would I?”

“What are you saying exactly?” You sweep your fingers through his hair as he undoes the elaborate clasps of his suit jacket. He discards it and loosens the collar of his shirt. You quirk your head at him. “Speak plainly.”

“I want you to bite me,” he purrs, pushing your legs to part for him with his knee and leaning over you. His lips mould to yours in a reverential kiss as his hands wander your body and ignite your desire.

“Bite you?” You breathe. “You said I couldn’t.”

“No.” Astarion removes his shirt, and your palms skim over his chest. “I said you can’t unless I permit you. You are as close to a True Vampire as you can get, my consort. It will not change you.”

“I don’t want to change,” you murmur, your fingers pressing firmly into his sculpted muscles. The offer of blood is tempting your hunger. “You’re giving me permission?”

He smirks, “Go on then. I’ll allow it.”

“Where?” Astarion cranes his neck to the side in an invitation. It takes everything you have not to leap for that magnificently pulsing vein. “Your neck?”

“Is there something wrong with my neck, my dear?”

“No. Of course not,” you giggle. “You have a very lovely neck. This is just new, that’s all. I didn’t think you would want to be, uh, well, bitten.”

“Your bite, my sweet,” he purrs, pressing his chest against yours and pinning you between him and the mattress. “Is divine. Only you will ever get the great honour of biting the Vampire Ascendant.”

“I godsdamned better be!” You huff, “I don’t share, Astarion. Not your body, not your blood, and definitely not your heart. You are mine and only mine. ”

He giggles, “Possessive little thing. Aren’t you? Not to worry, my love. I do not intend to share. I am yours. Wholly, and completely yours.”

You trace your lips down the shell of his ear. Your heart frolics at the ardent shudder that courses through his body and how the breath hitches in his throat. Kissing his neck until you feel the vein pulsing against your lips, you wait until he whispers his shaky, anticipatory approval.

The razor-sharp points of your fangs kiss his skin, and you wait for your body to seize up, but it doesn’t. You bite quick and sure, trying your best to be gentle. You feel the pop of your fangs puncturing his skin. His blood erupts into your mouth, caressing your tongue with heavenly heat that cascades through the channels of your veins and nestles between your thighs. You drink from him slowly but deeply, and your body trembles.

Astarion groans, deep and rich, his hot breath fanning the cool skin of your neck, and you feel the icy pinch of his fangs sink into you. You wash through him, and he passes through you in a paradisiacal torrent. The pleasure that harmonizes over the bond is transcendent. You swear you could come undone for this alone, and you ease your fangs from his neck and moan.

He kisses you with a bruising intensity. His tongue parts your lips so you can taste the essence of each other, and he bucks his hips into your aching sex, sending you spiralling into that frisson of pure delirium.

The clothes on your body feel much too restricting, and you whimper. The barrier of fabric between you feels unbearable. Astarion’s fingers go to his trousers, but his usual adroitness is nowhere to be seen as his fingers fumble with the laces.

He stares at his fingers dumbfounded for a moment and then looks at you with an arched brow and giggles gleefully, “Do you by any chance feel absurdly intoxicated?”

You writhe on the bed, unable to contain your ardent lust, as your brain awkwardly processes his question.

“Entirely,” you laugh. Gods. You thought you were high on him last time, but you are almost senseless in your need. You’re not even sure if you’re walking on the planes of reality or in some delightful hallucination, and you cannot find it within you to care. “Is this not normal?”

Astarion throws his trousers to the side, rucks up your dress clumsily, and tosses it away. “I’m not entirely sure. I may have read something about it, but I cannot quite remember where or when.” He shrugs. “We will have to experiment.”

Precum glistens, dripping from the head of his swollen cock. You are overcome with the absolute need for his salty, heady taste on your tongue. You lunge at him, bowling him over. Your movements are somehow swift and equally ungainly.

You lick up his shaft with a long, broad tongue stroke, feeling the ridges of his distended veins, before you engulf him in the wet heat of your mouth. Swirling your tongue around the blunt head of his cock. He sucks in sharp, shuddering breaths, fingers in your hair as you worship him, hollowing out your cheeks and sucking, taking him deeper and deeper until his cock tickles the back of your throat.

“Illyria,” he moans breathlessly. “Hells. You’ve got to stop before I lose my composure.”

But you’re not entirely sure you could stop, even if you wanted to. No. You want to feel his cock twitching on your tongue and his seed shooting into your throat. You want to drink his essence like a fine wine.

“Illyria,” he warns, trembling fingers curling into your hair. You feel the telltale pulse, hear the way his breath becomes ragged and uneven, and you take him over the edge in a few bobs of your head. He cries out, your name a sweet litany in his voice.

His seed bursts into your mouth, and you moan at the salt of him, swallowing every drop he gives you like a thirsty traveller. He is candied like heaven, wicked like hell, and, oh, so fucking delicious.

He pulls your head back by your hair and stares at you like he has found an oasis in an arid desert. You lick your swollen, red lips, determined to get every last drop of him that you can.

“Bad girl,” he purrs, shoving you flat on your back and pressing his lips to yours. He explores your mouth. “I taste exultant on your tongue.”

His fingers run through the seam of your dripping folds, coating them in the sleek of your arousal and easing into your fluttering channel. Astarion presses the pads firmly into that sweet spot inside that blinds you with pleasure, the heel of his palm caressing your clit with mind-numbing friction.

It does not take him long to settle into a rhythm that throws you somersaulting over the cusp of your own release with a lewd, wild cry, and he does not stop until he’s lured every possible shockwave from your body.

Astarion grabs your waist, tugging you down the bed as he settles between your thighs, sliding his length through your folds, his head teasing your overstimulated pearl. He guides himself into you, working your sex open inch by inch as you stretch to accommodate his girth.

Where everything before this was wild, almost savage, and borderline uncivilized, this is slow, passionate, and unhurried. He rocks his hips in languid pumps, coming to his forearm with his forehead pressed against yours. He is not fucking you. He is making love to you.

“You are mine,” he rasps through shaky gasps. It is not a proclamation of his ownership of you. It is not a command. It’s more of a plea for reassurance. “Yes?”

“Yours,” you confirm breathlessly, your eyes squeezed closed in pure rapture as he massages every one of your ridges poetically. Your fingers slide into the hair at the nape of his neck, and you cling to him as if you might float away on this cloud. “I’ve always been yours.”

“Gods. I love you,” he shudders between uneven breaths.

You will never tire of hearing those words, tasting them as they hinge off his tongue, and feeling them as they dally over the bond.

You clench around him, expelling a sighing groan from his mouth that you catch on your lips, determined to taste his ecstasy. His arm folds around your waist, forcing you to arch into him with his other hand at the back of your head. Astarion changes the angle of his thrusts but keeps the easy tempo. The blunt head of his cock waves over the sensitive pad of nerves inside you with every roll of his hips, and his groin grinds against your needy clit.

Astarion purposefully brings you close to your climax and then eases you away from it until you’re a whimpering mess beneath him.

“Astarion,” you pant, unable to take this withholding any longer. From his taut muscles and the way Astarion shakes, you know he cannot either. “Gods.”

“Open your eyes and come with me, my love.” Astarion increases the sensual pace rhythmically. The building pleasure pools in your abdomen, coiling tighter and tighter with every snap of his hips.

You open your eyes, blinking away the daze of passion, and cradle his cheek as he gazes at you affectionately. You’ve never seen his eyes so vividly crimson, as if his love for you itself was shining through the scarlet depths.

He knows the moment you begin to tread the fine edge of euphoria, gripping his girth and begging him to flood you with his pleasure. You shatter, spasms and white-hot pleasure ripping through you so intensely that the candles in the room go out and reignite with every contraction of your walls.

“F-fuck,” he moans loudly, a roll of purring thunder echoing in his chest. With one last pump, Astarion tremors, cock pulsing, and spilling into you. His hips stutter, pulsing deeply within you with every twitch of his cock.

He pushes the sweaty strands of hair from your face as you both struggle to catch your breath. You may never get used to his new speedy movements because, before you even realize you’re moving, he’s rolled you so that your limp body blankets his.

His fingers caress up and down the valley of your spine as you nuzzle into the crook of his neck, heaving a sigh of pure happiness while you are once again captivated by the ring wreathing your finger.

Astarion kisses your palm, placing it on his chest, and plays with the ring on your finger. “Will you tell your friends?”

“Our friends,” you correct, even though many don’t fancy him. “Of course. I am not ashamed.”

Astarion nods with a lopsided grin. “Even Gale?”

“Especially Gale,” you giggle.

“I simply must be there when you do,” he snickers. “The look on his face is sure to be exquisite.”

“I am positive he will have choice words for me,” you laugh.

Astarion bristles, “He best watch his words when I am near. I will not tolerate him speaking down to you.”

“Easy, Ascendant,” you tut, clicking your tongue at him. “I am capable of dealing with Gale and his words. I am not a maiden in need of saving.”

Astarion relaxes, chuckling, “A maiden you most certainly are not. I am going to have to field noise complaints.”

You pat his chest, smirking, “All in a day’s work, husband. Our neighbours are going to hate us.”

“We will simply purchase all the houses in the neighbourhood if they become too bothersome,” Astarion chimes, jostling you. “Think of all the places I could make you scream for me.”

You both break into laughter together, still immersed in the intoxication of each other’s blood.

But your bliss doesn’t last long as reality grips its claws into your rapture and bleeds it dry.

You cannot possibly continue to keep what you know for him. How can you expect your love to thrive where secrets sleep? He has to know he can trust you to be honest with him, even when that honesty frightens you. You would want him to tell you if the roles were reversed.

Guilt and fear tangle together and ball in your throat. Astarion jolts at the sudden change in your mood as it resonates over the union, sinking into him as if it were his own. His brows furrow and his eyes dart around aimlessly as he tries to understand the trouble he feels.

“What is wrong, little love?” He coos, taking your hand in his. You can feel his anxiety and the quickened pace of his heart in his palm. “You are frightened. You needn’t be afraid. I am getting better at controlling it. You can tell me anything.”

You steel yourself against the panic. His. Yours. Your combined dread.

You swallow and force the words out of your mouth. “I know what ails you.”

Big thank you for everyone who takes the time to read/reblog/comment, and all the other magnificent things. Your support gives me the motivation to keep this fic going, and I appreciate each of you!

As always, please enjoy.

AO3 [Crossposted]

Master List of Chapters: Fangs and Fractured Hearts

If you're interested I write another fic with Spawn Astarion x Tav called - Shadows of the Past

Small Notes:

-We finally got Astarion to say he loves her, multiple times, and a lot more than that. ❤️💍

How is he going to react when she finally comes clean? 🫣

[dark-and-kawaii]

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ Council ˖⟡˚౨ৎ⋆

Summary: Zevlor now resides in Thay alongside his Princess, his lover. Yet even in a new city, his tielfing heritage catches up to him…

✧₊⁺ Pairing: Zevlor x F!Tav/Lofn

✧₊⁺ Content: Angst - Zevlor Is Looked At As A Hellspawn - Lofn Doesn’t Stand For It

✧₊⁺ Notes: I wanted to share more about Lofn & Zevlor’s story xoxo I really hope you enjoy xoxo And thank you to my lovely friend @octarinecat for inspiring me to continue these stories!!!

The grand hall of Thay was a place of opulence and power, its towering columns and intricate tapestries a testament to the kingdom's rich history. Yet, on this day, the air was thick with tension, like a storm waiting to break. Lofn stood at the center of this storm, her eyes blazing with power and ruling as she faced the council.

Around her, the council members sat in a semicircle, their expressions a mix of disbelief and disapproval. At the forefront was Korgus, a bald elven man whose sharp features seemed carved from stone, “Princess Lofn, do you understand the gravity of your actions? Bringing a tiefling into the heart of Thay, parading him as your consort- it's-”

“It’s what?” Lofn challenged, her tone icy as her hand tightened around her goblet. She could hear the distant roar of Aetherion, his cries a haunting chorus as he felt her rage. Looking out the stain glass she saw how her other dragon Vrymoth’s wings beat against the sky as they both circled the city- a reminder of the power that Thay commanded.

The council was silent, save for the tapping of Korgus' fingers on the table. Finally, his voice came out, “The people will not accept him, Princess... They will see him as a creature of the Nine Hells, a reminder of our sworn enemies.”

Lofn's heart pounded in her chest, “The Nine Hells are our enemies. But Zevlor is not. He is a man of honor, a man of courage. He has proven his loyalty time and time again. And he will continue to do so, not because he is forced to, but because he chooses to.” she replied, her voice steady despite the tumult within, “He is a good man. A man that has bled for me and has kept me safe since away from Thay!”

With a deep breath, she turned to face the stained glass once more. Vyrmoth was the youngest of the two dragons, his body much smaller than Aetherion... Yet he was fast, fierce and powerful still, he was a symbol of the kingdom's might despite being so young. And yet, he allowed Zevlor to mount his back... Something no ordinary person could do, “Vyrmoth, a symbol of my family's legacy, has recognized Zevlor and has allowed him to fly upon his back. The people will see what I have seen. What I continue to see.”

A murmur rippled through the council, some agreeing while others voiced their disagreement. Korgus opened his mouth, then closed it, his expression contemplative, “It is... Unusual, yes. However,” his face grew grim, his gaze piercing Lofn like a spear, his voice low, his tone firm, “he is no dragonrider, nor has Vrymoth claimed him in such a way! And-“

“We cannot deny him,” one of the council members interrupted, her voice soft, “Zevlor is not our enemy, and you heard it from the Princess's own mouth. He had kept her safe during the war in Baldurs Gate, and if Vyrmoth has accepted him, who are we to challenge this?"

Korgus shook his head, “We are the Royal Council of Thay. Our job is to protect the Kingdom and the royal bloodline. This-“ he gestured at Lofn then to Vyrmoth in the sky, “-Is a risk. The blood of the devils flows through his veins. He is a danger to us all!”

Lofn's brows drew together, her fists clenched, her nails digging into her palms, “Zevlor is more than his blood,” her voice echoed through the grand room, her words laced with a quiet fury that belied the tremor in her hands, “And you dare question my judgment, Korgus? You, who have spent your life cowering behind the castle walls while I have ventured out into the world, facing dangers you could not even imagine?”

Korgus, his bald head gleaming under the harsh light of the chandeliers, held his ground, “My princess,” he began, “I speak only for the good of Thay. The people they whisper-“

“And who are these people, Korgus? Have you bothered to ask them? Or do you simply assume to know their thoughts, their fears?”

Another murmur of agreement, several members nodding their heads in support of their future Queen.

Lofn continued, her voice rising, “They will see Zevlor as a protector of the realm, of the Thayian people. He has fought by my side, risked his life for mine. He is the father of my unborn child, and I will not have his honor questioned.” She paused, her eyes sweeping over the faces of the council members, “And to those who still doubt,” she said, her voice hardening, “let me make one thing perfectly clear. I will not tolerate any disrespect towards Zevlor, or towards the child I carry. Anyone who dares question my judgment or his worth will be made an example of, starting with you.”

Her gaze settled on Korgus, the fire in her eyes burning with a fierceness that rivaled that of a dragon's.

The chamber fell silent. Korgus' face paled, his eyes wide with fear. He knew Lofn was not one to make empty threats. Her mother, Lynnania- Queen Of Thay, had instilled in her a determination, a willingness to fight for what she believed in, no matter the cost.

He quickly regained his composure, “You would threaten a member of your own council? For the sake of a tiefl-“

One council member, a wizened old woman with eyes as sharp as a hawk's, smiled, “A worthy successor to her mother, indeed,” she chuckled, her eyes twinkling, “The council was worried the fire may extinguish once you succeed the throne. I see now there is no need for such worry.”

“I thank you for your words, Hevga.” Lofn's heels echoed against the dark stone floors as she approached Korgus, each step deliberate and unwavering. The sound was a rhythmic declaration of war should he speak freely again, a reminder of the authority she wielded. She stopped just short of where Korgus sat, her gaze fixed firmly upon him.

“Korgus,” her voice was quiet but firm, a note of warning underlying the tone, “You have served my mother and our family with unwavering loyalty. For that, I am grateful. But understand this-“ she paused, the faintest trace of a smile tugging at the corner of her lips, “I am the next heir, the one who will rule this city. My decisions, especially those concerning whom I choose to warm my bed, are not up for debate.”

Her words hung in the air as she leaned slightly forward, her eyes never leaving his, “My mother told me the last man who questioned her- a tall pale elf... Was fed to her black dragon…” she paused, the barest hint of amusement dancing across her lips, “I’m sure the tiefling would take pity on you and spare your life... But, as for Aetherion and I, well- we may not be so generous... Do you understand, Korgus?”

The threat was clear. Korgus swallowed, his head bowed, mumbled an apology, “Yes, my princess,” he replied, his voice shaking, “I-I will not question your judgment again.”

She straightened and turned to address the rest of the council, “Give it time, and you will see. The people will come to follow Zevlor, to seek his guidance and learn from his mastery with the sword. He is a leader in his own right, and he will make a fine addition to this family- a kind one, something this bloodline could benefit from now and then.”

"We should not question our princess," another stated firmly, his gaze steady, "She is our next queen, and she has led us to victory time and again. She has forged alliances where none thought possible. The people will listen to reason, just as we must."

Korgus stared at the floor, his face a mask of shame until he finally raised his head and met Lofn's gaze, "I do apologize, Princess. I will see to it that he is welcomed here."

Lofn nodded curtly, "See that you do. Now, if there are no further objections, I would like to continue with the matters at hand."

As Lofn left the council chamber the marble steps gleamed under the flickering torchlight, casting long shadows that danced along the walls. At the base of the stairs stood Zevlor, his presence ever so comforting. Beside him was Riznof, her mother's trusted guard, a man whose loyalty was as steadfast as the stone beneath their feet.

Riznof's face broke into a warm smile as he caught sight of Lofn, “Ah, our princess returns.” He clapped Zevlor on the shoulder with a jovial strength that spoke of camaraderie despite only knowing him for such a short time, “You've brought back a fine soldier, little jewel. I look forward to seeing him on the training grounds!”

Zevlor inclined his head respectfully, his horns catching the light, “I thank you. Your words are most kind.”

Lofn returned Riznof's smile, her eyes softening as they met Zevlor's, “Yes, he is indeed. We are fortunate he chose to return with me.” Her gaze lingered on Zevlor, her affection for him evident in the tender curve of her lips.

Zevlor's tail swayed with a subtle joy at her praise, his eyes filled with a warmth that mirrored her own, “I am the fortunate one,” he replied, his voice a gentle murmur meant only for her, “To have been asked to join you in Thay is an honor beyond measure.”

Lofn nodded, then turned to Riznof. “Thank you, Riznof. Please, if you don't mind i'd like a moment with Zevlor, alone."

With a respectful nod, Riznof withdrew, leaving the two of them alone.

The tiefling hellrider glanced at her, a hint of curiosity in his eyes. “Do I even want to know what the council wanted?” he asked, his tone light yet edged with concern.

As she sighed, irritation flickered across her features. “One of them, Korgus, who has served my family well, questioned my judgment. He believes it's a poor reflection on me to be seen with you.”

Zevlor halted, and Lofn stopped just a few inches beyond him, turning to face him. He took her hand gently, his touch always so delicate, “I apologize, my dear. I never meant to cast a shadow over your light. You shouldn't have to dim yourself because of me. I had hoped they could overlook the fact that I'm... a bloody hellspawn-"

Before he could continue, Lofn reached up, cupping his face with her hands, her touch reassuring, “Zevlor, stop,” she said softly, “Don't speak like that. You are not a shameful secret, or a blight. You are the man I love, and soon the father of my child. I will not have you hide away in some dark corner, forgotten and alone. They will all seek you, and follow you just as they all do for me.”

Zevlor closed his eyes, leaning into her touch, the tension slowly draining from his body. She always had a way of making him feel safe, of easing the anxiety that threatened to overwhelm him, the constant fear that he didn't belong, “Thank you,” he whispered, his voice barely audible, “You have no idea how much that means to me, to be accepted… To be loved, despite my blood. I will not dissapoint you.”

She gave his cheek a soft kiss before pulling away, her gaze tender, “You could never disappoint me, my love… And I will remind you every day, until you no longer doubt yourself.”

[kirk-says-wah]

14 (watching) and 17 (mutual) with james and dave please?

Thank you for the request! 💕

Send me a pairing and a number and I’ll write a little something

14 - Porn (watching it or making it)

17 - Masturbation (mutual or otherwise)

“Do you wanna watch something with me?”

Dave looks up from the magazine in his lap, disinterested. They’re sat in some hotel room, trying to pass the time before the gig. Usually James shares with Lars so this is a bit of a rare occurrence.

“Like what?” Dave asks, flipping over a page.

James shifts next to him.

“Like porn.”

Dave’s head snaps up, magazine forgotten in his lap. He doesn’t even want to acknowledge that he sees James as someone he wants to ride his dick, so the whole idea of James wanting to do something sexual with him makes him a bit uncomfortable.

“What?” he finally splutters.

“It’s no big deal,” James shrugs. “Me and Lars do it all the time.”

Of course they do. Dave can’t help the jealous rage that swamps him, and he tosses his magazine to the side, bitterness seeping through him.

“Sure. Why not.”

It’s probably not a good idea, not when Dave has the fattest crush on the entire fucking planet, but he can’t help but want to have the same thing James and Lars have, if not more.

James flashes a wide grin before flicking through the channels until he finds the right one. The image flashes in front of them of a woman riding some guy’s dick, and Dave can’t help it when he stiffens in his pants.

James sighs happily next to him, and it only takes a few moments of listening to the onscreen moans before he’s fishing his cock out, right in front of Dave.

Now, Dave’s seen James’ cock before, they share dressing rooms all the time, but he’s never seen it hard before, and he can’t help but salivate at the sight. It’s thick and long, slightly bigger than Dave’s own, and he watches as James spits on his hand before starting to stroke himself lazily.

James looks up at him then, quirks an eyebrow.

“What?”

Dave would usually reply with a snarky comment, but his brain is buffering in overdrive and he can’t seem to do more than duck his head as embarrassment blazes his cheeks.

Dave doesn’t answer, and decides to just pull his own cock out, wonders just how often James and Lars do this. It causes anger to rise in him and his cock hardens even more.

He’s not even really paying attention to the porn anymore, the woman’s high pitched moans only a background noise as he watches James, the way he pulls at his cock, the way his chest heaves, the way his head is tilted back slightly so that his lips are barely open.

Dave fists his cock quicker, all embarrassment and shame flying out the window, especially when James lets out a soft moan.

It’s that sound that finally spurs Dave on, finally plucking up the courage to venture further, and he speaks, gaining James’ attention.

“Do you like it? Doing this with someone else?”

James doesn’t look at him, just closes his eyes, bucking up into his own hand.

“Yeah, of course you do,” Dave breathes, quickening his hand. “You want everyone to see how pretty you are when you come.”

He’s treading on dangerous ground, but James lets out a high pitched whine, obviously aroused by Dave’s words, and Dave carries on.

“I wonder how much you and Lars get up to without me.”

James opens his eyes, looks back to the tv, eyes blown wide, hand skimming over the head of his cock.

“But tell me,” Dave says. “Does Lars ever do this?”

He reaches over with his unoccupied hand, bats James’ hand out of the way and starts working James’ cock. James’s eyes fly to him, wide open and shocked, though he must like it for his body shudders, bucking into Dave’s hand.

“You like that?” Dave teases, rubbing James’ cock as quick as his own. James keens, head throwing back, exposing his neck. Dave can’t help but lean forwards, starts to kiss James’ neck, sucking gently under his jaw.

James groans, sinking into Dave’s touch, his hands scrambling to hold onto something, finally finding purchase in red hair, pulling at the root.

Dave keeps fisting at their cocks until James lets out a breathy noise and says “kiss me.”

It surprises Dave, but he doesn’t object, just moves upwards to capture James’ lips against his own, relishing in the softness in them, until eventually James lets out a low moan against his lips and comes, spilling over his jeans and up his tshirt. Dave keeps his hand on his cock until James pushes it away, moaning weakly.

Dave follows not long after, still kissing James, though it’s more rough now, their teeth mashing against their lips, and he comes, hips thrusting upwards, muffling his moan into James’ open mouth.

[simpforminthy]

lil minthara x jokester reader somethin' somethin'

18+, nsfw-ish (doesn’t go all the way there but there be flirting)

inspired by a prompt that now i can't find :((( but one of the prompt quotes was "If you do not quit whining, the only thing killing you today will be my bare hands around your neck."

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

Despite the swampy heat and humidity that hung in the air, your skin felt like ice. You were wrapped up in your bedroll in your tent, shivering, every part of your body clenched like a fist.

You couldn’t remember how long you’d been there: all you knew is the sickness had come on in the morning, and the fever had reared its head as the sun started setting. By this time, it was fully dark. Your underwear was soaked through with sweat, your eyes shut as the battle inside your body waged on.

With the fever now reaching its pitch, your addled brain turned – as reliably as ever – to her. A kaleidoscope of Minthara crashed through your mind without warning: her lips, her tattoo-adorned neck, her muscular thighs. An expression of bemusement, begrudgingly directed at you after one of your silly jokes.

Despite herself, you could tell: she was entertained by your jokes. She maybe even liked some of them.

A grin played across your lips as you reveled in the memories, comforting to you in their familiarity – after all, you'd played them in your mind a hundred times over.

A dizzy spell hit you: images of Minthara were replaced with black and white spots as you came back into your ailing body. You groaned and dove deeper down into the bedroll, far enough that your head was fully submerged.

Suddenly you heard footsteps approaching your tent, even and sure. You barely registered the sound of the flap as it was brushed aside, but as the steps came to a stop next to your bedroll, you realized one of your companions must have entered your tent.

"Go on without me. Save yourselves," you croaked.

"Psh. Are you not yet better, human?" came Minthara's deep voice.

Your eyes snapped open. You peeked your head over the edges of the bedroll, eyes landing on the flesh and blood version of the woman who'd been dancing along your brain. Had you somehow summoned her?

She stood above you, arms crossed, eyes blazing as she considered you and your state.

"These may be my last words," you wheezed dramatically up at her. "I think I might be dying."

Minthara chuckled lowly. “You are acting as absurd as usual. It is but a small fever."

"Dying, I say," you whined. You were hungry for her attention, and you weren't above annoying her for it.

"If you do not quit whining, the only thing killing you today will be my bare hands around your neck.” She smirked at you.

You went to laugh, your body managing to summon the strength for just a few chuckles. You were starting to think Minthara had come to make sure you were okay.

It gave you the courage to be a little more cheeky than usual.

"Don't threaten me with a good time," you said, propping yourself up on your wrists.

Minthara cocked her head, a ghost of a smile playing across her lips. She put her hands on her hips.

Your body was starting to revolt, your muscles quivering as you held yourself up. Somehow you kept yourself upright, not taking your eyes off her.

“Perhaps when you are well, then,” she murmured, surveying you.

Your stomach lit up with heat at the tone of her voice, banishing some of the chill in your body. You grinned from ear to ear.

“I came to tell you that had better be soon.” Her eyebrows knitted together in that way you loved as she turned serious again. “With you currently indisposed, the wizard fancies himself our glorious leader. It is insufferable.”

With that, her eyes sweeping you up and down one last time, she turned on her heel and exited the tent. The flap swayed in the wind behind her.

Your heart thumping, you promptly collapsed back onto your stomach and slithered your way back beneath the covers. You eyes shut tight again as you curled back into fetal position, allowing the shivering to take over again.

Your mind went to pick up right where it left off, before the real thing had graced your presence. This time, you allowed yourself to fantasize more deeply: her long, delicate fingers caressing your neck, tracing your jawline. Her eyes glinting mischievously down at you.

You smiled through the sweat.

[norel-ravenclaw]

The Ikepri routes as dark, twisted fairytales~

Fandom: Ikemen Prince (otome game)

Featured characters: All 13 & Cyran

Genre: Dark angsty fairytale romance

Rating: 12+

Word count: 1295

WARNINGS: | big bad wolf | dub-con elements | mentions of abuse | angst | mxw |

Leon - Cinderella

The truth was, he had seen her before. Seen the cobwebs in her lovely hair, seen the bruise on her temple when the breeze blew her scarf back. And he was smitten. Her shy smile, her surprising wit, her wise words, soft touch. She did not know who he was, but that wouldn’t stop him from taking her away from that place. She would be his. Even if he had to try that remarkable glass shoe on every woman in the kingdom. She would belong to him, a slave no more.

Chevalier - Beauty & The Beast

Trespasser. Interloper. Fool of a woman. Surely her trembling fists and burning eyes in a show of courage against his rampage is merely… more favourable than silent cowering? Surely the lonely years of seeing faces only in furniture is the sole reason her expressions while reading are so… amusing? Surely, seeing her in the late Queen’s golden gown is entirely… Entirely captivating. Surely, the last petal will fall before she would ever claim to love a beast… like him.

Yves - Sleeping Beauty

The abandoned prince. Not in a cottage in the woods, but in a foreign castle. Blood of enemies in his veins. And her, an outsider who would go up against anything or anyone to protect his smile. No dragon, or beasts, or years of navigating thorny paths could stop her from pouring all her love into a kiss upon his rosebud lips. The Beauty deserved his chance to rule the kingdom he loved, as much as deserved to be loved himself. And she would stop at nothing to see it happen.

Jin - Snow White

He had wanted this. He had suggested the decree that would banish the gentle maiden from the palace forever. The King’s folly had driven him to act thusly. But now, seeing the tears streak down her face, the cruel blow about to be struck, he could not… He couldn’t… But wouldn’t her pain be worse if he didn’t? Such a delicate creature, lost in a hostile place. There was just one solution; one made in a final, damning moment of irrepressible impulse: He would be her protector.

Sariel - Aladdin

They never saw through his smiles. His schemes and lies and manipulation. No one that is, except for her. Blazing eyes and chin held high. A worthy prize if ever he saw one. But he would tame her, holding that proud chin in his hand. He would make her love him, adore him, serve him. It was only a matter of time. No filthy street rat could hope to steal his wish. No one’s power was greater than his, after all - not even the king’s. And the most powerful and worthy woman in the kingdom would belong to him, bow to him; just as the very moon and stars would.

Nokto - Little Red Riding Hood

How many delicious morsels have wandered this forest? How many have fallen prey to the cunning fox that stalks its paths? And so why, why is this one different? This bold, sweet treat with honeyed hips and spiced tongue. Why is she the one who gets special treatment? Hunted so much more carefully, yet recklessly, yet satisfyingly… Of course he won’t let her go. No, no. He is a nasty beast, after all. He intends to devour her like all the others. …Perhaps she’ll even taste sweeter.

Licht - The Snow Queen

The wounded prince, hidden away for all this time. A stranger even to his twin, once his closest companion. All are certain he will wither away to nothing, chipping away at his own heart until nothing remains. Until she arrives. And she makes a flower bloom in the vast field of ice that shrouds his scars. The warmth of unconditional, unwavering love is the only thing that can thaw his frozen heart. Only she can bring spring to his eternal winter. And all the kingdom will revel in the flowers that bloom in his smile.

Rio - The Little Mermaid

She is a beacon. The only light on a rocky, desolate shore. She is joy and goodness and a treasure more precious than anything he’d ever held before. How cruel then, that he cannot tell her of his past. Of the shadowy tentacles that threaten to drag him back to whence he came. The villains and oppression and darkness of the ocean palace. No, he refuses such memories. His life is here now, with her. He will serve and protect his princess with everything he has. Even if his voice fails him, his heart will not.

Clavis - Alice In Wonderland

Oh, how curious his new toy is~ Curious and shy and clever. No matter that she is beginning to get fed up with the nonsense. Nonsense! She will come to love it, just as she will come to love him! Naturally, he is the most handsome fellow in Wonderland. It’s only natural that she will turn to him at last, crying in his shoulder until he can feed her something sweet to make it all go away. Sweet thing, they’ll have tea parties every day! And she will love it. And she will love him.

Luke - Goldilocks

She should not have come here. A broken, raging, raving, beast lives here. And shells of memories, carefully preserved. She sits in her chair. She sleeps in her bed. She holds a lovingly sewn bear to her heart. And she cries. Perhaps… perhaps this sweet girl with wide eyes, could use the protection of a big bad bear. Just for a little while. Until it’s time for the bear to go hunt. …Just until then.

Keith - Princess & The Pea

She was a stranger from a distant land, obviously not one that belonged in the grand palace. She was too sweet, too delicate, too naïve. …Or so he thought. She noticed him, there in the shadows in his eyes. Only she was sensitive enough to notice something so simple was off. Only she was kind enough, wise enough, to meet him on both sides. And so, he was determined, only she would be his queen. Whether she was a princess or not.

Silvio - Rumplestiltskin

Money solves all problems. So he made her spin gold for him. But he never expected that she would see him. (He never gave her the time.) And yet she did. She saw the rose-tint in his face and the pain hidden beneath his glittering, distracting façade. Only she could see the gold in the straw-stuffed cracks of his heart. Only she could ever speak his truth - a new name for a new part of his heart he never dared open before.

Gilbert - Rapunzel

It was too easy, really. To take her. To steal away with her gentle, naïve, heart in the night. To take her away to a dark castle, and lock her in the tallest tower. No one would ever see or touch the bunny again. …Until she discovered his secret. Then, no tower would be high enough, secure enough to hide the only person who would ever see behind his mask. No, Bunny, no prince will dare to try to get you down.

Cyran - 12 Dancing Princesses

His master was a madman, there was no denying it. And there was no denying the Belle of the nightly ball… was her. Every day he would sneak medicine and ointment into her room to pass around to the women to use on their sore, blistering feet. Until her strained smile, trying so hard to hide the pain, the confusion, the fear - secured his resolve. He would free them - her - from this cruel experiment. No matter what it would take.

[sokkas-first-fangirl]

Her bright green eyes went straight to Link and she smiled.

“Lady Riju,” Buliara said, walking to the foot of the throne and bowing with a fist on her heart and one on her stomach. “I bring the visitors.”

“So I see,” Lady Riju said with a small laugh. As Buliara took her place at the Chief’s side, Lady Riju inspected them curiously. Her eyes, outlined with black and gold, zeroed in on Link once more. “I believe you proved yourself to my guards with time magic?” She sounded expectant.

Link raised his hand and the Triforce of Courage flickered to life. Its power engulfed the room, slowing everything and everyone in it, almost to a standstill. As Fi blazed in response, Lady Riju lit up like fireworks. Even in slow motion, Link could see the delight in her eyes.

Despite her forced slowness, Lady Riju stood and began to make her way across the room to them, grinning from ear to ear, seemingly unbothered by how slowly she was forced to move.

Link lowered his hand and time returned to normal. Every guard was staring and muttering to each other in their native language. Buliara hastened to follow her Chief.

Lady Riju, now that time was normal, picked up the pace, not quite running to them, but close. She stopped just in front of Link, tossed back her head and laughed.

Her laugh sounded like Urbosa’s.

“Well, finally!” Lady Riju cried. She took Link’s hand as if they’d known each other for ages, her gaze and smile equally intense. “We’ve been waiting for ages, Your Highness.”

*

The Brigade has entered Gerudo Town, and they finally come face to face with their young Chief, Lady Riju. Together, the come up with a plan to retrieve the stolen Thunder Helm.

Meanwhile, Yuki and Barta receive aid from a surprising source.

[bigsoftmarshmallow]

How would The Ganondorfs (Wind Waker, Ocarina of Time, Twilight Princess, Hyrule Warriors, and Tears of the Kingdom) & Demise react to after searching for the Triforce endlessly… it turns out to be their SO?

Their SO is the living personification of the Triforce, of power, wisdom, and courage altogether in harmony. They have no idea. In order to extract the physical Triforce within them… they would have to die.

The revelation that their SO is the living personification of the Triforce would profoundly shake the Ganondorfs and Demise to their core. For each of these embodiments of ambition and power, the Triforce has always represented the key to their ultimate victory. To discover that the very thing they sought was within their beloved all along—and that they would need to kill them to claim it—would throw them into a whirlwind of conflicting emotions.

Wind Waker Ganondorf

Thoughts: Wind Waker Ganondorf is a tragic figure, obsessed with restoring the lost greatness of his people. When he discovers that his SO is the Triforce, the realization that he must kill them to reclaim the ultimate power would fill him with sorrow and rage. Deep down, he still has humanity, and this revelation would force him to confront whether his ambitions are worth the cost of losing the one person he truly loves.

Scene:

Ganondorf stood frozen in the moonlit chamber, his breath coming in short, uneven bursts. His SO, the one he had shared countless plans and dreams with, stood before him, a shimmering glow subtly emanating from their very being.

"You... you are the Triforce," he muttered, disbelief heavy in his voice. "All this time… it was inside you."

His fists clenched at his sides, his stormy eyes reflecting the inner turmoil. For so long, he had dreamed of this moment—of holding the Triforce in his grasp, reshaping the world, reclaiming his people's lost glory. But to claim it now would mean losing them forever.

"They never told me…" His voice was thick with emotion as he stared at them. "To take the Triforce from you… I would have to destroy you."

They took a step forward, reaching out to touch his hand. "You don’t have to do this. You don’t need the Triforce to prove your strength or reclaim what you’ve lost."

He pulled away, his expression hardening, but the conflict in his heart was clear. "What choice do I have? Everything I've fought for… everything I am depends on that power."

But even as he said the words, his heart wasn’t in it. Could he truly live in a world where they no longer existed? Could he sacrifice them for his dream?

In the silence that followed, Ganondorf turned away, his broad shoulders tense with unspoken pain. "I have conquered kingdoms… but this… I cannot do."

Ocarina of Time Ganondorf

Thoughts: Ocarina of Time Ganondorf is driven almost solely by his lust for power. He has a deep-seated need to dominate, and the Triforce represents his claim to absolute control. When he learns that his SO is the living Triforce, his first reaction would be fury. But as the weight of what it means begins to settle, even he would find himself hesitating—perhaps for the first time in his life.

Scene:

"Impossible!" Ganondorf roared, slamming his fist against the stone wall. "How can you be the Triforce? This cannot be!"

His SO stood before him, calm in the face of his rage. "It’s true. I didn’t know either… but now that we do, you understand what it means."

Ganondorf’s fiery eyes blazed with fury, his chest heaving as he struggled to contain his emotions. For years—decades—he had sought the Triforce. And now, it was within his grasp, but the price was too steep.

He stepped closer, looming over them with a menacing presence. "You think this changes anything? I will do what I must—what I have always done."

But the words rang hollow. His SO placed a hand on his chest, directly over his heart, and he froze. Their touch was so gentle, so full of understanding. "If you take the Triforce from me, I’ll be gone. You’ll lose me."

Ganondorf’s lips curled into a snarl, but his hand hovered uncertainly in the air. "I do not need… attachments," he spat. Yet, even as he said it, his hand trembled.

For the first time, he found himself at a crossroads he never expected. Power or them? Could he truly choose power over the only person who had stood by him all this time?

With a sharp breath, he turned his back on them, his voice a low growl. "Damn the gods… damn them all." He couldn’t bring himself to do it. Not this time.

Twilight Princess Ganondorf

Thoughts: Twilight Princess Ganondorf is cold, calculating, and pragmatic. His pursuit of the Triforce has always been driven by a desire for ultimate control, but unlike his Ocarina of Time counterpart, he is capable of deeper reflection. Realizing that his SO is the Triforce would force him to question everything he thought he knew about power and destiny.

Scene:

Ganondorf’s golden eyes stared at his SO, no hint of his usual bravado present. The air around them was still, heavy with the weight of the revelation. His fingers twitched, the knowledge that the Triforce lay within them gnawing at his mind.

"All this time," he murmured, his voice devoid of emotion. "The power I sought was within you."

His SO nodded slowly, searching his face for any sign of what he was thinking. "Yes… and now you know. But to claim it, I would have to die."

Ganondorf said nothing, his sharp mind racing. He could feel the temptation to seize this moment—to take what was rightfully his. The allure of ultimate power had always been his driving force, the single unrelenting goal of his life.

And yet, looking at them now, the cold logic that usually guided him faltered. What would his kingdom be without them? What would power mean if it required their sacrifice?

He stepped closer, his towering frame casting a long shadow over them. "Do you realize what this means?" His voice was measured, cold. "I could kill you now and take what is mine."

His SO met his gaze fearlessly. "You could. But you won’t."

For a long moment, neither spoke. Finally, Ganondorf’s lips curled into a slight smirk. "You think you know me so well, don’t you?"

They smiled softly, stepping forward to close the distance between them. "Better than anyone."

He exhaled sharply, his hands coming to rest on their shoulders. "Perhaps you do." He leaned down, his forehead pressing against theirs. "Fate is cruel, isn’t it?"

Hyrule Warriors Ganondorf

Thoughts: Hyrule Warriors Ganondorf, the most war-hungry and ambitious of them all, would react with immediate anger. The realization that the one person he trusted harbored the Triforce within them, and that he would need to kill them to extract it, would be infuriating. But at the same time, he is a master tactician—he would begin to think of ways to work around the problem.

Scene:

Ganondorf’s eyes flared with crimson light as he processed the truth. His SO—the one person he had fought alongside, trusted, and maybe even loved—was the living personification of the Triforce.

"You’ve been hiding this from me," he growled, his voice dripping with accusation.

They shook their head, stepping toward him cautiously. "I didn’t know. I swear I didn’t."

His hands balled into fists, his entire body trembling with barely controlled rage. "I could take it from you now. I could end you and have what I’ve sought for centuries."

"But you won’t," they said firmly, standing their ground.

He towered over them, his presence imposing and terrifying, yet there was hesitation in his movements. As much as he hated to admit it, the thought of killing them twisted something deep inside him.

"You think I care about you more than the Triforce?" he snarled, but there was doubt in his voice. "What makes you so sure?"

They took his hand, placing it gently over their heart. "Because we’ve been through too much for you to lose me like this."

For a long moment, Ganondorf simply stared at them, his fury dissipating, replaced by a deep sense of frustration. With a guttural growl, he ripped his hand away and turned his back. "I will not sacrifice you for power… not yet."

Tears of the Kingdom Ganondorf

Thoughts: Tears of the Kingdom Ganondorf, twisted by Zonai magic and centuries of darkness, would feel an overwhelming sense of betrayal at first. His obsession with power is absolute, and the thought that the one he loves is the Triforce would be too much to bear. Yet, unlike the others, this Ganondorf has experienced deep loss and grief—his SO’s death may not be something he could endure.

Scene:

Ganondorf’s voice was deadly quiet as the truth dawned on him. His SO stood before him, their eyes glowing faintly with the light of the Triforce. His whole body trembled with barely contained rage.

"You…" His voice cracked with disbelief. "You are the Triforce?"

They nodded slowly, tears welling in their eyes. "I didn’t know, Ganondorf. I swear, I didn’t know."

For a moment, he said nothing, his mind racing. His entire purpose, his very existence, had been tied to obtaining the Triforce. And now, it was within his grasp—but at the cost of the only person he had ever truly loved.

"I could kill you," he said, his voice hollow. "I could take it."

They reached for him, but he pulled back, his face contorted with inner conflict. "I don’t want to lose you," they whispered.

Ganondorf’s hands trembled, his rage dissipating into something darker—sorrow, grief. With a guttural growl, he turned away, his voice barely audible. "Damn the Triforce. Damn it all."

Demise

Thoughts: Demise would be furious at first. The idea that his SO, the personification of all that he has sought to dominate, had unknowingly concealed such immense power would feel like the ultimate betrayal. His rage would push him to consider taking their life for the power he craves, but a deeper part of him would hesitate—after all, they have always been the embodiment of strength to him. Killing them would leave him without the one being that had matched him.

Scene:

The flames surrounding Demise roared to life as he glared at his SO, his white-hot fury casting shadows that danced across the walls.

"You—you are the Triforce?!" His voice was a growl of pure wrath, fire crackling in the air around him. "All this time… I’ve been searching for it… and it was you?"

They stepped toward him, unafraid. "I didn’t know. Demise, I swear—"

He raised his hand, and flames burst from his fingers, though they never touched them. "I could destroy you right now! End you, and claim the power for myself!"

For a moment, the fire surged, but then—just as suddenly—it died down. His hands lowered, his red eyes burning with something darker than fury: confusion.

"I could…" he muttered to himself, his expression clouded.

They took a tentative step closer. "But you won’t. You don’t need to do this. We’re stronger together, Demise. I know you see that."

Demise’s chest heaved, his breath coming in heavy gasps as he stared at them. His instinct was to crush everything in his path, to claim ultimate power. But now…

The fire around him dimmed, and he slowly lowered his head. "You may be right," he growled. "For now."

Each version of Ganondorf and Demise would grapple with the ultimate choice between love and power, forcing them to confront their deepest desires and what they are truly willing to sacrifice for it.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

BONUS ADD ON: What if the SO was willing to die for their lover to have the Triforce? If they loved him enough to offer to end their own existence if he wanted it?

The offer from their SO to willingly give their life for the Triforce would create a powerful emotional crossroads for each Ganondorf and Demise. For some, it would be a test of their deepest nature—whether their thirst for power outweighs their capacity for love. For others, it might serve as a final breaking point, forcing them to reconsider everything they thought they valued. Their responses would range from anger to sorrow, and ultimately, it would bring them face to face with the one thing they have tried to suppress: vulnerability.

Wind Waker Ganondorf

Thoughts: Wind Waker Ganondorf, the most introspective and tragic of the versions, would be shaken by their SO’s willingness to die for him. Deep down, his drive for power stems from a desire to restore the Gerudo to their former glory, but he is no stranger to loss. The offer would stir something in him, forcing him to question whether victory is worth the price of love.

Scene:

The wind howled through the chamber as his SO stood before him, their eyes soft but resolute. "If this is what you want, Ganondorf… if the Triforce is what you need, I’ll give it to you. I’ll die for it."

Ganondorf’s chest tightened, his brow furrowing in disbelief. "You would sacrifice yourself for me?"

His SO nodded, stepping closer. "I love you enough to let you have what you’ve always wanted. If it means you can bring peace to your people, then I’ll do it."

Ganondorf’s lips curled into a snarl, his eyes narrowing in frustration. "You think I want this?! To watch you die so I can claim some fleeting power?!"

They reached for his hand, but he pulled away, pacing across the room like a caged beast. "For years, I have dreamed of wielding the Triforce, of reshaping this world in my image. But now…"

He turned back to them, his expression softening, the weight of his words hanging in the air. "Now I see what I would lose. No kingdom, no power, is worth your life."

Tears glistened in their eyes, and they rushed to him, throwing their arms around his neck. For a moment, he stood stiffly, but then, with a heavy sigh, his arms wrapped around them, pulling them close.

"You will live," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "I will not take this from you."

Ocarina of Time Ganondorf

Thoughts: Ocarina of Time Ganondorf, who is defined by his lust for power, would initially be tempted. The offer to claim the Triforce through their sacrifice would align perfectly with his ambitions. But as his SO made the ultimate offer, he would find himself at war with something deeper—the rare and unfamiliar feeling of love. It would force him to confront a side of himself he’d long buried.

Scene:

"You would give up your life for me to have the Triforce?" Ganondorf’s voice was low, dangerous, as he stared at his SO, trying to comprehend the enormity of their words.

They nodded, calm in their resolve. "I love you. If this is what you truly want, I’ll give it to you. I won’t stand in your way."

Ganondorf’s eyes flickered with something darker—hunger, perhaps. His lips curled into a wicked smile as he stepped closer, towering over them. "You are brave to offer this. Perhaps… foolishly so."

But even as he said the words, something in his chest twisted. His hand hovered near their cheek, but he hesitated, his fingers trembling. Could he really go through with it?

"Power is all I’ve ever sought," he growled, his voice tight with frustration. "It is all I know. To take it from you would mean victory. And yet…"

His SO gazed up at him, unafraid. "You don’t need to do this. You’ve already won my heart. I'll love you in death as I have in life."

Ganondorf closed his eyes, his fist clenching at his side. "Damn you," he muttered under his breath. "You make me weak."

He took a step back, his body rigid with barely contained emotion. "I could never respect myself if I took the Triforce from you this way." His voice was cold, but there was an edge of sorrow in it.

"You will live," he said, turning away. "I will not take your life for the sake of power. Not anymore."

Twilight Princess Ganondorf

Thoughts: Twilight Princess Ganondorf is more measured and calculating than his Ocarina of Time counterpart. The offer from his SO would cause him to pause and reflect on what he truly values. He would see their willingness to die for him as a profound expression of loyalty and love, which might sway him to reconsider his ultimate goal.

Scene:

Ganondorf stood before his SO, his golden eyes glowing with an intensity that belied the storm raging within him. "You would die for me? You would offer yourself to me in exchange for the Triforce?"

They nodded, their voice unwavering. "If that’s what you want, then yes. I love you enough to let you have it."

Ganondorf’s gaze darkened, his hands tightening into fists at his sides. "You speak of love as though it could replace the power I seek."

They smiled sadly. "It’s not about replacing anything. It’s about giving you a choice. Power or me. And even if you choose power, I will love you Ganondorf. I always will."

He stared at them, his heart pounding in his chest. For a moment, he entertained the idea—claiming the Triforce, reshaping the world to his liking, achieving everything he had ever dreamed of. But then, the thought of their lifeless body crumbled those ambitions.

"I have killed countless people in my quest for power," he murmured, his voice low. "But I cannot kill you."

His SO took a tentative step forward, their hand gently resting on his. "You don’t need the Triforce, Ganondorf. You’re already strong."

Ganondorf’s eyes flickered with emotion, his grip tightening on their hand. "You are a fool," he whispered, though there was no venom in his words. "But you are my fool."

With a resigned sigh, he turned away, his cape billowing behind him. "You will live, and I will find another way."

Hyrule Warriors Ganondorf

Thoughts: Hyrule Warriors Ganondorf is the most ruthless and war-hungry of them all. His immediate reaction would be to accept the offer, seeing it as the logical conclusion to his search for power. But even he, as pragmatic as he is, would find himself hesitating when faced with the reality of their death. Their loyalty might be the one thing that stays his hand.

Scene:

Ganondorf’s laughter echoed through the chamber, dark and mocking. "You would die for me? You would offer yourself so that I might have the Triforce?"

His SO met his gaze steadily, their voice soft but sure. "If that’s what you want, then yes. I would."

He took a step forward, his massive frame casting a shadow over them. "You do not understand what you offer. Your death would mean my ultimate victory. The Triforce would be mine, and Hyrule would fall."

They didn’t flinch. "I trust you to decide what’s right."

Ganondorf’s laughter died in his throat, his expression twisting with confusion. He had expected resistance, perhaps even fear. But this… this loyalty, this willingness to die for him—it unnerved him.

"I could kill you right now," he growled, his hand reaching for his sword. "And everything I’ve sought would be within my grasp."

"If that would make you happy, I give you my life willingly, my love." they said softly.

He stopped, his hand hovering over his blade. For a long moment, silence stretched between them. Then, with a growl of frustration, he stepped back, turning away from them.

"Your loyalty is infuriating," he muttered, his voice laced with irritation. "I will not waste it by killing you."

Tears of the Kingdom Ganondorf

Thoughts: Tears of the Kingdom Ganondorf, driven mad by Zonai magic and centuries of grief, would initially react with anger. The idea of his SO willingly giving their life for him would feel like a twisted joke, considering all the loss he’s endured. Yet, at the same time, their offer would pierce through his madness, bringing him face to face with the love he thought he had lost.

Scene:

Ganondorf’s eyes blazed with dark energy as he stared at his SO. "You would die for me? After everything?"

They nodded, their voice steady despite his anger. "If it means you can have the Triforce, yes. I’ll give my life for you."

His fists clenched, the power within him surging. "I have lost everything—everyone—and now you would give yourself willingly? Why?"

"Because I love you," they whispered, stepping toward him. "Because I believe in you."

His breath came in ragged gasps, his mind racing. He had sought power for so long, had sacrificed everything for it. But now… the thought of losing them, the one person who had stayed by his side through everything—it felt like a new kind of madness.

"You would die for me," he repeated, his voice softening, almost breaking. "But I cannot lose you too."

With a choked growl, he turned away, his hands trembling. "Damn the Triforce. I will not take it from you."

Demise

Thoughts: Demise, the embodiment of destruction and hatred, would initially be tempted to accept the offer. His SO’s death would grant him ultimate power, the very thing he craves. But something deeper would stir within him—the realization that they were the only being strong enough to stand by him, to challenge him, to understand him.

Scene:

Flames roared around Demise as he towered over his SO, his fiery gaze locked onto them. "You would die for me? You would give your life for the Triforce?"

They nodded, unflinching. "If that’s what you want, yes. I’ll die for you."

Demise’s flames flared hotter, his fists clenching as he considered their words. "Do you have any idea what you’re offering me? I could take it. End you in an instant, and the Triforce would be mine."

"I know," they said softly. "But I love you."

His flames dimmed, confusion flashing in his fiery eyes. "You love me?" he growled. "You would die for me, and expect me to care?"

They stepped forward, the heat of his power almost overwhelming. "Yes. I love you, and I would die for you, Demise."

Demise’s breath caught in his throat, the fire around him flickering uncertainly. For a long moment, he stared at them, the weight of their words sinking in.

With a furious roar, he turned away, his flames dimming to a simmer. "Damn it all. You will not die for me."

His voice was softer now, almost pained. "I will find another way. You will live."

[reinthechaosdeer]

Chapter one: Melodies of the Heart

In the grand ballroom of Voxley Manor, the air hummed with anticipation as guests arrived, their elegant attire shimmering under the soft glow of chandeliers. Among them stood Vaughn Voxley, the esteemed Duke of Ashbourne, his heart heavy with the weight of recent events that included him cutting ties fully with his longtime lover Valentino Ruiz. Across the room from Vaughn and having just entered the ballroom was Alastor Laufey talking to Roslind (Rosie) Philmont, a dear confidant and friend of the two gentlemen, Alastor exuded an aura of quiet strength, his piercing gaze betraying none of the turmoil within at having seen Vaughn across the room.

Vaughn and Alastor had been inseparable since their youth, their bond forged in the fires of shared laughter and whispered dreams. But as the years unfolded, their paths diverged. Alastor pursued his passion for music, honing his skills until his name became synonymous with brilliance on the grand stage of the world's most prestigious concert halls. Meanwhile, Vaughn ascended to his rightful place as Duke, navigating the intricate web of aristocratic society with grace and poise. During such a time Vaughn met and became close to Valentino Ruiz.

Yet, amidst their individual triumphs, one truth remained unchanged: Vaughn's heart belonged to Alastor, a love that had blossomed silently over the years, its roots deep and unyielding. That love for Alastor had partially caused the rift that would then separate Vaughn from Valentino along with Valentino having become abusive and running off with prostitutes constantly moving from one to another flight of fancy.

As the evening progressed, Vaughn's thoughts were consumed by memories of their shared past and visions of a future he dared not envision without Alastor by his side. Little did he know, fate had orchestrated a twist of destiny that would test the bounds of their friendship and the depths of their hearts.

It was during a lull in the festivities that Alastor materialized, a vision of elegance and grace, his fingers caressing the ivory keys of a grand piano with unparalleled skill. The music flowed from his soul, weaving a spell of enchantment that enraptured the assembled guests, Vaughn included.

Unable to resist the pull of Alastor's melody, Vaughn approached him with a mixture of trepidation and longing, his voice barely above a whisper. "Alastor, it's been too long."

Alastor's fingers faltered momentarily before resuming their dance across the keys, his gaze fixed on the instrument before him. "Indeed, it has, Vaughn," he replied, his tone guarded yet tinged with a hint of soft nostalgia and hidden care. 

As the night wore on and Alastor moved from the pianoforte to allow another to take over, Vaughn found himself glued to Alastor's side, their conversation flowing effortlessly as if no time had passed between them. But beneath the surface, a tempest brewed, threatening to shatter the fragile peace they had forged and the tentative pleasure swirling in the air around them.

It was as Vaughn gained the courage to ask Alastor to dance that Valentino Ruiz, Vaughn's former lover and a man of volatile temperament, made his presence known, his eyes blazing with a mixture of jealousy and possessiveness. Without warning, he lunged at Alastor, his fists clenched in a display of drunken aggression seeing them together.

Vaughn moved to intervene, his heart pounding with fear and desperation. "Valentino, stop! This is madness, We’re over!”

But Valentino was beyond reason, his mind clouded by jealousy and wounded pride. Alastor stood his ground needing to prove that he cared about Vaughn after decades of passively standing aside, his eyes flashing with defiance as he met Valentino's onslaught head-on.

In the chaos that ensued, Vaughn found himself grappling with conflicting emotions, torn between his loyalty to Alastor and the remnants of his past with Valentino. Yet, in the heat of the moment, there was no room for doubt or hesitation.

With a strength born of love and determination, Vaughn stepped between them, his voice ringing out with unwavering resolve. "Enough! I will not stand by and watch as you attack Alastor, Valentino, this misguided attempt to win me back ends here and now."

For a moment, the world stood still, the weight of Vaughn's words hanging heavy in the air. And then, as if by some silent accord, Alastor and Valentino lowered their fists, their eyes meeting in a silent exchange of understanding.

In that moment of clarity, Vaughn realized the truth that had been waiting patiently in the depths of his heart: his love for Alastor was not simply a fleeting fancy as Valentino had always responded with and nearly convinced Vaughn of, but a bond forged in the fires of shared history and unwavering devotion.

Turning to Alastor, Vaughn reached out a trembling hand, his voice barely a whisper. "Alastor, I have to ask though I fear your answer, please...give us a chance. Let me finally show you how much you mean to me, how much I've always ardently adored and admired you."

And in the gentle curve of Alastor's smile, Vaughn found his answer, a silent affirmation of the love that had endured the test of time.

As the notes of the next melody played beckoning guests to dance away, Vaughn took Alastor’s hand, their fingers intertwining in a silent promise of a future yet unwritten. And amidst the echoes of their shared past and the whispers of a love being rekindled by those who watched, they left the ballroom to walk in the garden away from others.

Chapter 2: Echoes of the Past

A gentle breeze swept through the bustling streets of London, carrying with it the promise of a new day. Amidst the throng of shoppers, Vaughn and Alastor strolled arm in arm, their laughter mingling with the rhythm of their footsteps.

It had been a few months since that fateful night at Voxley Manor, and in the wake of their reunion, Vaughn and Alastor had embarked on a journey of rediscovery, exploring the depths of their love with each passing day.

As they meandered through the crowded thoroughfares, their conversation drifted effortlessly from one topic to the next, the weight of past grievances replaced by the lightness of newfound joy.

Yet, amidst the bustling activity of the city, a familiar figure emerged from the alley ahead of them, his presence a harbinger of unresolved tensions and lingering regrets. It was Valentino Ruiz, accompanied by his new lover, Anthony Gallo, his eyes ablaze with a mixture of resentment and malicious envy.

"Vaughn," Valentino called out, his voice dripping with disdain as he approached, his gaze fixed squarely on Alastor after running a lascivious glance taking in Vaughn’s body like toxic muck. "I see you're still with the mutt. Tell me, does he dance to your tune like a good little lapdog, happily begging for scraps?"

Vaughn's jaw clenched with restrained fury, his protective instincts kicking into overdrive. "Valentino, this is neither the time nor the place for your pathetic attempts at insulting us. Leave us be."

But Valentino was undeterred, his words laced with venom as he turned his attention back to Alastor. "And what about you, Alastor? Are you content to play second fiddle to Vaughn's whims, forever relegated to the shadows of his affection?"

Alastor's gaze remained steady; his composure unwavering in the face of Valentino's provocation. "I am nobody's second choice, Valentino. Least of all yours."

Valentino's laughter echoed through the streets, a bitter reminder of the wounds that still lingered beneath the surface. "Oh, how noble of you, Alastor. But we both know the truth, don't we? Vaughn will always come crawling back to me, no matter how hard he tries to deny it."

But Vaughn stood tall, his resolve unyielding as he stepped forward, placing himself between Alastor and Valentino. "Valentino, I will not allow you to poison this moment with your petty insecurities. Alastor and I have found something worth fighting for, something that transcends the shadows of our past."

Valentino's eyes narrowed, his fists clenched in a silent display of fury. "You're making a mistake, Vaughn. Mark my words, you'll regret this decision."

But Vaughn remained steadfast, his gaze unwavering as he took Alastor's hand in his own, their fingers entwined in a silent gesture of solidarity. "I have no regrets, Valentino. My heart belongs to Alastor, now and forever."

With a final glance of contemptuous surrender, Valentino turned on his heel, his retreat a testament to the futility of his words. And as the echoes of his footsteps faded into the distance, Vaughn and Alastor were left alone once more, their love a beacon of light as they continued their journey through the streets of London headed toward the opera house, their hearts intertwined in a silent symphony of devotion, Vaughn knew that no matter what trials lay ahead, they would face them together.

Chapter 3: Harmony Everlasting

The stage was set, the spotlight casting its luminous glow upon Alastor Laufey as he stood before a sea of adoring fans. His fingers danced across the keys of the grand piano, each note a testament to the passion that burned within his soul.

As the final chords of his latest composition reverberated through the concert hall, a thunderous applause erupted, filling the air with a symphony of appreciation and admiration. But amidst the sea of faces, there was one that shone brighter than the rest, a beacon of unwavering support and unconditional love.

Vaughn stood in the front row, his eyes brimming with pride as he watched Alastor take his final bow. For in that moment, he knew with a certainty that transcended words: Alastor was not only his love, but his destiny.

As the last echoes of applause faded into the night, Vaughn made his way backstage, his heart pounding with anticipation. And there, amidst the whirlwind of congratulatory embraces and well-wishes, he found Alastor, his eyes alight with the glow of creative fulfillment.

"Alastor," Vaughn whispered, his voice barely above a breath as he took Alastor's hand in his own. "You were magnificent tonight. Your music...it moves me in ways I cannot ever begin to describe."

Alastor's smile was radiant, his gaze locking with Vaughn's in a silent exchange of understanding. "Thank you, Vaughn. Your unwavering support means more to me than words can express fully."

And then, as if guided by some unseen force, Vaughn found himself sinking to one knee, his heart laid bare before the man he loved more than life itself. "Alastor Laufey, will you do me the honor of spending the rest of your days by my side? Will you marry me?"

For a moment, time stood still, the world around them fading into insignificance as Alastor's eyes widened in shock and disbelief. And then, with a joyous laugh that echoed through the depths of Vaughn's soul, he threw his arms around Vaughn, his answer a resounding affirmation of their love.

"Yes, Vaughn," Alastor whispered, his voice trembling with emotion as he pressed his lips to Vaughn's in a tender kiss. "A thousand times yes."

And amidst the applause of their friends and well-wishers, Vaughn and Alastor embarked on a journey of love and partnership, their hearts united in a harmony that would endure for all eternity.

For in the quiet moments that followed, as they basked in the glow of their shared happiness, Vaughn knew with a certainty that transcended words: theirs was a love that would stand the test of time, a love as timeless and enduring as the melodies of the heart.

Bonus Chapters Vaughn before the Ball: Breaking Free

The weight of silence hung heavy in the air as Vaughn Voxley sat alone in his study, the flickering flames of the hearth casting long shadows across the room. In his hands, he clutched a letter from Valentino "asking him to come back...That he wouldn't cheat again or hit him", its words a damning testament to the lies and deceit that had always plagued his once-glorious romance with Valentino Ruiz.

For years, Vaughn had turned a blind eye to Valentino's indiscretions, his love blinding him to the truth that lay hidden beneath the surface. But now, as the harsh light of reality pierced the veil of his illusions, he could no longer deny the painful truth: Valentino was not the man he had once believed him to be.

With a heavy heart and trembling hands, Vaughn penned his response, each word a dagger of truth aimed squarely at the heart of their doomed relationship. And as he affixed his signature to the parchment, a sense of liberation washed over him, the chains of his past finally shattered beneath the weight of his resolve.

It was amidst this tumultuous sea of emotions that Vaughn received word of Alastor's return to town, his heart aflutter with a mixture of excitement and apprehension. For in the depths of his soul, he knew that Alastor's presence heralded the dawn of a new chapter in his life, one filled with promise and possibility.

As the days passed and preparations for Vaughn's upcoming ball reached a fever pitch, whispers of Alastor's return spread like wildfire through the aristocratic circles of London. And though Vaughn tried to quell the rising tide of anticipation that swelled within his breast, he could not deny the flutter of excitement that danced in his heart at the thought of seeing Alastor once more.

And then, on the day of the ball, as the sun dipped below the horizon and the stars painted the night sky with their celestial glow, Vaughn watched as Alastor arrived with Rosie. 

Bonus Chapters Vaughn leaves Valentino: Shadows Unveiled

The night was shrouded in darkness as Vaughn Voxley made his way through the winding streets of London, his heart heavy with the weight of impending confrontation. For weeks, whispers of Valentino's infidelity had plagued his thoughts, each passing day a cruel reminder of the lies and deceit that had poisoned their once-glorious romance.

And so it was, on this fateful evening, that Vaughn found himself standing outside the elegant townhouse where Valentino had taken refuge, his resolve steeling itself for the inevitable reckoning that lay ahead.

With a trembling hand, Vaughn pushed open the door, the soft click of the latch echoing through the empty foyer. And there, amidst the dimly lit shadows of the parlor, he found Valentino, entwined in the arms of another man, their whispered confessions a damning testament to the depths of his betrayal.

For a moment, time stood still as Vaughn's heart shattered into a million pieces, the sting of betrayal cutting deeper than any blade. And then, with a loud yell of anguish, he lunged forward, his fists clenched in a desperate display of furious hurt.

However Valentino was ready, his movements swift and precise as he struck back with a force born of cruelty and dismissal. Blow after blow rained down upon Vaughn, each one a cruel reminder of the pain that had festered beneath the surface of their doomed romance.

With every ounce of strength remaining, Vaughn fought back, his vision clouded by a haze of pain and rage. But as the darkness closed in around him, he knew that he could not win this battle alone.

Summoning the last vestiges of his resolve in living to see Alastor again, Vaughn broke free from Valentino's grasp, his body battered and bruised as he blindly kicked Valentino in the face and slammed a vase to daze him, then crawled out the window quickly. And there, amidst the cold embrace of the night air, he made his escape, his heart heavy with the weight of shattered dreams and broken promises.

As he fled into the darkness, Vaughn knew that this would not be the end of his story. For in the depths of his soul, he carried with him the ember of hope, a flickering flame that refused to be extinguished by the shadows of his past. And though the road ahead would be fraught with uncertainty and peril, he would face it with courage and determination, his heart guided by the light of a love that had refused to die no matter what.

[silverskye13]

Does hels have any classic nether creatures and have they ever caused trouble for the city before? (Imagining a group of combat savvy helsmets fighting off a swarm of blazes that have breached past the outskirts. Or on the flipside, nether mobs being used in colosseum matches or treated like domestic/wild animals with Zoglins/Withers being high priced sponsored matches and striders hanging out wherever there's a little corner of lava a la city pigeons.)

Hels does have classic nether creatures flitting around! I think I've only really mentioned ghasts in the plot, but I imagine outside of the main city, piglins and zombie piglins have their own little societies, and that helsmets will travel outside the main hels city to explore or trade with them. Blazes are definitely a pest that sometimes wander in, as are endermen. Zombie piglins are probably gently herded away from the city by people who live on the outskirts, like trying to subtly lead your annoying, sleep walking neighbor home whenever they wander into your yard. [Also the idea of Striders as basically giant land pigeons is adorable to me oh my gosh.]

There was also a subplot I dropped, where the Demon, among his many faults, was in charge of the mob switch for hels, and kept a pit full of piglins in horrible conditions underneath his base. The subplot got dropped because it involved a side character [unnamed because he will still make an appearance, just not in nearly as intense as a capacity as before] who I thought would benefit from having a background crusade vaguely hinted at to make the world feel a little more full. "Sure the Main Plot is our concern, but there is a main character doing his own main character shenanigans in the background if you squint hard enough," kind of energy. Ultimately though, I decided I liked the Demon as an antagonist for more relatable reasons than "is also secretly an asshole to the arguably sentient mobs", and also the aforementioned, unmentioned side character doesn't need an implied rich world. Hels feels decently alive without the extra implication.

On the note of mobs though, a la the Roman Colosseum, I do think the Hels Colosseum hosts animal/beast/monster based events, and since you sent this ask at a time it was weirdly relevant, have an out of context snippet from the next chapter below the cut:

“I had a match once, where they asked me to fight a sound of hoglins.” Helsknight said tiredly, balling a fist in his blankets at the memory. “It was before I was Champion… I had never fought animals before. I didn't see the harm in it then.” Helsknight paused, swallowed, and said quietly. “I didn't like it. Animals don't have any concept of courage, or glory, or fighting for a cause. They only know hunger, and the fear of dying, and the promise of a handler who leaves them to their fate after they're trained. It's cruel.”

Tanguish didn't know what to say, so he nodded. Then, realizing Helsknight couldn't see the nod because his arm was still over his eyes, he said, “That sounds terrible.”

“It sucked.” Helsknight agreed.

[mistresslrigtar]

Excerpt:

“Link says you led him to the resting place of the goddess pearls.” Zelda eyes Gustaf keenly. “Do you know their value and what they unlock?”

Gustaf nods sagely, his mouth forming a grim line. “I do, and yes.”

Zelda rises to her full height and looks down at Gustaf, sea-green eyes blazing. “If you are who you say, why on this goddess green earth would you entrust those precious artifacts to this rapscallion?”  

“Hey!” Link lowers his foot to the floor and straightens his back at Zelda’s dig. Hadn’t their time at the fair at least gotten them past name-calling? “Who are you calling a rapscallion?”

“Because I believe he possesses the Triforce of Courage,” Gustaf states, ignoring Link’s exclamation.

Zelda chokes back a laugh. “Link warned me you were crazy. If he’s the Hero of Legend, I’ll eat my hat.”

“This song and dance again.” Patience waning, Link narrows his eyes, leaning across the desk to point an accusing finger at Gustaf. “Look, I told you before, old timer, we’re no heroes. We’re pirates. We steal for a living and live wantonly. So find someone else to fall for your fairy tales.”

“It’s the truth, and deep down, I know you know it, too,” Gustaf insists, conviction lighting his eyes. 

The siren’s seductive whispers only serve to punctuate Gustaf’s claim. Clenching his fists tightly, Link fights the urge to cover his ears and block the alluring call.

[littleone088]

Miss Gribben -

Warning: narcissism, verbal abuse, references to pedophilia

-

"You are nothing! Nothing without me!" The Older Woman encouraged my tears with furious yelling. No reason was given for the anger as she held the letter high above my head.

"Begging mummy and daddy to come get you, is it?" I reached to snatch the letter, only for her hand to smack me down onto the ground. Miss G glared through her shiny silver tears.

Her breath rattled out through her teeth in a hiss, as if she was an angered serpent. I was her mouse, ready to escape her clutches by any means possible.

"Why are you trying to leave me, CeCe?" Her voice cracked, and silken tears ran down her cheeks to delve into the crack of her lips "Am I not enough?"

I, Cecilia Burns, threw caution to the wind. My hard, blazing eyes setting fire to the brunette as I mustered up the courage to spit my most vile, heartfelt truth into the snakes maw.

"Because I hate you." The words flew past my lips faster than her ears could comprehend them, and so the consequences didn't land their hits until I'd finished my hateful monologue "You are a spiteful parasite, clinging onto me for your own sickening gain"

Her eyes shattered like I had thrown stones at a priceless stained glass window. Miss G let the grasp on her sanity slip from her hand, so that it was free to let itself corrupt from the dirt and grime on the ground. She let her smile flicker, and then drop.

At first, I thought she might strike me, but it seemed she valued self restraint. Her hands bunched into fists, then slackened. She felt each knuckle pop from the tension.

"You... What?" Tears slickened her face like the mist of a great fog. Her lip quivered and began to shake. Her lashes became moist with water.

The sympathetic side to my spirit began to ache for her. My more rebellious side began to take hold, however and I let my voice grow louder, stronger, harsher.

"I HATE YOU!" I was on my feet now, staring her dead in the eyes. Miss G was taller than me, with an intimidating presence even as her hard exterior cracked. She shuddered out a breath as I screeched out obscenity after obscenity, anything to make her hurt.

Her eyes conveyed the grief of thousands. Gail Gribben raised a trembling hand to grasp for me

"DONT TOUCH ME, YOU- YOU FREAK!"

Miss G followed as I stumbled backwards, attempting to put as much distance between us as possible. I wanted to get off of this island, out of this country. Away from her.

Her slender fingers wrapped themselves around my wrist, pulling me to her as if I was merely a doll. She was pure, slender steel with the strength of a great sword. She was desirous violence incarnate.

"Don't push me away, CeCe" her voice trembled like a scolded child. Gail pulled and pulled until I was in her arms and thrashing against her grip. Her arm held me by my waist, another in my hair as she forced me to dry my tears on the shoulder of her fabric scarf.

Hatred, fear and grief rage inside me. I fought like an alley cat but still... She held me. This woman had an indomitable vice-like grip on me. I sobbed hard into her shoulders, finally letting myself fall under her spell of perceived protection.

The irony was, what I needed protecting from in the first place, was the very thing attempting to keep me 'safe' in that moment. Miss Gribben shivered out harsh hissed breaths as she trembled, checked my subservience and laid her moist lips against my temple.

"I will leave this place" my voice was nearly silent, soft like the whimper of kitten. I was broken. This threat was an empty one.

"Enough now..." My sobs encouraged her to hold me tight, as if she would never let me go "...shhhh"

Gail fixed her eyes on the wall behind me, hard and calculating. She had to take back control of this situation.

"No more of these empty little threats, my girl. They do us no good"

My breathing quivered. Miss G felt my body relax and took it a a sign of submission. I had given up the fight. A little smile crooked her lips as she imagined taking control once more.

She rocked me in her arms like a child, in some sick fashion I probably was. Miss Gribben mothered me, everyone knew it. What they didn't know was the extremes she took our dynamic to.

"You won't leave me, not ever" I knew this was more of a self-affirmation than something she was saying to me. Her voice croaked and her hands on me grew more possessive.

Her rocking of my body stilled, and her hands froze on me. She pressed her mouth to my head and murmured words I scarcely recognised. Miss G was someone I barely knew anymore.

"Promise me"

"I-" her quiveringly serious voice cut me off.

"Promise you won't leave"

...

"Where are you going, Celia?"

Di Radfield rubbed her eyes, still in bed with the blankets rolled up to her ankles. She watched me step into my slippers.

"Miss G sent for me"

"Again? At this time of night?"

I sighed, and shook my head. I longed to delve back into my own blankets.

"Why?" Di's eyes glinted with suspicion. My stomach turned, and for a moment I considered telling her the truth. Maybe I could be freed from the tumultuous relationship I had with Miss G if I just came clean to someone.

Without an answer, Di huffed and turned over to chase sleep once again.

By the time I reached her quarters, only a single oil lamp burned by the bedside. Gail flicked her page, and smiled warmly up at me. She pulled back the blankets and invited me into her bed.

By now, this was a nightly ritual. I would step into her bed and face away from her, hoping against destiny that I might be sent back to my own room and avoid the questions from the other girls.

More often than not, her book was laid aside within a couple of minutes and the oil lamp was blown out reducing the room to complete darkness. Miss G shuffled slightly ruffling the blankets, scooting along the mattress until her front pressed against me and her breath chased the nape of my neck.

"Don't be a rude goose, darling"

I knew what this phrase meant. Especially when accompanied by a sillied giggle like that of a schoolgirl. I'd turn reluctantly to find her waiting, tired eyes happily smiling as she wrapped around me with her whole body. Her lips pressed to mine, and her heat enveloped me in a cocoon.

As soon as I felt her touch me all doubts and fears were struck from my mind. I felt safe. Miss Gribben was my protector, my saviour. I needed her and she needed me.

Sleep was quick to follow, and the day began anew.

-

[eskawrites]

@bedeviled-pelican i am choosing to believe the bird and sword makes this a tenlark prompt ;)

22. "Do you trust me?" "I don't know."

Lark paces outside Tenar's makeshift room. The house around her is chaos, filled to the brim with shouted orders and the clang of hammer on metal. They're not soldiers. This is no armory. And yet they're preparing for war all the same.

We could leave, Arren had said, the night before they'd snuck their way back into the city at Tenar's side. What do we owe Erathia, anyway? We could leave, and Tenar could come with us, and we wouldn't have to die for any of this.

But Tenar wouldn't leave. Never, not for anything. And Lark is realizing more and more lately that she would never leave Tenar.

So here they are, gearing up for battle again. And here she is, standing outside Tenar's door, trying and failing to work up the courage to knock.

It doesn't come. She raises a fist and knocks anyway.

"Enter," Tenar says, regal and commanding even without throne and crown. Lark can do nothing but obey.

"Lark." The greeting is less formal. She even dares to think she hears warmth in Tenar's voice. But it does nothing to calm the turmoil in her gut, the way her instincts scream at her that something is going to go wrong. "I thought you were readying the horses."

"I am. I--I did. I--" Lark stops and forces herself to take a breath. "I wanted to talk to you."

"Then speak." The order is belied by the softness in Tenar's eyes. Lark feels panic claw its way up her throat.

"Don't do this."

Tenar pauses. Lark stares at her, helpless, ashamed. Desperate.

"What do you mean?" Tenar's voice is cooler now.

Lark closes her eyes. "I just...wonder if we've considered all options."

"You're questioning the plan."

"No." Because she's not, really. It's a good plan. Probably the best we have. She just...doesn't like it.

"Then what are you saying, Lark?"

Oh, there's danger in her voice now. Just a hint of the anger she only rarely allows herself to show. Lark's knees shake. She looks up again, ready and willing to drown in the fire she knows will be blazing in Tenar's eyes.

"I am worried."

"About what?"

You.

The word dies in Lark's throat. Too honest, too dangerous, and entirely too much to lose if things go wrong today. So she swallows it back.

"The plan."

She watches frustration boil over in Tenar's gaze, and she braces herself.

"You helped make the plan," Tenar says shortly.

"I know."

"Then what's wrong with it?"

"Do you have to do this?" Lark says, finally letting go of some of her own restraint. "This--it's dangerous, Tenar. You're risking your life just for--"

"Just for my kingdom. My people. All the things I was born to protect."

"You can't protect Erathia if you're dead."

"Do you think me so incapable?" Tenar snaps.

"No," Lark says softly, unwilling and unable to rise to Tenar's anger. "I think the odds are against us."

Tenar takes a breath. "That's going to be true no matter what."

"I know. But that doesn't--you don't--"

"Do you trust me?"

Lark meets her eyes. "I don't know."

It's not true. She trusts Tenar with her life, would gladly give her own for her, would follow her into death and whatever lies beyond happily if Tenar said it was the right move.

She just can't bear the idea of letting her run into this alone, and losing her along the way.

Tenar stares back at her, stunned and blatantly hurt, and Lark wants to take it back. But before she can even open her mouth to speak, Tenar turns her back on her.

"Well, we have no choice," she says, and her voice is clear and commanding again, a princess--a queen, even, if they make it through the day--and nothing more. "This is our best chance. Whether you believe in me or not doesn't matter. I have my part to play, and you have yours."

"Ten--"

"Go, Lark. You have preparations to make."

Lark closes her eyes, but she is helpless, as always, to do anything but obey.

"Yes, Your Highness," she murmurs. And then she's gone, hurrying out of the room before she can make this worse.