#Long Lost Love

[saphstories]

one bed trope sonamy

As You Wish

The heavens would prove unkind tonight, she regretfully mused, wincing at the booming thunder that shook the skies and the carriage. “Not a fan of storms, Lady Amelia?”

Amelia Rose sighed and smiled awkwardly at her companion, sitting across the carriage from her. His emerald eyes were inquisitive, searching hers, while his posture was relaxed, chin in his hand, appearing almost bored. “Not when they impede the procession home, Lord Silas.” She replied, drawing her burgundy cloak tighter around her shoulders.

Silas snorted. “Aye, especially when I can run faster than the carriage.”

Amelia’s ears perked up. “Is that so?” She asked.

Silas nodded, a bit of a smug smile on his peach muzzle. “Aye, milady. I’ve obtained quite the moniker for my speed. My friends call me ‘Sonic’, and I overhear many of the townsfolk refer to me as ‘The Blue Blur’.”

“Sonic,” Amelia tested the epithet on her tongue, and smiled at him. “I must say, it suits you.”

Silas grinned at her, and warmth spread from Amelia’s stammering heart to her cheeks. “If milady wishes, you may address me so.” He encouraged.

Amelia smiled, and the carriage jolted and skidded to a stop. Amelia squealed and grabbed the upholstery to hold herself steady, alarmed at the slew of voices shouting amid the thunder and downpour outside. Sonic’s hand reached for her but hesitated from touching her. “Alright, Amelia?”

“Aye.” Amelia bobbed her head quickly. “What do you think’s happened?”

Sonic’s brow furrowed, a deep frown pointed towards the carriage door, his lithe body coiling tight as a snake. “Hopefully just a bumpy road, milady.” He lightly rested his hand on the sword at his hip, his thumb gingerly stroking the top of the golden circular cross guard. He shifted on the seat, angling himself towards the carriage door and creating a shield between it and Amelia, his hand now curled tight on the blade hilt. The carriage door creaked open. Sonic unsheathed his sword, the silvery blade somehow gleaming in the low light. “Keep behind me, Amelia. I will not let them harm you.” He whispered.

“I am not exactly helpless, Sonic!” Amelia hissed back, her cheeks flushing scarlet indignantly.

“Don’t I know it.” Sonic muttered to himself. Amelia frowned. The carriage door burst open.

“Sonic!” An echidna raised his mittens in surrender, his scarlet fur and bronze armor splattered with mud and soaked with rainwater.

“Chaos, Knuckles!” Sonic exclaimed, shaking his head and sheathing his sword. “You’re lucky I didn’t cleave you in two!”

Knuckles snorted. “I would like to see you try!”

Sonic rolled his eyes. “Perhaps now would not be the time, Knucklehead. What’s happened?”

“The storm has caused a flood in the valley; the carriage will not make it the normal routes, at least not tonight.” Knuckles grimly reported. “We spotted a tavern just a few minutes ride whence we came; it would be safer course if we took shelter for the night and resumed our travels at first light.”

Sonic considered those words and nodded. “Very well then, Knuckles.” The echidna dipped his head to Amelia and shut the carriage door, shouting at the others, and Sonic settled back into his seat as the carriage began moving again.

“Do you know the tavern Knuckles spoke of?” Amelia asked curiously.

Sonic shook his head. “It has been some time since I traveled this direction, milady. I just hope there are enough rooms for our company.”

#

“Well, if hopes were rings,” Sonic chuckled nervously, scratching a hand through his damp blue quills. Amelia’s cheeks blazed as rosy as her long quills, shifting nervously as she eyed the compact room outfitted with creaky wooden floors, a tiny wooden wardrobe, and one moderate singular bed in the center, outfitted with one singular ratty quilt. Sonic cleared his throat and gestured to the door that led to the washroom. “Ladies first.”

Grateful and flustered, Amelia fled, her decorum preventing her from slamming the door outright in her embarrassment. She covered her face with her hands and whined, practically vibrating with her nerves. This was not how it was meant to happen! She and Sonic may be betrothed and set to marry in a day’s time, certainly, but they weren’t meant to be in such close quarters yet! They should have arrived in Sonic’s villa by now, Amelia should have been formally introduced to his family as his chosen bride, and the preparations for their union were due to begin in the morning! But now, because of poor luck and a terrible monsoon, all that time meant to prepare her for-for intimacy with Sonic was forfeit!

Amelia took a deep breath. “Pull yourself together, Rose.” She muttered to herself. “’Tis only a small delay, and you are to be united with him at sunset tomorrow, what is one night early?” She nodded to herself and discarded her sopping cloak, reaching for a towel…only to find them missing. Lovely. She sighed and opened the door, poking her head out. “Sonic, are there-oh!” Amelia slapped a hand over her mouth, her cheeks now a permanent shade of red…but her traitorous eyes refused to look away.

Sonic faced away from her, his soaked shirt wringing out in his hands, ruffled blue fur glistening with mist in the candlelight. Strong but lithe blue shoulders gave way to thick blue spines glinting and sharp down a nimble back to narrow hips and a pert blue tail, still covered by sopping wet trousers.

Amelia shook herself and slammed the door, flushed and embarrassed and ashamed. What was she to ogle a man like a hound would a scrap of meat? Her mother would have her hide for such! Amelia sighed and shimmied out of her dress, wrapping her arms around herself to ward off the chill. At least her chemise was mostly dry; it would have to do for tonight. She hung her dress and cloak over the tub, then faced the door nervously, biting her lip. She huffed, lifted her chin, and marched out.

Sonic froze when he saw her, his emerald eyes wonderstruck, raking over her before he cleared his throat and refocused on her face with a tinge of pink on his peach muzzle. Amelia wasn’t much better, her gaze locked on the white shirt Sonic bore, the neckline a deep v that showcased the peach fur of his chest and the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, the length barely long enough to cover his thighs. “Y-You take the bed, Amelia.” He gestured. “I’ll take the floor.”

“What? No, Sonic, that is unnecessary.” Amelia protested, stepping forward.

“Amelia-,”

“Sonic, we are to be married in one day.” Amelia crossed her arms. “As unpleasant as these circumstances are, it is what we are contended with. And since you are my husband to be, and we will be sharing a bed permanently by tomorrow, I see no harm in doing so tonight when there is no other reasonable option.”

Sonic’s ears tipped back, and he nodded. “As...as you wish.”

Amelia pulled back the ratty quilt and slid into the bed, wincing at the lumpiness. Sonic dithered at the opposite edge of the bed before quickly climbing in, putting his back to Amelia. She tried to swallow the lump that left in her throat and turned away also. “Goodnight, Sonic.”

“…Goodnight, Amelia.”

Amelia laid there, watching the shadows dance on the wall. “…Sonic?”

“Aye?”

“Thank you…for preparing to defend me in the carriage.”

“…I will always defend you, Amelia. I need no thanks for it.”

Amelia bit her lip and sighed.

“Amelia?”

“Aye?”

“…I…regret that you think the marriage arrangement is unpleasant. If you so wish, we could…negate the contract and I shall escort you home at first light.”

Amelia nearly shot up out of the bed. “What?” Sonic refused to turn over and look at her, but Amelia was no mere damsel, and so grabbed his shoulder and forced him to meet her eyes. “Sonic, why would you assume I think such nonsense? If I thought it unpleasant, I wouldn’t have agreed!” She exclaimed.

Sonic furrowed his brow. “But, just a moment ago, you said-,”

Amelia flopped onto her pillow and groaned. “I meant the unpleasant circumstances of the storm delaying us here and forcing us to share close quarters before either of us were ready, silly man.”

Sonic’s eyes brightened, and a half-smile formed on his peach muzzle. “Oh. I see.”

Amelia snorted and smiled at him. “Do you not know better than to assume what a lady thinks, milord?”

Sonic laughed. Stars appeared in Amelia’s eyes. “I admit, my experience with the female mind is woefully lacking.” Amelia giggled, and the smile that flourished on Sonic’s muzzle fluttered her heart. “You truly are the most beautiful in all Mobius, Amelia.�� Sonic whispered reverently, gingerly smoothing an errant pink quill out of her eyes.  

Amelia’s cheeks once again matched her name. “Is-Is that why you chose me?” She mumbled. “For my beauty?”

Sonic’s smile turned sad. “I chose you for your heart, Amelia. Your compassion, your grace, your courage, and your strength. After all, it was those things that saved a starving young boy with two apples fifteen years ago.”

“Apples? Oh!” Amelia gasped.

She remembered that day all too clearly. It had been raining then, too, but little six-year-old Amelia hadn’t been bothered, dancing in the downpour with a smile and muddying her fine dress. It was on one of her twirls that she’d spotted him, a tiny blue hoglet in rags, shivering and pale, hiding behind a post…but watching her all the same with inquisitive emerald eyes. Her heart had clenched for him, especially when he whimpered and clutched his belly, and she immediately snatched the first things she found: two bright red apples off a cart just a pace away. Amelia had thrown them to the hoglet and beamed at him when he picked them up despite their landing in the mud; went to throw him more…but had been caught and humiliated by her mother’s scolding. When she turned back to look back and beg her mother to take him home with them...the boy had vanished. Amelia had never seen him again.

Until tonight. “I would have starved if not for you, Amelia.” Sonic whispered, gently stroking her cheek with his thumb. “You inspired me to become the man I am today: the man that protects those that cannot protect themselves, a man that shows compassion to those burdened, lost, and alone, a man that has strived to be worthy of your heart…because since that day, you have had mine.”

“Oh, Sonic,” Amelia threw her arms around Sonic’s neck and buried her face in his chest, her shoulders shaking with sobs even though her heart sang with joy. His arms encircled her, his fingers stroking her quills, his lips whispering words of love in her ear. “We-We need to go to sleep now.” She declared, beaming. “We need to sleep so tomorrow will come and we can be married as soon as possible.” Sonic tipped his head back and laughed. Amelia giggled and pushed him down to snuggle into his chest, her arms tight around him. He pressed a kiss to Amelia’s forehead, closing his eyes with a loving smile. “As you wish.”

[pursuitseternal]

“Stripping,” a nsfw, hurt/comfort, and vengeance update to “Our Blood is Thicker:”

Astarion x Cordehlia (named Tav) | E | 6.3K

Summary: The fight for vengeance for her father comes at last to Ketheric, so long as Astarion is there to keep on hand on her, to keep her from getting lost in the bloodlust of the Bone Picker. Cordehlia needs healing… her burdens of her past too great to bear alone. That’s why her love is there, to strip away her old griefs, and all that covers her.

CW: Bloodlust, angst, revenge, hurt/comfort, allusions to battle-canon gore, Act 2 Spoilers, real sex, tadpole stripping (symbolic), very soft Dom!Astarion

Previous ch | Ao3 link | Masterlist

Chapter 13: Stripping…

💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞

Moonrise Towers. A curse nearly broken. The Moonmaiden Aylin freed, and the source of that monster's immortality unchained. Only one thing remained to their moving forward.

Ketheric had to die.

They had come close, so close. The rest of his bone-chilled undead fighters were dust at their feet. But then… there was that oozing orifice now in the top of the Moonrise Towers, the illithid stink rising from its bowels. A hole where Ketheric had vanished like the coward he was, threat on top of threat, into the putrid heart of the Absolute.

Cordehlia ran right for it, blade at the ready, pursuing after Ketheric alone. A battle cry tore through the air as she sprinted. Blood spattered. Breathless.

Hellsbent on revenge.

Two sets of feet ran for her… one shifting into a bear just to make sure he got there before she did anything rash. The Druid panted as he raised up on his massive hind feet. Cordehlia slammed into a wall of fur, two lean vampiric arms not far behind to catch her against Halsin’s big bear belly.

“Stop, stop, darling,” Astarion repeated over and over. But the She-elf thrashed even as her weapons were pinned to her sides. Even as she snapped her teeth and hissed in rage at them both.

Her eyes were pure black, dilated so wide with bloodlust. Her need to kill, to avenge.

To repay the debt she had carried for a century, the weight of her Father’s lost soul.

“Let me go, damn you both,” she snarled. Her voice was deep, scratched with all her battle screams.

“Not until you see sense, my love,” Astarion tried to cajole, tried to hold her armored body against his own even as she shook, the rush of her need to kill shooting down every muscle of her body. The bear grunted, a warning, and Astarion held her fast to turn them, to keep the splatter of mud from covering their already filthy bodies as the Druid shifted back.

“Your father wouldn’t want you to fall headlong into danger,” Halsin instantly interjected the moment he could. And for once, Astarion was a tinge glad the ancient elf could help. Especially as he felt her body slowly begin to still at the sound of reason. “You need to regroup, think of your strategy before you dive into the belly of the enemy. That place reeks of Illithids and pulses with the power of the Absolute,” Halsin’s deep voice rumbled, slow and soothing tones that rippled with persuasion and wisdom.

“Ketheric must die,” Cordelia thrashed again, back to her lover’s chest, elbows trying to free herself and making her vampire grunt and hiss in the process. “To break the curse, to end the Absolute, to avenge all that has been taken from me… all that made me this… weapon. I need…” her voice grew feral, threatening in a way that made every one of her companions quake in their boot, “to crush him… I need his blood.”

“Gods,” Astarion tried to gently stroke her face, “now which one of us sounds vampiric, darling?” He whispered, catching the edge of her long and pointed ear in his fingers. Something behind her eyes softened, something that turned that black back to singing silver, slowly, stroke by stroke of his fingers.

Until she stilled completely, limp in his arms, smiling gently as she looked into his face at last.

“There now, little Raven,” he whispered only for her ear as he caressed it.

“You’ll have your justice, little one,” Halsin drew closer. And Astarion fought hard not to bristle at the way his green eyes smiled at his love. “But we need to regroup, gather our forces before we dive into that Mindflayer colony to end Ketheric once and for all.”

“Fine,” Cordehlia stood on her own two feet, finally steady, calm enough that Astarion was pretty sure she wouldn’t launch down that stinking hole alone. “I hear wisdom in your words, my Father’s own sort.” She squared her shoulders, hands quickly resheathing her weapons with a metallic hiss. “We rest a few moments, then we cut him off… cut him down.”

The whole party gave a sigh of relief, finding places here and there to sit, to wipe the blood from their eyes and sharpen their weapons a moment.

Halsin left them to do the same, beginning his work of healing whatever little wounds they had sustained. And Astairon finally felt the peace of being with her alone, for that moment. Even with her back towards him, her eyes fixed on their next move of attack, he couldn’t leave her. “My love,” he bid her softly. “Come and sit a moment with me, won’t you?”

“No,” she replied, fixed forward still. “I won’t rest until his blood is shed and my Father is avenged.”

“Don’t be stupid, Cordehlia,” he tutted his tongue, moving to put himself in her line of sight. Those eyes at first scowled at him… the same way she once did when they first… stumbled upon one another again. There was loathing, hatred. Bloodlust even. It sliced through him, pain cutting right to his slow-beating, undead heart. “What’s wrong, my love?” he frowned, folding his arms across his own armored chest.

“What’s wrong?” she scoffed, vitriol in her voice and hate in her eyes. “I am so close to avenging my Father… so close to fighting my way back to who I once was before I lost my only family to Ketheric, so close to reclaiming what I was when you first loved me…. I am so close to cleaning my hands from all the blood I shed as the Bone Picker, so close to clearing my body of the damned mantle of my former self. My dark self.”

A warm voice cleared its throat at a distance beside them. “Well, that is most encouraging, I must interject…”

Astarion had to force his lips to stay shut, to keep himself from snarling and letting his fangs do the talking. “I don't think Cordehlia invited you to join our very private conversation… Gale… and I know I didn’t extend an invitation…”

“Well,” the Wizard shifted as Cordehlia turned to look into his own face. Her eyes still hardened, her mouth still turned in a scowl, “a fresh start… a new beginning, once this is all through, it’s what you deserve, Cordehlia.”

Astarion bristled. “Forgive me, but maybe what she deserves is to know that what she was has made her what she is… perfect and stronger and fiercer. Capable of bringing down the Absolute, capable of so much more than that.” He could hear it in his own voice, that edge of a hiss, that rasp of threat he hoped made Gale quake and shut his mouth. “Unlike those of us who tried to win the love of a goddess of magic to be cursed with some magical blight… Some of us have a sordid past that has made us embrace the monster we are and use it to our… advantage.”

Cordehlia turned, her love, her fierce defender… she felt something inside her ease as he braced his whole frame, ready to attack at her side. He never saw her as a monster, never condemned her for the blood that stained her past and dripped from her hands. He couldn’t chastise her without naming the same fault in himself. Not that he saw it as fault. Only suffering and torture and loss.

For what fault was there in him? Made to be tortured, made to seduce and use his body for his master’s delight…

And she… she had been formed like adamantine… stronger than a blade, more deadly than any spell. She would end this enemy… Ketheric, the Absolute…

Crodehila took a steadying breath, drawing closer to place one gauntleted hand on Astarion’s arm. “It is the darkest forces, the most devastating pressure that forms the sharpest weapons. And you can’t escape that darkness, that pressure or else… you become brittle ....”

She watched her words take hold, sinking into his chest, his heart, the source of his blight. Gale’s eyes fluttered closed to hear her speak. “None of us need to shatter, not even you, no matter what self-sacrifice has been demanded of you by your former lover. Embrace who you are, what you have learned in the dark, and we will make it out of this.”

Astarion smiled so softly down at her—his unshakable warrior. Every head nodding in approval.

Cordehlia took a trembling inhale, almost watching her reflection in her mind, covered in that fearsome armor of Lady Corvus, smiling back at her. Brighter. Part of her. But not in control. “We can walk from this side by side, once this is all through. And we will all be made that much sharper for it.”

Even that made Gale smile, spurned as he was, jealous or determined… it didn’t seem to burn so bright inside him anymore. “You’re right,” he shook his head, “damned wisdom of the elves… I can’t argue with that.”

The vampire sucked his teeth, a little cock of his head rife with sarcasm. “If only you’d listen with that same rapt attention to me, sometime,” Astarion sneered even as he laughed.

“Not sure you count as an elf…” Gale tossed back, “or wise…”

Karlach snorted with laughter, breaking what could have been tense silence. Chuckles, giggles filled the air, until even Cordehlia’s bubbly, medical laugh peeled beside him. And that made his own lips smile.

Besides, there would be plenty of time to shame Gale as the butt of many a joke soon. Once Ketheric was dead.

That event came with such relief. Came with lots of blood and vengeance and gore. But in the end, Cordehlia stood over Ketheric’s headless corpse, the blood of his undead body caking her boots.

Her blade hung at her side, having struck the death blow at last. Its tip dragged noisily on the ground behind her as she stepped away. The scraping echoing in the massive cavern. Her voice was hoarse as she tried to speak, sore from screaming at him as she had hacked his body, howling the name of her Father, unburdening all the things she had carried on her shoulders from her grief.

Her eyes were wet, wide, and sad as she looked at her bedraggled friends. Her love. “Let's move from here,” she scratched out. “We have more things to do.”

Cordehlia straggled, barely sliding one foot in front of the other. Her eyes looked hazy… distant.

Faint. Her vision swam… a weight off her heart, she could almost feel the Shadow Curse lifting from the lands, almost see her Father’s smooth, smiling face one more time. But there was so much more to do… more enemies to defeat, the chosen of Bhaal and Bane… an army of the Absolute to vanquish, not to mention a Netherbrain to somehow destroy.

It was too much for even her adamantine-hardened soul.

Her knees buckled, but before her body smacked into blood-covered stone, Astarion caught her. Somehow, that lean, vampiric, roguish body lifted her in his arms and over his shoulder, armor and all. Somehow, she could smell his scent of citrus and hers through the tang of blood and gore. Somehow, she could hear his soothing hush inside her mind as she drifted unconscious for a moment.

She had barely moved, still breathing, as she laid in his mess of blankets inside his tent. Halsin bent his hulking body over Cordehlia, and Astarion could only watch as the healing magic glowed around her unarmored body. He kept his lithe fingers in his love’s hair, brushing out snarls, stroking up and down her ears tenderly and slowly. Just to let her know he was there.

“There now,” Halsin grunted as he sat back on his haunches. “She should awaken herself. A bit lighter in the heart I wouldn’t be surprised, after finally finishing what she thought her Father started.”

Astarion couldn’t fight the instinct to have his hackles raised when the Druid spoke about her and her past. But all the same, he forced that well-practiced friendly smile. “Thank you, Druid,” he said. “I’ll take it from here, get her cleaned.”

“Using your tongue or do you prefer the dish and rag?”

“That’s rather impertinent,” Astarion let his fangs show this time.

“I’m only joking,” Halsin chortled, deep and low in his chest as he reached for the basin of water and a rag to bring within reach. “No one is trying to take her from you, you know. You’ve rekindled a bond so strong, so thick, I doubt it will sever even in death.”

The vampire felt his nostrils flare.

“Well, a second one in your case,” Halsin quickly added, that warm smile turning his scarred face.

“There is not much that can outlast even death itself,” he took the bowl from the Druid’s massive hands, busying himself with washing her face clean first. “Not unless you are undead… immortal.”

“I’m… forgive me, I believe I touched a delicate nerve.”

Astarion kept his hands busy; it always helped him think, rest, and concentrate. “Attachments are of little consequence to those who are not in them, Druid.”

“Attachment? You mean love, surely?”

Raising his head with a snap, he leveled his gaze at the massive, crouching Elf. “I do,” he snipped. “There is nothing I would not do to keep her now. After all the mistakes I have made, all the suffering I was forced to put others through.” He paused to wipe some more of the dried blood from her beautiful face. “She might be the one thing I have done right in my life, undead or before… as long as I don’t fuck it up again.”

“If you do… love her… then it is only natural to trust your instincts. You will protect her better than anyone or anything.”

For once, Astarion looked up at the Druid and didn’t feel jealousy or hatred or even annoyance. He was… grateful. “Thank you… Halsin,” he replied, wringing out the rag to get fresh water once more.

“I’d say ‘shout if you need anything,’ but I suspect once she wakes you will be shouting for other reasons, ones you won’t want… disturbed,” he chuckled in that deep bellied way of his before he left the tent.

Astarion couldn’t help the smile on his face, wiping the last steaks of grime from her chin before he placed a soft kiss on those lips. And as her eyes did flutter open, her breath deepening the moment their lips met, he did feel that thickening in his groin. “Welcome back, my love,” he whispered, savoring the way her lips gave a small smile.

Just for him.

She stirred, her shift and leathers shuffling as she moved stiffly. Looking at her hands cleaned, her armor removed, she even touched a hand to her slightly damp cheek. Washed skin under her touch. Cordehlia slowly sat, eyes that were so dilated with bloodlust not hours ago now shined with unshed tears, her pink lips trembling as she pulled her arms around Astarion’s neck. Hanging there for a moment, he breathed her in, listening to the symphony of her heartbeat in her veins as it increased in speed. That thickening and heat in his body only surged the more to have her so close, relieved at last once she pulled his body hard to cover her own.

She was more than reward… she was the one thing he had done right in all his tormented existence.

Tonight, like every night, was bliss now, his own personal reward each day and night to be at her side. Sometimes Astarion felt the bitterest of pangs when he started to think about being denied such pleasure and love and acceptance century after century. But those grumblings in his heart were always soon swept away by Cordehlia. The one who took him just as he was. Resentment was warmed by her adoration, distracted by her warmth and wet, wherever it was. Memories of torment and torture and knives and whips and flaying punishment grew dimmer, her beauty obscuring the flashes he would get of his blood pooling at his feet, her scent covering the phantom stink of the kennels.

It was her warmth that brought him back from the dead, and he was sure there was no grave now that could keep him away from her.

What was lost was found, and for gods sake, nothing would take it away. Now that he found something he finally deserved. Not that he believed it…

Not as he gazed up into her blushing face as she rode him furiously, her hands clenching into his. Not as he had to tighten every tendon in his arms to steady her since she wasn’t watching anymore. He laughed at her carelessness, too lost to the feeling of him inside her and the waves of pleasure he called to race down her spine.

“Fuck,” she let the uncouth curse slip from her rosy lips. Something inside his mind stirred, that old tickle inside him from before, from how freely she would let the word fly as a youth, as frowned upon as it was for her status.

“Such noble lips letting out such vulgar words, darling,” he growled, his breath thin as she pushed him closer with every slap of her body on his cock and thighs.

“Oh, you like… all the vulgar things my lips do with you…” Her words turned to cries, stilted and low, only half-stifled to keep their voices from giving too much away. Cordehlia shuddered, squeezing him as her orgasm swelled. He eased her softly as she collapsed against his chest, her forehead in that sweet dip between his muscles, the top of her red head tucking neatly under his nose.

His hand strayed to the back of her neck, softly and slowly rolling her over on the ground. Cradling her beneath him instead. His body cried out for more. Always more of her. But not before he inhaled that scent, the perfume of her sweat and life itself, verdant grass and blooming flowers. That scent triggered an instant sharp return of what they once had been.

What he wanted to find again more than life itself.

It wasn’t much longer, not as he chased that past feeling of being with her in their youth. Not as he pummeled into her channel, her legs splayed in the air over his shoulders, until there was no sound but the wet slap of flesh and their groans as they burst into their climaxes as one.

Astarion stilled, pulling from her wet to lay on their sides and wrap his arms so tightly around her. “My sweet…” his voice rumbled into the damp and errant strands of her hair where it clung to her sweating forehead.

Her warm and blushing face nestled perfectly into the dip beneath his chin. The bob of his Adam’s apple as he swallowed and caught his breath was so loud against her ear. “Almost ready for more?” she hummed, tracing her fingers slowly over his skin, brushing over the drying damp on his stomach.

“You… insatiable… minx…” he laughed as he kissed her head again. “I know I am an eternally young, handsome, well-fed, impossibly strong vampire… but even I have limits to my near-infinite well of endurance, my love.”

She flashed him those silver pools of her eyes, glinting with mischief. And then her lips pouted. “After all we endured today… you would make me take care of myself?”

His brows shot to his hairline, mouth twisting in a devilish smirk at her game. “And which one of us is acting the spoiled little elfling now?” he taunted, hand straying to ass to give that supple cheek a little slap. “Tch, naughty.”

“Going to chastise me… punish me for being so spoiled and demanding?” she purred, a slight tilt to her head in defiance, a wriggle of her rear as a silent plea for more.

Astarion lifted his head to slink one of his arms behind it. “Perhaps later… once I’ve regained some of my vigor after you’ve made every one of my limbs ache and since you’ve already taken… so much of my seed between your thighs, pet.” He pretended to close his eyes, watching through the lowered curtain of his long lashes as she pouted and crawled over his body until she pressed herself flush against his side.

“I’ll give you five minutes…” she whispered right into his ear. “Enough time for me to tend to my own needs, I suppose…”

Wet… slick little sounds laid under her voice. Her fingers touched herself, stroking in the thick mix of their cum so loudly, so obscenely squelching.

He turned his head with a dramatic sigh, opening that hungry crimson gaze only halfway so he could watch. “You really are a demanding commander aren’t you? So bossy… so dominating… I would have undoubtedly been constantly aroused by you if I had been one of your men.”

Her perfect white teeth bit at her bottom lip, fingers still teasing slowly between her legs. “If you were under my command, you would know better than to defy your commander,” she smirked, eyes shut tight as her hips began to ride her touch.

“If I was under your command, I’m pretty sure we would both be dismissed for fucking each other every night, darling…”

Her belly swirled at that, at the mere mention of how much they indulged now, how she chase her blood lust away with more lust for him, at how very much she craved their connection, rekindling what once was and discovering what would come next. Side by side. “You wouldn’t have made it one day without coming in your leathers at the sight of me in my armor, and you know it,” she taunted, a dark desirous smirk in his lips.

“Likewise, my sweet…” exhausted, he did let his hand stray a single finger down her side, stroking up and down over her curves with barely the tickle of a feather in his dexterous touch. “There is little you do that doesn’t make me unspeakably aroused, my love, my darling, my betrothed,” he grinned as her eyes fluttered open at that last loving title.

“Gods, I’ve waited ages to hear you say that again. Lived different lifetimes, dulled blades and threw my armor into the sea just to hear it again,” she whispered. Her voice tinged with that mix of sadness and longing. Her hand stilling as she slowed touching herself.

“What was it like, your fearsome mantle of the Lady Corvus, Bone Picker?” He watched her body tense, withdrawing into memories, and for a moment he wished he had just bit his tongue. Perhaps it was too soon after the blinding bloodlust today. Perhaps it was the exact right time. He waited, nervously.

Until she gave a wistful smile. “Black and hard and sharp. Little feathers etched into the metal of my breastplate and gauntlets. Pointed spikes darted from the shoulders, like talons ready to tear the flesh of my foes. My blood-red cape would billow in the winds that carried the ash of my decimated enemies. My helm was small, enough to let my hair hang wild and free, a crown of spikes encircling my head… spikes of iron I once replaced with whitened bone, plucked from the battlefield myself.”

Astarion exhaled deeply, sensing her mix of longing and grief. “Sounds fearsome,” he whispered. His fingers traced lazy circles up her back. “Show me,” he ordered. A curious tilt to her head, and he just sucked his teeth. “Use the tadpole, darling. And don’t you stop touching your sweet little body. In fact…” His mouth brushed against her lips, her eyes fluttering shut, “those fingers can only touch where I tell you… where I will show you…”

“I thought you were too tired…” she pouted, whining right into his mouth. And he silenced her with a bite of his teeth on her lower lip.

“You’ll be doing all the hard work, darling. Come on,” he purred, “it’ll be fun.”

Oh, there it was, that taunting, “I dare you” tone that hadn’t left his voice since his youth.

She could feel his mind sticking a finger into her own, just that little wiggle for her to open wide.

Air smelled of smoke, trees burned to stumps, rocks slick with blood. Astarion looked down from this high point at the field that sprawled below his feet… bones and blood already the feast of carrion birds. But behind him on this rise, she waited nearer to the trees, the ones that still stood, that still carried some blood spattered living leaves yet.

Warm wind swept her scarlet cape, fluttering it to the side, and her arm cradled that spiked helmet in its crook.

Her face, gaunt and pale and blood spattered. More than he had even seen at her side now. A wraith of vengeance, a weapon herself, sharp and deadly.

But it was her eyes that locked into his. Even in this hellish dreamscape. They sparkled like the starlight, growing wetter and brighter as he crossed beside her. “This was me, my love, the monster… the terror… the fighter.”

From the distance, he heard that same chilling deep voice they had all silenced for good today. Ketheric’s taunt, his final words, still embedded deeply in his lover’s mind it seemed: “You think to scare me… the fabled Bone Picker… the warrior of her people. She is but a puny, pale vestige of what her own father wanted her to be. Why do you think you can finish what the great General Aquilae could not?”

Cordehlia’s voice had rung back harder than steel: “Because I’m so much more than what any Father could ever dream up for their child. As if you know anything about that… traitor… deceiver….” She raised her blade for a final swing. “Failure!”

The voices were swallowed by the sickening sound of blade and bone.

And Cordehlia could only stand there before Astarion, arms just beginning to reach for her lover. To beg him to come closer.

“Darling…” he whispered, brushing the knotted strands of her hair from her cheek and shoulder. “You don’t have to fight anymore, your father is avenged at last. Nor do you need to fight to forget me. I’m right here.”

Her breath caught in her throat, cheek rubbing tenderly into the cup of his palm. “It was more than fighting to avenge my father. It was also about you… not to merely forget you… I fought to… punish you… to make you pay for leaving me, to destroy the memory of what we were. What we could never be again.”

Her voice was a hammer that struck his chest woven with her heavy guilt. Astarion winced, facing down that void of their separation, his sins staring back in that darkness. And he sighed, “It was probably far less than I deserved, my love.”

“No,” she shook her head, armor rattling from the quick little shakes as she trembled. “No, you didn’t know, you couldn’t remember. Enslaved and compelled. Forced to obey and forget. Who you were to me was stripped from you… but I… stripped myself from my soul on purpose.”

Her hand flung that bone-horned helmet far away, its clattering the only sound around them. She watched it tumble over the rock and blood.

“Well,” Astarion’s voice was pressed, careful, “we may have both suffered, drowning in our own versions of darkness…” He paused, turning her face up towards his, waiting until those sad, silver eyes finally looked at him. “But now, neither of us is alone. And our darkness will not determine our fate, darling.”

Warm and wet, he could feel her tears on her skin, sliding down her cheek.

He could feel it on his real palm, all visions aside.

“Kiss me,” she sighed, angling closer to his mouth, eyes shut tight against the sights of battle around her.

“Yes, my lady…” he gave his sweet submission, a little tender breath from her lips as they brushed softly. “But let me take you somewhere else… let me… strip away the pain that comes from this time... this armor.”

“Please, Astarion,” she groaned. Her hands suddenly clung into the back of his shirt. The metallic scent of blood dissipated into fresh grass, the sounds of fire crackling becoming the trickle of a forest stream. She knew where she was before even glancing through her lashes.

One more lingering, slow working of her mouth on his, and she pulled away with a contented sigh. Elven trees and moss and moonlight.

The perfect remembrance of their home. Of their little spot of nowhere. Far away, and long ago.

“No more battlefield to torment you from your past. No more fighting alone. Now,” he held her by her jaw, raising her face into his, “now, we fight together.”

Her throat bobbed under his hold, another tear forming and flowing from the corner of her eye. Her hand raised to brush the tear away. “You don’t know what it means to me for you to…”

“Shhh,” he quieted her with a kiss, trapping her hand in his. A spike of mischief in his voice and a hint of command in his touch. “I thought we agreed, darling, you would only touch yourself where I say…”

Oh… she shivered. That grief suddenly ignited inside her core to something hotter and fiercer. No more longing or anger… only them. And their needs.

“I stripped away your battlefield…” he eased his grip, sliding back a single pace. “Now… allow me to relieve you of such armor, my lady, my love.” His hands skated down the exposed skin of her neck, lighter than breath. “Whatever this armor meant to you then, remember, everything is new again. You… me… we aren’t what we were.” His fingers slipped the buckles from her armor at her shoulders, barely touching her body. “We are better.”

Black metal fell harshly behind her, deadened by the moss at their feet.

Slow little strokes across that crook at the base of her throat, and he could feel her body melting under his touch in her mind. Her hands held fast against his back, edging him closer, longing to press her body firmly against him.

But he tutted his tongue. “Don’t touch me,” he taunted, shaking her hands away. “And remember, you’re the one meant to do the hard work, darling.”

He gripped her true hand from her belly, sliding it over her warm flesh to where his fingers danced over her skin in her mind.

“Let my hands be yours… and only do as I do, not one little pat or stroke more.” He growled as he caught her lips. “I’ll know if you disobey, pet.”

She arched under his fingers that traced under her neckline. Her neck craned into his touch. “You want some reward for being obedient, my love, won’t you? Still touching yourself like I asked?”

Her body shivered against him in his arms, just enough for him to feel it. But from his words or her own touch, he didn’t know.

Preferably both.

“Yes,” she moaned, drawing closer for more of his touch on his skin.

“Good girl,” he praised, feeling her shiver as another one... two pieces of jagged metal fell at their feet. “So fierce, so daunting…” he purred into her ear, tugging harder and faster through the latches of her breastplate.

“I became a lot of things to lose myself in my pain and anger…”

“Tch, you were always those things, my lovely Cordehlia. You still are, even stripped of this mantle…” He flung the metal from her upper body to the ground, letting it clatter obscenely loudly. And then, his fingers locked firmly around both her breasts, a low deep breath from his nose as he smirked down at her. “And don’t I just love you all the more for it.”

She raised on her toes for a kiss, but his hands were faster, holding her down by her shoulder, a chiding tut on his tongue. “Naughty,” he hissed and taunted. “You only touch where I show you. My hands are your hands, my pet. Nothing more, nothing less…”

She looked at him with those big, wet, silver pleading eyes. “But…”

“An excellent suggestion,” he smirked, giving his head a little nod, so pleased with himself. His hands ran down her back, caressing through the soft linen of her shirt, finally coming to rest along her rear. “Your perfect, rounded butt is still too covered.”

His hands traced around the crests of her hips, gripping into the buckle at her belly and yanking it open. There was so much to her, metal and layers, but he also couldn’t help but notice how with each little piece of her armor, her hardened shell of Lady Corvus that he pulled from her flesh, she looked younger. Happier.

Freer. Healed.

Her skin glowed, her lips smiled as she bit them sensually and slowly under his touch… her touch on her real body.

Whatever it was he was stripping her of, it was more than memory and metal. He searched her eyes for more, tried wriggling deeper into her mind for more, but she didn’t let him. She was too overwhelmed with the feeling of shedding that weight, of his hands on her skin, cold and dexterous.

Familiar.

He could feel her craving, how she was lost to the past, desiring nothing more than the future that once was. He knelt at her feet, pulling off the last metal braces from her shins. He pressed against the smooth leather that enshrouded her skin. He wanted nothing more than to tear it with his teeth. So he did. He nipped into her thigh, the salt of her breeches coated in sweat made him salivate. The little buck of her body to push closer into his mouth shook him out of his mind. He needed her. Need to have her see him, here and now, alive and loved in his arms.

Real flesh, he slid his real fingers where she caressed up her thighs. Where he had just been nipping in his dreams. A quick shuffle down her body, and he pierced the flesh of her bent leg, the tender skin of her thigh giving so easily. His mouth filled with pools of her blood. She cried, arching under him, unsure if she was dreaming or awake. Those silver eyes flew open, the tingle of their tadpoles releasing its hold.

Astarion only gave her a quick bloodied smirk before returning to have more of his fill. Her hand wove into his curls, as she always did. As she always had done.

But the way her pulse throbbed from that lower artery between his lips, she thrummed with life.

One last broad brush of his tongue over those wounds, as he crawled that chiseled body over hers again. “You are mine, Cordehlia, my raven, my love. And no armor will ever protect you better than I will.”

“Yours,” she sighed. “I feel lighter, empty of that weight.”

“Wouldn’t want you empty for long, darling. Need me to fill you with something instead of grief and anger?”

She buried her face beneath her arm for a moment, hiding that radiant smile, a moment just for her. A moment where she finally savored that weightlessness, that floating feeling he had given her as he stripped her from those memories. From the bile that had poisoned her all those many years ago. Of what she thought she knew from that time… from what she thought she… had known of him. And for a man who had starved, survived torture and assault and whoring himself out, now this man sucked the venom from her heart.

With a rogue’s dexterous touch, he had peeled off the painful layers that had built because of him, stripping her with his own two, living hands. He drew his fingers up her panting belly, his exhale deep as he stayed his hand to grip and knead her breast. Those eyes, fierce, possessive, drank in her every reaction. “Need something, Cordehlia?”

It was a simple question, but that purr in his voice, that heavy-lidded gaze that flitted over her neck, her lips, her breasts, it all spoke more than the simple words that he whispered.

“I need…” she whined, sliding her body to buck against him. Wanting nothing more than to be crushed and confined and caged by his body. “I need…” she panted. No words came to her tongue. So she thrust it into his mouth as it barely hovered over her own.

You. The rest of her words filled his thoughts. Even without the tadpole.

His hand cradling her neck, Astarion gave her everything, trying to fill that void he had seen, that agony he had witnessed with his own two eyes. The pain he wanted to carry for her, instead of her. He knew what it was to struggle under the weight of darkness and loss. He carried so many of his own burdens, but he would gladly take hers on too, if it meant she was lighter.

If it meant she was happy.

If it meant she was loved as she should have always been.

Gods, he groaned as he filled her again. It didn’t matter how many times they had done just that tonight… this week… it was never enough. He had centuries to make up for. His arms held on to her for dear life, wrapping around her shoulders, bracing his legs to keep her thighs wide. His to keep. His to protect.

Her body bent and pressed to mold to his throbbed with the feeling of him, of how he covered her every inch. With every thrust inside her, that chilling gnaw of her bloodied past receded, a flood that ebbed away. And all that was left was fertile ground for new things to grow.

[crazycatsiren]

There is nothing, absolutely nothing, like a drunken, maudlin karaoke night to remind you that no man is worth ruining your cheapest mascara for.

[harrycosmo]

Fumito Ueda was inspired by… Galaxy Express 999 (1979).

Ueda has cited the Galaxy Express 999 manga series as one of his influences. Watching the film they made in the middle of its run, I could see a lot of Ico and also some Shadow of the Colossus.

It made me think of Gulliver’s Travels, Alice in Wonderland and Firefly as we follow the boy, Tetsuro, visiting different planets. On a planet called Titan, Tetsuro is given a gun by an old woman that turns out to be ‘the only cosmo gun capable of killing machine men’. Ueda's games feature special weapons that are uniquely effective against the antagonists.

Spoilers for the movie ahead!

It prefigures Ghost in the Shell. There's a character called Tochiro who, moments before his death, gets Tetsuro to activate a machine that vaporizes his body and transfers his consciousness into the supercomputer of his best friend's ship, 'Arcadia'. Maetel, one of two Yorda-like figures, explains to Tetsuro, "I am a copy of your mother in her youth. I am a shadow in the form of a human. When I grow old, I get a copy of a new body. That is how I survive through the ages and travel through time." Both Ico and Shadow of the Colossus feature characters whose bodies are vessels for other consciousnesses (Yorda for The Queen and Wander for Dormin). With the line ‘I had become a witch who controlled time’, it actually sounded more like a warning against plastic surgery.

The castle in the movie gets destroyed.

The other Yorda-like figure is Claire whose mother forced her to trade in her body for one made of glass. Her appearance is reminiscent of petrified Yorda and she has a power that makes her glow which she uses not to open Idol Gates but to save Tetsuro from Queen Promethium.

At the end, Maetel says to Tetsuro, ‘From now on, I will be a woman who lives on only in your memories. I will be nothing more than an illusion of your young boy’s heart, a phantom of your youth.’ The lyrics of 'You Were There' for me carry a similar feeling of nostalgia.

....................................................................................

The movie can be watched for free on YouTube.

[starryvomit]

“what do we do now?”

“we move on.”

[stablegirlpriestess]

Long Lost Love

@reginasreign

The memories of being a young stable girl in love were long gone. They had been replaced with buried, dark dreams that were to emerge at a certain point in time. That time was to be determined by none other than Cora, the Queen of Hearts. Cora had deceived her daughter and wiped Danielle's memories and replaced them with that of a woman named Morgana.

Morgana was to be the ward of King Uther of Camelot, who had also been tricked by Cora to think that Morgana was in fact his niece that he had taken care of most of her life. Layer upon layer of lies had been set, so that Cora could take over Camelot when the time was right.

Morgana was happy at first but the more time she spent as Morgana, a deep magic began to emerge from within. For Morgana though could mean death as Uther was highly against magic. time went on and she had eventually become a dark entity, a priestess. She took over Camelot but as she was about to kill Arthur, the Evil Queen's curse had been cast and some how made it way to Camelot.

Morgana then soon became Dani, the owner of Storybrooke Stables. Though a form of her original name had returned, she was still not herself. At this point, all her personas were beginning to battle themselves inside her. The battle began as nightmares growing darker and darker.

Needing to clear her mind one night, Dani dressed and went for a long walk in Storybrooke. Not looking where she was going, she suddenly ran into someone and fall to the ground. "Oh, I'm terribly sorry!" She said getting up and helping the other up though not recognizing her at all.

[another-anime-daydreamer]

My wings didn’t fail me because I was too close to the sun. My wings failed me because I was too far away from you, the sun of my life. In a strange twist of irony, the sun itself set me ablaze to fall back to you, and in my death I now take flight, Icarus wings and broken body are my final gifts to you. My soul to the sky, my body down below, my last words told of my love as the ground hushed my lips. Goodbye, my love, tonight you mourn, but in the morning remember my love. To fly away from your love was my parting and undoing. When next we meet, my wings won’t fail me, and our embrace will be forever. I had to leave, but next we meet, there will be no more parting. Farewell, farewell, to my long lost love.

[whatsabriard]

i. Jennifer cried in his arms that night. At first, they’d been tears of shame because she’d been unable to tell her father the truth about Gillian.Then they became tears of anger. At herself, at Gillian and even a little at Jonathan, for digging up the information. 

And then…then came the tears of regret, as the meaning of her own words registered.

“Oh, darling, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that.” His confident wife curled into his arms, trembling with emotion and exhaustion. 

“I know.”

He fell asleep draped over her, as if he could protect her from even more pain.

ii. Jennifer didn’t think she would be able to sleep, not with so much crowding her mind. 

And yet, the steady weight of Jonathan’s touch was instantly settling, and she fell into a deep and dreamless sleep.

It was only when Jonathan’s icy feet touched hers that she woke abruptly.

“Where have you been?” She yawned and turned to curl into him, sharing some of her warmth.

“Nowhere.” He mumbled against her hair, pulling her tight into his arms. 

“Your feet are cold.” So were his hands, slipping under the satin of her sleep shirt. 

“So warm ‘em up.”

She did.

[daylight-poetry]

Childish Naivety

Childish naivety saw

Our lives intertwine

With no clue

of what was to be

We set out like the world

was made for us

And in a way

It was

We chose

To Cry

To laugh

To love

To grow

Everyday we had

Held a meaning

That someday we might understand

[litwitt]

Rainy Days

Rainy days I'm thinking 'bout you.

I don't understand whether there's something special about rain, that it reminds me of you or you're so gorgeous that rain is my favourite analogy to describe my longing for you.

What to say? Wish I knew how to...

Sometimes I can't find my words and other times mere words aren't enough to express the serenity of your presence in my thoughts.

Find the way right back to you on rainy days.

I lose my path again and again yet I find myself coming back to you in full circle. Is it destiny or a painful reminder of my favorite wish that was never granted?

[hopepaigeturner]

what happens after Gregory runs after Lucy? does he manage to find her?

Well...let's see shall we? Let's see whether the two most lovestruck and hard luck couples reunite--eh?

___________________________________________________________

Sophie keeps running, calling out for Lucy as her heart thrums. But every turn came to a dead end, a mirror of her years of searching.

First him, now Lucy. No matter what she did she couldn’t change anything, she couldn’t do anything.

“Lucy!” she screams in desperation, her knees starting to buckle under the weight of her failure, the weight of fate.

Another call—distant like a morning bird song, but just as captivating.

Sophie shivers, her blood fizzles as it did so many years ago…anticipation. Magic.

Another call, still distant but distinct. A voice that would call her home no matter how far apart they were.

“Sophie!”

“Ben?” she whispers, then starts running.

*~*~*~*~*~*

“Sophie!” Benedict calls, eyes searching, barely registering how he reconfigures or carves out paths through the bushes.

“Sophie!” He makes steps out of a stone bench and rises high, scanning the bushes, his heart thrumming. “Sophie!” he cries with every fibre of his being. And then he hears it.

“Ben! Ben!”

The sound sweeter than anything he’d created in his dreams.

“Sophie!” he calls, picking up the pace, striding through hedges, shifting the earth around him to get to her—his missing piece.

Until he turns a corner, and she is there, at the other end of the corridor, curls flowing like her skirt, the sight of her taking every last breath he has. His heart thumps like a beacon as she turns towards him and finally.

Blue eyes meet green.

*~*~*~*~*~*

“Lucy!”

Lucy barely hears the voice as she runs and runs and runs. Each pound of her feet pounds another memory into her skull. The fire. The crumpled bodies. The terror, the anger and lack of control. The taste of ash.

She reaches the centre of the maze and spins around. Everything around her makes a different sound, discordance of nature multiplying the maelstrom of emotion and memory inside her. She tries to squash it, or contain it, but it only swells more chaotically.

“Lucy—”

She whirls and staggers away from Gregory.

“Stay away! I cannot, I cannot, I do not—” She wants to cry, she wants to scream, or curl into a ball and never rise again.

“I know you are scared.” His voice cuts through the discordance, a moment of clarity where she hears a snatch of smooth bass. The smoothest sound, more akin to a long stroke of the violin—emanating from something deep inside of her. “I know you are overwhelmed. But I know you will never hurt me.” Desperately she tries to hold onto that sound but she feels the cacophony rise over it.

“I can’t control it,” she whines, clutching at herself, trying to make herself as small as possible, aware that the entire maze is turning into a storm. “I can’t keep it in.”

This is what her siblings wished to spare her from. This is why Penelope did what she did. To spare Lucy from herself, t spar a young child from the overwhelming reality of her powers. A power that had only ever destroyed—even though John had been one of her closest siblings.

Destroyer. Apocalypse creator.

“Then don’t control it, Lucy,” Gregory states.

“But before, I hurt…I hurt…”

“You were angry and overwhelmed. And who could blame you, when for your entire life you’d been treated like a ticking bomb?” His words wash over her again and alongside that bass, she recognises a beat, like that of a plucked string.

“But they were wrong Lucy, you are wrong. You don’t need to keep it in, you don’t need to supress how extraordinary you are.” She grasps onto a melody—her breaths start slowing. “You deserve to shine, Lucy, just as everyone else does. You deserve to shine.”

Another melody falls into place and Lucy’s fingers fiddle as if playing notes.

But then it wobbles and slips away from her.

“What if it will be the same? What if nothing is different?”

Apocalypse creator. Destroyer. The maelstrom rises further.

“It will be different this time.”

Apocalypse creator. Destroyer. The music slips further away.

“How? How wil—”

“Because you will not be alone.” She finally opens her eyes. And he is there, right next to her in the centre of the storm. His hair tugged around by the wind but his eyes still wide and open and honest. His hand outstretched—as always. “I will stand by your side.”

“What if I, what if I hurt you?”

Gregory smiles.

“You will not hurt me, I believe that. I believe in you.”

She catches hold of the melody, feels the bass and rhythm.

“Why Greogry? Why?”

“Because I love you.” He is so close, almost touching. And suddenly Lucy realises that the music is not in her head, the music is in her body. Her skin hums, her hair sways, her bloods pumps in rhythm—all of it responding to him, his blood, his rhythm. “Because we are beings whose souls call out across time and space.”

*~*~*~*~*~*

Benedict runs towards her, lungs burning, legs aching, but for the first time in years he thrums with life.

*~*~*~*~*~*

“A part of you calling to me. A part of me calling to you,” Lucy whispers leaning into him.

“Yes, even when apart.” The beat of their hearts start to match. “Two parts running towards one another, across time, space, dreams, and reality.”

*~*~*~*~*~*

Sophie runs towards him, unobstructed by any weight or barricade.

*~*~*~*~*~*

“Until they collide and create something extraordinary…” Gregory whispers against her lips. Then softly, slowly, they kiss.

The music falls into place and swells. Lucy allows it to thrum through her, reverb from her lips to her toes and further.

Finally, Lucy lets go.

Rippling energy emits from the pair as they glow white, the flowers, leaves, hedges, and clouds thrumming with that same energy thrumming through them, all of creation united in harmony. Like the pinnacle of a symphony she allows it all to play out, allows her body to be swept by the music and the taste of Gregory’s lips. A harmony, a symphony, a sensation so her that tears slip down her cheeks.

“See,” Greogry’s whispers when they separate, his eyes never leaving hers, “extraordinary.”

*~*~*~*~*~*

Blue and green collide.

And instantly they are consumed in soul-searing kisses. The world spins around them but they stay clasped together, enwrapping themselves tighter and tighter around each other until they almost seem one entity. One whole. One soul.

The entire garden blooms with the most vibrant array of flowers, and the sky turns dusky—a palette of colours in the sky.

But the connection of humanity, of two souls with the same melody, is the most beautiful creation of all.

______________________________________________________________

It was about time I gave these couples a break ;)

As always pop in your questions :). And creds must go to @bridgertonbabe for starting this AU.

[thespilledink]

The prologue to a love story is rarely appreciated compared to the end of one.

But what if the very beginning was all you had?

What if the timeline didn’t match for the main characters?

What if the love felt from one wasn’t shown until years down the line

When thousands of miles and ocean separated the two?

I guess doomed love stories only get the prologue, because there is no happily ever after.

The end.

-h.h.

[happilyhertale]

Hello.

I was just wondering if you are doing another part to long lost love ( I think it is called).

Aemond and his wife and daughter are now on dragon stone and I really want to see what happens next?

Also I want to see how Rheanyra reacts to Alyssa nearly being killed instead of Aegons kids?

It is such a damn good story. :)

Lovely Anon 💕 tysm!!! 🥰 I'm going to continue this story but I don't know when…. I was actually going to continue writing when the new season is out…. but I'm not sure anymore 😄 so maybe I'll try to come up with new ideas sooner than within the next year 😏

[starstruckunknown-princess]

This Must Be the Place

Summary: Emma McDonough was at her brother's wedding in Minneapolis when the world ended. Twenty years later, the boyfriend she left behind shows up in Lincoln, MA just after she gets her feet back under her. Follow Emma on her journey from Austin to Minneapolis to Lincoln to the Boston QZ to...wherever else Joel Miller may lead her.

Pairings: Joel Miller/OFC, Bill/Frank, hints of Joel/Tess

Warnings: Angst, canon-typical violence, fainting, former lovers reunion, mentions of dead pet (dog), if I missed any let me know!

Word Count: 3023

A/N: First time writing for TLOU -- I've never played the game but I'm head over heels in love with the show, so this series will follow that. Somewhat established relationship between Joel and OFC, Emma, but they haven't seen each other in twenty years which complicates things a bit! 

Looking forward to your feedback! There will be at least a Part 2, but hoping this will be a series so let me know what you think!

Read on AO3 | Masterlist

April 16, 2023

When Joel flicked on the radio, “Cecelia” by Simon and Garfunkel started playing on the radio. Followed by “Dreams” by Fleetwood Mac. Then “Ain’t No Mountain High Enough” by Diana Ross. Joel glanced at Tess where she was sitting at the shitty little table in the kitchen. All she did was nod. 

“Tomorrow night?” he asked.

Again, Tess nodded. Joel got to his feet and started packing for the trip to Bill and Frank’s. Seventies hits meant “new stock” and since his normal oxy dealer had stood him up last week they were hurting for supplies. 

From under the floorboards he unfurled his pack and reached inside, feeling for the collar that he kept in the bottom of it. His fingers brushed against smooth leather, and relief spread up his arm and across his chest.

The collar meant almost as much to Joel as his watch did. It served as a reminder of those he had lost, but unlike the watch that was entirely Sarah, the collar held a double meaning. First, of the dog who had worn it. Secondly, of the woman who had picked it out. 

Bash, a shaggy black border collie/lab mix. Emma, the lost love of his life. 

Blue leather, dirtied brown with age, and a metal clip that jangled every time the dog shook himself out. Since Emma hated the constant clicking of his tags, she’d found a one that clipped onto the band of the collar rather than dangling off the d-ring. 

Once upon a time, the tag was engraved with ‘Bash’ and had her phone number beneath. Nearly half of it had been scraped away due to age and the car accident they’d been in on Outbreak Day. 

Somehow the dog had escaped the accident unscathed, had followed Joel while he carried Sarah through the wreckage of their Austin suburb. Had laid down and whined next to Sarah’s body. Like Joel, Tommy had to drag the dog away from the girl’s body and get them moving again. Joel had buried his face in the dog’s thick fur to sop up his tears. For the next six years, Bash didn’t leave Joel’s side. 

Until he got bit.

Joel couldn’t think about what happened next, just like he didn’t let himself think about what happened to Sarah.

It was better, easier, to shove those memories into the back of his mind so he could get on with the business of daily survival. 

By now, fourteen years later, the dog would’ve been long gone anyway. Still, Joel shoved the collar into the bottom of every bag he packed. Every time he and Tess left on a smuggling mission, he couldn’t bring himself to leave it behind, hidden under the floorboards with his weapons and whiskey. If he believed in that sort of thing, he would think bringing the collar was akin to bringing the dog himself. With you in spirit, or some shit like that.

But he didn’t believe that. The dog was dead. Most likely, his owner was too. If the world was kind, she had been dead since the beginning. 

But this world was far from kind.

It was only habit that made him stash the strap of blue leather in the front pocket of his pack. Like checking over his shoulder while walking through the QZ after sundown or tapping the bottom of his whiskey glass on the table after a ‘cheers’. 

Not the unhinged glimmer of hope that one day he would be able to present the collar to its original owner. That one day he would see her face again. That one day he would know for sure if she had survived or not. 

Joel shook the thoughts out of his mind, clenching his jaw at his own foolishness. He packed the rest of his supplies quickly, then put the pack by the door so it would be ready to grab and go after his shift at the ash pit tomorrow. Tess had a street sweeping rotation, so they’d get done around the same time. 

The sound of the spring rain against the windows helped usher him into sleep that night despite the ache in his knees and back. Joel dreamt of her for the first time in ages and awoke feeling emptier than usual. 

Emma enjoyed going up and down the stairs without a cast and crutches so much that when she reached the bottom, she turned around on her heel and climbed them again before descending once more.

“Someone doesn’t miss her cast at all,” Frank commented, wheeling himself into the foyer from the parlor. A wide smile cracked her face in half.

“Not even a little bit,” she replied. “Where’s Bill?” 

The gruffer of the two gentlemen was usually right behind his partner, wheeling him from room to room even though Frank insisted he could do that himself — “It’s my legs that are useless, Bill, my arms are fine!” 

“Making sure the seedlings survived the storm,” Frank explained, gesturing out the back door with one hand. “His elbow is still bugging him though, so we’re in for more rain.” He let Emma redirect him back to the parlor and she sat on the piano bench in front of him.

“He could’ve asked me to do that,” she said as she held up two fingers of each of her hands out to him and Frank reached forward, squeezing them as tightly as he could. His grip was a little weaker than yesterday, but she didn’t mention that out loud.

Now that her right leg was out of the cast, she knew her time in this well-equipped domestic paradise was coming to an end. Bill had always insisted that once she was healed she would continue on her way to the Boston QZ and never mention Lincoln to anyone. He’d even made her sign a contract to that effect in her own blood. 

Even though Frank insisted that Bill softened over time and had come to enjoy Emma’s company, a pit in her stomach told her that sooner or later she would have to call the Boston QZ home.

“You know him, so used to doing everything his own way. If he had asked you he would’ve redone it anyway,” Frank said as she led him through the physical therapy exercises she knew for dexterity. 

Tapping each fingertip to the thumb (the middle finger of his left hand didn’t cooperate), flexion/extension (mostly good), and the wrist deviations (again, the left hand was less than cooperative). Then they did their regular arm stretches together.

“That’s fair. I still feel like I should pull more weight around here,” she lamented. 

The couple had taken her in, fed her from their garden and supplies, and for the first two weeks she wasn’t able to do much more than entertain Frank until Bill found her a pair of crutches in one of the various places in town he’d squirreled things away. 

Frank put a hand on her knee. “You’re doing all you can. The cast only came off a week ago, you need to take it easy or you’ll re-break your leg.” 

“Hey, who’s the doctor here?” Emma joked, smiling at Frank. He smiled back at her and tugged at the end of the braid that lay on her shoulder, fondness crinkling his eyes. She was going to miss him dearly.

They’d spent hours talking about their lives in the pre-outbreak days and the years since. She told him about how she was at her little brother’s rehearsal dinner when the shit hit the fan, running for her life in a cocktail dress. He’d shared the horrors of the Baltimore QZ falling and his journey north. She let him know the heartbreaking reason she was traveling to Boston. 

Emma hadn’t thought she would ever tell anyone that secret, but Frank was so easy to trust, to befriend, to adore. His big blue eyes never showed the slightest hint of judgment or disgust at the things she had done to survive. He was an incredible listener and he gave the best hugs, even in the wheelchair. She understood why Bill fell for him.

Bill, on the other hand, was more reluctant to open up to her. He listened to her stories like he was looking for weaknesses or trying to catch her in a lie. Once he saw that Frank was comfortable around her, however, his answers to her questions became less monosyllabic. They talked about wines and gardening and radio broadcasting and he even let her start seeds in the seedling trays. 

“Oh yeah, Doc?” Frank teased, “Where’s your degree?” 

“University of Shitty FEDRA Med School, class of ‘05,” she joked. This was a common back and forth between them. 

They laughed as she wheeled him to the back porch in front of his easel. Once she got him a clean rag for his brushes, she retreated to her room and picked up the book she had started the previous day, Jane Eyre. One of her favorites.

Her reading was interrupted an hour and a half later by Frank shouting at her from the bottom of the stairs.

“Em! Come down and meet our friends from the QZ!”

She’d heard tell of the smugglers, Tess and Joel from the Boston QZ. They brought building materials and seeds and, most importantly, Frank’s pain meds. She’d pointedly ignored the flash of excitement the name ‘Joel’ gave her — the chances of this Joel being her Joel were slim to none. 

Emma made herself presentable in the dusty hall mirror, then descended the staircase — only once this time — and went out the open front door. Outside smelled like wet earth and petrichor and ozone. She stepped onto the porch with a ‘creak’ and two people who stood midway down the front walk whipped around to face her. From the other side of them, Frank was smiling and waving her closer.

A tall woman with graying brown hair and intense hazel eyes straightened as Emma approached. Her face told Emma the story of hard-won survival, of a fierceness that Emma recognized.

The second person, the man reaching for his gun, made her heart thud to a complete stop. His dark brown eyes widened and his hand fell away from the gun tucked in his holster.

Joel.

His hair and beard were grayer, his face lined deeper in what she figured was a permanent frown, but it was him. Same firm jaw, same powerful frame. Joel, it was Joel — her Joel! 

Emma couldn’t draw a breath. Instead, she felt all her blood rush downward and her vision blackened around the edges. Her shoulder slammed into the door jamb, but she barely felt it and her knees crashed to the wood porch. 

She came to almost immediately, multiple pairs of hands helping her up and ushering her into the parlor. 

“Head between your knees, hun,” a woman’s voice reached her as they placed her in a plush chair. “Deep breaths, in and out. There you go.” 

Emma followed the instructions and felt oxygen beginning to circulate in her body again. Bill’s rough hand passed her a glass of water, and she took small sips as she sat back up. The woman — Tess, she assumed — had a look of concern on her features, Bill’s mustache twitched. 

“Can you tell me your name? Do you know where you are?” Tess demanded. 

“Emma McDonough, I’m in Lincoln Massachusetts,” Emma answered. She could hear Frank yelling from outside and Bill ducked out, returning momentarily. Frank’s eyes were as wide as saucers and he all but lunged for Emma, his hands fluttering around her like a mother hen. 

“Are you okay? What the hell happened?”

“I’m fine, I swear, I was just…surprised, is all.”

“Surprised by what?” Frank asked, dropping his hands. 

Bill answered, “You know Joel. There’s history there?” 

Emma nodded, “Yeah.”

“Oh, shit,” Tess said, “You’re her, aren’t you? The girlfriend who was out of town when it all happened?” 

Emma nodded. The room went silent. She looked between the three others in the room, not seeing the cause of her embarrassingly Austen-like swoon. Tess looked out the window, then crossed to the front door. Bill and Frank shared one of their looks and Frank’s hand came to rest on her knee. They all turned their heads at the sound of approaching boots. A few seconds later, Joel’s broadness blocked most of the door frame. 

“Can-” he paused, clearing his throat, “Can y’all give us a moment?”

“Of course,” Frank said, squeezing Emma’s knee. “We’ll be just outside if you need us.” 

Bill gave her a look that said, ‘I’ll shoot him if you want me to,’ as he wheeled Frank out the door to join Tess on the porch. 

Joel closed the pocket doors next to her, then leaned his forehead against them. Emma got to her feet, slowly so as not to faint again. Her mind buzzed with questions, so many of them she had no idea where to begin.

“I-I don’t even know where to start,” she offered. “What-? How-? I…I…”

Joel turned to face her. His eyes darted over her figure, an unreadable expression on his hardened face. All of a sudden, Emma felt self-conscious. 

Twenty years had gone by and she knew she didn’t look the same as she used to. Like Joel, the years had hardened her face. Her body was softer in places that were once firm, thicker around the middle but still svelte. She wasn’t the sexy thirty-year-old she’d been when they’d started dating. Then again, he’d softened around the middle too but it hadn’t detracted from the strength and power he radiated. 

It didn’t detract from how drop-dead sexy he was. If anything, the years of survival had given his rugged good looks sharper edges that she was more than willing to dash herself against. 

She moved first, taking a half-step toward him like he was a timber wolf she had managed to corner. He instinctively stepped back and held up a hand to stop her. She stopped. The air between them thickened.

Slowly, Joel shrugged off the pack on his back, holding it with one arm and digging into it with the other. Emma’s brow furrowed and her head tilted. Once he had retrieved what he was searching for, he let the pack drop to the ground and stepped toward her, offering her what was in his hand. 

A beat up scrap of leather that might’ve once been blue. The clip-on tag was all scratched to shit, but she knew it had once read ‘Bash’. Joel was careful to not let their hands touch as she let him place the collar in her hand. Her fingers closed around it, tears springing into her eyes. She noticed Joel’s shoulders tighten, his hand scrubbing down his face.

Memories of the smiling, happy dog flooded her mind and she pressed the collar to her chest. Her eyes slid shut. 

Picking out Bash at the shelter, just a little shaggy floppy-eared puppy. All the training that had convinced her she would never be ready for a baby. The fights that realization caused with her ex-husband. Bash putting himself between them during those fights, growling at her ex-husband. 

She heard wood tracks rattling and opened her eyes just in time to see Joel exiting the front door of the house. 

Emma jogged after him, “Hey! Wait!” 

Joel was halfway down the front walk again, heading toward where Bill, Frank, and Tess were chatting. He paused but didn’t turn back toward her. 

“What? Were you expecting some tearful joyous reunion?” he asked from over his shoulder, voice dangerously low. 

Emma stopped her approach at the bottom of the stairs, mouth agape as if he’d just slapped her. Rage swelled within her. What the fuck did he have to be so defensive — so dismissive — about? “After twenty years, maybe I expect a little more than you handing me my dead dog’s collar and leaving, yeah!” 

Joel turned to her, “I’m not the same, Emma. It’s been twenty years, I’ve been through a lot-”

How dare he! She whipped the collar at him and raised her voice, “Fuck you! You don’t think I have too?” He caught the leather and tucked it into his back pocket. Tess, Bill, and Frank all turned toward them when they heard her shouting. She ignored them, keeping her focus on Joel. 

“I didn’t say that,” he argued, his hands going to his hips in a way she remembered all too well. “Just trying to temper expectations.”

“Temper expectations? If you’re not happy to see me just fucking say so,” Emma spat. Her volume had returned to normal, but the three other adults were heading their way.

“It ain’t that. I’m glad to see you alive, Emma, I am, but it’s not like we have the time to fall into each other’s arms and sob it out right now.”

She threw her arms up in frustration. “You were the one who asked for a minute!”

“Cuz you fuckin’ fainted!” 

He may as well have slapped her. All at once, she understood why he’d given her the collar after carrying around for so long. The hard look he was giving her and how he was carefully maintaining his distance — 

He thought she was weak. Vulnerable. A damsel in need of protection. And, if this world had taught her anything, it was no place for damsels. 

Good thing she wasn’t one.

She closed the distance between them and slapped him across the face, making sure she made it hurt. Tess shouted and slotted herself between the former couple and Bill grabbed Emma around the waist, dragging her back. Turning, Tess guided Joel back a few steps and spoke to him in a low tone. 

Emma shook Bill off of her and headed back into the house. She glanced over her shoulder, catching Joel’s gaze on her for a moment. He rubbed his jaw with a big hand and brushed Tess’s hands away from himself, dark brown eyes following her into the house and up the stairs.

[burningchandelier]

My mom is about to get on a plane to fly to Ireland. On the other side of the Atlantic, a man is waiting to pick her up.

She has been waiting for 35 years to see him. They fell in love, realized it couldn't be, went back to their respective lives, got married to other people, had kids, and never ever forgot each other. They finally have the chance to be together and they are taking it. It is never too late.

[thehellwebuilt]

“I’m miles away, he’s on my mind.

I’m getting tired of holding all the weight.”