#a mortal dares approach me

[tynan-suggestions]

Where did you find my baby pictures.

[queenie-the-court-jester]

Love isn't dead

Yandere cupid x reader

Tw: yandere, minor mention of body horror, obsessive and possessive behavior, isolation

💌you couldn't remember when he first appeared or when you could feel another presence near you. All you knew was that you had a cupid trying to set you up.

💘always nonchalant when you'd open a closet door and he'd be hiding inside. Pausing to stare before continuing to put the towels away. He swore you could see right through him and at him at the same time. But that shouldn't be possible. Because humans can't see cupids. They're not supposed to

💌but that obviously wasn't the case with you. Sweetheart quickly became more bold. Watching you quietly and forgetting his task of finding your soulmate. It got to a point where you blatantly confronted him after you finished bathing, noticing a pair of pink heart eyes staring at you from the top of the shower curtain half way

"are you going to keep staring at me like a creep or are you going to actually introduce yourself?"

"gah-!! Ah.. uh right! Ofcourse! I-im sweetheart! Pleasure to meet you!"

💘after Introducing yourself, you set some ground rules. 1. Don't watch you while you shower, use the bathroom, or sleep 2. Don't Invade your space 3. He can't stalk you while you're out and about

💌at first he followed these rules, nodding obediently and following them diligently. But then he noticed something.. when did you become so beautiful? He swore you were more beautiful than his mother.. so kind and patient, he almost didn't want to finish his job, just stay here with you forever. Offering him food, caring for him, giving him hugs and cheek kisses. He wanted more.

💘he broke your rules, but he never let you find out. He'd never want to upset you! Having gotten better in hiding, he silently watches from the shadows. taking things he's sure you won't notice. All he talks and asks about now is what you like, what you're thinking of or if you got your eye on anyone. Claiming it's because he's curious about humans

💌 growing possessive, he uses one of his hate arrows whenever a suitor tries to approach you. How dare they try and take what was his! Can't they see you're too perfect for them!? He saw everything else as inferior to you, nobody was worthy to see your smile. A god/dess among rubbish.

💘he started using his arrows to distance your loved ones, until he was all that you had left. Comforting you, holding you close, wiping away your tears. He felt a foreign burning feeling in-between his legs whenever he saw you cry. Wanting nothing more than to lick them up but he knew you would consider it weird

💌he didn't dare use a love arrow on you, he wanted to see you. The real you at all times. Ignoring the angry calls his mother and siblings would send him, urging him to finish his job and come back home. So he did something he never would have thought of doing. Something irreversible. He cut off his wings, turning him mortal

💘he smiled up at you with a lovesick grin, while you could only stare at him in horror. You had just gotten back from a miserable day at work and stumbled into the bathroom to find it bloody and covered in familiar pink feathers. Slowly walking backwards, glancing at the small bones of where his wings use to be, sticking out. Bloody and mangled.

"this is all for you.. don't you see? I'M your soulmate! We were made for eachother my darling! So let's be together forever.."

[shaisuki]

What if reader is the insane one..😳I love these yandere characters but what if reader--

❝ 𝚰'𝐋𝐋 𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐕𝐄 𝐌𝐘 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐎𝐔𝐓 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐆𝚰𝐕𝐄 𝚰𝐓 𝐓𝐎 𝐘𝐎𝐔 ❞

FEATURING. GOJO SATORU, NANAMI KENTO, TOJI FUSHIGURO, GETO SUGURU

CONTENT WARNINGS. yandere reader + angst + gore + murder + enabler characters + body mutilations + stalking + torture + blood + mind games? + manipulation + gaslighting + rushed writing + implied established relationship + unhealthy relationship dynamics

NOTES. hiya anon! you got a brilliant mind that tickled myself into writing this one. yandere reader is absolutely a first to me considering the characters i wrote are the yandere ones. i apologize for the shitty writing.

SYNOPSIS. you hate the attention they get and the adoration you shared with the people that surrounds both of you and it's up to you to take care of those who threatens your love for them.

GOJO SATORU

satoru is truly mesmerizing.

everywhere you go with him around. everyone stops and looks to stare at the man besides you. mouth agape, with their eyes glimmering with awe from how handsome he looks. who wouldn't admire him? he's everything. blessed from the moment he was born. tall with the hair white as snow and you know he's the only one in the whole world with it. he's godly and so you worship him. a devotion from a mortal to his immortal lord.

he keeps you close. his hands tangled into yours while you both walked in the streets of harajuku. he wants to try they new crepe stand with you and you smile a bit. admiring his sweet tooth that needs to be satiated.

being with gojo means that he attracts the people who's walking in the same street as him. women craning their necks to get a glimpse of him and those who dared to get close to him which is happening right now.

she's pretty. they all are. every woman who approach satoru were the same mold where they come from. petite with tiny waists and a delicate body. small faces with glitters in their eyes while they flutter their eyelashes on him. hoping that satoru would leave you for them and they don't even notice you. these are the consequences and you try to pry your hand on his but he tightens on his grip while he declines the offer. he didn't budge not when she traces her fingers to his chest.

it breaks your heart when girls like her would openly flirt with him and treats you like nothing. you understand that you weren't them, you didn't know why he was with you! you want to cry and hide from them and to him. you don't deserve him. no one deserves him and so you pull your hands but he still keep his hold tight in you and with a scowl, he says the most bone chilling tone of his voice. “leave me and my girlfriend alone.” and it's enough for her to stop flirting to him and that's the time she will realize you were there the whole time and she would shot you a glare and a million insults are running inside her head and you're not able to know it cause satoru's dragging you away from her and keeps a protective hand over you. “only look at me, pretty.” is what he says and it turns your frown upsidedown.

there's a cry and then a snap. her bone cracks under the weight of the hammer being slammed to her hands. that's what you get for touching satoru. you pull a hidden knife strapped in your boots. unsheathing it in with precision and twirling the handle. “please... i'm sorry....” you hear her say it but she was never sorry. she let her speak out her mind and flirts with someone who's clearly committed. promiscuity left a foul taste in your mouth. she can get all flirty with your boyfriend and she would be praised for being suited to him while you, you get the side glances, faces etched with disbelief why someone like you would score someone like gojo.

she's so pretty, like the models in the magazines and on billboards which you cried in front of it. wishing that you were them but it never occurred to you once again since satoru came into your life. you never wished anything something as shallow like that again cause you were enough for him and that's what it matters and this bitch had come to ruin it for you. you despised destroying that is something beautiful but it was her sin, she should have never tried her luck with gojo and so with a tight hold in the handle, the sharp edge of the knife pierced in one of her eyes.

her screams are loud. wailing and screaming for someone to help her but there's no one around here. it's only you and her. the blood come pouring in her eye socket and you pull the knife and you were splattered with her blood. staining your cheek. it was warm. fresh and you smell it.

“satoru's really handsome and you wondered at that time why he was with me.” your look is solemn, no remorse in them and she's forced to listen to your spiel while she tried to staunch the blood flowing from her once pretty eye. “i don't know.” you whispered. dragging the edge of your knife to her rosy cheek. nicking the skin and blood poured out from them. “i don't know why satoru is with me.” you repeated it. your own eyes getting glossy. “he could have left me and have gone to you in a heartbeat but he didn't. he stayed. he stayed.” you whisper it like it was unreal and the tears came pouring out. you sniffle and sob. cause it was too good to be true.

“can you let me go now?” she begged of you. watching you bawl your eyes out while the knife you were holding drips with her blood. it's a lesson she's going to learn is never to flirt with someone who have their girlfriend by their side. a crazy one it is but it's too late for her now. you were harmless with a touch of innocence but she never thought you were capable of doing this. she can't move her hands, both broken from being shattered by the hammer and she's closing her destroyed eye to keep the blood from pouring out. “no.” wiping the tears from your eyes with the back of your hand, you sniffle. “i can't let you go. you're going to ruin another relationship cause the man's tickled your fancy. you deserve to die.” and she prayed for whatever deity to come save her cause you're raising your hand which holds the knife and it's going to be the end of her but she's not ready to die. she wanted to live and so she prayed and prayed and her prayer were heard.

there's the sound of footsteps nearing in where she lays and where you stand, about to end her life. she lets out a cry. her tears streaming down her face cause she was about to be saved. she was crying in relief cause she's about to escape this hell but it was replaced in horror when she sees who have seen you. it couldn't be but he won't like it, would he? his girlfriend's murdering people. girls like her.

something was up with you. he knows it. the underlying insecurities in which you evaded when he asks and brings the topic up. you only distract him and pretends there's nothing wrong and he let it slide. there's multiple killings happening in the area and coincidentally it's been the girls whom he interacted with. the ones who flirted with him. he could have returned the gesture but he's committed to you. anyways, he began to suspect you and later confirmed it was really and he thought he's the deranged and the unstable one in the relationship. as if he's not done the same things you did.

there is something sad about your crying about your relationship. he stayed. you repeatedly spoke of it like you can't believe that he lasted so long to you and you have been eliminating the girls who have threatened your relationship with him. he can't let you go on this path of destruction just for him. it's his job.

you were about to finish the girl and he interrupted. “you don't need to do this, angel.” he watch as your shoulders tense. recognizing his voice that it returned you to sane state. hands trembling, you slowly turn around to see him behind you. just standing. you gripped the knife tightly while your body quivered like a leaf. slowly you faced him. your head hung low. ashamed from what monster you turned out to be. a monster made from your insecurities and fear.

“i didn't want to. she's going to ruin things and i'm sorry.” you explain to him. surely, he won't side with her, right? everything so wrong about it. “help.” she croaked out to get his attention and he crouches to inspect her. he clicks his tongue. shaking his head in faux sympathy. “she got you good, huh? don't worry it won't last long.” he says and then stands to deal with you.

“look at me.” he softly mutters to you. holding your soft jaw for you to look at him and you cry again. his blue eyes is enough to make you cry. everything about him makes you cry. he's too good to you. he shushes you. “don't cry. don't cry, angel.” he coos at you. wiping your tears with his thumb. caressing your round cheeks and cups your face. oh, his pretty angel. looking so good in red. the blood smeared in your cheeks suits you well.

“it's okay. i also did it when somebody looks at you the way i do. those who harmed you and i'm going to do it again.” and with a raise of his hand. the woman lying in the ground lets out a noise. a choking sound and then gurgles. you look at her. watch as the ground stained with red. the gash in her neck pours out liters of blood. “see. no one's going to harm you. i'm here for you, my angel.” kissing your forehead while the cold body of hers slowly bleed out.

“i'm yours?” you ask him. he nods. “only yours, my beloved.” gojo assures you with a smile and he melts at the sight of your worries dissipating. if only it could stay like this forever. oh, it will. he won't allow it again for someone to ruin you and doubt yourself again. “let's go home.” he says before picking you up and cradles you in his strong arms. pulling you closer to his and you placed your chin in his shoulder and peered over at his shoulder to see her dead. good for her. now she won't ruin anything. you smile in a contented manner and satoru hums. glad, his beloved is at peace in his arms.

NANAMI KENTO

there's the act of loving someone who is on the verge of breaking.

of how him, nanami kento managed to keep his lover at bay. the danger of someone who's mentally incarcerated. a prisoner of their thoughts that there's a day that doesn't go by without thinking of him and only him. love should be unconditional, the deep part in his brain says and nanami agrees with it.

who knew, his wallflower of a colleague can be this dangerous. he watched you from your quirks down from the littlest of it. the blonde concludes that you were no threat. your round face possessing the most innocent of looks and it looks like you could cry at the tiniest of criticism. has eyes like an angels and the tears flowing like dew drops from how they roll down your cherubic cheeks. you were every bit what nanami can think of and it's ironic how you can muster the look of it despite being caught in the act. the coldest a person is capable of.

the workplace can be toxic as it can and nanami was no stranger to unnecessary criticisms of the higher-ups from his works. it wasn't perfect nor inadequate and somehow he still get caught particularly from one who's in a bad mood and so he takes the blow off it. revise what it's needed to be revised or he can do it all again. no big deal but to certain someone who's been admiring him for months, it wasn't an excuse of a behavior.

her beloved being treated like that, it isn't acceptable. you knew how hard your beloved worked for that. he even pulled an all nighter! you stayed with him when he did that from the safety of your own cubicle and how dare that asshole to blow him off like that. not appreciating his efforts and making him redo it all again. he should be punished. no one's allowed to treat your beloved like that. he needed to learn and he's about to learn his lesson from a accident. sure, a accident. you can make it look like one.

the fucker have been staggering. it was his obvious from how he walks across from the office and is slurring and when he's near in the emergency exit with the hundred of stairs waiting for him, you followed him. no one ever noticed you and they wouldn't even suspect what you're about to do. thanks to the prescribed medication you have and the cup of coffee that did the job. caffeine isn't something you can fuck up with certain medicines.

he didn't even noticed you behind him and with push. shoving him a little to hard, he fell. rolling down the stairs like the trash but it wasn't enough. you hear the thud and soft clanging of metal and was it that something broken, a bone? you hope so. it wasn't enough but it simmered the anger boiling in your system and with a sigh, you left but before you can take a step, you notice him.

from the looks of it, he wasn't mean to be in this situation and he just walked in and seeing the blank look on his face is enough to bring you in tears. lips trembling with sharp baited breaths. now you've done it! you're a monster! a hideous being standing in front of him like a deer caught on headlights. he's going to hate you now. you just know it and you hate yourself for it.

in turns of an event, one you didn't expect. you were engulfed in his arms and nanami saying he was sorry for making you do this. that it was his fault and how much it killed him that you're harming others for the sake of him. his own creation that can't be tamed without him and you cried, a little harder. this is what you've been wanting for a long time and then, nanami starts to question his own morals.

nanami loves you, truly. that he was willing to overlook the deeds that you had done in the past no matter how grave it was all. an attempted murder of a colleague, the almost absolute death of someone who shouldn't got closer to him.

it's wrong and he knows about it all but he's long gone to get past through it when he have you. it was just a lapse of judgement of why you did that and the reasoning and the planned medication for you to tone down the impulse of hurting someone and hurting yourself, he couldn't beat that and so, he keeps you in his arms. in which you will never do anything cause you'll disappoint him.

a routine was born from it. you both agreed on it that while he works, you will be home. tending all the chores and freely being able to do whatever you want and you'll wait for him after work and he'll be on his office. signing papers and dealing presentations like a regular employee but sometimes it wasn't enough.

what if there's a coworker who flirts with him? what if he falls for them? what if he finds them interesting more than you? what if he finds attractive and will you just be thrown aside for this new woman he'll have? all these questions running in your mind and it sends your heart beating fast and your brain formulating into a hundred thoughts of how you can get rid of them who threatens your relationship with him.

you have the ring but it wasn't enough.

so when he got home, nanami sensed that you're having those thoughts again. plaguing you with every waking thought and possibility that he'll leave you cause you were too much and he wants someone stable and love isn't enough to keep this relationship afloat so he assured you. the only thing that will put your mind at ease.

“do you not want me anymore, kento?” you mutter softly. your head on his lap while he stroke your hair. moving to face him and look the sharp jawline of his in this angle and so you can see what his reaction at your question. there's a brief pause and his touch seems to stiffen up before relaxing.

hazel eyes meets your own and nanami smiles at your question. “i'll always want you, darling.” it's terrible cause you know it's not a lie and you easily melt at his words. he's so patient that no matter what question you have stored for him he knows the right words to say to you.

strange for a man to say the things that felt wrong to say to a human like you. unstable and was ready to break at any more but somehow he gets by. he's not blind to your acts. to your tendencies that is beyond normal for anyone to understand and when he sees your slowly dozing off at his touch. his voice like lullaby to you that is where the time where he will continue to judge himself. why he allowed himself to be with you but it's out of the questions. of the what-ifs and other uncertainties.

in this madness where he will stay cause he just loves you so much.

FUSHIGURO TOJI

the heavy rain didn't deter you from staring at his windows. watching his silhouette move and whatever shit he was doing. with the rain drops at your rain coat and splattering you with a splash of the water, you didn't dare to move from your hiding spot. not wanting to missed the life he was living and you were contented with it.

god, you haven't interacted with the man and you're this head over heels for them when the closest you get is being able to sit a few tables behind him and you can make the every details of him. from the twitching of the scar on the corner of his lips and hear that voice of him. you were a goner.

you didn't dare to get near to him. not yet. you have a plan for it and that would begin tonight.

there wasn't anything special in this place he calls home. devoid of anything personal and it was like it has been abandoned and is a shelter to whoever hoodlum that decided to hole here but despite that it's his. in the past few months you have followed him. there hasn't been a change of his habits. disappearing for days and then comes back.

how heavenly. the apartment's a dump but your infatuation didn't mind. as a special gift and successfully infiltrating this home of his, you will be doing something special to him. you cleaned this apartment of him. inhaling the cleaned shirts of his and laid on his futon where his scent lingers. you made the most of it and then you left. with a thought that you'll be visiting him once again.

something's wrong and it was the most obvious. he got a visitor. he wasn't the most neat and can manage this dump of a apartment of his and yet, he comes home to a clean house. his laundry done. dishes are washed and neatly stacked and the trash that's been scattered are nowhere to be found. to whoever been doing this tasks to him, he made sure to thank them and he left with a smile on his face.

there's a prickling feeling in your nape. hairs rising, a sign of an impending danger and your gut tells you the same but what could happen? you're just going to visit like the hundred times you did. bask in the scent of his comforters, take what somehow valuable trinkets that reminds you of him and put them in your little shrine of him and then you would go but all your senses says that you shouldn't continue. clenching the raincoat you have on, you slowly backed away in the street whereas you can see his house and then you hear a voice.

“cancelling your own little visit, huh?”

your eyes widens at the comment and recognizing the voice where it belongs to the man who has been the subject of your love. “don't worry about it, i made a quick trip to your own and what a coincidence, i also did that.” your blood runs cold at how the tables have turned. you're the one being hunted right now.

he wasn't lying. similar to the shrine you have for him, he also had one. your pictures in similar places where you have been stalking him, it's everywhere and more detailed. close up shots of your face, your own personal belongings displayed and you think you're the one who have been going this obsession. hiding in that secret room of his of where you didn't found and you say he's predictable with his routine.

toji trails the curves of your body with his hand. a squeeze there and then a pinch while he stands behind you. his tongue came licking the scar in the corner of his mouth and then leaning to take a lick the shell of your ear. he almost shivers at your reaction. mirroring it and watch as the disbelief painted on your face.

“i'm not the only one, sweetheart. in exchange for your daily visits to mine. do you mind having you for me?” he whispers and he chuckles at your reaction. speechless as you can be. “very well. don't mind me then.”

GETO SUGURU

the chunks of human flesh or whatever remains of them came splattering. a thunk then a thud upon hitting the ground. splashes of blood covering the walls and you were showered from it. the sensation of their blood to your bare skin feels like a burst of rain on a summer day. there wasn't even a tremble nor a slight quiver of your clenched fist, only a contented smile on your face having the deed done. it was a quick death for them and a quiet one. there's no pleading for mercy nor a cry, only a mumble of prayers. calling whatever deity they know or repenting for the sins they've committed. good. it should be. it's already a sin to defy geto.

they know it, of course. it was bad enough that they didn't have an ounce of cursed energy and was only good at donations and yet, it wasn't enough not what they demanded in exchange for it. the nerve on them to want more for geto and thus, the execution. it was the easiest task since you've joined geto's little family. whatever he wants, you obliged to it. it's your duty. you share the same beliefs with him and it's for a good cause. the eradication of whole non-jujutsu sorcerers will be the good of all. now, you need to focus to remove the filth of their blood clinging to your skin. you don't like when you're covered by it and be seen with it by suguru. you know how much he despises the stench of them monkeys.

there's a huge grin plastered on his face. his deep purple eyes glinting in satisfaction at what you have done. he didn't even need to order you and you're doing a good job minus the filth that is covering you. he find it scenic as he watched you above where he stand in some post. his robe moving gently along with the breeze. no one had made him feel strongly like you did and it was indeed the best decision for him to let you join in his cause.

a soft gasp left your mouth when you've seen him, standing in front of your own room. geto chuckles at your reaction. “forgive me, geto-sama if you need anything. i need to clean myself before serving you.” you say in a timid manner. aware of your unkempt appearance and the dried blood isn't so pleasant sticking in your skin anymore and you smell like death. it was embarrassing to be seen by this by geto. he dismisses your theory with a laugh. “no need for formalities, (y/n).” the way your name is spoken by him is enough to make your stomach flutter. “allow me to help you. i know how tasking it can be to rid of someone.” your face are warm by his statement. “i appreciate the thought, geto-sama but i'm covered by blood from head to toe and i don't want to taint you with it.” you said and he was quick to smile. “nonsense. you're my family and it's my job to take care of you.” he said and you loved him more than anything. “if you insist.”

the water turned a dark shade of red and then slowly turning into a muddy color of pink as it slowly disappears in the drain. you were greatly embarrassed even when you're fully submerged in the tub full of warm water. his touch electrifying to your skin and it took you a great control to not flinch and your body is covered with flaws. despite the insecurities plaguing you, you relished in his touch. it's not like every day he helps you with this kind of menial task and him taking care of you.

geto knows he have that effect on you and also to him. his gaze unknown to you is filled with hunger. it's only an excuse to touch you like this when all he wants to do is pounce on you and make you say the things you will gladly say to him. your body is now clean. devoid of any stains from that monkey and is replaced with the sweet scent of soap. you remained silent the whole time he bathed you. basking on the glow of his warmth and touch that you so deeply craved from him. “say, (y/n)....” he trails off in his sentence. you hum in response. “will you do anything i ask of you?” there's a ripple from the water when you moved. shifting and turning around to meet his gaze. “everything. i will eliminate everyone who stands in your way and will do all of your bidding. you don't need to ask. i'll do anything.” you say without hesitation. your eyes brimming with faithfulness to him and he felt a little stupid to ask you that when you're willingly offering yourself to him. grasping your soft jaw with his fingers, he look deeply in your eyes and then without hesitation, his lips meet yours and it was a deal. sealed with a kiss.

[fushipurro]

The Nature of Depravity

Masterlist

☆ Synopsis: You were an angel, a saint, one of the most profound icons worshipped by mortal kind. There wasn’t a soul in paradise or the fire below that didn’t know your name. It seemed that everywhere you went, you left behind a trail of all things good.

You were one of the best heaven had to offer ─ up until the day you fell from grace and into the hands of a sinner.

☆ Content: 18+ MDNI, AU - fantasy, religious imagery, mentions of blood/violence, implied murder, biting, creampie, scratching, p in v, foreplay, angst, everyone's bad at feelings, true form sukuna, tonguefucking, loss of virginity

☆ Word Count: 10.7k

It wasn’t like one day you woke up and decided to rebel against the heavenly utopia.Rather, it happened like any other day while you were making your rounds to several war-torn villages recently burnt to ash. You sought to aid in the recovery of those lucky to survive, but unbeknownst to you at the time, a group of demons were awaiting your arrival.

With one precise throw, they managed to impale one of your wings with iron weaponry, effectively knocking you from the sky. From there, everything that followed seemed to happen in the blink of an eye, and the next thing you knew, you found yourself here ─ bound in chains, brought before the King of Demons.

Ryomen Sukuna.

Otherwise known as the Fallen, or the Disgraced One, Sukuna was once a proud angel of similar status to your own. It’s unknown how his departure from Heaven came to be. Some claim that he was the bastard child of an unholy couple, while others claim he was never an angel to begin with ─ merely a forked-tongue creature living under the guise of your virtuous ways. At the end of the day, he shed his wings and took over the hellfire realm with unyielding strength.

You stand before him, trapped to an iron pole that burns you to the touch. The metal rod from earlier still marring your wing ─ no doubt broken as it lays flat at your side, oozing with golden, angelic blood.

“What do we have here?” The voice of king stretches across the room, inciting the demons that brought you here to bow in his presence. Something you already have no choice but to do. The intense pain and your lack of energy from the earlier fight affects you greatly now, killing any hope of refusal.

“My lord, we’ve capture this angel we now offer to you.”

“That much is obvious,” Sukuna responds coldly, rolling his eyes. He presses a bored fist to temple. “So what? You’ve come here seeking something from me, haven’t you? Go on, spit it out.”

The demon at your side sputters with nerves before another takes over, “This is no ordinary angel we’ve brought you,” he says, stating your name to the demon king, “We desire your protection, and means for our survival. Our families are poor and struggling to keep those foul humans out of our land.”

There’s a beat of silence, and then the sound of a cruel laughter meant to mock the demons uttering such filth.

“My lord?”

“Quiet,” he commands with no such amusement from moments ago. “If you’re too weak to fight then you deserve to lay down and die. Your kind is meant to be chewed up by the strong.”

“But Sir–“

A flick of his finger, and blood sprays out in all directions, some of its droplets even landing across your face. In the next second, that demon’s head rolls into view. The others behind you gasp in fear, a few even daring to step back only to meet the same demise.

“You’d do well to remember that everything you have belongs to me. Your homes, your land, your lives.” He laughs again. “All of it belongs to your one true king. Now get out of my sight before I change my mind on letting the rest of you live.”

The demons leave in a hurry, and all that remains is both you and the devil.

Sukuna approaches you slowly, like a predator cornering their prey, uncaring that he has to cross a puddle of black demon blood to reach you. With two fingers, he lifts you by your chin, allowing you to drink in the sight of someone who used to be just like you.

Black ink binds to his skin, visible across the expanse of his body from what you can make out. With four arms, and a set of eyes growing from the side of his face, he’s the textbook definition of a demon by human standards. But as an angel, well… you’ve seen more unique creations in the first sphere of your celestial hierarchy. Different doesn’t always have to mean repulsive.

“Such a pathetic sight,” he murmurs, moving your head as though you’re a fruit being examined for its quality. “A broken, pitiful excuse of an angel in my domain.” A grin appears on his face, ripe with his malevolent nature. “How the so-called mighty continue to fall.”

You should bite back. You should be saying something, anything to defend heaven from the one who for whatever reason forsake it, leaving it all behind to become the enemy of virtue. Yet, you’re unable to come up with anything like all your peers would.

Sukuna appears to be studying your expression carefully, finding himself perplexed by your lack of animosity.

“You’re not afraid?” he asks with a hint of curiosity, though his face remains neutral.

“Should I be?” you respond, and without much thought or consideration for the position you’re in. He could do whatever he wants with you, and it would as easy as it is for him to take a life.

He laughs again, letting it echo throughout the throne room.

“Most creatures tremble in fear before me. You even got to see what happens to those who annoy me.” He pauses, revealing sharpened fangs as his grows wide. “And yet, you ask me if you should be afraid. Well, I think the answer is quite obvious, don’t you agree?”

“If it is my fate to die by your hands, then so be it.” As you tell him those words, you feel your strength slipping. The weight of your head sinking deeper into his touch. Even your sight is starting to cloud with black spots.

“Fate? Hah! Don’t make me laugh.” He leans down, mere inches from your face. “You’re just like the rest of your kin, always preaching the gospel of a false king. Your paradise is nothing but a garden of lies.”

You can’t help but wonder from Sukuna’s words what happened to birth such hatred for your shared homeland.

“Being scared would do me no good. In my current state, I pose no threat to you,” you point out. “What reason do I have to fight you?”

He scoffs, “There’s a war going on, and you and I are on opposite sides.”

“That’s never mattered to me.”

He clicks his tongue, swapping the fingers under your jaw with his whole hand. His nails dig into your cheeks, but you can hardly feel it. You can hardly feel anything but coldness.

“I understand if it’s my time; do as you will with me.”

“You speak as if your life holds no value.” He seems to be evaluating you again, tracing his lower set of eyes across your broken wing with scrutiny in his gaze. The other two remain locked with yours. “I wonder if your dear paradise would even allow your return… you may as well be one of the fallen now.”

His words barely register before everything goes black and you succumb to the darkness swelling around your form. You’ve held the hands of many humans on their way into paradise, and many speak of death’s embrace being so warm and inviting.

But all you feel is cold.

So, so cold.

“Sleep well, angel. I’ll be seeing you again soon enough.”

Slowly but surely, everything starts falling back into place. Reality returning to your lifeless form as you awaken from your slumber.

With a tired groan, you open your eyes to an unfamiliar room. Nothing about where you are screams paradise, and in fact, it’s more of the opposite. Currently, you lay atop a large bed, surrounded by red silk sheets and pillows. The room itself is especially decorated with lavish details and portraits bordered with gold, its imagery ranging from acts of debauchery to icons painted with blood. Something about those specific paintings raises an unsettling feeling in the back of your mind.

“You’re awake,” a voice calls from the doorway. The richness of his voice makes it obvious without turning your head that you’re not actually dead, but still within Sukuna’s castle of sin. “How are you feeling?” he asks, though his demeanor remains calm, devoid of any underlying concern or true empathy.

You try and sit up, but quickly fall back from the pain, almost forgetting the trauma you had been through. You only realize now the number of bandages wrapping your body, the majority contorting your wing into a makeshift sling.

“You saved me?” you ask with disbelief in your tone. You thought for sure your time was up, yet your heart still beats, quicker now in Sukuna’s presence. “Why?”

“Yes, I saved you. And as for why…” He crosses his arm, maintaining his cold stare. “Let’s just say I have my reasons.” A subtle smirk appears.

“Whatever the case may be, thank you, for not letting me die.”

“Don’t mistake my kindness for charity,” he says bluntly. “In due time, you’ll be fulfilling your usage to me. That is the only reason you’re still alive.”

You raise an eyebrow at his words. “What use would you have of me?”

That devilish grin makes a reappearance on his face as he strides closer to the bed, towering over you. “You’ll find out soon enough. For now, you need only to focus on your recovery.”

So much for getting any answers or having any chance of leaving.

“Charity or not ─ I still thank you,” you say back to him, smiling all the while despite the fact you’re now akin to a bird confined in a gilded cage. Better than an iron cell, but not the same as the freedom that calls to you. At the end of the day, however, and for whatever reason he has, he still chose to help you.

“Don’t thank me yet,” he chuckles, eyes darkening. “It’s far too early for that.”

Sukuna’s amusement fades as the doors to your room open, revealing a white-haired servant holding a tray of sorts.

“My lord,” they greet, bowing to the King of Demons.

“Good, you’re here, Uraume. See to her recovery now that’s awake. I have work that needs to be done,” he announces, stepping out of the way for the one called Uraume to approach. Sukuna eyes fixate on you again as their servant helps you sit up. “I’ll warn you now, angel. You’re in my domain.” His tone is stern, full of unspoken promise. “If you so much as try to escape, I’ll clip both of your wings and leave you to rot this time around.”

You can’t help but laugh at the irony in his words. “Don’t worry, I think we both know I���m in no condition to leave. Nor do I plan on trying either.”

Despite the humor of it, one look at your wing is enough to question what life will be like for you from now on. There’s a question that when you recover, will you ever be able to fly again? You can’t help but feel off about the dull coloring of your wings now.

All angels radiate a celestial glow across the span of their perfectly white wings ─ like light scattered through a prism in every hair and fiber. That glow is seemingly gone from yours, and you think you spot some gray forming at the base. To be absent of that symbol of your connection, one can only assume it to be a sign of what’s to come.

“See that you don’t,” he remarks, turning away to let Uraume work.

Uraume makes careful work of changing out your bandages. They work quick and with deft fingers, trying their best not to aggravate your wing further. All the while, you face away towards the head of the bed, hiding your now exposed chest with your arms. You feel them pause, tracing a finger down your back. In your mind, you assume it to be one of the many marks left behind from the demons that captured you, and thus, you don’t focus too much on it.

You fail to notice Sukuna’s gaze transfixed on you from the doorway. Although silent, a darkness looms over his features. He exits the room moments later, shutting the door with more force than necessary, making your body jolt.

It’s a while before Uraume finishes, and they leave you with some fresh fruit to dine on. While you’re supposed to be resting, you find it difficult, especially after learning you’ve already been asleep for several days. That knowledge is precisely why you ditch the sheets to walk out onto the veranda connected to your room.

The moon is high in the sky, basking the courtyard garden with its sheer, red-toned light. Down here in the realm of fire, it’s as though the moon forever mirrors the flames conjured up from demons. That, or it reflects the many pools of blood from a millennium of suffering.

“Don’t you look like a broken bird,” Sukuna comments from behind you. For someone of his stature, it’s a wonder you didn’t hear him approaching.

“In a way, I am,” you muse, moving your eyes forward again. “One that flew too far from her nest.”

“Fallen from the nest and into the hands of a monster, how your precious fate seems to curse you.”

“Monster?” You snap your head in his direction with an incredulous look. “I hope you’re not referring to yourself with that comment.”

“You would deny what I am?” His voice is tinged with arrogance as he comes up beside you, not bothering to spare a glance. “I am the King of Demons, the most despised of life’s creation. How am I not a monster?”

“I’m still alive, aren’t I?” you respond, tilting your head. “Whatever the case may be, you chose to let me live, and even saw to the treatment of my injuries. You could’ve kept me in chains, plucking my feathers one by one, but you didn’t. You even have me in a room made for royalty.”

He scoffs, but you don’t let it stop you from continuing.

“Your title aside, I don’t assume anyone to be a monster ─ only a victim of circumstance. Is someone truly born evil, or is evil nurtured?”

Sukuna appears mildly surprised by your speech, giving you his attention. You spot the hint of a smirk tugging at the corner of his lip. “A victim of circumstance, you say?” he repeats with an added air of mockery. “You raise an interesting point, but that doesn’t make you any less of a fool. Tell me, do you believe that because you’re an angel, you’re exempt from the original sin?”

“Not at all,” you answer quickly, and full of conviction. There’s not a drop of fear or hesitation as you openly speak your mind to Sukuna. “All of us ─ angels, demons, humans… we’re all doing what we can with the lives we were given. Angels rise and fall; some sinners beg for forgiveness while others let it define their nature. What’s important to me is how you treat others.”

“By that logic, what of the demons that maimed you? What of me, who has already killed in your presence?” Sukuna refutes. “Most would agree those to be the act of monsters.”

“Does being a demon mean you automatically deserve to be punished for the title you brandish? Does one act define your whole being? The demons who brought me before you sought help and protection ─ for that, I cannot blame them for their actions upon me. What difference is there between heaven and hell if I’m blinded by namesakes instead of looking at all the good and evil that can come from anyone, even of my own kind?”

Sukuna appears almost at a loss of words from your rambling. In truth, he wasn’t expecting such philosophy from someone so high in the celestial hierarchy, but he can see now why the humans would think to praise you as a saint.

“You make it sound so simple… so noble.” He’s looking at you now a deeper gleam in his eyes, intrigued enough to forgive your bold speech to him of all people. Most beings would never get away talking to him like you have after all. “So you would say there��s no difference between you and me after everything you’ve witnessed? How many in heaven would even agree with you?”

“I believe morality is a wild card that’s been muddied one too many times. There’s good and evil in everyone, even the almighty creators that chose to allow lesser beings to suffer in order to achieve growth. I can’t say I know many who would agree with me, but I understand their feelings and I’ll continue to trust in the potential for good.”

“You speak with a passion despite your predicament,” he huffs amusingly. “Still, I must admit, you have a unique way of thinking for an angel that’s uncommonly seen.”

You acknowledge his words with a hum, drifting your eyes to your wings lying flat at your side. “Most likely why heaven doesn’t seem too keen on my return,” you murmur, referencing the missing glow. “In return for saving me, I’ll see if I can be of use to you.” You’ll need a new purpose if you are to fall from grace.

Sukuna chuckles, the sound almost sinister. “An angel, offering her services to a demon. How… poetic.”

Silence takes over as you both admire the red glow of the garden. All that can be heard is running water from the fountain pond, and the occasional splashing of its scaled inhabitants.

“Can I ask you something?”

“You may,” Sukuna responds with one of his lower eyes pointed your way. “Whether or not I’ll answer is a different matter.”

You choose your next words carefully. This back-and-forth debate has been an unexpected treat after the pain you’ve endured to get here.

“You were an angel once too, yes? What happened that led your fall?”

His jaw clenches from the sudden inquiry. “There was a time I too preached the seven virtues; as for how I came to become the monstrosity I am today is a long, dark story.”

After telling you this, Sukuna starts to walk away.

“I see… I hope one day I’ll have the chance to hear it.”

He scoffs, giving you a sidelong stare over his shoulders. “I’ll consider your words, but it’s best now you return to your quarters and rest. Don’t go flying off anywhere.” His twisted laugh echoes from down the halls, and despite the cruelty of it, you can’t help but smile.

Days pass, and while you’d like to say you’ve gotten into a routine, even an angel like yourself isn’t immune to going stir crazy. To be grounded like this for as long as you have now is unnatural, and as your feathers seem to darken each day ─ so do your thoughts on the situation.

Currently, you’re seated out on the veranda again, admiring the servants working from afar to keep the courtyard clean and the shrubbery trimmed to the king’s liking. There’s a feeling that bubbles from within at the sight of those taking to their wings to reach the heights of certain trees, or cleaning along the palace rooftops. A feeling you aren’t sure just what to call as of now.

“Bored, are you?” That familiar tone reappearing. His arrival is the only bearable part of your stay as he forces you out of your own mind.

“I have the gift of life; I could never be bored,” you state, not taking your eyes off the demons that cling to the skies. “I am however… longing, I’d say.”

Sukuna’s eyes find you, moving from your face down to your wing. You’ve gotten to where you can feel his burning stare at times, even when he’s not around. While it may come off as intrusive, you find it a comfort.

“You miss it, don’t you? Being up in the skies, untethered from the earth.” he asks with understanding, but also that same recurring hint of his typical mockery.

“The wind between each feather, the sights you can only see from above…” You can’t help but sigh at what now feels like a distant memory. You’re certain your wing will recover, but whether you can maintain flight is a mystery in itself until the time is right. “Will you tell me now what purpose you have in keeping me around?”

Purpose is something you need right now to stave off the thoughts.

“Impatient, are we?” He holds your gaze silently for a moment before continuing. “I have my reasons, but I’m not ready to divulge them. For now, let me make it clear that you’re too valuable of a prize for me not to keep around.”

“A prize, huh?” You ponder the thought, leaning your body against one of the columns for support. “Am I even worthy if my connection to paradise has been severed?” you mumble on instinct, not intending for him to hear such thoughts you never knew you had.

He does though, and it leads to him furrowing his brows, and averting his stare to elsewhere in his domain.

“Who cares about heaven?” he starts, keeping his voice low and full of what you believe to be spite. You wouldn’t be surprised if he rolled his eyes as well. “Even if they abandoned you, your existence still holds value to me. Fallen or not, you’re a walkingcontradiction that’s piqued my interest. As far as I’m concerned, heaven was holding you back from your true potential.”

Moments like these are why you’ll argue with him for as long as necessary to prove he’s more than what he makes himself out to be.

“Is that so?” You smile. His eyes flicker back to you at the sound of your giggling. “You’re something else, you know that?”

Sukuna finds himself grinning as well. “Am I?” he questions while reaching to your feathers, running his fingers along them with a delicate touch. “And what would that be in your eyes?”

“The best way I can explain it is that you’re simply you ─ Sukuna.” You lean back one hand, gesturing with the other. “You try and present yourself as some monstrous demon that burns everything you touch, but here you are treating me with such care. I don’t doubt your strength, but I believe there’s more to you than meets the eye.”

“You’re a perceptive one, I’ll give you that, angel.” A beat of silence, and the flash of what could be read as vulnerability in his typically guarded demeanor. “But remember, I’m still a demon. My nature is not a kind one, so don’t go forgetting that detail.”

You chuckle, “I won’t, but I stand by my point. It’s my nature to see the good in everything that shares the same life as me.”

“Sounds tiring,” he deadpans, rolling his eyes. He removes his hand from your wing, tucking it back into his robe.

“Tiring? Oh contraire.” You smirk, feeling a spark of confidence ─ and maybe some defiance. “Do you only see the bad in everything? Always assuming the worst of others and thus feel the need to extinguish their life before they have a chance to bear their fangs? That to me seems tiring if you must always need your guard up.”

His face darkens considerably, and you realize too late that you’ve struck a nerve.

“You know nothing of what I’ve been through or why I do the things I do, so don’t pretend that you do,” he spits. The underlying wrath in his tone has your feathers puffing up. “Power is all that keeps me alive and keeps me going in this god-forsaken world. When you’ve been betrayed and hunted like I have, you learn quickly that you can only truly rely on yourself and not to trust others, especially not an angel.”

Guilt pangs in your chest alongside hurt from his choice words. You don’t regret what you said, but you maybe regret the timing of it, or not having considered his feelings before letting it all out. Life isn’t as fair to everyone as it might’ve been for you, but his anger has shown you the likelihood that his lifestyle was something nurtured ─ not the nature of sin one might argue.

He couldn’t have been born evil. It had to have been the acts of others that left him no choice but to become the embodiment of said evil.

And you can’t blame him for it, nor can you turn back time to right all of the wrongs. Fate must have brought you here for a reason, and in time you hope Sukuna realizes he doesn’t have to suffer alone. Even if he never pleads for forgiveness, you’ll show him that life is more than the negatives.

“I apologize if I upset you.” You stand up from your seat, tipping your head. A sudden act of submission even he can’t argue with. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll be returning to my quarters now to rest.”

His glare seems to soften, if only a slight change. “…Fine. Go rest,” he quietly sighs, shifting back towards his garden view.

You take your leave, unknowingly leaving behind one of your fallen feathers in your previous spot. Sukuna notices this, lifting it to the moon’s light, watching it filter through the hairs. He kisses his teeth before stalking back to his own quarters across the yard.

You don’t see Sukuna much after that, almost like he’s trying to avoid you. Is he really that upset with you? It begs the question whether he still wants you around, or if his anger outweighs your worth enough to kill you and be done with it.

It’s another night where you find yourself out in the garden, enjoying the semblance of freedom it offers. You no longer have a bandage around your wing ─ which now is half covered in shade coloring ─ and Uraume has instructed you to begin stretching it to work back into a routine of physical therapy.

It can’t hurt to see if you can at least lift yourself off the ground, right?

So, you stand at the center of what appears to be Sukuna’s training grounds, as it offers plenty of space to move. With the moonlight against your back, you stretch out your wings in full, covering a good portion of the area around your body. You feel nervous yet eager to fly, enough to push past the dull pain you feel when you finally begin to lift yourself up off the ground.

Already you’re sweating ─ so out of shape from rest ─ but you don’t want to give up. It’s too soon and knowing now you can be off the ground makes you hopeful that this is the day you can take to the skies again. Only you don’t realize how much strain you’re putting on yourself, and how your unharmed wing must compensate more fiercely.

“Come on…” you strain, flapping harder than before when a sudden jolt of pain pierces through your wing, sending you crashing back into the dirt with a yelp. It only gets worse as your weight ended up landing on your recovering wing.

“You idiot!” Sukuna appears, shouting with alarm as he comes up to your side. His usual calm demeanor having been replaced with both anger and concern. “You’re not fully healed yet, what were you thinking?” he snarls, forcing you to sit up off your crooked wing.

You start to tear up from the pain, feeling a wave of emotions crashing into you all at once. Feelings you never knew existed outside humanity. You let it all out by sobbing into the dirt, and out of sheer frustration, you begin clawing at it too, angrily flapping your wings like a child throwing a tantrum.

Sukuna is surprised by your sudden outburst. The sound of your tears and the flapping of your wings is like a desperate cry for the freedom you once felt. He grabs at your shoulders, commanding you with his voice, “Cut it out, you’re only making it worse.”

“It’s already worse!” you shout back at him, surprising him yet again with this new side of you. “Let’s face it, Sukuna ─ my wing is ruined, I’m falling into ruin, there’s nothing left of me!” Your cracked voice tears through the garden, its serenity now clouded in the anger and hopelessness you feel.

This is the first moment of your life you’ve ever felt suffering like the mortals you’ve guided, and for the reason to be something as selfish as self-loathing… it shows how far you’ve fallen from grace.

“Stop being dramatic,” he growls. “If you don’t give yourself time to heal, then how can say for certain you’ll never fly again?”

You throw yourself into Sukuna’s front, unsure how else to cope with the weight of your emotions. An angel seeking comfort in a demon. You may be free falling into sin, but you have to agree with the poetry of it like Sukuna suggested.

He wasn’t expecting you to suddenly cling to him, but besides the mild annoyance he feels, he doesn’t make any moves to push you away. His awkward embrace is warmer than you would’ve thought, but this is the ruler of flames we’re talking about.

You don’t feel as cold as you have when he arms shield you from the world, and the depths of your mind.

When your tears settle and your breathing mellows, Sukuna lifts you from the ground with ease. He carries you back to your room, placing you gently down onto the edge of your bed. His hand moves with practiced care to your wing, feeling for any discomfort. You wince of course, and he lets a frustrated sigh after a minute of testing.

“I’ll send Uraume in to deal with this,” he tells you, and you notice his tone lacks the usual authority or contempt. He shifts his gaze from your wing to your face, reading for any signs of life in your distant eyes. “How are you feeling?”

“I don’t know,” you reply, and it’s the truth. As an angel, you were designed to only feel emotions such as humility, kindness, patience… but now you don’t know what to label yourself with, or how to get through it. “What’s wrong with me?” you ask, not daring to look up from your knees.

“There’s nothing wrong with you.” One of his hands comes up under your jaw, lifting your chin to meet his crimson gaze. All four eyes staring into yours with the visage of understanding. “You’ve lost your light is all.”

Your light, your home, your paradise.

“I’ve lost everything.”

“You’re still alive, aren’t you?” His thumb traces your skin.

“Is that even worth it anymore? I’m no prize in this state, merely a broken bird like you had claimed.”

He furrows his brows, annoyed that you’re using his words against him as you wave the proverbial white flag with your voice.

“Don’t talk like that,” he snaps ─ harsh, but a necessary evil. “If you had no value, I would’ve killed you long ago. You have the mindset I’ve only seen in one other of your kind, and your knowledge and resilience are quite admirable in my eyes.” He lets go of your chin, stepping away from the bed. As he moves to leave, he stops, and without turning to look at you he says, “In time, you’ll realize how worthy you are.”

You weren’t sure if it could get any worse, but as the days continue to pass, you feel yourself sinking deeper into the abyss that is your psyche.

Uraume has been hovering around more often than not, urging you to stay in bed and rest, but you hate it. You hate this feeling of being powerless, of being empty, of not being able to live as you once had. From the moment you could fly, you were wandering the human realm, helping everyone you came across from the largest of creatures to the smallest of insects.

It’s your nature to help others no matter the cost. What’s not is putting yourself first. But now, everything’s changing ─ faster than you could have ever imagined.

You think this is what humans would refer to as fear, and what an unpleasant feeling it is.

Sukuna comes by every day, sometimes more than once to check in on you, and each time he finds you in the same, curled up position with your face buried in the silk.

He’s had enough of this slothful behavior.

“You need to eat, angel,” he says firmly, tapping his finger loudly on the bed post.

“’m not hungry,” you respond, though your voice is muffled and weak.

He lets out a frustrated sigh, and the force he puts into tapping his finger threatens to crack the wood. “You can’t just ignore your needs forever,” he retorts, “You need to eat, now.”

“Why do you care so much?” You don’t mean for the words to sound as harsh as they do, but luckily Sukuna is a patient man, most of the time.

“I didn’t save you just to watch you die in such a pathetic, mortal way.”

“Haven’t I always appeared pathetic since the day we met?” Bound in chains, bloodied with no celestial shine. Weak, broken, a pitiful excuse of heaven’s most revered angel. Complete, and utterly pathetic.

He kisses his teeth. “You’ve had your moments, but if you weren’t so busy feeling sorry for yourself, then you would see all that you are. All that you can be now.”

You’re silent for a few moments as you ponder his words. His unrestraint in speaking his mind may not always be a virtue, but it’s a comfort you’ve come to welcome all the same.

You turn your head his way and ask, “Was it like this for you when you fell from grace?”

“I wasn’t moping like you are, if that’s what you mean.” He then sighs and takes a seat along the edge of the bed, cautious in avoiding your sprawled out wing ─ which has become increasingly black as the days pass by. “But yes, I too had to overcome human emotion to get where I am now. It won’t last forever, I assure you.”

“You were right before,” you murmur, staring past Sukuna into your view of the garden. “I don’t know all the struggles you’ve had to face, or anyone for that matter. It doesn’t matter if I’ve visited one village or a thousand burnt to ash. Until now, I’ve never truly felt pain like this in my heart.”

Both set of eyes look down at you, but not in the sense that you’re beneath him. His gaze is understanding, regretful even for how he spoke to you before. You’ve stirred up Sukuna’s emotions without realizing, forcing him to come to terms with how he feels.

“What you’ve seen in the past has always been the aftermath of war. Until you’ve faced suffering yourself, you never would understand the pain behind it.” There’s a bitterness lacing his words as he remembers that period of his life prior to becoming king.

The moment that changed the course of his life forever.

“For whatever you’ve been through, I’m so sorry.” Tears rush down the side of your eyes, collecting into the sheets. “I always believed heaven had everyone’s backs, even those who hadn’t redeemed themselves, but I was wrong, so wrong. I’m just as guilty as every other celestial being for turning a blind eye and letting you suffer.”

Sukuna’s demeanor softens up at your apology, and he reaches a sharpened nail out to catch one of your tears. “Your apology is unnecessary… but I appreciate it nonetheless.”

The two of you sit in silence as you let the tears flow freely. The only sound aside from your own being the windchime Uraume had put up along the garden doors one evening. It’s the normal glass bulb shape, but the papery sheet that catches the wind is black, with red-spider lilies painted across. The flower’s coloring continuously reminds you of another with that same hue painted four times over.

Your stomach eventually disrupts the scene, cueing what you both were already aware of.

“Sounds like someone’s hungry; are you going lie again?” he teases, now poking his finger into your back.

“I guess I could try and eat something,” you playfully reply, moving to sit up. You feel discomfort immediately in your head, your vision darkening in turn from how long it’s been since you’ve last had a proper meal.

“Rest,” he orders after noticing your grimace. “I’ll have food brought to you immediately.”

Before he gets too far, you call out to him, “Sukuna?” He turns, giving you his attention. “Thank you,” you tell him, the moonlight hitting your face just as you smile. Its red glow is accentuated by your glossy cheeks, almost like a blush.

“You’re welcome,” he replies gruffly, but with the hint of his own smile hidden buried under his scarf.

From there, the days only get easier. Resting has felt less of a routine, and with Uraume’s help, physical therapy has been going well. There’s plenty of new growth in the form of pinfeathers across your wingspan, and the oldest of such white at the very tips still. It appears your broken wing will forever remain deformed ─ no thanks to the stunt you pulled ─ but you find yourself embracing the change.

The same can be said for many things now in your new life, such as how you’ve come to enjoy the night over day. The moon’s light is a comforting touch, as is the serenity felt in the late hours. You let that light guide your fingers across your wings, preening the darkened feathers to look your best.

Another change you’ve noticed are the appearance of marks stemming from the center of your back. According to Uraume, they were present at the time of your arrival, but since then have grown to wrap around your body in a filigree type pattern. You’re reminded of Sukuna’s own markings as you examine your body, and you’ve begun to question if this is how heaven marks their fallen.

Reaching the feathers closest to that part of your body is a challenge, and one you’re struggling to overcome. Angels typically preen each other’s wings in a show of chastity, and companionship. You’re certain Uraume would help if you ask, but the idea stirs a sense of intimacy now for whatever reason.

“Having trouble there?” Sukuna’s voice cuts through the night from behind you as always, making you jolt in surprise.

“Oh– uhh, yeah, just a bit.”

“It’s not an easy task reaching those feathers on your own, is it?” he muses with a snickering laugh. His footsteps are silent as he comes ever closer to the edge of the veranda.

“It isn’t, but I’m positive there’s feathers there ready to be unfurled.” You have a focused look on your face as you try once more to bend your arms in outrageous ways to try and reach.

“Let me help,” he says, brushing your hands away.

Sukuna doesn’t wait for your response before his fingers deftly land on the center of your back. His touch sparks a shiver down your spine, arching yourself upright. Your wings have never felt this sensitive before and it’s becoming increasingly difficult to keep them steady for him to work.

There’s a sudden influx of emotions you don’t recognize bubbling up, and a heat that pools in the base of your body. At times, it feels like Sukuna is purposely working slow to make your feathers all nice and pretty. His knuckles brush you in a way that hitches your breath.

He hums closely by your ear, “Your wings are quite sensitive here, aren’t they?”

Has his voice always sounded so melodic? So intoxicating? From the way he laughs at your reaction, you can tell he’s enjoying himself. Like he knows what’s going on in your mind.

He does.

You shoot up from your position with sudden urgency. “T-thanks for the help Sukuna, if you’ll excuse, I’ll see you later and I hope you have a wonderful rest of your night!” you stammer out with the hurry of a freefalling eagle, retreating back into your quarters before he has any chance to respond.

Sukuna can’t say he wasn’t caught off guard by this, but at the sight of your reddened face and eyes desperate to avoid his ─ he’ll forgive you.

On the other side of your folding screen door, you fall to your knees in a near pant to catch your breath whatever that was about. Temptation has never looked so good than in the form of Ryomen Sukuna, for all that he is. And while you came so close to the edge of a decadent abyss, you realized something.

You’ve grown fond of Sukuna, and in ways that can only be described with one word.

Sin.

From the window view of his study, Sukuna catches you out of the corner of his eyes stepping out from your room and into the courtyard. He doesn’t think much of it having gotten used to you being at the core of his picturesque view night after night. The moment he realizes you’re heading towards his training yard, however, is the same moment he ditches the scroll he was reading to follow..

He’s aware Uraume has given you the all-clear to attempt flight, but that was but a few hours before now. Truthfully, he should’ve known better. Of course you’re going to start right away.

Leaving his study, he makes haste to catch up, hoping to avoid what happened last time. He stands at the edge of the arena stealthily, watching as you stretch your now fully black wings to their limits. The first few flutters betray the confidence you showed in your steps to this place. He can tell you’re fighting a battle in your mind, but to Sukuna ─ those thoughts are useless.

“Why did you stop?” he asks, closing the distance after watching you deflate to your knees into the dirt.

“What if I get hurt again?” you confirm his inner thoughts with that meek voice. Foolish angel.

“What if you do?” he retorts, blunt as ever. “Are you just going to stay grounded forever because you’re afraid of a little pain? You’ve come this far; it would be a shame to give up now.”

“I don’t want to be on the ground ─ hell, I’ve been waiting for this day for so long and now that it’s here…” Your voice trails off, falling back to the low, despairing tone. “I’m afraid it won’t be the same.”

“It won’t be the same,” he says with an added huff. If anyone is in the position to give tough love, it’s Sukuna. “You will always carry that scar”-he gestures with a pointed claw at your wing-“a reminder of your fall, but that doesn’t mean you can’t fly. You won’t know until you get back up in the air.”

“But if I can’t, then what use could I possibly be?”

Sukuna crosses his upper pair of arms, leaving his lower pair to hang off his waist, one finger tapping away at the fabric at his hip. You’re in despair, and your main concern is whether you’re useful or not?

If you were anyone else, he wouldn’t think twice about making you his next meal. The weak are meant to be chewed up, but why can’t you see the potential you have already? (It’s standing right in front of you after all with a scowl on their face.)

“If wings were the defining point of who you are, then would you claim me to be useless?”

The day Sukuna fell from grace was the same day he tore his own wings from his back, tossing aside the last reminder of that accursed realm to embrace his demonic half in full.

“Of course not!” you refute with the same fire he saw when you argued how he isn’t not a monster. You’re not a lost cause yet if you can still manage that passion.

“Then get up and show me what you’re made of,” he commands. “You’re an angel ─ albeit a fallen one. Not the same broken bird you were before.”

Your eyes flash with realization, and with newfound determination, you’re back on your feet.

“Okay,” you breathe. “I just need to return to my roots.”

“Return to your roots? What exactly do you mean?”

“You said it yourself,” you casually say in passing, walking over to where the courtyard backs up against the edge of a cliff overlooking Sukuna’s domain. “I may be damaged, but I’m still a bird, aren’t I?”

Sukuna’s eyes widen.

“And where exactly are you going with this, dove?”

You can’t possibly be doing what he thinks you’re going to do. He doesn’t want you to get hurt, but he also wants you to see this through. Impressive, angel. A manic grin appears.

“Sometimes all a bird needs is for their parent to push them from the nest. Dive right in, even if you’re too afraid to try.”

You spread your arms out with your wings, backing off the edge and into freefall.

Sukuna’s at the cliff’s edge in a fraction of a second, his heart beating uncharacteristically loud in his chest as he watches you fall. It’s a harrowing sight, even for him, but the relief he feels when you manage to catch the wind between your feathers is unlike the emotions he felt before your arrival. Since that day, it’s like he’s had to fall from grace all over again with you, only that much harder this time around.

His smile doesn’t falter either, morphing from smug arrogance to a proud shine. The way you’ve taken to the skies is like you never left. If Sukuna’s domain is fire, then yours is the air that fans the flames in a mesmerizing dance. With a heavy thrust, you push yourself up ─ higher than his palace and the mountain’s peak before diving back down, returning to Sukuna’s side.

“I did it,” you mumble victoriously, a crazed grin of your own that Sukuna loves to see. “I did it!” you repeat, this time turning that smile towards Sukuna, with eyes brighter than any glow a halo could muster.

“See what happens you don’t give up?”

You lunge forward, wrapping your arms tightly around his waist. “Thank you, Sukuna,” you tell him breathlessly.

He finds himself liking this moment better than when you soaked his robes with tears.

“For what?” he asks, placing a hand on the crown of your head.

“For the care, the healing, the late-night conversations… for everything. For saving me.” Your arms tighten almost possessively around him. “You’ve shown me a kindness like no one before, and I am forever in your debt.”

Sukuna brushes his hand from your hair down to your jawline, tilting your head upwards. Something about the way your eyes shine from his doing makes his cold heart feel that much warmer.

“What kind of saint or angel are you to find kindness in a beast like me?” he mutters, lowering his head closer to yours.

“Like you said ─ a fallen angel, but an angel nonetheless.” His face now a mere breath away from yours. “And like I’ve told you ─ I see you only for what you are, demon or not. To me, you’ve always been just Sukuna.”

The moment your lips meet is when the cord connecting you to paradise officially snaps, thrusting you into an unholy matrimony. You feel a burning sensation come along the markings that brandish you, but it doesn’t hurt. Right now, all that runs through your blood is one thing, and one thing only.

Desire.

As your body rises in heat, so does the intensity of your kissing. You’re doing whatever feels right, and most of all good. Sukuna feels this, just as you feel his lips smiling against your own. His tongue dips into your mouth and for the first time in your life, your body lets off a moaning sound.

It drives Sukuna near feral hearing it, and with his lower pair of arms he tugs you close to body, enough to feel his own desire straining for relief. His mind is quickly becoming a mess of both need and longing.

He pulls you down with him to the ground, settling you over his hips with your legs at either side. Those same hands now driven with lust roam your body in tangent with yours that have found their way to his chest, feverishly working to unveil his body. He grows tired of the struggle, and in a split second he severs your robes clean off, and his to follow. Only now do your lips part, leaving a string of drool to keep you connected.

The moon offers the perfect glow needed to highlight your features. He leans back onto his elbows, admiring the rise and fall of your heated chest, the red hue clinging to your feathers, the half-lidded stare revering his own sculpted figure… there’s only one word that comes to mind when he sees your soul laid out before him.

“Beautiful,” he says breathlessly and in full confidence. His upper set of hands trace your sides before coming into contact with your chest. He brushes the padding of his thumbs over each nipple. His other two hands holding you by the hips, pulling you down deeper onto his core. “Oh, so beautiful, my sweet angel.”

You gasp at the feeling of something twitching below you ─ or rather, somethings. The sound makes Sukuna groan again with pleasure, the slit along his stomach opening to reveal a second mouth before your very eyes. To others, this would be enough to incite fear. But for you, it only ignites a fire between your thighs.

“Come here,” he demands, rhetorically it seems as he pulls you right over the freshly parted maw. A thick tongue flicks upward along your sex, frazzling your mind with symphony of whines. He groans again ─ much deeper this time ─ feeling his four eyes roll back into his head. “I knew from the moment I laid eyes on you that you would be the most divine tasting meal I’ve had to date.”

Sukuna finds himself struggling to keep you still as his tongue enters your body. It’s at this moment the veil of your chastity is no more, your purity claimed by the King of Demons.

Your body continues to squirm as his tongue shifts around your velvety walls, your wings continuously twitching and fluttering when it taps your sweet spot.

“So sensitive,” he laughs with that familiar mocking sound, but his eyes show only a carnal need with how pleasantly you respond to his touch.

“Feels s’good,” you mewl, a breathy sigh staggering out. You try to balance yourself with your hands, digging into his shoulders with talon-like grip.

“Yeah?” He continues to toy with your breasts, pulling one into his mouth. The feeling of his teeth grazing your flesh ─ eager to mark ─ has you gasping once more. “I know it does, you needy girl.”

“I need you,” you confess with a depraved stare that’s only heightened by the glow of the bloodied moon. It’s so close to mirroring his own, like your soul has already been claimed by the devil himself. After your purity, that’s the next step in this journey of love.

He chuckles, slithering his tongue back into his mouth. “Let’s see if you can handle me then without breaking.”

You’re confused at first what he means until suddenly you’re lifted into the air, watching as he pulls both cocks from his hakama. You knew they were big, but you had thought it was due to how they stacked over the other. How wrong you were to not expect the nine-foot-tall demon to be as equally blessed below.

“What do you think?” he teases, tilting his head to the side slightly.

“Why don’t you let me show you what I’m made of? I’m tougher than I look, you know.”

“Good girl. That you are,” he praises, helping you align yourself with one of his cocks. “I look forward to seeing you worship me with your body.”

It doesn’t take much for you to sink down onto him in full, your cunt a dripping mess thanks to his saliva and your freshly discovered arousal ─ like an untapped spring now bursting forth. There’s little pain that follows from the stretch, your body instead erupting with pleasure. It’s as though you were made for him. That your purpose in life was always to please him in every way possible. Everything you experienced so far was to bring you to this very moment in time.

“Embrace your instinct,” Sukuna says as he guides your starting motions. “Let it fuel your potential.”

You work with his motions, eyes fluttering shut at the incredible sensation. “I’m so full,” you sigh, and he chuckles.

“You’re doing so well; I knew you had it in you,” he purrs. “Soon enough you’ll be taking both in one hole. Would you like that?” You clench hard around him at that, and he can tell you’re getting ever closer.

“W-w-what is this feeling?” You move your hand downwards with unknown purpose to where his body meets yours, fingers gliding along his upper shaft, down every vein, and even rubbing it against your own clit for more of that wonderous sensation that’s building.

Using his own dick to pleasure yourself? My, how far you’ve fallen into his sinful embrace. The primal need he has for you is exceeding what he thought possible. How perfect you are for him ─ a match made in hell.

“It’s euphoria, my dear. Heaven,” he mutters gruffly, hissing with pleasure. “Let it break you and I promise you’ll feel better than ever before.”

“I need you, ‘Kuna.” Your voice comes out as a pleading whine that hitches his breath. The words a desperate plea for something you’re still learning to embrace.

“Tell me what you want, angel,” he growls, his eyes searing into yours. A set of hands glide upwards, one over your breast, the other at the base of your skull. “Say it,” he commands this time, pointed nails digging into your flesh, pushing even deeper into your body.

“I want you ─ no, I need you, Sukuna,” you declare with such staggering force to match your desire.

“Then you’ll have me. All of me,” he responds in turn, flashing his canines greedily. “So take me, angel. Take me for whatever you need.”

That’s all you need to feel your inhibitions slip away. You lean forward until his back is against the ground, kissing him from his lips down to his neck, feeling an urge like no other to sink your teeth into his flesh ─ to mar him as yours.

“More,” you mumble, moving your hips faster, intent on reaching that cascading high. “More, more, I need all of you, ‘Kuna.”

“You’ll have it all. Everything,” he promises in the form of a whisper, so close to your ear. “As much as you need, as much as you desire. I’ll give you everything the world has to offer if you stay by my side.”

You dig your nails into his body as your own begins to unravel before him. Waves of pleasure crashing down with all its might as you preach his name for all to hear. Tears slip from your eyes as you curl in around him, and he soaks each one up with his tongue as you ride out the high.

“Fuck, you’re so… divine,” you purr a sinful tune. “Nothing ─ not even in paradise ─ has ever made feel this way.”

Forget being an angel. In the state you are now, Sukuna believes you could put a succubus to shame. You feel and look so incredible on top of your new throne. Divine as you put it.

“You feel like heaven yourself,” he claims through ragged breaths. “Everything about you is addicting; you’re a drug I can’t get enough of. Mark my words, I’m going to indulge myself in your soul for all eternity.”

“Take me then. Claim me, ruin me, I don’t care so long as you make me yours.”

Fuck, if you knew the power you have over him.

“You’re already mine,” he hisses, and before you can blink, your positions are swapped. His figure towering over yours. “But incase that wasn’t already obvious, I’ll prove it to you here.”

Sukuna leans his head down, kissing you on the lips. The calm before the storm that’s to come.

“I’m going to claim you and make you completely and utterly mine.” He pulls his hips backwards, leaving only the head of his cock inside you. “…and I’m not going to stop until you’re completely wrecked, completely mine.”

Sukuna thrusts forward, slamming his hips into you. There’s no second to spare, no second to adjust before he does it again and again, forcing you to cry out to the heavens how good he’s making you feel. It serves them right for abandoning you, leaving him to pick up the pieces. It’s the only thing he’ll thank that pathetic realm for, because you truly are one of the most divine creations to have existed alongside himself.

It isn’t enough for you yet it seems, no matter how rough he’s being. Your legs try and wrap around him, but you’re only hindering yourself. So, with two arms, he lifts your legs to your chest, placing his knees at your side. This new position allows him to reach even deeper, fulfilling what he knows you need.

He lowers his forehead to press against yours, sharing the air you command like a goddess those beautiful, encapsulating wings of yours. If you can’t wrap your legs around him, you at least try it with your wings. Like a moth’s cocoon, making this moment in time all your own. So selfish; it’s exactly what he’s wanted to see.

“Who’s making you feel this good?” he asks, his hips refusing to slow. If anything, they’re only getting faster ─ more erratic in nature.

“You are!” you cry out.

“And who do you belong to?”

“You!”

“Say it,” he growls, and you know exactly what he means.

“I’m yours, Sukuna! Only yours!”

“That’s right,” he chuckles darkly, drawing out his words. “You’re mine. Mine to do with as I please, mine to claim and take forever.” His voice is strong, carrying his decree like the word of the gods. “Do you see now the prize that you are to me?”

You nod your head feverishly, scraping your nails along his back. Your wings flutter with frenzy at the incoming high you both are flying so close to reach.

“So. Damn. Divine,” he groans between thrusts, almost threatening to truly break you if he isn’t careful. “You’re going to take every last drop of me, aren’t you?”

“Please, please, please, I want it all,” you plead and whimper, drool spilling out the sides of your mouth. “I want all of you.”

He bites down on your neck before stilling inside you, a rush of warmth hitting you both inside and out. You open your mouth in a silent scream at the force your climax hits you with. Desire overwhelming you from the depths of your being. Near the end, Sukuna slowly rocks his hips into you, fucking his seed back into you before leaning back to admire the view of your stomach painted in white.

As he does, you notice the blood trickling from his mouth is black in color. No longer the same angelic gold it once was.

“I love you, Sukuna,” you confess, making him smile with that all too familiar arrogance you’ve come to love, just like him. “I’ve never wanted anything more in my life until now. I’ve found purpose again with you.”

“I told you that in time your worth would be realized.” He pulls out from your body, casually pushing his seed back inside with hand. His stomach mouth opens, splaying out his second tongue to clean himself off the front of your body. “You have the makings of a queen ─ one who could stand by my side through the end of time.”

When he’s finished cleaning you off, he helps you up onto your knees. You then take to embracing him in your arms, and even your wings just to hold him close to your heart. “I never realized how constricting the heavenly principles were until you set me free. Thank you for showing me how life should be lived.”

Sukuna tightens his four arms around you, feeling that same possessive desire in his chest that goes beyond carnal need. There’s pride in his eyes to know what he’s taken from those bastards above. Nothing compares to you.

“You don’t need to thank me; you were made to be free. True paradise is removing all restraints to live as you please under no guiding order. Strength is power, and you’ve found it at last.”

“This right here is better than any paradise I’ve seen.” Sukuna feels your smile growing against his chest.

“Damn right it is,” he laughs, grinning like the devil he is.

And who would’ve imagined that heaven’s most revered angel, the guiding saint of humanity, would have fallen from grace, and into the hands of the sinner you love more than life itself now.

Fate is a fickle thing, and you know that now.

In the days that followed that night to remember, new changes began sprouting up. Symbols of your life renewed, risen from ash.

For starters, your wings have taken on an iridescent glow ─ like a black devil boa. No one, not even Sukuna has ever heard of such a thing happening to a fallen angel, but it’s become just another feature that makes his proudness of you show.

You’re one of a kind, and entirely his.

Your old room and clothes are no more. Now, you wear only the best money can buy, tailored perfectly to your form. Sukuna’s hoard contains many riches on top of gold, including a stockpile of gems he’s taken to adorning you with. All are reminiscent of his ruby red eyes ─ perfectly fitting with you. He’s a king in every way, always eager to indulge in the pleasures life has to offer.

You trot through the halls of his palace, making way to his throne. You’re eager to be reunited after a morning spent dancing in the skies, your heart tugging you to his side. He’s hosting an audience by the looks of it, but that doesn’t stop all four of his eyes from landing on you as you enter.

“Perfect timing, angel.” He smiles wickedly, displaying his vampiric fangs in full. “Come and take a seat, the show has only just begun now that you’re here.”

At his words, you come bounding up the bone-riddled steps, arriving before him. Sukuna’s hand reaches out, guiding you to rest atop one of his thighs. That hand remains on the small of your back, with another resting on your own inner thigh ─ his thumb rubbing shapes into the plush.

“You remember these demons, I’m sure?” You turn your head and look down, finding the very demons who had brought you here in the first place. They don’t dare meet your eyes as their gaze bores into the marbled floors. “You see, they’ve come demanding a meeting with me. They seem to be hoping I’ll reward them now with something other than their lives for bringing you to me.”

“Is that so?” you muse, ultimately ignoring their presence as your lips meet Sukuna’s with passion, your hands resting on either side of his jaw. “What do you think of that, my king?”

He chuckles, “I think they were foolish to try and demand me to do anything for them.” Sukuna snaps his fingers once, filling the room with an intense warmth. Fire has never looked more beautiful than when it reflects into yours from the depths of his eyes. The weight of his soul, resting between the palms of your hands.

“Wouldn’t you agree, my queen?”

You do, because all that matters now is one thing, your purpose, pleasure, and every depraved feeling in between ─ Sukuna himself.

☆ Notes: got inspired by a sukuna c.ai bot by @ vittovitto with a similiar premise

I like to imagine that as angels who live by the 7 virtues, that when they fall, they go through like an awkward werewolf kinda phase like I’ve detailed where they start to feel each of the 7 sins. Kinda liked a fucked up puberty with all the hormonal changes idk, I thought it was cool when I thought of it.

Overall though, I had a REALLY fun time writing this. I’ve always loved the idea of fallen angel Sukuna but writing about biblical stuff throws me off a bit. Hope you guys enjoy it as much as I did while I force myself to get back into my other five ongoing series!!!

song inspo: heaven's a lie - lacuna coil | parade's lust - granblue fantasy (i'm horny for belial, what can i say)

[edenesth]

The Way to His Heart [18]

Pairing: general!Seonghwa x wife!reader

AU: arranged marriage au (Joseon era)

Word Count: 3.7k

Summary: Life has been hell ever since your mother's passing many years ago. Despite being from a prominent family, you've never received the privileges associated with it. It only got worse with the arrival of your stepmother and her daughters. When the intimidating General Park was in search of a wife, your father seized the opportunity to dispose of you, simultaneously securing a connection with the powerful general—killing two birds with one stone.

Part 17 | Fic Masterlist | Part 19

Despite the blurring of his vision, Seonghwa desperately stumbled towards the entrance of his estate. He needed to get out of there as quickly as possible. If anyone noticed his severe wound, it would only be a matter of time before you found out too.

That was the last thing he wanted.

He had tried so hard to hide his injury from you, not wanting to cause you any more worry. Perhaps having Yeosang pursuing you wasn't such a bad thing after all. Unlike the general, the prince wouldn't have to leave for war and risk his life. His Highness also wouldn't have the burden of blood on his hands or the constant fear he instilled in you.

Most importantly, the fourth prince wasn't on the brink of death, bleeding out at this very moment. Prince Yeosang could consistently remain by your side, offering a life even more luxurious than this. Though it pained him to think about leaving you to another man's care, Seonghwa convinced himself that this was all for the best.

His gaze locked on his horse, still waiting by the entrance, servants tending to it. He was determined to ride back to the warzone, if he could survive the journey—or anywhere else, for that matter. He understood that you wouldn't be able to bear seeing him in such a state, regardless of the cruel words he'd uttered just moments ago.

That was the kind of angel you were.

From the beginning, he recognised your heart of gold. It was what endeared you to him so deeply; you were unique in that way. Despite the torture your family had subjected you to, he knew you would never wish ill upon them regardless.

This was all the more reason he couldn't allow you to discover his injury. He knew without a doubt that your heart would soften instantly and forgive him for all he had done. He couldn't afford that; he needed you to despise him. Only then would his absence hurt less, and perhaps, it would steer you toward the prince. You deserved far better than anything he could offer. Despite facing his own mortality, nothing frightened him more than the uncertainty of your well-being in the world he was about to depart from, leaving you behind.

"Master, are you departing so soon?" The servant, looking after the horse, was taken aback by his master's abrupt decision to leave. Everyone had anticipated him staying at least a day to resolve matters with the mistress and spend some time together before returning to the war site.

Seonghwa nodded, striving to maintain his composure, "Yes, assist me onto the horse. I'm needed back at the warzone."

Observing the general's slightly pale and sweaty visage, the servant refrained from commenting on it for fear of angering him. Instead, he bowed, "Of course, master."

But before your husband could even mount his horse, the last person he wanted to encounter at that moment called out to him from behind, "Yah, Park Seonghwa! How dare you try and leave without even saying hello?" He froze at Hongjoong's loud voice, a shiver of apprehension running through him as he glanced back to see his old friend, accompanied by Wooyoung, approaching, "Sir, are you really leaving already?"

Goddamnit, so close.

Meanwhile, across the estate, Yunho and Jongho hurried towards the House of Lotus, only to discover you all alone and heartbroken on the ground. The assistant gasped, rushing to help you up, "Mistress! Are you alright? Where's the general?"

Gazing up at him with tears streaking your cheeks, your heart ached at the mention of Seonghwa. Noticing the physician beside Jongho, eyes darting around urgently, you frowned in confusion, "He left not long ago... What's happening? What's wrong?"

You had remained motionless since your husband's departure, sprawled on the ground with tears streaming down your face as you struggled to comprehend the sudden change in his behaviour. Why was he treating you like this? Could there be any truth to his harsh words? Had he already grown tired of you? Just when you thought your anguish couldn't intensify, the anxiety evident on the assistant's and doctor's faces only heightened your dread.

"He left?! I'm sorry, mistress! There's no time to explain. Here, read this, and you'll understand." Jongho exclaimed urgently. Yunho dashed out as soon as he heard your words, prompting the younger man to swiftly shove a crumpled piece of paper into your hands before hurrying after the physician.

As you hastily wiped your tears, your trembling fingers unfolded the crumpled paper to reveal a letter from General Officer Song Mingi addressed to the doctor. Your heart sank to your stomach as you read the hurriedly written words.

'Physician Jung, I hope this letter finds you swiftly, for it bears urgent news concerning General Park. In the recent battle with the enemy forces, he sustained a grave injury inflicted by a weapon laced with viper venom. Upon discovering the nature of the toxin, we immediately recognised the severity of the situation. The venom acts swiftly and ruthlessly, spreading its deadly effects throughout the body if not treated promptly. Time is of the essence. I implore you to attend to the general without delay.'

Letting out a shaky exhale, the letter slipped from your trembling fingers and fell to the ground, the weight of its contents settling heavily in your chest. Every word echoed in your mind, painting a vivid picture of Seonghwa's dire situation. It felt as if the pieces of a puzzle were falling into place, revealing a truth you hadn't dared to consider before. Had he been in immense pain this entire time?

The thought sent a chill down your spine.

Was it possible that your husband's sudden shift in behaviour, his departure, and harsh words, were all a desperate attempt to protect you from the truth? Was he afraid to burden you with the knowledge of his injury, to face your worry and concern?

Park Seonghwa, you bloody idiot.

Your heart ached at the possibility. Despite the hurtful words he said to you, a wave of empathy washed over you, mingling with the fear and uncertainty swirling within.

With determination fueling every step, you left your quarters in search of the general, resolved to stand by him regardless of the obstacles ahead. Your love for him was unwavering, and you were prepared to fight for him with every fibre of your being. He was mistaken if he thought his attempts to push you away would succeed. You refused to leave his side without a fight.

As you arrived in the main courtyard, your heart lurched at the sight before you. Jongho and Wooyoung were scrambling to hold up your husband, who appeared unconscious, while Hongjoong and Yunho guided them past you, heading towards what you presumed to be Seonghwa's private quarters. Their apologetic glances only added to your distress as you stepped aside to let them pass, your eyes growing wet at the sight of his pale and weakened appearance—something you had never witnessed before.

A wave of fear washed over you as you watched him being ushered away, threatening to consume you whole. The possibility of losing him suddenly felt all too real, and you couldn't bear the thought of a world without him in it.

Regret flooded your mind as you chastised yourself for not being more perceptive to his suffering earlier. How could you have let your emotions cloud your judgement? How could you have missed the signs that he was in such pain? You should have known, should have realised that he was going through something. You should have known that there must have been a good reason for his actions, for his attempts to push you away.

Deep down, you knew that he loved you just as much as you loved him, and there had to be a greater purpose behind his actions. All you could do now was have faith in his love and pray for his recovery.

The head maid rushed to your side, her face etched with concern, as she gently steadied you by holding onto your shoulders. You hadn't realised you were swaying until then, your head buried in your hands, "Come, mistress," She said softly, "Let's return to the House of Lotus and wait for good news. The master is in capable hands with Physician Jung. Everything will be alright."

You shook your head, voicing your protest, "But Eunsook, I need to be close to him—"

She smiled gently, squeezing your hands, "I know you do. But you wouldn't want to get in the way, would you? Let the others handle things for now, alright? Master will be just fine; he's much stronger than you think."

With a heavy sigh, you finally nodded in defeat and allowed her to guide you back to your quarters, realising she was right. You wouldn't be of any help to the guys, and it was better to stay out of their way while they worked to treat him at this critical moment.

Please, Yunho. I'm counting on you.

"Jongho, I need you to gather as much echinacea herb as possible from around town. It's the most effective plant for treating venom and relieving pain." The doctor urgently ordered, focusing on removing the layers of clothing from the general.

The assistant bowed, "Yes, Physician Jung!" before swiftly departing with Wooyoung, who had volunteered to assist.

Hongjoong stayed behind to help out, though he struggled to conceal his worry. His hands trembled as he observed the blood staining Seonghwa's clothes and noted the general's pale complexion as he lay almost lifelessly on the bed.

Noticing the dressmaker's distress, Yunho attempted to divert his attention, "So, where's the mistress?"

Clearing his throat to dispel the growing lump, the older man responded with a strained voice, "The last I saw, Eunsook took her back to the House of Lotus."

The doctor nodded, mustering a smile, "Good, it's best she doesn't see him like this. Now, hyung, I need you to focus and keep your emotions in check. Can you do that?"

Blinking rapidly, Hongjoong straightened up, determined to shake off the previous scene. Seonghwa had passed out shortly after spotting him and Wooyoung, halting any attempt to mount his horse. The surge of fear the dressmaker felt then was beyond words. But now, he knew he had to concentrate. Hearing Yunho use "hyung" after so long was grounding, a reminder that emotions had no place in their current situation. He nodded resolutely, "Of course. Just tell me what to do."

Together, they swiftly removed the general's bloodied clothes and tended to his wound, expecting a deep gash but finding only a surface graze. They were puzzled by the discrepancy between the amount of blood and the minor injury. Fortunately, it seemed the venom hadn't spread far; the discolouration was limited to the immediate area around the wound.

The physician concluded that Seonghwa's loss of consciousness was likely due to exhaustion and lack of proper treatment rather than the severity of the injury itself. With the herb they were gathering, he should recover fully in a few weeks.

Right on cue, Jongho and Wooyoung arrived back at the estate, slightly out of breath but carrying an abundance of echinacea as requested by Yunho. Without delay, the group of servants assigned to the doctor immediately sprang into action, following his instructions diligently. They divided the batch of herbs in half: one portion was prepared into a paste for external use, while the other was transformed into a tonic for consumption. With both methods employed, they were confident they could expel all traces of the venom from the general's system in no time.

As the first batch of medication was prepared within a few hours, the team of staff assisted Yunho with applying the paste over Seonghwa's wound and feeding him the tonic. They breathed a collective sigh of relief when they saw his condition stabilise. Hongjoong felt a weight lift off his shoulders as he watched the colour gradually return to his friend's face.

Turning to Jongho, the dressmaker spoke, "Go on and fetch the mistress. She must be worried sick about him."

With an enthusiastic bow, the assistant hurried off to find you after receiving an approving nod from the physician, signalling that it was safe for you to visit your husband. When he arrived at your quarters, he found you pacing anxiously. Your steps halted abruptly when he called out, "Mistress!"

You held your breath until the younger man broke into a wide smile, "He's okay. You can go see him now."

A wave of relief washed over you, melting away the fear that had gripped your heart just moments ago. A small part of you had prepared for the worst, imagining a world without Seonghwa by your side, and the thought left you feeling utterly lost and alone. The prospect of becoming a widow, of navigating life without the man who had brought so much happiness into your world, was almost unbearable.

So when Jongho appeared in a rush, your heart leapt into your throat with fear. But as he delivered the news of the general's recovery, you couldn't contain the flood of emotions that overwhelmed you. Tears of relief streamed down your cheeks as you thanked the assistant.

With a reassuring smile, the younger man gently led you towards your husband, guiding you to the one person who had always been your anchor in the storm.

As you approached Seonghwa's quarters, your heart raced with a mix of anticipation and trepidation. The memory of your last encounter with him lingered in your mind, casting a shadow of uncertainty over your thoughts. What if he didn't want to see you? What if his harsh words were a reflection of his true feelings, and he had truly grown tired of your presence?

However, anger also simmered beneath the surface as you contemplated the possibility. How dare he speak to you in such a manner, dismissing your feelings and calling you troublesome? The hurt of his words slowly gave way to indignation as you recalled the promise he had made to protect you from disrespect. Yet, he had been the one to wound you with his callous remarks.

Entering the room, you temporarily pushed aside the whirlwind of emotions that had consumed you moments before. Your eyes immediately sought out your husband's still unconscious figure lying on the bed, and all other thoughts faded into the background.

Yunho moved aside respectfully to allow you a clear view, bowing in acknowledgement before addressing you, "Ah, Lady Park, you're here. Well then, I'll leave the general to your care for now. I should probably go and write back to General Officer Song to update him on his superior's status."

You nodded gratefully, offering him a warm smile, "Thank you so much for all your hard work, Physician Jung."

He shook his head modestly, returning your smile, "Please don't mention it, my lady. I'm just doing my job. We've given him the first batch of medication so far, and thankfully, his body is responding well to it. I plan to administer this to him daily. I'm confident he should be fully recovered in a few weeks."

Sitting beside Seonghwa on the bed, watching him peacefully asleep, tears welled in your eyes. His chest rose and fell steadily, a reassuring sign that he was still alive, still with you. It felt almost like déjà vu, reminiscent of the moment when he had first discovered your scars, except back then, it was you who lay on the bed.

With a trembling hand, you reached out toward his face, longing to touch him, to reassure yourself that he was truly okay. But before your fingertips could make contact, his combat reflexes kicked in, and he startled you by grabbing your wrist tightly, his eyes snapping open in alarm. As recognition dawned on his face, he relaxed his grip, softening at the sight of you.

"It's you..."

His reaction, though simple, was more than enough to convince you that he still felt the same for you. Instant relief filled your being, realising that all your previous worries about him growing tired of you were for nothing. You should have known better than to doubt his feelings for you.

After a moment, as if recalling your earlier exchange, he released your hand and turned away, attempting to maintain a stoic expression, "What are you still doing here? Aren't you angry with me?"

You scoffed, withdrawing your hand and crossing your arms over your chest, "How long do you plan to keep up this facade? Wasn't it enough that you said those hurtful things to me earlier? Calling me a burden and suggesting I leave you for another man."

At that, Hongjoong and Wooyoung interjected, reminding you both of their presence. The dressmaker shot up from his seat, his expression a mix of shock and anger, "He said what?! Park Seonghwa, you'd better have a damn good explanation, or I swear I'll knock some sense into you again—"

The private investigator quickly intervened, slapping a hand over the older man's mouth and offering a sheepish smile to you and the general, "Oh gosh, I apologise for him. We'll step outside to give you both some privacy to talk things over."

Once you were alone, your husband sighed heavily before sitting up, stubbornly dismissing your attempt to help him, "Listen, I meant what I said. Perhaps considering Prince Yeosang would be beneficial for you. You want happiness, don't you? You'd find it with a husband who doesn't have to leave, risking his life in wars. Someone who isn't stained with blood, someone who isn't a complete monster. It's for the best."

Your fists clenched as you glared at him, "Who are you to dictate what's best for me, General Park? You said it yourself, I'm my own person now, capable of making my own choices. I can do what I want and love who I want. Shouldn't that be left up to me?"

When he remained silent and continued to avoid your gaze, you pressed on, "And yes, I do want happiness. But how can I find it if I'm not with the man I love?"

At that, you sensed his resolve faltering.

Sighing, you reached over to cover his hand with yours, "There, I've said it. I love you, you moron. I don't want anyone else but you. Why is that so hard to understand? I don't care about what you've done to those people who call themselves my family; they deserved it, and I've forgiven you for it. I just... all I wanted was the truth and an apology from you. Instead, all you've given me were hurtful words. But I understand now. You were just scared, weren't you?"

Your heart fell when he still refused to meet your gaze, "Or was I mistaken? Did you truly mean what you said, wanting me gone?" You couldn't help but roll your eyes at his tight jaw, a clear sign of his restraint, "Look me in the eyes and tell me you don't love me then. If you can do that, I'll go as you wish."

Finally, he turned to meet your gaze, his eyes pleading, almost begging you not to push him. You couldn't comprehend his stubbornness; was it just his pride getting in the way? With a defeated nod, you relented, "I understand. You must truly want me to leave and be with His Highness. I suppose there's no point in staying where I'm not wanted. Goodbye, General Park."

Just as you began to pull your hand away and rise from your seat, he surprised you by wrapping his arms around you and pulling you into his embrace. His whisper in your ear sent shivers down your spine, "No, I'm sorry... You're right; I didn't mean any of what I said. I love you too, my wife. Please don't go."

With a tired exhale, you melted into his embrace, finding solace in the warmth of his arms as you buried your face against his shoulder. Each comforting squeeze seemed to ease the heartache you had been carrying, restoring a sense of wholeness within you. This was where you belonged, in his arms.

"You're such an idiot, you know that?" You murmured softly.

He chuckled against your neck, his breath tickling your skin, "I suppose I am." He admitted with a hint of amusement.

"About damn time you realised it, Park Seonghwa. I've been telling you for years. Disrespect your wife like that again, and I'll make you regret it—" Hongjoong's voice cut through the room as he burst in, followed closely by Wooyoung and Jongho, prompting laughter from you as your husband pulled you closer, using you as a shield.

"Please, he just regained consciousness!" The assistant interjected, defending his master despite earning a stern glare from the dressmaker. Deep down, however, everyone knew Hongjoong couldn't have been happier to see his friend alright.

« Preview of Part 19 »

In the warzone, Mingi paced anxiously, his mind consumed with worry for the general's well-being. It had been only two days since he dispatched the messenger to deliver his urgent letter to Yunho. He could only pray that Seonghwa had made it home safely and that his message had managed to reach the physician in time.

Despite his concerns, the strategist forced himself to focus on the immediate tasks at hand. He delved into refining his current strategies and devising new contingency plans for any potential scenarios that might arise before his superior's return.

Before long, a breathless soldier burst into the main tent with urgent news, rambling away in a panic, "Bad news, Officer Song! We were on standby at the border when..."

Mingi placed a reassuring hand on the soldier's shoulder, "Woah, breathe. Calm down and tell me what you saw."

After composing himself, the soldier continued, "Sir, Ruhon soldiers have been sighted approaching once again!"

Oh, crap.

He struggled to understand why this was happening. General Park had defeated most of the enemy forces in the last battle. Where could Ruhon possibly be sourcing this new influx of soldiers from? With the general absent, the strategist knew he would have to take command of the army despite his lack of recent battlefield experience.

But there was no other choice.

I hope you're happy with the outcome HAHA y'all, it's hilarious how accustomed I've grown to writing angst for this story that it felt incredibly weird to write a happy scene. Only two parts left, yippee!

As always, thank you so much for reading, and please let me know your thoughts! <3

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[that-foul-legacy-lover]

Remuria gave me more SAGAU thoughts folks,,, something about the underwater areas gives me brainrot

the sea is the only thing that gives you comfort when the rest of the world shuns you, the gentle caress of the waves soothing your wounded body and heart as you take refuge beneath the water, running from those who wish to hurt, maim, execute you more than you're already bleeding. they accuse you, scream at you, ordering your death for the single crime of "impersonating" someone, someone you didn't even know exist who happens to have similar- identical- features.

go away, you want to sob to everyone who approached you with blades and bows. leave me alone. i'm no godly impersonator, no false deity. i'm just me.

i'm sorry.

but they never seem to listen. only the sea provides an escape in the form of tides and currents, and you sink deeper and deeper, away from the above world and everything that can harm you, breathless but still awake.

the next time your eyes open you're surrounded by light and music, cradled in the arms of a very familiar masked monster. Foul Legacy stares down at you, squeezing your body gently and letting out a softly concerned trill, bubbles drifting from his fanged maw. he heard you- he heard your desperate screams and cries, clawing open the sea in order to reach you, the Creator of anything and everything. Scylla, the Dragonborn Prince, helped guide him through the depths- and now you're here, and Legacy is too! he whines at the sight of your skin all cut and wounded, claws brushing the injuries with feather-light touches. how dare the world turn its back on you, foolish mortals and Archons above. but Remuria welcomes you, so close to the Abyss that worships your every move- the sunken city listens to your broken voice, slowly repairing itself and allowing ichor to flow into musical strings again, for every word you say is a song, and Legacy purrs gently when he sees your eyes widen in awe, the red of your blood turning gold.

Remuria plucks and strums the gleaming strands just for you, the sea filling with harmonious notes, and for the first time in months you smile as you rest in Foul Legacy's arms, listening to the sounds of the harp below as rain plummets down on the world above the waves.

[messiahzzz]

it is a conscious choice of mystra to initially present herself as this benevolent, courteous, and merciful being. a practiced and perfected approach she knows will compel gale to follow her demands with the least amount of resistance on his part. he already refused to follow her instructions when she sent elminster to request his death — his effective father figure, gale’s self-proclaimed hero, mentor, and the one who plucked him from obscurity in the first place — so another appeal is in order.

narrator: "elminster's visit weighs heavy on your mind. his face you did not expect to see again." narrator: "when you last saw him, you were in your prime. no orb, no tadpole. a mage of growing renown, all power, pride, and potential - beloved by the goddess of magic herself. narrator: "it's one thing to have fallen from such heights, but to have elminster himself now witness your humiliation is almost unbearable." gale: [his disappointment cuts deeper even than mystra's. he was your hero.] narrator: "while most know of elminster the legend, few know him as you have. he plucked you from obscurity. offered you his guidance. his faith. and most recently, his pity."

yet it is curious how quickly she changes her tune once gale doesn’t readily agree to her demand to return the crown of karsus to her, no questions asked. or even dares to impugn, or criticize her reasoning for leaving him to die.

gale: "a great ask indeed. you've given me much to think on - as you always did." mystra: "so be it. follow the needles of your own wisdom. we shall see how truly it leads you."

gale: "because i disobeyed you. you punished me for it." mystra: "how so? you think i should have cured you? erased the consequences of your actions?"

gale: "you break up with me, cut me off from the weave, leave me to die, and that's all you have to say? 'you look well'?" mystra: "i did not come here to suffer a mortal's admonitions. certainly not yours."

gale: "you were threatened. you realised you couldn't control me." mystra: "you were many things to me, but never a threat. and never a saviour." nodecontext: sharper, almost a warning - don't entertain such thoughts, gale. you won't like where they lead.

gale: "i don't know. i need time to think." mystra: "so be it. follow the needle of your own wisdom. we shall see how truly it leads you."

particularly interesting to note is how she uses his surname as a tool to chastise and taunt him. only referring to him as "gale dekarios" in the context of him displeasing her, when he doesn't readily obey, whether he simply wavers (needing time to think) or outright declines her instructions. she uses the very name he had actively discarded and refuses to be referred to at this point in time. a deliberate reminder of his fallible humanity, of the flaws he tried to distance himself from. she knows this.

gale: "i won't let you down again. when the absolute is vanquished, i will surrender karsus' powers to you. you have my word." mystra: "thank you. may the weave's light guide your purpose, and it's wisdom guide your hand." mystra: "the future of magic rests on your shoulders, gale of waterdeep". mystra: "i promise you - it is a burden you are strong enough to bear."

gale: "i don't need your forgiveness. the crown of karsus will be mine, and the karsite weave will obey me." mystra: "crown yourself, gale dekarios, and you will learn what it is to carry such weight upon your shoulders." mystra: "if it does not crush you, i will." nodecontext: an icy edge entering her voice - a hint of a challenge gale will face if he pursues this course. nodecontext: here we glimpse the true, unimaginable power of mystra. she's still in control of herself, but her anger should be palpable.

i have already addressed the overall topic of mystra & gale's relationship in several posts i wrote some time ago [x] [x] [x]. however, since then we have received new snippets of information with patch 5 that shed more light on the progression of their relationship as a whole. this post is intended to be an update of sorts, containing a more comprehensive list, as well as lore excerpts for added context and proof. i will split this essay into several sections for coherency — buckle in, cause this is going to be a long one!

✧ mystra's history of manipulation ✧

one of the epilogue letters revealed that elminster first sought gale out when he was about 8 years old. which according to gale's canon age being 35 (as listed on his idle champions character sheet) means that their first meeting occurred around 1465 DR. although elminster's wording suggests that this may merely be an estimate on his side.

furthermore - in the ending where gale dies in the attempt at ascension, raphael has the following to say:

raphael: "you were the spark of ambition that rekindled gale's ambitions, after mystra had so cleverly put them to rest."

insinuating that mystra did make an active effort to keep gale in line, to temper his ambition, lest his thirst for more knowledge would eventually prove bothersome for her. keeping an eye on him at all times, keeping him close, placating him, and urging him to be patient.

what distinctly stood out to me is how this also aligns with some of azuth's quotes in the temptation of elminster, while he gives advice to a then-young sage of shadowdale.

we are her treasures, lad—we are what she holds most dear, the rocks she can cling to in the storms of wild art. she needs us to be strong, far stronger than most mortals ... tempered tools for her use. being bound to us by love and linked to us to preserve her very humanity, she finds it hard to be harsh to us—to do the tempering that must be done. she began the tempering of you long ago; you are her 'pet project', if you will. [...]

"you serve mystra differently. she watches you and learns the human side of magic in all it's hues from your experiences and the doings of those you meet—foes and friends alike. yet the time has come for you to change, and grow, to serve as she'll need you to, in the centuries ahead."

and yet again, there is a reoccurring pattern in her relationship with sammaster, another of her chosen, as well:

sammaster fell to his knees and wept upon mystra's feet. they ended up spending ten days together. this made him the first chosen of mystra since the seven sisters. when he asked for the reason that mystra had chosen him, she replied that she had foreseen that one of her chosen would be killed in battle, and he would be the replacement. he left this encounter feeling as though he and mystra were in love.

mystra is no stranger to fostering feelings of boundless devotion that weren't present before. observing her potential chosen, appearing before them, promising them power. luring them into service without the knowledge of what this may entail. where other gods may instill fear, mystra instills the notion of love. practicing seduction while mirroring her chosen's humanity. intentionally portraying herself as someone sympathetic and approachable. syncing their language, highlighting mutuality, making them feel favored and seen. mystra sees no need in the act of divine separation, a display of godlike grandeur — inimitable, menacing, larger than life, towering above her chosen. instead, her manifestation is purposefully unassuming. she meets them in the form of a woman in her early 30s, conventionally attractive, palpable, and appealing to the masses — a human figure. the very embodiment, the very ideal of traditional beauty an impressionable, young wizard may have.

gale: "i can't quite describe it, the need i sometimes feel to see her - to draw the filaments of fantasy into existence." gale: "no sculpture or painting could ever do her justice, only the fabric that she herself is and embodies."

gale: "in her likeness, i used to read a thousand stories. she was beauty, wisdom, elegance, power... she contained universes."

player: “what did mystra’s attention feel like?” gale: “love. [...] perhaps it was not quite love, but you see, the wizard was but a very young man. it was most certainly love to him. [...]"

how we see her in the game is very likely the same form she chose to present to a young gale. beauty, wisdom, elegance. perceived perfection, yet humble in her divinity.

the mystra of now (1490s DR) retains some of the memories of all of her earlier selves, and the relatively young and inexperienced midnight is “in there,” but wholly subsumed. mystra could generate an avatar or seeming that might fool some mortals into thinking they were meeting midnight, but it would be an act. [x]

generating an avatar in the form of a mortal she subsumed. purporting mutuality. midnight was just another mortal added to mystra's long list of "human stock" — vessels intended to preserve her power. favored, chosen, and ultimately suppressed by the very essence of mystra herself. midnight is no equal piece of mystra, the deity, there is no conscious part of the mortal that remains. [x] the mystra that currently exists is a union of the original mystryl, as well as all the other reincarnations of her that melded into her being. fragments of their minds that linger in the weave, scraps of humanity that could perhaps aid in her knowledge and understanding to prevent further betrayals in the future.

mystra's approach has always been indirect, instead of being outright menacing and portentous. the fact that mystra isn't written like the other gods in the game doesn't mean she's more sympathetic to gale's struggles or more inclined to understand human nature. her concern will always be the preservation of her domain and her hold over the weave — to do as the gods do.

gale: "you're one to talk. how many innocents were you prepared to sacrifice if i detonated the orb?" mystra: "such eddies are unexceptional. souls arrive and depart your plane with every tide, in circumstances just and unjust." nodecontext: matter of fact, not interested in these kinds of specifics

ketheric thorm: "who decides what is right? the gods did not care for right and wrong when they dismantled my life piece by piece." ketheric thorm: "and when i tried to buy it back, it cost me everything - everything." ketheric thorm: "we are copper pieces in their belts. tokens to be traded for scraps."

it is often mentioned that mystra makes her attention known by brushing against her potential chosen. whispering to them, touching their skin, eliciting a tingling sensation. which is also how mystra chose to reveal herself to ariel manx (midnight) in 1353 DR, while she was 21 years of age.

gale mentions feeling a similar sensation if he chooses to destroy the summoning circle in balthazar's office at moonrise and thereby receives her blessing.

gale: "did you feel that?" gale: "if i wasn't surrounded on all sides by the darkness of the shadow-cursed lands, i'd think it was mystra herself brushing against my skin."

mystra isn't above using manipulations to get her way. once again evident in her instigating dornal and elué silverhand's union in the first place, as well as intentionally withholding information from dornal that she actively took possession of his wife, elué. to ensure that they would indeed produce her offspring — the seven sisters — her chosen and the vessels to house her power.

where elué had previously been reluctant to acknowledge dornal's advances, he found them suddenly returned with great fervor once mystra took possession of her body. [x]

"by the time elué was carrying her final child, she was in effect a lich - a crumbling shell kept alive only through mystra's power. dornal was shocked at her deterioration. he sought magical aid to cure his wife, and when he learned from the most powerful priest he could find that his wife was possessed by an intelligent force of great power, a sickened dornal tried to slay her. he struck off her head one moonlight night as they walked together in a wooded glade. mystra was forced to reveal herself. dornal was shattered by what he had done, and aghast at how he - and especially elué - had been used." [x]

dornal, who had been kept in the dark throughout, abandoned his lands and children after slaying his wife, traveling to the north, with the plan to seek his own death. he repeatedly tried to poison himself, yet mystra wouldn't allow him suicide and magically neutralized the lethal doses to keep him alive against his will. after his death in 797 DR, mystra turned him into another servant of hers: the watcher — one who wanders the realms, seeking out new potential chosen to this day.

which brings us to...

✧ mystra's foresight and her "death" ✧

mystra possesses a degree of foresight - she foresaw the time of troubles and her own passing at the hands of helm in 1358 DR for defying him and her attempt to converse with the overgod ao without the tablets of fate. the very reason why she sought out mortal vessels to house her power (the seven sisters) — to avoid disaster should another entity win control over her in the chaotic period of wildly fluctuating power struggles that was the time of troubles. this divine power slumbers within these individuals, which she can call upon.

in 1385 DR mystra (midnight) was struck down by cyric and shar, which brought upon the spellplague.

in 1479 DR mystra was located by elminster inside a cave in cormyr, guarding her mortal body. she survived cyric's assassination by inhabiting the body of a bear, while still able to contact her chosen. she returned to her full power in 1487 DR.

the important part, that i've often seen outright ignored or misinterpreted by fandom altogether, is that mystra wasn’t actually “dead” for over a hundred years. at least not in the way we perceive it. we can’t equate her death with our mortal understanding of it. her powers were diminished to an extreme and she was weakened, yet she was still able to communicate. it was in her power to contact her chosen and to guide them. evident by her calling for elminster through her telepathic link and directing him to recruit other chosen for her to restore her power.

the plot of baldur’s gate 3 takes place in 1492 DR. meaning gale's actual year of birth would be 1457 DR. while elminster likely sought him out around 1465 DR, when he was only 8 years old. however, i once again want to emphasize that “couldn’t have been more than 8 summers old” indicates that this may merely be an estimate on elminster's side. he could’ve possibly reached out to him even earlier than that, or perhaps later. gale was 22 year old at the time when mystra was found in her diminished state by elminster in 1479 DR.

✧ mystra's awareness✧

gale: “so, all it took to get mystra’s attention was to learn how to reforge an artifact that once destroyed her." gale: "it's obvious, when you stop to think about it."

even if you may personally be skeptical of elminster’s insertion into gale’s life at age 8 (as well as mystra's ability to contact her chosen during her death) to be enough evidence of mystra’s attention — she had to be aware of him for his talents alone since he was a mere child. there is no way around this.

player: "how could she possibly know we read a book? hasn't she got more important things to worry about?" gale: "the weave is a highly sensitive magical network threaded through all life on this plane. any shift in magical energy, no matter how small, is akin to a beacon, alerting mystra to its cause." gale: "opening a book like the annals of karsus was akin to us shooting a firework spelling 'look at us, mystra!' directly into the skies of elysium. she knows."

mystra IS the weave, as gale himself has stated several times. it is an extension of her being, threaded through all life. by touching the weave one is directly touching the goddess of magic herself. mystra is aware of any magic user, able to deepen this contact at her choosing.

shadowheart: "isn't it so, that every time you speak as you cast a spell, you're endeavouring to call upon mystra?" shadowheart: "i'm surprised she still listens to you." gale: "she has no choice - she's sworn to hear all magic users. even me." gale: "i'm sure she at least stuffs her fingers in her ears to muffle my invocations."

gale described himself as a child prodigy. a virtuoso that was able to manipulate and compose the weave at will from an early age.

gale: "magic is... my life. i've been in touch with the weave for as long as i can remember. there's nothing like it."

gale: "i'm what one might call a wizard prodigy, who from an early age could not only control the weave, but compose it, much like a musician or a poet."

gale: "such was my skill that it earned me the attention of the mother of magic herself. the lady of mysteries. the goddess mystra." gale: "she revealed herself to me and she became my teacher. in time, she became my muse, and later, even my lover."

someone who was able to perform feats way beyond the skillset of his peers. he managed to wield the blackstaff itself, accidentally facing an irritated death slaad, and lived to tell the tale. he summoned and befriended tara, as well as the magma mephit, k'ha'ssji'trach'ash. we also know from elminster that he was able to cast fireball — a 3rd level spell — at age 8.

it is indisputable that mystra must’ve taken notice of the precocious young wizard during this time, even in her diminished state. much like she had once observed midnight. she began to whisper to him, drawing back the veils, revealing herself bit by bit, urging him that he was special — chosen.

gale: "he fancied himself much more than that. he fancied himself favoured above all others. [...] mystra showed him the secrets behind the veils. the gossamer veils first, draped across the weave. the delicate veils next, draped across her body. ‘chosen one’ she whispered, as she slipped them off completely."

✧ final part: power imbalance & exerting control ✧

gale: "the weave is still here, all around us - inside of us too. as long as the goddess lives, magic is a tangible thing for those who know how to touch." gale: "i've studied magic for many years, and in as many ways i am still a more than capable wizard." gale: "it's just that i'm no longer able to perform those feats even arch wizards would marvel at." gale: " to have one hand on the pulse of divinity." gale: "you have to remember that the weave is a living thing, both the embodiment and the extension of mystra herself." gale: "she can give and she can take away. i'm afraid i'm still very much on her naughty list."

gale: "mystra commands all magic. salvation, if such a thing exists, is hers to bestow or withhold." gale: "and yet, even now, more than i fear losing my own self and soul, i fear losing my command of her art."

player: "he sounds like a very talented individual." gale: "he was. even though it was in mystra’s affections that his true power lay."

even apart from their innate different forms of existence as a mere mortal and the literal goddess of magic, mystra is in full control of gale's power at all times, able to grant and withdraw her favors at will. claiming that such a power imbalance doesn’t exist, that it doesn’t apply to their respective relationship, that it might’ve been “healthy” at one point if gale was indeed of age at the time their relationship transitioned into a sexual nature is —pardon my french— fucking insane.

this stance disregards everything we know about the gods, about mystra’s involvement with other mortals and her chosen. it disregards the level of authority she wields over any magic user. it carelessly and naively disregards the implicit difference in power. mystra is the goddess of magic, his goddess. the very object of his worship and adoration since childhood. the goddess he devoted his life, his work, and his unyielding loyalty to. it is ultimately irrelevant at what exact point their relationship underwent its final transition from muse to lover. this discussion is redundant. mystra has been a constant presence since his early childhood. his worship of her began with the practice of his first spells, even if it wasn't conscious at the time. every practitioner of magic inevitably honors mystra, regardless of their faith in her. magic is his life, in the same way that mystra is pure magic. she is in total control of the tools he wields.

✧ summary ✧

mystra possesses a degree of foresight, already knowing about the time of troubles & her subsequent passing. this being her reason to seek out mortal vessels to secure her power.

mystra feels any shift in magical energy no matter how small, immediately alerting her. gale was able to cast a third-level spell at age 8.

mystra has a history of instilling feelings of love that weren't present before and using her chosen/other mortals for her own means. (elminster, khelben, sammaster, the seven daughters, ariel manx etc.)

mystra's manifestation is a conscious choice. midnight has been wholly subsumed by her.

mystra wasn’t actually “dead” in 1479 DR, but merely diminished. she was inhabiting the body of a bear and was still able to communicate with her chosen. she directed elminster to recruit other chosen to restore her power.

elminster sought gale out around 1465 DR when he was about 8 years old, as stated in the epilogue letter.

mystra first functioned as gale’s mentor, then his muse, and later his lover.

gale’s relationship with her was indeed of a sexual nature, he has explicitly stated so several times. their intimacy wasn't restricted to incorporeal interactions either, even though they were preferred.

during the ending where gale fails to ascend raphael states during the credits that tav has “rekindled gale’s ambitions after mystra had so cleverly put them to rest”.

azuth describes mystra's chosen as "tempered tools for her use". being bound to them by love and linked to them to preserve her very humanity.

mystra's intention to shape gale into yet another loyal, devoted asset to her portfolio has been there from the very moment she chose to reveal herself, to instruct elminster to seek him out. it was a conscious decision to directly insert herself into gale’s life, sowing his conviction that he was favored above all others. singling him out among his peers, isolating him with subtle promises of his greatness, his uniqueness, and all he could yet accomplish to be under her guidance. offering him her teachings, her inspiration, and eventually her love. yet all the while tempering his perceived greed and thirst to reach for even greater heights, unless it acted in her favor. keeping him close — lest his growing ambitions should ever prove to be an outright challenge to her rule.

the groundwork has been carefully laid from the very beginning.

gale: “goodnight. and thank you for your patient understanding. [...] try not to think too poorly of me. a cat can look at a king. a wizard can look at a goddess.”

[24-jay-42]

Ashton is not contradicting himself, in fact he is being incredibly consistent.

Ashton is a punk. Now we all have preconceived and general ideas about punk and what it means, But Taliesin has stated multiple times that punk in Exandra is different then punk in our world as The injustices in Exandra are different to the injustices in our world, at least where it concerns Ashton. Taliesin Has described punk in Exandra as quote:

“Life’s not fair. And either you believe that life’s not fair because life is chaos or you believe life’s not fair because there’s a bunch of interventionist assholes above you who have decided you don’t get to be a winner, for whatever reason.— Is it a world Where there are winners and Losers or is this a world where there are Interventionist gods who are like ‘You.’ ‘Not you’"

This is doubled down with the fact that there is seemingly no clear reasoning as to why the gods choose who they like and don’t choose who they like. At least not in any reasoning common folk know of and understand. 

Ashton also has always somewhat respected the Matron of Ravens, Because she is the only god that always keeps her promises and because she is the only goddess who will have to face every single mortal at some point while the other gods get to play favourites. 

Doesn’t help the fact that despite begging a god for help throughout almost all their life, the only time Ashton has actually witnessed divine intervention was when an angel was sent to smite him and his friends down for removing a colonial unwanted ministry from a Village. Of course that would fuel the perspective that the gods are self-serving and only interested in their own gain. 

Which is fair. Why is one person who cries out in pain granted divine repreval and guidance while someone else experiencing the same pain is left to fend for themselves? Why do the gods get to have it both ways where they can plead non-intervention in some cases but intervening in others when it serves them. 

This isn’t about being ‘Deities Specialist Boy’ This is about "Why do you get to decide who is somebody and who is nobody? Why do you decide who is ‘Special’ and who is not with seemingly no reasoning as to why? (other than self interest)."

Ashton literally said himself, to paraphrase: “The gods never chose me so i am not going to choose them. I will Listen which is more than They ever did”

Which he’s been true to. He’s listened to both the Arch Heart and the Raven Queen. The gods that approached him and the rest of the bells Hell and directly to ask for their help.

Which moves onto my next point: The Gods have No checks and Balances. So the gods are free to do whatever they like with no one able to stop them.

As we saw in downfall, and to quote Brennan Lee Mulligan “The Lord of the Hells and the Dawnfather have more love between them then either of them has for [Mortals]” and if you’re a mortal that is horrifying. Because no matter how much suffering they cause, no matter how much love the primes have for mortality, the Prime deities will never put a permanent end to the betrayer gods. They will always live another day to cause misery because the primes don’t have the heart to stop them.

And no one can do anything about that fact.

The Last beings that dared challenge the Gods, the Primordial Titans who were Exandra's original inhabitants and had much of a right to be there and have a say in what’s happening as the primes, Got smited into oblivion. There are no living Primordial Titans anymore. And why is that? Because When the primordials took issue with the gods giving the mortals that inhabited their planet magic and tried to do something about it and take back what was originally theirs, the primes buried them. 

Is there more nuance to it than that? Absolutely. But that is not a stretch of a viewpoint to come to. 

Of course Ashton is going to be attracted to these grand powers that are separate from the Gods, that the gods fear. The Primordials, The Luxon. Because these are the few things that might be able to keep the gods in check, because they sure as hell aren’t doing it themselves. 

And just to address one more thing before I Finish this post. I’ve seen a few post along the lines of “The Gods don’t owe Anyone anything/Don’t have to do anything for anyone”...

Then What’s the Point of having them?

[portraitofalinkonfyre]

Hiiii!!!! Uuhh sorry I get a bit awkward to approach new people but oh my god I needed to say that I absolutely love your work!! Im truly a fan!! Your Fierce Deity fics bring me to life and I cant stop thinking about it <333

Not sure if this idea is interesting enough but I cant stop thinking about it and I thought you could maybe like it!!

I keep thinking about Reader talking with the Fierce Deity's mask (imagining he still sealed in the mask) like he was physically there, just rambling. We could show him the sky and the grass, mundane things, talk about our thoughts and ask questions to him, like what is it like to be a god and if he is happy with his life.

One question that also pops a lot in my mind is asking what gods thought of humans or maybe, what he thought of them, of us!! Ofc he doesnt respond bc he is inside the mask but then one day he is off of it and he remembers each and every question we ever asked, and is willing to answer them all NFKENFKWFKWKKFKWKDKW

Its just an idea, you dont really have to do it, but everytime I think about it or Fierce in general, I cant help but also think about you <333

Im really glad I found your work!! I hope we can be friends!! :DDD

I wish you a lovely day my little leaf!! Toodlessss 🍃🍃🍃

𖠰 Woods 𖠰

Okay first of all, this idea this absolutely amazing!! I'll have you know I was practically VIBRATING with excitement while reading this! You have no idea how stoked I am to receive asks like this, so do not feel bad at all for sharing! Also what we're literally already besties <3

Man In The Mask

Pairing: Fierce Deity x Reader

Warning(s): N/A

Masterlist

What are you?

It was a question the Fierce Deity had heard a thousand times, often accompanied by blood and blaze: a question of those he protected... and those he did not, whispered on the heels crimson-dripped lips and frightful eyes. He was a god of war, and thus not one to engage in the folly of mortals. Orders were his foundation, and steel his soul, wrapped in a righteous evil that not even the goddesses could bear to gaze upon.

Which is why he felt nothing short of hedonistic when it fell from the lips of the paltry mortal's holding the wretched mask that trapped him centuries earlier. Voice soft and eyes softer, touch featherlight on the chipped edges of his prison. There were thumbs on the apples of his 'cheeks', and the deity was caught between rage and sorrow. Tumultuous emotions were not his strong suit, and neither was restraint, from the way things were looking.

He didn't need to stand before them to feel their weakness, as was typical of most humans, but there was an ember in your eyes that seemed to burn with a light he didn't dare remember, shining like a beacon in the night.

"I wonder who painted you," the human, you, mused, stroking again over the half-glossed finish of the mask. Gentle, comforting, and utterly indecipherable to the deity inside. "You're so dusty; did Time even polish you?"

Why... Why was that relevant? Never in his wildest thoughts had the Fierce Deity expected Time to intrust his 'care' to a human, much less you. His very existence was a burden; how could a so-called hero willingly place something so... so destructive in the hands of, well, he considered you quite innocent to the tribulations of war and bloodshed and sorrow.

But what could he do but wait, snug under your arm, as you prattled on about anything and everything. The notion that you were naive enough to talk to a mere mask, of all things. Had you no sense? No discretion? It was a question he often asked himself, though only because there was no one else to answer.

That didn't stop his dull wonderings on whether you would ask such questions if he stood before you in the flesh. Would you cower? Fight? Flee? Perhaps he would remember the words that fell from your mouth, just to prove himself right once again.

***

The Fierce Deity mask weighed heavy in your hands as you plodded down the small path towards home. A thick forest bordered you from the east, while a blooming prairie stretched as far as the eye could see from the west. There was no doubt in your mind that you were incredibly lucky to live where you did, a fact that was only exemplified by the nine heroes that had crashed into your life (and living room) through a portal that looked straight out of Coraline or some shit.

Never in a million years would you have expected Time, the distrustful forest child he was, to entrust anything to you, much less a mask that supposedly held the spirit of one of the greatest entities of his world, but you supposed it was only proof that miracles did still exist. Maybe.

Either way, you had taken up the mantle of caring for the mask, and there was no way in hell you were going to screw up. Not that Time would let you, the worrywart, and you were only just beginning to catch him not staring holes into your back.

Chronic mother hens aside, it didn't take a genius to figure out there was something terribly wrong with the item tucked under your arm. Whether it was the crimson and navy facial markings or innocuous radiation of something akin to evil, you had no doubt that Time's warnings were not in jest.

Despite this, you couldn't quite shake the idea of a soul being trapped inside, well, the mask was practically a prison at this point. And maybe, just maybe, you felt a modicum of guilt at the entity's fate. Had he deserved it? Perhaps. Was it cruel? Without a doubt.

Which is why you found yourself taking the Fierce Deity's mask with you when you went to the store, or the library, or simply for a walk in the forest, tucked in your satchel to protect from prying eyes, though you always adjusted the cover so at least one of the eyeholes was free to gaze upon the wonders of your world. It was a small mercy that you were willing to afford, one that quickly spiraled into conversation with the mask itself. You always had a habit of speaking out loud, and now you, presumably, had an ear to listen.

But it was all speculation at this point; Time had never outright confirmed whether a living creature resided within the painted oak, only that it was imbued with an evil so ancient it could challenge the goddesses. You had stopped listening at that point, muttering 'drugs' under your breath, but there was always hope in your tone when you reminisced about the world around you.

With a sigh, you stopped, bringing the mask to the forefront of your vision, thumbs instinctually tracing the crimson stripes on the cheeks. It was baffling that something so beautiful could feel so wrong in your hands. You desperately wished to uncover the truth, to breathe in the big reveal and revel in the known mysteries of life.

"What are you?" The words slipped off your tongue like silk, right enough that you could have chalked it up to fate. The mask felt warm, basked in the fading rays of the golden sun, and you had the distinct feeling of being watched. The pads of your thumbs stroked the raised cheeks of the mask, disturbing a thin layer of dust, as more words spilled forth. "You're so dusty; did Time even polish you?"

It felt strange, talking to the mask as if it was a person, but you were too intrigued to care. If an entity truly resided within, you wondered what he thought of you. Was he impressed? Disgusted? Resigned? You had grown up with the belief that if gods truly existed, their disappointment would be without bounds, but that assumption didn't feel accurate when you stared at the shadowed skin of your palms through the eyeholes.

What horrors had a deity of this caliber seen through eyes of oak... and why were you so desperate to find out?

***

The Fierce Deity was convinced you were either crazy or stupid.

Night had fallen some time ago, filling your small quarters with only the pale light of the moon. His prison sat propped against the contraption you called a 'lamp', facing the bed in which you slept. Your nighttime routine was... unusual, to say the least. In his time, maidens wore long shifts to sleep, while here, you had treated him to the ludicrous sight of what could only be described as the shortest britches he had the displeasure of viewing and a sleeveless rag of a tunic that looked as though you wore it to a scuffle with a large animal, not to mention the sheer audacity you had to undress before the mask without regard for decency. Had the Hero of Time not informed you of his status in this wretched prison, because it was as though you had forgotten or simply didn't care at all?

Whatever the case, it was with much dread that the Fierce Deity only found himself more attracted to the mortal cursed with his care. Your life was, at most, mundane, yet you spoke as though every day was a great adventure, in a tone that could have inspired countless scribes into a flurry of activity. More shocking, however, was how he could feel himself clinging to your every word, like a dog waiting for scraps. He had been alone for so long, and the reality that a mere mortal considered him, well, mortal enough to converse with was a reality he never imagined contesting with.

But, despite how thrown off he was, there was a certain comfort in the quiet nights you spent together, however inadvertently they came to be. After a life of isolation, he found a purpose in the steady rise and fall of your chest, in the snorting giggles of your laughter, and the way you flipped the edge of your pack to grant him sight, never mind that he was fully capable of viewing the world without it. It was for that reason that the rage in his battered soul waned a fraction, leaving a sliver of room for whatever this was, and the reason his mind refused to release thoughts of your whispered queries, always centered on him, whether it be his health, status as a deity, or happiness.

Farfetched as it was, the Fierce Deity, god of war and blood and death, waited hours for you to wake, unblinking because he would be damned to miss the very moment of your return to the land of the living, the languid stretch your body performed as you groaned softly, rubbing the creases of your eyes with the same gentleness you treated him to. He would study the outfits you wore, committing them all to memory so he could better understand the core of who he considered to be his savior. Maybe then, when he was free, he could begin to repay your kindness–bit by bit, word by word–until distance became more of a myth that him, and your tender warmth could be validated by more than just a paltry mask. Your very breath became his meaning, your soul his muse, and the Fierce Deity was sure he would never forget it.

But in the meantime, perhaps he would remember the words that fell from your mouth, just to prove you right once again.

I can't begin to express how beautiful this felt to write. The Fierce Deity truly is my muse.

ALSO there will be a part two, so keep your eyes peeled!

[xoxochb]

⋆·˚ ༘ * to love a soul

warnings: none pairing: cupid! percy jackson x psyche! reader a/n: I’m so genius for this tell me I’m a fucking genius

the most beautiful girl in the village, praised yet never loved. your looks claimed to be more appealing than even aphrodite herself. if this was the case then how come you couldn’t find love? how could your sisters less seductive than you find husbands and start a family while you’re left better admired from afar?

many boys approach you. they only want one thing, you know if it but you wouldn’t allow it. you yearned for love, true love. It was a shame they could not feel the same for you. your sister, calliope enters your family home, a smirk on her lips. she walks over to your sitting self

“It is sad that you sit at home”

you continue cutting your vegetables, your eyes not once being taken off your knife. when you stay silent in return your sister continues speaking, “you are of age for a husband. it is pathetic you take care of the house yet you have nobody to take care of”

“If you came here to insult me then leave. I am busy”

“you should be busy finding a husband. many boys have told me of their love for you, why won’t you let them love you?”

you sigh and place the knife down, forcing yourself to face your sister. “they do not love me. they only wish to bring me to bed”

“this is why you will not find a husband. you are a disappointment to the family” your sister remarks before returning to her bedroom

you avert your eyes back to your previous task and wait as the rest of your family trickles in for dinner

ੈ✩‧₊˚

aphrodite was unhappy. how could a silly girl possibly have gotten more compliments on her looks than the very goddess of beauty? she would not allow this, she would never allow this

“perseus!” she calls from her throne. soon after a dark haired boy appears

“you called?” percy asks, standing before his mother

“my dear have you heard of the beautiful mortal? the one who is dared to be compared to I?”

percy shakes his head. “no, mother”

“well now you have. I would like you to make her fall in love with the most vilest of men, will you do that for me, my dear?”

the love goddess takes her son’s face in her hands as he agrees to her request. she kisses his forehead gently

“thank you, my dear. do not make me wait”

“I will not mother”

ੈ✩‧₊˚

your father was angry. at your grown age you should have been married with children by this time and it was unfortunate that such a lovely girl had not chosen anyone yet. he seeks out help from the oracle of delphi. apollo had told him that you, dressed in a black dress should be brought to the summit of a mountain to be left alone. a winged man would arrive and take you as his wife

your father returned home late in the night and woke you from your slumber, in your groggy state you sit up

“father? what is it?” you take notice of his worried demeanor, yours beginning to appear similar

“you must leave”

your brows furrow. “what do you mean? It is late”

“I have gotten news you will meet your husband”

“husband?”

“yes, yes, come”

your father grabs your arms and hauls you up from your bed. “you must wear a black dress, do you have any of the color?”

“I do”

“then hurry. I will be waiting”

he hurry’s out of your room and you’re left alone again. you scavenge through your dresser until you come across a dark dress and quickly you change into it. you scurry out of the house and before you know it you’re left at the summit by yourself. you sit on the ground and wait, soon falling back into slumber

when you wake the sound of clear stream fills your ears. your eyes open met with gold columns, silvers walls, and floors of precious stones. a god’s palace it must be. you stand up, seemingly dressed in a silk nightdress. your fingers trace the delicate walls, admiring the beauty of the room when a voice speaks to you:

“the palace is for you. do not be afraid. take a bath and we will honor you with a great dinner”

you turn to find the body belonging to the voice but nobody is near. you frown and take notice of the bathroom door opening on the opposite side of the room. you look back once at the wall and head to the bathroom for your bath

when you finish another dress is settled onto the bed, a soft shade of pink. you assume whomever the voice belonged to must have left it out for you. you clutch your towel closer to your skin and look around again, seeing no one before dressing and leaving to the dining room; a beautiful feast had been set up for you. that evening you ate well that night and went to bed with a full stomach; sleep came easy to you

ੈ✩‧₊˚

a kiss to your shoulder woke you up. your eyes flutter open, but nothing is to be seen

“I am sorry for waking you” the voice says and you feel lips on your shoulder again

“who are you?” you whisper into the darkness

“your husband”

“you are a god?”

“yes”

you roll on your back eager to face him but you’re met with only dark; you pout. the god takes your arm in his grasp, and starting at your fingertips he kisses up your arm, your neck, your jaw, then connects your lips. you sigh in contentment but the kiss ends too soon

against the lips of the god you inquire, “will you come back?”

“I will never leave”

you smile. when even the god leaves you can’t help the warmness permanently staining all your systems

the following nights the god visits you while you slept (although you woke every time). though you never did see the appearance of your lover. the more time you spent at the palace the more you admittedly missed your family. you ask the god to have them visit, he replies saying they are allowed to visit but you aren’t to be influenced by them or your relationship would suffer a great deal

the visiting of your sisters was unpleasant, envy radiating and pooling out with ever word. they admired the palace, jealous you had gotten treated better than they ever could have. when they were leaving the played a trick on you

“do you know what I heard, sister?” calliope asks you

“what?”

your other sister, amalthea speaks, “he is a monster. that is why he doesn’t allow you to see him”

calliope nods in agreement “yes, how could you sleep with such an awful creature?”

“he is not” you defend

“have you seen him?” asks amalthea

you shake your head

“very well. we will be leaving now”

ੈ✩‧₊˚

the following days you couldn’t help but think about the lasts words your sisters has told you. what if it had been true? you had been deceived! you did find it odd your lover had never showed in daylight, but only the darkness of the night. you made a decision- you would light a candle and enter his bedchambers while he slept. if he was a monster you would kill him, if he was a man you would let him live

you snuck in quietly, eager yet worried for what you might discover laying on the bed. your heart nearly pounds out of your chest, your palms get sweaty. you at last hold the candle above your lover and you thanked the gods for the sight you saw. a beautiful male sleeps peacefully, although dark hair unruly from tossing. you send a single prayer to the gods and when your eyes open you see the god had woken from the light of your candle

he looks at you once before leaving the room, you follow behind crying out pleads of forgiveness. your lover turns around and faces you

he says, “love cannot live without trust” before flying into darkness

how stupid had you been! your lover was the god of love and you broke his trust. you cried for days and days, searching for him but found nothing. without knowing what else to do you went to the temple of aphrodite and asked to see her son again. aphrodite, still jealous of you had not allowed you to be let of easily. she asked you to complete three tasks for her

the goddess showed her a dune of many seeds. “the first: you will separate all these seeds before this afternoon or you are not to see perseus again”

alas, you began separating the seeds, tears streaming down your cheeks. the ants saw your despair and helped move the seeds. aphrodite, angry fell to her bed and decided your next task would be impossible to complete. meanwhile, percy was not allowed to leave his room, where he was mourning your betrayal

after you first task was complete aphrodite came to you again

“can you see those black waters?” she points to a river in the distance and you nod “that is river estige. fill this bucket with its water”

you descended to the river. the rocks were slippery and steep and the water rushed through abruptly, only a winged creature could approach. and indeed an eagle came to your rescue, it felt sympathy for you struggling to capture water. It seized your bucket and filled it with water, returning it back to you

aphrodite appeared to you again, telling you that you had not completed the task without help, leaving you for another task. you were to visit the underworld and ask persephone to drain a little of her beauty. obediently you did so. the path was treacherous but you managed. when you arrived you stood before the spring goddess and asked her to complete your task. she gladly helped an drained a little of her beauty. you took the box back from her hands and went to bring it to the love goddess who was furious

“I will never let you go!” aphrodite yells, “you will always be my servant, do remember that foolish mortal”

ੈ✩‧₊˚

percy found you weeping in his mothers garden. he approaches you slowly, sitting beside you, allowing you to cry in his arms and in your vulnerable state you let him

“I am sorry” you muster out

“it is okay. please do not cry” percy requests, running a comforting hand up and down your back

“It is not! I betrayed your trust”

“your redeem yourself. you completed all the tasks my mother put upon you. If anything you were only curious, I do not blame you”

“are you sure?”

“I am very sure, my love”

from that point on you hadn’t been harassed by the love goddess. as a wedding gift zeus had granted you immortality, making you the goddess of the soul. he handed you an ambrosia square to seal the deal. you had been happy to live in the palace with percy and it was seemingly okay with his mother who had the attention back on her now that you had been married. all peace was restored at last

[tynan-suggestions]

In regards to my last ask, a snickers is a bar of chocolate, known for improving moods. If you ate one, you might feel less….Stormy. It might blow you away. Don’t mean to rain on your parade tho :3

What is a "chocolate". Some sort of elixir? How long have I been in this knife? How long has it been. Someone answer me... Regardless, a mere bar of this "chocolate" would surely be no match for my will. I would not be so easily blown away before I split your roofs with lightning and drown your crops and children. Also if you make another weather pun I will be after you third thing after I get out of this knife mark my words.

[bloodlust-1]

Are you still taking requests? I literally cannot control myself when it comes to angst so I was thinking of a fic where Tav gets kidnapped by Cazadors spawns and is getting tortured by him, so Astarion goes crazy with worry and anger trying to get them back

Like I said i am insatiable when it comes to angst

The dramaaaaa.... LET'S DO THISS SHITT. I do love me some angst too :')

Hope you enjoy @blades-are-for-skating-ya-dingus <3

. Shackles .

Astarion x fem Tav — angst

T/W: abuse, blood

Notes: I’m so proud of this one ahh. This makes me hate Cazador even more.

Tav's body trembled as the shackles dug into her wrists, her bare skin exposed to the cold, damp air of the dungeon. She had been captured by Cazador one night by his spawns. Tav never returned back to camp that night, and the only thing that was left for Astarion was a note he found on a spawn:

-------

"My Dear spawn, how dare you to run away from me. Know that there will be consequences for your actions, and your lover will not be spared from my wrath. You will regret ever crossing me, my child."

-------

Her wrists were bound by heavy shackles, chains attached to the wall, preventing her from moving more than a few inches. The sharp metal dug into her skin, causing her to wince in pain every time she struggled against them. Her body was covered in bruises, cuts, and burns, the result of Cazador's ruthless torture techniques.

Cazador stood in front of Tav, a wicked grin on his face. He held a whip in his hand, the same one he had used to lash Tav's back until it bled. She could barely lift her head to look at him, her body exhausted and broken.

"Pathetic," Cazador sneered, his eyes filled with malice. "You thought you could hide from me? A mere mortal challenging a vampire? How foolish."

Cazador stood in front of her, his face twisted into a sadistic grin. "You think your lover, Astarion, will save you from me? He will help me ascend and be nothing more than dirt on the floor. And soon, you will be too. Tell me where is the boy."

Tav's heart sank at the mention of Astarion's name. All Tav wanted was to trade with a merchant to gift Astarion a better dagger. But now, here she was, captured and tortured.

"Never," Tav spat, defiant even in the face of her tormentor.

Cazador's grin widened. "We'll see about that, my dear. We have ways of making you talk."

He signaled to his spawn, Petras, and he poked at Tav's skin with a hot metal rod. She cried out in pain, her body bruised and bloodied. But she refused to say any information.

"You will never have Astarion again," Tav gasped, her voice weak from the beatings.

Cazador's smile turned into a scowl, and he grabbed Tav's chin roughly, forcing her face to meet his. "You wretched thing."

Cazador motioned for Petras to stop as he approached Tav, snatching the hot iron rod from Petras’s hand. Tav's eyes widened in terror as she realized what he was about to do.

"Please, no," she begged, tears streaming down her face.

But Cazador didn't listen. He pressed the hot iron against Tav's skin, causing her to scream in agony. The smell of burning flesh filled the dungeon.

"I will make you suffer until you give me what I want," Cazador growled, enjoying every moment of Tav's pain.

Tav's body shook with sobs as the torture continued. She thought of Astarion, their love, and their plans for the future. She refused to let Cazador break her, even if it meant her death.

"I said no, you bastard!," Tav cried, her voice hoarse from screaming.

Cazador continued to torture her, and Tav's thoughts became consumed with memories of Astarion. The way he looked at her with love, the cold touch of his lips on hers.

"I love you, Astarion," she whispered, tears streaming down her face.

But as the darkness of the dungeon consumed her, Tav feared she'd never see Astarion again.

~

Astarion's heart raced as he crept through the dark and musty corridors of the dungeon. His mind clashed between anger and guilt. Astarion feared that Tav was somewhere within these walls, shackled and tortured by Cazador.

When Astarion reached Tav's cell, he caught sight of her. Tav's face was pale and bruised. She was shirtless and barely conscious.

But even in this state, Tav was still the most beautiful creature he had ever laid eyes on.

His hands trembled as he quickly picked the lock, and with a loud click, the chains that bound Tav fell to the ground, and Astarion's heart swelled with relief and anger. He scooped her up in his arms, ignoring Tav's cries of pain from the bruises and cuts covering her body.

"Shh, my love. It's me," he whispered, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead. "I've come to take you away from this place."

Tav's tear-stained face looked up at him, and her eyes widened in surprise. "Astarion? How did you find me?"

Astarion fixated his eyes on Tav's face, the sight of her hurt gaze ached his dead heart. "I will always find you, no matter where they try to hide you." He pulled the shirt off his back and covered Tav's bare chest.

Carefully, Astarion carried Tav out of the dungeon, making sure to avoid any spawns or traps along the way. It was especially hard when Tav winced to every movement.

Astarion stealth his way out of the palace and went back to camp. He felt anger gnawing at his chest. He should have been there to protect Tav, But he had failed, and now Tav had suffered because of his shortcomings.

When they got back to camp, their companions rushed to their side, relieved to see Tav alive. Shadowheart, Wyll, Gale, and Karlach swarmed around Astarion.

"Get out of the way! She needs to rest!" Astarion snapped in a fit of anger. His emotions were pouring out in the worst possible way, and whoever was in the way needed to move.

Astarion gently settled Tav onto his bed, frowning at the sight of her bruised and battered body. She winced in pain as he placed her down, but he quickly reassured her, "I'll take care of you."

He grabbed a small bucket of water and a cloth, carefully cleaning the dried blood and dirt from her skin. Tav winced again, tears streaming down her face as he touched her injuries.

Gods this is all my fault. Astarion gritted his teeth from the sting of remorse.

"It's going to be alright," he whispered, his voice trembling. "I promise, I won't let anyone hurt you like this again."

Cazador will pay for this.

Tav weakly reached out to wipe away the tears that had fallen from his eyes, a small smile tugged on her chipped lips. "Don't cry, Astarion. You're here now, and that's all that matters."

He couldn't help but chuckle at her stubbornness, even in her injured state. "Your wit amazes me, my dear."

Astarion continued to clean and tend to her wounds, his hands gentle and careful than anything he'd ever touched in the past 200 years. Tav winced and hissed in pain, but she never once pulled away. She simply gripped his hand tightly as he worked, her eyes shut tightly.

Tav winced as he tended to a particularly deep cut on her arm. "It hurts," she whispered, tears forming in her eyes.

"I know, my dear," Astarion's eyes narrowed at her pain. "But I promise, I'll make it better."

After what seemed like hours, Astarion finally finished and leaned back, a satisfied look on his face. "There, all done."

Tav slowly opened her eyes and looked down at her now clean and bandaged skin. "Thank you..." The burn marks would scar her skin forever. It was something Tav looked past for her own sake.

"You are strong," he continued, brushing a strand of hair away from her face. "And I will do everything in my power to protect you and keep you safe from Cazador."

Tav reached up and cupped his cheek, she whispered. "I trust you.."

Astarion leaned down and pressed his lips against Tav's, pouring all of his emotions into the kiss. Tav pushed against his lips gently, while his hands held Tav's shoulders. When they pulled away Tav could see the desperation in his eyes and it was heartbreaking.

"Rest now, my dear. I'll be here when you wake up." And with that, Astarion stayed by Tav's side, watching over her as she drifted off to sleep.

Any thoughts? Comment 👇🏼 I love to engage!

[devilevlls]

Creepy Obey me! AU

𝖲𝖾𝗇𝗌𝗂𝗍𝗂𝗏𝖾 𝗍𝗈𝗉𝗂𝖼𝗌 𝖼𝖺𝗇 𝖻𝖾 𝗆𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇𝖾𝖽 𝗂𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝗋𝗂𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗌, 𝗌𝗎𝖼𝗁 𝖺𝗌: 𝖺𝖻𝗎𝗌𝗂𝗏𝖾 𝖻𝖾𝗁𝖺𝗏𝗂𝗈𝗋, 𝗆𝗎𝗋𝖽𝖾𝗋, 𝗁𝖺𝗋𝖺𝗌𝗌𝗆𝖾𝗇𝗍, 𝗏𝗂𝗈𝗅𝖾𝗇𝗍 𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗀𝗎𝖺𝗀𝖾, 𝗌𝖾𝗑𝗎𝖺𝗅 𝖺𝖼𝗍𝗌, 𝖽𝖾𝗆𝗈𝗇𝗂𝖼 𝗉𝗈𝗌𝗌𝖾𝗌𝗌𝗂𝗈𝗇𝗌, 𝖼𝗈𝗋𝗉𝗌𝖾𝗌, 𝖺𝗆𝗈𝗇𝗀 𝗈𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋𝗌. 𝖯𝗋𝗈𝖼𝖾𝖾𝖽 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝖼𝖺𝗎𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇. Remember: The following information might not be that accurate comparing to Lucifer's canon personality.

Lucifer

⌞Feeding Habits⌝

  ࿔ Carnivorous (meat-eating)

  ࿔ Hunting habits: Lucifer harbors a distaste for the act of hunting souls directly. Instead, he frequents a secluded area in Devildom where lost souls wander, offering a more palatable source for consumption.

However, when it comes to acquiring meat, his approach takes a stark turn. He revels in the thrill of stalking his prey from a distance. The panicked screams only serve to heighten his excitement, igniting a primal thrill within him as he closes in on his target. ㅤ

⌞Unique features⌝

 ࿔ Two pairs of black feathered wings, some says they can cure wounds, but no one was brave enough to try plucking a feather.

 ࿔ Specific scent: He emits a natural scent reminiscent of roaring flames, so potent that it can induce discomfort and even prompt coughing fits. ࿔  Height: 1,97 m ㅤ

⌞Reproductive Habits, Seasonal Changes⌝

  ࿔ Mating seasons: Courtship displays - Lucifer's devotion to his mate knows no bounds, often manifesting in grand gestures and displays of affection. However, don't be too quick to celebrate, for alongside his demonstrations of love, you may find an unexpected presence creeping into your surroundings. Ghostly apparitions, once mortal souls he dispatched, now transformed into loyal servants, subtly assist you with your daily tasks, a testament to his unwavering commitment to your well-being.

  ࿔ Nest building - He leaves a whole mess of feathers scattered across his bed, evidence of his restless nature and feral instincts. Some of them bear traces of blood, torn impatiently from his own wings in moments of unchecked impulse. Afterward, he may find himself sore and in need of assistance, perhaps even seeking your help to tend to the wounds inflicted by his own fervor.  ࿔ Seasonal variations: Aggressive Behavior - He won't let his brothers come closer to you until his breeding instincts are gone. They won't try either, none of them wants to be hanged from the ceiling for weeks. Scent Marking - Brushes his feathers against you, imparting a subtle scent that escapes human detection but leaves you enveloped in a warm, weighty sensation. Alternatively, he may press his face into your neck, tracing gentle licks along your skin. As he marks you with his presence, you notice a distinct shift in the demeanor of other demons, since no one wants to defy Lucifer himself by getting too close. ㅤAnd of course, an intense craving to ravage you at least 3 times a day. ㅤ

⌞Territorial Behavior⌝

࿔ Aggressive displays/Territory defense: Lucifer wanders around the house when he has free time. Not just casually walking tho, he makes guttural sounds and stomps heavily. No one dares getting out of their room when he is passing the corridor. ㅤ

⌞Sleeping and Resting Patterns⌝

You see, there isn't Day/Night in devildom, just emptiness and darkness, so we are using as reference, RAD's daily activities to measure time. Class time being the morning, class end being twilight and after dinner being night.

 ࿔  Nocturnal (active during the night). The avatar of pride hates waking up early in the morning, he gets more active at night, and you can see a slight change in his behavior at this time, getting more chill than normally. ㅤ

⌞Bad/Creepy habits⌝

  ࿔ Lucifer loves classical music, especially cursed records. Do not dare come close to the music room when his songs start playing, or you might end up piercing your own eardrums, trapped in an unstoppable curse. ㅤ

⌞Defense Mechanisms⌝

  ࿔ Lucifer has the power to hear through walls and can teleport behind someone if they say his name out loud to check why he is being mentioned.

  ࿔ Possesses a remarkable immunity to the majority of poisonous substances found within Devildom. Similarly, he remains largely unfazed by the powers wielded by angels. Only the most ancient and powerful curses have any hope of affecting him. ㅤ

⌞Hygiene and Grooming⌝

 ࿔ Self-grooming: Grooming, or preening, is the meticulous art of cleaning and maintaining various parts of the body. Lucifer, in particular, dedicates himself to keeping his feathers impeccable, adhering to a strict schedule of cleaning every three days. This meticulous task demands much of his time and attention, occasionally leading him to fall asleep in the middle of his grooming rituals. ㅤ

⌞Playful Behavior⌝

 ࿔ How do they release stress? For Lucifer, playing the piano serves as a refuge where he can lose himself in the soothing melodies, calming his mind and easing the burdens of his responsibilities. However, if one were to delve into his more sinister forms of stress relief, a scene of horror awaits. He takes perverse pleasure in seeking out the terrified sounds of lost humans, reveling in their fear as he approaches, a dark satisfaction coursing through him at the sight of their trembling forms. Proud of the intimidating aura he exudes, Lucifer finds solace in the knowledge of his power and dominance over those who dare to cross his path. "Yes, scream, let me hear how much it hurts when I devour you. I could do this all day" ㅤ

⌞Human Interaction⌝

  ࿔ Responses to human presence: Annoyed, he doesn't understand why such an important demon as himself needs to be in the same ambient as an insignificant mortal. Won't attack unless you trespass his boundaries, but will threaten the hell out of you.

  ࿔ Domestication behaviors: None. Jk jk, he has his soft spots, but hides them very well. Give him some ultra-rare cursed vinyl. Or worship his boots. He will pretend it doesn't affect him, but seeing you bend down to his feet? That makes him excited. If you manage to earn his trust and affection, a rare privilege indeed, you may find him unexpectedly responsive to your touch. A shiver courses through him, and a near-purr escapes his lips when you scratch the base of his horns, a gesture that elicits a subtle display of pleasure from the typically composed demon lord.

Hope you guys enjoyed, please give me your opinions! Sorry for any grammar mistakes ＞﹏＜ Check my Creepy AU masterlist for more content!

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[princessanonymous]

When Night Comes

Platonic Yandere Vampire

Next Part

Chapter 1. 𝓥𝓮𝓷𝓲, 𝓿𝓲𝓭𝓲, 𝓪𝓿𝓪𝓭𝓲.

Dorian de Beauvoir was an old soul. Something people would often never notice. After all, with his youthful features, no one would think he was past his thirties. He was attractive and he knew it. Blonde with blue eyes, the duke was often approached by ladies and gentlemen. Most encounters didn't end well for these people. If only they knew. If only they knew what he really was. Because behind all this pleasant — and perfect, dare he say — exterior, hid a monster. Dorian was a vampire, a creature of the night lurking in the shadows, ever watchful for unsuspecting victims to sate his unholy hunger.

This, in fact, was exactly what he was doing this afternoon. While he had a chevalier ring, shielding him from the effects of the sun, his preference was to hunt under the veil of night or during overcast days, when more humans ventured into these forests under a less harsh daylight.

Among these sunlit wanderers was a young maiden. Dorian could hear her footsteps and the faint hum of a tune as she ventured into a woodland clearing. Her attire, a simple woolen dress with an apron, bore the marks of labor and grime. It didn't take long for him to discern her as a peasant girl, no older than fifteen. With a determined expression, she foraged for mushrooms, collecting them diligently in her wicker basket.

She didn't notice him, too focused on her task to pay mind to anyone else. She was young. He typically avoided feeding on children, and yet, he found himself unable to look away. Still, Dorian observed from a distance. He himself wasn't sure why. Perhaps it had been because of the gaping hole he felt in his chest. Loneliness. A curse many vampires were accustomed to.

Once she was done with her task, she sat on the grass. Closing her eyes and sighing, she seemed to be exhausted by the work. The sun had set not long ago and Dorian questioned whether she intended to return home at all.

His decision was made, he left his vantage point and approached her quietly. "The sun has set," he spoke, causing the young lady to jump with a start. "Do you not have a place to be?"

She appeared surprised. Vampires had this ability to creep up on mortals without them noticing. The girl stood up abruptly.

"I— Yes," the peasant confirmed before beginning to walk away quickly.

"Let me accompany you." He followed her and soon caught up to her. "A young girl such as yourself shouldn't walk alone at this hour of the day," he commented, justifying himself as he added a pleasant smile. 

"That won't be necessary," assured the girl, "my Lord," she added, noticing his expensive attire.

"I insist."

And that was that. He had spoken with conviction, showcasing how he wouldn't change his mind. She looked tense, but didn't dare to refuse.

"Do you live nearby ?" He asked after a long moment of silence. She nodded mutely.

His attempts at small tasks proved to be fruitless, but he didn't mind too much. Nevertheless, the journey proved brief, as they reached a small cottage at the forest's edge within a quarter of an hour. Dorian's reaction was immediate—a derisive sneer contorted his features as he regarded the humble dwelling with disdain.

This... thing wasn't even the size of his wardrobe. It was a humble structure, its thatched roof weathered by time and rough-hewn wooden walls bearing the scars of years. The simplicity of the cottage's design and construction was an eyesore to the noble, who was accustomed to the grandeur of opulent manors and palaces. The dichotomy was painfully apparent.

A light chuckle escaped Dorian's lips as he surveyed the unimpressive abode. "This place?" He inquired almost rhetorically, his tone unimpressed by the humble dwelling.

The girl's demeanor stiffened visibly, and her response came with a touch of defensiveness. "Yes, it's my home," she almost snapped, a trace of pride in her voice.

His smile wavered, an odd sensation settling in his chest. It seemed as though she didn't quite belong here, amidst such simplicity. He looked down at the little mortal. He felt as if she shouldn't be here.

The door cracked open, a woman that looked quite similar to the little girl came out. Her mother. He narrowed his eyes and clenched his jaw.

"(Y/N)," called the woman with a relieved smile. She put a hand on her hips and pointed at the young girl. "You were supposed to come back before the sunset, young lady," she scolded her with maternal authority.

(Y/n) appeared sheepish. "Sorry, mom," she said, a bit embarrassed. "I ventured a bit farther than I usually do. On the bright side, I found more mushrooms."

The mother sighed good naturedly before turning to Dorian. She now looked uncomfortable. "I apologize for my daughter, my Lord," she hastily said, her hand moving protectively to grasp her daughter's arm. "I hope she didn't cause any trouble."

The man's indifferent face shifted into a charming smile. "I can assure you she didn't," he answered. "I simply found this young lady alone in the woods and suggested bringing her back home."

The peasant woman expressed her gratitude with a touch of hesitation before they exchanged pleasantries and bade each other farewell. Dorian continued on his path, returning to his hunt, but his thoughts lingered on the girl. He couldn't help but wonder if this chance encounter had left as indelible a mark on her as it had on him. 

[kiame-sama]

More of druid Tav with Yan companions+ Raphael

Warnings; gender neutral Tav/reader, druid Tav/reader, yandere, yandere behavior, yandere relationship, possessive behavior, obsessive behavior, injury, threat to life/limb, yandere companions, spoilers for act 1 companions, slight spoilers for a bit of the act 2 side quests,

~~~~~~~~

"This deal is with your vampire spawn friend, not you. I don't want you getting involved in this matter."

"I am the unofficial leader of this group and I refuse to let a cambion tell me I can't protect my companions."

~~~~

Raphael frowned deeply as he thought back on the light spat he had with the defacto leader of the illithid anomaly group. He had plans for the druid far beyond the defeat of the Absolute and their cultists. One could even say that he had formed an attachment to them far beyond what he should when it comes to the pawns of his game. To think, the powerful cambion- master of the chess board of life- has formed an affection for one of the pawns on his side of the board. Or perhaps, it would be better to assign them to the king piece. If his precious druid falls, so too does all of Baldur's Gate and the rest of the Sword Coast. He cannot afford to be put in check, least of all check-mate.

The Orthon he had set the group after had already appeared in his House of Hope as agreed upon. Now, he stood waiting for the group to return to their camp to hold up his end of the bargain.

He expected them to return quickly and they did exactly that, what he didn't expect was the group to return in a frazzled and rushed state. None of the odd group even glanced in Raphael's direction as the Githyanki and the Tiefling grabbed several bedrolls, laying them out on top of the other. The rest of the group was not far behind as they hurried into the camp, the human waving forward the rest with a frantic gesture.

"Come on, Astarion, hurry!"

"I'm fucking hurrying, Wyll! You try running with your arms full like this!"

The spat between the two made Raphael raise a brow, wondering just what all of the fuss was about. It wasn't until the vampire spawn lay what was in his arms on the bedrolls that Raphael even realized the weight of the situation. Laying limply with blood-marred skin was the beloved druid, clearly having suffered some kind of serious wound. Raphael knew the tell-tale jagged edges of the open injury on their soft body, one that could only be caused by an Orthon.

The half-elf cleric and the burly elf druid kneeled on either side of their unconscious leader, trying to use their various magics to staunch the blood flow. None of what they did seemed to be working and Raphael knew he would have to act or risk losing his precious druid permanently to the cruel hands of death. He was quick to shove the half-elf aside so he could access his favorite mortal and try to prevent the rapidly approaching end.

"Hey," Shadowheart snapped at the demon, "what the hells are you doing!?"

Raphael didn't even give a response to the upset woman, setting to reversing the damage done by his soon to be reformed minion. He had half a mind to just flay the minion that dare put such a wound on his precious druid, but he also knew others may take it as a sign of weakness. All he could do for the time being was try to help his little druid survive what- to most- is a mortal wound. Luckily for sweet (y/n) they had a powerful cambion lord on their side who could actually heal an Orthon caused wound.

For most, a direct attack from an Orthon causes death. Usually only a powerful cambion could reverse such a wound, lucky for them that Raphael was certainly a powerful cambion.

Where the healing efforts of the cleric and other druid had done little for the large wound, Raphael's touch managed to close the injury within moments. It had certainly been something that would have killed his favorite misadventurer and they had near infernal luck to survive up until reaching Raphael at their camp. Their sallow skin made his chest tighten as he searched for any sign of true recovery before he noticed their deep breaths, relaxing almost instantly.

"How did this happen?"

Raphael spoke in an even tone, but the hard edge to his words was not lost on those present. He wanted an answer and he expected nothing but the truth from them.

"It's our fault, really."

Gale spoke up, his tone bitter with resentment towards himself and the other companions responsible for allowing such an injury to befall the beloved druid. Where they had not inflicted such a wound, they were still the ones their leader was injured protecting. They all felt there was blame to share as they had not heeded the wise words of their leader and their leader paid the price for it.

"(Y/n) instructed us to not group up on the edge of the platform, but... we did anyway. That Orthon intended to shove us all off to the floor below and kill us, but (Y/n) blocked the attack with their own body, using themselves to absorb the attack."

Raphael felt a spark of annoyance flash in his mind, but decided to let it go in favor of focusing on his darling druid. They were slowly waking from their brief brush with death and seemed rather disoriented with the world around them. Their slowly trailing eyes fixed first on Raphael, a dazed and kind smile pulling at their lips as they reached out to him. He didn't pull away but watched in slight confusion as they rest their hand on his cheek.

"Raphael... thought angels were supposed to greet me when I died?"

Raphael couldn't stop the affectionate chuckle that escaped his lips, laying his hand over the druid's.

"Well, angels don't tend to save or greet the living."

"Save..? The Orthon magic... I figured it would take a devil to heal devil magic."

"If you figured as much, why didn't you call for me?"

"I doubt you would have shown."

The smallest wince from Raphael drew the attention of the onlookers, it only now dawning on them that Raphael may feel attached to (y/n) too. Some were in furious disbelief at the simple idea of this cambion bastard going after their dear leader. Some were impressed that their leader had ensnared the heart of a cambion. Even the cambion didn't want to believe how much he had begun to adore the druid that entranced all others to trust and adore them.

"For you, my favorite misadventurer, I will always show. Rest now, your body has healed but your mind will be fighting the Orthon influence for a days time. I will do what I can to ease your rest."

He was quick to wave a hand over the druid's head, quickly sending them into sleep before they could reply to his confession. Now he had to face their loyal pack and get them to concede to allowing the devil a fair chance at winning the druid's heart.

[euhla]

TO THE LONG FORGOTTEN PROPHECY neuvilette x gn!reader

summary speaking of prophecy— of course the fountaine citizens immediately thinking about the prophecy about fontaine's future that always haunting their sleep, remembering that what happened in the future involved their own lives. but there is one prophecy that almost (or even everyone?) everyone forgets; the prophecy regarding the hydro dragon— who has always remaining alone will meet his mate.

⋆ 𖦹 ˚｡⋆ fluff, no plot/plotless, light angst, reader is not traveler, fontaine archon quests spoilers, there might be some ooc, cross posting on AO3. a/n : im trying to get out of my comfort zone by not using google translate too much! so pls be easy on me T~T (yes english is not my first language) my draft suddenly disappeared & i had to write t again

the discernible hints of the prophecy starting to become reality didn’t went unnoticed by fontaine citizens, as they started to feel anxious— even scared to death.

and of course, mortals being themselves always helplessly blamming their beloved archon. mouths vociferate loudly as they continue blamming her for not being able to do anything. but oh little did they know about what struggles she’s been facing all this time merely for the sake of her own folks, that they couldn’t even face it themselves. but they just keep howling like wolves.

‘…that all people from fontaine are born with sin that cannot be absolved; one day, the waters of fontaine will rise and the sinful people will all be dissolved into the waters, and only the hydro archon will remain; weeping on her throne- only then will the sins of the people be washed away.’

and after the prophecy has passed, the trial of sins and a 500 year long show that is finally coming to an end, and the hydro dragon finally forgiven their sins.

and when the spotlights in the opera went out one by one, the seats are empty, and furina finished her part at the performance. she remained silent. the endeavor she faced all this time is finally gone. and now the theatrical has ended, what will she do now?

a small performance that performed by furina herself must be met with painful reality; she has to go. leaving the place where she had been living, in order to start a new beginning.

in the morning she started packing her things, helped by her venerated partner— neuvilette. but she suddenly remembered something that focalor had told her before.

“ah, well.. neuvilette,” she hesitantly said. “i want to remind you about a… prophecy that i think you forgot.”

one of neuvilette's eyebrows rose in curiosity. "oh? and what prophecy is that?" he’s sure that he never forgot about an important prophecy.

‘….alas! it will rain heavily one day; the hydro dragon cry to bid farewell to his dearest friend all-the-time. only to be changed by a rainbow, now that he finally found his mate.’

“that…” neuvilette give her a heavy sigh. “i don’t believe in that prophecy.”

“why? don’t you know that it’s raining heavily outside?” he peeked at the window. and like furina said, it was raining very hard outside, and he knew why. “it will never happen,” he replied.

furina only smiled at him. because deep down in her heart, she believed that her friend would find the perfect partner. as a reward for his hard work until now.

“well then, neuvilette. goodbye and…. thank you.”

insignificant annoyance were heard with every step neuvilette takes. why does it keep raining? they said. and a small child asked his mother innocently, ‘why does the hydro dragon keep crying?’

neuvilette could only stare at his reflection in the water distorted by raindrops. even if lightning started to strike, it would not dare to approach him. for the first time in a long time, he felt worldly tranquility he had longed for.

and that's why he chose to ignore the figure standing beside him. neuvilette didn't intend to glance at that person, just to see their figure. until…

“hydro dragon, hydro dragon, don’t cry!” that sentence was like a mantra for neuvilette. for a moment he thought that the voice of the person beside him was calming and soothing.

so neuvilette take a glance at the person beside him. time seemed to stop, neuvilette's heart was caught. the person's eyes shone amidst the darkness that accompanied neuvilette, they looked at him with worry. they’re captivating, their beauty is surreal that he’s sure that he’s dreaming right now.

and suddenly, the rain stopped. a rainbow slowly began to appear from the other end. maybe, just maybe, he can believe this one prophecy.