#as a death I feel like I have to manage the fight. keep everyone alive and buff the right people and hit when appropriate

[nightside101]

One of my favorite things when playing on my storm is when the support player does all the work setting me up, and all I have to do is blade and hit, and then the fight ends and they tell me "good job" like, thanks! All I did was cast storm lord! I love being praised for doing the bare minimum

[chandralia]

Toga saying she loves both boys and girls explicitly, that she loves differently, was ridiculed/abused for FOR loving differently, saying she wanted to be like people around her instead. Twice suggesting her villain name be Carmilla? (THE FIRST LESBIAN VAMPIRE)

Ochako calling herself strange for wanting to save Toga, reaching out and leveling, speaking in a way only Toga can understand, telling her she’s the cutest girl in the whole world, and offering to give Toga her blood for the rest of her life??

Deku saying “I’ve spent my life chasing after you,”“you’re my image of victory,” that he “can’t imagine a world in which kacchan doesn’t exist,” “kacchan and everyone else” over and over again, LOSING HIS MIND WHEN ONLY KATSUKI’S INJURED, being told to control his heart three times (COUNT THEM: THREE) over Katsuki?? Kudou having to use Katsuki to motivate Deku? “their feelings become one” just from locking eyes…???? Deku’s world shifting when Katsuki’s alive again, looking at him in awe (the way he’s only ever looked at him).

Katsuki risking his life for Deku repeatedly, thinking of only him before death, having to imagine Deku in danger to further his quirk, being targeted because he’s the closest to Deku (VERBALLY STATED BY SHIGAFO), avoiding medical care at every turn to get to Deku, always reminiscing about their past, A MISSED HANDHOLD, imagining their future together and breaking down crying in front of Deku at the possibility of that being ripped from him, saying he wanted them to keep doing this forever?

“that’s just how shonen is, everyone’s gay but no one’s canon” SHUT UP PLEASE. we quite literally do not know what Hori is or isn’t allowed to do. He’s been vocal about fighting for what he wants in his story, and even if it is an executive or editor saying “no you can’t do this” look what he’s managed to do so far.

not to mention THREE canon trans characters, toga correcting overhaul at misgendering. kendo saying “I just want to be me” when talking about gender, the entire side plot with discrimination and people fighting for acceptance, Hori reading and approving all the stuff that happens in the light novels/team up missions, AND thanking/praising those authors for knowing his characters so well.

His assistant (nstime23) openly shipping bkdk, drawing fanart of them, blatantly using their ship name, WHILE STILL BEING MUTUALS WITH HORI.

and the reception???

Hori does not live under a rock. It’s not an “oopsie he made it gay on accident” thing, and it’s not done maliciously either.

sharing what I’ve said before because I’m tired:

[awkward-tension-art]

Order 66 (tbb x Jedi!reader)

Ok, so i’ve had this idea in my head of the clones with a Jedi S/O during Order 66. I don’t mean they act on Order 66, I mean if everything sorta played out similar in canon (Chip doesn’t work)

Idk, I like me some protective boys.

CW: minimally proofread, jedi!S/O, Reader, Gender neutral pronouns, Order 66, violence, death, swearing, Hunter trying his best, Wrecker being a sweetie, Echo is ready to fight, Tech is the only one who is level headed, and Crosshair being somewhat emotional

You were following Caleb when the order came through. Your steps stumbled and your knees hit the cold ground. All around you, the Force was being ripped apart. Hands were on your shoulders. 

your lover. You barely realized through the haze.

With absolute horror, you watched helplessly as clones gunned down Depa Billaba. “Run Caleb!” You heard her scream through the overwhelming grief and death you felt. The padawan turned, lightsaber ready. 

“Get away from us!” he barked, calling your name, “Get up! Please!”

He was panicked, confused. So were you. 

You managed to look up, seeing the clone troopers across the field standing over Master Billaba’s smoking corpse. They were prepping to kill you and the padawan next.

Without another word you bolted, grabbing Caleb’s hand and sprinting to the trees. You didn’t look back. You had to make sure the kid was safe.

Hunter

“Wait!” He’ll give chase before stopping at the tree line. He had never seen you look so devastated and afraid. 

He’s going to follow you. Of course he is. He’s just as confused as everyone else. 

Until Tech finally finds out what's going on

“The Jedi have been ordered to be executed.” “Which one?” “All of them.”

“What!? Why!?” Hunter is panicked at this point. The troopers behind him have orders to kill. They won’t show you mercy. 

“Apparently they’ve committed treason.”

By the time he finds you, Caleb had already jumped across the ravine and was waiting for you. You turned, tears in your eyes.

“I can feel it…everyone is being killed.” 

“We’re going to figure this out,” He’s going to try and calm you down, “I promise, we’re going to figure this out.” His arms are around you. 

It wasn’t safe for you. Not anywhere near him and the others. He knows this. You know this. 

The two of you come up with a hurried plan.

“Go to these coordinates. Once we know what's going on, I’ll come find you.” He’ll kiss you passionately, “Get the kid and hide.” 

Hunter won’t go with you. He’s the squad leader. He can’t just go missing. 

Despite the fear that you’ll be found out, he trusts you and your skills to stay alive.

Once you jump across, he’ll watch, make sure no one follows or tries to shoot at you. 

Once he’s questioned on your whereabouts, he’s going to lie, “I managed to stab the kid and shoot the Jedi. both of them fell into the water.”

I will say, his nerves are shot until he gets to you again. 

But in the meanwhile? He’s antsy. Anxious and a tad distracted.

Also a hairs trigger from snapping.

Crosshair badgers him at Kamino and Hunter barely holds back a punch.

Hunter loves you, so damn dearly. And right now he can’t protect you because he needs to figure out what the fuck is going on.

But, after finding the truth and getting Omega, he makes a damn beeline for the coordinates he gave you.

Plus side? Caleb and Omega become friends.

Echo

What the FUCK just happend!?

He sprints into the trees to keep up, ignoring how Hunter is calling his name. 

“Echo, get back here!” 

“No.” He will cut off his comms. 

He’s an ARC trooper, he can track you to a degree. He’s not like Hunter, but he gets to the general area where you are. 

He manages to get to a clearing where you and Caleb are hiding in the trees. 

“Cyare!” Echo is clearly confused, worried and he swears he feels the same amount of death that’s overwhelmed you. 

Once you reveal yourself, his helmet is off and his arms are around you so tightly.

“I don’t know what's going on, but I’ll keep you and Commander Dume safe.”

Hunter and Crosshair catch up to you, and once Crosshair aims his blaster at you and Caleb, Echo is ready to brawl. 

He stands protectively in front of you, gun aimed at the sniper, “If your skinny ass doesn’t put the fucking gun away I swear to-!”

“Both of you stand down!” Hunter will have to get between them, because Echo is 100% willing to shoot Crosshair if it means you stay safe. 

He’s not aware Crosshair doesn't exactly have a choice at the moment.

Really no one is aware.

But he’s lost domino squad, he’s lost Fives, he's lost legion, right now his former general is probably being killed…He’s lost so much already.

He refuses to lose you too.

So Echo pulls the trigger first, settling on stunning him and making a dash towards the ravine. Hunter has to keep up.

Once Caleb is across, he’ll get meetup coordinates from Hunter.

Echo goes with you. He doesn’t return to Kamino. The moment he's across the ravine with you and Caleb he’s a deserter. 

He doesn’t care. He just doesn’t want to lose you.

He’s a strong, determined guard, and one who didn’t let you or Caleb get hurt.

Wrecker

He casts a glance at Hunter before running off after you. 

He has no idea what Order 66 is. Nor does he care.

The guy saw you so…out of it. So scared and confused.

His protective instincts have geared up to 11. 

Hunter goes with him, while Crosshair is the one who remains behind to stall.

Once Tech informs everyone that the Jedi have been named traitors and should be executed on sight, Wrecker gets serious. Very serious. 

He becomes so unlike himself, even Crosshair is surprised.

Honestly? I see Wrecker as someone willing to gun down any ‘reg’ if they’re threatening his squad or s/o. 

Even this early into the Empire.

When he sees you, he’s immediately grabbing you into his arms which causes Caleb to attack.

Admittedly he’s gonna tackle Caleb, only adding to the poor kids terror. 

“Wrecker, you're scaring him!” 

But after a strong bear hug and an “Easy kid! I’m tryna help you!” The padawan calms down enough to listen. 

He puts Caleb down, rips off his helmet and gives you one hell of a kiss. 

He’s worried. He’s scared. And he wants to protect you. 

Hunter will have to talk him down from running off with you.

The sergeant has to keep his squad together. It sucks but they need to figure out what the heck is happening at the moment.

Wrecker desperately wants to go with you but he can’t abandon his squad.

However, he feels much better once Hunter gives some safe coordinates to lay low and hide.

He’ll get you to the ravine and stand guard until you and Caleb are across and out of sight.

You bet your ass when he meets up with you again he’s not letting you go. 

Tech

He isn’t as emotional as the others at the moment. He’s actually focused on gathering as much information in the least amount of time.

He waits, listening to the comm chatter. What is going on? why?

“Execute Order 66.”

After a second, he shares a look with Hunter.

“Tech, go after-”

No more words need to be said. Tech is gone and going after you.

He’s smart. He knows your patterns. He knows where you’d most likely hide. So he focuses on that.

Once he’s confident he’s in a broad area where you and Caleb are, he’s going to call out to you, “Cyare? There’s something called Order 66 on the comms.” 

Tech gives you information first. He won’t make you reveal yourself if you don’t feel safe enough. 

When Echo announces that the Jedi have been charged with treason, he’ll relay that to you. 

“The comms say the Jedi committed treason against the Republic,” He’s going to keep looking around for you, “I know you. You’d never do such a thing. I’m here, Cyare. I can help you.”

Once you reveal yourself, Caleb behind you, he feels the biggest amount of relief. 

He pulls off his helmet, giving you a small smile.

“Tech…The Jedi…” your voice cracks, “They’re being killed…I can feel it.” 

“I know, Cyare…I’m sorry.” He tries his best to comfort you, but he knows he can never understand. 

The amount of Jedi he’s worked with can be counted on one hand. 

But he knows this is your family. Your friends. Your very life.

Once Hunter meets up with you guys, a plan can be put in place. 

He gives you coordinates for a location to meet-up and hide. You’ll lay low with Caleb.

In the meantime, Tech will return to Kamino, figure out what's happening, and from there a better, more long term plan can be made.

Before you leave though, he’s going to give you the longest, most passionate kiss he's ever given you.

He’s well aware that there's a chance you can be found and killed. 

Tech is the only one who has accepted that you may not make it out of this.

But he’s going to keep his mind occupied, distract himself until he’s by your side again. 

Crosshair

As soon as the order goes out, Crosshair is under the influence of the inhibitor chip.

He just doesn’t know. No one does at this point.

He watches you run away with Caleb and the drive to hunt you down is hard to ignore.

He needs to find you to kill you, to protect you.

But, the sudden headache he has is damn near blinding.

Crosshair follows Hunter, keeping his comms on.

He freezes when Tech finds out the Jedi have been marked for execution.

The Inhibitor Chip in his skull is contending with his feelings for you.

He needs to execute save you.

When he spots you he pulls his rifle and aims but barely manages to stop himself.

He can’t hurt you. He needs to kill loves you.

Crosshair draws some sort of conclusion that Kaminoans had conditioned all clones to follow specific orders.

He doesn’t know of the chip. He just assumes it comes from the troopers' conditioning.

When his arms are around your body, for a brief moment he thinks of snapping your neck.

Good soldiers follow orders.

He hates orders.

This is the point where Crosshair knows something is seriously wrong with him.

But he’s not going to say anything yet. He can still fight if need be.

“You need to run…hide…get away from here.” it's a rare moment that he’s scared.

The sniper is desperate to shoot protect you.

The headache is persistent, and it’s somewhat distracting.

But he’ll power through.

Crosshair will wait for Hunter to come up with…something. 

His eyes are on the area around you, gun set to kill in case any reg tries anything.

The plan? Clone Force 99 returns to Kamino while you and Caleb go into hiding. 

You have coordinates. He can find you later. 

But…well Crosshair doesn’t like that. At all.

Hear me out. Like Echo, Crosshair goes with you. He knows somethings up with him, but he trusts himself more than he trusts anyone else.

“Tell Kamino they killed me.” He instructs Hunter, “That I died trying to stop the Jedi and you managed to get justice.”

He crosses the ravine with you, only looking back to nod back to Hunter. 

By the time Crosshair, you and Caleb safely get off the planet, his headache is a small annoyance that goes away with time.

Crosshair sticks with you until he reunites with his squad and notices Omega

Welp, you got Caleb, what's one more kid?

[mitsua]

Birds of a feather

Warnings: minor SPOILERS from BNHA's ending, mentions of blood loss, major characters death

Genre: Angst Series: Boku No Hero Academia

Words' count: 1.27k Pairing: Takami Keigo × GN! Y/N

"I said I love you, don't act so surprised now!" you spat again, a blushing mess but keeping your head high watching the pro-hero Hawks go silent.

"Woah you broke him" Mirko—your soul friend—joked as she entered Hawks' office right when you confessed, staying for the chaos to ensue.

"You thought that all those times I said it it was a joke? Well, they weren't, so... do whatever you want with that now."

As you were about to leave for good, Keigo grabbed delicately your wrist, keeping you in your place—without further delay, with his other hand he cupped your cheek and kissed you on the lips.

It was hesitant and soft—so unlikely of him. Nonetheless, your stomach churned and your breathing stopped against your will, realizing his feelings for you.

Then a snap of a photograph was heard and you broke the kiss to look at Mirko. "Oh my god, this is going to be yall's wallpaper now."

"You're so full of shit, how'd you think I liked Endevour?!" you laughed in Keigo's face, the latter suddenly feeling even more embarrassed after all the events that have unfolded after he kissed you.

"I just thought it ok? You were always searching for a mission to go on with us and spoke mostly with him that I didn't think about it at all... just, felt sad about it," he pouted, carressing his cheek with his scarred hand awkwardly.

"Pfff well well, it's always been you, alright? It's just that I always got nervous around you..."

"How is it that you always manage to make me feel the most beautiful person in the world when you compliment me?" A genuine question you've come to ask yourself everyday when watching yourself in the mirror and remembering Takami's sweet words.

"Darling, what can I say, I'm such a charmer ain't I?" he teased—side hugging you and giving you a kiss on the cheek—making you blush for the uptenth time in the day.

His phone ringed.

He picked it up and his smile vanished, letting you know it was some work matter.

"Aww I wanted you to stay..." you whined, "I know chirp, I also wanted to but they say it's an urgent meeting with the boss".

"It's okay, be careful Kei".

"Kei! Keigo! Please wake up..." you begged carelessly at his hospital bed posterior to receiving a call from work yourself that let you know that Hawks had almost not made it out alive from his recent fight.

"Keigo, I love you, please... I don't wanna say goodbye, what happened to you? Ugh, I'm-I'm sorry, I.... really want you to wake up," you blabbered as tears poured out your eyes.

"Hey chirp," he barely managed to speak with a raspy voice, slowly dragging a hand to sit it at the top of your head.

"Keigo! Hey, how are you feeling?" he smiled weakly, "I've been better, thanks."

"Oh Keigo, I'm so sorry," "why are you apologizing? I'll get better, I promise".

"....I love you 'til the day that I die." You finished your vows with that.

Takami wore an appealing black suit and a smitten smile on the day of your wedding—being the happiest man on earth for getting to be your partner for the rest of your lives.

"We'll stay together...." he started his vows with—the rest will forever remain in the records that were taken of your special day.

"I'd like to raise a toast for my now pretty husband," "you're saying I wasn't pretty before?!" he feigned shock. "Yeah, that," you smirked playfully.

"Well this is to Takami Keigo—the man I've come to know for a good couple of years now and somehow stole my heart—I-I don't know what I'm crying for but-I don't think I could love you more, I'll love you 'til the light leaves my eyes." You stated glancing intently, with watery eyes towards Keigo, who stood wide-eyed but recovered with a lovely smile while everyone cheered in the background.

"Pro-hero Hawks, we've got an emergency regarding your partner's health." Were the first words he was greeted with when he picked up the phone after reading out 'Heroes Public Safety Commission' as the one calling.

He dropped the pan he was holding along the food he was cooking for when you arrived home. "What is it?!" He blurted out, picking right away his rushed and preoccupied tone to do not let his worriness be that obvious, as well as his jacket to sprint out of your shared home.

"They're currently in an encounter with the female villain named Himiko Toga—and as we're monitouring their vitals—we just saw things have escalated pretty far as they're about to die from the lack of blood." He took a moment to process everything. Himiko Toga? The one who seemed to get along with Bubaigawara? 'No, that can't be possible.'

"Get them out of the field now!" Keigo ordered or more like begged, terrible scenarios coming to his mind where he got his karma back.

But the Comission wouldn't be calling if they got everything under control... 'no, no no, this can't be happening.'

"We've tried our best to get more colleagues with them to no avail—there's more than ten villains in there right now." The monotone voice explained.

"Send me their location, now." He demanded, unbearable sensations traveling all the way from his wings to his heart and mind.

'Oh Kei, if only you could see how you look to me... you wouldn't have believed the compliments I threw your way when we were just colleagues.'

Your mind kept thinking that, as memories with your husband Takami replayed from the very start as you laid on the ground with a stab on your side and many deep cuts all around your body.

Until you felt your body taking in your last breath.

'How funny is it to not mind your breathing ever in your life until you know you're on your lasts?'

"To the microphone i'mmy suit—whoever's hearing'rig'now—tell Kei I said I'd never think I wasn't better alone." You spoke finally, slurred words giving away your condition after finishing with them.

Keigo had arrived late.

'How is it that I got to wake up but not you?!' was his first thought when getting to the bloody mess everything was left as after the fight.

"Y/n, I'm so sorry I couldn't be here with you." He grieved.

"I guess this means you don't love me anymore..." With that—the all-pink chapter ended and began a dark all-well-known, lonely era for the hero Hawks once more.

Years later, with Hawks retirement from the hero life and beginning of his work as the new Heroes Public Safety Commission's director, he noticed he's gotten slightly more time free as he so wished to for all heroes as his essencial mission as a hero himself.

He went to visit your grave—once a week he'd bring a new bouquet of your favorite flowers and once a month he'd clean it thoroughly.

And after so long, he saw a pair of eyes he never expected to ever again.

They were a replica of you—same hair, same eyes, hell he could swear you smelled the same—but he knew you weren't here anymore, because he knows that if you were—you'd be by his side.

'I knew you in another life'

'You had the same look in your eyes'

So with a heavy heart, he went back to your shared house and recited to himself your first official love confession;

'I love you, don't act so surprised'

All writings' rights reserved © 2024 Mitsua. (Credit to the respective owners of the pictures and tagged anime character.) ⌇ my navigation!

[thydungeongal]

Say someone wanted to run a dungeon crawl game (specifically for pathfinder 2e) what's a good place to start with dungeon design? Are there any like treatise on designing a good dungeon I should read?

Hmmm, this is a difficult question to answer comprehensively because there are actually so many things that go into making a good dungeon crawl, but I think this Sly Flourish article is a good starting point with links to other articles.

But if I had to give my own advice on how to design a dungeon crawl I would keep these things in mind:

Offering multiple paths with meaningful choices. Offering multiple paths of course rewards exploration and player agency, but it's easy to forget that those multiple paths don't mean much if you don't give the player characters some clues as to what to expect.

Preparing situations, not encounters. Just because a room in the dungeon has 5 goblins in it doesn't mean you should plan a combat encounter with 5 goblins. Instead, there's just 5 goblins in the room and whether it turns into a combat encounter or a social encounter or whatever should be up to the players.

Related to the above, the inhabitants of the dungeon should not be treated as simple obstacles to be overcome. The goblins guarding their treasure won't fight to the death because their primary concern is staying alive; predatory monsters in the dungeon are primarily motivated by food, not the desire to kill characters. The creatures in the dungeon should have motivations beyond fighting the characters.

Time pressure and resource management. A dungeon is basically a hostile environment and I think it's important to maintain that sense of danger through resource depletion and time pressure. Now, most old-school dungeon crawls exert time pressure simply by way of making wandering monsters a thing in dungeons. You could theoretically give the players a time-sensitive goal within the dungeon. But you don't necessarily need both.

You don't necessarily need to give the characters an extrinsic motivation for exploring the dungeon, because finding treasures and growing in power through overcoming adversity can be a powerful intrinsic motivator in and of itself. But if you do decide to give the characters some goal in the dungeon (like, get the demon idol on level 3), then there should still be content to the side of the pursuit of that simple goal to give the players more ways to exert their agency.

[s-awturn]

Moon Spell || CS55

summary: They were fated to love someone they hated. There was no spell, no grudge, no curse that could break the bond that united them, doomed to die in the feelings they fiercely nurtured. The Moon had determined it and there was nothing they could do to stop it.

“These violent pleasures have violent ends, and die in their triumph, like fire and gunpowder, which, when they kiss, consume each other. The sweetest honey is disgusting in its own sweetness, and its taste confuses the palate.”

cw: Violence, conflict, soulmates, blood, magic, alternate universe, obscenity, pure filth, chaos, fighting, swearing, intense hatred, love, mention of death, blood.

a/n: This came to celebrate Carlos' birthday and to open the new phase of my profile. This is supposed to have five chapters, no more, no less. I don't know what else to say, so read on!

starring: werewolf!Carlos x witch!Fem reader

Part One: We Were Born To Die

”Choose your last words, this is the last time 'Cause you and I, we were born to die”

Europe, 1498.

She packed all her belongings into a deep leather bag, threw in crystals, grimoires, a few candles, and other magical items; she couldn't stay there long, her hiding place had been discovered and soon crazy fanatics would be there to drag her to the stake. She couldn't waste her family's sacrifice in keeping her alive.

“Let's go, Spix, let's not wait for those madmen to take us to the fire or the gallows” she said, picking up the cat and putting it in the basket. Toledo was no longer a safe place, in fact there was no safe place, with the frightening religious fanaticism that the kings of Spain were feeding, everyone was suspected of witchcraft and heresy, women were dragged to the catacombs of churches and were never seen again.

S/N saw husbands hand over their wives, fathers hand over their daughters, everyone wanted the silver coins that the Church was offering. She needed to get away from this, S/N knew that her neighbors were suspicious of her, a woman living alone on the outskirts of the village attracted attention. She couldn't leave any room for bad luck.

She threw a black cape over her simple dress, tightened her boots, and left the house, saying goodbye silently. That house where her parents lived their entire lives, where she herself spent her life, would soon be burned down, so many memories would be turned into ashes; He didn't look back, he clutched the bag under his arm and ran into the woods, listening to Spix's meows, nestled in the bag.

The moonlight illuminated her steps, ensuring that she managed to avoid roots and holes in the ground and it wasn't long before she heard the angry shouts of the villagers, She hid behind a thick trunk and saw the torches shining in the darkness, they cried out the name of God, calling her a witch and accusing her of heresy. S/N heard her door being broken down.

It wouldn't be long before they noticed her absence and went hunting for her in the forest. She needed to run far away, get away from poor fanatics after a few dozen silver coins. Her life wasn't worth that.

She made her way to a remote part of the forest, where wolves and other wild animals hid. No villager would dare to go there, after all, no one wanted to become wolf food.

When she passed through the oak arch, a shiver shook her insides, S/N looked at the sky and the Moon shone so brightly that it illuminated small patches of darkness in the forest, and a thought made her stop: It was a full moon night and the werewolves would go out to hunt.

She was vulnerable in the middle of the woods, with only a small dagger in the pocket of her cloak and her magic. Anyway, she hoped that no werewolves would cross her path, or she would have a lot of problems besides angry Catholics.

She went deeper into the forest, even Spix's meows fell silent. In fact, there was no sound at all, the wind did not cut through the trees, the leaves did not rustle, not even the nocturnal animals screeched in their hiding places. Until a deep sound echoed, an angry growl that betrayed hunger.

Y/N gripped the dagger with trembling fingers, witches and werewolves had hated each other since the first dawn, if it really was a hungry werewolf there, she would love to devour her, just for the pleasure of destroying her; he took a deep breath and ran between the trees, whatever it was, he wasn't going to risk staying there, even though turning his back was already a high risk.

She ended up in a clearing completely lit by the moon, the exact same clearing where she and her mother used to perform rituals to thank the goddess for the harvest and the coven celebrated.

But that was before Ferdinand and Isabella began their persecution. Before she saw her friends burn at the stake, her parents die on the gallows.

A dark bark stopped her in the middle of the clearing, Y/N heard the branches being broken and the frightening sound of teeth chattering. Her heart accelerated painfully, she was terrified, maybe she could make the roots hold him, but her magic wasn't strong enough for that.

Her magic core was weak and did not have enough strength to channel forces of nature. She would have to make do with an iron dagger and the help of the goddess.

— ☽ —

It was the night of the full moon and he could feel the effects surging through his body since early on, and there was a strange feeling present in his chest. Carlos felt that something was going to happen that night, and it wouldn't just be the milestone of his thirty years of age.

He saw his father cross the small village with a group of refugees, religious madness had arrived in those parts and was terrorizing his people, there was no one who did not fear being dragged into the church basement. No one wanted to be tortured and killed.

“Stop daydreaming and go help your sister, that roof is still going to fall on her head” he heard his mother order.

“Where is her husband? That’s that lazy bastard’s responsibility,” he questioned, but received a click of his tongue in return. He growled in irritation, Carlos would beat up his brother-in-law as soon as he could. And he wouldn't care about his sister's crying or his father's lecture.

He trudged over to his sister's shack, seeing Blanca hanging from the roof, hammering some nails into the central beam. This only made him growl even more, he really was going to punch his brother-in-law in the face as soon as he got the chance.

“Blanca, what the hell are you doing there?" He stopped far enough away to see his sister, Blanca wiped the sweat on her forehead and glared at him mockingly.

“I think I'm baking bread, what do you think?” she retorted sarcastically.

“And where is your useless husband? He must be sleeping…”

“Don't talk about him like that, you know his health is fragile” She tries to defend her husband, but this only increases Carlos' irritation.

“He's a werewolf, Blanca, the only fragile thing about him is his will to work” Carlos growled “Get down from there, I'll take care of this, since your husband is as useless as a leaky bucket!”

The woman came down from the roof, and Carlos took her place, still complaining about his sister's husband and insisting on hammering the boards hard, not caring if it would wake the sleeping man. Work distracted him from the strange feeling in his chest, he didn't know how the full moon night would end, but he knew something would happen.

Only when the sun began to set on the horizon did Carlos finish repairs to his sister's house — not without landing two hard punches in the face of his brother-in-law who dared to complain about the noise. He needed to prepare, As it was the first night of the full moon, the effects would be more intense, and he needed to prepare his body and mind to allow the beast to command him.

As night fell, Carlos felt the involuntary spasms and his gums itched, the bones in his legs and arms cracked painfully, anticipating the metamorphosis.

And of course, the sensation increased along with the discomfort, the beast inside him scratched the walls, howling as if it was foretelling something. Maybe it was the villagers appearing on the edge of their land, maybe it was the witches who had returned, it could be anything.

Any damn thing.

When the transformation, he began to run between the trees, smelling the wet grass, the animals nestled in their dens, Carlos felt the wet earth under his feet and when he realized it, he was running on four legs, his peripheral vision was greater and his sense of smell could perceive things dozens of meters away.

He stopped abruptly and howled at the full moon, announcing the arrival of his birthday. That morning Carlos had turned thirty and there was nothing like fresh venison to celebrate.

He sniffed the air, searching for his prey and licked his sharp teeth when he caught the scent of a fox lurking in the bushes. The huge wolf followed the scent into the clearing, his eyes fixed on the distracted fox, he was about to pounce when a different scent filled the air.

The sweet scent of lavender and lemon hit his nose like a blow, disorienting the lycanthrope and he turned his skull, searching for the source of the smell and It wasn't long before the leaves on the far edge of the clearing parted and revealed a girl. Up close, her scent was more striking, more mystical.

Witch.

He growled, angry that she had disrupted his hunt and stirred his senses. His heart was pounding and he studied the girl, she was running away and looked terrified, the witch was sweating under her thick cloak and breathing quickly, her eyes scanning the trees and the wolf knew she was aware of his presence.

He could hear her heart beating and the wind started to blow again, carrying her scent to him and he growled, torn between wanting to smell her up close and killing her.

Werewolves had been killing witches since the beginning of time and his nature insisted that he rip out the girl's little neck. She pulled out a small metal dagger and he grunted with laughter, the little witch really thought an iron dagger would stop him.

He was eager to see her try.

With a powerful leap, the werewolf stopped in front of her, seeing her gasp in fright, her heartbeat increasing to the point of occupying all of the creature's sensitive hearing.

That was his feeling, somehow someone would die that night, either him or the little witch, after all that was the final outcome — regardless of how many ages his existence could drag on, at some point he would die. And the little witch too.

After all, all creatures are born to die.

But fate changed its course along with the path of the wind as soon as the wolf met the witch's eyes.

That could only be a bad joke from the Moon.

[honeycreammilkshake]

If that leak is real Gege may really want a sequel that has Sukuna but NOT yuji lmao, sorry Gege, I LOVE Sukuna but Sukuna without Yuji doesn't sound good, he is a good character but the rest of the cast is.....I still don't get why it was so hard to understand the huge appeal Sukuna/Yuji duo had.

Same with Yuji without Sukuna, standard safe ending with a trio safe ending, sorry I don't like those anymore

100% with you, anon. even if you don't ship sukuita, you can't deny sukuna and yuuji had one of the most fascinating relationships between a protagonist and an antagonist.

they both hate each other so deeply, but everything between them has always been much more personal than when they're fighting others. and sukuna definitely gives yuuji special treatment. he uses kozou almost exclusively for yuuji (and the one time i believe he doesn't, he's still referring to megumi as the "other" brat) to the point where it's almost like a pet name.

and what is so interesting about this is that sukuna so dismissively calls megumi "brat," in a way that i feel is trying to disassociate yuuji from the word.

there's a reason why i think of this as the sukuita divorce era and that is mostly because of how sukuna keeps claiming to not need yuuji any more, always trying to sideline yuuji in favor of others, but he also can't seem to stop obsessing over yuuji and making everything about the guy he supposedly finds boring and worthless. sukuna goes out of his way to praise/compliment others during their fights, so that everyone but yuuji (who he only ever admires in his private thoughts) seems to get some kind of in-depth commentary on their abilities, while sukuna merely insults yuuji (rather weakly, too). it's even funnier when sukuna unironically can't stop making everything about the brat even when yuuji isn't there, because when sukuna's fighting maki he still manages to frame his admiration of her skill in a way that insults yuuji, despite the fact the boy isn't even there so why does it have any relevance at all??

not only that, but sukuna loves to torment yuuji, dragging his cruel taunting out in a way he doesn't do with others. he deliberately changes back to let yuuji see the devastation of shibuya, because sukuna understands how much the needless death of strangers and innocents impacts yuuji.

and he also makes a big deal of how little he thinks of yuuji, how unthreatening and boring the brat supposedly is to him shortly after possessing megumi's body.

what's really interesting here is how, despite a chance to kill yuuji, sukuna still doesn't. in fact, he's had multiple chances to get rid of yuuji but still he keeps the brat around. maybe he finds yuuji a more worthwhile opponent after all. maybe he even wants yuuji to remain alive till the end of it all, if only to see the brat suffer through the breaking of all his ideals.

there's also the matter of how sukuna can't keep his hands off of yuuji, almost as if he misses the closeness he had when yuuji was his vessel. it's far more intimate and physical than it needs to be.

this panel in particular really showcases sukuna's overall feelings toward yuuji. he's cradling the back of yuuji's neck, almost tenderly, as he pounds his fists relentlessly on the side of yuuji's head.

yuuji drives sukuna to such violent reactions because sukuna's on the defensive with him. they both get under each other's skin and ignite a hate far more consuming than others bring out in them.

and the way yuuji also fights sukuna is so unnecessarily up-close and physical as well.

the raw emotion of yuuji beating into sukuna, his crazy side really showing in how rough and unmerciful he is right now.

sukuna draws out the worst in yuuji just as much as sukuna arguably drew out the best in him, too. if it wasn't for swallowing that cursed finger and becoming the vessel of the king of curses, yuuji wouldn't have started down this path of working so hard to save other people's lives. as he himself said, he'd never before considered putting his own strength and talents to use helping others, and never before had he considered he might be the only person capable of doing so, but seeing how sukuna caused so much devastation and death drove yuuji into becoming a fighting force for good.

and just like sukuna brings out so many overwhelmingly strong feelings in yuuji, the boy does the same to him as well. sukuna is at turns extremely aggravated and enraged because of yuuji, and surprisingly pleased because of him as well.

sukuna can keep talking big about how uninteresting and inferior yuuji is yet the moment yuuji comes into view, sukuna is all psyched up for their fight....

he even looks excited and pleased to fight with yuuji again even though he claims to have no interest in the brat .... not fooling anyone sukuna ( -. -)

sukuna also can't seem to stand yuuji looking down on him with "pity" which sparks a much more violent reaction than he had with other people when they suggested sukuna was lonely and unfulfilled with his life, or even tried to "force" sukuna into thinking like them.

i think my biggest disappointment with this series overall is how gege chose to focus so much less on these two and their dynamic. i hated it when yuuji kept getting relegated to the sides over and over, and i also didn't like it when sukuna kept having rather pointless fights with everyone but yuuji.

the fact that yuuji suddenly wanted to offer sukuna mercy and even connect with him despite hating and despising his very being before was also such an unexpected twist that i would have loved gege to expand on and give a little more context and feeling behind.

i think, with a relationship as fascinating and complex as theirs, focusing more on it would have only made jjk even greater. but sadly, gege chose not to do that. and i feel like that why a lot of the recent chapters have been rather disappointing.

thank you so much for your ask, anon! sorry for the rant i came back with.

[riordanness]

my tears ricochet - [p.jackson]

1.3K wordcount

warnings: death, serious angst

requested: no

"Okay, everyone ready?" Percy asked, his sea-green eyes searching the crowd. They locked on me for half a moment, then flitted away.

The campers looked grim, but they all nodded and put on brave faces. This was probably the last battle any of us would ever fight, but we had to try. We were the world's last chance.

Percy grimaced, held up his sword, Riptide, and cried: "For Olympus!"

"For Olympus!" The cheer echoed eerily in the dark tunnel, sounding much louder than us fifty kids should've been able to make.

"Alright," Percy said. "Everyone partner up. No leaving your partner, not for anything. Stick together, stay in sight of other pairs, and keep each other safe."

Everyone immediately started grabbing for their friends, chaos erupting like a bonfire.

Percy moved through the crowd towards me. I managed a smile, but I knew it didn't look genuine.

"Hey," I said, my voice a higher pitch then usual. I shrugged my right shoulder a little. "It's gonna be fine, alright? We've got nothing to worry about."

Percy gazed at the other campers, then back at me. "Yeah... yeah of course."

I reached over and squeezed his hand. "Hey, wanna be my partner?" I smirked a little.

Percy's face melted a little, the smile I loved so much shining through the darkness, just a little. "I guess so."

I scoffed. "You guess so? What, I'm not your best friend anymore?"

He suddenly grabbed me and pulled me into a tight hug, arms around my waist. "You're so much more than my best friend," he whispered fiercely.

My heart fluttered, and I wrapped my arms around his neck and squeezed him tight.

"Okay," I said after a moment. "Let's do this thing. And after, as long as you stay alive, lunch is on me."

I held out my pinky, and he linked his around mine. "Deal," he said, a playful gleam in his eyes.

Percy turned to the remainder of Camp Half-Blood. "Campers! Let's, uh, go fight this dude!"

I smiled. This was my best friend. My crazy sidekick. My laughter. My smile. My reason to live. My everything.

He glanced at me, grabbed my hand, and squeezed it three times. "I love you," he began.

"No matter what," I finished with a slight smile. Sadly, Percy's feelings for me were purely platonic.

He would never admit it to me, but I could tell he still had feelings for his ex-girlfriend, Annabeth Chase. She'd left him about two years ago, when her father had dragged her off to Australia.

There was nothing either she or Percy could do about it. They couldn't use phones to contact each other, and Camp Half-Blood needed Percy, so they'd made the decision to break up.

I missed Annabeth. She'd been such an amazing leader, and even though I hadn't known her super well, she'd been so nice to me. I hoped that wherever she was now, she wouldn't mind me loving her Percy.

Percy and I stood back to back, like we had for years. I knew his fighting style so well, and he knew mine just as well.

I gripped the string of my bow, aiming carefully, and releasing it. The arrow soared right into the demon's glowing red eye. Why do they always have to have red eyes?

I cursed under my breath in Ancient Greek. "Dammit," I muttered, biting my thumbnail. I needed to get closer. I needed to get rid of the boomerang thing.

"Percy!" I yelled.

"What?" He swung Riptide into the demon's ankle, cutting a bloody slit. The demon roared in pain, swatting the air in front of Percy, who stumbled out of the way.

"Keep it distracted!" I cried. "I - I think I have an idea!"

His eyes locked with mine. "Are you sure?" His voice sounded shaky.

I nodded firmly. "Yes. Don't worry. I'll come back. I always do. Pinky promise."

I ran to him, linking my pinky with his, giving him one last tight hug. "Okay, now go!" I ordered, pushing him away from me. I couldn't afford to get emotional.

I skirted around the demon's legs, rushing to the back of it. A ruined building lay in pieces, but still had enough intact for me to climb up a fair way. At least two stories, I thought.

I rushed to the building, and inside. A half broken staircase was against one wall, and I hurried up it. At the top, big stone blocks was arranged in a way that made climbing them possible, so I climbed as quickly as I could manage.

I stood at the top of the roof, my t-shirt fluttering in the wind. I brushed a loose strand of hair behind my ear, and drew my bow. I was level with the demon's other eye now. I just needed to get its attention. "Hey!" I screamed. "Ugly!"

The demon turned, and fixed its fiery eyes on me. My insides felt like a puddle of water, but I gritted my teeth and slowly raised my arm, reaching for an arrow.

Unfortunately, just as my fingertips were brushing the arrow, the demon raised it's boomerang. "Ha-di!" It bellowed.

A glowing red picture flashed in the air, and I knew in my heart that this was it, as searing pain ripped through my body, and I collapsed forward, free-falling two stories down.

Pain. Red. Flashing.

My eyes fluttered open, the harsh sunlight sending shoots of pain to my head. I groaned, but the sound that came out was barely audible.

"Y/N?"

A broken voice. Tears. Pain.

"P-Percy?" I tried to say, my vision blurry. My senses were dull; I couldn't feel anything but the horrible pain.

Everywhere. Pain. A bright light.

"No, Y/N, it's okay," my best friend said, as I lay dying in his arms. I had no idea how I was even alive at this point, I'd fallen all the way to the ground. I'd been hit by that magic spell thing, how was I even breathing?

Breathing. Pain. Ragged.

My short, laboured gasps for air sent sharp shoots of pain rocketing through my lungs and chest. My head pounded, and something warm and wet was trickling down my temple. My vision swam in and out, blurry and indistinguishable.

Pain. Crying. Love.

"No!" Percy's voice was becoming more desperate. "No! You can't take her! You can't!" He was screaming at the sky. "Leave her be! Take me instead! You can't!"

Sobs broke out of him, ripping my heart to shreds. "Don't... don't cry for me Percy," I managed. I tried to touch his cheek, but the effort to move made me gasp in pain. It was too difficult.

"Y/N..." The way he said my name, the way his voice sounded, it was like shattered glass.

"Percy," I breathed. "I love you."

"No matter what," he cried, tears in his voice.

"No matter what..." I repeated. I was losing my grip on reality. Already, my vision was slipping even further into total darkness, I couldn't feel anything but the pain. I was dying. I was.

Death. Love. Pain.

"No. No, you can't leave me, sweetheart," Percy begged. "You have to stay, you have to wake up!" He started getting frantic. "Help! Somebody help me! I need ambrosia, nectar, something..."

His voice broke, as if realisation had finally dawned on him. Nothing could save me now.

This was the end.

Campers gathered around Percy and I, crumpled in a heap on the ground. The war was won, the demons defeated, but victory had come with a price.

A sacrifice. A life. A death.

"Someone help me..." Percy sobbed, holding onto my limp body as he cried. "I love you, Y/N..."

My last glimpse of this life were of his sea-green eyes, filled with tears, as they gazed into my own. Darkness filled my vision, and everything went black.

Death. Dark. Nothing.

[fettuccinealfred0]

Til Death Do Us Part | Part 9

Series Masterlist

Astarion x f!reader, Arranged Marriage AU

Word Count: 12.5k

(CW: SMUT 18+, brief descriptions of gore, vampire biting/blood drinking, unprotected p in v sex, cunnilingus)

Summary:

“You turned me into a vampire?” You practically shriek at Astarion. You keep your palms pressed firmly into the ground, fighting against your instinct to immediately rip his throat out. It’s hard to restrain yourself. You feel like a wild animal.

There’s a flash of panic that passes over Astarion’s face before his brows knit together in confusion. “You’re angry?”

You huff out a humorless laugh, eyes turning up to the sky to check if this is some sort of cosmic joke. “Yes, I’m fucking angry, Astarion! What did you do to me? You killed me!”

“Raphael killed you!” He shoots back defensively. “You were dying! I didn’t have a choice.” 

Read on ao3 here

You can’t focus on anything other than this hunger. 

Oh. If this was how good blood tasted, how did Astarion ever manage to pull himself away from you? 

You want to fall into him and drown. You want to devour him whole. 

The aftertaste of his blood sticks heavy in your mouth when he finally tears his wrist free from your tight grasp. You need more. You never want to stop. 

“More,” you croak out and your throat feels like it’s burning.

“There are bodies everywhere, my love. Take your pick,” Astarion says. You’re cradled in his arms, and you can’t even think to question how you got there because your entire being is consumed with this burning desire for blood.

After freeing yourself from Astarion’s arms, you crawl on your hands and knees to a downed guard a few feet away. He’s still alive, but barely. You can smell the blood pouring from the gaping wound on his thigh and can hear how it rushes under his skin. You salivate.

It’s too much work to pull off his gloves to get to his wrist, so you go straight for the gap between his helmet and his chest plate, digging your teeth into his neck. His blood is sweet and rich and so good that you can’t think straight. 

The whole thing is messy and crude and violent. You can’t even bother to care right now. 

You hear yourself let out an angry growl when you’ve drained that man. More, still more. You crawl a few feet to the next body on the floor. This one is dead and their blood is stale. And still, you drink until there is nothing left. 

The more blood you consume, the more your mind clears and the sharper your senses become. Has the world always been so loud? So bright?

When you finish draining that man, still on your hands and knees on the floor, you look up to the rest of the group. You can feel the blood running down your chin and neck, staining the front of your dress. There’s blood all over you, in various stages of drying- the rusty tear tracks running down your face from the energy wave Raphael had unleashed, the thick clumps of your hair that are matted and still wet with blood from when your head had been bashed into the wall. 

Everyone's faces are painted with varying shades of displeasure and horror. Shadowheart has big, sorrowful eyes and Wyll is looking down at you as if you were a rabid animal. 

All except Astarion, who is kneeling on the ground and staring at you with a wide smile on his face, like this is the embodiment of his wildest dreams. 

You had just died and he had the audacity to be happy about it?

You burn with an anger that doesn’t fully belong to you. It’s uncontrollable. You’re scared of yourself. Everything is too much; your emotions all feel too big. 

What sort of monster had Astarion turned you into? 

The two of you had agreed that you would get to decide when you were turned into a vampire- that you would pick when and how, and it would be a lovely memory that you would get to cherish forever.

This is most certainly not that. 

“You turned me into a vampire?” You practically shriek at Astarion. You keep your palms pressed firmly into the ground, fighting back against your instinct to immediately rip his throat out. It’s hard to restrain yourself. You feel like a wild animal.

There’s a flash of panic that passes over Astarion’s face before his brows knit together in confusion. “You’re angry?”

You huff out a humorless laugh, eyes turning up to the sky to check if this is some sort of cosmic joke. “Yes, I’m fucking angry, Astarion! What did you do to me? You killed me!”

“Raphael killed you!” He shoots back defensively. “You were dying! I didn’t have a choice.” 

There’s genuine sorrow in his voice as he practically pleads with you to understand. And you do. But there’s something itching at your throat and you just died and you’re angry and you’re upset. 

It feels like you are watching yourself react, trapped away in a haze. There are tears rolling down your cheeks and desperate, heaving sobs choking their way up from your throat that have you curling in on yourself to weep. Astarion must have come to sit by you because you feel his hand run soothingly down your back. You wrench your body away from him. 

You did not want comfort. Not now. 

“You took away my choice, Astarion! Again!” You yell at him between your sobs, too aware of the way each tear feels as it rolls down your face. Everything was just too much. Everything felt wrong in your body. “My whole life, I knew I would have little control over who I married. But you took away the choice of whether I lived or died!” 

“You were human, we would have gotten to this point eventually. We had already talked about turning you.” Astarion’s hands have fallen in his lap and he looks at you with such melancholy. It makes your skin itch, to think he pities you in your current state. 

“It’s about autonomy, Astarion! It’s about choosing what happens to my body and when that happens. You of all people should understand that!”

If you were thinking clearly, you would never have brought up his past. The part of your mind that is still you and not this monstrous new version of yourself shatters as you watch his face scrunch in pain and anger. 

“So, you’re allowed to always be angry at me, but I’m not supposed to have my own feelings?” Astarion asks. “I’m just supposed to immediately forgive you and forget the fact that you invaded my privacy by reading my diary? Am I not allowed to be scared after I just watched your skull practically shatter in front of me?” 

He struggles in vain to steady the underlying shake in his voice. “Was I not supposed to do everything in my power to save you? Please, do not treat me like I have been completely unreasonable or like you have never done anything to hurt me. You know as well as I do that you would have made the same choice if I were the one lying in a pool of blood in front of you.”

And you simply sit there, powerless, as the person who knows you most intimately in the world calls your bluff. 

He’s right. He has seen right through you in the way that only he can. You had made that same exact choice when he returned home from a previous trip with that gaping wound in his side. You had not thought, you had not hesitated when you cut your hand open and fed him your blood. In that moment, all that mattered was saving Astarion by any means necessary. 

“Well, if you would have told me everything, we probably wouldn’t have even been in this mess in the first place, would we?” You shout back, trying to deflect from how Astarion had just exposed the flaws in your anger. 

To be fair, only you can comprehend the full weight of your question. Astarion still doesn’t know that you have the final gem. Nevertheless, it rings true. The communication issues have compounded on themselves. If Astarion had let you help in his search, you would not have read his diary and he would not have sent you away to be kidnapped. And if you were not kidnapped, you would not have had to fight Raphael. You would still be alive. 

Astarion’s crimson eyes flare with anger because he knows that you are right, too. You both just stare at each other, challenging the other to back down. In the background, you hear someone awkwardly clear their throat, but you and Astarion stay fixated on one another. Apparently, a side-effect of vampirism was unwavering focus. 

You break first, though, when you begin to grow impatient. 

“You say that you are not allowed to have your own feelings, but the minute you set your mind on something, my feelings on the subject become completely irrelevant. It’s all you, Astarion. It’s always about you and how you feel,” you snarl. “I have given you every opportunity to listen to me and to be honest with me and you have fought against me at every turn.”

Astarion opens his mouth like he is going to interrupt, but you cut him off.

“No. Even when you promised that you would tell the truth, you still carefully selected what insignificant information would placate me without giving me any of the meaningful details. How am I ever supposed to trust you if I doubt every word you say?”

“I have never once lied to you,” Astarion defends, his jaw locked tight.  

“A lie by omission is still a lie. Evading my questions with half-truths is still half-lying,” you point out, “Astarion, I don’t know how I can be with you if you’re unable to understand why your actions hurt me.”

“Are you-” Astarion stumbles on his words, unable to even finish the thought. But his eyes betray him, asking are you done with me?

“No, never. I-” you cut yourself off, bringing your hands up to cover your eyes and block out all the too-bright lights. Have candles always burned so brightly? “I think you were right. I think we need some space so we can both process for a bit. I need time to be angry at you. I need time to adjust.”

“My love, I’m so sorry, but that can’t happen.” He sounds so genuinely remorseful. His hands wrap around your wrists, gently pulling your hands away from where they shield your eyes from the overwhelming, flickering candlelight. You can tell Astarion wants you to be looking at him while he speaks and his eyes are soft and round with concern. “You need me now more than ever. You’re going to be hungry, going to need to feed. There’s so much I need to teach you.”

“So you’re making this decision for me, too? That’s wonderful.” You rip your hands out of his grasp. 

Why does he keep insisting on reaching out to touch you? Does he not see you struggling? Does he not remember how disorienting it was to first wake up all those years ago? You’re so aware of everything and it makes his touch against your skin practically hurt.

Some distant, detached part of your mind reminds you that he is probably looking to ground himself. Touching. Always touching. Astarion needed that comfort and you weren’t able to provide him with that right now.

You feel guilty and angry at yourself that you somehow keep hurting Astarion without even trying. You’re mourning your life and the loss of everything normal that you once knew. And you hadn’t even begun to fully process the fact that you had just killed people. It was all a blur when you had jammed your knife into Raphael’s throat but his blood was caking uncomfortably on your hands and that poor man who you had just drained on the floor might have been at the brink of death, but it was still you who killed him. 

You lean over and throw up. Bile and congealed blood force their way up your throat and leave a dirty, metallic taste in your mouth. Astarion reaches out again, and this time you let him hold the hair away from your face as you vomit on the floor. Over the sounds of your sobbing and heaving, you faintly hear a discussion before everyone leaves the room. 

And then, it is just you and Astarion and it’s finally quiet. Astarion whispers soothing words to you in a smooth, low voice that doesn’t make your eardrums feel like they’re splitting open inside your head.

When your sobs eventually diminish into little sniffles, Astarion lets go of your hair. He makes a motion like he’s going to stroke your face before he hesitates and pulls away. 

“Are you okay?” He asks softly. “The transition can be… a lot. I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking. It’s been so long since I was turned.”

“Why can’t you just leave me alone?” you ask.

Astarion’s face falls. “Is that really what you want? I’ll leave if you tell me to.”

“No,” you say, almost immediately. You look at your hands in your lap, stained an ugly, rusted brown. Your first instinct isn’t repulsion, but rather that you want to bring them up to your mouth and lick them clean, even if the blood is stale and dry. You feel disgusted with yourself. “What happened to me?”

Astarion seems at a loss for words.

“I want to go home,” you say.

Let there be some comfort, some sense of familiarity, in this tidal wave of foreign sensations.

“We can’t yet,” Astarion says. His voice is so forlorn, as if it is hurting him to see you like this. “It’s about to be daybreak and we can’t travel in the sun.”

It’s yet another reminder of everything you have lost.

“Great, just what I needed,” you scoff. 

“There’s an inn across the street. The others went over to get us rooms.”

So that’s where everybody else went. How long ago was that? How long had you been curled in on yourself on the floor, weeping and sick and desperately craving blood?

Astarion must have been trying to give you privacy. Even now, he was still taking care of you- allowing you to grieve without the other’s prying eyes and helping to take away some of the overwhelming stimulation in the room.

“I can go tell Shadowheart to prepare a bath for you, if you’d like me to?” Astarion asks, almost as if he can sense that you are getting lost in your own mind again. He offers you a little smile, “I find those help.”

Those words sounded so familiar… It takes you a moment to place that you had read them in his diary. Astarion had not meant his jab as a jab but it still makes you painfully, acutely aware of how cruelly you had betrayed his trust. You want to start sobbing again.

You simply nod at Astarion, accepting his offer, unable to find the words to say anything else. He seems reluctant to leave you, but he finally pushes himself up from the floor.

“I’ll be back in just a minute, okay?” His hand stretches out awkwardly between the two of you and when you don’t reach out to grab it, he drops it. With a shake of his head, he turns on his heel and leaves.

“Wait-” you call after him and Astarion turns to regard you curiously. You look down at your hands in your lap, feeling a bit silly that you don’t know the first thing about vampirism, despite all the months you spent married to one. “Will I need more blood? I don’t- how do I even know when I’m hungry? I don’t want to accidentally hurt someone.”

“You won’t, little flower, precisely because even now, in the peak of your bloodlust, you are still aware enough to worry about others.” Astarion’s eyes soften. “Though, it is probably a good idea for you to drink a bit more while I’m gone. Can you promise me that you’ll try?”

You nod and Astarion gives you one last fleeting smile before he is leaving the room. 

And for a moment, you close your eyes and let yourself sit in nothing but darkness. You sit until you can no longer deny your unquenchable thirst. You don’t even need to look, don’t even need to open your eyes as you drag yourself to a new source of blood.

Only, when you open them again, you are met by Raphael’s cold, dead stare and the deep gash in his throat, nearly severing his head from his body. That is not an image you will ever forget. You fall backward on your hands in horror, trying to back away from him as quickly as possible. 

Wrapping your arms around yourself, you pull your knees into your chest. You are too aware of the devilish body sitting just a few feet away from you. Raphael’s face stays at the front of your mind. His eyes had not even been that different than when he was alive, looking at you with pure nothingness behind them, like you were so insignificant that you did not even deserve to be seen.

But you had promised Astarion that you would try to drink something and the idea of blood is slowly consuming you, pushing away that horrible image. You scan the room and find another dead guard to drain. 

And you do feel marginally better after drinking some blood, so you finally pick yourself up off the ground. It feels too cold in the room. You hadn’t even realized that you were shivering. 

Out of the corner of your eye, you catch the familiar shimmer of one of the green gems, still encased in glass on their pedestals, completely unharmed by the commotion.

You step closer to them, reaching out a hand to press against the glass covering. From this close, there’s no shred of doubt in your mind- your mother’s necklace had contained the final gem all this time. But why? How did she even get one?

It seems foolish to just leave them there when Raphael had gone through so much trouble to find them. Lifting up the covers, you slide the gems off their pedestals. You’ve just tucked them into your skirt when Astarion’s voice surprises you. 

“Are you ready, darling?”

You try to gauge whether Astarion had caught you slipping the gems into your pocket, but he simply leans against the doorframe on the other side of the room. 

When you come to stand a few steps in front of him, Astarion asks,“Did you treat yourself to a snack while I was gone?” 

You nod but you can’t help the way your gaze darts nervously over to Raphael’s body at the mention of a ‘snack.’ His dead eyes feel like they have followed you as you walked across the room. 

“Oh,” Astarion’s smile drops instantly. He holds his hand out to you. “Come, let’s leave. We never have to look at him again.” 

You know Astarion means to be reassuring but you fear the image of Raphael’s cold, dead face has been burned into your retinas. 

Attempting to clear your mind, you give your head a little shake and take a deep breath before reaching your hand out to grab Astarion’s. You do not miss the subtle way he squeezes your fingers, as if he is afraid that you will drop his hand again. 

When you finally leave the room, it feels like a weight has been lifted off your shoulders. With your hands laced, you let Astarion lead you through the maze of Raphael’s house to the inn across the street, where a warm bath is waiting for you. Astarion shows you to a room. Shadowheart is there and when she sees you, she gives you the same melancholic little smile that had been painted on Astarion’s own face all night and it makes you want to roll your eyes in disgust. How long would everyone insist on treating you like you were made of glass?

“You’ll tell me if you need anything?” Astarion asks. He’s trying to keep his voice measured but there is a pleading, desperate undertone. You know he is only trying to help, but that is of little comfort to you right now. You just need time by yourself.

You nod stiffly at him and he awkwardly clears his throat, finally dropping your hand. 

“I love-” 

“Don’t,” you cut Astarion off. “Please, don’t do that to me right now.”

Astarion’s brow creases in displeasure and he turns on his heel to leave immediately. You stare after him, watching his figure retreat to the room next to yours. He shuts the door with an angry slam. 

Where there would normally be a heavy ache in your chest, there is nothing. Just a deep dread settling in your stomach.

When you close the door to your own room, Shadowheart’s back is turned. Seizing your opportunity, you quietly tuck the gems into a drawer in a dresser. You aren’t entirely sure what possesses you to keep them a secret, but after so long of being kept in the dark by Astarion, it’s only fair you get to have a secret of your own for a while. 

Shadowheart helps you peel off your dress, which is stiff and hard where the blood has dried into the fabric. 

“I sent Gale into the city to get us all new clothes. I fear this dress is beyond repair,” Shadowheart says, wrinkling her nose in disgust. “Hopefully, he’ll come back with something at least somewhat presentable for you to wear on the ride back. You never know though. It is Gale, after all. He only ever wears purple.” 

There’s a small smile on her face and you can tell she is trying to raise your spirits. It was usually easy to goad you into poking fun at Gale. But this time, you just hum in response. The idea of laughter seems too foreign, too impossible right now. 

In the tub, you let her scrub the dried blood off your skin as you numbly stare ahead at the wall. The water surrounding you turns an unpleasant shade of red. 

After your skin has been cleaned, Shadowheart gives you a towel and instructs you to stand behind the dressing screen in the corner of the room. She calls upon some of the workers from the inn and they refill the tub with fresh, clear water. 

You climb back and sink into the warm water, watching the steam curl around the edges of the tub. Shadowheart lets you sit there as long as you want and you stay until long after the water has grown cold and started to make you shiver.

Shadowheart helps you into the dress Gale brought back from the city (which is indeed a rich, deep purple). You’re too aware of the way the once-soft velvet scratches uncomfortably against the skin of your arms. 

It’s only after you’ve dressed and Shadowheart has put your hair into a simple braid down your back that you pass by a mirror. You don’t see yourself. Immediately, you try to conjure the last glimpse of yourself that you had gotten in the mirror before you left on your trip. Even then, the image in your mind is fuzzy- you had not been paying attention to details. You had not known it would be the last time you would ever see yourself. 

Tears begin welling up in your eyes again.

“Let’s just cover that, why don’t we?” Shadowheart says, turning the mirror around to face the wall.

You spend the rest of the afternoon just sitting in your room in the inn with the curtains drawn and the lights all turned off. It should be silent and dark. It isn’t. Somehow, your new senses cause you to hear every creak and groan of the building. You can hear the mice in the walls, smell the blood of all the other bodies moving in the building.

How did Astarion manage to live like this? 

Eventually, Shadowheart knocks on your door to let you know the sun has set and it is time to leave. You follow her outside, down the cobblestone streets of the city to a stable on the outskirts of town.

Everyone else is standing together. They all look better- washed and free of grime and dressed in fresh clothes. You would almost be relieved to see them if they didn’t all immediately fall quiet in your presence. It makes you feel murderous.

“Glad to see you’re feeling better.” Halsin breaks the silence with a friendly smile. 

“I may look like it, but I certainly don’t feel better,” you hiss back, even though you know Halsin does not deserve your anger. “Just because I am no longer vomiting blood on the floor doesn’t mean that I’m not in constant agony.”

Everyone’s eyes dart around nervously, like they’re unsure what to say in such an awkward situation.

Astarion laughs, with a roll of his eyes. “Oh, stop being melodramatic, you’re perfectly fine. You’re adjusting.” 

Of course, Astarion looks beautiful in the moonlight. His hair is silver and incandescent, shining brightly against his dark, black coat. 

“You don’t get to tell me how I feel!” You snap at him, crossing your arms over your chest in defiance.

“So, what?” Astarion asks you. “You’re just going to keep behaving like a-”

“Ehem,” Gale interrupts. “Not that… this isn’t fun to watch and all, but we need to leave if we want to make it back by sunrise.”

You and Astarion lock heated gazed for a moment longer before you’re shoving past him to the rest of the group. Everyone else is standing next to horses, which have been saddled and prepared for the ride back to the Ancunin manor. 

“Horses,” you say, a bit surprised.

“They were quicker than carriages,” Astarion answers, coming to stand by your side. His gloved hand brushes against your own for just a moment. “I wasn’t about to leave you with that vile man a second longer than was necessary.”

“There’s not enough of them for me or Shadowheart to have our own,” you observe.

“You’ll ride with me and she can ride with Lae’zel,” Astarion says, as if the answer was so obvious.

“No, I will not be riding with you!” You look at Astarion, incredulous. “You’re not allowed to make decisions for me anymore.” 

Since Shadowheart already has a riding partner, you turn to your next closest friend, Halsin. “Can I ride with you?”

To put it bluntly- you’ve never seen cool, collected, go-with-the-flow Halsin look more uncomfortable and unsure in his life. He obviously doesn’t want to be in the middle of your and Astarion’s argument. Astarion is glaring daggers at Halsin. That selfish, monstrous part of you which has grown louder since your turning feels a bit vindicated that Astarion is jealous.

Halsin clears his throat nervously. “I’m truly sorry, my lady, but propriety dictates that you can’t ride with a man that’s not your husband.”

Of course. Silly you, thinking that a friend would be willing to help you in your time of need.  Could this day get any worse?

You turn to your backup plan- the only other woman who does not already have a riding partner. 

“Karlach, please.”

“Not a good idea.” Astarion interrupts. “We don’t know if you can control your bloodlust, darling. I’m the only person here you can’t hurt.”

Selfish bastard. Why does he now suddenly feel the need to control even the most minute details of your life, like who you ride on a horse with? Does he no longer love you enough to offer you this small sense of comfort in what has been an obviously distressing time?

“Please,” you ignore him, begging Karlach again.

“Alright,” she agrees warily. “But if I catch you staring at my neck for too long, you have to get on with him.”

“Deal,” you say, reaching out to shake her hand. 

Which, maybe, is not the most sensitive thing to do the day after you had just resolved Astarion’s deal with a devil. He shoots you an annoyed look. 

The first half of the ride is quiet and contemplative. Every time you turn to look, Astarion’s eyes are already on you and he’s got this distant, faraway look that tells you he’s a bit too lost in his thoughts. You can feel everyone else watching you carefully, as well, like you are a ticking time bomb bound to explode at any moment. 

It does not occur to you until hours into your journey that perhaps Astarion had been so insistent on you riding with him because he is worried that you are going to leave him the moment that you get home. In his mind, perhaps he was simply trying to spend one last moment with you. Perhaps he even believed he could convince you to stay. It was just the kind of foolishly insecure thing that Astarion would think. He should know better by now- you were not so easy to chase off, even if you had complicated feelings about him at the moment. 

And the ride continues in silence until eventually, Karlach nearly bursts with the need to talk. The two of you start chatting, with others joining in occasionally. Everyone seems to start relaxing around you, now that you have proven that you are not completely feral. 

Ultimately, the ride home is uneventful. Karlach talks and by the end, her mood is so infectious that she even gets you to laugh a couple times. You’re so grateful for her humor, it was just the amount of levity you needed. 

You’re sure that you’ve never been more happy to be home before and you're desperate to be inside. As you walk from the stables back toward the manor, you find yourself fantasizing about how wonderful it will feel to lie down on your bed, even if you don’t need sleep anymore. 

Lifting your foot, you move to step over the entryway. Except, you’re stuck. It’s as if there’s some sort of invisible wall barring you from entry. 

Of course, because vampires can’t enter a residence without permission.

Astarion’s got a little smirk on his face as he stands in the hallway, looking back at you stuck outside. 

“I’m waiting for you to ask nicely, little flower,” he teases. 

“Can I come inside?” You spit out through gritted teeth.

Astarion looks like he’s considering it for a minute before he frowns. “Not nice enough, try again.”

“Oh, beloved husband, can I please come into our house?” You ask, voice dripping with sarcasm. But you plaster a sweet smile on your face at the end and Astarion seems to have had his fun with you, anyway. 

“Welcome home, darling. Please, do come inside. You’re keeping everyone waiting,” Astarion says, sweeping into an overdramatic, elegant bow.

You make sure to shove his shoulder with your own when you pass him. 

Shadowheart has already drawn the heavy curtains for you when you enter your room. 

The first thing you do is carefully tuck the gems away in the hollowed out book on your bookshelf. You could deal with that problem later. For now, it was time to wallow.

For hours, you lie in bed, staring up at the mahogany panel on top of your four poster bed. It all feels wrong. You’re so tired, but no matter how hard you try, you can’t will your body to sleep. You wish you had some book, like Essential Knowledge on Being a Vampire, to teach you how to solve this issue.

Later that evening, there’s a knock on your door and you open it to find Astarion.

“I have something for you,” he says, producing a jar of sloshy red liquid from behind his back. 

“It’s not fresh,” you say with a twinge of disappointment.

“You’re too spoiled, pet.” Astarion laughs. “I lived on nothing but rats and bugs for 200 years. I assure you, many vampires would kill for stale human blood.”

You pout, hoping that trick still works and Astarion will give in to you. “Why can’t you just call up one of your snacks for me? Why do I have to drink it like this?”

“Now, now, darling,” Astarion reprimands you as he finally steps past you into your bedroom. “It took me a very long time to curate such a wonderful collection of vintages. The last thing I need is for you to drain one of them dry and scare the rest off.”

“So, I’m stuck with that then?” You ask, pointing to the jar of blood in his hand. 

“Or drinking from me,” Astarion shoots you a flirty wink. “I’m more than happy to drink enough to sustain the both of us.”

That hungry, lustful part of you runs wild with the idea. You and Astarion could spend your nights wrapped together again, but now it would not just be him biting you. Now, you could bite back. You could finally taste him.

But that doesn’t seem like a good idea with the current state of your marriage- it would just add confusion and more unnecessarily complicated emotions.

“I don’t want anything else from you, Astarion.” Your harsh words aren’t filled with the normal tenacity behind them. 

It’s all too much, the constant smells and having to hold yourself back from sinking your teeth into everyone around you. You collapse into a chair in the corner of your room. 

“I’m so tired, but I can’t sleep,” you confess in a quiet voice. 

You know Astarion heard you. Now that you are a vampire, you understand the sensitivity of vampiric hearing. 

Astarion places the jar of blood on the table next to you. You’re reminded of so long ago, that first day you were here, when Astarion kept sending you food even though you were determined not to eat. He was too good at this- at caring for you even when you were determined to be difficult.

“That comes with time,” Astarion assures you, sinking to his knees in front of where you sit. He looks unsure for a moment before he reaches out, grabbing your hands in his own and pulling your attention to him. “I know that you’re stubborn and impatient and you just want everything to go back to normal, but things have changed. It will take time. I have learned the hard way that you cannot just rush past all the hardships in life, no matter how desperately you wish to.”

Astarion’s thumb traces soothing circles on your hand as he continues speaking, “We’re both here and we’re both safe. And I know you need time to be angry at me. And though I know I will forgive you, I’m still hurt by your invasion of my privacy. So… let’s just… spend some time apart. And know that whenever you decide you’re ready, I’ll be waiting for you, okay?” 

Astarion reaches out, ghosting his thumb along your cheek as the corner of his mouth quirks up in a half smile. “And don’t rush, we have all the time in the world, my love.”

You nod, unable to speak in fear that tears will start welling up in your eyes again. Gods, was this some sort of horrible symptom of vampirism that you just kept crying all the time? If so, you need to figure out how to deal with that quickly, because these constant tears were a nuisance. 

Astarion gives your hand a little squeeze before he’s rising from where he kneels on the floor, turning to leave your room. 

“I- thank you, Astarion,” you say when he’s in the doorway. He pauses but doesn’t peek over his shoulder to look back at you, as if he knows that will cause you to lose the nerve to continue speaking. “I don’t say that to you often enough, but know that I am very grateful for all that you’ve done for me.”

—------------

The next evening, there’s another gentle knock on your door but no one is there when you open it. The only thing you see is a leatherbound book propped up next to your door. 

It looks remarkably similar to Astarion’s diary and it must have been left by him, but there was no way he was just… giving you his diary, right? Not when it was still such a sore subject between the two of you. 

What, was this some sort of weird way to test your loyalty?

You debate whether you should ignore the gift completely but as usual, your curiosity gets the better of you. After grabbing the book, you curl up on your bed and open the front cover. 

The first thing you see is your name, your actual name, which Astarion called you so rarely. It’s written in his beautiful, looping cursive and it nearly pulls the breath from your lungs when you see it.

Underneath your name, the first page is a letter to you.

My dear wife,

I know that you are inquisitive by nature and I am sure you are filled to the brim with questions about being a vampire. It seems unfair of me to turn you into one and then send you off into the metaphorical dark, so I thought I might offer you some advice. As you have learned, I have grown to find writing rather cathartic, so I thought it fitting to write to you about my own experiences as a vampire. I hope this will help ease your transition. 

Please, forgive me if I have forgotten anything. I have tried hard to think of everything you might ask and I like to think that I know you very well, but I am not nearly as creative in my curiosity as you are. 

With all that I am, know that I love you.

Your husband, 

Astarion

When you turn to the next page, a loose sheet of folded paper flutters out. There are only two sentences scribbled hastily on the paper.

I told you I would give you your space. I intend to honor that promise.

Oh, how unexpected and perfectly timed. Just yesterday, you had been wishing for a book exactly like this. It was as if your husband, Astarion, had read your mind.

Your insides feel warm and fuzzy as you hold the book to the chest, over the spot where your heart used to beat. For the first time in a long time, you have hope that everything will be okay again, that your anger will fade and love will bloom in its place, a love that was far more radiant than ever before. 

—------------

Slowly, you lose track of time. You spend a little time feeling sorry for yourself and a little time feeling sad. But mostly, you spend a lot of time not really feeling anything at all. There’s just numbness and staring at the hypnotic, swirling patterns of the wallpaper in your bedroom. 

Time moves. You don’t. 

You feel dead. Guess that makes sense. 

You settle into a new routine. Sometimes, you and Astarion bump into each other around the manor and you’re both cordial and polite, scared of intruding in the other’s space. 

You miss him. You spend your evenings rereading the book he had written for you, tracing your fingers over his lovely handwriting. But at times, the anger inside you still flickers back to life. You do not dare to approach Astarion until you are sure the flames of anger within you are long dead.  

“You know, he could have turned you into a spawn,” Shadowheart says one day. It’s enough to finally shock you out of the monotonous routine of self-pity that you had found yourself in. 

“What’s the difference?” You scoff. 

You were faintly aware of the difference between true vampires and spawn but the subject had not been discussed in any great detail in the book Astarion had written for you. You know this is due to the traumatic nature of his own life when he was a spawn. 

“He gave you his blood,” Shadowheart answers. “You’re a full and true vampire. You aren’t bound to serve him; you aren’t forced to obey his commands.” 

Shadowheart is purposefully avoiding your eyes while she continues to braid your hair. 

“You know, I thought he was going to make you a spawn,” she says. “Trust me, I’m happy that he made the right choice and didn’t. But for a second, it really looked like he was considering…” She trails off and sighs. “Well, I guess I didn’t think he would be able to resist guaranteeing that you could never leave him.”

“Why are you bringing this up now?” You ask. “Are you just trying to point out that my life isn’t as bad as it could be?”

“No, stop being difficult,” Shadowheart punctuates her statement with a tug on your hair that is a bit rougher than what is necessary. “I’m just trying to paint a full picture for you. What you do with that information is up to you.” 

She falls into a contemplative silence for a moment before she finally says, “Though, it is rather annoying when the two of you are fighting. I have to go out of my way to avoid two places. When you’re together, I only have to avoid one room.”

You roll your eyes at her comment.

“Something still feels wrong,” you confess. “It still feels like he’s controlling every aspect of my life. He decided we would be married. He decided that I was not allowed to know any details of his past or about his deal with Raphael. He was the one who decided that we would go on the trip which got us kidnapped. He decided to turn me into a vampire. He confined me to this house and made me a prisoner of the sun.”

Shadowheart sighs. “Have you tried telling him any of this? Tried explaining how you’re feeling? Have you asked him what he’s been thinking and feeling?”

“I already made it perfectly clear what I think.”

“No, you yelled at him,” Shadowheart says. She finishes braiding your hair and moves to lean against the vanity to look down at you. 

“How do I explain…” She looks off into space as she thinks for a moment before she turns back to you. “Look, Astarion has had a long and traumatic life. Have you really not noticed how he shuts down when people raise their voices around him? Same as how you start spewing insults you don’t always mean. You fight, he flees. Neither of you are capable of listening to the other in that sort of state.”

Damn her. That’s a good point. When did she have time to notice all this about the two of you? 

The realization washes over you like a wave- for all your anger about Astarion never listening to you, you had neglected to see that you had been ignoring Astarion’s needs, as well. 

This intervention from Shadowheart was good. This was what you needed- someone to shake you awake from the haze you had been trapped in so you could finally see all the damage you were causing. 

“Oh gods, I’m a horrible person, aren’t I?” you groan, letting your head fall into your hands. “I’ve been a terrible wife.”

You hear Shadowheart’s twinkly laugh and her voice is amused. “Stop being so dramatic all the time. You’re just as bad as Astarion.” 

You shoot her a look of warning between the fingers covering your face, even if you secretly relish the fact that she brought up your and Astarion’s similarities. 

“And you’re not a horrible person.” She pats your back in a comforting, reassuring motion. “You’ve been through a lot of very big life changes in the last year. You’re adapting. You’re learning. And I wouldn’t even say you’ve been too harsh on Astarion. He can get a bit too full of himself. He needs someone like you to keep his head screwed on. The two of you just need to talk and actually listen to one another for once.”

“You’re strangely wise, when you want to be,” you tell her.

She shrugs, but you see her smile.

—-----------

Astarion’s faces away from the door when you approach the study, focused on the stack of books next to him. For a moment, you silently watch him hunt along the different rows in the bookshelf before he places a book and grabs a new one from the stack. He must be reorganizing. 

You reach out and knock on the door to draw his attention. 

“You don’t need to knock if the door is open, Gale,” Astarion says, annoyed. He doesn’t even bother to turn around.

“Oh, I- I’m not Gale,” you stutter out nervously. You fear that he will be disappointed when he sees you- that the beautiful smile that used to light up his face whenever you entered the room will be gone.

But instead, Astarion’s head whips around to look at you. He nearly drops the book that he’s holding, but he manages to catch it before it clatters to the floor. It’s a clumsiness that is so uncharacteristic of Astarion, who always moves so gracefully and elegantly. You have to hide your smile. 

Here’s this man, this vampire- so powerful and so strong- and your mere presence makes him so nervous that he nearly drops everything he is holding. 

“And thank the gods for that. One Gale is already bad enough,” Astarion jokes and you manage a soft laugh at that. The smile on his face is lovely and you’re struck by the urge to just stand and watch him for hours, to study him how you used to. He tilts his head a bit to the side, in question. “What are you doing here? I thought you still weren’t speaking with me.”

“I came to apologize,” you tell him.

“Whatever for? You haven’t done anything wrong.”

“Well, that’s not true at all. I’ve done plenty wrong. And I’ve actually been a bit of a tyrant as of late.” You laugh, though you are sure Astarion made his comment earnestly. You were starting to realize that he viewed you as far more infallible than you actually are. 

“You’ve been going through a big change,” Astarion continues to defend your actions.

“Please, don’t make excuses for my bad behavior. Will you just hear me out for a couple minutes?” you ask. “After, you can tell me to leave or stay or say whatever you’d like but right now, I need you to be quiet and let me speak, okay?”

Astarion nods. 

You take a deep breath and ready yourself for the speech you had prepared in your head. You had been working on it for the greater part of a day, trying to sort through your thoughts and figure out how to vocalize everything in a way that could be easily understood. You had even forced Shadowheart to listen to you practice it earlier, though she was a rather unwilling participant. 

“First of all,” you begin. “I’m sorry I read your diary and I’m sorry I haven’t given you a heartfelt apology yet. That diary was yours and I know that I never should have touched it. It’s as simple and as complicated as that. And I kept giving excuses to justify my actions rather than actually apologize, but I fully recognize that any frustration I felt about you not being upfront with me never warranted invading your privacy. I truly, sincerely apologize. It will never happen again.”

Astarion surveys you curiously, though his face remains soft and open. It’s a good sign, at least, that he seems receptive to your apology. 

You continue speaking. “And when you confronted me, rightfully angry, I got upset and yelled at you because I felt guilty. I need to stop doing that- I need to learn to take a break when I feel myself getting upset. I know that I can be mean when I’m provoked and I lash out and hurt other people. It happened when you tried to distance yourself from me, it happened when you found me with your diary, and it happened again right after you turned me.”

“I won’t apologize for what I said after you turned me. I stand by all that. I’m allowed to be frustrated and angry at the world. But I am sorry that I took that frustration out on you. That wasn’t fair of me.” You can feel yourself growing more and more impassioned the longer you speak, so you try to tamper yourself down to a calmer level. 

“I promise that I am going to do better at listening to you Astarion, but I need you to promise me that you will do the same. I need to see changes,” you implore. “I feel like I have made it perfectly clear by now, but let me be overly explicit for a final time- I don’t like when you make my decisions for me. I know that it is supposed to be my place as a woman to defer to your judgment, but frankly, I think that’s stupid.” 

The corner of Astarion’s mouth tilts up in a grin- he always did love your pluckiness. 

You feel a phantom heart beating in your chest as you continue speaking. “I have a mind and a will of my own and it is unfair to make me do things that I don’t want to do. A part of me will always be sad that I wasn’t able to enter into our marriage or choose to be a vampire of my own free will. I don’t want my memories of you to be tainted by that. I value and respect your opinion, but please, trust me to be the one to make my own choices from now on.” 

“And lastly, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” You look up to the ceiling, trying to force down the tears that you feel brimming in your eyes. This was the part of your speech you had been dreading the most, the part that you had not rehearsed with Shadowheart because it felt too personal. But if you had ever inadvertently contributed to Astarion’s pain by being too forward in your intimacy, you needed to apologize to him. “It’s not a valid excuse but I didn’t know about your past, Astarion. You have to believe me. I know that I probably pressured you into uncomfortable situations because I was so insistent. Please know that there will never be enough words to tell you how sorry I truly am.”

“And… I miss you, Star. I can’t tell you how many times I've reread the note at the beginning of the book you gave me. I think I practically have it memorized at this point.” You breathe out a shaky laugh. “Okay, that’s… I think that’s everything I wanted to say.”

You pull your gaze back down from the ceiling to gauge Astarion’s reaction. He just looks stunned. Which is fair, you did just dump a lot on him. 

And then Astarion just keeps staring at you, like you have broken his brain completely. The longer you wait, the more nervous you get and eventually, you have to close your eyes, terrified of the rejection that you are certain is coming. You can feel yourself start to panic a bit as you prepare for Astarion to tell you to get out and how could he ever love someone as weak and stupid as you?

Instead, you feel his arms wrapping around you. You cling to him, burying your face in his chest and letting the tears that had been building finally leak out.

He’s so much warmer than you remember. 

Astarion tilts your chin up so he can look at you and he brushes away the tears that have fallen down your cheeks.

“I don’t know where to start,” Astarion says, at a loss for words. He gives you a sweet smile. “For what it’s worth, I already forgave you long ago for reading my diary.”

The crushing weight that had been sitting on your chest for so long finally lessens. You feel so light now that you can breathe again.

Astarion’s thumb continues tracing along your cheek and his eyes watch the motion, rather than stare into your own. You are too familiar with the fact that it can be easier to get your feelings out without the pressure of eye contact. 

“I see now that I was wrong, too. I’m sorry that I didn’t fully trust you. It’s just-” Astarion huffs and his brow furrows, “How do I explain this? You saw me as the man I am now, detached from all my trauma and background, and you loved that person. And for so long, I was scared that if I admitted my past to you, you would no longer see me as the man you knew and loved. I didn’t want to ruin the illusion for you. I realize now that I was mistaken.”

You’re stunned, partially because Astarion just admitted he was wrong and that was a minor miracle in itself. But also, you had never considered that Astarion might have been afraid that his past would make you see him differently. 

And you do, but not in any way that matters. He just feels like a more complete person now. All those little reactions and details you could never place finally make sense. 

Astarion wipes away another stray tear rolling down your cheek. “And I need you to trust me, little flower. I need you to hear me when I say that I love you and I want you. I like having sex with you. Believe me, I don’t do anything that I don’t want to anymore. I’m past that point in my life.”

And with his words, Astarion continues to quell any shadows or doubts in your mind. It feels wonderful to finally speak so freely with each other. 

“And now, it’s my turn to apologize,” he says. “You’re right. I haven’t been listening to you. Throughout our whole marriage, you’ve basically been shouting from the rooftops that all you wanted was to make your own choices and I kept making them for you in fear that you might choose to leave me. That’s not fair of me, either- I need to trust that if you love me as much as you say that you will choose me.”

Astarion pauses, sighing gently, “And I’m sorry for the circumstances surrounding your death but I won’t apologize for the outcome. You know that I am a deeply selfish man. I wasn’t going to lose you- not now and not ever. I will not apologize for what is done, only that my actions have caused you pain. I know nothing I can say will make this… right. And it probably wouldn’t help you feel better, anyway. But know that I am here with you, every step of the way; as a mentor, as a friend, as a lover. However you want me, you have me.”

“What about as a husband?” You tease. 

“Well, that can certainly be arranged,” Astarion says as a devilish grin splits across his face.

“I love you,” you tell him. “Thank you for waiting for me. Ever since you caught me with your diary, all I’ve wanted is to go back to how it was before.”

“I don’t think we ever will be able to go back to how it was before,” Astarion says, and his words fill you with a deep sadness. Your face falls but Astarion is still smiling. A real one, not a performative one. “It will be better this time; we’ll be true equals.”

“Equals. I like that.” You smile back at him. His knuckles stroke lovingly along your jaw.

“And now I should probably tell you that I actually kind of like that you get a bit nasty when you’re angry,” Astarion says with one of those smirks that makes you want to get into all sorts of trouble with him. “Maybe just direct that at other people in the future.”

You laugh. “Just point and I shall destroy your enemies with my vicious mockery.”

“Oh, yes. Yes, please.” He giggles in delight. “That sounds wonderfully entertaining.”

And it feels so good now that everything is out in the open. Like you and Astarion are truly seeing each other for the first time as you embrace, grinning like love-struck fools. 

“How have you been?” Astarion interrupts the moment, his voice turning more serious. “I feel like I’ve hardly seen you.”

“Um, it could be worse, I guess? I could be dead.”

Astarion frowns at your joke. Note to self- don’t joke about your death with Astarion. 

But you’re not sure how exactly to explain the fog that it feels like you’ve been trapped in for the past… Actually, you don’t even know how long it’s been since you’ve been turned. You lost track of time. Has it been weeks? Months? 

Now doesn’t feel like the time to unload all that on Astarion. You had just gotten him back, you weren’t about to go chasing him away again with new issues. You would wait until later. Maybe even bringing it up as you cuddle in bed so you do not have to watch how his pretty face twists with worry at your confession.

You deflect by turning the attention back to him. “Thank you for all that you’ve done for me. You must have been pretty busy trying to get all that blood for me.”

For a moment, Astarion looks like he wants to pry into what’s on your mind, but he resists. It was time to trust each other and that involved having faith that the other person would bring up issues when the time felt right for them. 

“Ugh, you don’t even know, pet. It’s more work than I’ve done in years,” Astarion complains. “I have to think about what I want and then go and ask Gale for it and that always takes forever. I was made for looking pretty, not for organizing blood draws.”

You giggle at his theatrics. “Well, if you’re going to be so dramatic about it, I’ll go offer my thanks to Gale instead.”

You move to pull away from Astarion but he catches your wrist and pulls you tighter against his chest.

“Don’t you dare.”

Is this Astarion initiating?

He’s looking at you with hungry, red eyes and the way his hand rests just a bit too low on your back isn’t entirely innocent. 

You chew on your lip, debating in your mind whether you should just lean forward and kiss Astarion. You haven’t fully adjusted to the new sharp fangs inside your mouth and you found yourself forgetting them constantly. You let out a little hiss at your mistake and your finger comes up instinctually to dab away the bead of blood from your lip. 

You stare at the drop on your finger, entranced, former train of thought completely lost. The room fades away and for a moment, there’s only blood. 

And then, Astarion reaches out to grab your wrist and he sucks your finger into his mouth with a moan that should send him straight to the hells. Your brain goes blank, yet again, as you watch how he slides your finger out his mouth, never breaking eye contact with you. 

Your whole body feels like a live wire. Reaching out, you tug Astarion down by the back of his neck to press your lips against his. You had been without him for so long and now, you’re ravenous. 

This isn’t one of those sweet, loving kisses that you and Astarion share so often. There is nothing loving about this kiss- only hunger. As if you can make up for lost time by consuming one another whole. 

Your lips crash against his, two sets of fangs ripping and tearing into one another’s skin. There’s blood everywhere- coating your lips and electrifying your taste buds and trickling down your chin. 

And just for a second, you hesitate. Did he want this? You hadn’t checked. You had pulled him down and kissed him and, sure, he had kissed you back, but that doesn’t mean he wants more. Despite his words earlier ensuring you that he enjoys physical intimacy with you, your doubts are still present. You aren’t sure how to act anymore. 

Astarion, sensing your moment of hesitation, pulls away immediately.

His voice is low and hoarse. “What’s wrong?”

You try to find the right words. “I just- I’m sorry. I should have asked. Did you want me to kiss you?”

Astarion chuckles. “I always want you to kiss me. But please, no doubts, my love. I promise I’ll tell you if I don’t want to do something. But this-” His hand traces along the curve of your ass as he moves his lips down to brush against yours, “this is me initiating. Trust me, I’m nearly out of my mind with how badly I want you.”

His words send a shock straight to your cunt. 

“Get back here, then,” you practically growl, pulling him down by the collar of his shirt.

Your lips collide again and the world closes in around you- there is nothing but you and Astarion and this impossible need to be closer. You can’t think past the hunger itching at the back of your throat and the molten fire pooling in your cunt. 

You urge Astarion backward until his back is pressed against the bookshelf. You must overestimate your own vampiric strength because a few books are knocked off the shelf and Astarion lets out a little exhale of ‘oof.’

“Sorry,” you apologize into his mouth, not bothering to fully separate your lips from his. 

“Don’t be, pet,” he says in a breathy pant. “I like when you lose control.”

Fuck, you need to lose control more often if it makes Astarion talk like that.

Your hands move down, untucking Astarion’s shirt from his trousers and you ghost your fingers over his abdomen. It’s still shocking how warm his skin feels now that you have become a vampire. You had grown so used to the cold. 

Astarion separates his lips from yours only long enough to pull his shirt up over his head and throw it somewhere in the room. 

There are hands everywhere. Your hands move down the planes of Astarion’s chest, continuing downward to trace over the outline of his cock hardening in his pants. And his hands pull you so tightly against him- one follows the curves of your body and the other comes up to thread through your hair. He gently tugs at the roots, tilting your head back to give himself easier access to lick into your mouth. 

Eventually, you part from his lips and they’re all swollen and bloody and wet. His beauty will always stun you.

Gods, and how does he smell even better now? 

You run your nose along the column of his throat. There’s bergamot and rosemary and underneath that, the intoxicating scent of the blood sitting still in his veins. He must have fed recently. You can’t even bother to be jealous that someone else got to experience the ecstasy of Astarion drinking from them because he smells so good.

“Go on, little love. You can have a taste,” he murmurs against the shell of your ear. He’s a bit breathless, as if he can’t contain his excitement at the idea. 

You take his permission and bite into Astarion’s skin, careful to pick a spot far away from the twin scars on his neck. This was meant to be a new memory, separated literally and metaphorically from the struggles of his past. 

His blood is so fresh after so much time of only drinking blood from the jars stored in the cellars. Astarion lets you swallow a few mouthfuls before he guides you back up, crashing his mouth against yours again and chasing after the taste of himself in your mouth. 

Astarion continues kissing you, but he presses forward, forcing you backward until your back hits the edge of his desk. You raise your hips to sit at the edge, widening your legs so he can slide between them. 

He fiddles with the buttons on the back of your dress while he continues to kiss you senseless and you sigh into his mouth, picturing his wonderful hands at work.

“There’s too many-” Astarion cuts himself off with a growl and you hear a sharp ripping noise as he tears open the back of your dress. “Too many buttons.”

“I liked this dress,” you huff and Astarion leans down to press a kiss to your collarbone in apology as he begins bunching up your skirts. 

“I’ll buy you a new one,” he says, as he helps pull your dress over your head. He presses his lips to yours again, slow and sweet and a complete shift in tone. He leans his forehead against yours, “I’ll buy you whatever you want.”

It’s a sweet sentiment. You’ll appreciate it more later when you can think clearly again. 

Taking a moment to appreciate the sight of Astarion before you, you try to commit this moment to memory. You try to memorize the way that the rivulets of blood running down his chin highlight the lovely blush staining his cheeks.

And over his shoulder, you notice that the door is still wide open. 

“The door’s still open,” you squeak out. You don’t love the idea of someone barging in on you and Astarion’s private moment, but you hate the idea of parting from him long enough for one of you to shut the door more. 

Astarion must have a similar thought because he chuckles, deep and dark, as his hands grip the back of your neck, pulling your gaze back to his face. His thumb runs down the hollow of your throat and you feel yourself gulp. Astarion watches your throat move, entranced. “They all know better than to interrupt us. And if they don’t… Well, I wouldn’t say no to a snack, would you?”

The idea of draining someone dry with Astarion makes you salivate. Something to look forward to in the future. 

Astarion kisses you again, pushing you to lean back at an angle on the desk and distracting you from the lovely images that you had concocted in your imagination. His mouth moves down to nip at your skin and kiss along your collarbones.  

“You still have to get past my corset,” you tease. “Can’t rip your way through that one.” 

“I can try,” he practically growls, one of his hands coming up to trace menacingly along the boned seams. 

“Don’t,” you grip his chin and turn his gaze up to yours. His eyes light up at your command. 

Astarion listens and helps you remove the rest of your clothing. Miraculously, your corset and chemise make it off your body without being destroyed like your poor dress.

The cool wood of his desk against your bare skin makes you shiver but you’re quickly distracted when Astarion brings your wrist to his mouth. His eyes lock onto yours and he presses a kiss to your skin before his teeth sink in. You had missed that rush of coldness when he first bites that sends electricity shooting through your veins and it’s almost obscene as you watch him. He drinks from you slowly and sensually and his eyes burn into you the whole time.

As he drops your wrist, a fresh streak of ruby red runs down his chin and you lean forward to lick it up, greedily pressing your mouth against his again. 

You fumble with the buttons on his trousers, pushing them down so you’re able to free the hard length of his cock and wrap your hand around it. He groans as you pump your hand up and down his length.

“Missed you being inside me,” you whisper. “Missed how good you fuck me.”

“Then what are you waiting for, pet? Take what you want.”

You guide him into you and he lets you adjust for a moment before his hips are snapping against yours at a ruthless pace that betrays his desperation.

You had missed this- this closeness, this feeling of being whole and one and loved.

“I’m going to fucking ruin you,” Astarion promises, and he grabs the back of one of your thighs, lifting your leg up to wrap around his waist. It has him hitting that much deeper inside you with each thrust of his hips. Your eyes practically roll back in your head.

Astarion brings his lips down to ghost against yours before he teasingly pulls away. “Look at us. I belong to you just as much as you belong to me.”

You moan at his words, losing yourself in the sentiment and the feeling of Astarion moving inside you. Just him and you, like how it was meant to be. He is yours and you are his. 

“Say it,” he commands, pulling your attention back to him. It sends a lovely shiver down your spine. You’d do anything he asked if he kept talking to you in that rough, low voice. 

“Yours. Only yours,” you breathe into his mouth, chasing after his lips. He gives you a gentle tug on your hair that pulls you back so that your lips are still just a hair’s breadth away from his. 

“And I’m yours,” he says, before he finally kisses you.

And Astarion’s hands are everywhere. As if he is determined to memorize your body by touch alone. It makes you smile. Touching. Always touching. You doubt that Astarion will ever let you out of his grasp again. Nor would you want him to.

The way he fucks you somehow feels even better, even more wonderful now as a vampire. All your senses are tingling and hyper-alert and it only serves to make you that much more aware of how Astarion feels pressed against you and how he moves inside you.

It’s carnal, it’s feral, it’s utterly vampiric. 

His hand reaches down between your bodies, his magical fingers moving against your clit in a way that sends sparks through your cunt. It has you reaching the precipice far sooner than you had hoped. That aching desire pools low in your stomach, rising into an inferno. 

You come and it’s like nothing you’ve ever felt before. Every nerve ending in your body is molten fire.

“So tight, so good,” he pants against your mouth. You whine at the way his hips keep driving into you at a pace which feels so good it’s almost painful. “Can you come for me again, little flower?”

Oh, this man was going to the death of you, wasn’t he? You nod frantically, unable to form words. Astarion presses open mouth kisses along your throat before he’s biting down again. The sudden shock of cold has you gasping for air and digging your nails into Astarion’s skin. You feel that coil tightening deep within you again, ready to snap at a moment’s notice. Astarion keeps moving his fingers against your clit. 

You come.

Astarion manages a few more frenzied thrusts before he comes, too, spilling inside you.

And thank the gods you’re already dead because that second orgasm might have just stopped your heart entirely. 

You’re just coming back to your senses when you Astarion sinks to his knees in front of you, lifting your legs over his shoulders. He’s staring at your cunt like it’s a four-course meal and you eventually have to tug at his beautiful white curls to pull his attention back to you.

“What are you doing?” you ask.

“You’re dripping all over my expensive desk,” Astarion says. “I’m going to clean you up.” 

Your brain is already a bit slow after two overwhelming orgasms and the sight of Astarion on his knees before you, offering to lick away the traces of his come leaking out of you, has you practically feral with lust. Astarion squirms under your gaze the longer you continue to stare down at him, his confident facade dropping. 

“Is that okay?” he asks.

You sigh out a breathy ‘yes’ and he’s back to smirking arrogantly at you. Astarion’s arms wrap around you so he can shift your hips to the very edge of his desk. 

He devours your cunt. His tongue is everywhere- lapping at your inner folds and dipping deliciously inside you. You lean back on your hands to steady yourself, but that does little to help when Astarion moves to suck on your clit and your whole body trembles with ecstasy. 

You aren’t entirely sure how this is helping to ‘clean you up.’ It seems much more likely that Astarion got distracted by all the noises that you are surely making and is trying to drag this out into some sort of religious experience. 

“One more, please,” he practically begs, like it’s some big favor to him that you should orgasm another time. His chin is glistening with your wetness and he sounds practically breathless. “You’ve no idea how badly I missed watching you come.”

His words send another spark of heat straight to your cunt and you let out a surprised, strangled whimper. Astarion’s mouth quirks up in a haughty grin, so you simply reach out to tug his head back toward your cunt.

You feel Astarion’s laugh before he begins feasting on you again, sucking and licking and rolling his tongue in some unholy way that has you seeing stars. 

For a moment, there is nothing but the white-hot waves of pleasure that roll through you as Astarion coaxes yet another orgasm from your body. 

His mouth continues moving against you until you are shaking. He presses gentle kisses to the inside of each of your thighs before gently lowering them from where they sit on his shoulders and the small, caring act brings a goofy grin to your face.

How is it possible to love someone more with every passing moment?

Astarion surges back up to press a final kiss to your lips. It’s slow and deep and you can taste the combined taste of your releases on his tongue. Astarion gently traces down the column of your throat with his thumb, over the spot where he had bitten you just a few moments ago. You can tell your skin is already healed. 

“No more marks.” He looks genuinely forlorn. “A pity.”

“I’ll always have this one,” you remind him, holding up your wrist. Astarion brushes his fingers over the twin bite marks on the inside of your wrist from when he had turned you. 

You watch him study the marks and you wish you could hear what he was thinking.

“Speaking of which,” Astarion finally breaks the silence. He leans over you to pull open a drawer in his desk, shuffling around in it blindly. He gives a satisfied little smirk when he finds whatever he was looking for. 

“You might want this back,” he says. When he opens his hand, your wedding ring is sitting on his palm. 

“Give me that.” You feel the smile light up your face as you snatch the ring from him and place it back on your ring finger. “Are you still wearing yours?”

“Never took it off.” Astarion proudly displays his left hand as proof. Sure enough, the gold band glints enchantingly when it catches the candlelight. 

“I love you,” you tell Astarion. 

The way he’s looking at you can only be described as awe. He catches your hand and brings it to his mouth so he can press a lingering kiss to the spot where the ring now sits comfortably on your finger, once again.

“I love you, too.”

Somehow, you manage to smile even wider.  

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

Notes:

So next week, we wrap up the plot (since we still have that pesky Crown of Karsus hanging around) and then the final chapter is the epilogue. I'm actually kind of happy that I decided to move things around a bit because now I get to add in an extra smut scene that I was originally planning as a fade to black since the epilogue was getting too long.

I loved seeing everyone's reactions to last week's chapter! Can't wait to see what you all think as we start wrapping this bad boy up!

As always, huge thanks to my beta-writer AliensNSuch on ao3.

Taglist: @ayselluna @idkbrodontaskme @maruichio @fanfic-share @the-littlest-bruja @asterordinary @divineknightmare @fandomarchiveilyd

Feel free to let me know if you would liked to be added/removed from the taglist for future chapters!

[littleholmes]

“Doesn’t that get old?”

“Every human has a unique and fleeting taste which makes devouring them a perfect way to pass time until death.”

It doesn’t surprise me that Sukuna views love as worthless, and it’s something I honestly expect from someone like him, but what he said highlighted something about him that actually did surprise me. Though he’s opting to disregard love, focus on himself and his pleasures and desires, live as his nature as the King of Curses and somewhat bask in the isolation and solitude that comes with being the strongest…his reply to Kashimo implies something that’s kinda sad.

From how it sounds in his statement about humans and passing time, Sukuna is just numbing himself and is just existing but not really living.

He’s doing and chasing whatever, filling up the days with things that somewhat amuse and interest him, chasing those moments of serotonin, but avoiding love and companionship and all those things he views as worthless until he dies. And sure, everyone numbs themselves sometimes, and I’m certain Gojo and other strong sorcerers who did and do love have found ways to cope with the reality of things by numbing themselves and have moments when they’re just doing whatever they need to keep going and just existing but not really living if that makes sense—but there’s moments of joy and happiness and fun and life that find its way back in their lives and allow them to live without just existing, if that makes sense, and it’s because of various forms of love. So there’s something kinda sad about Sukuna just existing without any of that until he dies.

There’s only self-love but none of the other loves (friend, romantic, family, etc) to give him things to look forward to, to give him reasons to do more than just exist, because he finds it worthless. There’s little room for longer moments of joy and happiness and living because a lot of those come with various forms of love and he’s avoiding all of that because it’s worthless to him and he’s just “passing the time” until he dies, which clearly is taking centuries because he’s the King of Curses and at the top of the jujutsu food chain. It just sounds exhausting and lonely.

Sure it matches and supports his nature and has likely served him well all these years, and it’s got to be exhausting to make and remake connections every hundred years and see those you care about die repeatedly when you can just be alone instead and not attach yourself to anyone but yourself but, idk this whole chapter is interesting to me.

Since Sukuna finds love worthless and he’s leaned into this isolation for so long that it’s bordering on serious loneliness, he’s just been doing all of this alone for centuries, and learning to shove everything he can in to feel like he’s living and alive and happy and he’s seemingly doing fine without love and companionship as he’s opting to “pass the time” with blips of fun. And he sounds so certain and comfortable (and almost defensive) in how he’s chosen to live his long life, and how he’s disregarded love, and yeah it’s worked for him. He said he’s never “needed” someone to satisfy him, and I’m sure the King of Curses doesn’t need anyone, but I wonder if there has been times (at least from the way he’s managing his long life without others and the way he explained himself) if he ever just wanted a friend or even just someone who understood (and he got it for a quick second in that fight with Gojo, and we kinda saw how that affected him).

Idk I’m rambling but it’s just interesting that he finds love worthless but sounds like he could really use it (at least one of the other eight forms of it since he’s already got self-love handled) so he can live less of a lonely life instead of just simply existing until his end.

[sweetteaanddragons]

Stormlight Archive: Wind and Truth Thoughts and Theories

Lots of spoilers below.

Kaladin - I love the herald thing. I think it retroactively makes @nevertheless-moving's AU of Kaladin being time traveler mistaken for a herald even funnier, and it was already hilarious. I am dying to see fic where Kaladin-as-herald DOES time travel, someone DOES assume this, and they are actually correct, but not in the way they think. They start guessing historical names, and Kaladin has to go, "Well, I guess Jezrien is closest, but it's not quite like - " and everyone runs with it.

I am hoping for SO MANY reveals/interactions when he returns in the next series. I want him to go flying in to save Adolin from something in an 11th hour rescue and Adolin to have that "You're ALIVE?" moment. I want him to reconnect with his baby brother. I want Szeth to try to murder Ishar to avenge Kaladin's death only for Kaladin to have to intervene.

I love it.

Adolin - I love his arc in this book, and I love how his habit of talking to his weapons/armor has paid off such huge dividends. Slightly concerned about the firemoss; having seen what addiction did to his father, I hope he'll resist that path, but it does worry me a little.

Shallan - I'm assuming she won't manage to return in the interim between series, so this is looking like a long separation. At least she can talk to Adolin?

. . . her nausea/hand to her stomach thing is entirely understandable from emotional context, but given *tropes,* I'm kind of thinking she might be pregnant.

Szeth - I enjoyed his arc, and I loved learning he got married; I'm hoping he's very happy.

Gavinor - I'm betting his storyline and Lift's are going to be heavily entertwined in the next series since Lift feels partially responsible for him going through the rift in the first place. I'm also betting his storyline will ultimately end positively, as a counterpart to his father's tragedy.

Odium: You know that cut Hamilton song? "You have invented a new kind of stupid/a let all the animals out of the zoo kind of stupid/a you really did not think this through kind of stupid/Listen?"

Yeah, that's how I feel about his decision to recruit the Blackthorn and I am delighted.

It is 100% in character, given what he tries to do with Dalinar and Jasnah throughout the book. It is also, I think, a fatal mistake.

He has recruited the Blackthorn. A being with all the memories of his other self. A being with all the potential of his other self.

All of it. Including the bits that grew to fight Odium.

Navani is still alive. His sons are still alive. Does Odium really think they'll let this last remainder of Dalinar just . . . trot merrily off to war without trying to stop him?

Retribution ACKNOWLEDGES that the perception of Dalinar is what shapes the Blackthorn. Public perception that largely paints him as Retribution wants, sure . . . but Dalinar, prior to his death, become a tragic hero known for fighting Odium and RELEASED A BOOK WITH HIS WHOLE LIFE STORY.

Does Retribution really think he can keep that public perception pointed in the right direction forever?

The Blackthorn doesn't even make him any promises. He just says that fighting is "what I do."

He is 100% going to turn on Retribution eventually, and it is going to be glorious.

Other thoughts:

Dova is going to be a problem eventually.

I like the time bubble aspect; that'll let the events of Mistborn trilogy three play out before we catch up with Roshar.

I think the next Roshar series is going to be a massive crossover event for the cosmere.

I adored the musical chairs aspect of the final fight in Azir.

Loved the reprise of "Honor is dead, but I'll see what I can do."

(I also love the wind's little "Please don't hate me" to Kaladin.)

Definitely convinced that the overall plot of the cosmere is going to be "So we shouldn't have killed Adonalsium, now we need to put the pieces back together. This is exactly what I wanted, so I'm thrilled!

Oh! And given the emphasis in the book on the dangers of Shards turning their backs on planets and their people for too long, I think Retribution is going to find his distraction is going to cost him. He made a lot of promises in this book . . . and then did huge damage to the ecosystem and the landscape, massive psychological damage by hiding the sun, and vanished, utterly failing to enforce whatever social plans he had.

People are going to be TICKED.

Which of course provides opportunities.

Especially when the two territories NOT affected by Retribution are right there, enjoying the sun.

(Jasnah, returning for round two of debate for Fen: I can guarantee you that neither I nor any of my descendants are going to block out the sun.

Fen: Will you just let us sign the paper already?)

[wren-galathinyus]

a little late to this game and I can't even give my full notes like the previous two times (I'm at work and can't do the second watch through I do to take note of my thoughts) but I would like to scream regardless, sp here are a few disjointed thoughts and feelings I'm screaming into the void!

as always, spoilers for arcane, the final act, under the cut

-LESBIAN SEX LETS GO WE FUCKINGGGG WOONNNNNNNNNNNNNN 🎉🎉🎉🎉🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍🌈

-but on a serious note for that thought, I'm so fucking happy that we got to have this. these two complex, beautiful, awful amazing women who are unapologetically queer and finally get their shit together to realise, the world isn't gonna wait for us, let's have sex, let's enjoy it. the fumble that vi makes with caits fancy belt, the delicate and healing way that cait holds and undresses vi, the full shot of vi's back tattoo, the fact that they can't keep their hands off each other and can't stop smiling! fuck! this was everything to me if you couldn't tell. also so much appreciation to the fact that this scene is an exact parallel to their first meeting!

-yes Mel get it with your sexy golden magic. I can't wait for the spin off series that will come from thus show cus I think it'll explore the black Rose and noxus war and I can't wait to see more of them!

-cait fighting desperate and dirty while still being so smart you have my heart (also cait with an eyepatch, fuccckkkkkkkkkk

-Maddie's betrayal lol, and the thanks for the warmth, bitch what warmth, cait was so mean to you even when you were sleeping together 😂

-the alternate reality???? oughh, oug oww, I need to lie down and cry for a whole week about that. everyone being alive except vi??? that shit hurted. also, domestic and therapised powder was everything I didn't know I needed and I'm so glad that when ekko figured out the anomaly that that timelines ekko came back to her. timebomb so cannon (also adore ekko for this entire act, every single second of it)

-jayvik mutual destruction is so them actually, and I'm glad they were together in the end. also sorcerer older vik had to be my favourite of his character designs. he looks so soft and at peace

-ambessas death is really not something I though we would see, or at least not in the way that it happened. but it's almost bitter-sweet that her death was nesacary for Mel to graduate to wolf in her eyes

-look, heimerdingers sacrifice was cute and heartfelt, but I really didn't have any attachment to the guy and was just glad that ekko made it home. very cute little song though

-Jinx is fucking dead and I hate it. yes it was in character, she did her one last good thing and just wanted to rest, but damn why did it have to be like that , but on the other hand, it leaves open the spot for powder to take hold of the narrative, because don't think I didn't see those hextech gems girl. she is everything to me and I really hope she's apart of whatever story comes next (I'm praying that powder gets to see vi all grown up, and that her older sister is okay, and that vi gets to see powder, the girl she might have been, and also that vi can see her brothers all grown up) (but that's all just wishful thinking)

-btw!! I always had faith in the writers. I love how this season came out on the full. it's absolutely amazing to me how they have managed to create on of if not the highest quality animated TV show ever. it was admittedly rushed, and I would have loved to see all these plot threads tugged at thoroughly before being tied up, but I still think what we got was a masterpiece

-jayce I did not like you in season one but I loved you in season two, and I held out hope that we would see why you did what you did, and it was so fucking perfect I would like to kick all of the jayce haters, just a little in the shins

-back to Jinx, it was genuinely so heartbreaking to see her catatonic over the loss of Isha and I hope they're together again now

-final form (herald) vik was pretty cool I like how it looked compared to his LoL design

-cait and Mel team up was something I didn't know I needed but damn it was good. the gays and girl kissers were eating well this weekend

-the animation of powder and ekko dancing? think I'll just go cry for another week for that alone, and their kiss!!??!? screaming crying

okay that's all I can think of for now. I may post more, I may not. I will absolutely be reposting like crazy though. agree or disagree with me, I want to hear your thoughts!

[amberjazmyn]

grief is just unexpressed love💔

pairing : charles leclerc x platonic fem! aston martin driver reader, platonic fem!driver reader x f1 grid

summary : everyone knew how tough being the youngest on the f1 grid could be. but only few understood what it felt like to grieve someone during a grand prix weekend.

warnings : mentions of minor character death, mentions of illness, slight mention of herve leclerc, slight mention of jules bianchi, angst, argument between mother and daughter, manipulating mother, manipulated mother

a/n : this was a request from an anon and whilst i loved the original request, i decided to tweak it slightly so to whoever requested this, sorry it's taken this long and i hope you enjoy it! flynn drives for aston martin alongside lance and fernando has moved to kick sauber alongside zhou (sorry valtteri!) and her race number is 19!

a/n : readers name is flynn like mentioned in anon's request and some things about the race, f1 and f1 academy may be explained incorrectly <3

death anniversaries were never easy, no matter what number it was, ease was not in the oxford dictionary under the word grief nor was it the definition either. unfortunately, formula one driver, flynn l.n was new to the term of grief and she wished she had been better prepared for it. it was the one year anniversary of the death of her beloved father and it was also the italian grand prix in monza. and she wasn't sure how to feel about it. however, there was one person in particular who was close with flynn that did know a lot about grief and what it felt like. and that was her best friend, fellow formula one driver, charles leclerc.

and because of this being the first anniversary without her dad and a grand prix happening at the same time, charles was conscious in making sure he was keeping a watchful eye on flynn. making sure that she was as okay as she could be and that if she needed anything and he means anything, that she knew he was right there to help her. however, it was clear to everyone, not just charles, that the one thing that flynn wanted more than anything was the one person that she could never bring back and see ever again. and that was the last thing she remembered shouting at her mother when the mother and daughter were arguing over flynn's wishes of returning back to racing so soon after the bereavement.

six months after the death

the shouting was endless between mother and daughter. shaking the house, for a moment or two, onlookers to the fight thought that the house would cave in on them if they continued to shout this loud. flynn and her family had just gone through the worst thing any family could go through. flynn's father henri ln had unfortunately died due to a very long and debilitating brain tumour that rendered him back into the mental state of an infant. it was devastating and whilst henri could barely communicate in his last few days, he still managed to have enough strength to communicate to his formula one driver daughter that she wasn't allowed to stop racing. even after his death, he basically forbade her to stop and if she did stop racing, he made sure to let her know that if he was able to, he'd make sure that decision would be the worst decision she could ever make before she was ready to stop driving. and if she did stop, he would find every possible way to haunt his daughter. those were his own words by the way, and some of the last words he ever spoke as well before the end of his life. and that death bed conversation that flynn and henri had was the base of the current argument between flynn and her mother helene.

it infruiated flynn that her mother couldn't understand the reason why she wanted to return back into racing so quickly after the loss of her father. henri had managed to stay alive right until the final race of the season, abu dhabi, and just before winter break started, marking the end of the season that had just gone on. meaning training for the 2024 season was about to start in bahrain and that was what helene was fuming about. that flynn could even think about going back into training so soon even though helene was certain that her team back at aston martin would be ever so understanding in regards to the bereavment and they were. however, there was no way that flynn was going to disrespect her father's literal dying wish and not race just because of this argument she was in the middle of with her mother. especially when flynn knew that helene hated that her daughter was a formula one driver and not doing a more 'feminine' job like a waitress or gymnast.

"...flynn, why don't you understand my side of this?" helene sighs, her voice sore from all the screaming as her hand brushed against her hallowed out face

"i do, mum, i really do understand your point in this argument. however, do you understand my side of this whole argument?" flynn sighed, her voice also slightly irritated from the yelling as helene shrugged her shoulders and shook her head - she really couldn't comprehend why her daughter would still want to race only six months after the death of her father

"okay fine, no i don't get it! i don't understand how you could even think about wanting to put yourself into a car after the loss of your father, flynn! so tell me, enlighten me flynn as to why you feel like it's okay for you to fly to bahrain for pre-season training after only six months after losing your father because i want to know! i want to know how you can still be a formula one driver even after everything that's happened!" helene huffed out, her voice exasperated as flynn sighed as well, her hands clenched tightly

"i know you weren't present when this happened mum, but one of the very last conversations i was blessed to have with dad, he requested that his last dying wish was for me to keep on racing, even after his death. and that if i didn't, it would be the worst mistake of my life because he knows that just because of he's dead, that shouldn't send me into early retirement. he knows that i've still got so much left in me that if i was to stop racing now that he's gone, that it would be a waste of everything i went through as a kid all for it to end just because he's dead. and i promised him, mum, i gave him my word that after he took in his last breath days later that i would keep to my word and i would keep on racing! and now, i know you've never liked the fact that this is my job, and please don't lie to me because i'll never forget how many times dad had to force you just to come to a race of mine! but when it was in regards to one of my brothers or best friends that were boys, you jumped at the chance to watch a race. as well as all the other small things you did in the way of little snide comments and hiding my simulator so i couldn't train! so i know you don't like it that your daughter is a formula one driver and you no longer have to lie to dad and pretend that you enjoy it now that he's gone, you can shout to the rooftops how much you hate it that i'm so successful in my specific job! you can whine and cry that i'm not in a job that's more 'feminine' but it's time you suck it up and you either support me wholeheartedly and come to my future races this season or you don't suck it up and you don't support me ever again from this day forwards. i say this because i am sick of you and your manipulations in trying to get me to leave my dream job and into a job that you want me to do just because it's 'safer' and because it'll make you happier!" by the end of flynn's explanation, there was no way that helene could argue with anything that her daughter said to her

it was very true that helene hated that her daughter was a formula one driver rather than in a sport that was dominated more by women than men. and don't get it twisted into helene looking out for her daughter because it's nothing like that. helene wasn't looking out for her daughter at all, whenever henri wasn't watching and flynn was about to begin sim training or anything in regards to karting or motorsport, helene would try to hide the simulator. just so flynn couldn't train and practice as if helene's sabotage would stop flynn from continuing what she really wanted to do. because it didn't, flynn would always end up finding where her mum attempted to hide her simulator and after the girl was finished with it, she'd store it in a secret cupboard in her father's office just so helene could't find it and attempt to hide it again.

sighing, helene knew she couldn't lie to her daughter especially after being exposed like this so, she didn't, "okay, flynn, you're 100% right. in everything you've just said. including your father's dying wish and i shouldn't have yelled at you for wanting to honour that. and i am also sorry at the way i've tried so hard to sabotage you and tried to continously force you into a dream job that was never yours but always mine from the beginning of this journey. when i was growing up, i had visions of what kind of mother i would be depending on whether i was getting a boy or a girl. if i was to have a boy, i always invisioned him being like his father, a motorsport racer and everything adventurous. something that father and son could bond over whilst mother and son bond over other things. if i was to have a girl, i always invisioned her being like me, an olympic gymnast--"

"--you never made the olympics, mum..." flynn sighed, interrupting her mum, exhausted at her mum's lousy excuse

"...no, i know flynn but, still! that was my biggest dream as a kid, i was a great gymnast, it was just an injury that destroyed that olympic gymnast dream for me. which was why if i was to have a little girl that i'd want her to continue that dream for me..." helene trailed off as she realised just how wrong and sour that sounded in her mouth

whilst she had these dreams and hopes for her future children, she always said that she never wanted to live vicariously through them like some parents do. and, only now did she just realise that's exactly what she had done for all of her children as they grew up. because it wasn't all of her sons that became motorsport drivers or all of her daughters that became olympic gymnasts. in fact, only one out of four of helene and henri's boys were motorsport drivers, the other three stopping after trying karting and not enjoying it, enjoying mens gymnastics better and pursuing that as their job instead. and the same happening with helene and henri's girls, only one of four girls becoming an olympic gymnast whilst the other three went into the motorsports world professionally. flynn however, the only one that continued as a driver, the other three girls going in as strategists and engineers.

and it was clear to flynn that helene finally realised just how awful and skewed those words were when she finally heard them, "...hearing yourself say those words sounds weird, doesn't it mum?" flynn asks as helene can't help but nod her head as flynn smiles out the corner of her mouth

"i'm sorry, flynn. for everything and i mean everything. you didn't deserve to be treated that way from me all because you didn't want to become an olympic gymnast but rather a formula one driver. you deserved to have support and a mother telling you that you're amazing and that you can do anything and everything you put your mind to. and quite honestly, i would love it if you'd let me go to a grand prix weekend with you. i'd love to see you race and i would also love to see your three sisters but only if you'd let me because i know in the past when you have invited me, it hasn't always ended well..." helene trailed off as that took flynn by surprise - her mum wasn't a horrible person intentionally, she just grew up differently with parents that didn't like change in regards to women playing sports alongside men and other stereotypes in regards to gender

smiling, flynn nodded her head, "i'd love it if you came to see a race, mum. and thank you very much for apologising and i also want to apologise for my part in the argument as well, i shouldn't have raised my voice and used dad as a scapegoat, it was wrong of me and i--"

"--flynn, you have nothing to apologise for, including your part of the argument because i was the one that started it, you just finished it and you finished it in the correct way. you were telling the truth the entire time whereas i was not. i was only saying the things that i was manipulated into believing were gospel. in the same way i was manipulated by my own mother, i manipulated you and i never meant to do that. i was manipulated into finding formula one or any motorsport to be too dangerous and not something i find amazing. because growing up, i loved watching formula one, it was something i did with my own father and grandfather every single race weekend. but it wasn't until the loss of my grandfather that my mum finally felt like she was able to truly say how she felt about it. saying that it was destroying my brain and that i shouldn't be enjoying a sport that's only meant for boys...after that, i never watched a grand prix after that until i met your dad..." helene trailed off as flynn relaxed and she just listened to her mother explain how she too was manipulated by her own mother

"...when i met your dad, he was a rally driver at the time and it was then, when i finally left mum and dad's place that dad and i, alongside your father, would start to watch races again without my mum ever finding out. then, she found out after our wedding and once again, forbade me from even thinking and talking about motorsports. so when you and the kids were growing up and going karting, that's why your dad sometimes had to force me to attend, especially when it was one of your races, because my mum made me believe that i hated the sport with a passion when really it was her own genderphobic view of women shouldn't be watching and consuming male-dominated sports," helene huffed as flynn shook her head in shock - never realising just how awful her own grandmother was, no wonder why she and her siblings never saw her

present day

thankfully after that argument six months after the loss of henri, helene and flynn forgave one another. and since then, the mother-daughter relationship had never been better. and just like they agreed on, helene accompained her daughter for the first three races of the season before she had to fly back to her hometown for work. since helene was an anaesthetist at her local hospital, she could only get so many days off from work. thankfully she had more than three days off but she wanted to make sure she could still make it to their hometown race as well as the last race of the season at abu dhabi. and because of that, helene and flynn were apart from each other on the one-year anniversary of henri's death.

but, just because helene couldn't be with her daughter physically, didn't mean she still couldn't look after her. so, that was why charles was keeping an eye on flynn the entire race weekend. helene had very sweetly asked the monegasque to keep a watchful eye on flynn. since it was the one year anniversary of henri's death and a race weekend all crammed into the one and she wanted to make sure that flynn could handle it all. and of course, charles was happy to assist his best friend's mother's request especially when he knew why helene had asked him specifically. it wasn't new that charles and the leclerc family had also gone through tragedy which included the devastating death of charles' father, herve leclerc, in 2017. so, helene felt comfortable knowing that if flynn did want to race on her father's one-year anniversary, that she at least had someone alongside her that understood her pain and her grief.

similar to basically every driver on the grid, charles and flynn grew up together. the l.n's and the leclerc's were tightknit friends, alongside the bianchi's and gasly's that those four families did everything together. but charles and flynn were inseperable. where charles was, flynn was never too far behind and where flynn was, charles was never too far behind. arthur & lorenzo leclerc and pierre gasly included in that mix as well. so when the news came out about the deaths of jules, herve and henri, it was devastating to those four families. however, the only positive that came out of those devastations were that the families didn't grow apart from one another, they grew closer and more tightknit. and that was what helene knew that her daughter needed this weekend. flynn needed to feel that feeling.

the entire weekend leading up to the race, flynn was feeling pumped up and excited. the season for her so far had been going amazingly well. whilst the aston martin had been working splendidly for her and giving her podiums and points, it hadn't been doing the same for her teammate, lance. and now that they were at the italian grand prix, all flynn and her team at aston martin wanted was a win. whether that was with lance or flynn, they just wanted a win. however, because lance hadn't been getting podiums and in the points like flynn had, they let both drivers know that for this race weekend, flynn was the priority because she had the bigger gap and the biggest chance of getting that podium/win. and, when talked about, lance had no arguments and argued that if anyone deserved to win the monza grand prix this year that it was flynn. everyone on the grid knew about henri's one-year death annviersary being during the race in monza and every single driver in every single team had the same argument as lance did. not that they were all just gonna give up and not fight for a win, if it all came down to who had the fastest car and got first place, every single driver on that grid wanted it to be flynn.

and, from what it looked like, it seemed as though everyone was getting their wish. flynn and her aston martin were flying through the monza circuit like a lightening bolt, she was driving so fast. the gap between first and second was astonishing that by this point, there was no way the current world champion and current second place driver, max verstappen, was going to match that let alone close the gap between him and flynn. so, he didn't and neither did third place driver, lando norris. charles leclerc and carlos sainz only just missing the podium with fourth and fifth places respectfully.

however, the second the girl got the radio call that she was in first place and won her first ever grand prix, it didn't give her the same joy she imagined it would have. maybe driving a grand prix on her father's anniversary wasn't the best idea for future races. parking her car in the parc femme in front of the first place placard suddenly felt strange to her. sure, it wasn't the first time she had ever won a race in motorsport, she was a formula renault champion but, this was the first time she had won in formula one. the big big leagues and it was on the one day that was the worst day of her life one whole year ago.

"...well done baby girl, flynn, that is first place! what an amazing race you had today, we are so proud of you for your maiden win in formula one at team 19! and i am absolutely certain that your father is smiling down on his baby girl right now! you can now do your slow lap to first place! once again, that is first place, flynn!" davide, flynn's radio engineer crackles over her car radio as the girl can barely crack a smile

"grazie davide! grazie ragazzi, it truly was a fantastic race and, happy to finally get my maiden win here at monza!" flynn tries to sound upbeat but when she doesn't, no one crucifies her since they all knew why she wasn't

by the end of the race, she's so exhausted and grief-stricken that she can barely get out of her car before she collapses next to her car. but, thankfully lando and max were right next to her immediately so she didn't completely collapse to the floor next to her car. max and lando helping her take off her helmet and balaclava, flynn's eyes fill with tears. she had never been treated so carefully and with love by any other teammates like she had with her f1 grid.

"...congratulations schatje! you just won your first ever race!" max's voice was soft, not loud and joyful like it usually was when they podium together and flynn appreciated that

hugging max back before pulling away, lando wrapped his arms around the girl as she, like she did with max, burrowed her head into lando's shoulder. she really didn't want to cry during this race but she couldn't help the tears that welled in her waterline and she hadn't even weighed herself or gone through any of the pre-race interviews or the cooldown room or the podium or press conference. lando comforted her to the best of his abilities but he knew he was way out of his wheelhouse and if only charles was able to be here with them.

however, flynn and lando couldn't hug forever so, finally they pulled out of the hug and got themselves weighed before being interviewed before having to leave for the cooldown room and podium ceremony.

"...walking over to us is our winner of the monza grand prix, aston martin's flynn l.n! flynn, i can only imagine what you've been going through this week only for it to be doubled by getting your maiden win so, please, how do you feel?" nico rosberg is her interviewer as flynn tries to crack a small smile for the former mercedes driver

"hello nico and thank you so much, umm, yeah, this weekend...this weekend has been a whirlwind of emotions for me and the family for sure! but, i'm just satisfied that me and team 19 were able to pull out a win for aston martin but also a maiden win for me which is also pretty monumental as well," flynn smiled, her teeth grited when she felt herself getting emotional as nico could only smile softly

"we all know that unfortunately, a year ago today you lost your beloved dad, henri and now, you've just gone out and won your first ever grand prix on his anniversary. do you feel as though you had your dad with you since we all know what a talented rally driver he was," nico questioned as flynn couldn't help the smile again, she loved talking about her father and every single interviewer this week had been so respectful in regards to mentions of her father

"yes, losing our dad was devastating and, the fact that it's already been a year is mindblowing, time has gone by so quickly yet so slowly at the same time it feels like it just happened yesterday. and, i fully believe that my dad is with me in everything i do, not just formula one but, he is definitely a stronger presence when i'm in the car on the track for sure. and yeah, my dad was a rally driver for the longest time and, it's only been very recently that me and my brothers and sisters have seen the videos that are online of him rally driving. so, yeah, it's been very cool seeing how well he is in a car only for him to have four of his daughters in the motorsport world, one of them a driver and the other three engineers and strategists!" flynn took in a shaky breath as she felt her wall she had built up to finish the grand prix weekend begin to crumble - nico noticing and letting her leave so she could "celebrate"

"that's beautiful, flynn! well, once again, big congratulations to you and the fantastic race you just had and, i'll let you go and celebrate in the cooldown room before the podium ceremony!" nico finishes as flynn smiles, her eyes thanking the former driver as nico discreetly gives her a wink as she walks away - max the next driver to be interviewed

🥀

the top three, flynn, max and lando had made it to the cooldown room, watched some of the highlights of the race before they had to be called for the podium ceremony. by this point, all of the walls that flynn had built up were gone and it was only a guess to the moment that her dam breaks and it floods. flynn was on the verge of crying the entire podium ceremony and it was very clear by the look on her face that she was exhausted and that she just didn't want this win nor did she want this trophy if it meant her dad was never going to see it in his daughter's trophy cabinet. yet, she knew she couldn't just run off so she didn't. she stayed the whole time except, max and lando got the memo that it wasn't the moment to be spraying and dousing the three of them in champagne so, they didn't. they just very calmly drunk the alcoholic drink out of the bottles before all three of them gently chucked the bottles to people in their respective teams; aston martin, red bull and mclaren. and then, after the podium ceremony finished, they walked off and now it was just time for one last media thing before they could finally leave for the evening. and that last thing was the winners press conference.

and the entire time during the press conference, it was clear that flynn's mind wasn't at the press conference but elsewhere. it was clear that she didn't want to be there but had to because she knew she couldn't say she was unwell. although, the fia should allow drivers that are grieving to have the opportunity to pass on media, they didn't. they only allowed exemptions if the driver was sick and needed to visit medical for them to be exempt from media duties. so, because of that, flynn was sat in the middle of max verstappen and lando norris at the winners press conference at the italian grand prix at monza.

"...flynn, it has been mentioned a couple of times during the weekend that today is a difficult day for you and your family. if i may ask since i'm curious, what was it inside of you that made you have the strength to get into that car today and drive the way you did and achieve your maiden win?" a woman's voice came out from what was like the third row as flynn's head shot up as she found the face to the voice that had spoke up

"yeah, this whole weekend, not just today has been difficult but, especially today. it's been a year without my dad and, it feels like i'm still struggling to breathe and get up in the morning. so, to answer your question about what was it inside of me that gave me the strength to get into my car and drive all the way to my maiden win is a question i struggle to answer. because, in all honesty, i have no clue! it was truly supernatural because the entire race, i felt like i was watching myself in the car the entire time so, yeah, i have no idea what came over me to have what happened happen," she responded, her voice shaky as she placed the microphone back on the couch as max and lando watched her carefully

since charles obviously couldn't be at the press conference, he had asked max and lando to keep an eye on her whilst he went back to her hotel room and waited for her there. he knew that flynn typically stayed in her hotel room alone since her sisters who were strategists and engineers for other teams, had their own rooms on an upper floor to her. and, he knew that she wouldn't be okay on her own and he just wanted to make sure someone could take care of her considering helene couldn't be there with her.

🥀

finally, it felt like flynn could breathe. she had made it back to her hotel and was just about to grab her hotel key to unlock her room. that was until charles could sense that she had finally made it back and opened the door for her. shocking the grieving girl, flynn was spooked.

"...charlie? what...what are you doing in my hotel room?" flynn asked as she walked in before shutting the door immediately behind her

"you're not okay, flynn, you haven't been the entire day. you've not once been able to just stop working and pretending. you've been go go go the entire weekend and i think it's finally time you just let go..." charles trailed off as flynn shook her head as her hands rubbed her face

"...no, charlie, i can't do that, not right now! i still have to facetime mum and let her know how the race went and that i got my maiden win and i just need to do so many other things that i just can't right now. i need to do so much, charlie, i--"

"--no, you don't need to do so much, flynn! i'm sure helene already knows that you won your first race and she's bursting with excitement but doesn't want to overwhelm you right now so she's going to settle with a simple congratulatory text for now. there is nothing else that you need to do right now except for relax and do absolutely nothing! you even said it in the press conference that you still struggle to get up out of bed in the morning and breathe everyday. and you know what, i felt the exact same way after my dad died! it hurts losing your dad, flynn and you don't have to keep on wearing yourself thin just because you don't want to put yourself through the truth that it really has been a year and that he's never coming back..."

"...you don't have to be strong all the time, flynn. i was distraught when i won the f2 feature race days after losing my dad! and similar to you, it was as though it was a supernatural being that posessed me into winning because i simply couldn't believe that the strength i had to win that race was my own and that it was human strength! but, trust me when i tell you just how much i cried privately after that when there were no cameras watching me and i was all on my own. i cried for hours most likely because i was told by everyone around me that i didn't have to be strong all the time. so please, flynn, don't just bottle it up inside of you because you don't want to deal with it. the longer you leave it bubbling inside of you, the worse it'll be when the stick breaks..." charles was begging as flynn was struggling to stay strong all because of how true she knew charles' words were

she knew he was telling the truth. of course he was cause like he mentioned, he had been through the exact same thing as flynn. maybe not in the fact that she drove and won a race days after but it was still considered too soon by people online that flynn was driving again after only six months at the time when it was pre-season testing at bahrain.

"...charlie, please, don't do this, not right now!" flynn pleaded, trying to stay in control even though it was clear her hold was breaking

whilst charles didn't say anything to that, he didn't need to. all he had to do for flynn to just feel and grieve was just to hug her. and properly hug her. whilst lando and max were the only other two that did give the girl hugs, they were at the peak of flynn being in control of her grief and emotions. whereas right now, as charles hugged her, she was no longer in control of her emotions and the dam just broke at its seams. and flynn just cried and cried and cried. they were loud, they hit charles in his gut and they were painful. it was physically painful as each sob left flynn's body leaving her with chest and bodily pain. it felt like she was on fire as charles held her tightly as he just let her cry. whilst he did stay silent for a little while, he wasn't silent the entire time. after a while of silence, charles did begin to whisper small comforts in french to flynn which step by step began to soothe the grieving girl and lulling her into relaxation. flynn then fell asleep, silent tears that streamed down her face drying and leaving streaks showing others the story of what had just occured.

however, whilst she did sleep, it wasn't for very long. maybe only a couple of hours before she woke up to an empty bed. charles had laid himself down next to her whilst she slept in a bid of making her feel safe and secure. and when she woke up and didn't see charles next to her, she freaked out. thankfully though, it didn't take her very long to notice that there was a light on in the bathroom and she could tell that that was where he had gone. not very far and that he would be back soon. so, she fell back asleep, well, she tried to but it wasn't working since she had gotten so used to charles being next to her that it felt foreign and too cold for her to fall asleep on her own.

so, in a bid to make the time of charles being in the bathroom go by quicker, flynn picked up her phone from the bedside table in the hotel room and went straight to her instagram. since she still hadn't made an anniversary post about her dad like others in her family had done, she thought that was what she was going to do to past time whilst waiting on charles to come back so they could fall back asleep together afterwards.

liked by charlesleclerc, maxverstappen1, landonorris, helene.ln, lewishamilton, arthurleclerc, adelia.ln and 20k others

flynnln a year has passed and i still go back to the first race i ever won and remembering just how happy and proud you were of me. this maiden win at monza was for you papa, missing you forever and always 🤍

view all comments

charlesleclerc he's looking down on you with so much pride and joy, flynn 🤍

flynnln charlesleclerc thank you for saying that charlie! that means a lot 🤍

maxverstappen1 best maiden win in terms of skill for sure! henri is watching you always, flynnie 🤍

flynnln maxverstappen1 thank you maxie! love you always 🤍

landonorris love you so much flynn. henri was always the best part of every karting race growing up for sure! missing him all the time🤍

flynnln landonorris love you too lan and he definitely was! especially when he'd bring down his rally car and show it to us 🤍

helene.ln your father absolutely adored you, flynn! you were for sure the apple of his eye, all of his kids were 🤍

flynnln helene.ln and we adored him, mum! and he was the apple of our eye as well 🤍

lewishamilton what an incredible race flynn! you fought valiantly and won like a champion

flynnln lewishamilton thank you lewis! that means so much coming from you, especially in regards to how your race panned out

arthurleclerc we are all so proud of you, flynn! no one will ever win in monza the way you just did today 🤍

flynnln arthurleclerc aw, thank you thuthur! you are a sweetheart 🤍

adelia.ln proudest big sister in the world! dad is always proud of you flynnie, win or lose, he's still screaming the loudest no matter the result 🤍

flynnln adelia.ln awe, thank you adelia! best sister in the world! and yes, i think i could hear him screaming when i crossed the chequered flag 🤍

fin

holy balls this was insane guys! so, i had already had the version before this one written but then i didn't like it, scrapped it entirely and then rewrote it into this masterpiece all in the same day! i think that was why i had writer's block, i didn't like the way i originally wrote it all that time ago when i first got the request so i scrapped it and started all over again! so to the anon that requested this, once again, i apologise for the time it's taken to have this come out but, i hope you love this as much as i did rewriting it after learning that i hated the original version!

©⠀amberjazmyn's original work. do not translate or steal any of my fics. 2024

[zepskies]

Devour Me - Part 2

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Plus-Sized/Latina!Reader 

Summary: When you and Dean start to press each other’s buttons, both of your tempers ignite. To make up for it, you give him an impromptu salsa dancing lesson…one he didn’t exactly ask for. (18+)

AN: Here's Part 2! **Read Devour Me: Part 1

Song Inspo: “Yo No Se Mañana” by Luis Enrique. But really it’s “Ven Devórame Otra Ves” by Lalo Rodriguez. (You’ll see why.) 🤭

Word Count: 5,400

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only! Blood, character death and violence, smutty smut, angst, Dominican slang, and tons of sexy fluff.

☕ Midnight Espresso Masterlist

Part 2: "Telenovela Style"

Your resulting scream of agony is as unforgiving as the ground when your knees buckle, hitting the hard cement.

Andy grips you with the strength of a monster. 

Then he holds you down as he drinks your blood. 

No matter how you struggle and whimper, you can’t push him off, and you’re getting weaker by the second.

Until Andy is ripped away from your neck, and is taken care of the way all vampires must be. He doesn’t even feel the blade coming. 

When you’re able to look up, Dean stands above you with thinly veiled fury. He doesn’t have time to consider what he’s just done. 

He bends to gather you up into his arms, all the while trying to stamp down the panic clenching his heart. He calls your name, but you can only make weak sounds as your bleary eyes meet his. 

“Dean,” you manage. The ragged wound in your neck is bleeding profusely down your chest and shoulder, seeping into your shirt. He takes your hand and clamps it hard against your neck, even though it makes you whimper.

“Gotta stop the bleeding,” he says, apologetic but firm. “Keep pressing.”

In your stupor of pain, you don’t realize that your screech woke the entire nest. Dean has to lock up his worry; he looks up and finds his brother and Cas already fighting a hoard of angry vampires. 

Dean carries you over to them and lays you down against the wall with the other humans. He keeps a protective line in front of you, but he decapitates a vampire before she can sink her fangs into Sam next.

The two of them work together, and with Castiel’s smiting power behind them, the angel and the two men are able to clear the rest of the nest. 

By the end, only you and two of the women being held captive are still alive. The third girl’s heart just finally gave out. Sam takes the survivors to the nearest hospital. 

Meanwhile, Castiel approaches where you sit up against the inside of the barn, barely awake, while Dean kneels with you, holding you to his chest. He meet’s Cas’s blue-eyed request with a nod. So Cas stretches out a hand and touches two fingers to your forehead. 

You’re healed in an instant. Dean marvels, like he always does when Cas displays his power. Dean is able to breathe a little easier, the vice grip on his heart easing as he touches your neck.

The tan skin is once again smooth, if still stained with blood. You blink back into wakeful consciousness. 

He shifts so he can see your face. “You okay?” 

You meet his eyes but can only nod. His jaw is still tight and tense, and you can’t blame him. 

You know you’ve messed up. Big time. You nearly got everyone killed, including yourself…and now, you have to tell a mother that her son is dead. 

Dean helps you up, holding you by your arms and waist until you’re steady on your feet. You have a hard time meeting his eyes, but when open your mouth to apologize, he beats you to it. 

“I hope you’ve learned your damn lesson,” he says. 

Your gaze snaps up to his. “Excuse me?”

Dean’s hands go to his hips as his brows raise at you. 

“Next time, when I tell you to hang back, I mean that shit. Hang the hell back,” he all but growls. 

You tilt your head at him as your irritation begins to spark. Meanwhile, Castiel is the one who backs up as he glances between you and Dean uncertainly.

“I made a mistake, but that doesn’t give you the right to tell me what to do,” you shoot back. “I was a hunter long before I met you.” 

“Yeah, well, color me surprised that you’ve made it this long,” he snaps. 

Your temper flares hotter. “You know, you’re not so goddamn perfect either.” 

“Never said I was,” Dean says. “But when my gut tells me something ain’t right, I need you to fucking listen. Otherwise, we get a day like today.”

His words are edged with grit by the end of his little rant, and you don’t appreciate it. Your lips purse in anger.

“I don’t care what that legendary gut tells you,” you sass back. “I’m not a little girl, and you’re not my damn father!”

Dean raises incredulous brows at the way you’re shouting at him. He crosses his arms. 

“What’s this, some kind of Latina temper?” he asks snidely. 

You truly become incensed at that. 

“Oh, you want to take it there?” you ask, as your eyes narrow. “Que sin vergüenza tú eres. Sigue jodiendo conmigo, coño. Entonces tú vas a ver quien soy yo.”

Dean won’t admit it, but in that moment, he’s a bit intimidated by the quiet threat in your voice. Still, his fuse is lit, and he’s way beyond curbing his internal filter.

“Oh, I’m sorry, does this telenovela-style tongue lashing come with subtitles?” he snarks. 

You let out an incredulous breath. Your eyes begin to sting.

“You’re such an asshole!” you shout back. There, understand that?

You turn away from him before your frustrated tears can fall, but you stop short once you notice Castiel dragging out the bodies of the dead…including Andy. Your throat constricts, and you begin to stalk out of the barn. 

Dean calls your name in frustration. 

“What?” you hiss. 

The only thing that makes him hesitate is seeing the state of you when you turn back around. His anger crumbles, and maybe something in him breaks when he sees your tears. They’ve welled up in your eyes, and a few of them carve a path down your cheeks. 

You’re still covered in your own blood, and he hates it. He hates it more than anything. 

Later, you see the state of yourself when Sam returns with the Impala. In the reflection on the backseat window, you see the blood dried down your neck, staining nearly half of your shirt.

You see the black rings of your mascara and eyeliner around your eyes. You look a mess, and you try to wipe underneath your eyes. It’s a fruitless effort.

After you all finish burning the bodies, Dean starts the long drive home. You insist on stopping to tell Rachel Campbell about her son, but Sam says he already took care of it when he drove into town. 

You frown, but you no longer have the energy to be angry. You further withdraw into yourself, and your lower lip trembles as you look out the window. Through the rearview mirror, Dean sees more tears slipping down your face.

What Sam told him (but he won’t tell you), is what one of the survivors said. One of the mated pairs had taken Andy…to “adopt” a son of their own. 

That night is quiet and tense in Dean’s room. You have to wash your hair all over again, and scrub the blood and grime from your body until only your skin remains. But you don’t have the energy to do more than braid your wet hair afterwards and pull on your lucky Journey shirt, which is still full of holes. 

Dean knows that it’s bad when you need the “dreamcatcher,” as he’s called it in his head. You’ve never had a nightmare while wearing that shirt, or so you claimed a while back. 

You wear it over some long pajama pants instead of your usual shorts, or better yet, nothing at all. But he can see what kind of mood you’re in. Things are unsettled as you both get ready for bed in silence. 

He notes the way you turn to face the other side in bed, maybe to avoid him. Though if you really wanted to do that, you could’ve gone to your old room.

So in more ways than one, Dean takes some solace in the fact that you’re still next to him. And he decides to give you some time and space. 

He goes to bed and tries in vain to sleep.

In the morning, Dean’s woken by the familiar smell of coffee…and the less familiar sound of loud salsa music. 

What the fuck?

After he brushes his teeth, he puts on his robe and slippers and heads down to the kitchen, where he finds you in a seemingly better mood. You’re mopping the floor, of all things. You’re out of your pajamas, instead wearing a loose shirt that falls off your shoulder and some spandex shorts. 

“Yo no se mañana…yo no se mañana. Si estaremos juntos, si se acaba el mundo,” you sing softly along with the music as you dance from the kitchen to the living room. Your phone is connected to a Bluetooth speaker on the coffee table. 

Dean starts to smile, crossing his arms as he leans against the doorway to watch you.

At an instrumental break with a run of conga drums and trumpets, you pause in your mopping to do a little twirl as you dance, with a soulful roll of hips and a flair of salsa steps. It makes Dean’s smile kick up into a smirk.

He walks in on purposefully light feet until he’s sidled up behind you in the living room.

“Nice moves, Shakira,” he quips. 

It startles a shriek of surprise out of you as you whirl around. Dean’s smile hikes up into a grin, but it soon fades when he remembers the way your scream rang through his ears last night. The way his heart dropped into his stomach, and his head swiveled at the sound. And he saw you go down hard. 

Then the rest of it tumbles through his mind—what he had to do afterwards in order to save you. How he’d did it without really thinking, his panic and determination blocking out almost everything else when he’d grabbed the kid. The monster, he forcibly reminds himself. 

“You trying to give me a heart attack?” you ask with a hand on your heart. 

Dean forces himself to smile a little. “Sorry. But might I remind you, not everyone here’s an early bird.”

You give him a wry look.

“You’re the only one around here who sleeps past 10 a.m. Cas dipped out a while ago, and Sam’s on a run.” 

But you graciously grab your phone to lower the music to a more bearable level. Dean doesn’t yet know this about you, but this—listening to music, dancing, cleaning—it’s all your way of coping…and releasing as much of your pain, terror, and regret from yesterday as possible. 

You then look up at him more guarded. The two of you exchanged a lot of unsavory words last night. In fact, it may just be the worst fight you two have ever had in almost three years of knowing one another.  

Dean senses the shift in you, and his amusement fades. He just can't let things stay like this. He won't.

He hazards drawing closer and touching your arm.

“Look…I’m sorry for snapping at you yesterday. I know I was being a dick,” he says. “You’ve just gotta understand something.”

You wait for him to continue with furrowed brows, sensing that whatever he’s about to say is hard for him. 

“There’s a reason I don’t do this. The uh, relationship thing,” Dean continues, clearing his throat. His thumb swipes along your arm. “It’s not just this job. It’s my fucked up life. I tried to warn you before—” 

“Dean,” you say with a sigh, but he raises his hand. 

“Please, just…let me say it,” he says. “You know the spiel. But things can change on a dime. Even on a damn milk run, like a dusty nest of vamps.”

You know that. You know you could’ve died yesterday, and he doesn’t need to remind you of that fact. Before you can start to get petulant again though, Dean continues. His jaw is working, like this next part is more difficult for him to admit.

“Trust me when I say, us being together is dangerous, for both of us,” he says. “For a while I, uh…I started to think Sam and I were better off alone.”

That casts you into dismay. Because you know Dean isn’t lying. He’s really contemplated spending the rest of his life devoid of love, so he won’t have to lose it. 

Dangerous, for both of us.

You realize then what Dean’s really saying. He’s afraid…afraid to lose you. You see it in his furrowed brows, the downturn of his lips, and whatever pain he’s trying to hide in the depths of his eyes. 

And just like that, the water works start. You can’t quite keep your tears at bay as you hold onto his shirt. He lets out a resigned sigh as he holds you by your arms. 

“You don’t have to cry for that,” he says, a bit teasing. 

“Have you met me?” you sniff. But you manage to look up at him with your glassy eyes. “I’m sorry too. God, I’m so sorry, Dean.” 

Your fist clenches in his shirt when you remember Andy, latched onto your neck, and how Dean had to save you. You know he’s remembering it too when his brows furrow, and his gaze falls away. You reach a hand for his cheek.

“I know I fucked up,” you admit. “I was working with my heart, not my head. I just…”

You wanted so badly to help that kid and his mother. You also know that Dean understands; you see it in his eyes. He holds your hand to his cheek and brushes his thumb across the back of your hand.

“I know,” he says. “I really am sorry, baby.” 

The problem is, you didn’t just see your own mother in Rachel. She hadn’t been much older than you. And when you imagine a life beyond hunting, more than anything (no matter how much you shove down the idea), you really do want a family of your own someday. 

It’s just…days like yesterday remind you why that could be a very bad idea. 

More of your tears bubble over, and you head willingly into Dean’s arms. “Me too…”

He holds you tighter than ever. His hands rub down your back, tangle in your hair, and he drops his lips onto your hair. You sniffle, wiping your face dry in his shirt. And for a while, the two of you have peace in the relative quiet. 

Music still plays from the speaker though. And when another salsa song starts to play on your playlist, you start swaying. A smile works its way onto Dean’s face. 

“You can’t help yourself, can you?” he teases.

You smile into his chest. “We should go dancing sometime.”

Dean just laughs. “Oooh, no.”

“Oh, yes,” you reply, batting your lashes up at him. You slip a hand on his shoulder and into one of his hands. He’s forced to hold you as if the two of you were about to start Fred Astair-ing across the living room. 

“Have you ever danced before?” you ask. “Like real dancing.” 

“Not salsa, I’ll tell you that,” he quips. 

“That’s okay. I’ll teach you,” you reply with a coquettish smile. “It’s just a few simple moves.”

Dean gives you a wan look. “You made it look anything but simple.”

You blush at that, but you meet him with a pout of disappointment. You don’t let up, even when Dean frowns. He huffs at you in resistance.

“No,” he insists. You just brush a gentle thumb along his neck, biting your lip in askance.  

But the longer he stares at your beautiful, hopeful eyes, the more cracks form in his resolve. 

Eventually, Dean breaks with a sigh, and a shake of his head. 

“You’re too much, you know that?” he mutters.

It’s then that you know you’ve won.

So with a happy squeal of excitement, you clap your hands and move to stand next to him so you can show him the basic steps of salsa dancing. 

You make him take off his robe and slippers, leaving in his shirt and plaid pajama pants. Then you instruct him for a few minutes, correcting his footing and getting him to move on a beat. You’re pleasantly surprised that he has some rhythm.  

Dean sighs once again. How the hell did we get here? Heat crawls up the back of his neck as embarrassment starts to set in. 

“This is fucking ridiculous,” he grumbles.

“You’re doing good,” you encourage, with a growing smile. “Now come on, feel the beat in threes. One, two, three. One, two, three…”

Once he sort of has the basic steps and turns down, you move to stand in front of him. There you show him how to hold you, how he’ll move forward, and you’ll move back. It takes a little while, but you slowly move through the combinations, then do a little twirl underneath his hand. 

When he pulls you back in without faltering, you give him a beaming smile. “Very good!”

A subtle grin raises his lips at your enthusiasm. He also feels his face heating up at the praise.

But you pause when a certain song filters through the speakers. It’s an old one (and it never fails to make you blush), but you love it.  

“Ooh, yes,” you exclaim with delight, and you turn up the volume.

“What’s this one?” Dean asks.

“Ven Devórame Otra Ves,” you inform him. Not that he knows what that means. You sing along a bit with the first couple of verses while you encourage Dean to lead you in the dance. 

This song is just slow enough for him to attempt it, and the funny thing is, he doesn’t feel all that uncomfortable with the steps now. He’s starting to get a feel for how to move, both with his feet, and with his hands as he guides you by your waist, holding your hand close to his chest. Still, Dean’s also curious about the lyrics you’re singing. 

“What does it mean?” he asks.

You huff in amusement. “You sure you want to know?”

Dean raises a brow. “Well, now I gotta know.” 

You giggle at that, though you correct his steps when he leads with the wrong foot. 

“Okay. It’s about a guy who’s pretty much a player,” you say with a smirk. “His bed has been a revolving door of hot ass, but he keeps thinking about this one woman who used to have him turned inside out…”

Dean’s lips curve at the familiar image you’re conjuring. He manages to turn you under his hand, then pull you back to him in one smooth motion. He looks down at you with a deeper gleam in his eyes. You bite your lip, soothing your hand from his shoulder and down his arm.

As the song’s verses come, you translate for him. And for Dean, your voice in itself is a spell.

“Even in my dreams, he says, I thought I had you devouring me. And I dampened my white sheets remembering you,” you begin. Your words are smooth like black velvet. “In my bed, no one is like you, who draws my body on every corner, without a piece of skin left over.”

Dean is getting hot under the collar as you push away, dragging your fingertips along his back as you turn around him. When you come back into his line of vision, his attention is attracted to the sway of your hips, clad just in those little spandex shorts. He has to clear his throat a bit. 

You eventually return to him with a warm hand against his chest. 

“Ven, devórame otra ves. It means, come devour me again,” you continue, looking up at him from under your lashes, “Come punish me more with your desire. Because I kept my love for you…because my mouth has the taste of your body.” 

You smile at the laser focus of his green-eyed gaze. “Come devour me again.”

You push off with another little spin. When you reach for his hand, Dean yanks you back into him, eliciting a gasp. The move disorients you for a moment, but you giggle and hold onto his arms. Your hands glide up to rest on his shoulders. 

He’s holding you flush against him, and as you shift a thigh between his legs, you unintentionally graze against his hardening length. You look up at him with a smirk.

“You’re a little…stiff,” you say, both flirtatious and teasing. “Let’s loosen you up.”

You shake his shoulders out and try to get him to relax. Dean raises a wry brow, because you know damn well whose fault it is that his body is coiled tight. But you place his hands on your hips as you move back into the dance. 

“Feel what I’m doing there?” you ask. He looks down on you with growing heat.

“If I could do that, we wouldn’t be together,” he rumbles. 

You try to stifle a laugh as he pulls you in close again, just swaying for a bit. Soon enough, you grin knowingly when his hands start to slide lower on your ass. His head bows to yours, ready to meet you with a kiss. 

You stop him with your finger on his lips.

“Question: do you consider yourself more of a tits or ass man?” you ask him. You’re half teasing, but still curious. Dean snorts at the question. 

“More of a connoisseur,” he replies, smirking. 

“Ah.” You nod sagely, and you point between him and yourself. “So this is like a ‘sample the menu’ situation.”

Dean’s smirk deepens. “Sweetheart, you’re a goddamn buffet.”

You splutter laughing…and that’s when he finally pounces. He claims your lips with greedy passion. His hand winds into your hair, gripping tight and ruining what’s left of your loose ponytail. The strands coil around his hand in messy curls while he also gets a healthy grip of your ass through your thin shorts. 

You smile into his lips, even as you acquiesce to him guiding your head to the side, so he can slip his tongue against yours. You grip his arms more for stability while he manhandles you, kneading soft flesh and making pleasant tingles run up your spine. 

After a little while, his mouth burns a hot path away from yours. He noses down your neck, skimming his lips across your skin. It sets your nerve endings on fire and gets you breathing more shallowly in his ear. You cling to the back of his shirt, holding him close. 

Often he’s one to leave love bites of varying degrees, wherever he sees fit. But for a moment he stops at the crook of your neck, just pressing a lingering kiss.

He lets out a deep breath, and you realize he’s probably thinking about where you were bitten. The wound is gone, but it doesn’t change what’s imprinted in both of your minds.  

A softer smile grows on your face. You trail your fingers up into his hair, massaging the back of his neck. 

“I’m okay,” you remind him. Dean hums deep in agreement. You know, however, that he’s still thinking far too much.

So you slide your hands down, slow between the dips and planes of muscle in his back, and rest at his hips. Your thumbs delve under the hem of his shirt and tease the skin there. 

And you start slow, pressing wet, nipping kisses of your own to his neck while you inch his shirt up. You feel his smile on your neck. His grip on your hip flares to life. Still, he lets you tug his shirt up and over his head. Your loose shirt comes next, revealing the same black satin and lace bra you wore the first time he ever got you topless in his arms. 

A fan favorite. Dean grins. He reaches around to go for the clasp, but your firm push on his chest takes him by surprise.

He falls back onto the couch with a grunt, looking up at you then with raised brows. You’ve got a mischievous little smirk on your face that heats his blood and makes his cock twitch.

You take out the rest of your falling ponytail, shaking your hair out wild. Then you let your hands drift down your neck, over your clothed breasts, and finally to your little shorts.

Dean rubs his palms down his thighs and watches. A smirk forms across his lips as you slide the fabric down the curve of your hips. It leaves you in a red thong, familiar to him by the little tear it has on the front. (Again, his fault.)

You climb aboard his strong thighs to straddle his lap, using his shoulders as leverage as you sink down. You make sure to rub yourself teasingly against his clothed erection. He groans in appreciation. His hands fly to your soft, thick thighs and squeeze. 

“Aw, I like this,” Dean says, half on another moan as you grind down a bit harder on him. 

“Yeah?” you tease. You take his face in your hands and capture his lips with your own. Your tongue invades his mouth, and he welcomes you with a deep hum. It’s slow and hot at first, but Dean feels the loss of you when you break from his lips.

Instead, you treat him with the same trail of kisses he gave you, along the curve of his jaw and down his neck. But you don’t stop there.

Your hands move over his chest with purpose, tweaking over each hard nipple while your mouth burns a wet line down and down his sternum. Dean groans at your ministrations, but lets you leave his lap to slide down to the ground, between his thighs. 

“What’re you up to, baby?” he asks, despite having a very good idea of it. He catches the playful, yet determined gleam in your eye. 

You pause, briefly leaning back up to give him a heated kiss. You part from him with a grin. 

“Isn’t it obvious?” you ask. “I’m gonna devour you.”

Dean stares hard at you as goosebumps break out across his forearms. 

Oh, fuck yeah. 

A giggle bubbles in your throat at the expression on his face. But you continue, taking his pants down his legs first, before his boxer briefs. 

Dean’s body tenses in anticipation. You’ve gone down on him before, but somehow it’s different this time. He feels like every single one of his nerve endings stands at attention along with his dick. And you’re taking your sweet time working him up. 

Even when his cock is finally free, you sooth your hands down his legs first, maybe teasing him a bit as you drag your nails down his inner thighs. Dean makes a strained sound, though he tries to hide it by clearing his throat.

Your gaze flicks up to his with a little smile. He’s holding the back of the couch; his fingers are digging into the old cushion in effort to keep still for you. But his eyes stare into yours like a man starving. You know what you’re in for after you have your way with him, but for now, he’s quite literally under your control. 

So you take him in your hands first. Dean groans as you tease him with light touches, soft movements, your thumb slowly circling over the sensitive, weeping head of his cock. It's torturous enough to make him drop his head back against the couch, closing his eyes tight.

And suddenly, he blinks them open again.

“Shit,” he utters, when you finally take him into your mouth. Your tongue is soft and wet, your lips move over him steadily, and your hands caress whatever your mouth can’t take, even teasing his balls. 

You work him over relentlessly, until he can’t help but spill everything he has to give into your waiting mouth. When you suck off and swallow whatever remains, Dean’s heart stutters like syncopated conga drums. 

He shudders and struggles for breath afterwards, watching your every movement—from wiping your mouth to shooting him that satisfied little smirk. 

You press one last kiss to the inside of his thigh before you raise from where you’ve been kneeling on the hard ground. 

Dean manages to lean forward and helps you up by your elbows. But then he pulls you back into his lap and kisses you deeply. He doesn’t let up until you’re panting with him.

“Fuckin’ hell, sweetheart,” he manages to say. His voice is deep and laced with grit. 

He’s still panting heavily. You giggle and press your warming face into his neck. 

“What, now you’re shy?” he remarks. And he has to laugh. “Come back here.”

He brings your face back to him with a hand on your cheek. For a second, he just looks at you. His thumb strokes across your full, thoroughly kissed bottom lip.  

“Say it,” you encourage softly. “Whatever you’re thinking. Right now.”

A smile tugs at his lips. He can’t help but oblige you. 

“You’re too damn much,” he says again, both gruff and fond. Despite how you drive him up the fucking wall sometimes, he doesn't think it'll ever be enough for him, what he has with you.

Because this is something he'd almost given up on. Didn't think he'd get to have it. And it almost scares him, how much he wants you. How much he...

“I love you,” he says. His thumb traces along the familiar curve of your cheek.

It hasn’t been all that long, but he knows. You weaseled your way in without even trying. The least he can do for you is be honest.

Your fingers curl around his wrist, holding his hand in place. You tilt your head at him.

“Oh, yeah?” you ask. 

Dean hesitates, but he nods. “Yeah.”

A smile grows across your face. “Eh, I’m still on the fence.”

At his flat look, you laugh and lean in for a kiss. He allows it, a little petulantly. But you make up for it with sweet affection. Your gentle hands stroke down the column of his neck, down his chest. You then lean back so he can see your face.

“Yo te amo,” you whisper. “Te amo y te quiero, más que tú puedes creer y entender.”

Dean smiles. He doesn’t understand all of it, but he gets the important bits. He hears it in the tone of your voice. He sees it in your eyes. They shine with emotion, but mainly with love. 

Dean kisses your hand. He lets go, just so he can slip his hands around you to finally unhook your bra. He tosses it across the room without bothering to see where it lands.

You do though, and you meet him with a slightly narrowed gaze. 

“Are you making a mess of my clean bunker?” you tease. 

His lips curve as he kisses you again, while his hands each get a generous handful of your breasts. 

“Ah, hello, ladies." He grins. "Miss me?”

You can’t help but laugh. He’s such a dork sometimes.

But you hum when his thumbs brush over hardened nipples, then drag deliberate circles over them, and pinch just hard enough to make you whimper in pleasure. The sensation zips through you, enhancing the flood between your legs. 

“I fucking love that sound,” Dean mutters, and licks a hot path in the valley between your breasts. His lips move against your dewy skin when he says, “Do that for me again.”

When he takes a nipple in his mouth and nips a bit hard, you have to oblige him. Your voice rising high is music to his ears.  

So he goes for your panties next. You help him get them off and return to his lap. With a breathy moan, you revel at the feeling of his fingers probing into your wet heat.  

However, you and Dean have been too engrossed in one another to notice the door of the bunker unlocking, and heavy steps down the spiral staircase. 

It’s Sam who’s back from his run. Unfortunately, he soon has to shield his eyes upon reaching the living room. 

“Damn it, Dean!”

You yelp in surprise, but Dean laughs and holds you close to shield you from view. As a bonus, it presses your breasts against his chest. 

“All right, Sammy. Go to your room,” he chides playfully (but he means it). “The adults are havin’ a moment.”

Sam scoffs. “You’re having a moment on the goddamn couch!”

“Sorry,” you say, though it’s muffled in Dean’s neck. Your face is red hot with embarrassment. 

Sam rolls his eyes heavenward and tries not to see anything else on his way to his room. 

But Dean’s chuckle reverberates through your chest as his hand goes to your cheek. He encourages you to pull back, so he can see your face again. 

When he does, he smirks at the scarlet blush dusting your cheeks and neck. You bite your lower lip, but despite your embarrassment, you’re happy.

Your own words replay in your mind when you lean in for another kiss.

I love you, you’d said. I love you and I love you, more than you can believe and understand. 

AN: Yay! I hope you enjoyed Part 2 of the “Midnight Espresso”-verse! I loved writing this one so much. I know we're just doing fanfic here, but I genuinely put my heart and soul into this one. ❤️

Also, here are a couple of Spanish translations:

(Note: other Spanish-speaking countries may interpret certain words differently.)

[During their fight]: 

“Que sin vergüenza tú eres. Sigue jodiendo conmigo, coño. Entonces tú vas a ver quien soy yo.”

Translation:

“You’re shameless. Keep messing with me, damn it. Then you’re going to see who I am (<- This is Dominican slang. It essentially means fuck around and find out what I'm made of.).”

[Song lyrics: “Yo No Se Mañana” by Luis Enrique]: 

“Yo no se mañana…yo no se mañana. Si estaremos juntos, si se acaba el mundo.”

Translation:

“I don’t know tomorrow. I don’t know tomorrow. If we’ll be together, if the world will end.”

Keep Reading:

Next in this series is "Chico Malo" ("Bad Boy"):

Summary: You catch Dean red-handed—with one of his favorite episodes of Casa Erotica.

▶️ Next Story: Bad Boy (Chico Malo)

Series Masterlist

Dean Winchester Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Series Tag List:

@hobby27 @this-is-me19 @kazsrm67 @letheatheodore @agothwithheavysetmakeup @jacklesdeanvessel @foxyjwls007 @wincastifer @ades106 @emily-winchester @deans-baby-momma @melancholictearz @luvs4dria @nic-kolas @katherineann83

@sleepyqueerenergy @wayward-lost-and-never-found @tipthejar @ajjustice @thewritersaddictions @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @deanwanddamons @antisocialcorrupt @adoringanakin @deanwinchesterswitch @freewastelandstrawberry

@theonlymaninthesky @teehxk @midnightmadwoman @mrshalverson2021 @iprobablyshipit91 @agalliasi @venicesem @waters-2567 @chriszgirl92 @lyarr24 @ladysparkles78 @solariklees @xsophianicolex @deansbbyx @mimaria420

@candy-coated-misery0731 @curlycarley @sarahgracej @bagpussjocken @ultrahviolentart @beskarfilms @skyesthebomb @deans-spinster-witch @tmb510 @iamsapphine @fics-pics-andotherthings-i-like @chernayawidow @vanillawhiskeyflavoredkisses

[shanastoryteller]

happy pride fem! wwx thanks

a continuation of 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11

Wen Qing risks her life and her brother’s life and the lives of every Dafan Wen to warn them and it’s still not enough.

Lotus Pier has fallen.

They’re exhausted and singed and starving and Wei Wuxian doesn’t know where her people are and it’s by design, it’s exactly what they planned for, but what had seemed reasonable as she and Jiang Cheng discussed inevitabilities under moonlight now feels like treason when, ironically, the planning and undermining and lying hadn’t.

“They could still be alive,” she says, the three of them huddled beneath a tree with Jiang Yanli between them, because she’s the least able to handle the cold. “They kept Lan Qiren alive.”

“As a hostage,” Jiang Cheng says, eyes pinched at the corners. “I know. That’s why we – I know.”

They’d needed to help smuggle the junior disicples out, had needed to make sure they were dispersed to the senior disciples that had managed to escape, so that all is not lost.

She had seen Lan Zhan in the wake of Coud Recesses burning to the ground and had known what was coming for Lotus Pier. Uncle Jiang and Madame Yu hadn’t believed her.

Jiang Cheng had. So they’d hatched a plan, so when they failed and the Wen sent out that flare their own people had known what to do. Civilians had hunkered down to weather the storm and been told to not fight against the regime change. Cultivators and their family had ran, for the most part. The youngest had ran, as commanded.

Most of the senior disciples had stayed to fight, to give everyone time to make it out, stayed to die so that others could have a chance to live.

The Wen are powerful, but sloppy. They can’t track and kill all of them. They don’t have the numbers, or the motivation. Their people will live. Hopefully.

“I should have stayed behind,” Wei Wuxian says, the guilt eating away at her.

Jiang Cheng and Jiang Yanli had to go. There’d be no reason to keep Madame Yu or Uncle Jiang alive if the heirs were dead, if they had no one to threaten into compliance, so of course neither of them could stay.

Wei Wuxian could have. Should have. She ordered disciples she’s known her whole life to their death and then ran herself.

“Shut up,” Jiang Cheng says, all exhaustion and no anger. “Mother and Father told us to run. All of us. Besides, I couldn’t have gotten all those kids out on my own. Are our junior disciples lives less valuable than your pride?”

“Of course not!” she snaps, then frowns. “Stop that. Being reasonable is my job.”

Jiang Yanli lets out an unexpected laugh that unfortunately derails into a coughing fit. Wei Wuxian and Jiang Cheng share a look over her head.

They have to find shelter, and food, and find it soon. The two of them can manage without for a while, but she can’t.

Wei Wuxian forces herself to focus on that and not the harsh truth she’s trying her best not to think about.

Uncle Jiang and Madame Yu are probably still alive and their lives will be used to keep the Jiang, specifically Jiang Cheng, from attacking them. But they would both rather die than be used that way and all three of them know it.

Jiang Cheng is going to have to make an impossible choice and Wei Wuxian would do anything to save him from that.

[marezablr]

i feel like main gohan is scared of his anger but future gohan relies on it.

like, okay. so main gohan has won fights with his anger, right? but he’s also done terrible things with it. he knows that when he can use it, he’ll be on the right side of a beatdown. but he doesn’t trust himself with what happens when it's there. when goku tells him to get angry in buu saga, he expresses reservations, because when gohan got angry with cell, people died. so main gohan's anger is source of incredible power, but it’s also something to be scared of. a beast in the cage of his mortal form. he has to train the power he gets from anger to keep it under control.

future gohan, though? future gohan has never won a fight in his life. like, okay, technically he got the KO on vegeta, but even then, in every fight he’s ever been in, he was on the wrong side of the beatdown. he’s never known winning, let alone what it feels like to have unquestionable superior strength against an enemy.

but his anger gave him super saiyan. it gives him strength and resistance in the face of unrelenting horror. anger is literally keeping future gohan alive. why would he be afraid of it? all his heroes died, and their deaths gave him a weapon to protect everyone left.

so anger just works very differently in their self images. main gohan tries to manage and hold down his anger, because he knows how dangerous it can be. he wants to protect the people he loves from its consequences.

but future gohan cherishes his anger. it is his protection. future gohan's anger is a gift from the people who loved him, and he nurtures that gift to make sure it doesn't go to waste.