#ascended would be terrible and we all know it

[eff-plays]

Yyeaahh I am not of the twee Astarion lover variety I don't think the guy would be a very good father I'm sorry.

HE WOULDN'T BE BAD. But probably not great? Just sort of a deeply mediocre dad. At best.

Maybe after a couple hundred years of medieval fantasy therapy first he'd be fine. Ish. I think it would depend on when he had them tbh.

I do enjoy thinking about it though. Like trying to solve a Rubik's cube but it's a fictional guy.

[artists-ally]

what about Harvey when he’s jealous? His wife is attending an event at the firm with him, she’s wearing a nice dress and one of his rivals from another firm is oggling her and she dogdes his advances gracefully, but when they get home he’s bending her on the closest surface and chanting “mine” skxmcmdks

{Put it on Me} Reader x Harvey Specter

oh BOY have I been thinking about this tehe. Also, you are my soul source of Harvey inspiration pls pls pls keep the requests coming. I have such a hard time coming up with ideas on my on so getting to create something specific really helps. Enjoy loves!!! title from this song

Word Count: 3,375

Warnings: jealousy, minor dom/sub concepts, unprotected sex, flirty banter, Harvey being a possessive mf.

~~~~~~~

As I stepped around the corner of the hallway, Harvey was leaning against the kitchen island, hands braced on the counter, gaze very much pinned on my silhouette.

“So, what do you think?” I asked, gesturing to the gown I had picked out over the weekend. “I thought the green would match well with yours.”

Harvey’s eyes melted over my frame, scanning every inch as he just stood. Watching. “You… Yn, you look breathtaking. What do you say we skip the firm announcement and just stay in?”

I laughed, the sound of my heels echoing off the walls. “As much as that sounds like a great idea, we can’t exactly snub off the announcement of a merger.”

“You just have to be the buzzkill don’t you?” Harvey smiled, planting his hands on my hips. “I should have you locked up for how good you look.”

“I don’t think you’d be able to convince a jury I’ve committed a crime, not if I bat my lashes and give them that flirty smile that sent you crawling to the floor.”

His eyes narrowed, backing me against the island in a firm spin. “Let’s not forget who can make those same lashes flutter shut, either.”

Bastard.

Harvey was dressed well– he always was. Terribly and insufferably great at finding the perfect suit. It was a three piece; the vest and jacket were black, but he wore this green tie that went with my dress. He said that since this would be the first event we attended together as a married couple, he wanted everyone to know.

Endearing, and mildly possessive.

I loved it when he was possessive.

“Okay, Maverick, let’s get to the flightdeck before we run out of fuel,” I patted his chest, grabbing my clutch and slipping in my earrings.

“Have I ever told you how much I love it when you make Top Gun references?”

“Almost as many times as you’ve told me how much you love when I’m on my knees,” I whispered in his ear before heading to the door.

Harvey landed a firm smack on my ass, sending laughter tumbling out of me before we kissed and headed down to the limo waiting for us.

I looked up and out of the window, taking in the views of the towering skyscrapers. The venu was gorgeous; all sleek marble and intricate architecture. Who knew such a place existed in New York.

When we arrived, Harvey stepped out first, taking my hand and guiding me out. I clutched his bicep as we ascended the stairs, greeting the security guard in front of the glass doors.

“Ahh, Mr. and Mrs. Specter,” the guard greeted. “Welcome. Ms. Pearson and Mr. Litt are waiting for you inside, as well as the other guests.”

Harvey gave me a nod, and I gave him one back. “Thank you, sir.”

He opened the door for us, and the inside was just as meticulously crafted as the outside. It was stunning, truly stunning. They don’t make buildings like this anymore, and that makes me a little sad.

“Yn!” Donna called out, several heads turning in our direction. “Oh my god you look amazing!”

“I couldn’t say anything less about you, Donna. You look so good, that royal blue makes your hair look so awesome,” I smiled pressing a kiss to her cheek. “And you too, Jessica. You look marvelous.”

“Thank you, Yn,” she smiled, accepting my hug. “Don’t you clean up nice, Harvey.”

He rolled his eyes, snagging a flute of champagne from a waiter on their way by. “I’ve been known to clean up every now and then.”

Conversation flowed easily between the small cluster I’ve been encompassed with. It is so nice to have such a tight knit group of people to not only call my friends, but my family. When Harvey first brought me around them, it had just been after a huge win against a firm enemy. Daniel Hardman, who I’ve come to know the full story about, had his ass handed to him. Afterwards, Harvey was far too proud to keep his mouth shut about us and insisted I needed to be a part of the celebration.

Donna was the first to meet me, and we shared one look and knew we were gonna be best friends. We made an incredible team. Especially when we teamed up against Harvey together.

Jessica was polite, but not nearly as friendly as Donna or Louis. Mike was nice, and so was Rachel, but they were too love struck, always off in their own little bubble.

Cuties.

Dinner was served just before eight and we dined, exchanging stories left and right. I got to hear about his days at the firm from their perspective, to which I get to tell them from mine. Wildly different, might I add.

The food was rich and decadent; a choice between a filet mignon or a salmon steak. I went with the filet mignon, it looked too good to pass up. Apparently everyone else agreed because our plates all looked identical when they came out.

More champagne and a belly full of great food later, Harvey and I found ourselves at the bar, ordering drinks for ourselves. Sure Harvey enjoyed the company of his co-workers, but even he needed a break from the people he saw every day. And so did I.

“If she comes back, order me an old fashioned for me my love?” Harvey said, kissing the back of my hand. “I just saw one of our investors walk in. I want to make sure he keeps investing.”

“I’ll make sure she puts in an extra cherry for you,” I winked, letting his lips fall onto mine.

“God I love you.”

With a lingering touch, he was off across the room, that classic Harvey Specter saunter to his gait. He looked so confident, so proud of all the work he had accomplished in his career. And he should be. Harvey has built an empire here in New York and has done more than earn his reputation.

It baffled me that underneath that ‘tough as nails’ attitude, was just someone who wanted to be loved and cherished as much as I had. I love Harvey, with every bit of my soul. He was so deserving of someone who truly loved him and not the amount of zeros in his bank account.

When we first met, I hadn’t known who he was, and he liked that very much. He told me he was a lawyer, a good one, but never specified which didn’t bother me really at all. It was complicated for a long while, but eventually I wore him down and he opened up. There weren’t any details of his life he didn’t share once that wall was broken down. When I met Donna for the first time, she thanked me for it. She said that I pulled that child-like behavior out of him and made him fall in love with being a lawyer all over again.

That made my heart swell with pride.

A gentle tap on my shoulder pulled me out of my memory of Harvey, and I met a pair of tempest blue eyes.

“Oh, hello,” I gave a polite smile, turning to face the man.

“Hello to you, too,” he smiled, eyes darting around my face. “I’m Travis.”

“Yn,” I said, taking his hand in mine.

“You know,” he rubbed his fingers over his chin, “Most people tend to just wear an outfit, but clearly you are going the extra mile by capturing everyone’s attention by simply sitting here.”

I hit my smile, “Well, that is kind of you to say.”

“And the earrings, they really bring the whole thing together. Did you do your hair yourself?”

“Yes,” I exclaimed, rather enthusiastically. “It looks a lot more complicated than it was. It genuinely only took me five or six minutes to do but it looks incredible, right?”

I swiveled in the bar stool, turning the back of my head to him. He blew out a low whistle and gave a light applause, “It looks amazing.”

“Are you here from the merger?” I asked, not recognizing this Tanner fellow.

“Oh, no I am merely here as a… a guest.” His eye had this glint to it when he took a sip of his clear drink. I could smell the vodka from here.

“Me too,” I said, turning my attention to the space around us. “Isn’t this place so cool? I love all the columns and pillars and- oh! Excuse me, can I get an old fashioned? With an extra cherry in it?”

“Of course,” the bartender nodded, walking away to start mixing the drink.

“Wouldn’t have pegged you for whiskey kinda girl,” Travis said, resting his elbows on the counter beside me.

“Oh, I’m not it’s for-”

“Tanner.” Harvey’s voice slithered down my spine. He sounded so… so repulsed.

“Harvey,” Travis pushed to his full height. “Nice to see you here-”

“What are you doing here.” It wasn’t a question.

“Your name is Tanner?” I asked. Why would he lie to me?

“No, no my name is Travis. Tanner is my last name.”

“She doesn’t give a shit about what your last name is. Now get the hell out of here.”

“Woah, calm down Harvey. I’m just talking with this beautiful lady, no need to twist your panties. I was here first, you don’t get to swoop in here and steal my conversation,” Travis frowned, setting the glass down rather harshly on the counter.

“Hey Yn, isn’t that an 8 carat diamond?” Harvey stood directly behind me, sliding his fingers down my left arm, grabbing my wrist and facing it towards Travis.

“Uhh, yeah what’s going-”

“That's right, it is. Funny how I knew that, isn’t it Tanner? Well, that’s because I bought it for her. So how about you get the hell out of here and if I ever catch you trying to flirt with my wife again I will put you six feet in the fucking dirt, do you understand me?”

My eyes damn near fell out of my fucking skull. I knew Travis was being polite, or flirting I guess, but I wasn’t going to let anything come of it, of course.

Travis looked like he was going to be sick. He scurried off, metaphorical tail tucked between his legs.

Harvey dropped my hand and reached around me to grab his freshly crafted drink.

“Okay, hotshot, what was that all about?”

“Do you remember that shit-show of a case that we fought a few months ago, the one that got reopened after four years?” I nodded. “Yeah, that was him. And that's the asshole who tried to have me disbarred.”

Holy shit. “Oh, fuck Harvey. I had no idea.”

“Of course you didn’t,” he smiled faintly. “There’s no other reason he’s here tonight other than to piss me off.”

“Don’t let it get to you,” I said, standing up and taking his face in my hands. “Would you like to passionately make out in front of all these people just to make Travis Tanner mad?”

“Yes, yes I would like that very much,” Harvey grinned, linking his arm around my wait and pressing me close before sending a shiver down my spine with the force of his lips on mine.

“That guy is an asshole,” I said, needing a moment to catch my breath. Surely that did the trick, Travis was nowhere in sight. “You shouldn’t trust anyone with two first names, it’s weird.”

Harvey bellowed out a laugh, nodding his head over his shoulder. I could tell he wanted to leave, but I wouldn’t let him slink off without saying proper goodbyes to everyone that was worth an explanation as to where we fled to.

Donna didn’t need to see us leave, because I had a text on my phone with a bunch of eggplant and peace emoji’s with an accompanying message that said ‘GONNA BE SOME GOOD D TONIGHT GIRL’. She must’ve seen the whole interaction between Travis, Harvey and I.

All I sent back was a winky face.

By the time we got off the elevator, Harvey couldn’t keep his hands off of me. Not that I wanted him to, but we hadn’t even made it outside before his tongue was sweeping inside my mouth.

We pressed to the front door while jammed in the key, effortlessly unlocking it like he had done it a thousand times before. We crashed through, and Harvey wasted no time pinning me to the door.

“Mmm Harvey,” I whined into his mouth.

“Yes, pretty girl?” God damn did I love when he calls me that. “What do you need?”

“You, just you,” I looked at him through my lashes, watching that evil smirk wash over his features. Nothing could have stopped his hand clamping around my throat, pulling me off the door and into the kitchen. He hoisted me up onto the island and began to strip.

Harvey tossed his jacket onto the counter behind him, the tie was next. He made it painfully slow, doing nothing to hide his intentions of making it agonizing for me. I rolled my eyes, hands finding the buttons on his vest, flinging it over my shoulder.

“Needy,” he gripped my chin, crushing his mouth with mine. For a few minutes, or hours, we drank each other in. Restless hands and desperate pleas of need. Silk wrapped around my wrists, tight and commanding. I looked down and saw his tie around them, knotted in a figure eight and yanked until it burned.

“Harvey-”

“You’re mine. All. Mine. No one else has the right to do so much as think otherwise.” My core rippled with heat, eyes lulling shut at his words. “Aww, you like hearing that, don’t you? That I get to see you like this? All tied up? Such a pretty girl, Yn. I bet you’re such a mess for me already.”

He grabbed the fabric around my wrists and pulled me off the counter, flipping me over and forcing me to bend over. Harvey fisted up the hem of my skirt, quite literally tearing my thong off my hips.

I went to yell at him, but his finger dragged between my legs, and my spine shivered. “Fuck, Harvey…”

“You are a mess for me,” I could hear the possession in his voice. “Mmm, and you taste so sweet, Yn.”

I heard his fly unzip, the clang of his belt following after. My toes barely touched the ground as my forearms pressed against my ribs. I tried to scramble up a little so my hips fit with the edge of the counter, but Harvey just gripped the back of my hair and pulled me up.

He clicked his tongue, “Oh Yn, such a pretty thing you are. And I am going to have my way with you, and you’re gonna scream my name for the whole city to hear.”

I clenched my thighs together, pressing my forehead against the cool surface, though it quickly warmed with my breathing and panting. I felt the tip of his cock press against me, and his hips slowly met mine.

He pushed me further onto the counter, thankfully letting go of my hair before he pulled out.

Harvey’s hands on my hips were brutal; bruising my skin, commanding, feverish as they roamed my ass and thighs. Clawing marks.

“God Yn…” he sighed out, thrusting all the way back in, pulling my hips all the way flush with his. “Fuck you are so warm. So perfect for my cock.”

“Please,” I begged, wiggling my ass to entice him further.

“Please what, pretty girl? Come one, use your words.”

I shuddered around him, and he laughed at me. A cruel, wicked laugh as he stuffed himself further.

“Harder, I want- need it harder.”

“That’s my girl,” Harvey landed his palm on my ass, undoubtedly turning it bright red as he did it again. With one snap of his hips, and I knew I was gonna be ripped apart.

I didn’t know that much about Travis Tanner, but judging by the way this was going, Harvey really fucking hated the guy. If Harvey had any other enemies, maybe I should let them all flirt with me if it has the chance of turning into this.

My chest rammed across the counter, my thighs and pelvic bone rocking into the side of the island. It hurt, fuck did it hurt, but it made it so much better. Harvey’s brutal pace had him panting and groaning, cursing under his breath while he fisted his hand back in my hair.

I craned up, back aching with the force of his unyielding grip. It was hard to breathe, in the most soul fluttering way possible. It was such a euphoric feeling to be under his complete control.

“Yeah, you love this, don’t you? Being completely at my mercy? Submitting to my every decision?”

“Yes Harvey,” I whimpered. Full on whimpered. “Fuck-”

“Don’t be shy, pretty girl, let it all out for me to hear.”

He threw my head down, hair swinging around my shoulders and falling in my face. I let my head go limp, moans pouring out of my mouth. His hips slammed into mine, brutal and ruthless. Every inch of my body was on fire, veins pumping blood widely through my limbs, making them tingle. My toes curled, knees knocking into the wood paneling over and over and over.

I couldn’t do anything, couldn’t say anything, to get him to slow his pace. I writhed and cried out his name. I could hear it echo off the walls, and I knew our neighbors would be taping a complaint to our door by the morning.

“Fuck, baby, gonna cum,” he threw his head back, hips stuttering as he held on to my waist. “Fuck, Yn you are so fucking messy for me. Gonna fill you up.”

I squirmed when his finger brushed against my clit, chills spreading all down my arms and back. I felt tears prick my eyes. I hadn’t even realized how close I actually was to my release, and it slammed into me without any hint of a warning.

“Yeah, that's it, pretty girl. Cum on my cock,” Harvey’s voice was like a sin. Pure, raw, unfiltered sin.

His fingers circled and circled around, lighting my body and dragging out the waves of pleasure that rolled through me.

Harvey let out a string of curses, and his hips stilled. He grabbed my shoulder and pulled me down onto him, hips ramming in once-twice-three-four times before he stilled. He bent over me, heaving for a breath against the middle of my back.

I called his name several times, unable to keep still. My hands were going numb from the bindings, and my knees and hips ached.

With a big inhale, Harvey lifted off my body. His hands trailed all the way down my back to my exposed ass, pulling it apart. “Well, would you look at that. So messy, full of me…”

My pussy clenched around him, and I felt his release slide down the inside of my thigh. His finger dragged his back up and speared it into my skin.

“That’s right, pretty girl, you’re all mine, aren’t you? Say it.”

“I’m yours Harvey, all yours,” I plead, wallowing in the feeling of pure bliss. His hands were much more gentle this time around when he lowered me back to the ground.

That mouth of his most certainly wasn’t. Harvey forced his tongue in, practically shoving it down my throat. I choked, and he grinned like the devil.

“Yeah, that’s right, Yn. You’re all mine. All fucking mine.”

I stared up at him in a starry daze. My head was foggy, and my legs were weak. “God do I love it when you get like this.”

Harvey’s hand caressed my cheek, thumb sweeping under my eye to where I’m sure my makeup was smudged.

“And god do I love it when you let me worship you, fucking you exactly like you deserve to be. No one else could ever fuck you as good as I can. Right, pretty girl?”

I grinned, equally as devilish as him, “Right, Harvey.”

~~~~~

Reader's dress

Harvey's suit

[sneakygreenbean]

so we all know that the 36 Lessons of Vivec is considered Vivec's confession- and apology. But what I think yall are sleeping on is the Fables of Almalexia, both the Homilies and the Fables for morning, afternoon, and evening.

Each story in the four books written by Almalexia ends with a moral or lesson, and it is not uncommon for one of the Tribunal to feature in the stories as well. While a few lessons are based on real world fables (such as the Boiled Kagouti or the Gifted Guar), many of the others had lessons that directly related to the flaws and stories of the Tribunal. I think these fables that likely every dunmer child who went to temple heard, were all confessions of their own, and warnings just the same as the 36 Lessons.

Obviously, I don't care about all of these, you can read them yourself and come to your own conclusions, (hell, even synthesize them with some of the 36 Lessons, that would be fascinating for me to read) but I do want to talk about a few of them.

"Sotha Sil and the Scribs" has the moral "And so Sotha Sil discovered that the idle amusements of one may be the solemn tortures of another.", and looking on Sil's character in The Elder Scrolls: Online it is obvious that he sees mortals- even his own disciples- as somewhat lesser than him. And as a god, this belief is not wholly undeserved. Sotha Sil is significantly more powerful, older, and in many quantifiable ways *better* than the mortals he rules, that's just in the territory of being a god. But when the mortals- the scribs, in the fable- suffer, Sil is at best distant and apathetic, seeing suffering as not only not his responsibility, but also inevitable. Luciana Pullo's diary shows us a lot of what this looks like from the perspective of a mortal, even a powerful, interesting mortal that Sil obviously respects.

in "The Tallest Shroom Beetle", a beetle ""ascends"" by climbing, and is killed by a cliff racer. The moral here is stated to be "forsaking one's nature brings nothing but ruin." which would read as terribly hypocritical if taken at face value. The Tribunal, who were once mortals, warning others not to forsake their natures, to me more likely shows regret than hypocrisy.

In "The Friendly Alit" the lesson we are to learn is that "that which we hate in ourselves is often our greatest gift". Sotha Sil is the easiest to compare this to when we see his relationship with time- more on that later. I have thoughts on Almalexia that cannot be summed in a tumblr post about childrens fables, but believe me when I say I've been thinking about her. Despite this, I don't have an answer for what Almalexia might hate most about herself- she is the member of the Tribunal that we know basically nothing about before she becomes a god, her backstory being swallowed by her marriage to Nerevar. She is basically shown as having no weaknesses, and her actions are difficult to interpret even at face value.

Certainly related is the idea of Almalexia or one of the other Tribunal admitting their flaws (it is worth noting that in the Homilies, Almalexia is directly cited as the author, whereas in the Fables for Morning, Afternoon, and Evening, there is no author given. We have *assumed* that these were written by Almalexia, I mean, her name is on the cover, but it is only listed as a group of fables.)

in "The Crow and the Netch" the moral is "none can change their own weakness". Once again I think this is related to the hindsight we see in "The Friendly Alit", which seems to suggest that, if we are to seriously consider these fables, they might show the regret of the Tribunal. Each sees themself as weak in their own way, and even after sacrificing everything to destroy that weakness, they are still the same.

Related, in "The Child of the Councilor", the lesson learned is "We often forget to be thankful for what we have, when thinking only of what we want."

Many of the Homilies can be seen as confessions of regret, hindsight regarding limitations, and most importantly, flaws. I will probably end up writing an essay on this when i get around to it because I'm really normal

[thewertsearch]

Anonymous asked: I love the god tier rules. if your death isn't interesting and narratively satisfying it simply doesn't count, try again, we're trying to tell a cool cosmic story here! @captorations asked: the whole heroic/just death thing is really funny to me because it's a commentary on how narratives work. like. for all intents and purposes every major character is already god tier. by narrative convention no major character is going to die even semi-permanently outside of a heroic or just situation. john getting randomly stabbed on his quest bed was neither, of course that wasn't going to kill him for good. (alpha timeline) dave isn't going to fucking trip over a crocodile and fall in lava and die. rose isn't going to experience some terrible consequences from running with needles. jade isn't going to randomly croak from radiation poisoning. in a practical short-term sense, god tier doesn't do jack shit except crank your power level up a notch. and even that is up for debate. and of course narratives work the way they do because of fan reception. only heroic or just deaths are accepted, anything else is unsatisfying. and unsatisfying is far worse than tragic. consider that if all the trolls had been god tier, they would have died anyway! the only possible exception is equius. point is. homestuck continues to be an 8000 page lecture on How Stories Work. and it's great

Oh, that's true! By their very nature, Heroic and Just deaths are always going to be dramatic, plot-critical affairs. Therefore, ascending to God Tier means that you'll never die an NPC's death.

I'm thinking now about whether the Just/Heroic framework would encompass all plot-relevant Player deaths. Equius is certainly an ambiguous case, and a death by illness feels like it would be neither. Mind you, how often do major characters really get taken out by illness?

The first example I can think of is Goku's heart virus, which definitely killed him non-Heroically - but this sort of proves my point, because it happens outside of the story's primary timeline. By Homestuck's own rules, this is a doomed Goku, and he's probably not subject to the same protection.

Can we really picture Alpha Goku getting taken out by a heart attack? On a meta level, we know that that's not going to happen - and that's the sort of plot armor that God Tier is riffing off.

[absolutehomosexuals]

Astarion's ascension is extremely popular, despite it clearly being the designed bad ending for him.

So many fans of this version want to argue that it's a "valid" path to choose if you enjoy his character, or that it's equally good as his Spawn ending. The "it's what he wants" argument is the hegemonic justification in question.

But is wanting something better than needing another thing? Yes, he talks about ascension ever since he finds out about the ritual.

Yes, when push comes to shove he's still committed to ascend. But is this enough? Should we support his choice, even when everything but his words tell us not to? Should we trust the judgment of a deeply traumatized man about the best way for him to feel better?

This may sound harsh, but the answer is no.

Because in many circumstances, we see Astarion behaving unhealthily as a result of his trauma: he's hypersexual at the beginning of the game, using sex as a survival mechanism. He's yet to learn what his boundaries should be, what it means not to be an object, to see himself as a person that deserves respect and has so much more to offer than just his body. His trauma is still fresh. And he's so scared of losing his freedom, being trapped under slavery again.

We can't blame him being so desperate to feel safe that he will trade everything he is for it.

Because that's what the ritual means, Cazador says so himself: despite gaining the ritual's power, Astarion is still part of the bargain for said power. He still loses his soul in the process, and that is clear once we see how he acts post-ascension.

Of course, someone that is still suffering from the consequences of 200 years of abuse wouldn't care if he became less of himself, in the process of becoming untouchable ever again. Astarion's behaviour towards himself highlights that he doesn't care for the person he is because that person is, sadly, the product of those centuries of abuse.

He doesn't want to be that person anymore: even better, he doesn't want to be a person anymore: people suffer, people get taken advantage of, people are submitted by more powerful beings. He is willing to give this up not despite losing everything he is, but because of it. And that's what happens after his ascension: he retains his body, which becomes an empty shell of who he once was, with someone else inside of it to fill the void left by his soul.

This situation is a perfect, brutal metaphor of an abused person that later in life becomes the abuser himself, a thing that often happens to male victims of SA.

This is what is fundamentally wrong with Astarion's ascension: he's choosing power, his abuser's tool, over healing. Instead of learning to feel like a person again, to deal with his trauma to life after having endured it, he chooses to not feel anymore, while letting thousands of spawns (like he was) be consumed to get what he wants.

This terribly selfish act is the first instance of Astarion behaving like Cazador, considering the spawns as lesser beings, as nothing but his tools, like all vampire lords do. In this process he also sees himself, the person he gives up being, as a tool. He isn't healing. He's losing all of himself entirely.

Why would someone see this sacrifice as not only necessary to leave his trauma behind, but also preferable to healing from it?

The fan-favourite characteristic of Ascended Astarion is his behaviour towards Tav: in this version of "himself", he clearly is even more sexual than he was in his first days with the tadpole. And this expression of his sexuality is drastically different from the one we got to know prior to this point.

He is dominant, prevaricating, demanding in his avances: he enjoys being in a position of power even in his relationship.

This isn't the Astarion that slowly learns to trust his partner, to build a real loving relationship with someone who sees him as equal and truly cares for him.

Everything that he learns during his romance and his plot gets nullified by his ascension; and yet, this gets overlooked in favour of this more sexually appealing version of him. For people that claim to love his character because of his complexity, Ascended Astarion fans seem to only truly love him when he's less of himself than ever.

When all that's left of him is his body, and he behaves more like the toxic love interest from a young adult romance book, a great number of his fans get wild. Is this all that they want from him? The husk of the funny, sarcastic, dramatic and complex character, filled with this more traditionally masculine attitude, replacing what he used to be? An Astarion that never heals from his trauma, choosing to leave behind everything he was instead? Who resembles his abuser more than ever?

Do his fans who like his ascended version so much to genuinely think this is the best outcome for him, or do they just enjoy being able to project this "macho" fantasy on a physically attractive male character, that otherwise isn't anything like this prototype of man?

We can't help but think that appreciating Ascended Astarion is the same as believing in, if not loving, his hypersexual facade: it's overlooking his humanity in favour of sexualising him.

Which is the biggest disservice one could ever do to his character.

[mymanyfandomramblings]

Any headcanons for toh?

Oooooh. I have several, including an entire section dedicated to my love of the terrible Blight family dynamics. Here we go:

Luz and Gus both love Hamilton. Amity does not love Hamilton, but she tolerates it.

Amity's music taste is either 'the softest, lightest, saddest pop music' or 'heavy metal'. all happy songs on her playlist were added because she associates them with Luz or her friends, not because she listens to them.

Luz is convinced that Elvis is alive somewhere on the Boiling Isles.

All of the Hexsquad are the type to call each other in the middle of the night because an idea occurred to them. it's usually Willow who ends up being called.

Willow has tried--and failed--to understand the hype with either The Good Witch Azura or Cosmic Frontier. She however does know so much lore about both, and is so good at pretending, that her friends have yet to figure out that she doesn't care about their fandoms beyond 'you're really happy talking about it'.

Edric and Emira see Gus as their unofficial little brother

Darius makes Willow's wedding dress, when she gets married.

When Hunter and Willow get married, Gus is a combination of best man/man of honour and Luz is a combination maid of honour/best woman. Amity's just a bridesmaid, but her feelings are unhurt by this.

Hooty writes terrible RPF

Lilith likes Raine just fine but she will not let them know this.

Luz and Gus will corner Hunter at some stage and be like 'listen, we know you like Willow. If you're going to date her you have to treat her like a princess. Spare no expense, leave no stone unturned. when you ask her to Grom you must do a big romantic gesture."

Willow does not like big romantic gestures nearly as much as Luz and Gus do.

Gus helps Luz and Amity plan their big dramatic Gromposals, so that they both ask at the same time, with equally massive fanfare.

Amity is not naturally a big romantic gestures person, but Luz is, so she has adapted to a big romantic gestures person.

Eventually Gus and Luz will figure out that neither Hunter or Willow are 'big romantic gestures' people. it will take too long for them to figure this out.

Camila and Darius are appreciative of each other for raising Hunter. Beyond that, they don't actually mesh all that well. She doesn't understand his dramatics.

Darius is occasionally prone to calling Raine and Eberwolf in the middle of the night to drag them on sidequests.

Back when Lilith was head of the Emperor's Coven, Eda used to go to wherever the coven heads would meet, and she'd sit under the window with a boombox and blast the Boiling Isles equivalent of 'You May Be Right' and 'Everybody Loves Me Baby'. This stopped after Lilith left the Emperor's Coven, but a little while later, Scooter Crane resigned, Raine Whispers ascended to head of the bard coven, and Eda and her boombox returned.

When Hunter starts attending Hexside, he isn't sure what he wants to study, and with the track system being far more flexible--and him being very traumatized and not very well-socialised--Principal Bump lets him have a blank schedule and go to whichever classes whenever. This often ends up with him spending much of the day in Plants, where it's peaceful. or at least he says it's because it's peaceful.

Grimwalker physiology is pretty similar to witch and human physiology, however it has some strange and inexplicable quirks. One of these things is a complete and utter lack of a detectable heartbeat.

Eda and co. would not all have survived high school without Raine there to keep the peace, and rein in the more stupid ideas.

Also, my incessant headcanons about the Blight family:

Odalia's family used to be one of Bonesborough's richest and most eminent families, however either thanks to a bad business deal or a scandal they lost most of their fortune and repute while Odalia was a child, and by the time she started Hexside, she's been living in genteel poverty for years. This has given her high-class trappings, memories of having wealth, and a desperation to regain it.

Darius was the one to originally introduce Odalia and Alador. he eventually regretted this.

Odalia wasn't always a terrible person. She was always unscrupulous, sharp-tongued and a social climber, but she is also capable of genuine pleasantness.

Odalia and Alador once did like each other--or at the very least were attracted to each other originally. This soured over years of an unsuccessful marriage.

They got married very young. Odalia was keen to lock down the last heir to the Blight fortune as soon as possible, and Alador thought she was pretty, and a good business woman.

Everything started falling apart when the twins were born, and properly fell apart when Amity was born.

Odalia's pregnancies have never been easy on her, and she experienced bad bouts of post-partum depression after both.

Alador is most definitely autistic. and also undiagnosed. among the things he finds overstimulating are a) children and b) Odalia when she's in a bad mood.

so when Amity was born and suddenly there was a crying baby, two chaos twins, and a very irritable post-partum Odalia, Alador's response was 'spend as little time in the house as possible.'

This is about when any last love between Odalia and Alador left the marriage.

Back to general headcanons, Edric gets bad asthma attacks

Emira is like a very immature mother to her siblings. they'd be lost without her.

Amity is unambiguously the favourite child. not that this gets her preferential treatment from her parents, but it does foster resentment among her siblings.

it took the twins much too long to figure out that Mittens has other emotional needs beyond 'an ego check'.

Alador just...gives them their inheritance when they asked for it. Amity put hers into saving, Emira uses it to be the hot rich single aunty to her nieces and nephews, and Edric spent his all at once on something like a waterslide for his house.

Edric needs budgeting lessons ASAP. he's not very good at it.

Post-divorce the twins joke incessantly about the fact that their mother is in jail.

That's all I can think of right now.

[meanbossart]

I gotta ask this has been rattling in my brain for a while.

How did your DU drow react when Astarion asked him for help with the ritual? What were his thoughts? Or was he simply like stop it, no, we aren't doing that. OH, How did you picture your Astarion and DU Drow react after he "died" and was brought back? I know that we don't really get that much dialogue or reaction from the companions when that happens (Praying they add something later down the line in another patch)

Again thank you for sharing your beautiful art and fanfic with all of us its so refreshing to see!!! :)

OHOHOHO I'm glad you asked. I feel like that first question is very revealing of DU drow's character and It was a fun moment to ponder upon, because I think much of his behavior might lead one to believe he would be willing to go along with whatever Astarion wants, instead of pushing back at all, at least on the surface.

There's two factors at play here - first, DU drow knows of his heritage at that point, and thanks to the blank-slate treatment of the tadpole he's gotten a brand new perspective on it by the time he learns of the truth. Prior to losing his memories, accepting the fate that Bhaal had bestowed onto him felt like a choice and the best thing that ever happened to him in life, a confirmation that he was special and destined for greatness instead of just damned to the lowly existence he had endured so far. After his brain is scrambled however, DU drow got a taste of what true freedom feels like while unburdened by his upbringing; he's strong, he's powerful, he's self-sufficient, he enjoys the fruits of his labor without appreciating what got him here - he does not feel like he needs Bhaal, and the fact he ever did is laughable at best and violating at worse. This leads him to abhor the idea of depending on higher power to succeed instead of just raising oneself up by their own merits, or abiding by any mentality where you take orders from a source.

So when Astarion speaks of ascension, and especially after he learns of the source of that power (Infernal magic) he's disillusioned by it. While his memories are still hazy, the situation still feels awfully familiar to him. He doesn't think Astarion needs that higher power because he doesn't, either, and to take it would surrendering to fear and giving away even more of his autonomy than he already has.

And if that sounds a little self centered and like he's missing some of the point, it's because he is. While DU drow has fallen in love with Astarion by that stage in the story and wants what's best for him (he actually entertains the idea of him ascending up to a point - he wants him to be happy) he still has a difficult time empathizing with others. Ascending feels like a bad choice, but he can only justify that feeling from his own, narrow perspective.

(I mused on about characterization for too long again. So more under the cut - the sky is blue the sun is hot etc.)

Then there's the uglier, far more vulnerable and knee-jerk reaction to it. Now that Bhaal is no longer his purpose in life or the gift he once felt it to be, Astarion has taken it's place. Bhaal needed DU drow, in his eyes, much like Astarion does now. And as much as the vampire might have told him that his feelings on the matter changed (and that he was no longer manipulating DU drow for his own ends alone) he can't fathom a reason to be kept around unless he continues to be needed. He has slotted himself as Astarion's protector and devotee, and a vampire lord does not sound like they need much of either.

As much as he would never admit to it, DU drow does not know a life where he doesn't pledge himself, body and soul, to another purpose. He seems like he's happy to barrel through life directionless, but he needs something that anchors him or he has an inexplicable feeling that something terrible will happen. And honestly, maybe he's right - for a man who loves killing, he has a much easier time applying some strategy to that desire as long as he's doing it to some an specific end. Without Astarion, he probably feels like his choices are to either submit to his hedonism entirely or just lie down and die.

I don't need to spell out that this is pure codependency at it's finest.

So, when Astarion asks for help to complete the ritual he is conflicted. He wants to do whatever Astarion wants, but his brain is setting off alarm bells that, if he acquiesces, this will be the end for them and for him. And whatever comes after is a terrifying void of nothing. While he loves Astarion and ultimately does the right choice in pleading with him to give up on this power, his motivations are far from selfless or pure, as much as DU drow may not yet realize it.

This is why, after everything takes place, and specially once he severs his connection to Bhaal and his mind clears a little further, DU drow would go on to grapple with a lot of guilt for taking this opportunity away from Astarion, as I have touched on in the fic and will continue to do so. He's happy to feel like he has a reason to be kept around, but the inevitable hurdles that Astarion must continue to face as a spawn are obviously painful to witness. This is why he dives full force into trying to "fix" his vampirism instead, following that.

NOW, FOR THE NEXT AND HOPEFULLY FAR BRIEFER ANSWER TO YOUR OTHER QUESTION (spoiler alert, it's not brief at all, god damn it):

Yeah everyone just standing around in that scene feels little weird LOL not that it took away too much from how dope a cutscene it was (I probably watched it with the attentiveness of a sport's fan witnessing a footbal game turning in the last 10 minutes of a match) but If I were to embellish it instead of just going with something like "everyone is shell-shocked and paralyzed", I would say Shadowheart is the first to rush over to see if there's anything at all she can do to help, and probably the first (and only, in that moment) to break down crying. I think she very quickly composes herself after he's brought back, tells him he gave her the scare of a fucking lifetime and that he's the luckiest idiot in all of the realms - but that she's glad he's back. No hugs for him though LOL

Astarion is pretty much the opposite, that he would stand there in shock feels kind of apt to me. Like, holy shit, what just happened? Did one of the only good things in my life really just get taken away in the blink of an eye? Am I just cursed to have everything snatched away from my hand as soon as I'm growing comfortable with it? Yes, of course I am. What else did I expect. When DU drow pops back up he's probably like "Oh yeah I knew it'd be fine" (plus the little Twee comment, that was very funny to me.) and DU drow is similarly going "Oh definitely, it was my plan all along to be killed and then resurrected by an ominous house-keeper skeleton this whole time. Anyway, smooch for a dead man?"

This... Clearly very traumatic little incident is probably addressed by them only later. He gets a kiss and a hug at camp and a very stern "if you do that shit again I'm raising you back up just to kill you myself" from Astarion and Shadowheart's just down to drink in celebration and drown her trauma away for now lmao.

OH YEAH AND GALE WAS ALSO THERE. There was a whole Gale debacle in my playthrough but, the TL;DR, is that especially towards the end of the game he was Not in the best of terms with DU drow. Still, I obviously think he's an empathetic person and had his own "oh shit" moment. I'd say he takes this opportunity to try extending a very sincere hand out to him later that day, both for his courage in defying a god and dumb-luck - which DU drow completely passes on like an asshole and just gives him a cold-shoulder about, leaving feeling even more dejected than he already was and probably further cementing his choice to pursue the crown of Karsus later, despite DU drow's disapproval. Good job buddy!

Thank you so much for the ask and for your lovely compliments!!! Sorry for writing you a dang ESSAY 😬

[vixstarria]

You know what I just realized? Astarion’s unending hunger for blood got replaced with unending hunger for power if he ascends. He absolutely has no need for Cazador’s palace or political connections now that he can travel in the sun, but he’s so obsessed with protecting himself he happily takes up residence in his abuser’s home, despite all the terrible memories in it because it’s perfect for a power grab.

Essentially.

Tbh I'm a bit surprised to find this in my inbox as I don't think I've really said anything on the Spawn vs Ascended Astarion route. Ultimately, it's all pixels and people can do whatever they want with them.

But, hey, sure, here's a little rant under the cut.

My biggest gripe with Ascended Astarion isn't even that he's evil, or that he may be in any way mistreating Tav, or that he's power hungry, or any of the other usual complaints people have about him.

It's that he's simply boring.

You start off with this theatrical goofball, who is also an evil little shit, sure, but a hilarious one, who's terrified and riddled with trauma, and who just wants to experience simple joys and be safe and autonomous again.

Spawn ending - what does Astarion do? Well, anything he bloody wants to, really. Look at some of @spacebarbarianweird's headcanons for examples. Maybe he's an adventurer, maybe he's leading a quiet life running a shop, maybe he's a pirate, maybe he's a dragon rider, maybe he's in the Underdark, maybe he's somewhere on the astral plane. Maybe he's got kids. Maybe he found a cure for vampirism. Maybe he found a way to walk in the sun with an artifact. (I would add that maybe he's gathering a 7,000-strong vampire army in the Underdark and trying his hand at taking over the world as a spawn after all, but we know he can't plan that well)

He's charismatic. He's loving. And he's still the little shit you initially fell in love with.

Meanwhile, what's Ascended Astarion doing up in his castle?

Paperwork.

Dealing with bureaucrats.

Hosting occasional balls for people he despises, where he sits on his throne stroking his comically overinflated ego. In the very same castle that he just spent 200 years wishing to escape.

I just don't understand the appeal.

The archetype is essentially that of a corrupt politician or a ruthless head of a corporation. It's lacking in empathy and completely void of any positive emotions. Power and money for the sake of power and money. This is not the type of character I find appealing or compelling whatsoever, whether in fiction or real life.

"Oh, but you're giving him what he really wants if you ascend him!"

You just turned your favourite character into a bland, heartless megalomaniac, trapping him just as much as the blood craving and sun vulnerability would have, if not more. 🤷‍♀️

P.S. Ironically, some of my favourite fanfics actually happen to be Ascended Astarion fics, so no, he doesn't have to be boring. The above picture is a summary of what is implied by the game, together with the general gist of most AA fics I've seen.

[throughthetwistedmirror]

Marrying for Love ~ *Malleus Draconia*

Summary: As Crown Prince of Briar Valley, Malleus is expected to become King one day. However, he still needs to find a partner to rule by his side. And that's where you come in...

Pairing: Malleus Draconia X Fem!Reader

Genre: Fluffy Drabble

Word Count: 731

Warning: N/A

Masterlist

Taglist: @savanaclaw1996 @goseew

A/N: An early birthday present for him because we share the same birthday.

You have met a lot of princes in your life, but none were quite like Prince Malleus Draconia of Briar Valley.

He was a rare kind of mage and beauty and an even rarer kind of gentleman. He cared deeply for his people, his friends, and his family. He didn't really have enemies wherever he went. His magic was incredibly powerful and he wielded it well. He was soft-spoken, intelligent, humorous, and compassionate. Malleus was born to be a Prince and strived to prove he was worthy of being King of Briar Valley every single day.

There was just one obstacle in his way: marriage.

According to the customs of this ancient kingdom, he couldn’t ascend the throne until he was married. It was the chink in his relatively perfect armor. Even though he was considered the perfect man throughout the realms, Malleus was hopeless when it came to finding a suitable partner, at least in Lilia's eyes. Sebek was still under the impression it was the other party who had the problem, not Lord Malleus. 

Sure, Malleus could talk to people, but he couldn’t flirt and couldn’t understand flirting to save his life. No matter how hard he tried, he just couldn’t seem to understand the subtleties of romance, much to Lilia's displeasure. He thought he taught him better.

Really, it was no surprise his parents, with the help of Lilia, arranged a match for him.

And that’s where you come in.

Oh sure, you know how to flirt and be coy and romantic with others. But after spending one evening with Malleus, you knew it wasn’t going to work with him. And you’re nothing if not adaptable.

From the first moment you met him, you knew he craved an honest relationship, where you didn't play games and you were very clear with your intentions from the start. You took it upon yourself to just get to know him, all of him, and not just the parts he wanted you to see. It was a start. And he found it was something easy he could do. While you learned more about him and what made him who he is, he learned about you. And what surprised him the most was the fact that he genuinely liked you. And that you genuinely liked him too.

Time was ticking down and you found that this idea of an arranged marriage didn’t seem so terrible. However, you were still worried. Slowly, Malleus was learning how to flirt and be romantic. You were afraid he wouldn’t need you anymore, he wouldn’t care about you anymore as much as he did when you first met. You liked that he needed you. He made you feel wanted and loved. But what if he found someone better?

You kept your worries to yourself. Being the Crown Prince of Briar Valley, Malleus had enough to worry about. You didn’t want to complicate your relationship with him in any way. Nevertheless, in the privacy of your room, you wished that Malleus would be yours just like you were his.

So you can imagine your surprise when he invited you on a stroll through the royal gardens one day. Sure, the two of you often went walking in these gardens, but it usually wasn’t until after all of his royal duties were complete. It was the middle of the day when he sent for you, not late evening after dinner like normal. Though you were confused and more than a little anxious, you did not want to keep him waiting. Quickly, you found him near the entrance to the gardens and the two of you began to walk together, arm in arm.

Malleus eventually stopped in a small pavilion surrounded by your favorite flowers. He sat you down on one of the benches and began a long-winded speech, which wasn't a common occurrence for him. He went on and on about how even though your relationship started as an arranged marriage, he felt something more for you. He thought of you as less of a companion and more of a lover he wanted to treasure forever. He explained that to him, you were the perfect partner to spend the rest of his life with. However, he didn’t feel like he was actually engaged yet.

So he asked you a question:

“Will you marry me?”

And of course, you said, “Yes.”

[scribblestatic]

It's sad bih hours, but a sheep's gotta serve

Some more amputee!SY for the masses (and for me, cause I've been wanting to write more)

Edit: Oh shit, it has an AO3 now

Prev: Part 7

---

"How can we trust that what he says is true?"

Luo Binghe looked, eyes lidded, toward Qi Qingqi. Her lips were tightly pursed before she continued.

"Is there any way to corroborate his story?"

"Is that necessary, when Qiu Haitang's story was believed without additional proof?"

"It was proven that Shen Qingqiu was a slave of the Qiu family by the mark on his back!"

"And all that proved was that matter and nothing else. It didn't confirm that he was treated in a manner similar to family."

"It didn't prove they were terrible to him either."

"So you admit there was little to confirm anything of Qiu Haitang's account aside from her words."

"You were the one to bring her case forward on the matter of her words!"

"And this lord admits to his wrongdoing on that account. What excuse do any of us have to not believe him now?"

As they fussed back and forth, Shen Yuan stared at Yue Qingyuan, who gazed right back at him. Things still didn't quite feel real to him at the moment, but they were real enough. He felt he could almost speak to the man through a mental link neither of them had...

Perhaps it was a conversation they'd had before. Perhaps an understanding... Yes. Yes, an understanding.

Despite knowing Yue Qingyuan didn't come back for him, Shen Qingqiu never used his former slave identity against him. Instead, he actively hid his previous status, and hid Yue Qi's as well.

There was evidence he was abused, severely so, in the Qiu household, but doing so would mean outing the sect leader of the greatest cultivation sect under the merged heavens as a former slave.

It mattered a lot to Shen Jiu, to keep those details as far under wraps as possible. It didn't matter so much to Shen Yuan...in fact, it didn't matter in the least. Burdened slave or wealthy scion, did their statuses truly matter at all in the world of cultivation?

It matters. It matters so much. The way they treat you. The resources you receive. If you start as a slave, you must work tooth and nail for every sliver you get, and that may never be enough to ascend, but these wealthy children with loving parents--they get the best pills, the best tutoring, the best food, everything

It didn't matter to him at the moment.

Even so, he didn't want to be the one to say it.

He gazed quietly at Yue Qingyuan, the man who never came back for him, who managed to elevate himself to one of the highest positions in the world. Shen Jiu knew how meaningful that position was and knew how much he wanted his Qi-ge to stay there. And yet...

'Give up something for me,' Shen Yuan thought. 'I've...Shen Jiu...I've... This body, this person, has given up so many things for you. Can't you defend us just this once?'

Because he hasn't really defended him much. And the more Shen Yuan thought about it, the more it ached.

It was always, "Xiao Jiu can be a bit too harsh," or, "Xiao Jiu, can't you be a little nicer?" He acted like the owner of a yappy, aggressive dog, begging forgiveness for him and sighing in forlorn acceptance at his antics. But he never looked into why the dog yapped. Why the dog bit. Hell, sometimes the dog hadn't yapped at all, and he still apologized for the dog when no apology was needed, as though it was only expected that the dog would yap and no evidence was necessary.

Even in their childhood, Yue Qi would sigh and pander and be a warm chest and set of arms in which he could cuddle safely. But that same Yue Qi got him into trouble more than once with his attempts at kindness...

Yue Qi's kindness got him taken to the Qiu clan.

Yue Qi's kindness got his legs broken, unable to flee.

Yue Qi's kindness left him stuck there for years, waiting.

Yue Qi's kindness couldn't ever get Shen Jiu out of the situations one, the other, or both got him in.

What good was his kindness? What good were those sappy looks?

'Give up this little bit of your reputation for me,' he cried out, his eye focused quietly on Yue Qingyuan. 'Listen to me! Hear me! Defend me just this once! Make me feel like I'm as important to you as you've always been to me, Yue Qi!'

...

'Xiao Jiu...' the sect leader's eyes gazed mopingly back.

...right.

Right.

Shen Yuan didn't have a mental link with Yue Qingyuan. He couldn't understand if he didn't say it.

But Shen Yuan...didn't even want to say it anymore.

As Qi Qingqi and a few other peak lords argued against his heartfelt, distressing account, as Qiu Haitang continued to call him a liar, Yue Qingyuan remained silent.

If he couldn't take the initiative himself, would forcing it out of the man be any better?

Shen Yuan closed his eye, exhausted.

"Stop this!"

His eye snapped back open though, turning his head toward the voice.

Ning Yingying, who hadn't shown her face to him since their meeting months back, stood near the base of the stairs, facing out toward Cang Qiong Sect. Judging by how some nearby guards were belatedly reaching out toward her, she must've just ran out.

"Please! I... This one cannot stand here and allow this anymore!"

She was dressed in the finest silks, but in muted colors and simplistic design. Her hair was silky and shiny, but pulled into double braided buns with scant ornaments, all accentuating her delicate features. As such, she made quite the image as she clasped her hands, continuing to cry.

Compared to before, Shen Yuan couldn't help but think she looked more sallow and pale.

"Ying-er cannot let Shizun be slandered like this because of her wrongdoings!"

"Speak plainly, child," the Ku Xing Peak lord called out. "The waters continue to muddy, and the details are being thrown asunder. Confusion is the enemy of truth."

"It's...it's exactly that! The reason you all are so hesitant to believe Shizun is because of what I said, right?" She swallowed thickly, then looked to all of them. Her hands clenched tighter, and Shen Yuan could see that they shook. "I confessed back then that Shizun had sexually assaulted me."

"Yes... Yes. You did do that." Qi Qingqi shot him a hateful glare. Oi...weren't you supposed to be here to rescue me? "And now, he's trying to garner sympathy by—"

Ning Yingying interrupted her, crying out again.

"Ying-er lied!"

"...What?"

She was more visibly shaking by that point, and despite how hard it seemed to get the words out, she continued.

"This disciple...has been incredibly unfilial. Shizun was cruel to A'Luo and not expressive to the disciples, but that was all he was. He never once laid hands on any of his disciples, male, female, or otherwise. He... He just wasn't like that!"

Strangely, Yue Qingyuan finally found his voice.

"...You say this now. But then, why...?"

"This could be a lie, couldn't it?" the Zui Xian Peak lord added. "A ploy for the demon emperor to get rid of his empress' charges before the crowning ceremony. Doesn't he put his blood in all he weds? Her life could be threatened at this very moment—"

"You be quiet!"

Ning Yingying snapped at him so sharply even Shen Yuan blinked in surprise. Her fists, balled tightly, shook at her sides.

"I loved...and I still love A'Luo! But even as she loved him back then, Ying-er wasn't stupid! Ying-er was raised on Qing Jing Peak, and she learned how to predict future developments based on the actions of others. And I knew that... I knew that, as soon as I spoke with A'Luo, that he would, at that time, stop at nothing to raze the cultivation world to the ground!

"Ying-er could tell that he was powerful. He showed me how powerful he was, even back then! And he hated Shizun so much. Not only that, but he had Huan Hua Palace on his side, the sect second only to Cang Qiong! This one knew...of Shizun's reputation among others. As much as I tried to ignore it, I knew of it! And A'Luo knew of it, too, though he didn't know the truth. And Ying-er..."

Her voice choked off as her lips pursed.

"...Ying-er lied when A'Luo asked, because A'Luo wanted someone on his side, and this disciple... This disciple could predict what would happen if a case was drawn against Shizun. Ying-er had seen it time and time again, you know? That no one really trusted Shizun. No one but Qing Jing Peak. But Qing Jing Peak alone wouldn't be enough to stand against the rage of the cultivation world.

"And so, Ying-er was...pragmatic. Calculative. And she broke off the tail so the body could survive, even if that meant telling a lie. A lie that no one spoke against, because no one but me and him would know the truth. I... I had thought he would protest it. I thought he would yell at me or curse at me, but..."

Ning Yingying turned to Shen Yuan, and he saw her expression.

It mirrored the one he saw in the dream memory, as his face settled into quiet resignation. Back then, he had only seen it for a moment. This time, he saw it in full.

A twisted, anguished look of someone losing something important.

"He...let me lie. He let me lie, because he knew what I was doing... Didn't you, Shizun? That I was serving myself, even if it meant sacrificing you."

She turned away before he could answer.

"And that's what I did. This Ying-er sacrificed her Shizun to align herself firmly with A'Luo, to garner his sympathy and to protect herself from the opinions of others. Because, not long after Shizun's imprisonment, didn't many disciples leave Qing Jing Peak? Didn't they resign or transfer to other peaks and sects?

"Then, not long before A'Luo began merging the three realms, didn't he burn Qing Jing Peak and all who remained on it? Ying-er didn't have to lie, but she felt it was the best course of action...and she was foolish. Because, it was Ying-er's lie that further spurred on everything else, falsely confirming biases against Shizun, to the point they would no longer question the truth.

"And that's this Ying-er's greatest sin. This disciple's unfilial choices gave everyone at the trial the excuse to ignore due process. Because the case was no longer about the truth. It was about how many sins the cultivation world could pile onto the Xiu Ya Sword for whatever reasons they deemed necessary. This Ying-er opened the door for that, and for that, she shan't be forgiven in this life. She shan't forgive herself."

After such a speech, it was difficult to say anything. Instead, for a little while, it was simply time given for Ning Yingying to collect herself, drying her tears and standing up much more presentably, even as her nose remained red.

"Ying-er's false testimony was taken as fact during Shizun's trial, without additional details to corroborate the facts. If word-of-mouth is enough to accuse someone, it should also be enough to absolve them."

"Y...You're—"

"Zhao-shishu...no. Lord Zhao. The only duress this Ning Yingying has ever given testimony under has been her own. By the weight of my desires for the false one, and by the weight of my guilt for the truth today."

Silence.

"...What does this have to do with my brother?" Qiu Haitang eventually asked.

Ning Yingying's expression twisted again, this time with frustration.

"I just said what it has to do with it. Your accusation was secondary to A'Luo's and my own. A'Luo's accusations were true, but missing the context that Shizun was, by that point, likely driven to psychosis. My accusations were false, meaning that, even in a psychotic state, he did not attempt to sexually assault or groom me, and, even if Shizun did go to the Warm Red Pavilion for services, those services are not only legal, but patroned by many a cultivator, even if they try to say they don't."

"That, ah, wasn't why I went."

Shen Yuan felt so tired that he didn't even feel like jolting when the focus returned sharply to him. He sighed, fanning himself as he slouched to the side, his energy clearly flagging.

"...The Warm Red Pavilion has women. I could sleep in their company without worry. In exchange for giving me a place to rest, I taught the girls the four arts so their courtesans could become unparalleled and garner more desire and income. That was the extent of my relationship with them, despite Liu Qingge's misunderstanding."

There was, of course, the information center he'd started up there, but no one really needed to know that, nor did they need to copy his practices.

And, as if anticipating arguments regarding Liu Qingge, Liu Mingyan stepped out from the side. Although Qiu Haitang kept trying to bring her brother back up, the focus on Liu Mingyan's brother very quickly became front and center.

His former sect siblings immediately began calling him out for killing Liu Qingge, although, for once, when Binghe asked him how he plead...

"Innocent."

This was, apparently, not the answer they liked, as they began fussing even more. However, it just took a few questions to Mu Qingfang to determine that, no, actually, there was no surefire proof he had killed Liu Qingge.

"What had been your verdict at the time, Lord Mu?"

"...It had been that Liu Qingge died of a qi deviation that tore through his meridians. Shen...Yuan's qi had been present in his body as well."

"Did he provide an explanation as to why back then?"

"No, he did not."

"Can you provide one now?"

Shen Yuan looked down toward Liu Mingyan, who gazed back up at him with sadness...but compassion.

"...This humble one can. I attempted to save Liu Qingge in the midst of his deviation. However, I failed. My ability to circulate his qi was not... I was not strong or skilled enough to do so, and I instead only barely helped, if not actively hindered his progress. But...I hadn't wanted to kill him. I never wanted him dead...this lord really never wanted him to die."

When Binghe spoke to him again, his tone was softer.

"Why didn't you say this to your sect siblings?"

Shen Yuan scoffed. "I was prideful...and ashamed. Ashamed that...I was so weak. That I couldn't do something as simple as help someone not have a qi deviation despite being a peak lord. This lord felt that his ineptitude killed Liu Qingge, so there was no reason to say much else."

"Indeed. And this is what A'Yuan confessed to you, Mingyan?"

"It is," she replied, short and straightforward.

"And, what is your verdict?"

"...This one believes that his confession was reasonable. That Shen Yuan truly didn't have any intent to kill him, or he could've found many other substantially less conspicuous ways to do so. As the Qing Jing Peak lord, he was well versed in covert information management. After I thought of it further, with a clearer mind, if he truly wanted my brother dead, there were various ways he could've gone about it without implicating himself."

It seemed as though the peak lords hadn't considered that, several of them going a tad pale and looking at each other anxiously.

"Ah, well, it still could've been a heat-of-passion sort of murder, except, aside from the clear signs of a qi deviation, Lord Mu, did you notice any other wounds?"

"...Not on Liu Qingge, no."

"Who had been wounded?"

"...Shen Qin... Shen Yuan."

"Mm, and Shen Yuan said that he failed to help Liu Qingge circulate his qi during a deviation... Personally, that makes clear sense to me. After all," Binghe smiled, all teeth and no kindness. "This is the same peak lord with untreated, unmanaged qi deviations from a core mixed with spiritual and demonic qi in a human body unable to rectify the issue. He would have trouble circulating his own qi, much more circulating it for someone else. His explanation seems perfectly believable, even logical, to me. Wouldn't you say?

"And, well, the last major incident where a peak lord's life was in potential danger, as I recall, Shen Yuan went as far as to defy his shifu in order to save his future sect sibling's life, correct? From that incident until the point of Liu Qingge's death, did Shen Yuan, then Shen Qingqiu, ever give any indications that he would threaten the lives of any of his sect siblings?"

The silence afterwards was deafening, with even Qi Qingqi losing all indications of her bravado and going still. Yue Qingyuan in particular looked white as a ghost, staring somewhere toward the ground.

"Hmm... It seems not. Well. This lord believes that, considering the evidence provided, it is more likely that Shen Yuan, then Shen Qingqiu, did not murder Liu Qingge, but was hindered by a faulty cultivation base neither his shizun, nor his sect siblings, even those with an expertise in medical techniques, deigned to assist with.

"Moreover, considering the charge against Shen Yuan for sexual indecency, the only concrete testimony was given by Ning Yingying, who has admitted to falsifying her statement. The remaining accounts on that charge are all hearsay."

"This farce must stop right now!"

Qiu Haitang, red-faced and enraged, looked about ready to pop from just how infuriated she was. Shen Yuan was tempted to laugh, imagining cartoonish streams of steam trailing up from her ears.

In fact, he did actually chuckle a bit, exhaustion having let it slip.

"Y-You dare to make fun of me?!"

"No, no... I'm just... Aren't you tired?"

Having run out of focus, he let his fan drop onto his lap, simply staring at her as she tried to gather her words. But, really, he didn't have the patience to wait.

"I did it. I said I did it. Distressed, under duress, whatever. I killed your brother and every other man I happened to come across that night. And, when the time came, I had my core shattered. My limbs cut off without anasthesia. My eye gouged out. You were among several others who visited me in my cell to torment me.

"So, like..."

Shen Yuan laughed.

"What else do you want?"

She breathed in deeply, her breath hitching.

"I want you dead!"

As she panted with the exertion of having screamed that out, he just stared at her. He had a lot he could say to that, like about the unfairness of existence, like how the world sometimes shafts people for reason. It wasn't fair for Luo Binghe to get a shizun driven to partial psychosis. It wasn't fair for Liu Mingyan to lose her brother. It wasn't fair that Ning Yingying felt she had to choose between her safety and those she loved.

Shen Jiu's life had been, thus far, one bit of unfairness to the next, without a single person reaching out to help him until he'd already lost so many pieces of himself, he could be carried around like a rice sack. So, if he had the chance to live even a little bit better now, excuse him, but he'll take that chance, no matter how much she hates him. Maybe that's unfair to her. Well, she shouldn't have had an unfair brother. Or maybe she should've been born in a world that would have shafted her less or something. He didn't know.

Hell, he'd wanted a fairly uneventful crowning ceremony, but look what he got instead! His former sect siblings spent most of their visit trying to relitigate a whole case while still calling him a piece of shit, apparently forgetting that they were there to save him! What the fuck was up with that, by the way?! And, oh, don't even get him started on how completely and utterly trashed his faith in them is now. Like, he hadn't thought too badly of them before, but now? He realized they probably fucking hated Shen Jiu from the start, and the fact he was ever a scum villain was because the bastard was literally driven insane by his circumstances and no one even tried to help him out.

Which, fair enough, no one is obligated to help. But fuck, if they're going to call each other 'sect siblings,' then maybe don't leave him to slowly be driven further and further off the deep end?? Maybe be like "Hey, here's some help," and then if he rejected it, it's his fault? Like, he's not allergic to accountability, it's just, man, it was a lot to take in! It was incredibly unfair! Life is unfair like that sometimes, apparently! To such a strong extent! Fucking yikes! It happens!

But what matters is that he's going to have to find a way to live with it! He has to find the bits of joy he can because he deserves it. Fuck he deserves a little happiness, and if that means marrying his demon emperor disciple who deserves the world, learning how to use his qi again, beta-ing Liu Mingyan's novels, griping with Sha Hualing, trying to rebuild something with Ning Yingying if she wants, and helping the empire with their taxes among other things, that's what he's going to do! Even if you can't have exactly what you want, build happiness somewhere else!

But, any elegance he was going to put to those sentiments were lost upon translation to his lips, and instead what left his mouth was:

"...Well, uh. Tsk... That's tough. Cope?"

----

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8: here Part 9 Part 10 Part 11+: links on Part 10

And remember, there's an AO3 now

[astarions-wife]

I can’t believe it’s come to the point of analyzing Cazador for all of you, but considering the amount of “Cazador can be redeemed!” And “Cazador x reader” I’ve seen, I feel like i need to make this.

So you feel pity for Cazador because he also suffered at the hands of his master. Good. That’s the point. You should feel something for Cazador, he also suffered abuse, and was dragged into the cycle of it by Vellioth. It’s awful, it’s terrible, but it doesn’t mean he’s redeemable.

Very much so, when Cazador kills Vellioth and chooses to start the cycle of power and abuse over again, he was too far gone. He made the choice, the conscious choice to be the same as his old master. Of course he’s suffering internally, somewhere is the soul of someone who lost everything, and became something awful. However he doesn’t even say he wishes for a reset. He wishes for death. Only in death is he free of the cycle of abuse, for his role in it is too far gone at this point.

“Orin and Gortash have apologists!” They do, but they’re also under different circumstances. It’s also justifiable to absolutely hate Orin and Gortash (believe me, even as someone who believes Gortash could’ve been better, I killed him in my initial run). Specifically as the Dark Urge, you can tell Orin that she’s being used just as Kethric and Gortash were. She’ll even break down as if she’s realizing that all this death she’s done in the name of her father/for her God, has been her being taken advantage of. Though she never gets a chance to be better, because she’s forcibly transformed in this ending, it’s just a sneak peak of what could have been. She was being used, and while it doesn’t erase or justify ANYTHING she did (and you’re well within your right, and should hold her accountable), it at least gives the player insight on to what could have been.

Likewise with Gortash, a victim of abuse at the hands of Raphael, with canonical lines on how he was beaten in the House of Hope as a little boy. His own parents sold him out, and he ended up being so desperate to be bigger, to have more power, that he also let himself be used, and in turn lost everything he worked hard for (and sold out Karlach, which is absolutely unforgivable of course). However he wasn’t too far gone. You can see his loyalty to you depending what options you pick, and although death is his inevitable end, it still shows that there was still a person inside.

There wasn’t a person in Cazador anymore. He was trapped behind the wall of abuse that he continued, and refused to even acknowledge it, or try and see reason. Perhaps it wasn’t possible for him, but ultimately his actions brought him here. Those that say Ascension for Astarion would free him of those chains, are simply wrong. Why does Astarion deserve to live, anymore than his siblings? Or the seven thousand people who were turned against their will? Of course Astarion is more, controlled in his hunger—but so are his siblings. Even speaking to them after the fight they’ll all vow and attest that they can control themselves, and they’ll even help the others if brought to it.

Ascended Astarion picks up the abuse cycle, killing thousands of people with just his first command. Ascended Astarion no longer speaks to you, but instead at you. You’re his “favorite” spawn, but then again Cazador had favorites didn’t he? And all of them suffered just as badly as the rest. Ascended Astarion even mentions “covering the world in darkness for his spawn”, which shows him continuing the abusive cycle that got Cazador in the first place.

Cazador dying, and spawn Astarion choosing to break the cycle is the significant ending. The best ending for Cazador, the only one for him, is to let him die. He’s a horrible, cruel, bitter man, and any sense of his humanity died long ago. Only in his dreams is there anything left, and he’s too cut off to even reach them anymore.

We also know that the Szarr’s had family. There are relatives to Cazador (see his niece), and clearly it wouldn’t have been wrong of him as a vampire to have a family if he so chose. But he didn’t seek out a partner, like some of his other (vampire) relatives did. He chose to only live by his spawn, whom he considered his children, showing that he truly didn’t see a need for a partner. Themes of family are a vital part of his story, but the element of a romantic partner never has been.

TLDR—Some villains in this game are understood, and potentially redeemable if given the option. Cazador is not one of them.

[i-love-genya-sm]

GENYA HCS!!!!!! gn!reader

So I tried to come up with fic ideas but I couldn’t think of any b4 writing this so here are sum hcs: (Genya x gn!reader) BONUS MINI FIC AT END BC I FINALLY GOT AN IDEA T^T

• He blushes more around you than anyone else • He’d watch you train with pure adoration in his eyes and would practically disappear when you look in his direction. (You know he’s there, he’s bad at hiding from you) • Can barely talk to you. Every time he tries, he gets all flustered and apologetic before running off • Thinks he’s sneaky with his secret admirer gifts. Everyone knows it’s him, but no one says anything to not ruin his pride • On the day he confesses, he can barely keep it together. He’s a blushing mess and he stutters and mixes up his words so much it’s almost incomprehensible gibberish. You were not-so-surprisingly able to understand his message and you tell him you like him too. He nearly faints. • On your first date, he’d take you to a small, nice diner and pay for everything. You start to worry about his savings, but he insists that he’s financially stable. (We all know he’s anything but.) • He contemplates on kissing you multiple times. It’s kept him up at night, the thought of your lips on his, but every time he actually tires, he ends up kissing your cheek instead • While on the topic of kisses, he loves kissing your hands, especially your knuckles. He treats you like royalty, only giving you the best dates and gifts. That cost a lot of money. (Again, finance. Someone teach this little tall child to handle money- T^T) • When he finally gets the courage to kiss you, he does it so suddenly and randomly, but you liked it. STORY BELOW

Today was the day. Today, he would finally kiss you. Oh, how long had he waited to place his mouth on yours, to taste your love. Many times had he stared at your lips, longing to taste them. And today, he would. He saw you minding your business on the engawa of the Stone Estate, blissfully watching the branches of the trees sway, petals falling down and dancing around your figures. You looked beautiful. The sight of you among the sakura made Genya want you even more. You noice him standing and call out to him. “Genya-kun!” You smile. Genya’s face pinked. He approaches you and seats himself next to you. “I—I want to ask you something…” He began, face reddening at record speed. “Hm? What is it, Genya-kun?” You inquire, tilting your head to one side. Genya slightly stiffens. So cute… he thought. Shaking the thought away, he focuses on his original purpose. “Uh… (Y/N), I was wondering if…u-uhm….I—I c—could maybe…” He stuttered a lot. All while you were sweetly smiling with that cute, innocent, patient smile that made Genya melt on the inside. “It’s ok, sweetie, take your time,” You encourage him with your sweet voice. Gosh, how much did he love you. “Can I kiss you?” The words came out so unnaturally casual. You freeze at his request, then you softened back into your beautiful small smile. “Honey, you don’t have to ask me,” You say, reaching out a hand to cup his cheek in. Your smile widens slightly. “Of course you can kiss me.” Genya nearly ascended with those words. He pulls you close, a hand on your waist and the other brushing away any loose strands of hair from your gorgeous face. You wrap your arms around his neck, beckoning him closer. Genya’s face moved towards yours. A little more, a little more, closing the distance between you two. His lips were hovering next to yours, mere seconds away from contact, when Genya hesitates. I’ve never done this before…what if I’m a terrible kisser and she leaves me? You saw the hesitation in his eyes and give him a small, reassuring smile before going for it. Time seemed to stop. Genya shivered at the feel of your soft lips against his rough mouth, angling you to go deeper. You feel his tongue brush against your bottom lip. You bite his in response, shoving your tongue inside his mouth. He tasted like watermelon, the sweet flavor riling you up. You rubbed your tounge all over the inside of his mouth, desperate to get the most of the flavor. Genya’s tongue reached out to touch yours, and the kiss became a hot mess of lips, tounge and teeth. “Mmmm, Genya~�� You moan his name, and he turns on. Genya pins you down on the ground, the kiss gradually becoming more and more aggressive. “(Y/N)…why…did…I….wait…this…long…ngh…to…kiss you?” He punctuated each word with rough peck. You kept going for what seemed like forever, and then you passed out suddenly. Genya pulled away hesitantly, but seeing your unconscious form, he picks you up bridal style and carries you inside.

TAISHO ERA SECRET 👏👏 • You tasted like watermelon and sakura to him. • When you woke up, Genya was so happy he kissed you. Again. • Genya was concerned that you’d pass out again, wondering if he should call Kocho-san in case it happens again, but you gently tell him that anyone else who made their partner pass out would feel proud. (God bless his dumb ass)

Anyways, that’s all for now! Sorry if updates are slow! Have a great day/night! 💜🖤💛

[venussaidso]

Rahu Dominant Themes — 𝐍𝐚𝐤𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐭𝐫𝐚 𝐎𝐛𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 (part 1 of) 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟕

warning ⚠️: movie spoilers

Lord Rudra is an angry manifestation of Shiva who is the god that destroys the universe in order to re-create it. Rudra is the version which emphasizes the destruction of illusions, imperfections, diseases etc. before change can take place. Rudra means "one who eradicates problems from their roots", which rules Ardra, where we see the shadow planet Rahu being at it's potent height. Rahu is always dissatisfied and filled with illusions. With Rudra here, we see the strong conviction to break all things illusory, that are a stain or disease. Ardra, being Gemini and Rahu together, chooses to face the cold, harsh truth by deconstructing it (Mercury). There comes an intense anger and urge to destroy the root of all problems.

The best piece of media by far to embody the potency of Ardra, especially Rudra, is MR. ROBOT.

Ardra is quite contradictory, as it aims to expose truth by ruthlessly shining light on it ("control is an illusion") and therefore breaking the illusion, despite literally being ruled by the most illusory planet, Rahu. Rami Malek is an Ardra Ascendent and in the series Mr. Robot, he plays a cybersecurity engineer who uses his rare intelligence (Gemini/Mercury) to take down an evil conglomerate that controls the world & gets away with terrible world crimes that are swept under the rug. The Ardra character is already established as not a truth seeker, but someone who is already aware of everything and has been long disillusioned. The other important main characters also seem to be played by Rudra influenced actors which I found so incredible. These key characters show different dysfunctional aspects of society, almost critiquing them. Though Rudra is more potent through Ardra, Rudra has incarnated in different forms. Aja Ekapanda, Ahir Bhudhanya - Purva Bhadrapada, Uttara Bhadrapada. And Goddess Kali has associations with Rudra, and it rules the nakshatra Mula - which forms the axis with Ardra (being Sagittarius-Gemini). All the Rudra nakshatras are scattered across the main cast of Mr. Robot.

Another similar piece of media that is linked with Ardra and anarchist/political themes that expose heavy truths of society and elite powers of the world is the film V FOR VENDETTA, which leans more into anti-fascism. Starring an Ardra native.

Ardra faces the reality of things that is usually harsh and too overwhelming for others to bare, the kind of truth that is often not thought of. The series The Boys shows what would realistically happen if superheroes were a thing — none of that Marvel sugarcoating shit. Just like Rami Malek's character in Mr. Robot, the character Billy Butcher played by Karl Urban is already established as one who knows the harsh reality of superheroes (being monsters and corporate puppets) and is portrayed as an angry, disgruntled, dissatisfied person. And of course there is Rahu/Ardra influence.

Ardra is not always about dethroning corrupt powers. It can simply manifest into meaningless chaos, purposeless anarchy as seen in Heath Ledger's Joker who only makes chaos to prove the hypocrisy in people and society. This critical nature is always within Ardra, no matter how chaotic and senseless it manifests.

Yes he's an Ardra Moon.

It's always interesting how nakshatras with the same planetary rulership can share the same themes, despite the differences in their ruling deities. The film, Joker (2019), criticizes how society treats its ostracized members. And the character Arthur Fleck, being played by Swati Sun Joaquin Phoenix, unintentionally (and unknowingly) drives pure anarchy in the streets. Becoming the face of a movement spawned around him, called 'Jokerism'. And these masks, just like in MR. ROBOT (fsociety), V For VENDETTA, make the symbol of the movement.

I also find it interesting that Zoro is a masked vigilante who fights against the injustice and victimization of the lower class and indigenous people. Shatabhisha can act as a saviour in this case, more than what is seen from Ardra and Swati.

The character Hobie Brown being voiced by Shatabhisha Sun Daniel Kaluuya in the new Spiderverse film. Interesting enough, Shatabhisha being Aquarius can also have chaotic, rebellious and even anarchist tendencies. Aquarius emphasizes individualism, roots for the underdog and can absolutely despise authority – especially the corrupt kind (but mostly it's fuck all authority).

The nakshatra also being co-ruled by Rahu, they can see through illusions and have a simple yet realistic approach to things (Saturn). There is defiance there in Shatabhisha, but rarely ever as erratic or angry as Ardra. In fact, Shatabhisha is more on what's morally right and wrong compared to Ardra where a dualistic nature is conveyed. Shatabhisha has a tougher framework, can be very virtuous.

Shatabhisha is ruled by the deity Lord Varuna who is the personification of divine authority and moral law. The theme of authority can manifest in several ways for Shatabhisha. Rebellion against authority can go to the extreme ends of violence and unlawfulness. Or it can go into activism. Critiquing the many issues in the world that are glaringly wrong and unfair (what the modern internet now calls 'wokeism'). Themes of rebellion or exposure in a political and societal context can be linked with Swati. This can somewhat be seen in the following medias:

𝗖𝗢𝗡𝗧𝗜𝗡𝗨𝗘𝗗 𝗜𝗡 𝗣𝗔𝗥𝗧 𝗧𝗪𝗢:

[fangsandfracturedhearts]

Fangs and Fractured Hearts

Chapter 14: Devil's Ploy

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

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

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

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

Word Count: 6k

Pairing: Ascended Astarion x female!Tav Spawn

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

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

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

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

You snort and blink rapidly to clear your nose of the fetid sulphuric odour burning the membranes of your nostrils, throat and eyes. In the cramped, dimly lit sewers, where the air doesn’t stir, the stench of it lingers and never seems to dissipate.

When your vision finally becomes unimpaired by burning tears, the cambion and her fire-red hair, horns bedazzled with chains of gold, is leering at you with a conniving expression that makes your stomach sink. You’ve seen this expression on her plenty of times when she was scheming and plotting.

“Gods above,” you hiss with a rasp to your voice. “What do you want, Mizora? I thought I was good and done with your kind.”

“And here I thought we had all become such good friends,” she titters, feigning cordiality terribly. “You always did have so much… spunk. I’m happy death still hasn’t taken your lovely little spark.”

“You can ask Raphael all about my spark,” you smirk. Vivid blue lightning crackles and buzzes over your fingertips. “Oh, wait. You can’t because I killed him for seeing me as no more than a little mouse, a pawn, and I will do the same with you if you think you can play games with me.”

“Oh-yes,” Mizora giggles, not one iota ruffled by your threats. “All nine Hells were positively astir with the news of his demise. He always was such a pompous and over-confident twat, not unlike your master, I suppose."

Master. Ugh.

“I would be lying if I said it was nice to see you again, Mizora. If you will excuse me, I have my prey to hunt, and you’ve made me lose its trail.”

You can’t hear or smell Elowyn anymore. She will be deep into the ruin by now, or worse yet, in the Crimson Palace itself, but you still don’t understand what use she would have of that place. There is nothing left there but closed cells full of rotting gore that can never be opened again since you made Astarion break Cazador’s quarterstaff - Woe. Insofar as you’re aware, that was the only key to controlling everything.

“A great pity you’re in such a rush, pet,” Mizora snickers. Gods, you hate being called “pet.” You almost growl, but you’re too preoccupied with the rising feeling of foreboding swishing around in your stomach. You know that laugh and dread what’s about to come out of her mouth next. “I was going to offer to assist your Vampire Ascendant with his little… problem, but I suppose if you don’t want help… well, you can lead a horse to water, but you can’t make it drink. Ta-ta!”

“Wait!” You snap, whirling around. You’re going to regret this. “Wait… What do you know of Astarion’s ailment?”

“I thought that might get your attention,” she smirks smugly. “Let’s make ourselves more comfortable, shall we? You may be accustomed to living in such filth, but I am decidedly not.”

Mizora snaps her fingers, fire bursts to life all around you, and then you’re in a grand sitting room with glitzy settees, lounges and chairs. Rugs made of creatures you’ve never seen before litter the floor. Some appear reptile-like with scaly hides, others plush furs, others with feathers and more with something you can only begin to describe as some form of cartilaginous exoskeleton. They look at you with glassy, dead eyes ashine in their long-dead sockets.

It’s stiflingly hot, and you peer out of double doors leading to the terrace and take in the landscape. In the distance, black, jagged mountains pierce the horizon with peaks wreathed in an eerie crimson mist. Brimstone and fire dance in a perpetual inferno bordering a river made entirely of lava or possibly blood. It’s hard to tell from this height. The air is acrid and clouded with volcanic ash, and the sky flickers reds and oranges as fireballs race through clouds of darkest black.

“Avernus,” Mizora gushes. “Isn’t it beautiful?”

“I think I preferred the sewers,” you croak, wiping the sweat from your brow and going back inside. It does little to provide any comfort or liberation from the sweltering climate.

“Of course, sewer spawn,” she scoffs indignantly and drops unceremoniously onto a lounge. “It was your home for a little while. Wasn’t it? Until the Cleric and Wizard found you down there.”

“Have you been watching me this entire time?” You cross your arms and quirk a brow at her. “Do you have nothing better to do than derive pleasure from pain and suffering?”

“Oh, darling.” Her head falls back, and she laughs, “Of course! Who wouldn’t want to watch this little tragedy play out? It has been quite amusing thus far.”

“I’m glad you’re enjoying the show,” you bow sarcastically with a frown. “If you’re getting such a kick out of it, why are you meddling in my nightmare?”

“Sit. Won’t you?” She gestures toward the chaise. Mizora won’t tell you anything until you do as she asks. This is all part of her little game, after all. So, you sit with a roll of your eyes. “I would have been happy to watch until the vampire killed you, but alas, all good things must come to an end. Zariel and the other archdevils have other plans.”

Fuck. If another archdevil, or several, from the sounds of it, are getting involved, this is unlikely to be good. What got you here was another deal with an archdevil, but if there’s even a chance that something Mizora might tell you can give you somewhere to start, well, you can humour her.

“Which are?”

“Oh,” Mizora shrugs. “I don’t know, little lamb. I am merely a messenger.”

“Okay,” you comb your fingers through your sweat-dampened hair. She’s lying. You can see the hinting glint in her eyes. She knows more than she’s letting on. “Well, what is it you can tell me?”

The toothy, menacing smile that sidles across Mizora’s face should send you running. She sneers, “Tell me. What do you know of Mephistopheles?”

You shrug, “I know he is an archdevil, a rather powerful one. His domain is Cania. The Rite of Profane Ascension was a contract with him. Beyond that, I do not spend much time researching devils.”

“So, nothing then,” she pouts. “Well, allow me to enlighten you.”

Fire leaps to life in a circle, and Mizora’s eyes gleam with the keenness of a wild cat as you jump and get ready to defend yourself. Everything goes black except for the inferno burning around you.

As you watch the writhing blaze, depictions form in the leaping flames, moving against them. A towering devil with bright red skin, curling ram horns and massive bat-like wings jutting out from his back. He has an unnervingly charming smile, but it’s offset by cold, milk-white eyes that stare through you, making you shudder.

The figure paces around, muttering to himself and the empty grand halls around him. His eyes bounce around with feral neuroticism. He twitches, growls, hisses and waves his hand as if shooing away an annoying insect while snarling.

Abruptly, the fiery figure lets out a blood-curdling shriek and starts clawing at his skin, tearing gashes into himself until his skin is hanging in gruesome, dripping flaps from his arms and chest. Fire explodes in his palms, and he flings around bolts of Hellfire, instantly turning everything around him to ash. He pivots quickly and appears to be looking straight at you. He roars so loud you’re sure your eardrums have burst. He charges toward you with the ferocity of a rabid animal and a fireball barrels toward you.

Everything goes black, and you fall onto the floor by Mizora, who is snickering.

“What in the Hells was that?” You snap, getting up and getting in her face. You grab that fur collar in your hands and shake her, “What the fuck did I just witness?”

“Mephistopheles, for all his cunning and brilliance, is a deeply troubled individual. As you saw, he is neurotic and suspicious and often flies into fits of explosive and violent rage. Does that remind you of anyone?”

“… Astarion,” you breathe and stumble back. “Oh Gods…”

“Yes, pet.” Mizora nods with a fiendish cackle. “I can see you putting it all together. The Vampire Ascendant was an experiment of sorts. As you can imagine, these tendencies are not becoming of an archdevil. In an effort to rid himself of his neurotic temper, he needed a willing vessel to imbue with a portion of his nature. What better way to lure a willing participant than to offer unfathomable power?”

You collapse onto the chaise, wracking your fingers through your hair, “The Vampire Ascendant was nothing more than a way for Mephistopheles to offload his psychosis?”

Gods above. It makes so much sense. Astarion’s blind fits of rage. The voices in his head. The alternate version of him that sometimes takes control. You never got to see the whole contract. Did Raphael know about this and neglect to say it?

“But.” You add, looking at Mizora, “Astarion is himself some of the time.”

“Ah-yes,” Mizora snickers, glancing at her nails. “The vessel was never supposed to have an intact soul. It’s much easier to work with an empty cask than one that is already full, so to speak. A spawn was never supposed to usurp the ritual. I would say an oversight on Mephistopheles’ part, but truly, who could have imagined a spawn would get infected with a mind flayer tadpole that broke his master’s chains? Then, he just so happened to come upon a fine hero to help him. It’s all rather ludicrous sounding. Astarion’s soul is fractured but not completely eradicated. Well, not yet at least.”

“What do you mean not yet?”

“Think of it like this,” Mizora speaks to you slowly, as if you might not be smart enough to understand the metaphor slipping past her lips. “The entity is like an infection. It contaminates him, tainting everything from his thoughts, the platelets in his blood, to the marrow in his very bones, faster than his body can heal itself.”

“Why are you telling me all of this?” You’re starting to get suspicious. Where is the catch? The line she will hook you with?

“Can’t I just want to help out an old friend?” She pouts.

You glower at her and cross your arms, “No.”

“You were always so clever.” Mizora suddenly becomes serious, “Mephistopheles is a threat. Now that he is no longer burdened by his demons, he’s set his aspirations quite high. Too high for the liking of many of the archdevils. We would like to see him reunited with himself. It’s a very fine little deal. You get what you want to rid Astarion of the entity that’s eating him from the inside out, and we get to cage Mephistopheles back in the prison of his mind. A warning, pet. It will not be an easy road.”

“My life has never been easy. Why would it start now?” You sigh, “Tell me what needs to be done, and I will do it.”

“Such a good little spawn. Aren’t you? He’s killed you, tortured you, starved you, beat you, emotionally ruined you, and stolen your name, and you’re still willing to risk yourself to save him?” Mizora giggles, “I would say it was a true love story in the making were it not so fucking tragic.”

“What do you mean stolen my name?” You growl, cocking your head at her, “I have a name!”

“Oh,” she snickers, “Then tell me, pet. What’s your name?”

“My name…” You trail off, wracking your brain for the word. It’s right there, sitting precariously on the tip of your tongue. “My name… It’s… It’s…”

Mizora’s laughter is a haunting melody, a sinister cackle in a chilling symphony. That sound could freeze the blood of the bravest soul and make the earth tremble, “You can’t remember it. Can you?”

You replay old conversations in your head. You can see Shadowheart’s lips moving, but then there’s a sudden silence where all you hear is white noise even though she’s still talking. It’s the same with conversations with Gale, just white noise in the place where your name should have been.

Astarion stole your name from you… When did that happen, and why can’t you remember? What else has he stolen from you?

“What’s my name,” you swallow the thick odium that’s erected itself into your throat. You shriek, rage sweeping through you in a gust of hatred, “What my name, Mizora! Say it!”

Mizora smiles haughtily and speaks. You focus with every iota of your capacity, watching her lips move, but it is as you feared. Your ears hear nothing but the breathy whisper of silence, and your eyes seem unable to read the phonetics on her lips.

You’re his darling. His sweet girl. His precious treasure. His consort. His nameless spawn.

And yet, you’re still prepared to sacrifice your life.

Yes, a very good little spawn, indeed.

“It doesn’t matter,” you mutter, clenching your chest as a tendril of sadness wraps around your heart and chokes it. “What do I have to do?”

“Before we can do anything about Astarion. We must first unbind him from his contract.” Mizora says, eyes narrowing, fixed on you. “I don’t care how you do it, but you must get Astarion’s contract from Mephistopheles. Steal it. Bargain for it. The choice is yours, but you must do it fast. There’s no way to know how much time before Astarion is lost forever.”

Mizora deposits you back into the sewers, and her voice bounces off the stony passageways, “Tick-tock, tick-tock, pet.”

You consider continuing to try to track Elowyn, but you’re reeling with information and cannot fathom how you would even begin to concentrate on her. She must be dealt with. That is certain, but it must wait until your mind isn’t fraught and unsettled.

How are you supposed to get Astarion’s contract from Mephistopheles? Bargaining for it should be your last resort, but how do you get to Cania, the eighth layer of the Nine Hells, survive it long enough to sneak into Mephistar and somehow sneak through an archdevil citadel? It seems like an impossible task.

Should you tell Astarion? He would usually be the first person you ran to for help with a heist, but he’s unlikely to let you go, even if it is the only means to save him from inevitably losing himself entirely. You can’t risk Astarion forcing you to stay, but you might not be able to risk going to the Hells without him. The Vampire Ascendant will likely be an invaluable asset if you meet resistance. But if he loses himself, you might not survive Astarion’s wrath long enough to get where you’re going. Whether that thing inside him is a separate entity or a version of himself that’s been infected and corrupted, you doubt it will take kindly to you trying to remove it.

Do you approach Shadowheart? You would be putting her in great peril, but she might be able to help with research. This is your mistake to fix, and you don’t relish putting your friend’s lives on the line. Karlach and Wyll are in the Hells. They may be able to help ascertain a way to get to Cania, but you’ll need to figure out how to contact them.

And Good Gods, your name…

The silent corridors echo with the foreboding sound of your heavy footsteps like the ominous rumble of an approaching storm as you work through the maze of gangways and channels. Tears stroll in rivulets down your snowy cheeks, liquid poetry to express all the emotions you can’t.

Dejection. Grief. Fear. Defeat. Loss.

Lost in the spiralling thoughts, you forget to look to the sky as you drag your weary body home. The only thing you want right now is to curl up in the strong arms of Astarion and let him hold your broken pieces and fears together because you’re not sure if you can do it by yourself.

The sun cracks the skyline, the first rays of the soft light of an autumn day embracing the streets, but the sun no longer embraces you. It blinds and broils you. Your skin glows, flakes, and melts. Deep, molten silver-blue channels crack in your arms, legs and face. The pain is so intense you can’t even remember to scream as you stand, waiting for your skin to slough off your bones and cover the street with ash.

You don’t remember reaching out to the bond with Astarion, but his voice fills your head, “Gods above. What in the nine Hells are you doing!? ” Astarion bellows. Panic infects his usual halcyon timbre, “Find shelter! I’m coming!”

The pain is all-consuming. You can’t move, can’t think, can’t speak as your nerves are melted away. Your skin dissolves like water evaporating under the sun’s heat. Every inch of your skin is being flayed in a single moment that lasts forever.

You will die nameless and alone.

“Fuck! Find shelter. Now!”

Astarion’s compulsion overrides everything else, and your body moves stiffly to obey the command even as it smokes and your skin is loosened from your frame, liquifying and dripping off your arms and legs, turning to ash in midair and being carried away by the morning breeze.

Find shelter. Find shelter. Find shelter.

Your instructions resound in your head even louder than the pain that falls to a buzz in the background. You can’t even blink as your fingers curl around the boards of a long-abandoned shack. Gods. Are those your fingers? Is that bone you see? You wrench the board off the window. The pads of your fingers squelch and ooze. When you throw the boards down, your skin sticks to them, peeling away in rangy, fibril bands like gum. Thank the Gods, you lack the capacity to mull it over much as your body throws itself inside without your consent.

With the order completed, there is a brief moment of pure, blissful euphoria - a reward for being so very obedient. The compulsion pales, the vines recede, and you’re pitched back into the residual agony that has yet to abate.

Now that the sun is no longer skinning you alive, the pain has lessened, and you remember how to scream. An inhumane noise rends your throat somewhere between a shriek and a wail. Your head lolls to the side, and your eyes fall to your arms.

You immediately wish they hadn’t.

Your skin is not the smooth pearlescent you’re used to seeing now that the colour it once held has faded to death’s grip. It’s powdery and matte. You’re sure you’re looking at the bones of your forearms in the chasmal rifts.

You hear white noise in your head, murmuring over the bond. It feels like Astarion is trying to contact you, but you hear no words. To get your thoughts off the pain still being recited by your nerves, you shift your focus to the emotions in your head, trying to sift through them. Astarion’s heartbeat in your chest is excruciating. It hammers with the intensity of a blacksmith striking an anvil. He’s petrified, bordering on hysterical.

You reach out in your head, “Astarion?”

“Little love!” He howls. You must remember to request he not attempt to dissolve your brain matter. “Why haven’t you been answering me?”

“Where are you?” 

“Close, my treasure.” 

You don’t know how much time elapses as you bounce between consciousness and dissociation while focusing on not moving. The less you move, the better for you, but your limbs and muscles seem to jerk and twitch without your consent, and every time, it sends another agonizing swell of suffering to break over you. Teardrops flutter on your lashes, but you can’t move to wipe them away.

Your ears pick up the thudding tempo of Astarion’s beating heart before he bursts through the door, scattering the planks and showering splinters in his haste. Astarion drops to his knees beside you. He visibly shudders as his eyes land on you, slumped against a wall.

“Hells,” he breathes, chest heaving from exertion. You can feel his horror in your head, but you need not. It’s evident in his shaky and rapid speech, “It’s okay. I’m here. I’m here. You’re safe. Look at me, darling.”

Why, after everything he has done to you, is his proximity so remarkably comforting? You let your eyes roam over him and truly appreciate the beauty before you. His scarlet eyes, dazzling like vivid, perfectly polished jewels ashine behind… tears? No. That doesn’t seem right. Your vision is blurred from your eyes being boiled in their sockets. You must be imagining the tears, but his eyes are beautiful nonetheless. His sculpted, full lips, which once held the promise of an eternity of silk kisses, are downturned at the corners. You would give anything to run your fingers along them right now, feel them on your skin, taste them on your tongue. He is breathtaking, quite literally.

“Sweetheart.” Astarion reaches to you. His fingers tremble as they hover below your jaw. He knows it will hurt if he touches you, “Can you hear me?”

You answer in his head because moving the muscles in your face to make you capable of speech will hurt, “Yes. I hear you.”

“I can compel you to not feel the pain, to sleep, but I need your permission.” His eyes bore into you. His voice is a favourite dream you long to slip into, “Please.”

It’s dangerous permission to give. You’ve told him you will leave if he compels you again, but he just did, didn’t he? He compelled you to find shelter when you could not do it yourself. He compelled you from afar. He does not need to be near you to force commands upon you. He can wrap your brain and body around his finger like twine from anywhere, anytime, on a whim. But Gods, you will do anything to make this pain end, to drift away from this fucking nightmare.

“Do it.”

Immediately, you feel your control funnelling away, like sand through an hourglass.

“You feel no pain,” he purrs, and the pain vanishes as your nerve endings deactivate. It’s a blissful respite, and you sigh. “Thank you for trusting me. Sleep now.”

Your brain shuts off. Darkness claims you, and Hells below, you welcome it.

“Wake.”

The directive floats through your comatose mind like a beam of light cuts through the pitch-blackness of nullity. Your faculties burst to life, waking one by one, unfurling like a blooming flower. The first thing you feel is hunger so painful that your body jerks to collapse in on itself as your limbs jolt and tremor insuppressibly. Excruciating cramps make your toes curl and your hands ball into fists. Your mind is raving, mad with hunger. You consider biting your tongue if only for the sweet succour of that crimson elixir.

You cannot think of anything other than the sensation of your insides gnawing on themselves, the paralyzing contracting of every ligament and tendon in your body, the desiccation that’s withered your tongue, and the grave need to feed - on anything and anyone.

Another spasm causes you to lurch and claw at your skin like you could dig yourself out of this ailing body. Warm hands clasp your wrists, and all your mind can think is warm means alive, and alive means blood. Your eyes snap open, but your addled brain simply cannot process the visual input, and you don’t think twice before fire erupts from your palms.

“Shit!”

You hear it, but you do not process it. As soon as the grip on you rescinds, you lunge at this figure before you whose beating heart is thrumming the provocative siren song of life and food. Colliding with it is like being throttled into a brick wall, but you waste no time fumbling and climbing with bared fangs. You’re so close to that beautifully pulsing vein, and it’s the only thing your eyes can focus on.

Stomach bubbling with hunger, you go to bite, jaws snapping and slobbering like a feral beast. As soon as your fangs hover within striking distance, your body arrests, and you’re instantaneously immobilized.

Strong arms wrap around you, lift, and sink you to the floor. A hand cradles your cheek, and the branching blue-purple veins make you swoon. You think about biting them only to have your body freeze up on you further. It guides your eyes to vivid crimson irises that spark recognition and reason back into your dazed lucidity.

“Astarion…”

“Stop thinking about biting me,” he chuckles and shifts you to the side. “You’ll be able to move again.”

“What?” You would quirk a brow at him, but you’re too focused on trying to push your intentions of biting him away. They do not concede to your urges, and you find your eyes wander without your permission to any vein that might be in striking distance. Astarion always gently walks your errant gaze back to his. “You haven’t compelled me?”

“Ah. Apologies. I do forget how new you are to this.” Astarion reaches for something on the dresser to his right, “No. This is not a compulsion. As my…” he trails off.

“Spawn.” You state with a palpable despondency threaded between the fog of hunger that looms over you.

“I do hate that word,” he shakes his head with discontentment as if he does not want to face the reality of what he has turned you into. “You are physically unable to bite me without my permission. Your body simply will not allow you to do it. Which is why you currently cannot move.”

Astarion holds a goblet out to you, and your stomach is set on fire by the iron sharpness that wafts from the syrupy, bright red nectar. It breaks you away from your absorption of sinking your fangs into Astarion’s flesh, and you snatch it out of his hands and drink with mindless gluttony.

The blood is fresh, hot and rich as the liquid rushes into your mouth. It waterfalls through your body, unknotting the snarls in your muscles, dissolving away the relentless twist of your stomach, and replacing the bloodlust hysteria in your mind with a sultry buzzing.

Astarion’s already holding another goblet, and you throw the empty one to the side and close your eyes as you guzzle. The blood is buttery and decadent. It’s hundreds, nay, thousands of exquisite dishes in a single swallow. It’s like a summertime dawn on your tongue. The wet warmth of it sinks between your thighs, settling with a molten throbbing in your core, and you moan at the pure bliss.

Astarion slips the goblet from your fingers once you’ve finished, and you look at him with half-lidded eyes. You rack your brain for memories of the few times you’ve tasted the blood of thinking creatures. You bit a few in the battles between when he turned you and the Netherbrain, but you cannot remember any of them ever tasting that deliciously arousing.

“That wasn’t animal blood,” you state, almost slurring. You feel drunk, or maybe Astarion is just intoxicating to look at while he mesmerizes you with those red eyes and perfect lips that foretoken pleasure. “Who did you just feed me?”

“No, it was decidedly not animal blood,” he grins as you adjust on his lap and straddle him. You’re not entirely sure what you’re doing in your desirous daze, and you trace the perfect bow of his lips as he speaks. “It was my blood.”

“You are delectable,” you giggle as your fingers help themselves and start fiddling with the buttons on his chemise. As your muddled mind starts to make sense of what he just said, you’re tripped up. You stare at him with a slack jaw and round eyes.

“The look on your face is priceless, darling,” he giggles and glances down at your roving hands as they push open his shirt and trace the defined muscles. Astarion’s fingers trace down your neck, sending shivers down your spine and making you squirm on his lap in wanton desperation for even the most minuscule friction to sate the ache, “I told you that you would taste me, and I you. It will not make you a True Vampire, though, if that’s what you’re wondering.”

Right now, you could not care less about being a True Vampire. There is very little on your mind except how his skin feels on your fingers and how extraordinary he would feel stretching you.

You bury your face in the crook of his neck, inhaling his scent deeply, placing slow kisses up the column. His fingers curl into the silk nightdress he must have changed you into at some point as he groans.

“Whatever are you doing?” He mutters near your ear, pressing his cheek to yours.

“I want you,” you sigh as you curl your fingers into his hair.

“You just attacked me,” he swallows.

“Then, let me apologize,” you grind against his hardening length in a way that makes you both gasp.

“You’ve been asleep for a week,” he mumbles, even as his arms wrap around you, tugging you close. “You have no idea how close you were to dying. Truly dying.”

You should probably be concerned with how long he kept you asleep since your time is limited, but you don’t care. You can’t care. You’ve never been quite so high on blood, on him. He is the light, darkness and blood that runs through your veins, and good Gods, you will give him everything.

“So, wake me up,” you purr as you push his shirt over his shoulders and run the flat of your tongue up his neck, relishing the salt of his skin. “Touch me like only you can. Love me like only you do. Help me feel alive, Astarion.”

Astarion pulls you back, cradling your face with this thumb pressed gently under your chin, drawing your eyes to his, and you stare at him through narrow, seductively hooded eyes like a love-sick pup. He traces your lips with his thumb, and you catch it in your mouth and suck.

“Hells,” he rasps darkly with a sharp inhalation.

You feel the offering call of the bond, and you don’t hesitate to throw it open. That beautifully overwhelming frisson shatters through you as Astarion’s lips catch yours in an eager, bordering on frantic kiss. He snakes his hand into your hair, holding you firmly against his vehement embrace. His tongue darts into your mouth, and a guttural groan thunders in his chest. His kiss is unusually clumsy, lacking the artistry and mastery he typically possesses, and your teeth click together with your greed for each other. You roll your hips, sinking your clit against his length, and your head falls back as white-hot sparks of want rupture behind your eyelids.

As far as you’re concerned, he is the definition of desire. His lips, his hands, and his taste are the only things that can bring you back to life from this deathless death, and you’re sure that you could never get close enough to him. Even with every curve of your body pressed into every contour of his, it still wouldn’t be enough. Nothing is sweeter than the serene sin of the kisses his lips press against your throat.

You peel off your nightdress, and your fingers tug at the opening of his breeches, graceless in your wild hunger to be filled, to be taken, to be his. Astarion quirks his hips up and pulls them down his hips, freeing his cock. The head glistens with evidence of his arousal. With no warning or hesitation, you sink his full length into you. The heavenly stretch makes you cry out and dig your fingers into his chest.

“Fuck,” he breathes, heavy, ragged and uneven. The pads of his fingers find your swollen flesh, sweeping and circling, and you get lost in the divine stimulation.

You set a slow, teasing pace, rising and sinking back down onto him as you delight in feeling the ridges of his head with every languid pump. Astarion pants as he lets out breathy moans. He brings a hand to your hip, trying to urge you to move quicker.

“Good Gods,” he whimpers, his gaze glossed with desire. “Have mercy.”

You are starving for pleasure, famished, and you will take it how you want it. With a warning growl, you grasp his wrist and pin it above his head to the wall. Astarion grins at your dominance and doesn’t fight it. He murmurs something unintelligible as you plunge onto his cock, and stares reverentially through thick lashes, drinking you in as you forfeit all rational thought.

Time runs away with you. You could have been riding him for hours or seconds, but eventually, your savouring pace turns reckless and erratic. Astarion bucks his hips in time to meet yours as the sound of smacking flesh, wanton cries and panting is all that fills your ears and head.

Astarion’s fingers tremble and quake against your sensitive bud, his skin sheens with sweat and his breath hitches. When you finally unpin his wrist, he clutches your hips and guides you to continue the tempo that is driving you perilously close to the edge.

His breath starts to come faster, panting hot and crude, fanning across your sweat-veiled skin. Scarlet eyes devour you as you chase your release in his lap. He penetrates you - Harder. Deeper. Animalistic.

“Oh shit—” His eyes snap open wide, almost in a look of blissful confusion. In your rapture, you barely notice the way his lips move, but you hear nothing but white noise. “I’m going to— Gods. I think I’m going to—“

A shuddering gasp escapes his lips, his body suddenly tensing beneath you. The look of ecstasy that washes over his face is enough to hurl you over the precipice, and you cry out with him. Between your walls clutching and spasming, you feel his cock twitching and pulsing, flooding you with his seed. His arms wrap around you, and you cling to him with a grip that would surely bruise. He crushes you against him as you’re both overwhelmed with pleasure so pure you think maybe it would have killed you were you not already dead.

As the intoxication of your climax fades, you sag into him, pressing your forehead against his neck. You close your eyes, breathing in the fragrance of his sweat, and focus on the rise and fall of his chest. It would be nice to stay in this darkness, snug and safe and home in his embrace, with the bond open so you can remain one pale star against the dusk of reality.

And then you remember the white noise from the moving lips of Shadowheart, Gale, Mizora, and him … You pull back abruptly, breaking out of Astarion’s arms and staring at him, tears teeming in your eyes. Astarion’s confusion is evident on his face and through the connection.

“What’s wrong?” He asks. You can feel him trying to figure it out in his head. It’s such an odd sensation, almost like your emotions are being poked and prodded. “What did I do?”

“Say my name,” you whimper, focusing on his lips.

“What?” His eyes bounce around as his brows pull down.

“My name,” you repeat with a quivering lip. “Say it.”

Astarion’s lips move, and… nothing. All you can hear is the buzzing, fizzing hiss of white noise coming from his mouth.

“Again.”

“I don’t understand —“ He yet again opens and closes his mouth with only a droning hum. Your fingers clamber against his lips, pushing his mouth open as if you might be able to grasp the word as it leaves his tongue. “Whatever is the matter?”

He doesn’t even know, you realize. He has no idea that he’s stolen your name just as he stole your life. You find some comfort in knowing that it wasn’t this version of him that did it, at least. You stare off dejected as everything rushes back to you like a slap across the cheek.

Mizora. The Hells. Mephistopheles. The Contract. The ticking clock. Your name.

“My love,” Astarion’s fingers curl into your hair, and he ushers your eyes to his. “Did I harm you? Please. Tell me what’s troubling you."

“I don’t remember my name,” the tears spill out of your eyes. “You stole it from me.” 

Big thank you for everyone who takes the time to read/reblog/comment, and all the other magnificent things. As always, I hope you enjoy this, darlings!

AO3 [Crossposted]

Master List of Chapters: Fangs and Fractured Hearts

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

Small Notes:

So... does she tell him what Mizora revealed?

[neutron-stars-collision]

Deadlines & Commitments

Neil x F!Reader

Chapter 9 - Southwark Underground Station

Masterlist; Chapter 8 Summary: Neil finally shows you what it is that does for a living. The answer is not something you are prepared for in the slightest. Warnings: Swearing, explicit language and a tiny teeny dose of angst because it's me. Author's Notes: Considering this one took just a little over a month to write, I think I should be proud. Especially if we consider the amount of pain that first sequence caused me to write. Let's reiterate - I hate descriptions. With passion. So I hope it's somewhat decent and is a not a terrible homage to good ol' Chris Nolan who made all this happen in the first place. This one is a bit unconventional, partially because Neil takes over the floor from the very first line, but also because it's the only point at which I'm dealing with the canon material. Yes, this is a reassurance to y'all ✨ This time, there'll be no Stalsk-12. Instead, there'll be human idiocy and feelings, terrifying as they can be. Thank you for reading and let me know what you think? 💕 Enjoy! Taglist: @hollandorks, @kristevstewart, @stargirl25 (let me know if you want to be added)

When TP not only agreed to Neil to telling Cupid about Tenet and inversion but also proposed he can make use of the headquarters for this purpose, he instantly decided that his friends’ idea was miles better than his half-devised plan, wherein the key equipment involved a piece of paper and a pen.

Neil knew from experience that practical demonstration always did the trick where words could hardly be enough, especially for a complete novice. And the last thing he wanted was to traumatise her so hard she would disappear from his life without further ado. No, that would not do.

So, with the green light from the boss himself, he set out to prepare everything for the event. After settling that Saturday morning was a relatively quiet time in the building with ample time for recovery on the following day, Neil texted Cupid with an invitation. Her enthusiastic reply sweetened the pains of facing Ives and Wheeler with their permanent smug grins and knowing looks. Rueing the fact that he needed their help with the plan, Neil convinced the pair to join him on Saturday and laid out the schemes. Simple as they were:

Lead her into the HQ.

Convince her he had not lost his mind as he introduced the concept of inversion.

If, by some miracle, she is still there, show her what it means through Ives and Wheeler doing a demo.

Answer multiple questions.

(Hopefully still have a friend).

Simple, right?

Nearly trembling from anxiety, Neil avoided coffee as he got ready and made his way to Canary Wharf an hour early. Having ensured his support was present and ready for whatever awaited, Neil made his way back to the station with ten minutes to spare.

Observing ducks from the docks could only take so much time after all.

Unsurprisingly, she was not late. At 9:00 AM sharp, Cupid ascended the stairs, her gaze scanning the people with the vigilance Neil was familiar with from every Wednesday morning aboard the Jubilee line. Her eyes would dart from face to face until she would locate him, often without Neil noticing he was observed. He had a feeling that was not something he should ever share with TP. The lack of awareness was glaring for someone who was supposed to be a part of an intelligence task force. Intelligence is the keyword.

This morning, however, he had the upper hand. His gaze swept over her before she had located him. An affectionate smile was a reflex, strengthened by the fact that this was the first time he had seen her since Thursday nightÔ. Another event which had earned the trademarked status in his head. Annoyingly so because, again, there was nothing special about it. Except for maybe another evening of memorable sex and unforgettable sensations. Yeah, just that.

When her eyes had finally found him, Neil was more than grateful. He pushed past the unhelpful recollections and stepped forward from his post by the wall, meeting her halfway. Before he could let himself overthink, Neil grabbed her hand and pulled her forward, gathering her in an embrace he suddenly needed. It only took her five seconds to reciprocate the hug, her arms wound tightly around his waist, slipping underneath the unzipped leather jacket. If he suppressed a shudder at the sensation, it was no one’s business but his own. As was the sigh Neil released into her hair, allowing himself to relax just a fraction.

Another beat had passed before Cupid let go of his, her hands sliding down his arms to take his hands into hers and squeeze them once. An impish smile on her face felt too much like home for Neil’s liking.

“Hello,” entangling her fingers with his, Cupid scanned his face, her eyes flitting between his, undoubtedly reading every thought he had ever had as if he were nothing but an open book. Neil supposed that, for her, he was one. For better or for worse, “Should I be worried that you look this nervous?” the question was asked with careful consideration, her piercing gaze still trained on his.

Yet Neil knew what it was that she was asking. Can I trust you? It was the one question he did not need to debate.

“No, not at all” he squeezed her hands back, offering a reassuring smile to make up for his internal turmoil.

Because this was the one thing Neil was sure of. Nothing would happen to her. Not on his watch. He knew Cupid understood, for she nodded and shot him a cheeky smile, clearly meaning to dissipate the remains of his uncertainty.

“Hmm. Very encouraging, Neil” the humour in her voice was enough to raise his spirits, always embarrassingly sensitive to everything she said or did. Slowly, she let go of one of his hands and started leading him out of the station entrance despite not knowing the direction. It was a clear signal where he was concerned – get over yourself, “I haven’t prepped my will, just so you know,” the quip was made with a familiar glimmer in her eyes, easily drawing out a laugh from Neil.

Too easily, perhaps. But who was he to judge? A light shake of the head had to do before Neil started leading her towards their destination, painfully aware of her curious looks. Still, somehow, he knew she would not ask questions; eager to understand but also conscious of his mind state. Aware of the fact that this would not be easy, even if she had no idea why. Or where they were going.

“That won’t be necessary” a glance sideways told Neil that Cupid was observing him with unwavering curiosity, a million questions multiplying in her mind.

“Very well” accepting his feeble attempt at reassurance, she added with confidence, “I trust you,”

The statement was strengthened by the look in her eyes and the firm hold over his hand. It was highlighted by the very fact that she did not question where they were heading or what he was about to reveal. She just followed without a protest. The weight of her trust settled comfortably on Neil’s shoulders, inspiring courage where before he would stutter. Suddenly, he needed to express this heady feeling in any way possible.

“And I treat that very seriously” he waited for her to meet his gaze before shooting an honest smile, reserved only for her. She mirrored the expression, an unexpected softness of affection making her eyes shine with something Neil did not understand well enough to name. Something hopeful “Come on, Cupid. Let’s go pray, shall we?” her answering laughter warranted a perfect response to cut short the worries.

At least for the present moment.

The light mood, filled with nonsensical conversations and multiplying reasons why it was probably a terrible idea to let her get that close, lasted as far as the first security checkpoint by the outer gates. When they approached the steel fencing, Neil could feel her tense up. The chatter ceased, replaced with silent consternation, millions of unasked questions visible in her wary gaze. Neil could only offer her a reassuring smile as he led her through the security check, signing his name under multiple white pages that outlined the severe consequences should things go awry. He could only hope they would be entirely unnecessary. Please.

Her silence lasted as far as the HQ lobby, which Neil strode into with all the confidence of someone who knew what he was doing. (He did not know what he was doing). Cupid stepped inside the high-ceilinged space and stopped, pulling him back instantly. One glance at her confused face told him there would be no more running away from that first dose of preliminary questions.

Blessing the quiet Saturday morning, Neil gently tugged at her hand to lead her over to the armchairs by the coffee table on the side and waited for her to sit down before he motioned for Cupid to speak:

“So, you are James Bond, huh?” the first question was not what Neil expected, yet it made all the sense in the world.

Her wide gaze roamed over the space, occasionally darting to his face with a palpable nervousness. She looked adorable in her skittishness, and Neil did not know what to do with this fact. He counted it a win that she was still present, waiting for the information.

“Not- Not quite” a crooked smile made it home on his face as Neil felt his hands twitch in his lap.

It felt strange not to hold her hand as he was about to share the groundbreaking knowledge which probably would change their relationship. But she needed the space. He could see her process every little piece of information with that thoughtful look in her eyes. The best he could offer was patience and answers.

“But you’re definitely not a priest” once her gaze wandered back to him, Cupid gave him another cursory glance and perfected it with a sardonic smile, “This doesn’t look like a church,” no matter how hard he looked, Neil could not find hints of distrust or anger in her eyes.

Instead, all he could see was curiosity, burning bright and strong. That he could work with.

“It’s not. Welcome to Tenet, Cupid” pointlessly opening his arms in an attempt at a grand gesture, Neil let his hands drop to his sides pathetically as he launched into a well-rehearsed speech, “We’re an independent intelligence agency. Kind of like MI5. But we’re more… specialised” with the easiest part out of the way, he paused and took a deep breath to organise his thoughts to provide a reply she would understand.

But before Neil could open his mouth to continue, she interrupted with a half-choked groan and covered her face with her hands with a curse ready on her tongue:

“Jesus… how the fuck-” he stared as she seemed to process it, her chest heaving with rapid breaths, just short of something resembling a panic attack. Leaning forward in his seat as if trying to get closer to her, Neil pondered reaching out, checking whether she was alright. Before he could decide, Cupid let out another deep sigh and raised her head, meeting his worried gaze with a shaky smile, “Okay, don’t mind me. Go on” the hysterical edge in her voice made his lips twitch in a bemused smile, an expression Neil soon wiped clean off his face.

It was no time to make fun of her. Surely. Instead, he took a deep breath, ever so grateful for the lack of company in their vicinity, and continued with the well-rehearsed explanation:

“We’re specialised in something called the inversion and the effects that has on our world. We’re basically protecting all of you innocent citizens from the inverted technology, warfare and the like. Only, the main thing is that most of these things, the conflicts we observe, haven’t happened yet from our point in time” as soon as the most significant part of his summary dropped, Neil could see her eyes widen.

As if on cue Cupid’s head snapped up to meet his gaze, evidently looking for any signs that he was joking. That she understood it incorrectly. Despite the sudden desire to shoot her a smile in reassurance, Neil maintained a serious facial expression, hoping that would push the point forward. It was not a joke, unfortunately. As much as he sometimes wished it was. Especially when dodging inverted bullets, and trying to understand what was coming in the upcoming years. What the Algorithm meant for the world. What had he missed in all of it?

“Time travel?” her unusually high tone immediately brought Neil back into the present. Before he could open his mouth to respond, Cupid launched across the space between the armchairs to grasp at his forearm, wrinkling the shirt with an iron-like grip as she barked out a question in his face, “Are you fucking kidding me?” plea in her eyes suggested what it was that she wanted to hear.

But it was not something he could give her. Gently, he covered her hand on his forearm with his palm and squeezed it until she relaxed the hold and allowed him to entangle their fingers together. It was much better that way.

“Wouldn’t dare, darling” allowing a soft smile to appear on his face, Neil tightened the hold over her hand before continuing. It was easier to get it all out of the way first, like ripping off the metaphorical band-aid, “The temporal nature of what we’re dealing with here means weapons and ammunition that have been manufactured in the future are streaming back at us. I’ll show you what I mean in the lab” he could see that utter lack of comprehension on her beautiful face.

But there was no judgement. Neil was prepared for that. The demonstration was prepped and ready to go as soon as he led them to the lab and the controlled environment inside. It was only fair that she was allowed to understand what he unveiled. Even if, currently, Cupid looked completely befuddled, a frown etched between her brows, mild panic in her eyes. The tight hold over his hand just short of crushing his bones. But that was alright. Neil could deal with that.

“Okay. I mean, not okay, but… yeah” as if waking from a daze, she nodded, a bewildered laugh slipping through her parted lips. Her gaze wandered over the space again, briefly glancing at the exit before she relaxed a fraction. Although Neil was not partial to her thoughts, he could tell a crucial internal conversation just took place within the pause. A conversation that determined she was staying to listen. When her eyes settled back on him, Neil suddenly felt breathless, “And what is it that you do? Because I doubt that you’re a nobody considering the level of security you have here” arching her eyebrow, Cupid glanced at the ID card attached to his lanyard.

Despite himself, Neil grinned. He already knew he would miss her attempts at guessing his profession during every Wednesday morning rendezvous. He only hoped the ‘priesthood’ banter was not going anywhere. Now, that would be a loss. 

“I’m one of the top agents, but my field is mainly in Physics” the strange uncertainty washed over him as soon as the words were out of his mouth.

That was another layer peeled back for her perusal. Another truth at her disposal. Another mystery gone and buried just to let her know all of him. Another thing he did not anticipate those months previously when he picked up her belongings from the carriage floor. For someone whose life’s work revolved around the future, he did not see her coming. Whether that was something worth boasting about was yet to be determined.

“Great, I’ve been shagging a nerd” Cupid’s groan acted like an alarm, blaring through the nonsense in his brain. Mostly because the indignation in her voice sounded almost like an endearment. Like a badge of honour. At least, Neil was sure about to treat it as one, “That’s just fantastic,” she rolled her eyes, briefly offering a peek at Cupid he knew and liked.

The unshakeable one, unbothered by anything in her path. The thought immediately brought a smile to his face despite an attempt at a stern glare directed her way:

“Very funny” squeezing her hand, Neil stood up from the armchair and pulled her up alongside him. It was time, “Are you ready to see an inverted bullet?” a cheeky smile seemed to be all she needed, for she begrudgingly squeezed back and sighed with pretend weariness.

“No,” grinning widely, Cupid stepped away from the chairs and the coffee table and looked at him pointedly, sending a signal Neil could not miss.

“Let’s go” mirroring her manic smile he led her towards one of the corridors at the far end of the lobby.

Cupid stayed silent as they entered the elevator and went to the second floor. Every now and then, Neil could feel her eyes staring and analysing, undoubtedly trying to understand how the fuck did she end up here with him on a Saturday morning. He could only hope that at the end of the visit, she had found at least some reasons to maintain their relationship. That this would not be the ultimate breaking point.

Only when he has opened the laboratory with the security code and a tap of the ID card against the reader, Cupid opened her mouth to let out a sound that can only be interpreted as an awed sigh. Whatever was to follow got lost between her head and her tongue, for his sidekicks took that exact moment to let their presence be known. In a truly typical fashion.

“Finally. I thought you two detoured to shag in the bathroom” Ives was heard much earlier than he was seen as the man strolled towards the lab entrance with a trademark smirk gracing his face.

“Ives, I swear-” Neil got as far as tightening his fists and taking one (hopefully menacing) step towards his ‘friend’ before Cupid interrupted the incoming promise of violent death and closed the gap with an unnatural pep in her step.

“Oh, hello. I didn’t expect you two here” from a bystander’s perspective, there was no flaw in her smile or a fake note in her voice as she greeted Ives and Wheeler with a wide grin.

But Neil knew better now. He could see the shaken foundations underneath the smile, the panic flashing in her eyes, quickly disguised by another chuckle. It was more than mildly concerning. To be frank.

“Neil called us in for support” Wheeler (God bless her soul) stepped forward, answering the real question.

She glanced at him, clearly checking for the true status of the situation. Neil could only offer her a shrug, allowing his gaze to show the extent of worries crowding his mind. They had to proceed carefully. That much was clear.

“I’m grateful. My brain is already fucked” a heavy sigh from Cupid interrupted his thoughts as she ventured further into the room, her eyes coursing over the equipment with frightful caution, “But then I suppose this is only fair since I’ve just learnt that time travel is real” approaching the glass separating the workspace from the dangers of the shooting range, and the cement slab in place of a shooting target, she threw a pointed look at him.

It was as much a plea for help as a call for answers - any clarity he could offer.

“Not quite” shooting her a reassuring smile, Neil cracked a grin as he joined her by the glass partition and chanced a joke to relieve the tension, “Don’t expect the Tardis here” it felt like a victory when Cupid met his gaze and allowed her lips to twist into a wry smile.

For a beat, as always, he found it impossible to look away, drawn to her in this indescribable way that never failed to pick up his heart rate or make him question the self-preservation instincts all homo sapiens were supposed to have.

Except for Neil, apparently.

“Or a DeLorean,” Ives’s comment burst through the fragile bubble, forcing Neil to step away, instantly urging his mind to get back in the game.

Instead of whatever this was.

“That’s a shame. I was getting excited,” feigning disappointment in the slump of her shoulders and a sigh, Cupid leaned her back against the partition and looked back at Neil.

Acutely aware of the company, Neil steeled his spine and took a deep breath. It was time for the show. Faking confidence, he took out the key for one of the cabinets from his pocket and unlocked the storage, grabbing two sets of protective gloves and safety glasses. Setting them down on the lab counter, he met Cupid’s wary gaze with an easy smile:

“Come here. This is the important part” motioning for her to approach the counter, he pulled on the gloves and glasses and handed the equipment to her, patiently waiting until she was ready to open yet another case and grab two .243 WIN bullets. Placing them on the counter, he met Cupid’s wide gaze and explained “One of these bullets has been manufactured in the future and then inverted and streamed back at us” that was the easiest part, yet Neil was not surprised to see her trepidation deepen as she peered at the bullets, trying to see a difference between them.

The trick was that there was none.

“But they look the same?” her brows furrowed as she looked up, her face suggesting that Neil was an idiot for even trying to convince her the reality was different.

Yet again, he was struck with an inconvenient thought of how ridiculously adorable she was. And how that was not something he should have been thinking in the first place. Ever probably.

“Well, yes. Except for-” ignoring the idiocy of his heart, Neil gave the rounds a quick check.

He made sure they varied as intended and adjusted the gloves. Feeling the intensity of her gaze following his every move, he reached out towards the inverted bullet and grasped the round as it flew up into his hand, mimicking the move of a dropped light object. He did not have the time to turn his head towards Cupid before her exclamation pierced the silence:  

“Oh, fuck” during her stunned pause, Neil picked up the other bullet to ensure she noticed a difference and put them back down before turning to address her panicked glare and a simple question, “How?”

But before he could open his mouth to reply, Ives reminded him of his presence with the usual cheekiness:

“Inversion, love,” and if Neil frowned upon his friend’s typical term of endearment, then it was no one’s business but his own.

If even that.

Instead, he motioned for Cupid to have her go at handling the inverted round, wordlessly showing how to best pick it up from the surface. The tension radiated from her body as she approached the bullets and followed his instructions flawlessly. His eyes instantly searched hers, hoping to find traces of fascination there. But the only thing he could see was unease, highlighted by the shaking voice as she muttered under her breath:

“Whatever the fuck that means” Neil watched as she tested the bullet and then quickly deposited it back into his waiting palm as if yearning to be rid of it instantly.

The worry he had managed to push to the back of his mind was slowly creeping to the front again. This time harder to ignore.

“Are you okay?” unable to shake it off, Neil got rid of the rounds and gloves and approached her slowly, fully aware of the unusual softness of his tone and the two pairs of eyes trained on them.

For a split second, he considered asking Ives and Wheeler to leave so he could manage this alone, but even Neil could not deny their use in situations that needed tension de-escalation. And this moment felt much too charged for his liking.

“I don’t know” sighing shakily, Cupid tugged at her pair of gloves to take them off and met his gaze with uncertainty, “This is completely not what I expected. Who had even invented that?” when it came to questions he expected, that was not one of them.

Count on the only person ever to catch him unaware every goddamn day. Count on Neil liking her way too much, too.

Before he could collect the facts in his mind into something comprehensible, not endangering her life, and at least a bit logical, Ives stepped forward. His summary effortlessly encapsulated within a one-worded response:

“Russians,” it was delivered with a deadpan tone and expressionless face, undoubtedly showing Cupid that it was true.

In this instance, Neil was grateful for having been spared. For someone else offering the answers in a way he never would have thought of.

“Oh,” the startled pause following a gasp of realisation showed that it was effective. For a second, she did not seem panicked anymore, but instead, Cupid appeared pensive. Her brows furrowed further as if trying to make sense of that revelation before she offered a sober reflection, “That- that makes sense, actually” raising her head to look at all three of them, she nodded curtly, intending to show that there was one thing about it all that she could understand.

Neil was grateful for even that tiny bit of reassurance. But where normal people would abandon the subject and perhaps follow it with something more productive, like the demo they still needed to give her, Ives had other ideas.

“Doesn’t it?” mirroring her incredulity, the man grinned, his jovial tone almost out of place, “Bloody Russians,”

The best Neil could do was hope Cupid had no Russian roots in her ancestry. The second-best thing he could do was speak up:

“Ives, this is neither the time nor the place for anti-Russian sympathies” he could hear the tiredness in his voice, and for once, he did not try to mask it.

But, as expected, remorse was nowhere to be found on his friend’s face as the man shrugged and offered another annoying grin.

“Eh, I’d say any time and place is good for that” usually, Neil would very much agree.

But nothing about this Saturday morning was normal. And he was aware of the confusion in Cupid’s gaze and the tension radiating from her body as if she was poised to run at the next opportune moment. Neil did not even want to consider that she could disappear from his life for good.

“Well, yes, but-” for the umpteenth time, his attempt to offer some sensible rebuttal was cut short.

At least this time, it was another voice of reason. Wheeler approached the group with her stoic expression broken only by an arched eyebrow:

“Shall we give our lovely ballerina a demo?” the pointed glare at Ives increased Neil’s gratitude.

It was high time to tick off the final part of the checklist today. It seemed like Cupid was slowly reaching her limit, and the last thing he wanted was to cross that line.

Neil waited for her nod, accepting this next phase of introduction, before he motioned towards Ives and Wheeler for them to lead the way to the turnstile. With the short walk down a back staircase and a corridor, he did not have the time to check in properly. All he could do was steal a glance at her, which only highlighted what he already knew. Cupid was tense, confused and uncertain. So different from her usual confident self, striding through life with the pretence of someone in control. It was startling to notice. It did nothing to stifle the anxiety.

Once they entered the room with the turnstile, her face somehow more astonishing, bathed in the red light and backlit with blue from the other side, separated by a thick glass, Cupid gasped. Her eyes widened as she took in the room, her gaze pausing once it landed on the turnstile itself, and it did not budge until he explained the basics about the machine. Even then, though, she remained frozen in her spot close to the exit. Another nod to proceed was all Neil needed to proceed with the explanation.

It was simple, really. Ives and Wheeler were to enter the turnstile, equipped with oxygen masks, and they were to give her a demonstration of how things looked like when someone was inverted. A walk in the park for the duo. A brief conversation and show of the physics of the other side and back out again. Except Neil did not take into consideration just how jarring the sight was. How shocking it would be to see “duplicates” of the people standing next to her appear in the adjacent room, looking and behaving strangely. How the warbled speech could rattle the mind of someone not used to this. How this could be too much for her.

A shaky gasp was all the warning Neil received before Cupid breathed out one simple sentence:

“I’m sorry, I have to leave” her terrified face was the last thing he saw before she turned on her heel and ran out of the room.

Fuck. Neil let out an impressive string of curses before he banged his head into the glass separating the room and closed his eyes. Yeah, that went splendidly.

Christ.

***

The late autumn sun shone into your eyes as you reclined on the wooden bench and sighed. Only within the past half hour, your heart rate had begun to slow down, and most of it you had spent getting lost on suspicious paths in the fields, wondering whether Neil’s message was a ruse to get you killed for having seen too much. You still considered that option. But that other traitorous part of your brain, once it has calmed down, could not possibly ignore his pleading message to meet. So, there you were – scared, tired, staring at the goats. And not in the Coen brothers’ meaning of the term.

For better or for worse.

Admittedly, the charity farm Neil has led you to was a peaceful, unexpected spot that soothed your brain with each subsequent breath. With the Canary Wharf skyscrapers visible in the distance and a couple of square kilometres of grass and trees, the place seemed like a perfect oasis for the farm animals lucky enough to end up there. In the background, you could just about make out less-favoured sounds of children, undoubtedly ecstatic at the prospect of spending the early Saturday afternoon feeding sheep.

You were less ecstatic at the prospect of hearing their screams.

“Cupid-” the unmistakable sound of your nickname, breathed out in relief somewhere behind your back, made you turn on the bench to see him approach.

Still so damn beautiful, even breathless and in a state of mild panic. Neil stopped a few paces away, catching his breath and watching you cautiously, almost as if worried you were about to get up and run away from him. Again.

A hot wave of shame coursed through your body as you swallowed hard and turned back towards the animals. Hoping Neil would understand that it was an invitation to come closer.

“Have you come to kill me? Now that I know everything?” an attempt at a joke fell flat as you struggled to keep the tension out of your voice.

Still, it must have worked, for you heard Neil’s approach. His footsteps stopped just a step away from the bench before you raised your head again and met his gaze with an uncertain smile.

“Honestly, I’d more be likely to kill myself,” chuckling mirthlessly, Neil shook his head slightly and measured you with an affectionate look that felt almost out of place, “I’m so happy you’re here,” you could tell he meant it.

That only now stood before you again Neil could breathe again. He could let go of the tension that seemed to permeate his soul by the turnstile. And for a good reason.

Anticipating another wave of guilt, you patted the free seat on the bench and shot him a timid smile as soon as Neil took the spot.

“I considered ignoring that text, but… This place is quite charming” it was not the real answer.

It did not disclose how you had spent at least an hour on a bench at the Canary Wharf station watching Jubilee line trains stop and pass, unable to get on and go home. You stared at his text the moment it came, contemplating ignoring it and cutting short this strange thing between you before it tangled any further. But you also knew that ignoring him was never an option. Not really.

None of that needed to be said. Neil understood what that shift in the conversation meant and what you needed him to do.

“I found it a couple of months ago when I went on a walk to clear my head. I thought that it’s a good spot to talk” his cursory look around the surroundings ended with another glance at you, a meaningful pause offering a space for you to decide the next step, “If you’d want to,”

Somehow, you did not have to ask Neil to know what it was that he wanted. It was written in a hopeful tone, and the sparks in his eyes inviting you to lean back into it. A tempting proposition you could not resist for much longer.

Letting out a bracing sigh, you stood up from the bench and extended your hand to pull him up. Upon Neil’s questioning gaze, you inclined your head at the animals in the pen and grinned:

“Sure, but first, let’s get some food for those darlings,” without waiting for Neil to catch up, you bravely started in the direction of wailing children and sheep bleating.

You knew he was following your shadow.

***

Shaking the bag with the feed to check how much you had left, your gaze scoured the horizon to find Neil among the children vying for the sheep’s attention. That was not a difficult feat, considering the height disparity. Still, his enthusiasm made him a worthy rival. Once you spotted him, you waded through the kids and tapped his shoulder, wordlessly asking him to join you aside. After a joyful half hour on the farm, you finally felt like talking.

You plopped down on another bench connected to a wooden picnic table, and waited for Neil to join you on the other side before meeting his gaze and letting the apology flow like it should. As silently practised in your head during that hour at the station.

“I’m sorry I bolted like that. It all caught up with me suddenly, and I couldn’t breathe, and I didn’t understand what I was seeing back there… I genuinely thought you had some boring 9 to 5 job, not… this” your hands flailed aimlessly atop the table as you stared at Neil, yet again feeling almost too perceived.

Too understood.

There was not an ounce of frustration in Neil’s eyes as he leant forward, bracing his elbows on the table and turning the contrite smile for you to do with as you please:

“I’m only blaming myself for dropping this on you without a warning. None of this is your fault” you started shaking your head vehemently, trying to interject an undeniable fact that this was your fault. Undoubtedly. Yet it seemed that was not something he wanted to hear, “But believe me when I say that I waited this long to tell you the truth only because of how unusual this is” the earnestness in his eyes added weight to the statement, rendering you unable to do anything but believe him “Not out of the lack of trust” his hand flexed on the table, as if unsure whether he still had the right to reach out to you.

That was an issue you did not mind solving. You extended your hand to cover his and give Neil a gentle squeeze. The simple gesture strengthening the believability of your assurance.

“I know” raising your head to meet the blue of his eyes, you added, “I hope it goes without saying that I’m not going to share anything I’ve learnt today,” resisting the urge to do something idiotic like crossing your heart, you endured the eye contact and hoped it would be enough.

Because, truly, what would you even share? Who the fuck would believe you? There was no point in entertaining the idea, let alone acting upon it.

Yet, still, you were grateful that he told you. Neil’s enigma was no longer that impermeable. It added another layer to the person sitting before you now. A little more context to the scars littering his body and to the wit in his eyes. A little more understanding of who he was.

“I hope so. Then I would have to kill you” returning your earlier joke, the corner of his mouth twisted in a smirk.

It also marked the perfect opportunity to lighten the conversation, even just by a notch. Taking a beat to appreciate the man sitting in front of you with a selfish look, you allowed your eyes to skim over his body leisurely before mirroring the cheeky smile:

“Spoken like the real James Bond” his easy grin was the invitation you had been looking for, allowing you to let go of the apologies and shifting guilt that would never have a place to settle, “Granted, you’ve got the looks” without thinking about it, you picked up his hand from the table, flipping it to play with his fingers as the effortless complement was received with another bashful smile.

It was true, though.

“And the gun” arching his eyebrow, Neil captured your hand in his, loosely trapping your fingers.

You did not feel like tugging it free. Not yet. Feeling desperate to extend the banter for a little longer, you chanced a suggestive glance down his body and dropped your voice to a sultry tone:

“Oh yeah, you do” twisting your mouth into a smirk, you met Neil’s startled gaze and barely stifled a laugh at the look on his face.

Bewilderment did not quite catch it.

“Not th-” he sputtered, confusion blending into his voice as Neil stared at you with wide eyes and asked, “What sort of gun are you thinking about right now?” it was the sort of reaction you wanted from him.

The thrill you had been seeking for the past few hours, and yet also something you would never admit. Except that, now that you had it, the light of his awed smile shining upon you with just the right amount of disbelief at your existence, you did not know how you had survived so long without it.

“Take a guess” standing up from the bench before you could begin to feel even more things, you tugged at Neil’s hand and signalled that it was time to go.

Somehow, you knew that he would follow.

***

Over an hour later, when all the animals had been fed, and you worried you had caught permanent tinnitus from the proximity to screaming children, you took Neil’s hand in yours and allowed him to lead you back to the Isle of Dogs marina. With the early afternoon sun presenting a golden hue on the horizon, you slowed down your walk and asked a question that had been stewing in your mind since the morning:

“It’s dangerous, isn’t it?” you could not help the nervous tone that permeated your voice.

It could not be shaken off or ignored. It just was.

Much like your general, unspecified feelings towards Neil that were never acknowledged. Or even identified. They, too, just were.

You could feel Neil’s eyes on you as he seemed to think on an answer before replying:

“Yes, quite. I won’t go into details, but getting shot by an inverted bullet is worse than getting shot by a normal round. And there’s much more to this than weapons, but it’s… There’s been a few close calls through the years” the weariness in Neil’s voice did just enough to soften the blow caused by his honest words.

But the impact still hit. Ever since learning about Tenet this morning, you did not try to delude yourself into thinking that what he was doing was safe. Or that no harm could ever come to Neil because of his job. It was another thing to have those exact worries confirmed as not only probable but also inevitable. A shiver coursed through your body as you swallowed past the anxiety building in your gut.

The fear you could already feel crawling to the front of your brain was another reason why getting involved was a bad idea. Hookups were supposed to be just that. Not a friendship, spiced up with amazing sex and afternoon walks hand-in-hand along the Thames. And yet, you were already in too deep. Attached on an unprecedented level. There was nothing else to do but shut away the anxious thoughts and ask another pressing question.

“How long have you been doing this?” almost as if rebelling against your better judgement, your hand flexed in his hold and tightened the grip.

A betrayal of that sort was ridiculously predictable. Frowning at your hand for a split second, you directed your gaze back at the Canary Wharf. The pyramid atop the One Canada Square building reflected the sunlight straight into your eyes, the sharp sting of light hitting your retina and waking you up from the strange haze.

“Not that long. I think John recruited me two and a half years ago. Roughly,” Neil paused, his wistful tone painting the picture the way you hope it would – with facts and figures, “I didn’t think this is what I’d end up doing as I’ve picked up my Cambridge master’s degree in physics” the note of an apology hidden somewhere between the words made you grimace.

You did not like that he could feel somewhat guilty for doing what he did. That he could be looking for excuses instead of owning it like you knew he wanted. It took no genius to understand Neil was simply extraordinary.

But you could not exactly tell him that, at least not without a fight.

“God, you’re a nerd” rolling your eyes to show the extent of annoyance, you shot him a grin.

Yet you knew he could see the depths of affection and admiration in your eyes.

“It’s not like you haven’t noticed before” mirroring your faux exasperation, Neil returned the smile and squeezed your hand.

You have noticed, admittedly. Less admittedly, however, you liked that about him. The nerdiness hidden underneath beauty and wits. A heart so full of feelings, you often wondered how it had not yet burst. Someone you were grateful beyond measure to have met and got to know.

“No, but now I have proof” you did not need to add that you wanted to have even more proof.

You were looking forward to knowing more about him. Especially about that nerdy side.

“So?” as if reading your mind, Neil arched an eyebrow, the challenging gleam in his gaze luring you like the siren song.

It helped to set the stage for your bravery to take the lead. For what you wanted to do next.

“So… Tell me more about Tenet” halting your steps for a second, you pulled Neil to a stop and looked up to see his delighted gaze. The brightness in his eyes was one of the best sights you could think of, “And then buy me dinner” upon seeing his smile widen, you raised your joined hands to your lips and pressed a fleeting kiss on his knuckles to seal the deal “For the trouble” it already sounded like the perfect conclusion to the eventful day.

One that you did not expect when you ran out of the building with tears in your eyes and fear crawling up your throat. Nothing went as you expected it to. Yet you could not find it in yourself to regret what had occurred instead. You couldn’t. Because alongside the anxiety and shock that still ruled your mind and soul, the gratitude was there. And the dawning understanding that Neil trusted you with something this grand. You were important to him in a way that could not be easily dismissed.

You mattered enough. And that, perhaps of all things, was the prime reason you could not regret it. All that you wanted right now was to have more of him. Just for a couple of hours. It was impossible to say if Neil understood all you did not say, but still, he smiled and tightened the hold over your hand to offer an easy agreement.

“It’ll be my honour, sweetheart” his blue eyes searched your face a beat as the affectionate smile made its home on his face.

As always, it was impossible to look away. Impossible to do anything but stare back, hoping that you had the answers he was looking for.

After what felt like ages, Neil ended his scrutiny with a seemingly appraising nod and tugged at your hand to lead the way back to the station. You did not know what happened just then or why it felt monumental.

You only knew that something had changed, and things would never be the same ever again.

[eluminium]

Skizz week day 2 lets GOO!!!!

I apologize for the lack of polish on these. I have seemingly caught a cold and am also in the middle of important schoolwork. But hey, it's better than nothing!

Anyway, this is kind of a sneak peek into an AU I've been working on. It doesn't have a name yet, but it sure exists! I hope I can post about it more when I have more things to work with!

Once again, thank you to @skizzlemanweek for todays prompt!

Prompt 2: Hybrid/AU

-

Impulse has lost his mind.

That's the only logical conclusion to this situation. To him sitting here on his dead best friend's bed while talking to said best friend who's apparently ascended to godhood? But he doesn't know what kind of God he is yet somehow? He also may have given Impulse some knowledge about the divine that Impulse is 75% sure he isn't supposed to know, even as his best god friend's semi-accidental oracle and/or priest. Probably. Maybe.

It's been a rough couple of hours, to say the least.

"Impulse! You're not listening to me!" A voice, Skizz's voice, echoes through his head. Impulses hands fly to his ears as he groans in pain. "Control your volume, dude! You're gonna blow out my ears!" He hisses.

"Oh...! Sorry...!" Skizz whisper-yells in response, although not without a mischievous giggle. Oh gods above, Impulse was gonna have to deal with SKIZZ. TALKING IN HIS BRAIN. UNINTERUPRABLY. FOR THE FORSEEABLE FUTURE. He shakes his head to try and get rid of that awful realization and quickly moves to change the subject before Skizz catches on.

"Alright, so. You became a God, but you don't know what of. So you appeared back here and found me. And you want me to help you figure out what you are the God of. Did I get that right?" He summarizes, looking at the faint blue outline of his best friend sitting on the same bed they spent years having pillow fights on in their youth-

Skizz sticks out his hand and does a so-and-so motion. "Well, yeah...But since I picked you as my oracle, as in my special important mortal representative guy, you're also gonna have to start my cult and get people to worship me!" He exclaims, clearly excited at the prospects. 

"Wow, we really got a Mr. Humble Guy over here," Impulse deadpans.

"HEY! You know I'm not in it for the fame, man! Even though I am really handsome and my godly muscles are huge!" Skizz huffs in mock offense. Impulse rolls his eyes in response.

But instead of another sarcastic quip, the barely visible parts of Skizz's face soften into something dangerously genuine. "I mean it, dude. Think about it. Think about how cool this is gonna be. Think about how deadly we are as a duo now that we have divine power behind us. Think about how many people we can help!"

"But we don't even know what you're the God of!" Impulse snaps with a glare. "How are we supposed to get people to join in on this when we can't gurantee anything?! And don't say 'We'll make something up', you KNOW I'm a TERRIBLE liar! I can't lead a whole freaking cult by myself! I need yo-"

His throat closes up. He can't say that. Because that would mean Skizz couldn't help him, that his best friend was...not with him in some way. That he was alone in this, for now. No, no it's too raw. He breaks eye contact as his eyes snap towards a corner of the room. He draws in a shaky breath and blinks rapidly. 

"Dipple Dop..." Skizz's tone is...sad. He reaches out towards Impulse before remembering that he can't really...touch him. Nor can he touch anything mortal, really. He needs belief for that, followers who believe in him. 

A sigh leaves him as he retracts his hand. "I know this is a lot for you. To be honest, it's a lot for me too. You're scared, and I'm scared. And you're probably thinking something like: 'This is a total disaster, we're so screwed'-"

Huh, that was...exactly what Impulse was thinking. To the word. Weird.

"-but man, dude, my homieh buddeah-"

Impulse can't help but snort at that one. The man is a god now, and yet he's still just Skizz.

"We got all the time in the world to do this. We don't have to rush this. We'll make a plan. We'll do our research! The big fancy library we used to study at had a bunch of books about the gods and stuff, remember? Maybe we can find the step-by-step guide to finding your godly trait and a "How to Cult for Dummies"! Gee, wouldn't that be convinient!"

They're both giggling now. Why? They don't fully know. Probably the absurdity of sneaking into a royal library to read the most suspicious books of all time is getting to them. But, somehow, there's a glow of warmth in Impulse's chest. A feeling he's been missing ever since Skizz unwillingly left the mortal realm for the divine.

Hope.

As the giggling dies down, a timid smile settles on Impulse's face. Gods, how does Skizz do it? How does he make Impulse believe in some new goal that fast? Well, he supposes he can blame it on magical god powers now. Hell yeah.

He takes a deep breath in, jumps off the bed, and stands up. "Alright, I'm in. What's the worst that could happen?" He says with attempted confidence. Despite Skizz certainly detecting his lingering anxiety, he jumps up (or well, floats) up in the air beside him with a barely seeable hand pumped up in the air.

"Allllright!!! Imp and Skizz are reunited and back on the case! I love it!" He cheers.

Impulse wastes no time in heading to their shared kitchen and grabbing a snack for the road. The library isn't far (perks of living in the capital) but hey, emotional rollercoasters tend to leave ya a bit tired. A snack for the road never hurt anybody!

Skizz unexpectedly chuckles. "Except that one time you decided to shove jello in your backpack," he points out.

Impulse freezes.

"...Are there more things in my head than just your voice?" He questions while slowly turning around to face Skizz. Skizz, in response, raises an eyebrow.

"Of course! I know everything going on in there! That's what happens between a God and their oracle!" He says like it's common knowledge.

"So you know all my deep dark secrets now?"

"Well, kinda!"

"Does the "kinda" include how much I missed you?"

"Awww yeah!!! I know you love me soooo muuuchhh now!"

"God damn it- I hate you. You SUCK." 

At Impulse's overly sulky tone, Skizz giggles like the sacred bastard he is. And once again, something cozy and soft glows and grows in Impulse's chest. It feels...good. Happy. Like it's right as it should be. And looking at the faded form of his best friend, he knows Skizz feels it growing too.

Maybe, even with all the responsibility and having Skizzleman but now with divine powers in his head 24/7, this won't be so bad. 

Maybe this could become something great.