#bloodlust and heart wine

[eroticisminmotion]

I should be venomous, and the venom should make my bite so intoxicating that it makes you cry

[eroticisminmotion]

“Take it. It’s yours.”

Altered Carbon (2018-2020) || Force of Evil (1.04)

[rainy-day-gracie]

- wedding night (2) -

A Venus & Mars mini series

pairing: General Acacius x virgin!wife!Reader

content warning(s): reader insert, no use of y/n, arranged marriage, implied age gap but nothing specific, oral (f recieving), fingering, loss of virginity, piv sex, innocence kink, self indulgent praise kink, Acacius definitely talks you through it, discussions of consent because consent is sexy mandatory, discussion of future sexual acts, AFTERCARE because aftercare is hot, general acacius is in loooooove but doesn't know it yet haha, romantic and intimate as hell, grievous historical inaccuracy because it's fucking fanfiction, canon divergent because duh

a/n: So guys. I saw Gladiator II and it was awesome and Pedro Pascal is the sexiest man alive (in my heart). However, this character's name is not Marcus. I don't know who lied, but we've all been fooled. So in this sequel, the general's name is just Acacius in order to stay at least a little bit true to the actual canon.

I definitely will be writing for these two again because holy shit I made this romantic and I love them so much.

Read wedding night (1) here!

Read bloodlust here!

---

Acacius saw heaven in your eyes, a piece of salvation he never thought he might be able to grasp with his blood-stained hands.

He glanced down your body, wrapped beautifully in your white wedding gown, gold jewelry shining in warm candlelight. For a moment, he wondered Venus herself were tricking him with her immortal seduction.

But the blush of red in your cheeks, the shine of desire in your eyes, the beat of your heart in your chest....

No immortal possibly could mimic such evidence of true, temporary, and precious life.

Acacius had been with plenty women in his lifetime, had thought he understood what desire was.

I want you, you had said.

Now, he thinks he's only scratched the surface.

---

The general-- Acacius -- peered at you like a starving man at a feast, drinking you in, turning the wheels in his head of what he wanted to do first.

He grasped your hand in both of his, studying the golden band on your ring finger. Evidence of your gods-blessed union.

"I want to see you wearing nothing.... except for this," Acacius breathed, his voice low, and dreamy, like the words were slipping from him with no control.

"I'd like that very much," you said, trying to keep your hand from trembling under his touch.

"May I strip you bare, darling?" He asked, calloused fingertips fiddling with the clasp on your golden bracelet.

"Yes."

Instantly, the bracelet fell, and then the other, and then the other. Acacius' gentle touch drove you wild, methodical and sure. He stopped for a moment, glancing at the purity ring on your pinky, and smirked in a way that nearly made your knees buckle.

Glancing back up to your gaze, he held your stare as he pulled the purity ring off. His lips were a hairsbreadth away from yours, letting you smell the sweet cherry wine on his breath.

"Kiss me," you mumbled.

Acacius' smirk remained. "Patience, darling."

He tucked the purity ring into a pocket of his tunic, and turned you around, so your back pressed against his chest. A sigh caught in your throat, realizing he had turned you both to face the full-length mirror in the corner of the bedroom.

"Answer me honestly," he said, trailing one of his knuckles down the exposed skin of your spine. "Have you ever touched yourself?"

Heat rose to your cheeks, and you shivered at his light touch. "Uh..."

"Don't you lie to me, now. It's a great sin to lie to your husband," he whispered, his teeth nipping lightly at your ear.

"Yes."

"Yes, what?"

"Yes, I- I've touched myself. I've touched... my..."

"Your cunt?" Acacius mused.

You nodded, your chest rising heavily.

"Did you… like it? When you touched yourself?"

"N-no. I've been told it is not ladylike, to... pleasure yourself in that way."

Acacius kissed the back of your neck, making you arch into his touch. "Oh, my poor darling... there's nothing more ladylike in the world. Don't worry... I will show you how."

A full whimper escaped you at that, and Acacius undid the knots of your dress with a chuckle.

The dress fell, leaving you in only your loincloth, tied at your waist. But Acacius was looking at something else.

His eyes were transfixed on your perked breasts, his mouth slightly open as he wrapped one of his hands around the soft flesh. A high-pitched sigh left your throat, and he reached around with his other hand to take hold of the other breast.

"Do you like it when I hold you like this?" Acacius murmured, his mouth at your temple. He twitched his fingertips to pinch your nipples softly, making you close your eyes in pleasure. "Look at me."

Snapping your eyes open again, he stared you down in the mirror with a small devilish grin. He pinched your breasts again, pulling an answer from you. "Yes, Acacius."

"Good girl," he praised, your cunt throbbing at the words. He let go of your breasts, untying the cloth at your hips until you were utterly bare before him, save for your wedding ring. "Lie down on the bed, darling."

He brushed a palm over your plush backside, guiding you towards the beautiful linen bed. Plenty big for two.

You obey with a shy smile, sinking into the blankets and pillows like you were always meant to fit there. Watching from your comfortable bed, Acacius loomed over the foot, undoing buttons on his tunic, and ties on his robes.

Your lips parted slightly as he exposed the tan, scarred skin of his chest, flickering candlelight bathing him in a warm glow. He studied your expressions like a hawk, watching for any sign of discomfort or displeasure.

As he unlaced the toga and loincloth, leaving him as bare as you were, you had to keep yourself from gasping.

His cock hung heavily between his legs, not even fully aroused but still bigger than anything you had anticipated. He wrapped a hand around his manhood, smirking at your expression, but mercifully saying nothing about it.

“I am curious, my wife,” Acacius began, his voice a rumble. He pulled himself onto the marriage bed, caging you in the sheets with his arms and legs straddling. His eyes never left yours. “What did they say about me? When you learned of our union, what whispers crossed your ears?”

You licked your lips, speaking suddenly a challenge. “Um, that you w-were brave…”

Acacius leaned down, pulling one of your legs over his broad shoulders.

“…and strong…”

He mirrored the motion with your other leg, leaving your weeping cunt exposed.

“…a-and…”

Acacius paused, waiting for your answer. “And?”

“General, I shouldn’t speak ill…” you moaned, wondering if one could combust with desire.

“Tell me the truth, darling. Or you won’t get what you so eagerly want.”

“Th-they said you were cruel,” you stammered, desperately, any wall of self preservation coming down. “They said you took anything you desired, washed your hands with blood, and violence was the only language you spoke. Your rage eclipses that of Achilles, and your eyes blacken every time you raise a banner. You are of Mars himself, shedding blood like you were born to it.”

Acacius’ smirk from between your legs was wicked, and he broke your gaze for the first time since lying on the bed.

He studied your open cunt with a glazed expression, like he was lost in the pleasure of staring at your slick desire.

“If I am of Mars then you are of Venus, my darling.”

His words filled you with affection, the way his knees bent on the bed almost like he was worshiping an altar between your legs.

“So pure…” he murmured, as if the words had slipped from his lips.

Your back arched like a bow as he licked a stripe up your soaking slit, sighs escaping from your throat.

Acacius hummed with delight, fucking you on his tongue lazily, drinking your desire like nectar of the gods.

You buried your hands in his hair hesitantly, unsure of what would be pleasing to him. In all the times you eavesdropped on the married women of the court, never once had they mentioned anything like… this. Never once had they mentioned any of the overwhelming pleasure racking every limb of your body. Never once had they mentioned the lightning erupting over your skin with every brush of his calloused palm.

Acacius trailed his hands down your arched torso, cupping your breasts as his mouth traced patterns over your cunt. Your breathy moans made him chuckle into your flesh, the vibrations making you lift your hips with pleasure.

Throbbing built in your pussy, clenching around his tongue as your desire jumped at every brush of his lips.

“A-Acacius, gods…” you cried out, throwing your head back as a pinnacle raced towards you.

“Relax, my darling,” Acacius breathed, bringing one of his hands down to rest at your soft inner thigh. “I’m going to put my hands on you now.”

“Oh, please,” you begged, unsure of what it was you were begging for.

“Tell me if it becomes too much,” Acacius said, and his hand on your thigh moved.

The gentle brush of his rough fingertips on your slick folds had you gasping anew, pulling lightly on the locks of his hair.

“Such a pretty cunt,” Acacius mumbled to himself. “I have half a mind to just keep you like this.”

You whined in protest, your hips chasing his touch.

“So needy for a virgin.”

You threw your head back as his finger pushed past your slick folds, reaching spots inside of yourself that you hadn’t known existed.

“Oh, so tight, my love. You truly are pure.” Acacius curved his finger, brushing against something spongy, and sensitive. A guttural moan escaped your throat, and he laughed softly. “When the pleasure peaks, do not fight it. Let it take you away, somewhere only you and I exist.”

You nodded at his command, closing your eyes as your head sunk into the linen pillows.

Unrestrained cries erupted from you as he pulled his finger out, and in, and out again, hitting that sweet spot with every push inside of your aching cunt.

When he pressed his tongue to the bud at the top of your core, he pushed a second finger deep into your slick, making you wonder if the gods truly did become man. The stretch of his fingers pricked a pain deep within, making you clench tighter around his calloused fingertips. A slight brush of his rough facial hair against your core was your ultimate undoing.

You called out his name as the pleasure rushed down your spine, into your belly, and built in your desperate cunt. He knew it, too, and continued to thrust his fingers deep inside with renewed enthusiasm. His tongue licked against your clit with hunger, tipping you over the edge.

Cries escaped your lips as the pleasure overwhelmed you, every muscle in your body going taut as the desire took over. Your cunt clenched tightly, chasing his fingers, and your spire curved with tension as the wave of lust claimed you.

Acacius watched with a lazy smile as your core squeezed with your orgasm, evidence of your desire dripping off his lips.

“Acacius… Acacius…” you breathed as the climax subsided, your body relaxing into the bed once more.

“How do you feel, darling?” Acacius asked, crawling back up to press his nose against yours. His brown eyes were dark, pupils blown wide with adoration.

In place of an answer, you buried your hands in his curly, soft hair, pressing his lips to yours. He responded instantly, capturing your mouth with the passion of love and war.

His tongue pushed against yours, pure want seeping from every brush of his lips against yours. You gasped as his hands cupped your hips gently, like he was making sure you were a solid thing he could hold in his hands. Like he was worried you might slip through his fingers.

“I want more,” you whispered against his mouth, and he nodded with his eyes closed, like he was dreaming.

“It will hurt for a moment, but I will be gentle with you,” Acacius breathed, trailing light kisses against your throat. “Tell me when there is pain, or if you wish to stop.”

You nodded against his temple, and he pulled his lips back instantly.

“Say you want me, darling. Say you will tell me to stop if you wish.”

The intensity in those brown eyes, the desperation, had you squirming with desire once again.

You held his face in your hands, tracing your thumb against his rough stubble, studying him.

Acacius' nose was utterly Roman, looking like it had possibly been broken once or twice. Every mark on him was evidence of a man that had seen the Underworld and walked away, but not without a few scars to show for it. Though he had been nothing but gentle with you, there was no doubt he could live up to his reputation of bloodletting.

Still, you held him close.

"I want you, Acacius. I will tell you to stop if I wish to." There was no hesitation, no tremor in your voice.

He sighed in relief, reaching down to his hard cock and bringing it between your legs. You whined at the sensitive touch, and he grunted at the slickness of your folds.

"So wet for me, darling, so perfect," he moaned in your ear, guiding the soft flesh of your thighs to wrap around his hips.

Tentatively, he rubbed his cock up and down your core, getting you accustomed to the blunt feeling. You whined breathlessly, near begging for him to fuck you already.

"Patience, darling. I need to go slow to not hurt you," he mumbled.

The blunt head of his cock pushed past your sensitive folds, and you dug your nails into the strong muscles of his back.

Acacius let out a guttural groan into the heated skin of your neck. "So wet, and tight."

You called his name like a prayer, your head tossed back in pain and pleasure. Over and over again, you called his name.

"A little more, easy, easy..." Acacius moaned, pushing further into your virgin cunt.

You cried out in pinching desire. "S-so much, Acacius..."

"I know, darling. We're halfway there."

You held tight to him, his rough hands on your soft skin distracting you from the stretch of your cunt around his cock. "H-halfway?"

Acacius chuckled, holding still inside of you to let you adjust. "You feel... divine. So, so perfect, my sweet wife."

A high pitched moan escaped you as he pulled back slightly, kissing your neck as he pushed farther in. You clenched around him, and his lips on your clammy skin sent a fresh wave of lust panging though you.

But Acacius stopped, and you gasped in pain again, as if he had hit a barrier in your core he couldn't push past. You knew he could bottom out if he so wanted, but not without tearing you deeply.

Instead of pushing forward, he stayed where he was inside of you, tracing his nose along the curve of your jaw.

When he spoke again, his voice was low, almost like he didn't mean for you to hear his words.

"Do you want to know what I want, darling?"

You were too breathless to answer.

Acacius continued. "I want to fuck you so well that all of Rome hears you calling my name. I want to mark you with my mouth so you may look in the mirror and think only of me. I want fall to my knees and thank the gods that gave you to me. But for now, my darling... I want you to come on my cock with your most divine cunt."

Your cunt, as if on command, fluttered, and you moaned as he was able to fill you to the hilt without a pinch of discomfort.

"Oh, yes," Acacius whispered, his tongue darting out along your pulse point. You cried out in pleasure as he shifted inside of you, holding tight to his strong back.

"You... are... perfect, darling," he panted, thrusting slowly, in and out, in and out. "So warm, and tight..."

"Acacius, please..."

"Please... what?" Acacius teased, biting your bottom lip slightly as he pushed back into you.

"More... more," you said, digging your nails into the muscles of his shoulders.

Acacius responded in kind, chuckling at your desperation. "As my lady commands."

His thrusts into your aching cunt deepened, becoming harder as you grew needy for his strength. You tossed your head back with a high-pitched cry when he was able to hit that perfectly sensitive spot inside of you, and the reaction made him even more ravenous for you.

"Oh, you take my cock so well," Acacius praised, the words making your cunt clench around him. "So, so good, my darling."

As if he knew what you needed before you did, he pulled his chest away from yours, sitting up on his knees while thrusting into you. He looped his wide arms underneath your spread legs, angling you upwards on his thighs and pulling your hips up off of the bed. Your legs wrapped around his waist, and you arched your back off the sheets with a shriek of delight.

"Acacius, Acacius," you cried out, the new angle sending him deep into your core, hitting spots you hadn't even known existed.

"That's it, say my name," Acacius said with a smirk. "Say my name when I fuck you, tell all of Rome who is making you feel this good."

You couldn't stop, the falling of his name from your lips dripping like sweet honey. All you could feel was the sweat of his skin against yours, the calloused of his hands as they gripped your soft thighs closely, and the depths of your core his cock was able to reach.

"You're going to cum for me," Acacius ordered, his words coming out in pants of breath. "You're going to cum for me, because you're a good girl. You're a good girl, aren't you? Letting me fuck her virgin cunt so nicely, such a good girl..."

At his praise, your cunt tightened around his cock, back arching like a bow. As you came, he pressed a calloused hand into the flesh above your pelvis, the pressure making your high all the more intense. You cried out his name, over and over again, the two of you becoming the only people in the world as the tidal wave of pleasure overwhelmed you.

Acacius' thrusts into your aching core sped, became less focused, and you knew he was losing control himself as you came apart underneath him. Your name fell from his lips as he pressed his hand further into the spot below your belly, where his cock seemed to bulge into his palm as your cunt pulsed around him.

"Such a good girl, such a good wife," he moaned. Only when your core could only twitch in response to his strong thrusts did he slow, leaning back over you and capturing your lips in a searing kiss.

A warmth pooled within you, evidence of his pleasure. You didn't know if you'd ever felt such an intimate connection with anyone as you did with him, his kiss burning a brand into your heart as the heat of passion faded.

Acacius pulled away after a moment, breathing heavily against your throat. "Hold still a moment," he warned. His palms pressed against your hips, his cock sliding from you with a slight sting. You followed his advice, your legs feeling weak and shaky.

You studied him as he crossed the bedchamber to the washroom, his broad back dimpling with the movement. Returning with a clean cloth and a faint smile on his lips, the dimple in his cheek made your heart swell as he saw your sprawled body on his massive bed.

"Feeling comfortable?" Acacius asked, eyebrows raised with amusement.

You nod, watching him as he crossed over to you, pressing a chaste kiss against your lips as he carefully wiped your messy core.

Breaking from your lips for a moment, he pressed his nose against yours, and you cherished the gentle, intimate gesture.

"Shall I call the servants for a hot bath?" Acacius mumbled, tossing the cloth aside.

"A hot bath sounds divine, but only if we may take one together," you reply, slightly giddy.

Acacius furrowed his brows in confusion. "What is making you laugh, my darling?"

You kissed him again, long and slow. Time stood still, and it was as if you could physically feel the bond forging between the two of you, forging in a slow burn of a crackling fire. It was warm, and easy, and comforting.

You broke away, studying him in his eyes. "You are simply... not what I expected."

Acacius smiled, that damn dimple curving in his cheek.

The most feared general on the continent.

Your husband.

Acacius kissed your forehead. "You, my darling, are everything I've been dreaming of."

---

taglist (people that asked to be tagged in part 2): @marianastudiesart @joeldjarin @fallout-girl219 @shantellorraine @lanadelslay69-420 @pedrofan

my request box is open! would love to hear y'all ideas for Joel, Acacius, Javier, or Oberyn :)

[dewdropdinosaur]

Transparent Heart

Human! Alastor x Ghost Reader Summary:Alastor needs a new source of inspiration. Nothing sparks that bloodlust anymore, nothing can satiate the growing desires he has for more and more carnage. One night, while all a party with Mimzy, he meets Y/N. Or does he? The sweet woman seems innocent enough but in reality she is a ghost, a being of chaos gilded by a fasle innocence. His new muse may be undead but it sure sparks some life in him. Warnings: Undead reader, smut, mentions of P in V, Alastor is a warning in and of himself, Demi-sexual Alastor, non-sex repulsed. MNDI, 18+. You are responsible for your own media consumption.

Celebrating 500+ followers!! Omg, everyone you cannont imagine my gratitude for this community. I started writing in January and just how much love and support I have recieved is mind-blowing. All of you are freaking amazing and I hope you know I adore you, my lovelies!

Alastor leaned against the dark wall of the burlesque club, his brown eyes scanning the vibrant display of sinful transgression before him, yet feeling none of it. The room pulsed with music, laughter, and the clink of champagne glasses, but none of it stirred him. He should have been thrilled—there were scantily clad dancers twirling and shimmying on stage, Mimzy was in normal form, charming the crowd with her flamboyant flair, and every inch of the room screamed excess. Innocent souls, ripe for the taking. A little southern charm here, a lingering touch there, a knife sliting their throat in a delectable squish that would send shocks of pleasure down his spine. It was a celebration, a riot of decadence that should have made his very soul hum with delight. 

But alas, the radio host. Felt nothing.

Once upon a time, this would have been his kind of night. The heady energy of sin, the delicious tang of chaos, the joy of being surrounded by souls desperate for something—anything—to fill the emptiness inside them. So desperate would they be, to fall into his greedy hands and he would grace them with the gift of death so sweet. It used to fill him with such vigor, such delight, like a fine wine sliding down his throat. But now, it was all just noise. Annoying noise.

The laughter? Grating. The champagne? Flat. The dancers? Nothing more than fleeting distractions. He watched as Mimzy flirted with a particularly tipsy patron, her laughter like tinkling bells, but it was all so... tiresome. 

He tilted his head slightly, and his sharp grin never wavered, but the sparkle in his eyes had dimmed. It was all a game, wasn’t it? A never-ending circus of false joy. No matter how many times he twisted the dance floor or how many souls he swirled into his web, it was all the same. Hollow. 

The feeling had come upon him suddenly a few weeks ago, stuck in a never-ending cycle of ambivalence. Nothing stirred the oh-so-normal bloodlust within his chest anymore. Nothing excited him to enjoy the chase, the screams. 

Alastor’s fingers tapped rhythmically against his glass, his gaze shifting to the stage as the dancers performed their latest number. It was all so… mundane. The bright lights, the glitter, the exaggerated performances—they meant nothing to him anymore. Maybe this is how he died, being a wallflower.

He exhaled softly, his voice barely rising above the cacophony. “Mimzy, darling,” he said, his tone languid, “do you ever get the feeling that all this glorious spectacle is just a bit... tedious?” 

Mimzy, amid her own little charade, paused and shot him a knowing look, her eyes twinkling with a touch of amusement. “Oh, Alastor,” she said, grinning wide. “You sound like you have been alive for centuries? Enjoy a bit of decadence. Pour some whiskey, put on some jazz!”

Alastor’s smile didn’t falter; a shadow passed across his expression. “Maybe that’s the problem, my dear. I’ve danced this dance for far too long.” 

And somewhere, deep in the pit of his chest, a voice whispered: Is there anything left to live for?

In the middle of his mid-but young-life crisis, a soft tap planted itself on his shoulder. His body became rigid, a dangerous flash passing through his eyes at the unwelcome contact. It was not entirely unpleasant, cold and soft. Strange, considering he hated all touch but one could suppose he had too much to drink. 

Alastor turned slowly to face the guilty party, only to find a petite woman standing before him. Pale, no doubt, almost sickly looking if her eyes hadn’t been the faintest shade of amber that brought the only sense of warmth to her face. Her hair was a light blonde, or was it gray? He couldn’t tell. All he knew was that this little pet had imposed themselves—

“If you are done staring, mister, may I continue my question?” 

Alastor blinked, his sharp gaze narrowing slightly. The soft tap had already left a prickling sensation on the back of his neck, and now this woman, audacious and unsettling, dared to speak to him as if he were some mere pedestrian. 

"What question?" His voice was smooth but cold, each syllable wrapped in the chill of his natural cynicism. It wasn’t the first time someone had approached him on a whim, but there was something different about this one. Something off-kilter, like a mismatched note in a song—one that lingered just long enough to be more than a fleeting annoyance.

The woman tilted her head slightly, the pale light accentuating the faint shadows beneath her eyes. There was something about her eyes, too—lifeless but sharp as a hawk’s. She seemed entirely unperturbed by his cold demeanor. 

"I was wondering," she began, her voice soft yet steady, "if you intend to stand like a wallflower all night or become something worth my time?"

Alastor’s eyebrows twitched, and his lips curled into something akin to a grin, though it was closer to a wolf’s smirk than anything resembling warmth. A question like that—drenched in disrespect, a dance with death itself. Was she…playing with him?

“Is that so?” His voice was laced with amusement, yet his eyes remained icy. “And what would a fragile little thing like yourself do with finding me interesting?”

The woman didn’t flinch. Instead, she tilted her head just slightly more, a ghost of a smile appearing at the corner of her lips. “I’ve seen it,” she murmured. “How you find no pleasure in this display around us. It’s no stranger to you and I am not a stranger to it either. I see you come in here and revel every week until recently. Why is that?

For a moment, Alastor was silent. He had heard words like these before, though they usually came from those who lacked any real understanding of the ruthless, visceral nature of existence. But something about her tone, so deliberate, so knowing, stirred something within him. Something deep. Why would someone he had never met, though who apparently watched him, ask such a personal question?

“Well aren’t you a brazen one, my dear. I would suppose, these events have just lost their…usefulness.”

“Oh, because you kill people?” 

He hadn’t expected that at all. How did she know? How could he play this off? A shadow passed over his gaze, darkened as he looked down at the calm woman. She was baffling…but certainly, the most intriguing thing he had interacted with in a while. He hadn’t expected anyone—let alone a delicate little creature like her—to speak with such clarity about the one thing he’d devoted his entire being to understanding: death. But then again, he realized, perhaps this little conversation had more teeth than he’d first assumed. 

Grabbing her wrist discreetly but with a vice hold, he dragged his newfound muse into an empty room on the other end of the club. Throwing her in the room, he assumed her frail stature might cause her to fall, but instead, she simply looked like she floated across the floor. Strange. 

He chuckled, but the sound was dry, devoid of humor. “You’re quite the curious thing,” he said, his eyes glinting as he regarded her more closely. “Now, how does a little thing like you, make such a bold assumption as that?”

“Well, I have seen you,” she replied simply, her gaze meeting his with a directness that was both unnerving and intoxicating. “You are quite clean with it I must say, well, except for the eating part…but then again I guess everyone has their preferences.”

Alastor was taken aback. A brief flicker of something like appreciation passed through his mind, quickly followed by annoyance. Was she toying with him? Was this an act, some mask for her true fragility? 

For a moment, he considered walking away, dismissing her as yet another oddity to forget. But the words she spoke lingered in his thoughts, gnawing at him like a restless hunger.

"What about you, Alastor?" she continued, her voice softening, almost as though she were coaxing him, "Do you fight it? The lack of bloodlust you’re feeling? Or do you surrender to the inevitable?"

Her words hung in the air between them, and the sound of her quiet challenge echoed in Alastor’s mind long after she’d spoken. He exhaled sharply through his nose, irritation flashing across his features. This woman had a way of pushing him in ways he didn’t particularly enjoy. 

And yet…

He growled lowly, stalking up to her with an imposing stance. Just kill her now, kill the witness. All his problems would go away, he could go back to standing on that stupid wall, drinking that flat champagne.

He glanced at her, a flicker of something approaching amusement in his eyes. Or…or he could have the most fun he had in weeks.

 "I suppose I don't have the luxury of surrender," he said, his tone colder now, sharper. "I’ve long since learned that life is more… interesting when you push against its edges. Though, I confess, there’s something rather invigorating about someone who understands the dance with death as well as you do."

She smiled this time a full, knowing grin. “I thought you’d understand,” she said with quiet certainty, leaning closer just enough for him to catch the scent of something oddly familiar—something sharp, like iron or fresh rain. “The world doesn’t stop spinning just because we want to rest. We can’t simply wait for the end to come. Until it gets here. No, Alastor, it’s all about taking it—grabbing hold of that final moment and making it yours.”

At first, Alastor found himself irritated by her relentless inquiries, the audacity with which she wove her words into the space between them. He considered walking away several times, but then, a strange thing happened.

Then, the irritation faded.

The longer they spoke, the more he felt the edges of his personality, drawn out by her words, her very presence. She was no weakling, no frightened soul. No, this woman was a kindred spirit of sorts—a creature of the abyss who spoke the language he had long since mastered.

But he supposed, it had gone on long enough. Even those whom he found mildly amusing had their time to go. And now, this woman had come to hers. Walking over to a desk in the room, he pulled the drawer open with the mask of preparing himself a drink. This was his typical room…to engage in his activities. As the woman faced away from him, staring blankly at the wall with what seemed ignorance, he approached. The blade was hidden deftly behind his back. 

“Well, my dear, as pleasant as this has been, I think it’s time we end this little game of ours.”

Raising the blade to her throat, he made the slice with a quickness that came with practiced ease. 

Only sweet, rich, red blood did not spill from her body for him to lap with reckless abandon. Her head remained intact, the blade leaving no mark. Backing up in mild shock, Alastor’s eyes widened in what he could only call horrific intrigue. How much had he had to drink?!

“Now, that was rather a rude thing to do.” The woman’s head turned…180 degrees, backward facing him. A small smirk painting to face. And then, her body started to float, righting itself to face him fully as he glided in the air to meet him. Her cold and frail fingers came to caress the edge of his cheek with a gentleness that surprised him. 

“Why would you do that to me, Al? I thought we were friends.” The woman….or ghost woman started to shed alligator tears. Her voice was a high-pitched wail that irked him to no end. 

“What…what are you?”

That caused the woman to pause, eyes sharpening as she looked at him with a look so fierce he felt like his own knife had pierced his heart. 

“I am Y/N. I…I am the ghost that lives here.” 

Now that would have caused him to howl in laughter had he not seen the spectacle before him. Y/N….the famed ghost story Mimzy would tell to scare customers into scam ghost tours of the club after hours for an extra buck. But here she was…in the flesh?

“I thought you knew me Alastor. I thought you understood me. Understood the darkness–” Y/N brought her hand back to his cheek, trailing it slowly, even seductively down his chest to the buttons of his vest. He felt a strange pull to the being, confusingly enraptured by her now. The transparent but uniquely cold nature of her touch sent shivers down his spine, in a way he almost did not mind. 

Where had this feeling come from? Had…had his interest in the conversation been actual interest in the woman before him? He usually never felt this way about anyone. Alastor’s lips parted in an attempt to refute his thoughts but nothing came out. 

Y/N’s hand lingered on his chest, her fingers brushing against the fabric of his vest with calculated precision. Her touch was cold, yet there was an undeniable warmth to the way it ignited something in him—something he couldn't name. Alastor's usual composure began to slip, the confident, omnipotent mask he wore trembling in the presence of this woman.

"You always talk about control, Alastor," she purred, her voice an intoxicating melody that seemed to bypass his usual defenses. "But perhaps you’ve never been in a position where control slips through your fingers, like sand... or, more aptly, like time."

Her words struck him like a thunderclap, rattling his thoughts. Time? Had he been so blind, so consumed by the world of his own making, that he failed to see what was right in front of him? He wasn't sure how to answer, only aware that something was shifting, like a piece of the universe slowly aligning to something he couldn't yet understand.

The smile she gave him was a little too knowing, and he hated it. But more than that, he couldn't seem to hate her—an emotion he had learned to master long ago. For a fleeting moment, her eyes softened, not in pity, but in a way that unnerved him. She was dangerous, yes, but there was something else there—a depth, a complexity that tugged at him.

“You look so lost, Alastor,” she whispered, leaning in closer, her breath cold against his skin. “Let me guide you..”

Her hand slid down, brushing against his vest, the tips of her fingers brushing the edges of his buttons, slowly popping them open one by one.  Every movement of hers seemed deliberate, calculated. And yet, as if it was just for him. That he was the sole focus of such tender devotions. 

Alastor swallowed, his mind scrambling to form the words to push her away, to reassert his authority. But instead, something inside him relented. He wasn’t sure if it was the warmth of her presence, the pull of her energy, or the simple fact that for the first time in ages, something made him feel alive.

“You think you know me, don’t you?” he said, his voice low, almost... intrigued. “But I assure you, darling, you know nothing.”

“Then let me learn, Alastor,” she whispered, her lips dangerously close to his ear. “Let me see the darkness you keep hidden. Let me understand what makes you... human.”

The word struck him like a jolt of electricity, and for the first time in a long while, Alastor felt something unexplainable deep in his chest. Was it love? Was it obsession? Or was it the terrifying realization that maybe, just maybe, he could understand her too? 

—————————————————————————————————

Clothes lay discarded on the hardwood floor, Alastor’s suit jacket among the heap. His body pressed her bare one flush to the hardwood floor, her lips continuing their long and languid assault on his own.

 All that remained was Alastor in a white button-up and boxers, his clothed member rutting onto your bare cunt. Moaning into the kiss, her tentatively brought his hands up to find themselves settling at the nape of the Y/N’s neck. Experimentally giving the roots a small tug, a growl emitted from Alastor’s lips, enjoying the way she shivered before him. 

It was almost like her form wasn’t there at all, that her body was transparent. Though, at this moment, he did not question the physics of how he could touch a ghost. 

Laid bare before his hungry eyes and desires, his cock came to be inside Y/N with one thrust; cunt wet and ready for him like it was made for this purpose. Like she was gifted to him by the divine to hold him close in the darkness and relish in his desires. How the serial killer, had come to be with a being who could not be killed. The one thing he could never kill. The irony wasn’t lost on him, though not his main idea at the moment. 

Conceptually, rationally, by all means of logic, Alastor knew it would never work. Except, in this very moment, cock pounding into her wet and inviting cunt, he couldn’t help but pray to whatever power was listening that something would come to fruition. 

Her moans were sweet on his ears, like southern sweetwater molasses taffy. The kinda of stuff you just can’t get enough of. With every rut of his hips into hers, those delicious noises would fall from her parted pale lips. Now, those were the kind of noises he would search for in the middle of the night. Screams, still scream, but those he wrought by giving her the utmost pleasure his mortal form could apply. 

All for her. His little ghost. 

[katerinaaqu]

It's you; always has been you! (A Neoptolemous songfic)

A song-fic I came up with on the spot today after talking with @smokey07 and the band Skillet! ^_^ Consider it a veeeeeery late birthday gift! As late as poor Neoptolemous was for the funeral of his father. TW: Violence and alcohol involved

He was staggering softly at his feet as the ground and the sand were too soft to support him. In one way he almost seemed uncomfortable not to be dressed in his armor and the fact that he had probably chugged the sweet wine of victory down faster than he should be didn’t really help his situation. Pyrrhus, or as he was known by everyone now, Neoptolemous totally seemed out of his waters dressed in soft chiton and chlamys instead of his father’s lustrous armor; the one blackened by the holy flame he dedicated to Troy. The celebrations to appease the gods seemed to be going well but in his mind all seemed pointless. The majority of the kings and soldiers had no idea on what had happened behind closed doors and behind conspiracies. Conspiracies were not his thing. He hated them. It was the fire of battle and blood that gave him life; inside Troy he had felt alive like he never felt before. His heart was pounding in his chest; hammering against his bones. It was the thrill of taking a life; feeling one’s blood running upon his spear that gave him life. He was training for it all his life and when he got it, it was like adrenaline had gave him life he never felt before; the smell of metal smelt sweeter than anything he had ever smelt before. It was the mixture between bronze and tin and tar along with the metallic scent of blood that made him feel alive. Perhaps that was the reason he was mostly drinking than talking in the party; parties were just not his thing; dull, meaningless ways of concealing the bloodlust everyone had felt, he was sure. Hypocrites! They pretended they yearned for peace and yet they were ready to eat each other’s flesh upon sharing the spoils! And, by the thunder of Zeus, Neoptolemous despised and loathed every single one of them for it! Every time his mentors or his elder peers were scolding him for making a comment about the war, he felt this contempt inside him to the point he wanted to scream to the heavens.

However there was one thing that Neoptolemous despised them more for; Calchas had said he had spoken to the spirit of his father, when he had demanded the concubine to his bed in the Underworld. Every single one of those old fools, the talkative old men, had got to meet his father, bond with him, talk to him… He, on the other hand had only heard of him from stories of his mother, stories of the others at the army and then his father’s ghost had visited them making one last request…

But he hadn’t spoken to him…

Neoptolemous absolutely despised them all for it. He was angry, furious even! Why! That was all he could think of; why them and not me! Why that couldn’t have been me? There was a primitive fire burning inside him; an insatiable thirst had taken him over and he somehow knew that fighting was not the option so he chose to drink that night, hopefully to erase this burning from his chest. He wasn’t used to strong drinks before and he never felt the need to indulge to it. However that night he just couldn’t take it. All the people he despised around him were talking and talking, speaking on their future plans and how their conflict had divided them; some of them already gone home and others stayed here to offer sacrifice some others didn’t even bother. The talk was giving him headache. These men he despised had met his father, they even talked about him once or twice before (even if they avoided the subject now). It was as if he weren’t even there, as if the throne he was sitting on was not for him but for someone else; wine was giving him a reason to pretend he was listening and hating every second of it. So when he couldn’t take it anymore and the sweet wine was not enough to erase the fire that was scorching him inside, he just stood up, not even bothering to mumble an apology or an excuse and he had moved slowly outside of that ceremonial or whatever the hell that was, dinner and found isolation to the previous battlefield. It was as if the ghosts of the dead were better company than all those who claimed to be alive. His unstable feet brought him to the ceremonial monument they had set for his father; a sema mentioning his name was set to the area of his burial. Although he was aware that the urn would be taken with them, back home. The monument seemed small and petty before him and yet it also seemed tall and dark and unfriendly. It was the first time he saw his father in more than 10 years when he arrived at Troy; barely had any recollection of his face and, by gods, he couldn’t even see his corpse! This monument was what greeted him upon arrival to Troy. He mopped some sweat off his forehead (when had he started sweating? The night wasn’t particularly hot. Maybe it was the wine that set his skin aflame) and looked up.

“Well?” he asked to the cold stone, “What do you think? Are you satisfied?”

There was no response. Of course stones wouldn’t talk back and yet Pyrrhus didn’t seem ready to accept that.

“I did what you ask… I gave you your whore as you asked of me. Are you happy now, father? Are you proud?”

The stone did not respond once more. Neoptolemous felt every inch of his young body trembling with primary rage; the type of rage that you would need an army to slay till it subsided. His turquoise eyes seemed to be sparkling like cold flames in the dark.

“So…you choose to appear to everyone else…except from me? Is this how you wanna play it, dad? Is it?”

The notion suddenly seemed hilarious! The idea behind it was such a tragicomedy that he burst out in a loud laughter. The laughter was cold, uncontrollable and bitter. His stomach hurt, his chest was palpitating for breath and yet Neoptolemous, the son of Achilles couldn’t stop laughing. He nearly fell down from his unstable feet; held up by a mixture of determination and luck.

“So after everything I’ve done for you…after everything I did to please you, to live to your name…THIS is what you give me? You do not even grace me with your presence!? You just entered my life and then gone and you have nothing else to say!?”

He swayed a bit in his place trying to find his balance and then looked at the stone anew. He refused to shed tears. He hadn’t shed any ever since he was a toddler! He wouldn’t start now.

“After everything I’ve done…” he repeated, “I’ll never be good enough will I? You will never be proud of me! I will never live up to your name! Tell me, dammit! Tell me why you showed your face to everyone but me?! WHY ARE YOU SILENT!?”

The last was a cry to the heavens, or maybe towards the Underworld. He no longer knew and in all seriousness he didn’t really care.

“I’ll surpass you!” he finally said, “Do you hear me! I will become greater than you ever dreamt to be! You can’t shadow my life like this! You cannot overshadow me!”

He had no idea what made him spew all that and booze made him unthinkable as to why he would say things he never admitted not even to himself. All his life he worshipped his father; he was raised to be his heir and his rightful descendant; his legacy. Right now, though, after the war and the conquest, after the atrocities he performed to his name and after this night he was feeling empty inside. What was his purpose now? Ever since Odysseus came to pick him up from Skyros he knew he would have to fight and finish his father’s war. What was left of him now? How would he proceed?

“It was never me, wasn’t it…?” he finally whispered, “It’s you…it always has been you!”

*

He didn’t return to the feast, that much he knew. He couldn’t go through another round of the old men talking and feeling their gazes judging him when he was downing one goblet after the other so he wouldn’t lose control. The bottling emotions were too much to contain. He wouldn’t wish for yet another headache like that. So he took the decision to stagger back to his tent. Perhaps, he thought, get some privacy and maybe some sleep. As he entered the familiar environment of his tent (no…his father’s tent) he came to face the several slaves and servants (his father’s slaves and servants) roaming about. He also saw old Phoenix in. Apparently the old man retired early. As he entered the eyes turned to look at him. Among them there was Andromache; his prize; the only thing that truly belonged to him in that tent! His pale red locks were messed up from wind and his own carelessness; his chiton was stained with some wine (he hadn’t noticed some had dripped there) and his eyes were flaming with unshed tears and rage. His prize eyed him and glared; a queen till the end even if tied with chains of slavery.

“What are you looking at, huh?” he challenged her stumbling in his tent and removing the chlamys from his shoulder

He let it fall on the floor. He didn’t care where it would end up. He slowly staggered to the small table and poured another goblet for himself as if by instinct. He had no idea what he was doing; he just felt the same irritation by sensing the eyes stuck on him; judging him! He took a gulp of wine trying to ignore it (“You shall never be your father”, their eyes felt to be saying).

“Son…” Phoenix began, “What’s this…? What’s the matter?”

Neoptolemous laughed again. It was a mocking, humorless laughter, indeed.

“What’s the problem, old man? Don’t I have your permission to retire to my bed?”

“Are you drunk?” the old man asked worriedly

“Not as drunk as I would want to be, I assure you!” Neoptolemous retorted finishing his drink

Once again he had no idea why he even said that. He didn’t drink away that night in order to get himself inebriated. Why was he admitting things he never intended?

“Control yourself, boy” Phoenix said in his sweet voice, “This is unacceptable behavior!”

“Would you dare to talk to my father like this, old man?” Neoptolemous demanded draining yet another cup, “I think not! I demand from you to act the same with me! I have proven myself to be his equal! Treat me such! And I shall do as I please! You have no right to count the cups of wine I drink. Save me the lecture!”

“Son…please…”

“I am NOT your son, old man!” Neoptolemous snapped at him, “I am Achilleides! Not your son! Stop calling me that!”

“Pyrrhus…please…” old Phoenix tried again

“Don’t you DARE use that name either!” the son of Achilles yelled, pointing his finger at him, “That name was given to me by my mother and father and NEITHER of them is here! I am Neoptolemous now! You shall NOT speak the name that is not here now!”

“My boy, please…please come back to your senses… This war has destroyed you, cursed the names of those who started it! What fate was to strike me, to see my dearest boy end up like this?”

He was met with yet another wave of uncontrollable laughter.

“That boy you THOUGHT you knew is DEAD!” the young man yelled, “You hear me! Dead! Gone! Forget he even existed in your mind! I have done so much in this war! So much for this glory you will never imagine!”

“This can’t be, Pyrrhus! Please!”

Neoptolemous almost pounced at him; like a wounded lion he huffed and puffed, waving his fist over the man’s face; his breath reeking of wine.

“Do you see this…?” he whispered in wild triumph, “Do you know whose blood is this?”

The old man seemed surprised. What? He couldn’t see the blood? He could see it as clear as day. Wasn’t there blood in his right hand; the hand that wielded and used the sacrificial knife? He turned to look at Andromache grinning triumphantly; self-complacently at her.

“It was someone you knew, by the way, madam! The same well as you knew your father-in-law! You see…my father wanted a concubine can you imagine?!”

He laughed mockingly, almost like a madman at the notion. He didn’t care what he was saying. He was too drunk to care.

“That was how far his legendary love for his dear comrade went! He wasn’t in the grave but a little and he already felt cold and needed company! Isn’t it wonderful?!”

He drained his last cup before throwing it to the other end of the room.

“So I provided it for him! Like a good son!”

“Monster…” Andromache whispered, tears almost burning her eyes

“I am sure you heard too…your dear mother-in-law losing her marbles! I heard she plucked a man’s eyes out before! Who is the bigger monster I wonder!”

“Curse you!” Andromache cried out, “You and your filthy kin!”

“Oh yes, you remember me, alright!”

He rushed at her, without even knowing what he was doing; red of wine and anger clouding his mind. He grabbed her chin. She tried to bite his hand but he held her closer, preventing her from doing so.

“You remember me, when I came to your husband’s tomb and took that crying brat away from you, right? You remember that much!”

She tried to pull back. He didn’t let her. He was stronger than her.

“Let me tell you one more little secret to your information…” he leaned to her ear before whispering, “I was the one who killed your little brat!”

Phoenix swore he heard the Erinyes coming down from heavens to deliver justice; this is how the wail Andromache made that made his ears suffer. The queen had her eyes set aflame as she screamed in lament.

“MURDERER! MONSTER! MONSTER!”

“Wail all you want!” Neoptolemous cried out in return, “You shall come with me, when I begin my true destiny! You will give me sons to continue my legacy, isn’t that what my father would do? Is it, old man?”

Phoenix didn’t know how to deal with this; the boy he had held as a toddler upon his knees who was excited to learn life was gone; in his place there was a madman, someone who was lost in anger and drink. He was too stunned to speak anymore; war had taken everything he had left inside him to fight for.

“WHAT IS GOING ON HERE?”

The familiar, strong voice of Odysseus made him thank heavens for the first time that week. The son of Laërtes, barged in the tent, with the son of Tydeus right behind him; obviously they were both alarmed by the cries they heard in the tent; possibly on their way to sleep or to walk about the camp to inspect.

“Have you lost your damned mind?!” Odysseus demanded, “Let her go!”

His strong arm grasped Neoptolemous and pushed him back. The youth was too distracted, too inebriated to resist and he ended up staggering backwards, nearly losing his balance if it weren’t for the table behind him to support himself (throwing down some things that resided on it that fell down with tremendous sound). The son of Achilles breathed heavily in rage upon the interruption.

“Stay out of this, old man!” he growled like a lion at the wolf that came to take a piece of his hunted meal, “This is none of your concern! She is my slave!”

“She is also a Queen!” Odysseus demanded, eyes cold like obsidian glass, “I would suggest you to pull yourself together and remember that!”

“SHE IS MINE!” Neoptolemous screamed on top of his lungs, “THE ONE THING I EARNED MYSELF! YOU HAVE NO SAY IN THIS!”

“Someone cannot handle their wine well!” Odysseus commented strangely calm, “I suggest you to stand by. You had enough to drink for one night! You are a king now! Act accordingly!”

“WHY YOU-!”

Diomedes rushed to grab Neoptolemous from the back, before he jumped upon his friend in his blind fury. The stronger and taller male, despite the fact that young Neoptolemous was obviously weaker in his inebriation, he still had to struggle a bit to hold him, for Neoptolemous was struggling as if to get away from Charon himself.

“Enough!” he said in his deep voice, “Easy!”

“LET ME GO! DAMN YOU!”

“Pull yourself together, boy!” Odysseus demanded again in his infuriating calmness, “You can boast your strength in battle all you want but now you seem like another drunk! Haven’t your tutors told you how strong the centaurs were in battle? And yet in the arms of alcohol, their actions embarrassed both themselves and their hosts! I would advise you not to fall to that path!”

“SCREW YOU OLD MAN!”

“Phoenix” Odysseus ignored him, “What is going on?”

“He…” the elder man gulped, “I am not sure…”

“Did you come to admire your work!?” crying Andromache interrupted, “Curse you, schemer! Come and muzzle your murderous dog now!”

“What did he say to you?” Odysseus demanded, suddenly his eyes becoming even colder; his face pale.

“Don’t pretend you don’t know! Liar! Heartless monster! You allowed him to take me! The man who killed my son!”

“Is that what he told you?”

His eyes scanned the place; the furious young king struggling in the arms of Diomedes who was trying in vain to calm him down, the old man Phoenix pale as a sheet and finally crying, furious Andromache.

“Well the kid is drunk! He doesn’t know what he’s saying! I was the one who killed your son!” the Man of Many Wiles lied, “I had promised to the council I would and I did! I threw him off the walls and I would do it again! As many times as I had to!”

“BASTARD!�� Neoptolemous roared, “YOU SHALL NOT TAKE MY GLORY!”

“Stay put, you foolish child!” Odysseus interrupted, “You are drunk and furious. Calm yourself first! This isn’t you!”

He turned to the former Queen looking at her sincerely.

“This child lost his father too early! He tries to impress him in the underworld! It is not what happened! He is just drunk. Tomorrow he will come back to his senses”

And the king of Ithaca was met again with the flaming eyes of the former Trojan Queen.

“I don’t care for your reasoning or his! Murderer! Get out of my sight! Get out! GET OUT!”

“Gladly…” Odysseus mumbled, “Diomedes, are you coming?”

“In a minute…”

Odysseus nodded. Neoptolemous was almost limb in Diomedes’s arms for a little. He knew his presence would only agitate spirits further so he decided to walk away, leaving the tent. He didn’t wish to remain much, close to either Neoptolemous or Andromache. He exited the tent and only then the young king found his fighting spirit anew.

“COME BACK HERE, COWARD! LIAR! YOU SHALL NOT TAKE OVER MY GLORY! MY VICTORY!”

“Stop it, now!” Diomedes growled again before whispering to his ear, “Don’t you see? He just took the blame from you! You don’t want another stain in your name! Trust me, my friend, you don’t! Let him do it!”

As if a dam collapsed, Neoptolemous broke down; it was a scary mixture of laughter and tears; yes, this time Neoptolemous cried for real as he hadn’t cried for years! It was a furious, desperate cry of all the accumulated and bottled up emotions he had gathered up over the years and the last weeks of unstoppable battle; of slaughter. He was crying and struggling against Diomedes’s iron grip. The king of Argos looked at Andromache; she was staring in stupefaction.

“See…?” he whispered, “He is just a child…no older than what you have been when you married, probably… This war…broke many people…”

Words weren’t his strong point, he knew. That was Odysseus’s field and yet he felt this profound grief in his own heart and too many words seemed unneded. Somehow he could see Andromache looking with a mix of surprise, shock and perhaps pity. Neoptolemous doubled over and threw up on the tent’s floor, coughing soundly.

“GET HER OUT OF HERE!” Diomedes ordered Phoenix, “NOW!”

Phoenix didn’t even need to be told as he was already escorting Andromache out of the chamber, leaving the tent empty but the two men. Neoptolemous seemed to be struggling to stabilize his breathing as his system was rejecting the alcohol he was not used to.

“Easy…it’s okay…it’s okay…”

“Don’t you dare pity me!” Neoptolemous cried, “I don’t need your pity! I don’t need anyone!”

“Kid…I know how you feel…trust me!”

“How can you know?! Don’t pretend you know me! Stop acting smart!”

“I understand, kid…” Diomedes insisted, “I know this pain…I lost my father too! I was young, younger than you when I lost him but you and I lived the same long without him… I was forced to fight his war… I lived in war so far. Kid, don’t make the same mistake…”

“What should I do?” Neoptolemous cried again, “What’s left of me to do?”

For the first time his true age was shown; he was a child, younger than what he was and had such a huge name on his shoulders. He was the son of a demigod and he had already fought a bloody war…he had already been corrupted in it.

“You will find your way…you shall make your own legacy. I know you are angry but this is just not the way. Don’t live in his shadow forever!”

Neoptolemous moaned again and threw up some more trying to find his balance. Diomedes supported him upright, helping him wipe his mouth with a cloth.

“I…” Neoptolemous panted, “I…I shall be better than him! I shall surpass him!”

He was repeating the same tune, stubbornly. No, it was impossible for him to let go of the life purpose he had gone by since infantry. He couldn’t let go of the image of Achilles.

“After the war…I shall make my course! Wait and see, father! I will leave behind a legacy much bigger than what you ever imagined!”

He struggled to his feet only to be assisted to sit down a chair by Diomedes.

“The old man Nestor can have the urn!” the son of Achilles added, “Let him bury it to whatever place he wants along with his son or any other! I have no use for it! I shall not melt away like he did! I shall surpass him!”

Diomedes sighed deeply. Yes, he knew the symptoms. The child was in too deep, too profoundly deep to change now. And war had made it worse. Yes, he was no longer Pyrrhus.

He was Neoptolemous, the New Warrior, the New Conqueror

And it was never him…

It was always about his father…

He was not himself…

He was the Son of Achilles…

**

So forgive me if this seems messy for it was a random inspiration but then again maybe it is supposed to be messy after all. Neoptolemous is lost; his mind is a mess becaue he realizes that the war was never about him; that he lives under the shadow of his father!

Of course song-fc inspired by the amazing song by Skillet "It's not Me It's you"

I know that my friend said that Skillet is perhaps "too soft for the profound madness and sadness in Neoptolemous" but somehow I thought this is the back of his brain speaking, which comes up with wine.

The mentioned of the blackened armor is a dedication to the amazing comic page @smokey07 created here

So yeah dunno I thought that Neoptolemous with his anger issues he would be an out-of-control angry drunk so I made this! So random drama so forgive me my friend if it is messy! Hope you like it! I also randomly added Diomedes in a few minutes ago thinking on your headcanon that Neoptolemous follows Diomedes around, forming mutual trust between them

Ironically after war both kings have similar paths for different reasons; Diomedes is self-exiled from Argos and is off to Italy to found several cities while Neoptolemous begins the kingdom of Epirus in North Greece.

Also Odysseus, officially declaring he killed Astyanax a little thing my devious brain came up with to show why there is "confusion" between the sources as to who killed Astyanax! Hehehehe I know I am ranodmly evil here! (I am also winking to my fanfiction "Guilt")

Anyways I am eager to hear your opinions guys! ^_^

[crguang]

a lover’s goodbye kiss

Are we ever truly done with grief?

angst, gn!reader, ptsd. 6k words of mourning and bitter reunions

A/N: this really got away from me, i also cried while writing it so do with that what you will. not entirely satisfied with it, but it’s okay. hope someone enjoys it regardless

Grief is a part of you. It seeps into your pores, settles in your bloodstream like cancerous chemicals and forces you to live with it, to endure the brunt of it lest memories pull you under permanently. For long-life species, grief is ironically common. The belief that Xianzhou natives are unaccustomed to death is a false one; though it is slow to come, it envelops them regardless, often twice over. The Mara curse is first. Its inevitability leaves an imprint in people’s hearts, a sort of impression they are born with and cannot outgrow. To be a long-life species is to become Mara-struck, a shell of your former self driven by bloodlust and fragmented memories. That, in itself, is death. Your body is no longer your own and neither is your mind, you are a senseless abomination destined to roam the world until someone or something delivers the fatal, long-awaited blow needed to end your misery. Though this heavy subject is not often discussed among the people, accepting that fate is done with bloodied teeth and scorched fingertips, a personal battle with grief from which you come out only somewhat victorious. Knowing that you’ll eventually be stricken by Mara is one thing, accepting that your loved ones will walk the same path is another entirely. No one talks about the worst part. Nobody tells you what you’re supposed to do when the memories fade away, replaced by the acrid smell of sulfur and a chill in your bones that you can never shake.

Hundreds of years of memories— content smiles, sun rays onto sweaty skin, cold hands in pale locks of hair, unspoken devotion— are hidden behind mist requiring immense focus to see through. You are not Mara-struck yet. Your mind is still your own, as much as it can be, and you are still alive. You ask yourself why often. Why it was her, first, and not you. Why you’re stuck living with holes inside of you when maybe you should’ve died along with the hundred Cloud Knights that had the misfortune of crossing her path that night. Loss has made you ashamed, you can’t even speak her name. It’d been erased from history and forbidden after that night, out of social disappointment and shame, but that is not why you can’t bear to utter it. It’s unfair that this is what you remember most of her; the collapsed buildings, the unbearable smell, the frozen corpses… Her beloved blade through your stomach. The way her gaze softened after a few glasses of wine has been replaced by the flash of crimson you caught a glimpse of before her sword buried itself in your guts. You vaguely recall how endearingly tight her muscles always were, how you or Baiheng had to smooth the knots out of her body once in a while. The news of her breaking out of the Shackling Prison, however, along with the screams that followed form a clear image in your treacherous mind. What use are memories if they are so fickle, so easily supplanted by horrors that quicken your heartbeat on thought alone?

If anything, you do not shoulder this immense grief alone. Jing Yuan was a scrawny, eager boy when you first met him, almost half your height and always trailing behind her like the dutiful apprentice he was. His enthusiasm lit up the training yard and his youthful determination quickly earned him a place amongst your most cherished. He would seek you out after hours of conditioning, sweat still clinging to his bushy brows, and request a friendly spar to show you what he’s learned, how fast he was getting, how swift he could slash his sword. Your position as a Lieutenant of the Cloud Knights made him look at you with naked admiration, he’d hang onto your every word with a seriousness unfit of his age and at times offered insight only a boy who had never known war could come up with. You think you remember a figure in the shade of a growing tree standing several feet away from where you and Jing Yuan sparred. Quiet as a golden eagle, diligent gaze making note of every sloppy thrust and slow retreat she would reproach her retainer afterwards, his master only revealed herself when the tip of your blade against his neck announced his defeat.

Jing Yuan was the one to rescue you on the ice. His quick intervention allowed for healers from the Alchemy Commission to reach you in time and tend to your injuries. He was also the one to end her. It had to be him, you know, but you regret your own weakness, your faltering steps and half-hearted parries— it’s a burden you wish he never carried. He bears it with a solemn glint in his eyes and an impeccable posture but he’s not General of the Xianzhou Luofu to you, and so he lets you keep him close whenever he visits your empty home. His appreciation for the comfort goes unsaid, though his shoulders stand inches lower once he sets out the door. After all, he lost her too.

You get déjà vu when Jing Yuan walks across the training yard with a skinny blonde boy in tow and introduces him as his retainer, Yanqing. His apprentice is just as eager and energetic as he was, and it’s easy to fall back into old habits when the boy eventually nags you into sparring with him. He’s talented, determined to achieve his goals, but a little too proud and overconfident. His arrogance reminds you of an old friend who once forged the sword you still wield like an extension of your arm. It’s somewhat endearing, and not entirely unearned. A part of you vaguely recalls the annoyed purse of the Sword Champion’s lips whenever your mutual friend would go on another spiel about mastering the way of the sword. Your fingertips trace the sheath of your blade at the thought.

The Stellaron crisis plunges the Luofu into disarray. It brings destruction and death to the Xianzhou on a scale that reminds you of her, of the illuminated moon in the night sky and the blood on your hands. You can’t allow the memories to paralyze you like they often do, however, so you work with Jing Yuan and the Master Diviner in order to eliminate the internal threat that pose the Disciples of Sanctus Medicus. The Mara-struck fall twice under your steel and the rest of the Abundance’s abominations quickly become light work for someone as experienced as you are. Since the Ambrosial Arbor crisis, they’ve been gathering in Stargazer Navalia the most, forcing an evacuation of all civilians to safer areas of the Luofu.

Though he has plenty of work on his hands, this is where Yanqing likes to disappear for an hour each day— additional training, he says. You trust his abilities, but today he is needed at the Alchemy Commission and is currently unreachable. No one has seen him for a while. You have an idea of his whereabouts, so you offer to look for him and relay the General’s message.

Two Cloud Knights stand guard as you enter Stargazer Navalia. Their posture straightens when they see you and they nod once in greeting.

“Has anyone seen Lieutenant Yanqing come through here, by any chance?”

One of them replies, “He was there an hour ago on an official investigation. Passed through here and went further into the docks.”

You don’t know about any official investigations but you offer a thankful nod anyway before walking past the Knights. The large shipping containers and crates create paths that workers use during the day but you figure it’d be easier to look for Yanqing if you had a better view of the area. You jump on top of a container and carefully skim the place ahead. As expected, abominations and Mara-struck lay on the floor, strewn about like discarded clothing. You follow their trail further inside Stargazer Navalia, between growing starskiffs and through already opened doors. It takes a little over ten minutes to catch up with the freshly cut-down enemies laying about as you hop from container to container. Shards of rock hard ice glimmer in the sun near the bodies, no doubt Yanqing’s doing. Honestly, that boy…

You can see his blonde hair when you advance a little further. He’s turning a corner, so you take a shortcut running above a long, empty container and land on the one behind him with a thud. The sudden noise alerts him and he swirls around with a hand on his sword, ready to attack, but you’re not looking at him. The ghost of a woman long gone stands beside him, her back to you, with a stillness that indicates she’s been aware of you before you made your presence known. The sight of her pale locks burns into your brain. The intricate design of the familiar attire she dons chokes you like firm hands around your throat, and you falter. The blues and whites and reds mix together as you blink to regain your footing.

“Lieutenant!” Yanqing straightens up, sheathing his blade. “What are you doing here?”

You taste ash on the roof of your mouth. Your fingers curl around the handle of your sword. Falling buildings, frozen corpses, sulfur burning your nostrils. Her blade through your stomach. (Hesitant fingertips against your cheeks, implied confessions, oiled palms on tense muscles.) A feeling that has been dormant for centuries stirs in your guts, snakes around your intestines and tightens your stomach. It travels through your ribcage and up your bobbing throat, forcing you to swallow it back down. There’s the slow ascent of the moon behind your eyelids with each blink and the stutter of your chest with each breath— a chill spreads over your limbs and they tense as if frozen in place. It paralyzes you; you feel mocked by the way your feet are glued to the metal under them. You are reminded of your previous weakness, of your blood on the ice and its frigidity seeping into your skin. You grit your teeth.

“Jingliu…” Her name is forced past your lips, evicted after uncomfortably sitting on your tongue for hundreds of years.

She does not move, except for the flicker of recognition that goes through her fingertips. A mirage, she has to be— a nasty trick of your fractured mind because she cannot be here, breathing, when Jing Yuan assured you of her demise.

“Huh? You know her?” Yanqing asks, oblivious to your struggle as he glances back to the woman next to him. His query confirms that she is flesh and blood but leaves no hint as to her state of mind. If she is the same as she was centuries ago, then he and the Luofu are in great danger.

“…Yanqing. The General is looking for you. Alchemy Commission.”

The boy frowns. “Did something happen? There’s something I have to finish up before—“

“Yanqing.”

He stops in his tracks with furrowed brows, displeased at having been interrupted. You finally tear your gaze away from Jingliu’s tense posture to look at him. He sees your hardened eyes and hesitates, turning towards his new acquaintance for a few seconds before clenching his jaw and nodding once. You outrank him, and though it often pains him to do so, Yanqing knows to respect the Cloud Knights hierarchy. He walks away without a word and disappears between the various shipping containers.

You stand above her, a hand on your blade, and breathe in the smell of the docks to loosen the pressure in your guts. It’s the middle of the day, the weather is warm, your skin is uncut. Blurry images of grasping hands sinking into bed sheets and locking lips fill your mind until you can’t see anything but the way her asymmetric bangs frame her face as she hovers over you, breathless. The crimson of her irises are dulled to a lustful cherry and she looks at you like she doesn’t believe you’re real. A fragment of her one-track mind and hateful heart made tangible for one night, to appease the disgusting yearning for closeness that lingers in her bones. She is not a weapon used against the Abundance and you are more than the fellow Cloud Knight that joined the ranks before she was thrusted into them. As her knuckle trails down your cheekbone to the corner of your parted lips, you are a new constant in her future, an immovable force that she cannot plan around, and she is just a woman. Not a survivor, not a fighter, she is a woman who longs for another’s recognition and gentle hands. And as she leans down to graze her bottom lip against your top one, you feel the searing pain of her blade piercing your flesh.

Blood trickles on your tongue and you realize it is from how hard you are biting the inside of your cheek. The visions are gone, replaced by Jingliu turning around to face you, her free hands limp at her sides. Her chin tilts slightly upward. She’s wearing a dark blindfold over her eyes— some part of you is grateful to be hidden from her sight— but you know it wouldn’t alter any of her abilities.

“Lieutenant…” She only says a word, trails off as if it leaves a strange sensation in her mouth. It’s not a question or a tentative statement; she utters your title with an infuriating fondness, like you’re an old friend she hasn’t seen in a while. It makes you sick.

“…You are not dead,” you state blankly.

Jingliu takes a short breath. “Not yet, no.”

There’s a sluggishness to her words and a rasp more prominent than you recall it to be. Her voice is raw and breathy like every sentence comes at a price, and you are reminded of the curse that plagues her. You don’t understand how she’s standing here, seemingly sane, when the Mara had overcome her the last time you laid eyes on her. Still, the hand on your sword tightens its hold. There’s a thousand things you want to ask, a thousand more you wish to convey through touch alone, but you cannot trust her.

You wonder if she remembers almost ending your life. You wonder if she is haunted by regret and grief the same way you are. You wonder if some part of her still clings to that stricken body.

“You can let go of your sword,” Jingliu says, “I mean the Luofu no harm.”

“And me?”

“...You?”

You swallow a lump in your throat. Your toes tingle with sudden restlessness and it thaws the rest of your limbs, allowing you to take a measured step forward. “And me, Jingliu? Will you draw your blade against me once more?”

She is silent for some time, tense, and her fingers slightly curl inward in a momentary loss of composure. You can’t tell if it’s because she doesn’t recall ever doing that or because she does and the thought brings her pain. Finally, she shakes her head.

“You are not my enemy.”

“I wasn’t your enemy back then, was I?”

“…Your trust in me is inconsequential. I came to the Luofu to atone for my sins and surrender myself to the Alliance.”

Your jaw clenches. Past the initial confusion, you feel cheated. Angry. Hundreds of years of broken memories, lasting grief and paralyzing terror have eroded you, flayed you until you are nothing but bones and ligaments. You are walking the earth as less than half a person for no other reason than this is the destiny of all long-life species. Your closest friends have either fallen or withered around you, and that loneliness has debilitated you. How utterly unfair. You have dedicated most of your life to the Xianzhou Alliance and its people, you have been selfless, understanding, devoted, and you are rewarded with injustice. The person who you once called your strength has become the main character in your nightmares, and here she stands, ready to give up the pieces that are left of her to the same people who have ostracized her out of shame for centuries. For all the unbearable pain she caused you, she came back for them. You are the one she has a history with, you are the one whose life is intricately woven with hers. You are who she should be seeking atonement from, not the Ten-Lords Commission and the Arbiter Generals.

You don’t notice how pale your knuckles are from the grip on your weapon or the heaviness of your chest quickening your breath. You stare her down with gritted teeth and Jingliu doesn’t shy away from the growing fury in your gaze.

“Inconsequential,” you repeat in disbelief, your voice a little louder. “Inconsequential, me!”

“This is what I have to do. It is bigger than you, bigger than me.”

You jump down the container to land in front of her. She simply adjusts the inclination of her head.

“Do you remember, Jingliu? What you did to me?”

Her lips form a thin line. Her lack of response angers you further. You unsheath your sword and point the tip to her own weapon resting against her hip, then to her chest.

“Draw it.”

Jingliu makes no move to obey. “I will only unsheath my blade against my enemies, and you are not one of them.”

“You are cursed to forget, but I cannot. It is in every blink, in every pause; the destruction you caused, my—” you swallow, features twisting in a pained grimace, “my blood on your sword.”

Jingliu doesn’t reply, though her fingers twitch with restraint. Her chest rises and falls a beat faster, the only indication that your words are getting to her. You know this is unfair, that you’re only contributing to the injustice you have to face as a long-life species, but anger clouds your judgment and incites this hostile behavior.

“Draw it!” You exclaim in frustration. “Unsheath your blade and face me!”

You lunge forward in an instant, your weapon raised in a practiced arc towards her neck, forcing her to move out of the way. Her body instinctively bends into a defensive stance, but she makes no move to use her sword. You repeat the motion, over and over, and Jingliu evades each strike with an expertise only she possesses. She still refuses to fight you, to revert to the mindless abomination she was that night. You force her into a corner and as your blade descends at an angle to make contact with her bare shoulder, she leaps high over your head and lands gracefully behind you.

“Must we do this?” She sounds mentally exhausted, each word is spoken through pursed lips and a quiver goes through her sword-wielding hand.

You swirl around, molars grinding in anger. “Yes! You have haunted every part of me and replaced every cherished memory in my mind! You are what I see when I lay down at night, standing over me as I choke on my own blood!”

Jingliu brings a clawed hand to her temple and utters, “Enough…”

“You are the face of my nightmares, Jingliu.” Your voice cracks halfway through the sentence. “It ends today.”

When your weapon comes down to strike her this time, its steel meets Jingliu’s specially crafted blade. She uses the momentum of her parry and pushes you back with so much force it sends you flying, your back colliding into the side of a shipping container. You rise to your feet with a shaky breath.

The clash of swords rings in the air as you move between incubating starskiffs and metal crates in an emotional dance. Street lamps fall, stationed starskiffs are cut in two, jade wheels are damaged and incubators break. Jets of their liquid explode everywhere Jingliu returns your strikes with stronger ones, and soon you’re crashing into yet another door. Blood trickles down your nose. There’s a nasty cut on your hip that will require medical attention. You stand, unwavering, and pounce towards the other woman once more. Jingliu grits her teeth as her parry brings your face close to hers. The distinct melody of her blade in movement fills her ears and the ground shakes under her feet. All around you structures are falling, narrowly missing you.

Your muscles strain with exertion but with the feeling comes a strange sort of relief that only intensifies when Jingliu has you pinned to the pavement, swords previously discarded some feet away with an experienced flick of her hand. You’re both breathless for a long moment and for the first time since her reappearance in your life, you don’t taste smoke in the back of your throat.

The pink of her parted lips is the same shade it was almost a millennia ago. The world blurs and you see a flash of a moment long passed of the two of you in the same position; Jingliu’s smug smile hides the sun from view and the bustle of the training yard resumes the minute her victory is announced. When you blink your way back to reality, only a few seconds have gone by. You stare up into the blindfold, chest heaving. Your fingers hesitantly lift to graze the apple of her cheek. One of them slides under her veil and her hand wraps around your wrist to stop you from going further.

Her name is a breathy exhale past your lips. Her shoulders suddenly tense and her head tilts away from you. The moment breaks as she separates from you, rises to her feet and takes a couple steps back. Almost immediately, Cloud Knights rush to the scene in formation, followed closely by the General and his retainer. You let out a sigh, gaze raising to the clear sky. You lose yourself in its endless blue, a heaviness in your chest, until Jing Yuan’s outstretched hand appears in your vision. Jingliu is gone when you accept his help and stand with difficulty, along with Yanqing and the squad of Knights. Jing Yuan wraps a strong arm around your shoulders, steadying you, and you make your way back in silence.

He doesn’t leave your side even as you step into your home and make a beeline for the bathroom. His arms are crossed over his chest and he leans on the doorframe as you rummage through your cupboards for bandages and disinfectant. You find what you’re looking for after a couple minutes and sit on the toilet seat, lifting your armor over your head and discarding the bloodied shirt underneath. The cut on your left hip stings when you gently inspect it. It’s deep enough that it won’t be able to close on its own but not life threatening. You softly apply disinfectant so it doesn’t get infected, clenching your jaw at the pain.

“You should let the Dragon Lady take a look,” Jing Yuan finally speaks up, “or the Alchemy Commission have other experienced healers. They’ll treat you in minutes.”

You almost roll your eyes. You’ve been patching up wounds before he could hold a sword.

“Pass me the stitches.”

He complies, tossing you the plastic box on the counter. You catch it with a hand. Another silence settles between you as you sink the needle into your skin and tighten the thread, occasionally sucking in a breath. The space lingers with tension but neither of you acknowledges it until you break the thread of the stitches and apply a large bandage over the wound. You sigh tiredly and raise your head to meet his guarded gaze.

“Why did you lie, Jing Yuan?”

He takes a moment to reply. There’s a hint of guilt in his golden irises. “…I thought it to be the best course of action at the time.”

You don’t blame him. The days following Jingliu’s departure from the Luofu are a blur, hidden behind a smoke screen so thick you might as well have forgotten them. You only recall the sting in your throat, raw from how much you cried, and the darkness of your bedroom. Jing Yuan was there, as much as he was able to, so he must remember those days better than you; how shattered you were, like fractured shards of glass swept under the carpet. You can’t fault him for wanting to bring you closure.

You rise from your seat and put back the supplies in their rightful place. Jing Yuan steps aside as you walk out the door and watches you disappear in the bedroom for a change of clothes. You grab the first top you see and shrug it on. You don’t bother fixing your hair, you just make your way back to the living area to put on your boots and grab your discarded sword near the door. Jingliu should have been brought to the Shackling Prison after her arrest, so this is where you’ll go.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Jing Yuan says from behind you, making you pause. “We don’t know how stable she is.”

“She seemed stable enough.”

“For now.”

You turn to face him. “Then, why are you here? We both know bars can’t hold her.”

“I wanted to check up on you.”

“...I need to do this.”

Jing Yuan only shuts his eyes in defeat and nods once. He doesn’t follow you when you leave the house and shut the door behind you.

You have no issue getting into the Shackling Prison and acquiring Jingliu’s cell number. It’s not a place you visit often despite your position, the memories it holds have a way of consuming you and leaving you clenching your throbbing head. You navigate its somber hallways and silent cell blocks with an uneasy feeling in the pit of your stomach. Your steps are swift, determined. You don’t stop to think about what you’re going to say once you’re face to face with her again. Jingliu is being held in a special containment chamber only used for dangerous criminals, with two Cloud Knights standing guard in front of the reinforced steel door. They look at each other when you plant yourself before them.

“No one gets in, General’s orders,” one of them says.

Your relationship with Jing Yuan is not a secret and often opens a lot of doors for you but encountering soldiers eager to please is a common occurrence. You have a few dozens under your command, they’re usually easy to deal with. However, the day has been long and you’re lacking the required patience to do so.

“Take it up with Jing Yuan, then.”

You push past them and they hesitate to stop you, glancing at each other. They grip their lances tighter when you open the door but don’t move as you enter the cell and close it after you.

The chamber is big enough to hold a single bed and a toilet in the corner, though its grey walls make it seem smaller than it is. The room would be casted in total darkness if not for the dim glow of the singular lightbulb on the ceiling. Jingliu is seated on the untouched mattress, legs crossed and palms flat on her knees. Her back is straight, her blindfold in place even in the low lighting, and you seem to have caught her in the middle of a meditation. She doesn’t speak as you stand awkwardly near the door, a hand curling around the handle of your sword in search of familiarity.

A couple minutes pass in tense silence with only the gentle buzzing of the electricity crackling through the lightbulb. You take that time to observe Jingliu for any sign of Mara. The even movements of her chest indicate her calm state of mind. Apart from the veil, she looks exactly the same as she did centuries ago; there’s no trace of the curse on her, and you are suddenly reminded of the first time you noticed her— you were the previous Lieutenant’s apprentice and she was a thin, pale girl haunted by nightmares of burning planets and suffocating fumes. That day, she crossed the training yard with a limp and cuts over her body, shattered sword held tight in one hand. You hadn’t gone out onto the field yet, your master didn’t think you were ready, but Jingliu had and you remember thinking that despite her poor state, she must be stronger than you. She would walk back at the end of each day with splintered and bruised skin and you would sneak her a glance, wondering what enemy she could have encountered this time. She was forced to survive and grew on the battlefield long before you did.

While you both learned the way of the sword, you did it to protect and she did it to cut down the object of her nightmares. Together, you climbed the ranks of the Cloud Knights and surpassed your masters. The burden of war brought you closer and your relationship transformed over the centuries; from comrades, to friends, to the one she went to whenever she craved peace from the visions plaguing her, to something more. You are deeply embedded in each other, her life story is yours and your mind is hers. The Mara curse might twist your perceived memories of her but it could never erase the affection you hold for her. It’s precisely because she means so much to you that thoughts of her have been tormenting you so.

Jingliu raises her head in acknowledgement and you’re brought back to the present with a blink.

“Sending you to interrogate me,” she says with a short exhale, words slow and raw, “how cruel.”

“That’s not why I’m here.”

She doesn’t reply, waiting for you to continue. You swallow the emotion in your throat.

“I’m here for closure.”

You take your eyes off her and turn away, facing the blank wall with a hand in your hair. You take in a slow breath and exhale through your mouth as fatigue begins to take over your limbs.

“You don’t get to come back,” you start. “After all those years, you don’t get to reappear and trail all those memories along with you. You said you were seeking atonement from the Alliance. So you remember, then.”

Jingliu is silent for a moment. Your back makes contact with the wall as you sit on the floor with your legs limp before you. You don’t look at her, instead staring at your covered toes.

“…I remember the voices,” Jingliu says softly, “so loud I couldn’t hear anything else. I remember people, the ice… you.” She takes a breath and shakes her head. “I am aware of the hurt I’ve caused, of the sins that cannot be erased. They will follow me until the end, but I cannot let them hold me back.”

“From what?”

“From cutting the heart of a star.”

The turn of phrase transports you back to a drunken evening and Baiheng’s contagious laughter, to the sweet aftertones of fruit in red wine and the flush in Jingliu’s cheeks as she stares at the setting sun. Flashes of that day appear in your mind; Baiheng’s ridiculous dares, your shared competitiveness, Jingliu’s tipsy kisses as consolation prizes. The unexpected memory warms you.

“Revenge, then. Even stricken with Mara, this is what you hold on to.”

“I was never satisfied with letting our enemies come to us.”

That much is true. Jingliu only ever plays the offensive.

Your head turns to face her. “Do you remember us? Even I only recall bits and pieces, now.”

Jingliu’s pointer finger taps her knee for some time. Then her chin tilts to the left, towards you.

“Bits and pieces, yes…” she repeats pensively. You wish you could see the pinch of her eyebrows. “You used to hate losing to me in duels.”

“Of course you’d remember that.”

There’s a hint of a smile on Jingliu’s lips. A light silence descends between you. It’s strange, being in a confined space with someone who you thought long dead; even stranger conversing with Jingliu after everything that went down with Yingxing and Imbibitor Lunae, with Baiheng, and the Luofu’s growth that she didn’t get to witness. You never thought you’d have a chance to see her again, let alone hear her voice speak back to you. Your fingertips twitch with the desire to hold her close.

“I forgot to ask, earlier,” you say, “about the blindfold.”

“It keeps me from seeing that which pulls me under the influence of the Mara. I have pushed past the limits of my mind a long time ago, but… the reprieve it gives me is welcomed.”

“Your will is admirable. Always was.” You think for a few seconds, then speak up hesitantly, “Will my touch be a trigger?”

Jingliu is slow to respond. You see her lips part to let out a sharp exhale and notice the new tension in her shoulders. You feel selfish for needing a semblance of the intimacy you once shared when her mind is so fractured and fickle. The feeling tightens your throat.

“…It shouldn’t.”

Your emotions threaten to consume you as you stand and wipe your palms on your thighs. You take some steps forward, hesitating when you reach the bed. Her head tilts backward as if staring at you through the cloth over her eyes. With a gentleness that surprises even herself, Jingliu uncrosses her legs and outstretches her hand. Your fingertips touch hers and with a flick of her wrist, slowly lace with hers. She pulls you into her, your knees on each side of her hips and your nose in her shoulder; her freezing hands travel over the expanse of your back and her head dips to breathe in the smell of your hair. You pinch your trembling lips and squeeze your eyes shut to keep the tears at bay, but it’s no use when you can feel the empty sockets that loss has dug inside of you over the years fill up with tenderness. A quiver runs through you. You feel Jingliu’s shaky breath near your ear as she pulls you tighter into her. Your arms wrap around her with as much emotion and warm tears roll down your cheeks over her frigid skin. Her touch makes you whole again, if only for a moment— she is tangible against you and not a fragment of the darkest recesses of your mind. It would seem unreal if you couldn’t feel the softness of her flesh beneath your fingertips.

“How lonely you must have been,” Jingliu mutters into your hair. You know she relates.

“I mourned you,” you manage to say, voice tight. “I’ve accepted that you’re gone. I won’t grieve any more.”

“Good. Then allow me a proper goodbye.”

You cry into her for a long time. Jingliu simply holds you closer with a hand on your back and fingers buried in your hair. You won’t see her again, she will be tried and judged on the Xuling and will go back to being a ghost of your past years. You only hope that this time the memories will be softer, full of her touch as she cleans your cuts; the curve of her mouth when you whisper good morning into her shoulder; the exhilarating sensation of her lips on yours after an exhausting day of wielding the sword. She remains your strength even as your tears dampen her clothes, with the scent of her around you and her breath in your ears, you feel strong enough to let her go. You lost her to the curse of the Abundance once, but she won’t slip through your fingers now. Regret and shame fade away, replaced by this new warm memory of you in each other’s arms. Her unnatural coldness expands your heart instead of constricting it and you let go of the collapsed buildings and acrid sulfur in the air; there’s only Jingliu’s lingering fondness and her calloused palms on your body. In this confinement cell, you say goodbye to a part of you.

[azsazz]

The Midnight Hour

Vampire!Cassian x Reader

Summary: After a rough night at the bloodhouse, you stumble across a handsome male you've only seen once, a soft gleam in his eye as he reaches out to help.

Warnings: Blood, reader works at a bloodhouse/brothel.

Word Count: 3,366

Notes: Happy Monday my lovelies! 💙

_________________________________________

Your mind swims in darkness, but not the soothing kind. Not the kind that streams down on you from the bright moon, a caress of silver that drives your heart’s steady beat. It isn’t the darkness of calm, nor lovers, but of one so achingly painful and lonesome that you don’t know how you’ve managed to survive it.

Chilled to your very bones you groan, blinking yourself awake. The room is plunged in black, and if you couldn’t feel the plush couches beneath your tender body, hear the muffled moans of pleasure through thin walls, and smell the metallic twist of blood in the air, you wouldn’t know that you’re awake.

Your neck throbs like a bee sting, painful as always upon the first break of skin. If you reach your fingers up to trace the punctures on your throat, they will prick with discomfort. You wonder if the blood has even dried yet, how long you’ve been unconscious.

The memory comes back in bursts. Golden hair. Green eyes. A set of dimples almost as startling as the sharp set of fangs he donned. Voice a low rasp that even without compulsion could bring anyone to their knees.

Used to it, is what you are. Selling yourself to make a dime in the city of Starlight, where vampires roam freely, drunk off of lust and well, blood. They crave it like the moon chases the sun, needing it to survive, just as you need the shiny coins lining their pockets for that exact reason. A trade to survive.

You told yourself that you wouldn’t stay here long, fleeing from your home court to find out if the others were any better.

The first time you had ran into one of the creatures of night, you almost hadn’t survived. Just like tonight, the vampire drank and drank, eyes glazed over like they were painted with lechery, his firm hold pinning you to this very chaise had gone soft, pliant like a lover’s as your blood sated the primal urges flashing hot beneath his skin. He was hungry, starving nearly, pupils pinpricks and canines as sharp as the knife stowed in your boot.

The owner of the bloodhouse, Aima, had greeted you with a sinful smile and offered you refuge for the night in exchange for your services. Sleeping with him you could handle, but as he led you to a room with nothing more than a wink, you knew you should’ve kept running.

Even the werewolves weren’t quite as ravenous as the vampires.

Groaning, you manage to force your arms under you, shoving yourself up. Your head spins like a dancer’s twirl, her captivating beauty only one you’d been able to view as a server at the party, silver tray in white-gloved hands, offering fae wine to royals who ignored you completely or glared at you as if the action alone would send you bursting into flames.

It never did though, even as much as you wished it would.

Coins glint in the low light sweeping in from beneath the door. They’re scattered everywhere, running from across the sofa to the floor. One tumbles down the front of your gown as you right yourself. The hungry vampire who paid for your services had either come to his senses when the haze of bloodlust had washed away from his vision, guilt fueling him to toss the payment haphazardly in his haste to leave, or he simply did not care, the only thing stopping him from being able to come back even if he had sucked every drop of your blood dry would be if he didn’t pay. 

They always pay.

It takes you longer than you’d like to collect all of the coins. Your head is dizzy and your breathing is labored as you move sluggishly throughout the room to gather your payment. It takes you two tries to curl your shaking fingers around the first one, appendages colder than the vampires skin themselves, stiff and stinging like needles.

You count, then stuff the few extra coins in your boot, right next to your knife. The rest you’ll leave for Aima. Hopefully you can slip out without him seeing. You huff as your fingertips brush the hilt. Fat lot that it does. You’ve never been able to so much as reach for the weapon, as more powerful vampires can paralyze their prey. Handy for them, very much a danger for yourself.

Your knees buckle as you try to stand but you can’t stay here any longer. Aima will come looking soon, when he either realizes you’re in here alone or when he walks by and doesn’t hear the muffled moans and gasps of the ecstasy that comes with a bite. 

You might only have mere moments, so you lock your legs and twist the doorknob. Your body feels heavy. Sweat already lines your brow just from the effort you’re using to keep your body upright. You lean heavily on the wall as you stumble your way down the familiar halls, legs unable to bear your full weight with the amount of blood you’ve lost tonight.

Close. So close to completely losing your life. You never wanted this for yourself.

The iron door is almost too heavy for you to shove open. You’re sure your shoulders will be the perfect evidence of how you’d shoved your body into the metal, mottled purple, green, and yellow. But not even those colors will take the eyes off of the red holes in your throat.

You don’t live far from the bloodhouse, five blocks at the most in an apartment building that has seen better days, next to a neighbor who drinks and fucks like she has both on retainer.

Even so, it’s yours. You can’t wait to hear the slide of the lock on the door with you on the other side, safe for the night. With the tip the vampire had left you tonight, you wouldn’t have to go back to the bloodhouse for a few days, but with the way that your head pounds and your neck burns like flames, you’ll have to spend all of the extra money you’ve earned on seeing a healer tomorrow, and you’ll continue in this never ending circle of Hel you’ve managed to find yourself in. 

City of Dreamers, what a lie.

You trip over upturned cobblestones. Your knees crack loudly on the ground, echoing through the abandoned streets, and you know the vampires nearby will stir. You can feel your palms tear open on the stones as you try to catch yourself. The last bit of energy expels from your body and you slump to the ground, a breathless lump in the middle of the streets. The bite of your hands is the only thing keeping you from slipping into the warm embrace of darkness yawning a chasm in your mind.

Forcing your eyes open confirms what you’ve thought. Your palms are bleeding and you know without a doubt that one of the creatures lurking in the night will follow like a bloodhound, hungry.

Maybe this is it. Maybe this is how it was always supposed to be for you, a wholesome meal for the vampires of the Night Court. Maybe it had been your mistake to flee here, even if the lure of having all your dreams come true was the one thing on your mind. You should’ve gone to Summer or Autumn. Surely sirens and kitsune are better than vampires. Dawn would’ve been ideal but you never would have had enough money to travel all the way to the Lands of the Angels.

A voice cuts through your thoughts like a blade through soft flesh. It’s rough, a strain of confusion as he speaks your name.

“Cassian?” you gasp, blinking away the darkness trying to swallow your vision. He towers over you, even more so than he had that single time he’d bought your services for the night. You can still remember the flash of his stubble against your neck when he went in for the bite, pressing a soft kiss to the skin before a brush of his fangs, sending a shivers down your spine that had nothing to do with the icy cold of his skin and everything to do with the handsome male.

But he hadn’t come back. It was unusual for a vampire not to return to the bloodhouse after a particularly tasty meal, and you had more returning customers than you could count, but Cassian had never been one of them.

“What are you doing out here all alone at night?” He sounds like he’s scowling and when you finally focus on him he is. His thick brows are furrowed and there’s a frown adorning his perfect face. His hazel eyes glow as they take in your crumpled form.

It’s so hard to lift your head up to meet his gaze, heavy with cement. “Bloodhouse,” you breathe, “Greedy–ah, greedy asshole.”

Cassian growls low in his throat. You watch his nostrils flare as he takes in your scent, the blood on your palms, coating your throat, and the slow pace of your heart. That’s how he knows you’re not yourself. The last time he’d seen you your heart had been beating so fast he thought it might try and jump from your chest into his. 

It’s why he hadn’t come back. He could’ve sworn that his own heart had jumpstarted in response to yours, jolting in his chest when it had been an unmoving thing sitting inside of him for centuries. You smelled like the sweetest perfume and tasted like ambrosia of the gods. The tender touch he’d used to hold you close to him turned iron as he tore into the cushions trying to hold himself back from draining you and mounting you all in one.

If he had blood running through his veins it would be boiling. He’s angry nonetheless, and you can tell by the way he goes as still a stone for a second, thunder raging in his gaze and wings twitching at his back. 

His gaze goes soft as he looks you over once more. “Sweetheart,” he murmurs, gathering you in his arms. “You’re too cold. That’s not good, especially coming from me.” He tries to joke, brushing some of the damp hair from your face. You’re too hot but you’re shivering, lips tinting blue. 

“I’m f-fine,” you whisper, but your teeth are clacking too hard for you to make out the words.

Cassian tuts softly, making sure you’re secure to his chest. Large, membranous wings unfurl from his back, and the moonlight shining down across them makes him look like a winged hero. 

Your winged hero.

“Let’s get you home.”

You’re too weak to protest, to even stay awake as he flies. You would love to see the sparkling stars above and the twinkling city proper as he goes but your eyelids feel like anvils, shutting on their own accord.

You rouse when Cassian lands, the jolt of his feet on solid ground again stirring you from your slumber. 

“Where are we?” you slur, looking around in wonder. Your eyelids are still heavy, the comforting feeling of unconsciousness that your body screams that it needs is drawing you in like one of those sirens from Summer, but you force yourself awake, drinking in your surroundings.

It’s a quaint home, buttery light casting warmth throughout the room. There’s a fire raging in the hearth and Cassian snags a blanket off of the back of the well-worn sofa as he goes, tucking you in. 

You bury your nose into the softness of it, and the smell of sandalwood melts your straining muscles.

“This is my home,” Cassian says gently, and before you can even think about protesting, he’s answering. “I will be taking care of you, sweetheart. That’s an order.”

“An order?” you snort, peering up at him. His hazel eyes are a shock of freshness as he holds your gaze, not needing to look up to know the way throughout his own home. “Who do you think you are?”

The smirk he gives you makes your head spin. You squeeze your eyes tightly and let your head fall against the hard planes of his chest again. “An order from the High Lord of the Night Court’s commander of armies.”

You huff in his arms, pulling the blanket tighter around yourself as his boots hit the first stair. “I’m no soldier.”

“No,” he agrees softly, “But you are a survivor.”

Something coils in your chest and you refuse to open your eyes, to answer. If he asks you’ll blame it on the loss of blood, the throbbing in your throat and head becoming louder and louder the longer you stay quiet, pounding like his boots against the wooden stairs.

You let yourself be, floating in and out of consciousness as you cuddle into Cassian’s strong chest. There’s the sound of water, and he adjusts you for a moment as he pours sweet scented oils into the bath. The room fills with the warmth of sandalwood, the scent that’s clinging to his very being.

Cassian murmurs your name, and when you blink up at him, he smiles. “I’ve run you a bath. It will help warm you up and I’ll take a look at your neck afterwards. Are you able to get into it on your own?”

You look at the inviting tub, filled to the brim with bubbles. There’s ripples of heat wafting from it and the thought of even sitting in something that luxurious brings tears to your eyes.

He sets you on your feet but your knees buckle. Cassian holds you upright and you try to cling to his shirt but your grip is weak.

“I can’t,” you shake your head, an errant tear escaping. It rolls hot across your cheek and the male before you is quick to wipe it away, shushing you soothingly. “I need help.” 

You can see his throat work around a swallow but you don’t call it out. He nods once, curtly, like this is just another mission he’s on, formulating a plan and how best to execute it. Overthinking it.

His fingertips are deft as he pulls at the ties of your dress. It falls away in a wave of blue but you don’t blush or shrink away from him, you’re much too tired. Cassian holds your hand while you slip out of your undergarments and helps ease you into the water.

You sigh, immediately settling back against the side, reclining so your body can absorb as much of the warmth as possible. You’re still feeling a little dizzy but the aroma of Cassian helps ground you, calm you.

“Can I take a look at your throat?” Cassian asks after a few moments. He’d been a statue at your side as you settled, the little pleased noises you released going straight to his cock. He willed stillness into his bones, thought about the worst things imaginable, like the bathrooms at the warcamps or the beast living in the library.

You hum in agreement, tilting your head away so he can have a better look.

Cassian plants himself by the side of the tub, fingers brushing your wet hair away from the wound. He hisses, cursing. The wound is tender, red dribbling out of the marred flesh. The bastard must’ve been half-feral with the way that these punctures look. He’s undeniably furious.

“Well, how bad is it?” you ask, though by his reaction you think you already know.

“You’ll have to drink some of my blood,” he answers, and you can hear the grimace in his voice, “But I think a tough female like you will pull through.”

You let your head fall his way in a lazy motion, wincing as it stretches your wounds. You try to cover the twist of your mouth with an unconvincing grin. “Oh yeah?”

He nods, affirming. “Yes, you’ll live. That’s an order.”

Your smile turns real. “Sir, yes sir.”

Cassian chuckles as he brings his wrist to his mouth. You watch with intrigue as his sharp, glorious fangs rip into the delicate skin of his wrist. When he moves the bloody arm towards you, you catch the sight of his pink tongue lapping up the remnants of blood on his lips and you wish he was doing that to your skin, your mouth, your cunt–

“Drink,” he demands softly, hazel eyes nearly glowing in the low light, as if he can tell what you were thinking.

You do as he asks, a tentative brush of your tongue that drags heat up his spine with the motion. You nearly moan at the taste of him, all hot and heady like a drug. Your second gulp is eager, blunt teeth clamping at his wrist like you’re a vampire of your own.

Cassian lets you drink as much as you want, even after your wound begins to close. He watches you closely, his pupils becoming larger and his breaths become deeper the more you swirl your tongue against his skin. This is everything to him, to have what he’s been aching for but not letting himself have for so, so, long. 

This…this is better than him drinking your blood, the sweet sight of you taking your fill from him, the prideful feeling that he’s providing for you fills his chest.

“Thank you,” you breathe, breaking him out of his trance. He blinks, not realizing that your lips had left his skin. Apparently it’s not only vampires that can paralyze their prey. 

“You’re welcome.”

He stays by your side, helping you with the soaps even though you feel better than ever. You feel like a whole new woman, ready to go back to the bloodhouse and kick Aima’s ass. Cassian’s blood is vibrating through your body, and it feels like every icicle that’s been slowly forming in your body after these last few months of working at the bloodhouse melt. You feel invincible, and as your head clears you begin to understand the very appeal to blood the vampires of this court have.

“You look cold,” you murmur before you can think clearly about what you’re saying. “You should get in.”

Cassian frowns, “Get in?”

You nod, even though your heart trips at his reaction. Your anxious fingers skim the top of the water, wisps of heat coiling around your fingertips like smoke. Shrugging, you answer. “You look cold out there.”

“Cold,” he whispers, “Always so cold.”

Your heart aches for him in that instance. He can see it in your eyes, too, that you care. So he takes off his shirt.

The fabric lifts over his body, revealing rippling muscles that look carved from precious stone. Your breath catches in your throat and your heart skips in your chest. 

Cassian tosses the clothing into the growing pile at his feet. His hazel eyes are hot as they take you in, the top of your knee sticking out of the water and up, to the mark on your throat, now only to pink dots across your otherwise smooth skin. They linger on your mouth, and when he meets your gaze, you know that you’re his.

“Are you sure you’re okay with this?” His voice is throaty, rough like he’s been screaming for years. “Because if I get in that tub with you, I don’t think I’ll be able to let you leave.”

His admission makes the breath catch in your throat. You don’t dare break eye contact, even as you see the way his pupils dilate in response to the way your heart picks up in pace.

“I know.” 

The breath leaves his chest in a whoosh and nearly as fast his trousers fall to the ground.

“Are you positive?” he asks again, ever the nervous gentleman, so close to having what he’s always wanted.

You roll your eyes, sitting up further so he has room to join. The water slides down your body and Cassian can’t seem to look away, his throat going dry when it covers the bottom of your breasts.

You flutter your lashes at him, a siren beckoning its prey into dangerous waters.

“Yes. And that’s an order.”

[marbled-magician]

Truth or Dare

(Truth: tell us how you feel about the members of the LoV)

(Dare: randomly marble any member(s) of your choosing and release them in the middle of the night)

I’ll pick truth, hm..

Shigaraki- We all had different reasons behind our goals, Shigaraki was determined to make sure those goals, including his, were attainable. I would say he was the best leader anyone has to offer. I will never forget him purchasing us a whole platter of sushi after fighting the meta liberation army’s numbers!

Toga- Oh little miss Toga, she’s quite the character! She definitely freaks me out a little when she’s swinging her knives around with bloodlust, but who am I to judge? She always talked about her two crushes on those UA students, which was quite amusing.. Young love, am I right?

Dabi- Quiet, mysterious, and stubborn as all hell! I would say he’s on the same level as Toga, showing no sign of sympathy for the victims of his fiery flames. He’s also quite annoying when he bothers me with his nonsense, always teasing me that I keep my marbles up my ass.. WHICH IS NOT TRUE, DABI

Twice- He has a special place in my heart, I’m still processing that he’s actually gone.. Out of all the members of the league, Twice was the most open and enthusiastic one. I felt Toga’s rage after our last moments with Twice’s clone, and me and I’m sure the others understood. There’s nothing bad I could say about Twice.

Magne- Ah, another fallen member of our group.. She was another enthusiastic one along with Twice. I enjoyed watching her bond with Toga, them being the only female leads in the league. We were actually getting along pretty well during those times. I wonder if she would’ve still been here now if Overhaul didn’t do what he did..

Spinner- He does not get the recognition he deserves, despite his costume being a ripoff to Stain’s.. The costume grew on me though! I’m glad he was able to escape the heroes with Shigaraki and the boss, I wonder what he’s up to as of now.

Kurogiri- He made really good drinks back at our old hideout! I thought it was amusing watching him tell Toga she couldn’t have any alcohol while she kept pestering him to let her at least try a few things. He would always know what kind of wine I like, and what glass to pour it in! Good ol’ times of the league..

- Mr. コンプレス

[waitingforsecretsouls]

Much as I theoretically understand why fandom glomped onto the possibility of the tragic Daeron and Addam romance, it genuinely doesn't seem like the closest explanation the text itself offers. One of the biggest implications people see for this is the paragraph wondering about Tessarion's motivations for intervening in the Vermithor vs Seasmoke fight:

Vermithor’s size and weight were too much for Seasmoke to contend with, Lord Blackwood told Grand Maester Munkun many years later, and he would surely have torn the silver-grey dragon to pieces…if Tessarion had not fallen from the sky at that very moment to join the fight. Who can know the heart of a dragon? Was it simple bloodlust that drove the Blue Queen to attack? Did the she-dragon come to help one of the combatants? If so, which? Some will claim that the bond between a dragon and dragonrider runs so deep that the beast shares his master’s loves and hates. But who was the ally here, and who the enemy? Fire & Blood Chapter 17: The Dying of the Dragons — Rhaenyra Overthrown

People tend to focus a lot on the love aspect and basically ignore the alternate possibility offered up, which is hate as a motivating force.

As happy as I am for people enjoying the concept of Daeron/Addam, let's acknowledge that they have neither actual on page interactions nor as much as implied aquaintanceship, and GRRM is the opposite of subtle when it comes to "hinting" at these things for implied same sex entanglements. One line about Addam, who canonically served on his mothers trading cogs, having previously traveled as far as Oldtown, or Daeron enjoying spending his off - time at Oldtown's or prior to his fostering King's Landings harbour or shipyards would have been sufficient, but instead there's absolutely nothing.

Whereas Daeron and Hugh Hammer, dragonseed and rider of Vermithor, do have canonical interactions, both on page involving dialogue and implied by their close proximity, that develops into a plot relevant enmity, culminating in Hugh stating he'll claim Daeron's birthright for himself, as rider of the largest surviving dragon, and Daeron approving the Caltrops assassination of Hugh in turn.

With his brother Aemond slain as well, the greens found themselves kingless and leaderless. Prince Daeron stood next in the line of succession. Lord Peake declared that the boy should be proclaimed as Prince of Dragonstone at once; others, believing Aegon II dead, wished to crown him king. The Two Betrayers felt the need of a king as well…but Daeron Targaryen was not the king they wanted. “We need a strong man to lead us, not a boy,” declared Hard Hugh Hammer. “The throne should be mine.” When Bold Jon Roxton demanded to know by what right he presumed to name himself a king, Lord Hammer answered, “The same right as the Conqueror. A dragon.” And truly, with Vhagar dead at last, the oldest and largest living dragon in all Westeros was Vermithor, once the mount of the Old King, now that of Hard Hugh the bastard. Vermithor was thrice the size of Prince Daeron’s she-dragon Tessarion. No man who glimpsed them together could fail to see that Vermithor was a far more fearsome beast. [...] The lords and knights of Oldtown and the Reach were offended by the arrogance of the Betrayer’s claim, however, and none more so than Prince Daeron Targaryen himself, who grew so wroth that he threw a cup of wine into Hard Hugh’s face. (...) Lord Hammer said, “Little boys should be more mannerly when men are speaking. I think your father did not beat you often enough. Take care I do not make up for his lack.” The Two Betrayers took their leave together, and began to make plans for Hammer’s coronation. When seen the next day, Hard Hugh was wearing a crown of black iron, to the fury of Prince Daeron and his trueborn lords and knights.

[...] Though Prince Daeron was not present at the council, the Caltrops (as the conspirators became known) were loath to proceed without his consent and blessing. Owen Fossoway, Lord of Cider Hall, was dispatched under cover of darkness to wake the prince and bring him to the cellar, that the plotters might inform him of their plans. Nor did the once-gentle prince hesitate when Lord Unwin Peake presented him with warrants for the execution of Hard Hugh Hammer and Ulf White, but eagerly affixed his seal. Fire & Blood Chapter 17: The Dying of the Dragons — Rhaenyra Overthrown

Which seams like a far more (meaning: at all) established backdrop for that musing about sharing loves and hates to me.

Tldr; Less "love wins" and more "haterism transcending death" for Daeron the Daring.

[hawkinsbnbg]

I Just Died In Your Arms Tonight

My October @steddiemicrofic.

Rated: E

Prompt: Suck

Word count: 480

Cw: implied stalking, implied consensual Somnophilia.

[Title from (I Just) Died In Your Arms Tonight by Cutting Crew.]

They had won, Vecna had been defeated for good, and they had gotten out alive.

In Eddie’s case, however, he wasn't so lucky.

He had become something in between with sharp claws, pointed fangs, and a healthy dose of bloodlust.

As days went by, those who were cautious of Eddie eventually grew comfortable with him and forgot that he wasn't their kind anymore.

Nevertheless, Steve knew better than to let himself be deceived like everyone else.

How could he when those hungry eyes always followed him like trackers?

How could he when those cold lips always set his soul aflame without fail?

And how could he when every night, he would be startled into the living world with a fire in his heart and a thunder beneath his skin?

“Eddie,” he gasped, eyes widening in surprise before rolling back as the hot white pleasure incessantly crashed over his body.

Above him, Eddie said nothing and continued abusing his prostate with a scary precision that made Steve nearly black out from the sheer stimulation.

He was rendered a useless mess; clutching onto those broad shoulders for his dear life, burning his throat with strangled screams and choked-off moans, spreading his shaking legs wider to invite the ruthless force deeper, and laying himself open on the altar, begging his monster to take everything.

“You don’t know what you’re asking for, sweet thing,” Eddie whispered, voice raspy and on edge. Those chocolate eyes had transformed into a shade of red, like fine wines that intoxicated their prey.

And Steve was just a man who had become greedy when it came to the incandescent desire in those red eyes. He wanted more, wanted to be claimed by this monster forever.

“Take me,” Steve whimpered and craned his neck aside. He knew Eddie was starving for it if the way those pupils became slit was anything to go by.

“You know what this means, right?” Leaning down until their faces were only a breath away, Eddie bent him in half before hammering into him harder and deeper with a brutal pace. “Because if I start drinking from you from now on, I’ll never let you go, pretty thing.”

“Yesyesyes,” Steve chanted like a madman, all breathless and mindless. “Make me yours,” he didn’t care if he was sucked dry by the end of tonight. “Please.”

“As you wish,” a terrifying smile stretched wide on Eddie’s lips, “My darlin’.”

Before Steve could comprehend what happened, the world around him stopped moving as he convulsed and spurted all over himself when those fangs sank into his flesh and Eddie started feasting on him.

Amidst the pain and ecstasy, hell and heaven, Steve wondered if this was enough to keep them together.

“It's enough, my beautiful,” Eddie reassured him with a fervent kiss that tasted of his blood. “You're mine now.”

“Yes, I'm yours now,” Steve smiled softly.

[eroticisminmotion]

Watching that vampire soap opera as a tween had way more impact on my sexuality than I care to admit 🤣😈

[i-am-a-bad-influence-writes]

I'm a rabid dirty dog, and I bite

Masterlist Word count: 654 Redemed durge x Halsin, Astarion, Gale, ??? Read on AO3

Summary: You are dirty, gross, disgusting. All those years you've spend torturing innocent souls and now you're suddenly expected to live a normal life while the terrors of your past have only just started flooding back. You are not normal. You are dirty. And you bite.

"It's done..." Your mind feels quiet. Strangely so. "What do I do now?"  The people around you are celebrating while you nurse a goblet filled with wine that you have taken all of two sips of. Supposedly, you're a hero. THE hero of Baldur's Gate, a city you used to haunt. There's no quiet corner that you have not spilled blood in. Every silence feels like it's accusing you of your crimes. Every lull in conversation feels like torture. Every kind smile from strangers feels fake and fearful.  Your companions should've left you in Bhaal's temple, let you become what you were made for. That way, they would've had an easy time killing you without feeling blame instead of having to help you reintegrate into the normal world.  With your bloodlust gone, you just feel empty. You tried to build meaningful relationships with the people you travelled with but you could tell they were only kind to you out of fear. You saw how they talked about you behind your back, saw their judgment when you washed off the blood and grime of the day, saw the slight terror in their eyes when you showed how powerful you are. It's a torturous existence.   But what about Astarion? Astarion has good reason to be the way he is. Tortured for two hundred years, forced to live lower than scum, used for his body. He felt powerless. It's only logical he wanted to take that power back from his abuser, but you're glad he didn't. He is so much better than that.  And Gale? He wanted to take power for himself too. But with good reason. Made to be his goddess’ plaything and cast aside when he wanted to prove to her that he could be enough for her. Wanting to overpower her is only natural. You don't blame him and, as with Astarion, you're glad he didn't follow through.  So what about Shadowheart? Another soul tortured by a goddess. Taken and made to believe a false reality. She was stubborn but you could tell from the start that it wasn't who she was meant to be. She's much kinder than that and you were right.  Lae’zel was prepared to kill you. And you wish she would have, but she's much better off without Vlaakith. She will make it out and make a better world for her people. Nothing had ever made you prouder than seeing her ride off on that dragon. She is a good person.  All these people went through tremendous amounts of torture and abuse from a higher power. With you, it's the other way around. Almost seems you came out of the womb holding a dagger. Blood, guts, they used to be comforting, calming. Gore silenced your mind, but the silence never stayed long. The others were abused by their gods and leaders, you abused for your god and leaders. You were so good at it that you became Bhaal's chosen. Bhaal's chosen. The murder lord's chosen. You did this to yourself. 

You are not, and will never be, like them.  You're not soft, you have ridges, scars, on your skin. They look disgusting, they mark you of a life you're not living anymore. Constant reminders of the pain you've caused to yourself and others. Your canines are filed sharp and have ripped out the hearts of many. When you look into the mirror, you often wonder if you were kind once. Were you actually born with a dagger in your hand or was your hand forced.  When you look close enough, you can see something in your eye. Something strangely comforting. When you look even closer and inspect your face, you notice you don't look all that intimidating when you smile. But don't smile too brightly or they'll see your canines. 

'Tav?' A kind voice. You snap out of it and look to the person that sat down next to you. 

∘₊✧───────────────────────────────────────✧₊∘

Halsin

Astarion [coming soon]

Gale

[imimprisoned]

Ares : God of War, and The Spirit of Battle.

Offerings include:

1. Red wine

2. Black coffee

3. Red meats

4. Incense scents like frankincense or sandalwood

5. Heavy spices and/or spicy food

6. Statues/depictions of Him

7. Depictions/imagery of dogs, horses, vultures, snakes

8. Blood from cut meats

9. Pure water

10. Battle-related items or depictions (armors, weapons, shields)

11. Battle-related artworks

12. Trophies and/or medals

13. Metals like iron or steel

14. Crystals/gemstones like red jasper, garnet, rubies, bloodstone

15. Naturally shed snake skin

16. Strong whiskey

17. Naturally shed feathers from vultures, woodpeckers, barn owls, eagle owls

18. Red/black/silver candles

Prayers to Ares

1. May Ares quench the bloodlust that rushes through your veins

2. Ares, fierce-hearted son of Zeus and noble Hera, full-famed vou are as god of war. To you do soldiers pray when battle is most heated, when mettle is most needed. To you as well do we turn in desperate times, to you do we call for strength, for the spirit to endure. You understand the terror of struggle and strife, you confront it in every way.

Ares, your courage is unquestioned, your might and your prowess unequaled. Ares, friend to those in direst need, I pray to you, grant me the nerve to face what must be faced, grant me the will to do what must be done, grant me the heart to forge ahead.

3. Bright-helmed Ares, strong of arm and stern of visage, firm of stance, unyielding of will, ever ready to face any foe, to hold the line against all who may come, to battle until the end.

Ares, son of noble Zeus and wise Hera, cherished by golden Aphrodite, honored by those who call on you for strength and courage, in the north were you much honored in times of old, in Thrace and Thessaly were you held in esteem by those whose lives were harsh, whose world was stony, whose comforts were hard-won. Ares who answers the prayers of the despairing, I honor you.

4. Great Ares, I praise you, bold one of the flashing eyes,

Son of mighty Zeus and noble Hera, beloved of golden sea-born Aphrodite.

You take joy in battle, the war-cry is your song.

Strength is yours, peerless warrior, and firm resolve,

And the pure, clear drive to defeat the enemy, the battle rage that pushes us beyond our bounds to achieve victory against a greater foe.

To the weak you lend strength; to the fearful, courage;

To those enslaved, the will to break the stoutest bonds.

Fierce Ares, you whose gifts ensure our survival,

O god of warriors, I praise and honor you.

[rainy-day-gracie]

- wedding night (1) -

A Venus & Mars mini series

pairing: general marcus acacius x virgin!wife!reader

content warning(s); dual pov, arranged marriage, implied age gap but nothing specific, period typical misogyny (Ancient Rome), mentions of violence/warfare, mention (1) of sexual violence (not against reader), mentions of pregnancy, attempted bedding ceremony, reader has hair that can be pinned back, steamy kisses, crazy amounts of sexual tension, discussions of consent because consent is sexy mandatory, virgin!reader, SOFTTTTT marcus acacius, romantic and intimate as hell, grievous historical inaccuracy because it's fucking fanfiction, canon divergent because duh

a/n: this has been living in my head for weeks now, along with every new photo we get of general marcus acacius because of course. this can be read as a prequel to bloodlust, or read entirely on its own. the reader insert is written as the same character in each fic.

this will be part 1 of the wedding night, and part 2 will include smut :)

---

You considered bolting as the sun rose on the morning of your wedding day. Stealing one of the nobleman's horses, putting as many miles as you could between yourself and the General's country house.

But, from what you've heard about the General, there would not be a corner of the earth that he would not find you in.

Your palms were clammy with sweat as the handmaidens pinned your hair back into a style of a bride. You wondered how they couldn't possibly hear the quick, panicky beating of your heart as each moment brought you closer to what you considered a life sentence.

General Marcus Acacius is venerated like a god in Rome, and anywhere else. Men boast about his wartime accomplishments as if they were their own, and ladies whisper about his scarred face like they would a demon within the walls.

So many rumors swirling around the Emperor's most esteemed general.

His hands were permanently stained red with blood, he burns the heads of his enemies in sacrifice to the gods, he kills men with icy calculation, takes women with fiery passion.

You could only imagine what kind of monster was waiting for you at the altar.

---

Marcus was in no good spirits on the day of his wedding, the marriage forced on him almost as much as it was forced on his...

Gods above, his bride.

The idea of having a bride was almost as foreign as you yourself were, since never once had Marcus even considered marrying anyone. With all the bloodshed and near-death experiences, he never exactly considered himself a man that was meant to be a husband. Or a father, for that matter.

Marcus tried not to shudder at the end of the aisle as the chorus began singing, sounding all to close to a death march.

At the sound of the choir, you entered into the wedding hall, for all gods and men to see.

His bride.

The world seemed to be brighter, the flowers bloomed more beautiful, and Marcus' vision turned clearer as you stepped into his sight.

For a moment, he forgot all about the blood of men on his hands. The shame that burdened him was cast off. Maybe he wasn't completely condemned to the Underworld.

The very possibility of you being his bringing him more relief than any wine or fine lady. The possibility of you being in his life was... redeeming. Redefining. Remaking.

One look, and he made a vow, but not to you. To himself.

If any harm were to come to you, he would unleash the fury of the gods upon them. He would protect you to the end of his days. Honor you, and serve you, however you may wish.

---

Fear coated your every nerve as you beheld your soon-to-be husband.

Nothing could have prepared you for just how mighty General Acacius was. Tan, broad, and mighty, dressed in fine white robes similar to yours. His bare hands were strong, made for swinging axes, throwing punches, and taking what he wanted. At the altar, he seemed to be near brooding, speaking his vows quietly, his voice like a roll of thunder.

You managed to keep your voice steady while you spoke your vows, but there was nothing you could do to keep your hands from shaking as the priest brought out the rings.

The general reached for your hand, and you were unable to keep from trembling.

His touch was warm on your skin, his calloused fingers surprisingly gentle as he slid the gold wedding band onto your finger. You found the nerve to meet his brown eyes, finding something utterly unreadable as he held your gaze. Could it be... fondness?

Gods, he was beautiful.

His touch steadied you, though you still exchanged rings with a thundering heart.

"In the sight of Gods and men, you are now Husband and Wife. You may kiss your bride, General."

The priest's words echoed in your head.

Husband and Wife.

The general leaned forward, an unspoken question in his warm eyes.

Swallowing, you gave a near imperceptible nod.

For such a harsh man, such a dominating man, his kiss was utterly... soft. Tender. Almost coaxing.

After a moment, he pulled away first, and you could've sworn he lingered, cherishing the air between you... before turned to the cheering wedding party.

In an instant, he changed, switching from the gentle kiss of a lover to a commanding force, a man that drinks in praise like fine wine.

A mighty man, indeed.

---

Marcus tried his best to not feel too wounded that his new wife was completely terrified of him.

He felt the thundering pulse in your hand as he slid that ring on, and he wondered if you saw the wedding band as a chain, a set of shackles. It's all too true for other women in Rome.

You barely spoke to him during the wedding feast, only giving small nods and forced smiles in between sips of wine. He had a good feeling you were resisting the urge to swallow it down in one gulp.

Marcus couldn’t help but study you— at first innocently, taking in the curve of your lips, the shine of your eyes, the polite smile you gave when someone offered congratulations.

Damn his dirty mind. As the night went on, and the celebrations continued beyond what he would’ve liked, he tried, and failed, not to eye your body as a means of distraction from the rowdy feast.

It started with your neck. He traced the slope of it with his eyes, marking every freckle and curve. He prayed to all the gods that you would want him to leave his marks on you.

Downward, he peeked slightly at your breasts whilst cursing himself. Of course, they appeared perfect beneath your wedding stola, and he wondered what manner of sounds you would make when he took them into his hands, into his mouth.

And then… Gods, those hips—

“Time for the bedding ceremony!” Emperor Geta jeered, pulling you from your seat with a firm jerk of your elbow. His eyes were greedy, scheming. “Let us see what is underneath that—“

Your face flushed with either embarrassment or fear or both. And that was all Marcus needed to see.

“There will be no bedding ceremony.”

Marcus lowered his voice to a deep warning, the kind that has sent men running for their lives.

Geta scoffed, still holding to your elbow. “It’s a wedding, Acacius, it’s your wedding. Don’t you want to show off the prize of your latest conquest? Distribute the winnings? Strip down that—“

Marcus stood, towering several inches over Geta’s slimy face. “I said… there will be no bedding ceremony.”

Geta kept his hands on you, and Marcus’s vision tinged with red hot fury.

His voice was a rumble, a threat in itself. “It’s my wedding, is it not? And I say there will be no bedding ceremony.”

People were watching now, the feast gone silent at this standoff.

Marcus knew how to pick his battles, cut his losses. But when staring down Geta, the most powerful man in the empire, he realized that for you, he would pick every single one if it meant he kept you safe.

The moments that passed were crackling, the tension between the two men sucking all the air from the celebratory hall.

Geta saw something in Marcus’s unyielding gaze, something that told him he would not win this fight, and decided the bedding ceremony wasn’t worth the scrutiny.

As the Emperor walked away, Marcus took your hand, and led you to your marriage bed.

—

You couldn’t find the words.

The general nearly trembled in rage on the walk to the bedchambers, but still, he maintained that odd gentleness, holding your hand as if it were the most delicate thing in the world.

Servants opened the grand doors as you entered, showing a large room with a massive four poster bed and elegant tapestries lining the walls—

Then the doors shut. And you were left alone with the legendary, bloodletting general.

And you still couldn’t find the damn words.

You knew what came next. The husband will take what is now his.

In this case, you expected your husband to take you in the same way he took lands for the empire— violently, mercilessly, with the intention of forging new legacy, through a son of Rome.

“Before you ask, my General, I wish to assure you that I am untouched,” you blurted, quoting what your mother taught you to say before you were to be… intimate. “I am pure, though I can only hope to be worthy—“

“Darling wife,” the general said quietly, so different from the commanding force from the feast. He held your hands in his, leaning down and kissing your knuckles in reverence.

You went silent, shocked at the soft fondness in his tone.

He peered at you with curiosity, and almost amusement. “The only thing I wish from you is for you to call me by my name, not title. No general, no lord, but my name. I hear it so little nowadays that I will look forward to hearing it from your lips.”

“As you wish… Marcus,” you breathed, eyes locked on his.

Marcus let out a little sigh, like he was relieved. “It’s much prettier when you say it.”

You drop your head in bashfulness, more confused by the moment. The way he spoke so kindly, so fondly.

“You know what is meant to happen tonight?” Marcus asked, almost hesitantly. You nod, undeniable fear curling in your stomach. “I need you to understand something, my darling, so listen very carefully.”

He pulled you toward the bed, sitting you both down on the silken sheets. His eyes on yours were discerning, and intent, like he was searching for something within your stare.

“I will never, ever, force myself upon you. Not in this life, or the next, or the next. I know what you might’ve heard about me, and much of it is true, but never would I take a woman without her permission. You belong to yourself, and if you never should like me in your bed, I will honor that to the end of my days."

You blinked at him in confusion. "So, you do not... you do not want me?"

Marcus exhaled sharply, looking down at your intwined hands. "That... that does not matter."

"Why not? A husband has the right to take what is his--"

"No man has any right to take a woman's body for himself, husband or not. What... what do you think is to happen tonight?"

Heat rises to your face, embarrassed at the question. By the look on his face, he was embarrassed, too.

"I don't... I don't know how it works, but some of the other wives at court say that the consummation of marriage is one of the more... painful duties of a wife. What you are meant to do to me... it's painful," you murmured, and quickly begin stammering. "B-but is it a great honor to serve you, my--"

"May I kiss you, darling?"

Some candles had been left burning, illuminating him in a warm glow. Marcus's eyes were soft, a rich, chocolate brown in the light of your bedroom, and something about them made your core flutter like one of the candles.

"Yes... yes, please."

Marcus smiled softly, and moved his hands to the sides of your neck. They were scarred, and calloused... and so warm.

His lips met yours almost hesitantly, like he was holding himself back. They were tender, tasting of sweet wine. Fingers curled lightly into your pinned hair, pulling you closer as his chest pressed against yours.

You moved your mouth with his, suddenly feeling the need for... more. You didn't know what, but you just knew you needed it.

His tongue slipped against yours, and the groan that left his throat left your pussy throbbing.

"Marcus--" you gasped, losing your breath as his lips traveled down to your neck. You could've sworn he moaned in response, sucking at your pulse point, leaving it a delicious shade of red--

"Do you want me to keep going?" He gruffed, trailing light kisses along your throat.

Oh, gods, how you wanted him to. "Yes, but..."

Marcus withdrew instantly at your seemed hesitation, pulling his mouth away but keeping his hands in your hair.

"I'm fearful," you admitted, holding his tunic to keep your hands from shaking with both desire and nerves. "Not of you, but... the rest of it."

Marcus nodded, swallowing. "We could continue kissing, if you like."

You laughed lightly, the nerves mellowing for a moment. "I'm not sure I'm prepared to have you in that way, but I know that I want to. I know that I... I want you."

Marcus's soft eyes shone with fondness, but had a wicked edge to them, like he was plotting something.

"I know I want you as well, darling. I promise, I will make sure you are prepared to have me... perhaps even over-prepared."

Your brows furrowed with confusion. "What do you mean?"

The general smiled. "I'll show you what I mean."

Part 2 here!

[orecana]

Insatiable bloodlust

ENHYPEN x male reader

Hello everyone. I'm back with another enhypen fic. I hope this is suitable to everyone's taste. I also want to thank the people who read and liked my moonbin post. It means so much to me as a writer. I hope you enjoy it!

(note:pink chat letters are y-n speaking. I also put a game reference in there. Mind guessing? It's a fun side thing.)

In the middle of the night when the moon is shining brightly, 3 boys were casually talking to each other at a bus stop. They suddenly stopped when they gazed at a direction before leaving.

A boy walk up to that place, wanting to get home. He sees a book, just sitting there and waiting for someone to pick it up. Curious, he picks it up and opens it. It was blank and nothing is written in it, but there is a letter.

"You are invited to our bloody birthday party"

He stood there dumbfounded as two figures emerges behind him. It was two other boys. Under the bright light of the moon, their shadows turn into something sinister, a blood hungry werewolf. Unknown to them, the boy who received the letter licks his pink plump lips as his eyes turn into a bright pink color.

"This is gonna be a fun night."

Y-n arrived at the party as all eyes were on him. I mean who wouldn't stare at such a god?

He scans the surrounding area, quite a lively party with many people thirsty for him, not that he can blame them. Y-n smirks as he spot the drinks table and helped himself to some wine. He gently sips it down as he sits on a sofa.

"Quite exquisite, very flavourful."

The air shifts around him as he open his eyes to look in front of him to see a boy in front of him.He raised his eyebrow and put down his glass. The boy approach him and spoke in a very harsh tone.

Why are you here, Vampire hunter!?

Y-n just smirk as he just stand up and walk close to the boy.

My my, you're a smart one. You've already figured out who I am. However, I won't tell you anything, well not while there are audiences around.

They look around to see many people looking at them, whispering among each other.

The boy sighs before tugging on Y-n's hand.

Follow me!

He lead y-n to a secret area of the party house.

Once they entered, y-n flicked his fingers and multiple strings surrounded the area. The boy in front of him jumped a bit because of this.

Now now, you can't expect me to not do anything when I see 6 other suspicious individuals.

Y-n slowly let the individuals go as he walk to the center of the room to face 7 different men.

They're pretty good looking.

One of the 7 men step forward, his tall appearance and buff arms made Y-n flinched a bit.

Why are you here?

Y-n sighs as he motions his arm as if he's telling the guy to go away. *Shoo shoo gesture*

I had a mission to neutralize every vampire in this party. It is practically a house full of vampires, with my skills I could wipe this place clean. However, I had a change of heart after meeting him.

He says as he looks at the boy from earlier.

I can tell that you don't want trouble, so I won't go around the bush. Will you help me neutralize the vampires here?

All 7 of them were wide eyed as if y-n was asking such a stupid question. One of them shouted at his face.

And why would we do that?

Y-n's instincts were triggered. He looked around ,but he didn't see an opening... Unless..

Out of the way!

He pushed the guy who screamed at him out of the way and pull out his blade to slash the mirror. After a brief moment, the corpse of a vampire replaced that area.

Y-n exhales as he turn around and look at the vampires.

Are you guys okay?

The men were stunned at his actions. Despite being a vampire hunter, he had just saved one from dying.

You didn't let me finish. Like what you just saw, The vampires here are about to be out of control soon. I was sent here to neutralize them and save those who can be saved.

The 7 men look at each other then at y-n who is visibly stressed. One of them spoke to him.

What if we don't help you then? What will you do?

Then I'll take care of everything by myself, like I always did.

They smiled at the vampire hunter's sincere words and approached him together.

We will work with you. For the better of our clan

It is an honor, yang jungwon.

The leader was surprised.

Do you already know us?

Y-n halfheartedly chuckled

Silver wolf told me you guys would be friendly. You are jungwon the leader, the guy to your left is jay, the other guy near him is heeseung. The people on your right are sunoo Jake and ni-ki.

Then Y-n eyes the dark corridor on his left.

And the guy standing there is park sunghoon.

Slowly sunghoon emerges from the shadows revealing himself. Y-n gulped.

Those muscles look like they could kill!

We will help you take care of the out of control vampires for you. Sunoo is specialized in healing so he will stick with us.

Y-n halfhearted laughs as he look at the 7 vampires. He never thought that he would get help.

I appreciate it, truly. Now let's take care of them now.

He looks at them all and they nod.

The other 6 vampires go their separate ways to handle as many vampires as they could.

Y-n and sunghoon were the front lines, going down to the main party area to see all the vampires already out of control. They swarmed them, ready to take a bite out of each and every skin. Sunghoon was fairing quite well against them with his punches and kicks, while Y-n was immobilizing them with his blade. Y-n was tired and it reached the breaking point when he and sunghoon got bitten. The crowd was simply too much. Y-n laughs darkly as he pulls out his guns and he looks at the crowd, eyes glowing pink.

Good times never lasts, time to say bye!

He twirls around while shooting his twin guns, immobilizing them with strings and suffering multiple hits.

He stops and turns around to look at sunghoon in the face.

BOOM!

The strings pop as more gun shots were heard as the vampires scream in pain. Sunghoon was shocked of how strong y-n is. The screams soon ends as an arachnid forms under him.

Y-n falls onto the floor as sunghoon dash to grab him.

Tired....

Sunghoon pitied the vampire hunter, he went through all this way just to save their kind. He looks at y-n breathing heavily as he raises his head, showing his neck.

Sunghoon had to bite the urge to mark that neck as his own, but he calmed himself knowing that jungwon will not be pleased.

He teleports them to a safe area within the house and lay him down in one of the resting bed. He sat near the bed as he watched y-n resting, breathing still irregular but better than before.

He sighs as he waits for the others to arrive.

They arrived soon enough and were shocked at the vampire hunter's condition.

Sunoo immediately rushes over to heal him as they discussed about y-n and the events so far.

Soon however, they were flooded with a scent so sweet they had to groan and control themselves. It was coming from y-n who is now awake and grumbling miserably.

I can't believe I had gone into this side of me here.

Jungwon managed to choke a reply.

W-what do you mean?

I have another side to me that I don't usually show. I called it my "seductive side". My scent will be more sweeter and will be more difficult to resist. I usually only use this to lure in vampires but it seems I lost to much power that I automatically switched to this.

If I want to get out of this form, I need some emergency supplies and luckily I have plenty, right in front of me.

He says as he gets out of the bed and walk towards sunghoon.

He smiles darkly as he kisses sunghoon in the lips, who returns the gesture almost immediately. The others couldn't resist anymore as well as they also pounced on the vampire hunter.

You want supplies? We'll give you your supplies!

Let's just say, feasting is what happened that day.

[bhaalbaaby]

The Stillness Bends // Chapter 4 NSFW

Title: The First Taste (3693 Words) Pairing: Shadowheart/Fem!Tav, Astarion/Fem!Tav Warnings: Heavy Petting (making out and fingering) with Shadowheart with Shar cockblock, Full Smut with Astarion (cunnilingus and blowjobs, horn jobs, slight tail pulling, vampire bites, blood kink and bloodlust, creampies lol the works), some angst on both ends too lol A/N: be gentle and thank you for my beta @bunnidarling 💜 Taglist: @spacebarbarianweird @tragedybunny @astarionsbeloved @razrogue @celestialomlette @rentheannihilator @rinmoon7 (let me know if you want to be on the tag list or subscribe on AO3~)

Read on AO3!

Penelope sighs as the party dwindles. She watches as Bex and Dannis' tails intertwine, her forehead pressed against him, their lips moving but too quiet for her to hear. She frowns, holding her cup, the last time her tail intertwined with another felt like so long ago. Her heart pangs as she remembers her past love, what could have been if she hadn’t been so violently kidnapped. 

She nibbles her bottom lip as she glances over at Lakrissa, who sits by Alfira's feet as she strums her lute. Lakrissa blurts out random lyrics that make Alfira scrunch up her face as she laughs. Halsin… Penelope's wine-addled brain won't think about him as he stands tall at the edge of the party next to Zevlor. She looks away from the Druid, her cheeks hot. She could imagine him naked on any other night, but not tonight. No, tonight belongs to… 

Her mind trails off as she thinks of Shadowheart, her soft smile as she holds her cup up to Penelope. "I'll be waiting," Shadowheart says. But there is also Astarion. She glances over at Rolan as he drunkenly rants to his siblings about the road ahead. A shiver runs up her back as she focuses back on the vampire. She's thought about it plenty especially after she let him bite her. She closes her eyes feeling the phantom touch of his mouth on her neck. As she opens her eyes, she looks towards Shadowheart’s tent, the cleric missing. She could go to both, couldn't she? 

Astarion raises his eyebrow as she approaches him, ready to pounce. "I promised Shadowheart I'd share a bottle of wine with her, but I do want to spend the evening with you," Penelope says softly, using all her energy not to reach out and touch him. 

"Ah, so you're breaking the poor cleric's heart by seeing me instead?" Astarion asks, smirking. 

She shakes her head, "No. I'm letting you know I may be a little late. I hope that's okay." 

Astarion huffs, "Second fiddle to her? I suppose…" He rolls his eyes, his energy deflated. "If you stand me up, I will never forget it." Penelope steps closer, kissing his cheek. "Never," He chuckles as she leaves, heading towards the waterfall.

Shadowheart waits, holding the bottle of wine between her thighs. She stole two glasses for them and had them waiting next to her. Penelope's heart thumps in her chest as she steps closer. She doubts anything would happen between them besides a kiss or two, but the air is ripe with opportunity. Shadowheart glances over her shoulder, warmly smiling at the Tiefling. "You came." 

Penelope nods as she sits beside her. "Of course. I promised, didn't I?" 

Shadowheart nods but glances away. "People lie," Shadowheart replies, staring at the bottle. "I stole this from the Tieflings for us. It's cheap, but it'll do." She continues as she holds it up for Penelope to inspect. 

"When we get back to the city, I'll be sure to get us a better bottle for us to share," Penelope says with a playful smile. 

"Is that another promise?" Shadowheart asks, opening the bottle. 

Penelope nods eagerly as she picks up the empty goblet. "Yes, my dear. I always make good on my promises." 

Shadowheart eyes her before filling her cup. "We should toast to something to mark the occasion," She asks as Penelope stares at the rushing water next to them. 

"We should toast to us," Penelope suggests, raising her glass. 

"To us?" Shadowheart laughs, rolling her eyes, "What does that entail?" 

Penelope shrugs. "Baldur's Gate, another glass of wine for us to share and many more memories to be made as well, I hope." 

Shadowheart giggles as she holds up her glass next to Penelope's. "Bold… We'll have to see where this takes us." Goosebumps travel up Penelope's arms as she clinks their glasses together. "So, tell me about yourself. I feel like we haven't had a proper chance to speak with everything happening." Shadowheart says, scooting closer to her. 

Penelope sighs, "What would you like to know? I was quite boring." 

Shadowheart tilts her head, letting her ponytail rest on her shoulder. "I don't believe that. You can at least remember your life." Shadowheart replies, her eyes searching Penelope's face. 

"I remember what you've told me. You can't swim and you like night orchids." 

Her eyes soften as she nods, "You remembered. But you're avoiding my question." 

Penelope laughs before sipping her wine, ignoring the bitterness. "Hmm… I played around pubs and bars with my flute and was a little well-known." It's another lie, but she can't confess the sins of her past to a cleric. 

"Ah, that sounds like fun, interesting. I bet you saw many different people in your travels." 

Penelope nods as she stares at the nearing empty cup. "I suppose. Nothing like this, however. I'm way out of my element." Penelope confesses. 

Shadowheart puts her cup down with a sympathetic smile. "It's alright. You're doing better than I expected." 

"If I was on my own, I would be dead by now," Penelope says with a small laugh before finishing her cup. 

"We all would be…" 

The conversation wanes and Shadowheart refills their cups. They talk about little things before they run out of things to say, cards still close to their chest. Penelope slowly lies back on the cold stone, staring up at the stars, the wine fuzzing her brain. Penelope's mind wanders to Astarion. She would meet him soon. Shadowheart joins her, her eyes watching her carefully. Her glance cuts away when Penelope looks over to her. A coy smile plays on her face before she whispers, “You are very beautiful.” Shadowheart snorts, rolling her eyes. “I know.” Penelope's smile widens, loving her confidence. 

Shadowheart turns to her side, her eyes casting downwards. "Thank you for coming to see me." 

Penelope turns to face her, moving closer. "Of course. You don't ever have to second-guess me. When I say I will do something, I will." Without thinking she rests her hand on Shadowheart's cheek, brushing her thumb on her soft skin. 

"And will you kiss me?" Shadowheart asks, her eyes flicking down to Penelope's soft lips. 

"You don't have to ask," Penelope whispers leaning into the Cleric. 

The wine lingers on her tongue sweetening the taste as their tongues dance. Shadowheart inhales deeply, letting her hands slide to Penelope's chest, her hands slipping in her dress. Penelope moans softly as Shadowheart gently tugs at her nipples, her thumb rolling them between her fingers. Shadowheart drags her teeth along Penelope's lower lip as she pulls away. Penelope stares at her through her thick lashes, keeping her hand on her cheek. She needs to go to Astarion, but… 

She slips her hand underneath Shadowheart's dark pants, her fingers exploring her folds. She watches as Shadowheart's eyes shut, and the caresses on Penelope's chest increase in intensity. Would she fuck the pretty Cleric right now? She sits up and rubs Shadowheart's clit, watching as she squirms. Maybe a quickie and then Penelope would go see Astarion, just like she promised. Shadowheart tugs Penelope's dress to the side, letting her breast free before catching her nipple with her mouth. Penelope's mind swims in thoughts of ripping Shadowheart's pants off and burying her tongue between her thighs. She imagines she tastes as sweet as she sounds until Shadowheart winces, pulling away from Penelope. 

She holds her hand to her chest as she turns from her lover. Penelope frowns, hovering her hand. "Are you alright, sweetheart?" She brings her fingers up to her lips, lewdly sucking them. She tastes perfect. 

Shadowheart sits up, shaking her head. "I'm being punished… We should head back to camp before it gets worse." 

There's an undeniable sadness in Shadowheart as she gathers the empty bottle and glasses. Penelope adjusts her dress as she stands. "There will be plenty more times for this," She says, kissing Shadowheart again. 

She doesn't kiss her back, scared Shar will cause her more pain. Penelope won't let a petty goddess get in the way of her pleasure as she leans into Shadowheart, whispering in her ear. "Next time I will eat you up." 

Shadowheart rests her hand on Penelope's shoulder. "I will keep you to your word," She replies before they return to the camp.

Penelope can't deny she's horny. Shadowheart left her worked up. Would Astarion be jealous that he would be able to taste Shadowheart on her, or would he not care at all? She hopes it's the latter as she heads towards the forest. She needs relief and fast.

Words are spoken, but it's all a blur as she wraps her arms around Astarion's neck, his hands on her hips as he plays with the edges of her dress that barely covers her ass. He murmurs something about how much of a tease she was this evening, knowing she shared a kiss with Shadowheart before coming to the woods to see him, tasting her on Penelope’s lips. But, like a good boy, he waited. 

She laughs softly against his mouth before he peppers kisses down her chin before finding his favorite spot on her neck. She bites her lip as her fingers play with the curly ends of his hair. 

"'Starion…" She moans as she closes her eyes. He will be the first companion she sleeps with. He lifts her skirt, palming and massaging her ass. He will also be the first person she'd ever sleep with in the woods. 

"Take off your dress, please." He says as he pulls away. He takes off his shirt, tossing it to the side as she removes the revealing dress. He doesn’t waste time staring as he buries his face between her soft breasts. She laughs softly as she drags her fingers along his shoulders. 

"For tonight, this is all mine," Astarion says as he grabs her ass, holding her up. She's surprised he has the strength to hold her up as she wraps her legs around him. 

"Yes sir," She mewls as he presses her against a tree. Their lips meet in a heated kiss, their tongue swirling around each other. He breaks away from the kiss as he holds her breasts in his hands, his thumbs brushing her nipples. 

"Did you see how everyone stared at you tonight?" He asks, before sucking on the sensitive nub. 

She pants, "Ah, yes. I saw how jealous you looked when I spoke to Shadowheart and Karlach…" He grinds against her, his teeth gently dragging across her nipple. Her moan gains in volume as she flares her nostrils. 

"But you could only think about me and how much you wanted me." 

She grinds her hips against him as the tree digs into her sharp shoulder blades. Penelope bites her lip ignoring her heart skipping beats, watching as Astarion puts her down, his eyes locking with hers as he gets on his knees. "My tongue between your thighs…" He pulls her panties down, resting her leg on his shoulder. 

"You do look good on your knees." Penelope manages to say before he buries his mouth on her sweet cunt. She moans, running her fingers through his hair. 

He laughs breathily as he glances up at her, his tongue getting lost in her folds before finding her clit. Her knees buckle as she tries to keep herself up, tugging on his curly locks. He moans against her, his nails digging into her ass. He pulls away, his fingers spreading her folds to reveal her swelling pink button. He gently blows on it, his eyes darkening as she arches her hips away, cursing under her breath. He keeps his fingers spreading her apart as he returns his mouth, his tongue vicious as he laps at her clit, her moans so perfect as they fall from her lips. Astarion’s lips wrap around it, suckling as her stomach tightens, her hips jerking away. He moves his hands, returning them to her plump ass to keep her from squirming. 

“Gods…” She mewls, her nails dragging across his scalp before finding the tips of his ears, her fingers carefully touching the reddening tips. He moans in response, his right hand slipping up to the base of her tail as his tongue paints lustful images in her mind. Penelope gasps as she lifts her hips from his greedy mouth. His pupils are blown as she shakes her head, fighting the trembles that rush her body.

"I don't wanna come so fast," She explains as she gets on her knees. 

Astarion rolls his eyes as he stands. She glances up at him, her tail swaying from side to side, tugging his breeches down. He obliges, letting them pool around his ankles as he steps closer. She coos when she lays eyes on his cock. "It's so pretty." She whispers, gently wrapping her hand around it. 

"Pretty?" He asks, gently grabbing her horn and bringing her face closer. Her nostrils flare as a shiver travels down her body, panging between her thighs. She mewls as he strokes her horn, his fingers following the curvature before firmly gripping them. 

"Yes, your cock looks like it's a sculpture," Penelope purrs as he rubs his shaft on her cheek and nose, using his grip on her horn as a guide. The thought of him using her face and mouth for his personal sex toy turns her on. Why him, she wonders as his other hand returns and carefully traces the matching horn. 

"As much as I love hearing about how perfect I am, I would rather have your gorgeous lips wrapped around my pretty cock." He mewls as he leaves her horn finally, gently slapping his shaft on her face. She moans, opening her mouth. 

"Good girl," He whispers as he guides his tip to her waiting mouth. She closes her eyes as she lets him fuck her mouth, his grunts, and heavy breathing music to her ears. His grip returns to her heart-shaped horns, trying to match his pace as he strokes them. She's never gotten a hornjob before as they've only been used to handlebars. In Astarion's hands, they've never been more sensitive. She has to control herself as he slows. 

"Show me what you can do." He whispers, his thumb gently rubbing circles at the base of her horns. 

She pulls her mouth off as she squeezes her thighs together. "Gods, I didn't know how sensitive my horns are." 

His hand slides from the horn to her scalp. She takes a deep breath before bringing his cock back to her mouth. She sucks on his tip, allowing her tongue to slip between the extra skip wrapped around it. He whimpers, the grip on her hair tightening as he pulls his cock away. Penelope glances up at him, her eyes pleading as he taps his mauve tip on her tongue. “Such a good girl…” He whispers before loosening his grip, allowing her control again. 

She laughs breathily as she lowers her head. Her tongue traces his length, dipping down as she reaches his base. His balls tense as her tongue swipes over them, alternating between one and both in her mouth as she sucks them, letting them go with a small pop. Her hand strokes his tip while her other hand drags her nails in patterns on his inner thigh. Astarion's breathing quickens as he returns his grip to her horn, his middle finger tracing the curvature. She shudders as she removes her mouth, their eyes meeting. Her lips part, welcoming his cock as she eases her head down, taking him as far as she can, her nose pressed against his abdomen. He moans as she takes him down her throat with each bob. She gags slightly from her speed, pulling away to catch her breath. 

"No gag reflex?" He asks softly as she hungrily stares up at him. 

She nods with a small smirk. "Is that a problem?" 

Astarion laughs, "Never. We can have more fun that way." 

She laughs along as she leans closer, returning his cock to her mouth, this time not taking him as far as she picks up her pace. Astarion's moans catch in his throat as if he's holding himself back from enjoying it. She flicks her eyes up to him as her hands wrap around his hips and ass. He looks up at the trees, his chest quickly rising and falling. She imagines bending him over, letting her tongue roam free across every part of his body including his asshole. The vision fades as he pulls himself out of her mouth. 

He rushes to his knees, stroking his cock, the other hand gently guiding her down to the small clearing. "I need you," He whispers as Penelope lies back on the grass. 

"I need you too." She whispers quickly, her hand wrapping around his cock, trying to guide him. Her tail runs along the back of his thigh. Their lips meet in a heated frenzy as his hips align with hers. Her tongue rolls around his as she moans against his mouth, his cock perfectly stretching her walls. He breathes heavily through his nose as he pulls away. 

She stares up at him through her lashes, her bright pink hearts still shining for him. She clenches around him, rocking her hips with his strokes. He grunts, his brows lowering. He pulls back, planting his hand firmly on her hips to keep her from squirming. "Keep doing that and I won’t be able to last." He moans as he shakes his head. 

Penelope lifts herself on her elbows as she still tries to match his pace, accepting his statement as a challenge. He chuckles, his other hand coming up to her pink peppercorn hair, his grip forcing her to look up at him. Her mouth opens slightly as she gasps, her fingers going between her thighs to rub her clit and the other to massage her bosom. 

"Astarion…" She mewls as he pounds her. He holds her face up towards his as he watches her contort with pleasure. 

"You're delicious," He purrs as he holds his hips against hers, rocking ever so slightly. She whines as she maintains eye contact. Leaning down, he turns her head away from him, exposing her neck. Penelope pushes her hips towards him, letting him fuck her deeper, harder as his lips pepper kisses on his mark. Her arms wrap around his back, his scars under her fingertips. She hesitates, the marks etched into his porcelain skin deep. She stops herself from digging her nails into him, her arms resting on his shoulders. 

His teeth are sharp, easily piercing her skin. Penelope's eyes open, his grip on her head keeping her still as he picks up his pace again, ramming her into the grass. Her eyes flutter close, ice filling her veins as the warm blood spills into his mouth, his tongue lapping hard not to miss one drop. He carefully pulls away, blood on the corner of his lips, pupils huge. His hands return to her hips, his thrusts harder than before, his cock twitching each time he presses against her cervix. The pain in her neck is distracting, but his cock is so perfect, she's so close. 

"Together?" Penelope manages to say, her hands going to his at her waist. 

He nods. "Gods, yes." He leans back down, resting his forehead against hers. 

Her nails dig into his shoulders, rolling her head for their lips to meet. She'd never tasted her blood before, but the metallic flavor lingers on Astarion's tongue. He breaks the kiss lustfully staring into her eyes as his cock grinds against her so deep, she feels like she'll explode with each stroke. Leaning back, she lets him go as she covers her face, suddenly embarrassed that she's going to come.  

He leans down, his lips wrapping around her nipple. She gasps, her stomach tensing at the two sensations of his thrusts and his warmer mouth. He pulls his mouth off, groaning. "Clench around my cock again my love. Gods, just like that." He returns his mouth, his tongue flicking at her nub. She whines as she does as she's told, his groan so deep from his chest. 

"Can I come inside?" Astarion asks, his head resting between her breasts. She nods, rocking her hips with his again as his moans grow in volume. 

"Please, please. Please." Penelope can't believe she's begging for it, but she's so close, the beg turns into a trance, her legs wrapping around his waist as he buries himself inside. She doesn't notice that he bites her chest, sucking more of her blood as she trembles under him, crying out his name. He steels his hips against hers, his cock spasming and claiming her for tonight. Gently removing his mouth from her chest, he pulls out. 

She sighs content, her hands returning to his shoulders as she examines him. It's odd. Usually, she is quick to get the other person to leave so she can be at peace, but she doesn't want him to go. She leans down, peppering kisses on his sweat-drenched forehead. 

"I've never done that before," Penelope whispers. 

"Done what before?" Astarion asks, enjoying resting on her ample chest, her blood close to his nose. 

"Outdoors like this. Vampire bites." 

He laughs as he sits up to peck her lips. "Me neither…" He returns to resting on her breasts, sighing. 

"I don't want to go back to the party yet," Penelope whispers. 

Astarion's arms squeeze around her waist, "We can stay here for a little then. Besides, I'm not tired." 

Penelope sighs, looking up at the moon peeking behind the leaves. It's been so long since she's felt this content, safe in someone's arms. Her fingers interlace with his delicate white curls as he breathes softly. She closes her eyes, her tail running along the curvature of his ass. She could have this, couldn’t she? Have this security. Her heart sinks. No, she won’t fall for the first person she sleeps with. Pushing the thought away she presses a soft kiss on his forehead. No need to complicate this.