#dying glacier

[thirddeadlysin]

my sister makes fun of my glacier phobia* but i just ran her out of the room by talking about how old sharks are so

[verytendou]

I am NEVER believing anyone who tells me they take showers ever again

[glacierruler]

So, a few minutes ago, I made this poem, and I just wanted to rant about my mental space here. But in order to do that, I need to give backstory to everything. So-

CWs: death, suicide, depression, self harm,

A few years ago, in 2019, over summer break(the month of May), a close friend of mine committed suicide. She was the smartest, funniest, kindest, person I have ever met. And for the longest time, I was mad at everything, and in a way I still am. I got to a point where the next year, I started hurting myself. On purpose. I've stopped since then, with a few relapses. Anyways, I was upset. This is something that effected me deeply so fucking deeply. The difference from a death in the family from expected or unexpected causes, to a friend committing suicide is huge. It's big. And I've always had trouble with accepting death. But it's so much different when it's a suicide, at least to me. And I think it's because with expected/unexpected causes it's not the person deciding they were done with everything, in fact the person had no say in it, vs. suicide which they decided to go. They decided that everything would be better if they weren't there. And that makes it worse somehow(to me at least, I know everyone is different). Anyways, my mental health wasn't great to say the least. And I think in a way, when my friend died, I died. Which hadn't happened with the other deaths in the family, like it was sad and I was depressed. But I could still feel joy. Anyways, when she died, in a sense I died to. But because I wasn't literally dead, I could at least try to live again. Only I didn't realize this until now. I didn't realize that in a sense I was dead. Lying in a coffin of my own sorrows and depression(I want to be more descriptive on this, but I don't know how so I hope you understand what I mean). Until now, and it's not something that I'm going to be able to get up from and walk away. It's something that I need to work on, and get to by myself. Not by myself as in no one can help me, but by myself in a sense that the journey is my own, and people can come with if they want. It's going to be slow, and I might not ever get back to living. But making the effort to get better, helps in a sense, I know it does. I've done that before, on a much much smaller scale, but I have done it before. And I think the journey I need to take is through poetry, and maybe abstract art. But poetry helps more for some reason. Anyways, this is a long winded way of saying, that I will be actively trying to get better from now on, just bear with me please?

[solsays]

Lifers x Crane Wives

I saw someone comment on a life series TikTok or something to try and pair all of the lifers to a crane wives song, without repeating songs. so obviously I spent an hour doing it

Grian—Tongues & Teeth (self explanatory if you’ve EVER heard this song)

Scar—Steady, Steady (this whole song is about how their partner is walking out but they still want to be “wild and free” which is just SO Scar coded)

Tango—Ancient History (he keeps teaming up with Skizz and I feel like this song vibes with that, it also just feels very Tango)

Skizz—Icarus (this man always gives himself up for his teammates I swear, and he fuels them to keep going. It also says “oh brother, brother” which feels like Skizz talking to any of his teammates to me)

Impulse—Allies or Enemies (Impulse has been very iffy on a lot of his alliances throughout the seasons, especially in third life and with the amount of playing all sides that man has done this songs feels right)

Cleo—The Glacier House (this. this is literally just her leaving Fairy Fort. The song is talking to/about her from probably Lizzie’s perspective, but like the last line is 100% as if Cleo was speaking)

Bdubs—Unraveling (Bdubs relies so heavily on his teammates, and when he doesn’t have that stability *cough* Etho *cough* he just kinda doesn’t know what to do so this song fits)

Mumbo—Keep You Safe (this man is by no means an aggressive/reckless player [see: Joel or Martyn] and he feels like he’s just here for the vibes and honestly? Love that for him. This song is about fear not keeping you safe and watching your friends run high risks, which just is very accurate to how Mumbo plays this series. I also feel like he could fit Rockslide when he goes red cause he goes from standstill to “drop dead sprint” in terms of aggression)

Lizzie—Shallow River/New Colors (Lizzie is the only one I put as two because both of these songs are just so fitting. Shallow river—“wasted all for the title, wasted all for the crown” reminds me of Lizzie trying to kill Scott and ending up dying herself instead. I also feel like parts of it could be dead Lizzie talking to Joel, the only person who is really mourning her. New Colors—“don't tell me that I can't, I need this“ and “I give up my air, to breathe” also feel very accurate with how she is trying so hard and just keeps failing )

Jimmy—Canary in a Coal Mine (no further context needed, we all know Timmy)

Scott—Little Soldiers (this is very flower husbands, but also just feels like Scott looking back on the last seasons including Pearl, Jimmy, Martyn, all his reluctant exes. Also this man is the watchers’ like least favorite person ever and this gives that vibe)

Pearl—Ribs (i changed this from New Discovery because Ribs is entirely about somewhat angrily protecting and helping yourself because nobody else would, and it really strikes me as Pearl with the some things having been good (Gaslight Gatekeep Girlboss) and some being bad (divorce quartet))

BigB—Not the Ghost (this man is so incredibly odd, he just constantly feels like he is being haunted by the watchers and just going about his life, he is the human personification of gaslight and we love that for him)

Martyn—The Hand That Feeds (he HATES the watchers with every ounce of his being, and with Ren gone I think this guy’s only purpose is just to spite them)

Joel—Sleeping Giants (go listen to it. That’s all there is to it, it just feels very Joel-ish, this lad is absolutely fucking mental)

Ren—Once & for All (this song feels like war and being betrayed, and Ren has been betrayed so much so it just fits. I mean come on “my blood’s forever on your hands” tell me that isn’t 100% something Ren would say)

Gem—Show Your Fangs (Girlboss moment, we love Geminislay. This woman is not someone to be underestimated and this song very clearly says that so it’s very Gem in my head. She doesn’t have enough lore yet to make it angsty but ONE DAY)

Etho—Never Love An Anchor (I can’t explain it, this song just has Etho vibes. I mean “It’s a secret I keep tucked inside my chest” just seems very him, I can’t really tell you why)

[yandere-wishes]

Hi!! Just wanted to say May I request Yandere Capitano with a reader that’s like “omg you love me? No worries girl I love you too🤭” and doesnt mind his yandere tencedies? she is like really chill!

̩̩͙❆ Anon I tried to answer your ask as best I could but totally forgot about the reader being chill part and kinda made her a bit crazy. I LOVE it when the reader is also unhinged, There's something so delicious about crazy intercepting crazy.

̩̩͙❆ I wrote something similar here: Ice on Ice

｡ ₊°༺🧊༻°₊ ｡

̩̩͙❆ He's salt in the wound. a delicious itch that slithers beneath the skin and nips tenderly at your veins.  

̩̩͙❆ You try to shy away from his kisses, to fear the metal and frost. But instead, you get lost in his scars, fresh and old, raw and weathered. Your fingers trace his jagged lines, nails picking at the cicatrix pealing away the eschar. He only pulls your hand to his lips laying fervent kisses across the palm.

̩̩͙❆ Capitano runs his lips along your neck, inhaling your scent as you revel in his metallic touch. "You should be scared" he chuckles, "Most damsels fear the knight, fear things that are wartorn." His breath hitches, teeth digging into soft skin leaving kisses and claims. Your only reply is a wanton moan.

̩̩͙❆ Somewhere behind you, a body writhes with a final breath before going limp.

̩̩͙❆ Capitano likes to play the role of the vigilante knight. Fine. You'll play the role of the sweet damsel, the valiant darling. You let him kiss you like he's trying to kill, like he's trying to preserve. Wartorn things are not known to be gentle. You appreciate the fact that at least he tries.

̩̩͙❆ You'll kiss him goodbye at the door while hiding sadak knives behind your back. His lips bruise yours, teeth biting your lips raw marveling at the sweet taste of your crimson essence. He doesn't want to go, doesn't want to spend a moment apart from you. But he must obey his queen, he must follow the frozen path. You wait until his silhouette disappears into the immortal snow before turning away and closing the glacier door.

̩̩͙❆ Knights and spies. Swords and Knives. Killers and killers. All of it just sounds like 'lovers' to your jejune ears. Maybe it's the eternal cold that sets into people's hearts, maybe it's the human nature to kill first and question later. Regardless you've come to learn that your lover has many enemies staggering around Snezhnaya. People who wish to see Capitano's helmet resting by a marble tomb.

̩̩͙❆ You extinguish those who plot against him, those who scheme in shadows against the crown. There are none foolish enough to attack him outright. But they prepare his demise in the dark, a hundred arrows pointed at his back. Posion-laced cocktails served at a mandatory banquet. You've learned to hide amongst the shrouds, to leave nothing behind but fatal wounds that won't stop bleeding. You've learned to protect what's yours...

̩̩͙❆ Oh, sweet darling, protector of the knight.

̩̩͙❆ His returns are becoming all too sweet, you can't remember when you started awaiting him at the door, heart in your hands, dying for a cold kiss from a cold man.

̩̩͙❆ You jump into his arms once he opens the doors, Capitano laughs twirling you as he muses over how much he's missed you. You push up his helmet eagerly devouring his lips as he squeezes your body closer relishing in your sweet scent and the fullness of your fragile body beneath his steel fingers.

̩̩͙❆ "Tell me how you slayed them. Tell me about the gore and the way the sun reflects off your red-marred sword" Capitano spears no details, sweet intimidation tactic to keep you in line. Carnage drips from each word, as you peel away his armor, kissing every new piece of revealed skin. Running your tongue inside his fresh scars. You straddle his lap working nimble fingers under his armor pulling away the iron and letting it clank against the floor.

̩̩͙❆ You push him down roughly onto the bed, enjoying the way he hisses and squirms from his broken bones and wounds pushed open. You love him like this bruised, bones still unmended, scars still gushing out blood. You run your fingers over his biceps as he begins to lay kisses across your neck. Fingers sinking deeper into the plush of your thighs.

̩̩͙❆ You paint scars upon his back as his lips peck and bite your hips and chest. Teeth pulling your flesh as he glides his fingers across your spine, enjoying the view of you writhing and moaning under his icy touch.

̩̩͙❆ "I love you" he whispers, a forbidden prayer. Delineating the shell of your ear with his lips. "I shall burn the world for you, my lady, kill any who try to pry you away from me" You cuddle closer never able to fully repeat his words. 'I love you' you long to say, instead you settle for sinking your teeth into the flesh over his heart, and biting until his blood floods your mouth.

̩̩͙❆ I love you, I love you, I love you...

[mochinomnoms]

Just thinking about ocean things and how twst would be different to our world. Was watching a video of a guy finding hermit crabs using trash as their homes and remembered how I went to volunteer when I was younger to clean up the beach (I had to do volunteer hours for school) and how there was so much trash. Just... imagine going with the mer trio to the beach and it being so clean and going to a reef where everything is so healthy.

I can see MC commenting on how beautiful, untouched, just how clean the beach is. The mer trio would obviously be confused cause most beaches are like this. Even the tourist traps take care in preventing too much trash from getting into the ocean. Too much trash effects the environment plus people live there and think of the political ramifications if land dwellers dumped all their trash on the mer people (or maybe that may have happened in the past but doesn't anymore idk).

Imagine the look of horror on the mer faces when MC tells them about the floating trash island, melting glaciers, and coral bleaching. Oh God and the oil spills! Mer trio would be making sure MC never goes back there

Oh they're for sure horrified hearing about the state of the ocean on our world. It's an awful thing to imagine to them and even harder to comprehend! It's correct that the ocean in TWST is incredibly healthy and beautiful, mostly because of merfolk and land dwellers making an effort to keep merfolks' home undamaged and avoid a war. I imagine something still broke out many many years ago, especially as technology advanced and TWST entered the equivalent of the Industrial Revolution. Ideally, after a brief period of war, more magic was incorporated with technological advances (technomagic) to reduce the negative effects of industrialization on the environment. I headcanon that around this time Ignihyde would've been established as a dorm as it's students are known for incorporating technology with magic.

Moving on from that though, the Octotrio are especially inclined to keep you in their world, especially knowing that your world's oceans are dying. Why go back when you have a perfectly good world here (with them, but they might not mention that last part).

[wings-of-fire-confessions]

Guys consider,

Fat Blaze

Maybe even

Fat glacier if you’re strong enough (/j)

I need more chub rep in characters I BET LIKE HALF THE ROYALTY WOULD BE CHUBBY!!!! They get the best eats and probably have never suffered hunger from their crown baby status (kinda jealous but not at the same time bc of how they are treated. Side eyes.)

I want more chubby Rainwings!! They sit n eat all day they’re supposed to be lanky but it can’t be all muscle. They have a better system in place so they get more movement in but some fat just stays man (and it’s beautiful and I love it /pos)

If I wasn’t so tired I would draw what the dragon bodies would look like at different weights, please someone take the pencil I’m dying over here, I give perms GO DRAWWWW!!!!! RAHHHHHHHHHHH

.

[softenedsunbeams]

asks you about the year without summer

OKAY. SO

in 1815, the largest volcanic eruption in recorded human history happened. mount tambora in indonesia erupted with a 7 on the VEI index, ejecting giant amounts of debris into the atmosphere, killing about 71,000 people and completely wiping out anything and anyone living on the island. the explosion itself was heard from as far as sumatra island, 1,600 miles away, where they thought it sounded like gunshots.

^ what the crater looks like today!! very pretty

i dont really care as much about the volcano itself. what i care about is the absolutely batshit societal effects this had on the entire world, because it was a HUGE volcanic eruption that ejected massive amounts of ash into the atmosphere that proceeded to block out the sun and cause famines all over. it made frosts in july for an entire year. it genuinely caused a volcanic winter. i cannot understate how weird it is that absolutely nobody remembers or cares about it

it caused food riots, famines, flooding, disease outbreaks, so much. it's not like it didn't effect the u.s either, because snow was falling in june in new england, crops were dying of frost in mid may, and for that month almost every day the temperatures were below freezing. it caused rapid swings in the temperature too, going from summer temperatures to mid winter within hours

in asia it messed with the monsoon cycle, causing giant floods in china and india that killed even more people. in europe it caused waves of typhus because of the famines, and in switzerland the summers of 1816 and 1817 were so cold that an ice dam formed below a glacier, forming a lake that later collapsed and killed forty people in the flood. in south america it caused major droughts that killed even more people.

it even influenced and changed the art of the time. the debris in the atmosphere that was causing all of the famines and temperature changes made sunsets look different for years, so they were brighter and more vibrant and it was big enough that it's noticeable in paintings. things like this:

the influence of the eruption went on for years as well. this wasn't just a brief thing, it changed history, caused massive migrations of people, may have even led to the end of a chinese dynasty i think? i think it's so so interesting im very very normal i love when natural disasters shape history like this it's so cool!!!

[rott1ngbra1n]

I WANT YALL TO KNOW I SAW THE “save my boy Cole” PETITION WHILE ON A 7 AND A HALF HOUR SHIFT AND ALMOST STARTED DYING LAUGHING.

I love this fandom so much for clowning and memeing on the people who made the poll NDBFJSBJD /pos

My contribution to this is some Cole x Geo artwork (I love Bruise, Glacier and Lava as well) and a Cole goober

[cheriladycl01]

My home country - Pierre Gasly x IcelandicOlympicIceHockey! Reader

Plot: Your boyfriend Pierre watches on as you bring home Gold for team Iceland before you show him around the waterfalls and geysers your country is known for!

A/N: Having been to Iceland, this one was really fun to write as I've done all the things mentioned!

You’d just won gold and we’re on a complete high, your boyfriend being there to celebrate you and your teams win. It was a thrilling feeling having the Gold Medal placed around your neck and hugging all of your team mates who'd been a part of the journey.

You had all worked insanely hard and you'd cried once you realized you won.

The celebrations that night were crazy, you and Pierre spent the whole night in the club with all your friends and some of your family. There were also randoms there who were congratulating you and buying you drinks the whole night - much to Pierre's annoyance as they were mostly men.

But once they offered him a drink too after recognizing him, he didn't feel as peeved.

They day after and you both woke up with the worst hangover imaginable. You laid in bed in the fancy 5 star hotel you were set up in, both complaining about the headache you both had before you sulked down the stairs for the breakfast buffet.

You guys filled yourself on all the greasiest food in attempt to get rid of the hangover.

"Fuck Elskan. I feel awful" you say in Icelandic and Pierre looks at you as if you've grown two heads, not understanding anything but the pet name you use often for him.

"Babe, English or French please... I'm dying here!" he groans.

"Sorry, i revert back when I'm tired!" you smile before taking his hand.

"We have a busy day today!" you smile, excited for the plan you guys have.

"Nooooooo, please I just need a day in bed!" he complains looking over at you.

"You don't want to see my country?" you say with a sad voice, knowing he did as he'd been asking for ages for you to take him across Iceland and show him all the things you did growing up.

"I do!" he whines looking over at you.

"I just - cant we do that tomorrow?" he asks looking over you his sleepy eyes telling you he was struggling a little bit more than he was letting on.

"The fresh air will do you good, come on lets go get ready! It's cold so we need to wrap up warm" you advise grabbing his hand and dragging him out the restaurant.

You both change into warm clothes and waterproof having a little rucksack with you each. You guys had a busy day where you'd be hiking up a glacier and seeing some of the best waterfalls Iceland had to offer before going to swim in the geothermal spa called the Blue Lagoon to round up your day.

"The guys said we might even get to see the northern lights tonight!" you grin excitedly.

"Really?" Pierre asks knowing you'd seen them multiple times in your lifetime but it was something you still got pretty excited about.

You guys were on the tour bus and went straight to the glaciers, you had grippy shoes on, knowing what Iceland was like in the winter but Pierre didn't exactly think that through and when you looked back to where he was, really behind the rest of the group he looked like Bambi.

You couldn't help but laugh at him.

"Pierre, come on here!" you say handing him the walking stick you'd been using. He thanked you before you helped him up, holding one of his hands to try and keep him stable.

You get to the top and Pierre has a red face and watering eyes from the wind at the top unlike you wearing googles and a bandana to cover your mouth and neck to keep the warmth in.

"Why didn't you prepare me better!" he groans looking around at everyone else.

"I told you what to bring!" you giggle. You then start to make the decent down the glacier seeing the top of the gushing waterfall.

"I didn't expect it to be so loud!" Pierre shouts over the really loud water. All you could do was laugh at him before the tour guide started to talk to you in Icelandic about what was coming up next on the tour. Pierre awkwardly waited off to one side not knowing what to do.

"You are really going to enjoy the next bit!" you smile taking his hand and pull him into a searing kiss. His lips were a little chapped from the cold but you didn't mind.

You guys made the drive to the blue lagoon. You split in the changing rooms and Pierre was shocked to be greeted by multiple naked men. It was normal for you and when you met him at the entrance into the water he looked almost traumatised.

"Sorry I should have warned you about what you would have walked into!" you giggle before he shakes his trying to get rid of the images burned into his brain.

You both swim around, going to grab the face scrub at the bar to plaster over you face. You loved coming to the geothermal spa. The sensation of dipping right under the water, feeling the heat warm up your skin before standing up and having the wind whip around your wet skin was a sensation like no other.

"This is very romantic" Pierre smiles, holding you as you both float around clinging to each other.

"Mmmmm I'm glad we've done this. I've been missing home far to much!" you sigh. You'd made the decision to move with Pierre, as it made sense considering he was closer to Alpine and he was travelling for most of the year.

"I'm just scared for tomorrow!" he sighs, knowing it was a day he'd been expecting for a while but it didn't feel real.

"I've told you so many times, my parents will love you. We should have seen them earlier!" you grin, pulling him in for a kiss as you wrap your legs around his waist.

"God I love you!" he exclaims twirling you round in the water.

y/user

Liked by pierregasly and charlesleclerc

y/user: Just brought home gold for my beautiful country! Iceland 🇮🇸 you are beautiful and I loved showing my boyfriend round!

Tagged One Person

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pierregasly: I loved spending time with you and congrats on your win ma cherie 🍒

-> y/user: I love you very much

->pierregasly: I love you too 🫶🏼❤️

alpinef1team: Congrats on the win Y/N!

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Showing kærastinn minn around 🇮🇸

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[ackerfics]

to the girls who are failed by the narrative: masterlist | jjk

enclosed here are stories of tragedy; of loving someone too much that his loss becomes your ruination, of waves of blue and black that threatens to wash your cheeks with the colors of summer, of curses trapping you in prophecies not even a red string can break, of unlikely saviours and damsels who fell harder for each other.

note: all of these are connected. every character has their own 'reader' (except for yuta). once we move on to the next character, the previous reader will be given a nickname. i am actually excited about this <5 consider this as my official comeback (?) here on this site.

my love is mine all mine — zen'in toji (later fushiguro) x reader

: 'the glorified womb', 'the heir bearer', 'the blessed flower of the jujutsu society' — they are just some of the titles given to the women of your mother's clan, and all of them eventually fell to you, the prodigal firstborn who has the misfortune of birthing someone who will be stronger than their predecessors. with the fate of someone's clan on your shoulders, there are only a handful of things told to you while growing up; be as demure as you can be, never open your mouth and squash your thoughts, sit with a posture befitting that of a lady wearing an invisible yet heavy diadem. but the one that rings the most goes like this: your only purpose in this world is to be a silent wife to a man who will give you the opportunity to carry the next generation of powerful sorcerers. you remember all of these as you walk toward zen'in ogi in your uchikake, the constricting material around your waist akin to the gripping hold of your cursed technique.

and in fate's funny little ways of fabricating legacies and stories, you forget them when you are spirited away by the man who always welcomes the coming of the seasons with you without fail.

chapters:

i: their redness talks to my wounds

ii: in our circle of green

iii: the answer will be an echo: why did you do this?

iv: coming soon !!

v: coming soon !!

to love and be loved is to rest  — gojo satoru (w. geto suguru) x reader

: you knew you will never love gojo satoru, the godling that will make kingdom come if he so wished it, the moment he pushed you into a puddle of muddy water the day your older sister was announced to be engaged to the possible heir of the zen'in clan. with your new kimono drenched in brown splatters and your hair in disarray, the little white rat had the gall to cackle in front of majority of the jujutsu society. that was the day you vowed to always harbour hate for him. yet for some weird reason, gojo becomes a constant in your life — the only one to ever see you at your weakest when your sister abandoned you to become the next bride and the only one who promised to return your youth to you by being your semblance of normalcy among the decaying beliefs and elders of the jujutsu society.

you thought you will never know love until you met geto suguru and all his gentle smiles, warm demeanour, and weird fringe. and before you know it, your little world with gojo expanded to include geto, ieiri, and the colours of summer throughout the year. but summer will always fade away to autumn, a season that chills you to the bone and sets glaciers in your blood, its fingers promising change like no other.

because it was fall of 2007 that you wish you never knew what love is at all.

chapters: coming soon !!

except for your eyes, no blade can control me  — fushiguro megumi x reader

: coming soon !!

[bonus] hearts be burned asunder with love — okkotsu yuta x oc

: it's a new generation of sorcerers and the flower of the jujutsu society truly lived up to her fate of carrying new heirs for a dying clan. from her union with the nefarious sorcerer killer comes a blessing and a festival; a shepherd of umbras in the shape of animal curses and the other an amalgamation of opposing energies.

the moment fushiguro matsuri first sung her pleas to the world, the shadows danced and the flowers tried reaching for a speck of light. and it is when she was finally swallowed by the mass of shadows that her twin brother first saw how cruel their part of the world can be.

it's november 2017 and a cursed womb has been spotted hanging like an ominous raindrop of cynicism above a remote forest near a clan compound. all sorcerers near the area are dispatched to the scene but fushiguro megumi has one request to his mentor (begrudging uncle), bring the first-year jujutsu high student he met a few months ago to where the cursed womb is. after all, okkotsu yuta is the only sorcerer megumi openly respects to save his sister and matsuri is the only person everyone expects to neutralize the queen of curses if the time comes for the sword to reap its harvest.

: coming soon !!

send an ask or reply if you want to be added to the taglist <3

[fatorangepoo]

Wriothesley Teaches You How to Fight Like A Pro

"First things first... fix that attitude of yours," Wriothesley grumbled, clad in his long-sleeved dress shirt, fitted pants and mechanical gauntlets. Slicking his hair back with both hands over his head, he groaned, "You don't even want to do this properly. Are you just here for me or what?"

Upon hearing that, your jokester ass laughed out loud and you clutched your clenched stomach bending over in joy. Wiping a tear from your eye, you muse, "Well what if I was?" and continued giggling with your feet circling in arcs like a dying roach.

Let's just say some people have a different sense of humour. You weren't even surprised when you lightly peeked with one eye at Wriothesley to find him glaring daggers at you with those striking eyes of his, because he has never appreciated your skibidi toilet jokes.

Even you knew his limits, and you didn't know him well. Just well enough to share drinks and inside jokes. For you, well was quality time and bouts of intimate touches. So no, you didn't know him well. You got up and sprung back into action, picking up some Gintama move you saw Chinese grandmothers do in Tai Chi. Hands in karate chop motion, you tornadoed to his direction and landed a foot directly in front of him, hand positioned directly before his nose.

Wriothesley scrunched up his nose and forced out a reluctant "Better, I guess," and lowered his head. Addled and confused, you tilted your neck to your side in a classic WHAT?! pose, then you heard a chuckle from somewhere around the room. Looking around, you said, "Well, I never knew you invited some others to our practises."

When he didn't respond, you turned back to him kneeling on the floor, gorgeous di-coloured hair sprawling out from his scalp. You squat with your legs open like a frog or sneaky spider in front of him, leggings stretching against your calf. Looking down at him, you saw a glimpse of his canine tooth revealed by a devilish grin. He looked up at you and laughed at your face, eyes closed all the way through in a joyful daze.

Sobering up, he projected with a husky voice, "So funny, are we?" and you could swear his Arctic glacier eyes thundered periodically, letting you in a world of dark, deep sea typhoons. "Let's see what happens when you face real danger. You think they would loosen their grip because you said something that started with ski, ended with di and rhymed with clinically? I'd like you see you £#¢¥ing try," he threatened gloomily, advancing onto you with a fat forearm.

You hastily avoided his arm by holding it back with both hands, but you never really won over the gymbros in arm wrestling, so you got overpowered instead. He locked his arm under your neck, lifting you up so your toes were dreaming of touching land, which never happened considering you were taller than the average population. His shirt sleeve was so distracting because it smelled like your cousin's detergent and made you wish you had money to afford laundry that was more than just rinsing fabric with water.

You felt like Loki being held by his neck by Thor, albeit being the superior brother in the situation. In every situation, actually. Loki just suited you better. Pranksters have your whole heart.

You snuck your hands under his arm and pushed outward with all your might, and he was still unyielding. Bruh, at this point you just gotta turn around and start pushing his chest away from you. That'd be more effective, right? Whose chest can withstand brute force? Well, not yours, to be frank. You can't even wrestle your cousin.

"LET ME... THE £@#& GO!" you yelled with your back against his locked hands in a smooth manoeuvre, and tried to push at his chest. Ew, this feels like molestation. Who cared about molestation when your life was being threatened by a raider!!! You don't care anymore, you went from poking his chest playfully to shoving the hell out of his dress shirt, and he stumbled, hands losing their grip.

Like a proud hen, you stood arms akimbo, head inclined as you stared Wrio down. Oh my effing god. He surged and started CHARGING at you!!! He threw himself on you like on those WWE Superslams and you flew with your back sliding on the floor. His arms were around you, then you realised they weren't around you as much as they were wrapped around an actual dagger. Oh archons!

If you were wrong in the head, you would think this was fun and mentally stimulating. It was a bit exhilarating, but you were fearing for your life here. Mr Puppy here looks like he would actually kill you here and now for saying skibidi toilet during a company dinner 3 weeks ago. Deeply stashed anger, am I right? Poor pup doesn't have an outlet to release stress, so he keeps it all pent up and explodes on you for a tiny joke consisting of toilet...

His knee kneeling in the space between your thighs, he seemed chivalrous and angelic and deadly. The light shining on him from his table lamp just further intensified the dark side of his face, unilluminated by anything. That pretty much sums up your first impression of him. Dark, sepulchral and a pain to be with. Now, you're wrong. This is fun.

"Alright, yes yes, I'm afraid I'm deeply invested now, Your Grace. Continue," you chirped happily from your position under the Duke's glinting knife. If you stole a jewel from the hilt now, would he realise? You were quite good at this gemstone side hustle of yours.

"Second of all, do not let yourself be vulnerable," he gritted his teeth and you wanted to caress his neck just right above your collarbone. "Well, I don't. I never open up to people! I consider it one of my great strengths-" you got cut off by his bejeweled dagger pinning itself on the fabric of your tank top like a dart pinned to a dartboard.

"Not what I meant," he offered, "but thanks for the invitation." Then he lifted a hand and punched you on your good side. Alas, no more side profile selfies!

You grabbed the gloved hand that was about to go for a second round of punching you with one determined fist of yours, unyielding in your grip. You observe Wriothesley's amusement, his face on top of you taunting. God, his lifted lips are so distracting in their angles, sharp at all the right places. Dangerous men should not have smiles more perilous than their charm.

Despite that, you shook him with your hand guiding him in the direction you wanted to go - in this situation you wanted him the floor where you previously were. Locking your elbow around his dangerous arm, you channeled enough strength to pull him down on the floor beside you. After the satisfying thud of your bully/mentor's back hitting the floor (his tough back muscles are probably fine), you swiftly roll yourself on top of him, legs clamped around both of his. Tank top strap slowly sliding down your shoulder, you dislodge the dagger on the floor and rest your elbows on the sides of his face. Curling his hair on the dagger's pointy edge, you look down, half-lidded, on his tired blue eyes and sadistically remarked, "Any tips for ending someone with a dagger?"

[kick-the-clouds]

The planet is burning.

The evidence is undeniable. From record-breaking heatwaves to catastrophic floods, human-caused climate change is ravaging our planet, and we are all witnesses. The science is clear: our addiction to fossil fuels, deforestation, and relentless pollution is driving this destruction. Our one-of-a-kind, life-sustaining environment is under siege, and the clock is ticking.

This isn’t a distant problem. It’s here. It’s now. The melting glaciers, dying coral reefs, and burning forests are not just statistics—they are the dying breath of our Earth. We are losing more than just land; we are losing our home.

This isn't just about the environment; it's about survival. We are all part of this intricate web of life, and when we disrupt it, we face the consequences. The Byzantine complexities of our ecosystems, perfected over millions of years, are unraveling before our eyes.

The truth is harsh, but it's not too late. We still have the power to change course, to protect our planet, and to secure a future where our children can thrive. But we must act now. The science demands it, our survival depends on it, and the Earth—our only home—deserves it.

The time for action is now. Let’s not be the generation that witnessed the destruction of our world and did nothing.

[geodethecrow]

summer is dying early this year. perhaps it is a summer of death, of the snapped sunflower that was eleven feet tall before the wind took it, of a deer still splattered on a windshield, of my cat slowly getting skinnier. the summer of shelf fungus on a downed tree’s corpse, of the power lines spooled on the road after a bad storm, of the volunteer squash plant in my front yard flowering but not fruiting for lack of pollination, living but unable to carry on beyond a single iteration. it had a younger sister, once, across the sidewalk to our porch, before I squared the first one in brick to ward off the lawnmower.

it's barely August and already the night breeze is taunting me with hints of the ice to come. it's spreading up the stalk and bursting cell walls with spikes of remembrance and anticipation of what winter truly does to me. fall is lovely but it leads to the season of my bones being covered in hoarfrost and my brain cracking apart like a calving glacier, and I want to spend as little time as possible in the dark. so I cling to what summer is leaving behind, the baskets of peaches at the farmers’ market and the sunburn warming my cheeks. I hope the turning leaves burn bright enough to stave off winter for a while.

[fangsandfracturedhearts]

Fangs and Fractured Hearts

Chapter 18: Unleashed

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

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

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

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

Word Count: 6.7k

Pairing: Ascended Astarion x female!Tav Spawn

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

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

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

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

CW: Chapter gets dark - please be cautious

A howling tempest is whistling in your ears, muffling your ability to think clearly. A biting frost permeates your body, seeping into your bones and desiccating and fragmenting them. Although it’s agony, there is a peculiar pleasure in the descent into exile. The wraith strums a ghostly lullaby, like harpies enthralment, that encourages you to close your eyes and float away in the cyclone. 

Your lashes flutter as you resist the temptation to let your dimming eyes shut. Icy vines braid and curl up your spine and caress your brainstem, coercing you to allow yourself to be devoured. 

It sounds so easy, so serene, like the bottom of that dark lake where everything was wondrously still, still, still. 

It starts slow, snowflakes fluttering through the irises of your dying eyes, each one descending to your soul. The first flakes melt and sizzle like drops of water touching a hot surface, but the barrage increases, and the fire within cannot sustain the onslaught. 

Your very spirit is being doused, and it throbs as your psyche is pelted with sharp hail, chilling you to your very core and numbing you of your will to fight. The melody of violent winds, ice, and snow is rapturous, a perverted sonata that you long to get on your knees and recite. 

You want it to sweep you away, sedate you, and submerge you gently into that final eternal night. It promises to remedy the heavy emptiness, and you pine for the feeling of not feeling at all. There is no drowning it out, no resolve to struggle, and the glacier you’re tripping on has cracks. There are tears creeping out of your eyes, turning to ice pellets as they hail down your cheeks.

Yes! Yes! The voice warbles as everything goes dark. Let go.  

The crevice between your feet collapses, and you’re plunged into the frigid abyss. You fall down, down, down, until you find yourself in a barren whitescape with nothing but snow in all directions. Jagged icebergs the size of mountains jut impossibly high into the grey-blue sky and drift erratically with surreal speed, making them look like teeth trying to saw through the horizon. 

The cold is lethal as it forms ice crystals in your lungs when you try to breathe, and even though your breath is as cold as death itself, it billows in misty clouds when you exhale. You try to suppress the urge to breathe so the biting cold can’t nip at your throat, lungs, and nostrils, but it’s hard when your jaw quakes and you’re nearly crippled by shivers. 

You wade through the waist-deep snow in this hellish, frostbitten land. It’s difficult to form coherent thoughts as you feel yourself freezing to death. Your ability to move is quickly being confiscated as your limbs stiffen. Your skin is wind-burnt and blistering, cracking like dry firewood. 

You will die here, or perhaps you’re already dead — you do not know. 

An enormous shadow passes over the landscape, blotting out the meager light the dark, cloudy sky provides, but your neck will not crane to look up. 

The terrain shudders under your feet as something immense lands just out of sight. Powdery snow is belched into the air like a puff of wafting smoke. When was the last time you were able to blink? Your eyes cannot focus quite right. The muscles in your face strain to war against the thin layer of ice accumulated on your skin.

A looming figure takes shape in the snow drifts, coming toward you, making the ground under your feet tremble with every step. It seems to shake an iota of sense back into your senseless body, and you find yourself taking steps toward the silhouette. 

A dragon emerges from the squall; five chromatic heads in all colours rear up on regally serpentine necks to evaluate you. Their nostrils flare, shooting vapour into the air with every breath. The scales reflect the low light and appear almost prismatic, with strips of bluish-green, purple, and grey, glassy-smooth, running down the massive body and merging into a bronze that covers a long tail, tipped with a stinger. 

Each head moves individually, sinuously slithering through the air until each one is poised close to your body. They are massive, each with maws twice the size of your body and flaming eyes of all different colours that examine you intently. 

Their jaws open, revealing long, tapered teeth and forked tongues, and their hot breath wreathes you, dispersing the ice in your veins and biting frost in your muscles. 

Although the figure does not seem to speak, you hear an alluring voice in your head. It is bewitching and gently ethereal. “Do you know me, child of night and dragons?” 

Why you recognize the voice and why it soothes you is unclear, but it awakens your soul, sparking the white-hot blaze of your being roaring back to life with a vigour you have not felt for what feels like centuries. 

“Tiamat.”

The dragon’s lips pull back, baring her teeth in a viscous smile. She opens her mouth and blows her scalding breath over you. “You do not belong in this realm, night stalker.” 

The ice accumulated on your hair melts away, leaving it limp, wet, and sticking to your cheeks. Drops of water rain from your scalp, down your face, dripping off your lashes. 

“I am lost. He is lost. We are lost.” 

“Lost, thou say?” Timat’s laughter sounds like a celestial chorus that the stars themselves dance to. “Thou hast just been found. Wake, bloodkin, return to your realm, and seek the Lord of Lies. He shall hark thy plea.” 

Tiamat rears her scarlet-scaled head, unhinging her jaw like a snake, with the ominous white glow of Hellfire scintillating in her throat. You reflexively take a step backward, putting your hands up to shield yourself as the white, molten flames burst. 

Nothing survives Hellfire. 

Her voice serenades. “Burn bright, child of night, blood of dragons. 

The flames swim through the air with a crackle, enveloping you in a tornado of light so bright that you wonder if your eyes will be reduced to ash. You’re thrust off your feet, plunging you back into the abyssal depths you fell into, and careening directionless at an unfathomable pace. 

You see yourself floating in a black, bottomless netherworld. The impression of movement halts you horizontally above your lifeless shape. Wake up; you want to scream, but you do not have a voice.  

You must claw your way out of this watery grave.

Reaching toward yourself, you find that the other version of you mirrors your movements. Your fingers touch, and her eyes — your eyes — snap open and glow white. The Hellfire swirls around you both and flares out like ghostly, liquid flames in the shape of wings that curl around and fuse into you. 

In a rush, you’re shot like a meteor, rocketing through planes of existence and bending time itself. 

Your eyes flick open to see Rhapsody poised above your chest, the polished silver blades glinting in the candlelight. With a hard, inhumane scowl on his face, Astarion's lifeless eyes are fixed on you, the light obliterated by insanity. Rhapsody whistles through the air, plunging straight for your static heart. 

Something beckons you to wield it — something new yet ancient, both familiar and unknown. When you reach out and grasp it, a blinding light is released from you in a destructive shockwave. Astarion cries out, staggers back, and rubs his eyes furiously. 

“You petulant little shit!” He barks, his voice oozing revulsion and vitriol. “You will not leash me — you cannot leash me! I created you, and I will destroy you!” 

Try as you might, you cannot get your feet to move as your mind fails to construct a viable strategy. You will not survive a battle with him, and you can’t imagine you will get too far even if you flee. Astarion shakes his head, blinking rapidly. His eyes coast around the room, unfocused, and his arms reach out, fingers grasping blindly. 

He cannot see.

It’s only a matter of time before he heals, but it does give you a chance. You must make a decision quickly. Astarion cocks his head, growling like a feral animal with his lips pulled back in a snarl, trying to listen for your position. As soon as you move, he will be able to pinpoint your location. 

You know what you must do, but you don’t want to do it. Furthermore, you don’t know if you have time to do it before he regains his sight. 

Casting Misty Step, you bolt into your room, rifling through your drawers until you come across the scroll you need and stash it. Astarion is in the hall, and you quickly cast Gust of Wind to push him off balance and snatch Rhapsody from his grip before he has time to right himself. 

“Fool,” he snarls, spittle flying from his lips as he lunges toward you. “I need no implements to end you. I will tear your limbs from your body as easily as wings are torn from a fly.” 

You cringe at his tone — so cold, so unfeeling, so full of loathing. You sprint to the door, throwing it open and hurtling down the streets. Glancing back, you make sure Astarion is following you. His eyes remain aimless and restless in their sockets, and he moves erratically and only when he hears you. 

“Astarion!” You call out, making sure you’re far enough away that you have time to make it to the next target in this death race. 

He barrels toward your voice, fingers clawing through the air as you reappear at the next point, calling out again and again and again, keeping yourself always just out of reach, until the Crimson Palace looms out of the darkness. 

You sprint for it, throwing yourself through a window. The glass lacerates your skin, and you know you’ve made a mistake. Astarion scents the air and races toward you. You tense your muscles like Astarion has taught you, roll back onto your feet, and dash through the halls toward your target. 

Astarion is quickly gaining on you, hunting you through the halls with the finessed movements of an apex predator. His movements become more fluid, and you know he’s starting to get his sight back. 

You are running out of time. 

Veering left and hurling yourself down the steep staircase, you narrowly avoid his clutch. 

“Oh, I have missed this, my little treat,” he taunts. “Chasing you around these halls, teaching you all sorts of delightful lessons. Do you remember my lessons, pet? Oh, how I loved the way you screamed.” 

Of course, you remember his lessons vividly. The tortures and torments he subjected you to in the name of taming his unruly spawn, making you a perfect, pretty arm piece to dazzle and delight his opponents while he carried out his twisted ambitions.

And oh, how you screamed and begged for death. 

And oh, how he laughed and laughed and laughed. 

The corridor is like running headfirst into a dark tunnel with no light at the end. The air is musty, and the only sounds are your battering footsteps and the drumming of Astarion’s rapid heartbeat. Your eyes skip over the wall, searching for the invisible wall, and whirl, running through the illusion and into the dank, stone-brick room. 

The kennels.

Your prison stands empty and desolate — the cage he had constructed just for you.

He had been so proud of himself when he commissioned this cell to be built with its chains, restraints, and locks too complex to use Knock on. You swallow thickly, forcing the memories down as Astarion enters. 

“Ah,” he smiles menacingly, strolling in casually. “It’s good to be home. Isn’t it? I must say, I’m surprised that you would lead me here of all places. Did you miss my expert administration? I shall remedy that.” He tsks, clicking his tongue as if chastising a child. “I can deny you nothing, after all.” 

Luring him into the cell was an easy enough feat, but you’ve run out of time. Astarion can see, but by the way his eyes are narrowed, you don’t think completely. 

“Astarion.” Tears slip out of your eyes as your fears well up. “Please come back. Don’t make me do this.” 

He sneers with a wide, eerie Cheshire grin. “I am Astarion no longer, but you know that, don’t you? He drowns.” Astarion points to his head. “In here. I am devouring him, making him rot from the inside out until the pest is conveniently lost. I will exhaust his light. He slips away from you, even now.” 

You lash out with the Weave, casting Hold, but he dodges your attack with a fleet movement to the side and slams into you before you have time to recover. You’re thrown to your stomach on the stone floor, his boot pressed into your back, leaning his weight on you. 

“Stay,” he commands, and you’re immobilized as the compulsion branches out in your mind and twists through your muscles. You cannot see the self-satisfied smile on Astarion’s face, but it’s evident in his voice as he purrs. “Good girl.” 

Astarion leans down, grabs Rhapsody from your hand, and chuckles. “We could have had it all, love. Power, wealth, pleasure — if only you would have just fallen in line, been obedient, but you were always an obstinate little cunt, weren’t you?” 

Astarion lowers himself, sitting on your legs and squeezing your arms to your sides with his knees settled on either side of you. You cannot speak, and the only sounds that make it out of your mouth are strangled whimpers. 

The pointed tip of Rhapsody presses into your back, not yet hard enough to break through skin, and you think you know what’s coming. He will plunge the dagger into your heart.  

There would have been a time when your imminent demise would have brought you a sense of peace and relief. You’d sought an end to this nightmare often enough in the past year. Now, it’s only fear and the overwhelming feeling of failure that nestle in your chest. 

You try to conjure up happy memories. Astarion’s face lighting up in camp when you walked toward him, the walks through the forest in the dappled moonlight, the way he would slip into your tent and cuddle you when he thought you were fast asleep. 

You try to remember his eyes when he proposed, so vividly crimson, wistful, and happy. In that moment, you could have been just another madly in love couple. It all seemed so ordinary, so beautifully human, that you didn’t think about all that opposed the bright future he was offering.

I forgive you, you think, though the connection between you is sealed. I forgive you.

Thoughts move sluggishly through your head, as if getting caught on the sticky threads of spider webs. The cold metal bites into your skin. Slow and steady, Astarion carves into the flesh of your back with precise movements. The shock hits you first, realizing that he’s mimicking Cazador’s torture, and the pain soon follows. It feels obscure for a moment; your brain not able to conceptualize what’s happening. 

The shock wanes, and the sensation strikes with an intensity that makes you almost lose consciousness. Your limbs itch to scramble as your brain wails at your body to thrash. When your muscles don’t comply, everything swims around you as your psyche dissolves. 

“Ah-ah,” he tuts flatly as he focuses on the canvas before him. You can hear the blade cutting through your clothing, tearing and rending skin and muscles alike. “Stay with me, darling, and no going into shock either. I want you to feel the art of it.” 

Astarion’s compulsion takes hold, and you’re alert, all your nerves aroused and buzzing back to life at his behest. It is a mind-obliterating kind of torture. If you were able to writhe, you’re not even sure your body would, as you lose sight of the ability to consider how to get it to stop. A bone-deep nausea overwhelms you, and your mind is seized by the white-hot agony mutilating your flesh. 

He mumbles as he whittles away at your back. “I may not be the same man, but I do have most of his memories. Do you want to know a secret he keeps from you? Do you remember the first time we had sex in that forest? He loathed every second of it. Every one of your pretty little moans made him want to retch. It disgusted him — you disgusted him. How easy you were.”

The pain frays the edges of your mind as your husband, your lover, sketches a tapestry of heartache into you with his words and dagger. Every drag of the blade is like an artist's brushstroke, and your blood is the watercolour of his unspeakable masterpiece. 

“Oh my,” he croons with feigned empathy. “Wherever are my manners? You may speak, my love.” 

As soon as your lips are no longer stitched shut by his compulsion, an insensate wail erupts from your throat. It rebounds off the walls and echos, cutting through the silence like ghosts lamenting the torture this room has been witness to over the centuries. 

Astarion still talks, but his words are just another hum flowing over your ears but never sinking in. 

You don’t know what prompts you to laugh, but you do so bitterly and madly. Your own laughter is so hollow that, at first, you’re not sure if it is you until words start to form between the hysterical mirth. “I am fucking coming for you. I will defy the Gods to save him, and I cannot wait to make you choke on my light.” 

The dagger punctures deeper, through muscle and into bone, you’re quite sure, and another hoarse, harrowing cry is loosed from your lips. 

 “Yes, sing.” 

For me.

He’s said this to you many times in this room, a haunting mirror of Cazador, and you wait for him to finish, but nothing comes. The knife carving your back stills, and Astarion’s heartbeat goes from being steady and rhythmic to clattering with such intensity that you cannot tell if it’s skipping beats or beating so rapidly that the sound just merges into one thundering call. 

“Illyria?” The blade buried deep in your muscles begins to tremble, no longer the steady-handed glide, and you wince as it vacillates your raw nerves. It clatters to the floor abruptly. “By the Gods. What have I done?” 

Astarion throws himself off you, his back thudding into the back wall of the hellish cell so hard it knocks the breath from his lungs in a wheeze. The compulsion pales, receding from your mind, and your body shakes uncontrollably as shock starts to set in.  

Your mind wants to slip away, your eyesight blurred by the tears welled in your eyes that you were unable to shed without permission, but you force yourself to focus. The muscles in your arms tremble violently as you aim to push yourself up to your feet, but you only make it to your knees before the pain makes your body wrack, dry heaving between fitful sobs. 

A noise between a croak and a gasp hiccups from Astarion. When you look up at him, his eyes are wide with horror. His hand covers his mouth, and his still-flickering eyes brim with tears. You stare at him, wanting to speak and tell him it’s okay, but instead you ravenously take in every feature of your Astarion to try to rid yourself of the cold countenance of the man who flayed your back. Your eyes focus on every soft feature, on the lustre of those wide, mortified eyes and the rampant fear in them. 

You have not yet decided if you want to run from him or crawl into his arms, kiss him, hold him, and tell him everything will be okay, but his eyes still rock between dimness and lucidity. 

“Stay with me, Astarion,” you choke out, begging him not to go, but he doesn’t seem to hear you.

“Oh Gods. Oh Gods.” His voice breaks, cracking and tight with emotion. 

Astarion looks around frantically, and you see the recognition of this room, but also the confusion with the concrete walls and barred door surrounding him. He may never have seen this cage, or if he did, you imagine he would not know what purpose it served. 

He’s unsteady on his feet as he reaches for the shackles hanging from the wall and snaps them around his wrist, clicking each padlock into place with a hiss as the silver manacles burn his skin. 

“You have to get away from me. I will kill you. The darkness, I cannot walk away. I am—“ 

You see the moment he loses himself again, the flickering light in his eyes dying out like a cooling ember. You grab the dagger, stumble out of the cage, and slam the door closed. You remove the scroll from your pocket and unravel the parchment with shaking fingers, leaving bloody prints all along the edges. 

The incantation flows quickly, but precisely, off your tongue as you recite it. The words glow golden, float into the air, and the scroll vanishes. The blue-white shimmer of Arcane Lock encompasses the cell door. 

Astarion hauls on the restraints, testing their strength with a calculating look at the locks. The shackles are made for you, thick chains braided together to make sure you could not escape, and locks too complex for any spell. The silver in the manacles is meant to weaken, but there’s no knowing if it will affect him in the same way it did you. He observes the incandescence pulsing around the door. 

His deathly, cold eyes peer at you through the darkness. “Clever, clever girl. What’s to stop me from just compelling you to dispel it?”

“You’re welcome to try, but it won’t work. Only a Wizard has the ability to suppress this spell.” Your silver tongue lies perfectly and effortlessly. 

A silence stretches out between you for what feels like an eternity before he sinks into the darkness of the cell. His voice is unnerving. “It’s only a matter of time before I get free. Enjoy what little time remains of your life.” 

You nod curtly and stride out of the room. Closing the door to the kennels, you bolt through the halls to Astarion’s old study and pull out all the drawers until you find the ring of keys that he kept well away from you. You descend the stairs back down into the hall, terrified that you will see Astarion standing in the dark, but it remains empty. You shove keys shakily into the lock until one finally spins with a satisfying click. 

It’s a pointless endeavour. If Astarion escapes, he can break the door down, but it gives you some small sense of comfort to know there’s another barrier between you and that monster wearing Astarion’s face.  

You’re not sure what you will do if he gets curious and compels you to let him go. There was no time to plan quite that far in advance, but for now, he seems to have accepted that you cannot dispel it. 

You can do nothing but pray that his ignorance of the arcane arts still holds true. 

The walls themselves seem to brood at your presence and press in on you. You drop to your knees on the floor, and the open wounds on your back flood you with fresh agony with every movement. You would whimper, perhaps scream, but the thought of giving Astarion the satisfaction makes you grind your teeth and dive deep into the solitude and silence. 

The silver shackles burn your wrists and ankles and drain your strength. The rough stone blocks grate at the skin on your back like sandpaper, but at this point, it’s almost a welcome sensation.  

How long have you been shackled now? Weeks? Months? You cannot seem to keep your grip on reality these days. Sometimes you think you hear voices outside of your cage in the darkness. Seven thousand souls tell you that you deserve this, that you brought this upon yourself, and that you should rot in here for eternity as they will rot in the Hells. All true, true, true, you think, and you let it hurt until that too stops.  

Hunger has become an all-consuming, mind-numbing pain. Bloodlust is such a complex patchwork of sensations. It is a pain of pressure, of maturing, of constantly growing larger, larger, larger until your limbs cramp and jerk. You want nothing more than to die before your body can twist itself into excruciating positions and lock up on you, and even then, the hunger grows.  

You cannot die from starvation any longer. This pain will only ever increase. Every second, the burbling acid in your stomach seems to burn hotter in the pit, an agony that often makes you whimper and weep.  

At least you are not entirely alone. You can hear the bugs, feel them clambering against your naked skin. Sometimes they are light; others are heavier, with chitinous shells and legs that prick. They chitter and clatter their pincers together. Sometimes they bite between your toes, climb over your face, and through your hair. You don’t have the energy to brush them away, and so you don’t.

You have not yet decided if you might try eating them.

You haven’t moved — not so much as a twitch of a finger — in what must be weeks. It goes on and on and on until you’re very sure that this is all you will ever know for the rest of your immortal life. 

Hunger, pain, loneliness, and bugs.

And then you hear the lock click, and you squint your eyes against the dim light of the candle that is set just out of your reach. You smell brandy and rosemary, and your lower lip quivers. You bite it to stop it from giving away your emotions.

“Don’t do that.” Astarion says, “Is that how you want me to see you for the first time in weeks, pet? Weak?”  

Weeks… Is that all it’s been? It felt like years. 

You hate that you are relieved to see him, happy to hear the devil's voice, and smell home, even if this home burns down around you even now.  

Astarion grips your chin between his thumb and forefinger and forces you to look into his dead eyes. “I bet you’re starving. Hm?” He grins sadistically, turning it into a fake pout. “I do not like to see that look upon your face. Worry not. I’ve brought you dinner.”  

He twists and grabs a silver bucket, turning it over and letting a dead, decaying rat splat on the floor beside you. Your nose wrinkles at the smell of it. It’s been dead for some time, and you can see and hear the maggots writhing underneath its rotting pelt.  

But Gods, you are so hungry.  

When you don’t immediately go for the rat, Astarion grabs your restraints and tugs hard, making your raw, blistered wrist light ablaze, and you whimper. “What? Not good enough? You ungrateful bitch. I lived on this diet for two hundred years.”  

He kicks the rat forward. “Eat it. Now.”  

“Please,” you croak weakly. Your voice has not been used in a while, and it sounds odd in your ears. “Please, Astarion. Don’t do this. I’ll behave. I’ll do whatever you want, but please.”  

“I said.” Astarion grabs a fistful of your hair and shoves your face in the mushy corpse, rubbing your nose in it like a pup who has had an accident in the house. “Fucking eat it.”  

With its putrid guts already spread across your face, you sob as you bite down into it, your fangs sinking into fetid flesh and stinking muscles, and feed.  

It is worse than you thought it ever could be. Your mouth is filled with bits of congealed blood, but mostly puss and death and decay, and you swallow it down because you have no other choice.  

“Gods,” Astarion grunts with his lips curled in disgust. “Hush now. You are terribly ugly when you cry, darling.”  

You don’t dare trance and instead remain still and soundless, with only the pain igniting your being keeping you company. Fear keeps you rooted to the floor on your knees. Fear that if you leave, he will not be here when you return. Fear that if you dare move, he will strike from the shadows. Fear that you wasted too much time, and he is truly gone. 

Fear. Fear. Fear. 

Fear so sharp that you can feel it enclosing around you, squeezing the air from your lungs, making it feel incomprehensibly thin. Even though you do not need it, you try to gulp it down in shallow breaths, but there is no relief from the fear or the depravation that still strangles you.

You long to feel the connection with Astarion so you can stop feeling so boundlessly empty and alone. How easily you can get used to having another presence always at the back of your mind. It was comforting to know he was always there, nothing more than a thought or feeling away, but now that comfort too has been ripped away.  

Sometimes you think you feel him touching your mind, but the sensation is fickle, like the wings of an insect tickling with soft, fluttering whispers. 

There is no time to remain in this state of dejection, and yet you wallow in it. Perhaps you should not have told him, and this is your fault, but perhaps it was only a matter of time. 

Nothing good ever seems to last.

You need help, but anyone who aids you will be in grave peril. Getting to your feet is a monumental effort; the scabs of the raw mosaic on your back split and reopen anew. You wonder what he sculpted into your flesh. What scars will you carry for eternity? It’s not like you will ever be able to see them, but maybe that’s a blessing. 

You let yourself back into the kennels and force yourself to face him. There is a fleeting hope that when you light the candles, your husband's warm scarlet eyes will be what you see, but that, too, is another disappointment.  

Astarion’s eyes remain almost matte, like once-polished rubies forgotten and dulled by the patina of time. 

He sits on the floor, his arms resting on his bent knees, and watches you with a keenness that makes you shudder. You hold his stare. You will not be shy or meek. You cannot afford to show such weakness. 

“Why?” Your voice is hoarse, clipped, and unsteady. 

“Why what, pet?” 

You ask the question that’s been plaguing your mind since you walked out of this wretched place — since he allowed you to walk out of this place. “Why didn’t you kill me?” 

“Last night?” He snickers. “I wanted to hear your angelic cries once more before I—“ 

“No,” you bark, cutting him off. “Not last night. Why didn’t you kill me before? You had every opportunity. There was no one here to stop you.”

Astarion leans forward, making the chains rattle. There is a gleam in his eye, those perfect lips pulling back into a cruel smile. “Because I love you, of course.” 

You almost want to laugh, as if he’s just told you a hilarious joke, but there is a resoluteness in his voice, a matter-of-fact intonation, that tells you that this is a truth to some extent.  

Even this version of him, this soulless, fragmented rendition, loves you in his own twisted way. 

It also indicates what you fear most: that this monster before you is still Astarion, and the only thing that stands between your Astarion and this one is the tattered remains of whatever is left of his soul. 

If you fail in your quest and run out of time, this hateful, power-hungry savage will replace the man you knew. What would you do? Every atom of your being longs for him. If you cannot be his saviour, will you languish in the dark with him if only to keep him company? Would you be capable of hating him — killing him — if need be? 

You wish to believe yourself resilient enough to roll your betrayal, sadness, and anger into loathing to release you from this self-flagellating love, but you know you will never be able to. There is still a soft part of your heart harbouring hope that if you keep getting up every time he knocks you down, if you keep fighting, there might be a happy ending at the end of this cluster fuck. 

Or perhaps it is only your ending that awaits you at the finish line. 

“That was quite a fancy trick,” Astarion drones, tearing you away from your thoughts. “Blinding me.”

You don’t bother answering before leaving him alone, locking the door uselessly behind you once again, and making your way to the main floor of the palace. The dust has settled in a thick blanket on the furniture, with cobwebs stretching out in every corner and between the slender candles in their opulent candelabra. It makes the atmosphere of this palace of nightmares all the more foreboding. 

“Mizora!” You call out, knowing the cambion is ever watchful. 

The air heats, smelling of sulphur and brimstone, and the oily blot opens up on the floor. Mizora’s fluid form arises, wings unfurling with her usual flair. 

“That was quite the show last night.” She smirks with fangs peeking out of her lips. “Stupid, pet. Very stupid.” She sports a faux pout. “I thought you much wiser.” 

“I’m not interested in your chastisement.” You cross your arms and immediately regret the way your shoulder blades stretch your injured skin, bringing fresh tears to your eyes. “Tell Shadowheart to meet me here.” 

“What do I look like to you? A messenger pigeon?” Mizora tsks haughtily. 

“If you want me to kennel Mephistopheles, you’re going to do as requested.” 

Mizora huffs indignantly, stretching her wings out and jutting her chin up. You stare at her unyieldingly, not allowing your face to display your uncertainty, pain, or fear. 

“Fine. Fine.” She huffs, waggling her clawed fingers at you. “I will fetch your darling little Cleric.”

Once Mizora disperses, you head straight for the library. It’s one of the bigger rooms, lined with floor-to-ceiling mahogany bookcases that are brimming with all kinds of tomes and books, ranging in age from new to ancient. Your fingers and eyes flit over the titles as quickly as you can, looking for anything even remotely related to infernal contracts, deals with devils, the nine Hells themselves, or arch devils. 

The knock on the palace door makes you jump, and you are cautious as you make your way through the latticework of halls and corridors, trying to light candles as you go so that the palace is less oppressive.

Unsurprisingly, it does little to help. 

When you finally tug the door open, you stay carefully behind it because you’re not sure if your sun protection has been rescinded, and you’re not interested in finding out. Shadowheart is waiting with her armour and weapons, arms crossed, and tapping her foot in the way she does when she’s either irritated or worried. 

“You sent Mizora to fetch me? What in the blazing Hells is going on?” She strides into the palace, dropping her pack at her feet and putting her hands on her hips. “Why are we here, and where’s Astarion?” 

Once the heavy door is shut and locked, you come out of the shadows where you’ve been hiding it. Even though you try to swallow them, tears weep from your eyes. “Astarion is downstairs. He’s locked up in the kennels.” 

“Locked in the kennels?”

Shadowheart finally turns to look at you, and her stern expression vanishes. Her brows round, her eyes widen, and she pulls you into a hug, unaware of the wounds on your back. You wince as her arm folds over the barely healed lacerations. Shadowheart tries to jump away when she feels the cool wetness of your blood against her hand, but you mutter pleas to stay. 

Eventually, when the bloodlust threatens to overwhelm, you let Shadowheart go. She stares at her blood-dappled hands and back at you. 

“Show me.” She instructs, but you hesitate. You don’t want to show her this. She might not be able to forgive Astarion, and if that’s the case, she might be more likely to try and kill him than help you save him. “Turn around, Illyria.” 

You do so slowly, with your head hung in defeat. Shadowheart’s heartbeat increases, and she gasps. 

“By the Gods! Did he do this to you!? Did that monster finally show his true colours?!” 

“You don’t understand,” you say quietly. “It’s not his fault. It’s not him.” 

“We have to get you cleaned up, and then I’m going to fucking kill him.” 

“No!” You yell, grasping her forearms and falling to your knees to beg. "Please, before you make any judgments on him, hear me out. Please, Shadowheart.”

“I... Ugh. Fine. Take off your shirt. We have to clean your wounds. Do you have any clothes here?” 

“Astarion might,” you mutter. “I can go look up in his room for something.” 

Shadowheart helps you carefully pull your shirt off, but it seems almost melded to your body, and it peels off some of the formed scabs as well. You can feel the blood dribble down your back. It scents the air with a coppery perfume, which makes your bloodlust surge. 

Shadowheart is quiet while she works on patting your wounds as gently as she can, trying to clean them, and using her healing magic again and again and again.  

You don’t have the heart to tell her which blade these were made with and why they will not heal. 

“These are not healing well.” She comments, almost perplexed. 

“They will heal in time.” 

Shadowheart accompanies you to Astarion’s old room, and you pull out drawers only to find most of them empty. The various wardrobes are the same, but you do manage to find one shirt that still resides here, apparently not good enough to be packed and taken with the others.

His old camp shirt. 

You slip it on; at least the fabric is soft and does not get caught on your wounds. It is, of course, much too large for you and likely looks beyond ridiculous, but it’s something at least. 

“Tell me what’s going on,” Shadowheart says softly, her usual prickly demeanour nowhere to be seen.

So you do. You explain it all from top to bottom and back again. You tell Shadowheart about the way his mind sounds if you use Detect Thoughts; tell her about the version of him that lurks within; and about Mizora and Mephistopheles. 

You conveniently leave out the marriage proposal.

“Hells!” Shadowheart rubs her face. “I knew there was something we didn’t know about that godsforsaken Rite. Fuck. We were such fools. So the man in the kennels, the man that did that to you, is not Astarion?” 

 She means that you were a fool, but it matters not.

“He is Astarion,” you answer. “But he’s a version of Astarion that’s been corrupted. He’s not the Astarion we know.” 

“I want to see him - this version of him.” 

“It’s not a good idea.” You shake your head. “I don’t actually know how long it will hold him.” 

“How are we going to get our Astarion back?” Shadowheart says. “What’s brought him back before?” 

“Me,” you say, sitting and combing your fingers through your hair. “It’s usually me, but this time seems different. He came back for a moment, but he was gone again quickly.” 

“We’ll get him back, Illyria.” Shadowheart says it with a smile, but it’s forced. She squeezes your shoulder. “We will find a way, or he will.” 

You nod, “Until then, we need to learn everything we can about infernal contracts and how to negotiate them.” You rise from the chair with renewed determination. “I pulled some books from the library already. We can start there unless you know where to acquire more specific books.”

“What do you mean negotiate them?” Shadowheart retorts with her brows pinched. “Don’t we want to destroy the contract? I very much doubt Mephistopheles will be willing to renegotiate if it means putting a muzzle on him.” 

“Who said anything about Mephistopheles?” You grin wolfishly. “I’m going to negotiate new terms with the Lord of Lies.” 

Big thank you for everyone who takes the time to read/reblog/comment, and all the other magnificent things. Your support gives me the motivation to keep this fic going.

AO3 [Crossposted]

Master List of Chapters: Fangs and Fractured Hearts

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

Small Notes:

It's been a while since we’ve seen this version of Astarion... We need our Astarion back!

Tiamat - Real or hallucination?

Lord of Lies - Bad idea? Most likely...

Posting a day early because it's my birthday tomorrow, and I'm not sure how drunk I'll be by the end of the day 🤣

[immajustvibehere]

The Rescue

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x f!reader

summary: You go missing in the mountains when you were scouting ahead with John. Luckily, Arthur finds you. The near death experience gives both of you the courage for a confession.

tags: high honor Arthur, fluffly

2300 words, 13 minutes reading time

Three gunshots pierced the silent air that for hours had remained undisturbed, unless one counts the bluster of the wind. The shots echoed through the mountains. They prompted you into action, forgetting your miserable state.

"Here! I'm here!", you screamed with everything your voice had to offer, and that wasn't much. Half-frozen to death, sitting in your own blood and desperately clutching your arm where a wolf had bitten you, you tried standing up, with no success. Your leg had been hurt and putting pressure on it made the scenery fade to black. Out of fear for fainting and not being found, you remained cowering under the icy ledge, only a few feet away from a dangerous ravine.

"Y/N!", Arthur's voice was so close, you started to cry in relief.

"Arthur!", you screamed back and suddenly - there he was. You looked up the cliff to see his worried face staring down on you. Only moments later, Javier was appearing right next to him.

"Damn", Javier mumbled. Arthur seemed kind of unable to open his mouth, but he hurried down to you, careful not to slip and hurt himself.

"John should be further down there", you pointed into the said direction, "haven't heard from him for a while though."

Arthur was almost at your side: "Javier, you go and fetch Marston, I'll take Miss y/l/n." Javier's face disappeared, and you could concentrate on Arthur who was quickly approaching you. He squatted in front of you, not giving a damn about his pants which now were covered in snow. You couldn’t deny that it looked absolutely horrible. There was no white snow around you, everything was painted in your blood, and you yourself couldn't have possibly looked any better.

"Shit, y/n", Arthur murmured, taking his gloves off by biting them and sliding out of them.

You only managed to nod, tears now streaming down your face without shame. For hours on end, you had been convinced that you'd die here, freezing to death. It would have only been a matter of time until the wolves would come back and finish the work they had started. But now you were safe.

"It's gonna be okay", Arthur tried to calm you down. Gently, he wiped away some of your tears with his hand. It probably wasn't even warm, but it felt like a furnace against your frozen cheeks.

"It's alright", Arthur repeated. He noticed that he was shaking too, not necessarily because of the cold. It was true that the ride up the glacier had his bones chilled, but seeing you all bloody before him made him realise that he was shaking out of relief. He had been afraid you were gone. And now he feared losing you, right here and right now in front of him. Since you slightly pushed your face into his open hand, he didn't dare to remove it, but rather used his other hand to hold his glove open and blow some hot air into it.

"Get yer hand in there", he mumbled, helping you with putting his two gloves on.

"Can ya still move 'em?", Arthur asked, gently pressing your two hands in between his own. You quickly nodded and waited for your lips to stop quivering before you gave an answer: "Yeah. But this one hurts." You nodded towards your left arm where the nasty bite wound was hard to miss.

"I'd worry if it wasn't hurtin'", Arthur said, a crooked smile appearing on his lips for a few seconds.

"Very funny", you replied with a straight face. Actually, it had cheered you up a bit. This interaction was preferable to dying alone and becoming a frozen mummy.

And yet, Arthur was still worried more than he was comfortable with. He knew that he cared about you, but he cared about many people. However, this felt a little different.

"Can you stand up?"

"No...something's wrong with my leg."

"Okay. Come on then-", he stated, picking you up without so much as a silent grunt.

You snuggled into his wet coat and anxiously watched him struggle carrying you on the icy ground.

"How long have you been...like this?", Arthur asked after whistling for his horse.

"Not sure. At least one night...John and I rode out yesterday and then we were attacked by some wolves. It was...sheer luck that we survived. I mean- I hope John..."

"He'll be fine."

You gulped down a sob but were immediately relieved by Javier whistling behind you. Arthur turned around so you both saw him carrying a barely conscious John on his back.

You yourself struggled staying conscious during the ride back. For safety reasons, Arthur placed you in front of him on the horse, so he would be able to secure you with an arm tightly wrapped around you. He had admitted that he didn't trust you - in your current state - to stay on the horse without his help. At first you still had some strength left in you to give a witty remark, mocking him for calling you weak, but five minutes into the ride Arthur had to beg you to keep your eyes open.

"We're almost there, okay? Try stayin' awake until you're in the cabin, would ya?". he said those words close to your ear. The hot air from his mouth made your hair stand up and, in a way, did a decent job of keeping you awake and your heart beating. After one minute had passed, Arthur felt you slumping against his chest again.

"Darlin' please", he pleaded in a whisper, for neither Javier nor John to hear.

"'m really tryin' Arthur", you mumbled. Arthur was afraid that your hypothermic body was shutting down and he wouldn't be able to hold you in both of his arms to keep you warm and awake. The only thing he could to was to ride faster and make sure from time to time, that you were still awake. He'd whisper things into your ears that he didn't knew he was capable of, but the thought of having almost lost you, or to find out that you are indeed at the brink of death from the cold and blood loss, made his tongue loose.

You listened at first, but soon you were barely conscious, only managing to nod or mumble in agreement sometimes, without even registering what Arthur was saying.

The rest was black. You woke up in dry clothes and with an aching body, wrapped into two blankets. Mary-Beth and Swanson were staring you down, both of their faces lighting up when they saw you stirring.

You weren't awake for long, but long enough to be assured that you'll live and hadn't taken any lasting damage, aside from the wolf bite on your arm, which might leave some scars and your ankle which was probably sprained, but would soon be healed if you gave it enough rest. You managed to sit up to have a look at John who was lying in another bed close to yours, Abigail at his side.

"Looking good, Marston", you smiled, simply happy to see him alive.

"You have also seen better days, y/n", John replied briefly. And with that you plummeted back onto your bedroll and fell asleep.

When you opened your eyes again, it was dark in the cabin. No daylight came in, it must be the darkest hour of the night, but the fire in the fireplace distorted the shadows of the sleeping people in the room to eerie figures. You squinted to make out the different faces, which often was impossible because they were covered with scarves and shawls. It took a while, but after a couple of minutes lying awake you realised what had woken you in the first place. It wasn’t Uncle’s snoring or the weeping of a woman in the far corner, who you were quite sure you hadn’t seen before, but it was pain.

Your arm had been tidily wrapped in clean bandages, but you felt the wound underneath throbbing and burning relentlessly. Your leg wasn’t bothering you, as long as you remembered to keep it entirely still. If you moved it, because the chillness of the room sent a shiver through your spine and made you wince, the pain ran up all the way up your body. Maybe Reverend had given you some of his morphine earlier because you couldn’t quite understand how you would have been able to fall asleep under those circumstances.

With eyes closed you laid as still as possible, hoping that exhaustion would carry you to sleep again. You didn’t know how long you had lain there like that, when you heard the door of the cabin being opened. The hinges creaked and in came the stature of a man, warmly illuminated by the lantern in his hand – Arthur. You watched him while he tip-toed over the sleeping women, halting suddenly when he reached your bed and found you looking at him with a big smile.

“Did I wake ya?”, he whispered.

“No. Can’t sleep”, you sighed, also careful to keep your voice quiet so you wouldn’t wake the others, “What are you doing here?”

“I ehrm-“, Arthur awkwardly looked around in the room, “wanted to check on you.”

“Really?”, you grinned at him.

“Sure”, Arthur scratched the back of his neck, “ya looked barely alive when we got here. Were as white as a ghost and not exactly what I’d call conscious.”

“Yeah”, you chuckled sorrily. With all the strength you could bring up, you sat upright and made space for Arthur to sit down on the bed. Your face twisted in pain when you moved your injured leg, but it paid off when Arthur sat down with a sigh and put the lantern on the floor in front of you. For a few moments, neither of you said anything. Arthur looked around the room and studied the sleeping faces, while you had your eyes glued on his. You knew there was something coming, but you weren’t quite prepared for it when he finally said it.

“’em words I said on the ride back…”, he paused. His voice had sounded so flustered, his cheeks surely must be a darker shade of red. But the dimness of the light didn’t grant you this exciting view. For a split second he looked at you, only to find you expecting him to go on. But he didn’t. Now was the time for an embarrassing admission. Though you did remember him calling you darling and even sweetheart at one point, your memory was fuzzy. You weren’t sure if it had really happened or if he had only said it in the dream which you had, but you recalled him saying the word “love”. Maybe it was “my love”, or “I love”,…you didn’t know and the harder you tried to remember, the more you doubted it had actually happened.

“I’m sorry, Arthur. I was pretty much gone as soon as you had me on the horse”, you apologized and watched the man’s face. Was he relaxing?

“Probably better that way”, he gave a smile that looked rather sad.

He was starting to stand up, when you quickly grabbed his coat. He halted in surprise and threw you a quizzical look. Since you didn’t say anything but still didn’t let go of his coat, he sat down again, looking at you with a hint of concern.

“Yer alright?”

“Ye- No. I don’t know”, you admitted, “it depends.” You gulped.

“I was pretty sure I would be dying in the mountains. And when you’re just sitting there, freezing to death, you think about the stuff you regret not doing”, you started.

You added: “I’m glad you found me.”

Arthur huffed: “Sure, I’m also glad we fou-“

“No. You. I thought I’d never see you again”, tears started to roll down your cheeks. You weren’t sad, or angry or any emotion that would have your tears streaming, just the memory of sitting in the darkest night and feeling every limb ache in pain for warmth was unnerving.

“Well, yer seein’ me now? Ain’t ya? It’s alright girl”, Arthur tried calming you down when he saw the tears in your face. Carefully, he slung an arm around your shoulders and gently pushed you into him. Your face rested on his chest while he tried to comfort you by patting your back. You waited a few moments until you had calmed down enough to speak without the quiver in your voice.

“Before I get stuck somewhere else,…or eaten by a cougar,…or shot by some idiot”, you whispered, “I really want you to know that I-…you mean a lot to me, Arthur. I love you. Have done so for a while now.”

Hadn’t you been convinced that Arthur hadn’t already made a similar confession to you on the horse with you blacked out, you probably would have kept it for yourself for many years to come or until one of you was killed by a bullet. Of course, you would have ended up regretting it, like you regretted it on the mountain, of not having it said earlier. You figured, now was as good a time as any.

Arthur held you tighter, pressing you into his fluffy coat which gave off an odour of wet fabric and pine trees.

After a while, he whispered back in a gruffy voice: “Ya mean it?”

“Of course”, you replied quickly, offended by the lack of trust but knowing that he was asking from a place of insecurity and fear of rejection.

“As much as you meant the words on the horse”, you added with a smile and peeled yourself off him, “if you want to repeat them sooner or later, I promise not faint this time.”

Finally, Arthur chuckled lightly. “That’s a start.”